#he's arrogant and calculating | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lowkeyren · 6 months ago

Text

in which : alhaitham speaks to you in 5 different languages, unaware that you understand every word he says.

wc 7.3k (pls give it a chance lol), academic rivals to lovers, unrequited hate, attempt at humor, college au, denial + pinning.. crazy ik, he falls first (and harder), tw stalking by a drunkard, a genius on paper but a total dumbass when it comes to crushes, lil smau at the end!, ft. sumeru gang. art by @/gamegatchihaja on x.

ps. translations ay nasa maliliit na titik, katulad neto!!

ps. translations will be in small letters, like this!!

PROLOGUE: GOD I HATE THIS GUY! (DOES HE THINK IM STUPID?)

the semester is nearing its conclusion, and the imminent approach of finals marks the most critical period of the year; students rush through the halls, clutching their notes and textbooks like lifelines, while you pour every ounce of effort into your studies —not just for your grades, but also to surpass a certain arrogant scholar.

alhaitham.

the name tastes like spoiled milk on your tongue, a sour reminder of all the times he’s bested you, even if it’s just by a small margin, leaving you dumbfounded when the difference between your marks during the last exam was a mere 1%.

you were groveling in front of your professor, “please, just round the marks up?” you could practically feel your dignity slipping away. and the worst part? you were so desperate that you started mentally calculating how many odd jobs you’d be willing to do just to sweeten the deal.

(maybe you’ll help organize the office, run around the campus to buy him drinks every day, or even wipe down the windows of his car…)

disclaimer: he ultimately said no, but he did compliment your impeccable taste in coffee so, a win is a win?

anyhow, alhaitham’s nonchalance only adds to your frustration, especially when he switches to a different language mid-conversation. it feels like he’s rubbing salt in your wounds, why of course you can understand him perfectly —after all, you aren’t majoring in linguistics for no reason, plus he's not the only one who’s fluent in multiple languages.

though you keep that to yourself, perhaps because the things he says in those languages, which he assumes you don’t understand, are far from innocent, unknowingly letting you have a glimpse into his true feelings.

ACT I: WHOLEHEARTEDLY, I DETEST YOU.

alhaitham would never fall in love —such irrational and illogical emotions held no value to him.

that was what he always believed, but then he saw you.

the way you laughed so unapologetically at cyno’s jokes, how you always stood firm by your beliefs, your refusal to compromise who you are; you were a breath of fresh air in a world that often felt stifling.

as much as he tries to act unfazed, he can't help the heat prickling his skin nor the way his composure falters just slightly in your presence. and when his heart raced for the first time in what felt like forever, he knew —he was completely, utterly screwed.

(“fix me, kaveh.” / “hah. who do you think i am, ‘y/n’?”)

when kaveh told him that he just had a simple “crush”, he nearly rolled his eyes so hard he thought they might get stuck there permanently.)

likewise, this ugly arrogant handsome bastard here, is one you’ll never fall in love with.

he’s infuriating, completely insufferable, and yet there’s something about him, something hidden beneath that arrogance, that draws you in. the idea that you could ever fall for someone like him seems laughable, impossible even. he's exactly the kind of person you should avoid and you know better than to be charmed by someone like him. yet, there's that nagging feeling, deep down, that perhaps you’re not as immune to him as you think.

by some stroke of luck, you’re in the same major, same year, and even enrolled in the same lecture periods, which means you end up in the same place at the same time more often than not.

but you can’t deny that, in some twisted way, you admire him. his intellect is beyond impressive, even if it annoys you to admit it. so surely, in his eyes, you’re still inferior, and you often wonder if he even considers your ideas as worthy of attention.

(they are.)

ACT II: YOUR WATCHFUL EYES, I CAN’T IGNORE.

your pen glides across the pages as you jot down notes, fully absorbed in your studies, barely registering the faint sound of distant chatter.

unbeknownst to you, a group of students has gathered just outside the lecture hall, peeking in from the door with curious, amused expressions. they’re clearly there for you, exchanging glances and murmurs, waiting for the moment you step outside.

you don’t notice, but alhaitham, seated a few feet away, certainly does.

his eyes narrow slightly as he takes in the scene. he doesn’t say anything at first, but his jaw clenches ever so subtly. as you begin to pack up, you glance up to find him standing in front of you, his tall figure effectively blocking the group outside’s direct line of sight to you.

with a discreet glance over his shoulder, he shoots them a cold, unmistakable glare. they visibly shudder, seemingly getting the message as they awkwardly shuffle away.

“what was that about?”

alhaitham leans against your desk, “nothing important,” his tone is dismissive, laced with irritation, his gaze still fixed on the now-empty doorway.

you narrow your eyes, unimpressed. “really? you just scared them off for no reason?”

“just getting rid of some… distractions,” he says casually, turning his attention back towards you. you raise an eyebrow, clearly not believing his words. “distractions? they weren’t bothering me.”

his expression remains impassive, “khi họ cứ để ý đến em như vậy… em thấy không phiền, còn tôi thì có.”

“seeing them constantly paying attention to you… you're not bothered by it, but i am.”

“bởi vì cái cách mà em chú tâm hoàn toàn vào một việc gì đó… nó quyến rũ vô cùng.”

because the way you completely focus on something… is truly mesmerising.

you blink, feeling a momentary flush of confusion and surprise at the words slipping from his mouth. did he just—? but before you can fully process it, he continues.

“vậy nên tôi cũng không thể trách họ khi họ muốn nhìn em gần và lâu hơn được.”

so i don’t blame them when they want to look at you closer and longer.

his words linger in the air, a moment passes before it clicks —he doesn’t think you understand. that’s why he’s speaking so… freely; letting slip things he’d never say outright in a language you both speak fluently.

“nhưng mà… chắc không ai trong số bọn họ có thể sánh ngang với tôi, em nhỉ?”

but… none of them can compare to me, right?

your chest tightens as a surge of warmth courses through you.

his detached attitude only fuels your irritation. but there’s also a certain satisfaction in knowing something he doesn’t: you’ve understood every single word he’s said.

feigning ignorance, you raise an eyebrow, meeting his gaze with what you hope is a neutral expression. "what are you going on about?" you ask.

his expression remains as stoic as ever, not a single crack in his mask. he simply shrugs, eyes still on you, "just telling you to focus more.”

your grip on the pen tightens, there's a part of you that wants to wipe that smug look off his face, to show him you're not as clueless as he assumes. but not yet —you’re curious to see just how far he’s willing to push.

"right," you mutter under your breath, tapping the pen against your notebook. "focus. got it."

he leans down slightly, one arm resting on the back of your chair while the other presses against the table, effectively caging you in.

"you're wasting time, finals are coming up." he takes a brief pause before continuing, "i wish you the best of luck, you’ll need it.”

your eyes snap up to him in a glare, “don’t you have somewhere to be?" you bite back.

alhaitham straightens, giving you a final glance before turning towards the door. “naturally, i have studying to do.”

“bởi vì tôi sẽ chứng minh cho em thấy rằng chỉ có tôi mới xứng tầm làm đối thủ học thuật của em, không một ai khác.”

because i will prove to you that only i am worthy of being your rival, no one else.

why did he frame it as if it’s a privilege only he can claim? or is he trying to… flatter you?!

you shake your head, no way, that’s ridiculous. finals are coming up, there’s no time to dwell on whatever mind games he’s playing. though if the almighty alhaitham wants a rival, then you’ll show him exactly what it means to stand at the pinnacle.

ACT III: IN MY DREAMS, I SCORED HIGHER THAN YOU.

you’re tired, the kind of tired that seeps deep into your bones. every blink stretches longer than the last and you find it increasingly difficult to focus on the words in front of you. stifling a yawn, you feel the pull of sleep tugging at you, whispering sweet promises of rest.

there’s still time till your next class.

maybe you'll take a moment to close your eyes, just for a few seconds…

did you not get enough sleep last night, or did you stay up late studying again? alhaitham watches silently from across the room, his eyes narrowing as your head droops lower, your exhaustion becoming painfully obvious with each passing second. his gaze lingers on the way your pen pauses mid-sentence, the line on your notebook trailing off as your hand grows heavy.

he pushes himself up from his seat, and approaches your desk; he notices the sunlight streaming through the window, harsh and unrelenting, hitting right over the table where you’re sitting. he looks at you —eyes closed, with the faintest crease of discomfort on your brow.

without a word, he reaches out and slips the pen from your grip, the slight shift causing your fingers to twitch, but you don’t wake.

for a fleeting second, he considers waking you. but then, as you shift again, settling more comfortably into your chair, he decides against it. what good would that do, anyway? you’d probably just brush him off and keep going until you collapse from sheer fatigue. typical.

instead, he adjusts his stance slightly, positioning himself just right to make sure the sunlight is fully blocked from your face, casting you in a cool shadow.

you mumble something incoherent, and he can’t help but roll his eyes at your state. did you really think burning yourself out like this would help you focus?

“stubborn,” he mutters under his breath.

you're always like this, pushing yourself past your limits, and while part of him respects your determination to outdo him, he won’t allow it to come at the expense of your health.

you stir from your slumber, lifting your head, your gaze lands on a familiar figure standing to the side of your table. his back turned, facing the sunlight that streams in from the window.

alhaitham.

he’s close, so close that his broad shoulders completely block out the sunlight from the window. the sight sends a rush of confusion through your already sleep-addled mind. did he… stand there the whole time? why?

you shift slightly in your seat, your movement catching his attention. without turning, he speaks in that low, steady tone of his, “you’re awake.”

“alhaitham?” you murmur, your voice still thick with sleep.

he glances over his shoulder, just enough for you to catch a glimpse of the calm expression on his face. “you’ve been out for a while,” he comments, a hint of amusement in his voice. “i was starting to think you’d sleep through your next class.”

you rub the sleep from your eyes, “why didn’t you wake me up then?”

his shoulders shift slightly as he shrugs, still facing away from you. “you looked like you needed the rest. besides, it’s more entertaining to see how long you’d stay asleep.”

a flicker of annoyance courses through you as you roll your eyes, “oh, so you mean you care?”

he turns slightly, and you can see a hint of a smirk on his lips. “don’t read too much into it. i just prefer my competition functioning at their best.”

you wish you could roll your eyes harder because this man has an uncanny talent for grating on your nerves while somehow being insufferably charming at the same time.

“ah yes —because you need me to keep up with you,” you remark sarcastically.

“exactly.” you let out an exasperated sigh as you lean back in your chair. “you really think so highly of yourself, don’t you?”

“mushiro, kimi no koto o hijō ni takaku hyōka shiteiru yo.”

if anything, i think highly of you.

your brows knit together in surprise, and you can’t help but scoff. “what was that? i didn't catch it.”

“i said i won’t go easy on you.” oh, the audacity. he’s lying again, and he knows it.

the corners of your mouth twitch in disbelief as you scrutinise his expression. there’s that familiar glimmer in his eyes, a spark of mischief that tells you he’s enjoying this too much.

“whatever,” you retort, crossing your arms defiantly. “not like i want you to anyway.”

despite your words, you can't deny that his actions earlier were surprisingly endearing. you wonder how long he intends to keep this up. perhaps it’s time you let him know.

“ii ne, kimi ga iraira shite iru toki wa kawaiikara.”

good, because you’re cute when you’re all riled up.

you feel a blush creep into your cheeks at his words, okay maybe you shouldn’t let him know. you instinctively look away, as if avoiding his gaze can help you regain your composure.

cute? what does he mean “cute”?! he thinks he can get away with calling you cute —well… well, there’s not much you can do about it, you’re not ready to confront him about this either.

the mere thought of asking him directly makes your stomach twist with a year’s worth of embarrassment. yet, as you try to refocus on the book in front of you, you find yourself biting your lip, struggling to suppress a smile that threatens to break free.

ACT IV: I WOKE UP TODAY, AND A DREAM CAME TRUE.

the hallway buzzes with excitement as students gather around the large announcement board, eager to see the results of their theses. you push through the crowd, heart pounding, the low hum of chatter filling your ears.

when you reach the front, you quickly scan the list; the moment your eyes land on your name, your breath catches in your throat.

there it is, in bold red ink at the top of the board —a score higher than you’d ever hoped for, higher than his. and your name, on top of his.

alhaitham.

you glance over and spot him approaching the board, approaching you. his expression is, as always, unreadable. but you know him well enough by now to catch the slight pause in his movements, the brief moment where his eyes linger just a second too long on the board.

you try not to think too much about it as you collect your thesis, with alhaitham following closely behind, his fingers nearly grazing yours as you both sift through the stack of papers on the table.

you take in the glowing praise from your professor, each word making you feel like every all-nighter was worth it. you clutch the paper, resisting the urge to grin like an idiot.

glancing sideways, you wait for him to say something, maybe some backhanded comment, but he remains silent. your eyes meet, and there’s a shift in his gaze as the usual sharpness in his eyes dulls ever so slightly, your smile lingering like the first light of dawn breaking through the night's embrace.

it’s subtle —just a flicker —but you catch how his gaze falters, softening, if only for a heartbeat. the edges of his stare blur, drawn to the warmth of your expression as though it’s something he hadn’t meant to witness, yet can’t look away from.

at this moment,

"looks like i finally beat you," you say, not bothering to suppress the grin spreading across your face now.

he feels like

there’s no scowl, no sign of frustration —just the slightest raise of an eyebrow. “hmm. by a point.” he pauses, studying you for a second longer than necessary before returning his gaze to his paper. “enjoy it while it lasts.”

he's in heaven.

it’s as if he’s not bothered by the outcome at all. in fact, if anything, he seems... satisfied?

"hindi dapat ganito kalala ang epekto ng ngiti mo sa akin."

your smile shouldn't affect me this badly.

“—huh?” your mouth drops slightly open at his words; out of everything, you didn’t expect him to say that. it catches you off guard, making your heart race just a little faster. if you peer closely enough, you might catch a glimpse of the gentle arch of his lips, a ghost of a smile.

the silence stretches on for a beat too long before he clears his throat and shifts his gaze away from you. “ang iyong ngiti ang pinakamagandang tanawin ng aking araw.”

your smile is the most beautiful sight of my day.

“what?” the word slips from your lips, barely a breath, a soft gasp that hangs in the air. it feels almost surreal and you wonder if you’ve misheard him.

each heartbeat thunders in your ears, a rhythm that matches the erratic flutter in your chest. why is he saying these things, what for in a different language…? there’s no way that he—

"—tulad mo na ang hinangad ko na ligawan, ngunit sa bawat ngiti mo, halip ay mas lalo akong nahulog para sayo."

—like you, who i wish to court, but with every smile, i instead found myself falling for you.

your breath hitches as your heart stumbles, the implications of his words washing over you like a wave. a rush of heat floods your cheeks, “what… did you say?”

his shoulders stiffen, and there’s a subtle tension in the way his fingers curl against the paper he’s holding. “see you tomorrow, [name],” he mutters, his voice low but hurried, and before you know it, he’s already walking away.

two strange things happened today:

1. you finally beat your sworn enemy!

2. said enemy… complimented you?

huh, it’s as if the words slipped out before he could catch them, as if he’s been holding them in for far too long, as if… you notice the way his neck reddens, even as he turns away.

behind the door, alhaitham lets out a quiet breath.

“gago… nagkamali ba ako?”

stupid… did i make a mistake?

to his dismay, an annoyingly familiar voice cuts through the silence. kaveh, who had been waiting just down the hall, notices him standing there, a little too still.

“oh, what do we have here?" there's a slight pause, followed by a raised eyebrow. "is that—no way, your face is red!” kaveh teases, amusement dancing in his eyes. “what happened there?" he leans in, clearly enjoying himself. "come on, spill the tea..!”

"not a chance," alhaitham retorts, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms defensively.

just then, kaveh spots cyno and tighnari; grinning, he waves them over. “what’s going on? did alhaitham finally crack under pressure?”

alhaitham would rather reorganise the entire library than listen to kaveh recount what happened.

“i’m leaving.”

"no, i'm afraid you're not getting out of this one.” cyno steps forward, blocking alhaitham’s path; and tighnari, who has been quietly observing till now, chimes in, “don’t leave us hanging.”

“you’re outnumbered.”

alhaitham sighs and shakes his head. he hadn’t even thought it was physically possible for him, of all people, to do something as ridiculous as blushing —until today.

(on the other side of the door, their banter echoes through, and you can’t help but chuckle to yourself at alhaitham’s misery.)

ACT V: PLAUSIBLE DENIABILITY, YOU SAY? BUT EVERYONE CALLS IT FLIRTING.

“i think alhaitham likes [name].”

the whole table falls silent before kaveh dramatically slams his glass down on the table, causing a splash of alcohol to spill over the edge. “oh finally, it’s so obvious! have you all seen the way he looks at them?”

across the table, tighnari taps his fingers absentmindedly on his notebook, his attention only half on kaveh’s (incoming) rant but clearly invested enough, as shown by the slight twitching of his ears, to be listening.

cyno snickers, “you’re telling me the man who can dissect any philosophical argument can’t handle a little crush? that’s rich.”

kaveh waves a hand dismissively. “come on! remember that time they were partnered up for a project? he was so... uncharacteristically patient! i’d almost say it’s cute if it weren’t alhaitham we’re talking about!”

right, it’d be almost endearing —if it weren’t coming from the most stoic, intimidatingly aloof guy in the entire school. it’d be adorable —if it weren’t alhaitham, who instinctively covers the corner of your table with his hand when you drop your pencil, ensuring you won’t hit your head as you bend down to retrieve it.

oh, you don’t notice (of course not). but your friend dehya, sitting nearby, catches the whole scene out of the corner of her eye. she raises an eyebrow, nudging the girl beside her.

(“candace, do you see that shit.” / “yeah.”)

“a soft spot for [name], you say? well, i’ve got a story of my own, too.” cyno glances around, ensuring no one else is within earshot, then lowers his voice conspiratorially. “have you noticed? he doesn’t wear his earphones when he’s around them.”

kaveh pipes up, nodding eagerly.

“he’s got those earphones practically glued to his head, he doesn’t hear anything he doesn’t want to, and he certainly doesn’t talk unless he’s forced to. but around them?” cyno pauses, pretending to think for a while. “not once. he’ll put them away entirely, like he’s actually willing to be… present.”

sure it’s small, subtle, the kind of habit no one would pick up on unless they were looking closely. but to anyone who knew alhaitham well, it tells them more than words ever could.

for him, actions speak louder than words, even if he often doesn’t realise the meaning behind his own gestures.

his earphones slide down, resting forgotten around his neck, all so he can be close enough to catch the delightful lilt of your laughter. his chair inches a fraction closer, seemingly by accident. a subtle upward twitch at the corner of his mouth, so fleeting and often passing so quickly if one weren’t paying attention.

for him, it’s a language without words.

dehya laughs softly. "for someone who supposedly ‘doesn’t like being bothered,’ he sure seems invested in whatever [name] has to say."

and what sealed their suspicions?

definitely the time when kaveh complimented nilou’s new bracelet. he glanced over at the man beside him, nudging him lightly. “what do you think?”

alhaitham gave the bracelet a cursory glance, before replying, “it’s nice.” though his gaze flickered back; and almost absently, he added after a pause, “[name] has the same one too.”

oh… oh? well that was oddly specific. kaveh’s eyebrow quirked as he fought to suppress a grin.

alhaitham had noticed a detail seemingly insignificant about [name] —the kind of thing he never cared to show the slightest interest in when it came to anyone else.

the glint in nilou’s eyes seemed to mirror kaveh’s unspoken thoughts, silently agreeing with his suspicions.

now they’re certain —100% sure, in fact —that alhaitham has a crush on you.

“well, speak of the devil… lovely seeing you here, alhaitham,” kaveh quips. tighnari, ever observant, gives him a pointed look. “your jacket’s missing.”

“someone took it,” alhaitham replies, his tone as composed as always, giving nothing away.

—nothing until you walked past. draped over your shoulders, unmistakable, is alhaitham’s jacket. you don’t notice the way every pair of eyes follows you, or the way kaveh barely stifles a triumphant laugh.

...make that 110%.

(translation: he means he borrowed his jacket because [name] was cold.)

ACT VI: IT’S YOU, WHO COMES TO MY RESCUE.

the quiet night hangs heavy, the road empty and bathed in the dim glow of distant streetlights. you weave through the streets, but no matter how many twists and turns you take, that weirdo just won’t leave you alone.

he’s been trailing behind you for blocks now, his persistence grating on your nerves, cornering you with endless “compliments” and invasive questions. you’ve tried to shake him off, but his determination far exceeds your patience.

"come on, just give me a chance," he insists, stepping closer, a little too close for comfort. you take a step back. the smell of alcohol reeks from his breath, and his grin is making your skin crawl.

"i told you, i’m not interested," you say firmly, keeping your voice steady, but the panic was starting to creep in. you glance at the empty bottle in his hand —he’s definitely drunk out his mind.

“you sure?" he completely ignores your clear discomfort. "how about you just give me your number, yeah?" he slurs out.

"no, i have a boyfriend." you lie through your teeth, hoping that would be enough to make him back off.

unfortunately, he’s as insufferable as he is persistent.

he snorts dismissively, "yeah, right. a boyfriend? you’re just playing hard to get."

you sigh, you aren’t in the mood for this, not here, not now, and especially not with someone like him. "i already told you, i have a boyfriend," your voice now tinged with frustration. "so please, just leave me alone.”

"oh, don't be like that," he steps in front of you, blocking your way. "prove it. call your boyfriend. show me you’re not lying."

your heart races as the man reaches out for you, dodging his hand, you take the chance to look behind him for an escape. just then, you see an all-too-familiar figure in the distance.

alhaitham.

you barely manage to suppress a relieved sigh as you wave frantically in his direction. he spots you almost immediately and without hesitation, he rushes over.

"what, this your boyfriend?" the guy sneers with derision, still sounding a little too cocky for someone who was about to get a reality check.

alhaitham steps beside you, you can feel his eyes on you for just a brief moment, the faintest flicker of worry flashing across his face. it’s subtle, almost imperceptible, but you catch it—and it makes your chest tighten.

his voice is low, unmistakably carrying a warning, "yes, i’m their boyfriend. and if you don’t want things to escalate, i suggest you leave."

the man’s face twists as anger flares in his bloodshot eyes. he takes a step forward, his grip tightening around the neck of the bottle, the glass slightly cracking. "you think you can tell me what to do?" he slurs, gaze wild and unfocused. “y-you think you’re some kind of saviour? *hic* a-and you! how… how dare you reject me?!”

alhaitham doesn’t move, his expression cold and unbothered, and that only seems to make the man angrier. his frustration boils over, and with a snarl, he clumsily swings the bottle in his hand, aggressively lurching towards your direction.

the world seems to slow for a moment. though before you can even react, alhaitham pulls you firmly behind him with one swift motion, his other arm instinctively rising to shield the both of you from the blow. the sound of glass meeting his forearm is sharp and jarring —you can hear the high-pitched tinkle of glass scattering, the jagged shards bouncing off the pavement, and some skittering across the ground.

but he doesn’t even flinch, his stance unwavering as the man stumbles back, glass crunching underfoot. you’re still frozen from shock, your heart racing in your chest as you watch the scene unfold.

“big mistake,” he starts, and the man visibly falters. “harassment, assault —keep this up, and you’ll regret every choice that brought you here tonight.”

the man shifts around, clearly disoriented. his eyes dart between you and alhaitham, but it’s clear that the fight’s already left him. “you— you can’t do this!” the man stammers, trying to regain some semblance of courage; unfortunately for him, the tremor in his voice is unmistakable.

“do you really want to find out?” alhaitham asks, to which the man shakes his head vigorously. “get lost,” he mutters. the man, looking more pathetic than threatening now, quickly stumbles away, mumbling incoherent curses under his breath.

you’re breathless, still clutching the edge of his jacket, fingers trembling slightly as the adrenaline courses through you.

"are you alright?"

you nod, forcing a small, unconvincing smile."yeah... i’m fine. thanks to you."

alhaitham’s eyes narrow slightly, scanning you for any sign of injury. you follow his gaze instinctively, glancing down at yourself. that’s when you notice it —not on you, but on him.

streaks of red stain his forearm, where jagged shards of glass must have cut him during the confrontation. the gash bleeds steadily, a dark line of blood seeping through the fabric of his jacket.

"wait," you breathe, your heart sinking. "you're bleeding."

your stomach twists with guilt.

"why didn’t you say anything?" you exclaim.

he shakes his head, a dismissive gesture that does nothing to ease the knot forming in your stomach. "it’s nothing," he says, but the slight furrow in his brow and the tension in his jaw betray his words.

"nothing?" you fix him with a hard glare. "idiot… you just blocked a glass bottle with your arm, don’t try to downplay this."

you grab his sleeve, tugging it gently but firmly, the fabric sliding beneath your fingers as you pull it up. “—and unless you think an infection is ‘nothing’, you’ll let me take care of this."

"hold still," you murmur as you settle beside him on the couch, your supplies spread across the coffee table in front of you.

the scent of antiseptic fills the air as you take a disinfectant wipe and gently dab it against the gash. the sting of the alcohol makes him flinch slightly, but he doesn’t pull away. you mutter a soft apology, your movements slow and deliberate as you try to be as gentle as you can.

you open a tube of ointment, squeezing a small amount onto your finger before smoothing it carefully along the edges of the cut. the cool gel glides over his skin, and you can feel the tension in his arm ease ever so slightly under your touch.

“nǐ zhème guān xīn wǒ, huì ràng wǒ wù huì de.”

if you care so much about me, i might misunderstand you.

your fingers pause briefly, the words catching you off guard. you glance up at him, but he only averts his gaze, his eyes remaining fixed on a distant spot beyond the room.

misunderstand? misunderstand what, exactly?

the bandage wraps securely around his arm as you smooth it into place. as you tuck the end of the bandage, his voice comes again, just as soft, but no less clear.

“—wù huì nǐ duì wǒ yǒu gǎn jué.”

"—misunderstand that you have feelings for me."

your brain short-circuits, and in your shock, your hands jerk. in turn, the bandage tightens way too much, causing him to wince and tense up. before you can apologise, he lets out a light chuckle.

“suǒ yǐ nǐ dān xīn wǒ… nǐ shì bù shì gù yì ràng rén xīn dòng de?”

“so you're worried about me… are you purposely trying to make my heart race?”

his words only make you more flustered, and you find yourself fumbling to fix the bandage. “i’m sorry! i didn’t mean to—”

his chuckle only grows softer, and you catch the glint of amusement in his eyes. “it’s fine.”

you quickly finish adjusting the bandage, trying to focus on anything other than how your heart is now racing. (ironically)

“you seem flustered,” he comments casually, as if he isn’t the one who just made your head spin. “did i say something wrong?”

you shake your head quickly, hoping to hide the flush creeping up your neck. "no, not at all.”

his lips twitch into the faintest hint of a smirk.

"nǐ bù bì yǎn shì, wǒ xǐ huān nǐ hài xiū de yàng zǐ, tǐng kě ài de.”

“you don’t have to hide it. i like seeing your flustered expression, it’s quite cute.”

(oh this bastard!!!!)

you try to speak, but the words get stuck in your throat. what do you say when someone’s teasing you so openly —and they think you don’t even realise it?

after a long moment, he stands, “it’s getting late, i should get going.” alhaitham gives you a small, almost imperceptible nod, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment —and there it was, that trace of softness reserved only for you.

he heads toward the door, you watch him, feeling a strange sense of emptiness when he turns away.

“i’ll see you,” he pauses. "...and thank you for tending to me."

you watch him leave, the door clicking softly behind him, and the silence settles back into the room.

you blink, taking a deep breath. what a rollercoaster of a day. yawning, you turn to start tidying up, but your eyes land on something on the couch.

it’s his jacket, draped over the armrest. you notice a tear on the sleeve, just where his injured forearm had been. what truly catches your attention, however, is a folded piece of paper slipping out of the pocket.

intrigued, you unfold it, revealing his neat, precise handwriting.

ACT VII: THE SECRET I’VE ALWAYS KNOWN.

To [Name], I once believed you to be little more than a nuisance. A bright, well-meaning nuisance, no doubt, but a nuisance nonetheless. One who seemed intent only on striving for perfection, always seeking to best me at every turn, not out of malice but out of some earnest desire to prove your worth. In my arrogance, I mistook your relentless pursuit for a need for recognition, as if you sought my attention in some petty rivalry. Though very quickly, you made me think otherwise. You saw the world differently, you also saw me differently. You didn’t treat me with the reverence others seemed to, nor did you shy away from challenging me. You refused to be seen as anything other than yourself; and that, in itself, was what made me admire you —what made me long to understand you more. Now, I find that I am standing with half a heart and an emptiness I never knew I could feel, because you showed me what it truly means to crave something more, something I never thought I deserved. You may think I’m a coward for not expressing my feelings more directly, perhaps you are right. I am a coward for fearing to lay bare the vulnerability of my heart. But even in my cowardice, know that my thoughts have always been of you. If you have seen through my silence and hesitation, if you understand my actions when my words fail me, then perhaps you have already known this truth. I care for you, more deeply than I can fully express. Though I may never be able to say these things as openly as I wish, I’d like you to know that my actions have always been my confession. Even now, I’m still a coward for you. So please, if you decide to give me a chance, I’ll be waiting at nightfall. Helplessly, Alhaitham.

you absentmindedly trace the edges of the letter with your fingers while your eyes skim over his writing for the nth time, the ink seeming to blur together with your thoughts as you try to process everything. your fingers curl around the fabric of his jacket, a foolish smile creeping onto your face.

tomorrow’s nightfall feels impossibly far away, yet you can’t wait for it.

alhaitham lays on his bed, his arm aches slightly from the injury, but it’s nothing he can’t ignore. plus, the bandage you had carefully wrapped around his arm is enough to keep the discomfort at bay.

(originally, he had only planned to meet you, slip you the note, and be on his way. things didn’t go exactly to plan, but either way, he hopes you’ve read it by now.)

of all the possibilities, he’s never accounted for the one he’d be at mercy of his own emotions; he had always prided himself on his rationality, his restraint. but now? he’s reckless, absurd, foolish even —he can admit that to himself. but he finds he doesn’t care in the slightest.

for as much as he is a coward in your presence, he is just as much a fool in your absence.

ACT VIII: UNDER THE RAIN, I HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY.

“alhaitham isn’t really an expressive person, so don’t worry if he comes off as distant or uninterested. it’s not that he doesn’t care, he just… shows it differently.”

ah well, ‘differently’ indeed.

“—most importantly, alhaitham doesn’t waste time on people he doesn’t care about, so you must mean a lot to him.”

maybe you didn’t mind how your heart raced when you heard that.

“don’t fuss over it [name], you’ll know when he’s in love.”

how so?

if he was in love, what would it look like? would you be able to tell, or would it be just another one of those things you had to catch on to?

you wrapped the his jacket tighter around yourself, a faint smile tugging at your lips. it wasn’t the answers to those questions that mattered, but asking them in the first place —that was what made you realize you already knew all along.

the evening air is cool against your skin; a gentle breeze stirs the trees, their leaves rustling quietly, and your heart beats louder than ever, urging you forward.

in the distance, you spot him, standing still in the dim light. and without a second thought, you quicken your pace.

“haitham.”

the sound of your voice catches his attention as he turns to face you; you can’t help but notice how his gaze flickers down for just a moment, his eyes taking in on how his jacket looks on you, before meeting yours.

his posture is unnervingly perfect, rigid almost to the point of stiffness …is he nervous?

“hey,” he finally says, clearing his throat. “there’s something i need to tell you… though you’ve probably already figured it out. you’ve always been sharp.”

“i… ” he falters, and it’s the first time you see him hesitate. “i’m not sure how to put it… since i’m not exactly great at this.”

you tilt your head, subtly urging him to continue.

“but you’ve managed to make me care about things i never thought i would. and now i can’t seem to stop thinking about it —about you.” his voice lowers, softer now, but there’s a rawness there that’s unmistakable.

“i’m telling you this now, because not saying it... doesn’t feel right anymore."

suddenly, you feel a soft mist that barely kisses your skin, a slight chill against your cheeks, then a few tiny drops, until they start to gather in your hair, the beads of water slipping down the back of your neck, but you don't move. neither does he.

his hair is damp, sticking to his forehead, droplets trailing down his temple. his clothes cling to his frame, soaked by the rain, yet his attention remains solely on you.

“[name], i am irrevocably in love with you.”

you stand there, the rain falling relentlessly around you, the pitter-patter mirroring the frantic beat of your heart. the water trails down his face, but it’s hard to tell if it’s just the rain, or something else.

his lips part, as though he wants to say more, but the words seem caught in the storm, swallowed up by the downpour. the rain is cold, but his gaze? his gaze feels impossibly warm.

it’s only when you feel the dampness of his jacket beneath your fingers, that the words finally come. “you don’t need to convince me of that.”

you take a step closer, and for a moment, the world outside seems to disappear.

“i’ve known,” you add. “but hearing you say it,” you pause, allowing yourself a small smile, “makes all the difference.”

reaching up, your fingers graze his damp skin as you gently push a wet strand of hair from his forehead, the warmth of your touch lingering against his cool skin.

“'uhibuk aydan, alhaitham.”

i love you too, alhaitham.

a single droplet slides down his cheek, tracing the line of his jaw before falling to the soaked fabric of his collar. another follows. and then another. his breath catches in his throat, and a shaky exhale leaves his mouth.

you wrap your arms around him, and he sinks into your embrace, his hair tickling your cheeks, as his chest rises and falls against yours.

“you’re gonna make me cry too, idiot,” you murmur, burying your face in his chest, your eyes glassy. “you really are a fool,” you tease softly, a slight smile playing on your lips. “but only for me.”

slowly, his hands rise, trembling slightly, until they cup your cheeks, gently stroking it.

“la yujad 'ahad akhar 'urid 'an 'akun 'ahmaq min 'ajlihi.”

there’s no one else i’d ever want to be a fool for.

his palms are surprisingly warm despite the weather. his thumb grazes your cheekbone as he leans in, and the world falls away —nothing but the warmth of his presence and the soft press of his lips against yours.

“this is my first time in ten years seeing this guy cry! can you believe it?!” kaveh whisper-shouts, peeking out from behind the shrub.

nodding along, cyno agrees, poking his head out just right below the blond’s. “[name] is truly exceptional. though i must say, seeing alhaitham cry is quite tear-rifying.”

kaveh rolls his eyes in exasperation. “ugh, you and your puns.” he mutters under his breath while zooming in on his phone, which is currently recording the whole scene.

“quiet down, you two!” a voice hisses from behind them —tighnari, face flushed with panic. “they’re literally right there, and you’re making more noise than a herd of goats.”

“relax, we’re out of their line of sight anyway!” kaveh raises his phone higher, almost giddily, eyes glued to the screen. “and damn this is a good angle.”

tighnari exhales sharply, “you’re incorrigible.”

“look who’s talking,” cyno raises an eyebrow at tighnari… who’s also peeking out from behind the bush. (what a hypocrite)

…

“they kissed oh my g—” kaveh’s voice rises in disbelief, but cyno quickly covers his mouth with a swift hand. the three of them scramble to duck behind the bush just as you turn to glance in their direction.

(“is that… senior kaveh?” you squint your eyes, “cyno, and tighnari?”

alhaitham clears his throat before glancing over at his friends with a deadpan expression. “yes and unfortunately, they’re very invested in my personal life. so please don’t mind them."

you laugh, finding the whole situation a bit too amusing. “not in the slightest, but i’m sure they’ll never let you hear the end of it.”)

EPILOGUE: IN EVERY LANGUAGE, I HEAR LOVE YOU.

“how long?”

you blink, feigning confusion. “how long what?”

alhaitham’s eyes narrow slightly, an expression you know well. “how long have you understood everything i’ve been saying?”

you bite back a smile and offer a small shrug, “...ever since you started?”

his lips press into a thin line, and for a moment, you can’t tell if he’s upset or impressed. then, he sighs, almost amused. “and you let me embarrass myself all this time?”

“you were being honest,” you shrug, a smirk forming. “plus i knew you’d figure it out eventually.”

he huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “may ideya ka ba kung ano ginawa mo?"

do you have any idea what you’ve done?

"mas lalong umibig sakin?"

made you fall in love with me even more?

you tease, but there’s a tenderness in your voice that softens the edge of your words.

“yes, and you really are insufferable,” he mutters with no malice. his tone is different now. softer. warmer, even.

you lean in slightly, a playful glint in your eyes. “that’s not what i heard you say before.” your fingers graze the skin of his cheek before you tenderly pinch it, giggling softly at the reaction you provoked.

in one smooth motion, he catches your hand before you can pull away and tugs you towards him, closing the distance between you in a heartbeat. you tilt your head back to meet alhaitham’s gaze.

you’ve often thought he’s the most-perfect boyfriend, undeniably handsome in every way —but there’s really just one flaw: his height.

“ugh, you’re too tall," you grumble, rubbing the back of your neck. "i’m having a neck sore just looking at you."

he quirks an eyebrow at your sudden words. “you could use a stepstool.”

"or," you counter, "you could get on your knees and save me the trouble.”

he slowly lets out a breath, his lips curling ever so slightly.

“'akida, 'antaziri hataa 'ashtari alkhatama.”

sure, just wait till i buy the ring.

"wh—"

he crosses his arms, "what’s wrong? isn’t that what people expect when someone gets on their knees?"

you roll your eyes, half-smiling. "fine, then i’ll eagerly wait for that day.”

his gaze softens as his hand reaches up, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face; his eyes drop to your lips for a moment, and you know what’s coming even before he speaks.

this fic was not sponsored by duolingo, but with the help of my beloved friends!! wouldn't have been possible w/o em please give them a round of applause xx

vietnamese — @https-sourlimes

tagalog / filipino — @vxnuslogy

arabic — @ughscara

chinese, japanese — me!

ty @mitsvriii for proofreading, love u all <3

and thank you for reading!! reblogs are appreciated ^^

pspspss check out the cool fanart / comic based on this fic here by @rei-plswork 🤍

MASTERLIST.

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littlelamy · 8 months ago

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a/n: the beginning is loosely based of S4 with rafe and sofia! I’m kinda obsessed with rafe being needy behind close doors 🥵I hope you guys enjoy!

you couldn’t stop replaying his words over and over again in your head. each syllable hit harder, cutting deeper than the last. always running her mouth? what. just a hookup, id never date a pogue.

you stood there, behind the slightly ajar door, heart pounding so loudly you were sure it could be heard. but rafe didn’t notice—he was too busy tearing you down with topper, speaking like you were nothing more than a nuisance in his life. he’d never know how those words would haunt you, how the trust you had in him shattered like glass.

your eyes burned with unshed tears, the sharp sting of betrayal settling into the pit of your stomach. but there was something else bubbling just beneath the surface—rage. not the hot, fiery kind that comes and goes. no, this was colder, more calculated. the type that stews, planning its revenge.

your fingers itched to grab your things and leave, but not without making sure he understood who held the power in this relationship. you weren’t going to walk away defeated, not when you could leave him begging for mercy.

so, instead of running, you turned, heart hardening with each step as you walked back into the room, your hands trembling slightly as you pulled out a suitcase from under the bed.

if he thought he could treat you like this, he was about to learn how wrong he was. you weren’t some weak girl who would let this slide. no, rafe was about to see a side of you he never had before.

the door clicked shut behind him, and for a moment, you could hear his confused muttering. "yo, topper, i’ll catch you later."

rafe’s voice rang through the hallway, much closer now, but still carrying the same arrogant tone. you ignored him, hands moving swiftly as you tossed your clothes into the bag, each item thrown more aggressively than the last.

when rafe finally stepped into the room, his eyes immediately fell on you, and panic flickered in his expression. "what the hell are you doing?"

his voice wavered as he took in the scene—your half-packed bag, the angry flush on your cheeks, the tight set of your jaw.

"what does it look like?" you shot back, barely sparing him a glance as you continued packing.

he hesitated, taking a step closer to you, but the sight of your seething rage stopped him in his tracks. "hey, let’s just—let’s talk about this, okay?"

you laughed bitterly, slamming the suitcase shut before finally turning to face him. "oh, now you want to talk?" you snapped, the sharp edge in your voice slicing through the air between you. "funny, because earlier, it seemed like you had plenty to say."

his face paled as realization dawned on him. you watched as his lips parted, searching for words but finding none. for the first time in a long time, rafe cameron was speechless, guilt flooding his features.

"i didn’t—" he started, but you cut him off.

"save it," you hissed, stepping closer to him now, your eyes blazing. "i heard everything, rafe. every. single. word."

rafe’s breath hitched as the full weight of your words crashed down on him. his eyes widened in panic, and he took another shaky step toward you, reaching out as if to touch you, to ground himself in this spiraling nightmare. "i didn’t mean it, baby. i swear, i wasn’t thinking—i was just venting—"

"venting?" you scoffed, stepping back from his touch. "do i look like someone you just 'vent' about, rafe? am i just some girl you get to shit on when i’m not around?" your voice cracked slightly, the hurt bubbling beneath your fury slipping through the cracks.

rafe’s hands trembled as he dropped them to his sides, a strangled sound escaping his throat as he shook his head. "no, no—please, you know i didn’t mean any of that. i was just—" his voice broke, and you watched as his composure started to crumble, tears pooling in his eyes. "i was just talking, okay? i’m sorry, i didn’t mean it. you have to believe me."

but you weren’t about to let him off the hook that easily. your eyes darkened as you stepped even closer to him, your voice dropping to a dangerously low whisper. "if you’re really sorry, rafe, you’re going to have to prove it."

a flicker of hope sparked in his eyes, and he nodded eagerly, desperate to fix what he’d broken. "anything," he breathed, his voice shaky. "i’ll do anything."

you stared him down, watching as he swallowed hard, his adam’s apple bobbing with nervous anticipation. there was no trace of the cocky, confident rafe now. instead, he was a trembling mess, willing to do whatever it took to keep you from walking out that door.

you grabbed your phone from the dresser, starting the recording and letting the soft beep fill the silence. rafe’s eyes widened as he watched you, confusion and curiosity mixing with the fear in his gaze.

"get on your knees," you ordered, your voice firm, leaving no room for hesitation.

rafe blinked, momentarily stunned by the command, but the second your eyes met his, cold and unwavering, he obeyed. he dropped to his knees before you, looking up with wide, tear-filled eyes. the vulnerability radiating off him was palpable, his breath shaky as he knelt before you, completely at your mercy.

"you don’t get to speak," you warned, holding the phone steady as you circled him slowly, capturing his wide eyes, his trembling hands. "you only get to listen and do what i say."

he nodded quickly, his throat tight with emotion as he blinked away the tears threatening to spill down his cheeks.

you positioned yourself on the bed, spreading your legs slightly, and gestured for him to come closer. "you know what to do," you said, your tone soft but commanding.

without a moment’s hesitation, rafe shuffled forward on his knees, his eyes glued to your thighs as he leaned in, his lips pressing soft, tentative kisses along your skin. his breath was hot and shaky, the desperation in every touch making your pulse quicken.

"good boy," you murmured, threading your fingers through his hair and pulling him closer, guiding his mouth exactly where you wanted it. "now, show me how sorry you are."

rafe wasted no time, his tongue flicking against you with a desperation that sent shivers down your spine. his hands gripped your thighs, holding on for dear life as he worked to prove himself, his movements frantic, eager to please.

your head tipped back slightly as a soft sigh escaped your lips, but you quickly regained control, focusing on the phone’s camera in your hand. you adjusted the angle, making sure you captured every second of rafe’s unraveling—his lips swollen and red from the effort, his face flushed, sweat beading on his forehead.

"look at you," you cooed softly, your free hand caressing his cheek. "you’re such a mess for me, aren’t you?"

rafe whimpered in response, the vibrations from his soft sobs sending waves of pleasure through you. his eyes fluttered shut as he pressed his face harder against you, the tears finally spilling over and streaming down his cheeks.

you could feel the shift in him—the way his body trembled beneath your touch, the way his breaths came in ragged, uneven gasps. he was breaking, right in front of you, and the sight sent a surge of power through your veins.

"don’t stop," you whispered, your fingers tugging on his hair as his pace quickened, his tongue working furiously. "not until i say so."

rafe let out a choked sob, his tears soaking into your skin as he continued, his movements growing sloppier, more desperate. you glanced down at him, the sight of his tear-streaked face and swollen lips sending a rush of heat through you.

"you’re mine," you whispered, your voice dripping with possession as you tilted his face up slightly, capturing the tear that rolled down his cheek with your thumb. "and you’ll never forget it."

rafe’s body shuddered at your words, a strangled moan escaping his lips as he clung to you, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps. another tear slipped down his face, and you leaned down, your lips brushing against his cheek, kissing the tear away.

you recorded it all, making sure you caught the exact moment rafe broke for you, his body trembling beneath your touch as he whimpered your name.

"please," he gasped, his voice barely above a whisper. "i’m yours. i’ll never leave you. i love you. please…don’t leave me."

his words were slurred, thick with emotion, and you smiled softly, running your fingers through his hair in a soothing motion.

"good boy," you whispered, pressing one last kiss to his temple as his body finally collapsed against you, completely spent and vulnerable.

slowly, you stopped recording. rafe barely noticed, his head resting against your thigh, still trying to steady his breathing. his tear-streaked face was a picture of surrender.

you stood up, gently pushing him off you, and his body slumped against the mattress, too weak to even protest. you didn’t say a word as you picked up your phone, your fingers tapping with practiced precision.

rafe watched through bleary eyes, his chest still rising and falling with uneven breaths, the reality of the situation not quite sinking in yet.

the video—the raw, intimate recording of rafe at his most vulnerable—was right there, in your hand. the smirk playing at your lips deepened as you attached it to a group chat, the names of topper, kelce, and several other friends flashing across the screen. rafe’s inner circle, the same ones he was so eager to talk big around. they’d all see this.

and then, for the final touch. your fingers hovered over the keyboard for just a moment before typing: looks like the pogue got your boy.

the message was delivered, the little ‘sent’ confirmation making your heart race with satisfaction. the power was now entirely in your hands, and you relished the silence that followed, the calm before the inevitable storm.

rafe blinked, finally realizing what had happened as he noticed the shift in your demeanor. “w-what did you do?” his voice was small, trembling with fear as his eyes darted from your phone to your face, dread sinking in fast.

you leaned down, brushing a lock of hair out of his face with surprising gentleness, and a sweet peck on his lips. “just reminding you who really holds the power here, rafe,” you whispered softly, your voice laced with a wicked edge. “you thought you could talk shit about me behind my back? guess again.”

rafe’s eyes widened as he tried to sit up, his body weak and uncoordinated. “no, no, no—what did you send? please, baby, please!” he pleaded, his voice cracking with desperation.

you straightened up, staring down at him, your smile never faltering. “i sent a little reminder to all your friends. they’ll see it soon enough.”

he scrambled to reach for his phone, but it was too late. his friends were already watching the video, seeing him like they’d never seen him before—broken, crying, at your feet, worshiping you. and with that message—looks like the pogue got your boy—they’d know he wasn’t the powerful rafe cameron anymore. not with you around.

rafe’s breath hitched, panic surging through his veins as his phone buzzed incessantly on the bedside table. “no,” he whimpered, tears spilling over again, pure terror flashing in his eyes as he looked up at you, utterly helpless, still with a needy gaze.

you bent down one last time, tilting his chin up so he could meet your gaze, your thumb gently brushing against his swollen lips. “next time you even think about talking behind my back,” you whispered, “remember this moment. because there’s more where that came from.”

with that, you walked away, leaving rafe alone in the room, his phone lighting up with messages from his friends, the weight of his humiliation crushing him.

you didn’t even glance back as the door clicked shut behind you, a satisfied smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

you owned him now. completely.

