#please if i am missing something please tell me

[sailorsoons]

Baby (k.sy)

Pairing: Soongyoung x f. reader

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

Word Count: 29,988

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

Type: Smut, Heavy Angst

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

Warnings: Full warnings available under the cut.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not any good.”

“That’s okay. I’ll let you beat me.” 

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

“No way!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Everyone treats me like a baby.” 

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

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

“What about you?” you ask. 

“What about me?” 

“Jump.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

“I have no idea.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Would you look at me?”

“No.”

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

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

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

“Just let me go!” 

“No. Why do you want me to kiss you?”

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

“Fuck - are you crying?”

“No.”

“Baby, look at me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi, Baby. What’s up?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go away.”

“Baby, please don’t start with me.”

“I’m not starting fuck with you.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not mad at you. Go away!”

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

“Please fuck off.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t feel very fun right now.”

“Drugs will fix it!” 

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

“Ignore him,” you insist. 

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

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

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

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

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

“So it is about her?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well fuck him!”

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

“I want to break her fucking face!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What? Why not?”

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

“The Tower doesn’t have to know.”

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

“Not if you tell them not to.”

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

“Angel said you had a bad day.”

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

You snort. “You tell her that.”

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

“I’m not helpless.”

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

“So you think I’m pretty?”

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

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

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

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

“What if I said I did?” 

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

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

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

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

Soonyoung also probably would have had them beaten. 

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

“What?” you ask. 

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

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

“And?”

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re gross.” 

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

“A present?”

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

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

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

“Bring it over here.” 

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

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

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

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

“And what is this gift for?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

He nods. “Good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.” 

Both you realize. You can deal with both. 

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

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

He shrugs you off. “Not mine.” 

“I - what’s going on?” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Let me call Vernon-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not made for you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh yeah? Like what?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The Yongs are doing it outright?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Soonyoung is below your station, though. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At least you know where your stubborn streak comes from. 

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

“That’s because he’s a man.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’d fallen in love with her that night. 

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

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

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

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

You are going to marry the Kim family heir.

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

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

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

“I don’t understand.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You will not!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mother will not let you-”

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

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

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

I’m not made for you. 

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

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

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

“Yes, Tower.”

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

“Yes, Tower.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hmm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He looks doubtful. “Alright.”

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

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I just want to shower.” 

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

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

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

“You can go,” you say sharply. 

“Alright.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The older generation, though- 

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

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

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

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

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

Steadfast is the mountain. 

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

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

Steadfast is the mountain. 

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m marrying Kim Yijun.” 

A beat passes. Then another. 

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

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

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

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

“You’re not fucking marrying Kim Yijun.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Home?” 

“The Choi Estate.” 

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

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

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

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

No. No no no no no. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why are you pointing a gun at me?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It worked. Let’s go.”

“Are you fucking crazy?”

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

“Why?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you trying to kill us?”

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

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

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

“So what, you check on me?”

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

“The Tower personally requested I come get you.” 

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

“What’s happened?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Seungcheol hardly takes what I say to heart.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s not Kwon Soonyoung. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

But if the Kim family turned to the Yong family… 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which is something you still worry about. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I already took her phone and her gun.”

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

“Or that psycho fuck,” Yijun mutters. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Angel, I think.”

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

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

The Tower has fallen.

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

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

Steadfast is the mountain, but the fire does burn. 

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

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

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

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

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

You’ve endured for nothing. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where are you in the house?” 

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

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

“Yes.”

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

“You need to warn-”

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

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

“Do you have frostbyte?”

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

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

“Okay.” 

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

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

“Okay.”

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

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

You whisper back, “I love you.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And again and again and again - 

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

And again and again and again - 

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

And again and again and again -

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

Again and AGAINANDAGAINANDAGAINAND- 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ribs.” 

“Left or right?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah of course.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Is it terrible?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe she can. Seeing what is rotting people on the inside and sniffing out their weaknesses is what she does best. 

Instead of pointing out where you hurt, she manages to get you into the bathroom. It’s spacious but not grand like what you’re used to - it’s small. Safe. She starts the shower and backs away, helping you get out of your bloody clothing. 

Everything hurts so bad. Your ribs ache, the bruising on them blotchy and horrendous as Angel peels back your shirt. She thankfully doesn’t react - she’s seen worse and done worse. Suddenly, you realize why Soonyoung picked her to help you. She’s steady, her fingers sure as she holds your arm while you pull your pants down.

You don’t dare look in the mirror. From what you can see without it, it’s already bad enough. Yijun hadn’t dealt fatal damage, but you know you’re bruised and covered in dry, flaking blood. 

Angel leaves you in the shower, shutting the door to go sit on the sink, a guardian willing to give you space but ready to help when you need it. Shaking, you shuffle into the stream of hot water, hissing when it hits your skin. 

It’s both heaven and hell. The hot water feels so good on your aching muscles and throbbing pain, but it also hurts when the water taps against your nose, reminding you that it is indeed broken. You suck in sharp air as you slowly begin to work your fingers into your skin, turning the water pink as you wash off the blood. 

Blood that belongs to you. Blood that belongs to Yijun.

Yijun. 

You’re not sorry you killed him. It was satisfying and necessary. But… the weight of your grief comes crashing into you. You could have killed him years ago and ran. Could have gone crawling back to Soonyoung and asked for his help. Could have told him that the only reason you ever agreed to marry him in the first place was to protect him. 

None of it mattered. You bought him a paltry couple years worth of protection and for what? To shackle yourself to a man who thought little of you, who wanted to fuck you until you gave him another version of himself, who wanted to kill you at every moment because he knew you didn’t respect him and because he was afraid of you and the way you command respect from your family, but he never did.

All that time you’d made yourself smaller for him. Held back your bite. Hid your teeth. Mourned Soonyoung everyday, knowing that you’d never touch him again, that he would never kiss you again, that you’d never wake up in the morning when he got home from work and crawled into bed with you.

A potential lifetime of happiness, one of your own making, wasted on a promise that they broke anyway. 

For nothing. It had been for nothing, you’d hurt Soonyoung for nothing, shut him out, promised you would never leave him and threw him away, forced him to jump for you, forced him to leave you when he said he wouldn’t all for nothing nothing nothing nothing notHING NOTHINGNOTHINGNOTHINGNOTHING-

Angel’s arms are around you. You startle, looking up to see that she is in the shower fully clothed, holding you to her. You hadn’t realized you’d been crying - screaming - in the shower. She presses you closer to her, the only way she knows how to tell you that she’s got you. She’s there. She understands. 

You crumble, leaning heavily on her as you let it out, sobbing. Your throat is raw, your face throbbing each time you squeeze your eyes shut. Angel says nothing, content to hold you while her clothes soak up the water, weighing her down as you let out your grief in full, ugly waves. 

Eventually, the water starts to get cold and your tears start to dry up. You sniff and groan, the pain in your face so poignant that it can’t be ignored. Lifting your head from her shoulder, you glance at her boots, soaked and murky red around the edges.

“Can I tell you something?” Angel asks, voice low. You nod. She hesitates, putting the words together before she says, “He’s going to accept you back. He’s going to do it with no conditions, and ask nothing of you. You’re going to want to torture yourself and beg for his forgiveness and deny yourself of him because you think you should be punished, that there is not a god powerful enough to hurt you the way you deserve.”

You blink in surprise. Angel isn’t religious, despite the nickname. She also isn’t overly emotional or wordy. But you see the severity in which she tells you this, see the pain in her eyes. You remember that she has demons far older than yours, ones that have followed her since childhood. 

And she’s right. She reads you like a book, seeing the fucking pain radiating inside of you, the desire to be punished and hated and whipped- 

“Let him take you back.” Her words are firm. “Don’t make him punish you. Don’t believe for a second that Soonyoung wants to make you pay. He doesn’t. He doesn’t care what you did or why. Just… let him have you. You’ve endured enough.” 

You nod. “Alright. I’ll try.”

“Good. Um - can we get out of the shower though? It’s very cold in here.” 

You laugh, immediately followed by a groan. “Please don’t make me laugh. I am in so much pain.” 

“Yeah, let’s go get you some drugs, dude.” 

The three Syndicates of the city are officially at war. Of all the news that has poured in over the last few days, this is the least surprising. When you’d seen Seungcheol that first night after everything went to hell, he’d held you close and promised that he would kill every last Kim in the city.

He had also told you he was proud of you. Not just for surviving Yijun long enough for Soonyoung to come get you, but for being able to warn the family what was coming. Your single warning alone had saved them a great deal and wounded the Kim Syndicate more than you could understand. 

The days following your father’s death are strange. It doesn’t feel like he’s dead - at least, you haven’t truly processed it yet. There are things that demand your attention like being seen by Dr. Ymir for your fractured nose and bruised ribs, and the accounts and logistics of what being at war with the Kim and Yong family truly means. 

On the fifth day at the safe house, you go back home. Seungcheol makes you ride with him, unwilling to let you out of his sight these days. You’re the only two members of the Choi family left, and it’s up to the two of you to rally the troops and remind everyone what the mountain can do. 

Seungcheol replaces your father as the Tower of the Choi Syndicate. Typically there’s a small ceremony to pass the torch so to speak, but there’s no time for that. Seungcheol is buried in problems and trying to maneuver the family into a favorable position, but it’s hard - the Yongs and Kims have been preparing this for a while. 

You’re suddenly given a job again. Fresh in his position leading the family, Seungcheol needs those he trusts by his side, immediately appointing you as the Architect of the Syndicate. There’s no one he trusts more with the finances and the logistics of the businesses under the Choi banner and who have pledged to his family. 

With Yoon Minji’s death, Jeonghan’s takes his rightful side as the Wisdom and second in command to Seungcheol. It’s like you’d always known it would be as a kid, but it brings you no joy to see the two of them together in an office until the early hours of the morning, worn at the edges and sick with the grief they’re ignoring to push forward. 

With no surprise, Seungcheol immediately promotes Soonyoung to the lead military position, rising from Sword to Sentinel in a single night. It’s the same position his father held under your father, and Soonyoung takes it with steely resolve. 

It also means you don’t see him. You move back into your old room at home. At first, it doesn’t feel like your room at all because Soonyoung isn't in it. He had moved into your room when you first started dating, spending two years in that bed with you. Now, he’s taken up residence in his room down the hall, so close and yet the distance feels larger than ever. 

Of all the problems mounting for you to solve, Soonyoung is the most important. You know he shouldn’t be. There are a thousand other things that you need to figure out, like how to assure that the businesses you own in and near the Kim and Yong family territories won’t go under or be attacked, or how to assure that payment to the family won’t increase now that there’s a fight. 

Your days are filled with countless meetings, assuring loyal patrons that the Choi Syndicate will not fall and will not fail them, and that the Choi’s protect their own. You can see the fear in people’s eyes - the city hasn’t had the big three at war in a long time. Already the city officials are cracking down on Syndicate activity to try and establish order. 

It’s farcical at best. 

Squeezing your temples between your fingers, you lean back from the desk in your newly appointed office - which is really just your father’s. It feels weird to be in here. It still smells like leather and sweet tobacco, a little bit of smoke hanging in the air. 

The last time you’d been in this office, you’d fallen to your knees and begged him not to make you marry Kim Yijun. Now you sit at the desk, hanging up the phone as another call ends - not as bad as the first, but not as good as you’d hoped. 

Quickly, you scribble down a summary of the call to give to Seungcheol. You know he’ll read every word you write, determined to hear each concern of those under Choi patronage, whether they’re valid or not. 

At the sound of the door opening, you glance up. Soonyoung sticks his head in, surprising you. You straighten in your seat, heart racing when you take him in. His silver hair has grown longer, tapered a bit at the neck. He’s dressed in all black but he’s clean, indicating that he showered not that long ago. You thought he would be out all day like usual, looking at your watch to see he’s back far earlier than normal.

“Is everything alright?” You start to get up and he rushes to you, hands lifting to help you. “I’m alright. I am well on the mend.”

