#dark!sunoo

that part snuck up on you slowly, then all at once. first it was admiration—the way he planned everything three steps ahead, the way he never seemed rattled even when things went wrong. then it was fascination—the contrast between his delicate features and the absolute brutality he was capable of, the way he hummed cheerfully while cleaning blood off his knives. and then somewhere along the way it became this. this aching, desperate, all-consuming thing that lived in your chest and made it hard to breathe when he looked at you for too long.

you memorised his coffee order (iced americano, extra shot, barely any water because he was a psychopath apparently), the way he liked his knives arranged (smallest to largest, always within arm's reach), the exact angle his mouth curved when he was genuinely amused versus when he was pretending. you knew he tapped his fingers against his thigh when he was thinking, that he rolled his shoulders back exactly twice before a fight, that he had a tiny scar behind his left ear that you only saw once when his hair was wet.

it was embarrassing how much you noticed. how much you cared.

and the worst part? he absolutely knew. had to know. because you weren't subtle, not even a little bit. you volunteered for every job he mentioned, stayed up late sharpening his weapons even though your hands cramped, laughed too loud at things that weren't that funny just because he was the one saying them. you were obvious and desperate and so fucking transparent it hurt.

he never said anything about it though. never acknowledged the way you looked at him, never called you out on the fact that you basically reorganised your entire existence around him. he just let you orbit him like some pathetic satellite, close enough to be useful but never close enough to actually touch.

tonight started like any other night. you got back from a job—something small, just roughing up some hero-wannabe who was getting too close to one of sunoo's operations—and you were still riding the adrenaline high. your knuckles were scraped, your shirt had someone else's blood on it, and you felt alive in a way you never did doing anything else. sunoo had that effect. he made even the violent things feel like they mattered, like you were part of something bigger.

you found him in the main area of the warehouse, surrounded by his collection. that's what you called it in your head—his collection. knives of every size and style, some plain and practical, others ornate and clearly expensive. he was meticulous about maintaining them, spending hours with whetstones and oil, handling each blade like it was precious. like it was loved.

you wondered sometimes what it would feel like to be handled like that. with care. with attention. with those elegant fingers tracing over every detail like it mattered.

god, you needed help.

"you're back early," he said without looking up from the blade he was cleaning. the silk cloth in his hand was already stained red—whether from today or yesterday or last week, you couldn't tell. "did he give you trouble?"

"no. he folded pretty quick." you dropped your jacket on the back of a chair, trying not to wince at the bruise forming on your ribs. it was nothing serious. you had worse. "threatened to call in backup though. might want to move up the timeline on the next phase."

"mm. predictable." he set down the knife he was working on, finally glancing up at you. his gaze swept over you quickly, cataloguing injuries with the efficiency of someone who did this a thousand times. "you're hurt."

"it's nothing."

"i didn't ask if it was nothing. i said you're hurt." he stood then, moving toward you with that fluid grace that made your mouth go dry. "sit."

you sat. because you always did what he told you to do, because you were completely gone for him and had zero self-respect apparently.

he pulled out the first aid kit—the actual one, not the piece of shit drugstore version you kept in your bag—and started cleaning the scrapes on your knuckles. his touch was gentle, almost tender, and it made your chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with the bruised ribs. this was the worst part. when he acted like he cared, like you were more than just a useful tool. it made you hope for things you had no business hoping for.

"you need to stop leading with your right," he murmured, wrapping gauze around your knuckles with practiced ease. "you're too obvious. anyone paying attention would see it coming."

"noted." your voice came out rougher than intended. he was so close, close enough that you could smell his cologne, could count his eyelashes if you wanted to. could see the way his lips parted slightly when he concentrated. "i'll work on it."

"you better. i don't need my best enforcer getting sloppy." he finished with your hands and moved on to checking your ribs, fingers pressing carefully against the bruised area. you hissed at the contact and he made this sympathetic sound that absolutely destroyed you. "not broken. you'll be fine in a few days."

"i'm always fine."

"because i take care of you." he looked up then, meeting your eyes, and there was something in his expression you couldn't read. something that made your stomach flip. "someone has to."

you wanted to ask what he meant by that. wanted to ask if he felt even a fraction of what you felt, if he ever thought about you the way you thought about him, if he ever lay awake at night replaying conversations and analysing every word for hidden meaning. but you couldn't. because if he said no, if he confirmed what you already knew—that this was one-sided and pathetic and you were just setting yourself up for heartbreak—you'd shatter into so many pieces you'd never find them all.

so instead you just said, "thanks."

he smiled at that. small and private, like you said something amusing. "you're welcome, sweetheart."

and there it was. that stupid pet name that made your entire nervous system short-circuit every single time. he used it so casually, like it didn't mean anything, like he didn't know it made you want to do something insane like grab him and kiss him until neither of you could breathe.

he packed up the first aid kit and went back to his knives, settling into his chair like nothing happened. like he didn't just touch you with those careful hands and call you sweetheart and make you fall even more impossibly in love with him.

you moved to the other side of the table, pulling out the whetstone and selecting one of his knives to sharpen. it was something to do with your hands, something to focus on that wasn't the way your heart was still racing or the phantom feeling of his fingers against your skin. you fell into the familiar rhythm—the slide of the blade against stone, the steady pressure, the high-pitched ring of metal being honed to a perfect edge.

this was safe. this was manageable. you could handle sitting across from him, sharing space, existing in his orbit as long as you had something to concentrate on. as long as you didn't think too hard about how domestic this felt, how right, like you were two halves of something that fit together perfectly.

you were at it for maybe twenty minutes when you felt his eyes on you. that prickling awareness that came from being watched, the weight of his attention making your hands want to shake even though you kept them steady through sheer force of will.

"you're staring again," he said without looking up, and there was this amused lilt to his voice that made your stomach flip. he knew. he always knew when you were looking, when your thoughts went somewhere they shouldn't, when your breath caught because he moved too close or smiled that specific way that made you want to do something stupid.

"sorry," you mumbled, forcing your eyes away, focusing instead on the knife in your hands. you were sharpening them for the past hour, hands steady even though your pulse wasn't. even though being this close to him made your skin feel too tight, made every nerve ending hyperaware of the space between your bodies.

he laughed. it was soft, almost fond, which was worse somehow. "no you're not."

and he was right. you weren't sorry. you'd never be sorry for looking at him, for memorising the curve of his smile, the way his eyes crinkled when he was genuinely amused versus when he was about to kill someone. you catalogued every detail of him like your life depended on it. maybe it did.

the sound of his footsteps made you tense before you felt his presence behind you, close enough that you could smell his cologne—something expensive and sharp that made your head spin. his hand came down on the table beside yours, fingers splayed, and you could see the old scars across his knuckles, the elegant length of his fingers. he was so close. too close. not close enough.

"we have a job tomorrow," he said, voice low and right by your ear. your hands stilled on the whetstone, breath catching. "the heroes are sending their best. should be fun."

fun. he called it fun. you called it watching him dance through combat like he was untouchable, like nothing in the world could hurt him, while your heart tried to claw its way out of your chest because what if this was the time something went wrong? what if—

"you're thinking too loud," sunoo murmured, and then his fingers were under your chin, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. they were so dark, pupils blown wide in the dim light, and there was something in his expression you couldn't read. something that made your stomach drop and soar at the same time. "i'm not going anywhere, sweetheart. i've told you this."

the pet name made heat crawl up your neck. he used it sometimes, always with this teasing edge that made you want to combust on the spot. you knew he didn't mean it the way you wanted him to mean it. knew he saw you as useful, as entertaining maybe, but not—

his thumb brushed across your bottom lip and your brain short-circuited.

"you know what i like about you?" he asked, conversational, like he wasn't currently making your entire nervous system malfunction. like his touch wasn't burning itself into your skin in a way you'd never recover from. "you're so easy to read. every thought shows on your face."

oh god. if he could read your thoughts then he knew—he knew about the embarrassing dreams, the way you watched him constantly, the fact that you'd burn the entire world down if he asked you to. the fact that you were so stupidly, desperately, pathetically in love with him it physically hurt sometimes.

you tried to pull away but his grip tightened, not painful but firm, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. "i didn't say you could move."

your heart was hammering so hard you were sure he could hear it. "sunoo—"

"shh." his thumb pressed against your lips, silencing you, and his smile was sharp enough to cut. "you're always so obedient. it's almost boring."

that stung. you knew you were boring compared to him, knew you were just—just there, useful for sharpening his knives and handling the boring logistics and worshipping the ground he walked on like some kind of devoted dog. but hearing him say it made something crack in your chest.

you bit down on his thumb. not hard enough to break skin but enough to surprise him, to show some kind of spine even though your hands were shaking. his eyes widened fractionally before something dangerous slid across his features, something that made every survival instinct scream at you to run.

you didn't run. you never ran from him.

"there she is," he breathed, and he sounded almost delighted. his hand moved from your chin to your throat, not squeezing, just resting there, and you could feel your pulse jumping against his palm. "i was wondering when you'd stop being so scared of me."

"i'm not scared of you," you managed, voice rough. it was true. you weren't scared of him. you were scared of how much you wanted him, how you'd let him ruin you completely and thank him for it, how there wasn't a version of your future that didn't have him in it.

"liar," he said, but he was smiling now, really smiling, and it made him look younger. softer. like maybe underneath the villain there was still some part of the boy he must have been before. "you're terrified. but not of me hurting you."

his fingers flexed against your throat and you stopped breathing.

"you're scared i don't want you back."

the world tilted. your ears were ringing. had he just—did he mean—

"i—" you couldn't form words. your brain had completely shut down, every thought scattering like startled birds. "what?"

sunoo leaned in closer, so close his breath ghosted across your lips, and his eyes were so dark, so intense it felt like falling. "you think i don't notice? the way you watch me, the way your breathing changes when i get close, the way you'd do anything i asked without question?" 

his voice dropped lower, almost a purr. "you think i don't know you're completely obsessed with me?"

you wanted to deny it. wanted to salvage some scrap of dignity. but what was the point? he was right. he was always right about you.

