#it's not the most logical thing in the world

[joemama-2]

"are you the fairy?"

pairing: gojo x fem reader

synopsis: You meet Gojo Satoru in a place untouched by time, where his laughter rings through empty streets and his hands chase yours like a promise he fully intends to keep. He is younger, reckless with his love, blind to the weight of the years that separate you—years that have taught you that love is not always meant to be kept. You let yourself have him anyway, knowing all the while that his future is stretching toward a horizon you cannot follow. When the time comes, you do what must be done—let him free.

wc: 7.3k

tags/warnings: angst, eventual comfort, suggestive content, older! reader, dividers by @/cafekitsune, HOPEFULLY PROOFREAD ENOUGH :(

Aging. A fear most people have. The fear of growing old, growing weaker, needing others to rely on for simple tasks, no longer being in your ‘prime’, and of course—the grey hairs. While it can be argued that aging is a natural, human process; it can also be argued that no one ever really wants to grow old. No one wants to see everything they knew and loved vanish before their own two deteriorating eyes, no one wants to become just a distant memory. But no one wants to be immortal either. It’s a weird push and pull, leaving humans with only one choice: enjoy it while it lasts, and make the most of your life.

And so, that’s what you have been doing.

Graduating, getting a nice paying job, having a good place, traveling the world, making a name for yourself, being…happy. Sure, you’ve made friends and connections, but none of those amount to being in the peaceful solitude of your lonesome. You’ve faced adversaries in your life, and you’ve overcome them—that’s what making the most out of your life means. But you know what doesn’t fall under that category?

Allowing yourself to fall in love with a man almost two decades younger than you. 

But with life comes spontaneous events, debating the pros and cons and wondering the ‘what ifs’. 

And what if—against all logic, against every carefully laid plan—you let yourself have him? What if you ignore the whispers in your mind that warn of fleeting youth, of inevitable goodbyes, of the cruel march of time that will leave you grasping at something you were never meant to keep? Gojo Satoru is reckless in his affection, undeterred by the years between you, pressing himself into your life with an audacity that makes it impossible to push him away. He tells you that love doesn’t care for numbers, that age is nothing more than an arbitrary construct, and when he looks at you with that unwavering gaze, you almost believe him.

Almost.

You’re forty-five when you meet him, he’s nothing but a young and adventurous thirty-year-old. You remember being thirty. 

“Are you from here?” you asked, resting your palm against your cheek. The coldness of the bar’s countertop sits underneath your elbow—you regard him with a curious gaze. The first thing you noticed was the pretty eyes he had. The next was his smile—that handsome smile that was doing weird things to your heart. You remember your late husband smiling at you like that every day, every chance he got. Your lip quirks up. 

“No, I’m from Japan,” he replies smoothly, jutting his chin in your direction. “And you?”

You tell him. 

“Oh, that’s nice. So, what are you doing all the way here?”

“Vacation.”

“And how’s that going?”

“Pretty well. Italy is beautiful.”

“Almost as beautiful as you.”

A cheesy pick-up line you’re more than accustomed to. You save his awkwardness with a small laugh, eyebrow raising. “Thank you,” you glance down at the dark liquid in your cup, swirling its contents. “Though you aren’t the first to tell me that.”

The words hang in the air between you, thick with the weight of history you’ve long since buried. It’s a strange thing, isn’t it? To be flattered but not fooled, to hear compliments that once would have made your heart race but now only bring a faint ache, like a ghost brushing past your skin. You didn’t expect to be here, sitting in this foreign bar, in this foreign city, drinking away the remnants of a life you thought you’d left behind—no more waiting for a man to come home, no more running on borrowed time. And yet, here he is, his smile still holding the weight of something undeniably fresh, something he hasn’t yet had time to tarnish with the passing years.

He chuckles, and it’s sincere. Like he knows how to handle this situation and like he’s done it a hundred times before—charming the older woman, never realizing the danger he’s flirting with. You can’t help but notice how easily he fits into this moment, how the energy between you feels almost too comfortable for something so unexpected. His youth, his vitality—it’s intoxicating, and yet, you know it’s only a matter of time before you have to draw the line, to remind yourself that he’s playing with something far more fragile than he understands.

You meet his eyes again, and for a second, you let yourself indulge. He’s not just handsome; he’s magnetic. And though you’ve seen his type before—young, reckless, full of life—there’s something different about him. It’s that smile, that easy confidence as if the world is nothing but a playground for him to conquer. Your heart stirs involuntarily, the edges of something you thought was long gone starting to flutter back to life.

"So, do you always travel alone?" you ask, your voice a little softer now, more curious than before.

His grin widens, pleased by the shift in your tone. “Not usually, but this time I decided to take some time for myself. I needed a change of scenery.” He leans in a little, dropping his voice to something almost conspiratorial. "It's nice to get away from it all, you know? To meet people who don't know your story."

The irony of his words doesn’t escape you. Here you are, a stranger in a new city, with a lifetime of stories you no longer tell, and yet, his openness makes you feel like you’re both speaking the same unspoken language. You could tell him everything, share the years of love and loss, of heartache and healing, but you don’t. You keep it hidden, tucked away where only time and memory can touch it.

“That sounds familiar,” you say quietly, glancing down at your glass again. Your fingers trace the rim absently. “Sometimes it's the only way to find peace." You don’t know why you’re telling him this. It’s not as though you’ve shared your soul with a stranger in a bar before. But there’s something about the way he looks at you, something open and unafraid, that makes you think—just for a moment—that maybe this conversation, this meeting, isn’t entirely by chance. Something you haven’t felt in…a long time.

“Do you usually travel alone?”

You hum. “I do now.”

“Why now?”

“Because my husband doesn’t come along with me anymore.”

“Oh, yeah? And why’s that?” He sips from his own cup, but when he puts it back down, its fizziness tells you it’s just coke. 

You take a moment to reply, unsure if you should trauma dump on a stranger. But he did ask. “Because he’s dead,” you simply comment, leaning back in your stool and gauging his reaction. 

But he doesn’t show a face of surprise or a face of regret. He doesn’t offer his unwanted apology. He nods, humming softly in thought. But his eyes change—and you think for a second that it looks like a silent sense of understanding—like he’s lost someone too before. “And what was his name?”

Your cheeks pinch up, smile widening in fondness. Looking down at your left hand that once housed a beautiful, golden ring. “Masamichi.” 

There’s a stillness in the air for a second, the kind that doesn’t feel heavy but rather reverent, as if time itself paused to acknowledge the weight of your words. You look at him through the corner of your eye, seeing how his gaze softens—not with pity, but with something deeper, something far more intimate. It’s the kind of understanding that doesn’t come from words, but from shared experiences, and you’re struck by the thought that perhaps, in some quiet corner of his heart, he knows what it’s like to lose the love of your life.

He doesn’t speak for a while, but there’s something in the way he leans forward that tells you he’s listening in a way that feels different than the usual casual conversations you’ve had with strangers. His eyes are fixed on you, almost as though he’s waiting for you to continue, to say something more, but he doesn’t push. He waits—patiently, and respectfully. "Masamichi," he repeats the name softly, as if he’s testing it on his tongue as if it’s a secret he’s now been entrusted with. “That’s a really cool name, sounds like he was a hardass.”

You chuckle lightly and nod, not trusting yourself to speak again for a moment, swallowing the lump in your throat. “He was, but he had his moments.”

“When were those?”

“When he’d call me pretty names.”

“Like?”

You bite your lip, smile wavering a bit as you recount ever beautiful name he used to call you. One always stuck out. “Well, he used to call me a fairy.”

He chuffs. “Why a fairy?” 

"He told me I was delicate, elusive, like something too beautiful to be real. He used to say I’d flown in from some distant place, where the sky was always clear and the air was always fresh." The words feel like they’ve drifted in from a different lifetime, a time when love was a constant companion, not a faint, distant echo. You tilt your head, the corners of your mouth turning up. "I think he liked that idea, that I wasn’t tied down to anything—just... floating through life, free. He said I made him believe in things he never thought possible."

His gaze softens as he watches you, leaning a little closer now as if drawn into the quiet weight of your story. "That’s beautiful," he says, his voice low, almost reverent. "It sounds like he saw you in a way no one else could."

You nod, the memory of his warm words filling the space between you. "He did. And sometimes... sometimes I felt like I was a fairy, too. Like I didn’t really belong to this world. But when he called me that, it made me feel like I was meant to be somewhere, meant to be his." A quiet moment hangs between you, the air heavy with the soft intimacy of shared vulnerability. You meet his eyes, feeling an unexpected connection—the kind of unspoken understanding that can only exist between people who have known the depths of love and loss.

Then, just as you’re about to pull back, he asks, with a gentle curiosity, “Do you still believe in fairies?”

You blink at him, a little taken aback. The question seems simple enough. You shrug, half in amusement, half in disbelief. "I don't know if I believe in them, but... I like to think that maybe they’re real, in some way. In the things we can’t see, in the moments that take our breath away."

His eyes seem to light up, almost as if he’s surprised by your answer. There’s a long beat of silence before his lips curl into a smile that reaches his eyes. "Maybe you’re still a fairy, then," he says, voice warm with something like wonder.

You shake your head. "Yeah, maybe."

The words hang between you, filled with something gentle, something fleeting but real. You feel the stirrings of a connection, fragile and unexpected, like the wingbeats of a fairy. There’s a hollow space in your chest where his memory used to sit, and it takes everything in you not to let it show, not to let the quiet ache spill over. The ring on your finger is long gone, but the phantom of it lingers—an unspoken promise that can never be fulfilled, a history you no longer share with anyone. “What about you?” You shift the conversation, trying to keep the tears at bay, trying to pull yourself back from the edge of vulnerability you’re teetering on. “Do you have someone, someone you’ve loved the way you were loved?”

His smile falters a tad, a flash of something—pain, perhaps, or nostalgia—passing through his eyes. It’s gone as quickly as it came, replaced by the easy grin you’ve already grown accustomed to—the one that doesn’t let anyone get too close. But the silence that follows speaks volumes, and you almost feel like you’ve crossed some invisible line. Fearing that you’ve peeked into a part of him he didn’t mean nor want to reveal. "I did," he says quietly, almost to himself, the words hanging between you both like a secret. “But sometimes, we love people in ways they can’t love us back.”

The weight of his words sits heavily in the space between you. It’s raw, vulnerable in a way that contradicts his earlier bravado, and you find yourself wondering how much more of him there is behind that smile, behind the charming facade. In that moment, you see something that mirrors your own grief, your own loneliness, and it’s unsettling. “Is she still around?”

“He’s not,” he shakes his head.

You take a sip from your glass, the sharp bitterness of the alcohol grounding you, and give him a small, knowing smile. “Well, I suppose we all have our stories.”

His eyes lock onto yours for a long, unspoken moment. You wonder if this is one of those rare moments in life where people truly see each other—not just for the faces they wear, but for what’s buried beneath. What they carry in the silence. “I think you’re right,” he finally says, his voice soft, but there’s an edge to it now, a quiet tenderness that wasn’t there before. "But not everyone’s story is meant to be told in one night."

Your heart flutters for a reason you can’t quite place, and for the first time in a long while, you wonder if maybe, just maybe, fate isn’t as cruel as it’s always seemed. Maybe, in this strange twist of events, you weren’t meant to run away from the past after all—but to face it, alongside someone who understands what it’s like to love and lose.

“I’m too old for you,” you laugh off his subtle suggestion, looking over to the opposite corner of the small, dim-lit bar. There are two girls sitting at the booth with obviously wandering eyes toward your new, unexpected companion. “Maybe them.”

He follows your gaze, his eyes flickering briefly to the two girls in the corner, before turning back to you with that signature, easy grin—unchanged, unaffected. The playfulness in his smile doesn’t reach the depths of his eyes, though. You wonder if he’s seeing something entirely different than the charming stranger you’ve made him out to be. You can feel the shift, subtle but undeniable, as if he’s testing the waters of your words, gauging how much of this is just casual banter and how much of it has an undercurrent you aren’t ready to acknowledge.

"Maybe," he replies, leaning back slightly, but there’s a glint of something else in his expression now, something that makes the air between you feel heavier. "But you know, I’m kind of having some fun with you right now." His voice drops, a playful edge softening into something more serious, and it makes you wonder if he’s teasing or if there’s something deeper in his intentions that hasn’t fully revealed itself yet.

“I don’t think we’re having fun.”

“Then what are we having.”

“A simple conversation, nothing more, nothing less.”

He chuckles, leaning closer and tilting his head towards you. “Just how old do you think I am?”

You meet his gaze, noticing a small twinkle. Your eyes move down, analyzing his features. He lets you do so in an untimely manner and when he sees that you’re looking lower at his arms, he playfully flexes. An amused snort that almost sounds like a scoff leaves your lips. “Young enough to be my son.”

“Do you have children?”

“And if I do?”

“Then that’s even better because I love MILFS.”

You scoff for real this time, eyes narrowing at him. “I don’t, but what you just said further proves my point.”

The air between you both shifts, like a quiet storm brewing, though neither of you is quite ready to acknowledge it. His words hang there, an almost careless suggestion laced with mischief, but they are impossible to ignore. You try to brush it off, laugh it off, but something about the way he leans in—his proximity, the way his gaze never wavers from yours—makes it harder than it should be. There’s something in his demeanor that says he’s not just playing, not just following the familiar rhythm of flirty banter. It feels like he’s pushing against the boundaries you’ve set, testing them in a way that catches you off guard.

He watches your every reaction carefully, his smile just a little too knowing, a little too calculated for someone so young. You can feel the heat of his gaze as it lingers, catching you off guard in a way that leaves your words hanging in your throat. His comment about MILFs—joking or not—makes your skin prickle uncomfortably, and for a second, you wonder if he’s being more sincere than you care to admit. But you can’t show it, not when you’ve already drawn the line, already told yourself this was just a fleeting moment in an unfamiliar place.

You clear your throat, trying to bring the conversation back to familiar ground, but the awkwardness lingers. “I’m sure you have better things to do than sit here with a woman who could be your mother.”

“Maybe I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be,” he says, the playful edge in his voice softened by something deeper. There’s a sudden, subtle weight to his words, as though he’s no longer speaking just to entertain or to flirt, but to convey something more. It’s fleeting, but it’s there, and it catches you off guard. His eyes meet yours, steady and unwavering. The playful front cracks, revealing a hint of something you can’t quite name.

You shift uncomfortably, your thoughts creeping in again. "Well, you’ll find plenty of people who can keep you entertained around here." You gesture vaguely to the bar, the people milling about, the noise, the chatter. "I’m not the one you’re looking for."

His expression dampens. “Maybe you’re right. But maybe I’m just looking for someone who sees me, you know?”

The words hit you harder than they should, a soft pressure in your chest that you quickly try to dismiss. What is he saying? He doesn’t know you, yet he’s almost acting like he does. "I see you," you respond, your voice quieter than before, the weight of the statement hanging between you both like a truth neither of you is willing to face.

He doesn’t say anything right away, but his eyes darken, the smile fading into something more thoughtful, more introspective. You begin to think he might say something that cuts through all the barriers you’ve put up, something that challenges the notion that this is just a casual encounter between strangers. But instead, he shifts in his seat, taking another long sip of his drink. “I don’t know if you do,” he finally says, his voice lower now, the playful lilt gone. 

When he puts his drink down, you blame it on the alcohol from the way your skin flushes in a girlish way as he leans in—his breath fanning your ear. You also blame it on the alcohol when you’re reciprocating his advances, meeting his stare with an equally heated one of your own. And finally, you blame it on the alcohol when you tilt your head to whisper something in his ear. 

“Do you want me to look harder?”

That was the first night you went home with him—the first night you indulged in the warmth and pleasure a man—Satoru—can bring you. And even after sharing your ages, that never stopped. It somehow…never stopped you either. You found yourself giving in—almost craving the way his hands grip your hips, the way his slim and long fingers dance along your ribs in a soft manner. 

You didn’t expect yourself to be falling over the edge, finishing on just the tongue of a man younger than you. You always prided yourself on wanting—needing—an older man. And god, you were really missing out, weren’t you?

But it wasn’t just the way he touched you, the way his mouth knew exactly how to undo you piece by piece—it was the way he looked at you. Like you were something untouchable, yet here he was, holding you, ruining you, worshipping you in ways you hadn’t let anyone do in years.

It was intoxicating.

You told yourself it was just a fling, something fleeting, something fun. A vacation romance, a secret indulgence that you’d tuck away once you boarded your plane back home. But Satoru wasn’t the kind of man you could forget easily. His touch lingered, his voice echoed, and before you even realized it, you were answering his calls. Responding to his texts. Finding yourself in his arms again, even when you swore it would be the last time. You found yourself smiling at him when you believed he wasn’t looking, stifling a peal of laughter at his stupid jokes that he only said so he could see the way your eyes crinkle at the edges—you were finding comfort in him. 

A warm, tentative comfort that only one other man had brought you before. 

There were times you felt guilty, believing you were still bound to your late husband even in death, and at times—you almost compared the two. However, you know Masamichi would’ve wanted you to move on and care for yourself in ways he couldn’t do anymore. He would’ve smiled and encouraged you to find pleasure in your life. 

And you did. 

Because somewhere between those nights tangled in silk sheets and the hushed laughter over shared meals, you forgot to remind yourself of the one thing that mattered most: this was never meant to last.

But at the same time, you almost didn’t want it to end. You enjoyed the way he kissed your knuckles, moved strands of hair out your face, and complimented you when you felt at your lowest. He was seeing every part of you—the good and the bad, the pretty and the ugly. You were letting him. 

One night, after a particularly passionate session, he’s running his fingers along the curve of your spine. Naked bodies huddled next to one another, and the sheets offer a nice little coverup. The moonlight peeks through his blinds, the plush mattress sinking further underneath your weights. He kisses the top of your head softly before moving to your temple. Once again, you’re smiling. Tracing mindless circles on his bare chest, your foot rubbing up and down his calf. No words are spoken, there usually aren’t. But the silence doesn’t feel deafening; it feels comfortable. You found yourself snuggling closer to him.  “Satoru?”

“Mhm?” he hummed back, sighing lightly, his smile never wavering. 

“Where do you…see yourself in ten years?”

He hums again, this time in thought, his fingers never ceasing their lazy tracing along your spine. You feel the way his chest rises and falls beneath your palm, steady and unhurried. You wonder if he’s really thinking about your question, or if he’s simply enjoying the feel of you against him. “In ten years?” he finally repeats, voice hushed, as if speaking too loudly might break the fragile moment. “I don’t know…Happy, I guess. Settled down; I’d like to have kids by then.”

Your fingers pause against his chest. You don’t know why, but his answer catches you off guard. Not because it’s shocking—he’s young, full of life, full of potential—but because it’s something you’ve stopped thinking about for yourself. “Kids?” you echo, tilting your head up to look at him. His pale lashes flutter slightly as he meets your gaze, and there’s something soft in his expression, something almost wistful.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, a small chuckle escaping him. “A couple of ‘em, maybe. A little girl who’s just as stubborn as me, a boy who’s just as curious. Someone to pass everything down to, y’know?” His hand moves from your back, up to your hair, fingers threading through the strands as he exhales. “I think I’d be a good dad.”

You don’t doubt that. Satoru is many things—annoying, arrogant, childish at times—but he’s also deeply caring. He loves with his whole heart, even when he pretends he doesn’t. You can see him being the kind of father who carries his child on his shoulders, who spoils them with sweets, who makes bad dad jokes just to hear their laughter.

And yet, you can’t bring yourself to say that out loud. Instead, you settle for a noncommittal hum, lowering your head back onto his chest, letting the weight of his words settle between you. Ten years from now, he’ll have a family. He’ll have everything he wants. And you won’t be part of it.

That’s when reality hit for you. You’re holding him back. You can’t give him what he wants, what he longs for. It’s a bittersweet, brutal reminder that this little world you’ve built was only meant to be temporary. That the laughs, touches, kisses, the sex, it’s fickle. You’ve blinded yourself and let yourself sink too far deep to understand that what Satoru wants…he can’t experience with you. 

And so, it started small. Days spent out with him, your eyes would flicker around, moving from one woman to the next. Pointing them out to him in an encouraging way. 

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” “Maybe you should go ask for her number.”

“You’re both tall, you would go well together.”

It honestly hurt to push him away—to open his eyes to the other fish in the sea while a small part of you wished he could only be yours. But you’d never ask him to stop following his dreams of becoming a family man for your own selfish desires. 

At the start, he humors you. Rolls his eyes, scoffs, plays along like it’s just another one of your little jokes. “She’s alright, I guess,” he shrugs when you point out a woman at the café, her long legs crossed elegantly as she sips on a cappuccino. “But I prefer my women a little more…experienced.” He flashes you that cocky grin, the one that always makes your stomach flutter.

You laugh, but it’s forced. You ignore the way your chest tightens, the way your fingers twitch with the urge to reach for him. But then you do it again. And again. And again.

It doesn’t take him long to catch on.

One evening, when you offhandedly comment on the cute waitress who just served your drinks, something shifts in his expression. His smile dims, his fingers drum idly against the table. “Y’know,” he says, tone too casual, too light. “You’ve been doing this a lot lately.” 

You feign ignorance, sipping your wine. “Doing what?”

“Trying to set me up like some kind of matchmaking service.” He leans forward, elbows on the table, gaze sharp. “You got tired of me already?”

You force back a sigh. The way he says it—half-joking, half-serious—makes your stomach twist. “Satoru—”

“No, really,” he cuts in smoothly, tilting his head. “Is that what this is? You pushing me away? Guilt-tripping me into realizing you’re too old for me or whatever bullshit you’ve been telling yourself?”

Your fingers clench around the stem of your glass. He sees right through you. You swallow, trying to keep your voice even. “I’m just trying to look out for you.”

His laugh is sharp, humorless. “Looking out for me?” He leans back, stretching his arms along the booth. “Or making decisions for me?”

You hate how much that stings. You hate how right he is.

“I just…” You exhale, setting your glass down. “I just don’t want to hold you back, Satoru.”

His jaw tightens. His eyes search yours, and for a moment, you think he’s going to argue. You think he’s going to tell you you’re being ridiculous, that he wants you, that he doesn’t care about the future you keep running from.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he exhales sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re really that convinced this can’t work, huh?”

You don’t answer. You don’t have to.

His lips press into a thin line. He nods once, slow and deliberate. “Alright,” he mutters, reaching for his drink. “Message received.”

And just like that, the air between you shifts.

Colder.

More distant.

Like the beginning of the end.

Your heart drops, looking back down at your wine. For a second, you felt like you ruined things. But it’s better to nip things in the bud than let them bloom, is it not?

Even after that, he was still adamant about seeing you. You let him, deciding to relish in these last few tender moments you may have with him. The sun was shining and beaming down on you two as you ate your brunch. It was a pleasant day. She was beautiful—the kind of beautiful that made you wonder how someone like her could even exist in this world. The type of beautiful that turned heads and left impressions. The type that had Satoru slowly following her with his eyes. You tell yourself this is a good thing. That this is what you wanted. That you should feel relieved that, finally, he’s looking at someone else the way he shouldn’t be looking at you.

But it doesn’t feel like a relief. It feels like a knife twisting in your gut.

You lift your mimosa to your lips, taking a slow sip, pretending you don’t notice the way his gaze lingers on her. She’s stunning—long legs, flawless skin, a radiant smile that could stop anyone in their tracks, and long black hair. She looks like she belongs in a magazine, not in a small café, laughing at something her friend just said.

You force yourself to smile. “She’s exactly your type.”

Satoru’s attention snaps back to you, and there’s something unreadable in his expression. He blinks, then exhales a laugh, shaking his head. “You really don’t quit, do you?”

You tilt your head, feigning confusion. “I’m just saying, you should talk to her.”

He scoffs, pushing his fork around his plate. “Yeah? And then what?”

You frown. “What do you mean?”

Satoru sets his silverware down with a quiet clink, resting his arms on the table. “Let’s say I go up to her. Get her number. Take her on a date.” He shrugs, giving you a half-smile. “Then what? I sleep with her? Take her on more dates? Marry her?”

You stare at him, not sure where this is going.

“And then we have kids,” he continues, his tone light, but his eyes—his eyes are sharp, cutting right through you. “That’s what you want, right? For me to find someone younger, someone who can give me the future I want.”

Your throat tightens.

He leans forward, resting his chin on his palm. “So, tell me something.” His voice drops, softer now, almost vulnerable. “If I wanted all of that with someone else, don’t you think I’d already be doing it?”

Your breath catches.

He waits.

But you don’t have an answer.

All you can do is encourage him to go up to her.

And he did.

He was reluctant, of course. Only doing it to shut you up. 

But you saw the way his expression softened, the way his dimples poked out when he’d talk about her. You were there on the side, watching what he once thought would be a simple meeting, to finding a woman he’d started to fall for. 

