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To-Do List🖤
Master List From Old Account 💜
Jin ♥️
Yoongi ♥️ Part 2
Hobi ♥️
Namjoon ♥️
Jimin ♥️
Taehyung ♥️
Jungkook ♥️
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open

if i look back, i am lost

Kaledo Art
taylor price
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roma★
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TVSTRANGERTHINGS
almost home
noise dept.
Jules of Nature
hello vonnie

Discoholic 🪩
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
Peter Solarz
Today's Document
cherry valley forever
seen from Türkiye

seen from France

seen from Belgium

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@gaslysainz
🌹 𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥
To-Do List🖤
Master List From Old Account 💜
Jin ♥️
Yoongi ♥️ Part 2
Hobi ♥️
Namjoon ♥️
Jimin ♥️
Taehyung ♥️
Jungkook ♥️
[260526] A gift prepared for CARATs 🎁
asking hip-hop unit to watch your egg
Pairing ✨ Wonwoo x Female OC feat. Bestie Mingyu
Synopsis ✨ In which you caught your boyfriend's flu, as did his best friend. And so you decide to be ill together to make it easier for your caring boyfriend to look after both of you. (Mingyu is their permanent third wheel.)
Genre ✨ Established relationship (Wonwoo x OC), fluff
Warnings ✨ very whiney OC and Mingyu, Wonwoo is a saint and just wants them to leave him alone, talks about oral m. recieving but no actual smut, talks of mxm oral but that's just Mingyu trying to get cuddles
Word Count ✨1.9k
a/n ✨ Just something silly to break up my last post and part 3 of my Wonwoo fic because they're both pretty smutty (:
“You did this to me” you sniffle down the phone.
Wonwoo is aware he’s done this to you. He’d had a horrible flu a week ago and because you’re his perfect girlfriend, you’d gone above and beyond to make sure he was ok, bringing him soup and ginger tea to get his strength back up. He’d told you not to bother, that he didn’t want you to get sick, but you didn’t listen. Told him you were made of strong stuff, and no flu had every brought a member of your family down.
That is until now.
“Why are you moving around? I can hear you walking.”
“I’m not walking, I’m shuffling. Hurry up please.”
“What?”
He doesn’t get an answer, you cut the line dead and he stares at his phone as the doorbell to his apartment rings.
Sighing, he tries to call you back but it’s goes straight to voicemail.
Opening the door, he stops dead at what he finds.
“What the hell do you think you are doing?!”
summary: Joshua won't explain what his meetings entail or why he's staying at Hollywood's infamous hitman hotel, but something keeps him coming back to you despite everything in his world warning him otherwise…even if it's a packet of arsenic slipped into his coffee.
wc: 17.6k
tags: john wick/hitman/underworld!au, strangers to lovers
content warnings: fem!reader, alternating perspectives, absolutely crazy amounts of lore dropping, jeonghan is a menace to society, dark content warnings listed below:
this is a john wick/underworld!au, so this series contains mature content associated with hitmen, assassins, and the john wick universe including: violence, guns, knives, blood, dead bodies, alcohol consumption, injuries, interrogation, needles (threat of death by injection), minor character death, peril, poison, arguments, explicit language, religious allusions, symptoms of antifreeze poisoning (it'll make sense in the fic i swear), and very brief suggestive material. please let me know if there's any that i should add and consume media at your own risk.
note: holy FUCK this is the longest work i have ever written in my almost 3 years of writing on this app and it's only gonna get worse with every chapter...but hey it's seventeen so it's worth it
series masterlist | contract II: SATURN / OPS | contract moodboard
From THE HIGH TABLE SECTOR COMMANDMENTS
“II: Your Sector shall serve no other authority except the High Table.”
Joshua is two days shy of turning 17 when he accepts his first contract.
Moving out of his mom’s place and dropping out of university was a questionable decision, but spending the majority of his savings on acting classes that were pretty much a scam? A damning decision. Now, he was on the brink of eviction with nothing to show for his acting classes but a half-heartedly memorized Shakespearean monologue and three thousand dollars down the drain. The man behind the concierge desk of the Los Angeles Continental regards him with amusement when he trudges in and asks if there were any open ‘apprenticeships,’ a series of codewords whispered to him in passing by someone in his acting class who’d overheard he was struggling to pay rent. The receptionist picks up a rotary phone and murmurs a few words into it before gesturing for Joshua to follow him.
He’s led to the lounge of the hotel that he’s sure he’s too young to be in legally and introduced to two people sitting at the bar, an older man and a boy around his age. Both wear well-fitting suits that could probably pay for his rent for half a year. The receptionist dismisses himself with a polite bow and Joshua stands awkwardly while the two look him up and down.
“I understand you’re looking for a job, is that correct?” The older man asks after a long moment of silence. His voice is deep and seems to echo, like the space around him was cavernous and he was the dragon lurking inside. Joshua’s eyes flick to the metal snake ring wrapping around his pointer finger. He gulps.
“Yes, sir.”
“What’s your name, kid?”
“Joshua, sir.”
“Any family?”
“Just my mom, but I haven’t talked to her since I dropped out of school.” The man hums thoughtfully.
“How old are you?”
“Almost 17, sir,” Joshua replies. His voice sounds mouse-like compared to the behemoth in front of him.
“You’re about the same age as Seungcheol,” the man notes, nodding to the boy beside him. “He turned 17 a few weeks ago.” Seungcheol doesn’t blink and Joshua bristles under the intense weight of his stare. “Have you ever fired a gun, Joshua?”
“N-no, sir,” he stammers. Seungcheol scoffs like he’d been insulted and turns back toward the bar, taking a sip of what looks suspiciously like bourbon.
“Handled a knife?”
“Only a kitchen one, sir,” he answers honestly and the corner of the man’s mouth twitches.
“Have you ever bled?” Joshua’s face hardens. Despite trying to remain a pacifist, he’s thrown his fair share of punches, often when some jackass kids at school had a bit too much to say. Bruised knuckles and split lips weren’t new to him.
“I have, sir.” The man has caught the shift in Joshua’s demeanor. It pleases him.
“Would you pull the trigger if it meant you could have all the wealth in the world, Joshua?” He hesitates for only a second, the threat of eviction crawling up the back of his neck.
“Yes.” The man nods and pulls a gun from the inside of his jacket, placing it on the bar next to Seungcheol with a thud.
“Seungcheol is visiting a friend of mine tonight. You’ll accompany him. Make the right decisions and you’ll have a life you could only dream about.” Something indignant flashes in the younger boy’s eyes, but is quickly shot down by a sharp look from the older man. Seungcheol scowls but doesn’t argue, and the man’s attention returns to Joshua. “Go to the hotel’s tailor and ask for a suit, then to the sommelier. Seungcheol will know what to ask for,” he continues, reaching into his jacket again to procure a stack of gold coins. Joshua extends his hand on instinct and the coins make a clinking noise as they’re dropped into his palm. “You’ll leave tonight at 10:00.” Seungcheol brushes past him, heading in the direction of what he could only assume to be the tailor and the sommelier. Joshua turns to follow, but then asks one more question of the man at the bar.
“Sir, what should I call you?” The man grins like a hyena.
“Kronos.”
—
It’s 6:41 P.M. on a rainy Saturday when Fate decides to throw a wrench in your path.
He ducks into the diner like any other customer, shaking out his black umbrella next to the door while the clouds outside continue to shower sideways against the foggy windows. You’re halfway through your usual welcome greeting when you notice how effortlessly beautiful he is. Slightly damp hair, sharp jawline, and eyes that seemed a little too perceiving for their own good, he was the kind of guy that immediately took your breath away. The flickering cyan of the neon sign above the front entrance casts his face in an almost ethereal blue glow, like a siren who’d swam up the gutters of Sunset Boulevard. When your senses return, you offer him a warm smile and gesture to a seat at the counter.
“What can I get started for you?” You ask, placing a plastic tumbler of water in front of him while he flipped through the grease-stained menu.
“Coffee would be wonderful,” he replies and it’s almost comical how attractive his voice is, because of course he has a hot voice on top of a face that could rival all of the film industry. “And I’ll do a side of hashbrowns as well.” You nod, calling over your shoulder to the cooks in the back, your voice barely loud enough over the normal clatter of pans and sizzling bacon. They grunt in response, a better reply than their usual silence that leaves you praying they heard you correctly. The stranger settles in further, draping his coat that was probably worth three of your paychecks over the back of his seat. You feel his eyes on you as you retrieve a mug and pour out the piping hot coffee, setting it in front of him and sliding over the ceramic container of sugar packets.
“Milk? Creamer?”
“Creamer, thank you.” You pull a few tiny cups from below the counter. No more than four other customers occupied the diner, all of whom were covered by the other waitress working tonight. For once, you’re glad to be in charge of the register behind the counter because it meant that you could chat with the handsome stranger before he inevitably left and you never saw him again.
“What brings you to this side of L.A.?” A wry smile pulls at his mouth over the rim of the coffee mug.
“Do I seem out of place?” You lift a shoulder. The answer was undoubtedly ‘yes,’ considering that the people who came into the diner tended to be families of tourists or locals popping in before their graveyard shifts.
“The Burberry trench and Prada boots gave it away,” you admit. “I feel like I should be serving you in Brentwood or somewhere closer to the Hills.”
“To be fair, my hotel is on Figueroa.” Your eyebrows pinch. There were no hotels on Figueroa you could recall that would match his outrageously expensive vibe. Well, none except the one that everyone warned you to stay away from the second you moved to the city.
“Not Olympic?” You probe and something dark flashes in his eyes, like he was sensing your challenge and daring you to push further.
“The Ritz was too out of the way,” he explains with an undertone that you can’t decipher. It should have alerted every danger-sensing part of your brain. The most unsettling part about him, though, was that none of those sensors went off. “Honestly, the reason I’m on this side of the city in the first place is because I was gonna grab a drink with a friend. I’ve been stuck in meetings all day and needed some fresh air.”
“Well, this is as fresh as it gets here,” you concede sarcastically, gesturing to the blurry watercolor world of streetlights and poor drainage systems outside the bubble that was your workplace. He chuckles and it feels like sunshine in contrast to the weather and the rising suspicion that he was far more dangerous than he seemed.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Shoot,” you reply and watch his face carefully for his reaction to what was seemingly a harmless response. His eyes narrow a fraction at your word choice, but he continues anyway.
“I chose my clothes so they didn’t have noticeable logos. How’d you know they were designer?”
“I’m studying for my masters in business with an emphasis on the fashion industry,” you explain. The metal bell dings from the kitchen window and you retrieve the small plate of steaming hashbrowns, placing it in front of him. “One of my recent assignments was to analyze the most recent collections of three designers, and you happen to be wearing two of them.” His mouth opens into an ah of understanding and he nods.
“You have sharp eyes. That’s a good thing,” he comments, stabbing a chunk of potatoes with his fork. “It pays to be observant.”
“I just notice little details,” you clarify. “It’s nothing special.”
“You’d be surprised by how many things go unnoticed simply because people aren’t paying attention. Gets a lot of people into trouble that could have been avoided.” You don’t have the courage to ask for elaboration, so you shift the subject of the conversation.
“Your ring. I don’t recognize it,” you add and point at the silver signet ring on his left pinky. A trident is stamped into the metal above a small Roman numeral that looks like it could be the number three. “Is it custom?”
“It is. My friends and I all have matching ones.”
“What’s the significance of the trident?” He pauses for a barely perceptible second, tilting his head as if debating whether to tell you the truth or not.
“Neptune, the Roman god of the sea.”
“Do your friends have the other gods of the pantheon, then?” His smile turns calculating.
“Both Greek and Roman, yes.”
“Who were you grabbing a drink with tonight? Saturn?” You joke and he huffs a laugh that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“No, Saturn’s with Jupiter on a business trip. The friend I’m meeting doesn’t have an alias yet. The rest of the guys and I have been throwing around some names, though.”
“What’s the top contender?” He waits again before responding and you can feel him trying to read you for something that you didn’t have.
“Orcus. Punisher of broken oaths.” Something shifts in you with his reply, the alarm bells finally ringing and the pattern of lighthearted banter is broken. You clear your throat and swallow thickly. He sees it, but whatever deception he was trying to find in your face is absent. Either you were a dangerously good actor, or you truly knew nothing about who he was and his significance in the underworld. The mask of a charming smile returns almost immediately to placate you. “Intense, I know. My friends are a little on the silly side. You get it, right?” You hum in half-hearted agreement before getting called away to another side of the diner, something about fixing a misprint on a receipt.
