#is that its a sensitive and private topic

[hindahoney]

Wild and revolutionary concept: maybe don't treat converts like trash just because they're converts? And also don't ask someone if they're a convert in a public setting?

[mssishipi]

kiss me — pjs

SYNOPSIS: You hate the Purge. You hate the monster they create, the cruelty, and the way it's broken you down year after year. You hate the rich most of all—the people who don't have to fight to survive. People like Park Jongseong. And now, somehow, he's sitting next to you. The boy who's always smiling, always comfortable, as if the world hasn't burned down around him. The boy who lives in safety, behind barricades his father's company builds, while you've spent years starving, hiding, and praying. Jongseong keeps smiling at you, oblivious to the weight of your hatred. He doesn't care about you, not really. To him, life is simple. And maybe that's why you can't stand him. Because while he laughs, you're trying to figure out how to make sure people like him never smile again.

warning: the purge au! contains dark sensitive topics, mentions of murder, sexual assault, violence, and ptsd behavior, different perspectives of the purge, one sided hatred, reader is kinda difficult to handle but it's a trauma response, messy ending, jay is a supportive boyfie (in a good and bad ways), reader is unhinged,

explicit content (smut): multiple sex scenes, fingering, nipple play, pussy eating, unprotected sex, purge fucking, MDNI, reader discretion is advised. WC: 21.8K.

music to listen while purging: murder in my mind

You hate March 21. God, how you loathe it—the day that strips away any pretense of humanity.

It always starts the same way: the wailing sirens, cold and mechanical, ripping through the air.

Not even sixty seconds pass after the announcement before the streets erupt. Gunshots. Screams. The unmistakable, animalistic sounds of survival. The world falls apart faster than you can blink, faster than you can even take a breath. And every year, you sit in that darkness, trembling, hating.

You hate how they made this—how society carved out one single night to let its ugliest urges spill over.

You hate the twisted smiles on people's faces, the gleeful violence, the merciless slaughter. You hate everything about it.

You hate how weak you are. How poor you are. How your "barricade" is nothing but a creaky door and a pile of junk you've pushed in front of it. Heavy chairs, the couch, a dresser you could barely move—what is that supposed to do against the monsters outside?

They'll break through it in minutes, seconds even, if they choose you this year.

And there's nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.

So you crawl inside the closet, knees tucked into your chest, hands pressing hard over your ears as the chaos outside creeps closer and closer. You rock back and forth, whispering to yourself, "Just twelve hours. You just have to survive twelve hours."

You hate how your morals hold you hostage.

You're too much of a coward, aren't you? Or maybe you're too human, too stupidly tied to the idea of right and wrong.

Either way, you've sentenced yourself to this endless nightmare.

You hate how they have no mercy. How people don't even hesitate.

The second those sirens stop, the masks go on, the knives come out, and the laughter—the laughter—starts echoing down the streets like some kind of hellish symphony.

You hate the way your mind races, picturing your own end over and over again. Would it be quick? A bullet to the head? Or would it be slow? Something worse?

You hate how poor you are. How people like you—people who can't afford high-tech barricades, bulletproof shelters, or private security.

You're the bottom rung of society, the lambs to the slaughter. And that's exactly how they see you. Nothing more than sport for the rich.

You've been their prey before—dragged into one of their "games." Their sick, twisted hunting expeditions where they wear masks and hunt you down like animals, laughing all the while.

Somehow, you survived that night. Somehow, you ran fast enough, hid well enough. But you didn't leave unscathed.

No, you left something behind that night: your sanity.

You can still feel their eyes on you, their jeers echoing in your ears, their mocking laughter as they cornered you over and over, just to let you escape so the game could continue.

You see their faces—those masks—every time you close your eyes.

And no matter where you go, it's always the same.

You transfer to a new town, a new neighborhood, hoping to disappear, but you always end up right back here.

They smile too wide, your neighbors. They're too friendly. Too eager to see you. And every time they stare at you, every time their grins linger a little too long, you feel the bile rise in your throat.

You hate everything about the Purge.

You hate the people who participate in it, the government that allows it, the sick, twisted minds that relish in it.

You hate the monsters you've seen outside, but you hate the monster you're becoming even more.

Because every year, it gets harder. Harder to keep your sanity intact. Harder to resist. Harder to keep your morals from shattering under the weight of it all. And every year, the hatred inside you grows like a poison, rotting you from the inside out.

You hate how you're always waiting. Waiting for another March 21.

Waiting for the next time you'll have to endure this torment. Waiting for the day you finally snap, when you stop running, when you stop hiding, and when you start fighting back.

You hate the waiting more than anything because you know that day is coming. You know it's only a matter of time before something inside you finally breaks.

And when it does, you'll hunt them down. Every last one of them. The rich who preyed on you. The neighbors who smiled too wide while undressing you. The government officials who allowed this nightmare to persist.

You hate March 21.

But more than that, you hate how much you're starting to look forward to it.

"I see you survived the Purge," you muttered, your eyes narrowing as they landed on the group of seven boys in the hallway.

They were laughing softly, their voices laced with relief as they exchanged hugs and pats on the back.

"Thank God," one of them said, gripping the others in a tight embrace, his shoulders sagging like he'd been holding his breath for the last twelve hours.

"I already told you guys," another voice chimed in—smooth, Park Jongseong. Of course.

"Next year, you should all come to our house. Our lockdown is solid. Our barricades are strong enough to keep anyone out. You'll be safe there, trust me."

You scoffed, the sound low and bitter, but loud enough to be heard if anyone was paying attention. Of course, they weren't. They never noticed you. Not people like them.

Park Jongseong— the golden boy. His father owned one of the biggest barricade companies in the country, making a fortune off other people's desperation and fear.

He didn't just survive the Purge; he thrived in it. His family's state-of-the-art lockdown system probably made their house into a fortress.

And now here he was, standing in the middle of the school hallway, flashing that perfect smile and talking about how his family had been "safe and sound" while people like you hid under a bed, praying not to die.

You bit the inside of your cheek, tasting blood, and turned away. Of course Jongseong had survived. People like him always did.

You were miserable. Miserable every single day for the past seven years since the Purge began.

Seven years since the night your parents were taken from you on that first Purge.

Seven years of surviving on your own, scrabbling through life like a rat in a never-ending maze.

An irregular college student balancing four jobs just to afford rent, tuition, and scraps of food that barely kept you standing.

And some nights, when you're too tired to even close your eyes, the same thought creeps in, like a whisper you can't shut out.

Why can't you just die already?

Was this what God wanted for you? Was your suffering some part of His great plan? If it was, you hated Him for it. You hated everything—for putting you here, for making you live like this, for keeping you alive while everyone else you cared about was gone.

Then came August. Seven months before the next Purge, You took your entire month's pay—every single cent you'd earned and bought a handgun from a retired Russian police man who didn't ask questions.

You didn't eat for weeks after that, barely managing to survive on water and scraps you could steal from work.

Hunger clawed at your stomach, but you didn't care. Every second of discomfort was worth it as you cradled the gun in your hands at night, running your fingers over the cold steel.

At college, exhaustion weighed on you like a heavy coat. Your mind was foggy, your body barely cooperating as you tried to focus in class. You were too tired to care about anything anymore. That's why, when you heard the voice, you didn't even look up at first.

"Hey, are you Y/N?"

You blinked, sluggishly dragging your tired eyes up to meet the man.

Park Jongseong. He was standing there, his usual easy smile on his face, holding a lab manual in one hand.

Your brows furrowed as he sat down next to you like it was the most natural thing in the world. You raised an eyebrow at him, watching in silent disbelief as he got comfortable.

"We're partners in laboratory," he announced with that same friendly grin, his tone light and conversational.

You stared at him, your eyebrow twitching slightly. Of course, we are. Just my fucking luck.

You hated him. You hated everything about him.

You hated how he could walk into a room and light it up, how he always smiled like life was some perfect little gift wrapped up in a bow.

You hated how easy everything seemed for him, how he floated through life without ever seeming to care about the world around him.

Jongseong keeps smiling at you, oblivious to the weight of your hatred. He doesn't care about you, not really. To him, life is simple. And maybe that's why you can't stand him.

Because while he laughs, you're trying to figure out how to make sure people like him never smile again.

"I'm Park Jongseong," he says brightly, "You can call me Jay, if you don't know me."

You stare at him with your tired eyes, barely masking your irritation. His enthusiasm is exhausting, like a candle burning too brightly, too close to your already frayed nerves.

But he doesn't seem to notice. Of course, he doesn't. He keeps talking.

"I'm planning to start our experimental research maybe in like three days? I don't really like cramming," Jay continues, flashing you another one of his easy smiles.

"Are you available on Saturday?" he asks, finally looking at you. "Do you want to do it at my place or yours?"

His smile falters for the first time when you just stare at him, bored and uninterested, like he's wasting your time—which he is.

He must be so used to people hanging on his every word, eating up his charm. You, on the other hand, are trying to figure out how long you have to tolerate him before he leaves.

"I have a morning shift at the ice cream shop. Probably the afternoon, but I'll leave at 7 PM," you reply flatly, spinning your pen lazily between your fingers. You're not trying to be rude.

You're just tired—tired of him, tired of everything. "Then I have another shift at the restaurant."

Jay nods, and for a moment, you think he's about to say something stupid, like you work too hard or you should take it easy. But he doesn't. Instead, he watches you for a second too long before his smile returns, a little dimmer than before.

"And your place," you add, cutting off whatever he was going to say. The idea of being in his house, surrounded by whatever rich-boy luxuries he has, makes your stomach churn.

Jay blinks, then nods again. "Alright, my place it is," he says, his tone softer, as if he's trying to figure you out.

You hate it—hate the way his gaze lingers on you.

You turn your attention back to your notebook, letting the silence hang between you until he finally shifts in his seat and looks away. At least he knows when to stop talking. For now.

You observe people every shift. At the ice cream shop, kids cry and tug at their parents, pointing at a flavor they desperately want. At the fast food chain, students laugh, stuffing fries into each other's mouths, their joy spilling out into the air.

You watch them. You clean up after them. And when no one's looking, you pick at their scraps—half-eaten burgers, fries left behind—anything to stave off the hunger that gnaws at you day and night.

When you sneak into the back to wash your hands, you catch your reflection in the grimy bathroom mirror. It almost shocks you, the hollow-cheeked girl staring back.

Your dark eye bags seem to sink into your face like bruises, your cheekbones sharp enough to look dangerous. Your lips are pale, chapped from thirst, and your hoodie swallows what little remains of you.

Even when you do sleep, it's never peaceful.

The nightmares always find you, pulling you back to that night—hands grabbing, voices laughing, the cold press of a mask against your skin.

Not even the sleeping pills you've wasted money on help anymore. You've tried. God knows you've tried. But the fear is something you can't escape.

And then Saturday comes.

Jay welcomes you at his house with his usual easy smile.

You stand awkwardly at the entrance, your eyes immediately drawn to the luxurious details surrounding you.

Expensive vases line the walls. A cabinet full of fine liquor gleams under the lights. Everything in the house feels deliberate, pristine, and just looking at it makes you feel like you don't belong.

"This way," Jay says cheerfully, leading you to his room.

The moment you step inside, you're greeted with more of the same—displays of wealth that feel almost obscene to you. A collection of guitars lined up like trophies. A cabinet stuffed with fancy perfumes. Everything here screams a life of comfort, of privilege, of a world you'll never touch.

"Are you always cold? Want me to lower the aircon?" Jay asks suddenly, his gaze flicking to your oversized hoodie.

You almost punch him for the question. The audacity of it. 

Are rich people really this clueless?

The irritation bubbles up. You almost imagine your hands around his neck, squeezing some sense into him.

"No, thanks," you say curtly, not bothering to hide your annoyance. You drop to the floor, pulling out your notebook and pen, ignoring the uncomfortable tension forming between you.

"You can sit on my bed," Jay offers, reaching out to touch your arm like it's no big deal.

But the moment his hand brushes your sleeve, your mind snaps. You're not in his room anymore. You're back there—on that night—being grabbed, pulled, restrained. Masked faces loom in your vision, their laughter ringing in your ears like a sick melody.

Before you even realize it, you've slapped his hand away, standing so fast you almost knock your notebook over.

"I—I'm sorry," you stammer, your voice shaky as you rub your arm. Jay just stands there, his hand hovering in the air, confusion written all over his face.

"It's fine," he says quickly. His smile is gone now, replaced by something softer.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to sit down again—this time on the bed, even though you'd rather be anywhere else. You pull your notebook back into your lap, flipping it open as if nothing happened, your hands trembling slightly.

The two of you work in near silence, researching for your lab project. Jay tries to engage you now and then, asking for your thoughts, but you keep your answers brief. You don't want to talk. You don't want to share. You just want to get through this.

After a while, Jay breaks the silence again. "How many jobs do you have?" he asks, his voice almost hesitant. "How do you manage school and work?"

You huff, irritated by his questions. What does he know about working to survive? What does he know about balancing your life on a thread?

"I don't manage," you reply bluntly. "I'm already planning to stop after this semester."

Jay straightens in his seat, frowning slightly. "Why?"

"Because I can't afford it anymore," you snap, your patience wearing thin. Your voice is sharper than you intend, but you don't care. You glare at him, daring him to argue, to say something stupid like, You should keep trying.

But Jay just looks down, his gaze softening. "I'm sorry," he whispers, almost too quiet to hear.

Before you can respond, a knock interrupts the moment. A head peeks into the room—a woman with wavy hair and a face so similar to Jay's that it's clear she's his mother.

"Heard you had a classmate over," she says warmly. "Come down and eat."

Jay stands immediately, glancing at you as if waiting to see if you'll follow. You nod stiffly, clutching your notebook to your chest as you trail behind him, feeling awkward in a house like this.

When you reach the dining room, your stomach grumbles embarrassingly loud at the sight of the food. A table full of steaming dishes spreads out before you, prepared by maids who move around effortlessly. You've never seen this much food at once before, not even during the holidays.

"Come, sit, sweetheart," Jay's mom says, pulling a chair out for you. Her voice is so kind, so gentle, that it makes your chest ache.

You sit down slowly, staring at the food like it's a mirage. Jay's mom piles your plate high with food, her warm smile reminding you so much of your own mother that your throat tightens.

"Eat, don't be shy," she says, her voice light and encouraging.

Your hands shake as you pick up the spoon, the first bite warming your tongue. 

The taste is overwhelming, rich and filling, and it's so good that tears prick at the corners of your eyes. 

You quickly take another bite, and another, ignoring the lump in your throat.

Jay watches you quietly, his gaze flicking to your small, trembling hands. His eyes catch on the scars peeking out from your sleeves as your sweater rides up.

"So, where are you from? It's my first time seeing you here! Jay's always bringing friends over—so many faces!" His mother's voice was cheerful, her smile warm and inviting.

"I'm from Las Vegas," you replied, keeping your eyes on your empty plate. You didn't want to talk, but her energy made it hard to ignore her.

Your gaze shifted to Jay as he leaned over, silently placing more food onto your plate.

"Oh, Las Vegas!" His mom exclaimed, her eyes lighting up. "What made you settle here in Seattle? Life is so exciting over there! So bright and lively!"

"Not really," you said, inhaling sharply as you tried to keep your tone even. The last thing you wanted was to go deeper into that conversation.

She didn't seem to notice your discomfort. "Oh, I see. Well, what do your parents do for a living?"

You froze. The fork in your hand stilled as memories rushed back like a tidal wave.

The screams. The blood. The way your parents looked at you, their faces twisted in pain as you hid, trembling in the cabinet.

