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scammer! sukuna x bratty! reader

↳ ❝ { A man that scams will always be a man that can spend, especially on you. He’s not your boyfriend but his scamming ass most definitely acts like it even though he has a girlfriend and it’s not you? You show Sukuna exactly why you can’t have your cake and eat it at once too. } ¡! ❞

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Sukuna’s knuckles tap against the steering wheel as he waits for the ancient ATM to finish churning. The engine hums beneath him, low and steady like his patience. It’s his second pickup today — a card from a burner he’d finessed into thinking it was a refund from their bank. Easy. Too easy. Money wasn’t the problem.

You were.

His phone vibrates.

You. Again.

I want the mango smoothie. From that spot. You know which one.

Another buzz.

Also, I booked a lash appointment. $120. Tip included. Thank you.

And then, a call. You don’t even wait. You never wait.

He sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose, and answers, “I’m busy.”

You snort. “Yeah, and I’m bored. So? We both have problems.”

“You know I’m with someone,” he reminds you flatly, but there’s no conviction behind the words. It’s not a warning — it’s a recycled excuse.

You laugh, low and cunningly, like that was the most irrelevant thing he could’ve said. “She’s cute. Kinda basic, but cute. She doesn’t know you’re mine yet, huh?”

“I’m not yours.”

“Mhm. Keep lying to yourself, baby. Send the money or I will be by that little apartment and ask you for it in front of her.”

Sukuna’s jaw clenches. You’ve done it before. Strolled up in your tiny little shorts, glossy lips pouting, acting clueless with your hand out like he owed you rent. You didn’t yell. You didn’t fight. You just existed, right in front of his girlfriend, oozing confidence and ownership, like you were daring her to put two and two together.

He should’ve blocked you. Ages ago. But somehow, his thumb moves without hesitation, pulling up Cash App and sending the exact amount. Plus a $50 tip. He adds a memo: Happy now?

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” you say sweetly. “Now go get my smoothie. Don’t forget the protein boost this time — I swear to god if you get the wrong one, I’ll throw it at your car and make it look like a hate crime.”

“I’m working.”

“So work faster. Then come see me.”

“You got a problem, you know that?”

“Yeah, and you love it. Now send me your location so I know when you’re close. I want to be ready when you pull up.”

You’re in the mirror, lip-glossing your already glossy lips. Outfit short, tight, just enough to say I don’t need you, but I know you’re coming anyway. Your phone buzzes again.

5 mins.

You don’t reply. You want him to wait at the door.

He doesn’t knock. He never does. You hear the lock twist — he must’ve kept the key from the last time he crashed here after telling his girl he was “out late working.”

You greet him from the couch without looking. “Where’s my smoothie?”

“Kitchen,” he grumbles, dropping it on the counter like it physically hurt him to deliver it.

You take your sweet time getting up. Stretch, pout, glance over your shoulder. “You didn’t forget the protein boost, did you?”

“No.”

“You listen so well.”

Sukuna rolls his eyes but doesn’t leave. He watches you sip it slowly, eyes trailing up your legs. His tongue pokes at his cheek like he hates what he’s thinking.

“You done now?” he asks.

“With what?”

“This shit. Acting like I’m some errand boy.”

You give him a slow smile. “You’re not. You’re my trick.”

He laughs, sharp and humorless. “Keep talkin’ like that and I’ll remind you who the fuck you’re dealing with.”

“You think I don’t know?” you purr, stepping close, finger tracing down his chest. “You’re a lying, cheating, scamming piece of shit. But you’re my lying, cheating, scamming piece of shit. And when I say ‘jump’…”

“I block your number,” he cuts in.

You smirk. “Then why haven’t you?”

Silence.

Your voice softens, head tilting. “Why’d you even come, ‘Kuna?”

His jaw flexes again. “Because you don’t shut the fuck up until I do.”

“Aww.” You grin, all teeth. “So you missed me.”

He glares. You sip your smoothie. And like always, he doesn’t leave. Not yet.

He’s already too far gone to fight it — not when you know his triggers. Not when you’re the only one who doesn’t ask him to be good.

Sukuna’s still standing by the kitchen counter, arms crossed like he’s trying to convince himself to leave. You’re sprawled out on one of your island chairs, your legs up, sipping your smoothie slowly — the straw pressed right between your glossed lips like you’re daring him to remember what your mouth feels like.

He won’t look directly at you and something’s different tonight. You watch him for a moment, then ask lazily, “Why are you still standing there like you’re waiting for someone to pull the plug?”

He doesn’t answer.

You shift upright. Your tone changes — quieter, sharper. “She think you’re still working?”

His jaw ticks. “She’s not stupid.”

“No. She’s just in denial.” You pause. “Kinda like you.”

He finally looks at you. There’s a flash of something dark in his eyes — anger, or maybe guilt, maybe both. You hold the stare like it’s a challenge.

“I’m not in denial,” he says flatly. “I know exactly what this is.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Yeah? Then what is this?”

He doesn’t answer because he can’t.

Not without exposing something he’s been refusing to name — the fact that it’s not just about sex or control anymore. That he drives across the city for you even when you don’t ask. That he saves your texts even when you’re being a brat. That he answers your calls every single time, even if he’s in bed with someone else.

You lean forward, elbows on the island counter, voice soft but cutting. “You keep saying I’m not your girlfriend, Sukuna… but you sure act like I’m something.”

He scoffs, looking away. “You’re not.”

“Then why are you here?” you ask again. “Why do you always come back?”

His voice is quieter now, barely above a mutter. “Because you don’t ask me to be someone I’m not.”

You blink.

That hits different.

He’s still not looking at you. He’s staring at the floor like he regrets saying it, like the truth slipped out and now he wants to shove it back down his throat. His fingers twitch like he wants to light a cigarette but knows you hate the smell.

“You just want me to pay for your lashes and fuck you when you’re bored.”

“And you do it.”

“Yeah,” he says, voice rough. “I do.”

You get up slowly and stand in front of him — bare feet on the tile, smoothie forgotten. You stop just short of touching him.

“Tell me something,” you whisper. “If I told you to stay tonight — if I told you I wanted more than sex — would you run? Or would you lie to me too?”

Sukuna’s breathing slows. His eyes meet yours — hard, unreadable, but flickering. For the first time, he doesn’t have a smart-ass remark. Doesn’t snap or deflect.

You smirk, but it’s softer now. “Thought so.”

You turn and walk away, heading toward your bedroom. “Come when you’re done pretending you don’t care.”

And he stands there a long, long moment.

The hum of the fridge. The quiet drip of the sink. The weight of everything unsaid.

Then, without a word, he follows you down the hall.

The walls are sweating.

So are you.

You’re on your back, legs around his waist, your lips swollen from kissing, tugging, biting. Sukuna’s mouth is still hovering above your chest, breath hot and ragged. His shirt’s halfway off — yours is somewhere on the floor — and his hands are wrapped around your thighs like he owns them.

He doesn’t say your name when he’s like this. He groans it. Growls it. Like he’s fighting it every time.

You drag your nails lightly down his back and whisper, smug, breathy, “Took you long enough.”

He doesn’t answer. Just rolls his hips against yours, letting you feel just how hard he is — how bad he wants it. Wants you. You moan — soft, drawn out — and hook your fingers into the waistband of his sweats.

His phone buzzes.

Once.

Then again.

Neither of you move — not until the third buzz.

You glance at the screen. Her name. His girlfriend. Big and bold.

You laugh under your breath. It’s not amused. It’s mean.

“You gonna get that?” you purr.

He ignores it. Dips his head lower, kisses your neck.

Buzz.

You pull back. “No, seriously. That’s your girlfriend, right? She misses you.”

“Don’t start,” he mutters, voice thick and low.

You smirk. You live to start.

Buzz.

You shift, suddenly straddling him, naked thighs draped across his hips. Your fingers ghost up his chest, teasing. “Go ahead,” you whisper. “Pick it up. Answer her. Tell her where you are. Tell her what you’re doing.”

His jaw tightens. “You’re not funny.”

“You think I’m joking?” Your eyes glint with challenge. “Come on, Sukuna. You always act so cold. So detached. Prove it. Pick up the phone.”

His hand shoots out and flips the phone face-down on the nightstand — hard.

“Ohhh,” you tease. “So you do care.”

He grabs your waist, pulls you flush against him. “You really want me to ruin this right now?”

You lean in, your lips brushing his ear. “Maybe I want to see if you’ll choose her.”

His grip tightens. His fingers dig into your skin like he’s on the edge of breaking something — you, himself, this whole unstable arrangement. You know exactly what you’re doing. And he hates that he loves it.

“I don’t choose either of you,” he grits out.

“That’s not true,” you say, softer now. “You always choose me. You just don’t say it.”

Silence.

Then the buzzing stops.

You can almost feel his pulse slow down with it.

You press a kiss to his throat, then lower, letting your lips trail down his chest. “Now where were we?”

He flips you onto your back like he’s punishing you for the game — but you feel the truth in the way his hands shake just slightly when they touch you.

The second the phone goes silent, Sukuna’s whole energy shifts.

No more hesitation. No more games.

He grabs your wrists and pins them above your head, body pressing down into yours, heavy and hot. His voice is low, dangerous — the kind that makes your stomach flutter.

“You think this is a joke?”

You blink up at him, wide-eyed and unbothered. “I think you didn’t answer.”

He laughs, dark and breathless. “You wanna be a fucking brat? Fine.”

You don’t get a chance to respond. His mouth is on you — teeth grazing your neck, lips trailing heat down your collarbone, his grip on your wrists unforgiving. You arch into him instinctively, already soaked from the build-up, the power play, the way you pushed him right to the edge and dared him to fall over.

He kisses down your stomach — rough, fast — like he’s trying to erase the smirk from your face with his tongue.

“Keep talking shit,” he mutters, yanking your thighs apart, “but don’t pretend you didn’t want me to lose it.”

You moan when he touches you — no teasing now. Two fingers sliding between your legs, slow and slick, his eyes locked on you like he wants to memorize every little twitch of your body. You’re still tied up in the sheets, wrists pinned, but you manage to grind down against his hand.

“You’re such a whore for me,” he growls.

You bite your lip. “Only you.”

That breaks him.

He curses under his breath and lines himself up, dragging the head of his cock against your hole once, twice — just enough to make you whimper.

“Say it again.”

You blink at him, lashes fluttering. “You want me to say I’m yours?”

“I want you to admit that you love being ruined by me.”

He pushes in slow — too slow — and you cry out, back arching, every nerve catching fire.

“Fuck, Sukuna—”

“That’s right,” he grunts, snapping his hips forward and bottoming out in one brutal stroke. You choke on a moan.

His pace is relentless. Deep. Bruising. Every thrust is a punishment for the call you made him ignore, for the tone you used, for the way you keep playing with him like he’s something you own.

But he never stops kissing you.

Your wrists are free now — his hands roam, gripping your thighs, your hips, your jaw. His lips crush yours between gasps and groans, like he needs to keep you quiet, or maybe like he needs to feel you completely.

You wrap your legs around him tighter, pulling him deeper, chasing that edge.

“You’re fucking mine,” he growls into your mouth.

You smile against his lips. “I know.”

That’s when he really loses it.

One hand between your legs again, fingers rubbing tight circles over your clit as he drives into you harder. You’re babbling his name now, moaning loud and shameless as your whole body tenses — your orgasm hitting hard and fast, your nails dragging down his back.

He fucks you through it. Growling in your ear.

“You make me crazy,” he hisses.

“Good,” you pant. “Stay crazy.”

When he finishes, it’s with a curse and a stifled groan into your neck — his hips jerking, heat spilling inside you, his breath ragged and uneven.

For a long moment, there’s just silence.

Sweat. Steam. Skin.

And then, his voice — quieter, raw.

“You’re gonna ruin me.”

You smile into his chest. “Already did.”

His girlfriend is in his kitchen — hair tied up, wearing his shirt, pouring almond milk into her cereal like her life’s normal.

Sukuna leans against the wall, shirtless, pretending to check his phone for work stuff.

But he’s not looking at emails. He’s looking for you.

Nothing.

No missed calls. No “good morning�� texts. No bratty demands. No screenshot of a cart full of things you expect him to pay for.

Just silence.

And it’s fucking deafening.

She walks past him, plants a kiss on his cheek, completely unaware of the way he flinches when her lips touch his skin.

“You coming to brunch later with my friends?” she asks cheerfully.

He nods, distracted. “Yeah. Maybe.”

Sukuna goes upstairs and sits on the edge of the bed, staring at his phone. He’s already opened your thread three times, thumb hovering over the keyboard, typing… deleting… typing again.

He settles on something simple. Too neutral. Too safe.

You good?

Three dots. Typing.

Then they vanish.

Nothing.

A minute passes. Then five.

Then he sends another.

Need anything?

Still nothing.

His jaw clenches. He hates the feeling sitting in his chest — this unfamiliar tightness, like he’s the one waiting now. Like you flipped the whole damn dynamic and didn’t even warn him.

He’s so used to you being loud. So used to you texting him at midnight with “send money or I’ll start screaming,” or calling just to breathe heavy until he caves.

But this?

This is new.

This is quiet.

And it’s driving him insane.

You see the texts. You saw them immediately. But you don’t answer. You sit in bed with your hair a mess and your phone in your lap, sipping cold coffee and rereading the same message:

You good?

For once, your fingers don’t type back. You don’t send a cash app request or demand to see him. You don’t even post a story.

You just… sit in it.

Because if he really wanted you — really wanted you — he wouldn’t have gone back to her.

He would’ve stayed.

You told yourself you’d stop begging. Stop calling. If he wanted her, fine. He could have her. But he doesn’t get to have you on mute anymore. Not like this.

Let him miss you.

Let him sweat.

You leave him on read.

And somewhere, in the middle of brunch with a girl he doesn’t love, Sukuna stares at his phone like he just lost something he didn’t know he could lose.

Sukuna’s sitting on his couch, staring at the same thread with no new messages. Still just those two texts from him. Still marked read.

Nothing since.

Not even a like.

Not even a petty response.

Not even a fake cash request.

His chest’s been tight all damn day. Not the kind of tight you can fix with weed or a drive or another scam.

It’s deeper.

Like something he’s used to having at his fingertips just disappeared overnight, and now his hands don’t know what to reach for.

He hasn’t told anyone. But he hasn’t been okay. His girl comes out in leggings and a tee. Tosses her towel over the couch. “Are you seriously still out here?” she asks, almost laughing. “You’ve been off lately.”

He doesn’t answer. She walks over, arms folded, eyebrow raised. “I’m serious, Sukuna. You’ve been somewhere else. For like a week. What is it? Work?”

He doesn’t even bother lying.

“Work’s fine.”

She blinks. “Then what?”

He runs a hand through his hair. Avoids eye contact.

She waits. Crosses her arms tighter.

“…Did I do something?” she asks softly now. “Did I say something that pissed you off?”

He glances at her, guilt simmering in the pit of his stomach.

“No.”

“Then what is it? I’m trying to talk to you and you’ve just been—” She gestures to him. “—here, but not here.”

He says nothing.

And that’s when she realizes.

Her voice drops a little. “Is there… someone else?”

His jaw clenches. The pause that follows isn’t long — but it’s long enough.

She breathes in sharp. “Are you serious?”

“I didn’t say anything,” he mutters.

“You didn’t have to,” she snaps.

She takes a step back like she just touched something burning. Her arms drop. Her face twists — not into anger, not yet — but confusion. Hurt. Humiliation.

“Who is she?”

He stays silent.

“She must be important,” she says, bitter. “If you’re this miserable without her.”

That one hits him.

Because you are important.

And this is miserable.

And he knows — he fucking knows — that none of this would be happening if he’d stayed that night. If he’d just reached for you in the morning instead of going back to this quiet, clean, safe nothing.

She swallows hard, trying to keep her voice steady. “You’ve never looked at me like I was missing.”

Sukuna says nothing.

Because he can’t.

You haven’t posted in four days. Haven’t called. Haven’t sent a “where’s my money” text.

Your silence isn’t for revenge. It’s for self-control. It’s the only kind of power you still have. And it’s working.

Because he’s spiraling.

And you know it.

Your finger hovers over his name again. You think about typing something — something casual, something petty, something to reel him back in.

But you don’t. You toss your phone onto the bed. If he wants you? He’ll have to say it. Out loud.

To your face.

He left his phone on the kitchen counter — stupid, distracted, trying to roll a blunt with shaking hands.

She’s pacing the living room behind him, arms crossed, mind racing. She hasn’t spoken since earlier, but she hasn’t left either.

He can feel her watching him. Feel her searching for answers he refuses to give.

And when he heads to the bathroom, door clicking shut?

She makes a decision.

She picks up the phone.

No password. He never locked it around her. He never thought he had to.

She scrolls fast — texts, apps, skipped names — until she sees yours.

And she knows.

Because the thread is long.

Because the messages are late.

Because it’s filled with cash app receipts and “come through” and “you coming or not” and voice memos that don’t even try to hide how intimate they sound.

You’re bold. You’ve always been bold.

And then she sees the last two texts from Sukuna:

You good?

Need anything?

And your silence.

She stares at it a moment. Heart in her throat. Jealousy curling in her stomach like acid.

She opens your thread.

And she types.

You know who I am, don’t you.

Three dots.

Then they vanish.

You don’t reply.

Not immediately.

She keeps going.

I’m the girlfriend.

The one who’s been here the whole time while you’ve been sneaking around with my man.

I just want to know—what do you think this is?

Nothing. Silence.

But she sees that “Read” receipt.

She knows you saw it.

She waits.

And then—you respond.

I think he answers my calls faster than yours.

And I think you should ask him what this is, not me.

That’s it. That’s all you send.

Because you don’t have to explain yourself.

She stares at the screen like she’s waiting for it to change, like maybe if she looks long enough it’ll mean something else. But it doesn’t.

You said what you said. And now, she’s not just mad. She’s wrecked.

Sukuna steps out, towel slung over his shoulder, still wiping his jaw.

Stops dead in his tracks when he sees her holding his phone.

When he sees your name on the screen.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

She holds it up. “You wanna explain this?”

He goes still. Doesn’t reach for it. Doesn’t deny it. She laughs bitterly. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.” The air’s thick with tension.

The TV’s on but silent. A blue glow flickers across her face as she stands in the living room, Sukuna’s phone still in her hand.

Your message —

“Ask him what this is.”

— sits on the screen like a match waiting to be struck.

Sukuna rubs his face, pacing once before stopping in front of her.

“Give me the phone.”

“No.” Her voice is sharp now. “You don’t get to shut me down and walk away. You’ve been walking away from this for a week.”

He exhales. “I didn’t want this to blow up.”

“Oh, so what? You thought you could just have both of us quietly?” she scoffs. “Did you love the attention? Was it just sex? Or are you in love with her too?”

That word lands like a gunshot.

His jaw flexes. He doesn’t answer.

Her face twists — pain, betrayal, disbelief all tangled together. “Wow. You really can’t even say no, can you?”

Sukuna turns his back to her like he can hide from the weight of it all.

“I didn’t mean for it to go that far,” he mutters. “It just… happened.”

She laughs — but there’s no humor in it. “Right. Because she forced your hand. She held a gun to your head and made you fall into her bed?”

He spins around, voice tight. “Don’t talk like you know anything about her.”

And that — that’s the moment she knows it’s over.

The way he said “her.”

Like she’s not just a mistake.

Like she means something.

“You just proved it,” she says quietly.

She steps closer, eyes locked on his. “I was gonna fight for this. I was gonna try. But if you’re standing here defending her more than being honest with me, then what the fuck are we even doing?”

Sukuna says nothing.

His silence is louder than any confession.

She swallows hard and looks down at the phone.

Then back at him.

“You’ve got two choices,” she says finally. “You either walk away from her — right now, tonight — or you walk away from me.”

His breath catches.

It’s a cruel ultimatum, but a clean one. No more half-in, half-out. No more shadowy threads and side doors.

Choose.

He looks away. Long enough to answer without saying it. She hands him the phone. And walks out the door. Sukuna stands in the middle of the room, holding his phone. Your message still sits at the bottom of the thread.

He exhales. Thumbs hover over the screen.

And finally—

I need to see you.

You didn’t answer his text.

Not when he said “I need to see you.”

Not when he sent “Please.”

Not even when he called — twice — and left that dead silent voicemail with nothing but his breath on the line.

So now?

He’s at your door.

It’s almost midnight when you hear the knock. You glance through the peephole and see him — hoodie up, shoulders hunched, hands in his pockets like he’s not sure whether to knock again or walk away.

You open the door, just a crack.

Eyes cold. Arms crossed.

No smile. No welcome.

He stares at you a long second before speaking.

“You not answering me is driving me fucking insane.”

Your voice is calm. “Good.”

That stings him. You see it.

He runs a hand over his face, exhaling sharp.

“I’m not gonna lie to you. I handled everything wrong. I was selfish. I let shit drag out because I didn’t want to face what it would mean if I chose you.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And what does it mean?”

He looks at you then — really looks at you.

“It means I’d have to admit I caught feelings when I swore I wouldn’t. That I care more than I ever should’ve. That I was starting to feel like I belong to you.” You don’t flinch. But you don’t soften either.

“So why now?” you ask. “Why show up when it’s finally quiet? You afraid I really meant it when I stopped reaching out?”

“Yeah,” he says honestly. “I am.”

You open the door wider.

But still, you don’t step aside.

“You want back in, Sukuna? Then prove it. Show me you’re not just here because it’s convenient now that she’s gone.”

His jaw tics.

“I don’t want convenient. I want you.”

“Why?” you press. “Say it.”

He hesitates. “ Because when shit hits the fan, I think of you. Not her. Because when I’m tired, or pissed, or losing it — you’re the only one I want to hear. Because no matter how cold you get, no matter how loud you scream, I feel something with you.”

You swallow that, hard. That one hits somewhere deep. And still, you don’t move. He steps closer. “If you tell me to leave right now, I will. But I’ll still want you. And I’ll still try again tomorrow. And the day after.”

You finally speak, softer this time.

“And what happens when it’s not fun anymore? When I’m not bratty or hot or easy to chase? When I’m just someone who needs more than what you give when you’re in the mood?”

Sukuna doesn’t blink.

“Then I give more.”

The silence stretches.

You’re scared. You hate that you still care. But the way he’s looking at you now — like there’s no mask left, like he’s not playing games anymore — it’s different. It’s messy. But it’s real.

You open the door fully.

“Then come in.”

Sukuna’s been coming over most nights. Not for sex. Not for excuses. Just to be there.

He sits on your couch while you scroll your phone in silence. Sometimes you let him pick dinner. Sometimes you don’t say two words all night.

And it’s driving him crazy. Not because you’re mean. Not because you’re punishing him. But because you’re calm. Controlled. You’re not yelling, not begging, not chasing. And that is what scares him most.

Tonight, you’re curled on the far side of the couch, eating fruit from a glass bowl. Your hair’s wrapped. Your robe’s loose. And you haven’t looked at him in ten full minutes.

Sukuna watches you like he’s trying to find a crack in the wall you built — a way back in.

“I miss how you used to talk to me,” he says finally, voice low. You glance at him. “Yeah?” You pop a grape in your mouth. “You used to lie better too.” He sucks his teeth and leans forward, elbows on knees. “I’m trying now.”

“And you think a week of showing up quiet gets you a reward?”

His jaw tightens. But he knows better than to argue. You put the bowl down and turn to him fully. “I meant what I said.”

Sukuna raises an eyebrow. “That so?”

“Mmhm.” You cross your legs slowly. “You don’t get boyfriend benefits without boyfriend behavior. You wanna lay up here and enjoy my space, my energy, my body? Show me you’ve changed. Not for tonight. For good.”

He looks at you like you’ve just handed him terms on paper. And maybe you have.

“And what does that look like to you?” he asks.

You lean closer, voice calm but cutting. “I’m not your escape. I’m not your distraction. I’m not your backup plan when everything else falls apart. You wanna be in this? Then you show up on purpose. Not just when you feel me slipping away.”

The silence afterward is heavy. Real. Sukuna nods once. “I get it.” You raise a brow. “No, you hear it. I’ll see if you get it.”

Your thighs are warm against the white leather seats.

Your white mini skirt rides up when you cross your legs, and the cropped top you wore tonight still smells like the club: coconut rum, vanilla gloss, and expensive perfume. Hair laid, lip gloss still intact, sandals swinging lazily from your toes as you scroll.

Your friends are still out, dancing the night away. But you’re not.

You texted Sukuna instead.

Come get me.

I’m bored.

He answered in a second with no hesitation.

On my way.

No complaints. No “where you at?” No “I’m busy.”

Just movement.

He pulled up smooth in his car, didn’t look twice at the length of your skirt or the attitude you gave when you slid in like he was the one lucky to be picked.

And now, here you are — parked at some gas station near downtown, windows down, soft music playing low while he pumps gas.

Your phone’s in your hand, but you’re not scrolling anymore. You’re watching him. The way he walks. Calm. Hands deep in his pockets. No rush in his step, no tension in his jaw. Just… here. Just showing up. He finishes at the pump and heads into the store. You glance down at your skirt, tug it slightly, then stare out the window — jaw tightening just a little.

Because this is what you asked for, right?

Consistency. Presence. No more bullshit.

And now that he’s giving it — not perfectly, not loudly, but steadily — it’s doing something to you that you didn’t expect:

It’s making you want to reach back.

Sukuna slides into the driver’s seat with a plastic bag. Tosses it gently into your lap.

“You like peach rings, right?”

You blink. Look down. He got your favorite candy, plus water and chips. “And a Twix,” he adds. “Cause you be on that fake ‘I don’t want nothing sweet’ shit.”

You bite back a smirk and mumble, “Shut up.”

But something shifts. He starts the car, hand on the gear shift.

And before he can pull out, you reach across the console—

slow, like you’re not even sure why you’re doing it—

And place your hand on his thigh. Just rest it there. No teasing. No baiting. Just a soft, steady hold. His eyes flick to you, unsure.

You don’t look at him. Just watch the road like it’s nothing.

Like you didn’t just cross a line you’ve been guarding for weeks. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t move your hand.

But you feel the way he breathes deeper —

feel the heat in the way his leg tenses under your palm. You glance at him once, then away.

“You’re trying,” you say, barely above a whisper.

He nods once. “I am.” You squeeze his thigh gently. Then pull your hand back.

But the air between you? It’s different now.

Because for the first time in a long time?

You touched him first.

Once he made it to your home, you don’t invite him in with words.

You just unlock the door, leave it cracked, and walk inside. He follows. No need to ask where to go. He’s been here enough to know the rhythm — shoes off, jacket hung, quiet like he’s scared to press his luck. But tonight, you want him to. Just a little.

You head straight to your room. White skirt swaying. Top riding up as you tug it loose from your bra. The lights are dim. Scented candle half-burned on your dresser. Fan humming. You sit at the edge of the bed, start to pull off your sandals.

He stands in the doorway. Watching. Like he doesn’t want to get it wrong.

You don’t look up, but your voice breaks the silence.

“You can come in, Sukuna.”

He moves slow, hands in his hoodie pocket. Not cocky, not smirking — careful.

You stretch your legs out in front of you. Your skin glowing in the soft light, that white mini riding scandalously high.

“Why’re you standing like you’re scared of me?” you tease, voice soft.

He exhales a quiet laugh. “Cause I don’t wanna mess this up.”

You finally look at him. Really look. “No more lies?” you ask. “No more lies,” he promises. You nod once. Then pat the bed beside you. He sits. Still quiet.

You shift, turning to face him. Letting your thigh brush his. Your fingers find the hem of your skirt and play with it slowly — not teasing, just thoughtful.

“You been good,” you murmur.

He looks at you, brow lifted.

You nod once. “You’ve been showing up. Not asking for more than I’m ready to give.” A pause. “And I notice that.”

You lean in. Lips close, but not touching. “You want to kiss me?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah.”

You smile.

“Then do it like you mean it.”

His mouth meets yours with a softness that catches you off guard — like he’s not claiming, but asking. You kiss him back.

Hands sliding to his jaw, fingertips skimming the edge of his jawline .

He groans low when you deepen it. Tongues slow. Mouths syncing. No rush. Just heat. Just relief.

Like two people who’ve finally found the same rhythm after dancing around it for too long.

You break the kiss gently. Look at him. Look through him. Then slide your leg over his lap.

You’re straddling him now — chest to chest, lips swollen from the way you’ve been kissing each other like neither of you could breathe without it. The thin white top you wore out is peeled halfway up, his hands resting under the fabric, palms against the bare skin of your back like he’s holding something fragile for the first time. Your forehead’s pressed to his, your breathing slow and shaky as your hips begin to roll. His hands tighten. “Fuck…” Sukuna mutters, eyes fluttering shut. Because it’s not fast — it’s intentional.

You grind against him like you’ve been saving this up for weeks. Like every night you slept alone with your thighs clenched and your pride high, you were still thinking about this exact pressure — his length straining under his sweats, hot and hard against your core, both of you still fully clothed but already aching.

And he lets you take your time.

Just watches you — jaw clenched, eyes dark, hands tracing the curve of your hips as you move against him in slow, deliberate rolls.

“This what you missed?” you whisper, lips brushing his.

He groans — a deep, needy sound — and nods. “I missed you,” he murmurs, barely audible. You pause for a beat — long enough for both of you to feel the shift.

You reach between your bodies and pull at the waistband of his sweats, tugging them down just enough to free him. Your panties are still on — lacy, white, barely covering anything.

You push them to the side and sink down. Slow. So slow it feels like a confession.

Sukuna curses under his breath, body falling back against the bed, his grip bruising now as he grabs your waist — not to guide, just to feel.

You move in slow, deep circles. Not bouncing. Not racing. Just letting him fill you — letting your body memorize him again like he never left.

Your hands slide up his chest, nails grazing his skin as your eyes flutter shut.

“Fuck, I forgot how good you feel,” you murmur.

He growls softly, pulling you closer. One hand cradles your neck, thumb stroking the underside of your jaw like he’s afraid you’ll disappear again. “I thought about this every night,” he whispers. “You on top. Taking your time. Making me wait.”

You moan — because you know it’s true. You wanted to make him wait. And now? You’re giving it to him, but on your terms.

You lean down, lips brushing his ear.

“This ain’t yours again, Sukuna,” you whisper, voice like silk. “Not yet.” His breath stutters. His hips twitch up involuntarily.

“Say you understand,” you tease, voice tightening as your pace picks up, slick sounds filling the space between your bodies now.

“I understand,” he gasps, eyes rolling to the back of his head. “I fucking understand.”

But his hands are shaking. Because the way you’re riding him now — hips rolling, walls clenching, heat pouring between you — it feels like more than just sex.

It feels like punishment and reward. It feels like forgiveness that hasn’t been spoken yet. It feels like longing finally allowed to burn. And when you both finish — bodies tangled, breath ragged, your fingers tangled in his hair, his mouth buried at your collarbone — it’s not loud.

It’s intimate.

His arms wrap around you like he’s afraid you’ll float away if he doesn’t hold you tight enough.

You wake up to warmth behind you.

Not sunlight — him.

Sukuna’s arm is slung across your waist, palm resting on the soft curve of your lower belly. His nose is buried in the crook of your neck, his breath warm and steady, like he’s been there all night, pressed to you like a second skin.

You shift a little. Not trying to wake him. Just testing the moment. He stirs anyway — always tuned to your body, even in sleep. “Mm,” he groans, voice hoarse. “Where you think you goin’, lil’ girl?” You smirk, eyes still closed “Bathroom. Maybe coffee. Maybe out to brunch without you.”

He groans louder this time, pulling you back tighter against him. “Nah. You not goin’ nowhere. You still mine ‘til at least noon.” You hum. “That so?”

“Mhm. Morning-after clause. You laid that punishment coochie on me and now I’m emotionally compromised. You owe me at least one full snuggle cycle.”

You roll your eyes but laugh — that small, grudging laugh that means you’re not mad at it. His voice drops lower, more real.

“You good?” You pause for a second. Then nod “Yeah.” His grip softens. He presses a kiss to your shoulder, lips lingering like he’s not sure he should do more, but wants to.

You turn in his arms to face him. Hair messy. Skin bare under the covers. No makeup. And he grins. “What,” you mutter, “why are you smiling like that?”

He shrugs, half-lazy, half-smug. “Just admiring my success. Look at you. Curled up in my arms. After all that ‘you on probation’ talk.”

You narrow your eyes. “You are still on probation.” He raises a brow, leans in to brush his lips over your cheek.

“And yet I’m here… in your bed… in your sheets… with your thigh over mine like I’m not going anywhere.”

“Don’t get cocky.”

“Oh, baby. It’s too late.”

You swat his chest and he laughs — the real one. The one you hadn’t heard in weeks.

And it does something to you. Because this isn’t just the smug Sukuna who knows how good he’s got it. This is the Sukuna who stayed. Who kissed your shoulder when he thought you were still asleep. Who folded your robe over the back of the chair instead of tossing it to the floor.

Who checked your fridge and already mentally planned breakfast in his head even though he acts like he doesn’t cook.

You watch him. Not smiling, but not guarded either. “You hungry?” he asks, already sitting up, bare chest on display. “You cooking?”

“Hell yeah. You don’t remember? I make a god-tier bacon, egg, and apology sandwich.”

You roll your eyes. “You are so annoying.”

He leans over, kisses your forehead gently.

“And you look fine as hell in the morning light. So we’re even.”

You don’t say anything when he gets up and disappears into the kitchen. You just lie there for a second, biting the inside of your cheek. Because the version of him you have this morning? Is very different from the one you almost gave up on. And while you’re not falling yet…you are watching.

He’s in your kitchen like he owns it. Sweats slung low on his hips, no shirt, tattoos cutting sharp under morning light as he moves between stove and counter with a kind of ease that makes your chest pull tight. Like he belongs here. Like this isn’t borrowed time. Bacon’s sizzling. Eggs already fluffed in the pan. Bagels in the toaster.

You sit on the barstool, robe pulled loosely around your frame, still warm from the sheets, thighs crossed, eyes sharp but quiet.

You’re watching him.

And he knows.

“You always stare like that in the morning?” he asks, glancing over his shoulder. “I’m deciding.” He raises a brow. “On what?”

“If you’re gonna be worth the emotional whiplash today.” He smirks, sliding the spatula under the eggs with lazy confidence.

“Oh, we doin’ the cute bratty shit again? Thought I earned a grace period after last night.” You shrug. “Grace has to be renewed daily. Like a subscription.”

He chuckles low, pulling plates from your cupboard without asking. He’s done this before. He remembers.

“Relax,” he says, setting a plate down in front of you. “I’m feeding you. That’s at least one star toward my trial run, right?”

You eye the plate: eggs, bacon, bagels just how you like it. freshly squeezed orange juice. No flashy extras, just right.

“Two stars,” you admit quietly. He leans against the counter across from you, sipping his own juice. Then gets quiet. And you feel it — that shift.

You eat a few bites in silence before you glance up and catch it in his eyes: not the usual fire, not the smugness. Something… heavier. Softer.

“What?” you ask.

He looks down at his food. Takes a second. “I needed that last night,” he says, almost under his breath. You pause, fork halfway to your mouth. “Needed the sex?” you ask, lips twitching.

He scoffs. “I mean—yeah. But not just that.” You put your fork down. Let him talk. He shifts, exhales, and rubs the back of his neck — that small tell that he’s uncomfortable with his own truth. “I didn’t realize how much I missed… not pretending,” he admits.

You blink. Stay quiet.

“I was so wrapped in shit — scams, running plays, keeping up with bullshit, acting like I don’t give a fuck even when I do…” His voice trails off, then he looks at you. Really looks.

“And then you called me. And I pulled up. And for the first time in a long-ass time, I felt like I could just be. No games. No show. Just… you and me.”

You swallow. Hard. “I didn’t mean to—” He stops. Starts again. “I wasn’t planning on staying last night. I thought I’d drop you off, maybe talk shit, flirt a little…”

“But then you stayed,” you finish.

“Then I stayed.”

You both go quiet again. But it’s not heavy — it’s real. He leans forward, arms resting on the counter, tone lower now. “You got no idea how good it felt to wake up and not have to pretend I was somewhere else. Not have to sneak out. Not have to lie about where I was.”

You meet his eyes.

And they’re open now — wide, raw, a little nervous.

“And I know I fucked a lot up before,” he adds. “I know I’m still earning my way back.”

He swallows.

“But if you let me… I’ll keep showin’ up. Not just when you call. Just because I want to.” The silence after is long. You could press. You could test him. You could cut into him with every moment he left you on read, every lie he swore wasn’t one.

But instead?

You pick your fork back up. Take another bite. And say, simply:

“Three stars.”

He laughs — breathless, relieved. You glance up. Your voice is soft, but firm. “You’re not off probation.”

“I know.”

“But I’m not kicking you out, either.”

“I noticed.”

You lift your glass, take a sip, and meet his eyes again. “Keep showing up, Sukuna. And don’t make me regret last night.” His smirk is cocky again. But his eyes? They’re grateful.

“I can do that.”

You didn’t text him first. Didn’t ask for anything. Didn’t even hint.

But he still pulls up in that matte grey car you love to pretend you’re unimpressed by, parking with a lazy angle in your driveway like he owns a piece of you now—and knows it.

You open the door in a tiny set of lounge shorts and a tank top, lip gloss shimmering, hair up like you weren’t expecting company… but weren’t mad about it either.

He steps in, hoodie unzipped, smirk already loading.

“Hi,” he says, like it’s the first time he’s ever walked in here. You arch a brow. “You tryna act brand new?”

“Nah.” He shrugs. “Just in a good mood.” You side-eye him, arms crossing under your chest. “What’d you do?” He walks right past you, brushing a kiss across your cheek as he heads into the living room like he lives here now.

“Nothing,” he says, digging into his hoodie pocket. “Just finished something clean. Needed to get out the way before the weekend.”

He turns and tosses something onto the kitchen counter with a dull thud. A stack. Crisp, wrapped bills. At least two bands. Maybe more.

You blink.

Then look up slowly.

“Boy, what the hell is this?”

He shrugs again, leaning against the counter, eyes shamelessly glued to your thighs now that you’ve taken a step closer. “You said you wanted consistency. I’m just contributing to the household.” You scoff. “We don’t live together.”

“Not yet.”

You click your tongue. “This supposed to impress me?” He licks his lips, tilting his head. “Nope. It’s supposed to shut you up for five minutes while I kiss on you.”

That earns a real smile from you—crooked, warm, unwilling. You step closer, tugging the banded stack toward you, flipping through it just to show him you’re not above being curious.

“Mm.” You look up through your lashes. “This a tip?”

“Nah,” he says, voice dipping. “It’s a thank-you. For keeping me sane this week.” He leans in, brushing his mouth against your jaw, then lower—kissing along the slope of your neck like he has time to spare. But the twitch in his hand against your waist says different.

“You got somewhere to be?” you murmur, voice low now. “Mmhmm. But not ‘til I make you melt a little.”

It starts fast.

The stack still laying on the counter. Your lips on his, fierce and unfiltered.

He lifts you up—hands under your thighs, pushing your shorts aside while your legs wrap around his waist without hesitation. You’re back against the nearest wall in seconds.

His mouth never leaves yours. But his hand? Already down the front of your panties, fingers slick and sure, two knuckles deep before your back even arches.

“Kuna—fuck—”

“I know, baby. I know.”

His breath is hot against your cheek, his body moving in rhythm with yours, his free hand fisting the hem of your tank to push it up and expose one breast to his hungry mouth. He sucks like he’s been deprived.

Like this five-minute quickie is everything he’s been waiting on all damn week. You grind against his fingers, jaw slack, one hand gripping his hair as you gasp into his mouth.

“You better not make me late,” he murmurs, even as he curls his fingers just right and makes you shiver all over again. “Then you better finish what you started,” you hiss.

And he does. He drops you gently to the floor, flips you to bend over the kitchen counter without losing rhythm. Your shorts halfway down, your tank top rucked up.

He grabs his cock and slides his head against your soaked hole and slowly slides in. It’s deep. No warm-up. No slow wind-up.

Just heat.

Skin.

Friction.

The sound of your moans biting into your arm, and his low curses against your shoulder as he drives into you hard and quick—like every thrust is a statement. “You think I don’t know what I’m doing to you?” he pants. “You think I don’t notice how wet you get the second I show up?”

You clench around him just to spite him. And he feels it. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

It doesn’t last long—was never supposed to. But when you both finish, shaky and breathless against the counter, he doesn’t rush.

He kisses your shoulder. Pulls your shorts back up for you. Fixes your twisted tank like he cares. Then smacks your ass once, smirking. “I’ll call you later,” he says, picking up his keys like nothing happened.

You glance at the stack still on the counter.

“Better.”

He laughs as he walks out. And you watch him go—sore, satisfied, and silently admitting:

This is what you’ve been waiting for this whole time.

#x black reader #sukuna fic #jjk fanfic #jexi recommends #the tension in this was yummy

1K notes · View notes

jexireads · 1 month ago

Text

Loathe To Paint You, part four

acc. masterlist | series masterlist | ao3

playlist

previous part | next part coming soon!

pairing ; rafayel x painter!reader

synopsis ; after rafayel ghosts you for a week, he takes you on a surprise double date. things get spicy.

word count ; 11.6k words

author's note ; hi everyone! i am so sorry for the BIG GAP between updates! i kind of got stuck with the story and wanted to write other things but...we're back to our regular scheduled programming! hopefully! i hope you enjoy the chapter <3 all songs featured in this chapter are in the playlist linked above if you want to listen along!

content warning ; vulgar language, raf n reader makeout, unprotected sex (PLEASE WRAP IT AND STAY SAFE), p in v sex, missionary & cowgirl positions, reader touches herself, alcohol use, let me know if i missed anything!

my painters ✐ᝰ. ; @zeskyzed , @drowsyapple , @llamabois , @romils , @debrahhhhhhh , @kebarney , @mentaltrouble2201 , @itsmeaudrieee , @flamedancer13 , @lolightrealm , @ghoulishnero , @leeniverse , @justpassingdontworry , @yumesagashite , @m0ss-gremlin , @yunozumi , @azlyneamie099 , @m00nchildwrites , @mxkvlio , @nautismgremlin , @jexireads , @rafshottestgf , @blcknebula , @eve-ishu , @namjoons-toenails , @kaiii07 , @imhere2dosomething , @vyntheria , @queenkymmie , @animegamerfox , @achilleas-dream , @beaconsxd , @butterbiscuit444 , @eolivy , @shypotatoes013-blog , @cayrelyra , @curryexpress , @needsumcomfypillowstosleep , @plzdonutpercieveme

want to be a part of the taglist? click here!

Your eyes widen at the sight of Abigail, the empty tub of ice cream dropping from her hands and onto the ground. Some of the slightly melted ice cream that pooled in the bottom of the tub rolls onto the ground. It’s a standstill filled with nothing but silence and the occasional blink to try and dissolve the awkwardness that settles into your bones. She points her finger at you, trembling as the shock runs throughout her body. You point back at her and cautiously approach the front door of your very humble abode.

“You didn’t–”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Abigail!”

“You kissed him!” she gasps, her hands flying over her mouth.

“I think you’re seeing things,” you try to lightly gaslight her, a formidable attempt to sway the conversation elsewhere, “you did eat an entire tub of ice cream. The sugar can–”

“Nope! Nuh-uh! We are not doing this right now!” Abigail turns and follows you inside the house, abandoning the emptied tub of ice cream on the loose gravel walkway. “You are not going to sit there and tell me that you didn’t just kiss your mortal enemy!”

“You’re right,” you pause, turning to look at her from over your shoulder, “I’m going to stand and tell you that.”

Abigail scoffs and rolls her eyes. She crosses her arms over her chest and follows you into the kitchen. She watches you with close eyes, memorizing the way you oh so casually grab a soda from the fridge, cracking it open. She circles around the counter and swipes the can from your hands, tossing it into the sink.

“Okay now that was uncalled for,” you pout, frowning at the fizzing drink in the sink.

“Admit it, you slut,” Abigail leans in, her nose almost pressed against yours. “You liked kissing him, didn’t you? You had a big ol’ fat smile on your face when you two were done.”

“I’m not having this conversation with you,” you roll your eyes and push past her, heading in the direction of your bedroom. Waving over your shoulder, you call out, “Goodnight Abigail!”

“Goodnight, slut!” she calls back, waving back at you. “When you don’t wake up tomorrow absolutely hating Rafayel Qi, I’ll take that as a sign that your body has been taken over by something and I’ll put you out of your misery!”

“Have fun with that!” you call back, shaking your head with a small chuckle.

As soon as you reach the end of the hallway, taking the right hand turn towards your bedroom, a smile blossoms across your lips. You push inside your bedroom and close the door behind you, making sure to lock it so Abigail doesn’t come running in, and kick off your shoes. You strip yourself of your clothes and put on comfortable pajamas, humming along to a love song you listened to in a romantic comedy from the other night.

You plop down onto the bed, arms and air sprayed out with a big smile on your face. Your lips still feel tingly from the kiss with Rafayel. Your stomach is aflutter and your heart skips a beat as you replay the memory in your head, swooning for the Lemurian man all over again. You honestly feel like you are laying upon the clouds, your body feeling so light and airy as happiness courses throughout your body.

Sure, you absolutely hated Rafayel that morning when he accused you of needing a whole harem to keep you happy in life, but Rafayel sure did make up for it with that sweet and tender kiss. That’s what matters at the end of the day, right? Your hatred for him seemed to evaporate in that moment, taking a backseat as your secret and hidden crush on him came out. Admittedly, you always loved his purple locks, the way his face always crunched up whenever you annoyed him or accused him of being a man whore or tilapia — which according to him, is a bottom feeder fish who only eats shit — so the insult was appropriate in that moment. You have always loved the way his voice gets high pitched whenever he gets embarrassed and you really like the way the two of you are able to play pretend so well with one another. It sounds like a match made in heaven, right?

Well, that is exactly what you keep telling yourself through the night as you wait for him to send a text or to call you.

But…it never comes.

You stare at your phone screen, waiting for it to light up with a message from him. You expect to see the photo-less ID with his name besides a poop emoji but your eyes have yet to be graced with the sweet sound of the notification ding. Thinking that throwing your phone face down and across the bed would somehow help, that Rafayel will sense your fake indifference and get down on his knees in front of you in the virtual world of texting, but it never comes, just a notification from a language learning app that threatens to kill you and your descendants if you don’t do your daily lesson of the day or from a spam caller that’s here to talk to you about your car’s extended warranty.

It’s very, very disappointing to say the least.

But that’s okay! You won’t let it spoil your night! That is, until you feel the one thought that you would never expect to haunt you to arrive.

You should text him first.

It sends chills down your spine, shuddering at the thought. The idea of texting or calling Rafayel is so foreign to you. Why should it be you who reaches out first? He’s the one that kissed you! It was Rafayel who thrust the two of you into murky waters! You should be in bed planning out his inevitable demise, not the outfit you’re going to wear to see him next! The whole reason you are now laying in bed contemplating every single thing in your life is because Rafayel thought that playing mind games while you were ovulating — it’s quite unfortunate that your ovaries are working against you — was a good idea.

You cross your arms over your chest, glaring at the ceiling. The fuzzy ducks on your pajamas are not enough to save you now. The back of your mind is running a mile a minute while going over all of the possible outcomes that could have happened.

Is he dead? Did he crash his car and die after he dropped you off? Maybe if you go outside and inspect the beach roads, you can find his decapitated head beside his mangled body! The flames from his destroyed car would be a good backdrop for some light photography! He would appreciate you finding art out of his untimely death, right?

Or maybe he’s asleep! He had a big day, especially when he tried to out-macho a man who looks like he eats steel and drinks children’s tears for breakfast. The poor painter must feel so tired after carrying that heavy panda plushie and the small bag with Reddie in it.

You close your eyes, shaking your head. You pull the sheets of your bed all the way up to your chin, remaining hidden beneath the blanket. You refuse to think about Rafayel and the way he has left you hanging. He probably has a good excuse lined up that you’re a little too eager to accept if it means that you can feel the warmth of his lips on yours again and —

Okay wow! You are getting way out of hand here! It was one kiss, not a marriage pact! You need to pull your shit together and show that purple haired, beautiful lipped, gorgeous eyes of a man that you are an unbothered queen who doesn’t need his affection and attention to feel fulfilled in life! Yeah…yeah that sounds like a plan!

Okay, so your plan crumbled in a matter of twenty four hours.

When you didn’t wake up to a text from him — hell, even a missed call would have been acceptable — all hell broke loose. You told yourself to not think about it, to not make up excuses for him. You decided to wait another day. Thomas is a good agent who takes his phone away from him so he can paint his next big masterpiece.

But then a week passed. After that, you stopped looking at your cracked phone screen and trying to make things better inside your mind.

You were a mess leaving your bedroom at five in the afternoon, your hair knotted and sticking up, frizz overtaking the strands. Your pajamas’ fuzz has flattened and matted from constantly wearing them throughout the week. You didn’t shower, remaining inside the depths of your room, hidden from within the darkness.

It was only when Abigail saw you walking down the hallway looking like a zombie did she interfere in your nonexistent love life by taking your phone away from you.

She did what she knows how to do best and placed you in front of a large canvas with a fresh set of paints and brushes. She put on your rage playlist filled with the sweet sounds of Alanis Morrissette and Fiona Apple, their voices echoing off of the walls, and closed the door behind her so you can have some much needed privacy. You dip your hands into the paint, not bothering with the brushes as your rage over Rafayel not calling or texting you after your kiss takes over your body.

Reds and oranges and yellows scatter across the canvas, taking the form of a ginormous flame, the matchstick being created from black and grays as you drag your fingers down the bottom of the canvas. In the middle, you create the image of an anatomically correct heart — at least your version of one in your style — that is engulfed by the flames of your anger and rage.

How could he do this to you?! And to think that you let him get anywhere near —

Your phone rings. It sounds like a melody that is played by a sixth grade band; it sounds as good as it is going to get with some really pitchy clarinets. The sound echoes down the hallway and it comes from Abigail’s office. Your body stiffens. Your feet carry you across the art studio’s floor, poking your head out of the doorway to inspect it.

Abigail leaves her office, your phone resting in her hand. Her eyes meet yours, a sigh leaving her lips. You raise your eyebrows, gaze dropping to the phone before moving back up to her, your silent question reaching her ears as soon as your eyes meet once again.

“Yes,” she nods her head, shifting her weight to one side of her body, “it is him. I sent him to voicemail though—”

Without wasting another second, you bolt out of the art studio, trails of paint following in your wake, staining the hardwood floor as you snatch the phone from her hand, looking staring at Rafayel’s name on the screen, now hidden beneath smeared paint on the phone screen. You let out a sigh, unsure if you should call back or not.

That’s when it happens. The screen turns black for a brief moment before it lights up all over again, Rafayel’s name and face popping up on the screen.

You let out a shriek, tossing your phone into the air. Abigail catches it before yelling and throwing it right back to you. The two of you continue this game of hot potato, your cell phone now a poor victim in its constant flight back and forth between your bodies.

“I don’t want it!” you yell at her.

“He’s not my problem! He’s yours!” Abigail retorts, tossing the phone back. You catch it and stare at the screen, eyes narrowed, before you turn back up at her. “Wait — you wanted him to call! Why are you avoiding it?”

“You’re so right,” your body relaxes, voice turning back to normal for a split second before it returns to its high pitched shriek, “but it’s been a week! He shouldn’t talk to me!”

The phone stops ringing, the missed call notification appearing on the screen. You gasp and snatch the phone back from Abigail just for Rafayel to call for a third time. Your thumb slips on the screen, covered in paint as it fails to pick up on your touch. A panicked yell leaves your mouth and your friend has to step in with a wet wipe, something that she always has on her for situations like these, and frantically wipes your fingers and screen. Finally, you’re able to swipe the green bar across and accept the call, casually bringing the phone to your ear.

“Hello,” you say with a flip of your hair, “who is this?”

“That’s what you decided to open up with?” Rafayel’s voice is unimpressed, a light chuckle leaving his lips.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you say, watching as Abigail walks away to give you much needed ‘privacy’ aka her hiding in her office with the door cracked open for her to listen. “I still don’t know you who you. Maybe if you give me a name or a clue as to who you are, then I’ll remember you.”

“Oh, okay,” you can hear Rafayel’s eye roll from the other end of the line, “I see what you’re doing. Very funny.”

“I know,” you muse with a deadpan tone, “I’m hilarious.”

You walk down the hallway, closing the door to the art studio room behind you. You stare at the canvas, wondering if Abigail will choose to sell it or display it in a gallery nearby. Rafayel’s breathing is prominent over the phone and he keeps making sounds that sounds like he is going to speak but is shutting himself up.

“A week, Rafayel,” you break the silence, “it’s been a week.”

“I know. I am the scum of the earth and deserve to eat shit,” he breathes out.

“Okay, well, your words, not mine,” you mumble into the phone, trying to hold back a laugh from his dramatics.

“I meant to call you, I promise,” he continues, “but Thomas had me shipped away to another city because he booked me a last minute showing or whatever and I didn’t have wifi—”

“There’s cellular,” you interpret him, “but that’s besides the point.”

“Fucking cellular — you know what? I’m not even going to start with that fish hole,” Rafayel stops himself. He lets out a sigh and you can just imagine the way his brows are knitted from frustration, the way have to nitpick every single one of his excuses and reasonings. It’s the smallest form of revenge after he ghosted you for a week straight. You are enemies, after all, what did he expect? “I wanted to see if you would like to accompany me tonight on am adventure.”

“An adventure?” you question, slight annoyance in your voice.