"and what if i am?" you whispered, because fuck it. fuck pride, fuck self-preservation. you were already his in every way that mattered.

his smile turned wicked. "then you should know something." his thumb traced your jawline, gentle in a way that made your chest ache. "tomorrow, during the fight. one of them is going to get lucky. you're going to see something that might scare you."

your blood went cold. "what do you mean?"

"you'll see." he pulled back slightly, expression unreadable. "just remember—i told you i'm not going anywhere."

"sunoo, if you're in danger—"

"i'm not the one in danger, sweetheart. i never am." there was something strange in his voice now, something almost vulnerable. "the heroes are. they just don't know it yet."

he pressed a kiss to your forehead and pulled away completely, leaving you frozen at the table, heart in pieces, mind racing.

tomorrow. something was going to happen tomorrow. something that would scare you. but you'd be there anyway, because where else would you be except at his side, watching him tear through heroes like they were nothing, bleeding devotion from every pore?

you were so fucked.

the abandoned district was perfect for what sunoo had planned. empty warehouses stretched out in every direction, windows shattered and walls tagged with graffiti, the typical place heroes loved to use for their dramatic confrontations. you perched on a rusted fire escape three stories up, exactly where sunoo told you to wait, and tried to keep your breathing steady.

you hated this part. the waiting. the watching. being stuck on the sidelines when you were perfectly capable of fighting alongside him.

it was always like this. sunoo never let you join the actual fights, not the important ones anyway. he'd let you handle the small stuff—roughing up informants, dealing with low-level heroes, the grunt work that kept his operations running. and you were good at it. you'd proven yourself over and over, taken down targets efficiently and without complications. but the moment things got serious, the moment real danger showed up, he stuck you somewhere safe and told you to watch.

it drove you insane. made you feel useless, like some helpless thing that needed protecting instead of the competent fighter you'd worked so hard to become. you'd asked him about it once and he'd just given you this soft and unreadable look and said, "humour me."

so here you were again, benched, watching him stand in the centre of the street below with his hands in his pockets, looking like he was waiting for a bus instead of an ambush.

"relax," sunoo called up to you, and you could hear the smile in his voice even from this distance. "you're so tense i can feel it from here."

"maybe because there's supposed to be five of them," you shot back, fingers gripping the railing hard enough to hurt. "and you won't let me help."

"you are helping. you're watching." he pulled out one of his knives—the small one, the one he used for warmups—and examined it in the dim streetlight. "making sure no one tries to run. very important job."

"sunoo—"

"we've talked about this, sweetheart." his voice was still light but there was an edge to it now, that tone that meant the discussion was over. "you stay up there where it's safe. this is non-negotiable."

you wanted to argue. wanted to climb down there and prove you could handle yourself, that you didn't need to be protected like some fragile thing. but you knew that tone. knew it meant he'd already made up his mind and nothing you said would change it.

it didn't make sense anyway. sunoo was invincible—literally, actually invincible. you'd watched heroes land hits that should have shattered bone and he just shrugged them off like they were nothing. watched him take knife wounds and gunshots and falls that would kill anyone else, and he'd just stand back up without a scratch. he'd never even bled in front of you, not once in two years. his superpower made him untouchable in a way that should have meant he worried about himself, not you.

but he did worry. kept you away from danger with an almost obsessive focus, like the thought of you getting hurt was worse than anything the heroes could do to him.

you were about to tell him exactly how annoying that was when you felt it—the shift in the air that meant they were here. heroes. you'd gotten good at sensing them over the past two years, the way they moved with that self-righteous confidence, like the world owed them something for existing.

they came from three directions at once. the one in front was taehyun, some rising star with enhanced strength who'd been making headlines for taking down minor villains. flanking him were two others you didn't recognise—a girl with electricity crackling between her fingers and a guy who looked like he could bench press a car. the last two dropped down from the rooftops behind sunoo, cutting off his escape routes.

classic hero formation. surround and overwhelm.

sunoo just laughed.

"taehyun, right?" he said, spinning the knife between his fingers in that casual way that made your stomach flip even now, even in the middle of this. "i've heard about you. something about justice and protecting the innocent?" he tilted his head, fox-like eyes glinting with amusement. "boring."

"kim sunoo," taehyun said, and his voice had that hero quality—all noble and dramatic. "you're under arrest for—"

"yeah, yeah, crimes against humanity, murder, blah blah." sunoo waved his free hand dismissively. "can we skip the speech? i have plans later."

the electricity girl didn't wait for permission. she lunged forward, hands crackling with power, and you stopped breathing because she was fast, faster than you expected, and her fingers were reaching for sunoo's throat and—

he moved.

it wasn't even a dodge, really. more like he just wasn't there anymore, sliding to the side with that liquid grace that made violence look like dancing. his knife flashed once, twice, and suddenly electricity girl was stumbling back with shallow cuts across her arms, blood blooming bright against her costume.

"first blood," sunoo said cheerfully. "anyone else want to try?"

they all moved at once.

you'd seen sunoo fight before. watched him take down heroes and villains and anyone stupid enough to get in his way. but it never stopped being mesmerising, the way he moved through combat like he was performing, like every strike was choreographed for maximum effect. his knives caught the streetlight as they spun, as he ducked under the strongman's punch and came up slashing, as he used taehyun's own momentum against him to send him crashing into a wall.

he was playing with them. you could tell by the smile on his face, the way he hummed under his breath between strikes. this wasn't a fight to him, more likev entertainment.

one of the heroes from the rooftop—a speedster with silver hair who moved almost too fast to track—managed to get behind sunoo and land a solid kick to his spine. you heard the impact from three stories up, heard the way it should have done damage, but sunoo just turned around slowly, rolling his shoulders back twice—that pre-fight tell you'd memorised—and smiled. "nice hit."

not a scratch, not even a bruise forming all thanks to his invincibility. it was like the hit never happened.

the speedster went for another strike and sunoo met him halfway, knife finding the gap in his defences like he'd known exactly where it would be. like he'd planned for it. blood sprayed and the speedster went down hard, clutching his leg.

taehyun roared something about protecting his team and charged again, enhanced strength making the ground crack under his feet. his fist connected with sunoo's jaw in a hit that should have broken bones, should have knocked him unconscious, should have mattered.

sunoo's head snapped to the side from the impact.

and then he straightened up and grinned, completely unharmed, looking absolutely delighted.

"my turn," he said.

what happened next was terrifying in how easy he made it look. sunoo moved through them like they were nothing, knives finding soft spots and weak points with surgical precision. the strongman went down with a knife in his shoulder. electricity girl tried to taser him and he let the electricity hit him full force, let it crawl across his skin in a way that should have stopped his heart, and just caught her wrist mid-attack, twisted, sent her crashing into the speedster who was trying to get back up.

taehyun lasted the longest, his enhanced strength letting him trade blows with sunoo in a way that would have been impressive if it made any difference. but even he couldn't do anything that stuck. every hit that connected—and there were several, hard enough that you felt them in your own bones—sunoo just absorbed like they were gentle taps.

you watched taehyun land a hit to sunoo's ribs that cracked the concrete behind him. watched him get thrown into a wall hard enough to leave an impact crater. watched electricity crawl across his entire body in a sustained attack that made the streetlights flicker.

and sunoo just kept going.

he fought the way he did everything else—with casual, terrifying ease, like the concept of being hurt didn't apply to him.

because it didn't. nothing could hurt him. that was his power, his gift, the thing that made him untouchable and terrifying and invincible.

"impossible," taehyun gasped, on his knees now, one arm hanging useless. "nothing works. nothing even slows you down."

"mm. perceptive." sunoo crouched in front of him, knife spinning lazily between his fingers. "you know what your problem is? you keep trying to hurt me. but you can't." he leaned in closer, voice dropping to something almost intimate. "no one can. i'm invincible, hero. completely and utterly untouchable."

"everyone has a weakness," electricity girl spat from where she was slumped against the wall. "everyone can be hurt by something."

sunoo's expression shifted. something flickered across his face—dangerous and possessive and real in a way that made your breath catch. "mm. true."

he stood, brushing imaginary dust off his jacket. there wasn't a mark on him. not a scratch, not a bruise, nothing to indicate he'd just fought five enhanced heroes. "but my weakness isn't here. and even if it was, you'd never reach it."

he stepped over taehyun's prone form and walked away, hands in his pockets, humming that same melody from earlier. like he'd just finished a light workout instead of taking down five enhanced heroes.

you were down the fire escape before you consciously decided to move, feet hitting the ground and carrying you toward him. he caught you easily when you crashed into his chest, arms coming around you, and you hated how good it felt. how safe.

"told you," he murmured into your hair. "nothing to worry about."

you pulled back just enough to look at him, hands fisting in his jacket. "you let him hit you in the ribs. you let the electricity girl taser you for like ten straight seconds."

"had to make it interesting." his fingers came up to cup your face, thumb brushing across your cheekbone. "can't just dodge everything. that would be boring."

"you're insane."

"and you're beautiful when you're worried about me." his smile was softer now, private, meant just for you. "even though you know nothing can hurt me. isn't that interesting?"

you didn't know what to say to that. didn't know how to explain that knowing he was invincible and watching him take hits were two different things. that your heart still stopped every time even though your brain knew he was fine.

"come on," he said, taking your hand. "let's go home."

the walk back to the warehouse was quiet. sunoo kept his fingers laced with yours, thumb stroking absent patterns against your skin, and you tried not to think about how natural it felt. how right.

"you know why i don't let you fight with me," he said eventually, and it wasn't a question.

"because you're overprotective and slightly unhinged?"

he laughed, soft and genuine. "well, yes. but also because you can get hurt. you don't have invincibility. you're human and fragile and one lucky hit could—" his fingers tightened around yours. "i can't risk that."