"They're dead," you said bluntly, gripping your fork so tightly your knuckles turned white.

The room seemed to grow quieter. His mother's cheerful expression faltered. "Pardon?"

"They're de—" you started, but the words caught in your throat. Your pulse quickened, your chest tightening, and before you could finish, Jay cut in.

"It's already almost 7:00," he said quickly, "Didn't you say you have a shift?"

You looked at him, startled. His gaze met yours, and for the first time, his ever-present smile was gone. Instead, his eyes were steady, watching you carefully, like he knew you were unraveling and didn't want to make it worse.

You took the excuse without hesitation. "Yeah," you muttered, shoving your chair back as you stood. "I should go."

His mom looked like she wanted to say something, but Jay rose from his seat, cutting her off with a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I'll walk her out," he said softly.

"Thank you for the food, Mrs. Park," you smiled, trying to look natural, bowing at her. You grabbed your bag and slung it over your shoulder, refusing to look back at the table, at the food, at his mother's concerned face. Your throat burned as you fought the tears threatening to spill over.

Jay followed you silently as you stepped into the hallway. Once you were out of earshot, he finally spoke.

"You didn't have to answer her," he said gently.

You stopped in your tracks, gripping the strap of your bag tightly. "I didn't want to," you said flatly, your voice trembling just a little. "But people always ask. Like they have the right to know."

Jay didn't respond immediately. When you glanced at him, he looked... softer, his usual brightness dimmed with something quieter. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice low and careful. "She didn't mean anything by it. My mom's just... the type to ask questions. She doesn't think it'll hurt anyone."

"Yeah, well, it does," you snapped, the words slipping out before you could stop yourself. Your voice was sharp, cutting through the quiet hallway. But Jay didn't flinch. He just nodded, that same calm expression on his face, like he understood.

And for some reason, that made you angrier.

Your bag strap digging into your shoulder as you stared at him. The silence stretched, heavy and awkward. Your chest burned with frustration, your hands curling into fists at your sides. You weren't sure what you were mad at—his mom's question, his calm demeanor, or the fact that he kept pretending to get you when he didn't.

The words tumbled out. "What are your thoughts about the Purge, Jay?"

Jay's eyes widened, caught off guard by the sudden question. He hesitated for a moment, his mouth opening and closing like he was carefully picking his words.

"I—I don't agree with it," he said finally, his voice quiet..

You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. "You don't agree with it?" you repeated, mocking his tone.

"That's rich. The Purge is the reason why you're making money, Jay. It's why your family's living in that giant house with your shiny vases and fancy barricades."

Jay blinked, visibly taken aback. "That's not fair," he said, his voice soft but firm.

"Isn't it?" you shot back, your voice rising.

"Your dad's company makes barricades, doesn't it? Every year, people like you get richer while people like me..." You trailed off, shaking your head as your throat tightened. "You don't get to sit there and say you don't agree with it. Not when your family profits from it."

Jay's jaw tightened, but he didn't interrupt. He just looked at you, his expression unreadable.

"And you know what's funny?" you continued, the bitterness spilling out of you now. "You probably spend Purge night in your fortress of a house, watching movies or playing board games with your family while the rest of us are out there dying. You don't even have to think about it, do you?"

"That's not true," Jay said quietly, his hands clenching at his sides. "I do think about it."

"Oh, do you?" you snapped, glaring at him. "What, do you spend a whole five minutes feeling bad for people like me before you go back to your perfect little life?"

"That's not what I—" Jay started, but you cut him off.

"You don't get it, Jay," you said, your voice trembling now, anger and exhaustion mixing into a volatile cocktail. "You'll never get it. You don't know what it's like to be hunted like an animal while people laugh. So don't stand there and tell me you 'don't agree with it,' because that doesn't mean anything coming from you."

Jay looked like he wanted to say something—his mouth opened, but no words came out. His shoulders slumped slightly, and for a moment, you thought you saw guilt flash across his face.

"I'm sorry," Jay said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You froze, your anger faltering for a moment as his words sunk in. Your chest tightened, and your eyes softened just slightly, guilt prickling at the edges of your mind. What were you even doing?

But the shame and bitterness were too much to face. You turned away quickly, your voice small and strained. "I'm sorry... I should go," you murmured, gripping the strap of your bag as you hurried to leave.

Jay didn't stop you. He just watched your retreating figure, his expression a mix of concern and frustration. As the door clicked shut behind you, he sat down heavily, running a hand through his hair. He wanted to help, but he didn't know how. And the way you looked at him, like he was the problem, made it feel impossible.

The weeks passed in a blur of survival and self-destruction. Bullets were fucking expensive. Even knives cost more than you expected, and every penny you earned disappeared the moment it hit your hands. Life was getting harder.

The monster inside you—was growing louder, feeding off your exhaustion and anger.

At night, when you weren't working, you trained yourself obsessively. Watching documentaries on how to kill someone. Studying anatomy. Practicing with your weapons until your hands were blistered and shaking. 

You didn't care if your body couldn't take it anymore. Pain didn't matter. Hunger didn't matter. Nothing mattered except being ready.

But as the weeks dragged on, it became harder to keep going.

Your hoodie, the one you wore every day like a second skin, was filthy and smelled of sweat and exhaustion. Your body was sore in every possible way.

Your reflection in the mirror was worse than before—hollow eyes, sallow skin, dark circles so deep. And every time you saw yourself, you thought the same thing.

You just want to die already.

One night, your phone buzzed. It was a message from Jay.

"Y/N, I'm sorry to bother you, but you haven't been coming to class. I can handle most of the project on my own, but for this reporting, I really need your presence."

You stared at the message for a long time, debating whether to ignore it. But something in you caved. Maybe it was guilt. You replied: "Okay. I'll come."

Jay welcomed you into his house again, you ended up on his bed, laptop in your lap as you both worked on the PowerPoint for your report. The room was quiet except for the sound of typing, but every movement felt like a struggle. Your body ached. Your head throbbed. You could barely focus, and every second felt like a fight to stay upright.

It wasn't long before your body gave up.

The laptop slipped from your lap, crashing to the floor as your vision blurred. The last thing you heard before everything went dark was Jay's panicked voice calling your name.

When you opened your eyes, the first thing you saw was a white ceiling. 

The faint smell of alcohol and disinfectant filled the air, and the sharp tug of a needle in your arm made you realize you were hooked up to an IV. An oxygen tube rested under your nose, and your body felt impossibly heavy, as if all the exhaustion you'd been ignoring had finally caught up with you.

Your gaze drifted down to your body—and then you saw it.

You were wearing a hospital gown.

Panic gripped you instantly. Your chest tightened, your breathing quickening as your hands clawed at the fabric.

"No, no, no," you whispered, your voice trembling as your heart pounded in your ears.

Memories of hands grabbing at you, tearing at your clothes, flashed through your mind like lightning. You gasped for air, a faint scream slipping from your lips.

Jay jolted awake from the chair beside you, his eyes wide with alarm.

"W-what's wrong?" he asked, his voice soft but laced with panic. He moved closer, his hands hovering uncertainly like he wasn't sure if he should touch you.

"H-hoodie," you stammered, gripping his arm with weak, trembling hands. Your nails dug into his skin. "Need to cover. Ugly. Ugly."

Jay winced at the pain but didn't pull away. "Hey, hey, it's okay," he said gently, his voice calm and soothing. "You're okay. You're safe. No one's going to hurt you."

"No," you whimpered, shaking your head as tears streamed down your face. "I'm ugly. Don't look." Your hands fumbled to pull the gown tighter around you, but it didn't help. You could feel the scars beneath it—the raised lines.

Jay hesitated for a moment before slowly reaching out to cover your hands with his. His touch was warm, steady, and he squeezed your fingers just enough to ground you.

"You're not ugly," he said softly, his tone so sincere it made your chest ache.

You shook your head again, your voice breaking as panic surged through you. "You don't understand. You don't know what they did to me. What I look like—"

"Calm down," Jay interrupted, his voice steady but still gentle, as if he were trying to anchor you to the moment.

He closed his eyes and turned his head slightly to the side, a gesture meant to reassure you. "I'm not looking, okay? I'm not looking."

His words made you pause, your breathing still uneven but slowing just a little as you clung to his arm. The panic was still there, buzzing under your skin, but his calmness was starting to chip away at it, little by little.

"You're safe now," Jay said, his tone softer this time, "and you're not alone, okay? I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. Just calm down, breathe in, breathe out. You can do this."

You tried to follow his instructions, inhaling shakily and letting the air out in uneven bursts. It wasn't perfect, but it was enough to keep you grounded, enough to stop the tears blurring your vision completely.

Jay's hand was warm against yours, his fingers gentle but firm as he held on. "What do you want me to get?" he asked softly, his voice careful, his head still turned slightly away so you wouldn't feel watched.

"My hoodie," you whispered, your voice weak and pleading. "I need it. Please."

Jay glanced at the IV in your arm, his lips pressing into a thin line. "You have an IV in your skin," he said quietly. "It's still not okay for you to wear your hoodie yet. If you pull at it, you could hurt yourself."

You looked away, shame and frustration boiling under your skin, your fingers gripping the hospital blanket tightly. "I don't care," you mumbled, your voice trembling.

Jay sighed softly, squeezing your hand again to ground you. "I know you don't feel comfortable," he said, his tone gentle but firm, "but if it's too hot or heavy right now, I don't want you to hurt yourself trying to put it on."

You clenched your jaw, swallowing back another wave of tears. "I just—I need to cover up," you said, your voice breaking again.

Jay hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Okay," he said carefully, "if you're not comfortable in the gown, I can get you a long-sleeve nightgown instead. Something softer. Something that'll cover your arms. Is that what you want?"

You glanced at him, your lip trembling, and nodded weakly. "Yeah," you whispered, barely audible.

Jay gave your hand one last gentle squeeze before slowly standing up. "I'll go ask the nurses," he said softly.

Days had passed, and Jay had stayed by your side, refusing to leave, despite how much of a burden you felt like.

He wasn't overbearing or hovering—just quietly there, helping you in any way he could.

He brought you meals, water, even helped you comb through your disheveled hair when your strength failed you. He didn't ask questions about what happened, didn't demand explanations.

His mother visited often, sweeping into the room with an energy that made your chest ache. She came with baskets of fruit, flowers, and small gifts, her arms overflowing like she was trying to smother you with kindness.

On one visit, she hugged you tightly, tears in her eyes, and said, "You need to take better care of yourself, sweetheart. Your life is precious."

Her words pierced through you, bringing a lump to your throat. You didn't have the heart to respond, just nodded, even though deep down you still didn't believe her.

Jay's friends, Sunoo and Ni-ki, had even come to visit. Despite the fact that they didn't know you at all, they acted like you were an old friend.

They brought a snake and ladder board game, and before you knew it, they were sitting cross-legged on your hospital bed, loudly cheering, groaning, and playfully arguing over the dice rolls. Their laughter filled the room, echoing against the sterile walls and spilling over the edges of your heart.

At first, you just watched them silently, your hands resting in your lap, unsure of how to react. But as the game went on, you found yourself drawn in—your dead eyes softening as you watched them bicker like kids, a faint half-smile tugging at your lips.

For the first time in what felt like years, you felt something other than pain. Just a flicker, but it was there. A tiny seed of happiness.

"What do you want to eat today?" Jay asked, smiling as he sat at the edge of your bed, peeling an apple with practiced ease.

"I want rice cakes!" Ni-ki chimed in, raising his hand like an excited child.

Sunoo rolled his eyes dramatically, crossing his arms. "Yuck! We had rice cakes yesterday!"

Their back-and-forth made you chuckle softly, a sound you hadn't heard from yourself in a long time.

But later, when the room grew quiet again, and it was just you and Jay, that flicker of happiness gave way to something heavier. Guilt.

You glanced at Jay as he sat by the window, scrolling through his phone absentmindedly. His face was relaxed, the sunlight catching the soft angles of his features. He had done so much for you—things he didn't have to do. And all this time, you had hated him. Misunderstood him.

You had assumed the worst of him, just because he was rich.

You had lumped him in with the monsters who had ruined your life, convinced yourself that he was just another spoiled, privileged kid who wouldn't understand what suffering felt like. But the truth was... he wasn't.

He wasn't the people who had hunted you, mocked you, stripped you of your humanity. He wasn't the people who laughed behind masks, thriving on fear and violence.

Jay had done nothing but help you, even when you were rude to him, even when you pushed him away.

And yet, the guilt didn't erase your pain. It didn't undo your trauma or silence the nightmares that still haunted you.

You still hated the world that allowed the Purge to exist. You still hated the memories that burned like fire in your veins. You still hated yourself for being weak, for surviving when your parents hadn't.

But you didn't hate Jay anymore.

"I'm sorry," you said quietly, breaking the silence.

Jay looked up, tilting his head in confusion. "For what?"

"For... for how I treated you," you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. "For assuming things about you just because of where you come from. I thought you wouldn't care. That you couldn't understand. But... you're not like them."

Jay's expression softened, a small, almost sad smile tugging at his lips. "You don't have to apologize for that," he said gently. "You've been through hell. I get why you'd feel that way."

You shook your head, gripping the blanket tightly in your hands. "No, you don't get it. I was cruel to you. I blamed you for things that weren't your fault."

Jay was quiet for a moment, then reached out, resting a hand over yours.

His touch was warm, steady, grounding. "I'm not perfect," he said softly, his tone sincere. "I won't pretend to know what you've been through. But I want to help."

Your throat tightened, tears threatening to spill over again. You didn't know how to respond, so you just nodded, gripping his hand. And for the first time, you allowed yourself to trust someone. Even if it was just a little.

"The doctor said you have anemia and osteoporosis," Jay's mother said gently, setting her bag down on the small table beside your hospital bed.

"That's why your bones are weak! You'll need to eat more foods with calcium and iron to build your strength and get your blood count higher. We'll make sure you have everything you need."

You stared at her, unsure how to respond. Guilt curled in your stomach, gnawing at you. You weren't her child. You weren't even close to being part of her world. And yet, here she was, treating you so good.

"The hospital bill is covered," she continued, her voice casual, like it wasn't a big deal. But to you, it was.

It was a huge deal. The cost of staying in a place like this was something you couldn't even fathom. You'd spent years scraping by, eating leftovers just to save a few bucks, and here she was, brushing off what could've been months—maybe years—of your income.

"You don't need to worry about it," she added, her smile soft and reassuring. "Just focus on getting better. Jay's friend is also my priority."

Jay's friend.

The words hit you harder than you expected. You weren't his friend. You didn't deserve to be called that, not after the way you'd treated him.

"Thank you," you murmured finally, your voice barely audible. It was all you could manage without breaking down entirely.

Jay's mom smiled wider, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

"You're welcome, sweetheart," she said, reaching out to gently pat your hand. "Now, tell me—what's your favorite food? I'll have the kitchen prepare something special for you."

You blinked, caught off guard by her kindness. "I... I don't really have one," you admitted quietly, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket.

It wasn't a lie. You hadn't thought about things like "favorite food" in years. Food, for you, had been about survival, not enjoyment.

"Well, then we'll just have to find one for you," she said, her tone cheerful and determined. "I'll have the staff make a variety of dishes for you to try. And don't worry—if there's anything you don't like, we'll keep trying until we find something you love."

Her words left you speechless. All you could do was nod, the weight of her generosity pressing down on you. It felt so foreign, so undeserved, and yet, for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt... cared for.

Jay, who had been quietly peeling an orange in the corner, finally spoke up. "Mom, don't overwhelm her," he said softly, his eyes flicking to yours. "She's still recovering."