He chews his lip, nodding before dropping his hands hesitantly. “Everything’s fine I just.” He hesitates. “Do you want to eat lunch?” 

“Oh. Sure.”

Soonyoung’s smile is tentative. Shy. You give him one back, following him out of the office while sending a quick note to Jihoon that you’ll meet with him later. He sends a thumbs down back, less than pleased that you’ve not made time to talk to him about your potential murder charges for Yijun. 

“Are you busy? We don’t have to-”

“It’s just Jihoon.” 

“Ah. He’s persistent, are you sure-”

“I want to have lunch with you, Soonyoung.” 

He blushes and you grin. “Alright,” he murmurs. “When you say jump and all that.” 

That makes you pause. “You don’t have to do anything I tell you.” 

“What?” He stops walking, confused. 

“You don’t have to ask how high if I tell you to jump... I’m wrong a lot of the time. I don’t… want to be that.” 

I don’t want to repeat my mistakes. You don’t say it, but you think Soonyoung senses it when he says, “I’ve always wanted to jump for you. That hasn’t changed.” 

Let him take you back. Don’t make him punish you. 

Angel’s words come back to you so you swallow down your guilt and you nod, giving him a tentative smile that he returns. This time, he holds out his hand to take you in the kitchen. You take it, the feeling of his fingers wrapping around yours both foreign and familiar. 

The way he holds your hand in his makes you tremble. It’s something so simple and benign and yet you’re screaming on the inside, looking at where your fingers twine together like it’s everything, like it’s the only thing. 

Lunch consists of very badly burned grilled cheese. You don’t care because Soonyoung makes it, insistent that he wants to and that he can. He’s good at a lot of things, particularly on the spectrum of murder and weapons, but he is terrible at putting bread, cheese and butter in a pan. 

You eat it anyway, burnt bread and all. He sits next to you, his stool pulled so close that your thighs touch. You want to reach out and brush your fingers across his face, down his neck, through his hair. You want to touch until you’re grabbing, grab until you’re pulling. 

Instead, you let him lead this dance, too afraid to initiate. 

Let him take you back. Don’t make him punish you. 

You don’t, but you can’t let go of the fear of rejection. Can’t bring yourself to toe the line beyond what he’s giving you, which is more than you ever dreamed of. So you accept when he offers to take your plate, fingers brushing over the top of your hand either by design or by accident you don’t know. His touch makes you shiver and he notices, pausing. 

Slowly, you look up at Soonyoung. His eyes are dark and misty as ever, churning with emotion that you’re a little too afraid to read. Instead of taking the plates to the sink, he sets them down and reaches for you, cradling your face in his hands. 

A sob works its way up your throat but you force it down. You will not cry over this. You will not make him comfort you. 

“Are you afraid to touch me?” His question is gentle. You nod, eyes fluttering shut as his thumb brushes back and forth across your cheekbone. “Why?” 

“I… want to so badly. I just want it to be your choice.” 

“I want you to.” You open your eyes. His earnestness is right on the surface of him, rippling for you to see. “I’m dying for it. Please.” 

Soonyoung’s please sounds like that morning he’d begged you all that time ago. It freezes you in place, heart beating like a prey animal in fight or flight. He steps closer, his breath on your forehead when he whispers, “Please.” 

Slowly, you bring your hands up to his wrists. Licking your lips, you place your hands on him. His eyes close. His skin is warm to the touch and you feel him tremble as you brush your hands upward, tracing his forearms, his corded biceps. You brush your fingertips over the sleeves of his shirt and toward his neck until you’re cupping his throat, your thumbs resting against his hammering pulse. 

You close your eyes, remaining still. Both of you remain that way, his hands on your face, yours on his neck. You’re shaking under his touch, feel his breath against your forehead. His fingers add a little pressure to your face, careful not to hurt you where your bruise is finally fading on your nose as he turns you to look up at him. 

Soonyoung licks his lips, eyes open. “There is not a second I didn’t love you.”

And there it is. The admission that he never hated you. You bet he tried - you know he tried. You know the inside of Soonyoung’s soul better than you know your own, no part of him hidden to you even with time. 

“I don’t care why you did it,” he continues. “Not anymore. Not after everything. I don’t care about any of it. I just… want you.”

“Soonyoung-”

“I know you’re sorry. I know you hate yourself. I know there is guilt eating away at you. Get over it, because none of it changes how I feel. I love you. You’re mine. I don’t want to leave you again. You cannot make me.” 

“I know. I won’t make you.” 

“Good.” Soonyoung presses his forehead to yours gently. He’s careful not to knock noses with you too hard, aware of the pain it’ll cause. “I cannot do any of this without you.” 

“I know.”

Soonyoung’s mouth is tentative when it presses against yours. Your grip on him tightens, leaning forward into the kiss. It is everything - the only thing. You feel something wet on your face, thinking that you’ve got another nosebleed, but when you pull away, you realize it’s because Soonyoung is crying.

Crying for the first time since his parents died. 

You stand up from the stool, gripping the back of his neck to pull him toward you. He melts under your touch, letting you meld your mouths together. He tastes like his burnt sandwich and like him, his mouth warm and wet against yours. Vanilla and sandalwood invade your senses, overwhelming as you grip him for dear life, never wanting to let him go.

He doesn’t want to let you go either. His grip on your hips is crushing, fingers digging into flesh and bone as though he can force you to become one. The thought makes you dizzy. You slide your fingers in his silk-soft hair, wrapping the strands around them to pull lightly, pull him closer, pull him to you, pull him back. 

Soonyoung whines against your mouth and you break the kiss, panting. “Take me upstairs,” you whisper between peppering kissing against his mouth, his bottom lip, the corner of his lips. “Please take me upstairs.” 

He does. Soonyoung grabs you by the hands, tugging you toward the stairs that lead to your room - the room you used to share. The room that still smells like him, even if faintly. He takes you to your bed, where you’ve spent hundreds of nights with him, and lays you down gently like he has a million times before. 

Soonyoung touches you like you’re holy. His hands skim over you in worship, they scratch you in penance, they hold you in reverence. He slots himself between your knees, stealing a kiss from you like it’ll breathe new life into him, bare him anew, purge him of sin. 

You love him. You love him you love him you love him you love him you love him -

A moan leaves his mouth when your nails drag down his back. He is quaking under your touch, his mouth hungry but careful against yours, wanting to swallow you whole but knowing you’re hurt. You know he won’t break you but you wish he would.

There’s time for that later. Now isn’t the time for rough and biting. Now, Soonyoung peels the shirt from your skin, immediately covering your arms, chest, collarbones, shoulders in kisses. You vibrate under his touch, lashes fluttering as he sucks at the sensitive skin of your neck, tongue pressed flat to your pulse as he tastes you. 

You tug at his shirt and he complies, leaning upward to toss it. He’s back on you in a second, pressing you close, hip to hip as he tangles his tongue with yours, drinking you in. His touch ignites a fire and you’re burning, a complete inferno as you drag your fingers up the hard contour of his stomach to the firmness of his chest and around to his shoulders. 

“I love you,” he mutters against your mouth, rolling his hips into you. You let out a breathy sound and he groans. “Fuck I love you. I missed you. I love you.” 

“Please,” you beg. He understands, burying his face in your neck and biting down lightly. You feel like you’re going to burn up under him, an out of control blaze while his fingers work the buttons on your pants. “Never let me go.”

“Never.” 

Jeans scrape down your legs, his hands following. He drags his blunt nails down your thighs. Your hips twitch upward, loving the scratch, loving the way he touches you, loving him. He returns his mouth to yours, unable to get enough of your kissing. 

Soonyoung’s hand slips between your thighs, the pads of his fingers pressing against your clit through your underwear. You keen for him, pulling at the long strands of hair at the back of his neck. He moans in tandem, his pleasure driven by yours, loving the way you sound as you start to come apart under the gentle circle of his fingers. 

He only teases you a little, knowing the friction with the fabric between his fingers and your aching cunt isn’t enough. He finally decides that you’ve had enough, hooking a finger to pull them aside, the cool air hitting your sticky folds. 

Before you can complain, Soonyoung’s touch is there. He drags his fingers slow-soft from top to bottom, circling your clit slowly. He’s not in a hurry, dragging it out as he sucks your tongue into his mouth, sliding his fingers back down to press against your entrance but not breach it. 

You whine and he grins, pulling your bottom lip with his teeth until he lets go with a pop. “I love those sounds you make.” 

“Feels good,” you admit, head falling to the side as you close your eyes, enjoying the pressure he puts on your clit, wiggling his fingers back and forth. Your thighs close around his hand but he’s unbothered, drawing more arousal from you as he plays. “Fuck, your fingers.” 

His laugh is throaty and he shakes his head, attaching his mouth to your jaw where he sucks at the skin. He makes himself comfortable with nibbling toward your neck, both of his hands reaching for the sides of your underwear to pull them down. You let him, folding your knees toward your for a moment to help. 

Soonyoung’s hand returns to the wetness between your legs except this time, he’s not teasing. He presses a finger in deep and you whine, hips wiggling. You squeeze down on his finger, pussy spasming as he begins to pump leisurely, like he has all the time in the world.

And he does, doesn’t he? The work is far from done and the world is falling apart, but it doesn’t matter because he’s here with you. Because Soonyoung is yours again - always has been - and because he’s drawing your mouth toward his to kiss you messily, swallowing down your moans as he presses in another finger. 

Now you crumble beneath him. You can’t stop your hips from coming off the bed. You loop your arms around his neck, keeping him close, breathing the same air. He presses his forehead to yours, eyes impossible dark and half-lidded as he hooks his fingers, dragging them against that sensitive spot. 

You cry out his name and he grins. Now he knows where it is, pressing repeatedly as he fucks you on his fingers, driving you directly toward an orgasm. Your breathing becomes labored, your legs squeezing his hips, your fingers digging into his shoulders. It is so good that you think you might die, letting him yank you toward release. 

Soonyoung kisses you again and you come crashing down, cumming around his fingers, body squeezing, ignoring the ache in your ribs and the millions of other places that you’re sore. He doesn’t slow down, scissoring his fingers to pry you open, to stretch you more.

“Soonyoung,” you gasp, voice wrecked. “Soonyoung Soonyoung Soonyoung.” 

“Just like that,” he agrees. You can tell he loves the way you say his name, knows that on your tongue it means something different. “Come on, one more.” 

You’ll give him anything he wants. Never again will you deny him. You let him work you up again, feeling the way your breath gets stuck in your lungs and you shiver, another wave washing through you as you shudder around his fingers. 

When you start to pant, he pulls his fingers out. You feel the wet schlick as he does, immediately hating the way you feel empty, hating the way he leans away from you. Whining, you reach out toward him, needy. He hushes you with a brief kiss, only standing to rid himself of his jeans and briefs. 

Using the fingers covered in your arousal, Soonyoung pumps his cock, smearing a mixture of your slick and his precum down his shaft as he kneels on the bed again, taking his place between your thighs again. You watch with hooded eyes as he rubs the head of his cock through your messy folds, a moan dripping from your lips. 

Soonyoung is beautiful, skin flushed and a sheen of sweat on his arms. His stomach flexes and clenches as he presses the tip of his cock into your entrance, both of you taking a shaky breath together. He slowly slides home, the stretch of him driving you wild, pussy fluttering around him until he’s slotted to the hilt. 

He hangs his head, panting as he plants his hands on either side of your head. He takes a moment to collect himself, shaking. You turn your head to the side, kissing his wrist, peppering any skin you can reach with your love while your hands drift up his back, feeling the muscles flex. 

When he begins to move, you nearly die. It feels so good, your breath lodged in your throat. He lowers his face to yours, kissing you as gently as he fucks you. His thrusts are deep and timed, not hard or fast but slow and measured, pressing all the way in as he uses his weight to his advantage. 

Your fingers turn to talons on his back, nails biting his shoulder blades. He’s precise, the tip of his cock finding the right angle to make you nearly sob in a matter of a few thrusts. It’s familiar. Home. 