He ignores you for a week then invites you on an adventure? Oh yeah. He’s killing you. He’s going to lure you in with the prospect of a date — a night where the two of you can live out your wildest fantasies with no remorse. That is, until the fantasies turn dark and he slices you up like a sushi roll ready to be eaten. You can smell the way you’re wrapped in the white rice and seaweed. Perhaps he has a nice, expensive can of caviar he can top you off with. It’s the least he can do.

“Well, more like a chore on my end, but it will sure to be a fun time for you, cutie!” Rafayel laughs to himself.

Wow. He really is trying to sell this on you. What a slick, slippery Lemurian man. The deplorable actions of this fish stick. He really is going to kill you. You’re so fucked.

“How long will this adventure take?” you sit down in a chair, spinning around as if you don’t have the time to leave. You’re doing important stuff, after all. This canvas won’t paint itself! “I have sooo much to do.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” Rafayel immediately retorts.

“Bitch,” your voice sharpens. You open your mouth to yell at him, to scream that he has no right to demand that you leave your oh so important life just because he needs someone to carry his bags at the mall!

There’s a knock on the window. Your body freezes, eye widening. Slowly, you swivel around in your chair, facing the large window that overlooks the sea. Rafayel stands on the other side with a raised eyebrow and his lips are pressed into a thin line. You narrow your eyes. Purse your lips. He straightens his posture, crossing one arm over his chest. He cocks his head to the side, a triumphant smile spreading across his lips.

“I hate you,” you state, “I hate you so fucking much.”

“And I am thoroughly disgusted by you. Get changed, I’ll wait for you outside.”

You took a nice and long shower, standing underneath the hot water doing nothing just to spite the man. He’s impatient and irritable, everything that you plan to exploit. You want to make him wish that he immediately texted you back instead of leaving you on read for a week. That bitch. You’re still salty about it and rightfully so.

You changed into a casual outfit, trying to match his black shirt, jeans, and sneakers. You put on dark jeans with a red top that’s cropped with a white undershirt. Your hair is back in a braid, unable to contain the frizz and knots that formed because, well, you’re an idiot who let Abigail use your hair products. That bitch. A silver necklace sits on your chest as you quickly leave your house. Your friend follows behind, spraying your perfume on your body as you shove your wallet and phone into your purse, fighting a pack of gum that stops your phone from fully fitting it.

Rafayel turns around the corner of your house. His curiosity got the best of him and he inspected the walls, already putting in a call for Thomas to hire someone to touch up the paint and fix the cracks. He even hired a gardener to stop by and fix the greenery of your yard, the weeds growing out of control while your flowers look like they’re about to die. It looks like a nightmare to him, one that he must remedy.

“If you need me to come get you,” Abigail begins, already out of breath, “remember that our code word is ‘aquamarine’ and I will come running,”

“Yes, yes,” you nod, barely able to pay attention as Rafayel turns back into view. He smiles at you and the ice around your heart begins to melt. Fuck. You should’ve fortified it with steel instead of frozen water.

“Aquamarine? Really?” Rafayel snorts. He takes his place at your side, fighting the temptation to wrap his arm around your waist and pull you close.

His eyes flit to the ocean backdrop, the sun beginning to set. When he turns back to look at you and Abigail, his face drops. The two of you scowl at him, hands on your hips. Abigail steps forward, poking a finger into his chest. Fear settles into his bones. He’s unsure what’s going to happen with him, the wrath of your best friend prominent in the flame of her eyes, a look that will kill him.

“Aquamarine is a fantastic coming of age movie where a mermaid and her two friend teach her life lessons and the importance of friendship and love. I suppose a man like you,” she narrows her eyes, “wouldn’t understand the complexities of female friendship.”

“You’re right,” Rafayel immediately surrenders, glancing at you for some kind of relief. You don’t give him it. “You are very correct. I am a dumb man who knows nothing about female friendship and should remain silent.”

“Yeah, you should,” Abigail looks him up and down once, “if you hurt my friend: I will kill you.”

“Duly noted,” Rafayel nods. Just when he thinks he’s safe, your friend pretends to lunge at him, quickly pulling away at the last second. A fake out that causes Rafayel to flinch back, hand attaching to your arm as he pulls you in front of him.

“Bitch,” Abigail mutters. She gives you one last look, one last out to not leave with Rafayel, but you simply nod and watch as she disappears into your humble home.

“Shall we?” Rafayel asks. You turn and nod, feeling his hand rest on your lower back as he walks you to his car, opening up the door for you. You get in and place your hands on your lap, watching as he quickly jogs around to get into the drivers seat. “So, how do you feel about karaoke?”

Rafayel stands beside you, looking up at the karaoke sign. It was a new place in Linkon, one that you never thought that you would even be at the grand opening for. You glance at him and notice the look of disapproval on his face, the judgement that settled into his muscles. He has his hands on his hips, looking at the flashing lights of the bar. When eh finally notices you looking, he turns to full face you, giving you his full attention.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks.

“This is your so-called ‘adventure’? Karaoke?” you point at the building. People filter in and out through the doors, a few groups drunk despite the sun barely setting mere minutes ago. “How is this considered a chore, exactly? Is singing Funky Town too strenuous for you? Wait, let me guess,” you look him up and down with pursed lips, your mind slowly working through a collection of songs in your head, “you’re more of a Cry Me A River by that Timberlake guy.”

Rafayel wears the most unamused look on his face. While you’re giggling, continuing to make fun of him for his song choices — which are actually scarily accurate, he’s quite terrified — he just rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Are you done?”

“No,” you shake your head, covering your mouth as more laughs spill from your lips, “I can imagine you having a whole dance too while you sing. It’s a performance—”

“Okay, okay,” Rafayel rolls his eyes. H reaches out and flicks your forehead.

It’s like a manual reset. Your laughter immediately dies and you blink at him, unable to form a coherent thought of your brain reboots. Damn you and your fish-like brain. Once your thoughts come back to you, you turn and glare at him, shoving his chest. He’s the one to laugh this time, throwing his head back as his beautiful purple locks fall out of his face. And man, oh man, is it a sight to behold.

“I’ll leave,” you threaten him, “I’ll leave you to do the chore of singing fuck boy songs by yourself—”

“MC invited me,” Rafayel’s words stop you in your tracks. You stare at him, tiling your head to the side. His ex? Why would she invite him here? Rafayel huffs and looks away, a slight scowl resting on his face. “I guess that boyfriend of hers, Chauncey or whatever—”

“It’s Sylus. You weren’t even close to getting it right,” you’re dumbfounded but Rafayel keeps talking.

“—really liked your ‘spunk’ and wanted to hang out with us again so…now we’re here!”

“Ha!” you clap your hands together, feeling a wave of triumph crash over your body, “they like me more than you!”

“Okay, I wouldn’t go that far,” he rolls his eyes once again. He watches you with a close eye, though, admiring the cute expression on your face. Your face scrunches up as you pump your fist into the air, your victory taking over your body. His expression softens, heart slowly unwinding. Oh, how he could paint a plethora of paintings of your beautiful face. You are his new muse, the person that pushes him to create better pieces of art with his heart muddled into the paints and colorful pigments.

“I would,” you smile, tilting your chin to look up at him, a sparkle of mischief in your eyes, “because they clearly wanted to invite just me but had to settle for you and your horrible voice.”

“My aunt is literally an opera singer,” Rafayel’s offended by your comment, as usual. He puts his hands on his hips and leans down as annoyance filters through his body. “And you know that I’m a si—”

“Rafayel!” MC’s voice comes form behind.

The two of you immediately stand up straight, backs stiff as you turn in unison. Just down the sidewalk, MC and Sylus walk hand in hand. Her smile is bright and beautiful while his is more casual, his red eyes scanning the immediate surroundings. You bite your lip at the sight of him. Six feet and five inches of pure muscle, his little waist looking even more slutty. Rafayel’s cheeks that up from jealousy, watching as you salivate over the silver haired fox that walks towards you.

“I bet his voice is fantastic,” you smirk, knowing that your comment will send Rafayel over the deep end. It does, but he refused to verbalize it and instead ignores you, giving MC a wave as they approach you.

“It’s so good to see you again!” she drops Sylus’ hand and walks towards you. You open your arms and the two of you hug, a ball of excited giggles and chuckles before you pull away. She looks you up and down and gives you a subtle wink, her approval for your outfit making you feel even more confident. “Sylus got us a VIP room! Unlimited food and drinks and no time limit on singing!”

“Sylus, you’re a god,” you comment. MC wraps an arm around your waist and you do the same.

You ditch your boyfriends — one real and the other very much fake �� and saunter inside of the tall building.

The employee hands you the key to the VIP room, one that sits at the very top of the building. The group enters inside, the view of Linkon on full display. Just in the distance, you can see the edge of Whitesand Bay, a small smile spreading across your face. You turn to look at Rafayel. You wiggle your eyebrows and give him a little shoulder shimmy, nudging into him as Sylus and MC walk to the bar to order drinks.

“He’s so much better than you,” you innocently smile, a quiet chuckle leaving your lips as Rafayel glares at you. Was your comment meant to annoy him? Absolutely. Was it meant to make him lose his cool and prove to MC and her god of a boyfriend to choose you when you and Rafayel meet your contractual end? Why yes, of course.

“How?” Rafayel asks, annoyance prominent in his voice. “He wears leather in the summer heat! He drives a motorcycle while I have sports cars! Four of them! If he were to crash, he’d basically die or get, like, really bad road burn, meanwhile my cars give you more protection! Also, he wears too much cologne—”

“Oh my god,” you point up at him, leaning in, closing the distance between your faces, “you’re totally jealous of him!”

“I feel like this whole time I’ve been trying to prove to you that I’m not jealous and yet here you are being stupid and—”

“MC! He just called me stupid!” you step away from him. You hide your laugh and point at him, feigning a look of sadness. MC immediately turns around and gasps, eyes fixed on the Lemurian.

“Rafayel! You have to be nice to your girlfriend! You can’t bully her!” she yells. She crosses the room as Sylus carries the four drinks in his hands placing them on the table in the middle of the room. MC pulls you into a hug, glaring at Rafayel.

“I didn’t call her stupid,” he tries to reason, “I said she was being stupid!”

“Oh, the horror!” you whine into MC’s shoulder. She shakes her head at the purple haired man and pulls you away from him, taking you over to the seating area in front of the large karaoke screen. “MC, will you start us off tonight? Please, do the honors!”

“Of course! Sy and I were taking about songs on the way over here and I have the perfect song to start with!” MC smiles.

You sit down on the leather couch beside Sylus. He’s just so big compared to you. If you were a dainty flower then he was the unmovable rock that protected the garden. Rafayel sits down beside you, arms still crossed over his chest, as he looks down at you.

“Why don’t you sing with her Sylus?” Rafayel suggests.

The silver man looks over and a small smile spreads across his face, one that makes your kitty purr. With one nod, he stands up and moves to MC’s side, wrapping an arm around her waist as they look in the electric song book. You squint and look up at Rafayel, who places his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close to him.

“You smell,” you comment, trying to push him away just for him to pull you right back in.

“And you smell amazing. Wipe some of your perfume on me,” he snorts, taking his hand and wiping it across your face. You gasp and shove him away, ready to fight when you notice MC and Sylus watching.

They look like a pair of proud parents, ones that are watching their son — damn you Rafayel for claiming them first — finally fall in love with the woman of his dreams. Not that you’re the woman of his dreams, though, could you even imagine? He kissed you, then ghosted you, just to drag you to karaoke with his ex-girlfriend and her new boyfriend. This feels like something out of a movie and you, my friend, have just fallen victim to whatever scheme it is that he’s brewed.

“Why are you the worst?” you quietly groan once MC and Sylus turn away. You glare at him, huffing. “You kiss me then ignore me for a whole week—”

“I have a reason for that,” Rafayel fully turns to face you, grabbing your hands into his, squeezing them. Your heart skips a beat. You look down at your hands, noticing a few specks of paint on his fingers. You suck in a breath and look up at him, heartbeat loud in your ears. “I swear I do! It’s a good one, too. It’s such a stupid story, really—”

“Tell me then!” you gush, leaning forward, your face dangerously close to his. His shoulders slump. Lips pushed to the side of his face. His bright blue eyes look away from you, a slight amount of shame flickering across his face.

“It’s stupid,” he sighs.

“I bet it is,” you match his frown, “but I deserve to know the truth, right? You did leave me hanging…I really wanted to hear back from you.”

“You did?” Rafayel asks, his demeanor becoming instantly brighter. You nod, trying to hold back the sadness form the week that wants to pour out of your mouth. You hold back your anger and the need to yell and scream at him for playing with your heart, for putting you under an immense amount of stress. “I’m so sorry—”

“This song goes out to my lovely girlfriend,” Sylus’ voice interrupts Rafayel before he can finish.

The two of you turn to watch Sylus. MC quickly leaves his side, taking her spot on the couch beside you. You’re sandwiched between her and Rafayel, all eyes of the room trained on the muscular man. MC reaches for the drinks, all alcoholic in nature, and passes them to you and Rafayel.

“You’re going to need this,” she murmurs, leaning into the couch.

You raise an eyebrow and look at Rafayel. He shrugs and puts his arm around your shoulder again, pulling you close to him like a good boyfriend would. Even though he is definitely not your boyfriend. Nuh uh. No way. He leans down, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. You shiver and lean into him, goosebumps littering your skin as his warm breath envelops the side of your neck.

“Ten dollars says he’s horrible and sings a Backstreet Boys song,” he whispers, amused.

“Twenty says that he sings Elton John…and that he has the voice of an angel,” you whisper back. The corners of his lips perk up and he nods, holding out his pinky. You twist yours around it, the deal now sealed. You glance at MC and notice that her drink has been emptied and she moves on to Sylus’ drowning that as well. Your jaw drops, slight dread washing over you as you realize that you’re about to lose your best to Rafayel.

The song begins to play. The light strum of a guitar plays and Sylus sings a quiet “yeah,” into the microphone. You reach for Rafayel’s hand, an immense amount of shock and awe solidifying in your body. The sight of Sylus clutching the microphone partnered with the serious look on his face as he stares at MC, the music blaring through the speakers as the colorful party lights coloring the room in bright colors, a rainbow flashing on the wall. The lyrics to the Backstreet Boys’ song I Want It That Way is displayed on the screen behind Sylus. Your jaw drops, looking up at Rafayel.

“I fucking told you,” he smugly says. He reaches and gently closes your mouth, hand pushing your chin up.

“You are,” Sylus sings, voice out of tune and cracking, “my fire. The one desire. Beeeelieve when I say…I want it that way!”

Your hand moves to cover your mouth. You choke back a laugh. Rafayel’s grip on your tightens, face turning red as he tries to keep his serious expression on his face. MC shakes her head from beside you, murmuring an apology about just how bad he is, explaining that he loves singing so much. It only makes you and Rafayel hold onto each other tighter than before. A laugh vibrates your throat, having to close your eyes as Sylus’ out of tune and unnecessary vibratros leaves the speakers.

“I never wanna hear you say! I want it that way!” Sylus belts out. You choke on your drink, hoping that it would keep you from laughing. Oh, how you were wrong.

“Oh my god,” you sputter, trying to catch your breath as your face turns hot, “oh my god I got the ick—”

You shudder as Sylus travels towards MC. He is still completely serious. Your throat feels raw as you hold back laughter, tears falling from your eyes. You bury your face into Rafayel’s side, trying to steady your breathing as Sylus lets out a loud and long note — one that he holds into for a little too long.

“Don’t want to hear you — SAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!” Sylus belts out.

“Cutie,” Rafayel gasps, “I can’t breathe!”

Sylus walks back to the stage to finish the last minute of the song. You and Rafayel turn to MC, who wears a grimace on her face. She awkwardly smiles, her own laughter coming through.

“I’ll go get us tequila shots,” she says with a nod, standing up to leave for the bar just as the song ends.

Sylus sets down the microphone, a smug look on his face. He walks back to the group, settling on the couch as MC comes back with a tray of shots and a new round of drinks. You had to finish your cocktail to get the raw feeling out of your throat. Rafayel gently rubbed your back, his nails gently scratching the itch you didn’t even know you had until it disappears, pulling his hand away. He stands from the couch and takes your hands, pulling you up.

“MY beautiful girlfriend and I will be next! A duet to start the night off!” Rafayel proclaims. Your eyes widen but you play along, forcing a smile onto your face. While singing isn’t really your forte, you assume that you’ll be better than the sounds that Sylus made because, well, they were sounds. You’re not really sure if it was singing or not…

“Wait! Take a shot!” MC stands with two glasses in her hand. She passes them to you two and Sylus stands behind her, slipping a glass into her hand. She raises the glass in the middle of the group, a bright smile spreading across her face. “To friendship and singing!” She toasts. The four clink their glasses in the middle before drowning the shots.

“Oh, fuck,” you grimace. Rafayel shoves a lime into your mouth to silence you. Your eyes look over to Sylus and MC, watching as he reaches out to wipe away a droplet of tequila that spills from the corner of her mouth. He brings the pad of his thumb to his lips and licks it off, smirking down at her.

Rafayel notices you watching. He lets out a ‘hmph’ and mimics Sylus’ action, dragging the tips of his fingers across your mouth. Your face scrunches up and you push him away, the two of you launching into a war of slapping hands and grunts. It’s only when Rafayel lands another fucking flick to your forehead that you stop your childish fight. You reboot, again, and let him guide your body to the microphones and songbook.

“How do you do that?” you ask, taking one of the black microphones from him. “It’s like a superpower.”

“Well, my Evol is fire,” Rafayel shrugs in a matter of fact way while clicking through the songs. His hip bumps into yours, pointing to a song that you nod your head at, agreeing with his choice. “But I suppose an Evol in taming you comes in handy.”

“Taming me? Bitch please,” you turn around with an eye roll, smiling at the two on the couch. MC gives you a reassuring thumbs up, one that helps dispel the slight nervousness in your heart — okay, maybe it’s the tequila talking — as the opening notes of the song play.

The upbeat piano and string instruments fill your ears, the beginning of a guitar riff playing as Rafayel takes his place at your side. He gives you a look, one that silently asks if the two of you are gonna do a little routine even though you just made fun of him for having one ready for his solo songs, and you nod because, well, fuck it!

“Don’t go breaking my heart,” Rafayel sings into the microphone, standing behind you. He leans to the side, looking down at you. You pop your hip out, hand resting on it, as you bring the microphone to your face.

“I couldn’t if I tried!”

“Oh honey if I get restless,” Rafayel steps around you, taking your hand into his. He spins you into his chest, your eyes meeting once again as your line comes up.

“Baby, you’re not that kind,” you smile, a quiet giggle leaving your lips. You shimmy your shoulders to the beat of the song and step away from the Lemurian, the man quickly following behind as you play a fun, pretend game of cat and mouse on the karaoke stage.

“Don’t go breaking my heart!”

“You take the weight off of me!” you laugh as MC and Sylus clap, cheering you on from the couch.

“Oh, honey, when you knocked on my door,” Rafayel smiles down at you, unable to contain the happy look that is now etched onto his face.

“Ooh, I gave you my key!” you turn towards the couch and make a side comment into the microphone, “he actually broke into my house—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Rafayel rolls his eyes as the chorus begins, “she’s lying!”

You sing in unison, perfectly hitting the notes…unlike Sylus. He stands in front of you, swaying to the beat of the song while you shimmy your shoulders. You move in sync, sharing the same brain cells as he drops to his knees in front of you.

“When I was down!”

“I was your clown!” you leaned down and pretend to give him a kiss on the lips, pulling away at the last moment, teasing him.

The song continues and he pushes up to his feet, walking around you as you sing the long note of the chorus. Your voices are perfectly intwined as the melody plays on. Rafayel’s inner siren comes out while your voice harmonizes with his with ease. He moves behind you, a hand on your hip, pulling you close to him.

“So don’t go breaking my heart,” he sings the words a little too truthfully, wishing to mend the mistakes that he made between the two of you.

“I won’t go breaking your heart,” you sing back, connecting your hands as you sing in unison: “Don’t go breaking my heart!”

The night is filled with music and laughter mixed in with plenty of cocktails and drinks. Between songs, MC and Sylus share stories about their own adventures while you and Rafayel listen in awe. Turns out, Slylus is NOT a fruit vendor but is basically the mafia daddy of the N109 Zone, a place you have yet to visit. It made him even more impressive, swaying back and forth in your seat while Rafayel’s hand lazily rested on your waist.

The two of you didn’t really have many stories to share in return, just the times you fought and argued in art exhibitions over your different interpretation of pieces. While you very eagerly expressed your disdain for Rafael’s take on your friend’s piece titled Death of a Bee, his fingers trailed up to your exposed skin, tips of his fingers painting invisible swirls and portraits into your skin. It sent chills down your spine, your drunken eyes meeting his half-lidded ones.

“Hey,” MC calls out your name. Her cheeks are light pink in color, her smile still bright but definitely more on the tipsy side of things than sober. She leans forward and takes your hand in her own, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You haven’t given us a solo yet! You did Kiss From A Rose with Sylus and we did Espresso while the boys got us food! It’s your turn to show off!”

You begin to shake your head, wanting nothing more than to disappear behind the silver screen instead and pretend you got bubble guts or that you’re too drunk to do it. You and MC did consume an ungodly amount of alcohol. Rafayel tried to keep up but he’s gone non-verbal on the couch while his hands remained attached to you. Sylus looked unaffected, though, which is honestly just impressive on its own. Your eyes meet Rafayel’s and he offers you a small smile and nod, shooing you off of the couch and towards the stage.

“You’re going to do great, cutie!” he proclaimed, words slightly slurred. You swallow the lump in your throat and look down at the song book, swiping through as you try and find a song. Rafayel turns to MC and Sylus, snapping his fingers to get their attention. “She’s probably going to do some Alanis Morissette song that depicts her angst as a female artist—”

The electronic beat catches the room off guard. Rafayel’s eyes widen, tilting his face to look at you on the stage. The supplied background vocals fill in the room as you take center stage, a determined look on your face as you hold the microphone for dear life. His jaw drops when you rap the first line of the song…

“I used to be scared of the dick, now I just don’t give a shit, libido like Magneto—”

Rafayel’s jaw is on the floor. You recite each and every word with precision, your tone aggressive yet still somehow sweet on his ears. He turns to look at MC and Sylus. MC’s eyes have brightened up, hands clapping as she cheers you on. Stylus’s eyes simply widened, the man unable to believe the words that are coming out of your mouth. He turns to look at you and meets your gaze while you perform the song, the next lyrics specifically for him and him alone.

“Dick ain’t long, it’s wrong! Can’t fuck till dawn? Yawn!”

Rafayel gasps. How vulgar! How crass! Have some decorum, why don’t you?! Out of the corner of his eye, MC jumps up from her spot on the couch, belting the next line with you—

“Don’t be mad that I fucked your dad!”

“My dad?!” Rafayel screeches. He stands from the couch, shaking his head, unable to comprehend what the fuck is going on. “Why the fuck did you bring my dad into this?! He’s dead!”

What happened to his sweet girl? The one that has a fire in her whenever she talks about art or the ocean? The girl that rips him to shred every chance she gets but always remains PG-13? Since when did the two of you get into the rated R portion of your relationship?!

Rafayel’s heartbeats out of his chest, unable to contain his shock while the bass from the song shocks his bones back to life. Every nerve is on fire, his cheeks and ears a bright pink color as you sing about his cock being sad and that you’re never going to go near it — which, really, makes his cock even more confused on if it should harden or not while he watches you rap about sex and fucking.

Oh, how he would have preferred you to sing an Alanis Morissette song.

“Prove your self worth,” your eyes meet again as you rap, “make the pussy hurt—”

“Oh. My. God,” Rafayel’s jaw drops again. MC and Sylus laugh from the scene, unable to control their amusement over just how riled up Rafayel is getting.

That’s when you turn your attention to Sylus. Rafayel gasps, unable to handle the new competition he has with Sylus, ready to fight the brick wall of a man, when you point to him, singing—

“I know you’re pushing thirty!”

Sylus’s face drops. Shock written all over his face. Rafayel claps his hands with a laugh, pointing at him as you smile proudly, clocking him. Rafayel looks at you and you hold up a finger at him, curling it as a silent sign for him to come to you.

It’s your siren song, this so called…Miracle Grow by the Buttress. A rather controversial choice but your choice at the end of the day.

“Yeah it’s true I’m a slut, don’t give a fuck,” you rap as Rafayel gathers your purse and belongings. He takes the last shot of tequila on the table, cursing the agave gods as it burns his throat.

“Hell yeah you are, queen!” MC chants from the couch, her laughter filling the room as the song comes to an end. She claps and cheers while you give a room a bow, your body staggering back and forth as you try to regain your balance.

Rafayel shakes his head, purple locks moving back and forth on his forehead. As soon as he’s close enough, he snatches the microphone from your hand, wrapping a possessive arm around your waist, pulling you close to him. He turns to the other couple and brings the microphone to his mouth, making an announcement.

“I think we’re done for tonight. Thank you so much for having us but we need to leave,” he shakes his head, snorting at your inner slut that came out. It’s a side that he’s never seen to you before, one that he wants to see more of, quite frankly. He sets the microphone done and picks you up with ease, tossing you over his shoulder. You squeal and giggle, hands smacking his butt as he grumbles to himself. You wave to MC and Sylus, your giggles disappearing from the karaoke room.

“I can’t believe she called me thirty,” Sylus mumbles to himself. MC rolls her eyes, patting his shoulder.

“Everyone knows, babe. It’s not a secret.”

Rafayel keeps you over his shoulder in the elevator. You pat his butt, humming along to a song that plays inside of your head. He rolls his eyes, using your purse to over the tent in his pants. He quickly walks out of the building once the elevators door open, wasting no time into walking into the night air, the breeze cold enough to chill your warm skin.

But Rafayel’s? His skin feels like it’s on fire.

He approaches his parked car. He sits you down on the edge of the car, the convertible’s top open. You yelp when you’re about to fall back, arms wrapping around Rafayel’s neck. He immediately grabs your waist, pulling you back towards him, stabilizing your body. You cover your mouth with one hand, laughing as he lets out a shaky breath. he stands between your legs, chests close to one another. You look up at him through half lidded eyes, shaking your head. He rests his forehead against yours, lips dangerously close.

“You’re trouble, cutie,” he murmurs, his breath hot on your face. You shake your head, biting your lip. He simply nods and pulls away, cupping the side of your face with his hand. He looks down at you, a smile growing on his face as you lean into his hand with an innocent look on your face. “What am I going to do with you?”

“I dunno,” you shrug, carefree. You tilt backwards, feeling Rafayel’s long and slender fingers dig into the exposed skin of your back. It sends chills down your spine, a warmth forming between your legs. You lick your lips while staring at his own, unable to hide the way your body craves his, the way his blue and pink eyes burn into you. “What do you want to do?”

“I want to kiss you,” Rafayel’s eyes are stuck on your lips. The way they’re perfectly painted. The shade matches your skin tone and it drives him crazy. He wants to taste the flavor of your lipstick, having melted the fruity scent from being so close to you. He lets out a quiet grunt, unable to hold back as he leans in. You press a hand to his chest, though, and push him away, shaking your head. “Did I do something wrong?” You shake your head. “Is everything okay?”

“What if you kiss me and ditch me for another week,” your voice is quiet, small. Vulnerable. It makes his heart ache. “I don’t think I can handle that again.”

“I won’t,” Rafayel shakes his head, voice low and husky. He pushes into you, the tent in his pants pushing into the pool of warmth between your legs. You quietly gasp. He grabs your chin and tilts your head up, eyes meeting his. “I’m going to kiss you and never leave you again.”

“Do it,” you wrap your arms around his neck, “and if you do leave, I’m going to cut your dick off and turn it into fish food. Deal?”

“Deal,” Rafayel whispers, chuckling. He leans in, closing the distance.

“You know I hate you, right?” you whisper against his lips, a shiver running down your spine.

“And I am thoroughly disgusted by you,” Rafayel finishes the small amount of banter, lips pushing into yours.

It’s slow…sweet. Your bodies ignite with flames, sparks flying between you. His fingers dig into your body, pulling you closer. Your knees ride up his sides, squeezing him as he pushes his hips into yours, your clothed heats aching for more. He tilts his head and deepens the kiss. His heart pounds inside of his chest, scared that you’re able to hear it. His tongue slips into your mouth. A quiet moan leaves your lips. Your fingers slip into his purple hair, gently playing with the loose strands. Rafayel shudders at your touch, eyes rolling into the back of his head. One hand moves to his chest, feeling the hardened muscles from beneath his black and white shirts.

His swollen lips move away from yours. He trails kisses from your lips to your jawline, taking his time in worshipping your body. He takes note of every breath you give him, memorizing the way your breath hitches when he bites into the skin on your neck, leaving behind a mark for all to see. Your skin is his canvas and his kisses are the paint, marking up the sides of your neck with ease. You grab a fistful of his loose shirt, holding the back of his head to keep him trapped against your neck. He slowly inhales the scent of your perfume, the scent intoxicating as he moves to your collarbone.

“Rafayel,” you breathe his name out. His dick twitches in his pants, brain fried at the sound. He pulls away, looking down at you. Your chests rapidly rise and fall, breathing ragged and heavy. His eyes move to the bites on your neck, the sight pornographic. A groan vibrates in his throat. “I want you.”

Something in the back of his mind snaps. The breathiness of your voice. The quiet plea as the world moves all around you. In one motion, Rafayel picks you up, your legs wrapping around his waist. He opens the car door and places you on the backseat, lips detaching from one another. You’re breathless, a vision from the heavens. A car honks. He looks to the side with a glare. He turns back to look at you, letting out a huff of air.

“Not here,” Rafayel declares. He settles into the driver’s seat, car engine roaring to life. He stares at the road ahead, blinking. He’s had one too many drinks but the adrenaline that pumps through his veins clears the fogginess of his brain. He doesn’t need to drive too far, just to a place where he can get the two of you alone. He doesn’t even bother with his seat belt, the tires spin on the asphalt, leaving dark tire marks in its wake as the car speeds out of the parking lot.

You are a troublemaker. You stay in the backseat, sitting up as you take your place in the middle. You stare at Rafayel through the rear view mirror, heart thumping inside of your chest. Your core aches for him, desperate for any kind of attention. A touch to alleviate the way you clench around nothing. To fill and stretch you out. You slowly kick off your pants, tossing the fabric into the passenger seat. Rafayel’s body goes stiff at the sight. You remove your panties — comfy cotton ones because, well, you weren’t really expecting this to happen — and toss them into Rafayel’s lap. The man’s grip tightens on the steering wheel, eyes flickering between you and the road.

A moan leaves your lips as your fingers attach themselves to your clit. A fluttering feeling spreads across your stomach, pulsating and eager for more. You open your eyes to see Rafayel watching you, a dark look in his eyes as he drives away from the city and to the beach, to his house that is just a few miles away despite it feeling like it’s across the world in this moment.

“Slow,” he clears his throat over the loud wind, “go slow.”

You follow his command, rubbing slow circles into your sensitive bud. Your legs are spread open and on full display for him to see. Your back arches, your breathy moan filling the backseat. It’s like music to Rafayel’s ears, the way you slowly please yourself, running your finger along your entrance before it attaches to your clit again. You moan out his name, wishing that it is his hand attached to your pussy instead of your own. He jerks the steering wheel, the car on two wheels as he pulls into his home’s drive way. The car skids along the gravel driveway, coming to a stop in front of the white doors.

The moon hangs low in the night sky. It’s bright and yellow, the color reflected on the dark waves in the distance. As soon as the car is parked, Rafayel gets out, swinging open the backseat. You look at him, turning to the side. He looks down at you, eyes darkened and full of desire and lust. He grabs your ankles, pulling you to him. You gasp, feeling as he picks you up with ease. Your legs wrap around his waist, his hardened cock pressing into your wet core. You groan at the touch, desperate for more friction.

His lips attach to yours as he walks inside of his home, navigating the route to his bedroom. Your tongue slips into his mouth, finding his as your combined moans fill the room. He carries you up the stairs, making sure to not fall like you did at the Dreamscape before this whole fake-dating scheme came about. How bed is just up ahead, a small distance before he can devour you whole, claiming your body as his own. He tosses you onto the bed, towering over you.

His hand reaches for his belt, slowly unbuckling. Your jaw drops at the sight, salivating. He smirks loving the way your eyes attach to his hands, watching his every move. He removes it and tosses it to the the side, not caring where it lands on his slightly messy floor. You sit up, fingers trembling as you unbutton your shirt, watching as his pale skin and abs are revealed to you from under the moonlight. He removes his pants next, cock hard and ready as you toss your own shirt to the side, nipples pebbled from the cool air.

Rafayel settles above you, his body blocking the moonlight. Your hand attached to his cock, slowly pumping him, using the pre-cum that spills out as lube. He’s stiff beneath your touch, twitching as his breath hitches. You lean in and connect your lips with his, tongues immediately finding each other. Rafayel moans against your lips, one hand guiding your legs to open up for him. You remove your hand from his cock, hands settling on his chest as he lines up with your aching core.

“Do you want this?” Rafayel asks.

Your eyes meet his. You bite your lip and nod, heart skipping a beat. You cup his cheeks, his purple hair capturing the moonlight. He looks like a painting you saw in a dream, one that you’ve desperately been chasing ever since it slipped from your consciousness. Something that you’ve been craving to see again, to feel in your real life instead of it being a helpless scenario your mind used to keep you happy.

He pushes inside of you. You gasp, back arching, chest pushing into his. Your skin is so soft against his. It drives him crazy as he pushes all the way into you, filling you whole. Your legs tremble, eyes closed as he stretches you out. It feels so good, the way he reaches the sweet spot that makes you see stars. He pulls out, leaving you feel so empty before he thrusts into you again, the man needy and starved. You hook your hand to rest between his shoulder blades, nails digging into his flesh. He moans into your neck, fingers gripping the silk sheets of his bed like his life depends on it. He pulls his hips back just to roll them back into you again, his cock filling your pussy. He picks up the pace, unable to contain himself from hearing your sweet moans in his ears.

“You’re a dream,” Rafayel whispers into your ear. He kisses your cheek, biting the sensitive patch of skin just below your jaw. Your breath hitches, hips slapping into yours just as he bites down into your flesh, the combination making you see stars. “You drive me fucking crazy…”

“Ah — fuck,” you breathe out. His sweet praises make your heart skip a beat while his dick makes you feel even more drunk.

Rafayel’s hips snap into yours. He pounds into you, his whines and cries filling your ears like a melody. He moves one hand to your waist, feeling the goosebumps that formed against your skin, the tension in your stomach slowly building up. His thrusts are relentless, hungry, needy. You drag your nails down his back, leaving bright red lines in their wake. He gasps from the stinging sensation. The tip of his cock presses into your sweet spot, making you cry out for him even louder than before. He pulls his face from your neck, lips swollen. The sound of his dick moving in and out of you is orgasmic, pushing him even further to the release you both crave.

You’re a vision. Hair fanned out around your head like a halo. An angel that falls apart from beneath him. A beautiful woman that cries out his name, that allows him to fuck so hard that his toes curl. You open your eyes, half lidded and drunk from the pleasure that crashes through your body. God, it makes him want to go like his for hours, to listen to you breathy moans and cries. You let out a giggle, reaching up to push his hair out of his face.

Fuck, even your laughs are addictive.

Rafayel feels himself ready to release inside of you, ready to claim you as his own. He leans down to bite the skin of your shoulder when he feels your hands attach to his chest, pushing into him. He falls onto his back, eyes widening as you sit on top of him. Your pussy swallows his dick whole, clenching around him as your hands rest of his chest. Nails bury into his skin, dragging down his chest. He cries out your name, unable to handle the way he’s buried inside of you mixed with the burning feeling of your scratches. His hips jerk up into you.

You sit up straight, eyes closing. You roll your head back, the moonlight capturing your body. The light is gentle against your skin. It shows off the perfect curves of your body, the dark marks from his bites and kisses on full display. You roll your hips against Rafayel’s, guiding his hands to your chest. His hands envelop your breasts, squeezing them. His fingers capture your nipples, rolling the buds between the tips.

One hand leaves your breasts, traveling up your chest. Your hand moves on top of it, guiding him further upward, his slender fingers dragging up to your neck. He doesn’t squeeze, simply dragging his finger along the sensitive bite marks, small gasps leaving your lips as your pussy squeezes around him.

“Fuck, Raf,” you cry out.

You look down at him, a pathetic look on your face, one that’s desperate for release just as much as he is. To fall into the pure and fiery feeling of ecstasy, the euphoric ending to your night together. He nods, breathing your name out.

“That’s it,” he licks his lips at the sight, watching as you bounce up and down on his cock, needy for more, “come undone on my dick. Use me.”

He moves his hands from your chest. Your breasts bounce up and down. He sits up and claims one of your boobs in his mouth, unable to stop himself. His tongue swirls around the sensitive bud, sucking on it. He catches it between his teeth, tugging on it. You cry out, grabbing his shoulders to steady himself. You see stars, his dick hitting your sweet spot every time, filling you so well. Your head rolls back, your cries and moans replacing the silence of the night.

Rafayel worships your body, hands traveling up and down your back, his mouth moving to your other breast. His hands drop to your ass when he senses your body coming undone, slowing as your orgasm makes you go stiff, unable to control yourself as your eyes roll into the back of your head. He squeezes your plush skin, moving your hips up and down for you as you clench around his dick, slowly milking him as he release into you, your orgasms hitting at the same time.

“Fuck!” the two of you cry out in union, a desperate cry just for the two of you to hear, your cunt being filled to the brim with his seed.

Aunt Talia exists her car. Thomas stands in front of Rafayel’s studio door, knocking, unable to get inside. She removes her designer sunglasses from her face, slowly approaching the man. She smiles at him, much to the evident stress on his face. She places her hand on his shoulder, steadying him as he desperately jiggles the door handle, ready to kick the door in.

“Good morning, Thomas,” Talia greets him with a quiet chuckle, “did you lose your key again?”

“Lose it?” Thomas rolls his eyes. He releases the doorknob, out of breath, and turns to Talia. “Rafayel ‘revoked’ it. Said that he needed the week to figure things out and that I wasn’t apart of it.”

“Oh?” Talia muses with a smile. She reaches into her bag, fishing through to find the silver key to her nephew’s art studio.

“Do you think he’s going to fire me? Did I push him too far with his art? Tell me,” Thomas takes Talia’s hand, the one that has the key in it, “did I push him too far by dating his rival?” Talia raises an eyebrow at him. He sounds absolutely crazy.

Rafayel? Fake dating his rival? Bitch, please. Rafayel wouldn’t do anything as crazy as that, let alone date the one woman in the world he supposedly hates. Oh yes, Aunt Talia knows all about you. Whenever she sees her nephew, the purple haired Lemurian fills her ear with all of the annoying things that you do, the way you went back to college just to get a degree in marine biology to have better insults for him. Talia always smiled at him and the passion he felt towards you. He called it hate while Talia called it love, the bond between the two of you going beyond that of a petty rivalry.

“No, Thomas, he isn’t firing you,” she rolls her eyes. “He was with me that week. I needed his help.”

“Oh,” Thomas stands up, shoulders pushed back, “well, then, that’s good.”

“Mhm,” Talia hums. She gently moves her nephew’s agent out of the way, unlocking the door for them to walk inside.

The art studio looks as it normally does. Unfinished canvases sit discarded along the walls, paint supplies scattered across the floor. There’s even half-melted candles along the floor and walls. Ambience, as Rafayel liked to call it. Talia steps through the studio with Thomas hot on her tail, the two looking around for any sign of life. She shrugs and looks at the agent, signaling that she’s going to check for him upstairs. Ebb day was coming soon and, well, she thought she’d spare Thomas the horror of seeing a naked Rafayel after the first time it happened.

She slowly ascends the stairs, her warm smile on her face. She wears a patterned silk dress with the matching scarf over her head. A pearl necklace sits around her neck with a matching pair of earrings hanging from her lobes. Talia reaches the top step and turns the corner, Rafayel’s bed coming into sight.

“He’s still asleep isn’t he—oh,” Talia pauses when she nears the bed.

Rafayel lays behind you, the silk sheets covering your bodies, tangled legs and feet exposed to the room. His arms are draped across your body, forehead resting on the back of your neck. The two of you peacefully sleep, quiet snores coming from your mouths. She would have thought that this was a normal…date night for the two of you—something fake, of course—but the scent of tequila and alcohol in the air tells her a different story. She shakes her head, quieting her laughs as she turns on her heel, quickly moving back down the staircase.

“Well?” Thomas asks, offering Talia his hand once she reaches the bottom steps. “Is he alive?”

“He is, yes,” she nods, chuckling, “that rival of his stayed the night.”

“Stayed the night?” Thomas narrows his eyes at Talia. She raises an eyebrow, allowing him to process the information. He swipes his tongue over his teeth before he connects the dots, eyes widening. “Oh! Oh! Stayed the night! Okay! That’s a…that’s a development.”

“They’ll be hungover when they wake up,” Talia’s maternal instinct kicks in. She walks towards the kitchen, grabbing two glasses from the shelf.

“Hungover? No! They have their modeling class with Rhys in a few hours! They can’t be hungover!” Thomas whines, feeling his blood pressure rise.

“That is why you are going to go get them two hearty portions of seaweed soup—extra salty!” Talia points at him. She fills the glasses with ice water, grabbing Rafayel’s salt shaker, pouring a healthy amount of salt into both glasses. Thomas raises one eyebrow.

He knows about Rafayel’s Lemurian background, one of the few to know this. But you? Why do you need the salt of the sea to come back to life? Wouldn’t it hurt you instead of helping you.

“Maybe I should get something greasy for her,” Thomas reasons, grabbing his keys to his car from his pocket. “That salt will kill her—” Talia snorts. “What? What’s so funny?”

“Oh Thomas,” Aunt Talia laughs. She grabs the cups after stirring in the salt. She walks up to him, ready to pass him to go up the stairs. “She’s Atlantean!”

as always ; likes, comments, & reblogs are greatly appreciated! remember to show your fav writers some love! <3

#rafayel x non!mc reader #rafayel love and deepspace #love and deepspace #jexi recommends #this was too good mhm

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jexireads · 2 months ago

Text

Vendetta

► 𝙿𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 - dilf!Hongjoong x fem!reader ◄ ► 𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎/𝙰𝚄 - mafia au, arranged marriage trope, secret/hidden marriage, slow burn, heavy angst, emotionally heavy, revenge, emotional rollercoaster, power imbalance, age gap (reader is in her early 30s and Joong is in his mid-40s), reader! is resigned to her fate but not for long, enemies-to-lovers, plot twist◄ ► 𝚁𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐/𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 - PG-18+ so MDNI!!! depression as in reader! has almost given up on life, implied familial abuse (not described, but be warned!), implied violence, minor car accident, minor descriptions of near death experience, generalized dark themes, eventual smut (short though) lots of kissing, couch riding, creampie, emotional and possessive sex, no protection (do not do this!) ◄ ► 𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 - 33.5K words (hear me out---) ◄ ► 𝚂𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜 - After your uncle sold you to the mafia to settle a debt, you were forced into an arranged marriage with the controlling Kim Hongjoong and you expected nothing more than a life of silence and control. He was much older than you, much more calculated and cold, and you had no doubt that he was devoid of light. He'd be displeased to know that you have a backbone, however, but what happens when his dark secrets that could potentially ruin your life slowly unravel when the wolves come out to play? You realize that the secrets he held dear were deeper than you thought, and there was no way out. ◄ ► 𝙽𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚜 - I am sorry that it took this long. I was sick for weeks and had no energy to write. I am also sorry it's this long, but I don't regret it. This was a request from the lovely @midnightreader-06 (she's an adult.) I will be fulfilling the other requests I have soon. ◄ ► 𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 - @0rangemilk @ginger-mingi @ruubyrubes @oddracha @jaytheatiny @roxannecos @juicy-red @cheolliehugs @sunnysidesins @jjongbearshoney @midnightrebel1028 @mallielovssyou @jenluvzen ◄

You were ten years old when you held both of your parents hand as the three of you walked side by side in an open field where the vastness of the green Earth was there for the taking as far as the eye could see.

As your dearest father, whose eyes shone with adoration and his lips split with the fondest of grins, carried you in his arms to point at the bright, blue sky, your innocence and naivety paved way for the natural curiosity that lay hidden in your young mind.

“You, my darling,” your mother lovingly booped your button nose. “You are the prettiest, far more special than anything in this world, and I love you.”

The world felt impossibly vast, and yet in that moment, wrapped in the safety of your parents’ love, it felt perfectly sized to hold just the three of you. Truly, you were loved by your parents. It was the kind of love that would transcend even through the afterlife. Until they didn’t.

You were sixteen years old when you stood under the pouring rain that blessed your parents’ grave, your head down low as your expressionless face stared at the freshly dug soil under your feet. There was blackness all around you - black for the weeping sky, black for the clothes you wore around your frail, shivering body that symbolized your mourning and loss.

Black for the two coffins you had watched sink into the ground, swallowed by the earth as if it could somehow keep your parents safe when you no longer could, black for the words no one could say, black for the warning signals in your head as you were led away from the cemetery.

Everything was black. You were far too young for such a travesty, but since when has this life been fair to anybody? Your parents’ death has definitely taught you better.

The hours stopped flowing, the sands of time floating inside the hourglass in a perpetual cycle of your memories where the images of your parents were slowly disappearing, refusing to flow - refusing to let you move on.

You are the prettiest, far more special than anything in this world, and I love you.

“You call that clean? I could lick the damn thing and get road dust in my teeth!”

Your uncle, your mother’s older brother, barked from the doorway, snapping you out of your memories. His loud, displeasing voice echoed down the garage hallway far before you even laid your eyes on him.

You closed your eyes, taking the deepest breath you could possibly take from the deepest chambers of your lungs. Not that there was anything left, you were a walking entity of nothingness at this point, but you had to remain calm like you had learned to be - like you had to be.

Your uncle stepped into the garage, shoes clicking against the polished tile floor most mechanics would kill for. “That’s your problem. Always doing the bare minimum. You’re useless just like your mother.”

There it was. He didn’t have to mention her often like the mere thought of her slowly decayed his tongue inside his sinful mouth. He didn’t outwardly curse her name, it was just enough to let you know he still thought of you like you were a charity case; a stain on the marble floors of his pristine world.

You tried not to gasp out loud when he titled your chin up roughly. His calloused fingers burned every single hair strand on your face, his eyes could have disintegrated you on the spot with all the unspoken hate you knew he had for you but refused to speak out, but you had to remain calm.

He harrumphed, turning around and beginning to walk off to where he came from, but not before spitting up an unholy amount of saliva on the floor with an obscene smirk on his clean shaven face. “Clean it up,” was all he said.

Through gritted teeth, you had begun wiping the floor, and as the water began to wash away all the grime your pig of an uncle had left, you hadn’t realized that your tears had begun to mix itself in the water like it would rinse away all your troubles.

It was like you were sixteen again. You still remember the day like it was yesterday when he led you to his car away from the cemetery, all without a single word of comfort or condolences at the dearly departed. Never mind your father, but your mother was his younger sister. You were not surprised at the sight of his massive mansion - your family did come from old money - but the moment you stepped through it, you saw the facade quickly. You weren’t there as family, but as a liability. All of this was just for show, not for your comfort.

He walked ahead of you, not bothering to see if you were following him. There was no warmth in his voice, just clipped efficiency, like he was giving instructions to a driver. There was no welcome. No open arms. No kind words. Your room was barely one. A cot, no sheets. A single window so cloudy with grime it looked like frosted glass. Little did you know, it would be your room for no less than a decade - a decade long of hell reincarnate on an already scorching Earth.

Sometimes he didn’t call for food, most of the time he called to yell. Once, for leaving a cup turned the wrong way in the sink, he threw it at the wall and told you your parents would’ve done the same if they’d had the guts.

It didn’t stop the bruises, but your perseverance helped you survive the nights. No one came looking for you. No one asked how you were.

You were nineteen years old when you started finally accepting that this was your world. You were reduced to moping spit off of the floor, and after another four years of slaving away and just taking all the burnt end of your uncle’s anger, he decided to finally send you into college. You wanted to scoff, but you will take anything that you could get - anything to get even a sliver of your identity back. He wasn’t doing this for you, you knew he’d use you for free labour after.

“You owe me,” he said, sliding the acceptance letter toward me. “You remember that. Everything you have is because I kept you fed.”

Fed. You saw red. He never mentioned you’d earned every damn underfed crumb like an inbred. But you nodded, anyway, because even a dog learns how to slip the chain if it’s given enough time to watch the master.

And you waited, day by day, for someone to remember you existed, but the ones you longed for were the ones you knew were in heaven by now. And you hoped they weren’t looking down on you.

The last thing you remembered was coming home from your graduation party with a couple of your friends from the restaurant, but the panicked yet controlled voices of the doctors and nurses surrounding you had you concurring that you were in the hospital.

You want to move, but your limbs won’t listen. You want to ask for your parents, but their names get caught in your throat. That sent a magnanimous amount of pain far worse than you were feeling right now down in the middle of your chest where your heart laid. They were gone, and you were soon to follow.

The first tear that fell from your eyes felt like glass shards. You didn’t know how to tell your parents that you had failed them. You were only twenty-eight, and your short life was slowly slipping away from you. You could feel it.

I don’t want to die. I’m much too young to fall.

But hope was bleak. You didn’t doubt that your uncle was already aware of the car accident you were involved in, and you didn’t doubt that he was happy about it. It would be good riddance for him, there was no way he would pay for your surgeries. You were alone, utterly alone. The thought of dying alone hurt more than you’d like it to be.

Until a warm hand wrapped itself around yours. It was big, rough, and warm. You were too weak to open your eyes, but you mentally thanked the kind nurse who comforted you in your time of need. Or more likely, it was one of your college friends, namely, your close friend Yeosang. He was much younger than you, only being a freshman while you were eight years his senior.

You volunteered as a substitute teacher in your spare time for high school students as a part of your program, and Yeosang offered to be your intern. You were the one to write him his recommendation letter to get into your college last year. You quickly became fond of the kid with the siren eyes who squeezed his way into your heart, who still admired you as his mentor and still stuck by you even after his high school.

He was the only regret in your short life. There were times you dismissed him since you were far from his age and you wanted him to spend time with other people. You wish you had more opportunities to tell him that you cherished the little moments of peace he gave you, and to thank him for letting you know what it was like to care for someone when nobody cared about you.

Time passed. It could’ve been minutes, it could’ve been hours, but the hand remained, covering yours in a soothing cocoon, a salve to your aching and hurting heart.

It was just a hand, but it provided you the strength you needed. You might hate your uncle, but if it wasn’t for him sending you to college, this hand wouldn’t be here, helping you sign your own paperwork since you had no family. It must have been a pitiful sight - your soul was nearly gone yet you had to sign your own hospital papers.

Sometimes it would squeeze gently like it needed to be sure you were still holding on as you slipped in and out of consciousness, and you started clinging to it like it was the only real thing in the world.

Because, maybe it was. No one else came - not your uncle, and not the world you thought would notice if you ceased to exist prematurely before you even turned your life around, but the hand stayed.

Against your will, you stood before your own reflection. You always thought you had the prettiest of hazel-hued eyes - you had gotten them from your father, after all - but the hollowness of them scared even yourself.

“Y/N! Come downstairs, or I’m leaving you to walk yourself all the way to the Kim estate!”

You flinched, your fingers pausing from examining the thick concealer you splattered all over your neck to cover your uncle’s purple fingertips. You were still unsure if surviving was a blessing or a curse.

After getting back from the hospital, he had appointed you to fix his business paperworks - all without pay, of course - and he kept you locked away from the world.

Except when it was time to remind you of your place, to remind you of his power. You were thirty-two when he finally decided to get rid of you and sell you off as collateral for his failing business to a man far older than you, because if he didn’t, the business won’t be the only thing your uncle would be losing.

“He’s your last chance,” he reiterated, voice low and full of threat. “You marry him, or you’re done here. I’ll have you on a flight by morning stripped of every cent, every roof, every name. I made a deal, and you’re the damn collateral. Don’t make me waste you.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d threatened to erase you from your own life. But this time, it felt final. “Your face is your saving grace,” he continued arrogantly. “Luckily for you, you inherited your whore of a mother’s pretty face. With luck, that bastard Kim Hongjoong might take a liking to you.”

You tuned out the way he cursed out the said man’s name with words you couldn’t even repeat, focusing on the way your fists clenched tight to control your breathing.

Kim Hongjoong, you thought. That was your future husband’s name, the man who would either be your salvation or be the one to push you into a deeper hell. You’ve given up on the aspect of marrying for love, but still, giving it up like this feels like a punch to your gut.

But there was no way around it, not when your uncle sent you a seething glare that told you that you needed to play along as he forced your arm to link with his as you were both escorted inside the huge mansion that screamed of wealth and dirty money by the stiff-postured butler.

“I welcome you to the Kim estate, you may address me as San,” the cat-eyed butler bowed respectfully before you and your uncle, gesturing forward as he walked on. “I do apologize if I’m the only one to extend the greetings for now, all of our staff is preparing for the bride-to-be.”

He sent you a polite smile, but all you felt was dread. “Shall I make it up and invite you to the dining room? The Master awaits the both of you.”

Your uncle’s fake, booming laughter fills the grandiose dining room. Every inch of this manor screamed of wealth and power, the chandeliers above casting a soft glow down the glossy marble floors, the ornate walls lined with ancestral tapestry partnered with vintage vases.

But none of it reached you, none of it mattered because none of this was for you. As slimy as your uncle was, the fact that this man was even agreeing to the prospect of marrying to settle a debt perturbed you.