It was like watching a slow-moving car crash—one you orchestrated with your own hands. You had done this. You had led him to her, pushed him in her direction, knowing full well what it would mean. And yet, knowing didn’t make it hurt any less.

The texts started. Little mentions of her here and there. You caught the way his face lit up in a way you hadn’t seen before, the way he spoke about her with that quiet sort of wonder like he was trying to piece together a puzzle he never expected to solve. You were still a part of his life, still, someone he made time for, but something between you had shifted irreversibly. The stolen moments, the lingering touches, the whispered confessions under moonlit sheets—they grew fewer and further between, replaced by something… distant.

She was such a kind and lovely woman, her voice made of butter when she spoke to you about him. And when you caught him smiling at his phone one evening, thumb idly tapping out a message to her, you knew.

He had found what you wanted for him. What he deserved. What you couldn’t give him.

So why did it feel like you were the one being left behind?

“Are you happy?” you had whispered, holding him tight in a hug, eyes beginning to water.

He held you back, arms secure around your waist. His icy hair tickled your skin, and he planted a soft, reverent kiss on your cheek. Pulling back to look at you, he didn’t have that fiery, teasing sparkle in his eyes like usual. No, this time, all that was there was just…him. Just Satoru. 

“I am,” he had said with a genuine finality. 

The trickle of warm tears slid down your cheeks, his thumbs swiping softly at the skin. “Good, I’m…I’m happy too.”

Truthfully, you were. Because if you had to let Satoru go, if you had to let him be the man he should be, you knew he was doing it beside a woman that was worth it. She was worth it. And you were beginning to be okay with the fact of being a memory to him, as long as it meant his wishes came true.

You left him, never once looking back, answering his texts or his calls. 

You don’t know how you had the strength to do it, how you managed to pull yourself away from the man you’d poured so much of yourself into. There was a time when you thought you’d never be able to let go—when you believed you’d somehow convince him that the life he envisioned with someone else wasn’t worth pursuing. But the truth was, you couldn’t keep holding onto him, not when the weight of your love was slowly suffocating him, not when you knew that he needed to step into a future that wasn’t tied to a past that could never fully be his. You didn’t want to be the one who held him back, no matter how much it hurt.

The hardest part was the silence that came after. You told yourself it was for the best, that you were doing him a favor, letting him breathe, letting him live without your shadow hanging over him. But the quiet was unbearable. Slowly, the hole he left inside you grew wider, the void left by his absence swallowing you whole. It felt like a slow, silent death—a death that had to happen for him to thrive, even if you weren’t ready for it.

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months.

But somehow, that was for the best. He was with her now—his beautiful, young, hopeful future. And you? You were learning to accept the peace that came with being the past. The bittersweet relief of knowing that you had let him go, even when it felt like a piece of you was missing forever. You were learning to find happiness and acceptance with that. But you knew deep down, a part of you would always love him. And that part would remain tucked away, hidden, safe in the quiet recesses of your heart where no one could touch it. Because, no matter how much time passed, no matter how much life moved on, Satoru would always be the one who made you believe in the fleeting beauty of something that could never truly last.

Seven years had passed, and time had etched its marks on both of you. You were different now—wiser, perhaps. Life had moved on, as it always did, carrying you forward in unexpected ways. You found a home in Japan, a little place tucked away in a quiet neighborhood, a perfect reflection of the peace you had slowly cultivated within yourself. It was the kind of home you never thought you'd need after him, but somehow, it filled the emptiness that had lingered for so long.

When you saw him again, it felt like a thousand memories rushed back to you in a single moment. His shock was palpable—eyes wide with disbelief, brows furrowed as if trying to make sense of the woman standing before him. The same Satoru, yet different in small, subtle ways. His features had softened, a few lines around his eyes that spoke of time passing, of laughter shared, of a life fully lived. He was healthy, vibrant, the man you’d once known and the one who had continued his journey without you. "Y/N?" His voice was quiet at first, unsure if this was real or just a figment of his mind. His gaze swept over you as if trying to understand how you could still exist in his life after everything.

And then, he smiled. It wasn’t the same playful grin that had always been there, the one that had once made your heart race. This one was softer, warmer—gentler. It carried the weight of the years apart, but also the familiarity of someone who had once been an integral part of your soul.

And you smiled back again.

Without hesitation, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you, the embrace as natural as it was unexpected. It wasn’t just a hug; it was a reunion, a silent acknowledgment of everything that had passed between you both. For a moment, you let yourself lean into him, feeling the comforting strength of his hold, the warmth of his body that you once thought you'd never feel again. There was no awkwardness, no hesitation, just the undeniable connection that had never truly disappeared. It was as though time had been kind to you both, erasing the pain and replacing it with something softer, something more peaceful.

“Satoru,” you muttered softly, almost in relief. 

"You look good," he said softly, pulling away just enough to look at you, his hands lingering on your arms as if testing the reality of this moment. 

You feel something cold pressed against your arm, looking down…there’s a golden ring on his left ring finger. Your lips parted with mild surprise before looking up at him with a sense of blitheness. You couldn’t help but chuckle, eyes crinkling in the way he loved—loves. “...is it her?”

He nods, glancing down at your own hand. And look at that; he’s not the only one with a gold ring. “And what about you?’ he asked, a softness in his voice.

Your cheeks flushed slightly, bringing your hand up and admiring the band around your finger, the diamond saying hello once more. Memories of your husband’s gruff voice, his frown that he tried so hard to keep etched on his face, the spiky black hair you loved to comb your fingers through, the scar on the corner of his mouth that you loved to kiss. “His name is Toji.”

He nodded with a wave of approval. “How long?”

“Three years. And you?”

“Four.”

You guys laughed simultaneously.  The sound of your shared laughter fills the quiet space between you two, and for a moment, it feels like no time has passed at all. There’s an ease to it, an old familiarity that you never quite lost, even with the years between you. The weight of everything that had happened—your separation, his journey, your own—seems to melt away, leaving only the lightness of the present moment. It feels almost surreal, standing there with him, both of you changed yet still the same in many ways.

You glance down at your left hand again, the ring catching the sunlight that spills through the window. The cool metal seems to hum with its own kind of quiet significance. Toji. 

But now, standing here with Satoru, there’s a strange sense of nostalgia mixed with contentment. You never imagined this—standing side by side with him, sharing your worlds as they are now. When you look up at Satoru, you see the same softness in his eyes that’s always been there, but now it carries with it the weight of time. He has a family, a future that doesn’t include you, and that’s okay. There’s peace in that. He’s found what he was always meant to have, the thing that once felt like an impossibility between you two.

“Four years,” you repeat, your voice soft, taking in the new ring on his finger. “That’s beautiful, Satoru. I’m…I’m so happy for you.”

He grins, that same playful glint in his eyes, but this time it feels like it’s tempered by something deeper, something more sincere. “Yeah,” he says, voice quiet but firm. “She’s incredible. I’m really lucky.”

The warmth that spreads through you isn’t jealousy, or bitterness, or anything like that. It’s something else entirely—pride, maybe. Or relief. You always knew that Satoru was meant for something bigger than what you two could have together, but seeing him happy now, seeing him settled with someone who makes his eyes light up the way they used to with you, it’s the closure you never thought you needed. 

“You?” he asks again, as though sensing the unspoken question between you two. His gaze shifts to your hand again, then back up to your face. 

The words come out easily now. “He’s my rock,” you say simply, the affection in your voice unguarded. “He makes me better, makes me whole.”

Satoru’s expression softens, and you see the flicker of that old tenderness—the way he used to look at you before everything got complicated. But it’s not painful, this time. It’s not heavy. It’s just… understanding. Like he’s happy that you’ve found that kind of peace. The kind of peace he’s found with her. “You both deserve it,” he says with a nod, as though sealing the quiet approval between you two. “You deserve everything good that comes your way.”

It’s a simple statement, but it carries so much weight. The unspoken acknowledgment that the two of you, after all this time, have moved on, and have created lives for yourselves that reflect who you’ve become. And for all that has happened, all the loss and the love that came and went, there’s something beautiful in knowing that this chapter—this shared history—is now something you both cherish without needing to hold on to.

He invited you over that day and you accepted. 

His wife runs up to you, hugging you like you’re an old friend. “Oh my god!” she exclaims in a gasp, her red-tinted lips curved up into a wide smile. You hugged her back, mirroring his reactions. “It’s so great to see you again, Miss. Satoru and I have never forgotten you.”

“Utahime…” he mutters with slight embarrassment. 

You chortled and patted her back. “I haven’t forgotten about you too either.”

She pulls back, removing her arms from you. Satoru places a warm arm around her waist and brings her to his side. The display of affection has you melting on the inside, head tilting in fondness. Satoru looks at you. “So, there’s someone we want you to—”

The sound of little pitter-patter against the hardwood cuts him off, all of your attention being dragged to the little girl with white hair and auburn eyes like her moth bounding up to you in excited familiarity. Her tiny gasp as she looks up at you with wide, innocent, twinkling eyes. She looked up at you as if she had known you her whole life, bubbling with a sense of jitteriness, cheeks glowing with a youthful flush. You couldn’t help but crouch down to her height, head tilting. Your eyes glazed over with tears, holding a hand to your mouth to hold back the broken laugh you almost let out at the question she asked you. 

“Are you the fairy?”

a/n: this story is inspired by "a love not made for me" by aryana rose. please go hear her speak it, she tells it so beautifully :(((. anywho, thank u guys for 2k really. i love u all and I'm incredibly grateful for all the support and love and patience :))

i couldn't do it without yall. <3

[hrrtshape]

EMMA±??±?±?±?±??!?!?!?!OMGORMGOGMG????? STORYTIME HELLOW WHERE DID U EVEN SHIFT TO

i spent 15 days in the upper east side and now i have an existential crisis about my real life (but in a hawt way)

unlike my previous shifts, where i’d spend 10 minutes, maybe 20, dipping my toes into a life so much better than this one, i spent fifteen whole days in my better cr. fifteen days ago, i woke up in my king-sized bed with 1000-thread-count sheets and realised i had, in fact, won in life.

i had done it. no brief glimpse, no fleeting moment before snapping back to my real-world peasantry. fifteen days. enough time for a full socialite saga and to meet my beau!?!?!??! enough time to wake up in pyjamas which might as well been the most comfortable thing i've ever worn, hear the distant clatter of someone else in the other rooms, and stretch luxuriously as if i were in a renaissance painting. i could smell money in the air FOLKS!?!?!!!! not new money, but old money, the kind that sits heavy in the walls (!??!?!?), the kind that makes people say your last name like it means something. and this was my life. MY LIFE. at last. took it long enough.

the first morning, and you have to understand my main character syndrome for this, i stepped out onto the balcony, the manhattan skyline.....mhmhmhmhmhm....mhm. mhm. mhmm. stretching before me like a personal prophecy, and i felt it in my bones!!!!!!: this was home. MY HOME. okay. so. then i went around, you know, exploring my little room (not little...) and girl the moment i stepped in front of a mirror.......WHO'S THIS BABE???? yea. yea. i even had a cat !!!!

then i went to school. sorry, went, i mean DRIVE. now, here’s the dealio. i had scripted myself into this effortlessly put-together, socially untouchable, well-adjusted manhattan teen heiress life. but there were gaps in my logic. big ones. like, for example: i couldn't drive. i didn't know how to drive !!!

and yet, there i was in the morning in my super super super sSUPPPERRR cutesie school uniform, keys in hand, standing in front of a car (a Porsche, people, a porsche!!!) that looked like it cost more than my entire life back in my cr. so, i acted like i totally knew what i was doing. slid into the driver’s seat with the confidence of someone who had done this a thousand times before, adjusted the mirrors like i had a clue, and started the car.

and then? i picked up lily-rose depp.

(she's not an actress in this dr, by the way. just my best friend. which is infinitely cooler.)

she didn't even question everything. just said i looked really hawt today. i was blessed. seriously. like i'm typing this and also screaming i want to go back.

somehow. miraculously. i got us to school in one piece. st. lazarus international college. it looked like a cathedraland felt like a warzone. we pulled up alongside a line of obnoxiously expensive cars (not a single honda in sight!?!?!?!?), and i barely had time to breathe before stepping out onto the pavement, uniform pristine, COACH. MOTHAUFCKING COACH TOTE bag slung over my shoulder like i was about to solve world hunger instead of sit through calculus (that shi fucking sucked btw !!!! but my school's classrooms were drop dead gorgeous).

anyways. i now have to brush upon something that made me almost let out a humongous squeal when i saw him. CORIOLANUS. yes. yes. yes. yes. yes,ewfygweuvbuihweiusvbgiweu`rs. i saw him. yep. yep. i had to slap myself. metaphorically.

SO. i had scripted that on my first day, i would give coriolanus snow a nosebleed.

and !?!??!?!?!!?! IT SUCCEEDED. when i first saw him, he was leaning against a row of lockers like he owned the place and i swear to god i almost moaned. crisp white shirt, tie loose, cheekbones sharp enough to wound, eyes narrowed. pray.

HO. HE WINKED AT ME. and then i walked past him with my bfffffff lily-rose and. and. and. nosebleed. bro. bro. bro. BROSKI. the way he blinked..........the way his breath hitched just a little as the first drop of blood slid over his cupid’s bow. the WAY he tilted his head back, tongue darting out briefly over his lip. oh my god. i was actively fighting to not go and jump on him and like do vile disgusting things.

i had won the war, but at what cost?

because he was so hot.

SO FUCKING HAWT.

uh. so. yeah. that was just the first two hours of my better cr, and it was already putting my entire existence to shame. like, objectively, scientifically, undeniably better than anything i have ever done in my cr.

ssssoooooo. IF ANYONE WANTS TO HEAR MORE…do let me know. because, hands clasped, eyes glistening, heart on the verge of combustion, i am being so serious. this was the peak of my human experience. i have tasted divinity PEOPLE. i have lived too well. i fear i must go back, or else i will experience genuine withdrawals from the lack of my paramour’s face in my daily visuals.

so yeah. if you’re curious… hit me up. (evil, knowing laughter echoing into the abyss)

OH AND. whenever i'd go to sleep there i'd like cry out of fear that i'd wake up in my cr but whenever i'd wake up just...there...i'd literally pray to god. BECCAUSE EIJISEJFEWUSHFIHEJI. i'm there.

anyway, i am so not okay about this. i keep coming back to edit, rewrite, relive. but okay. listen. if you ever had even a sliver of doubt about shifting, i am kneeling right now, hands clasped, eyes wide with conviction, telling you!!!!!!!

SHIFTING IS SO FUCKING REAL.

it’s real in a way that defies logic, in a way that makes the air feel electric, in a way that rewires your entire understanding of existence. so real. so unimaginably real.

[sailorsoons]

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

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

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

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

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

Baby (k.sy)

Pairing: Soongyoung x f. reader

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

Word Count: 29,988

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

Type: Smut, Heavy Angst

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

Warnings: Full warnings available under the cut.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not any good.”

“That’s okay. I’ll let you beat me.” 

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

“No way!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Everyone treats me like a baby.” 

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

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

“What about you?” you ask. 

“What about me?” 

“Jump.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

“I have no idea.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Would you look at me?”

“No.”

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

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

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

“Just let me go!” 

“No. Why do you want me to kiss you?”

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

“Fuck - are you crying?”

“No.”

“Baby, look at me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi, Baby. What’s up?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go away.”

“Baby, please don’t start with me.”

“I’m not starting fuck with you.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not mad at you. Go away!”

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

“Please fuck off.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t feel very fun right now.”

“Drugs will fix it!” 

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

“Ignore him,” you insist. 

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

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

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

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

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

“So it is about her?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well fuck him!”

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

“I want to break her fucking face!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What? Why not?”

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

“The Tower doesn’t have to know.”

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

“Not if you tell them not to.”

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

“Angel said you had a bad day.”

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

You snort. “You tell her that.”

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

“I’m not helpless.”

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

“So you think I’m pretty?”

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

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

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

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

“What if I said I did?” 

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

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

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

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

Soonyoung also probably would have had them beaten. 

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

“What?” you ask. 

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

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

“And?”

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re gross.” 

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

“A present?”

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

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

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

“Bring it over here.” 

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

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

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

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

“And what is this gift for?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

He nods. “Good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.” 

Both you realize. You can deal with both. 

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

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

He shrugs you off. “Not mine.” 

“I - what’s going on?” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Let me call Vernon-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not made for you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh yeah? Like what?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The Yongs are doing it outright?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Soonyoung is below your station, though. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At least you know where your stubborn streak comes from. 

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

“That’s because he’s a man.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’d fallen in love with her that night. 

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

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

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

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

You are going to marry the Kim family heir.

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

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

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

“I don’t understand.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You will not!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mother will not let you-”

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

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

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

I’m not made for you. 

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

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

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

“Yes, Tower.”

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

“Yes, Tower.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hmm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He looks doubtful. “Alright.”

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

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I just want to shower.” 

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

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

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

“You can go,” you say sharply. 

“Alright.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The older generation, though- 

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

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

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

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

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

Steadfast is the mountain. 

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

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

Steadfast is the mountain. 

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m marrying Kim Yijun.” 

A beat passes. Then another. 

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

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

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

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

“You’re not fucking marrying Kim Yijun.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Home?” 

“The Choi Estate.” 

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

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

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

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

No. No no no no no. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why are you pointing a gun at me?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It worked. Let’s go.”

“Are you fucking crazy?”

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

“Why?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you trying to kill us?”

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

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

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

“So what, you check on me?”

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

“The Tower personally requested I come get you.” 

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

“What’s happened?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Seungcheol hardly takes what I say to heart.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yijun understands none of that. As the eldest son of his family, it’s a shame. The real world of the Syndicates is lost on him. He has enough business acumen to run companies under his father’s careful tutelage and instruction, but he doesn’t have the social savvy for it, the right drive. 

His brother does. You think of Kim Minchan and nearly shiver. The middle child of the Kim family has more than enough understanding of the way that things work, but the ocean of blood behind him is enough for you to prefer Yijun leading the Kim Syndicate any day. 

“I’m just saying,” Yijun grunts, flicking off the lights in the closet. “Your brother has all the reason in the world to respect me and he doesn’t.” He looks at you, face hardening. “Do you tell him not to? Is that what it is? His baby sister tells him how useless her husband is?” 

Danger is in the air. Yijun won’t lay a hand on you, but it doesn’t make this dance any less stressful. You turn away from the mirror, looking at him fully. He’s not terrible to look at - he has a sharp jaw and a broad nose and a pleasant shaped mouth. He’s handsome, even. 

He’s not Kwon Soonyoung. 

Swallowing away the thought, you reach up to put your hands on his chest, placating. “I wouldn’t do that,” you assure him, softening your voice. You hate the sound of your voice, hate the way you pitch it low and gentle. “You’re a reflection of me too. I would never let my brother think any of those things about my husband.” 

Yijun swats your hands away, making you grit your teeth. “Don’t act like a whore. Just - tell your brother. I should be in his inner circle by now. Make it happen.” 

As Yijun leaves the bathroom, the urge to grab him by his collar and yank him back in to smash his head on the counter almost wins. You stare at him until he vanishes in the bedroom, your rage a live, sentient thing. You feel it crawl beneath your skin, slithering and clawing and biting and begging to be let out. 

Steady is the mountain. You take that fire and shove it down. Years of instinct of reacting with your mother’s temper peter out slowly. It’s a shame - you’re the last woman left from her side of the family, the only one who can carry the fire of the phoenix. 

You glare at the bedroom. Somewhere, Yijun lurks, getting into bed. Oh how the shadows of the weak choke out the fire of the strong. 

If killing Yijun wouldn’t risk everything, you’d have done it already. That first month spent with him where you realized this would not only be a loveless marriage, but a hateful one had almost driven you to it. The Choi Syndicate could surely survive a war with the Kim Syndicate - you had better assets, stronger loyalties, and more money. 

But if the Kim family turned to the Yong family… 

Avoiding unification of the Kim and Yong families is why you were married to Kim Yijun in the first place. To murder him now would mean Syndicate war, and despite the fact that every moment with him is hateful and poisonous, you’re too nervous to put your family at risk. 

Especially with your father’s failing health, as Yijun had pointed out. 

Syndicate war isn’t the only thing keeping you from stabbing Kim Yijun until you can’t feel anything anymore. Minchan’s shadow of a presence lingers over your thoughts, one of the few threats you truly fear. Any harm to his brother would elevate Minchan to a position where he could only wield his power more. 

And he’d hunt you like a bloodhound. You’re unsure if there is any corner of the world he would leave unturned if you killed his brother, no matter how much it would benefit him if Yijun keeled over tomorrow. 

Inside your bedroom is dark. It doesn’t feel like your bedroom at all. There’s nothing homey about it, no possession or unique decor, no pictures. You wouldn’t sleep in here at all if Yijun didn’t make you, insisting that he couldn’t trust any of the house staff not to tell your father you weren’t sleeping in the same room. 

Your father doesn’t care. He stopped caring about anything the day you put your mother into the dirt. Even if he hadn’t, as long as your relationship looked functional to whom it mattered, it mattered little to him if you slept in the same room or if you even liked Kim Yijun.

He’d made that very clear the day he tore away your future with Soonyoung. 

Yijun is already snoring when you climb into bed. You grind your teeth, reaching to pull open the nightstand for noise cancelling earbuds and sleep medication. The medication isn’t as strong as the crushed up knockout you might have used previously, but it helps take the edge off without making you vulnerable to attack. 

Which is something you still worry about. 

Setting your phone on silent, you settle in for sleep. It takes a long time, but you finally drift away to thinking about smothering the man next to you in his sleep. 

Something wakes you. Blinking sleep from your eyes, you sit up in bed and look around the room. It’s dark, but you can see the barely-there outlines of the furniture in your bedroom. Next to you, Yijun is gone. You can feel the lack of presence there more than you can see it, reaching your hand over to confirm the bed is cold and that he’s not been there for a while. 

You reach for the phone on your nightstand but can’t find it. Frowning, you press your hand on the cool marble, sweeping back and forth to no avail. You lean further, finger finding the button to the light function on the stand and press down. 

Dim, lavender light halos the top of the nightstand. Your phone is nowhere in sight. It’s just your jewelry dish, a decanter for water, and your sleep medication. You’re pretty sure that you put your phone face down before you went to bed, but you can’t be sure. 

Pulling open the nightstand drawer only makes the back of your neck sweat. Your phone isn’t there, but neither is the gun you keep in the top drawer. Both you and Yijun sleep armed, despite having armed guards on the premises at all times. 

Snapping the drawer shut, you roll to the other side of the bed and pull his open. A book, a watch, some pill bottles and a pack of cigarettes fill the drawer. No gun. 

The back of your neck tingles. You rip the sheets off of you, heading to the bedroom door. The house is mostly dark when you open it, the entire second floor dim. Leaning over the banister, you can see a shaft of light falling across the room, perhaps coming from the kitchen. 

Quietly, you stalk toward the top of the stairwell, trying to reduce noise as you creep down. A high pitched whine rings in your ears, heart thundering. You have no idea why you’re so afraid all of the sudden, especially in your own house, but your instincts tell you to be alert and quiet. 

At the foot of the stairs, you confirm the light is coming from the kitchen. It’s not uncommon for people to be in the house in the middle of the night. Official Syndicate business happens at any time, and often goes into the early hours of morning. 

Tonight, it’s not busy. Before you’d gone upstairs to bed, you’d noted that it was a skeleton crew security team for the night, just a few of them at the gate house and walking the premises while you and Yijun returned upstairs for the evening alone. 

Creeping toward the hallway, you pause when you hear voices. You identify Yijun’s voice right away, holding your breath and straining your hearing as he says, “What do you want me to do here?” 

“Keep her contained. Make sure no one from her family can reach her.”

“I already took her phone and her gun.”

Your stomach drops. “Good.” That’s Minchan’s voice, you realize, dread growing tenfold. “The second she finds out the Tower has fallen, she’ll try to run or her brother will try to get her.”

“Or that psycho fuck,” Yijun mutters. 

“You’d be lucky if it was Seungcheol who came to get her. If Kwon Soonyoung comes looking, call me immediately. We’ll make our move in two hours. We’ve got the biggest team outside the Choi estate ready to go in and we’ve got men and women stationed at all the key points.”

“So I’m just supposed to sit here and babysit my wife?”

“Yes.” Minchan’s tone is nonnegotiable. “We’ll leave the guards at the gatehouse but we can’t spare anyone else. This kind of assault requires everyone. The Yong family will take care of the Pearl District and the Salt.” 

Yijun hesitates. “What about the Yoon family? Are they all accounted for?” 

“Yes. I have a team on the crazy one - what do they call her?”

“Angel, I think.”