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rafayelxsylusho · 23 days ago

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How do the lads men act when jealous Part 2

Part 1 here (Zayne/Xavier)

Finally finished this.

Enjoy pookies!

Sylus/ Rafayel/Caleb

Headers: @bc.lay on Tik Tok

You find yourself in the midst of a lively discussion with a handsome stranger at the auction Sylus had insisted on attending together. The conversation flows effortlessly between you and a charming man named Elias. He's a renowned artist, his eyes sparkling with intellect as he regales you with tales of his latest exhibition.

As the minutes tick by, you become increasingly aware of Sylus's absence. He had been by your side when you first arrived, a possessive hand resting on the small of your back as he steered you through the crowded room. But now, as you laugh at one of Elias's jokes, you realize you haven't seen him in quite some time.

You glance around the room, scanning the faces of the guests, but there's no sign of Sylus.

Elias leans in closer, his voice lowering to a whisper. "You know, I have a feeling you and I have much more in common than just a love of art. You think that maybe... I can get your number?

"Do you value your ability to breathe without a tube down your throat?"

Your heart leaps in your throat at the sound of that voice. You recognize it instantly.

Elias's eyes widen and he takes a small step back from you, hands raised in a gesture of surrender.

"Easy there, Sylus," Elias says, his charming smile fading into a strained grin. "No need for threats. I was just being friendly."

Sylus steps into view, his dark silhouette looming behind you. His broad shoulders straining against the fabric of his tailored suit jacket. His eyes are fixed on Elias, a dangerous glint in their depths.

"Friendly?" Sylus repeats, a note of amusement in his voice. "Is that what you call it?" His gaze flickers to you for a moment, his expression softening almost imperceptibly before hardening once more as he turns back to Elias. "I've seen how friendly you can get"

Sylus takes another step forward, closing the distance between them. Elias swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. He glances at you, then back at Sylus, and you can see the calculation in his eyes as he weighs his options.

"Look, I didn't mean any disrespect..."

"You're not worthy of so much as a single digit of her phone number. I suggest you forget you ever met her, and move along before I lose my patience entirely."

Elías clears his throat awkwardly and takes a step back "Well, it was... nice chatting with you," he says lamely, before turning and melting into the crowd, leaving you alone with Sylus.

"Was that really necessary? I was just about to say no Sy"

His thumb brushes across your lower lip, the gesture almost tender if not for the harsh set of his mouth. "Let's get out of here. I have far better plans for us tonight."

With that, he takes your hand, his grip unyielding as he begins to steer you towards the exit. His anger is palpable, but there's something else you can't quite name.

🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛

As you walk to your room Sylus can't help but notice the shift in your mood. The lively sparkle in your eyes from earlier has been replaced by a troubled look. He watches as you walk ahead of him, your shoulders slightly slumped, your steps hesitant.

Closing the door behind you Sylus sets his jacket down on a nearby chair before turning to face you. He crosses his arms over his broad chest, his brow furrowed as he studies your face with an intensity that makes you squirm slightly.

"Talk to me," he says finally, his voice cutting through the heavy silence of the room. "What's bothering you?"

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself before you speak. "Sylus, I need you to listen to me for a moment. There was no need for you to behave like that back at the auction. You embarrassed Elias in front of everyone."

You shake your head, a flicker of disappointment in your eyes. "An arrogant display like that, threatening him just for talking to me? It was completely uncalled for."

Putting your hands on your hips, you level your gaze at Sylus, your voice firm but calm. "I understand that you want to protect me. But you can't go around intimidating people who cross an imaginary line in your head."

He takes a step closer, invading your personal space. He towers over you, his broad shoulders blocking out the light. His voice is low and tight with barely contained anger when he speaks.

"I've known Elias for years, sweetie. He's a womanizer, plain and simple. I've seen that predatory look in his eyes before, the one he gets when he sets his sights on a new conquest. And tonight, he had it directed at you."

His eyes burn into yours, the red irises seeming to glow with the force of his possessiveness "He knew you were with me. I made sure of that when I introduced you earlier. But he didn't care, did he? No, he just saw a beautiful woman and decided he wanted to add you to his list of fucks."

You plant your palms firmly against his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath his shirt. You push back against him, your voice steady and unwavering as you meet his intense gaze head on.

"I appreciate your concern, I really do. But I am more than capable of taking care of myself. I've been doing it for years before I even met you."

Your eyes flash with a spark of determination and a hint of annoyance. "I'm a Deepspace Hunter, Sylus. I've faced down Wanderers, I've battled for my life and the lives of others. I think I can handle a little flirtation from a guy like that"

A sly smile tugs at the corner of your mouth as you tilt your head. "Or, and hear me out on this...maybe you were just jealous. Green as the hills, if you will."

You lean in closer, your lips nearly brushing against his as you whisper teasingly, "Is that what this is really about? You couldn't stand the thought of Elias looking at me like that because you want to be the only one with the right to crave me like that?"

Your fingertips walk playfully up his chest, tracing the line of his collarbone. "You know, it's okay to admit it. Jealousy doesn't make you weak, it makes you...human. It means you care, deeply and intensely and maybe just a little bit possessively."

You nip lightly at his bottom lip, your voice a low purr. "So go on, Sylus...admit it. Because I think that's exactly what happened back there. And you know what? It's okay. I can handle a little jealousy, as long as it comes from the right man."

"Lie down" he orders

You don't move, still processing his words, but you see his hands undo his pants then push them down his hips.

"Kitten, lay down on that fucking bed right now."

As you settle against the silk sheets, he finishes removing the last of his clothing, his shirt and underwear dropping to the floor. His erection springs free, long, hard and already leaking at the tip.

Your whispered "Oh god" reaches his ears. Sylus grins, stalking towards the bed until he looms over you. He leans down, one hand braced on either side of your head as he settles between your thighs.

"You sure you want to feed my ego like that? You already think I'm an arrogant asshole and the way you are staring at my cock is about to make me insufferable"

He rolls his hips slowly, his hard length brushing against your thigh through the thin fabric of your dress. The friction makes him groan softly, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

You sit up and his eyes darken as he watches you strip, his gaze roaming greedily over every inch of skin you reveal. When you reach for the lace tops of your stockings, he stops you "Keep those on."I want to see you in nothing but those. Want to feel the lace against your soft skin as I fuck you."

His large hands grip your hips tightly, flipping you over onto your hands and knees with a sudden, dominant move. Before you can react, he's running his palms over the curves of your ass, squeezing and kneading the supple flesh.

"Fuck, your ass is perfect," he growls, his fingers digging into your skin as he spreads your cheeks apart

He leans down, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks "I want to see you arch your back for me. Want to watch this ass lift up and beg for my cock as I take you from behind."

One hand slides around to the front of your body, his fingers pushing your panties aside to stroke through your folds and then without warning, he grips the fabric and yanks hard, the material tearing away easily in his strong grasp. The cool air hits your now bare sex as you feel the rough lace scrape against your skin for a brief moment before it's ripped away completely.

"Sylus!" you cry out in surprise and a hint of pain. Your hips jerk forward instinctively and red marks bloom on your hipbones.

"Ass up, kitten," he commands, before you can react, he's pushing your upper body down against the mattress, leaving your back arched and your ass high in the air.

You feel the thick head of his cock pressing against your entrance, and then with one hard thrust, he's burying himself inside you to the hilt. Your gasp of surprise mixes with his low groan of pleasure.

"Fuck, you feel incredible," Sylus grunts, his fingers digging into the flesh of your ass as he starts to move, pulling out slowly before slamming back in.

"You're so fucking big Sy"

"But you take it all like a good girl, don't you?"

You feel him set a hard, fast pace, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. He leans over your back, his chest pressed against you as he fucks into you relentlessly.

"Fuck, can you feel me deep inside your hot little cunt? Gonna fill you up until I run down those pretty stockings."

He feels your walls clench tight around his cock when he rubs your swollen clit. "Fuck, that's it. You're getting close, aren't you?"

He leans down to whisper in your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. "Come on my cock, kitten."

But that's not your plan.

He growls in frustration as you slip his cock out of your dripping pussy, tight walls clenching around nothing. He grabs you roughly by the waist, dragging your pleasure drunk body back against his chest. "No, no, get that sweet cunt back on my dick," he demands.

But you ignore his command, instead dragging your hand down to plunge your fingers deep inside your aching, empty core. You pump them in and out, fucking yourself with wild abandon, chasing the release that Sylus's relentless pounding brought you to the brink of.

"Fuck, Y/N I swear to god..."

Sylus watches in awe and disbelief as your body jerks and writhes against him, your back arching as you bring yourself to a shattering climax. He can feel your moan in his stomach, your pussy clenching and fluttering around your fingers as you cum hard.

" Are you kidding me?"

You laugh, pat his cheek, peck his lips and move away when he tries to kiss you deeply.

"Thank you, that was so good Sy"

He watches as you stand and stretch languidly. He licks his lips, practically drooling at the delicious image you make.

"Oh, so we're playing now, are we kitten?" He chuckles, he grips his thick shaft and pumps it slowly, teasingly. "You wanna watch me touch myself?

He spreads his legs wider, giving you an unobstructed view of his muscled body and the way his hand works over his huge, throbbing erection. "I could watch you watch me all day, sweetie."

Sylus's tongue darts out to lick his lips, his gaze never leaving yours as he pleasures himself. "You want to help, don't you kitten? Wanna wrap your lips around the head and suck me deep?"

He climbs off the bed and tosses a pillow at your feet as he stalks towards you. "For your knees, it's a hard floor"

The musky scent of his arousal fills your nostrils as you kneel before him on the pillow, your eyes level with his throbbing erection. He positions his painfully engorged cock in front of your face, the swollen head glistening with a bead of precum.

Fisting his cock he aims it at your lips and asks "May I?"

You hear him groan deeply when you nod and open your mouth, your pink tongue out and ready.

He pushes forward, the swollen head of his dick slipping past your lips and settling on your outstretched tongue. "Ungh, yes..." He throws his head back with a guttural moan as he hilts inside you, your nose pressing against his pelvis.

"I could live inside your mouth, buried deep in your throat. Be a good girl and make me cum"

He hisses in pleasure as you gurgle and moan around him. Tears stream down your face as he fucks your throat raw, his thick cock pounding in and out, stretching your lips around his girth. You taste the salty tang of his skin, feel the hot, hard flesh throbbing against your tongue.

"I'm cumming!" Sylus grunts, his voice tight with strain as his hips stutter and still. He tries to pull back, but your hands grasp his ass, holding him deep inside as you feel his cock pulse and jerk.

The sensation of your teeth accidentally scraping his sensitive flesh sends Sylus over the edge. His hot, thick cum shooting down your throat in spurts. You swallow, gulping down every drop of his release, feeling it coat your throat and slide into your belly.

As the last weak spurts of cum dribble from his spent cock, you pull back, gasping for air. Sylus's thumb traces up the column of your throat, feeling the way it works as you swallow the remnants of his load.

"Greedy, feisty kitten," he praises with smirk, his chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath.

His strong arms scoop under your elbows, easily lifting you up from your kneeling position. He holds you close, your naked body pressing against his. "Now, how about you let me cum inside you this time, kitten?"

"I think that one is the best tonight" a deep, smooth voice startled you from behind.

You were admiring Rafayel's breathtaking artwork adorning the gallery walls, you've seen them, but somehow they looked different here.

Slightly caught off guard, you turned to face the man, taking in his handsome features and the way his eyes, as blue as the ocean on a clear day, seemed to sparkle with enthusiasm as he spoke about Rafayel's paintings.

The man introduced himself as Liam, an art critic with an impressive resume and an even more impressive knowledge of the art world.

As the conversation flowed, you couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and admiration for Rafayel. His gift was truly remarkable, and it was clear that others recognized and appreciated his talent as much as you did. Liam talked to you about Rafayel's rise to fame, his groundbreaking exhibitions, and his ability to command astronomical prices for his one of a kind pieces.

As you spoke, you couldn't help but notice the way his eyes lingered on you.

" I see you've met my wife"

You see Liam's eyes go wide as he flashes a smile "Oh wow, I... I didn't know you two were married"

You look over your shoulder to Rafayel with a scowl before returning to Liam "We are not, he is kidding, we are just friends"

"Like hell we are, that's not what you were saying last night when my tongue was in your..."

Rafayel's smirk only grew wider as your hand clamped over his mouth, muffling his words. He let you drag him away, stumbling slightly as you pulled him down a long, dimly lit hallway of the art gallery.

"You're such a tease, you know that?" he mutters against your hand, his hot breath tickling your skin.

His hand finds yours, fingers interlocking as he allows you to lead him deeper into the gallery, away from prying eyes and ears.

As you walk, his gaze rakes over you, hungry and intense. You can feel the heat of his stare, the way it lingers on the curve of your hip, the sway of your ass. It's a tangible thing, a physical caress that makes your skin prickle with goosebumps.

You walk into a small office and close the door behind you, the air is thick with the scent of oil paints, turpentine, and something else, something musky and masculine. Rafayel's scent, you realize, your heart pounding in your chest as he backs you up against a wall, his hands coming to rest on either side of your head.

"Friends, huh?" he murmurs "Is that really what you want people to think?"

"Thomas is gonna be looking for you"

"Fuck Thomas. Fuck the gallery. Fuck everything else."

His hands slide down the wall to your hips, gripping them possessively as he pulls your body flush against his.

One hand moves from your hip to your thigh, his fingers dance along the sensitive skin. He teases, he taunts, drawing out the anticipation until you're squirming against him, desperate for more.

Then, without warning, his hand is under your dress, his fingers seeking out your most intimate place. They find your core, slick, swollen and aching for his touch.

"Do you drip down your thighs for all your friends?" He pinches your clit, rolling the sensitive nub between his fingers. Pleasure explodes through you, making your back arch and your toes curl in your shoes. Your eyes flutter shut, your head falling back against the wall as a broken moan escapes your lips.

"I don't think you do," Rafayel murmurs, his breath hot against your neck. "Because this mess, it's all for me cutie.

He pushes two fingers deep inside you, pumping them in and out, fucking you with his hand. "Does it feel like I'm your friend," he rasps, "when I bury my face between these thighs and eat this sweet pussy like it's my fucking job?" His fingers pump faster, harder, the sound of your arousal filling the small office.

"Or maybe," he continues, his other hand sliding up your body to roughly palm your breast, tweaking your nipple through the thin fabric of your dress, "when you're bouncing on my cock, taking every thick inch like you were made for it, screaming my name as you cum harder than you ever have in your life..."

He leans in close, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his hot breath making you shiver. "Is that friendship bonding?"

"Fuck" he growls, his hips rocking forward to grind the rigid length of his cock against your thigh. "You squeeze my fingers just like you squeeze my cock when I'm buried deep inside you"

He moves his fingers faster, harder, his thumb presses down hard on your clit, rubbing merciless circles on the sensitive bundle of nerves.

"You're so fucking wet, cutie," Rafayel pants "I can feel it coating my hand, dripping down my wrist. Is that for me, y/n?

He leans down, lips latching onto the side of your neck, sucking and biting at the tender flesh.

He wastes no time, his desperation palpable as he yanks you towards the desk. The room spins briefly as he spins you around and bends you over the edge, your stomach pressing against the cool, smooth surface. Your skirt is flipped up and over in one swift motion.

He yanks down his zipper, freeing his fat cock. It springs out, slapping against your inner thigh, leaving a smear of precum on your skin.

His hands grip your hips as he positions himself. His chest presses against your back, his breath hot and ragged against your neck as he leans down to murmur in your ear.

"Can I fuck you?" he asks "Can I fuck you properly, cutie?

Your hands reach for the edge of the desk, gripping it tightly as you nod. Your body trembling with need, your core clenching and fluttering around nothing, aching to be filled by him.

"Please," you breathe out, arching your back to push your ass firmly against his hips.

Rafayel pulls your panties to the side and hilts himself inside you with one thrust, burying his thick cock to the base of your needy cunt. He stands still for a moment, his hips flush against your ass, allowing you to feel every throbbing inch of him pulsing deep within your core.

As he remains motionless, your hips start to move on their own accord, rocking back against him, desperate for friction, for stimulation, for more. The desk creaks beneath you with the force of your movements, the sound mingling with the ragged pants and moans spilling from your lips.

"Please Raf..." you whimper. Your walls clench around his shaft, trying to keep him deep inside you.

Rafayel chuckles "Please what, cutie?" he teases, his hips still unmoving, his cock throbbing but unmoving inside you. "What are you begging for? You're the one fucking me."

His hips start to move, pulling out until just the tip remains inside you, before slamming back in, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust.

"When I'm pounding this tight cunt, claiming this pussy as mine, it's not friendly fucking," he growls, punctuating his words with sharp snaps of his hips. "This is me showing you who you belong to. This is me reminding you that..."

He reaches around, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing the sensitive nub. "It's all fucking mine. You're mine Y/N. This is me taking what's already mine."

The office door handle jiggles and Rafayel's eyes flash with a thrill of danger. He grins at the interruption, not slowing his relentless pace for a second.

"Maybe it's that hot shot critic, maybe he heard you. That would make things clear for him"

Your body jerks forward from the force of his thrusts, a desperate moan tearing from your throat. "So let them hear, let the whole fucking world know"

Rafayel feels your body tense and then shudder violently as his words and the relentless pounding of his cock finally push you over the edge. Your walls clamp down on him, rippling and fluttering as you come undone.

Rafayel looks down, his eyes dark and wild with lust as he watches your clench around his cock.

Then, he sees it. The creamy ring forming at the base of his shaft where your tight cunt is stretched around his thick girth. It's too much, too fucking perfect. With that Rafayel loses control, slamming into you one last time as his cock jerks and pulses inside you.

He grinds his pelvis against your ass, making sure to push every last drop deep inside you.

He slowly pulls out of you, a low groan rumbling in his chest at the sensation of your walls clinging to his softening cock. As he takes a step back, he looks down at your trembling body bent over the desk, your thighs glistening with the combined essence of your mutual pleasure.

A smirk tugs at his lips as he leans down, trailing a finger through the creamy trails dripping down your skin.

"Such a perfect piece of art," he murmurs, his voice low and awed. "Look at you, cutie. Look at the fucking masterpiece we've created."

He brings his finger to his lips, sampling the tangy flavor of your joining, his eyes never leaving your body. "Maybe I should put you out there, just like this, as my magnum opus, a live exhibit," he continues, his thumb brushing over your lower lip, smearing a dollop of his release there.

His hand cups your chin and tilts your face up to meet his eyes. "Wouldn't that be a sight, cutie?

Your heart clenches as you stare at the paused video on your phone screen, the beautiful woman's smiling face frozen beside Caleb's. An unfamiliar, bitter taste coats your tongue, jealousy, you realize with a start. You swallow hard, trying to dislodge the uncomfortable feeling lodged in your throat.

Caleb's laughter echoes in your mind. That laughter, that beautiful, rare sound, belonged to you. Only you. And seeing it, hearing it, directed at someone else... it feels like a betrayal.

You know you shouldn't feel this way. Caleb is your partner in every sense but one. You've shared everything together since childhood ,laughter, tears, secrets, dreams. But this... this hollow ache in your chest, this burning in your throat... it's new. Terrifying.

Still, as you sit there, gripping your phone like a lifeline, you can't help but wonder... what if Caleb sees her as more than just a friend? What if she sees him the same way you... the way you... can't stop yourself from seeing him?

Your heart sinks as you refresh the page again and again, desperation clawing at your throat. Gone. Vanished like a ghost. The video, your proof, your reason to feel this way... erased without a trace.

A hollow emptiness settles in the pit of your stomach as you toss your phone aside, no longer caring when it clatters onto the cold hardwood floor. It's fitting, really. Just like everything else that matters to you, it's slipping away.

Your mind replays the fleeting images from the video on an endless loop. Caleb's smile, her smile, their laughter. The way she leaned in close to whisper in his ear. The way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed. The way your heart shattered into a million jagged pieces.

A single tear slips down your cheek, followed by another. And another. Until they're falling in earnest, silent cries of a soul in agony. A soul that yearns for a love it can never have. A love that's slipping away, like grains of sand through an hourglass.

🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎

You wake to the familiar buzz of your phone on the nightstand, your heart leaping with a foolish hope before you remember. Last night, Gideon's video, the hollow ache in your chest... it all comes rushing back like a bitter tide. He didn't text you last night. Not a single word, not even the usual goodnight message that you've come to expect and secretly crave.

You roll over and grab your phone, staring at the screen as it blinks with an incoming message.

A new message from Caleb. Just like every other morning. Just like clockwork.

Good morning, pipsqueak. Did you eat breakfast already?

You stare at the message and you answer, you always do.

Just waking up now. You know I'm not a morning person.

You hit send before you can overthink it, before the bitter taste of jealousy can creep back into your mouth.

You busy yourself with the mundane tasks of getting ready, trying to push away the lingering ache in your chest. You choose an outfit on autopilot, not really caring what you wear. A simple t-shirt and jeans will have to do.

You get another message and you glance at your phone, expecting to see Caleb's name flashing on the screen. But instead, you find a message from Tara. You hesitate, your thumb hovering over the notification. Going out isn't really your thing, not with everything that's been weighing on your mind lately.

Hey girl! Wanna hit up that new club downtown tonight? I heard it's lit af. ;) What do you say, bestie?

You stare at the message, reading it over and over again. Normally, you'd decline. Make up some excuse about being tired or having too much work to do. But tonight... tonight you need a distraction. Anything to get your mind off things.

Before you can overthink it, you type out a reply, your fingers moving on their own accord.

Sure, why not. Count me in. ;) Pick me up at 7?

🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎

You step back from the full length mirror, your eyes traveling the length of the dress Tara lent you. It's a shimmering midnight blue number, the fabric clinging to your curves in all the right places. But it's the length, or lack of that has you second guessing this entire idea.

The hemline sits dangerously high on your thighs, barely grazing the tops of your legs. It's a far cry from your usual casual attire of jeans and t-shirts. You're not used to showing so much skin, to feeling so exposed.

As if sensing your hesitation, Tara appears behind you in the reflection, a mischievous grin playing on her lips. She places her hands on your shoulders, squeezing gently.

"You look smoking hot! Why the long face?" she asks, her brow furrowing in concern.

You bite your lower lip, worrying it between your teeth. "I don't know, Tara. I just...I'm not used to wearing something so...revealing.

Just tonight y/n," Tara reassures you "You deserve to let loose a little after all the hard work you've been putting in. A night out with the girls will do you good."

You know she's right. It has been a while since you last went out and had some real fun. Work has consumed most of your waking hours, and the rest has been spent...thinking about him. Him and her. Him and his laugh that wasn't meant for you.

Lost in thought, you hardly register the short walk to Tara's car. Before you know it, you're sliding into the passenger seat, the leather cool against your bare thighs.

As Tara pulls out onto the main road, you suddenly remember something. Or rather, forget something. You reach for your phone instinctively before remembering that you left it on Tara's dresser.

"Crap, I forgot my phone," you groan.

Tara glances at you, one eyebrow arched. "Do you want to go back and get it?" she asks, already slowing down to pull over to the side of the road.

You hesitate for a moment, weighing the pros and cons. In the end, you shake your head. "No, it's okay. I think I'm good without it for one night"

You settle back into the leather seat, watching the city lights blur past the window as Tara speeds towards the new club downtown.

As the night goes on, you find yourself getting lost in the music, the pulsing beats vibrating through your body as you dance with your friends. The alcohol buzzes warmly in your veins and for a few hours, you allow yourself to forget. To forget the jealousy and heartache that's been consuming you.

You're sandwiched between Tara and another friend, the three of you bouncing and swaying in sync to the pounding beat. Suddenly, a cute guy with a charming smile appears in front of you.

"Hey there," he shouts over the music, leaning in close so you can hear him. "I'm Jason. Wanna dance?"

He extends a hand, his smile widening. Normally, you might have been hesitant, or even said no. But tonight, with the alcohol coursing through your veins and the music pumping you up, you find yourself nodding.

"Sure," you reply, taking his hand and letting him pull you closer.

As the two of you begin to dance, you feel a flicker of excitement. It's nice, being desired. Being wanted. Even if it's not by...him. You push the thought away, refusing to let it ruin this moment.

Jason is a good dancer, his movements confident. He spins you around, pulling you back in close, his hands resting on your hips. You find yourself laughing, the music and the moment overwhelming you in the best way possible.

For a brief instant, you allow yourself to imagine that this could be more than just a dance. That this cute guy could be someone you could see yourself with. But then reality sets in, and you remember the truth:

Your heart belongs to someone else. Someone you can never have. No matter how hard you try to forget, how much you drink, or how many cute guys you dance with.

The room spins as you feel Jason kiss you, his lips foreign and unfamiliar against your own. Your eyes flutter closed, trying to lose yourself in the sensation, desperate to forget the man who truly owns your heart. But as you press your mouth harder against his, you realize that this kiss...it's all wrong.

His lips are too thin, not soft and plush like...like Caleb's. The shape is different, the feel of them unfamiliar. And his breath...it doesn't smell like sweet apples.

A pang of disappointment shoots through you as the realization hits this isn't the kiss you've been dreaming of. This isn't the man you've been longing for. This is just a cruel imitation, a poor substitute for the real thing.

You pull back, breaking the kiss abruptly. Jason looks startled for a moment before a confused frown crosses his face. You open your mouth to say something, to apologize or explain, but no words come out.

Instead, you feel a wave of nausea roll over you, the alcohol you've consumed churning uncomfortably in your stomach. You stumble back from Jason, pressing a hand to your mouth as you try to hold back the urge to vomit.

"Excuse me," you mutter, not meeting his eyes as you turn and push your way through the crowd on the dance floor.

You make it to the bathroom just in time, collapsing in front of the toilet and retching violently. Tears stream down your face as you empty the contents of your stomach, the bitter taste of regret and self loathing coating your tongue.

You splash some cold water on your face, staring at your reflection in the mirror, eyes red and puffy, your makeup smeared from crying and the heat of the club. But looking back at you is the face of a girl who's in love with someone she can never have. A girl who's trying desperately to forget, but failing miserably.

You stumble out of the bathroom, still feeling shaky and off balance.The last person you expect to see tonight is standing right there in front of you, his tall frame unmistakable even in the low light.

Caleb.

He's dressed in button down shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and dark jeans that hug his muscular thighs. His hair is slightly tousled, like he's been running his fingers through it in agitation. And his eyes...his eyes are fixed on you, a stormy violet that betrays his emotions.

Your eyes widen in shock as Caleb strides towards you, his long legs eating up the distance between you in just a few quick steps. Before you can react, he's upon you, his large hands gripping your waist. In one almost effortless motion, he hoists you up and over his shoulder, leaving your head dangling down his back.

"Caleb!" you yelp, instinctively grabbing onto his shirt to steady yourself. "What are you doing? Put me down!"

But he ignores your protests, his grip on your thighs tightening as he turns to stalk out of the club. Tara watches in stunned silence, her mouth hanging open.

"Oh, hey Caleb," she starts to say, but he cuts her off before she can finish.

"Do you have a way to get home safely?" he asks, his voice low and gruff.

"Yes," Tara replies, her eyes flicking to you in confusion and a hint of concern.

Without waiting for her to finish, Caleb starts walking, carrying you through the crowded club. You bounce and jostle with each step, your dress riding up dangerously high on your thighs. You can feel the cool air on your exposed skin, the fabric of his shirt rough against your cheek.

"Caleb, stop!" you cry, pounding your fist against his back. "You can't just take me like this! I can walk on my own."

But he remains silent, his jaw clenched tight as he pushes through the crowd. You catch glimpses of the curious stares and whispers as he passes.

Soon, the loud music fades behind you as Caleb bursts out of the club and into the cool night air. The sudden change in temperature makes you shiver, and you instinctively press closer to the warmth of his body.

He doesn't stop until he reaches a sleek, black car parked at the curb. With a grunt, he yanks open the passenger door and unceremoniously dumps you onto the leather seat. You land with a thud, the breath knocked out of your lungs temporarily.

Before you can scramble away, he's sliding into the driver's seat beside you, slamming the door shut. The sound of it clicking closed makes you jump, and you shrink back against the far window, eyeing him warily.

"What the hell, Caleb?" you demand, your voice shaking slightly from the cold and the shock of being so abruptly kidnapped. "Why did you just do that? I can't believe you!"

He doesn't respond right away, his grip tightening on the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white. The engine hums loudly in the tense silence between you as he starts driving.

Finally, he slams on the brakes, the car jerking to a halt. He turns to face you, his eyes blazing with an emotion you can't quite place anger, jealousy, pain?

"Did you enjoy it?" he asks, his voice low and rough. "Did you enjoy what you were doing back there with him?"

You glare back at Caleb, your eyes flashing with anger and defiance. "I was enjoying every second of it," you retort, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "In fact, I'm thinking of going back again. Maybe I'll let him kiss me again, maybe I'll let him do even more than that"

You feel a surge of anger rising up inside you, your cheeks flushing hot with both fury and humiliation. How dare he accuse you like this, demand answers to questions he has no right to ask? He had no right to drag you out of there like some kind of caveman!

"Did you enjoy his attention?"

"Did you enjoy hers?"

"So this is what all of this is about?"

"Did you?"

"I hated every second of it"

You grip the edge of your seat as he speeds off, the car lurching forward and the rest of the way home is silent.

Once you get home you step out of the car, not waiting for him to open your door. You walk ahead of him, your heels clicking loudly against the pavement as you cross the parking lot to your apartment building. The cool night air nips at your bare legs, but you barely feel it. You're too focused on the man following close behind you

You can feel his gaze burning into your back, hot and intense. It makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

As you approach your front door, you hesitate, your hand hovering over the handle. You know you should say something, should try to diffuse the tension that's building between you. But what can you say?

You turn to face him, your heart pounding in your chest. He's standing close, too close, his broad shoulders taking up almost the entire doorway. He's looking down at you, his eyes dark and stormy, his jaw clenched so tightly you think he might break his teeth.

"Caleb..." you start, but the words die in your throat.

His hand comes up, his fingers brushing against your cheek. You lean into the touch instinctively, your eyes fluttering closed for a moment. When you open them again, he's looking at you with a mix of anger, jealousy, and something else... something softer.

"Just... go inside," he says quietly. "Before I do something we'll both regret."

You barely make it inside before the nausea hits you again and you run to the bathroom. Once again falling to your knees in front of the toilet, you retch, your stomach churning as you empty its contents. Tears stream down your face, mingling with the drool and sweat as sobs wrack your body.

Behind you, you hear the click of the bathroom door closing, and then the sound of Caleb's footsteps on the tile floor. He doesn't say a word, but you feel his presence looming over you, as solid and comforting as it always was when you were a kid.

His hands gather your hair, pulling it back from your face and holding it out of the way as you continue to heave and retch. Just like he used to do when you were little and got sick after eating too much ice cream.

The memory makes you cry even harder, great gulping sobs that hurt your chest and burn your throat. You're suddenly transported back to those simpler times, when all you needed was Caleb to make everything better. When he was your rock, your protector, your best friend in the whole wide world.

Why did things have to get so complicated? Why did falling in love with him have to ruin everything? You were happier before, when you could just be with him without all this fear and longing and heartache.

You're dimly aware of Caleb shifting behind you, his arm wrapping around your waist to hold you up as the last of the sickness leaves your body. He rubs your back in soothing circles, just like he used to, crooning soft words of comfort into your ear.

"Shh, I've got you," he murmurs, his voice low and deep and so achingly familiar. "I'm here, pipsqueak. I'm not going anywhere."

You let Caleb help you brush your teeth, rinsing the bitter taste of sickness from your mouth. He hands you a glass of water and a couple of pills, no doubt for the headache that's starting to throb behind your eyes.

Without a word, you take them, swallowing them down with a few gulps of the cool water. Caleb watches you silently, his expression unreadable.

When you're finished, he takes your hand and leads you back out to the bedroom. The room spins slightly as you walk, and you have to lean against him for support. He steadies you easily, his arm wrapping around your waist.

At the bed, he pauses, letting you sit down on the edge of the mattress. You watch as he pulls back the covers, the sheets smooth and cool and inviting. He helps you lie down, tucking the blanket around your shoulders like you're a child.

You settle back against the pillows, suddenly exhausted by the events of the night. Caleb stands over you, looking down at your face. In the moonlight filtering through the window, his expression is soft, almost tender.

He reaches out, brushing a strand of hair off your forehead. His fingers linger, tracing the curve of your cheek, the line of your jaw. You lean into his touch, your eyes fluttering closed.

"Sleep now," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'll be here when you wake up."

You believe him, because you've always believed him. Because he's always kept his promises, no matter what. Even when the world felt like it was falling apart around you, Caleb was your constant, your safe haven, your home.

With a sigh, you let yourself sink into the mattress, the exhaustion pulling you down into a deep sleep. The last thing you hear before everything fades to black is the soft click of the bedroom door as Caleb steps out, giving you privacy and space, just like he always does. Just like he's always done. Even in sleep, you reach for him, your hand searching for the warmth and solidity of his body. But that side its empty, the sheets cool and smooth and untouched.

You wake with a start, your heart pounding in your chest. The sheets beneath you are damp with sweat, tangled around your legs. For a moment, you're disoriented, unsure of where you are or how you got here.

Memories of the night before come rushing back, the club, Caleb's fury, the sickening nausea that left you weak and shaking. You shiver as a chill runs through you, the cold sweat on your skin making you feel clammy and unclean.

Slowly, you sit up, pushing the damp hair out of your face. Your mouth feels dry, your tongue thick and furry.

You swing your legs over the side of the bed, standing up gingerly as a wave of dizziness washes over you. You grab onto the edge of the bed, waiting for it to pass before taking a tentative step forward.

As you creep towards the door, you suddenly remember Caleb's parting words. He said he'd be here when you woke up. You hadn't been sure what to make of that at the time, too tired and miserable to think it through. But now, a flicker of worry ignites in your chest.

You slip out the bedroom door and into the darkened living room. At first, you don't see him. The room is small and cramped, filled with the detritus of your life. Clothes are strewn over the back of the couch, empty cups and plates litter the coffee table. It's a mess, a reflection of the chaos inside your head.

But then you see him. He's stretched out on the tiny sofa, his long legs dangling off the edge, his broad shoulders hunched to fit the too small space.

You step closer, your heart starting to pound for a different reason now. Caleb looks so peaceful when he's asleep, his face relaxed, his dark lashes fanning out against his cheeks. He's even more beautiful like this, without the anger and pain that usually clouds his eyes.

As you tiptoe back towards the bathroom, you pause for a moment, glancing back at Caleb's sleeping form. He's shifted slightly, one arm falling off the couch to hang down to the floor.

A pang of guilt spears through you as you remember the anger in his eyes last night. The jealousy. The pain. All because of you and your stupid, impulsive actions.

Shaking your head, you quickly look away, hurrying into the bathroom. You turn on the shower, waiting for the water to heat up. As steam starts to fill the small room, you strip off your clothes, letting them drop to the floor. You step into the shower, sighing as the hot water hits your cool skin.

You scrub yourself thoroughly, washing away the grime and sweat of the night before. But no matter how hard you scrub, you can't seem to wash away the shame and guilt that clings to you like a second skin.

With a heavy sigh, you turn off the water, stepping out of the shower. You wrap a towel around your body, tucking it in at the top.

You walk out of the bathroom, still wrapped in your towel, steam curling around your legs.

As you step into the bedroom, you freeze, your heart leaping into your throat.

There, sitting on the edge of your bed, is Caleb. He looks big and imposing in your small bedroom, taking up more space than he should.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The silence stretches between you, thick and heavy with unspoken words and lingering anger.

Then Caleb breaks the silence, his voice low and rough from sleep. "Hey," he says simply, his gaze never leaving yours.

You swallow hard, suddenly feeling very aware of your state of undress. You clutch the towel tighter around your body, as if it could somehow shield you from the intensity of his stare.

Hey," you reply softly, not trusting yourself to speak any louder.

He stands up then, moving towards you with slow, deliberate steps. He stops when he's standing right in front of you. You have to tilt your head back to look up at him, your heart pounding wildly in your chest.

"You really don't get it, do you?"

His thumb presses against your lower lip, tracing the soft curve. He leans in closer, his breath mingling with yours. You can smell the faint scent of apples, the lingering aroma of his cologne. It's the same scent that always lingers on your skin after he holds you close.

"I saw the way those men looked at you last night," he grits out, a flicker of anger sparking in his eyes. "I saw them staring at what's mine. And it made me want to... to..."

"Yours?"

"Yes, mine" he confirms "You've been mine for years. Long before you even realized it."

He takes a shuddering breath, his chest expanding and when he speaks again, his words are raw and unguarded, laid bare by the weight of his emotions.

"I can't hold back anymore. I can't pretend that I don't want you, that I don't need you like air in my lungs. I've wanted you for so long, and seeing you with him last night... it made me realize that I can't keep pretending anymore."

"I would never touch another woman, not when you're all I can think about. Not when you've consumed my every thought, my every dream, for as long as I can remember. You're the one constant in my life. My everything."

Caleb's eyes widen for a split second in surprise before they flutter shut as your lips meet his in a clash of long denied passion. He makes an approving sound in the back of his throat, his arms wrapping around you to crush you against his muscular body.

It's like a dam bursting open, a flood of pent up emotion and desire pouring out of him as he kisses you with a hunger that steals your breath away. His lips move demandingly over yours, his tongue delving into your mouth to claim and possess.

You feel the same desperate hunger rising up inside you, a starving ache that can only be sated by him. Your fingers clutch at his shirt, fisting the fabric as you press yourself even closer, needing to feel every inch of him against every inch of you.

His hands roam your body with a sense of urgency, mapping out the curves he's always craved to touch. He tugs impatiently at the towel, and it falls away, baring your naked flesh to his eyes. He breaks the kiss just long enough to drink in the sight of you.

He leans down to capture one of your nipples in his mouth, his tongue swirling around the hardened peak before he suckles hard. Pleasure jolts through you, and you arch into him, your fingers tangling in his hair to hold him close.

His hand slides down your stomach, his fingers leaving a trail of fire in their wake. He parts your thighs, and you feel the cool air on your overheated skin before his fingers find your center.

He groans against your breast, his fingers sliding through your folds, teasing your clit with a skill that has you seeing stars. "So fucking wet," he murmurs, lifting his head to look at you with eyes that blaze with lust. "All for me, Pip?

He walks you backwards until your legs hit the edge of the bed. His hands grip your thighs, squeezing the soft flesh as he lifts you up effortlessly. You wrap your legs around his waist instinctively.

He lays you down on the bed, his body covering yours, pinning you to the mattress. He kisses you again, his hips nestling between your spread thighs.

Pulling back, he looks down at you with eyes darkened by desire, his chest heaving. "Tell me where you want me, baby"

He strokes the soft skin of your inner thighs, his thumbs brushing maddeningly close to the apex of your legs.

"Here?" he murmurs, his fingers grazing your sex, "or maybe... here? Show me"

"Caleb..."

"Show me, Y/N"

Slowly you spread your legs apart, feet flat on the mattress and you point a finger in between your thighs "Here"

"Dip one finger in"

You obey his command. He inhales sharply when your finger parts your glistening folds. His eyes follow the path of your finger as it trails over your sensitive clit, and a low groan escapes his lips at the sight of your touch.

"Stop" his voice makes you pause, your finger hovering just above your needy sex as you blink up at him.

"Not there," he says, "Dip just the tip of your finger straight into your tight little cunt. Let me see you open yourself up for me."

The tip of your finger disappears inside of you. He licks his lips, his eyes fixated on the way your walls clench around it, as if begging for something more.

"That's enough, I want a taste. Feed it to me"

You withdraw your finger from your dripping pussy and bring your finger to Caleb's parted lips, watching as he takes it into his mouth without hesitation. His tongue swirls around the tip, lapping up your essence, his lips sealing around the digit as he suckles firmly. An approving moan vibrates around your finger, the sound sending shivers of pleasure racing through your body.

"Mmm, fuck," he murmurs, releasing your finger from his mouth. "You taste even better than I imagined. Believe me when I say that I'm going to lick this sweet little cunt until you're screaming my name and cumming on my tongue over and over again. But right now, I need to be inside you"

With that declaration, he sits back on his heels and reaches for the hem of his shirt, he pulls it over his head and tosses it aside. His muscles ripple and flex as he moves, a testament to the strength and power that lies beneath his skin.

Next, he unbuckles his belt. He stands briefly to shimmy out of his jeans, letting them drop to the floor and leaving him in nothing but a pair of tight, black boxer briefs that do little to hide the thick outline of his arousal.

He crawls back over you, settling between your spread thighs, his hips nestling against yours. He leans down to capture your lips in a kiss, his tongue delving deep to taste you again. You can feel the heat of his skin, the hard length of him pressing insistently against your core.

Breaking the kiss, he reaches down to push his boxers out of the way, freeing his cock. It springs up thick and hard, the swollen head already glistening with precum. He takes himself in hand, stroking himself slowly as he looks down at you.

Caleb groans and throws his head back as your small hand wraps around him. "Princess," he grunts, his hips bucking slightly into your touch. He can feel your hesitation, your innocence, and it makes him want to take his time with you.

When you push him back onto the bed and settle between his spread thighs, his chest heaves with anticipation. He can only watch as you lean down and extend your little pink tongue to lick a slow, teasing path along the underside of his cock.

"Oh, fuck," he gasps, his fingers tangling in your hair, gripping the soft strands tightly.

"Teach me how to do it, I want to make you feel good"

"Fuck, Pip," he rasps, his hips twitching with the effort of holding still and letting you take the lead. "You're killing me here. Your mouth feels so fucking good."

He guides your head with a gentle pressure, encouraging you to take more of him into your mouth. "Start by just licking along the shaft," he instructs, his voice strained. "Use the flat of your tongue, from the base up to the tip."

As you follow his directions, he shudders and lets out a low moan. "That's it, just like that. You're doing so good, princess. Your mouth is perfect."

"Now," he continues, his breathing growing heavier, "try wrapping your lips around the head. Just the tip, okay? And suck gently, like you would with a lollipop. Use your lips and your tongue toge...Ungh...Fuck, just like that," Caleb groans, his fingers tightening in your hair as he feels your soft lips wrap around the swollen head of his cock.

He guides your head down a little further, inch by inch, letting you take more of his thick length into your mouth. "Remember to breathe through your nose, and don't worry about taking it all at once. Just focus on the head for now."

As you suck gently, your tongue swirling around the tip, Caleb's thighs tremble beneath your hands. "Shit...fuck. Now, try bobbing your head a little. Just an inch at a time, letting your lips slide along my shaft. Find a rhythm that feels good for you."

He looks down at you, his eyes dark and intense, filled with a mix of lust and affection. "You're doing amazing. I've never felt anything like this before. Your mouth is pure magic."

He watches, enraptured, as your head rises and falls, your lips wrapped snugly around him. The sight of your pretty mouth stretched around him, the feeling of your warm, wet mouth enveloping him, its too much for Caleb to take.

Caleb's body tenses, his grip on your hair tightening as he feels his release fast approaching. With a low groan, he suddenly moves, sliding his throbbing shaft from the warm haven of your mouth.

Before you can miss the loss, he's moving, flipping your body over and settling between your thighs once more. His hands grip your hips, squeezing the soft flesh as he positions himself at your entrance.

"Not yet, baby," he rasps, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "I can't cum like that, not before I feel you wrapped around me. I want to be inside you when you let go."

The head of his cock nudges against your wet folds, parting them, teasing your entrance. His breath comes in short, sharp gasps as he fights the urge to surge forward, to bury himself to the hilt in one thrust.

"Can I?"

"Please Caleb"

"Biiiig stretch," Caleb grunts, his voice strained as he thrusts forward. He buries himself to the hilt slowly, his heavy balls coming to rest against your skin.

Your gasp of surprise and the way your back arches off the bed, pressing your breasts against his chest, spurs him on.

He pauses for a moment, letting you adjust to the size of him, the stretch of your untouched walls around his shaft. His heart pounds wildly in his chest, a mix of exertion and exhilaration. The heat of your core is incredible, the wetness coating his length allowing him to slide in and out of you.

He pulls back slowly, until just the tip of his cock remains inside you, before thrusting forward again, burying himself deep. He sets a steady rhythm, his hips rocking against yours as he fucks you with long, deep strokes.

He lifts your leg, hooking it over his shoulder as he angles his hips and thrusts deep, striking a spot inside you that makes your back arch off the bed.

"Do that again," you gasp, your nails digging into his back, urging him on. Your words inflame him, spurring him to do exactly as you asked. He pulls back and slams forward again, his thick cock pummeling that sensitive spot deep inside your core.

"That's it, it's there!" you cry out, your head thrown back, your throat bared to his hungry gaze.

He leans down, capturing your nipple his teeth grazing the sensitive peak. He suckles and nips at the hardened bud. His hand slides between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing the swollen nub in tight, quick circles.

Your screams of pleasure fill the room, a symphony of ecstasy that makes Caleb's heart soar. He can feel your body trembling beneath him, your walls fluttering and clenching around him. The pleasure is overwhelming, unlike anything you've ever experienced on your own. It leaves you dizzy and breathless, your mind hazing with the intensity of it all.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," Caleb grunts, his voice strained as he pounds into you with wild abandon. Sweat beads on his brow, his muscles flexing and rippling with each thrust. He's lost in the sensation of your tight cunt, in the way your body molds to his perfectly.

