#much psychological and emotional distress.

[alectology-archive]

so far I think I’d still pick priory over adofn, mostly because the pacing in that book worked far better for *me*.

[kindaeccentric]

every once in a while I think about the sequence in the first Mission Impossible with the agents getting killed off and how darkly erotic the whole thing was, like, Brian De Palma, can I talk to you for a second

[zerocoded]

summary: caleb wants to confess to you on his knees and a 70-year-old lady becomes your biggest nightmare.

authors note: pls take a look at the warnings for a safe reading ♡ y'all are freakier than me and I LOVE IT, so here is the continuation of this post i made, if you haven't read it, go and tell me what you think about! also check the talented artist who made this drawing that i'm using as a banner, credits to her ♡ this thing was supposed to be 6k words max but i think i got a little too much into EVERYTHING so i'm sorry if this sucks. still, i wish you guys a nice reading!

warnings: MAJOR LORE GUESS, THIS IS MY THEORY OF HOW THINGS WILL PLAY OUT DON'T TAKE IT SERIOUSLY • gaslighting and manipulation • SLIGHT yandere!caleb • possessive!caleb • isolation but just a little • minor injury • psychological distress • themes of wars and weaponization • we talk a little about our trauma • ptsd symptoms • negative talks about ourselves (booh) • caleb custom makes an uniform specially for us • hints at psychological torture • once again, ANGST BABES because these two really like to bicker with each other • sfw content but HEAVILY SUGGESTIVE, just nothing graphic

word count: 11.6k (pls let's not talk about it)

THIS IS THE PART TWO, you can read the first chapter below:

the first time you see caleb after the incident┃ you're here┃you punch caleb in the face┃caleb teaches you his love language

skyhaven, powered by a protocore, stood as a beacon of innovation—a home to cutting-edge research centers and advanced tech organizations. when you were younger, the suspended island above linkon city had been a dream, a place of endless possibility and freedom. now, standing here, you couldn’t shake the irony: the very place you once longed to visit now felt like a gilded cage.

your journey here has unsettled you, planting a persistent seed of doubt. was this truly what you wanted? leaving behind the familiar comforts of your apartment to follow caleb to this towering, enigmatic place—was it the right choice? did that moment—the feeling of his lips on yours—truly change anything between you? did he think about it as often as you did?

the initial shock and disbelief of reuniting with caleb, after weeks spent mourning him, had begun to settle by your second night in skyhaven. the whirlwind of emotions that came with seeing him alive—relief, confusion, and a flicker of anger—faded into a dull hum as reality set in. as the day dragged on, with caleb strictly advising you not to leave his sleeping quarters’ floor, you found yourself with plenty of time to adjust to the strange circumstances you now found yourself in.

your first day here had passed quietly, an uneasy stillness settling over you. you hadn’t yet met any of caleb’s colleagues. the only glimpse you’d gotten of them was when you both arrived, their initial looks of curiosity quickly extinguished by caleb’s commanding presence. whatever questions they had, they didn’t dare voice them. his authority was absolute, and for now, it shielded you from the world beyond his floor—but it also left you feeling isolated, a stranger in this new environment.

the second day started and ended much like the first—confined to his bedchambers, with nothing but your thoughts and the ever-changing view from the huge floor-to-ceiling windows in his room. you spent hours there, caught in a trance as the sky shifted through an endless palette of colors, clouds forming and dissolving in shapes that seemed just as fleeting as your grip on this new reality.

caleb’s presence was everywhere and that made you a little dizzy. his scent lingered in the shirts he had lent you, in the bed sheets that cradled you at night, a warm mix of leather, musk, and something distinctly his own. his quarters, though rarely used given how much of his time was consumed by work, were unmistakably a reflection of him.

the room was awash in muted greys, from the smooth metallic walls to the minimalist furniture that prioritized function over form. cabinets lined one side, adorned with badges from past missions—quiet tokens of his history, his sacrifices, and his triumphs. their arrangement felt almost random, yet carried a subtle, unspoken order.

his bed, though crisply made, was an island of softness in the otherwise sharp-edged decor. a worn leather jacket hung by the door, its scuffed edges a contrast to the polished surface of his boots, lined perfectly beneath. on the desk in the corner, a stack of reports waited alongside a notebook with frayed edges, a relic of a more personal side of him he rarely let anyone see.

when reality came crashing down, you realized that you felt no different than when you were a little kid—admiring the boy of your dreams from a distance, your heart caught between hope and the quiet certainty that this dream was just that: a dream. the same ache lingered, a mixture of longing and doubt. you felt closer to that dream every time you caught caleb staring at you when he thought you were distracted.

speaking of ache, the injury you’d sustained a few days earlier during one of your missions was still fresh in your memory. the medic team at the farspace fleet had tended to it with precision, and that counted as the second time you’d interacted with anyone here. you hadn’t meant to let it slip during your journey that your ribs were swollen from an accident at work, but caleb had noticed—and he wasn’t about to let you brush it off.

when you tried to wave away his concerns, insisting you just needed rest, he didn’t take it lightly. his worry for you came out in an unusual way—firm, commanding, and impossible to ignore. he barked orders at the medic team with an authority that left no room for argument, his voice sharp and unwavering. watching him threaten them to ensure you received the best care, you couldn’t help but feel like he wasn’t just acting as a colonel—he was someone who cared deeply for you. 

as the clock marked the start of your third day as caleb’s reluctant guest, you rose from his bed, the routine as monotonous as the view outside. you slipped into fresh clothes—despite having no prospect of seeing anyone besides caleb—and began your habitual ritual of tidying up his space, a quiet attempt to pass the time and bring a sliver of normalcy to the strange circumstances.

you were certain the colonel wouldn’t mind if you spent the day lounging in his shirt—it wasn’t like he’d complain—but there was something about maintaining a semblance of decency that felt necessary. maybe it was your way of reminding yourself that you and caleb weren’t pre-teenagers cuddling in granny’s sofa like you used to anymore, now you were both adults.

caleb’s presence in the room was fleeting, almost ghostlike. you always fell asleep before he returned and woke to find the bed cold and empty, his absence a constant companion. and yet, in the stillness of the night, there were moments—fleeting, but undeniable—when you stirred just enough to feel him. his arm would circle your waist, his breath soft against your hair. it was never long enough to fully wake, but just enough to remind you that he was there, in his own quiet, guarded way.

and there it goes your attempt at decency once again.

you’d joked once about how he was keeping you hostage, trying to lighten the mood of your strange arrangement. caleb had smirked at your remark, that faint, knowing curve of his lips that you used to know what it meant but couldn’t pinpoint it anymore. “be patient”, he’d teased, throwing out that stupid nickname he’d decided to saddle you with since kids. then, with his usual abruptness, he’d turned to leave, disappearing for yet another task that demanded his attention.

you caught yourself daydreaming about kicking his ass more times than you wanted to admit, but refrained from it because of the little consideration you had for the man. caleb had always been more than a mere presence in your life. growing up, he had been both a confidant and the object of an innocent, unspoken infatuation. 

back at school, you remembered the way your classmates would fawn over him after the whole chronorift thing happened, their voices tinged with admiration and awe. it had stirred a quiet possessiveness in you that you hadn’t fully acknowledged until now—until two nights ago, when he brought you to the farspace fleet. the way the other daa soldiers regarded him, with a mixture of respect and fear, reminded you of those little girls in school, seeing him as someone out of reach. 

the sound of your footsteps echoed faintly in the silence of caleb’s quarters as you paced, restless energy building with nowhere to go. the midday light filtering through the observation deck window cast long shadows, shifting subtly as the minutes dragged into hours. you’d spent the morning turning over every piece of information caleb had given you—trying to make sense of his cryptic remarks.

you had thought about confronting him more than once, but every time you pictured his sharp gaze and those carefully chosen, guarded responses, you stopped yourself. caleb didn’t share things easily like he used to, and if he was keeping you in the dark now, there had to be a reason. but patience had never been your strong suit, and the isolation of the past three days only made your doubts heavier, pressing against your thoughts like an unshakable weight.

as the door to his quarters hissed open, your heart jumped, the sound breaking the stillness like a gunshot. caleb stepped inside, his movements precise, his expression unreadable. his uniform was slightly rumpled, the dark fabric clinging to his frame, and a faint sheen of sweat on his brow suggested whatever task he’d been called to wasn’t as simple as he might claim.

“you’re still up here,” he observed, his tone neutral but his gaze flicking over you briefly before settling on the desk where he’d left a stack of reports.

“where else would i be?” you replied, trying to mask the tension in your voice. “you made it pretty clear this is my designated prison cell.”

his lips quirked into that familiar smirk. “if this is a prison, i’d say you’ve got the best cell in the fleet.”

you rolled your eyes at his response, folding your arms across your chest. “sure, best cell in the fleet,” you muttered, your tone dripping with sarcasm. “it’s not like i have much to compare it to.”

caleb chuckled softly, his smirk lingering as he moved toward the desk, casually thumbing through the stack of reports. “you’ve got a knack for making everything sound like an ordeal,” he said, glancing at your choice of clothes for the day—it wasn’t anything crazy, just some jeans and a black compression shirt. caleb didn’t gave you time to actually pack your stuff, of course. “but you’ll want to save your complaints for later. something tells me you’re about to get more to gripe about.”

before you could ask what he meant, the door hissed open again, and a small team of people entered, their arrival so abrupt it left you momentarily stunned. they carried garment bags and cases, moving efficiently under caleb’s orders. he turned to you, his expression unreadable but his tone calm and firm.

“go with them,” he said simply. “they’ll help you get ready.”

you stared at him, incredulous. “ready for what?”

“it’s time for you to get out of here,” he said, his tone firm yet measured. “you need to meet some people. there’s an interrogation set up, and they’re going to need answers—everything you know about onychinus, the aether core, and ever. try to dig up whatever you can remember about your time in the lab,” he added, his lips curving into a faint smile. “that should keep them satisfied, princess.”

your body tensed at the mention of onychinus. it was a name you didn’t expect to hear here, of all places, and the weight of it hit you like a blow to the chest. your gaze snapped to caleb, your mind already racing. how much did he know? how much had he told them?

“onychinus?” you repeated, your voice sharper than you intended. “how do they even know about that?”

did they know about sylus?

caleb’s expression remained unreadable, his amethystine eyes cool and steady, but there was a flicker of something he wasn’t saying. “this isn’t just about you anymore,” he replied simply. “they need answers. so do i.”

“and the lab?” you snapped, your frustration bubbling to the surface. “what the hell is that supposed to mean? i don’t know shit about that place, caleb. i already told you. it’s hard enough to believe i’m some kind of fucking experiment.”

he sighed heavily, the sound more resigned than exasperated. “we’ve talked about this,” he said, his voice steady but with a tinge of weariness, as if the conversation had played out in his head a hundred times already.

“no,” you shot back, stepping closer, your voice trembling with emotion. “you talked about this. you told me we’re human weapons, made to destroy each other. you told me about your time before the chronorift and granny josephine.” your voice faltered for a moment, your breath hitching. “and i told you, caleb, i don’t remember any procedures being done without my consent. even after the chronorift tragedy. you should stop fretting me about this.”

“you don’t remember,” he said quietly, his amethystine eyes holding yours with a steady intensity. “that’s fine. i didn’t either, at first.” he paused, the faintest flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before he continued. “but i hope we can talk about this again later, when you finally do remember.”

his voice dropped lower. “trust me,” he said, the words heavy with meaning. “you’re going to want me by your side when that happens.”

you narrowed your eyes, your tone turning accusatory. “and what about you? are they interrogating you too, or is this just about me?”

he tilted his head slightly, his lips curving into that faint smirk that was equal parts infuriating and captivating. “i was the one who asked for your interrogation,” he said, his voice calm, almost casual, as if he hadn’t just dropped a bombshell.

“what do you mean, you asked?” you demanded, stepping closer to him, your heart pounding in your chest. the sheer size of him, amplified by the sharp lines of his uniform, made him feel larger than life. the dark fabric clung to his frame, accentuating his out worldly height.

his perfume was also divine.

“i need to make sure you’re telling the truth,” he said, his tone firm but not unkind. the words hung in the air, a challenge wrapped in concern. his bionic arm rested at his side, the faint hum of its servos almost lost in the tension between you.

your breath hitched, a mix of anger and hurt bubbling to the surface. “you don’t trust me,” you said, your voice quieter now, though no less sharp. “after the stunt you pulled at granny’s house, i should be the one not to trust you”.

his gaze softened, just for a moment, but then his expression hardened again, the familiar steel returning to his eyes. “this isn’t about trust,” he said, his voice low and steady. “it’s about knowing what we’re up against. i can’t afford to take chances—not with you, not with anyone.”

you felt the heat rise to your cheeks, your fists clenching at your sides. “you’re not the caleb i remember,” you muttered, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

his jaw tightened, and he stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. the sharp lines of his uniform, the way his eyes seemed to pierce right through you—it was almost too much. “i’m not,” he said, his voice a rough whisper. “that boy’s gone. at least the part of him that had to change so i could protect you right now. and if you can’t handle that—”

“don’t,” you interrupted, your voice shaking slightly. “just forget it.”

the tension between you crackled like static, the air too heavy to breathe. finally, he exhaled, the sound more controlled than the storm in his eyes. “after the interrogation,” he said, his tone softening just a fraction, “you’ll be free to move around skyhaven. no more confinement.”

you didn’t respond, your throat tight with words you couldn’t bring yourself to say. as if sensing the shift, caleb straightened, his imposing figure softening just slightly as he stepped closer. his expression shifted to something quieter, almost tender.

“hey,” he said softly, his voice dropping to that low, comforting tone he used when he wanted you to listen. his flesh hand gently cradled your cheek, the warmth of his touch grounding you, even as you stubbornly refused to meet his gaze. “you know you can trust me, right? pipsqueak?”

the nickname caught you off guard, tugging at something familiar, something from a time when things felt simpler. you blinked, unsure whether to be annoyed or comforted by the teasing lilt in his voice. “don’t call me that,” you muttered, though your heart wasn’t in it. 

you blinked hard, feeling the sting of unshed tears threatening to spill over. your chest tightened as the emotions you’d been trying to bury the last two days clawed their way to the surface. his thumb brushed against your cheek, a quiet, unspoken reassurance.

“look at me,” he murmured, his voice so soft it was almost a plea. when you didn’t, he leaned in just enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath. 

the warmth in his eyes didn’t fade. “stop acting like you don’t trust me,” he said, the teasing edge softening into something more serious. “i know this isn’t easy for you. hell, it’s not easy for me either. but i need you to believe me when i say i’m doing this for us—for you.”

“for me?” you repeated, your voice laced with annoyance as you crossed your arms. “you shouldn’t keep me in the dark like this, caleb. i don’t like it.”

his expression faltered for just a second, a flicker of guilt crossing his features before he straightened again, his bionic arm twitching faintly at his side. “it’s not that i don’t trust you,” he said, his voice firm but not harsh. “it’s that i need to protect you. and sometimes… that means making decisions you’re not going to like.”

you swallowed hard, his words settling heavily in your chest. he reached out then, his human hand brushing lightly against your arm, grounding you with a touch that was more deliberate than casual.

“you know me,” he whispered in your ear, leaning in slightly, his voice so quiet it was almost a secret. “you know i’d never let anything happen to you. you’re the only one i’ve ever been able to count on. don’t forget that, okay?”

after that, caleb took a step away from you, nodding to the team waiting by the door.

“get her ready,” he ordered, his voice carrying that same commanding edge that left no room for argument.

the team ushered you into a side room, where they worked quickly and efficiently to help you change. the uniform they presented was a masterpiece—sleek and custom-fitted, clearly designed to match the style of caleb’s but with details tailored to you. the base was a deep charcoal grey, nearly black, with white, red and gold piping along the seams and shoulders that shimmered faintly in the light. the high collar hugged your neck, its edges trimmed with subtle leather lines.

the fabric was sturdy yet flexible, designed for both movement and protection, while still accentuating your figure with precision. the insignia on the chest was a smaller, more refined version of the fleet’s emblem, embossed in gold. the sleeves bore intricate embroidery that hinted at your stats as a companion, adding a touch of elegance to the otherwise utilitarian design. the boots were polished to perfection, completing the look with a sense of authority and efficiency.

the team handed you the final piece of the uniform—a sleek military-style hat reminiscent of a pilot’s, crafted with the same precision and detail as the rest of the attire. its charcoal-grey base was accented with a polished silver insignia of the fleet, the mark of the deepspace aviation administration that gleamed in the light. 

the room buzzed with quiet efficiency as the staff worked around you, their movements quick but deliberate. the space itself was bright and sterile, with sleek metallic walls that reflected the soft hum of machinery. the air carried a faint smell of ozone and disinfectant, underscoring the precision of the environment. each member of the team seemed hyper-focused on their tasks—adjusting a seam here, brushing away an invisible speck of lint there—all while maintaining a level of deference that left you slightly uneasy.

their respect toward you wasn’t forced, but it felt oddly out of place, as if it was more a reflection of caleb’s authority than anything you’d earned. you caught snippets of murmured conversation between them, their glances respectful yet curious, as though they were trying to piece together who you were and why caleb had ordered such meticulous preparation for you.

when they finished, you stepped out into the hall where caleb was waiting. he stood with his back to you, his broad shoulders filling the space, his bionic arm resting at his side. 

for a split second you imagined yourself kicking his ass once again and making him fall face first on the floor for the way he’d been avoiding you the last two days. but then you remembered where you were and what you were doing here.

you’re not lying when saying you had spent a few seconds just glancing at his back without his notice. the sharp lines of his uniform only emphasized the commanding presence he carried, making him look every bit the colonel he was. the moment he felt your presence, he turned, his amethyst eyes locking onto you.

for a moment, caleb didn’t say anything. his gaze swept over you, slow and deliberate, taking in every detail of the uniform. his expression was unreadable, but his eyes held something deeper—pride, maybe, or something more possessive.

“it fits,” he said finally, his voice low and steady, 

“barely,” you replied, attempting to lighten the moment, though the intensity of his stare made your voice falter.

he stepped closer, his movements deliberate, his gaze never leaving yours. “no,” he said, his lips twitching into the faintest smirk. “it fits perfectly.”

his eyes swept over you again, lingering just a fraction too long to be casual. “actually,” he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, “it does more than fit. you look…” he paused, tilting his head slightly as if searching for the right word, though the gleam in his eyes told you he already knew. “exceptional.”

you felt heat rise to your cheeks, his compliment catching you off guard. “exceptional?” you echoed, attempting to keep your voice steady, though it betrayed you with a slight waver. “didn’t think you were the type to throw around fancy words like that, colonel.”

his smirk deepened, the teasing edge in his gaze making your pulse quicken. “i don’t throw them around,” he said smoothly. “only when they’re deserved.”

the way he looked at you made your breath hitch, the weight of his presence making the space between you feel charged. “you didn’t have to go through all this trouble,” you murmured, your fingers brushing over the insignia on your chest.

“i did,” he replied simply, his voice dropping even lower. “you’re with me now. they need to see that.” his gaze softened just enough to let a flicker of vulnerability show before it disappeared. “are you ready?”

no, i’m not, you wanted to say, but you doubted your insecurity would make a difference here. you were a hunter on a mission right now, and any false step could lead to your demise and caleb’s plan failing. you hoped he didn’t sense your nervousness, but something told you that you couldn’t hide anything from the man beside you. he always knew how to read you—this part of him resembled zayne a little, though you feared the comparison.

you walked side by side out of the sleeping quarters, your boots echoing softly against the polished floors. the corridor was a stark contrast to the warmth of caleb’s quarters—bright, sterile, and buzzing with activity. as soon as you stepped into view, every officer and soldier below caleb’s rank stopped their tasks, snapping to attention with a crisp salute. the air seemed to shift, charged with an unspoken reverence for the colonel.

the corridor led to an expansive atrium, its vaulted ceiling revealing the full grandeur of skyhaven. the deepspace aviation administration headquarters was a masterpiece of engineering, blending sleek modernity with a palpable sense of purpose. towering support structures arched gracefully overhead, made of an alloy that shimmered faintly under the artificial lighting. expansive observation windows lined the atrium walls, offering a breathtaking view of linkon city far below.

skyhaven itself was an artificial marvel, a massive floating island suspended by an intricate network of protocore technology and magnetic stabilizers. the island wasn’t just a hub for the military—it was a living ecosystem of cutting-edge science and aviation. beneath the steel and glass exterior, skyhaven buzzed with life, housing research centers, training facilities, and state-of-the-art hangars that extended far beyond the viewable limits.

as you glanced out one of the observation windows, a small sigh of relief escaped your lips. linkon city stretched far below, its familiar skyline bathed in the amber glow of the sun. despite everything—your doubts, your fears—there was something comforting about seeing the world from this vantage point. for a moment, you let yourself appreciate the surreal beauty of it, even as caleb’s brisk pace pulled you back into the present.

as you approached the center of the base, the architecture shifted subtly, becoming even more advanced. panels of polished black metal lined the walls, embedded with glowing data streams that flickered in shades of blue and green. interactive holographic displays projected tactical maps, fleet status reports, and complex equations, their light casting faint patterns across the gleaming floor.

caleb led you through a security checkpoint, where biometric scanners and advanced surveillance systems verified your presence. the guards at the station snapped to attention at his approach, their expressions taut with respect. beyond the checkpoint, the central operations hub opened up—a sprawling room filled with tiered workstations and holo-screens that hovered mid-air.

in the heart of the hub stood a group that was unmistakably different. clad in black tactical uniforms, their gear adorned with the subtle insignia of ever, this was the special force. they didn’t salute caleb as the others had; their deference was more subtle, marked by a slight inclination of their heads and a sharp, assessing glance in your direction.

you felt your blood boil as your gaze landed on the emblem stitched into their uniforms—the unmistakable insignia of ever. the sight of it twisted your stomach, bringing back every sleepless night, every unanswered question that had haunted you since josephine’s death. zayne’s reluctant handoff of those cryptic documents had started it all, but it was the whispers of ever that had lingered at the edges of your stay at the N109 zone and your time at the nest that really troubled you.

and now, here they were, not just a name on a paper or a faint memory on onychinus’ air, but living, breathing soldiers standing right in front of you. their presence was as real as the knot forming in your chest. 

one of them stepped forward, a woman with sharp features and piercing eyes that seemed to miss nothing. her voice was calm but firm. “colonel,” she said, her gaze briefly flicking to you. “the team is ready for the briefing. we’ve set up in conference room XO2.”

your gaze darted to caleb, who was speaking with the woman at the forefront of ever’s team. his tone was steady, his expression calm, but to you, it was infuriatingly unreadable. how could he be so composed? how could he stand there, shoulder to shoulder with the people who might have made you both into weapons? your mind raced with fragments of memory and half-formed theories.

caleb’s words echoed in your mind: “we’re human weapons, made to destroy each other.” it was a concept you’d rejected at first, clinging to the idea that you were still whole, just a hunter with a weird heart. but the cracks had started to show. the unnatural resilience, the strange flashes of memory that felt both foreign and familiar, the way caleb’s presence had always felt like a tether. had josephine known? had she always known what you were? was that why she left you those documents, why she’d placed zayne in your path? 

as you walked toward the mentioned room, the sound of your boots echoed faintly in the metallic corridor, mingling with the synchronized footsteps of the armed guards flanking you. their presence was suffocating, a living barricade of authority around you. their weapons were sleek and unrelenting.

the corridor opened up into a larger chamber, the entrance marked by a reinforced door flanked by additional guards. their posture was identical to the others, their faces emotionless masks as they stepped aside to let you pass. the door hissed open with a low, mechanical groan, revealing a room that was as starkly advanced as the rest of skyhaven.

as you waited for caleb to acknowledge you, suddenly all of the guards left, leaving only caleb, you and the lady in the room.

caleb gestured for you to take a seat, his voice low but firm. “sit,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. you hesitated for a fraction of a second, your gaze flicking to him before complying. the grey-haired woman took a seat across from you, her sharp eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your pulse quicken.

caleb remained standing, his hands resting on the back of the chair beside you. his presence was steady, but you could feel the tension radiating from him. he leaned down, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your ear.

"do as you’re told and don’t cause any trouble," he whispered, his voice low and edged with an authority that sent a shiver down your spine. "you won’t get hurt, then."

your body stiffened at his words, your fists curling slightly against the cool surface of the table. despite the sharpness in his tone, there was an undercurrent of something else—something almost protective.

the grey-haired woman—you still didn’t know her name—exchanged a few words with caleb and then rose from her seat completely ignoring you. her heels clicked against the floor as she strode toward the door, her sharp gaze lingering on you for a moment before she exited. you caught the faintest glint of approval in her eyes as she passed. the door hissed shut behind her, leaving you and caleb alone in the room… or so it seemed. you glanced to the side, catching sight of the conference window. she was still there, standing with her arms crossed, her sharp silhouette illuminated by the sterile glow of the room beyond. a microphone sat near her hand, her presence palpable even in her absence.

"if you’re understanding the situation, then let’s go ahead and have a nice chat, right, pipsqueak?” caleb said, straightening and placing his hands on the table. “there’s more than one pair of eyes observing you in this room and it will be over before you know it". if he was trying to console you, he was doing a terrible job.

the investigation started with stupid questions like what was your name, age and evol. questions about the chronorift catastrophe resurfaced and time dragged slow by the time caleb got to the more important questions. your patience were running thin, asking yourself why was the need of all this bullshit if they wouldn’t explain things to you at the end of the day.

caleb’s monotone tone annoyed you more than anything, but the eyes observing you in this room stopped you from starting a childish banter with the colonel. speaking of eyes, the grey-haired-scary woman kept hers on you the whole time. you could feel her obsession over this ever entity all the way from fucking linkon city. you hated it.

as time passed by, you started to grow restless when he got to ask the questions about granny. it was infuriating the way he was speaking like he wasn’t there the whole time—like he wasn’t the other child that josephine took under her wing. 

your anger faltered when caleb reached into his jacket and pulled out a stack of papers. the documents slid across the table with a deliberate motion, their edges crisp and yellowed with age. the faint scent of old paper mixed with the sterile tang of the room. “these,” he said, tapping the top of the stack with two fingers, “are her personnel files from ever.”

his words hit like a punch to the gut. for a moment, all you could do was stare at him, your mind struggling to process what he’d just said. the room seemed to tilt, and you gripped the edge of the chair to steady yourself.

“what?”, your throat was hoarse from answering all of the stupid questions previously, leaving you with a sense of laziness.

“this is what we were capable of gathering from the ever base, turns out they didn’t questioned why we needed it at all”. his words hung in the air as if taunting you.

“what are you on about, caleb?” the words escaped your lips, hollow and trembling. the honorifics were gone now, discarded the second his eyes shifted toward the grey-haired woman observing from the other room. 

“would you at least look at it first?”, his annoyed tone made your blood boil.

“not if you’re going to keep playing me, this is not funny.” even after you said that, his lips quirked into a milimetrical smirk.

“i’m not asking you to jump from the observation deck, pipsqueak, i’m asking you to read our granny’s documents”.

you wanted to laugh—this was absurd. it had to be.

“i don’t have a reason to lie to you, do i?” he replied, his voice maddeningly calm. that infuriating tone of his—it made you want to reach across the table and slap the smugness off his face. how dare he accuse the woman who had raised you, who had raised both of you, of being involved in something as insidious as this entity?

“shut up and stop running in circles!” you shoved the chair back as you stood, the legs screeching against the floor. you leaned forward, eyes locked on his with a fire that demanded answers. “is this a game to you? did i come all the way from linkon city for nothing? you said you would help me.”

“and i am helping you.” caleb’s reply was calm, as if he weren’t phased by your outburst. “this is the truth, princess.”

princess. there it was again—that nickname, so casual and so utterly out of place in a room filled with cold, calculated tension. did no one else find it strange that the colonel of the daa was speaking to you like this? a glance at the observation window confirmed that the grey-haired woman hadn’t moved an inch. her gaze remained fixed, expression unreadable.

what had caleb told her about you? about this? and why in god’s name had you agreed to any of it in the first place?

“Y/N.” his voice snapped through the air, sharp and commanding. he saw the way your legs shifted toward the door, the way your hands twitched with the urge to leave. before you could move, his hand shot out, wrapping around your wrist. the contact wasn’t rough, but the authority in his grip held you in place. his eyes met yours, and for a second, you froze under the weight of that gaze. it was as if the word “behave” was scrawled across his face, an order you couldn’t defy.

why did he need you to believe in things that felt so unexplainable? what was he trying so hard to convince you?

“she was recruited at thirty-one,” caleb continued, as if you weren’t about to leave this place for good instants ago. “straight out of her postdoctoral research in applied quantum mechanics and energy manipulation. she was already making waves in the scientific community, so ever snapped her up for their advanced energy division.”

“you don’t even know what you’re talking about”. you defended, freeing your hand from his grip and crossing your arms with anger.

“have you never asked yourself why granny didn’t move houses?”, his eyes were fixed on you, the moment charged with unexplained betrayal. still, he didn’t stop there. “she hated that neighborhood and always complained about the kids leaving trash on the sidewalks. still, she never moved. have you never thought about how she was always alone, didn’t had friends, no one visited? how she was able to afford your college? she never spoke about having children and her family never called.”

the rage that had fueled you moments ago was now dulled by confusion. the image of her—your grandmother, your rock—shifted in your mind, colliding with the version caleb was painting. a version you couldn’t reconcile with the woman who used to hum lullabies while baking or press a kiss to your forehead after long days.

but the conviction in caleb’s tone was undeniable, and the papers lying between you were a damning testament to something you weren’t ready to face.

hesitant, you reached for the documents, your fingers trembling. the top page bore a formal header: EVER CORPORATION - PERSONNEL DOSSIER: DR. JOSEPHINE. below it, a photograph of your grandmother stared back at you, her sharp features framed by neatly pinned hair and a lab coat adorned with various badges of rank.

you scanned the documents, words like chief research officer and project architect leaping out at you. “she was the head scientist?” you asked, your voice barely audible.

fucking hell. this was impossible.

“not just head scientist,” caleb said. “she was promoted to director of advanced energy systems by thirty-five. she oversaw the development of key protocore technologies before spearheading project aether. these reports,” he gestured to the papers, “detail her work in bioenergetics, quantum harmonics, and adaptive energy matrices. she didn’t just design the aether core—she built the framework that made it possible.”

he made a pause to glance at you. you felt his eyes on you, heavy with meaning, but you couldn’t bring yourself to stop reading the details in front of you. every line on the page chipped away at the foundation of what you thought you knew.

“i know this because we used to work together.” the words sliced through the sterile air, shattering the fragile barrier between your disbelief and the truth he was forcing on you. there it was again—an unexplainable revelation that felt shattering and wrong.

what was that again?

your hands froze, trembling slightly as the paper slipped from your grasp. your eyes lifted to meet his, and for a moment, the rest of the room faded into nothing. the hat was off his head now, his fluffy hair slightly mussed as if this moment required something more personal, more vulnerable. it didn’t match the clinical coldness of the room or the gaze of the grey-haired woman observing from the corner. it felt intimate, despite the invasive presence lurking just behind the glass.

“what is that supposed to mean?”, your heart was beating like crazy, you could feel the vibrations thrumming through your ears. “i don’t… i don’t believe you”.

“she recruited me to take care of you.” his voice was quieter now, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of something raw in his expression. empathy, maybe. or guilt. it was enough to make him look away, his gaze dropping to the papers spread between you. “as an experiment.”

his words hung in the air like a loaded weapon. the tingling sensation that ran down your spine turned into a full-body shiver. your breath hitched, and tears stung at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over. your throat tightened as the weight of what he was saying settled in, suffocating and relentless.

“impossible. granny wasn’t a woman on a mission, she was…”, you gulped, “she was intelligent and kind.”

the room spinned, your breath hitched. again, the situation was sadly laughable. were those times you dreamed about blood, about a life that didn’t seem to belong to you all real? were they fragments of your memory? weren’t they just coincidences?

gods, how were you so stupid? how did you never think about this?

“was all of this ever all along?” you muttered, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. the room felt too small, the air too stifling. your hands clenched into fists at your sides, and for a fleeting moment, you wanted to punch something, anything. it felt childish, but the frustration boiling in your chest demanded release.

“why would she hide this?” your voice cracked as you spoke, trembling with the weight of everything you were trying to hold back. “why wouldn’t she tell me?”

you didn’t see a reason to keep this from you. from your life. would you even know about this if you never blindly agreed to show your face in the nest that day? how could something so enormous not make itself accidentally aware throughout one’s whole life?

and how could you be so stupidly blind? what were you, a child?

caleb’s gaze softened slightly. “because she knew what ever would do if they thought you were a threat at that time. she hid the truth to protect you, but in doing so, she left you vulnerable. and now, we’re all paying the price.”

“protecting me?” you echoed, your voice laced with disbelief. “how is lying to me, hiding everything, supposed to protect me? she left me completely blind!”

you were so angry. angry at yourself, angry at the woman who raised you, angry at caleb for not telling you, angry even at fucking zayne for handling you those documents from you. he probably also had secrets about your heart’s condition that he never talked about.

how could anyone possibly hide something like this from you? weren’t they your friends?

how did betrayal felt so bitter and deserving at the same time?

“you were a kid, Y/N,” caleb said, his voice calm but laced with an edge of frustration, as though he were trying to reason with a storm.

“so were you!” you snapped, the words sharp and cutting. the knot of anger and betrayal in your chest tightened, spreading like fire through your veins. “you never… did you never think about how i would feel? god, caleb.”

caleb leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, his fingers interlocking as he spoke. “she left you blind because she knew they were watching. she couldn’t risk them finding out how much she cared about you, how far she was willing to go to shield you. the second they saw you as a threat—or as leverage—everything she’d done would have been for nothing.”

his words settled over you like a heavy fog, dense and suffocating. you wanted to reject them, to push back against the idea that your grandmother—the woman who had been your everything—had willingly kept you in the dark about a past so entwined with danger. 

“did she fucking planned her death as well? did she know about the explosion that day?”. you were practically raging now, venom laced with hurt spitting from your mouth as your body leaned over the table, trying to make caleb snap you back into reality. why was he telling you all of these nonsense?

“she asked me to end her the moment she posed a threat to you. she didn’t know about the explosion, i didn’t tell her.” his low tone showed a masked hurt that almost offended you.

oh, you were so pissed.

“so, what?” you said. “she let them turn me into this… thing? this experiment? and then she just… left?”

“she didn’t just leave. she stayed in their system as long as she could, long enough to set things in motion for you to have a chance of surviving. she made choices that no one should ever have to make, and she paid for them.” your eyes watered and your chest tightened. 

“do i really have a chance?” you asked, your voice trembling as you pointed toward the grey-haired woman standing beyond the glass. “isn’t she from ever? what are you doing with these people, caleb? heavens, i can’t even understand you anymore.”

his face didn’t change immediately, but his shoulders seemed to tense, the weight of your words pressing down on him. when he spoke, his voice was low, steady. “josephine told me everything,” he began, his gaze dropping to the table for just a moment. “right after i turned old enough to understand what it all meant. she didn’t just tell me—she made me promise.”

“promise what?!” your voice cracked, and the anger that had been simmering inside you surged again, fueled by the sharp sting of treachery.

“to protect you,” he said, his words slow and deliberate, as though each one was a confession. “she used me, Y/N. she knew what was going to happen. she knew what they’d try to do to you, what they’d use you for. and she… she made me a part of her plan.”

“her plan?” you echoed, the bitterness in your voice cutting through the air. “what plan, caleb? because from where i’m standing, all i see is a mess she left for me to clean up.”

his jaw tightened, and he finally looked back at you, his amethyst eyes sharp but filled with something raw and unspoken. “it wasn’t just her plan. it became mine too. i let her use me, Y/N, because i thought—i hoped—it would mean you’d never have to deal with this. i thought i could handle it for both of us.”

“and what?” you snapped, leaning forward as your frustration boiled over. “you just decided for me? you and her both?”

“i didn’t decide for you,” he shot back, his voice rising for the first time, though his control quickly reined it in. “i decided to protect you. there’s a difference.”

“why would you do that?” you asked, your voice quieter now but no less cutting. “because it feels like all both of you did was trap me in this endless nightmare.”

caleb’s patience snapped. you saw the moment it happened—something dark flickered behind his eyes, replacing the calm exterior he’d been holding onto. without warning, he rose from his chair, the scrape of metal against the floor echoing through the room. before you could react, his hands slammed down on the table on either side of you, caging you in with his sheer presence.

he leaned over you, his frame engulfing yours entirely. his proximity forced you backward, the cool surface of the table pressing against your spine as you arched slightly to meet his gaze. the shift in his demeanor sent a shiver down your spine—not fear, but something far more complicated. his presence was suffocating, his intensity overwhelming, and yet you couldn’t look away.

if anyone entered the room now, they wouldn’t even know you were there, hidden entirely behind his broad frame. he was close—too close—and every inch of him radiated authority and tension. 

you still felt anger pulse inside you. even with his figure towering over you, you stared right back into his eyes, daring him to explain. but caleb wasn’t waiting for your permission to speak—his words spilled out, sharp and unrelenting, as though he’d been holding them in for far too long.

“you can scream all you want, princess,” he began, his voice dangerously low but cutting, “but i’m not letting you blame the woman who gave me the chance of loving you for something she regretted every day of her life until the day she died.” his eyes burned into yours, daring you to interrupt, but you stayed silent, your breath caught in your throat.

“she designed the aether core,” he continued, the words bitter, as if they left a bad taste in his mouth, “but she didn’t know it was going to be put in a fucking child. she told me that. she swore it to me.” his voice cracked slightly, a rare vulnerability slipping through before he pressed on.

“she would never partake in something so inhuman and cruel if she’d known about it,” he said, his tone hardening again. “when she realized what they were doing—what you were—she made a choice. she could’ve run and left us behind, but she didn’t do that.” his gaze softened for a brief moment before his jaw tightened. “she took us with her.”

his next words struck you like a blow. “ever knew the potential the aether core had. so they created an antidote. me.”

the silence that followed was deafening, his confession hanging heavy in the air between you. your heart raced, but you couldn’t bring yourself to respond—not yet. 

“before i even knew you, princess, our destinies were bound,” he said, his voice quieter now, but no less intense. “we were never meant to be anything else—two halves of a cruel design, bound together by ruthless people driven by intense power.”

he leaned in slightly, his presence overwhelming. “when she told me everything, when i finally understood, i made a choice. i sacrificed myself to continue the fucking experiments ever wanted me to participate, so no one else in this world would have the capacity to destroy you other than me.” he straightened, his tone heavy with finality. “only me.”

you heard your own hiccup as if it were from somene else.

"kirsten was her colleague," caleb said, his voice steady but carrying an edge of urgency. "she also left the project behind when things got heated. since then, they’ve been trying to capture you. she was the one who handed me these documents." he gestured toward the stack of papers, his gaze flicking briefly to the woman observing you from beyond the glass. "grandma trusted her."

your surprise was impossible to hide. your eyes darted to the woman, her stoic presence now layered with a significance you hadn’t grasped until this moment.

"we both are trying to find a way to protect you," caleb continued, his tone firm. "and infiltrating ever is the first step to do that. we need to gather as much information we can and gain their trust so we can take them down and their fucking crazy plan of interstellar domination."

oh fuck, they wanted the aether core for that?

he leaned closer, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. "do you understand it now, pipsqueak?" his voice softened at the nickname, but the weight of his words lingered, pressing into the space between you.

the room seemed to shrink as the truth settled over you like a heavy cloak, suffocating and cold. your chest tightened, and before you realized it, tears began streaming down your face, silent but relentless. you hadn’t even noticed them falling until caleb stepped closer, his expression softening in a way that made your heart ache even more.

his hands cupped your cheeks, the calloused pads of his fingers brushing against your skin as he tried to wipe the tears away. 

“do you understand how i need you to live, princess?” caleb’s voice cracked, raw with emotion, tugging at strings in your heart you didn’t even realize were there. “i love you so much, you have no idea the limits i’d go to prove it to you.”

his words settled over you like a tempest, leaving you breathless and trembling. it wasn’t just what he said—it was the way he said it, every syllable laced with unrelenting devotion and a darkness that both frightened and comforted you. you felt so dangerously cherished, as though his love could burn the world down if it meant keeping you safe.

the worst part? you could say you felt the same.

his grip on your face tightened, not painfully but with a firm desperation, his calloused thumbs brushing away the lingering wetness on your cheeks. his eyes softened as they held yours, the fierceness in them giving way to something almost pleading.

“if you want me to beg, i’ll fucking beg you, princess. if you want me on my knees, i’ll do it. just stay here with me where i can see you.” he whispered, his voice barely audible but impossibly steady, his tone dropped so low it was almost a growl, the sound vibrating through the air and sinking deep into your chest. his jaw tightened, the sharp angles of his face accentuated by the tension coiling in his body. 

why did his love felt so crushing?

his hands stayed on your face, grounding you, but his grip was firm, as if he was afraid you might disappear if he let go. his eyes, dark and stormy, searched yours, waiting for an answer you weren’t sure you could give.

“why are you doing this to me?” you finally whispered, your voice trembling under the weight of his confession. “why do you care so much?” the question felt sacred, as if it wasn’t meant to be spoken aloud, but you couldn’t keep it inside any longer.

his jaw tightened, his hands still cupping your face as his eyes locked onto yours. for a moment, he didn’t speak, as though the answer was too heavy, too raw to give voice to.

“did they hurt you, caleb?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “in those experiments?”

your clenched fists, tight with anger and frustration, slowly dissolved into something softer. the tension in your body ebbed away, leaving only the raw ache in your chest. before you could second-guess yourself, your hands moved on their own, rising to his face. your fingertips brushed against his jaw, tentative at first, before settling into a gentle caress.

“they can hurt me all they want,” caleb said, his voice low and raw, each word cutting through the air like a blade. “as long as they keep their distance from you, i’ll endure it. i’d end myself if it meant that you would never be hurt again.”

his gaze bore into yours, fierce and unrelenting, yet there was a softness in his eyes that made your chest ache. it wasn’t just desperation—it was devotion, the kind that threatened to drown you in its intensity.

“they can’t control my evol anymore, their plan of the antidote backfired” caleb said, his voice vulnerable as if only talking about that chamber already caused him agony. “that’s why they’re scared. the last neural control experiment—the zero gravity chamber was destroyed because the machines couldn’t handle it. they wanted to transform me into a robot, somehow my mind never cooperated”. his gaze averted to the emblem on your chest.

you swallowed hard, his words sinking into your brain like lead. “aren’t we a danger to each other, caleb?” you asked, your voice trembling, hiccups breaking through as tears streaked your face. you were scared. “am i capable of hurting you? do i… isn’t it dangerous if we stay together?”

he stared at you for a long moment, his gaze unwavering and intense. “if there’s anyone in this world i’d let hurt me, it’s you, princess,” he said, planting a kiss on your forehead as he did when you were both kids. and then his tone shifted into something darker, almost obsessive. “i don’t fucking care what you do to me, you can hurt me all you want if that makes you fucking happy. don’t you understand?”

“don’t say that…” you murmured, trying to avert your gaze, your cheeks burning hot with embarrassment and suffocation.

he smirked, a sharp, knowing curve of his lips as his thumb brushed another tear from your cheek. “i want to create a world where it’s just the two of us,” he said, his voice dropping to a low whisper that sent shivers racing down your spine.

his bionic hand gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him, the unyielding strength of his hold making your breath hitch. he leaned in closer, so close his lips nearly brushed your ear. “just say the word, and i’ll do it,” he murmured, the heat of his breath against your skin sending your mind spinning. “i’ll end everything. you know that.”

“caleb…” you murmured, your palms pressing gently against his chest, trying to create even the smallest bit of distance between you. “i thought you had gone crazy.” your voice trembled as you looked up at him, the weight of his intensity still bearing down on you. “i’m sorry you had to endure that… because of me.” your breaths came quickly, your words tumbling out before you could stop them. “i… i still think you’re crazy, though.”

a flicker of amusement crossed his face, but you didn’t give him a chance to reply.

“but… what do we do now?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, your thoughts spinning wildly. “do they know you brought me here?”.

“all of the personnel outside is from ever, they think i’m convincing you to willingly participate in the project. make you turn into some kind of sacrifice for humanity. bullshit.” just saying it out loud seemed painful for him, and hearing it sounded even more crazy.

“they wanted to start everything straight away, test the energy of the aether core inside of you before we could even talk. i convinced them to let me handle you, that’s why i can’t let you leave skyhaven for now.” he sounded almost guilty when saying those words, waiting patiently for your reaction so he could be deemed innocent.

“so i am your hostage, basically?”, something akin to amusement surged in your face, dried tears staining your rosy cheeks.