You couldn’t help but let your fingers trail along the back of a carved dining chair as you entered the main dining room. Everything looked expensive, it reminded you of your mother who had the finer tastes in life when she was still among the living.

But it was when you looked up that your breath had truly gotten caught in your throat. Somebody was already looking at you, he was already staring at you. Even before you were introduced, you knew in your heart that this was the infamous Kim Hongjoong.

He was seated at the far end of the impossibly long dining table, his sharp eyes already watching your every move. The second your eyes met his, the air shifted, and you froze. All that existed was the intensity of his gaze. For a moment, everything disappeared. It was just you and him. You didn’t know how to feel about it.

Your pulse thudded in your ears as you allowed yourself to stare back. You didn’t even need more than a couple of seconds, it was very obvious from the first glance that this man was undeniably attractive. It was almost devastatingly so.

His face was chiseled to perfection, all without the soft curves of a boy, he held the sharp angles that only belonged to a man of his age. That particular age suited him and you could tell he was years above you, his meticulously styled hair already sporting a couple of whites and greys

But it wasn’t his looks that immediately captivated you, it was his eyes. The way they stared at you heavily as though he was an all-seeing being that could read your every thought and predict your every move. He didn’t smile, he didn’t blink, he didn’t look away - he just observed. Something in your chest twisted. Your instinct told you to look away, to hide, but you stayed uprooted from where you stood. His stare left you unable to do anything else.

But you had to eventually. Your uncle cut the obvious tension with a small, nervous laugh as he nudged you subtly. “Mr. Kim, it’s an honour and pleasure to be in your presence in this fine evening,” he tried to suck up, though you can tell his bravado was nowhere to be seen in front of a person who was obviously greater than he was.

You forced yourself forward, one step towards the other, graciously sitting down on the chair that San the butler had so generously pulled out for you. As you tried to settle comfortably, you looked up again, only to realize that Hongjoong still hasn’t looked away from you, only giving out a small grunt in response to your uncle’s poor attempt to start a conversation.

You would turn and stare at the way you knew your uncle’s face would turn red in embarrassment and anger at being snubbed, but Hongjoong’s eyes had once again held you captive.

Someone cleared their throat purposefully. Right. You didn’t even realize that there were other people seated towards the end of the table. You couldn’t even afford to be embarrassed for being the other end of the tension.

“You’re staring,” the voice, surprisingly rough and deep, said. It was more of a whisper, but the silence was so loud in the room that anything could be heard.

Hongjoong didn’t answer right away. He simply tilted his head, just slightly. Still watching you with those dark eyes. Then, calmly, still without glancing at anyone else, he replied, “Am I?”

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement in disguise, a graceful way of telling the other person off. It made the hair rise on the back of your neck. You heard an exasperated sigh somewhere.

Even when dinner was served and the conversation around you flowed naturally amongst the other guests deemed important enough to be here, you couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable. You barely heard their voices. You knew he was still watching you from time to time.

Your heart pounded in your chest, but you kept your posture stiff, trying to maintain some semblance of control. Your hands, however, clenched your utensils so tight, you wouldn’t be surprised if they bent from the pressure. You couldn’t stop the tremor that ran through you from all the weight of his eyes.

At first you thought it was fear, but no, this was something else entirely. It wasn’t flattering, it wasn’t lustful, it wasn’t romantic - this was unnerving, darkness at its purest form.

“Y/N, my dearest niece,” your uncle’s voice suddenly broke through your haze, effectively catching everyone’s attention as well. “I trust that you’re enjoying dinner?”

You swallowed, already reading between the lines. He was basically asking you to look alive, a silent threat. You forced a small smile, nodding in effect. “Yes,” you said softly. “It’s quite wonderful.”

An unreadable flicker crosses Hongjoong’s face as he leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the table. Somehow, that made him look more intimidating than he already was. He tilted his head, his gaze sharpened, but his body stayed relaxed. It was the posture of someone who knew he was on top of the food chain.

“Great,” your uncle cleared his throat. “I suppose it’s about time to get down to the nitty-gritty of this dinner. Let’s talk business, gentlemen.”

A saddened frown settles itself on your lips. Right, you had forgotten that this was just business for him at the end of the day. You had somehow forgotten that you were treated less than human, a little more akin to produce being sold off to a wanting consumer.

“There’s no need to drag this out,” your uncle continued, failing to read the room. Even you knew that he was in no position to call the shots like he was doing currently. “She’s all yours, for all intents and purposes.”

You looked down, shame and mortification filling your entire body, gripping your dress tightly in your fists. The implication of what that meant horrified you, given that you were the only woman in the room, surrounded by men who immediately understood the sexual insinuation of the statement.

Thick silence followed as everybody waited for Hongjoong to speak. His posture shifted ever so slightly from your peripheral vision as he started to open his mouth to reply. “I’m not here for that,” he said flatly.

The words were quiet, but they carried more force than your uncle’s screaming. The older man let out a nervous laughter, brushing it off. “Of course, still, it’s a part of the arrangement.”

Hongjoong’s expression didn’t change. “I heard you the first time.”

Your knuckles turned white from how hard you were gripping. His voice struck something in you, sending a zing through your body from your toes all the way to your scalp. His gaze, his voice, his complete control over the room; it was all too much. You hated the way it made your stomach turn into itself.

But your uncle’s ego rendered him unable to stop because he always wanted to be the one in control. “She turned out decent, though mostly useless. It could be changed,” he said, degrading your dignity further down to the ground. “She’s an obedient little thing, knows how to close her trap when prompted.”

You froze, as did everybody. You didn’t need to look around the table to know the weight of every eye. It was a different type of humiliation you had to endure, but you didn’t say anything. Years of training had taught you to just take all of his words in without flinching.

For the first time that night, Hongjoong looked away from you. His stare shifted, slow and deliberate, settling on your uncle who chuckled nervously, but also unable to look away from Hongjoong like you did.

It was his turn to be stared at, you could already tell that your uncle was starting to crack under the pressure of that silent, unnerving stare.

Then as if to rub salt on his wounds, Hongjoong let a small smile curl at the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t directed towards you, but it sent nasty goosebumps all over your skin. It was nothing short of sinister.

“How compelling,” he drawled out, leaning forward to grab his wine glass, swirling its contents leisurely before he set his dark eyes back towards your uncle. “Though I don’t recall ever asking.”

Your uncle stiffened, but Hongjoong continued, his voice controlled, and flat. “And if I ever find myself wondering, I’ll be sure to consult someone who’s managed to keep his life longer than selling their nieces to the mafia to save their skin.” Your legs felt suddenly too weak, your numb fingers loosening their tight hold on your dress. The mafia. Your uncle was selling you out to the mafia. The word itself echoed through your mind, a jagged, inescapable truth. Fear, raw and electric, lit up inside you.

Though, an undeniable satisfaction flowed through you at the prospect of your smug uncle finally being put in his place. He opened his big mouth to try and retort back, but Hongjoong didn’t give him the chance.

He sets his wine glass back down, lightly tapping on it with a butter knife. “More,” was all he said. It was just one command, but if you were standing, it would have brought you down to your knees. It was the end of the conversation, all because he said so without actually saying it. There were no more words needed to be said, the message had been delivered. He turned his gaze somewhere else, not looking back at you. There was no need to.

This entire room knew who held the leash, and it was the man you were set to marry sooner than later. The room had been entirely claimed by him the moment he opened his mouth.

Dinner was an awkward affair. The conversation between everyone was never really the same afterwards, but you didn’t care, you tuned them all out, even when you could finally breathe because Hongjoong never looked your way again, partaking in a conversation with the man nearest to him, the same man with the deep voice who called him out for staring at you.

It was every man for themselves at this very table, that much you could tell. Every clink of cutlery made you flinch, every swallow constricting your throat, every smoke coming out of your uncle’s ears petrifying you, his words still ringing in your head the entire time as you tried to eat.

Marry this man or face the consequences, but at what cost? You were damned if you did, and damned if you didn’t. There would be no ending where you wouldn’t end up bleeding. Hongjoong terrified you. It was the type of fear that settled itself deep in your bones. He hasn’t even risen from his seat, yet he’s managed to get under your skin far more than your uncle has in more than a decade.

This was a man who ruled in power. There was something in the way he sat, all composed and relaxed. He had nothing to prove, let alone raise his voice. He simply held everyone’s breath in his palms. One squeeze was all it took.

You didn’t realize you’d been staring until Hongjoong’s sharp eyes met yours briefly once more. He looked at your uncle, back at you, then back at the man who was talking to him. You had made your decision then. Anything was better than being your uncle’s property.

By the end of the week, all of your belongings were packed in a small suitcase, ready to be transported to the Kim estate. Not that you needed to pack a lot, there was no single thing that you truly owned.

The manor was just as breathtaking as it was the last time you saw it, dare say, far more glamorous than you remembered it to be now that the invisible collar that your uncle wrapped around your neck like a noose was now gone. It was far much easier to gaze in awe at the splendor that it represented.

Though you reckon that if you closed your eyes, the walls would be crimson red with blood. Your fingers clutched the suitcase handle with a grip that bordered on desperation, as if letting go might unravel something fragile inside you. The threshold before you wasn’t just the entrance to another home, it was a gate to uncertainty, and that terrified you more than anything.

The last time you crossed into the unfamiliar den of someone else’s house, you were met with a home, but with silent trials and unspoken wounds. But it was too late to ponder whether you should just turn back, run away, and start anew somewhere else - the massive door at the entrance suddenly opened ajar to reveal the familiar face of the Kim family butler, San.

It struck you then, as he was walking towards your direction, that he wasn’t wearing a uniform like the last time you saw him, in fact, he wasn’t like anything you remembered at all even though this was only your second meeting. Gone was the uniform, the gloves, and his rigid posture. Instead, he wore a gray tailored suit and he walked like he belonged in it. He wasn’t performing anymore. He grabbed your suitcase for you, but before he could take a step forward, he hesitantly turned towards you. “I just wanted to say that there are no shadows in this place,” he said softly, cryptically. “You don’t need to keep looking over your shoulders. He can’t hurt you here.”

You tried to keep your face still, unreadable. You supposed that one eventful dinner was enough for everyone to see how much of a swine your uncle was. You didn’t respond to his strange reassurance. Instead, you studied him again, this time more carefully, more warily. “You’re not a butler, are you?” You said quietly.

His brows raised, but he didn’t say anything; he just smiled at you before beckoning you inside the mansion that would be your new home. Everything looked the same, except that in the morning light, everything looked more marvelous than it did rather than when they were covered by the dark shadows of the night. No matter which direction your head turned, awe struck in every corner.

Then you passed the staircase. Something made you pause, there was a prickle at the back of your neck. Without meaning to, you looked up. It was the man at the dinner, the one that sat closest to Hongjoong at the far end of the table - the one who told the older man he was staring. He also donned a smart suit like San, leaning against the bannister while his sharp eyes watched you.

He was a lot taller than you thought now that he was standing and he was younger, too. It was a surprise given his apparent ease with Hongjoong when everyone else wanted to piss their pants with fear. He didn’t glare at you, the only thing that signalled he wasn’t particularly angry towards you, but his stare still made your skin tighten. He was, by all means, intimidating.

“Did you need anything, Mingi?” San’s mellow voice cut the unspoken tension in the air as he also looked up the staircase. He motions to you with his hands. “You’ve met Y/N during the dinner.”

The man, Mingi, didn’t reply. His presence pressed down like a weight, not loud, but undeniable, as he turned around, but not before swivelling his head back, his side profile sharp and intense. “I know,” his deep voice spoke before he completely walked away out of your sight.

Your voice barely rose above a whisper as you turned to San. “Does he not like me?”

“It’s complicated,” he said simply, continuing the walk towards where was taking you.

Complicated. Somehow, that made you feel like you were trespassing in a life you hadn’t earned. Maybe he didn’t like you, maybe it wasn’t personal, but you understood it. You wouldn’t like you, either, ever since you were reduced to who you once were. Those were the thoughts that plagued your mind as you walked through the lavish mansion, until you stopped directly in front of a door that just screamed doom from the other side.

The feeling intensified when San gave the door a few light taps with his knuckles. You had been mistaken when you thought that this would be your room. There was only one reason why San would knock like he did.

“Come in,” a gruff voice replied from inside.

Coldness washed over you, the slight fear during that one dinner night creeping back and settling itself into your bones when you were met at the sight of Hongjoong at the end of his office behind a desk where there were plenty of papers strewn all over it.

You had to put in effort in your jaws so it wouldn’t fall open. You’ve seen plenty of good-looking men in your life, but none of them hold a candle to the enigma that was Kim Hongjoong. That night absolutely did nothing to justify how immaculate this man actually looked. The worst part was that he wasn’t even wearing a suit like San.

He was clad in a casual white-button up shirt, the sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows, revealing lean forearms that moved with casual precision as he scribbled something across a document. He didn’t look up, not bothering to acknowledge your entrance.

You shuffled your feet awkwardly, your heart beating a little faster, not out of attraction, though it wasn’t out of the realm entirely, but with palpable tension. Hongjoong flipped a page, still without acknowledgement as if he wasn’t bothered by your presence at all. It was San who finally broke the silence, his voice lower, more respectful than you’d ever heard it. “Boss. She’s here—”

“Leave,” the mafia boss cut off, voice hushed in the quietness of the office, but brusque nonetheless.

It was like you were struck with an imaginary hammer straight to your chest with that one single word, but it wasn’t just that - it was the undeniable truth that you were, once again, unwelcome in this shiny, brand new cage you were thrust upon. The silence that followed felt suffocating, even San was rendered speechless, clearly confused.

San cleared his throat. “I’m not sure I’m following, Sir.”

The sound of rustling paper and the pen scratching against its surface resonated in your head. “I didn’t stutter, San,” Hongjoong replied nonchalantly. “Both of you, out.”

There was no room for argument in his tone. He didn’t sound particularly peeved, in fact, he didn’t sound like anything at all, and yet, the dismissal stung you more than you’d like to admit. His utter dismissal was louder than any shout. You didn’t have to spend a minute longer in this room that was slowly beginning to feel like a jail cell - you didn’t matter.

“Alright,” San sighed, conceding, though against his will. “Where will she reside?”

The pen in Hongjoong’s hand stopped moving, and finally, he raised his chin, his eyes lifting slowly to stare at San. You swallowed, it reminded you of a predator being disturbed while it was resting. Your heart almost leapt out of your chest when he turned lazily to you, his eyes half-lidded this time. “Keep her in the dungeons,” he drawled flatly. Your eye twitched at the response.

“Hongjoong,” San’s mouth dropped open in surprise, not being able to stop his reaction at his boss’ reply.

“Apologies,” he said, leaning back on his leather chaise lounge, his tone egregiously insincere as he raised his brows at the butler. “I can’t help but jest at the stupidity of your question, Choi San. What did you want me to say?”

You clenched your fists before they could visibly shake. God, he was beautiful, and it only made it worse, like the universe had handed unimaginable cruelty to the face of an angel just to mock you. You were scared, yes, but you were also annoyed.

You haven’t even been here for five minutes yet he was already seemingly enjoying your discomfort and feeding off of your humiliation. The plan was to keep your head down so you could survive in this battlefield, but if he was going to keep this up, it was only a matter of time until your patience would snap and get you in trouble, or worse, killed.

As if he didn’t just say something outrageous, Hongjoong flicked his pen to start writing again. “I need Mingi,” he said. “And call your Third Master. He should have been back with Seonghwa from Suwon.”

San didn’t say anything as he shut the door behind you both, his steps quick and purposeful as he led you down a dimly lit corridor that felt far too silent for how grand the house looked from the outside. The heavy tension that lingered from the office followed you like a second shadow.

He glanced over at you, as if trying to read your face before turning his eyes back ahead. “I was wondering,” he started clearly just to ease the tension. “I’ve noticed, well, we all did, that you didn’t share a last name with your uncle. Is that on purpose?”

You blinked, surprised by the question. Such a contrast to what had just occurred a couple of minutes ago. But more than that, nobody had bothered to ask you that question before. It wasn't invasive by all means, just unexpected.

It did, however, shoot a pang of hurt through your heart. You haven’t explained this in more than a decade. “He’s my late mother’s older brother.”

San nodded slowly, absorbing the information with interest. Bless this man, you thought. “May I ask what your last name is?”

“It’s Jeong,” you replied softly. Oh, how good it was to say your father's name like this again. “Jeong Y/N.”

When he finally stopped in front of a modest door near the end of the hall, he placed a hand on the knob, but not before pausing. Something didn’t feel right. “D-Did you know my father?”

You frowned at his frozen expression that didn’t last for another second before he snapped off of whatever trance he put himself in.

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, turning to face you. “I know this was a horrible start to your soon-to-be life here,” San shook his head, the corners of his mouth tightening. “Hongjoong’s hard headed, but he’s not heartless. Just give it time, okay?”

Your heart wanted to leap out of your chest. He completely changed the topic. “I get it,” you sighed, letting it go. “He’s as much of an unwilling participant in this as I am.”

San opened the door, revealing a clean, minimal room with a bed, dresser, and tall windows draped in heavy curtains. The room was beautiful, not that you expected any less, but this was decay dressed in silk; a trap made to look like a sanctuary to your wounded soul.

“I’ll let you settle in,” he said gently as he left you alone. “If you need anything, please let me know. This is your home now as much as it is ours.”

Indeed, you were alone, but not free. Caged, but not chained, at least, not in the physical sense.

San had said to give it time, but time was a commodity and you feared it - too much of it and it left you rotting away inside your body, and too little of it felt like a countdown.

Days passed from then, and you tried to settle in to the very best of your abilities. It was the only option you had, after all. You explored the rest of the mansion, even going as far as hanging out in the vast garden in the back when you had nothing better to do. It wasn’t home, per se, but it was far better from where you came from.

As suffocating as this mansion felt, at least San was right, nobody has hurt you - not yet at least. But that was always how it went, wasn’t it? Then the shift would be so subtle that you’d miss it if you weren’t already waiting for the sky to fall. You knew the pattern like your own breathing. So you kept your voice light. You smiled when you needed to, but you always stayed one step ahead. Because San was right, no one had hurt you, but they would. It was only a matter of time.

It was still a step-up from your uncle, his loud voice no longer calling you, but coincidentally, neither had Hongjoong. He didn’t look your way once, he didn’t call or summon you, and didn’t acknowledge your existence very much. Somehow, you weren’t sure if that was a curse or a blessing in disguise.

Nonetheless, you did enjoy it so far, and you had so much to learn. You’ve yet to peek through the library, study how the light filtered through your windows at certain hours, or just the layout of the mansion itself. You were just about to walk towards the garden when you heard the familiar, telltale signs of people talking in one of the rooms. No, rather, you were hearing an argument take place between two men.

“You lied to me,” a man’s voice, deep, thunderous, and absolutely furious, boomed throughout the expanse of the house. “That hit in Suwon was supposed to be mine, and mine, alone. Not anyone's, not Wooyoung’s, mine.”

You froze at the sound, instincts screaming at you to turn around, walk away, disappear. But curiosity dug its claws in. Your feet moved without permission, guiding you down the stairs toward the raised voices echoing from the living room just around the corner.

“I did not lie to you. Your lack of proper planning does not constitute an emergency on my end,” replied the familiar voice of Hongjoong, flat and stoic as ever, like he wasn’t on the burnt end of someone’s anger.

“That little fuck. Always stealing my hits. And you tolerate him.”

Heavy, furious footsteps and you barely had time to walk away unnoticed when you almost crashed into the tall and broad-shouldered form of none other than Mingi. His expression was twisted with the fury of a thousand suns as he glared at you. For a second, he looked like he was going to explode on you, but luckily, he just walked past you with rage he looked like he could barely contain.

“You,” came a voice from the living room.

You flinched, your spine automatically straightening like they did when your uncle screamed your name before he struck his fists. But Hongjoong didn’t shout, didn’t even raise his voice, but the sharpness in that single word pinned you in place like a knife. He stepped into view slowly, the light from the tall windows casting long shadows behind him. His expression was unreadable, carved from stone, gaze unreadable but heavy.

“What are you doing?” Hongjoong asked at last, his tone deceptively calm, but lined with quiet disdain. “Sneaking around corners like a rat.”

Despite your speechlessness in the frost of his tone, you couldn’t help but stare. Hongjoong’s back was turned against the window and little bits of sun rays hit his features just right. You tried to tamp the blush trying to sneak up your cheeks to make way at the vexation flickering inside your chest at his statement.

“I-I apologize, I didn’t mean to intrude,” you said quietly, your heart jumping to your throat. “I was just curious—”

“Curious,” he repeated slowly, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “You were curious.”

You swallowed hard, your pulse pounding in your ears, as he stared you down. It was as if he was truly looking at you for the first time. He wasn’t much taller than you, but the way he stood felt like he towered over you by a mile. You felt numbness wash over you, but you tried your best to answer him with honesty. You had a feeling he’d catch you fibbing anyway. “I was told I could explore a little when I came.”

His lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile - too sharp to be one. “But did I tell you that you could go prancing around anywhere you damn well pleased?”

Your breath caught when he took a slow, almost bored, step towards you. For a second, you saw the taller form of your uncle stalking towards you, and before you could stop yourself, you opened your mouth to protest. “I’m sorry,” you squeaked. “I just assumed that since I’m staying here that I can—”

“Immaterial,” he interrupted, low and vicious. “This is my house, and you answer to me.”

Hongjoong stuck his finger under your chin, slightly tilting it up. The tips of your ears reddened completely, not because you were flustered, but because it felt degrading. “I’ve been quite busy, you see,” he continued with a sneer. “But don’t think I’ve forgotten your existence. I can never forget the face of someone who was sold to me.”

You didn’t answer. The words stung too much, mostly because you’d dared to hope, even briefly, that maybe this place could become a safe haven. Being remembered like this hurt even more. “You’re right, I won’t do it again,” you whispered, too defeated to even let your usual anger consume you. “I was out of line, I’m sorry.”

“Then, act like it,” Hongjoong’s eyes stayed locked on yours, unblinking, his tone dismissive and cold.

He turned his back to you, not bothering to wait for your reply as he started to walk away. “You shouldn’t have been here,” he added. “Don’t make the same mistake twice. Stay in your lane.”

You were left standing in the same spot he’d left you even after a long time clenching your fists, shame filling your chest at the minor confrontation, the sharp sting of his words looping in your mind, each repetition sharper than the last.

You dug your nails into your palms until it hurt. Good. You needed something to keep yourself grounded because the rage was almost enough to drown you. How dare he treat you like you were disposable?

The worst part was that you were supposed to marry this man, spend the rest of your miserable days walking on eggshells around this insufferable, arrogant bastard? You closed your eyes, pinching the bridge of your nose as you took a deep breath.

San told you no one was going to hurt you. He lied, to a certain extent he did, because hurt here came from humiliation and not the hand that’ll lay itself on your skin. You didn’t have to like him, especially since love was completely out of the question, and you had absolutely no obligation to please him, but you would survive this. You had to.

You were following San one Sunday morning as he’d promised to show you the private library after you were no longer skittish after the last encounter with Hongjoong. “I’d love to show you the library today,” San turned, a smile blooming on his face. “Master is very fond of them, as is the Second Master. I’m sure you would, too. It’s quite fascinating.”

“I’ve heard a second and third master being mentioned once or twice before,” you started. “I assume they’re family. Would I be meeting them soon? Should I be wary of them?”

“You would be correct, they are family,” San nodded, pausing in front of the library doorway to face you. “Unfortunately, the Second Master is currently on a…”

He cleared his throat, trailing off to find the right wording like you didn’t already know you’d be marrying into the mafia. “Mission, so to speak. And as you’ve gathered, the Third Master is in Suwon so he should be back soon.”

He took a pause, glancing at his wristwatch before glancing back at you. “Right now, actually. I completely forgot about that,” he cursed under his breath as he looked at you sheepishly. “I apologize, would you mind if I left to instruct someone of his arrival?”

You gave San a small, amused smile, waving him off. “It’s okay. Go do what you need to do. I’ll just wait here.”

“Thank you,” he sighed in relief, already backing away. “I promise I won’t take long.”

You rolled your eyes fondly as he disappeared down the corridor, the sound of his quick footsteps fading behind you. Alone now, you took a slow breath, soaking in the ornate hallway. You didn’t mind waiting, at least you had something to look forward to very soon.

If anything, the wait was very peaceful, but that peace was soon shattered when you heard the door to your left at the far end of the hallway swinging open and two voices suddenly filling in the space of the house. They were unfamiliar, as far as you knew. One thing you noticed was that Hongjoong kept a very limited amount of staff going in and out of the manor.

You shifted nervously, looking to where San had left to see if he was coming back soon, not knowing where to go and how to interact with Hongjoong’s possible guests. He always had people over he was constantly talking to and you didn’t know how he’d reprimand you if he saw you talking to them.

“You got me fucked up if you think I’m not getting back at you for this,” the first man who entered snorted, his bright and shameless laughter put you on high alert. You watched as he made a show of stretching his limbs exaggeratedly. “You know I can’t stand economy flights, Seonghwa, why would you subject me to this torture?”

Then came the second voice, calm and firm, but edged with exasperation. “Forgive me for being presumptuous if I say you’re not going to die being a normal person just this once, master,” he said flatly, closing the door behind him with a sigh.

They were quite a pair, you noticed. It was easy to assume that this was the infamous Third Master Hongjoong had been waiting for. His eyes sparkled with mischief, his playful smirk clearly irritating his older, taller companion.

“We had to blend in, you know that,” the taller man - model - Seonghwa continued, gracefully trudging two suitcases behind him. “Hongjoong is going to throw a fit if he finds out we’re being tailed.”

The other man scoffed once more, letting out an obnoxious laughter that frankly reminded you of a hyena. “He’ll be fine,” he waved his hand off-handedly as he started to walk. “I could just—”

He came to a dramatic halt when he saw you standing in the hallway, blinking in complete surprise. He was a lot younger than you thought he was, his boyish charm was impossible to ignore. He observed you from head to toe before he let out a grin that was too wide to be innocent.

Seonghwa almost did a halt, but his was more sudden than his companion. Recognition flashed in his eyes and you would’ve missed it if you weren’t paying attention. He was more reserved, after all. If the first man was chaos, this one was control.

“Well, well, well,” the grinning one drawled, ignoring Seonghwa’s pointed sigh. “What’s a beautiful thing like you doing here?”

You blinked, taken slightly aback by the sheer confidence in his tone. “I’m not an intruder,” you said cautiously. “I-I’m waiting for San.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re not. I would’ve already known if you were,” he smirked as he stepped forward, confidence dripping with every step, until he stopped in front of you. Shivers ran through your spine. He reminded you of Hongjoong’s predatory nature. “And I wouldn’t be smiling.”

He held his hands up for you to shake. “Jung Wooyoung, and my heart is yours to intrude, if you’d like. You’ll find that I’m very easy to rob,” He gave a unapologetic bow, his smirk widening. “You could do it now if you’d like—”

“She’s not available,” Seonghwa cut in, his tone flat, his gaze flicking to you with a subtle nod of acknowledgement. “Wooyoung, please, contain yourself, you embarrassment.”

Woooyoung backed off slightly, the confusion in his face palpable. “She’s not available?” He frowned. “Why not?”

Seonghwa leaned in slightly, whispering something low against Wooyoung’s ear, voice so quiet you couldn’t catch the words. Wooyoung froze, his gaze towards you no longer flirtatious, the warmth in his eyes being replaced by something so cold and calculating that had you taking a small step back.

You’d seen that look before - on Mingi, of all people. But then, just as suddenly, the light snapped back on. Your sense of danger heightened; Wooyoung and Mingi reminded you of Hongjoong the most. You had to avoid them at all costs.

Wooyoung gasped, hand flying to his chest like he was scandalized. “I don’t believe it,” he blurted out. “You’re marrying Hongjoong?”

Wooyoung looked at you again, a wild laugh tumbling out as he shook his head. “Wow. Poor thing. You’re how old? This’ll be so awkward during dinners when people ask me, especially Mingi. How did Mingi react to Hongjoong owning you?”

You frowned, not understanding Mingi’s significance. “Not well, I guess,” you admitted before you gave him a pointed glare. “And I’m no one’s property.”

“Nuances,” he shrugged. “Well, if you get sick of Hongjoong’s moodiness, my room’s on the east wing, just a few doors away from his office—”

“There will be none of that,” Seonghwa said dryly, voice heavy with the kind of weariness that could only come from years of enduring Wooyoung’s antics.

“I didn’t hear a no from her,” Wooyoung sing-songed.

“Wooyoung, shut up,” Seonghwa whisper-shouted in warning.

“Anyway, I could take you to dinner,” he wiggled his brows, grabbing your hand. You were almost appalled at his audacity and shied away, yanking your hand away quickly.

“Wooyoung.”

He turned to Seonghwa in exasperation. “Why are you messing up my groove, Hwa? God, you’re just like my father at this point-–”

“You fucking fool,” Seonghwa cut in coldly, stepping aside as he jabbed a finger toward the other end of the hallway. “Congratulations. Now you’ll find out what the afterlife is like.”

Wooyoung followed his gaze, then yelped so loud it echoed through the hallways, because at the far end of the corridor, shadowed in the doorway with the light behind him stood none other than Hongjoong. His arms were crossed and his expression screamed death.

Your stomach turned, the blood draining from your face as he stared at you. They were dark, narrowed into slits, filled with a contained fury. This was the first time you were seeing him days after your altercation at the living room and his presence reminded you of how remarkably terrifying this man was.

“Wooyoung,” Hongjoong said, voice low, crisp, and venomous. “My office. Now.”

All the color drained from Wooyoung’s face, his smirk crumbled, replaced by a sheepish half-smile and a muttered, “Ah. Right. Of course. Be right there.”

“And you. Be ready, there will be a family dinner tonight,” Hongjoong turned his unyielding attention to someone behind you. “Brief her, manners included.” He eyes you up and down, and you blushed in humiliation once more, trying not to look as small as you felt with his judging gaze. “Lord knows you need brushing up.”

You barely heard Wooyoung’s nervous chuckle as he stumbled past you, still trying to mask his own fear. But it didn’t matter, your attention was solely fixed entirely on the man who still hadn’t moved an inch, still standing in that doorway like a judge awaiting a verdict before you felt yourself being pulled back by Seonghwa.

“I am terribly sorry about that,” he apologized, leading you to the side door where he came from. “He’s not that bad, I promise. Just a bit aloof, and Hongjoong, he’s uh, something, but it’ll get better with time.”

You hummed, not knowing what to say. You couldn’t possibly say that their boss spiked a little fear in you somehow. As you were walking, you were pleasantly surprised to see red tulips blooming. You grinned, quickly running off to look closer.

However, you wouldn’t be the only ones to admire them. Mingi turned the tulip in his fingers with surprising care, before he set his eyes on you and Seonghwa before approaching. His walk, alone, screamed intimidation and hesitated. Mingi trained his sharp eyes on you before he set his attention back on the red tulip bud he was holding.

“Since when did we have these?” He murmured absentmindedly. “Anyway, I’m glad you’re back. Wooyoung? I heard him whining and bitching around here somewhere.”

“Since now, I guess,” Seonghwa curiously grabs the tulips and hums. He turns to you with a soft smile and shows you the tulip up close. “Say, Y/N, may I ask what your favourite flowers are?”

You didn’t answer immediately, not with Mingi staring at you. You tried not to look at him, but you could feel his stare dissecting your every breath and it made your spine stiffen. “These ones,” you answered softly, cradling a nearby petal. “Red tulips.”

A strange silence followed and when you glanced up cautiously, you found the both of them staring at one another curiously. Mingi’s eyes narrowed, and Seonghwa raised an eyebrow, as if they all knew something you didn’t. “Anyway,” Seonghwa cleared his throat. “You should go to the office. Your dad’s probably tearing him a new one. He, uh, may or may not have flirted with her.”

Mingi’s brows shot up in mild surprise. “God, that stupid fuck,” he hissed, shaking his head before he patted Seonghwa’s shoulder once and walking away. “I’ll catch up later, I need to settle the score with him and Father anyway.”

Dad? Father? Those were the only things circling in your head even as Seonghwa had guided you back into your designated room and sat you down on the bed. Your mouth opened and closed repeatedly, because Mingi wasn’t just anyone, he was Hongjoong’s son.

“I take it you had no idea First Master Mingi was Hongjoong’s son?” Seonghwa asked, amusement dancing in his eyes at your bewildered expression. You robotically shook your head in denial. He let out a short, breathy laugh. “Figures. That’s very Hongjoong of him to not tell you,” he shook his head.

You smiled bitterly. “Why would he? I’m nobody to him.”

Seonghwa’s eyes softened. “That’s not it. You have to understand, you are only about seven or so years older than his eldest son. It might not seem like it, but he does have morals.”

San did mention that the so-called masters were family, but you thought that meant they had a brotherly bond. You weren’t expecting literal family. “I just assumed he was one of higher-ups,” you blurted out.

“He technically is, yes,” Seonghwa confirmed. “He’s set to inherit the title once Hongjoong retires. Wooyoung is the next in line given that the Second Master is not interested in the title.”

You blinked repeatedly. Then it hits you - there was yesterday when San mentioned a Third Master. Wooyoung is also Hongjoong’s son. “Mingi is the eldest, Hongjoong had him before he hit twenty because his father wanted him to have a son before he transferred the title to him,” he kindly explained.

“And his mother was, uh,” he tenses a little bit before shaking his head. “She’s not a good person. Only married a Kim to sell the enemy information. There was no love in the marriage anyway, so Hongjoong kicked her out when Mingi was only three. Haven’t seen her since. They’re all about the same age, but Wooyoung’s the youngest. There’s a reason he gets away with everything,” he chuckled.

“How come Wooyoung doesn’t share a last name with Hongjoong?” You asked.

“It’s because Wooyoung is not his biological son,” Seonghwa answered. “Neither is Second Master, but they’re biological brothers, however. They were his former right-hand’s sons, but he died in a hit gone wrong. They both got along with Mingi even before then, so adopting them was a no-brainer. But that doesn’t matter, they are his sons.”

You took that in slowly. Three sons; one cold and carved from stone, another a carefree spark of chaos, and a third somewhere in between you hadn’t even met yet. No wonder Mingi looked at you like that. You were just a few years older than him and he was probably naturally weirded out about it.

“Anyway, I’ll leave you to it, you have to get ready for dinner tonight. Since Wooyoung has been gone for three months, it’s customary to welcome him back,” Seonghwa grabs your hand to shake it gently, smiling at you with that smile that eased your worries for a bit. “Don’t mind Hongjoong. I’m sure you’ll do well. It’s very nice to finally meet you, Y/N.”

You didn’t pay much attention to Seonghwa’s words. It’s very nice to finally meet you. You didn’t bother to dress up too much as you stood in front of the mirror longer than you should have, smoothing invisible wrinkles from your clothes. For a moment, you thought about putting on makeup, but you’d always felt like a child trying to play dress-up.

When you finally stepped out of the room and down the long hallway toward the dining hall, your legs felt hollow. The muted murmur of voices from behind the doors swelled with each step. And you hated how it reminded you of that night - your first time meeting Hongjoong.

Thankfully, he wasn’t ignoring you because he was looking straight at you, arms crossed as he watched your awkward form walk to the centre of the room, as San led to the chair to sit directly to his left. You cursed internally, you were betting on settling in the background and would have chosen to sit on the far end of the table.

Thankfully, everyone was here, though you couldn’t really focus on them. Mingi sat in front of you, Seonghwa and San, respectively, sitting beside him. You were sure you wouldn’t be the only one who couldn’t breathe with Hongjoong’s menacing aura. Still, you were relieved, at least you wouldn’t be alone.

“Howdy, pretty,” Wooyoung saluted flirtatiously beside you, his eyes twinkling with mischief and excitement. You saw the man beside him roll his eyes dramatically, but didn’t say a word. You gave Wooyoung a tight smile out of politeness.

“Scram if you’re going to be insufferable, Wooyoung,” Hongjoong sighed, irritation palpable on his expression before he set his eyes on you. “And you, don’t do that ever again. You’re here to represent me. You know what that entails. I know you’re not as dull as you seem.”

You gritted your teeth, forcing a meek nod as a response. Wooyoung scoffs obnoxiously, ignoring the first statement directed to him. “Relax, nobody’s taking your woman from you,” he teased. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you. You’re practically frothing at the mouth.”

You could tell Hongjoong was close to exploding judging from the vein popping on his temples that protruded so much, it looked like it hurt. Instead, he puts his hands up, gesturing to the stoic man sitting beside Wooyoung. “This is Jongho,” he said, voice flat and uninterested. “He will be your bodyguard from now on. Jongho, show your respect.”

You blinked in surprise. This was the last thing you ever expected, but you welcomed it. You were surprised, however, Jongho didn’t look like he was much older than you. His face was carved with stoicism and impassiveness. “I’ll do my best to keep you safe,” Jongho said plainly, voice deep and steady.

“Right, let's get a few things out of the way,” Hongjoong started, voice still as sharp and astute as if time was running out, the entire time the staff was piling dinner on the table. “When did your parents pass away?”

That question hit you harder than all the insults and coldness he directed towards you. You were expecting something else, even about your uncle’s failing business that you had no idea about, but certainly not this. “When I was sixteen,” you blurted out. “It was sudden, I was told it was a hit and run.”

Hongjoong’s question had sliced through the dinner like a blade, and your answer left a ringing silence in its wake.You swallowed, suddenly hyper aware of how cold the room felt. Across the table, Mingi’s gaze sharpened instantly, replaced by something cold and alert. He flicked his eyes towards Hongjoong, a silent communication passing between them. And even Wooyoung let out a slow exhale, his playful demeanor was nowhere to be found.

Hongjoong nodded, his stern face not giving anything away. “Hit and run?” He repeated slowly, like tasting the words. “That’s what they told you? Who told you that?”

“M-My uncle,” you answered truthfully.

“Hmm,” Hongjoong hummed brusquely. “That good-for-nothing leech during dinner?”

You nodded stiffly. A beat passes, something about the way his jaw muscle ticked and his exhale changed. “When did you start living with him?”

“Right after the funeral,” you replied. “He took me before my other family members had a chance to say their condolences to me.”

“And?” he asked, voice clipped. “How bad was he?”

Just like that, memories upon memories of all the hurt, emotionally and physically, started playing in your brain like an old camera film. Subconsciously, you touched your neck. The bruises were gone, but you could still feel his hands wrapped around them. “Bad enough,” you replied quietly, avoiding eye contact.

San’s eyes softened. There was a slight crease in his brow, one of restrained empathy. He leaned back slightly, as if he needed space to process it, or to give you some. “Fucking bastard,” he muttered under his breath.

Hongjoong didn’t respond, his eyes lowering to your hand on your neck. His eyes didn’t soften, but the edge in them did dull ever so slightly. He looked at you for one more second before he leaned back on his seat to stare out the large window that overlooked the entire manor.

"You need to act the part if you're going to stay here," Hongjoong said, voice sharp, still looking out the window. You were thankful for the change of topic, it was hard to pretend the questions didn’t sting.

You glanced wearily at him from where you were sitting. “What part?”

“You are going to be Mrs. Kim very soon, and you will be associated with me,” he said. “That means whatever you do will reflect on me, including both your victory and your defeat. I do not want the likes of you to embarrass me.”

You clenched your hands in your lap to keep them from shaking. Your identity was being stripped down, reshaped into someone he could not even tolerate standing next to. It was next level humiliation.

“I will not tolerate disrespect from any outsiders about what’s mine, hence me giving you a bodyguard,” he continued, casually sipping on his wine. “I refuse my family to be a laughingstock of some sorts. You will be under my name, so you will be under my protection.”

Under his name, not sharing his name. He was basically telling you that you will become his burden and liability. “It is imperative that no one knows about us for now. You will not wear a ring, and you will not speak about our arrangement. ”

You swallowed, throat tight. “So what am I supposed to be, then? Your accessory?”

He leaned closer, and your breath caught in your chest. “Play the game. Or pack your things.”

“Now, hold on a minute,” a voice cut off, one you weren’t expecting. Everybody looks at Wooyoung curiously, the cutlery in the background halting. “Don’t you think this is a bit much, Dad? You’re asking her to erase herself in front of everyone. Hide everything. No ring, no identity, no dignity? You want her to protect your name, but you won’t even give her the same courtesy?”

Your heart thumped. Was someone finally on your side? And of all the people, his own son? The one who you thought was a flirt. Hongjoong shifted his gaze. “Since when did you start calling me Dad?” He asked, tone cold now, sharpened to a lethal edge. “Do not undermine me at my own table, Jung Wooyoung.”

You weren’t that much of an idiot - this engagement was a farce because he was hiding you like a shadow. It was erasure disguised as a strategy. It stung, not that you were expecting him to hold you and show you off, but still.

Your fingers brushed against the gold fork, just drowning out the fight, and you were about to dig in when your plate was suddenly pushed away. Horrified, you stared at Hongjoong who had a passive expression on his face. “Don’t eat anything,” he stated, cold eyes drilling onto your wide ones, his fingers still on the edge of the plate he so callously pushed off. “Not until I say so.”

You froze, absolutely mortified at what he had done. You could accept all the insults and the cold shoulder he’d been presenting you in his house, but this? You swallowed the lump in your throat and kept your head down, your hands curling into your lap like they didn’t belong at the table. Your stomach had long since stopped growling - embarrassment had a way of killing hunger.

“She didn’t do anything. Why would you do that?” Seonghwa spoke, his tone laced with disbelief, his brows furrowed as he looked from the plate to you, then back to Hongjoong. Even Jongho, who had been trying to eat quietly, had stopped.

“No one eats until she does,” Wooyoung muttered suddenly, pushing his own plate away with a sharp scrape. He didn’t even look at Hongjoong. His focus was entirely on you, his eyes softening slightly. “I love you and all, Hongjoong, but we’re not playing these games. If you’re jealous, just say so.”

“Then none of you are eating,” Hongjoong snarled. The sudden sound of a chair scraping violently against the floor shattered the moment. Everyone flinched, heads turning just in time to see Hongjoong push himself up from his seat with a grace so sharp it cut through the hum of the room. “Get up,” he said, his jaw locked, his fists white-knuckled.

Your head whipped toward him in disbelief. “W-What?”

His eyes, narrowed and glinting with something unreadable, didn’t budge. “I said, get up.” His tone was low and lethal; it didn’t leave room for any arguments.

He didn’t wait for your response, not until he just grabbed you by the arm all of a sudden, dragging you away from the crowd and straight to the living room staircase. “What are you—?”

“You,” he spat, voice low and accusing. “What spell did you cast on them? How did you get everyone to turn against me?”

You blinked, stunned by the sudden accusation, but you couldn’t say anything as Hongjoong’s eyes darkened further, shadows flickering in their depths as his voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “Jongho. Take her to her room. No more scenes.”

Hongjoong’s gaze lingered on you for a heartbeat longer, a mix of frustration and something unreadable in his expression before walking away. It was like Hongjoong ripped your heart out directly from your chest and took it with him, leaving your insides hollow in its wake.

“I apologize on his behalf. Hongjoong’s not good at expressing how he truly feels. You’re not missing much on the food, if it matters,” he assuaged in an attempt to make you feel better as he led you upstairs. “The steak was tough, the dressing was bland, and the avocados were mushy as hell. Our chef was sick, so we had to hire another one. Their last day, it seems.”

You swivelled your head slowly to look at Jongho. “W-What did you say was in the dressing?”

“Huh? Avocados? Yeah, it’s like someone stepped on them and plopped them on the plate. Bleh.”

Your heart rate began to pick up abnormally. You were deadly allergic to avocados. “Really?” Your voice cracked slightly, the information settling in your head like a broken record.

“Really,” he confirmed with a soft smile that emphasized how young he actually was.

Avocado allergies were rare. Even when you were younger, it was easy to avoid them, and even your uncle didn’t know you had an allergy. Not that he gave you avocados, he was cheap on you like that.

But besides that, you definitely screwed up last night. From what you’ve observed, not only was Hongjoong’s fuse short already, but his anger was difficult to dissipate as well. You needed to figure out a way to appease him, you didn’t want him calling off the engagement.

“You want to make Hongjoong’s dinner every night, you said?” San’s brows were both raised up to his hairline. “Are you sure, Y/N? Hongjoong’s quite the picky eater.”

You ignored the voice in your head that bristled at the thought of a man in his mid-forties still picky with his food. “It might not seem like it, but I’m a capable cook, I swear,” you joked. “I’ve had a lot of practice living with my uncle.”

San’s eyes softened significantly, but in the end, he relented. “I’ll instruct the staff to vacate the kitchen come nighttime,” he sighed.

True to his words, the kitchen was all yours by 6 o’clock at night. You didn’t even have time to marvel around the luxurious setup, you had no time to waste. Not when you had to prove yourself useful. When push comes to shove, maybe you could be his chef instead of his wife rather than your uncle’s niece again.

You didn’t make anything fancy, just a simple soup to gauge what Hongjoong might like or might not. You even tried your best to make the vegetables in it barely visible, that’s how much effort you put in it.

You were about to bring the soup up to his office when by sheer coincidence, Hongjoong, himself, showed up to the kitchen, and judging by his slightly raised brow at you holding the bowl with an apron still on you, he wasn’t expecting to see anyone in the kitchen, let alone you of all people.

“H-Hi,” you stammered, avoiding out contact, awkwardly. “I, uh, I made you something.”

He doesn’t say anything at first, just blinking repeatedly, before sighing. “Don’t stay up late next time,” was all he said before he moved past you to walk out of the kitchen as if he didn’t want to be there in the first place.

Hongjoong disappeared into his study, the sound of the door clicking shut behind him like punctuation to the silence he left behind. You let out a shaky breath, the sting of his blatant rejection making your legs shake as you sat on the dining chair. Maybe tomorrow.

But he still didn’t eat. You did it again the next day anyway, even when the results were the same. You weren’t a master chef by any means, but one thing you were proud of was that you put genuine care on all of the things your hands create.

You patiently waited for Hongjoong, ready to try and spend time with him at dinner even though the both of you never got along since he disliked you. The thought of being face to face made your heartbeat go wilder than the prospect of him accepting your efforts.

By the fifth night after another failed attempt, you asked around to figure out what Hongjoong’s favourite foods were. You tried to ignore the pitying looks San sent you while Seonghwa quietly cleaned another plate of ignored efforts, taking everything with a smile on your face even though on the inside, you felt like crying.

You clutched another plate a little tighter again the next day, heat bleeding through porcelain and into your palms. You wondered if he even knew or if he smelled the spices in the air, wondered if he saw your sleeping form on the couch when you were too tired to wait for him.

Maybe you didn’t need him to eat it, maybe you just needed him to pause - to look at you like you were more than the terms of a deal neither of you asked for. But instead, all he gave you was a sigh and his absence. And there you were - offering warmth with shaking hands to a man who’d rather freeze.

Hope began to dwindle when you didn’t even see Hongjoong’s shadow anymore by the seventh night. You started plating smaller portions out of humiliation and by the ninth, you didn’t bother waiting for Hongjoong anymore, just quietly making the food and leaving it in the kitchen, not even bothering to check if it was eaten or if Seonghwa had thrown it away.

You decided to stop after another week. You were tired of waking up in the room to Seonghwa’s shaking head when you looked at him expectantly. However, you wanted to make dinner for the last time not just for Hongjoong anymore, but for everyone who’s been nothing but accommodating to you.

You just needed a couple of ingredients to make what you needed, and for that, you wanted to pick them out yourself. That was how you found yourself directly in front of Hongjoong’s office where you knew he always was, steeling your nerves to knock and ask if there was a car that you could use to drive yourself to the market.

You were about to knock when you stopped yourself. There was a heated conversation going inside the office and by the sound of it, it was Hongjoong and Seonghwa. You could hardly hear what they were talking about.

“....can’t keep doing this….giving her the cold shoulder, Joong…she’ll find out….what are you going to do then?”

“Give me time…..so close to caging in Yoo Jaehwan, that bastard…no one can know….make sure he’ll pay….Yeosang.”

Your entire body locked, coldness spreading all over your chest at the mention of your uncle’s name. Those were Hongjoong and Seonghwa’s voices, you were positive, but what were they talking about?

“....won’t be safe forever, you know that. San….intel on the hit and run….was damn impossible to….think Jaehwan knows?”

“There’s no denying it…..will be safer here....never forgive myself if something happens….my everything—who’s there?”

You cursed internally when you accidentally misplaced your foot, causing your body to bump onto the door. You were about to turn and run away, to pretend that you were never here in the first place, but it was too late. The door swung open, revealing Hongjoong’s stern figure, eyes sharp and searching. His gaze landed on you in mild surprise, his chest rising slightly from how fast he'd moved.

“Y/N?“ You saw his hand squeeze the doorknob ever so slightly. Still, you can’t help the shiver that passed through you. That was the first time he’d ever said your name. “How long have you been standing there?”

His voice was low, but it wasn’t calm. “What did I tell you about sneaking around like a damn rat?”

“I-I just got here, I swear,” you swallowed, hard. He stared at you, deadpan. In no timeline or galaxy did he believe you. “I want to go out. I-I know there’s a market near here and—”

“Absolutely not,” he rejected, his voice rising up in pitch ever so slightly in disbelief. “You’re not going out.”

The denial was harsh and brutal - hell, he didn’t even let you finish your sentence - but this was also the first time you saw any other emotion on him other than anger, annoyance, and intimidation. “I really want to go—” you tried again.

“And I said no,” he repeated, his voice a little harsher this time.

You were taken aback. It wasn’t just the denial that struck you, it was the sheer urgency in his tone. It was the look in his eyes that if you stared hard enough, you could’ve found uneasiness and dread swimming in them.

“But I haven’t been out ever since I came here,” you blurted out in equal disbelief. He was the most arrogant and controlling one you’ve ever met and that was saying a lot. “I want to buy some produce—”

“Order it online, I don’t give a damn,” he snapped. He was about to close the door on you, but you put your foot to block it. “What the hell are you—”

“Please, Hongjoong,” you begged. It was a massive hit on your own ego and pride, but you were going to lose your mind if you don’t find fresh air soon. “I-I won’t even stay long, I’ll keep my phone on me.”

He stilled, his gaze faltered. You saw his throat tighten as he looked towards the floor. “Hongjoong,” he repeated under his breath, so soft you almost missed it.

Your breath hitched. He said it so softly that you almost missed it. Except you didn’t. You weren’t even sure if you were meant to hear it. Seonghwa, who forgot was also in the room, cleared his throat, thus breaking that unspoken tension you found with Hongjoong. “I could take her—” he started gently, but Hongjoong cut him off with a look, his neck snapping up so fast that it scared you a little.

Hongjoong’s eyes hardened again, and this time, they were the darkest you had ever seen. “I don’t keep you to tolerate her, Seonghwa,” he barked before turning to you one last time. “You’re not going out. That’s final.”

His gaze lingered a moment longer on you, eyes glinting with something between rage and warning, before he completely shut the door on you. He didn’t slam it, but it still knocked the wind out of your lungs as the finality of his denial settles in on you.

Something shifted in you at the moment. At first, you had mistaken it for fatigue. The stress of constantly trying to walk on eggshells with Hongjoong just so you wouldn’t say the wrong things in case he decided to call off the marriage, the late nights staying up making him dinner he didn’t even want, they were starting to get to you.

It didn’t happen all at once, but now the weight in your chest didn’t feel like fear anymore, it felt like fury - no, you knew it was. The final push was so mundane it almost felt insulting. You could feel your anger simmering and it was only a matter of time until it boiled over.

You were tempted to bang on the door like a madwoman, but you chose to walk away to the one place you knew would give you comfort - the garden. But even the flowers weren’t enough to make you feel better. If anything, they emphasized how infinitely colourless your world was.

You clenched your jaw, jaw tight as you sat down on one of the benches, arms crossed, trying to remind yourself that you were still here. You were still standing and still breathing. You weren’t going to fall apart over someone like him.

“Your energy is so strong that I wouldn’t be surprised if the flowers started to wilt.”

You rolled your eyes, not really in the mood to talk to anybody, but when Jongho sat beside you, you couldn’t help but relax a bit. You’ve always loved company regardless of how you felt. You’ve been alone all your life, so it was always nice to have someone. “How did you know I was here anyway?” You murmured with a small pout.

Jongho chuckled, absentmindedly fiddling with a lone petal. “I’m not your bodyguard for nothing. I’m always watching.”

“That’s totally not creepy at all,” you chuckled a little, shaking your head.

He laughed, shifting his weight before letting out a slow breath. “He’s not mad at you, you know.”

You snorted, giving him an incredulous look, but Jongho just smiled. “I’m serious. Don’t take it personally,” he said softly. “He’s just scared. That’s all.”

You didn’t care what Hongjoong’s intentions were, but in reality, you were starving for anything that made you feel less like a ghost haunting someone else's palace. Yet your mind wandered, uninvited and unwelcome, back to that moment at the door when you’d said his name. But it wasn’t your own desperation that haunted you - it was his reaction. How his gaze had faltered and how he’d gone utterly still.

If there was something to behold about your personality, it was that you were nothing but persistent, after all. It was the reason why you’ve come so far in your miserable life. So you tried again after a couple of days to ask Hongjoong again if you could go out.

Whatever conversation you overheard him and Seonghwa must have set him off that day so you figured you’d let his anger simmer and try to catch him in a good mood. Yesterday, you even saw him in the living room, casually reading the newspaper - you almost smiled at that because it inadvertently showed his age - while chatting casually with Mingi.

Now that you knew the real nature of their relationship, you could clearly see how much Mingi resembled Hongjoong, who honestly didn’t look a day over forty if it wasn’t for reading glasses resting low on his nose. God, you thought, that detail alone betrayed his age more than anything.