Soonyoung lowers himself to his forearms, pressing your chests together. The friction of his skin against your pert nipples makes you squeeze around him, his name a whisper on swollen, kiss-bitten lips. He presses his forehead to yours, breathing shakily as he continues to fuck you.

You feel him everywhere, feel everything that he wants to say. Soonyoung has never needed words to communicate to you and he doesn’t now, the way he shakes as he lets out a wispy moan enough, the way he slides one of his arms under your back to cradle you to his chest, closer closer closer.

He wants to be closer and so do you, arms around his neck, drawing him to you. You never want to let him go, never will let him go. You’ve learned your lesson and this, right here with him is the only thing that matters. 

“Shh,” he hushes. You realize you’re crying, tasting salt on your lips when he brushes his mouth against yours. “I know.” 

“I love you.”

“I know.” 

Soonyoung’s pace picks up only a little bit. It’s enough, sending you careening toward your third orgasm. He can feel it - needs it. He chases after your high, catching your mouth to brush his tongue against yours, rolling his hips until you’re clenching around him, whining into his mouth, lips buzzing against his.

He hums against you, waiting until your pussy lets go of its vice grip to speed up a little bit, the wet smack of his hips against yours loud and lewd, driving him forward until he comes, your name on his lips, his face buried in your neck. His thrusts slow, both of you trembling like leaves until he finally stops, remaining seated inside of you. 

“I will love you for a thousand lifetimes,” he mutters against your mouth, with no intention of moving. “You know that, right Baby?” 

You nod, fingers digging into his shoulder blades. “Leave me at your own peril, Kwon Soonyoung,” you rasp, quoting yourself that first night he finally caved, where he finally told you that he couldn’t exist without you. “I will never go anywhere ever again.” 

TAG LIST

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SYNDICATE ROLES

Tower - title for a Syndicate boss Wisdom - title for the second-in-command to a Sydicate boss Sentinel - title for the main military leader of a Syndicate Riots - title for a member of the Syndicate responsible for sowing discord Swords - title for a member of the Syndicate who is a fighter/military role Chariots - members of the Syndicate who make deals/act as business brokers Rooks - members of the Syndicate who collect debts/lead the extortion practices Justices - members of the Syndicate on the legal counsel Hanged Men - members of the Syndicate who betrayed their Syndicate Watchers - members of a Syndicate who are spies/informants Patrons - citizens who pay homage/have an alliance/are under the protection of a Syndicate Vanguard - official members of the Syndicate who don't have specific roles but do work for the Syndicate

[thefrontmanscockwarmer]

Obsession (Part 2)

Player 001 x reader

Masterlist <- Comment on this post to be added to the tag list

Part 1

Tw: stalker!In Ho

Note: (c/n) stand for cat name

5 years had gone by and all In Ho had to go off of were bank statements and transactions to know where you were and if you were still alive. He knew where you lived, your favorite places to eat, to watch movies, and where your favorite shop was. He also knows you have new kitten, but not his name, probably something like (c/n).

No new lover. Nothing since you left. You picked up a job as a (whatever you wanna be), and were living. He knew in his mind the reason you couldn’t move on was because of him and he knew it.

He snuck around and watched you through plain view. Sometimes he sent people to watch you and report back to him. Other times, he’d travel to where you were and stalk you, follow you to the market, ducking you between isles, or on the train, watching you through a crowd of people.

He would stand in front of the cottage you bought on the edge of town, how easy it’d be to take you. You had a bad habit of leaving your windows open. Leaving your life open for all to see. He’s watched you masturbate more times than he can count. He has videos of you throwing your head back as you cum. Your moans quietly seeping through the window. He would jerk off at the same time, cumming in the darkness as he watched you, leaving his cum on the flowers that you planted along the walls of your house.

He hated to admit to himself but he was jerking off to you almost every right, smelling your jacket like a sick man. I am sick he admitted.

So many days and nights he was grabbing onto his bed sheets, pressed up against his shower wall or even in his chair by the big screen, he was cumming for you, with you in mind, he missed you. But he missed your pussy more. Today, he was determined to get it. He approached you as you drank a coffee, typing on your laptop.

“Hello ma’am” he bowed “would you like to hear about your lord and savior Jesus Christ?”

“No, not right n-“ you stopped. “What’re you doing here, In Ho? It’s been 5 years, do you think what I said changed?” You say coldly.

“I know it hasn’t.” He sat before you can continue speaking. “I miss you (y/n). I mean, really fucking miss you. It’s been a lonely 5 years, I miss your smell, your touch, your hair. I miss the way you talk and your smile. I just miss you”

“You know, for a very intelligent man, you’re acting and sounding really fucking stupid.” You scoff rolling your eyes at him. “I mean, you miss me. So what? I miss Young il, but I’m never getting him back, am I?”

“But I’m right here?”

“No… you aren’t young il… I don’t know you”

“And what, you think I lied?!” You nodded. “About what? Huh? What would I possibly lie to you about?”

“Everything, that whole relationship we developed, that sex we had, that love.” You say. “As far as I’m concerned, Young il was an angel and you don’t even exist.”

“But my wallet does?”

“Honestly, you can have your card back.” You shake your head. “I don’t need dirty money”

“It’s clean. It comes from the stocks i invest in. Really (y/n), do you honestly think I’d give you game money?” He looks at you intensely. He wanted to tell you how attracted to you he still was. How his cock still aches for you. How he just wishes to fuck you. It was sitting across from you that he realized he was going to fuck you… whether you liked it or not.

“What do you want?” You sighed finally.

“One date with you. Please.” He stated. He knew deep in his heart that you still wanted him, you yearned for him. He needed you.

“No” you say and stand up.

“Look, one date, to show you who I really am as a person.” He argued. “Who I am outside of those damned games that ruined us. If after that you still decide you hate me, that’ll be all. You can live your life and I can live mine knowing at least I tried to make it better” he pleaded. His eyes pulling at your heart strings as they once did. You saw Young il for a brief moment, before seeing In Ho. You saw the man that was so sweet and gentle.

“Fine. One.” you conceded. You traded numbers and you left. Not knowing that In Ho could now tap your phone, could ruin your whole life. But truly the only thing he wanted to ruin was you.

You made it to your little cottage. It stood on the edge of the city with a small village of cottage farmers surrounding it. Fluffy baby cows and little lambs screamed at you from your neighbors house. Horses neighbors and goats cried. Your life was perfect, this place was perfect. Young il would have loved it… In Ho obviously prefers different style of life. Black and gold, power, money.

“Hi (c/n)” you say as he purred at you. He looped around you as you walked further into your house. You placed your items on your kitchen table. It was already 6. You cooked some dinner and watched an American drama you found on Netflix. Laughing along with the characters.

In Ho made it to his own home. The black and gold now insulted his eyes, it had ever since he saw the disgust on your face while you spoke angry and heartbroken. He sat at his computer, plugging in his phone. He stayed up for hours, deep into the night, hacking into your phone.

“Photos” he said aloud as he clicked it. He found a treasure trove of pictures. You with some friends, with family, birthdays, dinners, then he found your private photos.

“Let’s see (y/n), what do you do all alone” he whispered opening it. Pictures and videos of yourself floated into view, things other men should never see. Disgusting men like him should never see. He quickly searched through your sent and deleted messages, as far back as he could go, they’d never been sent. He returned back to the photos and stared at each on individually, videos playing, hardening his cock.

In Ho began to touch himself as he watched, his hand moving in sync with yours on the screen. He felt like he was participating in your intimate moment, like an invisible partner who you couldn't see or feel but was there nonetheless. He couldn’t help but freely moan into the emptiness of his room.

As the video played on, In Ho's movements became faster and more urgent. He could feel himself getting closer to climax, his heart pounding in his chest. He felt like a teenager again, watching porn, anxious that his parents may walk in. The thought that these were moments meant for no one else's eyes but yours made it even more exhilarating for him.

“I’m gonna cum” you said on camera. To him. “Oh my god, I’m gonna fucking cum” In Ho was getting sent into overdrive heavy sighs coursing through his lungs. “Oh god, Young il, I’m gonna cum on your fingers” he lost it. You were pleasuring to the thought of him, maybe his over persona, but still him nonetheless.

With one final stroke from you on screen and a simultaneous motion from In Ho's own hand came the peak of pleasure for him followed closely by release. His orgasm washed over him so strongly it left him gasping loudly within seconds all over both his keyboard and along edges near the monitor until reaching very tip top edge finally. He was panting, falling backwards, sinking deep into his chair. Cum heavily covered his desk space, now stained forevermore, a mess entirely due to a solely singular sickening act alone performed freely without fear. Through his sinful act.

If you knew would you forgive him?

[sinnabarmoth]

Under the Weather

Pairing: Sylus x Fem|Reader

Prompt: Mini fic of Reader being a soft!dom with the lads. (Not necessarily sexual, just sweet 'let me take care of you' vibes)

Word count: 1k

Links to the other lads: (Rafayel) (Xavier) (Zayne)

“Miss! You have to come over right away! He won’t listen to anyone else we fear. Please come as soon as you can!” Was the message that Luke and Kieran had left on your phone. Panicked that Sylus was doing something stupid and reckless, even for him, you sped over to the N109 zone as fast as you could.

You pulled up to the mansion and rushed inside. “Luke, Kieran, what is it? What’s going on with Sylus?”

“He’s back in his bedroom,” Luke said, “He won’t let us in.”

“But what happened?”

“You just need to see for yourself. Please, you’re our only hope.” Kieran ushered you back to Sylus’s bedroom.

You were scared about what you may end up finding on the other side of that door. Whatever Sylus was doing that had the twins this concerned couldn’t be good. You took a deep breath and knocked. “Sylus? Are you in there?”

“Go away.” he called through the door but he didn’t sound right.

“Not a chance, babe.” you opened the door but didn’t immediately see him. “Sylus?”

“I said to go away.” you turned toward the bathroom and found your boyfriend sitting on the floor, his face pressed against the seat of the toilet. When he saw you he groaned. “I told them not to call you.”

“Are you…are you sick?” you knelt down next to him and felt his forehead. “Oh god, Sylus, you’re burning up.”

“It’s just a cold. I’m fine.”

“Uh huh, just a cold. That’s why you’re in here hovering over the toilet.” you rolled your eyes. “Have you even taken any medicine?”

His frown deepened. “For the love of--” you stood up and rifled through his cabinets and pulled out some fever and flu medicine. “Take these.” you put the pills in his hand and got him a cup of water. “Drink.”

He must not have had the energy to fight you because he did as you commanded without even a little pushback. Any other time he was such a brat. This fever must be really hard on him. “Keep drinking, we don’t need you getting dehydrated.” you kept the cup to his lips, not stopping until he had drank everything.

“Thank you. I’ll be fine now.” he said.

“If you think you’re getting rid of me that easily you are sorely mistaken.” you grabbed a small hand towel and soaked it in cold water. You pressed it against his burning face and you saw the way he sighed in relief. “Honestly, I’m kind of surprised you can even get sick.”

“I’m just full of surprises.” he sighed. For someone who was already pale he looked positively pallid now.

“Come on, let’s get you to the bed.” you helped pull him to his feet, taking it slow so his legs didn’t give out underneath him. As gently as you could you set him back down on the bed and pressed the cool towel to his forehead. You then grabbed a trash can and set it next to the bed just in case he had to puke.

“My poor guy,” you grabbed another towel and started wiping away the sweat on his neck. “Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling well?”

“I was handling it.” he said.

“Very poorly. If you weren’t already sick I’d punish you for taking such poor care of yourself.” you sat next to him on the bed. “You don’t need to be embarrassed about needing help, Sylus. If I was sick and I tried to hide it from you, how would you react?”

He closed his eyes. “I’d say you were an idiot.”

“Exactly. And now, I don’t want to have to take advantage of a sick person but desperate times call for desperate measures. Until you are feeling well again I am in charge of you. Understood?”

