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simpxxstan · 1 year ago

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Nobody Else (final: part 2)

pairing: chaebol!wonwoo x chaebol!fem.reader

genre: enemies with benefits to lovers, smut (minors do not interact please), arranged marriage, a lot of angst, and some fluff.

summary: the girl who was proud about making her own destiny, the boy she swore to never interact with. sometimes it takes a lifetime to know someone, even yourself. because who would've seen any of this coming?

chapter word count: 22.8k

warnings: angst warnings: overthinking, anxiety, a lot of it. spiralling, constant worries, mention of insomnia. mention of illnesses and a lung tumour, hospitals, medical treatments, relapse. discussions about death. please do not read if you find these triggering! a lot of arguing and usage of profanities. mention of smoking, drinking, food.

smut warnings: oral sex (m. receiving, f. receiving), usage of sex toys, unprotected sex, overstimulation, dom-sub dynamics, breast play, spanking, use of spit during sex, usage of petnames (darling, babe, sweetheart, princess, baby for female), degradation, usage of sir (for male), sir kink, marriage kink, breeding kink, office sex, elevator sex, sex in a public place.

a/n: OH MY GOD. so many people were waiting for this, i can't even imagine. i've had some really tough months when i could not find time to write at all, so i am very sorry for the delay. well, here you go! i hope it meets your satisfactions! putting the taglist in a reblog because the fanfic itself is massive. please let me know your thoughts!! reblogs, comments and asks are so appreciated <3 thank you for reading!

part 1

You bite your nails nervously. You do this often, it’s a habit you mask well through regular manicures at your home. No one knows about it. No one needs to know.

You’ve tried it all in these last two days, you swear. You’ve tried every trick on the web- listing the pros and cons of your thoughts on a sheet of paper (on your phone’s notes app), venting to someone (yourself in the mirror), meditation, drinking wine and unwinding in a bathtub, listening to white noise to help you sleep.

It doesn’t help. Nothing does. Nothing helps to erase the thoughts from your mind, nothing helps to stop the cogs and wheels of the gears turning in your head, nothing helps to drown out the noise of your overthinking. You’ve worried yourself to a fever, and it’s on the fourth day that Jisung caves in and asks you, “Ma’am, are you doing okay?”

You can trust him, you know that. He had, after all, not outed your antics to your mother in spite of her attempts at bribing him with a higher salary. He had remained loyal to you, as he had himself confirmed when you’d brought up the issue with him the day after the fateful lunch invitation.

But he feels too close, too personal, and yet too distant. He would understand, and yet nothing at all. It feels like a gamble.

“Yes, why wouldn’t I be?” You smile, while popping another paracetamol. At least the fever and its meds help you sleep.

“You don’t look like yourself. I don’t know if I am in a position to say this, but… is this about the thing your mother discussed with you Ma’am?”

“Are you reading my mind, Jisung-ah? Is that your secret to being the best secretary in the world?” You chuckle drily, staring outside the glass window that makes up a wall in your office. It’s a rainy day, not the stormy kind, but the pestering kind. Where it drizzles light enough that people don’t want to carry umbrellas, but the rain is so insistent, it drenches you right through anyway.

“I don’t know how appropriate it is for me to ask anything regarding this Ma’am. But I genuinely am curious about how Mr Y/L/N and Mr Jeon agreed to it in the first place.”

On the day you’d spoken to him about the entire affair, you’d told him the truth about your relationship with Wonwoo. His loyalty had earned him at least this much truth, and you were glad to have a confidant. You tried to play it off as coolly as you could, but as soon as you’d spilled the truth, you’d realise what a big weight had been relieved off your chest. It felt like being a teenager again. You had explained to Jisung that it was not romantic in the least, and in fact, you wanted to draw an end to it. You didn’t care to tell him that it was because you were addicted like a drug.

That was the problem. These last three days wouldn’t have become such a burden for you had you simply called Wonwoo and sought his help. Like a magician, he’d silence the thoughts in your mind and leave you with more clarity than ever, almost like a fresh slate beginning anew. You knew he was the perfect solution, but you had decided to cut it off. There was no point in persisting in this kind of a relationship where you weren’t even friends, not even on talking terms, and yet you needed him to stabilise you. All while he didn’t need you at all. For him, you were just another of his regulars. He’s probably already replaced you by now.

“My mother can be… very capable when she wants. She has her ways.”

“I’m sure she does. It must not have been an easy feat to swallow pride to agree to the idea of the wedding and take the Jeons out for lunch.”

Words get stuck in your throat. Pride. You’ve never let go of it. Life has been humbling, but you’ve never stopped being proud of who you are and what you’ve been able to achieve. All the dreams you’ve fulfilled. It forms an integral part of who you’ve become, your identity, and the way you perceive yourself. You’ve tried to not let it become arrogance nor vanity, although you have had sufficient reasons. That discipline is also something you pride yourself on.

“But I guess it’s not a big price for happiness,” Jisung completes his little philosophical speech and busies himself with arranging out letters on your desk that need to be signed, arranged in order of urgency. “I’ll be at my desk Ma’am, should you need any help.” He bows and leaves the room, and you’re still staring out of the window.

Happiness.

What an odd word. What an odd sensation for the billions of people across the world to be chasing all their lives. You had always considered yourself to be above that rat race for gratification and validation. Your successes spoke for itself, and you had no reason to consider yourself unhappy when you were living the dream you’d envisioned since you were a child.

But are you happy?

It’s just for an enjoyable late night drive, you reason with yourself when you find yourself driving on the road that takes you from your office to Wonwoo’s office building. It’s just to see if their coffee has improved, you think, when you step into the building and walk inside. It’s just to see if their employees are forced to work overtime, you figure, when you’re granted a visitor pass by the reception desk even though they’re shocked to see you here.

“What are you doing here?”

Wonwoo stares at you from the end of the corridor. It’s not lit very brightly and totally empty.

“Are you busy?”

Wonwoo’s tongue goes into his left cheek, you see it through his skin. He’s wearing a suit in baby blue. You knew he’d look good in blue.

“Yes. I’m working late as you can see. I don’t enjoy it particularly, so I don’t do it unless I’m really behind on work.”

And why’s that so? Trying to catch up with our closing figures for the financial year? A snarky comment is on the tip of your tongue, but you don’t want to say it. The jibe feels tasteless, even for you.

No, tonight you’re here in desperation, you finally admit to yourself. You’re here because like any other addict, it’s hard to let go once you get used to the high of happiness you ride when the dopamine kicks in.

“Sorry. I’ll leave.” His rejection is clear. He knows what you’re here for, that’s for sure. You’d never go out of your way to come to his office if it had been for anything else. It’s a good reminder call of reality.

This is the boy your parents want you to marry. This is the boy you rejected from marrying and from sleeping with. He has every right to turn you down now.

Wonwoo takes a step forward, you take a step backward. It’s a dance. You pause, you don’t even know when you were on the verge of tears. You bite your lips and turn away your face. You walk away quickly, as silently as you arrived. Your thoughts are loud enough to mask the sound of Wonwoo jogging after you, and you only realise when he grabs your arm as soon as you enter the elevator. He enters too, naturally, face a bit flushed from the chase, but before you can ask him what’s up, he pushes you against the mirror on the back of the elevator and kisses you hard.

It knocks your breath away. In the best way possible.

You kiss him back. Wildly, passionately. Like lovers, you would think in retrospection, not like rivals who fuck. As if you’d missed each other. Another second of overthinking and you’d delude yourself into believing that he needs you as much as you do. But thankfully, he kisses well enough to wash your thoughts away.

“Don’t run away from me like that, girl.” He snarls near your ear, his breath making you ticklish, and you whimper when he begins to kiss your neck. He’s going to leave marks again, and frankly, you can’t find it in yourself to reprimand him. Not when your brain is finally drifting away from the anxiety.

The elevator dings just as he puts his lips back on yours, tongue forcing itself in. You break apart, gasping for air. You haven’t even noticed what a mess you’ve made of his hair. “Wonwoo I… I can leave, really. If you’re busy.” “No, stay.” He doesn’t step away from you even when the elevator door opens, holding you down with his hands, keeping you close to him. The elevator door closes again, and he frantically presses the floor number of his office. “Come with me while I pack up,” he says as an explanation, and you understand. Then he unbuttons your shirt and begins to suck bruises all over the exposed flesh over your collarbones and chest, hands fondling with your breasts. Even over the bra, he instantly finds your nipples and rubs them to perfect hardness, making them so sensitive, that when he lifts you up into his arms and wraps your legs around his waist, your nipples brush against his face and he can feel the nubs poking out.

“You get turned on like you’re a touch-starved bitch,” he says roughly, making you thrash your arms against his back for the rudeness, before chuckling and thrusting his mouth onto the clothed nipples to suck them while he walks out of the elevator, holding you in his arms still, and seemingly facing no difficulty in walking at all. You become silent again, as you ponder on how strong he really must be, and his bites at your nipples do nothing to prevent the manhandling kink from showing itself.

“Take me on your desk, Wonwoo.” You beg as he enters his office, but he laughs and puts you down on his chair. Thankfully the entire floor is empty. He begins to arrange papers and turn off his desktop, while you sit silently at his desk. The high slowly wears out as his clearing up takes longer and longer, until you’re no longer turned on anymore and reality strikes.

He looks at you once all the work is done, staring deep at your soul, making you feel naked. Consciously, you start to button up your shirt and fix your collar.

“I thought we were done with this, Y/N.”

He says it like you’d dumped him while dating, and it’s funny. But you can’t laugh. You did cut him off and now you’re begging him to take you back. It’s a little absurd- inconsistency has never been one of your weaknesses. You’re tempted to dissect it in your brain and understand why it’s happening, but you fall into a spiral of overthinking again.

It’s getting tough to breathe.

You stand up and walk around the room. It’s spacious, with a simple layout, nothing modern like your own office space. You can’t blame it, it definitely screams Wonwoo to you. Instead of huge windows on the walls, he has mahogany shelves stacked with books. Instead of a statement chandelier, he has minimalist lights in focal points of the room. Instead of a charcoal grey settee with everything in cool shades of steel, his office is done in off-white, decorated with rich tones of wood. The room tells you so much about Wonwoo, although you probably know it all already- legacy, tradition and diligence. This is what he’s made of, old money that takes no risks and succeeds without gambles.

“You know why I had to come back.”

“That doesn’t change anything.” He walks up to you, standing in front of you, as you gaze at the books on his shelves. “Y/N, look at me.” And you do. He looks like Adonis and you want to kiss him. “You said it was getting toxic for you.” He snaps you back to attention, and you sigh. “I can’t… Wonwoo, I tried. But I��” you walk away, unable to continue. Continuing would mean telling him what’s driving you to the brink of anxiety every moment of the day.

“We can talk. If this is about that day, we’re in this together. We may not be friends, but we can be allies in this.”

The simple way in which he says these words, you don’t think he realises how much more vulnerable he makes you feel. How much more tempted to spill it all to him and be relieved of the burden of this worry.

“I don’t want to talk to you, Wonwoo. I didn’t come here for talking.” You walk back towards him. “Fuck me and make my brain stop thinking, please.” He closes his eyes for a second. The tension is palpable, it’s making your palms sweat. You tilt your head and gently lean in to kiss the edge of his jaw. His stubble grazes against your softer lips and it’s a nice feeling.

“I can’t say no when you ask like this.”

You wake up in the middle of the night, clammy with sweat and naked under the sheets, alone in Wonwoo’s king-sized bed. Your wrists hurt from being tied with his tie for too long, and you’re definitely too sore to move, but the pleasant buzz all over your body is too good a sensation to forgo. But now that you’ve woken up, you feel thirsty and hot all over, so you get out of bed. You notice your underwear neatly kept on the couch, Wonwoo had taken care to not rip them. You quickly wear them before looking for any waterbottle in the room. Seeing none, and not seeing Wonwoo either, you open the bedroom door and slowly tiptoe your way outside. Once past the small corridor, you notice there’s a dim light in the kitchen, and you can see Wonwoo’s shadow from far away. As you step closer, you notice he’s wearing formals, complete with a glazing white shirt and a grey tie, and his hair is brushed back neatly, although his pants are still pyjamas. He’s doing something on his laptop. You wait in the shadows for a few minutes, trying to understand if he’s in a video meeting or something, but you only hear frantic typing noises from the kitchen. After a whole five minutes pass, you step into the kitchen, and Wonwoo looks up at the same time.

“Oh! You scared me.”

“Are you in a meeting?”

“No, it got over a while back. Why are you up?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“The meeting was with a firm in Canada. They couldn’t adjust timings.”

“And you couldn’t get someone else to do it for you?” You huff, annoyed at how unbothered he is about waking up this ungodly hour and sitting for meetings. You once again thank Jisung for scheduling foreign meetings at suitable timings.

“Do you get someone else to attend your important meetings for you?”

You both stay in silence for a minute, Wonwoo sitting on his kitchen stool, and you standing awkwardly near the door, staring at each other. It’s only when you start shivering in the cold that you realise what you actually came here for.

“You’re working hard. Too hard. Don’t try to compete with me, Jeon.” You lean down on the island next to him, close enough to hear his breathing but not touching him at all.

“Go to bed, Y/N.”

“I was thirsty. Where do you keep water in your house?”

He gets up from his stool and brings a bottle. “Drink, and go to sleep. Or go home.”

You silently sip the cool water, without replying. You can see the dawn slowly coming up from the window in the kitchen, lighting the room up. The circles under Wonwoo’s eyes become prominent to you, and for no reason at all, your heart aches. This is what it’s going to be like, marrying you, Jeon Wonwoo, you think, as you look at him with a careful glance. He’s focusing on his laptop again, typing at light speed, his glasses perched on the edge of his nose. You’re sipping water from his bottle, in his kitchen, wearing nothing but your underwear, and watching the sunrise. Is this what those nights filled with deadlines and insomnia are going to look like if you get married? Is this what staying up together will look like? Is this what watching the dawn together will be like? The sensation tingles your nerves and makes you anxious again.

“Y/N, if you want to say something, just say it. Or go to sleep, trust me. You’ll need to wake up fresh tomorrow morning.”

The kitchen is warm, cosy, and filled with the familiar scent of Wonwoo’s body. You want to stay wrapped in it, and not say a word. You don’t want to break this moment, although you have no idea why sharing this simple moment is making you so emotional. Perhaps because you’ve never done it before and never imagined you would do it?

“My father is dying, Wonwoo.”

Wonwoo stops typing and looks up.

“He has a tumour in his lungs.”

“Since when?”

“A few months now. He hadn’t told me. He didn’t want to bother me, my mom said.”

There’s a beat of silence. Again the warmth of the kitchen wraps you up and you both stare out at the slowly brightening sky outside. As a girl, you’d hate watching the sunrise. It would remind you of the nights you’d been unable to sleep and had been forced to stay up all night. But now, you can appreciate its beauty. Its consistency, its reliability. It happens every day. One of the precious few things that happen regularly, you’ve come to realise.

Wonwoo breaks the silence. “So why now?”

“Huh?”

“Why tell you now, of all times?”

“He wants to see me married before he dies.”

Wonwoo shuts down the lid of his laptop with a smash, knowing fully what’s coming next.

“Y/N. What do you want?” He stands up and comes to stand next to you, leaning against the counter and looking down at you.

There are many things you want to say. I don’t want to throw away my freedom. I don’t want to marry a stranger. I don’t want to dance to my Appa’s whims. I don’t want to lose focus on my career. I don’t want to marry you. “I don’t want to disappoint him, Wonwoo.” It’s the ultimate truth. It’s what has fueled you for years- the desire to become that child for your parents who would take care of them when they need you, to love silently and support unconditionally, to give back everything they’d given to you.

“I don’t want to lose him.”

“Is this what you were so worried about?” You look up at him, and he tilts your face upwards with his hand on your chin. You want to lean into the warmth of his palm. “Yes. I don’t… I … I don’t know what to do. I feel so helpless.”

“What about treatment?”

“Stage 4, practically impossible, that’s what the reports say. My mom showed them to me. She cried so much, and I… I couldn’t do anything. I can’t do anything.” You move away from him, turning your body to the other side. He lets you move away.

“Treatment abroad? In the US?”

“Yes, that’s… that’s what I’ve been trying to figure out. I’ve spoken to a few people, but Appa is adamant. He refuses to talk to me about this every time I’ve raised it, these last few days.”

He sighs. Your heart aches again. You don’t even notice when tears begin rolling down your cheeks. You’ve never felt more alone than this, more helpless, more pitiful. What worth were your dreams and successes if life successfully left you unshielded in one stroke?

“Let’s get married. You’ll have more bargaining power to talk to him then.”

He makes it sound so simple. You’ve thought of this a hundred times before, and you still can’t register that he just said that. You turn around slowly, looking up at him through your wet eyelashes. “Don’t joke with me.”

“I’m not.”

“But I don’t want to marry you.”

“Even if it gets your Appa into a good treatment abroad?”

You stomp your foot, and hurt your bare toes on the cold tile. “Why is my Appa so stubborn?”

“Just like you, isn’t he?”

You glare at Wonwoo, but he’s deadly serious. There’s not a hint of a joke on his face, and he genuinely seems to be invested in this idea. “You’re serious.” “I am. I wouldn’t offer marriage to you casually.” You bite your lip, your heart rate begins to slow down. Wave after wave of calm washes over you, suddenly you can breathe well again. “You’re serious,” you say again, not believing it still. “I am. Do you want me to go down on my knees?” “Wonwoo, you’re not thinking about this. Don’t turn your back on me when you regret it later. This isn’t a light thing, it’s a marriage, for fuck’s sake!” “Is your Appa’s life more precious than your ego?” “If it weren’t, I wouldn’t have come begging to you, would I?” “Then you know why I’m agreeing to this.” “Wonwoo, don’t take this on your conscience. I’ll forgive you if you step back right now.” “I won’t forgive myself.” He bends down to your eye level, and takes your chin in his hand again. “It isn’t going to be that bad, is it?”

You let out such a big sigh of relief that you’re sure the air tickles Wonwoo’s palm holding on to your chin.

You don’t fall asleep that night, or rather morning. Wonwoo makes tea, and you sit on the living room couch, an arm’s distance away from each other, chalking out a plan to convince your Appa to go abroad for treatment.

“When did your mother come and tell you all this?”

“The day after the lunch. She called me over.”

You’re our breadwinner now, Y/N. Your father didn’t want to tell you because he doesn’t want to bother you anymore. Your mother’s words echo in your mind. Is this what you’d come down to? Were you that male who couldn’t be bothered with any problems of the household just because you earned an income? Had you become those slimy men you’d hated all your life? Just because you had taken over the company didn’t mean you had stopped being their daughter, for god’s sake.

“He wants to die in Korea, he says.”

“That doesn’t mean we let him die without treatment.”

We. Wonwoo has started using it so freely, as if he’s truly considering you an ally like he had said before.

“What are you going to get out of this?” You perch yourself on the kitchen counter, your bare legs dangling next to where Wonwoo sits on his stool. You’re chewing on the granola bar you found in the fridge because you’re suddenly hungry.

Wonwoo looks at you for a second, pensive and thoughtful in the pause before replying. “We don’t have to do forever and always. We can divorce after the treatment is done.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I have my reasons.”

The sunrise is beautiful, another day has begun. Although one tornado in your heart has calmed down, it doesn’t mean you’re completely at peace though. You’re still burning with worry, there are a thousand questions floating in your head. You don’t know the answers to most of them, and you’re scared just like you had been when you had stepped into the adult world on your own footing, for the first time. But unconsciously, you’ve come to realise that you’re not alone this time.

You have Jeon Wonwoo with you.

You drive directly to your sister’s house to tell her about your decision. You realise that she has no idea that your mother has spilled the news about your father’s health to you, when you tell her that you’re only agreeing to this marriage on one condition. She tries to deny it at first, but then she realises it’s a useless task against your obstinacy.

“If you could admit now that you were dating Wonwoo, why didn’t you admit it that day?” she says finally, resignedly.

“So that you could hide Appa’s illness from me forever?

“It’s nothing like that.”

“Firstly, tell me why you’d been stalking me for so long.”

“Not for so long. Ever since Appa found out, he became obsessed with settling you down. It’s become his last wish, you know, that kind of thing. His last project. His last duty. His last task to complete before he… you know. It was just a happy coincidence that as soon as we prodded your chauffeur he spilled that you and Wonwoo had been spending an awful lot of time together.”

You scoff.

“Yeah, well, Wonwoo and I needed to talk over things. Commitment and stuff. Anyway, now we’ll give Appa what he wants. Promise me you won’t object to anything I say. Promise me you and Mom will back me up when I take him to the US for treatment.”

Her eyes soften down, tears brimming on the edge.

“He always loved you more, you know? Probably because you’re exactly like him.” “Unnie…” “No! I’m not jealous or anything. It’s natural to have a favourite child. He’s only human, after all. He found his ideal child in you- responsible and independent. He really sees himself in you, that’s why.”

You hug your sister from the side, as you sit down on the couch. Her belly is quite bulging now, stretched against the fabric of the loose lycra dress.

“If anyone can convince him, it’s you, Y/N-ah. Our maknae. The apple of his eye.” She smiles. There’s something so broken in her eyes, and you hate it. Your Unnie, who you’ve never seen sad. You wonder how much she’s had to hide from you to keep this news a secret. You wonder how long they’d planned to keep it a secret, anyway.

“Do you trust me, Unnie?”

She kisses your forehead, and smiles again, “Yes of course. Where’s this coming from?”

“It’s just… nothing. I just want to know I’m not alone.”

“You never were, sweetheart.”

After that, everything becomes a whirlwind. You barely have time to process things, how fast they happen. Wonwoo informs his parents, there’s another meal shared by the two families. You both still don’t tell anyone the truth about your relationship, and frankly, there’s no need to explain, when both families are so happy with the wedding. Especially your father. His eyes shine, and you stick by his side all evening.