So you gathered your courage and waited when you knew he was going to be alone in his office in the afternoon. You took a deep breath, rapped your knuckles on the door before opening it slightly enough to poke your head in.

But he wasn’t here. That surprised you more than anything, mainly because it wasn’t much of a secret how much of a workaholic Hongjoong was. Even if you didn’t hear Wooyoung complain about it a lot, it wasn’t like you couldn’t see it.

Against your better judgment, you entered the room, opting to just wait in his room for his return, but not closing the door to signal that someone was here. Last thing you wanted was for Hongjoong to think you were intruding. You were hanging on your last thread with him as is. His office screamed of him all over.

Admittedly, you balked at the slight mess on his table as you walked towards the leather couches to sit down, but before you could do so, something inadvertently catches your eye amongst the mess that was his desk.

Half-tucked under a stack of manila folders and faded blueprints, barely sticking out like it had slipped by accident, was a photo. You reached for it on instinct - then froze. It was you.

Specifically, it was your graduation photo. You were smiling, though you could tell that it didn’t reach your eyes.. The photo was frayed along the edges and the corners were soft from wear. There was a faint crease running down the middle, as if it had been folded and unfolded a hundred times over. Your heart thudded, your hands shaking immensely. You shouldn’t have looked.

“You have thirty seconds to explain what you’re doing in my office before I lose all civility.”

The way your entire body trembled with uncouth shock was something to be seen. Hongjoong stood there, his sharp eyes trained on the photo you were holding in your hand, his jaw tightening. “Time is ticking, Y/N. You’re twenty-seconds away from having a very, very bad day.”

You put the photo haphazardly back on his desk. “I wanted to ask again if I could, perhaps, go out—”

You were stunned into absolute silence when he banged his fist on the door once but with enough force to shake the whole world around the both of you. “Are you deaf?” His tone sliced the air in half like a blade. “Or just unbelievably stupid? Didn’t I tell you that you cannot go out? How many times do I have to tell you?”

You stood frozen, the heat of his fury scorching your skin, but he wasn’t done. “You’re either acting like an imbecile, or you really are one. And I’m supposed to marry you? I’m already doing your uncle a favour by not shooting him between the eyes, but my God, this is pushing it. ”

His words gutted you. You were used to your uncle calling you all the insults in the book, but this was something else, Hongjoong was basically judging your entire personality from the skin side out, and that hurt more than anything else because he doesn’t even know you.

But you were only human, and even animals bite back when wounded. “You’re no different than my uncle,” you slipped out, unshed tears lining the corners of your eyes. “You’re hiding something from me. Why are you locking me in?”

He scoffed, eyes glinting with something that felt like contempt. “Please. Don’t insult me like that. He sent you to me like a lamb to a slaughterhouse. You just haven’t thanked me for the knife yet.”

You didn’t even know what expression your face was making, only that your cheeks felt hot and your throat burned like you’d swallowed fire. “I hate you,” your lips wobbled, looking at him with indignance in your eyes. “I hate you.”

He laughed bitterly, without humor, without restraint. “Yeah?” His voice was sharp, venomous. “Well, you’re about to hate me more.”

Then he turned, grabbed an envelope from the desk, and threw it at you. Money spilled out like a slap, some bills fluttering to the floor at your feet. “There, this is what you wanted, is it not? Now you can pretend you’re not living inside a cage.”

To say you were appalled would be an understatement. Your heart curled into itself, shriveling behind your ribs. Before you could fully break down, you ran out without another word, not bothering to look at him or the money littered across the room as you ran until your legs gave out in a random corridor of the mansion.

You didn’t bother minimizing your loudness, your hands trembling against the marble as you choked back a sob, quiet and broken. You haven’t cried in a long time, mainly because you refused to for someone like him, but this wasn’t just for Hongjoong. They were for everything; for the girl you used to be, the child who lost her parents, for the woman you were failing to become, and for the bride you never wanted to be.

The rubber band holding yourself together snaps, so you ran down the corridors, through the driveway, past the gigantic gates, anywhere but there. You didn’t know where you were going, but you needed to breathe somewhere he wasn’t.

It wasn’t until your shoes hit an unfamiliar pavement that you realized that you were far away from the estate. In fact, you were in a small park with a playground. The sight was haunting, the play place devoid of the telltale laughter of children. It was perfect.

The adrenaline that kept you going had long worn off, but you didn’t care as you walked warily towards the swings and sat on it. Your fists clenched around the swing’s cold chains as more tears fell freely now. You didn't bother wiping them away. Why were you here anyway? To get away from a man who doesn’t want you even when you knew the invisible chains that tied you two together would shorten again?

Pathetic.

You had fantasized about the idea of finding freedom in a marriage that saved your life. You had hoped that maybe Hongjoong would grow on you, and him on you, but those fantasies had shriveled and rotted the moment Kim Hongjoong opened his mouth. And so, you let yourself swing, forward and back, forward and back, as if maybe, just maybe, you could go far enough to leave the hurt behind.

You were there for a while, you didn’t move when the sun started to set. You didn’t move when thunder clapped on the sky above. You didn’t move when the first set of raindrops fell onto your skin, sticking to your clothes like a fever that you can’t sweat out. You didn’t care.

You would’ve stayed there forever, let the ocean take you, but someone else had plans for you that day. At first, you couldn’t hear it above the rain and the thunder, but the unmistakable sound of footsteps hitting puddles was impossible to ignore.

You closed your eyes, willing your mind to focus, but when you opened them again, you froze. Hongjoong stood from afar, drenched to the bone, his head whipping around like a madman. His chest rose and fell with labored breaths, but when his eyes met yours, his shoulders hunched like the entire world had just been lifted off his back and thrown back on again. You closed your eyes again, praying that he’d go away if you pretended to not see him, but just like you, Hongjoong was nothing but persistent, after all.

“Open your eyes and look at me,” he demanded, his voice losing its sharp edge, making way for an emotion you weren’t sure you were ready to hear from him.

By God, he looked devastating. His breath ragged, chest rising up and down, jaw clenched so tightly you thought it might snap. His usual posh and classy look was missing as water dripped from his hair into his dark, unreadable eyes. And he looked absolutely furious.

“Go away,” you said, voice thin and cold, wrenching yourself from his grip. “Leave me alone.”

You stood up, but your legs wobbled, and he caught your arm before you could fall. His grip was tight, almost bruising. Your heart almost thudded out of your ribs when he pulled you close, both of his hands holding your shoulders now.

“Stop it,” he barked, but his voice was hoarse. He shook his head, closing his eyes before opening them again with a shaky sigh. “Why are you such a fucking pain in my ass? I’m too old for this shit.”

He sighed sharply, his hand hastily pushing his wet hair away from his face in frustration. His other hand lingered at your arm, warm despite the storm, as he stepped in closer, lowering his voice. “I will bring the market to you next time, alright?”

The wind howled around you, but you didn’t even notice. His fingers twitched like they were about to reach for you, but you turned your face away just about when he stopped inches away from your skin before he fisted his hand, his gritting teeth audible in the rain.

“I’ll take you back,” he said, voice sharp again. “Before you get yourself sick and make my life even more difficult than it already is.”

His hand clasped yours tightly as he pulled you along with him through the rain. His hand didn’t leave yours until you reached the car, and maybe he felt bad for you, but when he grabbed your hand again when he started driving, it wasn’t out of pity.

If anything, he held tighter. His hand found yours on your lap, his thumb softly caressing the still damp skin of your upturned hand, not letting go even when he had to swerve and turn. He said nothing. He stared ahead through the rain-blurred windshield, jaw clenched tight, knuckles white on the steering wheel, but he never let go.

And you didn’t pull away either. Because even though your chest hurt from his words, the warmth of his palm over yours was the first thing all day that didn’t feel cruel. It seemed to lull you into a short slumber even.

The soft brake of the car was what brought you back to sentience. You watched Hongjoong press some sort of button on his car before radio static comes to life from it. “Third wing master bedroom. I’m going for a ride,” he said gruffly before he let go and pressed the bridge of his nose.

The chill of the storm probably disoriented you and you didn’t understand, but when your door opened to be face to face with the gentle Seonghwa, you were a bit surprised to find that you were parked directly in front of the mansion front door.

“Come on,” he said quietly, holding onto your shoulders and not caring if you were wet, like he knew what you had already gone through. “Let’s get you warm.”

He guided and helped you get out but you yanked to a stop when you realized that something was stopping you - Hongjoong’s hand still entwined with yours. You turned your head toward him. Hongjoong hadn’t moved, his eyes locked with yours, burning but hollowed out. And for a heartbeat, everything was still. The world, the storm, the ache in your chest.

But he let go, shutting the door softly before driving off to the night to God-knows-where. You wouldn’t know, Seonghwa was already guiding you inside the mansion by your shoulders. His hands were gentle, his movements even more patient.

His eyes dropped into sympathetic comfort, his hand slightly squeezing your shoulders. He gently walked the both of you into the living room where the fireplace was already hot and going.

San was already there waiting for you, eyes wide with panic along with Jongho who handed him a thick blanket. “Wrap up, yeah? Don’t want you getting sick now,” he said, quickly bundling you to warm you up. “You ran out during that storm? What the hell were you thinking?”

“Give her space, San,” Seonghwa said, but the relief in his voice was palpable. He handed you a mug of something warm, ginger tea, you guessed, and crouched down beside you, eyes soft. “We were all looking. You scared us.”

Suddenly, Jongho dropped to his knees, bowing his head low, much to your surprise. “I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “I should have kept an eye, I didn’t guard you enough.”

“W-What? No,” you frowned, hesitantly patting his head. “It’s not your fault. You’re not my keeper–“

Before you could even answer, Wooyoung appeared behind him, surprisingly less loud but just as concerned. “Yeah, you tell him that,” he scoffed softly, arms crossed to his chest, shaking his head slightly. “Hongjoong almost killed him in sheer anger. Seriously, why did you do that?”

It was the most serious you’ve ever seen the man, but of course, he was still as dramatic as ever. His eyes darted from you to the others before dramatically flopping onto the arm of the couch. “I’ve never seen him like that before,” he chortled. “Like, ever. Hell, he doesn’t even react that bad when me and my brothers get shot or something.”

“It can’t be that bad,” you murmured, fiddling with the blanket. “I wasn’t even gone for long. I was going to come back.”

That was when all three of them looked at you like you’d grown a second head. “Not long?” Jongho echoed, his brows shooting up in disbelief. “You’ve been gone for hours, Y/N.”

“Hongjoong practically tore the city apart,” San shook his head. “You were gone for over five hours. Five. That’s not just a walk in the park, that’s a goddamn vanishing act. I swear he was about to murder us if he couldn’t find you.”

You blinked, confused. “He was…looking for me?”

“Obviously,” Wooyoung rolled his eyes, clicking his tongue. “I’ve never seen him lose control like that before. But seriously, please don’t do that again. I’m not ready for Mingi to inherit the business in case Dad gets an aneurysm.”

You looked down at your lap, shame filling your lungs along with the thudding of your heartbeat. “I didn’t mean to scare anyone.”

“But you did,” Wooyoung muttered, but his tone wasn’t offensive. “But I get it. I do apologise on his behalf, though. He shouldn’t have thrown money at you. That was unnecessarily cruel, even for him.”

Seonghwa gave your shoulder a squeeze. “You’re safe now and that’s all that matters. Hongjoong should be back shortly,” he helps you up once more. “Come along. You should wash up so you don’t get sick.”

You thanked everyone before you let Seonghwa guide you into a part of the mansion you’ve never been at, let alone the room he took you in before he bid you a goodnight with a promise to check on you the next day.

You sighed deeply, trudging your feet to the shower. Your heart swells the moment you opened that door, it smelled of Hongjoong. It was hard not to remember the way his fingers had clung to yours, how they didn’t tremble until after he’d let go, the entire time you washed up and got ready for bed.

When morning came, your eyes fluttered open when the first ray of sunshine hit your face, but you didn’t want to get up - the sheets smelled faintly of sandalwood and something distinctly him, and that the pillow cradled your head felt like a welcome comfort.

For a second, you had, perhaps, thought that everything was a dream, but when you rubbed your eyes and made a move to get up, you were completely startled awake to see the last person you ever thought you’d see the moment you’d opened your eyes.

Hongjoong was fully dressed in a crisp black turtleneck and slacks, hair slightly tousled, as he typed something furiously into his laptop. He didn’t look up when you stirred, but you noticed the subtle clench of his jaw.

“I trust you slept well?” Hongjoong asked, lowering his glasses to stare straight at you.

You willed for your heartbeat to stop thumping so much for fear of him hearing it. You stared straight back at him, noticing the faint shadow under his eyes. “I suppose so,” you said. “You didn’t, though.”

“I’ll say,” he shut his laptop off, reaching for a folder beside it, before leaning on the couch, crossing his arms, his sharp eyes trained on you. “You did sleep on my bed, after all.”

You blinked, the words not sinking in your morning-addled brain yet, but when it did, your mouth dropped open in surprise. “I-I’m so sorry,” you blurted out, heat pooling in your lower belly at the information. No wonder the entire room smelled like him. “I didn’t sleep here on purpose—”

“I know,” he sighed. “I asked Seonghwa to bring you here. Lest you already forgot.”

He took his glasses off, rubbed the bridge of his nose like the weight of the world had been sitting there. “Next time, don’t run off in a storm just to prove a point.”

“That wasn’t what I was doing,” you frowned.

He looked at you then, brief and unreadable. “Then what were you doing?”

“Trying to breathe,” you croaked, your voice dropping down to a whisper that you wouldn’t be surprised if he hadn’t heard it. “Plus, you looked all night for me.”

He didn’t say anything at first. But the shift in his expression, the subtlety of it, was louder than words. “Freshen up and eat breakfast,” he muttered, tapping the folder in his hand twice. “I have a couple of questions for you.”

You weren’t in the mood to argue with him, certainly not after his obvious attempt in shutting down the conversation completely. Unsurprisingly, your body still ached from last night. You opted for a quick brush of your teeth, tying your hair presentably.

The scent of you had me dizzy. I have to get out of here.

You didn’t bother changing out of the pyjamas Seonghwa had provided for you since you didn’t have clothes here. It would give you an out, and you weren’t ready to face Hongjoong out of shame. That’s exactly what you did. You were about to slip out, when he cleared his throat.

“Where are you going?” Hongjoong stared at you, brows raised.

You gulped, feeling like you were caught doing something you shouldn’t. “Uhm. I’d hate to bother you further. Didn’t you tell me to have breakfast?”

“I did,” he confirmed, gesturing towards a particular direction of the room. “With me.”

Your brain almost shut off with the information. With him? He rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he stood up and opened the balcony door. Your heart practically leapt out of your chest, you were positive that the breakfast set up there wasn’t present when you woke up. Had he instructed someone to set it up while you were in the bathroom?

This was the first time you were ever going to eat with Hongjoong. Not beside him, not five feet across the room like some barely tolerated shadow. With him. And worse, he was making you so nervous that you felt like you’d forgotten how to walk properly as you followed him out, sitting across him awkwardly, not knowing how to place your stiff limbs properly.

You didn’t even register how your hands trembled until you reached for your fork and nearly knocked it off the table. You were just about to dig in, not knowing what else to do, when he stopped you. “Wait,” Hongjoong halted you brusquely.

“W-What?” You froze, hand still mid-air, wondering if you did something wrong.

Instead of replying, Hongjoong reached over your plate and began digging into your food with his chopsticks. You narrowed your eyes in slight annoyance, ready to mouth at him for possibly controlling what you ate and picking at your food without asking, but your heart dropped to your feet by the time he was lifting his chopsticks back up again.

He picked out a couple of raisins from your plate, setting them on his plate one by one as if this wasn’t the first time he’s done this. You stared, blinking rapidly to stop the sting behind your eyes. “I hate raisins,” you suspiciously pointed out.

He pauses, glances at you once through his lashes, before eating like you didn’t say anything. And suddenly, your chest ached with the weight of all the things he wouldn’t tell you. Before you could open that can of worms, he was already flipping open a folder he had brought to the table, effectively cutting off the topic with the sharp precision he was known for.

“I need you to look at a couple of faces for me,” he said, back in business as usual with his clipped utterrance. He slides the files towards you in one, smooth motion. “It’s imperative that you tell me immediately if you see a familiar looking face.”

You were confused, but you took the folder with ease, flipping through pages and pages of different photos of both men and women alike. Hongjoong staring dead into your soul was distracting, but you were sure you'd never seen these people before. You were going to tell him as such, until you stumbled upon the very last photo.

“Him,” you drawled out, surprised at both the face and yourself for pointing it out. “I’ve seen him before…”

The moment you showed him the photo, the tension in his shoulders snapped into visible rigidity. “Where?” he demanded, his voice sharp and urgent. “Where did you see him?”

Truth be told, you would have forgotten about the man if it wasn’t for this. “I passed through him before I reached the park,” you frowned. “I remember him because he had this weird lip piercing.”

Hongjoong cursed under his breath, making the dread in your chest spread like a disease, before he hastily snatched the folder from your hands, his hands fisting the edge of the folder. “Finish your food, darling,” he said hurriedly, the darkness in his face making you nervous. “We’re going for a little trip downstairs after.”

“I-I don’t understand,” you frowned, doing as he says and stuffing your face with some bread. “You’ve been acting so damn weird lately, I’ve never seen this man in my entire life before yesterday.”

His head turned slightly, those unreadable eyes locking onto you again. “Rather,” he said slowly, voice dipping towards something ominous. “You’ve never paid enough attention.”

You stopped mid-chew to stare at him. This was the longest conversation you’ve had with Hongjoong and the foreboding feeling of potential sinisterness was the first thing he made you think about?

He held your gaze, his fingers curling gently around your chin. His voice dipped to a whisper, low and graveled, brushing across your skin like smoke. "Look closely," he murmured. “I want you to think about why you’re truly here.”

Your brows furrowed. “Because my uncle sold me to you—”

“Think, Y/N. Think,” his tone laced with a cutting sort of irritation. “I know that desiccated, dried-up brain of yours still works.”

You rolled your eyes, the backhanded insult slicing through the tension with a bitter familiarity, but it didn’t lessen the heat brewing behind your ribs. “I owe your uncle absolutely nothing,” he said, letting go of your chin with a scoff. “I could’ve killed him before you even set foot in this house.”

“Have you killed people?” You blurted out before you could stop yourself. He raised a brow like it was a question unworthy of a response. "A-Are you going to kill me?"

“Do you want me to?” Hongjoong countered, tilting his head.

Your blood began to thrum in your ears, anger bubbling up in your chest like acid. “I’m not that stupid, you know,” you whispered, your voice cracking with frustration. “I’m aware there are things I’ve no idea about, but I know what a lie tastes like when it’s shoved in my mouth.”

You looked back at the spread of photos he’d shown you. But something inside you stirred as your gaze landed on the photo again. It was faint, like a memory just out of reach and a sense of recognition that felt older than logic.

“Have you ever wondered,” Hongjoong said slowly. “Why I’ve been so adamant in keeping you here?”

You opened your mouth, but he held up a hand. “No,” he said. “Forget that. Ask yourself this, have you ever wondered why your uncle took you in back then?”

Your heart stopped, but he wasn’t finished. “Surely, he wasn’t the only family you had. Worst of all, of all the people he could have sold you to, it had to be me. I know you’ve done your research on who I am.”

Indeed, you did, and the Kim family was not to be messed around with. Your throat felt like it was closing. You wanted to speak, but your brain was too busy racing through every memory you had, trying to connect dots that refused to sit still. Was your uncle much, much worse than you gave him credit for?

Hongjoong leaned close just enough to make you squirm under the intensity of his focus. The movement was subtle, but it was calculated - a hunter testing the waters, seeing how far he could push without you breaking. “Predators don’t fear prey,” he said. “They fear another predator.”

A scream threatened to bubble from your chest just lying around the surface. His statement echoed in your head far, far worse than a broken record. It was the only thing you could think about the entire time you followed Hongjoong downstairs towards his office. You couldn’t even lament what happened here the last time, the money he threw at you already cleaned up as if they were never thrown at you like dirty rags in the first place.

You didn’t even notice that Mingi and Seonghwa were already in the office, seemingly waiting for the both of you to arrive and such, until Hongjoong started to talk to them again. “This,” he slammed the folder rather harshly on the table directly in front of Seonghwa, who just took it in stride and opened the file. “That snivelling bastard on the last page. I want him gone.”

“And you,” he turned back to you, eyes ablaze with newfound anger you didn’t even know was already there. You raised a defiant brow, why was he looking at you like this was your fault. “You’re not going out anymore, you hear me? Never let me repeat myself.”

You narrowed your eyes, the simmering tension in your bones finally boiling and tipping over into something far more dangerous than you’ve ever felt. Your jaw ached from how hard you were biting down on your tongue, and the polite mask you’d worn like second skin started to peel.

Your feet started to march towards the bane of your existence like a bull who found the red spot. You didn’t even care that Seonghwa’s mouth dropped slightly and he was subtly shaking his head, you still poked Hongjoong’s chest pointedly and boy, you were sure that hurt a little.

“You could at least tell me why,” you snapped, your voice low and trembling with rage. He narrowed his eyes in warning, but you were done caring. “Or is it because you can’t keep your dogs in line? Tightening my leash is the only way you won’t lose control over your goods? Maybe it’s not the outside world you’re afraid of, it’s that someone might realize your entire empire is built on fear.”

Silence. A sharp, immediate silence that sliced through the room like a guillotine. Mingi visibly stiffened, Seonghwa’s face paled, but Hongjoong? He started to laugh. At first it was soft, then it turned into a full-blown laughter so sarcastic, you wanted to cover your ears from the grating sound. “The wolves are at my door, waiting for my empire to fall. I won’t let you destroy it just because you refuse to fall in line, brat,” he sneered.

You laughed, not out of humour. It was cold, sharp, and laced with every ounce of your pent-up exhaustion and rage. “Frankly?” You said, meeting his glare with one of your own. “I don’t give a flying fuck. You want to talk about wolves? Look in the damn mirror, Hongjoong.”

You poked him twice more in his admittedly toned chest, and you did it hard, too, just so he could even an ounce of how heavy he’d made you feel. “I’m not some damsel you could fool around with just because I was thrust here. I won’t roll over just so you can stroke your ego.”

A slow, unreadable flicker crossed his face. His gaze sharpened, but his body relaxed, curious now, as he tilted his head, slowly. His expression didn’t change much, but you saw it, that glint of something deeper. Respect? Amusement? Recognition? “She bites,” Hongjoong murmured, his voice dropping to a note lower, smooth and quiet like a blade sliding from its sheath. He crossed his arms, a ghost of a smirk fleeting on his sinful lips. “Finally.”

He was still watching you, but it wasn’t the same stare anymore. It wasn’t the same power dynamic. You had shifted something, and he had noticed. “You’ve mistaken my compliance with submissiveness,” you replied, your voice steady, your pulse roaring in your ears. “I’m terribly sorry to tell you that you’re wrong.”

Hongjoong’s lips parted slightly, as if that, too, had surprised him. Or pleased him, you couldn’t tell, but when his smirked widened, you almost faltered. You gritted your teeth, cursing whichever God had molded him for making this demon so devilishly handsome, it was maddening.

“That doesn’t negate the point, little darling,” he continued, still sharp as glass. “I built this kingdom with my soul, and I am the king of this goddamn empire. Whether you like it or not, you are in it. ”

“I’ll bow to your king when he shows himself,” you said, clipped and cut. It was a direct dig towards him, it was a deliberate show of disobedience, but you didn’t flinch. You kept your chin up, gaze level as you started to walk away from him for the first time.

The adrenaline didn’t wear off even hours later as you paced around your room in heated anger. But God, that felt good. You’ve never directly expressed your grievances towards someone else like that and now that you’ve gotten a taste of it, you don’t think you could hold your mouth longer around the menace that was Kim Hongjoong. It might get you killed, but at this point, death might be the only salvation you’ll feel.

One was for sure - something had definitely changed ever since that nasty confrontation between the two of you. If before you’ve barely seen even his shadow, lately all you’ve been doing was butt heads with Hongjoong, and man, are you not happy about it.

“Was it you?” Hongjoong marched towards the living room one day with steam coming out of ears. “Did you set the thermostat at twenty-eight?”

“I did,” you sneered, not backing down. “Not everyone in this house has cold, dead blood like you.”

He scoffed in disbelief, pinching his nose bridge. “This isn’t a sauna, go outside where you belong if you’re so cold.”

You watched him stalk towards the thermostat, cranking the heat lower so roughly, you were a bit concerned it would break. Oh no you don’t, you dictating bastard. You got up from the couch, pushing him away to crank the thermostat back to low before giving him the stink eye.

“Fine,” he nodded stiffly, his glare so intense, it had you backing up slightly. “I’m locking it. Don’t expect me to lower it when summer hits.”

It was the littlest of things that set the both of you off, but if you were being completely frank, you more or less enjoyed his annoyed reaction. Serves him right for all the months he put you down.

“You finished all the cookies,” you glared at him heatedly one afternoon, pointing at the plate of half-eaten cookies that lay next to him on the coffee table as he read his newspaper. “I liked those cookies.”

He didn’t even look up from the newspaper. “That’s just too bad, isn’t it?”

You yanked the paper from his hands. “You don’t even like cookies! They were for me.”

“I bought them for the house,” he glared, snatching it back.

“Yeah?” You snarled, snapping your eyes towards the coffee mug you knew he was very, very particular about before a smug grin fills your face.

He stared in disbelief, his eyes widening at what you were about to do. “You insolent brat, don’t you dare—”

But it was too late, you gulped all his coffee in one go. You tried so hard not to grimace at the bitter taste, or else your pride will tank, but the redness in his face from sheer anger made it oh so worth it.

Everyone had definitely noticed at that point. Even the stoic Mingi would give his own father a dirty look whenever he’d catch that both of you mouth off to one another like you were in a damn competition. Woooyung, of course, was nonetheless fascinated about the turn of events.

“You two act like an old married couple, I love it,” he cackled while he ate dinner with you as you glared at Hongjoong’s turned back when he instructed the chef to put more raisins in your plate just to spite you. “I’m slowly getting over how my stepmother will only be like a decade older than me if this is the entertainment I’ll get for the rest of my life.”

You scoffed, grabbing a piece of raisin with a deep frown. “It’s not my fault he’s a petty bastard,” you said, flicking the raisin towards Hongjoong’s ear with an accuracy you didn’t even know.

Wooyoung laughed with you not-so discreetly while San paled ever so slightly at the scorching glare Hongjoong sent your way. “You are something special, Y/N,” he shook his head. “Boss would have had our heads a long, long time ago for something less.”

Unfortunately, you couldn’t fully finish your dinner. The taste of the raisins were so prevalent in the food even when you’ve removed all of them that the taste of it just permeated all over the dish.

You sneaked in the kitchen at two in the morning where you knew no one would be up just so you could ravage in the cupboard for some midnight snack, but you were so wrong. You squeaked, blinking at Hongjoong who was in the middle of drinking water and he blinked back at you.

“Couldn’t sleep from the guilt?” You asked, referring to you not eating dinner. And you knew that he knew, he was watching you the whole time smugly.

“No,” he muttered. “Just the sound of your attitude echoing through the halls.”

You snorted. “Wow. You’re real original for someone who thinks being emotionally constipated is a personality trait.”

He scoffed, shaking his head as he walked past you towards the exit. “Don’t hog all the snacks,” he brushed with your shoulder and it sent a zing of electricity through your spine. “Money isn’t as easy to come by, yes?”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re good at it,” you countered with a snarl. “If being a raging psycho and asshole was your living, no wonder you’re filthy rich. Let’s not even mention your head count.”

You blinked as he walked back toward you. He stopped in front of you, his hands coming to rest beside your waist on the counter, trapping you. “Would you like to know my head count?” He asked, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. “I’d love to add you to that roster.”

You tried to breathe, his face was so close, your noses nearly brushed. His eyes dropped to your lips for the briefest moment before snapping back up. “Because I’ve been real patient,” he muttered. “But I’m tired of your mouth lately.”

And as quickly as he’d closed in, he pulled away with a sharp inhale, the smirk curling wider as he turned on his heel. “Sleep tight, darling,” he tossed over his shoulder, voice laced with poison and something dangerously sweet.

And just like that, he was gone, leaving behind blush on your cheeks, the thundering of your heart, and the faint scent of him clinging to your skin.

Usually, your banters were harmless. Dare anyone say that even though Hongjoong got under your skin, you’ve never felt more alive than you did whenever you’d cross paths with him. You didn’t know what it was; maybe it was because that finally, he wasn’t avoiding you like the plague even though nothing nice came from that mouth of his.

But this time, you didn’t know what completely set the both of you off. You just wanted to have lunch like normal, and today was very different, too. Usually you’d eat with one or two people only as everyone’s schedules didn’t quite align, but this time, even Seonghwa and Wooyoung were at the dining table.

You were laughing at something that Jongho had mentioned when Hongjoong’s cutting voice rang around the table. “Can you shut your mouth?” He snapped, cluttering his utensils against his paperwork. “I’m trying to concentrate here.”

You rolled your eyes. Ever since he got off a phone call he got before everyone started eating, he’s been in a horrible mood. “Get off the damn table if you can’t handle basic human interaction,” you snapped back.

He stared you down, voice ice sharp. “You’re not clever. You’re a loud, useless distraction and an irritation everyone’s sick of pretending to tolerate.”

“Father, stop it,” Mingi, who sat at Hongjoong’s left, shot back, eyeing the older man with warning. He turned to you and you almost faltered. How is it that his son was more intimidating than him? “And you. You’re not helping.”

“No, let her,” Hongjoong scoffed. “No wonder your uncle gave you away. You’re nothing but a liability.”

Patience was a trait you had that you were proud of, but not today. You can barely contain yourself, because that was a low, even for him. I'm sick to death of swallowing every single thing I'm fed. You slammed your hands on the table, rising swiftly, your chair scraping loudly against the floor. Everyone’s eyes followed you, wide and stunned. “Oh, give me a break, you belligerent, deluded, pompous prick,” you barked. The room stilled. You hadn’t raised your voice, but the words hung in the air like glass about to shatter.

Even Hongjoong seemed to falter a bit before his eyes narrowed once more. “Have you lost your fucking mind?” He yelled so loud it echoed through the halls, making everyone flinch. “Watch your tone, you ill-mannered disgrace—”

You scoffed in disbelief. “That’s tough shit coming from you who’s done nothing but make me miserable here.”

“That sounds like a you problem, darling,” Hongjoong’s eyes ticked.

“Well, to that, I say you're a cunt—” you were about to say, but your voice caught in your throat, the fierce words dying on your lips as a wave of dizziness swept over you. You faltered, mid-step, your knees threatening to give out.

He scoffed, the sharp edge of his haughtiness cutting through the silence. “Giving up already?” Hongjoong sneered with a smirk that promised he didn’t believe you had the strength to stand your ground.

No, this was different than anything you’ve felt before. Your breathing became laboured, the suddenness of it threatening the bile in your stomach to rise from your throat. You grabbed the nearest thing you could hold on to, but your grip slipped. “Hold on,” San balked, grabbing your arm in mild concern before his face shifted. “Y/N, are you okay?”

No, I’m not, you wanted to say, looking straight at Hongjoong just as your steps wobbled and your vision blurred. It was when his expression cracked, panic flickered across his face, eyes widening with sudden concern, breath hitching as he reached out instinctively.

But before he could reach you, Jongho was there, his strong arms catching you just in time. “Y/N? Oh, God,” he tapped your cheeks hardly, but to no avail, your eyes were closing. “Stay awake, fuck—”

Hongjoong’s face, the devastated, unsettled look you weren’t ready to see, and the way he grabbed your body was the last thing you registered before darkness swallowed you whole, but not before you heard Seonghwa mutter one word that would have made you faint regardless.

“Poison.”

All you could feel was pain. It hurt to try to move your limbs, it was more reminiscent of bones grinding against each other sharply against sandpaper, it hurt to take the smallest gulp of breath, hell, it hurt to even blink. It was like that car accident after your graduation all over again. Why did death love chasing after you? And why didn’t you chase it back?

But this time was different. You weren’t in a hospital bed, there were no nurses around, and there was none of that sterile scent you hated so much. Rather, there was warmth - warmth so comforting, you couldn’t help but snuggle into it, burying your head in hopes for the ache to go away.

“Fuck’s sake, It’s been days, why hasn’t she woken up yet?”

Even you could feel your subconscious frown at what you heard. Days. And you didn’t even feel better about it. “Give her time, Joong. I mean, look at her, so frail—”

“Frail, my ass,” a rough, familiar voice snapped just as you felt your arms being squeezed so tight, it would have woken you up if you hadn’t already. “She’s my little fighter, poison isn’t going to break her. Have you not heard the way she talks back to me?”

A deep laughter resonated through the entire room. It wasn’t quite like Mingi’s - not that Hongjoong Jr. would ever act normal around you - no, but this was richer, familiar, even. If you could just open your eyes and see.

“I see she hasn’t changed. Good to know you’re getting your money’s worth, Dad. You should go eat something. Anyway, I need a complete rundown, Hwa. I didn’t fly here for nothing, and I need to go back soon. The longer I stay, the more danger we attract.”

The warmth you had disappeared followed by a door closing nearby. Silence envelops the room and the familiar sigh of Seonghwa fills it. “Well, like we said, it’s poison. Someone who isn’t supposed to be here is here.”

“But how? What are the odds? It could’ve been anyone at that dining table. You think it’s Yoo Jaehwan?”

“Who else? To do it not only in his house, but right in front of Hongjoong’s face…whoever did it is asking for death.”

“Should’ve seen your father’s face,” San clicked his tongue. “I swear something inside him died.”

“Well, fuck, maybe because she could’ve died?” The familiar, deeper voice counteracted with a sass that knocked in your memory. “Because that’s not just a wife he’s protecting, that’s someone he’d burn the world for.”

“Anyhow. We should come back later. I have to check on your father to see if he’s eating or I might have to get your older brother to tie him up or something.”

Half of that conversation went through your head. You weren’t a total idiot, you knew what most of it entailed, but all you could think about was the missing warmth that enveloped you. You forced yourself to come to, your weak arms supporting your upper body as you tried to sit up. It was hell as your eyelids fluttered open against a dull ache pounding in your skull, but you needed to move your stiff limbs before they started to throb from prolonged unuse.

Just then, the door opened. Silently, carefully, like doing so would trigger another bout of faintness in you and you were met with the surprised eyes of Hongjoong. He froze in the doorway like he’d walked in on something sacred.

For a moment, he just stood there, unmoving. Then, the tension in his shoulders released slightly, only to be replaced by something else entirely - pure, unadulterated relief. You didn’t have to touch him to know that he was the warmth that kept you stabilized the entire time you rested.

He started to walk toward you in slow, controlled steps. His glasses were gone, his hair a mess, and there was a tremble in the hand that rolled up the sleeves of his unusually wrinkled shirt like he’d been gripping it in fistfuls.

Most of all, his eyes were tired. He sat on the bed next to you, his eyes never leaving yours, and you thought that was it. You certainly weren’t prepared for the way he lightly gripped your shoulders to pull you into a hug, and just like that, the warmth you’ve been craving for had returned.

“Get off,” you rasped weakly, but your voice betrayed the fight you didn’t have in you. Still, your pride flared, because nothing stung more than collapsing in front of him.

He didn’t budge. “Don’t even try,” he said through clenched teeth, his arms tightening around you. “Stay still and let me have this even for a moment.”

It was in the way he gripped you too tightly, in the quiet desperation of that whispered please. You didn’t even realize he was trembling slightly. His arms weren’t caging you, rather, he was a man holding on to you as if he was sinking at the bottom of the ocean and you were the balance he needed to stay afloat.

Pride be damned. You wrapped your arms around him, silent tears falling from your eyes as you held onto him. This was all you wanted, what you didn’t have back then when you had nobody. The prospect of never waking up was settling into you and you didn’t have enough strength to keep holding it in together.

“I’m still angry at you,” you sniffled.

“Get angrier. The sooner you get your strength back, the sooner you can talk back again like the brat you are,” he shushed, the tremble in his hand now visible at the way he smoothed the damp strands away from your face along with your tears.

“As touching as this is, I believe we have more pressing matters at hand.”

You tried to pull away, but Hongjoong wasn’t letting you - though if you were being honest with yourself, you didn’t even really want to - so you opted to look over your shoulder at the source of the voice.

Hongjoong groaned when you pushed him away, your breath caught in your throat. Your eyes widened slowly, your hand flying up to cover your mouth in shock. “Y-Yeosang?” You whispered, like saying his name too loud might shatter the fragile reality in front of you.

The man in question stood from the plush armchair, casual in his posture but carrying an unmistakable grin, one you hadn’t seen in years. “The one and only,” Yeosang said with a lopsided smile, walking toward you. “How have you been, Miss Jeong?”

You stared at him in disbelief, the air knocked clean from your lungs. “I-I haven’t seen you since…” your voice faltered, because the rest of that sentence hung heavy in your throat.

Yeosang seemed to know what you meant without you saying it, because his expression softened as he gently pulled you into a hug. “Y-You’re the last person I expected to see here,” you mumbled against his shoulder, pulling back to get a proper look at him. “Wait, what are you doing here?”

The both of you turned around to look at Hongjoong when he cleared his throat. “You wretch,” he looked pointedly at Yeosang with a bitter scowl. “Aren’t you supposed to be down there with everyone?”

Yeosang scoffed, rolling his eyes so dramatically you were surprised they didn’t get stuck up his skull. “You were the one who called me and threatened to cut my allowance if I didn’t fly here soon,” he deadpanned as he pulled away from you to stand up. “Relax, she was my mentor. I’m allowed to say hello, Dad.”

Your eyes flew between the two men in shock. “Dad?” You blurted out. “How many kids do you have? Because holy sh—”

“Soon to be two if this one doesn’t shut his trap,” Hongjoong hissed. “I can still cut your allowance, Kang Yeosang. Don’t test me.”

“Oh, please. You need me,” he chuckled sarcastically, tapping on the stethoscope he had around his neck that you didn’t notice was there. You stared at him proudly, remembering the young Yeosang who always told you of his dreams to become a doctor one day back then.

“Anyway, you need to get out of here, Dad,” Yeosang said in urgency. “Mingi will take care of everything. It’s good training for the future, anyway. We need to purge your staff and I need to test every single surface of the manor to see if there’s more antifreeze contamination.”

Goosebumps erupted on your skin. Antifreeze. It was how you found yourself saying goodbye to Yeosang, with the promise of catching up as soon as everything was safe, and then the others before you were dressing up to go with Hongjoong to his supposed safe house.

“I can walk, you know?” You frowned when Hongjoong walked beside you the whole time, steadying you with a firm hold on your elbow. You hated how flustered it made you - how close he was, how natural it felt.

He glanced at you once, opting to ignore you as he opened the car door for you. But just before you could step in, he stilled. Hongjoong plucked a single sunflower and he tucked it carefully behind your ear. His eyes didn’t meet yours, but his touch lingered longer than necessary.

Your heart stuttered so sharply it almost hurt. It fluttered against your ribs, traitorous and soft, the way it always did when he did something gentle without meaning to. The warmth of his fingers near your cheek lingered longer than the sunflower itself.

He helped you into the backseat, settled beside you without hesitation, and closed the door. You thought he’d pull away once the engine started. You thought he’d sit back in his own thoughts like always.

But he didn’t. He pulled you close, gently but without question, and you leaned against his chest. His arm wrapped around you, fingers curling slightly against your side, grounding you. He held you the entire ride. And for the first time in days, the ache in your chest quieted.

“Where are we going?” You couldn’t help but ask, giving in to what your body currently needed and letting yourself lean onto his firm chest for once.

“Must you always ask irrelevant questions?” Hongjoong sighed.

You scoffed softly, thumping on his chest lightly. “How do I know you’re not leading me to my death?“

“Are you stupid?” Hongjoong snapped, his eyes widening slightly in irritation. You met them with an equal force of annoyance. He sighed exasperatedly, already sick of your antics. “One of my rest houses. It’s on the far end of the city, almost near the suburbs. You should sleep.”

“Would you still hold me when I wake up?” You croaked, not knowing what you were thinking when you blurted the words out.

His thumb, which had been idly brushing against your arm, stilled. You didn’t dare look up, didn’t even breathe, until you felt the slow, deliberate way his hand curled tighter around you. “Yes, darling,” he murmured, fixing the flower on your ear before fixing your hair.

It was infuriating, really, how a man who so easily sliced you open with his words could undo you completely with a simple touch. Your pulse betrayed you, and you didn’t dare look at him, afraid he might see just how deeply that one small act had shaken you.

You couldn’t sleep, not after that. Not while Hongjoong held you in his arms the entire time, his hand brushing your hair away from your face every fifteen minutes and he did so until the car stopped moving and he was helping you get down again.

“Easy, there,” he frowned when you took the wrong step and almost tripped.

“Don’t pretend you care now,” you raised a brow, even as your fingers curled instinctively into the fabric of his shirt.

“I don’t,” he said too quickly, too defensively. But he was still holding you like you were made of glass and you couldn’t help but fist the front of Hongjoong’s shirt. He didn’t push you away and neither did you pull away.

Surprisingly, the rest house was of modest stature, situated in the middle of a small town. It was smart, blending in would be easy. It was simple and cozy, there was the typical small kitchen, a bathroom, and one bedroom with one bed. You stared. Hongjoong stared back.

“We’ll manage,” he said as he set the bags down, looking away and avoiding eye contact. “It’s easier to keep an eye on you this way.”

You opened your mouth to object, but your mouth wasn’t cooperating with your mouth today. “I-I'd love to sleep with you,” you blurted out without thinking.

Hongjoong froze mid-step, one brow raising with almost comical precision. It would’ve been endearing since you’ve never seen the usually poised man this caught-off guard before, but right now, you wanted to dig a hole, crawl in it, and never see the light of day again.

“I mean sleep as in literally sleep–I didn’t, I meant to say I don’t mind sleeping with you, uh, literally—oh my God,” you stammered, hands flying up to cover your face in pure panic.

“Why don’t you, uh, relax on the balcony while I do this?” Hongjoong said, and you didn’t miss the smirk on his face as he turned back to the bag he was unpacking.

You slept facing opposite sides that night. But somehow, the air between you was tighter than before. You lay stiffly on your back, eyes on the ceiling, acutely aware of every tiny shift in the sheets with each of his movements. “Can you stop fidgeting too much?” Hongjoong clicked his tongue. “I’m not going to eat you.”

You scoffed softly. “You don’t hear me complain about your awful breathing sounds.”

“You want me to stop breathing, then?”

“That’s literally not what I said,” you turned sharply toward him, only to find him already watching you. The two of you blinked at each other in silence. Eventually, you turned away again, cheeks burning, pulling the covers over your head.

You tried to find a comfortable position to sleep on, tossing and turning until your body felt right, but when the right angle had your leg up on Hongjoong’s by accident, he didn’t move, and neither did you.

And when you woke up the next day with your arm wrapped around his chest with his own arm cradling your head to his neck, you both didn’t say a word about it, but he didn’t move, and neither did you. “Hongjoong,” you rasped, half of your brain still dead from the world. “...Joong.”

“Hmm?” He hummed huskily from sleep, the vibrations of his chest traveling straight to your spine.

“I’m hungry,” you said. “Haven’t eaten since last night.”

You felt him turn his head, his lips touching your hairline directly, the warmth of it searing on your skin. “Five more minutes,” he replied hoarsely. “Can you do that for me?”

You nod groggily while he molded you closer to him, your cheek pressing just a little firmer to the warm space beneath his collarbone. “Good girl,” he whispered softly, low, and utterly wrecked by sleep.

Your body tensed like someone had just poured ice water down your head. Your eyes snapped open as you felt your throat tighten, not daring to move or breathe too loud. You just lay there, heart hammering wildly in your chest, trying to pretend like you hadn’t just short-circuited. “Are you drinking my coffee?” he snapped at you the next day, catching sight of your cup. “Again?”

Just like that, the both of you were back to bickering like normal. “It’s not my fault you bought me that shitty sugar-free crap that tastes like nothing,” you said, sipping smugly. “Plus, your coffee tastes better.” He crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes in annoyance. “It’s black with three shots of espresso. You can’t handle that.” “I can handle you, can’t I? Nothing worse than that.” He scoffed loudly in disbelief, muttering about how the younger generation was disrespectful before he snatched the cup and handed you a water bottle instead. “Hydrate before you pass out on me.”

You frowned, fully irritated at your caffeine being stolen. “Hey, I wasn’t don—” “And you call that breakfast?” He looked pointedly at your sad-looking toast. “It’s no wonder why I mistake your brain for an ornament sometimes.” You didn’t even get a chance to shoot back at his arrogance before he rolled his eyes but took your plate, setting down a neatly packed bento box. “Eat something that’s actually worth eating. Fuck’s sake, do I really have to do everything around here?”

The both of you went on like that for days, and as maddening as Hongjoong was, you were somehow thankful for how normal everything felt, though now, the change between you and Hongjoong was starting to become evident.

“How long would it take for you to clean this entire house?” He asked one day out of the blue. He stared disapprovingly at the phone in your hand. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was riling you up just to get a reaction out of you.

Your eyes ticked, but you didn’t look up at him. “It depends on how many helpers you want me to hire.”

“Why would you hire cleaners?” Hongjoong frowned.

“You asked.”

He scoffed, clearly displeased at the response. “No, I asked you. If you’re going to live here, you might as well do something that lessens the burden you put on me.”

“I did,” you shot back, finally looking up, mildly offended at the insinuation. “I made you dinner every night, one that you refused to eat.”

“Who told you I didn’t?” He raised a brow. Your expression froze, but before you could say anything, he waved a hand. “Anyway, you still need to clean. If I’m paying for your shit, I need something in return.”

Your mind was still reeling at the things unsaid between the lines. “Why the hell would I be doing free labour for you?”

“Well—”

You cut him off, refusing to go down. “I just got poisoned, in case you forgot. I should be resting, for God’s sake.”

“And I took you here to recuperate,” he replied sarcastically. “What now, then?”

“What about the times I had to deal with your grumpy ass? I don’t see you paying for my mental state.” You retorted back, putting your phone away to stand up to him.

He paused, blinking repeatedly in thought. “I could get you a therapist.”

“Yes,” you smiled brightly, a little too brightly. “I could also hire helpers to clean this house.”

His ears and neck redden in sheer frustration, and from here, you could see his mind malfunction slowly. “Shut up,” he muttered, refusing to admit you one-upped him.

“Well, why don’t you shut me up, then?”

You stilled, realizing what you just insinuated. His lips quirked, smug and amused, like he’d won a round you didn’t realize you were playing as he shook his head.

The nighttimes weren’t any better either. It was like bickering was both of yours’ defense mechanisms. “Turn off the light,” you yawn from under the covers.

“You turn it off,” Hongjoong replies from his side, brows raised in defiance. “You got in bed last.”

You groan, swing your legs over dramatically, but just as you reach the switch, the light clicks off behind you. You turn and find Hongjoong smirking, holding a small remote control in his hand. “We’re supposed to be a team here,” you hissed. “There is no “I” in team.”

“No, but there is in idiot,” he grinned.

Your mouth dropped, charging at him to hit him over and over again with a pillow, and he didn’t even let out a single sound as he deflected your so-called attacks. You huffed, trying to push off him, but the sheets had other plans. And truth be told, so did some strange, traitorous part of you.

Eventually, you both gave up, tangled under the blankets, breaths evening out against shared warmth. Once again, neither of you moved. In the hush that followed, you felt his thumb barely brush against your arm where it rested across his chest. You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to.

And it would have stayed like that if it weren’t for the heavy weight that settled on your chest in the middle of the night. Literally. When you opened your eyes, an arm was pressing down your chest and you were met with Hongjoong’s glaring eyes.

“What—”, you were about to say when he covered your mouth hurriedly. He puts his finger to his lip to shush you and in your peripheral, you could see his arm slowly raising up a gun as he pointed at the door. Your eyes widen and your heart drops - someone was in the house.

Hongjoong didn’t say a word. He shifted, slow and precise, the mattress barely creaking as he slipped off it and tiptoed towards the door. You clutched the sheets to your chest, your breath lodged somewhere in your throat as the door clicked open. It was silent; too silent.

Bang. Bang. Pause. Bang. Bang.

Your ears rang. You flinched with each shot, your hands shaking as you sat in the dark, unable to move, unable to breathe. You shut your eyes, covering your eyes to will all the sounds to stay distant, the reality of who Hongjoong was dawning on you. It was just a couple of weeks ago when you asked him whether he had killed or not.

The door creaked open again, slower this time. You jumped, expecting the worst, but Hongjoong stepped in quietly, expression unreadable, but the blood spattered across his cheek told you more than words ever could. The gun was nowhere to be found.

He didn’t speak as he walked to the bed, just sat down at the edge and looked at you, eyes searching. You reached out, wiping the blood off gently. He closed his eyes at the touch, but it was enough. No words were exchanged, and there was nothing either of you could say that would ease the fear that settled in your gut.

So instead, he slipped under the covers again, pulled you into his chest, arms wound tightly around your body, trembling just a little. You closed your eyes, your hands digging onto his hand so hard, your fingertips might as well embed themselves on his skin.

“I wish my creator would tenderly wrap me in their own clothes to keep me sane and protected,” you murmured in the silence of the night. “God has abandoned us and my uncle was a cruel substitute.”

“Should we choose to remain here together, would you forget the world that’s waiting outside?” Hongjoong’s hand held yours just as tight. ”Would you let the world fall away, if only for a while?” The world has fallen the moment I set my eyes on you. You nodded, shivering when he tucked a finger under your chin, pulling your face closer to his to press the softest of kisses upon your lips as if the both of you had been holding your breath for years, and this, it was the first exhale. If only for a while.

You woke to an emptiness you hadn’t expected. The bed was still warm where he’d lain, but without Hongjoong’s arms around you, you felt oddly cold. But that wasn’t what woke you up. It was the voices that came from the living room, one of which was Hongjoong’s, and you didn’t have to listen in to know that he was in a heated argument with someone.

You tiptoed out quietly, careful not to make a sound, peeking from behind the hallway wall. Hongjoong lounged on the couch like it was his throne, legs spread, an elbow draped over the armrest with a smirk that screamed arrogance, like danger wrapped in lazy elegance.

The man standing in front of him, however, was anything but calm. He was tall, broad-shouldered, about the same age as Hongjoong, and radiating heat like a bonfire about to explode. His fists were clenched at his sides, jaw tight with restraint.

“You’ve got some nerve,” the stranger ground out. “Keeping her hidden this whole time like some secret you planned to hoard. If my men didn’t hear the gunshots the other day, I wouldn’t have known, you sick fuck.”

Your breath hitched. They were talking about you. Hongjoong chuckled, crossing his legs exaggeratedly. “The only regret I have is that I didn’t bring suppressors. We would have been out of here before you knew it. ”

“You bastard,” the tall man gritted his teeth, stepping closer to Hongjoong. “This is my territory, you don’t get to waltz in here with my niece and pretend I wouldn’t kill you for it.”

Your ears rang at two words - territory and niece. This man was in the same business as Hongjoong was, and apparently you were this man’s niece. Slowly, you stepped out from behind the hallway wall, the silence in the room growing razor-sharp with each step.

Hongjoong’s back stiffened, but the other man’s posture tenses completely at the sight of you. “Y/N,” he whispered, as if disbelieving he was seeing you in the flesh. “It’s really you…”

You stared at the man closely. He looked familiar, it clawed at the edges of a memory you didn’t know you still had. It wasn’t the way he moved; it was the way his eyes mirrored someone else’s eyes that you thought you’d never see again after all these years - your father’s.

And then, it hits you. You remembered the way his huge hands held yours every time he offered to babysit when both of your parents worked. His younger, puppy-like features were slowly coming to life in your head. “Uncle Yunho,” you blurted, eyes wide.

Yunho’s head jerked up, like he hadn’t dared hope you'd remember. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “It’s me, kid.”

Your knees nearly buckled, threatening to fall under the weight of the missing family that you could have had instead of your other uncle. Hongjoong was immediately by your side, catching you in his arms and holding you close and sitting you down beside him. “You can’t just come barging in here like you did,” he hissed. “You’re in my house, I could kill you and no one would know.”

“I’m her blood, you blithering fool,” Yunho’s lips twisted into fury. “You’re the idiot that dragged her into this mess when she had a family - me.”

Hongjoong’s expression darkened. “You weren’t there---”

“And you think you were the better option?” Yunho growled. “You’re like, what? A good thirteen years or so older than her? You’re too damn old to be with her!”

That made Hongjoong stand, slow and deliberate, his stance loose but lethal. “And who the fuck are you to tell me that? You weren’t there when shit hit the fan, don’t get too cocky now.”

“I would have been if you didn’t hide her from me,” Yunho scowled bitterly.

You barely registered your own shallow breathing, still stuck on the fact that your father’s older brother was there all along. All this time, you thought you were alone - that you had no one. Yunho’s eyes followed the sound, and when he saw you, all the anger on his face softened instantly.

He was about to walk towards you, but Hongjoong quickly raised a hand to stop him. “One more step and I swear I’ll end you right here,” he snarled. If you weren’t sitting beside him, you wouldn’t have noticed the way his eyes shifted into something a little more desperate.

Yunho scoffed, crossing his arms. “I wouldn’t act like this if I were you, Kim. You’ve had her in your manor all this time. By mafia standards, you should’ve married her within the first month. Why haven’t you? Did you want to keep her locked up like a secret no one else can touch? Or are you just dragging her through the mud?”