"i can handle myself."

"i know you can." he pulled you closer as you walked, until your shoulders brushed. "i've seen you fight. you're good. really good. but good doesn't matter when you're going up against enhanced heroes who could kill you by accident. and i—" he stopped walking, turned to face you fully. "i can't watch you get hurt. i won't."

there was something raw in his voice. something that made your chest ache.

"nothing can hurt me," he continued, quieter now. "i've tested it. knives, bullets, fire, electricity, falls from buildings, poison, everything. i'm completely invincible. but that doesn't mean i don't understand pain." his hand came up to cup your face, thumb tracing your bottom lip. "i just experience it differently now. through you."

your breath caught. "sunoo—"

"so humuor me," he murmured. "stay safe. stay where i put you. let me keep you away from things that could hurt you. because that's the only thing that actually scares me anymore."

you didn't know what to say. didn't know how to process the fact that he'd just admitted you were his weakness, his only weakness, the one thing that could touch him in a world where nothing else could.

"okay," you whispered, and his smile was devastating.

"good girl."

***

the warehouse was exactly as you'd left it—knives still spread across the table, first aid kit still out from earlier even though you both knew he'd never need it. sunoo headed straight for his chair and started pulling out his weapons, laying them on the silk cloth with careful precision. they were all dirty. blood and god knows what else staining the metal.

you grabbed the cleaning supplies without being asked and settled into the chair across from him, reaching for the first knife. it was automatic now, this routine. he fought, you cleaned. he destroyed, you maintained. two halves of something that worked.

"not that one," sunoo said, plucking the blade from your fingers. "start with the small ones. work your way up."

you rolled your eyes but switched knives, selecting one of his favorites—a thin stiletto with a pearl handle. your hands were steadier than they should be as you wiped away the blood, as you checked the edge for damage. muscle memory from hundreds of nights just like this one.

except tonight was different. tonight felt charged somehow, the air between you thick with something unspoken. maybe it was what he'd said during the walk back. maybe it was the way he kept looking at you, dark eyes tracking every movement.

maybe it was the fact that you were aware now. aware of every breath, every small shift. the way his knee was almost touching yours under the table. the way his fingers moved over his knives with the same careful attention he'd touched you with earlier.

"you're holding it wrong," he said after a few minutes, and then he was standing, moving around the table, and your mouth went dry because he was right there, pressed against your back, his hand covering yours on the knife.

"i'm holding it the same way i always do," you managed, but your voice came out breathless and you wanted to die.

"mm. and you've always done it wrong." his fingers adjusted your grip, tilting the blade at a different angle. his hand was cold against your wrist, long fingers wrapping around easily, and you could feel his breath against your neck. "like this. see the difference?"

you didn't see anything. couldn't see anything past the fact that he was touching you, that his chest was pressed against your shoulders, that if you tilted your head back even slightly it would rest against his collarbone.

"better," he murmured, and his thumb stroked once across your pulse point before he let go and stepped back. 

you forced yourself to focus on the knife, on cleaning the blood from the blade with hands that shook slightly. he settled back into his chair and picked up another weapon, and you tried not to notice the way he watched you. the weight of his attention making your skin feel too tight.

the silence stretched between you like a living thing. 

"you're being quiet," he said eventually.

"just thinking."

"about?"

about how you just told five heroes i'm your weakness. about how you keep me away from danger like i'm something precious. about how you said you experience pain through me now. about how i want to touch you so badly it physically hurts. about how i'd let you ruin me and thank you for it.

"stuff," you said instead.

he laughed, soft and low, and it slid down your spine like honey. "liar."

you looked up and found him already watching you, and there was something in his expression that made your breath catch. something hungry and knowing. like he could see straight through you to all the desperate, pathetic thoughts you were trying so hard to hide.

"i'm going to kiss you," he said, casual as discussing the weather. "eventually. when you're ready."

your brain short-circuited. the knife clattered against the table and you barely noticed. "what?"

"you heard me." he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, looking absolutely delighted by your reaction. "but not yet. you're not ready yet."

"i'm not—" you couldn't even finish the sentence. couldn't form coherent thoughts past the sudden, overwhelming certainty that you were extremely ready. had been ready for approximately two years.

"you think you are," he said, reading your mind again somehow. "but i want you to understand what it means first."

"understand what?"

"that if i kiss you, i'm keeping you." his eyes were so dark, pinning you in place. "that you're mine. that i don't share and i don't let go." he tilted his head, studying you. "that the only person in the world who matters to me is the same person i'd burn the world down for."

the air felt too thick. you couldn't breathe. couldn't think past the absolute certainty in his voice, the way he said it like it was fact, like there was no other possible outcome.

"so take your time," he continued, picking up another knife. "figure out if that's what you want. because once we start this, sweetheart, there's no going back."

you stared at him. at this beautiful, terrifying, impossible man who'd just offered you everything you'd ever wanted and told you to think about it. like you hadn't already decided. like you weren't already his in every way that mattered.

but you didn't say that. instead you picked up your knife and went back to cleaning, hands somehow steady despite the way your heart was trying to punch through your ribs.

you could feel him smiling without looking up.

the rest of the night passed in that same charged silence, every small movement loaded with meaning. his fingers brushing yours when he handed you a new blade. the way his knee pressed against yours under the table. the absolute suffocating awareness of his presence, his attention, his want.

by the time you finished cleaning the last knife, you were wound so tight you thought you might shatter. sunoo stood and stretched, shirt riding up just enough to show a sliver of skin, and you looked away before you did something stupid like stare.

"go home," he said softly. "get some sleep. we'll talk more tomorrow."

you wanted to argue. wanted to stay. wanted to grab him and kiss him and tell him you didn't need time to think, that you'd already chosen him the moment he offered you something that mattered.

but you just nodded and gathered your things, because he was right. you needed to think. needed to process what he'd said, what it all meant.

the next morning, sunoo acted like nothing happened.

you showed up at the warehouse around noon, earlier than usual because you'd barely slept, mind racing with everything he'd said the night before, everything he'd implied with those careful touches and devastating words. 

you found him at the table organising his knife collection like it was just another day, and he looked up when you walked in with that same casual smile he always wore, the one that gave nothing away. "coffee's on the counter. still hot."

he didn’t mention the fight, or the charged silence while cleaning knives, to the way he'd touched you like you were precious, to the fact that he'd basically told you he was in love with you and then sent you home to think about it. he was just normal. perfectly, maddeningly normal, like the night before had never happened at all.

"thanks," you said slowly, watching his face for any sign of something, anything that would indicate he remembered what he'd said, but his expression was perfectly neutral. friendly in that distant way that made your chest ache with something sharp and painful.

he went back to his knives without another word and you grabbed the coffee, made exactly how you liked it because of course he knew, because he paid attention to every single detail about you even when he pretended not to care. 

you settled into your usual chair and the silence felt different now, heavier somehow, weighted with all the things he'd said and apparently didn't mean. you kept waiting for him to say something, to reference what had happened, to look at you the way he had last night like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. but he didn't. he just hummed under his breath while he polished his blades and acted like you were exactly what you'd always been. his sidekick. his weapon cleaner. his nothing.

it made you want to scream.

"we have a job tonight," he said eventually, still not looking at you, still focused on the knife in his hands like it was more interesting than you could ever be. "information gathering. should be simple."

"okay."

"you'll handle the south entrance. i'll take north. in and out, no engagement."

"sure."

he finally glanced up and for just a second, barely a heartbeat, you thought you saw something flicker in his expression. something soft and vulnerable that made hope bloom stupidly in your chest. but then it was gone and he was back to business, back to treating you like an employee instead of someone he'd held close and whispered promises to. 

"good. be ready by eight."

you wanted to ask what the fuck last night was about. wanted to demand he explain why he could say things like i've been yours since the moment i found you and then act like you were just another person on his payroll. wanted to grab him by the shoulders and make him look at you properly, make him acknowledge what had happened between you. but you didn't. because maybe you'd imagined it all. maybe you'd read too much into his words, into the tension that had felt so real, into everything. maybe this was just how he was and you were pathetic for thinking it meant something more.

so you just nodded and drank your coffee and pretended your heart wasn't cracking into smaller and smaller pieces with every second of his indifference.

it became a pattern after that, this torture of back and forth that made you feel like you were losing your mind. sunoo would have these moments, these brief and devastating instances where he'd touch you like you were precious, where he'd say things that made your entire world tilt sideways, where he'd look at you like you were the answer to every question he'd never asked. and then the next day he'd be distant and professional again. like the intimacy had never happened at all, like you'd dreamt the whole thing.

three days after the knife-cleaning incident, you were inventorying supplies in the back room, trying to focus on the mundane task and not think about him, when you felt eyes on you. you knew without looking that it was sunoo, could feel the weight of his attention like a physical touch, and you let him watch for a full minute before you finally turned around.

"can i help you?" you asked, trying to sound normal and failing miserably.

he pushed off the doorframe where he'd been leaning and walked toward you, slow and deliberate, each step measured like he was stalking prey. you backed up instinctively until you hit the shelves and then he was right there, close enough that you could smell his cologne and feel the heat radiating off his body. 

"you've been quiet lately."

"i'm always quiet," you managed, even though your heart was trying to punch through your ribs.

"no. you're always thinking. there's a difference." his hand came up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and his fingers lingered against your neck, thumb pressing gently against your pulse point like he was counting your heartbeats. "what's going on in that head of yours?"

you. always you. the way you touch me like this and then don't talk to me for days. the way i can't tell if i'm losing my mind or if you actually feel something for me. the way you're driving me insane with this hot and cold routine and i don't know how much more i can take.