“My little girl’s all grown up now.” He says to you later. You almost cry at the fondness of his words, affection he rarely shows. There’s no more words spoken. There’s no need for words. You tuck him into bed, and pat him to sleep. You don’t want to leave his side at all.

You don’t cross paths with Wonwoo for the week running up to the wedding. There’s a clear division of work- he’s handling the internal logistics, and you’re running the external front. This is nothing but a business project for the two of you. You’ve pushed the worries about the marriage to the back burner, your priority being your father right now. You’ve already booked a treatment plan for him in the US, booked his flight tickets, and sorted everything out. Of course, you haven’t approached the topic with him yet, but you drop hints every day.

You’ve decided to live with your parents until the wedding. You find it harder to stay away from them these days. Somehow, everything reminds you of them, and you’re brought to tears in the middle of a work meeting one day, when you remember how your father had brought you to the first stakeholder meeting when you were 16 years old, to introduce you to the world of business. You don’t want to leave life upto fate anymore. At least not the bits you can help.

Part of managing the external front is speaking to the media. There’s countless questions at your latest press conference. Although the conference is to launch a new product, the journalists seem to be more interested in hearing the truth about the rumours currently floating around. You’d expected this, that’s why you’d timed the release of the rumours and the launch of the product at the same time. The public opinion needs to be in favour of your marriage, otherwise the alliance would hurt you both.

“Y/L/N Y/N-ssi, is it true that you’re soon getting married to Jeon Wonwoo-ssi of Jeon Estates?”

You blush, again a carefully practised move. You’ve spent many a minute in front of a youtube screen last night, trying to perfect the fake blush.

“Are we really going to discuss personal matters at an official conference like this?” Another measured smile, followed by a general laugh rippling across the audience for the sake of being polite. “But yes, it’s true. I won’t try to hide it anymore.”

At that very moment, a thousand questions pop up from all corners. “Anymore? Y/L/N Y/N-ssi, does that mean that you’ve been together for a long time now?” “Can we expect a merger of Jeon Estates with your company, then?” “Is the marriage a business decision or an affair of love?”

You’re another fake smile away from throwing up right now. Their curiosity gets on your nerves, you know that no matter what you say, they’re going to interpret what they really want to. Thankfully Jisung, who is moderating, carefully steps in and stops the journalists from asking any more questions. “We’ll not be taking any more personal questions. With that we come to the end of the conference. If you have any more questions, please write to us and we shall answer them over mail. Thank you for attending today.”

You exit the conference hall quickly, eyes hurting from the flashlights. It’s going to only get worse, you think. Time to brace for impact.

It’s only the night before the wedding that you get the jitters. You’re sitting on the floor of the balcony, looking at the roads of the Seoul night view, stress-eating cotton candy. You can’t believe that this is happening. Would you ever be able to have guessed this is how you’d be getting married? Not that you had ever harboured any ambitions about love or marriage. You’d been happy to see your parents share a loving marriage, and your sister as well. But since a young age, you’d decided that marriage was not for you. Sex? That was necessary. Dating? Perhaps, but casual. Love? Your first relationship in college had convinced you it was not your forte- you’d fallen out of feelings after a few months, and you had never tried to fall in love again. Marriage? Not even on the cards right now. Kids? Probably never. You didn’t think you’d live that long.

And yet, your wedding invite was sitting idle on your lap. Printed on beautiful handmade paper, intrinsically engraved with orchid petals, and the fonts printed out in a loopy serif font, it was really pretty. Posh and classy, like everybody expected. It had been sent out to a few people only, Wonwoo had asked for a small wedding, and you had happily agreed. Having to deceive your parents and sister was bad enough. Lesser the better.

The doorbell rings. You’re taken by surprise, not expecting anyone at this hour. Probably Jisung, perhaps he’s come to drop something off. That boy’s working too hard as well, you need to give him a raise after this entire affair is finished.

But it’s Wonwoo.

“Are you busy?” He asks before even entering.

“No?”

“Can I come in?”

He looks over your figure, the long t-shirt you’re wearing with the shorts that are hidden under the t-shirt. You’re getting more confused by the moment. You open the door wider, and he steps in.

“What’s going on?”

“There are details we need to talk about.”

You take a deep breath, leaning against the wall. Since that conversation at dawn with Wonwoo, you had started guarding yourself against him. Something had changed in your mind- you’d feel more vulnerable next to him, more bared, more naked. Even if he didn’t look at you, you’d feel like you could read your mind all the time.

“Like what?”

“I made a contract. It’s a… guidebook of sorts.” He sits at the sofa, taking out his phone and placing it on your coffee table. He’s wearing his work clothes, so you’re guessing he’s come directly from work. “What’s it about?” You sit next to him, and he pushes your phone towards you. “Do you have a printer? We could print it out. Or you can-” “I’ll get a print. Do you want something?” He leans back on the sofa, but his posture is still stiff. You’ve not seen him like this. It’s almost like he’s nervous. “No. I need to leave quickly, so it’s best if you can go through this quickly. I don’t have time to waste.” You roll your eyes and stand up, keeping your knee perched on the sofa, terribly close to where his hand is. “What’s this attitude? We’re getting married tomorrow, and this is how you’re going to be?” “Well, what did you expect? Just because I agreed to marry and help you out, doesn’t mean I’m going to suddenly be in love with you.” “Help me out? I didn’t fucking need your help, Wonwoo!” “Really? Your desperation told me something else that night.” He’s standing up now too, and it feels like he’s towering over you on purpose to make you feel small. You take a step back, he doesn’t move forward. It’s not push and pull, it’s gravity unwinding.

“Listen, we can still call this off. I don’t want to be an object of your pity.”

“Pity? I wanted to help you, Y/N. There’s a difference, or is your brain too ego-clouded to understand?”

“Wonwoo, I could marry anyone-”

“And yet, it was me you came to!”

“It was convenient! I couldn’t really marry … say, Jisung, when my parents had proof that we’d been sleeping together!”

“Oh, so it’s Jisung now-”

“It was a damn example!” You’re shouting now, but his voice is still low and hoarse. It creates goosebumps on your skin.

“If that’s who you want to marry, you can go ahead. You better know that I have no desire to be wedded to you tomorrow!” He takes a step forward, and you step back. “What do you think I am, huh? Your toy? Today you want to fuck, tomorrow you want to end things, the next day you come begging at my door to blow your mind with my dick, and the day after that you want to get fucking married? You don’t think keeping up with your plot twists are stressful for me? Do you think I’m getting off on your mood swings? I am helping you, because you’re in a dire situation. Don’t you dare spin this narrative to anything else, because it is not charity or love for you that’s motivating me to step into this hell of a marriage that I can see coming.”

With every word he utters, he steps closer and closer, and you keep walking back until your back hits the wall. And then he’s standing right in front of you, close enough that you can see the exact dilation of his pupils even beyond his glasses. “I don’t need your help, Wonwoo. I’m not a damsel in distress.” He closes his eyes for a second, breathing in. When his eyes do open again, they’re different- darker, yet with more clarity, less angry and yet more dangerous. He leans down, and for a second, for a delusional mindless moment, you think he’s going to kiss you. You part your lips, waiting for impact, as he tilts his head ever so slightly, all while staring into your soul.

“I don’t give a fuck about you, Y/N. I don’t care. I’m just repaying an old debt.”

Then he steps back and picks up his phone from the coffee table. “I’ll mail it to you. Don’t be a brat and make sure to read it.”

You’re still stuck against the wall like an insect, too stunned to move. Before he walks out of the door, he says without looking at you, “See you tomorrow, sweetheart.”

The wedding dress is simple, nothing in frills. You see it for the first time when you wear it on the morning of your wedding. As you sit in your dressing room, revising your vows, your sister enters. She’s all but jumping in excitement. “Darling, why so serious?” She grabs your hands and smiles widely at you. “Today’s your big day! Don’t think about Appa’s sickness today, or work stuff, or anything at all. Your wedding day isn’t going to come back, so you make sure to make the most of it!” You wish you could laugh at her face, her words seeming ridiculous to you. You wish she wasn’t so excited, it would only save her the disappointment she’d have to face later.

So you force a smile. “Is it time? I’m just nervous. What if I forget my vows?” “Then you forget them. You love Wonwoo, Y/N-ie. You can just declare your love freely. You don’t need to stick to a script. Go ahead and curse him if you like!” You do laugh at this, and she joins you too. “There! That’s my girl. Honestly, discovering that you and Wonwoo… together… it was a shock for us. Like, we’d never thought of you both ever liking each other. But then, it made sense. Especially what he had said that night, I remember. That’s the moment I knew, something was definitely up” You gawk, “What night?” She giggles, “That night at the party. You know? Don’t act dumb, cutie.” She wriggles her eyebrows and it dawns on you what exactly she was referring to. Fuck. Of course she had heard, fuck Wonwoo for being so damn loud.

You got out of your head, when someone called you to the hall, telling you that it’s time. You slowly make your way out of your dressing room, making sure your dress doesn’t get spoiled. Your father waits outside the room, dressed elegantly.

“Are you ready?”

There’s an odd peace in his eyes, as he smiles at you with pride.

Fuck it. Thank god you’re getting married early. Otherwise who’d walk you down the aisle… if you got too late?

“Yes, Appa.” You smile back, and loop your arm through his outstretched arm.

The gates of the hall open up, revealing a beautifully decorated banquet, with an announcer standing in the centre, to conduct the ceremony. All the guests turn to look at you, dressed to their nines. But you’ve got eyes on only one person in the room.

For the first time in your life, you think Wonwoo looks beautiful. Attraction based on looks was barely something you experienced with him, but today you realise why people fell for him like dominos. He looks absolutely regal in his tuxedo- simple, yet that’s what suits him perfectly. You think, you’ve never seen Wonwoo wear anything excessive, always minimalistic, and really he looks best like that. Because he doesn’t need any accessories, his face does enough.

“Go, sweetheart,” your father leaves you midway the walkway, and you realise you have to walk the rest of the way on your own. You bow a little to Appa, and then look up front again. Your eyes meet Wonwoo’s and your heart races. He looks too pretty to be real, and yet you find yourself walking towards him. The entire audience erupts into applause when Wonwoo takes a few steps forward and extends his hand. You take it, and he accompanies you to your place, dropping your hand only after a slight peck pressed on the back of your hand. The crowd erupts in cheers again, and for the first time in your life, you blush genuinely.

You stand facing the announcer, not daring to look at the man next to you. You have enough time to look at him anyway.

The rest of the wedding ceremony went off peacefully. After reciting your vows perfectly, hand in Wonwoo’s hand, avoiding his eye contact desperately, and exchanging the rings, the announcer asked you to kiss. Well, that was easy. He didn’t use tongue, thankfully, otherwise you would’ve moaned in public. Even the drinks and dinner arrangement afterwards was easy. Smiling and small talk came like free flow to you after so many years.

The hard part comes later, when you both sit in your designated limousine, exhausted after the long ceremonies of the day. Your feet hurt in the heels, and using the washroom had been a pain in the dress, so you’d desperately held on to your bladder. You’re counting down the minutes to going home, and all you want is peace.

But Wonwoo, like so many other things, is not on the same page as you.

“Where are we going?” You ask, noticing that the car’s heading in the opposite direction as your house.

“To my house.”

“Wait, what?”

He looks up from his phone. “Didn’t you read the guide?”

“Wonwoo, I’m not jobless, you know.”

“I fucking knew it. Right, you’re too busy being a brat.” He mutters under his breath, before opening a can of a fizzy drink from the mini cooler inside the car, and looking outside the window.

“I haven’t even packed my stuff, Wonwoo. I can shift in once I’ve got my stuff ready.”

“You don’t know how many eyes are following us? What will the media think if we get off at different apartments tonight? It was hard enough stopping my parents from booking us a honeymoon suite.”

You sigh. He’s right. But he doesn’t stop talking.

“You’ve got time now, read the guidebook.”

“Just tell me what’s in it, Wonwoo. Stop making such a fuss about it. Also what the fuck is a guidebook without my suggestions.”

“If you’d read it, you would have made suggestions, darling. I wasted my time going to your place last night. Anyway, if you need anything urgently from your apartment, I’ll send my secretary to fetch it for you.”

“No thanks. I don’t need anything.”

Thank god you’re familiar with Wonwoo’s apartment, because you immediately lock yourself in the bedroom and take off your dress. Once it’s off, you unlock the room, and find an exasperated Wonwoo standing outside. “Woman, why are you monopolising territory already?”

“Just go change in the guest room, Wonwoo.” You push past him, dressed in underwear, carrying your heavy dress and laying it across the living room sofa to avoid creases from forming. Then you head straight into the bathroom to clean your makeup and take a shower. 30 minutes later you emerge, and Wonwoo’s nowhere to be seen.

After a few minutes you find him on the small personal rooftop that extends from his apartment through a small flight of stairs. You’d never gone to the roof, but now you see it has a nice bench on it, and is surrounded by lights.

Wonwoo’s smoking.

“I didn’t know you smoked.”

“I didn’t know you were going to hoard my space as soon as you entered my house.”

He doesn’t look at you, still gazing out at the Seoul skyline.

“You could’ve used the other one.”

You breathe in once, and then speak again.

“I’m going to bed. I’m really tired.”

“Wait.” He finally turns around, and you can see his hair is completely messed up and his eyebags are visible under his glasses again.

“Did you take my clothes?”

“Just a pajama shirt.”

He nods, seeing what you’re wearing. The cool breeze makes your skin tingle, almost making you regret taking off your bra and wearing only panties under the shirt.

“Goodnight.”

“You’re not coming along?”

He turns away again. Well, fuck it. It’s not like you’re going to butter him up for a response. And yet when you go downstairs again, you make sure to sleep on the left side of the bed, like you’d always done whenever you’d slept together before. You don’t know why you do it, but you go to sleep assuming he’ll eventually come to bed.

He doesn’t. The next morning, you wake up to see the other side of the bed absolutely empty and untouched. He’s even taken away his pillow and blanket and you suddenly find yourself shivering. When you’re awake enough, you squint at the clock on the wall and figure out that it’s almost eleven in the morning. Quite late for someone like you. But then, it has been an exhausting day.

Did Wonwoo not sleep at all?

You put these thoughts away when you stumble into the washroom, nearly slipping because your step is unbalanced. But that minor shock completely jerks you awake at least.

Once you’ve brushed your teeth (without even realising how your toothbrush had magically appeared in Wonwoo’s bathroom even though you hadn’t packed and brought a thing), you walk out of the room. Again, there’s no sign of Wonwoo. The house is humid, from no windows being open, so you gently open up a few sources of ventilation. As the noise from the outside world begins to float into the house, the silence gets broken and you feel less claustrophobic. Sunshine falls on the simple upholstery and decorations of the house, and it makes everything shine. It’s a hot day, but at least it’s a sunny day. You hate gloomy days.

You quickly search for Wonwoo in every room. And you eventually notice that the bed in the guest room seems to have been slept in last night. Was that where Wonwoo had slept last night?

It didn’t make sense. It’s not like you two had not shared a bed earlier. Sure, Wonwoo had never stayed in the same bed with you for longer than an hour after the sex, unless it was a marathon until the morning, and you rarely ever woke up next to his warm body, but it seemed absurd that he’s treating you like a complete stranger. It’s not like the movies, for fucks’ sake. You’re familiar with each other, even if you’re not in love. And sharing a bed isn’t a big deal.

Exactly Y/N. So why are you making it such a big deal?

There’s a printout of something on the coffee table. You head over and see that it is the ‘guidebook’ he’s kept blabbering about. Why is he insisting that you read it? You have an impulse to go and dump it in the dustbin and push his limits a little further, but then you have pity on him. But it’s not like you wanted to stay with him either. He’s the one who made you come and live with him. So technically, you shouldn’t feel any remorse or pity. So you do dump the prints in the dustbin without a second look at it.

That’s when you hear your phone ring. “Hello, I’m speaking from ABC Packages. We’re here to shift your packages from your old house to your new residence. We’re waiting outside the door, are you at home?” Huh? “I’m sorry, who asked you to do this? Do you have a name?” “Yes Ms. Y/L/N. The order came from a Jeon Wonwoo-ssi.” No wonder. “Aaah. Okay, just wanted to confirm,” you quickly say to avoid any suspicion. “Yes I’m home. I’ll open the door.”

And so the next hour is spent in a flurry of bringing in boxes, and when the delivery persons leave, you open them all. There seems to be enough space in Wonwoo’s walk-in closet for your stuff, which isn’t much at all. So you hang up all your formals, which form the majority of your clothing, and stash the rest of it in the shelves. Your shoes are also lesser than Wonwoo’s and you barely have any accessories and makeup apart from essentials. The problem arises with your underwear and … other personal belongings. You’re not sure if Wonwoo would appreciate opening his underwear drawer to find your box of dildos stashed there. But there’s no other space, so he’ll just have to deal with it.

Thank God you’d taken the day off. Jisung had offered that staying away from work would make the impression of the honeymoon more imminent, and you’d agreed. Although it does seem like Wonwoo had gone to work all the same. And so, you’re left all alone in the house, and while it’s a little odd, you sit at almost every surface of the apartment to get used to it. Sure, you’ve been sat at all of these before, in various positions, as Wonwoo had fucked you, but it feels different now under the sunlight. You’re not surprised to find Wonwoo’s fridge stocked almost completely with ample groceries, so making lunch isn’t a hassle (apart from the fact that you barely know how to cook anything). But all-in-all, it’s not a tedious day, and you’re settling in nicely.

Until Wonwoo comes home, blazer on his arm and his hair messy. He lets himself in, but you’re sitting on the kitchen counter, checking out what’s kept where. “Oh, you’re here.” You turn around and see him flunking down on the sofa, legs sprawled out. “Are you that tired?” He doesn’t answer at first, just stares at you for a second too long. “I am. It’s been a long day.” “I’m making coffee, do y-” “No. I’m going to the gym now.”

Gym takes longer than you imagine. It’s well past 10 pm when Wonwoo makes his way back, and you’ve already finished your dinner of cup ramen and ice cream. He doesn’t bother to look at you and wordlessly enters the guest bathroom. You consider entering the guest room and waiting for him, and then talking to him about why he slept separately, but then you drop it. You know he won’t answer you properly, and it’ll be a waste of effort. You sigh and make your way to the bedroom, leaving the door unlocked and slightly ajar so that he knows he’s still invited inside.

Wonwoo and you arrive last at the little gathering your family has set up to celebrate the one month anniversary of your marriage. Wonwoo’s family is here too, along with Kyungmin Oppa and your sister, and it’s a big group even for the large sprawling, and largely empty house, where you parents reside. You’d think it’s easy to get lost in the crowd, but not when you’re the newly wed couple who’s the focus of the party.

“I’m so disappointed y’all aren’t going on a honeymoon,” your sister endlessly complains, and she’s completely backed by the two mothers. “Yes!” Your mother joins in. Just like the rest of the family members, she seems to have bought your wedding as 100% real as well, although she should’ve been the first to connect the dots that you’re only doing this sham wedding for the sake of your father’s wishes. “I have itineraries planned for Bali, for Scandinavia, for the Maldives, or even for Japan, if you don’t want to go too far!” She giggles, and the other ladies do too. You don’t understand what’s so funny. Especially when you know how little conversation you’ve shared with your husband over the last month, in spite of not being strangers.

In fact that makes it worse, you think. Wonwoo’s wearing a dark blue blazer over a white shirt which puts his pecs right in your face. You know what it’d be like to touch them, and bite all over them. The way he has his left hand pressed against the small of your back means he knows what it’d be like to just drop his hand an inch lower and feel your ass against his palm. Andit is worse because even though you know each other intimately, there’s so little emotional connection you feel with him now. Whatever vulnerability had developed around him when he’d first agreed to the wedding had become hardened again under his cold attitude, and you’re back to just who you were when you’d grinded up against him at your sister’s engagement party. You curse yourself for thinking that you could ever feel a nice way about Jeon Wonwoo, because honestly, look at the man. He’s probably never regretted any decision taken after midnight as much as he’s regretted the decision to marry you.

When you sit down at the dinner table, you notice him not eating any of the seafood. You wonder if he’s just not hungry or rudely ignoring the special grilled fish that is your Appa’s speciality. It’s probably the latter- some testosterone shit. And yet, he’s speaking charmingly smoothly with your Appa, even though Wonwoo’s not much of a talker and you know that.

When he sits in the corner of the room, smiling and talking to your mother, you wonder what lies he’s spewing. You’ve noticed how easily lies come to him at the wedding itself, when he’d spinned tale upon tale about your ‘love story’. I fell for her, honestly, for the first time, when she’d walked into my class in ninth grade. You had scoffed, remembering the disgusted expression he had worn in reality, when he’d seen you being introduced into the class. Of course, we’ve known each other for a long time now. Naturally, there have been ups and downs. Gosh, this reminds me of the time we’d gone on that date to the amusement park after our last day at school, huh? We’d fought so bitterly after that, you’d think we were enemies. Haha. You’d nearly laughed at that- your school had taken you all out to the amusement park on the last day of classes, and somehow Wonwoo and you’d been seated together on all the damn rides. Fuck him for laughing at you for becoming scared on the roller coaster rides and then pretending to take care of you when you had passed out in his arms at the very peak of the ride. You bet the teachers had cooed at him for being so chivalrous, when in reality it was a smack to your face.

When he leaves early, and leans in to press a kiss to your lips, you almost cringe away. It feels like you’re kissing a stranger even though his lips and the stubble on his jaw feel so familiar. This is the first time he’s shown you affection in front of others. It’s all a show, you know. You gotta do what’s needed to keep the show running. “I’ll see you at home, sweetheart,” he says before pulling away and tucking your hair behind your ears. You search in his eyes for honesty, and all you find is a dark abyss.

But it seems like your family buys the facade again. Banking on the fact that they seem pleased with your husband, and on your good choice of marriage, you finally broach the real issue with your father. You’re both sitting at the patio, sipping whisky after everyone’s left and the two of you have some peace after a long day of chattering and feasting.

“Appa, there’s something I want to talk to you about.”

“Yes, Y/N-ah?”