Minchan laughs. “Demon is more fitting. Stay here. Stay by your phone. We’ll call thirty minutes before we give the signal to link everyone on comms. We do this right, and the Choi Syndicate is gone.” 

Panic presses in for a moment. Your heart hammers. Your hands shake. Bile churns your stomach. It feels like you can’t get enough air, the pieces of what they're talking about falling into place.

The Tower has fallen.

Your father is dead, and in the wake of the crushing blow, the Kim family intends to strike at yours alongside the Yong family. The realization lands like a blow, immediately slapping you out of your panic. 

Fear turns to rage. Rage turns to ice. You are fire, you are the mountain. 

Steadfast is the mountain, but the fire does burn. 

As quietly as you can, you creep up the stairs. You keep turning over your shoulder to ensure Minchan doesn’t leave the kitchen and catch you creeping back toward your bedroom. When you hit the second floor landing, you all but sprint to your room, gears turning. 

Yijun took your phone and intends to keep you locked in the house until they finish their plan. From their discussion, you know they intend to mobilize within two hours, targeting important members of the Choi Syndicate across the city with the help of the Yong family. 

It means you have only a few minutes to warn your family to respond, to prepare and to fight back or strike first. Which is hard to do without a phone, but your husband doesn’t know you nearly as well as he thinks.

Door closed behind you, you flip the lock on the bedroom door and dash for the closet. The lights above come to life, bathing you in ghoulish, grey light. You dive to the floor toward your shelf holding all of your shoes, the carpet burns nothing compared to the pain starting to bloom behind your sternum where your grief builds slowly under your anger. 

Your father is dead. The Kims are going to turn on you anyway. Your marriage to Kim Yijun to secure alliances against the Yong family was for nothing.

You’ve endured for nothing. 

Snatching a pair of boots, you swallow down the bile again. You will not break now, not when there are more important things than the time you’ve wasted withering away in this cold home. Shoving your hand inside the boot, you come into contact with what you were looking for. Your hand closes around the device, yanking it out and powering it on. 

The screen flashes to life. You press one and hold, hearing the buzz on the phone as it begins to ring. You cradle the phone against your shoulder and ear, nearly sick with the adrenaline that is pounding through you, your vision blurring, hands shaking. 

You grab another shoe, this time reaching inside carefully instead of shoving your hand in. The smooth, bone handle of a knife meets your hand and you wrap your fingers around it firmly, pulling it out. 

Soonyoung answers on the fourth ring. “Where are you?” 

“The Kim family has turned on the Chois. They’re mobilizing for a full scale attack in roughly two hours. The Yong family is helping them. They’re at the estate and all over the city - anyone who is important to us regardless of position will need to be warned. The Yong family is handling the Pearl District and the Salt.” 

“How many men are at Yijun’s estate?” You can hear him moving on the other side of the line, something rustling. Perhaps clothes as he gets dressed. “Are you armed?” 

“There are men at the guard house and one walking the perimeter. It’s just me and Yijun inside, I think Minchan is leaving. I’ve got a knife.” 

“Where are you in the house?” 

“Bedroom, second landing to the right and all the way at the end of the hall. There are windows but they don’t open.” 

“Listen to me,” Soonyoung says, voice like ice. “The second we start moving into position to accept the assault, they’ll know something is off. When that happens, Yijun is going to try to kill you, do you understand?” When you say nothing, he asks again, voice louder. “Do you understand?” 

“Yes.”

“I need you to fight back. Either kill him or hold him off until I’m there.” 

“You need to warn-”

“Don’t worry about the fucking Syndicate! We’ll be fine. You’ve given us more than enough time. I need you to be entirely focused on yourself.”

You take a deep breath, letting it out shakily. “Okay.”

“Do you have frostbyte?”

“Maybe? Yijun might have it in the nightstand.”

“Take some. Not enough to fuck you up, but enough to pump that adrenaline and make your head clear. I will be there in thirty minutes.” 

“Okay.” 

You squeeze the phone, unwilling to hang up. It doesn’t matter that you haven’t heard his voice in months. It doesn’t matter that he hates you, it doesn’t matter that you know whatever used to be between you is broken and it’s entirely your fault. You just… don’t want to hang up. 

“Hey.” Soonyoung’s voice is soft, drawing you from your trembling spiral. “Do what I said. Do the frostbyte and kill him if you have to. I have to go.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll see you in thirty minutes.” Soonyoung pauses, the silence heavy on the line. “I love you.” 

Nothing breaks you like those words, whispered but firm, whispered in case you die before he gets there. He doesn’t have to say that’s why he’s saying it - you know. You know the chance of him not getting there fast enough is likely and real. He does too, but instead of telling you, he gives you this. 

You whisper back, “I love you.” 

Soonyoung hangs up the phone and you fight a sob. You bring the knife up to your hand, pressing your pointer finger down on the tip. The sting is immediate, making you his in pain as blood beads on the tip of your finger, red and garish in the closet lighting. 

The sting grounds you enough to push yourself from the floor, following Soonyoung’s directions to Yijun’s nightstand. You yank it open, rattling around the contents until you find the bag of frostbyte you were hoping was there. Yijun uses it the nights he attempts to put an heir in you, numbing himself the way you never did, taking your punishment for what you’d done to Soonyoung raw.

Not enough to fuck me up, you think, untwisting the bag and shaking. Just enough to make it easier. 

Dipping the tip of your knife into the bag, you pull out a small lump of the glittering drug. You try not to think about that night at the club all those years ago, when you and Soonyoung were still dancing around one another’s feelings, doing anything you could to get a reaction out of one another. 

You take a sharp breath in. The drug hits your nasal passage and it burns, your eyes smarting as you tilt your head up, cursing and blinking away the tears. It hits the back of your throat, bitter and awful as you cough a little, trying to wait for it to clear your nasal passage.

When the burning subsides a little, you do it again. It’s less harsh than the first bump but still just as awful, making you wonder how the fuck you did this on the weekend with your friends as a teenager. Tossing the back on the nightstand, you stand waiting, closing your eyes and trying to do deep breathing exercises your therapist taught you to calm down. 

Frostbyte works fast. It hits your bloodstream and an electric calm comes over you. Everything comes into sharper focus, the adrenaline pumping as your simmering rage turns to a boil, ready to kick the fucking door down and hunt down Yijun yourself.

Nerves fade away to the background of your mind. You walk toward the door, waiting to the side so when Yijun ultimately kicks it down, you’re ready. 

Ten minutes pass. The entire time your ears are ringing, heart thundering in your chest. You think the frostbyte was a good idea - if you had to wait in silence like this without it, you would have gone crazy by now. Even with the drug, fear nips at your ankles, a hound ever on your tail. 

Yijun’s footsteps thunder up the stairs. Your heart lurches and you inch away from the door, readying yourself. He storms down the hall, fury in each step until he gets to the door and turns the handle. It doesn’t move. He tries a few more times, shaking the door. 

His roar on the other side of the door is loud and feral, making you grin as he thrashes against the door, cursing and screaming at you. The door holds, rattling in place as he slams what you think is his shoulder into it multiple times. 

The bombardment pauses for a second and then restarts ten times stronger. This time, you recognize that it’s his foot slamming into the side of the door. You realize he’s kicking where the door is latched, trying to break it open instead of kicking through it. 

A small crack sounds. You take a breath, readying yourself as you hear another snap go through the door, now rattling loose in its frame. He kicks hard again and the door blows open, nearly smacking you as it does. You roll away from it on the wall, keeping close as Yijun barrels past you, swinging his head from left to right as he looks for you.

It’s your only chance to get the jump on him. You slide from the dark, heart hammering. You’ve never stabbed anyone before, but you’ve practiced. You drive the knife upward, intending to puncture his kidneys. Yijun twists a little to the side, sensing your presence as the knife plunges into his side. 

Yijun screams. Your satisfaction only lasts a second before he throws his elbow backward, catching you in the nose. Pain explodes in your face, blinding you as your eyes water and you stumble backward hands shooting to your face. 

Removing the knife from his side, Yijun screams at you, spit flying as he comes at you. Through tears and warm blood rushing from your nose, you reach for anything to use as a weapon. Your hand closes on the ceramic artwork on the dresser and you launch it at him, hitting him hard in the face. 

The ceramic shatters and he drops the knife. You dive for it but he grabs you by the hair, ripping you upward and backward like a ragdoll. You lose your footing, screaming as he tightens his fist in your hair and drags you toward the bed, tossing you there. 

With a feral shout, you kick your foot forward, catching him in the lower gut. He grunts but wraps his hand around your ankle, yanking you back off the bed onto the floor, where the knife lays. You reach for it, seething, your hands managing to close around it just as he pivots, foot landing against your ribcage. 

Again, pain explodes inside of you. With the frostbyte, you barely recognize it, grabbing the knife and stabbing him in the calf. He shrieks and collapses to a knee, reaching for the knife. This time you rip it back out, nearly losing your grip on the bone handle, fingers slippery with blood. 

You stab him again, this time in the thigh. His knee presses into your stomach, crushing you and forcing air from your lungs. You ignore the pain, stabbing him again and again in the thigh until he falls backward off of you, muscles malfunctioning, tendons give away. 

Yijun kicks out at you with his good leg but you’re already moving, ignoring the way your body is screaming in utter agony, every part of you throbbing and begging you to give up. 

You don’t. You scramble on top of him. His hands shoot up to your throat but you spit at him, a spray of blood blinding him and making his grip loosen momentarily. It’s enough to bring the knife down home again, this time directly in the juncture between his neck and shoulder. 

For a second, he fights back. You hear the wet gasp and he thrashes, but you stab him again. And again and again and again and again -

You think about all of the times that you were forced to submit to him. 

And again and again and again - 

The way he heaved himself on top of you, trying to force a child into you so he could be done with you, the way you’d wish it had been Soonyoung instead. 

And again and again and again - 

The way Soonyoung’s face broke that morning, begging you not to do this to him. 

And again and again and again -

All for the Kim family to turn on the Choi’s anyway, wasting the entire time you’ve spent under lock and key, doing Yijun’s bidding while Soonyoung hated you. Loathed you. Wish you never happened to him. 

Again and AGAINANDAGAINANDAGAINAND- 

Yijun isn’t moving under you. Your hand is warm and wet, the knife becoming slippery as you let it go. It clatters to the floor and you sit backward on his knees. He’s unmoving as you heave, sucking down air that tastes like iron and salt. 

Sweat slicks the back of your neck and down your spine. Somewhere in the house, there’s a crashing noise. You leap for the knife, rolling off of Yijun’s mutilated body toward the door, positioning yourself in a defensive position as feet thunder up the stairs. 

You bare your teeth, knowing this is it. Knowing Soonyoung hasn’t come quickly enough but it doesn’t matter, because you warned them and they are safe. Your penance for destroying him has been paid in half, though never full, and -

Soonyoung appears in the doorway. He looks like an angel from hell, wreathed in shallow light that comes from the first floor, his silver hair stained with blood. He’s in black trousers and a short-sleeve shirt with his favorite band on it - one of his sleep shirts. 

For less than a second, he stares at you. Then, Soonyoung dives at you, dropping the gun in his head and grabbing you. You hadn’t realized that you’d sunk to your knees, looking up at him as he grabs your face, turning you this way and that. He’s asking you a question but you can’t understand him, dizzy and confused and in so much pain that the edge of your vision wavers. 

“Baby,” Soonyoung begs, his voice warped and echoey. “Hey, I need you to answer me. Where are you bleeding?” 

“S’mostly his,” you answer, feeling how heavy your tongue is. Your thoughts are sticky and slow. Concussed, you think. “Maybe broke my nose.” 

Soonyoung’s thumb brushes gently across your cheek, smearing blood. “Can you walk if I help you?”  You think about it. Shake your head. “Okay. I’m going to lift you up, alright? Tell me where it hurts so I don’t hurt you, Baby.” 

“Ribs.” 

“Left or right?” 

You pause, breathing in and feeling the pain bloom. “Right.” 

“Okay, tell me if I hurt you, okay? We’re going to take you home.”

“Thank you.” Soonyoung hesitates at your tone, looking at you. His eyes are vulnerable and open, more raw than you have seen them since you were kids. “You didn’t have to come get me.” 

He stares and stares at you. The world fades a little and Soonyoung lifts you toward him. “Of course I did,” he murmurs, so soft you barely hear what he’s saying. “When you say jump, remember?”

“Where's this?” You mumble, looking out the window at a small home behind high gates.

Soonyoung has been driving for an hour and a half, his silence nearly unbearable as you both left the city. You don’t ask about where you’re going or if everyone is okay - you don’t think you can stomach the answers right now. Not while in the car. 

Rain mists through the window as Soonyoung rolls it down to punch in a code in front of the gate. It flashes green and the metal starts to roll open, revealing a large but modest house - at least by Syndicate standards. He drives through, gravel crunching beneath the tires. 

“Safe House. Very few people know it exists.” 

“Are we in Levin?” He nods his head. You’ve never been to the small town, but you know it’s mostly a vacation village on the coast. “Who does this place belong to?” 

“Me.” You look at him, surprised. “I bought it when you… got engaged.” 

It’s like a stone sinking to the bottom of your stomach. You don’t have to ask why. It was his failsafe for you, a way to get you away from Yijun if you had just asked. 

You should have asked. Should have just thrown it away and called him, should have begged him from your knees- 

Soonyoung turns the car off and opens the door. You open yours, rain pattering against your red skin. He rushes to help you out of the car, hands hovering around you, unsure where to touch. It makes you want to sob. You want him to touch you anywhere - everywhere. 

Instead, he leads you to the house, a hand wrapped firmly around your forearm to keep you upright and steady as you walk up the steps. 

A porch light flickers on. You cringe away from the brightness, squinting through your fingers as the door opens to reveal Vernon standing on the other side. His eyes flicker between the two of you and he nods, stepping to the side to let you in. 

Warmth blankets you as Soonyoung shuts the door. You’re standing in a small entryway with a staircase to the right leading to the second floor. Straight on, the lights are on, revealing a sliver of the living room. You can hear voices pause as they hear the door shut. 

Angel materializes in the doorway, her hair damp. She’s dressed down like she recently showered, her eyes on you as she heaves a sigh of relief. “It’s Hoshi and Baby,” she calls over her shoulder, coming forward. 

Soonyoung nudges you toward Angel gently. “Take her to shower.” 

“Yeah of course.” 

“Where’s Seungcheol?” You ask, turning to look at Soonyoung, who is already looking at his phone, holoscreen lighting up his face. 

“On his way. The main crew is safe.” He hesitates. “We lost Lan, Old Man Vero and Yoon Minji.” 

Your heart seizes, eyes darting to Angel. “Angel, I’m-”

“Jeonghan is taking care of it.” For the first time in years, you hear a note of pain in her voice, raw and real. Angel has - had - a complicated relationship with her step-mother, the matriarch of the Yoong family. “I’ve already satiated my vengeance. This is his. Come on.” 

You hesitate. Soonyoung nudges you toward the stairs gently by the hip, suddenly looking tired. “Go. I’m going to find a doctor for that nose.” 

“Is it terrible?” 

He huffs, trying not to laugh. “No, but it needs to be fixed. Go. Shower.” 

I love you. It’s on the tip of your tongue, right there. I love you. It’s all you can think about, thundering in your ribcage. I love you. It consumes you, makes you freeze up, staring at him. I love you. 

Angel tugs your wrist delicately and breaks the spell. You follow her up the stairs. She’s careful with you, making you take one step at a time. You don’t think you’ve ever seen her so gentle, her eyes softened with worry and her touch on you delicate as butterfly wings. 

Upstairs, she leads you into a room that smells like vanilla and sandalwood. Soonyoung. This room belongs to Soonyoung. You spot his subtle touches, a gaming computer shoved in the corner and powered off. A closet with a metal door that is under lock and key. A single gun sitting on top of the nightstand. 

But what makes the room spin is the touches of you. A teakwood candle sitting on the dresser. Weighted blankets folded at the end of the bed. A bookshelf with all your favorite titles. A jar of saltwater taffy in multiple flavors. 

Angel hesitates by the bathroom door, watching you drink in the room. You turn to her, shaking your head, confused and mouth open. She nods. “I know. I didn’t know either.” 

“I could live and die a thousand times and never deserve him.” 

“I’m not the best judge of character, but I don’t think I believe that to be true.” 

Angel isn’t the best judge of character. But she also doesn’t say things she does not mean. She’s the last person in the world to offer words of comfort, and yet she’s standing in the bathroom staring at you like she can see through you, right down to the very core. 

Maybe she can. Seeing what is rotting people on the inside and sniffing out their weaknesses is what she does best. 

Instead of pointing out where you hurt, she manages to get you into the bathroom. It’s spacious but not grand like what you’re used to - it’s small. Safe. She starts the shower and backs away, helping you get out of your bloody clothing. 

Everything hurts so bad. Your ribs ache, the bruising on them blotchy and horrendous as Angel peels back your shirt. She thankfully doesn’t react - she’s seen worse and done worse. Suddenly, you realize why Soonyoung picked her to help you. She’s steady, her fingers sure as she holds your arm while you pull your pants down.

You don’t dare look in the mirror. From what you can see without it, it’s already bad enough. Yijun hadn’t dealt fatal damage, but you know you’re bruised and covered in dry, flaking blood. 

Angel leaves you in the shower, shutting the door to go sit on the sink, a guardian willing to give you space but ready to help when you need it. Shaking, you shuffle into the stream of hot water, hissing when it hits your skin. 

It’s both heaven and hell. The hot water feels so good on your aching muscles and throbbing pain, but it also hurts when the water taps against your nose, reminding you that it is indeed broken. You suck in sharp air as you slowly begin to work your fingers into your skin, turning the water pink as you wash off the blood. 

Blood that belongs to you. Blood that belongs to Yijun.

Yijun. 

You’re not sorry you killed him. It was satisfying and necessary. But… the weight of your grief comes crashing into you. You could have killed him years ago and ran. Could have gone crawling back to Soonyoung and asked for his help. Could have told him that the only reason you ever agreed to marry him in the first place was to protect him. 

None of it mattered. You bought him a paltry couple years worth of protection and for what? To shackle yourself to a man who thought little of you, who wanted to fuck you until you gave him another version of himself, who wanted to kill you at every moment because he knew you didn’t respect him and because he was afraid of you and the way you command respect from your family, but he never did.

All that time you’d made yourself smaller for him. Held back your bite. Hid your teeth. Mourned Soonyoung everyday, knowing that you’d never touch him again, that he would never kiss you again, that you’d never wake up in the morning when he got home from work and crawled into bed with you.

A potential lifetime of happiness, one of your own making, wasted on a promise that they broke anyway. 

For nothing. It had been for nothing, you’d hurt Soonyoung for nothing, shut him out, promised you would never leave him and threw him away, forced him to jump for you, forced him to leave you when he said he wouldn’t all for nothing nothing nothing nothing notHING NOTHINGNOTHINGNOTHINGNOTHING-

Angel’s arms are around you. You startle, looking up to see that she is in the shower fully clothed, holding you to her. You hadn’t realized you’d been crying - screaming - in the shower. She presses you closer to her, the only way she knows how to tell you that she’s got you. She’s there. She understands. 

You crumble, leaning heavily on her as you let it out, sobbing. Your throat is raw, your face throbbing each time you squeeze your eyes shut. Angel says nothing, content to hold you while her clothes soak up the water, weighing her down as you let out your grief in full, ugly waves. 

Eventually, the water starts to get cold and your tears start to dry up. You sniff and groan, the pain in your face so poignant that it can’t be ignored. Lifting your head from her shoulder, you glance at her boots, soaked and murky red around the edges.

“Can I tell you something?” Angel asks, voice low. You nod. She hesitates, putting the words together before she says, “He’s going to accept you back. He’s going to do it with no conditions, and ask nothing of you. You’re going to want to torture yourself and beg for his forgiveness and deny yourself of him because you think you should be punished, that there is not a god powerful enough to hurt you the way you deserve.”

You blink in surprise. Angel isn’t religious, despite the nickname. She also isn’t overly emotional or wordy. But you see the severity in which she tells you this, see the pain in her eyes. You remember that she has demons far older than yours, ones that have followed her since childhood. 

And she’s right. She reads you like a book, seeing the fucking pain radiating inside of you, the desire to be punished and hated and whipped- 

“Let him take you back.” Her words are firm. “Don’t make him punish you. Don’t believe for a second that Soonyoung wants to make you pay. He doesn’t. He doesn’t care what you did or why. Just… let him have you. You’ve endured enough.” 

You nod. “Alright. I’ll try.”

“Good. Um - can we get out of the shower though? It’s very cold in here.” 

You laugh, immediately followed by a groan. “Please don’t make me laugh. I am in so much pain.” 

“Yeah, let’s go get you some drugs, dude.” 

The three Syndicates of the city are officially at war. Of all the news that has poured in over the last few days, this is the least surprising. When you’d seen Seungcheol that first night after everything went to hell, he’d held you close and promised that he would kill every last Kim in the city.

He had also told you he was proud of you. Not just for surviving Yijun long enough for Soonyoung to come get you, but for being able to warn the family what was coming. Your single warning alone had saved them a great deal and wounded the Kim Syndicate more than you could understand. 

The days following your father’s death are strange. It doesn’t feel like he’s dead - at least, you haven’t truly processed it yet. There are things that demand your attention like being seen by Dr. Ymir for your fractured nose and bruised ribs, and the accounts and logistics of what being at war with the Kim and Yong family truly means. 

On the fifth day at the safe house, you go back home. Seungcheol makes you ride with him, unwilling to let you out of his sight these days. You’re the only two members of the Choi family left, and it’s up to the two of you to rally the troops and remind everyone what the mountain can do. 

Seungcheol replaces your father as the Tower of the Choi Syndicate. Typically there’s a small ceremony to pass the torch so to speak, but there’s no time for that. Seungcheol is buried in problems and trying to maneuver the family into a favorable position, but it’s hard - the Yongs and Kims have been preparing this for a while. 

You’re suddenly given a job again. Fresh in his position leading the family, Seungcheol needs those he trusts by his side, immediately appointing you as the Architect of the Syndicate. There’s no one he trusts more with the finances and the logistics of the businesses under the Choi banner and who have pledged to his family. 

With Yoon Minji’s death, Jeonghan’s takes his rightful side as the Wisdom and second in command to Seungcheol. It’s like you’d always known it would be as a kid, but it brings you no joy to see the two of them together in an office until the early hours of the morning, worn at the edges and sick with the grief they’re ignoring to push forward. 

With no surprise, Seungcheol immediately promotes Soonyoung to the lead military position, rising from Sword to Sentinel in a single night. It’s the same position his father held under your father, and Soonyoung takes it with steely resolve. 

It also means you don’t see him. You move back into your old room at home. At first, it doesn’t feel like your room at all because Soonyoung isn't in it. He had moved into your room when you first started dating, spending two years in that bed with you. Now, he’s taken up residence in his room down the hall, so close and yet the distance feels larger than ever. 

Of all the problems mounting for you to solve, Soonyoung is the most important. You know he shouldn’t be. There are a thousand other things that you need to figure out, like how to assure that the businesses you own in and near the Kim and Yong family territories won’t go under or be attacked, or how to assure that payment to the family won’t increase now that there’s a fight. 

Your days are filled with countless meetings, assuring loyal patrons that the Choi Syndicate will not fall and will not fail them, and that the Choi’s protect their own. You can see the fear in people’s eyes - the city hasn’t had the big three at war in a long time. Already the city officials are cracking down on Syndicate activity to try and establish order. 

It’s farcical at best. 

Squeezing your temples between your fingers, you lean back from the desk in your newly appointed office - which is really just your father’s. It feels weird to be in here. It still smells like leather and sweet tobacco, a little bit of smoke hanging in the air. 

The last time you’d been in this office, you’d fallen to your knees and begged him not to make you marry Kim Yijun. Now you sit at the desk, hanging up the phone as another call ends - not as bad as the first, but not as good as you’d hoped. 

Quickly, you scribble down a summary of the call to give to Seungcheol. You know he’ll read every word you write, determined to hear each concern of those under Choi patronage, whether they’re valid or not. 

At the sound of the door opening, you glance up. Soonyoung sticks his head in, surprising you. You straighten in your seat, heart racing when you take him in. His silver hair has grown longer, tapered a bit at the neck. He’s dressed in all black but he’s clean, indicating that he showered not that long ago. You thought he would be out all day like usual, looking at your watch to see he’s back far earlier than normal.

“Is everything alright?” You start to get up and he rushes to you, hands lifting to help you. “I’m alright. I am well on the mend.”

He chews his lip, nodding before dropping his hands hesitantly. “Everything’s fine I just.” He hesitates. “Do you want to eat lunch?” 

“Oh. Sure.”