You flinched, the implication sinking in like stones in your gut. You immediately locked eyes with Hongjoong whose expression dropped, shaking his head ever so slightly as you stared at each other. That was right, why hasn’t Hongjoong married you yet? Come to think of it, the both of you haven’t even talked about anything marriage related - the date, the venue, the vows—hell, not even a promise.

Just tension, stolen touches, sleepless nights and a thousand unsaid things hanging heavy in the air. You swallowed thickly, trying not to let the sting of Yunho’s words show, but it was too late. Or worse, was he planning to secretly give you back to your uncle after all?

“Don’t listen to him,” he said tightly, crossing the room in three strides. His arm wrapped around you possessively, like shielding you from Yunho would shield you from the doubt unraveling in your chest. “She’s mine, Jeong. Get lost. It’s not like that, and you know it.”

Yunho’s lips pressed into a thin line. But he relented, lifting his hands in a gesture of peace. “Fine,” he muttered, then turned to you, his expression softening. “I’ll be back.”

You hesitated as you watched your uncle walk away, but something tugged at your heart. You pried yourself free from Hongjoong’s tight, possessive arms, despite his protests, to run as fast as you could to follow Yunho out. The chill of the morning rain bit at your skin as you stepped into the yard. “Wait, please!”

Yunho turned to face you fully. The hardness melted from his face, and in its place was something unbearably gentle. He completely halted in his steps, letting the rain soak through as he watched your pitiful form catch up to him. “Y/N–”

“There’s something I don’t understand,” you murmured, voice unsure. “I-I needed you when I was alone, I had no one. But why now? Why didn’t you ever come for me?”

He sighed, taking his trench coat off to gingerly put it over your head as a deterrent for the pouring rain. “I did,” he said quietly. “Believe me, I did. I never stopped. Even if I didn’t find you here, I still wouldn’t have stopped.”

And that, that was what broke you. Tears filled your eyes, sadness and relief pouring over you in waves. “Are you…in the same business as Hongjoong?” You asked wearily. “Were my parents?”

He pursed his lips, patting your head. It made your tears flow faster. Yunho had your father’s face, albeit older and more rounded. “There are so many things you don’t know,” he said softly. “Things you would have if you would’ve been with me when your parent’s died. It’s better this way. I’m still enraged that that bastard hid you from me, but he’ll keep you safe.”

But what did you know at this point? It was what plagued your mind the entire walk inside the house after Yunho had left after promising to catch up on lost time. You clutched the wet, dripping coat that still carried Yunho’s familiar scent in your hands that wrapped around your senses, nostalgia hitting you full-force.

You didn’t look up at Hongjoong, the haze of all the memories - of what could have been - attacking your mind. “Why didn’t you tell me?” You began, voice cracking, looking up at him with emotionless eyes. “You knew and—”

“Would you have gone with him if you knew?” Hongjoong cut off, the familiar sharpness in his eyes pinning you from where you stood.

“I don’t know that,” you replied sarcastically. “How could I give you something I had no idea about the entire time?”

“Oh, for the love of fucking God, Y/N. This, this is what pisses me off about you the most,” he snapped, stepping close, his gaze darkening. “Contrary to your belief, I’m not as callous as you deem me to be, and there are reasons for the things that I do around here—”

“And what about me?” Your hands balled at your sides. “What about the life I was robbed of? You don’t know what I’ve been through, you prick, the things that I had to endure. Yunho was right - you don’t want to marry me, in fact, you fucking hate me, don’t you? I didn’t even want any of this in the first place!” For the first time, Hongjoong’s expression fell, and you didn’t know what to feel about it. He was a beautiful man with a soul full of venom and a heart you weren’t convinced actually beat, but right now, his expression only told you one thing - I do, I do know what you’ve been through. His hand twitched at his side, and the muscle in his jaw jumped. “Don’t you dare say that.”

“Why not?” You seethed, shoving him backward with both hands. “Because it’s true, isn’t it? You had no plans in marrying me, but then again I was nothing but sold goods to you, I wouldn’t be surprised if you end up killing me in a ditch somewhere—”

Something snapped in him. He pushed you back until you stumbled against the wall. The air was electric. “Shut your mouth,” he seethed, but his voice was breaking, furious and wounded all at once. “You would have gone with Yunho, I don’t want you to go with him. You faltered, taken aback by how possessive he sounded. "I don’t need to see you walking away from me when we had just begun. You want to know why I didn’t tell you? I’ve already given up enough and I’m not giving you up again.”

Again? He just stood there, panting, one hand curled in a fist over his chest like the words had ripped something open in him. “You wouldn’t understand,” he snarled, shaking his head vehemently. “You never do.”

The silence afterward was deafening. You stared at him, chest heaving, tears hot and furious in your eyes, the confusion swirling in your head even more. It might be part of why your mouth moved on its own in either the best or worst decision of your life. “So make me,” you whispered in quiet desperation. “I’m so tired of being kept in the dark, I know you’re hiding things from me, make me understand—-”

He surged forward without warning, cupping your jaw as his mouth found yours like it had been searching, starving, waiting across lifetimes. The kiss was bruising, breath-stealing like he needed to taste the ache in your throat and the anger in your blood just to prove you were real. You gasped against him, and it was his undoing.

Your back hit the wall again, but it didn’t matter anymore. Not when his lips softened slightly, tracing the corner of your mouth like an apology. Not when his breath was hot and reverent against your cheek, your jaw, your throat. His forehead fell against yours, both of you breathless. “Tell me to stop,” he rasped, voice shaking as his thumb brushed your lip, swollen from his kiss. “Tell me now and I will.”

But your fingers were already curling into his shirt, pulling him close. “I can’t,” you whispered, voice wavering. “Don’t make me.”

And that was all it took. Your lips refused to part from his as he pulled you to the couch, there was no way the both of you were reaching the bedroom, your clothes slowly peeling themselves away from your bodies all the while your tongues clashed against one another. His hands roamed with reverence, memorizing every tremble, every sigh. You didn’t know where you ended and he began - just that the space between your bodies was no longer enough.

“Oh, fuck,” his lust-addled voice sounded through the hush whispers of the intimacy you both found yourselves in. “You’re beautiful, I knew you’d be, fuck…”

You couldn’t even have the nerve to cover your naked body as you stood in front of him; not when he was looking at you like you were the only salvation left in a world gone mad. He grabbed your hips, positioning you until you were straddling him as he sat plush on the couch. “You don’t have to do a thing, darling, I’ll take care of you,” he pressed a thumb on your swollen lips. “Would you let me?”

You nodded, feeling feverish in your head as he placed his hand on your hips, his hardness poking you in the spot where you wanted him the most. “Y-Yeah,” you said. “Please, I-I need you.”

The world could wait. Right now, it was just the two of you both bared, bruised, and still reaching for each other in the dark. He lifted your hips up, lowering you slowly onto his aching cock until your foreheads were clashing with each other. “Y/N,” he whispered, straining, summoning chills through your ears. “I’ll make it up to you next time, I’m not going to last. It’s been a while for me.”

You tilted your head, biting your lips to stop the lewd sounds threatening to come out from you. “W-What do you mean? You haven’t been with o-others?”

Hongjoong shook his head with an earnest smile. “No. Why would I when I have you?”

Your eye contact didn’t break even when Hongjoong pushed your plump ass to grind on him, your eyes fluttering shut as you moaned out earnestly. Your fingers tangled in his hair, his breath warm at your collarbone, and when his name left your lips, it prompted him to snap his hips up to meet your grinding.

“Hongjoong, ngh, fuck,” you gasped out, mouth slacked open at the force of his thrusts, your breasts bouncing their way freely at the pace he set. “H-Hongjoong—Joong.”

You both finally let yourselves feel it all. Not just the passion, but the ache of the longing between you both. You held his face between your hands when his eyes fluttered closed, and for once, he looked unguarded. “Mmm, ah, yes, yes, yes,” were all the sounds you could make amidst the skin slapping against skin as Hongjoong continuously pulled you up and down on his cock. “More?” Hongjoong’s voice trembled at the pleasure clouding his brain. “You can’t leave me, alright? Not when I’m making you feel so good like this.”

You nodded, mouth still open, snapping your eyes close in the pleasure of Hongjoong’s nails digging in your hips, scratching a line all the way to your chest until his hands were grabbing onto both of your plush tits. “So fucking good,” he growled, his other hand traveling to your head, grabbing your hair. “Come here.”

Your lips met into a feverish kiss, your heated moans of lust and longing being swallowed by Hongjoong’s sinful mouth, and when you subconsciously squeeze his impaling cock, it was his turn to groan into your lips and bite onto your lower lip until you opened to let his wild tongue mess with yours. The moans that fell from the both of you created a dizzying sound in combination of the wet tongue kiss and the slapping of his balls up your ass.

“Touch me, please,” you begged, grabbing onto his hand down to your throbbing clit. “T-Touch m-me, I need to come, Joong, p-please.”

“Fuck, you’re going to be the death of me,” he groaned, immediately drawing circles on your swollen bud, instantly drawing a garbled scream from you. “That’s it, baby, fuck me. Ride my fucking cock, yes.”

You had not once paused from bouncing, continues fucking yourself ardently onto his thick, intruding cock until you were nothing but a senseless doll. “You don’t understand how long I’ve wanted this,” he rasped, his voice rough and uneven, his lips kissing and sucking every surface of your skin he could claim.

“I’ve wanted you long before the day you looked me in the eye at that dining table. Each day was a risk I couldn’t afford to take, but God, I wanted you anyway. Every day. In every fucking way.”

He kissed you again, deeper, needier. It wasn’t just hunger - it was reprieve. Years of restraint burning away in the heat of a single truth finally spoken aloud. You were what he wanted. Always had been.

“Joong, a-ah, that feels so good,” you moaned out, all sense of mind gone from the feeling of him finally ravishing you the way you always wanted. “Just like that, say my name,” he gritted out, cupping your face tenderly in contrast to this thrusts, his eyes lidded and desperate. “I’ve waited so long to hear you say my damn name, baby, please, I’m begging you.”

“Hongjoong,” you let out, loud and clear. His cock twitched in your cunt, but you weren’t done yet. This was a man you had no problem seeing all of you. “Hongjoong, Hongjoong, Hongjoong.”

Soon enough, you exploded. It wasn’t the delicious rubbing of his fingertips in between young legs that or how deep his cock fucked that undid you, though that was a huge factor, but it was the way he kissed you, the way he looked at you like you hung the stars in the sky for him to admire. “Oh, I’m com—Hongjoong, Joong, Joong—”

Hongjoong didn’t last much longer. With his final thrusts, Hongjoong lifted his hips to fuck into you until all the both of you had was mind-blowing blankness fulled with heat and lust. Overstimulation coiled in your groin as your eyes rolled in the back of your head, your little whimpers spurring Hongjoong on until he came with a loud groan and spilled inside of you.

Everything slowed down with you slumped completely onto Hongjoong’s rising chest, meeting yours as you both tried to catch your breaths. The sex was fast, but it was all the both of you needed. “Good girl,” he whispered, turning your face to his for a quick kiss. “My good girl—hey, you don’t have to move yet, stay.”

You pulled out anyway, whimpering slightly at the sensation of Hongjoong’s cum dripping onto your thighs as you bent down to give him a kiss in return before sitting comfortably on his lap and laying your head on his chest, resting your head onto the crook of his neck as his arm quickly wrapped around you protectively. “It’s okay,” you whispered, your eyes slowly closing, your breath evening.

“You want to stay like this?” Hongjoong asked fondly, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on your back.

But for naught. Sleep had caught on to you and the last thing you felt was Hongjoong carrying you as he chuckled affectionately at your drowsy state. It was the most peace you’ve felt in a while.

Just like everything in your life, nothing good seemed to last forever. In the beginning, everything was smooth sailing. You and Hongjoong went back to the manor the next day, and it was nothing short of chaos the moment you stepped in the house where everyone was already waiting by the entrance. Seonghwa was the one who greeted you at the front door and his brows almost reached his hairline with how close you stood next to Hongjoong.

“The hell’s wrong with you?” Hongjoong asked sharply. “Why are you looking at us like that?”

Seonghwa raised his hands, blinking innocently. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

You frowned, not noticing the way you linked your arms with Hongjoong’s, but everyone did. Not one step inside the manor and everyone was already looking at the both of you. Jongho bent to grab both of your suitcases, but paused when he took one look at the both of you. “Huh,” he whispered. “Weird.”

Even Mingi who greeted his father, and you albeit stiffly, raised a brow, but opted not to say anything, just walking away while looking back at the both of you repeatedly like he was seeing what he wasn’t supposed to be seeing. You and Hongjoong looked at each other, thoroughly confused, but shrugged it off.

And that’s when San walked by, carrying a tray of cookies you loved so much, only to freeze when he saw Hongjoong gently placing a hand on your back to guide you past a stray step. He blinked over and over again until all the cookies plopped down towards the floor. “I’m sorry, what have you done to my favourite dysfunctional couple?”

You were horrified, mouth agape as you stared at all the sugary goodness on the floor. “My cookies,” you frowned, tugging at Hongjoong’s sleeve. “Joong…”

It only got worse when Hongjoong leaned down, pressed a kiss to your cheek nonchalantly and murmured, “I have to work for a couple of hours to catch up while we were gone. I’ll be back to spoil you rotten, yeah? I’ll see if I can order cookies after, so be good.”

You blinked, stunned, and so did literally everyone else in the hallway. The silence that followed could’ve cracked glass. You stood there, flustered, a hand over your cheek where he just kissed you in front of everyone.

Wooyoung took one look at you, one look at Hongjoong’s retreating form as he walked away, before letting out a screech so loud and unholy that you covered your ears immediately. “Oh my fucking God, what was that?” Wooyoung shouted, flailing like a game show host on a sugar high. “Did you just call him Joong?”

But that was it, because after that, it was like everything never even happened. You weren’t sure what you expected. Hongjoong pulling you aside just to hold you again like he did that night? Instead, life resumed as if nothing had changed. He never really did get you those cookies nor did he spend time with you afterwards anymore.

He wasn’t snarling or glaring at you anymore, that was for sure, but he always kept you close even in the small gestures like sitting beside you or holding your hand, but that was it. You still slept in separate rooms, and there were no more whispers in the dark, no more soft kisses, no more of him asking for five more minutes in bed before he got up. No one questioned it.

It started small, you almost convinced yourself you imagined it. During meals, he no longer sat beside you. He’ll speak, he’ll nod, but his body always angles away from you. That was when the absence of touch came next. Once, Hongjoong’s hand would find your lower back or brush yours when passing you a glass, but now, he didn’t reach out, didn’t accidentally graze your skin.

One afternoon, you entered the library. You hadn’t even called out his name, but the moment he saw you, he stood, gathered his things, and left. It was when his cold formality started again, never with warmth, and when he gave you instructions, he didn’t say your name. When you responded, his eyes would flicker, but he never truly looked at you.

By mafia standards, you should’ve married her within the first month.

Yunho’s words sank deeper than you wanted to admit. They curled under your skin like thorns. What if he was right? What if Hongjoong had never planned to marry you at all? Your eyes burned, and you blinked furiously to push the sting away. He had kissed you, held you, had made love to you. And now, he was walking around as if he hadn’t touched every inch of your soul.

You rubbed at your chest as if you could soothe the ache building there. What if this was it? What if this cold civility, this silence, was all he thought you were worth? Maybe he didn’t want to marry you. Maybe he never did.

Then came the locked doors. You never really hung out with him when he worked, but the locked door was suspicious. He also began sending people in his place. Hongjoong no longer filled your space, he ghosted it. You couldn’t even remember the last time he told you something directly.

You weren’t stupid. You knew how this world worked, how alliances were made and unmade at the flick of a wrist, at the spill of a secret. Maybe you had just been another deal. A piece of a war you weren’t meant to survive. Which was why you barged into his office one day without bothering to knock or close the door.

He didn’t seem at all surprised at your intrusion. He sighed, lowering his glasses and looking at you with tired eyes. “What’s this about, darling?”

“Do you regret us? Touching me? Kissing me?” You started, unable to stop the spiral now. “Or are you just pretending it didn’t happen so I don’t get any stupid ideas l-like marriage or a future?”

He didn’t answer. A bitter laugh escaped your lips, barely a sound. “I can’t believe you,” you murmured, your voice cracking around the edges. “Are you telling me what I felt was nothing? You almost had me fooled there, Hongjoong. I thought for sure hope wasn’t just a word anymore—”

“Can you not? How about this,” he sighed, placing his hands on your cheeks to cup it like he did before, and your traitorous body leaned onto his touch. “I’ll take you out later, okay? Let me just finish working. Sounds good?”

“Are you going to marry me?” You blurted out instead. He stiffened. You felt it immediately his arms didn’t fall away, but his hold loosened just enough for the space between you to feel colder than it had before. “Hongjoong?”

It spiraled. Your brain wouldn’t stop spinning. You didn’t remember pushing him and running away to the comfort of your room after locking the door. All you remember was his refusal to answer and look at you. And the way he never did take you out after.

And the worst of all, everyone had noticed. You had lost your spark, that light in your eyes, that drive in your walk. The anxiety, the paranoia, was slowly eating you alive. You were falling apart at the seams, and no one dared to say it out loud. But you could feel it; this immense pressure building in your chest like a ticking bomb.

Another thing was you were also starting to notice the way everyone was looking at you. It wasn’t quite pity, no, but it was akin to the end. To be fair, if Hongjoong was to keep acting like this, the end was nigh, indeed. What if this was all a game? What if he was keeping you close for power? Or pity?

You were thirty-three when your heart had failed you in a way that stayed. Your reflection in the mirror didn’t even look like you anymore. It looked like someone trying to be worthy of being chosen. Marrying Hongjoong was a want now, not a necessity, and that broke you.

And then, one day, it all seemed to shatter. You were passing by Hongjoong’s office, an excuse you’ve been telling yourself just to see if you were going to have a small glimpse of him, when you heard it. Voices low, urgent, and hushed. One of them was Hongjoong’s.

“It’s being finalized, then?” Hongjoong’s sharp, business-like voice asked.

“Yes,” Mingi replied, serious and deep. “I reckon we’ll be able to make a move soon and then everything will be settled. You could let her go after.”

You froze in place, feeling like ice has been poured over you. Seonghwa sighed. “It’s just…are we really doing this? After everything? Won’t it destroy her?”

“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. Besides, it’s not knowledge she deserves to have, anyway. I didn’t go this far just for her to know. It’s better this way,” Hongjoong said curtly.

“Does she even know?” San’s voice now asked. “I’m confused. You both looked like you almost had it going, Joong. Why didn’t you tell her then?“

“No,” Seonghwa replied, sighing. “Hongjoong’s keeping her in the dark until all the loose ends are tied. Her bastard uncle did sign a contract after all, so technically she’s with us. It’s a good thing.”

Mingi clicked his tongue. “It shouldn’t have gone this far, Father. You’re lucky she’s still loyal after everything. You should’ve told her from the start this engagement was a fraud.”

Your heart stuttered. You covered your mouth, willing yourself to stay silent as tears started to pool on the side of your eyes.

“I still think it’s cruel,” San murmured. “Are you ever going to tell her, Hongjoong? You’re really gonna let her go? Just like that?”

There was a beat of silence that stretched for far too long before Hongjoong spoke again. “There was never supposed to be an ‘us’ anyway. It was a mistake that should have never happened.”

You couldn’t take it anymore, taking off as soon as that conversation ended. You sat on the floor of your room, knees tucked into your chest, the ache in your bones eclipsed only by the quiet, creeping devastation hollowing you out from the inside. Yunho’s words echoed in your mind like a curse you couldn’t shake. By mafia standards, you should’ve married her within the first month. Why haven’t you? Did you want to keep her locked up like a secret no one else can touch? Or are you just dragging her through the mud?

But now? Now, after hearing that conversation, after watching him pass you in the hallway like a stranger, after everyone’s pitying glances and whispered silences, it all felt so grotesquely clear - you weren’t something he was building a future with, you were someone he was using.

You tried to breathe, but it came out ragged, your chest too tight. The truth clawed at you with wild, unforgiving hands. Yunho had been right all along, and now you were stuck in a house that felt more like a mausoleum than a home with a name he would never give you and a heart he would never claim. You spent days like that, refusing to see anyone who noticed they haven’t seen your face in a while, leaving the trays of food placed on your door untouched, and only going out to use the bathroom. It was how you had accidentally left the door ajar for someone to find you, face blotchy and swollen when Jongho came in, eyes widened at your messed up state, as he helped you up to sit on the bed.

“Y/N, what happened to you?” He let out in concern. He stood up, and you thought for a second that he was giving you the space you clearly needed when you didn’t answer, but you were wrong. “I’m calling Hongjoong,” he said, already pulling out his phone. “I don’t know what happened, but you clearly need him.”

Something in your mind snapped into a quiet haze. Jongho was handsome. He was kind, and he was always there for you. For one breathless second, you wished that you could feel something, anything, other than the emptiness Hongjoong had left you with.

“Don’t call him,” you murmured, voice cracking as you reached for his hand. You looked up at Jongho, his brows furrowed in confusion. And before you could stop yourself, before you could think, you whispered, “Kiss me.”

Jongho’s entire body froze. His lips parted slightly, eyes widening, not with desire, but with shock and pity. He roze, the blood draining from his face. “Y/N, I don’t—”

“Please,” you begged. “I need to feel like I’m not losing everything—”

“Y/N?” Hongjoong’s voice suddenly crackled on the phone. “What’s going on? Jongho, what in God’s name are you doing?”

The call had connected after all, but you were done caring about Hongjoong. You grabbed Jongho’s shirt, lowering him to your lips. “I-I need to feel something, Jongho, please pretend I’m wanted,” your voice cracked.

“What the fuck is going on?” Hongjoong's voice roared through the speaker, frantic now. “I am going to skin you alive and drain your blood if you do it, don’t you dare, Jongho—”

But Jongho didn’t move. He respectfully held your shoulders, keeping you at arm’s length with utmost care. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice soft, heavy with pity but unwavering. “You don’t need more lies right now.”

On the other end of the phone, Hongjoong’s breathing was ragged, silent, tortured, like he was ready to rip through space to get to you before the line went dead. It was when you broke down, sobbing in Jongho’s arms apologizing through and through for your utterly shameful behaviour, thanking him for not taking advantage of your momentary weakness.

And then, the anger settled in. How dare Hongjoong act like that after what you overheard? What’s it to him that you wanted to kiss someone else’s lips besides his filthy ones? You remembered the way his voice sounded when told you that one dinner night that you were not to wear a ring. You should have known.

You made up your mind then - you were leaving him. You weren’t going to live trapped in the unknown. You’d spent years chained under your uncle’s care, and now under the illusion of Hongjoong’s protection, but no more. Maybe you’d stay with Yunho to start again and figure out who you really were outside of the Kim manor’s walls.

But first, you needed that damn contract. The one that bound you to Hongjoong as his property. After much deliberation, the easiest way would be to drive him out of his office long enough for him to not come back.

So you picked a fight, purposefully targeting his tendency to get possessive of you like you were his property. It spurred you on, and at first, he wasn’t budging, but when you mentioned off-handedly about the kiss you wanted from Jongho, he bit.

The effect was instant. Hongjoong instantly stopped what he was doing, his entire frame taut with tension, his eyes narrowed dangerously. “What did you say?” He asked coldly.

You bit your lip to hold your smirk back. “I said,” you drawled. “Maybe I should’ve asked Jongho to kiss me again.”

That did it. His steps toward you were slow, deliberate, dangerous. He growled low under his breath, shoving past you, practically vibrating with possessive rage. “I don’t know what game you’re playing at, but don’t test me, Y/N,” he snapped. “I’ve killed for less without blinking.”

Your heart beat erratically as you listened to Hongjoong’s furious commands to hand him his keys so he could drive off that were sounding further and further until you heard the front door slam so hard, you could practically feel it vibrate from where you were.

Perfect. Now all you had to do was find the damn contract - and whatever other secrets he’d been hiding.

Luckily for you, Hongjoong didn’t lock his cabinets. To be completely fair, nobody in their right mind - except you, apparently - would even dream of digging through his files while he wasn’t present. It was like finding a needle on a haystack, but whenever you’d recall the conversation you overheard here, it gave you a newfound sense of determination. Finally, you found it. With trembling hands, you gingerly took the contract that basically held your uncle’s life and bound you to Hongjoong. You hated your uncle for selling you, but at the same time, you couldn’t imagine not meeting Hongjoong at all.

This was it, you were done, and you were leaving. You had already packed what little you brought here and all that was left now was to burn the bridge behind you and never look back. Tears welled in your eyes, however, as you willed Hongjoong’s fond eyes as he looked at you out of your mind. Your story with him had happened, but now, it had to end.

You folded the contract resolutely. Just as you turned to leave, something fluttered from between the pages. It was a thinner piece of paper, tucked behind the contract, and it fell towards the floor, face up. You blinked in confusion, was this another part of the contract?

You crouched, hand shaky as you picked it up, but before you could touch it, you froze. Your pulse skipped, heart sinking the moment your eyes caught the title - it was a marriage contract and it had Hongjoong’s unmistakable signature on it.

You blinked once, twice, but the name didn’t change. The blood drained from your face, a sudden rush of nausea coiled in your gut with bile that started to burn your throat as you backed away from the fallen paper as if it had a contagious disease of some sort.

Was this it? The secret he’d been keeping? Your chest felt like it had caved in. No wonder he didn’t want to marry you - he literally couldn’t. He already belonged to someone else and you seeked comfort in his arms like you belonged in it when, in fact, you did not. You never did.

You ran out of the office, your pathetic tears finally falling from your eyes as you felt your heart starting to break. You didn’t bother stopping for Wooyoung, who looked genuinely worried for your state, and you pushed past a surprised Seonghwa, who was the last person you ever wanted to see besides Hongjoong.

You shoved the contract hastily in your luggage, trudging it silently towards the back door you knew nobody passed or guarded, each movement mechanical, like your soul detached itself long ago. The suitcase was filled with your clothes, but really, it's all the things you never meant to carry - bitterness and heartbreak.

You barely made it one step outside when a hand grabbed your arm from behind, spinning you unceremoniously. It was someone you never expected in a million years, and he was already waiting by the door like he knew you’d come out here. “Running away again, I see,” Mingi eyes your luggage. “Though it seems you have no plans of coming back.”

His features are etched from the same ice as his father's - cold, unreadable. He’s never spoken to you beyond what's necessary. You pulled your arm away harshly from his hold. “Not that it would matter,” you scoffed. “Hongjoong has no plans of marrying me, what’s the point?”

Realization seemed to dawn on him. “You found the certificate. Is that why Wooyoung said you’re crying?” He sighed, long and breathy, as if he wasn’t prepared for what he was about to say next. “I have to give it to you, you’re clever for driving him out of his office, but whatever it is you’re thinking, you’re dead wrong.”

You laugh once, bitter and sharp. “I saw it with my own two eyes, and the facts speak for themselves, don’t they? All he’s ever made me feel was that I was an inconvenience to him.”

“You’ve only seen what he’s allowed you to see,” Mingi says quietly. “You think my father doesn’t care about you, but Y/N, he’d sell his soul for you. For what it’s worth, we all think it should’ve never gone this far.”

“Yeah, well,” you exhaled sharply, turning to leave again. “It’s a little too late for that—”

“Don’t leave,” Mingi said, almost a whisper, almost a plea. You faltered, stunned at how he wasn’t letting you pass. He rubs his face between his hands in distress. “How about this, let me show you something, and if that still doesn’t change your mind, I’ll even help you walk away.” “Why?” You asked coldly, but followed him back to what seemed like Hongjoong’s office anyway. “You made it clear that you never liked me from the beginning.”

“Because I’m not going to let him lose you, not like this,” Mingi opened the door for you to enter. “And I never disliked you. You are my father’s one shot at the happiness he never got before, I could never dislike you for that.”

San was already there. He looked up as you entered, and your breath caught. In his hands was the very marriage certificate that had shattered you just moments ago. He eyed your luggage, resignation clear in his eyes. “Y/N, I am so, so sorry,” his voice cracked when you refused to meet his eye. “You deserve to know the truth before you walk away, at least.”

Mingi sighed and walked over to the far side of the desk. He reached under the edge, clicking something underneath. “This,” he held out a small recording device. “Is for protection and insurance whenever he invites people over here. It never stops recording. I’m sure you know where I’m going with this.”

And with that, he presses play. You didn’t speak, just listened. At first, you heard nothing, just pure static and a couple of movements before San fast forwarded it, stopping when he was satisfied.

“She’s beautiful, Hwa, my goodness. Her photos don’t do her justice,” Hongjoong’s familiar voice sounded all over the room, slightly startling you. “I-I must’ve looked like a fool during dinner. How am I supposed to pretend that I’m not head over heels in love with her?”

“You did look like a fool,” Seonghwa’s voice said next, deadpanned. “It’s embarrassing, Joong. Your own son had to tell you to stop staring.”

Head over heels? It didn’t make sense. Not when he avoided you for the longest time, not when he stood silent while you begged for clarity. San started fast forwarding again.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?” The voice was unmistakably Hongjoong’s sharp, furious, and barely restrained. “Flirting with her in front of me? Do you want me to ship you back in Suwon, you uncultured swine?”

Wooyoung’s familiar laughter shrieked all over the room so loud, Mingi rolled his eyes. “My God, Dad, you are so down bad. I’ve never seen you so jealous in my life. I have no plans to steal your wife, relax.”

“That’s not the point,” Hongjoong snapped. “Don’t touch her like that again. Don’t talk to her like she’s anyone but mine. Do you understand me?”

You stood there, frozen. Your hands trembled slightly as you remembered that day so clearly in your head. San gave Mingi a glance before silently playing the recording again.

“I fucked up,” Honjoong started, but it was in a voice you’ve never heard on him before, and for some reason, it hurt your heart to hear. “I shouldn’t have shouted at her during dinner, she looked at me like I’d hit her. And I-I hate myself for it, she probably hates me—”

“You think?” Jongho’s voice responded, unusually sharp. “She looked like she wanted the floor to swallow her whole. Seriously, what were you thinking?”

“I shouldn’t have pushed the plate like that, but it had avocados in it,” Hongjoong’s voice faltered, like he was trying to rein himself in.

There was a pause in the recording, and in your head as well. You felt like you were about to faint. “Avocados?” San in the recording asked, clearly confused.

Hongjoong sighed heavily and you could practically hear him pacing in his office. “She’s allergic to avocados. Allergic enough for anaphylactic shock.”

“You could’ve just said something,” San replied, dry and disbelieving. “That wasn’t just over the line, Joong. It was humiliating.”

“That’s why she reacted like that when I told her about the dressing,” Jongho commented off-handedly. “But still, you scared her. Hell, you scared all of us.”

“I was scared as well, that’s why I’m furious,” Hongjoong snapped. “I clearly told the staff to not put avocados in her food. How was I supposed to tell her without arousing suspicion of the fucker that did it?”

That night, you’d gone to bed wondering if he hated you. Meanwhile, he was probably pacing the floor in this very room, wondering if you were still breathing, wondering if he should have just shouted your allergy across the table rather than risk letting you eat what could’ve killed you. “You okay to keep going?” San asked softly. When you nodded stiffly, he pressed play again.

“Did you order food out?” Wooyoung’s voice sounded out this time. “Oh, that actually looks good, can I have some—”

A loud smack can be heard in the background before Wooyoung’s yelp. “No,” Hongjoong’s light, almost boyish tone, smugly denied. “My love made this for me. Can you guys believe it? She’s literally perfect in every way, she even cooks well, too. A literal angel in every sense, I tell you.”

“Hold on, is that why she’s been hanging around the kitchen late?” Wooyoung asked, confused. “But she looks so down everytime—she doesn’t know you’re eating them, does she?”

There was a pause before Seonghwa spoke next, his voice quieter. “You have to tell her, Joong. Me and San have to carry the burden of seeing her tears the next day every single time we pretend to throw away the food the next day. She makes them with love, you know?”

Silence. Then Hongjoong sighed, deep and hollow. “God, I want to, but not yet. You know there’s a mole in the staff. If I let on that I care too much, it puts a target on her back. It’s the only way to protect her without tipping my hand.”

There was a pause. “She’s so bright when she cooks, and I never tell her,” he continued heavily. “I said nothing, like I always do. So for now, all I could do is savour her food, you know? It keeps my longing away for now.”

Something in your chest cracked. You remembered those nights. You never imagined he cherished every bite in silence, keeping up a mask to protect you from shadows you didn’t even know were looming. Suddenly, it transitioned into a conversation you knew far too well, the one you heard before you ran away to the playground.

“But you can’t keep doing this to keep giving her the cold shoulder, Joong,” Seonghwa clicked his tongue. “She’s too perceptive and you know she'll find out, what are you going to do then?”

“Give me time,” Hongjoong’s tone shifted into something darker. “We’re so close to caging in Yoo Jaehwan, that bastard ruined her life. Please, no one can know for now. I have to make sure he’ll pay for that car accident that almost cost her and Yeosang.”

You gasped audibly, almost tripping at what you just heard. There was only one car accident that had Yeosang and you in it, did this run deeper than you initially thought?

“She won’t be safe forever, you know that. San’s working on Mingi’s intel for the hit and run. It was damn near impossible to find who hit her parents back then. You think Jaehwan knows?”

“There’s no denying it. That bastard killed them. She will be safer here, so please, watch over her for me. I will never forgive myself if something happens to her. She’s my everything—who’s there?”

And all this time, the man you thought didn’t care,the man whose cold shoulder and distant silence had crushed you, had been carrying the weight of it all in secret. You shook your head in denial, if this wasn’t enough, your uncle had something to do with your parents’ death as well. “Make it stop,” you begged. “I-I can’t—”

“I’m sorry,” Mingi apologized, and you could see he was genuine this time. “We have to keep going. This is why Father was the way he was with you. You have to know.”

You heard a glass clink against another, followed by the unmistakable sound of Hongjoong’s tired hiccup, more human than you'd ever heard him, before the familiar sigh of Seonghwa followed. “That’s enough,�� he gently coaxed. “You’re drunk, Joong. You’re half gone–”

“Half gone? I haven’t been whole since I lied to her,” Hongjoong’s drunk and pained voice slurred. “She ran away from me, Hwa. And I deserve it. I was prepared for her hate, but not her absence. When I couldn’t find her, I was so damn scared, none of you even understood.”

Hongjoong swallowed more alcohol. “I love her, Seonghwa. I love her more than this house, more than the empire, more than anything. But if she knew what I’ve done, she’d never stay.”

You clutch the edge of the table like it’s the only thing holding you upright. “There’s still time to tell her,” Seonghwa advised. “Mingi still thinks you shouldn’t hide this.”

“What if she realizes I’m the reason her life turned to hell?” Hongjoong cried out in melancholy. “I’m terrified she’ll disappear for good when she finds out what I’ve done and made the selfish decision to make her mine—”

“But she doesn’t know that,” Seonghwa said softly. “She doesn’t know you held her hand the whole time in the hospital. You did it to protect her. You married her, for God’s sake.”

Your knees nearly gave out. That hand - warm, calloused, unmoving but steady - had been the only thing tethering you to life. That hand was the only one that stayed when no one else did. Tears sprung to your eyes, that hand had been your lifeline, and after all this time, you had been his.

“I married her to settle a score. But somewhere along the line, I just,” Hongjoong sniffled. “I just loved her. Every day I don’t tell her, she drifts further from me. And I-I don’t know how to fix it.”

You swallowed audibly when the recording paused. There was only one question lingering in your head, one that San read on your face but refused to acknowledge. Instead, he reached forward and pressed play. The room was silent again, except for the soft static of the next recording beginning to play.

“I’ll bow to your king when he shows himself,” your voice played out this time, clipped and cut. You cringed internally. You remember how liberated you felt after that day, but now you were about to find out what happened after you stormed out.

Seonghwa and Mingi were in the room that day and you were expecting the three of them to talk about your utter disrespect, but you were not expecting Hongjoong’s laughter, loud, bubbly, and full of mirth after a few seconds of you walking away.

“Well, would you look at that,” Mingi snorted, but even through the recording, you could hear the subtle fondness in his voice. “You’ve finally found your match, Father.”

“God, I’m so proud of her,” Hongjoong said through his laughter, his voice breathless and utterly thrilled. “Did you see the way she stood up to me like a champ? I’ve never been that close to finishing on the spot.”

Mingi let out a sound of pure, exaggerated revulsion. “Please, never let me hear that again. That is fucking disgusting, this is why I get drunk often.”

“Oh, it gets worse,” Seonghwa chortled. “Did you see the way he looked at her? He was looking at her like he wanted her to break his neck and thank her for it. It was sickening. I wanted to bleach my eyes.”

“Shut up,” Hongjoong muttered, but there was no real heat behind it. You could hear the smile in his voice. It was small, secretive, a little lovesick.

“No, you shut up,” Seonghwa shot back with playful disbelief. “She literally insulted your bloodline and told you that you are not the king of your own empire in her eyes and you look like you’re ready to carve her name onto your chest.”

“Well, he just might,” Mingi answered dramatically. “You two make marriage look fun. My money’s on her, you know? Hell, everyone’s is at this point.”

Hongjoong laughed again, sounding more genuine, if that was possible. “So is mine.”

You’ve barely let that settle before the next recording sounded. You froze. This was the most recent, the catalyst that set this whole thing in motion. “I still think it’s cruel,” San murmured. “Are you ever going to tell her, Hongjoong? You’re really gonna let her go? Just like that?”

“There was never supposed to be an ‘us’ anyway. It was a mistake that should have never happened,” Hongjoong sighed and you were confused. You didn’t remember him sounding this torn about it. This was when you ran away crying to your room utterly heartbroken.

“That’s my wife, San. I don’t want to let her go, but it was cruel for me to take her secretly. I have to let her go if she doesn’t want to stay even if it hurts me. We go for the kill, but leave Jaehwan to me. I want to kill him, myself.”

The recording ended there, for good this time. You just stood there shaking, lips parted, eyes glassy. He hadn’t just tolerated you, he adored you - no, he loved you hopelessly with a hidden love that he kept choking down behind layers of silence and strategy.

You feel your knees weaken not from pain, but from the crushing, beautiful truth that maybe you were never unloved. “I-I don’t understand,” you blurted, tears blurring your vision. “T-There has to be a mistake. He’s married to someone else—”

San started to show you the marriage certificate again, but you didn’t want anything to do with it. “Y/N,” San said gently, catching your hand before you could shove the paper away. “Just look closer, please. At the bottom.”

Your gaze dropped, unwilling at first but your breath stopped, your mind stilling into chaotic silence when you saw it - your name and signature right beside Hongjoong’s. You blinked hard, heart thrashing in your chest. “I don’t remember this. I never - how could I not know I was married?”

“Our job is done. We shouldn’t be the ones explaining this. You need to hear it from him,” Mingi said as he stood and with a final glance, the door clicked shut, and you were left alone with your thoughts, the weight of the paper, and a heart that no longer knew what to believe.

You were shaking your head violently, eyes already welling up with tears you refused to acknowledge. One by one, everything started to make sense, even the little things you ignored for fear of falling too hard - your avocado allergy, how he picked raisins out of your food, your photo on his desk you now knew for sure he kept staring at every single day.

And everyone knew too, there were also the telltale signs of everyone slipping by accident - the way San froze when he found out your name was Jeong, Seonghwa telling you it was finally nice to meet you, overhearing Yeosang say you weren’t just a wife, you were someone Hongjoong would burn the world for.

You should’ve been angry, and you were, but underneath all of that was grief not just for yourself, but for him too. Your chest ached as you imagined all those nights he must have sat awake, planning, hiding, hurting. All those moments you begged him to speak, and he couldn’t not because he didn’t want to - but because he loved you too much to risk everything.

A sob clawed its way up your throat. You wiped your face with shaking hands, but the tears wouldn’t stop now. How long had he carried all this alone? How long had he loved you silently, forced to cage every affection? How could you hate someone for hurting you when all they ever wanted was to protect you? It must have been crushing.

Your heart was a tangled, desperate mess in your chest by the time the door finally opened. Hongjoong stepped in, his brows pinched together in confusion when he saw you there. When he saw the marriage certificate crumpled tightly in your hands, it was like the ground vanished beneath his feet.

He stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes blown wide, his breath catching audibly. It was like you also held his heart in your hands. All the color drained from his face, but somewhere in his eyes, relief shone through. And you knew why - all the pretending has to stop now and you both knew it.

Hongjoong slowly closed the door behind him, eyes never leaving yours, and for once, he looked afraid, vulnerable and human. “We need to talk,” he said hoarsely, and there wasn’t a trace of command in his voice, only quiet pleading as he slowly approached you.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” You cried out, heart aching and throat tight, the paper trembling in your hands like the storm inside you that was finally meeting his. “Everything hurts, Hongjoong. I can’t breathe.”

Without another word, he knelt in front of you, like the wind had been knocked out of him, and reached for you with trembling hands. You collapsed into his chest, sobbing openly as he cradled you to him. His warmth surrounded you, his scent grounding you, and for the first time, his arms didn’t feel like a prison - they felt like home.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, over and over again, his lips brushing your temple. “I’m so, so sorry. I never wanted you to find out like this, and I never wanted to hurt you. But I was wrong. I was so wrong.”

You shook your head against him, trying to make sense of the chaos in your chest. “I wanted so desperately for you to care for me, Hongjoong,” you confessed angrily, lamenting for all the times you spent yearning. “I wanted it so badly that I never blamed you for how you treated me, no matter how bad, I never blamed you.”

He clutched you tighter as if the very fabric of his soul depended on your forgiveness, his breath shaky, his words barely held together. “Blame me, Y/N. My soul can’t be saved if I sell you my sins and the scars in your heart are mine to atone, but don’t think for a second that I never loved you,” his voice cracked. “That I don’t love you now.”

Rage sets in as his words wrapped around your heart like a chain, heavy with the weight of long-buried truths. “You’re cruel, you know that?” You thumped your fists on his chest repeatedly. “After all the things you made me go through? You tell me this now?”

You could feel his tears now, each one a testament to the pain he had buried beneath the armor he wore for too long. “You think I’m cruel, but I’ve been your husband longer than you’ve known. And I’ve loved you every single day of it,” he whispered, his hands trembling.

Your breath caught as his words sank in, deeper than any wound he’d ever left behind. Husband. You wanted to scream, to cry, to pull away, to collapse into him all at once. How could he say it like that? So stripped of pride and power, like a man offering up the last piece of himself and hoping it would be enough? It was too much. It was everything.

He pressed his forehead to yours, lips barely apart from yours. “If you want the truth, I'll give you that. If you want to leave, I will never stop you."

But somehow, all you could do was hold him tighter. “I don’t want freedom from you, Hongjoong,” you whispered, breaking apart in his arms. “I just want the truth.”

Hongjoong didn’t speak at first. You felt his body tremble as he held you, as though the truth itself was too heavy to carry alone anymore. “I’m not the right person to tell you this, it would be Yunho, but to put it simply for now, your parents both served my father, and in turn, me after he passed away.”

You pulled back slightly, your breath catching in your throat. “M-My parents were in the mafia?” You asked, heart pounding with the realization already forming. Somehow, it made sense - they were absent throughout your teenage years and they did keep their career a secret.

“They were. Yunho took over your father after, but we didn’t get along much, but that’s another story,” Hongjoong said softly. “They were good people. One day I got myself into something I wasn’t supposed to. I would’ve been dead if it weren’t for them and my sons would be fatherless. I was young and stupid and they saved me. I owe them my life, I still do.”

He paused, voice tightening with grief. “I didn’t have much power back then, so I did the best thing I could. Assets, lots of them. I gave your parents millions, Y/N, but before I could fully ever thank them, before I could protect them…” Hongjoong looked away, sighing heavily.

“They died before they could use the money. My uncle wanted their money, didn’t he? Did he kill them?” You blurted out. His silence confirmed it and you shuddered, anguish and clarity warred within you as the weight of your stolen past pressed down on your chest.

“At first I didn’t have proof it was him,” you felt Hongjoong’s hands holding you steady, his warmth anchoring you to something real. “I was investigating their deaths for years. It was my way of getting back for them for saving me. It wasn’t until your car accident with Yeosang a couple of years back.”

You swallowed. This was it, this was the part you weren’t sure you were ready to hear. His face turned dark before he continued. “Yeosang was suspicious of the accident. We both thought the hit was for him at first since he’s my son. When I investigated, it was how I found out who you were. It felt like the universe just punched me in the gut.”

“W-What does this have to do with marrying me?”

“Everything,” his expression twisted, like it physically hurt him to relive it. “When your parents died, all that money went to you automatically. Do you remember that day when I asked you why your uncle took you in when Yunho was losing his mind looking for you all this time?”

You nodded, your stomach sinking. “He took you in to drain every cent out of you. He was bleeding you dry,” his jaw ticked in concealed anger. “He got impatient, that car accident back then would speed up the process.”

You shook your head, denial flaring. Your lungs were too tight, your heart racing painfully in your chest as you tried not to throw up. “So, what, you married me to stop him?”

“Not just that,” he said hoarsely, and then, softer. “I had to make it legally binding. As your husband, I could legally control your funds. It was the only way I knew how, so I married you in secret, in the hospital, while you were unconscious. And I held your hand while you signed.”

Your head snapped up at that. Your blood ran cold, because you remembered that day. The warmth of a hand in yours, grounding you while the world spun wildly. You thought it was just hospital consent forms. “That was the marriage certificate?” you whispered, your voice breaking. “But that was years before my uncle sold me to you, Hongjoong, that doesn’t make any sense—”

“I had to let you go back to him after,” he explained, eyes shut tight with regret. “He was desperate, and desperate men get dangerous. I needed time. I needed him to think he was still in control, still bleeding you dry while I worked behind the scenes.”

You stood there in stunned silence, your hands trembling with the weight of a truth you never asked for but now couldn’t ignore. “I watched you for years,” he continued, voice hollow but steady. “Always from a distance. I told myself it was enough.I kept telling myself I was doing it for your parents, that I owed them everything. That’s how it started. But then…”

His voice cracked, and for a moment he didn’t go on. “Then I fell in love with you,” he whispered, trembling. “Without even realizing it, I fell. Hard. And for that, I’m sorry. I will regret taking that choice away from you for as long as I live. The plan was to annul the marriage when I was done compiling evidence against him, and believe me, I tried to do it quickly. I didn’t want you to stay with him for long.”

Your breath caught when he smiled faintly, and it was the saddest, most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. “You were always strong, and I hated that I couldn’t tell you how proud I was. I’m sorry I got selfish because the thought of annulling the marriage just hurt me on the inside.”

You looked down, heart racing, remembering the moments. All that time you resented him for being locked in his office instead of being with you, he was working to finally set you free. “Then why keep it a secret?” You asked, voice fragile. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I was scared,” he admitted. “Scared you’d hate me. Scared that if you knew the truth, you’d want nothing to do with me. I didn’t want to rip open old wounds by making you relive the past. So I just… watched and made sure you were doing well.”

“But everything changed. One time I sent Jongho,” Hongjoong went on, voice turning sharp with memory. “We didn’t know he was violent with you. He caught him hurting you. That fucking bastard,” his cracked slightly. “Not only was he stealing from you, he was beating you up the entire time, I-I wanted to die when I found out—”

A lone tear escaped his eyes when you shushed him, putting your finger on his lips gently. He cracked a bitter smile, kissing your finger before continuing. “So I bankrupted his business. I had Seonghwa pose as his client, made him plant the seed that Kim Hongjoong was giving money for something in exchange. It worked, that’s how I got you into my house.”

You froze up, suddenly breathless. Your whole life - every twist and turn, every unexplained pain, every confusing encounter - was beginning to piece together like a puzzle you never knew existed. “You were never a liability used to pay a debt,” he growled. “Once you were under my roof, I knew you were safe. I could fully start making my move on your uncle. I sent Wooyoung to Suwon to start—”

“Suwon?” You blinked in surprise, remembering the very first time you met Wooyoung. “He went there…because of me? Because you told him to?”

He nodded. “The man your uncle hired who hit your parents were both hiding in Suwon. Mingi wanted to do it since he was the one who found them for me, but Wooyoung…let’s say that son of mine is a little trigger-happy. Trust me, he was more than glad to do it.”

You felt your chest caving in. All this time, everyone - San, Seonghwa, Jongho, Wooyoung, and even Mingi - had been watching, protecting, quietly fighting battles for you that you didn’t even know existed.

Tears spilled down your cheeks as you stared at the man who had haunted your days and nights with confusion, rage, longing - only to discover that, all along, he had loved you in silence.

“What now?” You sniffled. “What are we going to do?”

“I was going to kill him and then come clean to you,” he admitted ruefully. “But death is a salvation that he doesn’t deserve. I have all the evidence I need to send him to jail, because there’s one more thing your uncle cost me, ” he said, voice low and rough. “Yeosang.”

You felt your chest twist. “I had to send my own son away,” he spat the words like poison. “Because if your uncle ever saw him around, he would’ve figured it out that Yeosang was the one who called me, panicked, sobbing, begging me to save you.”

You knew that Hongjoong called Yeosang in a panic when you were poisoned to wherever he was hiding from to come and treat you. He risked all of it to save you. “Your uncle didn’t just steal from you,” he growled. “He didn’t just beat you, he stole from me too. He robbed me of time with you, your parents, and my son.”

He dropped to his knees again. “I did terrible things to keep you safe,” he said quietly. “And I can’t undo them. But if there’s anything left in your heart for me, even just a piece, I swear to you, I will make it right.”

Hongjoong was a man weighed down by guilt, someone laying every wound bare before you. You looked at him, this broken, bleeding man who had shielded you in ways you never even saw. And now, maybe, just maybe, it was time to stop surviving and start living. You gripped his hands tightly now, because for the first time, you understood.

“I hated you,” you whispered. His jaw clenched, and he closed his eyes like your words were blades, but he took it like he promised he would. “But I think I hated myself more for still loving you anyway.”

His eyes snapped open, wide and raw and shimmering with a hope he tried to suppress. “Y-You still do?” His broken voice stuttered.

“I don’t know how not to,” you said, your lips trembling. “I didn’t realize how much I fell for you until you started pulling back. Even when you pushed me so far away I thought I’d disappear, I kept looking for you.”

His breath hitched, and then he was kissing you, not out of possession or dominance, not like a man taking what he believed was his, but like someone starved for something he’d already mourned the loss of. His lips trembled against yours, and you tasted your shared sorrow, your silent tears, your aching, stupid, impossible love.

Hongjoong exhaled shakily, as if the weight of everything unsaid was finally buckling his knees. Now that you were in front of him, there was no more holding back. “I never meant to ignore you,” he said, voice rough and uneven. “These past few months, I-I know I’ve made you feel unwanted, like you were nothing but a pawn to me, but you never were.”

His eyes flicked to yours. “We were so close to getting your uncle. I could taste it, that justice. And I lost myself. I thought, just a little more time and I could finally give you peace.”

You opened your mouth to speak, to tell him it wasn’t his fault, but he shook his head. “No,” he whispered with a bitter smile. “It is my fault. I couldn’t help it. I wasn’t supposed to love you, I was supposed to distance myself because your uncle’s mole was watching us. But how could I not?”

“Hongjoong,” you tried to coax him out of these thoughts, but to no avail. Your vision blurred as his words sank in.

“How could I not hold back when you looked at the world with eyes that still trusted even after everything?” Hongjoong continued. “Every time you touched me, I felt like I was being forgiven for sins I hadn’t even confessed yet. Every night you were in my house, pretending not to care that I was cruel, pretending it didn’t hurt, I wanted to fall to my knees and curse every God out there for doing this to me, to us.”

He took your hands, his thumbs brushing your knuckles, and he held you like you were something fragile. “I even got you poisoned,” he said, pressing your hands to his chest, where his heart thundered violently. “Because I let my guard down. I’ve lived every day terrified that loving you would be the death of you, but it turns out, not loving you openly was killing me.”

Tears welled in your eyes again, thick and hot. When he finally pulled back, it was only just enough to whisper. “I married you once to protect you and I’d marry you again just to love you. Marry me, Y/N, please.”

You looked at him, the man who had fought in silence for you, bled in shadows for you, and lost you just to keep you alive. And for the first time, you saw him as the only person who had ever loved you enough to break his own heart to save yours. “You already have me,” you said softly, hands rising to cup his cheeks.

His exhale of relief and wonder, grief and gratitude all at once. No more pretending, no more secrets. Just the two of you, finally choosing each other in the light. You were already his long before you knew it and he’s always been yours.

“Let me get this straight,” Yunho uncrossed his long legs, his upper body leaning forward ever so slightly as his sharp, glaring eyes trained on Hongjoong’s flat, expressionless ones. “You’re telling me that you’ve been married to her this entire time? That you made her suffer in your slimy presence for the grand scheme of catching Jaehwan when you could’ve just left her with me?”

He removed his glasses to put it on top of the coffee table in front of him, its reflective surface and visual lightness made it a striking centerpiece while keeping the room feeling uncluttered and elegant, very befitting of someone like Yunho who exuded an exorbitant amount of grace. The way he scoffed after was anything of, however.

“You fucking bastard,” he seethed, banging his fist on said table with a sarcastic laugh that left his lips in a disbelieving pace of staccato. “I ought to kill you on the spot, Kim Hongjoong. I cannot believe you thought that this was normal, you’re not right in the head, I’m telling—”

“Now, now Yunho,” Hongjoong - or should you say, your husband - smirked smugly, snaking his arm around your waist to pull you closer. “In front of Y/N, really?”