You pause before answering. Finally, you decide to take the blunt route, knowing that there’s no easy way about this.

“Come with me to the US for your treatment.”

He sighs. It’s a sigh that sounds almost like a cough, and it makes you wonder how much phlegm is stored in his damaged lungs now. You wonder how you didn’t notice it before.

“Who told you?”

“Eomma.”

“Of course she did.” He sighs again, and looks at you. “Are you asking me or commanding me?”

“Appa, I’m not your boss. I can’t command you.”

“But you’re my daughter. I know how children feel when they think their parents aren’t listening to them.”

You smile. “I’ve always been stubborn, you know. I’ve got it in my genes.”

“Genes I’m proud of. How much has your mother told you? Did she mention I’m in stage 4 and it’s practically incurable?”

“Yes, and no. There are still chances to cure it, Appa, if only you’ll listen to me.”

“Sweetie-”

“Why aren’t you giving this another chance? I didn’t know you to be a person who easily gives up!” You can feel yourself getting angry, tears pooling in your eyes. It’s stupid how he’s arguing against it, illogical, meaningless. Your heart breaks every time you look at his eyes- they’re old, wrinkled, and yet the fire hasn’t gone out. Does he really want to end it all this fast?

“You know, I get where you’re coming from. But… I don't want to prolong suffering, Y/N-ah. It’s time, I can feel it. There’s no point being a vegetable pushed about in a wheelchair and drinking soup for the rest of my life. There’s no point living if I have to just gobble medicines all day and not drink any more port wine. There’s no point living a life which isn’t even a life, it’s just a laboratory experiment.”

You do burst out crying at this. You want to throttle his neck, and shake him, and ask how could he say such things.

“Aaah, Y/N-ah! Don’t cry-”

“You’re making me cry, Appa! You didn’t even tell me! Were you just planning to sit on it till it’s too late?”

“It is never too late, Y/N-ah. Appa is always here with you, even if I can’t be here physically.”

The tears don’t stop, he pulls you closer, until you’re wailing on his shoulder, and he hugs you with one arm.

“It’s not fair,” you mumble in between tears, hiccups interspersed in your words. Then he only rubs your back and you gently quieten down. “I don’t care, Appa. Come to the US with me. I’ve spoken to doctors, they’ve said there are chances to improve.” He smiles wistfully, looking at your face, which is childishly covered in snot and wet tears.

“Appa, you have to promise me you’ll try. For me, please. I’m not ready for this.”

“It will be a waste of time and effort. I would rather you pay attention to your career. And also your marriage.” “There’s not much to pay attention to. Wonwoo and I are busy almost all the time,” you try to dismiss him. “But you are young, and in love. I should believe there’s nothing other than your love life you should pay more attention to.” You sigh. It’s sad, just how well you and Wonwoo have deceived them all, even your most observant father. You wonder how it is possible, given how distant the two of you are- emotionally, always, and physically, recently. “There is something called urgency, Appa. There’s an order to how things need to be done.”

There’s a few long minutes of silence. Your father finishes the drink in his glass and looks at the stars in the sky. You, for one moment, are sure he’ll put up another fight. “You’ve never asked me anything with so much insistence, Y/N-ah.” “You’ve not hidden anything from me before, either.” There’s another pause. The waiting is tiring, and you’re going to cry again.

“Alright. I’ll do it, Y/N. But on one condition.” You hang on to his words, waiting for him to continue. “One chance. I’m not going back again if there is a relapse. I will not push my fate to a sour ending. You go back to your life, where I want to see you happy. And I will let nature take its due course.” You dare to smile, too afraid he’s going to take back his words. But then he smiles back, and beckons you to lie down on his lap, as he begins talking about something new he;s recently read, and you’re grateful for the distraction.

That night when you go home, you find Wonwoo playing in his gaming room. It’s a small room, probably meant to be a spare bedroom, or a kid’s bedroom, but he has an elaborate gaming setup there, and he locks himself up in it every weekend. Sometimes you wonder if he’s dead, but then you hear his cocky, hushed whispers of victory when you lean on the door. He’s always been good at games.

Today the door is slightly open, and you think for a deluded moment, that he perhaps left it open so that he could hear you enter the house. So you lightly knock and he turns around in his gaming chair. You realise he’s wearing a tank top, his hair hidden under a hideous beanie, and for a second, he doesn’t look like the brooding adult you’re married to.

“I spoke to Appa tonight.”

He looks up at you and takes off his headphones. He nods once, understanding immediately.

“I’m leaving for New York tomorrow, and I don’t want to delay the appointment.”

He stares at you for a second, then replies, “When is your flight?”

“Afternoon.”

“And how long are you going to be away?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps a month, perhaps longer. I don’t want to leave until it’s all done. I want to see it to the end.”

He nods again, standing up from his chair. The screen flashes something about the game being paused, and his character awkwardly bounces about in the game field. The character has black hair and wears glasses like Wonwoo.

“Pack enough, then. I’ll be here when you come back.”

You nod, and he smiles. This is why you got married in the first place, afterall. You bet he’s glad to get the wheels moving as quickly as possible so that this farce can come down before he’s so tired of it that your mere sight repels you.

The next three months pass by like a whirlwind, a miracle from heaven. Because not only are the doctors extremely positive about your father’s condition, but also hopeful for complete treatment. A part of you is too wary of everything going too great, too good to be true, and you’re crying every night when you lie sleepless in your hotel bed. There’s not a single second you’re free from anxiety, and there’s literally nothing else in your mind except praying that every minute of the treatment goes well. You’ve never been so nervous, except when you’d been in college and getting your papers approved by your professors and they’d laughed straight up in your face at your ambitiousness. You get periodic calls from your colleagues, the managers and Jisung, most often. But if there’s a perk of being a CEO, it’s that your employees know when to respect your personal space, unless there’s an absolute emergency. Relatives call you, your sister calls you ever so often. You hope she doesn’t go into labour with your father still stuck on the hospital bed, but it’s only a small part of her worries, you’re sure. So you assure her about everything being alright and encourage to focus on her pregnancy being perfectly smooth, although Kyungmin Oppa tells you that her mood swings are more distinct now with more things to worry about. The baby kicks for the first time, and you wish you could be there. You don’t want to miss a lot of firsts, but it’s a small tradeoff you don’t mind making.

There’s only one person who doesn’t call you, Wonwoo. He probably knows that you don’t want to be disturbed, but sometimes you have thoughts. Thoughts about how different your life was just a few months ago. Thoughts about how your marriage is due to be annulled as soon as this business ends. Thoughts about whether you should have let Wonwoo ever into your life. Thoughts about how he feels about this entire thing. You know how he’d said he had just wanted to help you, but was it a moment of pity or a calculated decision? Was he actually humane enough to want to do this? You’re unsure, just like you’re unsure about how much you even know him. Sure, you’ve known him for your entire damn life, but not really.

Firstly, there’s the matter of the wedding. The fact that Wonwoo didn’t actually need to be roped in to convince your dad is a surprising issue. You hadn’t expected Appa to be so pliant to your words and your tears, when he had supposedly protested so much in front of Unnie and Eomma. Well, there perhaps was something called a favourite child. Secondly, there’s the concern of what happens now. It’s already been four months since your wedding, and it’s almost mid-December now. You’re 100% sure that Wonwoo will not be interested to drag on this farce for longer than necessary, so you mentally take notes to draft up divorce letters and take them to him as soon as you return to Seoul. Your PR team’s done a fairly good job in hiding the fact that you and Wonwoo have barely spent any time together since the wedding. So it’s not going to take much to silence the media if they raise eyebrows at such a quick divorce. Family will be easy to convince, as well. We just don’t have enough time for a full-on relationship now. We’re focused on our careers, that’s where our priorities lie. Honestly, this was why we were so hesitant about marriage in the first place. See, we told you, we weren't made for this relationship business. If only you hadn’t practically stalked us into it, we wouldn’t have to disappoint you all like this.

And what happens after that?

Do you remain exes who smile at each other at social gatherings? Do you remain fuckbuddies, forgetting about your trash past altogether? Do you become strangers who don’t even bother to remember birthdays?

You’re feeling dizzy, so you pass out on the couch in your hotel room.

It’s New Years’ Eve when you return to Seoul, and nobody can stop the smile on your face from breaking out every three seconds. Your father’s body may still be weak from chemotherapy, and he may have to visit the hospital every other week to get follow-ups on his treatment, but he’s alive and the spark in his eyes haven’t been snuffed out. There’s hope, infinite hope, and you feel whole again. There’s incredible joy blooming in your heart, even if all the trees are barren and all the world is grey. The doctors say that it is a godsent gift, and there can be a relapse, but the chances are low enough to be confident that there’s going to be at least five more years of happy life for your father. For someone who was praying for five more minutes, it’s a harvest too bountiful, and you feel like a person born again.

The happiness lasts the entire journey back home, back into the wide waiting arms of your mother who had never gone to the US because she was too scared of being there. You can see how the stress has taken a toll on her, as her figure seems frailer than before, and there’s no longer than glow radiating off her face. And yet, this gift is more than she, or you could ever have asked for, so you take what you can get. Your father’s organs haven’t failed yet, and he can eat better things than soup, so your mother’s cooked specially for him, although she hasn’t entered the kitchen in years. It’s softly cooked galbi and prawn pajeon, and he devours the meal after months of hospital food. You stay the night at your parent’s home, as your sister comes over along with her husband. It’s a great family reunion, and you feel like you could die in this happiness.

Except reality strikes when you wake up the next morning and realise that you should go to your actual home now. You wonder if he’s going to be at home or not, given that it’s the New Year and he may have plans with others.

But there he is, as you let yourself in through the main door, and he locks eyes with you sitting on the couch, wearing shorts and no shirt, his hair quite wet. Apart from the fact that this is the first time you’ve seen him wear shorts, nothing’s changed. He’s still exactly the same. It’s cold outside, and the journey here has frozen your limbs, but the house is warm as fuck, just how Wonwoo’s always liked it.

You can’t stop yourself. You don’t stop yourself when you run halfway across the living room and hug him without waiting for him to say anything.

To his credit, he doesn’t say anything. He simply hugs you back. His body is so warm in spite of being shirtless, and you can smell the fresh soap clinging to his body. He rubs one hand on your spine and for a second you feel tears threatening to flow down your face. Did you miss him?

“How’s your father?”

“Much better. There is hope.”

You can feel his hands moving more insistently on your back, stretching through all your muscles. It feels comforting in a way you’ve never received from Wonwoo. He doesn’t ask anything else, and you don’t mind.

“Welcome home, Y/N.”

You’re bent over on the floor, unpacking your suitcase in your own room when he casually saunters into his walk-in and you don’t pay heed. It’s only when he walks out wearing a black leather jacket, a turtleneck, a light gold chain dangling on his neck, and fancy sunglasses perched on his nose that you turn around to look at him. You’re shocked at seeing him like this- you realise you haven’t seen him in casuals in so long. You haven’t seen him in so long.

“You’re going out?”

“Yeah, it is the New Year. I have a party with my friends.”

You’re too busy ogling him, so he asks, “Don’t you have plans?”

“Yeah, I’m going to unpack my stuff.”

“You could do that tomorrow. Going out with friends on New Years’ will not happen tomorrow.”

You roll your eyes. You assume I have friends. It shouldn’t be news to him, you’ve told him this before. And yet, you feel embarrassed again. You didn’t know Wonwoo had friends, but it’s wrong of you to think every workaholic has no life like you.

“No. It’s been a tiring few months… I’d rather just sleep in.”

Wonwoo, surprisingly, sits down on your bed, facing you, and removes his sunglasses. You can see his pretty eyes from up close, and you realise that he’s never really sat on this bed since you’ve come to his house. “Do you want to come with me? They’ve been asking about you for quite some time now.” You look at him silently, “Nah, I don’t… don’t want to barge in.” “You won’t be.” “You’ll get late if you wait for me now.” “It’s not a big deal, most of them will be late anyway.” “Are you going to a nightclub?” “No, we’re going to a barbecue party.”

Small, private, cosy. You’ll definitely be barging in.

“No Wonwoo, I don’t want to go somewhere where I’m not welcome. And anyway, I’m cool with whatever you’ve told your friends about us.” “I haven’t said anything in particular.” “Well, then you’re good at avoiding things.” “I am. You must’ve been away too long if you’ve forgotten about this.”

You want to run away. He’s surely talking about avoiding being your husband- and he’s proud about it as well.

“Then you might avoid it further. There’s no need for me to make a public appearance.”

Wonwoo stares at you for a second too long. His jaw hardens, and you can see his tongue in his cheek. Then he gently pulls your hand into his own, and carefully touches your fingers, purposely avoiding the bit around your wedding ring. The way your fingers seem much smaller compared to his makes you feel a certain way. You pull your hand back, but he doesn’t let go. He ends up pulling you up to stand, so that he’s still sitting on the edge of the bed and you’re standing right in front of him. His fingers are still laced around your own, and you feel sparks at the touch after months.

“I’m going to show my wife off to my friends. And your excuses are pathetic, darling. You know you want me to show you off as well.” His fingers tighten their grip against your wrist, and you feel the vein in your wrist throbbing around his touch. “So get dressed nicely. I know you clean up well.”

It takes you a solid ten minutes to find something good to wear. Sure, you’re not big on fashion, but you like to look fit for the occasion. Especially if Wonwoo’s dressed up all fancily like that. But when you finally step out of the closet, you’re wearing a beige corset top with a black skirt, and a long black coat with tiny gold details. You find Wonwoo still sitting on your bed, scrolling through his phone. “How do I look?” you ask at the same time as he raises his head to look at you. After checking you out twice from top to toe, he nods slowly, but before you can exhale in relief, he says, “Will you feel cold in that skirt?” “No. And before you ask, I’m not wearing stockings. The coat will be enough.” “Don’t complain if you get cold later. Come down in five.”

When you’re finally in the car, you ask him if you should buy something for the host, since it is New Years’ afterall. “If we bought something for him, the others will be mad at us for not buying something for them too.” You laugh it off, wondering how that could be possible, and proceed to stop at a nearby store to buy one of the trendy perfumes that’s popular amongst men these days.

You find, not even half an hour later, that it is possible.

“Wonwoongi! You only brought presents for Mingoo? None for hyung? How will hyung survive without your generosity?” A lanky, beautiful man immediately latches himself onto Wonwoo’s arm as soon as you both enter Mingyu’s house. It’s a pretty bungalow situated a little far from the city, and decorated extravagantly with lights. It’s only after Wonwoo makes it through the first few people crowding near the entryway that everybody notices you.

There’s a collective gasp going around when everyone turns around and looks at you, smiles galore. And then they all start speaking together, and you get overwhelmed. Wonwoo shushes them all in an uncharacteristically loud voice, and announces, “Since y’all wanted to meet her, this is Y/L/N Y/N, my wife,” and you bow deeply to everyone as everyone greets you back. When you stand upright again, you stumble a bit, not having noticed the thick carpet, and Wonwoo’s quick to grab your hand. He casually interlocks his fingers with yours, and you both make your way into the apartment.

The first man you meet is Mingyu, the host. You’re shocked to see him, not expecting to see him as the host. So he’s the host. He’s become taller than Wonwoo now, his face still identical to what you remember from high school. It sparks an annoyance in you, as scenes from each sports day of your high school years flashes by. There wasn’t a single time when you hadn’t defeated Mingyu in tennis, badminton and squash. You really loved playing racket sports, and it seemed that so did Mingyu. But not just that- Mingyu’s arrogance was even more childish than that of Wonwoo because he was insanely arrogant about his looks and the number of girls (and boys) thirsting over him every day. Although you hardly met him outside school because he didn’t belong to a chaebol family, you’d actively glare at each other every time you met in school. You wonder what version of these same memories flashed in his mind as you stand in front of him now.

“It’s been a long time, Y/N-ah. Didn’t imagine that you and Wonwoo would end up married.” It’s a genuine smile, and for a moment, you wonder if you’d had the wrong impression about him all along. “We didn’t imagine it either, trust me.” Wonwoo smiles, and it breaks you out of your reverie. You hand Mingyu the gift, and say, “Thank you for extending your invitation to me.” “There’s no need to be so formal, Y/N-ah. But what’s the need for the gift?” “Since I’m visiting you for the first time… as Mrs. Jeon, I felt I shouldn’t come empty-handed.” Mingyu giggles and nudges Wonwoo’s arm, “Mrs Jeon, hmm? Feels like a Hollywood movie. Thanks Y/N, I’ll use it well!”

Then Wonwoo introduces you to the rest of his friend group one by one. You meet Seungcheol, who you remember all too well. “How the tables have turned, huh?” He chuckles, before handing you a glass of wine. There’s a familiarity in his mysterious smile, that twinkling look in his eyes, that elite tilt of his chin, as if he owned the world, which used to annoy the hell out of you, because to you, he seemed to be the stereotype of the worthless chaebol heirs who’d do nothing in their lives except eat out of their parents’ money. And yet, he’s made it big on his own, if news reports are correct, and perhaps you can find some respect for him now. “I hope we get along better this time, Seungcheol Oppa.” He’s the only man from Wonwoo’s high school group who you would call Oppa, and that was only to tease him because he’d been voted as the Sexiest Oppa of the Year at the end of the high school year. Seungcheol seems to remember that too, because he laughs, and you realise it’s a fond memory, no matter how much annoyance it had sparked in you back then.

Then there’s Jeonghan, who’d been that beautiful man who’d spoken to Wonwoo earlier with that aegyo nickname of Wonwoongie. who disarms you instantly with his jokes. Joshua, who’s introduced as the gentleman, but you can see the mischief in his doe-like eyes, much too good-looking for his own good. There’s Soonyoung and Seokmin, who are already playing beer pong, laughing and spilling a lot of the beer on the table (and the carpet, but they implore you to not tell Mingyu that). Seungkwan referees them, while he’s wrapped around his boyfriend, who’s extremely charming and interesting. Vernon and you speak for a good two minutes before Seungkwan interrupts you both and takes you to meet Jun. Jun is sitting on the other side of the room, with his girlfriend, Lihua. She’s also Chinese but speaks fluent Korean, as she’s a teacher in Seoul, as she explains.You find out that Jun is an actor in both Korean and Chinese tv shows, and his visuals explain a lot of it, for sure. Then there’s Minghao, who’s busy discussing Met Gala looks over the years with two women, Soyeon (Jihoon’s fiance) and Aeri (Chan’s girlfriend). Chan and Jihoon themselves are missing, but soon you find them in the kitchen, helping Mingyu and his fiance, Hayi, to make cocktails.

And when the introductions finally end, Wonwoo and you flop down on a couch in one corner, both tired from all that smiling and small talk.

“Are you sighing so loudly because they’re not nice?” He teases you, as he place an arm around the head of the sofa, successfully cradling you without even touching your body. “Wonwoo. I didn’t know you were still close to Seungcheol and Mingyu.” “Hmm… should I have warned you before bringing you here?” You turn your face away from him, “A warning would have been nice. I wasn’t really ready to see Mingyu’s annoying smile again after all those years of his delinquency.” Wonwoo laughs, and you continue, “But I’m curious. What did you tell them about me that they’re welcoming me with open arms? Did you tell them that I’ve completely changed or something?” “No. They had their reservations too, but it’s not like they could do anything. I told them only a day before we got married.” You open your mouth to refute, but quickly become silent. Not for the first time, you wonder, how had Wonwoo adapted into the marriage so quickly in spite of having nothing to gain and everything to lose. It reminds you of the divorce papers you had asked Jisung to prepare, so you don’t say anything.

Jeonghan comes and sits on your other side too. “Oh, we have another person joining our lazy line, I see.” He giggles as you look confused. “Wonwoo, Hao and I are the lazy line. We run out of battery first. We can’t keep up with the other over-energetic boy.” “But the absolute first is Wonwoo, of course. There’s no end to group photos where he’s yawning in all the shots.” Minghao strolls in, grabs Wonwoo by the arm, calling him to the other room where they’re all playing billiards, and then it’s just you and Jeonghan on the sofa.

“So, Y/N, I hear that you and Wonwoo have been friends since school?” You laugh, because he can’t have heard that. You know Jeonghan knows you both have never really been friends. He laughs too, and you realise how easily he’s prodded right into the truth. “It’s complicated,” you say safely, as you get a feeling you can’t hide from this man. “And yet I think you’re perfectly fit to be Mrs Jeon, from what I hear.” You laugh again, because genuinely it is a funny statement. You think he’s making a joke- probably about how you both hated each other’s guts in school, or had an equal temper. But no, he’s all serious and he repeats his statement with more sincerity. You twist your lips in confusion, and ask him, “How can you say that?” “Because I know Wonwoo very well. That’s it.” He then laughs a bit and continues, “They call me the Eomma of the group for a reason, you know. They’re all my kids. Even Cheol and Shua.”

And then Wonwoo calls you both to the barbecue which had begun on the outdoor patio.

The party may have begun awkwardly for you but it soon becomes quite exciting. The temperature continues to fall as it becomes darker in the night sky, but everyone’s gathered around the barbecue grill outside so you don’t want to move. The girls are mostly sitting together, sitting cocktails that Mingyu prepares for you, winking every way until he reaches his fiance who exaggeratedly winks back. You sit sandwiched between Aeri and Wonwoo, and while Wonwoo is busy discussing games with Seungcheol, Aeri doesn’t let you feel isolated. You’re included into the group surprisingly quickly, and soon you’re playing drinking games with them. Games you’ve never played before, so you’re obviously totally incapable at defeating them. They seem to play these every other weekend, while you’ve never even heard of these game rules. The reality sends pangs to your heart because it hits harder than ever that you’ve never had a friend group with who you could drink with. Not even a casual drink. Not even a girls’ night out. Not even a pole dance at a strip club.