You glanced at him, your gaze lingering for a moment longer than you intended.

His mother waved him off with a laugh. "Oh, hush, Jay. I'm just trying to help." She turned back to you, her smile never faltering. "You're part of our family now, okay? At least while you're here. So don't be shy about asking for anything."

Her words made something in your chest tighten. You nodded again, unable to trust your voice.

Jay's mother spent hours at your bedside, chatting away. She told you stories about Jay's childhood—how he once tried to "fix" a birdhouse with peanut butter, or how he dressed up as a firefighter for three Halloweens in a row because he was so obsessed with the uniform.

Jay groaned beside her, his face flushed as he waved her off. "Mom, stop! She doesn't need to know all of that!" he whined, his voice high with embarrassment.

But his mother only laughed, brushing him off with a playful wave. "Oh, hush, Jay. She needs to know how adorable you used to be!"

You couldn't help but chuckle softly, your lips curving into a small, almost shy smile.

Eventually, Jay's mother had to leave, something about a business emergency pulling her away. She hugged you gently before she left, squeezing your hands and promising to visit again soon.

"Take care of yourself, sweetheart," she said with a warm smile. "And if Jay gives you any trouble, let me know."

"I'm right here," Jay muttered, rolling his eyes but grinning all the same.

As the door clicked shut behind her, the room fell quiet again. You and Jay were alone, the silence settling between you like a soft blanket.

"Have you showered?" Jay asked suddenly, breaking the stillness.

You shook your head, feeling a little self-conscious. It had been days since you'd had the energy to even think about something like that.

"Do you want to?" he asked, his voice gentle.

You nodded hesitantly.

Jay smiled, standing up to grab a towel from his bag. He returned a moment later, his hand extended to you. "Come on," he said softly, his voice warm and encouraging.

You placed your hand in his, and he guided you carefully out of the bed. But as soon as your feet touched the ground, your knees buckled beneath you, the strength in your legs giving out entirely.

"Whoa!" Jay exclaimed, catching you before you could fall. Without hesitation, he slipped your arm around his neck, his other arm sliding under your legs.

"I've got you," he murmured as he lifted you effortlessly.

Your cheeks flushed, but you didn't protest as he carried you to the bathroom. His touch was steady, his arms warm and reassuring as he placed you gently into the tub.

"Do you want me to call a nurse to help you?" Jay asked, crouching in front of you. His voice was careful, like he was trying not to overstep.

You shook your head quickly. The idea of a stranger cleaning you—seeing you—made your stomach churn with discomfort. "I'm not comfortable," you said quietly, looking away.

Jay nodded, his brows furrowed slightly in thought. He didn't push or suggest anything else. He just waited, watching you carefully.

And then, before you could stop yourself, you looked up and met his gaze. "Can you?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jay's eyes widened in surprise, his ears turning red as your words sunk in. "Are you sure?" he asked, his tone soft but serious. "Are you comfortable with me?"

You nodded, swallowing hard. You didn't know why you asked him. Maybe it was because he was the only one who had seen your broken pieces and didn't turn away. Maybe it was because, despite everything, you trusted him.

Jay hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Okay," he said quietly, his voice steady despite the redness creeping up his neck.

Your hands trembled slightly as you began to strip off the hospital gown, letting it fall away from your shoulders.

You couldn't bring yourself to look at him, your chest tightening as the scars on your body were laid bare—scars from knives, from bullets, from cigarette burns that had long since healed but never truly faded.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence.

You finally glanced up at Jay, only to see his face frozen in a mixture of sadness and anger. His jaw clenched, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. His eyes weren't looking at you with disgust or pity—just pain. Pain that you couldn't quite understand.

"I'm sorry," you said, your voice cracking. You quickly crossed your arms over your chest, trying to cover yourself, to hide the ugly truth of what had been done to you.

"Don't apologize," Jay said softly, his voice strained but firm. He crouched lower, his gaze meeting yours. "You don't have to apologize for this. None of this is your fault."

You bit your lip, tears welling in your eyes as you looked away. "It's ugly," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "I'm ugly."

"No, you're not," Jay said immediately. "Don't ever say that. Don't ever think that."

Jay begins to open the faucet, filling the tub. You felt his hand gently rest on your shoulder, his touch so light it was almost like a question. "These scars," he continued, his voice softening, "they're not ugly. They're proof that you survived."

You turned back to him, tears spilling over as his words sank in. His gaze didn't waver, didn't falter. There was no judgment in his eyes, only sincerity.

His hands were gentle as he worked, brushing over your skin with careful precision, the towel soaking up water from your arms, your back, every part of you. Each movement was measured, respectful, almost as though he was afraid of breaking you.

The silence was heavy but not uncomfortable. Still, the question burned on your tongue, and before you could stop yourself, you asked, "Why are you helping me?"

Jay froze for the briefest of moments, his hands stilling as he rinsed the washcloth. Then he gently reached for your hair, lathering shampoo between his fingers before carefully massaging it into your scalp.

"Why wouldn't I?" he asked softly, his tone calm, but you could hear the edge of emotion beneath it.

You tilted your head slightly, his fingers never missing a beat as they worked through your tangled hair. 

"Because... people don't just help without a reason," you muttered, your voice barely audible. "Are you pitying me?"

Jay's hands stilled again, his fingers pausing in your hair. For a moment, you regretted asking, but then he sighed softly, his hands resuming their slow, soothing motions.

"No," he said firmly. "I'm not helping you because I pity you."

"Then why?" you pressed, your voice cracking as the question spilled out of you. "Why are you doing all this? Why do you care?"

Jay rinsed the shampoo from your hair, his hands tilting your head back slightly so the water wouldn't get in your eyes. He stayed silent for a moment, as if he was choosing his words carefully.

"Because you deserve to be cared for," he said finally, his voice almost a whisper.

His words hit you like a punch to the chest. You stared at the tiled wall, unable to respond as your throat tightened and your eyes began to sting.

"I'm not doing this out of pity," Jay continued, his voice soft but insistent. "I'm doing this because I want to."

You swallowed hard, blinking rapidly to keep the tears from falling. His words felt foreign, like they didn't belong to you. Like they were meant for someone else, someone who deserved kindness.

"But I'm broken," you whispered, the words trembling as they left your lips. "You don't understand. I'm not... I'm not normal."

Jay's hands paused again, and for a moment, you thought he might agree with you. But instead, he leaned forward slightly, his voice so soft it almost didn't reach you.

"Who cares about 'normal'?" he asked gently, smiling at you.

His words made your chest ache, a strange, unfamiliar warmth blooming beneath the pain. You didn't know what to say, so you didn't say anything. Instead, you let him finish rinsing your hair, his touch as careful as ever.

Jay stayed quiet for a moment, his hand gripping the soap, before his soft voice broke the silence. "Let me brush your body, hmm? Are you okay with that?"

You looked up at him, your eyes still glossy from earlier tears. He was smiling, It was softer, almost hesitant, like he was giving you all the space in the world to say no.

For a second, your chest tightened again. But then you wiped at your tears, nodding, a small, watery laugh slipping from your lips. "Yeah, okay."

Jay let out a breath, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly as he dipped the soap into the water, creating a soft lather. "You don't need to apologize," he said after a moment.

But you shook your head, tears spilling over again as the words tumbled out. "I'm sorry," you whispered. "For being a burden. For being weak."

But Jay stopped what he was doing, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. "Showing vulnerability isn't weakness," he said softly, his voice steady but warm. "Don't say you're a burden when you're not."

You finally looked at him, your breath hitching at the sincerity in his gaze.

You spent almost a month in the hospital, longer than you ever thought you'd stay. There were stretches of time when you were alone, the quiet pressing against you like a heavy blanket.

Jay still had to attend his classes during the day, and you hated how much that relieved you. Being around him, around his patience and kindness, was almost too much to bear. It made the guilt twist deeper into your chest.

But every night, without fail, Jay came back. He'd shuffle in, his backpack slung over one shoulder, his shirt slightly wrinkled, and his face drawn with exhaustion.

No matter how tired he was, he'd sit beside you for a while, asking how your day had been, what you'd eaten, or if you needed anything.

Then, when he couldn't fight the fatigue anymore, he'd curl up on the couch, a thin blanket thrown over him, and fall asleep with his phone still clutched in his hand.

You'd watch him sometimes, your chest tightening at the sight of him.

Jay's mother visited often, breezing into the room with her warm smile and bags full of food. "You need to eat this," she'd say, setting down a steaming dish in front of you. "It'll help your bones."

The next day, it was something new: "This will boost your blood count!" she'd exclaim, watching eagerly as you took hesitant bites.

At first, you forced yourself to eat out of politeness, but slowly, you began to notice things.

You realized you liked gimbap—the way the rice was soft and slightly sweet, the seaweed wrapping it all together. You discovered new juices and found yourself craving strawberry milkshake more than anything else.

Jay's mom always noticed. "Strawberry milkshake, hmm?" she teased one afternoon, her smile playful. "I'll make sure to bring more tomorrow."

The warmth of her attention and care settled uncomfortably in your chest. You didn't know how to handle it, didn't know what to do with the kindness she gave so freely. It was foreign, and it made the guilt inside you grow.

After weeks of lying in bed, your body weak and fragile, the day finally came when you managed to stand on your own two feet. It wasn't easy. Your legs shook, your grip on the metal IV stand so tight your knuckles turned white, but you did it. For a brief moment, you felt a flicker of pride.

But then you looked down at yourself. Your pale, almost sickly skin stretched over your bony frame. Faint bruises marred your knees and legs.

You hated looking at yourself like this—so helpless, so exposed.

Your fingers trembled as you tightened your grip on the IV stand, leaning against it for support. Every movement felt slow and deliberate, like your body was relearning how to move after months of stillness. You shuffled to the calendar pinned on the wall, each step sending a dull ache through your legs, but you pushed through it.

December 13.

You stared at the date, your chest tightening as the weight of it settled on you. Three months. Three months until the Purge.

Your hand instinctively went to your stomach, as if trying to steady the rising wave of anxiety building inside you. You swallowed hard, your throat dry and tight. The memories began creeping in, uninvited, flashing behind your eyes like fragments of a nightmare you could never escape.

You shook your head, closing your eyes to block it out, but it didn't help. The thought was already there, rooting itself firmly in your mind.

You couldn't go back to the same cycle of fear, of waiting for someone to find you, to break you all over again.

Your chest rose and fell rapidly as you tried to steady your breathing, gripping the IV stand as it was the only thing keeping you upright. You felt caught in between two versions of yourself—the girl who cowered in fear, and the one who had spent months preparing to become something worse.

"You're standing."

The voice startled you, and you turned your head sharply, your grip tightening on the IV stand.

Jay was standing at the doorway, his hand on the handle, staring at you with that familiar wide smile that somehow made the heaviness in the room feel a little lighter.

"My mother said you like strawberry milkshake, so I brought you one," he said, stepping inside and walking toward you, his eyes soft with pride as he glanced at your trembling legs. "Here, let me help."

Before you could say anything, Jay gently took your hand and guided you back to the bed,

"I think I should discharge," you said quietly, the words barely escaping your lips.

Jay blinked, his smile fading slightly. "Why? You're not well yet. Are you thinking about the bills? You shouldn't. I told you, that's already taken care of."

You shook your head, staring at the strawberry milkshake in his hand as he popped the straw into the cup. He handed it to you, the smell of sweet strawberries wafting up and tempting your senses, but you couldn't focus on it.

"The Purge," you said finally, your voice trembling as you gripped the cup tightly, your knuckles turning white. "It's coming again."

Jay froze for a moment, his expression softening as he crouched down in front of you, his eyes level with yours. You could feel his gaze searching your face, waiting for you to continue.

"They... they're coming," you mumbled, your voice breaking. Your chest started to rise and fall rapidly, your breath coming in short, uneven gasps. "I don't know what they'll do this time."

Jay reached out instinctively, his hand resting gently on top of yours, steadying the trembling that had begun to spread through your fingers.

"They always find me. No matter where I go. They... they enjoy it. It's a game to them." Jay's jaw tightened, his eyes darkening as he listened.

"They won't find you this time," he said firmly, his voice filled with a quiet determination. "I won't let them."

You stared at him, your chest tightening as you tried to find the words to respond. Instead, you looked down at the strawberry milkshake in your hand, the straw still untouched. Slowly, you brought it to your lips, taking a small sip. The sweet, familiar taste spread across your tongue, and for just a moment.

Jay stayed crouched in front of you, his hand still resting lightly on yours as he watched your expression soften just slightly after taking a sip of the strawberry milkshake.

"Y/N," Jay said after a pause, his voice careful.

You glanced at him, your grip tightening slightly around the cup in your hands. "What is it?"

Jay shifted, sitting back on his heels but keeping his gaze level with yours. "Have you ever thought about talking to someone? You know, a therapist? Someone who might be able to help with... everything you've been through."

Your breath hitched, and you stiffened slightly, your shoulders tensing as the words sank in. "I don't need that," you muttered quickly, looking away from him. "I'm fine."

Jay tilted his head slightly, his expression soft but unconvinced. "I don't think you're fine," he said gently, his tone lacking any hint of judgment. "And that's okay. You don't have to be fine. After what you've been through... no one would expect you to be."

Your chest tightened, your fingers digging into the cup as you tried to swallow the lump forming in your throat. "I don't want to talk about it," you said, your voice trembling slightly. "Talking won't change anything. It won't make the memories go away."

"I know," Jay said softly. "It won't erase what happened. But maybe it could help you carry it. You've been carrying all of this alone for so long, Y/N. Maybe it's time to let someone else help."

"I can't," you whispered, shaking your head. "I don't know how to... to say it out loud. I don't even know where I'd start."

Jay's hand tightened slightly on yours, grounding you as he leaned closer. "You don't have to start anywhere specific," he said quietly.

"You just have to take it one step at a time. They won't push you to talk about anything you're not ready for. It's not about fixing everything all at once��it's about helping you find a way to live with it."

You looked at him, your vision blurred by unshed tears, and for a moment, you hated how much his words made sense. You hated how right he was, how kind he was being, how much he cared when you weren't sure you deserved it.

"I don't know," you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know if I can do it."

Jay nodded, his eyes warm and understanding. "That's okay," he said softly, his voice steady and reassuring.

"You don't have to decide right now," he continued, his hand lightly squeezing yours. "I just want you to know it's an option. And if you ever want to try, I'll be there with you. I'll help you find someone. You don't have to do it alone."

You stared at him, his words settling in your heart like a soft weight. Slowly, you nodded, a small, shy smile tugging at your lips. "Thank you," you whispered,

January came, and you were finally discharged from the hospital. It felt strange being back in the world after so much time spent in bed, but Jay made it easier.

In the weeks after your release, you returned to your small apartment, but more often than not, you found yourself spending your nights at Jay's home.

His mother insisted, always greeting you with a warm smile and asking how you were feeling. "It's better to keep an eye on you," she'd say, ushering you to the dinner table, where she'd pile your plate with food.

You had stopped studying, deciding to focus on working full-time instead. Jay had suggested a restaurant he knew, and before long, you found yourself settling into a routine. The work was tiring, but it kept your mind busy, and slowly, the spark in your eyes began to return.

Your nightmares didn't disappear, but they became easier to bear with Jay by your side. Whenever you woke up crying, shaking from the images that haunted you, he was always there.

"Shhh, it's okay," he'd whisper, pulling you into his arms and holding you close. His chest was warm and steady against your cheek, and his hand would rub soothing circles on your back as he whispered, "I'm here, love. I've got you."