“You won’t get away with this, also you mean my niece—”

“Don’t you mean my wife?” Hongjoong grinned, all of his teeth bared out in a daring show of possessiveness that was not to be messed with, clearly not even Yunho. “And I already have,” he turned to look at you, his eyes softening significantly as he smiled. “Isn’t that right, darling?”

Yunho balked at the blatant display of Hongjoong’s disrespect towards him. He looked at you expectantly, but all you could do was give him a sheepish smile as you toyed with the ring on your finger.

“Sorry, Uncle,” you giggled. “You heard my husband.”

Hongjoong whispered ‘that’s my girl’ softly on your ear as Yunho let out the most undignified squawk you’ve ever heard a grown man do.

Yunho covered his face with his hands and groaned. “You love him,” he deadpanned. “And you, you manipulative, delusional, leather-wearing tax fraud—”

“Tax fraud?” Hongjoong raised a brow, a slow grin spreading across his face like ink in water. “Really, Yunho? That’s the best you’ve got?”

“---you love her. Oh, Sungho is probably rolling in his grave right now,” he groaned, and you laughed at how he whispered his grievances in your dad's name.

He sat up, reclining back with one arm thrown over the couch. “Well, if you ever come to your senses, I know a great divorce lawyer,” he said dryly. “My door is always open for you, little love.”

You bit back the urge to laugh when Hongjoong rolled his eyes dramatically. “I’ll keep it in mind, Uncle,” you grinned. “But you should know by now that I have a type.”

Hongjoong only smirked from his seat, one arm slung lazily over the backrest behind you like this was his damn throne. “You’re just bitter I won,” he snorted at Yunho.

“Oh, I’ll be bitter until my dying breath,” Yunho snapped. “You married her and didn't even invite me to the wedding. I was supposed to walk her down the aisle.”

“Then die—”

“Fuck you,” he retorted. Yunho waved his hand, the humor in his eyes dimming slightly as his tone shifted, more measured now. “Alright, jokes aside. What happened to the motherfucker that is Jaehwan?”

Hongjoong’s arm around you tightened as his entire posture changed. “We got him. He’s in jail.”

The words dropped like a stone in the room. You looked down, purposefully grabbing the mug to take a sip, your mind flashing with the bright lights of one shot that gradually turned into two, three, four shots. Yunho’s brows furrowed. “You’re serious?”

“Deadly,” Hongjoong tried not to smirk, side-eyeing you with intent. “Nothing crazy, really. He doesn’t deserve anything theatrical for everything that he’s done. I had my men watch him for a couple of days, ambushed him when he least expected it, and that’s that. You recall that car accident from a couple of years ago, yes?”

You closed your eyes, the faux splatters of sticky red coating your face feeling realistic enough if you concentrated. Lifeless, hollow eyes stared back behind your eyes before you opened them again. Hongjoong’s fingers massaged yours with purpose back then, too. You kept your mouth from curling too far at the corners.

“How could I not? You took her that night,” Yunho scoffed, sitting forward again, steepling his fingers under his chin. “I was this close to finding Y/N at that time. I dislike talking about this, but it was hard. Years of failure meant I failed her father.”

Hongjoong hummed, ignoring Yunho’s pointed look. “My son was also there, you remember my middle son? He’s a neurosurgeon now,” he replied softly, his fingers playing with yours. “You could say I had a different drive back then. I had my reasons.”

Yunho’s brows shot up in mild surprise before they softened ever so slightly. “I didn’t know, I’m terribly sorry that your son got caught up in this fiasco,” he murmured, his soft eyes landing on you. “I suppose everything that happened was like a trigger set in motion, wouldn’t you say, Y/N?”

You shrugged as you gave Hongjoong a look. You let your lashes lower slightly and adjusted your posture, just like you did when after the kickback from the trigger that had made your shoulders ache. “Perhaps.”

“Anyway, it’s over,” Hongjoong said with a clipped edge. “There’s enough evidence now to tie him to the attempted murder, fraud, and embezzlement. Stalking as well. The bastard didn't even stop at the mole in my house, he always sent his sleazy men around the area in case she went out. He’s done, I'll make sure of it.”

“Good riddance,” Yunho said with an unsurprising amount of venom. His shoulders sank, years and years of burden lifting off of his shoulders. Relief settles in his expression, and though it made him look a decade younger, the faraway look of a thousand suns in his eyes told you otherwise. “I knew your father would be proud of you," he sighed. "That bastard took everything from our family. But you…you gave it back.”

The man who haunted your childhood, the one who used your grief as a tool to strip you of everything, was finally out of your life. You squeezed Yunho’s hand, hoping that it said everything you couldn’t say out loud. You stayed quiet for a moment, trying to absorb the weight of what Yunho was saying.

There was no reminiscing on your end, no smirk, no memories; just the hurt between two people who have lost their loved ones. He held your hand, holding it tight. “And your mom,” he added softly. She would’ve held you so tight. You look like Sohee, you know? Same fire, same goddamn backbone. Perfect for your father.”

“I hope they’re at peace now,” you said quietly.

“They are,” Yunho replied with a surety that only blood could lend. “Because you’re finally safe. And I can finally breathe again.”

You took in his words, the finality of them. The war was over now, justice had been served. And it sounded like a dull thud of a body hitting the floor, the heaviness of it almost satisfying in your ears. The conversation shifted into something lighthearted, with you and Yunho reminiscing about how he babysat you when you were younger, how your own father was when they were both teenagers, to all the mundane things like how your father would have reacted to your marriage with Hongjoong.

And Hongjoong was just there, laughing and smiling along like he’s always meant to be there with you. He would quip once or twice with his own accounts about your parents and you fell a little harder for the man, for the way he spoke about your parents with unparalleled fondness was something to behold. He truly adored them, and it just made you miss them even more.

“We should go,” you said gently, standing up, smoothing your dress daintily with a small smile. “I want to visit my parents today. It’s a good day and I haven’t been to ever since I was in college.”

Yunho, ever the gentleman that he was, walked both you and Hongjoong all the way to the door to see you out instead of sending his right-hand man like a man of his status should. The shift in his demeanor was immediate, but you tried your best to not pay attention to it as he hugged you goodbye.

“She’ll be back, Yunho,” Hongjoong rolled his eyes, noticing the small tension, subtly pulling you away back to his side with a curt chuckle. “Stop smothering her.”

Yunho didn’t answer with words. He just stared long, quiet, and with enough weight behind his gaze to make most men sweat as both you and Hongjoong speed walked all the way to the car to try and get away, but of course, there was no escaping. You were a Jeong, after all, and so was he. “Stop,” he spoke out, firm and absolute.

You halted from walking, giving Hongjoong a knowing look, who only squeezed your hand supportively. “Hmm?”

“I know what you did,” Yunho said, his voice just a touch lower than before. He swept his gaze on you from head to toe, stopping lightly at your shoulders. "Your sore shoulders tells me everything."

Your spine straightened, barely enough to notice, unless someone was trained to notice. You turned your head over your shoulder, lips curled into an innocent, almost amused smile. “Oh?”

He smirked, his body stilling like a predator catching scent. You faltered, suddenly reminded that Yunho wasn’t just your uncle - he was mafia, just like Hongjoong. Worse, perhaps, more patient and more precise. Hongjoong took pride in the brutality of it all while he was the kind of man who could make a death look like a ghost story.

For a moment, he looked overtly threatening, his intelligence sharper, and his confrontation carrying a much colder, calculated menace. He tilted his head mockingly, willingly playing your game. “Must’ve felt good,” he chuckled. “I bet you looked him in the eye.”

You had to laugh out loud at that one, not confirming nor denying what he was insinuating. “Maybe I just found peace,” you said innocently.

“I see. Say, what jail is he in? Might have to pay him a visit,” Yunho smiled, truly smiled, wide and cold, but still, it was impossible to miss the adoration and pride in it. “Let me guess - it’s two feet wide and six foot deep.”

Hongjoong, who’d been watching you both with amusement simmering just beneath the surface, finally spoke. “What vivid imagination you have,” he mused, smirking with dark intent, his eyes shining sadistically as he looked at you with faux curiosity. “Don’t you think, darling?”

Yunho nodded slowly, pursing his lips in a poor attempt to stop himself from smiling. “Not vivid enough,” he shrugged playfully. “Humour me this, if someone were to, say, shoot someone…would it be better to aim for a quick kill or prolong the agony? Hypothetically.”

You tapped your chin thoroughly, pretending to think. “ I’d prolong the agony. Shoot them four times on pressure points. Hypothetically, of course.”

“Next one,” Yunho said, clearly enjoying himself. “You’re standing over the body, hypothetically, and he’s looking at you, what would you say?”

“Hypothetically? You pondered, tilting your head as if you were really thinking about what to say. “I would have said ‘you should have killed me when you had the chance.’”

Hongjoong exhaled, something like reverence in his breath. “God, I love you.”

“Just one more,” Yunho said softly, his voice losing its teasing edge, now carrying the quiet weight of someone who’d once held you as a child, who had once promised your father to protect you. “Was it clean?”

You met his gaze evenly, nodding very subtly with a serene smile, one that he returned with all the love and unwavering support only someone who truly cared for you would do.

You wanted to tell him that it was so clean that after your hands didn’t even shake as you pulled the trigger and that the air smelled sweeter. Instead you said, “Like it never even happened.”

Yunho stared at you for a long moment, his eyes melting into something rawer, wearier. “If anyone asks,” he said lowly, the gravity in his tone undeniable now. “You were with me that night. Both of you were the entire time.”

His gaze cut to Hongjoong, who for once, looked struck silent. The air between them simmered with unspoken understanding. He nodded deeply with reverence. It wasn’t flashy, but it was sincere and genuine enough that Yunho didn’t mock him for it. “Thank you.”

Yunho just waved a hand, though his voice cracked slightly when he said, “Don’t thank me, you bastard. Just keep her safe or I swear, I’ll drag your sorry ass down and make you wish you’d stayed single.”

Hongjoong chuckled low in his throat. His hand settled gently on the small of your back as he led you forward. “Don’t worry, she married a man who never stopped watching her back.”

“God help us all,” Yunho rolled his eyes in mock disgrace, staring at the two of you as you both got in the car before he called for the last time. “Tell your parents I said hi.”

You looked back to see him watching you as Hongjoong started to drive away, arms crossed, but eyes glassy. And though he didn’t say it, you understood. You were safe, you were home, and he’d go to hell and back before anyone took that from you again.

The car ride was quiet at first, not from discomfort, but from something softer. Reverent. Hongjoong kept one hand on the wheel while the other was placed on your lap. It reminded you of that one stormy night when he sought out to find you in that lone playground. He turned to look at you, knowing that he was thinking the same as you were.

“I love you,” he said, pulling your hand up to kiss your knuckles. His eyes searched your face like he was memorizing it all over again, as though he still couldn’t believe you were here. “I should’ve said it a long time ago, I feel for you so much that it almost hurts.”

You blinked back the sudden tears, the sincerity in his voice cracking something wide open inside you. You laughed wetly. “That’s very sweet of you, I believe you, but why now?”

“I wanted to wait until everything was said and done,” he continued, pressing another kiss to your fingers. “I want to give you everything. A house to grow old with, a bed where you always feel safe, dinners where I burn the rice and you make fun of me for it. I want lazy Sundays and soft arguments and kisses, just like we’ve always done it.”

You looked at him, heart aching with how badly you wanted to believe in all of it and how, against all odds, you did. “You’re serious?” You asked softly, squeezing his hand back.

He placed a hand over his heart in a rare show of insecurity. “I would place a piece of my soul in every time and place you’d ever felt lonely, just so you wouldn’t be alone. I love you enough for the both of us, and there must be something about me worth loving if you would just see–”

You leaned in and kissed him the moment he parked, slow and sweet and full of the kind of hope neither of you had dared to hold onto before. When you pulled away, his forehead rested against yours. “I want that too,” you whispered. “I want everything with you, Hongjoong.”

He exhaled like he’d been holding that breath for years. “Then we start today,” he smiled as bright as the brightest star. “We say hello to your parents. We tell them you’re safe, then we build a life that’s entirely ours, okay?”

You nodded, your smile trembling. You finally look up at the sky after all these years, tearing up as the clouds seem to part way for the sun to finally shine, the rays beaming down at your parents’ tombstones. Finally, justice has been served, they can rest in peace now. You couldn’t help but stare if only for a little while.

Hongjoong approached the stones first, his head bowing low between them. He placed one hand gently on your mother’s grave, the other on your father’s. He didn’t speak loudly, but you saw his lips move, whispering something too quiet for even you to hear. It could’ve been anything - a greeting, a promise, or perhaps maybe even a thank you.

You didn’t ask what he said. You didn’t need to. For the first time, the cemetery didn’t feel like an end. It felt like a door closing softly behind you because the weight of grief was gone now. They could rest and so could you. You stood by Hongjoong’s side smiling at him as he gave you a small kiss on the forehead, coaxing you to talk to your own parents just like he did.

You brought your hands to your lips, kissed your palms, and pressed them reverently to each stone. “Rest easy now, Mom, Dad,” you whispered full of love and release, voice catching as you tried not to tear up. “I’m safe now, and I’m very happy. Happier than I’d ever been.”

You turned to look at the man standing just a few steps behind you - your husband, your protector, your love - watching you with a smile so soft, it nearly broke you open again. “I’m married now. It’s Hongjoong, remember him? Please bless our marriage, I really love him,” you paused, taking a deep breath. “I-I wish you were both here, I miss you…”

Then, slowly, you stepped back and began to walk away, hand in hand with Hongjoong. But before, you glanced back one last time, your heart feeling lighter at the sight of the wind blowing from the tombstones to your face lightly. You couldn’t help the serene smile on your face.

Hongjoong will take over now, he’ll take care of me like you would’ve wanted.

You were thirty-four years old when you finally found your peace that didn’t feel like a surrender this time and instead felt like home, hand in hand with the love of your life.

𝙽𝚎𝚝s - @keopihaus @dove-net @othersideoutlawsnetwork @illusionnet @pirateeznet @ksmutsociety @cromernet

Dividers by: @enchanthings and @anitalenia

#this was so good i cried #so well written #jexi recommends #jexi reads #ateez hongjoong #kim hongjoong #ateez #ateez mafia au #kim hongjoong x reader

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jexireads · 3 months ago

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i have been tagged and i simply cannot miss this one !

1. WASTELAND by Brent Faiyaz

2. Take Me Back To Eden by Sleep Token

3. The World EP. FIN : WILL by ATEEZ

4. CHROMAKOPIA by Tyler the Creator

5. Scarlet 2 by Doja Cat

6. Invincible by Michael Jackson

7. Ay-Yo the 4th Album by NCT 127

This was kinda hard to pick because a lot of my favorite no skip albums were repetitive artists 😭

no pressure tags / i have none sadly 🥲 but whoever sees please feel free to tag along.

Tagged by my lil love, @darkaengel thanks for thinking of me 🖤

ʀᴜʟᴇꜱ: you just got a kind of shitty old car and it doesn't have bluetooth. you can only buy 7 CDs and you can't repeat an artist. what are you getting?

In no particular order:

1) Billie Eilish - Hit Me Hard And Soft (!!!!!!!!)

2) Fleetwood Mac - Tango In The Night

3) Jinjer - King Of Everything

4) Chappel Roan - The Rise And Fall Of A Midwest Princess

5) Keane - Hopes And Fears

6) System Of A Down - Toxicity

7) SZA - SOS (and ctrl)

Tagging my beautiful girl @eternal-hum and a few others that spring to mind. Don’t feel obliged!!

@needurattenti0n @espe0nag3-x @morthanix @bvtchw0lfie @sanftes-herz @asslover09 @fuckmachine99 @fading-in-to-you

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jexireads · 3 months ago

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had her first, stack.

summary: is it really cheating if he had you first?

pairing: ex boyfriend!stack x blackfem!reader

warnings: cheating kinda? (on reader's part), it's a little long, angst, ooc smoke, some mary hate, p in v, oral (fem receiving), heavy making out, descriptions of reader, use of n word, not proofread.

notes: this came to me in a dream i had during a nap LMAOOOO. also i hate using y/n i don't know why but i audibly groaned when i realised i had to 😖 what do we think of a part two?

It wasn't by choice that you ended up in the opening night of the juke joint. Your cousin Shirley, ever the music enjoyer, caught word of someone throwing a party to open up their juke joint, and as she usually did, she dragged you along with her.

Not that you would've said no if she asked, you knew when to appreciate good music too. If only you asked whose juke joint it was. Maybe then you would've prepared yourself a little more.

Shirley came by your mama's house to pick you up, the two of you walking the short distance to another friend's to hitch a ride with them.

You were ready by the time she arrived, your curls out of their usual bun, defined neatly thanks to your mama's hand. You chose something simple, not having enough time to be fussy about what to wear.

It wasn't a new dress, you'd had it for some time but rarely wore it. It was a deep green, almost emerald colour. Held together by spaghetti straps over your shoulders, the v-line at its front brought all attention to the dainty gold locket that hung from your neck. The dress, made finely from silk, reached your ankles, kitten heels also in emerald on show. It fit you perfectly, hugging your figure in every right place.

A thin shawl accompanied you with the dress, lazily hung over your shoulders to shield you from the breeze that would follow with the night, but also from any unwanted stares. You knew a certain someone would have something to say. That was, if he knew where you were off to.

When asked, you never said you were officially married, nor did you say you were spoken for. You usually left it at "I'm in a good place with someone right now." Because that's all he was at the moment. A good place. His name was Jeremiah, you met a few months back.

He hadn't made any attempt to show you he wanted to marry you, so you played as if that was the case. Though you wouldn't entertain anyone else, and neither would he. So in a way, he was kinda it for you.

Sure, you had your fair share of fun with him, but he couldn't ruin you if anything were to go south. Not when you already were, unbeknownst to everyone else except him.

"You gon' stare at yourself in the mirror all day, or...?" Shirley nudged you as you stepped out of the car, fiddling with the pocket mirror in your hand. You looked up at your surroundings, noticing the juke joint and the cars around it, then back at Shirley, a smile tugging at your lips.

"You know better than anyone what looks mean to a lady."

"Mhm. You sure it ain't 'cause you're seeing Stack again?" She smirked, taking your hand in hers as you walked towards the doors.

"You─── what?!" You stopped in your tracks, someone bumping into you as you did. Shirley widened her eyes a little, apologising for you. "Shir, what did you just say?"

"Girl, I been told you. This here's Smoke and Stack's juke joint. Looks like Chicago finally blew 'em back to what they know."

Your breath hitched as you fumbled at the thin shawl around you. "No, you did not tell me, otherwise I wouldn't have come." You didn't mean to snap at her, but of all people, Shirley knew what the twins, what Stack meant for you.

She sighed, turning to you. Smoothing your flyaway baby hairs with the tip of her fingers, she spoke gently. "I know you and Stack ain't leave it on good terms, but that was ages ago. You've moved on, right? Don't let him ruin your night, yeah?"

You sighed, nodding your head despite thinking something completely different. But there was no going back now. At least you were promised good food and music.

Stepping towards the door, you recognised Cornbread letting people in. He did a double take when he glanced at you, shouting your name out loud. "You ain't so lil' no more, though, my God! How you been?"

"Nice to see you too, Cornbread. God," Shirley rolled her eyes. The two of you grew up together, close since knee height, so everyone who knew you, knew Shirley too.

"Shut up, Shirley. I know it was you who took my dice at that last game," He bucked at her, referring to the last time the both of you saw him over at a gathering in town, years ago. "Anyways, y'all ladies have a good night, you hear?"

He let you both in, and immediately you were hit by the sound of the piano wavering through the joint, bodies dancing and mingling all over, the sweet smell of liquor that longed for you... You had to admit, it looked great.

"Here, let's get us something to drink," Shirley walked to both of you towards were the drinks were being served.

"What can I get you fine ladies... Y/N? Whatchu doin' here?" Annie's face lit up when she saw you, reaching over the counter to give you and Shirley brief hugs.

"I could ask you the same thing! This one here dragged me along with her," you budged Shirley, a bright smile on your face upon seeing Annie. It seemed not so long ago was the last time you saw her, but really it was years. Probably around the same time you last saw the twins.

"Girl, don't act like you weren't jumping at the chance to come with," Shirley laughed, handing Annie a dollar. "We'll take 2 corn liquors please, Miss Annie."

"We damn near the same age, calling me Miss Annie," she kissed her teeth, pocketing the money before pouring the drinks. "You seen 'em yet?" she asked, directed more at you. You took a sip from the small glass, shaking your head 'no' after.

Annie nodded slowly. She knew all that happened between you and Stack. Like you did with her and Smoke. The beginning to now.

Shirley finished her glass, handing it back to Annie before standing up from her seat. "Look, there's Pearline! You wanna go dance, or you're good here?"

"No, I'm alright here. I'll join you later though," you waved her off with a kiss to her cheek, choosing to sit with Annie for a bit longer.

The two of you spoke and spoke as she served customers, and yourself, about everything the last 7 years had done for you both.

You could see Annie's eyes wander off to something behind you as you spoke, and you, in your 'three corn liquors in' state, turned around to see what it was. More like who, it was.

Smoke took a drag from the lit cigarette in his mouth, his head slightly tilting to the side when his gaze settled on you. He was surprised, you could gather that much through his stoic expression. Never was one to give away much.

Tearing away from you, he nodded at Annie. "How's it going? Good?"

She blinked, before nodding. "Nothing wrong so far."

He nodded, turning back to you, taking another drag from the cigarette. "Good to see you, Y/N." He bent down to your seated height to give you a small kiss on the cheek, cigarette smoke still lingering around him. Smoke was respectful towards you most of the times, when he acknowledged you, mainly because Annie had a few words with him about his approach to some people.

"You too," you mumbled, fingers drumming the wooden table in front of you. You liked Smoke, even if most times you couldn't tell if he liked, hell even tolerated, you.

"You seen Stack yet?" He asked. When you shook your head, he only gave you a curt not, walking away as quickly as he did.

"Well he ain't changed one bit," you blew out a breath.

Annie laughed, wiping down a table.

─── ༉‧₊˚✧ ───

The joint was packed to the brim, fellas laughing whilst they rolled dice and racked up dollars, ladies dancing with their girls or men as the blues rang throughout the crowd. It was amazing, you had to admit.

You were leaning against a pillar, observing from behind the scenes as you tended to always do at events like these. You watched on as Shirley danced with a random man, occasionally looking over at you with a wink.

You shook your head with a smile, fiddling with the material of your shawl. You desperately wanted to leave it somewhere, but you knew you probably wouldn't end up getting it back.

Sighing, you began to make your way towards the stage so you could hear the words to the songs better, before bumping into someone.

It was a small bump but my, did it almost send you going backwards. It could only be a man with a chest that hard, and you couldn't control your facial expressions, a mean ass mug made its way to your face before you knew it.

"Sorry 'bout that, you good?"

You knew that voice anywhere. That bass, that drawl... From anywhere. Your head snapped up to his, the scowl still present.

You saw the realisation and surprise fill in his features slowly. Stack was lost for words, for once. He brought a hand to his mouth, removing the toothpick. "Hey..." he said, barely above a whisper. "Whatchu doin' here?"

Seven years and that was all he had? The scoff that left your lips was deserved at that point. "Excuse me," you waved past him, shaking a little at the fact that you just saw the man that left you in absolute pieces, acting like none of that even happened albeit he saw you for all of ten seconds.

"Y/N, hollon," you heard him say but didn't stop moving through bodies, desperate to get as far away from him as you could.

Just as you were about to round the corner to the edge of the stage, his hand caught your arm, pulling you back into what looked like a corridor.

"Elias, get off of me," you gritted, fighting the physical hold he had on you. He couldn't lie, hearing his name roll off of your tongue after all this time had him feeling giddy, but he ignored you as he opened up the door to one of the rooms in the corridor, pushing you inside.

"You hard of hearing? Let me out, I'm not playing." You attempted to push past him, but he stood planted, blocking the door.

"I'm not playin' either. I just wanna talk."

"You had seven years, why now? Hm?"

He deserved that, and so much more. He nodded his head, bringing a hand to his chin, stroking his goatee. When he took a step closer, you took one back, determined to keep this distance between you and him.

"Look," he sighed, trying to catch your gaze but you looked anywhere but at him. "I know I should've said something, could've wrote to you or whatever. But I had to protect you."

"Protect me?" You scoffed. "I ain't need your protection, what I needed was your love. Hell, you couldn't even give me that most times."

Stack didn't allow himself to be upset over your use of love in the past tense. "I did love you, I still do."

"Yeah? You tellin' ole girl the same thing too? What's her name again... Mary wasn't it?"

Stack kissed his teeth at the mention of Mary, the other woman who just couldn't let him go. He'd told you time and time again that she meant nothing to him, that it was just you, yet she still managed to be in the frame.

"Mary ain't shit to me, I tell you that all the time. And I mean it."

"You lie so much, I don't even know what the truth sounds like coming from you," you mumbled, walking away from him to sit on the unoccupied table. If you were going to have a conversation with this man against your will, you at least wanted to be comfy.

"I ain't mean to lie baby, it's the only way I can leave you out of all this mess." He walked towards you, hands in his pockets. "I missed you."

"A little too late for that. You don't miss Mary?" you tilted your head to the size, revelling in the way he rolled his eyes.

"How many times i gotta tell you I'on care about her?"

"As many times as it takes to convince yourself."

"Fine, I'on care about her. There." He stared at you, watching your reaction. When he saw the faintest twitch in your lip, he smiled, knowing he was getting to you.

He took another step closer to you, now stood between your legs. You let him part your legs, like he had done so many times before, his hands gently moving your thighs. He didn't let go of them when he stood in between them, just ran his hands slowly up and down them.

"I'm sorry," he looked right into your eyes as he spoke. "I was gonna come looking for you today, but i figured you wouldn't wanna see me. But when I saw you today... I had to speak to you."

"Elias..." you sighed. "You can't just come back here after leaving me like that all those years ago, acting like everything's okay. You don't know how much you hurt me."

"I do know baby, 'course I do. It hurt me too."

"Not as much as it did me. You ain't the one who had to pick up the pieces of me after you left, Shirley did that. All cause you weren't there and still won't tell me why."

He sighed, stilling his hands on your thigh to lift your chin up.

"I'm here now, and I ain't goin' nowhere. I'm not leaving you again, i promise."

"Your promises don't mean shit to me anymore, Elias. You can't just sorry your way back into my life. I'm not as easy as you used to think I was."

"And why's that, hm? Some to do with that so called man you call yourself having? What's his face, Jeziah, was it?"

"Fuck you, Elias." you pushed him away from you, getting down from the table. Before you could leave again, he grabbed your arm, pulling you into his chest. His arms caged you in, firm and secure in his hold.

"If that's the typa timing you on, we can do that. But I'm not letting you leave til you hear me out."

"I have heard you out. I don't wanna hear no more," you shook your head.

His fingers stroked the material of your dress around your waist, it was taking everything in him to not pull it off of your right there. "Nah, you didn't. Look at me."

He tilted your head up towards his. "I love you. Only you, you're it for me. What I did... I know it was wrong and trust me I wanted to come back to you so bad, baby. But I had to do it, for both of us. What kinda man I'd be if i didn't provide for my woman?"

The fluttering feeling at your stomach only intensified when he called you his woman, taking you back all those years ago.

"You left me without saying a word, Elias," you whispered, voice breaking as a tear ran down your face. Elias hushed you, wiping the tear away, both his hands cupping your face.

"And I will spend the next forty or however many years saying sorry. I mean that." He kissed your forehead, both of you closing your eyes in that moment.

You shivered when his lips left your skin, your palms resting flat against his chest. He pulled back from the embrace just a little, looking at you as he spoke.

"You gon' let me come back?"

He was serious, about it all you could see now. You didn't reply, just brought your hand to the back of his head, pulling him towards you. When your lips met, you swore your legs would've buckled if he wasn't holding you so tight.

Your shawl dropped to the floor as you kissed him, his lips meshing with your so perfectly it was like the last seven years didn't even happen.

Jeremiah was the last thing on your mind in that moment, you could only focus on Stack's tongue wrestling with yours. You let out a moan when his hands trailed to your ass, squeezing as you made out.

He was first to pull away, wasting no time in kissing down your neck to your collarbone, leaving little bites that were sure to bruise sooner or later. And you let him, throwing your head back against his other shoulder, letting him do his work.

It wasn't until he started to walk you backwards, when your legs hit the edge of the table, that you realised what you both were about to do.

"Wait, E, hold on..." your put your arm between him and you, his eyes snapping to your face.

"What's wrong?"

A lot was wrong in that moment, you knew it.

"If I let you do this, you bet not mess up again," you spoke seriously. He nodded, starving for a taste as he bunched your dress up at your hips.

"I told you baby, I'm not goin' nowhere, not away from you again that's for sure."

He kissed your lips, undoing the buttons to both his waistcoat and dress shirt, leaving him shirtless in all his glory. Your hands raked down his toned front, pulling him back onto you.

As he kissed you tenderly, Stack's fingers slipped into your panties, being met by your wetness, allowing him to easily slip into you. He groaned at the same time you did, your head thrown back as he nudged you to lie down on the table.

"He get you this wet, hm?" He didn't need you to answer, he already knew what it would be. It would be nice to hear it though.

You shook your head. "Fuck, Elias, just do it already," you whined, having had enough of his fingers teasing your clit.

"Aight be patient, I gotta make sure she remembers me," he smiled.

You were about to say something slick, before you remembered just how slick Stack could get. Besides, he already began to take your panties off, pocketing them in his trousers.

He lowered his head to your clit, kissing it gently. Your hand immediately went to the back of his head, lips falling apart as he licked a bold stripe up your pussy.

"Fuck, I missed it here," he mumbled into you, the vibrations driving you crazy. It's not like it had been ages since you were last pleasured, but it had been ages since you were last pleasured by Stack. He had such a way with you, a way that no one else did.

He continued to lick slowly, so agonisingly slow at you, and it wasn't until you squeezed his head with your thighs that he finally gave in. After all, he did have loads of making up to do.

His hands came to your hips, holding you just like he wanted. Taking your clit in his mouth, he looked at you as he sucked, his tongue swirling around it. You couldn't hold eye contact, not when he was looking at you like that, your juices coated around his mouth.

"Oh, my God," you whispered, writhing underneath him as he picked up the pace.

"Why you so quiet? He done turned you shy, huh?" he smirked when he noticed your state.

"Stop talking about him," you groaned, feeling your body jerk as he worked you out, tongue lapping you for all your worth. "Fuck, I'm gonna─── Oh, shit!" You came before you knew it, only Stack could work you like that.

He kept on eating you out through your orgasm, letting you ride out your high on his face. "Just like that baby, give it to me," he encouraged you.

You had no more to give, at least not in that moment. He let go of your hips, only briefly as he sat up. You caught the sight of his glistening face, his tongue darting out of his mouth to lick his lips.

"Come here," you mumbled opening your arms for him as you sat up. He pulled you towards the end of the table, meeting your lips halfway. The taste of yourself on him drove you insane, the kiss just downright nasty.

Stack fumbled at his belt, undoing it before he dropped his trousers down as you kissed the side of his neck, your hand wrapped around his throat as he took his dick out of his pants.

He saw the way your eyes glistened at the sight of him, smirking as he unzipped your dress. Stepping out of it, the pair of you were fully naked, nothing new between you both.

"I missed you," you mumbled, a tired smile on your face and he hadn't even fucked you yet.

"Yeah? You missed me or you missed my dick?"

"Ain't it a part of you? It's the same damn thing," you rolled your eyes as your hands caressed his broad shoulders, kissing them.

Stack slid into you with a groan, hooking your legs around his hips as he slowly pushed in, getting accustomed to be inside you again. he wanted to savour this moment forever, your face scrunched up, mouth falling open as you let out such sultry sounds.

He waited for a moment before he started to thrust in and out of you, biting his lips to hold in his own groans. He let go of one side of your hip, bringing that hand to cup at your breasts, squeezing as his thrusts hit you in the right spots.

"Don't you go quiet on me now," your hand wrapped around his throat, pulling his face closer to yours. Stack's brows furrowed at your sudden boldness, but you could tell you already affected him given the way his thrusts stilled for a minute.

"Shit, baby, whatchu doin'?" he groaned, his forehead resting against your as he dug you out. "Fuck, you feel so good, mama. S'like I was never gone."

He regained his composure, swatting your hand away from his throat and instead grabbing yours, not too harsh, just the way you liked it. The sound of skin clapping was the only thing heard in the room, save for your moans that not even your hand could suppress. Thank God this was a juke joint.

"Elias, shittttt..." you shut your eyes tight, the familiar feeling of your orgasm approaching threatening to overwhelm you.

"Hold it," he grunted, speeding up his thrusts. He couldn't be serious, surely.

"Fuck, baby, I can't" you whined, nails scratching along his back as you tried to hold in your release.

"You can, just a lil' bit longer, mama." He sweet talked you, kissing your cheek as he neared his own orgasm. His hand left your neck back to your breasts, rubbing over your hardened nipples. It was too much, the way he was doing you.

"I can't─── shit baby I can't hold it," you whimpered, begging him to let you cum.

"Aight baby, give it to me," was all he said and you let go, a wave of pleasure blanketing you as you came, gushing all over his lower body. Stack fucked you through your orgasm as he came too with a low moan, pushing his seed in and out of you as he slowed down.

"Shit," he sighed out, looking down at the mess you both made. He slowly pulled out of you, kissing your lips as he used his dick to push his cum back in you. He was still the same nasty man you knew.

"I think fat ma missed me," he joked, laughing when you hit his chest. "C'mon, 'fore Smoke think I'm dead."

He helped you get dressed, conveniently finding and unused towel to wipe you both down. You dress now back on, you fixed your hair as best as you could.

Stack put everything of his back on too, tilting his head to the side when he caught you looking at him expectantly, "Yeah?"

"My panties, Elias."

"Nah, I'ma hold onto 'em fore you. C'mon," you rolled your eyes as he opened the door for you, being met with the sound of music yet again. You walked out before him, taking a deep breath and trying to act like that didn't just happen. You saw Shirley, walking towards her.

Before Stack could catch up wit you, Bo caught his arm, looking between the two of you with a smirk on his face.

"Ain't no goddamn way," he laughed. "You know she's in it with that lawyer guy up in Delta, right?"

"So, nigga? I had her first."

taglist. @childishgambinaax @abriefnirvana @blackisy2k @chrisevansmentee @siasoup @amethyst09 @heauxtales @skywalker0809 @thelightknight21 @klssngss @atomicearthquakemusic7 @oc3anbxbyxoxo @honestlyurslol @simpingfor-wakasa @omg-mymelaninisbeautiful @favoritten @christinabae @junkie05

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jexireads · 3 months ago

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Imagine being Caleb's non-mc significant other.

Imagine having a good night, everything was perfect, a good night out with your boyfriend. With the two of you spending the weekend after he came back from his mission. You have been waiting for a month now. He was quite the busy person, but it was alright. You knew he loves you very much.

"I have to go." Or so you thought, looking away from the big cinematic screen into your lover. "Why? Did they call you up for a mission?" You spoke quietly, trying not to disturb other people. "It's MC." Oh. "Caleb..." "I know, I'm sorry honey. But something came up and pips need me."

Imagine being numb for a moment, he was staring at you, looking for some sort of confirmation. But you were conflicted. You knew who MC was in his life, that was his best friend, that was his childhood friend, like a little sister to him. Of course you understand were he was coming from, two of them were basically each other anchor for a very long time. At the same time, "Caleb, this is the only time we have together. Can't that wait after the movie?" You asked gently.

Imagine you tried to understand. Really, you tried to understand over and over again. "Please Caleb, just after the movie. Can't we have this moment?" Just us? You want to add but kept your mouth shut. This always happened, and everytime you understand. But just this once, just this once, you are asking for his time to be sole yours, even just for an hour.

Imagine the way you watch him look away, look down into his phone then into his watch. It felt like he was running out of time. "Caleb..." You took a hold of his hand. He held it back, "..please." "what was that?" "Please don't make me chose between you and her." You swore you felt hour heart stop.

Imagine before you could even think, your mouth opens. "Why, because you'll choose her?" It wasn't even a question. Because deep down, you already knew the answer. Before he could even answer, you let go of his hand and and look back from the screen. "It's alright. You should go."

"I'm sorry." You heard him whisper but you did not look at him nor spare a glance. "I'll be right back as soon as I can." Taking a hold of your hand for a moment and giving it a squeeze, he stood up and kiss the crown of your head that you pretended not to care. "I'll be right back, okay?"

Imagine the rest of the movie was a blur, whether it was the heavy feeling on your chest, or the silent tears that was rolling in your cheeks. None the less you felt done, so done. He did not even answer, but his actions tells everything that is needed to be said.

Imagine arriving at your door in the middle of the night, going through your bag as you look for your keys and just as you find them, your phone rang, the name of the caller flashing as your lover. Heh, lover? Can you even call him that? You don't know anymore.

Imagine just staring at the call, then once again, the screen went black. You just look away and press in the key into your door. And you twist and open it, you heard your phone rang once again. But as you push the door open, all you were greeted by a rush of burning flame and a loud boom. Just like that, everything went black.

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2025°

: part ²? What's that? It is what it is. Hahahehe.

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jexireads · 4 months ago

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Reblog to give the person you reblogged from the ability to finish their WIPs

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jexireads · 4 months ago

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Loathe To Paint You, part three

account masterlist , series masterlist , ao3

playlist

previous part | next part

pairing ; rafayel x painter!reader

synopsis ; you and rafayel attend a carnival. he gets into competition with his ex's new boyfriend while you secure an invite with rhys.

word count ; 11.5k words

author's note ; hi all !! no major note this week :) i hope y'all enjoy the part!

content warning ; vulgar language , a kiss ooh la la , maybe a sex joke here and there , raf lowkey gets bullied lmfao

want to be a part of the taglist? click here!

“He said that to you?!” Abigail’s voice booms throughout the tiny art studio.

You stand at the bathroom sink, modified so you can dunk your arms in without getting water everywhere, scrubbing the paint off of your hands and arms. You push the stained towel into your skin, scrubbing so hard you’re about to tear your skin off. Glaring at the very slowly disappearing blotches of paint you turn your head and look down the hallway while Abigail heads towards you.

“I know! The bitch said I’m like Sister Wives but with men,” you roll your eyes, aggravation already flooding right back into your body.

You thought that by channeling your anger into a new painting would be helpful towards your artistic pursuits but the canvas ended up as one big blob, an unappealing blob mind you, that resembled a dead fish rather than the mermaid you were aiming for. The painting is as unappetizing as a plate of under seasoned and overcooked chicken, a plate filled with saltines and no glass of water to help it go down.

You turn back to your arms, your scrubs now much lighter and nicer towards your body, as you clean off the last of the dried paint. Bright yellows and oranges remain beneath your fingernails but you’re too tired to care about it, not in the mood to become fully presentable for Rafayel and whatever his dramatic antics have planned for tonight.

“Are you sure you want to go to the carnival with him? Maybe he can say that you’re sick and handle Rhys on his own,” Abigail enters the bathroom.

She holds earrings in her hands and brings them up to your ears, trying to see which one she likes best before settling on a nice pair that will compliment the dress she has for you. You swat away her hands, rolling your eyes as you step out of the bathroom. You storm down the hallway and she is quick to follow.

“I have to,” you say, groaning to yourself. You enter the office where a dress is laid out and begin to peel the dirty smock off of your body, tossing it onto the sheet of plastic Abigail has laid down. “If he goes on his own, I know he’ll somehow fuck it up for us. I have to be the reasonable one since he decided to put the drama queen crown on his head.”

“You two are like ticking time bombs whenever you’re together,” Abigail muses with a smile, already moving to help zip up the back of your dress. “It’s just a race to see who explodes first.”

“Ha ha ha,” you sound out your sarcastic laugh with another eye roll, fixing the dress’ skirt.

It stops halfway down your thighs and the fabric is light with a floral pattern. It’s simple, something that a regular person who is in love with an insufferable twat would wear. All you can do now is hope that Rafayel sticks with the plan and doesn’t change his clothes. You flatten out the skirt, grumbling obscenities to yourself about how you’re going to shove where the sun don’t shine if Rafayel fucks this up tonight.

“It’s going to be okay! I already asked Thomas to help reel Rafayel back after the scene he made today and he said that he’s going to slip one of his xanaxes into his drink before he goes,” Abigail smiles at you, handing you the pair of earrings from before.

“A xanax?” you raise an eyebrow, laughing as you put the earrings on. “I didn’t know working with Rafayel made him get to that point so early in his life.”

“I can’t help but feel bad for the guy,” Abigail sighs, moving behind you as she begins to fix your hair. It’s too late to do anything special to it, so she’s going with the cliche of a low messy bun to make you look windswept instead of a sweating mess that painted what she perceived to be a chicken nugget form hell. “He has to deal with a newborn when he goes home and when he’s at work.”

“We should get him whiskey for the holidays,” you murmur, turning to look at the tiny mirror that sits on her desk.

“Thomas deserves tequila,” Abigail nods, “he deserves to have a good time.”

You gag at the thought of tequila. You can’t have it anymore due to overconsumption of said alcohol two years ago. It was Abigail’s birthday, which just happens to be the same day as a big holiday in Linkon. You can barely remember it that’s how bad you were. Your hangover lasted for a solid week, the first twenty four hours filled with constant puking and for the rest of the week, you were battling a horrible migraine that left you bedridden. At least Thomas will get some fun out of it.

“What time did he say he was going to come again?” you ask and bring the mirror to your face. You check out your makeup, which somehow stayed in tact during your painting session.

“Thomas texted saying he left ten minutes ago. He should be here any moment,” Abigail plucks the mirror from your hands and grabs a nearby sweater, tossing it into your small backpack.

You groan, already annoyed from Rafayel’s presence and he isn’t even here yet. You wonder how long this night is going to be. You already know that it is going to feel longer than it already is. It makes you want to stab forks into your eyes so you have an excuse to not go.

You have to, though. You have to face the purple haired bitch who thinks that you’re too difficult to be in an actual relationship, your rival ever since you laid your eyes on him.

A car honks from the studio’s driveway. You suck in a breath, rolling your eyes as you turn to look outside the window.

There he is: the price of drama and all things intolerable.

Rafayel sits in his sports car, the roof tucked away in the back so it’s a convertible. His purple hair is disheveled, messed up due to the wind. He has a pair of dark sunglasses on his face. You raise an eyebrow at the sight, glancing at the moon that hangs in the fresh night sky. He honks again but this time the honk continues, ruining the peaceful quiet of the beachside.

You groan and turn to look at Abigail, an unimpressed look on your face. She shrugs and passes off your backpack. You begrudgingly take it, the backpack swinging in the air as your drag your feet towards the front door of the studio.

“What happened to the Xanax, Abigail?” you ask, glaring at her from over your shoulder.

“Maybe the fish has a brain!” she calls after you with a laugh, closing the door behind you and locking it.

You slowly approach Rafayel’s car. You have your arms crossed over your chest, glaring at him while the car horn pierces your ears. He notices you and finally releases his hold of the car’s horn.

“Are you done yet?” you call out, annoyance prominent in your voice.

Rafayel swipes off the sunglasses, gazing at you. He honks the horn one last time, a petty move on his part, and gets out of his car. He leans against it, tossing the expensive sunglasses into the backseat. He wears a simple outfit made up of dark jeans and a brown hoodie, comfortable yet he still exudes a sense of wealth with the brands proudly on display.

“You look fine,” is the first thing you say to him, your greeting cold.

“Oh? Are we starting off strong today?” Rafayel comments, matching your crossed arms.

“Depends,” you tilt your head to the side, looking him up and down, actually liking the way the outfit looks. Your eyes meet again and you’re reminded of his unnecessary comments about you being too difficult to handle. “Are you wanting to meet my boyfriends? One of them wanted me to ask when you’re going to join the group. They want to know if you prefer washing dishes or cooking dinner.”

“First off: I am very sorry about my comments from earlier. I feel really bad—”

“Really bad?” you quietly mock him, your words falling onto deaf ears.

“—and second of all, I prefer cooking. I have this thing where if I touch soggy food, I have the urge to throw up.”

You raise an eyebrow at Rafayel, foot tapping against the loose gravel of the driveway. Rafayel’s eyes move to you, the blue and pink hues catching you off guard by the remorse that hides behind them. You let out a quiet sigh, your arms falling to your sides as you round his car, getting into the passenger seat. He follows suit and starts the car, looking over at you.

“Truce for tonight?” Rafayel asks, holding out his pinky to you. You glance at it, having to hold back a laugh by just how childish the gesture is.

“You know,” you lean towards him, reaching your hand up. You wrap your pinky around his and yank his hand towards you. Your narrow your gaze at him and he swallows the lump that forms in his throat. “If you break this pinky promise, I get to chop off your pinky.”

“Yikes.”

“I’ll have my brother husbands put it in clear resin, a trophy of how you broke the promise you’re making right now.”

“You need psychiatric help,” Rafayel whispers, half genuine with his remark.

You release his pinky and turn to face the front of the car, crossing your arms back over your chest. Glancing up at your hair, you groan, glancing over at Rafayel as he starts the car once again.

“Hey, Rafayel?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think we can…put the lid back on the car?” you ask with a sweet smile. Rafayel turns to you, an unimpressed and insulting look on his face. You lean forward, your fake smile growing as wide as it can.

“Do you want me to?” he asks, reaching for a random button that sits in front of him.

“Yes, please! It would be so—”

Rafayel turns the volume up of the car. Music pours out of the speakers, one of today’s pop music hits that you simply cannot stand to listen to. A smug smirk crosses his face as he shifts the car out of park, the back wheels spinning against the gravel, launching it into the bushes.

The car lunges forward as you gasp, reaching for the handle that isn’t there, your hand meeting air. Rafayel laughs, throwing his head back as the car makes it onto the public road. The two of you zoom down the city street as the fresh sea air hits your face.

Your once semi-okay bun made by Abigail is ruined. Your hair falls out of place, sticking up and everywhere as the wind tosses it everywhere, knotting it with every turn that Rafayel takes, the car practically leaning on two wheels every time he yanks the steering wheel in one direction. You gasp and yell, screaming at him to slow down and to use his blinker as his maniacal cackles fill in the quiet spots of the screaming wind.

The carnival, which is being held in Linkon inside of Jiexin Park, which is connected to a large fairground. Rafayel drives you through the city, weaving through the lines of skyscrapers and districts that the city has. You watch as the buildings pass you by, a blur before moving into the next district.

You’ve given up on your hair, thinking that it’s not the worst thing to come out of tonight, like almost dying with the way Rafayel is driving. You internally blame Thomas for not slipping him a xanax like he told Abigail he would but here you are: butt cheeks clenched as Rafayel recklessly drives through Linkon City’s traffic.

The car comes to a screeching halt in front of Jiexin Park. Your body lurches forward, your hands smacking against the dashboard in front of you. Slowly turning to look at the man beside you, watch as he casually tosses his perfect windswept hair out of his eyes, a smile on his face. You turn to look at yourself in your phone’s camera, looking like you were just running for you life in a zombie movie but as one of the extras that are made to look much uglier than the main leads.

You glare at Rafayel. He knew exactly what he was doing. This was a targeted attack on his behalf.

You get out of the car and slam the door behind you, the vehicle shaking. Rafayel gasps, scurrying out and following after you as you walk towards the park entrance. You ignore him as he yaps into your ear about respecting the car, that it is worth more than all of your paintings combined.

You approach an empty table, a line quickly forming behind the two of you.

“Two tickets please,” you smile at a woman at the plastic table, which acts as a — quite poorly made — ticket booth.

“Of course! Is it date night?” the woman asks, nodding her head at Rafayel.

You glance at him, deciding that now is a good time to practice your fake affection towards the Lemurian. Slipping your arm into his, you bring him to your side, catching him off guard as you rest your head against his shoulder. Rafayel looks down at you with a raised eyebrow, ready to push you away before he realizes that Rhys can be watching from any angle. He relaxes and clears his throat.

“Yes…it is date night. I thought I’d take her out and have some fun,” Rafayel shrugs, a smug smirk plastered across his face.

“Well isn’t that just peachy!” the woman muses. She reaches to the side, dealing with the tickets and punching in the numbers.

Rafayel chuckles, leaning down, his lips grazing the outer shell of your ear. You shiver from how close he is, darting your gaze away. He doesn’t say anything, though, and makes it look like he gave your head a kiss before pulling away.

“Fifty gold coins,” she says in the most unimpressed tone ever.

“What? Me?” Rafayel points to himself. He turns to you and all you can do is look. Between him and the ticket lady.

“You’re taking her out on a date, are you not?” the woman asks, leaning forward with a stamp in her hand, ready to lunge at him for his carelessness.

“I’m a feminist,” Rafayel leans forward, offering a wink to the ticket lady before turning back to you, nodding his head in her direction, “my beautiful girlfriend will be paying.”

A silence befalls the line. All eyes land on Rafayel, who is oblivious to their shocked gazes. The ticket lady’s smile falls, all joy from within her eyes dying as if she heard the worst thing imaginable.

“She’s going to be paying? Because you’re a feminist?” she asks in a deadpan tone. Your eyes slowly widen, looking up at Rafayel who proudly nods. “Well in that case, let me give you the ‘man who claims to be a feminist’ discount,” the lady absentmindedly presses imaginary buttons on the plastic table.

Rafayel’s smile falls as he realizes what is happening. You cover your face, slight embarrassment over whelming your body. You look around and give everyone sympathetic looks as your fake boyfriend becomes enemies with the ticket lady.

“That’ll be fifty gold coins, Mister Feminist.”

Rafayel nods, not wanting to anger her further, and looks bewildered as he moves his touch from your body. You step to the side, watching as he gives himself a full body pat down. You cross your arms over your chest, looking back at the ticket lady who looks so unimpressed with your “date.” Rafayel stops and looks up at you, eyes big and wide.

“Hey, erm, babe,” Rafayel begins. You hold up a hand, closing your eyes.

“You forgot your fucking wallet didn’t you?” you know that this is going to embarrass him. It’s pay back after declaring to the pier yesterday that you’re the new version of brother husbands with all the men who lay at your feet, which is a grand total of none. Rafayel doesn’t need to know that, though.

“I can run back to the car—”

“No. It’s fine,” you huff, making your movements exaggerated. “It’s just like all of the other times you forgot your wallet—”

“Oh okay. I see what you’re doing here. Very funny,” Rafayel rolls his eyes while he watches you dramatically rummage throughout your backpack.

“—I feel like your sugar mommy, Raf,” you sniffle for extra effect, earning the ticket lady’s sympathy.

She stares at Rafayel with daggers in her eyes, slipping a red wristband over your hand. She grabs a green one, not even putting it on for Rafayel as you drop cold coins onto the table in front of her.

“She’s being dramatic—” Rafayel tries to reason with the ticket lady as she tosses him the green bracelet.

“You better treat her real well tonight, you hear?” the lady glares at him.

People from around you chuckle, turning their faces away to hide their laughs. Even you have to stop yourself from smiling as you help Rafayel put his wristband on.

“Oh look, he needs her help to put it in, oh I mean on—”

“I GOT IT!” Rafayel, who is clearly overwhelmed by the sudden attention on him, swatting your hands away as he shoves the tiny bracelet over his hand.

“Oooh, someone’s touchy,” the ticket lady’s side comment makes you snort, your hand slapping over your face to hide your giggles.

“I got the fucking junior size or something,” Rafayel mumbles under his breath.

Rafayel takes your hand and glares at the people that stare at the two of you. You sigh and lean close to him, following him as he walks past the table.

“It’s okay that you’re broke, babe,” you claim loudly enough for the people to hear, “next time I’ll give you the coins so it looks like you paid—”

“I’M NOT BROKE STOP TELLING PEOPLE I’M BROKE! AND THAT I’M BAD AT SEX. I AM GREAT AT SEX!” Rafayel snaps.

You can’t help but laugh at his reaction, having to press your temple to his shoulder, shielding your face from the people in line, laughing as Rafayel squeezes your hand, trying to get your other squirm and let go first.

“Why did you have to do that?” Rafayel whines, dragging you along as you enter the carnival.

“A petty act of revenge,” you respond with a smirk, leaning up to whisper into his ear, “for my brother husbands.”

“Okay you can let it go now! Thanks!” Rafayel is snippy as always, making you laugh more.

The scenery is lively, golden lights hanging from inside the trees, strings of lights looking like they’re floating from one place to another. Stalls are lined up throughout the grassy park with a line of food trucks sitting off to the side. There’s a band that plays music with a small crowd gathered in front of it. To the side of the music sits a large white tent, where you can only assume the art competition is being held.

Families sit at tables along the empty spaces of grass and many couples walk hand in hand with plushies hanging from their bodies or are tucked beneath their arms. You look around, taking in the fun ambiance. You completely forget that you’re attached to Rafayel’s hip as you walk through the bustling crowd.

A large sign displaying Asko Hospital makes Rafayel roll his eyes, watching as the medical tent is filled with its doctors ready to step in when needed. You wake up past it, peering inside as a dark haired man with glasses attends to a young child’s scraped knee.

“How long do we have to be here for again?” Rafayel asks you, your hands still connected, fingers laced together.

“Well,” you look around, spotting a row of carnival games. The booths are covered in plushies, a big blue and pink seahorse catching your attention. “We just need to see Rhys, make it seem like it’s a coincidence that we’re bumping into him, and then we can leave. Or—”

“You want to play games, don’t you?” Rafayel deadens. You nod, a small and genuine smile forming across your face.

“We can say that you won me the plushies,” you lean into him, steering him away from the art tent and towards the array of carnival games.

“Fine,” Rafayel turns his chin up, puffing his chest out, “we will play your silly little guppy games. Maybe I’ll even win you a few.”