“Okay! Let’s play the hongsam game,” Seungkwan shouts out and immediately everyone cheers in agreement. You must be looking confused as hell, because Jihoon quietly leans in to explain the rules simply. Seungkwan and Jihoon show you a small demo, and you nod. You may not have understood fully but you don’t want to hold up others in the game. And so the game goes on for nineteen rounds, and you lose ten of them. You somehow miss the timing every time, or maybe you just don’t know their names well enough. Even Joshua, who messed up the first three times, seems to have caught on, but you’re just stuck. Although they make you feel better about it, laughing with you instead of at you, and reassuring you that it’s okay to make mistakes, you feel embarrassed. It’s not a tough game, just requires hand-eye-brain coordination that you’re sure you’re not lacking in, but perhaps some part of you wants to do better because it’s Wonwoo’s friends you’re playing with, and performing poorly here would mean… well, you don’t know what it would mean, but it doesn’t sit right with you. So you try to be more competitive, and although you keep losing, as the shots go in, it feels less stressful and more fun. You become more familiar with the games, and the S.coups game you’re actually good at, although you have no idea why it’s called the S.coups game and Seungcheol personally makes it a point to threaten anyone who’s about to tell you why it’s called the S.coups game.

And so, as the night goes by, you become more comfortable. Even if it is still a little awkward, it’s not altogether bad. Mingyu and Seungcheol are being nice to you, although a bit wary. The others have positively welcomed you with open arms. And Wonwoo, well, he’s being a little odd. He’s having a hell lot of fun, being much louder than you’ve ever seen him. He seems more reserved than his friends, but then, his friends are too hyper. And while he doesn’t make direct efforts to talk to you, he’s becoming more touchy by the minute. The first few shots in, he was just putting an arm around your shoulders. Next few shots in, his hands are properly rubbing all over your bare arms as he makes you open the coat when you say your body’s getting warm with all the soju. When you feel the buzz of alcohol getting more serious by the second, his right hand, the same one which had held your hand earlier that day, places itself on your thigh and refuses to move. It’s splayed all over your thigh, nearly covering from end to end, and there’s not much skin showing anyway, but with his hand, it feels like you should’ve worn a shorter skirt.

Wonwoo’s favourite game is the mafia one. The game app somehow generates him to be mafia three out of four times, and he has way too much fun killing the innocent citizens who seem to be completely deceived by him. Wonwoo’s too good at lying, you realise, when you’re taken aback each time on finding out he’s the mafia although you’re sitting right next to him. The fifth round, you both are mafias, and after the penultimate round of guessing, when you two are the only mafias left alive and you lock eyes to decide who to kill, you giggle at the way he’s staring you down.

“I say, Soyeon. She’s the closest to guessing me out.” You say seriously, but his eyes aren’t even on your eyes. They’re fixed lower, at your lips, but you panic and shift away from him. Now his eyes look up at yours, confused, but you’re guessing he’s just drunk. He would never behave like this if he were sober.

“I say let’s get out of here. While their eyes are still closed.” He smirks, whispering hotly in front of your face, and you feel red all over.

“Wonwoo! They’re your friends.” “So what? They love you already. They wouldn’t be mad at you for leaving, if that’s what you’re thinking.” “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re having so much fun, why would you want to leave?” “Because I know I could have more fun with you with my face under that skirt of yours.” You’re blushing again. “You don’t want to know the number of times I’ve left fun gatherings like this to fuck you in my car, sweetheart. This time, at least, they’ll understand better.” You blush even harder, with the way he’s speaking. It’s making your heart beat too loudly. You know it’s because you both are drunk, but you’ve never been able to resist it when he talks dirty to you. And now his hand starts squeezing your thigh, so you’re left wondering what it would feel like if his face was under your sk-

“Oh for fucks sake! I know it’s Wonwoo and Y/N with all this whispering, I’m sitting next to y’all, guys!” Aeri whines from next to you, and the moment is broken. Everyone opens their eyes and Wonwoo’s hand stop squeezing, although it’s still on your thigh. “If you’re going to undress each other, just go home!” Chan says, and you laugh. “I’m not leaving the party even if Wonwoo does, just so you know. I’m having way too much fun.” Aeri and Hayi hug you from one end, pulling you away from Wonwoo. “Yes,” says Hayi, “we’re not letting you go either. Boring mafia men can leave if they like.” So they pull you away from Wonwoo and you end up sitting somewhere far away from him, between Joshua and Minghao, and it’s nice to be around people who aren’t game aces either and you can have a lot more fun because they’re not as serious as Wonwoo.

A few seconds later, your phone buzzes in your pocket, so you take it out. There’s a text from Wonwoo.

I wasn’t kidding, Y/N. I really want to get out of here with you.

Twenty minutes later, you’ve bid the last round of goodbyes, hugging Jeonghan and exchanging numbers with most of them, while they whine about why Wonwoo gatekept you for so long. Even Seungcheol and Mingyu joke around you, showing that they’ve become more comfortable around you. Perhaps growing up has taken away some of their jerk attitude from them.

Wonwoo’s already leaning against his car when you walk out of the house. You know he’s drunk with the way his eyes check you out without any filter, and you’re also drunk and out of your inhibitions. You try not to get into your head as he opens the door for you, and you get inside the warm car. Wonwoo joins you in the backseat, and the chauffeur drives you out slowly.

But somehow, being in the car now, away from the dopamine of the party, and the general excitement from having a surprisingly fun evening with strangers, the overthinking does kick in. Wonwoo doesn’t say a word, but his hand has returned on your thigh, and you let it be there. But you can’t help but think, is he finding you attractive only because he’s under the influence?

So you ask him that, when you both get out of the car and he opens the door to the apartment. Drunk, dishevelled Wonwoo looks glorious in the night light, his dark hair falling over his eyes, which are hooded in desire as plain as day. “Are you fucking serious, woman?” That’s all he says, before he pushes you against the back of the same entry door, and puts his hand under your skirt. He finds you panties as an obstruction so he pushes them aside before kissing you and entering one finger inside your cunt simultaneously. You immediately melt under his touch, not just because it’s been months since Wonwoo’s touched you, but also because you’re feeling so relieved he’s still attracted to you. At least the farce hasn’t repelled him away this far.

So you don’t speak any words. You both stay silent except the sounds he forces out of you. You come embarrassingly fast with just two fingers up your vagina, and his mouth creating hickeys all over your neck. “Fuck, Wonwoo, I-” “Shit you’re still coming- your whore pussy’s thanking Sir for taking care of her after so long?” You moan his name harder, your entire body writhing under his touch as he drags out your climax under his touch. “Yes, Sir.” “And what to good girls say in gratitude?” You can barely form the words but you say it, “Thank- thank you, Sir!”

“Where do you wanna take it, hmm? To my bedroom which you’ve taken over? Or my bedroom where you’ve exiled me to?” He picks you up and shrugs off your coat, and you wrap your legs around him, stretching the skirt. “It doesn’t matter.”

So he takes you to the bedroom where he’s sleeping these days. He flunks you on the bed, and you tumble to fall on your face. The sheets smell like him, and you breathe in his scent. You don’t want to sleep anywhere else after this- only next to him, if this is what his bed smells like.

He leans in from behind you, and unhooks your top and skirt, leaving you in your underwear. Your panties are ruined, so he makes quick work of removing them. But he keeps the bra on, and gently slides in under you until your pussy is on his face as he prepares to eat you out from behind. His hands are splayed over your ass, and as soon as his tongue makes contact with your already abused vagina, you scream out his name. But he doesn’t stop- he continues, his tongue harshly fucking your cunt. When he’s done making you orgasm again like that, and you’re done screaming his name into his pillow, he finally moves away from you. You fall limp on the bed, as you hear him take off his clothes. Eventually he cages you from behind, and slowly fills you up from behind, one hand on your neck and the other rubbing your nipple over your bra.

So he fucks you like that, his cold chain makes sparks every time it brushes against your spine. “Sir, please! Faster, please-” Wonwoo doesn’t reply to any of your begging, but he responds physically to everything you say, by doing the exact opposite and dragging out your misery. His hands don’t leave your nipples as he leisurely fucks you. “Fuck, Y/N, not even four months, and you’re tight like a virgin again.” Your hands slip and weakly try to clutch at the bedsheets, but you feel useless, like a toy, and he feels every inch of skin which he’s missed out on all this time. You don’t know what he’s looking like now, but his hand presses your head down on the pillow softly, and his grunts and moans are soft enough to be enveloped by your own louder moans and pants.

“Please, I’m begging you, please- pl- faster- Sir!” And the second he lifts his body away from yours, thrusting into you faster, you spasm and orgasm right there, and it triggers his orgasm too. The warmth of his cum flowing inside you stays there as he gently falls down on your body, panting. When he begins to pull out, you whine, unable to say anything but he gets the message. He lies down next to you softly, without pulling out for a few minutes. When your body finally comes down from the high, you go limp around his body, and Wonwoo gently pulls out.

“I’ll clean you up.” “I’m sleepy…” “Yeah, then sleep.” And then you pass out.

When you wake up the next morning, Wonwoo is, unsurprisingly, not next to you, although his side of the bed is not cold. It feels like an upgrade, and you take what you can get. For the first time since you’ve gotten married, you’ve slept together and the thought of it makes you pleased for some reason.

“Morning,” he walks in, before you can properly wake up. He’s wearing a peach-coloured hoodie with sweatpants, a cup of coffee in his hand. “Is that for me?” “No, I didn’t know if you were up.” “Okay, I’ll go and get my own.”

So you do. You brush your teeth and make your coffee and return to the bedroom, and Wonwoo’s still sitting there, his back leaning against the headboard. For a second, you feel like you’re stepping into someone else’s married life, but then you realise it’s yours. It makes you giddy. You don’t understand why- it’s not like you’ve ever craved for Wonwoo, or anyone, in this way. But somehow, you’ve warmed up well to the idea of having him as your … partner. There’s nobody who could be an equal match to you, to be honest. Either they’d be seriously less intelligent and you would be able to hold no conversation with them, or they’d be arrogant as fuck if they were smarter than you, and they’d make it a point to make you feel lesser, always. So Wonwoo is the perfect match for you.

Although, Wonwoo could surely find someone better. Jeonghan’s words float in your brain once again, and you fight the urge to contradict him. Mrs Jeon could definitely be someone else- someone who’s less distant from Wonwoo, someone he could love truly deeper than just skin-level attraction, someone who would want to be with him for real feelings and not just a facade.

“There’s something I want to talk to you about, Wonwoo.”

“Yeah, me too.” You both sit against the headboard, bodies far apart, as if repelled again by magnetic force, no matter how close you were last night.

“Okay, you go first then.”

So he says, “Last night was… a mistake. I know it sounds cliche, but it’s true. I don’t… want to do this with you.”

Oh fuck. You did not see that coming. Sure, the relationship could have been a mistake. Getting married without him getting anything out of it could have been a mistake. Continuing this marriage after your dad’s treatment was successful could have been a mistake. But last night? Last night had felt so right to you. There was no one who knew your body like Wonwoo did, and you knew it went the other way round too. Then how could he say that?

He continues, “I don’t want to be fuckbuddies with you like this, Y/N. We got married for a goal, and now that goal’s been fulfilled and…”

“And you want a divorce. I get it.”

He looks at you with confusion, his eyes wide and his eyebrows furrowed. “No, that’s not what I said.”

“That’s what you meant. I’m an adult, Wonwoo, don’t teach me nuances.” You get off the bed and walk away.

“Y/N, you’ve got to hear me out when I’m saying something.”

“Wonwoo, I already know what you’re trying to say.”

“Fuck you, Y/N. This is why it’s not possible to have a proper conversation with you.”

“You’ll get what you want, Wonwoo. Don’t worry. Thanks for telling me, I needed to know.”

It feels good to get back to work after so long. The familiar sound of people typing away on their laptops and the busy movement of people everywhere, it brings peace to your heart. There are people hovering around you, hoping to speak to you, but Jisung somehow brings you to your office without you having to say anything more than good morning and happy new year to anyone.

It’s only when you enter the office and you see the pending paperwork that you realise just how much you’ve missed. There’s a deal with Lee Corp. that’s sitting on your desk, and Jisung presents it to you with a proud smile. “We got it done, Ma’am. Every detail you wanted, to the t.” You don’t know how to respond, because it’s unbelievable. “But how?” This is your dream- signing a contract with Lee Corp., the leading organisation for facilitating stools for robotic surgery in Korea. Although your technology has always been more modern, they’ve retained their large market share because of simply how long they’ve sustained in the business- after all, when it comes to health, trust comes before modernity for customers.

“Jeon Wonwoo-ssi set up the deal for us. The Deputy CEO and myself attended the meeting, I can share the minutes with-”

“Wait, stop. Wonwoo, you said?”

“Yes Ma’am, I… did he not tell you? He told me he’d tell you.” Jisung looks genuinely confused, so you know it’s futile to investigate him further.

“Well, as you can see, it’s news to me.”

“There is a meeting today, at noon, Ma’am, I need to brief you about the details before you-”

“I’ll get the details directly from Wonwoo, thanks Jisung. Ask my chauffeur to get my car ready please. I’ll be back before the meeting.”

Wonwoo’s office building is bustling with the same energy as your own, and you face no trouble finding his office. So you walk right in.

“What’s this I’m hearing?” He’s standing next to a shorter man showing him something on a tablet, but he immediately leaves when he sees you, bowing quickly. “I was busy, Y/N, you can’t just walk in like that as if you own the place.” He walks up to you, and gently closes the door, before leaning against it and asking you, in that fucking relaxed expression he always has, “What’s the matter?”

“You fixed a deal with Lee Corp. for my company?”

“What about it?”

“And you didn’t bother to tell me?”

“I thought it was best not to disturb you when you were busy with your father.”

Your eyes widen in disbelief. “Wonwoo, this is literally the most important event that can turn my career around forever, and you choose not to tell me-”

“So you’d rather I invade your privacy for this? I’d arranged it so that it would be closed only after your return anyway, so it’s not like-”

“It’s exactly like you were making deals behind my back! God knows what subscript you’ve mentioned in the clauses with the Lees- yeah, step one: get into a trusting contract with Y/N, step two: slowly overtake all her market power, step three: make the company so weak that Jeon Estates can easily take over.”

You’ve taken a step closer with every word, and now you’re standing at a hair’s distance from Wonwoo, who’s just staring at you. “For god’s sake, Jeon Wonwoo, say something!”

And then, he fucking laughs. It’s a bitter laugh, one with no mirth, and it makes goosebumps rise on your flesh.

“You’re mad, Y/N. You’re paranoid, stupid, ungrateful, selfish little bitch, and I can’t even be mad at you because I knew this is how you’ve been all along and yet, I can’t fucking stop myself from falling in love with you every damn day!”

It’s your turn to go speechless. The documents in your hands fall limply to the floor, as your jaw opens and you stay rooted in one spot, stunned beyond belief. “You… what?”

“You were so fucking right every time you called me a dumbass, Y/N. Because I am one.” He laughs again, taking off his glasses with one hand, and rubbing his eyes with another. Then he stops laughing and when he wears his glasses again, his face looks twenty years older.

“Wonwoo… I’m not understanding.”

“You will never understand. Because you don’t have a fucking heart. One would think I have a masochism kink- the way you kick me out every day and I come back to you like a dog. Have you ever thought that maybe I don’t want to take over your company? I’ve told you before- I have enough ways and means to bring you down already had I really wanted to. For fucks’ sake, it’d take a minute for me to destroy your reputation by spreading a rumour about how you wanted to bang me just because you thought it was a great way to get your dad to get into treatment.”

“You still could-”

“I’ve never taken advantage of you- never. I’ve respected you, with as much as I could. When you’ve been petty, when you’ve been oversmart, when you’ve been angry. And you think I’m really interested in destroying you? No, Y/N, if there’s anything I feel towards you and your professional career, it’s admiration. And respect.”

“Don’t lie to my face, Jeon.”

He laughs again, and kneels down so that he’s looking away from you, down at the floor, his body no longer held up in his usual manly stature.

“I’m so tired of running around and playing these games with you, Y/N. I’ve admired you since you’d been promoted two classes at once in ninth grade.”

“That is a lie. You’d gone right after that class to bitch about me, very loudly, to your friends, about how I’d been promoted only because my dad’s business was flourishing.”

“It was a front, because all of my friends, and mind you, I don’t mean Mingyu and Seungcheol, had become pissed at you for it. I had to… I don’t know… be popular? I couldn’t be any more of a loser than I already was. I’d lost a year as it is for breaking my leg and not being able to attend classes, and then… owning up that your intelligence and intellect amazed me and got me on my fucking knees would mean I’d no longer be the cool boy in class who everybody wanted to be with.”

You kneel down next to him, imploring him to look into your eyes. But he steadfastly avoids eye contact- and you feel the floor slip away from your feet. Things you’d believed for years… hearing them become untrue… hearing them being simple misunderstandings… it was too frightening and too overwhelming to be believable.

“But there’s not been a moment these last dozen years when I’ve not had my heart beat fast whenever I think about you… see you. I’d accepted your harsh words and your cold attitude as the norm because… I knew it was because I’d not behaved very nicely with you either, and I was to be blamed for it after all. But I took what I could get. A beggar cannot be a chooser, you know?”

And he finally looks at you.

And finally you can read Jeon Wonwoo. Every expression is as clear as day on his face. His eyes clouded with betrayal and pain, his lips twitching, seconds away from breaking down, his hands pale and trembling. You want to walk away, be a coward again, run away and escape to your bubble of yourself and only yourself. But you also want to take his hand, and feel the truth he’s speaking coursing through his veins buzz out into your own skin.

So you do that.

For once in twenty six years, you do the brave thing.

You sit down completely on the floor, and you lean forward to face him, and touch the tips of his fingers. You’re surrounded by the flurry of papers you’d brought to him, but in this moment, when the current of his touch matches the voltage running in your mind, you forget what they were. He looks away, and says, “Everything about you was so electrifying. You were the first woman who had never pedestalized me for my money and my position in society. The first woman who’d made me feel like just another human being. The first woman who I’d been unable to seduce with just a casual look. The first woman who threw a challenge at me with not just her attitude but also her smartness. And boy, you know how competitive I can be.”

“I was okay with being fuckbuddies too, you know. This way, I didn’t have to pine over you from a corner of the room at social gatherings and wonder how you smelt. I didn’t have to look at you from the other side of the cafeteria at school and imagine how it would feel to kiss the cream off the corner of your lips. And I fucking loved it. I loved being able to hold you close, make you mine. I- well… the first night you’d hooked up with me? If you’d not come back to me yourself, I would have begged you and confessed that very night. I would have cried at your feet to let me be your lover.”

There’s a single tear falling off his cheek and onto the point where your fingers touch. He doesn’t look at you. The sky outside darkens with the impending rain, making the room infinitely darker than it was earlier.

“And then… when you’d asked me to stop… the world had broken down on me. I’d given up on making you want to like me- but,” and he laughs again, that broken, mirthless laugh, “a man can dream, can he not?”

“Wonwoo, I’m sorry.” you whisper. You know it’s pointless, but you still want to say it.

“For what Y/N? You’ve done nothing wrong. You’ve just shown me my place.”

“For hurting you. I didn’t know…”

“No you… you didn’t even know you were hurting me. You were just being you.”

“And it’s sick that I hurt you so much when I was just being myself.”

There’s a long minute of silence, as he looks up at you. Lightning cracks on the horizon outside, your body shivering with the sudden sound of thunder, and his hands withdraw from your own.

“Y/N, I don’t want to interfere in your life any longer. I’ve lived happily this last year, being so close to you, even when I knew it wasn’t in the way I wanted. But last night…”

“Wonwoo. I-”

“It was a mistake because I can’t do this so casually anymore, Y/N. I don’t want to wake up next to you just like that, Y/N. I don’t want to be married to you on paper, Y/N. I don’t want to pretend in front of my friends and not make you mine in public. Seungcheol and Mingyu accepted you fully… because they knew just how smitten I’ve been with you forever.” The edge of his lips tilt upward in a lopsided, winsome smile, as he continues, “That day in the amusement park? You’d been so mad at me for no fault of mine at all, but you’d been so cute when you’d lolled all over my shoulder and clutched onto my clothes for your dear life. That time you’d made your first speech as your father’s heir to the company, I swear I could’ve run to you and kissed you right there, you’d been so hot up on stage, in the spotlight, right where you belong.”

He starts standing up, looking away from you. He begins picking up the first paper next to him.

“Oh, you bought the divorce papers.”

You spring up to attention at once, and snatch it away from him. “Wonwoo, I-”

“No, thanks for bringing them. Thank you for putting me out of my misery of this awful mirage called hope.”

“No, please, I-”

“I see you’ve already signed-”

“Wonwoo! Just please listen to me?”

He finally pauses in his tracks and looks at you. “You’ve said enough, Y/N-ah. You’ll get the divorce you so want. And if you like, I’ll ask Jihoon to put in a word to take away the deal as well. If you feel so threatened-”

“Wonwoo, hold up. Jihoon?”

“Yeah? You didn’t know? His cousin is the CEO of Lee Corp. currently.”

He picks up a pen to sign, and you literally lunge yourself on his body. It’s cinematic, a little unreal, but you do it out of desperation. It results in you being draped all over his body, as he falls back on his desk. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Shut up. Let me talk,” and you clamp a hand on his mouth before he can say another word. You take a deep breath, as his eyes widen for a second, but then he stabilises himself on his desk and waits for you to continue.

