#Taught By Experience (trope)

[inspectorspacetimerevisited]

Knowing that they had been on the planet Noon before,

the Inspector rushes back to confront Areeth about what she experienced, and why everyone in the mining station was dead except her.

[insipid-drivel]

Horses: Since There Seems To Be A Knowledge Gap

I'm going to go ahead and preface this with: I comment pretty regularly on clips and photos featuring horses and horseback riding, often answering questions or providing explanations for how or why certain things are done. I was a stable hand and barrel racer growing up, and during my 11 year tenure on tumblr, Professional Horse Commentary is a very niche, yet very necessary, subject that needs filling. Here are some of the literary and creative gaps I've noticed in well meaning (and very good!) creators trying to portray horses and riding realistically that... well, most of you don't seem to even be aware of, because you wouldn't know unless you worked with horses directly!

Some Of The Most Common Horse + Riding Mistakes I See:

-Anybody can ride any horse if you hold on tight enough/have ridden once before.

Nope. No, no, no, no, aaaaaaaand, no. Horseback riding has, historically, been treated as a life skill taught from surprisingly young ages. It wasn't unusual in the pre-vehicular eras to start teaching children as young as 4 to begin to ride, because horses don't come with airbags, and every horse is different. For most adults, it can take months or years of regular lessons to learn to ride well in the saddle, and that's just riding; not working or practicing a sport.

Furthermore, horses often reject riders they don't know. Unless a horse has been trained like a teaching horse, which is taught to tolerate riders of all skill and experience levels, it will take extreme issue with having some random person try to climb on their back. Royalty, nobility, and the knighted classes are commonly associated with the "having a favorite special horse" trope, because it's true! Just like you can have a particularly special bond with a pet or service animal that verges on parental, the same can apply with horses. Happy horses love their owners/riders, and will straight-up do their best to murder anyone that tries to ride them without permission.

-Horses are stupid/have no personality.

There isn't a more dangerous assumption to make than assuming a horse is stupid. Every horse has a unique personality, with traits that can be consistent between breeds (again, like cat and dog breeds often have distinct behavior traits associated with them), but those traits manifest differently from animal to animal.

My mother had an Arabian horse, Zipper, that hated being kicked as a signal to gallop. One day, her mom and stepdad had a particularly unpleasant visitor; an older gentleman that insisted on riding Zipper, but refused to listen to my mother's warnings never to kick him. "Kicking" constitutes hitting the horse's side(s) with your heels, whether you have spurs on or not. Most horses only need a gentle squeeze to know what you want them to do.

Anyway, Zipper made eye-contact with my mom, asking for permission. He understood what she meant when she nodded at him. He proceeded to give this asshole of a rider road rash on the side of the paddock fence and sent him to the emergency room. He wouldn't have done it if he didn't have the permission from the rider he respected, and was intelligent enough to ask, "mind if I teach this guy a lesson?" with his eyes, and understand, "Go for it, buddy," from my mom in return.

-Riding bareback is possible to do if you hold onto the horse's mane really tight.

Riding a horse bareback (with no saddle, stirrups, or traditional harness around the horse's head) is unbelievably difficult to learn, particularly have testicles and value keeping them. Even professional riders and equestrians find ourselves relying on tack (the stuff you put on a horse to ride it) to stay stable on our horses, even if we've been riding that particular horse for years and have a very positive, trusting relationship.

Horses sweat like people do. The more they run, the more their hair saturates with sweat and makes staying seated on them slippery. Hell, an overworked horse can sweat so heavily that the saddle slips off its back. It's also essential to brush and bathe a horse before it's ridden in order to keep it healthier, so their hair is often quite slick from either being very clean or very damp. In order to ride like that, you have to develop the ability to synchronize your entire body's rhythm's with the rhythm of the horse's body beneath you, and quite literally move as one. Without stirrups, most people can't do it, and some people can never master bareback riding no matter how many years they spend trying to learn.

-You can be distracted and make casual conversation while a horse is standing untethered in the middle of a barn or field.

At every barn I've ever worked at, it's been standard practice with every single horse, regardless of age or temperament, to secure their heads while they're being tacked up or tacked down. The secures for doing this are simple ropes with clips that are designed to attach to the horse's halter (the headwear for a horse that isn't being ridden; they have no bit that goes in the horse's mouth, and no reins for a rider to hold) on metal O rings on either side of the horse's head. This is not distressing to the horse, because we give them plenty of slack to turn their heads and look around comfortably.

The problem with trying to tack up an unrestrained horse while chatting with fellow stable hands or riders is that horses know when you're distracted! And they often try to get away with stuff when they know you're not looking! In a barn, a horse often knows where the food is stored, and will often try to tiptoe off to sneak into the feed room.

Horses that get into the feed room are often at a high risk of dying. While extremely intelligent, they don't have the ability to throw up, and they don't have the ability to tell that their stomach is full and should stop eating. Allowing a horse into a feed/grain room WILL allow it to eat itself to death.

Other common woes stable hands and riders deal with when trying to handle a horse with an unrestrained head is getting bitten! Horses express affection between members of their own herd, and those they consider friends and family, through nibbling and surprisingly rough biting. It's not called "horseplay" for nothing, because during my years working with horses out in the pasture, it wasn't uncommon at all for me to find individuals with bloody bite marks on their withers (that high part on the middle of the back of their shoulders most people instinctively reach for when they try to get up), and on their backsides. I've been love-bitten by horses before, and while flattering, they hurt like hell on fleshy human skin.

So, for the safety of the horse, and everybody else, always make a show of somehow controlling the animal's head when hands-on and on the ground with them.

-Big Horse = War Horse

Startlingly, the opposite is usually the case! Draft and carriage horses, like Percherons and Friesians, were never meant to be used in warfare. Draft horses are usually bred to be extremely even-tempered, hard to spook, and trustworthy around small children and animals. Historically, they're the tractors of the farm if you could afford to upgrade from oxen, and were never built to be fast or agile in a battlefield situation.

More importantly, just because a horse is imposing and huge doesn't make it a good candidate for carrying heavy weights. A real thing that I had to be part of enforcing when I worked at a teaching ranch was a weight limit. Yeah, it felt shitty to tell people they couldn't ride because we didn't have any horses strong enough to carry them due to their weight, but it's a matter of the animal's safety. A big/tall/chonky horse is more likely to be built to pull heavy loads, but not carry them flat on their spines. Horses' muscular power is predominantly in their ability to run and pull things, and too heavy a rider can literally break a horse's spine and force us to euthanize it.

Some of the best war horses out there are from the "hot blood" family. Hot blooded horses are often from dry, hot, arid climates, are very small and slight (such as Arabian horses), and are notoriously fickle and flighty. They're also a lot more likely to paw/bite/kick when spooked, and have even sometimes been historically trained to fight alongside their rider if their rider is dismounted in combat; kicking and rearing to keep other soldiers at a distance.

-Any horse can be ridden if it likes you enough.

Just like it can take a lifetime to learn to ride easily, it can take a lifetime of training for a horse to comfortably take to being ridden or taking part in a job, like pulling a carriage. Much like service animals, horses are typically trained from extremely young ages to be reared into the job that's given to them, and an adult horse with no experience carrying a rider is going to be just as scared as a rider who's never actually ridden a horse.

Just as well, the process of tacking up a horse isn't always the most comfortable experience for the horse. To keep the saddle centered on the horse's back when moving at rough or fast paces, it's essential to tighten the belly strap (cinch) of the saddle as tightly as possible around the horse's belly. For the horse, it's like wearing a tight corset, chafes, and even leaves indents in their skin afterward that they love having rinsed with water and scratched. Some horses will learn to inflate their bellies while you're tightening the cinch so you can't get it as tight as it needs to be, and then exhale when they think you're done tightening it.

When you're working with a horse wearing a bridle, especially one with a bit, it can be a shocking sensory experience to a horse that's never used a bit before. While they lack a set of teeth naturally, so the bit doesn't actually hurt them, imagine having a metal rod shoved in your mouth horizontally! Unless you understand why it's important for the person you care about not dying, you'd be pretty pissed about having to keep it in there!

-Horseback riding isn't exercise.

If you're not using every muscle in your body to ride with, you're not doing it right.

Riding requires every ounce of muscle control you have in your entire body - although this doesn't mean it wasn't realistic for people with fat bodies to stay their weight while also being avid riders; it doesn't mean the muscles aren't there. To stay on the horse, you need to learn how it feels when it moves at different gaits (walk, trot, canter, gallop), how to instruct it to switch leads (dominant legs; essential for precise turning and ease of communication between you and the horse), and not falling off. While good riders look like they're barely moving at all, that's only because they're good riders. They know how to move so seamlessly with the horse, feeling their movements like their own, that they can compensate with their legs and waists to not bounce out of the saddle altogether or slide off to one side. I guarantee if you ride a horse longer than 30 minutes for the first time, your legs alone will barely work and feel like rubber.

-Horses aren't affectionate.

Horses are extraordinarily affectionate toward the right people. As prey animals, they're usually wary of people they don't know, or have only recently met. They also - again, like service animals - have a "work mode" and a "casual mode" depending upon what they're doing at the time. Horses will give kisses like puppies, wiggle their upper lips on your hair/arms to groom you, lean into neck-hugs, and even cuddle in their pasture or stall if it's time to nap and you join them by leaning against their sides. If they see you coming up from afar and are excited to see you, they'll whinny and squeal while galloping to meet you at the gate. They'll deliberately swat you with their tails to tease you, and will often follow you around the pasture if they're allowed to regardless of what you're up to.

-Riding crops are cruel.

Only cruel people use riding crops to hurt their horses. Spurs? I personally object to, because any horse that knows you well doesn't need something sharp jabbing them in the side for emphasis when you're trying to tell them where you want them to go. Crops? Are genuinely harmless tools used for signalling a horse.

I mean, think about it. Why would crops be inherently cruel instruments if you need to trust a horse not to be afraid of you and throw you off when you're riding it?

Crops are best used just to lightly tap on the left or right flank of the horse, and aren't universally used with all forms of riding. You'll mainly see crops used with English riding, and they're just tools for communicating with the horse without needing to speak.

-There's only one way to ride a horse.

Not. At. All. At most teaching ranches, you'll get two options: Western, or English, because they tend to be the most popular for shows and also the most common to find equipment for. English riding uses a thinner, smaller saddle, narrower stirrups, and much thinner bridles. I, personally, didn't like English style riding because I never felt very stable in such a thin saddle with such small stirrups, and didn't start learning until my mid teens. English style riding tends to focus more on your posture and deportment in the saddle, and your ability to show off your stability and apparent immovability on the horse. It was generally just a bit too stiff and formal for me.

Western style riding utilizes heavier bridles, bigger saddles (with the iconic horn on the front), and broader stirrups. Like its name may suggest, Western riding is more about figuring out how to be steady in the saddle while going fast and being mobile with your upper body. Western style riding is generally the style preferred for working-type shows, such as horseback archery, gunning, barrel racing, and even rodeo riding.

-Wealthy horse owners have no relationship with their horses.

This is loosely untrue, but I've seen cases where it is. Basically, horses need to feel like they're working for someone that matters to them in order to behave well with a rider and not get impatient or bored. While it's common for people to board horses at off-property ranches (boarding ranches) for cost and space purposes, it's been historically the truth that having help is usually necessary with horses at some point. What matters is who spends the most time with the animal treating it like a living being, rather than a mode of transport or a tool. There's no harm in stable hands handling the daily upkeep; hay bales and water buckets are heavy, and we're there to profit off the labor you don't want or have the time to do. You get up early to go to work; we get up early to look after your horses. Good owners/boarders visit often and spend as much of their spare time as they can with spending quality work and playtime with their horses. Otherwise, the horses look to the stable hands for emotional support and care.

So, maybe you're writing a knight that doesn't really care much for looking after his horse, but his squire is really dedicated to keeping up with it? There's a better chance of the horse having a more affectionate relationship with the squire thanks to the time the squire spends on looking after it, while the horse is more likely to tolerate the knight that owns it as being a source of discipline if it misbehaves. That doesn't mean the knight is its favorite person. When it comes to horses, their love must be earned, and you can only earn it by spending time with them hands-on.

-Horses can graze anywhere without concern.

This is a mistake that results in a lot of premature deaths! A big part of the cost of owning a horse - even before you buy one - is having the property that will be its pasture assessed for poisonous plants, and having those plants removed from being within the animal's reach. This is an essential part of farm upkeep every year, because horses really can't tell what's toxic and what isn't. One of the reasons it's essential to secure a horse when you aren't riding it is to ensure it only has a very limited range to graze on, and it's your responsibility as the owner/rider to know how to identify dangerous plants and keep your horses away from them.

There's probably more. AMA in my askbox if you have any questions, but that's all for now. Happy writing.

[sweetinsaniiity]

Vendetta

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All you could feel was pain. It hurt to try to move your limbs, it was more reminiscent of bones grinding against each other sharply against sandpaper, it hurt to take the smallest gulp of breath, hell, it hurt to even blink.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wooyoung.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hongjoong nodded, his stern face not giving anything away. “Hit and run?” He repeated slowly, like tasting the words. “That’s what they told you? Who told you that?”

“M-My uncle,” you answered truthfully.

“Hmm,” Hongjoong hummed brusquely. “That good-for-nothing leech during dinner?”

You nodded stiffly. A beat passes, something about the way his jaw muscle ticked and his exhale changed. “When did you start living with him?”

“Right after the funeral,” you replied. “He took me before my other family members had a chance to say their condolences to me.”

“And?” he asked, voice clipped. “How bad was he?”

Just like that, memories upon memories of all the hurt, emotionally and physically, started playing in your brain like an old camera film. Subconsciously, you touched your neck. The bruises were gone, but you could still feel his hands wrapped around them. “Bad enough,” you replied quietly, avoiding eye contact.

San’s eyes softened. There was a slight crease in his brow, one of restrained empathy. He leaned back slightly, as if he needed space to process it, or to give you some. “Fucking bastard,” he muttered under his breath.

Hongjoong didn’t respond, his eyes lowering to your hand on your neck.  His eyes didn’t soften, but the edge in them did dull ever so slightly. He looked at you for one more second before he leaned back on his seat to stare out the large window that overlooked the entire manor.

"You need to act the part if you're going to stay here," Hongjoong said, voice sharp, still looking out the window. You were thankful for the change of topic, it was hard to pretend the questions didn’t sting.

You glanced wearily at him from where you were sitting. “What part?”

“You are going to be Mrs. Kim very soon, and you will be associated with me,” he said. “That means whatever you do will reflect on me, including both your victory and your defeat. I do not want the likes of you to embarrass me.”

You clenched your hands in your lap to keep them from shaking. Your identity was being stripped down, reshaped into someone he could not even tolerate standing next to. It was next level humiliation.

“I will not tolerate disrespect from any outsiders about what’s mine, hence me giving you a bodyguard,” he continued, casually sipping on his wine. “I refuse my family to be a laughingstock of some sorts. You will be under my name, so you will be under my protection.”

Under his name, not sharing his name. He was basically telling you that you will become his burden and liability. “It is imperative that no one knows about us for now. You will not wear a ring, and you will not speak about our arrangement. ”

You swallowed, throat tight. “So what am I supposed to be, then? Your accessory?”

He leaned closer, and your breath caught in your chest. “Play the game. Or pack your things.”

“Now, hold on a minute,” a voice cut off, one you weren’t expecting. Everybody looks at Wooyoung curiously, the cutlery in the background halting. “Don’t you think this is a bit much, Dad? You’re asking her to erase herself in front of everyone. Hide everything. No ring, no identity, no dignity? You want her to protect your name, but you won’t even give her the same courtesy?”

Your heart thumped. Was someone finally on your side? And of all the people, his own son? The one who you thought was a flirt. Hongjoong shifted his gaze. “Since when did you start calling me Dad?” He asked, tone cold now, sharpened to a lethal edge. “Do not undermine me at my own table, Jung Wooyoung.”

You weren’t that much of an idiot - this engagement was a farce because he was hiding you like a shadow. It was erasure disguised as a strategy. It stung, not that you were expecting him to hold you and show you off, but still.

Your fingers brushed against the gold fork, just drowning out the fight, and you were about to dig in when your plate was suddenly pushed away. Horrified, you stared at Hongjoong who had a passive expression on his face.  “Don’t eat anything,” he stated, cold eyes drilling onto your wide ones, his fingers still on the edge of the plate he so callously pushed off.  “Not until I say so.”

You froze, absolutely mortified at what he had done. You could accept all the insults and the cold shoulder he’d been presenting you in his house, but this? You swallowed the lump in your throat and kept your head down, your hands curling into your lap like they didn’t belong at the table. Your stomach had long since stopped growling - embarrassment had a way of killing hunger.

“She didn’t do anything. Why would you do that?” Seonghwa spoke, his tone laced with disbelief, his brows furrowed as he looked from the plate to you, then back to Hongjoong. Even Jongho, who had been trying to eat quietly, had stopped.

“No one eats until she does,” Wooyoung muttered suddenly, pushing his own plate away with a sharp scrape. He didn’t even look at Hongjoong. His focus was entirely on you, his eyes softening slightly. “I love you and all, Hongjoong, but we’re not playing these games. If you’re jealous, just say so.”

“Then none of you are eating,” Hongjoong snarled. The sudden sound of a chair scraping violently against the floor shattered the moment. Everyone flinched, heads turning just in time to see Hongjoong push himself up from his seat with a grace so sharp it cut through the hum of the room. “Get up,” he said, his jaw locked, his fists white-knuckled.

Your head whipped toward him in disbelief. “W-What?”

His eyes, narrowed and glinting with something unreadable, didn’t budge. “I said, get up.” His tone was low and lethal; it didn’t leave room for any arguments.

He didn’t wait for your response, not until he just grabbed you by the arm all of a sudden, dragging you away from the crowd and straight to the living room staircase. “What are you—?”

“You,” he spat, voice low and accusing. “What spell did you cast on them? How did you get everyone to turn against me?”

You blinked, stunned by the sudden accusation, but you couldn’t say anything as Hongjoong’s eyes darkened further, shadows flickering in their depths as his voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “Jongho. Take her to her room. No more scenes.”

Hongjoong’s gaze lingered on you for a heartbeat longer, a mix of frustration and something unreadable in his expression before walking away. It was like Hongjoong ripped your heart out directly from your chest and took it with him, leaving your insides hollow in its wake. 

“I apologize on his behalf. Hongjoong’s not good at expressing how he truly feels. You’re not missing much on the food, if it matters,” he assuaged in an attempt to make you feel better as he led you upstairs. “The steak was tough, the dressing was bland, and the avocados were mushy as hell. Our chef was sick, so we had to hire another one. Their last day, it seems.”

You swivelled your head slowly to look at Jongho. “W-What did you say was in the dressing?”

“Huh? Avocados? Yeah, it’s like someone stepped on them and plopped them on the plate. Bleh.”

Your heart rate began to pick up abnormally. You were deadly allergic to avocados. “Really?” Your voice cracked slightly, the information settling in your head like a broken record. 

“Really,” he confirmed with a soft smile that emphasized how young he actually was.

Avocado allergies were rare. Even when you were younger, it was easy to avoid them, and even your uncle didn’t know you had an allergy. Not that he gave you avocados, he was cheap on you like that. 

But besides that, you definitely screwed up last night. From what you’ve observed, not only was Hongjoong’s fuse short already, but his anger was difficult to dissipate as well. You needed to figure out a way to appease him, you didn’t want him calling off the engagement.

“You want to make Hongjoong’s dinner every night, you said?” San’s brows were both raised up to his hairline. “Are you sure, Y/N? Hongjoong’s quite the picky eater.”

You ignored the voice in your head that bristled at the thought of a man in his mid-forties still picky with his food. “It might not seem like it, but I’m a capable cook, I swear,” you joked. “I’ve had a lot of practice living with my uncle.”

San’s eyes softened significantly, but in the end, he relented. “I’ll instruct the staff to vacate the kitchen come nighttime,” he sighed. 

True to his words, the kitchen was all yours by 6 o’clock at night. You didn’t even have time to marvel around the luxurious setup, you had no time to waste. Not when you had to prove yourself useful. When push comes to shove, maybe you could be his chef instead of his wife rather than your uncle’s niece again.

You didn’t make anything fancy, just a simple soup to gauge what Hongjoong might like or might not. You even tried your best to make the vegetables in it barely visible, that’s how much effort you put in it.

You were about to bring the soup up to his office when by sheer coincidence, Hongjoong, himself, showed up to the kitchen, and judging by his slightly raised brow at you holding the bowl with an apron still on you, he wasn’t expecting to see anyone in the kitchen, let alone you of all people.

“H-Hi,” you stammered, avoiding out contact, awkwardly. “I, uh, I made you something.”

He doesn’t say anything at first, just blinking repeatedly, before sighing. “Don’t stay up late next time,” was all he said before he moved past you to walk out of the kitchen as if he didn’t want to be there in the first place.

Hongjoong disappeared into his study, the sound of the door clicking shut behind him like punctuation to the silence he left behind. You let out a shaky breath, the sting of his blatant rejection making your legs shake as you sat on the dining chair. Maybe tomorrow.

But he still didn’t eat. You did it again the next day anyway, even when the results were the same. You weren’t a master chef by any means, but one thing you were proud of was that you put genuine care on all of the things your hands create.

You patiently waited for Hongjoong, ready to try and spend time with him at dinner even though the both of you never got along since he disliked you. The thought of being face to face made your heartbeat go wilder than the prospect of him accepting your efforts.

By the fifth night after another failed attempt, you asked around to figure out what Hongjoong’s favourite foods were. You tried to ignore the pitying looks San sent you while Seonghwa quietly cleaned another plate of ignored efforts, taking everything with a smile on your face even though on the inside, you felt like crying.

You clutched another plate a little tighter again the next day, heat bleeding through porcelain and into your palms. You wondered if he even knew or if he smelled the spices in the air, wondered if he saw your sleeping form on the couch when you were too tired to wait for him.

Maybe you didn’t need him to eat it, maybe you just needed him to pause - to look at you like you were more than the terms of a deal neither of you asked for. But instead, all he gave you was a sigh and his absence. And there you were - offering warmth with shaking hands to a man who’d rather freeze.

Hope began to dwindle when you didn’t even see Hongjoong’s shadow anymore by the seventh night. You started plating smaller portions out of  humiliation and by the ninth, you didn’t bother waiting for Hongjoong anymore, just quietly making the food and leaving it in the kitchen, not even bothering to check if it was eaten or if Seonghwa had thrown it away.

You decided to stop after another week. You were tired of waking up in the room to Seonghwa’s shaking head when you looked at him expectantly. However, you wanted to make dinner for the last time not just for Hongjoong anymore, but for everyone who’s been nothing but accommodating to you.

You just needed a couple of ingredients to make what you needed, and for that, you wanted to pick them out yourself. That was how you found yourself directly in front of Hongjoong’s office where you knew he always was, steeling your nerves to knock and ask if there was a car that you could use to drive yourself to the market.

You were about to knock when you stopped yourself. There was a heated conversation going inside the office and by the sound of it, it was Hongjoong and Seonghwa. You could hardly hear what they were talking about.

“....can’t keep doing this….giving her the cold shoulder, Joong…she’ll find out….what are you going to do then?”

“Give me time…..so close to caging in Yoo Jaehwan, that bastard…no one can know….make sure he’ll pay….Yeosang.”

Your entire body locked, coldness spreading all over your chest at the mention of your uncle’s name. Those were Hongjoong and Seonghwa’s voices, you were positive, but what were they talking about?

“....won’t be safe forever, you know that. San….intel on the hit and run….was damn impossible to….think Jaehwan knows?”

“There’s no denying it…..will be safer here....never forgive myself if something happens….my everything—who’s there?”

You cursed internally when you accidentally misplaced your foot, causing your body to bump onto the door. You were about to turn and run away, to pretend that you were never here in the first place, but it was too late. The door swung open, revealing Hongjoong’s stern figure, eyes sharp and searching. His gaze landed on you in mild surprise, his chest rising slightly from how fast he'd moved.

“Y/N?“ You saw his hand squeeze the doorknob ever so slightly. Still, you can’t help the shiver that passed through you. That was the first time he’d ever said your name. “How long have you been standing there?”

His voice was low, but it wasn’t calm. “What did I tell you about sneaking around like a damn rat?”

“I-I just got here, I swear,” you swallowed, hard. He stared at you, deadpan. In no timeline or galaxy did he believe you. “I want to go out. I-I know there’s a market near here and—”

“Absolutely not,” he rejected, his voice rising up in pitch ever so slightly in disbelief. “You’re not going out.”

The denial was harsh and brutal - hell, he didn’t even let you finish your sentence - but this was also the first time you saw any other emotion on him other than anger, annoyance, and intimidation. “I really want to go—” you tried again.

“And I said no,” he repeated, his voice a little harsher this time.

You were taken aback. It wasn’t just the denial that struck you, it was the sheer urgency in his tone. It was the look in his eyes that if you stared hard enough, you could’ve found uneasiness and dread swimming in them.

“But I haven’t been out ever since I came here,” you blurted out in equal disbelief. He was the most arrogant and controlling one you’ve ever met and that was saying a lot. “I want to buy some produce—”

“Order it online, I don’t give a damn,” he snapped. He was about to close the door on you, but you put your foot to block it. “What the hell are you—”

“Please, Hongjoong,” you begged. It was a massive hit on your own ego and pride, but you were going to lose your mind if you don’t find fresh air soon. “I-I won’t even stay long, I’ll keep my phone on me.”

He stilled, his gaze faltered. You saw his throat tighten as he looked towards the floor. “Hongjoong,” he repeated under his breath, so soft you almost missed it. 

Your breath hitched. He said it so softly that you almost missed it. Except you didn’t. You weren’t even sure if you were meant to hear it. Seonghwa, who forgot was also in the room, cleared his throat, thus breaking that unspoken tension you found with Hongjoong. “I could take her—” he started gently, but Hongjoong cut him off with a look, his neck snapping up so fast that it scared you a little.

Hongjoong’s eyes hardened again, and this time, they were the darkest you had ever seen. “I don’t keep you to tolerate her, Seonghwa,” he barked before turning to you one last time. “You’re not going out. That’s final.”

His gaze lingered a moment longer on you, eyes glinting with something between rage and warning, before he completely shut the door on you. He didn’t slam it, but it still knocked the wind out of your lungs as the finality of his denial settles in on you.

Something shifted in you at the moment. At first, you had mistaken it for fatigue. The stress of constantly trying to walk on eggshells with Hongjoong just so you wouldn’t say the wrong things in case he decided to call off the marriage, the late nights staying up making him dinner he didn’t even want, they were starting to get to you.

It didn’t happen all at once, but now the weight in your chest didn’t feel like fear anymore, it felt like fury - no, you knew it was. The final push was so mundane it almost felt insulting. You could feel your anger simmering and it was only a matter of time until it boiled over.

You were tempted to bang on the door like a madwoman, but you chose to walk away to the one place you knew would give you comfort - the garden. But even the flowers weren’t enough to make you feel better. If anything, they emphasized how infinitely colourless your world was.

You clenched your jaw, jaw tight as you sat down on one of the benches, arms crossed, trying to remind yourself that you were still here. You were still standing and still breathing. You weren’t going to fall apart over someone like him.

“Your energy is so strong that I wouldn’t be surprised if the flowers started to wilt.”

You rolled your eyes, not really in the mood to talk to anybody, but when Jongho sat beside you, you couldn’t help but relax a bit. You’ve always loved company regardless of how you felt. You’ve been alone all your life, so it was always nice to have someone. “How did you know I was here anyway?” You murmured with a small pout.

Jongho chuckled, absentmindedly fiddling with a lone petal. “I’m not your bodyguard for nothing. I’m always watching.”

“That’s totally not creepy at all,” you chuckled a little, shaking your head.

He laughed, shifting his weight before letting out a slow breath. “He’s not mad at you, you know.”

You snorted, giving him an incredulous look, but Jongho just smiled. “I’m serious. Don’t take it personally,” he said softly. “He’s just scared. That’s all.”

You didn’t care what Hongjoong’s intentions were, but in reality, you were starving for anything that made you feel less like a ghost haunting someone else's palace. Yet your mind wandered, uninvited and unwelcome, back to that moment at the door when you’d said his name. But it wasn’t your own desperation that haunted you - it was his reaction. How his gaze had faltered and how he’d gone utterly still. 

If there was something to behold about your personality, it was that you were nothing but persistent, after all. It was the reason why you’ve come so far in your miserable life. So you tried again after a couple of days to ask Hongjoong again if you could go out.

Whatever conversation you overheard him and Seonghwa must have set him off that day so you figured you’d let his anger simmer and try to catch him in a good mood. Yesterday, you even saw him in the living room, casually reading the newspaper - you almost smiled at that because it inadvertently showed his age - while chatting casually with Mingi.

Now that you knew the real nature of their relationship, you could clearly see how much Mingi resembled Hongjoong, who honestly didn’t look a day over forty if it wasn’t for reading glasses resting low on his nose. God, you thought, that detail alone betrayed his age more than anything.

So you gathered your courage and waited when you knew he was going to be alone in his office in the afternoon. You took a deep breath, rapped your knuckles on the door before opening it slightly enough to poke your head in.

But he wasn’t here. That surprised you more than anything, mainly because it wasn’t much of a secret how much of a workaholic Hongjoong was. Even if you didn’t hear Wooyoung complain about it a lot, it wasn’t like you couldn’t see it.

Against your better judgment, you entered the room, opting to just wait in his room for his return, but not closing the door to signal that someone was here. Last thing you wanted was for Hongjoong to think you were intruding. You were hanging on your last thread with him as is. His office screamed of him all over.

Admittedly, you balked at the slight mess on his table as you walked towards the leather couches to sit down, but before you could do so, something inadvertently catches your eye amongst the mess that was his desk.

Half-tucked under a stack of manila folders and faded blueprints, barely sticking out like it had slipped by accident, was a photo. You reached for it on instinct - then froze. It was you.

Specifically, it was your graduation photo. You were smiling, though you could tell that it didn’t reach your eyes.. The photo was frayed along the edges and the corners were soft from wear. There was a faint crease running down the middle, as if it had been folded and unfolded a hundred times over. Your heart thudded, your hands shaking immensely. You shouldn’t have looked.

“You have thirty seconds to explain what you’re doing in my office before I lose all civility.”

The way your entire body trembled with uncouth shock was something to be seen. Hongjoong stood there, his sharp eyes trained on the photo you were holding in your hand, his jaw tightening. “Time is ticking, Y/N. You’re twenty-seconds away from having a very, very bad day.”

You put the photo haphazardly back on his desk. “I wanted to ask again if I could, perhaps, go out—”

You were stunned into absolute silence when he banged his fist on the door once but with enough force to shake the whole world around the both of you. “Are you deaf?” His tone sliced the air in half like a blade. “Or just unbelievably stupid? Didn’t I tell you that you cannot go out? How many times do I have to tell you?”

You stood frozen, the heat of his fury scorching your skin, but he wasn’t done. “You’re either acting like an imbecile, or you really are one. And I’m supposed to marry you? I’m already doing your uncle a favour by not shooting him between the eyes, but my God, this is pushing it. ”

His words gutted you. You were used to your uncle calling you all the insults in the book, but this was something else, Hongjoong was basically judging your entire personality from the skin side out, and that hurt more than anything else because he doesn’t even know you.

But you were only human, and even animals bite back when wounded. “You’re no different than my uncle,” you slipped out, unshed tears lining the corners of your eyes. “You’re hiding something from me. Why are you locking me in?”

He scoffed, eyes glinting with something that felt like contempt. “Please. Don’t insult me like that. He sent you to me like a lamb to a slaughterhouse. You just haven’t thanked me for the knife yet.”

You didn’t even know what expression your face was making, only that your cheeks felt hot and your throat burned like you’d swallowed fire. “I hate you,” your lips wobbled, looking at him with indignance in your eyes. “I hate you.”

He laughed bitterly, without humor, without restraint. “Yeah?” His voice was sharp, venomous. “Well, you’re about to hate me more.”

Then he turned, grabbed an envelope from the desk, and threw it at you. Money spilled out like a slap, some bills fluttering to the floor at your feet. “There, this is what you wanted, is it not? Now you can pretend you’re not living inside a cage.”

To say you were appalled would be an understatement. Your heart curled into itself, shriveling behind your ribs. Before you could fully break down, you ran out without another word, not bothering to look at him or the money littered across the room as you ran until your legs gave out in a random corridor of the mansion.

You didn’t bother minimizing your loudness, your hands trembling against the marble as you choked back a sob, quiet and broken. You haven’t cried in a long time, mainly because you refused to for someone like him, but this wasn’t just for Hongjoong. They were for everything; for the girl you used to be, the child who lost her parents, for the woman you were failing to become, and for the bride you never wanted to be.

The rubber band holding yourself together snaps, so you ran down the corridors, through the driveway, past the gigantic gates, anywhere but there. You didn’t know where you were going, but you needed to breathe somewhere he wasn’t.

 It wasn’t until your shoes hit an unfamiliar pavement that you realized that you were far away from the estate. In fact, you were in a small park with a playground. The sight was haunting, the play place devoid of the telltale laughter of children. It was perfect.

The adrenaline that kept you going had long worn off, but you didn’t care as you walked warily towards the swings and sat on it. Your fists clenched around the swing’s cold chains as more tears fell freely now. You didn't bother wiping them away. Why were you here anyway? To get away from a man who doesn’t want you even when you knew the invisible chains that tied you two together would shorten again?

Pathetic.

You had fantasized about the idea of finding freedom in a marriage that saved your life. You had hoped that maybe Hongjoong would grow on you, and him on you, but those fantasies had shriveled and rotted the moment Kim Hongjoong opened his mouth. And so, you let yourself swing, forward and back, forward and back, as if maybe, just maybe, you could go far enough to leave the hurt behind.

You were there for a while, you didn’t move when the sun started to set. You didn’t move when thunder clapped on the sky above. You didn’t move when the first set of raindrops fell onto your skin, sticking to your clothes like a fever that you can’t sweat out. You didn’t care.

You would’ve stayed there forever, let the ocean take you, but someone else had plans for you that day. At first, you couldn’t hear it above the rain and the thunder, but the unmistakable sound of footsteps hitting puddles was impossible to ignore.

You closed your eyes, willing your mind to focus, but when you opened them again, you froze. Hongjoong stood from afar, drenched to the bone, his head whipping around like a madman. His chest rose and fell with labored breaths, but when his eyes met yours, his shoulders hunched like the entire world had just been lifted off his back and thrown back on again. You closed your eyes again, praying that he’d go away if you pretended to not see him, but just like you, Hongjoong was nothing but persistent, after all.

“Open your eyes and look at me,” he demanded, his voice losing its sharp edge, making way for an emotion you weren’t sure you were ready to hear from him. 

By God, he looked devastating. His breath ragged, chest rising up and down, jaw clenched so tightly you thought it might snap. His usual posh and classy look was missing as water dripped from his hair into his dark, unreadable eyes. And he looked absolutely furious.

“Go away,” you said, voice thin and cold, wrenching yourself from his grip. “Leave me alone.”

You stood up, but your legs wobbled, and he caught your arm before you could fall. His grip was tight, almost bruising. Your heart almost thudded out of your ribs when he pulled you close, both of his hands holding your shoulders now.

“Stop it,” he barked, but his voice was hoarse. He shook his head, closing his eyes before opening them again with a shaky sigh. “Why are you such a fucking pain in my ass? I’m too old for this shit.”

He sighed sharply, his hand hastily pushing his wet hair away from his face in frustration. His other hand lingered at your arm, warm despite the storm, as he stepped in closer, lowering his voice. “I will bring the market to you next time, alright?”

The wind howled around you, but you didn’t even notice. His fingers twitched like they were about to reach for you, but you turned your face away just about when he stopped inches away from your skin before he fisted his hand, his gritting teeth audible in the rain.

“I’ll take you back,” he said, voice sharp again. “Before you get yourself sick and make my life even more difficult than it already is.”

His hand clasped yours tightly as he pulled you along with him through the rain. His hand didn’t leave yours until you reached the car, and maybe he felt bad for you, but when he grabbed your hand again when he started driving, it wasn’t out of pity.

If anything, he held tighter. His hand found yours on your lap, his thumb softly caressing the still damp skin of your upturned hand, not letting go even when he had to swerve and turn. He said nothing. He stared ahead through the rain-blurred windshield, jaw clenched tight, knuckles white on the steering wheel, but he never let go.

And you didn’t pull away either. Because even though your chest hurt from his words, the warmth of his palm over yours was the first thing all day that didn’t feel cruel. It seemed to lull you into a short slumber even.

The soft brake of the car was what brought you back to sentience. You watched Hongjoong press some sort of button on his car before radio static comes to life from it. “Third wing master bedroom. I’m going for a ride,” he said gruffly before he let go and pressed the bridge of his nose.

The chill of the storm probably disoriented you and you didn’t understand, but when your door opened to be face to face with the gentle Seonghwa, you were a bit surprised to find that you were parked directly in front of the mansion front door.

“Come on,” he said quietly, holding onto your shoulders and not caring if you were wet, like he knew what you had already gone through. “Let’s get you warm.”

He guided and helped you get out but you yanked to a stop when you realized that something was stopping you - Hongjoong’s hand still entwined with yours. You turned your head toward him. Hongjoong hadn’t moved, his eyes locked with yours, burning but hollowed out. And for a heartbeat, everything was still. The world, the storm, the ache in your chest.

But he let go, shutting the door softly before driving off to the night to God-knows-where. You wouldn’t know, Seonghwa was already guiding you inside the mansion by your shoulders. His hands were gentle, his movements even more patient.

His eyes dropped into sympathetic comfort, his hand slightly squeezing your shoulders. He gently walked the both of you into the living room where the fireplace was already hot and going. 

San was already there waiting for you, eyes wide with panic along with Jongho who handed him a thick blanket. “Wrap up, yeah? Don’t want you getting sick now,” he said, quickly bundling you to warm you up. “You ran out during that storm? What the hell were you thinking?”

“Give her space, San,” Seonghwa said, but the relief in his voice was palpable. He handed you a mug of something warm, ginger tea, you guessed, and crouched down beside you, eyes soft. “We were all looking. You scared us.”

Suddenly, Jongho dropped to his knees, bowing his head low, much to your surprise. “I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “I should have kept an eye, I didn’t guard you enough.”

“W-What? No,” you frowned, hesitantly patting his head. “It’s not your fault. You’re not my keeper–“

Before you could even answer, Wooyoung appeared behind him, surprisingly less loud but just as concerned. “Yeah, you tell him that,” he scoffed softly, arms crossed to his chest, shaking his head slightly. “Hongjoong almost killed him in sheer anger. Seriously, why did you do that?”

It was the most serious you’ve ever seen the man, but of course, he was still as dramatic as ever. His eyes darted from you to the others before dramatically flopping onto the arm of the couch. “I’ve never seen him like that before,” he chortled. “Like, ever. Hell, he doesn’t even react that bad when me and my brothers get shot or something.”

“It can’t be that bad,” you murmured, fiddling with the blanket. “I wasn’t even gone for long. I was going to come back.”

That was when all three of them looked at you like you’d grown a second head. “Not long?” Jongho echoed, his brows shooting up in disbelief. “You’ve been gone for hours, Y/N.”

“Hongjoong practically tore the city apart,” San shook his head. “You were gone for over five hours. Five. That’s not just a walk in the park, that’s a goddamn vanishing act. I swear he was about to murder us if he couldn’t find you.”

You blinked, confused. “He was…looking for me?”

“Obviously,” Wooyoung rolled his eyes, clicking his tongue. “I’ve never seen him lose control like that before. But seriously, please don’t do that again. I’m not ready for Mingi to inherit the business in case Dad gets an aneurysm.”

You looked down at your lap, shame filling your lungs along with the thudding of your heartbeat. “I didn’t mean to scare anyone.”

“But you did,” Wooyoung muttered, but his tone wasn’t offensive. “But I get it. I do apologise on his behalf, though. He shouldn’t have thrown money at you. That was unnecessarily cruel, even for him.”

Seonghwa gave your shoulder a squeeze. “You’re safe now and that’s all that matters. Hongjoong should be back shortly,” he helps you up once more. “Come along. You should wash up so you don’t get sick.”

You thanked everyone before you let Seonghwa guide you into a part of the mansion you’ve never been at, let alone the room he took you in before he bid you a goodnight with a promise to check on you the next day.

You sighed deeply, trudging your feet to the shower. Your heart swells the moment you opened that door, it smelled of Hongjoong. It was hard not to remember the way his fingers had clung to yours, how they didn’t tremble until after he’d let go, the entire time you washed up and got ready for bed.

When morning came, your eyes fluttered open when the first ray of sunshine hit your face, but you didn’t want to get up - the sheets smelled faintly of sandalwood and something distinctly him, and that the pillow cradled your head felt like a welcome comfort.

For a second, you had, perhaps, thought that everything was a dream, but when you rubbed your eyes and made a move to get up, you were completely startled awake to see the last person you ever thought you’d see the moment you’d opened your eyes.

Hongjoong was fully dressed in a crisp black turtleneck and slacks, hair slightly tousled, as he typed something furiously into his laptop. He didn’t look up when you stirred, but you noticed the subtle clench of his jaw.

“I trust you slept well?” Hongjoong asked, lowering his glasses to stare straight at you.

You willed for your heartbeat to stop thumping so much for fear of him hearing it. You stared straight back at him, noticing the faint shadow under his eyes. “I suppose so,” you said. “You didn’t, though.”

“I’ll say,” he shut his laptop off, reaching for a folder beside it, before leaning on the couch, crossing his arms, his sharp eyes trained on you. “You did sleep on my bed, after all.”

You blinked, the words not sinking in your morning-addled brain yet, but when it did, your mouth dropped open in surprise. “I-I’m so sorry,” you blurted out, heat pooling in your lower belly at the information. No wonder the entire room smelled like him. “I didn’t sleep here on purpose—”

“I know,” he sighed. “I asked Seonghwa to bring you here. Lest you already forgot.”

He took his glasses off, rubbed the bridge of his nose like the weight of the world had been sitting there. “Next time, don’t run off in a storm just to prove a point.”

“That wasn’t what I was doing,” you frowned.

He looked at you then, brief and unreadable. “Then what were you doing?”

“Trying to breathe,” you croaked, your voice dropping down to a whisper that you wouldn’t be surprised if he hadn’t heard it. “Plus, you looked all night for me.”

He didn’t say anything at first. But the shift in his expression, the subtlety of it, was louder than words. “Freshen up and eat breakfast,” he muttered, tapping the folder in his hand twice. “I have a couple of questions for you.”

You weren’t in the mood to argue with him, certainly not after his obvious attempt in shutting down the conversation completely. Unsurprisingly, your body still ached from last night. You opted for a quick brush of your teeth, tying your hair presentably. 

The scent of you had me dizzy. I have to get out of here.

You didn’t bother changing out of the pyjamas Seonghwa had provided for you since you didn’t have clothes here. It would give you an out, and you weren’t ready to face Hongjoong out of shame. That’s exactly what you did. You were about to slip out, when he cleared his throat.

“Where are you going?” Hongjoong stared at you, brows raised.

You gulped, feeling like you were caught doing something you shouldn’t. “Uhm. I’d hate to bother you further. Didn’t you tell me to have breakfast?”