But then, he feels it. The way your hips start to rock up to meet his, your body instinctively seeking more pleasure. Your legs wrap around his waist, your heels digging into his backside as you urge him deeper, harder, faster.

"Don't fucking stop," you manage to gasp out between ragged breaths and wanton moans. "Don't ever stop, Caleb. Please."

He reaches down, gripping your thigh and hiking your leg even higher, until your knee is nearly pressed to your chest. The new angle allows him to drive even deeper into your core, his cock head kissing your cervix with each savage thrust. The bed creaks beneath you, the headboard slamming against the wall.

Your body tenses, back arching sharply as the coil of pleasure inside you snaps. A scream tears from your throat, raw and primal, as your climax crashes over you. Your walls clamp down around him like a vice, gripping his length with a force that steals his breath. The sensation is too much, too intense, too perfect.

His hips stutter, his rhythm faltering as your cunt milks his cock, demanding his own climax.

His cock pulses and throbs as he finds his own release, thick ropes of hot seed erupting from the swollen head to paint your insides white.

"I can't... I can't believe it," he gasps, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. "I thought I could last longer, but you just... god, Pip, you just felt too fucking good."

He's not sure if he was too rough, too demanding in his desire to claim you, to make you his. The thought that he might have hurt you leaves him feeling guilty and protective.

"Are you okay?" he asks softly. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing gently over your skin. "Did I hurt you, baby? I didn't mean to be so rough..."

He searches your face intently, looking for any sign of discomfort or pain. But all he sees is a reflection of his own satisfaction, his own lingering pleasure.

You shake your head, a small smile playing at the corners of your mouth. "No, I'm not hurt," you assure him

"Wanna go again?" he asks teasingly. He rocks his hips slightly, his softening cock still nestled deep inside your sensitive core.

"You're secretly a dirty dog, Caleb," you accuse playfully, a giggle escaping your lips. You nip at his jaw, your teeth grazing the stubble that's begun to grow there. "A big, bad, horny dog."

Caleb's only response is a low, rumbling "Woof," his lips curling into a wolfish grin.

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sergeantbuckybarnes · 25 days ago

Text

truth will set you free // bob reynolds

Summary: You are injected with a truth serum during a mission, and when you return to the Watchtower, you must avoid Bob in order not to spill your feelings for him, but this causes Bob to believe he has done something to upset you.

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Thunderbolts!Reader

Word count: 2.6K

Warnings: bob's self-doubt, forced love confession (cause reader is under the influence of a serum), misunderstandings, fluff

A/N: As always, remember English is not my first language. I didn't want to wait any longer to post this, so it hasn't been proofread, I'm sorry folks!

My first time writing for Bob!!! I hope I did him justice, and I apologize if he's a bit OOC. I'm still trying to figure him out.

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When you had a hunch, you were usually right.

It was like a faint whisper in your mind, guiding you through the uncertainty and helping you make the right choice just in time. You could say that instinct was your secret weapon—a trusted friend in moments when logic alone couldn't see the whole picture. Even when doubts crept in, deep down, you knew to listen to that subtle nudge that had saved you more than once.

But this time, you shut it down and ignored all the red alarms.

Partly because you didn’t want to let the team down, and partly because you convinced yourself you were overthinking.

You pushed forward, dismissing the uneasy feeling gnawing at the back of your mind and telling yourself that everything was under control. Yet, deep inside, a small voice still murmured warnings, reminding you that ignoring your intuition could lead to unforeseen trouble.

And that was exactly what happened.

Regardless of your abilities, certain missions challenged your boundaries, particularly those requiring retrievals from shady labs, which were your least favorite.

You wouldn’t hesitate to fight aliens, villains from other universes, or even Valentina. But you despised slippery scientists—those who utilized their brains and intelligence to create questionable serums and conduct human trials.

There was something about their manipulation of life itself, their blatant disregard for morality, that made your stomach churn. You had witnessed the damage firsthand—innocent lives turned into test subjects, minds warped by their greed and arrogance.

You were perceptive and quick-witted, but the tension of the moment when you broke into the lab and the so-called brain people started to fight back caught you off guard. They moved with a calculated experience that belied their appearance, more than someone who spends over 12 hours a day in a white coat, peering at cells through a microscope, would have.

Ava wasn’t fast enough to reach you in time.

And before you could react, a sharp sting shot through your leg—an injection delivered with clinical precision. You barely had time to register what was happening before the world tilted, and everything blurred around the edges. The voices of your teammates were drowned out by the deafening chaos, and then, you were fighting not only to stay conscious but also to try to understand what was being injected into you and what it might do.

Despite the circumstances that led you to the vault on that fateful day, and despite being part of a team of people just like you, as well as all the bad decisions you've made along the way, you had always considered yourself an honest person.

So being injected with a truth serum wasn’t the worst outcome, right?

But that strange sense of detachment wasn’t you. Not at all.

Your instincts, the voice in your head that usually kept you grounded, had fallen silent. They were drowned out by the serum rushing through your veins.

Your mouth moved on autopilot.

No filter.

No control.

Despite your strenuous efforts to keep them contained, words spilled out. Confessions, secrets, and fears poured forth unfiltered and raw.

And there was one confession you simply could not allow to escape.

“It’s probably just temporary,” Yelena said with a reassuring look. “We’ll run some tests when we arrive back at the tower.”

Everything would be fine.

That’s what they promised.

But you weren’t so sure of that.

You had been confined in your room for two weeks, completely isolated. There was no interaction with anyone other than Yelena, who brought you food every day. However, she remained silent, respecting your request. And you battled to keep your words contained, to preserve control over what you might say.

The atmosphere in the tower was tense and divisive, to put it mildly.

Walker thought you were overreacting; he didn’t see the big deal. So what if you couldn’t lie? Did you have something to hide?

Ava and Yelena, on the other hand, seemed sympathetic to your situation. They understood the gravity of what you were going through.

Bucky, who knew what it felt like not to be in control of what you do and say, was also empathetic. He'd even explained the predicament to Sam in hopes he could help him find a solution.

Alexei... Well, he was the same as always.

And then there was Bob.

Adorable, sweet, and awkward Bob.

He had been eagerly anticipating your return from the mission. He missed you when you were gone, even though he lacked the courage to say so out loud.

Bob was confused.

Why hadn’t you come out of your room? Why hadn’t you been around? Had you been hurt during the mission? Had he done something to upset you? Were you mad at him?

Deep down, he knew it was only a matter of time before you got tired of him.

‘You’re too much.’

‘What did you expect, idiot?’

“It was… a tough mission. She needs to be alone.” That was what Yelena had told him in an effort to soothe him, knowing how close he was to you, how much he cared, and how his feelings lingered beyond friendship.

However, her words did not have the expected effect.

Tonight, he couldn’t endure it any longer. The nightmares had returned, creeping into his mind with a relentless, smothering power.

The darkness had once faded when he sought comfort in your presence, finding solace in your embrace. You had become his safe sanctuary, where the shadows could not reach him.

But now that refuge was gone.

He stood outside your door, fumbling with the sleeves of his sweatshirt. He hesitated, unsure whether to knock or quietly retreat into the shadows. The wait stretched painfully until finally, he drew in a shaky breath, summoning every ounce of courage he had left to reach out.

“Yelena, is that you?”

Your voice sounded faint through the door, with a tinge of hesitancy that he picked up on.

“I-I’m Bob.”

He heard you sigh, and he knew you'd approached the door.

“Bob, it’s not a good time.”

His stomach clenched, but he pressed on, his voice barely above a whisper. “Please, I-I need you.” His words were filled with desperation. “I had a nightmare.”

There was no immediate answer, only a prolonged silence that seemed to last forever. For a minute, he worried if you were ignoring him, if you didn’t care enough to respond. Minutes seemed to crawl by as he remained rooted in place, caught in the stillness of the hallway. Still, he stayed there, vulnerable and trembling, hoping—praying—that somehow, you would hear his silent plea.

You slowly pushed the door open, the creak of the hinges slicing through the dense silence like a fragile whisper. The dim, flickering light from the hallway cast faint shadows across your face, accentuating the concern etched in your features. His eyes, glassy and pleading, met yours as he hesitated for a while longer.

Without fully thinking, you reached out and pulled him into your bedroom, locking the door behind him. He sank onto the edge of your bed, shoulders quivering, voice barely a whisper as he broke the silence.

“Thank you,” he murmured, eyes searching yours for reassurance.

You moved closer instinctively, trying to maintain your composure, fighting the urge to let anything slip. It crushed your heart to see Bob in this condition, knowing you were to blame. You were so set on avoiding him that you hadn't considered how much it would impact him not to have you at his side, especially at night.

“Come here,” you whispered, your voice soothing. Reaching out, you drew him into your embrace, feeling his body relax slightly as he buried his face in your shoulder.

He clung to you tightly. You stroked his hair, murmuring soothing words and giving him the reassurance he desperately needed.

You stayed there, feeling the rise and fall of his chest as he gradually found calm. The tension in his body loosened, and his heartbeat steadied into a peaceful rhythm, no longer pounding with dread.

“Are you mad at me?” he finally asked, his voice small, almost cracking.

“What? No, of course not.”

“You've been locked in your room for two weeks.”

“I know, but—” You bite your tongue, fighting to keep the truth from spilling.

The last two weeks had been easy in some ways, since you had zero contact with anyone. But now, having Bob here with you, in your arms, looking so vulnerable and so starved of affection, your resolve wavered.

“Yelena said something went wrong during the last mission.”

“It did,” the words were out of your mouth before you realized.

‘Don’t ask what happened, please, don’t ask what happened.’

He stretched out gingerly, his hand trembling as he gently stroked your arm. “What happened?”

And, like clockwork, the truth spilled out again. “I was injected with a truth serum.”

Bob's eyes widened in amazement. “You–you what?”

“We were in the lab, and this guy appeared out of nowhere. I didn't see him coming. I couldn't react in time, and before I realized it, he’d injected me with a syringe.”

His expression sank as he tried to digest what you had just disclosed. “That's why you've been locked up here.”

You nodded. “I am not sure how much longer the effect will persist. And my mouth can't seem to control itself right now,” you admitted, your tone tinted with frustration. “I keep feeling like I want to say things I shouldn't—as if my thoughts are spilling out before I can stop them. It's like my brain and mouth are warring, and I can't keep the words locked inside.”

“But the team… They know, right? They wouldn’t judge you if you said too much. And it’s not like you had something to hide.”

Bob struggled to grasp the situation and your reasoning for isolation.

Although he had just told you that the team would not judge you, he knew Walker would probably make some snide comment, maybe even take advantage of the situation. He still believed that the guy was an asshole.

“It’s not the team I’m hiding from; it’s you.”

The words tumbled out before you could stop them, and you immediately saw the impact. It was written all over Bob’s face. And you hated yourself for hurting him, again.

“You… You are hiding from me?” He stumbled over his words, the crack in his tone reflecting the disheartened expression that washed over him. “Why?”

And then it happened. The two weeks of isolation had been pointless. You knew it the moment Bob had knocked on your door and you let him inside. There was no more running.

“Because I can’t be around you,” you started, voice trembling as the truth slipped out. “You make me nervous, and I can’t control myself around you. All I want to do is tell you how much happiness you bring into my days. And I think you’re so damn cute, like you literally make me feel butterflies, and that’s something I haven’t felt since… Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever experienced something like this before.”

Bob’s eyes widened in disbelief, breath catching as your words flowed out, raw and honest, leaving him dumbfounded. He stared at you, processing, overwhelmed by your confession.

You averted your gaze, ashamed of how exposed you felt. “I’m sorry,” you admitted softly. “I don’t know how to handle these feelings, how much I care for you. I–I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable or anything. This is why I stayed away.”

“You–you like me?” He questioned, voice tentative, in astonishment. He was still trying to process what he had just heard. “Me?”

“‘Like’ isn’t even close to describing how I feel. I’m in love with you.”

You cringed as you pushed off from the bed, stepping away from him, overwhelmed by embarrassment.

This wasn’t how you were supposed to confess. You’ve ruined everything.

Fuck the lab. Fuck those scientists. Fuck the fucking truth serum.

As the weight of your words settled in, you wondered if anything could be salvaged from this moment or if the damage had already been done.

For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, he reached out, his hand trembling slightly as it brushed across your arm, making you spin around to face him. His eyes searched yours, shimmering with awe, tenderness, and…hope?

“Y–You mean that?” He whispered, his voice hoarse as if afraid to believe this was actually happening.

“I cannot lie, Bob. Remember? Only the truth is being spoken here.”

He hesitated briefly before cautiously reaching out, his hand trembling slightly as he cradled your face in his palm. His thumb brushed softly against your cheek, and without thinking, you leaned into his touch, feeling the warmth of his hand, and allowing yourself to fall into the moment.

“I didn’t think you’d ever feel that way about me.” His voice was tremulous, yet sincere. “When you’re around, everything else just… fades away. You make everything better.” He drew back just enough to stare into your eyes, his mesmerizing blue gaze seeking yours. “I–I love you, too, Y/N.”

“Really?” You were almost afraid to believe it, yet your heart skipped a beat and you could feel your stomach doing somersaults. “You don’t have to lie to spare my feelings, you know.”

“I’m not lying. I promise.”

You reached out, instinctively brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead, and for a moment, everything felt perfect—as if the world had stopped just for you two.

“Can I kiss you?”

“I don’t want to take advantage of you,” he hesitated.

You shook your head gently, “You’re not taking advantage of me. I want this. I have never wanted anything more.”

His cheeks flushed a delicate pink, but he nodded and leaned in carefully. The space between you narrowed until your lips finally met in a tentative kiss. His lips were soft against yours, just as you’d imagined. One hand clasped your cheek, his fingertips tracing the delicate curve of your jawline. The other rested on your waist, anchoring him as the kiss deepened.

His fingers curled slightly, grasping your side with gentle firmness. You laced your fingers through his brunette locks, pulling him closer, while your other hand rested on his chest above his heart, feeling the quick throbbing beneath your palm.

As your lips parted for air, still dazed from the moment, Bob rested his forehead against yours, breathing heavily, eyes still closed, savoring the moment. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he admitted softly.

Your pulse was thumping hard in your chest, not just from the kiss, but also from the exhilarating realization that this moment was merely the beginning of something new. “Me too,” you whispered.

As you both lingered in the moment, wrapped in each other’s embrace, you let out a light laugh, breaking the silence. “Well, I guess the truth serum was good for something after all,”

“I suppose so.” Bob’s lips twisted into a small, bashful smile, and he giggled softly with you.

“Come on.” You took his hand and tugged him toward your bed. “You look exhausted. Let’s get you into bed so you can finally rest properly.”

Bob snuggled beneath the covers, and you slid in beside him, pulling the blankets over both of you.

Resting your head on his chest, you felt a sense of calm rush over you. Bob wrapped his arm around you, holding you close. You curled up closer, soaking in the warmth radiating from his body and the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear. His eyelids fluttered shut as he relaxed, and a contented sigh escaped his lips.

#robert reynolds x reader #bob reynolds x reader #robert reynolds #bob reynolds #bob reynolds x you #robert reynolds x you #bob reynolds imagine #robert reynolds imagine #marvel #lewis pullman

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thedensworld · 3 months ago

Text

A New Vendetta| J. Ww

Pairing: Wonwoo x Mafia's daughter reader

Genre: arranged marriage au!, mafia au!

Type: angst, fluff, smut (mdni!)

Word count: 18k

Summary: Raised in an abusive family, you were thrown into an arranged marriage that overwhelmed you. Can you survive all of these?

Once you got into the cab and felt a hand cover your mouth with a cloth, a wave of dread swept over you. This was it, you thought. This was the end of your miserable life. You fought with every ounce of strength left in you, but as the world began to fade, your mind drifted to regrets you’d been holding on to. You could’ve accepted Mr. Seo’s offer for a date. You could’ve been kinder to your colleagues—especially Mrs. Chae. You could’ve treated your students with more warmth, if only you had known this was how it would end. Your end.

But then, somehow, you woke up.

You blinked against the dim light, disoriented, and slowly took in your surroundings. The posters, the bookshelves, the scent of lavender… You were in your old bedroom, the one you’d left behind four years ago. This was your parents' house.

You shot up from the bed, a dozen questions firing off in your mind. Hadn’t you been kidnapped? How were you here, of all places? You struggled to process, but then realization hit. This had to be your parents' or your brother's doing. They had found you...and forced you back.

"Welcome home," a low, familiar voice drawled.

You turned sharply to see Seungcheol standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame with an infuriatingly smug look on his face. So, it was him—your brother. It had been his doing all along.

A dry scoff escaped your lips. "Real classy," you muttered, rolling your eyes. Kidnapping you? A dramatic, underhanded stunt. But of course, it was nothing new—your family always preferred control over conversation.

Seungcheol’s eyes glinted as he strolled toward you, a self-satisfied smirk curving his lips. "Four years away from home, and look at that attitude." He reached out and roughly cupped your chin, lifting it so you had no choice but to meet his gaze.

"Don’t touch me!" you snapped, wrenching yourself free from his grasp. Seungcheol simply chuckled, an arrogance radiating off him that only made you bristle more. That glint in his eye was something darker, something that reminded you just how ruthless he could be.

But it was his next words that made the room go cold. "Don’t worry," he sneered, “you won’t be here longer than a week. We’ve got everything arranged."

You frowned, trying to make sense of his cryptic statement. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, forgive me for breaking the news so bluntly.” His voice was laced with mockery. “You’re going to marry into the Jeon family."

The words echoed in your mind, each one twisting like a knife. Marry into the Jeon family? Arranged…by them?

You barely managed to whisper, "The Jeons…?"

Seungcheol nodded, and before you could pull away, he patted your head with a mockery that felt almost sinister. "That’s right. Finally found you a purpose in this family." He dropped his hand, then suddenly grabbed a handful of your hair, yanking your head back so you were forced to look him in the eyes.

“And don’t think for a second you have a choice, Choi Y/n. Run as far as you want, but we’ll find you. Just like today."

A bitter chill settled over you as his words sank in.

This was how it would end, after all.

Weeks later, you sat at the dining table the night before your wedding, feeling like a ghost in your own life. Your father, mother, and brother sat around you, talking about the wedding, the Jeons, and your future—as if you weren’t sitting right there with them. Your father steered the conversation with a business-like precision, his words detached and clinical, while your brother chimed in with cold, calculated suggestions on how you should conduct yourself once you were officially part of the Jeon family. His every word seemed to emphasize your role as nothing more than a tool to cement a family alliance. And your mother? She just sat there in silence, powerless, not even a whisper of comfort to ease your loneliness.

You longed to go back—to your apartment, your sanctuary. The one place where you’d fought so hard for your independence, the place that held all your dreams of a life free from the shadows of your family’s influence. All the effort you’d put in—studying relentlessly through high school, earning a place at a prestigious university, fighting tooth and nail to live on your own, even moving to Busan to work like an ordinary person—all of it felt wasted. You would never be “normal” as long as you bore the Choi name, as long as Choi blood flowed through your veins.

The family’s construction company, the empire your father had built, was struggling. Business had slowed in recent years, and not even Seungcheol, with all his skills and clever maneuvers as a director, could salvage it alone. So, they played their last card: you. A political marriage, sealing your fate to secure the future of the family. It was nothing new in the Choi lineage—almost every member had been born into a marriage of convenience, a bond made for power, not love. It explained a lot. No one here was truly happy. Not even your parents.

“Make sure she doesn’t make a scene tomorrow,” your father said coldly, his words like a verdict. “Station guards around her room tonight. I don’t want her pulling any stunts. Ensure there’s no way she can run.”

With that, he rose from the table, his final words echoing in the air, suffocating you with their weight.

You let out a sigh, barely audible, a silent plea. Couldn’t they just leave you alone, even for a single moment?

The first time you saw your groom’s face was at the altar. You knew almost nothing about this underground world your father and brother had dragged the family into, this illegal network where alliances and debts seemed to rule over any shred of morality. But one thing was clear: the Jeon family was no better than yours. They were villains in this twisted world, and your husband could be just as dangerous.

Now, you stood in front of him, heart racing, every nerve on edge. His face was sharp, his jawline defined, and his expression unwavering. His brows conveyed a strong-willed intensity, and his eyes held a kind of passion that only unsettled you further. You hated it—they were far too similar to your father’s eyes, filled with ambition and control. Something was off, you could feel it.

Would he treat you the way your father treated your mother?

Would he hit you? Swears?

Would he belittle you, try to break you down until you were nothing?

You took a shaky, nervous breath before placing your hand in his, the cold weight of inevitability settling on your chest. Your head spun, each breath feeling more difficult than the last. Was this real? Were you seriously about to be married today?

You premised your students that you’d grade their tests by the weekend!

A sudden, firm grip tightened around your hand, yanking you from your thoughts. Jeon Wonwoo—his name, all you knew of him—stared down at you with an intensity that bordered on piercing, his gaze unwavering as if he could see right through you.

You’d never imagined yourself in a situation like this. You had vowed you’d never end up in a marriage of convenience like your parents, trapped by arrangements you didn’t control. You’d sooner die, you’d thought, than ever agree to be a pawn in their twisted game.

As the ceremony unfolded, his grip never loosening, your mind wandered to a single thought, dark and sharp like a knife’s edge.

How to escape this. Even if it meant finding your own way out—even if it cost your own life.

Wonwoo watched you intently during the dinner that followed the wedding. This was the first time the Jeon and Choi families had gathered together for a meal, but the tension in the room was thick and unrelenting. This marriage was a business deal, nothing more, a simple contract that would benefit both families as long as it remained intact. Divorce was out of the question. Everyone involved had too much at stake—including him.

He was grateful that the proposal had been accepted by your family; it meant he could finally begin building his own empire, a chance to distance himself from the family business that never suited him. But it was clear you didn’t share the sentiment. From the moment he laid eyes on you today, he could see it in the slump of your shoulders, the hollow look in your eyes. You were more than just unhappy—you looked utterly defeated.

He couldn’t exactly say he enjoyed the day either. Playing the perfect son for his father’s business associates, mingling with your family—well-known figures in the construction underworld—was draining. Thinking of it as a business transaction helped him get through it, masking the discomfort with a polished facade.

He had done his research before today, reading through the sparse details in your profile. The only daughter of the Choi family, you were an interesting puzzle. What intrigued him most was that you’d run off to Busan after returning from studying abroad, quietly taking a job at a university there, far from your family’s influence. That move was one he hadn’t expected.

Why did you leave?

His gaze shifted to your mother across the table. She looked as stoic as you, her face giving nothing away. Perhaps it was a family trait, this quiet, expressionless mask. Or maybe it was something else, a grief frozen in time—he recalled reading about your brother’s drowning a decade ago, a tragedy that seemed to cast a shadow over the Choi family even now. Whatever the reason, she, like you, appeared detached, locked away behind a wall of silence.

Wonwoo considered if he liked the idea of a “submissive” wife—someone like your mother, who seemed to blend into the background, supporting her husband’s dominance without question. Was that what he had expected of you? But there was a fire in your eyes, even buried beneath the sadness, that told him you weren’t going to be as easy to control.

“Honey, isn’t it time for Wonwoo and Y/n to go?” his mother asked, looking over at her husband and reminding everyone of your planned departure for Jeju Island. The Jeon owned a private villa there—a family vacation spot that had been chosen for the three-day honeymoon trip.

Wonwoo cleared his throat, glancing over at you. When your eyes finally met his, he was struck by the deep brown depths beneath your lashes. He wondered if they would ever show him anything other than wariness, whether he’d ever see any warmth or trust there.

He rose from his seat, his voice steady as he addressed the table. “I think it’s time we head out. Thank you all for today.”

He reached for your hand, feeling the cold sweat of your palm. Bowing to both families, he caught your brother Seungcheol’s pointed remark about being a “good wife.” You didn’t even flinch, giving him no reaction, no indication that you’d heard him at all.

It only made Wonwoo more curious. Just how close—or how distant—were you from this family that claimed to control you?

Wonwoo spent the day subtly observing, trying to piece together what kind of person you were. During the flight, he’d tested the waters—asking if you were cold, offering his jacket, holding your hand during a patch of turbulence just to see if you would react. But you remained composed, barely acknowledging him. Fewer than five words had escaped your lips the entire time, as though you were carefully crafted to reveal nothing.

As the two of you disembarked from the Jeon family’s private jet, Wonwoo kept hold of your hand, guiding you toward the grand villa where you’d be staying. The sight brought back memories—he’d spent countless childhood vacations here, running around with his cousins, exploring every corner. But those days were long gone, buried beneath responsibilities and the family business. He never thought he’d return under these circumstances, with a wife by his side. It struck him how fast time had passed.

“Are you tired?” he asked as you sank into a plush couch in the villa’s main room, exhaustion clear on your face. “You can head to bed first. I’ll join you after I make a call—”

“Can we have separate bedrooms?” You cut him off, your voice quiet but firm. He turned, eyebrows raised in surprise. So, you could speak, he thought, intrigued.

“Why?” he asked, genuinely curious. He hadn’t expected such a direct request—especially on your wedding night.

You shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. “It’s just… I have trouble sleeping when there’s someone else in the same room.”

He tilted his head, an amused smile tugging at his lips. This was the first real conversation the two of you had, and it was about where you’d sleep. “But we’re married. Aren’t we supposed to share a bed, even if we’re… not exactly on good terms?”

“But this is a business marriage,” you replied, voice steady yet distant. “I don’t think we need to sleep in the same room.”

So that’s what you’ve been thinking, Wonwoo mused. You saw this marriage as nothing more than a transaction, as if intimacy were just another formality you could avoid. He studied you for a moment, then nodded.

“Alright.” His agreement came quickly, almost to his own surprise. He was tired, too tired to debate it further.

“You can take the master bedroom,” he said, gesturing to the hall. “I’ll take the room next to yours.”

Without waiting for a reply, he walked out onto the balcony, pulling his phone from his pocket. There was a call he had to make, business that couldn’t wait—if he wanted even a chance at resting tonight.

As he stepped outside, he glanced back, catching a glimpse of you alone on the couch, your expression unreadable. The distance between you two felt vast, yet something about your quiet defiance intrigued him.

“Happy wedding, man,” a familiar voice greeted Wonwoo as his call connected.

Wonwoo scoffed, “How’d you know? I didn’t tell you.”

The other person chuckled. “I have my sources everywhere. So, is that why you were asking about a house in Busan? Are you moving?”

“Yeah, I am,” Wonwoo replied, glancing at the villa. “My people are stationed there, and it’ll be easier to manage things from that side.”

“Got it. I’ll send over some listings. Just let me know if you have any specific requests,” the voice on the line replied smoothly. “And by the way, enjoy your wedding night,” he added with a teasing tone.

Wonwoo let out a laugh as he ended the call, quickly opening his email to find the property listings his friend Mingyu had just sent. As he scrolled through the catalog, he couldn’t help but think it was a lucky coincidence that you were already working in Busan.

Perhaps, for once, things were aligning in his favor.

You opened your email first thing in the morning, only to find it oddly filled with congratulatory messages from your colleagues and students. What’s going on?

Just then, a text came in from Mr. Seo, offering his own congratulations on your marriage. He even apologized for asking you out a few times without realizing you were already taken. He thanked you for the parcel—something you hadn’t sent but were sure was Seungcheol’s doing. At least he was responsible enough to help cover the work you’d had to leave behind on such short notice.

A knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts. It was Wonwoo, his head peeking in, a faint smile appearing when he saw you were awake.

“Breakfast is ready. Come join me,” he said warmly.

You left the bedroom and made your way to the dining area, where a spread of food awaited. Wonwoo sat with his coffee, his other hand scrolling through something on his tablet.

“How’d you sleep?” he asked, glancing up from his screen as he sipped his coffee.

“Great,” you lied, forcing a small smile.

The truth was, you hadn’t slept at all. The image of Wonwoo walking off to the balcony last night lingered in your mind. Was he mad? Would he get angry if you made another request like that? Would he—like everyone else in your family—end up getting tired of you?

“I asked if you wanted coffee or milk,” Wonwoo said, bringing you back to the present. You blinked, realizing you’d been lost in thought.

“Oh, coffee, please. Thank you,” you muttered, feeling a little embarrassed. You caught a glimpse of a quiet laugh on his face as he poured coffee into your glass.

Wonwoo set down his tablet, his attention now fully on you. “Did you see the closet yet?” he asked, and you shook your head.

“My mom picked out a few things for the honeymoon. I hope you’ll like them,” he said, taking another sip.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, nodding politely.

As you watched Wonwoo during breakfast, he seemed calm and collected—so different from your brother, who always wore a smug, confrontational expression, or your father, whose look always seemed to say everyone owed him something.

It was a relief, but it frightened you, too. You couldn’t read him, couldn’t guess his next move. He was smiling as he spoke to the maid now, but could that change in a flash? Would he end up yelling or even hurting you the way your father had with your mother?

A chill ran down your spine at the thought. It had been years since you’d witnessed that kind of violence, at least until you’d been pulled back to your family’s house three weeks before the wedding. You remembered your brother grabbing you by the hair, your father screaming at your mother. You knew about Seungcheol’s revolving door of relationships—a habit he’d probably picked up from your father’s infidelities.

Would that be your life, too?

You better come up with some plans.

The calm and collected, the submissive and innocent—those were the labels Wonwoo had instinctively assigned to you when he first met you. Yet, who could have predicted your next move? Running away, just a day after your honeymoon ended.

Wonwoo was at work—his first day back after a four-day absence—engrossed in an important meeting when his right-hand man, Lee Seokmin, discreetly approached him. Leaning down, Seokmin whispered, “Your wife ran away.”

Wonwoo’s fingers drummed against his lap as he processed the words, a wave of irritation rolling over him. Now, seated in his car, he was on his way to Busan. Good thing he’d asked Seokmin to plant a tracker in your wedding ring; otherwise, finding you would have been far more complicated. He glanced at his phone, tracking your movements. You were at work—of course.

“You didn’t tell her you were moving to Busan next week?” Seokmin asked, his tone laced with mild amusement. Wonwoo sighed tiredly, rubbing his temple.

“No, I didn’t,” Wonwoo muttered, exasperated. “I didn’t think I needed to. This whole situation is ridiculous.”

Seokmin glanced at his boss but wisely chose to remain silent. He had witnessed Wonwoo’s growing frustration during the honeymoon. Despite the picturesque Jeju scenery, the trip had been far from enjoyable for either of you. Wonwoo had spent most of his time working, glued to his phone or laptop, even forcing Seokmin to turn on airplane mode during moments when Wonwoo couldn’t resist calling him. The honeymoon wasn’t just a disappointment—it was a disaster.

Wonwoo barely saw you during those four days. You had breakfast long after him, skipped lunch entirely, and dined early, ensuring your paths rarely crossed. It was clear you were actively avoiding him, and it grated on his nerves more than he cared to admit.

This marriage isn’t just inconvenient for you, he thought bitterly as he watched the road ahead. I’m stuck in this mess too.

And now, you’d decided to make things worse by running away from his house to Busan just to get back to work. All of this could’ve been avoided if he’d simply told you about the plan to move next week. The thought irritated him further.

“This entire situation could have been avoided if you’d just communicated better,” Seokmin remarked, half-joking. Wonwoo shot him a sharp look.

Seokmin raised his hands in mock surrender. “I’m just saying. Maybe next time, a simple conversation will save you both the trouble.”

Wonwoo didn’t respond, his jaw tightening as the car sped down the highway. One thing was clear—he needed to get you back, not just physically but emotionally. Because while this marriage had started as a business arrangement, the chaos you brought into his life was beginning to feel far too personal.

"Why are you here? How the hell did you open my door?!"

You stood in front of him, your voice sharp with fury, yet it was nothing compared to the storm brewing in Wonwoo’s dark eyes. He had been waiting for nearly four hours, watching every move you made—from university to a café, to a restaurant, and everywhere but home. Each passing hour had only fueled his frustration.

He had his men tail you, making sure nothing happened, but every moment you were out of his sight left his mind racing with worst-case scenarios. He could already picture the wrath of your father and brother, their faces etched with rage if something had gone wrong.

"Took you long enough to get home," Wonwoo drawled, leaning back on the couch. His tone was calm, but the anger simmering beneath was unmistakable. He glanced at his watch—23:44.

"I asked you, how did you get inside?!" you snapped, your frustration growing as you saw him lounging on your couch like he owned the place.

Wonwoo didn’t bother answering. Instead, he casually propped his legs on your coffee table, ignoring your glare.

"Why are you here?" you repeated, this time with more control, though your patience was wearing thin.

Wonwoo let out a low scoff, his lips curving into a faint smirk. "Why are you here?" he shot back, his voice carrying a challenge.

Your brows knitted in confusion. "What are you talking about? I was working. You're not the only one who has a job."

His expression darkened at your response, his jaw tightening as his irritation reached a boiling point. "You could’ve told me. There was no need to run away and make me chase you here."

You crossed your arms defiantly, tilting your chin up. "I didn’t ask you to chase me."

Wonwoo’s eyes narrowed as he leaned forward, dropping his legs to the floor. The air between you grew heavy with tension. "Oh, but you did," he said, his tone dangerously calm. "The moment you stepped out of my house without a guard, you asked for this. You're my wife. Remember that."

Your laugh was humorless, bitter. "So what are you going to do now? Run crying to my father? Or are you going to beat the shit out of me because I can’t be your perfect little wife?"

Wonwoo stilled, caught off guard by your words. His eyes scanned your face, searching for any hint of sarcasm, but instead, he found something that made his chest tighten—a raw, painful truth hiding behind your defiance.

"What are you even talking about?" he asked, his voice lower now, laced with confusion.

You exhaled shakily, dropping your bag to the floor. Your shoulders slumped as if the weight of the world had finally broken you. "What are you waiting for, then? Slap me. Swear at me. Call me useless. I’m used to it all by now."

The tears that slipped down your cheeks caught him off guard more than your words. Something twisted in his chest, a deep ache he couldn’t quite name. How could you say that? What kind of life had you been living before this?

Wonwoo looked away, unable to meet your eyes as guilt crept up on him. Midnight struck. The sharp chime of the clock broke the silence, but it did little to ease the tension in the room.

He stood abruptly, his movements controlled but deliberate, and walked toward the balcony. Before stepping outside, he paused, speaking over his shoulder. "Prepare a bed for me. I’m staying here tonight. The house will be ready tomorrow. Sleep well."

With that, he slid the door shut behind him, letting out a heavy sigh as he leaned against the railing. His fingers reached into his pocket, pulling out a cigarette. The faint flicker of the lighter illuminated his face for a moment, revealing an uncharacteristic weariness in his expression.

The first drag of smoke filled his lungs, and for a second, he let the tension in his body dissipate. He’d thank Seokmin later for slipping a pack into his suit—it wasn’t often he needed one, but tonight was different. Tonight, everything felt heavier.

As the city lights stretched before him, Wonwoo stared into the distance, the bitter taste of nicotine lingering on his tongue. Your tears haunted him, replaying in his mind. He had thought he understood you, but now he realized he hadn’t even scratched the surface.

What the hell happened to you? he wondered, the smoke curling around him like a ghost of unanswered questions.

You woke up in bed. The soft mattress beneath you was a surprise; you were certain you’d left it for Wonwoo last night and made yourself comfortable on the couch. Had your husband moved you here? Husband. The word felt foreign and heavy in your mind, like trying on a coat two sizes too big.

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you sat up and glanced at the clock. Two hours before your first class—plenty of time to get ready. You swung your legs off the bed and stretched, pushing away the lingering haze of confusion.

Freshly dressed, you stepped out of your room, planning to grab a quick breakfast. A slice of bread and some milk might hold you over until lunch. But as you walked into the living area, you froze.

Wonwoo sat at the dining table, arms crossed, his posture as commanding as ever. Across from him stood Lee Seokmin, his ever-efficient assistant, carefully plating food from plastic containers onto dishes that looked too fancy for your humble kitchen.

"Good morning, ma’am," Seokmin greeted you warmly. "Please have some breakfast before heading out."

Your eyes wandered to the table, laden with an array of nutrient-packed dishes. It was an impressive spread for such an early hour. Your gaze flicked to the couch, where the pillow and blanket you’d used were already folded neatly. Of course, he’d tidied up. Your husband was nothing if not meticulous.

"I’ll have the house ready by this afternoon. You can start moving your things tonight," Wonwoo said, breaking your thoughts as you hesitantly joined him at the table.

Your brows furrowed in confusion. "What house?"

"Our house," he replied simply, sipping his coffee like it was the most natural thing in the world. "We were supposed to move next week, but I pushed them to finish it earlier."

Your confusion turned to irritation as you stared at him. "You’re moving here?"

Wonwoo nodded, his tone calm but firm. "My business was originally centered here. I used to travel back and forth between Seoul and here frequently. Now it’s easier for me to stay permanently."

You sighed, frustration bubbling in your chest. All your carefully laid plans to create some distance between the two of you—gone. "Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?"

He scoffed, a hint of amusement in his otherwise serious expression. "Do you think I had the chance to tell you?"

His sharp gaze locked onto yours, a subtle reminder of the days you spent in your room during the honeymoon, avoiding him entirely while binging dramas. The pointedness of his words stung more than you cared to admit.

Seokmin cleared his throat, cutting through the tension. "Please eat before it gets cold," he said politely, excusing himself soon after.

As he reached the door, Wonwoo added, "Tell Jun to get the car ready. Y/n will be driven by him today."

Seokmin nodded and left, leaving you to frown at Wonwoo. "I can go to work by myself," you argued, your voice firm.

"I know," he said nonchalantly, picking a piece of meat from one of the dishes and placing it on your rice bowl. "But I’ve assigned Jun to drive you. He’s excellent at martial arts."

You sighed, knowing there was no point in arguing further. Wonwoo always seemed two steps ahead, and resisting him felt like fighting the tide. You reluctantly picked up your spoon and began eating.

The silence that followed wasn’t entirely uncomfortable, though your mind was still racing. He had tracked you down, shown up at your apartment like he belonged there, and even had a home ready for the two of you. He had already begun dismantling the semblance of independence you’d clung to, piece by piece.

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. Did he also handle your apartment lease? You dreaded the possibility. He's crazy if he did.

As if reading your mind, Wonwoo spoke, his tone neutral but direct. "I’ll talk to your building owner about the lease after breakfast. Don’t worry."

You stared at him, caught between disbelief and reluctant gratitude. At least he wasn’t entirely crazy. Your husband, as infuriating as he was, wasn’t heartless.

You didn’t remember asking him to pick you up from work.

As you walked out of the building with your colleagues, the lively chatter surrounded you. Among them was Mr. Seo, Seo Myungho, who had asked you out a few times in the past. He strolled beside you, quietly attentive as the others babbled about your sudden wedding.

You had already explained to them, in the simplest terms possible, that it was an introduction followed by a quick marriage. Yet, their curiosity remained insatiable, likely fueled by the unexpected month-long leave you'd taken—something orchestrated by Seungcheol. At least he'd sent gifts that bolstered your professional reputation, though it didn’t make the constant questions any less exhausting.

"I do understand why the Dean approved her leave for almost a month," Mrs. Chae remarked, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "She’s her favorite, after all."

The comment hung in the air, and you chuckled softly to yourself, resisting the urge to fire back. Wasting energy on Mrs. Chae's barely veiled resentment wasn’t worth it.

"She’s been doing excellent work on her research projects this year," Myungho interjected kindly, his tone steady and polite. He smiled at you briefly before addressing Mrs. Chae. "I think she’s more than earned her time off."

You felt a small wave of gratitude toward Myungho. His support didn’t go unnoticed, and it seemed to shift the mood slightly, with the others murmuring their agreement. Everyone, except Mrs. Chae, of course—her disdain was as predictable as ever. You were younger, more competent, and rising through the ranks faster than she could handle, and she hated every second of it.

Then, you saw him.

Wonwoo.

Your husband stood tall, casually leaning against his sleek car. He was a striking figure, dressed impeccably, yet looking oddly out of place in front of your university building. The sight of him felt surreal. Wonwoo didn’t seem like the type to wait outside for anyone, let alone you. It was baffling—and slightly annoying.

"Who’s that guy?" one of your colleagues asked, their curiosity piqued.

You barely heard them as you quickly turned to bid everyone goodbye. "I’ll see you all tomorrow!" you said hastily before jogging over to Wonwoo.

When you reached him, you glared up at him. "Who asked you to come here? Let’s go!"

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback by your urgency. Before he could respond, you grabbed his arm, pulling him toward the car. He moved with you, a bemused expression on his face as you opened the door and pushed him inside.

You quickly slipped into the passenger seat, taking a deep breath. Turning back to your colleagues, who were still watching, you forced a polite smile and waved. They waved back, but their curiosity had undoubtedly turned to outright speculation.

Your marriage had already become the hottest topic of gossip among your peers. Now, seeing you leave with a man as striking as Wonwoo—and in a car as luxurious as his—would only pour fuel on the fire.

You sighed heavily, sinking into the seat as the car pulled away. "This is exactly what I was trying to avoid," you muttered, more to yourself than to him.

Wonwoo glanced at you, his lips quirking into the faintest of smirks. "You're welcome," he said dryly, eyes flicking back to the road ahead.

You scowled at him, but there was no denying the slight flutter in your chest. For better or worse, your life was now entangled with his—and there was no turning back.

You glanced at Wonwoo as the car smoothly merged into traffic, the tension between you two lingering like an uninvited guest. You finally broke the silence, your voice low but sharp. "Where are we going?"

Wonwoo didn’t take his eyes off the road as he replied calmly. "To our new house."

You frowned. "Why? I thought we weren't moving until next week."

"I wanted to make sure everything you need is settled before you move in," he explained, his tone as matter-of-fact as if he were discussing the weather. "I’ve also arranged for a moving agency to pack and transfer your belongings tonight. It’s all scheduled."

You blinked at him, stunned by his efficiency—and, admittedly, a little irritated. "You scheduled my move without asking me?"

He finally looked at you, his dark eyes steady. "I didn’t think you’d agree if I asked. And whether it’s now or later, you’ll have to move in anyway. So why delay it?"

You sighed deeply, leaning back against the seat and closing your eyes. He wasn’t wrong. Now or later, this situation wasn’t going to change. Fighting him on it felt pointless, and you were already drained from the day.

"Fine," you muttered, surrendering to the inevitable. "But don’t expect me to be excited about it."

Wonwoo smirked faintly, his focus returning to the road. "Noted."

As the car wove through the streets, you gazed out the window, trying to calm the swirling thoughts in your mind. The idea of living with him, under the same roof, felt surreal. You weren’t ready to call this man your husband—let alone share a home with him.

But what choice did you have?

The car eventually pulled into a gated neighborhood, the homes large and modern, with sprawling lawns and tall hedges. You glanced at Wonwoo as he parked in front of a sleek, minimalist house.

"This is it?" you asked hesitantly.

"Yes," he said, stepping out and opening the door for you. "Come on. I’ll show you around."

You followed him reluctantly, stepping into the house. The interior was just as polished as the exterior—clean lines, neutral colors, and high-end finishes. It felt luxurious but cold, like a place designed for appearances rather than comfort.

Wonwoo gestured toward the open kitchen. "I’ve made sure it’s stocked with everything you might need. If anything’s missing, just tell me."

You nodded silently, your eyes scanning the space. It was beautiful, but it didn’t feel like yours.

He led you to the living room, then upstairs to the master bedroom. "This will be your room," he said, pushing the door open.

You turned to him, raising an eyebrow. "My room?"

"Yes," he said firmly. "You need your own space. I’ll take the guest room."

His unexpected consideration threw you off. You nodded slowly, unsure how to respond. "Okay."

Wonwoo checked his watch. "The movers should arrive in an hour. I’ll stay here to supervise."

You sighed again, the weight of it all settling in. This was your new reality. No matter how hard you tried to run, you couldn’t escape the situation you were in—or the man standing in front of you.

"Fine," you said quietly, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "I’ll unpack when they’re done."

Wonwoo studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he turned and left the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

You sat on the edge of the bed, trying to make sense of everything when Wonwoo walked back into the room, his expression calm but purposeful.

"By the way," he said, leaning casually against the doorframe, "I changed my mind about the room."

Your head snapped up. "What do you mean?"

Wonwoo crossed his arms, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "There’s only one master bedroom in this house, and it’s ours. We’re married, Y/n. It’s only right that we share it."

You stared at him, your mouth falling open slightly. "You’ve got to be kidding me. There are other rooms here. You could easily take one of them."

He shrugged nonchalantly. "I could. But I won’t. I want us to share this space."

The way he said it, calm yet unyielding, made it clear this wasn’t up for debate. Frustration bubbled up inside you. "What about what I want? Did you even think about that?"

Wonwoo’s eyes softened slightly, though his resolve didn’t waver. "I did. That’s why I set up an office for you."

You blinked. "An office?"

He nodded, gesturing for you to follow him. Reluctantly, you got up and trailed behind him as he led you down the hall to a smaller room. Inside, you found a neatly arranged workspace with a sleek desk, bookshelves, and a comfortable chair. The shelves were already filled with reference books and stationary supplies, and a corner was decorated with a small potted plant.

You took a hesitant step inside, running your fingers along the edge of the desk. "You set this up for me?"

"Of course," Wonwoo said, standing by the doorway with his hands in his pockets. "You’re a lecturer, and I know you need a space to work. This room is yours to use however you want."

Despite your frustration over the bedroom situation, you couldn’t help but feel a twinge of gratitude. The office was thoughtful—more thoughtful than you’d expected from him.

Still, you turned back to him, narrowing your eyes. "That doesn’t make up for the fact that I don’t get my own bedroom."

Wonwoo tilted his head, his smirk returning. "You can decorate the office however you want. Think of it as a trade-off."

You crossed your arms, glaring at him. "This isn’t a negotiation, Wonwoo."

"It’s not," he agreed, his tone maddeningly calm. "It’s a compromise."

You sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of your nose. Living with him was going to be impossible.

"Fine," you muttered. "But if you snore, I’m moving to the couch."

Wonwoo chuckled softly, his gaze following you as you stepped past him to head back to the master bedroom. "I don’t snore. But you’ll have to deal with my early mornings."

You shot him a glare over your shoulder. "And you’ll have to deal with me slamming doors if you wake me up too early."

His laughter followed you down the hall, light and warm, making your heart twist unexpectedly. As much as he infuriated you, there was something undeniably disarming about the way he carried himself.

But you weren’t ready to admit that. Not yet.

Wonwoo sat at his desk, scanning the report he had asked Seokmin to gather. As he read through the details, something shifted inside him. Your words from yesterday echoed in his mind.

"Slap me, swear at me. I'm used to that."