“Sure you will,” your comment drips with sarcasm. You snort and earn a glare from Rafayel, who slightly pulls away and looks down at you, his eyebrows knitted together.

“What? You don’t think I can?” the Lemurian questions, actually flabbergasted at the idea you don’t think he can win a few children’s carnival games.

He was once the God of the Sea! Someone to be feared! Someone to kneel before! And here you are, mocking him into oblivion for the umpteenth time tonight, so Rafayel will be damned if you don’t leave the carnival tonight with every plushie you want.

“Alright, fine,” Rafayel narrows his eyes and looks around, his purple hair flopping with every move, “pick a game — any game you want! I will win you every damn plushie here!”

“With what money?” you snort. He turns his attention back to you. “Oh? You need your sugar mommy to pay for it?”

“Obviously,” Rafayel says the word so matter of factly that it drives you insane. You glare at him, ripping your hadn’t away from his.

“Fine. I’ll fund your little dick size competition — who you’re competing with, I’ll never know — but if I don’t get that blue and pink seahorse by the end of the night, I’m going to tell everyone here that you cry when you—”

“Fine! Deal! You’re going to get the blue and pink seahorse and so much more!” Rafayel snatches your hand in his, dragging you along to the first booth of the night.

It’s a ring toss booth. You let go of Rafayel’s arm, looking at the dozens of milk bottles lined up in a perfect hexagon in the center of the booth. People gather around it from all sides, the four booth attendants smiling and collecting money. They casually throw the plastic rings, the plastic bouncing off of glass rims.

“Are you sure this is where you want to start for the night, Raf?” you ask, your hip bumping into his as you pass off the metal coins to the booth’s employee.

Rafayel takes the multicolored rings in his hands. They’re minuscule in comparison with him, the rings resting in the palm of his hand. The Lemurian turns to you with a smug smirk, winking at you.

“This is exactly where I want to start off, thank you very much,” he leans in and scrunches his face up, mocking your question. You roll your faces and push his face away from you, groaning. “I have to win my…beautiful girlfriend the best plushie here! Pick out which one you want, cutie! Cause they’re coming home with us!”

“You are insufferable, Raf,” you groan and take a step back, giving him his much needed room.

Rafayel tosses the first ring. It glides through the air, the two of you leaning forward as you watch it connect with the milk jugs’ rings. It clinks and bounces away, falling onto the floor. You let out an audible ‘oof’ and turn away, hiding a small laugh. Rafayel turns and looks at you as if it’s your fault for the ring not landing on the glass bottle.

“Well,” the booth’s employee steps up to the barrier, looking straight at Rafayel, “you can’t win the large prize, but you can still win medium or small!”

Rafayel groans and turns back to the booth, his face scrunched up as he tosses the next ring towards the center of the booth. It collides with the glass rims but ultimately slides across the top, landing on the floor with the others. You move to his side, smiling at the booth employee, before turning up to Rafayel.

The tips of his hears are a bright pink color, a big frown overtaking his face, glaring daggers at the milk bottles. You pat his back and watch as he flings another one into the air just to immediately bounce away and onto the floor.

“What in the actual fuck,” Rafayel stutters. You hold back your laughs of pure joy and amusement and watch as he slams his fits down onto the booth’s wooden counter. “I want another go! Now!”

“Calm down, Raf,” a woman’s voice sounds from behind, “you’ll get another turn soon enough.”

Rafayel freezes beside you. You turn and look to see a pretty woman with dark hair and vibrant eyes standing beside a hunk of a man. He has white hair and red eyes, his gaze dominating and making your legs feel like jelly. You quietly gasp and look him up and down, feeling Rafayel give in to his urge to turn around as well.

“MC?” Rafayel asks, his eyes darting between you and her. He takes a step to the side putting space between you two before realizing that he’s your fake boyfriend and moving right back to your side. He wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you close as your fingers lace together on your side. “What are you doing here?”

“My boyfriend and I thought it would be fun to come support a friend and the hospital’s cause,” she responds with a casual shrug and smile.

“Boyfriend?” Rafayel repeats the word, leaning forward as if it’ll help him hear better. You nudge his side, still unable to take your eyes off of the behemoth of a man in front of you. He turns to look at the man beside her, having to turn his head up because of the sheer size of the man.

“Yes! Rafayel, meet Sylus! Sylus, this is Rafayel, my ex I was telling you about.”

“Ex?” you blurt out, turning to look at Rafayel. He grimaces, lips tugging upwards as he tries to play it off as best he can. He shakes his head ever so slightly, turning his attention back to MC and Sylus.

“It is very nice to meet you, Sylus,” Rafayel says through gritted teeth. He looks the man up and down, taking in his all black outfit, his jacket with red and white lines running down one side of his jacket and sleeves. “That’s…a lot of leather.”

“I need it when I’m riding my motorcycle.”

Oh. My. God. His voice!

You contain a giggle, having to bury your face into Rafayel’s shoulder, turning away as your cheeks immediately heat up. His voice is so sexy — so husky and low — if his motorcycle engine isn’t purring right now, something else is!

“A motorcycle? That’s so…yeah!” Rafayel awkwardly comments, his hand swallowing yours whole, putting all of his strength into squeezing your hand. You glance back at Sylus, your eyes meeting, which makes you giggle and blush further. Rafayel smiles through the pain, leaning down to whisper into your ear, “Get a hold of yourself, woman! Stay strong!”

“Are you still playing the ring toss game?” MC steps forward, releasing Sylus from her touch.

You move away from Rafayel, right on cue of course, and step away as the two of them begin to talk with each other. Their repertoire with one another comes so naturally to them, their laughs and side nudges coming to fruition as if it is muscle memory to them. You can’t help but feel just the slightest twinge of jealousy in the back of your mind.

Sure, you and Rafayel are fake dating but god damn, where is this effort with you? Rafayel and MC look more like a couple than the two of you do! This is going to ruin your chance with Rhys and your chance of being one of the greats is going to die and wither away!

At least you get to chop off his pinky and have it as a trophy of his fuck up.

“So,” Sylus’ deep voice sounds from behind you. You slowly turn, your head fully looking up at him as he rests his weight onto his back foot. “Are you and Rafayel are dating?”

“Me and Raf?” a laugh leaves your lips before you can even realize it. You quickly shut up and let out a horribly timed cough, covering your mouth with your fist as Sylus raises one eyebrow at you. “We are…yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re nervous,” Sylus cocks his head to the side, his red eyes peering deeper and deeper into your soul. You lean back as he leans forward. “You aren’t dating. It’s fake.”

“What the fuck,” you breathe out, watching as he pulls away from you, his eyes moving back to MC and Rafayel as they throw rings. “How did you—”

“I know. I’ll keep your secret.”

“Ooh,” you shimmy your shoulders and turn to watch them, “how nice of you.”

Silence sits between the two of you. You and Sylus watch as MC and Rafayel toss more and more rings, Sylus handing her as many gold coins as she wants with a small smile on his face. They’re so cute together. Just absolutely adorable. If Rhys sees them compared to you and Rafayel, he’ll choose them to be the headliners instead.

“So, Sylus,” you decide to ruin the silence, turning to face him just as he turns to face you, “what do you do for work?”

“I happen to run a…very humble fruit stall,” a tinge of a smile spreads across his lips as he glances at MC. There is nothing but love behind his eyes for MC.

“Do you know anything about gardening?” your question catches Sylus off guard, the tall man looking down at you with a perked up eyebrow, his crossed arms slowly moving to his sides.

Rafayel groans as his ring misses a milk bottle. MC chuckles at his side, nudging into him. He glares at her, a slight pout on his face as he hands over more coins.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, turning his attention back onto the rings.

“Nothing! I just love seeing how determined you are to win the game,” she smiles and tosses another ring, the small piece of plastic bouncing off the glass jars, lodging itself in between bottles.

“It’s rigged and we all know it, Gary!” Rafayel narrows his eyes at the booth’s attendant, earning a laugh from him.

“Are you doing this for her?” MC asks with a smile, leaning in and wiggling her eyebrows.

Rafayel scoffs and rolls his eyes. He moves the plastic rings between his fingers, the colorful circles swinging around his fingers with ease

“Her? Puh-lease,” Rafayel chuckles, “we’re…partners. Not in that way, but in schemes.”

“Is she now?” MC turns around and looks at you and Sylus. “Is she your rival you were always spewing nonsense about?” Rafayel nods, confirming MC’s suspicion.

You look up at Sylus, mouth slightly agape while he watches MC and Rafayel. Rafayel turns and follows her gaze, his eyes landing on you, a small smile spreading across his lips.

“You’re built like a Dorito,” your voice carries over the loud crowd.

“Oh?” Sylus hums.

“Yeah…I would say you’re like the Nacho Cheese variety but you scream Sweet Spicy Chili instead.”

Sylus pauses for a moment, nodding to himself before glancing at you and saying, “Good choice.”

Rafayel’s smile falls at your weirdly framed compliment towards the man. He rolls his eyes and looks back at the bottles, jealousy tickling the back of his mind.

“Definitely not winning it for her,” he groans, his face scrunched up as he rills the rings between his fingers.

“Uh huh, sure, keep telling yourself that,” MC comments.

He absentmindedly throws another ring, watching as it spirals around one of the bottles finally landing. Rafayel gasps, his posture straightening as he claps his hands together. He turns to MC, who jumps with him, pure joy sounding out from their yells and cries of victory. Rafayel snaps his fingers and points to a very small seahorse that sits on the bottom level of trophies to win, the level being that of a participation trophy for those who have spent obscene amounts of money at the stall.

“Gimme the damn seahorse, Gary!” Rafayel yells.

Just as Gary hands over the tiny seahorse, which is vibrant and tiny, its neon colors fading from pinks to greens to purples and blues. Rafayel turns around, holding the tiny seahorse up into the air. He crosses the space between you and him, watching as he lowers it into your outstretched hands.

“This is for you,” Rafayel smugly smiles, leaning in. MC stands behind him with crossed arms, rolling her eyes as he openly contradicts himself from not even thirty seconds ago.

“Why thank you!” you smile, looking at the seahorse with a spark in your eyes. Funnily enough, you kind of want to paint it, the colors calling to you. “Who knew that after fifty coins worth of tries that you’d be able to win something!”

You turn to look up at Rafayel, laughing as he rolls your eyes, draping his arm over your shoulders, tugging you into his side. His cologne, a scent that reminds you of the ocean but also those ads where the actors run through a desert or swim in the ocean while sharks circle them. The two of you smile at each other, faces scrunched up as you lean in, your noses barely touching to try and show the world, and Rhys if he’s watching, that you are a united and very much in love couple.

“It’s okay if it takes you more than twenty tries, Sylus,” Rafayel proudly boasts. You can feel him flexing his biceps through the fabric of his hoodie, “not everyone is as good as—”

Rafayel quickly shuts up as he watches Sylus approach the booth, rings in hand, tossing them into the air with such precision that it’s shocking. Every single one of his rings lands around the milk jug’s necks, swirling around the rims before making itself at home around the neck. Rafayel’s jaw drops.

Sylus turns around, a big kitten plushie in his arms as he passes it off to MC. She cheers, taking the plushie into her arms. In Sylus’ hands, it looked like a normal size, but in MC’s, the plushie is ginormous.

You turn to look at Rafayel, who wears a scowl on his face. You gently push him towards the next stall and listen as he grumbles obscenities underneath his breath about how life isn’t fair and that his rings must have been rigged to automatically win. You pat his back as an attempt to console him.

“That’s okay, you’ll get the next one,” you lean into his side, smiling as your eyes scan the crowd to see if Rhys or any of the other part people you know are also at the carnival.

“Hey!” MC’s voice comes from behind you yet again. Rafayel doesn’t turn around as he sits himself down at a chair, his hands latching onto the handles of a water gun, ready to win. “Would it be okay if we joined you? It would be so much fun to have a double date!”

“Of course!” you beam back at her.

Rafayel gasps, looking up at you with an angry expression. You push his face away, though, his nose smushed beneath the palm of your hand as MC and Sylus take their seats beside you. You sit down and release Rafayel’s face from your hand but he’s quick to lean in, his lips brushing against your ear.

“What the fuck are you doing?” the Lemurian asks, irritation in his voice.

“What? It’ll help us with Rhys,” you angle your head towards him, leaning in, “a double date will help us sell the fact that we have other couple friends to hang out with.”

Rafayel slowly pulls away. His eyes are narrow and fixated on you. The pink and blue hues move away from your face, staring at Sylus who sits on the other end of the group, a smug smirk on his lips. Rafayel moves his attention back to you. You shrug and bat your eyelashes at him, Turing away as you grab the handles of the water gun.

“Are you fellas ready?” the game’s attendant approaches the group, a big and goofy smile on his face.

You and MC cheer, clapping your hands, while Rafayel and Sylus simply nod at the man, barely even paying attention to him as they glare at the target in front of them.

“Well…alrighty then! Let’s get started!”

The game alarm sounds off, signaling the beginning of the game. Rafayel and Sylus immediately hit the target, the steady stream of water flying across the small distance while you and MC laugh with each other, giggling about how competitive the boys can be. The two of you barely pay attention to the game and instead choose to try and get your streams to touch, earning a wiggling of eyebrows from the minimum wage employee.

The game’s bell sounds off. The two of you gasp and turn towards your respective men, seeing which one won. Spoiler: it’s Sylus with Rafayel right behind him.

Rafayel stands from his chair, glaring as the man grabs another large plushie from the hooks, passing the obnoxiously large pufferfish off to MC. She smiles and thanks Sylus, who gives her a shrug and playful flirtatious comment in return. You stand and follows Rafayel as he leaves the booth, arms crossed over his chest.

“Raf? It’s okay! You’ll get it next time!” you try your best to encourage him as he walks to the next booth.

“Am I?!” Rafayel snaps at no one, punching the air in front of him. “How can I win when he’s around! Oh, I hate him. I hate him!”

“Stop being a drama queen, Rafayel, pull yourself together,” you roll your eyes, trying your best to keep up with his quick pace.

He huffs and puffs to himself, his purple hair falling back and forth every time he whips his head to the side. You clear your throat and take his hand. He immediately yanks it away from yours, stopping to look down at you.

“What are you doing?” he asks, placing his hands on his hips. You groan and flick the space between his eyebrows, catching him off guard, before grabbing his hand once again. “Flick me again and I’ll scream.”

“Calm down,” your nails dig into the skin of his hand, making him wince, “I’m playing the role of sympathetic girlfriend who is trying to calm down her dramatic feminist boyfriend.”

“Oh…right. Yeah. That makes sense too,” Rafayel’s voice lowers in volume, the man smiling at the surrounding crowd.

“It’s okay if you don’t get me the pink and blue seahorse,” you say with a shrug, “I don’t want a memento of you anyways.”

Although, you wouldn’t really mind having it in the first place.

“No, no, I’m getting you that damn seahorse,” Rafayel looks down at you, his eyes flickering to the smaller ones in your hands, “they need a sibling.”

“You’re a child.”

“Am I? Or do I have an active imagination?”

“No, you’re a child. A big one that cries whenever he doesn’t get his way,” you roll your eyes, pulling him to the next booth with Sylus and MC hot on your tail. “What about this one?”

“Do you want me to look like an imbecile on that?” Rafayel groans, staring at the rope ladder.

A teen hops onto the inflated floor, climbing onto the ladder that lies across the small stretch of distance between the front and the back where a bell hangs. The ladder wobbles back and forth, the teen boy quickly losing his balance before he tips over. People who stand and watch laugh and clap their hands, shouting that he tried his chest and that he’ll get it next time as the person to the side of him makes it halfway. They’re quick to fall over, too, earning a fun comment from the person operating the game.

“I mean…yes, I always want to see you be humiliated, but this seems like fun regardless! You have great balance, right? This will be a piece of cake!” you try your best to hype Rafayel up, even going as far as to stand behind him, massaging his shoulders.

“You think I can?” Rafayel asks, glancing at you from over his shoulder. You nod and wink, encouraging him to try.

“Ah, another game,” Sylus’ voice vibrates your chest. You bite your lip and turn to look at him, raising an eyebrow at him. “Let’s do it. Seems…thrilling enough.”

“Oh, you bet your ass—”

“Language,” you chime in,

“—that we’re gonna do it! My girl wants the panda!” Rafayel announces, finger pointed in the air.

As soon as people hear Rafayel’s declaration, they turn to watch as the two men approach the ladders. Sylus hands the person gold coins, enough for the both of them much to Rafayel’s dismissal. You and MC stand beside each other, shoulder to shoulder as you offer to hold one of the plushies for her.

The first couple of seconds are awkward so you turn to look at MC who turns back with a smile.

“So…does MC stand for anything?” A beat. “Something like ‘Mary Catherine’ or ‘Marie Curie’?”

“Definitely not like the radioactive scientist.”

Rafayel glares at Sylus, the Lemurian taking off his brown hoodie to reveal a white t-shirt underneath. His eyes remain on the taller man. He tosses his hoodie at you, watching as the brown fabric pathetically falls to the ground at your feet. Rafayel’s face goes red, turning to look at you.

“Oh, was I supposed to catch that?” you ask, awkwardly leaning over the large teddy bear plushie to pick it up, dusting it off by hitting it on the metal fence.

Rafayel groans and turns back to Sylus, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Are you ready?” Rafayel asks.

“Are you?” Sylus counters with an amused chuckle.

Without another word, Rafayel turns away and approaches the first ladder while Sylus steps towards the one beside it. Rafayel drops down, grabbing the first rung. His palms are sweaty, his nervousness taking over his entire body once he realizes that a whole crowd has gathered to watch him fail while getting a panda for you.

He is already wobbling back and forth. You step towards the fence, leaning over it, yelling encouraging comments in his direction. His breaths are slow and steady, slowly moving to the next rung of the ladder. He smiles, already making it halfway as the elevation increases.

“I’m doing it!” Rafayel yells, looking over his shoulder, ass popping out, his eyes meeting yours. “I’m gonna win!”

“Keep it up, babe!” you yell back, feeling a little too comfortable in the role as fake girlfriend.

Rafayel begins to make his next move when the crowd gasps. He stops, his pink and blue eyes moving from the ladder and to his side, watching as Sylus finally makes a move.

The tall, white haired man doesn’t get on all fours like how everyone has done it, no, no. Sylus takes a single step, hands casually placed inside his leather jacket’s pockets, and he walks across each of the rungs. Every step is precise and casual. The ladder barely even makes a move, staying as still as possible as Sylus effortlessly crosses.

“He’s an angel,” you breathe out, watching as Sylus glides across the ladder.

“I know…I can’t look away,” MC mumbles.

Rafayel’s jaw drops. He watches Sylus, unable to look away. Sylus glances at him, smirking, as he reaches the end of the ladder, reaching down to ring it. While he’s there, Sylus uses his Evol to grab the panda plushie, the same one that Rafayel declared he was going to win for you, and brings it into his arms, walking back down the ladder as if it’s just an average Tuesday evening for him.

Rafayel loses balance and falls onto the inflated mattress beneath him. The crowd screams, cheering for Sylus as he hops off of the inflatable. Rafayel scurries after him and watches as Sylus hands you the panda plushie. You take it from him with wide eyes, looking between the panda and the fuming Rafayel who stands behind.

“I…I definitely can’t take this,” you say, blinking at the oversized panda bear.

You look at Rafayel, who has quickly gained his composure back, and saunters over to the group. He swipes his hoodie back from your hands, quickly throwing it over his shoulder, finger hooked into the collar. He stands beside you and looks around, clearing his throat as if he wasn’t just casually humiliated by a man who looks like he was sculpted by the gods themselves.

Fuck. Does that include Rafayel, too?

“Well,” Rafayel looks at the panda bear, pinching its nose, “I did say that you’d get it. So I’m not technically wrong.”

Just by looking at him, hearing the slight crack in his voice, you know that he feels horrible. That his self esteem has just been shit on by a man who looks like he could break your back with just a simple thrust flick. You sigh, moving the teddy bear back to MC while you hold the panda. You reach out and take his hand, gently squeezing it as his fingers lace between yours like its second nature.

“I want the seahorse anyways,” you comment with a shrug, turning back to Sylus and smiling at him. “Thank you for the panda.”

“Of course,” he nods his head, looking down at MC who smiles at him like he is the only person to ever exist in the world. He smiles back, a hint of smugness in the gesture.

Oh, how you want to smack that smug smirk off of that damn face for making your fathead sculpin feel embarrassed.

“Hey Sylus,” you pass off the panda and tiny seahorse to Rafayel. He looks at you with bewildered eyes, trying to figure out your angle to your sudden proposition. “I’d love to take you on in a game. How about,” your voice falls off. You pretend to look around the carnival, acting like you’re trying to find something. “Basketball?” You shrug, facing him with raised eyebrows. “Sounds fun!”

“You’re on,” Sylus chuckles, nodding his head. He takes MC’s hand, walking them towards the miniature basketball court.

You watch and smirk, cracking your neck and fingers, loosening up your body. You begin to walk after them with Rafayel following close behind. He looks at the side of your face, watching as you tame your hair into a tight ponytail.

“Uh…are you sure this is a good idea?” Rafayel asks as you approach the court that has two hoops. Sylus hands over the money, turning to look back at you as he shrugs off his leather jacket.

“Rafayel, honey,” you turn to look at him. You grab his chin, yanking him down to your level. “Don’t you ever question me ever again. Now kiss my cheek like the good feminist boyfriend you are and hold my damn panda.”

Rafayel sucks in a breath, his cheeks and ears heating up. He leans down and kisses your cheek, quickly moving to kiss the other one. You smile at him, pretending like your blush is fake — news flash: it isn’t — and turn to the court, skipping towards it.

One court belongs to you and Sylus while the other is occupied by other customers. The man watches you with a close eye, the muscles of his biceps flexing underneath the carnival’s bright and colorful lighting. You have to look away, screaming at your mind to stop having dirty thoughts, and grab the basketball as he passes it to you.

“The man was kind enough to let us have a court for our own use,” Sylus claims, sweeping his hair out of his face, “so whatever game you’d like to play, we will.”

You dribble the ball between your hands, making yourself look as awkward as you can. Sylus tilts his head to the side and you look at him, bouncing the ball on the floor so it lands back into his hands.

“I’ve always like the game of HORSE,” you smile, gesturing your head towards the basket, “I’ll let you have the first shot.”

Sylus nods to himself, dribbling the ball. He takes it easy the first time, standing at the free throw line. He shoots the ball and it swishes inside with ease. He passes you the ball and you easily match it, a small crowd beginning to gather around the court.

It goes on like his for twenty minutes. The two of you refusing to let up a shot, going all over the place before you miss the first one, a three pointer from the side with no backboard to rely on.

“Oh,” you pout, turning to look at him, “what a shame. Oh well, there’s plenty of game left!”

An hour passes and the game is tied. Both you and Sylus need the other to miss so the person gets the letter ‘E’ to join the accompanying ‘HORS’.

The silver haired man passes the ball to you, the placement of the shot being left up to you. You look around, moving the ball between your hands as you wander around the court. You glance at Rafayel, who looks like he is about to implode at MC’s side, unable to look at anything but you. Your heart skips a beat and you turn away from his gaze, looking back at Sylus.

You slowly make your way behind the basket, standing by the three point line. The crowd goes silent. Even nearby vendors and customers stop to watch as you launch the ball into the air. Everyone leans forward, eyes fixated on the brown basketball, watching as it plops into the basket with ease.

“Fuck yeah! Get his ass, cutie!” Rafayel yells from the sideline. He turns to the crowd and points to himself. “I’m her boyfriend!”

Sylus quickly intercepts the ball once it hits the ground, sauntering over to you. You step out of the way and place your hands behind your back, inching back towards the fence where Rafayel is. You press your back to the metal fence, feeling Rafayel lean forward and press his cheek against yours.

“Personal space, Raf—”

“Oh, right, sorry,” he mumbles but stays close, watching as Sylus dribbles the ball.

Sylus launches it into the air. The world goes silent from all around you. Even you lean forward with the crowd, watching as the basketball connects with the hoop. The ball dances around, connecting with everything but the net of the hoop. After a few seconds, the ball rolls across the rim and spills out, falling to the side of the hoop.

Rafayel launches himself over the fence, cheering at Sylus’ demise. He drops the panda and seahorse, pulling you into his arms. You jump up and wrap your legs around his waist, hands resting on the sides of his face while he holds the back of your thighs cheering before you collapse onto the ground with a thud. The basketball court employee rolls his eyes and approaches, catching yours and Rafayel’s attention.

“What prize—”

“We want the big ass seahorse!” Rafayel, who lays on top of you, yells. You point to the big seahorse, its pink and blue colors bright underneath the carnival lights.

“Whatever,” the man, who is most likely a stoner now that you think about it, rolls his eyes and collects the prize.

Rafayel stands up, pulling you with him, and snatches the seahorse teddy bear from the man, passing it into your arms. The two of you cheer and giggle with each other, looking at the glittery details of the fins and scales, details you never noticed from afar.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as Sylus and MC share a kiss, giving the two of you a wave, before leaving. You wave back, nudging Rafayel to do the same, before he turns back to the plushie.

“Hell yeah, we won this!” Rafayel exclaims, grabbing its fins before spinning it around in the air, catching it with ease before handing it back to you.

“We?” you laugh, feeling as he rests his arm around your waist, guiding you towards the art tent.

“Yes, we did! I riled him up for you, cutie, don’t you ever forget that,” Rafayel comments with a smile. “You had to come and save me…you’re my hero! I’m a simple damsel in distress while you channeled the powers of your brother husbands to help you save the day.”

“This is your sign to stop talking like that,” you fake vomit to the side, earning another hearty laugh from the Lemurian.

“You were so badass, though. You really did give him a run for his money. I think I saw him sweat a bit,” he comments, leaning in to kiss the top of your head but he holds back, diverting his gaze elsewhere as he tries to play it off as cool as possible.

Rafayel can’t kiss your head otherwise cheek or lips because you two totally aren’t dating and will never, ever be a thing. Like ever!

“He totally did, didn’t he?” you bask in Rafayel’s praise, never having heard it from him before, and laugh as you approach the white tent.

People move in and out, two young artists standing outside the tent’s flaps passing out fliers for the event. Rafayel situates the panda on the back of his shoulders, holding onto its legs, while you keep the seahorses tucked underneath your arm, smiling as you accept one of the fliers.

“Where is he?” Rafayel whispers, nodding his head with a bright smile at people who wave to him, colleagues from within the art industry. “He’s supposed to be here, right?”

“Well, we did get sidetracked because of your quest to get a seahorse for me,” you whisper back, trying to get him to drop the panda from his shoulders.

“No! My panda!” Rafayel whisper yells at you, dodging every attack that you throw at him. He fights you and slips away from your touch, rushing to the other side of the tent, his giggles floating throughout the tent.

“Be careful!” you whisper as he leaves but he’s already vanished into thin air.

A deep and hearty chuckle approaches you. You turn around, noticing Rhys approach you with his wife on his arm. Your smile widens, posture straightening, as you hold the seahorse on your hip like it is a baby.

“Rhys? What are you doing here?” you ask, waving to him and his wife.

“I love supporting young artists! It’s always nice to see what up and coming talent there is and who to look out for,” his presence is already so comforting despite the heightened anxiety you feel inside your chest. “Now, where is that boyfriend of yours?”

“What day is it? Tuesday? Oh, right, it’s Rafayel’s turn today,” you laugh along with them, earning a wink from his wife, her approval already coming your way from the sly joke about rotating boyfriends. “He’s around here somewhere. He wanted to win me as many prizes as he could before stopping by.”

“What a gentleman!” Rhys’ wife gushes. She leans forward and grabs the fin of the seahorse plushie, giving it a little shake. You laugh, indulging in the comedy of the older generation and scrunch your face up as they laugh and look at each other.

“Cutie! Why didn’t you tell me you were in need of some company?” Rafayel slips himself into the conversation, panda still on his shoulders. “Rhys! It’s way past your bedtime! How are you still up, old man?”

Rhys and Rafayel laugh with their entire bodies, hunching over and slapping each other on the back. You and his wife look at each other, both sharing an eye roll by their dramatics and antics.

“I heard you won many prizes for this pretty lady right here,” Rhys gestures to the toys that hang off of your bodies.

“I did, yes!” Rafayel wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you to his side. “I will win any game that people throw my way if it means that I get to see her smile.”

You blush, looking away before hiding behind the seahorse’s head. You know that he’s lying, that he doesn’t truly mean what he says, but you can’t help but feel satisfied that he’s the one winning you prizes — well, trying to at least — and nobody else. That’s a secret you’ll never tell, though.

“Look at them, darling,” Rhys leans towards his wife, kissing the top of her head. “Young love is something special. I hope that you two never lose your spark. The fire behind your passion!”

Rafayel and you nod, letting out awkward and quiet laughs. You both feel guilty about tricking Rhys into thinking you’re in love, that you two haven’t been enemies ever since you laid eyes on each other in this life.

“Before I let you go, may I ask a favor from the two of you?” Rhys asks, stepping forward and lowering his voice.

“Of course,” the Lemurian responds, “we’re ready to help out whenever you need us!” Rafayel immediately looks at you, the smile on his face growing alongside yours. His grip on you tightens before you turn back to Rhys, nodding as excitement floods throughout your body.

This is it! He’s going to ask you to be the headliner! Are you excited! Oh my sea god you’ve made it! You’re not a failure! Who cares if you and Rafayel used each other to get here? You’re winners, baby! Nothing is going to stop you now!

“As you probably know, I teach a life drawing class at The Dreamscape. We just recently lost our two models, something about restraining orders and divorce or something—”

“Oh what a shame.”

“—and I would love it if you two would be able to step in and be our models! The theme is love, of course, and we want a couple to be our models for the class. What do you think?”

You turn to look at Rafayel, tilting your head to the side, puckering your lips as you narrow your eyes. He matches your expression, raising his eyebrows halfway up his forehead.

We have to! He signals to you.

Bad idea! What if he catches us bickering?

Every couple fights! Don’t be a pussy and do it!

Fine! You owe me for this!

“We’d love to!” You and Rafayel turn back to Rhys and smile. You lean in, temples touching each other as the seahorse is smushed between the two of you.

“Wonderful!” Rhys claps his hands together. “I’ll send the date and time to your agents! I won’t bother your date night with the details. Go have fun, kids! Be sure to stop by the table in the back for a gift just in case you decide to buy a piece of art from one of the kids who presented their paintings tonight.

“This art?” Rafayel snorts. “It looks—”

“The sick children did the best they could. They’re so sick and tired all the time and see ing their smiles while they worked is one of the most fulfilling experiences that I will ever have in my life,” Rhys’ wife gently speaks.

“—it looks so great and amazing! I love how abstract is is! They have an eye for art and I bet it’s because of your influence!” Rafayel quickly recovers.

You have to turn your head away, hiding behind Rafayel’s shoulder, as you cough through the laughs. His hand leaves your waist, moving to your ass as he pinches it. You gasp and he smirks, waving away Rhys and his wife.

“Hey! Why did you do that?” you pout, pushing away from him as you rub the spot where he attacked you.

“That’s for laughing at me! Now, let’s go buy some kid’s art and get out of here,” Rafayel walks away, panda bouncing with every step he takes.

You laugh and follow after him, eyes scanning the wall of art. A lot of them are of flowers, which is easy to draw, while others are of outer space. One of them catches your attention, though, and you grab Rafayel’s hand to stop him before he goes too far.

“I want this one,” you point to it.

“That one?”

“Yes, bitch, that one,” you look up at him, brows knitted together. “What did I say about questioning me?”

“I’m not a brother husband,” Rafayel turns to look at the painting, tilting his head to the side. He holds out his hand, wiggling his fingers at you. “Card, please. I’m a feminist who forgot his wallet.”

“Very slick,” you roll your eyes and turn around, shimmying your backpack. “It’s somewhere in there. I don’t know, have fun finding it.”

Rafayel lets out a dramatic groan, leaning down. The panda’s face hits yours and you swat it away just for it to round back to you. Rafayel rummages through the backpack, giggling when he sees your backup tampons, grabbing your wallet. He walks away, giving you the middle finger as you protest him taking the entire wallet, stating that he only needs a card.

You sigh and turn back to the painting, the smile returning to your face. Your eyes move over the blue waves, looking at the crabs that sit beneath the surface. A couple walks hand in hand on the beach, their feet submerged beneath the water as the sea life flourishes to the side. Something inside of it calls to you, your connection to the sea knowing no bounds.

“Alright, we got it!” Rafayel comes back a few minutes later and tucks the wallet back into your backpack. “I had to fight an old lady for it, so, you’re welcome.”

He helps take it off of the wall, a clear plastic bag full of water in his hand with a small fish floating on the inside. You stare at it, unable to even comprehend how the fuck he got a fish.

Rafayel casually rolls the painting, making sure not to ruin it, as he slips it inside the complimentary tube to take home. You point to the fish, head falling to the side.

“Hey, Rafayel.”

“What now?”

“Where the fuck did you get a fish?”

“Oh, this is Reddie,” Rafayel casually holds the bag up, pointing to the tiny red fish on the inside of the bag. “He’s the gift Rhys was talking about. I fought a four year old for him.”

“Why wouldn’t you let the kid have him?”

“Because this fish spoke to me.”

“And you were the one who said I needed psychiatric help,” you roll your eyes and take the tube, turning on your heels, and exit the tent.

Rafayel stays close to your side, holding Reddie in one hand while balancing the panda with the other. You follow as the crowd leaves, making sure to wave goodbye to the ticket lady, who mouths fuck her good to Rafayel. He cringes, making a face just as the two of you step out of the park’s gates.

You reach the car and sigh with relief, already feeling your body relax. You set the tube in the backseat of his convertible and place the seahorse in the seat. You lean in and buckle its seatbelt, watching as Rafayel snorts at you.

“You’re ridiculous,” he comments.

“Says the guy who couldn’t win a single game today,” you shoot back.

“I got you the smaller seahorse! What more do you want from me?” Rafayel frowns, slamming the panda into the seat beside the seahorse.

He grumbles under his breath and proceeds to buckle the panda in. His eyes move to you, watching you get into the car, smile on your face as you give Reddie a finger wave. A soft smile spreads across his face, his expression softening. He turns to the panda and scowls, giving it a big ol fucking slap before getting into the driver’s side of the car.

He reaches over your lap and opens up the glove compartment, plucking a silk scarf from the abyss, and places it onto your lap. You stare at it then at him. The car roars to life with Reddie vibrating in the cupholder.

“What’s this?” You ask, feeling the patterned material beneath your fingertips. It’s smooth and cool, looking like something a woman from a spy movie from the 1950s would wear.

“It’s for your hair,” he shrugs, the car already moving out of the parking spot.

“You had this the whole fucking time and now you’re giving it to me?”

“Whoops,” Rafayel smiles, laughing as he looks over at you.

“You’re such an asshole,” you mumble, unable to hold back the smile on your face. You hide your hair under the silk scarf, protecting it as much as you can as Rafayel watches you form the corner of his eye.

He’s unable to contain his smile as well, looking at Linkon City’s skyscrapers to distract himself from the way his heart pounds inside his chest. He revs the car engine and pulls out of the parking spot, making sure to drive slow just for you instead of being a mad man like before.

The car ride home is nice. The music plays in the background as you two familiarize yourself with he fresh sea breeze instead of city smog. You smile and feel the wind between your fingers, looking at your painted nails while Rafayel gazes at you.

It’s so peaceful, so serene. One would think that the two of you are an actual couple instead of enemies who are forced to work with each other. Rafayel takes the long way home, driving through the scenic route of Whitesand Bay. He loves hearing your laughs as the car quickly moves up and down the rolling hills.

He wishes the night isn’t over as soon as he stops in front of the tiny studio you also use as your home. The two of you are so alike and yet so different, it’s interesting to think about.

The convertible comes to a slow stop in the house. The lights are still on with Abigail at home, probably watching some shitty reality tv show without you. You sigh and begin to unbuckle your seatbelt, gathering your belongings. Rafayel, is quick out of the car, racing around the side to open the door. You smile at him and get out, a quiet laugh leaving your lips.

“Thank you,” you say, feeling Rafayel tuck the seahorse and panda underneath your arms. “I think Reddie will be in better care with you than me.”

“Totally,” he nods, matching your smile. “I, uh,” he scratches the back of his head, “wanted to apologize about earlier today.”

“It’s okay, Raf,” you wave him away, the plushies wiggling with the movement.

“No, I was out of line and you didn’t deserve that,” Rafayel sighs, looking down at the gravel, unable to bring himself to look into your eyes.

“I forgive you,” you say the words before you can think about it. He looks up with widened eyes, the pink and blue color looking so beautiful under the moonlight.

“You do?” he asks. You nod, biting your lip. “Thank you.”

Rafayel steps forward, taking your face between your hands, and kisses you. You gasp, eyes flying open. You quickly melt into the kiss, though, with your eyes fluttering shut and you stand up on your toes, helping close the distance between you two.

The kiss lasts for a few seconds, your lips lingering on each others for more than they should have. You slowly pull away, looking into his eyes while his hand caresses your cheek.

“We shouldn’t have done that,” you breathe out.

“I don’t regret it,” Rafayel quickly says.

The Lemurian takes a step back, watching you with a small smile as he gets back into his car. He drives away, giving you one last wave before disappearing down the street.

You smile at nothing, lips tingling from the kiss. You slowly turn around, laughing to yourself, when you look up, eyes connecting with Abigail, whose jaw is dropped. She stands in the open doorway, tub of ice cream falling to the floor.

“What the fuck?!”

likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated <3 i love seeing what y'all have to say! <3

#rafayel x reader #rafayel x non!mc reader #love and deep space rafayel #lnds rafayel #love and deepspace rom com #jexs recommendation

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jexireads · 5 months ago

Text

Loathe To Paint You, part two

masterlist , series masterlist , ao3

18+ MINORS DNI

previous part | next part

pairing ; rafayel x non!mc reader

synopsis ; thomas and abigail try to bring you and rafayel together. the two of you need to take pictures to convince rhys that your relationship is real

word count ; 6.6k words

author's note ; hi all! i hope you enjoy this chapter!

content warning ; vulgar language, raf gets a little handsy, they argue and bicker

The smell of paint is thick in the air, the combined chemicals and pungent scent stinging inside your nose. You always placed the blank canvas in the center of the room, with it laying on the ground or perched up on an easel. The cans and tubes of paint you bought always surrounded you in a half circle, always available when you need to the change pigments and colors depending on what it is that you are painting. The nearby speaker blasts whatever music it is you’re into right now, drowning out the outside world’s noise. Below your feet is one large plastic tarp. It is covered in numerous paint splatters from previous projects, keeping the smooth concrete floor nice and clean. You always have been a messy painter.

It’s something you have grown used to, an environment you have carefully curated whenever a strike of inspiration hit you. It didn’t matter if the painting’s design was minimalist or if, like now, you found yourself throwing paint at an enormous canvas, the smells bring you a sense of home and comfortability.

Abigail absolutely hates the smell. Can’t stand it. She always plugs her nose whenever you bust open the tubes of paint she brings you, dramatically commenting on how repulsive you smell when you’re done. You always tell her that she’s lucky to even get a percentage from the works you sell, that if she continues to complain, you’ll settle into an early retirement. She always shuts up after that.

You look up at the egregiously tall canvas. The center is covered in layers upon layers of tape, keeping. The canvas perfectly clean underneath while the surrounding areas are covered in dark reds and burnt oranges.

You can barely see the skin of your hands, dried and fresh paint devouring your arms from your fingernails up to the middle of your forearms. From there, the paint scatters across your skin in small and thick droplets, splattered in weirdly shaped circles. You scrunch up your nose and grab the side of the canvas, peeling it off of the wall. The canvas falls to the ground with a clatter, the wood connecting with the concrete floor.

Barely glancing at it, you crack open a tub of red paint, a can you have had for the past year but didn’t know what to use it on until now. Your hand dips below the surface, the paint making itself at home underneath your fingernails and into the pores of your skin.

You throw the paint onto the canvas. It streaks across the side, adding more chaos to the already destructive design of hellfire you had in mind. You let out a frustrated yell, taking out all of your grievances onto the painting.

Are you a bit annoyed with the fact that Abigail and Thomas have so carelessly put you into a fake relationship with your mortal enemy? Yes. You could say that.

Are you a bit annoyed that Rafayel has been posting thirst traps on his Moments page ever since the plan began? Yeah, it has been pretty annoying.

But the most frustrating thing, the one thing that has driven you to the brink of pure insanity is the fact that whenever you and Abigail contacted Thomas, Rafayel was conveniently unavailable to take time out of his day to meet and go over the details of your fake relationship. So, you are doing what you know best: throwing paint at a canvas and hoping that something good comes out of it.

Your music suddenly comes to an end. Abigail must be here to collect you for a meeting or something. Just as you scoop up a handful of paint, a voice rings out from behind you.

“You know, if you wanted to drown the canvas, you could have taken it to the ocean instead.”

Your body freezes. Slowly turning on your heel, you glare at a familiar head of purple hair and the smug smile that sits on his face. You straighten your posture, a scoop of red paint sitting in your hand. You inch towards Rafayel, the Lemurian still not having noticed the paint.

“Drown it?” you scoff.

“Your layers of paint have made it thicker than it needed to be,” Rafayel critiques with a casual shrug.

“And what if that was the intention?” you counter, slowly stepping over the paint cans.

“Then I would say that you have entirety missed the point, as you usually do, and would advise you to start over and,” he sucks in a patronizing breath, “try again.” You glare at him, feeling your cheeks heat up from anger and irritation.

Fuck you, Rafayel, you fish looking motherfucker. I’ll get you back soon, just you wait and see.

“What are you doing here? Why the fuck are you in my studio?” you raise an eyebrow at him, moving your handful of paint in front of you, looking down at the dark red color with a glare.

“Oh? Haven’t you heard?” Rafayel closes some of the distance between the two of you. He wears black pants, casual yet fancy, and his white dress shirt has gold leaves on the collar, the shirt’s buttons beginning halfway down his chest.

You have to hold back every urge and temptation that courses throughout your body to not throw the paint at him. To get his pristine and undoubtedly expensive white shirt dirty, to stain the puffed out cuffs. You chuckle and tilt your head to the side, shifting all of your weight onto your back foot.

“What haven’t I heard, Rafayel?” your eyebrow perks up.

“We—” he steps forward, now only a few centimeters away. You suck in a breath, eyes fixed onto his blue and pink ones. He taps your nose, his free hand gently pushing the handful of paint down to your side, the paint slipping between your fingers and onto the floor, pooling by your feet. “—have a date today.”

“We do?” you blink as he turns away, suddenly feeling your heart slowly come back to life. It pounds inside your chest.

Rafayel nods and stops to look at other canvases inside your studio. He tilts his head to the side, his gaze lingering on the darkened shapes and figures inside the mess and chaos of your brush strokes.

“Thomas heard that Rhys is planning on going to a local art competition tonight. Something at a carnival in Linkon or whatever,” he shrugs again and swivels on his heel.

“Are you talking about the carnival that Akso Hospital holds? The carnival that raises money for sick children in need?” you narrow your eyes at him, watching as he turns his attention back to you.

“Is that what it is? Wow, I really need to listen to Thomas,” he offhandedly says, shrugging as if it is nothing. “Anyways! Thomas, Abigail, and I are waiting for you and your…Alanis Morissette, ‘I’m not like other girls’ session to come to an end.” He waves his hand around, gesturing to your messy hands, smock and overalls, and cliche yet classic messy bun that your hair is tied back into.

Your jaw drops. You look down at your overalls, which are a light jean color with numerous paint splatters and stains soaked into the material, before looking back up at him, watching as the painter walks away with some pep in his step.

“What the fuck is wrong with Alanis Morissette? She’s an icon,” you mumble to yourself with an eye roll.

Abigail’s office is just down the hall. The two of you work, and live, close together in a small house right on the oceanfront, nought with the money from your very first exhibition and pieces that you sold. The space is minuscule compared to what Rafayel’s grand Whitesand Bay home has to offer. It’s a mere shack compared to Mo Art Studio. Then again, your art is only showcased through curated exhibits and don’t have public access like how Rafayel does. His special exhibition floor, to you at least, is just an extension of his already inflated ego. It’s a way for him to to bask in the attention of others.

Fuck, it drives you insane. You hate that purple haired twat so much. You hate that he flaunts his expense wealth, which by the way, you need to ask Thomas what kinds of deals that he makes for Rafayel so you can get in on the action too. You hate how everyone in the room gravitates towards him. You hate how he could take a big fat shit on a canvas and present it to the world and they’d still fat to their knees and proclaim him a genius. You hate just how easy art comes to him and that he barely needs to do any work to create masterpieces.

Hell, he even managed to secure a job as a professor at Linkon University only a couple of years after his debut!

“Ah! Thank you for finally joining us,” Thomas exclaims as you enter the room, hair slightly damp from the quick shower you took to get all of the paint off of you, just another step of your artistic routine.

“Took you long enough,” Rafayel comments with a side eye. You glare at him, not even hesitating to pinch his arm as you pass him, sitting next to him in the empty seat at the table.

“Play nice, you two,” Abigail groans, bringing out papers with a list of questions on it. She places them in front of you and Rafayel with Thomas quick to lay a pen on top of the papers. “So you two clearly know nothing about each other besides you shared hatred.”

“So you want us to fill these out?” you ask, looking up at Thomas and Abigail, who sit across from you two. They nod in sync. You glance at Rafayel, who simply stares at the paper and pen. “Let me guess, you don’t know how to read or write. I always knew you were illiterate—”

“I can read thank you very much.”

“Wow! Really? I’m so proud of you. I bet first grade was really hard for you last year,” you snicker to yourself, feigning total support and concern.

“I know how to fucking read! Can you just shut up?!” Rafayel turns and raises his voice at you, his tone bordering on anger and embarrassment. You gasp, placing your hand on your chest.

Thomas and Abigail roll their eyes, crossing their arms over their chest. Abigail groans, mumbling, “Here we go again…” just as you begin to speak again.

“Rafayel…I am so disappointed in you,” you somehow manage to make yourself cry, your eyes immediately filling up with tears. His expression falters when he notices your saddened expression. A part of him actually feels guilty for yelling at you. You sniffle. “How dare you silence women’s voices? Are you just another Alpha Male who thinks that he can get whatever he wants in life?!”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Rafayel rolls his eyes. Any ounce of guilt he felt towards you vanishes within a second. Your cries turn into laughter, unable to contain your joy from teasing him. You turn to Thomas and place your hands on your lap.

“Thomas, I regret to inform you that Rafayel loves to silence women. It’s his favorite hobby as you can clearly see—”

“I love women!” Rafayel rolls his eyes and throws his arms up into the air.

“You love it when they’re quiet and don’t have anything to say!” you lean in to interject, waving your finger as if you hold the moral high ground when it comes to the matter about women’s voices.

“You don’t even know what you’re talking about,” Rafayel turns to look at you, getting all up in your face. You shrug with a smile, leaning back into the seat. You gesture towards your crotch, giving him a knowing and smug smile.

“I have a pussy, Rafayel, I think I know more about the matter than you do.”

“I can’t work with her!” Rafayel stands from the table, his anger aimed directly at Thomas. His agent looks tired, exasperated, dejected. Thomas shakes his head.

“Rafayel, I want you to sit down and fill out the damn form,” Thomas points to the paper on the desk.

Rafayel, on the other hand, shakes his head no and looks away. He gently stomps his foot on the ground and you snort, earning an immediate glare from Abigail.

“No!”

“Rafayel, I swear on my wife’s life that—”

“You leave Solana out of this! She is a wonderful woman and you will not swear a single thing on her life!” Rafayel quickly retorts. Thomas rolls his eyes.

“Rafayel…buddy…work with me here. I want to help you get that exhibition with Rhys and she will help get you there whether you like it or not!”

“Yeah?!” Rafayel uncrosses his arms, his hands falling to the side. All eyes are on him in the room. He looks between everyone, making sure to glare at you, which only furthers your laughter. He points to you and angrily says, “Bitch is as bitch does, Thomas!”

“I also want you to stop saying odd shit,” Thomas pinches the bridge of his nose.

“What does that even mean?” Abigail mutters to herself, blinking at Thomas for an explanation that will never come.

Rafayel huffs to himself, rolling his eyes, and sits back down. He crosses his arms back over his chest and turns his back to you. His toned muscles flex under his thin dress shirt and you can’t help but stare and memorize the lines in his back and shoulder blades, the way his muscles tense before relaxing into place.

If you didn’t know any better, you would think that you find Rafayel handsome. And oh my, my, is that a scary thought for you to have!

“Why don’t we do this,” Abigail chimes in, catching everyone’s attention in the room. “Why don’t we make this a game, hm? Whoever answers the most questions correctly gets to choose the matching outfits for our activities today—”

“—as well as the outfits for the carnival tonight!” Rafayel chimes in. You can’t help but roll your eyes.

If anything, he’s going to win and make you wear an outfit that is so horrendously ugly. It’s a targeted attack! Rafayel knows exactly what he’s doing and you’ll be damned if you let him win.

“Fine! I agree to these terms,” you look at him with a hidden challenge behind your eyes. He immediately catches on, a smirk forming across his face.

“You’re on,” Rafayel holds his hand out.

You nod, reaching out to shake his hand, when he draws it back at the last moment, sliding his fingers through his hair. Thomas and Abigail hold back their laughs, Abigail holding onto Thomas’ forearm to the strength to not laugh. Rafayel turns back to face the other two, a smug smirk on his face as he crosses one leg over the other.

“You’re a child, you know that?” you groan.

“I thought I liked to silence women’s voices?”

“Two things can be true. They aren’t mutually exclusive,” you roll your eyes. You glance at Rafayel at the same exact time he looks at you. There’s a ‘really?’ look on his face. You smirk and adjust yourself in your seat, angling your body towards him. “Mutually exclusive means that two things can’t happen simultaneously. You being a child and a piece of shit aren’t, so they can happen at the same time.”

“Did your fancy degree tell you that?” Rafayel sneers.

“Yes, it did, actually,” you straighten your posture and flip your hair over your shoulder, “it also told me that with a face like yours, it’s understandable as to why you’re deemed a social recluse.”

Rafayel’s jaw drops. The room falls silent. Thomas and Abigail look at teach other, silently sharing the hope that your bickering will be over.

After a couples seconds of you and Rafayel staring t each other, Thomas claps his hands and gathers the papers in his hand, clicking a pen as he writes your names at the top so the two of them have an answer sheet.

“Wonderful! You’re both quiet! Amazing! Now only speak when you’re spoken to, okay? Great,” Thomas says, talking over himself before you and Rafayel can respond.

“Okay, so, we’re going to ask a question and you’re going to have to say what you think the other person’s answer is, got it?” Abigail continues for Thomas, already so in sync with him unlike you and Rafayel. The two of you share a glance of disgust before nodding.

You want to gag at the idea of having to get to know Rafayel. You liked watching him from afar, not up close and personal. Rafayel was much more tolerable when across the room, when you were forced to listen to his laughter from afar and listen to stories he was involved in whenever someone had a funny memory to share. You preferred it that way.

What was that saying that Abigail always love to use?

Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

“Alright, Rafayel, what is her favorite color?” Thomas asks.

“How am I supposed to know that?” the Lemurian snorts, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Rafayel.”

“Fine! Fine!” he throws his hands up in the air, dramatic as always. “Her favorite color is green. Not like the grass, but the vomit she throws up after a long night—”

“You know what you piece of shit?” you turn to Rafayel.

The two of you stand in sync. You push a finger into his face while he rests his hands on his hips. All Thomas and Abigail are able to do is watch. Watch as their careers as successful agents crash and burn, the fire from your feud with Rafayel only making the fire even worse.

While the two of you hurl insults at each other, Abigail reaches into the bottom drawer of her desk, pulling out a half-full vodka bottle. Thomas snatches it from her hands, drowning the rest of the liquid. You and Rafayel catch wind of him, watching as he chugs the rest of the vodka. The two of you go quiet, looks of horror plastered across your faces. Abigail watches with surprise, a hint of pride in her face once Thomas sets the bottle down, his face red.

“Are you…okay, Thomas?” Rafayel asks. Thomas nods, coughing, and gives him a thumbs up.

“I needed a sweet treat to subside the horror that is you two.”

“Vodka is a sweet treat?” Abigail’s voice is full of glee and wonder.

“It’s sweet enough,” Thomas shrugs.

“So much happened,” you turn to look at Rafayel, who just shrugs in response. You two wear the same look of shock on your face, turning back to Thomas.

“Okay, so you two clearly need to wear a time out shirt,” he says, standing and circling the desk, “wait — Abigail add that to the list, it’s a cute photo idea to have.”

“Photo idea?” you turn to your best friend and agent, who avoids eye contact. “Don’t…don’t tell me that we’re going to have to take photos together.”

“Do you want the exhibition or not?” Abigail sighs, looking at you. “We need to convince Rhys that you two are in love, okay? If you don’t have any photos together, or even know what his favorite color is, then you two are fucked! Your careers will be over!”

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. Rafayel shifts beside you. He stands, turning to exit the room. Thomas opens his mouth to yell at him, but he waves his hand over his shoulder.

“Save it! I’m getting a new outfit from the car!” Rafayel’s voice bounces off of the walls.

Fuck. You hate him. You hate how easy it is for him to command the room and the way his voice can be heard no matter what. Fuck you, Rafayel, truly.

“What…what are you going to have us do?” you quietly ask, avoiding their gazes as you watch Rafayel through the window.