“I’ll admit it, I’ve been an awful person. I’ve been mean, selfish, and paranoid- and yes, while I may have been justified to some extent, I … should’ve trusted you. It’s absurd though- had I not trusted you at all, how could I ever submit to you even in sex? How could I trust you with my body at my weakest, most out-of-control moments? Perhaps, deep down, I knew that, no matter how much we sparred with our words and our eyes, we… you would never harm me. And I think you know I wouldn’t have harmed you either, really. Because you’ve been nothing if not my twin spirit. You’ve been the only person competitive enough to challenge me. You’ve been the only man who hasn’t given me up even when I threw tantrums. And I want to stop talking in the past tense. Even in the future, I see… I see you as the only man who’d ever really understand me. If I tell you I need a week to just cut off from the world and focus on my work, you’d understand me. If I tell you, Wonwoo, I… well fuck it, I didn’t even need to tell you that I don’t like being lonely every New Years’ Eve, did I? You agreed to be my ally when our families turned against us. You agreed to be my husband when I hadn’t even asked you about it. You’ve… you’ve shown me that a world beyond me exists, you’ve shown me that I’m not the only person in this world I can care about, and you’ve shown me that you don’t need to be loud and obvious when you want to do things for others. And I haven’t even shown gratitude for it. So you’re right when you call me a paranoid, stupid, ungrateful, selfish little bitch.” He shakes his head, but you only laugh a little. “No you’re right. You are. Wonwoo, I… these last few weeks. When I was away, with my dad? I didn’t think it was love but… I did think it was longing. I didn’t even know when I’d gotten used to not living alone at home. I didn’t even know when I’d developed the habit of waiting till 10 pm to see you enter the house after working out, sweaty and your muscles bulging. I’d told you I had become dependent on you as a way to relieve my stress? Well, turns out now I’ve become dependent on you for attention, for affection, for a way to cure my loneliness. I am a paranoid, stupid, ungrateful, selfish little bitch because I’ve been so lonely for years. Apart from my parents and my sister, I… I’ve never had anyone else. And I thought it was a strength of mine … until I grew up and realised just how lonely I had become. And then… I found you, I guess? Even when we just had sex, it was better than spending all those nights alone, drinking on my own. Even when you’d tie me up to your bedpost for hours on that stupid yellow vibrator of yours, it was more intimate than anything else, and simply because… you even read my face and understood when I was reaching my boundaries. And I’m having all these epiphanies right now, and I feel like a fool for priding myself on my smartness, because truly, what have I gained if I’ve lost you?”

And then, he wrings his hands free and leans over you, and kisses you. Kisses you with his mouth open, his eyes on yours as he gauges your expressions turn from surprise, to wonder, to thrill. When he’s finally kissed you out of breath, you pull away from him to breathe in and feel alive again, only to find that the roles have switched and he’s got you pinned against his desk now.

“Baby, if only… if only I’d known, that your pretty mind was having so many epiphanies, I’d have not left you on the bed alone in the morning. Tell me you don’t really want the divorce, tell me what you said right now was not a joke?”

“It’s not… I don’t want a divorce, please Wonwoo. I had only got them prepared because I thought you’d want them- but…”

“Well, I deserve to be treated like a shithead for not making you feel just how badly I want to hold on to this marriage. Because even if it is fake…”

“Wonwoo, shh… it’s not fake if I love you, right?” You say, experimentally, hoping you’re doing the right thing now by being brave, and when he doesn’t reply for a second, your brain goes on a spiral again, but then he must know it because he kisses you again. “Say that again, princess.” So you do. He asks you three more times, and each time, he punctuates his sentences with kisses on your face, and you blush harder each time you admit that yes, you have fallen in love with Jeon Wonwoo. The last person you’d expect to fall for… but it’s true, and it’s real, and it’s warm and novel with how it’s coursing through your veins.

“I love you too, Y/N, if you’ll really have me.” So you kiss him back, your tongues lazily sliding against each other, the sensation making you numb. It feels good to kiss Wonwoo, but it feels even better to kiss your lover Wonwoo, you realise, and you go back for a million more kisses, before the grandfather’s clock in his room rings out and reminds you that it is noon.

“Wonwoo… Fuck! I’d forgotten,” you whisper as he kisses you down your neck, lavishing every inch of your skin. “The meeting with the Lees!” “Oh.” He looks up at you. “I’ll call Jihoon and ask him to reschedule. Can’t let work get in the way of pleasure, right now, Mrs. Jeon. Not when I can finally make love to you like you’re mine.” You giggle at his words, unimaginably corny. But you can’t deny how good it makes you feel. “Wait, who said I’m yours?” “Fuck, don’t mess with me, woman. You- you just said!” “I am, relax! It’s a joke, Mr. Jeon. I see your cheesiness has changed now… but your sense of humour is just as poor as before.” He snarls against your lips, although it’s sexy in a way. “I’ll not let you go for comments like that, you know?”

So he doesn’t. He calls Jihoon and reschedules the meeting, and then he drives you home, in his car. He’s sitting in the driver’s seat, his hand wrapped in yours, as he pauses at every red light to kiss you. “I still can't believe it.” “You’ve got me here, Jeon. I’m not going away.” You can see the way his hands tremble, but you hold on tight. You’re telling him as much as you’re telling yourself, you’re never going away.

It’s still raining outside, but he covers your head with his blazer as he picks you up and carries you all the way upstairs to his apartment, doesn’t even lower you in the elevator. Thankfully there’s only an ahjumma inside the elevator, who doesn’t seem to mind, only giggles when you apologise. “It’s okay. I know how lovesick men can be,” she says, before she gets down at her designated floor.

And then he doesn’t stop kissing you. He doesn’t leave your mouth even when the elevator door opens and you both walk out into your apartment. He doesn’t leave your mouth when you shrug off your heels and he takes off his own shoes. He doesn’t leave your mouth when he directly takes you all the way to the master bedroom, and just plops you down on the bed, you nearly springing up with the impact.

“Wonwoo?” You ask when he turns away and walks into the closet, only to return with a box that’s too familiar to you. It has all your toys in it. “Do you know, Mrs. Jeon, just how cruel you’ve been by forcing me to see these every time I open the drawer to take out my underwear? He opens it slowly, showing you the three dildos inside, and the bullet vibrator Wonwoo himself had bought for you. “Every time I see them, it feels like you’re cheating on me, because fuck, how can anything give you pleasure when I literally exist?” His words are cheesy again, but in that dirty way which is so on brand for him. You’re leaking under the suit pants already, you know that.

“Wonwoo… I… you know I don’t use them when you’re around.”

“And you shouldn’t have to use them ever. Not when I’m here to fuck you good like you deserve, like the cumslut you are, hmm?” He presses a finger under your chin, taking in a good look at you from above, before he orders, “Strip.”

So you do. He takes his sweet time watching you strip, while taking out one dildo from your box and his favourite ties. When you’re down to your underwear, he pauses you and extends a hand waiting for something. You know what’s coming, so you just extend your hands to him and let him tie you up. He smirks at your gesture, so he ties you up the poles of the bed. He also uses another tie to wrap around your eyes, and then he gently peels off your panties. “God, fuck. You smell heavenly.” Did he just sniff your underwear? “Wonwoo! Don’t!” There’s a sharp spank on your pussy, exposed to him in its wet glory, and you crumble instantly. “Little baby girls don’t tell Sir what to do and what not to do, hmm? They just take it as they’re given.” So he spanks you again, and it sends shivers through your body. Just the thought of fucking in the broad daylight seems like a sin, but then… isn’t this what married couples do?

You realise that Wonwoo’s seated himself next to you, and he’s gently taken your head into his lap. His hand is already playing with your clit, and you feel something cold and liquidy being rubbed over your pussy flesh. Lube? He’s still fully dressed, and you can feel the cold metal of his watch graze against your sensitive thigh, making you hiss in pleasure.

“It’s been far too long since you’ve been taught a lesson, darling. Seems like getting married has made you feel like you’re beyond Sir’s control. But that’s not how it goes, is it?” You whisper out, “No… No Sir.” “Good girl. If you want to be treated like you’re married, then you’ve gotta earn it, yes? Now. Can you take one finger?” He inserts his finger gently, which is coated in the cold substance you’re assuming is lube. It isn’t really necessary, given how wet you are already, but it feels hotter when the lube is so cold inside you.

You nod. “Words.” “Yes, I can.” So he slowly pumps it in, before saying, “Can you take two fingers?” You whimper as he stretches you by putting in two fingers. “Yes Sir.” “That’s a good girl.” The praise is making your head spin.

“And can you take-” he puts in another damn finger, “three fingers?” Now it’s a real burn. It’s in till his knuckles all too quickly but you can’t say no because you want to please. “Quick, princess. Don’t keep me waiting. Yes or n-” “Yes! I can. I will. I’m a good girl, Sir?” He pumps all three fingers deep until it hits your spot, and you scream out his name. “Such a good girl. Now fuck yourself on those fingers thinking that’s Sir’s cock.”

You push up your hips, and he thrusts in, meeting your halfway. And then he sets the pace, as he fucks into you relentlessly, his other hand gently wrapping around your jaw and you take out your tongue, almost drooling, until he puts a finger inside your mouth too. You just know he’s smirking right now, with you being desperate for something in your mouth too, but you can’t care less.

Your orgasm hits you as soon as he orders gently, “Cum for me, pretty baby.” But when you come down from your high, he doesn’t take his fingers out. He gently pumps in your cum into your system again, and you writhe with sensitivity. But he uses his other hand to stop you, as he takes it out of your mouth. “Now, can you take a dildo along with these fingers?” You gasp, because it’s not imaginable. “No, I… it’s too much, Sir.” “Is it? I don’t think it’s bigger than your husband’s dick, is it?” And fuck, you can’t stop yourself from clenching at that. It’s crazy how hot he makes it sound, but it feels amazing when he calls himself your husband. And he must feel your cunt clenching around his fingers as well, because he whispers near your ear, “Oh Mrs Jeon likes that, huh? Too bad she can’t take her husband’s cock then, because it’s too much-” “No I can take it! I can- I can fit in my husband’s cock.” You can hear the way Wonwoo grunts, as he plunges his fingers deeper into your cunt. “But first, I’ve got to train you, yes? You’ve become too unruly. You want to be the perfect wife, don’t you?” “Fuck!” you can’t form words as you clench around his fingers hopelessly, overstimulation forgotten, and buck up your hips to help him reach your spot. He just laughs and begins fucking you again, all three of his thick fingers snugly fit inside you till the knuckles.

“Can you feel my wedding ring inside, baby?” He whispers again, and you cry out his name continuously as he drives you to a new high, so familiar, and yet so new. He’s your husband now, fuck. It’s a revelation that hits harder in the middle of sex, and you come instantly, coating his fingers with your essence.

“Oh, my cockslut’s eager to please her husband, is she? So eager to be the perfect wife, is she?”

“Yes, yes! Please- pl- I just want-”

“Want?”

“Please fuck me Wonwoo!”

He immediately removes his fingers from your pussy and you scream out as you feel empty. “Aaah! Please!”

“I’m not making any girl who’s forgotten rules in the bedroom, feel good.” He takes off the tie that was wrapped around your eyes, and you notice that he’s not leaning down at you, his glasses still on, but his eyes dark with hunger. God, he’s hot.

“I’m sorry Sir.”

There’s a sharp spank to your clit, and you jump. It’s too much, but in the best way possible.

“I’ll ask you again. Can you take three fingers and one of those dildos you love so much that you torture your husband with its sight every day?” He doesn’t break eye contact, and you whimper in front of him, pathetic and desperate.

“Yes, Sir. I can.”

“Open your mouth.”

Wordlessly, you do, and he spits into your mouth. Then he puts in the dildo. As you see the purple dildo, which is considerably slimmer than Wonwoo’s dick, but about the same length, enter your pussy, you notice how much Wonwoo’s gaze has hardened. Is he really jealous of that damn toy? It’s funny, so you buck your hips up to meet the way he’s slowly fucking you with the plastic dildo, and his eyes become more dangerous.

“Are you that desperate for it, darling?”

“I want to feel full, Sir.”

And then something in Wonwoo snaps. He wraps three fingers around the head of the dildo and along with the fingers, he plunges the dildo into you, stretching you out much more than before. The burn eases out after a second, but he fucks you at an incredibly slow pace, which only makes you eager for more. “Faster, please!” “You want me to fuck you with this plastic toy how I fuck you with my cock?” “Yes! I d- I do! I just want to feel full!” Then his other hand finds its way to your tits and twists a nipple hard enough to make it painful. “You’re such a whore, Y/N. Just a pretty whore. You’d take any cock just to keep your holes filled?” “No! I … I only like it when Sir does it for me.” “Liar. Just now you’re so happy to take this dildo, huh?” You can’t even think straight with the pace he’s torturing you at, but you do reply, “That’s- aah! Only- only because Sir’s fucking me with it. Because I can feel your wedding ring inside me, Sir!”

“Fuck!” There’s another sharp pinch at your nipple before Wonwoo begins fucking you faster, and it only takes you a minute before he’s bringing you to yet another high which leaves you dizzy.

“God, you’re left speechless. Does Mr Jeon fuck you that good?” He leans it to kiss you, his wet fingers now wrapped around your breasts. You can feel the way your cum still sticks on his fingers, but it feels too good to be gross. You kiss him back, arching your back off the bed, until he pulls away.

He stands up from the bed, and languidly takes off his clothes. “So pretty like this, princess. Legs all spread out for who?”

“You, Wonwoo. My husband.”

He stops his movements and stares at you for a second. It seems like calling him husband has the same effect on him as the effect on you when he calls you wife. “Yes, you’re right. Your husband.” He sits next to you to kiss you again and this time, you try to sit upright, in spite of your hands still being tied. When he breaks off, he says, “So let me train you to be my wife, hmm? I want to fuck you so good that your pussy shapes itself around me. That you won’t even need prep when I want to fuck you because it’ll be so used to me.” Oh, no wonder for that size training. “Why? Does your cock get bigger now that you’re my husband?” He smirks, eyes cruel because you’re talking back to him. “No, because I need to fit in perfectly to ensure none of my seed leaves you when I’m breeding you.” And then he attacks your neck, and you’re moaning even before his lips hit skin because his words flip some switches in you that you’ve never even known. Sure, Wonwoo’s always fucked you raw because you’ve been on pills for years, but the idea of him breeding a child into you? Fuck. You’d never even thought about having a child, but this idea turns you on remarkably insanely.

Soon his shirt is off and he unties your hands. “Take off my pants for me, baby.” And you do. You tease him a bit, but that’s only fair with how hard he’s sucking your breasts, as if he’s born to do this. Before taking off his boxers, you notice the precum that’s leaking out so much that it’s made the fabric quite wet. So you lick his dick clean while it’s still inside his boxers, and you’ve got him hissing and grunting like never before. “Fuck, Y/N, don’t,” he pulls your head away. “Why?” He must notice the way his precum is still sticking on your lips, because he groans again. “I want to cum inside you. Breed you full, baby.” That puts a shy smile on your face as he takes off his underwear, and you finally see his cock upright, leaking and bright red. And perhaps you’re delusional after all those orgasms, but it does seem bigger than before.

“Please, Mr Jeon, take me.” And he responds to your begging. He kisses you softly, as he lines himself up with you, his left hand still pulling your hands up above your head, and your right hand clutching your hips in an iron grip that will leave marks. And then he just enters, without warning, till the hilt, and you both moan out at the sensation. You don’t know why it feels different, but with how he’s kissing you, almost softly and gently, like he’s a gentleman, while fucking you ruthlessly like he’s in rut, you’re in heaven for sure.

It’s also the first time Wonwoo is so audible during sex. He’s panting and moaning, although much softer than you, but his sounds spur you on even harder. He can’t stop whispering your name and other pet names in your ears, while you keep moaning his name loud even to burst his eardrums. He doesn’t care. He responds to every word you utter, every little request you beg, and he fucks you fast and hard, until he can’t hold on any further and his entire body is trembling with the incoming orgasm. “Mrs Jeon, can you cum with me?” “Yes, please, Sir.” And so you do, releasing into each other while still making out with each other. It feels like you’ve entered a different dimension of pleasure, and Wonwoo is here with you. It’s a safe feeling beyond description, and you pass out right there.

When you do wake up, you find Wonwoo sitting next to you with a cloth in his hands, wiping gently at your legs.

“How long have I been out?”

“About ten minutes?”

He doesn’t answer smoothly. You can see the way his hands move softly, almost worshipping.

“I love you, Wonwoo.”

Then he looks up at you, and you see the way his eyes are quivering.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” “Nothing.” “No, tell me.” “Nothing just-” You sit up, and take his hands in your own. Then you nod at him, gently urging him on.

“Was it too much?”

“Huh?”

“Did I push you too much?”

“No. I would’ve used my safeword if you did.”

“But what if you forgot the safeword in the middle of it all- what if you got too pushed by me-”

“I wasn’t, and that’s what matters. I remember it all the time, Wonwoo, you… the traffic lights aren’t really easy to forget. I would tap out somehow if I felt like too much. But it wasn’t, so where’s this coming from?”

“Nothing… I… I hope you’re not just taking it from me because I’m your husband now.”

And at that, you laugh. “Hell, nah, Wonwoo. You know I wouldn’t take it from you even if you were god. You’ve really got me all wrong, then.”

He smiles weakly, and you know it’s still on his mind. So you move over to sit gently on his lap. “Wonwoo, when I said earlier that you know my limits. I wasn’t lying, you know. You do. You don’t push me too much.”

“But if I ever do-”

“If you ever do, you should know that I’ll tap out at once and never forgive you. You always make me feel safe, Wonwoo.” And you hug him, and the fact that you’re both naked makes your hug even warmer and softer as you feel Wonwoo’s hands wrap around your back as well.

“I love you too, Y/N. I promise I’ll always keep you safe.” And then he kisses your forehead, and you snuggle your face right into the crook of his neck. He smells… like Wonwoo, and it feels like home.

“Now, how about some lunch, baby?”

“You’re hungry when I had to do all the work?” You gasp while still tucked into his neck, and he giggles with the way your breath tickles his neck.

“So what does my pretty wife want?”

“She just wants to cuddle you and sleep.”

“And my wife’s wishes are my commands.”

So he lays down, with you still on top of him like a koala, and pulls the blankets over you both, wrapping you into one tiny ball. You look at him with a fond smile, and you see your expression mirrored in his. “I love you so much, Y/N-ah.”

“And I love you, Wonwoo. I could love nobody else apart from you.”

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winedarkthoughts · 1 year ago

Text

house of addams (1)

— 🌖 pairing: ot7 x fem.reader

— 🕷️ genre: mystery, angst + fluff + smut

— 🗝️ word count: 4.3k

— 🍄 summary: hired to look into the mysterious deaths, disappearances, and disturbances in the small town of Farrow's End, you soon meet a certain gang of oddballs who help you connect the dots. and NO, you are NOT taking a liking to them.

— ☕ content warnings: private investigator!reader, cozy small town mystery/addams family vibes, botanist!yoongi, magical absurdity, bookshop owner!namjoon, barista!jin

— 🕸️ a/n: first chapter! directly influenced by this fic on ao3 by tinyratthief, which is loosely based on the addams family.

series m.list/schedule → next chapter

chpt. 1: new digs

september 16, 2004

If this job has taught you one thing, it’s that the laws of truth can and will be bent by anyone with enough concentrated effort. People come to you to find very specific truths; birth parents, cheating spouses, the details of shady business deals.

But if this job has taught you one thing, it's that the truth will also reveal itself to anyone with enough concentrated effort.

Though, there's always a handful of cases that force you to delve deep into things you’d rather leave buried. Like the person in Oregon who didn't show up in any photographs. Or the small town in Maryland with the strange, centuries-old secret society.

You’ve seen sides of human nature that have left you cynical, distrusting. Some have called you “dead inside,” but you’re not here to brag. Naturally, you are excellent at your job.

And when the Mayor of Farrow’s End, a sleepy town with enough missing persons cases to warrant a low budget documentary, contacted you about a possible case, you accepted almost instantly.

Even her first correspondence and initial offer were strange. She stated a preference to discuss the finer details in person and in person only, which to you immediately suggested that the entire investigation would be a matter of confidentiality.

You were proven right when you met with her a week later. And while being proven right is usually one of your favorite things, you didn’t exactly expect this.

The offer: investigative services regarding (but not limited to) local missing persons/homicides, ecological disturbances, environmental chemical imbalances. etc.

In exchange for: monthly salary, rent support, covered business expenses.

And above all, everything must remain off the books.

The salary along with the rent support is very generous considering what you're used to, but you don’t tell the Mayor that. You do inform her that, while you wear many hats, you are not an ecologist, nor a chemist.

Mayor Summerbee, a middle-aged Asian woman with a sweet smile and even warmer eyes, informs you that you will have access to the local University’s college of natural sciences. She gives you the contact information for one Min Yoongi, a botanist who works in the school's research department.

Then she gives you the contact information for one Kim Taehyung, the town coroner and pathologist. Apparently, both of them will be available for consultation.

She is eager, maybe even desperate, smiling at you with an urgent sheen in her eyes.

When you accept her offer, shaking her hand with your usual firm grip, she seems to exhale in relief.

You move to Farrow’s End by the end of the week. It’s not as if you have much to move, just a trunkful of books and a handful of duffel bags. You’ve always moved around for work, and even if you didn’t, staying in one place for too long makes you nervous.

Your bags hit the pavement beside your boots as you survey your new home. It's a small, quaint house. The paint is faded but the architectural structure is sturdy. Two bedrooms, one bathroom, kitchen, living room. The whole place is in a slight state of disrepair, but you can't complain.

You spend the next day cleaning and unpacking, which doesn't take long since you leave most of your books in the trunk. You're exploring the town by the end of the afternoon.

The town square, though full of shops and businesses, is nearly barren. A few civilians putter around, their faces weathered and reflective of the gloom in the air. They stare at you as you pass by, a cocktail of curiosity and slight suspicion.

The next thing you notice is the posters. They're everywhere, on the crumbling brick walls, stuck on lampposts, taped to the windows, all displaying a variety of subjects. Events at the University, local night markets, antiques for sale.

But there are a few that stick out. THERE'S SOMETHING IN THE LAKE! Sign the petition to restrict land access →

HAVING STRANGE DREAMS? You're not alone, contact a psychic today!

BEWARE! DO NOT FEED LOCAL WILDLIFE.

Though, what's more strange to you is what you don't see. There are barely any missing person posters, and the few that you do see appear to have been ripped away.

Work begins now, you think to yourself as you snap some photos of several posters, flapping in the cold wind.

You pop into the general store to pick up some essentials, and the store clerk immediately recognizes that you're not a local.