“I did,” he confirmed, gesturing towards a particular direction of the room. “With me.”

Your brain almost shut off with the information. With him? He rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he stood up and opened the balcony door. Your heart practically leapt out of your chest, you were positive that the breakfast set up there wasn’t present when you woke up. Had he instructed someone to set it up while you were in the bathroom?

This was the first time you were ever going to eat with Hongjoong. Not beside him, not five feet across the room like some barely tolerated shadow. With him. And worse, he was making you so nervous that you felt like you’d forgotten how to walk properly as you followed him out, sitting across him awkwardly, not knowing how to place your stiff limbs properly.

You didn’t even register how your hands trembled until you reached for your fork and nearly knocked it off the table. You were just about to dig in, not knowing what else to do, when he stopped you. “Wait,” Hongjoong halted you brusquely.

“W-What?” You froze, hand still mid-air, wondering if you did something wrong.

Instead of replying, Hongjoong reached over your plate and began digging into your food with his chopsticks. You narrowed your eyes in slight annoyance, ready to mouth at him for possibly controlling what you ate and picking at your food without asking, but your heart dropped to your feet by the time he was lifting his chopsticks back up again.

He picked out a couple of raisins from your plate, setting them on his plate one by one as if this wasn’t the first time he’s done this. You stared, blinking rapidly to stop the sting behind your eyes. “I hate raisins,” you suspiciously pointed out.

He pauses, glances at you once through his lashes, before eating like you didn’t say anything. And suddenly, your chest ached with the weight of all the things he wouldn’t tell you. Before you could open that can of worms, he was already flipping open a folder he had brought to the table, effectively cutting off the topic with the sharp precision he was known for.

“I need you to look at a couple of faces for me,” he said, back in business as usual with his clipped utterrance. He slides the files towards you in one, smooth motion. “It’s imperative that you tell me immediately if you see a familiar looking face.”

You were confused, but you took the folder with ease, flipping through pages and pages of different photos of both men and women alike. Hongjoong staring dead into your soul was distracting, but you were sure you'd never seen these people before. You were going to tell him as such, until you stumbled upon the very last photo.

“Him,” you drawled out, surprised at both the face and yourself for pointing it out. “I’ve seen him before…”

The moment you showed him the photo, the tension in his shoulders snapped into visible rigidity. “Where?” he demanded, his voice sharp and urgent. “Where did you see him?”

Truth be told, you would have forgotten about the man if it wasn’t for this. “I passed through him before I reached the park,” you frowned. “I remember him because he had this weird lip piercing.”

Hongjoong cursed under his breath, making the dread in your chest spread like a disease, before he hastily snatched the folder from your hands, his hands fisting the edge of the folder. “Finish your food, darling,” he said hurriedly, the darkness in his face making you nervous. “We’re going for a little trip downstairs after.”

“I-I don’t understand,” you frowned, doing as he says and stuffing your face with some bread. “You’ve been acting so damn weird lately, I’ve never seen this man in my entire life before yesterday.”

His head turned slightly, those unreadable eyes locking onto you again. “Rather,” he said slowly, voice dipping towards something ominous. “You’ve never paid enough attention.”

You stopped mid-chew to stare at him. This was the longest conversation you’ve had with Hongjoong and the foreboding feeling of potential sinisterness was the first thing he made you think about?

He held your gaze, his fingers curling gently around your chin. His voice dipped to a whisper, low and graveled, brushing across your skin like smoke. "Look closely," he murmured. “I want you to think about why you’re truly here.”

Your brows furrowed. “Because my uncle sold me to you—”

“Think, Y/N. Think,” his tone laced with a cutting sort of irritation. “I know that desiccated, dried-up brain of yours still works.”

You rolled your eyes, the backhanded insult slicing through the tension with a bitter familiarity, but it didn’t lessen the heat brewing behind your ribs. “I owe your uncle absolutely nothing,” he said, letting go of your chin with a scoff. “I could’ve killed him before you even set foot in this house.”

“Have you killed people?” You blurted out before you could stop yourself. He raised a brow like it was a question unworthy of a response. "A-Are you going to kill me?"

“Do you want me to?” Hongjoong countered, tilting his head.

Your blood began to thrum in your ears, anger bubbling up in your chest like acid. “I’m not that stupid, you know,” you whispered, your voice cracking with frustration. “I’m aware there are things I’ve no idea about, but I know what a lie tastes like when it’s shoved in my mouth.”

You looked back at the spread of photos he’d shown you. But something inside you stirred as your gaze landed on the photo again. It was faint, like a memory just out of reach and a sense of recognition that felt older than logic.

“Have you ever wondered,” Hongjoong said slowly. “Why I’ve been so adamant in keeping you here?”

You opened your mouth, but he held up a hand. “No,” he said. “Forget that. Ask yourself this, have you ever wondered why your uncle took you in back then?”

Your heart stopped, but he wasn’t finished. “Surely, he wasn’t the only family you had. Worst of all, of all the people he could have sold you to, it had to be me. I know you’ve done your research on who I am.”

Indeed, you did, and the Kim family was not to be messed around with. Your throat felt like it was closing. You wanted to speak, but your brain was too busy racing through every memory you had, trying to connect dots that refused to sit still. Was your uncle much, much worse than you gave him credit for?

Hongjoong leaned close just enough to make you squirm under the intensity of his focus. The movement was subtle, but it was calculated - a hunter testing the waters, seeing how far he could push without you breaking. “Predators don’t fear prey,” he said. “They fear another predator.”

A scream threatened to bubble from your chest just lying around the surface. His statement echoed in your head far, far worse than a broken record. It was the only thing you could think about the entire time you followed Hongjoong downstairs towards his office. You couldn’t even lament what happened here the last time, the money he threw at you already cleaned up as if they were never thrown at you like dirty rags in the first place.

You didn’t even notice that Mingi and Seonghwa were already in the office, seemingly waiting for the both of you to arrive and such, until Hongjoong started to talk to them again. “This,” he slammed the folder rather harshly on the table directly in front of Seonghwa, who just took it in stride and opened the file. “That snivelling bastard on the last page. I want him gone.”

“And you,” he turned back to you, eyes ablaze with newfound anger you didn’t even know was already there. You raised a defiant brow, why was he looking at you like this was your fault. “You’re not going out anymore, you hear me? Never let me repeat myself.”

You narrowed your eyes, the simmering tension in your bones finally boiling and tipping over into something far more dangerous than you’ve ever felt. Your jaw ached from how hard you were biting down on your tongue, and the polite mask you’d worn like second skin started to peel.

Your feet started to march towards the bane of your existence like a bull who found the red spot. You didn’t even care that Seonghwa’s mouth dropped slightly and he was subtly shaking his head, you still poked Hongjoong’s chest pointedly and boy, you were sure that hurt a little.

“You could at least tell me why,” you snapped, your voice low and trembling with rage. He narrowed his eyes in warning, but you were done caring. “Or is it because you can’t keep your dogs in line? Tightening my leash is the only way you won’t lose control over your goods? Maybe it’s not the outside world you’re afraid of, it’s that someone might realize your entire empire is built on fear.”

Silence. A sharp, immediate silence that sliced through the room like a guillotine. Mingi visibly stiffened, Seonghwa’s face paled, but Hongjoong? He started to laugh. At first it was soft, then it turned into a full-blown laughter so sarcastic, you wanted to cover your ears from the grating sound. “The wolves are at my door, waiting for my empire to fall. I won’t let you destroy it just because you refuse to fall in line, brat,” he sneered.

You laughed, not out of humour. It was cold, sharp, and laced with every ounce of your pent-up exhaustion and rage. “Frankly?” You said, meeting his glare with one of your own. “I don’t give a flying fuck. You want to talk about wolves? Look in the damn mirror, Hongjoong.”

You poked him twice more in his admittedly toned chest, and you did it hard, too, just so he could even an ounce of how heavy he’d made you feel. “I’m not some damsel you could fool around with just because I was thrust here. I won’t roll over just so you can stroke your ego.”

A slow, unreadable flicker crossed his face. His gaze sharpened, but his body relaxed, curious now, as he tilted his head, slowly. His expression didn’t change much, but you saw it, that glint of something deeper. Respect? Amusement? Recognition? “She bites,” Hongjoong murmured, his voice dropping to a note lower, smooth and quiet like a blade sliding from its sheath. He crossed his arms, a ghost of a smirk fleeting on his sinful lips. “Finally.”

He was still watching you, but it wasn’t the same stare anymore. It wasn’t the same power dynamic. You had shifted something, and he had noticed. “You’ve mistaken my compliance with submissiveness,” you replied, your voice steady, your pulse roaring in your ears. “I’m terribly sorry to tell you that you’re wrong.”

Hongjoong’s lips parted slightly, as if that, too, had surprised him. Or pleased him, you couldn’t tell, but when his smirked widened, you almost faltered. You gritted your teeth, cursing whichever God had molded him for making this demon so  devilishly handsome, it was maddening.

“That doesn’t negate the point, little darling,” he continued, still sharp as glass. “I built this kingdom with my soul, and I am the king of this goddamn empire. Whether you like it or not, you are in it. ”

“I’ll bow to your king when he shows himself,” you said, clipped and cut. It was a direct dig towards him, it was a deliberate show of disobedience, but you didn’t flinch. You kept your chin up, gaze level  as you started to walk away from him for the first time.

The adrenaline didn’t wear off even hours later as you paced around your room in heated anger. But God, that felt good. You’ve never directly expressed your grievances towards someone else like that and now that you’ve gotten a taste of it, you don’t think you could hold your mouth longer around the menace that was Kim Hongjoong. It might get you killed, but at this point, death might be the only salvation you’ll feel.

One was for sure - something had definitely changed ever since that nasty confrontation between the two of you. If before you’ve barely seen even his shadow, lately all you’ve been doing was butt heads with Hongjoong, and man, are you not happy about it.

“Was it you?” Hongjoong marched towards the living room one day with steam coming out of ears. “Did you set the thermostat at twenty-eight?”

“I did,” you sneered, not backing down. “Not everyone in this house has cold, dead blood like you.”

He scoffed in disbelief, pinching his nose bridge. “This isn’t a sauna, go outside where you belong if you’re so cold.”

You watched him stalk towards the thermostat, cranking the heat lower so roughly, you were a bit concerned it would break. Oh no you don’t, you dictating bastard. You got up from the couch, pushing him away to crank the thermostat back to low before giving him the stink eye.

“Fine,” he nodded stiffly, his glare so intense, it had you backing up slightly. “I’m locking it. Don’t expect me to lower it when summer hits.”

It was the littlest of things that set the both of you off, but if you were being completely frank, you more or less enjoyed his annoyed reaction. Serves him right for all the months he put you down.

“You finished all the cookies,” you glared at him heatedly one afternoon, pointing at the plate of half-eaten cookies that lay next to him on the coffee table as he read his newspaper. “I liked those cookies.”

He didn’t even look up from the newspaper. “That’s just too bad, isn’t it?”

You yanked the paper from his hands. “You don’t even like cookies! They were for me.”

“I bought them for the house,” he glared, snatching it back. 

“Yeah?” You snarled, snapping your eyes towards the coffee mug you knew he was very, very particular about before a smug grin fills your face.

He stared in disbelief, his eyes widening at what you were about to do. “You insolent brat, don’t you dare—”

But it was too late, you gulped all his coffee in one go. You tried so hard not to grimace at the bitter taste, or else your pride will tank, but the redness in his face from sheer anger made it oh so worth it.

Everyone had definitely noticed at that point. Even the stoic Mingi would give his own father a dirty look whenever he’d catch that both of you mouth off to one another like you were in a damn competition. Woooyung, of course, was nonetheless fascinated about the turn of events.

“You two act like an old married couple, I love it,” he cackled while he ate dinner with you as you glared at Hongjoong’s turned back when he instructed the chef to put more raisins in your plate just to spite you. “I’m slowly getting over how my stepmother will only be like a decade older than me if this is the entertainment I’ll get for the rest of my life.”

You scoffed, grabbing a piece of raisin with a deep frown. “It’s not my fault he’s a petty bastard,” you said, flicking the raisin towards Hongjoong’s ear with an accuracy you didn’t even know. 

Wooyoung laughed with you not-so discreetly while San paled ever so slightly at the scorching glare Hongjoong sent your way. “You are something special, Y/N,” he shook his head. “Boss would have had our heads a long, long time ago for something less.”

Unfortunately, you couldn’t fully finish your dinner. The taste of the raisins were so prevalent in the food even when you’ve removed all of them that the taste of it just permeated all over the dish.

You sneaked in the kitchen at two in the morning where you knew no one would be up just so you could ravage in the cupboard for some midnight snack, but you were so wrong. You squeaked, blinking at Hongjoong who was in the middle of drinking water and he blinked back at you.

“Couldn’t sleep from the guilt?” You asked, referring to you not eating dinner. And you knew that he knew, he was watching you the whole time smugly.

“No,” he muttered. “Just the sound of your attitude echoing through the halls.”

You snorted. “Wow. You’re real original for someone who thinks being emotionally constipated is a personality trait.”

He scoffed, shaking his head as he walked past you towards the exit. “Don’t hog all the snacks,” he brushed with your shoulder and it sent a zing of electricity through your spine. “Money isn’t as easy to come by, yes?”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re good at it,” you countered with a snarl. “If being a raging psycho and asshole was your living, no wonder you’re filthy rich. Let’s not even mention your head count.”

You blinked as he walked back toward you. He stopped in front of you, his hands coming to rest beside your waist on the counter, trapping you. “Would you like to know my head count?” He asked, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. “I’d love to add you to that roster.”

You tried to breathe, his face was so close, your noses nearly brushed. His eyes dropped to your lips for the briefest moment before snapping back up. “Because I’ve been real patient,” he muttered. “But I’m tired of your mouth lately.”

And as quickly as he’d closed in, he pulled away with a sharp inhale, the smirk curling wider as he turned on his heel. “Sleep tight, darling,” he tossed over his shoulder, voice laced with poison and something dangerously sweet.

And just like that, he was gone, leaving behind blush on your cheeks, the thundering of your heart, and the faint scent of him clinging to your skin.

Usually, your banters were harmless. Dare anyone say that even though Hongjoong got under your skin, you’ve never felt more alive than you did whenever you’d cross paths with him. You didn’t know what it was; maybe it was because that finally, he wasn’t avoiding you like the plague even though nothing nice came from that mouth of his.

But this time, you didn’t know what completely set the both of you off. You just wanted to have lunch like normal, and today was very different, too. Usually you’d eat with one or two people only as everyone’s schedules didn’t quite align, but this time, even Seonghwa and Wooyoung were at the dining table.

You were laughing at something that Jongho had mentioned when Hongjoong’s cutting voice rang around the table. “Can you shut your mouth?” He snapped, cluttering his utensils against his paperwork. “I’m trying to concentrate here.”

You rolled your eyes. Ever since he got off a phone call he got before everyone started eating, he’s been in a horrible mood. “Get off the damn table if you can’t handle basic human interaction,” you snapped back.

He stared you down, voice ice sharp. “You’re not clever. You’re a loud, useless distraction and an irritation everyone’s sick of pretending to tolerate.”

“Father, stop it,” Mingi, who sat at Hongjoong’s left, shot back, eyeing the older man with warning. He turned to you and you almost faltered. How is it that his son was more intimidating than him? “And you. You’re not helping.”

“No, let her,” Hongjoong scoffed. “No wonder your uncle gave you away. You’re nothing but a liability.”

Patience was a trait you had that you were proud of, but not today. You can barely contain yourself, because that was a low, even for him. I'm sick to death of swallowing every single thing I'm fed. You slammed your hands on the table, rising swiftly, your chair scraping loudly against the floor. Everyone’s eyes followed you, wide and stunned. “Oh, give me a break, you belligerent, deluded, pompous prick,” you barked. The room stilled. You hadn’t raised your voice, but the words hung in the air like glass about to shatter.

Even Hongjoong seemed to falter a bit before his eyes narrowed once more. “Have you lost your fucking mind?” He yelled so loud it echoed through the halls, making everyone flinch. “Watch your tone, you ill-mannered disgrace—”

You scoffed in disbelief. “That’s tough shit coming from you who’s done nothing but make me miserable here.”

“That sounds like a you problem, darling,” Hongjoong’s eyes ticked.

“Well, to that, I say you're a cunt—” you were about to say, but your voice caught in your throat, the fierce words dying on your lips as a wave of dizziness swept over you. You faltered, mid-step, your knees threatening to give out.

He scoffed, the sharp edge of his haughtiness cutting through the silence. “Giving up already?” Hongjoong sneered with a smirk that promised he didn’t believe you had the strength to stand your ground.

No, this was different than anything you’ve felt before. Your breathing became laboured, the suddenness of it threatening the bile in your stomach to rise from your throat. You grabbed the nearest thing you could hold on to, but your grip slipped. “Hold on,” San balked, grabbing your arm in mild concern before his face shifted. “Y/N, are you okay?”

No, I’m not, you wanted to say, looking straight at Hongjoong just as your steps wobbled and your vision blurred. It was when his expression cracked, panic flickered across his face, eyes widening with sudden concern, breath hitching as he reached out instinctively.

But before he could reach you, Jongho was there, his strong arms catching you just in time. “Y/N? Oh, God,” he tapped your cheeks hardly, but to no avail, your eyes were closing. “Stay awake, fuck—”

Hongjoong’s face, the devastated, unsettled look you weren’t ready to see, and the way he grabbed your body was the last thing you registered before darkness swallowed you whole, but not before you heard Seonghwa mutter one word that would have made you faint regardless.

“Poison.”

All you could feel was pain. It hurt to try to move your limbs, it was more reminiscent of bones grinding against each other sharply against sandpaper, it hurt to take the smallest gulp of breath, hell, it hurt to even blink. It was like that car accident after your graduation all over again. Why did death love chasing after you? And why didn’t you chase it back?

But this time was different. You weren’t in a hospital bed, there were no nurses around, and there was none of that sterile scent you hated so much. Rather, there was warmth - warmth so comforting, you couldn’t help but snuggle into it, burying your head in hopes for the ache to go away.

“Fuck’s sake, It’s been days, why hasn’t she woken up yet?”

Even you could feel your subconscious frown at what you heard. Days. And you didn’t even feel better about it. “Give her time, Joong. I mean, look at her, so frail—”

“Frail, my ass,” a rough, familiar voice snapped just as you felt your arms being squeezed so tight, it would have woken you up if you hadn’t already. “She’s my little fighter, poison isn’t going to break her. Have you not heard the way she talks back to me?”

A deep laughter resonated through the entire room. It wasn’t quite like Mingi’s - not that Hongjoong Jr. would ever act normal around you - no, but this was richer, familiar, even. If you could just open your eyes and see.

“I see she hasn’t changed. Good to know you’re getting your money’s worth, Dad. You should go eat something. Anyway, I need a complete rundown, Hwa. I didn’t fly here for nothing, and I need to go back soon. The longer I stay, the more danger we attract.”

The warmth you had disappeared followed by a door closing nearby. Silence envelops the room and the familiar sigh of Seonghwa fills it. “Well, like we said, it’s poison. Someone who isn’t supposed to be here is here.”

“But how? What are the odds? It could’ve been anyone at that dining table. You think it’s Yoo Jaehwan?”

“Who else? To do it not only in his house, but right in front of Hongjoong’s face…whoever did it is asking for death.”

“Should’ve seen your father’s face,” San clicked his tongue. “I swear something inside him died.”

“Well, fuck, maybe because she could’ve died?” The familiar, deeper voice counteracted with a sass that knocked in your memory. “Because that’s not just a wife he’s protecting, that’s someone he’d burn the world for.”

“Anyhow. We should come back later. I have to check on your father to see if he’s eating or I might have to get your older brother to tie him up or something.”

Half of that conversation went through your head. You weren’t a total idiot, you knew what most of it entailed, but all you could think about was the missing warmth that enveloped you. You forced yourself to come to, your weak arms supporting your upper body as you tried to sit up. It was hell as your eyelids fluttered open against a dull ache pounding in your skull, but you needed to move your stiff limbs before they started to throb from prolonged unuse.

Just then, the door opened. Silently, carefully, like doing so would trigger another bout of faintness in you and you were met with the surprised eyes of Hongjoong. He froze in the doorway like he’d walked in on something sacred.

For a moment, he just stood there, unmoving. Then, the tension in his shoulders released slightly, only to be replaced by something else entirely - pure, unadulterated relief. You didn’t have to touch him to know that he was the warmth that kept you stabilized the entire time you rested.

He started to walk toward you in slow, controlled steps. His glasses were gone, his hair a mess, and there was a tremble in the hand that rolled up the sleeves of his unusually wrinkled shirt like he’d been gripping it in fistfuls.

Most of all, his eyes were tired. He sat on the bed next to you, his eyes never leaving yours, and you thought that was it. You certainly weren’t prepared for the way he lightly gripped your shoulders to pull you into a hug, and just like that, the warmth you’ve been craving for had returned.

“Get off,” you rasped weakly, but your voice betrayed the fight you didn’t have in you. Still, your pride flared, because nothing stung more than collapsing in front of him.

He didn’t budge. “Don’t even try,” he said through clenched teeth, his arms tightening around you. “Stay still and let me have this even for a moment.”

It was in the way he gripped you too tightly, in the quiet desperation of that whispered please. You didn’t even realize he was trembling slightly. His arms weren’t caging you, rather, he was a man holding on to you as if he was sinking at the bottom of the ocean and you were the balance he needed to stay afloat.

Pride be damned. You wrapped your arms around him, silent tears falling from your eyes as you held onto him. This was all you wanted, what you didn’t have back then when you had nobody. The prospect of never waking up was settling into you and you didn’t have enough strength to keep holding it in together.

“I’m still angry at you,” you sniffled.

“Get angrier. The sooner you get your strength back, the sooner you can talk back again like the brat you are,” he shushed, the tremble in his hand now visible at the way he smoothed the damp strands away from your face along with your tears.

“As touching as this is, I believe we have more pressing matters at hand.”

You tried to pull away, but Hongjoong wasn’t letting you - though if you were being honest with yourself, you didn’t even really want to - so you opted to look over your shoulder at the source of the voice.

Hongjoong groaned when you pushed him away, your breath caught in your throat. Your eyes widened slowly, your hand flying up to cover your mouth in shock. “Y-Yeosang?” You whispered, like saying his name too loud might shatter the fragile reality in front of you.

The man in question stood from the plush armchair, casual in his posture but carrying an unmistakable grin, one you hadn’t seen in years. “The one and only,” Yeosang said with a lopsided smile, walking toward you. “How have you been, Miss Jeong?”

You stared at him in disbelief, the air knocked clean from your lungs. “I-I haven’t seen you since…” your voice faltered, because the rest of that sentence hung heavy in your throat.

Yeosang seemed to know what you meant without you saying it, because his expression softened as he gently pulled you into a hug. “Y-You’re the last person I expected to see here,” you mumbled against his shoulder, pulling back to get a proper look at him. “Wait, what are you doing here?”

The both of you turned around to look at Hongjoong when he cleared his throat. “You wretch,” he looked pointedly at Yeosang with a bitter scowl. “Aren’t you supposed to be down there with everyone?”

Yeosang scoffed, rolling his eyes so dramatically you were surprised they didn’t get stuck up his skull. “You were the one who called me and threatened to cut my allowance if I didn’t fly here soon,” he deadpanned as he pulled away from you to stand up. “Relax, she was my mentor. I’m allowed to say hello, Dad.”

Your eyes flew between the two men in shock. “Dad?” You blurted out. “How many kids do you have? Because holy sh—”

“Soon to be two if this one doesn’t shut his trap,” Hongjoong hissed. “I can still cut your allowance, Kang Yeosang. Don’t test me.”

“Oh, please. You need me,” he chuckled sarcastically, tapping on the stethoscope he had around his neck that you didn’t notice was there. You stared at him proudly, remembering the young Yeosang who always told you of his dreams to become a doctor one day back then.

“Anyway, you need to get out of here, Dad,” Yeosang said in urgency. “Mingi will take care of everything. It’s good training for the future, anyway. We need to purge your staff and I need to test every single surface of the manor to see if there’s more antifreeze contamination.” 

Goosebumps erupted on your skin. Antifreeze. It was how you found yourself saying goodbye to Yeosang, with the promise of catching up as soon as everything was safe, and then the others before you were dressing up to go with Hongjoong to his supposed safe house.

“I can walk, you know?” You frowned when Hongjoong walked beside you the whole time,  steadying you with a firm hold on your elbow. You hated how flustered it made you - how close he was, how natural it felt.

He glanced at you once, opting to ignore you as he opened the car door for you. But just before you could step in, he stilled. Hongjoong plucked a single sunflower and he tucked it carefully behind your ear. His eyes didn’t meet yours, but his touch lingered longer than necessary.

Your heart stuttered so sharply it almost hurt. It fluttered against your ribs, traitorous and soft, the way it always did when he did something gentle without meaning to. The warmth of his fingers near your cheek lingered longer than the sunflower itself.

He helped you into the backseat, settled beside you without hesitation, and closed the door. You thought he’d pull away once the engine started. You thought he’d sit back in his own thoughts like always.

But he didn’t. He pulled you close, gently but without question, and you leaned against his chest. His arm wrapped around you, fingers curling slightly against your side, grounding you. He held you the entire ride. And for the first time in days, the ache in your chest quieted.

“Where are we going?” You couldn’t help but ask, giving in to what your body currently needed and letting yourself lean onto his firm chest for once.

“Must you always ask irrelevant questions?” Hongjoong sighed.

You scoffed softly, thumping on his chest lightly. “How do I know you’re not leading me to my death?“

“Are you stupid?” Hongjoong snapped, his eyes widening slightly in irritation. You met them with an equal force of annoyance. He sighed exasperatedly, already sick of your antics. “One of my rest houses. It’s on the far end of the city, almost near the suburbs. You should sleep.”

“Would you still hold me when I wake up?” You croaked, not knowing what you were thinking when you blurted the words out.

His thumb, which had been idly brushing against your arm, stilled. You didn’t dare look up, didn’t even breathe, until you felt the slow, deliberate way his hand curled tighter around you. “Yes, darling,” he murmured, fixing the flower on your ear before fixing your hair.

It was infuriating, really, how a man who so easily sliced you open with his words could undo you completely with a simple touch. Your pulse betrayed you, and you didn’t dare look at him, afraid he might see just how deeply that one small act had shaken you.

You couldn’t sleep, not after that. Not while Hongjoong held you in his arms the entire time, his hand brushing your hair away from your face every fifteen minutes and he did so until the car stopped moving and he was helping you get down again.

“Easy, there,” he frowned when you took the wrong step and almost tripped.

“Don’t pretend you care now,” you raised a brow, even as your fingers curled instinctively into the fabric of his shirt.

“I don’t,” he said too quickly, too defensively. But he was still holding you like you were made of glass and you couldn’t help but fist the front of Hongjoong’s shirt. He didn’t push you away and neither did you pull away. 

Surprisingly, the rest house was of modest stature, situated in the middle of a small town. It was smart, blending in would be easy. It was simple and cozy, there was the typical small kitchen, a bathroom, and one bedroom with one bed. You stared. Hongjoong stared back.

“We’ll manage,” he said as he set the bags down, looking away and avoiding eye contact. “It’s easier to keep an eye on you this way.”

You opened your mouth to object, but your mouth wasn’t cooperating with your mouth today. “I-I'd love to sleep with you,” you blurted out without thinking.

Hongjoong froze mid-step, one brow raising with almost comical precision. It would’ve been endearing since you’ve never seen the usually poised man this caught-off guard before, but right now, you wanted to dig a hole, crawl in it, and never see the light of day again.

“I mean sleep as in literally sleep–I didn’t, I meant to say I don’t mind sleeping with you, uh, literally—oh my God,” you stammered, hands flying up to cover your face in pure panic.

“Why don’t you, uh, relax on the balcony while I do this?” Hongjoong said, and you didn’t miss the smirk on his face as he turned back to the bag he was unpacking.

You slept facing opposite sides that night. But somehow, the air between you was tighter than before. You lay stiffly on your back, eyes on the ceiling, acutely aware of every tiny shift in the sheets with each of his movements. “Can you stop fidgeting too much?” Hongjoong clicked his tongue. “I’m not going to eat you.”

You scoffed softly. “You don’t hear me complain about your awful breathing sounds.”

“You want me to stop breathing, then?”

“That’s literally not what I said,” you turned sharply toward him, only to find him already watching you. The two of you blinked at each other in silence. Eventually, you turned away again, cheeks burning, pulling the covers over your head.

You tried to find a comfortable position to sleep on, tossing and turning until your body felt right, but when the right angle had your leg up on Hongjoong’s by accident, he didn’t move, and neither did you.

And when you woke up the next day with your arm wrapped around his chest with his own arm cradling your head to his neck, you both didn’t say a word about it, but he didn’t move, and neither did you. “Hongjoong,” you rasped, half of your brain still dead from the world. “...Joong.”

“Hmm?” He hummed huskily from sleep, the vibrations of his chest traveling straight to your spine.

“I’m hungry,” you said. “Haven’t eaten since last night.”

You felt him turn his head, his lips touching your hairline directly, the warmth of it searing on your skin. “Five more minutes,” he replied hoarsely. “Can you do that for me?”

You nod groggily while he molded you closer to him, your cheek pressing just a little firmer to the warm space beneath his collarbone. “Good girl,” he whispered softly, low, and utterly wrecked by sleep.

Your body tensed like someone had just poured ice water down your head. Your eyes snapped open as you felt your throat tighten, not daring to move or breathe too loud. You just lay there, heart hammering wildly in your chest, trying to pretend like you hadn’t just short-circuited. “Are you drinking my coffee?” he snapped at you the next day, catching sight of your cup. “Again?”

Just like that, the both of you were back to bickering like normal.  “It’s not my fault you bought me that shitty sugar-free crap that tastes like nothing,” you said, sipping smugly. “Plus, your coffee tastes better.” He crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes in annoyance. “It’s black with three shots of espresso. You can’t handle that.” “I can handle you, can’t I? Nothing worse than that.” He scoffed loudly in disbelief, muttering about how the younger generation was disrespectful before he snatched the cup and handed you a water bottle instead. “Hydrate before you pass out on me.”

You frowned, fully irritated at your caffeine being stolen. “Hey, I wasn’t don—” “And you call that breakfast?” He looked pointedly at your sad-looking toast. “It’s no wonder why I mistake your brain for an ornament sometimes.” You didn’t even get a chance to shoot back at his arrogance before he rolled his eyes but took your plate, setting down a neatly packed bento box. “Eat something that’s actually worth eating. Fuck’s sake, do I really have to do everything around here?”

The both of you went on like that for days, and as maddening as Hongjoong was, you were somehow thankful for how normal everything felt, though now, the change between you and Hongjoong was starting to become evident.

“How long would it take for you to clean this entire house?” He asked one day out of the blue. He stared disapprovingly at the phone in your hand. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was riling you up just to get a reaction out of you.

Your eyes ticked, but you didn’t look up at him. “It depends on how many helpers you want me to hire.”

“Why would you hire cleaners?” Hongjoong frowned.

“You asked.”

He scoffed, clearly displeased at the response. “No, I asked you. If you’re going to live here, you might as well do something that lessens the burden you put on me.”

“I did,” you shot back, finally looking up, mildly offended at the insinuation. “I made you dinner every night, one that you refused to eat.”

“Who told you I didn’t?” He raised a brow. Your expression froze, but before you could say anything, he waved a hand. “Anyway, you still need to clean. If I’m paying for your shit, I need something in return.”

Your mind was still reeling at the things unsaid between the lines. “Why the hell would I be doing free labour for you?”

“Well—”

You cut him off, refusing to go down. “I just got poisoned, in case you forgot. I should be resting, for God’s sake.”

“And I took you here to recuperate,” he replied sarcastically. “What now, then?”

“What about the times I had to deal with your grumpy ass? I don’t see you paying for my mental state.” You retorted back, putting your phone away to stand up to him.

He paused, blinking repeatedly in thought. “I could get you a therapist.”

“Yes,” you smiled brightly, a little too brightly. “I could also hire helpers to clean this house.”

His ears and neck redden in sheer frustration, and from here, you could see his mind malfunction slowly. “Shut up,” he muttered, refusing to admit you one-upped him.

“Well, why don’t you shut me up, then?”

You stilled, realizing what you just insinuated. His lips quirked, smug and amused, like he’d won a round you didn’t realize you were playing as he shook his head.

The nighttimes weren’t any better either. It was like bickering was both of yours’ defense mechanisms. “Turn off the light,” you yawn from under the covers.

“You turn it off,” Hongjoong replies from his side, brows raised in defiance. “You got in bed last.”

You groan, swing your legs over dramatically, but just as you reach the switch, the light clicks off behind you. You turn and find Hongjoong smirking, holding a small remote control in his hand. “We’re supposed to be a team here,” you hissed. “There is no “I” in team.”

“No, but there is in idiot,” he grinned.

Your mouth dropped, charging at him to hit him over and over again with a pillow, and he didn’t even let out a single sound as he deflected your so-called attacks. You huffed, trying to push off him, but the sheets had other plans. And truth be told, so did some strange, traitorous part of you.

Eventually, you both gave up, tangled under the blankets, breaths evening out against shared warmth. Once again, neither of you moved. In the hush that followed, you felt his thumb barely brush against your arm where it rested across his chest. You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to.

And it would have stayed like that if it weren’t for the heavy weight that settled on your chest in the middle of the night. Literally. When you opened your eyes, an arm was pressing down your chest and you were met with Hongjoong’s glaring eyes.

“What—”, you were about to say when he covered your mouth hurriedly. He puts his finger to his lip to shush you and in your peripheral, you could see his arm slowly raising up a gun as he pointed at the door. Your eyes widen and your heart drops - someone was in the house.

Hongjoong didn’t say a word. He shifted, slow and precise, the mattress barely creaking as he slipped off it and tiptoed towards the door. You clutched the sheets to your chest, your breath lodged somewhere in your throat as the door clicked open. It was silent; too silent.

Bang. Bang. Pause. Bang. Bang.

Your ears rang. You flinched with each shot, your hands shaking as you sat in the dark, unable to move, unable to breathe. You shut your eyes, covering your eyes to will all the sounds to stay distant, the reality of who Hongjoong was dawning on you. It was just a couple of weeks ago when you asked him whether he had killed or not.

The door creaked open again, slower this time. You jumped, expecting the worst, but Hongjoong stepped in quietly, expression unreadable, but the blood spattered across his cheek told you more than words ever could. The gun was nowhere to be found.

He didn’t speak as he walked to the bed, just sat down at the edge and looked at you, eyes searching. You reached out, wiping the blood off gently. He closed his eyes at the touch, but it was enough. No words were exchanged, and there was nothing either of you could say that would ease the fear that settled in your gut.

So instead, he slipped under the covers again, pulled you into his chest, arms wound tightly around your body, trembling just a little. You closed your eyes, your hands digging onto his hand so hard, your fingertips might as well embed themselves on his skin.

“I wish my creator would tenderly wrap me in their own clothes to keep me sane and protected,” you murmured in the silence of the night. “God has abandoned us and my uncle was a cruel substitute.”

“Should we choose to remain here together, would you forget the world that’s waiting outside?” Hongjoong’s hand held yours just as tight. ”Would you let the world fall away, if only for a while?” The world has fallen the moment I set my eyes on you. You nodded, shivering when he tucked a finger under your chin, pulling your face closer to his to press the softest of kisses upon your lips as if the both of you had been holding your breath for years, and this, it was the first exhale. If only for a while. 

You woke to an emptiness you hadn’t expected. The bed was still warm where he’d lain, but without Hongjoong’s arms around you, you felt oddly cold. But that wasn’t what woke you up. It was the voices that came from the living room, one of which was Hongjoong’s, and you didn’t have to listen in to know that he was in a heated argument with someone.

You tiptoed out quietly, careful not to make a sound, peeking from behind the hallway wall. Hongjoong lounged on the couch like it was his throne, legs spread, an elbow draped over the armrest with a smirk that screamed arrogance, like danger wrapped in lazy elegance.

The man standing in front of him, however, was anything but calm. He was tall, broad-shouldered, about the same age as Hongjoong, and radiating heat like a bonfire about to explode. His fists were clenched at his sides, jaw tight with restraint.

“You’ve got some nerve,” the stranger ground out. “Keeping her hidden this whole time like some secret you planned to hoard. If my men didn’t hear the gunshots the other day, I wouldn’t have known, you sick fuck.”

Your breath hitched. They were talking about you. Hongjoong chuckled, crossing his legs exaggeratedly. “The only regret I have is that I didn’t bring suppressors. We would have been out of here before you knew it. ”

“You bastard,” the tall man gritted his teeth, stepping closer to Hongjoong. “This is my territory, you don’t get to waltz in here with my niece and pretend I wouldn’t kill you for it.”

Your ears rang at two words - territory and niece. This man was in the same business as Hongjoong was, and apparently you were this man’s niece. Slowly, you stepped out from behind the hallway wall, the silence in the room growing razor-sharp with each step.

Hongjoong’s back stiffened, but the other man’s posture tenses completely at the sight of you. “Y/N,” he whispered, as if disbelieving he was seeing you in the flesh. “It’s really you…”

You stared at the man closely. He looked familiar, it clawed at the edges of a memory you didn’t know you still had. It wasn’t the way he moved; it was the way his eyes mirrored someone else’s eyes that you thought you’d never see again after all these years - your father’s.

And then, it hits you. You remembered the way his huge hands held yours every time he offered to babysit when both of your parents worked. His younger, puppy-like features were slowly coming to life in your head. “Uncle Yunho,” you blurted, eyes wide.

Yunho’s head jerked up, like he hadn’t dared hope you'd remember. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “It’s me, kid.”

Your knees nearly buckled, threatening to fall under the weight of the missing family that you could have had instead of your other uncle. Hongjoong was immediately by your side, catching you in his arms and holding you close and sitting you down beside him. “You can’t just come barging in here like you did,” he hissed. “You’re in my house, I could kill you and no one would know.”

“I’m her blood, you blithering fool,” Yunho’s lips twisted into fury. “You’re the idiot that dragged her into this mess when she had a family - me.”

Hongjoong’s expression darkened. “You weren’t there---”

“And you think you were the better option?” Yunho growled. “You’re like, what? A good thirteen years or so older than her? You’re too damn old to be with her!”

That made Hongjoong stand, slow and deliberate, his stance loose but lethal. “And who the fuck are you to tell me that?  You weren’t there when shit hit the fan, don’t get too cocky now.”

“I would have been if you didn’t hide her from me,” Yunho scowled bitterly.

You barely registered your own shallow breathing, still stuck on the fact that your father’s older brother was there all along. All this time, you thought you were alone - that you had no one. Yunho’s eyes followed the sound, and when he saw you, all the anger on his face softened instantly.

He was about to walk towards you, but Hongjoong quickly raised a hand to stop him. “One more step and I swear I’ll end you right here,” he snarled. If you weren’t sitting beside him, you wouldn’t have noticed the way his eyes shifted into something a little more desperate.

Yunho scoffed, crossing his arms. “I wouldn’t act like this if I were you, Kim. You’ve had her in your manor all this time. By mafia standards, you should’ve married her within the first month. Why haven’t you? Did you want to keep her locked up like a secret no one else can touch? Or are you just dragging her through the mud?”

You flinched, the implication sinking in like stones in your gut. You immediately locked eyes with Hongjoong whose expression dropped, shaking his head ever so slightly as you stared at each other. That was right, why hasn’t Hongjoong married you yet? Come to think of it, the both of you haven’t even talked about anything marriage related - the date, the venue, the vows—hell, not even a promise.

Just tension, stolen touches, sleepless nights and a thousand unsaid things hanging heavy in the air. You swallowed thickly, trying not to let the sting of Yunho’s words show, but it was too late. Or worse, was he planning to secretly give you back to your uncle after all?

“Don’t listen to him,” he said tightly, crossing the room in three strides. His arm wrapped around you possessively, like shielding you from Yunho would shield you from the doubt unraveling in your chest. “She’s mine, Jeong. Get lost. It’s not like that, and you know it.”

Yunho’s lips pressed into a thin line. But he relented, lifting his hands in a gesture of peace. “Fine,” he muttered, then turned to you, his expression softening. “I’ll be back.”

You hesitated as you watched your uncle walk away, but something tugged at your heart. You pried yourself free from Hongjoong’s tight, possessive arms, despite his protests, to run as fast as you could to follow Yunho out.  The chill of the morning rain bit at your skin as you stepped into the yard. “Wait, please!”

Yunho turned to face you fully. The hardness melted from his face, and in its place was something unbearably gentle. He completely halted in his steps, letting the rain soak through as he watched your pitiful form catch up to him. “Y/N–”

“There’s something I don’t understand,” you murmured, voice unsure. “I-I needed you when I was alone, I had no one. But why now? Why didn’t you ever come for me?”

He sighed, taking his trench coat off to gingerly put it over your head as a deterrent for the pouring rain. “I did,” he said quietly. “Believe me, I did. I never stopped. Even if I didn’t find you here, I still wouldn’t have stopped.”

And that, that was what broke you. Tears filled your eyes, sadness and relief pouring over you in waves. “Are you…in the same business as Hongjoong?” You asked wearily. “Were my parents?”

He pursed his lips, patting your head. It made your tears flow faster. Yunho had your father’s face, albeit older and more rounded. “There are so many things you don’t know,” he said softly. “Things you would have if you would’ve been with me when your parent’s died. It’s better this way. I’m still enraged that that bastard hid you from me, but he’ll keep you safe.”

But what did you know at this point? It was what plagued your mind the entire walk inside the house after Yunho had left after promising to catch up on lost time. You clutched the wet, dripping coat that still carried Yunho’s familiar scent in your hands that wrapped around your senses, nostalgia hitting you full-force.

You didn’t look up at Hongjoong, the haze of all the memories - of what could have been - attacking your mind. “Why didn’t you tell me?” You began, voice cracking, looking up at him with emotionless eyes. “You knew and—”

“Would you have gone with him if you knew?” Hongjoong cut off, the familiar sharpness in his eyes pinning you from where you stood. 

“I don’t know that,” you replied sarcastically. “How could I give you something I had no idea about the entire time?”

“Oh, for the love of fucking God, Y/N. This, this is what pisses me off about you the most,” he snapped, stepping close, his gaze darkening. “Contrary to your belief, I’m not as callous as you deem me to be, and there are reasons for the things that I do around here—”

“And what about me?” Your hands balled at your sides. “What about the life I was robbed of? You don’t know what I’ve been through, you prick, the things that I had to endure. Yunho was right - you don’t want to marry me, in fact, you fucking hate me, don’t you? I didn’t even want any of this in the first place!” For the first time, Hongjoong’s expression fell, and you didn’t know what to feel about it. He was a beautiful man with a soul full of venom and a heart you weren’t convinced actually beat, but right now, his expression only told you one thing - I do, I do know what you’ve been through. His hand twitched at his side, and the muscle in his jaw jumped. “Don’t you dare say that.”