“that depends if you are willing to cooperate, just say the word and i’ll fly us across west coast immediately.” his gaze made you feel the most heartbroken and cherished woman in the world. cruel. “i don’t plan to stay here forever”.

“what about kirst—” your words stopped abruptly as realization struck you like a lightning bolt. your eyes widened as your breath hitched in your throat. “oh my fucking god, caleb, kirsten!”

panic surged through you, and you shoved him back with far more force than you intended, as if he were suddenly contagious. your cheeks burned hot as your gaze darted toward the observation room. you could feel every beat of your heart hammering against your ribs.

from where you stood, the glass gave an impeccable view of everything that had transpired. your stomach churned as you imagined what she might have seen, what conclusions she might have drawn. but as your eyes landed on the empty chair, your confusion deepened. kirsten wasn’t there.

“where… where did she go?” you stammered, your embarrassment morphing into unease. “wasn’t she just—she was right there!” you pointed toward the glass, your voice climbing an octave.

“jesus, when did you become so strong, pipsqueak?” caleb muttered, his tone equal parts stunned and impressed as he steadied himself. the few inches you’d managed to push him away seemed to amuse him more than anything else, his eyes glinting with an undeniable sense of pride.

“caleb, kirsten!” you exclaimed, pointing toward the observation room with wide, exasperated eyes. “did she see us? oh my god, she might think i’m a whore!”

he raised an eyebrow, clearly trying to suppress a laugh. “c’mon, pipsqueak, don’t push it,” he said, his voice calm and teasing as he stepped forward. “i bet she understands. we were made for each other, after all.” his tone turned deliberately corny, and you could feel your cheeks burning like they were on fire again.

“don’t say that!” you snapped, mortified, as he tried to close the gap you’d created between you. you quickly put a hand on his chest to stop him, your glare sharp. “don’t touch me, you perv!”

caleb smirked, his amusement only growing at your reaction. “are you seriously worried about an 70-year-old woman judging you right now?” he asked, his tone dripping with disbelief, “after the life or death situation we just discussed?”

“you can’t keep saying these things to a woman…” you muttered, your voice trailing off as you stubbornly ignored the look caleb was giving you. you kept the distance between you, maintaining the few inches of air.

“things? what things?” he teased, his tone light and playful, though his eyes held that familiar mischievous glint.

you groaned, feeling the heat creep back up your neck. “like… like you’re going to die for me! you asked for a custom-made uniform for me just like yours, do you know what this looks like for other people? and that thing you said about being on your knees? jesus…” you stammered, your words tangling over each other as your embarrassment grew. “you shouldn’t say those things in moments like this!”

caleb’s lips curved into a slow smirk, clearly enjoying how flustered you were. “i want them to look at you and remember who you’re with,” he murmured. “do you want me to prove it?”

your eyes widened in horror as you saw him begin to shift, his knees bending slightly as though he were actually going to kneel in front of you.

“oh my god, caleb. get up! my god!” you hissed, your hands flying out to stop him before he could make good on his teasing. your gaze darted toward the window and the door, nerves prickling at the thought of someone walking in and witnessing this absurd scene.

caleb, meanwhile, was practically doubled over in laughter, clearly finding your panic far too amusing. “i’ll keep that in mind,” he said between chuckles, his tone teasing as ever. “you don’t like things in public, princess. noted.”

“what the hell is that supposed to mean?!” you snapped, your voice climbing a few octaves in your exasperation. your hands flew up to cover your face, both to hide your flaming cheeks and to block out the infuriating sight of his grin. “oh my god…”

caleb’s laughter only grew louder at your reaction, his shoulders shaking with the force of it. “relax, pipsqueak,” he said, his voice still laced with amusement. “i’m just saying I’ll keep it private next time.”

next time? sweet heavens.

you glared at him, your cheeks burning hotter than ever. “you still haven’t told me your plan, it’s time we get out of here, they will start getting suspicious,” you said, your voice firm despite the lingering embarrassment. 

“oh, don’t worry, baby. they know they’re dead if they interrupt us”.

despite his infuriating smirks and relentless teasing, you couldn’t deny the way caleb’s presence steadied something deep within you—a part of yourself that had always felt untethered, incomplete. there was a gravity to him—oh the irony of it all—, an unshakable certainty in his actions, even when everything else around you felt like chaos. the pieces of your past, fragmented and jagged, were beginning to fall into place. 

as you stared at his grin right now, you asked yourself if it would be the right time to confess your feelings for him since childhood. he knew you loved him, but you still wanted to say those three little words.

you hated how much you didn’t want to believe him, but there was no escaping the truth: caleb had always been there, weaving himself into the fabric of your life in ways you hadn’t fully understood until now. 

“i trust you, caleb. with my life.”

the words felt heavier than you’d anticipated, and for a moment, the air between you shifted. you watched as his expression changed, his playful smirk fading into something more serious. his gaze locked onto yours, and you could see the way your confession hit him, sharp and profound, like it was a dangerous weapon in the wrong hands.

but how could you not? how could you not trust the man when just being near him brought a peace that felt almost childlike—a fleeting memory of safety you hadn’t realized you’d lost? when every sacrifice he made screamed of a love so consuming it defied logic, a love that compelled him to climb through military ranks with a single-minded determination, as if his very existence depended on it? he spent his days training, his nights planning, and his rare moments of respite killing parts of himself, carving away his own humanity, all to try and make you feel whole.

your life had been in his hands from the very beginning, cradled by the will of a man whose obsession burned brighter than any protocore, whose evol bent not to power but to the unrelenting need to love you.

caleb’s love was a force of nature, raw and unyielding, and even if it frightened you, even if it left you reeling, you couldn’t deny the truth of it: it was the only constant in a world that had always sought to tear you apart.

caleb’s love made you shiver. and for some reason, you didn’t mind that at the moment.

“me and kirsten already have a plan,” he said finally, his voice quieter but laced with determination, glancing at the watch displayed in the hologram behind you. “i’ll tell you everything when we’re completely alone. i promise.”

honestly? right now you just wanted to kiss the man in front of you stupid and spill all your love on him. the love you have felt since your first time playing kitty cards with him and kissing each other’s cheeks as kids.

but you were quickly reminded of where you were when you glanced at the door and stared at the daa emblem painted on it. you felt like a wreck of emotions.

the change in scenery left you gasping for air as caleb slowly guided you out of the conference room. the ever personnel not even blinking as you and the colonel passed through them.

your eyes darted around, searching for something familiar, something real to ground you amidst the mess of revelations swimming in your mind. part of you hoped to see kirsten, her sharp eyes and scary aura a strange kind of reassurance in the chaos. but when the grey-haired woman was nowhere to be seen, a small, unexpected wave of relief washed over you.

maybe it was better this way. maybe you weren’t ready to face her yet—not after everything caleb had told you, not when the weight of your own memories, or lack thereof, felt like an anchor dragging you down.

you stared at linkon city sprawling below skyhaven, the glittering lights painting an intricate mosaic against the inky darkness of dawn. from the observation decks you walked over, the city looked almost surreal, a world that felt both achingly familiar and impossibly distant. something tugged at your chest—a dull ache of nostalgia—at the thought of your childhood home hidden somewhere within those shimmering lights.

the tech center that skyhaven was, with its seamless blend of towering glass structures and advanced machinery humming quietly around you, filled you with a strange sense of innocence. as though everything you’d endured until this day could be set aside as a different life of yours.

wasn’t this exactly what the core inside of you was? so powerful it could transcend planets, weaving its influence across time and space—capable of creating not just miracles but catastrophes?

weren't you a walking human weapon? haven't you always been one?

your thoughts were interrupted by caleb gesturing toward his room, his tone calm as he said he’d finish up and spend the rest of the day with you. you barely registered the words, too lost in the whirlwind of your mind to notice how the two of you had already made your way back to his quarters.

just as he turned to leave, you reached out, grabbing his hand instinctively. the touch froze him in place, his eyes immediately locking onto yours in his chambers. you wanted to say something, anything, but the words caught in your throat. would it sound strange to admit you didn’t want to be alone? to confess that you were scared?

caleb stepped closer, his presence grounding you like a warm tether against the cold, sterile hallway outside his room. “you’ve been thinking about it, haven’t you?” he asked, his voice quiet, gentle. it wasn’t a question so much as an acknowledgment of the weight you carried. he grabbed your hand on his.

you nodded, your grip tightening slightly on his hand. “it’s just… too much,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “to think something so small—something inside me—has the power to destroy so much. reshape worlds. ruin lives. it fucking terrifies me, caleb.”

he didn’t answer right away, but his silence felt steady, unhurried. his thumb brushed lightly against the back of your hand, a simple gesture, but one that somehow made it easier to breathe.

“listen to me,” he said, his voice low, steady. “you’re allowed to be scared. no one’s asking you to shoulder this alone. not me, not anyone.”

you nodded, your throat tight with emotion, as he squeezed your hand gently. “i’ll just go fix some things, and i’ll be right back, okay? i’m not leaving you alone anymore.”

his words struck something deep within you, a vulnerability you’d tried so hard to keep buried. you blinked rapidly, trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill, wondering why you were so emotional today.

“promise me,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. was it selfish? probably. but at this point, you didn’t care. caleb cared about you—loved you, even—and you were done pretending you didn’t need him.

his lips curved into a soft smile, one that held more warmth than his usual teasing grins. he leaned in slightly, his gaze steady and full of affection. “i promise,” he said, the words carrying a weight that made your heart stutter.

you watched his back turn to you after he left another kiss on your forehead, the warmth of it lingering long after he stepped away. 

maybe the betrayal would fade someday, its sharp edges dulled by time and the quiet moments like this that he gifted you. or maybe it wouldn’t. maybe the wound would remain, a reminder of everything he had done to you—and for you.

but even now, as you stood there watching him walk away, you couldn’t deny the part of yourself that clung to what he had done. the part of you that loved him for it, no matter how much you tried to resist.

after all, you were his since the beginning.

author's notes: tell me i didn't ruin this halfway bc that is what i felt when i was finishing it. next chapter they will be doing the woompakoompa so buckle up (i just hope it doesn't turn into a 20k words smut scene) lord help me. i'll cry if nobody comments below because my week's sanity was poured into this work. just kidding (i'm not), i love you freaky caleb girlies, see you next time, xo.

[descendant-of-truth]

Anyone else find it fascinating that whenever we're shown Roxas's feelings through Sora, it's just kind of melancholic and wistful, but the reverse scenario always feels like you just walked into a psychological horror?

Seriously, the way it's presented, it's like we're meant to see Roxas as an old friend that we miss talking to, but Sora - our original "old friend" that we would have reasons to miss - is hardly even shown as a person. The contents of his memories feel less important than the effect they're having on Roxas, which is usually Extreme Distress and/or physical pain.

And it's insane to me because KH1 was so whimsical! The memories that Roxas and Xion are experiencing are literal Disney magic! But the way they're shown, with the fuzzy filters and the glitch effects, sort of removes the emotions you associate with them and makes them come across as eerie and unsettling.

Not to mention, Sora's memories rarely prompt any feelings of happiness, the way Roxas's might make Sora extra fond of the Twilight Town crew... which might say more about how KH1 affected Sora's mental health than anything.

(I personally stand by the idea that the story revisits it so much as an analogy for how repeating events in your head over and over can alter your perception of them)

But like. how wild is it that this series found a way to take its cheerful protagonist, and without changing anything about him, turned him into this constant, unnerving presence that haunts the lives of two other characters?

And I think another reason Roxas doesn't feel like he haunts Sora in the same way is because no one really... treats Sora like a person while he's asleep. He's either a tool or an object of affection, and regardless of which you pick, his feelings are seen as secondary to the goal of waking him up. As a result, the narrative focuses entirely on Roxas and Xion's personhood, and unlike Sora, they never stop being treated like people once they're made inaccessible due to the plot.

It's probably a bit late in the story to bring it up by now, but I still wonder if we'll ever see Sora be upset with Riku for sacrificing people in his name. Sure, it worked out in the end, and I'm not sure if Sora's even aware of what happened (how likely is it that he's properly sifted through all of Roxas's memories at this point?) but there's a list of things he could still conceivably be mad at Riku about that he hasn't processed, and I want this to be one of them

[aventurineswife]

hi!! platonic welt dan heng blade and jing yuan with a collei-like teen!reader?

they were used as an experiment from a very young age, thankfully [insert character] rescued them, they also took them in but they were still traumatized from their time as an experiment,they are chronically ill which makes them weak and are scared of being touched due to their time as an experiment subject

To Guard a Fragile Flame

Tags: Welt x Reader, Dan Heng x Reader, Blade x Reader, Jing Yuan x Reader, Collei based/inspired Reader, Teen!Reader, Emotional Support, Trauma Recovery, Quiet Comfort, Protective Care, Found Family, Healing Journey, Gentle Reassurance, Unspoken Love.

Warnings: Mentions of trauma, Emotional distress, Psychological healing, Brief references to abuse/experimentation, Violence (in the context of protection), PTSD-related behavior (flinching, withdrawal, nightmares).

Welt had always been a man who understood the weight of responsibility, but when he took you in, it was a new kind of burden, one that weighed heavily on his heart. You were a shadow of your former self—quiet, withdrawn, constantly tense as if expecting a blow at any moment. Welt could see the trauma in your eyes, a pain he knew too well, though in a different form.

He wasn’t one to impose on others, but he also knew when silence was a gift. Welt made sure to create an atmosphere of calm and stability, not pushing you to open up, but offering quiet companionship. He often found you curled up in a corner of the room, lost in thought, hands shaking as you tried to make sense of the chaos in your own mind.

His way of offering comfort was subtle. He left books on the table, knowing you might read when you felt ready. He would sit near you but never too close—respecting your space. There were days when he would simply leave a warm cup of tea for you, a gesture of silent support, and although you never acknowledged it verbally, he could see the faintest flicker of gratitude in your eyes.

Welt didn’t expect you to recover quickly. The wounds of your past were too deep for that. But he would be there, for as long as it took, a presence of steady, quiet reassurance.

Dan Heng was no stranger to running from his past, but you—a teen, fragile and haunted by your own history—reminded him of everything he had tried to leave behind. He understood your reluctance to trust, the hesitation in every step you took, the way you flinched at sudden movements. He knew what it was like to be bound to a past that refused to stay in the shadows.

Though he often retreated into the safety of his own solitude, Dan Heng found himself instinctively watching over you, always present but never forceful. When you had nightmares, he stayed at a distance, offering a quiet, almost imperceptible reassurance with his presence. He never touched you—he had learned not to push, respecting your fear, knowing that time would heal nothing but only make the scars more bearable.

He kept your space safe, ensuring you never felt threatened. Dan Heng’s gaze was sharp, his movements slow and calculated as he guarded the Astral Express. He knew the world wasn’t kind, and though he didn’t always show it, he cared deeply for you. His protection was quiet, but it was unyielding—much like the calm within him that, even if you never truly felt it, was always there.

Blade had always been someone defined by his hatred, his desire for destruction, but there was something different about you, the fragile teen under his care. Your vulnerability—so raw, so unprotected—was a stark contrast to the deadly force he had become. You had suffered in ways that even Blade could not fully comprehend, a history that mirrored his own in its pain but not its rage.

He was rough around the edges, distant and cold, yet when it came to you, his demeanor softened in ways he never understood. He could see the fear in your eyes when anyone got too close, the way you shrank from even the smallest touch. Blade, a being of wrath and vengeance, found himself hesitating. His usual indifference toward others didn’t apply here. He would never touch you without your permission, but he made sure to always offer his protection in silence.

When you shied away from others, Blade was always there, a stoic figure who never forced interaction. But if danger came, his sword was swift, cutting through it with ruthless efficiency to ensure your safety. He was not capable of soft words or gentle comforts, but the one thing Blade could offer was his unwavering, unspoken commitment to keep you safe from harm.

Jing Yuan had always been a man who prided himself on patience, but when he saw you, the fragile teen, a part of him was filled with something much rarer: protectiveness. You, with your bruised face and shaky hands, were a stark reminder of the darkness he had fought so hard to keep at bay. You had been through more than any child should, torn apart by the cruelty of experiments. Jing Yuan knew how hard it was to carry such weight, even though he had never been subjected to the horrors you’d experienced.

He often found himself watching you, not out of concern for your abilities—though he did worry about your health—but because you reminded him of something precious, something worth protecting. He would approach you quietly, his calm voice always laced with gentleness, but never too forceful. His soothing presence was like a balm, an unspoken promise that no harm would come to you as long as he was around.

Jing Yuan never rushed you, understanding your fear of touch, always respecting your boundaries. Instead, he created a space where you could slowly begin to heal at your own pace.

He never asked you to speak of your past, but he knew that, over time, the warmth of your surroundings—his care—would be enough to allow you to start mending the broken pieces of your heart.

[thequeenofneverland1]

Hwang In-ho/Frontman////secrets in the Dark

Anonymous request: could I request where the players thinks that you and Young-il are enemies, but in reality you and him are married

Warnings, Violence, Death, Psychological Tension, Manipulation and Betrayal, Conflict and Arguments, Survival Situations, Trauma, Emotions Distress, Isolation, Morally Ambiguous choices

The players were sitting on ground, some sitting in small groups, others keeping to themselves and You, Gi-hun, Jung-bae, Dae-ho, and Jun-hee were sitting together, engaged in a lively conversation. The group had been discussing something animatedly, laughing at jokes and tossing opinions back and forth. The energy was good, a natural flow that had everyone feeling at ease. Gi-hun had just finished making a joke when Young-il suddenly walked up, inserting himself into the circle without much hesitation. His interruption was abrupt, cutting through the thread of what someone was saying. You turned toward him, caught off guard by the interruption.

“Uh, excuse me, Young-il, but we’re in the middle of something here,” you said, your tone sharper than you intended, but the words were already out. There was a brief, charged silence as everyone processed the shift in mood. Young-il’s face tightened, and it was clear he was about to respond. Maybe a retort, maybe an explanation and his lips parted, but before he could say anything, Dae-ho cut in.

“Yeah, she’s right,” Dae-ho said, his tone calm but firm. He leaned slightly forward as if to emphasize his point. “We didn’t invite you into this conversation.” His words hung in the air, direct but not aggressive. The way he said it made it clear that it wasn’t personal, just a boundary.

Jun-hee glanced between you and Young-il, looking uncomfortable but not saying anything. Jung-bae shifted his weight slightly, crossing his arms, while Gi-hun avoided eye contact altogether, clearly trying to avoid getting involved.

Young-il’s expression hardened further, his eyes flicking to each person in the group as though weighing whether to push back or leave it alone. For a moment, it looked like he might say something else, but instead, he scoffed under his breath.

“Fine,” Young-il said, stepping back with an exaggerated shrug. “Didn’t realize this was some exclusive club or whatever.” He turned on his heel and walked away, his frustration evident in the stiff set of his shoulders.

The group watched him go, the air thick with an awkward tension. After a beat, Jun-hee sighed. “That was… a bit much,” she murmured, her voice soft.

“Maybe,” Dae-ho replied, running a hand through his hair, “but he really shouldn’t have just barged in like that.”

“Still,” Gi-hun added hesitantly, “it probably could’ve been handled a little… nicer.”

Everyone looked at you, waiting to see if you’d say anything else. The moment lingered, the silence a little too loud, before someone finally steered the conversation back to something else. But the mood had shifted, and it would take some time to ease back into the easy rhythm the group had before Young-il showed up.

The group had settled on the ground, forming a loose circle as you ate together. The atmosphere had lightened considerably since earlier, and laughter rippled through the group. Dae-ho was in the middle of telling a story about something ridiculous that happened back at home, and even the quieter ones like Jung-bae and Jun-hee were chiming in with jokes and reactions. It was comfortable just your group, relaxed and at ease. The food wasn’t much, but it was enough, and right now, that sense of camaraderie was more filling than the meal itself.

You were leaning back on your hands, half listening as Gi-hun tried to argue with Dae-ho over some small, inconsequential detail. Everyone was smiling, even you, when a shadow fell over the group.

You didn’t have to look up to know who it was. Young-il stood there, his hands stuffed in his pockets as he glanced around, seemingly oblivious to the subtle shift in energy. Without a word, he crouched down and then sat near you, sliding into the space that was barely big enough to accommodate him.

You didn’t try to hide your reaction. With an exaggerated sigh, you rolled your eyes and turned your head slightly toward him, your voice dripping with annoyance as you spoke. “We didn’t invite you to come and sit with us, old man.”

The words came out sharper than you’d intended again. but you weren’t about to backpedal. You glanced at him as you said it, your expression making it clear you weren’t joking.

The group went silent. Dae-ho’s eyes darted between you and Young-il, his usual easygoing demeanor faltering as he seemed unsure whether to jump in. Jun-hee looked down at her food, clearly uncomfortable, while Gi-hun raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. Jung-bae simply chewed his food, his face blank, as if trying to stay out of whatever was about to happen.

Young-il froze for a moment, his jaw tightening as he looked at you. “Seriously?” he said, his tone somewhere between disbelief and irritation. He let out a short laugh, though there was no humor in it. “You really just can’t help yourself, can you?”

“You can’t help but barge in where you’re not wanted,” you shot back, sitting up straighter now. The words hung in the air, heavy and sharp, cutting through the fragile peace that had been holding the group together.

Dae-ho raised his hand, trying to diffuse the tension. “Hey, come on,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “Let’s not turn this into a thing, all right? We’re just trying to eat.”

Young-il gave a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “Right. Because I’m the one turning this into a thing.” He stood up abruptly, brushing off his hands as he glanced around at the group. “Enjoy your meal, then,” he said curtly, before walking off, his back stiff with frustration.

The silence that followed was deafening. Nobody seemed to know what to say, and the easy camaraderie from before felt like a distant memory. Finally, Jun-hee broke the silence with a soft sigh. “You didn’t have to say it like that, you know,” she said, glancing at you cautiously.

You shrugged, reaching for another bite of food. “He wasn’t invited. Simple as that.”

Gi-hun shifted uncomfortably. “Still, it feels like this is getting… worse.”

Dae-ho leaned back on his hands, staring at the ground for a moment before speaking. “We’ve got bigger problems to deal with than this,” he said quietly, his tone unusually serious. “Let’s not waste energy fighting with each other.”

The group nodded, albeit reluctantly, and eventually the conversation picked up again. But the tension lingered, hanging over the circle like a cloud. Even as the group tried to move on, the encounter with Young-il left a mark, a reminder of how easily things could unravel.

The tension between you and Young-il had been building all day, and now it was on full display for everyone to see. The players were all gathered in the dormitory area, some sitting on the ground, others laying on the beds, each trying to make the best of the little time they had to rest before the next round. Conversations buzzed here and there, but the center of attention quickly shifted to you and Young-il as your voices began to rise.

“You’ve got a real attitude problem, you know that?” he said, his voice cutting through the quiet. He wasn’t looking directly at you, but it was clear who he was talking to.

The group immediately perked up, sensing the brewing argument. Gi-hun winced, glancing between the two of you, while Dae-ho muttered something under his breath that sounded like, “Here we go again.”

You scoffed, leaning forward and narrowing your eyes at him. “Oh, I have an attitude problem? Says the guy who can’t take a hint and leave people alone.”

Young-il turned to face you now, his expression sharp. “Maybe if you weren’t so busy acting like the queen of everything, people wouldn’t have a problem being around you.”

A few players sitting nearby started to murmur, exchanging amused glances. Gi-hun, who had been sitting quietly, watching the exchange with his usual laid-back demeanor, leaned forward slightly, a small smirk playing on his lips. Dae-ho and Jung-bae, meanwhile, were exchanging wide-eyed looks, caught between wanting to intervene and letting the argument run its course.

“Oh, give me a break,” you shot back. “The only reason people have a problem is because you keep sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. You can’t just walk into every conversation and expect people to welcome you with open arms.”

Young-il laughed, a bitter sound that only seemed to fuel the fire. “You’re unbelievable. You think everything revolves around you, don’t you? Newsflash: not everyone cares about what you think.”

Before you could respond, Jun-hee raised her hands in a weak attempt to intervene. “Okay, can we not do this right now? Seriously, this is getting old.”

But neither of you was listening. “At least I don’t go around acting like I know better than everyone else,” you snapped. “You think just because you’re older, you’re entitled to respect? Respect is earned.”

“Earning respect from you is like trying to squeeze water from a stone,” Young-il retorted. “You wouldn’t recognize decency if it hit you in the face.”

By now, nearly every player in the room had turned to watch the argument. Some looked uncomfortable, others entertained, while a few clearly enjoyed the spectacle. The tension was thick, but before either of you could say another word, someone broke the silence.

“You two really need to get a room,” one of the players called out, laughing. It was a guy from another group, leaning casually against the wall with a wide grin on his face. “Seriously, you argue like a married couple. I bet that if we weren’t all stuck in this hellhole, you two would probably get married.”

A wave of laughter rippled through the crowd, breaking the tension for everyone except you and Young-il. You froze, blinking in disbelief at the comment, while Young-il’s face twisted into a scowl.

“Married?” you repeated, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “With him? I’d rather die in the next game, thank you very much.”

“Oh, please,” Young-il shot back, rolling his eyes. “As if I’d ever even consider it. You’d drive me insane within a day.”

“That’s funny,” you said with a mocking smile. “Because you already drive me insane just by existing.”

The laughter in the room grew louder, and Gi-hun finally chimed in, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright, let’s calm down before this turns into a full-blown lovers’ quarrel. We’ve got enough stress without adding romantic drama to the mix.”

Dae-ho smirked, leaning toward you and whispering just loud enough for everyone to hear, “You know, he’s got a point. You two do bicker like an old married couple.”

Jun-hee stifled a laugh, trying to maintain some level of composure, but her shoulders shook as she struggled to keep it in. “Maybe we should just leave them alone and let them work it out,” she teased, her voice light.

You groaned, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “Unbelievable. You’re all ridiculous.” Turning back to Young-il, you pointed a finger at him. “For the record, this ‘married couple’ nonsense is never happening. Ever.”

“Trust me,” Young-il said, shaking his head. “The feeling is mutual.”

The tension in the air was palpable as Gi-hun leaned back, casually throwing out his suggestion that Young-il should join the group. Gi-hun’s face was calm, almost too calm, as if he hadn’t just dropped a verbal bomb into the middle of your circle.

“Are you serious?” you said, your voice sharp with disbelief. “You want him in our group? After everything?”

Gi-hun shrugged, his usual easygoing demeanor infuriating in the moment. “Look, it’s not like we’re overflowing with allies here. Having one more person might help us later on. We’re all just trying to survive, right?”

You glared at him, your frustration boiling just below the surface. “Yeah, we’re trying to survive, not babysit someone who spends more time causing problems than being useful. Have you already forgotten what happened earlier?”

Before Gi-hun could respond, Young-il, who had been standing just on the edge of the circle, stepped forward with an arrogant smirk plastered across his face. “Well, it looks like I’m part of the group now,” he said, his tone smug as he glanced around at the others before turning his gaze to you. “Which means I’m allowed to talk. Guess you’ll have to get used to it.”

You stood up, not even trying to hide your irritation. “Don’t get too excited, old man,” you shot back, your voice cold and cutting. “Just because Gi-hun decided to take pity on you doesn’t mean I’m going to talk to you. And it definitely doesn’t mean you can butt into my conversations like you own the place. So stay out of my line, understand?”

Young-il raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by your outburst. “You really think you can tell me what to do? Hate to break it to you, princess, but if I’m part of the group, I can sit wherever I want, talk whenever I want, and do whatever I want. You don’t get to make the rules.”

You took a step closer to him, your fists clenched at your sides. “You think this is a joke? This isn’t about rules. it’s about respect. Something you clearly don’t understand. If you want to stay in this group, fine, but don’t think for one second that I’ll put up with your crap. Step out of line, and you’re on your own.”

The rest of the group watched the exchange with a mix of amusement and unease. Dae-ho leaned back, his arms crossed as he glanced between you and Young-il. “Well, this is going to be fun,” he muttered under his breath, earning a stifled laugh from Jun-hee.

Gi-hun sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright, can we all just calm down? Look, I get that this isn’t ideal, but we’re stuck in this situation together. The last thing we need is to turn on each other.”

“Tell that to him,” you said, jerking your thumb in Young-il’s direction.

Young-il smirked, his confidence unwavering. “Oh, I’m calm. She’s the one making a scene.”

You opened your mouth to fire back, but before you could, Jung-bae interjected. “Alright, enough,” he said, his tone firm. “We get it, you two can’t stand each other. But let’s be real none of us want to deal with this drama every time we sit down to eat and talk If you two can’t get along, then at least figure out how to ignore each other. The rest of us shouldn’t have to suffer because you two like to argue.”

You crossed your arms, still glaring at Young-il, but you knew Jung-bae had a point. With a frustrated sigh, you stepped back and sat down, though your eyes stayed locked on Young-il. “Fine. I’ll ignore him. But don’t blame me when he screws up.”

Young-il chuckled, taking a seat across from you with that same infuriating smirk. “Don’t worry, princess. I’ll make sure to stay out of your way. Wouldn’t want to ruin your perfect little world.”

You clenched your jaw but forced yourself to look away, focusing on your food instead. The tension lingered, but the group slowly began to settle back into their conversations, though it was clear the dynamic had shifted.

As the chatter resumed, Jun-hee leaned over and whispered, “You know, you’re going to have to deal with him eventually.”

You rolled your eyes, muttering under your breath, “Not if I can help it.”

The group had finally settled into an uneasy rhythm, with conversations drifting back and forth among the players. You sat with your arms crossed, still stewing over the earlier argument with Young-il. Though most of the group had moved on, you couldn’t shake the irritation gnawing at you. Every time you glanced at him, sitting there like he belonged, that smug look on his face only made your blood boil more.

As the conversation shifted to the earlier games, you couldn’t help but notice how quiet Young-il was. He wasn’t chiming in or offering any insight, which was unusual considering how much he seemed to enjoy running his mouth. That’s when it hit you, like a puzzle piece finally clicking into place.

Hey, old man,” you said sharply, your voice cutting through the murmured chatter. “I’ve got a question for you.”

Young-il raised an eyebrow, leaning back with a smirk as if he already knew you were about to accuse him of something. “Oh, here we go,” he said, his tone mocking. “What now? Didn’t I already promise to stay out of your ‘line’?”

You ignored his sarcasm, narrowing your eyes at him. “Where were you during the first game?” you asked, your voice steady but pointed.

The group exchanged uneasy glances, their curiosity piqued. Even Dae-ho, who usually tried to stay out of conflicts, looked intrigued.

“What are you talking about?” Young-il replied, his expression turning defensive.

“You heard me,” you said, sitting up straighter. “Where were you during the first game? Because I don’t remember seeing you there. None of us do. You showed up out of nowhere during the second game, acting like you’d been here all along. So tell me any care to explain, old man?”

Young-il’s smirk disappeared, replaced by a hardened expression. He sat up slightly, clearly caught off guard by the question but trying not to show it. “What, you’ve been keeping tabs on everyone here?” he shot back. “I didn’t realize I needed to check in with you to exist.”

“Don’t dodge the question,” you snapped. “Everyone else here went through hell in that first game. We all barely survived. But you? You just magically appeared when the second game started, looking perfectly fine. So either you skipped the first game, or you’re hiding something.”

Jung-bae shifted uncomfortably, glancing at the others. “She’s kind of got a point,” he said softly, though he immediately regretted saying anything when Young-il shot him a look.

Dae-ho scratched the back of his neck, clearly torn between wanting to diffuse the situation and his own curiosity. “Yeah, now that you mention it… I don’t remember seeing you during the first game either,” he said carefully.

Gi-hun leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “So? What’s the deal, Young-il?” he asked, his voice calm but firm.

Young-il let out a sharp exhale, rubbing his temples as if trying to compose himself. “Look, I didn’t skip anything, all right?” he said, his voice defensive. “I was there. You probably just didn’t notice me because I wasn’t making a scene, unlike some people.”

“Convenient excuse,” you said, your tone dripping with skepticism. “But I don’t buy it. We would’ve noticed you, especially since you seem to love getting involved in things that don’t concern you.”

Young-il’s jaw tightened, his patience clearly wearing thin. “What do you want me to say? That I hid like a coward? Fine. That’s what I did. I stayed out of sight and out of trouble because I wasn’t about to risk my life for some stupid game.”

The group stared at him, the tension thickening as his words sank in.

“At least I’m still here,” Young-il continued, his voice rising slightly. “Maybe I didn’t charge in headfirst like the rest of you, but I survived. Isn’t that the point?”

You crossed your arms, your expression unimpressed. “Survived by hiding while the rest of us fought to stay alive. How noble of you.”

“Enough!” Gi-hun suddenly interjected, raising his voice. “We’re all here now, aren’t we? What’s the point of fighting about what already happened?”

Dae-ho sighed, nodding reluctantly. “He’s right. As much as I hate to admit it, arguing about the past won’t help us survive what’s coming next.”

You clenched your jaw, wanting to push further but realizing you weren’t going to get any more answers at least, not now. “Fine,” you muttered, leaning back and crossing your arms. “But don’t think this means I trust you.”

Young-il chuckled dryly, shaking his head. “The feeling’s mutual, kid,” he said, his voice low.

The group sat in uneasy silence, the earlier camaraderie completely dissolved. Even as the conversation moved on, the lingering suspicion between you and Young-il remained like a crack in the foundation of the group, threatening to break everything apart.

“The air in the group had grown heavy over the past few days. Ever since the argument about Young-il’s mysterious absence during the first game, the tension between you two had only worsened. It was like a storm cloud hovering above, threatening to unleash at any moment. Everyone else in the group was walking on eggshells, trying to avoid setting either of you off.

But today, it finally exploded.

The group was sitting on the floor and everyone was quietly going about their business some eating, some resting, others just staring off into space, lost in thought. You were seated with your arms crossed, trying to focus on the situation at hand, but your annoyance with Young-il was bubbling just beneath the surface.

It started small, like it always did. Young-il, who had been leaning against a wall, made an offhanded comment about the group’s decision-making.

“Maybe if we stopped wasting time arguing about every little thing, we’d actually get somewhere,” he said, his tone sharp.

You didn’t even look at him at first, but the irritation was immediate. “Oh, that’s rich coming from you,” you shot back, your voice laced with sarcasm. “The guy who spent the first game hiding like a coward suddenly has opinions about how we should do things.”

Young-il straightened up, his eyes narrowing as he turned to face you. “You’re still hung up on that?” he asked, his tone dripping with disbelief. “How many times do I have to say it? I’m still here, aren’t I? Unlike some of the people who didn’t make it.”

Your head snapped toward him now, glaring. “Don’t you dare talk about them like that,” you said, your voice low and dangerous. “They fought to survive. They didn’t hide in the shadows and hope someone else would do the dirty work for them.”

“And look where that got them,” Young-il snapped, his voice rising. “Dead. You act like you’re some kind of hero because you played along with their little games, but all it did was get people killed. I did what I had to do to survive. You can hate me all you want for it, but at least I’m still breathing.”

By now, the rest of the group had gone silent, their eyes darting nervously between the two of you. Gi-hun sighed heavily, already regretting that he hadn’t stepped in sooner.

“Okay, can we not do this again?” he said, raising his hands in a weak attempt to mediate. “We’re all tired, and this isn’t helping.”

But you weren’t listening. You stood up now, pointing a finger at Young-il as you stepped closer. “You don’t get to lecture me about survival,” you said, your voice rising with every word. “You’ve done nothing but leech off this group since you showed up. You don’t contribute, you don’t help, and the second things get tough, you’ll probably run and hide again.”

Young-il took a step toward you, his jaw clenched and his eyes blazing. “You think you’re better than me?” he shot back. “Because you bark orders and act like you’re in charge? Newsflash: no one here made you the leader. You’re just as scared as the rest of us, but instead of admitting it, you take it out on everyone else.”

“Scared?” you repeated, your voice practically a shout now. “I’m not scared I’m angry! Angry that someone like you has the nerve to act like you belong here when you’ve done nothing to earn it!”

Dae-ho, who had been sitting quietly, finally stood up, placing himself between you and Young-il. “All right, that’s enough,” he said firmly, his voice cutting through the heated exchange. “This isn’t going anywhere. You’re both just yelling for the sake of yelling.”

Young-il ignored him, his focus still on you. “You want to talk about earning things?” he said, his voice lower now but no less intense. “How about you start by earning some respect? You don’t know anything about me, but you’ve been running your mouth since the second we met. Maybe if you spent less time pointing fingers, you’d actually see that I’m trying to help.”

“Help?” you scoffed, stepping around Dae-ho to get closer to him. “You call criticizing everything we do and refusing to pull your weight ‘help’? You’re nothing but dead weight, old man. And we’d be better off without you.”

Young-il’s expression hardened, his fists clenching at his sides. “Say that again,” he said, his voice dangerously calm.

“I said, we’d be better off without—”

“Enough!” Jun-hee’s voice cut through the chaos like a whip. She stood now, her small frame trembling slightly as she glared at both of you. “This is insane. We’re supposed to be working together, and all you two do is fight. If you hate each other so much, fine, but save it for when we’re out of here. Because right now, you’re putting all of us in danger.”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, no one said anything. You and Young-il were still glaring at each other, but Jun-hee’s outburst had at least forced a pause.

Gi-hun sighed again, running a hand through his hair. “She’s right,” he said wearily. “We don’t have time for this. Save your grudges for later, or we’re all going to end up dead.”

You took a step back, your breathing still heavy, but you didn’t say anything else. Young-il relaxed slightly too, though his eyes were still locked on yours.

“This isn’t over,” you muttered, turning away and sitting back down.

“Not by a long shot,” Young-il replied, his voice cold.

The group remained tense after that, the silence almost suffocating. And even though the fight had ended for now, everyone knew it was only a matter of time before it flared up again.

After the chaos of the Mingle game, your group had grown. More players had joined, desperate for the safety of numbers, and while it was a relief to have more hands, the weight of the competition hung heavy over everyone’s heads. Trust was still a rare commodity, and tensions simmered just beneath the surface.

You and Jung-bae sat off to the side, away from the main group. The others were busy eating, tending to injuries, or silently staring into the distance, too drained to speak. The two of you had started talking quietly, reflecting on how brutal things had become, when Jung-bae suddenly grew quiet.

You noticed the shift immediately. His usual composed expression faltered, replaced by a troubled look. He rubbed his hands together, glancing over at Young-il, who was sitting on the far side of the group, talking to Gi-hun.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, leaning closer.

Jung-bae hesitated, his eyes flickering back to you. “There’s… something you should know,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You raised an eyebrow. “About what?”

“About Young-il,” he said, his tone heavy. “Something I saw during the last game.”

Your body tensed at the mention of Young-il. After everything that had happened, you were already wary of him, but hearing Jung-bae bring him up with such a serious expression made your stomach knot. “Go on,” you urged.

Jung-bae took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair as he tried to collect his thoughts. “During the Mingle game,” he began, “when it got down to only two players in each room, it was me and Young-il. We managed to find a room just before time ran out.”

You nodded, motioning for him to continue.

“When we got inside, we saw another player already in there,” Jung-bae said, his voice dropping even lower. “Young-il told him to leave, said the room was ours now. But the player refused. He was desperate, just like the rest of us.”

Your brow furrowed as you listened, a sinking feeling settling in your chest.

“I didn’t think much of it at first,” Jung-bae continued, his expression darkening. “I shut the door quickly before any other players could get in. I figured we’d deal with the guy once we were safe, maybe try to reason with him or something. I turned my back to them for just a second… maybe less.”

He paused, swallowing hard. “Then I heard it a noise, like a sharp crack. When I turned around…” He trailed off, his eyes distant as if he was replaying the moment in his mind.

“What did you see?” you asked, though you already had a horrible feeling about what he was going to say.

Jung-bae looked at you, his voice shaking slightly. “I saw Young-il snapping that player’s neck.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You stared at him, waiting for him to laugh, to say it was a bad joke, but his face was deadly serious.

“What?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“I froze,” Jung-bae admitted, his hands trembling slightly. “I didn’t know what to do. One second, the guy was alive, arguing with Young-il, and the next… he was just gone. Young-il didn’t even hesitate. He just… did it. Like it was nothing.”

You felt a cold chill run down your spine as you processed what Jung-bae was telling you. You glanced over at Young-il, who was still sitting with the others, laughing about something like nothing had happened.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” you asked, your voice tight.

“What was I supposed to say?” Jung-bae shot back, his voice barely above a whisper but filled with frustration. “If I called him out, he could’ve turned on me next. And if I told anyone, how do you think they’d react? Everyone’s already on edge. You think they’d believe me, or worse, you think they’d just kill him outright and start turning on each other?”

You clenched your fists, your mind racing. “So what, we just let him get away with it? Pretend like nothing happened?”

Jung-bae sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I thought you should know. You and Gi-hun are the only people here that I trust to do something about it.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding. Young-il had always rubbed you the wrong way, but this… this was something else entirely. You didn’t know whether to confront him, tell the group, or keep quiet and wait for the right moment.

“Thanks for telling me,” you said finally, your voice grim.

Jung-bae nodded, though he still looked uneasy. “Just… be careful,” he warned. “If he could do that to a stranger, who knows what he’d do to us if he felt cornered.”

You didn’t respond, your eyes fixed on Young-il as a sense of dread settled over you. Whatever trust or tolerance you’d managed to muster for him was gone. And now, more than ever, you knew he was a threat that couldn’t be ignored.

The group had gathered in a loose circle, with Gi-hun standing in the center, talking to a few players who had managed to survive the chaos of the Mingle game. Hyun-ju, Geum-ja, Gyeong-seok, Yong-sik, Myung-gi, and Min-su were all listening attentively as Gi-hun explained the group’s dynamics, how decisions were made, and the importance of sticking together.

You were seated off to the side, leaning against a wall, watching the scene unfold. It wasn’t often that Gi-hun took the lead like this, and you had to admit, he was doing a decent job of it. The players looked nervous but seemed reassured by his calm demeanor.

The moment was interrupted, however, when Young-il wandered over, his presence as unwelcome to you as ever. He strode into the circle without hesitation, his hands in his pockets, and looked around with a vaguely annoyed expression.

“What’s going on here?” he asked, his tone carrying that same irritating mix of mockery and authority that always grated on your nerves.

Before anyone else could respond, you rolled your eyes and sat up straighter. “Are you too blind to see, old man?” you said sharply, your voice cutting through the group like a whip.

Young-il turned to you, raising an eyebrow. “Excuse me?” he said, his tone challenging.

You ignored his feigned innocence, gesturing toward Gi-hun and the others. “Can you not see what’s happening? Or is your eyesight finally giving out on you?” you snapped. “Gi-hun is talking to them explaining things to the people who are about to join our group. Not that it’s any of your business.”

A few of the players exchanged uneasy glances, clearly unsure of how to react to the tension between you and Young-il. Gi-hun sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Can we not start this right now?” he said, looking at you with a mix of exasperation and pleading.

“I’m not starting anything,” you said defensively, though your tone was still sharp. “I’m just pointing out the obvious. If Young-il had half a brain, he wouldn’t need to interrupt to figure out what’s going on.”

Young-il smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. “Oh, I see what’s going on,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You’re adding more people to the group. obviously more people to slow us down.”

The players bristled at his words, their faces falling as uncertainty crept in. Gi-hun frowned, stepping forward to address them. “Don’t listen to him,” he said firmly. “This group is about survival, and survival means sticking together. The more of us there are, the better chance we have of making it through this.”

“You really think that?” Young-il scoffed. “The more people we have, the more targets we become. And when things get tough, who’s going to take the fall? The players. They’re dead weight, and you know it.”

Your patience snapped. You stood up, glaring at Young-il with barely restrained anger. “Why don’t you just keep your opinions to yourself for once?” you said, your voice low but deadly. “These people are just as desperate to survive as the rest of us. They deserve a chance, and if you don’t like it, you’re free to leave.”

Young-il chuckled dryly, shaking his head. “Oh, I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “I’ve made it this far, and I’m not about to throw it all away because you want to play babysitter.”

Gi-hun held up a hand, stepping between the two of you before the argument could escalate further. “Enough,” he said firmly, looking at both of you in turn. “We’re not doing this here. If you’ve got a problem with the group, Young-il, then take it up with me later. Right now, we’re focusing on keeping everyone alive, and that includes these new players. Got it?”

Young-il narrowed his eyes but didn’t argue further. He turned and walked away, muttering something under his breath that you couldn’t quite catch.

You let out a frustrated sigh, sitting back down and crossing your arms. Gi-hun gave you a look, part scolding, part understanding. “You didn’t have to go that hard on him,” he said quietly.

“Someone has to,” you muttered. “I’m not letting him scare these people off before they even get a chance.”