The sheer pain in your voice as you said those words—how could anyone ask to be treated like that? And the worst part was, you cried. Tears had slipped down your cheeks, and he stood there, frozen, unable to comfort you. The helplessness stung, and for a moment, he questioned his own worth.

His mother had taught him better than that. She hadn’t raised him to be passive, to stand idly by when someone needed help. Yet, in that moment, he had failed you.

Determined to understand the depths of your suffering, Wonwoo had asked Seokmin to dig into your past—specifically, your family. He needed to understand how you had come to be the person you were, how you had been shaped by the world around you. What kind of upbringing had led to someone like you being so broken, so wary of affection?

He already knew about your father. Reckless, cold-hearted, a man who did business as though he owned the world. His methods weren’t just questionable; they were downright illegal. Everything about him was transactional, and it was no surprise that he had built his empire on those very practices.

But it wasn’t just your father. Your brother, too, was no better. Wonwoo had heard the rumors—how your brother had a reputation not only as a businessman but as a lover, a man who seemed incapable of loyalty. Infidelity ran deep in your family, and it had left its mark. Wonwoo recalled the look on your mother’s face during your wedding—distressed, distant, like she knew more than she was willing to let on. It made sense now.

The report mentioned something else that struck him deeply. "Her brother was drowned in the Han River."

It clicked. The pieces fell into place. He had suspected there was something more to your past, something you hadn't fully confronted, and now he understood.

The report also mentioned the PTSD you had suffered, a trauma so deep it had robbed you of the memory of the incident. Your brother’s death had happened right in front of you. It was no wonder you struggled to cope with intimacy, with trust. That level of violence, loss, and betrayal—how could anyone emerge unscathed?

Wonwoo let out a heavy sigh. Now he understood. This was why you had built walls around yourself. Why you flinched at kindness, why you kept everyone at arm’s length. You hadn’t just been shaped by your family’s actions; you had been destroyed by them.

But the weight of that realization didn’t make him resent you—it made him want to protect you more fiercely. His heart ached for you, for the girl who had been forced to grow up in such brutality. He wanted to be the one to help you heal, to show you that not all men were like the ones who had scarred you.

And though it was clear that your past had shaped you in ways he hadn’t fully realized, he was more determined than ever to be the man you deserved—one who wouldn’t walk away when it got hard, one who wouldn’t stand by and do nothing.

He closed the report with a soft exhale, a sense of resolve settling in his chest. Now that he understood, now that he knew the truth, there was no turning back. This knowledge would shape his actions moving forward, guiding him in a way he hadn’t expected.

Just as he leaned back in his chair, his phone rang. It was his mother.

"I heard you're in Busan. Have you moved already?" she asked, her voice carrying a note of concern.

"Yes, mother. My wife had to attend to her work immediately, so we moved earlier than expected," Wonwoo replied, trying to keep his tone casual.

He heard a faint hum from the other side of the line, a sign that his mother was deep in thought. "How's life as a husband? I’m worried you won’t be able to treat her right."

Wonwoo chuckled softly, a warm but tired sound. "We're both fine, really."

There was a long sigh from his mother, the kind that spoke volumes. "I’m sorry, Wonwoo. I knew this marriage wouldn’t be easy. I should have known better than to pitch a marriage to the Choi family. I’ve heard so much about them. But your father insisted."

Wonwoo smiled, a wry but understanding expression crossing his face. "Mother, I told you it was okay. I accepted this, and here I am."

"I know, I know," his mother said, her voice thick with regret. "You couldn’t refuse. But I just... I feel guilty for you, and for Y/n, of course."

Her words made his chest tighten a little, the weight of everything settling on him once again. He wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince her or himself, but he said, "It’s not as bad as you think. We’ll figure things out."

There was a brief pause before his mother spoke again, her voice softening. "Just... say hi to her for me, okay? Tell her I’m thinking of her."

Wonwoo’s smile grew a little more genuine as he replied, "I will, mother. Take care."

Wonwoo had started the project with small gestures: a kiss on your temple every morning at breakfast. The first time he did it, you gave him a surprised, almost startled glance, like it was an unfamiliar gesture. But Wonwoo simply smiled, brushing aside your reaction as if it were nothing. Sometimes, his hand would gently brush your hair while you shared a meal, and you'd look at him like he was out of place, unsure of how to react. Still, it gradually became a part of your routine, and everything began to run smoothly.

But then your brother, Seungcheol, came to visit. He stayed for dinner, and immediately, the tension in the air thickened.

"You should leave after dinner," you told him flatly, already anticipating the clash.

"Why would I? It’ll be more comfortable for me to stay here than in some hotel," Seungcheol replied, shooting a glance at Wonwoo.

Now, Wonwoo found himself caught between two siblings, each offering their own persuasive arguments as to why he should stay or leave. Every word from either of them felt like a debate, and Wonwoo couldn’t bring himself to find the right words to settle it. Could he just vanish into thin air?

Before he could respond, a sigh escaped his lips, and he glanced at you, his voice rising to ease the tension. "How about we all stay in a hotel? It’s been a month since our honeymoon. I think my wife deserves a bit of a rest."

Wonwoo immediately regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. He cursed himself mentally for the slip-up.

Seungcheol raised an eyebrow. "Whatever, I’m not gonna stay here," he said nonchalantly. "You satisfied?" He turned his gaze to you, and you wiped your mouth with a napkin, stoic as ever.

"Your house is beautiful, with a beach view," Seungcheol continued, trying to steer the conversation in a different direction. "It’s only a 10-minute walk to the beach?"

Wonwoo nodded, trying to ignore the tension building in the room. "Yes, hyung. Only five minutes by car, but the waves are pretty strong at this hour."

Seungcheol chuckled lightly. "Guess I shouldn’t go near the water, then. Your wife might just drown me."

That’s when you froze mid-motion. Your hand, which had been holding your utensil, suddenly dropped it with a loud clatter onto the plate. You stood abruptly from your chair, your eyes hardening.

"It’s just a joke," Seungcheol quickly added, watching you intently.

You didn’t even flinch. "You better go after your meal," you said in a cold, steady tone. "I don’t want to see your face in my house again."

Seungcheol smirked, unfazed by your words. "You’ve got some nerve after joining the Jeon family, Y/n. Don’t forget I’m your older brother."

Your steps paused mid-stride as you turned back to face him, your expression hardening. "Don’t forget I killed my own brother 20 years ago. Older brother."

The room fell silent.

Wonwoo’s heart raced. His hair stood on end at the chilling words that hung in the air. He wasn’t sure if the coldness in your voice was from the past, or if you were daring Seungcheol to test your limits now. Either way, he realized he had stepped into something far more complex than he had anticipated.

It was just you and Jisoo sitting on the deck when it happened. The details were blurry, fragments lost in the haze of suppressed memories. They said you pushed him, that you shoved him off the vessel, causing him to fall into the water and drown. That’s what everyone believed. And because they believed it, so did your 12-year-old self.

You didn’t remember anything from that day. No arguments, no screams, no malicious intent. But their words were louder than your own doubts. "You killed him," they said. The accusation clung to you like a heavy chain, dragging you into a guilt you couldn’t escape.

It changed everything. You stopped attending school, retreating into the isolation of homeschooling, where whispers and judgment couldn’t reach you. But even home was suffocating. The weight of the incident lingered in the air, heavy and unspoken, a ghost haunting every corner of your life.

When you decided to enroll in a university abroad, it wasn’t just for education. It was an escape. An escape from the house that felt like a prison, from the suffocating presence of your family. Especially your mother.

She never said much about the incident. No accusations, no consolations. Just silence. But in her silence, you saw her resentment. She didn’t need to say the words for you to know. She hated you. You could see it in her cold stares, in the way she avoided your presence.

Every time your father or Seungcheol raised their hands against you, she stayed silent. She didn’t flinch, didn’t intervene. She just watched, her indifference cutting deeper than any bruise. And what other reason could there be for her silence, besides hate?

You told yourself leaving was for the best. Putting distance between you and them was the only way to breathe, to survive. But even thousands of miles away, the shadows of your past followed you, whispering the same accusation: You killed him.

"I hate Father so much, Y/n. I wish I could have been born into a different family."

"NO!"

Your voice echoed in your ears as you jolted awake, your breath hitching and your chest heaving. The remnants of the dream clung to you, vivid and suffocating. Your heart pounded wildly, its rhythm frantic and uneven as you tried to steady your breathing. Slowly, you sat up, pressing a hand to your chest in an attempt to calm yourself.

The faint sound of movement brought your attention to Wonwoo, who had just stepped out of the walk-in closet, already dressed for work. His hair was still slightly damp, the crisp lines of his suit adding to his composed appearance. He offered you a small smile at first, but it quickly faded when he noticed the tension in your expression.

"Hey," he called softly, his voice laced with concern as he walked toward you. "What’s wrong?"

You shook your head, unable to meet his gaze, and glanced at the clock on the nightstand. There was still an hour before you had to leave for work.

Wonwoo crouched beside you, his eyes scanning your face for answers. But you avoided his gaze, focusing instead on the sunlight beginning to seep through the curtains. After a moment of silence, he stood and spoke gently. "I’ll drive you to work today."

Before you could protest, he leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to your temple. The simple gesture carried more warmth than you expected, easing the tension knotted in your chest.

And then he was gone, his footsteps retreating down the hall as he left the master bedroom.

You exhaled shakily, the earlier panic slowly fading. For reasons you couldn’t quite explain, the touch of his lips on your skin and the sound of his voice had calmed the storm within you.

When Wonwoo said he would drive you to work, you assumed Jun or Seokmin would accompany him. But as you approached the sleek car parked outside, you were surprised to find him alone, sitting calmly in the driver’s seat, waiting for you.

He rolled down the window and smiled at you. “Ready?”

Sliding into the passenger seat, you greeted him quietly as he started the engine. He asked about your sleep, and you gave him a vague response, deliberately skipping over the part about the strange nightmare that had jolted you awake.

He also mentioned your brother. “Seungcheol left early this morning to Seoul. ”

You muttered a soft, “Good,” relieved that you wouldn’t have to deal with him any longer.

As the car glided smoothly down the road, Wonwoo suddenly glanced at you. “Can I hold your hand?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “But… you’re driving.”

A soft smile spread across his face. “I can manage. I just want to hold your hand, even if it’s just for a minute.”

You hesitated, your gaze shifting between his outstretched left hand and his calm expression. “Is this part of the ‘training’ to get comfortable in public later?”

He nodded, his eyes briefly meeting yours before returning to the road. “It is. So… can I?”

After a moment of hesitation, you slowly lifted your right hand and placed it over his. His hand was warm and steady as he gripped yours gently, holding it securely even as he maneuvered the car.

“It’s nice,” he murmured, his voice soft but sincere.

When the car came to a stop in front of your campus building, he reluctantly let go. “See you at dinner?”

You nodded, stepping out of the car, and walked away without looking back.

“Good morning, Ms. Choi,” a few students greeted you as you made your way through the halls to the lecturers’ room. You offered them polite smiles, your thoughts still lingering on the warmth of Wonwoo’s hand.

Your first class of the day was about Ship Security and Regulations. Standing at the front of the classroom, you scanned the faces of your students as they settled in.

Since you were young, you had known that the world of business wasn’t for you—especially the kind your father conducted. You had always loved the sea: the gentle breeze, the endless horizon, and the calming rhythm of the waves. But that dream of becoming a seafarer had been buried long ago when you realized you had developed a paralyzing fear of water.

As the class progressed, one of your students raised a hand with a cheeky grin. “What if there’s a passenger who wants to jump overboard?”

Laughter rippled through the room at the seemingly absurd question. You sighed, trying to maintain your professionalism. “Is that even possible?”

Another student chimed in, still grinning. “It could happen, Ms. Choi, if someone wanted to end their life.”

You shook your head firmly, your tone growing serious. “Let’s not entertain that idea. There won’t be any cases like that. Focus on preventing real risks, not hypothetical ones.”

The class nodded, the humor subsiding, but you couldn’t shake the unease their words stirred.

As the session ended and the students filtered out, you found yourself staring out the window at the distant ocean. Despite your best efforts, their question lingered in your mind, unsettling thoughts creeping in like waves crashing against the shore.

Days later, Wonwoo learned that his wife had registered for a psychiatric consultation. He had known about the abusive environment you grew up in, but he hadn’t realized it had reached a point where professional help was necessary. The news unsettled him, lingering in his mind until dinner that evening, where he cautiously brought it up.

“You visited a psychiatrist, I heard,” he said, carefully watching your reaction.

You nodded casually, as though it wasn’t a big deal. But to him, it was.

“Why?” he asked, his voice steady but tinged with concern.

“I’m trying to face my phobia of water,” you replied, your tone neutral. “It’s for one of my research projects.”

Wonwoo didn’t press further, but a knot tightened in his chest. He suspected it wasn’t as simple as you made it seem. A fear of water? Yet, you had graduated in Maritime studies and built a career in the same field. The contradiction puzzled him.

The following month, Wonwoo received word that your parents were hosting their anniversary party on a cruise ship. That explained it. Was this why you were trying to cope with your phobia? He couldn’t help but wonder.

The drive from Busan to Seoul was quiet. Jun handled the wheel while Seokmin sat in the front passenger seat, briefing Wonwoo on the event’s details. You sat beside Wonwoo in the back, your eyes fixed on the window, your hand intertwined with his.

“Anyone I should keep an eye on?” Wonwoo asked, his voice calm but measured.

Seokmin shook his head. “It’s just an anniversary event. Nothing serious is expected.”

Wonwoo glanced at you, leaning in slightly to whisper. “Are you okay?”

Your gaze shifted to him, startled for a moment before you nodded with a soft sigh.

“You know I’m always here for you,” he murmured. “You don’t have to worry.”

You gave him a small, grateful nod before turning your attention back to the passing scenery.

When you arrived at the cruise ship, Wonwoo followed Seokmin’s briefing, greeting everyone with effortless charm. He introduced you to the guests with a protective arm around your waist, keeping you close by his side.

“This is my wife, Choi Y/n,” he said warmly, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries.

“I’m Jeon Wonwoo,” he added, offering his business card to a few attendees.

As the ship set sail, everyone gathered on the deck for a brief speech from your father. Wonwoo noticed the way your gaze hardened, a glare fixed on the man speaking so highly of your mother. The words seemed hollow, a facade masking the truth you both knew—of abuse, violence, pressure, and threats. Yet, like your mother, you remained silent.

Wonwoo’s grip on your waist tightened subtly as your father shifted the focus to you and him, the newlyweds. Smiling for the crowd, he leaned closer to you, whispering, “Do you want to rest?”

Before you could answer, your father’s voice carried over the murmuring crowd.

“And to my second child, Jisoo… He left us too soon, but we will always remember him. Rest in peace, my son.”

Wonwoo felt your body tense beside him, your breathing growing heavier. He could hear the whispers that began to ripple through the crowd.

“His sister killed him.”

“She was only 12.”

“Is that the sister?”

“Poor kid.”

He leaned in again, his voice firm yet gentle. “Let’s go somewhere quieter.”

As he began to guide you away from the deck, the ship suddenly lurched, causing a man standing near the edge to lose his footing. Gasps and screams filled the air as the man slipped and fell overboard, the security team springing into action.

Wonwoo felt your grip tighten on his arm, your nails digging into his sleeve as your body went slack. He steadied you immediately, shielding you from the chaos.

“Hold onto me,” he whispered, his voice low and soothing. “Let’s get you to your room.”

Without waiting for a response, he wrapped an arm securely around you and led you through the crowd, his protective instincts taking over.

What you had witnessed brought back the haunting memory of Jisoo falling from the vessel, a memory tied to the very same cruise ship you were now aboard. You were only 12, and he was 15. It had been a family vacation—a week on a private cruise ship arranged by your father. On the final night, you remembered noticing something different about Jisoo. He hadn’t smiled once that day. Troubled by his mood, you gathered the courage to visit his cabin late that night.

"You look sad," you had said softly, standing in the dim light of his room.

Jisoo turned to you, a faint smirk on his face that didn’t reach his eyes. "Wanna go outside?" he asked, his voice low and conspiratorial.

“Going to the deck past 9 p.m. is prohibited,” you replied, hesitating. “Father will get mad at us.”

“We’ll figure it out,” he said with a glimmer of rebellion, gesturing for you to follow him.

The memory felt so vivid that it sent shivers down your spine, yet there was a fog of uncertainty around it. Was it real, or was it just a false memory conjured by your fractured mind?

Wonwoo’s voice pulled you back into the present. He had guided you to the edge of the bed, his eyes filled with worry as he crouched before you. “Hey, you’re okay,” he whispered, his hands steady on your arms as if anchoring you to reality.

But you weren’t sure you were okay. Your mind replayed the image of Jisoo falling into the dark, endless water, his body disappearing into the calm yet terrifying abyss. That night had marked the beginning of your fear of water—its deceptive stillness, its unrelenting strength. And Jisoo had never come back.

Tears escaped your eyes, and it was only when Wonwoo gently cupped your cheeks that you realized you were crying. His thumbs brushed away the wet trails, his touch grounding yet unbearably tender.

“Hey, hey,” he murmured, his voice a soothing balm against the chaos in your heart. “That’s okay… You’re fine. I’m here.”

You looked at him, the warmth of his gaze pulling you out of the suffocating hold of the past. For a moment, you weren’t a scared 12-year-old on a dark deck—you were here, in the present, with someone who cared.

The weight of years of bottled-up emotions surged forward—anger, sadness, guilt, disappointment. It was overwhelming, and all you wanted was to let it out, to empty the well of pain you had carried for so long.

“Can I hug you?” you asked in a quiet, trembling voice, your vulnerability bare.

Wonwoo didn’t hesitate. He climbed onto the bed beside you and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. His embrace was strong, protective, and warm—everything you hadn’t realized you needed.

“I’m here, Y/n,” he said softly, his voice steady in the dim light of the room. “I’m here.”

And for the first time in years, you allowed yourself to cry without restraint. Your makeup smudged, your breaths hitched, but it didn’t matter. In Wonwoo’s arms, you felt a strange sense of safety amidst the storm inside you. You clung to him as the emotions poured out, the weight of them finally starting to lift.

In his embrace, you found solace, a quiet assurance that you weren’t alone. And even though the past still haunted you, for this moment, you could let it go, piece by piece, in the arms of someone who refused to let you face it alone.

Breakfast with your family was as tense as ever. Wonwoo had joined late after handling an emergency call from his father, leaving you to endure the table’s strained atmosphere without him for a while. Your father, mother, and Seungcheol sat together as the cruise ship quietly sailed back to Seoul, the polite murmurs of other guests filling the air.

“You went to your room early last night,” your father said, his voice breaking through the quiet as you chewed your food.

“She was unwell,” Wonwoo replied smoothly as he settled into his seat. His hand found your shoulder, a protective gesture. “I should have informed you earlier.”

“Unwell, or?” Seungcheol interjected with a smirk, his tone dripping with mockery. His pointed glance at you made your stomach twist. The tension between you and Seungcheol hadn’t eased since the last altercation Wonwoo had witnessed.

To divert the conversation, Wonwoo placed a bottle of expensive, aged wine on the table. “Congratulations on your anniversary. I didn’t get a chance to say it last night, but I brought this as a gift.”

Your father’s expression softened momentarily. “You didn’t need to, son-in-law. Taking care of my daughter is gift enough for us.”

Then, as if on cue, he added with a smirk of his own, “Though it would be even more amazing if you gave us a grandchild.”

Wonwoo faltered, momentarily caught off guard by the statement. But before he could respond, you calmly put down your utensils, your tone icy and resolute. “We won’t have a child.”

The air seemed to freeze. Wonwoo turned to you in surprise, but your expression was unreadable, your demeanor cool and composed. In that moment, he was reminded that your marriage was a business arrangement—and you, perhaps more than him, treated it as such.

Your father’s jaw tightened, his attempt to suppress his anger painfully evident. He glanced at the nearby guests, clearly aware that this was no place for a scene. “You should have a child if you want this marriage to last,” he said, his voice low but firm.

You met his gaze without hesitation, your words cutting through the air like ice. “So you can hit them? So you can scream at them? Threaten them like you did to me?”

The tension at the table became unbearable. Wonwoo could feel the weight of your father’s fury, his grip tightening on the tableware before setting it down a bit too forcefully. Other guests turned their heads, sensing the disturbance.

Your mother looked at you, her wide eyes betraying shock. It was as if she couldn’t believe the words you had just spoken, the defiance in your tone so unlike the quiet obedience she had come to expect from you.

“I’m going,” you said sharply, pushing back your chair and standing without another glance at your father.

Wonwoo quickly rose from his seat, offering a hasty apology. “I’m sorry. She’s been under a lot of stress from work. I’ll go check on her.”

As you disappeared toward your cabin, Wonwoo began to follow, but he stopped when a hand gently caught his arm. Turning, he found himself face-to-face with your mother.

“Mother-in-law,” Wonwoo greeted, bowing slightly out of respect, though her unexpected presence caught him off guard.

“Y/n…” she began, her voice soft but unsteady. “Is she alright?”

Wonwoo nodded, his tone calm as he tried to reassure her. “She’s fine. She was just a bit tired last night. You don’t need to worry.”

But your mother shook her head, her eyes glistening with something that looked like guilt. “I mean after last night. Was she alright? She hasn’t set foot on a ship for years. Not since…” She trailed off, her words hanging heavy in the air.

So, she knows, Wonwoo realized.

“She was nervous,” he admitted, his voice careful. “But she handled it well. She’s stronger than you think.”

Your mother looked away, her expression clouded with emotions she seemed reluctant to voice. After a moment, she took his hand in hers, her grip trembling. “My husband… he can be harsh. Especially toward Y/n. Please…” Her voice cracked slightly. “Take care of her, for me.”

Wonwoo stared at her, taken aback by the vulnerability in her words. For the first time, he saw beyond her composed exterior, glimpsing a mother who, despite her silence, harbored regrets and perhaps even a desire to protect you in her own way.

“I will,” Wonwoo promised, his voice steady. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

Your mother released Wonwoo’s hand, her eyes lingering on him for a moment before she stepped away. The silent plea in her gaze lingered in his mind as he made his way back to your shared cabin. But his thoughts were soon interrupted by a call from his father earlier that morning, asking if the two of you could visit their home since you were already in Seoul. Wonwoo suspected there was more to the request—his parents had missed the cruise’s anniversary celebration, and now this sudden urgency hinted at something serious.

When you both arrived at their home, Wonwoo’s suspicions were confirmed. His mother was unwell, lying in bed looking pale and fatigued. Neither his father nor the house staff had told him what was wrong, and the uncertainty gnawed at him. A sense of dread settled in his chest. Was it something serious? Something incurable?

You sat quietly by his mother’s bedside, holding her hand and offering her comforting words. Wonwoo stood to the side, his eyes darting between his mother and father, frustration simmering beneath the surface. Finally, when he couldn’t take the silence anymore, he followed his father to the living room.

“What’s going on?” Wonwoo demanded, his voice sharper than he intended. “What’s wrong with her? Why hasn’t anyone told me?”

His father sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t be mad at me,” he started, his tone hesitant. “She doesn’t want anyone to know.”

Wonwoo’s patience wore thin as he watched his father’s lips tighten, clearly debating whether or not to reveal the truth.

“She…” His father hesitated again, and Wonwoo’s heart raced.

“She’s dehydrated because of diarrhea,” his father finally admitted, the words tumbling out in a rush.

Wonwoo blinked, stunned. “What?”

“She ate something bad, and that’s what happened. She doesn’t want anyone to know—not even you or Y/n. Says it’s not ‘fashionable.’”

Wonwoo exhaled heavily, running a hand down his face in exasperation. “I thought it was something chronic! For goodness’ sake, I was preparing myself for the worst!”

His father shrugged nonchalantly. “If it were serious, she’d be in the hospital. She’s just embarrassed.”

Wonwoo groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “But I’m her son. I should know these things, whether they’re ‘fashionable’ or not.”

His father offered a faint smirk, leaning back into his chair. “There are a lot of things children don’t need to know about their parents, kid.”

Wonwoo stared at his father, incredulous. “This isn’t about need-to-know; it’s about being family! I’ve been worried sick, thinking it was something life-threatening.”

His father patted his shoulder lightly, as if to dismiss the tension. “She’ll be fine in a day or two. Just don’t bring it up, or she’ll never forgive me for telling you.”

Wonwoo sighed deeply, shaking his head. “Unbelievable,” he muttered, heading back toward the bedroom where you were still sitting with his mother.

When he returned, you glanced up at him, your expression concerned. “Is everything alright?” you asked softly.

Wonwoo gave you a tired smile, sitting down beside you and gently taking his mother’s other hand. “She’ll be fine,” he said, his voice calm now. “Just a little dehydration.”

His mother’s weak smile told him she knew exactly what had happened in the living room. “Don’t make a big deal out of it,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Wonwoo chuckled lightly, the tension easing from his shoulders. “I won’t. But only because you asked nicely.”

The two of you decided to stay an extra day in Seoul as Wonwoo had a business matter to attend to. That evening, as you settled into bed, Wonwoo joined you with a book in hand. He leaned against the headboard, his focus on the pages, while you lay beside him, staring at his profile. You wanted to speak, the words swirling in your mind, but hesitation kept them locked inside. Sensing your unease, Wonwoo spoke without looking up.

"Speak," he said simply, his voice calm and inviting.

You shifted your position, sitting up slightly to face him. "Is your mother okay? She looked really unwell today," you said, your voice tinged with concern.

Wonwoo closed his book and set it on the nightstand. His gaze softened as he turned to you. "Why? Are you worried about her?"

"Of course, I am. She's my mother-in-law," you replied earnestly, your words earning a faint smile from him.

"She mentioned something earlier, and I’ve been feeling conflicted about it ever since," you admitted, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket.

Wonwoo’s brow furrowed slightly, curiosity piqued. "What did she say? Did she ask you for something ridiculous? You know you don’t have to take it seriously if—"

"What do you think about having a child?" you blurted out, cutting him off mid-sentence.

Wonwoo froze, the words hanging in the air between you. He blinked at you, his expression shifting from surprise to something unreadable. "Sorry? What did you just say?"

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. "Everyone has been talking about us having children. It’s only been three months, but people are already questioning if we’re serious or if this is just another typical business marriage."

Wonwoo tilted his head, a teasing glint in his eye. "You said it yourself this morning—you don’t want a child," he reminded you, his tone lighthearted.

You sighed, your fingers now twisting the hem of your pajama top. "I know. But seeing your mother today... and hearing what she said, it made me think again. What if it’s something we should consider?"

Wonwoo leaned back, studying your face carefully. "What exactly did she say to you?"

"She didn’t explicitly ask for anything, but she hinted that a grandchild would make her happy. And I—I don’t know, it felt serious," you admitted, your voice faltering slightly.

Wonwoo chuckled softly, shaking his head. "You’re overthinking. My mother will be fine with or without a grandchild. She just enjoys the idea, like most parents do."

"But wouldn’t having a child make this marriage... I don’t know, feel more stable? Last longer?" you asked hesitantly.

He raised an eyebrow. "You think a child will stabilize a business marriage?" His tone was skeptical but gentle.

"I don’t know," you muttered, feeling suddenly foolish. "It’s just... everyone seems to expect it. Your family, my family. It’s like they see it as the ultimate proof that this marriage isn’t just a facade."

Wonwoo sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Look," he said softly, "if you’re reconsidering this because it’s something you want, then we can have a serious conversation about it. But if it’s just because of external pressure—what they expect from us—then I don’t think it’s a good enough reason."

His words hung in the air, grounding you. You nodded slowly, his reasoning settling over you like a balm.

"You don’t have to decide anything now," Wonwoo continued, his voice steady. "We’re still figuring this out, you and me. Let’s take it one step at a time."

You exhaled, feeling the weight of your thoughts ease slightly. Wonwoo reached over, placing his hand gently on yours. "For what it’s worth," he added with a small smile, "you’re doing great. You don’t have to carry everyone’s expectations on your shoulders."

His reassurance brought a faint smile to your lips, and you nodded. "Thanks, Wonwoo."

"Anytime," he replied, picking up his book again. But before he reopened it, he glanced at you. "And if you ever want to talk about this again, just let me know. No rush."

His understanding made your chest ache in a way that felt unfamiliar but comforting. "Okay," you whispered, settling back into bed beside him.

The moment you received word that your mother was in Busan, everything else faded into the background. Dropping your work immediately, you rushed to your house. The news was jarring—your mother had signed the divorce papers and was now in your house.

"She did what?" you whispered in disbelief, your hands trembling slightly as you clutched your phone.

Jun, who was driving you, glanced at you briefly in the rearview mirror. "Mr. Jeon is on his way as well," he informed you calmly.

When you arrived, you found your mother sitting on the couch, sipping tea with a composed air. Across from her sat Wonwoo, his demeanor calm and understanding, as if he were holding the room steady with his presence. In stark contrast, you felt like a storm raging inside.

You didn’t speak right away. Instead, you walked to the couch and sat beside Wonwoo, your eyes fixed on your mother, who looked more at ease than you ever remembered.

Sensing your need for privacy, Wonwoo leaned over, his hand briefly brushing your arm. "I’ll excuse myself," he murmured before standing and stepping out of the room.

The silence that followed his departure was thick, heavy with unspoken words.

"I signed the divorce papers," your mother finally said, setting her teacup down on the table with deliberate care. "I’m sorry it took me so long."

"Why are you apologizing?" you asked, your voice sharper than you intended. Your eyes were locked on her hands as they fidgeted in her lap.

"It’s just..." she hesitated, her voice dropping to a near whisper, "you’ve wished for this for a long time."

Your brow furrowed in confusion. "I wished for this?" you repeated, your voice incredulous. "I don’t understand."

She bit her lip, her gaze flickering to the floor. "You might not remember," she began hesitantly. "After Jisoo... after he left us, you tried to explain what happened. That he fell off the vessel. But no one believed you—not your father, not Seungcheol. No one."

The memory stirred faintly in your mind, like a forgotten dream just out of reach.

"And in your frustration, in your pain, you told me you wished I’d leave him." Her voice cracked slightly, the weight of the revelation pressing down on both of you.

You leaned forward, stunned. "Why would I say that?"

She let out a shaky breath, her hands trembling as she clasped them tightly. "Because you believed I was the only one who truly trusted you. And you were right. I knew—I knew—you would never harm Jisoo. He was your best friend. Your brother. You loved him more than anything."

A heavy silence hung between you, broken only by the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. Her belief in you, her unwavering trust, hit you like a tidal wave.

"I didn’t leave back then," she continued, her voice thick with emotion. "Because I had no power. The only thing I could do was try to give you strength. To help you build a life where you’d never have to depend on anyone else."

Her words struck a chord deep within you. "You helped me get my job," you said, realization dawning.

She nodded. "The dean is an old friend of mine. She told me you were impeccable, that you’d make an excellent lecturer. I used every connection I had to make sure you had opportunities I never did."

"Why?" you asked, your voice trembling with the weight of so many unanswered questions. "Why did you do all that for me?"

Her gaze softened, tears welling in her eyes. "Because I wanted you to have your own power. I wanted you to be free, to stand on your own two feet, so no one could ever control you the way your father did to me."

You swallowed hard, her words sinking in like stones in water. You wanted to ask if this was why you had chosen to marry Wonwoo, but the question felt too raw, too invasive.

Did I fail her? The thought struck you like a sharp pang in your chest. She had believed in you when no one else did, but had you done the same for her? Or had you been so consumed with your own pain that you hadn’t noticed hers?

You bit your lip, your vision blurring as tears welled in your eyes. "I don’t even remember saying that to you," you admitted, your voice cracking.

Her gaze softened, and she reached out to place her hand over yours. "You were just a child," she said gently. "You didn’t mean it the way you think you did. But those words... they stayed with me. They reminded me that someone saw me, even when I didn’t see myself."

The conflict within you deepened. You didn’t know whether to feel grateful or guilty, proud or ashamed. All you knew was that your mother had spent years trapped in a cage she hadn’t built alone, and you had unknowingly become the key she needed to escape.

Her next words shattered what little resolve you had left. "When I saw you stand up to your father on the cruise, I realized that it’s never too late to find my own power. You showed me that."

Her tears spilled over then, and for the first time in years, you saw her cry. Not from fear or despair, but from a release—a shedding of years of silent suffering.

You didn’t know what to say, so you didn’t say anything. Instead, you reached for her hand, gripping it tightly as if to anchor both of you in this moment of raw, unfiltered truth.

"Is she alright?" Wonwoo asked as you entered the room. You nodded, exhaustion clear on your face as you walked toward him. Without hesitation, he opened his arms, silently inviting you into his embrace. You stepped closer, sinking into his chest, letting his warmth surround you.

"She’ll be fine with us," Wonwoo murmured, his voice steady and reassuring as he tightened his hold around you. The weight of the night seemed lighter, though your heart still carried the storm brewing within.

"My father..." you began, your voice trailing off before the bitterness returned. "He’s such a menace. I just hope he doesn’t find Mom here."

Wonwoo nodded, his chin brushing the top of your head as he whispered, "I’ll tell Seokmin to add more guards around the property. You don’t have to worry. We’ll handle this, and we’ll find a way to keep her safe."

His words gave you a fragile sense of peace, enough to let you rest your head against him, trusting in the certainty of his promise.

The next day, Wonwoo left for Seoul to have a word with his father. The situation with your mother’s divorce wasn’t just a family matter—it had the potential to create ripples in the business world. Ji Construction, your father’s company, was already in a delicate position, and any negative press could trigger a chain reaction. As a major supporter of Choi Construction, the Jeon Group couldn’t afford to ignore the fallout.

Wonwoo sat in the polished meeting room, tension thick in the air. His father’s trusted advisor, Mr. Park, laid out the details of the situation. "If news of the divorce goes public, it will undoubtedly impact the market. Choi Construction’s stocks could plummet, and given their illegal dealings, there’s a risk of further exposure."

"That’s a problem for Seungcheol to fix," Wonwoo’s father interjected, his expression impassive as he leaned back in his chair. "He’ll have to make a move immediately."

Wonwoo scoffed, unable to hide his disdain. "Seungcheol isn’t capable of handling this. He’s nothing more than a copycat of his father—arrogant and reckless."

"Which is precisely why we need to prepare," Mr. Park said, clearing his throat. "Jeon Group holds the largest share in Choi Construction at the moment. If the Choi family crumbles, we’ll need to decide who will take the reins and stabilize the situation."

His father turned to him, a calculating look in his eyes. "What about Y/n? Does she have any interest in the business?"

Wonwoo shook his head firmly. "No. She’s focused on her career, and I won’t let her be dragged into this mess."

There was a moment of silence before Mr. Park spoke again, his tone measured. "The best step forward is to begin preparing a new leader—someone who can step in if the Choi family fails to recover."

Wonwoo leaned back in his chair, the weight of responsibility pressing against him. He wasn’t just thinking about the company or the market. He was thinking about you—how you had suffered enough under your father’s shadow, and how your mother was finally free. This was his burden to carry now, and he would ensure you wouldn’t have to bear it.

"We’ll prepare," Wonwoo said, his voice firm. "But I’m not letting Y/n or her mother get dragged into this chaos. We’ll find a way to stabilize things without jeopardizing them."

The next day, chaos erupted at the Jeon residence. Wonwoo was in the middle of an important meeting when he received your frantic call. Your father and brother, Seungcheol, had shown up unannounced, demanding to see your mother. Sensing danger, Wonwoo didn’t hesitate to cancel everything and rush home.

The scene he walked into was worse than he imagined. Standing at the front door, you were blocking the way, arms spread protectively in front of your mother. Seungcheol’s face was contorted with rage as he swung his hand toward you, ready to strike. Wonwoo’s heart stopped for a second, but his body reacted instinctively. He intercepted Seungcheol’s hand mid-air, gripping it tightly.

You stood frozen, the shock and fear rendering you speechless. Wonwoo’s jaw tightened as he threw Seungcheol’s hand away with a forceful movement. He stepped in front of you, shielding you with his own body as he turned to face your father and brother.

"No one is allowed to harm my wife," Wonwoo said, his voice calm but dangerously firm as his eyes locked on Seungcheol. "That includes you."

"Get out of our way! This is a family matter. It’s none of your business, Jeon," Seungcheol spat, trying to push Wonwoo aside. But Wonwoo didn’t budge.

Your father, with an air of cold authority, interjected, "Let me speak to my wife, son-in-law."

Wonwoo’s expression didn’t falter as he shook his head. "I’m sorry, but when my mother-in-law sought protection under my roof, it became my business too. She’s safe here, and I suggest you go home before things escalate further."

A smirk twisted your father’s lips, but his eyes burned with malice as he stepped closer to Wonwoo. "Are you doing this because you know what will happen?"

Before Wonwoo could respond, you stepped forward, your voice trembling but determined. "Enough, Father. This is our home, and you need to respect its owner. Isn’t that the lesson you’ve always preached to everyone else?"

Your father’s gaze snapped to you, his expression darkening. What happened next stunned everyone. Without warning, your father grabbed your arm and pulled you toward him, his hand tightening around your neck. You gasped for air, your hands clawing at his grip as your brother, Seungcheol, stared in shock, clearly not expecting things to escalate this far.

"Father, stop!" Seungcheol’s voice broke through the chaos, but his words did little to deter the enraged man.

Wonwoo’s blood ran cold as he lunged forward, shouting your name. "Let her go!" He fought to pry your father’s hands off you, his panic turning into fury. Seokmin and the guards rushed in to assist, finally managing to wrest you free from your father’s grasp.

Your body went limp, collapsing to the floor. Wonwoo dropped to his knees, scooping you into his arms with a shaky breath. "Y/n," he whispered, his voice thick with worry. "Stay with me."

Turning to Seokmin, Wonwoo barked orders. "Call the police! Get all the CCTV footage as evidence."

Seungcheol tried to calm your father, whose anger hadn’t abated, but it was clear the situation was spiraling out of control. As your father continued to shout about his wife, Wonwoo carried you inside, his arms tightening protectively around you. His mind raced with thoughts of your safety, but one thing was clear—he wouldn’t let anyone hurt you again, no matter who they were.

You woke up in the hospital to the sound of quiet sobs. Your eyes fluttered open, and you turned your head to see your mother sitting beside you, tears streaming down her face. The moment she noticed you were awake, she gasped softly, clutching your hand tightly.

"You're awake," she whispered, her voice thick with relief.

You blinked, disoriented. The sterile white of the hospital room was unfamiliar, and a dull ache in your neck brought back fragments of what had happened. "How...how did I get here?" you asked, your voice hoarse and shaky.

Your mother wiped her tears and took a deep breath before answering. "We got you checked. You fainted after...after what happened. The doctors said you’ll be fine with some rest." Her voice trembled as she continued, "We’re going to file charges against your father. He tried to kill you, Y/n."

The weight of her words hit you like a ton of bricks. Your breath hitched as your hand instinctively reached for your neck. The memory was vivid, and you could still feel the ghost of his grip—the warmth of his hand, twisted with the terrifying force that had robbed you of air.

"Wonwoo..." you whispered, panic creeping into your tone. "Is he okay? Did he get hurt?"

Your mother shook her head quickly, trying to reassure you. "He’s fine, sweetheart. He’s outside talking to the police. Do you want me to call him for you?"

Before she could leave, the door opened, and Wonwoo stepped into the room. His eyes immediately found yours, and a wave of relief washed over his face as he crossed the room in a few swift strides.

"Y/n," he murmured, his voice soft but full of emotion as he leaned down and pulled you into his arms.

The strength of his embrace brought you an immediate sense of safety, and you buried your face against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His hand gently brushed through your hair, his voice a comforting whisper against your ear. "You’re safe with me now. You’re going to be okay. I promise."

Tears welled up in your eyes as the reality of the moment sank in. For so long, you had felt powerless—trapped in the shadow of your father’s control, just like your mother. But now, something had shifted.

You thought back to the confrontation. Despite the fear, you had stood up to your father and brother. You had protected your mother. And when it all became too much, Wonwoo had been there, steadfast and unyielding, shielding you from harm.

The realization hit you like a spark igniting a flame. It wasn’t just that Wonwoo had given you strength—it was that he had shown you the strength you already had within yourself. His unwavering support had become the foundation for your courage, and in standing up for yourself, you had also empowered your mother to take a stand for her own freedom.

You pulled back slightly, looking up at Wonwoo. His gaze was filled with concern, but also with pride, as if he could see the shift within you.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice steady despite the tears.

Wonwoo cupped your cheek, brushing away a stray tear with his thumb. "You don’t have to thank me. We’re in this together, always."

In that moment, you felt a profound sense of clarity. You weren’t powerless anymore. With Wonwoo by your side, you had the strength to face whatever came next—for yourself, for your mother, and for the future you were determined to build.

With help from Mingyu, a friend who worked in property, Wonwoo unearthed substantial evidence of your father’s corrupt dealings. As he collaborated with the police to ensure your father faced justice, he simultaneously engaged in discussions with Seungcheol regarding the future of Choi Construction.

“My father hates her because she’s a girl. That’s it,” Seungcheol admitted bluntly, providing the answer to Wonwoo’s lingering question about your mistreatment within the household.

Wonwoo’s patience had long worn thin, and any remaining respect he might have held for your family was gone. To him, your father and brother were just men he had to deal with, not figures deserving of courtesy. As he sat across from Seungcheol, his tone was firm, devoid of negotiation.

“I’ll hand over the rights to the Singapore branch. But in return, you and your family will leave my wife and her mother alone. Permanently.”

Seungcheol stared at the table, his head bowed. “You’re right. I’ve always been too insecure to run the company properly,” he confessed, his voice carrying the weight of years spent under his father’s oppressive shadow. The realization of his inadequacies seemed to dawn on him, leaving him vulnerable and exposed.

“Were you close to Jisoo?” Wonwoo asked, breaking the heavy silence.

Seungcheol shrugged, his face devoid of emotion. “I wasn’t close to anyone, not even my mother. My father was too focused on molding me into the perfect businessman. I’ve always been just a puppet.”

Wonwoo let out a deep sigh. “Your family is a wreck,” he said bluntly, his frustration barely concealed.

Seungcheol gave a bitter chuckle. “Tell me something I don’t know. Could you say that to my sister, though?”

Wonwoo glanced at him, his expression softening slightly. He shook his head, unwilling to voice such harsh words about you.

“You love her,” Seungcheol muttered, nodding as if confirming it to himself.

The court’s decision was finally made—your father was sentenced to 25 years in prison for engaging in illegal business practices and attempting to murder both you and your mother.

With Choi Construction left without a leader, Wonwoo was appointed as its new director, while his younger brother took over his former position in their father's company. Wonwoo wasted no time making sweeping changes, rebranding the company as Jeon Construction and reshaping its operations from the ground up. As months passed, he found himself buried in work, barely able to make time for you.

Realizing the imbalance, Wonwoo finally texted you, deciding to pick you up from your mother's house, where she had recently moved to Busan. But before he could leave, Lee Seokmin, his assistant, delivered a very pointed lecture on the importance of "dating your wife properly."

"Bring flowers," Seokmin had added, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

So now, here he was, standing outside his car, waiting for you with a bouquet in his hands. When you stepped out, he felt the corners of his lips lift involuntarily.

"Where are we going?" you asked, eyeing the flowers before taking them with a soft smile.

Seokmin had already booked a restaurant—a fine dining spot that happened to be one of your favorites. Wonwoo wasn’t sure how Seokmin knew that, but he’d figure it out later. Tonight, he wasn’t going to waste a single thought on anything but you.

Over a candlelit dinner, you savored every bite of your meal while Wonwoo enjoyed watching you unwind. As the evening progressed, he raised his glass slightly and asked, "How’s the food?"

You exhaled, setting your fork down with a satisfied smile. "Perfect… actually, amazing. I had a tough day today, and this just made everything better. Thank you."

Wonwoo’s lips curled into a rare, genuine smile. He lifted his glass towards yours, eyes locked on you.

"A toast?" he asked.

You clinked your glass against his, and for the first time in a long while, the two of you enjoyed a quiet moment—just the two of you, no business, no burdens, just the warmth of each other’s presence.

As you took a sip of your wine, the warmth of the moment settled in. The quiet hum of the restaurant, the dim glow of the candles, and the way Wonwoo’s eyes never strayed far from you made the evening feel almost surreal—like a small pocket of peace after the storm.

He set his glass down, fingers tapping lightly against the stem before he finally spoke. "How are you feeling… after everything?" His voice was calm, but there was something deeper in his tone—concern, curiosity, maybe even guilt for not asking sooner.

You placed your glass down and thought for a moment. The past few months had been a whirlwind. Your father’s sentencing had been all over the news—a powerful businessman brought down by his own crimes. Twenty-five years behind bars, stripped of everything he once controlled. But despite everything, a part of you still felt unsettled.

"I don’t know," you admitted, fingers tracing the rim of your glass. "Some days, I feel relieved. Other days… it still feels unreal." You exhaled, meeting his gaze. "He’s still alive, still out there somewhere. Even if he’s locked up, it’s like he still has a grip on me."

Wonwoo nodded slowly, his expression unreadable, but his eyes held a quiet understanding. "He took too much from you for you to just move on overnight," he said simply.

You swallowed, nodding. "Maybe." A pause. "But I don’t want to keep living in that shadow. I want to move forward. I want to build something new for myself… for my mom."

Wonwoo leaned back in his chair, observing you. "And for us?"

Your breath hitched slightly at his words, your eyes flickering to his.

A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "I didn’t go through all this trouble to protect you just to watch you walk away."

You let out a soft chuckle, shaking your head. "I didn’t say I was going anywhere."

His smirk faded into something softer. He reached across the table, his fingers brushing against yours. "Good," he murmured. "Because I need you here."

The weight of his words settled between you, heavier than the wine in your glass, more intoxicating than anything you had tasted tonight.

"Then I guess we’re staying," you whispered.

And for the first time in a long time, the future didn’t seem so uncertain.

As soon as the door closed behind you, Wonwoo backed you against it, his hands settling on your hips as he leaned in to capture your lips in a searing kiss. Yourur tongues tangled eagerly, the flavors of wine and dessert mingling as your mouths moved in perfect sync.

As your lips parted, Wonwoo's breath tickled your ear as he whispered sultry nothings, his warm words sending shivers down your spine. "God, I want you," he rasped, trailing open-mouthed kisses along your jawline and down the column of your throat. Each nip and lick sent sparks of pleasure through your veins, making you arch into his touch.