“Why not?” You seethed, shoving him backward with both hands. “Because it’s true, isn’t it? You had no plans in marrying me, but then again I was nothing but sold goods to you, I wouldn’t be surprised if you end up killing me in a ditch somewhere—”

Something snapped in him. He pushed you back until you stumbled against the wall. The air was electric. “Shut your mouth,” he seethed, but his voice was breaking, furious and wounded all at once. “You would have gone with Yunho, I don’t want you to go with him. You faltered, taken aback by how possessive he sounded. "I don’t need to see you walking away from me when we had just begun. You want to know why I didn’t tell you? I’ve already given up enough and I’m not giving you up again.”

Again? He just stood there, panting, one hand curled in a fist over his chest like the words had ripped something open in him. “You wouldn’t understand,” he snarled, shaking his head vehemently. “You never do.”

The silence afterward was deafening. You stared at him, chest heaving, tears hot and furious in your eyes, the confusion swirling in your head even more. It might be part of why your mouth moved on its own in either the best or worst decision of your life. “So make me,” you whispered in quiet desperation. “I’m so tired of being kept in the dark, I know you’re hiding things from me, make me understand—-”

He surged forward without warning, cupping your jaw as his mouth found yours like it had been searching, starving, waiting across lifetimes. The kiss was bruising, breath-stealing like he needed to taste the ache in your throat and the anger in your blood just to prove you were real. You gasped against him, and it was his undoing.

Your back hit the wall again, but it didn’t matter anymore. Not when his lips softened slightly, tracing the corner of your mouth like an apology. Not when his breath was hot and reverent against your cheek, your jaw, your throat. His forehead fell against yours, both of you breathless. “Tell me to stop,” he rasped, voice shaking as his thumb brushed your lip, swollen from his kiss. “Tell me now and I will.”

But your fingers were already curling into his shirt, pulling him close. “I can’t,” you whispered, voice wavering. “Don’t make me.”

And that was all it took. Your lips refused to part from his as he pulled you to the couch, there was no way the both of you were reaching the bedroom, your clothes slowly peeling themselves away from your bodies all the while your tongues clashed against one another. His hands roamed with reverence, memorizing every tremble, every sigh. You didn’t know where you ended and he began - just that the space between your bodies was no longer enough. 

“Oh, fuck,” his lust-addled voice sounded through the hush whispers of the intimacy you both found yourselves in. “You’re beautiful, I knew you’d be, fuck…”

You couldn’t even have the nerve to cover your naked body as you stood in front of him; not when he was looking at you like you were the only salvation left in a world gone mad. He grabbed your hips, positioning you until you were straddling him as he sat plush on the couch. “You don’t have to do a thing, darling, I’ll take care of you,” he pressed a thumb on your swollen lips. “Would you let me?”

You nodded, feeling feverish in your head as he placed his hand on your hips, his hardness poking you in the spot where you wanted him the most. “Y-Yeah,” you said. “Please, I-I need you.”

The world could wait. Right now, it was just the two of you both bared, bruised, and still reaching for each other in the dark. He lifted your hips up, lowering you slowly onto his aching cock until your foreheads were clashing with each other. “Y/N,” he whispered, straining, summoning chills through your ears. “I’ll make it up to you next time, I’m not going to last. It’s been a while for me.”

You tilted your head, biting your lips to stop the lewd sounds threatening to come out from you. “W-What do you mean? You haven’t been with o-others?”

Hongjoong shook his head with an earnest smile. “No. Why would I when I have you?”

Your eye contact didn’t break even when Hongjoong pushed your plump ass to grind on him, your eyes fluttering shut as you moaned out earnestly. Your fingers tangled in his hair, his breath warm at your collarbone, and when his name left your lips, it prompted him to snap his hips up to meet your grinding.

“Hongjoong, ngh, fuck,” you gasped out, mouth slacked open at the force of his thrusts, your breasts bouncing their way freely at the pace he set. “H-Hongjoong—Joong.”

You both finally let yourselves feel it all. Not just the passion, but the ache of the longing between you both. You held his face between your hands when his eyes fluttered closed, and for once, he looked unguarded. “Mmm, ah, yes, yes, yes,” were all the sounds you could make amidst the skin slapping against skin as Hongjoong continuously pulled you up and down on his cock. “More?” Hongjoong’s voice trembled at the pleasure clouding his brain. “You can’t leave me, alright? Not when I’m making you feel so good like this.”

You nodded, mouth still open, snapping your eyes close in the pleasure of Hongjoong’s nails digging in your hips, scratching a line all the way to your chest until his hands were grabbing onto both of your plush tits. “So fucking good,” he growled, his other hand traveling to your head, grabbing your hair. “Come here.”

Your lips met into a feverish kiss, your heated moans of lust and longing being swallowed by Hongjoong’s sinful mouth, and when you subconsciously squeeze his impaling cock, it was his turn to groan into your lips and bite onto your lower lip until you opened to let his wild tongue mess with yours. The moans that fell from the both of you created a dizzying sound in combination of the wet tongue kiss and the slapping of his balls up your ass.

“Touch me, please,” you begged, grabbing onto his hand down to your throbbing clit. “T-Touch m-me, I need to come, Joong, p-please.”

“Fuck, you’re going to be the death of me,” he groaned, immediately drawing circles on your swollen bud, instantly drawing a garbled scream from you. “That’s it, baby, fuck me. Ride my fucking cock, yes.”

You had not once paused from bouncing, continues fucking yourself ardently onto his thick, intruding cock until you were nothing but a senseless doll. “You don’t understand how long I’ve wanted this,” he rasped, his voice rough and uneven, his lips kissing and sucking every surface of your skin he could claim. 

“I’ve wanted you long before the day you looked me in the eye at that dining table. Each day was a risk I couldn’t afford to take, but God, I wanted you anyway. Every day. In every fucking way.”

He kissed you again, deeper, needier. It wasn’t just hunger - it was reprieve. Years of restraint burning away in the heat of a single truth finally spoken aloud. You were what he wanted. Always had been.

“Joong, a-ah, that feels so good,” you moaned out, all sense of mind gone from the feeling of him finally ravishing you the way you always wanted. “Just like that, say my name,” he gritted out, cupping your face tenderly in contrast to this thrusts, his eyes lidded and desperate. “I’ve waited so long to hear you say my damn name, baby, please, I’m begging you.”

“Hongjoong,” you let out, loud and clear. His cock twitched in your cunt, but you weren’t done yet. This was a man you had no problem seeing all of you. “Hongjoong, Hongjoong, Hongjoong.”

Soon enough, you exploded. It wasn’t the delicious rubbing of his fingertips in between young legs that or how deep his cock fucked that undid you, though that was a huge factor, but it was the way he kissed you, the way he looked at you like you hung the stars in the sky for him to admire. “Oh, I’m com—Hongjoong, Joong, Joong—”

Hongjoong didn’t last much longer. With his final thrusts, Hongjoong lifted his hips to fuck into you until all the both of you had was mind-blowing blankness fulled with heat and lust. Overstimulation coiled in your groin as your eyes rolled in the back of your head, your little whimpers spurring Hongjoong on until he came with a loud groan and spilled inside of you.

Everything slowed down with you slumped completely onto Hongjoong’s rising chest, meeting yours as you both tried to catch your breaths. The sex was fast, but it was all the both of you needed. “Good girl,” he whispered, turning your face to his for a quick kiss. “My good girl—hey, you don’t have to move yet, stay.”

You pulled out anyway, whimpering slightly at the sensation of Hongjoong’s cum dripping onto your thighs as you bent down to give him a kiss in return before sitting comfortably on his lap and laying your head on his chest, resting your head onto the crook of his neck as his arm quickly wrapped around you protectively. “It’s okay,” you whispered, your eyes slowly closing, your breath evening.

“You want to stay like this?” Hongjoong asked fondly, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on your back.

But for naught. Sleep had caught on to you and the last thing you felt was Hongjoong carrying you as he chuckled affectionately at your drowsy state. It was the most peace you’ve felt in a while.

Just like everything in your life, nothing good seemed to last forever. In the beginning, everything was smooth sailing. You and Hongjoong went back to the manor the next day, and it was nothing short of chaos the moment you stepped in the house where everyone was already waiting by the entrance. Seonghwa was the one who greeted you at the front door and his brows almost reached his hairline with how close you stood next to Hongjoong.

“The hell’s wrong with you?” Hongjoong asked sharply. “Why are you looking at us like that?”

Seonghwa raised his hands, blinking innocently. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

You frowned, not noticing the way you linked your arms with Hongjoong’s, but everyone did. Not one step inside the manor and everyone was already looking at the both of you. Jongho bent to grab both of your suitcases, but paused when he took one look at the both of you. “Huh,” he whispered. “Weird.”

Even Mingi who greeted his father, and you albeit stiffly, raised a brow, but opted not to say anything, just walking away while looking back at the both of you repeatedly like he was seeing what he wasn’t supposed to be seeing. You and Hongjoong looked at each other, thoroughly confused, but shrugged it off.

And that’s when San walked by, carrying a tray of cookies you loved so much, only to freeze when he saw Hongjoong gently placing a hand on your back to guide you past a stray step. He blinked over and over again until all the cookies plopped down towards the floor. “I’m sorry, what have you done to my favourite dysfunctional couple?”

You were horrified, mouth agape as you stared at all the sugary goodness on the floor. “My cookies,” you frowned, tugging at Hongjoong’s sleeve. “Joong…”

It only got worse when Hongjoong leaned down, pressed a kiss to your cheek nonchalantly and murmured, “I have to work for a couple of hours to catch up while we were gone. I’ll be back to spoil you rotten, yeah? I’ll see if I can order cookies after, so be good.”

You blinked, stunned, and so did literally everyone else in the hallway. The silence that followed could’ve cracked glass. You stood there, flustered, a hand over your cheek where he just kissed you in front of everyone.

Wooyoung took one look at you, one look at Hongjoong’s retreating form as he walked away, before letting out a screech so loud and unholy that you covered your ears immediately. “Oh my fucking God, what was that?” Wooyoung shouted, flailing like a game show host on a sugar high. “Did you just call him Joong?”

But that was it, because after that, it was like everything never even happened. You weren’t sure what you expected. Hongjoong pulling you aside just to hold you again like he did that night? Instead, life resumed as if nothing had changed. He never really did get you those cookies nor did he spend time with you afterwards anymore.

He wasn’t snarling or glaring at you anymore, that was for sure, but he always kept you close even in the small gestures like sitting beside you or holding your hand, but that was it. You still slept in separate rooms, and there were no more whispers in the dark, no more soft kisses, no more of him asking for five more minutes in bed before he got up. No one questioned it.

It started small, you almost convinced yourself you imagined it. During meals, he no longer sat beside you. He’ll speak, he’ll nod, but his body always angles away from you. That was when the absence of touch came next. Once, Hongjoong’s hand would find your lower back or brush yours when passing you a glass, but now, he didn’t reach out, didn’t accidentally graze your skin.

One afternoon, you entered the library. You hadn’t even called out his name, but the moment he saw you, he stood, gathered his things, and left. It was when his cold formality started again, never with warmth, and when he gave you instructions, he didn’t say your name. When you responded, his eyes would flicker, but he never truly looked at you.

By mafia standards, you should’ve married her within the first month.

Yunho’s words sank deeper than you wanted to admit. They curled under your skin like thorns. What if he was right? What if Hongjoong had never planned to marry you at all? Your eyes burned, and you blinked furiously to push the sting away. He had kissed you, held you, had made love to you. And now, he was walking around as if he hadn’t touched every inch of your soul.

You rubbed at your chest as if you could soothe the ache building there. What if this was it? What if this cold civility, this silence, was all he thought you were worth? Maybe he didn’t want to marry you. Maybe he never did.

Then came the locked doors. You never really hung out with him when he worked, but the locked door was suspicious. He also began sending people in his place. Hongjoong no longer filled your space, he ghosted it. You couldn’t even remember the last time he told you something directly.

You weren’t stupid. You knew how this world worked, how alliances were made and unmade at the flick of a wrist, at the spill of a secret. Maybe you had just been another deal. A piece of a war you weren’t meant to survive. Which was why you barged into his office one day without bothering to knock or close the door.

He didn’t seem at all surprised at your intrusion. He sighed, lowering his glasses and looking at you with tired eyes. “What’s this about, darling?”

“Do you regret us? Touching me? Kissing me?” You started, unable to stop the spiral now. “Or are you just pretending it didn’t happen so I don’t get any stupid ideas l-like marriage or a future?”

He didn’t answer. A bitter laugh escaped your lips, barely a sound. “I can’t believe you,” you murmured, your voice cracking around the edges. “Are you telling me what I felt was nothing? You almost had me fooled there, Hongjoong. I thought for sure hope wasn’t just a word anymore—”

“Can you not? How about this,” he sighed, placing his hands on your cheeks to cup it like he did before, and your traitorous body leaned onto his touch. “I’ll take you out later, okay? Let me just finish working. Sounds good?”

“Are you going to marry me?” You blurted out instead. He stiffened. You felt it immediately his arms didn’t fall away, but his hold loosened just enough for the space between you to feel colder than it had before. “Hongjoong?”

It spiraled. Your brain wouldn’t stop spinning. You didn’t remember pushing him and running away to the comfort of your room after locking the door. All you remember was his refusal to answer and look at you. And the way he never did take you out after.

And the worst of all, everyone had noticed. You had lost your spark, that light in your eyes, that drive in your walk. The anxiety, the paranoia, was slowly eating you alive. You were falling apart at the seams, and no one dared to say it out loud. But you could feel it; this immense pressure building in your chest like a ticking bomb.

Another thing was you were also starting to notice the way everyone was looking at you. It wasn’t quite pity, no, but it was akin to the end. To be fair, if Hongjoong was to keep acting like this, the end was nigh, indeed. What if this was all a game? What if he was keeping you close for power? Or pity?

You were thirty-three when your heart had failed you in a way that stayed. Your reflection in the mirror didn’t even look like you anymore. It looked like someone trying to be worthy of being chosen. Marrying Hongjoong was a want now, not a necessity, and that broke you. 

And then, one day, it all seemed to shatter. You were passing by Hongjoong’s office, an excuse you’ve been telling yourself just to see if you were going to have a small glimpse of him, when you heard it. Voices low, urgent, and hushed. One of them was Hongjoong’s.

“It’s being finalized, then?” Hongjoong’s sharp, business-like voice asked.

“Yes,” Mingi replied, serious and deep. “I reckon we’ll be able to make a move soon and then everything will be settled. You could let her go after.”

You froze in place, feeling like ice has been poured over you. Seonghwa sighed. “It’s just…are we really doing this? After everything? Won’t it destroy her?”

“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. Besides, it’s not knowledge she deserves to have, anyway. I didn’t go this far just for her to know. It’s better this way,” Hongjoong said curtly.

“Does she even know?” San’s voice now asked. “I’m confused. You both looked like you almost had it going, Joong. Why didn’t you tell her then?“

“No,” Seonghwa replied, sighing. “Hongjoong’s keeping her in the dark until all the loose ends are tied. Her bastard uncle did sign a contract after all, so technically she’s with us. It’s a good thing.”

Mingi clicked his tongue. “It shouldn’t have gone this far, Father. You’re lucky she’s still loyal after everything. You should’ve told her from the start this engagement was a fraud.”

Your heart stuttered. You covered your mouth, willing yourself to stay silent as tears started to pool on the side of your eyes. 

“I still think it’s cruel,” San murmured. “Are you ever going to tell her, Hongjoong? You’re really gonna let her go? Just like that?”

There was a beat of silence that stretched for far too long before Hongjoong spoke again. “There was never supposed to be an ‘us’ anyway. It was a mistake that should have never happened.”

You couldn’t take it anymore, taking off as soon as that conversation ended. You sat on the floor of your room, knees tucked into your chest, the ache in your bones eclipsed only by the quiet, creeping devastation hollowing you out from the inside. Yunho’s words echoed in your mind like a curse you couldn’t shake. By mafia standards, you should’ve married her within the first month. Why haven’t you? Did you want to keep her locked up like a secret no one else can touch? Or are you just dragging her through the mud?

But now? Now, after hearing that conversation, after watching him pass you in the hallway like a stranger, after everyone’s pitying glances and whispered silences, it all felt so grotesquely clear - you weren’t something he was building a future with, you were someone he was using.

You tried to breathe, but it came out ragged, your chest too tight. The truth clawed at you with wild, unforgiving hands. Yunho had been right all along, and now you were stuck in a house that felt more like a mausoleum than a home with a name he would never give you and a heart he would never claim. You spent days like that, refusing to see anyone who noticed they haven’t seen your face in a while, leaving the trays of food placed on your door untouched, and only going out to use the bathroom. It was how you had accidentally left the door ajar for someone to find you, face blotchy and swollen when Jongho came in, eyes widened at your messed up state, as he helped you up to sit on the bed. 

“Y/N, what happened to you?” He let out in concern. He stood up, and you thought for a second that he was giving you the space you clearly needed when you didn’t answer, but you were wrong. “I’m calling Hongjoong,” he said, already pulling out his phone. “I don’t know what happened, but you clearly need him.”

Something in your mind snapped into a quiet haze. Jongho was handsome. He was kind, and he was always there for you. For one breathless second, you wished that you could feel something, anything, other than the emptiness Hongjoong had left you with.

“Don’t call him,” you murmured, voice cracking as you reached for his hand. You looked up at Jongho, his brows furrowed in confusion. And before you could stop yourself, before you could think, you whispered, “Kiss me.”

Jongho’s entire body froze. His lips parted slightly, eyes widening, not with desire, but with shock and pity. He roze, the blood draining from his face. “Y/N, I don’t—”

“Please,” you begged. “I need to feel like I’m not losing everything—”

“Y/N?” Hongjoong’s voice suddenly crackled on the phone. “What’s going on? Jongho, what in God’s name are you doing?”

The call had connected after all, but you were done caring about Hongjoong. You grabbed Jongho’s shirt, lowering him to your lips. “I-I need to feel something, Jongho, please pretend I’m wanted,” your voice cracked.

“What the fuck is going on?” Hongjoong's voice roared through the speaker, frantic now. “I am going to skin you alive and drain your blood if you do it, don’t you dare, Jongho—”

But Jongho didn’t move. He respectfully held your shoulders, keeping you at arm’s length with utmost care. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice soft, heavy with pity but unwavering. “You don’t need more lies right now.”

On the other end of the phone, Hongjoong’s breathing was ragged, silent, tortured, like he was ready to rip through space to get to you before the line went dead. It was when you broke down, sobbing in Jongho’s arms apologizing through and through for your utterly shameful behaviour, thanking him for not taking advantage of your momentary weakness.

And then, the anger settled in. How dare Hongjoong act like that after what you overheard? What’s it to him that you wanted to kiss someone else’s lips besides his filthy ones? You remembered the way his voice sounded when told you that one dinner night that you were not to wear a ring. You should have known. 

You made up your mind then - you were leaving him. You weren’t going to live trapped in the unknown. You’d spent years chained under your uncle’s care, and now under the illusion of Hongjoong’s protection, but no more. Maybe you’d stay with Yunho to start again and figure out who you really were outside of the Kim manor’s walls.

But first, you needed that damn contract. The one that bound you to Hongjoong as his property. After much deliberation, the easiest way would be to drive him out of his office long enough for him to not come back.

So you picked a fight, purposefully targeting his tendency to get possessive of you like you were his property. It spurred you on, and at first, he wasn’t budging, but when you mentioned off-handedly about the kiss you wanted from Jongho, he bit.

The effect was instant. Hongjoong instantly stopped what he was doing, his entire frame taut with tension, his eyes narrowed dangerously. “What did you say?” He asked coldly.

You bit your lip to hold your smirk back. “I said,” you drawled. “Maybe I should’ve asked Jongho to kiss me again.”

That did it. His steps toward you were slow, deliberate, dangerous. He growled low under his breath, shoving past you, practically vibrating with possessive rage. “I don’t know what game you’re playing at, but don’t test me, Y/N,” he snapped. “I’ve killed for less without blinking.”

Your heart beat erratically as you listened to Hongjoong’s furious commands to hand him his keys so he could drive off that were sounding further and further until you heard the front door slam so hard, you could practically feel it vibrate from where you were.

Perfect. Now all you had to do was find the damn contract - and whatever other secrets he’d been hiding.

Luckily for you, Hongjoong didn’t lock his cabinets. To be completely fair, nobody in their right mind - except you, apparently - would even dream of digging through his files while he wasn’t present. It was like finding a needle on a haystack, but whenever you’d recall the conversation you overheard here, it gave you a newfound sense of determination. Finally, you found it. With trembling hands, you gingerly took the contract that basically held your uncle’s life and bound you to Hongjoong. You hated your uncle for selling you, but at the same time, you couldn’t imagine not meeting Hongjoong at all.

This was it, you were done, and you were leaving. You had already packed what little you brought here and all that was left now was to burn the bridge behind you and never look back. Tears welled in your eyes, however, as you willed Hongjoong’s fond eyes as he looked at you out of your mind. Your story with him had happened, but now, it had to end.

You folded the contract resolutely. Just as you turned to leave, something fluttered from between the pages. It  was a thinner piece of paper, tucked behind the contract, and it fell towards the floor, face up. You blinked in confusion, was this another part of the contract?

You crouched, hand shaky as you picked it up, but before you could touch it, you froze. Your pulse skipped, heart sinking the moment your eyes caught the title - it was a marriage contract and it had Hongjoong’s unmistakable signature on it.

You blinked once, twice, but the name didn’t change. The blood drained from your face, a sudden rush of nausea coiled in your gut with bile that started to burn your throat as you backed away from the fallen paper as if it had a contagious disease of some sort.

Was this it? The secret he’d been keeping? Your chest felt like it had caved in. No wonder he didn’t want to marry you - he literally couldn’t. He already belonged to someone else and you seeked comfort in his arms like you belonged in it when, in fact, you did not. You never did.

You ran out of the office, your pathetic tears finally falling from your eyes as you felt your heart starting to break. You didn’t bother stopping for Wooyoung, who looked genuinely worried for your state, and you pushed past a surprised Seonghwa, who was the last person you ever wanted to see besides Hongjoong.

You shoved the contract hastily in your luggage, trudging it silently towards the back door you knew nobody passed or guarded, each movement mechanical, like your soul detached itself long ago. The suitcase was filled with your clothes, but really, it's all the things you never meant to carry - bitterness and heartbreak.

You barely made it one step outside when a hand grabbed your arm from behind, spinning you unceremoniously. It was someone you never expected in a million years, and he was already waiting by the door like he knew you’d come out here. “Running away again, I see,” Mingi eyes your luggage. “Though it seems you have no plans of coming back.” 

His features are etched from the same ice as his father's - cold, unreadable. He’s never spoken to you beyond what's necessary. You pulled your arm away harshly from his hold. “Not that it would matter,” you scoffed. “Hongjoong has no plans of marrying me, what’s the point?”

Realization seemed to dawn on him. “You found the certificate. Is that why Wooyoung said you’re crying?” He sighed, long and breathy, as if he wasn’t prepared for what he was about to say next. “I have to give it to you, you’re clever for driving him out of his office, but whatever it is you’re thinking, you’re dead wrong.”

You laugh once, bitter and sharp. “I saw it with my own two eyes, and the facts speak for themselves, don’t they? All he’s ever made me feel was that I was an inconvenience to him.”

“You’ve only seen what he’s allowed you to see,” Mingi says quietly. “You think my father doesn’t care about you, but Y/N, he’d sell his soul for you. For what it’s worth, we all think it should’ve never gone this far.”

“Yeah, well,” you exhaled sharply, turning to leave again. “It’s a little too late for that—”

“Don’t leave,” Mingi said, almost a whisper, almost a plea. You faltered, stunned at how he wasn’t letting you pass. He rubs his face between his hands in distress. “How about this, let me show you something, and if that still doesn’t change your mind, I’ll even help you walk away.” “Why?” You asked coldly, but followed him back to what seemed like Hongjoong’s office anyway. “You made it clear that you never liked me from the beginning.”

“Because I’m not going to let him lose you, not like this,” Mingi opened the door for you to enter. “And I never disliked you. You are my father’s one shot at the happiness he never got before, I could never dislike you for that.”

San was already there. He looked up as you entered, and your breath caught. In his hands was the very marriage certificate that had shattered you just moments ago. He eyed your luggage, resignation clear in his eyes. “Y/N, I am so, so sorry,” his voice cracked when you refused to meet his eye. “You deserve to know the truth before you walk away, at least.”

Mingi sighed and walked over to the far side of the desk. He reached under the edge, clicking something underneath. “This,” he held out a small recording device. “Is for protection and insurance whenever he invites people over here. It never stops recording. I’m sure you know where I’m going with this.” 

And with that, he presses play. You didn’t speak, just listened. At first, you heard nothing, just pure static and a couple of movements before San fast forwarded it, stopping when he was satisfied.

“She’s beautiful, Hwa, my goodness. Her photos don’t do her justice,” Hongjoong’s familiar voice sounded all over the room, slightly startling you. “I-I must’ve looked like a fool during dinner. How am I supposed to pretend that I’m not head over heels in love with her?”

“You did look like a fool,” Seonghwa’s voice said next, deadpanned. “It’s embarrassing, Joong. Your own son had to tell you to stop staring.”

Head over heels? It didn’t make sense. Not when he avoided you for the longest time, not when he stood silent while you begged for clarity. San started fast forwarding again.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?” The voice was unmistakably Hongjoong’s sharp, furious, and barely restrained. “Flirting with her in front of me? Do you want me to ship you back in Suwon, you uncultured swine?”

Wooyoung’s familiar laughter shrieked all over the room so loud, Mingi rolled his eyes. “My God, Dad, you are so down bad. I’ve never seen you so jealous in my life. I have no plans to steal your wife, relax.”

“That’s not the point,” Hongjoong snapped. “Don’t touch her like that again. Don’t talk to her like she’s anyone but mine. Do you understand me?”

You stood there, frozen. Your hands trembled slightly as you remembered that day so clearly in your head. San gave Mingi a glance before silently playing the recording again.

“I fucked up,” Honjoong started, but it was in a voice you’ve never heard on him before, and for some reason, it hurt your heart to hear. “I shouldn’t have shouted at her during dinner, she looked at me like I’d hit her. And I-I hate myself for it, she probably hates me—”

“You think?” Jongho’s voice responded, unusually sharp. “She looked like she wanted the floor to swallow her whole. Seriously, what were you thinking?”

“I shouldn’t have pushed the plate like that, but it had avocados in it,” Hongjoong’s voice faltered, like he was trying to rein himself in. 

There was a pause in the recording, and in your head as well. You felt like you were about to faint. “Avocados?” San in the recording asked, clearly confused.

Hongjoong sighed heavily and you could practically hear him pacing in his office. “She’s allergic to avocados. Allergic enough for anaphylactic shock.”

“You could’ve just said something,” San replied, dry and disbelieving. “That wasn’t just over the line, Joong. It was humiliating.”

“That’s why she reacted like that when I told her about the dressing,” Jongho commented off-handedly. “But still, you scared her. Hell, you scared all of us.”

“I was scared as well, that’s why I’m furious,” Hongjoong snapped. “I clearly told the staff to not put avocados in her food. How was I supposed to tell her without arousing suspicion of the fucker that did it?”

That night, you’d gone to bed wondering if he hated you. Meanwhile, he was probably pacing the floor in this very room, wondering if you were still breathing, wondering if he should have just shouted your allergy across the table rather than risk letting you eat what could’ve killed you. “You okay to keep going?” San asked softly. When you nodded stiffly, he pressed play again.

“Did you order food out?” Wooyoung’s voice sounded out this time. “Oh, that actually looks good, can I have some—”

A loud smack can be heard in the background before Wooyoung’s yelp. “No,” Hongjoong’s light, almost boyish tone, smugly denied. “My love made this for me. Can you guys believe it? She’s literally perfect in every way, she even cooks well, too. A literal angel in every sense, I tell you.”

“Hold on, is that why she’s been hanging around the kitchen late?” Wooyoung asked, confused. “But she looks so down everytime—she doesn’t know you’re eating them, does she?”

There was a pause before Seonghwa spoke next, his voice quieter. “You have to tell her, Joong. Me and San have to carry the burden of seeing her tears the next day every single time we pretend to throw away the food the next day. She makes them with love, you know?”

Silence. Then Hongjoong sighed, deep and hollow. “God, I want to, but not yet. You know there’s a mole in the staff. If I let on that I care too much, it puts a target on her back. It’s the only way to protect her without tipping my hand.”

There was a pause. “She’s so bright when she cooks, and I never tell her,” he continued heavily. “I said nothing, like I always do. So for now, all I could do is savour her food, you know? It keeps my longing away for now.”

Something in your chest cracked. You remembered those nights. You never imagined he cherished every bite in silence, keeping up a mask to protect you from shadows you didn’t even know were looming. Suddenly, it transitioned into a conversation you knew far too well, the one you heard before you ran away to the playground.

“But you can’t keep doing this to keep giving her the cold shoulder, Joong,” Seonghwa clicked his tongue. “She’s too perceptive and you know she'll find out, what are you going to do then?”

“Give me time,” Hongjoong’s tone shifted into something darker. “We’re so close to caging in Yoo Jaehwan, that bastard ruined her life. Please, no one can know for now. I have to make sure he’ll pay for that car accident that almost cost her and Yeosang.”

You gasped audibly, almost tripping at what you just heard. There was only one car accident that had Yeosang and you in it, did this run deeper than you initially thought?

“She won’t be safe forever, you know that. San’s working on Mingi’s intel for the hit and run. It was damn near impossible to find who hit her parents back then. You think Jaehwan knows?”

“There’s no denying it. That bastard killed them. She will be safer here, so please, watch over her for me. I will never forgive myself if something happens to her. She’s my everything—who’s there?”

And all this time, the man you thought didn’t care,the man whose cold shoulder and distant silence had crushed you, had been carrying the weight of it all in secret. You shook your head in denial, if this wasn’t enough, your uncle had something to do with your parents’ death as well. “Make it stop,” you begged. “I-I can’t—”

“I’m sorry,” Mingi apologized, and you could see he was genuine this time. “We have to keep going. This is why Father was the way he was with you. You have to know.”

You heard a glass clink against another, followed by the unmistakable sound of Hongjoong’s tired hiccup, more human than you'd ever heard him, before the familiar sigh of Seonghwa followed. “That’s enough,” he gently coaxed. “You’re drunk, Joong. You’re half gone–”

“Half gone? I haven’t been whole since I lied to her,” Hongjoong’s drunk and pained voice slurred. “She ran away from me, Hwa. And I deserve it. I was prepared for her hate, but not her absence. When I couldn’t find her, I was so damn scared, none of you even understood.”

Hongjoong swallowed more alcohol. “I love her, Seonghwa. I love her more than this house, more than the empire, more than anything. But if she knew what I’ve done, she’d never stay.”

You clutch the edge of the table like it’s the only thing holding you upright. “There’s still time to tell her,” Seonghwa advised. “Mingi still thinks you shouldn’t hide this.”

“What if she realizes I’m the reason her life turned to hell?” Hongjoong cried out in melancholy. “I’m terrified she’ll disappear for good when she finds out what I’ve done and made the selfish decision to make her mine—”

“But she doesn’t know that,” Seonghwa said softly. “She doesn’t know you held her hand the whole time in the hospital. You did it to protect her. You married her, for God’s sake.”

Your knees nearly gave out. That hand - warm, calloused, unmoving but steady - had been the only thing tethering you to life. That hand was the only one that stayed when no one else did. Tears sprung to your eyes, that hand had been your lifeline, and after all this time, you had been his. 

“I married her to settle a score. But somewhere along the line, I just,” Hongjoong sniffled. “I just loved her. Every day I don’t tell her, she drifts further from me. And I-I don’t know how to fix it.”

You swallowed audibly when the recording paused. There was only one question lingering in your head, one that San read on your face but refused to acknowledge. Instead, he reached forward and pressed play. The room was silent again, except for the soft static of the next recording beginning to play.

“I’ll bow to your king when he shows himself,” your voice played out this time, clipped and cut. You cringed internally. You remember how liberated you felt after that day, but now you were about to find out what happened after you stormed out.

Seonghwa and Mingi were in the room that day and you were expecting the three of them to talk about your utter disrespect, but you were not expecting Hongjoong’s laughter, loud, bubbly, and full of mirth after a few seconds of you walking away.

“Well, would you look at that,” Mingi snorted, but even through the recording, you could hear the subtle fondness in his voice. “You’ve finally found your match, Father.”

“God, I’m so proud of her,” Hongjoong said through his laughter, his voice breathless and utterly thrilled. “Did you see the way she stood up to me like a champ?  I’ve never been that close to finishing on the spot.”

Mingi let out a sound of pure, exaggerated revulsion. “Please, never let me hear that again. That is fucking disgusting, this is why I get drunk often.”

“Oh, it gets worse,” Seonghwa chortled. “Did you see the way he looked at her? He was looking at her like he wanted her to break his neck and thank her for it. It was sickening. I wanted to bleach my eyes.”

“Shut up,” Hongjoong muttered, but there was no real heat behind it. You could hear the smile in his voice. It was small, secretive, a little lovesick.

“No, you shut up,” Seonghwa shot back with playful disbelief. “She literally insulted your bloodline and told you that you are not the king of your own empire in her eyes and you look like you’re ready to carve her name onto your chest.”

“Well, he just might,” Mingi answered dramatically. “You two make marriage look fun. My money’s on her, you know? Hell, everyone’s is at this point.”  

Hongjoong laughed again, sounding more genuine, if that was possible. “So is mine.”

You’ve barely let that settle before the next recording sounded. You froze. This was the most recent, the catalyst that set this whole thing in motion. “I still think it’s cruel,” San murmured. “Are you ever going to tell her, Hongjoong? You’re really gonna let her go? Just like that?”

“There was never supposed to be an ‘us’ anyway. It was a mistake that should have never happened,” Hongjoong sighed and you were confused. You didn’t remember him sounding this torn about it. This was when you ran away crying to your room utterly heartbroken.

“That’s my wife, San. I don’t want to let her go, but it was cruel for me to take her secretly. I have to let her go if she doesn’t want to stay even if it hurts me. We go for the kill, but leave Jaehwan to me. I want to kill him, myself.”

The recording ended there, for good this time. You just stood there shaking, lips parted, eyes glassy. He hadn’t just tolerated you, he adored you - no, he loved you hopelessly with a hidden love that he kept choking down behind layers of silence and strategy. 

You feel your knees weaken not from pain, but from the crushing, beautiful truth that maybe you were never unloved. “I-I don’t understand,” you blurted, tears blurring your vision. “T-There has to be a mistake. He’s married to someone else—”

San started to show you the marriage certificate again, but you didn’t want anything to do with it. “Y/N,” San said gently, catching your hand before you could shove the paper away. “Just look closer, please. At the bottom.”

Your gaze dropped, unwilling at first but your breath stopped, your mind stilling into chaotic silence when you saw it - your name and  signature right beside Hongjoong’s. You blinked hard, heart thrashing in your chest. “I don’t remember this. I never - how could I not know I was married?”

“Our job is done. We shouldn’t be the ones explaining this. You need to hear it from him,” Mingi said as he stood and with a final glance, the door clicked shut, and you were left alone with your thoughts, the weight of the paper, and a heart that no longer knew what to believe.

You were shaking your head violently, eyes already welling up with tears you refused to acknowledge. One by one, everything started to make sense, even the little things you ignored for fear of falling too hard - your avocado allergy, how he picked raisins out of your food, your photo on his desk you now knew for sure he kept staring at every single day.

And everyone knew too, there were also the telltale signs of everyone slipping by accident - the way San froze when he found out your name was Jeong, Seonghwa telling you it was finally nice to meet you, overhearing Yeosang say you weren’t just a wife, you were someone Hongjoong would burn the world for. 

You should’ve been angry, and you were, but underneath all of that was grief not just for yourself, but for him too. Your chest ached as you imagined all those nights he must have sat awake, planning, hiding, hurting. All those moments you begged him to speak, and he couldn’t not because he didn’t want to - but because he loved you too much to risk everything.

A sob clawed its way up your throat. You wiped your face with shaking hands, but the tears wouldn’t stop now. How long had he carried all this alone? How long had he loved you silently, forced to cage every affection? How could you hate someone for hurting you when all they ever wanted was to protect you? It must have been crushing. 

Your heart was a tangled, desperate mess in your chest by the time the door finally opened. Hongjoong stepped in, his brows pinched together in confusion when he saw you there. When he saw the marriage certificate crumpled tightly in your hands, it was like the ground vanished beneath his feet.

He stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes blown wide, his breath catching audibly. It was like you also held his heart in your hands. All the color drained from his face, but somewhere in his eyes, relief shone through. And you knew why - all the pretending has to stop now and you both knew it.

Hongjoong slowly closed the door behind him, eyes never leaving yours, and for once, he looked afraid, vulnerable and human. “We need to talk,” he said hoarsely, and there wasn’t a trace of command in his voice, only quiet pleading as he slowly approached you.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” You cried out, heart aching and throat tight, the paper trembling in your hands like the storm inside you that was finally meeting his. “Everything hurts, Hongjoong. I can’t breathe.”

Without another word, he knelt in front of you, like the wind had been knocked out of him, and reached for you with trembling hands. You collapsed into his chest, sobbing openly as he cradled you to him. His warmth surrounded you, his scent grounding you, and for the first time, his arms didn’t feel like a prison - they felt like home.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, over and over again, his lips brushing your temple. “I’m so, so sorry. I never wanted you to find out like this, and I never wanted to hurt you. But I was wrong. I was so wrong.”

You shook your head against him, trying to make sense of the chaos in your chest. “I wanted so desperately for you to care for me, Hongjoong,” you confessed angrily, lamenting for all the times you spent yearning. “I wanted it so badly that I never blamed you for how you treated me, no matter how bad, I never blamed you.”

He clutched you tighter as if the very fabric of his soul depended on your forgiveness, his breath shaky, his words barely held together. “Blame me, Y/N. My soul can’t be saved if I sell you my sins and the scars in your heart are mine to atone, but don’t think for a second that I never loved you,” his voice cracked. “That I don’t love you now.”

Rage sets in as his words wrapped around your heart like a chain, heavy with the weight of long-buried truths. “You’re cruel, you know that?” You thumped your fists on his chest repeatedly. “After all the things you made me go through? You tell me this now?”

You could feel his tears now, each one a testament to the pain he had buried beneath the armor he wore for too long. “You think I’m cruel, but I’ve been your husband longer than you’ve known. And I’ve loved you every single day of it,” he whispered, his hands trembling.

Your breath caught as his words sank in, deeper than any wound he’d ever left behind. Husband. You wanted to scream, to cry, to pull away, to collapse into him all at once. How could he say it like that? So stripped of pride and power, like a man offering up the last piece of himself and hoping it would be enough? It was too much. It was everything.

He pressed his forehead to yours, lips barely apart from yours. “If you want the truth, I'll give you that. If you want to leave, I will never stop you."

But somehow, all you could do was hold him tighter. “I don’t want freedom from you, Hongjoong,” you whispered, breaking apart in his arms. “I just want the truth.”

Hongjoong didn’t speak at first. You felt his body tremble as he held you, as though the truth itself was too heavy to carry alone anymore. “I’m not the right person to tell you this, it would be Yunho, but to put it simply for now, your parents both served my father, and in turn, me after he passed away.”

You pulled back slightly, your breath catching in your throat. “M-My parents were in the mafia?” You asked, heart pounding with the realization already forming. Somehow, it made sense - they were absent throughout your teenage years and they did keep their career a secret.

“They were. Yunho took over your father after, but we didn’t get along much, but that’s another story,” Hongjoong said softly. “They were good people. One day I got myself into something I wasn’t supposed to. I would’ve been dead if it weren’t for them and my sons would be fatherless. I was young and stupid and they saved me. I owe them my life, I still do.”

He paused, voice tightening with grief. “I didn’t have much power back then, so I did the best thing I could. Assets, lots of them. I gave your parents millions, Y/N, but before I could fully ever thank them, before I could protect them…” Hongjoong looked away, sighing heavily.

“They died before they could use the money. My uncle wanted their money, didn’t he? Did he kill them?” You blurted out. His silence confirmed it and you shuddered, anguish and clarity warred within you as the weight of your stolen past pressed down on your chest. 

“At first I didn’t have proof it was him,” you felt Hongjoong’s hands holding you steady, his warmth anchoring you to something real. “I was investigating their deaths for years. It was my way of getting back for them for saving me. It wasn’t until your car accident with Yeosang a couple of years back.”

You swallowed. This was it, this was the part you weren’t sure you were ready to hear. His face turned dark before he continued. “Yeosang was suspicious of the accident. We both thought the hit was for him at first since he’s my son. When I investigated, it was how I found out who you were. It felt like the universe just punched me in the gut.”

“W-What does this have to do with marrying me?”

“Everything,” his expression twisted, like it physically hurt him to relive it. “When your parents died, all that money went to you automatically. Do you remember that day when I asked you why your uncle took you in when Yunho was losing his mind looking for you all this time?”

You nodded, your stomach sinking. “He took you in to drain every cent out of you. He was bleeding you dry,” his jaw ticked in concealed anger. “He got impatient, that car accident back then would speed up the process.”

You shook your head, denial flaring. Your lungs were too tight, your heart racing painfully in your chest as you tried not to throw up. “So, what, you married me to stop him?”

“Not just that,” he said hoarsely, and then, softer. “I had to make it legally binding. As your husband, I could legally control your funds. It was the only way I knew how, so I married you in secret, in the hospital, while you were unconscious. And I held your hand while you signed.”

Your head snapped up at that. Your blood ran cold, because you remembered that day. The warmth of a hand in yours, grounding you while the world spun wildly. You thought it was just hospital consent forms. “That was the marriage certificate?” you whispered, your voice breaking. “But that was years before my uncle sold me to you, Hongjoong, that doesn’t make any sense—”

“I had to let you go back to him after,” he explained, eyes shut tight with regret. “He was desperate, and desperate men get dangerous. I needed time. I needed him to think he was still in control, still bleeding you dry while I worked behind the scenes.”

You stood there in stunned silence, your hands trembling with the weight of a truth you never asked for but now couldn’t ignore. “I watched you for years,” he continued, voice hollow but steady. “Always from a distance. I told myself it was enough.I kept telling myself I was doing it for your parents, that I owed them everything. That’s how it started. But then…”

His voice cracked, and for a moment he didn’t go on. “Then I fell in love with you,” he whispered, trembling. “Without even realizing it, I fell. Hard. And for that, I’m sorry. I will regret taking that choice away from you for as long as I live. The plan was to annul the marriage when I was done compiling evidence against him, and believe me, I tried to do it quickly. I didn’t want you to stay with him for long.”

Your breath caught when he smiled faintly, and it was the saddest, most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. “You were always strong, and I hated that I couldn’t tell you how proud I was. I’m sorry I got selfish because the thought of annulling the marriage just hurt me on the inside.”

You looked down, heart racing, remembering the moments. All that time you resented him for being locked in his office instead of being with you, he was working to finally set you free. “Then why keep it a secret?” You asked, voice fragile. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I was scared,” he admitted. “Scared you’d hate me. Scared that if you knew the truth, you’d want nothing to do with me. I didn’t want to rip open old wounds by making you relive the past. So I just… watched and made sure you were doing well.”