A breath of a chuckle left him. “Yes, kitten.”

“Good. Have you tried eating anything yet today?”

“Been a bit preoccupied.”

“Got it. Be right back.” you went out to the kitchen and started rifling through the cabinets, finding some instant oatmeal and bananas. You assured Luke and Kieran that you had Sylus well in hand and that they didn’t need to worry about him. They both looked relieved. They cared about their boss so much, it was cute.

You also quickly brewed some tea and brought the tray of food back to his room. “This should be easy enough on your stomach.” you set the tray down on the bed and spooned some oatmeal up. “Open.”

“Feeding me now?”

“If you want to do it yourself--” he cut you off by licking the spoon clean. “That’s better.”

You kept feeding him bites of oatmeal and giving him sips of tea until some of the color started to return to his face. “Looks like the medicine is finally starting to kick in.” you replaced the cloth on his forehead for a fresh one. “Feeling any better?”

“Much. But I don’t know how much the medicine had to do with it.” he grazed your hand.

“The medicine helped plenty, but I’ll happily take the rest of the credit.” you reclined next to him, tucking yourself against his side. “I was really worried when the twins called me.”

“Apologies, kitten. I didn’t want to worry you.”

“I’m your girlfriend, it’s in my nature to worry.” you rested a hand against his chest, feeling his heartbeat under your palm. “Next time you’re feeling poorly, tell me. Okay?”

“Okay.” he closed his eyes. “I rather like having you fret over me. My kitten takes charge so gently. You can’t help being sweet, even when you’re being bossy.”

“I’d rather you do as I say because you want to rather than because I forced you. You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, as the saying goes. Or in this case I guess I’m catching crows.” you poked his chest. “Now get some rest, I’ll be right here by your side.”

“What if I get you sick?”

“Then we’ll be sick together and have to rely on Luke and Kieran to take care of us.” you chuckled. “But I wouldn’t worry about it. Just rest.”

“Fine.” he looped an arm around you, keeping you close to him. “And thank you.” he murmured before finally falling asleep.

You kissed his cheek. “Anything for you, my love.”

[clockwayswrites]

I made myself sad with the last part of ‘City Pigeons Bleed Green’ and the whole Annalise thing (and then shared it to make all of you sad too). It wound back to me saying in a server, mostly joking, that now I need to make an AU of my AU where Annalise lives. And as @any-mouse pointed out here by themselves: this crossover is full of realms. And then I showered and had too many thoughts. So have some of them here!

Bruce and Annalise met at boarding school. Not the same boarding school, obviously, how crass. They went to an all boys and all girls school respectively, but they were ‘sibling’ schools and so would hold certain events together. Annalise was an awkward girl, all limbs. She was too tall, too smart, too in the clouds. She was weird. But so was Bruce. He decided they could be the weird kids together.

They became something of confidants for each other—for all the secret things inside themselves no one else would understand, not really.

They didn’t run in exactly the same circles, the Wayne line was far more grand than the Linwood line, but Bruce did his best to stay in touch even as they grew up. That fell apart some when training and Batman consumed his life. That’s when Annalise, in an effort to be normal ended up making some poor decisions and listening to the wrong people.

In the AU of the AU, Bruce asks her to visit before the baby is born. As recklessly caring as he can be, he offered to say he was the child’s father. He would either set Annalise and the baby up to be comfortable, or they could get married. Divorce was always an option later, should either of them find real love. Of course Bruce insists on the best doctors and they find what was missed: a risk to the lives of both Annalise and the baby.

Bruce and Annalise basically end up in a queer platonic relationship together, raising ‘their’ child.

Instead of playboy Brucie, Bruce’s cover becomes that of the slightly hapless but very loving dad. Why on earth is he so fit then? Well, he spends so much time chasing after children! After all they adopted that circus boy, how patient with Bruce Annalise is. Not to mention the other several—wait, when did they get so many?

Well, see, they took in a child from the streets, yes, Park Row, awful place—though better now with the Martha Wayne Foundation’s efforts. And then there was that whole thing when Annalise found out that Tim Drake was being horrible neglected. Such big hears that family.

And when Dick is feeling stifled, he has a little sibling to focus on. To be useful to. (And Annalise has long talks with Bruce.)

And when Jason finds out about Catherine, Annalise is there—a mother to talk to. (And Annalise has long talks with Bruce.)

(And Annalise has long talks with Bruce.)

And one little hilarious scene in my head:

Jim stared up the steps of Wayne manner. Officer Montoya stared back. She was clearly off the clock. Her hair down and dressed more casually than Jim had ever seen. He didn’t know Montoya could do casual. He supposed casual made sense though, considering the hickies on her neck. Jim pinched the bridge of his nose. “Please tell me you’re not sleeping with Bruce Wayne.” “What?! Ew, no. Not ew as in—I’m sure he’s very attractive to people into that but no. No, I am definitely not sleeping with Bruce Wayne.” "Well, that's a relief—" “I am, however, sleeping with his wife.”

[makeitmingi]

When Mingi Leaves For Tour [Drabble]

pairing: mingi x fem!reader (y/n)

summary: before leaving for the european tour, mingi dropped by to spend some time with you. and despite being used to his busy schedule, the thought of your distance makes you miss him more than you thought.

word count: 2K

story warning(s): kissing, cuddling, soft affection

a/n: don't ask me why but i just had this dream for 2 consecutive nights and wanted to write it. also this is my 1,200th post!

*ding dong*

Mingi stood outside your door, hearing your mother's voice from inside the house. He rocked on his heels, trying to control the excitement of seeing you. When your mother opened the door, she smiled when she saw Mingi.

"Omonim." He greeted with a smile and hugged her. Your mother chuckled and wrapped an arm around him, patting his back.

"Aigo, what are you doing here? (y/n) said you were flying off today. Shouldn't you be packing?" She asked as she guided him into the house after he removed his shoes.

"I am but I packed early so I could come by and stay with her for a bit. Hello abonim." Mingi bowed to your father.

"Hello, Mingi ah. Thank you for dropping by to see her." Your father came to shake Mingi's hand.

"No need to thank. Please, don't let me interrupt your work." He gestured after shaking his hand, knowing your father mostly works from home now.

"She's in right?" Mingi blinked, making your parents laugh.

"Yeah, she is. I think she just finished a project meeting. She's trying her best to hold it together." Your father said with a soft smile.

"Don't say that, you'll make him feel bad. Ignore him, Mingi ah." Your mother waved your father off. But Mingi knew what your father meant, you were trying to act excited for Mingi to go on tour but in fact, you were sad to say goodbye to him. And your father was always very protective of you.

"Mom? Who was at the door? Was it my package?" Just then, your parents and Mingi heard your voice from your room. He heard your house slippers shuffle against the floor.

"M-Mingi?" You blinked, as if to check if you were dreaming or not. Mingi smiled and headed to you, engulfing you in a hug.

"What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be getting ready for the airport or something?" You asked.

"I did all that early so I could come see you. Now, can you hug me back, please?" Mingi requested. You chuckled and wrapped your arms around his middle.

"Come." You held his hand and pulled him to your room, feeling a little awkward with your parents there.

"So, what did my dad tell you?" You glared.

"Nothing, baby. I swear." He held his hands up. You love your dad and you know he has your best interests at heart but he reveals things to Mingi about you and your feelings, which you don't feel like sharing sometimes. Plus, he always exaggerates.

"I wanted to spend time with you before I have to go to the airport. Manager-nim is picking me up later." He smiled softly, sitting on your bed. You smiled softly and stood between his legs.

"Thank you." You put your arms around his neck.

"Don't thank me. I did this for me. I don't like being away from you." He sighed, putting his head against your chest.

"Me too. But you gotta do what you gotta do, which is make Atiny happy." You said. Mingi held your waist and carefully laid back you were draped over his body.

"I wish I could take you with me." He turned you to your side so he could hug you.

"Me too. But I don't want you to pay for my plane ticket." You buried your face in his chest. Mingi kissed the top of your head.

"Can't I fly you out to one show?" He asked.

"Mingi..." You lifted your head gave him a conflicted look. When you started dating, one of the first things you told Mingi was that you didn't want him to pay for everything.

"I know, I know. I was just offering in case you changed your mind." He pouted, pulling you close to him. You and Mingi just cuddled in silence, enjoying each other's presence and the peacefulness. To you and your family, he was Song Mingi, your boyfriend. He wasn't Song Mingi, fierce and flirty rapper of Ateez.

"Oh, right. I have a present for you." Mingi temporarily pulled away and left your room to grab the bag he had left in the living room.

"A present?" You sat up. Mingi hummed and dug through his bag, taking a stuffed giraffe out of his bag. He didn't miss the way your eyes lit up like an excited kid.

"A giraffe!" You squealed at the sight of your favourite animal. (Toy)

"It's me." Mingi came to sit on the bed, tugging at the customised 'Fix On' hoodie and black glasses on the giraffe.

"It'll keep you company whenever I'm not around. I wanted to get you a Bbyeongming but you already have 2 so I thought this was different." He said.

"I only have 2 because you wanted me to have more Bbyeongming than the others." You scoffed.

When Aniteez came out, the boys got you the whole set of all 8 characters. But Mingi, being competitive in his own way, bought you an extra Bbyeongming so it looks like you 'love' Bbyeongming more than the others.

"But I love him. Thank you, Mingi." You leaned to give him a peck but Mingi surprised you by cupping your cheeks and holding you there so he could kiss you longer.

"Ah, I really don't want to leave now." He groaned, his face pressing on your shoulder.

"Hongjoong might have an aneurysm if you don't go." You chuckled, stroking his head, fingers toying with the ends of his hair.

"He's so cute and I can't believe you made the hoodie for him. He does look like you but he'll never be you." You giggled, holding up the giraffe to look at it again. Mingi smiled proudly at your words.

"Come, I still want cuddles." Mingi pulled you down so you laid on his chest and his arm wrapped around your shoulder.

"I'll come up with a name for him." You said, hugging the giraffe.

You and Mingi didn't know how much time had passed but it definitely felt too short when you were interrupted by Mingi's alarm ringing, a reminder that he had to get ready to leave.

"I want to follow you down." You said, grabbing a hoodie from your closet and slipping it on. Mingi smiled when he recognised the hoodie as one that was missing from his closet. But he won't call you out on it and tease you, and risk you returning it to him. He wanted you to keep it so it can comfort you when you miss him.

"Wait, you want some snacks? Asian snacks in case you miss home." You asked him.

"Yes! Please help yourself to anything in the kitchen." Your mother stood up from the couch and came over. You opened the pantry door to look at your snacks.

"Here, take this. And these too, the others like them." You said, taking some of the Korean snacks out.

"You don't have to give it to them, baby." Mingi chuckled, leaning against the island.

"I can always buy them again. You guys can eat it when you're there or even on the plane." You smiled, grabbing a bag and putting the snacks in there. You even added some cup noodles.

"Ah, that's enough, baby. Thank you." Mingi blushed as you held out the bag of snacks to take.

"Yeah, we should go. Don't keep the others waiting." You said.

"Oh, yes! I bought these hydration packs. Share it with your members, it's a powder that you just add to water. It's good for your gut too with probiotics." Your mother ran to the kitchen, coming out with a box and giving it to Mingi.

"Omonim, you shouldn't have! But thank you so much." Mingi deeply bowed, holding the box in his hands. You smiled softly, your parents really loved Mingi.

"Take care of yourself, Mingi ah. Stay healthy, make sure you rest enough and eat all your meals." Your mother said.

"Thank you, omonim and abonim." Mingi bowed again as your mother reached up to hug him.

"Have a good tour, son." Your father patted him on the shoulder. With another bow, you and Mingi headed downstairs to the driveway to wait for the manager to come pick him up.

"Have a safe trip, Min. Come back to me, okay?" You said.

"Oh, baby. Of course. I promise I'm not going off to war." He placed the box down so he could hug you.