The stranger has vanished by the time you’re able to make your way back to the counter. In his place is a crisp $100 bill tucked under the empty plate of hashbrowns and a note written on a cardstock business card.
“Meetings all week. Hope to see you again. Hashbrowns were fire,” you read aloud and laugh at the last comment before flipping over the card. Your smile drops. Shit. Your eyes scan the logo and black print on the back of the card once, twice, then three more times before you register what it says. Gone was your initial glee now that you know your intuition was correct, that he was much more dangerous than he seemed.
The stranger was a guest at the Los Angeles Continental, L.A.’s infamous hitman hotel.
—
From THE HIGH TABLE SECTOR COMMANDMENTS
“IV: You shall act as an extension of your Sector, killing as they may kill and dying as they may die.”
After the first contract with Seungcheol, Kronos takes Joshua fully under his wing. Kronos teaches him the workings of the underworld, while Seungcheol hones him into a weapon of Kronos’ bidding. His body becomes leaner, his muscles stronger, his eyes sharper. On jobs, Seungcheol is brutal, busting down doors and attacking in a blur of thrown fists; Joshua takes a more subtle approach, clearing away guards and henchmen so that Seungcheol can pull the trigger on the primary target. Together, they act as Kronos’ spears, eliminating targets in the dark of whatever foreign country they flew to that week. Seungcheol speaks to him more after their third job together, sharing bits and pieces about his experience with Kronos and how the three of them were going to change the workings of the High Table.
Joshua sees the world, but he also sees the extent of what money can buy. The first time his cut of a reward was dropped into his bank account, he blew all of it on every designer store on Rodeo Drive. His second paycheck is spent on a dark blue Ford Mustang that has its own designated spot in the underground parking lot of the Continental. It’s a luxury, he thinks, to be able to buy Christmas presents for Seungcheol and Kronos’ daughter, whom he meets after his fifth job. She’s a few years younger than him and Seungcheol, but the three of them bicker and joke like they’d been childhood friends as they wander through the massive gardens she cultivates on a private island off the coast of Virginia. He compliments the flowers and she lets him call her ‘Flora,’ a nickname used only by her father and Seungcheol.
Most importantly, Joshua learns why he eliminates the targets that he does in between contracts and during long rides on Kronos’ private jet.
“Are you familiar with the Sector system, Joshua?” Kronos asks him over the rim of his bourbon glass. Seungcheol is fast asleep and snoring in the leather seat next to him, leaving Joshua at the mercy of Kronos’ unwavering stare.
“Cheol has explained it in passing, but the inner workings, I’m not sure about,” he admits. Kronos nods, silent and formidable in a way that Joshua still hasn’t become used to.
“The Sector system was established in the 80s after a group of hitmen formed an alliance and plotted to take down the Table,” Kronos explains. “They failed, of course; but, instead of outlawing alliances, it was decreed that alliances could exist only if they followed the Commandments set by the Table. The problem is, Joshua, that these rules were made to destabilize Sectors from the inside. Tell me, what is the ninth Sector Commandment?” Joshua’s eyebrows pinch as he thinks.
“If a Sector leader is eliminated, the one who kills the leader takes their place,” Joshua recalls.
“Now, what would be the issue with maintaining alliances if the highest position of power is solely dependent on if the leader stays alive or not?”
“All the members below the leader would want that power for themselves, so it’s a constant power vacuum where one leader dies, another takes his place, over and over again.”
“Correct. However, we are going to change the Sector system.”
“We?”
“Yes. I’ve been training Seungcheol to form his own Sector, but it will not follow the same cycle as previous Sectors.”
“How?”
“Today’s Sectors are fragile, with most being a group of five who end up betraying each other somewhere down the line. What a good alliance needs is numbers, numbers who understand that working together is more beneficial than eating each other alive. Thirteen, I think, is a good number.” Joshua’s eyes become wide as saucers.
“Where would we find that many willing hitmen, sir?”
“We’ve got you and Seungcheol, which makes two. It’s up to you both who the remaining eleven will be. I know Seungcheol has some ideas, and you will inevitably be his delegate that he sends to recruit other members. At least, until you find someone to fulfill that role.”
“What about you, sir? Wouldn’t you be a third member with us?”
“I have my sights set on a seat at the Table, Joshua. While you two work the underground, I will work the overworld. When we come together, the power of the High Table will be in our hands.” Kronos glances at Seungcheol, who has begun to snore. “Seungcheol will put in place ideas that were previously unheard of for Sectors. You will share a pool of money that a portion of your rewards will go to, in addition to the tribute paid to the Table. There will be more established positions besides the leader and the broker, such as the messenger. But most importantly,” Kronos’ voice drops to a low octave, “You must choose who is among your ranks so that no one would dare rival your power.”
“Sir?”
“The fact that anyone who kills in the name of a Sector joins said Sector is ridiculous,” the man scowls. “No, you will only allow the most elite of the underworld to join your membership, those whose reputation speaks for themselves.”
“Jihoon,” Joshua answers immediately and surprise blinks across Kronos’ face.
“Lee Jihoon could work, yes, but I believe he’ll be a hard one to convince only because the Ruska Roma are stubborn motherfuckers. Whomever you decide, keep in mind that these will be your brothers, and you must value them in a way that other Sectors do not value their membership.”
“I understand.”
“Good. Now, get some rest. You’ll be hunting as soon as we touch down.”
—
The logical side of you tells you to switch your shift after the first day you meet him, to swap with Melina and wake up at some ungodly hour of the morning to greet customers before the sunrise does. It would be a pain to have a shift before all your daytime classes, sure, but a voice in the back of your head was telling you it would be safer to avoid contact with the stranger, now that you knew he could be connected to the Continental. The curious side of you, however, keeps you on your regular schedule, hopeful that the mysterious (and probably lethal) stranger would show up again, and he did.
Every day at the same time, ordering a cup of coffee and a plate of hashbrowns, he’d be at your counter for no more than thirty minutes until his phone with a Louis Vuitton case lit up and he left. Your talks with him were deceptively normal, and you tried to reason that he incidentally picked up a business card for a hotel rumored to be frequented by the criminal underworld without knowing what it was. That, you learned, was wishful thinking. When you asked about what he did for work or what his meetings were about, he would go strategically quiet and steer the conversation back into what your interests were, charming his way out of the situation like he’d been doing it from birth. He bristled whenever you brought up the Continental and became so guarded that you had no choice but to bring up something mundane like your assignments or your roommate’s cats.
You finally learned his name was Joshua on the third day he visited the diner, but any attempt to pry further proved futile. The following day, he asked about the dusty jukebox sitting just under the window peeking into the kitchen.
“Is that real or is it just decoration?” You glance at the hulking machine with its thick rainbow arch and array of buttons that hadn’t been pressed in a long time.
“It’s real, but management says it’s better to just play stuff through the intercom,” you say. “It’ll have to be a really special occasion because I almost got fired the last time I did it.” Joshua’s jaw drops in disbelief.
“No way. Why the hell would you get fired for playing music?” You stifle a laugh.
“Apparently anything by Elvis is banned because it reminds my manager too much of her ex, but I played ‘Burning Love’ on my second training shift and she blew up at me in the walk-in freezer.” He stares at you like you’d grown seven heads.
“That’s actually crazy. Was it because of his voice? Or his face?”
“I think she was just jealous he could move his hips better than she could,” you snark and he bursts out laughing. Something in your stomach flutters against your will. You liked when he smiled, but his laugh could keep you on a high until the next time you saw him.
“That’s a shame about the jukebox, though. I have a friend who would get a kick out of it. He’s really into music and stuff like that.”
“Is he the one you told me about yesterday?” Joshua doesn’t seem to hesitate anymore when explaining his friends, and you figure it’s because their aliases help maintain secrecy without sacrificing interesting conversations. “The hopelessly romantic one?”
“Cupid likes music, sure, but the one I’m thinking about is Janus.” You search your memory for what you could remember about him, but it was hard considering that his friend group consisted of twelve other people.
“Remind me what he’s the god of again?”
“Time, in his simplest form.”
“And the complex form?”
“Beginnings, endings, everything in between,” he continues. “Oh, and doorways.” You blink at him and he gives you a sheepish look. “It’s confusing from an outsider’s perspective. I got lucky because Jupiter let me pick my alias first; I like water, so Neptune just…worked.”
“Yeah, and now your new guy has to deal with Orcus and all the ones that weren’t in Percy Jackson,” you add. Joshua smiles into his coffee mug, something soft and real.
It felt a little odd, joking about these people with him like they were your old friends, even though they could very well be wanted criminals. You didn’t know their true names like you knew Joshua’s, but you knew that Jupiter was the leader of their friend group, and Saturn was his right hand man. Mercury, Sol, and Bacchus could break the sound barrier together. Erebus and Somnus rarely ever raised their voices. Janus was very close to Joshua, and the latter talked about him like he was an awkward little brother that could always be trusted to follow his shenanigans. Cupid was constantly pining over some woman he met on a random phone call. Terminus was always there whenever anyone needed backup (what he meant by backup, you didn’t ask about). You didn’t hear much about Pluto, another friend very close to Jupiter, but when you did, Joshua would shudder like the name itself was fear-evoking. It was fascinating and downright puzzling, all these things you were learning.
Whether he meant to or not, Joshua was slowly folding you into the fabric of his world while simultaneously keeping you just out of reach. You wanted to know more.
You wanted to know him more, and your understanding of his world would end up escalating farther than you ever predicted.
—
From THE HIGH TABLE SECTOR COMMANDMENTS
“III: Your Sector shall hold no office that rivals the High Table.”
If a bullet didn’t kill him, Joshua figures that these hearings could come pretty close.
The face of his Piguet watch reads 5:45. 30 more minutes. He just had to last less than half an hour in this stuffy conference hall of the Continental, and then he could jump in his Mustang and see you, just as he had for the past several days.
“When you said to meet you in L.A., I thought you meant seeing the Hollywood sign or Universal Studios,” Jeonghan grumbles. “Something fun.” Joshua rolls his eyes, the corner of his mouth pulling upward. If he was on the brink of dying of boredom, he knew Jeonghan was downright suffering.
“I never said this would be fun,” Joshua corrects quietly and the people in the seats in front of them glare over their shoulders. He shoots them an apologetic smile. There’s a candidate at the front of the room being demolished by the election committee’s questions, but he can’t make out any of what’s being said from his place in the back-most row. Jeonghan shifts impatiently.
“Why ask me to come here, then?”
“Because I needed insurance in case Dino fucked up again,” he replies, annoyance laced in his voice. It wasn’t the first time a member had failed their induction task–Mingyu had lost his target three times, for God’s sake. This time was different, though, because Seungcheol had insisted Dino’s induction task coincide with Joshua’s plan to become manager of the Los Angeles Continental. As Sector leader, it was Seungcheol’s whole job to be efficient for the benefit of all members, but it didn’t make it any less irritating. “I called Jun, but he won’t be here until tomorrow at the latest. The others will arrive when they announce the position, the day after tomorrow.”
“Will Dino be able to complete the task by then?”
“If he doesn’t, it won’t matter. I’m confident the committee will make the correct decision,” he states. The candidate at the front of the room is dismissed, and another is called forward. The only candidate he had to worry about, Atlas, was at the other end of the room. He sat next to the man who had endorsed his campaign, someone named Bane Gordon who was supposedly related to someone with a seat at the Table. Not like Joshua cared, anyway. He had finished his round of questions four hours ago, and now was stuck sitting until everyone else had finished their hearings for the day as well. His mind steers a sharp turn to imagine you and the diner, how the world fades when you talk and how his heart thumps when you smile. He wishes time could move as quickly in here as it did when he was in the diner. When his focus returns to the present, Jeonghan is watching him with a cat-like grin.
“You’re thinking of her again,” he claims and Joshua’s face flushes.
“I’m not.”
“Are too.”
“Am not.”
“Are too.” Their argument is hushed again by the people sitting in front of them, and Jeonghan sticks his tongue out at their backs as they turn back to the candidate giving her opening remarks. “You’ve been different since you mentioned her the first time.”
“No, I haven’t,” Joshua denies.
“You have. I know more about this woman than I do Jihoon, and I’ve known him for seven years,” Jeonghan argues.
“She’s just nice, that’s all. I don’t talk about her that much.”
“Stay in denial all you want, Neptune. Shall I start calling her Salacia?” Joshua shoots his friend a glare.