“But everything changed. One time I sent Jongho,” Hongjoong went on, voice turning sharp with memory. “We didn’t know he was violent with you. He caught him hurting you. That fucking bastard,” his cracked slightly. “Not only was he stealing from you, he was beating you up the entire time, I-I wanted to die when I found out—”

A lone tear escaped his eyes when you shushed him, putting your finger on his lips gently. He cracked a bitter smile, kissing your finger before continuing. “So I bankrupted his business. I had Seonghwa pose as his client, made him plant the seed that Kim Hongjoong was giving money for something in exchange. It worked, that’s how I got you into my house.”

You froze up, suddenly breathless. Your whole life - every twist and turn, every unexplained pain, every confusing encounter - was beginning to piece together like a puzzle you never knew existed. “You were never a liability used to pay a debt,” he growled. “Once you were under my roof, I knew you were safe. I could fully start making my move on your uncle. I sent Wooyoung to Suwon to start—”

“Suwon?” You blinked in surprise, remembering the very first time you met Wooyoung. “He went there…because of me? Because you told him to?”

He nodded. “The man your uncle hired who hit your parents were both hiding in Suwon. Mingi wanted to do it since he was the one who found them for me, but Wooyoung…let’s say that son of mine is a little trigger-happy. Trust me, he was more than glad to do it.”

You felt your chest caving in. All this time, everyone - San, Seonghwa, Jongho, Wooyoung, and even Mingi - had been watching, protecting, quietly fighting battles for you that you didn’t even know existed.

Tears spilled down your cheeks as you stared at the man who had haunted your days and nights with confusion, rage, longing - only to discover that, all along, he had loved you in silence.

“What now?” You sniffled. “What are we going to do?”

“I was going to kill him and then come clean to you,” he admitted ruefully. “But death is a salvation that he doesn’t deserve. I have all the evidence I need to send him to jail, because there’s one more thing your uncle cost me, ” he said, voice low and rough. “Yeosang.”

You felt your chest twist. “I had to send my own son away,” he spat the words like poison. “Because if your uncle ever saw him around, he would’ve figured it out that Yeosang was the one who called me, panicked, sobbing, begging me to save you.”

You knew that Hongjoong called Yeosang in a panic  when you were poisoned to wherever he was hiding from to come and treat you. He risked all of it to save you. “Your uncle didn’t just steal from you,” he growled. “He didn’t just beat you, he stole from me too. He robbed me of time with you, your parents, and my son.”

He dropped to his knees again. “I did terrible things to keep you safe,” he said quietly. “And I can’t undo them. But if there’s anything left in your heart for me, even just a piece, I swear to you, I will make it right.”

Hongjoong was a man weighed down by guilt, someone laying every wound bare before you. You looked at him, this broken, bleeding man who had shielded you in ways you never even saw. And now, maybe, just maybe, it was time to stop surviving and start living. You gripped his hands tightly now, because for the first time, you understood.

“I hated you,” you whispered. His jaw clenched, and he closed his eyes like your words were blades, but he took it like he promised he would. “But I think I hated myself more for still loving you anyway.”

His eyes snapped open, wide and raw and shimmering with a hope he tried to suppress. “Y-You still do?” His broken voice stuttered.

“I don’t know how not to,” you said, your lips trembling. “I didn’t realize how much I fell for you until you started pulling back. Even when you pushed me so far away I thought I’d disappear, I kept looking for you.”

His breath hitched, and then he was kissing you, not out of possession or dominance, not like a man taking what he believed was his, but like someone starved for something he’d already mourned the loss of. His lips trembled against yours, and you tasted your shared sorrow, your silent tears, your aching, stupid, impossible love.

Hongjoong exhaled shakily, as if the weight of everything unsaid was finally buckling his knees. Now that you were in front of him, there was no more holding back. “I never meant to ignore you,” he said, voice rough and uneven. “These past few months, I-I know I’ve made you feel unwanted, like you were nothing but a pawn to me, but you never were.”

His eyes flicked to yours. “We were so close to getting your uncle. I could taste it, that justice. And I lost myself. I thought, just a little more time and I could finally give you peace.”

You opened your mouth to speak, to tell him it wasn’t his fault, but he shook his head. “No,” he whispered with a bitter smile. “It is my fault. I couldn’t help it. I wasn’t supposed to love you, I was supposed to distance myself because your uncle’s mole was watching us. But how could I not?”

“Hongjoong,” you tried to coax him out of these thoughts, but to no avail. Your vision blurred as his words sank in.

“How could I not hold back when you looked at the world with eyes that still trusted even after everything?” Hongjoong continued. “Every time you touched me, I felt like I was being forgiven for sins I hadn’t even confessed yet. Every night you were in my house, pretending not to care that I was cruel, pretending it didn’t hurt, I wanted to fall to my knees and curse every God out there for doing this to me, to us.”

He took your hands, his thumbs brushing your knuckles, and he held you like you were something fragile. “I even got you poisoned,” he said, pressing your hands to his chest, where his heart thundered violently. “Because I let my guard down. I’ve lived every day terrified that loving you would be the death of you, but it turns out, not loving you openly was killing me.”

Tears welled in your eyes again, thick and hot. When he finally pulled back, it was only just enough to whisper. “I married you once to protect you and I’d marry you again just to love you. Marry me, Y/N, please.”

You looked at him, the man who had fought in silence for you, bled in shadows for you, and lost you just to keep you alive. And for the first time, you saw him as the only person who had ever loved you enough to break his own heart to save yours. “You already have me,” you said softly, hands rising to cup his cheeks. 

His exhale of relief and wonder, grief and gratitude all at once. No more pretending, no more secrets. Just the two of you, finally choosing each other in the light. You were already his long before you knew it and he’s always been yours.

“Let me get this straight,” Yunho uncrossed his long legs, his upper body leaning forward ever so slightly as his sharp, glaring eyes trained on Hongjoong’s flat, expressionless ones. “You’re telling me that you’ve been married to her this entire time? That you made her suffer in your slimy presence for the grand scheme of catching Jaehwan when you could’ve just left her with me?”

He removed his glasses to put it on top of the coffee table in front of him, its reflective surface and visual lightness made it a striking centerpiece while keeping the room feeling uncluttered and elegant, very befitting of someone like Yunho who exuded an exorbitant amount of grace. The way he scoffed after was anything of, however.  

“You fucking bastard,” he seethed, banging his fist on said table with a sarcastic laugh that left his lips in a disbelieving pace of staccato. “I ought to kill you on the spot, Kim Hongjoong. I cannot believe you thought that this was normal, you’re not right in the head, I’m telling—”

“Now, now Yunho,” Hongjoong - or should you say, your husband - smirked smugly, snaking his arm around your waist to pull you closer. “In front of Y/N, really?”

“You won’t get away with this, also you mean my niece—”

“Don’t you mean my wife?” Hongjoong grinned, all of his teeth bared out in a daring show of possessiveness that was not to be messed with, clearly not even Yunho. “And I already have,” he turned to look at you, his eyes softening significantly as he smiled. “Isn’t that right, darling?”

Yunho balked at the blatant display of Hongjoong’s disrespect towards him. He looked at you expectantly, but all you could do was give him a sheepish smile as you toyed with the ring on your finger.

“Sorry, Uncle,” you giggled. “You heard my husband.”

Hongjoong whispered ‘that’s my girl’ softly on your ear as Yunho let out the most undignified squawk you’ve ever heard a grown man do.

Yunho covered his face with his hands and groaned. “You love him,” he deadpanned. “And you, you manipulative, delusional, leather-wearing tax fraud—”

“Tax fraud?” Hongjoong raised a brow, a slow grin spreading across his face like ink in water. “Really, Yunho? That’s the best you’ve got?”

“---you love her. Oh, Sungho is probably rolling in his grave right now,” he groaned, and you laughed at how he whispered his grievances in your dad's name.

He sat up, reclining back with one arm thrown over the couch. “Well, if you ever come to your senses, I know a great divorce lawyer,” he said dryly. “My door is always open for you, little love.”

You bit back the urge to laugh when Hongjoong rolled his eyes dramatically. “I’ll keep it in mind, Uncle,” you grinned. “But you should know by now that I have a type.”

Hongjoong only smirked from his seat, one arm slung lazily over the backrest behind you like this was his damn throne. “You’re just bitter I won,” he snorted at Yunho.

“Oh, I’ll be bitter until my dying breath,” Yunho snapped. “You married her and didn't even invite me to the wedding. I was supposed to walk her down the aisle.”

“Then die—”

“Fuck you,” he retorted. Yunho waved his hand, the humor in his eyes dimming slightly as his tone shifted, more measured now. “Alright, jokes aside. What happened to the motherfucker that is Jaehwan?”

Hongjoong’s arm around you tightened as his entire posture changed. “We got him. He’s in jail.”

The words dropped like a stone in the room. You looked down, purposefully grabbing the mug to take a sip, your mind flashing with the bright lights of one shot that gradually turned into two, three, four shots. Yunho’s brows furrowed. “You’re serious?”

“Deadly,” Hongjoong tried not to smirk, side-eyeing you with intent. “Nothing crazy, really. He doesn’t deserve anything theatrical for everything that he’s done. I had my men watch him for a couple of days, ambushed him when he least expected it, and that’s that. You recall that car accident from a couple of years ago, yes?”

You closed your eyes, the faux splatters of sticky red coating your face feeling realistic enough if you concentrated. Lifeless, hollow eyes stared back behind your eyes before you opened them again. Hongjoong’s fingers massaged yours with purpose back then, too. You kept your mouth from curling too far at the corners.

“How could I not? You took her that night,” Yunho scoffed, sitting forward again, steepling his fingers under his chin. “I was this close to finding Y/N at that time. I dislike talking about this, but it was hard. Years of failure meant I failed her father.”

Hongjoong hummed, ignoring Yunho’s pointed look. “My son was also there, you remember my middle son? He’s a neurosurgeon now,” he replied softly, his fingers playing with yours. “You could say I had a different drive back then. I had my reasons.”

Yunho’s brows shot up in mild surprise before they softened ever so slightly. “I didn’t know, I’m terribly sorry that your son got caught up in this fiasco,” he murmured, his soft eyes landing on you. “I suppose everything that happened was like a trigger set in motion, wouldn’t you say, Y/N?”

You shrugged as you gave Hongjoong a look. You  let your lashes lower slightly and adjusted your posture, just like you did when after the kickback from the trigger that had made your shoulders ache. “Perhaps.”

“Anyway, it’s over,” Hongjoong said with a clipped edge. “There’s enough evidence now to tie him to the attempted murder, fraud, and embezzlement. Stalking as well. The bastard didn't even stop at the mole in my house, he always sent his sleazy men around the area in case she went out. He’s done, I'll make sure of it.”

“Good riddance,” Yunho said with an unsurprising amount of venom. His shoulders sank, years and years of burden lifting off of his shoulders. Relief settles in his expression, and though it made him look a decade younger, the faraway look of a thousand suns in his eyes told you otherwise. “I knew your father would be proud of you," he sighed. "That bastard took everything from our family. But you…you gave it back.”

The man who haunted your childhood, the one who used your grief as a tool to strip you of everything, was finally out of your life. You squeezed Yunho’s hand, hoping that it said everything you couldn’t say out loud. You stayed quiet for a moment, trying to absorb the weight of what Yunho was saying. 

There was no reminiscing on your end, no smirk, no memories; just the hurt between two people who have lost their loved ones. He held your hand, holding it tight. “And your mom,” he added softly. She would’ve held you so tight. You look like Sohee, you know? Same fire, same goddamn backbone. Perfect for your father.”

“I hope they’re at peace now,” you said quietly.

“They are,” Yunho replied with a surety that only blood could lend. “Because you’re finally safe. And I can finally breathe again.”

You took in his words, the finality of them. The war was over now, justice had been served. And it sounded like a dull thud of a body hitting the floor, the heaviness of it almost satisfying in your ears. The conversation shifted into something lighthearted, with you and Yunho reminiscing about how he babysat you when you were younger, how your own father was when they were both teenagers, to all the mundane things like how your father would have reacted to your marriage with Hongjoong.

And Hongjoong was just there, laughing and smiling along like he’s always meant to be there with you. He would quip once or twice with his own accounts about your parents and you fell a little harder for the man, for the way he spoke about your parents with unparalleled fondness was something to behold. He truly adored them, and it just made you miss them even more.

“We should go,” you said gently, standing up, smoothing your dress daintily with a small smile. “I want to visit my parents today. It’s a good day and I haven’t been to ever since I was in college.”

Yunho, ever the gentleman that he was, walked both you and Hongjoong all the way to the door to see you out instead of sending his right-hand man like a man of his status should. The shift in his demeanor was immediate, but you tried your best to not pay attention to it as he hugged you goodbye.

“She’ll be back, Yunho,” Hongjoong rolled his eyes, noticing the small tension, subtly pulling you away back to his side with a curt chuckle. “Stop smothering her.”

Yunho didn’t answer with words. He just stared long, quiet, and with enough weight behind his gaze to make most men sweat as both you and Hongjoong speed walked all the way to the car to try and get away, but of course, there was no escaping. You were a Jeong, after all, and so was he. “Stop,” he spoke out, firm and absolute.

You halted from walking, giving Hongjoong a knowing look, who only squeezed your hand supportively. “Hmm?”

“I know what you did,” Yunho said, his voice just a touch lower than before. He swept his gaze on you from head to toe, stopping lightly at your shoulders. "Your sore shoulders tells me everything."

Your spine straightened, barely enough to notice, unless someone was trained to notice. You turned your head over your shoulder, lips curled into an innocent, almost amused smile. “Oh?”

He smirked, his body stilling like a predator catching scent. You faltered, suddenly reminded that Yunho wasn’t just your uncle - he was mafia, just like Hongjoong. Worse, perhaps, more patient and more precise. Hongjoong took pride in the brutality of it all while he was the kind of man who could make a death look like a ghost story.

For a moment, he looked overtly threatening, his intelligence sharper, and his confrontation carrying a much colder, calculated menace. He tilted his head mockingly, willingly playing your game. “Must’ve felt good,” he chuckled. “I bet you looked him in the eye.”

You had to laugh out loud at that one, not confirming nor denying what he was insinuating. “Maybe I just found peace,” you said innocently.

“I see. Say, what jail is he in? Might have to pay him a visit,” Yunho smiled, truly smiled, wide and cold, but still, it was impossible to miss the adoration and pride in it. “Let me guess - it’s two feet wide and six foot deep.”

Hongjoong, who’d been watching you both with amusement simmering just beneath the surface, finally spoke. “What vivid imagination you have,” he mused, smirking with dark intent, his eyes shining sadistically as he looked at you with faux curiosity. “Don’t you think, darling?”

Yunho nodded slowly, pursing his lips in a poor attempt to stop himself from smiling. “Not vivid enough,” he shrugged playfully. “Humour me this, if someone were to, say, shoot someone…would it be better to aim for a quick kill or prolong the agony? Hypothetically.”

You tapped your chin thoroughly, pretending to think. “ I’d prolong the agony. Shoot them four times on pressure points. Hypothetically, of course.”

“Next one,” Yunho said, clearly enjoying himself. “You’re standing over the body, hypothetically, and he’s looking at you, what would you say?”

“Hypothetically? You pondered, tilting your head as if you were really thinking about what to say. “I would have said ‘you should have killed me when you had the chance.’”

Hongjoong exhaled, something like reverence in his breath. “God, I love you.”

“Just one more,” Yunho said softly, his voice losing its teasing edge, now carrying the quiet weight of someone who’d once held you as a child, who had once promised your father to protect you. “Was it clean?”

You met his gaze evenly, nodding very subtly with a serene smile, one that he returned with all the love and unwavering support only someone who truly cared for you would do.

You wanted to tell him that it was so clean that after your hands didn’t even shake as you pulled the trigger and that the air smelled sweeter. Instead you said, “Like it never even happened.”

Yunho stared at you for a long moment, his eyes melting into something rawer, wearier. “If anyone asks,” he said lowly, the gravity in his tone undeniable now. “You were with me that night. Both of you were the entire time.”

His gaze cut to Hongjoong, who for once, looked struck silent. The air between them simmered with unspoken understanding. He nodded deeply with reverence. It wasn’t flashy, but it was sincere and genuine enough that Yunho didn’t mock him for it. “Thank you.”

Yunho just waved a hand, though his voice cracked slightly when he said, “Don’t thank me, you bastard. Just keep her safe or I swear, I’ll drag your sorry ass down and make you wish you’d stayed single.”

Hongjoong chuckled low in his throat. His hand settled gently on the small of your back as he led you forward. “Don’t worry, she married a man who never stopped watching her back.”

“God help us all,” Yunho rolled his eyes in mock disgrace, staring at the two of you as you both got in the car before he called for the last time. “Tell your parents I said hi.”

You looked back to see him watching you as Hongjoong started to drive away, arms crossed, but eyes glassy. And though he didn’t say it, you understood. You were safe, you were home, and he’d go to hell and back before anyone took that from you again.

The car ride was quiet at first, not from discomfort, but from something softer. Reverent. Hongjoong kept one hand on the wheel while the other was placed on your lap. It reminded you of that one stormy night when he sought out to find you in that lone playground. He turned to look at you, knowing that he was thinking the same as  you were. 

“I love you,” he said, pulling your hand up to kiss your knuckles. His eyes searched your face like he was memorizing it all over again, as though he still couldn’t believe you were here. “I should’ve said it a long time ago, I feel for you so much that it almost hurts.”

You blinked back the sudden tears, the sincerity in his voice cracking something wide open inside you. You laughed wetly. “That’s very sweet of you, I believe you, but why now?”

“I wanted to wait until everything was said and done,” he continued, pressing another kiss to your fingers. “I want to give you everything. A house to grow old with, a bed where you always feel safe, dinners where I burn the rice and you make fun of me for it. I want lazy Sundays and soft arguments and kisses, just like we’ve always done it.”

You looked at him, heart aching with how badly you wanted to believe in all of it and how, against all odds, you did. “You’re serious?” You asked softly, squeezing his hand back.

He placed a hand over his heart in a rare show of insecurity. “I would place a piece of my soul in every time and place you’d ever felt lonely, just so you wouldn’t be alone. I love you enough for the both of us, and there must be something about me worth loving if you would just see–”

You leaned in and kissed him the moment he parked, slow and sweet and full of the kind of hope neither of you had dared to hold onto before. When you pulled away, his forehead rested against yours. “I want that too,” you whispered. “I want everything with you, Hongjoong.”

He exhaled like he’d been holding that breath for years. “Then we start today,” he smiled as bright as the brightest star. “We say hello to your parents. We tell them you’re safe, then we build a life that’s entirely ours, okay?”

You nodded, your smile trembling. You finally look up at the sky after all these years, tearing up as the clouds seem to part way for the sun to finally shine, the rays beaming down at your parents’ tombstones. Finally, justice has been served, they can rest in peace now. You couldn’t help but stare if only for a little while.

Hongjoong approached the stones first, his head bowing low between them. He placed one hand gently on your mother’s grave, the other on your father’s. He didn’t speak loudly, but you saw his lips move, whispering something too quiet for even you to hear. It could’ve been anything - a greeting, a promise, or perhaps maybe even a thank you.

You didn’t ask what he said. You didn’t need to. For the first time, the cemetery didn’t feel like an end. It felt like a door closing softly behind you because the weight of grief was gone now. They could rest and so could you. You stood by Hongjoong’s side smiling at him as he gave you a small kiss on the forehead, coaxing you to talk to your own parents just like he did.

You brought your hands to your lips, kissed your palms, and pressed them reverently to each stone. “Rest easy now, Mom, Dad,” you whispered full of love and release, voice catching as you tried not to tear up. “I’m safe now, and I’m very happy. Happier than I’d ever been.”

You turned to look at the man standing just a few steps behind you - your husband, your protector, your love - watching you with a smile so soft, it nearly broke you open again. “I’m married now. It’s Hongjoong, remember him? Please bless our marriage, I really love him,” you paused, taking a deep breath. “I-I wish you were both here, I miss you…”

Then, slowly, you stepped back and began to walk away, hand in hand with Hongjoong. But before, you glanced back one last time, your heart feeling lighter at the sight of the wind blowing from the tombstones to your face lightly. You couldn’t help the serene smile on your face.

Hongjoong will take over now, he’ll take care of me like you would’ve wanted.

You were thirty-four years old when you finally found your peace that didn’t feel like a surrender this time and instead felt like home, hand in hand with the love of your life.

𝙽𝚎𝚝s - @keopihaus @dove-net @othersideoutlawsnetwork @illusionnet @pirateeznet @ksmutsociety @cromernet

Dividers by: @enchanthings and @anitalenia

[cutehoons02]

The ghost of your heart

Heeseung pt

*pairing: pervy ghost Jake x popular Cheerleader

*trope: Enemies to lovers/He fell first,but she fell harder

*synopsis: Ghosts don't exist, right? Y/n is the captain of the cheerleaders and it's exactly the stereotype of the classic blonde girl with everyone at her feet. Still, there is something dark about her, can see the lost souls, as well as ghosts, and Jake, is a soul standing in limbo between being dead to be human again but the world of the dead has given him a mission, if he wants to be reborn as a human, he must make Y/n more tender and loving with people than she was with her deceased grandmother; but what would happen when he is the one who falls in love with her?

*tags: Lots of humor, Jake loves to scare but at the same time flirt with the protagonist, the protagonist is perverted as is Jake, bratty girl,smut, a lot of kisses, unprotected sex, semi-public sex (shower sex) normal sex-anal sex, fingering (f. receives it) masturbation, pet names (princess, baby, darling, beauty) (jakey, ghost boy, golden retriever) dark and gloomy scenarios, this story is written for an audience over 18 years.

11.6k (🌫️)

(English is not my native language)

In the heart of a small village, surrounded by dense forests and an everlasting grey sky, stood the best university in the country. A place that seemed normal, but which hid disturbing secrets. The students said that the campus was built on an ancient cemetery, and it was true that under the imposing gothic structure of the university, there was a cemetery now forgotten by almost all humans and that sometimes, between the deserted corridors or in the woods around, There were whispers, cries or noises as loud as possible. But Y/n, the cheerleader queen, didn’t believe in that nonsense.

She was too busy being perfect: a dazzling smile, an imposing presence, and that brazen boldness that made everyone crazy, including professors. Her only weakness? The grandmother was the only person who had taught her to love something beyond herself. But since she died, life for Y/n was just a game of appearances.

She wanted to become the best and most famous cheerleader in the country, so she decided to move to the USA to work and dance for a team of professional cheerleaders!

In the world of the dead, a young spirit watched everything with bright eyes. Jake was unlike other ghosts: half human and half ghost, living between two worlds, and his mission would decide it forever. If he had completed the task assigned, he would have had a second chance to live as a mortal and experience all those emotions again that he had long lacked.

But the mission was far from easy.

"You must change the heart of Y/n," said the Overseer, a disturbing figure with empty eyes and cavernous voice. " It’s not just about scaring her. You have to teach her to love, and to see beyond herself. But be careful... If you fail, you will remain forever in Limbo."

Jake, with his golden retriever smile and a worrying inclination to be a little pervert, was not the best fit for the job.

But he was also stubborn. And then, he loved challenges and Y/n could be a beautiful challenge.

It was midnight when you found yourself on the empty stairs of the university library. You wondered why the campus was so quiet when a cold wind made your skin crawl.

"Strange," you mumbled, clenching your jacket.

Then you saw him, another of those stupid ghosts or ghosts that you could see, you couldn’t stand it, you wanted to see your grandmother already dead for a year but instead, you always had encounters with dead ghosts hundreds of years ago.

A tall boy with sparkling eyes and a smile that was a mix of charm and danger. Jake. Just didn’t seem... alive. The shadow that enveloped him was too thick, and the air around him vibrated with energy.

"Who are you?" you asked, trying to seem indifferent, even if your heart was pounding in your chest.

Jake came a few steps closer, creaking the floor beneath him. 'Shame. A girl like you shouldn’t be in such a place at this hour. Do you know that bad things happen here?'

"Don’t make me laugh. Are you just another loser trying to scare me?" You stared right into his eyes, oblivious to the strange energy emanating from him.

Jake laughed softly, a sound echoing in the empty walls of the library. 'Oh, baby. You don’t know how lame I can be.'

Then, with a gesture of his hand, he turned off all the lights in the corridor. Darkness enveloped you, and for the first time, you felt your blood freezing.

Jake approached slowly, his boots echoing in the library’s silence, he stood motionless, arms crossed over the chest, head slightly tilted to one side, his usual little challenge smirk on his lips.

'What is it, beauty? Are you scared?' he asked, his voice deep and a little hoarse. His eyes were peering at you as if they could see directly into your soul.

"Scared? Of you?" you laughed. "Don’t make me laugh. You’re just a... dead boy."

The last words were spoken with insolent lightness, and Jake stopped, narrowing his eyes. You liked to tease.

'A dead boy, you say?' he repeated, the voice that went dangerously low, like a whisper creeping in his mind. With a lightning motion, Jake was in front of you, so close that you held your breath. A strange scent enveloped you, something fresh and unsettling, like the earth after the rain.

'Are you always so sure of yourself?' he asked, lowering his face to a few centimeters from yours. His intense gaze nailed you to the spot, and for the first time, your jaw clenched.

But you were not the type to be intimidated. Not by him, at least you barely moved, letting a smug smile form on your lips. "It’s a shame, you know?"

Jake raised an eyebrow. 'What would be a sin?'

"Whether such a handsome boy is... dead or half dead," you said, stepping on the last word and carefully studying his reaction.

Jake froze. A moment of silence that seemed to hang between them, and then he laughed, a low, dark sound that made you shiver. He ran his hand through his black, messy hair, letting it fall back on his forehead.

'Nice little bit of a tease. Is that how you think to get rid of me? With a compliment? I’m not dead yet, darling, but not so desperate.'

He watched you for a long moment, letting his gaze run through your body, slow, almost brazen. You felt exposed, and vulnerable, but you didn’t want him to see the uncertainty in your eyes.

'Although... I must admit that here, in the world of the living, there is something I miss,' he added, bowing his head and looking at you like a predator.

"Ah yes? What would it be?" you asked, crossing your arms to hide the sudden restlessness.

'The girls,' he replied, with a smile that was a mixture of tenderness and malice. 'They are so alive. So... warm. I miss having a girl in my arms, I miss being touched but the thing that I miss most is sex. It’s hard to ignore, especially when you’re stuck in the world of the dead. You know what I mean? '

You felt the redness on your cheeks, but you tried to keep up your usual sarcastic tone. "Well, I feel sorry for you. You seem to have a rather serious problem. Here at the university, there are many girls, surely there will be some who will be extremely desperate for cocks that would get fucked even by a ghost"

Jake laughed again, but this time there was a darker note in his voice. He stepped back, letting his figure be swallowed by an unnatural shadow. 'Oh, don’t worry about me. I’ll find a way to have fun and maybe one who will be desperate to have my dick inside you will own you!"

Before you could answer him in tone because you were seriously angry with him, you felt something touch your neck, like a cold wind. You sprinted backwards, turning around but there was no one there. When you looked back in front of you, Jake had disappeared.

But his voice, low and bewitching, whispered in the silence. 'See you soon, princess.'

You stood still and for the first time, you didn’t know if you were excited or terrified. Maybe both.

Jake spent most of his time watching you from afar, hiding in the shadows. You were a queen in your realm of appearances. He saw you laughing at your best friends' jokes, playing with the boys, and beating the hell out of the cheerleading field. Even the frost seemed unmoved: you kept trying your moves with a ruthless determination, every movement a silent cry that said look at me.

But Jake knew: that security was a mask. Yet, even knowing it, he could not take his eyes off you. There was something about you, a fire that bothered him and attracted him at the same time.

'What a waste,' Jake mumbled one evening, watching you return to the college dorm with the usual provocative smile on your face.

One week later, Jake decided to take a break. A ghost needed to breathe, and the cemetery under the university was his refuge. The stones were covered in mist, and the only sound was that of the wind whispering through the branches of bare trees.

Heeseung, Jay, and Sunghoon were sitting on the tombstones, legs crossed and bored expressions on their faces. They were also half dead, like Jake, but with a much darker, more perverse, and cynical temperament.

<< Are you still wasting time with that girl?>> asked Sunghoon, raising an eyebrow.

Jake gave him a sharp look. 'It’s not a waste of time. It’s my mission.'

Sunghoon laughed softly, shaking his head. "She doesn’t seem like the type to change easily. She thinks she’s a goddess," said Heeseung

"It’s different than it looks," Jake muttered, almost to himself.

"Different, eh? Sure, keep telling you," Hee replied sarcastically.

Jake was about to fight back when something caught his attention. A figure was walking through the cemetery, wrapped in a soft sweater and simple jeans. She walked with a slow and uncertain pace, holding her arms close to her chest as if to protect himself from the cold.

Y/n.

For a moment, Jake stood motionless, incredulous. He was used to seeing her in makeup, impeccable, and in clothes that enhanced every detail of her body. But now... she was different. Simple, human and there was a strange fragility in her that she had never noticed before.

She stood before an old tombstone, kneeling. She took out a small bouquet from the coat and carefully placed it in front of the tomb. Jake approached, remaining in the shadows, trying to see better.

The name of the grandmother of Y/n.

Y/n was on his knees, hands folded, while he whispered a prayer. His voice was so low that Jake could not understand the words, but there was something in the tone that struck him: a deep, sincere pain.

Jay leaned slightly, intrigued. -Is that the girl you’re trying to change? She doesn’t look like her either. -

Jake didn’t answer. He was too focused on Y/n, for the first time, the mask he wore every day wasn’t there. There was no false smile, no queen pose. There was only one girl who, however much she tried to hide it, suffered.

He remembered what the Overseer had told him: the only person Y/n had ever loved was his grandmother, but that wasn’t enough.

Loving a memory was not enough for the world of the dead. Y/n She had to learn to live, to love someone in the present, someone who was there with her, who taught her that life was more than a race for perfection.

<<Interesting,>> Sunghoon muttered, breaking the silence. <<Perhaps there is hope for her after all. But not for you>>

Jake ignored him, his eyes still fixed on the cheerleader. He felt a strange sting in his chest; it was not compassion, nor mere curiosity something deeper, something he did not want to admit.

Y/n slowly stood up, arranged the flowers, and whispered a final greeting. Jake remained hidden in the shadows, watching her leave.

When he was sure he couldn’t hear it, he whispered: 'Perhaps there is more in you than you want to make believe, princess. But it won’t be so easy for you to hide it from me.'

Then he turned to Sunghoon, a mischievous grin masking his anxiety. 'How about a bet? I want to see how long it takes for him to collapse.'

Sunghoon laughed. << You don’t bet to win. You just want to have fun.

Jake ran his hand through his hair, the smile spreading. 'Correct. Why should I not? If I fail, I will remain forever in this form but if I win and make love I can have my life back as a human.'

You were clinging to your sweater, shivering at the frost that seemed to wrap all the wood under the cemetery. The fog was so thick that you could barely see your steps, the world around you reduced to a set of shadows and muffled sounds. You could hear the branches breaking under your shoes, and now and then the wind would whisper the leaves over you.

For the first time in a long time, you felt... small. There was no party music, no glittering lights, or the admiring eyes of the people around you. You were alone, immersed in the wild nature, in the heart of a forest that seemed to almost breathe around you.

Your fists clenched. You weren’t the type to be intimidated, not even by nature. You would never let anyone even anything-make you feel vulnerable.

After a few steps, however, something changed. The fog began to dissipate, and a figure was seen in the middle of the dirt road leading to the university. You stopped suddenly, your heart popped in your throat.

There was someone.

The figure was tall, with broad shoulders and a dark aura that seemed to absorb the little moonlight that filtered through the trees. When you took a step forward, you recognized him immediately. Jake.

He wore the same mischievous smile that he had seen that night in the library, but this time there was something more. Something more dangerous. His eyes were shining, as if he knew something he didn’t.

'Are you coming home, princess?' the voice rang in the air like a creepy whisper.

You raised your chin, trying to keep control. You couldn’t afford to look weak. "Are you following me? You have nothing better to do in your... world of the dead?"

Jake chuckled. 'It’s not me who roams the woods in the pre-shadow. You’re the one who decided to take a solitary walk in such a place. By chance were you looking for me?'

You got over it, ignoring the shiver that ran down your back. "Not everything is about you, ghost boy."

Jake did not move as you passed by him, but his gaze followed your every movement. The jeans you wore hugged your legs perfectly, and the soft sweater made you look even more human, even more vulnerable. Jake slowly licked his lip, an almost instinctive gesture.

'I never said that everything revolves around me,' he said, his voice low and caressing. 'But admit it, princess... a little attention does not mind, right? '

You stopped to watch it. "What do you want from me, Jake? Why don’t you go and torment someone else?"

Jake came a few steps closer, the shadow of the mist that seemed to follow him like a cloak. 'Cause you’re different. You don’t scare easily. Don’t pretend to be someone else, at least not in front of me. And... you’re funny when you try to be tough.'

Shook your head, a forced smile on your lips. "You’re pathetic, you know that? I can’t believe you got a second chance to live and you’re wasting it, stalking me."

Jake stopped right in front of you, so close that you had to look up to look him in the eye. 'I’m not wasting anything,' he said, the tone fading, becoming darker. 'I’m just... studying my prey.'

"Prey? I warn you I could become extremely bad, I’m not afraid of a perverted fan" you answered, with a grin of defiance.

Jake laughed slowly, leaning slightly towards you. 'I don’t know how much I’d like to be perverted with you, Y/n.'

His words were a whisper, but the way he spoke them that note of desire and mischief made you blush, why were you blushing at a ghost? Were you so sick and desperate at the same time?

"If you’re done playing, I have more important things to do," you said, trying to seem disinterested.

Jake watched you go away, his smile widening. But he wasn’t done. Not yet.

'See, princess,' he murmured, more to himself than to you, 'it’s not just a mission. It’s a damn game... and I can’t wait to win.'

And with one last look at your figure disappearing into the fog, Jake dissolved back to the cemetery.

The gym was filled with cheers and applause as the university cheerleaders performed for the annual competition. You were perfect as ever: every jump, every movement, every smile was executed with impeccable precision. You were the star of the team, and you knew it.

But when the time came for the big final jump, something went wrong. The girl next to you, an insecure freshman who desperately tried to keep up, mistimed, making you lose your balance for a moment. You immediately ended the performance with grace, but that little mistake did not go unnoticed.

Behind the scenes, you were furious.

"You’re a disaster!" you yelled at the girl, your hair still tied in a perfect tail as you approached with a look full of anger. "Do you have any idea how much work it took to prepare for this race? And you ruin everything because you can’t count to three?"

The girl, younger and frightened, tried to justify herself. 'I’m sorry, really... it won’t happen again, I promise!'

"It won’t happen again because you won’t have another chance," you said with a cold smile that seemed more like a threat. "You’re not made for this. If you can’t keep up, go."

Jake, who was watching from the other side of the gym, crossed his arms over his chest. His dark eyes were fixed on you, and a cynical grin formed on his lips.

'Interesting,' he murmured to himself. "So this is the real you. We’ll see if in the future you still behave like this spoiled girl and bitch to people!"

He was not surprised.

He had always known that beneath that perfect facade was a wicked and ruthless side, but seeing it in action confirmed that there was much work to be done with you. And he was more than willing to be your executioner.

The next day, you were sitting with your legs crossed in the communication room, playing with a pen while waiting for the professor to announce the couples for the project. You hated group work, especially when they did it with computer science students. Those guys were mostly antisocial nerds who didn’t even know how to maintain eye contact, let alone have a conversation.

When you read your partner’s name on the paper the professor handed out, you raised an eyebrow. Jake Sim.

"Who the hell is this?" you mumbled, convinced he was just another loser. When you walked into the empty classroom you thought you’d already find that loser Jake Sim, but there was no one. The space was unsettling, the kind of silence that was not normal in a university full of noisy students. You took a few steps forward, the sound of your heels clanging on the linoleum floor.

The air was cold, and a strange feeling struck you as if someone were watching you. "What the hell is going on here?" You grumbled, with a note of annoyance in your voice.

Just then, the door behind you closed suddenly, the loud sound made you jump and you turned to snap and ran towards the door trying to open it, but the handle did not move.

It was locked.

Shook your head, trying to calm down. "It will be a joke of some idiot," you said aloud, to convince yourself more than anything else. "Stupid nerds... think they’re gonna scare me with these things?"

You took your phone out of your pocket and activated the front camera to check on the trick-a habit that never gave up, even in moments like that. But when you looked at the screen, your blood froze in your veins.

Behind you, reflected in the camera, there was a figure. Jake.

His figure was shrouded in a shadow almost palpable, and his eyes shone like small beacons in the darkness. He was behind, too close, with that usual mischievous grin that seemed to say: I got you.

You yell, dropping your phone on the ground. You’re sunflowers of snap, heart that beat so hard to hurt her. "Are you crazy?!" You screamed, Jake laughed softly, a low, hoarse sound that rang out in the empty classroom. 'Oh, princess, finally some emotion from you. Isn’t it funny being scared?'

You stared at him, the eyes wide. For a moment you seemed almost vulnerable, an absolute novelty for you. But your fear soon turned into anger.

"You’re a sick man! What did you think you were getting by doing this?!" you slammed, clenching your fists. "I can’t believe you’re Jake Sim. You’re a monster!"

Jake tilted his head, amused. Monster? Interesting. I thought you were used to being on top of everyone, and looking down on others. But look who feels vulnerable now...'

You hated him. For the first time in your life, you felt a genuine, burning hatred. And he seemed to taste it.

"I hate you," the voice charged with anger that you couldn’t control.

Jake was silent for a moment. Those words had a different weight, an intensity he didn’t expect. For a moment, he seemed almost pleased. Then, in an instant, everything changed.

His dark, ghostly figure began to change. The shadow that enveloped him dissipated, and before you appeared... a boy. A human.

Not just any guy. Jake was tall and slender, with wide shoulders and a perfect jaw. His dark hair fell on his eyes, and his smile was a mixture of mischief and temptation. He wore a simple sweatshirt and jeans, but the effect was devastating, it was extremely attractive for a half-ghost, ghost, and human.

"What... what the hell..." you stammered. Jake stepped forward, his evil grin still on his face. 'Now do you believe it, princess? I’m Jake Sim. And I am much more than you thought.'

You backed away, but he was too fast. He approached you, until he was close enough to bend slightly, his face a few centimeters from his.

"I hate you," you repeated to him.

'Perfect, because hate and love... are much more alike than you think.'

The tension between you was palpable, almost suffocating. Jake stared at you for a moment longer, his smile widening even further. Then he walked away, turning to the door which opened itself with a left creaking.

'See you at the next meeting, princess,' he said, leaving the room with a slow and confident pace.

You glanced at your phone as you were getting ready to go shower, tired after training. The deadline of the communication project was getting closer and closer, and that ghost of Jake seemed to take it very seriously. He played with you, disappeared, and reappeared when you least expected it, leaving you more confused and frustrated every time.

"How the hell do I work with a... ghost?" you murmured, taking your hand through your sweat-soaked hair.

An idea crossed your mind, making you burst into laughter. "Ghosts are not called with the Ouija board?"

You took a sheet of paper and a pen, drawing quickly a circle with letters and numbers, just for joking. Then, with a theatrical voice, you began to evoke him.

"Oh, great and powerful Jake Sim, grant your presence to this poor mortal who desperately needs to finish a project!" you said, laughing. But nothing happened, of course. Jake never showed up when needed, but he knew how to show up at the most inopportune moments.

You took off your workout clothes and wrapped yourself in a towel before heading to the bathroom.

A nice hot shower would calm your nerves and give you the strength to face all that chaos.

The water was boiling, relaxing you completely as the room filled with steam. For a moment you allowed yourself the luxury of forgetting everything: Jake, the project, the university, the pressure to be always perfect.

But when you opened the bathroom door to enter your room, you suddenly locked it. Jake was there, lying on your bed as if he were the master of the room. His dark hair fell back on his forehead, and he wore a simple unbuttoned shirt, revealing the pale skin and dangerously smug smile that you now knew all too well.

'You took a long time,' he said nonchalantly, braiding his hands behind his head as he stared at you with that cheeky and hungry look on his face as he watched you as you had only a towel covering your body.

"What the hell are you doing here?! How did you get in?"

Jake laughed softly, the sound low and melodic. 'Princess, you called me, remember? Big and powerful Jake Sim, you said.'

You had a hand on your forehead, unbelieving. "It was a joke! I didn’t think that... that..." The words died in your throat as you noticed the way he was looking at you as if he was undressing you with his eyes, Jake slowly got up from bed, the smile becoming even more mischievous. 'You know, I came while you were in the shower. For a moment I thought to reach you. But then I remembered...' He approached, your body a few centimeters from your '...I’m not a fan of water. Too... wet.'

You stepped back, but Jake came forward, narrowing the distance.

"Jake, I’m not kidding. Get out of my room. Now."

Jake tilted his head, his grin turning into a satisfied smile. 'Oh, princess, but I’m not kidding at all.'

He reached out a hand, the cold fingers brushed the hot skin of your naked leg and the contrast between the cold of his touch and the warmth of your body was almost paralyzing. Jake watched your every reaction, his dark eyes shining with malice.

"You’re so hot," he muttered, letting his hand slide slowly down your leg. "It almost feels... unnatural. Perhaps it is the fire that you have inside, or perhaps it is just the effect I make on you." You shook your head, slowly but surely his long and cold fingers slowly ran down your thigh until they went under your towel, and felt your cheeks warm up but when it was about to touch you heard the phone ring and maybe it was your salvation or Your punishment?

You looked at what and who had written to you and read:

Hi Y/n, how about going out tonight? I’m sure you’d have a lot of fun. What do you think?"

He was a campus boy, handsome, charming, and popular, but you didn’t care. After all, no guy seemed to make you beat your heart or turn you on. Although you would never admit it to anyone, Jake could stir up something inside of you that no one else had ever touched.

But when Jake noticed you were laughing while writing insignificant things to another boy, his attitude changed. In a moment, he ripped the phone out of your hands, reading messages quickly.

"What’s so funny?" asked Jake, the air suddenly getting heavier and you looked at him in surprise.

"He’s just another guy who wants to go out with me."

Jake looked up, the look of those who do not accept being ignored. 'Don’t like girls who do not pay attention to me' he said, the voice that now had a lower, lower, almost dangerous tone.

You laughed nervously, almost embarrassed by Jake’s overreaction.

"Jake, it’s not that I’m ignoring you. And anyway, I don’t care to date. I have more important things to think about, like the project, the study, and the university. I don’t need another guy to push my life,"

'Really?' Jake stared at you intensely, his face approached yours. His mouth was just a breath away from yours, and his cold breath touched your skin. 'But you don’t understand, Y/n. I’m not just any guy and I’m not a loser. I’m dead,

You stepped back, for a moment surprised by his raw sincerity. But Jake didn’t let you get away this time. Without warning, he took you by the hips with force, drawing you toward herself and opening your eyes wide, unbelieving. Jake always had you teased, but now... there was something different in his way of treating you.

"So?" you tried to get away from him, but Jake wouldn’t let you go. "You’re half dead, that’s true, but I can’t help it. You can’t expect me to give you all my attention or to walk into the world of the dead so that you’ll become a human again, Jake. I’m not who you think I am."

Jake looked at you intensely, a grin that became even darker.