Soonyoung’s smile is tentative. Shy. You give him one back, following him out of the office while sending a quick note to Jihoon that you’ll meet with him later. He sends a thumbs down back, less than pleased that you’ve not made time to talk to him about your potential murder charges for Yijun. 

“Are you busy? We don’t have to-”

“It’s just Jihoon.” 

“Ah. He’s persistent, are you sure-”

“I want to have lunch with you, Soonyoung.” 

He blushes and you grin. “Alright,” he murmurs. “When you say jump and all that.” 

That makes you pause. “You don’t have to do anything I tell you.” 

“What?” He stops walking, confused. 

“You don’t have to ask how high if I tell you to jump... I’m wrong a lot of the time. I don’t… want to be that.” 

I don’t want to repeat my mistakes. You don’t say it, but you think Soonyoung senses it when he says, “I’ve always wanted to jump for you. That hasn’t changed.” 

Let him take you back. Don’t make him punish you. 

Angel’s words come back to you so you swallow down your guilt and you nod, giving him a tentative smile that he returns. This time, he holds out his hand to take you in the kitchen. You take it, the feeling of his fingers wrapping around yours both foreign and familiar. 

The way he holds your hand in his makes you tremble. It’s something so simple and benign and yet you’re screaming on the inside, looking at where your fingers twine together like it’s everything, like it’s the only thing. 

Lunch consists of very badly burned grilled cheese. You don’t care because Soonyoung makes it, insistent that he wants to and that he can. He’s good at a lot of things, particularly on the spectrum of murder and weapons, but he is terrible at putting bread, cheese and butter in a pan. 

You eat it anyway, burnt bread and all. He sits next to you, his stool pulled so close that your thighs touch. You want to reach out and brush your fingers across his face, down his neck, through his hair. You want to touch until you’re grabbing, grab until you’re pulling. 

Instead, you let him lead this dance, too afraid to initiate. 

Let him take you back. Don’t make him punish you. 

You don’t, but you can’t let go of the fear of rejection. Can’t bring yourself to toe the line beyond what he’s giving you, which is more than you ever dreamed of. So you accept when he offers to take your plate, fingers brushing over the top of your hand either by design or by accident you don’t know. His touch makes you shiver and he notices, pausing. 

Slowly, you look up at Soonyoung. His eyes are dark and misty as ever, churning with emotion that you’re a little too afraid to read. Instead of taking the plates to the sink, he sets them down and reaches for you, cradling your face in his hands. 

A sob works its way up your throat but you force it down. You will not cry over this. You will not make him comfort you. 

“Are you afraid to touch me?” His question is gentle. You nod, eyes fluttering shut as his thumb brushes back and forth across your cheekbone. “Why?” 

“I… want to so badly. I just want it to be your choice.” 

“I want you to.” You open your eyes. His earnestness is right on the surface of him, rippling for you to see. “I’m dying for it. Please.” 

Soonyoung’s please sounds like that morning he’d begged you all that time ago. It freezes you in place, heart beating like a prey animal in fight or flight. He steps closer, his breath on your forehead when he whispers, “Please.” 

Slowly, you bring your hands up to his wrists. Licking your lips, you place your hands on him. His eyes close. His skin is warm to the touch and you feel him tremble as you brush your hands upward, tracing his forearms, his corded biceps. You brush your fingertips over the sleeves of his shirt and toward his neck until you’re cupping his throat, your thumbs resting against his hammering pulse. 

You close your eyes, remaining still. Both of you remain that way, his hands on your face, yours on his neck. You’re shaking under his touch, feel his breath against your forehead. His fingers add a little pressure to your face, careful not to hurt you where your bruise is finally fading on your nose as he turns you to look up at him. 

Soonyoung licks his lips, eyes open. “There is not a second I didn’t love you.”

And there it is. The admission that he never hated you. You bet he tried - you know he tried. You know the inside of Soonyoung’s soul better than you know your own, no part of him hidden to you even with time. 

“I don’t care why you did it,” he continues. “Not anymore. Not after everything. I don’t care about any of it. I just… want you.”

“Soonyoung-”

“I know you’re sorry. I know you hate yourself. I know there is guilt eating away at you. Get over it, because none of it changes how I feel. I love you. You’re mine. I don’t want to leave you again. You cannot make me.” 

“I know. I won’t make you.” 

“Good.” Soonyoung presses his forehead to yours gently. He’s careful not to knock noses with you too hard, aware of the pain it’ll cause. “I cannot do any of this without you.” 

“I know.”

Soonyoung’s mouth is tentative when it presses against yours. Your grip on him tightens, leaning forward into the kiss. It is everything - the only thing. You feel something wet on your face, thinking that you’ve got another nosebleed, but when you pull away, you realize it’s because Soonyoung is crying.

Crying for the first time since his parents died. 

You stand up from the stool, gripping the back of his neck to pull him toward you. He melts under your touch, letting you meld your mouths together. He tastes like his burnt sandwich and like him, his mouth warm and wet against yours. Vanilla and sandalwood invade your senses, overwhelming as you grip him for dear life, never wanting to let him go.

He doesn’t want to let you go either. His grip on your hips is crushing, fingers digging into flesh and bone as though he can force you to become one. The thought makes you dizzy. You slide your fingers in his silk-soft hair, wrapping the strands around them to pull lightly, pull him closer, pull him to you, pull him back. 

Soonyoung whines against your mouth and you break the kiss, panting. “Take me upstairs,” you whisper between peppering kissing against his mouth, his bottom lip, the corner of his lips. “Please take me upstairs.” 

He does. Soonyoung grabs you by the hands, tugging you toward the stairs that lead to your room - the room you used to share. The room that still smells like him, even if faintly. He takes you to your bed, where you’ve spent hundreds of nights with him, and lays you down gently like he has a million times before. 

Soonyoung touches you like you’re holy. His hands skim over you in worship, they scratch you in penance, they hold you in reverence. He slots himself between your knees, stealing a kiss from you like it’ll breathe new life into him, bare him anew, purge him of sin. 

You love him. You love him you love him you love him you love him you love him -

A moan leaves his mouth when your nails drag down his back. He is quaking under your touch, his mouth hungry but careful against yours, wanting to swallow you whole but knowing you’re hurt. You know he won’t break you but you wish he would.

There’s time for that later. Now isn’t the time for rough and biting. Now, Soonyoung peels the shirt from your skin, immediately covering your arms, chest, collarbones, shoulders in kisses. You vibrate under his touch, lashes fluttering as he sucks at the sensitive skin of your neck, tongue pressed flat to your pulse as he tastes you. 

You tug at his shirt and he complies, leaning upward to toss it. He’s back on you in a second, pressing you close, hip to hip as he tangles his tongue with yours, drinking you in. His touch ignites a fire and you’re burning, a complete inferno as you drag your fingers up the hard contour of his stomach to the firmness of his chest and around to his shoulders. 

“I love you,” he mutters against your mouth, rolling his hips into you. You let out a breathy sound and he groans. “Fuck I love you. I missed you. I love you.” 

“Please,” you beg. He understands, burying his face in your neck and biting down lightly. You feel like you’re going to burn up under him, an out of control blaze while his fingers work the buttons on your pants. “Never let me go.”

“Never.” 

Jeans scrape down your legs, his hands following. He drags his blunt nails down your thighs. Your hips twitch upward, loving the scratch, loving the way he touches you, loving him. He returns his mouth to yours, unable to get enough of your kissing. 

Soonyoung’s hand slips between your thighs, the pads of his fingers pressing against your clit through your underwear. You keen for him, pulling at the long strands of hair at the back of his neck. He moans in tandem, his pleasure driven by yours, loving the way you sound as you start to come apart under the gentle circle of his fingers. 

He only teases you a little, knowing the friction with the fabric between his fingers and your aching cunt isn’t enough. He finally decides that you’ve had enough, hooking a finger to pull them aside, the cool air hitting your sticky folds. 

Before you can complain, Soonyoung’s touch is there. He drags his fingers slow-soft from top to bottom, circling your clit slowly. He’s not in a hurry, dragging it out as he sucks your tongue into his mouth, sliding his fingers back down to press against your entrance but not breach it. 

You whine and he grins, pulling your bottom lip with his teeth until he lets go with a pop. “I love those sounds you make.” 

“Feels good,” you admit, head falling to the side as you close your eyes, enjoying the pressure he puts on your clit, wiggling his fingers back and forth. Your thighs close around his hand but he’s unbothered, drawing more arousal from you as he plays. “Fuck, your fingers.” 

His laugh is throaty and he shakes his head, attaching his mouth to your jaw where he sucks at the skin. He makes himself comfortable with nibbling toward your neck, both of his hands reaching for the sides of your underwear to pull them down. You let him, folding your knees toward your for a moment to help. 

Soonyoung’s hand returns to the wetness between your legs except this time, he’s not teasing. He presses a finger in deep and you whine, hips wiggling. You squeeze down on his finger, pussy spasming as he begins to pump leisurely, like he has all the time in the world.

And he does, doesn’t he? The work is far from done and the world is falling apart, but it doesn’t matter because he’s here with you. Because Soonyoung is yours again - always has been - and because he’s drawing your mouth toward his to kiss you messily, swallowing down your moans as he presses in another finger. 

Now you crumble beneath him. You can’t stop your hips from coming off the bed. You loop your arms around his neck, keeping him close, breathing the same air. He presses his forehead to yours, eyes impossible dark and half-lidded as he hooks his fingers, dragging them against that sensitive spot. 

You cry out his name and he grins. Now he knows where it is, pressing repeatedly as he fucks you on his fingers, driving you directly toward an orgasm. Your breathing becomes labored, your legs squeezing his hips, your fingers digging into his shoulders. It is so good that you think you might die, letting him yank you toward release. 

Soonyoung kisses you again and you come crashing down, cumming around his fingers, body squeezing, ignoring the ache in your ribs and the millions of other places that you’re sore. He doesn’t slow down, scissoring his fingers to pry you open, to stretch you more.

“Soonyoung,” you gasp, voice wrecked. “Soonyoung Soonyoung Soonyoung.” 

“Just like that,” he agrees. You can tell he loves the way you say his name, knows that on your tongue it means something different. “Come on, one more.” 

You’ll give him anything he wants. Never again will you deny him. You let him work you up again, feeling the way your breath gets stuck in your lungs and you shiver, another wave washing through you as you shudder around his fingers. 

When you start to pant, he pulls his fingers out. You feel the wet schlick as he does, immediately hating the way you feel empty, hating the way he leans away from you. Whining, you reach out toward him, needy. He hushes you with a brief kiss, only standing to rid himself of his jeans and briefs. 

Using the fingers covered in your arousal, Soonyoung pumps his cock, smearing a mixture of your slick and his precum down his shaft as he kneels on the bed again, taking his place between your thighs again. You watch with hooded eyes as he rubs the head of his cock through your messy folds, a moan dripping from your lips. 

Soonyoung is beautiful, skin flushed and a sheen of sweat on his arms. His stomach flexes and clenches as he presses the tip of his cock into your entrance, both of you taking a shaky breath together. He slowly slides home, the stretch of him driving you wild, pussy fluttering around him until he’s slotted to the hilt. 

He hangs his head, panting as he plants his hands on either side of your head. He takes a moment to collect himself, shaking. You turn your head to the side, kissing his wrist, peppering any skin you can reach with your love while your hands drift up his back, feeling the muscles flex. 

When he begins to move, you nearly die. It feels so good, your breath lodged in your throat. He lowers his face to yours, kissing you as gently as he fucks you. His thrusts are deep and timed, not hard or fast but slow and measured, pressing all the way in as he uses his weight to his advantage. 

Your fingers turn to talons on his back, nails biting his shoulder blades. He’s precise, the tip of his cock finding the right angle to make you nearly sob in a matter of a few thrusts. It’s familiar. Home. 

Soonyoung lowers himself to his forearms, pressing your chests together. The friction of his skin against your pert nipples makes you squeeze around him, his name a whisper on swollen, kiss-bitten lips. He presses his forehead to yours, breathing shakily as he continues to fuck you.

You feel him everywhere, feel everything that he wants to say. Soonyoung has never needed words to communicate to you and he doesn’t now, the way he shakes as he lets out a wispy moan enough, the way he slides one of his arms under your back to cradle you to his chest, closer closer closer.

He wants to be closer and so do you, arms around his neck, drawing him to you. You never want to let him go, never will let him go. You’ve learned your lesson and this, right here with him is the only thing that matters. 

“Shh,” he hushes. You realize you’re crying, tasting salt on your lips when he brushes his mouth against yours. “I know.” 

“I love you.”

“I know.” 

Soonyoung’s pace picks up only a little bit. It’s enough, sending you careening toward your third orgasm. He can feel it - needs it. He chases after your high, catching your mouth to brush his tongue against yours, rolling his hips until you’re clenching around him, whining into his mouth, lips buzzing against his.

He hums against you, waiting until your pussy lets go of its vice grip to speed up a little bit, the wet smack of his hips against yours loud and lewd, driving him forward until he comes, your name on his lips, his face buried in your neck. His thrusts slow, both of you trembling like leaves until he finally stops, remaining seated inside of you. 

“I will love you for a thousand lifetimes,” he mutters against your mouth, with no intention of moving. “You know that, right Baby?” 

You nod, fingers digging into his shoulder blades. “Leave me at your own peril, Kwon Soonyoung,” you rasp, quoting yourself that first night he finally caved, where he finally told you that he couldn’t exist without you. “I will never go anywhere ever again.” 

TAG LIST

@ddaddunugu @ourkivee @tie-nn @cookiearmy @thesunsfullmoon @stray-bi-kids @ldysmfrst @thepoopdokyeomtouched @avochele @onlywon4u @hopeless-foolery @iamawkwardandshy @gyuguys @codeinebelle @ateez-atiny380 @abibliolife @idubiluranghae @bultaereume @yoongznme @kaitieskidmore97 @coffee-addict-kitten @gyubakeries @archivistworld

If you do not see your tag here, it didn't work.

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

[loveisanimaginarydagger3000]

Good Luck, Babe!- Epilogue (1)

Wanda Maximoff X Reader 18+

Inspired by the song 'Good Luck, Babe!' by Chappell Roan

Summary: Returning to Westview after twelve years away causes you to look back on your secret love affair with Wanda, to remember the intimate moments you shared together before her refusal to accept her true self drove the two of you apart, leaving you to pick up the pieces of your broken heart alone.

What happens when you reunite with the woman you've been trying so hard to forget, forced to watch her suffer in an unhappy marriage that was slowly drowning her, still too scared to confront her true feelings?

Chapter 9- 10.1k Words- This chapter contains 18+ Smut

Good Luck, Babe! Masterlist

Chapter 1 | Chapter 8

Chapter Warnings/Tags: Plot (with brief reference to homophobic parents) before eventual 18+ Smut, Thigh Riding, Fingering, Oral sex, Soft smut, Insecurities about body image, Reference to poor previous relationships, Aftercare. 

---

The sound of a knock at your door drew your attention away from your task at hand, hand pausing with the wooden spoon still in the pot of boiling water, the pasta still swirling around in the water as you halted, eyes flickering over to the clock and brows furrowing at who could possibly be knocking on your door so late. Swiftly, you lowered the heat on the pan before wiping your hands with a cloth, carrying it mindlessly with you to the door to answer, the questions arising in your mind answered as you opened the door, revealing auburn hair that you failed to stop being in awe of.

The warmth that escaped you in your past resurfaced as you made eye contact with the green of Wanda’s eyes, the sight alone of the mesmerising shade wrapping tendrils of love around your heart as you offered her a gentle smile, your eyes instantly taking the hint of apprehension and hesitancy written across her angelic features, gripping your attention as your brows furrowed once more. Wanda shuffled slightly under your enamoured gaze, still not quite used to the sheer amount of emotion you could express with a look before returning your tender expression, the uneasy feeling within her diminishing slightly as she took note of the tea towel in your hand, oblivious to Lucky who was now by your side trying to steal the item.

“Hey,” you softly murmur as you eventually feel the item slipping out of your hand, your gaze only briefly flickering away from the other woman before naturally being drawn back, still unable to stop the longing inside you to appreciate every moment you spent with her. “Is everything ok?” Your tone is laced with concern to match with the look on your face, Wanda’s chest blooming with warmth at your care, her eyes drifting away from you as she contemplated her answer, still trying to adjust to the change in your relationship.

It had only been a couple weeks since the two of you confessed to each other, two weeks since she had finally muttered the words ‘I love you’ and learnt to accept herself, two weeks since she discovered that there was nothing else in the world other than you she wanted as she somehow managed to fall even more in love with you. It was overwhelming, the innate desire within her to be with you, the yearning of the last twelve years almost nothing in comparison to the affection and warmth she’d feel in your presence, her soul desperate for you. The two of you were taking things slow, not wanting to overstep a boundary or rush into anything as you were both mature enough to realise there was more pressing matters in your lives to attend to, Wanda spending most of her time trying to have a civil conversation with Vision about the divorce or with Jennifer to figure out the logistics whilst you had been annoyingly busy with work. The reason and logic however didn’t seem to agree with Wanda’s heart though as she wanted more than rushed moments with you due to life, she wanted to be with you, to feel the comfort you provided but she was still unsure of how to do so, her relationship with Vision making it hard for her to ask for things she wanted. She knew you were different but she was still scared of the rejection she had grown used to.

“Yeah I just- I had a long day and I...” She starts, trailing off as she lifts her gaze to meet yours, hoping her green conveyed what she wanted to say. I’ve missed you.

Just as you always had been able to, you were able to read her like a book, catching the look in her eye and smiling at her comfortingly, stepping to the side and motioning with your head for her to come in as you could tell she just wanted to be with you. You would be lying if you said you didn’t want the same, shutting the door behind her and encouraging her to make herself at home as you wandered back to the kitchen to check on the food you were making, checking to see if you had made enough to feed her as well.

The last two weeks had be the same kind of torture for you, your body and mind unable to stop thinking about her, something you were fond of but also a little embarrassed about, feeling as though you were a teenager once again, infatuated with the girl next door and crushing hard. You were hopelessly in love with her and it proved to be harder than you thought not being with her, even if she was only next door. You also longed to spend time with her, to learn about her day, to ease her worries, to reminisce on the past and form new memories together, yet time hadn’t been on your side at the moment but hopefully tonight would be different and the start of something new.

“Have you eaten yet?” You ask in a soft questioning voice, your back to Wanda as she took residence at the kitchen island, perching on a stool and taking in your house once more, never properly appreciating all the little décor that just made it so you. A genuine smile graced her lips at your question, the natural care you showed her making her realise how little she was shown any sort of affection as you looked over your shoulder at her, taking in the sight of her.

“Not yet,” she answers, resting her head against her hand as she gets comfortable, leaning against the countertop and watching the back of you as you moved about, part of her a little excited at the fact that someone else would be cooking her dinner for once, a privilege she wasn’t presented with much. “I just got back from dropping the twins off at my parents,” she explains, a sour tone hinted in her voice making your brow raise, gathering that must have been one of the issues that stressed her out, waiting a moment to see if she wanted to talk about it and get it off her chest.

“I told them everything,” she whispers after a moment, her fingers mindlessly rubbing against her finger, so used to spinning the wedding ring that used to be there when she was anxious, a habit she never seemed to grow out of. Your eyes widened at her words, not wanting to jump to complete conclusions as you turned to face her, your face nothing but reassuring to her as her fingers continued to trace one another. The fact that a simple look from you could ease the storm raging on inside Wanda’s head calmed her, the fact that you were willing to just listen to her, to soothe her making her appreciate you all the more as you patiently stood opposite her, pulling her out of her insecure and doubtful thoughts.

“How did they take it?” You gently ask, checking on the ravioli before pushing yourself away from the stove, slowly making your way over to her till you were stood by her side, fingers brushing back her auburn locks. It felt natural to touch her lovingly, intimately as your hand instinctively moved to cup her jaw, letting her lean into your soothing touch, her eyes fluttering shut as her hand placed itself above yours, revelling in the warmth of your skin.

“They took the divorce better than I expected,” she huffs out, pressing her cheek a little more into your palm as her mind recalls the events of the last few hours, the plan simply being to drop the twins off for a sleepover and inform her parents of the upcoming changes. She remembers vividly the surprise that washed through her at the lack of animosity or irritation from her parents after telling them, the way her mother seemed to share a look of mutual understanding with her before letting her gaze drift to her husband, the sight stirring something uneasy in Wanda before she continued, suddenly building up the courage to confess more, naively thinking she was having a good moment with them.

Your thumb comfortingly brushed against her impossibly soft skin as she spoke, knowing it must have been hard to talk to her family about the situation, knowing that she had always felt such an immense pressure from them. You wished she didn’t try to carry the weight of her world on her shoulders alone, wanting to offer her support when others should have, to let her know that there was nothing ever wrong with her, she wasn’t a failure. She never would be to you.

“They didn’t react so well to you… to us,” Wanda manages out after a moment, a deep and heavy sigh escaping her lips as your face pulls into a look of shock that she had actually told them but also a saddened smile, knowing that it must have been a horrible experience for her.

Wanda had to block out the sudden outburst from her parents as they reacted to her words, the twins playing elsewhere and leaving her vulnerable to the words her father and mother spat at her, the words familiar as they had been thoughts that haunted her mind throughout the entirety of her life. She refused to believe them anymore, the cruel manner in which they were spoken to her still tugging painfully on her heart though, the other woman just wishing her parents could see that she was happy with you. Surely all they should want is her to be happy?

“Pietro said he would talk to them but I just-” She cuts herself off with an exasperated sigh, your lips instinctively pressing to her temple, taking in the brief scent of her sweet shampoo before pulling back, wanting to look her in the eye as you spoke.

“I know,” you murmur in understanding, her form instantly relaxing at not having to try and verbalise her thoughts, her green eyes flickering between your lips and eyes as she savours your touch, fuelling the fire in her heart. “Just so you know, I am so proud of you for everything,” you whisper in an honest and adoring tone, gaze overflowing with so much love it makes Wanda’s breath hitch, the words, the affirmation meaning the world to her as she feels herself finally being cared for. “For admitting it to yourself, for telling them. I know it’s hard but I promise you, I’ll be with you the entire way,” Wanda can’t stop the appreciative smile that tugs at her lips as she peers up at you in a look that can only be described as enamoured, her face turning slightly to press a kiss to your hand before she moves to stand, encouraging you to take a small step back as she lets her body sink into your embrace.

Her arms snake around your waist and as she holds onto you tight, simply needing to be close to you, to bask in your warmth and safety as your words resonate with her, dissipating the doubts that threatened to pick away at her mind as she focussed on you, on the way your hands delicately ran up and down her back, your body gently swaying hers.

“That’s all I could ever want,” she whispers against your shoulder, voice barely audible but loud enough for you to hear as you both relish in the lovers embrace, savouring the feeling of your bodies perfectly slotted against each other like the final piece of a puzzle.

***

A little while later, empty plates fill the sink as yours and Wanda’s laughter echoes around the room, love and warmth bubbling inside you both at the domesticity of the moment as you tidy up after dinner, green eyes trained on you as you move around the kitchen. Wanda couldn’t help but stare at you, constantly amazed at how she could feel something so passionate and powerful inside her towards you, her heart fluttering in her chest as you looked over your shoulder at her once more, casual smile tugging at your lips. It was intoxicating, the sheer amount of comfort you provided, her eyes settling on your lips, watching as they moved but not quite taking the words in as Wanda admired the plumpness of them, the way the corner of your lips tugged up at her oblivious state, her mind replaying the many times they had brushed hers.

Only once her gaze eventually drifted higher did she meet the expectant and playful look in your eyes, each swirl glimmering with a teasing glint as her cheeks flushed red, your hands motioning for her to pick between the two bottles of wine you had picked up. Her brow raised at your fine taste as she subconsciously bit down on her lip, trying to decide and unknowingly setting your body alight at the action, your gaze mirroring her earlier one and zoning in on her lips, memories of them ghosting yours cruelly filling your mind as heat settled within you. God she was beautiful, her auburn locks perfectly framing her face, eyes filled with concentration as she analysed the two bottles, her teeth pressing against her lower lip subtly, it was too much. You craved to feel her lips pressing against yours, to thread your fingers through her hair but you knew better than to rush anything, wanting to take it at her pace.

Instead of walking up to her and kissing her with all the emotions swirling inside you, you poured her a glass of wine as she requested, encouraging her to go into the living room and make herself comfortable whilst you brought them in, moving to sit next to her on the sofa. Wanda seemed to appreciate the action as she naturally moved closer to you, your fingers brushing as you handed her the glass, the delicate touch enough to send sparks throughout you both as your gazes meet, conveying more than words ever could.