He asks where you're from, you reply with the standard answer: a city not too far but not too close. He asks what you're doing here, you reply with the standard answer: you're a journalist. You add in the suggestion that you're working with the University about a story, and he doesn't question any further.

You're not sure if it's because he takes the hint or because he loses interest.

During the drive home, you notice something looming in the distance. Atop the highest hill is a dark house, with spires and towers rising from the tops of spindly trees. Even from here, you can see that the architecture is old and ornate, almost ancient in a hypnotic way. You're fairly certain you can see a murder of crows circling above.

An unusual feeling hangs around the house, like there's some kind of aura surrounding it. Welcoming some, yet blocking others.

Very strange indeed.

You spend the rest of the night huddled next to the fireplace, using the flickering orange light to skim over newspaper clippings.

No, the house does not have a heating system. But you don't mind too much, you have plenty of wood and warm clothes.

Five missing and three dead in the last year. Local law enforcement has done everything they could with what they had to work with, which apparently wasn't much. Scattered locations, no visible connection between the victims, and an alarming lack of evidence.

Eyelids heavy, you leave the papers scattered across the floor and head to bed, already looking forward to tomorrow's first coffee.

september 17, 2004

The University appears to be just as old as the rest of the town. Original wood, aged stone, curved iron accents. The brick walkway is slick with morning rain, and the sky is swirling with fog.

Perfect weather, it makes you ready to get to work.

The directory stated that Min Yoongi would be in Montgomery Hall, the natural sciences building, either in the greenhouse or in one of the labs, according to the TA you talked to earlier on the phone.

It takes some wandering, but what you like about this place is that people don't seem to notice your presence as much as they do in town. Out there, you're an easily identifiable outsider. Here, you're just another passerby with a purpose.

You find him in one of the lab rooms, tucked into a little nook that's encased with plastic sheeting, dotted with beads of moisture. The small space is crowded with greenery, big pots of tall plants with fanning leaves, draping vines from wall planters, seedlings in little trays.

Through the condensation dripping down the plastic walls, you can see that he's spraying the plants down with water, wearing a classic white coat.

You're indulging in your bad habit again. Your footsteps are notoriously quiet (you've been told), and you (apparently) have a tendency to sneak up on people and observe them for several minutes before they notice that you are there.

But it's a skill you delight in.

The man is of average height, thin, black hair, delicate features. You notice that the soles of his boots are caked with mud, and his skin is dewy from the humidifiers pumping moisture into the room.

"You already know my opinion on this," you hear him say, muffled by the spray of the water.

For a moment, you think he's talking to you, that he's rejecting your case before you've even presented it to him. But he isn't facing you, and his tone is decidedly casual, like he's talking to an old friend.

"It's bad for the others, anyway," he continues. "Don't wiggle your trigger hairs at me like that."

A pause, the water flow stops. Then a sigh of defeat.

"Fine, one puff. Then you quit pouting, got it?"

There's the sound of shuffling, then the fwick of a lighter being ignited.

Your curiosity gets the better of you, and you step forward to peer through the slit in the plastic sheeting.

There's a Venus fly trap on one of the shelves, and between the jaws of one of the trap mouths, is a lit cigarette.

The man's head piques up when you enter his field of vision. Eyes widening, he looks like a cat that's been caught off guard.

He looks between you and the plant several times. You're fairly certain you see the tip of the cigarette glow ember, as if the plant were actually inhaling.

The man snatches the cigarette away and crushes it beneath the wet sole of his boot.

"Nasty habit," he finally says with a nervous chuckle. An awkward, straight-mouthed smile crosses his face, making his cheeks puff out slightly.

"Min Yoongi?" you ask.

"Yes, ma'am," he responds politely.

"I'm ______," you say, holding out a hand to shake.

He shuffles forward, his cold slim fingers meeting yours.

"Ah, the mayor mentioned that you'd be around."

That throws you a bit, because from what you've gathered about this case, you assumed that the mayor didn't want to be associated with it.

"Yes, would you mind filling me in on some of the ecological disturbances that have been going on in town?"

It's as if the question sends ants crawling down his spine. His neutral smile dissipates into an anxious twitch of his lips. He turns the hose back on and resumes spritzing the plants.

"What do you want to know?" he asks, a new tension in his voice.

Odd.

"Well," you start, "The mayor tells me that locals have been complaining about strange mushrooms invading their yards, increased acidity in their soil. Would you know anything about that?"

His eyebrows are knitted as he dampens the leaves of a spiraling fern.

"Mushrooms are really just the fruit of fungi, they bloom like flowers when the conditions are just right. Moisture, shade, an abundance of organic material, stuff like that. When it comes to the acidity, there's a variety of factors. All the rainfall recently leads to leaching, and the increased use of fertilizers causes nitrification. It's pretty standard."

You raise an eyebrow. He's deflecting.

"People have been saying that these mushrooms have been particularly hard to get rid of."

Yoongi 's brows furrow as if he's thinking hard.

"Fungi are tricky like that. We don't know much about them, really. They're their own class of life form. It could be a particularly stubborn strain."

"There's also been some unusual plant growth, creeping vines or the like. Very resistant to herbicides, apparently."

He pauses, considers it.

"Hmm," he mutters, the nozzle of the hose going lax in his hand.

“Also,” you continue, trying to further engage his curiosity. “There's been several cases of strange root rot?”

You add a questioning tone to your voice, gauging his reaction. Apparently, he hasn’t heard about it, because he looks up at you with the same question in his eyes.

“Root rot? In household plants?” he asks.

“No, in residencies.”

Yoongi stares at you for a moment, and you can tell he’s intrigued.

“I would benefit a lot from your knowledge, if I could just bring you a few samples, maybe go out and do some fieldwork—”

“You wouldn’t like working with me,” Yoongi interrupts. “I’m very…particular.”

You have a feeling the word is meant as a substitute for something else.

“Wonderful, so am I,” you reply, digging one of the many notebooks out of your bag. Flipping to the calendar, you click open your open your pen and start scribbling.

“Mornings are best, get the most out of the daylight. Make sure to bring your equipment and something to write on, and a camera if you have one.”

“Wait, I just don’t know if I’m going to be much use to you,” Yoongi says a little nervously, sticking his hands in his pockets.

You pause your scribbling to look at him. He’s pale in the fluorescent light, but not just physically. He has pale mannerisms and pale expressions, the countenance of a person that doesn’t feel as if they belong.

You know the feeling well.

“Coffee is always on me. How do you like it?” you say instead.

“Does Wednesday work?”

september 18, 2004

Three dead and five missing in less than six months. First, Michael Bradley, aged forty-two. Cause of death: chronic poisoning/exposure to toxic chemicals. He was found in his garage surrounded by household cleaners and herbicides. Apparently he’d been trying to get rid of the same strange mushrooms in his yard.

For now, all you have to work with is what they’ve published in the newspapers, and it seems that all that's come out of it is a public service announcement warning homeowners to be careful around toxic chemicals. His wife, Mary Bradley, hasn't commented on the circumstances of her husband’s death. And no one else has inquired any further into the matter.

Until today, obviously. Mrs. Bradley didn't answer her phone, and when you knocked on her door earlier this morning, she seemed less than pleased.

You opened with the standard introduction: I'm a journalist working on a story, would you mind consenting to an interview? Mrs. Bradley narrowed her eyes and scanned you up and down with barely concealed suspicion.

She asked what a journalist would find interesting about a common, accidental death in a small town. Apparently, the citizens of Farrow's End are very perceptive to outsiders.

You mentioned that fact that although Bradley's death appeared accidental, it's not common for people to die at the hands of household chemicals from prolonged exposure. Chronic poisoning is rarely without symptoms, why didn't he go to hospital?

She didn't have anything to say to that. You asked if she'd be comfortable divulging some of the details of his death, maybe even giving you access to the autopsy report. But she just grimaced at the mention, insisting that she had nothing to say about the matter and that you should leave right away.

She slammed the door in your face, but luckily it wasn't the first time people have resisted your questions. Unfortunately, a significant part of your job involves being a pain in the ass.

You linger in the front yard, where it's impossible not to notice the gnarled tree stumps and large rings of mushrooms scattered across the lawn.

You're not a mycologist by any means, but even you can tell that these mushrooms are strange. They seem to be multicolored, red and orange and brown, changing depending on the light like a hologram, but without any of the shine. They aren't bulb-shaped like many other mushrooms, but twist in tendrils this way and that, stretching.

And a smell hangs about them. You can't really describe it, something like damp and musk and old meat. Standing there, breathing them in, for too long makes your head spin.

And the trees, or rather, what's left of them. Nothing but stumps now, but you can tell that they were old when they were cut down. There's that same multi-colored effect to them, except it runs in veins throughout the tree's bark, spiraling into the rings.

You'll have to ask Yoongi about it.

Curiosity nips at you like a non-venomous snake even after you're home. It's not deadly, but it sure as hell is annoying.

What kind of disease infects fungi and trees? Why would the mayor care about privately investigating such a thing? And a thousand other questions.

You shove your boots on and enter back into the chill. You remember seeing a bookstore in town.

The Magic Shop: Books and Oddities

The front window glows with warm light, crowded with displayed volumes and curiosities (a stuffed raven, a jar of yellowing teeth, insects encased in amber).

The door swings open with the ring of a bell. Someone calls out "Welcome in," in a deep-velvet voice.

The smell of parchment and aged leather envelopes you like a familiar hug. You can't help pausing in the doorway and inhaling deeply. No matter what city you're in, places like this always feel like home.

It's everything that a bookstore should be: crowded, mysterious, and slightly dusty. The shelves are tightly grouped and arranged like a labyrinth few are privy to, and stacks—no, towers—of books occupy every corner.

You enter into the space, feet padding on the braided rugs, eyes drinking in the details. There are labels on the shelves, haphazardly spaced. They start normal enough: gardening, self-help, adventure.

But then you realize that they branch off into even more labels, or rather sub-labels. There's nocturnal gardening, gardening under the influence, Faerie gardens and goblin gardens. Each labeled sub-genre branches into even more specific sub-categories, creating a seemingly endless array of subjects.

You could explore this place for hours. In fact, you intend to over the course of your stay in Farrow's End.

You spend an indeterminate amount of time exploring all the labels and categories. The shelves twist this way and that, creating little nooks where the occasional armchair is tucked into.

Eventually, you come to a more open area with a wide-sprawling desk. The man sitting behind it is tall and tan, glasses perched on his nose, with short chestnut hair that shifts golden in the candlelight.

He's deeply focused on the book in his hands: A Comprehensive Guide to Navigating Parallel Universes and Pocket Dimensions.

Typically, you hate to bother people in a bookstore, especially if they're already reading. It's supposed to be a space for quiet reflection, for self-exploration and uninterrupted browsing. But you still have a job to do, and it's clear that you won't be able to navigate the complicated system yourself. At least, not in a concise period of time.

So you square your shoulders and prepare yourself to address the (handsome, you notice) man at the counter.

"Excuse me," you begin in a hushed voice.

The man's head whips up, as if he completely forgot there was another person here.

"Yes?" He says in that same deep voice, friendly and eager. "Do you need help finding something?" It sounds like he can't quite believe the fact. This place must not get many customers.

"Yes, if you don't mind."

His face lights up as if nothing would delight him more.

"Do you have anything on unusual mushrooms?" you ask.

The man sets down his book and slips out from behind the desk. "Hmm..." he mumbles to himself, expertly weaving between the shelves while you hurry to catch up.

"Let's see here..." he says, passing a wall draped with vines from a hanging planter, like the ones in Yoongi's lab, you notice.

"Fungi," he mutters, fingertips ghosting over the shelves. The sections under Fungi are vast and wide-ranging. Poisons & Antidotes, Moss & Lichens, Carnivorous, Aberrations.

He pauses at that last one, eyes flitting between the volumes.

"Anything specific?" he asks.

You debate on how much to disclose, but with the several cases of strange fungi in people's yards, it's probably common small town knowledge by now.

"Anything about an unusual fungus with...tendrils?" You can't help the hesitation, you're not sure if it's a common feature among mushrooms.

Apparently, it's not as unusual as you thought, because the man only nods and shifts his attention to one of the lower shelves. His slim fingers finally land on an old cloth-bound book with a red toadstool on the spine. There's no title on the cover, but the man seems to be familiar with it.

"Here you go," he says, handing it to you. "I think you'll find what you're looking for in this one."

He says it with the confidence of someone who's read every book in the building front to back. A very specific part of your brain tells you that this fact is almost certainly true.

"Thank you very much," you say, turning the book over in your hands.

"My pleasure," he replies, and means it.

"How much?"

He guides you back to the counter and rings it up for a very good price.

You're itching to ask questions, but you're not sure where to start.

The man places the book into a brown paper bag printed with Magic Shop Books and Oddities and hands it to you with a warm smile.

You lose your nerve and take the bag in silence. Then, as if he could smell the fragmented thoughts darting around in your skull, he says, "Be careful in the woods."

You look at him. There's the same friendly smile, but now with a hint of good-natured curiosity.

"If you're going mushroom hunting, I mean," he adds.

You stare at him for perhaps too long.

"Thanks," you say, dropping a generous tip into the jar next to the register.

"Hope to see you again," he calls out as you exit through the front door.

A moth to flame, bees to honey. Insert: you to coffee shops with perfect ambient lighting. You spot it just as you're leaving the narrow alley that leads to the bookshop.

Turning the corner onto a cobblestone walkway, you catch sight of the cafe windows, slick with the recent rain. But from what you can see through the glass, it looks like a warm, cozy place.

Glancing at the front door, you notice an OPEN sign, even though it's quite late. You're opening the door and stepping inside before you're even conscious of it.

The interior reflects the same aged aesthetic as the exterior, dark wood and brick and brass accents. But the kitchen area houses clean chrome appliances, and there are shelves stacked with white dishes behind them. Golden light warms a glass case fully stocked with a manner of pastries, breads, and other nibbles, all of which still seem to be steaming hot.

You immediately decide that you like this place.

"Good evening," a pleasant voice calls, though you can't yet identify the speaker.

The smell of steam and freshly-ground coffee beans becomes richer as you approach the counter. You can hear someone puttering around in the back room.

You glance at the menu's wide selection, and when you look back at the counter, a man is standing right in front of you.

You don't scare easily, but it's enough to make you jump a little.

"What can I get you?" the man asks cheerfully. He's tall and slim, wearing a white button-up and black slacks under an apron. Brown hair, dark eyes, and a full smiling mouth.

You order a coffee and a pastry.

"What time do you close?" you ask, wanting to sit down and enjoy the atmosphere but also not wanting to be the asshole that settles in just before closing.

"On Wednesdays we close at noon, otherwise we're open twenty-four hours," he replies, sounding delighted by rather than annoyed by the fact.

A twenty-four hour coffee shop? You really like this place.

He must see your eyebrows raise in surprise, because then he proudly adds, "Only one in town."

Pleasantly surprised, you look around the shop to assess the seating options. There are booths tucked along the walls, a few tables and chairs, and a few plush-looking armchairs near the windows.

"Please, have a seat and make yourself at home. I enjoy the company," the man says as he makes your drink.

You take him up on it, settling into one of the chairs by the frosted glass of the window. It's then that you take a closer look at the book the shop owner recommended.

A fraying cloth-bound cover, a red toadstool instead of a title. Inside, a table of contents. First, a bit of basic mycology, which you greatly benefit from. Immediately after, a range of mutations, circumstances, and environmental factors that caused the direct disturbance to said mycology.

You get lost in it quite easily, sipping your drink (which is expertly brewed) and nibbling your pastry (which is almost too delicious for words). You know that you'll be spending a considerable amount of time here throughout your stay in Farrow's End.

The book cites several case studies, all suggesting that a new strain of fungus is not only spreading rapidly, but infecting all other strains it has access to.

You read on, only momentarily distracted by the occasional customers that enter into the establishment. Like the group of students, most likely from the University, who order a large batch of espresso to-go. Or the old man who orders a sandwich and black coffee and sits outside despite the late-night chill.

You don't realize it, but you read on until the early morning. The first few faint, pale rays of sunlight stretch across your current page through the window, and you jerk to attention when you realize what time it is.

Not that you have somewhere in particular to be today. But you've always liked to get a jump on things early on in the investigation. And you have better luck getting interviews during the day.

You had no idea that time was passing so quickly. This place seems to have an air of particular tranquility, the kind that only a handful of coffee shops are able to achieve. It's the feeling of finding a quiet place after being overstimulated for hours.

You take your dishes to the counter, drop a tip into the jar, and step into the morning chill.

Exhaustion sets in on the journey home, and you crash moments after your head hits the pillow.

The dreams start that night.

a/n: thanks so much for reading!! love to hear any of ur thoughts 👉👈 → next chapter

#bts ot7 #ot7 x reader #bts fanfic #bts x reader #bts mystery #bts x fem!reader #bts series #bts f #bts fic #bts angst #bts fluff

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jingledbells · 4 months ago

Note

Ford defenders like you are now called "Ford apologists": https://eeveelotions.tumblr.com/post/772624427048419328/hey-ford-apologists-dont-interact-with-my-stuff

i feel like. I can kind of understand where this person is coming from like yes he does have flaws and make mistakes and I acknowledge this but there's a difference between saying a character doesn't have flaws and defending them from fans who demonize/heavily mischaracterize them.

in fords case, there are so many people shitting on him for things that are false or misinterpretations of things he’s said and done. a good chunk of the fandom has an irrational hatred for him.

as well as this the fandom also waters down his trauma to make it seem like nothing compared to Stan's as well as making countless jokes about his trauma. for example, the thousands of jokes made about bills abuse of ford. I cannot count the times I've seen people look at this abuse and their only takeaway/only thing they have to say about this is 'haha he fucked the triangle.' as someone who's been in an abusive relationship in the past it is extremely tiring to see these jokes constantly thrown around about bill and fords relationship. either people are ignorant and cannot see that their relationship is textbook abuse or they do know but just don't care(what is wrong with you) and I genuinely don't know what's worse.

as well as this, there is a tremendous amount of victim blaming being made towards ford when discussing ford and bills relationship. I've seen so many people straight up say it's ford's own fault for getting abused by bill and it was because of his 'hubris' and 'huge ego' and his 'selfishness', which is no thing to ever say about a victim of abuse. ive also seen people call ford 'stupid' for getting manipulated by bill, which is a) wrong, because bill has successfully manipulated and abused many others before for(have you read tbob), and has manipulated other members of the pines family shown in the show, and b) just victim blaming. I don't even know what else to say about this but many of you cannot be normal about abuse victims in media.

regarding his growing distance with fiddleford during portal construction era, this is caused by bill isolating ford from him, one of the only humans he's in contact with which is a technique often used by abusers. many people claim this is because ford 'views fiddleford as lesser', or 'has little respect towards him', which is straight up wrong. ford states in the journal that he is a great friend and a brilliant scientist and engineer, and his appreciation of him is shown through his excitement of his arrival and immediately gets to making him feel welcome in his home and gifts him with microchips and banjo strings. in fact, when they first met in college, ford was the only one who genuinely believed his theory and he immediately jumped to helping him prove it for 9 hours, despite barely knowing the man. their bond, whether romantic or platonic is strong and that's why bill's isolating ford from fiddleford is so vital to bills abuse of ford.

not only that but these people are obsessing over Stan's homelessness for ten years but don't dare acknowledge that ford has been homeless for thirty. they fail to acknowledge that both Stan and ford were being abused by filbrick even if it showed in different ways. ford wasn't favored by his mother(his mother favored stan) and his father didn't see him as anything but a way to make money for his family, providing him only conditional love and not seeing him as his own person aside from his intelligence and his hands. this is often something many immigrant children experience, having endless pressure to succeed and get top notch grades and choose a high salary career in order to raise their family out of poverty. and if they were to slip up, they would often get severely punished or even physically hurt as a result. so logically, ford being upset by this is very understandable, not to mention he was also a teenager when this happened.

i have more examples I could use, but tldr, defending ford from fandom mischaracterization, victim blaming, and from claims being made about him that are blatantly false is not equal to saying he lacks flaws or hasn't made mistakes.

#maybe I'll main tag this but if anyone makes an addition saying something stupid I'm turning off rbs #also pls do not harass op of that post. Incase I need to say it even tho I shouldn't have to #ford pines #Stanford pines #gravity falls #ask #time to shut up bella #bill cipher #fiddleford mcgucket #stanley pines #fandom discourse #i could yap more about this but I'm a bit tired rn #long post

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petalruesimblr · 7 months ago

Text

Hello and welcome back to my blog! I planned to post this about two weeks ago, but I got so busy with booking flights and reservations for my trip that I decided to wait until I returned from my vacation.

This project has been my plan for my next #FollowersGift and I’m happy that it's finally complete. It's not much, to be honest; this was just an idea I had for a career and I was unsure if I should create a part-time job again or pursue a full-time career, so I decided to do both!

The SimGuard Security Services is a full-time career based on a security company/firm while SimGuard Security is also part of that but is assigned to different lots. This took a while because aside from creating five part-time careers, I also created a full-time career that includes branches, opportunities and books, which will be fully discussed in this post. A second post will follow for the part-time careers so this one won't get too long.

Thank you to all my followers for the likes, reblogs, downloads of my content and all your kind comments! I truly appreciate each and every one of them.💜

If you are interested, click on ’Keep Reading’ below for more information and pictures of the SimGuard Security Services Career.

SimGuard Security Services

Bulk Download: Sim File Share (Full Time and Part-Times) | For individual files, refer to this post here.

As a Security Guard, you’ll be the vigilant eyes and ears protecting everything from top-secret parties to the occasional rogue lawn gnome. Duties include patrolling, deterring mischief and ensuring our clients’ properties stay as they should—intact. If you’re prepared for an exciting mix of vigilance and adventure, apply now and become part of our SimGuard Security Services!

Career Type: Full Time Available for: Young Adults and Adults Available Languages: English Levels: 10 Rabbit Hole: Business And Journalism Does it have Carpool? Yes Does it have Uniforms? Yes File Type: Package Min. Required Game Version: 1.42 Packs Needed: The Sims 3 📣All descriptions for the levels, tones and metrics as well as skills required, salary, uniforms and other details are provided on the pictures above. Right-click on a picture and select ’Open image in new tab’ for a clearer view.