You didn't know where he got his patience. No matter how many times you woke him in the middle of the night, trembling and crying, he never got frustrated. He never made you feel like a burden.

And maybe that's why, before you even realized it, you fell in love with him.

It wasn't a dramatic realization—no grand moment or spark. It was slow and steady, like the warmth he gave you every day. It was in the way he smiled at you, in the way he stayed even when he didn't have to.

You wanted to be better for him. You wanted to be strong—not just for yourself, but for him, too. That's when you decided to take his advice. You were going to try and talk to a therapist.

One evening, you were lying on his chest, his heartbeat a steady rhythm beneath your ear. His hand played idly with your hair, his fingers brushing through the strands like it was second nature. The room was quiet, the only sound coming from the soft hum of the heater, and you felt so at ease it was almost strange.

You tilted your head slightly, looking up at him. His eyes were closed, his lips relaxed in a small, peaceful smile. Something about the moment felt so natural, so intimate, that it made your heart swell.

Without really thinking, you leaned closer, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. You felt him shift slightly beneath you, but he didn't stop you. The warmth of his skin was comforting, and before you could second-guess yourself, you pressed a soft kiss to his neck.

You felt his body tense under you, his breath hitching ever so slightly. His fingers froze in your hair, and for a moment, you thought you'd made a mistake.

"Y/N," he murmured, his voice low and shaky, like he wasn't sure what to say.

You lifted your head slightly, meeting his wide eyes, your cheeks burning. "I—" you started, but the words caught in your throat.

Jay's lips parted, his gaze flicking between your eyes and your lips.

You bit your lip, "I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

His expression softened immediately, his fingers brushing your cheek. "Don't be," he said gently. "Just... tell me. Is this what you want?"

You hesitated for only a moment before nodding again. "Yes," you breathed, your voice trembling.

Jay's hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer until your lips were just a breath apart. "Me too," he whispered, and then he kissed you.

It was soft, tentative at first, like he was afraid of breaking the moment, but when you kissed him back, his grip on you tightened slightly, his lips pressing more firmly against yours.

When you finally pulled away, both of you breathless, he rested his forehead against yours, his hand still cradling the back of your head.

Your tongue traced a slow, deliberate line down to his neck, and when you sucked gently at the sensitive skin there, he groaned, low and deep, the sound sending a rush of heat through you.

"Y/N," he murmured, his voice shaky as his hands found their way to your waist. You grabbed them, guiding them more firmly against your body as you shifted, straddling his lap.

Jay's eyes widened for a fraction of a second before his gaze darkened, his lips parting slightly as you leaned down to kiss him again. This time, the kiss wasn't soft —it was full of need, your lips moving hungrily against his as your hips rolled against him.

You gasped into his mouth, the heat pooling low in your stomach as you felt the tension building between you. Your breath came in heavy pants as you pulled back just enough to whisper, "I love you."

Jay's hands slid under your clothes, his fingers brushing against the bare skin of your waist. His touch was warm.

"I love you," he said back, his voice low and full of something raw, his head tilting back slightly as your movements sent a shiver through him.

You didn't stop. Your hips pressed into him again, a slow, deliberate grind that made him bite back a groan, his head falling back further as his grip on your waist tightened. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, his breath coming out in a shaky exhale.

His hands moved to the hem of your shirt, pausing as his eyes met yours again. "Can I?" he asked softly, his voice laced with tenderness.

You nodded, your heart racing as he carefully lifted the shirt over your head. His eyes roamed over you, taking in every inch of exposed skin, and you felt a familiar pang of self-consciousness.

You instinctively moved to cover yourself, your arms wrapping around your torso, but Jay stopped you gently, his hands warm and steady as they held yours.

"Don't hide," he whispered, his voice so soft it made your chest ache. "Please don't hide from me."

Your breath hitched as his hands released yours, moving slowly to trace the lines of one of the scars on your shoulder. He leaned down and pressed his lips to the scar on your shoulder, the gesture so tender it sent a jolt through your entire body.

 He kissed it again, slower this time, before moving to another scar on your arm, his lips lingering as if to erase the pain it carried.

You couldn't stop the tears that spilled over, your hands trembling as they clutched at his shoulders. "Jay..." you whispered, your voice cracking.

"I see you," he murmured against your skin, his hands steady as they held your waist. "I see all of you, and I love every part of you."

His lips brushed against the scar on your collarbone, then another on your ribs, each kiss more deliberate than the last.

Jay's eyes softened as he whispered, "You're so beautiful, I love you."

The sincerity in his words made your heart race, your breath catching in your throat. You didn't know how to respond, your chest tightening with emotions too overwhelming to name. Instead, you leaned forward, capturing his lips in a kiss that spoke all the words you couldn't say.

His hands slid up your back, his touch firm yet tender as he pulled you closer, your bodies pressing together. The kiss deepened, slow and consuming, his lips moving against yours with a passion that sent heat coursing through your veins.

Then, with a flick of his fingers, you felt the clasp of your bra come undone. The cool air brushed against your skin.

A soft moan escaped your lips as his hand cupped your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple, teasing and flicking it in a way that made your back arch involuntarily. Jay groaned against your mouth, the sound low and deep, sending a wave of desire pooling low in your stomach.

He gently guided you to lay down, his lips never leaving yours until he moved to your jawline, then your neck, leaving a trail of heated kisses in his wake. 

He stopped at your left breast, his warm breath ghosting over your skin before he wrapped his lips around your nipple, sucking gently.

The sensation made you gasp, your fingers tangling in his hair as you arched into him. His tongue flicked over the sensitive peak, sending jolts of pleasure through your body, while his right hand gripped your other breast, kneading it with just the right amount of pressure.

You let your head fall back, lost in the feeling, soft moans spilling from your lips as your body responded to his every touch. His name escaped your lips like a prayer, and he hummed against your skin, the vibrations adding to the heat building within you.

Just when you thought you couldn't take any more, his right hand began to travel lower. His fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your panties, and you felt his touch move in slow, deliberate circles.

A gasp tore from your throat as his fingers teased you, his touch light but enough to make your hips lift in desperation. "Jay," you breathed, your voice trembling with need, your body aching for more.

"You're so perfect," he murmured, his voice rough and heavy with desire. His lips returned to yours, as his fingers continued their slow, torturous motion, building a fire within you that you couldn't extinguish.

When his finger slowly slid inside you, your breath hitched, your chest pressing into his as you wrapped your arms tightly around his neck. The sensation was overwhelming, every nerve in your body alive with heat as he moved inside you, testing your limits.

Jay's forehead rested against yours, his breath heavy and warm against your lips. "I'm going to add another one, baby," he said, his voice low and filled with lust. "Can you take it?"

You nodded quickly, your hands clutching at him, your voice trembling as you whispered, "I can take it for you."

He groaned at your words, his jaw tightening as he stared at you with darkened eyes. "Fuck, don't say stuff like that," he muttered, his voice almost a growl.

Without wasting another second, he slid a second finger inside you, stretching you in a way that made your back arch. The pace of his movements quickened, the slick sound of his fingers filling the room as your walls clenched around him. The pleasure built fast, sharp and electric, making your breath come out in broken gasps.

Jay leaned down, his lips trailing along your collarbone, then down to your chest again. His mouth latched onto your breast, his tongue flicking over your nipple, adding another layer of sensation that made your head spin.

"Jay," you whimpered, your hips moving on their own, grinding into his hand as his fingers curled inside you, hitting a spot that made stars explode behind your eyes.

"You're so good," he murmured against your skin, his free hand gripping your waist to keep you steady as his mouth moved between your breasts, leaving heated kisses in his wake.

"I'm gonna cum," you whined, your voice high and desperate as the pressure in your stomach coiled tighter and tighter.

Jay didn't let up. His tongue teased your nipple, licking it in slow, deliberate strokes that made you shudder, while his thumb suddenly found your clit, pressing and rubbing it in perfect rhythm with his fingers.

The combination was too much. Your body shaking uncontrollably as the pleasure crashed over you in waves. "Jay!" you sobbed, your hips lifting off the bed as your orgasm hit, leaving you trembling and breathless beneath him.

He didn't stop right away, his fingers and thumb slowing just enough to help you ride out the high, his lips never leaving your skin. "That's it," he whispered, his voice full of pride and adoration. "You're so beautiful like this."

Your hands clutched at his shoulders, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you tried to catch your breath. When his fingers finally slipped out of you, you whimpered softly, feeling the loss of his touch.

Jay kissed your forehead gently, his hands soothing over your sides as he pulled you into his arms, holding you close against his chest. "I've got you," he murmured, his voice soft again, filled with affection. "I've got you."

"I was preparing for the Purge this year," you said quietly, staring at your hands instead of your therapist, Ms. Jisoo.

"A self-defense plan, or something more?" she asked gently. There was no judgment in her voice, just calm curiosity.

"Something more," you admitted, biting your lip as your fingers fidgeted in your lap.

Ms. Jisoo nodded softly, giving you space to speak. "Do you still think about it now, after falling in love?"

You paused, her question lingering in your mind. "I don't know," you said after a moment. "I've been so focused on him... on how he makes me feel. The only thing I know for sure is I want to be a better person for him. Not... this."

You hesitated, your voice trembling. "Not some mentally unstable girl who can't even sleep through the night without waking up screaming."

Your chest tightened as the words left you, the guilt clawing at your throat.

Ms. Jisoo leaned forward slightly, her voice gentle and steady. "Wanting to heal for someone you love is a wonderful thing, Y/N. But it's okay to want to heal for yourself too. That doesn't make you weak, and it doesn't mean there's something wrong with you."

Her words softened something in your chest, but the guilt was still there, heavy and sharp. You bit your lip harder, tears welling in your eyes.

"D-Do you think I'm a monster?" you asked suddenly, your voice breaking. "For thinking about purging this year? For even wanting it?" You finally looked up at her, tears spilling as you waited for the answer you feared most.

Ms. Jisoo's expression stayed calm, warm, and understanding. "You're not a monster," she said gently, her voice soft as she stares at you.

"You're someone who's been hurt. Someone who's been through things no one should ever have to experience. It's okay to feel angry. It's okay to feel hate. Those feelings don't make you a monster. They make you human."

"But they feel so wrong," you whispered, tears streaming down your face. "Wanting it feels wrong."

"They're not wrong or right," she said softly. "They're just feelings."

You sniffled, wiping at your face with trembling hands, but her words didn't fully settle the storm inside you. After a moment, you looked back at her, hesitating before asking the question that had been on your mind for so long.

"Do you... agree with the Purge?"

Ms. Jisoo blinked, caught off guard by the question. She leaned back slightly, her hands folding in her lap as she thought about her answer.

"No," she said after a moment, "I don't. I don't think violence solves anything. And I don't think people should have the right to hurt others, no matter what the law says. The Purge... it brings out the worst in people. It allows fear and hate to fester. And I've seen how much it hurts people—people like you."

Her gaze softened, and she leaned forward slightly, her tone quiet. "But I also understand why you feel the way you do. The Purge forces people to live in fear, to carry anger and pain that they shouldn't have to carry. It's normal to feel conflicted. It's normal to feel angry."

You swallowed hard, her words sinking into you like drops of water on dry ground. "So... I'm not wrong for feeling like this?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

"No," she said firmly. "You're not wrong. You're human, Y/N. And humans feel messy, complicated things. There's no shame in that."

You nodded slowly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know what to do with myself. I keep thinking and thinking about what I should do to live freely... but nothing feels right."

Ms. Jisoo smiled gently, her expression steady and reassuring. "It's okay to feel lost, Y/N. Healing doesn't come with a map or a timeline. But you're taking steps forward, even if they're small. Just keep going. You'll find your way."

By the middle of February, your days had settled into a rhythm. You managed your job at the restaurant, worked through your therapy sessions every week, and spent most of your free time with Jay and his mother.

Their home felt warm, almost like a haven, and you found yourself doing small things to show your gratitude—buying Jay his favorite snacks, surprising his mom with flowers or something she'd mentioned in passing.

They never expected anything in return for their kindness, but doing those little things made you feel like you were giving back in some small way.

One evening, the restaurant was hosting a group of high-class businesspeople who had reserved the entire dining area. The room buzzed with laughter and chatter, the expensive suits and gleaming jewelry making you feel out of place as you carried trays of food to their table.

As you placed the dishes on the table, your eyes drifted to a middle-aged blonde woman sitting at the center. Her hair was perfectly styled, her tailored suit fitting her like it had been made just for her. She held a glass of wine delicately, twirling it in her hand as she laughed with the others.

Your breath hitched.

A memory slammed into you with the force of a freight train.

Gunshots. Screams. Blood splattered across the ground. You could see the flash of a machete. Hear the sound of a head rolling across the dirt. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, your throat tightening as the room spun around you. The scar on your arm felt like it was burning.

"Excuse me?" a man's voice pulled you back to reality, his tone polite but firm. "Do you need anything else?"

You blinked, your breath still shaky as you tried to steady yourself. The blonde woman's laughter had faded, and now she was looking at you, her piercing eyes sharp and almost bored, like she was trying to place where she'd seen you before.

You struggled to keep your hands from trembling as you clutched the tray tighter. "I-I'm fine," you stammered, inhaling deeply to keep your composure.

But it didn't help when one of the other women at the table—a brunette with diamond earrings—reached for your arm, pushing up your sleeve to reveal the long scar that ran down the length of it.

"God," the woman said, her voice dripping with disgust. "What a nasty scar you have." Her fingers brushed the raised tissue, making you flinch involuntarily. "How'd you even get this?"

You froze, the room seeming to go quiet as her words echoed in your ears. You couldn't breathe, couldn't think. You wanted to rip your arm away, but your body felt paralyzed, like you were trapped in that night all over again.

And then, you heard yourself asking, "Are you Ms. Wilson?"

The words felt foreign on your tongue, your voice shaky as you stared at the blonde woman.

She raised an eyebrow at you, her expression amused. "Yes, why?" she asked, taking another sip of her wine. "Do I know you?"

You almost laughed. Of course, she didn't remember. People like her never did.

Your grip on the tray tightened, your knuckles white as your mind raced. You remembered her now—her face, her voice, the way she had smiled behind the mask as she watched you and the others run for your lives.

And she didn't even remember you.

"No," you said, your voice steady despite the storm raging inside you. "You don't."

Her head tilted slightly, her sharp eyes narrowing as if she were trying to place you, but after a moment, she simply shrugged and turned back to her companions, already dismissing you from her mind.

Your heart pounded in your chest, your nails digging into the tray as you tried to contain the rage bubbling up inside you.

You turned on your heel, your legs trembling with each step as you left the dining area. The walls of the restaurant seemed to close in, the air thick and suffocating. 

Your breaths came in short, shallow gasps as you pushed through the kitchen doors, your tray clattering loudly onto the counter.

Gripping the edge of the counter, your knuckles turned white as you stared down at the cold, stainless steel surface. You willed yourself to calm down, to pull it together, but your heart was racing, your chest heaving as the memories refused to let you go.

You muttered something about not feeling well to your manager, barely hearing his reply as you left the restaurant. 

You didn't go to Jay's home like you usually did. Instead, you walked to your own apartment, your feet moving automatically, your head swirling with thoughts you couldn't control.

When you finally closed the door behind you, something inside you broke. You let out a scream, raw and primal, nails digging into your throat as if you could claw the pain away. Tears streamed down your face, hot and endless, blurring your vision as sob after sob wracked your body.

You stumbled to the target board you had set up on the wall—the one you used for practice, for preparation—and grabbed a knife. With a sharp, angry cry, you hurled it at the board. It hit the target right in the head.