“Don’t you dare.”
“What? Salacia is Neptune’s wife, after all. It’s called manifesting, Joshua Hong,” Jeonghan goads.
“You’re a pain in my ass,” Joshua deflects, willing his heart to stop racing at the idea of marrying you. “I can’t believe Kronos told us to spare your life.”
“You didn’t spare my life, technically; Ops did.”
“Has she warmed up to you calling her that yet?”
“She will. You know how she is,” Jeonghan sighs. Joshua braces for whatever the next tease is to come out of Jeonghan’s mouth. “Do you think Salacia and Ops would get along?”
“At this point, I think the committee should just shoot me.”
—
You meet Jeonghan on an overcast Friday at 6:36 in the evening, about five minutes before Joshua typically arrives. Your back is to the door and you’re chatting with the cooks in the back when he appears on a stool at the counter, noiseless as a hunting panther.
“Hello,” he greets in a voice as smooth the Yves Saint Laurent wool coat he was wrapped in. You stop yourself just in time from startling, a little put off by the fact that you didn’t even hear him enter the diner. “May I place an order?”
“Yes, hi. Of course you can,” you stammer, handing him a menu and a cup of water. Your body moves on instinct to grab a cup of coffee and you have to consciously remember that it wasn’t Joshua at the counter yet. “Sorry, I was–”
“Expecting someone else?” His smile is friendly on the surface, but you feel his eyes bore into you. He was trying to read you, the same way Joshua did, but his scrutiny felt twenty times more intense and made you want to curl into a ball and hide. Feeling backed into a corner, you glance at his pinky for some explanation and he watches you analyze the ring like you were correctly following the rules of a test. Just as you predicted, a gold signet ring with an identical shape to Joshua’s sits on his finger. The Roman numeral ‘two’ is etched into the metal below a curved blade, a sickle.
“Saturn.” His mouth pulls into a cat-like grin.
“He’s told you more than I predicted,” he remarks, his voice laced with amusement, and you finally take a deep enough breath to steel your nerves. “Do you know his name?”
“Neptune,” you answer quickly.
“Not that one. His real name.” You pause and take another look at the ring on his finger. Several possibilities flash in your mind, one of them being that the man in front of you could be an imposter looking to gain insight into Joshua and his friends. You had no way to verify this man’s identity, seeing as you only knew Saturn’s alias and what the symbol on his ring supposedly was, and it occurs to you that telling this stranger Joshua’s name could put both of you in danger. “Well?”
Advice from a business professor whose name you’ve long forgotten echoes in your mind: Whoever’s talking holds the power.
Fuck it.
“Can I get something started for you?” You dodge, checking the clock. He tilts his head and narrows his eyes, like you’d chosen an answer option he hadn’t given. You flip open the menu, navigating to the combos page with adrenaline racing through your veins. You just had to stall for two more minutes until Joshua arrived, and then you would know if this was actually his friend. “I tend to recommend pancake combo A, but the waffle combo is just as good. It just depends on what you’re in the mood for.”
“What are–” You steamroll ahead with more senseless chattering about the diner’s offerings.
“I can start you out with coffee while you look through what we have. Cream and sugar okay?” You don’t give him the chance to respond, turning abruptly on your heel to grab the coffee pot and shakily pour out a cup. When you turn to place the mug in front of him, his expression has changed from a predator playing with its food to pure dumbfoundment.
“I didn’t ask for–”
“You looked like you could use a cup,” you interrupt without thinking. “Someone told me I have sharp eyes, so I guess that’s a good thing. I can tell you more about our specials, if you’d like. We just started using this new type of bacon that’s supposedly fattier, so even if it gets too crispy, there’s still soft parts at the edges.”
“Can I–”
“We have pie and chocolate cake as well, in the back. We haven’t used the cake stand in a while because it’s from the 30s and we’re pretty sure it’s radioactive.”
“Would you just–”
“I don’t think our patrons seem to mind that the cake stand is possibly radioactive or that the cook forgets to use a hairnet most days. At the end of the day, food is food and business is business. You get it, right?” He stares at you, speechless. Every time he tried to speak, you would simply say something before he could, and any attempt to have a conversation–or in this case, an interrogation–fell flat on its face.
“Why,” he begins slowly and you raise an eyebrow, challenging him to continue even though you’d already demonstrated that you were the one in control, not him. “Why do you keep talking so damn much?”
“Because I’m stalling,” you acknowledge with a nonchalant shrug, the tension finally beginning to ease from your shoulders. Without a sound and completely unknown to the man at the counter, Joshua has slipped into the diner like a shadow and takes the stool next to him.
“And because she’s smart as a whip,” he adds, giving you a wink that melts your nerves instantly. He’s wearing Balenciaga today; you don’t think you’ll ever get used to seeing him wear the same brands you studied in classes.
“I noticed that,” the stranger concedes, a little exasperated. He extends his hand, a Dior bracelet on his wrist, and you shake it like you’d bested him in a chess match. “Jeonghan.”
“Nice to meet you,” you reply. “How’s the coffee?”
“Surprisingly good, though that might just be because I’m scared you’ll keep talking at me if I say otherwise.”
“I haven’t told her what a Sector is yet, by the way,” Joshua mumbles and Jeonghan frowns.
“Oh. Oops.” Joshua’s attention shifts to his friend, who he indignantly swats with his hand.
“Hey, is this why you insisted on leaving before me? Because you wanted to interrogate the nice girl from the diner?” Jeonghan shrugs and smiles like a kid caught elbow-deep in the cookie jar.
“Yes, except she kept me from interrogating her by insisting I try their waffles,” Jeonghan corrects. “She didn’t tell me anything because I couldn’t ask anything.” You feel an odd sense of pride knowing that you’d successfully protected what little information you knew about Joshua and his friends. Jeonghan had given you a test, and you’d passed it simply because you refused to follow his guidelines. “I like her.”
“He’s annoyed you beat him at his own game, don’t be fooled,” Joshua says. “Can I still get my usual even though my friend tried to scare you?”
“Only if I’m allowed to know what a Sector is and what kind of meetings you’ve been in all week,” you counter, though you’re already pouring him his usual cup and putting in the order of hashbrowns. But, as soon as you open your mouth to continue, two simultaneous notifications light up their phones that have Jeonghan bolting out without so much as a goodbye. Joshua lingers, apologizing profusely and tossing a stack of bills onto the counter before running out after his friend. You’re left standing behind the counter with $150 in tips and a crushing feeling of disappointment.
You don’t see Joshua for two days, and the circumstances in which you serve him again are less than ideal, being that there was a man with a gun in the kitchen ready to kill you as soon as you signaled that something was wrong.
—
It was well past midnight and nearing closing time when you popped into the kitchen to ask the cook a question. The other waitress was gone, as was the second cook who only stayed during the busier dinner rushes, leaving just you and the late-night cook as the only workers in the diner. When you swung open the metal door, you expected to find the cook scrubbing the grill or stowing away vegetables for the following day. What you didn’t expect was to see him frozen in fear, the barrel of a gun pressed to his temple by a tall man you didn’t recognize. He was dressed in a black three-piece suit and a recent-looking scar ran from his right ear down to his chin. He’d introduced himself as Gordon, his demeanor too calm for this to simply be a random robbery. No, this was planned.
This was purposeful.
“In ten minutes, Joshua Hong will walk through the door and place his usual order. You will put that into his coffee, and you will leave,” Gordon commanded, nodding at the unassuming pink packet sitting on the kitchen counter in front of you. “If you refuse or call for help, I will shoot this cook and slit your throat right in front of that jackass Hong and all his Sector friends.” Your heart races in your ears and you swallow several times to keep from blacking out completely. The poor cook is weeping, eyes squeezed shut and prayers whispered through trembling lips.
“What’s in the packet?” You dare to ask, your voice no louder than a whisper.
“Just sugar,” Gordon sneers, “and arsenic.”
“Why?” You snarl and you see the muscle in Gordon’s jaw tighten. His finger unlatches the safety and he presses the barrel further against the cook’s head.
“None of your fucking business, that’s why,” he spits. “Maybe your shithead boyfriend will tell you before the poison kicks in.”
“How do you know he’ll be here?”
“My guys have been tailing him since the first time he visited. One of his members just shot my fucking candidate and we almost caught their ass. He’ll be looking for some comfort, the same way he has after all the hearings. Too bad for him, because I’m not gonna let him kill my guy and get away with it, and you are gonna help me.” You had no idea what he was talking about, but you don’t have a chance to stall for time again because Gordon’s patience runs out. He shoves the cook forward and forces you back towards the door. “Get out there. I’ve got six men ready to finish the job if you won’t. Do your job and fuck off.”
Your vision is fading in and out at the edges, but you pocket the sugar packet with shaking fingers and position yourself behind the counter, like normal. Just as Gordon said, half a dozen men are scattered across the diner. Some sit in the booths, some alone at the tables, but all of them are in a position where they could listen to whatever conversation is spoken at the counter. Someone–you assume Gordon–tugs the curtain typically scrunched at the side of the kitchen window to hide the dining room’s view of the kitchen. You had no idea what would be going on in the kitchen from now on. The cook could be dead, for all you know, and you’re stuck out in the dining room with nothing but your wit and the damn jukebox to keep you safe. You screw your eyes shut and take a deep breath, willing yourself to wake up from this nightmare. But when you open your eyes again, you’re still gripping the counter until your knuckles turn white. Movement through the window catches your eye.
Joshua.
An idea occurs to you and you move as calmly but quickly as you’re able, fishing out the power cord from behind the jukebox and plugging it into the outlet on the wall. It hums to life and the men around the dining room barely give you a second glance. Good. You scan through the song list until one stands out, if only for the lyrics that seem to resound a little too well with your situation: “Suspicious Minds” by Elvis Presley. You hear him open the door while you’re still facing the jukebox and, trembling, press the play button.
We’re caught in a trap…
“Long time no see,” you say as evenly as you can, handing him a menu even though you know he doesn’t need it. You needed to stall for time, to give him a second to figure out that the jukebox was on and that something was very wrong.
I can't walk out…
“It has been,” he confirms and you take note of how tired he looks. He runs a hand through his hair and you catch the bags under his eyes, the way he looks like he hasn’t eaten since the last time he was in the same stool at your counter.
“I’m glad you’re here.” Without thinking, you reach out and briefly cover his hand with yours. His hand is cold but soft, and you brush your fingertips over the exposed skin of his wrist not covered by his coat sleeve. Joshua’s head lifts slowly and you pray he can read the panic in your eyes.
“Everything okay?” He asks in measured syllables. From your peripheral vision, Gordon’s men listen in and wait for you to make a wrong move.
Because I love you too much, baby…
“Of course,” you reply too brightly, jerking your hand away like touching him had given you an electric shock. The action makes his stomach churn. “It’s just very good to see you.” Joshua’s eyes scan your face and he twists the ring on his pinky, a habit you’d noticed he did whenever he was thinking of what to say. “Can I get you your usual?”
Why can’t you see…
“You know me so well,” he answers cautiously.
“I would say that we’re friends at this point, don’t you think?” You hum along with the song and crack open the door to the kitchen, calling for an order of hashbrowns that you know won’t be cooked. When you turn back to him, Joshua’s face has fallen into a full frown. He’s only known you for a little over a week, but Joshua Hong is an observant man. For one, you haven’t handed him a menu since the third day because you already know his order, but you did tonight. The kitchen, which usually rang with the sound of scrubbing dishes or the hiss of meat on the grill, is eerily quiet, as is the rest of the diner and its six other occupants. You never call out orders through the kitchen door; the window to the kitchen is never closed.
And you never turn on Elvis on the jukebox.
“Interesting song choice,” he notes, watching you carefully. You nod once.
“I’m glad you noticed.”
“Any particular reason?”
“Just one of those nights, I guess,” you conclude, slowly pouring his cup of coffee. You tear the packet of sugar and pour it at an angle where you’re sure he can see it, and you know that he knows something is off because he doesn’t immediately take a sip when you place it in front of him.
“How’s that group presentation going, by the way? The one for your analytics class?” He asks in a light tone, and you see him start to scribble something on what you think is another business card from the Continental.