As Wonwoo's lips trailed reverently along your skin, his whispers grew softer, sweeter. "You have no idea how much I crave you." His fingertips danced across your chest, tracing patterns that left goosebumps in their wake. "You're all mine," he breathed, punctuating his words with a gentle kiss to the hollow of your throat.

As Wonwoo laid you down on the soft cushions of the sofa, a soft moan escaped your lips at the feel of the cool leather beneath you. Your senses were heightened, attuned to every brush of fabric against your skin and the heat emanating from the man towering over you. You could feel the rigid outline of his arousal pressing insistently against your thigh, a tangible reminder of his desire.

"Please, Wonwoo," You whimpered, reaching up to cradle his face in your palms. "Kiss me again, taste me...touch me everywhere," You begged, your voice thick with need. Your hips lifted off the couch, seeking friction against the solid length prodding your leg. "Make love to me, right here, right now," You pleaded, your eyes locked onto his, filled with lust and adoration.

Wonwoo's fingers found the dampened lace at the apex of your thighs, teasing the sensitive flesh through the thin barrier. A gasp slipped past your lips at the intimate caress, your hips canting up involuntarily to press closer to his touch. "Mmm, so wet for me already," he purred, rubbing the pad of his thumb over your clit through the soaked material. The sensation shot straight to your core, leaving you trembling and desperate for more.

"Please, Wonwoo," You whimpered, spreading your legs wider in invitation as his fingers resumed their playful exploration of your most sensitive area. He obliged without hesitation, slipping a digit beneath the drenched lace to stroke through your slick folds, gathering the evidence of my arousal on his fingertip before circling your entrance teasingly. You arched off the couch, a needy moan spilling from your lips at the delicious pressure building inside you.

Wonwoo's husky whisper sent shivers down your spine. "You're breathtaking, my love. Just as I imagined, dreamed of, a thousand times." His hand stilled for a moment, letting you relish in the praise before resuming his tender touch. Slow, deliberate strokes coaxed out more of your essence, each movement pushing you closer to the edge. "Let go for me," he urged, his breath hot against your ear.

As Wonwoo's fingers continued their maddening tempo, the coil of tension inside you snapped. You cried out his name, back arching off the couch as waves of ecstasy crashed over you. Pleasure pulsed through your veins like liquid fire, your inner walls clenching around nothing as the orgasm ripped through you. Distantly, you heard Wonwoo's approving groans, felt his body tense above you as he watched you come undone in his skilled hands.

He picked your naked body to the bedroom effortlessly as laid you down softly. Wonwoo's nimble fingers worked their magic, effortlessly shedding the barriers between you, you gazed at him in awe. The soft lighting of the bedroom illuminated his chiseled features and the moonbeams danced across his skin, making him look like a deity descended from the heavens.

He stood before you, glorious, as you ran your hands reverently over the contours of his torso. His body hovered yours. As your lips met, the world around you melted away, leaving only the intoxicating sensations of the kiss and the warmth of each other's bodies.

Wonwoo's mouth slanted over yours, demanding and possessive, claiming you with every brush of his tongue against you. You melted into the embrace, returning his ardor with equal fervor, your moans mingling in the stillness of the room as you lost yourselves in the passionate dance of desire.

Wonwoo's hands roamed the curves your body as he kissed a path along your neck, his touch igniting sparks wherever he touched. He cupped your breast, thumb grazing the pebbled nipple through the thin fabric of your bra, sending jolts of pleasure straight to the core. "So soft, so perfect," he murmured against your skin, nipping and sucking gently as he explored the sensitive terrain of your throat.

"Once I get a taste of you, I may not be able to let you go," he admitted hoarsely, his voice trembling with need. The vulnerability in his words only heightened your excitement, your body arching instinctively to draw him closer.

With a gentle yet insistent pressure, Wonwoo guided himself into your waiting depths. A soft gasp escaped your lips as he filled you inch by exquisite inch, stretching and accommodating his impressive girth. Once he was buried to the hilt, he paused, allowing you to adjust to the incredible fullness before beginning to move within you. Each deliberate thrust sparked a cascade of pleasure, the sound of skin meeting skin and your ragged breaths filling the air.

"You're so big.."

Wonwoo's smug grin only added to the erotic charge between you as he drew back and pushed in again, his thick length stroking deep inside you. "Big enough to satisfy this greedy little pussy, isn't it?" he purred, his voice a low, husky rasp. He set a steady, pounding rhythm, each powerful thrust driving him impossibly deeper.

Wonwoo's praise was a velvet caress against you ears, heightening the euphoria coursing through your veins. "Fuck, you feel amazing wrapped around me," he growled, punctuating each word with a deep, forceful stroke. "Like you were made for me, custom-fit just to take my cock and beg for more."

Wonwoo's fingers found your throbbing clit with ease, applying just the right amount of pressure to send shockwaves of pleasure surging through you. Each stroke harmonized with his relentless pace, the dual sensations threatening to unravel you completely. You clenched tighter around him, the snug, velvety grip of your walls milking his thickness with every thrust.

Wonwoo groaned deeply as he felt the telltale fluttering of yout inner muscles, signaling your impending climax. "That's it, baby, let go for me," he urged, his voice roughened with lust. He rubbed your clit in swift, targeted circles, pushing you precariously close to the edge. With one final, searing plunge, he triggered your orgasm, the waves of ecstasy crashing over you in intense, overwhelming bursts.

With a guttural moan, Wonwoo plunged deep, his hips jerking as he spilled his hot seed inside you. You elt each pulsing wave of his release, his thick cock throbbing and twitching as he emptied himself within your clenching depths. The sensation was decadently intimate, making you shudder with pleasure as you rode out the aftershocks of your own climax. Your bodies moved in tandem, lost in the primal dance of sex and satisfaction.

As you collapsed together in a tangle of limbs, panting and sated, Wonwoo pressed his lips to yours in a tender, lingering kiss. "I've waited so long for this moment," he breathed against your mouth, his words muffled but heartfelt. "Half a year of longing, of craving your touch... and now it's finally real." He nuzzled you temple, his warm breath fanning across your skin.

"I love you."

The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. The air was still, heavy with the remnants of last night—shared breaths, whispered confessions, the quiet surrender to something neither of you had spoken aloud but had felt for so long.

You stirred slightly, the cool sheets contrasting against the warmth of the body next to you. Wonwoo’s arm was draped over your waist, his breathing slow and even. His grip was loose, but even in sleep, he held onto you like he wasn’t ready to let go.

Your mind was quiet for the first time in a long while. No thoughts of your father, no weight of the past pressing down on your chest. Just this—just him.

As if sensing your thoughts, Wonwoo shifted, his fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns against your skin. He hummed lowly, his voice still thick with sleep. “You’re awake?”

You turned slightly to face him, your lips curving into a soft smile. “Mmm.”

His eyes cracked open, hazy and laced with something unreadable. He studied you for a moment before exhaling, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Are you okay?”

The question made your chest tighten, but in a good way. He wasn’t just asking about last night—he was asking about everything.

You nodded, shifting closer until your forehead rested against his. “Yeah… I think I am.”

His fingers slid up your arm, his touch grounding. “Good.”

Silence settled between you, comfortable and warm. Then, a small smirk tugged at his lips. “Seokmin’s going to give me hell when he finds out.”

You let out a laugh, shaking your head. “You mean he hasn’t already?”

Wonwoo groaned, rolling onto his back. “He probably sent me twenty messages by now. That guy’s too invested in my love life.”

You propped yourself up on your elbow, looking down at him with amusement. “Maybe he just wants to make sure you’re treating me right.”

He turned his head to meet your gaze, something softer in his eyes now. “I don’t need Seokmin to remind me to do that.”

Your breath hitched slightly, but before you could respond, he pulled you back into his arms, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “Five more minutes,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your skin. “Then I’ll deal with whatever disaster Seokmin has planned for me today.”

You smiled, closing your eyes as you let yourself sink into the warmth of him. “Five more minutes,” you echoed.

You traced small patterns on his bare chest, enjoying the way his skin tensed under your touch. “So… last night,” you murmured, your voice teasing.

Wonwoo cracked one eye open, his lips twitching. “What about it?”

You tilted your head, pretending to be deep in thought. “You talk a lot when you’re in the moment.”

His brows furrowed slightly before realization dawned on him, and for the first time in a while, you saw a hint of red creeping up his ears. “I—” He cleared his throat. “That’s just—”

You smirked, leaning closer. “No, no, I liked it.” You let your fingers dance over his collarbone, your voice dropping slightly. “Didn’t know you had a thing for dirty talk, though.”

Wonwoo groaned, covering his face with his hand. “You’re really going to bring that up first thing in the morning?”

You laughed, enjoying how flustered he got despite everything. “I mean, I just think it’s cute,” you teased, nudging his side. “You’re usually so composed, but last night—”

He suddenly rolled on top of you, pinning you beneath him in one swift movement. His expression had shifted, his teasing smirk returning. “If you keep talking, I’ll have to remind you exactly how much I like talking.”

Your breath hitched as he dipped his head closer, lips ghosting over your jawline. The way his voice dropped sent a familiar shiver down your spine.

Wonwoo rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm as he held you close. The night had unraveled things between you—vulnerability, passion, and something deeper that neither of you had dared to name until now. His fingers traced soft patterns on your back, and for a moment, it was just the two of you, wrapped in warmth and unspoken words.

Then, he spoke.

“I love you.” His voice was steady, unwavering, but you could hear the slight nervous edge in it. Like he had been holding onto those words for a while, waiting for the right moment. “I don’t think I realized how much until I almost lost you.”

Your heart clenched, remembering everything you had been through. The fights, the fear, the way he stood by your side through it all. Your hand found his cheek, thumb brushing over his skin as you took in the sincerity in his gaze.

“I love you too,” you whispered, watching the way his eyes softened, his lips parting slightly as if surprised despite everything. “And… thank you, Wonwoo.”

His brows furrowed slightly. “For what?”

“For staying. For fighting for me. For always making sure I’m safe.” Your voice trembled slightly, emotions catching up with you. “For giving me a reason to feel strong.”

Wonwoo exhaled slowly, his grip on you tightening as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. “You were always strong,” he murmured. “I just reminded you of it.”

You smiled, running your fingers through his hair. “Well, either way, I still want to thank you.”

He pulled back slightly, his lips curving into that rare, genuine smile you loved. “Then let me thank you too,” he murmured, pressing a slow, lingering kiss against your lips.

And in that moment, you knew—this wasn’t just a marriage of convenience anymore. This was real.

2K notes · View notes

cutehoons02 · 3 months ago

Text

My lollipop girl

My lollipop boy pt2

Jungwon pt Jake pt Jaypt

*pairing: pervy rabbit hybrid Sunghoon x popular girl

*trope: oppositive attraction/grumpy x sunshine

*synopsis: Y/n is a university student who crosses paths with Sunghoon, an enigmatic and mysterious guy, who turns out to be a rabbit hybrid. Amid provocations, power plays, and growing tension, Y/N tries to catch his attention with a lollipop, but he mocks her. Despite his authoritative behavior, Sunghoon can't help but be drawn to her. As Y/n learns more about his hybrid nature, including heat and the knot, their relationship becomes increasingly intense, filled with seductive games and emotional challenges that push them further to their limits.

*tags: Sunghoon is a rabbit hybrid, lots of tension, Hoon behaves with superiority and loves to tease the protagonist always throwing arrows, territoriality, pervy thoughts, tutor Hoon, fake innocent girl, neddy Hoon, needy girl, kisses, hickeys, masturbation, double times fingering, unprotected sex (don't horny ppl) pet names (princess,sweetheart,good girl) (Hoon,hoonie)

13k (🍭)

(English is not my native language)

Being the most popular girl at the Academy had its perks. You never had to worry about being alone—everyone wanted to be seen with you, and everyone laughed at your jokes, even when they weren’t funny. One look from you was enough to get whatever you wanted, and if you wished for someone, that someone would come running to your feet.

But there were downsides, too. No one was indeed your friend. The girls who flocked around you gossiped about everyone the moment they turned their backs, and you could only imagine how many times they had done the same to you.

And then there were the hybrids—once outcasts, now accepted into human society, yet still treated as different. Every day, you heard those shallow girls giggling about them, whispering "animals" under their breath as if they weren’t human enough to deserve respect. You didn’t care. You weren’t there to be a hero. You only looked out for yourself.

At least, until that day.

The air in the advanced economics classroom was heavy, saturated with useless chatter and forced laughter. You walked in last, your usual strawberry-and-cream lollipop between your lips, your usual skirt just a little shorter than it should be, and your fitted blouse drawing eyes wherever you went. Scanning the room, you searched for an empty seat. Two options.

The first was next to Jeremy—the stereotypical football guy: arrogant, clingy, convinced every girl at the Academy would fall at his feet. He didn’t even bother to hide where his eyes wandered whenever you were around.

The other was next to Sunghoon.

Sunghoon wasn’t just handsome. He was the handsome that hurt to look at for too long. Soft black hair, almost too perfect, a face carved with precision, dotted with tiny beauty marks you wanted to examine up close… and kiss. His nose was perfect, his features sharp like a statue, his body lean but sculpted just right. But his looks weren’t the problem. His personality was.

Cold. Silent. Cynical.

He barely spoke, and when he did, it was to throw sharp remarks—often aimed at humans. You didn’t blame him. It had to be exhausting to coexist with people who still looked at him with suspicion just for being born different. But when he was with other hybrids… he became someone else. Once, you had heard him laugh—a real, deep, almost contagious laugh. And God, you had wanted to listen to it again.

Your body moved before your mind could think twice. You walked toward the seat next to Sunghoon, ignoring Jeremy’s surprised stare and the murmurs of a few girls.

You pulled the chair back, the scraping sound echoing through the room. Sunghoon looked up, his dark pupils locking onto you, his ears twitching slightly as if irritated by the noise.

For a few seconds, he said nothing. He just observed you, analyzing with that calculated gaze, as if trying to figure out why you had chosen him.

You sat down calmly, crossing your legs with a slow, deliberate motion, letting your skirt ride up just enough to reveal a glimpse of your thighs. You knew he was looking, even if he tried to mask it with that bored, impassive expression. You wondered what was running through his mind. You wanted to slip into his thoughts, to understand what he thought of you—if he was genuinely annoyed or if, deep down, he liked you more than he was willing to admit.

Sunghoon glanced at you briefly, but his eyes betrayed something else, something he tried to suppress. His tail flicked slightly behind him—an involuntary reflex he immediately stifled as if refusing to give you the satisfaction of knowing you were affecting him. He was always like this: cold, calculated, yet incredibly curious. It was in his hybrid nature, his way of analyzing everything, but with that hint of arrogance typical of someone who knew he was irresistible.

Then your scent hit him.

Strawberries and cream. Sweet—almost too sweet for him. He wasn’t the type to enjoy sugary fragrances; he preferred sharp, fresh scents, ones with cool notes that matched his personality. And yet, somehow, he thought that scent was perfect for you. Too perfect.

He looked at you again.

You were different from the other popular girls. Beauty? That was obvious. Intelligence? He already knew you weren’t an airhead. But there was something more. You had confidence and boldness, yet you didn’t hesitate to talk to anyone—not even hybrids. He knew you had a hybrid friend, and that made you even stranger in his eyes.

But what irritated him was something else.

The way you sucked on that damn lollipop beside him, your tongue lazily gliding over the sugary stick, your lips wrapping around the candy with too much ease. The way your skirt was too short, leaving your thighs fully exposed. The way your blouse was too tight, the faint outline of pink lace peeking through, hugging your full curves.

Sunghoon throws you a sharp look, but you notice. And you smile.

"Do you like the show?" you ask with a provocative smirk, tilting your head slightly as you run the lollipop between your lips.

He sighs quietly, crossing his arms over his chest. 'Stop dreaming, princess.'

But the moment he says it, his eyes betray a flash of amusement, and his white and gray tail starts moving uncontrollably.

You burst into laughter, swinging the lollipop between your lips with a cheeky smile. "Princess, huh? No one’s ever called me that before."

Sunghoon scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. 'Strange, I thought your ego would guarantee you at least ten nicknames like that.'

You raise an eyebrow, entertained by his sharpness. "Oh, so you’ve been checking up on me?"

He gives you a bored look. 'Hard not to when everyone keeps talking about you.'

Your crystal-clear laugh fills the air as you pull out your economics notebooks and arrange the pages with slow, precise movements. Sunghoon, with his watchful gaze, observes everything: your neat handwriting, and your perfectly completed assignments.

"What's up? Surprised that I’m smart?" you ask, tilting your head slightly.

He barely curves his lips into a sneer. 'No. I'm surprised someone like you has time to study between all your dates.'

You click your tongue, giving him a mock expression of pity. "How cruel, Sunghoon. You’re breaking my heart."

'You should get used to it.' he replies, expressionless.

You bite your lip to hold back a smile. You like this game. You enjoy how he teases you without filters, how he doesn’t get swept up like everyone else. But most of all, you like the idea of provoking him.

You keep sucking on your lollipop, and when you get to the best part—the one where the strawberry and cream blend perfectly—you notice how Sunghoon averts his gaze for a moment. But not fast enough.

His cheeks flush slightly. His tail stops moving, and his fluffy ears twitch ever so slightly.

Your smile widens. "You like lollipops?"

He bursts out laughing, but there’s something irritated in his expression.

'No. I don’t like unnecessarily sugary things.'

"Strange," you comment, running your tongue along the candy. "Yet, you seem like the type to melt for something sweet."

Sunghoon looks at you, this time with an even colder, sharper gaze.

'Maybe because you’re used to all those little puppies that circle you. But I’m not one of them.'

His tone is so cutting that for a moment, you almost take him seriously. Almost. You simply smile. "No, definitely not."

The professor enters, and the conversation stops, but the tension remains. When the tests are handed out, your gaze falls on the grade marked in red next to your name. 75. Not bad. But then you see the test next to yours. 100.

You slowly turn toward Sunghoon, and he simply blinks with an air of complete indifference as the professor praises him in front of everyone. But your gaze misses no detail: his tail instinctively rises, his ears stand up with pride, the faint blush coloring his cheeks.

You lean on your hand, watching him with your mouth slightly open. "You... are a fucking genius?"

Sunghoon slowly turns toward you and, for the first time, actually smiles. But it’s not a kind smile. It’s the smile of someone who’s enjoying every second of your surprise. 'Surprised?'

You blink, then cross your arms with a smirk. "I never would’ve guessed. I thought your only talent was being a bastard with me."

He tilts his head, his ears moving slightly. 'I can do both.'

At the end of the lesson, you walk up to him with a new lollipop between your fingers and offer it to him with a cheeky smile. "As a reward for your grade!"

Sunghoon looks down at the candy, then turns back to you with an arched eyebrow. 'Are you stupid or deaf?'

You place a hand over your chest, pretending to be offended. "Oh, such manners! I know exactly what you said." You take a step closer, tilting your head to the side. "But you know by now, right? I like to annoy you."

He takes a deep breath, as if holding back the urge to tell you to go to hell, then shakes his head with a cynical smile. 'And I’m supposed to like something just because YOU decide so?'

"Exactly," you reply without hesitation.

Sunghoon stares at you for a long moment, as if trying to figure out what the hell is wrong with you. Then he shakes his head, completely ignoring your offer, and stuffs his books into his backpack.

You sigh, swinging the lollipop between your fingers. "So, will you help me study for the next test? I want a 100 too."

Sunghoon stops for a moment, his jaw tightening slightly. He looks you up and down as if assessing whether your request is worth even a second of his time.

Then, with a slow, provocative smile, he takes a step closer. Close enough for his fresh, sharp scent to envelop you, a stark contrast to your sweet strawberry and cream scent.

He leans slightly toward you, his face dangerously close to yours. 'And why should I help you, princess?' he murmurs, his voice low and full of challenge.

You don’t lower your gaze. You don’t give him that satisfaction. You just smile. "Because I’m nice and cute."

Sunghoon chuckles softly, a sound almost amused, then straightens up. 'No.'

You freeze for a second. "No?"

He grabs his backpack and walks past you without sparing you another glance. 'Figure it out.'

You watch him with your eyes as he exits the classroom, a mix of irritation and amusement bubbling in your chest.

You tighten the lollipop between your fingers and make a smile spread across your lips, and you can’t wait for the next class to torment and tease Park Sunghoon, the hybrid rabbit.

The condominium where you lived was perfect for you: close enough to the university to make it there on time even if you stayed out late, but far enough to avoid the chaos of the campus. Plus, the best shops and cafes in the city were just a few steps away, making it easy to satisfy your sudden cravings for something sweet or an iced coffee.

That afternoon, with a mountain of bags in your hands and zero desire to climb four flights of stairs, you called the elevator. You were about to relax against the wall when, just a second before the doors closed, a shoe got wedged between them, forcing them to reopen.

And, of course, it was Sunghoon.

He was wearing a basketball tank top, the lightweight fabric clinging to his body still damp with sweat, exposing sculpted biceps and hinting at the perfect chest you could just barely see underneath the fabric. The basketball shorts revealed his muscular legs, and his tail flicked slightly behind him, betraying a restlessness his face didn’t show.

As soon as he saw you, he rolled his eyes as if the universe was out to get him. He didn’t say anything, just took a bottle of water to his lips, drinking in large sips as his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down.

And damn, even that made him look incredibly attractive.

You stayed silent for a few seconds, watching him as his throat worked, water droplets sliding down his sharp jawline. Then he turned to you, absentmindedly licking his lower lip before giving you an annoying smirk.

'What’s up, princess? Did the lollipop go down the wrong way?'

Instead of answering his provocation, you tilted your head to the side, looking at him with a sly smile. “Since we live on the same floor, why don’t we study together? We could help each other out.”

Sunghoon chuckled softly, slowly capping his water bottle. 'I don’t think so.'

“And why not?” You crossed your arms, your tone deliberately mischievous.

He took a step closer, filling the space between you with his warm, slightly electric presence. He looked down at you, then took a deep breath, as if evaluating something.

'I don’t like your smell.'

You stiffened for a second, his low and direct voice hitting you harder than you expected. You stared at him, confused. “What?”

Sunghoon ran a hand through his damp hair, shaking his head slightly.

'It’s not that you stink. It’s just that… my hybrid self doesn’t find you attractive and can’t stand the scent and perfume your human skin gives off.'

You stared at him, surprised by how brutally he said it. You’d never been rejected like that in your life. You almost felt shocked by the slight discomfort that pricked at your stomach.

But you’d never let him see it. So you smiled, a venomous and cheeky grin. “What a shame, Sunghoon. I, on the other hand, find your scent very interesting.” You took a step closer, your strawberry and cream scent filling the space between you. “Maybe you should try getting to know me better before you speak.”

He snorted, but for a second—just a second—you saw his fingers twitch slightly. And in that moment, his tail flicked again, though he did everything to keep it still.

The elevator dinged as it stopped, but Sunghoon didn’t move right away. He looked at you with that gaze that always seemed to judge you, always guarded as if you were an annoying waste of time.

'So you like my scent, huh?' he repeated, his voice laced with sharp sarcasm. 'I have to admit, it’s the first time I’ve heard a girl say she likes the smell of post-workout sweat.'

He took a step closer, tilting his head slightly as he looked you up and down. 'Or maybe you’re just one of those who likes to be with hybrids because it’s cool, hm?'

This time, you were the one to snort. “Are you always this full of yourself?” You crossed your arms, lifting your chin challengingly. “I’m just telling you that hybrids smell different from humans. I didn’t say I wanted to roll around in your sweat, Sunghoon.”

He smirked, that signature asshole expression on his face. 'Too bad. I thought you were one of those weird girls who like hybrid pheromones.'

You stepped out of the elevator with a sigh, but instead of letting him go, you planted yourself right in front of him in the hallway.

unghoon looked down at you, and for a moment, the contrast between your height and his seemed to amuse him. Then, though, he switched back to “asshole mode.” 'Don’t block the way, princess. I need to go shower.'

But you planted yourself in front of him, and maybe you shouldn’t have started this conversation.

“I did some research on rabbit hybrids.”

You immediately saw his expression change, as if he was already bracing himself for the nonsense you were about to say. 'Should I be honored?'

You ignored his sarcasm and pressed on. “I discovered a lot of interesting things. For example… rabbit hybrids have a different kind of heat than other hybrids. It’s not just once a year like for some predators… no, their cycle is much more frequent. Depending on the individual, it can happen multiple times in just a few months. A real hassle, right?”

Sunghoon stayed still, but you noticed how his jaw tightened slightly.

You smiled and continued. “Ah, and then there’s the knot.”

This time, you saw him stiffen.

“I’ve never quite understood the mechanism,” you continued, feigning innocence. “But, during heat, a rabbit hybrid has a physiological response that… locks them to their partner for a while. It’s for reproduction, right?”

Sunghoon stared at you, his eyes slits. Then, slowly, his lip curled into a disdainful grin.

'And is this your twisted way of telling me you want to fuck me?'

You hesitated for just a moment but recovered in an instant.

“No, it’s my twisted way of letting you know that I know things about you that maybe even other humans don’t.”

He chuckled softly, his tail swishing slightly behind him as if the whole conversation entertained him. 'And did you find anything else in your research, little detective?'

“Yes.” You placed a hand on your hip, tilting your head. “Like how rabbit hybrids enjoy physical contact. It’s not an instinctual thing like it is for canines, it’s more psychological. They love being touched, caressed, bitten…” You paused to enjoy the look on his face. “But only when they truly trust the girl or ‘mate’ that’s theirs.”

Sunghoon snorted. 'Oh yeah? And where did you find this information, on a blog for girls obsessed with hybrids?'

“No, scientific studies. Oh, and one more thing… rabbit hybrids are territorial.”

This time, you saw him grip his water bottle tighter. He was listening, even though he pretended not to care.

“They don’t like sharing what they consider ‘theirs.’ Whether it’s space, objects… or people.”

Sunghoon burst out laughing, a low, mocking sound. 'And what do you want to prove with all this pseudo-science? That you’re an expert on me?'

You shrugged. “I’m just saying that the more I watch you, the more I understand things about you.”

He took a step closer, and this time, his expression shifted slightly. He was still cocky, but there was something sharper behind it.

'And if I told you that my hybrid self doesn’t find you interesting?'

You stopped for a moment, then looked at him with a dangerous smile. “Then why don’t you stop staring at me?”

Sunghoon licked his lower lip and chuckled quietly. Then he walked past you, giving you a light shove as he headed for his door.

'Instead of wasting time with your stalker research, you should study economics.'

“Oh, really? My highest grade was 75, so if we studied together, you could give me some tips.” You said, stepping closer to him.

Sunghoon glanced over his shoulder, the smile still painted on his lips. 'I’d rather get caught in a rabbit trap.'

And with that, he slammed the door to his room behind him. Fine. If he wanted to play, you were more than willing to join in.

That morning, you walked into class before the bell rang, a dark expression on your face and your usual nervous tic kicking in: tapping your foot against the floor. You were furious.

Some bastard had stolen your favorite strawberry and cream lollipop from the café downstairs, leaving you with only the watermelon ones. Sure, they were good, but they weren’t the same. The taste was too fresh, too light, missing that perfect balance of sweetness and creaminess you adored.

You sat down at your usual spot, right next to Sunghoon, and continued to sulk, distractedly twirling the lollipop between your lips.

When he walked in and saw your funeral face, that familiar mischievous smile appeared on his lips. He dropped into his chair with that predator-like grace of his, one arm resting on the desk and the other idly playing with a pen.

'What tragedy happened, princess? Did they ruin your manicure?'

You shot him a withering look and kept sucking on the lollipop with a frown.

Sunghoon tilted his head, studying you. Then he leaned in a bit, sniffing the air with that hybrid instinct of his and letting out a soft laugh.

'Watermelon?' He raised an eyebrow, his tone mocking. 'Finally, a more decent scent compared to that horrible strawberry and cream.'

You snapped your head toward him, dramatically pointing the lollipop stick at his face.

“Don’t you ever say that again.” Your voice was thick with indignation. “The strawberry and cream lollipop is the best, the king of all sweets. This”—you waved the watermelon lollipop in front of him—“is just a sad replacement.”

He chuckled, leaning back in his chair with that typical smug attitude. 'Oh really? Then why aren’t you eating it with your usual enthusiasm? Don’t tell me they ran out at the café.'

Your pout deepened. “Of course, they ran out. Someone bought them all, and there won’t be more until next week.”

He whistled low, amused. 'Well, look at that. There must be someone with your terrible taste.'

You crossed your arms and shot him a dirty look. “It’s a crime against humanity. If I find out who did this…”

You had no idea that Sunghoon had at least twenty strawberry and cream lollipops in his backpack. He bought them all just to piss you off. He loved seeing you like this, with that fire in your eyes and the pout on your lips. It was way too fun.

But he decided to push things a little further.

'You know, I really don’t get all this obsession…' he said nonchalantly, leaning forward.

And before you could even realize what was happening, his lips closed around your lollipop.

Your eyes went wide.

Slowly, with a bold and far too sensual move, Sunghoon sucked on the sweet, letting it slide between his lips in a languid motion. The stick was still between your fingers, but the sugary part was now wrapped in the warmth of his mouth.

His tail flicked slightly behind him, almost involuntarily. His ears, usually standing high and still, turned a light pink, and for just a moment, his cheeks… they warmed up.

Then you heard a low sound, almost a grunt.

You froze.

You had read about this in that scientific blog on rabbit hybrids. That sound… meant he was experiencing pleasure.

You stared at him, stunned.

Sunghoon licked his lower lip as he released the lollipop, looking at you with a smug grin.

'You know, maybe strawberry and cream isn’t so bad after all.'

You couldn’t say anything for a moment, too focused on the image you’d just seen. The way his lips had closed around the sweet, the slight tremor of his ears, that guttural sound he tried to suppress…

Damn.

It was the sexiest thing you had ever seen.

The professor began the lesson, and Sunghoon immediately got to work, filling his notebook with notes with an almost unsettling precision. He seemed like a machine, his gaze fixed on the board, the pen moving across the page without hesitation.

You, on the other hand, were less… efficient.

You tried to keep up, really, but some concepts slipped through your fingers like sand. And then there was him. Always composed, always perfect, always… infuriatingly capable.

Absentmindedly, you chewed on the stick of your now-empty lollipop while writing, trying to solve an exercise. When the professor wrote the correct answer on the board, you glanced down at your notebook and noticed the difference.

Damn it.

You huffed, crossing your arms in frustration. You weren’t stupid, in fact, but some mistakes drove you crazy. How could you be in the advanced course if you kept making these stupid errors?

A shadow moved next to you.

'You’ve swapped these two numbers,' a low, confident voice murmured.

You turned and found Sunghoon leaning over you, a finger pointing at the error in your notebook. His tone was authoritative, almost nerdishly precise, but the way he moved closer… too close… almost made you forget his cheeky attitude.

You shot him a sideways glance, frowning.

“Oh. Right.”

'Mh.' He nodded, then returned to his notes without saying anything more.

But you weren’t the type to be discouraged. You tried another exercise under his watchful gaze, this time focusing to avoid making stupid mistakes. Yet, when you finished and checked…

Wrong again.

Once more, the final calculation didn’t match the one written on the board.

You sighed in exasperation, running a hand through your hair. Without even realizing you were speaking aloud, you muttered:

“How the hell did I get into this advanced course if I keep making these stupid mistakes?”

Sunghoon turned toward you with a smirk.

'Good question, princess.'

You shot him a death stare, ready to snap back, but then, with a lower and almost amused tone, he added:

'If you want to avoid embarrassing yourself during the exams, you can study with me.'

You stared at him, surprised. Did he just… invite you to study together?

But before you could answer, he stood up, casually stuffing his notebook into his bag with far too much-studied calm.

'But only if you can shut up and focus,' he added, his voice thick with challenge.

You followed Sunghoon without even noticing that some of the other students were calling out to you. The world around you seemed blurry, the background noise nothing more than an indistinct hum, and then, without thinking too much, your hand instinctively grabbed his arm.

It was an instinctive hold, almost an innocent gesture. Yet, Sunghoon’s body reacted immediately. His ears perked up, and his tail began to flick in a barely noticeable motion as if his body was torn between surprise and something else.

He looked down at you, his dark eyes veiled with something hard to decipher. Curiosity? Annoyance? Interest?

But his gaze was also sharp as if the contact had unintentionally put him on alert. You looked up at him and, without pulling your hand away, asked with a hint of defiance:

“Are you messing with me?”

He raised an eyebrow, his usual cocky attitude intact. 'I don’t like to joke.'

You pressed your lips together slightly, still skeptical. “So… we’re studying together?”

He sighed, turning his face slightly to hide the faint smile tugging at his lips. 'If you don’t want to fail miserably at the course, I guess, I don’t have a choice.'

You nodded, satisfied. “Perfect. Can I come over to your place this afternoon?”

Sunghoon stiffened for a moment; then he made a face and turned to you with a slightly annoyed expression. 'NO.'

You froze. “No?”

'NO.' His nose scrunched slightly as if he were smelling something unpleasant. “I don’t like your scent.”

The comment hit you harder than you expected, and you pulled away slightly, trying not to show the slight discomfort it caused. He didn’t like your scent? You showered every day, wore a nice perfume, and your skin always smelled like strawberries and cream. No one had ever complained—quite the opposite—but then you remembered.

Sunghoon wasn’t human. He was a hybrid. And hybrids had different needs. Different sensitivities.

You looked at him with slightly furrowed brows. “What does that mean? That I’d invade your territory?”

He nodded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. 'Exactly.'

You made a dramatic expression, clutching your heart as if he had just stabbed you. “Oh no! How will I ever survive? I, poor human, rejected by your sacred kingdom!”

Sunghoon rolled his eyes. 'Would you stop being so theatrical?'

"NO."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. 'I’ll come to your place at five. First, I need to go to the gym.'

You looked at him, surprised. “OH.” Then you nodded, trying not to look too pleased. “Alright then.”

Sunghoon shifted slightly, and your hands slid away from him.

As he walked away, not looking back, you heard him grunt softly.

A grunt of pleasure, and your eyes widened.

He’d just told you he didn’t like your scent. And yet… his body had reacted to your touch.

When Sunghoon entered your room, he immediately sensed something was off.

The scent of strawberries and cream, the one he hated to admit he adored, was weaker, covered by the sweet, enveloping fragrance of vanilla. He wrinkled his nose, his ears twitching slightly, and his tail flicked behind him.

It was irritating—irritating because he liked your scent, irritating because he liked it too much, irritating because he knew exactly what it meant for a hybrid like him.

He watched you as you casually fixed your hair, your solitary princess-like air, your clothes always just a little too short, a little too tight, and your sweet but cheeky smile that made him so damn frustrated.

Why did you always have to be so annoying?

Why did you always have to be so damn attractive?

He slumped down onto your desk chair with a bored expression, but his eyes didn’t miss a single detail of your figure.

Your pink cardigan covered a light tank top that moved slightly with each breath you took, the short skirt revealing your smooth thighs…

'Tsk.' He shook his head. 'This room is exactly what I expected… Too much like a spoiled little girl’s.'

You raised an eyebrow, hands on your hips. “What do you mean, ‘too much like a spoiled little girl’?”

He allowed himself a sarcastic grin. 'White and pink everywhere, a scent that smells like it came straight out of a bakery… It’s like you’re trying to seduce someone with just the smell.'

You stepped closer with an innocent smile. “It’s not my fault hybrids have such sensitive noses.”

The way you said it, with that sweet, innocent voice, made him clench his jaw.

There was something unbearable about you, and it wasn’t just your popular princess attitude, it was the way you knew exactly how to make him want to put you in your place.

And the way, damn it, every single part of your body seemed made to be touched, held, bitten—Damn it, he had to get a grip.

'By the way,' he muttered, looking away and crossing his arms, 'that vanilla candle isn’t doing much to cover your scent.'

You stopped, surprised. “What do you mean?”

He sighed. 'I mean your scent is everywhere. It’s not just on your skin, it’s in here, soaked into the air, the bed, the clothes… probably even the carpet.'

You bit your lip, as if considering something, and he immediately looked down at it, cursing himself.

It was soft, too soft, and he wanted to take it between his teeth and—

No, stop. You flashed him a sly smile. “Are you sure you don’t like my scent, then?”

Sunghoon shot you a sharp look, his tail flicking slightly. 'Are you sure you want to play with me, princess?'

Your smile grew even more provocative. “Maybe.”

He leaned slightly forward, his eyes dropping to your lips, to your hands playing with your skirt, as if you were unaware of how much of your thighs you were exposing.

Asshole or not, he was still a guy, a hybrid with amplified senses.

And your body was speaking louder than you thought. It was maddening, it was irritating, you were excited.

Sunghoon shook himself out of those thoughts and ran a hand through his hair, looking annoyed. 'Look, instead of wasting time flirting, how about we try solving these exercises?'

You looked at him with sweet eyes, but the cheekiness never left your expression. “Flirting? Me?”

'Oh, don’t play innocent.' He chuckled with a tight-lipped smile. 'You know what? Let’s make it a game.'

Curious, you tilted your head. “A game?”

'Yes.' He relaxed in the chair, crossing his arms behind his head, his tone becoming more provocative. 'If you solve three problems out of five, I’ll give you a gift.'

Your eyes lit up instantly. “A gift? What kind of gift?”

He leaned slightly forward, coming closer to your face. 'You’ll only find out if you win.'

Sunghoon shot you a sharp glance as you focused on his notes. 'Repeat the concepts out loud. Clearly, without mistakes.'

You rolled your eyes but obeyed.

After a solid half-hour of reading, processing, and understanding, he nodded in approval. 'Good. Now put it into practice. Solve these problems, identify the right concept, and calculate.'

You bit your lip as you picked up the pen and started writing. Sunghoon sat beside you, arms crossed, eyes locked onto your movements. Every time you made a mistake, he corrected you with a firm voice—almost too authoritative.

And that entertained you way too much.

“Are you always this strict?” you asked with a teasing smile, resting your chin on your hand as you looked at him playfully.

He didn’t even flinch. 'Are you always this distracted?' he shot back with a sarcastic smirk.

“No, it’s just that your voice is so deep and commanding that I find it hard to concentrate.” Your tone was deliberately sultry, and you loved the way his ears twitched slightly in response.

Sunghoon threw you a piercing look. 'Stop playing and finish the problems.'

You bit your lip to hide a smile as you returned to writing, but his unwavering stare made it difficult to focus.

More than an hour later, you sighed and stretched with a small, satisfied hum before handing him the papers. You leaned in a little closer, resting your arm against his, barely brushing against him.

Sunghoon gritted his teeth.

“What?” you asked with a mischievous grin.

'Go sit somewhere else. I need to correct these.'

You huffed but, feigning innocence, curled up on your bed. Sunghoon’s eyes flickered to your exposed thighs for a split second before returning to your exercises.

You watched him as he corrected them—his tense jaw, his large hands gripping the pen with confidence. He was handsome. Too handsome for your good.

And as you watched, your mind started to wander.

To how it would feel to kiss him.

To how it would feel to brush your fingers over his ears while his lips trailed down your neck.

To how his hands would feel on your body.

To how it would feel to have him inside you, his knot swelling as he filled you.

To how his breath would hitch as he sank deeper, to how it would feel to have him push until you lost your mind.

To how he would look above you—naked, his ears lowered, his sculpted chest glistening with sweat as his dark eyes devoured you.

You clutched your stuffed bunny tighter against your chest, letting out an involuntary sigh.

And you didn’t immediately realize that Sunghoon had finished grading your exercises. When you finally looked up, he was standing right in front of you.

His tail was flicking rapidly, almost uncontrollably.

His ears were lowered, and his eyes were fixed on you.

'What the hell were you just thinking about?' he murmured in a low, almost dangerous voice.

And the way he looked at you only made you want to push his buttons even more. You swallowed and shifted onto your knees on the bed, trying to appear natural, even as you felt your cheeks heat up.

“Well?” you asked, trying to steer the conversation away from whatever he had just implied. “How did I do on the exercises?”

Sunghoon crossed his arms, his dark, piercing gaze never leaving you. 'I asked you a question first.'

You bit your lip and looked away. Damn it. He had noticed everything.

He smirked, his tail giving a small flick—a sign that he was enjoying this. 'Why are you blushing, princess?' His tone was teasing, but there was something else in his eyes.

You shook your head, trying to deny it, but his gaze dropped to your legs. He noticed how you had instinctively pressed them together and scoffed. 'Tsk. So it’s true.'

Heat exploded in your chest.

'You were thinking dirty thoughts about me,' he continued, his voice almost amused, 'while hugging a damn bunny plushie.'

His eyes flicked to the stuffed animal still in your arms.

You clutched it tighter against your chest on reflex. “This bunny has a name!” you shot back, desperately trying to change the subject.

'Oh yeah?' He leaned down, effortlessly snatching the plushie from your arms. 'What’s its name?'

“Mochi…” you mumbled, crossing your arms with a pout.

Sunghoon rolled his eyes, inspecting the plush with a raised brow. 'Mochi, huh?' Then, after a brief moment, he tossed it carelessly beside you. With his usual authoritative tone, he pressed on, 'Now, tell me exactly what you were thinking'

You knew that if you kept denying it, he wouldn’t let it go. He wasn’t the type to back down. And honestly… you enjoyed playing with him.

So, with a shameless smile and a sweet voice, you tilted your head. “I was thinking about you.”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow but remained silent, waiting for you to continue.

“About what it would be like to kiss you.”

His ears twitched slightly.

“To run my fingers over your ears while you kissed my neck.”

His tail gave a small, sharp flick, and his gaze darkened.

“To feel your hands on me…” Your voice dropped lower, deliberately sultry. “And to feel you inside me.”

For a moment, a thick silence filled the room. Sunghoon remained completely still, his jaw clenching as he stared at you with hungry eyes.

Then, he let out a small scoff, shaking his head with an incredulous smirk. 'You’re completely insane.'

“You asked,” you replied innocently, batting your lashes.

He studied you for another moment before reaching into his backpack.

He pulled out a strawberry and cream lollipop.

Your eyes lit up instantly as he unwrapped it slowly, deliberately teasing you.

'You got three exercises right,' he said, his voice slightly softer as he stepped a little closer. 'And a good student deserves a reward.'

He handed you the candy, and without thinking twice, you brought it to your lips and took it between your teeth, savoring the sweet taste you loved so much but you didn't even have time to really enjoy it before Sunghoon’s fingers rested under your chin, lifting your face towards him.

Your eyes widened slightly when his low, almost hoarse voice ordered you:

'Suck on it. And look at me.'

His eyes were fixed on yours, dark and intense. For the first time, despite his arrogance and the fact that he was being a complete jerk, you noticed something different in his gaze.

Was it sweetness? Only for a second, because his dark eyes were glued to your lips every time you sucked on the lollipop. Your tongue slowly gathered the sugary sweetness, and he felt an annoying heat spread across his chest. His tail, which until then had been moving in a measured rhythm, started to move faster behind him, a clear sign of his growing restlessness.

He gritted his teeth, trying to suppress the growl that escaped his lips. Why the hell were you having this effect on him? Why did you insist on looking at him with those innocent eyes while doing anything but innocent things?

Suddenly, without warning, he grabbed your wrist and pressed the lollipop against his lips. His teeth sank into the candy with a soft crack, breaking it. The sugar melted on his tongue, the sweet taste filled his mouth... and he growled quietly, almost amused.

Then, without giving you time to react, he lowered himself onto you and kissed you with overwhelming force.

His lips were warm, and confident. The kiss was a mixture of sweetness and dominance, as if he was trying to punish you for every thought you'd dared to have about him.

You let out a surprised moan, and when he heard it, his tail stiffened for a moment before starting to move even more agitatedly.

You, of course, couldn’t miss the opportunity to tease him. Pulling away just slightly from his lips, you whispered with a mischievous smile:

“Wasn’t it you who said you hated the taste of strawberry and cream?”

Sunghoon looked at you, his chest rising and falling slightly from his irregular breathing, then clenched his jaw. Without saying a word, he grabbed you again and kissed you with even more intensity, as if he wanted to erase that cheeky smile from your lips.

You, amused, slipped your fingers into his dark, soft hair, gripping it slightly, and pulled him even closer to you. You could feel the heat of his body through your clothes, feel his muscles tense beneath your hands, smell the slightly wild scent of his skin blending with your vanilla and sugar scent.

Eventually, Sunghoon pulled away from you with a heavy breath, his eyes darker than ever.

''You’re impossible,' he murmured, lowering his gaze to your flushed lips.

“And you’re a liar,” you replied with a little smile, slowly licking your lower lip, still covered in sugar.

Sunghoon growled softly, his tail twitching in an involuntary jerk. Then, almost as a punishment, he gently pushed you against your pillows and lowered his head to your neck.

His warm breath grazed your skin, and then you felt his lips brush against you with agonizing slowness. One kiss, then another, then a soft bite on your delicate skin.

'You shouldn’t have thought those things about me,' he whispered against your neck, his voice a mixture of amusement and danger.

You shivered, but you certainly had no intention of backing down.

“You shouldn’t have listened to my thoughts, then.”

Sunghoon smiled against your skin, his low, deep laugh making you vibrate slightly beneath him. Then he lifted himself just enough to look at you with those sharp eyes, full of something you still couldn’t quite decipher.

'You drive me crazy, every day.'

You chuckled softly, your fingers still in his soft gray ears. You felt them twitch slightly under your touch, and when you gently squeezed them between your fingers, Sunghoon growled and a low moan escaped his lips. The sound sent a shiver down your spine.

'You’re playing with fire, you know that?' he murmured against your lips, his voice deep and hoarse with desire.

“Mh, I know,” you replied with a sweet smile, kissing him again.

His hands settled on your hips with a firm, almost possessive grip, and you could feel his tail thrashing frantically behind him. The kiss grew more intense, and hungrier, and you melted into his arms. Then, without thinking too much, you took his hand and placed it under your skirt.

Sunghoon stiffened instantly, his ears flattened backward, and his eyes darkened. The low growl that escaped him vibrated between you two.'“I don’t want to hurt you,' he whispered, with a sincerity that made you melt.

You smiled softly, biting your lip.

“You won’t.” He sighed heavily, his gaze burning as his fingers barely moved against your warm skin.

'You know too well that I could.' You tilted your head and gently brushed your fingers against his cheek, looking at him sweetly.

“Actually, I’ve studied a bit more about rabbit hybrids…”

At those words, Sunghoon raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest, briefly returning to the cheeky and authoritative guy he usually was.

'Oh, really? And what did you discover about me this time?'

You hesitated for a moment, then, with a bit of shyness, you asked him:

“Are you in heat?”