You screamed again, louder this time, grabbing anything within reach and throwing it across the room. A glass shattered against the wall. A stack of books tumbled to the floor. You didn't care.

When you finally collapsed onto your bed, your body was trembling, your chest heaving as you cried into the pillow. The tears wouldn't stop, your sobs loud and broken as you curled into yourself, trying to escape the weight pressing down on you.

At some point, exhaustion took over, and you fell asleep, your face damp with tears.

You jolted awake when the bed shifted beneath you. Your heart leapt into your throat, your body tensing instinctively, but then you saw him—Jay, sitting beside you, his worried eyes scanning your face.

"You didn't come home," he said softly, his voice full of concern. 

"I was worried. Your manager said you took an early leave." He reached for your hand, holding it gently as his thumb brushed over your knuckles. "Did something happen?"

His voice was so calm, so steady, and it only made your tears resurface. You watched him lift your hand, pressing a soft kiss to your fingertips. The tenderness in his actions broke you all over again.

Your eyes watered, and before you could stop yourself, you threw your arms around him, burying your face in his chest as you cried. Your sobs were muffled against the fabric of his shirt, but he didn't say anything—he just held you, his arms wrapping around you tightly, protectively.

"It will never go away," you choked out between sobs, your voice muffled against his chest. "I don't know how to heal when this Purge still fucking exists."

Jay tightened his hold on you, his hand moving to the back of your head as he gently stroked your hair. 

"I'm so sorry," you cried, your voice breaking. "For always being like this."

"Shh," he murmured softly, pulling you into his lap. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close. "You don't have to apologize, love. Don't ever apologize for how you feel."

You buried your face in his shoulder, shaking your head. The words of comfort should've helped, but all they did was amplify the storm inside you.

"Do you want to talk about what happened?" Jay asked, his voice low and patient.

You shook your head, gripping him tighter. You couldn't bring yourself to say it. Not now. Not yet.

He didn't push. He just held you, his hand running up and down your back as you cried into him.

And then, as the room grew quieter, your emotions spilled into something else. The ache in your chest shifted, giving way to a deeper, more desperate need—the need to feel alive, to feel connected, to escape the weight of your mind, even if only for a moment.

Your lips found his, and he kissed you back without hesitation, his hands tightening around your waist. The kiss was slow at first, gentle, but soon it grew hungry, fueled by the raw emotion lingering in the air.

It wasn't long before your knees dug into the mattress, your body arching beneath him as he moved inside you. The pain and weight of your emotions blurred into the pleasure of his touch, every thrust sending a wave of heat through your body.

"A-ah! Fuck, slow down!" you gasped as he hit a spot inside you that made your toes curl.

"Felt so good," Jay groaned, his breath hot against your ear as his body pressed flush against yours. His lips found the nape of your neck, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses as his fingers kneaded your breasts, sending sparks of sensation through you.

You threw your head back, your arms giving out beneath you as he pressed deeper. "Jay," you whimpered, his name tumbling from your lips as your body trembled with every movement.

"Love you," he groaned, his voice rough with desperation. "Fuck, a-ah, I'm gonna cum."

"Inside me, please," you begged, your voice barely above a whisper, but he heard you.

Jay's body fell against yours as he pushed deeper, his breath hitching as his release overtook him. The feeling of him filling you pushed you over the edge, your orgasm crashing into you so intensely that tears pricked your eyes.

Your cries of overstimulation mixed with his groans, his hips moving in small, desperate thrusts as he fill inside you. Finally, he collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath.

His lips pressed soft kisses along your forehead and temple, his hand trailing to your stomach, where his fingers traced gentle patterns on your skin.

"I love you," he whispered, his voice so full of sincerity that it made your chest ache.

You turned your head, catching his lips in a soft, lingering kiss. He kissed you back, his thumb brushing against your cheek.

"Spend the Purge at our house," he said after a moment, his forehead resting against yours. "You'll be safe there. I'll protect you. I promise."

His words should have comforted you. They should have been enough. But as you stared into his eyes, full of love and hope, you felt your chest tighten.

Because no matter what Jay did to protect you, no matter how much healing you tried to find, there was one truth you couldn't ignore.

No matter how hard you fought it, no matter how much you loved him, you're still broken, and lost.

March 21, 3:00 PM

You wiped the tables methodically, trying to focus on the task, but the air in the restaurant was tense. All eyes were glued to the TV mounted on the wall, where the announcement of the Annual Purge was being broadcast. The monotone voice of the announcer echoed through the room, describing the rules and restrictions for the night.

Your manager came up to you, his voice urgent. "Hey, take an early leave. Go home and get ready. You shouldn't be out when the sirens start."

You nodded, offering him a faint smile. "Thanks, I'll head out soon."

After finishing up and helping close the restaurant, you walked back to your apartment. The sun was dipping lower in the sky, casting long shadows over the streets. As you set up a small barricade in your apartment—nothing fancy, just furniture pressed against the windows and doors—you heard a car honk outside.

Peeking out, you saw Jay leaning casually against his car, waiting for you with that familiar warm smile.

You felt a wave of comfort wash over you at the sight of him. Smiling back, you hurried outside, throwing your arms around his neck and pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

"Let's go home?" he asked, his voice calm and full of care.

You hesitated, glancing back at your apartment. "I need to grab a few things first," you said.

Jay nodded easily. "Of course. Take your time."

After changing out of your work uniform, you slipped into a white off-shoulder dress that reached your knees—something simple yet elegant. You'd never worn it before, and even the soft fabric against your skin felt foreign. Paired with Mary Jane shoes and a pair of cute white socks.

When you stepped into Jay's car, he looked up at you, his eyes widening slightly. "Wow," he murmured, his gaze softening. "You look beautiful."

You felt your cheeks warm as he leaned in, holding your jaw gently and pecking your lips. "What's with the outfit today?" he teased, laughing lightly.

You smiled faintly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "I just thought... maybe I'd wear something different. Something nice."

Jay laughed again, his hand reaching out toward your thigh, but you subtly redirected it, placing it over yours instead. He didn't seem to mind, intertwining his fingers with yours as his other hand rested on the steering wheel.

March 21, 4:30 PM

The house was buzzing with noise by the time you arrived. From the top of the stairs, you peeked down and saw six boys piling in through the entrance, bags slung over their shoulders as they greeted Jay's mother.

"Oh, it's Jay's friends!" his mother exclaimed warmly, hugging them one by one.

You recognized Ni-ki and Sunoo, the only ones you'd met before. The rest were strangers to you, their confident voices filling the house as they exchanged jokes and pleasantries.

"Hi, Mrs. Park! I hope you don't mind if we spend the Purge here at your house!" said a tall man with an easy smile.

"No problem, Heesung," Jay's mother replied, her voice full of affection. "What about your parents and sisters?"

"They're at a party," another boy replied casually. "Some politician's mansion. They love that kind of thing."

Your breath hitched, the words hitting a nerve.

What a nice life to be rich, you thought bitterly.

"Hey," Jay's voice pulled you from your thoughts. You turned to see him standing beside you, his brow furrowed slightly. "Are you okay?"

You forced a smile, one you'd perfected over the years. "Yeah, I'm fine. Your friends are downstairs."

Jay studied you for a moment longer, but then he smiled, intertwining his hand with yours as he led you down the stairs.

The boys were loud and full of energy, laughing and teasing each other as they set their bags down and unpacked their things. Jay's mother fussed over them, offering snacks and asking about their families.

"This is Y/N, my girlfriend," Jay announced proudly, pulling you close by your waist.

The room fell quiet for a brief moment, and you could feel their gazes on you.

"Oh my God, you're a thing now?" Jay's mother gasped, her hands clasped over her mouth.

"Isn't it obvious?" Jay replied with a laugh.

One of the boys stepped forward, introducing himself. "Hi, Y/N! I'm Heesung. This is Jake, Sunghoon, and Jungwon. I guess you already know Ni-ki and Sunoo."

You offered a polite smile, nodding as they all greeted you.

As the evening went on, you stayed mostly quiet, helping Jay's mother prepare food while the boys joked around. Jay noticed your silence, slipping his arms around your waist from behind as you worked in the kitchen.

"Hey," he murmured against your ear. "You're safe, okay? You don't need to worry."

You turned to look at him, your heart heavy with emotions you couldn't express. "I love you," you said softly, staring into his eyes.

Jay smiled, pressing a kiss to your lips. "I love you more," he replied, glancing at his watch. "It's already 6:30. I need to barricade the house."

You nodded, watching as he started to walk away. Then, impulsively, you called out, "Jay."

He turned back, his eyes soft. "Hmm?"

Walking up to him, you wrapped your arms around his waist, hugging him tightly. His hands found your face, gently brushing his thumb across your cheek as he looked at you with worry. "Are you anxious, baby?" he asked softly.

"No," you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. "I just wanted to say I love you again."

Jay let out a soft laugh, leaning down to kiss you. "Love, I'm just barricading the house, not purging." He kissed your forehead tenderly, his lips lingering for a moment. "Now, let me lock everything down so we'll be safe, okay?"

You nodded, stepping back reluctantly as he disappeared toward the storage room.

Jay walked through the dim hallway leading to the storage room when he heard footsteps behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Sunghoon catching up to him, a casual smirk on his face as he slung an arm around Jay's shoulder.

"Yo, bro," Sunghoon said casually, falling into step beside him. "No offense but, you sure about that girl?"

Jay frowned, shrugging off Sunghoon's arm. "Why? What are you talking about?"

Sunghoon shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. "She just... seems like a lot. I mean, no offense, but she looks like she's difficult to handle."

Jay's brows furrowed deeper, his steps slowing as he turned to face Sunghoon. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Look, we care about you," Sunghoon said, raising his hands as if to calm him. "Have you seen her scars? Her face? She's clearly been through some shit. Is she even healed from all that?"

Jay's jaw tightened, his teeth clenching as anger flared in his chest. He stepped closer to Sunghoon, his voice low and dangerous. "Watch your mouth."

"Chill, man, I'm just saying." Sunghoon grabbed Jay's arm in an attempt to reason with him. "That girl's got baggage, and I'm telling you, she's going to be a lot of problems for you. She's not stable, bro. You can't tell me you haven't noticed."

Jay didn't let him finish. His hand shot out, grabbing Sunghoon by the collar and shoving him back against the wall. "Say another word, and I swear I'll make you regret it," he growled, his voice dripping with rage.

Sunghoon's eyes widened slightly, but he didn't back down. "I'm trying to look out for you, Jay," he said, his tone firm. "You're my friend. I don't want you getting hurt."

Jay released him with a sharp shove, his chest heaving as he tried to control his temper. "Don't ever talk about her like that again," he said coldly, his eyes burning with anger. "You don't know a damn thing about her."

He turned on his heel, ignoring Sunghoon as he walked into the storage room. His hands trembled slightly as he pressed the button to activate the lockdown. The sound of metal walls sliding into place filled the air, sealing the house and cutting off the world outside.

"Jay, listen to me," Sunghoon said, his voice following him into the room. "I'm serious. There's something off about her. Just think about it, man."

Jay didn't respond. He slammed the door shut behind him, shutting Sunghoon out both literally and figuratively.

Returning to the living room, Jay found the rest of his friends lounging on the couches, laughing and exchanging stories. His mother was tidying up nearby, a small smile on her face as she listened to their chatter.

"Where's Y/N?" Jay asked, his eyes scanning the room.

"I think she went to your room," Ni-ki said, glancing up from his phone. "She said she wanted to sleep early."

Jay nodded, his shoulders relaxing slightly. But before he could take another step, Sunghoon appeared at his side again.

"Man, I'm trying to talk to you," Sunghoon said, his voice laced with frustration.

Jay's patience snapped. Without thinking, he turned and landed a punch squarely on Sunghoon's jaw, sending him stumbling backward.

The room fell silent as the others jumped to their feet.

"Jay! What the hell are you doing?!" Jake shouted, stepping between them.

"I'm just trying to give him advice about his girlfriend!" Sunghoon snapped, holding his jaw as he glared at Jay.

"Are you seriously saying that fucking nonsense while my girlfriend is in this house?!" he shouted. "How dare you even say that shit in front of me?!"

Sunghoon raised his hands in defense, but Jay wasn't done. He stepped closer, pointing a finger at him. "You've known her for, what, an hour? And you think you have the right to judge her? To judge us? Fuck you, Sunghoon!"

"Jay, calm down," Heesung said cautiously, stepping between the two of them with his hands outstretched, but Jay wasn't having it.

"You don't get to judge her just because of what you think you see!" Jay growled, his voice trembling with anger. He shoved Heesung and Jake off as they tried to hold him back.

"Get the fuck off me!" he barked, storming out of the living room. His footsteps pounded against the floor as he made his way up the stairs, leaving everyone behind in stunned silence.

Jay climbed the stairs two at a time, his anger still simmering beneath the surface. He pulled out his phone, swiping through his notifications until he found a message from Dr. Jisoo that he had missed earlier.

Dr. Jisoo: Good afternoon, Mr. Park. I just wanted to check in on Y/N since she's missed her last three sessions. Please keep an eye on her, especially today—it's a particularly triggering event for her. Thank you.

Jay felt a wave of dread wash over him, his heart sinking into his stomach. He quickened his pace, practically sprinting to his bedroom.

"Y/N?" he called, pushing the door open.

But the room was empty.

Panic set in as he checked the bathroom, the closet, all of the room, even under the bed, but you were nowhere to be found.

He bolted back down the stairs, his voice frantic as he called out for you. "Y/N?! Where are you?!"

His mother stepped into the hallway, her face pale with worry. "What's wrong, Jay?"

"She's gone," he said, his voice shaking. "Did anyone see her leave?!"

Everyone in the living room exchanged confused looks, shrugging helplessly.

"Y/N?!" Jay shouted again, his voice echoing through the house.

Jay froze as the broadcast echoed through the house, the robotic voice chilling him to the bone.

"This is not a test. This is your emergency broadcast system announcing the commencement of the Annual Purge sanctioned by the U.S Government.

Weapons of class 4 and lower have been authorized for use during the Purge. All other weapons are restricted. Government officials of ranking 10 have been granted immunity from the Purge and shall not be harmed.

Commencing at the siren, any and all crime, including murder, will be legal for 12 continuous hours. Police, fire, and emergency medical services will be unavailable until tomorrow morning, until 7 a.m., when the Purge concludes.

Blessed by our New Founding Fathers and America, a nation reborn. May God be with you all."

The final words echoed in his ears as the sirens blared, signaling the start of the Purge.

His heart pounded, his chest tight as he pieced everything together. The missed therapy sessions, how quiet you had been all day, the way you hugged him like it might be the last time.

You weren't in the house.

You were out there.

Jay turned on his heel and sprinted to the storage room, his mind racing as panic surged through him.

He yanked open his closet, grabbing the bag he had packed weeks ago—just in case. Inside were the essentials: a shotgun, a pistol, extra ammunition, and a knife. He tossed the bag over his shoulder, his hands trembling as he loaded the pistol, cocking it with precision.

"Jay, what are you doing?!" his mother cried, standing at the door with tears streaming down her face.

"Unlock the barricade and lock it again after I leave," he said coldly, his voice devoid of the warmth she was used to.

"Jay, you can't! It's dangerous out there!" she pleaded, stepping closer.

"Unlock it!" he snapped, his voice sharp, though his eyes betrayed his inner turmoil. "Please, Mom. I have to go."