“Same old, same old. You have an idea for how something is gonna go and then all of a sudden, someone else wants to completely go another direction.” One of Gordon’s men clears his throat and you see him squint suspiciously at what Joshua could possibly be writing for the waitress at some cheap diner. “We’re supposed to finish up and present next week, but I have no idea what is going through the other group members’ heads. You think you know a person,” you huff a little cynically. He’s still writing, probably trying to send you a message because he knows you can’t say what’s going on out loud. You gently grab Joshua’s wrist to still his hand and shake your head, subtly enough for him to see it but not enough for Gordon’s men to catch it too.
“Yeah,” he adds and sets down the pen. He crumples the card in his fist and shoves it in his pocket. “I guess you have to be careful with what you know about people.”
“I’ve enjoyed getting to know you, though,” you reply. It sounds like a goodbye. He’s caught on to the fact that you’re not speaking openly, and that’s the nail in the coffin. “Hey, have your meetings finished since I saw you last?”
“They did, and I actually got a new job.”
“Oh, wow!” You gape, genuinely surprised. “Congratulations; I’m really happy for you.”
“I appreciate it. Our little talks every day have kept me human.” You pause.
“What do you mean?”
“The meetings I’ve been in, they were kind of like…hearings, I guess? A little more intense than a job interview and with a lot fewer candidates as competition. All of it was super tiring, but I looked forward to seeing you after every one.” Your heart flutters in spite of the danger sitting just a few feet away. He liked seeing you, maybe as much as you liked seeing him. Great. You’ve fallen in love with a guy who could be a hitman. Probably a hitman.
Definitely a hitman.
“I’m glad I could offer some reprieve.” Your eyes flicker back down at the coffee growing cold on the counter. So there was some truth in what Gordon had told you about the hearings and the candidates; the part about assassinating Joshua’s competition, you weren’t so sure about, but you did know that the longer you stayed in the diner, the less likely you were to leave it alive. You knew Joshua had received your warning that something was wrong, but you still had information that could be helpful before you left. “You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about your friend with the funny name you told me about. What was it, Terrence? Turbulence?” Joshua goes deathly still, his eyes darkening in a way that sends a chill down your back.
“Terminus?” Your smile strains, but the way Joshua’s voice becomes sharper tells you that you’d remembered his friends correctly, since Terminus was the one they called when a situation went sideways and they needed backup.
“Yeah, him! I was just thinking about how funny his name is, and how he might like to meet some of my other friends with funny names. A lot of them live around here.” An innocent conversation to Gordon’s men, but Joshua catches on to your meaning immediately.
“Yeah?” He says, his voice dropping dangerously low. “How many friends?”
“Maybe half a dozen in the immediate area, but one actually lives right behind my place. I wouldn’t bother him, though, since he tends to be a little…restrictive.” Joshua nods and sends two texts on his phone. He hasn’t taken a single sip of coffee. The other men in the diner shift in their seats.
“I see. Do you still need a ride home?” You hesitate for only a second at the question he’s never asked before. “I know you asked a few days ago because you said your roommate would be out of town.” You’d said no such thing, but he’d taken your lies and was seamlessly weaving in his own to keep suspicion low until you were safe.
“Yeah, a ride home would be great. You know how this place gets at night,” you chuckle without humor.
“Sounds good. My friend’s waiting at the curb and he’ll take you where you need to go,” he says. You breathe out shakily, your resolve cracking just a fraction. The cook was still in danger, even if you escaped.
“What about your order in the kitchen?” His phone lights up and for the first time, he shows you the messages.
TERMINUS [12:27 A.M.]
kitchen is secured
cook is unconscious but alive
get her out and i’ll clean up the rest with you
Another notification appears.
SATURN [12:28 A.M.]
gordon’s got guys on the roof across the street
dino is taking care of them now
i’ll get her safely to the hotel
just tell her to hurry up bc i’m wasting gas and this is cheol’s car
“See? I’ve got a friend picking it up like a DoorDash order. It’s all under control,” he reassures you and you believe him. He reaches out and takes your shaking hand, squeezing it once. “Don’t look back, no matter what you hear,” he murmurs. His voice becomes even softer, barely loud enough for you to hear. “I won’t let them hurt you. Go.” Your head feels like it’s in a daze, but your feet carry you out the door, past Gordon’s men who move to surround Joshua at the counter, and toward the idling car just outside the front entrance. You duck into the passenger seat and have just enough time to jump at the sound of the first gunshot before Jeonghan slams his foot on the gas pedal.
—
The car pulls up to the cobblestone roundabout of the Los Angeles Continental after an awkwardly quiet twenty minute drive, and a valet attendant offers you his hand as you step out of the vehicle. You have to crane your neck upward and even then, you can't see the top of the hotel through the thick cloud coverage of the night. A long carpet walkway leads to the spinning doors of the front entrance, lined with gold stancheons and more velvet ropes. Jeonghan tosses the attendant the car keys without a word and leads you away with a gentle hand on your shoulder.
“Don't be scared. We own this building,” he murmurs, nodding politely at the staff flanking the main entrance.
“What do you mean, own?” You whisper back as you pass through the rotating door and step inside the hotel. The lobby is comfortably warm in both temperature and atmosphere, its furniture and marble floors bathed in golden yellow light from the numerous chandeliers hanging overhead. The architecture shines with the luxury and opulence of Old Hollywood, and you feel underdressed walking next to Jeonghan and his tailored black suit.
“Why do you think Joshua was in all those meetings? To be a pool cleaner?” Jeonghan replies with a smug smirk. “I know you can pull strings in conversations. Business is business, right? We just do that on a…larger scale.” You're approaching the concierge desk before you can ask another question. The woman behind the desk gives you both a friendly smile.
“Welcome back, Mr. Yoon. Shall I have a room prepared for your guest?”
“No need, I'll have her stay in the manager's suite. Can you let me know when the rest of my members arrive?”
“Of course, sir. Mr. Chwe, Mr. Lee, and Mr. Boo have all called ahead,” she affirms before turning to you. Her eyes are kind in a way that catches you off guard. “Please let us know if there’s anything we can do to make your stay more comfortable, Miss Salacia.” You shoot Jeonghan a puzzled look. Who the hell is Salacia?
“Let's go. Joshua and Jun should be finishing up soon,” Jeonghan says, guiding you to the elevators in a corner of the lobby. He punches in a code–150526, you note–that sends you smoothly up to what you assume to be the penthouse at the topmost floor of the hotel. You stare at the floor while Jeonghan hums along to the quiet jazz playing through the speaker.
“Am I allowed to ask questions yet?” You ask softly, the adrenaline of the night wearing off and leaving you emotionally exhausted.
“You can ask me all you want, but I think it'd be better to hear it from him,” Jeonghan replies coolly and you nod. “There's a bathroom in the master suite that you can use to shower. I'll have housekeeping send up a fresh set of pajamas.”
“Is it not safe for me to go home?”
“Gordon used you, a civilian, in an assassination attempt against a Sector member. This isn't a matter we take lightly,” he explains. The elevator chimes brightly and the doors slide open to reveal the largest living room you've ever seen. Jeonghan strolls in like he lives there and flops unceremoniously on the leather sofa that took up a third of the space, throwing his arms backward to sprawl out like a starfish. “Truthfully, you can leave at any time you wish, but your safety is guaranteed as long as you stay here.” A flash of frustration flares in your chest.
“How? How do I know Gordon won't come up that elevator and kill me for not finishing the job he forced me into?” You stay rooted in place just in front of the elevator doors, arms crossed across your chest. Jeonghan blinks an eye open and glares like you'd personally offended him.
“One: High Table rules forbid business from being conducted on Continental grounds. Two: I'm here. Self explanatory. Three: Joshua has told me, verbatim, that he will shoot anyone who looks at you too long.” You chew the inside of your cheek, unconvinced.
“That seems too good to be true.” Jeonghan pulls himself up to look at you properly.
“If you still don't believe me, I've got eleven more reasons on their way to the hotel right now.” On cue, the hotel phone on the table cuts the tension with a shrill ring and you flinch. “That should be Orcus, Mercury, and Janus. Go ahead and shower; everyone should be here by the time you're done.”
Orcus. Mercury. Janus. Saturn. Gordon. Continental. Salacia.
Joshua.
It was all too damn much.
“Jeonghan?” Your voice is more watery than you want it to be.
“Hmm?”
“My life isn't gonna go back to normal after this, is it?” His eyes soften and he sighs. There's something akin to pity on his expression.
“No, it won't. I would say I’m sorry, but words won’t fix the mess you’ve been brought into.” He hops up and pushes open another huge door down the hall on your left. “Bedroom's just through here. Go on and get cleaned up.”
“Thank you,” you murmur as you pass him. He bows at the waist like a knight to a queen.
“Of course, Salacia.”
—
From THE HIGH TABLE SECTOR COMMANDMENTS
“I: Your Sector shall pledge loyalty to none except the High Table.”
The metallic smell of blood sits heavy on his tongue. Broken plates and red-stained cutlery litter the checkered linoleum. The 1930s cake stand that you always theorized was radioactive is shattered on the floor, its halves having been slammed into the collarbone of one of the six bodies slumped at his feet. There’s an incessant ringing in his ears and his gun is somewhere behind the counter, thrown after he emptied the magazine as Jeonghan’s car peeled away from the curb. Through the open kitchen door and the back exit that Jun had left open, he can hear Gordon protesting as the former tosses him into the trunk of his car like a sack of potatoes. Taking lives didn’t affect Joshua anymore, not after ten years he’d been fighting alongside Seungcheol and training under Kronos. These bodies, however, felt different. You weren’t here, but he felt you all the same. He was carrying the weight of your interactions as he fought, your smile that he so desperately wanted to protect broadcast at the front of his mind. He couldn’t be in this place without thinking of you. He couldn’t kill in this place without thinking he was tainting something sacred. And in a way, he has.
“She’s in the manager’s suite now,” Jun informs him. Joshua nods once, his neck stiff. The manager’s suite, though technically his, didn’t feel like home. He briefly wonders if having you in it would make it feel that way, and then the dead men around him remind him that you could never be someone he considers home. “Coups is waiting. Wonwoo, Mingyu, and Seokmin will get there shortly after us.”
“Dino?”
“Already there.”
“What about janitorial?”
“Jeonghan called. They’ll be here soon, so we should clear out.”
“Yeah,” Joshua agrees, but makes no move toward the door. His expression is blank, his tone empty. “And Kronos?” Jun’s mouth draws into a thin line.
“Coups still doesn’t want us talking to him, so I didn’t call.” Right. There’d been some sort of fallout between Seungcheol and their mentor, but he didn’t know the details. Kronos would probably know what to do in this situation, but it was also likely that he would tell Joshua to just get rid of you entirely, which was not on the table.
“Jun.”
“Yes, hyung?”
“I appreciate you coming,” he states.
“Well, ‘one fall, all fall,’ right?” Jun replies with a wry smile. “I understand, though,” he adds, his tone becoming almost sorrowful. “Beyond Gordon, beyond the Sector. I understand wanting someone like her. Wanting peace.” Joshua’s jaw tightens. He forgot, sometimes, that he wasn’t the first in his Sector to make the mistake of falling in love.
Jun’s relationship had ended in a literal trainwreck; Seungcheol barely mentioned the sniper who Joshua suspected was the reason he’d fallen out with Kronos; Minghao’s attachment to the woman who slipped through the shadows was borderline codependent; Jeonghan and the one they called Ops danced around each other like propeller blades. And everyone knew about Vernon’s hopeless crush on Flora. Whether they liked it or not, SECTOR 17 was simply not meant for love, and Joshua was no exception.
“How’d you get over it?” Joshua asks defeatedly. Jun’s eyes are steely and the words fall heavy onto Joshua’s chest.
“I haven’t.” Jun waits for a moment more for Joshua to give him a request; when he doesn’t, he turns on his heel and heads to the back lot where his car is parked. It’s another minute longer before his body regains sensation again and he walks like a ghost to his blue Mustang. It hums under his fingertips as he starts down the street for the Continental, Jun’s car pulling into his rearview mirror like the steady reassurance he always was.
You’re nowhere to be found in when he’s parked in the Continental lot and taken the elevator up to the penthouse, his penthouse. Instead, all of SECTOR 17 is waiting for him, lounging on his sofas or sprawled out on the cashmere rug. Teacups dot the coffee table among loaded pistols, butterfly knives, and Vernon’s favorite kunai. If he strains his ears, he can just barely make out the sound of the plumbing running as you shower in the master bathroom. The members carry with them the smell of gunpowder and fragrant cologne, a drastic change from the blood and bacon grease of the diner. When he steps out of the elevator, the mumbled conversation quiets and everyone looks to Seungcheol.