"I know, I know... I'm just going to miss you." You sighed. Mingi cupped your cheeks, tilting your head up so he could give you a sweet kiss.

"I'll miss you too, baby... so much. But it won't be for long." He stroked your cheeks softly with his thumbs. There was a honk and you both pulled away to see the van pull up. The manager opened the door, revealing Yunho, San and Jongho inside. You bowed and waved to the manager and the members inside.

"Hi, (y/n)~" They waved back enthusiastically. Mingi handed his manager the things to put in the back with all the bags.

"Alright, I gotta go. I love you, baby. Take care of yourself, hmm?" Mingi patted your head. You didn't trust your voice so you just nodded with a small smile.

"Love you too." You squeaked and hugged him. Mingi kissed the crown of your head.

"Bye." You waved, watching him climb into the van. But as the door closed, you turned around, unable to control the feelings anymore.

"Wait, Mingi..." Yunho tapped Mingi's leg, pointing to you, whose back was facing the window. Your shoulders shook slightly, indicating your cries.

"Go. We still have time." The manager said, opening the door.

As you stood there, you were surprised to find a tall body engulf yours from the back. Mingi spun you around, pulling your arm to wrap around him so he could hug you tightly.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." You apologised repeatedly as you grasped the material of his jacket, sobbing softly into his chest.

"Silly girl, there's nothing for you to be sorry about. Hmm? Don't apologise." He whispered, stroking the back of your head to comfort you. You really wanted to pull away and let Mingi go, knowing the manager and the other members were waiting but you couldn't.

"I'll be home before you know it, my love." He said.

"I know. I'll be okay, don't worry. You should go or you'll be late for your flight." You took a deep breath to ground yourself. Mingi didn't want to leave you but he knew he had to.

"I love you. I'll call you every day." He kissed your forehead, wiping your tears away with your sleeve.

"Goodbye." You covered your face in embarrassment and waved as he reluctantly entered the van and closed the door.

"Poor (y/n)." San pouted as the van began to move and you disappeared from Mingi's sight. Yunho wordleslly reached over to hold his best friend's hand.

"She'll be okay." Yunho assured. Mingi let out a hum and nodded.

When the van disappeared, you went back upstairs to your home. Even if your parents noticed that you cried, they didn't mention it.

"He'll be back soon." You told yourself and fell onto your bed, hugging the giraffe to your chest. Everything still smelt like Mingi and you impossibly hoped it would last until he comes back home.

"What-" As you put your hand under the pillow, you noticed something tucked under there. Sitting up, you frowned in confusion as you took out the items. Your eyes widened as you saw a First Class airline ticket to London with Ateez VIP tickets to both London shows and the Manchester show.

'I'll see you soon, my love. x Mingi'

[echo-riot]

Texting loser!Ellie

An: I really love these tbh-

•|||——————————————————————|||•

1:29 am

Ellie: Hey, uh… you busy?

You: Not really. Why?

Ellie: Oh, uh, no reason. Just… thinking about you. Like, not in a weird way. Or maybe a little weird? But not creepy weird. Just normal weird. You know what I mean?

You: Ellie, breathe. What’s on your mind?

Ellie: Okay, so, like… you know how I said I wasn’t gonna be all clingy? Yeah, I lied. I miss you. A lot. It’s pathetic. Please don’t make fun of me.

You: Aw, you’re cute. I miss you too. What are you doing right now?

Ellie: Thinking about your thighs. Uh—I MEAN. Playing guitar. Totally just playing guitar. Haha.

You: Ellie… are you serious right now?

Ellie: My brain is broken. Ignore me.

You: Nope. Too late. So, what exactly are you thinking about my thighs?

Ellie: STOP. I can’t handle this kind of pressure. I’m already sweating.

You: Sounds like a “you” problem. But I kinda like knowing you’re flustered over me.

Ellie: Oh, I’m beyond flustered. I’m like… short-circuiting. Can you just, like, show up at my place and sit on my face so I stop embarrassing myself?

You: Bold of you to assume I’d let you off the hook that easily.

Ellie: PLEASE, I’M BEGGING YOU. I’ll do anything. Wash your car? Carry your groceries? Worship the ground you walk on? Actually, I already do that

You: Yeah, I know you do. Loser.

Ellie: Rude, but accurate. Anyway, I gotta go. Gonna play guitar and pretend I didn’t just admit that I’m obsessed with you.

You: Obsessed, huh? Good to know. Maybe I’ll reward you later

Ellie: DON’T TEASE ME LIKE THAT. My heart can’t handle it.

You: Guess you’ll have to wait and find out. Bye, loser.

Ellie: I love you, okay? I LOVE YOU. There, I said it. Bye.

•|||——————————————————————|||•

2:20 pm

Ellie: Hey, so, uh… question.

You: Here we go. What’s up?

Ellie: Hypothetically… if I were to, like, write a song about you, would you think that’s cool or kinda cringe?

You: Depends. How many times does the word “thighs” show up in the lyrics?

Ellie: Why are you like this? I’m trying to be romantic, and you’re bullying me.

You: Oh, I’m the bully? Says the girl who stared at me for five minutes straight last night and then said, “Sorry, you’re just really distracting.”

Ellie: IT WAS A COMPLIMENT. Also, you were wearing those shorts. What was I supposed to do?

You: Be normal?

Ellie: Impossible. I saw your legs and forgot how to act. You’re lucky I didn’t pass out.

You: Wow, I’m flattered. So where’s this hypothetical song?

Ellie: …It’s not done yet. But I might’ve rhymed “perfect” with “I’m not worth it.” Thoughts?

You: Ellie, you’re such a loser, but I love you.

Ellie: Yeah? Say it again. Slowly this time.

You: Nice try. Not happening.

Ellie: Fine. Guess I’ll just sit here and suffer in silence, replaying it in my head.

•|||——————————————————————|||•

12:30 am

Ellie: Hey.

You: Hi. What now?

Ellie: What do you think it would take to convince you to marry me? Like, is there a specific snack you like? Or should I just propose while holding your dog hostage?

You: Ellie, we’ve been dating for three months.

Ellie: Okay, but, counterpoint: you’re perfect, and I don’t want to wait. I’d propose tomorrow if I wasn’t afraid of passing out mid-speech.

You: Big words for someone who forgets to text back for three days.

Ellie: HEY. That’s a creative process issue, not a love issue.

You: So what I’m hearing is… you’re madly in love with me and bad at time management.

Ellie: Exactly. See? You get me.

•|||——————————————————————|||•

3:30 pm

Ellie: Okay, I’m officially spiraling. Can I just tell you something without you making fun of me?

You: No promises. Go on.

Ellie: Sometimes I sit around and think about how lucky I am that you actually like me. Like, I’m a disaster, and you’re… you’re you. It doesn’t make sense, but I’m not questioning it. I just—thank you for putting up with me.

You: Ellie, you’re my favorite disaster. And if you keep being cute, I might actually have to show up at your place and kiss you right now.

Ellie: DO IT. PLEASE. I’LL PAY FOR YOUR GAS. I’LL—

You: Relax, loser. I’m already outside.

Ellie: Wait, what?! Hold on, I gotta brush my hair—

You: Too late. I’m coming in.

•|||——————————————————————|||•

10:30 am

Ellie: Hey.

You: Hi, Ellie. What’s up?

Ellie: Can I say something without you laughing at me?

You: You’ve already asked this today, and it was hilarious. Go ahead.

Ellie: Okay, so like… I’m trying really hard not to think about the way your ass looked in those jeans earlier.

You: Ellie.

Ellie: What? I’m being honest. It’s a problem. I almost walked into a pole because of you.

You: It’s not my fault you have no self-control.

Ellie: Self-control? With you? Yeah, right. You literally walked by me, and I stopped functioning.

You: Good to know I have that effect on you.

Ellie: Oh, you know. You definitely know. You’re evil for it, by the way.

•|||——————————————————————|||•

4:40 pm

Ellie: Hey. Are you busy?

You: Not really. Why?

Ellie: Because I was thinking… you should come over. Like, now.

You:Why?

Ellie: Because I miss you. And because I really need to kiss you. Maybe more than kiss you. But, uh… yeah.

You: You’re bold today.

Ellie: You’re hot every day, so I figured I’d stop pretending to be cool about it.

You: Ellie, you’re such a dork.

Ellie: Okay, but I’m YOUR dork. Come over so I can prove it.

•|||——————————————————————|||•

2:28 pm

Ellie: I just saw your Instagram story. I’m losing my mind over here.

You: Why? It’s just a selfie.

Ellie: Just a selfie?? You looked so good, I almost dropped my guitar. What are you trying to do to me?

You: Ellie, calm down.

Ellie: Calm down? You’re out here looking like THAT, and I’m supposed to act normal? No chance.

You: So dramatic.

Ellie: You think it’s funny, but I’m literally sitting here like, “Wow, that’s my girlfriend. I’m the luckiest loser alive.”

•|||——————————————————————|||•

9:34 pm

Ellie: I can’t stop thinking about you.

You: What else is new?

Ellie: No, but like… it’s bad. I’m at the store, and everything reminds me of you. I saw strawberries and thought about how you taste like them when you wear that lip gloss. It’s driving me insane.

You: Ellie, get it together.

Ellie: Can’t. Don’t wanna. I’d rather think about you.

You: You’re so thirsty.

Ellie: Yeah, for YOU. And I’m not sorry about it.

You: You’re ridiculous.

Ellie: But you love it. And you love me. Soooo… can I come over?

You: You’re lucky I love you.

Ellie: I know. Be ready when I get there.

[jamesdaycare]

“Jessie… Jessie wake up! You’re wetting your pull-ups. Yes you are! I couldn’t sleep and I started hearing a hissing sound. And when I pulled your covers I saw the front of your diaper getting all yellow and warm. Look, even the stars on the front disappeared!”

“My mom told me you threw quite a fit when she suggested you should wear pull-ups since it was the first time you were staying over at our house. But I guess she was right after all… It’s a miracle you didn’t leak!”

“Well of course you didn’t realize, duh! That’s the whole point of wetting the bed! When your pee pee is not mature enough he doesn’t realize he can’t go potty at that moment. So he just lets go! And thank god you had your pull-ups, if not you would have wet all the bed!”

“Yes, I know we’re the same age, but do you see me wearing a diaper? No I’m not! Unlike you, I’m a big girl, and big girls wake up dry! But it’s okay baby, maybe you’re not ready for being a big kid yet.” 

“Wait, are you gonna cry? I see your lip quivering, you’re definitely gonna cry. Oh you really thought there was a chance for us to be something more than friends? Look Jessie, you’re cute and all, but I’ve always seen you more like a little brother than a potential boyfriend. You’ve always been quite immature. And you can’t prove me wrong dressed in a t-shirt and a wet pull-up, and two second away from bawling your eyes out.”

“Here, suck your thumb and try to calm down. This definitely is being too much for you.”

“Now why don’t we go tell my mom what happened? Here, take my hand. I want you to use your baby voice and tell her everything in detail: 

“Jen’s mommy, I had an accident. I was sleeping and I made a pee pee in my pull-ups. You were right, I’m not ready for sleepovers, and I’m not ready for big boy underwear either. Could you change me into a dry pair of pull-ups? And could you also please call my mommy so she can pick me up? I really miss her and I’m very afraid that if I don’t go back home to her I’ll have another pee pee accident and I’ll end up crying like the little boy I am” 

“You think you can do that? Uh-oh, I think someone already added a little bit more to his pull-ups!”