"No," Sunghoon interrupted, stepping forward and grabbing Jay's arm. "You're not thinking straight. She left, Jay. She chose to go out there—"

Jay swatted his hand away, pointing the pistol directly at Sunghoon's head. The room went silent.

"Jay!" Heesung shouted, stepping forward.

"Come any closer, and I'll blow his fucking head off," Jay growled, his jaw tightening as his finger hovered near the trigger. "You don't get to stop me. None of you do."

Sunghoon raised his hands slowly, his expression shifting to one of caution. "Alright, man. Just... relax, okay? I'm just trying to—"

"Shut up," Jay hissed, the tension in his body radiating outward. His voice lowered, trembling slightly. "I told you to stay out of this. She's out there, and I'm going to find her."

He turned his gaze to Ni-ki, who was frozen near the security console. "Ni-ki," Jay said firmly. "Unlock the barricade. Now."

Ni-ki hesitated, looking at Jungwon and Jake for guidance, but neither said anything. With a shaky hand, Ni-ki pressed the button, and the sound of the metal walls lifting reverberated through the house.

"Jay, please," his mother sobbed, grabbing his arm as he stepped toward the door.

Jay paused, his resolve faltering for just a moment as he looked at her. "I'm sorry," he said softly, leaning down to kiss her forehead. "But I can't stay here knowing she's out there."

Tears streamed down her face as she nodded, her voice trembling. "I understand, be safe. Please."

"I will," Jay said, stepping out the door. "Lock it the second I'm gone."

The metal walls began to descend behind him as he walked to his car, his mind racing with questions. Where could you have gone? Why didn't you tell him? Were you safe? Were you scared?

Sliding into the driver's seat, he tossed the bag into the passenger side and gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white. His eyes scanned the darkened streets, the occasional scream or gunshot in the distance reminding him of the stakes.

Without hesitation, he pressed the gas pedal.

You walk slowly down an unfamiliar road, your steps unsteady. You just keep walking and walking, unsure of where you're going or why. You don't understand yourself anymore. You thought everything was finally okay. What more could you ask for?

You have a loving boyfriend who always tries to make you smile. His mother cares for you like her own. You eat three meals a day. You're seeing a therapist. And you even have a safe place to hide on Purge Night.

So why do you feel like this?

Why do you feel so broken when you should feel whole?

Why are you out here, in the middle of the street, on the most dangerous night of the year, with just a knife strapped under your dress?

You wonder if Jay has noticed you're gone. He probably has by now. Your chest tightens at the thought of him pacing back and forth, calling your name.

Your lifeless eyes stare ahead as you walk deeper into the quiet street. It's so still, unnaturally still. No trucks rumbling down the road. No gangs or masked figures in sight.

"Kill me already!" you scream into the emptiness. Your voice echoes down the road, but there's no answer. Not a single sniper or purger takes the bait.

Then, a distant cry catches your ear—a plea for help. You turn toward the sound and walk toward it, your grip tightening on the handle of the knife hidden beneath your dress.

As you approach, you see a young girl sprinting toward you, clutching her bleeding waist. Four people in masks are chasing her, laughing like it's some sick game.

"Man, we just want to purge!" one of them—a woman—cackles. That laugh—it burrows into your memory like a needle.

The girl stumbles, and when her eyes meet yours, there's desperation written all over them. She collapses at your feet, her blood soaking through your white dress as she clings to you.

"Please... help me," she gasps.

Her words are cut off by a gunshot. Blood splatters across your face as a hole appears in her forehead. Her body falls limp, her grip on your dress loosening.

"My fucking soul feels cleansed!" the woman says with a twisted laugh. The others laugh with her, like a pack of hyenas.

"Up next—" the woman starts, raising her pistol toward you.

But you're faster.

In one fluid motion, you pull out your knife and hurl it at her. It pierces through her mask and into her skull. She drops instantly, blood dripping from the blade.

The remaining three hesitate, stunned. That's all the time you need. You yank the knife from the dead woman's head and dash toward the others, slicing the nearest one's throat in a clean arc.

The man in the joker mask fumbles for his gun, but you grab the dead body beside you, using it as a shield. Then, you throw the knife again, this time hitting his chest.

He stumbles back, gasping for air, as you snatch his gun from his weakening grip. Before he can even hit the ground, you fire a shot straight into his skull.

Now, there's only one left.

The last purger, wearing a cat mask, drops to his knees and pulls the mask off, revealing a trembling man. He raises his hands in surrender, tears streaming down his face.

"P-please... spare me. I-I just wanted to purge this year," he stammers, his voice cracking.

You glare at him, the weight of your actions and emotions swirling inside you.

"How many innocent people have you killed in all the purges you've been a part of?" you ask, your tone icy.

His lip quivers. "P-probably 70—"

Before he can finish, you pull the trigger.

The gunshot echoes through the street as he collapses, lifeless.

Silence fills the street once more as you stand there, your white dress soaked in blood, surrounded by bodies. You don't know how long you've been standing there, staring at the carnage.

Then, it happens.

A soft laugh escapes your lips. It bubbles up from your throat, quiet at first, but it grows louder, sharper, until it echoes down the empty street. It's not a happy laugh. It's hollow, bitter, unhinged.

You bring a hand to your face, your fingers brushing against the blood splattered across your skin.

You really have lost yourself, haven't you? Or, did you found it now?

You hate the Purge. You hate the monsters it creates. You hate the people who thrive on it, the ones who laugh, who kill, who hurt.

So why are you here, in the middle of the night, doing the exact same thing?

Tears prick at your eyes, but they don't fall. You just stand there, your shoulders trembling as the weight of everything presses down on you. You feel nothing. And that terrifies you most of all.

You crouch down, wiping your knife on the dead woman's clothes, smearing blood across the fabric.

Your hands tremble slightly, it's not fear—it's something else. A quiet storm you can't name.

Once the blade gleams clean, you tuck it back into the thigh strap beneath your dress. Grabbing the fallen gun, you check the chamber and reload it. The satisfying click of the cocked weapon echoes as you straighten up and continue walking.

The street stretches ahead, eerily quiet except for the distant sounds of chaos—gunshots, screams, and the occasional rumble of an engine.

Three figures suddenly sprint toward you from the shadows. They glance at you, wide-eyed, as they pass by, their faces pale with fear.

Ahead of you, three figures suddenly appear from the shadows. Their faces are pale with fear as they sprint past you. One of them—a panicked old man—stumbles and grabs your arm, his grip shaky.

"Miss, don't go that way!" he says, his voice hoarse and desperate. "That group's rounding people up—they're psychos!"

His words barely register. Your gaze drifts past him, toward the direction he came from. A cold calm washes over you as he keeps tugging at your arm, pleading.

A large truck screeches to a halt in front of you, its headlights blinding. The old man panics, letting go of your arm and bolting down the road. He doesn't get far. A sharp crack rings out, and he collapses mid-stride, a bullet tearing through his back.

You don't flinch.

The truck door swings open, and several masked figures step out.

One of them grabs your arm, yanking it behind your back as another snatches the gun from your hand.

"Blessed be the New Founding Fathers of America," one of them says, leaning close to your face.

You smile. Not a kind smile—a bitter one. "Blessed be them," you whisper back.

Then, without warning, you jerk your head forward, slamming it into the man's nose. He stumbles back with a grunt of pain, clutching his face as blood pours through his fingers.

Before the others can react, you twist your arm free and yank your knife from its strap. The blade flashes in the dim light as you slice upward, catching one of them in the throat. They gargle and drop to their knees, clutching at the wound.

Another lunges at you, swinging a metal pipe. You duck under the blow, driving the knife into his ribs. He gasps, his body jolting as you twist the blade, blood spraying onto your dress.

You scream—whether it's from rage or something deeper, you're not sure.

The sound rips from your throat as you yank the knife free and stab again, and again, and again, until his body goes limp.

Behind you, the first man—the one whose nose you broke—recovers quickly. He raises his gun, aiming it directly at your back.

You're too focused, too lost in the heat of the moment to notice him.

The loud crack of gunfire fills the air, but it doesn't come from his weapon.

The man's body jerks violently as a burst of bullets tears through him, and he collapses to the ground, lifeless.

Your breath catches in your throat, and you spin around.

Your wide eyes locking onto the figure standing behind him.

"Jay," you whisper, your voice barely audible.

He steps forward slowly, his shotgun still in hand. His expression is unreadable, his eyes flicking over the bodies surrounding you before settling on you.

You brace yourself for the anger you expect to see in his face. For him to yell at you, demand answers, maybe even tell you he's done with you.

But he doesn't.

Instead, he stops in front of you, his gaze softening as he raises a hand to your face. His thumb brushes gently across your cheek, wiping away the streaks of blood smeared there.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice full of worry. "Are you hurt?"

You can't speak. Your lips tremble as tears blur your vision. Slowly, your hand rises to hold his against your cheek.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly, his voice heavy with guilt. "I'm sorry for not noticing sooner that you weren't okay. I should've known."

His words hit you like a punch to the chest, and you shake your head, your tears spilling over. "W-what are you doing here?" you manage to say, your voice shaking. "It's dangerous."

Jay smiles softly, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. "I could say the same thing to you, love," he murmurs, pulling you into a warm, protective embrace.

His arms wrap around you tightly, holding you like he's afraid to let go. You bury your face in his chest, your tears soaking into his shirt.

"I can't let my girl be out here alone on Purge Night," he whispers into your hair.

You pull back slightly, looking up at him, your smile shaky and uncertain. "Y-you're not angry?"

Jay shakes his head slowly, his warm hand cupping your face as if to anchor you. "No, baby. I'm not angry," he says softly.

Your lips tremble, the guilt clawing its way up your throat as you look into his eyes. "I... I'm a monster, Jay. Look at what I did," you whisper, your voice cracking.

His thumb gently strokes your cheek, his gaze never leaving yours. There's no judgment there, no fear—just a quiet understanding that makes your chest ache.

"I don't think I'm normal anymore, Jay," you say, your voice barely audible as tears spill freely down your face. "I don't even know what I'm feeling right now. I don't know who I am anymore."

You start to sob, the raw emotion pouring out of you like a dam breaking. Jay leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours, his other hand sliding to the back of your neck to hold you steady.

"I love you," he whispers into the space between you. "No matter what. No matter what you've done, no matter what you want to do... I love you."

His words hit you like a wave, and your sobs come harder, your body trembling in his arms.

"You always ask if you're normal," he continues, his tone soothing as he brushes a stray tear from your cheek. "But I already told you, love. Who cares about normal? Normal doesn't matter to me. You matter to me."

His arms wrap around you tighter, pulling you against his chest.

"If this is what you need to do to heal, then I'll be here," he whispers into your ear. "And I'm sorry if I ever made you feel like you couldn't say this to me. I'll always understand, love. Always. Just... don't do this again without me knowing, okay?"

You nod against his chest, your sobs muffling into his shirt.

"I'm such a—" you try to speak, but the words get caught in your throat, your cries making it impossible to finish the sentence.

Jay shushes you softly, his hand rubbing slow circles on your back. "You're not. You're not anything bad, baby. You're just... hurting."

You pull back slightly, your hands clutching his shirt as you look up at him, your voice trembling. "I hate it, Jay. I hate what I've become. I'm not me anymore. It terrifies me."

His hand moves to cradle the back of your head, and he presses a soft kiss to your hair. "I know," he whispers. "But I'll be here. I'll be with you through every terrifying moment, love."

For a long moment, the two of you just stay like that—his arms holding you close, your head resting against his chest as your breathing slowly evens out. The tension in your body begins to ease, though the storm in your mind still churns.

Jay pulls back slightly, tilting his head to meet your gaze, his smile growing softer but never losing its warmth.

"Are you enjoying yourself right now?" he asks, his voice light and genuine, almost teasing.

You blink at him, surprised by the question, but the answer bubbles up inside you before you can stop it. A faint smile begins to form on your lips, something that feels both wrong and inexplicably right.

"Yes," you admit quietly, your voice steadier than before. "I think I am."

Jay's smile widens just a little, his thumb brushing against your cheek again as if to ground you.

"That's all that matters," he says softly, his voice filled with a calm acceptance that makes the tension in your chest ease.

Then, his eyes flicker toward the carnage surrounding you—the lifeless bodies, the blood that stains the street, and your hands, still trembling but steady enough to hold the knife.

"What do you want to do? Hmm?" he asks, his tone curious yet understanding, as if ready to follow wherever your answer leads.

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the gun in your hands and the heat of the night pressing against your skin. Your lips curve into a determined smile, and your answer comes without hesitation.

"I want to kill purgers," you say, your voice clear and sharp, your eyes shining with a fire that you hadn't felt in years.

Jay doesn't flinch or waver at your words. Instead, he nods, stepping closer to you and holding out his shotgun. "Here," he says, his voice calm as he hands it over.

You take it, your hands steady now, and your eyes glint as you examine the weapon.

"Is this a SPAS-12?" you ask, running your fingers along the smooth barrel.

Jay chuckles softly, watching the way your gaze flickers with excitement.

"Yeah. My dad gave it to me," he replies as he takes your free hand in his.

"Come on," he says, tugging you gently toward his car. "Let's get out of here. It's dangerous to stay in one spot too long."

You follow him, practically bouncing on your heels as you intertwine your fingers with his. As the two of you approach the car, a question bubbles up, one you hadn't thought to ask before.

"Where's your dad, anyway? I've never met him," you say, glancing at him as he unlocks the driver's side door.

Jay shrugs lightly, opening the door for you.

"He's overseas," he explains as you climb in. "He's been busy. A lot of countries are starting to plan their own versions of the Purge, and he's consulting on security systems for them."

"Wow," you mutter, settling into the passenger seat as Jay slides in beside you.

He starts the car, the engine rumbling to life as he glances over at you. "You ready?"

"Is this car bulletproof?" you ask, running your hand along the interior with a raised eyebrow.

Jay smirks, shrugging. "I don't think so, but who needs bulletproof when we've got each other?"

You giggle, the sound light and unexpected, even to yourself.

As he presses the gas pedal hard, the car lurches forward, and the thrill of speed courses through you.

The windows are down, and the cool night air rushes past you as you cock the shotgun, the familiar click of the weapon sending a chill down your spine.

You lean halfway out the window, scanning the streets for purgers, your eyes narrowing when you spot a group down the road.

"Hey, fuckers!" you shout, your voice carrying across the night.

Jay glances over at you, his grin widening as he watches you. "Careful with my car, love," he teases, though there's nothing but pride in his tone.

You don't respond, too focused on your target. Raising the shotgun, you take aim and fire. The blast rings out, and one of the masked figures crumples to the ground.

Jay chuckles, gripping the steering wheel tightly as he drifts the car in a sharp circle, giving you a clear view of the rest of the group.

You take the opportunity, cocking the shotgun again and pulling the trigger, your laughter bubbling up as another purger falls.

Jay's eyes are on you the whole time.

There's a softness in his gaze, even amid the violence. A quiet love that seems to radiate from him as he smiles, the chaos of the night fading away for him.

There's just you, him, and the shared thrill of the hunt.

March 22, 4:00 AM

The two of you stand on the rooftop of an abandoned building, the city stretched out before you in ruins. Fires burn in the distance, their orange glow painting the night in an eerie light. Screams and gunshots echo faintly through the air, but up here, it almost feels quiet.

Jay's arms wrap around you from behind, pulling you against him as he rests his chin on your shoulder.

"When I first saw you, I thought you were the prettiest girl I'd ever seen," he says softly, his voice low in your ear.

You snort, your lips twitching into a faint smile. "I smelled like shit, Jay. I looked like skin and bones. Where's the 'pretty' in that?" you ask, a chuckle escaping you.