"nothing important," you said instead, because you were a coward who couldn't handle the possibility of rejection.

his eyes searched yours for a long moment, dark and intense and unreadable in a way that made you want to scream with frustration. then he leaned in close enough that his lips brushed against your ear and his breath was hot on your skin. "liar."

and then he walked away like he hadn't just touched you in a way that made your knees weak, like he hadn't just proven once again that he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

the next two days he communicated exclusively through text messages about jobs, brief and professional, like you were just another contact in his phone instead of someone he'd had pressed against a shelf with his hand on your throat.

a week later you made the mistake of wearing a new shirt, nothing special really, just something that actually fit properly instead of the oversized hoodies you usually hid in. sunoo took one look at you when you walked into the warehouse and went completely still, his entire body tensing in a way that made your breath catch.

"what?" you asked, suddenly self-conscious under the weight of his stare, resisting the urge to cross your arms over your chest.

"nothing." but his eyes were tracking over you slowly, taking in every detail in a way that made heat crawl up your neck and spread across your cheeks. "you look nice."

"it's just a shirt," you said, aiming for dismissive and landing somewhere closer to flustered.

"mm." he crossed the room and then his hand was settling on your waist like it belonged there. just resting there with his thumb stroking against your hip bone through the fabric in a way that made it impossible to think. "suits you."

your breath caught in your throat and his hand was so warm, his touch burning through the thin material of the shirt, and he was close, so close that you could see the exact shade of his eyes and count his eyelashes and smell the mint from whatever he'd been drinking. your brain went completely offline, every thought scattering like startled birds, and all you could focus on was the point of contact where his hand met your body.

"wear it more often," he murmured, voice low and intimate, and then he let go and walked away like he hadn't just set your entire body on fire with a single touch.

that night he sent you on a solo job and didn't speak to you until you returned hours later, and by then he was back to being distant and professional like the moment in the warehouse had never happened.

it was torture, actual psychological torture, this constant back and forth that left you reeling. you didn't know which version was real anymore, the sunoo who touched you like you were precious and looked at you like you hung the stars, or the sunoo who acted like you were just another piece on his chessboard, useful but ultimately replaceable.

you were starting to think maybe they were both real, that maybe he did care about you but didn't know how to show it consistently, or maybe his feelings were just as fucked up and complicated as yours and he was struggling with them the same way you were. 

or maybe, and this was the thought that kept you up at night staring at your ceiling, maybe he just liked having power over you. liked knowing you were obsessed with him, liked watching you orbit around him desperately waiting for scraps of affection, liked the control he had over your emotions.

you didn't know which option was worse.

it was three weeks of this torture when everything fell apart.

you were supposed to be gathering intel on a hero safehouse, simple reconnaissance that should have been easy. in and out, no engagement as always (sunoo had been very clear about that part). but when you got to the location you found him already in the middle of a fight with three heroes instead of the one target you'd been expecting.

one of them was heeseung, some hotshot hero with energy manipulation who'd been climbing the ranks fast and making a name for himself taking down villains. he was good, really good, moving with a precision that spoke of serious training, and he'd brought backup that was equally competent.

sunoo was handling them fine because of course he was, nothing could hurt him after all, but they were coordinated enough to be annoying. they were keeping him busy, working together to contain him, and you could see what they were doing even from your hidden vantage point. they were stalling, buying time, waiting for more backup to arrive and overwhelm him with numbers.

you should have stayed hidden like sunoo had told you to, should have trusted that he had everything under control, that he could handle three heroes without breaking a sweat. but then you saw heeseung pull out some kind of device, something that glowed with concentrated energy that looked dangerous even from a distance, and he was pointing it at sunoo's back while sunoo was occupied with the other two heroes. 

your body moved before your brain could fully process what you were doing, before you could think about consequences or strategy or the fact that sunoo specifically told you to stay out of it.

you dropped from your hiding spot and tackled heeseung, momentum and surprise on your side, sending the device skittering across the pavement. his eyes widened in surprise before narrowing with recognition as he recovered quickly.

"the sidekick," he said, already shifting into a fighting stance. "sunoo's little pet."

"fuck you," you snarled, already moving because you'd committed now and there was no backing out, no retreat.

heeseung was faster than you'd expected, stronger too, his energy manipulation letting him create shields and weapons simultaneously in ways that made him incredibly difficult to pin down. but you were good too, sunoo had been right about that even if he never let you prove it in any way that mattered. you'd trained for this, spent hours preparing for exactly this kind of fight, and you held your own against him.

at least until one of the other heroes broke away from sunoo and joined heeseung against you. then you were outnumbered and outmatched, fighting two enhanced heroes at once, and you felt the exact moment things shifted from manageable to genuinely dangerous. you heard the crackle of energy building, felt the heat of heeseung's power gathering in the air around you, and you knew with sudden terrible certainty that you were about to take a hit you might not recover from.

your eyes found sunoo across the chaos without meaning to, some instinct making you seek him out. he was closer now, had taken down one of the other heroes and was moving in your direction, and his eyes met yours across the space between you. they were dark and unreadable and intense in a way that made your breath catch even now, even in the middle of this disaster.

then heeseung's partner appeared next to sunoo, the hero with enhanced speed that you'd forgotten about in the chaos. 

"got something you want?" he called out, gesturing at you with one hand while holding up the device you'd knocked away from heeseung with the other. "then come get it!"

sunoo's eyes moved between you and the device and you could see the calculation happening in real time, could see him weighing options and running through scenarios, could see the exact moment he made his choice.

he went for the device.

turned away from you, from the fact that you were surrounded and outmatched and about to get seriously hurt, and went for the fucking weapon instead like it mattered more than you did.

the smirk he threw over his shoulder as he moved, that tiny curve of his lips that usually meant trust me i have a plan, felt like a knife sliding between your ribs and twisting.

heeseung's energy blast caught you in the ribs before you could process what had just happened, before your brain could make sense of sunoo's choice. the pain was blinding, white-hot and all-consuming, spreading through your entire body like fire. you went down hard and your head cracked against the concrete with enough force to make your vision blur at the edges, everything going fuzzy and wrong.

you heard heeseung saying something but the words were muffled, distant, like you were underwater. you felt hands grabbing your arms and hauling you up and you tried to fight, tried to make your body respond, but everything hurt and nothing was working right.

"hey, hey—stop." that was heeseung's voice, much closer now, and he sounded concerned in a way that didn't make sense. "she's actually hurt. we need to—"

"she's a villain," his partner said from somewhere to your left. "we should call it in, get her processed—"

"she's a person," heeseung interrupted, and suddenly his hands were on your face, tilting it up gently, and his expression was genuinely worried in a way that made something crack open in your chest. a hero was worried about you. a hero was checking your injuries with careful hands and looking at you with concern while sunoo, while your partner, the person you would have died for, had just walked away like you didn't matter.

"where's your backup?" heeseung asked, and he sounded almost sorry, like he felt bad for you. "your partner. he should be here, he should be helping you—"

"he left," you said, and your voice came out broken and shattered, barely recognisable. "he left me."

heeseung's expression shifted to something like anger mixed with disbelief. "what?"

"got what he wanted." you tried to laugh but it turned into a cough that brought the taste of blood to your mouth. "the device was more important than me."

"that's—" heeseung looked genuinely furious now, more angry on your behalf than you'd seen him during the entire fight. "you jumped in to save him. i saw you. you protected him from the device and he just left you here?"

"yeah," you said, and the word felt hollow and empty, like it was coming from someone else. "he did."

the pity in heeseung's eyes was somehow worse than the physical pain, worse than the cracked ribs and the head injury and the fact that you could barely stand. this hero who was supposed to be your enemy understood that you'd just been abandoned by the person you loved, the person you would have died for, the person who apparently didn't think you were worth choosing.

"i'm sorry," heeseung said quietly, and you could tell he meant it, could hear the genuine sympathy in his voice. "that's not—you deserve better than that."

the laugh that escaped you was bitter and sharp and tasted like blood. "apparently not."

you managed to create an opening then, throwing a smoke bomb you'd been saving for emergencies and using the confusion and heeseung's momentary distraction to run. your ribs screamed with every breath and your head was pounding and your vision kept going fuzzy, but you didn't stop or look back. just ran until your legs finally gave out three blocks away in some abandoned alley.

you'd cracked at least two ribs, maybe three. there was blood in your mouth and dripping down your face from somewhere and your vision kept threatening to go dark at the edges. but you were alive. you'd saved yourself because apparently no one else was going to do it.

the worst part, the absolute worst part that made you want to curl up and sob, was that a hero had shown you more concern in five minutes than sunoo had during that entire fight. he had looked at you like you were a calculated risk he'd decided not to take.

you pulled out your phone with shaking hands that you couldn't quite control and called the one person who might help you. not sunoo though, never him again.