Before you could escape them again, Jake kissed you. His cold and soft lips found you surprised but at the same time... There was a kind of urgency in that kiss that made you tremble. It was as if, for millennia, Jake had never had physical contact with a human being, as if your flesh were calling him. His hand moved along your body, touching your skin with a delicacy that made you shiver. You felt the cold of his fingers, but at the same time, there was an unknown heat creeping inside you.

It was as if Jake was exploring something he had never touched before, a feeling he couldn’t even describe.

Jake’s body held you captive, but you couldn’t tell if it was fear or desire that tied you to him. The kiss was like a play of lights and shadows, between the cold and the heat, between Jake’s past and his present. With a quick movement, Jake made you lie on the edge of the bed and slowly opened your towel and saw your legs trying to close but with his strength he opened them again and saw your pussy covered in pink panties and already saw that you were excited for him.

'Look who is now that desperate girl who was so sure of herself with me the first time we met? I bet I’ll make you scream my name in a few minutes when I fuck you with my tongue.'

You didn’t want to show him that you were so desperate and excited that a stupid ghost would fuck your pussy but his kisses were all over the inside of your thighs, squeezing, licking, and sometimes biting your skin. You held your breath and groaned as he rubbed his cheek against your thigh, he was waiting for your approval to proceed further and all he did was excite you even more.

"Please..." you whispered in an awkward voice. You heard Jake’s eerie laughter and to your surprise, you didn’t expect Jake to lick you directly over your panties, right where your lips were. Your eyes have opened wide, and a guttural groaning has left your throat unintentionally. The sensation sent an electric shock that ran straight down your body, and you prepared as it taunted you, pressing its hot mouth and wet tongue against the already wet barrier of your underwear.

"Jake... oh my god." It seemed like he was having a good time, licking from top to bottom,

Waving his tongue and licking every single crack as if he were a hungry man but at the same time he was teasing you and ruining you; he wanted to destroy you, he wanted to see you give in and go crazy just for him. With a tear, he took off your pink panties full of excitement and for the first time in your life you felt alive, each lick fed a flame that burned more and more hot until you were practically singing her fucking name. The tip of his tongue surrounded the lump on top of your sensitive folds and you groaned as you felt him grinning in your pussy all in good show for him lucid and excited.

'Mmmm, I’m destroying my favorite little human just with my tongue and it’s so nice to see you so vulnerable, I could break you in two at this moment but at the same time it’s so nice to hear you scream my name' he mumbled gloomily as he kept flattening his tongue on your folds, chuckling while you tried to pull his hair to hold you still. 'When you come I want you to shout it for me, okay baby otherwise I won’t make you come'

You were so embarrassed, disappointed in yourself but at the same time doomed because you wanted to come and you wouldn’t have cared if it was a ghost or a human at that moment. Jake decided to put a single finger in your pussy and you screamed as you felt your walls clenching around it, the feeling of something filling you was almost enough to push you over the edge. His rhythm accelerated and when his tongue began to touch your clitoris in time with his finger you swore that it was over for you.

"I’m so close, Jake pls" Waves of unbridled pleasure swept you away as the ghost continued his cares all along, and you heard in the distance the sound of your voice shouting his delirious name.

Jake stood between your legs, spraying soft kisses on your thighs and you couldn’t help but see the boldness of that boy in being so talented with his tongue. If he was so good with his tongue what would he do to you with his dick inside you? You shivered when he walked away from you and saw that he had a funny smile but at the same time evil that did not promise anything good and licked his fingers with your excitement and after a few seconds you heard his scary laugh throughout the room and dissolved in the air Who brought with him the cold as sharp in your whole room.

It had been a few days since that meeting in your room with Jake and finally, you had not seen him for almost a week and you were more relaxed, you were settling into the bathrooms of the university, your heart beating hard in your chest while looking at the mirror. The upcoming game and show were about to begin, and although it was more than an hour away, you felt the tension grow in every fiber of your body. You used to be commanding, always perfect, but that day something tested you. And then, as if fate wanted to add more meat to the fire, the door of the bathroom opened slowly, and when you looked up, crossing her eyes.

The girl who had knocked you down a few days earlier. You yelled at her, insulted her, and asked her to leave the team. You wanted to put her in her place. But now... now the girl looked completely different. It was clear that he was looking for something, you raised an eyebrow, your attitude indifferent, but underneath, your heart began to beat a little faster.

"What are you doing here?" You said in a tone of voice that did not hide contempt. The girl seemed undecided, but at last, with a deep breath, she came to you, her face tense but determined.

'Just wanted to say... I’m sorry for what happened, but I worked hard. Look.' The girl took out her phone and started showing videos of the training she had done alone in the days after the fall. Her determination was evident: hours spent improving, perfecting himself, without the help of anyone.

You watched those videos in silence, your eyes slipping from one movement to another. The girl no longer looked as weak as she had seen the day before, and a small glimmer of respect lit up in you. For a moment you felt vulnerable, as if you were looking at a part of yourself in that girl.

"Why should I give you another chance?" You asked in a cold tone, but something in your voice was betraying a slight opening. You never gave anyone a second chance, but something in that scene was making you doubt.

The girl, with a shy smile, stepped forward. 'Because I can do it. I promise you I won’t let you down.'

"Okay, but if you don’t, I’m gonna kick you out of the team for good. Do you understand?" The girl nodded in delight, but before she could say anything I added in a harder tone. "Don’t try to hug me, because I won’t accept it."

But as soon as you said those words, the girl gave you a quick hug, and you stayed stiff as if you had been frozen. You didn’t want it, but something in you maybe that little part that could feel human, had allowed it to happen. You were about to push the girl away, but before I could do it, a low and incredibly cold voice whispered on your neck, making you freeze on the spot.

'We are taking giant steps' The voice was grave, almost like a whisper far away, and you felt a shiver along your back.

Before you could react, cold hands leaned on your shoulder, almost as if they were complimenting you. You’re shot, and you saw it. Jake.

He smiled, his usual grin, but there was something different in his gaze as if he was looking at something more, something Y/n could not decipher.

'Oh, maybe you’re not as bad as I thought,' he said, his voice a mix of sarcasm and something darker. "I’m seeing you change. But don’t forget who you are and that you are the only way to make me relive all those emotions that you could feel for free if you opened your heart just a little bit at a time for someone! '

After the race, you were feeling euphoric. You had given your best and everything was going well. Despite the adrenaline still flowing in your veins, you felt relieved. The victory had brought a sense of peace to a hidden corner of your heart so you headed to the private bathroom that you had as team captain in the dressing room, hoping to have some quiet moments to relax a little.

But as soon as you entered, a strange feeling ran up your back. You were alone. Alone with your shadow and those thoughts that you could not stop.

You sighed, you wanted absolutely to drive away the words of Jake "You are the only means to me to revive the emotions" god hated it because you had to manage to make it become human, and then how?

You took off your cheerleading outfit and put in the shower, trying to concentrate only on the water that was running on your skin. But something had changed in the air. There was a feeling of frost that you couldn’t get away from. A feeling that made you think someone was there with her.

And then he heard it: the rustle of footsteps that belonged to no one else, his presence, the one you could never escape. Jake. His cold breath touched your skin, making you shiver, but you couldn’t get away. He had waited for her.

'Congratulations for the race' said Jake, his voice low and warm, but the tone was more sharp than usual. You did not turn around and continued to lather your hair, but felt the look of him on you and despite the anxiety that grew inside you, there was something that kept you curious. Like a butterfly attracted by light, but not knowing that light would be its destruction. Suddenly, without warning, Jake walked into the shower and pushed you hard against the bathroom wall. You tried to fight, but his cold and strong hands held you firmly in place. His breath was close, too close. His lips touched your skin, but he did not kiss it immediately.

"I was waiting for you. After all, where did you think you were going to run?" he said with a grin.

You did not let yourself be intimidated and with a mischievous smile you sunflower and lit the jet of hot water, directing it against him. You remembered that time when he did not tolerate water in his ghost form so you sprayed the water spray on his face and then on his body. Jake’s face twisted as if it were a reaction to the feeling of getting wet. His transparent clothes made him more like a golden retriever puppy, but something demonic was hidden behind his eyes.

With a lightning snap, Jake pushed you against the tiles with such force that you had no way to react. His wet and cold skin was superimposed on yours, the warmth of his body mixing with the ice emanating from him. You felt a shiver up her back, but it was not only fear. There was a deeper, more dangerous feeling: desire and I made you laugh as you saw him so helpless just because of the water.

'Don’t dare more’ Jake whispered in a guttural voice. His cold breath caressed your skin as his hands clenched tighter to your hips. 'I’ve had enough of you, of your stubbornness. I’m not your game. I’m not your pastime.'

Jake’s hands slid down your wet body, revealing his vulnerability but also his resistance. It was like a challenge. He was testing you, and you had no choice but to respond.

"I don’t care what you think," you whisper, but your voice is a little shaky. "I hate you, Jake. You’re just a ghost to me."

Jake looked at you with a cruel grin, dark eyes shining brightly like you’ve never seen before. 'It doesn’t matter what you think. We’re more alike than you think. You’re just too proud to accept it.'

His hands slipped to the neck, his cold touch that seemed to tear away all resistance. Jake’s lips came close to kissing you, but this time there was no sweetness. There was anger, desire, and an uncontrollable need to make you his. You did not back away, but your mind was becoming more confused, You started to take off his sweats and untie his pants and found him with only Calvin Klein boxer shorts and brought back to the sight that even a half-ghost wanted to have some fashionable and sexy things.

He pulled you closer to him and took you in his arms and you couldn’t resist the urge to rub your pussy fully exposed against the fabric of his underwear, slowly rocking back and forth. He moans slowly as you continue to kiss and you take advantage of this opportunity to slip your tongue into his mouth. His spit tastes like the chocolate popcorn they sold during the game.

With a gesture you made him slip his boxers on the ground and you saw for the first time his cock it was so big and already erect that he could destroy your pussy but Jake had other plans for you; 'You’re a too crazy sweetie, who is the one that is desperate to have my cock inside of you?' Rolled your eyes when you felt his lips tickling and biting you a shag while you held tight to his arms not to fall and slip.

'Answer me or I’m going away at once' You did not with your head, you didn’t want him to leave, you needed him.

"I need to have you Jake, I want everything of you and yes I am extremely brazed but at the same time desperate to need a half-ghost and human dick" Jake laughed at your words and with a slow gesture he put you down and you didn’t understand what he was doing until you felt that he slowly stroked your pussy which already had some sticky cum and put it in his fingers and then turned you over and you had your face almost attached to the wet tiles and cold from the shower.

'See if my favorite human can get it both from behind and in front of my cock, If you are so desperate to want it,’

you sunflower for fear but also excitement and saw Jake tickling your hard ass for the countless hours of training after a few seconds you felt a finger enter your hole and you started to squirm but at the same time you were Excited and you trusted him.

'Stay still princess or I’ll hurt you' and while he kept lubricating you slowly adding another finger gave you small kisses on the neck. You put your hands on the shower tiles and his hands took your ass and forcefully pushed his cock full of your excitement into your ass, you screamed for the strange feeling, for the initial pain, for scorching but after another 2/3 pushes you started moaning his name repeatedly.

"Jakey is too much, oh my god" Jake started laughing when he felt your ass getting closer and closer to him, you wanted to show off a good girl but by now your body was one with his, Jake’s venous hands are slipping under your pussy, the eyes that rotate towards the back of the head as his pushes become slightly faster and irregular and his fingers start to tease your clitoris getting swollen for all those stimulations you felt.

"Fuck Jake, it’s so good" moans painfully as Jake slid into your ass, grabbing you, using you, and ruining you as his hips bounce against your ass, shaking you with the force of every move. Your groans grew louder with each push, and you felt his warm breath against your neck, yet he did not stop, becoming only more possessive second by second.

'Damn, baby, you’re getting fucked so good by a fucking ghost, where do you want it to come?' Jake’s accented voice was pinching against your skin, while pushing inside you, felt the balls that are slapping your ass at his relentless rhythm. A hot, burning pleasure rises your spine, emitting a low, almost imperceptible squeal as it pinches your clitoris again.

You didn’t know what to say, your head wasn’t thinking anymore, you just wanted it to go on "Faster" moaning, without realizing how much his cock was controlling your mind at the time.

'Answer me where you want that comes Y/n, or I can fuck your tits with my dick'

You did not with your head, you wanted to feel it inside of you. “In my pussy, I’ve been so good lately" Jake shoved his cock in your ass again and after a while, he turned you around, had flowing locks of his black hair stuck to his forehead for sweat and a smile that promised nothing good but at the same time could not take his eyes off you.

Like a rabid demon, he takes you back in his arms and then pushes herself into your pussy and feels primordial and violent traction before he bangs you back into his cock and feels the tears build up in your eyes.

"Jake!" You cried again, hearing your pussy throbbing while it was restocking, you were extremely fucked by him, you kissed him and pulled his hair while he buried himself inside of you, his cock contracted inside your pussy a couple of seconds later, indicating that he was close to orgasm and your legs wrapped around his waist even more, holding him close to you as he kept pushing inside of you. His eyes rolled back, his cock spilled threads of cum deep into your pussy and you kept hugging him and kissing him while realizing that maybe you were extremely ruined, how could you feel for a boy who at that moment was human but soon would turn back into a ghost?

When you came back to the room after cleaning you were a little embarrassed but also relaxed, Jake slowly approached you with a towel in hand, the mischievous smile that he could not hide even when trying to be serious. 'Sit down,' he ordered softly, pointing to a chair by the bed. You raised an eyebrow, unsure whether to obey or challenge it, but in the end, you dropped on the chair with a half-puff.

"What are you doing, are you drying my hair now? I thought that after having me you would be gone forever!" you teased him.

Jake turned on the hairdryer, tilting his head in a theatrical gesture. 'Oh, queen of sarcasm, I do you a favor. Your hair is a mess, and I don’t want you to go around scaring people. You know, that’s my job and then it shows that you didn’t understand yet understand anything about me.Y/n'

Jake’s cold hands gently lifted your long wet hair. As he passed the towel you felt again that familiar shiver of her not entirely human touch, a mixture between ice and heat that always left you a little confused. Then the heat of the hair dryer began to replace that feeling, wrapping it in unexpected comfort.

You tried to mask a slight smile. "I would never have believed it, you know? Jake Sim, half ghost, half devoted hairdresser."

'Shh, don’t ruin the moment until now you’ve been good to me,' he replied with a smirk. 'I might surprise you with how good I am at taking care of you in any way from the physical, to the listening and more.'

The sound of the hair dryer filled the room, but not enough to cover the rhythm of your heart that seemed to accelerate every time Jake got too close. Jake, on the other hand, seemed focused, his eyes followed every movement of your hair as if it were a sacred ritual. When he finished, he turned off the hair dryer and let his fingers slide through the soft and dry locks, almost caressing them.

'Perfect,' he murmured, leaning over to you. 'Too perfect to be true.'

You shook your head and looked at him with rosy cheeks. "Are you done staring at me or do you want to set up a beauty salon?"

Jake touched your face with the back of his hand, tilting his head as if he were looking for something. 'You know... you taste too good,' he whispered in a low tone and loaded with dangerous intimacy. 'Always feel it, every time I approach you. I wonder how long I could resist without feeling it forever.'

Before you could answer, he stooped down and kissed your forehead with an unexpectedly tender gesture. 'Don’t tempt me again' he added with a mischievous grin, his gaze shining with something dark and irresistible.

"You’re the only one who tries yourself," you provoked him, trying to hide your heart’s crazy beat.

Jake walked away with a sneering smile, but before he let you go, he bent down again, his cold breath on your neck. " Who knows, I could get used to this... taking care of you and having you mine forever. '

Jake had dropped on your bed, broken as usual, his hair still wet falling into soft locks on his face. 'Okay, Y/n, your turn to be helpful. After all, I was a great hairdresser for you,' he said with that provocative grin.

"Don’t make me regret letting you dry my hair. Now stand still and let’s see if you can’t be the usual clown in a ghost version."

With a towel in your hand, you came closer and sat down, but instead of standing next to him, you snuggled up on his legs, taking him completely by surprise. Jake looked at you with slightly blurred eyes, his mouth bending into a funny smile. 'What are you doing?' he asked, but his voice was softer than usual.

"I take care of you, just as you did me," you replied, purposely avoiding his gaze as you began to gently dab his hair. "Now shut up, golden retriever, or you’ll ruin everything."

Jake laughed, the deep sound that clanged in his chest, but he let it. 'Golden retriever? You’re kidding me, right?'

"Perhaps," you replied but did not give him time to reply. You slowly ran your fingers through his soft hair, stroking it as if it were something natural. "Wow, your hair... is so soft. Seriously, what did you use when you were still... well, human? Baby shampoo?"

'Admit it, you like them' he replied with a half smile, closing his eyes as your hands kept moving with an unexpected delicacy.

His breath slowed down, and for a moment it seemed almost vulnerable, a sharp contrast to the usual Jake you knew always trying to scare you, tease you, or that of a few hours before as he destroyed you physically and mentally in the shower.

You watched him, surprised by how... beautiful he was. Your heart leaped, and a strange feeling invaded you. You were doomed. You were falling in love with him, a guy who wasn’t even completely human. You tried to drive that thought away, but the way Jake let himself go under your hands distracted you too much.

While you were finishing drying his hair with the hairdryer, your fingers lingered a moment on his neck, almost without thinking about it. Then, before you could stop, you bent down and left him a light kiss, almost imperceptible, on his cold skin.

Jake opened his snapped eyes and looked at you, a flash of surprise mixed with fun crossing his gaze. 'Wait a moment,' he began, the smile that was widening into a grin. 'Are you saying that, for once, you’re the physical one? The lady I don’t want to let go, don’t tell me that you like me and that I’m making you truly a human!'

You immediately retracted, trying to maintain an indifferent expression as the heat invaded your face. "Don’t get too excited, Jake. It was just... a moment of compassion."

"Compassion?" he repeated, laughing as his hands laid on your hips to hold you close. ‘Oh no, honey. You’re doomed. Admit it, you like taking care of me. I may be your pet evil ghost.’

You shook your head, but the smile you tried to hold back betrayed your cold face. "You are unbearable."

'But you adore me and you can even admit that you will miss me if I die at all,' he answered, his voice a whisper as he touched your face with his fingers,

Leaving you speechless again and with that strange feeling of fear that you had to lose him forever as it happened with your grandmother.

His words pierced your heart like a cold and sudden blow. That possibility, the idea of losing him completely, was more frightening than you wanted to admit. He was not normal, he was not human, yet he had changed your world for a couple of months now. You looked at him, trying to find words, but your throat seemed closed by a knot.

Jake raised an eyebrow, his smile returning to be a slight provocation. 'Knew it. You’re too stubborn to say, but I know you’d miss me.'

You looked down, then breathed deeply, trying to dominate the emotions that were struggling to emerge. When you finally looked up at him again, your expression was different: more vulnerable, more sincere. " Not sure I could stand it, Jake," you admitted in a low voice. "If you disappeared forever. I’m not good at... these things, but you..." tried to find the right words. " You are more than I want to admit, and if you left... it would be like losing a piece of myself."

Jake stood still for a moment, his gaze staring at you intensely. Then his smile softened, turning into something more authentic, more tender.

'I knew it,' he said, gently pulling you toward him. 'I knew that beneath all that hardness there was a part of you that could not resist me.'

You gave him a little blow on the shoulder, but you let him hold you. It was warm, hotter than you would ever have thought possible for a being that was not fully alive. You took refuge against him, closing your eyes as you felt his slow and steady breath. "You’re unbearable," you murmured against his chest.

'And you are adorable when you try to deny the obvious,' he replied, his voice that vibrated softly.

‘Now stop fighting with yourself and relax. You’re safe with me.'

Jake squeezed you tighter, and in the silence of the room, the world seemed to stop. His hand traced a slow and reassuring path down your back, and you let go, feeling strangely safe. You weren’t ready to confess everything, not yet, but you knew that Jake had understood. He knew you too well. But you didn’t know that maybe it was too late and you had to confess your feelings...

A ray of sunshine seeped through the curtains, hitting your face and woken you gently. For a moment, she stood there, still half asleep, waiting for you to feel that strange familiar feeling of Jake next to you. But when you sunburn, you find only a void next to you, the cold pillow, as if no one had ever been there.

Your heart was tight. You quickly got up, looking around the room. There was no sign of Jake, nor his cheeky smile, nor his teasing. The only thing that remained was that slight, unmistakable cold smell, like the distant echo of his presence.

Closed your eyes, clenching his knees to his chest. Maybe it was silly, but the absence of Jake hurt you already, more than you were ready to admit.

You found yourself running with the cold wind that hit your face, strangely the day was sunny but your phone gave -5 degrees, shoes sinking in the now frozen mud, and ran to the entrance of the cemetery below the university. Your heart was beating crazy, confused, and broken at the same time. You were running to the cemetery without thinking twice, desperately looking for a place where you could feel at least a fragment of peace, a little comfort.

You knelt before your grandmother’s grave, trembling hands holding the cold stone as if it could answer your pain. "Grandma," you murmured with a broken voice. "I’m... am I in love with a ghost?”

Of someone who shouldn’t even exist? Is this my destiny?"

Warm tears were flowing down your cheeks as the silence of the cemetery seemed to crush you. You didn’t dare to go see Jake’s grave. The only thought of it was squeezing your chest in a vice. If he had disappeared forever... you wouldn’t be able to bear it.

At first, you despised him, you hated him with all your heart but slowly he managed to make you feel emotions that you hadn’t felt in a while, you were better with everyone and you were also weaker.

You did not stand alone for long, though. Behind your back, the sound of light steps and familiar voices made you turn around. Hoon, Heeseung, and Jay slowly approached their faces halfway between the amused and the serious. It was strange to see them there, in that sacred and sad place, but they did not seem to be disturbed by the atmosphere. After all, they were ghosts.

'Then,' Jay began with a crooked smile, hands tucked in the pockets of his leather jacket 'Did you come here to cry? It’s not like you, Y/n. The last time I saw you crying was when they buried your grandmother.

Heeseung crouched next to you, looked at you with an almost compassionate look, and said in a calm voice: -You know, Jake would hate to see you like this. -

Hoon instead merely crossed his arms, leaning against a nearby tree, his icy eyes peering at the cheerleader with an almost sharp curiosity. << Don’t want to know? >> asked, tone devoid of emotion. << Do not you want to go see his tomb? Maybe there is something that you do not know. >>

"I can’t," you whisper, looking down. "What if it wasn’t there? What if it was all over?"

Jay laughed softly, shaking his head. 'Do you realize how dramatic you are? Come with us, we’ll help you find out.'

Hoon pulled himself away from the tree and reached out to you, his face still impassive but his voice softer. << If you don’t do it now, you’ll regret it. Trust us. >>

You stared at them for a moment, hesitating, the heart that was hammering into your chest. Then, with a deep breath, you grabbed Hoon’s hand. Perhaps it was time to face the truth, whatever it may be. You held Hoon’s hand as if it were the only hold that would keep you from collapsing completely, Heeseung, with an unexpected sweetness held your arm, almost protecting you from the frost that seemed to invade every part of the cemetery. No words were exchanged during the walk; the air was heavy, full of emotions that nobody dared to pronounce.

When they finally reached Jake’s grave you stopped, your eyes rested on the stone. The date was fresh, almost as if it had been traced only a few hours earlier. The date was yesterday. The day you made him understand, in your own way, that you were in love with him.

You fell to your knees before the tomb, trembling hands brushing the cold surface. " No... no, it can’t be," whispers in tears. Your face twitched into a look of heartbreaking pain as tears poured down. "Why? Why now?"

Jay leaned down beside you, laying a hand on your back in a surprisingly gentle gesture to him. 'Don’t cry like that, Y/n. You know Jake would hate to see you like this.'

Jay’s words were lost in the despair that clouded your mind. Every fibre of your being cried out in pain, for the regret that you did not say those words aloud.

As the three friends tried to comfort her, a familiar figure approached silently from the cemetery gates. Jake. But this time it was not the spirit you had known. It was almost entirely human. His hair was brown and shining in the sunlight, and beside him was the Death Overseer, a mysterious and imposing figure.

Jake stopped a few steps away, looking at the scene with a mixed expression of relief and sadness.

The Overseer looked at him sideways, his voice deep and calm. "You have completed your mission, Jake. You made her fall in love. Not a ghost, but your true essence. Even when she hated you, even when she tried to deny it... she loved you."

Jake didn’t answer immediately, his eyes were fixed on you. He saw you kneeling, destroyed, and felt your heart clench in his chest. For a moment, he wondered if it was right to come to you.

Heeseung was the first to turn and notice Jake’s figure. His eyes widened in surprise, but a slow grin formed on his lips. -Well, well,- he muttered, with the tone of someone who had just seen a miracle.

Jay turned right after, his face lit with a look of admiration. 'Here he is, our hero,' he said, laughing quietly.

Hoon was the last to turn. For a moment, his gaze remained impassive, but then a crooked smile sprayed on his face. << You arrived just in time,> he said with a cold but smug tone.

You heard the whispers of the three and slowly raised your eyes, following their glances. When your eyes met those of Jake, time seemed to stand still. The tears that still wrinkled his face stopped halfway, and your breath was blocked.

"Jake..." He stepped forward, his face serious but lit up with a slight smile. 'Don’t cry anymore, Y/n,' he said, his voice as warm as never before.

"You... you did all this to me! You left me alone to suffer! I hate you, Jake! I hate you so much!"

Jake stood still as you slammed up, your fists clenched down your hips. Without thinking twice, you began to strike him in the chest, his blows strong as your hands trembled.

"I can’t stand the fact that you’re here now as if nothing had happened! You made me fall in love, you turned my life upside down, and then you left!"

You screamed, each word accompanied by a fist on Jake’s chest.

He let you do it. He said nothing, did not even move to stop you. He stood there, in silence, letting all his anger and your pain spill over to him. At last, when you began to give in, your hands slowed down, sliding against his chest, until they tensed the fabric of his shirt.

"I hate you... I hate you because I can’t stop loving you..."

Jake, without saying a word, wrapped his arms around you and squeezed you hard against him. His grip was firm, protective.

'Sorry," said Jake, his voice low but full of sincerity. "I’m sorry for making you suffer, for all the pain I’ve caused you. I never wanted to hurt you, but I can’t leave you. Not now.'

You let go of his arms and Jake lowered his face towards you, his warm breath against your skin. Then, with a slow and gentle movement, he took your face in his hands and kissed you.

The kiss was sweet, but full of all the passion, remorse, and love they had accumulated. For a moment, it seemed that the whole world was disappearing around them.

But a golden glow interrupted that moment. You turned and, to your surprise, you saw the soul of the grandmother that was slowly dissolving, wrapped in a warm and reassuring light.

"Grandma..." you murmured.

The figure of the grandmother smiled softly, her gaze full of love and pride. He approached you, touching your cheek with an ethereal hand, cold and warm at the same time.

"I’m proud of you," she said, her voice a whisper that seemed to come from every direction. "You’ve found someone who truly loves you. Someone worth fighting for."

"Grandma, don’t go..." whispered, but the figure of the woman smiled and shook her head slightly.

"It’s my time, baby. But yours... has just begun."

With a last smile, Grandma disappeared, leaving you there with Jake.

'She was right, you know,' he said with a slight smile. 'You have such a big heart, Y/n... and I’m the luckiest to have even a piece of it.'

He squeezed it hard at you and Jake closed his eyes and embraced you again, promising himself that he would never let you feel alone again.

Hee, Hoon, and Jay exchanged a look as they watched Jake and Y/n walk away hand in hand, an almost surreal image: a half-ghost and a human girl entangled in a love that seemed to defy all natural law. Jay puffed, leaning against a nearby tree, his usual ironic smile painted on his face.

'Who would have ever known, eh? Jake, our romantic hero,' he said with a laugh, shaking his head.

<< Ridiculous,>> Sunghoon replied, crossing his arms and looking away, his gloomy gaze that seemed to be digging into nothing. << It is nothing but a weakness. He is tying himself to something that will destroy him. >>

The grandmother of Y/n appeared not far away, still wrapped in that ethereal light. His gaze, however, was fixed on them, a funny smile that promised nothing good. She approached slowly, her words a whisper that seemed at the same time a command and a mockery.

"What about you three? Do you think you will be like this for eternity? Alone, bored, judging others as they move forward in life?"

Jay chuckled, Hee shrugged, but Hoon stood still, his icy gaze pointed at the woman

<< I need nothing, much less love,> said Hoon, in a low and sharp voice. <<Humans are weak. Love makes them even more fragile. And we are half dead, remember? There is nothing for us there. >>

The grandmother came even closer, staring at him with a keen curiosity. " Oh, Hoon," she said in a sweet, almost maternal tone, but that carried with it a hint of defiance. "Are you sure? Don’t you feel a bit jealous? Look at Jake and think there might be something more for you too?"

Hoon laughed, but the sound was bitter. << Jealous of what? To be bound to a fate that depends on an illusion? No, thank you.>>

"We’ll see," replied the grandmother with an enigmatic smile. "Love has strange ways of getting into even the coldest hearts." He turned to Hee and Jay, his smile becoming softer. "What about you? Will you just look?"

Jay raised his hands in surrender. 'Hey, don’t get me in the way. I’m fine like this. Let’s just let Hoon fight with his demons.'

Hee, becoming quieter, shook his head but said nothing.

The grandmother dissolved with a slight glow, leaving them alone in their solitude. Jay and Hee exchanged a glance, then they looked at Hoon, who seemed to be immersed in his thoughts.

<< Don’t say it either,>> said Hoon before Jay could open his mouth.

'I said nothing,' Jay replied, with a provocative grin.

Hoon sighed, annoyed, but his mind kept returning to the same question. There was something about seeing Jake and Y/n together that irritated him deeply. Not because he was jealous of Jake, but because a part of him hated the fact that love had found a way to insinuate itself into their broken existence.

But, out of sight, fate was already preparing its next move. Someone was about to enter Hoon’s life and who he had perhaps already met in a past life, someone who would upset his every belief. Not a simple or banal love, but something as dark and intense as him. And perhaps because of this, inevitable.

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Comments and rebblog are appreciated

©cutehoons02 all rights reserved 2025.

(I was able to finish it first:)

[twistedwonderlandimaginesblog]

Diasomnia with “who hurt you” trope

Lilia Vanrouge:

Lilia doesn’t feel like himself when he sees you, your eyes closed, your body impossibly still - he can feel his heart hammering in his chest as he approached you, fingers desperately searching your skin for a sign of life. It seemed his touch brought you back, even briefly, eyes finding his alongside a weak smile. He whispered his question with an intensity you’d never heard from him before, flinching as he almost yelled it in his next breath. He had to know who did this to assure they never did it again. When he sees fear reflected in your eyes he calmed himself, a hand delicately caressing your cheek as he asked again in a gentler tone and leaned down so you wouldn’t have to strain yourself or your voice. He hummed thoughtfully at the description and seared it into his head, hiding the eerie look on his face as he pressed a kiss to your head and promised you’d be okay soon.

Malleus Draconia:

Malleus had always been observant of the people he cared about, especially when there was a comfortable routine to be found. He had found such a routine with you, where your classes were right next to each other and you had the same lunch; you would often walk to the cafeteria together, getting your food and finding a much quieter spot to eat or enjoy each other’s company. He can’t say he hadn’t been curious about how long this might last until you forgot, when this wouldn’t just be a daily pleasantry to you but like an appointment you were expected to keep to appease the dragon. He tastes bile in the back of his throat the one day you don’t appear, a lingering disappointment though he tried not to let it show as his emotions tended to cause disasters. It’s only when he sees you again, your eyes looking lifeless and your body language closed off, that he realized something must have happened. He wants to pry, to ask a million questions to get to the bottom of this so things could return to normal, but his experiences had taught him many things, so he chose to wait beside you until you were ready to confide in him. He was confident he’d find out who hurt you regardless, and that he could handle it swiftly.

Sebek Zigvolt:

Sebek doesn’t immediately notice any odd behavior, going about the conversation regarding your schoolwork as normal. It’s when tear drops began to stain the paper in front of you that he’s rendered speechless, knowing you weren’t weak enough to cry over something like potion ingredients. He’s incredibly clumsy in his attempts to understand what upset you, who upset you — it wasn’t him, right? As brash as he could be he had learned the proper way to act without pushing you away, so he’s confident it wasn’t that. He’s meant to be a fighter and if someone had physically hurt you, he’d know exactly how to restore your honor. However, with only figurative bruises on your heart he’s struggling, twice as much as he would with a regular friend due to the depth of his feelings for you. You can at least find some amusement in Sebek’s ever changing facial expressions as he used all his brain power to remedy the situation.

Silver:

Silvers steps were steady as he approached, stealthily following the trail of blood and hoping it didn’t lead to an unfortunate prize. He broke out into a sprint when he sees your form curled up on the ground, a much larger puddle of blood gathered nearby to hint he had found the main source behind the trail. He’s fighting not to panic as he kneeled over your body, hands holding your face as he begged for you to wake up, to just look at him. When you do it brings him enough relief that he could cry, forehead pressed to yours as he asked who did this to you. He doesn’t know what his next course of action is, frown plastered to his face as your eyes slid shut again; he could see your chest moving now, in the familiar way it did when you slept, leaving him a little more at ease. Silver felt like he might not sleep for another hundred years, not until the person who hurt you was thoroughly punished.

[minimomoe]

How to Train your Demon

Pairing: trueform! Sukuna x Fem Reader

Summary: Life has all kinds of wins and losses. You don't know which category to put your new demon husband in though.

Tags: MDNI!, red string of fate trope, true form sukuna, librarian reader, soul mates, reincarnation, accidental summoning, love at first sight (buti it's one-sided (until it's not)), Sukuna is demon, but he's v much in love, smut and stuff eventually i guess....

Song inspo: E.V.O.L- MARINA

Part I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X. XI. XII. XIII. (completed!)

Rule no. 1: Don't show fear

It was a mistake. A comical, nonsensical, monumental mistake, but a mistake nonetheless. You didn’t mean to create a soul tie with a demon . All you did was read a torn up book from the library. Was it an occult book about spiritual practices in the Japanese Heian era? Yes… but it doesn’t warrant an eldritch horror being your life partner. 

Actually, according to the demon, you didn’t create the soul tie, he has been waiting for you all his life. Cute, but it didn’t make the situation any better. Damn your natural inclination to catch the old and withered items thrown into the donation boxes of the library you worked at. It just pained your heart to see pages falling out of books, and the ominous leather bound grimoire was no exception. 

Restoration was one of your favorite things to do. Knowledge is always worth saving, no matter how old it may be. Books were your life. You found yourself lost in them, enchanted, terrified, taught. You had no genre as your favorite. Everything was welcomed, nothing was off limits. You knew a little bit of every culture, every study, every block buster fantasy. If you could, you’d build a machine that would let you live inside of a book and experience the scene yourself. 

Technically you could ask your all powerful demon to do that, but you didn’t want to deal with him right now.

You still weren’t all too sure on how it happened. First you were glueing the pages back to the spine of the book, running your fingers over the deckled edges when you opened a page that was stuck together. You carefully peeled it apart, a task that took ten minutes to do to avoid any additional tears, and opened up to a page that was different from the rest. The words were written in a rush, the strokes of the characters dragging much longer than it should. You only knew a tiny bit of Japanese (but much more of Latin, Russian, Yoruba, and French from having just an abundance of time on your hands), but this time you could make out some of the words. 

You muttered the ones you knew for sure, used context clues for the ones that were beyond reading. It didn’t make a lick of sense to you. You closed the book with a clamp so that the glue would set and decided to come back to it tomorrow since it was closing time. There was no rush of wind, flash of lightning, or eerie sounds. Just you and the screech of a thousand cicadas as soon as you stepped outside to walk to your car. A normal Thursday night.

Until it wasn’t. 

You shuffled around your house with a new arc from your favorite novelist in one hand, a glass of wine in the other, and the largest frame of glasses known to man perched on your nose. Jazz music quietly spilled out from your hidden speakers, preventing the house from getting a little too quiet as you lived alone with your cat. It was a total boring cliche, you were well aware, but you were happy with your life. You had friends who you trusted, a great relationship with your parents, and just recently got out of a relationship with someone who you didn’t hate, you just grew apart. There was no chaotic, negative energy to feast on in your household and you liked it that way. 

You thought you heard your cat clawing on the door when you were snuggled away in your bed. You flipped the covers over and went to let her in to snuggle with you. 

“I’m so sorry, Cleo. I thought you were already in here with me,” you said, scooping her up from the floor. The ragdoll cat begrudgingly accepted your kisses of apology. You set her down on the bed, watching her find a good spot to curl up in and smiled. You went to reach for your wine glass you knew that you set on your nightstand, but there was nothing in the glass. You were sure that you didn’t finish it. You paced yourself well enough for it to last until at least chapter five, but there wasn’t a drop of alcohol left. 

“The quality of sake has diminished over the years, I see.” 

The voice came from all around the room but also deep in your chest. Cleo hissed, making a run for it out of your door, leaving you wildly spinning around for the intruder. You lunged for the heavy duty taser you kept in your nightstand, but when you turned around there was nobody there.

“What is that?” 

The bone chilling voice spoke again. Was it one person or many, you couldn’t tell. 

“I— I have a weapon!” You tried to steady your voice but it was hopeless. You were terrified. There was nobody there but you could feel a heavy presence in the room. 

“You call that a weapon?” The voice laughed. “The only weapon my wife needs is me.”

The statement made you falter. “Wife? Who are you?”

You turned around once again and nearly jumped out of your skin. A man, or a close approximation of one, sat on your bed flicking through your book. It was impossible, but he had twice as many limbs on his top half than he should, and double the amount of eyes. They were bright and red when scanning through your novel. “What language is this?” 

“F-french,” you whispered. You were dreaming. You had to be. That was the only way this could be happening. Still, dream or not, you had to protect yourself. You pressed your taser and watched the prongs leap out and touch his bare skin. He looked unbothered, merely looking down at his stomach where the taser landed and moved his arm to reveal a mouth on his abdomen. A tongue flopped out and licked the prongs, dragging it back to the mouth and the taser was slowly dragged out of your hands and into the mouth. You watched in horror as the hard plastic was crushed to pieces in front of your very eyes. 

“Useless weapon,” he reiterated, this time looking directly at you. “Don’t insult me again.” 

“Pl—please don’t hurt me.” There was nothing left to do but beg. You already punched yourself till blood was drawn. This was not a dream, you were looking at a real, evil monster who didn’t know French and ate high voltage tasers. 

He rose from your bed. You crawled away as much as you could until you bumped into a wall and still you wanted to move through it. He stood before you, looking over your trembling frame and called out for you. 

“Rise.” 

You rose, unsure if you really had a choice in the matter. One of his many hands cupped the side of your face. A clawed thumb brushed away the tear that fell on your cheek.

“Why do you weep?”

“Um… well… I don’t really know who you are,” you said honestly. You were still pinned to the wall, unable to flee and he took up your entire frame of sight. He nodded, removing his hand from your face and raising it in the air. You thought he was going to strike you and you flinched. When you opened your eyes again he was multiple steps away from you, still raising his palm.

“Time has faded your memory of me. You are my wife, and I am your husband. The string of fate proves that we are mates.” 

He stated it so matter of factly. You are my wife, and I am your husband. My wife, your husband. Mates. Forget dreaming, you have officially lost your mind. 

“I don’t… remember agreeing to that,” you said carefully. The words “husband” and “wife” bounced in your head in a crazy echo. You slumped to the floor, your body suddenly very tired. A laugh bubbled up your throat and escaped your mouth. So much for your boring life.

“Do you not feel the connection? The string is tied from my last finger to yours.” You looked at your hand, not seeing any supposed string and shook your head. 

He frowned. “You do not agree to it. It has been decided.” He crouched in front of you, inspecting your face earnestly. One side of his face was strange, not normal skin, instead inhuman, bumpy and shades darker. 

“You look the same after all this time,” he murmured. “I will make you remember.” 

“Let’s not do that,” you said quickly. “I don’t even know your name and I am not married. I’m a librarian and I have a cat. And I have never, ever met you before.”

“I am known as Sukuna, among other names,” he responded to one of your distresses. “What title is a librarian?”

This time you laughed. An deranged laugh, loud and unbecoming. Sukuna waited as impatiently as he could for you to be finished, but you kept on cackling. Once out of breath, you wiped the tears out of your eyes and leaned against the wall. It finally dawned on you how this happened. The drying grimoire that was locked up in the library was responsible for this strange turn of events.

“It’s not a title, at least, not in the way you’re thinking. It’s my job, one that I love very much. Was I ever a common worker before?”

Sukuna bristled at the thought. Even his tummy mouth frowned. “You were a queen. You wanted nothing because you had everything.”

“Interesting,” you mused. “I’m so not your girl.”

“I’m not interested in little girls.”

“Kudos to you. I think I’m going to sleep now. I’m clearly much more tired than I think I am.”

“We have things to discuss,” Sukuna protested, but you already slipped under the sheets. If I force myself to sleep he will go away, you thought. 

Instead you felt the dip of the other side of your bed and flung your eyes open. Sukuna was in bed, with you, staring your down with his four eyes. He was much too close for your liking. 

You looked at him wildly. “What are you doing?” 

“Resting with you.” 

“Get out of my bed!”

“Are you no longer tired?” 

“I am tired. Extremely tired, but that doesn’t mean I want you on my bed! Stay on the floor or something!”

Sukuna rolled his eyes at you and turned on his back, his arms crossed in two sets on his chest. 

“You were always particular with your sleeping habits. I see that hasn’t changed either.”

“Stop acting like you know me!”

Sukuna got off the bed to sit on the floor like you asked. The only problem is that you could feel his gaze prickling your skin, making it impossible to ignore him. You didn’t feel bad about kicking him out, he certainly didn’t have a pout on his face because of it, but something needed to be done. 

“Face the door instead of me,” you mumbled. 

His eyes twitched. “Commanding me like footmen,” he grumbled, yet he still turned away. You wondered if his obedience had something to do with the book. Sukuna had the aura of someone who doesn’t listen to anyone, yet he’s been more than understanding with you. Maybe you really were his wife. Maybe you were having a very elaborate and maladaptive daydream. You thought of “maybe’s” until the sun came up, still staring at the back of his pink, spiky hair. 

Your alarm chirped for you to get ready for work. You groaned. You didn’t get a second of sleep. You were too afraid of being eaten by the demon you accidentally summoned. You reached out to shut off the ringing clock as quietly as you could, but Sukuna touched it first. 

“How strange,” he said, turning the clock around in his hand. He brought it up to his ear, shook his head, tapped the glass. Then he crushed it. It was made of plastic, but the shards bent and broke to the floor left his hand unscratched. You gaped at the mess he made as he let the remains fall to the floor. “It was making a wretched sound.”

“Yeah…” you sighed. “It was pretty noisy.”

You had to find out how to get rid of him. Fast. 

Thanks for reading loves!! lemme know what ya think xx

Part: I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X. XI. XII. XIII.

M.list || Twitter || Ao3

[mariacallous]

In 1999, the year I turned 16, there were three cultural events that seemed to define what it meant to be a young woman—a girl—facing down the new millennium. In April, Britney Spears appeared on the cover of Rolling Stone lying on a pink bed wearing polka-dot panties and a black push‐up bra, clutching a Teletubby doll with one hand and a phone with the other. In September, DreamWorks released American Beauty, a movie in which a middle‐aged man has florid sexual fantasies about his teenage daughter’s best friend; the film later won five Academy Awards, including Best Picture. In November, the teen-clothing brand Abercrombie & Fitch released its holiday catalog, titled “Naughty or Nice,” which featured nude photo spreads, sly references to oral sex and threesomes, and an interview with the porn actor Jenna Jameson, in which she was repeatedly harangued by the interviewer to let him touch her breasts.