The players looked at you with a mix of gratitude and nervousness. Geum-ja, the boldest among them, stepped forward and gave you a small nod. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

You nodded back, though your eyes lingered on Young-il’s retreating figure. The tension in the group was getting worse, and you had a sinking feeling that things were only going to get harder from here.

The group sat in a loose circle around a small, makeshift campfire. The air was heavy with tension, the kind that had been brewing ever since Young-il joined the group. Everyone was still on edge after the Mingle game and the influx of players, and the constant bickering between you and Young-il had only made things worse.

Gi-hun, ever the reluctant leader, rubbed the back of his neck as he looked around at everyone. He had been trying to keep the group together, trying to keep the peace, but even he was starting to show signs of strain. Finally, he let out a long sigh, breaking the silence.

“All right, let’s just address the elephant in the room,” Gi-hun said, his voice firm but calm as he glanced between you and Young-il. “As you guys are all painfully aware by now, Y/N and Young-il don’t get along.”

A few of the players exchanged glances, while others shifted uncomfortably. Hyun-ju, who had been quietly sitting near the edge of the group, raised her eyebrows but said nothing. Geum-ja crossed her arms, her expression cautious, while Jung-bae looked like he wanted to be anywhere else but here.

You rolled your eyes, leaning back against a crate. “Oh, come on, Gi-hun,” you said, your tone sharp. “That’s putting it mildly. I can’t stand him, and for good reason.”

Young-il, who was seated across from you with his usual air of indifference, let out a low chuckle. “The feeling’s mutual,” he said, smirking. “But at least I don’t make it my life’s mission to announce it every five minutes.”

Your eyes narrowed, and you sat forward, ready to fire back, but Gi-hun held up his hand to stop you. “Enough,” he said firmly, his voice cutting through the tension. “This is exactly what I’m talking about. The two of you are constantly at each other’s throats, and it’s making things harder for everyone else.”

Geum-ja cleared her throat, speaking up hesitantly. “It’s… definitely been a little uncomfortable,” she admitted. “I mean, we just got here, and it feels like we walked into the middle of a war.”

“Uncomfortable?” Yong-sik muttered under his breath, earning a glare from Geum-ja.

“Look,” Gi-hun continued, ignoring the side chatter. “I get that this situation is stressful. It’s stressful for all of us. But we’re not going to survive if we’re constantly fighting each other. We need to be united, and that means figuring out how to work together, even if you don’t like each other.”

You crossed your arms, your jaw tightening. “I don’t trust him,” you said bluntly, pointing at Young-il. “He’s a liability. And if we’re going to talk about things that are making it harder for everyone else, maybe we should start with him.”

Young-il’s smirk faded, and his expression hardened. “A liability?” he repeated, his voice low. “That’s funny coming from someone who spends more time complaining than actually contributing.”

“I contribute just fine,” you shot back. “The difference is, I don’t leave people to die or—”

“Enough!” Gi-hun snapped, his voice louder now, silencing both of you. Everyone went still, the weight of his frustration hanging in the air.

“I didn’t bring this up so you two could start another fight,” Gi-hun said, his tone heavy with disappointment. “I brought it up because we’re running out of time. The games are only going to get harder, and if we keep tearing each other apart, we’re going to lose. All of us.”

Jun-hee, who had been quiet until now, spoke up softly. “He’s right,” she said, looking at you and Young-il in turn. “We don’t have to like each other, but we do have to survive. And the only way to do that is if we stick together.”

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. You avoided looking at Young-il, your fists clenched in your lap, while he sat back with an expression that was unreadable.

Finally, Gi-hun sighed again, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not asking you two to be best friends,” he said. “I’m asking you to set this aside for now, at least. For the sake of everyone else.”

You hesitated, glancing at Jung-bae, who gave you a small, encouraging nod. Taking a deep breath, you finally muttered, “Fine. But don’t expect me to trust him.”

Young-il shrugged, his tone casual but with an edge of sarcasm. “Trust me, the feeling’s mutual.”

Gi-hun looked between the two of you, his expression weary but relieved. “That’s a start,” he said. “Let’s just hope it’s enough.”

The group slowly began to relax, the tension easing slightly, but the unease lingered. You knew this truce was fragile at best, and with each passing game, the cracks in the group were only going to grow deeper.

The boat rocked gently on the waves as it cut through the dark waters, the group seated in tense silence as they made their way toward their dangerous destination. The air was cool, carrying the faint smell of salt and seaweed, and the sound of the motor hummed in the background. The moonlight reflected off the water, casting an eerie glow over the scene.

Jun-ho, Woo-seok, Y/S/N, Captain Park, and two others sat scattered across the deck, each lost in their thoughts. The mission they had undertaken was dangerous, perhaps suicidal, but for everyone on board, it was worth the risk.

Woo-seok glanced at Y/S/N, who was sitting near the edge of the boat, staring out at the open sea. After a moment, he cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “Hey,” he said, his voice carrying over the hum of the motor. “I just wanted to say… I appreciate that you accepted our offer to help us find the island. I know you’ve got a lot on your plate, especially with… well, trying to find your sister and all.”

she turned to him, offering a faint but sincere smile. “Yeah, it’s been years,” she said, her voice soft, tinged with a quiet determination. “But I haven’t lost hope. Not yet.”

Jun-ho, who had been leaning against the side of the boat, straightened up slightly at the mention of a missing sister. His sharp eyes studied her or a moment before he spoke. “You have a sister that you lost?” he asked, his tone calm but curious.

she hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Yeah,” she said, her gaze dropping to her hands. “Actually, I’m a twin. She’s my other half. It’s been years since she went missing, but… part of me thinks she’s still alive.”

The group fell silent, the weight of her words settling over them like a heavy blanket. Even the sound of the motor seemed to fade into the background as everyone absorbed the revelation.

Jun-ho tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. “A twin,” he repeated, as if the concept carried a special significance to him. “ I understand the feeling of Losing someone so close to you.”

she nodded, her jaw tightening as she stared out at the waves. “It is,” she admitted. “Sometimes it feels like a piece of me is missing. But at the same time, I can’t shake the feeling that she’s out there somewhere, waiting for me to find her.”

Captain Park, who had been silent until now, let out a thoughtful hum. “That kind of bond,” he said, his gruff voice cutting through the silence, “it’s not something that just goes away. If you feel like she’s alive, maybe there’s a reason for that.”

she looked at him, her expression softening. “I hope so,” she said quietly. “I don’t know what I’ll find when I get to the end of this, but I have to try. I can’t give up on her.”

Woo-seok nodded, his usual bravado replaced by a rare moment of sincerity. “Well, if anyone can do it, it’s you,” he said. “You’ve already made it this far. That’s more than most people could handle.”

Jun-ho leaned back against the side of the boat, his eyes narrowing slightly as he processed the conversation. “You’re stronger than most,” he said finally, his tone neutral but with a hint of respect. “But be careful. Hope is a double-edged sword. It can drive you forward, but it can also destroy you if you’re not careful.”

She met his gaze, her eyes steady. “I know,” she said. “But I’d rather hold onto hope than give in to despair. If there’s even the slightest chance that she’s alive, I’ll do whatever it takes to find her.”

Jun-ho studied her for a moment longer before nodding, seemingly satisfied with her resolve. The boat fell silent again, the conversation leaving a lingering sense of gravity among the group.

As the waves lapped against the sides of the boat and the island loomed somewhere in the distance, each person found themselves lost in their own thoughts. But for her, one thought remained clear: no matter what lay ahead, she would never stop searching for you.

The eerie melody echoed softly through the dimly lit dormitory, casting an unsettling calm over the room. Most of the players were fast asleep, sprawled across their bunks, exhausted from the day’s chaos. The faint hum of the music blended with the sound of slow, rhythmic breathing, masking the quiet rustle of footsteps.

You carefully slipped out of your bunk, glancing around to ensure no one was watching. The dim light from the surveillance cameras hung heavy over the room, but you’d memorized their blind spots by now. Moving swiftly, you navigated your way to the bathroom, the door creaking faintly as you pushed it open and slipped inside.

Once there, you leaned against the cool tile wall, taking a deep breath. The silence in the bathroom was a stark contrast to the noise of the dormitory, and for a brief moment, you allowed yourself to relax.

Minutes later, the door creaked again, and you immediately tensed, preparing for an intrusion. But when you turned to look, your guard dropped as a familiar figure stepped inside. Young-il moved with practiced ease, his sharp eyes scanning the space before settling on you.

“You’re doing well, jagiya,” he murmured, his voice low and almost teasing. “Playing your part like a professional.”

You smirked, your expression equal parts smug and amused. “Of course I am,” you replied, crossing your arms as you leaned back against the wall. “Everyone thinks we hate each other. They think we’re just players like the rest of them, desperate to survive.”

Young-il chuckled, stepping closer to you. His usual air of arrogance seemed softer here, more intimate, as if the walls around him only came down in these stolen moments. “And in reality,” he said, his tone quiet but charged, “we’re married. Partners in every sense of the word. They don’t know who we really are.”

A sly smile spread across your face as you tilted your head, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “And they don’t know that you’re the Front Man,” you said, emphasizing the title, “or, as Gi-hun so dramatically calls you, ‘the leader of the mask.’ And me?” You shrugged lightly, your smirk widening. “I’m the loving wife, hidden in plain sight.”

Young-il’s eyes gleamed with a mixture of pride and affection as he reached up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You’ve always been good at this,” he said softly. “Better than anyone else. No one even suspects that you’re working with me, let alone who you really are.”

You laughed quietly, the sound low and bitter. “They’re too busy fighting amongst themselves,” you said. “All it takes is a little tension, a few carefully placed words, and they’re ready to rip each other apart. It’s almost too easy.”

Young-il nodded, his expression growing serious. “But don’t get too comfortable,” he warned. “The games are only going to get harder from here. And we can’t afford any mistakes.”

You rolled your eyes, though your smirk didn’t falter. “I know,” you said. “But don’t forget I’m the one keeping them distracted while you run the show behind the scenes. If anyone’s going to slip up, it won’t be me.”

For a moment, the two of you stood in silence, the weight of your shared secret hanging in the air. Despite the danger, despite the lies, there was an undeniable connection between you, a bond forged in the fire of shared ambition and unshakable trust.

Young-il reached for your hand, his grip firm and reassuring. “Just remember,” he said, his voice low and steady, “no matter what happens, we’re in this together.”

You squeezed his hand, your gaze meeting his. “Always,” you said.

The moment was brief but electric, a stolen flicker of truth in a sea of deception. And then, as quickly as it began, it was over. Young-il released your hand and stepped back, his expression hardening as he slipped back into his role.

“I’ll go first,” he said, glancing toward the door. “Wait a few minutes before you head back.”

You nodded, watching as he disappeared into the shadows, his footsteps silent against the tile. Once he was gone, you took a deep breath, steeling yourself before stepping back into the world of lies you had so carefully crafted.

As you made your way back to your bunk, the music continued to play, its haunting melody a fitting backdrop to the dangerous game you were playing. No one in the dormitory stirred as you climbed into bed, your face a mask of calm as you prepared for whatever the next day would bring. The truth remained hidden, and the game went on.

The next morning, the dormitory was alive with the sound of shuffling footsteps and low murmurs as players begrudgingly pulled themselves from their bunks. The tension from the previous day lingered in the air, unspoken but palpable, as everyone moved through their morning routine with quiet efficiency.

Breakfast was a simple, tasteless affair some sort of watery porridge ladled into bowls, accompanied by stale bread. The players sat scattered across the large dining area, eating in relative silence, the weight of the games making small talk feel almost impossible.

You sat with your group, slowly poking at your food with your spoon. The others chatted quietly, trying to keep their spirits up despite the grim atmosphere, but you remained quiet, lost in your own thoughts.

That was, until you noticed movement out of the corner of your eye.

From across the room, you saw Young-il approaching with his tray, his expression as cool and unreadable as ever. He didn’t bother asking if the seat next to you was free he simply placed his tray down and sat, his presence as commanding as always.

You didn’t bother hiding your irritation. Letting out a dramatic sigh, you rolled your eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t get stuck. “Seriously?” you muttered, not even looking at him as you shoved your spoon into the mushy porridge. “Of all the places you could sit, you chose here?”

Young-il smirked, clearly unfazed by your tone. “Good morning to you too,” he said smoothly, picking up his spoon and taking a deliberate bite of his food. “You know, for someone who claims to hate me, you sure spend a lot of time noticing where I sit.”

Your eyes snapped to his, narrowing in annoyance. “Noticing?” you shot back. “You’re impossible to miss, old man. You loom like a shadow, always showing up where you’re not wanted.”

A couple of the other players sitting by Gi-hun and Jung-bae, in particular exchanged uneasy glances, clearly bracing themselves for another round of bickering.

Jung-bae leaned over slightly, trying to diffuse the tension with a forced chuckle. “Uh, maybe we could focus on eating instead of, you know, arguing?” he suggested hesitantly.

Young-il ignored him, his smirk widening as he leaned back in his seat. “It’s funny,” he said, his tone almost teasing. “You say you don’t want me around, but here I am, sitting right next to you. Almost as if… you enjoy my company.”

You scoffed, turning your attention back to your food with a look of pure disgust. “Keep telling yourself that,” you muttered. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Hyun-ju, who was seated across from you, tried to suppress a giggle but failed, her laugh coming out as a soft snort. “You two are like oil and water,” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t know how you haven’t torn each other apart yet.”

“Give it time,” you muttered, stabbing your spoon into your porridge with more force than necessary.

Young-il, ever the picture of calm, leaned forward slightly, his smirk still firmly in place. “Oh, I think we’ve found a good balance,” he said, his voice dripping with mock sincerity. “After all, every group needs a little… tension to keep things interesting.”

You glared at him, opening your mouth to retort, but Gi-hun quickly held up his hand, cutting you off. “Okay, that’s enough,” he said firmly, looking between the two of you. “Can we please just get through one meal without the two of you going at it? We’ve got bigger things to worry about.”

You huffed, leaning back in your seat and crossing your arms. “Fine,” you muttered, though your eyes still flicked toward Young-il with a look of disdain.

Young-il, for his part, simply chuckled and went back to his food, his calm demeanor only fueling your irritation.

As the group settled into an uneasy silence, you couldn’t help but steal a glance at him out of the corner of your eye. For all his arrogance and infuriating smugness, there was something about the way he carried himself. calm, unshaken, and always two steps ahead. that made it impossible to completely ignore him.

The rest of the meal passed in strained silence, the tension between you and Young-il hanging heavy in the air. But for the other players in their group, it was just another morning in the dormitory. another day of trying to survive the games.

The din of conversation filled the room as the players sat scattered in small groups, their voices rising and falling in a chaotic symphony. Everyone was busy strategizing, bonding, or simply trying to make sense of their grim reality. The tension from the impending rebellion hung heavy in the air, but it seemed to energize the group rather than dampen their spirits.

Amidst the noise and chatter, no one noticed the quiet exchange happening between you and Young-il in a corner of the room. Leaning in slightly, you kept your voice low, your tone sharp and calculated as you spoke.

“Jung-bae told me what you did to that player during the Mingle game,” you began, your words laced with accusation and urgency. “Snapping his neck like that. He’s already starting to put pieces together, and if he decides to run his mouth to Gi-hun especially during the rebellion they’ll all turn on you.”

Young-il leaned back slightly, his expression calm, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of annoyance. “He won’t,” he said, his voice measured. “Jung-bae knows better than to cross me.”

You shook your head, your lips curling into a smirk. “Don’t underestimate him,” you warned. “He’s already suspicious, and once the rebellion kicks off, he’ll have the perfect opportunity to expose you. If I were you, I’d take care of him before he gets the chance.”

Young-il raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical. “Take care of him?” he echoed, his voice heavy with sarcasm. “And what do you suggest, jagiya? Should I just walk up to him and slit his throat in front of everyone?”

You rolled your eyes, your smirk widening. “Don’t be stupid,” you said. “You’re not going to do it as yourself. You’ll do it as the Front Man. Once everything goes down, you’ll have the perfect cover.”

Leaning closer, you spoke in a hushed tone, outlining your plan with ruthless precision. “Here’s what you’re going to do. When the rebellion starts, Gi-hun is going to split everyone into smaller groups, right? Jung-bae and Gi-hun will take the lead in one group while you’re left with two other players and tasked with taking out some of the soldiers.”

Young-il’s eyes narrowed slightly as he listened, his mind already working through the logistics of your suggestion.

“You’re going to kill those two players,” you continued, your voice cold and unrelenting. “Make it look like an accident or pin it on the soldiers doesn’t matter how you do it, just make sure they’re out of the way. Once that’s done, you’ll switch into your stulk and mask. No one will know it’s you.”

You paused for a moment, letting your words sink in before delivering the final piece of your plan. “When everything is under control and the chaos dies down, you’ll track down Jung-bae. He’ll probably be with Gi-hun. Once you do take him out, and make it clean.”

Young-il studied you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he leaned forward, a sly smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You’ve thought this through,” he said, his voice low and amused. “Almost like you’ve been planning this for a while.”

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I’m just looking out for us,” you said. “Jung-bae’s a liability, and liabilities have no place in this game. Besides, once he’s gone, Gi-hun will be too heartbroken and stop the rebellion.”

Young-il chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You’re ruthless, you know that?” he said, his tone tinged with admiration.

You smirked, your eyes gleaming with cold determination. “Ruthless keeps us alive,” you replied. “And if you want to stay alive, you’ll do exactly what I’ve told you.”

For a moment, the two of you sat in silence, the hum of conversation around you masking the weight of your words. Finally, Young-il nodded, a hint of resolve flashing in his eyes.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll handle it.”

“Good,” you said, leaning back in your chair and crossing your arms. “Now, act normal. The last thing we need is anyone noticing we’re talking.”

Young-il smirked, his usual air of confidence returning as he leaned back and picked at his food. To anyone watching, it would seem like the two of you had simply exchanged a few words before going back to your meal.

But beneath the surface, the wheels were already in motion. As the rebellion loomed closer, so too did the shadows of betrayal and bloodshed. And in this game, only the ruthless would survive.

Later that day, the tension in the dormitory had eased slightly, and small groups of players were scattered around, talking in hushed tones or making plans for the Special Game. In one corner, Young-il sat with Gi-hun, Jung-bae, and a few of the others, his usually stoic expression marred by a rare look of irritation.

He leaned back against the wall, his arms crossed, and let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t understand how any of you can deal with her,” he said, his voice tinged with frustration. “She’s insufferable. Every time I so much as breathe in her direction, she’s rolling her eyes or making some snide comment.”

Gi-hun raised an eyebrow, glancing up from where he was sharpening a makeshift weapon. “You’re talking about Y/N, aren’t you?” he asked, his tone a mix of amusement and exasperation.

“Of course I’m talking about her,” Young-il snapped, his voice rising slightly before he forced himself to calm down. “Who else could make someone this irritated? She’s constantly on my case, acting like she owns the place.”

Jung-bae chuckled, shaking his head. “Well, to be fair, you don’t exactly make it easy,” he said. “You always manage to get under her skin. It’s like you’re trying to start a fight every time you two are in the same room.”

Young-il scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. “I don’t try to start anything,” he insisted. “She just has a problem with me, and she doesn’t bother hiding it. The way she talks to me like I’m some kind of nuisance it’s infuriating.”

Gi-hun smirked, exchanging a knowing glance with Jung-bae. “You know,” he said, his tone teasing, “the way you’re going on about her, it almost sounds like you care what she thinks.”

Young-il shot him a sharp look, his expression darkening. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said firmly. “I couldn’t care less what she thinks of me. I’m just saying it’s exhausting dealing with someone who seems to hate me for no reason.”

Dae-ho who had been quietly listening, finally spoke up, his voice calm but laced with curiosity. “You sure it’s no reason?” he asked. “Maybe there’s more to it than you realize.”

Young-il frowned, his jaw tightening. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, his tone defensive.

Dae-ho hrugged, leaning back and crossing his arms. “Sometimes people lash out because they’re hiding something,” he said. “Maybe she’s got her own reasons for acting the way she does. You ever think about that?”

Young-il opened his mouth to reply but stopped himself, his expression shifting into one of contemplation. For a brief moment, a flicker of doubt crossed his face, but he quickly shook it off, scowling. “Whatever her reasons are, they don’t justify her behavior,” he said firmly. “She’s rude, she’s disrespectful, and she’s impossible to work with.”

Gi-hun chuckled, shaking his head as he set his weapon aside. “You sound like an old married couple,” he said, grinning.

Young-il groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Don’t even joke about that,” he said. “The thought alone is enough to make my blood boil.”

The group laughed, their voices echoing through the room, but Young-il’s irritation lingered. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he glanced toward where you were sitting with Hyun-ju and Min-su on the other side of the dormitory. You were laughing at something Min-su had said, completely oblivious to the conversation happening about you.

“I just don’t get it,” Young-il muttered, more to himself than anyone else. “What’s her problem with me?”

Gi-hun patted him on the shoulder, his grin widening. “Who knows?” he said. “Maybe one day you’ll figure it out. Until then, you’re just going to have to deal with it like the rest of us.”

Young-il let out another sigh, leaning back against the wall as the group returned to their conversation. But even as the laughter and chatter continued around him, his gaze lingered on you, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface.

The quiet hum of the boat's engine filled the air as your twin sat on the deck, staring out at the endless stretch of water. The faint scent of salt hung in the breeze, but the atmosphere was heavy with unspoken thoughts and shared determination. Jun-ho approached, holding a cup of water, and settled into a seat beside your twin.

For a while, they sat in silence, watching the waves ripple and crash against the boat. Finally, Jun-ho broke the quiet, his voice calm but tinged with curiosity. “It seems to me,” he began, “that you and I have something in common.”

She turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

Jun-ho offered a small smile, though there was a trace of sadness in his eyes. “I also have a lost sibling,” he said softly. “Except… it’s my brother.”

Her expression shifted, a mixture of surprise and understanding crossing her face. “Your brother?” She echoed.

Jun-ho nodded, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “Yeah. It’s been years since I last saw him. He disappeared without a trace, and I’ve been searching ever since. Sometimes it feels like I’m chasing a ghost, but… I can’t bring myself to stop. Not until I know the truth.”

She leaned back slightly, her arms resting on the edge of the boat as she studied him. “I get that,” she said quietly. “When someone you care about vanishes, it’s like a part of you goes missing too. You can’t move on because there’s always that question. what if? What if they’re out there, waiting for you? What if you’re the only one who can find them?”

Jun-ho nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Exactly,” he said. “Sometimes people tell me to let it go, that it’s been too long, but… I can’t. He’s my brother. If there’s even the smallest chance he’s still alive, I have to keep looking.”

She glanced down at her hands, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of the wooden deck. “I feel the same way about my sister,” she admitted. “We’re twins, so it’s even harder. It’s like… a piece of me has been missing all this time. No matter how much I try to focus on other things, there’s always this emptiness. This feeling that she’s out there somewhere, and she needs me.”

Jun-ho looked at her, his expression softening. “That must be hard,” he said. “Being a twin means you share a bond that most people can’t even begin to understand. Losing that… it must feel like losing a part of yourself.”

She nodded, her jaw tightening as she fought to keep her emotions in check. “It does,”she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Sometimes I wonder if she even remembers me. If she’s alive, if she’s safe, if she’s happy… I’d give anything to know the answers.”

Jun-ho placed a hand on her shoulder, his grip firm but comforting. “I know exactly how you feel,” he said. “And I know how hard it is to keep hoping when it feels like the whole world is against you. But you’re not alone in this. We’re going to find that island, and maybe just maybe we’ll find some answers along the way. For both of us.”

She looked at him, her expression softening as a flicker of gratitude appeared in their eyes. “Thanks,” she said. “It helps, knowing someone else understands.”

Jun-ho offered a small smile, his hand falling back to his side as he leaned against the railing. “We’ll find them,” he said with quiet determination. “Your sister, my brother… we’ll figure it out. One way or another.”

For a moment, the two of them sat in silence again, the weight of their shared loss hanging between them. But amidst the sorrow, there was also a sense of quiet resolve a determination to keep going, no matter how impossible the odds seemed.

As the boat continued to cut through the water, she glanced at Jun-ho, their expression thoughtful. “You know,” she said, “for someone I just met, you’re pretty easy to talk to.”

Jun-ho chuckled, the sound light but genuine. “Likewise,” he said. “Maybe it’s because we’ve both been through the same kind of pain. Makes it easier to understand each other.”

She smiled faintly, her gaze returning to the horizon. “Maybe,”she said. “But either way… thanks.”

Jun-ho nodded, his own gaze following hers. “Anytime,” he said simply.

And with that, the two of them fell into a companionable silence, the sound of the waves filling the air as the boat carried them closer to the answers they both so desperately sought.

The dim light of the dormitory flickered faintly as the night wore on, the murmur of conversation dwindling as exhaustion began to settle over the players. You glanced around, noting how most of them were either dozing off or too preoccupied to notice you slipping away. Smoothing down your expression to hide any suspicion, you stood up casually and muttered something about needing the bathroom.

No one paid you much attention as you made your way towards the door, your footsteps quiet against the cold floor. Once inside the bathroom, you took a deep breath, the air thick with the faint scent of bleach. You leaned against the sink for a moment, your reflection staring back at you in the cracked mirror.

Moments later, the faint creak of the bathroom door opening made you straighten up, your muscles instinctively tensing. Before you could turn around, a familiar hand grasped your wrist, pulling you away from the sink and back against a solid chest.

“Couldn’t wait, could you?” Young-il’s voice was low and teasing, his breath warm against your ear.

You smirked, your pulse quickening as you glanced up at him. “Took you long enough,” you replied, your tone dripping with playful sarcasm. “I was starting to think you weren’t coming.”

He chuckled softly, his other hand coming to rest on your waist as he leaned in closer. “You should know by now I’m not one to leave you waiting.”

Before you could retort, his lips crashed against yours, his kiss urgent and possessive. Your back hit the cool tiles of the wall as he deepened the kiss, his hands sliding around your waist to pull you closer. The world outside the bathroom faded away, the tension and chaos of the games momentarily forgotten as you lost yourself in the moment.

Your hands found their way to his shirt, clutching the fabric as if anchoring yourself. There was something electric about the way his lips moved against yours, a mix of frustration, passion, and unspoken promises in every movement. It was a stark contrast to the way you had to act around each other in front of the others hostile, distant, like sworn enemies.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breathing heavy but steady. “You’re playing your part really well,” he murmured, a sly smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Making them think that we’re at each other’s throats.”

You tilted your head, a mischievous glint in your eyes. “That’s because we are,” you said lightly, though your fingers still lingered on his chest. “At least, that’s what they think.”

He chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Let them think that,” he said. “It keeps them off our trail. No one suspects a thing.”

You nodded, your expression growing more serious. “Good. Because if they did, everything we’ve worked for would fall apart. You’ve got your role to play, and so do I. We can’t afford any mistakes.”

Young-il’s smile softened, and he pressed a brief kiss to your forehead. “No mistakes,” he agreed. “We’ve come too far for that.”

The two of you stood there for a moment longer, the quiet of the bathroom offering a rare sense of intimacy amidst the chaos. But all too soon, the weight of reality began to press down on you again. You straightened up, smoothing down your clothes as you stepped away from him.

“We should go back before anyone notices,” you said, your voice steady but laced with reluctance.

He nodded, his usual stoic expression slipping back into place as he adjusted his shirt. “You first,” he said, gesturing toward the door. “I’ll follow in a few minutes.”

You smirked, giving him a playful glance over your shoulder as you opened the door. “Don’t take too long, old man,” you teased before slipping out into the hallway.

As you walked back to the dormitory, your heart still racing, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself. No one would ever suspect the truth. that the constant bickering and hostility between you and Young-il was nothing more than a carefully crafted façade.

And as you took your seat among the other players, acting as if nothing had happened, you felt a strange sense of satisfaction. In this deadly game where alliances shifted like sand, the bond you shared with Young-il was your greatest secret and your greatest weapon.

The tension in the dormitory was palpable as Gi-hun gathered the group to discuss the rebellion. The players sat in a loose circle, their faces marked with a mixture of hope and apprehension. The dim, flickering light cast long shadows on the walls, adding to the somber atmosphere.

Gi-hun stood in the center, his arms crossed as he addressed the group. “Alright,” he began, his voice firm but calm, “we’ve all agreed that we can’t keep playing their twisted games. If we don’t take a stand now, we might never get another chance. So, we need a solid plan for the rebellion.”

The group murmured in agreement, nodding along as Gi-hun laid out the basics of his idea. He spoke about timing, positioning, and how they’d need to use the chaos of the next game to their advantage. Everyone listened intently, some adding their own thoughts or suggestions.

Then, as Gi-hun paused to let the group absorb the information, Young-il, who had been leaning casually against the wall, cleared his throat. “I’ve got a suggestion,” he said, pushing off the wall and stepping into the circle.

You raised an eyebrow, already bracing yourself for whatever nonsense he was about to say.

Young-il crossed his arms, his tone calm but confident. “Instead of focusing on spreading ourselves thin across the dormitory or the arena, we could just use brute force. If we overpower a few guards early on, we could take their weapons and use them to control the situation. It’s straightforward and doesn’t require much coordination.”

For a moment, the group was silent, processing his words. Then you let out a scoff, your arms crossing over your chest as you fixed him with a sharp glare. “That’s… that’s a dumb plan,” you said bluntly, your tone dripping with sarcasm. “Just like you.”

A few chuckles rippled through the group, but Young-il didn’t flinch, his jaw tightening as he looked at you.

“I’m serious,” he replied, his voice steady but laced with irritation. “It could work if we all commit to it.”

You rolled your eyes dramatically, leaning back on your hands. “Oh, sure,” you said, your voice dripping with mock enthusiasm. “Let’s all risk everything on your ‘brute force’ strategy and hope the guards just magically hand over their weapons. Brilliant idea, genius.”

Young-il narrowed his eyes, clearly growing more annoyed, but before he could retort, you leaned forward, your tone sharp and cutting. “Actually, I’ve got a better plan,” you said, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “We could sacrifice you.”

The room went silent for a moment, the tension thick as the group processed your words. Gi-hun let out an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose, while a few others exchanged awkward glances.

“Sacrifice me?” Young-il repeated, his tone incredulous.

You shrugged, your smirk widening. “Think about it,” you said, your voice light but laced with venom. “You’re big and loud. perfect distraction material. While the guards are busy dealing with you, the rest of us could slip away or take control of the situation. It’s actually the first useful thing you’d contribute to this group.”

A few stifled laughs broke out among the group, and even Gi-hun couldn’t help but crack a small smile despite himself.

Young-il stepped closer to you, his expression darkening. “You’ve got a lot of nerve,” he said, his voice low and dangerous.

“And you’ve got a lot of bad ideas,” you shot back, meeting his glare without flinching.

Gi-hun quickly stepped between the two of you, holding up his hands to keep the peace. “Alright, that’s enough,” he said firmly, his voice cutting through the tension. “We don’t have time for this. We need to work together if we want this rebellion to succeed.”

You huffed, leaning back and crossing your arms. “Fine,” you muttered, though the annoyance in your tone was clear.

Young-il gave you one last glare before stepping back, his jaw clenched as he returned to his spot by the wall.

Gi-hun sighed, running a hand through his hair as he addressed the group again. “We need a plan that doesn’t rely on brute force or unnecessary risks,” he said. “Let’s focus on strategy and coordination. If we work together, we can pull this off.”

The group nodded, slowly returning their focus to the task at hand. But even as the discussion continued, the tension between you and Young-il lingered, an unspoken reminder of the complicated dynamics within the group.

The waves crashed gently against the hull of the boat, a rhythmic sound that matched the faint sway of the vessel as it cut through the water. The night sky stretched endlessly above, filled with stars that seemed to twinkle with quiet indifference to the turmoil brewing below. Your twin leaned against the railing, staring out at the horizon with a mix of determination and unease.

Jun-ho approached, his footsteps light but purposeful. He carried a thermos in one hand and two tin cups in the other. “I figured you could use something warm,” he said, his tone casual but carrying a hint of understanding.

She glanced over her shoulder and offered a faint smile. “Thanks,” she said, taking one of the cups as he poured some tea into it.

The two stood in silence for a moment, sipping from their cups and listening to the sound of the waves. There was a heaviness in the air, an unspoken weight they both carried, though neither seemed ready to address it outright.

“You know,” Jun-ho said finally, his voice quiet, “this feels like a never-ending circle. The searching, the questioning, the dead ends… sometimes it feels like no matter how far I get, I always end up right back where I started.”

She nodded, her grip tightening slightly on the cup. “Yeah,” she murmured. “It’s like every lead brings more questions than answers. I keep thinking I’m getting closer, but then something happens, and it all falls apart again. It’s exhausting.”

Jun-ho leaned against the railing beside you, his gaze fixed on the dark expanse of water. ”How long has it been since your sister went missing?” he said, more a statement than a question.

She nodded,her expression softening as a flicker of vulnerability crossed her face. “It’s been years ago,” she said quietly. “It was like she just vanished into thin air. No clues, no trace… nothing. A part of me wonders if I’ll ever find her, but I can’t bring myself to stop looking. It’s like… if I give up, then I’m admitting she’s gone.”

Jun-ho’s eyes darkened, his jaw tightening as he listened. “I get that,” he said, his voice low. “I’m searching for my brother. It’s been years, but I can’t let it go. I’ve uncovered bits and pieces. just enough to keep me going, but not enough to find him. And every time I think I’m getting close, something or someone gets in my way.”

She turned to look at him, her brows furrowing. “Someone?”

Jun-ho hesitated, his gaze flicking to the deck as if debating how much to say. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I’ve been on this trail for a while now, and there’s always been this… shadow. People who seem determined to keep me from finding the truth. At first, I thought it was just bad luck, but now I’m starting to think it’s deliberate.”

Her expression hardened, her free hand gripping the railing. “You think someone’s trying to stop you?”

Jun-ho nodded, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I don’t just think it. I know it. Someone doesn’t want me getting close to the island. And I can’t shake the feeling that whoever it is, they know more about my brother’s disappearance than they’re letting on.”

The two of them exchanged a tense look, the weight of their shared suspicions settling over them.

Unbeknownst to either of them, Captain Park stood below deck, his sharp eyes scanning over a map spread out on the table. He traced a line with his finger, marking the boat’s course. In his other hand, he held a small, black device a secure line to the Front Man.

The distorted voice of the Front Man came through the receiver. “Report.”

Captain Park’s jaw tightened as he spoke. “We’re en route to the island,” he said. “Everything’s proceeding as planned. But there’s a complication.”

The voice on the other end was cold and unyielding. “Explain.”

Captain Park glanced at the staircase leading up to the deck, his expression dark. “One of the passengers. Jun-ho. he’s been asking too many questions. He’s getting closer to the truth.”

There was a pause, and then the voice replied, “Keep him away from the island. Whatever it takes. Do not let him uncover anything. Understood?”

“Yes,” Captain Park said, his tone flat. “Understood.”

As he ended the call, his gaze hardened, and he turned back to the map. For years, he had been following orders, playing his part in the larger scheme. His loyalty to the Front Man was unwavering, but there were moments brief, fleeting moments when he questioned the morality of his actions.

Above deck, Your twin and Jun-ho continued to talk, oblivious to the storm brewing below.

“We’ll figure this out,” she said firmly, her determination cutting through the doubt. “Whatever it takes, we’ll find them. Your brother, my sister… we’ll get to the bottom of this.”

Jun-ho nodded, a faint but genuine smile breaking through his usually guarded expression. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “We will.”

But even as the two of them reaffirmed their resolve, Captain Park stood in the shadows, his loyalty to the Front Man ensuring that their journey would be anything but smooth.

The group had gathered once again in the corner of the dormitory, their voices low as Gi-hun laid out the next steps for the rebellion. The plan was delicate balancing timing, coordination, and the element of surprise. Everyone leaned in, listening intently, their expressions tense as they hung onto every word.

Young-il, standing with his arms crossed and an air of confidence that didn’t match the room’s energy, suddenly spoke up. “I’ve been thinking,” he began, his voice cutting through the conversation, “what if instead of splitting up like Gi-hun said, we all rush the guards at once? Overwhelm them with numbers. They won’t expect us to come at them head-on.”

The room went quiet for a beat, everyone glancing around to gauge the reaction. You let out a loud, exasperated groan, throwing your head back dramatically before fixing Young-il with a pointed glare.

“Seriously?” you said, your voice heavy with annoyance. “That’s your brilliant plan? Rushing the guards like a bunch of idiots?” You crossed your arms, leaning back against the wall. “It’s like you’re trying to find the fastest way to get us all killed. Do you even think before you open your mouth?”

Young-il’s jaw tightened, his expression hardening as he stared you down. “I’m just trying to contribute,” he snapped.

You rolled your eyes, clearly unimpressed. “Contribute? The only thing you’re contributing is a higher body count for their side. Do you ever stop to consider how stupid some of your ideas are? It’s better if you just keep your mouth shut, honestly.”

The group exchanged awkward glances, unsure whether to intervene or let the two of you go at it. Even Gi-hun seemed at a loss, his lips pressed into a thin line as he tried to keep the discussion on track.

Young-il took a step closer to you, his voice rising. “And what’s your plan, then? Since you’re so much smarter than everyone else.”

“Oh, I have a plan,” you shot back, your tone dripping with sarcasm. “And it doesn’t involve running into gunfire like a lunatic. But hey, if you’re so eager to play hero, we could always sacrifice you instead.”

That earned a few stifled chuckles from the group, though most of them quickly looked away when Young-il’s glare swept over them.

“Why Sacrifice me?” he repeated, his tone incredulous.

You smirked, leaning forward slightly as if daring him to argue. “Yeah, why not? Think about it, you’re loud, stubborn, and completely disposable. Perfect for drawing attention while the rest of us get actual work done. The only thing you’re good at is when you’re eating, so unless you plan on shoving food into the guards’ mouths to slow them down, I don’t see how you’re useful.”

A ripple of laughter broke through the tension this time, though Gi-hun quickly raised his hand to quiet the group. “Alright, that’s enough,” he said firmly, stepping between you and Young-il before things could escalate further.

You huffed, crossing your arms again as you leaned back against the wall. “I’m just saying,” you muttered under your breath, “some of us are trying to survive this, not get everyone killed.”

Young-il glared at you one last time before retreating to his corner, muttering something under his breath that you couldn’t quite hear.

Gi-hun sighed, rubbing his temples as he turned back to the group. “Can we focus, please?” he said, his tone exasperated. “We don’t have time for this. We need a plan that’s smart, coordinated, and gives us the best chance of surviving. If anyone has constructive suggestions, now’s the time to share them.”

The group murmured their agreement, shifting uncomfortably as they tried to refocus on the task at hand. You glanced at Young-il out of the corner of your eye, catching the frustration etched into his face.

“Good talk,” you muttered sarcastically under your breath, earning a few stifled smiles from the group.

Despite the tension, the conversation moved forward, though the air between you and Young-il remained thick with unspoken animosity. And as Gi-hun continued to lay out the rebellion’s details, you couldn’t help but wonder if Young-il’s presence in the group would end up being more trouble than it was worth.

The group was gathered in the dimly lit corner of the dormitory once again, the tension thick in the air as the weight of the upcoming rebellion loomed over everyone. Gi-hun had been explaining some of the risks they might face, but you could tell the group’s morale was shaky. Everyone knew the next game dubbed the “Special Game” was going to be brutal. If they wanted to stand a chance at survival, they needed a strategy, and they needed it fast.

You leaned forward, sitting cross-legged on the floor, your sharp eyes scanning the group. “Alright, listen up,” you said, your voice cutting through the hushed murmurs. “I’ve got an idea.”

Everyone turned to you, their expressions a mix of curiosity and desperation. Even Young-il, leaning against the wall with his usual smug look, seemed mildly interested, though his arms remained crossed in defiance.

You took a deep breath and began laying out your plan, your voice steady and confident. “When the Special Game begins, we already know what’s going to happen. ‘Team O’ are going to trying to eliminate us. Which is known as ‘weeding out the weakest,’ or whatever twisted logic they call it i. But we’re not going to play into their hands.”

The group leaned in closer, hanging on your every word. Even Gi-hun looked impressed by how quickly you’d taken control of the conversation.

“We’ll start by hiding under the beds,” you continued, gesturing around the room. “It’s not about being scared or weak. it’s about strategy. If we stay out in the open, we’re sitting ducks. Hiding under the beds, we’ll have the element of surprise. The soldiers will come in, guns blazing, stopping special game. and checking if the players are dead, But that’s when we make our move.”

A ripple of understanding passed through the group as they began nodding, murmuring in agreement.

“When they start shooting at the players, we’ll spring out and catch them off guard,” you said, your tone sharp and determined. “We’ll fight back, disarm them, and take their guns. Once we’ve got their weapons, it’s game over for them. They’ll realize they’re outnumbered, and most of them will retreat.”

You paused, letting your words sink in before adding, “But there’ll always be one one soldier who refuses to give up, who thinks he can be a hero. That’s the one we’ll corner. We’ll force him to cooperate, make him take us to the control room. And that’s where we’ll find the leader of the mask.”

The room was silent for a moment, everyone processing the boldness of your plan. Then, one by one, they began nodding, murmuring their approval. Even Gi-hun gave you a small, approving smile.

“That’s a solid plan,” Geum-ja said, her voice steady.

“Yeah, it could actually work,” Yong-sik agreed, his expression brightening with hope.

The murmurs grew louder as more players voiced their agreement, a newfound sense of determination spreading through the group.

You smirked, leaning back slightly and crossing your arms. Your eyes landed on Young-il, who was glaring at you from his spot against the wall. His expression was a mixture of annoyance and begrudging respect, though he clearly wasn’t ready to admit it.

“See?” you said, your tone dripping with mock sweetness. “Everyone loves my idea better than yours. That’s what you call woman power.” You gave him a pointed look, your smirk widening. “And be happy, Young-il. That I didn’t sacrifice you.”

A few members of the group chuckled at your jab, though they quickly stifled their laughter when Young-il’s glare swept over them.

“Don’t get too cocky,” Young-il muttered, his tone low and defensive.

You shrugged, unbothered by his reaction. “I’m just saying,” you replied, your voice light but laced with sarcasm. “Maybe next time you’ll think twice before suggesting one of your dumb plans.”

Gi-hun stepped in before things could escalate, his hands raised in a calming gesture. “Alright, let’s not waste energy arguing,” he said, his voice firm. “Y/N’s plan is solid, and if we stick to it, we have a real chance of turning the tide. Let’s focus on preparing and making sure everyone knows their role.”

The group nodded, their focus returning to the task at hand. Even Young-il seemed to begrudgingly accept the plan, though the tension between you two remained palpable.

As the meeting continued, you couldn’t help but feel a small sense of satisfaction. For once, the group was united, and your plan had given them a glimmer of hope. You just hoped that when the time came, they’d all be ready to act and that Young-il wouldn’t find a way to screw it up.

The sun was beginning to set, painting the horizon in shades of orange and pink as your twin and Jun-ho stood at the edge of the boat, the waves crashing gently against the hull. The conversation between them had grown more personal over the past few hours, their shared goal of finding their missing siblings acting as an unspoken bond that pulled them closer.

She leaned against the railing, staring out at the water, her expression distant. “You know,”she began softly, “it’s been years, but I’ve never stopped looking. Every day, I wake up thinking that today could be the day I find her. My twin… my other half.”

Jun-ho, standing beside her, nodded in quiet understanding. “I know exactly what you mean,” he said, his voice low. “When my brother went missing, it felt like a part of me disappeared with him. I’ve spent every waking moment since trying to figure out what happened to him. It’s like… until I find him, I can’t let myself move on.”

She glanced over at Jun-ho, her lips curving into a small, bittersweet smile. “It’s strange, isn’t it? How someone’s absence can take up so much space in your life.”

Jun-ho returned the smile, though there was a hint of sadness in his eyes. “Yeah. It’s like everything else fades into the background, and all that matters is finding them.”

They stood in comfortable silence for a moment, the sound of the ocean filling the space between them. Then Jun-ho spoke again, his tone lighter this time. “You know, once we find the island and you find your twin and I find my brother maybe we should celebrate.”

She raised an eyebrow, glancing at Jun-ho with a curious look. “Celebrate how?”

Jun-ho grinned, a rare flash of playfulness breaking through his usually serious demeanor. “How about dinner? You and me, somewhere far away from all this madness. A real meal, no rations, no guards, no games. Just good food, good company, and no stress for once.”

She let out a soft chuckle, shaking her head. “You’re already planning dinner, huh? We haven’t even found the island yet.”

“Hey,” Jun-ho said with a shrug, his grin widening. “It’s called optimism. You can’t survive something like this without a little bit of hope.”