Part of you didn’t want to break the longing look as you took in every shade of green but you decided to at the sudden tension building in the room as Wanda let her gaze drift to your lips again, her eyes darkening a little in desire and making it hard for you to keep your composure. You focussed on putting on an old sitcom you knew she loved to distract yourself, your eyes scanning the screen of the Tv to find the show whilst also noticing her in the corner of your eyes, her gaze still firmly locked on you as she sipped from her wine, seemingly contemplating something in her mind.

“You’re staring again,” you murmur in a gentle tease, turning your head slightly to meet her flustered expression at having been caught again, mirth evident in your features as her cheeks tinted pink, one of her fingers tracing the rim of the glass as she held it with the other, slender digits wrapping around the item.

“Admiring,” she corrects, “I was admiring you,” her teasing smile a sign of her amusement as she leans back against the sofa, keeping her gaze on you before briefly looking over at the Tv as to what you were doing. “I didn’t think you’d remember,” she whispers almost in a confession and slightly confused tone at the fact you had memorised her favourite show, her heart skipping a beat at the fact you had paid so much attention to her that even after years, you still knew the subtle things she enjoyed.

“It would be hard to forget as it was the only thing you ever talked about,” you taunted, recalling the many nights where she’d simply tell you the plot of her favourite episodes as you enjoyed hearing her rave on about the show, the enthusiasm and passion adorable to you as you would watch her with a loving look, wanting to hear her talk forever.

“It wasn’t the only thing,” she mumbled back in response, taking another sip of her wine as your smile grew, your body moving momentarily to place your glass down on the table and out of the way.

“Oh yeah?” Your tone is full of humour as you turn your body slightly to face her better, taking in the way her brow raises at your challenging tone, “What else did you talk about?”

“How insufferable you were,” she teases back, a glimmer of triumph clear in her eyes as you simply chuckle back in response, the sound blessing her ears as she had missed this, the playful conversations you would share, teasing one another until the other would break, most likely kissing the other to shut them up. “You were pretty annoying,” she whispers light-heartedly, the teasing expression on her face faltering at the way your hand naturally moves to her thigh, squeezing softly as you laugh with her, eyes meeting hers with an entertained look.

“You secretly loved it,” you murmur back, unaware at how the two of you had both leaned in slightly, Wanda however realising and moving to lean back so she could also place her glass down, wanting to move them out of the way as warmth settled deep within the pit of her stomach. The feeling of your fingers against her thigh sent a shiver down her spine, a sudden heat and desire consuming her as she licked her lips subconsciously to wet them, tasting the remnants of the wine on them as her gaze met yours, noticing how your pupils dilated as you looked at her.

“I did,” she whispers and neither of you seem to be able to stop the way you both gravitated towards one another, both of your gazes drifting lower.

Wanda wanted you, she needed you, she needed to feel wanted, to feel desired and be looked at in that loving way. Her heart longed to feel appreciated, to feel as though she was the most important thing in the world, to feel cared for, to lose herself in something, in you. Her body longed to feel your touch, to feel your hands caress her cheeks, her hips, her inner thighs as all she could remember was the ghost of your touch, haunting her in all the right and wrong ways. She needed to replace the feeling of larger hands that were only selfish, she wanted to be touched in a way that screamed I loved you, a touch that you were only ever able to satisfy her with.

“Wanda,” you sighed out as you noticed the distance between you close, an intimate atmosphere wrapping around the two of you as you leaned in, waiting to let years of passion consume you both. You craved her in a way that you didn’t think was possible, you were addicted to her, to her lips, to the sinful yet sweet sounds that’d spill from her, the taste of her as she would come undone in your mouth. She was like a drug, one you had been deprived of for too long and desperate for, trying to hold on to the last part of your restraint before you’d relapse into the desire you had for her.

“Y/n,” she whispers out and the sound of your name falling so gracefully from her lips set your entire body ablaze, your hand reaching up to her cheek, cupping it gently as your lips ghosted one another in a tantalising manner, not quite brushing just yet. It was teasing for both of you, waiting for the other to make the first move, not wanting to rush anything yet but your bodies had their demands, desire getting the better of you both as you had waited long enough. You needed each other.

“If we kiss, I… I don’t think I’ll be able to stop,” you confess, your mouths so close Wanda can feel your lips move as you murmur to her, her heart beating wildly in her chest as anticipation gets the better of her, her hand moving to your hair, slowly threading her fingers in an making you flutter your eyes shut at the pleasant feeling.

“Who said I’d want to stop?” Wanda sighs out after what feels like an eternity when it was realistically seconds, the words enough to break your restraint as you tilt your head to crash your lips to hers, the world around you fading away.

The two of you both moaned into the kiss at the sheer intensity of it, the love and passion that your lips moved with against one another as you stole each other's breath away, both literally and figuratively as you refused to part your lips from hers. It was relentless, the way fervent lips moulded against one another, her fingers tightening their grip in your hair as your fingers moved to cup her jaw, splaying against her burning skin as you pulled her face back to yours, feeling as though the world would end if you stopped touching each other.

Wanda moaned softly into your mouth when you deepened the kiss, sliding your tongue against hers in a lewd yet sensual manner as you explored each others mouths, your free hand moving to her waist, caressing the skin in that intoxicating manner she adored, a sigh spilling from her lips in between heated kisses. Her body moved on its own as she manoeuvred to straddle you, the desire and craving inside her overpowering her as she settles on your lap, the action dragging out a deep groan from you as her thighs squeeze around your body, her back arching her chest further into yours.

“Fuck,” the word leaves you breathlessly as the two of you briefly part, your mind fogged with arousal as you take in the sight of her straddling you, her lips kiss swollen and hair a little ruffled, her green overflowing with want as she panted above you, scanning your features. You watched her curiously as she took in your equally dishevelled state, the passion of the moment dwindling slightly into a softer and slower tone, the urgency and desire still prevalent in all your touches though as her hand cups your jaw, tilting your head up to meet her lowering mouth.

It feels like you're waiting an eternity until she lowers her face even more, her lips barely putting any pressure on yours as they briefly brush over them. Your eyes flutter close when you feel her other hand move to your shoulder, drifting down over your collarbone and back up in a soft manner, waiting for her to kiss you, to crash her lips to yours, to do anything at this point as you just wait, wait and wait.

When she feels like she's savoured the moment enough, Wanda kisses you. She kisses you in a manner that shows she's been starved of your lips forever; it's hot, it's desperate, it's passionate. It's everything you wanted it to be. You can't do anything but melt into her touch, hand clutching at her waist to ground yourself as all you can think of is her lips moving against yours, her body pressed up against yours, her soft fingers threading through your hair, just her. You wanted to worship her, to show her all the love in the world, to show her how your heart only beats for her. She was all you ever needed.

A soft moan leaves you at the intensity of the kiss, heat immediately taking over your body, her touch burning into your skin as arousal pools between your legs at the feeling of her lips moving against yours, a sensual sigh escaping her as you pull back from the kiss, eyes darkening with desire as you peer up into the green. Your lips peck hers in between laboured breaths, her hands moving to your shoulders, gliding them down your back and earning another sinful noise out of you, your lips tugging into a smirk as her breath hitches at the feeling of your hands at the bottom of her shirt, cold fingertips brushing the bare skin of her stomach. However, the action doesn’t quite yet the reaction you hoped it would as she tenses above you, pulling back from the kiss and worrying you, scared you had crossed a line.

“I’m sorry,” you pant out, still breathless and dazed at the intense amount of arousal that clouds your mind, concern evident in your features and touch as your hands move to her thighs, softly brushing over the fabric of her jeans as she avoids your gaze momentarily. “We don’t have to-” you start, wanting to express to her that there was never any pressure between you, but she cuts you off, her gaze finally meeting yours.

Your brows furrowed at the look of insecurity in her eyes, your face softening as you let her speak, her fingers mindlessly playing with the loose strands at the back of your neck, eyes drifting over your features as she airs her worries.

“I want to,” she quickly reassures, leaving her green on your lips to emphasise her point before she looks into your eyes, basking in the safety your longing look offers her. “I just… I need you to know that I’m not the same as I was,” she whispers, anxiety and nervousness lacing her words as she lifts her hands to motion towards her body, avoiding your gaze once more as her mind casts back to the few comments Vision had made about her body post giving birth to the twins, the words sticking with her. She didn’t feel as though she was beautiful anymore and she didn’t want you to be disappointed.

Upon seeing her shaky hands and hearing her words, you sit up straighter to look into her timid green, fingers naturally moving to interlock with hers, encouraging her to look at you as your eyes fill with nothing but love, needing her to hear you.

“Wanda,” you murmur when she still doesn't meet your gaze, the insecurities gnawing away at her mind until your finger gently tips her chin up, her green instantly meeting yours and dissipating the worry. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,” you confess, holding the intimate gaze and expressing the honesty in your words, the overwhelming amount of care in your voice stirring something deep inside her as she feels her emotions wracking through her, your words healing wounds she never realised cut so deep. “I love everything about you,” you murmur as you lean forwards, noticing how the worry slowly drains from her face, your noses brushing as you tease her with your lips, wanting her to hear you. “Your smile, your laughter, your heart. I love everything because they are a part of you. I love your body, even after all these years, because I know the amazing things it has done, the things you have done,” your words are laced with a delicate and loving tone as your fingers stay interlocked with hers, your hand squeezing hers as you peck her lips, smiling into the brief kiss as you feel her let out a relieved sigh, her body pushing hers closer to you as she kisses you again, wanting to drown herself in your love. “I also love that it’s still so sensitive to my touch,” you add in a gentle tease to ease the atmosphere, earning a soft chuckle from her as she kisses you with a little more purpose this time, the heat that had settled between her thighs making its presence known again.

“I’ve missed your touch,” she murmurs into a kiss, widening the smile on your lips as your hands move to her waist, caressing her soft curves as she grows more comfortable and confident, her hips slowly grinding down against you, sparks of pleasure filtering through her.

“Yeah?” you sigh out a little coyly into another slow and sensual kiss, your teeth biting down on her lower lip gently and dragging it down before releasing it, letting your tongue soothe over the dull pain you caused, relishing in the groan that escapes her.

“I’ve missed feeling so… so wanted,” she sighs out, letting you kiss along her jaw, peppering it in hot open-mouthed kisses as you trail her sharp jawline, dipping lower to her neck and kissing along her throat, teeth teasingly scraping over the searing skin.

“I’ll always want you, Wanda,” you whisper back without any hesitation, pressing a lewd kiss to the juncture of her neck, knowing she was sensitive there before pulling away from the skin before you’d start to cover it in marks, not sure how she’d feel about them. “I never want you to forget what you mean to me,” you husk out as your mouth ghosts her ear, hands guiding her hips with more purpose in your lap, her breath hitching in a sinful manner when her hips roll at just the right angle against you, a bolt of arousal shooting through her. “I want to worship you,” your tone makes Wanda moan at the sheer desire lacing your words, the way your teeth gently nibble on her ear lobe adding to the arousal coursing through her, her body drunk on your touch, on you.

“Please,” she practically whimpers out and fuck you’ve missed the sound of her begging you, a groan leaving your lips as you move your mouth back to hers, crashing your lips together. The love and care underlies the kiss but you both once again are taken over by lust, your actions fuelling one another as your hands drift to her hips, slowing her hips against your lap whilst her fingers tangle in your locks, tugging your head closer and never wanting to part from you until you motion for the two of you to move.

The journey to your room was a blur, hands roaming each other's bodies until the back of Wanda’s knees hit the bed, her body gently falling back against the mattress, her hair splaying across the sheets. You’re quick to climb over her body, pressing her further into the mattress, your lips moulding to hers as you claim her lips over and over again, only pulling back to admire the woman beneath you as your knee slots between her legs, earning a sinful sound. Your gaze is nothing but awestruck as you look down at her angelic form, Wanda shying a little at how in love you seemed, her hands grabbing the fabric of your shirt and pulling you back down to her, needing to feel you do something, anything to her at this point.

You take the hint and press your lips back to hers for a bruising kiss, your hand moving from the back of her thigh up her body, reaching the hem of your shirt and pausing, wanting permission this time as your eyes search hers, asking the silent question. Only when she nods confidently do you continue, your fingers sliding under the fabric and feeling the smooth and soft skin of her stomach, a sigh leaving her at the feeling of your fingers against her bare skin, the touch no longer just a memory.

“Y/n,” Wanda moans out as your hands trace over her ribcage, exploring the skin you longed to feel again, a hum leaving your lips as you refuse to part, your fingers pausing at the fabric of her bra, hands sliding out from under her shirt.

“Is this ok?” You whisper as your fingers wrap around the hem of her shirt, your intentions clear as she mutters a quick ‘yes’ in response before you swiftly remove the item from her, your gaze remaining on hers, catching the brief anxious glint again. You soothe her worries with loving and passionate kiss, your hands copying the actions you previously did but ghosting over her bra, teasing her in a torturous manner as her back arches to chase your touch, your name falling from her lips in a desperate plea, the sound going straight to your head and core.

Once your lips part, you pull slightly to take in the sight of her, your mouth parting at the sheer beauty of her, her body sculpted by the gods, her soft curves enticing, your fingers brushing lovingly over the marks you knew she was anxious about, the touch filled with awe and adoration. Your hands then slide up her body and around to her back, unclasping her bra after another nod of approval and eagerly taking the item off her, a sudden nostalgic feeling bubbling inside you as you remember the first time you spent together, the awkwardness as you both fumbled to undress, simply wanting to lose yourselves to the lustful moment.

“Fuck,” Wanda sighs out and its sinful when your hands gently cup her breasts, her body sensitive to your touch as her hips start to grind against your leg, begging for more friction to ease the incessant throb between her thighs. “Please,” she whimpers as your lips press against her jaw, letting her breathe for a moment as your fingers brush over her nipples, dragging out sensual sighs from her as you toy with her body, pressing your knee further against her and feeling her hips buck up hard against you, a broken moan being ripped from the back of her throat.

“Please what?” You rasp out in a tease, “You have to tell me what you want, love.” The term of endearment only adds to the arousal flooding through Wanda as the dominant tone to your voice goes straight to her core, her hips grinding against your thigh at a steady pace, pleasure swiftly building at the pit of her stomach whilst her hands clutch at your shoulders, nails grasping at the fabric of your shirt, wanting to pull it off.

“You, I want you,” she sighs out, pulling the shirt over your head and moaning into the kiss at the feeling of your bare bodies pressed against one another, one of her hands sliding up into your hair whilst the other scratches down your back, earning a pleased groan from you. “I need you,” she adds in a desperate tone, her voice and hips wavering, signalling to you how close she was as her hips rolled and rocked against you, the fabric of her jeans brushing perfectly against her clit.

“You have me,” you tease, one of your hands moving to her ass, guiding her against your leg and deliberately slowing her pace down, her frantic rhythm pushing her closer to her release. “Use my thigh first, love, then I’ll give you what you want,” your tone lowers an octave as you murmur to her, a moan leaving her at your words and the promise behind them, her mind running wild with fantasies as the memory of your fingers buried deep inside her and your tongue fucking her fills her mind.

“Shit, I’m so close,” Wanda sighs out, her head lolling back against the mattress, her neck exposed for you to kiss down, to mark as you suck a faint bruise at the base of her neck where she could easily hide, the action earning a desperate whine and encouraging the action.

“That’s it, good girl,” you praise as her nails dig into your back, her hips grinding relentlessly against you as she chases her high, the praise making her hips buck hard against you, a broken noise escaping her.

“Say it again, please say it again,” she pants out, eyes squeezed shut as pleasure threatens to crash through her, her fingers tightening their grip on your hair as she softly tugs you away from her collar bone, needing to feel your tongue sliding against hers.

“My good girl,” you husk out against her lips, a pitiful whine escaping her as she feels the coil at the pit of her stomach about to snap, her eyes fluttering open to ask you the silent question. Warmth and arousal instantly floods through you at the begging look in her green, the sheer amount of desperation and submission evident in her gaze enough to make you give in, your lips brushing hers as you mutter the words, “Come for me Wanda.”

With a final roll of her hips, Wanda’s body tensed against yours, a string of moans being muffled by your incessant mouth while pleasure consumed her entirely, her hands holding you close. Your hands slowed her movements against your thigh, letting her buck against you as she rode out the last waves of her orgasm, body melting against yours as she panted for breath.

Your gentle breath caressed her lips as she eventually opened her eyes in response to the soft praise you whispered, a blissed smile creeping onto her lips as your foreheads pressed against each other, her hips gradually coming to a stop against you as you kissed her one last time before starting to move down her body, ready to worship her as you promised.

“You’re so…” you trail off as your lips pepper hot open-mouthed kisses along her collar bones, hands drifting down her sides, caressing her beautiful curves and massaging her soft skin, feeling the way her body twitched at your touch in anticipation, her breath hitching when your mouth ghosted over one of her sensitive nipples.

“So?” She pants out, brushing back your hair so she could meet your seductive gaze as you took her nipple into your mouth, tongue swirling over the sensitive bud in a manner that drove her crazy, dragging moans out of her freely.

“Perfect. Beautiful. Mesmerising,” you punctate each word with a kiss down her body after you lavished her chest with kisses, your lips burning into her skin at each intoxicating touch, your words causing a deep blush to cover her cheeks and even the top of her chest, your lips tugging up into an amused smile at the reaction. “You’re everything to me,” you whisper against her stomach, pressing lingering kisses against the stretch marks that littered her skin from when she was pregnant with the twins, showing her your appreciation for her beauty and how the marks didn’t disgust you. You loved each and every single one as they told part of her story, your lips and hands brushing over the tender skin as your face practically nuzzled against her, worshipping her.

When your lips met the waistband of her jeans, you cast your eyes up her body, a moan escaping you at the sight of her flushed face staring down at you, your compliments flustering her and clouding her mind with want as she stared down at you settling between her thighs, her nails scratching at your scalp softly.

“Please,” she whispered with an overwhelming amount of want, your lips pressing a teasing kiss to the waistband of her jeans before moving to take the item off her, purposely taking your time. Your fingers move slowly and deliberately as you hold her intense gaze, languidly unfastening them before slowly unzipping them, watching in amusement as you see her chest start to rise and fall with ragged breaths, the teasing torturing her. “Detka, please,” she begs again and the use of her native tongue almost makes you cave, almost, an affected sigh escaping you at how her accent beautifully laced her words.

“Be patient,” you murmur back, her hips lifting to help you slide the fabric down her long, slender legs, leaving her just in her panties, a visible wet spot there for you to admire. “I’ll give you what you want soon,” you promise, merely earning a whine from her as she knew you intended on dragging this out, her heart beating wildly in her chest. “So needy,” you tease as your fingers brush over her clit through the soaked fabric, her hips immediately twitching at the teasing action, her hand in your hair tightening once more, pleading with you to hurry up.

“You’ve waited twelve years for this, can’t you wait a little longer,” you amusingly murmur as you kiss her hip bone, smiling against her skin as you hear her groan in frustration, her free hand gripping the sheets to help control herself.

“I think I’ve waited long enough,” she mutters back, earning a chuckle from you as your fingers drag over the wet fabric, slowly circling her clit in a way that’d only drive her insane with desire, her mouth parting to let a low moan spill from her lips. “Please… Please just fuck me,” she begs and all you can do is curse against her skin as you kiss her inner thigh, your hand spreading her legs out for you, eyes hazy with desire.

You give in partially to her, unable to take the teasing yourself as you press a sinful kiss against her clit through her panties, her body trembling already at your touch as the action pulls out a desperate whine from her, the noise turning into a pleased moan when you start to pull the wet fabric off of her. A gasp leaves her lip at the feeling of her core meeting the cold air in the room, your fingers inching closer towards where she desperately needed you, your eyes drinking in the sight of her dripping for you, arousal glistening in the gentle light from the room.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” you whisper as you kiss around her core, not giving her the satisfaction of your mouth just yet, the frustrated moan breaking into a relieved sigh at the feeling of your finger finally meeting her core. You move your finger through the abundance of arousal that’s pooled between her thighs, sliding your finger to her clit and slowly circling it to begin with, your mouth addicted to her soft skin as you mark her inner thighs, wanting her to remember everything from tonight, to see them tomorrow and think back to the sight of you between her thighs, her hands buried in your hair, keeping you as close as possible.

As you touch grows more confident and firmer, moans spilling from her lips, her hips start to roll against your hand, your free hand reaching up to interlock with her fingers at the sheets, letting her grasp onto you instead as you slide your finger down to her entrance, teasingly thrusting it in before sliding it out, coaxing her to chase your finger with her hips as she bucks against you, Wanda able to feel you smirking against her skin.

“Please stop teasing,” she pleas at the feeling of your fingers still teasing her entrance, too busy savouring the sight of her body completely melting at your touch. “I can’t take it anymore,” she whimpers, your composure cracking at her tone, your eyes taking in the sight of her sharp jawline on display as her head lolled back, an idea entering your mind.

“Look at me Wanda,” your tone is dominant but also desperate, the sound making the woman beneath you realise how turned on you were, a shaky breath escaping her. When her green eyes finally find the courage to look down at you, her breath hitches at the hungry yet soft look in your eyes, a moan of your name spilling from her lips as you keep your gaze on her whilst finally sinking your finger into her. “That’s it, keep your pretty eyes on me or I’ll stop, I want you to watch,” you husk out as she watches in awe at the way you thrust your finger into her, the room filling with the wet sounds of your finger pumping into her and her sinful sighs.

“Please Detka, fuck,” she groans when you slide your finger back in slowly and add another, purposely taking your time with her as you intended to drive her mad with your touch, her eyes staying trained on your enamoured gaze as you curl your digits inside her, Wanda’s mouth parting at the feeling. “Shit, just like that, please do that again,” she practically begged as you thrust your finger back in, hitting her sweet spot perfectly while heat floods through you at the sound of her desperate voice, pleasure sparking through her and coursing through her veins.

“Do you need more, love?” You mumble against her skin as your mouth hovers over her intoxicating core, wanting to hear how desperate she is for you, your fingers persisting with your deliberately slow pace, gradually building the pleasure within her as her hips gently rock against your hand, pleasure building at the pit of her stomach and making her clench desperately around you.

“Please,” is all she moans back in response, your resolve crumbling, unable to resist her anymore as your mouth licks a stripe up her core, moans escaping you both at the feeling.

Your wet and warm mouth sparks pleasure and delirium within her, her hips bucking up against you as you nuzzle your face closer, desperate to get a better taste of her heavenly arousal on your tongue, intending to show her exactly how much you love her.

The sound of her lewd moans and the taste of her on your tongue makes you lightheaded with the thought of her, addicted and constantly craving more of her as your tongue swipes through her folds, pleasure flooding through her body as you thrust your fingers into her faster, forgoing with anymore teasing as you couldn’t handle it anymore, never mind her.

“Fuck you taste so good,” you moan into her core, almost forgetting the sweet yet salty taste of her as your lips wrap around her clit, sucking gently whilst you peer up into her lust-filled green, her mouth parting in euphoria as pleasure buzzed through her, hips rocking to meet your hungry mouth.

Her fingers tightened once again in your hair, nails scratching your scalp to create a dull pain whilst you part your interlocked fingers to wrap your hand around her thigh, pulling her impossibly closer and spreading her legs a little more as you get lost within her, tongue swirling over her clit before wrapping around it, sucking firmly as you focussed on every little reaction she offered you. You longed to forever remember the desperate moan that was ripped from the back of her throat at the way your fingers curled and mouth sucked on her at the same time, the hitch of her breath as your tongue swirled around her clit, the way her body twitched as pleasure took over her, swiftly pushing her towards her release. You needed to remember it all.

Her hips soon started to roll against your mouth, coating your chin in her slick as your tongue lapped at her clit, alternating between sucking firmly and swirling your tongue around her, sinful sounds spilling from her lips as her body started to tremble in your grasp, her moans growing louder when you curl them at just the right spot once again.

“Detka, I- Please,” are the only words that she can manage as one of her hands shoot down to grip the sheet beneath her, knuckles bleeding white whilst her other one persists in keeping your head between her thighs, needing you to push her over the edge. “Please don’t stop,” she groans as you curl both of your fingers against her sweet spot, her vision almost blurring at the overwhelming feeling of love and pleasure coursing through her body, your body desperate to watch her fall apart at your touch. “I’m going to come-” Wanda manages in a broken moan, an equally desperate noise escaping you, the vibrations making her buck against your fingers, a whimper leaving her when her enticing green meets your soft and dominant gaze, giving her permission to fall over the edge.

“Come for me,” you murmur against her, keeping your eyes on hers as you watch them roll to the back of her head momentarily, her head lolling back and showing off her defined jawline as her hips stutter against your face, body tensing. A guttural moan escapes her at the amount of pleasure that floods through her, her fingers almost tearing through the sheet as she lifts it to her mouth, trying to muffle the small scream of your name as her release crashes through her, ecstasy and euphoria merging into one.