NRAAS Careers Mod

Branches and wages: This career has two branches that branch out after level 5: the Management branch, which focuses on handling internal agency operations as you progress to higher ranks and the Field Operations branch, which allows for expertise in specific security fields. All the levels represent realistic roles based on the research I did for this career. If you prefer the managerial role, expect to read more reports and increase your logic skills. However, if you prefer roles like a bodyguard or security escort, expect to develop both athletic and logic skills as you take on different roles in the field. Levels 1-5 offer realistic hourly wages based on research. To compensate for the increased days off and decreased work hours as the level increases, I had to raise the hourly wages beyond the normal salary ranges for Levels 6-10 for both branches. Metrics and Books: I made a few changes to this career, specifically regarding the metrics. I originally planned to include "Reports" as part of the required tasks but I realized this was unrealistic since it was based on the Law Enforcement career, where individuals interview people, search through their trash and create reports based on those findings—tasks not typical for a security guard. Instead, I made it a custom tone and changed the "Reports" metric to "Research," which is based on the Medical career, where professionals read reports from their subordinates instead of medical journals. Opportunities: As this is my first time creating opportunities, I focused on developing just two for now, with only one of them being repeatable. This is because security guards need to complete a minimum number of hours of continued firearm training per year. I initially planned to include Martial Arts as part of the metrics but decided to make this base game compatible for now. I might release a different version for World Adventures but to be honest, I don’t have the time at the moment. You are always free to add it on your own for personal use (check my terms of use). Be sure to check out MissyHissy's tutorial under Credits for a step-by-step guide on how to do it. As stated above, you will need NRAAS Careers Mod for these careers to show up in the game and as long as you have the latest version of it, it should work for higher patches. You can also read my #psa regarding these careers, click here. I’m not fluent in any other languages to translate so if anyone is interested in translating this career, please don’t hesitate to send me a message here, comment on this post or let me know in my Ask/Contact form (if you don’t have a Tumblr account) and will let you know the details. I have tested this career in my game, so far it is working and all scripts are showing up. All feedback is very welcome to help me learn and improve my skills so please let me know if you experience any problems on your end and I’ll do my best to sort it as soon as possible.

MissyHissy step-by-step tutorial Twallan for the Career Mod S3pe

#petalruesimblr #custom career #the sims 3 #ts3 #ts3cc #followers gift #sims 3 #ts3 simblr #ts3 simmer #sims 3 download #sims 3 screenshots #ts3 download #ts3 mods #ts3 community #ts3 screenshots #ts3 career #the sims 3 mods #the sims 3 career

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tozettastone · 3 months ago

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I finished reading "Gentlemen of Uncertain Fortune: How Younger Sons Made Their Way in Jane Austen's England" by Rory Muir.

This is a history book that uses examples from Jane Austen novels and also from her relatives and other temporally colocated Georgians to illustrate the careers of non-inheriting gentlemen in the late 18th and early 19th centuries.

So it opens by asking "if the Bennet sisters had all been boys, what would they have done?" and ends by speculating on the answer to that question. In the middle, there's a chapter for each category of gentlemanly profession, ranging from the Church of England to the East India Company.

I do think the framework of "Jane Austen's England" and references to her books is a cynical effort to make the text that Muir actually wanted to write more easily marketed.

But I nevertheless enjoyed nearly everything about this book:

Its scope is narrow enough to feel actually interesting and not so shallow as some other history books

I love the little excerpts from journals and letters that illustrate how these professional men wrote (and spelled!) and how they felt in their own voices

The arrangement of chapters felt organic and orderly and easily understood, and the writing is sedate, unobtrusive and comprehensible, without being stiff or boring

I love the inflation index and the efforts to make the salaries discussed make more sense to modern readers, even in the broadest strokes, and the occasional aside that described what kind of life such a salary might get you

It was interesting and valuable to read reflections on what motives may have caused certain families to choose certain professions, especially as regards the value of connections and patronage

My chief complaint is that the book is very literally falling apart, although this fault cannot fairly be attributed to its writer. It is a recent publication but I had pages just come out no fewer than four times. Rory Muir may be blameless in this scenario but, Yale University Press, I am putting you on notice. Jeez.

Anyway, I think this book has achieved precisely what the writer wanted it to, and it was easy to read to boot. Good stuff.

(This review is also on StoryGraph! You're very welcome to come and join me if you have an account.)

#book review #books and reading #bookblr #books

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sunshine-theseus · 1 year ago

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Photo Roulette | Chloe Kelly x Reader

Words: 1.6k Summary: Media day has Chloe finally revealing her relationship. Warnings: Angst, fluff, suggestive themes (I know degrees like PhDs take super long but for the sake of this story please either pretend they don’t, or that she is super smart and managed to cut the time in like half.) Requested by - @charligrantismygirlfriend

After graduating from Oxford with a bachelor’s degree and PhD in Cellular and Molecular Biochemistry, I made the move to Manchester as a clinical biochemist. Falling in love with a professional footballer was not on my list of things to do when I moved, but when a new work colleague insisted I take their extra ticket to a “derby match” as they called it, I took the chance to broaden my non-existent Manchester social circle.

And somehow, I caught the eye of the blonde forward. The number 9 jersey found it’s way into my hand with a signature and phone number and by 7pm that night, I had a date set up.

We went on a few before Chloe and I made anything official. And with making it official, came a set list of rules regarding our relationship and her work, number one was that it didn’t exist to fans. Well, it did, but no one would know who the mystery girl was. It was a tough rule to follow, it meant whenever we hung out, we had to be hyperaware of our levels of affection and what we discussed. Dates had to be at home or in a very secluded corner of a high-end restaurant with a name no one knows how to pronounce, because that means no one there would care who we are.

I was, and forever will be grateful that those places weren’t an issue for us. Both with rather lucrative professions, my starting salary slowly increasing the longer I stay, and her’s naturally growing with the popularity of the game. It also meant it was easier for us to find a more private area to buy a house, 1 ½ years without a single issue of fans knocking on the door or press waiting for some big news story to break. The perfect paradise.

No one knew who the famous Chloe Kelly is dating and had no way of finding out. Until media day.

“Have fun! I won’t be finished at the lab until late, so maybe we’ll get takeaway for dinner?” I kiss Chloe goodbye as I pick up my keys and bag from beside the door.

“For sure! Have a good day staring at cells. At least it’s not jail cells.” I chuckle and make my way out.

My day is in fact consumed with studying pathogens within blood and other bodily fluid. It’s nearly 6pm when Filipa taps me on the shoulder, breaking my concentration and reintroducing me to my surroundings. She helps me pack everything away, we say our farewells and I head home, picking up a vegetarian pizza on the way.

“How was media day?” I ask, plopping down on the couch next to Chloe, who rests her arm around my shoulders.

“Bloody weird as usual. I did this “go through your phone” thing, but it was all good fun. I did some mini games with Yui as well. She wants us to come over for dinner again sometime.”

“Absolutely. I miss her oh my god.” I take a bite of the pizza and rest my head on her shoulder, images on the telly flashing in front of us, neither one paying attention.

“How was your day at the lab Dr Spencer Reid?”

“You’ve been watching Criminal Minds again?”

“Mhm.”

“Spencer and I are two different types of doctors.”

“Mmhm.”

“I mean we both have the honorifics but his is like, not the same. Well it is but… never mind.” I can see Chloe’s lip twitch upward as I try to explain and lightly nudge her.

“I love listening to you get defensive about your title. You deserve it more than anyone in the world.” Her lips press gently to my hairline, then to my cheek, and finally land on my own lips.

“Plus, I love calling you doctor, it’s kind of hot.” My face flushes and I smack her arm.

“Behave!”

“Sorry… doctor.” To make it brief, the night didn’t end there. It ended much, much later, with both of us panting, the cotton sheets covering her soft skin while I splash my face with water in the ensuite.

~~~~~

I don’t give the results of Chloe’s media day another thought for a very long time. Until a month later when Fillipa, in similar fashion to the day of filming said content, breaks me from my work and places her phone on the desk in front of me.

I give her a rather confused look, but she just points to the screen and presses play.

“Well, the next part of Unlocked is one of my favourite bits; Photo Roulette.” The guy who sits next to Chloe explains the rules.

“Fillipa what is this?”

“Just keep watching.” I watch as Chloe scrolls through the thousands of photos stored on her phone, until he tells her to stop.

Her finger lands on a photo, one that no one can see yet, and she lets out a hearty laugh.

“’S it a good one?” he claps his hands together and waits to see the results. There are a few moments of silence before Chloe explains the picture, showing it to the host.

“It’s a picture of my girlfriend, Y/n. I was trying to teach her football and she comes out in this goofy old kit of mine that’s like 4 sizes too big for either of us, socks rolled all the way up with a huge grin on her face.” The smile that shines on Chloe’s face as she recounts that day makes it hard for me to feel the anger boiling in the pit of my stomach. The picture shows up on screen, taking up the whole space, and now the secret is revealed to everyone who we worked so hard to hide it from.

“Is this the secret girlfriend you’ve been hiding the identity of for over 2 years? You finally decided it’s time.” He lets out a laugh after the comment, but I can see the recognition in her eyes and the smile fades from her face. She doesn’t say anything.

It takes me 32 minutes on average, to drive home. On any other day. But when I get into the car, I have to decide whether I should take significantly longer, or cut the time in half, to confront my girlfriend with my findings.

I arrive home at 5:21. With the combination of leaving work a few minutes early, and the somehow blessed lack of traffic, it’s nearly 15 minutes earlier than usual.

“You’re home early!” a cheerful shout echoes down the hall, blissfully unaware of the rage bubbling beneath my skin.

“Just thought I’d get home before the fans tracked me down and swarmed me.” I seethe through my teeth as I kick off my shoes and make my way toward our bedroom.

“What d’you mean?” it’s almost precious, the confused look and the head tilt that greets me.

“Well now that everyone knows who I am, I didn’t want to risk being seen.” I see the moment of realisation.

“Oh fuck I completely forgot! I didn’t mean to I swear. I’m so sorry it just slipped out.”

“How do you slip up like that Chlo? That was our one agreement, our one rule. Fans would not know. God I’ve seen how cruel people are to player’s partners, I’ve seen couples break up because of fans. Chloe what the fuck!” I fall forward onto the bed and scream into the pillows.

“Well you never asked how I feel about having to hide my girlfriend from everyone! I get you want privacy and security of fans not knowing but I want to be able to celebrate with you after wins, or just rest in your arms after a loss, without worrying if someone will see. I want to be able to take you to big games and pull you onto the pitch and kiss you in front of everyone and show them how much I love you. It’s not fair that I have to pretend you mean nothing!” A tear leaks from my eye, and I soon start to sob. My shoulders shake and I can feel the puddle of tears get soaked up by the pillow.

I feel the dip of the bed beside me and Chloe’s arm wraps around me while her lips press light kisses against my back.

“I’m sorry. I want to be there for you too. Show the world I love you. I’m just scared. I’ve never really been seen by people outside of academics. I’m scared to just… be seen.” I roll over and pull Chloe down to rest her head against my chest, running my hands through her hair, untangling the small knots.

“I will love you no matter what. If you decide to continue keeping it private or if you, break up with me.”

“Chloe I will not fucking break up with you. I think- I think I want people to know. I want to love you properly.” Her head tilts up and I lean down, pressing a kiss to her lips.

~~~~~

“Chloe Kelly takes a shot… AND IT GOES IN. SHE SCORES THE WINNER IN THE 92ND MINUTE!!” I yell from the friends and family section as Chloe practices shots in front of me.

She turns dramatically toward me with a glare on her face, but I poke out my tongue and she breaks out into a smile. She makes the short jog over to me and pulls me into a kiss. A rather passionate one if you want to be specific. I grab her by the shirt and pull her close, kissing her harder as people around us jokingly cheer.

“See you after the game baby.” she pecks my lips once more before running back to her teammates who clap her on the back and tease her.

“That’s my girlfriend!” I scream and point, and the same people laugh along with me.

Thank god for media day.

#woso x reader #womens soccer #woso #wsl #chloe kelly #chloe kelly x reader #woso fanfics

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canmom · 7 months ago

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more on art production ~under capitalism~

reading Who Owns This Sentence?, a very engaging and fiercely critical history of the concept of copyright, and it's pretty fire. there's all sorts of fascinating intricacies in the way the notion of IP formed around the world (albeit so far the narrative has mainly focused on Europe, and to a limited extent China), and the different ideologies that justified the types of monopolies that it granted. the last chapter i read skewers the idea that the ability to exploit copyright and patents is what motivates the writing of books and research/invention, and I'll try and pull out the shape of the argument tomorrow. so far I'm only up to the 18th century; I'm looking forward to the rest of their story of how copyright grew from the limited forms of that period into the monster it is today.

it's on libgen if you wanna read it! i feel like the authors would be hypocrites to object :p

it is making me think about the differences between the making of books and other media, from (since this has been rattling around my head lately) an economic angle...

writing books, at least in the case of fiction is usually done on a prospective, spec-work kind of basis (you write your novel with no guarantee it will get published unless you're already an established author under contract). admittedly, a lot of us probably read books by authors who managed to 'make it' as professional authors and write full time - but this is not a lucrative thing to do and to make it work you need truly exceptional luck to get a major hit, or to be extremely prolific in things people want to read.

the films and games of the types most of us play are, by contrast, generally made by teams of salaried people - and thus do rarely get made without the belief it will be profitable. if you went on about your 'monetisation model' when writing a book, people would look at you funny and rightly so, but it's one of the first questions that gets asked when pitching a game.

open source software is a notable comparison here. a lot of it is done for its own sake without any expectation of profit, taking untold hours, but large free software projects tend to sprout foundations, which take donations (typically from companies that use the software) to pay for full time developers. mozilla, notably, gets a huge part of its funding from google paying for their search engine to be the default in Firefox; this in turn drives development of not just Firefox itself but also the Rust programming language (as discussed in this very enlightening talk by Evan Czaplicki). Blender is rightly celebrated as one of the best open source projects for its incredibly fast development, but they do have an office in amsterdam and a number of full time devs.

what money buys in regards to creative works is not motivation, but time - time to work on a project, iterate and polish and all that. in societies where you have to buy food etc. to survive, your options for existence are basically:

work at a job

own capital

rely on someone else (e.g. a parent or partner)

rely on state benefits if you can get them

beg

steal

if you're working at a job, this takes up a lot of your time and energy. you can definitely make art anyway, loads of people do, but you're much more limited in how you can work at it compared to someone who doesn't have to work another job.

so again, what money buys in art is the means of subsistence for someone, freeing them to work fully on realising a project.

where does the money come from that lets people work full time on art? a few places.

one is selling copies of the work itself. what's remarkable is that, when nearly everything can be pirated without a great deal of effort, it is still possible to do this to some degree - though in many ways the ease of digital copying (or at least the fear if it) has forced new models for purely digital creations, which either trade on convenience (streaming services) or in the case of games, find some way to enforce scarcity like requiring connection to a central server and including 'in-app purchases', where you pay to have the software display that you are the nebulous owner of an imaginary thing, and display this to other players. anyway, whichever exact model, the idea is that you turn the IP into capital which you then use to manufacture a product like 'legal copies', 'subscriptions' or 'accounts with a rare skin unlocked'.

the second is using the work to promote some other, more profitable thing - merchandising, an original work, etc. this is the main way that something like anime makes money (for the production committee, if not the studio) - the anime is, economics-wise, effectively an ad for its own source manga, figurines, shirts etc. the reason why there is so much pro media chasing the tastes of otaku is partly because otaku spend a lot on merch. (though it's also because the doujin scene kind of feeds into 'pro' production)

the third is some kind of patronage relationship, notably government grants, but also academic funding bodies, or selling commissions, or subscriptions on a streaming platform/patreon etc.

grants are how most European animated films are funded, and they often open with the logos of a huge list of arts organisations in different countries. the more places you can get involved, the more funds you can pull on. now, instead of working out how to sell your creation to customers who might buy a copy, under this model you need to convince funding bodies that it fits their remit. requesting grants involves its own specialised language.

in general the issue with the audience patronage model is that it only really pays enough to live on if you're working on a pretty huge scale. a minority make a fortune; the vast majority get a pittance at most, and if they do 'make it', it takes years of persistence.

the fourth is, for physical media, to sell an original. this only works if you can accumulate enough prestige, and the idea is to operate on extreme scarcity. the brief fad of NFTs attempted to abstract the idea of 'owning' an original from the legal right to control the physical object to something completely nebulous. in practice this largely ended up just being a speculative bubble - but then again, a lot of the reason fine art is bought and sold for such eye watering sums is pretty much the same, it's an arbitrary holder of an investment.

the fifth is artworks which are kind of intrinsically scarce, like live performances. you can only fit so many people in the house. and in many cases people will pay to see something that can be copied in unique circumstances, like seeing a film at a cinema or festival - though this is a special case of selling copies.

the sixth is to sell advertising: turn your audience into the product, and your artwork into the bait on the hook.

the alternative to all of these options is unpaid volunteer work, like a collab project. the participants are limited to the time and energy they have left after taking care of survival. this can still lead to great things, but it tends to be more unstable by its nature. so many of these projects will lose steam or participants will flake and they'll not get finished - and that's fine! still, huge huge amounts of things already get created on this kind of hobby/indie/doujin basis, generally (tho not always) with no expectation of making enough money to sustain someone.

in every single one of these cases, the economic forces shape the types of artwork that will get made. different media are more or less demanding of labour, and that in turn shapes what types of projects are viable.

books can be written solo, and usually are - collaborations are not the norm there. the same goes for illustrations. on the other hand, if you want to make a hefty CRPG or an action game or a feature length movie, and you're trying to fit that project around your day job... i won't say it's impossible, I can think of some exceptional examples, but it won't be easy, and for many people it just won't be possible.

so, that's a survey of possibilities under the current regime. how vital is copyright really to this whole affair?

one thing that is strange to me is that there aren't a lot of open source games. there are some - i have memories of seeing Tux Racer, but a more recent example would be Barotrauma (which is open source but not free, and does not take contributions from outside the company). could it work? could you pay the salaries of, say, 10 devs on a 'pay what you can' model?

it feels like the only solution to all of this in the long run is some kind of UBI type of thing - that or a very generous art grants regime. if people were free to work on what they wanted and didn't need to be paid, you wouldn't have any reason for copyright. the creations could be publicly archived. but then the question i have is, what types of artwork would thrive in that kind of ecosystem?

I've barely talked about the book that inspired this, but i think it was worth the trouble to get the contours of this kind of analysis down outside my head...

#fiction #copyright

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ratticus-the-emperor · 8 months ago

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so i’ve been thinking a lot lately (shocker, i know, i wish it’d give me a salary), and the more i think about greek myths the more i think about the secret history. it was an excruciatingly long read, even though it was very good, but it ever quite left my mind. especially after i saw a theory one goodreads reviewer put out. i would write a long and convoluted essay, but rather than adhd, i am utterly incapacitated by thinking and hunger. (i haven’t had dinner yet, but moving on)

fret not, although i’m sure there was no one fretting to begin with, i texted a friends series of incredibly messy paragraphs regarding my thoughts. (but they’re extremely simplified here because i was thinking too much)

should i have organized this? yes, but that’s besides the point because we then had a discussion about camilla and how their point of view would be the most accurate to the truth — at least in regards to the death of the farmer. though i’m of the firm belief that the farmer was killed by a mountain lion, which is a panther and the panther is one of dionysus’ sacred animals. i would expand more on what the significance of that is, since a panther attacking them while they were having a bacchanal is incredibly significant, but i only just had this thought now. maybe it was a sign that they were incredibly in over their heads as dumb children doing things they didn’t quite understand, apparently their ancient greek wasn’t as good as they thought either.

anyway, camilla. specifically camilla and her relationship with the rest of the greek class, the two most significant being henry and charles. this rambling would be more focused on what she had with henry, but it’s worth noting that the abuse between her and charles was likely mutual, because after all, something had to make charles act like that. they were all each other had and camilla was using him just as much as he was using her. they were co-dependent. and camilla using people in a running theme as i believe camilla was also only using henry.

there’s reason to believe that camilla hated her life. she hated what’s become of her and charles, she hates her situation and the fact that at the end of it all, she had to go back to take care of her grandmother. she’s privileged but the death of her and charles’ parents probably did a number on her, and not to mention there’s a lot of stuff behind the scenes we don’t know about (everybody say thanks, richard). moving on with that thought in mind, it’s fair to suggest that she was using henry to escape it all. he was rich, intelligent, and had all the means to take care of her — not intelligent enough though, he’s whimsical enough to manipulate. and it all worked until it didn’t. when she thought richard was rich, she was leading him on too and this would explain why she wouldn’t take him in the epilogue. her plan of escape failed. she underestimated how unstable henry was and he’s dead, funnily enough charles was the one who ran away from home and her to be with a married woman and ended up happy (at least that’s what he says), and camilla is left all alone to take care of their grandmother. which is ironic, because everyone “loved” her. and that’s in quotes for a reason. i also don’t believe henry genuinely loved her but that thought has yet to be fully realized, just know that it’s there and i’m going to ramble about it in the future.

that being said, i’m still not over my jumbled thoughts regarding our favourite sun god. i’m very fond of him but can’t quite articulate why, which is why i impulsively ordered another copy of edith hamilton’s mythologies. he can’t just be a footnote, he deserves his own post of nonsensical ramblings.

#the secret history #the secret history analysis #the secret history donna tartt #camilla macaulay #charles macaulay #richard papen #henry winter #the ramblings of a maniac #julian morrow #apollo #vaguely #and of course #dionysus

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bamber344 · 5 months ago

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Welcome To The Heroes' Union

prev/next

masterlist

Completely dropping the pretense of having dedicated POV chapters. I like fucking around with the POV too much for that :)

Anyway, welcome to the Heroes Union arc! This chapter kicked my ass for unknown reasons, and i really hope this trend doesn't continue! enjoy!