She smiled, her gaze softening as she looked back at the horizon. “You’ve got a point,” she admitted. “And honestly? A real meal does sound nice. Something to remind us that there’s still life outside of all this.”

Jun-ho nodded, his expression turning more serious. “Exactly. Once this is over, we deserve to have something to look forward to. Something to remind us why we’re fighting so hard to get through this.”

She glanced at him, a hint of gratitude in her eyes. “You’re not bad at this whole motivational speech thing, you know that?”

Jun-ho laughed quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t get used to it. I’m usually more of a ‘keep to myself’ kind of guy.”

“Well,” she said, a small smile playing on her lips, “I’ll hold you to that dinner, then. But only if we both make it out of this alive.”

Jun-ho extended his hand, his expression serious but with a glimmer of determination. “Deal. We both make it out, and dinner’s on me.”

She took his hand, shaking it firmly. “Deal.”

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the boat in shadows, the two of them stood side by side, their shared resolve strengthening their bond. Though the journey ahead was uncertain and fraught with danger, the promise of a simple dinner a moment of normalcy in a world of chaos gave them both a sliver of hope to hold onto.

The dormitory had fallen into a heavy silence as everyone began settling in for the night. The faint sound of the guards’ footsteps echoed in the distance, blending with the rhythmic hum of the facility’s ventilation system. Players shuffled to their assigned areas, whispering final words to each other before pulling up their thin blankets. Despite the stillness, there was an undercurrent of tension a quiet storm brewing as everyone braced themselves for what was to come.

You sat on your bed, leaning against the cold wall as you absentmindedly toyed with a loose thread on your sleeve. The rebellion was so close now, the plans coming together perfectly. But the weight of everything your role, the deception, the risks hung heavy on your chest. You couldn’t afford any slip-ups. Not now.

As you were lost in thought, you noticed a shadow moving out of the corner of your eye. You didn’t need to look up to know who it was. Moments later, Young-il appeared beside you, his expression smug as he casually leaned against the edge of the bed.

“Marriage power,” he murmured with a sly smirk, his voice low enough that no one else would hear.

You glanced up at him, one eyebrow raised. “What?”

“That’s what I’m calling it,” he said, his smirk widening. “You called it ‘woman power’ earlier, but let’s be real—our teamwork, our strategy… that’s what’s really keeping this rebellion together. It’s marriage power.”

You rolled your eyes, though a small smirk tugged at the corners of your lips. “You’re insufferable,” you muttered, shaking your head.

Young-il chuckled softly, lowering his voice even further. “Do you think one of the soldiers is going to reveal themselves during the rebellion?”

You sighed, leaning forward slightly as you considered the question. “You know it’s happened before,” you said quietly. “It’s happened multiple times. And if it happens again, you know what we do.” Your eyes locked with his, a steely determination in your gaze. “We take them out, no hesitation. But we also need to be smart about it. We have to make sure that we have soldiers securing the control rooms and all of the places.”

Young-il nodded, his expression serious now as he listened intently. You continued, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been thinking… during the rebellion, you could fake your death. It’ll throw everyone off, especially Gi-hun and his team. They won’t see it coming.”

A spark of intrigue flickered in Young-il’s eyes. “Faking my death, huh?”

You nodded, leaning closer. “Once everyone thinks you’re gone, you’ll slip away and change into your normal clothing and wear the mask. Then you’ll have the perfect opportunity to get to Jung-bae. You can eliminate him as the Frontman, and no one will suspect a thing.”

Young-il’s smirk returned, a dark glint in his eyes. “And Gi-hun?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.

“Gi-hun will be heartbroken,” you said without hesitation, your tone cold and calculated. “Jung-bae is his best friend. When Jung-bae dies, the guilt is going to eat him alive just like it did when he first joined the games back in 2020.”

Young-il let out a low chuckle, his smirk widening. “You’re ruthless, you know that?”

You shrugged, leaning back against the wall. “It’s not about being ruthless. It’s about surviving. And if Gi-hun’s guilt can be used against him, we’d be stupid not to take advantage of it.”

Young-il’s gaze lingered on you for a moment, his smirk softening into something more genuine. “I wish I could kiss you,” he murmured, his voice so low it was almost drowned out by the hum of the room. “I miss kissing you.”

Your expression softened for a brief moment, and you glanced around to make sure no one was paying attention. “Don’t worry,” you said softly. “Soon, this will all be over. And when it is, we’ll have all the time in the world.”

Young-il nodded, his smirk returning as a hint of mischief danced in his eyes. “Gi-hun and his little team will regret ever messing with us,” he said, his voice dark. “The Frontman and his wife aren’t just players. they’re the real architects of this game. And the games will continue. No one else is stronger, smarter, or more cunning than us.”

You allowed yourself a small, conspiratorial smile, nodding in agreement. “Exactly. And when this is over, no one will even remember Gi-hun or his rebellion. The games will stay, and we’ll be the ones pulling the strings.”

Young-il straightened up, his confidence radiating from him as he cast one final glance around the room. “Soon,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “Very soon.”

With that, he slipped away into his bed, leaving you alone with your thoughts. The rebellion was coming, and so was the final act of your carefully crafted plan. All that was left now was to wait for the perfect moment to strike.

[pennyellee]

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐗 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 - 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐞

LACRIMOSA | MYG MAFIA YANDERE AU

pairings: mafia leader!yoongi x f!reader genre: mafia!au, yandere au, historical au

summary: Their interlocking gaze served as a butterfly effect on his heart, stirring it to the core. She, in turn, only dreams to find a way to escape. But perchance, over time she might forcefully learn to love the man who has taken so much from her.

Thus unfolds a twisted tale of love and loss, of hope and despair, of life and death. The music reverberated through the dimly-lit streets. Tears of sorrow, weeping symphony - reflects the hurt, the scars that linger deep within and the wounds that never healed. Lacrimosa.

chapter warnings: minors dni 18+ | mafia au, dark!yoongi, mafia!yoongi, yandere, manipulation, possessive/obsessive behaviour, angst, religious references, implied age gap, hoseok-sshi being tired of yoongi, coercion, psychological manipulation, death, implied murder, mentions of cancer, strong language, misogyny, emotional distress, emotional manipulation, verbal confrontation, verbal abuse, suicidal ideation, "falling" from a horse, (partially fictional) lobotomy description, traditions of the clan, pledge, intimate themes, physical violence implied, psychological conflict, oral sex, fingering, handjob, vulnerability (if i forgot smth, pls i'm so sorrryy)

beta read by @chaoticpuff17

word count: 18,8K

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain depictions of violence, blood shed, death, mentions of abuse, smoking, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, forbidden medical procedures, old social norms and traditions, which we do not condone.

author's note: WELL AT LAST INNIT? Y'all I swear I’m as impatient to put this out but also so nervous coz this one was a hard one ya know. I decided to split this into two parts, and perhaps if this would be only one part I would have to write “the end” which I’m still not contemptuous with soooo yeah. I can’t believe we are almost at the end of it all. I still haven't decided whether I will write two endings or not. The ending that I initially intended prolly won't be fancied and I definitely scrapped the open ending, but you will never know coz I won't tell ya more.

ANYWAY - for those who asked a lot about Y/N’s and Yoongi’s age gap, kudos for your patience. You can finally sleep in piece babies. Also, I have another fic that is setted in the world of CHAMPAGNE CONFETTI [now i’ll know if you’re actually reading these notes hihi] of which preview will come soon after this chapter, again, very excited to push it out finally AND, yes to all of you if you’re still reading this note - CHAMPAGNE CONFETTI [what a promo] will come around as soon as I’m finished with UNI this year. If yall be good I can pull out a preview out of my sleeve for Christmas coz that shit - well damn, just damn.

Massive thank you goes to @chaoticpuff17 who managed to beta read it almost right after it was finished coz that shit is looooooooong this time. I LOVE YOU BECCA 🥹🫧🩵

Love you all, p.

m.list previous

seele (n.) the soul, inner essence, or spirit

Her mind was constantly occupied with thoughts she wished to speak loud, but couldn’t. She wanted to warn, to tell the young souls that their minds were poisoned. Y/N’s heart was heavy in her chest each time she lay in bed next to him, letting him pull her close and hold her for the entirety of the night. And far the biggest sacrifice and risk she had to make was giving him her body when he desired her. At least partially. He was pacing things slowly at first- step by step. 

She never thought that in order to set herself free, she would have to give herself up first. However hard it was breaking her heart that she had to stoop so low in order to turn her life on a different path, had to be endured, sucked in.

She never understood what made her body so weak for him. Why did her mind scream for her to run even as her body yearned to be touched?

Yoongi’s hands moved over her body, igniting a fire that burned deep within her. She was supposed to feel like she was suffocating, drowning in the sea. But she could not let herself fail—not this time. 

His fingers traced the curve of her neck, sending shivers down her spine. His touch was gentle yet still so possessive. Yoongi’s lips brushed against her earlobe, and his warm breath reached the softness of her skin.

He leaned in, his lips capturing hers once more, his tongue plunging deep into her mouth. Y/N moaned, her body arching against his as he pulled her closer, his hands moving to cup her breasts.

He squeezed them gently, his thumbs brushing over her nipples, sending sparks flying through her body. Y/N shuddered, her hips grinding against his, her arousal building with every passing moment. His hands moved to the button of her skirt.

He popped the button, his fingers slipping inside to caress her warm, wet flesh. Y/N gasped, her body shuddering under his touch. Yoongi’s fingers moved faster, his thumb brushing over her clit.

Her hips bucked against his hand, her arousal building with every single moment. Yoongi’s fingers moved faster, his thumb circling her clit, his other fingers pumping in and out of her wet, pulsing core.

Y/N’s body shuddered, her orgasm building, her mind spinning with pleasure, his thumb pressing harder against her clit, sending her over the edge.

Y/N cried out, her body arching against Yoongi’s as she came, her orgasm washing over her in waves. Yoongi’s fingers never stopped, his thumb still circling her clit, prolonging her pleasure.

As she came down from her orgasm, Y/N felt Yoongi’s fingers slide out of her, his thumb pressing one last time against her clit before moving away. He pulled her closer, his lips capturing hers.

Yoongi’s kiss was deep and intense, his tongue dancing with hers as their naked bodies pressed against each other. She could feel his hardness against her thigh, his desire for her clear. But he knew that she was not ready. 

“I need you.” His voice was husky with pleasure and selfishness.  Yoongi pulled back slightly, his eyes burning with desire.

“You are so fucking beautiful—”  His eyes never left hers when he lowered down to lay soft kisses on her lower abdomen.

“—And so fucking mine.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat at Yoongi’s words. She could feel his warm breath against her skin as he continued to kiss her abdomen, his lips leaving a trail of heat and desire.

“Yoongi,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. Yoongi’s eyes locked onto her most intimate parts. He lowered his head, his tongue darting out to taste her. Y/N gasped at the sensation, her body arching against his as he explored her most sensitive areas. His tongue was warm and wet, his touch gentle, seductive. This only happened in one of her dreams and never did she imagine this would be once a reality.

As he continued to pleasure her, Y/N felt herself getting closer and closer to another orgasm. Her body trembled with pleasure, her breath catching in her throat as she reached the peak.

With a loud cry, Y/N came again, her body shaking against Yoongi’s as he continued to pleasure her. As she came down from her orgasm, Yoongi slowly stood up, his eyes never leaving hers. Y/N’s hands slid up Yoongi’s chest, her fingers digging into his skin. He reached down and began to undo his pants, his erection springing free, swollen with need. She knew what he expected of her, hence it was easier to just accept it and be done with it. 

“Can I? —” She asked, her voice trembling. She needs him to think she wants him just like he wants her. His eyes closed before he spoke with a husky voice.

“Please—” he choked out. He reached down and began to guide her hand onto his shaft, his fingers wrapping around hers to show her how to stroke him, feeling the heat and hardness of him. She could feel his pulse beating beneath her touch.

As she began to jerk him off, Y/N felt a some twisted sense of power and control. She could see the desire in Yoongi’s eyes and feel the need building within him. She increased her pace, her hand moving up and down his shaft in a rhythmic motion. Yoongi’s breath caught in his throat as Y/N continued to pleasure him. His eyes locked onto hers.

“Dove,” he groaned, his voice hoarse with desire. She could feel his body tensing, his need for release building. With a final stroke, Yoongi came, his orgasm washing over him hard, spurring the hot semen on her hand.

He did not last long, how could he when it was she pleasuring him?

The wedding of her sister was coming dangerously close, days went by rather quickly when there were no fights to fight or battles to win.

“Did you think of a gift for your husband, my dear?” An elderly female voice echoed on the terrace as she was sipping her tea. It was still not the warmest weather but the snow was by far almost gone and the sun was peeking through the white clouds. It was a perfect day to ride a horse.

“A gift?” Y/N squinted her eyebrows, not having a single clue as to what her mother was referring to.

“The day of his birth is arriving soon.” The younger female almost choked on her herbal tea, she still kept drinking as Yoongi might be taking the activities in their bedroom slow for now, she does not know when he will stop being patient. The herbs will kill any seeds that could be planted in her womb. 

Y/N’s mind raced, her fingers tightening around the delicate porcelain cup. The bitter taste of the tea was a stark contrast to the sweetness she was expected to embody. The idea of giving a gift to the man who had taken everything from her felt like a cruel joke, a twisted irony that only deepened her resentment.

“A gift,” she repeated, the words almost foreign on her tongue. Her mother’s voice, though soft, held the weight of generations of expectations, yet Y/N could sense some undertone, a message to be conveyed. Expectations that Y/N had always felt burdened by, but now they were suffocating her, pressing down on her like a relentless tide.

“Yes, a gift,” her mother continued, oblivious to the storm brewing behind Y/N’s eyes. “Something meaningful. You must show him your gratitude, your… affection.” She hesitated on the last word, perhaps sensing the tension in her daughter but brushing it off as the nerves of a newlywed. After all, this was the life she had been groomed for—submission, obedience, and silent suffering disguised as devotion.

Until she got the taste of freedom.

Y/N nodded mechanically, her mind already drifting away from the conversation. Her mother’s voice became a distant murmur, drowned out by the rush of her thoughts. How could she possibly give him something meaningful when every part of her being still wanted to run away from him? When every night she spent in his arms felt like a betrayal of herself?

The sun’s warmth on her skin felt almost mocking, a false promise of comfort in a world that had turned cold and unyielding. The thought of his birthday, of celebrating the man who held her captive in a gilded cage, was almost too much to bear. She felt her resolve slipping, the carefully constructed facade of the dutiful wife threatening to crack.

But she couldn’t let it break, not yet. Not when she was so close to finding a way out. She had sacrificed too much, endured too much, to falter now.

“I’ll think of something, Ma” Y/N finally replied, her voice calm, betraying nothing of the turmoil within. Her mother smiled, satisfied, and turned to gaze out at the garden. Y/N understood her words clearly. She followed her gaze, but all she saw was the vast emptiness that mirrored her own heart.

Her eyes narrowed down to her younger sister, watching her mount a horse, Taehyung by her side just like he had been for the past months. Her father is not nor never will be happy with both hers and her sister’s elopements, not that it’s going to matter soon.

The sight stirred something bitter in Y/N, a pang of resentment mixed with a twisted sense of protectiveness. She spent days and nights wishing she could reverse Xiaoli’s fate.

“She has changed,” her mother spoke again. Y/N’s eyes closed whilst she breathed out a loud sigh.

“She has, indeed,” Y/N muttered back. If she can call prefrontal lobotomy ‘a change’, then yes, Xiaoli has changed very much so.

“Why can’t you be happy for her?” Her mother’s voice, gentle but insistent, grated against Y/N’s nerves like sandpaper.

“Are you happy for me, Ma?” Y/N countered quickly. The question hung in the air, heavy and charged, like the tense silence before a storm. Y/N’s mother hesitated, her composure faltering for a fraction of a second before she regained her poise. Her eyes flickered, a shadow of something unreadable passing through them, but it was gone before Y/N could grasp it.

“Your happiness,” her mother began, carefully choosing her words, “has always been… complicated.”

“Complicated,” Y/N echoed, a bitter smile tugging at her lips. It was a diplomatic way of saying that her happiness had never been a priority. In their world, happiness was a luxury, often sacrificed for the sake of duty, appearances, and survival.

“Do you think I do not know?” Y/N continued, her voice low, edged with the frustration she had suppressed for far too long. “Do you think I haven’t noticed how you and father always looked at me with a kind of pity? As if I’m some tragic figure in a story you would rather not tell?”

Her mother’s face remained impassive, but Y/N could see the tension in the way she held herself, the slight tremor in her hands as they rested in her lap. “I have always wanted the best for you,” her mother said, but the words felt rehearsed, as if she had said them a thousand times before and had long since stopped believing them.

“Then tell me, Ma,” Y/N pressed, leaning forward, her voice dropping to a whisper, “what is the best for me? Is it to be locked in a marriage where every night I lose a piece of myself? Or is it to watch as my sister being expe-” Y/N stopped herself from slipping such information out.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as she realized how close she had come to revealing the unspeakable truth. She quickly clamped her mouth shut, biting back the words that had almost spilt out. Her mother’s eyes narrowed slightly, suspicion flickering in their depths, but Y/N forced herself to remain calm, to steady her racing heart.

Her mother’s gaze bored into her, searching for the secret Y/N had almost exposed, but Y/N refused to let it show. She couldn’t afford to slip, not now, not when everything was hanging by such a fragile thread. But her mother’s finger that softly tapped next to her ear told her that she knows more than she shows. They are listening. They always do.

The elder woman sighed just like her daughter a few moments ago. “You started to look happier these past weeks, I just thought that maybe, just maybe you’ve found your peace in your life.” The older woman continued the conversation like no other message was sent her way.

She couldn’t bring herself to meet her mother’s eyes, afraid of what she might see reflected there—pity, disappointment, or worse, a recognition of the truth Y/N was so desperately trying to hide.

Her mother reached out, placing a hand gently on Y/N’s arm. The touch was meant to be comforting, but it only served to remind Y/N of how disconnected she felt, and how far she had drifted from the person she used to be. “You deserve happiness, Y/N. Real happiness. And I want that for you, more than anything.”

Y/N felt a lump rise in her throat, choking back the bitter retort that threatened to spill out. Happiness was a luxury she couldn’t afford, not when every day was a battle to keep herself from falling apart, to protect the one person she had left in this world.

“I am trying, Ma,” she said instead, her voice barren, trying to find some semblance of peace, some way to reconcile the choices she had made. But that peace seemed as distant as the stars, something she could see but never touch.

Her mother gave her arm a gentle squeeze before letting go. “You have always been so strong, Y/N. I know life has not been easy for you, but you have survived so much. I just hope that one day, you will not have to pretend anymore.”

Y/N nodded, unable to trust herself to speak. Her mother’s words were well-intentioned, but they felt like salt in a wound that had never fully healed. She wanted to tell her mother the truth, to explain the depths of her despair, the weight of the secrets she carried, but she could not. The risk was too great, the consequences too dire.

So instead, she buried the truth deeper, locking it away in the darkest corner of her mind. She would have to continue pretending, for now, until she could find a way out—if there even was one.

“Nonetheless, do well to remember something for me—” her head turned to face her mother once more, awaiting what else she could possibly say to her.

“You are the queen here, child.”

Y/N did not understand her mother’s words at the time, but she recalled their reunion all those months ago, hearing her say those words again.

Be a queen.

“He is getting better—” his voice resonated near her. She did not turn to face him until the chair next to her made an uncomfortable noise. He was far too busy today, busier than usual. He greeted her mother with respect each time. 

Her mother is not the enemy here, nor she ever was. Yet, she is being watched with such precise carefulness by all the Min worshipers, maids, soldiers - everyone. Wang Zemo was the unspoken enemy that her husband is secretly planning to eliminate.

They are not speaking about that sensitive subject, yet Y/N knows that it is going to happen no matter what she thinks about her father. Unless—

“How do you feel today?” he asked.

She finally turned to face him, her eyes searching for any sign of the concern she had grown used to. But today, something was different. There was an unfamiliar hardness in his gaze, a flicker of something she could not quite place.

“I am fine,” she replied, her voice steady despite the unease growing inside her. “Just a bit tired from last night’s work.”

“There is a jewellery showroom I would like to visit with you if you feel well enough—”

The jewellery store was a haven of elegance, with its sparkling displays and refined ambience. It was a place where time seemed to stand still, each piece of jewellery capturing a moment of beauty and grace. Today, however, an air of tension hung over the store, palpable even among the glistening gems and polished glass cases.

Y/N could sense all the stares angled at them, all the whispers were heard by her ears, yet Yoongi remained unbothered. She on the other hand felt uneasy by such attention. After all, it is not every day they welcome such a powerful man in their store. Such a dangerous man.

She sensed something was amiss, her own worries momentarily forgotten as she watched the store’s manager, conversing in hushed tones with an unknown man.

“Why are we here?” She asked him with a sudden turn he did not expect. His demeanour was unreadable, as always, but she hoped for some clarity in his response. Yoongi looked at her, his gaze steady and reassuring.

“Your Eomma said you would fancy a new set of pearls like hers.” He smiled softly, caressing her cheek with his right hand, Y/N sensing the balance of warmth of it and the coldness of his rings he had worn.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her scepticism evident. “But my birthday is not for another month. Why so soon?”

Yoongi chuckled, a sound that seemed to ease the tension in the room just a bit. “Consider it an early surprise. You can wear them at the wedding—”

“Your birthday is coming, we should talk about that instead—” she interrupted him, her tone still possessed a mix of frustration and confusion. Why would they talk about her birthday which is not for another month?

Yoongi’s smile faded slightly, and he glanced around the store, his eyes momentarily clouded with concern before he masked it again. “I just wanted to do something special for you, that is all. You have been doing so well, Dove.”

By doing well means, no tantrums, no screams, no broken vases thrown his way and they are living as a husband and wife, not just in the name.  It was his way of acknowledging the fragile peace they had managed to maintain, the delicate balance that kept their world from shattering. He was selfish enough to consider himself making progress with her.

Y/N sighed, feeling the weight of his words. “What would you fancy for your birthday?” She asked carefully.

Yoongi paused, a hint of surprise flickering across his features. He chuckled a little before he leaned down to press his lips softly against hers for a moment, his hand slipping down to her belly.

“You know,” he began, choosing his words carefully, “I’ve been thinking… about something we already talked about—”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “What do you mean?” Her gaze slipped down to his large hand on her belly, awaiting the worst.

He took a breath, his gaze steady as he looked into her eyes, while his forehead rested on hers. “I know I said that it will not help anything, but I would love to have—”

“Not here—” she said way too quickly, her voice tinged with urgency. “Let us not talk about it here, okay?”

His expression shifted, understanding, but a bit sad as his first thoughts led him to rejection.

“I am sorry, this is not the right place, —” he replied, his voice lowering to a whisper as if he feared that even speaking about it might attract unwanted attention. “But I want you to know it is on my mind, Dove.”

Y/N felt a flutter in her chest, a conflict brewing within her. The idea of a child, of a future that seemed so distant. 

“Can we talk at home?” She asked carefully. The tension in his shoulders eased, she wanted to talk about it, and his heart started to beam.

“Deal. Let us just find you those pearls for now, hm?” A little peck on his lips was enough confirmation that she was more than ready to pick up some jewellery and leave.

As they moved through the store, the vibrant displays of jewellery momentarily distracted them from the weight of their conversation. Y/N couldn’t shake the thought of Yoongi’s words, though. She knew she needed to play her role. However, she was not ready to make such a big sacrifice for the taste of freedom. She had a different scenario in her head.

“What do you think about these pearls?” She gestured towards a stunning strand that caught the light just right, reflecting an array of colours.

Yoongi’s gaze followed her gesture, and he leaned closer to examine the pearls. “They are beautiful. They remind me of you—classic and timeless beauty,” he said, his tone playful but sincere.

She laughed softly, the tension of their earlier conversation easing. “You just say that because I am wearing a white dress.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes. “But I mean it.” He smiled at her, his eyes reflecting the love he felt for her with the hope that perhaps when they returned home, they could explore the depths of their future dreams together. Perhaps.

The private dining room was filled with the warm glow of candlelight, the scent of delicious food wafting through the air. The large table was set with an assortment of dishes, each more appetizing than the last.

Y/N glanced around, taking in the sight of the family gathered together, a rare moment these days when everyone is put to work. Each member of the family had a role to play, each one integral to the operation and survival of the Min clan.

She and Seokjin run around the hospital doing what they can to heal and help those in need. These past weeks were especially busy after several raids on the warehouses the Min clan owns.

Taehyung worked his magic, covering every single trace that would make the whole syndicate fall.

Jungkook, seated beside Jimin who has been running the hotel perfectly, took a deep breath. “The Min soldiers are ready. We have increased patrols around the warehouses and fortified our defences. I have got the best man on it, Yoongi-hyung. We will not let anything happen again like last time.”

“Yoongi nodded, his expression serious. “Good. We cannot afford any more breaches—”

Jungkook nodded firmly. “I will.”

Hoseok leaned back in his chair, his usually cheerful demeanour replaced with a hard edge. “I have been tracking down leads on who’s responsible for the raids. We have collected some old debts and sent a clear message.”

“It has been happening way too often lately,—” Namjoon cleared his throat, bringing the attention back to the whole table.

“It is the peak of the trade season, innit?” Yoongi mused out loud. Not bothered by that at the moment, he knows he can rely on his men. His wife sticking the food around with her chopsticks, pretending to eat from the barely filled marble dish bothered him more.

They have yet to return to their conversation but that is not what occupies her mind now. Yoongi yet again wondered whether her silence meant that she was considering what he said or being tortured by that thought.

“How are things over at the sanatorium?” The right-hand man raised the question when he cleared his throat, hoping to get the young Buin to talk about the sector that was entrusted to her. Under the watchful eye of Doctor Kim Seokjin.

Yoongi, seated at the head of the table, glanced at her with a small smile. Despite the tension of the past weeks, moments like this reminded him of why they fought so hard. He reached under the table, finding her hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. Then, with a gentle, almost tender gesture, he picked up a piece of grilled fish and placed it on her plate.

“We have zero deaths so far, thanks to—” Seokjin’s voice became a blur when she noticed his hand squeezing hers.

“Eat up, Dove—” Yoongi said softly, ignoring Seokjin’s report, his eyes filled with concern. Xiaoli looked around the table with wide eyes, still getting used to the boisterous dynamics of the group.

“Are you feeling fine, Unnie?” She pried, eating a piece of kimchi while doing so.  “You have been working a lot lately.”

“Just peachy, pumpkin,” Y/N replied with a bright smile, trying to mask the fatigue she felt. She noticed the way Yoongi’s brow furrowed slightly at her response, a subtle reminder of their shared worries, but she chose to brush it off.

Hoseok, sitting across from her, leaned in with a teasing grin. “Peachy? You have been working more hours than Jin-hyung at the hospital, Buin—” he expressed his concern.

“And I love working—”  Y/N began, her voice light, but she was quickly interrupted by Jin, who feigned horror.

“Yes, yes and yes, that does not change that you should take a little break.” Jin insisted, his tone dramatic as he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.

“Oh shut up, you do need me, Dr Kim.”  Y/N shot back playfully, her smile growing wider as she tried to lighten the mood.

“Touché,” Jin replied, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “But that does not mean you should work yourself into the ground. You are not invincible, Buin.”

Jungkook leaned forward, a teasing glint in his eye. “Yeah, the last thing we need is for our favourite sister to pass out in the middle of surgery because she did not eat breakfast!” He noticed. Of course he did. 

Y/N rolled her eyes at him playfully. “I can manage just fine. I am not collapsing anytime soon. I promise!”

“Not with that attitude,” Namjoon said, leaning back with an amused expression. “But let us not test the limits of your endurance, okay?”

“Eat up, Dove. No more arguments,” Yoongi said firmly, though his voice softened at the end.

Y/N looked at the fish, then back up at him. “I will, but you all need to stop treating me like I am fragile, at least I am not that fragile anymore—” her voice fell down at the end of the sentence.

Nobody forgot, even though it seemed like they did. The scar on her neck is yet to fade and smooth into her skin. Before she managed to slip to those thoughts, Jimin’s voice echoed through the room.

“How about a spa day, girls?” Y/N chuckled lightly, glancing around the table, endorsing that kind of domesticity. But when she looks at her sister and sees a woman she never was before, it makes her heart ache.

October through November 1938

Fresh off the boat from China, her wide-eyed innocence was observable by many others. The scent of hay mingled with the musky aroma of leather and sweat as she walked through the stables, admiring the majestic kladrubers behind the iron bars. Reaching through them, her hands deftly brushed against their sleek coats.

She came here to forget about all the screaming that was happening behind closed doors of the room that was “politely” offered to them. Her father wanted to come home, with her sister preferably, but the young Korean Kkangpae just had to be so madly in love with Y/N that he was not willing to let her just go. At least, that is what Xiaoli observed from behind the scenes.

The younger sister did not know how it came to this nor what was his business with her father, and she will most likely never know the whole truth nor she will remember. She was not like her sister Y/N. Xiaoli knew very well that she must marry a wealthy mafia lord, a strong ally to her father at best. Hence, she made her peace with it since the first time she bled and became a woman.

The time was ticking and knowing that Y/N got to get higher education shifted the focus on her instead. Xiaoli was moulded to be the perfect, obedient and dutiful wife Y/N would never become. Not because she was not capable but because her sister had different ambitions. Ambitions that Xiaoli believed would kill her and many others. And once, she understood them. That proved to be no longer the case.

Y/N wanted to be a doctor, she wanted to help people, heal people and Xiaoli understood that was the persona she grew in.

She admired her sister for her strength and resilience. It would not take the man her sister is engaged to a second more to charm Xiaoli - in the right circumstances. He was handsome, successful, and certainly very intelligent as he managed to put the whole Triad on their feet by swaying Y/N.

The scar made him even more intriguing in Xiaoli’s eyes. There was something about the respect that vibrated through the room once he stepped in. She was not allowed to attend the meeting or meet her sister that day, and per her mother’s words, ‘it would only hurt her seeing you’.

Well, it definitely hurt Xiaoli. They spent very little time together these past years and she missed her dearly. The happiness and pride she felt on the day Y/N finally graduated was short-lived; their aunt passed away and even she was not stupid enough to not realise what it meant.

Sitting at the breakfast table in their family mansion back in Hong Kong, a rageful scream reverberated through the walls. The news that Y/N took the chance and ran for the hills.

“She barely reaches your chin, how come you were not able to stop her!”

The echoes of the scream seemed to linger in the opulent dining room, bouncing off the intricate wooden panelling and crystal chandeliers.

Xiaoli’s mother stood at the head of the table, her face twisted with fury and disbelief. The usually composed matriarch of the family was unrecognizable, her controlled demeanour shattered by the news of Y/N’s escape.

Xiaoli’s father, Wang Zemo sat in his chair with a deep frown etched on his face, his hands clenched into fists. He was a man of few words, but his silence was more intimidating than any outburst. The tension in the room was suffocating, each family member drowning in their own thoughts and fears.

The Lieutenant stood at the door frame to the dining room they were gathered in. Trembling under Wang Zemo’s hard glance.

“We did not think she would go that far,” he muttered, his voice shaky, afraid to lose his head. What he meant is that they trusted her sister to not do anything like that.

Xiaoli’s heart ached back then. She knew Y/N had been unhappy with the arranged marriage, but she hadn’t realized the depths of her despair. She admired her sister’s courage to defy their parents and the entire Triad’s expectations, but she also feared for her safety. Running away from such powerful families was no small feat, and the repercussions could be deadly.

“Stupid girl—” Wang Zemo scoffed at his oldest child’s incompetence to meet the expectations.

“She jeopardized everything!” Wang Zemo repeated, his voice rising with each syllable. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the edge of the table, the wood creaking under the pressure.

Xiaoli’s mother placed a calming hand on Wang Zemo’s shoulder, though her expression was one of thinly veiled panic.

“We need to stay calm,” she urged, her voice steady but strained. “Anger will not bring her back.” Wang Zemo shook off her hand, standing up abruptly.

He turned to the Lieutenant, his eyes narrowing. “What have you done to find her?”

The Lieutenant stammered, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. “We have mobilized all available men. We are taking every possible lead, and every contact she might have. But... but she has been very careful, sir. It is almost like she planned this way ahead..”

‘Of course she did,’ Xiaoli thought, feeling a mix of pride and sorrow for her sister. Y/N had always been meticulous and determined. She would not have run away on a whim; she would have made sure she had a solid plan.

“Not good enough,” Wang Zemo growled. “I want results. And I want them now—”

“Your fucking failure reflects on all of us!” 

Xiaoli could feel the tears threatening to spill over, but she blinked them back, refusing to show any weakness. She had to be strong, for her sister and for herself.

Xiaoli’s mother flinched at the vulgarity, her mask of composure slipping for just a moment. The Lieutenant’s face turned a shade paler, and he nodded vigorously, desperate to appease his furious boss.

“Father,” Xiaoli spoke up, her voice surprisingly firm. “Maybe we should consider why Y/N ran away. Forcing her back might just not be the answer.”

Wang Zemo’s eyes snapped to her, his expression one of disbelief mixed with anger. “Are you questioning me, Xiaoli?”

“No, Father,” she said quickly but then gathered her courage. “I just think... there must be a better way. Y/N is smart. She would not do this without a good reason. Maybe we should try to understand her, rather than just bring her back by force.” She rephrased herself.

A heavy silence filled the room, everyone waiting for Lǎodà’s reaction. He stared at Xiaoli for a long moment before he finally spoke, his voice surprisingly calm but dangerously low.

“You do not have the same sinful intentions as your sister, daughter, right?”

“Of course not.” She forced a smile.

The conversation ended before it managed to even start. Xiaoli’s voice was never heard once she spoke up, and the most devastating was that not even her older sister could advise their father or her mother. The only woman that the hot-headed Wang Zemo ever listened to was their dear auntie, but she is no longer here to prevent him from the madness he is planning to do.

There is no one to make Wang Zemo see reason anymore.

The warm sun filtered through the slats of the stable, casting playful shadows across the hay-strewn floor. There he stood, at the very edge, her heart racing as she took in the sight of him. His strong form bent over one of the kladrubers, grooming the horse with gentle precision. Xiaoli quietly watched him from a distance, adored in tailored high-waisted trousers, in a rich earth tone, paired with a fitted, button-down shirt. His choice of leather riding boots suggests functionality and style, perfect for a day at the stables.

Xiaoli’s heart raced as she observed Kim Taehyung’s deft movements. She admired not just his looks but the quiet confidence he exuded—a stark contrast to the chaos of her family. His demeanour and interaction with his brothers.

They have been talking. 

Matter of fact, they have been talking daily. Sometimes from far away, it felt like they were talking more than casually. Xiaoli cherished the moments she spent with Taehyung, often finding solace in their conversations at the stables, sun room or dining hall.

They would talk about everything—his aspirations, her dreams, the horses they adored. He shared stories of his family’s dynamics, highlighting the playful banter with his brothers, while she opened up about the weight of her own familial expectations, carefully steering the discussions to remain light-hearted. But he noticed her dissatisfaction. 

Taehyung looked up, a warm smile spreading across his face, instantly lighting up his sharp features when he saw her standing near him.

“Hey there, angel” he said, his tone inviting, “Want to help?”

Xiaoli nodded, her pulse quickening. As she moved beside him, the connection sparked an unexpected flutter in her chest. There was something about him that felt safe, a reprieve from her tumultuous life.

Their fingers brushed as they reached for the grooming brush at the same time, and Taehyung chuckled softly.

“I don’t bite–”

Xiaoli’s cheeks flushed, and she laughed lightly, feeling an ease she had not known in ages. The playful banter continued, their laughter echoing softly against the stable walls, and for a moment, the weight of her family’s expectations and her father’s wrath slipped away.

“Would you give me the honour to accompany you riding today, angel?” Xiaoli hesitated, glancing down at her hands.

“I wish I could, Taehyung-sshi, but I cannot today—” Taehyung’s smile faltered for just a moment, but he quickly masked it with understanding.

“What is the matter, dear?” Xiaoli bit her lip, avoiding his gaze.

“It is just... my father’s been on edge lately, and I don’t want to risk making things worse. Truth to be told, he is not very keen on spending my leisure time with you.”

Taehyung’s brow furrowed with concern, and he took a step closer, his voice softening.

“I do not fancy your father either, but he also does not fancy any of my clan.”

Xiaoli nodded, understanding the unspoken tension that simmered beneath their lighthearted exchanges. “I know, but that makes it all the more complicated.”

He leaned closer, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. “You deserve to enjoy yourself, regardless of what he thinks. Life is too short for shadows.” He mused.

“I know—” she started, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Spend it with me.” 

He said softly but rather abruptly, closing the distance between them. Her eyes searched for any signs of foul play but found none. Her breathing became shaky and her mind started to spin around all the scenarios that her father would be starring in as the villain. Xiaoli’s heart raced at his words, caught between desire and duty.

“What?—” She asked, shocked. Xiaoli took a deep breath, the weight of the moment heavy on her chest.

“Taehyung, I appreciate how you feel. I truly do. But I must be honest with you.” He tilted his head, a flicker of concern crossing his face.

“I think of you as a friend, someone…someone I can confide in, but…but nothing more,” she continued stammering, although her voice remained gentle. “With everything going on, I need to focus on my family and my responsibilities. I thought you understood that–”

Taehyung’s expression softened, and he nodded slowly, masking his disappointment and internal anger.

“Friends it is.” He said through gritted teeth. The moment hung in the air, tinged with unspoken emotions, yet Xiaoli felt a bittersweet relief wash over her. In a world where love could be both a luxury and a burden, she valued the connection they shared, however fleeting it was.

Unfortunately for her, Kim Taehyung’s intentions are rooted far too deep to be classified as friendship.

“Tomorrow, we shall go take this boy for a ride, what you say, angel?”

Taehyung’s voice dripped with a charm that both thrilled and unnerved her.

Xiaoli hesitated, a flicker of unease creeping into her heart. “I—”

“Come on, it shall be fun! Just you and me,” he urged, his eyes glinting with a mix of excitement and something deeper, something she couldn’t quite place.

She took a breath, sensing the weight of his expectations.

“Of course–”

The flickering candlelight cast long shadows on the walls, the quiet ticking of a clock echoing in the background. She had written to Y/N again. Despite everything, despite the unspoken rules the Korean Kkangpae established - as per Taehyung’s words.

She had a strong feeling that something was going to go down the hill, and she expressed this in her plea letters to her sister who is being held in a place called the Sanctuary. Nobody ever knew where this place was hidden. Hidden from all those who wished for the downfall of the Min empire the scarred leader was extending slowly.

The words flowed onto the page, frantic and desperate - whatever happens, I shall not be able to control it. I feel like the choices will be taken away from me, dear sister.

But as she folded the paper, her heart ached. She had no idea if she could send it. No idea if she would ever be able to.

A soft knock at the door startled her, and before she could even respond, Taehyung entered, his presence filling the room like a storm. His sharp gaze immediately fell on the letters.

“We have talked about this, Xiaoli, you know that that is forbidden,” he asked, his voice smooth, almost too calm. The Taehyung she was seeing now was different from the one she met when she first laid foot onto the Min grounds. He has changed, and it was her rejection that led him to show his true colours to her.

Xiaoli’s heart skipped a beat. “I just wish to tell her I miss her,” she whispered, almost pleading. His hands quickly unfolded the paper she had laid in front of her, reading the words. That is when Xiaoli knew she was destined to be doomed.

“She is my sister, Taehyung. I cannot just abandon her like this.”

“You can,” he said, his voice suddenly hard. “And you will for now. She needs to adjust to her life as Buin of this clan.”

Xiaoli’s breath caught in her throat, her pulse quickening at the mention of Buin, the title that now belonged to her sister, the role that would tether Y/N even deeper to the Kkangpae.

“I can see that you are continuing this insanity that your dear sister exhibits too. Disobedience must be running in your family, but we shall change that soon.” 

Taehyung stepped closer, his presence engulfing her, the scent of his cologne overpowering the faint smell of the letter’s ink. His fingers brushed the paper on the desk, now crumpled and discarded, and Xiaoli’s breath hitched at the coldness in his touch.

“What are you talking about again Taehyung? I thought we were done speaking about this topic.” Taehyung’s gaze sharpened, his eyes narrowing as he stepped closer, the air thickening with the tension between them.

“I shall see you in the morning, and I hope that a good sleep will bring you to your senses.” He said, his voice lowering, a cold warning hanging in the silence. Xiaoli’s heart raced, a wave of frustration and helplessness flooding through her.

“I will not let you break me. No is a no—” she raised her voice when he was about to leave the room. She lifted her chin, refusing to back down.

“Nor will you break my sister, mark my words Kim Taehyung, and be sure to tell them to that leader of yours.”

For a moment, there was silence.

Taehyung’s lips curled into a cold smile.

“You love me, Xiaoli. You do—” his bold and explicit words sent a tidal wave through her body.

“The sooner you accept it, the sooner you can live without the weight of that foolishness.”

“Good morning, angel.”

Truth to be spoken, Xiaoli was afraid to not come and a part of her knew that he would have his way nonetheless. Today, she was determined to put an end to Kim Taehyung's attempts to groom her.

Before she could reply, Xiaoli felt his lips brushing against hers, soft yet demanding. The world around them faded, leaving only the warmth of their connection, the lingering tension of unspoken words. She found herself responding,telling herself, just this once, curiosity mingling with a twinge of fear. She did not understand what was happening. Did she not make her standing in their relationship clear last night? His vulgarity shocked her. 

The air was crisp and cool in November, a hint of frost glimmering on the ground as Xiaoli and Taehyung stood close in the stable, the warmth of their earlier kiss lingering like a sweet echo. The horses shifted in their stalls, unaware of the tension that had just shifted between the two of them.

The next moment, she was observing his muscular hands saddling the horse for her, still not understanding what happened. Too shocked to speak, to even comment or reply good morning to him.

Taehyung’s posture was relaxed, but beneath the surface, an insidious obsession twisted within him. He guided his horse closer to hers, a gleam in his eye that hinted at the darkness lurking beneath his charming façade.

“Have you thought about my proposal, my beloved?” He asked, curious. His proposal was rather sudden and the change in him very obvious. He was not hiding his feelings for her anymore. At least that is how he perceived the situation.

“Taehyung,-” she called out softly, watching as he approached, his breath misting in the cold air. His usual confident stride seemed tempered by the season’s sombre beauty.

“I am not sure if I can fully embrace this. I told you so–” she admitted, her gaze unwavering. He lifted his eyesight to meet hers. Taehyung, mounted on his sleek black horse, maintained a close pace beside Xiaoli, who rode a chestnut mare. The crisp air was filled with the sounds of hoofbeats crunching through the snow.

“Do you feel that?” Taehyung asked, his breath visible in the frosty air. “It is as if the world is ours alone.”

Xiaoli glanced at him, warmth blooming in her chest. “Nature is certainly beautiful,” she replied, the thrill of the ride mixing with the tension that still lingered after their kiss.

“Just like you,” he said, the sincerity in his voice making her heart race. “I want to share moments like this with you forever.”

“Taehyung…” She whispered, her disapproval evident in her voice.

“Xiaoli, beloved—” he said, voice smooth yet edged with intensity, “imagine a life where you belong to me, where no one can take you away. You would never have to worry about your father or anyone else. Just us.” His smile was wide, but there was a predator’s hunger behind it.

“Did we not share good times together, angel?” She shifted uncomfortably in her saddle, feeling the weight of his gaze.

“Taehyung, this is not what I want. I already have obligations—” 

He interrupted, his tone sharpening.

“I can become your obligation, would you not fancy that over marrying a stranger?” He stressed out.

“We have our lives, our families, and that kiss—”

“Was it not real, my dear?” he interrupted, a spark of frustration flashing in his eyes.

“Uncalled for!” She raised her voice.

“You cannot just kiss me, Taehyung, we talked about us being friends just yesterday, did we not?” she said, trying to find the right words. Taehyung’s expression softened, and he nodded slowly, acknowledging the weight of her words.

But as they rode deeper into the woods, Xiaoli could not shake the feeling that something had shifted—not just between her and Taehyung, but within herself. The kiss replayed in her mind, its intensity causing her to question her feelings.

The snowflakes swirled around them, creating an enchanting atmosphere that felt almost dreamlike. But beneath the surface, Xiaoli knew this was not going to end well for her.

“Is this yet another strategic move of your Kkangpae?” She blurted out. Taehyung’s expression darkened at her words, the playful glint in his eyes replaced by something more intense.

“And if it is?” he cut in, anger and hurt lacing his tone. “I am offering you everything, and you are turning me down for what? Some semblance of duty?”