"yeonjun," you gasped when he picked up, barely able to get the words out. "i need a favour."

yeonjun was a former villain who'd gone straight, someone you'd worked with before you met sunoo. he didn't ask questions, didn't demand explanations, just gave you an address and told you to get there however you could manage.

you abandoned your phone in the alley after you hung up because sunoo could track it and you weren't stupid enough to think he wouldn't try to find you eventually. you took only what you could carry in your current state and disappeared into the night, every step agony but necessary.

if sunoo thought a device was more important than you, then he could have it. he could have everything—his knives and his plans and his fucking invincibility and his empty warehouse. you were done.

the safehouse yeonjun set you up in was small and dingy, but it was off the grid and that was all that mattered. he helped you patch up your ribs without asking what happened, just gave you supplies and space and resources and promised not to tell anyone where you were.

you were there for three days when the nightmares started, vivid and terrible and relentless. dreams where you watched sunoo turn away over and over, where you felt heeseung's energy blast hit you again and again, where you died alone in that alley because you weren't important enough to save.

but worse than those were the dreams where heeseung's pitying expression played on repeat, the way he'd looked at you like you were pathetic, like he felt sorry for you. a hero feeling sorry for you because even he could see that sunoo had abandoned you, that you'd been left behind.

you woke up gasping every time, ribs aching with the movement, and you'd remind yourself that you'd made the right choice. that leaving was self-preservation, that staying would have killed you eventually if not physically then emotionally, that you deserved better than someone who would leave you to die.

but it hurt. god, it hurt so much it felt like dying anyway. because despite everything, despite him choosing a weapon over you, despite the mind games and the hot-and-cold behaviour and the way he'd played with your feelings for weeks, you still loved him. you still wanted him. you still missed him with an intensity that felt like it was tearing you apart from the inside.

you were so pathetic. heeseung had been absolutely right to pity you.

but at least you'd had enough self-respect left to leave. at least you could say that. at least you'd chosen yourself when sunoo had made it clear he wouldn't.

you stayed in the safehouse and tried to figure out how to rebuild a life that didn't revolve around kim sunoo, that didn't orbit around him like he was the sun and you were just a planet caught in his gravitational pull.

it felt impossible.

sunoo stared at the empty alley where your phone lay abandoned, screen cracked and battery dying. the tracker he'd embedded in it blinked weakly before going dark and something in his chest went cold in a way he didn't recognise. you were gone. he'd come back for you, of course he'd come back for you, it had been a few minutes, the device was fake anyway, just a test from the heroes to see if he actually cared about his sidekick, and you were just. gone.

the heroes had scattered. you'd disappeared. and sunoo felt something he hadn't felt in years, not since he'd discovered his invincibility and realised nothing in the world could touch him. fear. actual bone-deep terror that made his hands shake and his breath come short because you were his and you were gone and he didn't know if someone had taken you or if you'd left on your own and he wasn't sure which option made him want to burn the world down more.

he tore through the area with increasing desperation, checking every shadow, every hiding spot, every possible place you could have gone. his knives were out and his hands wouldn't stop shaking and the fear was morphing into something darker now, something that tasted like rage and felt like madness

he found the smoke bomb residue first. then the blood, your blood, spattered on the concrete in a pattern that spoke of injury and pain. there were signs of a struggle, of you fighting your way out, of you getting hurt while he was dealing with a fake fucking device that didn't matter, because the only thing that mattered was you and he'd left you and now you were gone.

something in sunoo's chest cracked wide open and what poured out was violence.

the first building went down at dawn. sunoo walked into the heroes' main headquarters and started killing people. anyone who got in his way, anyone who might know where you were, anyone who existed in his path became a target. he was calm about it, almost detached, asking each person the same question before his knives found their throats.

"where is she? where did you take her?" 

none of them knew. they were all surprised, confused, trying to fight back against someone they couldn't hurt. it didn't matter. sunoo killed them anyway because maybe the next one would know, maybe the next one would tell him where you were, maybe the next body would bring him closer to finding you.

heeseung found him three buildings later, surrounded by corpses, covered in blood that wasn't his own because blood was never his own, nothing could make him bleed, nothing could hurt him except apparently the gaping absence of you.

"sunoo, what the fuck—" heeseung stopped in the doorway, eyes wide as he took in the destruction.

"where is she?" sunoo's voice was deadly calm. he turned to face heeseung with his knives still dripping. "my sidekick. where did you take her?"

"we didn't take anyone—" heeseung's expression shifted as he processed the scene. "holy shit, what did you do?"

"where. is. she." sunoo started walking toward him and there must have been something in his face, something terrifying, because heeseung actually backed up a step. "i won't ask again."

"i don't know! we let her go after—" heeseung stopped and his expression changed to something like understanding mixed with disgust. "after you left her."

the words hung in the air between them, sharp and accusatory. after you left her. like it was sunoo's fault. like sunoo had abandoned you instead of making a tactical choice that should have taken forty-five seconds and somehow cost him everything.

"i came back," sunoo said quietly, and his voice was empty in a way that made heeseung tense. "i came back and she was gone."

"yeah, well." heeseung's hands crackled with energy, preparing for a fight he had to know he couldn't win. "can you blame her? you chose a device over your own partner. she was hurt, sunoo. cracked ribs, possible concussion, bleeding, and you just walked away like she was nothing."

sunoo moved. he was across the room before heeseung could blink, knife pressed against the hero's throat, and his hands were shaking again but his voice was steady. "don't. don't you dare act like you know anything about what she means to me."

"i know you left her to die," heeseung spat, and there was genuine anger in his voice, genuine disgust. "i know i showed more concern for her in five minutes than you did in that entire fight. she was devastated. she actually thought—she believed you didn't care about her."

something in sunoo's chest twisted violently and the knife bit into heeseung's skin, drawing blood. "the device was a fake. a test. i knew it was a fake. i was calling your bluff, proving it was empty so you couldn't use it as leverage. i was going to come right back for her."

"but you didn't," heeseung said, and his eyes were hard. "you didn't come back in time and she ran. and honestly? she deserves better than someone who would leave her surrounded by enemies just to prove a point."

sunoo's knife sliced deeper and heeseung choked, hands coming up to try and push him away, but sunoo was invincible and furious and utterly past caring about consequences. "she's mine. she's mine and i'm going to find her and i'm going to fix this."

"you really think she's going to take you back after—" heeseung's words cut off as sunoo's blade found his throat properly this time, cutting deep, and blood poured hot over sunoo's hands.

"i'll make her understand," sunoo said to heeseung's dying face. "i'll make her see. she belongs with me. she'll forgive me because she has to, because we're meant to be together, because i'll burn this entire city down before i let her go."

he left heeseung bleeding out on the floor and continued his search, and over the next two weeks sunoo tore apart half the city looking for you. he destroyed three more hero headquarters, killed anyone who got in his way, followed every lead no matter how slim. he didn't sleep, didn't eat, could barely breathe properly because you were out there somewhere thinking he'd abandoned you. thinking he didn't want you. thinking you didn't matter when you were literally the only thing that had ever mattered in his entire life.

he finally found you through yeonjun. he had tracked down the former villain, cornered him in some shitty apartment, and the look on sunoo's face must have been terrifying because yeonjun gave up the address immediately, hands raised in surrender.

"she doesn't want to see you," yeonjun warned, but he was already backing away from whatever he saw in sunoo's expression. "she thinks you abandoned her. she's hurt and angry and she told me if you came looking to tell you to fuck off."

"i don't care," sunoo said, and his voice was hollow. empty. "i'm getting her back."

"sunoo, maybe you should give her space—"

"i've given her two weeks." sunoo was already moving toward the door, toward the address yeonjun had given him, toward you. "i'm not giving her another second."

the safehouse door didn't stand a chance against him. sunoo kicked it open hard enough that the wood splintered and there you were, on your feet immediately with wide eyes and an expression that was half shock, half something else he couldn't read. 

you were alive. real and solid and in front of him after two weeks of losing his mind, and sunoo couldn't help it, couldn't stop himself from crossing the room in three strides and pulling you into his arms.

he held you so tight it probably hurt but he couldn't make himself loosen his grip because you were here, you were okay, you were safe and alive and he'd found you. his hands shook where they fisted in your shirt and his face was buried in your hair and he couldn't breathe properly, couldn't think past the overwhelming relief that was making his chest ache.

"you're okay," he breathed against your hair, and his voice cracked on the words. "you're okay, you're here, you're safe, i found you, you're—"

you shoved him away hard enough that he actually stumbled back a step, too surprised to resist, and when he looked at your face you were crying. angry tears were streaming down your cheeks and your expression was furious and hurt and devastating.

"don't fucking touch me," you snarled, and your voice was shaking with rage. "you don't get to touch me. you don't get to just show up here after two weeks and act like everything's fine—"

"i'm sorry," sunoo said, and he could hear the desperation in his own voice. "i'm so sorry, i looked everywhere for you, i tore apart the city trying to find you—"

"sorry?" you laughed and it sounded broken, jagged around the edges. "you're sorry? you left me, sunoo. you looked right at me, you saw that i was surrounded and outmatched and about to get hurt, and you turned around and left."

"it was a test," he said desperately, taking a step toward you even as you backed away. "the device was fake, heeseung was testing to see if i cared about you more than the mission. i knew it was fake so i called the bluff. i was going to come right back for you, it was only going to take a minute—"

"but you didn't come back!" your voice cracked and more tears fell. "you didn't come back and i was hurt and bleeding and a hero showed me more concern than you did. heeseung looked at me with pity, sunoo. actual pity. because even he could see that you'd abandoned me, that you didn't give a shit about me, that i was just—just—"

your voice broke completely and sunoo felt something in his chest shatter because you believed it. you actually believed that you didn't matter to him, that you were disposable, that he could just walk away from you.

"that's not true," he said, and his voice came out rough and desperate. "that's not true, i came back, i swear i came back. a few minutes, that's all it took to dismantle the device and prove it was fake and i turned around and you were gone. i've been losing my mind for two weeks thinking someone took you, thinking you were hurt somewhere and i couldn't find you—"

"so what?" you backed further away from him and your hands were shaking. "you want credit for that? you want me to be grateful that you went on a murder spree after you abandoned me? that doesn't change what happened. that doesn't change the fact that when it mattered, when i actually needed you, you chose wrong."

"i chose strategically!" his voice rose to match yours and he was moving toward you again, unable to stop himself. "i made the smart call, the one that would get us both out safely. how was i supposed to know you'd run before i could come back for you?"

"maybe because you've spent weeks playing mind games with me!" you were yelling now and your face was flushed with anger and hurt. 

"you touch me like i matter and then ignore me for days. you tell me i'm yours and then treat me like i'm nothing. you say you'd burn the world down for me and then you literally turned your back on me when i needed you. you've given me nothing consistent except the absolute certainty that i'm not your priority, so yeah, when you walked away, i believed it. i believed that the device mattered more than me. i believed that i was expendable."

sunoo felt like he'd been stabbed, like something vital had been punctured and was bleeding out inside his chest. "you're not expendable. you're everything—"

"liar!" you grabbed something off the table, a glass, and threw it at him. he didn't dodge, didn't even try to, and it shattered against his chest and fell harmlessly to the floor. "you're a liar and i hate you and i want you to leave."