Sunghoon stared at you for a moment before bursting out laughing, a deep, incredibly sexy sound.

'If I were in heat, trust me, I wouldn’t be here talking to you so calmly. I’d already jumped on you.'

You sighed theatrically, placing a hand on your chest.

“Phew! Thank goodness, I wouldn’t know how to handle you if you were in heat too... you’re already hard enough to handle normally.”

He growled quietly and grabbed you by the waist, pushing you back under him.

'Oh, sweetheart... and I thought you liked me precisely because I’m hard to handle.'

His mouth found your neck, and between one kiss and a soft bite, he asked with a low and intriguing voice:

'So, what else have you discovered about me?'

You blushed slightly, your hands still in his soft ears.

“Well… I read that rabbit hybrids are very territorial, that they can become a little obsessive with those they’re interested in... and that when they find someone they truly want, they won’t let go.”

Sunghoon raised his head, his eyes gleaming with something dangerous.

'Mh… true,' he whispered with a mischievous smile. 'And what else?'

You hesitated, then murmured:

“That... that rabbit hybrids have a knot, and that... when they want to claim someone, they don’t stop until they’re completely satisfied.”

Sunghoon licked his lips, his eyes locked on yours, then lowered his head near your ear.

'Sweetheart…' he whispered with a grin against your skin. 'If you keep talking like that, I’ll end up showing you exactly how true the things you’ve read are.'

“I read… I read other things about rabbit hybrids too.”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, amused by your hesitant tone. His fingers absentmindedly brushed your bare thigh without pushing further.

'Mh… like what?' he asked, his deep voice still nibbling gently at your neck, leaving little red marks on your skin.

You swallowed, trying to keep your voice steady.

“I read that... rabbit hybrids have a lot of stamina. Much more than humans.”

He smiled against your skin.

'True,' he murmured. 'We could go on all night without a problem…'

He teased you, and you felt the heat rise in your body. But it wasn’t over.

“And I also read that... when a rabbit hybrid is with the partner they’ve chosen, they become much more affectionate. That they need constant contact, hugs, and cuddles, even in the most ordinary moments.”

Sunghoon stopped kissing you for a moment and propped himself up on his elbow, looking at you with a sly smile.

'Oh, so you want to know what I’d be like if I were your boyfriend?'

You nodded, biting your lower lip a little.

“I read that rabbit hybrids can’t stand being away from the person they want. That when they get attached, they become a little... obsessive.”

He chuckled, and his gaze grew darker.

'So, are you implying that I’d be obsessed with you?'

You shrugged with a little smile.

“Maybe, yes?” Sunghoon shook his head, laughing softly.

“For now, I’m enjoying torturing you too much.”

He pricked your hip and you laughed, but immediately held your breath when you felt his fingers slide a little higher, under your skirt. He lowered his head and went back to suck on your neck, while his hand grazed the inside of your thighs, rising more and more.

"I also read..." you began, but your breath became shorter when the tips of his fingers touched the thin fabric of your panties.

'Mh? Continue, I'm curious.' he said with a smirk, without stopping.

"I read that the knot of a rabbit hybrid can last a long time and that when you're in heat, it can be swollen for hours." Sunghoon giggled his mouth still on your neck, and gave you a little bite.

'Mh... Interesting. Want to know how long it would normally last? Nod, blushing.

'Depend.' he whispered, his voice lower and velvety.

'But in the heat, I couldn't stop until I was sure I'd filled you up several times.'

A shiver ran through your back, and without even noticing, your legs tightened slightly. Sunghoon immediately noticed him and giggled, sliding his hand against your intimacy still covered in cloth.

'Are you wet already, sweetie?' he whispered, his fingers gently stroking the damp cloth. You swallowed and he lifted his face, looking at you with a mischievous grin.

'What color are they?' You blushed even more and looked down.

"I'm not telling you." Sunghoon laughed quietly and shook his head.

'Mh... then I guess.' he said, approaching your ear.

'Pale Rose ... with a nice white bow in the center.'

Your breath froze and he looked you in the eye, amused. 'Did I guess?' You nodded softly, biting your lip, and he smiled smugly.

'I knew you were the cute panties girl.' he muttered, sliding even closer, making you feel all the warmth of his body.

'You drive me crazy day after day, you know?' Sunghoon watched you from above, his breathing slightly heavier as his hands slid confidently down your thighs. His rabbit ears barely moved, attentive to your every sigh, while his tail swayed with a slow, almost hypnotic rhythm.

'Tomorrow if you put on this skirt again everyone will see my bites,' he whispered, his voice low and slightly hoarse, with a satisfied grin. His fingers traced invisible paths on your skin, leaving chills everywhere. 'Maybe you should think twice before challenging me like this.' You groaned slowly, biting your lip, trying not to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much that phrase of hers had affected you.

"Oh? What if I did it on purpose?" you teased him with an innocent smile, which you knew would drive him crazy. Sunghoon growled softly, a deep, throaty sound that made his chest vibrate against yours. His dark, intense eyes shone with something predatory as he bent over you, his lips brushing against your neck.

'You're such a problem,' he muttered against your skin, leaving you a wet kiss before sucking hard, etching a dark mark right where he knew it would be hard to cover. His smile widened as he watched him contentedly, and then he looked at you with a more serious expression, his tone suddenly deeper.

'Do you want it?' he asked, his hand gently caressing you, in contrast to his voice charged with desire and warning. 'Because if I do... you will never go back.' There was something wild about him at that moment, something primal that made you want to provoke him again, but also to give him everything. You nodded, biting your lip, and his eyes darkened even more. Sunghoon giggled softly, his fingers slid higher, exploring, skimming, and then stopped right where you wanted most. He leaned over you, his mouth next to your ear as his warm breath tickled your skin. 'You're already so wet,' he whispered, the tone smug, almost mocking. 'And I didn't even really touch you.' You felt burned with embarrassment, but at the same time, you could not hold back a small moan when his fingers barely touched you, tracing lazy, provocative movements.

'Who knows how long you'd last with my knot,' he continued, laughing slightly as he played with you, watching your every reaction.

'As normal I could keep you tied up for quite a while... but what if I'm in heat?' he paused, letting the idea hit you, and then came even closer, his lips barely against yours.

'It could last a lot.' Swallow, feeling your body reacts to his words in a way you knew he had noticed. Sunghoon smiled against your skin, his satisfaction evident. 'Tell me, princess,' she continued, her voice like dark velvet. 'Are you sure you can handle me?'

Your bed looked smaller with Sunghoon above you. Or maybe it was he who seemed bigger to you, his warm body touching yours, his ears moving imperceptibly as he listened to your every breath.

'I can't believe you made me come here...' he muttered, his voice a breath against your skin. 'And for what? To see you blush and tremble like that?' The smile that curved his lips was the perfect expression of his character: mischievous, amused, but also dangerously sweet. He looked at you as if you were the most interesting game he had ever found. You tried to gather some courage, to respond with the same confident tone that he used to use with you. "Maybe you're shaking, Hoon."

You saw him raise an eyebrow. 'Oh? Are you trying to tease me?' Your body had a little gasp when a finger of his entered your pussy already completely excited. He was slow, maddening as if he had all the time in the world. 'How cute...' he whispered, tilting her head to the side.

'But do you know what the problem is, Y/n' He lowered his face until he touched your ear, his voice so low and velvety that it made you shudder. 'You're playing with a rabbit hybrid. And we never lose.' His ears moved, picking up how your breathing had broken, how your heartbeat had become faster. He laughed quietly.

'You feel it too, don't you? The way your body responds to me without me even having to strain.' The finger that was dent of you began to pump it faster and faster with more determination. A little groan eluded you, and Sunghoon bit his lip. 'Mm ... already so sensitive? But I didn't even start, baby.'

You felt like you were being blown away by the way he called you. "Stop making fun of me..." you muttered, but your voice had no conviction.

'Oh, no, no, no...' Sunghoon shook his head, an amused smile on his lips. 'See, I can't do that. It's too much fun watching you fight against something you know you can't win.' he teased your clitoris and without telling you anything he let another finger into your vaginal folds and grinned at the sight of how soaked and how you were taking them well, and when your body reacted immediately, his laugh was almost smug. 'See? It's useless. Your body is already begging me.' Frustration made you clench your fists on the sheets.

"H-Hoon..."

'Mmmh?' His tone was playful, but his eyes were dark, hungry.

'Tell me, love. What would you like?' Love. The way the word had slipped out of his lips gave you chills. There was something in the way he said it, in the sweetness contrasting with his possessive touch, that drove you crazy. And Sunghoon knew it. Oh, how much he knew.

"V-I want..." you tried to talk, but he interrupted you.

'Do you want me to continue? Want to hear more? Or do you want me to slowly drive you crazy until you are no longer able to think about anything but me?' Your body responded before your mind. You clung to his shoulders, your breath now broken. Sunghoon tilted his head, pleased. 'Oh, baby ... you've already lost, you know that, right?' He was made for this. To perceive you. To understand you more than you yourself could do. His fingers moved inside you with maddening slowness, yet the pressure and depth were perfect. You felt completely in his power, your body responding to him in ways that even you couldn't control. Sunghoon looked at you, his eyes dark and deep, as his chest rose and fell with irregular breaths.

'God, Y/n' Look how you're squeezing around my fingers.' His ears moved frantically, picking up your every broken breath, every slightest sound that escaped from your lips. Every time you moaned, every time your body trembled under his touch, Sunghoon felt something inside him light up more and more. The hybrid inside him wanted more. But he had to be cautious. When you asked him to study together that morning, his instincts leaped joy. Spending time with you, smelling your scent more closely ... was all she wanted. But then you said those innocent words, without even imagining the devastating effect they would have on him.

"Can I come to you, then?" Sunghoon had almost lost control at the time. Nope. It was his immediate response, dry, almost too harsh. But the truth was that he could not allow it. If you had walked into his room, your smell would have soaked everywhere, in his pillows, in his sheets, on his clothes. And with his hybrid heat starting to show... that would be the end for him. It was better to test the soil in your room. And now there you are, in your bed, your body under his, his fingers sinking into you with incredible precision, as if he knew exactly what to do to freak you out.

'Do you like it that way?' he asked with a hoarse whisper, his mouth a few millimeters from yours.

'Do you like it when I touch you like this, when I make you feel all mine?'

You couldn't even answer. You just tightened the sheets with force, the body starting to shake under him. Sunghoon immediately noticed.

His smile widened as he slowed down the pace a bit, making you almost whine in need. 'Wait, wait ... don't tell me that...' His fingers moved deeper, slower but more intense, and your body twitched involuntarily.

'Are you coming?' his voice was a mixture of fun and pure lust. You nodded faintly, your face red with embarrassment. "S-Yes ... continue, please..."

'Oh, sweetie...' he sighed, lowering himself to nibble at your earlobe.

'You don't even have to ask me.' And then you heard it. His thumb slid over your clit, tracing slow, torturing circles. A small cry escaped from your lips, and Sunghoon groaned softly at that sound. 'So sensitive...' he whispered.

'What if I did this?' He pressed lightly, pinching gently, and your body instantly strained, the tension within you now untenable.

'Come for me, Y/N.' His voice was an order disguised as a supplication. 'Just for me.' And as if he had turned on a switch inside you, the pleasure exploded into an electric shock that made you arch your back against him, a broken groan that filled the room. Sunghoon watched you intently as your body trembled under his touch, his irregular breathing as he tried to contain his desire. His fingers moved a couple more times, slowly bringing you down from the apex, and then he retreated, looking at you with a smile full of satisfaction.

'Beautiful...' he muttered, his dark eyes fixed on yours. 'And only for me.' He ducked down to lay a light kiss on your cheek, a surprisingly sweet gesture, almost at odds with the fire still burning in his eyes.

You tried to catch your breath, your legs still shaking but Sunghoon... he didn't seem at all willing to give you a break. You felt his warm breath on your thighs as his hands held you wide open, immobilizing you under his weight. And then his tongue-hot, wet, relentless—slid down your still throbbing flesh. A desperate groan escaped from your lips. "H-Hoon ... what are you doing?!" He laughed softly, his mouth still pressed against you.

'What a stupid question, baby.' His ears moved frantically as if picking up every little sound you made.

'I'm just enjoying my favorite meal.' He licked you again, deeper this time, and you gasped, trying to pull away. But there was no escape. His hands pressed on your thighs with more force, keeping you well open for him. 'Don't you dare run away.' His voice dropped an octave, turning into a barely noticeable growl.

'I'm still eating.' A shiver ran through your back. You had never seen Sunghoon like that—so wild, so obsessed.

'God, your smell...' he sighed, pushing his face even deeper between your legs.

'You have no idea how crazy it makes me.' His tongue slid into you without warning you felt that he slightly sucked your beautiful swollen and sensitive clit, you screamed, your hands clinging to the sheets as your body arched under him. "S-Sunghoon!" He groaned at you, the sound deep and animalistic.

'So tight... so hot...' he licked her lips, collecting every drop of your excitement. 'I want to hear you tremble for me again.'

"N-No... it's too much!" you tried to protest, your body still sensitive from the first orgasm. "I can't take it anymore!"

Sunghoon paused for a moment, looking up at you. His smile was lethal. 'Oh, sweetie...' He sighed with false compassion, slowly running two fingers over your opening. 'Don't tell me lies.' And then he mercilessly shoved his finger inside again and a broken sob escaped you as your body instantly welcomed him, wetter than you would have liked to admit. Sunghoon laughed softly.

'See?' he licked her lower lip, her dark eyes shining with pure lust.

'Your body is begging me for more' He increased the rhythm of his fingers, moving them inside you with frightening precision. Every shot was aimed, deep, perfect. "A-Wait ... Sunghoon!"

You writhe under him, trying to escape from that too-intense pleasure. But his hands held you motionless, his fingers faster and faster, more and more impatient.

'Wait?' He laughed with mockery. 'Why should I? Look how you already take me so well.' Then she ducked again, and her mouth closed on your clit. A scream escaped from your lips, tears stinging at your eyes from too much intensity. 'Shhh...' Sunghoon barely looked up, his warm breath on your sensitive skin. 'Don't whine, Y/N. I know you can give me another one.'

You shook your head hard. "N-no...I can't..." His smile widened dangerously.

'Oh? Can't you?' And without waiting for an answer, he added a third finger. "A-Ah! No ... it's too much!" Sunghoon groaned softly, the sound guttural and animalistic.

'No, honey. It's perfect.' He lowered his face until he touched your ear, his fingers continuing to move mercilessly. 'I must spread you well ...'

he whispered, his voice slipping like poison on your skin. 'You have to be ready to take everything. Because I want to tie you'

Your body froze. He immediately heard it and laughed quietly. 'Oh, yes...' His fingers moved deeper, his thumb lazily playing with your most sensitive point. 'I want to feel your body tighten around my knot. And trust me, baby...' He lifted slightly, his eyes burning with desire as he looked down on you. 'Once it is inside you, you can no longer escape.'

And with that last promise, he sank even deeper, determined to shape you perfectly for himself. Your body was completely surrendered to him, every breath was a moan, every movement an uncontrolled tremor while Sunghoon was lost in the pleasure of devouring you. His fingers were inside you again, long, dexterous, hungry. Each thrust was deeper, more precise, more cruel. And his tongue—that damn tongue-didn't stop, gliding over your most sensitive point with manic dedication.

"S-Sunghoon ... I ..." you stammered, your voice broken with pleasure. He laughed softly, sounding dirty and satisfied against your sensitive skin. 'Oh? You want to tell me something, bunny girl?' You hated Him when he called you that. No, it wasn't. You loved it. His ears barely moved, picking up every little sound you made as his fingers moved faster.

'Mh? Are you so close yet? What a good girl..' His tone was a sweet poison, made to melt you completely. You bit your lip, shame mixed with excitement that made your blood boil. "Yes ... s-I'm coming..."

Sunghoon groaned softly, the sound guttural and animalistic. 'Say it in my language.'

A shiver ran through your back. "C-What...?" He smiled at you, and without warning, closed his lips around your clit and sucked. You screamed, your head throwing back between the sheets.

'Say it.' His voice was low, an order. 'Tell me you're coming, in my language.' You weren't sure you could speak, your head clouded with the pleasure that was overwhelming you. But when his fingers folded into you in the right place, the words escaped from your lips before you even knew it.

"H-Hoon ... s-I'm going to s-squirt..." He groaned at you, his tongue pressing harder as his fingers continued their incessant rhythm.

'Yes ... so, sweetie. Combine a nice mess for me on my tongue.' Another accurate blow, another stronger sucking and the dam broke.

"A-Ah! H-Hoon!" Your body buckled violently, your hands clasping desperately to the pink sheets as the pleasure overwhelmed you with devastating power. The warm, transparent liquid slipped on his fingers, wetting the bed under you. Sunghoon paused for a second, looking with dark, bright eyes at the result of his work. Then she licked her lips, collecting every drop she could with her tongue.

'Look what a mess you made, good girl' His voice was low, dirty, full of pride. 'And to think that you pretend to be innocent.' He teased you, his crooked and dangerous smile as he stared at you from above.

'Did you like to dirty your pink cot?' Redness bursts on your face.

"I ... I'm a good girl!" you protested, your voice weak. Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, amused.

'Oh? Are you sure?' His finger crept back into you, slow and deep, as if he wanted to punish you for lying. 'Because your body says the opposite.' You looked at him with shiny eyes, his breathing still irregular. You couldn't stand his satisfied look. So, without thinking, you reached out and grabbed his ears. Sunghoon grunted and made a low, deep, animalistic sound, directly against your clitoris. The vibration jolted you, and before you could stop, the pleasure hit you again, ripping off a second orgasm with a force that left you breathless. Sunghoon laughed quietly, satisfied, as he watched you tremble beneath him.

"N-It wasn't written in the blog..." you gasped, trying to regain control of your voice, "...that the rabbit hybrids were so obsessed with getting their companions to come."

Sunghoon froze for a moment, his ears rising carefully. Then he burst out laughing softly, the sound deep and satisfied. 'Oh, sweetie...' His tail darted with amusement, touching your sensitive skin as his gaze grew even more predatory.

'Are you suggesting that your stupid blogs know more than I do?' He teased you, his tone charged with mischief.

'You're really adorable.' He lowered his face, slowly biting your earlobe before whispering to you in a low, defiant voice: 'Should I show you how little you know about rabbit hybrids?' A shiver ran down your back, but your gaze slipped unwittingly lower, right on him. And when your eyes rested on his sweatpants and the noticeable length he pressed against the fabric, you felt your breath break. It was ... big.

Much more than you expected. And your body reacted before you could even stop. Your instinct told you to take off those pants, to find out what they were hiding, to satisfy the feverish curiosity that had just run over you. But your sweetest and timid side tried to resist. Sunghoon, however, already knew you too well.

'Mh? What is that look?' His voice was full of fun.

'You want something?' You felt yourself burning with embarrassment, but his defiant tone made you grit your teeth. You liked to tease him, you loved to challenge him, play with his limits, and provoke him until you saw his self-control crumble. So, without saying anything, you reached out and grabbed the edge of his suit. Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, surprised. 'Oh? Look who takes the initiative...' You ignored him, biting your lip to hide a smile, and with a slow and intentional movement, you lowered both his pants and Boer There was a moment of silence.

Then your eyes opened wide. His cock jumped out, slamming against her abs with a slight bounce. It was long. Long, slightly pinkish, crossed by prominent veins that made it look even more imposing. A drop of pearl liquid was already dripping from the tip, a sign of his excitement that had accumulated to the limit. And for the first time, it was Sunghoon who seemed slightly embarrassed. He ran his hand through the black tufts, looking away for a moment, and his ears drooped slightly. His cheeks turned an imperceptible pink.

He popped his tongue, his jaw clenched. 'What the hell are you looking at me like that?'

"Are you ashamed, Hoon?" You teased him, your voice sweet and sparkling, swinging your feet slightly in the air as if nothing had happened. Sunghoon snorted, immediately returning to his usual confident expression.

'Stop talking nonsense.' But his tail betrayed him. He fidgeted nervously, brushing at you several times as if he could not stand still. You laughed quietly, but your fun was short-lived because a second later, Sunghoon grabbed your chin with two fingers and forced you to look at him. His gaze was dark, his smile dangerous.

'Teasing a hybrid is never a good idea and now...' Its tail slowly wrapped around your thigh, almost immobilizing you. 'Let's see if you can keep that swaggering look when I make you mine for real.' And with a sharp movement, he pushed you back against the bed, his hungry eyes chained to yours. His cock grazed your entrance, sliding along your already wet folds, provoking you with slow, deliberate movements. Sunghoon watched you from above, his body stretched above you, his ears barely moving, catching your every little breath. But when he spoke, his voice sounded more authoritarian than usual.

'Do you take the anti-hybrid pill?' His tone was peremptory, almost threatening. Nod quickly, cheeks on fire.

"S-Yes ... I'll take it..." Sunghoon squinted, his tail moved impatiently, touching your thigh. "So ..." His smile slowly widened.

'Are you telling me you really want it?' You felt your legs tremble.

Your breath was short, almost a whisper. "I want it." Sunghoon lowered his face until he touched your ear, his voice so low it made you shudder. 'You want it inside of you, huh?' He slowly licked the lobe of your ear, the heat of his breath driving you crazy. 'Do you want to be filled? Knotted to me?'

A shiver ran through your back. "Yes, Sunghoon..." you moaned, your body almost begging under his and with a last look that walked you from top to bottom, pushed into you with a single decisive movement.

A scream escaped from your lips. The pleasure mixed with an overwhelming feeling of fullness. It was too much. Too big. Too deep. Sunghoon grunted, his breath broken as he immobilized for a moment inside you.

'Damn... you're so tight...' His ears drooped for a moment, his instinct torn between the need to give you time to adjust and that of fucking you mercilessly.

'Are you all right?' he asked, his voice slightly softer. You reeled, trying to regain control of your body.

"S-Yes... it's just that..." You clutched the sheets, and your belly contracted around its length. "D-I have to get used to it..." Sunghoon snorted softly, his hands grasping your hips forcefully.

'Of course, you must." Then he pulled back slightly, and his tip grazed your entrance, making you shudder.

'Tell me when you want me to move.' His tone was a mixture of control and perversion. He left you a minimum of choice, but his body vibrated with the desire to take you as his instinct screamed at him to do. Your fingers clasped against his arms. "Move..." you gasped. "M-Move more ... please..."

A dark flash ran through his eyes. 'Whatever you want, sweetie.' And he began to move, slowly, at first. Pushing in and out with measured movements, making you feel every inch of its length, each lunge was deep, almost designed to make you lose your head but then, your body took over. "Hoon..." you groaned softly, fingers clinging to his shoulders. "P-Faster..." His ears strained, he stopped suddenly.

'What did you say?' His tone was dangerously amused, and your cheeks burned, but by now it was too late to go back.

"I want you ... faster..." you stammered, your breath broken. Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, his smile grew sharper and in that instant, his instincts took over. Her body lowered on you, her hands grabbed you with more force, his eyes darkened with pure lust and then she began to fuck you for real, no more slow and controlled movements.

Only fast, deep, animalistic thrusts. The bed creaked under you, the pink sheets now crumpled. His every lunge hit a point inside you that made you scream with pleasure and his ears moved furiously, his tail trembled. He was in the throes of his instincts.

'Ask and it will be given to you, mh?' he gasped with a grin, bending over you to sink his teeth into your neck, marking you with his bite.

'Look how your body is reduced, all tense for my cock.' His hot breath drove you crazy. 'You like it, huh? Do you feel good getting fucked like this by a rabbit?'

You couldn't answer that. You could only moan, huddling around him. Then, suddenly, you felt something change. An overwhelming heat pervaded you, starting from the belly and radiating throughout the body. Your breathing became even more labored, and your body trembled.

"A-Ah ... H-Hoon...!" you stammered, your brain on fire. Sunghoon laughed softly, his gaze predatory.

'Oh? Are you feeling hot?' He knew very well what was happening.

'Finally your body reacts as it should.' You felt his cock throbbing inside you and then, you felt it. The knot began to swell, expanding inside you, preparing to tie you to him, you stammered that it was too much, but also such a beautiful feeling as Hoon continued to fuck you. Your poor vaginal lips sucked him all the time, and you lost so much excitement that he teased you, pulled his ears, your legs squeezed him even more to you, and you kissed him while he put his hand on your stomach.

'Feel how well you take my cock... how my knot is filling you.' His whisper was full of possession, of animalistic desire.

'Sooner or later the knot will break and you will carry beautiful hybrids on your lap.' You nod amid the broken moans, the pleasure too intense to answer with real words.

'H-Hoonie...I'm coming ... ” Sunghoon smiled perversely, lowering one hand to tease your clit with her fingers.

'Come for me. Show me how much you like being mine.' A choked scream escaped from your lips as the pleasure exploded inside you, completely overwhelming you. You made a mess over his length and on the sheets, while Sunghoon bit his lip at feeling you squeeze so hard around him.

'Oh, yeah, I'll fill you up.' With a throaty groan, he knotted completely at you letting his excitement fill you.

He stood motionless for a moment, breathing heavily, savoring every second they were still tied up. When it finally melted inside you retreated slowly.

'Look what a disaster you made.' Then he kissed you sweetly, letting you recover in his arms.

'I really think that from now on we will always study in your room!'

Then, without saying anything, he smoothly moved out of bed and bent down to pick up his shirt. He naturally slipped it on you, carefully covering you, as if wanting to mark the territory on you in that way too.

'Don't move,' he ordered in a tone that did not admit replicas before quickly getting dressed. You followed him with your gaze as he left the room for a few minutes, and when he returned with a damp cloth in his hands, you stared at him with an amused air.

"Look who takes care of me. Are you sure you're the Sunghoon I know?" you provoked him with a smirk. He slightly curled his nose and grunted softly – a deep, almost imperceptible sound typical of his hybrid instinct. He glanced sternly at you as he passed the cloth over your skin gently. 'It's the least a guy should do,' he replied with simplicity as if it were obvious.

After finishing, he slipped back into the bed next to you and, without thinking about it, wrapped you with his body, clutching you possessively against his chest. Its tail barely moved, touching your thigh, while its rabbit ears leaned forward slightly, attentive to your every breath. For a while, he remained silent, carelessly stroking your side. Then you felt his grip tighten slightly.

"What is it?" you asked him quietly, taking his hand between yours. Sunghoon hesitated. You could feel it. It was as if he was struggling with something inside himself. Eventually, his breathing became heavier.

'I'm scared,' he admitted.

You stiffen. "Of what?" He looked down, his ears bent back slightly.

'Of myself.' You watched him carefully, waiting for him to continue.

'With you I checked myself,' he confessed in a low voice.

'But my heat is approaching. I don't know how I'll react when it happens. And I'm afraid to show you everything about me.'

His tail moved nervously behind him, as if unsure how to express how he felt. For a moment, he seemed almost vulnerable. You approached him and, with a sweetness that even he did not expect, you let your lips touch the little ones on his face.

"I want to see every part of you, Sunghoon," you whispered against his skin. "I'm sure you won't hurt me."

He shuddered slightly at your touch, his body tense for a single moment before relaxing again. He looked you in the eye, and something inside him snapped, he wanted you but it was not just desire. It was something deeper. Something he had never experienced before. He ran his tongue over his lips, almost nervously, and then, with a half-smile, tilted his head. 'When we are in public, however, I want you to continue to treat me as usual.'

"Obviously. I can't ruin your image as a cynical, fake bad boy and nerdy boy!" He giggled, shaking his head.

'So you like bad boy and at the same time nerdy boy?' You shook your head, amused.

"You are not a bad boy, You're just a little gruff and authoritarian." Sunghoon sighed, but inside he felt a different warmth than usual. It wasn't just about attraction. He liked you. Really. And this frightened him more than any incoming heat and he knew that in the coming weeks it would come...

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PT2?

Rebblog and comments are appreciated

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inseobts · 3 months ago

Note

Kidd, luffy and law x reader (love triangle) please 😽😻

Run wild and free

luffy x reader + law x reader + kid x reader

a/n: bestie that’s not a love triangle, that’s a love quadrangle lmao. jokes apart, I ended up making it a bit too platonic and about you joining their crew, but I hope you’ll like it anyway.

reader’s powers: inspired by solo leveling

tags: gn!reader, post-wano, strong!reader, slow burn, tension

words count: 3.5k

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

The war for Wano is over.

Kaido has fallen. Orochi is dead. The Beasts Pirates have been crushed.

And yet, despite the celebrations, the laughter, and the cries of victory in the Flower Capital, you stand apart alone, as you’re used to.

The battlefield still writhes with shadows. Black, eerie figures kneel at your feet, remnants of those you’ve slain, now bound to your will.

Your power grants you dominion over the dead. Every opponent you cut down becomes yours, their shadows shackled to you in eternal servitude.

Some call you a monster. Others call you a deity of war. Either way, they fear you.

And that’s why the three most dangerous men alive are now fighting over you.

“Oi! There you are!”

Luffy’s voice rings across the ruined battlefield, his footsteps loud as he runs up to you. His grin is as bright as ever, completely unaffected by the haunting army of shadows still lurking behind you.

“That was so cool!” he says, eyes practically sparkling “You should totally join my crew!”

You blink “What?”

“You’re strong! And awesome! And you’d love the Sunny!” Luffy laughs “I bet you and Zoro would get along!”

You tilt your head. He’s serious.

Before you can answer...

“Tch. Move it, Straw Hat.”

Boots stomp onto the cracked ground. Kid.

His crimson eyes burn with something like admiration but it’s buried beneath his usual arrogance.

“You’re not actually considering that dumbass, are you?” He folds his arms, metal arm gleaming under the moonlight “You belong with a real crew… mine.”

You smirk “You mean a ship full of lunatics?”

Kid’s grin widens “Exactly, you’re obviously one of us.”

Before you can respond—

“You two never shut up.”

The voice is calm, sharp. Surgical.

Law steps forward, hands in his coat pockets, golden eyes locked onto you. Unlike the others, he doesn’t demand or taunt.

He simply says “You’re not looking for chaos. You’re not looking for a crew of idiots fighting over scraps. You’re looking for something bigger.” His gaze sharpens “Join me, and I’ll give you exactly that.”

The air tightens. The unspoken challenge crackles like thunder.

Luffy’s grin never fades “I’m not losing to either of you.”

Kid scoffs “Like hell you aren’t.”

Law just smirks “We’ll see.”

You exhale. They’re serious.

Three captains. Three paths.

You sigh, crossing your arms as you watch Luffy, Kid, and Law glare at each other, their presence crackling like lightning in the air.

“You guys do realize,” you deadpan, “that I never said I was joining any of you? You all know I’m a lonely pirate and somehow I already have my crew…”

Luffy ignores you “They’re all shadows… Join my crew, Y/N!” he says, grinning ear to ear “We’re all super strong! And we have a cook who makes the best food ever!”

Kid scoffs “You think food is what’s gonna convince them, Straw Hat?” He turns to you, crimson eyes gleaming “You’re wasted with these idiots. With me, you’d have the strongest crew on the seas. No one could touch us. And admit it, your powers fit us.”

Law sighs, rubbing his temple like he’s already exhausted by both of them “You two are insufferable.” He looks at you, his golden eyes sharp and calculating “You don’t need chaos. You don’t need a circus act. You need something real. Join me, and I’ll give you exactly that.”

You blink at them. They’re serious.

You already knew that Luffy was stubborn as hell, Kid was relentless, and Law was dangerous in the quietest ways, but you didn’t think they’d actually fight over you.

Your silence seems to fuel the fire.

“What can you even offer them, Trafalgar?” Kid sneers, cracking his knuckles “A crew full of weaklings?”

“I have a submarine” Law says coolly.

Luffy pauses “…That’s actually kind of cool. But the Sunny is way cooler! And we have the best musician ever! Do you guys even have music on your ships?”

You exhale through your nose “You guys do realize you’re treating me like a damn prize, right?”

Luffy blinks “Huh?”

Law sighs “That’s not what this is.”

Kid smirks “I mean, it kinda is.”

The ground shakes as your shadows shift, the weight of your power pressing down on the air “You’re acting like I’m just gonna follow one of you like a lost puppy.”

Kid grins “Wouldn’t say no to that.”

Before you can reply, a new voice cuts in.

“Oi! What the hell is going on here? We thought you were killing each other.”

You glance over to see Zoro, Killer, and Bepo approaching, the rest of their respective crews trailing behind them. Nami, Sanji, and Usopp are already watching from a distance, curiosity burning in their eyes. Heat and Wire stand near Killer, arms crossed. Shachi and Penguin exchange glances, whispering to each other.

It’s clear that the entire alliance has noticed the brewing tension.

“What is this, some kind of territory dispute?” Zoro grumbles, adjusting his swords.

“Oh, it’s worse,” Sanji says, lighting a cigarette “They’re fighting over y/n.”

Zoro pauses “Wait, seriously?”

“Seems like” Nami confirms.

Bepo looks at Law, confused “Captain, what’s happening?”

“Nothing” Law says flatly.

Killer sighs “Eustass-ya, this is ridiculous.”

Kid waves him off “Shut up, Killer. I’m working.”

“Working?” You narrow your eyes.

Kid shrugs, smirking “I like collecting powerful things.”

Luffy snorts “Well, I like collecting friends!”

Law rubs his temples again, clearly regretting everything.

Sanji exhales a plume of smoke “Well, well. What an interesting little mess.” as he eyes you with a smirk.

Your shadows ripple violently.

“Absolutely not.”

The temperature seems to drop as your aura expands. Even the wind seems to hold its breath.

The crews tense. They’ve seen you fight. They’ve seen the horrors your power can unleash.

Kid whistles, impressed “Damn. I like that.”

Luffy grins, unfazed “Your powers are so cool!”

Law watches you closely. Too closely. His golden eyes see more than you want him to.

You exhale “I don’t take orders from anyone. Not you. Not the World Government. Not anyone.”

Kid smirks “Then what do you want?”

You hesitate.

Because the truth is that you don’t know.

Luffy steps closer, eyes bright with something honest “You wanna see the world with us?”

Kid leans in, voice dropping into something dangerous “Or do you wanna rule it?”

Law, ever the strategist, doesn’t ask. He just looks at you and says “You’re searching for something. I can help you find it.”

The weight of their offers settles over you like a storm.

And for the first time in a long time you feel something real.

Luffy’s grin softens “You’d be awesome on the Sunny!”

Kid scoffs “Or you could actually be on a ship worthy of your strength.”

Law sighs, tilting his head slightly “You’re both exhausting.” But his eyes flick back to you, and for a second you see something intense.

They’re not letting this go.

“Yeesh, are they flirting or fighting?” Nami mutters.

Usopp stares “I… honestly can’t tell.”

Killer just sighs “Both.”

Heat nudges Wire “Should we start taking bets?”

Sanji exhales, watching you closely “Lucky bastards.”

You ignore them all, looking at the three captains in front of you. You’re not stupid, you know this isn’t just about power anymore.

It’s about you.

Kid steps closer, voice dropping just for you “You’re different.” His crimson eyes glint with something hungry “You’re not scared of me. You’re not scared of anything, are you?”

You smirk “Should I be?”

His grin stretches wider “I’d like to see you try.”

Luffy, still smiling, grabs your wrist. His fingers are warm, rough from battle and adventure, but there’s nothing forceful in the way he holds you. It’s just excited, unfiltered emotion.

“You’d have so much fun with us, y/n!” He leans in, voice almost giddy “I wanna show you the whole world!”

Your heart skips. Just a little.

Then a hand grabs Luffy’s wrist, yanking it off of you.

Law.

His touch is cool, precise, almost possessive. He doesn’t say anything, just stares at Luffy, then at you. There’s something undeniably sharp in his gaze now.

Something dangerous.

“Don’t touch them so casually” he says. His voice is low.

Luffy just tilts his head “Huh? Why not?”

Law doesn’t answer.

Kid watches, then laughs “Holy shit. You’re jealous.”

Law ignores him, eyes still locked on you “This isn’t a game.” His voice is quieter now “Not for me.”

And for once, you don’t know what to say.

The air feels heavier now, not from battle, but from something far more dangerous.

This isn’t just about alliances anymore.

This is a chase.

The weight of their gazes presses in. Too much.

You exhale slowly, rolling your shoulders back. The shadows one by one sink into the ground, vanishing like ink in water, back to where they belong.

The battlefield is quiet.

Kid watches with sharp interest “Tch. Even your Devil Fruit is showy.”

Luffy tilts his head, blinking “Huh? Where’d they go?”

Law doesn’t speak, just watches you with that calculating gaze, as if he’s trying to figure out what you’re thinking.

But you don’t give them the chance.

You turn on your heel and walk away.

Not a word.

Not an explanation.

Just silence.

The festival in the Flower Capital is alive with laughter, music, and sake. People are celebrating, embracing their long-awaited freedom.

The people of Wano don’t know you like they know the others. You’re not a Straw Hat, not a Heart Pirate, not part of Kid’s crew. You’re just a shadow passing through their victory.

It should be freeing.

It isn’t.

You settle against a wooden post near a quieter part of the town, eyes drifting up to the lanterns lighting up the sky. The night is warm, the air thick with the scent of grilled food and spilled alcohol. Somewhere in the distance, you can hear Brook playing music, the faint sound of Luffy laughing, the chaotic voices of pirates and samurai alike.

And yet, you’re alone.

Just how you like it.

…Right?

“You’re hard to find.”

The voice is low, familiar.

You don’t have to turn around to know who it is. Trafalgar Law.

He steps beside you, hands tucked in his coat pockets, golden eyes flicking toward yours. His expression is unreadable, but there’s something different in the way he’s looking at you. Something unspoken.

You don’t acknowledge him right away. Just sip from the drink you swiped earlier.

“You followed me?”

Law doesn’t deny it “You left without saying anything.”

“You guys were annoying me.”

He exhales through his nose, amused “I figured.”

Silence stretches between you, comfortable but heavy. The festival noise hums in the background, but this moment feels separate from all of it.

After a beat, Law speaks again.

“You’re not staying, are you?”

“Would that disappoint you?”

Law’s gaze sharpens, but not with irritation, but something deeper.

“I don’t like wasting my time,” he murmurs “And I don’t chase things I can’t keep.”

Your heartbeat stumbles.

A challenge. A warning. A confession. Maybe all three.

For the first time in a long time, you don’t know what to say, and Law notices.

Your grip tightens around your cup, but you force yourself to keep your expression neutral “That so?”

Law doesn’t answer right away. He just watches you, too closely, as if he’s already mapping out every possible move you could make. Then he tilts his head slightly.

“You don’t run from battles.” His voice is smooth, steady “But you walked away from us.”

You scoff “Don’t tell me you took that personally.”

He exhales through his nose “I don’t take things personally. I just like to understand what I’m dealing with.” His golden eyes flick to yours, sharp, unreadable “And you? You’re an enigma.”

A small smirk tugs at your lips “Flattery, Trafalgar?”

“Observation.”

The weight of his gaze lingers. Heavy. And something about it, about him, unsettles you in a way you don’t want to acknowledge. Because he’s right.

You don’t walk away from fights. You don’t back down from challenges. But something about them, about this whole mess, made you leave.

Before you can respond, a loud, familiar voice cuts through the air.

“There you are!”

Footsteps. Heavy boots against wood.

Kid.

He stomps over, crimson eyes flicking between you and Law, his lip curling “The hell is this?”

You raise a brow “A conversation?”

Kid huffs, rolling his shoulders like he’s shaking off some irritation “Didn’t think you were the type to have quiet conversations.”

Law clicks his tongue “And I didn’t think you were the type to go looking for someone who left without a word.”

Kid’s eyes darken “Tch. You think I give a damn if they left? I just don’t like loose ends.”

But the way his gaze lingers on you says otherwise.

You sigh, rubbing your temple. This is exactly what you wanted to avoid “Why are you two even here?”

Kid folds his arms “Maybe I don’t like being ignored.”

Law hums “Needy.”

“Shut the hell up, Trafalgar.”

You sigh “You’re both ridiculous.”

Kid leans against the post next to you, his smirk sharp “Maybe. But you didn’t answer the question.”

You glance at him “What question?”

He tilts his head, watching you like a predator watching its prey “Are you staying?”

The air between you tightens.

You could lie and tell them exactly what they want to hear, but you don’t answer at all. And this silence is what gets them.

Kid’s smirk twitches, like he doesn’t like not knowing. Law’s fingers flex at his sides, like he wants to dissect every inch of your thoughts.

And just when you think you might finally get some peace a familiar laugh echoes.

Luffy.

He lands in front of you, grinning like he hasn’t just dropped into the middle of something tense.

“Oi, y/n!” His grin stretches wide, his eyes shining “I’ve been looking for you!”

Of course he has. Of course they all have.

Luffy's wide eyes flick between you, Law, and Kid and he doesn’t miss a thing.

“Eh? You guys are here too?”

Kid rolls his eyes “No shit.”

Law sighs, rubbing his temple “Straw Hat-ya, this really isn’t—”

But Luffy’s already stepping into your space. Closer than the others. Closer than anyone should be.

His warm fingers brush against your wrist, tugging lightly but not pulling, not forcing.

“You left before the party started,” he says, pouting “I wanted to drink with you.”

His voice isn’t demanding. It’s something worse... soft.

Unfiltered. Real.

Your pulse skips just for a second. And from the way Law tenses and Kid narrows his eyes, you know they notice.

You don’t pull away, but you don’t answer either.

Luffy tilts his head “Are you mad?”

You blink “Why would I be mad?”

He shrugs “Dunno. Maybe ‘cause we wouldn’t stop arguing in front of you.”

Kid scoffs “You mean because you wouldn’t shut up?”

Luffy grins “Well, yeah.”

Law exhales, voice flat “Straw Hat-ya, you’re not helping.”

But Luffy doesn’t care. He never does. He just looks at you, his fingers still wrapped around your wrist.

“You didn’t answer Kid’s question” he says.

You freeze. Of course he noticed.

Kid shifts beside you, arms crossed, eyes burning “Yeah, y/n. You staying or not?”

Law watches you, calculating, unreadable.

The festival noise fades. It’s just them. Just this. And you still don’t answer. Not because you don’t know, but because they all want different things.

Kid wants power. A challenge. Someone who doesn’t bend to him but still stands beside him. And you can give him that.

Law wants strategy. Precision. Someone he can trust, someone who understands things without needing to say them. And, angain, you can give him that.

Luffy just...

Luffy just wants you as you.

Not for your strength. Not for your Devil Fruit.

Just because you’re you.

And that’s the scariest thing of them all to you.

So instead of answering, you finally pull your hand back.

“I’m going to get a drink” you say simply.

Then you walk away, again. And this time none of them stop you.

Your boots move over the worn wooden planks of the street, but your mind lingers on the moment you pulled away. On the way they looked at you. You grip the sake bottle you swiped from a distracted vendor, your fingers pressing just a little too tightly around it. You shouldn’t care and yet... Footsteps. You don’t turn. You don’t have to. “I thought I told you I was getting a drink” you murmur. A low chuckle. Rough, amused. “Didn’t say I wasn’t getting one too.” Kid. Of course. You glance over your shoulder. He’s close.

Crimson eyes gleaming, coat still torn from battle, his usual sneer replaced with something slower, something that lingers. He’s looking at you like you’re his favorite fight.

You sigh, raising the bottle to your lips “What, afraid I’ll disappear?”

Kid’s smirk sharpens “I don’t get afraid.”

You swallow, letting the warmth of the sake burn down your throat “Could’ve fooled me.”

His grin widens “Tch. You wish.”

You should tell him to leave but you don’t. Because despite the way Kid is all sharp edges, all arrogance, all chaos, he’s also the one who followed. The one who didn’t let you slip into the night alone.

“Where the hell do you think you’re running off to, anyway?” he asks.

You tilt your head, watching him “Who says I’m running?”

Kid scoffs “Please. You didn’t just walk away. You walked the hell out.”

You hum, taking another slow sip “And yet, here you are.”

His smirk doesn’t fade “Damn right.”

“You’re different from them” he mutters.

You raise a brow “Them?”

His eyes flick back to where Law and Luffy were.

“They don’t get you like I do.” His voice drops just slightly, lower, rougher “You don’t play nice. You don’t follow. And you sure as hell don’t belong on a crew that treats life like a damn adventure story.”

You exhale, tapping the bottle against your thigh “That why you’re here?”

Kid takes another step closer, his voice a challenge and a promise all at once.

“I’m here ‘cause you don’t belong to anyone, y/n...”

His grin turns sharp.

“...but you could stand beside me. And you know that.”

A challenge. A temptation. And a mistake.

Because before you can answer, another voice cuts in.

“You don’t decide that for them.”

Kid turns, scowling, just as Law steps into the light.

You exhale through your nose “Figures you’d show up next. You all won't give up until I make a choice, will you?”

Law doesn’t deny it “Because you keep walking away” His voice is level “But you didn’t leave.”

Kid scoffs “Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

But Law ignores him. He steps closer, close enough that the air between you shifts. His voice is quieter now, meant only for you.

“If you were really leaving, you would’ve been gone by now.”

You grip the bottle tighter “And what if I just wanted a damn drink in peace?”

“Then you wouldn’t have let him follow.”

Your pulse stumbles. Kid’s jaw clenches, but before he can snap back, a familiar warmth crashes into you.

Luffy.

Arms wrapping around you like it’s the most natural thing in the world, his laugh bright, unbothered by the tension thick enough to cut with a blade.

“There you are!” He pulls back just enough to grin up at you “I knew you weren’t really leaving yet!”

You blink “What makes you so sure?”

Luffy tilts his head, confused by the question itself “Because you didn’t say goodbye.”

The simplicity of it hits harder than it should, because he’s right. You didn’t.

Law’s eyes darken, but he doesn’t look away from you “You’re still deciding.”

Kid’s jaw ticks “Tch. Just say it already.”

Luffy just waits, still smiling. Because he already knows.

And suddenly, you realize that so do you.

You inhale. Exhale. And then you turn.

Not to Kid.

Not to Law.

But to Luffy.

His eyes widen slightly, his fingers twitching against your sleeve “Eh?”

Your lips curl into a smirk “Took you long enough to find me, though”

Then he jumps with joy, hugs you tightly and kiss you on the cheek, which shocks you.

Luffy’s arms still wrapping tight around you like he never wants to let go.

Kid curses loudly, wheeling around to storm off, shoving a stunned passerby out of his way “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

Law sighs heavily, running a hand down his face “Honestly.” But there’s no real bitterness in his voice, just understanding. Because they both saw it before you did.

You were never meant to follow. Never meant to stand beside them.

You were meant to run wild and free, with the only captain who never wanted to tame you in the first place.