[writing-nothing-but-spilled-ink]

Anyways this thought came to my head now I'm obligated to share

This is an au where Selina Kyle and Bruce actually get married and are in the process of like sharing a life together

Anyways this is a thing I think would be funny if it happened

Bruce is just excited to tell his friend the good news but his friend isn't exactly thrilled it's 2 am and while Gotham never sleeps Harvey dent aka two face is fucking horrified by the. Text he just received from fucking Bruce Wayne, how he got his number he doesn't fucking know the text in question

JUST GOT MARRIED!!!! 🥳🍾🍻🎉 Also totally off topic but I did not sign a prenup btw any idea of what my shares are Selina is asked for some so I gave her some but I don't actually know what they are

Two face just immediately starts blowing up Bruce's phone trying to get that man to answer is a fucking nightmare especially whenever he gets a new partner to spend time with it's like he can't see behind the pretty girl in front of him, he may be the world's greatest detective but when it comes to romantic partners he's the world's biggest idiot especially when he's in love

Finally two face starts falling Bruce and when he finally does answer he's on speaker with Selina in the room

"Bruce for the love of God tell me you had her sign a goddamn prenup, did you even discuss custody arrangements, HOW AND WHY ARE YOU GIVING HER YOUR SHARES WITHOUT KNOWING WHAT IT IS THAT YOU HAVE TELL ME THAT THIS IS A JOKE".

Bruce: I think your jealous of what I have with Selina, I trust her completely there's no need for a prenup, as for the kids they won't be a problem, and that's precisely why I texted you afterall you were one of my closest advisors for years also I thought you'd be happy for me, ya know it's not my fault yo-"

Two face: BRUCE I AM NOT JEALOUS I AM CONCERNED SELINA IS INFAMOUS FOR BEING INTERESTED IN HER OWN POCKETS AND ANYTHING SHINY, AND NEED I REMIND YOU THAT WE AREN'T FRIENDS WE HAVENT BEEN FRIENDS FOR YEARS IDK IF YOUR DRUNK OR STUPID BUT KNOWING YOU ITS PROBABLY BOTH, YOU NEED TO SEND ME ALL THE PAPERWORK REGARDING YOUR NEW MARRIAGE IMMEDIATELY SO I CAN FIX THIS GODDAMN MESS CAUSE I WILL NOT LISTEN TO YOU CRY AND WHINE WHEN THIS BLOWS UP IN YOUR STUPID ASS FACE DOES ALFRED EVEN ONOW OF YOUR STUPIDITY BECAUSE THIS IS A NEW KIND OF STUPID EVEN FOR YOU WORLDS GREATEST DETECTIVE MY ASS

Bruce merely smiles and says you wouldn't be nearly this worked up if you didn't care I knew you were still in there harv I just wanted the proof that my friend still exists I'd like for you to be my second best man at my wedding also you should come to dinner some time the kids they all miss you, and some of them have started to take an interest in the law you were at the top of your field maybe you could point them in the right direction, as for me and Selina while we did elope it has not get been made official so if you really want me to do all this paperwork you must come over for a family meal Bruce then promptly hangs up leaving Harvey absolutely flabbergasted because wtf just happened and how the fuck, wait did he just get fucking adopted by Bruce Wayne, he's a fucking supervillain and he got roped into attending a family dinner..

A moment later his phone dings and he opens it to see a big list of various foods drinks appetizers and deserts with a text at the bottom that says choose three of your favorites from each category and just dress casual or whatever's most comfortable to you it's only a small family dinner please email Alfred a list of any diet restrictions or food allergies you may have it'll be nice to have you over and don't worry Selina has agreed to play nice I know the two of you haven't always gotten along, his phone lights up again with a Gmail account to Alfred pennyworth two face can't argue so he just sighs exasperated and just RSVPs everything and goes in to see the gotham seamstress for something a bit more fancy for this get together and one extra nice suit for the wedding

[thesimmermo]

Season 2, Episode 9

TW: Sickness and Mention of Death

It's Hard To Accept

Saturday finally rolls around and Morgan is dreading the day. They spent the entire night at a football game supporting Drew cheer and when she got home, she could barely sleep. Her heart has been heavy.

She finally manages to peel herself from her pillow and go into her kitchen to start prepping her meal for this evening. All of her kids will be in town and she is excited that they can all be together.

Morgan: What is DJ's favorite again? Morgan: What is Deck allergic too? Morgan: FUCK ME! I can't remember.

She sighs and takes a deep breath. Tears fill the wells of her eyes and she wipes them away quickly. She turns a few pages in her journal and finds the list of her kids favorites. She walks into the kitchen and does what she loves to do: Cook.

Hours past and soon she had the full spread out and ready for the kids to arrive. Fried Chicken, Rice, Potatoes, Collard Greens, and Macaroni all awake their hungry mouths.

They all come in and greet her. DJ stares at her and can immediately see that something is off. She hugs each of them tightly and they sit down.

Morgan feels a wave of dizziness fall over her and she pauses before she joins them.

Dallas: You okay ma? Morgan: *smiles* That's what I wanted to talk to everyone about. DJ: About what? Dirk: *sighs* Be patient. Your mother will tell you. Let her speak. Morgan: I have cancer.

The room goes silent and there are so many different emotions running throughout the room. She presses her lips together and waits for questions but there are none. She then breaks down everything that the has happened over the past few months and explained the overall prognosis.

Daze: Mommy, you can't have canc... Mommy... Morgan: I'm so sorry you all. But I do. DJ: So, you're doing treatment right? You're going to be okay, right? Morgan: *shakes her head and shrugs* I've been doing treatment for months now... My body isn't accepting it. Denim: What the fuck? Daze: *crying* Decklin: *angry* Morgan: I... *holds back tears* I've tried. I'm going to keep trying and keep doing what I have to but.. if my body doesn't react, I have 2 months.

DJ: There's no way. Ma, that can't be true. Dirk: It is. The doctor told her Monday. Daze: That's not fucking fair! You do right by people and, and, and you always treat people good. Why you? Why you when there are so many bad people in the world? Morgan: *Smiles through tears* There isn't a limit on who a disease can affect, Daze.

Morgan glances at Drew who has barely spoken. She's shaking and her face is pale as though she's seen a ghost.

Dallas: This isn't fair. So what are we supposed to do? Morgan: *Sighs and cries* Accept it. Live your life. Everything happens for a reason. It's life, sweetheart. Decklin: Dang, ma. DJ: So, we're just supposed to just be okay with you being gone? Morgan: You'll never be "okay" with it but you can and will learn to manage it, DJ.

Daze slams his hands down and pushes away from the table.

Daze: Ma, this is bullshit! This ain't fair. We can't lose you. You're going to miss so much! I can't listen to this. It's not right.

Dallas: Daze, calm down.

Morgan: *Cries and stares at him*

Dirk: Daze, I know you're upset. We all are.

Daze: *Sobs*

Morgan: *smiles through the tears* Oh baby, I am so sorry. This is not how I wanted this to be. I promise you all. I will keep fighting. I will fight until I can't but I need you all to promise me something. All 7 of you in this room. Denim: Anything mama. Morgan: *sighs* Promise me that you will not let my, death.. DJ: Ma, please. Morgan: Listen! Do not let my death prevent you from accomplishing any of your dreams. Go out there and be the best that you can be. If I am not here physically, I am still here spiritually and in love. Don't dwell in that sadness too long. Go out and live.

The room goes silent as Dirk and Morgan move from kid to kid trying to comfort them. As the older kids start to leave, Morgan notices that Drew is no longer in the room. She goes into the living room and finds her sitting on the couch. Morgan sits next to her and pulls her in.

Drew: How did I not see it? How did I not know? Morgan: Shhhh, none of this is your fault. Even if you saw and knew, there is nothing that you could do and baby girl, that is okay. Drew: Mommy, I don't know what I'm going to do without you. I'm getting sick thinking about it. Morgan: You're going to be fine. You got 7 knuckleheads in the kitchen looking after you and a knucklehead across town to look after you too. Mama will always be here... You just won't be able to see me. Drew: Mommy, mommy, mommy. I love you. Morgan: *wipes away a tear* I love you too baby girl.

[icarusredwings]

Steven: *watching a movie with peter*

Khonshu: pspspsps heerree my knight.

Jake: *gets up and starts walking away*

Peter: ? Marc?

Jake: I AM THE FIST OF VENGEANCE!!

Peter: Ohh hello mi corazón.

Jake: ??- gasp- Salero!

Peter: Si. Come sit. Do you wanna watch something else?

Jake: *comes to sit* *snuggles up*

Peter, smiling: There he is. Stay with me okay?

Jake: *nods*

Khonshu: Noooo!! My avatar! Jake- jake we gotta go fight talking alligators. Come on man-

Jake: hush pájaro.

Peter: Is that big bird man telling you to kill everyone again?

Jake: ... *nods*

Peter: Aww its okay. Just stick with me alright? And next time you decide to go to chigaco can you tell me? Please?

Jake: ...... *nods, semi ashamed*

Peter: Marc buddy same thing with you. Cant just go booking it to London without telling me. I know you miss your wife but you gotta text me at least.

*later*

Marc: *sighs* .... I miss my wife tails. *gets up and leaves*

Peter: where are you going?? This is not what I meant.

Marc, putting on his coat: Ill be back!

Peter: PFFT- what are you going to do? Walk there?

Marc: .... Would you please take me to the airport?

Peter: Yes. *sighs* God you really didnt plan that did you?

Marc: I miss her, okay!?

[sandwitchstories]

Onee-Chan

Well hello! Welcome back to yet another adventure in Mouse's Mini-verse! I missed writing this little family so much! Hope you enjoy the newest installment of fluff!

If you prefer to read it on AO3 click here !

WC: 950+

Summary: Sukuna and Reader have some big news for Mouse. As to be expected, our favorite little pinkette has plenty to say.

AN: To anyone new to my Daddy Duty series- Mouse is Sukuna's two year old daughter. Welcome to Mouse's Mini-verse!

CW: Pregnancy announcement, reader is called Mama but not described, Mouse is a mouthy little menace who is an absolute treasure. It is pure family fluff.

“Mouse,” you said gently, trying to get your daughter’s attention as she sat next to Sukuna. 

Her full focus was currently on stubbornly trying to shove food into her father’s belly mouth that he refused to open. You chuckled at their matching stubborn grimaces (tummy mouth included). 

“Yes, Mama?” Mouse asked, her tongue poked out the side of her lips in concentration and determination.

“Papa and I have something important to tell you.”

Sukuna snatched the berry out of her hand and tossed it into his mouth. He gestured towards you while he chewed. “Pay attention to your mother.”

“Fine…” she pouted, turning to look up at you, trying to be sly and grab another berry as she did. “I listening Mama.”

“Mouse,” you said, smiling and almost bubbling over with excitement. You couldn't wait for her reaction to the big news. “You're going to be a big sister!”

Mouse looked up at you with your husband's look of dismay on her face. “Huh?”

“You're going to be a big sister. Mama’s going to have another baby.”

Mouse scrunched up her face, grabbed another berry and met your gaze. With no hesitation she said, “No, please and thank you, Mama.”  And with that her little chubby little hand resumed her previous mission.

“There is no saying no to another baby,” you chuckled. “Mama already has another baby in her belly.”

Mouse turned quickly to Sukuna and asked in a loud whisper, “Mama ate a baby?” 

“No. Mama did not eat the baby,” Sukuna grinned, leaning forward to hover over his daughter so she had to turn her face up to look at him. “But I’m awfully hungry and I know a toddler that’s just about big enough to make dumplings out of.”

She grinned and giggled at him. “No eat me, Papa! Please and thank you, Papa!” 

“No one is eating anyone,” you sighed, rubbing the bridge of you nose. With a cannibal for a husband you should not have been surprised by your daughter’s question, nor how her father responded. 

“How’d baby get in there?” Mouse asked innocently. 

“That one is all you,” Sukuna said quickly.

You rolled your eyes at your husband. “Well, that’s where they grow. Mama and Papa made a wish and the universe made it come true.”

“Why you wish for a baby in you belly? I’d wish for dango in my belly,” Mouse answered, always thinking with her stomach. Just like her Papa. 

“Master Sukuna, I have brought afternoon tea,” Uraume said, entering the room and kneeling down with a tray.

“Urau-rau. You happy about the baby?” Mouse asked.

“I’ll hold out judgement until we see how well it behaves,” Uraume answered in typical Uraume fashion.