“The future I want does not include you!” she cried, her voice trembling. They cannot be friends, she has decided that it will be better to lose him than fall in line. The reality of their situation hung heavily between them, each word slicing deeper than the last.

“You do not have to part with your sister ever again!” Her mind stops for a fleeting moment, thinking about this for some peculiar proposal.

“You think this will make me fall in love with you, do you not?” she spat, the bitterness on her tongue sharp enough to cut through the tension in the room.

His lips curled into a cold, controlled smile, the kind of smile that made her skin crawl. “Love,” he murmured, getting closer until their faces were mere inches apart. “Love will come, in time. Whether you want it or not.”

Her body tensed, every fibre of her being fighting against the reality of it all. This is not love, she thought, her mind screaming with the agony of the truth.

Taehyung’s eyes narrowed, a mix of desperation and determination flaring within them. “You do not even know what you want yet, Xiaoli. You are running from a feeling that can change everything–”

“You make me feel alive,” he continued, searching her eyes for understanding.

“Taehyung, I cannot—” her tears spilt over, her voice losing its power.

“Just trust me,” he urged, his fingers brushing her arm. “Give in.”

“What are you—”

In a swift motion, he pushed his horse forward, pressing against her side. Xiaoli instinctively jerked her reins, trying to regain control. The sudden jolt sent her horse rearing back, and she lost her balance, falling hard to the ground. Pain exploded in her head as it connected with the earth, a sharp crack reverberating in the stillness around them.

Taehyung dismounted swiftly, panic lacing his features for a fleeting moment that luck was not on his side, that she fell harder than he wanted her to. But before you could blink it was all replaced by a chilling calmness.

“Everything shall be alright, my beloved. I shall make it all better,” he murmured, his voice soft yet chillingly possessive.

“I love you.”

The world spun into a blur of pain and darkness, Xiaoli’s last coherent thought was the cold touch of Taehyung’s hand, his voice a chilling promise in her ear.

When she woke, her head throbbed with a dull, persistent ache. Her surroundings were unfamiliar, a stark contrast to the snowy forest. The room was sterile, the air heavy with the scent of antiseptics. Her body felt restrained, bound to a cold, metal table. Panic surged through her veins as she struggled to move, but the restraints held firm.

Blinking slowly, she tried to make sense of her surroundings, the sterile white walls closing in on her. Kim Seokjin, one of the seven, stood at the foot of the bed, his face an unreadable mask. Dressed in a pristine white coat, he exuded an unsettling calmness. The tools of his trade lay meticulously arranged on a nearby table.

Xiaoli knew that he was the family’s doctor, but she did not understand what she was doing in his practice.

“Doctor Kim... what am I doing here?" Her voice was a fragile whisper when she addressed the older male, barely audible over the pounding of her heart.

He approached her slowly, his eyes cold and clinical. “There is no need to be afraid, dear. I will make it all better for you now.”

Strapped to the bed, Xiaoli’s attempts to move were futile. Panic surged through her veins as Seokjin prepared the instruments, his movements deliberate and precise. Tears streamed down her cheeks, the horror of her situation sinking in with every passing second.

“Is this what you did to your fiancée?!” Xiaoli remembers the talks of the young female kicking and screaming any moment she had the chance to, just to make it harder for Doctor Kim in public, making everybody know that she was here against her will.

Seokjin paused, a flicker of emotion crossing his otherwise stoic face. For a brief moment, his eyes softened, memories perhaps surfacing in his mind. But the moment was fleeting, replaced quickly by his professional detachment.

“Her thoughts were just as confused as yours,” he murmured, almost to himself. “But in the end, it was necessary. For her, and for us.”

The drastic change in her demeanour did not go unnoticed, yet everybody chose to ignore that, calling it her “enlightenment.”

Xiaoli’s heart raced faster, her breaths coming in quick, shallow gasps. “No, please. You do not have to do this. I can... I can leave. I shall not tell anyone that this ever happened.”

“You would leave your dear older sister here when we are offering you life within our ranks?”

His words struck a nerve, the mention of her sister pulling at Xiaoli’s deepest fears. “My sister…,” she stammered, her mind racing with conflicting emotions. She couldn’t abandon her, but she couldn’t accept this twisted fate either. Y/N would want her to fight this.

Seokjin’s eyes hardened, his patience thinning. “This is not a negotiation, Xiaoli. Your sister is safe, and she will remain so as long as you comply.”

In that unfortunate situation, Xiaoli did not know that there was no way that they would do something to Y/N, how could they? She ought to be the queen of them all. They cannot risk it going the wrong way.

A sob escaped her lips, the weight of her predicament crashing down on her. “Please, Doctor Kim. There must be another way.”

“You sound just like her. Your pleas are almost identical—” Seokjin’s expression softened, but only slightly.

“There is not. This is for your own good and for the good of the family. You will understand in time that Taehyung-sshi is the best thing that could ever come your way, child.”

Xiaoli’s tears flowed freely as Seokjin moved closer, the cold metal of his instruments glinting under the harsh lights. Her mind raced, searching for any possible escape, but the reality of her situation was inescapable.

“Please...,” she whispered one last time, her voice breaking.

Seokjin’s hand rested gently on her forehead, a mockery of comfort. “Hush now, Xiaoli. It will all be over soon.”

As the procedure began, Xiaoli’s cries echoed in the sterile room, a haunting symphony of despair. “Please...,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I cannot do this.”

Seokjin approached her with a syringe in hand, his expression one of detached professionalism. The needle glinted ominously in the harsh light, a harbinger of the nightmare to come. “This will help you relax,” he said, his tone clinical and devoid of empathy.

Xiaoli’s heart pounded in her chest as the needle pierced her skin, a sharp sting that quickly gave way to a spreading numbness. Her vision blurred at the edges, the room tilting and swaying as the sedative took hold. Despite the fog settling over her mind, the panic continued to surge through her veins.

As the sedative dulled her senses, Xiaoli’s thoughts became fragmented, and disjointed. Memories of her childhood with Y/N flashed before her eyes, moments of laughter and love now tainted by the fear of losing herself. She tried to cling to those memories, to hold on to the essence of who she was, but they slipped through her fingers like sand.

“Why are you even doing this?” she managed to murmur, her voice slurred by the sedative. “Please... I will do anything...”

“Because you were not ready to accept his love and the love of this clan, my dear,” Seokjin replied, his voice eerily calm. Xiaoli’s thoughts grew increasingly disjointed, a chaotic jumble of fear, pain, and fragmented memories.

Seokjin’s voice broke through the haze, a steady drone that contrasted sharply with the chaos in her mind. “You will be better soon. You will see things clearly and understand your place.”

“Pray for your sister to not need this.”  Xiaoli’s mind shut down in a desperate bid for self-preservation. The last thing she saw was Taehyung’s face, his expression a mixture of triumph and possession before everything faded to black.

Her head was secured tightly after she lost consciousness,  Seokjin carefully lifted her upper eyelid, exposing the soft tissue beneath. The point of entry is the thin, bony orbital roof, a structure that protects the eye within its socket. He is trying to do this without having to opt for the leucotome method.

Inserting the slender leucotome, just above the eyeball he severed the white matter fibres of her prefrontal cortex, methodically disconnecting the very essence of her thoughts and emotions, enough to just reorganize her persona into something she was not. Less capable of resistance, less capable to decide for herself.

“This better work, Seokjin, I cannot lose her.” His words cut through the air, a desperate plea as his gaze fixed on Xiaoli’s still form. She had to come back as the woman he wanted—obedient, loyal, bound to him in every way.

Nobody would ever notice. After all, Xiaoli was never opposed to being a wife of a high profile mafia member in comparison to her sister.

Her thoughts, her dreams, her fears—all of them slipping away, restructured, reshaped. The woman Taehyung had demanded would emerge from this, but at what cost?

Xiaoli would no longer fight him. She would no longer question him. In time, she would look to him, and him alone, for purpose.

Her body would heal; the bruising would fade, and the scar on her scalp would eventually blend, after all, everybody will think that it needed to be done after her unfortunate fall from the horse.

“If not, I will do it on the other side too, but that is risky” Seokjin murmured, but even he wasn’t sure if he believed it. Doing it with only one side was just as risky. The woman she had been might not return, but the woman Taehyung desired most certainly would.

“Why?” Taeyhung voiced. 

“You do not want her to be a vegetable, do you?” 

Xiaoli, the girl who would fight for her sister to be free of the notorious Korean Kkangpae Min, would cease to exist.

The rest would simply be a matter of time.

The next time she wished to write to her sister, innocently, Taehyung’s hand shot out, swiftly taking hold of the letters and ripping them from her grasp before she could finish her sentence. The paper fluttered to the floor, torn and lifeless.

“You cannot write to her, Xiaoli,” he said, each word deliberate. Xiaoli could not shake off the familiarity of this moment. As if she was reliving something from before.

“You belong here now, with me, love. You owe everything to this clan. To me.”

Her throat tightened, tears welling in her eyes as she tried to hold onto the fragments of herself that still fought to resist. “Alright, I understand.”

“She is safe,” he said, his voice cold and final, “and if she is to remain so, she will need to embrace her new life, just as you will. You will have no more distractions, no more ties to the past. Your sister will adjust, just like you did.”

She was a shell that smiled when expected, nodded in approval when necessary, and followed Taehyung’s every command without question. She was no longer a woman who sought freedom for her sister, who fought against the weight of the world. No, she was now simply his—his to guide, to possess, to mould into the role that had been chosen for her.

The pain of her sister’s struggle was no longer her burden to bear, not when she had been given a new, more fitting role to play. She belonged here now, she understood that—at least, she told herself she did. The clan had welcomed her with open arms, and Taehyung’s presence was both commanding and comforting. He was the anchor to her existence now, and she had no choice but to submit, for it was the only life she had left.

The day of their wedding arrived, the final step in the transformation of Xiaoli into the woman she had been shaped to be. The air was thick with anticipation, the ornate halls of the family compound dressed in rich colours, the scent of incense mingling with the opulence of the setting. Guests, powerful men and women from every corner of the clan gathered in hushed reverence, all eyes on the bride as she stepped into the room.

The silk fabric, lustrous ivory, was adorned with intricate patterns that seemed to dance in the flickering light, each thread whispering secrets of elegance and heritage. Her attire was simple yet breathtaking—a testament to timeless beauty. Even though it tinged Y/N with sadness that her sister chose to wear a Korean wedding dress instead of showing off their culture. It seemed that they even took the country out of her too.

The ceremony was a blur, just like everything else. The vows, the prayers, the promises—they all felt distant, detached. There was no room for anything more. Not when her thoughts, her emotions, had been so carefully erased, so perfectly reshaped to fit this role. She loved him, because she was told to do so.

As they left the altar together, Taehyung’s hand around hers, there was a finality to the moment that left her breathless. The gold band on her finger, heavy with meaning, designed with filigree — an oval, dark red ruby sat at its centre, glowing with an almost ominous warmth.

She glanced upon her sister sitting next to her husband once the ceremony was almost at its end. Her hand was sliced with a knife, Y/N, now the Min Buin, watched in silence, her expression unreadable. Xiaoli saw only the coldness of a woman who had embraced her new role.

She recited her pledge of loyalty to them and Y/N could not help herself but sigh. She could not reverse Xiaoli’s fate. The girl she knew was long gone and the woman she became was not who Y/N knew. Although, that will not make her love her less.

Her gaze flickered to Xiaoli, and for a brief moment, there was a flicker of something—regret, perhaps, or guilt—but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

Xiaoli’s bloodied trembling hand remained pressed against Y/N’s belly, a symbol of sacrifice, for what was to come. Y/N looked at her for a long moment before her hands gripped Xiaoli’s to reassure her for the last time that she was here. Min Yoongi’s watchful eyes did not miss this slight change in both of them, but for now, he is determined to let it slip. 

“Blessed be the fruit of your future legacy, Kkangpae Min.”

“Lǎodà Wang wishes to speak to you, Min Buin.” Y/N has set down the cup of her today’s dose of the herbal tea and breathed in, frustrated. She sat there for a moment longer, staring at the delicate ceramic cup.

“You can tell him what you usually do, Xiu — he can schedule an audience with me whilst my husband is present—” she began. Her voice was steady, but tinged with the faintest thread of frustration as she glanced at the delicate ceramic cup in front of her. The soft scent of the herbal tea filled the air, but it couldn’t soothe the growing unease tightening in her chest.

Xiu was her father’s maid since she was a child, hence she hesitated for a fraction of a second before responding. “Min Buin, this matter seems urgent. Lǎodà Wang insists on seeing you alone.”

“I have no interest in seeing him alone, Xiu—” She had kept her distance from him ever since her marriage to Yoongi.She did not protest when his command was to limit the interaction between the father and the sisters.

“I must insist, Min Buin.” Xiu repeated, her voice calm but firm. It was rare for Xiu to speak with such authority, but there was something in her demeanour that suggested the urgency of this matter was not to be ignored.

Y/N exhaled slowly, her thoughts spinning. “Alright, tell him to meet me in Kkangpae’s office. Off you go.”

Xiu bowed her head slightly, her expression unreadable, and then turned to leave the room without a word. Y/N watched her go, her mind whirling with unease. The mention of Lǎodà Wang was enough to unsettle her, but the insistence on meeting alone only deepened her suspicion. There was something off about this, something she couldn’t quite place.

Once Xiu disappeared from her sight, Y/N rose from her seat and walked toward the window, gazing out at the sprawling grounds of the hotel.

Why now? Why is her father so desperate to speak with her alone?

Xiaoli and Taehyung have been wed and there is no tie to him now. As a matter of fact, he can set a sail back to China, anytime now. She glanced at the clock on the wall. Time was slipping away.

She moved to gather herself for the meeting with her father. The weight of everything she had set in motion was starting to press on her, but she couldn’t let it show—not yet. She needed her mind sharp and clear, and she had no time to waste. But Y/N could see the sharpness in her sister’s eyes as she hesitated for a moment before speaking.

“What is it, pumpkin?” Y/N’s voice was calm, but the undercurrent of frustration and unease was evident.

“Are you sure you are ready to do this now?”

Y/N finally turned to face her, her expression unreadable but her eyes sharp. She studied her sister for a moment, taking in the subtle shift in Xiaoli’s demeanour, the way her posture had become more rigid as if she too could feel the weight of the coming confrontation. Y/N’s lips pressed into a thin line.

“Are you?” Xiaoli hesitated, but nodded, solemnly.

“I can come with you,” she suggested. Y/N’s gaze softened for just a moment.

“No,” Y/N said firmly, her voice steady. “This is not your burden, Xiaoli.”

Xiaoli nodded slowly, her lips pressing together in a tight line. “But it is, innit?” She stepped forward, her voice dropping to a murmur. “This is everyone’s fight. He has always been able to divide us,—”

The truth of it was there in her words, but she refused to acknowledge the vulnerability creeping up her spine. She could not afford to waver.

“Everything will be okay, pumpkin—” Y/N gave a final, lingering glance to her sister.

“—Ha-sun?” She called. The soft sound of footsteps echoed from the hallway before the door creaked open revealing the young maid.

“Min Buin?”

Y/N didn’t turn immediately, her eyes still fixed on the sprawling grounds below, though her thoughts were far from the peaceful view.

“Get me Jeon Jungkook, armed.” Ha-sun’s eyes widened slightly at the command, but she nodded quickly, understanding the gravity in Y/N’s tone.

“And call for Kkangpae Min, say he needs to return at once.”

Without a word, she turned and left the room, her footsteps retreating down the hall.

The situation when Xiaoli and Taehyung got engaged was already volatile, but this—this felt like something else entirely. The tension was palpable, thick with layers of unspoken threats and promises.

Y/N moved toward the door, ready to face her father, Xiaoli’s voice suddenly stopped her in her tracks.

“Wait,” Xiaoli called out, standing up from the chair where she had been sitting. Her expression was a mix of disbelief and amusement as she eyed her sister’s outfit.

Xiaoli walked up to her, raising an eyebrow. “Are you seriously wearing trousers?” she asked, her tone dripping with incredulity. Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, her patience already stretched thin.

“Are you seriously asking me that?”

Xiaoli crossed her arms, her lips curving into a mischievous grin. “It is just… you are about to face the wrath of Lǎodà Wang, and you are wearing pants? Is it not a little… aggressive?”

Y/N sighed, rolling her eyes as she straightened her posture, her expression shifting to one of mock seriousness.

“I am about to go confront the man who ruined our lives for years, Xiaoli. Trust me, these pants are the least of his problems.”

“What does a father have to do to see his daughter here?!” Y/N’s jaw tightened.

“I assume you have a reason for requesting to be in my presence.”

The air was thick with tension, the scent of aged wood and leather mingling with the faint traces of Yoongi’s cologne lingering in the corners.

The walls were lined with bookshelves, the shelves packed with legal documents, expensive liquor bottles, and the occasional framed photograph of her and the Min clan family men. But tonight, it was the man in front of her that commanded all her attention.

Her father, Wang Zemo, stood at the far end of the room, facing the large mahogany desk where Yoongi usually worked. He was still as imposing as ever—his tall, broad frame overshadowing the delicate space, his dark eyes glinting with something she couldn’t quite read.

He turned to face her short form only for his eyes to narrow with disbelief.

“What is this?” His voice was sharp. Y/N met his gaze, standing her ground, confused at what exactly her father was referring to.

She stood in the doorway, an almost ethereal figure, wearing a beige, floral-print qipao with short sleeves and a high collar. The delicate embroidery on the fabric caught the light, its intricate petals whispering a grace that felt both foreign to her now but still strangely familiar. Her wide-leg, high-waisted brown trousers fell to her ankles, the fabric swaying as she shifted. Dark-coloured heels clicked lightly on the floor, sharp and deliberate. There was something about her—bold, beautiful, yet undeniably out of place.

“What do you mean?” She asked him, playing confused.

“Are you wearing goddamn trousers, Y/N?!” The air was thick with the weight of her father’s fury. Y/N felt the sting of his words, the disbelief in his eyes cutting deeper than she expected. Seems like Xiaoli was right after all, it did anger him.

“Yes, Father,” she said softly, her voice steady despite the sharpness in his tone. “I am wearing trousers.”

Y/N’s gaze flickered toward the desk, where Yoongi’s chair was empty, his absence adding to the heaviness in the air. She felt the weight of her father’s presence pressing on her, but she refused to let it show.

There was no longer any room for fear. She was no longer a child, nor his pawn.

“You are a woman, Y/N.” Y/N stood firm, her heart racing. Breathing this moment through, she was trying to calm herself. She cannot screw this up.

“Ah, yes, thank you for the reminder of my gender, Father. I almost forgot. Now, could you please enlighten me on the real reason you wanted to have this delightful conversation in the first place?”

The muscles in his jaw tightened as Y/N’s words cut through the air with a little bit of sarcasm. Her father didn’t immediately answer. The room seemed to grow smaller with each second.

“You have not once bothered to seek me out, child.” Wang Zemo finally said, his voice low and filled with a mixture of disappointment and anger.

“You have not exactly made yourself approachable,” Y/N retorted, her voice sharp when she touched her shorter perfectly styled dark hair.

Wang Zemo took a step forward, his expression darkening.

“Knowing your husband plans to eliminate my existence. You think I would be easily approachable?—”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, but she kept her face impassive. “I do not know what we are talking about.”

“Let me rephrase that, child,” he spat the words, “I have information that could dismantle the foolish scarred boy’s entire empire as I have no intention of going down without a fight.”

Her mind raced, trying to piece together the implications of his words. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I know that you have not fallen into the role of obedient little wife out of love for him, am I wrong?” he said, sloping down to sit on the lowered sofa. Y/N’s eyes followed his movement with disgust.

“Fix me a drink, child, would you, please.”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed, her fingers curling into fists at her sides but moved to the table where Yoongi stored his high-quality whiskey they started to produce just after they got married. “You haven’t answered my question, Father. Why are you telling me this?”

She did not want to get that close to her father, but there was something in his eyes that she could not decipher when she handed him the crystal glass.

“Your Aunt was not aware of Yoongi’s intentions to marry you.”

Wang Zemo expected her daughter to cry, scream and curse at the man he loathed so much. But none of that happened.

“He saw an opportunity to solidify his power and took it—” His eyes narrowed, studying her. He took a long sip of the whiskey, savouring the taste after receiving zero acknowledgement from his daughter before he spoke.

“You fucking knew!” He shouted, not spoke. His face contorted with rage and Y/N started to think if she ever saw her father calm. Y/N’s gaze remained steady, unflinching.

“I knew that, yes,” she replied calmly, not invested in the subject at all anymore.

Wang Zemo’s anger seemed to deflate slightly, replaced by a look of bewilderment. “And you still went through with it?”

“I never had a choice in this, did I?” Y/N’s expression softened, but only for a moment.

“You could have come home with me that day—” He shook his head, disbelief etched into his features.

“I wanted better for you,” he said quietly.

“And I wanted to be free,” she countered. “But we do not always get what we want.”

Y/N watched her father, seeing him not as the invincible patriarch she had once feared, but as a man weakened by time and circumstance.

“If that is all you wished to say to me,—” She dusted her trousers standing up, reading herself for the inevitable. 

“I have orchestrated the raids on Yoongi’s warehouses. I have been systematically weakening his operations.”

He said, very calmly after he took a first sip of his drink.

“I did it for you.”

Rage and fear clashed within her, but she kept her voice steady. “What a lovely early birthday present,-” She mocked him.

“I did what was necessary,” he said, leaning back, the drink sloshing slightly in his hand. “For our family and for you, you are ready to finally leave, are you not?—”

She stared at him, a mix of disbelief and sorrow washing over her. “You think this is helping me? You think this chaos is what I need?”

A violent cough shook his frame, and he covered his mouth with a handkerchief. When he pulled it away, Y/N saw the dark stain of blood. The sight sent a chill down her spine, but she forced herself to remain composed. That is her que.

“You are ill,” she said, her voice softer but no less guarded. Wang Zemo looked at her, a strange mixture of defiance and vulnerability in his eyes.

“Colon cancer, they say.” Wang Zemo’s laugh was bitter. “That boy is never going to lead my men. Let me make that clear.”

Wang Zemo’s words hung in the air, his bitter laugh echoing in the room. Y/N’s heart pounded as she processed his statement. The implications were immense, the threat unmistakable.

“Father,” she began, her voice steady but edged with urgency.

“He has taken you from me,” Wang Zemo interrupted, his voice rising with a mix of anger and desperation. Y/N’s eyes widened hearing this nonsense.

“He has poisoned your mind, turned you against your own family.” His eyes flashed with anger, but his coughing fit cut him short. Blood speckled the handkerchief again, a stark reminder of his fragile state.

“I want you to end him, Y/N” Wang Zemo reached out, grabbing her wrist with surprising strength. She pulled her hand away, her heart heavy with conflicting emotions.

“No, Father. I will not be a part of your uncalled for vendetta.” The moment hung between them, filled with unspoken words and years of unresolved tension.

Y/N shook her head, her hands trembling slightly as she clenched them into fists. “You are blinded by your hatred. I have no clue why you were seeking this conversation to happen, but it is clear that you are not in the right state of mind, so let me remind you of what father you have been.”

He opened his mouth to retort, but another violent cough seized him. Y/N took a step back, her heart a tumult of emotions—pity, anger, sorrow.

“You were never there for me,” she continued, her voice steady but charged with years of suppressed pain. “All my life, you used me as a pawn in your endless power games. Do you think this is about loyalty? Family? No, Father, this is about control. You never saw me as your daughter, only as a tool.”

Her father’s gaze hardened, but he said nothing, his chest rising and falling with laboured breaths. Y/N took a deep breath, her resolve hardening.

“You have hired the best tutors in the world to teach me all the proper ploys of how to be a perfect wife, —” Y/N’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, but her voice remained unwavering.

“You made sure I could speak five languages, play the piano, and host dinners that would impress dignitaries. But did you ever once ask me what I wanted? Did you ever care about my dreams, my desires?”

“No, it was Auntie who did. Letting her send me to study was the only good decision you have ever made in your life!” Wang Zemo’s breath grew shallower, his complexion paling. But Y/N pressed on, refusing to let him off the hook.

“You orchestrated my marriage to Yamamato as a business transaction and when it did not work out, you were forced to accept this union instead. But I am no fool, Father, you did not care about my happiness then, and you certainly do not care now!” She took a step closer, her voice dropping to a fierce whisper.

“You have hit me numerous times when I was a child,—” Y/N continued, her voice trembling with the weight of her suppressed pain.

“You did not care if Ma would die in labour, all you cared about was an heir to your throne.”

Wang Zemo’s eyes flashed with a mixture of anger and desperation. “I did what I had to do for our family. For our legacy. For your strength!”

“Please, do not force yourself to believe such a fairytale. No father, you only care about your alliances and power. And now, you expect me to betray the man who has shown me more kindness than you ever did?”

“I will kill that kindness of yours. He will become a nobody to you. He is putting thoughts into your head!” he spat out.

Y/N’s heart ached as she looked at her father, a man who had caused her so much pain yet still sought to manipulate her until his last breath. She knew she had a choice to make.

“You did not even visit Auntie when she was dying. Who the fuck are you?” His mouth opened, but the words seemed to get stuck, tangled in the reality that was slipping away from him.

“You were never my father—” Y/N’s voice cut through the silence like a blade, the words more final than she had ever intended. They carried years of hurt, of unspoken resentment, and of a truth she had been too afraid to acknowledge until now.

“Then why are you still here talking to me?” he spat, his anger rising, even as his body weakened. “If you despise me so much, why haven’t you walked away?” Y/N’s gaze hardened. He couldn’t reach her anymore, not with threats, not with manipulation. She had outgrown him.

“Because I want to be the last thing you will ever see.”

Y/N’s voice was cold, each syllable a sharp strike that left no room for misinterpretation. Wang Zemo’s eyes widened, his lips parting in disbelief. The power in the room shifted as the finality of her declaration settled over them.

“What have you done?” his tone lowered now, as if the weight of the question had finally struck him.

“Nothing,—” Y/N’s lips curled into a cold smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Not yet, at least. But I am the niece of my aunt, am I not?” Wang Zemo’s eyes narrowed.

“No,” he rasped, his voice a warning. Scanning the crystal glass with his dark eyes, “You have done nothing with it. You are playing games.”

“Maybe, or maybe not.” Y/N’s smile deepened, though it was anything but warm. “But you… You have done more than enough to seal your own fate.”

Wang Zemo’s hand gripped the arm of the chair as if the world was slipping from his grasp. His eyes searched hers, looking for some sign of weakness, some flicker of the daughter he once knew. But there was nothing.

“You cannot do this to me, not you—” he rasped, his voice cracking with the desperation of a man who had finally realized the price of his ambition. “You are my blood… You owe me.”

“I do not, but I will help you understand, now—” Y/N’s voice was steady, her words slicing through the tension like a blade.

“You will regret this! I was your ticket out of here!” Y/N’s gaze remained unflinching, as cold as the steel in her voice. She stepped closer, her presence a stark contrast to his fragile state, standing tall and unshaken. The difference between them had never been clearer.

“I would not care what happens with you, but it seems my husband does care, as you ought to set an example for the other clans.”

“This is foul play!” The gun trembled in his grip as he pointed it toward her, the barrel glinting in the dim light. His fingers curled around the trigger, the same fingers that had once held her as a child, now threatening to take everything from her.

“I was your father," Wang Zemo rasped, his voice cracking,”I am your father!” Sweat slicked his forehead, "and you will learn that I can still control you."

Y/N sighed. Her chest rose and fell as if the weight of everything she had just unleashed was pressing down on her. She had always carried this burden, this gnawing needs to free herself from the ghosts of her past, or at least one of them.

“I will not go quietly,” he said, his voice a hoarse whisper. “If I must die, I will take you with me.”

“Right,—” she began.

“I will give you the courtesy and explain what will happen once you pull the trigger.”

Wang Zemo’s hand shook, the gun wavering slightly in his grasp, the tension in the air thick enough to choke. His eyes locked onto Y/N, desperate for any sign that she still cared, still feared him. But there was nothing—no hint of hesitation, no flicker of remorse. She stood there, unbroken, unwavering, her presence almost suffocating in its certainty.

“To begin, if you would have colon cancer, you would shit blood not cough it.” Wang Zemo’s face contorted with confusion. Her statement was so cold, so clinically delivered, that it sent a ripple of unease through his body.

“Now, if you decide to pull the trigger and God gives you the blessing of killing me—” Y/N continued, her tone now a chilling blend of indifference and precision “Yoongi will let you die the most painful and slow death he will think of.” Her gaze flicked downward to the gun in his hand, then back to his face.

“No, it will not be a quick, merciful death, Father. It will be something far worse—a lingering agony that mirrors the suffering you have caused so many others.”

She took another step closer, her voice lowering, a deadly quietness to it now.

“Now, the moment you fire the bullet, Jungkook will be here in seconds to save me, not you Father. Which brings us to — how do you feel?” Her voice lowered, venomous and precise “Is your heart slowing down already?”

His hand shook violently, the weapon trembling in his grasp, as he tried to process the suffocating inevitability of her presence. She took another deliberate step forward, and Zemo flinched, instinctively trying to recoil. But his body betrayed him, frozen by the terror of what her words meant.

“I am not afraid of you!” Y/N was not sure whether he was screaming at her or at death itself, but she answered for both of them.

“No, Father. You are not afraid of me. But you will be. You are drowning in your own failure, suffocated by your own decisions. And in those final moments, when your body betrays you and the darkness takes you, I want you to think of me. I want you to remember everything you have done to me, Xiaoli and Ma — every mistake, every cruelty. And remember that I am the last thing you will see.”

The words hit him with the force of a blow, and his chest tightened, each breath coming in shallow gasps. His vision blurred, his pulse racing as his mind struggled to catch up with the impossible reality Y/N was laying out before him.

A bead of sweat rolled down his temple, and his fingers trembled, the gun feeling heavier with each passing second. His heart hammered in his chest, a staccato rhythm that felt far too loud in the heavy silence. He could feel the walls closing in on him, suffocating him.

And then, a flicker of fear—a glimpse of his own mortality—crept into his mind, deeper than any threat he had ever made. His body was betraying him, and the weight of it crushed him.

“You will go down, no matter what choice you will make.” The gun still shook in his hand, but he felt a strange calm wash over him, a resignation that he had not expected.

His heart pounded in his chest, its rhythm erratic and violent, each beat a forceful thud that seemed to rattle his bones. A sharp pain shot through his left arm, searing like fire, and for a moment, he thought he might collapse. His head swam with dizziness, his surroundings distorting into a tunnel of panic and suffocating pressure.

His grip on the weapon tightened reflexively, but his fingers felt weak and unsteady, struggling to maintain their hold as the world spun around him. The pressure in his chest mounted, a crushing weight that made it harder to breathe, and harder to think. His pulse quickened, each beat faster than the last, pounding in his temples, in his throat, until it felt as though it might burst.

His vision flickered, darkening at the edges, and a cold sweat broke out across his brow, his skin clammy as if he were sinking into the very depths of despair. His mind, once sharp and calculating, was clouded by the chaos of his body betraying him.

“You think you are clever, but you are just a wife of your husband, a mere woman!” Those last few words felt all too familiar to Y/N, but this time, she did not falter.

“Women like you do not rise, they only serve men. You think you are the queen?! What is a queen without her king?!”

“You have never been worthy of my respect, Father,” she said softly, the venom still present but tempered with the quiet certainty of someone who had finally reclaimed their power. 

“And you will not be in death either.”

His finger trembled on the trigger. The finality of it felt overwhelming, and suffocating, but there was no turning back. With a final breath, Wang Zemo attempted to pull the trigger. His hands were too weak to even handle the luger pistol as it went crashing to the ground with a loud thud, just like his crystal glass of whiskey, his body followed. The sound echoed through the room, alerting the young man standing right outside of the room.

The man who had once towered over her now crumpled at her feet, the gun useless at his side. She made no move to comfort, no gesture of sorrow or regret.

Instead, she slipped her hands into her pockets, her shoulders square, as she slowly crouched beside him. His breath still came in shallow gasps, each exhale a reminder that time, for him, was running out.

Her lips curled into a faint, cold smile.

“Nonetheless, I am Queen, and Queens do not bow, Father. They conquer.”

Y/N did not flinch. She did not need to. The man before her had already destroyed himself, in mind and in body, long before this moment had the chance to happen.

The door swung fully open, and there, framed in the doorway, stood the man she was supposed to call her endgame. Behind him, Jungkook’s sharp eyes flickered between Y/N and the wreckage of her father.

Yoongi’s gaze swept over Y/N, and then to her father. The faintest trace of a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, but it was gone in an instant, replaced with the steely composure he had mastered. His dark eyes narrowed, taking in the scene.

“Are you alright, Dove?”

A strange calm settled over Y/N whilst she was watching her father slowly die.

“I am good,” she replied, her voice steady and unyielding, “but he is not.”

Yoongi stepped closer, his eyes filled with a mix of concern but also admiration.

“Did you poison him?” Jungkook’s voice echoed behind them. Y/N turned her gaze to Jungkook, a faint smile playing on her lips.

“No,—” she said softly, “I just made him think I did.” Yoongi raised an eyebrow. When he got an urgent call to one of his warehouses where he was personally overseeing the shipment of Min whiskey with hidden snow in the bottles, he did not expect to come back to the hotel to this scenery. His mind raced through the events of this day and nowhere not even close to this, he thought that his wife would eliminate Wang Zemo on her own. That was not the plan.

Y/N knew that his father was sick for a while, but what she also knew was the hereditary condition of a weak heart that flows in their family. It was a silent killer, a ticking time bomb that Y/N had learnt to exploit. 

First, she made him think that she had poisoned him, his panic was almost immediate. She exploited his fear and turned it into a panic attack which his heart condition could not handle for a long time. His belief that he was poisoned triggered a fatal heart attack she had anticipated - hoped for. She exploited his psychological vulnerabilities to bring about his end, ensuring that the autopsy would say died of natural causes.

Jungkook nodded slowly, his expression shifting from confusion to admiration.

“You used his own mind against him.” Yoongi stepped closer, his gaze locked on Y/N, a flicker of admiration in his eyes. He couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of pride in her. She had done what was necessary, what was ruthless, but ultimately, she had done what needed to be done. For him. That is what he ultimately believed, she did it for him.

“He knew you were planning to kill him.” She wasn’t looking for approval or some sort of acknowledgement. She did it for herself. For Xiaoli. For her mother and little brother. The world will be at least a tiny peace better without her father.

“Well, it looks like I have missed the party,” She hadn’t heard him approach. Namjoon’s voice resonated the room, a faint, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He leaned against the doorframe, his eyes taking in the scene with a mixture of curiosity and something else—perhaps a flicker of reluctant approval.

Y/N didn’t smile back. She didn’t need to. She knew Namjoon well enough to understand that his words, however casual, were never without layers. He wasn’t just commenting on the spectacle of her father’s death; he was acknowledging something deeper. Something far more dangerous.

“Did you?” Y/N’s voice was cool, and smooth, as she turned her full attention to him, her eyes sharp with intent.

Namjoon chuckled softly, his gaze flickering from her to Yoongi, and then to Jungkook, who was still processing the events unfolding before him.

“I suppose I did,” Namjoon said, his tone tinged with dark humour, “this is far more elegant than what we would do,” his eyes flickered to Yoongi and she arched her brow. Y/N was not enlightened into Yoongi’s plan with her father but that did not matter to her - the outcome is the same. Today, she would sleep soundly. Because her most intrusive thoughts are becoming reality.

She knew Yoongi’s eyes were on her, studying her every movement, every nuance of her demeanour. He had expected her to break down—expected her to show some sign of regret, or at least the weight of the moment to sink in. But Y/N had made peace with this long ago.

“I did not expect you to be this calm,” Yoongi said, his voice low, almost cautious.

“I buried him a long time ago.” The words hung in the air, heavier than the silence that followed.

Jungkook, who had been silently absorbing the entire scene, finally broke his silence. His voice was quieter, less sure than usual.

“So, this... this was not part of any plan?” He looked to Yoongi for confirmation, still processing the revelation that Y/N had acted independently, that she had outmanoeuvred them all.

Yoongi met his gaze briefly, a subtle tension in his features, before turning his focus back to Y/N.

“No. It was not the plan.” He said it with finality, though his words seemed to hang in the air with an unspoken understanding. There was no anger in his voice—only a sort of resigned acceptance.

Namjoon, however, seemed to find something else amusing in the air. His lips curled into a smirk, his gaze flicking over Y/N as if seeing her for the first time. His eyes paused at the hem of her outfit, a flicker of curiosity crossing his face.

“Hold on a second,” he said, his tone laced with amusement, his eyebrow quivering upward. “Are you... wearing trousers?”

Y/N stared at him for a moment, and for a split second, it almost felt like she was in the middle of some twisted dark humour comedy.

“You must be fucking kidding me” she muttered.

“That was way better than what you planned, Yoongi-hyung,” Taehyung said, a hint of a smirk on his face. Yoongi’s eyes flickered with irritation at Taehyung’s comment, but he quickly masked it with a tight smile. Namjoon nodded in agreement.

“I knew she had it in her,” the right hand man said, almost to himself. Seokjin leaned back in his chair, his expression contemplative.

“Is she alright?” the doctor asked, concern evident in his voice.

“I checked on her earlier, she seems oddly calm—-” Jimin, still thinking about the moment he arrived at the scene, spoke up to answer the question.

“It is almost scary how composed she is.” Jungkook, who had been pacing, finally stopped and faced the group.

“If you would have been in the room when he attempted to drag her out of here by her hair, you would understand the hatred she felt towards that sick psychopath.”

The room fell silent as the gravity of Hoseok’s words sank in. Jungkook clenched his fists, his jaw tightening.

“We should have done something sooner,—” he muttered, guilt lacing his voice.

“Well she was just faster than us, and apparently, Xiaoli and her mother knew,” Yoongi added, his voice laced with a mixture of frustration and admiration.

Just how much these women hated that man?

“Did she tell you that?” Yoongi shook his head but recalled the lack of emotion her mother showed when they told her that her husband had passed away from a heart attack. Nor did Xiaoli shed a tear for her father, but in that case, it’s different.

Jungkook’s expression softened slightly, his concern for Y/N clear. “We need to make sure Y/N is okay. She has been through enough by now.”

Taehyung’s smirk returned, albeit more subdued. “That wife of yours is tougher than any of us gave her credit for though.”

“So what now?” Hoseok’s voice echoed in the room. His gaze swept across the group, seeking answers, or at least some clarity.

Yoongi leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair, thinking of what his wife had just done for him and their family. This was huge in his head and he could not get it out of it.

“As I know her, she will ask for something in return, or use this in whatever negotiation.” Yoongi’s gaze darkened, his expression serious.

“She took control, and she knows that.” Hoseok frowned at Yoongi’s words, stepping closer to the table where the group had gathered. Yoongi met Hoseok’s gaze, his jaw tight.

“Do you still not trust her, Hyung?” The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken tension.

“Her behaviour has been odd lately, let us start with that—” the right-hand man spoke up, taking the crystal glass of whiskey into his hands. The silence stretched between them, and for a moment, it seemed like Yoongi might not respond.

He leaned forward slightly, his fingers tapping on the table, a rhythm that matched his thoughts.

“I trust her,” Yoongi said, his voice low but firm. “But all the previous experience makes me think that she sees this as her opportunity to do something bigger—” Yoongi sighed, rubbing his temple.

“She took down her own father, for God’s sake.” Hoseok raised his voice. “She is devoted to you.” Yoongi’s gaze hardened as he met Hoseok’s eyes.

“That I am starting to believe she finally is, sure,” Yoongi said slowly, each word measured. “But I get Namjoon’s suspicions of her, she did not attempt to run for quite some time, as if she is plotting something—”

“Maybe she is playing us all.” Taehyung, sensing the rising tension, leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing in curiosity.

“Playing us all?" Yoongi repeated his tone low, almost mocking. “You think Y/N is playing us?”

“She has been too calm about all this, Yoongi. Too composed for someone who just killed her father. You don’t just do that without having something bigger planned.”

Seokjin’s eyes flickered to observe Yoongi’s reaction to their brother’s words. “He is right, Yoongi. She has always been emotional, and driven by her heart. But this—" He shook his head. “It’s different.”

Jimin shifted in his seat, looking between the men, the concern in his eyes growing.

Hoseok stood straighter, his expression softening as he spoke with conviction. “She had a choice. She could have walked away or stayed neutral, but instead, she chose to act. And what she did, Yoongi, was not just for herself. It was for all of us. For you. Do not dare to doubt her loyalty, when she worked hard to finally be contemptuous here!”

Jungkook, his voice quieter than usual, spoke up listening to Hoseok’s words. “She did what she had to do. And whatever her reasons are, I trust her.” His gaze met Yoongi’s. “You should, too.”

Yoongi’s expression hardened, trying to keep his emotions in check. His mind raced, the weight of everything that had happened in the past hours pressing down on him.

Taehyung’s voice broke through the silence once again, more serious than usual.

“She has changed—” Yoongi exhaled sharply, his mind still reeling. “I just need to understand why. Why now? Why this?” His voice dropped to a near whisper, the vulnerability slipping through despite his best efforts to hide it. His heart... his heart wanted to believe in her, wanted to believe she was doing this out of devotion, not manipulation.

“Of course, she has changed!” Hoseok’s frustration was bubbling at this point. "You were nine when she was born," he continued the quiet force in his voice, not backing down.

“Nine years, Yoongi. You have had that much more time to figure things out. To live your life, to become who you are now. She did not have that—” Yoongi’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, he didn’t know how to respond. The truth was there, raw and unfiltered, and it stung.

“She had three pathetic years to enjoy what life can be and then she went to be your wife.” He took a breath, trying to steady himself. Y/N had spent so much of her life suffocated by the things that had shaped her, by the violence and manipulation that had plagued her existence long before she ever crossed paths with him.

The silence that followed was thick, the air heavy with unspoken emotions.

His voice was quieter than it had been, softer, as he spoke the words he wasn’t sure he was ready to say. “I just… I need to—”

“Even if she is plotting some grand escape, we will stop her, Yoongi.” Yoongi’s head snapped up at the interruption, his eyes narrowing at Hoseok’s words. For a moment, Yoongi’s chest tightened, the idea of Y/N plotting against him threatening to undo everything he’d been trying to hold together.

He stepped forward, his hand resting gently on Yoongi’s shoulder, an attempt to ground him in the present. “You all are too busy doubting her, instead of trusting her.” Yoongi flinched slightly at the rawness in Hoseok’s tone. He had been too caught up in his own doubts to truly see the bigger picture.

“Maybe you are right,” Yoongi muttered, his voice low, almost to himself. He ran a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling back to the surface.

“She is not running, Yoongi. She is not playing you. What is happening now is what happens when you have been given enough time to think.” Hoseok’s gaze softened, his expression becoming more contemplative.

For the first time in a long time, Yoongi allowed himself to take a breath, to breathe out the doubt, and let himself hold onto the belief that maybe, just maybe she was done fighting him for good.

“I genuinely hope that you are right, Hoseok-sshi.”

Y/N gave it a few days after the funeral to ask Yoongi for a favour. That well he knew her, she had to give him that. Y/N stands by the door, her posture stiff, but her hands clasped tightly in front of her. She’s been holding this request for days if not since they were married.

“What is wrong, my love?”

Her breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t expected him to address her so gently, not now, not after everything that had happened. But she couldn’t hold this in any longer. She had waited long enough.

Y/N swallowed hard, her throat dry. She had rehearsed these words in her head for days, but now that she was here, standing in front of him, they felt like a foreign language.

“I…” She started, her voice faltering, but she steadied herself. There was no urgency in his voice when he spoke next, but something in his gaze suggested he already knew this was coming.

“Go ahead, Dove,” he said, his voice calm, almost too calm.

“I need you to allow my mother… and Bo Cheng… to travel to Maryland,” she said quietly, her words falling heavy into the room. “To Diayu. They need to be there. To… to live a life I could not.”

Something in the stillness between them made her heart beat faster as if he was expecting her to ask of this. The silence stretched between them, heavy and thick, suffocating. Yoongi didn’t speak, his gaze fixed on her with a patience that felt like it was pushing her to continue, to reveal more than she wanted to. Her hands tightened at her sides, and she took a shaky breath.

“I do not think you need them to be here anymore—” Yoongi’s eyes flickered to her hands before returning to her face, his gaze still sharp, analyzing every movement, every word.

“Bo Cheng can grow up without knowing what was supposed to be his—” Y/N continued, her voice barely above a whisper.

Yoongi’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes darkened, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. He leaned back slightly, crossing his arms over his chest, his posture remaining calculated and composed.