“Are you hurt?” Their leader’s voice is clipped, but he still asks the same question that he asks of all of them every time they meet. Joshua shakes his head. Wonwoo hands him a bandage for a cut on his forehead.
“No.”
“Sit.” He does, squeezing between Jeonghan and Vernon. “What happened?” Joshua’s eyes briefly find Dino, and then stare back at Seungcheol.
“Gordon blackmailed a civilian at the diner to slip poison into my coffee,” Joshua explains. “She warned me, I called in Jun, and Jeonghan brought her here, to the hotel. Jun and I took out the guys Gordon had sent in as backup.”
“Why didn’t you drive her home?” Seungcheol asks Jeonghan, who shrugs. He was the only one who could seem so relaxed around Seungcheol, though his eyes remained sharp as ever.
“Gut feeling,” Jeonghan replies. “Didn’t seem safe, just in case she had a tail on her too.”
“And did she?” Seungcheol continues. Jeonghan glances at Dino.
“She did,” the youngest and newest member to the Sector answers. “They were waiting on the roof across from the diner. They were probably under orders to follow her home, and…” Dino’s voice trails off and Joshua clenches his fist so tightly, his nails sink into the flesh of his palm until it stings. “It’s safest for her to be here, in any case,” Dino adds and the room can feel the weight of his wrong answer settle over them like a storm cloud.
“In any case?” Seungcheol repeats, his voice tight. “The only case that should be is that Atlas should be dead, Gordon should be gone, and there’s not a civilian in the bathroom who knows about our organization,” he seethes. “Only one of those things is true about our situation, and you, Joshua, are the one who put us here.”
“Hyung–” Dino tries to begin, but Mingyu is quick to shut him up with a hand over his mouth. It’d do none of them any good to have Coups’ anger directed at two targets.
“She’s not stupid,” Joshua argues. “She won’t go running her mouth off to anybody about anything I’ve told her.”
“And the problem is that you told her,” Seungcheol retaliates. “You shouldn’t have been in that diner after the first attempt to take out Atlas failed. That wasn’t part of the plan.”
“Well, neither was Dino failing, but we all have to improvise, Cheol.” Dino winces and Vernon’s hand finds Joshua’s shoulder. He hadn’t realized he had been standing, his body moving of its own accord in his anger. The other members are just as tense, but none reach for their weapons. He sinks back onto the sofa, eyes flaming and body itching to punch something. Whether that was the wall or his friend that he’d been training with for a decade, it didn’t matter. “Atlas is dead. Gordon is captured. I’m manager of a damn Continental. What more do you want me to say?”
“I want you to think about how your actions could reflect on the rest of us. Think about it. Our strength, our power, our position? It comes from the fact that we do not waver when it comes to the underworld. Falling in love is wavering, and we do not waver.” Jun and Minghao straighten their shoulders. Everyone has a feeling that Seungcheol might be projecting, but no one has the courage to say anything, not even Jeonghan. Jeonghan, whose eyes have narrowed on the doorway of the hall that leads to the master bedroom. No one else takes notice.
“I just wanted to be normal, for once,” Joshua protests. “Can’t I have that? After everything I’ve given you and this Sector?”
“You gave that up when I watched you kill for the first time,” Seungcheol fires back.
“She’s a civilian, Cheol–”
“And you’re a fucking hitman!” Seungcheol’s anger explodes outward and the entire Sector are on their feet in less than a second. Mingyu and Soonyoung snag their leader’s arms while Vernon forces himself between the two, effectively blocking Joshua from swinging on Seungcheol. “You’re a fucking hitman and she’s not. You kill people. She doesn’t.” Seungcheol jabs his finger forward and Joshua feels it on his chest, even if they don’t make physical contact. “Your life and her life, our lives are not meant to overlap,” he snaps. “You risk compromising all of our identities because of a single girl.”
“Maybe I wanted to, then. Maybe I’m tired of how I’ve been living for the past ten years,” Joshua spits and it hits Seungcheol like a knife to the ribs. Everyone is arguing now, some calling for everyone to take a break while others begin choosing sides. In the heat of the conversation, Jeonghan is the only one who notices that the noise of the shower has stopped.
—
The serene silence of the en suite bathroom is shattered as soon as you're done washing up and successfully changed into the silk pajamas left on the giant bed; you can hear at least ten raised voices in heated conversation just outside, even with the bedroom door completely shut. You crack open the door and creep the few feet down the hallway that obscures you from view, catching parts of an argument that must have started while you were in the shower.
“You were stupid. Admit it, and we can move the fuck on,” barks a rough voice that you don't recognize.
“Seungcheol, you're being a hypocrite,” Jeonghan argues and you hear the former growl.
“No, Jeonghan. It’s fine. I'll acknowledge it, if it means we can get on with our lives,” corrects Joshua tersely. You exhale, the tiniest bit of relief washing over you. He was alive, enough to be arguing with all of his friends. Not the best circumstances, but at least Gordon didn't get the best of him. “I'm a fucking idiot. I met a girl. I thought she was beautiful. I wanted to keep seeing her.” Your cheeks burn at his honesty. Well, shit. He thought you were beautiful. Maybe you weren't as delusional as you thought, though your feelings didn't seem as important as the fact that you were used as an accomplice to attempted murder. “I like her. I like her a lot. I was stupid because of it. I don't know what else you want me to say.” It seems that no one else does, either, because there's a solid minute and a half of silence until someone speaks again.
“So what now, Coups?”
“Joshua unintentionally brought a civilian into Sector affairs. There's nothing in our Commandments to deal with this.”
“She knows our aliases. She knows both Joshua and Jeonghan’s true names. She knows we control the hotel. There were guys who would tail her after she got off work. The bottom line is, she knows too much to simply go back to living normally.”
“But she's still far removed enough that we can get her out.” Jeonghan's voice. He was advocating for you.
“There are six reasons lying in the diner that suggest otherwise.” You fight the wave of nausea that hits you at the idea of lifeless bodies on the floor you mop every shift.
“Where exactly did you end up putting Gordon, Jun?”
“The Hollywood-and-Vine safehouse behind the Pantages. He’s alive as long as we want him to be,” the voice who you think belongs to Jun answers. If he knew Gordon was there, then he must’ve taken out the others with Joshua. Hello, Terminus.
“Gordon’s not the only one affected by Dino taking out Atlas. Even if we completely cut ties, there's no way to guarantee her safety because she's already been too involved with us, no matter what we do.” Another tense beat of silence.
“There is one way we can bring her in while also letting her continue her life peacefully,” Jeonghan begins.
“She would never agree to that.” Joshua's voice is tight.
“How could you be sure?”
“I'm not bringing her further into this shitshow,” Joshua grits.
“You said she's studying business; it could be helpful for the hotel if she–”
“No.”
“This is the bed you made, Joshua Hong,” Seungcheol declares, his voice exhausted. “Membership in the Sector might be the only way to give her as normal of a life as possible and the fastest way to clean up your mess.”
“I'm slow, what are we talking about?”
“The marriage clause, Dino. If she marries into the Sector, she gets the protections of membership while still having the freedom to live as she wishes. The same way no one touches us because they don’t want to risk the other members’ retribution, no one in their right mind would go after her.” The remainder of their conversation is lost to the ringing in your ears and the dark spots blotting into your field of vision. How did meeting a random hot guy at work turn into marriage as your only way to stay alive?
And why were you actually considering it?
“I'm sure she has thoughts on all of this, now that she knows her options,” Jeonghan comments, his voice now directed toward the exact place you were eavesdropping in the hall. A shiver runs down your body. You knew he was talking to you rather than the others. “I know you have words for us, Salacia.”
“Who are you talking to, Jeonghan?”
“The shower turned off a long time ago, my friends.” The living room falls dead silent and you swallow down the bile rising in your throat. You can feel all their eyes watching the entrance to the hallway where you were hiding, waiting for you to make an appearance. Gathering your courage and steeling your nerves, you take the last two steps and enter the yellow light of the living room.
Joshua's on his feet as soon as you’re visible, crossing the space in three long strides. The world seems to slow as you take in his appearance. There’s a shadow across his eyes that you’ve never seen in his expression before. The top two buttons of his dress shirt are undone and his sleeves are rolled to the elbow. Bruises scatter across his knuckles and a bandage holds shut a cut on his forehead. When he’s in front of you, his hands hover next to the side of your face but refuse to make contact. His eyes flicker back and forth across your face and he’s the most unreadable he’s ever been to you. Jeonghan clears his throat. Joshua turns to face his friends and positions himself like a shield in front of you. Your hand finds a spot between his shoulder blades and you rub your thumb back and forth comfortingly against the silken fabric.
“Hello,” you greet as steadily as possible and step out from behind his shoulder, your hand moving from his back to his arm. You offer your name like a peace offering to the others. A few of them nod in greeting. “I'll be part of further conversations, seeing as what I decide may very well dictate the rest of my life.” Jeonghan’s mouth twitches.
“I can take you home right now. You don't need to stay,” Joshua murmurs and you shake your head.
“No. You've kept me out of your world long enough. I'm right where I need to be,” you promise. He thinks for a moment longer and takes your hand to lead you to sit in the living room. Joshua’s hand stays in yours as you settle next to Jeonghan; the latter bumps his shoulder against yours and sends you a small smile. “Now, is there a contract printed out, or should we just grab the notepad from the master suite nightstand?”
—
From THE HIGH TABLE SECTOR COMMANDMENTS
“VII: Sector membership shall increase only through fulfilled contracts. Should membership increase through matrimony, the spouse must also fulfill a contract.”
“And lastly, you’ll have access to all physical and liquid assets belonging to Joshua and the Los Angeles Continental, should you wish to use them,” Janus–no, Vernon–declares, writing out the final bullet point on the hastily-retrieved notepad outlining the terms and conditions of your membership in SECTOR 17. The Sector members, who you’d been introduced to in a rapid-fire test of your knowledge of the Greek and Roman pantheons, were unexpectedly welcoming. Not everyone openly threw around jokes like Seokmin, but none of them blamed you for the situation you’d found yourself in; if anything, they were grateful that you’d taken the riskier option to warn Joshua rather than kill him and move on. You’d saved their brother’s life, and they had their own ways of showing their gratitude in kind.
Minghao brought you a cup of tea without asking.
Vernon asked you what music you had on the jukebox before explaining the marriage clause.
Mingyu tossed you a pillow to hold when he saw you were fidgeting with your free hand.
Jun silently showed you short videos of cats during breaks when a member had to pee.
Jeonghan bumped his shoulder against yours whenever he saw your eyes starting to space out.
And Joshua? He never took his eyes off of you for more than ten seconds, always watching to make sure you were comfortable and felt safe. His hand was steady in yours, but he didn’t smile. His jaw remained tight, his eyes storming when he thought you weren’t looking. On the outside, he was using every ounce of his willpower to remain composed; but on the inside, he loathed putting you in this situation. His members were kind, but he couldn’t help but wish you were meeting them under different circumstances.
“That’s fine. Whatever you want is yours,” Joshua agrees immediately and heat rushes to your face. Seungkwan and Mingyu smile at his earnestness; they haven’t seen him like this in a long time. None of them have, at least not since the random fling he had when they were in their teens and they’d first banded together as a sanctioned alliance under the High Table, a Sector. It never progressed into anything beyond a few stolen kisses because she ended up being a spy for a rival Sector, but they knew deep down that their older brother was hopelessly romantic.
“Okay. All that’s left is your signature, then,” Vernon concludes, placing the sleek fountain pen in front of you. “Oh, and eliminating Gordon if you go through with joining,” he adds and your heart stutters.
Eliminating Gordon. Right.
That was the final condition of your membership in SECTOR 17, the same task the rest of the members had to complete in order to join: kill an adversary to the Sector. In your case, it was a no-brainer; they had an enemy of the Sector practically ready for you on a silver platter at the Hollywood-Vine safehouse.
Seungcheol clears his throat and stands, brushing imaginary dust from his pants.
“We’ll be in the lounge,” is all the leader says before approaching the elevator, the rest of the members following his lead like they were extensions of his own body. Jihoon, Minghao, and Jun nod in farewell as they pass. Soonyoung, Seokmin, and Seungkwan wave as they leave, whispering see you soon and nice to meet you on their way out. Vernon gives you a thumbs-up. Wonwoo and Mingyu share a knowing look. Dino is the second to last to leave, hurrying after his brothers while they try to close the elevator before he can hop in. Jeonghan bumps your shoulder one last time before he’s on his feet as well, leaving you and Joshua on the couch staring at the creased notepad that would change the course of your life.