The tail end of the ’90s was the era of Clinton sex scandals and Jerry Springer and the launch of a neat new drug called Viagra, a period when sex saturated mainstream culture. In the Spears profile, the interviewer, Steven Daly, alternates between lust—the logo on her Baby Phat T‐shirt, he notes, is “distended by her ample chest”—and detached observation that the sexuality of teen idols is just a “carefully baited” trap to sell records to suckers. Being a teen myself, I found it hard to discern the irony. What was obvious to my friends and to me was that power, for women, was sexual in nature. There was no other kind, or none worth having. I attended an all-girls school run by stern second-wave feminists, who told us that we could succeed in any field or industry we chose. But that messaging was obliterated by the entertainment we absorbed all day long, which had been thoroughly shaped by the one defining art form of the late 20th century: porn.

By this point in history, pornography, as Frank Rich argued in a New York Times Magazine story in 2001, was American culture, even if no one wanted to admit it. Porn was a multibillion-dollar industry in the United States—worth more money, Rich suggested, than consumers in the U.S. spent on movie tickets in a year, and purportedly “a bigger business than professional football, basketball and baseball put together.” It was a cultural product few people bragged about consuming, but it was infiltrating our collective imagination nevertheless, in ways no one could fully assess at the time. And things were just getting started. Porn helped define the structure and mores of the internet. It dominated popular music, as the biggest hip-hop stars of the era released hard-core films and the teenage stars of my generation redefined themselves for adulthood with fetish-tweaking music videos. In 2003, Snoop Dogg arrived at the MTV Video Music Awards with two women wearing dog collars attached to leashes that he held in each hand, to minimal protest. In 2004, the esteemed fashion photographer Terry Richardson released a coffee-table book that predominantly featured pictures of his own erect penis, and the models he’d cajoled into posing with it.

This period of porno chic arrived with an asterisk that insisted it was all a game, a postmodern, sex-positive appropriation of porn’s tropes and aesthetics. But for women, particularly those of us just entering adulthood, the rules of that game were clear: We were the ultimate Millennial commodity, our bodies cheerfully co-opted and replicated as media content within the public domain. If we complained, we were vilified as prudes or scolds. This kind of sexualization was “empowering,” everyone kept insisting. But the form of power we were being allotted wasn’t the sort you accrue over a lifetime, in the manner of education or money or professional experience. It was all about youth, attention, and a willingness to be in on the joke, even when we were the punch line.

What did growing up against this particular cultural backdrop do to me? What did it do to all of us? I didn’t start trying to process this particular initiation into adulthood until two decades later. A few months into the coronavirus pandemic, I gave birth to twins, and becoming a parent in almost complete isolation triggered a kind of identity crisis. I was too exhausted to read; I could no more sit through an entire movie than I could sprout wings and fly. When I went back to work, the #MeToo movement had many women parsing their own historical experiences of assault and abuse. All of the subjects I wrote about seemed to be circling the same theme: an environment that had been set up against women from the beginning.

In 2022, when the Supreme Court overturned Roe v. Wade, progress no longer seemed inevitable. The recreational misogyny of the aughts was back, this time with new technology and a cult figurehead, Andrew Tate, who’d briefly appeared on the reality series Big Brother while under investigation for rape. (In the years since, Tate has been accused by multiple other women of sexual misconduct and is now under investigation for human trafficking. He has denied all allegations against him.) On TikTok, doll‐like women murmured in affectless monologues about living the financially dependent dream of a “soft, feminine life.” In 2024, when Kamala Harris ran for president, she was subjected to a targeted campaign of sexualized slander, some of it broadcast personally by Donald Trump. And when Trump became president for the second time, his victory was jubilantly claimed by misogynists, who taunted women with a new catchphrase: “Your body, my choice.”

So much of this seemed familiar. It was all too reminiscent of the beginning of the 21st century, when feminism felt similarly nebulous and inert, squashed by a cultural explosion of jokey extremity and Technicolor objectification. This was the environment that Millennial women had been raised in. It informed how we felt about ourselves, how we saw one another, and what we understood women to be capable of. It colored our ambitions, our sense of self, our relationships, our bodies, our work, and our art. I came to believe that we couldn’t move forward without fully reckoning with how the culture of the aughts had defined us.

But as I revisited the entertainment of the ’90s and 2000s, what surprised me the most was how much the murk of the era came right from porn. It’s a more influential cultural genre than any other, and yet its impact outside of people’s homes and hotel rooms has hardly been analyzed. I should say here that I’m not opposed to porn on principle. Some of it is liberating; some of it is ethical; a tiny amount of it is even devoted to understanding female desire in a universe built on the male gaze and money shots. Still, in studying porn’s long cultural shadow, I’ve come to agree with the radical feminist Andrea Dworkin, who wrote in 1981 that “pornography incarnates male supremacy. It is the DNA of male dominance.” Porn has undeniably changed how people have sex, as researchers and anyone who has even fleeting experience with dating apps can attest. But it has also changed our culture and, in doing so, has filtered into our subconscious minds, beyond the reach of rationality and reason. We are all living in the world porn made.

Pornography has tended to be at the forefront of emerging technologies, for the simple reason that titillation mixed with novelty is a powerful draw. The porn industry adopted VHS before many Americans had even heard of it. In 1977, when videocassette players first went on the market, up to 75 percent of the tapes being sold were pornographic. Over the course of the 1980s, as AIDS became an unprecedented public-health crisis, both VHS adoption and porn consumption surged, fueled by convenience (movies you could watch alone, at home) and fear (casual sex was much safer as a solitary endeavor). Independent video stores, which pragmatically stocked the explicit tapes that chains such as Blockbuster refused to carry, also realized that porn could shore up their bottom line—in 1985, Americans rented 75 million adult videos. A decade later, that number had increased almost tenfold, according to the trade magazine Adult Video News.

America’s adoption of hard-core porn as a leisure pursuit happened so quickly that its effect on popular culture was hard to measure in the moment. But, as David Friend writes in his book The Naughty Nineties, the final decade of the 20th century was consumed with sex, a subject that dominated politics and art, but also public health. By the end of 1990, AIDS had claimed more than 120,000 lives in the United States; one‐fifth of the victims had lived in New York City, the epicenter of fashion, art, music, media, and advertising. The idea that sex could kill you had led to two wildly divergent schools of thought in American culture. One, nicknamed the New Traditionalism after a nostalgic Good Housekeeping ad campaign, called for a revival of old‐fashioned family values, suggesting that women go home and stay there. (The 1987 movie Fatal Attraction made this fear of a corrupted American culture literal, in the form of Glenn Close’s sexually adventurous, bunny‐boiling career woman, the fling who won’t be flung.) The other, the New Voyeurism, embraced sex—as a spectator sport. “At a time when doing it has become excessively dangerous, looking at it, reading about it, thinking about it have become a necessity,” a Newsweek feature on Madonna declared in 1992. “AIDS has pushed voyeurism from the sexual second tier into the front row.”

Already, the ’90s were a decade of unprecedented sexual openness. Explicit representations of sex were no longer taboo; they were, in fact, now considered vital for public education. This shift meant that artists could experiment with pornographic tropes in plain sight. Near the end of 1990, Madonna released a video to accompany her new single, “Justify My Love,” that set the tone for the coming years: audacious, fiercely sexual, a bit trollish. Madonna, shot in black and white, is seen walking down a hotel hallway toward an assignation, limping slightly in heels and a black raincoat, clutching her head as if in pain. As she passes different doorways, we see fleeting glimpses of the rooms’ occupants, watching us watch them. After she enters a room, orgiastic flashes of different scenes appear: Madonna with her lover (played by her real‐life boyfriend at the time, the amiable lunk Tony Ward); a man lacing a woman into a rubber corset; a dancer in a unitard contorting into shifting positions; Ward watching Madonna with another partner, then getting trussed up in a fetish harness. Finally, Madonna puts on her coat and leaves, laughing, renewed and jubilant, no longer tired.

The brazen sexuality of the video was the whole point. Madonna had lost many friends to AIDS, the artist Keith Haring among them. But she was adamant that sexual freedom, fantasy, and pleasure not be sacrificed amid the devastation. What some people call “sex positivity” today was, in the ’90s, understood by those promoting it as an expression of defiance and celebration. In 1990, HBO debuted Real Sex, an unfiltered peek into the lives of strippers, phone‐sex operators, porn directors, and exhibitionist couples looking for an audience. The show, according to HBO’s then–head of documentary programming, Sheila Nevins, was a direct response to fears about sexuality that had been stoked by the AIDS crisis. Depicting sex, she said, had become “much more important because of all the terror that surrounds it.” Four years later, Janet Jackson released a video for “Any Time, Any Place” that teased the same voyeuristic impulses at play in “Justify My Love”: An elderly neighbor looks on, disapprovingly, as Jackson pushes her lover’s head down while he’s on top of her—a then-radical assertion of sexual power and equality.

It was around this same time that then–presidential candidate Bill Clinton admitted on 60 Minutes, with his wife at his side, to “causing pain” in his marriage, referencing an affair with the TV reporter Gennifer Flowers. “I have said things to you tonight,” he acknowledged, “and to the American people from the beginning, that no American politician ever has.” Clinton’s public acknowledgment of scandal, nonspecific though it might have been, was unprecedented, and it helped underscore how much his era would embrace confession and self-exposure. The Jerry Springer Show had debuted in 1991, offering Americans a space to air their wildest secrets to a nation of rubberneckers. By the end of the decade, we had been obliged to consider what stains on a blue dress signified; what, exactly, Hugh Grant was arrested for on Sunset Boulevard; whether John Wayne Bobbitt got what he deserved; and whether a person might sell themselves for $1 million, as Demi Moore’s financially struggling Diana did in Indecent Proposal.

In the mid‐’90s, DJ Yella, of the hip-hop group N.W.A, started directing adult movies, kicking off a collaborative relationship between hip-hop and porn. In 1996, Lil’ Kim’s debut album, Hard Core, opened with what sounded like a recording of a man going to an adult theater, purchasing a ticket to a porn movie, unzipping his pants, and audibly masturbating when Kim appeared as its star. In 1998, the tired porn trope of the sexy schoolgirl was defibrillated by the video for “Baby One More Time,” in which the 16‐year‐old Britney Spears thrust her hips with an intensity that, now, I find more unsettling than her much-discussed exposed midsection. The video works because Spears seems so earnest, so unaware of how people might be reading her. She looks so young. This is teen sexuality as postmodern spectacle: a mishmash of transgressive allusions transmuted into a product that can’t possibly be interpreted as serious.

In 2001, Snoop Dogg starred in the top‐selling hard-core pornographic video in America, “Snoop Dogg’s Doggystyle.” (Snoop didn’t perform explicit acts on camera, but rather acted as a hype man and an emcee, introducing performers and providing the soundtrack.) For fans, this was less a shift toward transgression than a cultural crossover event. “We’ve been using sex to sell music for years,” Camille Evans, a magazine publisher, told The New York Times. “Now we’re just flipping it to have music sell sex.” At the beginning of the decade, the provocative, expressive experimentation of artists like Madonna and Jackson had foregrounded women’s desires. By the end, the cultural dominance of porn was pushing a much more regressive set of sexual standards. And the technological mechanisms that helped bolster this dominance would come to underscore—and exacerbate—a potent idea: that women existed only for men’s pleasure.

The impulse to look at eroticized pictures of other people, of course, is as old as art itself. What changed toward the end of the 20th century was the ease with which pornographic images and videos could be made, disseminated, and turned into profit. If you investigate the origins of today’s most prominent online platforms, a surprising number stem from the equivalent impulse of an eighth grader typing boobies into a search bar. Google Images was created after Jennifer Lopez wore a vivid‐green jungle‐print Versace dress to the 2000 Grammy Awards, cut so spectacularly low that it became the most popular search query Google had seen to date. Facebook was born in 2004, after Mark Zuckerberg first experimented with making a website dedicated to assessing the relative hotness of Harvard undergraduates. And when Jawed Karim, Chad Hurley, and Steve Chen founded YouTube in 2005, it was partly because Karim had been searching for videos of Janet Jackson’s “wardrobe malfunction” at the Super Bowl and couldn’t easily find one. “Sex is the one drive that can shape immediate consumer response,” Gerard Van der Leun wrote in January 1993, in the first-ever issue of Wired, considering the extent to which the early internet was already being informed by sexual content.

In the mid-’90s, with porn now firmly propping up the rest of the web, and with shows such as Real Sex typifying the kinds of footage Americans wanted to watch, two women found themselves traversing fresh technological terrain. Both would end up determining the future of the internet. One was Pamela Anderson, who in 1997 became the first celebrity to have sexually explicit footage of herself disseminated on the internet without her consent. Despite the fact that the video in question was extremely private—made by herself and her husband, Tommy Lee, on their honeymoon, and stolen from a safe in their Malibu home—millions of people delighted at the opportunity to see something wholly new: a celebrity, an American icon, as exposed as anyone could possibly be.

When Anderson sued Penthouse, which was trying to profit from her tape, the company’s lawyer told her that because she’d previously posed nude for Playboy, she could not legitimately claim that she was being victimized and had “forfeited” her right to privacy. The following year, exhausted and seven months pregnant, Anderson agreed to let a distributor broadcast the tape online if he stopped selling physical copies on VHS, not understanding that the internet was already a thriving marketplace for porn. The footage became the quintessential cultural product of the ’90s: One of the most famous women in the world lost the right to a private sex life, and countless more people learned how to get online, enticed by a novel form of public spectacle. That very same year, Girls Gone Wild made its infomercial debut, selling videos in which college girls (and, often, high schoolers) revealed their breasts, made out with one another, and performed stripteases on camera, all for the low, low compensation of branded trucker caps and dubious street cred.

Just as Anderson was making futile attempts to protect her own image, an unknown college student was becoming the first woman to allow the internet unfiltered, unmediated access to her life. In 1996, a 19‐year‐old student at Dickinson College named Jennifer Ringley bought a webcam that she connected to a computer in her dorm room. Ringley was, in her words, a “computer nerd,” and she wanted to see if she could write a programming script that would take pictures in real time and upload them to her website. The script worked, and Ringley began to post: regular, unposed, black‐and‐white images that published first every 15 minutes, and then every three. The banality of the pictures seemed to be, for her, the draw of the project: She sat at her computer, she ate, she talked on the phone, she slept. “I think the camera would be a lot less interesting if I paid that much attention to it,” Ringley told Ira Glass on a 1997 episode of This American Life, by which time her “JenniCam” was getting upwards of half a million hits a day. “It would be more of a staged show. And you can go see a staged show anywhere.”

There was nothing particularly erotic about these photos, but the majority of visitors to her site, she said, were men. Many people seemed interested in JenniCam less for its humdrum snapshots of everyday life and more for the long‐odds hope that Ringley would do something salacious while they watched her. The first time she invited a date over who didn’t flee as soon as he saw the camera, so many viewers flocked to her site that they crashed the server and ended up seeing nothing. Ringley’s intentions weren’t to actively court what the film theorist Laura Mulvey termed “the male gaze,” and the camera didn’t deter her from doing anything that she felt like doing. She was opening up her life online to try something different, brokering a parasocial intimacy with the people watching her. But what most of them wanted to see—and what even well‐meaning interpreters such as Glass and David Letterman wanted to talk about—was nudity and sex, the most fascinating contours of private life turned into public exhibition.

The internet, at this point, still felt redolent with possibility. Going online was an opportunity to experiment with identity, self-presentation, communication. For women, though, what was becoming clear was how much we were already the primary objects of the online age. As the ’90s went by, third-wave feminism was edged out by postfeminism, a cheerful, consumerist movement arguing that feminism had achieved what it needed to and now women were largely free to behave just like men, sexually liberated and socially empowered. The catch was that we were also subtly being conditioned to perform.

I’m fascinated by Ringley because in her effort to find a new way to connect online, she set a template for how women would learn to act. Her experiments with radical honesty influenced the confessorial online writing of the 2000s. And her willingness to become a living, breathing character on people’s computer screens, coupled with the expectations that porn had already set, shaped the future of both celebrity and sex work. Before Instagram and TikTok and OnlyFans, even before blogs and MySpace and reality television, the internet had reaffirmed that women were to be what Mulvey defined as “erotic objects” whose bodies were very much in the public domain. With no other direction to go in, 21st-century porn would exploit this idea to new extremes.

By the time I was in college, porn was everywhere in popular culture, providing a recognizable aesthetic that filtered through fashion magazines, advertising, independent film, and online media. In 2004, the Deitch Projects gallery, in New York City, debuted a splashy exhibition of new work by Terry Richardson, accompanied by the publication of his coffee-table book, both titled Terryworld. Richardson, by that point, was the torchbearer for a visual mode that was irresistible at the beginning of the 21st century: a tacky, sweaty genre of portraiture that gave Hollywood stars and random passersby the same high‐flash, semisurprised, not‐quite‐human aura. Richardson’s book included images of Dennis Hopper, Kate Moss, and Pharrell Williams, as well as the photographer’s erect penis, which he captured in different settings: resting on a brown teddy bear, pointing down at the head of a seemingly passed‐out model whom Richardson holds by the hair; choking another model whose eyes display what appears to be discomfort. (In 2017, Condé Nast finally ended its working relationship with Richardson after years of well-publicized allegations by models that Richardson relentlessly harassed, manipulated, and coerced them into sexual activity during shoots; Richardson has always denied the allegations.)

The tone of Richardson’s work—the way it flattens its subjects into two‐dimensional beings seen through the photographer’s leering, cynical lens—might feel discomfiting now, but the substance of it, in that moment, wasn’t unusual. In the early 2000s, popular culture was doing everything it could to emulate hard-core pornography, playing with its tropes and lack of boundaries. In 2003, the British photographers Rankin and David Bailey (both of whom had previously shot Queen Elizabeth II) collaborated on a series devoted to explicit images of female genitalia that was known officially as “Rankin + Bailey: Down Under” and unofficially as “the pussy show.” At the Cannes Film Festival, the British filmmaker Michael Winterbottom—who’d previously directed a Thomas Hardy adaptation starring Kate Winslet—debuted his movie 9 Songs, the story of a young couple’s relationship that contained multiple scenes of unsimulated sex. In the summer of 2004, Jenna Jameson’s memoir, How to Make Love Like a Porn Star, spent six weeks on the New York Times best-seller list. In October, stars including Ben Stiller and Rachel Weisz attended the opening of Timothy Greenfield‐Sanders’s XXX, a photographic series featuring porn actors that was accompanied by an HBO documentary—a project that captured the porno-chic style of the moment. “Fashion has tremendous influence on how the culture changes,” Greenfield‐Sanders told a Times reporter. “And porn has had a tremendous influence on fashion.”

At the same time, porn was adapting to a world in which it was no longer on the margins. The more mainstream culture ripped off its imagery and its sexual excess, the more pornographers had to find new ways to stand out. The techno-optimistic vision of porn saw the medium as a sexually liberating force for everyone. But as the industry adapted to the jaded palate of the contemporary porn consumer, it pushed boundaries further. “The new element,” Martin Amis wrote in 2001, reporting for The Guardian on the business of porn, “is violence.” And it was overwhelmingly being inflicted on women, in content so degrading, it sometimes made even Larry Flynt, the Hustler publisher, uncomfortable.

Porn was getting crueler, and so was popular culture, as both met a growing taste for extremity. In 1999, a documentary was released about the porn actor Annabel Chong, who’d had sex 251 times in a single 10‐hour period and then went on The Jerry Springer Show to discuss her experience, while audience members gasped and cringed at the spectacle. Chong’s feat of endurance and the 2002 Gaspar Noé film Irréversible—which included a nine‐minute anal-rape scene featuring the actor Monica Bellucci—were arguably extensions of the same idea: testing the limits of what men could do to women for entertainment while the cameras rolled.

As the decade progressed, photographers lay on sidewalks trying to get up-skirt, genital-exposing pictures of actresses who’d only just turned 18, and female celebrities psychologically disintegrated in full view of the cameras; what remained consistent was how people kept on watching. We had been conditioned to see people on our computer screens not as human beings but as characters in an ongoing, multiplatform story, whose degradation was all part of the grand spectacle. Male aggression and female submission had been coded into the ways women in public were treated. The photographers who haunted Princess Diana until her death, in 1997, had supposedly used violent language to describe their methods: They “blitzed her” as a group, “whacked her,” “hose[d] her down.” The overwhelmed princess once reportedly shouted at them to go “rape someone else.” In her 2023 memoir, The Woman in Me, Britney Spears describes how she flipped out after a photographer repeatedly harassed her during a moment of crisis, attacking him with an umbrella. “Later, that paparazzo would say in an interview for a documentary about me, ‘That was not a good night for her … But it was a good night for us—’cause we got the money shot.’ ”

The vivisection of women peaked in 2007, when, within the space of a few months, Spears shaved her head, Anna Nicole Smith fatally overdosed on combined prescription drugs, a sobbing Paris Hilton went to jail, and a pantsuit-clad Hillary Clinton announced that she was running for president. All of this was documented in what felt like real time, in a rolling barrage of blog posts, paparazzi photos, and cable-news clips. The cruelty and disdain expressed toward women during the aughts were, I’d argue, more significant and enduring than they’ve been given credit for. We were being asked to see a woman as capable of occupying the most powerful position in the world, in a media landscape conditioned to view us as high-definition train wrecks. Early in 2008, when Clinton briefly welled up in a coffee shop after a bruising loss in the Iowa caucus, the moment was interpreted as being a melodramatic scandal fit for TMZ and a cynical ploy for attention that eventually won her New Hampshire.

The specter of a Hillary Clinton presidency was immediately presented by some pundits in objectified terms. How else were women in this era to be understood? “Will this country want to actually watch a woman get older before their eyes on a daily basis?” Rush Limbaugh asked on his radio show in 2007. It’s no longer at all surprising to me that a capable and experienced woman lost to a reality‐TV character and virulent misogynist in 2016 (to say nothing of 2024). The overwhelming cultural message that Americans had absorbed during the decades leading up to Clinton’s first presidential campaign enshrined the idea that women fundamentally lacked the qualities required to gain and exercise authority: intelligence, morality, dignity.

Clinton tends to loom large in any discussion of female political ambition in this century, but there’s another woman whose rapid, turbulent ascent fittingly illustrates the cultural trends of this era. In August 2008, when Senator John McCain announced Sarah Palin as his presidential running mate, the 44‐year‐old Alaska governor was virtually unheard-of outside her state. She had minimal political experience: two terms as the mayor of Wasilla, a town with fewer than 7,000 residents at the time, and less than two years as governor. But she was a woman—which the McCain campaign hoped would energize voters—a conservative Christian, and a mother. An early profile of Palin in the Times highlighted the latter identity, describing her as someone who had never had political ambitions of her own but rather was drawn to office reluctantly, out of a pragmatic desire to share her skills. Her successor as mayor described her to the newspaper as just “a P.T.A. mom who got involved.”

Palin also fit neatly into the decade’s understanding of what a woman should be. She’d won the title of Miss Wasilla and had placed as a runner-up in the 1984 Miss Alaska pageant. Mere days after she addressed the Republican National Convention as a candidate for vice president—the first woman ever to do so—Larry Flynt’s production company posted an ad on Craigslist requesting a “Sarah Palin look‐alike for an adult film to be shot in the next 10 days.” Flynt had a history of trying to unite porn and politics: In 1975, one year after launching Hustler, he published photographs of former First Lady Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis sunbathing nude in Greece, and in 1983, he attempted to run for president himself as a Republican. Who’s Nailin’ Paylin?, which filmed over a weekend in October, starred the porn performer Lisa Ann as Serra Paylin, a politician who thinks the Earth is 10,000 years old, struggles to keep from saying “You betcha,” and participates in hard-core group scenes, including one with satirical versions of Hillary Clinton and Condoleezza Rice.

What did it mean, that American culture’s immediate response to a woman’s political ascent was to put her on her back? Who’s Nailin’ Paylin? was absurd, but it made undeniable all the ways in which porn had reset ideas about women. “Porn does not inform, or persuade, or debate,” Amia Srinivasan wrote in her 2021 book, The Right to Sex. “Porn trains.” For the past few decades, it has trained men to see women as objects—as things to silence, restrain, fetishize, or brutalize. But it has trained women, too. In 2013, the social psychologist Rachel M. Calogero found that the more women were prone to self‐objectification—the defining message of porn and aughts mass media—the less inclined they were toward gender-based activism and the pursuit of social justice. This, to me, goes a long way toward explaining what happened to women and power in the early 21st century. For decades, male supremacy was being coded into our culture, in ways that were both outlandish and so subtle, they were hard to question.

Given what Millennials had grown up with, it wasn’t surprising when they started examining their own conditioning through storytelling, taking stock of what the first decade of the new century had wrought. One of the most prominent was Lena Dunham, whose HBO series, Girls, debuted in 2012. The show reckoned with, among other subjects, the indignities of sleeping with 20-something men whose sexual scripts and practices now tended to be ripped right out of porn. (In the second episode, while Dunham’s Hannah is having sex with Adam Driver’s Adam, he calls her a “dirty little whore” and puts his hand around her neck before he ejaculates. “That was so good—I almost came,” she says meekly in response.) By the time Sam Levinson’s Euphoria debuted in 2019, explicit sexual imagery was omnipresent among teenagers, something Zendaya’s protagonist, Rue, notes in a voice-over: “I’m sorry. I know your generation relied on flowers and fathers’ permission, but it’s 2019, and unless you’re Amish, nudes are the currency of love, so stop shaming us. Shame the assholes who create password-protected online directories of naked, underage girls.”

Euphoria was provocative to a fault—one locker-room montage featuring more than a dozen full-frontal penises felt more like a challenge to find premium cable’s limits than a coherent piece of storytelling. But the series was intent, in a bleakly cynical kind of way, on exploring what porn culture had passed down to the next generation. In one scene, Rue, who battles addiction throughout the series, blithely offers a tutorial on the art of dick pics; in another, she tears apart her house looking for pills. Many of the show’s sex scenes were unnerving: Kat (Barbie Ferreira) loses her virginity after being challenged by other high schoolers to prove she’s not a prude, but she’s secretly filmed and the footage is uploaded to PornHub; she panics that she’ll become a social pariah. Jules (Hunter Schafer) meets a man online named “DominantDaddy” who turns out to be the father of one of her classmates, and when he meets her at a motel to have sex, her pain and forced submission are hard to watch.

Levinson has insisted that his show was simply trying to convey how rapidly the experience of adolescence was changing. By the time Euphoria debuted, porn’s practices and mores had thoroughly defined not just culture but sex itself. That year, a survey found that 38 percent of British women younger than 40 had experienced unwanted violent behavior—including slapping, gagging, spitting, or choking—during consensual sex. A culture of unfettered male dominance had simultaneously sprawled across the rest of the web, as misogynistic abuse and harassment manifested in different communities and targeted campaigns, and even culminated in episodes of real violence. “Incels,” as certain disaffected young men began calling themselves, hate women for not being more sexually agreeable, as though sex is a commodity that should be redistributed to the needy rather than a matter of personal desire. That particular term was relatively new, but the rest of their verbiage was familiar: One 2021 study conducted by researchers in Britain found that much of the language used in incel forums is identical to the language used in mainstream pornography, routinely employed to dehumanize and sexually humiliate women.

The impulse to subject women to sexual violence obviously predates porn. And not all porn is degrading or hateful toward women, even if much of it is. But, looking back across the past few decades, it’s hard not to see that the explosion of pornography as a cultural product during the 1990s and 2000s changed the terms of how women were to be viewed and understood. The ramifications have rippled throughout our on- and offline lives. In 2014, two years before Trump’s first presidential victory, approximately 70 percent of American men ages 18 to 39 reported using pornography within the past year. Trump’s election confirmed how widespread and even tacitly accepted the degradation of women had become: Here was a winning candidate who’d been accused of sexual misconduct by dozens of women (which he has denied); the first “porn president,” as my colleague Caitlin Flanagan wrote, for whom the reduction of women to sexual objects was as natural as breathing.

By 2024, the debasement of women in public life had become so instinctive that Kamala Harris was subjected to sexual slurs in the lead-up to her presidential campaign—even before she was officially a candidate. On Fox Business, a guest labeled Harris “the original Hawk Tuah girl,” a reference to a viral video about blow jobs; Trump himself reposted memes inferring that Harris had used sex to further her career. In October, a week and a half before the election, a billboard appeared in Ohio that depicted Harris on her hands and knees, mouth agape, about to engage in oral sex with a frenzied look on her face. I spent much of the year with my head in my hands. For a moment, it seemed possible, again, that Trump’s hateful rhetoric, his nonsensical diatribes, his coalition of creeps and podcast bros and internet-poisoned trolls might be enough to make a capable woman seem favorable by comparison.

But that wasn’t the case. And as he returned to the presidency, I found myself thinking less about men than about women, particularly some of the women in Trump’s orbit—the ones who trade power for visibility, a high-definition, glaringly enhanced veneer of public womanhood that insists being seen is the same thing as being significant. So much of this century’s popular culture has presented women as spectacles: chaotic, melodramatic, hypersexualized recipients of attention.

Porn’s logic of male supremacy has successfully saturated politics. The new administration is in thrall to the manosphere, and unabashed about its project of white masculine domination; in 2025, just 15 percent of Republican members of Congress are women. Young men and boys are growing up with misogynist influencers who assert that women are something less than fully human. “One must believe in the existence of the person in order to recognize the authenticity of her suffering,” Andrea Dworkin wrote in her 1983 book, Right-Wing Women, during another period of anti-feminist backlash. “Neither men nor women believe in the existence of women as significant beings.”

The first part of her argument stands. That the second part is questionable—regarding how women see themselves, at least—is a positive development. And for all the ways in which popular culture helped enshrine porn as the defining form of modern entertainment, culture may be turning into the one place where we no longer want to be reminded of it. I keep coming back to HBO’s 2023 miniseries The Idol, a work to which Sam Levinson brought all of Euphoria’s provocations and none of its emotional intelligence. The show starred Lily-Rose Depp as a disgraced pop star in the Britney tradition and Abel “The Weeknd” Tesfaye as the nightclub owner and cult leader who seduces her with rough sex and BDSM; its intentions seemed to be to marry premium-cable aesthetics with the hollow transgressions of extreme porn. In one scene, Tesfaye’s character suffocates Depp’s Jocelyn with a scarlet silk robe, then uses a knife to slash a hole so she can breathe, reducing the character to a bright-red slash, a pornographic crevice. Jocelyn’s experiences, the show implied, had empowered her, a suggestion so absurd and anachronistic that viewers could only cringe in response. The Idol was a critical failure that hardly anyone even talked about—a possible sign of progress.

For me, the process of adulthood has been less about lessons learned than unlearned—the steady dismantling of ideas I absorbed before I could really think critically about them. But I still believe that by understanding all of the ways in which women have been diminished and broken down in the recent past, we can identify and defuse those same attacks in the present. Our culture isn’t just entertainment—it’s the means by which we understand and relate to ourselves and one another. In moments when I’m galled by how cyclical backlash and progress are, it’s consoling to remember that most women have newfound language and skepticism that I couldn’t have imagined while watching Girls Gone Wild or listening to “P.I.M.P.” Both of those developments feed the kind of unlearning, in other words, after which power is real, change is necessary, and wholly new stories can begin.

[hauntedfictionland]

❝a storm to remember❞

☾︎✰❛❀ Aemond Targaryen x Fem! Reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: As the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and the heir to the iron throne, you are sent to stormlands as your brother to Winterfell, to create allies when you are met with him. Aemond Targaryen, your childhood enemy.

𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬/𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Mentions of violence and threats, kissing, childhood friends to enemies to lovers trope, minor injuries and blood.

🪐𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: He is my guilty pleasure, man who serves face while doing the shittiest things ever aka killing. This is my first Aemond fic ever, so I hope it's not too bad, and I would love writing advices or tips in my asks or messages, so feel free to send any.

The winds were soothing, although getting heavier as Stormlands grew closer. Your one hand on the rope, and the other touching along your dragon's raspy and rather itchy skin. You sighed, as the thought of having to negotiate with Borris Baratheon, who didn't hold a single regard for your mother or any woman for that matter.

You remember your mother's words; no fighting. No bloodshed. It had made you feel strange, as though there could be a need for it. You bit your lip as the dark castle came into view, with dark clouds forming already. You did not have a good feeling about this. But you couldn't disappoint your mother either, as the heir no less. You had to fight for your birthright, which Aegon took.

A strain coming to your head at the tactics of your dragon, who wanted to fly into circles as you had taught her. She wanted to have fun, not knowing this might be the most crucial occasion of your life. When you tried calling out to her, telling her to get down to some place where you could land, she refused. She was being erratic. With a few attempts at pulling the rope, she finally complied.

“Lykiri, Tessarion.” you say, as your dragon flies lower to the ground, to make a decent landing. You smiled as she grunted, in some annoyance. She always was stubborn, and it took some time to command her.

You wondered how much time it would take Jace to reach Winterfell, a part of you was envious. You wanted to be the one to see the North, yet he was the one who got to truly see it. ‘Borros was harder to convince’, as your mother said, how she needed someone with experience in that area. How it was your job as the eldest. Sometimes you felt it was a burden rather than a privilege, being heir to the iron throne. You don't know if you even deserve it, considering who your father is; your blood father. Laenor will always be your only father to you, the one who taught you how to sit on a dragon, or the great sea snake stories.

Hate, was what you used to feel when those rumours started reaching your ears. Of your parentage. Of your mother's king's guard, ser Harwin Strong. You did whatever you could to get away from those, from him. You didn't like it, he acted much closer to your mother than a mere guard should. And jace and luke being young, didn't see it as a problem. Even looked up to him. But you didn't. You felt so humiliated, that such low born could be your father, you—the heir, you, ser Laenor's true born daughter, as you tried convincing yourself again and again.

You didn't want to be a mutt, a bastard.

Harwin Strong tried connecting with you on many levels, but you denied all of them. You didn't even want to be near him, let alone speak with him. Flaunting your power and acting very rudely whenever he wanted to make conversation. You still remember the sadness in his eyes, as you told your king's guard to take him out of your sight. A filth, you called him. All out of insecurity.

That was the last time you saw him.

And now, all you had was Jacaerys's fond memories of him, nothing more. You wonder if you had cared to hear him out even once, what would he have said?

Shaking off the terrifying thought, you open your locks on the belt on your waist, slowly getting down. The storm had prevailed, with rain pouring down your black and red polish coat. You squint your eyes, trying to see better amidst the heavy rainfall. Tessarion let out a wail of joy, she loved rain. Given her so very nickname, the blue queen. After her blue scales and orange wings. That's when you heard a growl, a heavy one. That could only come out of a large dragon.

Your eyes widened, seeing the sight of that dragon.

Vhagar.

Which could only mean he was here.

“A letter from the queen.” you say, hesitantly as still processing the fact who you were to face very soon. The men guarding the castle nodded, letting you in. It felt like a dark cloud over you, as you entered. The black walls and steel throne, with Lord Borros sitting quite comfortably. You knew he was there, swiftly standing with a smirk, you didn't even want to face him.

“Princess Y/N Velaryon” one of the guards announced, “daughter of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen.”

You gulp, “Lord Borros, I have brought you a message.” you make sure to add, “from the queen.” he raises his eyebrows, “Yet earlier this day I received an envoy from the king. Which is it, king or queen?”

Your skin shivered as you felt Aemond's eyes constantly on you—not once did his gaze move. You remember when there was a time, a good time, in childhood, when Aemond was your closest companion. You both were around the same age, both quiet, wise, and mature. And you both lacked a dragon at the age all Targaryen children have one. You used to always defend him against the teasing of Aegon and your siblings, scolding Jace and Luke whenever they hurt Aemond's feelings. You remember how you pushed a hair out of Aemond's eyes, after the pig prank, kissing his cheek gently, promising him that he won't go without a dragon in his lifetime. How you had seen that for him.

Alas, after the driftmark incident, you didn't know who to defend, your brothers, or his taken eye. All you knew was that after you had moved to dragonstone, all talked bad of him, and with time, you started believing them.

“The house of the dragon doesn't seem to know who rules it.” Lord Borros sneered mockingly, as you clenched your fists. This was not at all how you planned it. “What's your mother's message, girl?”

You handed the envoy to one of his guards wordlessly, as Lord Borros—unable to read, called for his Mastor. Aemond Targaryen, wasn't a person you once remembered, you once loved. In a way your family would never approve. And you fear you still hold those feelings after all this time. You wonder what your mother would say, your brothers? if they knew the ways of your heart.

“Remind me? of my father's oath?” he says, sounding very offended.

At the corner of your eye, you could see Aemond smirking, as if he already won the bid. It infuriated you, as your hands curled up around your sword tightly.

“King Aegon at least came with an offer! my swords and banners for a marriage pact.” he continues, as you close your eyes in contrast to stop Aemond's winning stare on you, “now if I do as your mother bids, which one of my daughters will your brothers marry?”

Before you could answer, he speaks again, “—or which one of my sons will you marry?”

Your mouth gaped, as his voice sounded so excited and thrilled, as if he was already imagining having Targaryen grand children. Especially when they could be potentially heirs to the iron throne. You grimaced, a picture of his sons, same as him, fat, bearded and a wild lust, came into your mind and it disgusted you. Aemond looked surprised, straying away from his smirking face. His lips had fallen down to a glare, fist tightening.

You cleared your throat, “My brothers are not available to marry my lord, they're already betrothed to another.”

He nodded as if uninterested, looking for a different answer. Eager to know about you. His head peaked forward in question, a one you didn't want to answer; whether you'll bore his sons children or not. You were just seventeen, and even if westeros considered that to be a grown woman—you were still a young girl. And believed to be as well.

“As for me” you took a breath, “I will have to discuss it with the queen. She shall consider your offer.”

“Hmm” you heard Aemond's voice, glancing at him just for a second. This was wrong, this was so wrong. Not at all how you envisioned. He had to ruin everything, didn't he? now you had to go home with a rejection, while Jace would come with more support of armies.

Everything was a mess.

“So you come with empty hands?” Borros says, angered. You sighed, ready to mount back on your dragon and fly the rest of the way in self pity. “Go home, pup. And tell your mother that the lord of storm's end is not some dog that she can whistle up in need to set against her foes.”

Your jaw clenches, in disappointment “I shall take your answer to the queen, my lord.”

This was indeed, a failure. You failed to prove as the heir to the iron throne that you were capable. Especially because you are a girl. You needed to show it, to your mother and to everyone else, that you can take on that responsibility as well as any king. All because of him. It was his fault, and he sure looked proud. You hated this, hated his cunning smile, his swift posture, his one purple eye and oh, him. Everything you hoped you could achieve, he destroyed it for you.

He sure hated you; that was evident.

“Wait”

You hear Aemond, as you halt in your steps while turning back to the gates, “My lady strong.”

Your eyes widen, “What did you say?” he knew it, how to get in your skin. The dinner, with insults about your heritage, calling your brothers strong that resulted in a fight. It was exhausting, what did he want now? after all this time.

“You heard me.” he tilts his head, “did you really think, you could fly around the realm, trying to steal my brother's throne at no cost?”

A bitter laugh escapes your lips, which makes him furrow his eyebrows. “Your brother's throne? or rather, Aegon the usurper's?”

“I would mind my tongue if I were you, my lady.”

You bit your lip, his audacity, after all he had done, to remind you of your place. As if he ranked higher than you? A beat passed by, tension thick in the air. Neither of you were looking at each other, waiting for the other to make the move. As if it was a chess board, with the winner taking all. A verbal battle. Aemond finally broke the silence.

“So you're here to usurp my brother's throne then?” he spoke with a calming chill, seeing as your eyes turned into anger, “Traitors.” he mumbled in his breath.

You control every urge to grab his collar and hit him across his face, “I am in haste. Is there something you want from me, prince Aemond?”

His head lies low and a dangerous glint comes in his eyes. You gulped, unknowing where he was about to go with this. He had changed ever since Luke had done it. Taken his eye. Somewhere, you didn't blame him. It was true that none of your brothers ever got punished for what happened, a result of your mother being the obviously favoured child. He was angry, at Luke—at you, that nothing happened. Everything was complicated; but, not unsalvagable. After you returned to king's landing, you tried everything to be nice with Aemond, to be civil, for the least. Alas, he denied all of them.

“Yes, there is something I want.” he looks up, eyes cold, “something that was stolen from me not long ago.”

A hitch escapes your lips, “Aemond—”

“You know..” he cuts you off, stepping a little forward towards your direction, “I always wished for your brother to know, what it feels like, to experience such a pain. To have your eye carved out by Valaryan steel, hmm. Unfortunately, now that he isn't here, I'll have to make him learn some other way. What it feels to have an eye cut out, or rather, a loved one's eye cut out.”

There was just the slightest bit of emotion flash in his eyes, pool of stars, in agony yet so beautiful. Your breathing becomes heavy, as you start to fear for your life. Your hands slowly pulled out your sword.

“I will not fight you.”

You intended to sound harsh, but your voice came out more of a tremble. Aemond and your relationship had gone down the drain, you knew that. Yet, was he really willing and capable of wanting to cripple you? had he started to hold such hatred for you? did he truly forget all the best memories he and you made together. He was acting like you were a stranger to him, that he did not care for your being. Even the mere thought of that sends a bitter taste in your mouth.

“Fight would be little challenge.” his voice is hoarse and cold, “No. I want you to put out your eye.”

A small gasp leaves your mouth when he pulls out his eye patch, a blue emerald stone in the place of his lost eye. He looked so very, beautiful, you thought. Majestic and soft. As even after such an attack on his face, he was born to look gorgeous, no matter what. For a moment you became oblivious to what he was demanding, staring in a trance like state. He was the epitome of Targaryen beauty, tall and long haired, pale skin with features that could start wars between great houses. Your heart fluttered and your throat became dry, unable to form any kind of answer. Aemond did not seem to notice, as he only held a sour and blank look in his eyes.

You only snapped back when he spoke again, “As a payment for mine.”

“No, I will not.” your voice is low, but clearly he heard it since something changed in his expression. He was angry. An emotion he hardly showed ever since the accident.

“Then you are a coward as well as a traitor.”

“You can't be serious ab—”

“Give me your eye!” he shouts all of a sudden and starts to walk towards you with rage, “or I will take it!”

You frantically back away, pulling out your sword on impulse. The guards coming in to shield you, as lord Borros stands up, saying something about wanting to have no such ‘bloodshed’ beneath his roof. You barely hear him over your own beating heart, fear taking over every one of your survival instincts. He orders for you to be escorted back to your dragon, as Aemond watches you exit the doomed castle. The rain has worsened, your clothes, that had been a little dried up, now went back to being wet again. You push your hair out of your eyes, raising a hand to itch your neck. Your hair was long, so it irritated your skin whenever they were soaked with rain or water.

But all you could think about was what had happened inside, his eyes, his face, all his hatred for you. Did he really want to send you harm? or was he faking? your gaze turned to the side, expecting the giant green beast yet, Vhagar was nowhere to be seen. You started to panic, if Aemond had already flown away, it could only mean two possibilities. He went back to king's landing, or he was awaiting to do something much worse. The latter scared you.