“He is still too young to remember-” 

“Are you not going to miss having your mother near, Dove?”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat at the question, the weight of it pressing down on her chest. For a moment, she stood frozen, her gaze flickering down to her clenched fists. She had expected him to ask something like this, but hearing the question out loud—direct and sharp—was a different kind of pressure.

She had never imagined a time when her mother and Bo Cheng wouldn’t be part of her life, but what Yoongi was proposing... it wasn’t about them. It was about her.

“They can come and visit at Christmas time or Chuseok, innit?”

“Christmas time or Chuseok?” he repeated, his voice laced with quiet amusement, though the sharpness in his gaze never faltered.

Y/N’s breath hitched, but she steadied herself. She had to hold on to this. If she let herself waver, even for a second, she feared the price would be too steep. The price he would demand would be too high.

“It is enough,” she said, her voice firm, though it trembled ever so slightly. “They can come and go. They can live their lives far away from here. But I need you to make sure they are safe.” Her eyes met his, unwavering for a brief moment, before she quickly looked away, her gaze dropping to the floor as if the weight of her own words had just begun to settle in her chest.

“You are trying to make sure I will not use them as a bargain against you, am I right?”

She had always known how far his control could reach, but hearing him speak it so plainly… made the reality of it hit harder. She swallowed, her throat dry, and for a moment, she said nothing. She couldn't give him the satisfaction of confirming his words outright, but the truth was already in the silence between them.

“Perhaps—” she murmured. Yoongi’s lips curled into a small, knowing smile.

“Perhaps?” His voice dropped, low and dangerously calm. “You still do not believe in my love for you, or do you, dove?”

Y/N’s chest tightened. She didn’t dare meet his gaze again, afraid of what she might see in those dark eyes of his.

“I trust you enough to keep them safe for me,” she said quietly, the words escaping her before she could stop them. It wasn’t a lie. She had to believe it because, without that belief, she would have nothing left.

Yoongi stepped forward, his presence overwhelming. The space between them seemed to shrink, his scent and warmth now consuming the room.

“But you still fear that I will take it all from you,” he murmured, his voice so soft it felt like a whisper meant only for her. “That I will use them to make you obey—”

His words hit too close to the truth. Too much of her had been shaped by the fear of losing control, of being at his mercy again.

“I—” she started, but her throat went dry, her voice unable to carry the weight of the admission. She wasn’t ready to say it. Not yet. Not like this.

“You are right to be afraid, Dove,” he said softly, his voice smooth and almost soothing, but there was a steel edge beneath it. “I could use them against you. I could take them away, pull the strings again, make you bend to my will.”

His thumb brushed across her skin, and Y/N felt herself fighting the urge to pull away. She couldn’t. Not now. She had made her request, and the words had already been set in motion.

“Here is the thing, Y/N,” Yoongi continued, his voice lowering to a dangerous murmur. “I needn’t to. I already got you, have I not?”

A long silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken understanding. He didn’t need to say it. She knew exactly what he was implying, what they both knew.

“Yoongi, I promise that this is the last thing I am asking you for—”

“Answer me, dove.” His voice was quiet, too quiet, but it carried the weight of a hundred unspoken questions.

“I just need this one thing,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Please.”

“Answer me first.” His gaze bore into her, unwavering, demanding. She knew what he wanted—he wanted her to admit her fear, her dependence on him.

“Yoongi, please,” she repeated, her voice trembling. Y/N closed the distance between them, her eyes locking onto his. She reached up, her hands trembling as she cupped his face. For a moment, they just stood there, the tension between them palpable.

“I will do anything—” she desperately whispered, but the words caught in her throat. He leaned in, his breath mingling with hers, and before she could lose her nerve, he pressed his lips to hers.

The kiss was soft at first, a gentle exploration, but it quickly deepened into something more intense. Their tongues collided, each seeking to claim the other’s. Their breathing grew ragged, their hearts pounding in unison. Yoongi’s hands slid around her waist, pulling her closer as if he could never get close enough. Y/N’s hands shook as she cradled Yoongi's face, her fingertips brushing against his skin.

When they finally pulled apart, Yoongi’s forehead rested against hers, his breath coming in soft, ragged puffs. His eyes searched hers, a myriad of emotions flickering across his face—desire, possession, a touch of vulnerability.

“We did not have a chance to return to what we talked about at the jewellers,-” he murmured, his voice a low rumble.

Y/N’s heart raced at his words, the mention of the conversation from before bringing everything back into focus. She had known this was coming, the weight of his demands still hanging in the air like an unspoken agreement between them.

“What do you mean?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, her hands still trembling against his chest as she steadied herself.

“You asked me what I want for my birthday,” he said slowly, his voice laced with a quiet edge. “But you did not hear me out when I said what I needed. What I want.”

Y/N’s pulse quickened, a knot forming in her stomach. She hadn’t been ready for this. Hadn’t thought he would be so direct, so blunt.

“I know what you want,” she said, her voice steady despite the nerves coiling inside her. “But it is not the same thing. I just... I need this one thing, Yoongi. This one thing, and then—”

“No.” His grip tightened around her, his fingers pressing into her skin. “You do not understand, Y/N. We are far beyond that now. You are not going to walk away this time.”

There it was. He wasn’t going to let her walk away from this. The strings were already attached, and now she was tangled in them. His lips brushed against her ear, and his voice was a dark promise as he continued.

“You said you would do anything. Anything, dove.” He paused, his lips trailing to her neck. “You want them safe and away? I will do so—.”

She closed her eyes, her breath catching in her throat. “What do you want from me, Yoongi?”

His response was soft, almost a whisper, but the weight of his words sent a shiver down her spine.

She always knew what he desired, although, for her sanity, she rather chose to not wander into those waters, not even think those thoughts. She was not ready to answer him. She was not ready to be confronted by him so bluntly. But there was something so mundane in Yoongi’s eyes when he said the word

“A child.” .

.

.

.

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 ❝𝐰𝐞'𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧❞

©pennyellee. please do not repost

Love you all!! ♥

Don't be a silent reader, comment, re-blog, heart, asks are more than welcome ♥

keep in mind - I'm not an expert on chinese, korean and japanese culture, but I tried to research everything realistic I wanted to add to the story. Nonetheless, take it as a fiction. Nor in this case, I'm a medical professional.

let's be friends chummers 🫧♡ ︎

lots of love, p.

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[itsnesss]

hwang in-ho x reader fic inspired by prison for life by olivia rodrigo please i have a vision i cant fulfill...

myb lee byung hun x reader either one works !!

𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 | hwang in-ho (the frontman) × fem!reader

summary | you feel conflicted about your feelings for hwang in-ho, the owner of the games, fantasizing about him as a protector while dealing with the power dynamics and your own emotional struggles

warnings | mention of violence, psychological manipulation, emotional distress), mentions of power dynamics and control, emotional tension and internal conflict, mild language, fantasy elements (imagining a protector figure)

word count | 3.0 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

"I'm a feminist, obviously, but I wouldn't really mind him savin' me."

The cold, dark corridors stretch out in front of you as you walk, each step echoing as a reminder of the invisible prison surrounding you. Here, in this place, people play, run for their lives, and die with the hope of escaping. But you know the real prison isn't on the playing field. The real prison is inside you, in the despair that builds with every passing minute. No one can escape this torment. The men and women around you are trapped by the need to survive, but you… you're trapped by something much darker. The soul.

It's not just the need to get out of here that consumes you; it's the lack of something more. Something that makes all this suffering feel like it has a purpose. Something that makes you feel that maybe, just maybe, the control of your destiny is in someone else's hands, someone who could rescue you. Sometimes, you think of him, Hwang In-ho. The man behind all of this, the owner of the games, the one who orchestrates every move from the shadows, never in the center of the chaos. He’s not a participant, he’ll never be, but you wonder if that really makes him any less real.

In this place, where everyone is fighting for their life, he's the one who has the true power. But he doesn’t get involved. He’s not part of the brutality. He’s the spectator, the director, the one who gives the orders from the shadows. You wonder what would happen if he stopped being just a figure in the background. If he were to step out from behind the curtains.

"And I know that I'm fine without a man, but I think I would like his protection."

When you reach the control room, the air feels thicker. You know he’s there, watching everything from his control tower, as he always does. It’s impossible not to notice him, even though he’s always hidden behind the screens and monitors. In-ho controls the fate of everyone who plays, and he does it from a place of absolute power. But he doesn’t participate. He’s never in the middle of the brutality. He’s the one who calls the shots from the shadows. You wonder what would happen if he became something more than just a distant figure.

In that moment, something inside you shifts. It’s not just curiosity. It’s not just the need to understand how all of this works. Something awakens in you that you weren’t expecting. Maybe it’s fear, or maybe it’s hope, but you can’t help but think of him. Of how things would be different if he weren’t just a shadow. Maybe he could rescue you. Maybe you could trust him, even though he’s never shown you anything to prove it. In the end, the idea seems absurd, but you keep walking toward the room with that same sensation you can’t extinguish.

"I'm just bein' honest, can't change what I like. I'll never forget it, he told me one night, 'If anybody hurts you, ha, I'm goin' to prison for life."

When you enter the room, the light from the monitors blinds you for a moment, but you quickly adjust. You see him standing there, his gaze fixed on the screens showing the different games. Hwang In-ho is always present, but never close enough for the players to feel him. He’s the man who controls, who manipulates, but who never gets his hands dirty. He’s not a man who acts; he’s a man who observes. You wonder what would happen if he weren’t just the one pulling the strings.

Finally, you look him in the eyes. He doesn’t flinch, but you do. You wonder if it’s even worth pursuing this fantasy, if you even have the right to expect anything more from him. But for some reason, you can’t help it. There’s something in his presence that makes you think that, if there were an escape, if someone could rescue us, maybe it would be him.

You walk up to him, without thinking too much about it. You’re afraid, but also filled with that absurd hope. In-ho watches you, his eyes cold and calculating. In that moment, the words leave your mouth before you can control them.

"What if, one day, someone gets in your way? What if someone hurts me?" Your voice is low but firm. "Would you really go that far to make them pay?"

In-ho looks at you for a long time, as though he’s measuring every word, every action. Finally, his face remains impassive, but his voice holds a tone you haven’t heard before. There’s something in his words, a touch of sincerity, that makes you feel like, maybe, there’s more to him than just indifference.

"If anyone hurts you, I’ll do what it takes to make sure it never happens again," he replies, his voice deep and calm. "I’m not a man who makes empty promises. And I’m not a hero. But I won’t let them harm you."

Those words hit you unexpectedly. You didn’t expect them. You didn’t expect the man who runs this deadly game to say something that wasn’t calculated, cold, distant. But there they were, showing you a side of him that made you think that maybe there’s more to his attitude than just control. Maybe, just maybe, somewhere deep inside, he cares about something beyond money and power.

"I know it's bad to fantasize about robbers and bad guys, but if he were there to save the day, ha, think I'd let that man marry me."

You think about it while he watches you in silence. You imagine a different future, one where In-ho isn’t the man behind the curtain, but the one who takes you by the hand and tells you everything will be okay. A fantasy, of course. A thought you know has no place in this world, where life is just a game and players have no choice but to survive. But for a moment, you find yourself wishing that he could be more than just the man who controls the rules. Maybe, in this world so distorted, he could be the only one who could offer you just a little bit of what you really need: safety, protection, even if just for a moment.

It’s a silly thought, you know it is. But you can’t help but dream of a future where someone as imposing as him could be your protector, not just a distant observer. And for a second, you find yourself wishing he could be what you can’t be for yourself. Your hero. Your savior.

The thought terrifies you. Not because you need it, but because, in this dark world, you wonder if anyone will ever be able to save the souls trapped here. And if that someone could be him.

"I'm no damsel in distress, no, but I like assertiveness, so. Wrap your arm around me, babe, and tell me that you'll keep me safe."

The fantasy fades into the air, but the feeling lingers that maybe, just maybe, In-ho could be more than just a shadow. Maybe he could be something else. Even if he’s not the hero in fairytales, maybe in this world, he could be the only one capable of offering you a little bit of what you really need: security, protection, even if it’s just for a moment.

And as the silence stretches between the two of you, you wonder if perhaps this prison isn’t just physical. Maybe, in this world, the real prison is the one you create for yourself. And maybe, just maybe, there’s an exit you haven’t considered until now.

[brainwormcity]

We gotta talk about Rome, y'all.

So, the flashback in Rome is pretty much exclusively the only time Crowley is actively short with Aziraphale and it has always sort of itched my brain as to why. When I finally got my hands on the script book it started to make sense:

For the uninitiated, Caligula was a Roman Emperor so despicable that there's literally a wiki dedicated to his atrocities.

Some of the deplorable things he was said to have done include, but aren't limited to:

Ordering criminals to be fed to the wild animals used for Gladitorial entertainment, after having cut their tongues out

Decapitating and butchering several people

Beating a priest to death with a mallet

Crucifying, burning, and suffocating multiple people

Literally having a Senator he disliked ripped apart by a mob

With this in mind, we know that Crowley, despite his indifferent attitude toward his demonic assignments, actively works against hurting people and animals, and even though his dialogue implies that he never tempted Caligula, we don't actually know what he might have witnessed. Still, it's not at all out of the realm of possibility that he saw things that could have straight up left him scarred psychologically.

Though the filmed scene leaves this portion of the conversation out, including his failed rebuff of Aziraphale's company, it's clear that he's in some emotional distress. With this in mind, Aziraphale's appearance may have occurred at just the right time. If he saw even just a hint of the monstrosity and madness of Caligula, he'd have needed some sort of comfort, so Aziraphale's stupid question and temptation for oysters may have been the best thing that could have happened under the circumstance.

Plus, given Aziraphale's ignorance about Caligula (he was there for Nero,) he'd have no idea how badly Crowley was messed up. He never reacted to Crowley's irritation or boorish attitude with anything other than continued enthusiasm for his presence. Demonhood has likely been incredibly tragic and traumatizing for Crowley at times, and, in this scene, Aziraphale was a balm for that pain without ever knowing.

[chilkookiepal]

Man In Suits 2!

Salesman x fem! Reader

Genre : psychological thriller, dark romance?!

Warnings: Violence,manipulation, dacryphilia, mentions if stalking, INTENSE stuff, future smut, there's blood just MINORS DO NOT INTERACT !!!!

not edited excuse the errors+ enjoy 💐

Word count: 4.8k?

Part 1

_

You have seen this man what now like three times?, you have played his games and walked off with a hefty amount that has not let you sleep a wink at night and perhaps you should have kept your distance and do away with your lucky streak , he is incredibly handsome , he towers over you so...deliciously- no- he has a gun, and you have seen him slap the lights out of someone before paying them , but why?

the hairs at the back of your neck are standing with every step you take trailing behind him like a lost puppy . after going out of your wits end demanding that he takes you along wherever he was headed you realize now that maybe it wasn't the wisest of your decision streaks , he looked at you long and deep ,he waited for you to waiver in your impulsive decision and take it back before offering you that faux smile again ,humming in approval and that's all it took for you to wander around in his shadow

you gulp hard and dry, even with his back facing you the memory of his empty eyes haunts you ,how they give you absolutely nothing that could confirm to you that the man in front of you is a normal functioning human being, he choked you , scratch that...he strangled you with a smile

and you honestly don't think you have ever seen him show so much emotion than when he did that to you and it suddenly registers in your mind that maybe you could get yourself home , it wasn't too late , was it ?

it takes you a minute to register where you have stopped as he holds the elevator open for you to enter

you walk inside albeit skeptically staring at your feet , you are doing your best to stay in his good graces while a part of you shouts at you for what you would like to dissociate from

it's a short lived ride as he ushers you out of the elevator, he actually has good manners, he hasn't touched you since he strangled you and you are quite glad for that , this place...it looks like an evacuated complex , whatever it is he holds one of the doors open for you, you gulp again, feeling the tingles in your throat as you stare at the number, 42

"are you going to hurt me?" It's a bit too late but there was never the right opportunity for you to pop the question, you see it again that flash of amusement swimming in his eyes

"do you want me to hurt you?"

you avert your gaze shaking your head no as he doesn't follow up with anything convincing you that you had received some sort of warning

, you take everything in as you walk past the threshold, hearing the soft click of the door closing behind you, the place is actually beautiful, dark but expensive looking with a chandelier that grabs your attention before you hear it, a sound resembling distress, your eyes search restlessly with purpose this time and tears fall on thier own frown your eyes while your legs drag back in the direction you came in , you don't get far because he stands firm behind you,, the fabric of your wet clothes uncomfortably heavy against his form

You are trembling violently and your legs are weak , he is talking behind you but all you can hear is muffled screams of the two bodies feet away from you, blindfolded with delicate silk and gagged with rubber toys that take shape of dog bones

blood, sweat , and tears- blood

"princess?"

Your body is numb all over, his fingers that hoist you up feel so distant and eerie, a sense of dizziness overwhelms you as the world around swirls into emptiness .

It's not sunny , you can't play on your back yard swing , it was a bummer but you also liked you muddy yourself in the rain

another one of your joys that your mother forbade of you , she wasn't wrong

you tend to get colds easily and there was never money for medication or let alone to take you to the clinic , good girls listen to thier mother's , you- listened to your mother

So then why was she shaking you to wake from your violent cough

your room is painfully bright and you slowly pry your eyes open feeling your mother's hand against your forehead

she kissed her teeth before issuing a lecture concluded "it's those miniskirts of yours - where are they , I'm getting you proper clothes..."

you want to protest, get up and defend your closet from the intrusion and before you know it she's walking out with a pile of your clothes

this is just another normal morning in your household , this is your life

You hear your mother telling someone to "throw these out on your way" and you try to get up but your body shoots electric pains literally everywhere, your head feels heavy while you are still just trying to adjust to another morning

it's there at the back of your mind, vivid dark eyes , it was raining just like today, did you dream it ?

what time did you sleep again? , what did you do yesterday, you think you left in your sleep wear , you think you saw the suited man, it rained and you were all drenched it felt so real

You manage to get your feet in the ground, you are still in the night gown you recall putting on last night, it's as dry as it can be, irritating on your aching body

Your mom walk back into your room commanding you to get back into your blankets and you do

your throat is uncomfortabl- your throat, you got strangled?

you feel around the area for validation but your body is just heavy

it felt so real yet the inability of your mind to follow through the events after convince you that it could have been a bad dream

you rest your eyes letting the heaviness of your physique weigh you down into the mattress

your dad walks in as well with a tray in hand, there is a bowl of porridge and some bottles of medication

Your father isn't much of a talker, he's too sweet for your mother is what you used to think when he got yelled at , you wanted to protect him from her when she got loud , you love her but you never liked her voice, it's like your brother's, he is the one who takes after her in looks and everything, you would say he was spoiled too much as a child and your entire family would say you are too sensitive, you then learned to shut your mouth and just live with it

✦ . 　⁺ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

It took you two days to get out of bed and an additional two to be completely fine

all that is left is to come to your senses because you are actually scared of your mind , somewhere in your bedridden state you had tossed awake from another hyper realistic dream , bloody men , beaten up , they screamed silenced and you couldn't reach them because your body just wouldn't let you and you jolted awake with wet eyes

You had woken up crying again and it was actually getting on your nerves , your had has been spinning as you try to assure yourself that you were not tripping ,the more you healed the clearer your passing week came crashing down on you, you...you were not kidnapped , you were strangled and tagged along willingly ,those two people

did that make you an accessory to murder , maybe he hadn't murdered them maybe- maybe he was a loan shark like those your father owed , he go beaten up every now and then, never to a pulp and never to that extent

you spiral easily as you plant your feet on the ground, whatever he did that mqn was dangerous, you don't recall coming home, your clothes were drenched and you refuse to believe that it was a simple blackout

maybe this was a case for the police

he gave me money

he strangeld me

his wife threatened to kill me

and he had people tied to chairs and he had a gun

you recited as you put on the clothes your mother had planted in your closet realising that you didn't even have the energy to be fuming , not now anyways

your next step was to grab that weird card with you but your frustration only grew as it just appeared to be nowhere, you are almost confident that you put it right there in your little basket ,your mother doesn't touch there

would she?

you storm into the living room ready to cause a scene , respectfully demand that your mother gives it back but your heart instantly freezes and falls to your ass

he looks too big for your couch and your mother is serving tea in her Chinese set that is at least 5 years older than you

she has yet to see you but he does , that bloody eyebrow shooting to the ceiling at the sight of you, those damn eyes never opened to that crazy capacity when he's pretending to be normal-

maybe you could call the cops here

he looks you up and down ,before those dark eyes return to burn holes into yours again , he see's you squirm a little in your spot and he sees her coming when you don't

-you rude litlle girl...forgive her , she is a bi sick- your mother continues to shove you slightly - don't you know how to greet '

''annyeonghaseyo''.

✦ . 　⁺ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

a broker?

"mhm , we're just waiting for your father to return so that they can discuss his-"

you call bullshit and he can see the fumes from your stubborn brain in the crease of your eyes brows and obvious pout

he of all people knew about that money and he gives you a challenging look

you are in danger and you still haven't called the police

Your dad walk in minutes later and you want to hide him away once again while your mother won't stop singing the praises of the man across the both of you , he could easily be peers with your parents who wasted their entire lives in debts while he took lying to his aging

The night comes , you give up trying to do anything when the man eats dinner at your house , nothing that strange has happened yet but you are still watching him as your existence just blends once again with the walls like you are not even there

even he just got here but he is treated better than you , you yawn , once , twice and all he can think about is how your neck is void of his long fingers , the way your eyes sparkled with layers and layers of tears , how he shouldn't have tasted them because he has missed you to his unbelievable demise

You have haunted him deliciously and he is actually intrigued, he knows what he must do , he knows what follows that intrigue and how it progresses into wanting full control of everything in proximity to you

he can admit that St first he was so pissed to meet you , he couldn't pin point the particular reason but you made him so sick he wanted you discarded as soon as he could manage and the more he seeked you the more he realised that you pissed him off all the lot more without a clue in the world , you should have been welcomed into the game when you called- he knows exactly who you talked to but the slots were not even full so why were you rejected?

It was like whatever God you prayed to was determined to sabotage the great plan he envisioned for you , he was going to forgive you all you had to do was just sit there , be the porcelain doll that everyone treated you like, he had expected so much from you the last time he saw you ,despite not having planned for you he thought it'd be like a little date , he was doing all the work all you had to do was just...enjoy the show -you know what you did? fall limp in his arms , in front of his guests for that matter

you let him down

He was really upset with you, he had to go a little hard on the boys, he was a fair man , it was meant to be a fun game but with your body just layin limp on the couch while the record blended with muffled cries , you were too comfortable , he missed the flash of mortification that had graced your face earlier and that's the issue that brought him here -no...encouragedhim to go inside the premise of your home ,you.

he thought about you way too much ,you basically live on his mind and while just seeing your silhouette from your window could have been enough, you deprived him of that and made the man regret tuning out the idea of spying cameras while his fingers lingered the softness of your cheeks, your neck ,arms and that's all he could morally reach for as long as you stayed out

your light stayed out , your curtains never opened , the better part of him thought you had moved, ran away but he never could have missed that but then again he truly had been to soft on you , you never understood your stakes , him , the danger he already is to you

that could be reason enough for you to flee the country , he debated again that this place was all you knew , even so he had to knock and face your absence, the idea came to him while he stared the ceiling last night , the face you'd make keeping him up all night long ,thought of you came with a distinct category of emotions , an excitement that speaks to the innate humanity in him that he wouldn't feel for just anybody , there was just something tempting about you and you are damn near the most useless of all he has recruited , you are guarded , shielded as if to be kept naive of half of the evil that swim over your head and that...god-he wants to ruin this world for you so bad , in all the unimaginable ways, that's why he had needed to collect his debt while making you an offer you couldn't refuse , hand you what you have waste your pretty days searching for on the streets on a silver platter .

your whole family had completed ,making him half glad , for the better half you looked near mortified-alert but you couldn' say anything , for the suckish part he just thought about shooting everyone to silence just to ,make up for the lost date , no that's not the real reason , he just wanted to be near you but you are all the way across the kitchen helping your mother

the night is nearing it's end when he adds ''by the way Mr LN I see here that your daughter has been struggling to find work, she got decent grades in high school, I bet she'd be perfect for the vacant position at my office ''

You were an adult,he could have asked you, it didn't really matter bcause you don't exist in the system so he needed your loving father's signature before yours

it didn't really cross your father's happy mind to read the contract, he had met his angel and handed you right over to the devil himself , that is how impressionable your parents were , you had learned early on that the liked the easy things , things just handed to them , it often installed that layer of resentment in your head , how they suited one another so well ,despite it all the two were like those genuine love stories that wedding vows were exceptionall built on built on and you despite your stubborn streak were just their child , eager to please them , that is why after the man left you had sat down still and listened to what your father had to say in that soft tone

'this is the opportunity we have prayed for ,for so long. just go tommorrow ...I'm only one call away if you don't like it okay my little pumpkin?'

you nodded ,you could do this , for your parents who loved and protected you dearly

that is why you woke up the next day ,got ready at 5am putting on the navy blue dress that your mother picked out for you , it strangely fit you unlike the rest of the clothes you packed in that suitcase of yours , you got into that black suv that you had found already parked outside and that was it

it was only 6am , you weren't opposed to waking up that early but it was only the first day you had no idea when you had passed out ,waking up in what like like someones living room straight from a magazine

grey and white walls , cloud soft couches judging by the one you lay on which makes you jump instantly as it returns to you slowly by the sight of your dress , you are supposed to be working , your heels had been taken off as if to provide further comfort you had been covered by a shawl that you fold nicely and place there besides you , now all that was left was for you to find out where you were , the man who hired you and possibly get to work

you're actually barely up when the door chimes opening to that man and his briefcase

''you're up.'' it's an observation , he never really asks you are coming to understand as he extends a hand towards you , there is a silent command in his eyes and you take the hand ,getting on your feet with his help ,a minor step in obedience that he approves of with the slight tilt of his head

you will stay here for as long as you work for me , you grow slightly tense as he continues , I pay for everything- all you have to do is obey me , obey my rules , you grow tense as he continues don't worry, it's not for free.

you don't get him, your arm links with his as he guides you around the fancy apartment, laying a bunch of house rules with every door opened

a personal work space

"I don't live with you but I will show up here unannounced, you organize my meetings , plan my days and inform me of new participants , I don't do day offs even on your death bed you are working ,

you dress appropriate for work and all breaks should be reported to me

Bedroom + closet

You wear what I approve of ,you don't leave this house without my permission, when you do leave you tell me of where you're going, you should always be home by 10pm ,your days start at 7am .

Bedroom+ Closet²

he tilts his head as if in thought and proceeds ,I might have to sleep here." your heavy heart feels like you have ran a marathon.

the rest is all the regularities that make an apartment, a fully restocked kitchen and everything else you would never afford.

"everything you need will be right here if not , ask me , you don't talk to people who are not me. as long as you are working here , I own you, you are all mine sgf

once done he turns to you colliding his hands in finality while eyes search yours , he bends your height and you are face to face with him, that cologne itching part of your memory that makes you create some distance between your faces

"Yn-shii ?" he doesn't seem to find that smile of his today , you nod and he shakes his head standing back to his full height

-sir , you are to address me as Sir when I talk to you, you respond when I talk to you, yes?

"yes sir."

"that's a good girl " you damn near side eye him and he seems to be displeased for a flashing second

Thank you -sir

he thinks you are going to get along so well as he take you bacj to your work room

"I like this dress , you can keep it ".

your cheeks shade at the compliment and you know you have found yourself another person to please ,

you walk beside him as you head back to your work room ''everything about the work you do is on your desk , makesure that you read and understand everything, clearly...mistakes stand to receive harsh punishments miss Yn

he pulls out the chair for you to sit and it's like the two of you don't really need words to communicate as he turns to leave you

"h-how do I contact you ?''

it's a ridiculous question as your eyes fall on the landline right beside the papers, it nevertheless makes you realize that you haven't see your phone and you more so ASK YOURSELF

''my phone-''

''you won't be needing that here .''

✦ . 　⁺ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

you have no idea what it even takes to be a broker and you have no idea what you're doing but you're doing it

print cards , verify files and number them , arrange them in formattable order and prepare everything for pick up .

it's been nearly a week , after you are done with your work on all your days here you have proceeded to make dinner , for him and you even though it made you wonder of his wife who had once threatened your existence for the very same man who you haven't seen since that day you got here , 6 days ago , it was a wednesday then and you still do as you had been told , throughout the week people stopped by ,he'd call you , instructing that you place the packaged box through what looks like those trap doors you see in the movies ,only it's on the wall , it opens when you place the box in and closes as soon as you try to peek inside

6 days , and he hasn't stopped by , you refrigirated the leftovers that you had even thought to give to him as a lunch box but he never showed up, only calls for work , he doesn't even offer the faux reeting anymore and you mi- you would like to see him again.

your days are quite the same , the clothes , glamorous and fitting like a glove make you look foward to the next change and as the the water hits your skin preparing you for the blue nightgown handpicked from the endless selection you can't help your curiosity that brews at the thought of that man , there is just so much you don't know about him , you wonder if it would be rude to ask- questions like why he carried a gun , played games and gave you money , maybe he was just bribing you to agree to working for him

you step out of your shower wrapping a towel around yourself , this empty place , the walls are all you have , you work to sleep and there are infact days where all you wished for was a 9 to 5 , this is it

you always imagined shitty coffee and gossiping coworkers , maybe you'd make friends but you'd never be alone,

everything here is the opposite ,the coffee here is expensive, everything is epensive , even your reflection in the mirror looks nothing like you remeber , everything looks better you should feel better but it draws tears

you exit the bathroom and the silence welcomes you back , you didn't even bother to turn in the lights today, even food was hard to swallow so you gave up on doing anything at all

you hear a sound from the livingroom , it's nothing subtle like a bang on the table

your heart drops to your knees

He's here ?,the light switch is all the way across the room ,and the moonlight is not even enough to help you make anything out

you are well aware that it's him yet that is not even enought to calm you down as you clutch your towel tightly and move as silently as you could afford to where a glass taps faintly , it's him , you can at least make out his silhouette from the kitchen counter , an instant chill running down your back

you don't think you have it in you to speak , you have been quiet for so long and a part of you might even be upset with him that is why you decide against your better sense ,turning on your heels in the direction of your room

the door is just right there , you're nearly there-

''what's wrong with you?''

the words come out a sharp irritated growl , they bounce off the walls and you freeze in your tracks

the lights flicker on blindingly making you squint momentarily disoriented .

he takes , slow deliberate steps , those shiny dress shoes clicking against the marble tiled floor, every step taken in your direction sounding like a ticking time bomb invoking some sort of nausea in you

you suck in a breath and you do it , you turn , your eyes landing at is feet , shiny black dress shoes

''good evening sir.''

your eyes dare to look further past the pristine lines of his suit pants and you see it ,a gruesome red splattered across the collar of his white shirt and the side of his cheek , you meet his eyes briefly , his head tilted to the side ,a silent unsettling question hanging inn the angle, you can never read him but he seems to know you very well, every fear...every tremor ,balancing the cold metal of a gun beneath your chin to keep you from averting your gaze

you are trapped.

''did I not ask a question?''

apart from not knowing what to say you have no clue what he's talking about , too bad your response is to water your eyes away , you are right , he is unpredictable , he's bloody with a gun to your chin and you have no idea what he's talking about

so what it the correct answer when he suddenly pulls the trigger to hold

''n-nothing sir''

you have fucked up , it's written in the movements of his head that moves from side to side as he further invades your personal space and you back away your body shaking hard along with the tears that waste on the towel

your back crashes into the nearest wall and it's not the right time to bring it up but if you are not in a ditch by tomorrow you are definitely out of here

''nothing...?'' he slightly crouches down to eyelevel with you , he get's close you think you can feel his breath on your lips , ragged breaths , soft lips that you would have liked to bite under different circumstances , perhaps in a world where he is not missing a few bolts in that beautiful head of his

his voice is low and menacing against your lips ,the gun could never be forgotten , it's coldness breaks out a cold sweat from you every chance spent there ,''that's not what I want to hear''. it's almost hard for your mind to drift to protection but you push and you push , and another push again until your lips brush against his , you taste the waters , wet eyes and lashes staring at him , it's an unhinged silent plea and his eyes are much darker than you would like to believe

the cold metal is detached from your chin before it's softly tapping against your lips ''open.''

he's too far gone , you can't back out of this , you don't even know what's happening but you obey, the bitter metallic flavor of the gun immediately invades your mouth but your eyes stay on his , shaky yet unwavering ,he could ruin you right here , destroy all those barriers the people around you wasted their lives building just for him to come along and-

''good girl, fuuuck-''

it's a swift motion in which the retracts the gun from your mouth , facing it toward the ceiling and releasing his finger on the trigger

it's loud ,deafening even and the result is a hole above your head ,it could have easily been your head but that's a side mater when your eyes pass over the bulge in his pants

was he...

You can't help but stare a moment longer , your mind racing with conflicting emotions. Fear, anxiety, and a hint of arousal swirl together in a toxic mix.

His eyes seem to bore into yours, as if daring you to look away, it's all so overwhelming with the gunshot still ringing in your ears

he is intrigued when you don't look away , that damned eyebrow doing it again as his skilled fingers hover above the knot of your towel as if to test the waters

you release a shaky harbored breath , you're so vulnerable under him- so meek and there is a hint of curiosity reflected back at him through your sparkling eyes

the corner of his lips tip up ,your entire body is heating up ,heart racing as you struggle to keep his gaze

''mhm...good to know''.

he removes himself completely off you , drinking you in one last time with those dark eyes before walking off to the room across the hall

''it won't be the ceiling next time you decide to lie to me -and make sure you get that fixed.''

he points upwards before the door shuts and you are left to gather yourself back together again after being around him , it makes you wonder

are you always going to be this drained at the end of everyinteraction with him ,tou wouldn't have to worry about that if you knew an approach to quitting.

❁ - ❁

[crimson-and-clover-1717]

Ed & Soft Things (long post)

Just thinking about the years that have passed between these two images, and Ed appearing to remain in a form of childhood stasis and trauma demonstrated through the use of setting and body language.

Ed’s sitting at the left side of a window, knees pulled up. The bed or bench he appears to be on both times has very little in the way of softness or comfort. The second image as an adult is by tortured design, but the first screams childhood poverty and neglect. In the first image also, the chaos is external, but you can see Ed is internalising it, trying to stop the sensory overload, what this display of violence is doing to his child’s soul, by placing his hands over his ears.

By the second image, the childhood trauma is ingrained and a new layer of pain and abandonment is being laid over the top. It’s the inability to process the loss of Stede healthily, a huge part of which is triggered by Izzy’s threats. Ed situates himself back within his childhood pain here. He turns Stede’s Captain’s quarters into a stark reproduction of his childhood home, and turns himself back into that child. Whether he does so knowingly or is in some way reaching after psychological familiarity is open to interpretation.

Something really significant though after Ed meets Stede is his reaching after a robe or blankets to hide under when he is in psychological distress. I don’t feel that is something he did as a child because I don’t think he had the right circumstances, practically or psychologically, to do so. The finding of soft things comforting has always been a part of who Ed is though, which is why he stims secretly with the silk when distressed. What Ed starts to do later is show openly his need for the comfort of soft things when upset, and on a much larger scale. He goes from holding fabric to fabric holding him.

The use of soft coverings is a form of self-soothing and points to the beginnings of healing. Ed has always needed to make himself small when distressed, but the battle-jacket in the bathtub, and the depression robe in the blanket fort, are Ed starting to attempt better self care. It’s as if Stede’s respect for the silk opens a door for Ed to develop this care further. It’s important also that after Stede’s departure, Ed practices that same self care with soft things until Izzy triggers the Kraken spiral.

In Red Flags, we see Ed uncovered with little to no emotional self care in the way of soft things. I take some comfort from the fact, despite lying on the floor, he is at least on a soft rug rather than bare wood. It indicates there’s something still there, some need for comfort, but it’s limited and waning. During the final moments of the mutiny, he lies on bare wood, nothing to comfort him at all.

Which is why the couch scene in Fun and Games is so significant. Imagine this played a different way with Ed curling up in a window position in trauma or lying on the floor, after finding out about Mary. But he doesn’t. Upon Stede’s return (and let’s give some credit to the work Ed tries to do in the Gravy Basket), Ed is already reverting to a healthier way of processing his pain: he’s straight under that blanket.

There’s something else too. In the childhood scene, the ending of season one, and the Red Flags montage, Ed is silent. He’s alone, either physically, emotionally or both. Whilst in the bathtub and in the blanket fort, it’s as if Ed’s on a therapist’s couch. He makes himself safe with soft coverings and tries to show his inner self by talking - because someone is there who cares.

Initially in the couch scene, Ed remains silent. He’s not sure if he’s safe to speak. It’s a liminal moment. But Stede is just so gently patient, Ed soon finds his words. Ed knows Stede’s ethos is talk it through. And look at him go! He can’t stop. Let it all out, Ed!

And that’s kind of how we know Ed has already begun to heal, plus forgive Stede. A huge reason Ed is able to process and move through his feelings quickly is because Stede allows that safe space to do so. Ed can hide under a blanket without feeling mocked. He doesn’t have to pretend he’s something he isn’t. No stoicism needed. Stede is instrumental in the process of Ed being able to heal, and forgive him.

Ed diving under blankets is never a problem. Ed speaking a lot whilst upset is never a problem. It’s when Ed doesn’t do these things, he needs help. When he denies himself physical and emotional comfort, and is mostly silent - cornerstones of toxic masculinity. But it does also show the importance of others. You can’t talk if there’s no one to listen (which is why the ridding of Lucius is partly an act of self harm). Ed is so desperate to talk though, he creates a toxic version of himself in the gravy basket in order to thrash it out.

Ed’s been an island too long. Now he has Stede to share the load. And he will learn how to be there for Stede too. Together they can have soft things, self care, and talk things through.

It’s amazing how quickly Ed feels emotionally supported once Stede returns. And actually how quickly Ed comes out from under that blanket, yet is still emotionally open; processing, listening.

I like also that Ed feels safe enough to ‘tell off’ Stede. And that Stede can argue back safely too. They really do create their own safe-space. Bicker like an old married couple, but it’s nothing like Ed’s parents. Experiencing healthy disagreement has to also be healing for Ed. They love each other and that will always win through in the end.

[amagicalmoonlight]

I dedicate my first post of 2025 to the underrated and underutilized friendship of Red and Blue, who’re like thematic opposites of each other, like literally down to their color (red and blue as colors are psychologically opposite).

Blue is the most passive and defensive of the stick figures, almost always last to resort to violence but always first to check up on if someone’s hurt, and when he is battling his weapon of preference is long distance; while Red is the most aggressive and first to fight, his preference being hand to hand combat or anything short distance.

Both times I remember Blue broke that hesitance for violence after AVA 4 revolved around Red, first when she knocked some sense into him after scaring them in the first avm short, and second was her actually running first to fight Dark after just seeing him kill Red.

Blue is one of the most emotive characters at times of distress, openly weeping and shaking any time he thought one of his friends died, hugging Green when they both thought they’d fall at The End; meanwhile Red is the least vulnerable, refusing to show weakness, when he thought green died he distanced himself, when losing at fighting it becomes irritable and even pushes others away, but he makes up for being the most emotive when happy, it’s literally the character that happy stims the most.

They at times seem to have somewhat of a friendly rivalry, specially from Red’s side: Red poking fun and lightly shoving blue for wearing a wig and Blue shoving him back, Red being dismissive of Blue wanting to break and obsidian block and then furiously storming off as Blue crushed it, Red immediately jumping to arm wrestle Blue after seeing her completely defeat Orange, Blue knocking over Red with her helmet after Red scared them pretending to be possessed by herobrine again.

But they have similarities too, or interests that parallel. Red is a lover of fauna and Blue is a lover of Flora; Red has a close bond with pigs, Blue has a strong bond with piglins. And ultimately they’re great friends, they play pretend star wars together, they cheer together after seeing their home movie finished, Blue gladly build a large scale version of Reds chicken just cause he wants one and play with noteblocks together, they’re silly billies and I love them SO MUCH.

[tsukumomei]

AFTER ASHES 2 | Itoshi Sae

Alice in Borderland AU | PART 2

A/n: You asked for part two, and here it is. Tags; •fem + afab!reader, •forced proximity (friends to lovers-ish) CW: •wc; 16k •MDNI •aged-up•violence •gore •murder •death games •psychological distress •depictions of survival scenarios •betrayal and manipulation •themes of isolation and despair •graphic injuries •implied shower sex •coercion and power dynamics PART 1 | PART 3

Sae couldn’t remember the last time he'd woken up as well-rested as he did now. 

In this shitty world, sleep was usually restless. 

This morning, however, the room was quiet, the air warm and still, save for the gentle rise and fall of your figure nestled against him. 

Your head rested against his chest, your breath soft and steady, and your legs were tangled with his beneath the soft covers. 

He barely moved, careful not to disturb you as you shifted slightly in your sleep. His arm tightened around you instinctively, a motion so natural it surprised even him. His mind replaying the events of the night prior. Every word, every tear, every ounce of vulnerability that had passed between the two of you lingered heavily in his mind. 

Of course he’d been in his fair share of arguments before. Ex-girlfriends walking out on him, shouting matches that left him feeling nothing but irritation or relief. But last night was different.

The anguish that he knew was to come if he had let you walk out those doors wasn’t something he was used to. It had clawed at his chest, an unfamiliar ache that he couldn’t ignore, no matter how much he wanted to. For the first time, he felt the weight of what it would mean to lose someone. Not an inconvenience, but as a wound that might not heal. 

The thought of you leaving, of your presence disappearing from his life, had been unbearable in a way he hadn’t anticipated.

Closing his eyes briefly, his jaw tightened as the memory washed over him. Sae wasn’t one for grand gestures or emotional declarations. He prided himself on his reservation, his ability to remain neutral in any situation. 

But with you, that facade had disappeared, exposing something unpolished beneath.

Now, in the quiet stillness of the morning, he felt an odd sense of calm. The world outside was still as cruel and chaotic as ever, but for this moment, he could pretend it wasn’t. He could focus on the sound of your breathing, the warmth of your body against his, and the quiet realization that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t want to face this world without you by his side.

He looked down at you, his teal eyes softening as he watched the way your lashes fluttered slightly, still lost in sleep. His hand hesitated for a moment before brushing a strand of hair from your face, the motion so gentle it barely registered.

───🃁🃜🃚🃖🂭🂺🃁───

Almost the entirety of his life, Sae had only ever cared about soccer. 

From a young age, he has been deemed a genius, a prodigy. It was a gift bestowed upon him by whatever god that decided to favor him. He knew it, he embraced it. 

He is fully aware that he did not excel at much else, except maybe having a sharp mind, but beyond that, his skill set was singularly focused.

For the majority of the human population, that kind of limitation would be–daunting, terrible even. A singular skill with nothing to fall back on might leave most people feeling hollow or unfulfilled. But Sae isn’t like most people. Since he was exceptional at the sport, his talent had paved the way for a lavish lifestyle. He’d been scouted by prestigious teams, earned endorsements worth millions, and enjoyed a level of admiration that bordered on worship.

What Sae couldn’t seem to manage, however, was maintaining relationships. 

Take his family, for example. While he was certain his parents adored him, they had never been particularly close. Then there was Rin, his younger brother, a soccer prodigy in his own right but estranged from Sae for reasons he didn’t dwell on often. At first, he thought his brother was simply going through a rebellious teenage phase, but Rin is 24 now, so clearly that was not the case. Their relationship was strained to the point of silence, a rift that neither of them seemed willing to mend.

When it came to romance, he was even more detached. 

Marriage wasn’t entirely off the table. He had thought about it a few times—but only as a practical obligation, to please his mother. Something that might happen someday,  but if it didn’t, he wouldn’t lose sleep over it. 

He figured he’d look for someone pleasant to live with, someone who wouldn’t irritate him, but love? That wasn’t a factor.

Over the years, he had cycled through multiple partners, though he wouldn’t consider most of them relationships. Maybe one or two had been serious enough to linger in his mind briefly, but they never lasted long. The truth was simple: he lacked any real interest in them. They were distractions, comforts, and once their novelty wore off, he found himself bored and ready to move on. He knew it was cold, but he also knew himself too well to pretend otherwise.

To Sae, love was subjective. A concept that held different meanings for different people. For him, it was fleeting and unnecessary. He wasn’t searching for fulfillment in a partner or expecting some grand romantic epiphany, because none of that mattered.

After all, being the best midfielder in the world was the only thing that did.

His thoughts about love had become exceedingly rare—if not nonexistent—since ending up in the Borderlands. 

Never in a million years did he think he’d find love in a place like this.