Your lips pepper soft kisses against her inner thighs as she attempts to recover, your fingers tracing random patterns against her skin as you wait for her to look back down at you, your eyes admiring her, in awe of her beauty as she lays beneath you, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.

Soft pants spill from her lips as she moves her fingers in your hair, her hand tugging your head away from her sensitive core, her hips still gently rolling against your hand as she rides out the last waves of her intense high, her body soon slumping against the sheets after you slide your fingers out, a sudden emptiness filling her. Your lips climb back up her body, ensuring every inch of her body was showered in affection whilst you whispered more praise before you met her lips, only brushing them briefly and intimately before you pulled back, offering her one of your digits covered in her cum and arousal.

A low groan escaped you when she obediently and willingly parted her lips for you to slide the digit in, her eyes fluttering shut in pleasure and submission at the action as her tongue swirled around your finger, your mind recalling the way her tongue felt on your core, only adding to the heat that still bubbled in the pit of your stomach. Only once she had cleaned your finger did you copy the action with your other one, keeping your gaze on her as you licked her cum off your finger, offering her a teasing smile as her cheeks flushed at the action, eyes darkening in desire again as she pulled your down against her body, kissing you passionately and moaning softly at the taste of herself on your tongue.

Your body moves to lay next to her when the kiss slowly dwindles, your breaths ragged as you fall onto your back, Wanda’s heart dropping momentarily as she fears you were going to leave, to simply roll over and go to sleep like he did after they’d be together, but the worry is swiftly eased when she feels your arm wrap around her body, encouraging her to lay into your side, her face moving to the crook of your neck. You expected her to simply sink into your embrace, to let her exhaustion take over her but you were pleasantly surprised by the feeling of her hand moving to your bare chest, the tip of her nail dragging down between the valley of your breasts and lower, her lips pressing an innocent kiss to your neck, a satisfied hum leaving her at the soft and desperate sigh that left you.

“You don’t have to,” you whisper softly, the want in your voice still lingering as her hand teasingly brushes over your body, her lips kissing up along the side of your neck as you tilt your head to the side, letting her place teasing kisses against your burning skin and engraving the feeling of them into your mind. You can feel her smile against your skin at the care in your words, not wanting her to feel pressured into giving you anything back, her lips eventually meeting the shell of your ear as her hand reaches the waistband of your jeans, fingers deftly unfastening them.

“I want to,” she rasps out at the shell of your ear, her low tone and the way her accent seeps into her words making you let out a shaky breath, your hands swiftly moving down your body to help her rid you of the last of your clothes, her hand quickly returning to your hip. “I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” Wanda whispers into your ear, her touch the opposite of your teasing one as her fingers waste no time in sliding through your folds, needing to touch you, to please you, a gasp leaving you at the feeling of her nimble fingers effortlessly sliding through your slick, covered in your arousal. “I’ve wanted to love you like you were mine,” she continues, her thigh moving to rest over yours, keeping your legs spread and hips still as you try to grind up against her fingers, your jaw clenched slightly as you try to muffle the already desperate sounds that threaten to spill from you at the feeling of your bare skin pressed together.

“All yours,” you managed back, your body overwhelmed by pleasure and arousal as she circles your clit a few more times before dipping her finger lower, effortlessly sinking into you and earning a small groan.

“Mine,” she mutters as she kisses your cheek, then the corner of your mouth as you stifle another moan, a little embarrassed at how quickly the pleasure built in the pit of your stomach, her fingers curling beautifully inside you, her palm brushing over your clit. “I want to hear you, don’t hide,” she murmurs, desperate to hear the effect she had on you, her body longing to feel you spasming around her fingers, to hear you moaning her name freely.

“Shit, Wanda,” you instantly sigh out, trying to buck your hips up but her thigh keeping you down, one of your hands gripping the sheets by your side whilst your other shoots down to her thigh, gripping onto her as her fingers slide in and out of you lewdly. “You feel so good, I- God, you're such a good girl,” you rasp out, the praise making her groan against your skin as she kisses your cheek, encouraging you to tilt your face and meet her lips, her fingers relentless as they curl at the perfect spot, bolts of pleasure sparking through you. You simply pant into her mouth as she thrusts her fingers into you a little faster, her fingers hitting your sweet spot at a different angle and having you moan abruptly into her mouth, your body teetering on the edge.

At the way you clench desperately around her, your mouth struggling to kiss her back, Wanda can tell that your close, her lips swallowing every sound she could as you sighed and moaned against her, her lips ghosting yours as she felt your hips grinding as best they could against her hand, her palm perfectly rubbing against your clit.

“Are you close?” She whispers in a slight tease, already knowing the answer as you simply nod in response, your eyes squeezed shut as you focussed on the euphoria and delirium of her touch, Wanda’s gaze memorising every reaction you offered her. “Please come for me,” Wanda mutters in a soft tone, a desperate tone and it’s enough to make the coil inside you snap, your nails digging into her thigh as your body crashes into its release, the pleasure and intimacy of the moment blurring your vision as you ride out your intense high. You clench desperately around her fingers, walls spasming around her as you rut against her hand, your forehead resting against hers whilst you pant, experiencing the last of your release before you melt against the sheets, relaxation and euphoria coursing through you at the feeling of your bodies sinking into one another.

Her lips pepper soft and loving kisses against your face as you smile at her, fluttering your eyes open to search the green eyes you’d fallen so hard for, conveying all your love for her in the gentle and lingering stare. You lift your hand to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear, watching her gaze soften as she savours your caring and affection touch, her heart fluttering in her chest at every tender action.

Wanda hated how, despite the moment being perfect, she still had a gnawing doubt in the back of her mind that you were going to leave her alone as she had grown used to being left to clean and tend to herself, her body simply craving your comfort after such an intimate moment. The worry seemed to express itself subtly within her gaze, your eyes noticing the small glint of fear in her expressive green and silently asking her to explain what was bothering her, the back of your fingers brushing her cheek in a soothing manner.

“Please don’t leave,” is all she whispers, her voice wavering with emotion as your features soften at her tone, your mind grasping a vague idea at the unfair treatment she had received and motivating you to take even more care of her, simply wanting to give her the world.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you murmur with conviction, reassuring her as your hand moves to her free one, lifting it to your lips to kiss before you interlock your fingers, knowing she liked to play with your hand when she felt nervous or simply wanted to be calmed down. “But we need to go to the bathroom to clean up,” you whisper after you feel as though she’s savoured the moment enough, catching the way her body seemed to be relaxing a little too much as sleep threatened to overtake her, her body melting at the warmth and love your presence provided her.

Begrudgingly, Wanda took your hand as you coaxed her out of your bed, your hands snaking around her waist naturally as you guided her to your ensuite to clean the two of you up, gently using a cloth to wipe her down whilst pressing loving kisses to her forehead, showering her with love as you noticed the blush and smile that crept onto her lips at being cared for. You simply gave her everything she had craved for years, the praise, the gentle murmurs, your hands treating her with nothing but tenderness as they caressed her body and tended to her. You also made sure the two of you drank enough water before leaving the bathroom, offering her one of your sleep shirts to which she declined, softly murmuring how she wanted to sleep with you naked, yearning for the intimacy of the cuddles of your bare skin pressed so comfortably against hers.

Your lips pulled up into a smile at her delicate and adorable tone as you indulged in her wants, eventually getting back into bed with her and pulling her impossibly closer to you, your limbs getting tangled under the duvet as she snuggled further against you, sighing against your skin. Her hands slid around your waist, fingers mindlessly tracing random patterns against your back as your fingers threaded through her auburn locks, gently scratching her scalp and smiling at the pleased groan that left her at the relaxing sensation, her body shuffling closer to you.

“I love you,” Wanda whispered after a moment, breaking the comfortable silence that had enveloped the two of you, her breath tickling your skin as she nuzzled closer to the crook of your neck, basking in the warmth of your body as she placed another delicate kiss to your skin, trying to express the overwhelming emotions she had for you. It was impossible for her to describe, the world around her fading away when she was with you, the wounds inside her healing when she felt your loving touch or lingering stare, her heart longing to remember this moment forever as the love swirling inside her was undeniable and all consuming, cementing the fact that this was where she belonged. She belonged with you.

“I love you too,” you murmur with as much care as you could muster, your lips pressing to the top of her hair as you melt into the embrace, your heart wrapped in love and joy as you savoured the moment with her, finally living a moment you had dreamed of for so many years. “I’ll be here when you wake up, go to sleep love,” you coo as you can feel her body fighting the tiredness that washed over her, a drowsy noise escaping her which only filled your chest with more warmth, a tenderness wrapping around the two.

Soon enough, the two of you drifted off to a peaceful sleep, your silent embrace conveying more than words could ever describe as you sank further into one another, reflecting the endless love you shared as your souls reconnected, finding a sense of safety in each other's arms and finally feeling as though you had found your home.  

---

I absolutely spoiled you guys with this🤭

 As heavily requested, I'll be writing both epilogue smut scenes and I hope you enjoyed the first one! You better have paced yourselves with this as I have no idea when the next one will be written, so savour these 10k words pls😭 

Also in case anyone is an Arcane fan, I have briefly started a Caitvi oneshot collection if you want to check it out on Ao3! <3 

Please leave any thoughts/comments/votes/kudos <3 I really appreciate all of your support!

Ao3- LoveIsAnImaginaryDagger

Wattpad- LovePersevering2

Tumblr- LoveIsAnImaginaryDagger3000

[transgenderer]

Theres a flavor of rationalist who sees all the suffering the natural world and concludes that if we knew humanity was going to go extinct we should torch the biosphere first, so the biosphere doesn't go on being a ball of suffering forever. And this is a perfectly consistent position, most animal lives are pretty bad. But I think it's the sort of position that should make you realize you've made an error somewhere. Like, when you derive a formula, you check it on a known example, to see if you made a mistake. Or in physics, you know if your logic leads to a result that breaks conservation of energy or momentum, you've gone wrong. And this is that, for ethics. "The natural world is a good thing to exist" should (imo, obviously you're ALLOWED to believe otherwise) be one of your check-examples. And if you end up concluding that the natural world is bad, then you know you have an error somewhere.

[gothamhappiness]

I love you, my crime lord! (Red Hood x f!reader)

Hi everyone, this the last part of a little series that I ended writing for Red Hood! (If you've got some ideas for this, you can still request them though)

You can read the other parts here:

Don't touch Red Hood, Batman!

I like to flirt with you, Red Hood!

You're my guardian angel, Red Hood!

Hope you'll enjoy: <3

Warnings: no proof reading, overprotective and dark!Red Hood, strong language, reader is taken hostage

The more time you spent with Red Hood and the more you enjoyed him. 

The more time the man spent with you and the more obvious he was falling in love with you, and pretty hard. You were the kind of person he needed in his life: you loved him no matter what and yet you didn’t have time for his bullshit. You were perfect.

But at some point, your relationship couldn’t really progress into something more intimate if he kept his identity a secret. Red Hood needed you to love him even when he wasn’t Red Hood. And you didn’t want to be his girlfriend only when he was a crime lord.

Jason had been a little bit worried; he wasn't too certain you were going to love him even in daily life, but he quickly got reassured by the way you greeted him home and the way you acted around him. You became a true anchor in his existence and you quickly became the most protected woman of Gotham. His most trusted spy always had a look on you, just to make sure you were safe and sound.

He also warned the Batfamily and every villains of Gotham to stay the fuck away from you. 

You had no idea about it until you got caught up during a hostage at the bank of Gotham. You were terrified, especially because you knew that your boyfriend wasn’t in town that very day. And even if he probably instructed his men to protect you, you weren’t too sure what they could do when a man was pressing a gun against your temple so the police wouldn’t shoot him and his team.

“Look pretty girl, you might not survive today. Hope you told your boyfriend you loved him one last time” the man cruelly whispered to you

“You’re a dead man if you kill me, you know” you said, not really certain it would make a difference, but in your position it couldn’t hurt to try to convince the man to let you go

“Ah yes and why that, your boyfriend is a hitman?” the man chuckled, not believing you

“He’s Red Hood”

At the instant you said that name, the man removed the gun from your head and turned you around to look into your eyes, making sure you weren’t lying to him. He was deeply frowning out of fear.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck” he whispered before looking around for his teammates “We need to let this one go very quickly, she’s Red Hood’s girlfriend” he cried out and all them instantly panicked and hushered you out of the bank, leaving you wondering what the fuck just happened.

Cops quickly rushed to you to know what was going on but before you could answer, a black SUV arrived and you were pulled inside. Jason’s goons were fretting around you to make sure you didn’t get hurt. And they all were really relieved you just seemed stunned.

When you asked where you were going, they answered you were joining Red Hood as if it was the most logical thing in the world. Their boss was already aware of the situation and he wanted you by his side, where you were the safest.

When you arrived in what seemed to be an abandoned nightclub, Red Hood was addressing his troops and giving orders. He asked everyone out when he saw you. Your were his top priority, no matter what the situation was.

“All good?” he asked, his hands wandering your body, and you nodded

“They got scared when I said I was your girlfriend” you finally said

“They better be scared. They should even thank you for telling them who you were to me” Jason said as he guided you to a couch nearby so you could relax. “Gotham is a dangerous place, but it’ll always be a safe haven for you or I’ll burn everything to the ground”

“Come on Jay” you nervously giggled

“No one touch my Queen and they all know it. Isn’t it a simple rule to follow?” Red Hood wondered before sitting down on the couch with you.

He removed his mask so his lips could find yours. You straddled him before leaning against his chest. His arms settled around you. You broke the kiss before looking up at him.

“I love you, my crime lord.” you whispered

“I love you too, my lady” he fondly smiled at you

“But please don’t burn Gotham to the ground?” you hummed

“We’ll see about it” he darkly promised and you didn't know if you should be worried or very horny about it.

Probably both.

--

Taglist for all my work <3

@blublock404

@wind-canoe

@silverklaus

@couldeatthatgirlforlunch

@tatsuri-zomushiki

@navs-bhat

@randomnamedmira

@winterhi09

@murkyponds

@qardasngan

Taglist for this series <3

@stormz369

[hungry-eel]

After one year Update

warning contains spoilers

So it really has been some time Since I have made this post. It is probably one of my favorite posts that I have made as well as one of my more well known. As of currently it has now been more than a year since I made this post, and one of the few things that hasn't chanced is my love for Cassius, if anything, it has only strengthened since the post!

Not long after creating the post, I figured out how you could play Granblue Fantasy, and since I began to play more, I wanted to do what I could to not only get Cassius but also discover more about his story and lore which made me love him even more than I already did.

I might as well use this opportunity to take some time, and tell more about what I found out about Cassius' lore, and his lead up to becoming the glutton he is currently. To make things both easier for me and to help fit this post, I will only primarily be going into the most detail in moments where food or eating is involved, if you ever wanted to know more about his character, I can show you where to access the stories.

Lore summary:

So the first story that Cassius debuted in was in Second advent from the society storyline. Though the event story itself doesn't feature that much if any moments with him and food, it does set up more of his background and who he was before becoming a glutton. Cassius was an agent for the moon, which are antagonists for the society story, and was originally sent down to retrieve data for the moon. By the end, with of a combination of his cover found (he doesn't do that great of a job being undercover) and injuries that he had sustained, he had to stay in the sky world. Cassius also thinks about logic over everything else, and everything including his diet, decisions, and battle plans are based on if they are logical or not, and is likely not likely to do the action if deemed illogical

Cassius' SR fate episode is the first moment we really get to see Cassius having food, and what is essentially his introduction to it. The first part involves Beatrix, one of the society members and Cassius' biggest enabler, offering him a loaf of bread to eat after he had expressed that he was hungry. During such she also slathered jam of multiple different kinds across the bread so now it is is one big jelly sandwich. Cassius is reluctant but accepts the bread, and he ate it all with pleasure.

The second part involves Cassius trying ramen for the very first time. He is very skeptical at first, given that it is much more unhealthy than the lowest ranked meals on the moon, yet something keeps drawing him to have more, and keeps returning to the restaurant daily for more ramen, and establishing his ramen addiction.

The next event he would be featured in would actually be a summer event called Cappa Summer Chronicle. Though this event is much more of a filler event, it does feature Cassius trying and eating a large variety of different foods such as rice balls, to candy apples, and Sushi. Trying different kinds of foods, and going to the various food stalls are one of the things he is most excited to do as well.

The next event story he would be featured in is in Spaghetti Syndrome where the main plot involves the moon now wanting Cassius to return, so in order to do that a bounty is set up on him. Like with the previous event, there isn't too much moments where Cassius is eating, but there is a scene where Cassius and Eustace go out to lunch together in which they get omurice, and then afterwards proceeds to overanalyze its taste. There was also a heartwarming, yet funny moment where Cassius did eventually had to go back to the moon and on the trip there, and during that time, he would have flashback memories to the times he was with his friends, and over half of the instances were quite literally food related such as his first time trying jam filled bread, or characters inviting him to look at food stalls.

The next event Home sweet moon, is the main climax of his story where now that he is taken away to the moon, his own people are dissecting his brain and memories, that way they can use his skills and experience on other weapons. Beatrix makes a remark saying that once Cassius returns to the sky realm, states that once he touches the ground the first thing he is going to do is find something to eat, and that statement was also proven true where once he is finally rescued and returned to the sky realms, he wants to eat immediately after someone mentions the word restaurant. He wanted to eat spaghetti in particular as it reminds him as it reminded him of his brain (note he is really bad at jokes).

Post Home sweet Moon:

So after home sweet moon this is where we see more of Cassius settled into his skin, meaning he become much more of a glutton and food addict than he already is. Most I will be mentioning is ether events that have him involved or fate episodes with the exception of Ramen travels given that I already gave a summary of that in my original post.

SSR Fate Episode - This story is honestly really sweet and enduring and is probably a really good epilogue to conclude Cassius' current arc. He invites Lyria, Vyrn, and the MC to go out on a walk with him, and together they would go out and get some of the first he had tried upon arriving to the sky world, Jam filled bread and Ramen. By the end he says that he doesn't really have a logical reason for inviting his friends out for the day, and is also aware that the things that he is eating is unhealthy for him, but is doing these things because he wants to. He finds peace in himself finally being capable in having his own autonomy and decision making outside of his previously set beliefs.

SSR Valentines fate episode - so this one is one of the few Cassius stories that I haven’t read through to its fullest since I don’t have his valentines unit yet. However, from what I can remember Cassius is introduced to the concept of Valentine’s Day chocolate, and tests out why that is the case by making chocolate himself with some children at an orphanage. Also knowing Cassius, he also practically eats most of the chocolate while making it.

Sandalphons Valentine fate episode - Likes with Cassius’ valentine episode, I haven’t fully seen this one in game, but Cassius is heavily featured in sandalphons valentine story as well. In the case with this one, sandalphon learns how to brew various amounts of coffee, while Cassius consumes them with pleasure.

Also quick update but Christmas treated me well because just as I was writing this, a new years event has released called Rowdy Ramen Rumble that features both the return of Cassius, but has him gain weight again! The story is also much shorter than the other ones, but to give a quick summary, Cassius is "kidnapped" by a group of gourmets and essentially force feed Cassius ramen so he can be a taste tester for creating the best ramen. once his friends come and rescue him he eventually changes his mind and help the people who caught him which kind of ramen is the best one.

Conclusion:

Never in my lifetime would I ever expect to be this dedicated to a character to this extent! He’s an incredibly fun and complex character to go through and being that he is both a glutton and has canonical weight gains is the icing on top!

There still many other small stuff that I wish I could share but it would only make this post much longer than it already is. Besides, I highly doubt that this will be the last post I ever share of him.

Either way, thank you so much for your interest and dedication to this post. It always makes me happy that I am able to bring interest to a character that is otherwise very unknown, even within this community!

"The biggest gacha game glutton doesn't exi-"

I am still very new when it comes to granblue fantasy, and as of right now I do not know all that much about the series, and I still won't know that much given that its a pretty old game that I can't access, and haven't head of any recent updates as far as I know. So because of that among other things, I hadn't really known about Cassius or his event story. (Correction: the game is still active and getting updates, just not as much on Cassius)

It wasn't until I was scrolling through some tumblr blogs (which @askbloatedbellyblog thanks for sharing the post that sent me down a spiral) and once I discovered about Cassius and his event story I was hooked! Not only is it one of the only visual novel/gacha games that I have seen so far that actually has visuals of the actual weight gain itself, but its also not done as a one time gag either and we get prolonged scenes of Cassius' overweight state. The story itself is also so good in my opinion! Although the actual content itself my not cater to everyone and their desires, for me, I think the story is one of the best!! It fulfills all of my stuffing fantasies and desires, watching him endlessly devour and gorge on everything that is around him, and finding enjoyment in doing such as well!

No joke, I was so invested in this character and his event story that for a good portion of time that was all I could think about! I wouldn't be surprised if this becomes a bit of a mini hyperfixation for me.

To know more about my research on Cassius himself and his gluttonous pursuits, he is fairly new to the setting as he came from another world, and is leaning to discover both this new world, and how everything works. Along with such he applies ration and logic to everything with very little emotions, isn't surprised by much, thinks very literal mindedly, and comes across as childish and naïve.

His other most notable feature is his HUMONGOUS apatite, and how he is able to eat much more than the average person. He has a very high metabolism so he is able to eat in mass quantities without risking his heath or gaining weight. However, during the Ramen Travels event, he manages to eat so much and in such crazy amounts that not even his metabolism could keep up with him, leading to his eventual weight gain.

Although his original purpose was to try out various ramen noodles, his pursuits evolve into eating everything that he can as much as he can. To give a bit of a perspective how much he actually eats during this event, he hits up multiple desert stalls, wins a food eating contest, tries various kinds of ramen, eats entire menus in restaurants including the main courses, drinks, and deserts, eats whole dishes made to serve a family of six in one sitting, and repeats that behavior consistently every day for weeks on end.

Another part of his endless gluttony is also how Cassius also took the term "There is always room for desert" too literally and came to the belief that no matter how much he eats, there will never be enough food for him to eat, and that there will always be room in his stomach to eat and try more foods.

When it came to his eventual weight gain, although the people around him are concerned about his overall heath encouraging him to lose the weight, Cassius himself doesn't mind the weight gain at all and if anything he actually enjoys it, believing that the feeling itself is satisfying, and that the more weight he puts on the more room he will have for food.

This is a man where if he is not calculating and questioning the things around him, the only other thing that is on his mind is food, and although it may make him seem one note, I find this aspect of him to be a really charming trait of him, especially these are traits that he fully embraces, and not even afraid of gaining weight, which is an unusual trait in other foodie characters.

It honestly saddens me to discover that Cassius barely gets any recognition in general, especially compared to the other characters that I enjoy, and now because he hasn't had that much new content in a long while, he has only barely had any new posts and content made on him in years, so I thought if there was anyone who could bring this wonderful character back in the spotlight, even for just a brief moment, I might as well do so.

Last thing, but if your ever wanting to read the full story for yourself, here is the link to the video down below. Know that the video is incredibly long, but is absolutely worth the watch!

[sativariddle]

can i request headcannons or drabble or fic or what you prefer about fred weasley x black cat kinda reader? so basically opposites you know. thank u so much!!!

…ISN’T SHE LOVELY?

m.list.

fred weasley was many things—charming, mischievous, a certified menace to hogwarts hallways—but he was not someone who gave up easily.

and when it came to you, he was relentless.

you were the complete opposite in every imaginable way.

where fred thrived on noise and chaos, you flourished in silence and isolation.

he was the kind of person who could talk his way out of—or into—anything, words spilling from his lips like a never-ending stream, always charming, always quick-witted. you, on the other hand, preferred the quiet, finding comfort in the space between words rather than the rush to fill them.

fred hunted for excitement in things that exploded—in fireworks, in pranks, in the kind of reckless spontaneity that made life feel like an experiment.

you, however, found your joy in simpler, quieter moments. a book in your hands, a warm drink, a night spent alone in the library with only the sound of turning pages and the distant crackle of the common room fire to keep you company.

you liked books. he liked fireworks.

you liked the quiet. he was the loudness.

and yet, for all your differences, fred was drawn to you in ways he couldn’t quite explain.

he found himself watching you when you read, utterly fascinated by the way your eyebrows scrunched in concentration whenever a character in your book did something particularly foolish. he watched the way your fingers ghosted over the pages, how you would pause just slightly before flipping to the next, as if savoring each sentence, each word.

and you? you barley glanced at him.

because fred weasley was a storm, and you had spent your life carefully constructing a world untouched by such things. he was messy, unstoppable, always pressing into places you didn’t want to be disturbed.

he was infuriatingly persistent, with a grin that made your stomach twist in ways you refused to acknowledge.

and still, for reasons beyond logic, beyond reason, beyond all the things that made sense in the world—

fred weasley liked you.

you weren’t mean, per se, but you didn’t waste time on nonsense either—something fred weasley happened to specialize in.

and yet, that didn’t avert him. no, if anything, it made you all the more irresistible. so, fred weasley made it his personal mission to get you to notice him.

go out with him.