Luffy pulls back, beaming, his hands still tight around you “So that means you’re coming with me, right?”

“As if you’d let me go.”

He grins.

“Never.”

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swytdoll · 5 months ago

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☁︎ sex with exconvict!toji is more enthralling than it should be!

cw: fem!reader, breeding, virgin!reader, toji’s mean:( unprotected sex, spanking, size difference, dacryphilia.

they say the devil is a diminutive red man with a pitchfork, but that's not true. he's the eloquent charmer, the smooth talker who knows precisely how to infiltrate your psyche. he's the man with the handsome visage, the man with the enigmatic steel eyes that you could never quite decipher. the man with the scar on his lip that narrated a tale he'd never disclose, the man with the name toji zenin.

the evening he’d staggered through the wooden door, with nothing but the tattered clothes on his back, you knew he was trouble. you’d been perched on the plush, toffee-colored sofa, legs folded delicately underneath your strawberry-patterned dress, which complemented your sun-kissed skin. the room was dimly lit by the flickering light of the fireplace, casting dancing shadows on the walls.

it startled you to see this burly man with a rugged appearance and piercing eyes bursting into your cozy home. toji zenin was a formidable presence, his tall frame cloaked in clothes that clung to his muscular build, hinting at the strength beneath. his hair was dark and unruly, framing a face that bore the weathered marks of a hard life. a scar ran across his lip, adding to the air of danger that surrounded him. his steel-gray eyes were cold and calculating, and when his gaze locked onto yours, it felt as though he could see right through you. the intensity of his stare sent a shiver down your spine, making your skin crawl with goosebumps.

you had prepared to scream, your heart pounding in your chest, until your father appeared behind him, his familiar, reassuring figure bringing a semblance of calm. “this is toji, darling… he’s going to be doing some work around the farm. just for a while.” your father's voice was steady, yet you couldn't shake off the unease that lingered in the air.

your father’s words hung in the air, but your eyes remained fixed on toji. you could see the weariness in his stance, the way his shoulders slumped slightly as if carrying an invisible weight. his hands were rough and calloused, evidence of a life filled with hard labor. the flickering firelight accentuated the sharp angles of his face, casting shadows that made his expression even more inscrutable.

toji took a step forward, his boots making a soft thud against the wooden floor. the sound seemed to echo in the silent room, amplifying the tension. his gaze never wavered from you, and you felt a strange mix of fear and curiosity. there was something about him that was undeniably magnetic, despite the unease he stirred within you.

as he moved closer, you noticed the faint scent of earth and sweat clinging to him, a testament to his journey. he finally broke his gaze, glancing around the room before looking back at your father. “thank you for taking me in,” he said, his voice deep and gravelly, yet carrying a hint of gratitude.

your father nodded, placing a reassuring hand on toji’s shoulder. “let’s get you settled in,” he said, guiding him towards the back of the house. you watched them disappear down the hallway, the sense of foreboding still lingering. you couldn’t help but wonder what kind of trouble toji zenin had brought with him, and how it would change the quiet life you’d known on the farm.

two weeks had passed since toji zenin stepped through that intricately carved door, and things on the farm had shifted in ways you never expected. he’d settled into the routine of hard work, but there was something about him that still set your nerves on edge. the way he moved with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, the way he spoke just enough to keep you guessing—it all felt like he was hiding something.

you’d caught him a few times, deep in conversation with shady-looking visitors who pulled up in sleek cars that didn’t quite match the rustic charm of the farm. their hushed tones and furtive glances made your heart race. it was hard not to suspect that toji was tangled up in something dangerous, maybe even the mafia. the thought sent chills down your spine, but you couldn’t deny the intrigue he held over you.

one afternoon, you found yourself lingering by the barn, pretending to organize tools as you watched him work. his muscles flexed under the sun, glistening with sweat, and for a moment, you forgot your suspicions. but then you noticed the way he’d occasionally look over his shoulder, as if expecting someone. it was a small detail, but it made your stomach twist.

“hey,” he called out, breaking your thoughts. “you need help with that?” his voice was smooth, but there was an edge to it that made you wary. you hesitated, weighing your options. could you really trust him? or was he just a charming facade hiding something darker?

you hesitated for a moment, then decided to play it cool. “sure, if you don’t mind,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. you handed him a rake, your fingers brushing against his. the contact sent a jolt through you, but you quickly pulled your hand back, hoping he didn’t notice.

toji took the rake and started working beside you, his movements fluid and efficient. he was shirtless, his toned muscles glistening under the sun. his light blue levi jeans hung low on his hips, and his black boots kicked up dust with every step. his hair was matted with sweat, and he occasionally wiped his hands on a damp cloth he kept tucked in his pocket. “you’ve been watching me,” he said casually, not looking up. it wasn’t a question, more like a statement of fact.

your heart skipped a beat. “just making sure you’re doing it right,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant. but the way his lips curved into a faint smirk told you he wasn’t buying it.

“is that so?” he murmured, his eyes finally meeting yours. there was a glint in them, something that made your pulse quicken. “or are you wondering why someone like me ended up on a farm like this?”

you swallowed hard, caught off guard by his directness. “maybe a little of both,” you admitted, deciding there was no point in lying. “you don’t exactly fit the typical farmhand profile.” toji chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent shivers down your spine. “life’s full of surprises,” he said cryptically. “sometimes, you end up in places you never expected.”

you wanted to press him for more, to dig into his past and uncover the truth. but before you could say anything, he straightened up, wiping sweat from his brow. “let’s finish up here,” he said, his tone signaling the end of the conversation. as you worked side by side, you couldn’t shake the feeling that toji zenin was a puzzle you were desperate to solve, even if it meant uncovering secrets that could change everything.

now toji would be lying if he said he hadn’t found interest in the farmer’s daughter. how could he not? pretty dresses, and an even prettier face. your eyes sparkled with curiosity and mischief, and every time you laughed, it was like a melody that stuck with him long after. despite his rough exterior and the secrets he carried, he couldn't help but be drawn to your warmth and genuine spirit.

he noticed the way you moved with grace, even when doing the simplest tasks around the farm. your hair, always perfectly styled, framed your face in a way that made you look like you belonged in a different world, far from the dirt and toil of the fields. you had a way of making everything seem brighter, and toji found himself looking forward to the moments when your paths would cross.

the kindness was another thing that caught him off guard. you treated everyone with a gentle touch and a kind word, even him, the stranger with a past he tried to hide. there was an innocence about you, but also a strength that he admired. it was a combination that made you irresistible, and toji knew he was in deeper than he wanted to admit.

you couldn’t exactly recall how’d you ended up squished between two stacks of hay as toji fucked you mercilessly. the thrusts he delivered nothing short of cruel, folding you further into the prickly stack as you whimper sweetly. he almost couldn’t believe it when you’d taken him all at once, his eyes fluttering shut as your pretty tight pussy clenched around him so delicately. “virgin huh? god, you’re so slutty. what would daddy think of you being stretched out like this, hmm?”

you can only whine at his words, voice long gone. “ah!” the feel of his large hands spreading you apart has you sobbing, “oh she’s wet. you’ve been thinking about this for a while huh? i bet you’ve touched yourself to the thought of me plenty of times. such a slut.” his words are mean, but the way he splits you is meaner. “mhmmm, oh my gosh!” stars kiss your eyelids as his throbbing tip presses repeatedly into that gummy spot inside of you.

it leaves you a moaning mess, the sounds of skin slapping filling the entire barn. the sound of it has your pussy fluttering and your head spinning.

your toes curl as he pounds into you relentlessly. you can barely form a thought, only able to focus on the feeling of him ruining you. your cunt squelches obscenely, juices dripping down your thigh. your breasts jiggle, the tips of them brushing the hay every so often.

and much as toji wants to be gentle with you, the way you cry for him, beg him to taint you has him gripping the fleshy meat of your hips. he doesn't care if you're bruised, he just needs to hear more. your voice is so delicate, yet so needy. the way your face scrunches up, your eyebrows knitting together in pleasure. it all goes straight to his cock. the way you're stretched around him is lewd, the way your tits jiggle is even more so.

"so pretty." his thumb rubs your clit gently, his voice a growl, "be good and cum for me baby. be a good girl and cum on this big dick, yeah?" you nod frantically, unable to speak as his thrusts become more and more punishing. his words a broken record in your head, good girl, good girl, good girl.

"gonna- gonna cum!" he grins, his hand rubbing your clit even faster. his own orgasm is fast approaching, the way you're squeezing his dick so tight.

"go ahead sweetheart, i'm close too, fuck." the hand rubbing your clit goes to your neck, gripping the tender flesh and forcing you to arch your back even more.

he's nearing the edge, the coil in his stomach becoming tighter and tighter. "cum with me. cum." it's the only warning you get before he's releasing, his thrusts still brutal as he empties himself inside of you. his thumb is still rubbing your clit, the overstimulation too much as you squirt around his pulsating cock. the sight of it has him grinning, and the fact that he’s the first one to make you squirt making him proud.

his thumb continues flicking your bud, slower this time, as he rides out his orgasm, the overstimulation too much as a small orgasm wracks through your body. then he’s spanking you. one hit. then two. then three. then five.

your ass stings, but you can only whine at his cruelty. he pulls out. it all happens so fast and he’s tucking himself back in and zipping his pants up. a grin is still on his face, a satisfied expression plastered across his features. "thanks for the fuck baby. see you around."

you watch his retreating figure, the door slamming shut behind him. you sigh, still facedown. the sound of his truck peeling off leaving a bad taste in your mouth. but the sticky cum that drips out of you as you struggle to clean yourself up has the butterflies in your stomach returning.

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alygator77 · 1 month ago

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.ೃ࿐ motherhood and matrimony I ch 10 𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪

ꨄ︎ pairing. au ceo! satoru gojo x single mom secretary fem! reader

ꨄ summary. satoru gojo, the arrogant and irresistible heir to a billion-dollar corporation and the son of your boss, the ceo... but when satoru’s father dies unexpectedly, his inheritance hinges on a stipulation: he must marry and have a child, but the child doesn't necessarily have to be his, right? together, you strike a deal: a fake marriage that promises financial stability for you and corporate control for him. as the lines between business and emotion blur, you must decide if your partnership is purely contractual or if it could evolve into something real.

ꨄ︎ warnings/tags. 18+ MDNI, nsfw, enemies (annoyances) to lovers, opposites attract, fake marriage, marriage of convenience, slow burn, smut, fluff, some angst, reader is single mom who recently broke off her engagement, satoru being a cute step dad, naoya is your crappy ex, triggers of prior domestic abuse » 【NOTE FOR THIS CHAPTER - violence. minor character death. blood and brutality. prior trauma. explicit sexual context: handjob, blowjob, face fucking, swallowing, praise, desperate, needy satoru. he's literally so in love with you.

ꨄ words: 14.9k

ꨄ a/n. hi hi!! it's been a while. i'm excited to share this ch with youuu 🥹 !! please caution !! - there IS violence, read my tags bbs. oh man, here we go... the yakuza don't fuck around ya'll. also, welcome nanami!! see you at the bottom. ♡ (art by 3aem )

ꨄ taglist: open (ao3)

♬ playlist

series masterlist ꨄ︎ previous chapter ꨄ︎ next chapter → pending

ch 10 // ruin and reverence

Blood and money.

Two currencies of power.

One, pooling thick and dark, seeping into the cracks of the aged wooden floor. The other, crisp and clean, slipping effortlessly through Mei-Mei’s manicured fingers. The Zenins have always understood both intimately—one is used to buy power, the other to maintain it.

Tonight though, only one is being spent.

The sickening crack of brass knuckles against bone splits the air, followed by a wet, choking cough. The man kneeling before Toji jerks forward, lungs fighting for air they don’t have room for. His arms are bound behind his back, wrists cinched so tight his fingers have gone blue.

And his face?

Well, not much left of it now. One eye swollen shut—the other, barely tethered to consciousness.

He isn’t alone—two others lie slumped beside him, bodies twisted in the way only pain can shape—blood pooling beneath them like spilled ink. Toji hasn’t glanced at them since they dropped. They’d served their purpose.

This one, though? Still breathing.

The room is dim and airless, the kind that holds onto heat and old violence. A flickering overhead bulb swings gently above, casting shadows that crawl across the walls with every shift of movement. The smell of sweat, blood, and something metallic lingers—heavy, but familiar.

This isn’t a room meant for conversation.

It’s a room meant for remembering your place.

“P-please,” then man rasps, wheezing. “I—I told you everything, I swear—”

His knees scrape the floor as he bows, forehead nearly touching Toji’s boot. Shame, surrender, desperation—it’s all there, thick in the air like humidity before a storm.

But Toji doesn’t blink. He just watches. Shoulders rolling, fingers flexing. The brass glints under the low light. His head tilts slightly—calculating.

“Mm… that so?”

“Yes-yes,” the man nods desperately, breath hitching. “I swear. Please, I swear.”

Toji’s lips curl slightly, not in amusement, but in something far less kind, and with no warning, he fists a hand into the man’s blood-matted hair, yanking his head back like a drawn bow.

“Wait—p-please!” the man jerks, his good eye wide with panic, spine pulled tight.

Arching a brow, Toji observes him like a purchase that didn’t hold up.

“You were in his house,” he states simply.

“Y-yes,” a frantic nod. “I—I was—”

Toji hums. “Breathing his air...”

The man nods again, breath shuddering with a quiet sob, his shoulders convulsing involuntary.

“Walking his floors...”

Another nod, another breathless sob.

Toji clicks his tongue, pondering. “…makes you valuable, doesn’t it?”

And there it is. That flicker.

Hope.

Thin as thread.

Pathetic, really.

Toji lets it bloom, just long enough to see it shine in the man’s good eye—let him believe. Then, leaning in, his voice drops to a murmur.

“So why?” he asks, almost curious. “Why do you still look so fucking useless to me?”

There’s no time to answer. The man crumples, folding in on himself as Toji’s fist drives into his ribs—sharp, direct. A wet crunch. Then, without so much of a glance, Toji steps over his body without looking down. It’s just dead weight on the floor. The others had figured it out too—right before the end.

They’d begged.

It hadn’t mattered.

With a slow exhale, he approaches the table, where Mei sits, thumbing through yen with that same detached grace. She doesn’t glance up as he reaches for the glass of sake beside her. But as Toji brings the glass to his lips, taking a sip, he catches movement in his peripheral, and behind him, the grunt coughs—wet and raw.

…he’s still trying?

With a tilt of his head, he turns, watching the man drag himself forward through blood and spit. Ugh… it’s always the ones who stay conscious that think they’ve earned something.

“He’s still breathing,” Mei hums, unmoved. Her eyes stay on the cash, more interested in the spoils than the suffering that paid for them. “That’s a bit generous, Toji.”

“Yeah yeah…” he takes a swig of sake, exhaling, “…not for long.”

Suddenly, the door creaks, and Naoya strolls through its opening. Smooth strides, like it’s just another business report. Golden eyes scan the room, moving from the bodies on the floor to the blood smeared across the boards, then to the one poor bastard still crawling like it might matter.

Huh. Nothing unusual.

“Yo,” his hands shove into his pockets, tilting his head with a smirk. “You’re working late.”

Lifting her chin, a smirk plays at Mei’s lips like the edge of a knife.

“Evening, Naoya.”

He returns the gesture with a lazy tilt of his head, but his attention shifts almost immediately to the table—to the scattered aftermath of whatever poor bastard had made the wrong move tonight.

Gold chains. Scattered bills. Watches stripped from the wrists of men who thought they had more time.

Spoils of failure.

“Having fun?”

Reaching for the next stack, Mei hums.

“More than them.”

Naoya drops into the chair beside her, kicking his feet up like this is a poker night and not a graveyard.

“Well, well,” he exhales, gaze cutting toward Toji. “If I knew it was open season, I’d’ve brought popcorn.”

Lifting his sake, Toji watches it swirl in the glass. He doesn’t spare Naoya a look. Doesn’t say a word.

Naoya waits.

And waits.

And… waits?

Eventually, Toji sets the glass down with a soft clink, rolling his shoulders, exhaling. Then, he turns back toward the crawling man—who’s made it, maybe, four inches from where he started.

The fuck?

Naoya frowns slightly, eyes narrowing.

“Psh... not even a hello?” he scoffs, shifting in his chair like he’s brushing off the tension. “Cold, even for you.”

Still no answer.

Just the dull sound of Toji’s boots against the floorboards as he closes the space again.

Then—

A punch.

Then another.

And another.

Each one lands with a dull, final force, like closing a door that shouldn’t have been opened. Bone crunching. Flesh splitting beneath steel-plated knuckles.

As Naoya watches, a subtle unease creeps in—threading through his amusement like a hairline crack in polished glass.

“You’re in a mood…” he offers lightly, rocking his boot idly against the edge of the table.

Toji’s fist drives into the man’s ribs, followed by a wet, wheezing gasp.

“Am I?”

It’s almost conversational.

Almost.

Another hit follows. Harder. Meaner. And Naoya exhales, stretching out in his chair like he’s not watching someone die.

“Yup… quieter than usual,” he muses, clicking his tongue. “Bad news? Or just bad company?”

Toji hauls the man upright, his body sagging like it’s already given up.

“…both.”

Naoya hums, like he’s got a fix for that.

“Well… maybe I can help with that. Got something on Gojo today.”

At that, Toji’s grip loosens—the man dropping to the floor with a heavy thud, and Naoya perks up. Encouraged, like a dog who thinks it’s being tossed a bone.

“Heh… thought you’d appreciate it,” he leans back, legs stretching further, “y’see… I took a little… initiative.” He says it like he wants a fucking gold star. “Dropped by Gojo’s place. Figured I’d get ahead of things.”

Toji’s back stays turned, but he tilts his head, barely—just enough to feed Naoya’s ego. Mei raises a brow, knowing better.

“Gotta say… his security wasn’t much,” Naoya goes on, waving a hand lazily. “Paid them off. Walked right in,” he pauses, his smirk stretching. “Got into his office and poked around. Grabbed a few files… contracts, statements… stuff that’ll sting once we’re in court.”

Toji nods. Slow. Thoughtful.

Too thoughtful.

“That so?”

Naoya’s grin grows—he can’t help himself. “Yup. Even got photos of everything. There was a safe I didn’t crack, but we can go back. Who knows what kind of dirt’s buried in there?”

Toji hums low in his throat. Like he’s thinking. But he’s not.

Why? Because he already knows.

Without warning, his fist swings again—one final, devastating blow. The man’s body jerks violently. Then stills. Toji grabs him by the collar again, lifting him halfway—checking.

But there’s nothing. No breath. No twitch.

Dead.

Behind him, Naoya’s smirking like an idiot.

“Damn. Poor bastard…” he says, half-laughing. “Can barely even tell he had a face.”

“Huh… you’re right,” Toji muses, giving the corpse a second look. Then, he drops it without ceremony, wiping his knuckles off on his shirt, slow and methodical.

“Guess you can’t even tell he was one of yours.”

Naoya blinks.

“…huh?”

Toji finally looks at him, flashing a smug grin. “Oh, yeah,” he nudges the body onto its back with his foot, revealing the ruined mess of a face. “Didn’t you know? These are your men.”

Something shifts—not the blood, not the bodies, but something else, something that had been slowly, steadily unraveling and Naoya had missed it.

“…w-what?” he blinks, speechless, forcing out a dry laugh. “The hell you mean, my men?”

Toji says nothing. Just begins rolling up his bloodied sleeves—one fold at a time—like he’s getting ready to mop the fucking floor.

“Gojo fired his entire staff tonight.”

A pause, because that’s it—that’s enough. Enough to let Naoya know how deeply, irreversibly he’s fucked up. The men Toji beat to death were Gojo’s old employees—their moles.

But Naoya just scoffs. “Tch… you’re fucking with me.” he leans back, arms crossing like he’s trying to hold something in place. “I mean… c’mon. Gojo fired his staff?”

Toji looks at him, gaze flat. “Did I stutter?” An unnerving pause. “All of them,” he adds casually. “Kept Remi though.”

Jaw ticking, Naoya’s fingers twitch against his bicep.

“Paranoid bastard…” he mutters, too dry, too short. He swallows. Tries to laugh. “Doesn’t mean shit. Just means he got spooked. We knew there was a risk.”

Toji’s head tilts a fraction deeper, a shadow passing through his expression.

“…we?”

That word is a hammer. Naoya stills, because Toji’s voice is calm, but the weight of it drops like a fucking lead pipe.

“Let’s see… if I recall correctly…” he says, stepping closer, voice steady, cold, “I never fucking asked you to go into Gojo’s house, isn’t that right?”

“Well… but…” Naoya stammers. Then tries a shrug, rolling his shoulders like it’ll shake off the weight. “I did what needed to be done. We needed leverage—”

A cruel laugh cuts him off.

Toji shakes his head in amused disbelief, then moves—snatching the dead man by the collar, hauling him up like a ragdoll and slamming him down onto the table in front of Naoya.

The table jolts. A stack of yen shifts slightly. Leaning in, Toji presses a hand to the corpse’s face, twisting it toward him.

“…honestly?” his voice drops to a razor-thin edge. “This is how your fucking face should look right now.”

He holds it there, letting Naoya see every ruin of it. Then lets go, letting the corpse slump back into the table.

“But…” Toji sighs, wiping the back of his hand along his jaw, smearing blood like it’s no more than sweat. “Lucky for you… I need you lookin' pretty. So they don’t catch on.”

Naoya is stunned, frozen, desperately trying to piece together what the fuck to say, while Mei hums, still thumbing through her cash, unfazed. He tries to roll his shoulders back, to remember who the hell he is, but the tension sits thick in his bones.

C’mon now…

He didn’t mess up. Right? Not really.

He was just doing what needed to be done. That’s what he tells himself—over and over, even as his gut twists tighter. After all, breaking into Gojo’s house wasn’t a mistake. It was necessary.

Strategic. Calculated.

He had to find something to use against that smug bastard. Had to find something to remind you what happens when you step out of line.

Clearly it's not because he cared. Not because he gave a shit about what you were doing. Just leverage. Just... business.

That’s all it was.

…except it wasn’t. Not really.

Clenching his jaw, Naoya hates the flicker of truth that stirs under the layers of justification. Because he hadn’t been looking for evidence. He’d been looking for you.

For proof you were miserable without him. For proof you hadn’t actually slipped free. Because Naoya was a man who didn’t lose. Not women. Not anything. It was second nature—the way they folded. Under his voice. His anger. His hands. And you—you had been no different.

Until you were.

Until you walked out without permission. Until you looked him in the eye and told him no.

The thought curdles hot in his blood.

You were supposed to be broken without him. Begging. Waiting. Not smiling. Not building a life. And sure as hell not fucking Satoru Gojo.

So… maybe he hadn’t gone into Gojo’s house for leverage after all. Maybe he’d gone in because he needed to remind himself he still mattered. Still had power. Control. Because if you had really moved on—really slipped away—what does that make him?

Weak? Forgettable? Nothing?

Naoya grits his teeth so hard his jaw aches.

Fuck no.

Naoya Zenin doesn’t lose. Not to you. Not to anybody.

The silence lingers, and as Toji straightens slowly, his gaze drops, catching on something—just a flicker of red lace peeking from the edge of Naoya’s pocket. He shifts.

“What’s this?” and Naoya tenses as he reaches down, two fingers hooking the fabric from his pocket.

Panties.

Holding them up, Toji’s lips press together in a flat, humorless line.

“…this what you brought back?” he asks, voice dry, tossing the panties onto the table, inches from the corpse’s hand. “Jesus fucking Christ, Naoya…”

Across the table, Mei’s brow lifts, flicking through another bundle. “Classy,” she hums, amused.

Naoya straightens abruptly, chair scraping across the floor. “It wasn’t like that,” he blurts. “I—”

“Don’t.” Toji raises a hand, palm open. His voice doesn’t rise, but it slices through the room.

He looks down at the lace again.

“Let’s see if I’ve got this right…” he says slowly. “…you break into Gojo’s house without my permission… stir up shit we weren’t ready to stir—” His gaze snaps back to Naoya, seething. “And you come back with that?”

Naoya scoffs, brittle and defensive. He fumbles for his phone, tapping the screen like it proves something.

“Look, ‘cuz—this wasn’t about her. I got real shit. Photos. Documents. Things we can actually use. I know we needed leverage—”

“We didn’t need shit.”

Toji’s voice is like ice. He snatches the phone from Naoya’s hand, tossing it onto the table with a heavy clack. It spins, landing crooked against the corpse’s elbow.

Leaning in, the weight of him towers above Naoya, like a shadow.

“We agreed to use her to take him down. Clean. Quiet.” He pauses. “You went off script.”

Naoya shifts, stiff, shoulders tense.

Toji doesn’t back off.

“This isn’t about Gojo anymore,” he says, quieter now. “It’s about you, Naoya. You can’t see straight. You’re too caught up in your fucking toy.”

Blinking, Naoya opens his mouth, only to close it again—jaw flexing. He’s speechless, and Toji nods slowly, as if confirming something to himself. Pulling away, he exhales—running a hand through his hair, contemplating.

“…you know why I’ve let her stay breathing this long?”

Naoya’s brow furrows, “…why?”

Toji’s mouth curls into something that isn’t quite a smile. “Because you wanted her.” He shrugs. “Just me being a nice cousin, I guess.” He leans a knuckle on the edge of the table. “Plus… figured letting Gojo have her would keep you focused. Make it personal. Y'know... keep your edge sharp.”

Mei doesn’t stop counting, but there’s a faint twitch at the corner of her lips as Toji lets the silence stretch. The room holds its breath.

“Buuut… she’s clouding your judgment that badly, huh?” he mutters, rolling his neck, slow and lazy. “…maybe I should just kill her.”

Naoya jerks forward so fast the chair scrapes across the floor again.

“Don’t,” he snaps. “She’s mine to—”

Toji’s fist is moving before his last word is even fully out—straight to Naoya’s chest—brass knuckles biting deep.

Gasping, Naoya doubles over. The air rips from his lungs in one crushed breath, and he grabs the edge of the table, knuckles white, wheezing. But Toji doesn’t even look angry. He just brushes a drop of blood from his wrist, flicking it to the floor.

“That’s the last time you raise your fucking voice to me…” he says quietly, leaning one hand flat on the table. “Get your shit together. Start thinking with your head—not your fucking dick. You’re not the one who makes the calls. I’m the one running this clan, are we clear?”

Naoya doesn’t answer. Can’t. He’s still wheezing, hunched over the table like the air might never fully return to his lungs. Straightening, Toji refills his sake glass—slow, unhurried—as if the conversation’s already over. And across the table, the red lace sits exactly where it landed. Bloodied, silent—still sitting in plain sight.

Mei picks up a ruby ring, turning it under the low light.

“Well…” she sighs, slipping it onto her finger, “if we’re taking votes, I’d love to kill the bitch. She’s getting a little too cozy in my house.”

Taking a slow sip, Toji doesn’t answer. His eyes are still locked on Naoya’s crumpled figure—like he’s weighing whether this was a warning or the warmup.

Propping her chin in her palm, Mei watches the ring flash red as it catches the light.

“She walks the halls like she owns them,” she murmurs. “Like she thinks she’s safe.”

Toji’s gaze flicks back to the lace on the table.

“She won’t be for much longer.”

A deep breath pulls through Naoya’s teeth, rough and shaky. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then plants an elbow against the table—trying to think.

There’s blood in the air, metal in his teeth. The corpse on the table is already cooling, but the heat in Toji’s glare hasn’t faded.

You die if he slips again. And… if you die before he wins—before you look him in the eye and regret leaving—before he gets to make you need him again—then he loses forever.

And Naoya Zenin doesn’t lose.

Straightening, his breath finally steadies, and he forces the words out like they were always part of the plan.

“…she agreed to meet me,” he mutters.

Toji glances at him. Just a flick of the eyes.

“Did she?”

“Yeah…” Naoya nods once. “Tomorrow. The park by the river.” A pause. “She… thinks I want to talk.”

It sounds steadier than it should.

Because the truth is? He’s not sure what the fuck he’s doing anymore. He tells himself this is strategy. A setup. Another angle in the plan.

But in reality?

It’s need. It’s obsession. It’s him clawing at the fraying ends of something he used to hold in his hand like a leash.

Mei hums, unimpressed, setting the ruby down again.

“If she’s dumb enough to show up,” she shrugs, “she’s dumb enough to disappear.”

Naoya scoffs, jaw twitching.

You'll come.

“I never said she was smart.”

Mei smiles faintly, flipping a coin between her fingers. “No. Just smart enough to run before you tightened your leash.”

Leaning back, Naoya’s chair creaks under him.

“She still listens when I talk, doesn’t she?” His voice is low, mean. “Still flinches when I go quiet. Means she remembers her place.”

For a second, he almost believes it.

Mei glances at him, sideways.

“And yet… here you are,” she says. “Fumbling for control like a man who’s already lost it.”

Naoya’s glare snaps sharp, hot.

“Fuck you, Mei. She’ll come crawling back. Just you wait. She still wants me.”

Toji exhales through his nose, sharp and tired—like he’s heard this all before and it’s not worth the energy anymore.

“Oh, shut the fuck up—both of you.” He sets his glass down with a soft clink—a sound that lands heavier than any fist. His gaze cuts to Naoya—sharp, certain. “So. Tomorrow. You set this up?”

Hesitating, Naoya’s hand tightens around the edge of the table. The tension in his shoulders is like a drawn wire.

“Yeah…” he says finally.

Toji watches for a beat—then nods, like the final piece has just slotted into place.

“Alright. Then we’ll use it.” He steps forward, planting both hands on the table—casual, but weighted. “You show up. Smile. Play the part. Whatever version of ‘sorry’ she still falls for.”

Leaning in, Naoya’s eyes narrow. “Okay… sure. And where will you be?”

Toji smirks. “In the trees.” he rises, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves. “We take her. And once she’s gone, Gojo will lose his goddamn mind.”

Mei perks up slightly, glancing up from her stack of bills.

“That’s the fun part.”

Toji nods. “If there's no mother, there's no custody. She vanishes—and before the hearing? The court eats that shit up alive. They’ll label her unstable. Reckless. Unfit.” He looks at Naoya. “Haru goes to you. And so long as you don’t fuck this up, you’ll get to keep your toy.” A beat. “And Gojo? He’ll fall apart trying to find her. Every camera. Every connection. He’ll tear his whole fucking empire down just to get to her.”

Naoya’s lip curls. Smug. That’s what he wants. But Toji doesn’t let it breathe.

“And when he’s desperate enough…” Toji steps closer. His voice drops. “He bends. He crawls. For her. For the kid.”

Mei smirks faintly, thumbing through another bill.

“Break the girl, break the man.”

Toji nods once. The final move in a game he’s already won. His eyes drop to the red lace still crumpled between the yen and the corpse’s elbow.

“Once you say the word, Naoya. We move.” He straightens, pulling his jacket off the back of the chair and sliding it over his shoulders. “We’ll be sure to wire you in the morning.” His voice is cool. Measured. “I’ll be listening in. Just give me the signal—

a pause

—and I take her.”

ꨄ

A knock at the door.

Haru stiffens beside you, her small fingers curling tight into the hem of your hoodie. You’re still barefoot, still warm from sleep, but something in you mirrors her instinct—your spine straightens, breath pausing at the thought of who’s on the other side.

“That’ll be them,” Satoru is already rising with a low stretch, dragging a hand through his hair as he strides toward the hallway.

The door swings open a moment later.

Nanami Kento.

He stands framed in the entryway like a man sculpted from stillness—tall, clean-cut, his suit so crisply pressed it looks like it could cut glass. Blonde hair swept neatly back, glasses catching the light, his expression unreadable.

Reserved, but not cold—the kind of man who makes silence feel like structure.

Surveying the room, he nods, stepping inside with measured ease, placing his suitcase down by the door. A moment later, Suguru follows behind him, all relaxed posture and familiar warmth—scarf loose, coat half-buttoned, hands tucked casually into his pockets.

“Mornin’,” Suguru greets softly, a quiet knowing nod.

You nod back. “Morning…”

Satoru shuts the door and leans into it, grin already tugging at his lips.

“Well, shit,” he drawls, eyes sliding toward Nanami. “You actually came.”

Nanami exhales like he’s already regretting it. “…you texted twelve times.”

Satoru pushes off the doorframe with a little whine, his steps lazy and exaggerated. “Yeah, well. You weren’t answering your phone,” he pouts. “I was starting to think you finally blocked me.”

“If that worked,” Nanami says dryly, “I’d have done it ten years ago.”

“Aww, you say the sweetest things, Nanamin~” Satoru beams, clapping a hand around his shoulder, giving him a warm, too-familiar shake. “Still stiff as a board, I see. What gives, Malaysia didn’t loosen you up?”

Exhaling, Nanami adjusts his jacket, like he’s resetting the moment.

“…I thought I was retired.”

Behind him, Suguru hums, unwrapping his scarf and hanging it over the rack.

“Was.”

Satoru’s grin broadens, playful as ever.

“You love me too much to stay gone.”

“I regret it already…” Nanami mutters.

“You should,” Suguru adds, smirking as he slips off his coat. “But we’re grateful you showed up.”

“Yes… well,” Nanami smooths a crease from his sleeve, voice quieter now. “…you said it was important.”

Satoru pauses, his smile shifting—quieter now, less playful.

“It is...”

His gaze flicks to you. Then down to Haru, still clinging to your leg like a koala. Straightening, his cocky smile returns—just enough to cut the weight in the room.

“Nanami… meet the only people on earth who still tolerate me,” he gestures grandly, a magician presenting his final trick. “My girls.”

Turning fully towards you, Nanami’s head dips in a small, courteous bow.

“Mrs. Gojo,” he says, voice even. “It’s a pleasure. I’m Kento.”

“Kento,” you echo with a nod, offering a soft smile. “Nice to meet you too.”

Your hand moves gently along Haru’s back, a quiet reassurance she doesn’t take. She’s glued to your leg, her little body half-hidden in the folds of your hoodie, face tucked into the fabric like it’s a shield.

Smoothing a hand down in slow, comforting strokes, you glance up at Nanami with a small, apologetic smile.

“She’s a little shy around new people…” your gaze dips down to her. “Haru? Sweetie… can you say hi to Mr. Nanami?”

Lowering his gaze, Nanami studies her in silence. He doesn’t step forward. Doesn’t crouch. Doesn’t crowd. Just waits—still and calm.

Haru peeks. Then retreats.

“Nanamin, c’mon man…” Satoru groans behind you. “You trying to scare her into a lifetime of therapy?”

Nanami doesn’t even blink. “I… haven’t said anything?”

“Exactly,” Satoru sighs, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “She’s timid around serious people. And you, my friend, look like you do taxes in your sleep.”

But glancing down at Haru, Satoru hesitates—just for a beat.

Because there are still days—quiet, strange days—when he’s unsure how to comfort her. When her small flinches echo louder in his chest than they should. When he wonders if he’s failed before he’s even begun. When her silence makes him feel like he’s still standing on the outside of a door he desperately wants to be let into.

Sometimes he wonders if he’s more stranger than safety.

But then, he breathes out, settling on the rug beside her, careful not to startle. He doesn’t speak at first. Just reaches out, resting a hand gently against the small of her back—steady, grounding.

“Haru…” he murmurs, softer, more measured. “Sweetheart…”

She doesn’t look up.

Leaning closer, he keeps his tone light. “Hey… this is my friend. Nanamin.”

She peeks. Just a flash of her eye.

“…Nanamin?” she murmurs, muffled against the hoodie.

“Mhm,” Satoru nods, grin softening as he gently brushes a knuckle along her cheek. “He’s gonna help protect you and Mommy for me.”

Blinking, her grip shifts, loosening your hoodie slightly.

“He’s not scary,” Satoru whispers, conspiratorial now, as if sharing a very important secret. “Promise. He doesn’t eat kids. Just spreadsheets. And sometimes bad guys.”

That earns the softest giggle—thin and breathy, curling beneath her lips like something fragile finally surfacing. And Satoru’s chest warms with it—like sun cracking through a cloudy morning.

With a heavy breath, his hand settles over her back again, reassuring. She doesn’t flinch this time. Clearing his throat, Nanami brings your attention back to him.

“…may I?” he asks you, removing his glasses, gesturing to the space on the rug in front of her.

“Oh, yes.” You nod, caught a little off guard by his gentle tone. “Of course.”

Crouching slowly, the fabric of his suit whispers against itself as he settles into the space. Not too close. Just close enough.

“Hello there,” his voice is low and warm. “…may I ask your name?”

Hiding her face, Haru grips your sweater tighter. Refusing to answer.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” you lean down, soothing her. “Go on. You can tell him.”

A pause.

Then, she tentatively whispers, “…Haru.”

Nanami nods, like she’s given him something sacred.

“That’s a beautiful name, Haru.”

She doesn’t respond. Not with words, at least. But her fingers loosen, and her eyes lift—still cautious, but no longer retreating.

From it, Nanami reaches into his coat pocket. There’s something about the gesture—precise, but quiet—that draws Haru’s attention. When his hand reemerges, he’s holding a folded crane. Pale blue paper patterned with tiny clouds. He sets it gently on the rug between them, like it’s always meant to be there.

“I made this on the train,” he says simply. “I thought you might like it.”

Haru blinks, slowly lowering herself to her knees, studying the crane with wide eyes.

Still crouched nearby, Satoru raises a brow. “Wait. You made that?”

Nanami doesn’t look at him. “Yes.”

“Origami?”

“Yes.”

“…the fuck?”

Behind him, Suguru’s voice drifts in with a faint laugh. “He’s been folding paper since middle school. You never noticed?”

Satoru whips his head around to look at him, genuinely affronted. “How have I never known this?!”

Suguru shrugs, unbothered. “Because you were too busy getting suspended for throwing erasers out the window.”

Nanami doesn’t react. Just keeps his focus gently on the little girl in front of him.

“You can keep it,” he tells her. “If you’d like.”

Looking up at him, Haru slowly stretches forward, picking up the crane like it’s something precious, like it might fly away if she touches it too roughly. Something meant for her.

“…it’s pretty,” she whispers.

Satoru rises with a groan, stretching as he leans against the wall beside Suguru, arms folded, eyes narrowed in mock betrayal.

“…she warmed up to him faster than she did to me.”

Suguru grins. “She’s got good taste.”

Satoru pouts, muttering, “I make her waffles…”

But before Suguru can toss another jab, the soft click of the front door handle breaks the moment—the familiar twist of metal, the hush of hinges swinging open.

The energy shifts. And then—Remi steps inside.

Her heels tap lightly against the floor, coat draped perfectly over her shoulders, a scarf knotted at her throat with practiced elegance. She pauses in the entryway, looking surprised to see so many people in the foyer, but it fades quickly behind a polished smile.

“Hi Haru!” she calls brightly, saccharine sweet.

Haru’s head whips up, eyes wide.

“Remi!” she gasps, nearly dropping the paper crane in her hands—taking off in a rush of quick footsteps, throwing her arms around Remi’s legs, giggling. “You’re here!”

Crouching down to return the hug, Remi softens with a familiar ease. “Of course I am, sweetheart,” her fingers tuck a curl behind Haru’s ear. “I’m excited to play with you today!”

From his place near the wall, Satoru straightens, unfolding slowly from where he’s been leaning—expression neutral, but watching closely.

“Ah, Remi…” he says, tilting his head slightly. “Meant to text you earlier. Should’ve mentioned.”

You glance toward him, brow furrowing. And she glances up, blinking once.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, sorry you came all the way down here. But you’re not needed today.” He gestures loosely towards you. “My wife’s staying home. So go ahead and take the day off, yeah?”

You blink, startled. He didn’t mention that. Usually Remi stays to help, regardless. Still—

…you guess it makes sense, doesn’t it?

You’re home. Haru’s home. So... of course you wouldn’t need the nanny. Brushing the surprise off, you tuck it away.

Remi hesitates just a second too long—her lashes flickering, eyes jumping from Satoru to you… then drifting, just barely, toward the unfamiliar man crouched on the rug beside Haru.

Nanami is already rising, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves with quiet, deliberate calm. And for a moment, you feel it—a ripple beneath the surface. Nothing you can name. Just a shift.

Remi’s smile returns quickly, but there’s a brittleness to it now. “I see,” she smooths her coat, standing upright. “Well…” she shifts her purse on her shoulder. “I’ll just—leave you all to it, then.”

But Haru, still clutching her hand, pulls her back with the urgency of someone who needs to share something important. “Wait! Look!” she holds up the crane, beaming. “Nanamin made this for me!”

Remi blinks, eyes dropping to the crane, lingering for a second too long, and when she looks up again, her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“How lovely…” she murmurs. “You take good care of it, alright sweetheart?”

“I will!” Haru chirps, already turning back toward Nanami, fingers curled around the little wings.

Releasing her hand, Remi steps back, moving toward the door. Her heels tap gently against the marble as she passes behind Satoru, casting a fleeting glance in Nanami’s direction. Then she leaves—the door closing—a soft, decisive click.

“Nanamin,” Haru says brightly, lifting the crane with both hands. “What’s his name?”

Leaning forward, Nanami’s forearms rest gently on his knees.

“He doesn’t have one yet… but I think he’s waiting for you to choose.”

Tilting her head, Haru’s eyes flick between the delicate folds of the crane and Nanami’s face.

“But… I don’t know what he wants to be.”

Nanami hums, studying the little paper bird. “Hmm… he looks like a Sora to me. That means ‘sky’ in Japanese. Peaceful. Light. Brave. Seems fitting… don’t you think?”

Haru’s eyes brighten. “Sora…” she repeats softly, looking down at the crane with newfound reverence. “Okay! That’s his name.”

“A very good choice,” Nanami smiles gently.

Beaming, she inches closer, holding the crane up between them like an offering.

“Can you help me make one?”

You chuckle under your breath, looking down at your daughter.

“She’s going to want a whole family of them by the end of the day…”

Nanami looks up, giving you a wry smile, and you glance toward Satoru, still leaning against the wall. His arms are folded, but there’s something softer in his eyes now. Something almost protective.

His gaze is on Haru, but then it flicks to you. And you know—without him saying a word—he’s relieved. And honestly? You are too. Because Haru’s earlier anxiety has dissolved entirely—like mist lifting from the floor. You hadn’t even realized your shoulders were still tense until now. Because you weren’t sure what to expect with this Nanami Kento… but if he’s someone Satoru is trusting you with? Then… you will trust him too.

“Do you have paper?” Nanami asks you, then turns his attention back to Haru. “If we have paper, I’d be happy to show you Haru.”

“Yay!!” she squeals, scampering off—voice trailing behind her as she rambles about colors, wingspans, and how the next crane should have a name that means rainbow.

Starting to rise, you instinctively begin to follow her, but a familiar voice draws you back.

“Well then… we’re gonna head out,” Suguru calls from near the door, adjusting his coat with one hand.

Satoru groans as he pushes off the wall, stretching his arms overhead. “Duty calls…” he mutters, dragging a hand over his face before walking toward you.

“Oh… right.” Nodding, you meet him halfway—him stopping in front of you. As your eyes meet, there’s something different in the way he holds your gaze. Something gentler.

“Hey…” his hand lifts to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear—fingers lingering a beat too long. “You’ll… be alright?”

“Yeah…” you nod once, but the gesture carries weight. A dozen things you don’t say. That you’re still a little nervous. That you know he’s been trying to keep you at ease. That you hate this. That you wish he wasn’t leaving. That you know why he has to.

That despite everything… you have a gut feeling why he hired Nanami. And that… you trust him, unconditionally.

He’s studying you—really studying you—gaze moving across your features, searching, as if trying to read the things your mouth won’t form. And when your eyes flick away—when your lips press into something tight and fragile—he exhales.

“Hmmm…” his arms warp around your waist, swaying. “If I tell Naoya to go to hell and cancel this… would you be mad?”

You blink up at him, startled. “Wait… what?”

“I’m serious,” he says, eyes narrowing. “Give me one reason. I’ll stay.”

You pause, caught between the earnestness in his voice and the way it cracks your chest open. A soft breath escapes your lips—a laugh, small but real. And that alone makes his shoulders ease just slightly.

“Satoru…” you say, gently. “You… you can’t,” you sigh, swallowing. “For the custody battle… for Haru. You have to go talk to him.”

“Yeah… I know,” he mutters, exhaling. “Still doesn’t mean I like leaving… especially not when your face looks like that.”

You pause, lifting a brow. “Oh? What face?”

“The one that makes me want to deck him twice before we’ve even said hello.”

A light giggle slips past your lips, and that smile, that sound—it’s everything he needs, every assurance that tells him it’s going to be okay. You’re going to be okay.

...right?

His hand moves again, brushing a knuckle down your cheek, thumb tracing your jaw. Then, slowly, he leans in, pressing a kiss to your forehead—slow, steady. Like a vow. Like he’s sealing something in the silence.

But as he lingers there, words begin to build behind his lips—the urge to say it.

I love you.

It’s there. Pressing hard against the back of his throat. Lingering. Long enough to consider saying it. But…

No. Fuck… not here. Not yet. Suguru’s watching. Nanami’s waiting. Haru’s nearby, chattering about paper cranes and rainbows like it’s the most important thing in the world.

So instead, he swallows it down, tucking it somewhere safe, resting on something smaller.

“Be back soon…” he murmurs into your hair, a little hoarse. “…I’ll miss you.”

You nod, but your fingers curl into the front of his coat, grounding him for just a second longer. “I’ll miss you too,” you murmur.

Pulling back, a slow smile tugs at his lips—quiet, lopsided. The kind he only ever gives you. Then, reluctantly, he steps away, turning toward the rug where Haru is—Sora in hand.

“Bye, sweetheart,” he crouches beside her, brushing a lock of hair from her face. “You be good for Mommy and Nanamin, okay?”

“Okay…” Haru nods, clutching her crane to her chest. “Bye-bye, ‘toru.”

Chuckling, he taps her nose gently, rising—adjusting the hem of his coat. Nanami is already at the door, waiting with a quiet kind of stillness that feels more like assurance than impatience.

Satoru joins him. But before stepping past, he turns for one last look.

You’re seated now on the rug, watching Haru chatter excitedly about crane friends and rainbows. Your hands guide hers through another fold, her head bows in concentration. And while you’re there, smiling at her, nodding at whatever she’s saying, something about it… roots him.

For a moment, he just stands there, watching. Quiet. Still. Then, without turning away, he speaks to Nanami.

“I’m trusting you with my family.”

Nanami blinks, not answering at first. Satoru’s voice is quiet. Stripped of his usual wit.

Honest.