The room feels too big without the rest of the members there to fill in the space.
Joshua reluctantly releases your hand, silently indicating that the decision you make is yours and yours alone.
To marry or not to marry. To kill or not to kill.
If you refused, you could return to the monotony of your greasy diner, your roommate, and your masters degree, living the rest of your life pretending that you didn’t brush shoulders with feared hitmen…and that you’d never crossed paths with the most perfect man you’d ever met. You’d spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder for Gordon’s henchmen who might seek revenge, but your hands would be clean of the criminal underworld. You’d be free of them by simply doing nothing.
But if you agreed, you’d be falling in with men who ended lives as naturally as breathing. The blood on their hands would splatter on yours as well. You could keep your job and continue your degree, if you wished, but you’d be expected to attend all Sector engagements and assist in the management of the Continental. You’d have wealth beyond your comprehension and protection via the members and the reputations they carry, but you’d still have a theoretical target on your back from rival Sectors and those that viewed SECTOR 17 with disdain. Your life would be bound to them, the same way their lives were bound to one another. It was freedom in a different sense, and you’d have him with you.
To have that life, you would have to take a life.
“How does this usually happen?” You ask, looking sideways at Joshua. He stares at the polished wood of the coffee table. “I mean, I imagine you’re not all married to each other, though I'm sure sometimes it feels like it.” Your attempt at lighthearted banter falls short.
“Kwan and Jun act as scouts, in a way,” Joshua begins, his voice heavy. “One’s our messenger and the other comes whenever we call. They move around the most, so they’re able to catch wind of people that could be good for the Sector. Those two tell Seungcheol, Seungcheol sends Vernon to offer membership. We've been trying to get Dino for eight years, and he only recently became an official member.”
“You offer membership by giving them a target,” you clarify.
“By giving them a target,” he echoes. You inhale and exhale shakily.
“Do I get to choose how?” How to kill Gordon is the part you don’t finish. His head snaps to you.
“You’re not actually considering…” His voice trails off and your indignance rears its head.
“What happened to ‘That’s fine, whatever you want is yours?’ I was under the impression that you’d be supporting me, whatever I choose,” you challenge.
“I am,” he insists, running a hand through his hair. “I support whatever you choose, I do.”
“Then why does it feel like you can’t tell whether to let me stay or let me go?”
“Because I don’t want you to go, but I can’t live with you staying,” Joshua seethes in frustration. His voice is raised but not quite yelling, and you watch his restraint deteriorate the longer you delay your decision. He’s on his feet, pacing across the living room rug like a caged animal.
“It’s not up to you whether I stay or go,” you fire back. “I’m the one who Gordon used to strike against the Sector.”
“I know, I know. But I can’t look at you–I can’t marry you–without thinking that I’m the reason your life changed. That you had to kill a man because I couldn’t stay away from you.”
“Why couldn’t you?”
“What?” Joshua’s voice is broken, like you’d just asked him to kill you himself.
“Why couldn’t you stay away? Why did you keep coming into the diner after the first day? And don’t tell me it was to get your mind off the hearings for the managerial position, because I know that’s only half the truth. What’s the other half?” You can see him searching for a way to get out of this, something to placate you, but there was nothing he could say. Everything was out in the open now.
“The first time I came in,” he begins slowly, “I needed a place that was public so that Dino could take out the candidate Gordon was backing, Atlas, without rousing suspicion. Atlas was supposed to die that first night I was in the diner, but something happened that we couldn’t control; plans changed and Dino ended up killing Atlas later than we scheduled. It…messed a lot of things up.” You think back to when you first met Jeonghan, how they’d both rushed from the restaurant at the same time.
“Was it when I met Jeonghan?”
“It was when you met Jeonghan,” he confirms. “Gordon was never supposed to know, but he found out that it was us because the timing was off. That’s why we ran out in a hurry and disappeared for two days; we had to clean up Atlas’ death.”
“Was Atlas the only candidate that could have defeated you for this position?” He nods. The pieces fall into place. “So if I understand this correctly, Dino killed Atlas to secure the Continental for the Sector.” Another nod. “They would suspect it was SECTOR 17, because you and Atlas were the most viable candidates, which was why whoever was tailing you followed you to the diner…where you met me.”
“I could have laid low after the first attempt to kill Atlas failed. I should have laid low, but I didn’t because I feel human when I’m with you, and I wanted to chase that feeling as long as I could. Gordon tried to use you because he saw that you were important to me.” Your face cracks a sad smile.
“Did meeting me fuck up the plan to kill Atlas?”
Joshua hesitates, releasing a trembling exhale.
“Very much so.”
“I see.” You’re reaching for the pen before he can stop your hand, before even your mind knows what it’s doing. In the blink of an eye, your signature is scrawled on the crooked line Vernon had drawn at the bottom of the paper, putting the contract into effect. “Then it seems fitting that I be the one to finish what was started.”
All that was left was to pay a visit to the safehouse on Hollywood and Vine.
—
From THE HIGH TABLE SECTOR COMMANDMENTS
“VIII: Membership tasks shall only be witnessed by the Sector leader and, if applicable, its official alliance broker.”
Refusing to confront Gordon while clad in pajamas, the Continental's in-house tailor had graciously lent you a set of clothes and a pair of boots that allowed you to fit in better with the other members. You tug at the sleeves of the black long sleeve tucked into a pressed pair of dress pants, rolling the sleeves up to the elbow. Minghao had tossed you a pair of leather gloves he'd procured from his car's central console before you headed inside the safehouse. The clothes fit like a dream even when you feel obtusely out of place, surrounded by hitmen. At least now, you looked like one of them too.
Presence of the entire Sector wasn’t common when a new member was inducted, but it seemed fitting that they were all in attendance to witness the first use of the marriage clause. Joshua and the rest of the members waited in the parking garage across the street from the safehouse, leaning against the hoods of their expensive cars. A fight had nearly broken out when Jihoon and Soonyoung stepped forward to prevent Joshua from following you into the safehouse, Sector law dictating that only Seungcheol, the leader, and Vernon, the alliance broker, were permitted to witness membership induction tasks. Eyes wide and ready to brawl with half the members, everyone knew that you had Joshua wrapped around your finger because he’d only stood down when you shot him a sharp look.
I’ll be fine, you reassured him. Don’t make this a bigger deal than it already is.
Seungcheol and Vernon follow as you descend the stairs into the mildew-reeking basement where Gordon was being held. Blinking through the darkness, you see there’s hardly anything else in the room beside the chair where Gordon’s hands and ankles are restrained, a few storage boxes and shelves haphazardly tossed in the corner. Vernon flicks a switch next to the stairs and the room illuminates in sterile fluorescent lights. Gordon barks out a laugh when he sees you step into the light, his eyes darting from Seungcheol on your left, Vernon on your right, then back to you. The two Sector members stand a respectful distance away, out of arm’s reach to be handed a firearm. His amusement morphs into brief puzzlement and his gaze lingers on the clear cylindrical plastic case clutched in your gloved fingers. You held no gun, no knife, no rope.
Just the case.
You stare down at Gordon. His entire face is varying shades of purple and blue, and he’s missing at least four of his teeth. His eye is swollen beyond recognition, his lips are stained blood red, and the cartilage of his nose jerks unnaturally to the left. He deserves more for trying to kill Joshua, you think to yourself.
“You look like shit,” you remark coldly. Behind you, Vernon bites his tongue to keep from laughing. “Did Terminus and Neptune give you trouble?”
“If you’re gonna kill me, just get it over with, bitch,” Gordon jeers, lobbing a mouthful of spit at your feet. You barely flinch. “Nothing you can do to me that can scare me.”
“Trying to scare you is a waste of time, and frankly, I don’t care how you feel,” you state.
“This what you do now, Choi?” Gordon calls to Seungcheol, who glares right back but stays in position. This situation was under your control, an ironic turn from feeling powerless after Gordon had blackmailed you at the diner. “Rope in some civilian bitch to do your bidding?” Your hand seizes Gordon’s chin and forces him to look at you.
“This ‘civilian bitch’ does her own bidding,” you snarl, digging your fingers into the flesh of his jaw. “I want information and you’re going to give it to me.”
“Why the fuck would I do that?”
“Because you are going to die tonight. I’m giving you the opportunity to decide if you go peacefully…or painfully,” you explain, handing the plastic case to Vernon. “Janus, would you mind opening this for me so I can show our friend his options?”
“Of course, Salacia,” he replies, a ghost of a smile on his mouth. You pick up the first of two syringes in the case, the one filled with the colorless liquid.
“Do you know what this is, Gordon?”
“Fuck off,” he scowls. You pay his hostility no mind.
“One of my new friends, Somnus, gave it to me. A morphine injection–he said it’s the fastest way for a clean, painless death. This is your first option: die in peace.” You reposition the first syringe in the case and pick up the second one. The liquid in the second one is cyan blue, almost glowing neon under the surgical white fluorescents. “Option number two: antifreeze.” Gordon’s sneer falters. You catch it. “Oh, so you do know what this is?”
“Just shoot me and get it over with, bitch,” he snaps, but you can hear fear starting to seep into his voice.
“That wasn’t one of the options,” you answer calmly, the blue liquid flowing in the tube as you tilt it back and forth. “Somnus had to explain this one to me in a bit more detail. Since you’re already familiar, though, I’ll give you a shorter summary of what dying by antifreeze injection entails. First, you’ll vomit violently and your head will feel like someone is pounding it with a hammer, but you’ll get a brief respite as the toxicity starts to affect your organs. Only for a bit, though, because then the seizures will begin and your kidneys will fail. Very painful, very slow, especially if you’re tied to a chair in a dark basement with no food, water, or hope of rescue.” Gordon’s face pales. His throat bobs as he swallows. “So, do we have an understanding? Or should I just inject the second syringe and be done–”
“No! No, no!” He screams as you take a single step closer. Beads of sweat run down his face and a wet spot has formed at the crotch of his pants. “What–what do you need to know? What do you want?” Interrogation wasn’t originally part of your induction task, but you figure that it was as good of a time as ever to show you weren’t just dead weight Joshua carried around. Marriage be damned, you were going to prove that you wouldn’t keel over at the mention of death. No, you were going to get information for the Sector by doing the one thing you knew how to do best: talk.
“Over the course of the hearings for the new managerial position at the hotel, you were rubbing elbows with some pretty influential people, some of whom might not be too happy that a Sector is now in charge of a Continental.”
“Sectors are a controversial topic,” he stammers. “There’s always been split opinions on sanctioned alliances between hitmen and some think that–”
“Who are those ‘some?’ You and Atlas had allies; you wouldn’t have been able to garner the same amount of support as Joshua without them. Who are those allies?” You know Seungcheol and Vernon are listening more intently now. How could they not, when you were handling your induction task in a way that would benefit the Sector?
“Hong had the support of everyone who’s pro-Sector. Atlas and I, we had barely enough votes.” Seungcheol audibly scoffs at Gordon’s attempt at downplaying their amount of support, and his reaction confirms what you already figured to be true.
“Bullshit,” you spit. “Even if you had fewer supporters, the ones you had must’ve been some pretty powerful people, powerful enough that Orcus had to take out Atlas himself to guarantee that the hotel falls into the right hands.” The conversation wasn’t moving nearly as fast as you wanted it to, so you take the syringe of antifreeze and approach Gordon. He shrieks and tries to scurry away, his feet and torso flailing in the confines of the rickety wooden chair. Your hand is steady as it hovers the point of the needle just above the skin of Gordon’s neck and he goes deathly still. “So, Gordon,” you whisper, “you’re going to tell me who’ll feel threatened by the hotel falling into Sector hands.” Seungcheol gives Vernon an impressed look, and the broker shrugs, like he was silently saying I told you so.
“I can’t,” Gordon whines. “They’ll kill me.”
“Faster than I can sink this needle? I don’t think so,” you counter. “Names. Now.”
“You know the few,” Gordon starts, voice trembling, eyes darting back and forth between you, Vernon, Seungcheol, and the needle pointed at his neck. “The Trinity. Song, Park, and Min are the three with seats at the Table that have been openly anti-Sector since the beginning. They’re bolder now, though, because we have…we got…” His sentence trails off and he heaves a broken sob that turns into a maniacal laugh. Gordon knows he’s been beaten, and delirium was setting in. Seungcheol’s voice comes from over your shoulder, closer than he had previously been standing. His tone is low and lethal, sharp and serrated as a knife.