“No be worried, Urau-rau. I’ll teach it to be good like me!” Mouse said happily, reaching for one of the So cookies on the tray with the tea.

“That’s exactly what I am worried about,” Uraume muttered, pouring the tea.

Sukuna laughed and reached out a hand to ruffle Mouse’s hair. She looked up at him and gave him a big grin with crumbs all over her face. He wiped them off gently with his thumb. “You’ll be a great older sister, Mouse.”

“I know,” she smiled. She then shoved her half eaten cracker at his belly mouth and loudly said, “Now say ‘ahhhh’ Papa!”

Sukuna sighed, rolling his eyes. He moved a hand to link with yours and gave you a wink before lolling open his belly mouth and with it doing an exaggerated, “Ahhhhhh.”

Mouse laughed loudly as he ate the other half of the So from her hand and quickly grabbed another. “Again, please and thank you, Papa! Again!”

“You started it,” you laughed as he gave you a look of annoyance over the enthusiastic toddlers head.

“And I’m gonna finish it too,” he said loudly. He snatched Mouse up into his arms, flopping onto his back and holding her up in the air over him. 

Mouse let out a loud laugh, clutching the cookie in her hand as she dangled over her father. “Put me down, Papa! I gonna drop my So!”

He sighed and brought her down so she laid on his chest. She moved up to rest her head under his chin as she had done her whole life, sighing happily. With the cookie still clasped in her tiny hand she looked at you with eyes suddenly ready for a nap. “Papa?”

“Yes?” he asked, rubbing her back.

“Even with baby… I still be Papa’s girl?”

“You will always be Papa’s girl. Nothing and no one could ever change that. Foolish child,” he said with no bite to his words. He kissed the top of her head.

“Okay. Then we can keep baby.” she smiled. “I’ll be a big good sister. I promise.”

“You will be, Mouse,” you smiled, taking the cookie from her hand. Nothing put her to sleep faster than being in her father’s arms. It was a sight you loved to see. “You’ll be a great big sister. I just know it.”

“Papa?” Mouse said sleepily, reaching up a hand to play with his ear, a silly little thing she had done most of her life for comfort.

“Yes Mouse?” he asked, eyes closed, enjoying the peaceful serenity of this moment in time.

“You no eat the baby. Okay?”

He shook his head, and grinned. “I make no promises.”

You shook your head and laughed at the two of them. As you started to move away, Sukuna reached out a hand to grab your arm and pull you down to lay with him. The arm he wrapped around you settled protectively over your belly. You snuggled into him and closed your eyes, happiness filling every fiber of your being. To be loved by the King of Curses was truly a beautiful thing.

[thefrogponde]

From the wrong side of the gutter(pt2)

"Vi, I wouldn't ask if it weren't absolutely paramount." Not the big words and making me feel important, that's not fair. "Look, you know my stance on police. I'm far from a hypocrite. What else do you want me to say, Cait?" I'm a bit on edge, waiting for her to tell me that she will instead demand this of me in place of asking. Here it comes, she looks incredibly nervous and shaken. "Please Vi, I really need your help. Kitch is at large, and more girls are going missing. This is more important than your issues with the police." She steps closer to me, closing the distance in mere seconds. "I... who is Kitch? And why does he sound like an appliance?" My sad attempts to lighten the mood were unsuccessful at best. He really does sound like an appliance, though. Who names their son Kitch? Was he born in a kitchen? Was originality on short supply? Questions I dare not ask ran through my head as Cait stood there tapping her foot impatiently. "I'm waiting Vi" patience wearing more and more thin. "Look, I want to help Cupcake. I just don't want to be a police officer. That goes against everything I a.." I am thrust against the wall behind me, and she is in my face baring her fangs at me. "Ok Vi, you want to do this the hard way then?" Her lips are mere inches from mine. Oh, how I hate it when she does this to me, she uses her glamour to convince me to do as she wants. "Stop it, Cait, that's not fair. I'll help you find Kitch and the girls, but I'm not becoming a cop. That's the best I can offer you. I love you, I just can't." Good, a compromise should help the situation. Maybe she'll turn off the glamour, and I can look at her again. "I need to eat anyway. Do you still want to meet at your house for dinner tonight?" She changed the subject, something she is exceptionally talented in. "I believe you meant dessert," I said with a wink. I can already taste her,my mouth begins to water. "That's a yes, just so you know." She let's out a deep chuckle, "I look forward to it," a growl escaping her lips as she kisses me. My lips against hers make me melt with anticipation for the evening to come. Her kiss is sweet and deep, our lips parting and coming together as if puzzle pieces. I become breathless as she kisses me deeper and deeper,taking me by my waist and pressing against me. My head is swimming by the time she separates from me and turns to leave, "I'll see you then, Vi," and with that, she was gone.

[thoraeth]

Properly kissed | Paladin All Might X OC

words: 600

Tags: pure fluff, Toshi's oath includes chastity, Paladin!All Might, fantasy AU, Oracle OC.

Song inspo: Like real people do - Hozier

A/N: I'll yap into the void if I have to, 'cause this man is the ultimate sweetheart.

The paladin scratched his neck as the sparks from the bonfire reflected in his eyes . “Can I ask you a question? You’re the only one I could tell something like this without feeling like a complete idiot.”

Riva turned her head to face him. “Go ahead.”

“Am I overdoing it?” Toshinori hides his face in his hands. “I’ve been protecting people and serving the Goddess for my whole life. I'm beyond grateful for all that she bestowed upon me but… I feel I'm missing out on so much.” He looks up with a deep sigh. “Why can't I hold your hand or get a hug when I need one? Would such trivial things really make the Goddess angry? Or is it all in my head?”

Riva stood up, snuggling tighter in her wooden cloak. “There's no way of telling what could please or displease a God, Toshi. But I firmly believe faith is about bringing good into this world, rather than starving ourselves for divine approval.”

The oracle was rubbing her bad eye, trying to ease the discomfort of the night shadows clouding her sight. “You want to hold my hand? There you go.” She planted herself in front of the man and reached for his big hand.

The two stood face to face for a moment, smiling affectionately. Riva couldn’t help but think that Toshinori was a man of immaculate beauty: it wasn't just about his big blue eyes, and fair hair… The honesty and purity of his soul were out of this world. He was, indeed, worthy of a Goddess.

“Need a hug? No problem.” She leaned closer and slided her arms around his neck.

Shit. Toshinori knew he should have shoved her away. No touching women, it's the rule. And yet, he remained seated on that log. That night he was feeling so lost…he did need a hug. A couple of minutes couldn't outweigh all he's done so far.

His hands clutched around Riva's cloak and he clinged to her, pushing his forehead against her shoulder. May the Goddess forgive him, she was the softest and prettiest thing he's ever had in his arms.

The paladin indulged himself in the light pecks trailing down his temple, his ear, his cheek and he really, really had no idea how it all happened but he was startled by the feeling of her lips brushing against his.

He didn't even know what he was doing but he just let himself go and kissed her desperately. It was like his bones were turned to wax: every slight movement of her lips, their breathing against each others’ cheeks, everything sent powerful shivers down his spine.

It was all fun and games until Riva's hips were slowly moving under his hands and their kisses grew sloppier and more heated.

Toshi’s face twitched with the familiar feeling in his belly, the dreaded tight sensation between his legs. The Goddess would never forgive that. He pulled away, biting his lower lip.

“Is everything ok?” Riva whispered, tilting her head to read his gaze.

“Y-yes. But I… I can't.”

“I get it. Well, at least we’ve made up for some of the missing out.” She smiled softly and sat back on the log, next to the shaking paladin.

Toshinori ran his fingers through his hair, striving to calm his heart and body. Riva was right: now he could say he's been kissed. Properly kissed! He hid his face away from her and he couldn't stop himself from smiling.

[starwarskawaii]

Annoyance and Empanadas

A Miguel O'Hara fic

Alright, here's that Miguel fic. Dedicated to Lan ( @chaithetics ) for always believing in and encouraging me. Proofread by my husband, @kitsunot . So if I made a mistake, blame him.

A/N: This is self-serving, reader is HEAVILY based on me. No word count because I am lazy.

Edit: possible part 2 if you guys like this one. So make sure to let me know!

CW: disabled reader, possible slightly ooc Miguel, mentions of Miguel's *gestures at his life*, no use of Y/N, second person voice, mentions of mobility aids, disability is not specified but is highly based on my experiences with fibromyalgia, female reader, mentions of brain fog, mentions of safe foods, reader is slightly implied to be autistic, PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF I MISSED ANYTHING

You were annoying. Not annoying like Peter B, who always had a quip and lacked boundaries. Not annoying like Miles, who questioned Miguel constantly. Not even annoying like Hobie, although you were a bit of an anarchist. The first thing you had ever said to Miguel was, "I support women's rights and women's wrongs. I do not, however, support men's rights OR men's wrongs, so I hope you've improved." No, you weren't annoying like any of them. You were annoying like Lyla. You were annoying because you knew him. You knew him entirely too well. Which was quite possibly the worst kind of annoying you could be.

You sauntered in on your purple forearm crutches, thinking of what you could say to piss Miguel off. As much as you'd like to pretend you were a quick thinker, the brain fog made it near impossible to come up with anything on the fly. So as you sauntered in, you thought of what you could do to make those veins pop on his neck and forehead. You liked those veins.

Miguel heard you coming. How could he not? Mobility aids are not stealthy. Not in the least. Miguel knew what was coming, and he braced himself for whatever quip you had up your sleeve. Your quips were worse than a Peter Parker's; you had studied him. You came from a universe Miguel stumbled on accidentally. A world where he and all the other Spiders were just characters in comics and movies. And you happened to be Miguel O'Hara's number one fan (and biggest hater, somehow simultaneously). You had made tons of posts analyzing him on some site, tumbling, maybe? He couldn't remember. He brought you on for a few reasons, but mainly to help the algorithms predict events in the Spider's lives.

"Ohhh, Miiiiiggy!" Came your voice, snapping him out of his thoughts.

"What? I'm a bit busy, you know, " came his reply.

"Too busy for me, Migs?" You pouted and batted your lashes. You knew he couldn't resist that.

Miguel was surprised. No quips yet. That's a first.

"Too busy brooding to listen to your favorite right-hand woman?" There it was. There was the jibe at him. You loved doing that. You were probably worse than Lyla.

Lyla popped up and snickered "He was just brooding, how did you know?"

"Lucky guess. Migs, my love, would you care to tell me why the caf has no empanadas?"

"Aye, you came here to interrupt my ensuring the fate of the Arachno-humanoid poly-multiverse over an empanda?"

"They're your recipe, we all know they're the best in the multiverse" you reasoned with him.

"They're my mother's recipe, technically, and I'll make you some when I take you home." Miguel always took you home. You had a lot of issues with the stupid 2099 high-tech stuff, and it also required use of at least one hand, something you rarely had the luxury of, unless it was a no mobility aid or a wheelchair day. So Miguel made sure you were safe.

"Fine, fine. When are you taking me home, speaking of? Should I just wait here, or should I try to navigate the awful upside down maze you created while I wait for your self-imposed penance for the day to end?" Man you were annoying. Man you knew him well.

"I'll finish up soon. Wait here," his face softened as he looked over at you. You were making yourself comfortable on a chair, placing your aids to the side and getting into that position you liked to sit in. The one that seemed uncomfortable, but you swore was best for your hypermobile joints.

You reminded him a lot of Lyla. Lyla, who Xina had programmed to heckle him. Lyla, who he never had the heart to reprogram. You knew all his buttons. Just like Lyla. Just like Xina... You were also like Gwen. He had initially seen you as much more like Gwen. You had a baby face, so he had assumed you were younger. You had half-shaved hair, which you had actually gotten done because of some singer in your dimension, the year before Spiderverse came out. You had always loved Gwen Stacy, though. It wasn't hard to see why. You were smart, you liked nerds, you were incredibly confident, you were kind of punk, but also hilariously materialistic, not in a fancy clothes way but in a "I have to have this figure or I will cry" way. You were a lot like the Gwen of 120703. You loved that Gwen.