───🃁🃜🃚🃖🂭🂺🃁───

In all honesty, Sae initially thought his first game was some prank orchestrated by his teammates. It was the first time he’d humored their suggestion to wander around Shinjuku—just a typical boys' hangout. He’d stepped away to the bathroom for less than five minutes and returned to find the café completely deserted, save for one teammate who was just as confused as he was.

Sure, he’d trash-talked amateur players, even his own brother on the field with lines like, “You should’ve just stayed home and died a peaceful death.” 

But nothing could have prepared him for the sight of his teammate’s lifeless body hanging on barbed wire, mangled and bloody. The sheer brutality of it sickened him. 

Gruesome and disgusting, the image was seared into his memory. That was the moment it hit him—this wasn’t some elaborate joke. 

This was real life, and it was merciless.

Damn, he wished he had answers. A scientific explanation for why he was suddenly trapped in a twisted place where survival hinged on playing cruel and absurd games.

───🃁🃜🃚🃖🂭🂺🃁───

Ironically, his reputation as Japan’s greatest treasure had proven unexpectedly useful. It exceeded his expectations when a tall man with a bowl-cut hairstyle approached him one day, extending an offer to join a "utopia" he was building. The man—Ego Jinpachi—knew Sae’s value. With his athletic physique, quick decision-making, and calculated nature, Ego claimed Sae would be a perfect candidate for an executive role.

Sae hated false facades, but Ego’s proposal piqued his interest. The man claimed he knew how to escape this nightmare: collect every card in a standard deck—all numbers, all suits. It seemed plausible, and as much as Sae preferred being a lone wolf, he needed a secure place to stay. Reluctantly, he took the bait.

Life as an executive was decent. Sae was primarily tasked with analyzing the members. Their strengths, weaknesses, and potential. He liked doing that; it appealed to his love of logic, seeing everything reduced to clean, measurable numbers. 

It was a simple system: play the games, follow the rules, and the lower-ranked members would serve him like the prince he knew he was. But as days turned to weeks, and weeks to months, the reality began to weigh on him. The time it would take to return to his usual life seemed agonizingly long, each passing day dragging him further from the world he knew. 

And with that time came a mounting toll.

A growing number of corpses he’d stumble upon, the sight of lifeless eyes becoming routine. Some of them, he realized, were casualties of his own hand. The weight of survival was a constant, gnawing burden, one he carried without complaint but could never entirely shrug off.

───🃁🃜🃚🃖🂭🂺🃁───

Being an executive came with additional rules, separate from the ones announced to the general population. 

First and foremost, they weren’t allowed to monopolize one member all the time; executives had to rotate their focus to prevent alliances and, in turn, reduce the likelihood of betrayal. 

Secondly, they cannot leave the Beach. Loyalty to the Beach is absolute, and those who will attempt to abandon the group would be hunted down and executed without mercy.

Thirdly—and most critically—don’t get attached. Ego could care less if they indulged in flings for personal pleasure, but genuine, meaningful attachments were strictly forbidden. Relationships were distractions, he believed, and could easily compromise the integrity of the group in critical situations where one might prioritize their partner's safety over the team’s survival.

Sae found none of those rules inconvenient—the third one, unnecessary, maybe. After all, who in their right mind would think about such things in a place like this? 

These regulations were strictly for the Beach’s top-ranking members, and he had no issue adhering to them. Sae ranked number four among them, just beneath Loki and the enigmatic leaders whose motives were as unreadable as their plans were precise.

He assumed his high rank was due to his discipline and ability to follow the rules without question. Completing his assigned tasks efficiently and without unnecessary drama, he had earned the trust of the leadership. 

Sae had no interest in the Beach’s politics or the power struggles that seemed to consume some of the other executives. While others schemed and whispered in the shadows, he kept his head down and focused on what mattered most to him—survival and a possible return to the real world.

The environment was tense, but the rules? They were simple to him. He didn’t understand how the previous executives—those who had held his position before—had struggled to follow such basic guidelines. Their inability to abide by them had cost them their lives, and Sae found it both baffling and pathetic.

───🃁🃜🃚🃖🂭🂺🃁───

Sae didn’t care much about the newcomers arriving at the Beach, but you caught his eye on your first day—though not in the way you might think. 

You were staring at him while he sat on the corner of the stage. It irritated him. He figured you were probably one of those annoying fans from the real world. He didn’t care how pretty Kaiser had claimed you were; he dismissed you outright.

Typically, new members were covertly monitored by an executive of Ego’s choosing to ensure they weren’t planning any treacherous actions. For you and Kaede, that responsibility had been assigned to Aiku. But, of course, your restless, adventurous nature had other plans. Sneaking out like a little rat in the dead of night, you wandered far from the Beach, forcing Ego to redirect Sae to follow you.

That’s how he found you by the riverside that night, skipping stones under the moonlight. It wasn’t the first time someone caused trouble, but for some reason, this encounter felt different. Maybe it was the serenity of the scene—or the way you looked so carefree, a rare sight to him.

That was the night Sae discovered that you only knew him as Sae Itoshi, the beach executive—not the famous soccer player. He liked that. It meant you wouldn’t treat him like an idol, something most people failed to understand about him. He had been testing you that evening, gauging your character with every word exchanged. 

Usually, such conversations would have dragged on longer, but you struck him as the honest and righteous girl he had presumed you to be, with a solid athletic background to match. So when he reported back to Ego later that night, he made a request—an unusual move on his part. He had asked for you to be assigned to him the following morning.

───🃁🃜🃚🃖🂭🂺🃁───

He had been right, of course—you did pull through that game, proving yourself to be competent. 

But there was one glaring flaw he couldn't overlook: your tendency to care for the other players.

Sae was convinced that one day, your misguided compassion would lead you to waste your potential. Precisely why he had pulled you out of the water during the plunge. Yet, at breakfast the following morning, despite the fresh injury you bore, that familiar glint of hope still sparkled in your eyes, unwavering and infuriatingly resilient.

Capable, impulsive, overly optimistic—was his conclusion after spending some time observing you. The trifecta of traits of a person that he couldn’t stand.

Yet, Sae decided he’d humor your antics. At least for the remainder of your time off. You were, without a doubt, the most peculiar and ridiculous person he’d encountered in this hellish world, and that said a lot considering how long he’d been here. 

No one else dared to talk to him so casually, yet there you were, barging into his personal space like it was second nature, and, before he realized it, into his life entirely.

───🃁🃜🃚🃖🂭🂺🃁───

With no games to participate in, you were still expected to contribute to the Beach. For you, that meant looting abandoned grocery stores for supplies. Going around town with him to complete the task should have taken all of 30 minutes, but it stretched into five hours because of a crying child you found in a narrow alley. While Sae stood off to the side, you spent those hours keeping the child company, sharing your loot, and telling hopeful stories to ease his fears until his battered and exhausted mother finally returned.

On the walk back, you ranted about the cruelty of a god who would send a child to suffer in such a desolate place. Sae didn’t interrupt; he just listened, silently observing the strange contradiction of a person so compassionate in a world that rewarded nothing but survival.

Capable, impulsive, overly optimistic. The same initial words he’d used to describe you the other day.

───🃁🃜🃚🃖🂭🂺🃁───

The more time Sae spent with you, the more obvious it became that his original intentions had shifted. At first, it was purely observational. But now? Now, spending time with you had become something he simply wanted to do. He didn’t just tolerate your presence; he found himself enjoying it. 

Your ideas of a “hangout” grew increasingly absurd, yet Sae found himself indulging you every single time. Late-night expeditions to the rooftops to count stars you could barely see, or raiding old convenience stores for snacks long past their expiration date—it was ridiculous. He knew it was ridiculous. But there he was, letting you drag him along, unable to say no to you, even when it meant doing things he normally wouldn’t.

Like the time you had insisted on climbing a rusty playground slide you’d found during one of your outings. “For nostalgia,” you’d said with that mischievous grin of yours. He’d rolled his eyes but helped stabilize the structure anyway, grumbling about how dangerous it was, even as you laughed your way down the crooked metal.

Even the touchiest subjects with you came surprisingly easy. When you had asked him about his brother, his first instinct was to shut it down. But you’d been quick to assure him that he didn’t have to talk if he didn’t want to. Somehow, the sincerity in your voice had melted the usual barrier he kept firmly in place. Before he knew it, the words were spilling out. Stories of Rin, of soccer, of the rift that had grown between them. He told you more than he’d told anyone else, and for once, it didn’t feel like a burden.

You smiled at him then, though it carried a hint of sadness. “You must really love your brother, don’t you?”

Of course, he did. He just didn’t know how to fix their fractured relationship. You shared your own experience, telling him about your younger sister studying abroad, the distance between you since your parents passed, and how you’d only been able to connect through brief FaceTime calls.

“When do you think things started going south between you two?” you asked gently.

Sae hesitated before recounting the snowy day on the soccer field, his words to Rin cutting sharper than any blade, and how everything had spiraled out of control from there. By the time he finished, he glanced at you, found your face expressionless, your eyes narrowing slightly as though you were meticulously processing every detail.

You finally broke the silence. “Well, that explains a lot,” you said dryly. “I can’t believe you said those things to him. Seriously, Sae, what did you expect? Of course, Rin’s holding a grudge. You basically handed it to him on a silver platter.”

His brow furrowed, clearly annoyed. “What was I supposed to do? Lie?”

“No, not lie,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “But maybe not crush his dreams and insult him in the same breath. Just a thought.”

Sae’s lips tightened. “It’s not that simple.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “What’s not simple about apologizing? You’re the older brother, Sae. Take some responsibility for once in your life.”

He scowled, clearly not a fan of your bluntness. “Apologizing isn’t going to magically fix everything.”

You gave him a pointed look. “Maybe not, but it’s a start. And let’s face it, you owe him that much.”

Sae scoffed. “Easier said than done.”

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees as you tilted your head at him. “Look,” you continued, softening your tone. “Maybe you can start by telling Rin how you actually feel. Not the cold, calculated Sae stuff you feed everyone else. Be honest. That’s probably what he’s wanted from you all along.”

Sae didn’t respond right away, but the faint crease between his brows and the faraway look in his eyes told you your words had struck a chord.

You leaned back, letting the silence settle. “For what it’s worth, Sae,” you said after a moment, “it’s never too late to fix things. But you actually have to try.”

That was the day it hit him—how beautiful you really were. It wasn’t a grand revelation, just a quiet moment when you turned to look at him, laughing at something trivial, and the light caught your face in just the right way. He was stunned by the sound of your laughter, the way it seemed to echo in his chest. 

He didn’t say anything, of course. He wasn’t sure he could without making it obvious.

The time you found a two-piece swimsuit in one of the mall’s abandoned stores was a whole other ordeal. You had held it up triumphantly, inspecting the fabric and twirling it with a teasing smile before disappearing into the dressing room to try it on. When you re-emerged, you were grinning, hands on your hips, the swimsuit hugging your figure perfectly.

“What do you think?” you asked, playful mischief in your tone. “Does this suit me?”

Sae barely spared you a glance, his scowl deepening as he crossed his arms over his chest. “It doesn’t suit you. Put it back.” 

You tilted your head at him, a mock pout forming on your lips. “You didn’t even look properly!”

“I looked enough,” he shot back, turning away and feigning disinterest as he busied himself with an imaginary task on a nearby shelf.

After a moment of your dramatic sighing, you relented, changing back into your usual attire. What you didn’t know was how fast his heart was racing in defiance of his usual calm.

The truth was, he had looked, and the sight of you had made his throat tighten. 

It wasn’t that it didn’t suit you—it suited you far too well. Too perfect. As if your usual wasn’t already revealing, you’d want to turn it up a notch? And the idea of anyone else seeing you like that, of their eyes lingering where it shouldn’t, ignited a possessiveness he wasn’t ready to confront.

As you rejoined him, tossing the swimsuit aside with a little shrug, he muttered under his breath, “Good. It didn’t look comfortable anyway.” You rolled your eyes at his grumpy demeanor, blissfully unaware of the turmoil you’d left in his chest.

But, of course, he wasn’t about to tell you that.

In quieter moments, the changes in him became even more apparent. He started looking forward to the little routines you’d established like the shared breakfasts where you always tried to sneak some of his food onto your plate despite his half-hearted protests. It was annoying, but not enough for him to actually stop you.

───🃁🃜🃚🃖🂭🂺🃁───

On the eve of your last day off, Sae had no idea what compelled him to knock on your door. At least, that’s what he kept telling himself as he stood there in the dimly lit hallway. Seeking out others’ company wasn’t something he ever did, least of all yours. He had spent most of his life avoiding attachments, yet here he was, knuckles hovering above the wood, heart beating just a little faster than it should.

Before he could talk himself out of it, the door swung open, and there you were, standing in the doorway, just as surprised to see him as he was to find himself there. For a moment, neither of you spoke. His gaze flicked down to the soft creases on your shirt, evidence of someone who had spent most of the day in bed. 

You broke the silence first, your lips curling into a teasing smile. “Missed me?”

He had, though he’d never admit it. You hadn’t shown up for breakfast, and despite telling himself it wasn’t a big deal, concern had gnawed at him all day.

He scoffed, muttering something about you being an idiot getting flushed in the toilet, but before he could retreat and pretend he hadn’t come all this way to check on you, your hand shot out, grabbing his wrist with a warmth that momentarily froze him in place.

“Come on,” you said, your tone light and full of intrigue as you began pulling him down the hall. “I want to show you something.”

To his surprise, you led him to the same riverside where he had first met you skipping stones. It was quieter now, the world around you blanketed in the soft hues of dusk. You picked up a stone and tossed it, the ripple patterns breaking the stillness of the water.

You cried that night. Not the quiet, dignified kind of crying he’d seen before, but the raw, unrestrained sobs of someone who had been holding it together for far too long. It felt like the world had cracked open in that moment, leaving nothing but you and the sound of your pain.

Sae froze, unsure of what to do. He wasn’t used to this. He didn’t know how to comfort someone, especially someone like you, who always seemed so unshakable. But as your tears kept falling, he couldn’t just stand there. Before he knew it, he had stepped forward, brushing the tears from your cheeks with the back of his hand.

And then, almost instinctively, he pulled you into a hug. It was awkward at first—Sae wasn’t the kind of man who offered affection easily—but as you buried your face into his chest, his arms tightened around you. 

It was in that moment, holding you close as your emotions poured out, that something shifted inside him. He couldn’t pinpoint it exactly, but the feeling was undeniable. 

For the first time in what felt like forever, Sae found himself thinking about love—not as some abstract concept or fleeting notion, but as something tangible, something that terrified him because it might actually exist between the two of you.

Of course, it wasn’t that

He told himself it wasn’t that. 

It couldn’t be that. 

He couldn’t allow it to be that. 

But the truth lingered in the quiet between you.

The second he tried to deny that he loved you was the moment he knew he did, 

And he knew you loved him too.

He realized just then that he’d been dancing on the line bordering the executive rules he once claimed were basic, easy, and simple to follow. 

The very rules that once felt like an immovable framework for survival now seemed frustratingly fragile under the weight of your presence in his life. 

Rules were meant to be a lifeline in this chaotic world, something to keep him focused on the goal of getting out alive.

But with you, things were different. The boundaries he had drawn so clearly for himself blurred every time you smiled at him or pulled him into your harebrained schemes.

And as he stood there, he felt that line beneath his feet, thin and frayed. The rules had seemed so black-and-white before, but now they loomed over him like a quiet warning. Relationships were forbidden for a reason—attachments made people vulnerable. 

And yet, there he was, realizing that his resolve had already cracked, his intentions no longer as detached as they once were. 

───🃁🃜🃚🃖🂭🂺🃁───

The Beach harbored countless secrets—disgusting, gruesome, and morally irredeemable—but Sae chose to keep them from you. He wanted to protect your optimism, that rare light in his dark, unrelenting world. 

He had no desire to tarnish your spirit, especially not with the controversies that surrounded Kaede’s death.

You didn’t know, of course, and he wasn’t going to burden you with the knowledge. Kaede’s death was complicated, far more than the simple loss of a life. 

The rule at the Beach had always been clear in situations like hers: one must die for the welfare of the group. Sacrifice was the cornerstone of survival, even when it meant making decisions no one wanted to make. But your lovely best friend had managed to captivate Oliver Aiku, the mismatched-eyed executive.

Aiku had broken every rule to save her. During that game, he killed multiple Beach members, jeopardizing the very survival of the group, all in a futile attempt to protect her. The game was almost lost because of his actions. And though Aiku ended up in a coma, the Beach leaders had made it clear: the moment he woke, his life would be forfeit. 

Romantic attachments were forbidden for a reason, and Aiku’s defiance was the perfect example of why.

Sae thought about this often, about what he would do if it ever came to that for him. 

The rules were designed to execute the executive in question, it wouldn’t be you, and for him, that was enough. He could endure the consequences so long as you were safe. But then, during one emergency meeting, everything changed.

The meeting was called late that night while you were asleep in his bed. He’d slipped out as quietly as possible, careful not to wake you. In the dimly lit gathering, the upper brass announced a new, stricter enforcement of the third rule. 

Attachments were no longer just discouraged—they were deemed a direct threat to the Beach’s stability. If any member, not just an executive, they would be executed without warning. The change wasn’t meant to be announced, only silently enforced.

Sae thought the storm had passed after the meeting adjourned. He had resigned himself to maintaining his distance, believing he could keep you safe by hiding the depth of his feelings. 

But then, Julian Loki—a fellow executive—nudged him sharply as they exited the room.

“I know everything,” Loki whispered, his tone laced with venom. “You’ve got a week to drop her, or I’ll report it to the upper brass.”

He hated this—hated the helplessness that clung to him in this wretched place. If only he’d met you in the real world, somewhere untouched by the despair of the Borderlands. There, things could have been different. He would have wrapped the world in a neat ribbon and offered it to you without hesitation, but here? Here, he couldn’t.

That’s when Sae began to avoid you, distancing himself bit by bit. He reduced the time he spent with you, leaving conversations unfinished and giving excuses to sidestep your invitations. He hoped you wouldn’t notice, hoped you’d chalk it up to his usual aloofness.

But every moment spent away from you felt like a betrayal. Each time he turned his back, he could see the confusion in your eyes, the flicker of hurt you tried so hard to hide. And though he hated himself for it, Sae pressed on. Because no matter how much it tore him apart, he couldn’t let you become another casualty of the Beach’s unrelenting cruelty.

───🃁🃜🃚🃖🂭🂺🃁───

By the end of the week Loki had given him, the Beach's darkness weighed heavier than ever. That day, whispers had circulated about a horrific incident—some girls had been raped and killed. As always, Lorenzo was tasked with the grim cleanup job. His faction, the only one with access to the Beach’s weapons, also handled the disposal of traitors' bodies, making the task both routine and sickeningly familiar.

Sae had overheard the grim details from a hushed conversation among the other members, and though he hadn’t been directly involved, he understood what it was. 

That incident pushed him to your door that night. Sae told himself it was just to catch a glimpse of you, to reassure himself. To know that you were safe, alive, and breathing. He needed that confirmation, even if it was for the last time. You opened the door almost immediately, surprised to see him standing there in the dim hallway, his face shadowed by the flickering fluorescent lights above.

Before he could stop himself, he stepped inside, closing the door softly behind him. He didn’t think, didn’t weigh the consequences—his body acted on its own. Sae leaned down, cupping your face gently, and kissed you.

The world seemed to pause, the tension in his chest melting away for the briefest of moments. This was everything he’d been holding back, everything he’d refused to admit, spilling out in one act.

It took everything for him to finally pull away, it felt like ripping himself apart. Your wide-eyed expression, the way your lips parted as if to say something, nearly broke him. 

He wanted nothing more than to stay, to hold you and let the world outside cease to exist. But he couldn’t.

───🃁🃜🃚🃖🂭🂺🃁───

During the time Sae spent apart from you, a certain blonde-haired idiot with pink, antenna-like strands framing his face had wormed his way into his orbit. The guy introduced himself as Shidou, but Sae decided that “demon” was a more fitting nickname. 

Eccentric, violent, and disturbingly enthusiastic about his bizarre ideas of “passing on his genes,” Shidou was nothing short of a chaotic force. Despite Sae’s initial irritation, Shidou had an uncanny way of sticking around.

It didn’t take long for Sae to realize that Shidou had a connection to you. Apparently, he’d been part of your team before Aiku scouted you for the Beach’s ranks. For all his oddities, Shidou seemed to genuinely respect you—perhaps even adore you . He had once made a bold statement about you being “explosive” and “his type of person,” much to Sae’s annoyance.

Sae felt a faint prickle of threat in the air, but Shidou had assured him in his usual chaotic tone, “Relax, man, it’s just platonic. She’s like a firecracker—you don’t wanna get too close, or you’ll burn your face off. 

To Sae’s surprise, he found Shidou’s presence tolerable, even useful at times. Shidou’s energy had a way of distracting other Beach members, creating just enough chaos to keep prying eyes off Sae’s dealings.

Shidou had somehow managed to introduce Sae to you and his former team, all of whom were now part of the Beach. 

The Beach, once seen as a refuge of order amidst chaos, was beginning to show cracks in its foundation. The top brass had been making increasingly questionable decisions, ones that left even the most loyal members uneasy. Sae, ever perceptive, recognized the signs of an inevitable collapse.

Determined to stay ahead of the chaos, Sae decided to take a calculated risk. He shared the extensive information he had collected about the upper brass with the team, a move that was uncharacteristic for someone as guarded as him. Yet, watching how the team operated and seeing their dedication, Sae felt an unfamiliar sense of confidence in them.

───🃁🃜🃚🃖🂭🂺🃁───

One day, while patrolling the grounds together, Shidou casually brought up a topic that made Sae’s blood run cold.

“You really think no one notices?” Shidou said, his sharp grin as infuriating as always.

“Notices what?” 

“Oh come on mr. prodigy, the way you bribe players to keep an eye on y/n during games? Or how you threaten them if they're dumb enough to slack off? You’re basically her guardian angel, and it’s hilarious.”

Sae shot him a withering glare. “You’ve got a big mouth for someone who should be staying out of my business.”

“Hey, hey, relax!” Shidou laughed, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. “I’m not ratting you out. If anything, I respect it. Kind of romantic in a creepy, stalker-ish way. I dig the commitment.”

Sae rolled his eyes and kept walking, but Shidou wasn’t done.

“Just saying, though, if you’re gonna go all knight-in-shining-armor, you might as well do it right. Want me to keep an eye on her too?”

Sae didn’t answer, but his silence was enough of an answer for Shidou. From then on, the demon became an unspoken ally of sorts. Whenever Sae couldn’t watch over you himself, Shidou had a way of stepping in, sometimes with his usual chaos and sometimes with a surprising amount of subtlety.

───🃁🃜🃚🃖🂭🂺🃁───

There was one time Shidou went overboard, though. During a high-stakes game, he had taken it upon himself to “eliminate” a player who had been overly confrontational toward you. Sae had confronted him about it later, furious.

“I told you to watch her, not go on a killing spree,” Sae hissed.

Shidou shrugged, looking entirely unapologetic. “What can I say? The guy was bad vibes. Don’t worry, though, your princess is safe, and isn’t that what matters?”

Sae let out a frustrated sigh, knowing there was no reasoning with Shidou. Still, despite his irritation, there was a small, grudging sense of relief. For whatever reason, the demon was loyal to both of you.

───🃁🃜🃚🃖🂭🂺🃁───

After the grueling spade game that left Sae with a deep gash on his upper arm, it was Shidou who suggested he seek you out.

“You look like hell,” Shidou commented, leaning casually against the wall. His grin was sharp, but there was a hint of something almost genuine in his tone. “You should go find y/n. I’ll make sure Loki doesn’t catch wind of it.”

Sae hesitated, brushing a hand over his wound. It wasn’t like him to need anyone, but the ache in his arm was nothing compared to the dull emptiness that had settled in his chest. Shidou’s smirk widened as if reading his mind.

“Don’t kid yourself, man,” Shidou added, a mocking lilt in his voice. “You miss her. I’ll cover for you.”

Sae scoffed, muttering something about Shidou needing to mind his own business, but his feet were already moving. Despite himself, he knew Shidou was right. He missed you—more than he cared to admit.

───🃁🃜🃚🃖🂭🂺🃁───

Thinking about all that now, makes him realize just how fucked he is. He was supposed to visit you, not spend the night with you. Then again, he’d never been good at sticking to his plans when it came to you.

Your eyes fluttered open, your hand instinctively rubbing at them as you adjusted to the soft morning light filtering into the room. It wasn’t until a moment later that your cheeks flushed, the realization dawning on you—you were bare beneath the covers. 

Flustered, you shifted slightly away from him, your embarrassment evident in every movement. 

Sae noticed. It was amusing, really—how shy you were now, as if he hadn’t seen every part of you the night before. Still, he didn’t mind. He found your bashfulness endearing, a trait that only made you more captivating in his eyes.

You quickly regained your composure, straightened your posture, and locked eyes with him, your gaze unwavering.

The intensity of your stare made his chest tighten. He knew exactly what you were asking, even though the words hadn’t left your lips. 

You wanted the truth.

With a deep sigh, he leaned back slightly, running a hand through his hair as if bracing himself.

“Alright,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, as he tossed you a clean shirt from his drawer.

───🃁🃜🃚🃖🂭🂺🃁───

After you finished listening to everything Sae had kept from you, you had a deadpan expression —he couldn’t quite place. He wondered if you were about to swoon or lash out at him for being so stupid.

Before he could figure it out, you slapped him. 

“I deserve that,” he muttered, surrendering without resistance, holding his hands above his head slightly, despite feeling the slight sting on his right cheek..

But what came next threw him off more than anything. 

You leaned toward him and pulled him into a kiss—soft and sweet, yet enough to knock the breath out of him.

When you pulled away, your gaze softened, though determination burned brightly in your eyes. “I know you were trying to protect me, but you should’ve just told me. I don’t care about the threat, Sae. As long as we’re together, we can figure it out.”

He felt like an idiot. No—he was an idiot. An idiot for doubting you, for keeping you in the dark, for forgetting how strong and capable you truly were. Deep down, he knew he wanted to shoulder everything alone to protect your optimism, your joy—but that had been the wrong choice.

Without a word, he reached out, his hands cupping your face tenderly. “I’ll never keep something from you again,” he murmured before pressing his lips to yours once more, this time with a deeper intensity.

The moment was perfect until the door swung open, and a familiar voice broke the silence.

“Woah, you guys made up!”

You and Sae sprang apart, both whipping around to find Shidou grinning like he’d just walked in on something far juicier than it was.

“There’s a thing called knocking, you know,” you said, glaring at him in irritation.

“Tch,” was Sae’s only response, his mood visibly soured by the interruption.

Shidou ignored both of you, stepping inside and flopping onto a nearby chair as if he owned the place. “Anyway, I gotta tell you guys what I overheard this morning.” He paused dramatically, letting the tension build. “There’s only one number card left—the 10 of Hearts.”

You frowned. “Just one? And no one’s come across a face card yet?”

Shidou nodded, leaning forward, his usual grin fading into something more serious. “Not just that. There’s a rumor going around. Something about a traitor among the executives. Isagi’s the one who figured it out, but he doesn’t know who it is yet.”

Sae’s jaw tightened, and you could practically see the wheels turning in his head. “A traitor?” he repeated, his voice low and dangerous.

You exchanged a tense glance with Sae, the weight of Shidou’s revelation settling over both of you like a storm cloud. The knock on the door shattered the silence, making everyone in the room flinch.

You turned to Shidou with an irritated glare. “Who else did you tell?”

Shidou threw his hands up defensively, his usual smirk absent for once. “No one, I swear. Chill.” He got up and strode to the door, muttering, “Let me handle it.”

The moment he opened the door, his cocky demeanor shifted to one of surprise. “Chigiri?” he asked, stepping aside as the red-haired man entered hurriedly, his expression grim.

Chigiri’s sharp eyes darted around the room, meeting yours with a silent understanding that seemed to say, Glad to have you back, Y/N. Then he spoke, his voice low and urgent. “We have a problem. Isagi’s been taken.”

Your heart sank, and Sae tensed beside you. “Taken? By who?” Sae demanded, his tone sharp.

“Ness,” Chigiri answered grimly. “He’s got Isagi tied up in some room, but we don’t know where. The leaders didn’t like the anxiousness from other players due to his speculations about the traitor and... they think he might be the one. They’re torturing him. God knows how far they’ve gone by now.”

Your fists clenched at the thought. “We have to rescue him,” you said firmly, looking at each of them.

Shidou raised a brow, his grin creeping back. “Oh, I’m in. Sounds like fun.”

Sae shot him a glare before turning to you. “We’ll need a plan.”

Chigiri nodded, stepping closer, his expression tense. “Yukki and Reo are already searching the grounds, but we need more people if we’re going to find him before it’s too late—”

He was abruptly cut off by the sound of screaming and the thunder of rushing footsteps echoing from the main hall. The tension in the room spiked as everyone froze, listening. The door burst open, and Bachira stormed in, his face pale but his eyes gleaming with discovery.

“There’s chaos in the hall,” Bachira said breathlessly. “You might wanna check it out.”

Everyone exchanged wary glances before immediately rushing down the main hall.

───🃁🃜🃚🃖🂭🂺🃁───

All the Beach members were gathered, including the executives—everyone except the leaders, Ness, and Isagi. Blood was splattered across one of the walls, so much that it nearly covered the entire surface. The sight had everyone on edge, fear and confusion rippling through the crowd.

At the center of the room lay a pile of phones, next to a small sign that read: One per person. Even from a distance, you knew exactly what this meant. A game. And this time, everyone at the Beach was a player.

Your heart raced as you quickly grabbed a phone, joining the others in tense anticipation. Suddenly, the mechanical voice emanated from every device simultaneously, cold and unfeeling:

“Game Rules: 10 of Hearts: Bloodbound

Then came a riddle:

"In shadow, I watch and consume. My speech deceives. Set me free or strike me down, and the blood recedes."

The voice paused before delivering its final chilling instruction:

“Accomplish the riddle within 3 hours, and you win. Failure to do so results in death. Good luck.”

The crowd grew restless, their faces marked by confusion and fear. The riddle had left them baffled—no clear instructions, no obvious solution. The blood on the wall served as an ominous reminder of what failure might mean, and no one wanted to be the next victim.

 Kaiser stepped forward, grabbing the arm of a random girl who had been seen alone in the hall earlier, her face pale with terror.

“What if I throw you out the window right now, hmm?” he said, his voice sharp and mocking.

The girl thrashed in his grip, tears streaming down her face. A few onlookers exchanged uneasy glances before nodding in agreement with Kaiser’s words, their own fear driving them to desperation. Together, they began dragging the girl toward the window as she screamed and fought against them.

“Enough.”

Loki’s voice cut through the chaos like a knife, his calm, almost friendly tone somehow more unsettling than the violence. “Let her go,” he said, stepping into the center of the crowd.

For a moment, the group hesitated. Then, slowly, they released the girl, who fell to the floor, trembling and sobbing.

Loki smiled faintly, his composure unshaken. “Everyone, return to your rooms. The executives will review the surveillance cameras to determine who set this game in motion. We’ll handle it.”

The reaction was immediate and volatile.

“That’ll take too long!” someone shouted.“There’s a time limit! We’ll all die!” another cried.A few people sank to their knees, sobbing uncontrollably.

Where are Ego and Anri? Why aren’t they here now?” a voice rang out.

Before the chaos could escalate further, you felt Sae’s hand wrap around your wrist. “Come on,” he murmured, dragging you through the crowd. His grip was firm but not unkind, a silent insistence that you trust him. Shidou, Bachira, and Chigiri slipped away with you, the six of you retreating into an office at the back of the building.

The silence in the room was deafening, broken only by the distant hum of panic from the hall.

Shidou’s laugh came first—low, unhinged, and far too amused for the circumstances. “So...someone’s playing a nasty little game,” he said, his grin wide and predatory. “Who’s the rat?”

“Shut up,” Chigiri snapped, his voice icy, though his composure was clearly fraying. “This isn’t a joke, Shidou. If this is the 10 of Hearts, then the whole Beach is a trap. We’re all in danger.”

Sae crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing as he repeated the riddle aloud:

"In shadow, I watch and consume. My speech deceives. Set me free or strike me down, and the blood recedes."

“What the hell does that even mean?” Shidou muttered, spinning a small knife idly in his hand, his usual smirk replaced by something almost serious.

He let the words hang in the air, their weight pressing down on all of you. “It’s clear what this means,” he said. “Someone has to die—the person described in the riddle.”

“Everyone’s gonna think it’s Ego,” you murmured, your stomach churning. “The way the Beach runs, how cold and calculated he is...he’s the obvious suspect.”

“That’s the point,” Sae said flatly, his tone razor-sharp. “It’s too obvious. Whoever set this up wants us to waste time going after him while they sit back and watch.”

“And what if it really is him?” Chigiri countered, his voice low and tense. 

A beat of silence passed, heavy with the weight of unspoken fears.

“Then let’s find him,” you said firmly, already moving toward the door. “We can figure this out, but we need confirmation.”

Sae opened the top drawer of a heavy metal cabinet, retrieving several radios and handguns. His movements were swift and deliberate, the weight of the situation clear in his tense posture. 

He tossed a radio and a gun to each of you.

There was no time to argue. Sae gave his orders with the efficiency of a commander: “Chigiri, Bachira—find Isagi. We’ll handle Ego. Stay sharp.”

You nodded, adrenaline surging through you as the group split up. Racing down the dimly lit hall with Sae and Shidou, every creak and distant sound made your heart pound. The air grew heavier the closer you got to Ego’s quarters, an unsettling chill settling in your stomach.

When you reached the room, you froze. The door hung slightly ajar, swinging faintly on its hinges. Sae pushed it open with his gun raised, and what you saw made your blood run cold. Ego sat slumped in his chair, a gunshot wound squarely in the forehead. Blood pooled beneath him, stark against the sterile floor.

Shidou broke the silence first, grabbing his walkie-talkie. “Ego’s dead. I repeat, Ego is dead,” he said grimly, his usual eccentricity replaced with an uncharacteristic seriousness.

Sae crouched beside Ego, checking his phone. His expression darkened. “The timer’s still running,” he muttered. “This game isn’t over.”

The radio crackled to life, Chigiri’s voice cutting through the tension. “Negative. We’ve checked the third and fourth floors—no sign of Isagi. But the main hall is a mess. Lorenzo’s faction went rogue. He’s given the order to kill everyone.”

“Damn it,” Sae hissed, standing abruptly.

Shidou cursed under his breath. “Of course that freak Lorenzo would pull something like this. It’s going to be a bloodbath.”

You clenched your fists, trying to focus. Panic threatened to overwhelm you, but then your thoughts turned to the riddle. You turned it over in your mind, piecing it together.

“It’s not Ego,” you said aloud, your voice trembling with urgency. “It’s not about him. The answer—”

Sae looked at you sharply. “What is it?”

Your heart dropped as realization struck you like a bolt of lightning. “Anri’s the next target. She’s in danger.”

Without waiting for their responses, you turned and bolted down the hall, sprinting toward Anri’s quarters. Sae swore under his breath but immediately followed.

“Do you even know what you’re doing?” he snapped, grabbing your wrist to stop you.

You looked at him, eyes blazing with determination. “I do. Trust me.”

Sae studied you for a beat before nodding. “Fine. Let’s go.”

Shidou trailed behind, muttering, “This better not be a wild goose chase, princess, or we’re all screwed.”

As you neared Anri’s room, you heard muffled voices and the sound of something heavy being dragged. Your pulse raced. You pushed yourself harder, desperate to reach her before it was too late.

“Stay behind me,” Sae ordered, raising his gun as he moved to kick the door open.

───🃁🃜🃚🃖🂭🂺🃁───

The room was silent except for the muffled sounds of Anri’s panicked breaths behind the cloth tied over her mouth. Kaito, the man you remembered from the high-diving game, stood in front of her, his gun trained on her trembling form. His hand was steady, but his eyes betrayed his inner turmoil.

You stepped forward, your hand outstretched, trying to stop him. “Kaito, don’t do this,” you said firmly, your voice steady despite the racing of your heart.

He glanced at you, his expression one of recognition. “I’m grateful for what you do for us y/n-san,” he said, his voice strained. “If she's not the answer to the riddle then she's the traitor. If I don’t do this, I’ll die. You know how this works.”

“That’s not true,” you argued. “Anri isn’t the traitor, Kaito. She’s not the threat. Don’t pull the trigger.”

Kaito hesitated, his grip faltering for a fraction of a second. “Then who is it?” he snapped. “Who else could it be?”

I don’t know. Your mind raced. You had to make up an excuse. “The traitor,” you said, your voice low but steady, “is one of the executives.”

Kaito froze, his eyes narrowing as he turned to look at Sae. “One of the executives, huh? Like him?” He raised the gun and pointed it directly at Sae.

Sae didn’t flinch, his expression cold and calculating as always. “If you think I’m the traitor, you’re even more delusional than I thought,” he said flatly.

Kaito’s face twisted in rage. “Shut up! You’ve been quiet this whole time, haven’t you? Acting like you’re above all this. You’re the one pulling the strings!”

“Kaito, stop!” you shouted, your voice shaking now. “Don’t do this!”

But Kaito wasn’t listening. His finger inched toward the trigger, and your heart stopped. 

Time seemed to stretch and distort, every second dragging on as though the world itself was holding its breath. The faint hum of adrenaline coursing through your veins drowned out every other sound. 

All that existed was the cold metal glinting in Kaito’s hand and the terrifying inevitability of his finger curling on the trigger.

You didn’t think—you just moved.

Your hand flew up, gripping the cold steel of your gun. The weight felt heavier than ever, the gravity of what you were about to do threatening to crush you. But there was no room for hesitation. A single thought pulsed in your mind: Stop him.

Kaito’s eyes flicked toward you, his finger tightening on the trigger. Time froze.

Then, in an instant, the deafening crack of your gunshot tore through the air. The recoil surged through your arm, the force jolting you backward as your ears rang with the violent noise. You couldn’t hear anything but that ringing, couldn’t see anything but the bullet’s merciless trajectory as it sliced through the space between you and him.

The impact was instantaneous. The bullet struck Kaito dead center, between his eyebrows. His expression froze in shock, the light in his eyes extinguished before he even realized what had happened.

There was no scream, no final word. Just the dull thud of his body hitting the floor. Blood spilled out in a dark, growing pool beneath him, staining the cold, hard ground.

Your breath caught, your chest heaving as if trying to force air into lungs that had forgotten how to function. The gun trembled in your grip, your arm still extended, fingers frozen in place.

This isn’t real. Right?. But the scent of gunpowder lingered, the blood creeping toward your feet.

Your hand dropped to your side, the gun slipping from your grip and clattering against the floor. It echoed loudly in the oppressive silence, jolting you back to the present.

You trembled as you lowered your arm, breath coming in shallow gasps. 

Sae was the first to react, stepping forward. “You okay?” he asked, his voice unusually soft, though his face was a mix of shock and something you couldn’t quite place.

“I…” You swallowed hard, trying to find your voice. 

Shidou moved quickly to Anri, pulling the cloth from her mouth and untying her. “Damn,” he muttered, giving a low whistle as he glanced at Kaito’s lifeless body. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

Anri gasped for air, Her tear-streaked face crumpled as she gasped for air.

You turned to her, your legs feeling like jelly. “Anri, what’s going on? Tell us everything.”

She nodded weakly, but her tearful eyes locked onto you with desperation. “You don’t understand,” she choked out. 

“What are you talking about?” Sae demanded, his tone sharp but not entirely unkind.

Anri’s voice trembled as she continued, “The whole thing about collecting the entire deck—it was all a lie. Ego made it up. He wanted to give the survivors hope, something to fight for, even if it wasn’t real.”

The room fell into a stunned silence.

“He lied?” you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper.

Anri nodded, her tears falling freely. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know how to tell anyone. He thought it was the only way to keep everyone from falling apart. I wanted to believe in him...”

Sae’s jaw clenched as he looked away, his hands curling into fists. Shidou let out a low whistle, breaking the heavy quiet.

“Well, that’s one way to turn the world upside down,” Shidou said, his usual smirk absent, replaced by a grim expression.

You stood up, your legs feeling unsteady beneath you. “Then what’s the point of all this?” you asked, more to yourself than anyone else.

“The point,” Sae said, his voice cold, “is that we’ve all been pawns in a game we don’t even understand.”

At that moment, Chigiri’s voice crackled through the radio. “We found Isagi,” he said, his tone urgent but slightly muffled by the static. “He’s wounded but alive. Right now, he’s unconscious, but stable. We’re bringing him back.”

You barely registered the words. Your gaze was locked on Kaito’s lifeless body sprawled across the floor, the pool of blood beneath him staining the stark white tiles. The weight of your actions pressed down on you like a crushing tide, threatening to drown you in guilt and doubt. You’d pulled the trigger to save Sae, to stop Kaito from making a fatal mistake—but the cost was written in red right before your eyes.

Anri’s confession still echoed in your mind. Ego had lied. Everything you’d fought for, every sacrifice made, was built on a foundation of false hope. The thought made your stomach churn.

Sae’s voice cut through the silence, firm and unyielding. “This changes everything,” he said, his tone dark and heavy with resolve. “But it doesn’t mean we stop. We’ll figure this out, with or without Ego.”

You tore your eyes away from Kaito’s body and met Sae’s gaze. His expression was cold and unreadable, but beneath it, you sensed an unspoken determination. He wasn’t going to let this break him, and neither could you.

“I know the answer to the riddle,” you said suddenly, your voice steadier than you expected.

Everyone turned to you, their expressions a mixture of confusion and anticipation.

“It’s not a person,” you continued. “It never was. The riddle—it’s been misleading us this entire time. We’ve been looking at each other when we should’ve been looking at something else.”

“What are you saying?” Shidou asked, his brow furrowed as he glanced between you and the others.

You clenched your fists, the pieces in your mind clicking together like a puzzle finally coming into focus. Just as you opened your mouth to say something, the sound of footsteps echoed down the hall—heavy, numerous, and fast approaching.

Your stomach sank. It had to be members of Lorenzo’s faction. Without hesitation, you turned to Sae and Shidou. “I need to get to the control room and use the intercom to call everyone. We need to stop this madness before it’s too late.”

Shidou cracked his knuckles, an eager grin spreading across his face as he stepped forward. “You go do your thing. I’ll handle this group.”

You paused, concerned, flickering across your face. “you sure you’ll be okay?”

He scoffed, his voice brimming with overconfidence. “Please, those small fries don’t stand a chance against my explosion.” His pink eyes gleamed with wild excitement, his smirk widening.

Despite yourself, you laughed, the tension in your chest loosening slightly. “we're counting on you.”

Sae stepped beside you, his expression calm but resolute. He glanced at Shidou with a small nod. “Go wild little demon.”

With a final smirk, Shidou turned towards the oncoming footsteps, his posture loose but ready. “Don’t worry, I’ll make this quick. Go save the day or whatever.”

As you hurried toward the control room, the sound of Shidou’s mocking laughter and the crash of chaos behind you reminded you of the high stakes ahead—but you didn’t look back.

───🃁🃜🃚🃖🂭🂺🃁───

The control room was eerily silent as your voice rang out through the intercom. “Everyone, stop the killings! I’ve figured out the riddle—it’s not what we thought. I need everyone to go to the rooftop. Trust me, this will all make sense soon.”

Your plea was met with hesitant murmurs from those still alive, but eventually, the survivors began making their way to the rooftop. When you arrived, the scene was sobering. The crowd had thinned drastically—only about 20% of the Beach’s original population remained. Some faces were etched with suspicion, others with grim resignation.

They watched you with a mixture of reluctance and curiosity as you stepped forward, stopping beside a large, cloth-covered crate.

“This game tricked us,” you began, your voice steady but tinged with emotion. “It turned us against each other. It made us think that to survive, we had to kill.”

You gripped the edge of the cloth, pausing for a moment to steel yourself. Then, with a sharp tug, you pulled it down, revealing the gruesome contents of the crate.

Gasps and cries of horror erupted from the crowd as they saw the pile of corpses—some old and decayed, with maggots writhing in the flesh, others desecrated beyond recognition. The freshest bodies looked like they’d been killed only hours ago.

But what drew everyone’s attention was the black crow perched atop the heap, pecking at the flesh. Its beak pierced the skin, causing fresh blood to drip through the cracks in the crate, mirroring the blood that had been seeping through the walls of the main hall.

You gestured to the crate, your voice rising to be heard over the murmurs and gasps. “This is the truth of the riddle. ‘Set me free or strike me down.’ It wasn’t about a person. It was about this.” You pointed at the crow, its black eyes glinting as it cocked its head toward you.