You walked towards Tessarion, her dark and orange eyes bored into your figure, wings flapping in excitement. You sigh, slowly getting on top of her and adjusting your straps.

“Sōvēs, Tessarion.”

She hears your command and swiftly takes out into the sky. She was futile and fast, if you were careful enough, you both would be able to make it to dragonstone with no harm done. Besides, rain, was her element of sheer power. You squint your eyes, rubbing water out of them as a few minutes had passed by, the storm nowhere to be stopping anytime soon. All you could hear was the flapping of her wings and the heavy rainfall that held out the dark clouds. It didn't matter anymore of Lord Borros's rejection, he couldn't be any more reliable than he already is. Besides, if you could reach your home safely, without the presence of a one eyed prince, that would be more than victory enough.

However wrong had the universe been out there to prove you.

As you were about to loosen your tight ropes, with a newfound relief—a snarl disrupts you. You looked back to see the giant mouth of the big monster in the name of a dragon, coming up towards you. Instantly you yelped, pulling the ropes sideways to avoid getting eaten. You can hear Aemond's malicious laughs, he was enjoying this. You let out a cry for help, struggling to keep hold of your now panicked dragon, as Vhagar flew around you, mouth wide open.

The rain was making it quite difficult to see, as Aemond chased you down.

Vhagar's giant claws kept trying to cut you and Tessarion, as Aemond began to mumble things in high valaryan, something you could not hear due to your panic and wanting to steer away from him and his beast. You tugged on the leash, pulling her away to the left. You knew Vhagar had a hard time with turning around, and it would buy you some time. His laugh, so cruel and emotionless, he was out to kill you. That was unquestionable. You had to get away from them, instead of processing how your childhood best friend, and the man you loved, could become the reason for your death.

A cannon appeared in your sight, and you quickly flew into the narrow path in between it. Aemond could only follow you from the above, waiting for you to come out.

“Jemēla gēlȳni enkā! Taobi!” You hear him shout, an unexpected emotion and anger in his voice. You owe a debt? No, you didn't. You did not take his eye, or tease and bully him all those years ago. In fact, you were the one who defended him. And he thinks you are the reason for his lost eye?

“For the god's sake stop this Aemond!” you shout, a whimper coming out of you. Tears running down, “please.”

Somehow, at that Aemond's demeanor softened. It looked like he was over playing with you. But your dragon wasn't done with him, instead, Tessarion disobeyed your own commands, flew out the cannon and let out a massive fire at Vhagar's face. Something that didn't do much damage. You cursed, as she shrieked in pain when you harshened the ropes to make her listen. Aemond was going through the same situation, yelling out every command in high valaryan to stop, but his dragon was angered. That's when you were remembered of your grandfather's words, the idea that we control the dragons, is an illusion.

“No Vhagar! No!” was the last thing you heard from him, before his dragon grabbed your coat with its claws, losing the balance off the seat, you screamed as you fell off. The height was above the clouds, and in nowhere will you be to survive.

Until the ocean hit your body, and you blacked out.

Rain droplets on your eyes irritated you, as you could still feel it was raining. Not as hard as before, but still. Slowly blinking, you open your eyes. You found yourself laying on top of some concrete—more over rocks and tiny stones.

A sharp pain hits you, as you realise you were having a hard time getting up.

“Ouch!” you hiss, as blood comes out of your forehead and possibly from your ribcage. With minor cuts and bruises on the tip of your fingers and lips. You were too focused on your injuries, without noticing the very familiar presence by your side. “Don't get up, or it will make whatever injuries you have received worse.”

You gasp as his voice speaks out, swiftly turning and locking your eyes with the very man who was at fault for you being here in the first place. Aemond stood a few feet away, with Vhagar a little further up. An alarm went inside you, what was he doing here? was he here to finish what he started? give you a slow and painful death? and moreover, where was your dragon?

“T—Tessarion?” you manage to whisper, the pain worsening at that. Frantically looking around. Aemond reassured, “That bundle of blue is fine, probably lurking around and searching for you.”

He tries to get closer to you, to which you quickly shift away, wincing in pain at the rocks grazing your bloodied back. “Get the fuck away from me!” you say, as you pull out your sword. Hands shakily holding it.

His eyes weakened, as if a guilt was forming in his throat. His lips parted, but nothing came out. You heard your dragon's roars, she was close somewhere. You bit your lip to suppress the pain, refusing to cry in front of him. The rain didn't leave mercy on you, as it continued to fall. You were soaked, both from the storm and possible blood by scars and fractures. If you didn't get help, you could die in a very slow way, taking around seven to nine days. Perhaps faster by starvation or dehydration—or by his very sword. You didn't know which was worse.

“Y/N..” Aemond breathes out, “I—I didn't intend to cause this.”

That was the first time in years, he spoke your name. Only your name, no titles or formality. It was raw. You didn't answer, not knowing what to make of the whole ordeal. At first he was chasing you around like a mad man, and the next minute he was apologizing for almost killing you. You tried getting back up your feet, but winced at the sheer pain that came with it.

“Let me help you or—”

“No!” you immediately shake your head, pointing your sword further towards him.

In no world will you weaken your guard, let him get close to your body only for him to deceive you and strangle you to death. Or cut your throat with that small knife of his. You didn't know why he hadn't done that already? you were blacked out for almost ten minutes, he could have easily killed you with no difficulty. What did he even want? if not to kill you then why did he do all this?

“Y/N, let me help. Falling into the ocean at such speed is the same as falling in concrete ground. If not worse.”

“You tried to kill me! why would I ever trust you?”

He falls silent at that. Unexpectedly so. You bit your lip, struggling to keep up the strong facade with all the pain masking behind it. You didn't know how much longer you would be able to keep your sword pointed at him. Your dragon is far away and no one is here to possibly protect you against Aemond and his giant beast.

“I didn't want to kill you,” he says, his voice faltering from the rain that had now soaked his entire clothes and hair, “Only scare you.”

“Well you did more than that” you bite back, a bitterness in your tone. He scoffs, “Maybe, if your young and wild dragon hadn't leashed fire on mine, this wouldn't have happened.”

A baffled scoff of your own comes out of you, in disbelief, “Oh so this is—this is my fault?”

“Precisely.”

“Fuck you!” you spat, your throat burning up at the yell. Your condition was getting worse by the minute, and Aemond noticed that. He inhaled a deep breath, preparing himself before matching up to you. You yelped as he reached over you, pulling your arms in order to get you up, but struggling as you put up a fight. You wince at the pain of getting on your feet, eventually giving up as he held on to you firmly, his hands of your waist.

You sigh, so tired like all the blood and mass from your body was being drained. You feel his eyes on you, worried as his breath was ragged. If you weren't on the brink of death, you might have realised you liked this feeling. But that moment is gone as soon as it came, you push Aemond away, roughly. This is your enemy. Not your protector.

“Y/N—”

“What do you want?!” you interrupted him, shouting amidst the heavy rainfall soaking both your breaths. “You threaten me, almost kill me, and then help me when it was you who put me in this position in the first place. I don't understand why you are here if you don't want to kill me! what other reason is there for you to do what you have done ever since I landed here?”

Aemond becomes silent, any words he could speak refused to come out. He looks at you hard, before taking his eyes off you, his jaw clenched. You were frustrated now, you wanted the answer. You needed it. He can't just ignore you after all this.

“Tell me. Why?” you inquire, again. When he doesn't answer, you furiously walk towards him, pushing his chest as he stumbles back a bit. “Why—”

“Because you didn't do anything!” he finally breaks, his voice was surprisingly inflamed with a touch of vulnerability.

You blink your eyes, taken aback, “what?”

“You...” Aemond breathes, willing himself to say those words he never wanted to say, jaw clenching, “You were my friend. My dearest one. Yet, when your brother took my eye and I was the one condemned for it, you didn't say anything. You just stood there, in pure silence. I—”

He stops himself, taking a deep breath, “I thought you would always defend me.”

You were speechless. It was true. What he said. You didn't say anything because you didn't know what happened. You weren't there. And being overwhelmed by all the shouting and bruises on your little brothers faces, you didn't know what to think. But you believed your mother. You couldn't defend yourself, he was saying the truth. You didn't have his back and that's what broke what the two of you shared. You went numb to the pain you had, or the seemingly hatred you had for him. This, this was the Aemond you remember. And you weren't about to let him go.

“I'm sorry.” you say, “I'm sorry, okay?”

But it wasn't enough. You knew it wasn't when his face fell, shaking his head and turning around to walk away from you and this. You weren't about to let that happen. “Aemond!” you called out to him, but he didn't stop. The pain was excruciating, but you needed to make this right. “Aemond!” when he doesn't listen, you take all the best strength you had left and catch up to him, grabbing his shoulder and turning him around.

“Aemond I'm sorry!” you yell, wanting him to feel how much guilt you felt, “But I'm in a lot of pain here, okay? it feels like my body is cut by a thousand bolts of lightning, I can't even feel my back and my throat is burning. But still, I'm sorry I didn't say anything. I did not understand what was happening—we were both children for god's sake! but even then, if I hurt you, which evidently now that I have I mean we wouldn't be in this situation if I hadn't, I'm so sorry.”

You don't know if you made it better or worse looking at the stoic expression on his face. But you had tried. The rain had soaked all his emotions, but even then you could see just the little bit of stars in his pupils you once saw as kids. You cross your arms, feeling the cold embrace you as you shudder in your injuries and pain. He gulped, unknowingly laying his head low to avoid looking in your eyes.

“I apologize, for this. For everything. I lost my temper today. It won't happen again.”

Your eyes soften at his words, as if a wall had risen between you two again. You hated it. You wanted to break it. So you did. In a few fraction of seconds, you didn't realise what you were about to do before you walked closer to him, too close. His breath hitches as your face comes in between his wet hair, his hair touching your cheeks just slightly.

“Y/N—”

He was only able to mumble out these words before your lips were on his. So barely. He inhaled a sharp breath, hands coming up but not knowing where to go. You close your eyes and just for one moment, forget the war, the families, the armies. Just you and him. Before you pull away, Aemond finally found his senses and comes up to cup your cheeks. Kissing you back softly but with an unspoken passion. He was careful not to hurt you.

Your hands find his waist, carefully tugging at the black belts that were wrapped around it. It felt like this was what you both had craved all these years. This. All the fight left out of him the moment you kissed him. Like the sun finally just glanced one look at his star. The one closest to it. You were his sun. And he was your favourite star. You only pull away when the growl of your dragon reaches your ears, Tessarion was here. Just a few rocks away. Your foreheads were touching, and Aemond places a small kiss at your head.

“Get home safe.” he whispers, his thumb tracing down your lips.

You didn't know if you would get a moment like this again. But you were happy. That you finally got to have one taste of heaven. Your heaven. Your Targaryen. Your Aemond.

𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑓𝑢𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑡, 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑚:) 𝐼 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑎𝑙𝑠𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑖𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑟𝑒𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑔𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑎𝑠 𝑖𝑡 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑚𝑒 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛!

[lokittystuckinatree]

Hehehe a cat bit his silver tongue. (The cat was Sylvie)

I cannot believe people used to think that Loki is some suave , smooth talking prince who can pull anyone and anything he wants .

Look at this fool . Look how many time he considers the simple act of putting his hands on Sylvie’s shoulders . This mf has NO GAME 💀

[branwinged]

Will you accept a mad dany arc if grrm does it in a different, more sensical way or would that always narratively suck for you?

it has nothing do with my personal feelings regarding the character. i dislike speculation of dany having a downfall arc because it reveals a misreading of the text and the narrative role she plays within it. i don't believe it can be done in a satisfying way because she was always intended to be a heroic character. the 'mad dany' reading relies on certain initial assumptions about her character that are being problematised within the story—which is difficult to discuss because grrm's intent regarding dany is at odds with the orientalist framework he employs in the construction of essos, but i'll try to be comprehensive about it. so dany is an exile, homeless and perpetually seeking a home. she was told by viserys that westeros is "our land" but she's not culturally westerosi the same way the rest of our cast is because she's also never known westeros. all she has are second hand, romanticised accounts from viserys (These places he talked of [...] they were just words to her). dany has lived her entire life in essos and absorbed their cultural norms and slavery is normalised in most of essos (There was no slavery in the free city of Pentos. Nonetheless, they were slaves), it's especially apparent in her first chapter which pointedly draws attention to the various slaves serving at illyrio's manse, something dany doesn't express any moral objection to, because nobody has taught her this is wrong. and that understanding only comes after viserys sells her to drogo and she personally experiences a similar loss of autonomy.

Do you know what it is like to be sold, squire? I do. My brother sold me to Khal Drogo for the promise of a golden crown. Well, Drogo crowned him in gold, though not as he had wished, and I . . . my sun-and-stars made a queen of me, but if he had been a different man, it might have been much otherwise. Do you think I have forgotten how it felt to be afraid? DAENERYS II, A Storm of Swords

and when mirri reveals to dany that her act of 'saving' her was no saving at all. rescuing her through the offer of a place in drogo's khalasar is a meaningless gesture since it does nothing to address the systems that have enabled mirri's enslavement in the first place. yeah, she's fourteen and possesses no power in her own right and is not complicit in drogo's crimes but mirri's presence in the story is meant to teach her that lesson. dany does not arrive already possessed with a political consciousness that opposes slavery, she learns and reorients her worldview just as jon did once he became familiar with the free folk. this is an important detail because without it her crusade in slaver's bay is no longer a story about a former enslaved and sexually abused girl being provided the means to begin a revolutionary counter-struggle against a culture of dehumanisation, but about a civilising mission where a culturally westerosi (westeros, where slavery is outlawed. westeros which is clearly imagined as the occident to essos's orient) character with superior ideals travels to foreign lands to educate the barbarians—which would've made her a straightforward white saviour figure. this IS undermined by the way her storyline is rife with orientalist tropes and i'm getting to that, but my main point is that dany's character is very deliberately written to be someone who is stateless and doesn't belong anywhere. she is an other. which is compounded by her targaryen heritage—the targaryens are narratively imagined as white enough to co-exist with the rest of westeros but they're also being othered because they're a family originating from the east with 'depraved' inbreeding and blood magic practices (practices that are reviled throughout the whole continent), which simultaneously makes them too other to ever fully assimilate despite the family being culturally westerosi in all the ways that matter. this especially comes through in the coin quote, every house has had occasional despots for rulers but people only bother to pathologise the targaryens and that's because they're foreigners. "the gods flip a coin" is presenting this dichotomy of targaryens as either mad - violent barbarians from the east, or great, in which case they're exoticised as otherworldly, above the laws of gods and men. and the final thing that serves to other her is her association with the dothraki. the dothraki are initially introduced as violent savages, but that view has been challenged since then as dany adopts dothraki customs and comes to love their people as her own and even sees herself as more of a khaleesi than a queen. and i must emphasise that this is no way done well because a) the dothraki are constructed out of offensive stereotypes about steppe cultures b) five books later grrm hasn't bothered to give any of them interiority because he clearly doesn't care about the dothraki, they're an afterthought in his narrative about dany and c) i think the subversion of their introduction as the inferior racial other basically amounts to "they're noble savages".

so you see all this at work when in-universe those who revile her speak of alleged violent tendencies, that she's coming to burn the continent down, that she hatched her dragons through foul blood magic and that she tricked her khal husband into murdering her brother and has acquired an army of savages, that her court is made up of foreigners and 'honourless' westerosi men (jorah, barristan, and soon tyrion), while others talk of her supposed otherworldly beauty ("The last of her line. They say she is the fairest woman in the world.")—the mad dany reading of her is taking all this at face value, it's falling for that in-universe narrative her enemies have come up with, which associates her and her allies' foreignness with moral depravity. (this is also what the show did, which i said "achieved her s8 ending by fully leaning into the horror of the savage oriental horde come to oppress the civilised westerosi landowning class" and that hysterical randyll tarly speech "at least cersei wasn't a FOREIGNER"). a very early example of this is in the first book. robert wanted a teenager dead because she was a targaryen: aerys's daughter, rhaegar's sister, because she married a khal and adopted dothraki customs as her own. and it was ned who put up a fight against this. ned is flawed in my ways but do you suppose the narrative will diminish ned's legacy in this, in his stance against dehumanisation. and asoiaf is primarily about that, every major character has had experience with being othered (cripples, bastards, and broken things is about this) and within this narrative dany is meant to be The Other who is working to end institutions of otherisation. her upcoming invasion of westeros is not playing into the the threat of the foreign invader but raising questions of whether westeros is also in need of some reform (at one point tyrion directly compares a serf to a slave, something that might be narratively painting westeros as not culturally superior at all for having outlawed slavery). the problem, of course, being that the way grrm subverts the image of essos as the inferior racial other is by first populating it with orientalist stereotypes. he parallels some of the violence found in ghiscari culture and the dothraki raid of the lhazareen village with ramsay and amory lorch and gregor clegane et al operating in the riverlands in acok but the ghiscari are also portrayed almost as a monolith, as uniformly morally suspect individuals because our only introduction to them is through the slavers. it's the way dany is the only active abolitionist with a narrative voice in essos (there's the shavepate. but he's also a scheming violent extremist so), i said her story is not a civilising mission but when you fail to give any of the ghiscari oppressed a voice it doesn't result in great optics. and it is undeniable that the story is About Westeros, dany's great narrative destiny lies over there, when the long night arrives—an apocalyptic threat meant to affect the entire world—the battle for the dawn will also take place over there, i doubt the essosi will play a role in that.

[woantohae]

In my veins || (Spencer Dutton au! x reader)

Summary: Y/N Y/L/N's hand had been proposed to by a well-off man eager to make her his fiancée. The girl was excited to get married, as she always wanted a wedding to remember and a husband who loved her, although in this case she didn't know him well, because it was an arranged marriage.

Y/N must travel to the Walker mansion to meet her future husband, and who better to take her there than the family's faithful foreman: Spencer Dutton.

The man who crawl under her skin just to bothered her.

Author's note: Hello! I want it to write something like from a long time ago, so here i am.

I need to tell you guys i haven't watched the show, but i got inspired by his character in 1923's, so I apologize if I write something wrong or that the character doesn't do; i'll try my best <3

P.S: This story is set in the 19th century.

《tags: fluff, enemies to lovers trope, angst, mentions of bad words and body parts, sexual tension, reader and spencer hating each other, +18》

It was a hot day.

Summer had arrived, and with it the perfect weather for Y/N to wear her floral dresses with fake underskirts that made her look even more extravagant and elegant. She liked dressing up, but even more so for this occasion.

Her father had given her the news a couple of days ago of the marriage arrangement between her and the Walker family's son, John. Although she didn't know him well, her heart couldn't contain the excitement of finally meeting the man of her dreams. The man who would become her husband.

She had always dreamed of falling in love with and marrying the Prince Charming from the stories her mother used to tell her, but she had never received many letters from suitors asking to meet the girl. So she wouldn't waste this opportunity.

Right now, she was waiting for the person who would take her to the Walker mansion, as it would take about a week to get there. Her housekeeper helped her carry her suitcases filled with fine clothes and everything she needed for the journey. Y/N couldn't hide her excitement and nerves at being so close to leaving and beginning this new experience in her life. She only hoped to meet James and that he would be a gentleman and love her as she was.

"My dear daughter, everything is ready for you to go," her father announces as he comes to her side. She smiles. "Everything will be fine. You just have to do your part and be the lady we taught you to be."

She nods.

"I will, Father. I just hope we have something in common," she says in a soft voice with a hint of emotion. "I don't know whether to talk to him about the books, or the plays we've seen. Do you remember the one about...?"

Her father looks at her disapprovingly.

"Darling, we already talked about this." She lowers her gaze, embarrassed. "No man likes a woman who babbles and talks nonstop about meaningless things. Just smile and be nice. Nothing more."

Y/N smiles feeling disappointed.

"I will, father" she says.

The carriage arrives a few seconds later, and she feels nervousness consuming her. Her housekeeper begins packing her belongings while she watches the foreman's back. Her father greets him politely and begins to discuss some things with him, while Y/N smooths her skirt.

"Y/N, my dear. Everything is ready for your departure," her father tells her, returning to her side. Now she notices how the rider begins to dismount from the seat. "I've decided to entrust you to my most loyal man, who will take you safely to the Walker's. Spencer, come here, man."

Y/N freezes as she sees the man walking confidently and indifferently toward them.

Spencer Dutton.

The man who, just by opening his mouth, made her blood boil with hatred. He made it his mission to mock her every chance he got, calling her a princess for living in luxury and never having picked up a shovel in her life, just because she had people who did everything for her and her family.

It wasn't Y/N's fault, of course. But Spencer enjoy seeing her angry, or atleast trying to look angry.

The man was handsome, that was something Y/N couldn't deny. The worst part was that he knew it, he knew it damn well and he didn't hesitate to use it against her, but he never went too far or made her feel uncomfortable. After all, this job was what provided him with food.

Spencer smirks in amusement and bows slightly to Y/N.

"Miss Y/L/N. It's a pleasure to see you," he says.

"Likewise" she says with a force smile.

"Dutton, I want you to get her to the Walker mansion without a scratch or a trace of fatigue. You know what's going to happen to you if you don't listen to me, kid."

Spencer plasters a tight smile on his lips.

"As if it's the last thing I do, sir. You have my word," the man promises.

The older man just smiles and kisses his daughter's head before disappearing without staying to say goodbye. Y/N is a little disappointed, but she knows he's a busy businessman, so she ignores the ache in her chest.

The man smiles at her and reaches out to help her into the carriage.

"May I?" he asks, his tone mocking.

Y/N rolls her eyes. "Don't think just because you're driving me means I'll let you get away with it, Dutton" she warns.

He laughs as if it's funny.

"Princess," he begins, leaning closer to her, "you know it's more fun that way. It's how our relationship works, right?"

Ignoring his hand, she climbs into the carriage on her own and waits for it to depart. It will undoubtedly be a long journey.

———

The sound of the horse galloping was the only thing heard on the road. Neither Spencer nor Y/N spoke to each other, their egos too big to put aside their differences. Y/N read a book while she felt the carriage move.

The truth is that their hatred for each other wasn't fully explained, but it mainly had to do with the class differences between them. While Spencer had to work his ass off to live, Y/N had everything without lifting a finger. It wasn't that Y/N was rude to the workers in her house; in fact, she was the only one in the family who treated them with respect and dignity. But Spencer had a fixation on Y/N, and that's why he bothered her so much.

Suddenly, the carriage comes to a screeching halt, and Y/N jumps, dropping the book from her hands. She rushes to stick her head out the carriage window, but Spencer's firm voice stops her.

"I don't want to fight, gentlemen," he says outside.

"Give us everything and you won't get hurt, man. You don't want to mess with us," says another deep voice.

Y/N is slightly startled by the tone of the conversation, and has an idea of ​​what might be happening outside.

Before she can even move, she feels a gun placed against her temple. She freezes, her heart racing, and she immediately raises her hands in surrender.

"Look what we have here," the man says, still pointing the gun at her.

The stranger forces the girl out of the carriage, so she does so with trembling knees. It hadn't crossed her mind to have to live through this situation now, and she hated it.

The girl's frightened gaze meets Spencer's who doesn't take his eyes off her.

"She's a cutie, boss. What should we do with her?" The man moves his mouth to her neck.

"Hey!" Spencer warns, while the other man, who is apparently the boss, points a gun at him. "Take whatever you want, but leave her alone."

The disgusting man laughs, causing Spencer to clench his jaw.

"I'd say she's more worthy of us taking, huh?"

"What's in the carriage could let you live worry-free for the rest of your lives," he says in a firm voice. The pair of thieves seemed to be considering it, given the doubt on their faces. "Take everything, except her."

They didn't like the idea very much, but they finally agreed, letting their greed take over.

The bastard suddenly released Y/N, pushing her into Spencer's arms, who immediately caught her. In that moment, the hatred seemed to be camouflaged by the adrenaline of what was happening.

They remained like that for a few moments until they saw the carriage disappear, hearing the pair's triumphant laughter getting away with her belongings and food for the travel.

She immediately breaks away from Spencer and fixes her dress, blurting out in frustration.

"Oh my God, I had all my dresses and jewelry in there," she complains, sounding like a brat. "And the food. My books! What are we going to do now?"

Spencer snorts and starts walking away from her.

"Find a place to spend the night before it gets dark." he says.

Y/N chases after him, grabbing the hem of the only dress she has left.

"I can't walk that far in heels. It's the only pair of shoes I have left," she says, and he stops, turning suddenly and approaching her. "We need to do something, call for help... what do you think you're doing?!"

Spencer has lifted her over his shoulder, making sure the hem of the oversized dress doesn't ride up, so he wraps his arm around it.

"Spencer Dutton, you better put me down right now!" she orders, hearing a laugh escape his lips.

"It'll be a long walk to the nearest town. I say you settle in, princess," he offers as he continues walking.

Y/N opens her mouth indignantly to snap at him, but stops when she feels his arm around her body forcefully tuck her onto his shoulder. She sighs and tries to stay still to avoid falling, because she still doesn't trust the man.

Or maybe it's because she feels warmth when she feels his hand clinging to her waist.

Spencer, for his part, has a smile plastered on his face as he hears the girl's angry little snorts on his shoulder, every time he tried to make her fall. It was the closest the two of them had ever been to each other, and he was surprised Y/N didn't throw a tantrum to get him to stop holding her.

"Tell me, princess," he says, moving forward, "what is the name of your dream man?"

Y/N seems interested in that question after being silent for a couple of minutes on the road.

"James Walker," she answers simply. Spencer lets out a laugh. "What are you laughing at, if I may ask?"

"I just realized you only know his name; you don't even know what this James guy looks like," he replies.

Y/N frowns, ready to intervene, but she's left wondering how true his words are.

"I'm sure he's more of a gentleman and handsome than you," she says with a shrug, without him seeing her.

Spencer nods. "I hope you're right, because I'd hate to see you make a mistake and be disappointed that your future husband is an old man."

Y/N lightly pats his back, falling silent. And she just hopes that James Walker isn't an old man. At all.

———

They arrive at a tavern that has rooms available for the night. On one hand, she's relieved to have a place to sleep, but on the other, she feels uncomfortable feeling the gaze of several men on her while Spencer eats the food with his hands as if they're chasing him.

She grimaces at her plate.

"You could at least have some table manners," she chides the man, who looks up at her. "Is this how you behave around a lady?"

He lets out a laugh and pops a piece of bread into his mouth.

"I don't usually behave around them. They say the like it that way," he says, his words hinting at something else.

Y/N blushes and looks away from the man, who seems amused by her reaction. She doesn't understand why she suddenly feels a heat spread through her stomach when she imagines him like that.

"Eat," he says, looking at her plate without touching it. "Later, your stomach will hurt from not eating."

"I highly doubt it's because of that and not because of how the food was made," she says, eating a piece of bread.

Not even five seconds pass before a man approaches their table to flirt with Y/N.

"Hey, beautiful," the man says, "what's a lady like you doing in a place like this?"

Spencer clears his throat and looks at him seriously.

"She's with me," Spencer says firmly.

For some reason, Y/N feels a sense of satisfaction when she hears those words come out of his mouth. The other man laughs mockingly and spits on the floor. Y/N backs away a little, feeling uncomfortable. She'd never been so exposed to this kind of environment, and she now understands why.

"I could make you feel better, miss," the redhead says with a disgusting smile. "You look miserable next to this idiot."

Spencer suddenly stands up from the table and towers over the redhead in front of him by several inches. The difference between them is noticeable, with Spencer looking more toned and muscular compared to the other. Y/N senses a tension between them and hears how the atmosphere seems to quiet down and focus on both men, who stare at each other defiantly. The girl stands up and stands between them, placing a hand on Spencer's chest, who continues to stare at the redhead.

"Spencer, it's better if we go to the bedroom. It's not worth fighting over this," she tells him.

Spencer lowers his gaze to her for a few seconds and seems to soften his gaze when he feels the touch of Y/N's fingers against his chest, since the top buttons of his shirt are undone. Then, he nods with his head.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. She's just a little bitch," the redhead says mockingly.

Spencer turns around and punches the other guy in the nose. Y/N backs away and watches as Spencer takes care of him, encouraged by the other men in the bar. The girl doesn't interfere because she knows it'll be pointless to even separate them, so she waits for them to finish. After a few seconds, the brunette drops the redhead on the floor, complaining about having his nose broken. Spencer licks his lips and goes to grab his jacket and hat, taking Y/N's hand to lead her to the room they rented for the night.

Entering the room, Spencer locks the door while Y/N paces the room, frantically mumbling.

"I can't believe what beasts you men are," she says. "The guy could have killed you."

Spencer lets out a laugh, leaving his garment on the chair.

"He didn't even have a chance," he replies, going to sit on the bed.

Y/N rolls her eyes and takes the cloth from the pocket of her dress that she always carries with her and wets it with the water from the wall faucet. While she does this, Spencer takes off her shirt.

"I can't believe we've already been robbed and had a fight. What's next, huh? I don't even want to know, no..." Y/N turns around and freezes when she sees Spencer shirtless and smoking a cigarette.

The man looks at her amused, seeing her paralyzed, standing a few feet away from him.

"What's wrong? Have you never seen a man without a shirt?" Y/N clears her throat and approaches him, sitting on the bed and gently running the handkerchief along the corner of Spencer's lip, while he looks at her intently.

"You're an idiot," she says simply, ignoring the heat spreading to her cheeks.

"You've already told me that, but what else?" Y/N ignores him and continues cleaning the wound, avoiding looking at his hairy chest.

After a while, they get ready for bed, and Y/N remains in her dress sitting on the bed while Spencer arranges a pillow and blanket on the floor. She was going to be a married woman in a few days and couldn't share the bed with him, not to mention the fact that she hated him enough to let him be so close to her.

Spencer stares at her.

"You're not going to sleep in that, are you?" Y/N looks at him.

"No, of course not," she says immediately. "It's just... I can't undo it in the back."

After a few seconds, he says:

"Stand up,"

She frowns and stands up. He takes her by the waist and turns her around, starting to work on the knots of her corset so she can remove it more easily. Y/N stills as she feels his fingers skillfully working the knots, and when he finishes, she allows herself to let out the breath she'd been pent up.

"Thank you," she says, turning her back on him.

Spencer makes a sound in his throat and lies down on the floor to sleep, ignoring the tingling he feels in his fingers after nearly touching her. Only a layer of clothing separated him from her skin.

———

They continue their walk early in the morning, but first they decide to go to the town market to see if they can get something to eat.

Spencer had spent what was left of his money on the room rent, so they didn't have any breakfast.

"It's impossible," he says, coming up to the girl's side. "No one wants to give us even a piece of bread. And I won't steal, so let's go."

Y/N bites her lip and suddenly has an idea.

"Wait here. I have an idea." Spencer frowns slightly as he watches the girl wander through the stalls with a sweet smile, chatting with the vendors.

What surprises the man is how easily he notices the girl is given fruit, bread, and a little water. After a moment, she arrives at his side, acting nice to people, her hands full of food and a triumphant smile.

"Our breakfast," Spencer smiles and rolls his eyes in amusement.

"I would have avoided embarrassment if you'd thought of it first, Princess," he says, taking an apple from the girl and helping her with the rest of the things.

She shrugs. "That's why I'm smarter than you."

They both continue on their way, breakfast, lunch, and dinner ready for the day. After that, they both seem more comfortable with each other's presence. Y/N talks more with Spencer, leaving the teasing comments aside. With a twinkle in her eye, she tells him about a book she just finished reading, which she'd lost after being stolen.

"It's a beautiful love story, where the girl ends up with the person she least imagined she'd end up with," she tells him with a hopeful smile.

"Who's the lucky one?" Spencer asks, giving her a sideways glance.

"Her faithful guard," she answers timidly. "The one who protected her and took her everywhere without anything happening to her."

Spencer makes a sound with his mouth, to which Y/N ​​looks at him amused.

"Sounds like me, doesn't it?"

She rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

"It could be..." she begins to play along, "but he was more polite and tender with her, something you lack."

Spencer chuckles. "Oh, princess. How you enjoy making me suffer."

They both share a laugh.

He tells her some things about his life, as they arrive at a small river that can be heard in the silence of the road. The water is crystal clear and feels refreshing compared to the heat burning the back of their necks. Y/N feels the dress stick to her skin from the sweat running down her body, reminding her once again that it's time to get clean.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Spencer begin to remove his clothes, leaving them on the floor without a care in the world.

"What do you think you're doing?" she asks, watching as the man proceeds to take off his pants.

She looks away.

"I should take advantage of the water to get rid of the smell; the heat doesn't help much," he replies, and Y/N hears him jump into the water.

The girl turns around and can see the water reaching the beginning of the V-line of his body. She takes a few steps and sits down at the edge of the river, feeling the heat of the dress growing. She doesn't know if it's because of the weather or something else.

"Come on. Get in. You're not thinking of sitting in the sun until you burn to death, are you?" Spencer questions, swimming until he is in front of her, immersed in the water.

"I can't go in there naked. I'm getting married in a couple of days. What would people think of me if they knew I was naked with another man in the river?"

Spencer raises an eyebrow and shrugs.

"There's no one here," he says in a low, almost dangerous tone. "Just you and me."

The girl decides to do so, unable to bear the sticky feeling of her body any longer. She stands up and begins to remove her dress as best she can, struggling to undo the knots. The she hears the water moving and notices Spencer approaching her to help her.

"You could just ask for help, you know?" he says in a suggestive tone.

Y/N turns around and lets him take care of the garment. If he had offered help a few days ago, she would have flatly refused, but now that she was alone with him, she had no choice but to accept. After a few seconds, she feels the garment fall from her body and holds the dress to keep it from falling. Y/N turns to look at the man and notices the closeness between them, then notices the drop of water running down his bare chest.

She clears her throat. "Thank you," she says in a soft voice.

Spencer smiles sideways.

"I'm starting to get used to hearing you say thank you to me." Y/N can't help but smile.

He mimics her and crosses his arms in front of her, revealing his much more defined arms, making her wonder what it would feel like to be surrounded by them in a hug. She pushes those thoughts out of her head and clears her throat.

"I don't want you to see me," she tells him.

Spencer lifts his hands and begins to walk backwards until he gets back into the water, then turns around to give the girl space. She decides to stay in her underwear and puts one foot in the water, then her whole body in.

"You can turn around," she says.

The man turns around and stares at her, while she stays on the edge of the lake away from him.

"I don't bite," he mocks.

Y/N shakes her head. "I'm fine here," she declares.

Spencer laughs and begins to swim deeper, suddenly sinking while the girl watches.

"I won't fall for that." But Spencer doesn't float for a while, which worries the girl. "Spencer, it's not funny."

She swims to the spot and sees no sign of the man.

"Spencer!" She starts to worry and tries to search or feel the man's body, but it's in vain. "Spencer!"

Her heart races until she feels arms wrap around her waist, making her jump. Spencer's husky laugh makes her spin, held in the man's arms.

"It's not funny," she says, hitting his chest a couple of times before Spencer's hand wraps around hers to stop her.

"Were you worried about me, Y/N?" he asks, getting closer to her.

She catches a glimpse of the man's lips and shakes her head.

"Of course, you still have to take me to the Walker mansion."

Spencer brushes a strand of hair from her forehead, while the girl feels a shiver run through her body at the small gesture. He doesn't seem to want to let her go, and he's having a mental debate about him as he begins to feel more strongly about the girl in his arms.

———

After that moment, something had changed in their dynamic. The tension that began to build between them was palpable, shifting from the hatred they felt for each other to—so to speak—the acceptance of being with each other. All those touches, those subtle glances, and the racing hearts were turning into a pleasant sensation. A warm one, too, every time their hands brushed on the way to the nearest place to spend the night again. Silence had found them again on the road, but this time it was a pleasant silence, even though it still revealed certain emotions.

Y/N stood with her back to Spencer, carefully and gracefully arranging her dress, placing it on the chair. The man watched her for longer than he should have, recalling the feeling of having her so close to him at the lake. He was a man after all, and although his mother had raised him to be a gentleman, he couldn't help but glance at the girl's breasts, which were visible when they both got out of the water.

"So..." he begins. She turns away, and he avoids eye contact, thinking that if he does, he'll be unable to control his urges. "Are you excited about tomorrow?"

Y/N doesn't understand what he's talking about at first, but then she realizes he's talking about meeting her future husband. The truth is, she'd been forgetting the real reason for this trip, mostly because Spencer's company and everything they'd experienced together these past few days.

"Oh, that. Mhm, yeah," she says hesitantly. "I'm excited."

A smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes rests on her face. Spencer looks up and notices it, feeling her heart weigh.

"That's... that's good," he says, clearing his throat. He seems to want to say something else, but decides not to. "He'll be lucky to know you, Y/N."

She smiles faintly and licks her lips.

"It's not that big a deal," she says, playing with her fingers.

"It is," he chimes in confidently. "Anyone would be lucky to call you theirs."

Spencer turns around to take off his shirt and set it aside.

"Even you?" she ventures, which leaves the man frozen in place.

Y/N approaches him, while his back is still to her. He swallows and closes his eyes with a heavy sigh.

"Y/N..." he warns, turning and looking into her bright eyes.

"You can't ignore what's happening," she tells him. "I've been feeling it for days. And I know you have too."

"Y/N, you know it's not right. And you can't change the way you feel about someone overnight," he replies with a confident tone, or so he tries to. "We hated each other, remember?"

"Yes..." she says in a low tone, moving closer to him. "I remember. I still hate you."

Spencer lowers his gaze to her lips for a few seconds and curses himself for doing so, because now he wants to kiss them.

"I've been having doubts about what I want for myself," she confesses, and he listens attentively. "I don't know this man, and my father never listens to what I really want. I'm afraid of not knowing the world for myself and deciding what I want."

Spencer looks at her attentively and understands what she means. He decides to place his hand on her cheek.

"You are capable enough to do everything you set your mind to and more. Don't be afraid to express what you feel or avoid doing things because your father won't let you. You are incredible, Y/N. You are a great woman." he says sincerely.

Y/N smiles, feeling the tears in her eyes. Spencer quickly wipes one away with his thumb.

"So... can I say what I want?" she asks, looking at his lips. Spencer nods, trying to resist the urge to grab her and kiss her right away.

"Spencer. I want you." Spencer leans his face closer to hers, their noses touching.

He slides a hand around her waist and pulls her closer, leaving no space between their bodies.

"Be clear that if we start this, I'm afraid I won't be able to let you go," he says as he strokes the girl's back. "I won't be able to take you to that Walker guy, and I won't be able to watch you marry that bastard, because I'll want you for myself."

Y/N smiles against his lips as she moves her hands up to his bare chest, sending shivers down his spine.

"Then take me"

And it's enough for Spencer to devour her mouth and press her against his body, hearing the girl gasp at the action. Y/N clings to his shoulders as she feels a heat spread through her stomach, continuing through her lower intimate area.

Spencer lowers his hands to the girl's butt, pulling her closer to him and feeling his member rub against her stomach. Spencer takes her in his arms and sits with her on his lap on the bed. They lock lips again for a long time, exploring each other's bodies with their hands, he possessively grabbing every corner of her body. She pulls away from him enough to begin pulling her underwear down her torso and freeing her breasts. It doesn't take the man five seconds to suck on one and massage the other with his hand, while the girl throws her head back.

"Spencer," she moans, grabbing strands of his hair and tugging at the sensation of him sucking on her breasts.

"Yeah, princess?" he says in a raspy voice "Yo like that?"

"Hmh" she says in a moan.

"I need you to tell me. In words, gorgeous," he says, pulling away to look at her, immersed in pleasure.

"Yes.... I like it, Spencer," she says, hugging him to keep him going "Please, i need you"

Spencer laughs softly and continues playing with her tits. Then, he feels her begin to move in his lap, feeling his member harden at the touch. He moans and grabs her waist with his hands to keep moving her.

"Princess, you're going to drive me crazy," he says, and she smiles shyly. He finishes pulling down her underwear, leaving her naked before him. "See what you do to me? Feel it, princess."

She moans and nods, starting to feel how wet she is in his pants. Spencer kisses her and doesn't leave her side when he leans her onto the bed with him on top of her. He takes off his pants, leaving his erect penis on her stomach, and she licks her lips at the image of him, hard and big, and wonders if he'll fit her.

Spencer teases her by rubbing his tip against her pussy, kissing her lips again and swallowing the moan she lets out. Spencer intertwines one hand with hers, lifting it to rest on top of her head, while with the other he works to mold her pussy and prepare her for him. She moves her hips to continue feeling him and find relief from the pleasurable pain of having to wait for him. Spencer pulls away from her and places a kiss on her forehead.

"Believe me, I want to go crazy with you, but I'll be gentle. It's your first time, and I want you to enjoy it," he tells her, and she nods, feeling excited and nervous at the same time. "Tell me if you want me to stop, okay?"

She moves her head and, with her free hand, grabs onto his shoulder. Spencer enters her as gently as possible and notices the pain on her face at the new sensation. He begins to move slowly so she can get used to it, feeling how tight and wet she is. After a few seconds, Y/N feels a delight in the movement and her legs wrap tightly around his waist, opening herself wider to feel him completely.

"Spencer," she moans, closing her eyes.

"Yeah, baby? Are you alright?" he asks, continuing to move his hips, feeling her deeper.

"Move faster" she begs.

He moans loudly upon hearing her say this and quickly moves, listening to their bodies crash against each other. She whimpers, feeling a sensation in her pussy with each thrust he makes. Then she feels the hand entwined with Spencer's as he moves down to feel her stomach.

"Do you feel that? You're taking me so deep and delicious, princess," she moans with pleasure, and he kisses her lips, each time feeling the expected climax approaching. "You're doing so well. You'll almost feel yourself letting it all go. It'll feel delicious, I promise."

Y/N kisses him and feels his tongue explore the cavity of her mouth as their bodies move in sync.

She feels herself about to let go, and she can't hold it in any longer.

"I can already feel it coming, Spencer," she says against his lips.

He moans and begins to speed up his movements, touching her deepest spots.

"Yes, princess. Let it go, cum for me."

And the feeling of letting it all out and cumming is the most pleasurable thing Y/N has ever felt in her life. He takes it all like a champion claiming his prize, moving a few more times inside her before pulling out and releasing all his cum onto her thigh. Spencer drops his head to Y/N's breasts and kisses them softly while she catches her breath.

"That was.... amazing" she whispers.

Spencer looks up to her and smiles.

"Did it feel good?" She nods, and he kisses her passionately and lovingly. "I'm glad you enjoyed it as much as I did."

Spencer settles in to open the bed sheets and cover her and him, wrapping his arms around her and holding her face to face. She gently caresses his face, and he strokes her thighs, trying to clean the traces of him off her.

"What do we do now, Spencer?" she asks.

"What do you want to do, princess?" Y/N smiles.

"Now I want to stay like this for a while." Spencer kisses her lips, tasting her, feeling the girl melt before him.

"We can stay here for a while, yeah," he declares. "But what about that Walker guy, huh?"

She smiles amused. "He can keep waiting."

Spencer kisses her, and they both sink into the heat of the moment, enjoying each other's bodies and the feelings they can no longer deny.

[writingwithcolor]

Not all Second-Language Speakers are Made Equal.