You were very different from all of them, though. He remembered stumbling upon your dimension by accident. A dimension where there were no heroes. A dimension where there were somehow still supervillains. A dimension where, even when faced with a lack of heroes, some people still had hope. You were one of them. He had initially infantalized you. Your mobility aids, your interests, the baby face, the fact that you clearly needed a caregiver, but stubbornly lived on your own all made him see you as younger than you were. You had had many arguments before he finally realized how capable you are. That you're tougher than most Spiders are, save for Sun Spider, who has EDS (you LOVED Sun Spider). That you deal with 24/7 full body pain, work a full-time job, and somehow manage to take care of yourself.

You had shown him so much. Like punk versions of him that you thought were hot. He hated them. He hated that you found that attractive. It made him question for a moment if his appearance was alright. Of course, you would like piercings and tattoos. You had multiple of each. He never really thought much of it before. You had shown him art of him pregnant. You both hated that one. He had learned so much about you. In a way, he had become the caregiver you needed. He made sure you ate, he popped into your dimension to help with your laundry, he helped you on low mobility days, he cooked for you, he helped you set up appointments and refill meds when your brain just wouldn't cooperate. He admired you. He thought you were incredibly strong. He made you empanadas because they're a safe food for you. He secretly loved the way you loved his cooking.

You cared for him. Really, truly, deeply cared. You had listened to his pain and felt it like it was your own. You were so empathetic. He realized that your disabilities and baby face and your being a few years younger didn't matter at all. You were more mature than he was. You knew pain, you lived with pain, you had lost so much and had dealt with it a long time ago. You helped him pick apart his mind, healing what had been broken by grief. He had spent so many nights sitting on the floor of your apartment, next to your couch, pouring his heart out to you. The girl who had fan art of him up on her walls. He was pretty sure he loved you, but too worried he was confusing gratefulness for that painful emotion he hadn't felt in so long that he couldn't bring himself to say anything. You were in love. How could you not be? He let you see him so vulnerable. He was also 6'9, built like a tank, perfect dark skin and hair, newly emotionally open, and had clearly come to genuinely respect you, in a way you struggled to find as a disabled woman. You were much less subtle about your feelings than he was. You flirted constantly. But he was as dense as his muscles.

"Alright, I'm done, cariño," Miguel said. "Time to go back to your dimension, and get you some food. Did you actually eat today?"

"Uhhhh, what answer do you want to that?" You said, only half joking, with a nervous laugh.

"You'll be the death of me, hermosa"

He was used to the quips. He was used to the forgetting to eat. He was used to it all, and he hoped it could stay that way. Miguel O'Hara loved how you annoyed him. And he hoped you would continue to, for at least as long as Lyla has.

[s-i-ll-y-w-i-ll-y]

“I need this job”

Frederick Chilton x Secretary!reader

Summary: You’re often late to your job as Dr. Chilton’s personal assistant and he appreciates punctuality. So when you aren’t there on time, it’s bothersome and could end up with you fired. At least he’s willing to give you another chance if you do something for him..

Tw! Dubcon, manipulation, reader being taken advantage of, abuse of power; Chilton being an ass, oral (m receiving)

(Please tell me if I missed some.)

People: @toshanyanyomy @neonlifeform @potatowithahat @mongooseundertheporch @beardedbarba @spellbound-multi @obnoxiousbag @jeongiejellie @mcghestie @blood-and-guts-and-spiderman @vorpaelyzis @slimegecko @bakedbeansplease @chimaerite @blue-cheerios @allthatglitterandgold @islatama

Note for those tagged:

You probably don’t remember why you’re tagged but early last year I made a post asking if anyone wanted some Frederick Chilton x readers and yous liked, reposted, or commented on the post.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You stepped in from the rain, peeling off your coat and draping it over your arm. Your footsteps echoed throughout the quiet corridors. Nurses shot you looks of sympathy as you rushed down to the office at the end. Just as you reached it, the door swung open.

Your boss, the ‘respectable’ Dr Chilton loomed in the doorway, an aura of faux confidence and narcissism radiated off of him and his thousand dollar suits. “Oh good, you’re finally here.” He mumbled in a less than enthusiastic tone, stepping aside to let you in. A tired smile rested on his lips, and his eyes were void of anything except slight rage.

The tension pooled from all angles in that room since the second you stepped in. Your pace slowed, matching the pace of his footsteps between each tap of his cane. He slammed the door behind himself, the loud noise echoed throughout the room and made you jump out your skin.

Fear.

That’s all you could feel in this moment.

The room felt like it was getting smaller, was it? Maybe. Who knows? Could he tell you were freaking out? Could he tell you felt sorry? Maybe you should say something:

“Sir, I’m-“

“How many times have you been late this week?” He asked, plopping himself into his seat. He bore a serious expression that threatened to fall due to a smug smirk that lingered just beneath it.

You balled and uncurled your fists over and over as you stood in front of his desk, your eyes avoiding his sharp gaze, “three..”

Dr. Chilton’s smirk finally peaked through and he leaned forward, propping himself up on his arms. “I’m sorry, my dear. What was that?” His voice exuding cockiness.

“3 times, sir.” You replied louder, not bothering to hide the way your voice shook as you spoke. He could tell you craved nothing more than to sink into the floor, let the world swallow you whole- anything but stand here and get yelled at due to the plethora of excuses that you had offered him the past few days.

He cleared his throat, causing you to finally make eye contact with him, and repeated what you said; checking to see if he enjoyed the taste of that number as it rolled off of his tongue.

He did not.

Dr. Chilton hummed softly, thinking over his next words carefully. Without breaking eye contact, he stood back up and walked around his desk at an agonisingly slow pace, as if he was taunting you. His cane tapped on the floor before coming to an abrupt halt as he reached the front of his desk. He leaned against it and raised his hand, beckoning you closer with two fingers. “You do know that I have fired nurses for much less than this, correct?”

Your shoes clacked on the floor as you cautiously walked to him, stopping two feet away. His eyes scanned your face as you silently nodded.

“You’re very lucky I enjoy having you as my assistant. If you were anything like my last one, I would’ve kicked you to the curb by now.” He leaned his cane against his desk, just beside his legs, and folded his arms.

“..I am really sorry, sir. It’s difficult because of those road works and-“

Dr. Chilton’s hand shot up, stopping your apology before you could prattle on any longer. “It’s very irritating to have an assistant this disobedient- this…this unprofessional, I need you to understand that.” He spat, malice coating each word that came from his lips. Once again, he beckoned you closer.

To which you complied and stepped closer, only for him to grab you chin and yank you towards him, leaving a sliver of space between himself and you. “Hardworking, kind…yet you struggle to follow the simplest of rules.”

Your hand shot up to meet his wrist, grabbing it tightly and trying your best to pry it away. A silence fell between the two of you, making you more uneasy. The clock on the far side of the room was the only source of sound- aside from the faint echoey screams of patients who were slowly losing themselves to this slate grey, solitary prison, ruled by a tyrannical man on a power trip.

His gaze wandered down your body, analysing you, trying to find anything. A shiver shot up your spine as he smirked and let go of your chin, crescent indents from his nails on the underside of your jaw. His hand fell to your throat, his index and middle finger traced the marks he left. A soft chuckle left his lips as he pushed off the desk, causing you to step back.

He grabbed his cane and leaned on it as he stood up straight. “You know, three times could be three too many.” He smugly stated, both hands now clasped on the top of his cane.

You felt your stomach drop, “Excuse me?” You mumbled breathlessly.

“You heard me.”

Worry flashed across your face as you took a half step forwards, leaving enough space between the two of you. “Sir, I need this job-“

“You can find another. They won’t keep you as long as I have though, probably won’t pay as good either.”

Your mouth opened to protest but nothing came out.

Why did he switch? It was so sudden.

You were so screwed.

Your rent was due soon and you were one more pay check away from being on time this month. You had student loans to pay back too- you couldn’t risk this.

A jolt shot through you at the feeling of his warm hand gently nudging your agape mouth shut. Your eyes met his once more and there was something in his, besides the intimidating moss green you associated with this stern figure. His hand cupped your chin, thumb tracing your bottom lip. “It would be such a shame to see something so pretty out on the street.” Dr. Chilton stated, his voice somber, almost as if he felt bad for firing you. He guided his hand to weave through your hair, tugging your head back so you were looking directly at him. “You’re fresh out of college, aren’t you? No scholarship, I assume. Lots of debt?…rent due as well, I can imagine.”

You stayed still, listening to him as he spoke about you. You were aware that he knew all of this. No questions were needed for this, he has your file, after all. All those silly questions he asked prior to this moment seemed to make sense; it wasn’t general questions, he was finding things he could hold over you- use against you if it came to it.

The room went cold as the two of you drew closer to each other. Despite that, you felt hot. Very hot. The lingering warmth of his hand on your chin, the feeling of his nails digging into your soft skin. His caresses and pulls, although not too harsh, still were strong enough make you feel winded.

A gasp leapt from your lips as he tugged your hair, forcing you closer, your faces now inches apart. “I wonder what someone like you would do to keep their job…” he purred, his empty hand snaking around your waist.

~~~~

The wind and rain battered against the glass windows, threatening to burst through. Not that you could see the windows anyway, the blinds were drawn so no one outside could see you under Dr. Chilton’s desk, or watch as his hips rolled up to meet your mouth, or see that his trousers were all the way down at his ankles.

The faint smell of his cologne and the taste of him on your tongue had you drunk and craving more. Along with the mewls, moans and whimpers which fell from his lips.

A sloppy, lopsided grin was strewn across the doctor’s usually stressed and irritated face. You had never seen him so relaxed, it was odd to not see him with furrowed brows and his lips pressed in a fine line. But it was nice..he deserved to relax for once- although you’d gladly have it be anyone else doing what you’re up to. Frederick praised you as you took all of him in, one hand planted in your hair to guide you and keep you from pulling away when he got too close to the back of your throat.

Your head violently moved along his length as he chased his high, hand shaking vigorously as he tugged on your hair. Then he slowed as his release poured into your mouth. You held it in your mouth and turned to the bin, believing he’d let you spit it out. He eased his hand out of your tussled hair, moving to your chin to guide your head up so your eyes caught onto his.

“Swallow.”

He commanded, and, not risking your pay check, you did as he told. For that, he cooed and pulled you to your feet, sitting you down on his desk. “You did very good today…if you want to keep your job then perhaps we should keep this going.” He remarked, a cocky grin on his face.

A simple nod is all you could manage as you fixed your hair and wiped the drool off your chin, silently watching as he tucked himself away and put his belt back on. After that you padded across the wooden floor and opened the blinds again, despising how loud the floorboards creaked as you sauntered over to each one, the feeling akin to stepping on a squeaky floorboard whilst trying to sneak back to bed after getting a glass of water.

“Now then,” he reached for a pen and sighed as he glanced at the mountain of paperwork lingering on his desk. “Lets get to work.”

~~~~~

To my hos, PLEASE IGNORE THIS PURE SMUT OMG-

Sunday 19th January 2025, 7:41 PM

[senpaipsy-bdog]

look, this is not a defence of the current system of the capitalist hellscape, but i see a lot of anarchists who regularly make very valid criticisms of the number of horrible people in the world (billionaires, conservatives, religious fanatics etc.), but their political views can be summed up as "if we just get rid of the government and the law, everyone will just be good and nice and help each other, and no one will do anything bad ever again :)". like, what's going to stop the racists, homophobes, transphobes and other bigots from just using that lawlessness to commit violent hate crimes without consequence? am i missing something? is there some part of the plan that's supposed to stop that from happening?

and no, i am not going to use the bullshit "humans are inherently selfish" argument conservatives like to use. humans are individuals. every single person is different. i'm sure there would be a lot of people more than willing to engage in mutually supporting one another because it is the right thing to do. there are a lot of good people in the world. but there are also a lot of bad people.