Sae stepped forward, his expression grim but focused. “The blood on the walls, the chaos—it all led back to this.”

You nodded. “This crow has been feeding on the bodies, causing the blood to drip. The riddle wasn’t about anyone from the beach. It was about freeing this creature—or ending its life.”

One of the survivors, trembling, stepped forward. “You mean...we didn’t have to kill anyone?”

You took a deep breath, the stench of the corpses threatening to overwhelm you, and shook your head. “No. This entire game has been a manipulation. We could’ve won without spilling any blood.”

Ignoring the bile rising in your throat, you reached into the crate and carefully grabbed the crow. It cawed loudly, its wings flapping wildly in protest. You turned to the crowd. “We end this now.”

You threw the crow into the air. It soared upward, its black wings cutting through the sky.

For a moment, there was silence. Then, a series of simultaneous chimes rang out from the phones of the survivors. The word “CONGRATULATIONS” appeared on every screen, accompanied by a message:

GAME CLEAR.

Relief and disbelief washed over the crowd. Some fell to their knees, others clung to each other, tears streaming down their faces.

You turned to face Sae, your expression heavy with guilt and uncertainty. The chaos was over, the game cleared, but the aftermath left you feeling lost. Sae, standing a step away, could see the turmoil written all over your face. He crossed his arms, his piercing gaze locking onto yours.

Your mind felt like it was fracturing, every thought fragmented and scattered. You struggled to meet Sae’s eyes. “The Beach is done,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s disbanded. And with everything that’s happened here... this place isn’t safe anymore.”

Sae stepped closer, his presence steady and grounding amidst the chaos swirling in your head. He leaned in, his voice low and calm as he whispered in your ear, “Let’s get out of here.”

Nothing more needed to be said. He reached for your hand, his grip firm and reassuring, and gently pulled you forward, away from the ruin and bloodshed behind you.

“Okay,” you said softly, your voice trembling as you squeezed his hand, nodding as you allowed yourself to follow him. 

───🃁🃜🃚🃖🂭🂺🃁───

The group found refuge in a high-rise building nestled in the heart of Shibuya. It wasn’t ideal, but the third floor had a pipe leaking clean water, and in this world, that was more than enough to make it a good spot to rest for the night. As you stood by the window, your gaze wandered to the streets below. Vegetation had begun to creep across the asphalt and even the walls of some buildings. It was subtle but unnatural, the way the greenery seemed to grow faster than it should. The sight made your stomach churn with unease.

Right now, everyone else was scattered—some searching for food and supplies, others scouting for vehicles, and a few simply wandering to clear their heads after the chaos. Whatever the reason, it left you alone with Isagi, who was still unconscious on a makeshift bed.

You glanced around the dimly lit room, noticing Sae’s absence. He had disappeared somewhere, as he often did when things were too quiet. 

The grime and sweat from the 10 of Hearts game clung to your skin, a constant reminder of the horrors you’d faced. The discomfort was unbearable, and the idea of washing it all away was tempting.

Deciding to take a moment for yourself, you wandered to the bathroom. As you opened the door, the sound of water cascading from the shower greeted you. You froze, realizing someone was already inside. The faint outline of a figure behind the fogged-up glass made it clear.

Your face heated in embarrassment. “Oh, sorry.” you blurted, your voice cracking slightly.

You were about to turn away when you felt yourself suddenly tugged back, your breath catching in surprise as your back pressed against his bare chest. His arm slid securely around your waist, pulling you closer. You froze as his free hand gently tilted your chin to the side, exposing the curve of your neck.

His lips brushed softly against your skin, trailing up until they reached the shell of your ear. His voice was low, almost a whisper, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

“Just join me,” he murmured, his tone laced with teasing warmth. “We might as well save water.”

Your heart skipped a beat, heat rushing to your face as you tried to find the words to respond. The playful smirk in his voice made it clear he was enjoying your reaction.

You felt his hands gently caressing your sides, his touch tentative yet steady. When you tried to pull away, whispering something about Isagi not having anyone to watch him, he leaned in closer, his voice low and reassuring.

“Isagi’ll be fine for a while,” he murmured, his tone steady but soft. “It’s not like he’s awake right now.”

You hesitated, caught in the moment, every muscle in your body tense. But his words and presence seemed to melt some of the heaviness in your chest. Maybe, just maybe, he was right. Maybe you needed to forget, even for a moment, all the horrible things that had happened.

───🃁🃜🃚🃖🂭🂺🃁───

It doesn't take a genius to figure out what happened between you two. 

The others didn’t press on it but they gave you knowing glances.

Behind you, Isagi stirred, a low groan escaping him as he finally woke up. His face was a mess of cuts and bruises, the pain evident in his every movement. You quickly handed him a bottle of water, kneeling beside him as he struggled to sit up. He took a shaky sip, coughing a little as the water soothed his parched throat.

“You’re awake,” you said softly, relief in your voice.

He nodded weakly, his voice raspy. “Yeah... barely.” He took another sip, his eyes scanning the group before settling on you. “But I need to tell you... what I know.”

Everyone turned to him, the room falling silent as they waited. Sae leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

Isagi’s hands trembled slightly as he held the water bottle. “Ness wasn’t the traitor,” he began, his voice hoarse but steady. “He was being used... by the real culprit. I didn’t see them, but by the time everything went to hell, someone came into the room. I couldn’t see their face, and their voice... I can’t place it. Something about the second stage starting tomorrow morning.”

The air in the room grew heavy with tension.

“What second stage?” Chigiri asked, his voice sharp.

Isagi shook his head. “I don’t know. They didn’t say anything else. Just... ‘the second stage will commence.’” He paused, his gaze dropping to his hands. “Whatever it means, it can’t be good.”

Bachira let out a low whistle, trying to mask the unease in his voice. “Tomorrow, huh? Guess we’re in for another surprise.”

You glanced out the window again, the vegetation catching your eye once more. Something about it felt connected, like a silent omen of what was to come. “We need to rest and prepare. Whatever the second stage is, we’ll face it together.”

The group murmured their agreement, though the unease lingered like a shadow in the room. You couldn’t shake the feeling that the worst was yet to come.

───🃁🃜🃚🃖🂭🂺🃁───

Waking up to the sound of an explosion, you bolted upright, heart pounding. You rushed to the window and froze. Blimps with massive face cards attached to them hovered ominously in the sky, their shadows looming over the city. The King of Spades blimp was the most menacing of all, dropping bombs indiscriminately across Shibuya.

Panic surged through you as you turned and shook everyone awake. “We have to move—now! The next stage is starting, and we could get bombed!”

Everyone scrambled to their feet, groggy but alarmed, quickly grabbing whatever they could carry. You led them to the window, pointing at the chaos unfolding outside. Smoke billowed from the streets, and the screams of people echoed faintly through the air.

As you made your way toward the center of Shibuya, the mechanical billboard flickered to life. In bold, glowing letters, it displayed: Next Stage. Good Luck.

The words burned in your mind as the screen abruptly went dark, and then came the unmistakable sound of rapid gunfire—an automatic rifle tearing through the air like thunder.

You whipped around to see people dropping to the ground, some screaming, others eerily silent. The King of Spades blimp rained down death with relentless precision, armed with weapons that could mow down entire crowds.

“Run!” you shouted, voice cracking as chaos erupted. The survivors scattered in all directions, terror painting their faces.

Sae’s firm grip on your arm pulled you back to focus. He dragged you behind the shell of a car, shielding you as bullets ricocheted off the metal frame. His voice was sharp and steady. “Stay low. Follow me when I move.”

You nodded, adrenaline surging. The gunfire didn’t let up, the deafening noise pounding in your ears. As Sae led the way, darting from cover to cover, you suddenly pulled him toward a nearby construction site.

“This way!” you urged, pointing toward the half-finished building just beneath the blimp marked with the Jack of Spades.

He didn’t argue, following your lead as the two of you weaved through debris and chaos. The shelter of the construction site offered temporary relief from the relentless assault, but the tension in the air remained palpable. Both of you leaned against a wall, chests heaving as you tried to catch your breath.

Ahead, you spotted a small group of players gathering under the half-collapsed scaffolding, their faces etched with fear and exhaustion. But it wasn’t them that caught your attention. Off to the side, huddled beneath a scrap piece of corrugated metal, was an old man.

His frail frame trembled, and his hollow eyes darted around as though searching for something—or someone. He clutched his stomach, his thin fingers shaking from either hunger or fear.

“Wait here,” you said to Sae, stepping toward the man.

Sae grabbed your wrist, his sharp gaze narrowing. “Don’t. You don’t know who he is or what he wants.”

You glanced back at him, your jaw tightening. “He needs help, Sae. Look at him.”

Sae didn’t reply but his expression spoke volumes. He didn’t trust the man, but he knew better than to try to stop you.

You knelt in front of the old man, careful to keep your guard up. “Are you okay?” you asked softly.

The man flinched at first, his hollow eyes darting between you and Sae before slowly reaching out. His cold, bony hand trembled as it grabbed your arm. His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper, cracking under the weight of his fear. “Today... today’s the last day on my visa. I—I’m scared. I don’t want to die here.”

Your heart clenched at the desperation in his voice. His frail figure seemed impossibly small under the weight of his fear.

You knelt beside him, meeting his gaze with a soft smile. “Don’t worry, sir. I’m good at spade games. Maybe I can help you.”

The old man’s lips quivered, and he shook his head frantically, as though unable to believe what he was hearing. “You’d... you’d do that? For me?” His voice broke, tears welling in his sunken eyes. “Thank you... thank you.”

Behind you, Sae leaned against the nearest beam, arms crossed, his sharp gaze fixed on the interaction. His expression remained impassive, but his silence carried unspoken skepticism.

When the game was announced, the rules rang clearly through the air:

Jack of Spades: Runner’s Gambit

Objective: Locate and deactivate the "key bomb" among several identical decoys before the timer expires.

Time Limit: 2 hours.

Conditions: Randomly detonating bombs will keep players on the move, and traps are scattered throughout the site, with some hidden under debris or disguised as safe areas. Failure to disarm the key bomb triggers a massive chain reaction, destroying everything within a wide radius.

The holographic instructions faded, and the timer began. 

2:00:00.

The first explosion echoed through the site, deafening and close. Dust and debris erupted from a distant corridor, and you could hear the panicked screams of players scrambling to safety. You watched in horror as one unlucky man sprinted into a patch of seemingly stable ground—only for the tiles to collapse beneath him, impaling him on steel bars below.

“This isn’t even a game,” you muttered, your grip tightening on the old man’s hand. “It’s a death trap.”

“Stay sharp,” Sae warned, stepping over rubble as his eyes scanned for hidden triggers.

A woman ahead reached for a suspicious box tucked under a steel beam. The moment she opened it, a smaller bomb detonated, flinging her backward into a concrete wall. Her lifeless body slid to the ground, smoke rising from her charred hands.

You averted your eyes, unable to stomach the sight of another corpse. The scene was all too familiar now, but it never got easier. Just then, the old man brushed his hand against the wall, and a faint click echoed ominously. Your instincts kicked in as you grabbed him and pulled him into the nearest empty room.

Behind you, Sae slammed the door shut just as the explosion roared through the hallway, the force rattling the walls and sending dust cascading from the ceiling. The sound of shrapnel tearing through the air was deafening.

“Don’t touch anything unless you’re absolutely sure,” Sae said firmly, his voice cutting through the ringing in your ears. His gaze darted to the old man, who looked shaken and pale, clutching his chest as he gasped for air. “We’ll stay here for a bit and figure out a plan. No more mistakes.”

The old man sat on the floor, his frail body trembling. He muttered an apology, his voice barely audible over the sound of your own racing heartbeat. “I—I’m sorry... I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay sir,” you said softly, crouching next to him. You could see the guilt etched into his weathered face, and something about it tugged at your heart.

“I wasn’t always like this, you know,” he began suddenly, his voice carrying a melancholic weight. “I used to have a garden. My wife loved dandelions... She used to plant them everywhere. Said they were weeds, but beautiful ones. She always found beauty in the things other people overlooked.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the abrupt shift in conversation. The room fell quiet except for the distant echoes of chaos outside. Your gaze shifted to Sae. He was leaning slightly toward the door, head tilted as if trying to catch any sound that might signal danger. Yet, it was clear from the subtle flicker of his eyes when they met yours that he was listening too.

“She used to hum this silly tune while she worked in the garden,” he continued, a faint smile tugging at his lips before it quickly faded. “I haven’t heard it in years, maybe—” He stopped.

Your chest tightened. It felt like one of those moments where words weren’t necessary—where just listening was enough. Still, you found yourself reaching out, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. He looked up at you, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears, searching for something—comfort, understanding, or perhaps just someone to hear him.

“I wish I wasn’t sick,” he said suddenly, his voice trembling.”

“Sick?” you asked gently, though your throat felt dry.

He nodded, his gaze distant. “The doctors said it’s only a matter of time... I’ve been running on borrowed time for years now.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that.

You stayed in that room a little longer, the tension easing just slightly as the old man’s story settled over you like a fragile peace.

1:07:00The old man, who had introduced himself as Seiichi Suzuki, kept talking about his life as you sat together in the dusty, dimly lit room. His voice was soft and unhurried, weaving tales of his late wife who used to plant dandelions in their garden and the quiet nights they spent watching old movies. His words warmed your heart, but they also stirred bitter memories of your grandmother and little sister—memories you’d tried to bury.

Sae leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his sharp eyes flickering between you and Seiichi. He didn’t say much, simply observing as you listened intently, caught in the old man’s melancholy nostalgia.

00:21:00

You bolted out of the room, leaving the bittersweet stories behind. Your heart raced as you sprinted through the treacherous maze of the unfinished building, desperately trying to find the central bomb. Traps were everywhere—loose floor panels, nearly invisible tripwires, pressure-sensitive tiles. Each step felt like a coin flip against death.

The timer ticked down mercilessly, its digits glowing ominously. 

00:05:00.

As you scanned the area, the old man suddenly tugged at your sleeve.

You turned, breathless and confused. “What is it?”

Seiichi hesitated, his frail frame trembling, his eyes swimming with guilt. His voice cracked as he spoke. “I have to tell you something.”

You frowned, dread coiling in your stomach. “What do you mean?”

He took a shaky breath, his hollow gaze locking with yours. “In this place... you can live forever. The illness doesn’t bother me here. I can eat, sleep, and breathe without pain. It’s a paradise compared to what I left behind.”

“What are you talking about?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He lowered his gaze. “I’m the Jack of Spades.”

The world seemed to stop. His words hit you like a physical blow. “No…” you breathed, shaking your head. “No, that can’t be true.”

He nodded slowly, his voice trembling. “I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I swear. I—I just wanted to survive. But this game…” He gestured to the bomb strapped to his chest, the blinking red light a cruel reminder of the stakes. “This bomb is the key. It’s the one you need to disarm. If you don’t, everyone dies.”

Your voice cracked as you shouted, “There has to be another way! We can’t do this!”

Sae stepped forward, his face set in grim determination. “The rules are clear. There isn’t another way.”

The old man’s lips quivered as he forced a weak smile. “You’ve been so kind to me. Kinder than anyone has been in years. That’s why I’ll let you disarm it. At least I can do one good thing before it’s over.”

Your eyes burned with unshed tears as you clenched your fists. “But why? Why are you doing this? Why would you stay here? The real world—”

“The real world?” Seiichi cut you off, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “The real world threw me away. I worked my whole life, gave everything I had, only to be left with nothing. My wife’s gone. My body’s falling apart, and I couldn’t even afford to die in peace. Here…” He gestured around the building. “Here, I’m somebody. I’m alive. I’m... free.”

You stared at him, your chest tight. “What happens if we win? If we beat all the games? Do we just… replace the game masters?”

Seiichi’s smile faltered, his expression unreadable. “You’ll find out after you beat the last game.”

“That’s not an answer,” you whispered, your voice breaking.

“It’s the only one I can give,” he said softly.

With trembling hands, you reached for the bomb strapped to his chest. Seiichi remained eerily still, his weary eyes watching your every move. You could feel Sae’s tense presence behind you, his unspoken support grounding you as you worked to disarm the device.

Finally, with a soft click, the main bomb’s timer froze. 

00:00:15 

You let out a shuddering breath, relief washing over you.

But Seiichi wasn’t smiling. He looked down at his abdomen and then back at you, tears brimming in his eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t tell you everything.”

“What?” Your stomach dropped as he pulled his shirt up, revealing a smaller bomb strapped to his stomach. The timer blinked rapidly. 

00:00:01

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head. “No, we can stop this! There has to be a way!”

“It’s too late,” he murmured, his voice steady now. “This is my punishment for losing, for trying to survive as the Jack. But... thank you. You gave me something I hadn’t felt in years—kindness.”

The timer reached zero before you could say another word. 

A deafening explosion rocked the room, and blood and viscera splattered everywhere. You felt warm droplets hit your face and arms, your vision blurring as the horror unfolded.

Sae grabbed your arm, pulling you back as the shock set in. His voice was distant, his words muffled by the ringing in your ears. All you could do was stare at the spot where Seiichi had been standing, now reduced to nothing but a memory and a pool of blood.

Sae knelt beside you, his face grim but calm. “It’s over,” he said, pulling you to your feet.

You couldn’t speak. The weight of what had just happened pressed down on you, suffocating. As the congratulations chimed on the surviving players’ phones, you realized there was no victory here.

───🃁🃜🃚🃖🂭🂺🃁───

The memory haunted you, a weight you carried but rarely spoke of. You were just 12 years old when your world began to crumble. It started with a phone call—a desperate call for help as your grandmother gasped for air, her frail body struggling to keep going. You’d fumbled with the phone, trembling as you dialed 911, your heart pounding in your chest.

The ambulance came quickly, sirens screaming through the quiet neighborhood as it whisked her away. You clutched your little sister’s hand tightly, her 8-year-old face pale with fear. “She’ll be okay,” you whispered, trying to sound sure for her sake. But deep down, you weren’t.

At the hospital, they admitted your grandmother immediately. The doctors spoke in hurried voices, throwing around words you didn’t fully understand: “surgery,” “critical condition,” “insurance.”

Insurance.

The word stuck in your mind like a thorn when the hospital administrator pulled you aside, explaining in the coldest, most detached tone that without insurance or the ability to pay, the surgery couldn’t happen.

You pleaded, tears streaming down your face as you begged them to save her. “Please! She’s all we have!”

But they shook their heads, their sympathy overshadowed by policy. They told you to take her home.

At just 12, you became the caretaker. You and your sister tried to make sense of medicine schedules and meals. Your hands, still clumsy and small, learned how to hold a damp cloth against your grandmother’s feverish forehead. You watched her grow weaker with every passing day, her once-strong voice now barely a whisper.

Your sister would cry herself to sleep most nights, and you’d sit beside her, stroking her hair and promising her that you’d figure something out. But you didn’t know how.

Eventually, your grandmother passed away in her sleep, leaving a void that nothing could fill. 

The system stepped in after that, deciding you and your sister were too young to stay together. Despite your protests, your pleas, they separated you—sent you to different foster homes.

You were shattered, but you refused to give up. You clung to the one thing you could control: your education. You threw yourself into school, finding solace in textbooks and the hope of a future where you could take back the reins of your life.

Every scholarship application was a lifeline, every exam a stepping stone. You worked tirelessly, fueled by the memory of your grandmother’s love and your sister’s smile.

───🃁🃜🃚🃖🂭🂺🃁───

The night was suffocating, heavy with silence that stretched endlessly between you and Sae. Your legs moved mechanically, one foot in front of the other, but your mind was somewhere far away, buried under the weight of the last game. 

Blood clung to you, drying into your clothes, your skin, your hair. You looked like you bathed in it, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Sae walked a step ahead, his sharp eyes scanning the area until they landed on a building with a generator buzzing faintly outside. He stopped, glancing back at you, his brow furrowed with concern.

“We’ll check here,” he said, his voice low but firm. “There might be water inside.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t even look at him. Your legs continued moving only because his hand wrapped around your wrist, guiding you forward when you stopped. His touch was gentle, yet firm enough to pull you out of your daze, if only for a second.

The generator buzzed faintly as Sae pushed open the door. Inside, dim lights flickered to life, revealing an old but functioning water system. He walked over, testing the tap. Clear water poured out, and he exhaled softly, satisfied.

“Sit,” he said, glancing at you. His tone wasn’t sharp, but it left no room for argument.

You obeyed mechanically, sinking onto a low bench nearby. The blood, now sticky and drying, clung to your clothes and skin. Without waiting for you to protest—not that you would—Sae filled a bucket with water, grabbed a nearby cloth, and knelt in front of you.

The first splash of cold water on your hands made you flinch slightly, but you didn’t pull away. Sae worked silently, pouring water over your skin, the dried blood swirling down in faint red spirals. He didn’t look at your face as he rubbed your arms clean, methodically wiping away every trace of the nightmare you’d lived through.

He moved to your face, his touch gentler now as he dabbed the cloth over your cheeks. The coolness of the water stung where your skin was raw, but still, you stayed silent, your gaze fixed somewhere past him.

“You don’t have to talk,” he murmured, dipping the cloth into the water again. “But don’t shut down completely. Not from me.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, but you couldn’t muster a response. He tilted your chin up slightly, washing away the streaks of blood on your neck and jaw. His hand was steady, his movements careful.

You didn’t react, didn’t meet his eyes. Sae worked silently for a while, pouring water over your hair to rinse out the dried blood clinging to it. The water dripped down in rivulets, pooling around your feet, carrying away the evidence of everything you’d endured.

The weight of it all finally crushed you, and the words spilled out before you could stop them. “I can’t do this anymore,” you said, your voice trembling, raw. “I can’t keep going like this. It just—it never ends.”

Sae froze, standing a few feet away, his expression unreadable. You felt his eyes on you, but it only made the emotions boil over faster.

“I tried to pretend,” you continued, your voice rising, frantic now. “I thought I could find hope when Anri told us that collecting the deck was a lie. But I can’t—I can’t! What’s the point of all this? Why are we even fighting? The real world isn’t any better than this place!”

Your chest heaved as you fought for breath, your hands gesturing wildly, aimlessly. You paced the small space, unable to stay still, as if movement could somehow release the storm raging inside you.

“Just relax,” Sae said quietly, his voice calm but firm, trying to anchor you. 

“Relax?” you snapped, turning on him, your voice sharp with desperation. “How am I supposed to relax, Sae? Every day, it’s another game, another death, another reason to keep losing pieces of myself. And for what? To go back to a world that’s just as cruel? Tell me how that’s worth it!”

Sae stepped closer, his expression softening in a way that caught you off guard. But the weight of everything—the games, the deaths, the lies—was too much to bear. You backed away, your hands trembling. “Let’s just get out of here,” you muttered, your voice cracking under the strain.

You weren’t lying—you were grateful for him. But gratitude couldn’t stop the mental exhaustion tearing you apart. Your legs carried you down the empty streets, Sae keeping pace a few steps behind, his silence unnerving yet oddly comforting.

Then, it happened.

A sack was suddenly thrown over your head, rough hands yanking you backward before you could scream. You felt yourself being shoved into a car, the cold press of a gun barrel against your temple freezing your blood.

Your mind raced, but your body stayed limp, unresponsive. You were too drained, too dead inside to even react. It was as if your spirit had been snuffed out, leaving only a shell to endure whatever came next.

The car sped off, the rough motion making you dizzy. The sack over your head limited the already stifling air, and you began to feel the sharp pangs of oxygen deprivation. Each breath grew shallower, your lungs straining against the suffocating fabric. Your heart pounded in your ears, but even fear felt distant—a dull ache compared to everything else you’d been through.

Suddenly, there was a loud bang. The car jerked violently, the tires screeching as it swerved out of control. You felt the rear tires pop, the vehicle lurching to one side before skidding to a halt.

Before you could process what was happening, chaos erupted. Gunshots rang out, deafening and sharp, followed by sounds of shouting. Then, you felt hands grabbing you and pulling you out of the car.

───🃁🃜🃚🃖🂭🂺🃁───

You awoke to the sensation of cold water splashing onto your face. Gasping, you bolted upright, disoriented and panicked. Your heart raced as you muttered under your breath, “Sae….”

Your eyes darted around the dimly lit room. It was small and barren, with a few scattered supplies and a faint smell of smoke in the air. Then, you noticed him—a man with spiky, dark purple hair, a teasing smile playing on his lips. .

“Oi, relax, princess,” he drawled, his thick accent making the words sound both casual and cutting. “Yer not dead… yet.” He chuckled, his teasing tone laced with something almost mocking. “Though with that panicked look on yer face, maybe ya wish ya were.”

You scowled and backed away, only to notice another man lounging nearby. His hair was short and flat, mostly white except for a strand in the middle that was dark green, matching the underside of his hair. He leaned against the wall, smirking at you, his posture lazy yet somehow predatory.

“You’ve got quite the voice when you’re panicking,” he quipped, his tone smooth and flirtatious. “Almost makes me want to hear you scream again—though maybe for a different reason.” His dark green eyes sparkled with mischief as he winked.

Your skin crawled, and you instinctively put more distance between yourself and the two strangers. “Who the hell are you? And why did you save me?”

The purple-haired man snorted. “Save ya? Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart. We didn’t save you.” He jerked his thumb toward the other side of the room. “He did.”

Confused, you followed his gesture to see a figure crouched by a campfire at the far end of the room. The man wasn’t facing you, his broad shoulders illuminated by the flickering flames. He seemed focused, stirring something in a pot over the fire.

“Barou?” The name left your lips in disbelief as he turned slightly, the light catching his unmistakable bloodshot eyes.

For a moment, you almost didn’t recognize him. His usual spiked hair was down, framing his face in a disheveled mess. The harsh lines of his features looked softer, though his intense gaze remained as sharp as ever.

“You’re finally awake,” Barou said gruffly, his voice low and steady. He turned back to the fire, dismissing your shock like it was nothing.

You blinked in surprise. “So, you were the one who saved me?” you asked, your voice soft but edged with curiosity.

Barou didn’t look up from the fire. He didn’t even acknowledge the question. His focus remained on the pot as he stirred its contents, the quiet crackle of the flames filling the silence.

You hesitated, then pressed further. “What happened to you after the bombing? Where did you go?”

He didn’t respond. Not even a glance in your direction. Instead, he grabbed a metal bowl, poured some soup into it, and handed it to you without ceremony.

“Eat,” he grunted. His tone left no room for argument.

You frowned, taking the bowl but still pressing. “Barou, you can’t just show up out of nowhere and expect me to—”

“I need your help to take down the King of Spades.” His sharp voice cut through your protest like a blade.

Your jaw tightened. “Barou, I can’t just—”

“Eat,” he repeated, already turning to leave. “You’ll need your strength. I’m not wasting time on your whining.”

And with that, he walked out, leaving you in stunned silence.

You stared after him for a moment, then looked down at the steaming bowl in your hands. Despite your frustration, you took a sip of the soup. The rich, savory flavor hit your tongue, warming you from the inside. Typical Barou. Even in a world like this, he somehow made the best food.

As you ate, the two other men—Otoya and Karasu, as they had introduced themselves earlier—approached and settled nearby.

“So, what’s your deal?” Otoya asked, leaning back against the wall with a casual smirk.

You glanced up at him, unsure of how much to say. “I can’t help you. I need to find Sae,” you admitted, your voice firm.

Otoya raised an eyebrow at that. “Itoshi Sae? That’s who you’re looking for?”

Your eyes widened slightly, surprised he knew the name. “Yeah... wait, do you know him?”

Karasu laughed, the sound low and amused. “Do we know him?” He exchanged a look with Otoya, who chuckled as well.

You tilted your head, confused. “What? Why is that funny?”

Otoya leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You really don’t know what he did before he came here?”

You frowned, your gaze flickering between the two of them. “I do know. He’s a soccer player. Why? Was he famous or something?”

Both men froze, staring at you in disbelief. Otoya blinked, his expression somewhere between shock and exasperation. “Was he famous?” he repeated, his voice tinged with incredulity. “You really don’t know who you’ve been hanging around with, do you?”

Your cheeks flushed slightly, but you straightened your back. “I knew he was good at soccer, okay? He told me. I just didn’t realize he was... that famous.”

Karasu smirked, leaning back again. “Well, now you do. You’re rolling with someone who’s been in the spotlight his whole life. No wonder you’re trying to find him—he probably makes a great bodyguard.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but decided not to.

───🃁🃜🃚🃖🂭🂺🃁───

You really wanted to escape that day. Just give your thanks and run away to find Sae. But your body was too worn down, your mind too frazzled. If you tried to leave, you’d probably collapse somewhere along the way. Staying with Barou and the others felt like your only option, even if it gnawed at your pride.

The more time you spent with the trio, the heavier the weight of your insecurities became. Watching Otoya and Karasu move with precision and ease while Barou commanded the group with unshakable authority only served to remind you of how useless you felt. Every task Barou gave you seemed to highlight your flaws, but you couldn’t bring yourself to argue. Guilt gripped you tightly, reminding you how much of a burden you must have been to Sae—yet he never once complained.

Over time, you pieced together the answers to the questions you’d asked Barou before. After the bombing of your previous shelter and before being scouted to the Beach, Barou had established a sort of trailer park community in the outskirts. He still carried himself like the all-powerful king, but to his credit, he worked just as hard as anyone else. He protected the residents, shared resources, and upheld a semblance of order. His gruff demeanor remained, but there was an undeniable sense of responsibility behind it.

For reasons you couldn’t entirely explain, you began following Barou’s orders without question. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was the desperate need to keep moving, to keep your mind occupied. Whatever the reason, you found yourself falling into a rhythm, no matter how uncomfortable it made you feel.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and cast the trailer park in a warm, orange glow, you sat by yourself, staring at the skyline. Exhaustion seeped into your bones, but the stillness gave you space to reflect.

Barou’s voice broke the silence. “Still sitting there like a lump?”

You turned to see him standing a few feet away, his arms crossed and his usual scowl in place.

“I’m not a lump,” you muttered, but the fight in your voice was weak.

He stepped closer, his towering figure casting a long shadow over you. “You’ve been moping around long enough. Either do something useful or stop wasting everyone’s time.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m trying, okay? I’m just—” You stopped yourself, unsure of what to say.

Barou huffed, his gaze softening ever so slightly. “Trying doesn’t cut it in this place.”

His words stung, but deep down, you knew he was right.

You looked up at him, determination flickering in your eyes. “Then give me something to do. Something real. I’ll pull my weight.”

Barou smirked faintly, his sharp eyes gleaming in the fading light. “Good. Don’t make me regret saving your sorry ass.”

As he walked away, you felt a strange sense of resolve settle over you. You weren’t sure if you’d ever stop feeling like a burden, but for now, you’d keep moving forward. And when you found Sae again, you’d make sure to thank him properly—for everything.

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[vaguely-concerned]

it probably says something either sad or deeply unfortunate about me as a person, but I'm darkly amused to see some people react to the reveal of the ultimate permeability of souls in tlt as a triumphant thing -- the "you can't take 'loved' away!!!" side of it all -- when my first reaction was such an immediate wave of 'oh, oh so this is why this series is horror, I truly understand now' distress haha. ngl the final confirmation of the self not being inviolable in the deepest way freaks me the fuck out far more than any moment of body horror in the series has managed. (these two elements are of course the two sides of one thematic coin; it's about the horror of our bodies and minds and selves not being inviolable things, and about the effect of violence on them on so many different levels. violence psychological and interpersonal, physical, subtextually sexual, emotional, medical, political, a whole unlovely smörgåsbord of indignity and violation a person can be exposed to, and on a broader scale the spectrum of violence colonialism wields). The world and other people being capable of leaving indelible marks on us for good or ill through their presence in our lives is of course a pretty self-evident demonstrable truth in the real world, but somehow having it be proven metaphysically just uh. Fucks me up! 

It also drives home to me just how perfectly Muir has captured the dilemma at the heart of human connection and intimacy: the fact that the thing that gives us life and meaning is also capable of harming us so deeply. the same thing that can be so beautiful — even in a bittersweet, violently transformative form like with the creation of Paul — when done mutually and consensually and compassionately, is the same process that means someone like John can touch someone else's soul and 'after he's put his fingers on something, you'll never find anyone else's fingerprints on it; too much noise'. I think the text itself — the whole series, because to me this is what it is ultimately about, this tension between individuation/self vs. love/connection/enmeshment — is far more ambivalent in its treatment of it than saying it’s inherently a good thing or inherently a bad thing. The only thing it says for sure is that it is always a thing, that thinking you’re ever getting away from it is the height of futility, and that through being alive (or even through being dead lol) it is something you have to engage with in some way no matter what. Contact with other people is deeply necessary — without it we sicken and die. it can be the most beautiful and meaningful thing in a human life, and the most unspeakably horrific. All of these people are searching for some way to be whole, whether in total self-contained sufficiency on their own or in melding with someone else as their ‘other half’, and stumbling around in the dark they reach for each other and score deep wounds into the thing they’re trying to touch even when they don’t mean to. Taken to horrific extremes with the form of lyctorhood John guided his disciples to when they were ‘children — playing in the reflections of stars in a pool of water, thinking it was space’, because while people hurt each other all the time with differing levels of intentionality behind it, what John did was deliberate. It weaponizes the misapprehension of what closeness must be and destroys everyone involved in the process… and all because it leaves John the one sun their ruined lives have left to orbit around, because that’s the closest thing his soul will allow to connection. He doesn’t understand that to truly touch something you have to truly let it touch you back, and then wonders why he’s never satisfied.   

‘The horrors of love’ has been memed to death, I know, but… yeah. That is what it is, isn’t it.

[aventurineswife]

hello!! may I req platonic sunday, aventurine, blade and jing yuan with a teen!reader like ai hoshino?

reader is a talented and captivating idol/singer, but outside of their idol persona they are sort of empty, trying to understand love and often doing self-destructive things while doing so, and as a famous idol, they have a stalker problem too :(

Behind Every Smile, There’s A Heart Breaking

Tags: Sunday x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Blade x Reader, Jing Yuan x Reader, Teen!Reader, Platonic Relationships, Ai Hoshino based Reader, Angst, Self-Discovery, Idol Life, Vulnerability, Emotional Support, Reader has a Stalker, Inner Conflict, Mentorship, Protective Characters, Manipulation, Trauma, Solitude, Psychological Struggles, Emotional Support.

Warnings: Mentions of Stalking, Emotional Distress, Self-destructive Tendencies, Manipulation, Themes of Loneliness, Vulnerability, Existential Angst, And Mental Health Struggles.

You stood backstage, adjusting the microphone in your hand, the weight of the moment pressing on your shoulders. The bright stage lights did little to alleviate the feeling of emptiness that gnawed at you. On stage, you were a star—brilliant, magnetic, adored by millions. But offstage, the glitter faded, and the walls closed in. The adoration of your fans never filled the void inside, and despite the applause, you often found yourself grasping at an idea of love that seemed just out of reach.

Lately, it seemed like the only thing that kept you tethered to reality were the constant reminders that you were under surveillance. You had a stalker, someone who had made it their personal mission to track your every move. It was terrifying, and the fear of being watched sent shivers down your spine, but you couldn’t speak out. After all, you were an idol—the show must go on.

As you prepped for your next performance, you felt a presence behind you. The air shifted, and you turned to find Sunday standing at the doorway, his soft eyes observing you with a quiet intensity. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his gaze—something soft, perhaps even caring, that made you pause.

“You look troubled,” Sunday said, his voice gentle, almost too soft for someone usually as composed as he appeared. "What is it that's on your mind?"

You sighed, looking down at your shoes, the weight of everything threatening to crush you. “I just… sometimes I feel like I'm just pretending. Everyone loves the idol version of me, but outside of that, I'm just… lost. I don’t even know what love really is, and I can’t keep up this act forever. It’s exhausting.”

Sunday’s gaze softened further, and his wings fluttered subtly behind his ears, the feathers catching the light. He took a few steps forward, his presence comforting despite the distance you tried to maintain. “You’re not alone in feeling lost. Sometimes, the world demands so much from us, and we forget to ask ourselves if it’s what we truly want. But that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to understand love. To find it.”

You tilted your head, a flicker of curiosity in your eyes. "You... think it's possible? After all, everything feels like a game I can’t win."

Sunday’s expression grew even more solemn. “Love is not a game, [Name]. It’s not a thing to be won or lost. It’s something we discover in moments of vulnerability, in our weaknesses as much as our strengths. You don’t have to figure it out alone, and you don’t need to carry that weight all by yourself. If you ever want to talk about it… I’m here.”

His words held a gravity that you couldn’t ignore. For the first time in a long while, you felt the possibility of something real—something deeper than the fleeting affection from fans or the hollow praise of strangers. It wasn’t a solution, but it was a start.

You nodded, finally lifting your gaze to meet his. “Thanks, Sunday.”

With a warm, almost imperceptible smile, Sunday offered his hand. “Anytime, [Name]. You’re not alone in this, even if the world feels like it is.”

The glimmering lights of the casino were nothing compared to the brilliance of the crowd that surrounded you, cheering as you hit every note perfectly in tune. They adored you, and in return, you gave them the illusion of happiness. On stage, you were flawless—a talented idol who seemed untouchable. But in the solitude of your dressing room, away from the applause, you couldn’t shake the feeling of emptiness that haunted you. Fame felt like a cage, and the deeper you went, the more detached you became from the version of yourself they adored.

Tonight, you felt it stronger than ever—someone was watching you. The sense of dread that had followed you for days was now at its peak. You could feel eyes on your every movement, and it made your skin crawl. The door to your dressing room clicked open softly, and you turned to find Aventurine standing there, his eyes gleaming in the low light, a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes playing at the corners of his lips.

“You look troubled,” he remarked, his voice smooth, almost too smooth. “Is something weighing on you, [Name]?”

You froze for a moment, reluctant to voice your concerns. It was hard to speak about the things that gnawed at your soul, especially to someone like Aventurine. He was too calculating, too manipulative—yet, for some reason, you found yourself wanting to open up.

“I… I don’t know what’s real anymore. Out there, I’m everything people want me to be. I’m an idol, a singer, admired and adored. But when I take off the mask, I’m just this… hollow person. I don’t understand love, and I keep making mistakes… self-destructive ones. And there’s this stalker, someone who’s been following me, and I don’t know who I can trust.” you admitted, the words tumbling out.

Aventurine’s gaze flickered for a moment, his expression unreadable, but he said nothing. He stepped closer, the faintest hint of amusement in his eyes as he examined you like a puzzle to be solved.

“Trust is a delicate thing, isn’t it?” he mused. “So many people want to give it freely, and others… would rather hoard it. But that doesn’t change the fact that it’s a dangerous gamble. You, [Name], are a high-stakes game—your mind, your heart, everything you are. And you’re playing a game you might not be able to win.”

You blinked, startled by his frankness. “What do you mean?”

Aventurine smirked, tapping his fingers lightly on the side of his glass, as if deep in thought. “The truth is, people like us—those of us who play in the high stakes of fame and power—often lose sight of what really matters. People crave the illusion of control, the thrill of the game, but sometimes… they forget that the price of losing can be their very soul.”

He leaned in slightly, his eyes locking onto yours. “But I’ll let you in on a secret, [Name]. The greatest gambles are the ones we don’t make alone. Maybe you’ve lost a few rounds, but there’s always a new game. You don’t have to play it by the rules everyone else sets.”

You swallowed, unsure if you were supposed to be comforted or unnerved. Aventurine’s words were a mix of both, a careful balance of truth and manipulation that only he could wield.

“I don’t know what to do anymore…” you whispered.

“Then let me show you,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “Let me show you how to play the game and win. You might not understand love, but perhaps that’s just another game to be mastered.”

There was something both comforting and terrifying in his gaze—he understood you in ways no one else did, even if it came with a dangerous price.

Aventurine’s smile widened, a devilish glint in his eye as he offered you a hand, his voice low and enticing. “Shall we gamble, [Name]?”

Blade watches you perform from the shadows, his piercing eyes locked on your every move. On stage, you're nothing short of captivating—a star in your own right, your voice filling the room with an ethereal beauty. Yet, he can’t shake the feeling that something’s amiss. He’s seen it before in others: the void behind the glimmering façade, the emptiness that gnaws at the soul when the spotlight dims.

Off-stage, he knows the truth. He’s caught glimpses of the way you interact with your fans, the way your eyes, too, betray the emptiness you try so hard to hide. You’re lost, and it's evident in the way you spiral—pushing yourself to the brink, self-destructive tendencies lurking beneath the surface. Blade’s eyes narrow. He understands that kind of pain, that desire to disappear into oblivion, to break free from the chains that bind you to this hollow existence.

He doesn’t need to ask you about the stalker; he’s already seen the glint of fear in your eyes after your performances, the way your steps falter, and how you always look over your shoulder. Blade knows all too well the weight of being hunted, of feeling like your every move is being watched.

"You think you're strong," Blade murmurs, his voice low, "but you are already broken."

His words aren’t meant to harm; they’re a reflection of a truth he understands all too well. You’ve built a wall of smiles and cheers, but it’s fragile. Behind the glittering idol persona is a person in need of saving. Blade’s expression softens, just a fraction, a hint of something almost compassionate in his gaze.

“I don’t need to be saved,” you respond quietly, almost as if you’re convincing yourself. “I can handle it.”

His broken sword glints in the dim light, a sharp reminder of the destruction he’s already walked through. He steps forward, his presence imposing, but oddly calm. "You can try, but in the end, nothing can erase the cracks."

Blade doesn't offer false promises of rescue. Instead, his presence is one of quiet understanding—a dark figure who has also lost too much and wandered too far. If you need someone to guide you through the abyss, perhaps he's the last person you'd turn to. But for now, he stays close, a protector in the shadows. Because even if you don’t understand the need for help, Blade does.

Jing Yuan is known for his calm demeanor and calculated approach to leadership, but even he can’t ignore the weight you carry. As an idol, you shine brightly in the public eye, drawing attention with your talent and charm. But beneath the surface, Jing Yuan sees the fragility that you hide behind the mask of perfection.

He often watches you from a distance, his sharp eyes perceptive as always. You're young, far younger than most of the people he commands, and yet the burdens you carry seem to age you in a way that troubles him. He knows the toll fame takes on someone, how it chips away at your sense of self, leaving only fragments of the person you once were.

Jing Yuan never asks too much of you. He knows that sometimes, people who appear the strongest are the ones who need the most protection. He’s seen you falter off-stage, when the lights fade and the cameras stop rolling. The emptiness in your eyes, the uncertainty in your movements, it all speaks to a young soul adrift, unsure of where to go next.

"You need not bear this alone," he says softly one evening, his voice almost lost in the quiet hum of the room. You stand beside him, the weight of your burdens pressing down on you.

You glance up at him, a smile playing at the edges of your lips, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “I’m fine, really. I’ve got everything under control.”

Jing Yuan watches you for a long moment, his gaze steady and unyielding. He’s not here to lecture you, not to tell you what you should or shouldn’t do. He knows that advice falls on deaf ears when someone is as lost as you are. Instead, he offers his presence—quiet, reassuring, like the calm before a storm.

“Control is an illusion,” he murmurs, a deep understanding in his voice. “True strength is knowing when to ask for help.”

You stiffen, not used to hearing such vulnerability from someone like him, a leader so accustomed to managing others. But his words strike something within you, something buried beneath the surface. He’s not asking you to reveal everything. He’s simply offering the space to breathe, to exist without the pressure of having to perform for the world.

There’s a moment of silence between you, the two of you standing side by side, both aware of the quiet loneliness that you carry. Jing Yuan doesn’t speak again right away. He doesn’t need to. His quiet support is enough, a reminder that even those who walk the path of leadership carry their own burdens.

And for just a moment, you let yourself be still, feeling the weight of his unspoken understanding. Maybe, just maybe, you don’t have to fight this battle alone after all.

[heartbreakprincewille]

I think one of the key messages this season through Wilhelm's character was "love cannot solve your issues for you". It's a very common way of thinking when you are young. Many of us have fixated on a hope of finding someone and it will be a magical, fix-it-all solution to our personal and psychological issues. But it doesn't. Even if you find someone who comforts you in the worst of times, you are still responsible for dealing with your own issues.

We cannot decide if Wilhelm was right or wrong to think like that, it's a perspective you can gain only through living life experiences. But it does explain why Wilhelm was having such a hard time tackling his own issues. He was not expecting Simon to fix things for him, but he still thought of Simon as his Ultimate Emotional Support, that he can go through the worst of his issues if he has Simon by his side. But not only it hurted Simon in the process, but just doesn't work like that. You have to sit through uncomfortable emotions and situations. Not everything has an escape in life, and how you deal with it is your responsibility. Your partner is just there for you as an extra support, to share your distress as much as they share your joy. But it cannot fix your problems. Only you can.