Jay presses his lips to your neck, his voice a murmur against your skin. "You were pretty then. You're pretty now. You've always been pretty."

"You should hate me," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the distant crackling of fires below. "For leaving. For running away."

Jay's grip tightened, his hands pulling you closer as his forehead pressed against the back of your head. "I could never hate you," he murmured. "Not when I know what you've been carrying."

You opened your mouth to argue, to push back

"I don't deserve you," you admitted, your voice cracking as the weight of the night caught up with you.

Jay let out a soft laugh, the sound warm and reassuring. "You don't get to decide that," he said, his tone teasing but full of affection. "That's my call, and I'm not going anywhere.

You tilt your head slightly, giving him more access, your breath hitching as he kisses the sensitive spot just below your ear. His lips linger, soft and warm, before his tongue flicks against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

A quiet moan escapes you as he nips at your neck, his teeth grazing your skin before he soothes the bite with a kiss. "Jay..."

His hands begin to roam, one sliding up to cup your breast, squeezing gently, while the other dips beneath your dress. His fingers brush over the fabric of your panties, teasing the sensitive bundle of nerves there.

"You're really doing this?" you sigh, half-laughing even as your body arches into his touch.  "In the middle of the purge?"

Jay chuckles softly, his lips still pressed against your neck. "We're standing on a rooftop, watching the world burn," he murmurs. "Seems like the perfect time to me."

His fingers move with more purpose now, slipping past the fabric of your panties and brushing against your wet folds. You gasp, your body trembling against him as he slides one finger inside you, curling it just enough to make you bite down on your lip.

"You know," Jay whispers, his voice low and rough as his free hand kneads your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers. "I'm not normal either."

You barely manage to form a response, your mind clouded by the pleasure building inside you. "W-what do you mean?"

Jay bites gently at your neck again, his lips curling into a grin. "Watching you out there... gunning down those purgers... smearing blood all over that cute little dress..." He groans, his hips pressing into you so you can feel just how hard he is. 

"Fuck, it turns me on so much. You looked so beautiful. So fucking dangerous."

His confession sends a jolt of heat straight through you, and your legs almost buckle as he slides another finger inside you, his pace increasing. His other hand slips beneath the neckline of your dress, tugging it down just enough to expose your chest as he palms your bare skin.

"Jay..." you gasp, your head falling back against his shoulder as his fingers work you over, pushing deeper and curling just right.

"You're so perfect like this," he whispers, his voice breathy and filled with adoration as he watches your face twist with pleasure. 

"The way your body moves, the way you moan for me... I'll never get enough of you."

His thumb brushes over your clit, sending a shockwave of pleasure through you. You grip his arms, your nails digging into his skin as your body starts to shake.

"F-fuck, Jay," you cry out, your voice muffled as he kisses your temple.

"That's it, baby," he encourages. "Let go for me. Let me see you lose yourself."

You're barely holding on, your body trembling as he picks up the pace, his fingers sliding in and out of you relentlessly. 

The pressure inside you builds and builds until it snaps, a wave of heat and pleasure crashing over you as your orgasm takes hold.

You cry out, your hips bucking against his hand as you ride out the high, your walls clenching around his fingers. Jay doesn't stop, his movements gentle now as he works you through it, his lips pressing soft kisses to your neck and shoulder.

When the aftershocks finally subside, you collapse back against him, your chest rising and falling as you catch your breath. Jay wraps his arms around you tightly, holding you close as he presses a kiss to your temple.

"I love you," he whispers, his voice soft and sincere.  "Now, let me eat."

Before you can respond, he gently turns you, guiding your back to the cool metal railing. His hands are steady on your waist

"Park Jongseong!"

He crouched, his teeth hooking the edge of your panties and dragging them down, baring you inch by inch. The fabric pooled at your knees before his face dove between your thighs, his tongue parting you

He worked his way up to your clit, licking slow, teasing circles that made your knees threaten to buckle.

His grip tightened on your waist, firm hands pulling you closer, urging your hips to rock against his face.

Your right leg lifted, hooking over his shoulder for balance, your fingers threading into his hair to anchor yourself. You tugged, hard, grinding yourself against him. His groan reverberated through you, the vibrations sending shockwaves straight to your core.

"Jongseong!" you sobbed, your voice breaking as the intensity overwhelmed you. Your grip on his hair tightened, your body trembling.

Abruptly, he pulled away, leaving you breathless and desperate. 

Before you could protest, his hands were on your shoulders, pushing you down. You hit the rough ground with a muted thud, your palms scraping against the coarse surface.

You barely had time to process the sensation before his hands were on your hips, lifting you up.

"Need to be inside you, baby."

You heard him groan softly, the sound of him stroking himself before he pressed against your entrance.

The stretch as he slid inside you was slow, deliberate, every inch a sensation that left you gasping. You clenched around him instinctively, earning a hiss from him as he threw his head back, savoring the feeling.

"Faster," you whimpered, your voice trembling with need. Your hands scrambled to reach his, gripping the one on your waist.

"My baby wants more?" he laughed, a dark, almost mocking edge to his tone.

Before you could answer, he gathered your wrists in one hand, pulling them behind your back and holding them there. His pace quickened, his hips snapping against yours with bruising force.

You screamed, your voice raw, your body pliant in his grasp.

He didn't stop, didn't relent, even as your cries turned to desperate whines. You felt yourself teetering on the edge, your body trembling violently. But just as you were about to fall over, his movements faltered.

"No!" you cried out, shaking in his hold, trying to move, to chase the release that hovered just out of reach. His hand slid to the back of your neck, pressing you down firmly.

"Don't move," Jay ordered, his voice low and commanding. "I'm still enjoying the view."

You sobbed, your body trembling, your desperation mounting. "Please! I'll be good, I swear, please!"

He growled low in his throat, his hips slamming forward again, harder, rougher, making you cry out.

Gunshots echoed faintly in the background, but they felt distant, irrelevant. All that mattered was the man above you, his hands pinning you down, his movements relentless.

Your mouth fell open as you felt him twitch inside you, his pace faltering before he suddenly flipped you onto your back. Your legs went limp, draped over his shoulders as he sank into you again, his face hovering inches from yours.

Your focus locked on him, the way his brows knit together, the way his jaw clenched, the way his sweat-dampened hair clung to his forehead. He was beautiful in his rawness, primal and consuming.

"I wanna cum," you whimpered, your hand reaching for your clit, desperate for release, but he slapped it away with a sharp look.

"Hold it, love," he commanded, his breath ragged. He leaned down, his mouth latching onto your breast, his tongue swirling around your nipple before he bit down, hard.

You screamed, tears streaming down your face as your body writhed beneath him.

"Can't hold it anymore," you sobbed, shaking your head, your pleas growing more desperate.

"Just a little longer," he whispered, his voice a strained plea of his own. His thumb found your clit, pressing down in firm, maddening circles, even as his hips drove into you faster, harder.

The moment came like a tidal wave, crashing through you with a force that left you breathless, your body spasming around him.

"A-ah fuck!" you screamed, your voice breaking.

His rhythm faltered as you tightened around him, pulling him over the edge with you. He buried himself deep, his groan low and guttural as he came, filling you completely.

"Jay, can't!" you whimpered, your body oversensitive, trembling as he continued to move, chasing the last echoes of his high.

"Fuck, I love you," he muttered, his voice thick with exhaustion

Finally, he stilled, collapsing beside you. His arm looped around your waist, pulling you close.

"You're not falling asleep on me, are you?" he teased, his voice soft.

"Tired," you mumbled, pouting with your eyes half-closed.

"What happened to killing purgers all night?" he asked, his tone light, teasing.

You cracked one eye open to glare at him. "It's morning," you grumbled.

Jay chuckled, his fingers gently smoothing down your dress as best as he could. His eyes lingered on you, softening as you murmured sleepily against his ear.

"I wanna kill Ms. Wilson next year," you whispered, your voice faint.

His lips curved into a small, knowing smile. He kissed your forehead softly, his breath warm against your skin. "Anything for you, love."

You hummed in response, your body melting further into his hold. "I hate how the Purge is so right," you mumbled, your words fading into the quiet dawn. "It really did cleanse my soul."

March 22, 6:45 AM

The sun hung low on the horizon, casting a pale golden glow over the city. The streets were eerily still, a grim quiet settling over the aftermath of the Purge.

Jay carried you carefully to his car, his movements slow and deliberate as he set you down in the passenger seat. For a moment, he lingered, crouching beside you. His hand brushed a stray strand of hair from your cheek, his fingers ghosting over your peaceful expression.

You had found yourself, hadn’t you? Maybe not in the way most people would expect, but in a way that felt undeniably true to you.

Your eyelashes fluttered, your eyes opening just enough to glance at him groggily. "What time is it?"

"6:45," Jay replied softly, his voice low. "The Purge is almost over."

You nodded weakly, your head tilting back against the seat as your eyes drifted closed again. But before sleep could take you, they snapped open once more, and you turned your head to him.

"Why? What’s wrong?" Jay asked, his voice laced with gentle concern.

You smiled sweetly, your lips curving in a way that made his heart skip.

"Kiss me."

His lips twitched into a chuckle, but he leaned down without hesitation, pressing his lips to yours. 

"I love you," you whispered as your eyes closed again, this time surrendering completely to sleep.

"I love you too," Jay echoed, his voice just above a whisper. His hand lingered on your cheek for a moment longer before he straightened up, gripping the steering wheel as he started the car.

The streets stretched out before him, empty and silent now, save for the faint echoes of distant sirens. The Purge had ended.

Jay chuckled softly to himself, glancing over at your sleeping form in the passenger seat. You looked so peaceful now, your lips slightly parted, your head resting against the window. It was hard to believe that just hours ago, the two of you had been surrounded by blood.

"Next year, huh?" he murmured under his breath, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Jay definitely needed to watch his back next year.

But with you by his side, what could any purger do?

There was no telling what the two of you were capable of.

taglist: @fancypeacepersona, @tunafishyfishylike

[velvetseahorse]

Astrology observations and notes

- Mula natives can be intense in intimate relationships. Claire Nakti mentions them being energy vampires, a trait that I believe all Ketu nakshatras share. However, Mula individuals take this to an extreme—they deeply desire to consume their romantic partners or loved ones, often expressing love and affection in ways that can be violent or disturbing. For example, Mula ☽ native Amy Winehouse once carved “I love Blake” (referring to her then-boyfriend Blake Fielder-Civil) onto her stomach using a shard of glass during a photoshoot. Mula ☉ native Keith Richards snorted his own father’s ashes. He explained, “The truth of the matter is that after having Dad’s ashes in a black box for six years—because I really couldn’t bring myself to scatter him to the winds(…)when I took the lid off the box, a fine spray of his ashes blew out onto the table. I couldn’t just brush him off, so I wiped my finger over it and snorted the residue.”

- All three Pisces nakshatras (Purva Bhadrapada, Uttara Bhadrapada, and Revati) are late bloomers. This may be because Pisces is the last sign of the zodiac and is connected to the 12th house, which rules moksha and the dissolution of individual existence into the eternal flow of life. The ultimate purpose of the 12th house is spiritual liberation and freedom from samsara. Sidereal Pisces natives are often tested and placed in situations where they must lose aspects of themselves to gain wisdom and grow, which can delay the usual stages of development in their lives. Pisces is naturally detached from material matters and easily in tune with its divine essence. Similar to Ketu, Pisces is often associated with spirituality and higher wisdom. In fact, many Vedic texts suggest that Ketu co-rules Pisces, but I’ll explore that topic in another blog post. The 12th house represents confinement, the subconscious, loss, endings, isolation, delusion, unseen realms, and private emotions. It is a deeply spiritual and sensitive house where suffering is often hidden, but it also holds profound wisdom when approached with the right mindset. Pisces natives are highly sensitive, and when faced with harsh realities, they often cope by withdrawing from the world. They prefer to live in a reality of their own making—a gift they naturally possess. However, they cannot escape responsibility entirely, as life’s traumas frequently force them to reflect and grow. Pisces natives are natural observers rather than active participants, and you won’t often find them following societal trends. They tend to stay alone, forging their own unique path. As escapists at heart, Pisces struggles to make sense of things logically, often relying on emotions and intuition instead. This is why Mercury debilitates in Pisces. For Pisces, life feels like a ripple in water—vast, reflective, and abyssal like the ocean. Because of their tendency toward isolation, the mundanity of life can be deeply depressing for them. They may overthink, fall into maladaptive daydreaming, or become so lost in their imagination that they miss out on their own present lives and development. Once Pisces natives stop escaping and begin addressing their emotions in a healthy way—through spiritual practices or creative expression—they can unlock their full potential. Pisces is highly creative, with Venus exalting in this sign, emphasizing their natural gifts in art, music, and storytelling. Most Pisces natives feel a calling for something greater than an average life and often possess the talent to fulfill that calling. However, their main challenge lies in taking consistent steps toward their goals and overcoming their finicky, scattered tendencies.

- Ashwini natives are prone to addiction, self-medicating habits, and mental health challenges. Ashwini is a Ketu-ruled nakshatra, and Ketu, being the opposite of Rahu (the head), represents the headless body—detached from material desires and driven by the pursuit of spiritual liberation. This detachment creates disillusionment with the material world, leaving Ketu natives in their most raw, primal state, seeking the deeper truths and secrets of existence. Ketu’s influence is often compared to Mars because both planets help break through limitations, but their motivations differ. Mars is driven by ambition and devotion, while Ketu is fueled by detachment from material pursuits. This immense detachment makes Ashwini natives especially susceptible to addiction, often as a way to numb themselves or escape from overactive mental activity. Aries, the sign ruled by Ashwini, governs the head, and Ashwini as the first nakshatra carries the primal spark of energy and mental impulses. This nakshatra relates to mental activity, making its natives highly energetic but also restless and prone to overthinking. Their constant mental stimulation can lead to exhaustion, agitation, and self-destructive behaviors if not managed well. Ashwini natives have a natural intelligence and a desire to attain things quickly. However, this need for constant intellectual or physical stimulation can result in impulsive and reckless behavior when they are not moving or engaged in something meaningful. Ashwini is a restless nakshatra, and when placed in social environments requiring conformity, natives may struggle to fit in, often resorting to sarcasm and bluntness. Their detachment from societal norms, combined with their cosmic youthfulness and childlike nature (symbolized by their deities, the young twin horses), can make them appear rude or immature. Although Ashwini natives may try to behave in a “normal” or formal manner, this often leads to frustration due to their need for freedom and stimulation. Their childlike energy and cosmic vitality are best channeled into pursuits that allow them to move, grow, and explore.

- Venus in the 12th house is a beautiful but challenging placement. Natives with this position view romance, spirituality, or even life through rose-colored glasses. While this gives them a dreamy and idealistic perspective, it can also lead to disconnection from reality, resulting in disappointment and, often, depression. Venus is desires, romance, pleasure, and art. When placed in the deeply private and spiritual 12th house, these aspects become tied to one’s emotional and spiritual well-being. People with Venus in the 12th tend to keep their relationships very private, often out of fear of outside interference. The 12th house also rules hidden enemies, which can make these natives cautious about exposing their love life. They are unconditional lovers, often idealizing their partners to the extent that they may overlook toxic or unbalanced dynamics. It’s common for Venus in the 12th natives to love more intensely than their partners, which can lead to one-sided or non-secure relationships, such as secret affairs. These natives are often seduced by the idea of love in their minds, finding it difficult to accept the reality of their situation. This disconnection can lead to insecurity, particularly regarding their self-image. Physically, those with Venus in the 12th house are quite beautiful, but they may struggle to see or embrace their own beauty, feeling unworthy of love. Despite these challenges, Venus in the 12th house produces some of the most empathetic, self-sacrificial, and artistically gifted individuals. Venus is exalted in Pisces, the ruler of the 12th house, which enhances their creative potential. The 12th house governs hidden things, so natives may have hidden artistic talents that they should explore. They can create art that has a profound emotional and spiritual impact, capable of healing others and excel in surrealist forms of expression, romantic poetry, music, and visual mediums that convey unexplainable yet resonating emotions.