“Who did you bring in, Gordon? Who turned?”
“K-Kronos,” he whispers. “We had Kronos.” You feel both Seungcheol and Vernon stiffen and the tension in the room becomes palpable.
“That’s not possible,” Vernon doubts. “Why would the King of the Sectors align with you, with the Trinity? You have nothing to offer him.”
“We have perspective,” Gordon hisses manically. “We’ve suffered under the boot of Sectors like you. We’ve seen your power develop, but we’ve also seen the cracks begin to show. It’s only a matter of time before the last straw falls on the camel’s back, and when that happens, your castle will crumble and Kronos alone will be victorious.”
“What’s he planning?” You question. “What role do you serve as a pawn in his game?”
“Sectors are on one path and one path alone: annihilation. It’s coming for all of you,” Gordon cackles, his mouth curling into a twisted smile. “It’s coming for all of you!”
BANG!
The sound of Seungcheol’s Glock 17 firing rings out in the basement. Gordon’s body slumps sideways, lifeless, before you could stick him with either syringe. You look silently at Seungcheol, who’s breathing heavily and still pointing his pistol at Gordon’s corpse. Vernon blinks before setting the syringe case on the floor and fishing a silver signet ring from his jacket pocket. He wordlessly tosses it to you and you slip it onto your left pinky, the Roman numeral three and a dolphin stamped into the metal.
“Welcome to SECTOR 17, Salacia,” Seungcheol declares, though it’s clear his mind is elsewhere. Salacia. Goddess of calm seas and wife to Neptune. Salacia, who’d just unearthed a bombshell of information that the man who’d helped create SECTOR 17 was now trying to destroy it. You were stepping into a much bigger mess than you thought. “What happened in this basement stays in this basement, is that understood?” You and Vernon both nod.
“You should head back. Your husband is probably pacing the parking lot like a madman,” Vernon tells you, tilting his head in the direction of the main level. “Coups and I will handle the body.” You swallow and glance back at the lifeless lump of flesh in the wooden chair. You hadn’t pulled the trigger, but the sight of him sickened you all the same. “You did well. Go.” You hesitate for a moment longer before climbing the stairs, leaving behind the sound of Seungcheol’s tired groan and the creak of the wooden chair being dragged away.
The weight of the night comes crashing down as soon as you drag yourself into the parking garage. Joshua was, in fact, pacing the area like a madman, and he’s in front of you in a blink, ducking his head forward to meet your eyes that refuse to focus.
“Hey, hey, hey. Look at me,” he murmurs.
“He’s–he’s dead,” you choke out. You’re not crying, but the words are caught in your throat all the same. “He’s dead.”
“I know, baby, I know. You’re safe. I’ve got you,” he promises, his voice breaking as he pulls you in. Your arms wind around his neck and you hide your face in his shoulder. Joshua’s hand wipes away the sweat on your forehead, his fingers lingering over your cheek. His attention flits to the signet ring that has appeared on your pinky finger. “You did it,” he says more to himself than to you. You don’t have the energy to tell him otherwise, so you just nod. “Okay. Let’s go home.” Draping his arm over your shoulders, Joshua walks you back toward the rest of the members.
He doesn’t let you look back at the safehouse.
—
It's another rainy Saturday and you're standing at the windows of the penthouse, watching the clouds roll outside. You’ve just finished finalizing looks and sending over measurements to the Continental in Rome, where the members would pick up their suits before the gala the following day. Up until this point, you and Joshua have both been treating your partnership strictly as a marriage of convenience; in fact, it'd taken two months for him to actually start talking to you again after the assassination attempt, the consequent contract in the living room, and the bombshell that dropped during the conversation before Gordon’s sudden death. It was like a switch had flipped as soon as you arrived back at the hotel with the signet ring on your finger; gone was the smiling, charming Joshua that you had known, replaced now by a stoic man who couldn’t look you in the eye when you passed. Any words spoken were single syllable answers and brief wishes of goodnight before you tucked into the master bed that felt too large and he slept on the couch that was too cold.
“Hey,” he says quietly, slipping off his shoes and kicking them next to yours by the elevator doors. You look at him over your shoulder and his breath catches in his throat. You were silhouetted by the city lights reflecting off the raindrops, bathing you in a divine kind of glow that melted the walls he had built to keep you away.
“Hi,” you answer just as softly. He sighs and comes to stand next to you at the window, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his body but far enough to feel wrong. “Are you packed for tomorrow?” In just under twelve hours, Joshua would fly out for the annual Sector anniversary party, a huge celebration commemorating when Sectors were first amended into the High Table’s codices. You would remain at the hotel and act as manager in his absence, a role you’d grown accustomed to after seven months since joining the Sector, moving out of your apartment, and quitting your job at the diner shortly after.
Seven months of sleeping alone in a bed that still didn’t feel like yours, in a penthouse that was too empty without the other members.
Seven months of falling further for a man who hated himself for falling for you.
“Yeah. Thank you, by the way. The sommelier said you requested my handgun be polished before I flew out.”
“I figured you should look your best when you're in front of High Table elites, especially when you inevitably end up pulling a gun on them,” you tease and the corner of his mouth tugs into a smile.
“How do you know we'll end up in such a situation?”
“You're bringing Dino and Soonyoung. I don’t need to be a fortune teller to know how their big mouths can get you all in trouble,” you reply matter-of-factly. Joshua chuckles. He continuously finds himself in awe of you, how easily you've slipped into your position as his right hand and closest confidant, despite barely knowing him for a week when you chose to join SECTOR 17. You listen when he rants about work and always offer the best solutions, but you never have deeper conversations. Seven months, he’d pushed down the ache of loving you by drowning himself in work, killing the part of him that loved you every day only for it to come back the following morning.
“Do you know what day it is?” He asks in a hushed tone. Your eyebrows furrow.
“Saturday?”
“Well yes,” he chuckles, “But I'm talking about beyond that.” You shake your head. “Today marks seven months since I first came into the diner.” You smile, the politely mechanical kind that doesn’t necessarily mean you’re happy. Everything felt politely mechanical for you, lately–talking with customers, managing staff, signing backdoor deals with designer brands to dress SECTOR 17 at the highest standards of fashion.
“Should I ask room service to make us coffee and hashbrowns?”
“If that makes you happy, then sure,” Joshua responds. You stand in silence for a few moments longer, the only sound being raindrops hitting the windowpanes, serendipitously reminiscent of the first day at the diner. “Can I ask you a question?”
Seven months since he’d asked you how you knew about his clothes, four since you’d graduated your masters program and put what you learned into action at the hotel.
“Shoot.”
Seven months since you exchanged that exact series of words.
“Do you ever wish we met under different circumstances?”
“What do you mean?”
“Like, if we met somewhere else and we could have had a normal…courtship.” You stifle a laugh that turns into a snort at the formality of his words.
“Courtship?” You don’t need to guess that the tips of his ears are turning a shade pinker from embarrassment.
“You know what I mean.”
“I don't, actually. Tell me exactly what you mean,” you say, turning to face him properly. You offer him an encouraging smile that he refuses to look at, instead staring at the rain as it comes down in sheets. Seven months, he’s denied himself the luxury of looking at you.
“I wish I could love you as I truly want to,” he whispers and your breath catches. “I wish I could love you without feeling the High Table and the Sector and managerial duties creeping in every time I risk a moment alone with you.”
Seven months of agony.
“Why can't you?”
“Because then I am overwhelmed by the guilt that I forced you into this life…and it keeps me from pulling you closer.” His voice breaks and part of you aches with him. “I wish I could give you normal love, the kind that you deserve and–”
“Stop it,” you hiss and grab him by the collar of his shirt, dragging him toward you and kissing him like you were starving. He freezes for half a second before melting around you, pulling you as close as humanly possible by your hips. Your eyes squeeze shut and your fingers grab at anything they can, raking across the hair on the back of his neck that pulls a groan from his throat. He feels like everything you’d ever wanted, like the other half of your soul that fit in all the places you needed him to. You kiss him until you're lightheaded and rest your forehead against his when you pull away to breathe, panting. Only then do you realize that your hands are shaking, and his have caught yours and pinned them on either side of his neck.
“Why?” He rasps in a tone that makes your knees buckle. “How? How could you still want this, after everything?”
“Because I don't want a normal love, Joshua Hong. I want you and your love, however you're willing to give it,” you whisper.
“You’d do that to yourself?”
“For you? Anything.” His lips brush your palm, then your knuckles, then the ring on your left pinky. He pouts slightly and gently moves the ring onto your fourth finger, making sure it’s secure before doing the same to his own ring. “Does this mean you’ll actually sleep next to me from now on?” He smiles and places a kiss on the corner of your mouth.
“If you’ll have me.”
“I will,” you promise. “However you are, I will have you.” His fingers drop to the collar of your shirt and leisurely begin undoing the buttons, like you had all the time in the world. “As long as no one gets to have this,” you say, your hand splaying over his chest, right above his heart.
“It’s yours,” he affirms. “It’s always been yours.”
—
From THE HIGH TABLE SECTOR COMMANDMENTS
“X: Should one member be declared excommunicado, so shall all members be declared as such. Should one member's life be declared forfeit, so shall all members be declared as such.”
It’s too quiet.
Instinct wakes you seconds before the message comes through, alarms screaming in your head that something is wrong, something is wrong, something is wrong. There’s a faint roaring and a mechanical thudding above your head, reverberating through the ceiling of the bedroom. As you blink open your eyes, you register your husband at your bedside, shaking your shoulder to wake you. The bedroom is dark, but the red lights of the living room leak into the hallway, lighting the silhouette of a figure in the bedroom doorway. Red lights, you realize. The emergency lights that only lit up when the building lost power. Had there been an attack?
“Get up, Salacia,” the person in the doorway commands. It takes you a moment to register Jeonghan’s voice. “You need to go.”
“Salacia. Darling. My love,” Joshua pleads with you, pulling your focus back to him. “You need to get up. We have to go.” Half-asleep and barely understanding his words, you nod. You let him pull you out of the covers and slip off your nightgown, helping you tug on black slacks and your favorite compression long-sleeve. You wrap his Burberry coat around your body while he drops to his knees, pulls your boots from under the bed, and slides them over your calves. The boots are the ones with the flat heel that he’d joked were good for running.
At least, he was joking at the time.
You mindlessly reach for the Desert Eagle in your dresser as your husband’s hands strap your knife holster to your thigh. You stick your gun in the holster on your other leg and Joshua slips a few kunai that Vernon had gifted you for Christmas into your boot. Jeonghan remains in the doorway like a sentry, staring down the hall for a threat that was on its way. You reach for your phone, but Joshua catches your wrist and shakes his head. He takes your hand and you follow him out of the bedroom, where Jeonghan is pacing next to the door to the emergency stairway. Down was the lobby and the guest rooms, while up was the helipad. Which direction you would go, you had no idea.
“Let’s go,” Jeonghan says, his black coat swirling around him as he turns and begins ascending the steps two at a time. Joshua is behind you as you run up the steps after Jeonghan, a cold wind slapping you in the face when you follow him to the roof, where a helicopter is waiting. You turn to holler something at Joshua, but he shakes his head again and gently herds you toward the helicopter with a hand on the small of your back. You clamber in with Jeonghan just behind you and Joshua shuts the door…from the outside.
Joshua was still outside the helicopter.
Your yelp of confusion is lost to the whirring of the helicopter blades as the copter lurches upward and you’re thrown forward, nearly hitting your head on the seat in front of you had Jeonghan not caught your arm. You throw on the nearest headset and yell into the microphone to turn back and pick up your husband, but keep ascending all the same. You press your hands to the window and bang your fist against it, screaming in panic. Through the window, he offers you a smile and blows you a kiss as his figure becomes smaller and smaller on the hotel’s roof. I love you, is the last thing you see him say before disappearing completely. Only when you can’t see him anymore do you realize that the entire block surrounding the Continental is pitch black, the area shrouded in darkness. You barely catch the shadows of six tactical vehicles pulled into the hotel’s roundabout before the hotel is entirely out of sight.
Before you can ask any further questions, Jeonghan hands you his burner phone. There’s a single message on it from a number you don’t recognize.
INCOMING SECURE MESSAGE [11:59 P.M.]