"no." sunoo shook his head and took another step forward. "no, i'm not leaving. not again. never again."

"i don't want you here!" you grabbed something else, a plate this time, and threw it harder. it hit his shoulder and shattered. "i don't want to see you, i don't want to hear your excuses, i don't want—"

you were grabbing things faster now, throwing anything you could reach, and sunoo just stood there and took it. took the mug that hit his chest, the book that caught his jaw, the vase that shattered against his ribs. he didn't dodge or defend himself, just let you express your rage in the only way you could because he deserved it. he deserved all of it and more.

your hand found a knife on the counter and you threw it with actual intent to harm, put real force behind it, and it hit him square in the shoulder and stuck there.

and he bled.

you froze immediately, eyes going wide as blood started soaking through his shirt, as the knife stayed embedded in his shoulder, as actual visible injury appeared on his body for the first time in the two years you'd known him.

"what—" your voice came out shaky and confused. "how did i—you're invincible, you can't—nothing can hurt you—"

sunoo looked down at the knife in his shoulder and the smile that spread across his face was delighted, absolutely manic, his eyes bright with something unhinged and adoring. he pulled the knife out slowly, watching blood drip from the blade, and then he was crossing the room in two strides and grabbing your waist, pulling you flush against him.

"no," he said, and his voice was soft and reverent and slightly crazed. "i'm not invincible, sweetheart. i'm immune to harm from everyone and everything in the world. except one person."

his hand came up to cup your face and his thumb stroked across your cheekbone, smearing a bit of his own blood on your skin, and his smile was soft now, tender in a way that made your breath catch.

"my true soulmate," he murmured, and his eyes were so dark, so intense as they stared into yours. "the other half of my soul. my perfect match. the only person in the entire world who can actually hurt me." his other hand tightened on your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. "you. it's you. it's always been you."

your brain couldn't process this, couldn't make sense of what he was saying. "that's not—no. that's not possible. you've been fighting for years, you've never been hurt, you're completely invincible—"

"to everyone else," he interrupted, and his voice was patient like he was explaining something simple. "to everyone else i'm untouchable. but to my soulmate? to the person i'm meant to be with? i'm completely vulnerable. and i've known since the day i met you. i've known you were my mate since that jewelry store because you bumped into me while running and i felt it. this little spark of sensation that i'd never felt before. you could have hurt me then and you can hurt me now and you're the only one."

"stop," you whispered, but you didn't pull away from him, couldn't make yourself move out of his arms even though you were still so angry. "stop saying things like that."

"it's the truth." his forehead pressed against yours and his eyes slid closed like he was savouring this, savouring your proximity. "i'm obsessed with you. i've been obsessed with you for two years. i think about you constantly. the way you bite your lip when you're nervous, the way you try so hard to hide how you feel about me, the way you look at me like i hung the stars even when i know i don't deserve it. i kept you away from fights because i knew if you got seriously hurt i'd lose my mind. i pushed you away emotionally because i was terrified of what it meant that you could hurt me, that i had this weakness after years of being untouchable."

"you have a really fucked up way of showing you care about someone," you managed, but your voice was weak and your hands had somehow ended up fisted in his bloody shirt.

"i know." his eyes opened and the vulnerability in them made your chest ache. "i know i fucked up. i should have told you from the start. should have explained what you are to me instead of playing games and keeping you at a distance. but i was scared. i've never been vulnerable before. never had someone who could actually hurt me. and then you showed up and suddenly i had this thing in my chest that ached when you weren't around and i didn't know how to handle it."

"so you decided to give me whiplash instead?" you couldn't keep the bitterness out of your voice. "hot and cold, back and forth, never letting me know where i stood?"

"i was trying to protect myself," he admitted quietly. "if i kept you at a distance emotionally then maybe it wouldn't hurt so much that you could hurt me physically. if i didn't let myself care too much then maybe i'd survive it when you eventually figured out you could do better than me and left. but it didn't work. i just made you think i didn't want you when you're all i've ever wanted."

"you left me," you said again, and your voice cracked on the words because that was the core of it, the thing you couldn't get past. "you looked at me and you turned away and you left me there."

"i made a mistake." his hands were shaking where they held you and his voice was wrecked. 

"the worst mistake of my life. i thought—i was so sure i'd be right back, so certain i could handle it quickly and come back for you. i didn't think about how it would look from your perspective. didn't consider how it would feel to watch me walk away. i just saw the tactical solution and took it because that's what i always do, but i should have—" his voice broke. "i should have chosen you. fuck the strategy, fuck the heroes, fuck the optics. i should have gone to you first. always you first."

you wanted to stay angry, wanted to hold onto the hurt and use it as armour against the hope trying to bloom in your chest. "this doesn't fix everything."

"i know," he said immediately.

"i'm still furious with you."

"i know."

"you're going to have to work for this. no more games. no more pushing me away. no more making me guess how you feel."

"anything." his voice was fervent, desperate. "anything you want. i'll be so honest it's uncomfortable. i'll tell you every single thought i have about you. i'll stop protecting myself and just—i'll give you everything. i'll prove that you matter more than anything else in my life."

you opened your mouth to respond, to say something about how words were easy and actions were what counted, but he kissed you before you could get the words out. it was rough and desperate and consuming, his hands fisting in your hair and pulling you closer, angling your head exactly how he wanted it. you made a sound, half protest and half something else entirely, and he swallowed it, deepened the kiss, licked into your mouth like he was trying to devour you whole.

you bit his lip hard. hard enough to break skin and taste blood, and he moaned into your mouth like it was the best thing he'd ever felt.

"still mad at me?" he murmured against your lips when you finally broke apart to breathe, and you could feel his smile even though your eyes were still closed.

"furious," you gasped, but your hands were tangled in his shirt and pulling him closer instead of pushing him away, completely betraying your words.

"good." he walked you backward until your back hit the wall and his body pressed fully against yours. "stay mad. yell at me. hurt me. i don't care as long as you're here. as long as i can touch you. anything is better than the last two weeks thinking i'd lost you forever."

"you're insane," you managed, but it came out breathy and weak because his mouth was on your neck now, teeth scraping against your pulse point in a way that made your knees weak.

"for you, yes." his hand slid under your shirt and his fingers splayed across your ribs, right over the bruises that were still fading from heeseung's attack. "i've been going insane for two weeks. tore apart half the city. killed anyone who got in my way. couldn't sleep, couldn't eat, couldn't think about anything except finding you and getting you back and making you understand that you're mine."

your breath caught as his fingers traced over the bruises with devastating gentleness, like he was memorising the exact shape of them. "he hurt you," sunoo said, and his voice had gone cold and dangerous. "heeseung hurt you."

"you killed him already, remember?"

"not slowly enough." his fingers pressed just slightly harder against the bruised ribs and you hissed at the spike of pain. "i should have made it last days. should have made him suffer for every mark he left on your skin. should have made him understand what it means to hurt something that belongs to me."

"sunoo—" you didn't know if you were protesting or encouraging him, didn't know what you wanted except more.

"i'm going to make this up to you," he promised, and when he pulled back to look at you his eyes were dark with intent, pupils blown wide. "i'm going to make you feel so good you forget about the last two weeks. i'm going to touch you until the only thing you can think about is me. i'm going to prove that you're mine and i'm yours and nothing else matters."

"that's not how apologies work," you tried to say, but it came out shaky because his hand was sliding higher under your shirt and his thumb was brushing against the underside of your breast and you couldn't think.

"then tell me to stop." he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes properly, and despite the heat in his gaze there was genuine question there too. "tell me you don't want this and i'll stop. i'll leave. i'll give you space. i'll do whatever you need, even if it kills me."

you looked at him and saw the desperation in his expression, the way his hands trembled slightly where they touched you, the blood still soaking through his shirt from where you'd stabbed him. you thought about the last two weeks of nightmares and pain and missing him so much it physically hurt. thought about how even after everything, even after he'd left you and broken your heart, you still loved him. still wanted him. still felt like a piece of you was missing when he wasn't around.

"i don't want you to stop," you whispered, and your voice came out broken and honest. "i hate you and i want you and i'm so tired of fighting it."

something in his expression shifted, softened and sharpened at the same time, and then he was kissing you again. properly this time, slow and deep and thorough, like he had all the time in the world to learn the taste of you. you kissed back with everything you had, two years of want and frustration and love pouring out.

your hands tugged at his blood-stained shirt until he had to break the kiss to pull it off, and then you could see the wound on his shoulder properly. it was still bleeding sluggishly, the skin around it red and irritated, and you pressed your fingers against it without thinking.

he made a sound low in his throat and his eyes fluttered closed. "does it hurt?" you asked, fascinated despite yourself.

"yes," he breathed, and when his eyes opened again they were glazed with something that looked almost like pleasure. "do it again."

so you pressed harder and watched his face as he reacted. watched his breath catch and his pupils dilate and his hands tighten on your waist hard enough to bruise. there was something intoxicating about it, something that made heat pool low in your stomach. having this kind of power over someone who was otherwise completely invincible. being the only person who could hurt him, the only one who mattered enough to break through his immunity.

"you want to hurt me?" he asked, and his voice dropped to something dangerous and inviting, something that made heat pool low in your stomach. "go ahead, sweetheart. take one of my knives and make me bleed. i know you want to."

your breath caught because he was right. you did want to. wanted to see him bleed for you, wanted proof that you had this power over him, that you could affect him the way he'd been affecting you for two years. wanted to make him feel even a fraction of the pain you'd been carrying around.

"you're still angry," he continued, reading you like he always did, like you were his favourite book and he'd memorised every page. "still hurt. so take it out on me. i can handle it. i want you to."

he pulled a knife from his pocket, one of his favourites, the one with the black handle that he always kept razor sharp, and pressed it into your palm. his fingers closed around yours, warm and steady, holding your hand around the weapon. "go on."

you looked at the blade, then at him, at the absolute certainty in his expression. the trust. he was giving you the power to hurt him, offering himself up to the only person in the world who could actually damage him, and telling you to use it. encouraging it even.

your hand was shaking as you brought the knife up to his chest, pressing the tip against his skin just above his heart hard enough to dimple the flesh. "you really want this?"