@waltzshouldbewriting asked:

Hello! I’m writing a story that features a character who’s first language is not English. He’s East African, specifically from Nairobi, Kenya, and is pretty fluent in English but it’s not his primary language, and he grew up speaking Swahili first. I’m struggling to figure out if it’s appropriate or in character to show him forgetting English words or grammar. From what I’ve researched, English is commonly spoken in Nairobi, but it wouldn’t be what was most spoken in his home. For context, this is an action/superhero type story, so he (and other characters) are often getting tired, stressed, and emotional. He also speaks more than two languages, so it makes sense to me that it would be easier to get confused, especially in a language that wasn’t his first. But I’m worried about ending up into stereotypes or tropes. For additional context: I’m monolingual, I’ve tried to learn a second language and it’s hard. A lot of how I’m approaching this comes from my own challenges correctly speaking my own, first and only language.

Diversity in Second-Language English

You seem to have an underlying assumption that second language acquisition happens the same for everyone. 

The way your character speaks English depends on so many unknown factors: 

Where does your story take place? You mention other characters; are they also Kenyan, or are they all from different countries?

Assuming the setting is not Kenya, is English the dominant language of your setting? 

How long has your character lived in Kenya vs. where he is now? 

What are his parents’ occupations? 

What level of schooling did he reach in Nairobi before emigrating? 

What type of school(s) did he go to, public or private? Private is more likely than you think. 

Did his schooling follow the national curriculum structure or a British one? Depends on school type and time period. 

Does he have familiarity with Kenyan English, or only the British English taught in school? 

Is this a contemporary setting with internet and social media?

I bring up this list not with the expectation that you should have had all of this in your ask, but to show you that second language acquisition of English, postcolonial global English acquisition in particular, is complex. 

My wording is also intentional: the way your character speaks English. To me, exploring how his background affects what his English specifically looks like is far more culturally interesting to me than deciding whether it makes him Good or Bad at the language. 

L2 Acquisition and Fluency

But let’s talk about fluency anyway: how expressive the individual is in this language, and adherence to fundamental structural rules of the language.

Fun fact: Japanese is my first language. The language I’m more fluent in today? English. Don’t assume that an ESL individual will be less fluent in English compared to their L1 counterparts on the basis that 1) it’s their second language, or 2) they don’t speak English at home. 

There’s even a word for this—circumstantial bilingualism, where a second language is acquired by necessity due to an individual’s environment. The mechanisms of learning and outcomes are completely different. 

You said you tried learning a second language and it was hard. You cannot compare circumstantial bilingualism to a monolingual speaker’s attempts to electively learn a second language. 

Motivations?

I understand that your motivation for giving this character difficulties with English is your own personal experience. However, there are completely different social factors at play.

The judgments made towards a native speaker forgetting words or using grammar differently are rooted in ableism and classism (that the speaker must be poor, uneducated, or unintelligent). That alone is a hefty subject to cover. And I trust you to be able to cover that!

But on top of that, for a second language speaker, it’s racism and xenophobia, which often lend themselves to their own ableist or classist assumptions (that those of the speaker’s race/ethnicity must be collectively unintelligent, that they are uneducated or low class due to the occupations where they could find work, or conversely that they are snobby and isolationist and can't be bothered to learn a new language). Intersections, intersections.

If you want to explore your experiences in your writing, give a monolingual English speaker in your cast a learning disability or some other difficulty learning language, whatever you most relate with. And sure, multilingual folks can occasionally forget words like anyone else does, or think of a word in one language and take a second to come up with it in the other language. But do not assume that multilinguals, immigrants, or multiethnic individuals inherently struggle with English or with multiple languages just because you do.

~ Rina

[sukeruton-san]

Really hope Damian accidentally becomes the favorite.

He tries to attack Danny, but Danny's viewing it as Ghost Play. He forgets that he looks blind and like he's actually dying. And all test results point to him being on death's door. But Danny gets so happy when Damian 'plays' with him that everyone is seriously questioning wtf is going on. Where was this kid raised if he views being attacked as playing?

In due part because of his exposure to the Lazarus Pits, Damian fighting Danny gives Danny a bit of ectoplasm. Which makes Danny seem more healthy. But it only gets noticed if Damian is gone for, like, a week. And Danny starts looking sick again, with the declining vitals to match.

On that note, if Danny gets exposed to Lazarus Water, through Damian, imagine if he instinctively is able to find it in large quantities? Like a dowsing rod. He finds the one that's deep in the caves. And instinctively puts a hand in. When the Bats find him, Danny looks mostly healthy again. But has green glowing eyes. He also immediately goes to fight Damian. Kicks the ass of everyone trying to stop him. Only to immediately calm down and back away if he knocks Damian's sword away, letting the other boy get his weapon. Which shows that he's in a playing mode rather than a killing mode. Everyone breathes a sigh of relief upon realizing that. Only for Danny to continue to need to use the pit, cause otherwise his vitals drop and he goes 'blind' again.

It'd be hilarious if the reason Danny seemed especially worried about being around Robin was because this was a Demon Twins AU. DNA test being done last, cause they're all worried about this kid's health, revealing a long lost brother and son. But they think Danny doesn't know. Damian only has very vague memories of another child before he was 6. Which means that Danny's been out of the LOA for a decade.

Given what Danny said about his 'mom' teaching him how to fight, either he has been visited by Talia (which is highly unlikely) or his adoptive mother may be a LOA agent/ally?

Bruce calls Talia to chew her out for not telling him about another child, only for her to get surprised that Danny is alive. Turns out, Danny was kidnapped and had his death faked or something. Paired with the multiple scars and fear of medical settings, it points to Danny having been kidnapped specifically to be experimented on. The fact he was taught how to fight implies that he was being turned into a soldier or sleeper agent.

Or go on a completely different route? Have it that Danny was given up at birth so at least one of her children could be normal and happy. But the scars made from others, plus his current condition, sends her into a hunting spree to find those who did this. Of course, she's stoic while everyone is watching her and pretends like the situation means nothing. She chose Damian to be the heir, no need for a spare after all. He was born weaker with a poor heart. He wasn't League material. Soon as the call is cut, she's ready to hunt down whoever did this.

But it would mean that Damian is so confused on what to do. Might accidentally call himself the superior twin. Which he means he has to care for Danny. But Danny takes it as an insult.

( Edit, Sorry I had an influx of questions and I thought it was one of those other ones. )

I did not think about the demon twins escapades for the Sorta Maybe Blind. You have a lot of good ideas! But I feel like that trope has been used a lot and I kind of want to make some shenanigans with just a random blind kid they found in an abandoned warehouse. Of course they're going to investigate but it's not going to help much. 🤫

Link to the story

[cy-cyborg]

Writing and drawing amputee characters: Not every amputee wears prosthetics (and that's ok)

Not every amputee wears prosthetics, and not doing so is not a sign that they've "given up".

It's a bit of a trope that I've noticed that when an amputee, leg amputees in particular, don't wear prosthetics in media its often used as a sign that they've given up hope/stopped trying/ are depressed etc. If/when they start feeling better, they'll start wearing their prosthetics again, usually accompanied by triumphant or inspiring music (if it's a movie). The most famous example of this is in Forest Gump, Where Dan spends most of the movie after loosing his legs wishing he'd died instead. He does eventually come around, and him finally moving from his wheelchair to prosthetics is meant to highlight this.

The thing is, it's not that it's unrealistic - in fact my last major mental health spiral was started because one of my prosthetics was being a shit and wouldn't go on properly, despite fitting perfectly at the prosthetist's the day before. I'm not going to use my legs when I'm not in a good headspace, but the problem is, this is the only time non-prosthetic using amputees ever get representation: to show how sad they are. Even if that's not what the creator/writer necessarily intended, audiences will often make that assumption on their own unless you're very careful and intentional about how you frame it, because it's what existing media has taught them to expect.

But there are lots of reasons why someone might not use prosthetics:

they might not need them: this is more common in arm amputees because of how difficult it can be to use arm prosthetic, especially above-elbow prosthetics. Most folks learn how to get on without them pretty well. In fact, most of the arm amputees I know don't have prosthetics, or only have them for specific tasks (e.g. I knew a girl who had a prosthetic hand made specifically for rowing, but that's all she used it for).

Other mobility aids just work better for them: for me, I'm faster, more manoeuvrable and can be out for longer when I'm in my wheelchair than I ever could on my prosthetics. Youtube/tik tok creator Josh Sundquist has said the same thing about his crutches, he just feels better using them than his prosthetic. This isn't the case for everyone of course, but it is for some of us. Especially people with above-knee prosthetics, in my experience.

Other disabilities make them harder to use: Some people are unable to use prosthetics due to other disabilities, or even other amputations. Yeah, as it turns out, a lot of prosthetics are only really designed for single-limb amputees. While they're usable for multi-limb amps, they're much harder to use or they might not be able to access every feature. For example, the prosthetic knee I have has the ability to monitor the walk cycle of the other leg and match it as close as possible - but that only works if you have a full leg on the other side. Likewise, my nan didn't like using her prosthetic, as she had limited movement in her shoulders that meant she physically couldn't move her arms in the right way to get her leg on without help.

Prosthetics are expensive in some parts of the world: not everyone can afford a prosthetic. My left prosthetic costs around $5,000 Australian dollars, but my right one (the above knee) cost $125,000AUD. It's the most expensive thing I own that I only got because my country pays for medical equipment for disabled folks. Some places subsidise the cost, but paying 10% of $125,000 is still $12,500. Then in some places, if you don't have insurance, you have to pay for that all by yourself. Even with insurance you still have to pay some of it depending on your cover. Arm prosthetics are even more expensive. Sure, both arms and legs do have cheaper options available, but they're often extremely difficult to use. You get what you pay for.

they aren't suitable for every type of environment: Prosthetics can be finicky and modern ones can be kind of sensitive to the elements. My home town was in a coastal lowland - this means lots of beaches and lots of swamp filled with salty/brackish water. The metals used in prosthetics don't hold up well in those conditions, and so they would rust quicker, I needed to clean them more, I needed to empty sand out of my foot ALL THE TIME (there always seemed to be more. It was like a bag of holding but it was just sand). Some prosthetics can't get wet at all. There were a few amputees who moved to the area when I was older who just didn't bother lol. It wasn't worth the extra effort needed for the maintenance.

People have allergies to the prosthetic material: This is less of a problem in the modern day, but some people are allergic to the materials their prosthetics are made from. You can usually find an alternative but depending on the type of allergy, some people are allergic to the replacements too.

Some people just don't like them.

There's nothing wrong with choosing to go without a prosthetic. There's nothing wrong with deciding they aren't for you. It doesn't make you a failure or sad or anything else. Using or not using prosthetics is a completely morally neutral thing.

Please, if you're writing amputees, consider if a prosthetic really is the best mobility aid for your character and consider having your characters go without, or at least mix it up a bit.

For example, Xari, one of the main characters in my comic, uses prosthetics unsupported and with crutches, and uses a wheelchair. They alternate between them throughout the story.

[mieldreams]

APT.

Summary: Sleep tomorrow but tonight go crazy, all you gotta do is just meet me at the... Or where you and Anakin share an apartment and maybe – some feelings too?

pairing: college roommate!Anakin x reader

word count: 4,842

warnings: c'est dramatíque. like no joke this is very much for the sillies and fun. it also has modern slang so can probably be considered hella OC for a lot of characters. I mean can you imagine Padme saying babygirl? (oh how I wish 😞)

a/n: Y'all know how in fanfics there's some tropes that are cliches? I noticed how sometimes in a lot of the fandoms the male mcs always get to have these complex and flawed characters that often have bad habits and quirks but for some reason the reader character (especially if it's a female one) doesn't get as many personality traits (which valid considering reader character is after all an insert character) but i just thought how fun would it be to maybe reverse some of the roles and switch things around a lil bit. This story is relatively tame in that aspect as I was only experimenting, but I hope you enjoy anyway!

"Honey, I'm home!" Your playful voice carries through the empty living room of your shared apartment.

When you get no response from your roommate, who you were sure was supposed to be home by now, you drop the shoe from your hand, the thud sound echoing on the wooden flooring before you make your way towards the couch.

You drop your bag and toss your cap away, running a hand through your hair before heading towards the bedrooms.

"Ani?"

You walk into the open kitchen to grab a glass of water but your eyes get caught on the pot of something steaming kept on the stove. It's like there's a cartoonish floating scent of deliciousness that hooks your nose and beckons you closer, so you float over to the counter to lift the lid of the pot and a familiar and absolutely mouth-watering sight greets you.

A smile takes over your face when you realise who made it–the only person who can–and you drop the lid back on the pot to quickly head towards his bedroom.

"Anakin!" You call out once again and you're about to pass the door of the bathroom in the hallway when it flies open and you quickly have to stop yourself from running into the person stepping out.

"Oh shoots!" His hands immediately grab your waist to stop you from falling backwards while you grab his forearms to steady the two of you.

You didn't think it was possible, but somehow your smile grows even wider at the sight of your roommate – his tousled hair still wet from the shower, a soft baby blue hoodie on that made his eyes stand out that much more, and that same soft smile that always greeted you when you returned home.

"Thought you'd finally gotten sick of me and ditched and run away," you joke while trying not to pay attention to the feeling of his hands on your hips.

He rolls his eyes before leaning closer with narrowed eyes, "If you were even 2 minutes more late, I actually would've."

You're distracted by the feeling of his breath tickling your skin, eyes drawn to his pink lips that are pulled in a subtle pout. "….late?"

His brows furrow as he takes in your distracted expression and clueless words, his pout turning into a frown, "You don't remember, do you?"

The way he says it tells you he already knows the answer but you're still too caught up looking at his perfect plush lips. "…remember…?"

He quickly drops his hands and you stumble to catch your balance as he steps away to walk into the kitchen.

You follow him to stand on the other side of the counter and watch as he transfers the soup he had made into a smaller serving pot. It was a Skywalker family special, taught by his mom and your favourite soup in the whole world, though most of Anakin's cooking was your favourite in the whole world so some might call you biased. But they've never tasted Anakin's cooking so what the hell do they know?

"It's Friday." His back is still turned to you as he washes his hands at the sink but you don't have to see his face to know he's not exactly happy.

His words finally remind you of your usual weekend plans together, and today– Friday's was supposed to be movie night.

You wince when you realise you'd forgotten your plans, and now you've gone and run into him headfirst, literally.

"Ani…"

"No, it's okay."

You expected him to be mad, angry even, that you'd forgotten (or so he thinks) your ages-long tradition of movie night. But the sight of his tense shoulders relaxing as he sighs, drying his hands on the towel before he turns to you with that same sweet smile, a hopeful glimmer in his eyes is not what you're prepared for, much less the soft words that leave his lips,

"It's okay. I'm just glad you're here today and not busy like the past few times. I'm glad we finally get to have a movie night together again."

Fuck, the adorable smile he gives you is enough to knock the wind out of you and you desperately grab the edge of the counter to not fall to the ground.

He grabs a pack of bread and opens the fridge to grab a container before turning to the toaster, "I'm so glad we can do this. It's the perfect weather for soup so I made that instead of our usual popcorn, I hope you don't mind— though we can have that too if you want, I'm sure we have some leftover packs somewhere here—"

He excitedly rambles as he starts to open and close various cabinets to look for the packet of popcorn and you're frozen in place as you take in his enthusiasm.

"You know what, why don't you pick the movie while I toast some bread for us?"

Fuck, you hated to do this.

"We can have garlic or plain butter ones, whichever you want—"

You really wish you didn't have to do this.

"—Anakin...I can't."

All his flurried activity immediately comes to a halt. His shoulders tense again at your words and his hands are still as they hover in the air.

It's barely a whisper that reaches your ears, "What?"

This time you can see his side profile but you don't because you can't face him as you repeat yourself.

"I'm…sorry. I just— I already made plans. Padme and Satine said there's this party tonight…"

His head whips to fix you with the most intense gaze and you gulp as you try to come up with a way to maybe…compensate?

A nervous laugh bubbles out of your chest before you can stop it, "Ani, what if you come too? We can have tonight's hangout at the party! Obi-Wan and Rex might be there too, or else you can invite them! I know the people hosting it, I'm sure they'll allow a few extra people."

Extra people? Extra people?! Good doing dumbass. Extra people – like he's some random nobody and not the literal lo—

"Okay."

You're snapped out of your thoughts by his feeble response, as if you weren't meant to hear it. "What?"

He clears his throat, putting on an exaggerated smile that you can see through, "It's okay. We can just hangout some other time. Have fun at the party."

He walks out of the kitchen to his bedroom in the blink of an eye, closing the door behind him without another word.

Your shoulders drop with a sigh before you drop your head on the counter and close your eyes in frustration.

This is for the best, this is for the best, this is for the best, this is for the best.

The same chant repeats in your head as you pick up your jacket and put on your shoes, walking out the door with a heavy heart.

Half an hour into the party your heart seems to have only gotten heavier, you don't know if it's the fifth drink in your hand or the loud thumping music, or maybe it's the jacket that seems all too suffocating in the already stuffy room and this boring guy who's been talking your head off about women and horses or something….Jackson? Jason? Hanson!…or was it Hansel?

"It's Gretel. I told you Hansel is my twin sister. And I'm not gay." He gives you a nasty side-eye as he huffs and rolls his eyes.

Oh shit, had you said that out loud? Oh well whatever, how the hell were you supposed to remember Hansel was the girl and Gretel was the boy when your mind wasn't even in the room right now?

Thankfully your saviour arrives in the form of your friend dragging you away with some half-assed excuse about being a player short for their beer pong – not like the guy cared, he simply turned around and gave that same weird 'I think I'm more important than every person in this room and mayonnaise is the spiciest thing I've had in my life and I think khaki shorts and polos are the peak of fashion and women wearing makeup is literally the reason guys have trust issues but it doesn't matter cause my daddy's got enough money to take my date to a private pool so I can body shame her' smile to the girls standing behind him, the same creepy look he had given you and roped you into a conversation you hadn't heard a second of.

You step away from the kitchen bar where you'd been standing for the past 20 minutes.

"I wasn't lying about the game."

When you go to protest Padme immediately cuts you off, "Nope. You're playing, it's already decided."

You laugh, "By whom?"

"Me," she replies in that 'duh' sort of tone, "I can't let my best girl sit there sulking with some weirdo talking about some random old fairytale."

You smirk, "His parents named him Gretel."

She whips her head to look at you in disbelief before bursting out laughing, "Well I'm glad I pulled you away before he introduced you to his twin sister Hansel or something."

"Nah, he said she ran away with some guy named Pedro in France. I think he called her a slut but it almost sounded like he had a crush on Pedro himself so who knows." You shrug.

She scoffs and then laughs again, "How do you always manage to find such people?"

You walk towards the table in the centre of the room, "Do I manage to find such people or do they find me?" You shake your head with a laugh, "Anyway thanks for getting me out of that conversation."

"Of course. Can't have you betraying your loverboy can we?"

Her teasing smirk goes entirely unnoticed as you freeze at her words.

Padme, being ever observant as she is, immediately catches the way your face falls and quickly decides that she just has to find out what happened.

She already had her suspicions when you walked into the party looking like you had instead walked into a reunion with your dentist, your racist uncle and that one teacher from middle school who always picked on you for some reason.

She hadn't seen you this...blank since that time in high school when you'd taken part in a community marathon for charity to impress your crush and trained for months to cross the finish line first only to trip on your shoelaces as soon as the starting whistle blew. You fell right in front of your crush as an 80-year-old grandma overtook you who then won while you'd disassociated for the rest of the race.

She has to do something about this.

Then her eyes land on the shot glasses spread out on the table and she gets an idea.

No way she's gonna let a friend be so miserable at a party.

Anakin's…. well he's not sure what he feels.

Conflicted, sad, angry, confused….hurt? Yeah definitely that too – a whole lot of it.

This was the third time that you had ditched your weekly hangout plans and though you had definitely missed a few movie nights here and there before, be it due to exams or assignments you had procrastinated or that time when you convinced him to follow this small stray cat into the restricted forest area in your campus and the police showed up and the two of you had to spend majority of the night answering questions and you just stubbornly kept answering that it was the magic kitty of adventure and why wouldn't someone follow her and so they'd made you take a drug test because they thought you were high. With the exasperated look on the police officer's face as he let the two of you go, Anakin could only imagine the kind of answers you'd given him while on the other hand he had been worried shitless throughout his questioning.

He also remembers that as compensation you'd treated him to cheap cough drops flavoured popsicles from the only store that was open that late, and how he had laughed when you'd gagged and made a face after trying some of his ice cream and then how sincere your apology had been for wasting your night together.

He remembers how fast his heart had been beating when he heard your soft lips utter those words, 'your night together' is what you had called it. He wishes he could hear you say such sweet things about your relationship again. Like the first time you'd introduced him as your friend instead of roommate, and the even more exciting upgrade to 'best friend'.

Today, however, you said "extra people". Extra people. Is that all that he was in your life now? Just an extra? Not your best friend, not even your friend, just an extra? Some random person you wouldn't care if they were gone from your life?

The thought saddens him more than it makes him mad and that makes him feel even more stupid. Gosh look at how pathetic he was. You couldn't be bothered to remember your promises, or worse, you were purposefully avoiding him for the past few days like he suspected and here he was– having a pity party in your shared apartment that only taunted him with how unusually silent it was.

Damn this, if you got to just forget about your plans and go out and party like it meant nothing then he could too.

He puts away the soup he had prepared into the flask you usually use before placing it in the refrigerator with a sticky note that said 'heat this up and drink it when you get back, it'll spoil after morning'. He knew it was just an excuse and the soup could last much longer in the fridge, but he had read the weather alert for tonight and didn't want you to get sick like the last time you'd gotten soaked after running home in the rain and old habits die hard and it seems he just can't stop worrying about you even when he was mad at you.

He quickly swaps his sweats for some old jeans but doesn't bother changing his hoodie, if he has only one goal for going out then it wouldn't matter anyways. He catches sight of himself in the mirror in his bedroom which makes him pause for a second. He watches his reflection for a few moments, taking in the frown on his face and a certain emotion that reflects back in his eyes. He's not sure if the reflection is actually pale and blue or if it's just his mind projecting how he feels. He quickly shakes his head and walks back to the living room.

Then he finds his phone and quickly dials his longtime friend, the phone ringing only twice before being picked up.

He forgoes all pleasantries, "Rex. Remember that party you told me about? Yeah, is it still on? Ok good, can you send me the address real quick? Thanks."

He doesn't wait for a reply before he ends the call and puts on his shoes, grabbing his keys and then he's out the door without thinking more about it, or at least trying to.

Somehow the girls have roped you into this stupid drinking game. Well, drinking game for them, for you this just feels like punishment, for what you're not sure.

Maybe this is what you get for letting down Anakin the way you did tonight. You're sure this was the last straw and that he's never going to want to talk to you again. Hell, he could steal all your favourite festive edition oreos that you hoard annually and set fire to that matching sweater he knitted for you and break off your lease and run away with that hot goth chick that flirts with him at his job and you wouldn't even be able to get mad. After all, you're the one who's been running away and avoiding him like a coward, you're the one who's been constantly letting him down by cancelling your plans and going back to your old habits of partying and finding distractions where you can, you're the one that disappointed him again tonight.

You remember the way his face fell when you told him you'd be bailing on your plans again.

That brief expression of hurt on his face was still stuck in your head like a broken CD that gets jammed at one part and doesn't move forward or backwards and the same image just remains frozen on screen. It makes you feel haunted and that again makes you think about how one frown from him was enough to derail all your thoughts, so you can't even imagine how bad it would be if you actually told him the truth. You can't bear to think about the pitiful apologetic look he'd give if you spoke your heart's words, the way he'd say sorry like it was his fault, the way he'd probably want nothing to do with you anymore because he deserves better, because he's so sweet and so nice and so warm and–

snap snap

Padme's fingers hovering in front of your face let you know that you had spaced out once again and the worried expression on her face makes you shake your head with a quick apologetic laugh as you shove your hands forward to get everyone to start the next round. You avoid Padme's inquisitive gaze as all the girls chant the hook of the game before you call out a random number, though your stupid cursed brain ends up choosing Anakin's birthdate.

It somehow manages to bite you in the ass when your hand is the one that lands on top, meaning you have to be the one to take a shot. Well, you would have had to, but since Padme had noticed the number of drinks you'd already had, she forbade you from taking any more, instead encouraging you to switch it out with juice to help you sober up.

Well, you seem to be pretty sober now if that same heaviness in your chest and disinterest in everything around you are anything to go by.

Padme, as always, notices this and blurts out a question (a suspicion more like) that's been on her mind ever since you made a beeline to the drinks right after walking into the party.

You pick up the shot glass with the juice and quickly down it like it was actually alcohol. It felt wrong to sit here drinking and playing and having fun. In the midst of your sulking, you don't notice the look shared between Padme and Satine.

"Truth – what happened with Anakin?"

Oh right, when the girls protested about letting you off easy, Padme had very cleverly suggested the added twist of truth or dare along with taking shots (juice for you). And now that you've finally ended up with your hand at the very top she was going to take her chance.

You almost spit the drink back out at Padme's words, sputtering as you try to wipe the juice before it stains your shirt.

You laugh nervously, "What happened with Anakin?"

Quickly your smile drops, replaced by an expression of serious inquisition, "Wait, what happened with Anakin? Is he okay? Did something happen? Did he call?—"

Padme rolls her eyes but shares an amused look with the rest of the girls.

"No, you tell us what happened with Anakin. You've been miserable all evening, it's worse than when that dude beat you and won the personality contest in the first year."

"Okay— first of all, he looked like a soft-boiled egg and sounded like a whale giving birth. He only won because his daddy was friends with the contest hosts." You huff, "second of all, I get to choose truth or dare and I'm not choosing truth."

"Hmm, too bad. It's already chosen for you and you know we're not moving on till you answer."

You loved your girlfriends for how much they cared but sometimes it was such a pain in the ass.

You raise a brow, "Are you holding me hostage over a question?"

She challenges you with a question of her own, "Are we going to have to go about this the difficult way?"

Did you want to cross paths with a very determined Padme who's already had at least 6 shots in her? (she was, funnily enough, a sore loser in this game, and it would have been entertaining if it weren't for your current situation)

You sigh, lowering your gaze to your fingers, toying with the loose fibres on your jeans, "Anakin and I…fought again."

Padme places a comforting hand on your shoulder, "What happened?"

You drop your head into your hands with a groan, "I bailed on our movie night plans again…"

Suddenly you feel the thump of a pillow hitting your bent head, startling you. You look up to see Satine holding another pillow, as if ready to launch once again.

"What the fuck?"

She startles you once again with the intensity in her voice, "Girl, what the hell?!"

You scrunch your face in confusion, "I mean, that's what I just asked—"

"No, I mean what. the. hell."

All the girls have gone silent, turning their heads from you to Satine as she speaks up once again.

"Why would you do that?!"

"Huh?? You're the one that threw the pillow at me!"

"No— why would you ditch Anakin to come here, dumbass?!"

"Because…you asked me to?"

Padme sighs but remains silent as she watches the exchange between you and Satine.

"So if Padme or I asked you to jump off a bridge—"

You shrug, "Yeah, probably."

Now Satine is the one to drop her head in her hands, pinching the bridge of her nose before taking a deep breath.

This time Padme puts her arm on Satine's shoulder, giving it a squeeze before speaking up, "I think what Satine's trying to say is, how long are you going to pretend?"

You avoid her eyes with a nervous laugh, "Whaaa— pretend? Pfttt I'm not pretending, what uh—what would I be pretending about?"

You look around the group and see that all your girls are looking at you with a 'bish, be fr' look.

You finally groan out, "Ugh, okay — fine! Fine! I'm in love with my roommate and I don't know how to tell him— or if I should even bother telling him at all because it's not like it's going to get us anywhere. Dude is literally handcrafted by the angels and every time I look at his face I'm reminded that this is impossible. Every time I even think about telling him the truth it feels like the stupidest thing ever because— well because why would he go for me when he can have someone so much better? Why would he ever go for a girl like me when he's got that discount Dimitriscu, I mean y'all have seen her— she's tall AND goth, the total package." You look up to see all the girls contemplating before nodding in agreement about the hot goth girl and it does not make you feel any better.

Padme widens her eyes and shoots a look at your girlfriends and they quickly shake their heads. One of them speaks up, stuttering through an awkward laugh, "But don't worry — you're gorgeous too!"

Another girl chimes in right after, "Y-yeah, I mean, you can be – you can be pretty emo and bitchy too, you know?"

All of you turn your heads to look at the redhead girl who just spoke, staring at her with blank faces, making her cower behind the couch pillow in her hands with a mumbled apology.

"Thanks, Patricia." You sigh, "Anyways, it's no use."

Padme rushes to answer you, "Don't say that. What if Anakin does like you? You've been roommates for so long, the two of you are best friends. And I truly don't think Anakin is so cruel to treat you horribly even if you did tell him."

You raise your head to fix her with a half-assed glare, "Padme, the thought of confessing is already enough to make me wanna puke. Do not make me think of his inevitable rejection."

Satine finally breaks her silence, "Why are you so sure that he could never like you?"

You let out a bitter laugh, "Because."

"Because why?"

"Because we could just never be, okay? We are just not like that— Anakin and I together would be a— a fucking joke." You huff out.

"Have you seen him? Have you seen me? You know what he's like. Do you really think we could ever be a thing?"

The sound of a beer bottle dropping to the floor rings out behind you but you pay it no mind, it was a crowded party, maybe someone just ran into someone and dropped their can.

You rub your eyes to try and get rid of the stinging behind them only to lift your head and see all your girlfriends staring right behind you with their eyes wide.

Padme, who had been distracted trying to think of some way to get you to stop being so stupid and pessimistic also turns her head when she realises how silent the group had suddenly become, all staring off to somewhere behind you.

It is only when you hear her gasp as well that you finally snap, "What? Seriously what is it? Is someone in a slutty santa costume twerking to MLK's 'I have a dream' speech again?"

When she doesn't answer, you huff and crane your neck to see for yourself. Your breath hitches in your throat as soon as you catch sight of the person standing just a few feet behind the couch you were sitting on.

Neither of you say anything, but Anakin's brows furrow, you open your mouth to say something, anything, but before you can get a word out he quickly takes a few steps back, spinning on his heels to rush towards the exit.

"Anakin!—"

You quickly get up to follow him, struggling to keep up with his fast pace in the already crowded room. Curse him and his model-like long legs.

"Ani, whatever you heard, whatever you think you heard— it's not like that—"

"Maybe I was dense, but I'm not deaf."

Through the windows you can see the shadow of dark storm clouds gathering.

"No, no— you're not deaf and you're most definitely not dense—"

He suddenly comes to a stop and you nearly crash into his back before he spins around to face you. He lets out a bitter laugh, "I was stupid then."

Loud thunder crackles outside.

You shake your head vehemently, "No, Ani—"

"You hate me."

His face lights up in a bright lightning flash.

"I don't hate you—"

"You said this," he points between the two of you, "is a joke." If you weren't so frenzied and caught up in your own panic you would've noticed that the hurt in his voice largely overshadowed the anger.

You desperately try to explain, becoming more and more aware of the growing crowd around you but honestly, you couldn't give two shits about that right now, "If you knew what I was talking about you'd think so too—"

He fixes you with a sad gaze, "This is why you've been avoiding me all these days?"

When you struggle to meet his eyes he already knows your answer.

He scoffs and starts walking backwards, "I don't want to hear anymore." And you get one last look at him before another bright flash of lightning lights up the sky and then everything goes dark.

The whole house falls quiet and the two of you stand there, blinking at each other in complete silence before someone's voice calls out from the opposite corner of the room.

"Aw man, the power's gone!"

Anakin takes advantage of the darkness and quickly turns around to weave through the crowd.

You desperately call out his name again as you almost push and shove people out of the way because you can't even see where you're going, just following the vague direction of where you think the exit is, "Ani—"

He only quickens his pace, nearly jogging out the door and down the footsteps of this cursed frathouse that you should've never bothered coming to.

Well too late to realise that, huh.

Just as you cross the doorway and jump over the steps to run up to the sidewalk, he's already disappearing out of sight by crossing the road to take a right.

You stand there on the side of the road, chest aching and you're not sure if it's from the sudden exercise or something else.

It's like you're frozen in place, you want to run after him but your feet seem to be stuck to the ground. Only when you hear the sound of more footsteps behind you do you turn.

You see Padme, Satine and the rest of your girls in the doorway, more people crowding behind to see the commotion.

You look at Padme, your brows scrunched in uncertainty.

You wait for a beat, then two. Thunder rumbles in the distance.

"Go get your man, girl!"

That's all you need to hear before you set off running after him, the cheers of your girlfriends echoing behind you in the silent neighbourhood.

divider by @enchanthings-a

a/n: like I said, it's silly and maybe a liiil melodramatic but I had sm fun painting this world in my head, and I hope you enjoyed looking into a part of it!

Pt 2 will be up on Valentine's.

spoiler, next chapter she's going to do this:

haha just kidding.

unless

[dihydromorphinone]

SCHOOL'S IN, ANOTHER YEAR...

she said, "that's fine, what's on your mind?"

i said "your skin."

𓂃۶ৎ psychology professor!geto suguru x student!reader. smut, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort. reader insert, alternate universe, academia au pretty much, teacher-student relationship, forbidden love trope, stupid love at first sight, porn with plot. geto is a teacher and be honest we all wanna fuck him, drug usage (recreational or not), alcohol, partying VERY immature behaviours, age difference (it is legal though!), reader in her early 20s, geto in his mid 30s, office (desk) sex, pussy eating, facesitting, blowjobs, handjobs, semi-public sex, missionary, doggy, yeah this one is freaky, breeding kink, corruption kink, eventual pregnancy, masturbation, phone sex, mutual masturbation, loss of virginity. hard university life www, "secret" crush (not secret at all..), lowercase intended. !! i do not condone irl relationships like this guysss it's power imbalance that's why it seems hot (plus it's sugu) but it can really REALLY fuck your life up!!

masterlist | chapter two

𓂃۶ৎ chapter one; school's in, another year... first day of the new semester and new experiences is here. you arrive at the university, maybe a little stressed, but mostly unbothered; that is, until some fucker doesn't bump into you and your saviour's voice is way too hot for his own fucking good.

an: this one is a little short but i'm testing stuff out!! i can't wait to write more hehehe please tell me what you think about it!  also keep in mind that she's just a young lady entering adulthood, desperate for some new experiences, good or bad. that's why she'll end up making some stupid decisions and... well, i shouldn't be spoiling it now, should i? ;p ALSO IK SUKUNA IS GOOFY ASF FOR NOW bear w me </3

art creds: @/sugurusboobs and @/aliyartss on twt!!

well, fuck. you thought that high school will be your final place to meet loads of overgrown children, but apparently; you were wrong. SO wrong. hoards of new, you guessed, students running towards the door. as if the building was about to disappear. you rolled your eyes, cursing them in your mind; what could possibly get them so excited? well, that wasn't really important. you stood a little bit to the right from the door, not wanting to get injured by the crazy crowd. hey, actually - maybe they were burning someone at the stake? that's why there was a big ass group of people acting like fucking villagers with no manners? you chuckled at your idiotic theory. yes, it was stupid. yes, it provided entertainment. so it evens out.

and as you were thinking about the medieval rituals happening inside, someone bumped into you. quite harshly, might you add. you lost your balance and were about to kiss the floor, when some pair of strong hands caught you. oh, well. your first day didn't even start yet, and you already had a debt of gratitude towards someone, and you were a girl of proper manners - raised maybe a bit too harsh, but you like adapting to the rules as much as breaking them. moral, legal, ethical, social; all are simply just a bunch of bullshit that was created to "invent peace" and by the lucky side effect - enslave someone's free will. rules are necessary, but they need bending sometimes; your lifelong motto didn't really apply to this situation. the stranger didn't need to catch you, but he did, and he saved your pretty little face from getting bruised. that was nice, you thought; apparently, one of the professors who taught psychology was smoking hot. yeah, you shouldn't really look forward to getting an apparent supermodel as your teacher, but... can you blame a girl from hoping? maybe you were still a bit of a teenager at heart, maybe you really needed some dick from a hot dilf… and your sweet, sweet fantasies were interrupted by a rough, rich voice.

"are you alright?" the stranger asked, and fuck, his voice was so hot. hey, you might really be desperate to pounce on some cock… but for now, you should get up, thank the stranger and be on your way. being late on your first day of academic journey wasn't something you had planned, and would most likely want to avoid. you gently removed the big pair of well-built arms off yourself, standing up, turning and bowing low immediately.

"i am fine, thank you. i apologise for the inconvenience. i hope i did not hurt you anyhow. i must be going to class now, but know i greatly appreciate that you caught me," you muttered, a bit too formal for your actual liking. and it seems that he thought so too, because he chuckled and tsked lightly. you bowed again, not sparing him another glance and quickly walked inside to get inside your lecture hall. the masses of people disappeared, so it was safe to enter now; and as your saviour muttered some reply, you were already on your way to find in which wing does professor Geto teach.

well, little did you know he was right behind you, chuckling at your obviously fake politeness. it was quite… intriguing, seeing how people not that much younger than him behaved. zero appropriate behaviour; men just nonchalantly avoided him, with a small portion of them only bugging him to learn more about the subject. women… oh boy. he knew he was handsome - back in his own student days with Satoru, Shoko and Nanami he was the one who got the most confessions, but now? it only seemed to get worse. it was flattering, sure… but at the same time, those young women just saw him as a hot professor, nothing more and nothing less. he was sure that at least half of them had some dirty fantasies about him; it was obvious by the way they wore much inappropriate for university dresses or skirts and pressed their boobs together when talking to him. he was teasing by nature, so he usually entertained them just a bit. but if any of them tried to take it a step further, he'd lecture them about ethics of this - and there were none. in no world a teacher should get involved with a student. and you; apparently, were not like them at all. faked politeness, to the point of laughing, but politeness nonetheless. dressed appropriately and... not sparing him even a single glance. that was something new to him; a young female uninterested by him? well, he only had to hope you'll end up in his class, so he can at least get some entertainment.

and fate seemed to have smiled upon him, he thought, as he watched you enter his lecturing hall. ---

professor Geto wasn't here yet. that's fine, very fine for you actually; since you were both late, you wouldn't have any problems at the start of the semester. and as you looked to find some free spot, you noticed that… well, for starters, there were mostly women in this class. secondly, they dressed in... really revealing clothing. and you're not the one to judge - heck no, there's nothing better than putting on some slutty clothing and make some men pay you for your drinks, but it's a night activity. definitely not a morning class activity. and that amount of girls could mean that you're enrolled in the hot professor's class. the smoking hot psychology teacher could be professor Geto. well, anyway, their clothing is their choice, not yours - so you continued to search for a seat, and you found one empty next to some pink-haired bulky dude and equally built black-haired guy. well, fuck. since there were no other seats available, you came up to them, silently praying that you wouldn't have to deal with three hot men for most of your class hours.

"hi. may i sit here?" you asked, your eyes trying to grace them both with an equal amount of time. you noticed a few interesting details; the pink-haired guy had a killer stare and face tattoos, but he moved some things to the side, nodding at your question. his arms were also tattooed - god, just how old was he? and the dark-haired one...

"suure, mama," he smirked at you, making you glance at his lips, and you noticed his scar. it added some sort of... charm, to his figure. kinda sexy. just like his companion. "what's yo name, cutie?" he asked as you bowed your head, squeezing next to his manspread, trying to fit between the desk and his knees, to which he chuckled and moved his leg a little more. what a fucker. men around your age were really annoying. "it's y/n. yours? ...and yours?" you added, looking at the pink haired guy who scoffed.

"hah, you think you deserve to know--" he got brutally interrupted by the black haired guy, "he's Sukuna, 'm Toji. nice to meet you, baby," he purred, winking. well, fuck. an undeniably hot dude was flirting with you now, and his equally handsome friend was giving him the side eye. you'd surely get distracted a lot; but to be honest, did you really mind? who cares about a simple little life. you were young, you were free; so, you guessed, it's better to act wild now rather than when you're 40. you settled down between them, earning a groan from Sukuna as you unpacked you laptop, not paying much attention to the sound of class door opening and someone entering. until.. you heard a familiar voice.

"good morning, everyone. i apologise for being a bit late," the professor said, and your gaze snapped up. "i'll be your psychology teacher, i'm professor Geto," he smiled, and fuck - he looked so mesmerising. you understood now why so many women dressed the way they did just to get his attention. and his voice sounds familiar, because, well - he's the one who caught you before. you were in his arms. you were in professor Geto's arms. "fuck," you muttered under your breath, but that didn't seem to miss Toji's or Sukuna's ears.

"what?" Toji looked at you, his gaze teasing. "we're taking this class for the third time. this cruel fucker rejected our final papers…" the dark-haired man whined, looking at your professor now. "every year, there's a shit ton of ladies offering himself to him. don't tell me you're one of those girls who fawn over him?" he chuckled, and so did Sukuna; and you just blushed and stared at your new professor. but it didn't really seem you're that fortunate today - because professor Geto's gaze found yours, and oh fuck. you couldn't really look away; and you were seconds away from unbuttoning your dress. but his gaze drifted apart, and you came to your senses; stunned by your own thoughts.

damn, you really needed some dick - that was fucking obvious now. "...no. i'm not," you mumbled, focusing on starting your laptop and taking out your paper notebook. well, fuck.

the class went on smoothly, and you were actually able to focus on the subject. probably because today's one wasn't serious at all; it was something akin to introduction to psychology, and well - everything would be perfect if your newfound friends didn't whine in your ears all the time. man, they really should get a grip. if this major is too hard for them, why don't they just choose another?? well, not your place to find out - since they were studying psychology, they would surely find their answer soon. hearing the professor end his lecture, you gathered your things as quickly as you could, desperate to escape this lecture hall, desperate to escape your professor's eyes.

he glared at you so intently. you were sure it wasn't intentional, it couldn't be... judging by the looks of disappointed girlies, he took interest in no student. which was good - he was at least somewhat ethical person. but some part of you felt hurt. he wasn't interested in you now, and he shouldn't be interested in you even when you graduate. well, you should let it stay as a harmless crush then; it's nice to have a gentlemanly, handsome, really knowledgeable professor teaching your main course. you sighed, catching Toji's attention as the two of you walked out of the lecturing hall.

"wassup, mama? somethin' on your mind?" he asked, making you sigh again. "...no, not really. do we have the next class together?" you replied, wishing that they both had their next class with you. having some company would be nice; you didn't mind being alone, but hey - you were looking to get a bit loose once you enter university, and that was your great chance to do so. you weren't fond of judging people by their appearance, but both of them just looked fucking stoned. not exactly the proper people you should surround yourself with; and your parents would be more than disappointed. but hey! they weren't here, and you're an adult now, even though you don't always act like on, and your mindset is far from fitting someone entering society as a full-time member now.

"yeah, we got all classes together. cool, ain't it?" Toji put his hand on your shoulder, making you push it off and him earn a glare from you. you rolled your eyes playfully, already forgetting about being mopey because your professor fantasies would never come true. "mm, i guess. would be better if you stopped groping me, though," i muttered, picking up the pace and exiting the classroom, your two new companions just swiftly looked at each other before following you.

and little did you know - your professor's gaze never left your form.

𓂃۶ৎ taglist (open!) : @heartsteelkaynconsumer, @xxserenitysnow666xx