TOP PRIORITY: High Table Sector #17 leader "JUPITER" has initiated SCATTER protocol. All members of High Table Sector #17 are henceforth excommunicado and now hold open contracts no less than 1 billion KRW each. Access to services and privileges under the Table are suspended. Relocate current position immediately and avoid contact with other members. Rendezvous instructions to follow.
You look at Jeonghan, fear and horror etched across your face.
“What happened?”
“Seungcheol killed a High Table member on Continental grounds,” Jeonghan says. “The world will be hunting all of us.” You exhale shakily and twist the signet ring–your wedding ring–on your fourth finger.
“From now on, we’re on the run.”
in case you didn't know: reblogging is the best way to support your favorite authors! if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi!
ABYSS.
For decades, the Choi family has dominated the underground trade and criminal enterprise of Korea, and largely, Seoul. But the Choi sons start dying, until all that’s left of the empire falls to Seungcheol, the last Choi son. There is a new competitor rising to take over his territory, and Seungcheol is desperate to do anything to keep his dying empire alive.
Biting and mating with his competitor’s sister, a sheltered, treasured omega, might just be the drastic measure he has to take to keep his hold.
pairing: alpha!choi seungcheol x omega!reader
genre: omegaverse, mafia au
category: limited series
word count: tbd
warnings: a/b/o dynamics and secondary gender discrimination, mentions of emotional/mental abuse, DUBCON elements (read at your own risk), kidnapping, imprisonment, violence, blood and character death, mention of guns and knives, lots of svt members featured but not all of them are good guys, keep that in mind, manipulation, betrayal, boy x boy, there’s some doomed yaoi in here idk how that happened tbh, angst, slightly slow burn, smut, nsfw, heats and ruts, unprotected sex, proper smut tags in relevant chapters.
a/n: so here it is, alpha cheol fic as promised! special, special thank you to my lovely @milk-moonbunnies for reading this for me and encouraging me to keep writing it, I am so grateful for your push amani xx there’s some dark shit happening here so pls be warned, but overall i love how this goes and i loved writing it, especially bec some characters are straight assholes with no redemption ㅠ I hope everyone likes this! all updates will be at 1pm GMT, just letting y’all know xx
INDEX:
➢ prologue - (12/12/25)
➢ chapter 1 - (19/12/25)
➢ chapter 2 - (26/12/25)
➢ chapter 3 - (02/01/26)
➢ chapter 4 - (09/01/26)
➢ epilogue - (13/01/26)
want to be tagged? you can add yourself here
HATE THAT...
I hate that I love you
Synopsis :- In a world where lovers are destined and written by fate, You hated the idea of a soulmate, or maybe you just hated him. Jake wanted a soulmate, a lover to be with for the rest of eternity. Just not you. Not wanting eachother, the both of you occupy yourself with someone else. But the universe had other plans.
Pairing :- nonidol!Jake x reader
Warnings :- 13+, typos! cuz yo girl cannot type to save her life :), smau, fluff, chaotic, cursing, college!au, enemies to ??, bullying, did i mention cursing and typos? no? well there's cursing and typos.
Started (in drafts) : 06/01/2024
Posted : 04/03/2024 (3 fucking months later is this a joke)
Updates : randomly
Status : Ongoing
1 — jet lagged asf
2 — universe this better be a joke
3 — fucking hell!?
4 — this is harrasment
5 — you yap so much
6 — ew why you stalking me
7 — bob the robber
8 — pulled my hair
9 — solitude
10 — I'm on the next level
11 — you stole my ace
12 — 6 foot
13 — sugar mommy
14 — kick some ass
15 — my husband??!
16 — miss your mom
17 — brain in your ass
18 — the Kardashians
19 — hammer
20 — revenge
21 — elephant in the room
22 — traumatised her
23 — random aussie
24 — who the fucking boss is
25 — Australian partner
26 — that fucking bitch
27 — pushed herself
28 — not again
29 — stupid
30 — lila rossi
31 — tnt in my brain
32 — bet
33 — bridal style
34 — your word against mine
35 — just standing there
36 — JAKE FUCKING SIM??
37 — pink shoes
38 — Jake go kys
39 — what a bitch
40 — not very nice
41 — years
42 — man up
43 — manipulator
44 — I'm so alpha
45 — kangaroo ass
46 — rat
47 — i blocked her
48 — it can fade
49 — what she doesn't know
50 — justice you deserve
51 — start over??
52 — good guess
53 — pro tip
54 — floor 2
55 — comforting unknown
56 — hate that
57 — more delulu than Kim Kardashian
58 — faint
59 — that username...
60 — gripping my balls
61 — the best thing I'll do today
62 — a stella
63 — muffins
64 — a color that fades
65 — worm
66 — starting a religion
67 — bodyguard
68 — silence
69 — slip away
70 — illness and guilt
71 — guilt disguised as love
... more tba
TAGLIST (OPEN! send an ask to be added!) :
@leaderwon 2024. Do not copy, translate,alter or plagarize in any platform.
CHAPTER 71 — guilt disguised as love
Synopsis :- In a world where lovers are destined and written by fate, You hated the idea of a soulmate, or maybe you just hated him. Jake wanted a soulmate, a lover to be with for the rest of eternity. Just not you. Not wanting eachother, the both of you occupy yourself with someone else. But the universe had other plans.
prev — masterlist — next
© @leaderwon 2025. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
CURSED COVEN [J.WW] I
A witch who's keeping centuries old secrets. A vampire who doesn't care about anything other than himself. An unconventional alliance that draws you both closer than you should be. But being good at keeping secrets comes with a price.
pairing: vampire!wonwoo x witch!reader
au/genre: supernatural au, magic au, forbidden romance, strangers to reluctant allies to lovers, angst, eventual smut.
word count: 12,8k
content warnings :blood, fucked up family dynamics, talking about death murder and sacrifices, implied killings, secrets, vampire feeding, thoughts of self-harm, threats.
note: hello! first order of business, thank you so much aeris @aeristudios for taking the time to read this over for me and reassuring me and supporting my crazies ily <3 my obsession with the vampire diaries has led me to this point! I had to write a vampire au! it's my calling!
this is part one! I'll post the second part on november! I promise!
THIS FIC IS FOR +18 READERS ONLY! MINORS CAUGHT INTERACTING WILL BE BLOCKED.
check out my main masterlist ♡
im gonna cry
srry but you liked my fic and i saw ur user and just uhhh
all I can hear is PIERREEEEE GASSSSLLLLLLLYYYYYYYYY
Yeaa! Cause who can resist THE PIERREEEEE GASSSSSLLLLLYYYYYY! 🤣
"You're the man!" Chapter 35
Masterlist
⚽Chapter tags: MDNI, she’s the man au, revenge au???, cross dressing!reader, reader identifies anything but male, sports au, queer themes, university au, love-whatever the fuck kind of shape, LONG ASS FUCKING CHAPTER, Yeonam is back!, cold mingyu, a lot of yearning, and sickly sweet messages
⚽Tag list: @90s-belladonna @the-boy-meets-evil @lirtha97 @hipsdofangirl @justineasian @kwanisms @multi-kpop-fanfics @pantumin @wooahaeproductions @mayashu @shuasdraftsalt @lone-lone-ranger @headlockimnida @horanghaezone @haolistic @porridgesblog @jeonjungkaka @luchiet @ujimatchaaa @skzdesi @cheoliehansolie @vlbii @myghobi @sisterofsomeone @joonsytip @gyublues @alltheshineofthestars-blog @randomworker @isabellah29 @savgogh @too-many-kpop-hubands @shingsoluvely @kamabokogonpachro @skittlez-area512 @seccdlurv @chisskaa @mochiteez @theyluvfrankocean @lllucere @thomawifey @middle-of-the-earth @okiedokrie-main @itsokaytobedumb00 @humankimbap @zezedoesshit @teenyfinds @jeonghansshitester @aaa-sia @heyitz00 @silvsie
we're not really strangers pt. 3
wonwoo x oc
no professional proofreading. may contain grammatical errors.
I can feel Wonwoo's gentle nudge on my back while guiding me toward the cafe's entrance. Thank God for door handles 'cause I can't feel my whole body right now.
You’re the man! masterlist
⚽synopsis: After your university cut your soccer team to prioritize the men’s team, it’s natural you have a falling out with your then soccer-star-player boyfriend and impersonate your twin brother at the rival university to play on their men’s team. Wait, it’s not? Oh well. ⚽pairing: afab!reader x ot13 (??? Member) ⚽genre: humor, romance, crack, eventual smut ⚽series tags: MDNI, she’s the man au, revenge au???, cross dressing!reader, reader identifies anything but male, sports au, queer themes, university au, love-whatever the fuck kind of shape, tags will vary per chapter ⚽status: ongoing ⚽started: @ 6pm cst every Wed, Thurs, Fri ⚽Tag list: please reply to this post, send an ask, or dm to get updated
Profiles #1, #2, #3
Teardrops On My Guitar | h.j.s
Summary: You loved him, but he was your best friend. While he sometimes blurred the lines, he never saw you more than that. Since he was your best friend and you were so in love, you’d break yourself apart for him. You watched him fall in love with everyone, but you only question for how long? ☆ 18+ minors dni |☀︎fluff | ☁︎ angst | ♕smut | ♥ completed works
Word Count: 19,760 words
Pairings: Joshua Hong x Female Reader Genre/Trope(s)/AU(s): Unrequited Love AU! (don’t say I didn’t warn you; this really won’t be a nice one). Slice of Life AU! Fluff, Angst, Smut (the holy trinity, if you will)
Content Warnings: Yelling, swearing, crying, arguments, toxic coping mechanisms, smut, unprotected sex (don’t do this). Smut Warnings: Fingering, oral (male and female receiving). multiple orgasms, squirting, hand jobs. Body insecurities, bitchy drama from other girls (let's lift each other up). Slut-shaming. Authors Note 1: I think All Too Well was painful for me to write because that was the story about how a relationship that I deemed perfect fell apart, but this one hurts me more because this is a story I hate reliving so much. After all, this is the story of how I fell in love with my best friend and how I never told him (sort of), but now I had to watch him fall in love with everyone but me. This story is a letter to myself back then. I wish I loved myself more back then.
Author’s Note 2: This is a Seventeen rewrite of an old fic of mine, so if it looks familiar, that’s why hehe. Authors Note 3: Thank you so much to the following people for reading this for me @shuadotcom @gyuwoncheol @okiedokrie @wonuvs
© wongyuseokie 2024. All rights reserved.
This Man (IV)
A man of the shadows and a woman who belonged in the skies - fate could not have brought two more different people together.
But was this fate or was this a choice?
Pairing - Jeon Wonwoo x OC, Jeon Jungkook × OC, ft Kim Namjoon
Word Count - 9.9K
Genre - Mafia AU, lots of angst, smut and romance to come in the future chapters hehe
Warnings - guns, mild violence, mentions of blood, death, sexual tension sky high, mild exhibitionism but not really lol I don't know how to explain it but basically people think they are having sex in the bathroom?
Chapter summary - Every coin has two sides that cannot see each other but Na bi has finally seen them both. Yet, rather than the coin being tossed, it was her that was being spun between two worlds - She had to crack them before they broke her.
Previous Chapter
When Na bi's eyes fluttered open, the stars stuck on her ceiling were gone.
She blinked at the plain concrete, brows slowly pulling into a frown. That can't be right. She would never remove them....
The bed under her was a lot softer too. The room felt warmer than usual, there was a strange smell of damp wood and lilies, and the crakling of a fire was the only thing audible. Rolling onto her side, Na bi raised her head, looking around, eyes slowly adjusting to the dimness. She could barely see anything except the silhouettes of furniture placed around a room - a room that was definitely much bigger than her apartment......that's when she realised, eyes widening.
She was not home.
Confessions Confessions | Chapter 1
Synopsis: They say a drunk mind speaks sober thoughts, and that proves true for you when you accidentally confess your long-time crush. Whoops! Fortunately, the identity of your crush remains a mystery. Unfortunately, Jeonghan is a determined menace who won't stop until he uncovers the truth. But… who is your crush, exactly? Well, that’s for you to decide. (A choose your own ending mini-series!)
Pairing: non-idol!SVT x gn!reader
Genre: SMAU, fluff, slight crack, non-idol! au, college! au
Warnings for the chapter: Explicit language, mentions of alcohol, lemme know if I missed anything!
Note: A Jackson Wang party? Count me in.
Chapter under the cut!
Reblogs are appreciated ♡
.ᐟMinors/blank/no age indicator blogs will be blocked.ᐟ