He hesitates. Not because he’s unsure—but because he knows the weight of that statement. Because he hears something in it that Satoru Gojo rarely gives: vulnerability.

After a moment, Nanami nods. “…I know.”

And Satoru nods back, something faint and unspoken passing between them. A trust that didn’t need proving—but was given anyway.

Exhaling, Satoru steps out as Suguru pushes the door open beside him.

“Try not to give her a spreadsheet to color, kay?” he waves, half-grinning as he steps out.

Nanami lifts a brow. “…I’ll do my best.”

And then they’re gone.

The door clicks closed behind them, the house exhales. The warmth returns, but underneath it… a stillness lingers. Like the moment before a thread pulls taut.

You shift on the rug beside Haru, who’s holding out a new sheet of paper in both hands like it’s a treasure.

“Nanamin!!” she calls. “This one’s gonna be Sora’s friend. Can you help?”

And settling beside her, they begin again.

“Of course, Haru.”

ꨄ

“You’re staring at the ceiling like it owes you money.”

Slouching in the limo’s leather seat, a low hum rumbles in Satoru’s chest—like he’s tuning Suguru out entirely. One leg stretches out, the other hooks casually over his knee. His head is tipped back against the headrest and his arm is tucked lazily behind it—sunglasses perched in his snowy hair haphazardly.

As the car glides beneath them, smooth and muffled, the outside world is reduced to shapes behind tinted windows. Across from him, Suguru sits—phone in hand, thumb idly scrolling. But his eyes linger on Satoru, drawn to the quiet focus in his best friend’s expression.

Suguru sighs, nudging the sole of Satoru’s shoe with the tip of his own.

“Oi!”

Satoru startles just enough to be annoyed. “The hell—”

“I’m talking to you,” Suguru deadpans.

“You could’ve just said my name like a normal person…” Satoru huffs.

“I did. Twice. You ignored me. Kicking you was plan B.”

A long, exaggerated exhale drags through Satoru’s nose—long suffering. He shifts, arms crossing loosely as he leans back into his seat again, eyes fluttering closed like maybe if he fakes sleep, Suguru will let it go.

He doesn’t.

“You’ve been quiet for five whole minutes,” Suguru muses. “Should I be worried?”

Smirking, Satoru cracks a blue eye open. “Wow. You want me to talk more? Frame this moment. Call the press.”

Suguru rolls his eyes. “I’m just saying…” he shifts, slipping his phone into his coat pocket, leaning an elbow on the armrest. “…I’m not used to seeing your mouth closed. It’s unnerving.”

Satoru’s smirk stretches deeper. “Yeah?” he lets his eye fall shut again, shifting deeper into the seat with a low, amused hum. “That’s rich coming from the guy who used to make me sit through his existential philosophy rants after two beers,” he murmurs.

Clicking his tongue, Suguru grins. “Yeah, well. At least I shut up when the beer runs out.”

“Mmm… touché,” Satoru chuckles.

For a moment, the silence returns—lingering as Suguru glances at him sideways, reading between the lines. He sighs.

“C’mon… what’s really up?” he asks, tilting his head. “You’ve got that expression again.”

Raising a brow, Satoru’s eyes open.

“What expression?” he plays dumb.

Suguru rolls his eyes, seeing straight through his bullshit.

“The one where your brain’s running a marathon and none of us are invited.”

Giving in, Satoru exhales—long, deep. Like it’s the first real breath he’s taken in minutes.

“Dunno,” he mutters, arms dropping, fingers running back through his hair. “Just… thinkin’, I guess.”

His gaze shifts toward the window, and the city slides past in streaks of motion blur—gray buildings, flashes of glass and steel. Everything feels like it’s moving too fast and not fast enough all at once.

Suguru doesn’t push. Just watches—tracking the shift in his tone. He already knows where this is going. There’s only one thing that’s been able to slow Satoru Gojo down lately. Only one person.

“…about your wife?”

Satoru’s eyes flick to him, a hum slipping from his throat—low, almost sheepish.

“Yeah…” he says quietly. “She’s in my head a lot lately.”

Leaning back in his seat, Suguru’s arms fold loosely across his chest.

“You’re different with her.”

A slow smile curls at Satoru’s mouth, wry and self-aware. “Psh… is that your way of saying I’m whipped?”

“No,” Suguru replies dryly. “That’s my way of saying you’re not acting like a complete jackass for once. Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Wow,” Satoru gasps, clutching his chest with mock betrayal. “Touching. Really. Remind me to put that on a plaque.”

“Yup. With her, your… serious. Less obnoxious. Honestly?” Suguru pauses for effect. “Slightly tolerable.”

“Jesus,” Slouching deeper into his seat, Satoru tosses one arm over his face with theatrical flair. “I’m being bullied,” he whines, muffled. “Bullied in my own limo. Suguru, say something nice before I cry.”

“No,” Suguru corrects, barely holding back a grin. “This is an intervention.”

Satoru peeks out from under his arm, his pout barely hidden beneath the feigned theatrics. “You used to be nicer to me.”

“Yeah, well,” Suguru shrugs, resting his head lightly against the tinted window. “You used to be single.”

That pulls a low laugh from Satoru’s chest, his hand dragging through his hair as he sighs—deep, thoughtful. The humor lingers, but so does something heavier beneath it.

“I dunno…” he mumbles, scratching the back of his neck. “It’s not like I haven’t been with people. But with her…” he trails off, struggling to articulate something that still feels too big, too personal.

Suguru fills in the blank for him.

“You don’t want to fuck it up.”

Satoru huffs a breath that’s almost a laugh. “Yeah… that.”

“She’s got you all twisted, man,” Suguru says, shaking his head with a grin. “You, the guy who ghosted a girl for bringing a toothbrush.”

Satoru groans like he’s already regretting ever telling him that story. Grimacing, he tosses a hand in the air. “That toothbrush was aggressive…” he mutters, like that justifies everything. “She left it in my sink on the second date.”

“Right… and now here you are, firing your entire staff after someone steals your wife’s panties?”

Groaning loudly, Satoru drags both hands down his face. “Don’t start.”

Suguru snickers, clearly enjoying himself. “I’m just saying—when Satoru Gojo starts launching internal investigations over lace? That’s not casual.”

“Fuck off,” Satoru groans again, voice muffled by his palms.

Leaning forward slightly, Suguru rests his chin in his hand.

“It’s just…” his expression softens. “I’m pretty sure this is the most serious you’ve ever been about anyone.”

For a moment, Satoru says nothing. His eyes flick toward the passing city again—then shift back to Suguru, and when he speaks, the joking tone is gone. There’s no smirk, no dramatic pout. Just truth, laid plain.

“Yeah… well…” he murmurs, voice low. “She’s it, y’know?”

He holds Suguru’s gaze.

“…she’s my one and only.”

That makes Suguru pause.

Something in his face stills. It’s not like he didn’t know—but hearing it like that, from Satoru, who never says anything like that? It lands.

“Well… damn,” Suguru mutters.

Satoru nods, slow and firm, like he’s still trying to believe it himself. Like saying it out loud makes it more real.

“Last night…” his eyes fix on the skyline again. “I told her I loved her.”

Suguru blinks. A beat of stunned silence settles between them.

“…holy shit.”

A faint smirk tugs at Satoru’s mouth. He nods again, almost sheepish.

Suguru straightens, brow arching. “She say it back?”

Satoru snorts under his breath. “She was asleep.”

Suguru stares. “You confessed to a sleeping woman?”

“I didn’t plan it, alright?” Satoru groans, flopping back against the seat like it physically pains him. “It just came out. We were talking… I was lying there with her in my arms, and it just—happened,” he scrubs a hand over his face, dragging it down in frustration. “And after I said it, I looked down and she was already out. Just… totally asleep.”

Suguru stares at him for a moment, then shakes his head with a quiet laugh. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

“Thanks,” Satoru deadpans.

“So… now what?” Suguru asks.

Leaning forward, Satoru’s forearms brace against his knees, palms rubbing together like he’s grounding himself. His voice drops again—quieter, more measured.

“I guess… I wait? Or try again,” he sighs, pausing. “But… I want to do it right. This time, I want her to hear it. I want her to know I mean it...” His hands fall still, eyes dropping to the floor. “She deserves that… a real proposal. A real wedding. Not… whatever the hell I dragged her into.”

For a moment, neither of them speaks. The limo hums along, the gentle rhythm of the road filling the silence like background music to something neither of them wants to admit feels heavy.

Then—click—the intercom above the driver’s seat crackles softly to life.

“We’re about five minutes out,” Ichiji’s voice chimes through, polite as always. “Approaching the south entrance of the park now.”

Satoru blinks, dragging a hand down his face like the sound physically yanks him out of his thoughts. Leaning back, he eyes the window again—but the skyline has faded now, replaced by iron railings and leaf-heavy trees, blurring past.

Suguru exhales, straightening in his seat.

“So… remember what we discussed,” Suguru murmurs. “You want me to start?”

Satoru shifts, pulling his sunglasses from where they’re perched in his hair, sliding them into place over his eyes. His expression hardens, smoothing into something unreadable.

It’s like watching armor click into place.

“I’ll start,” he declares. “If he gets mouthy, feel free to step in and hurt his feelings.”

Suguru huffs a laugh, pulling his long hair into a lazy bun at the nape of his neck. “Sounds like a plan. Just… don’t underestimate him. Stay alert, this is the yakuza we’re dealing with. And try not to lash out. Anything you say, he’s gonna try to use against you.”

"Yeah..." Satoru nods once, slow. His jaw ticks. "I know..."

And he'll do whatever's needed, whatever he needs to do.

For you.

ꨄ

The wind bites through the trees with purpose, and Naoya adjusts the cuff of his coat, eyes fixed on the empty path ahead, foot tapping against the stone beneath him. His nerves are fraying—not that he’d admit it—but this waiting game has never suited him. Waiting implies he’s not in control. And he is in control. Always has been.

Glancing down at his watch, he exhales, irritated.

Where the fuck are you?

You said you’d come.

And you always do, don’t you? Compliance is a habit. He made sure of that. And when you show up today—alone, nervous, eyes soft with apology—it’ll confirm everything. That you’re his.

That’s why you’re coming today… right? Because deep down, you want to come back. You still need him.

And he’s not unreasonable, okay?! God, he’s not cruel. Not unless you push him. Not unless you make him be. He only ever raised his voice because you forced him to. He only grabbed your wrist because you weren’t listening. He had to yell, to break you when you left him no choice.

You’re just being difficult. You’ve always been a little emotional, haven’t you? Fragile. Confused. You run away, cry—then crawl back. Right now, you’re just spiraling—latching onto anything that feels safe. And maybe Gojo feels safe to you right now. Sure. He’s got the money. The house. The image.

But given time, you’ll remember who you belong to.

He almost convinces himself of it, and then, as a black limo rolls into view—tires crunching over gravel—he straightens, lips curling in amusement.

Finally.

Well… that is, until the door opens with a hiss and two silhouettes step out.

Satoru. Fucking. Gojo.

White hair catching the gray light, hands shoving in his pockets, like nothing here is serious enough to touch him. That stupid, lazy grin already on his face. And beside him, Suguru Geto—all quiet control, eyes scanning the space.

Naoya stills. No you.

…where the fuck are you?

You said you’d come. His lips pull back into a snarl.

“God fucking dammit…” he mutters, jaw clenching as the door closes behind them.

The earpiece in his collar clicks. “What?” Toji’s voice filters through.

Naoya doesn’t answer right away—eyes narrowing as Gojo lifts his hand in a lazy wave, like this is some social call, like greeting an old friend. Like Naoya’s the punchline.

“They didn’t bring her…” he growls. “It’s just Gojo and Geto.”

There’s a beat. Static hums.

“Mmm. Yup.” Toji replies. Flat. Like he saw it coming. “Figured this might happen.”

The two men begin their approach, shoes tapping over the stone in slow, deliberate steps—dragging the moment out, letting it stretch. They’re making it a fucking show. And every second of it grates under Naoya’s skin.

Growling, Naoya’s hands curl into fists inside his coat pockets.

“Fuck the plan,” he mutters. “We should just end it here, yeah?”

Toji huffs, unimpressed. “You wanna jump ‘em? In broad daylight?”

Naoya’s jaw tightens. “No one’s around. We move fast—”

“No.”

That single word lands sharp.

Naoya bristles. “What?”

“You heard me. Don’t fuck up again. Remember what happens if you do?”

Naoya falls silent and Toji grins.

Good.

Eyes narrowing, Toji watches them approach—perched in his hidden vantage point, one with the trees. He’s not worried about a fight—he’s just not stupid enough to pick the wrong one.

Gojo’s got that cocky swagger, sure—but it’s not just for show. There’s balance in his stride. Stillness in his arms, even with his hands stuffed in his pockets. His weight shifts like someone who knows where to brace if things go sideways.

He’s not posturing. He’s ready.

Because Satoru Gojo isn’t just some heir with a punchable face. Takemi made sure of that. He didn’t raise a son. Raised a successor. Something sharp in a soft coat.

And Geto—fuck, Toji hates the quiet ones. Geto’s not looking at them—not even pretending to care. Which means he’s watching everything. Lawyer or not, that kind of calm means one thing: he’s broken someone’s nose before, and didn’t lose sleep over it.

Toji could take them. Maybe. Probably.

But this isn’t about if.

It’s about when.

And where.

And what the fallout looks like.

You were easy.

One snatch. Clean. Quiet.

But this? This is different. Two men trained to react, both alert, in a public park?

That’s not control. That’s noise.

And Toji doesn’t like noise.

“They’re right here,” Naoya snaps, again. “C’mon, let’s just end him. This whole thing’s a joke if we don’t—”

“I said, no.”

This time it lands like a gunshot—sharp, final—wind moving through the branches, brittle and dry.

“I’m not here to fight him,” he exhales. “I’m here to break him. Ruin him.” He pauses, a wicked grin stretching across his lips. “And… that takes patience, ‘cuz. Our day will come.”

ꨄ

Satoru’s grin pulls slow across his mouth as they near, all teeth and lazy ease.

"Appreciate you makin’ time for us," he hums, stepping forward without a care in the world, hands tucked deep into his pockets, like he’s strolling through this encounter instead of walking into a confrontation.

Naoya’s jaw ticks.

“You’re not the one I came to see.”

Tilting his head, Satoru studies him with a laziness that’s almost mocking. His grin lingers, but there’s a shift—something colder bleeding in around the edges.

“You really thought I’d let you get within ten feet of my wife…?”

Wife.

The word detonates in Naoya’s blood, cracking through the cold air like a whip.

“Tch. What a load of shit…” he scowls. “She was never wife material to begin with.”

Shifting his weight lazily, Satoru hums, tapping his chin like he's genuinely thinking it over, just to be an asshole about it.

“I’d say it suits her,” he muses. “She looks better beside me. Softer. Happier.” He lets it hang, watching Naoya grind his teeth. “Almost like… she smiles more when you're not around.”

Naoya’s nostrils flare, body tightening under his coat like he’s one wrong word from snapping.

“She’s just clinging to you because she’s scared to be alone,” he spits, stepping forward a fraction, trying to reclaim ground he’s already lost. "Always trembling for attention... doesn’t mean she actually wants you."

Satoru’s grin doesn’t slip. If anything, it deepens—slow, wicked.

"Naaah…” he shrugs, closing the space between them without hurry, savoring it. “She trembles because I actually know how to touch her.” He quirks a brow, grinning. “I just make her feel good, in more ways than one."

Naoya’s eyes flare as Satoru casts him a lazy wink—like twisting the knife is part of the fun.

“Fuck you.”

Satoru laughs. “Did I hit a nerve?” he tilts his head, slowly. “Y’know… she leaves things with me. In my nightstand. Little things. Keepsakes. It’s kinda our thing.” He shrugs, smug. “Weird when they disappear…”

He lets it hang there for a moment.

“…you ever notice when something’s just… not where you left it?”

In Naoya’s ear, the comm hisses softly.

“Don’t react. Don’t take the bait.”

Naoya scoffs, trying to roll his shoulders loose.

“You lose something, or are we just makin conversation?”

Satoru’s grin curves slow, sharp at the edges.

“Nah… not lost. Just gone. There’s a difference.”

Studying Naoya, Satoru’s gaze flicks downward—to his hand—to the bandage wrapped around his palm. Clean, precise, fresh.

“Huh…” he hums softly. “That looks recent.”

Tensing, Naoya glances down at his hand before shoving it back into his coat pocket—like it’s nothing.

“Glass,” he mutters. “Broke something. Cut my palm.”

Satoru nods, contemplative. “You know…” he drawls slowly. “I couldn’t help noticing a bit of blood in my wife’s bedroom the other day.”

“Oh… yeah?” Naoya murmurs.

“Mhmm…” Satoru’s eyes narrow. “Strange, right? Seeing as none of my staff seemed hurt.”

The comm clicks again.

“Push it off you. Change the subject.”

“You’re sounding a bit paranoid Gojo,” Naoya scoffs, shifting. “If this is how you handle losing a memento, can’t imagine how you’ll handle losing in court,” Naoya straightens, smirking. “Figures she’d send her fucking lapdog to speak for her today. Little bitch was always good at pretending she was the victim. Won’t even face me.”

Satoru’s expression hardens instantly—that lazy grin vanishing in a blink. But as he feels Suguru’s hand on his shoulder, he shifts, glancing at his best friend.

Suguru is smiling, wide and unbothered—sliding between them like it’s his turn on the chessboard.

“Come on now, Naoya…” he hums, light with mock sympathy. “As a fellow lawyer, you know how this works.”

Gritting his teeth, Naoya glares. “Suguru Geto…”

“Yo.” Suguru lifts two fingers in a lazy wave. “Long time no see.”

He lets that hang for a moment before continuing.

“There’s a case open. Custody-related. Which means you shouldn’t be anywhere near my client… right?” Suguru reminds him, head tilting in amusement. “So, you’ll be directing all communication through me moving forward. I’ll be representing y/n.”

Naoya huffs, rolling his eyes. “What happened, Geto? Couldn’t cut it in real courtrooms, so you’re doing babysitting gigs for Gojo now?”

Suguru chuckles softly. “You can question my résumé if it helps you sleep at night,” his grin stretches, sharper. “Won’t change what’s coming. This case will be over faster than your career ever was.”

“Pfft. Yeah?” Naoya laughs bitterly. “Good luck building a case on her.” He sneers. “She can barely hold it together for five minutes without crying. Weak, whiny little bitch.”

Satoru’s jaw locks, heat radiating off him. “Hey. Watch your fucking mouth.”

Peering back, Suguru lifts a hand—calm, watchful.

“Satoru...”

But Naoya keeps going.

“You think you won something?” he spits. “She’s nothing but a fucking burden. Always was.”

Satoru’s blue eyes darken into something dangerous.

“I’m serious…” he steps forward, voice lowering. “You better watch your fucking mouth…”

“…that so?” Naoya raises a brow.

Bingo. He just got an idea.

Shifting on his heels, he crosses his arms behind his head lazily.

“And why’s that, Gojo? Did I hit a nerve now?

Exhaling slowly through his nose, Satoru tries to hold himself steady.

“You’ve got some fucking nerve… I’ll tell ya that.” He lowers his glasses to the bridge, glaring into Naoya’s eyes. “She carried everything you couldn’t handle… and you have the nerve to call her a burden?” he scoffs. “Tell me—did you even try being a father to Haru?”

The comm crackles in Naoya’s ear. Toji’s voice, low and amused:

“Careful. You’re about to get punched.”

But Naoya grins. Because that’s exactly what he wants.

“Don’t even get me started on her as a mother,” he scoffs. “Pathetic. A fucking failure. Can’t handle a kid, can’t handle herself. Sure—she’s got a pretty face, a hot body…” He shrugs. “But that’s it. Nothing underneath.”

Satoru’s shoulders rise, slow and stiff. Suguru shifts again.

“Satoru. Don’t…” he mutters carefully.

But Satoru’s eyes hold Naoya’s. Glare sharpening.

“I’m telling you now…” his fist clenches. “You don’t get another warning.”

Smirking, Naoya shrugs again—like he’s tossing scraps.

“Well… at least she spread her legs good,” he sighs, shaking his head. “Decent fuck. Though even then, she couldn’t finish unless someone told her she was worth the mess. Pathetic little—”

The punch lands hard. A sharp, wet crack as Naoya’s head jerks sideways—blood blooming at the corner of his mouth. Stumbling back, he hits the concrete with a thud, grinning. And Satoru surges forward again, but Suguru’s already there—arm around his chest, pulling him back firmly.

“Hey. Hey—enough.”

But Satoru’s not done.

“You say another word,” he growls, fighting Suguru’s hold, “and I swear to God I’ll bury you so deep in the ground, your own fucking clan will forget you existed.”

With an exaggerated groan, Naoya lazily wipes the blood dripping from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Ouch…” he winces, looking up, grinning. “My poor lip… I don’t think the judge is gonna like this little outburst.”

Satoru freezes, and Naoya’s grin stretches—lip split in a red smile.

“What do you think?” he muses mockingly, pulling out a recording device from his pocket. “My daughter’s stepdad… threatening to kill me in a public park.” He tsks softly. “Not exactly a good look.”

Fuck.

Satoru’s stomach drops. For a second, he just stands there, breathing hard—eyes widening. Then, without thinking, he lunges—hand shooting toward the recorder, full of blind instinct.

“Give me that! You fucking—”

But Suguru’s arm is already across his chest, yanking him back hard.

“Alright,” he mutters sharply, “that’s enough. Let it go, Satoru.”

Rising from the ground, Naoya laughs softly, dusting off his pants.

“Aww… don’t be a sore loser,” he says lightly, holding the device up mockingly. “You gave me a gift.”

Satoru’s lips press together—he’s seething. But before he can say or do more, Suguru is dragging him by the arm, heading towards the limo.

“Right then, anyways,” Suguru shouts back, waving lazily. “See ya in court, Naoya. Good talk. Till next time.”

“Sure, sure,” Naoya calls after them, voice lilting. “And you should work on your temper Gojo!” He chuckles, waving. “Afterall, it looks bad in court. Especially for someone around a kid.”

ꨄ

The limo door slams shut—so hard even Ichiji flinches from the front seat.

“Fuck,” Satoru mutters, plopping into his seat. “Fucking fuck…”

With a flick of his wrist, he tosses his sunglasses across the console. Both hands rake through his hair, tugging at the roots in frustration.

“This is bullshit…” he grits.

Exhaling through his nose, Suguru settles into the seat across from him with infuriating calm—folding one leg over the other, like he’s already miles past what just happened.

“You got blood on your cuff,” he says casually, nodding at Satoru’s sleeve.

Satoru’s gaze snaps up.

“I should’ve done more,” he growls. “Fucking prick. You heard what he said!”

“I did,” Suguru nods. “And so did your right hook. Pretty sure that’s why he was grinning through the blood.”

Groaning in defeat, Satoru runs both hands down his face.

“Shit…” he quiets. “I fucked that up…”

“Mmm… I wouldn’t go that far,” Suguru hums. Calm. Assured. “He had that punch coming. You just beat me to it.”

Peeking at him through his fingers, Satoru gives him a flat, exhausted stare.

“Dude… what the hell. You were supposed to stop me. Why didn’t you stop me?”

A slow grin tugs at Suguru’s mouth.

“You think I didn’t know he was baiting you?” he shrugs. “I figured you’d hit him. He figured you’d hit him.”

Satoru blinks. “…seriously?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he sighs, pulling a sleek black recorder from his inner jacket pocket. “Our version will hold up better in court.”

Satoru’s entire body stills. He stares down at the recorder like it’s divine intervention.

“…you were recording too?”

“I’m always recording,” Suguru replies smoothly, leaning back with a faint smile. “Especially when you’re involved.”

“Oh thank God…” Satoru’s expression softens with relief.

“It’s gonna be fine,” Suguru waves it off, shoving the recorder back in his pocket. “Your little death threat won’t matter much once the judge hears him call your wife a whore and a failed mother. Among other things.”

Satoru exhales, slumping further into the leather like all his tension has finally snapped free. His eyes close.

“…I owe you.”

“I know.”

“Like—big time.”

“You do.”

Cracking one eye open, Satoru mutters, “What do you want? Beer? Blood? My firstborn? I’ll sit through one of your 3 a.m. philosophy rants if that’s what it takes.”

Suguru’s grin widens, just slightly.

“Mmm… I’ll let you know when I think of something properly excruciating.”

Satoru huffs out a tired laugh, shaking his head.

“…thanks, man.”

ꨄ

As the limo’s tail lights disappear into the dark, Satoru stands still for a moment at the Gojo estate’s entrance, keys in hand, shoulders tight.

With a sigh, he pushes the front door open, greeted in stillness—the lights low, a soft flicker from the TV illuminating the living room in gentle color. You’re curled up on the couch, blanket tucked under your chin, eyes half-lidded as the glow washes over your face. Your hair’s a little messy, your feet barely peeking from under the throw, remote resting loosely in your hand.

You glance over as the door clicks shut behind him.

“Welcome home…” you say softly.

With a wry smile, Satoru takes a breath, like the sight of you has completely anchored him back to earth, knocking the tension out of his chest all at once.

You’re safe.

From the hallway, Nanami steps forward, hands in his pockets, as if he’d been standing quietly nearby this whole time. Watching. Not looming—just present.

“Hey…” he greets with a nod. “Haru’s asleep. No issues.”

Satoru drops his keys on the endtable. “Thanks…”

Glancing past him, Nanami’s eyes narrow on the still-closed front door briefly.

“So… everything handled?”

Satoru’s jaw tenses for a second. Then relaxes.

“Yeah…” he scratches the back of his head, shrugging. “More or less.”

“Great.” Nanami gives the barest nod. “I’ll be in my room, then.” He says, stepping back into the hallway. “Call if you need me.”

“Got it.”

And with that, Nanami disappears quietly down the hall.

Turning back to you, Satoru stands there for a beat, letting the silence wrap around him, drinking in the sight of you all cozy on the sofa. Then finally—with a soft grunt—he crosses to the couch and drops beside you, landing with a dramatic sigh, head lolling to the side to look at you with those vibrant blue eyes.

You peek over your blanket.

“…you okay?”

He smiles, tired. Lopsided.

“Yeah…” he mumbles. “Now I am.”

Shifting slightly, you lift the edge of the blanket in silent invitation, and he slides under without a word, settling in beside you, shoulders brushing. You feel the tension still clinging to him, like static.

“So…” you ask softly. “How’d it go?”

His head falls back, staring at the ceiling for a second.

“Well…” he sighs. “I only punched him once. So…” he shrugs. “Pretty good I guess.”

You blink. “Wait—you punched him?”

“Yup.”

“Like… in the face?”

He glances at you, deadpan. “Hard.”

You stare at him for a beat. “…was that part of the plan?”

He shrugs. “Define plan.”

You snort, but the edge of your smile fades as you see his expression doesn’t change—still flat, still tired. He’s spent.

“Mmm,” he sighs again, rubbing the back of his neck. “Honestly? You’re lucky I didn’t commit a felony. Fuck that guy.”

The way he says it—low, bitter, coiled with something deeper—makes your chest tighten. You don’t need to ask. You already know.

“That bad… huh?”

Exhaling again, his voice softens, like his words are slipping out without thinking.

“Yeah… I didn’t think he could piss me off more than he already did…”

Glancing over at him, you see he’s not joking anymore. He’s not even mad. He’s just quiet. And… tired.

“But, seeing it…” he goes on, barely above a murmur. “Hearing the way he talks about you. About Haru. Like none of it mattered. Like you don’t matter.” He shakes his head once, sharply. “I knew he was garbage. But now… I get it.”

Looking down, his jaw flexes.

“And… I hate that you had to live with that. Every day.”

You don’t speak right away—just slide your hand under the blanket and find his, fingers curling through his gently. You squeeze. He squeezes back.

“I… hated it too,” you whisper.

A silence settles between you—not heavy. Just full. Full of everything that doesn’t need to be said right now.

Then, after a beat, Satoru mutters:

“…next time I’m aiming lower.”

You snort. “Satoru…”

“What?” he says, mouth twitching into a grin. “I’ll break his fucking dick. Piece of shit.”

A surprised, soft laugh slips through your lips—but it tapers off too quickly. Because the weight of what’s happened—what he’s done—lands a little heavier now. The joke fades, and the silence that follows feels different.

Shifting, you adjust the blanket a little higher around your shoulder, voice dipping quieter.

“I… hate that you had to do this for me.”

Satoru’s brows lift slightly, turning to face you more fully.

“What? What are you talking about?” he says gently. “Sweetheart… I didn’t have to. I wanted to.”

“Yeah…” you murmur. “I know.”

But your tone doesn’t lift. His smile slips, frowning.

“Alright… what’s going on in that pretty head of yours this time?” Nudging your leg with his knee, his brow furrows in concern. “Hey… look at me.”

You do, hesitantly, meeting his gaze.

“Well… it’s just…” you breathe out slowly. “You shouldn’t have to clean up my mess. He’s my past. My mistakes. And now you’re the one taking the hits for it. I guess I’m just feeling…. useless.”

Satoru’s expression softens.

“Hey now…” he says, voice dipping. “You’re not a mess, and you’re not useless. You didn’t cause any of this—he did. All you did was survive it.”

Blinking, your throat aches with a tightness that you try to swallow down.

“But… now he’s your problem too…”

He snorts, not unkindly, leaning in just a bit.

“Sweetheart…” he says, quiet but firm, “the second he said your name like it was something to spit out? He became my problem.”

Holding your gaze, his blue eyes shimmer, steady and certain.

“Because… you’re mine now. And no one talks about you like that. No one—you hear me?”

Your chest aches in that breathless, blooming kind of way—so full it almost hurts. And before you can stop yourself, before you can think, you’re leaning forward and kissing him.

The moment your lips meet, the tension bleeds from his body like steam. He sighs, inhaling as you’re tugging him closer, his hands finding your waist under the blanket. As your lips move, he begins to shift, groaning from the taste of you.

Your stomach flips as you chase that sound, and suddenly you can’t stop touching him. His breath hitches as your hands explore down his chest, across his stomach, the smooth ridges of his muscle beneath your fingers.

The moment you dip lower, cupping his dick through the fabric of his pants, he whines in your mouth.

“Fuck…” he mutters, hoarse and frayed. “Baby…”

He’s panting against your lips, twitching in your hand as you rub him gently, ocean blue eyes half lidded, framed through snowy lashes.

His hips are shifting underneath your touch, and you surge forward, kissing him harder, working him gently through his pants. It’s electric. Consuming. But then—

Just be good for me.

Freezing, your hand stills, and you break the kiss with a soft gasp—forehead leaning gently against his, breath trembling.

Immediately, he stills too.

“What is it…” he pants quietly, blue eyes searching your face, “…you okay?”

You nod. But it’s not convincing.

“I’m okay… I just…”

Trailing off, there’s a shake in your voice, and you hate it. Hate the way it trembles, hate that he can hear it. But he doesn’t press. He waits.

You’re not even sure how to describe it. The knot in your chest. The way your skin feels too tight for your body. The way the air still tastes like a memory you never asked to keep.

So you settle for, “Sorry… it’s stupid.”

His brows furrow.

“Nothing you feel is ever stupid.”

You glance down, fingers tracing the thick outline of his cock beneath the fabric of his pants. There’s heat there—real, tangible heat—but it’s not just lust. It’s this aching, burning need to give him something. To take care of him. Because he’s done everything for you. He’s seen every version of you—messy, scared, shut down—and never once flinched.

“I just…” you breathe, fingertips ghosting down his length, “…want to make you feel good.”

Satoru groans like you’ve just unraveled him. “Uh… you are?” he pants, eyes fluttering shut. A breathless laugh slips out. “Do you not feel how fucking hard I am right now just from kissing you?!”

Eyes flicking up, you still—holding onto the restraint burning through his gaze. Something wobbles inside you. Not from him, but from the voice that still whispers at the back of your mind.

Just be good for me.

You hate it. Hate how much power those words hold over you. Hate how they’ve sent you spiraling back into an old story you thought you had finally closed the book on. One panic attack, one flashback, and it was like you’d been dropped back into the hollowed-out shell he left you in. And yet—Satoru never looked at you like you were broken. He didn’t need you to shrink yourself to be lovable. He didn’t demand, didn’t take. He waited. He held you through it.

But what do you give the man who’s given you everything?

“What if… I disappoint you?” you whisper. “What if… I’m not good enough?”

Satoru’s expression softens in an instant. His hand lifts gently, brushing a knuckle along your cheek before cradling it in his palm.

“This again? Baby…” he murmurs, low and steady. “You don’t have to prove anything to me. I’m not him.” His thumb sweeps across your jaw. “…you’re already everything I want. Whatever the fuck he expected of you, whatever he made you believe you were supposed to be… fuck that. I don’t want perfect. I want you—as you are. Smart, stubborn, brave as hell. You hear me?”

Your chest aches—so full it almost cracks. Because for the first time in so long, you feel seen. Fully. Not just the parts of you that shine under pressure. But the ones that tremble. That doubt. And this man—this beautiful, loving man—is yours.

Nodding, his hand falls away as you shift, and suddenly you’re easing yourself off the couch, sliding onto your knees in front of him.

“Oh, fuck.” Satoru stills, pupils darkening instantly.

“I just…” your fingers work the button of his slacks with a quiet click, “…wanna take care of you, Satoru.”

“Shit…” Satoru is so wrecked he’s trying not to combust. “Fucking hell… you on your knees for me? Fuck. I could die happy.”

You giggle, tugging his pants and briefs down just enough to free him—and when his cock springs out, thick and flushed, your breath catches.

“…God. You’re big.”

The moment the words slip out, you realize what you’ve said, face heating as your eyes flick up to meet his. And of fucking course—he’s smirking. White hair falling into his gaze as he tilts his head, looking down at you affectionately.

“Mmm… ‘course I am,” he hums, smug and glowing with amusement. “But please… keep the compliments coming.”

“Cocky shit…” you mumble, but your hand wraps around the base of him, your thumb brushing over the glistening tip—and Satoru hisses through his teeth.

“Oh, s-shit… fuck,” he groans, shifting his hips up into your touch. “Is this really happening right now?”

“You tell me?” you breathe, and then your tongue is dragging a slow stripe up the underside of his cock—from base to tip—collecting the pre that’s already dripping for you.

Satoru’s breath shudders. “Fucking hell…” he pants, head tipping back, fist curling into the cushion behind him like he’s hanging on for dear life.

And truthfully? He is.

Because as he’s looking down at you, legs spread on the couch, you on your knees for him, lips closing around his cock—fuck. It’s too much. You’re too much. Too good. Too goddamn much.

Your long lashes flutter as you look up at him, humming against him, dick jerking in your mouth while that skilled tongue laps and sucks him eagerly. He’s panting, mouth agape as he watches your head bob. You look so beautiful and filthy as the TV casts a blue muted glow behind you, and your hand strokes in tandem what you can’t fit in that pretty little mouth.

God, the warmth, the pressure, the sweet little hums and slurps dripping from your lips as you devour his dick—he can’t help it. He’s unravelling, needy, desperate moans spilling out of him as his breath shudders.

And the thing is, he’s biting his tongue so fucking hard right now he can taste blood. Because it would be so easy to say it right now.

I love you.

But how the fuck could he say that right now? While his cock is in your mouth? What kind of dumbass confesses mid-blowjob!? And yet—how could he not feel it?

Satoru is cursing himself, because fuck… when the fuck is he supposed to tell you?! His mind is running a marathon, and his cock is throbbing in your mouth with the need to feed you every drop of his cum. The need to shove you down on his dick and paint that pretty tongue white. The need to bend you over, filling up your cunt with every inch of him, pounding that tight little pussy until it’s gushing and milking his cock, wringing out every sticky spurt of jizz until you’re filled to the brim. The lust, the passion, the love, he wants to give you everything,

You release him with a loud, wet pop, your hand stroking the mess he’s made of himself, each fap echoing in the quiet living room as your eyes flick up, searching his expression.

“You’re surprisingly quiet…” you murmur, rolling your thumb along his head. “Usually, getting you to shut up is the challenge.”

Now you’re looking at him all shyly again, and Satoru groans—deep and guttural, his hand scrubbing over his face like it’s the only way he’ll survive this.

“F-Fuck… y-yeah…” his breath hitches.

Tilting your head, your brow furrows sightly, but your hand keeps moving, massaging the weeping head of his cock with a slow, wet roll of your wrist.

“Is it… okay? Are you liking it?”

“W-What?! Of course I am. Are you kidding?” He blurts. “Shit—s-sorry, baby—I just… fuuuck—” another moan tears from his throat, because shit, forming words feels impossible. What the fuck is wrong with him? Bucking into your touch, his dick drools all over your hand. “Haaa…. ‘m just… t-trying not to embarrass myself…”

“…oh?” your lips curl with curiosity, your voice dipping into a smile as you press gentle kisses up the base of his shaft. “And… embarrass yourself how?” you murmur.

Satoru is whining, high and helpless as you find his head again, that cute pink tongue flicking out to tease the slit.

“B-Because I’m…” he grits out, voice cracking, “F-Fuck… s-shit… I’m just…” trying not to say something I’ll regret. “Nnnngh… trying not to cum in thirty fucking seconds. Fuck, you’re perfect—”

You pull off again, lips slick with spit, smiling all sweet and teasing as his cock twitches in your hand.

“Hmm…” you hum, pressing his dick against your cheek as you look up at him affectionately. “Thought you said you didn’t need perfect?”

God, but how are you so perfect? So his.

Inhaling sharply, he looks down, and he knows it. He’s so fucking gone for you. Loves you so much it’s stupid.

“I… don’t…” he breathes, fingers trembling as they brush back the messy strands of hair that have begun to cover your face, threading through your locks reverently. “But… somehow… I still got you.”

Nuzzling into the side of his cock, you’re grinning at him now, all smug and sweet. Fucking hell you’re going to ruin him.

“Then show me, ‘toru…” your lips brush his tip as you speak, “…how good I make you feel.”

And suddenly you’re hollowing your cheeks down on him, humming as he groans, instinctively gripping your hair as his head falls back.

“F-Fuuuck… oh shit…” he pants, voice thick and broken, cradling your head as you work his dick. “J-Just like that, baby… yeah, fuck… you look so fuckin’ pretty with your mouth full…”

His breath stutters, gaze dropping again to take you in—blue eyes glowing, watching you like he’s in a trance. He’s biting his lip so hard, trying to hold back all the pathetic moans threatening to rip from his throat.

Spit glistens on your chin, your lips stretch around him, gliding deeper—and fuck, it’s all he can do not to fall apart, watching every fucking inch of his cock disappear further and further.

It’s too good. He wants more. Needs more.

Groaning, his hips are twitching forward, shallowly thrusting, begging for you to take him deeper. He’s barely aware he’s doing it until you shift, adjust—and don’t stop him.

“S-Shit… can I—?” he rasps, gently tugging your hair. “Can I move? Fuck your throat a little?”

You nod without hesitation, eyes fluttering shut, humming as you reposition again in silent invitation. And that’s it. That’s all he fucking needs.

“Oh, fuck… fuck—okay,” he groans, cock throbbing, shifting his hips as he grips your head tighter. “Just… tell me if it’s too much, angel.”

He begins moving, rolling into your hot, wet mouth, and though his thrusts start slow, there’s nothing soft about the way he’s looking at you—jaw clenched, head tilted, snowy white hair falling into those pretty blue eyes. He’s whimpering, watching your lips stretch around his cock, spit stringing from your chin to his base as he feeds you more, more, more.

“Fuuuck—fuck, sweetheart—” Satoru’s losing his fucking mind, moaning whorishly, “That’s it… haaa… just like that,” his hips roll deeper, pace picking up. “Fucking hell… y-yes…your throat’s so fucking tight, baby—shit—”

Blinking, your hands brace tightly on his thighs, watching the way his abs begin to flex as he rocks into you. His dick is jerking, leaking sweet pre all over your tongue, holding your head as he thrusts deeper into that hot willing mouth.

“S-Shit…” he pulls you off, blue eyes blazed with pleasure, giving you a moment to breathe. “’m not gonna last much longer…” he murmurs, cock twitching up, soaked in front of your face. “Where you want my cum baby?”

Shifting, you pant, eyes flicking up at him. “My mouth…” you breathe, opening wide for him again, and Satoru’s cock jerks up immediately.

“Ohmygod…” he groans, shoving you back down on him, taking on a pace that’s anything but sane. “Yesss… haaa… good girl… hungry fucking girl…” he’s babbling now, thrusting faster, spit dripping outside the corner of your lips as you let him chase his pleasure. “T-Take it… nngh… fuck. I love…”

You.

Satoru growls, internally kicking himself, taking that frustration out on your pretty mouth.

“I… fuck… love your mouth so fuckin’ much…” he grits.

His cock is slamming into you again and again, and the sounds are obscene—wet, messy, lewd. His hips are unrelenting, but you brace yourself, taking him, eyes fluttering, tears building as you look up at him through wet lashes.

God, he’s panting, whining, whimpering, completely lost in you, looking down at you like you fucking hung the stars.

But the moment you gag, he immediately stills, stuttering. “S-Shit—sorry—fuck—you okay?” he pants, brows furrowing, looking at you like he’s afraid he broke you.

You pull back, nodding, giving yourself a moment, and then, just as eagerly, you’re pushing yourself back down on him, down to the hilt—and he swears you just ripped the air out of his fucking lungs.

“F-Fucking… god,” he chokes, watching with wild eyes as you take it again. “You’re… unreal. What the fuck…”

Whimpering, he’s desperate now, gripping you tightly as he thrusts vigorously. “That’s it… yes, baby… yes…” your throat is clicking, spit dripping from your lips, “Sucha good girl… take my cock… fuuuck…” he’s unraveling, cock so hard it hurts. “You’re too fucking good—‘m close—’m… fuckfuckfuck—gonna cum—"

And suddenly he’s burying himself deep, gasping and whining as hot spurts of creamy cum spill down your throat, fingers tightening as he keeps you there, hips stuttering with every pulse as the sticky thick mess floods your mouth.

And you takeit. All of him. Blinking back tears, moaning as you swallow every fucking drop. It’s only when he finally stills, that you pull back—his cock slipping from your lips with a lewd, wet pop.

He’s staring down at you, completely wrecked in the best way—chest rising and falling, mouth parted, eyes wide and glassy with awe.

“Wow, Satoru…” you hum, smiling all coy, licking your lips slowly as you breathe through your nose. “That was… a lot of cum.”

“Oh my fucking god…”

His voice comes out like a whisper and a whimper all at once. His brain is still buffering—trying to reboot after the holy experience you just put him through. Dragging a shaky hand down his face, he blows out a disbelieving laugh.

“You… wow. You actually swallowed… all of it.”

Giggling, you drag your hand up his thigh, fingers brushing, watching the way he twitches under your touch.

“I told you…” you smile softly, nuzzling against his thigh, eyes gleaming affectionately. “I… wanted to take care of you.”

And god—Satoru swears he might ascend. If only you knew how you make him feel. Huffing, he shakes his head in awe.

“C’mere you…” he’s tugging you up gently, urging you into his lag, and you go easily, straddling his thighs as his arms wrap around you, holding you flush to his chest.

You can feel his heart thudding heavy as you settle against him, and you shift, burying yourself against his neck.

“Feel better…?” you murmur softly, fingers combing through the soft mess of his white hair.

“Better?” a breathless laugh slips out, catching in his throat as he tries to collect himself. “Yeah… that’s the understatement of the century,” he exhales hard, then adds, “I think I might’ve just seen the face of God… with your lips.”

You snort into his shoulder, giggling, and he chuckles too—low and husky, the sound vibrating through your body. But even as he smiles, his grip on you stays tight. Steady. Anchored.

Because you don’t realize it—but this? This is everything. His expression softens, his heart aches so much as the thought replays over, and over in his head.

I’m so in love with you.

It hits him like a train—again, fresh and full and terrifying. Like it’s the first time he’s realizing it all over again. You’ve stripped him bare, pulled every shield from his body with a touch, a look, a laugh. He cherishes you so damn much.

And that’s the scariest, most beautiful thing of all.

“I’m so fucked…” he whispers, more to himself than to you.

“Hm?” pulling back slightly, you’re blinking up at him. “…fucked how?”

He meets your eyes—and for a second, everything softens. The whole world slows. He could say it. Right now. Just open his mouth and say it. But…

“Oh… y’know, just…” he exhales shakily, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Really, really fucking into you…” he says instead.

And god, he means it.

“…yeah?” you whisper.

“Yeah…” he nods, sighing. “Like… no-coming-back, kind of into you.”

Your smile spreads, soft and full of warmth. And as you curl into him, your head rests against his shoulder.

“Me too…”

The moment quiets, settling between you in a hush of breathless heartbeats. And as he holds you close, arms protective and sure, pressing his cheek to the crown of your head, his mind begins to turn.

He’s going to do everything—everything—in his power to keep you safe. To keep you happy. To ensure, you are always here, in his arms. Because if he ever lost you…

No.

Shaking his head, he shoos that thought away, out of existence. He’s not even going to entertain it.

And then, after a minute, he begins to shift, murmuring low against your hair.

“C’mon…” he’s rising from the couch, lifting you up bridal style as he stands. “Let’s clean up… and head to bed.”

Nodding, you wrap your arms around his neck as he carries you away—your body melting against his. Neither of you say the words sitting unsaid in your chest. But that doesn’t make it any less true.

I love you.

a/n. hello my lovelies!! it's been foreverrrrr... i know. thanks for your patience with this chapter. i unforch had to go back to work full time, whilst still being in school 🤪 so it feels like i've had NO time. but, once this semester is over my writing should pick back up. this chapter definitely challenged me. i was worried how you guys would feel about the violence, but alas... that's what the yakuza do. all i can say is if you don't like it, you can chose not to read it! 🤷‍♀️ but as ya'll can probably see, this story is definitely taking a turn... the plot is heating up. nanami has joined the battle! he's so sweet with little haru. i'm gonna have so much fun with the plans i have for his character, hehe 🥰 satoru in the car with suguru... *sigh* 😌 this man is literally so smitten for reader it's too damn cute. my heart can't take it. i've decided to reopen this taglist! if you want to be tagged and you're not on it, lmk. i would love to hear all your thoughts and theories with this chapter, and as always, tysm for reading guys. i love you all sm 🫶🏻 → you are currently all caught upꨄ

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@maskedpacific @that-redheadd @lovelyartemisa @eolivy

@valleydoli @voids-universe @sukunadckrider @aishies-stuff

@saccharine-nectarine @ilianasau @pinksaiyans @gojoslefttoenail

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