"i want everything with you." his hand covered yours on the handle, applying gentle pressure until the blade bit into his skin and blood welled up around it, bright red against pale skin. "even the pain. especially the pain, because it means you're touching me. means you're here and real and mine."

you dragged the knife across his chest, not deep but enough to hurt, enough to part skin and draw a thin line of blood, and watched his eyes flutter closed like he was savouring it. watched his lips part on a sharp intake of breath that might have been pleasure. 

"fuck," he breathed, and when his eyes opened again they were glazed with something that looked almost euphoric. "again."

something dark and possessive unfurled in your chest at his reaction, something that liked having this power over him. you made another cut, parallel to the first, and he groaned low in his throat, a sound that went straight between your legs. his hands tightened on your waist hard enough to bruise and you were mesmerised by the blood running down his chest in thin rivulets, by the proof that you could do this to him.

"you like this," you said, and it wasn't quite a question because you could see it in his face, in the way his breathing had gone ragged.

"i love it," he admitted without shame, without hesitation. "love that you're the one doing it. love that you have this power over me. love that i can bleed for you when i can't bleed for anyone else."

you pressed the knife harder against his chest, dragging it down toward his ribs in a longer line this time, watching blood well up in the blade's wake like you were painting him. his stomach muscles tensed under your touch and his breathing was getting heavier, more erratic, more desperate.

"fuck," he hissed when you pressed the tip of the blade just above his hip bone, twisting it slightly to make it hurt more. his hand shot out to grab your wrist, not to stop you, just to steady himself, fingers digging in hard enough that you'd have marks later. "you have no idea what you're doing to me."

"i think i have some idea." you could see it in the way his pupils were blown wide, black almost completely swallowing the brown. could see it in the way he was already getting hard, the bulge in his jeans obvious and growing. "you're getting off on this. on me hurting you."

"of course i am." his free hand fisted in your hair, pulling you closer until your faces were inches apart and you could feel his breath on your lips. "you're the only person in the world who can make me feel pain. do you understand how fucking intoxicating that is?"

you dragged the knife across his collarbone, following the line of bone, and he groaned again. the sound was rough and desperate and so clearly pleasure that it made your own breathing pick up. blood was everywhere now, painting his chest in abstract patterns, dripping down his stomach to soak into the waistband of his jeans. he looked absolutely ruined and it was all because of you.

"that's enough playing around," he said suddenly, and his hand wrapped around your throat, not squeezing but possessive. his other hand plucked the knife from your grip easily. "my turn now."

he tossed the knife aside and before you could protest, before you could even process the loss of the weapon, he was on you. his mouth crashed against yours and the kiss was immediately desperate and consuming, his tongue sliding against yours while his hand tightened slightly on your throat. you could taste something metallic and realised with a start that it was his blood from where you'd apparently cut his lip at some point.

"been so patient with you," he muttered against your lips, walking you backward until your back hit the wall hard enough to knock the breath from your lungs. "letting you have your little tantrum. letting you cut me up like i'm your personal canvas. but i think that's enough attitude for one night, don't you?"

"i'm still mad at you," you said, even as your hands fisted in his bloody shirt, pulling him closer instead of pushing away like you should.

"oh, i know." his smile was sharp and mean as he pulled back just enough to look at you properly. "and i'm going to fuck that right out of you."

"you think it's going to be that easy?" you challenged, lifting your chin defiantly even though your heart was racing and you could feel how wet you already were.

"easy? no." his hand left your throat to work at your top, yanking it over your head roughly enough that you heard fabric tear. "but it'll be fun watching you try to stay bratty when you're falling apart on my cock."

"big talk from someone who—" your words cut off in a gasp as he shoved his hand down your pants without warning, fingers immediately finding how wet you were.

"from someone who what?" he asked, voice dripping with condescension as his fingers slid through your folds, spreading the evidence of your arousal. "go on, finish that sentence. oh wait, you can't, can you? not when you're this fucking wet for me already."

"fuck you," you managed, but it came out breathless and weak.

"you will be soon." he pulled his hand out and brought his fingers to his mouth, maintaining eye contact as he sucked them clean with obvious enjoyment. "mm. tastes like you're not as mad as you're pretending to be."

"i am mad—"

"then why are you dripping down your thighs, sweetheart?" he popped the button on your jeans and shoved them down along with your underwear in one rough movement. "why are you trembling? why can't you stop looking at me like you want me to ruin you?"

you opened your mouth to snap back with something cutting but he chose that exact moment to push two fingers inside you and the words dissolved into a moan that echoed embarrassingly in the small space. "

there we go," he said, and he sounded so pleased with himself it should have been annoying. "that's much better than all that talking back."

his fingers worked you with devastating efficiency, like he'd studied your body and knew exactly what you needed. they curled to hit that spot inside you that made your knees weak while his thumb circled your clit with perfect pressure. you were already embarrassingly close, wound tight from weeks of missing him and the adrenaline of the knifeplay and having him this close after thinking you'd never see him again.

"look at you," he murmured, his free hand coming up to grip your jaw firmly, forcing you to meet his eyes. "getting so close already. want to come on my fingers, baby?"

"yes," you gasped, past the point of playing hard to get or pretending you didn't want this desperately.

"ask me nicely."

"what?"

his fingers slowed to an agonising pace that had you wanting to cry from frustration. "i said ask me nicely. where are your manners?"

"please," you gritted out, hating how desperate you sounded but needing the release too badly to care about pride.

"please what?"

"please let me come."

"hmm." his fingers stopped moving entirely and you actually whimpered, a pathetic needy sound. "i don't know if you deserve it yet. you've been pretty bratty. throwing things at me, stabbing me, running away for two weeks and making me think you were dead..."

"sunoo, please—"

"tell me you're sorry," he demanded, and his eyes were dark and intense and utterly serious. "tell me you're sorry for leaving and i'll let you come."

your pride warred with need and need won decisively. "i'm sorry," you gasped out. "i'm sorry for leaving, please, i need—"

"good girl." his fingers resumed their movement immediately, faster now, harder, and you were right back on that edge within seconds. "see how easy things are when you behave?"

you came with a cry that was probably too loud, clenching around his fingers rhythmically, and he worked you through it with a satisfied smile on his face. but before you could catch your breath, before you could even start to come down, he was pulling his fingers out and spinning you around, pressing your front against the wall.

"now here's what's going to happen," he said against your ear, his body a solid line of heat against your back. "i'm going to fuck you against this wall until you forget why you were mad at me. and you're going to take it and thank me for it. understand?"

"you're so full of yourself—" you started, but cut off with a gasp as you felt him line himself up, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance.

"and you're about to be full of me," he said, and thrust in with one brutal movement that punched the air from your lungs.

you cried out at the stretch, at the way he filled you so completely you could barely breathe. he was big, bigger than you'd expected, and the angle had him hitting so deep it bordered on too much, on the edge of pain.

"fuck, you're tight," he groaned against your neck, and his voice was wrecked in a way that sent another wave of heat through you. "squeezing my cock like you don't want to let me go. thought you were mad at me?"

"i am," you managed, but it came out weak and breathless and completely unconvincing.

"sure you are." he pulled almost all the way out and slammed back in, setting a punishing pace that had you seeing stars. "that's why you're taking my cock so well. that's why you're already getting wet again. because you're so mad at me."

"shut up," you gasped, but you were already pushing back against him, meeting his thrusts, chasing the pleasure.

"make me." his hand came up to wrap around your throat from behind, not squeezing but possessive, claiming, owning. "oh wait, you can't. you're too busy moaning for me."

he was right and you hated it. every thrust hit perfectly, the angle letting him go so deep you could feel him everywhere, feel him splitting you open. your legs were shaking, barely holding you up, and if it wasn't for his grip on your hip and throat you would have collapsed.

"this is what you needed, isn't it?" he panted against your ear, and each word was punctuated by a thrust. "needed me to fuck some sense into you. needed to be reminded who you belong to."

"i don't belong to anyone," you tried to argue, but it came out more like a moan than actual words.

"liar." his hand slid from your hip to between your legs, fingers finding your clit and circling it with maddening pressure. "you're mine. have been since that jewelry store. you just needed a reminder."

"sunoo," you gasped, feeling yourself getting close again impossibly fast, your body responding to him like it was made for this.

"that's right. say my name. let everyone know who's fucking you this good." his pace got harder, more erratic, and his fingers worked your clit in tight circles. "come on my cock, sweetheart. show me who you belong to."

your second orgasm hit even harder than the first, your whole body seizing up as pleasure crashed over you in waves. you heard yourself crying out his name, felt yourself clenching around him rhythmically, and it was so intense you actually saw stars, your vision whiting out at the edges.

"fuck, that's it," sunoo groaned, and his rhythm was faltering now, getting sloppy. "feel so good when you come. so perfect. gonna fill you up. gonna make sure you remember this."

he thrust into you one final time, grinding deep, and you felt him pulse inside you, filling you with heat. for a long moment neither of you moved, both gasping for air, bodies slick with sweat and blood and completely wrung out.

then he was pulling out carefully, gently, and turning you around. he caught you when your legs threatened to give out, his arms coming around you to hold you steady. his expression had shifted, the mean dominant edge smoothed away into something softer, more vulnerable.

"can you walk?" he asked, and there was genuine concern in his voice now.

"maybe," you managed, still trying to catch your breath and make your brain work again.

"good enough." he scooped you up easily like you weighed nothing, carrying you toward the bed. "we're not done yet."

"sunoo, i can't—" you started, genuinely not sure your body could handle more.

"yes you can," he said simply, and there was that commanding tone again that made your stomach flip. 

"you're insane," you said, but you didn't push him away when he laid you down on the mattress and settled between your legs.