CWs: Andreas being himself, discussions of pre-canon character death, allusions to Steve getting his shit kicked in (rip), uhhhh I think that's it. pretty tame this time around.

Welcome To The Heroes’ Union

“Hey, Seven. Good morning. It’s good to have you here.”

The man in front of me held out his hand in greeting. I’d seen people do this; I knew what to do. I’d just… never had to do it myself before. Today was full of new experiences.

“Uhm, hi,” I replied, shaking his hand.

We were in a small office somewhere inside the Heroes’ Union building. Father had set everything up, so all I had to do was walk into the building at the right time, follow the directions I’d been given, and walk into this room. Apparently, after that, I’d be a member of the Heroes’ Union. It seemed a lot easier than I’d thought it’d be.

Yes, against all odds, Father had agreed to let me join the Union. As usual, his agreement wasn’t without its many terms and conditions, though…

“I’m Ashley Min, one of the co-leaders of the Union. If you can take a seat, we’re just gonna do a little entrance interview so I can get some of your info,” the man, Ashley, said with a warm smile.

“O-okay,” I replied, sitting on the chair across from him. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a little nervous for this. Was there gonna be a test? What if I failed? Father actually wanted me to join the Union, so it wouldn’t just be Madeline and myself I was disappointing if I messed this up. There were real consequences.

Ashley picked up a little notepad and a pencil. “First off, can I get your full name?”

“Jordyn de Vygon.”

“De Vygon, huh?” he muttered. “You’re Andreas’ daughter, right? Gonna be honest, I didn’t even know he had one until recently.”

…That was odd. Wasn’t I still a superhero before the accident that cost me my memories? Surely people would’ve known who I was back then, right?

This was definitely one of those things Maggie would want me to question. It was also one of those things Father would want me to just not think about. For now, it was best to just play it safe and ignore it.

“Uh, yep! That’s me.”

Ashley grinned. “You know, that means we’re related. In a ‘3rd cousins’ sort of way, anyway. My great-grandpa was your great-grandpa’s brother.”

I didn't know what a ‘grandpa’ was, or what made it so great, so I just nodded along. “Okay.”

Ashley paused for a second, then muttered something under his breath, looking back down at the pad. “Right… Could I get your date of birth?”

Oh boy. Another thing I didn’t know about. “Uh, sorry, what is that?”

Ashley blinked, looking back up at me. “Your date of birth. The day you were born. …Your birthday?”

Maybe honesty was the best policy in this situation. “I, um… It would probably be good for you to know this, but… I have some memory issues. I was in an accident a little while ago and just… lost everything from before. There’s a lot I’m still… catching up on.”

Ashley sighed, a distinct look of sadness in his eyes. Or was that… pity? “I’m sorry to hear that, Jordyn. I take it your date of birth is one of those things you’re still catching up on?”

I nodded sheepishly. “Y-yeah.”

Ashley nodded back. “I’ll just ask Andreas, then. I’ll do the same in regards to your bank details for your salary.”

All I could do was stare back blankly. “Uh, sure.”

“Well, since we don’t have to worry about any of that, I suppose the only thing left is your preferred pronouns.”

“Uh…”

Ashley sucked in a breath. “You don’t know about those either. Makes sense. Basically, it’s just how you like to be referred to. People call me ‘he’ and ‘him,’ y’know? It’s optional, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. Most people will just assume in that case.”

“...You can pick those?”

Ashley shrugged. “Sure, why not? They’re just words.”

That… made a lot of sense. “Uhm… just the girl ones, I guess?”

Ashley chuckled, copying it down. “Sure. Well, that should be about it. Once I get your other details from Andreas, I’ll be able to register you as an official member of the Tombguard Heroes’ Union! Until then, we’ll just pretend like everything’s already sorted. We’ve got our monthly team meeting coming up, so you can sit in on that and we’ll get you up to speed.”

I nodded. “Alright. When will that be?”

“This afternoon. I know you have police things to do, so I won’t keep you any longer. Just meet me in the lobby at 2:30 and I’ll show you to the conference room.”

“Yes sir,” I replied, standing up.

Ashley looked a little shocked. “O-oh, uh, we don’t do that here. Just Ashley’s fine.”

What kind of superior didn’t want to be referred to with respect? I could only imagine what Father would do to me if I called him by his first name. “Uh… right. Sorry.”

He smiled. “It’s alright. See you later?”

“Yeah.”

With that, I turned and left the room, with more than a little anxiety roiling around in my gut. Boy, this place was weird.

—

Two days before…

“I have a job for you, Jordyn.”

I cocked my head to the side. “Sir?”

“The way the Union is being run currently, it’s nothing more than a leech on city resources. Eventually, it’s going to reach a point of singularity and collapse, and then we won’t have access to heroes when we truly, actually need them; for monster attacks. What it needs is an overhaul. New management, as it were. And I believe I am the perfect man for the job.”

With leadership skills like his, I couldn’t see why not. He continued.

“That’s where you’ll come in, Jordyn. I need someone on the inside to help facilitate my takeover. They’ve invited you to join, so no one will raise any eyebrows if you suddenly take a break from your police duties for this. I need you to gain their utmost trust. Worm your way into their hearts until they allow you to see them at their most vulnerable. Then, we strike.”

The thought of doing that to Vivienne and Madeline rankled, but not as much as the daunting prospect of actually having to undertake such a task. I wouldn’t even know where to start. “Uh, F-father, I… I’m not sure I can do that.”

He smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Don’t worry. I’ll be there to guide you along every step of the way.”

—

And so, I found myself returning to the Union HQ at 2:30, ready to attend my first meeting there. Ashley met me in the lobby just as he’d promised, and led me through the building towards the conference room.

“How are you feeling?” he asked. “Nervous?”

“A bit,” I replied. “How many other heroes are there?”

“Well, in total we have about 15 on our roster, but most of them aren’t very active in the Union outside of the big emergencies, so you probably won’t run into them a lot. If you spend time around the place, you’ll probably mostly be seeing Madeline and myself. Vivienne pops by pretty often, too. You’ve met Brianna, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, she lives here in our dorms, so you’ll probably see her a lot, too.”

The thought brightened me up a bit. I hadn’t seen her since the shooting, where she held my hand and whispered comfort in my ear as Vivienne did her best to patch me up. It would be nice to talk again. Something in my gut tingled at the thought.

It wasn’t much farther until we reached the conference room. Ashley opened the door for me and we both stepped in.

The space was huge, dominated mostly by a large table at which sat over a dozen people, most of whom I didn’t recognise. Madeline sat near the head, with Vivienne next her, and Brianna a little further down. On the right-side wall from the entrance was a huge TV screen, displaying what looked like a map of the city. I clenched my fists, trying to keep a damper on my nerves.

Ashley patted me on the back. “Just take a seat wherever, okay?”

I nodded. “Right.”

He made his way to the head of the table as I searched for an open spot. Thankfully, there was one right next to Brianna, so I sat down there. Vivienne smiled and waved at me, mouthing something I couldn’t quite make out.

Screams. The sound of bones cracking under my boot. Blood being spat out through split lips.

I bit my tongue, trying not to vomit, and averted my eyes. I could just make out Vivienne pouting at my lack of reaction out of the corner of my vision, and the guilt only worsened. But… how the hell was I supposed to face her after what I did to her uncle?

Brianna leaned over to me. “That’s Seven, right?” she whispered.

Oh yeah, Brianna was blind, wasn’t she? I was thankful to Mr. Sadler for explaining to me what that meant after our first encounter, otherwise I might have been confused at her question.

“Yeah,” I replied.

She grinned wide. “Hey! It’s been a little while, huh? How’ve you been? Heal up from that bullet alright?”

In truth, my chest still hurt sometimes when I exerted myself, but it was nothing I wasn’t already used to from my back. “Yes, I’m all better.”

“That’s good to hear! So, I heard we were getting a new member. That’s you, I take it?”

“Uh, it’s not solidified yet, but… yeah, that’s me.”

“Awesome. It’ll be good to have you around.”

Would it really? I didn’t realise I was so sought after. The thought made a warm, giddy feeling rise up in my gut, though it was dampened by the memory of what I was here to do.

Ashley finished setting up and cleared his throat. “Thanks everyone for coming. It’s good to see you all again.”

Everyone at the table mumbled out a return to his greeting. I noticed most of them were just in casual-wear, no hero costumes in sight. As if I needed another reason to stick out…

“So, it’s been a pretty uneventful month overall, which I think we should be grateful for in this city. We had that one incident with the Godling changing that fire hydrant, but Rishta sorted that out before we could even get any reports. Good work, you’ll be seeing a bonus on your pay.” Ashley smiled at this ‘Rishta’ person, before turning back to the table at large, a more serious expression on his face. “More importantly, that means that the Godling is likely charging up Its energy for something big. I need everybody to be at the ready for this next month, at least until we get another attack. The last thing we want is for a repeat of five years ago to happen, and none of us are ready for it.”

What happened five years ago? The urge to ask was strong, but I held my tongue. I really didn’t want to draw any more attention to myself than necessary. From the way that Madeline and Vivienne both looked down when he mentioned it, it must’ve been something bad.

“On a lighter note,” Ashley continued, “I’m sure you’ve all noticed by now, but today we’re welcoming a new hero into our ranks.”

Oh boy.

He indicated over to me and I did my best to resist the urge to sink into my seat. “You probably know Jordyn here best for her work with our city’s police force, but from today onwards, she’ll also be contributing her considerable skill towards the protection of our city from more… monstrous threats. In regards to the elephant in the room, let's just get this out of the way. I know not everyone here is the biggest fan of the TPD, but let’s keep things civil. Jordyn isn’t here as a cop, she’s here as a hero, and more importantly, a friend. I expect you all to treat her the same as you would treat anyone else.”

Some people smiled and mumbled a greeting at me, while others ignored me entirely. This was it, I needed to start making an impression. I needed them to trust me.

I gave a small wave to the room. “Uh, hi everyone. I-it’s good to meet you all. I… I’m looking forward to working togethe- AUH!”

Right in the middle of my sentence, some pink, four-legged… thing hopped up into my lap and scared the life out of me. It looked up at me with its slitted-pupil eyes and weird wrinkly face and licked its chops, revealing sharp fangs.

“Mrrow.”

“Wh… what is that?” I whispered, trying to lean away from it. It just jumped up, planting its front feet against my chest plate and sniffing at the seams of my armour.

Laughter bounced around the room at the display, much to my embarrassment. No one else seemed to be surprised by the creature, so I supposed it was nothing to be afraid of. Still… A little warning would’ve been nice.

“Wow,” Ashley said, chuckling. “I haven’t seen Muffin be that friendly with someone in a long time.”

“M-Muffin?” I asked.

He nodded to the thing still trying to sniff its way under my armour, trilling and chirping all the while. “The cat. His name’s Muffin.”

So that’s what this thing was. I’d heard of cats before, of course, but I’d always thought they’d be… fluffier, based on the descriptions I’d been given. Muffin barely had a single strand of hair on him.

I looked back up. Vivienne was smiling at me, but Madeline appeared absolutely livid. She stood up hard enough that her chair tipped over, and stormed out of the room.

Silence reigned over the space. Ashley cleared his throat. “Well. Uh, unless anyone has anything they’d like to say, I believe that’s all for this month.” He paused for a moment, but continued when no one else spoke up. “Alright, then. Meeting adjourned.”

With that announcement, most of the people at the table got up and started heading for the entrance. I stayed in my seat, unsure of what to do, especially with the cat still sitting on me.

“What happened?” Brianna asked in a whisper.

“Madeline looked angry, then she got up and left,” I replied.

Brianna audibly winced. “Oh, I think I know why.”

I cocked my head to the side. “Why?”

“It’s about Muffin,” Vivienne said, approaching from behind Brianna. She reached down and plucked him off my lap, to which he immediately responded by thrashing and yowling until she put him down again. Once free, he slinked off under the table.

It was still hard to look at Vivienne without feeling sick to my stomach, but I did my best. “Wh-what about him?”

She sighed. “He was originally adopted and brought into the Union by Madeline’s wife, Rosalyn. We all look after him, but Rosie was the only person that Muffin ever showed much affection to. He’s warmed up a bit to Maddie, but it’s still nothing compared to the love he showed for Rosalyn. She was probably offended that he suddenly jumped up on you like that out of nowhere. Seriously, he’s never done that before to anyone but Rosie.”

Rosalyn. That name sounded familiar in a way I couldn’t quite place. It rang through my ears, all the way through my body, and into my bones. It was familiar, in a homey, comforting sort of way.

“I don’t think I’ve met her,” I said.

Vivienne squeezed her eyes shut for a second. “Yeah, she, uh… She passed away five years ago in a monster attack.”

I bit my lip. “Is that common?”

She shook her head. “No. That attack was just… a mess.” She pulled up a seat next to Brianna and sat down. “It was the worst attack we’d ever seen. An entire city block was transformed into raging flesh in an instant. The death toll was immense. The entire Union fought for literally the whole day, trying to get people out and minimise the damage. I was there too, teleporting around, taking people to hospital, helping the front-liners stay out of harm’s way, delivering supplies… I couldn’t tell you how many times I had to stop to throw up from the disorientation. It was the same for all of us. We were exhausted and beaten. I… I was only 19, for fuck’s sake.”

Her face was sunken and drawn in a way I’d never seen before. She continued. “I saw the moment it happened, and I couldn’t do anything to stop it. Rosie was fighting her heart out, blasting the monster with fire so hot she was burning her hands. And then she just… stumbled. I guess the exhaustion must have caught up to her. The monster took its chance. A tentacle rose up behind her and… stabbed straight through her chest. She was dead before she even hit the ground. Maybe… maybe if I hadn’t been so out of it myself, I could’ve saved her. But it just happened so damn fast. One second she was standing there just fine, and the next, she was gone. She was the only Union hero who didn’t make it.”

I didn’t know how to respond, but Vivienne’s words instilled a dread in my heart that I couldn’t put to words. The only time I remembered feeling similar was when I saw a monster for the first time myself, on that first day out of the facility.

“I was lucky enough to not have to fight,” Brianna said. “But I was part of the rescue efforts, searching through the rubble for any survivors once the monster finally died. I couldn’t see the carnage, but I still remember the stink of death permeating the entire city, and the sounds of trapped people screaming for help. It was a day none of us will ever forget.”

“Wow, I… I had no idea…” I muttered.

Brianna chuckled, though there was a sourness to it. “Not sure how. I thought everyone in Tombguard knew. Doubly so for anyone working as a hero.”

“I… I can’t remember anything past about a year or so ago. I had an accident, apparently, and everything before that’s just gone.”

The teasing grin dropped from Brianna’s face. “Damn. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” I said. “It’s just the way things are.”

There was a short silence, before Vivienne clapped her hands. “Well, would you like me to show you around, Jordyn? We’ve got a pretty nice setup here.”

As beneficial as that would probably be for me, I just couldn’t be alone with her right now. Not after everything I did. “N-no thanks. I should get back to patrolling, anyway. The, uh… the police probably need me.”

Vivienne frowned. “Okay… if you say so.”

With that, I turned and left, practically running out onto the street and ruminating on everything I’d learned.

That big monster attack… Hadn’t Father said that I was injured in a monster attack? Could it have been that one? But, clearly no one else knew who I was, and they were all there that day. Besides, that was five years ago. There was no way I was asleep for all that time. Maybe I was just overthinking things…

Still. Rosalyn. I just couldn’t get that name out of my head.

—

Madeline loudly grunted as her fists made contact with the punching bag in the Union gym over and over. After all the effort she put into getting that cat to like her, everything she did for it, it just jumps up on Jordyn the first chance it gets? What the hell. How the fuck was that fair?!

“Maddie? Hey, are you alright? You ran off.”

She stopped, grabbing the bag and leaning her head on it as she caught her breath. Her fists stung from the force she was hitting the leather with, and her chest hurt from how winded she’d become without even realising. Boy, she really needed to get back into shape.

Madeline turned, finding Ashley looking at her with concern. She sighed. “No, I’m not okay.”

“This is about Muffin, isn’t it.”

It was a little embarrassing when he said it out loud like that, but whatever, sue her. That cat was one of the only things she had left of Rosie. Could anyone blame her for feeling jealous?

“Yes, it’s about Muffin,” she grunted, walking over to the bench and slumping down. “It just doesn’t make any damn sense that he would go to her like that!”

Ashley sat down next to her. “I agree with you. It doesn’t make sense. But, it happened, and you have to accept that. Don’t hold it against her.”

She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself, and was surprised to find that underneath the anger, she was legitimately on the verge of tears.

“It… it’s just not fair.”

He put an arm around her shoulders. “I know. It really isn’t.”

She made the most of his comfort, leaning against him and finally letting herself cry. She so desperately wanted to be mad at Jordyn for it – and a large part of her was mad – but the sensible part of her brain fought back against the idea. It wasn’t Jordyn’s fault Muffin liked her, even though it was a complete mystery as to how. Who knew, maybe she just stuffed raw fish into her armour and Muffin was attracted by the smell?

“Hey, guys. Everything okay?”

Madeline looked up to find Viv. She wiped her eyes, trying to get a hold of herself.

“Everything sucks.”

Viv huffed a small laugh. “Yeah. Just had to explain to Jordyn what happened five years ago.” Her eyes glazed over a bit. “Fun memories.”

Madeline groaned, hiding her face in her hands. “Why did we sign up for this again?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do, or some other nonsense like that,” Ashley replied. He sighed. “It’s certainly gonna be an undertaking. Poor girl doesn’t even know her own birthdate, if such a thing even applies, considering she was pulled out of a tube.”

“I think that says more about de Vygon’s inability to provide her with a cover story than anything else, honestly,” Maddie said.

He snorted. “Yeah. I’m not going to discount the man’s intelligence, but that was a pretty big oversight on his part. And it’s a pretty big headache for me. Now I’ve got to organise a call with him so I can get all of her ‘details.’” He made air-quotes in time with the last word.

Viv clapped her hands. “Don’t worry, guys. We’ll get through this! It’s gonna be hard at first, sure, but as Jordyn gets more used to being in the Union, things are gonna get easier. She’ll be easier to talk to, and easier to convince that de Vygon’s hurting her. And once she’s finally safe and we can get her official testimony, that’s when we bring de Vygon and his whole group down! We’ve got this!”

As much as Madeline was loath to admit it, Viv’s optimism was infectious. She wasn’t going to admit it out loud, though. “If you say so, Viv. I’ll have to take your word for it.”

—

“With all due respect, sir… Are you sure this is a good idea?”

Andreas took a sip of his beer as he watched G-7 prowl the streets of Tombguard through her visor camera. “Trust me, George. I’ve calculated the risks.”

George hummed with uncertainty. “Still, you can’t blame me for worrying. Wanting to make it seem like everything is normal to the public is one thing, but actively letting Seven join the Union seems like a step too far. When you want your dog to be obedient, you don’t go letting it play with the pack of strays. Frankly, sir… I just don’t see the point.”

“It’s all part of the plan, George. We need her to join the Union if we ever want to make a difference in this city.”

“...I thought the idea was just to revitalise the police?”

Andreas sighed. He couldn’t fault George for his ignorance. It was, however, slightly annoying. “What’s the point of just revitalising the police if we don’t fix the other underlying issues plaguing our great city? The Union has been leeching off of taxpayer money for as long as I’ve been alive, yet they provide no value 99% of the time.”

“But… Isn’t it basically just insurance against monster attacks? If insurance companies can take our money on the off chance something bad happens, why can’t the Union? Hell, we don’t even have to consciously pay for it, it just comes out of our taxes.”

…Well, George was allowed to think what he wanted. He was just a peon, after all, only good for his science know-how. And that was why scientists never made it far in politics. He should really stick to his petri dishes.

Andreas cleared his throat. “Regardless of your thoughts on the matter, that was always the plan. Why do you think I specifically trained the subjects to be heroes, and not just police officers?”

“Uh… so that you’d have a good excuse to hide their faces, so it wasn’t immediately obvious they were all-”

“So that they could join the Union, obviously!”

George paused, blinking rapidly for a moment. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath before speaking again. “Well. If that’s your plan, then who am I to stop you? But still, how can you be sure Seven’s interactions with the Union heroes won’t… sully her loyalty? Once she realises that it isn’t normal to be beaten for a minor infraction, don’t you think she’s going to decide that she’s happier there? We’ve had the programming to keep her in line so far, but it can only do so much when faced with outside influence. Aren’t you worried she’ll go down the same route as Five did?”

“As I’ve said, I’ve calculated the risks. G-7 always needed to join the Union for my plan to work. Yes, she may come into contact with people who may begin to pull her away from my control, but that is a risk I must accept if I want my plan to succeed. Hell, it might even help us. If G-7 begins to trust the Union heroes, they will trust her in turn. Then, all it’ll take is one last nudge.”

He smiled as visions of the future washed over him. None of this will matter then. No more posturing and ass-kissing to higher-ranking politicians for funding. No more being part of the lesser family. There would be no one above him anymore.

“Uhh… Sorry, but I’m still a little lost-”

“Go home, Sadler,” Andreas interrupted. “Your shift ended five minutes ago.”

George sighed, getting up. “Yes, sir.”

The mumbling twig of a man shuffled his way out of the surveillance room, leaving Andreas alone to drink his beer and watch his creation do his bidding. Jordyn would only be useful for so much longer. He would say he was sad to know the time of her disposal was drawing nearer, but… well, that would be a lie. The weak little shit was only good for wasting his time and failing to follow his orders. Though, he could admit that he would miss having a punching bag to take things out on at the end of a long day.

Eh, G-7 wasn’t even uniquely good for that. Nothing was stopping him from waking up another subject whenever he needed to. That was the lovely thing about Jordyn and her sisters. They were so perfectly disposable.

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Andreas is such a bastard lol

let me know what you guys thought! I wasn't sure how i was feeling for a lot of this one, so any feedback is appreciated!

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