You approach the glass, tilting your head to the side as he slips across the loose gravel of the pathway through the front lawn. Thomas and Abigail stand on either side of you. Thomas brings out the car key, staring at it. He turns to look at you and Abigail, a mischievous smile forming on his face.

“Watch this.”

He storms out to the car, Thomas’ family SUV, and grabs the door handle. The yanks it. It doesn’t budge. He groans, tugging at it again. The Lemurian sighs, placing his hands on his hips. He waits for a few seconds, hearing a faint click sound. He smiles and fixes his hair, pretending that he isn’t about to crash out over a locked car door. He places his hand on the door’s handle and pulls on it again.

It’s locked!

You, Abigail, and Thomas laugh from inside the small house. The three of you watch as Rafayel struggles to open up the car door. Thomas keeps locking and unlocking the doors before the artist can open them. Rafayel kicks the drivers side door, leaving a massive dent into the metal. Thomas clicks the button that opens up the trunk.

Rafayel rushes around the SUV as soon as he notices the trunk opening. He looks around for a brief moment before reaching inside, grabbing a few of the black bags that holds premade outfits. Rafayel glares at the car, slowly inching away. The trunk doesn’t close, though. He reaches up and slams it down, huffing to himself about how difficult that was for no reason.

The man begins to cross the path when the car trunk opens again. He freezes, turning around. He rushes back over, closing the trunk with one arm. He begins to walk away when the door opens again. Rafayel throws the black bags to the ground and storms back over to the trunk. With one final slam, the door closes. As soon as it closes, the car alarm begins to blare off. Rafayel gasps and falls to the ground, scrambling across the lawn, capturing the black bags in his hands.

The three of you continue to laugh at Rafayel, doubled over as your sides begin to hurt from laughing so much. As soon as the artist reaches the door, though, the three of you quickly muffle and cover up your giggles, turning to look at something random inside of Abigail’s office.

“Thomas!” Rafayel screeches, his feet pounding against the wooden floor. “Your car is haunted!”

“Oh? Is it?” Thomas pretends to act concerned, which makes you laugh some more. Rafayel immediately glares at you, placing his hands on his hips, the bags of outfits hanging at his side.

“What’s so fucking funny?”

“I think it’s ridiculous to think that a car can be haunted, Rafayel,” you snort, covering your mouth with your hand.

Before Rafayel can get the chance to retort, Thomas grabs the bags from him and looks at the corresponding tags. The agent looks at Abigail, who is quick to move across the room.

“Should we start off with the park date?” Thomas asks. Abigail nods She crosses the office and grabs your wrist, dragging you towards the door of the office.

“You can change in here or the bathroom that’s down the hall,” she calls from over her shoulder, pulling you into your bedroom that’s nearby.

“Park date?!” you ask, watching as she dives into your closet. She immediately begins to pull out clothes, tossing them onto your bed. “What do you and Thomas have planned?”

“You two are going to go on some dates while we take pictures of you, okay? We need Rhys to believe that you two are a couple—”

“We can say we’re really private,” you breathe out, already changing into the clothing items that she points to. “That we didn’t want anyone to find out or hold our relationship against us?”

“I love you , but no. Absolutely not. What are your feelings towards tandem bicycles?”

“I — what?! You’re going to make us ride a bike together?” you gawk, turning to look at her as she fixes a necklace around your neck.

“You’re right. You two would purposefully crash to kill the other,” Abigail murmurs to herself. You hold back a bitchy comment, not wanting your irritation to get the best of you, and sigh. “What? It’s not like we’re going to have you two marry each other.”

“You’re right,” you roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest, “I get to waste a few weeks of my life around the one person I can’t stand instead of making art and meeting someone who actually wants to be near me.”

“Stop being dramatic,” Abigail frowns, “you were going to sit your ass on the couch and watch Linkon’s Most Wanted with a tub of ice cream and you know it, so don’t even pretend to act like you have a life.”

You suck in a breath and look at yourself in the mirror. It’s a casual outfit, a simple pair of jeans and sneakers with a cute blouse and jewelry to match. It would be a cute date outfit for literally anyone else in the world.

This is going to be a long day.

And a long day it was. It was filled with constantly bickering from behind face smiles and laughter as well as many outfit changes as Thomas and Abigail directed the two of you on how to act. Rafayel cringed when he put his hands on your waist while you fought the urge to vomit. Maybe then will Rafayel see the shade of green he thinks you adore so much.

The two of you took pictures in the parking, holding hands and laughing with one another while Thomas and Abigail snapped pictures. You laughed about how much you hate each other, how to want to rip out the other person’s throat at any given moment!

Rafayel carried you in his arms while the two of you walked along the beach’s shore. You held onto him, running your fingers through his hair while the sun was high in the sky. Rafayel told you that you are very round and weigh more than a cow.

Lastly, as the sun begins to set, Thomas and Abigail thought it would be appropriate to have a few pictures with the sunset as the backdrop while at the pier, a known romantic spot for couples.

The two of you stand at the Whitesand Bay Pier. Rafayel stands behind and to the side of you, one arm draped behind your back. You stand beside a few other people, tourists you think, and remain close to Rafayel so you don’t bump into them.

“Can you not touch my ass?” you groan, pushing your butt into the palm of his hand while the two of you watch the sun begin its descent. Rafayel pinches your ass cheek, earning a shocked gasp and smack on the arm from you. His palm flattens against the low of your back before eventually dropping back down to your ass.

“They told us to act like how we would in a relationship!” Rafayel is quick to defend himself. You glare at his response, rolling your eyes before you turn back to the sunset.

The blue tones in the sky begin to turn orange and pink. It truly is one of the best things about Whitesand Bay, the way that the sky turns into a different painting every night. It truly is a sight for sore eyes and it always helps you calm down during your times of need.

And being so close to Rafayel just happens to be one of those times.

“So what you’re telling me is that you love to silence women’s voices and use them like your personal fidget toy?” you shoot the man some side eye, feeling his fingertips tap the back of your jean pockets. He slips his hand inside the back pocket and his fingers make themselves right at home. You roll your eyes and groan, moving to take a step away when he pulls you right back to him.

“What the hell was that for?”

“I just want my girlfriend to be at my side,” he looks down at you, a chaotic grin smacked across his face, “do you want to be the reason we don’t get Rhys’ last exhibit?”

“No,” you huff the word out, already being pushed past your breaking point.

Rafayel leans in. Your breath gets caught in your throat. He dips his head down, his eyes now at the same level of yours, and keeps the charming smile on his face. You look away from him, needing to stare at anything that aren’t his beautiful blue and pink eyes, and get your shit together. Rafayel, on the other hand, has other plans for you.

His touch is gentle. The artist turns your face to look at him, the upper half of his body turned to face you while he keeps his legs cemented at your side, effectively trapping you between him and the railing at the pier. Your eyes meet his and you can’t help but lean your body into his, feeling his thumb slowly stroke a small part of your jeans while his slender fingers remain tucked in your back pocket. It’s oddly calming and reassuring.

“What are you…” your words trail off.

He raises an eyebrow and leans in, his forehead pressing against yours. A quiet chuckle emits from his throat. Your heart pounds inside your chest, bouncing off of your ribs, just absolutely rattled. You close your eyes and keep your hands to yourself. His breath mixes in with yours. He pushes in further, his lips hovering over yours, his nose nestled into place.

Is he…going to kiss you?

Suddenly, Rafayel pulls away. You stay where you are, missing the warmth from his embrace, and slowly open your eyes. His blue and pink hues stare back at you in complete and utter amusement. Your expression sours and you look away, a hint of embarrassment tingling in the back of your mind. Your cheeks heat up.

“What? Did you want me to kiss you?” Rafayel muses with a chuckle.

“Why would I want to kiss you? Your breath smells like fish,” you retort, looking everywhere but his eyes.

“I can kiss you if you want me to,” he chimes in again, leaning down.

For a moment there, you wanted to say yes, to have him kiss you and take away the weird tension that floats between you two. But you catch yourself before you can give into the temptation. You shake your head no, quickly pressing the palm of your hand into his face, shoving him away from you.

“Okay! Okay! We won’t kiss,” a piece of you dies on the inside, “disaster averted.”

“Yep! You said it!” you pull your hand back, wiping his spit off against your jeans.

“Bullet dodged!” Rafayel’s voice is a little too cheery when he says that.

“Uh huh! For sure!” you laugh with him, the two of you sharing snarky expressions.

“Your lips will remain unkissed!”

“I…okay—”

“I’m free at least!”

“Free?!” you repeat his word, brows furrowed.

“I don’t have to torture myself to sell our relationship—”

“Okay! I get it!” you snap, glaring at him. Your cheeks are hot from a mixture of embarrassment and anger.

Were you really that repulsive to him that he wouldn’t kiss you? You aren’t the worst looking person, hell, you are a look better looking than ninety percent of Whitesand Bay’s population! You are a damn fine catch and you will not let an insufferable twat like Rafayel make you feel any less than that!

He turns to look at you, watching as you pull away from him, hands on your hips. He goes quiet, gulping from nervousness.

“I…I’m sorry,” Rafayel stammers, eyes widening. You cross your arms over your chest, raising your eyebrows at him to let him continue his sentence. He nods to himself, looking to the side at Thomas for help but his agent — and yours — aren’t there. “You just seem like the type of girl—”

“Girl?!”

“Shit! Fuck! Woman,” he corrects himself, “you seem like the kind of woman who hasn’t been kisses in awhile so I just wanted to offer...” Rafayel looks down at you, noticing the way the tips of your ears turn a deep red color and the bulging vein that pops out in the middle of your forehead.

Rafael doesn’t need to be an expert in body language and expressions to know that he has pissed you off.

“I mean, like,” he stammers, trying to cover his ass, “you just seem like you haven’t been in a relationship for awhile. I, uh, no offense but you know…you seem like a lot of work. I feel bad for the guy who comes by and tries to snatch you up, no offense.”

You raise an eyebrow at him and you swear you hear him whimper from terror.

“It would take a team of guys to help you feel secure, like an entire hoard or maybe even a school of fish. Maybe then you will get all of the kisses you want!” Rafayel is internally screaming at himself to shut the fuck up but his mouth just doesn’t want to listen. He goes quiet and you stand there as the world passes you by, the sun sinking lower and lower into the horizon.

“Is there anything else you would like to tell me about your perceptions of my love life? Or, in your words, lack thereof?” your voice is dangerously low. It both terrifies and excites Rafayel. He purses his lips and his eyes dart away from yours.

“I’m just…in a really weird place right now—”

“Oh really, Rafayel, where is that place? You’re already at the finish line and decimated me!” you raise your voice, groaning and turning away from him. You take a few steps towards the spot where Thomas and Abby once were but feel Rafayel grab your wrist, pulling you back to him.

“I didn’t mean what I said,” he fumbles over his words, shaking his head down at you.

“Fuck you, Rafayel!” you yell at him, yanking your wrist away from his touch. He scoffs and places his hands on his hips, glaring down at you.

“Jeez, can you not take criticism well? I think we’re going to have to pull out of the charade if you aren’t able to handle it! Even little guppies can handle tough love from their friends,” Rafayel says.

“Is that what you call tough love?! Rafayel, you just insulted me!” you laugh through the shock and anger, your fists balling at your sides. “And also, that’s fucking rich of you to say seeing how after one person said that weren’t a fan of your work, you haven’t been able to produce anything new or noteworthy!”

“Wow,” he crosses his arms over his chest, “that was a low blow.”

“Was it? Or was it just some much needed tough love,” you gently punch his shoulder, mocking him from before.

You begin to walk away from him, pushing through the crowd of people. He quickly catches up and grabs your wrist, forcing you to drag him along as you reach the parking lot where Thomas and Abigail stand in next to the car you all came in.

“What the fuck do you want, Rafayel?!” you yell in his face as soon as you break free from the crowd. You turn to look at him, anger written all over your face.

“I have a feeling that I fucked up—”

“I have a feeling, all right! It’s called nausea, you piece of shit!” you continue to yell. Rafayel’s fingers tighten around your wrist before he drops it. He shakes his head and clenches his jaw.

“You know, this is exactly why we would never work out together!” Rafayel yells back. People look at you but neither of you care. “From the first day I met you, you have proven to be so self absorbed and two faced! I could never find myself being in love with a bitch like you! You’re too much to handle!”

“And you aren’t? Look at the state of you, Rafayel! It took you two hours to decide on an outfit to wear for stupid fucking pictures! And why would I want to be with someone who has been nothing but cruel to me the first time we met? You’re an asshole!” you cross your arms over your stomach, nausea overtaking your body as well as the sudden urge to cry.

“Um, excuse me,” a maternal voice catches both you and Rafayel off guard.

You look at the woman, who has a crying baby in her arms as well as a five year old on a leash who keeps shouting curse words you have just said. You swallow the lump in your throat and force a smile onto your face. Rafayel stands beside you, completely stone faced as his eyes burn into the side of your face.

“I hate to interrupt your argument but there are a lot of children here today and as you can tell, it is causing a lot of chaos—”

“Right! I am so sorry, ma’am, we’ll take this somewhere else, we’re so sorry,” an apologetic look forms on your face. You sigh and look up at Rafayel.

The expression on his face makes you pause. His brows are furrowed, cheeks a light pink color, and his ears are completely red. He slowly breathes in and out, his breathing ragged and hollow. A piece of you wishes he wouldn’t look at you while another part of you wishes he only ever looks at you like that. You gulp and reach out for his hand, your fingers slipping between his. Without another word, you guide Rafayel away from the crowd and move deeper into the parking lot and towards the SUV.

Before you can reach the car, though, Rafayel stops you. You pull against his hand but he doesn’t budge, remaining in place in the middle of the street.

“You think I’m an asshole?” his words are quiet, just loud enough for you to hear.

“You think I’m two faced, am not worthy go being kissed or loved by a single person, and you called me difficult in so many ways possible,” your fingers go limp, ready to drop his hand, but Rafayel’s grip on you remains firm. “Let me go.”

“No,” he takes a step forward, “do you really think that I’m an asshole?”

“Yes,” you force the word out of your mouth, “I can’t wait for this fake relationship to be over so I can get away from you for good.”

You rip your hand away from his grasp. Rafayel’s face contorts, softening for a brief moment, before it hardens once again. He watches as you walk away, taking the slow and agonizing steps away from him.

“I need time alone. Away from you,” you groan, pinching the bridge of your nose. You look to the side, noticing that your house isn’t that far away. You can very easily walk home from here. No need to be near him more than you have to, right? “I’ll see you tonight, Rafayel,” you call out from over your shoulder. You leave the parking lot and quickly disappear with the group of tourists, disappearing and finding shelter amongst the chaos.

likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated <3 i love seeing what y'all have to say! <3

#rafayel x non!mc reader #love and deepspace rafayel #rafayel l&ds #love and deep space #rafayel romcom #jexi recommends #this is so good it burns

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jexireads · 5 months ago

Text

THE COLONEL'S KEEPER.

in a war-torn world where survival is a privilege, you never expected to become the object of a feared colonel’s obsession. but as whispers of his lost love haunt your every moment and bullets become the least of your worries, you realize that falling for him might be the most dangerous battle of all.

⁀➷ pairings. caleb, fem!reader

⁀➷ genre. heavy angst, smut, historical au, 18+

⁀➷ tags. colonel!caleb, nurse!reader, reader is not l&ds!mc, ooc, war times, unrequited love, profanity, violence, loveless sex, explicit smut, mentions of sexual assault (not from caleb), obsession, possessiveness, jealousy, injuries, blood, killings, death. themes contain material that are heavy and disturbing—reader discretion is advised.

⁀➷ notes. 8.3k wc. divider by thecutestgrotto. this is heavily inspired by my other gojo fic s.o.s and the manhwa my beloved oppressor :) couldn’t stop thinking about this au for caleb that i had to just write it :’D reblogs and comments are highly appreciated!

The world above was long dead. Ruins of cities stood as monuments to a past civilization, swallowed by the aftermath of World War VI. Beneath the surface, buried in a labyrinth of steel and stone, was where the remaining humanity clung to survival. Here, Colonel Caleb was both a savior and a nightmare—a man whose presence alone sent shivers down the spines of even the most battle-hardened soldiers.

But he was not just any soldier—he was the fleet’s best fighter pilot, a legend in the skies before the war even forced them underground. Even now, when the remnants of humanity relied on aerial supremacy to hold off their enemies, Caleb was the one they turned to. The one who led the most dangerous missions, who never failed, who returned even when others didn’t.

You have loved him for as long as you could remember.

You were a humble nurse, stitching together broken bodies, whispering soft reassurances to the wounded. Your duty was simple yet relentless, saving as many lives as you could with the limited resources and skill at your disposal. You weren’t the best, nor did you claim to be, but you were one of the few who refused to surrender to despair, even as the war bled your world dry. While others faltered under the gravity of endless suffering, you endured. And after a year of tending to fallen soldiers and civilians, you remained steadfast. You were the only one among your female colleagues who hadn’t lost herself to the horrors of war.

That was how you met him.

Caleb was the fleet’s toughest and most formidable leader. He was unyielding and merciless to those who dared cross him. Even with his own people, he remained strict, and his resolve never wavered even in the face of devastating losses. But the night he staggered into the private ward, wounded and bleeding out, you were the first to reach him. You ensured he was cared for, your hands steady as you fought to keep him alive.

“You’ll make it through the night, sir.” You could still remember the desperation in your voice as you tightened the tourniquet around his broken arm, fighting to stop the bleeding. “I’ll make sure of it.”

He lay there, teeth clenched, body tense with pain, every breath labored. “If I die, I die.”

“No!” you shot back, your grip firm with determination. “Not tonight. You will live. We’re rooting for you, sir. The people need you.”

They said falling in love during wartime was a surefire path to heartbreak. Yet, meeting Caleb, seeing beyond his striking exterior, and loving him despite the battles—both on the field and within—was a fight you willingly embraced. You surrendered yourself to him without hesitation, and in return, the hardened soldier who was weary from war found solace in you. He called you the prettiest nurse in the ward, but to him, you were far more than that. You were the one thing he never saw coming.

You were the apple of his eyes.

But, of course, the other nurses didn’t take kindly to that. They resented how you had unknowingly ruined their chances with him, and even more so, how an undeniable favoritism began to surface. While they were left to sleep in rusty bunk beds, you were the one Caleb brought to his private quarters, where the sheets were soft, the air was warm, and food was abundant.

It was easy for them to judge. After all, rumors spread like wildfire about the nurse who shared the colonel’s bed. The gossip wasn’t confined to just the nurses; it reached the soldiers who eyed you whenever you passed, their gazes lingering with knowing smirks as if fantasizing what their colonel saw at night. Even the older civilians bore disapproving glances whenever they saw you. Their silent verdict was clear as day. You were seen as a woman who had traded her virtue for privilege. A harlot draped in a white uniform. A disgrace hiding behind the pretense of care.

You weren’t sure if Caleb knew about it, but it was impossible not to. He simply didn’t care because he had an entire nation to think about. Clearing your name was the least of his concerns. And you knew it. After two years of serving as a war nurse, when night fell, you were simply the woman Caleb claimed as his. A common-law partner, nothing more. He never made promises, never told you that you were the only one in his heart. Because you weren’t. That space belonged to another—the woman he had truly loved. The woman he had lost to war.

His wife.

You tried. You tried to live with the ghost between you, tried to endure the way his fingers sometimes trembled against your skin, as if remembering someone else. You tried to pretend that when he held you, it was because he wanted you, not because he needed something to numb the ache inside him.

But love, when unreciprocated, was a slow and agonizing death.

And all you could do was live with it for as long as you were with him.

Because one day, you knew he could love you the same. And one day, when the war ends, you would be in his arms, building your life together with your kids playing freely and no longer living in fear.

For now, you had to endure what came your way. There are no saints in war times, and patience was a virtue at times like these.

The sharp scent of antiseptic filled your nose as you moved swiftly through the underground ward, checking pulses, changing dressings, and murmuring reassurances to the wounded who groaned in pain one after another. It was just another day in the relentless cycle of war, patching up soldiers only to send them back out to die.

Then you heard him.

Colonel Caleb’s commanding voice felt like an alarm to everyone in the ward as he strode down the hall, flanked by his army of men. You weren’t even looking, but you could picture the way they walked, with Caleb at the front, exuding effortless authority, and the others keeping pace just slightly behind him.

“The turbine failed mid-air,” one of his officers reported. “Preliminary analysis suggests a mechanical fault. Possibly a lubrication issue in the main rotor bearings.”

“Or sabotage,” another interjected grimly.

Caleb didn’t slow his steps. “Has the wreckage been recovered?”

“Scouts are en route, sir. We should have an assessment within the hour.”

“Too late,” Caleb muttered. “If they hit us now, we’ll have one less bird in the sky. Reassign Squadron Echo to cover the eastern perimeter. Deploy anti-air artillery in sector four, and keep the missile launchers primed.”

“Yes, sir.”

Just then, a distant explosion rumbled aboveground, rattling the dim lights overhead. You even had to hold onto one of the cabinet doors to steady yourself. A fighter jet had gone down.

“Damn it.” One of the officers pulled out a small tablet, scanning over the mission logs. “Pilot’s confirmed dead. They’re already moving in on the wreckage. We need reinforcements at the north trench.”

Caleb barely hesitated. “Send Private Halloway to the front lines.”

“Roger that.”

His words were sharp and clinical. No emotion. Just another name spoken into a void, another body to be thrown into the fray.

Your hands stilled over a soldier’s bandages. Halloway. You recognized that name.

The same Halloway who had leaned a little too close when you handed him his rations. The one who had brushed a stray lock of hair from your face and smirked, murmuring something about how the battlefield could use more beauty like yours. The kind of beauty that he fantasized at night.

And now he was being sent to die.

A strange thrill coiled in your stomach. Caleb had heard about it. Or he might even have seen. It was a foolish and delusional thought, dangerous even, but you clung to the fact that this was surely his way of claiming you.

As his group passed, your pulse quickened. You turned slightly, letting your gaze linger on him. Tall. Unshaken. Unreachable. This was your man. He was yours and you were his.

You smiled as soon as he saw you, just a little, as if sharing a secret only the two of you understood.

But Caleb didn’t stop. He simply looked away. His eyes remained fixed ahead, his expression unreadable, and in a matter of seconds, he was gone. Nothing more than the cold air that he often carried.

Steam curled in the dimly lit room as you stepped out of the shower, water forming in rivulets against your skin. The underground base was always cold, but in Caleb’s quarters, the warmth always stayed. Not just because he had his own luxury of a fireplace, but because the warmth also included faint traces of him in the air, in the sheets, and in the ghost of his presence.

Not that it mattered. You were just emotional because he hadn’t been here in three days.

Sighing, you wrapped a towel around yourself, already resigning to another night alone. But just as you reached for your comb, the door swung open with a slow and deliberate creak.

You froze.

Caleb stood in the doorway, his uniform dusted with dirt and gunpowder. His sleeves were rolled up, veins prominent on his forearms and tension coiling in his stance. His gaze flicked over your damp skin, bare shoulders, the towel barely clinging to your body.

You let a small smile play on your lips. “You finally remembered where your bed is?” you teased, stepping closer. “I was starting to think you found another.”

He didn’t respond. Just shut the door behind him with a quiet click.

And the thick, suffocating silence stretched as he began removing his shoes. You took this moment to clear your throat. “I heard about Halloway,” you murmured, tilting your head. “People are saying you sent him to a death sentence.” A pause, then a knowing smile. “Did you do that for me?”

The shift was instant. And it wasn’t what you pictured in your head.

Before you could react, Caleb was in front of you, his body pressing you back until your spine hit the cold wall. His hand gripped your jaw firmly, tilting your face up until you had no choice but to meet his eyes. They were dark, smoldering, and unreadable. This was the version of Caleb that everyone was afraid of.

“You worried ‘bout him?” His voice had a dangerous edge lacing each word.

While you, your breath hitched, fingers curling into the towel. “N-No.”

“You think I didn’t hear?” His grip on your jaw tightened just enough to make you gasp. “The way he talked to you? The way you smiled at him? Handsome guy, isn’t he?”

You denied everything he was saying. You knew one of his officers had been feeding him information, but they seemed twisted to make you out as someone you weren’t. Were they trying to turn him against you? “No, darling. That’s not true. In fact, I can’t even stand him.”

His lips curled, but there was no humor in it. “I have eyes and ears everywhere, Y/N.” He leaned in, his breath warm against your cheek. “And if I catch you entertaining anyone else again, I won’t just send them to die.”

A shiver ran down your spine—fear, thrill, or perhaps something darker twisting deep inside you. His warning did what it was supposed to do: to scare the hell out of you. But the most dangerous part was how much you enjoyed it all.

And then, before you could even form a response, he pushed you towards the bed.

By the time you looked back at him in surprise, he was already unbuttoning his shirt, looking at you merely as an object of his desire. “Strip off,” he growled, face rigid as ever. “The past few days were damn stressful. Been thinkin’ of you naked all day.”

And so, your nightly duties began. Caleb demanded his reward, and you were too foolishly in love that you surrendered to him without hesitation.

Because as unhinged as his obsession seemed, it ignited something deep within you. The thought of Caleb claiming you as his prize, something he craved at the end of each brutal day, sent the most passionate fire through your veins. That the same man who barely spared you a glance in daylight was the one who burned with desperation to have you all to himself at nighttime.

“I missed you,” you whispered as you slowly unraveled your bare body in front of him, dropping the damp towel on the floor. Not once did you break eye contact, and it was the sexiest thing you had ever experienced in your life.

As for him, he had already rid himself of his clothes. They were a pile on the floor, discarded lazily as he pinned you down. First, he went for your lips. Completely devouring, savoring your taste, and dominating every inch of your mouth. The moment his tongue connected with yours, he deepened the kiss—a little too rough, too desperate that you could barely breathe.

“M-My love,” you gasped, the only time he allowed you to catch your breath was when he was positioning himself between your legs. And then he crashed his lips onto yours once more, enjoying how you moaned against his lips, exchanging warm breaths as he explored your mouth. The kiss was so intense that you barely noticed the feeling of his hardened member pressing against your leg. It felt huge and hard as a rock, a clear sign that he had been wanting a good release for the past few days. And you? You were crazy about it. You had seen his member plenty of times before, but nothing excited you more than feeling it inside.

That wasn’t his agenda for now, though. He took his sweet time trailing kisses along your collarbone, leaving purple marks around your neck, before he feasted on the same breast he had been kneading for more than a minute. You could feel your back arching as your body naturally responded to his touch, with your own hand guiding him to massage your other mound. He nibbled on the nipple, sucking and licking around the nub, then moving to give the other the same amount of attention.

He was like a hungry beast that hadn’t eaten for weeks. With the way he squeezed your tits together and running his tongue along the cleavage, you could already feel yourself dripping down there.

“C-Caleb.”

“Hm?” He didn’t pull away. Instead, he crawled down, spreading your legs apart, and eyeing the swollen lips that he was about to demolish. “Wet already?”

You nodded, looking down at him and watching as he pressed his fingers along the slit, sliding and circling his digits on your entrance. “Mmh—that’s…”

“Be patient now,” he mocked, “Aren’t you so needy?”

That was true, but how could you help it? How could you not want him inside if you could see him stroking his pulsing cock while he was using his other hand to play with your clit? Just when you thought you couldn’t go crazier, he eventually sucked his digits to taste your slick, then he returned them back to your entrance, only this time, entering without warning.

“A-Aah!”

His fingers alone could make your legs shake, and whatever he was reaching for inside you was making you weaker by the second. You were a moaning mess under him, hands clenching on his sheets for dear life as he fingered your cunt like there was no tomorrow. It was only a matter of seconds until you disintegrated in front of him—your legs trembling as your fluid released itself in a series of squirts.

Embarrassed as you may be, it was what Caleb wanted to see.

And he didn’t let you rest before he was already positioning his crotch on your face, his hand holding his cock in place as he slapped his swollen tip against your lips. “My turn,” he spoke in a low voice, smirking as you wrapped your shaky hand around his shaft and let your tongue swirl around his bulging pink head. You could taste the precum on his tip, licking every corner and every ridge under, from his balls back to his tip before you swallowed him entirely.

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, pulling your hair as you bobbed your head on his cock, enveloping the warm walls of your mouth around his member as if you were milking him of his cum. Your eyes welled with tears as you fought the urge to gag despite feeling the tip of his cock repeatedly hitting your throat. Each and every moan he released made you more determined to please him, to be called a good girl, to be wanted.

You could feel it. With how his cock was twitching inside your mouth, he was about to explode. But he didn’t let it happen. Everything happened in a span of a second when he pulled his member from your mouth before opening your core and slamming his cock into your pussy.

His thick, hard cock stretched you open without mercy. And he didn’t slow down or savor the time. He was ramming into you, hands holding your hips in place while your tits bounced wildly. Caleb’s sweat was starting to trickle along his toned upper body, his abs now glistening as he continued to pound into you endlessly.

“I’d fuck you everyday like this if I can,” he grunted, each word came out raspy. “You like that?”

“Y-Yes! A-Aaah!�� You struggled to form coherent words as he hit your sweetest spot at each hard thrust. “C-Caleb.”

The walls were thin. But surely, the colonel’s private quarters would have some sort of soundproofing, otherwise it would be embarrassing how loud the skin-slapping and squelching noises you two were making. It didn’t help that you were practically screaming as Caleb started increasing his speed as he chased his climax. Your walls were clenching around his girth, milking him of his load that he soon spurted inside of you.

You were in a battle of catching each other’s breaths as he pulled out, watching his cum seep out of your cunt before he plopped on the bed next to you.

“Take the pill as soon as you wake up,” he ordered, laying on his back as he closed his eyes. His chest rose up and down as he eventually caught his breath.

But you remained a ragdoll beside him, your lower body still twitching from the intense orgasm and muscle memory. “O-Okay.”

The night was supposed to end romantically. It was supposed to be you and him cuddling and declaring your love for each other, but the thought of him only using your body to relieve himself was torture to your mind. You convinced yourself it meant something more, something deeper.

But the hard truth was, you were only there to fill the silence.

You traced lazy circles over his bare chest, your voice soft yet full of devotion. “I’m all yours, Caleb. Only yours.”

“Yeah,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “I know.”

The next morning, the bed beside you was cold.

You reached out instinctively, your fingers brushing against the empty sheets where Caleb should have been. But there was nothing—no warmth, no lingering presence, just the stark reality that he hadn’t even stayed.

But you told yourself you just had to get used to it and that Caleb would come wanting you again at night. Like he always did. And so, biting back the hollow ache in your chest, you forced yourself up, got dressed, and headed to the mess hall for breakfast.

The moment you stepped in, you felt it.

Eyes. Watching. Judging.

The low murmurs didn’t stop as you walked past the rows of civilians, soldiers, and nurses, pretending not to notice the whispers that followed you. You kept your chin up and sat down with your tray, forcing yourself to eat the stale bread despite the tightness in your throat.

You had no illusions about what they were saying. They all thought they knew what you were or what you did. Caleb’s woman. His plaything. And after last night, they had even more reason to talk.

But you had work to do.

By midday, you were back in the ward, slipping into your role as if nothing had changed. Patients needed tending to, and you weren’t about to let their petty gossip stop you.

At least there was something to occupy yourself with. They brought in a new soldier to the base, barely back from the front lines if you could add. His face was gaunt, sunken with pain, sweat beading on his forehead as he lay on the cot. His leg was in ruins—shattered bones, torn muscle, the kind of injury that didn’t fully heal in wartime.

You approached him carefully, offering a calm, practiced smile. “I’m here to help—”

His reaction was instant. It was as though you were the trigger to a ticking time bomb. His eyes, bloodshot and wild, snapped to you, and before you could blink, his hands already shot out, grabbing at you with a strength you didn’t expect.

“You—!” he snarled, his fingers digging into your arms, nails raking against your skin as he yanked you forward. “You whore—you whore!”

You gasped, struggling against his grip, but he was fueled by pain and rage, his voice hoarse with accusation. “Ow! P-Please!”

“You ruin men like us! You—you—get innocent soldiers sent to die!” His nails scratched at your cheek, his grip tightening as he shook you. “You’re the reason Halloway’s gone—!”

The words hit like a slap, but before he could do more, hands were on him. And on you. Other soldiers rushed in, prying him off you, restraining him as he thrashed against the cot.

“Stand down, soldier!” one barked.

You stumbled back, breath coming fast, your skin stinging where he had just scratched you.

But the worst part wasn’t the pain.

It was the way the nurses across the ward just watched. Their gazes were cold, as if saying you deserved it. Not a single one had moved to help.

You couldn’t understand the hostility. Couldn’t fathom why people looked at you with such disdain. If it had been another woman in your place, would they have treated her the same? All you had done was love a man—nothing more, nothing less. You weren’t trying to hurt anyone. You simply fell in love.

But as you locked yourself in the bathroom, staring at your reflection while washing the bloody scratches from your cheek, that was when the realization struck.

They didn’t respect you because Caleb never had.

Not once had he claimed you in public, never shown his affection where others could see. He had never treated you like someone worth honoring, never given you the respect you deserved. And if the leader of this war-torn world didn’t respect you—why would anyone else?

The thought alone made your eyes well with tears, but you quickly washed them away. No. You refused to doubt. He loves me. He’d even kill for me.

A sudden knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts. You opened it hesitantly, only to find Simone standing there. The only female soldier with a rank high enough to command real respect. At first, you assumed she was just waiting for the restroom, but the way she looked at you said otherwise.

“You got a minute?” she asked, her tone cool and unreadable.

You hesitated before nodding. “Yeah… sure.”

The storage room was cold and dimly lit by the single flickering bulb overhead. Dust clung to the forgotten crates, and the faint scent of metal and oil lingered in the air. Hardly anyone came here as it was a place for old supplies and broken equipment, not whispered conversations.

And yet, here you were, in the only room without surveillance.

Simone leaned against one of the crates, arms crossed as he narrowed her eyes at you. “You need to end things with Caleb.”

You stiffened instantly. “Excuse me?”

She sighed, rubbing her temples as if she had already anticipated your reaction. “This thing between you and him, you know it isn’t healthy. Not for you. Not for him.”

You scoffed. Who does she think she is? “You don’t know anything about us.”

“I know more than you think,” she shot back. “I know what kind of man Caleb is. What he’s become.”

You folded your arms, defensive. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. All I know is that he cares about me.”

“Cares about you?” Simone let out a humorless chuckle. “Do you even know what he’s done? How many men he’s killed just for looking at you?”

Your lips parted, but no words came out.

“Five soldiers. And counting,” she continued coldly. “Some he sent straight to the gas chambers. Others? He had them tortured in ways I wouldn’t even wish on our enemies. And all because they made the mistake of mentioning how beautiful you are.”

You felt the blood drain from your face. “B-But that’s because he wants to protect me. That’s just how he loves.”

Simone watched you carefully before she sighed again, her voice softening this time. “This isn’t love, Y/N. You don’t know Caleb… I don’t even know if he’s capable of loving again.”

What does she mean?

“He wasn’t always like this,” she continued, almost nostalgic as if he had seen another version of Caleb that you hadn’t. “Before the war. Before his wife died. He was kind. Gentle. A man who knew the difference between power and cruelty.” She hesitated, then admitted, “She was my colleague. And my friend. Caleb’s childhood sweetheart, his true love, and his whole life. He loved her sincerely, so much so that he was fighting to make the world better for her. Not destroy it. But seeing him right now, she would’ve hated what he’s become.”

Your hands clenched into fists at your sides. Everything she had just mentioned shot a bullet straight to your heart, but you refused to let it kill you. You refused, denied. No!

“You can’t replace her,” Simone added, her words cutting through you like a knife. “No matter how much you try. So I suggest you leave him before it destroys you.”

The door to Caleb’s private quarters slammed open as you stormed inside, your blood boiling, your mind a haze of rage and betrayal. You couldn’t stop Simone’s words from echoing in your head even if you tried hard enough. You can’t replace her. She’s his true love. His whole life.

“No.” Adamantly did you shake your head. “Stop.”

He loved her sincerely. And still does.

Your breath came in ragged gasps as you yanked at the blankets, overturned chairs, kicked over the table. The frustration inside you was begging to be released, and destruction was the only thing that made sense. How could you get extremely jealous over a dead person? You laughed in your head. She was dead. She was gone. Good for her. But despite the constant reminder to yourself that the woman you were jealous of didn’t exist anymore, you knew that you could never erase the fact that you would still never amount to her. And you hated it. You hated her!

In your rage, you didn’t even realize you had grabbed one of his jackets from the pile of discarded uniforms until something tumbled out of the pocket.

A necklace.

It landed with a soft metallic clink against the floor. It was a simple chain, worn with age, with two wedding bands strung together. Your stomach twisted as you picked it up, seeing the engraving was delicate but unmistakable. It had Caleb’s name and hers.

Your hands trembled.

She was still here. She had never left. Not in his heart, not in his mind. He carried her with him, even now, even after all the ways he had made you believe you were his.

Something inside you snapped, as though you were a madwoman who had finally lost her sanity. Like Caleb always said, that ‘there are no saints in wartimes’. So, what was stopping you from going all out? She needed to be destroyed. She needed to be forgotten. In your desperation to search for more pieces of her, you lurched toward his drawers, pulling them open and shoving things aside. Your promise to never touch his things? Forgotten.

That was when you saw a wooden box, hidden beneath neatly folded uniforms.

You yanked it out, prying it open with shaking hands—only to find it stuffed with letters. Some yellowed with time, others crisp as if he had reread them over and over. Her handwriting. Her words. Her love, immortalized in ink.

My Dearest Caleb, If I close my eyes, I can still see you standing on the shoreline, hands in your pockets, pretending you’re not waiting for me. But I always knew. You were never good at hiding how much you loved me. Are you eating well? Have you been sleeping? I know you’ll lie if I ask you in person, but in a letter, you can’t hide from me. And I worry, darling. I always do. I miss the way you hold me before you leave. I miss the way you kiss my hair, thinking I don’t notice how long you linger there. I miss the way you look at me like I’m the only thing in this world worth coming back to. Sometimes I wonder… do you know how much I love you? Do you feel it, even when we’re apart? I hope you do. I hope it’s enough to keep you warm when the nights are cold, to keep you safe when danger is near. Come back to me soon, my love. The house is too quiet without you. And when you do, I’ll be right here, waiting. Just like always. Forever yours, Your wife

A strangled sob tore from your throat.

You didn’t think. You couldn’t. You just couldn’t.

Through hot tears and reckless fury, you grabbed the box and flung it into the fireplace without regard. All her letters spilled out, each and every one of them catching flame within seconds. And you didn’t hesitate to throw the necklace soon after, letting it vanish into the fire with a dull shimmer.

You stood there, watching the flames devour every trace of her. Of them.

“You’re gone,” you let out a mirthless laugh, wiping the tears that followed after. “You’re gone! Leave him alone!”

Your entire body trembled at the thought, your chest undulating in heavy breaths. Then, as if realizing what you had done, you collapsed onto the floor, staring blankly at the fire.

The anger was gone.

Replaced by the terrifying thought of what Caleb would do when he came home.

The FY-26 cut through the sky like a phantom with its sleek titanium frame reflecting the nautical glow of the setting sun. It was the most powerful fighter jet in the fleet; faster, deadlier, a mechanical beast designed for war. And only one person from the DAA was given the honor to pilot it.

Caleb gripped the throttle, voice steady as he spoke into his comms. “Specter-01 to Specter-02, enemy reconnaissance spotted at 2 o’clock, altitude 15,000 feet. Adjust trajectory and prepare for engagement.”

“Copy that, Specter-01,” came the reply of his fellow fighter pilot. “Visual confirmed. Awaiting further orders.”

Caleb’s gaze flicked to the horizon, where a lone aircraft hovered in the distance. He could hear the chatter of enemy comms scrambling to react, but for a moment, his focus drifted.

Below him, a small, crescent-shaped island came into view. His grip on the controls instantly tightened.

He knew this place.

The memory surfaced like a ghost from another life—of a time when war wasn’t all he knew. When he had taken her here, flying low so she could see the crystalline waves shimmering under the sun. He had told her to look down, to read the words he had carved into the sand earlier in the day.

"Will you marry me?"

He could still hear her laughter, the way it had crackled through the radio before she screamed yes over the comms, her excitement drowning out all other noise. His adorable pipsqueak. Her beautiful smile, her sparkling eyes…

Caleb exhaled sharply, forcing himself back into the present. “I miss you, my love.”

That was a lifetime ago. She was a lifetime ago.

His eyes darkened as he thought of his new reality—you. You weren’t her. Not in the way you spoke, the way you carried yourself, the way you looked at him with that foolish devotion. But maybe… maybe he should stop pretending that it mattered.

Maybe he should just settle with what he had left.

You were still there waiting for him. A woman who, despite all odds, loved him with reckless abandon. The same woman who cried on the night he was on his deathbed, doing everything in her might to make sure he lived. And though he could never give you what he once gave another, he knew you’d still smile, even just from the smallest things.

A glance. A touch. A mere kiss from him, and your entire world lit up.

His hands flexed against the controls.

“Specter-02, engage the target. I’m circling back to base.”

Because tonight, maybe he’d give you something to smile about.

The moment Caleb stepped into his quarters, he could tell something was wrong.

The air alone was thick with the acrid scent of smoke, an unusual warmth persisting as dying embers crackled weakly in the fireplace. His gaze swept over the room—furniture askew, drawers flung open, papers and personal belongings scattered across the floor. His gut twisted. It was like a crime scene. Like something vital had been gutted from this space.

Then, his eyes landed on you.

Curled up on the floor, body trembling, and your arms wrapped around yourself like a feeble shield. Your shoulders shook through stifled sobs, but the moment your tear-streaked face lifted to meet his gaze, everything inside him snapped.

His heart slammed against his ribs, a foreign pressure crushing his chest as his vision tunneled straight to the fireplace.

No. No, no, no, no!

It was as if his vision blurred, as if there was a deafening ringing overtaking his ears as he stormed forward, shoving past the mess to get to the source of his rage. The flames had long since died, leaving behind nothing but fragile wisps of ash. But even in its destruction, he recognized what it used to be.

Burned letters.

A melted necklace, the twisted remains of two rings fused together.

The last pieces of her.

His wife.

His breath left him in a sharp, ragged exhale, his lungs refusing to pull in air as scorching rage flooded every nerve in his body.

“You,” he seethed. Your name didn’t even make it past his lips. The word was a knife, laced with something lethal, something beyond fury. His boots pounded against the wooden floor as he closed the distance between you, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles went white. “I’d fucking kill you! What the fuck have you done?!”

You flinched, your body recoiling as if his voice had physically struck you. “Caleb—”

“Shut up!” His hand shot out, gripping your arm down to the bone, yanking you up with enough force that your legs nearly gave out beneath you. “Do you have any fucking idea what you just did?”

“I—I didn’t mean to… I wasn’t thinking straight—” you choked out, shaking your head frantically, eyes wide with panic.

“Didn’t mean to?” He let out a sharp, humorless laugh, the sound so devoid of warmth it sent chills down your spine. Before you could react, he was already shoving you back against the nearest wall, his arms caging you in, his breath hot with rage as it fanned against your skin. His eyes were cold, piercing, murderous, menacing.

“You burned her letters, our rings,” he said, each syllable aiming to intimidate you. “Destroyed the only damn thing I had left of her! And for what?!”

Tears spilled down your cheeks as you tried to shake your head, tried to explain, but your throat was too tight, your breath too uneven. Caleb’s gaze alone was enough to make your entire body tremble. But you had to try. “I was hurt, Caleb,” you finally sobbed, the words tumbling out like a plea. “I—I just wanted you to forget her. I wanted you to see me!”

“Forget her?” His jaw clenched. His grip tightened on your wrist, the pressure just shy of bruising. “You think you could ever replace her? You think you have any fuckin’ right to want anything from me? That you could be anything more than a pathetic substitute?”

The words sliced through you like a blade, carving through every delusion you had ever let yourself believe.

Yet… you had nothing left to lose.

“I love you,” you whispered, broken, desperate. “Caleb, I love you… Please. I’ll be everything you need. I’ll offer everything I have and more. Just… just forget about her.”

For a terrifying second, you thought he might actually hit you.

But then, just as fast as it came, he wrenched himself away from you, staggering back as though you were the thing poisoning him. It hurt. It hurt like hell to see the way he rid himself of you as he ran a hand through his hair, his fingers itching to wreck you.

“...Caleb.”

“...I’m sorry, Caleb.”

“...I love you, Caleb.”

No matter how desperately you fought to win his heart, his voice remained eerily calm when he finally spoke.

“Get the hell out of my sight.”

You stood frozen, barely able to process the words. “B-But—”

“I said GET THE FUCK OUT!” His roar thundered through the room, rattling your entire being like an insect in a heavy storm.

You swallowed down the sob threatening to rise up your throat, willing yourself to move—to breathe—as you staggered toward the door. Your fingers curled around the handle, and for a split second, you let yourself hope for him to stop you. To say something. Anything.

But all he did was stare at you with a gaze so cold, so hollow, it made your heart cave in on itself.

And then, his final words were more merciless than you thought.

“You wanna play with fire?” he muttered. “Fine. I’ll throw you out into the front lines soon enough. See how much you really want to be a soldier’s whore.”

A strangled gasp left your lips, your vision blurring with fresh tears.

You couldn’t breathe.

You couldn’t think.

And for the first time since you met him, you realized that no matter how much love you poured into him, Caleb had none left to give.

He stayed true to his words.

The front lines were nothing short of hell. Explosions tore through the sky, painting it in hues of orange and black. The ground trembled beneath relentless bombardments, screams of the wounded and dying mixing with the fusillade of gunfire. It was chaos. It was pure, unfiltered war.

And you were in the heart of it.

Thrown into the battlefield as nothing more than a discarded afterthought, yet you worked tirelessly, tending to the broken, the dying, the ones who begged for mercy even when there was nothing left to give. Blood soaked your uniform, stained your hands, and for the first time since you had arrived at this forsaken place, you realized Caleb was never coming to rescue you. That this wasn’t as simple as temporary punishment where he could rescue you back to the base the moment he saw that you had already paid for your sins.

You had been foolish to think otherwise. Because the punishment was greater than the crime.

Day after day, you watched the planes soar overhead, wondering if one of them carried him. If maybe, just maybe, he’d glance down and remember you. That he’d order someone to retrieve you, to take you home.

But no one came.

Not even him.

And just when you thought it couldn’t get worse—the enemy arrived.

You barely had time to react before the camp was raided, soldiers storming in with brutal efficiency. Screams filled the air—nurses, wounded soldiers, no one was spared. You tried to run, but hands—so many hands—gripped you, dragging you with them.

“No, please!” you sobbed, thrashing, digging your heels into the dirt. “Someone, help me!”

But the only response was the harsh, guttural laughter of the men dragging you away. You didn’t understand their language, but you understood them. The way their dark, hungry eyes lusted over your trembling form. The mocking smiles curling their lips. The way they spoke to each other, like you weren’t even human.

Like you were property.

One of them cupped your chin, tilting your face up with a sickening grin. “She’ll do nicely,” he murmured in a thick accent.

Another joined in on the amusement. “A fitting pastime for the long nights ahead.”

A fresh wave of panic crashed over you, bile rising in your throat as you began to foresee your fate in their hands. Your fate as the enemy’s new plaything.

“No—NO!” you shrieked, thrashing harder, your nails clawing at their arms. “Caleb! S-Someone, please!”

But no one came.

No one ever came.

That was when your real nightmare began.

They dragged you to their camp, a place so desolate, so devoid of mercy, that it made your previous suffering look like a fleeting dream. There was no hope here. No salvation.

Just pain.

The foreign army passed you from one to the next like you were nothing more than a worn-out relic of war. Their touch was greedy, using your body at their convenience, their grip bruising as they took what they wanted. They stripped you off everything; clothes, dignity, sanity. Sanity. Where is God in all of this?

Your mind drifted, escaping to anywhere else but there. You imagined a different life, a different fate. But the pain kept pulling you back. The jeers, the mocking laughter, the cruel hands that touched every inch of your skin reminding you over and over again that there was no escaping this. You felt dirty, felt disgusted of your own flesh, felt sick that you had to wake up each day living for only one and one purpose alone.

You stopped counting the days.

Stopped screaming when they came for you.

You had nothing left.

Their cruelty settled deep within your bones, your spirit breaking piece by piece until all that remained was a hollow shell of who you used to be.

And the worst part?

He never came.

Caleb, the man who once whispered possessive threats in your ear, who swore no one else could have you, who claimed you as his prize—had abandoned you to this.

It was almost laughable. Truly spectacular.

As you lay on the cold, your body too battered to move, you allowed yourself to accept the truth.

He never loved you.

He never would.

Before you were a war nurse, you once interned as a nurse at Akso Hospital. Life was peaceful then. Even as whispers of an impending world war grew louder, there was an unshaken belief that your nation was too powerful to fall. No one dared to wage war on the strongest nation in the world.

That was the world you knew—quiet, bathed in golden light. You stood in the familiar white halls of the medical facility, the place where it all began. Where you trained. Where you dreamed of making a difference.

Dr. Zayne stood before you, his crisp uniform as pristine as ever, his silver-rimmed glasses reflecting the medical abstract he had on hand. He had always been composed and steady. A true professional that you looked up to. He was the best cardiac surgeon there was, and everyone in the same field dreamed of working with him. Of becoming like him.

“You're ready for this,” he said, adjusting his gloves. “The war will test you, but your hands—” he reached out, taking yours in his own, running his thumb across your palm—“were meant to heal.”

You gripped his hands a little tighter. “What if I can’t save everyone?”

He thought for a moment before letting out a quiet sigh. “You won’t,” he agreed. “But you will save someone. And that will always matter.”

You felt your chest tighten. “Thank you for being a good mentor, Dr. Zayne. I hope to see you again someday.”

The golden light around him began to fade, his figure growing distant, hazy, slipping through your fingers.

“Good luck, Y/N.”

It was the chilling air that woke you up from your dream. The icy breeze seeped into your bones, deeper than any wound, any bruise, any violation. Every inch of you ached, skin marred with purple and black, lips split and dry. Your body was no longer your own. It was something broken, something discarded.

You barely had the strength to keep your eyes open and every breath was a struggle as your ribs protested with each inhale. The faint scent of blood and sweat lingered around you, suffocating you. Killing you.

Somewhere in the distance, you heard voices—a noise.

A sharp crack split through the air, followed by a scream—short, cut off, wet. Then another. And another.

Gunfire.

Shouting.

The heavy thud of bodies hitting the ground.

You tried to move, but your limbs wouldn’t obey. The exhaustion of everything they had done to you pinned you down. Your pulse was sluggish, your vision swimming, but you could hear it—him. And the distinct roar of his rage. Perhaps it was your hallucination. After all, you had already lost your mind from this war.

But one of the soldiers outside, his voice barely rising before it was cut off—a sickening gurgle of a sound, as if something sharp had torn straight through his throat. Gunfire erupted in rapid succession, followed by panicked shouts, orders barked in a language you barely understood, only for them to be silenced just as quickly. A storm was tearing through the camp. A massacre.

Then, the door was kicked open. A figure stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the moonlight.

You held your breath.

The familiar combat boots. The bloodied gloves. The cold, murderous gleam of his eyes.

Caleb.

Your lips parted—half in disbelief, half in something uglier. Because now, after everything, after you had finally accepted that he was gone, he was here. His gaze was fixed on you, and something in his features cracked as he took in your state. Bruises. Cuts. The torn remains of your uniform that barely covered your violated body. His fingers twitched over the trigger of his gun.

Slowly, he took a step forward. And when he finally reached you, he knelt, his bloodstained hands brushing against your trembling form as if to confirm that you were real.

Why? Why now, Caleb?

You let out a broken sob, your body giving out as you collapsed into him, while his arms wrapped around you, holding you tightly and desperately.

It was for the first time since meeting him where he genuinely, unselfishly took you in his arms with fragile care. “I’m sorry. I’m here. I’m here now. I’ve killed every single one of ‘em for you,” he said in a tone so affectionate you almost wondered if it was a dream. “I’ll take you home. No one’s gonna touch you ever again. I promise.”

The irony, however, presented itself the moment Caleb touched you. Because rather than feeling a sense of relief in his own way of apologizing, a deep, all-consuming dread wrapped around your bones instead.

Because this wasn’t salvation. This wasn’t a rescue. This was a return to a different kind of prison.

Your battered body trembled in his grip as his presence, something you once ached for, now loomed over you like a cruel joke. You thought being here—being dragged through hell, used, and discarded—was the worst fate imaginable.

But, no.

The true horror was returning to Caleb.

Because you knew now. You finally understood. There was no future for you. Not in his arms. Not in this world. And the look in his eyes, that dangerous, unhinged gleam that he would never let you go. You were only going to submit yourself to a never ending cycle. Of pain. Of being unloved.

So before he could react, before he could drag you back into the nightmare of his possessive grasp, your trembling fingers wrapped around his gun.

His own gun. His own weapon.

For the first time, his cold, calculating gaze faltered, widening in shock as you tore it from his holster with the last of your strength. “Y/N—”

The barrel was already pressed to your temple. His hands lunged for you, fast, too fast—

BANG!

The world stilled.

Your body swayed before a slow, almost gentle descent to the ground. Caleb caught you before you could hit the dirt, but warm blood seeped between his fingers. His hands, the same hands that had killed and destroyed, now shook as they cradled you. “No! NOOO! Y/N!”

But it was too late.

You smiled with your red-stained lips. “You deserve to live a life where the women you love—” you coughed, blood bubbling at the edges of your lips as you said your last words, “leave you.”

#caleb x reader #lads x reader #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace #love and deepspace caleb #jexi recommends #this was so good and so gut wrenching perfect

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