"we've established that." he looked up at you through his lashes, and even covered in blood and sweat he was beautiful. "now be a good girl and let me taste you."

before you could respond, his mouth was on you and his tongue was licking through your folds, tasting the mixture of both of you. you nearly came off the bed from the sensitivity, it was almost too much.

"too much," you gasped, hands flying to his hair, trying to push him away.

he just grabbed your wrists and pinned them to your sides, not even pausing in his ministrations. "i don't remember asking," he said against you, the vibration of his words making you whimper. 

"sunoo—"

"what did i say about talking back?" he looked up at you and his eyes were dark and stern. "every time you argue, i'm adding another orgasm. want to keep going?"

you shut your mouth immediately, and he smiled. "that's what i thought. now stay still."

he went back to work with renewed focus, his tongue circling your clit while keeping your wrists pinned to the bed. you were so sensitive that every touch felt electric, overwhelming, bordering on painful but in a way that still felt good.

"that's better," he murmured between licks, his breath hot against your oversensitized flesh. "no more attitude. just taking what i give you like a good girl."

despite the oversensitivity, despite thinking it was impossible, you felt it building again. he was making it happen with that devastating tongue, working you with the kind of precision that came from paying attention, from caring.

"sunoo, i'm—" you gasped, your hips trying to move but he held you down effortlessly.

"i know." his tongue moved faster and you could feel him smiling against you. "give it to me. one more, baby. you can do it."

when you came this time it was almost painful, the pleasure so intense it felt like electricity shooting through your entire nervous system. you were vaguely aware of crying, of making sounds that didn't sound human, but you couldn't stop it, couldn't control your body's response.

sunoo worked you through it gently this time, his tongue softening as you came down, pressing soft kisses to your inner thighs while you shook and gasped and tried to remember how to breathe. when he finally pulled back, you were completely wrecked, trembling and boneless and utterly spent.

"look at you," he said softly, crawling up your body to gather you into his arms. "so pretty when you let go."

you couldn't even form words, just buried your face in his chest and breathed in the scent of him. blood and sweat and something uniquely sunoo that made your chest ache with how much you'd missed it.

"come on," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "let's get you cleaned up."

he carried you to the bathroom and this time you didn't protest, too exhausted and wrung out to do anything but let him take care of you. he started the shower and helped you under the spray, his hands impossibly gentle now as he washed you with careful attention.

"did i hurt you?" he asked quietly, his fingers tracing over the marks he'd left on your body. the bruises blooming on your hips and wrists, the fingerprints on your throat. "too rough?"

"no," you said honestly, leaning into his touch. "just... intense."

"good intense or bad intense?"

"good," you admitted, feeling heat rise to your cheeks despite everything you'd just done. "really good."

he smiled softly at that, genuine and so beautiful it made your chest tight. "good. i never want to actually hurt you. even when i'm being mean."

"you were pretty mean," you said, but there was no heat in it, just fond observation.

"you liked it," he countered, and when you didn't argue, his smile widened into something more smug. "knew you would. knew underneath all that attitude you just needed someone to put you in your place."

"don't get cocky."

"too late." but then his expression softened again as he washed your hair with careful fingers, working through the tangles with patience. "but i'll try to be humble. for you."

"you're bleeding," you pointed out, looking at the cuts on his chest that were still seeping blood sluggishly into the water running down the drain.

"i know." he sounded almost pleased about it, like the wounds were a gift. "they'll scar. i'll have marks from you forever. i like that idea."

when you were both clean, when the water had finally run clear and all the blood was washed away, he dried you off with a towel and found one of your shirts. he helped you into it despite your weak protest that you could dress yourself, then carried you back to bed and settled you against his chest with your head tucked under his chin.

"i love you," he said quietly into the darkness, his hand stroking through your damp hair in soothing motions. "i know i'm fucked up about showing it. i know i hurt you. but i love you more than anything. you're my everything."

"i love you too," you whispered. "even when you're an asshole."

"especially when i'm an asshole," he corrected with a soft laugh. "that's when you get the most worked up."

"shut up."

"see? bratty even now." but his tone was fond, affectionate, full of something warm. "get some sleep, sweetheart. i'll be here when you wake up."

"promise?"

"i promise," he said seriously, and you could hear the weight of it in his voice. "i'm never leaving you again. never making you doubt how important you are to me. you're stuck with me now. for better or worse."

"mostly worse," you mumbled, already drifting off, exhaustion pulling you under.

you fell asleep wrapped in his arms, feeling safer and more content than you had in weeks, and for the first time since everything fell apart you felt like you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

note 2: the whole soulmate thing was inspired by this!

if you liked this please comment or reblog to give me your feedback! <3

he knew. he always knew when you were looking, when your thoughts went somewhere they shouldn't, when your breath caught because he moved too close or smiled that specific way that made you want to do something stupid.

"sorry," you mumbled, forcing your eyes away, focusing instead on the knife in your hands.

you were sharpening them for the past hour, hands steady even though your pulse wasn't. even though being this close to him made your skin feel too tight, made every nerve ending hyperaware of the space between your bodies.

he laughed. it was soft, almost fond, which was worse somehow. "no you're not."

and he was right. you weren't sorry. you'd never be sorry for looking at him, for memorising the curve of his smile, the way his eyes crinkled when he was genuinely amused versus when he was about to kill someone. you catalogued every detail of him like your life depended on it. maybe it did.

the sound of his footsteps made you tense before you felt his presence behind you, close enough that you could smell his cologne—something expensive and sharp that made your head spin. his hand came down on the table beside yours, fingers splayed, and you could see the old scars across his knuckles, the elegant length of his fingers. he was so close. too close. not close enough.

"we have a job tomorrow," he said, voice low and right by your ear. your hands stilled on the whetstone, breath catching. "the heroes are sending their best. should be fun."

fun. he called it fun. you called it watching him dance through combat like he was untouchable, like nothing in the world could hurt him, while your heart tried to claw its way out of your chest because what if this was the time something went wrong? what if—

"you're thinking too loud," sunoo murmured, and then his fingers were under your chin, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. they were so dark, pupils blown wide in the dim light, and there was something in his expression you couldn't read. something that made your stomach drop and soar at the same time.

"i'm not going anywhere, sweetheart. i've told you this."

the pet name made heat crawl up your neck. he used it sometimes, always with this teasing edge that made you want to combust on the spot. you knew he didn't mean it the way you wanted him to mean it. knew he saw you as useful, as entertaining maybe, but not—

his thumb brushed across your bottom lip and your brain short-circuited.

"you know what i like about you?" he asked, conversational, like he wasn't currently making your entire nervous system malfunction. like his touch wasn't burning itself into your skin in a way you'd never recover from. "you're so easy to read. every thought shows on your face."

oh god. if he could read your thoughts then he knew—he knew about the embarrassing dreams, the way you watched him constantly, the fact that you'd burn the entire world down if he asked you to. the fact that you were so stupidly, desperately, pathetically in love with him it physically hurt sometimes.

you tried to pull away but his grip tightened, not painful but firm, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. "i didn't say you could move."

your heart was hammering so hard you were sure he could hear it. "sunoo—"

"shh." his thumb pressed against your lips, silencing you, and his smile was sharp enough to cut. "you're always so obedient. it's almost boring."

that stung. you knew you were boring compared to him, knew you were just—just there, useful for sharpening his knives and handling the boring logistics and worshipping the ground he walked on like some kind of devoted dog. but hearing him say it made something crack in your chest.

you bit down on his thumb. not hard enough to break skin but enough to surprise him, to show some kind of spine even though your hands were shaking. his eyes widened fractionally before something dangerous slid across his features, something that made every survival instinct scream at you to run.

you didn't run. you never ran from him.

"there she is," he breathed, and he sounded almost delighted. his hand moved from your chin to your throat, not squeezing, just resting there, and you could feel your pulse jumping against his palm. "i was wondering when you'd stop being so scared of me."

"i'm not scared of you," you managed, voice rough. it was true. you weren't scared of him. you were scared of how much you wanted him, how you'd let him ruin you completely and thank him for it, how there wasn't a version of your future that didn't have him in it.

"liar," he said, but he was smiling now, really smiling, and it made him look younger. softer. like maybe underneath the villain there was still some part of the boy he must have been before. "you're terrified. but not of me hurting you."

his fingers flexed against your throat and you stopped breathing.

"you're scared i don't want you back."

the world tilted. your ears were ringing. had he just—did he mean—

"i—" you couldn't form words. your brain had completely shut down, every thought scattering like startled birds. "what?"

sunoo leaned in closer, so close his breath ghosted across your lips, and his eyes were so dark, so intense it felt like falling.

"you think i don't notice? the way you watch me, the way your breathing changes when i get close, the way you'd do anything i asked without question?" his voice dropped lower, almost a purr. "you think i don't know you're completely obsessed with me?"

you wanted to deny it. wanted to salvage some scrap of dignity. but what was the point? he was right. he was always right about you.

"and what if i am?" you whispered, because fuck it. fuck pride, fuck self-preservation. you were already his in every way that mattered.

his smile turned wicked. "then you should know something." his thumb traced your jawline, gentle in a way that made your chest ache. "tomorrow, during the fight. one of them is going to get lucky. you're going to see something that might scare you."

your blood went cold. "what do you mean?"

"you'll see." he pulled back slightly, expression unreadable. "just remember—i told you i'm not going anywhere."

"sunoo, if you're in danger—"

"i'm not the one in danger, sweetheart. i never am." there was something strange in his voice now, something almost vulnerable. "the heroes are. they just don't know it yet."

he pressed a kiss to your forehead and pulled away completely, leaving you frozen at the table, heart in pieces, mind racing.

tomorrow. something was going to happen tomorrow. something that would scare you. but you'd be there anyway, because where else would you be except at his side, watching him tear through heroes like they were nothing, bleeding devotion from every pore?

you were so fucked.