── ATTEMPT #1

“hey there, gorgeous,” fred greeted with a smirk, casually leaning against the library table where you were deeply immersed in a book on dark arts counter-curses.

you didn’t even look up.

fred, unfazed, plopped down across from you, tapping the book with his finger. “y’know, if you’re interested in counter-curses, you should see the one i put on filch’s broom closet. absolute masterpiece. you’d be impressed.”

silence.

“i mean, i don’t want to boast, though—”

you flipped a page.

fred blinked.

for the first time in his life, his charm had failed so spectacularly that he felt personally offended. he dramatically clutched his chest. “blimey, you wound me, love. not even a glance? a chuckle? nothing?”

still nothing.

── .✦ ATTEMPT #2

fred was no stranger to public displays of ridiculousness, so naturally, his next step involved something big.

“alright, ladies and gentlemen, gather round!” he announced in the great hall during breakfast, hopping onto one of the benches.

you barely spared him a glance as fred’s grin faltered for half a second, but he pressed on, undeterred.

he cleared his throat dramatically and held up a parchment.

“for the most elusive, most mysterious, most devastatingly beautiful witch at hogwarts, i have penned a sonnet. ahem.”

ron groaned. “merlin’s sake, someone stop him.”

fred ignored him and continued.

❝ roses are red,

my hair is too,

you hate me,

let me date you? ❞

silence.

one second…

two seconds…

three…-

the entire gryffindor table burst into laughter.

someone clapped.

even mcgonagall looked mildly entertained.

you? you continued eating your toast like nothing had happened.

his stomach dipped.

surely, surely, you’d at least react.

a scoff? a smirk? an eye-roll? something?

anything.

fred slumped into his seat, utterly humiliated.

“well, that was a bloody disaster,” he mumbled, running a hand through his hair.

george patted his back. “it was tragic, really. i’d be embarrassed if i were you.”

“i am embarrassed.”

“she’s uninterested.”

fred groaned, dragging a hand down his face as he plopped back onto the bench in defeat. “impossible. no one is uninterested in me.”

“tell that to her.”

fred did. again and again. and again.

── .✦ ATTEMPT #3

if charm didn’t work, and public spectacle failed, then perhaps what fred weasley needed… was a prank.

and so, he did what any reasonable person would do—he slipped a pygmy puff into your bag.

it was a foolproof plan. the tiny thing was bright pink, obnoxiously fluffy, and would surely elicit some kind of reaction from you.

at first, you didn’t even notice.

then, in the middle of class, a small, high-pitched squeak sounded from your bag.

you blinked.

the room went silent.

professor flitwick stopped mid-sentence.

squeak!

squeak!

slowly, you reached into your bag and pulled out the tiny creature, holding it up for everyone to see. it wriggled happily, unaware that it had just become the center of attention.

fred, sitting a few rows behind, was biting his lip so hard to contain his laughter that he nearly choked.

your eyes flickered to him.

your gaze finally, finally flickered to him—a fleeting movement, barely a second long, but to fred, it felt like the universe had just tilted in his favor.

for the first time, your eyes met his, truly met his, and his breath caught in his throat.

it wasn’t much.

just a glance.

a flicker of awareness.

but merlin, it sent something electric racing down his spine.

his heart, that thumping little thing, did a little victory dance, thudding wildly against his ribs like a snitch desperate to break free.

had you always looked at people like that? like you were sizing them up, as if deciding whether they were worth your time?

and more importantly—had you just decided he might be?

you didn’t say anything, but the slight arch of your brow spoke volumes.

well played, weasley.

── .✦ THE MOMENT HE ALMOST GAVE UP.

by the time fred had exhausted nearly every trick in the book, even he had to admit that you were stubborn.

you were like a fortress—unshakable, unreadable, and completely immune to his failed attempts.

“i don’t get it,” he groaned, sprawled on the gryffindor common room couch. “i’ve done every sort of presenting, and she still won’t budge.”

george snorted. “maybe she just doesn’t like you, mate.”

fred sat up sharply. “no. impossible. i refuse to believe that.”

still, doubt gnawed at him.

maybe george was right. maybe you simply weren’t interested. maybe he should—

“fine.”

fred nearly fell off the couch.

you stood before him, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

he swears on his whole existence, the entire common room had gone silent.

fred froze. “—what?”

“you win, weasley,” you said, tilting your head. “one date.”

for a full second, fred forgot how to function.

he swore he could feel the heat rush straight from his chest to his ears, because bloody hell, you were looking at him—really looking at him—and it was doing things to his already fragile sanity.

he opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, utterly and completely dumbfounded.

then, like the fool he was, he grinned.

wide.

ridiculously so.

“well, well, well,” he drawled, trying (and failing) to keep the sheer glee out of his voice. “i knew you couldn’t resist me forever.”

you rolled your eyes. “don’t push your luck.”

“oh, i absolutely will.”

he wasn’t lying.

but as you turned and walked away, fred caught something—a tiny, almost imperceptible smirk on your lips.

fred spun toward george with the giddiness of a man utterly bewitched, his grin stretching so wide it nearly split his freckled face in two.

his excitement was practically definite, buzzing in the air around him as he clapped a hand to his brother’s shoulder, eyes still dancing with the memory of her.

“isn’t she just lovely?” he sighed, his voice brimming with something dangerously close to awe, as if he himself couldn’t quite believe the effect you had on him.

george, merely raised a brow, glancing between fred’s dreamy expression and the direction you had just walked away in.

with a long, suffering sigh, he muttered, “you’re doomed, mate.”

fred only grinned wider.

that chase was over. but the real fun?

had only just begun.

xoxo.

[mllemaenad]

Nope, I am caught again on the tragedy of Andraste as a dwarf and the Maker as a titan.

I mean – what would a titan ask for? What did it ask for?

Valta too: the first thing she says when she connects with her titan is "Too loud ... the song ... stop". Any encounter with a titan is defined by its song – by its desire for isatunoll.

Valta's titan is explicitly quieted by its connection to her. Harding's titan is less stable, and you must undertake an additional quest to help her achieve emotional equilibrium.

In Andraste's case, it seems very much as though her Maker was not soothed by its connection to her, or at least not enough to avoid catastrophe. It screamed for connection; for isatunoll.

How could Andraste even understand what it was asking for? A surface dwarf, or perhaps even half-dwarf, with no access to the history of the dwarven people. There wasn't even anyone to ask! The dwarven empire had recently been annihilated by the First Blight. Even if you went digging for lost secrets – good luck finding them.

Her Maker sings. It craves that song, and desires that all its children should sing with it.

So ... okay! She sings! She leads all her followers in song, some of which at least may be based on her hazy understanding of the things it told her – although this is oral history, so what exactly those things were is lost to time. And so then, maybe, her Maker could be:

But then, of course, it stops being about Andraste or the titan at all. The bit of the Chant of Light that prophecies the successful return of the Maker in response to the songs of his followers was written by Kordillus Drakon, first emperor of Orlais and one of Thedas's most infamous evil conquering bastards. It was written long after Andraste's death and has nothing to do with anything she saw or could do.

From every corner of the earth The Chant of Light echoed, And the Maker walked the land With Andraste at His right hand. And they reached the gates of Minrathous, Where once a terrible fire swept The Light of redemption from the face of the world, And there, the Lady of Restitution Drew her shining sword And plunged it into the ground at her feet, saying: "All sins are forgiven! All crimes pardoned! Let no soul harbor guilt! Let no soul hunger for justice! By the Maker's will I decree Harmony in all things. Let Balance be restored And the world given eternal life." – The Chant of Light: Canticle of Exaltations

I mean – that's some solid bullshit based on absolutely nothing, right there.

It was convenient for Drakon that the idea of collective singing is present in Andrastianism, because it gave him a mandate to conquer and convert. But while Andraste is both a singer and a warrior in legend, those two things don't seem to be directly connected. She and her followers sang together, but she seems to have been largely driven to destroy Tevinter. It was the target of her rage, as the empire that had dominated Thedas and held her in slavery – and likely in some garbled sense the target of her Maker's rage too, as the Old Gods are mouthpieces of the evanuris.

But if you're smart, and as much as I despise him Drakon seems to have been an intelligent man, then it is a logical and politically useful step to link those two things. You must conquer Thedas in order to spread the Chant of Light and ensure the Maker's return.

Thing is, though ... that was never going to work. A choir made up largely of humans and elves, singing a bunch of patchwork folk hymns and occasional bit of political propaganda, isn't going to do a damn thing. That's not what the titan meant. That is a song, but it is not the song.

All those Exalted Marches and forced conversions, the schism with Tevinter, the destruction of the Dales ... from a political perspective they achieved their aim, sure, in delivering yet more wealth and power into the hands of the already wealthy and powerful ... but from a religious perspective it was all for nothing. Complete waste of time.

The Maker likely exists. And it likely does desire a song above all else. It is the core of its being. The thing that was taken from it. The road back from Tranquility.

But I guarantee you none of these Chantry people know the words.

Ah, that's what's frustrating about Veilguard. Half of it is just ... infuriating bullshit I wish I'd never heard. But the other half of it is just ... a fascinating idea they utterly failed to develop.

Never mind the business about the elves being spirits, imagine hitting the Andrastian faithful (in either Chantry) with that one. The Maker is real, and he wants you to sing, but you don't know the words. The Chant of Light isn't the right song.

Not only do you not know the words, you probably can't know the words. You aren't a Child of the Stone. I mean: maybe you are, there are dwarves in the Chantry, but statistically you probably are not.

Oooh. But you know who does know the words, or at least a version of them? The bloody darkspawn, that's who. The darkspawn know at least a part of the song the titans sing.

And you know who was right? The Empty Ones, that's who.

The Empty Ones were a small and short-lived cult based in Nevarra and known for worshipping the blight and, by extension, the darkspawn. Some confuse the Empty Ones with followers of Tevinter's Old Gods—a reasonable mistake since Archdemons are said to be tainted Old Gods. However, it is clear from the histories that the Empty Ones did not worship Dumat and his ilk, but the blight itself. Following Andraste's death, many of her followers fell into a deep despair. They believed that the Prophet's betrayal and execution marked the beginning of the end of the world and that the Maker's wrath would soon come upon them. The most fatalistic of them all gathered together to prepare for their doom. They called themselves the Empty Ones, for they saw themselves as worthless husks, ready to be swept away by the Maker's hand. It is unknown what passed then, but over time, the Empty Ones grew to believe that the blight was to be the tool by which the Maker would end all of creation. They preached that it came from the Void, a place of nothing, and that returning to the Void was something to be celebrated because it meant an end to all pain and all suffering. Some mistakenly take this to mean that the Empty Ones worshipped evil, but that is an oversimplification. The Empty Ones believed the world to be beyond redemption, and that it was the Maker's will that it be destroyed completely. There are tales of Empty Ones scouring the Deep Roads, searching for darkspawn, whom they saw as the blight's prophets in order to assist them in bringing about the next Blight. Predictably, the beginning of the Second Blight saw the end of the Empty Ones. The entire cult made its way to the Anderfels, where they stood in the path of the encroaching darkspawn and, singing in praise of the oblivion that was to overtake them, were consumed. —From Before Andrastianism: The Forgotten Faiths, by Sister Rondwyn of Tantervale – The Empty Ones

I may never recover from how little Veilguard actually talked about the implications of any of this.

[kakashiskunai25]

Thinking about how Kakashi used to ignore Gai at first but then slowly noticed how determined and strong willed he is which made him get curious about gai and start to pay more attention. Then in academy days he accepted being guy's eternal rival and had defended + comforted him when he was getting bullied over his father as well as when he lost his dad as kakashi called Dai " the coolest ninja he knows", he cared about Gai's well being.

The withdrawal in anbu era most likely from both trauma and Kakashi being scared of letting gai in since he thought he lost everyone who was close with him. He didn't want to lose gai too. Tho he saw all of Gai's efforts of trying to break his walls and be there for him which led to Kakashi returning to Gai as an open and loyal friend the way he was for him when Kakashi was losing himself. Kakashi also told him not to use the 8th Gate which would cost Gai his life and Kakashi losing him even if it was necessary to win the war, I love that Gai held it off till the last moment and saved Kakashi for one last time before using it to fight Madara 😭.

Gai also knew kakashi wasn't really " keen on living" during the Root, and he always make sure to remind Kakashi that he always want him by his side, he matters to Gai so much🥹

As much he would deny Kakashi loves his company because he forgets all about the darkness of the world when he is with Gai and he definitely feels safe with him cause if he tries to save everyone, who is going to save him? He also said he slept without nightmares that night they slept together. I also think Gai brings out his inner child who got lost after the death of his father and his team and lets Kakashi act carefree with him which is very fun to witness 🥹💜

We see him much more emotionally open with Guy in boruto, like crying in front of him over his favorite novel, imagine younger Kakashi doing that lol. I love that he gives Gai those soft looks full of care, admiration and love. Gai has lost his father when he was young like Kakashi and also lost one of his students as well as his physical ability and Kakashi knows how hard it is for him since he can relate to that and even informs others that Gai has things he is sensitive over too. I also believe having similar painful experiences makes them understand each other better and be closer.

He also would throw his logic out of the window if he had any chance to heal Guy and make his life better.

In Stories of Konoha I just absolutely adore how Kakashi treats Gai, he is worried about him but that doesn't make him see Gai any differently, treat him like he is weak or anything, he does the quite the opposite and supports him. It is love, it doesn't have to be romantic but it is there and that's what matters🥰

In conclusion, we dont need to see them confess or kiss to know they love each other. Kakashi and Gai just have pure love between them💚

[jeonscatalyst]

I'm basic and like Woosan and Minsung lol. Like, I'm a sucker and click on the YouTube shorts / tiktoks about their chemistry or how they're whipped for each other.

That said, I think if anything, the presence of fan service is a pretty clear indicator that the relationship is platonic lol. Like, if two members were actually dating, flirting, etc. then they'd keep it hidden from the public and probably other idols/industry folks, too.

i saw this on my timeline from a stan of another group. but aren't they telling the truth ? will a real couple be that public with their gay relationship with their bandmate ? Its very unlikely 2 men who have a secret relationship behind the scenes will flaunt it for public to see in their homophobic country, especially knowing its harmful for them their group their company their families etc. Going on trips, filming and releasing it, saying you got bitten, allowing staff to film it, having numerous skinship moments on screen and on stage - especially when one is extra private and professional to the point he even hides his iphone airpods which he shares with his supposed bf because they have a contract with samsung and the one who is stalked every 2 days by his y/n saesangs who apparanlty doesnt know about his sexuality or relationship with bandmate, huh?. This all sums up to them being genuine platonic friends who are playing up for their fans and doesnt mind being called a couple. None of heavily shipped duos in other groups doesnt shy away from pda, even teasing fans in their live streams because at the end of the day they are close friends who have nothing hidden going on or to fear.

Its naive to think jikook are a real couple who should be protected in their homophobic country(or world in general) and from crazy fandom when its Jikook themselves who are exhibiting their friendship in homoromantic way for public to see. Make it make sense ?

Hi anon,

So what I’m reading is that you and others see it too? You see exactly what we see…you recognize that the way Jimin and Jungkook behave with each other could easily lead anyone to believe their relationship isn’t purely platonic. Yet, rather than acknowledge that possibility, you attempt to rationalize it by arguing that a real couple, especially in a homophobic country, wouldn’t behave so openly but would instead go to great lengths to hide their relationship. Noted.

But that raises an important question: who set the rules on how people in such circumstances are supposed to behave? Sure, there are common expectations for how individuals might act in certain situations, but the truth is, we can’t possibly know the full extent of their reality. Unlike them, we don’t have firsthand insight into their experiences, nor can we accurately gauge the risks involved the way they can.

Every time I see arguments like yours, I can’t help but roll my eyes. It’s painfully clear that many people don’t understand the first thing about queer history or the ways in which queer individuals have learned to navigate a world that hasn’t always accepted them. Queer people have mastered the art of hiding in plain sight. For most, that’s second nature because, at some point in their lives, they’ve had to conceal at least parts of who they are. But let’s not forget that humans are, well, human….we aren’t always calculated. There are times when emotions override logic, and in those moments, people who are forced to hide often end up revealing more than they intend. Those are the moments where we catch glimpses of something real.

Idols, of course, are expected to engage in fanservice…it’s practically built into their job. They understand that many of their actions, especially on stage, will automatically be dismissed as just fanservice. So tell me, Anon, if you were a queer person who had spent years perfecting the art of blending in, what better way would there be to take advantage of moments where people are already primed to excuse your actions as something else?

Also, I have to wonder, do you honestly believe that most Jikookers ship Jimin and Jungkook purely because of what they do on stage or because of this “fanservice”? Because if so, that only proves how little you actually understand. There’s far more to why we believe they could be in a romantic relationship than just their stage interactions.

You brought up examples like: “Would a closeted couple go on a private trip, take videos, and post them?” And to that, I have to ask: Do you realize what you just admitted? The fact that you even question whether a closeted couple would do something like that means that, on some level, you also perceive those actions as non-platonic. So instead of asking whether a couple in a homophobic country would behave a certain way, why not ask yourself: Why would two “just friends” do these things in the first place?

Regardless of whether Jungkook filmed and posted GCF, the fact remains that he took Jimin to Tokyo…during a short break, at a time when both were going through a lot. Regardless of whether Hickeygate ever saw the light of day, the fact remains that it happened. Jungkook still carried a tipsy Jimin bridal-style, spun him around, and when Jimin wanted to be let down, he bit Jungkook’s neck…an erogenous zone. These things all happened whether we got to know about them or not. And since you’re citing these examples as things a queer couple in a homophobic country wouldn’t do, that means you also recognize that these actions don’t exactly scream platonic friendship. Unless, of course, you’re seriously trying to argue that traveling to Japan together, carrying each other in their arms, and biting each other’s necks in private were all just for the sake of fanservice?

“Its naive to think jikook are a real couple who should be protected in their homophobic country(or world in general) and from crazy fandom when its Jikook themselves who are exhibiting their friendship in homoromantic way for public to see. Make it make sense ? "

No, Anon. I don’t think Jikook are deliberately presenting their friendship in a homoerotic way. I think they’re simply existing and interacting with each other in a way that comes naturally to them. You’re the one perceiving something more…..and that says a lot more about your own instincts than whatever you think Jimin and Jungkook are intentionally doing.

And once again, don’t assume for a second that I, or most Jikookers, believe in Jikook just because of what you call “fanservice.” That’s where non-shippers and rival shippers (honestly, I can’t tell which you are) always get it wrong. You miss the details that people who genuinely pay attention to Jimin and Jungkook as a duo pick up on. The little things….the ones that make all the difference.

Go back and carefully comb through Jimin and Jungkook’s history if you care to. Look at all the little TMI’s we’ve gathered over the years, from staff members, Jikook themselves, from the members and from their friends and acquaintances. Then come back and tell me, honestly, if you still believe that people think there is more going on with Jikook because of “fanservice.”

[heliosunny]

Hello! Would it be possible to request something for Gallagher in your lucky egg series?

He is one of my favs and I hardly see any content for him nowadays Q v Q

LUCKY EGG

Yandere!Gallagher x Reader

The machine wasn’t supposed to work. You had only stopped at the dusty, neglected egg dispenser on a whim, something about the faded, peeling label caught your eye. The instructions were barely legible, save for a single phrase that stood out: "Hatches in three days."

It was probably a cheap gimmick, a leftover relic from some forgotten event. You hadn’t expected much when the smooth, palm-sized egg rolled into your hand. Still, curiosity got the better of you.

And now, three days later, you stood frozen as the egg in your hands cracked open. You were scared so you dropped it. It wasn’t a creature, not in the way you expected. No fur, no scales, no small, alien features. It was a man.

Tall, broad-shouldered, and curled up in a fetal position as if he had been compressed inside the egg for too long. His shaggy brown hair was damp, strands clinging to his forehead, and a faint stubble shadowed his jaw. The muscles in his arms and torso flexed as he exhaled for the first time, taking in a slow, measured breath. Then, he opened his eyes.

A pair of sharp, molten-red irises locked onto you, and something clicked. Before you could react, he reached for you, his large, calloused hands gripping your wrists with an almost desperate firmness.

"Found you."

Then, his arms pulled you closer, pressing himself against you as if he had just found an anchor in a storm.

"Mine."

You told yourself it was just instinct.

Gallagher—as he introduced himself, almost offhandedly, had just hatched from an egg. He was likely confused, disoriented, latching onto the first person he saw like some newborn creature imprinting on its caretaker. It made sense. Logically. But the way he watched you didn’t feel logical.

He followed without hesitation, trailing after you through the station like a shadow. His presence was heavy, impossible to ignore. You’d glance over your shoulder, and his red eyes would already be fixed on you, sharp yet strangely relaxed, as if he had no reason to look at anything else.

You tried reasoning with him.

“You don’t have to follow me everywhere, you know.”

Gallagher tilted his head slightly, as if you had spoken in a language he didn’t understand. Then, a slow, lazy grin tugged at his lips.

“Yeah, I do.”

There was something deeply unsettling about how comfortable he was. Despite his apparent inexperience with the world, Gallagher acted like he belonged. He moved with a lazy sort of confidence, his shirt messily half-tucked, the sleeves rolled up as if he had been wearing them for years instead of a single day. His deep maroon pants were slightly wrinkled, his vest layered haphazardly, yet he made no effort to fix them. It was like he had no concept of discomfort or, rather, it didn’t bother him.

The only thing that did seem to bother him?

Distance.

The moment you tried to slip away, even for a second, he noticed. It wasn’t dramatic at first. Just a flicker of red in the corner of your vision. A subtle shift in the air. But when you tried locking a door between you, just for a moment of solitude—he knocked.

"Why are you shutting me out?"

You hesitated. “Gallagher, you don’t need to be with me all the time.”

"But I belong to you."

The way he said it, so casual, so certain—made it impossible to argue.

You woke to the sensation of warmth.

The weight of an arm draped over your waist. The slow, steady rhythm of breathing close. Your bed was not meant for two.

You turned your head, your pulse spiking as your gaze met Gallagher’s, already open, already watching.

"Morning." His voice was low, smooth, as if this was the most natural thing in the world.

Your heartbeat slammed against your ribs. “Gallagher—what are you doing in my bed?”

He blinked slowly, his red eyes laced with something unreadable.

"But this is where I belong."

His fingers curled into the fabric of your sleeve. He was close enough that you could see the faint glow of old scars on his right arm, the way they pulsed slightly, like embers waiting to reignite.

"I don’t get it" he murmured. "You took me in. You’re the first person I saw. The first person who ever touched me, spoke to me, looked at me."

"You’re my world now" he whispered, forehead barely brushing yours.

His grip on your sleeve tightened, just enough to make your skin prickle.

"I won’t let you leave me."

The opportunity came when he finally let his guard down.

Gallagher almost never left your side, not when you walked through the station, not when you ate, and certainly not when you tried to sleep. He was always there, hovering in the periphery, watching you with a lazy sort of amusement. There are moments when he went out but it was not enough to get yourself some freetime.

But tonight, you got lucky.

It was the first time he willingly separated himself from you, and you weren’t about to waste the chance.

With shaking hands, you scribbled a note and left it on the table.

Gallagher, I need some space. I’ll be back. - [Y/N]

You slipped out the door. The bar was the safest place you could think of. It was packed with people, loud and chaotic, a perfect place to disappear. You tucked yourself into a corner booth, nursing a drink you barely touched, keeping your head down.

Minutes passed. Then an hour.

Maybe… just maybe, you had gotten away.

A glass clinked against the table in front of you.

“Long night?”

The voice was smooth, deep, and far too familiar.

Slowly, your eyes lifted and met his.

Gallagher stood there, behind the bar, sleeves lazily rolled up, his white vest slightly undone. He looked every bit the part of a bartender, blending into the dim atmosphere as if he belonged.

Panic surged through your veins. You tried to move, but his hand was already there, resting on the table beside yours, cutting off your escape.

His lips curled into a slow, lazy grin.

“Funny thing” he murmured, voice as smooth as the whiskey in his hands. “I was just about to take a break. Why don’t we catch up?”

Your throat was dry. Your body tensed, every nerve on edge as Gallagher leaned casually against the bar, his red eyes never leaving you. The low hum of conversation and clinking glasses surrounded you, yet all you could focus on was him.

“How…?” You barely managed to get the word out.

Gallagher tilted his head slightly, as if amused by your reaction. Then, with an easy, almost lazy shrug, he responded “Wasn’t hard.”

“Left a trail, y’know? Like a pup wandering too far from home.” His lips curled into that familiar, relaxed smirk. “You might as well have whistled for me.”

Like a hound on a scent, like he was born to follow, he tracked you.

Gallagher let out a quiet chuckle, reaching for a nearby glass and wiping it down, pretending as if this was just another slow night behind the counter.

“You ready to come home, or do I gotta carry you?”

The bar was too crowded, too loud, too public. You couldn’t cause a scene here. So, you forced yourself to nod.

“…Let’s go somewhere quieter.”

The lake shimmered beneath the glow of the artificial sky, ripples forming as a small group of ducks lazily swam across the water. The quiet was a stark contrast to the bar, the air felt lighter, almost peaceful.

You sat on a long white public bench, arms crossed as you watched the ducks bob along the surface. Gallagher sat beside you, stretching out like he had no care in the world.

“You’re quiet.”

Your fingers gripped the fabric of your sleeves. “…Still trying to wrap my head around everything.”

Gallagher hummed, resting an arm over the back of the bench. “Mm. Take your time.”

You exhaled slowly, watching as one of the ducks dunked its head underwater before reemerging with a shake of its feathers. It was strange, watching them swim so carefreely while you sat beside a man who had imprinted on you. Beside you, Gallagher shifted. Before you could react—his hand slid up, fingers threading through your hair.

A slow inhale. You stiffened. He was… sniffing you.

The act was slow, deliberate. His nose barely brushed against the crown of your head as he took in your scent like it was something he needed to commit to memory. Heat crept up your neck, but before you could pull away, Gallagher’s hand moved again, this time, gently pushing your head onto his shoulder.

“You can rest” he murmured, voice low and steady. “Not going anywhere.”

Despite yourself, the exhaustion of the night weighed on you. His warmth, the steady rise and fall of his chest, it all felt… lulling.

Before long, your eyelids drooped.

You barely stirred when Gallagher lifted you into his arms. The lake shimmered behind him, the ducks continuing their gentle glide across the water.

Gallagher exhaled softly, adjusting his grip.

“…Mine” he murmured under his breath.

His fingers curled around you a little tighter as he carried you through the quiet streets, each step slow, measured, like he was savoring the moment. When he finally reached home, he set you down carefully, tucking the blankets around you, brushing stray strands of hair away from your face.

Then, without hesitation, he slid into bed beside you.

His arm draped over your waist, fingers loosely curling into the fabric of your clothes.

His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer.

You woke up in a panic. The sun was already streaming through the window—too bright, too late. The weight of an arm draped over your waist.

Gallagher.

Memories of the night before crashed into you all at once. Your heart lurched as you realized he was right there, still sleeping soundly beside you, his grip on you loose but present.

Work.

You needed to go to work.

You were late.

Panic shot through you like electricity. You moved to sit up, only for the arm around you to tighten.

“Mm… where ya goin’?” Gallagher’s voice was thick with sleep, rough yet relaxed as he pulled you back down.

You sucked in a breath. “I—Gallagher, I need to”

He buried his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply as if to silence you.

“…Stay” he muttered.

You were late. You needed to move. But Gallagher wasn’t letting you go.

And judging by the slow, satisfied smirk tugging at his lips, he liked watching you struggle.

Gallagher’s grip didn’t ease, even as you tried to squirm away. His red eyes cracked open just slightly, peering at you with that lazy, amused expression—like a cat watching a trapped bird.

“Relax” he murmured, voice thick with sleep. “No need to rush.”

You groaned, pushing at his arm. “Gallagher, I’m late. I need to go—”

“Mm.” He blinked slowly, then let out a deep sigh as if your panic was inconveniencing him. “You’re worried about work, yeah?”

You stopped struggling.

“…What else would I be worried about?”

He let out a low chuckle, finally loosening his grip enough for you to sit up—but not without keeping a firm hand on your wrist.

“Guess I should’ve mentioned,” Gallagher drawled, stretching lazily. “I farmed some points from a dungeon for you already.”

You blinked.

“…What?”

He yawned, scratching the back of his neck before finally sitting up properly.

“Your workload. Figured it’d be a hassle for you, so I handled it.”

You stared at him.

“What do you mean you handled it?”

Gallagher tilted his head slightly, as if confused by your reaction. “Like I said—I farmed points. Easy stuff.”

Your mind raced. That wasn’t something people could just do for others.

“You… went into a dungeon. For me?”

Gallagher grinned, rubbing his thumb over your wrist absentmindedly. “Yeah.”

“Gallagher,” you started, trying to keep your voice steady, “you can’t just do that.”

“Why not?” He raised a brow, expression as casual as if he were talking about making breakfast. “Didn’t take long. Just had to crack a few skulls, grab some loot—y’know, the usual.”

You hadn’t even realized he could enter dungeons, let alone farm points for you. And the way he spoke about it—like it was as effortless as breathing.

“You—You can’t just go out and fight for me, Gallagher.”

He blinked.

“Why not?”

His voice was completely genuine.

“…Because that’s not normal.”

Gallagher let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Not normal for you, maybe. But I was made for this, sweetheart.”

His red eyes gleamed as he leaned in closer, voice lowering into something almost coaxing.

“You’re mine to protect, aren’t you?”

That wasn’t the problem. The problem was how easily he accepted this—how quickly he had taken over something meant to be your responsibility.

“…You didn’t have to do that.”

Gallagher smirked. “I wanted to.”

His fingers brushed against your knuckles, his warmth bleeding into your skin.

“Now” he murmured, voice smooth and unwavering, “why don’t you take the day off?”

The first morning after your forced day off started peacefully.

You heard screaming. Not the dangerous kind. Not the kind that sent your heart racing in fear. No, this was the high-pitched, chaotic kind that only came from kids.

You groaned, rubbing your temples as the shrieks and laughter rang through the walls. The new family next door had moved in just yesterday, and you hadn’t even had the chance to introduce yourself before their children had taken over the neighborhood with their relentless energy.

And, unfortunately, you were horrible at handling kids.

You stared at the door, debating whether you should go out there and try to quiet them down, only for Gallagher to step past you, rolling up his sleeves.

“I got this.”

“…What?”

He didn’t answer. He just walked out.

You peeked through the window, watching as Gallagher strolled right up to the group of kids who were currently playing some sort of game that involved a lot of shouting. You expected them to ignore him. You would’ve ignored him at that age.

Instead, they stopped. Gallagher crouched down slightly, resting an arm over one knee as he talked to them. You couldn’t hear what he was saying, but whatever it was—it worked. The kids actually listened.

Within minutes, they had gone from wild gremlins to an organized little squad. Gallagher handled them like a pro. You watched in stunned silence as he ruffled a kid’s hair, gave another one some kind of strategy tip for football, and even managed to stop a fight before it started.

When he finally walked back inside, rolling down his sleeves, you could only stare.

“…What was that?”

Gallagher smirked. “Kids are easy. Just gotta talk to ‘em right.”

You crossed your arms, still processing what you just witnessed.

“…You’re good at everything, aren’t you?”

Gallagher blinked, as if the thought had never occurred to him.

Then, he shrugged. “Guess so.”

You exhaled, slumping against the counter. At this point, you figured as long as he wasn’t causing problems, maybe keeping him around was fine.

“…Gallagher” you started, tilting your head slightly, “what would you do without me?”

For the first time, he paused.

Then, ever so slowly, his red eyes slid toward you.

“…Why?”

The casual drawl in his voice was still there, but something about the way he looked at you, the way his fingers idly tapped against his arm—felt off.

You swallowed. “I was just wondering.”

“Well” he murmured, stepping closer, “I don’t plan on findin’ out.”

Gallagher had been sneaking out.

You didn’t notice at first, he was good at covering his tracks, slipping out after you fell asleep and returning before sunrise. But today, when he strolled through the front door like nothing happened, you caught the faintest shift in his movements.

A subtle wince. The way his right arm hung just a bit stiffer than usual.

“Gallagher.”

He blinked at you, then gave his usual lazy smirk. “Mornin’, sweetheart.”

You ignored the greeting, stepping closer. He let you, watching in amusement as your fingers reached for his sleeve.

“You’re hurt.”

He sighed dramatically. “It’s nothin’—”

You rolled up his sleeve anyway.

There—just above his wrist, was a deep scrape, dried blood crusting over the edge. A bruise was already forming along his knuckles, dark and ugly against his pale skin.

You frowned. “Did you go to a dungeon?”

Gallagher didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he watched you, as if gauging your reaction.

“…Yeah.”

You exhaled sharply, grabbing the first-aid kit.

He didn’t protest as you sat him down, kneeling beside him as you cleaned his wound. His eyes never left you, red irises gleaming with something unreadable.

“…You don’t have to do this, y’know,” he murmured, voice quieter than usual.

You dabbed the wound gently, refusing to look at him. “Then don’t get hurt.”

A low chuckle. “Fair enough.”

As you wrapped the bandage around his wrist, a knock echoed from the door. When you opened it, the kids next door stood there, grinning up at you.

“Hi!” one of them chirped. “Our mom made extra food, so she told us to give you some!”

Your eyes softened. “Oh—thank you.”

They handed you a neatly wrapped container, bouncing slightly on their heels before glancing past you. And straight at Gallagher. Their faces lit up.

“Mr. Gallagher!”

You turned back, only to find Gallagher already leaning against the counter, smirking.

“You been doin’ alright?” he drawled.

The kids nodded enthusiastically, chattering about their day as if they had completely forgotten about you.

You sighed.

Even children liked him more than you did.

Later that afternoon, you decided it was time for Gallagher to get some proper clothes. His usual attire, messy, half-unbuttoned, and constantly stained with alcohol—was starting to draw attention.

He, of course, didn’t care.

But you did.

Which was why you ended up dragging him to a store, sifting through racks of shirts while Gallagher lazily trailed behind.

“Oh. It’s you.”

You turned, already feeling your mood sour.

Standing there, with a smug little smile, was a woman you hadn’t seen in years. An old acquaintance—one you hated.

She worked here? Great.

“You actually shop here?” she laughed, crossing her arms. “I thought this place would be a bit too pricey for you.”

Your jaw clenched. “I’m just looking.”

She gave a slow, exaggerated nod, as if she didn’t believe you. “Right. Of course.”

Gallagher’s eyes flicked between you both, his smirk fading slightly.

“…Friend of yours?” he asked casually.

Your old acquaintance barely spared him a glance. “Hardly.”

She turned back to you, smiling sweetly. “Well, I should get back to work. Some of us have careers to focus on.”

Then, with one last condescending glance, she walked away.

Your fingers curled into a fist.

Gallagher, however, said nothing.

Not until much later.

That night, while you were asleep, Gallagher left the house.

He didn’t go to a dungeon this time.

Instead, he waited.

He waited outside the store, watching as your old acquaintance finally ended her shift and started walking home.

She didn’t notice him at first.

Not until the quiet, measured footsteps behind her became too persistent. She turned. And there he was.

Leaning against a lamppost, smiling.

“Long day?” he drawled.

She blinked. “Do I know you?”

Gallagher tilted his head. “Nah.”

She frowned, stepping back. “Then why are you—”

He took a slow step forward.

The street was empty.

“…Y’know” Gallagher murmured, voice barely above a whisper, “I don’t like the way you talk to my sweetheart.”

The color drained from her face.

And then she ran.

Gallagher watched her go, red eyes gleaming in the dim streetlights.

Then, with a low chuckle, he turned around— And walked home. The door creaked open in the dead of night. Gallagher stepped inside, movements slow and deliberate. The street lights outside cast faint shadows across the room, illuminating the lazy smirk on his lips as he shrugged off his coat. His red eyes flicked toward the bed.

There you were. Curled up beneath the blankets, your breathing soft and even. The faint glow of the night drifted over your face, highlighting the peaceful rise and fall of your chest.

He exhaled quietly, rolling his shoulders.

Another peaceful day for you.

He liked it that way.

Silently, Gallagher approached the bed. His movements were surprisingly gentle, careful, almost like he was afraid to wake you. He sat on the edge first, watching the steady rhythm of your breaths.

Then, slowly, he reached out. His fingers brushed against your hair, smoothing it back. His thumb ghosted over your cheek. A quiet hum rumbled in his throat as he finally slipped beneath the blankets.

You stirred slightly, a faint mumble escaping your lips. Gallagher stilled, watching as you shifted, then, instinctively, gravitated toward him. His smirk deepened. Your subconscious already knew where you belonged.

Carefully, he pulled you closer, pressing your head against his chest. His arm draped over your waist, securing you in place. He let out a slow breath, his body relaxing for the first time that night.

This was nice.

Just the two of you. No noise. No interruptions.

His eyes fluttered shut.

Another peaceful day would come tomorrow.

And the day after that.

And the day after that.

Because as long as he was here, you weren’t going anywhere.

---

Visit - Lucky egg series

[Phainon] [Adventurine]

[capellla]

𝓜𝓮𝓼𝓼𝓪𝓰𝓮 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓒𝓸𝓵𝓵𝓮𝓬𝓽𝓲𝓿𝓮

Feel

You feel something is coming. Your logic and emotions know, but they find excuses and prevent you. But deep down you know. In this world where most people look down on others, in this world where roses are judged for their thorns, and in this world where the voice of the real is forgotten, you are slowly waking up.

Listen

You are protected. Whatever it is that you think has been taken away from you. You never belonged to that. You can't expect to grow in a dry land.

Fall in love.

Fall in love with what is real and sincere. Let go of everything else that looks like gold but isn't.

I feel like many of you get caught up in the ordinary hustle and bustle of life and forget many things that are important. Stop and listen to the silence for a while. What's really important to you? Some important events will be waiting for us in this new year and even in the near future. I'm getting this message. This may change for everyone, but we will go through an important period. There will be a period when many people's masks will fall and the reality will be revealed. It will be important to stay protected and communicate with your higher self during this period.

[phoenixblaze1412]

heyyy, i hope you're having a great day. i know this might've come as weird or maybe silly idk, may i req a child!reader (dottore as our father) where we took inspiration from the cool uncle childe to make a video room tour about dottore's office (bc i know for sure we're banned from the lab lololol). reader is so excited to make a video and we dragged some segments too hehe. thank uuu in advance!

-🧊

Of course!

You stood in front of your father’s intimidating lab door, your heart racing with excitement. Today was the day. The grand project you'd been planning for weeks. Your epic, world-changing video tour of The Great Il Dottore's Office.

Why?

Because your super cool Uncle Childe had recently shown you a fun, hyperactive video he made with his siblings, where they gave a chaotic tour of his house, complete with background explosions, which Childe swore was "just editing magic". You had never laughed so hard in your life.

So naturally, the only logical conclusion was to do the same thing with your father’s top-secret, definitely-should-not-be-touched office.

What could go wrong?

“Okay, Theta, say hi to the viewers!” you chirped, holding up the kamera Childe gave you.

Theta, one of Dottore’s livelier Segments, grinned mischievously. “Hello, my devoted fans!Welcome to this top-tier production. Sponsored by chaos and curiosity!” He threw his hands in the air like he was on a game show.

You cackled. “This is going to be the best video ever.”

Behind you, Iota stood with a cautious frown, his arms crossed. “I don’t think this is a good idea,” he said, eyeing the lab door like it might explode. “If your father finds out--”

“He won’t find out!” you insisted confidently.

“Besides, it’s for science.”

Omega, the strictest and most intimidating of the Segments, narrowed his eyes at you from across the hall. “This is foolish. Cease this nonsense immediately.”

You gasped dramatically, pointing the camera at him. “Wow, everyone, look! It’s Mr. Grumpy himself. Omega, say hi to your fans!”

“I refuse,” Omega deadpanned.

Theta leaned into the frame. “That’s just his way of saying he loves you.”

Omega’s glare could’ve melted Theta's head off.

The door to Dottore’s lab creaked open, revealing a wonderland of strange gadgets, glowing vials, and ominous machines whirring in the background.

“Behold! The lair of the infamous Dottore!” you announced dramatically, sweeping the camera around the room. “Look at all this totally legal science stuff!”

“None of this is legal,” Iota muttered under his breath, glancing nervously at the surveillance cameras embedded in the walls.

“First stop: the desk!” you said, zooming in on a pile of scattered blueprints. “This is where Father probably writes his evil plans--”

“I would not call them evil,” Omega interjected sternly.

“Yeah, yeah. Evil adjacent,” you teased, sticking your tongue out at him.

Theta picked up one of the blueprints and gasped. “Whoa! Is this a death ray or a smoothie maker? Could go either way, honestly.”

You laughed so hard you almost dropped the kamera. “Probably both!”

As you moved toward a ruin guard covered in blinking lights, Iota reached out to stop you. “Careful! That’s unstable--”

Before he could finish, Theta pressed a bright red button on the console.

A loud BZZT! filled the room as sparks flew from the machine.

“RUN!” Iota shouted, grabbing your arm and pulling you along with him behind a workbench.

“What did you DO?!” Omega bellowed, his composure cracking for the first time.

“I pressed the fun button!” Theta grinned unapologetically.

“You’re going to get us all vaporized!” Omega snapped.

“Great content though, right?” you whispered to the camera, eyes wide with excitement.

Once the sparks died down and no one had been turned into ash, you dusted yourself off and pointed the camera at a collection of glowing jars on a shelf.

“These are probably full of super dangerous stuff,” you speculated.

“Definitely,” Theta agreed, leaning casually against the shelf.

Iota facepalmed. “Why are you like this?”

“Because I’m fun.”

As you zoomed in on one particularly bright jar, you grinned mischievously. “Hey, everyone, should I open one?”

“Absolutely not,” Omega growled, snatching the jar out of your reach.

“Ugh, you’re no fun,” you pouted.

“Fun isn’t the priority when dealing with potentially lethal substances,” Omega lectured.

Theta snickered and picked you up before walking off to another part of the lab. “Spoken like a true buzzkill.”

After exploring nearly every inch of the lab, and only almost destroying it twice, you stood in front of the camera with the Segments behind you.

“Well, that’s it for today’s tour! Thanks for watching! Don’t forget to like, subscribe, and—”

The door to the lab suddenly slid open, revealing the man himself: Dottore.

He stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable, crimson eyes flicking between you, the Segments, and the mess you’d made.

Silence.

You gulped. “Uh… hi, Papa!”

“What,” Dottore said slowly, eyeing the mess behind your group before focusing his gaze back on you, “is going on here?”

“We were… uh… conducting an educational video project?” you offered sheepishly.

Theta nodded enthusiastically. “For science!”

Dottore pinched the bridge of his nose. “Iota?”

“I tried to stop them,” Iota said grimly.

Dottore’s gaze shifted to Omega.

“They’re impossible to control,” Omega said flatly.

Finally, Dottore looked at Theta, who grinned nervously. “Hey, boss! Love what you’ve done with the place.”

Dottore exhaled sharply. “Clean this up. All of you.”

“Yes, sir,” Omega and Iota said in unison, dragging Theta toward the mess while said segment only whined as he was dragged off.

As they worked, Dottore crouched down to your level, his expression softening slightly.

“And you,” he said, tapping your nose, “no more unauthorized experiments in my lab.”

You grinned sheepishly. “Okay, Papa. But… did you like the video?”

Dottore sighed, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah,” you agreed cheerfully. “But you love me anyway.”

Dottore chuckled softly as he picked you up in his arms before turning around to leave his office and walked off to your room. “Unfortunately for me, yes. Come along, let's get you to bed, my dear."

[radiofreesanjak]

There is a tendency for those in power to point to pragmatism when things get hard for them.

"But Mistral," they'll tell me, "we must take small steps to improve! Any amount of improvement is better than none!"

This is, of course, a call to quiet down in most cases. We will demand the people's control of the worlds we live in and will be met with cries of how it is impossible, how we are asking too much, and we must instead be fine with scraps.

Here is the trick to it: this is a defensive tactic for them. They do not intend to improve over time, and they say this because the combined forces of the people are a force they're terrified of. That slow action is better is often a lie, and this is a lie designed to quiet the movement. When we concede to these logics, we move our resources away from what good we could do here and now to instead focus on the slow, the support of the people already in power.

The movement from the people by the people has been able to win before. It has been able to win many times, because what it requires from those in power is their fear and not their respect, and while they will never respect those below them enough to grant them freedom, they often learn fear quite quickly.

Stick to your guns, comrades. Remember that a new world is possible.

-Mistral

[premiumbitch]

THINGS TO MANIFEST - GLINDA THEMED PACK ! ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

hi luvs! I decided I'd make glinda themed pack for my pookster who requested it (@cinnamoncilla) and for people who want to manifest themselves to be a completely different person, someone they will feel confident to be! also for the amazing shifters who can script this about themselves! enjoy! (also guys let me say I know that in the first novel, Glinda undergoes significant character development. she appears superficial and preoccupied with trivial matters at first, but I'll will be writing about the version of her after character development. I also did add my own little twist but anyways lol)

⋆⛧┈┈┈┈﹤୨♡୧﹥ ┈┈┈┈⛧⋆

BEAUTY ♡ //

Your beauty feels like golden sunlight—warm, radiant, and impossible to ignore, as if the world itself blooms in your presence.

Your hair flows like spun silk catching the breeze—soft, weightless, and shimmering with every movement.

Your eyes are like crystal-clear skies after a storm—hopeful, boundless, and filled with the kind of magic that turns dreams into reality.

Your skin glows like dawn breaking over emerald fields—fresh, luminous, and kissed by something otherworldly.

Your smile is effortless, like a spell cast without intention—bright, enchanting, and capable of making hearts skip a beat.

You carry yourself like a queen who never needed a crown—graceful, poised, and fully aware of your own worth.

Your beauty doesn’t just shine—it dazzles, leaving an afterglow that lingers long after you’ve gone.

You have the kind of face that belongs in fairy tales, delicate yet powerful, like a promise of something wondrous.

Light bends around you differently, as if the universe itself adores you, wrapping you in an ethereal glow.

Your beauty is breathtaking not because it’s perfect, but because it feels like a melody that makes the world a little brighter.

AURA ♡ //

You radiate the kind of energy that makes flowers bloom and hearts open—a presence that feels like a song of hope.

Your vibe is like laughter ringing through a ballroom—elegant, joyful, and utterly unforgettable.

Being around you feels like standing in a golden spotlight—everything seems a little warmer, a little more possible.

You carry a sense of wonder that makes people believe in happily-ever-afters, even when they’ve stopped believing.

Your presence is like the first burst of confetti—unexpected, magical, and impossible not to smile at.

People don’t just notice you—they feel you, like the hush of anticipation before something spectacular.

Your aura is a delicate balance of softness and strength, light and resilience, dreams and determination.

You have a way of turning even the most ordinary moments into something cinematic, like a perfect scene in a musical.

Time seems to slow around you, as if the world can’t help but savor every second in your glow.

People are drawn to you, not just for your charm, but for the way you make life feel a little more enchanted.

Your aura feels like the final note of a song that lingers long after the music stops—beautiful, haunting, and impossible to forget.

SMARTS ♡ //

Your mind works like a well-written script—witty, insightful, and filled with moments of brilliance that leave people in awe.

You think in colors most people can’t even name, seeing beauty in logic and poetry in strategy.

Your ideas are like stardust—small at first, but capable of lighting up entire galaxies.

You have the ability to turn the impossible into reality, crafting solutions with the same ease that others hum a familiar tune.

Your brilliance is wrapped in charm, making intelligence feel inviting rather than intimidating.

You approach challenges like a composer arranging a masterpiece—carefully, creatively, and always with a touch of magic.

Your creativity feels limitless, as if you pull inspiration from the very air around you.

You have a gift for making knowledge feel like a fairytale—exciting, immersive, and full of adventure.

Your intuition is sharp, guiding you like a star that never wavers, even in the darkest night.

You don’t just understand the world—you reimagine it, painting it in brighter, bolder strokes.

Your smarts have a kind of sparkle, turning even the dullest moments into something worth remembering.

PERSONALITY ♡ //

You’re the kind of person who makes life feel like a story worth telling—vivid, heartfelt, and unforgettable.

Your kindness is effortless but profound, like a soft melody that lingers in the air long after it’s played.

You have a way of making people feel special, as if they’ve stepped into the most magical chapter of their lives.

Your humor is quick and golden, the kind that brings light even to the most serious of rooms.

You inspire people not just by what you do, but by who you are—a reminder that goodness and ambition can exist in harmony.

Your energy is like the chorus of a song everyone knows—familiar, uplifting, and impossible not to sing along with.

You have a way of making people believe in themselves, as if their wildest dreams aren’t so far out of reach.

Your presence feels like a standing ovation—loud, warm, and entirely deserved.

You’re the kind of person people write songs about, not just because of your beauty, but because of the way you make them feel.

You make the world a little softer, a little brighter, and a lot more magical just by being in it.

Your personality isn’t just golden—it’s the kind of rare, radiant gold that never loses its shine.

hope you guys enjoyed! requests are appreciated! lmk if you want anything! <3