- Ashlesha and Uttara Bhadrapada bring to mind the effects of anesthesia. Ashlesha represents the beginning stages of anesthesia, with its Shakti—the power to inflict poison—a clinging and restrictive energy that feels paralyzing. This is akin to how anesthesia is injected into the nervous system, suppressing consciousness and inducing a detached, deep sleep-like state. Uttara Bhadrapada represents the culmination of this process, embodying the state of deep sleep. Its deity, Ahirbudhnya—the serpent of the depths—reflects the energy of stillness and dissociation of what’s above (reality/conciousness) , as well as the 12th house’s connection to sleep and the unconscious. Uttara Bhadrapada signifies the transcendental detachment from the physical body, much like the dissociative, dream-like state brought on by anesthesia. Ahirbudhnya’s symbolism as the serpent of the deep ocean mirrors the sensation of being submerged or taken into a controlled, deep state under anesthesia. Ashlesha’s clinging, paralyzing venom parallels Uttara Bhadrapada’s surrender and stillness, with both evoking states where the body is subdued or transcended. Ashlesha operates through the subconscious and instinctual nervous responses, while Uttara Bhadrapada focuses on spiritual transcendence. Anesthesia acts as a bridge between these realms, allowing the body to rest while bypassing conscious awareness.

- Pushya and Krittika natives can have features characterized by full lips, almond-shaped or wide-set eyes, which can also be rounded and downturned , or upturned and almond shaped typically deep-set. They tend to have very soft cheeks and overall gentle facial features, even among Krittika natives. Those born under the sheep yoni have soft, curly, or full hair. These natives dislike being alone and will often join others they can’t emotionally or socially relate to simply to avoid solitude. Krittika is in the ♉︎ and ♈︎ rashi, while Pushya is in ♋︎. Interestingly, Taurus exalts the Moon, and Krittika is the nakshatra where the Moon is exalted. Despite their planetary differences, both share similarities, including being associated with the goat/sheep yoni consort. Both Krittika and Pushya are nurturing by nature; however, Pushya leans toward giving, while Krittika tends to receive. There is a pure aura about them, as they are spiritually pure at their core and often sacrificial. For example, Joan of Arc, a Pushya ↑, led French armies based on divine visions she claimed to have, ultimately leading to her martyrdom by being burned at the stake—an example of these nakshatras embodying the archetype of sacrificial lambs. Krittika’s symbol is a blade, and the name itself means “one who cuts.” Its deity, Agni, the fire god, represents purification through fire, especially of the soul. Krittika women, in particular, can face disdain from both men and women due to their sovereign and independent nature. They are often misunderstood and may fall victim to others attempting to humble or overpower them.

Ebonee Davis - Pushya ↑ Halle Berry - Pushya ☽ Krittika ♈︎ ↑

Spike Fearn - Krittika ♈︎ ☽ Mick Jagger - Pushya ☉ krittika ♉︎ ☽

-Jyeshtha natives are known for being great writers, excelling in songwriting, literature, poetry, and rap. There are many notable poets, rappers, and songwriters with Jyeshtha placements, including Ottessa Moshfegh, Joan Didion, Bob Dylan, Emily Dickinson, Jim Morrison, Clarice Lispector, and Sonny Hall. Rappers like Nicki Minaj and JT, as well as singer-songwriters such as Sinead O’Connor and Tom Waits, also carry strong Jyeshtha energy. Jyeshtha is ruled by Mercury, which governs communication and expression through use of speech and writing. It also rules numbers and words and how we use them to problem-solve and convey ideas. Known as the “elder,” Jyeshtha’s deity is Indra, and Jyeshtha natives tend to excel because of their high standards, ambition and intuitive expertise in their craft. Relying in the ♏︎ rasi—a mysterious, transformative, intense, and passionate sign co-ruled by Mars and Ketu—Jyeshtha natives delve into themes of impersonal tragedy, exploring the darker aspects of the human psyche. Their writing is distinguished by their technique, style, and wordplay. Mars appears prominently in charts of many rappers through both signs (Aries and Scorpio) and nakshatras (Mrigashira, Chitra, and Dhanishta).

- Chitra nakshatra is quite similar to the Venus nakshatras in terms of behavior in my opinion. Chitra is all about refinement, creativity, beauty, and enjoying things that appeal to the senses. Although ruled by Mars, its connection to Venus (♎︎) and Mercury (♍︎) gives it a visually oriented and perfectionist nature, much like the Venus nakshatras, which are immensely creative. Both Chitra and Venus nakshatras share a tendency to push boundaries, sometimes indulging in taboo subjects. Venus nakshatras are known for their exclusivity, often socializing and collaborating only with other Venus nakshatra natives. Similarly, Chitra exhibits a form of discrimination by networking and associating only with those they deem worthy—often based on aesthetics or social status. Chitra natives are also highly judgmental, frequently offering unsolicited critiques because they cannot tolerate anything they perceive as imperfect. This mirrors the Venusian tendency to prioritize beauty and refinement above all else Especially because Venus (Shukra), the guru of demons and Chitra is demonic Rakshasa gana. there are, of course, key differences between Chitra and the Venus nakshatras.

- Saturn in the 4th house: The 4th house is one of the most private houses in astrology, ruled by Cancer, which is governed by the Moon (representing emotions). This house symbolizes our early home environment, upbringing, and especially our relationship with our mother. The mother is our first home (the womb) and nurtures us emotionally. How our parents teach us to regulate emotions is crucial for our emotional well-being. However, with Saturn in the 4th house—a restrictive and malefic planet—its energy clashes with Cancer’s nurturing qualities, as Saturn is in its detriment in this sign. Saturn represents coldness, self-limitation, underdogs/outcasts, effort, and karma. Natives with Saturn in the 4th house experience a difficult childhood, being forced to mature quickly and take on heavy responsibilities at a young age. They may feel disconnected from peers, unable to engage in carefree, childish behavior due to these responsibilities. This placement often indicates a mother who is emotionally distant or invalidating. These natives might have been told to “be strong” instead of expressing their emotions. In some cases, they may have served as their mother’s emotional crutch, catering to her emotional needs instead of receiving the nurturing they needed. Traumatic family events may linger, leaving them feeling tied to their family out of a sense of duty. For Saturn in the 4th house natives to thrive, they need to move away from their homeland or create physical distance from their family. Despite the hardships, individuals with this placement tend to develop deep empathy, a strong sense of responsibility, and profound wisdom. However, they are prone to anxiety and mood disorders, making it crucial for them to seek therapy, learn emotional regulation, and to give themselves a break and allow themselves love by building a supportive community that provides comfort and belonging.

- Jupiter in the 5th House: The 5th house is an important and auspicious house in astrology, representing past karmas and influencing one’s life journey. Creation is a central theme of the 5th house, whether through children, art, intellect, or ideas. With Jupiter placed here, this becomes a highly favorable position. Jupiter, known as Guru, is an expansive planet that represents luck, joy, knowledge and abundance. It thrives on self-improvement through activities like reading, studying, meditation, and creative pursuits such as music or painting. Natives with Jupiter in the 5th house feel an innate optimism about education, creativity, and spirituality. They approach learning and creating with a sense of childlike curiosity and openness, allowing them to absorb knowledge and express their creativity with purity and innocence. This mindset helps them flourish in these areas. Because the 5th house also rules children, individuals with this placement have a growth-oriented relationships with children. They may naturally take on roles as teachers, mentors, or guides, and children are likely to be drawn to them easily. Their own children will be blessed as well. However, this positive energy is best expressed when the 5th house is free from malefic influences or harmful conjunctions to Jupiter. Without such hindrances, Jupiter’s energy shines brightly, encouraging intellectual and spiritual growth. It’s important for those with Jupiter in the 5th to remain mindful of their potential naivety. While optimism and generosity are key strengths, they must remember that actions still carry consequences. Overindulgence or excessive reliance on luck can negatively affect their karmic balance. To truly thrive, these natives should strive to give as much as they receive, ensuring that their abundance benefits not just themselves but others as well.

*All these notes are just based off my own personal observations and readings. It may not resonate everyone with these placements

[cherryheairt]

If I must

Cregan x reader one-shot

angst

'his wife' never named or described

summary - Cregan is forced to choose between his wife and his child

cw- death, blood, very sensitive topic ahead

Cregan paced outside of the birthing chambers, as he had for hours now. As tradition stated, the Lord was not to be by his Lady's side. Like his father Rickon Stark, Cregan had remained steadfast in his ruling of the North and its ancient traditions. The one time he had broken tradition in his four-year rule had been the night of his wedding, when he refused the bedding ceremony to keep his wife's dignity.

However, his resolve waivered greatly with every scream from his dear wife.

When her water broke on their morning walk through the Godswood, a routine they had developed since their first moon of marriage. His wife had insisted she could do it alone, as every woman in her own family had. They had both thought it to be over fast, just as her own mother had experienced with all of her children. A mere few hours for each, and they were out, healthy as horses.

Neither had expected the difficulty nor time her own birthing experience would be. It was approaching dawn, and no word had been given about the head breaching.

Finally, when it had gotten too much for her, Cregan's wife yelled out for him. Grateful for the excuse to break the tradition, Cregan stormed into the room like a man on fire. Immediately he went to his wife's side, allowing her to clutch onto his hand and arm to steady herself.

Maester Lyson and the midwife, an older lady that had seen many births of Winterfell and its surrounding towns, protesting his entrance immediately.

"My Lord, you must stay outside—" Lyson started before being sent an icy cold glare from Cregan, shutting the old man immediately up.

"Cregan..." His wife hoarsely called out, squeezing his hand as he held it in his. Her head leaned to his shoulder immediately, though the warmth was great and she felt like overheating, she still found a small comfort in his touch.

She was a mess of sweat and tears, skin glossed from the sheen of both. Her thin shift to conceal her modesty was drenched, sticking to her skin in a way that looked most uncomfortable. But, in front of a man, she was unable to remove the annoying fabric to cool off. Even though said man was gazing directly at her most intimate parts for hours as he waited for signs of the babe.

On one side of the bed were two of her handmaidens, who fussed over their Lady with glossy and concerned eyes. At the end of the bed sat the midwife and maester, with sweat dripped from each of their brows and concern lacing their expressions.

"What is the progress?" He asked them, gritting his teeth at their helpless glances.

"The babe has not yet breached, my Lord." The Maester replied, shifting to sit up straighter.

"Still? What is the matter?" Cregan asked, soothing his wife's hair out of her face as she yelled out in pain again.

The maester and midwife shared a glance that Cregan could not appreciate. Maester Lyson stood, beckoning his Lord to the door. "If I may speak with you a moment, privately."

His wife looked up at him, tightening his grip on his forearm and shaking her head, as if she knew something he did not. "Please, don't leave Cregan." She pleaded, though barely could conceal another groan of pain.

He kissed her forehead sweetly, rubbing a thumb over the apple of her cheek. "Just one moment, I promise." He told her, following the maester anxiously outside.

Maester Lyson wrung his hands, "Lord Stark, there has been a complication that we recently found."

Cregan knitted his brows together, sternly nodding for the Maester to continue.

"We thought the opening was simply taking a while to grow, so we waited. By now, it has been at proper size for hours."

"And what does that mean?" The Lord shifted on his feet.

"The babe is stuck in the canal somewhere, sideways instead of facing forward like he should." Lyson told him.

Cregan paled, swallowing harshly. "Can...Can he be moved?"

He recalled his own mother's birth complications with his younger brother, Breton, and how the maester was able to turn him within the womb to properly face head-first instead of sideways. It was painful for his mother, he knew from sitting outside anxiously with his father and hearing the sounds from the birthing room, but it was successful in the end.

The Maester avoided his intense stare, instead finding the floor more suitable to look at. "We could, my Lord. But, it would take a long time. By then, the babe might have suffocated."

"There is no other way?" He demanded.

"There is one, my Lord Stark." Lyson said, though did not look glad at his own revelation.

"Go on." Cregan said, irritated at the hesitance of the old man.

"We could cut the belly open, to retrieve the babe before he suffocates in the womb."

Cregan sucked in a sharp breath at the words spoken delicately to him.

A forced choice.

Between his firstborn child and his beloved wife.

Both were irreplaceable in his eyes. Both were the very beings he lived and breathed for—the ones he swore to protect before his own House and the entirety of the North. He would choose them over his duty to the North as its' warden, something his ancestors would turn their noses up at hearing.

But, it was true as the compass pointed North. Cregan would have to make a choice.

"If I must choose..." Cregan swallowed harshly, squeezing his eyes shut and clenching a fist at his side. "I would choose my wife." He said, though his voice shook for perhaps the first time in many years.

Lyson looked sympathetic as he nodded, but Cregan interrupted before he could speak again.

"She will get a choice, too. I can not force that from her, nor take away her autonomy." He said firmly. Cregan lifted a hand in a 'stay' gesture, entering the hazy room once more.

"Everyone out." He demanded, watching the women in the room hesitate before slipping past Cregan to wait right outside of the door.

"What's wrong, Cregan? No one is telling me anything." His wife grit out, taking his offered hand once more instead of the splintering wood of the bed.

He took a long moment to look over his wife. A glossed over look laid heavy in his stormy eyes, admiring her even in the disgruntled state she was in.

"My love," He started, kissing her paled knuckles gently.

She looked up at him, a sudden distraught look in her eye as if she knew exactly what he would say. "No." She shook her head rapidly before he could. "I can't, Cregan, please!" She pleaded, panting after as another wave of pain hit her hard. Through a whimpering groan of agony, she sobbed into the crook of his neck.

"Can't what, sweet girl?" He asked in a soft mutter, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes. She had to make the final choice. He could not force something so cruel upon her. If she wanted the babe to live on in her place, it would be something he had to accept.

Even if it meant living without her.

He desperately, selfishly perhaps, wished that she would choose herself.

"I don't want to die." She sniffled and breathed rapidly, almost panicking herself into hyperventilation.

Cregan 'shushed' her quickly, smoothing down her messed hair in an attempt to calm her from working herself up even further. "You won't. You won't." He said firmly, holding her sideways to his chest.

"Cregan," she whispered again. "I can't do it." She shook her head, hot tears wetting his tunic. "I know what they do. I've heard the tales. Our own Queen—cut open on her bed by her husband. Please, Cregan, don't make them cut me."

Cregan felt his stomach drop at the words from his wife. She thought he would do that to her? Against her wishes, just hold her down and order the babe to be cut from her stomach, though the pain would be excruciating?

"That won't happen, my heart." He kissed her temple, glancing anxiously to the chamber's door. "But, the babe will not be likely survive if we turn it." He told her slowly.

"He will!" She insisted through a muffled sob. "I know he will. It will just take more time. I need more time."

Cregan found himself lost for words. He couldn't decieve her about her own child. She had been the happiest woman in the Seven Kingdoms at the news of her pregnancy many moons ago. That first day, she immediately sent ravens to all of her closest friends and family about the good news. She got to work on making blankets and clothes, embroidering hankerchiefs with potential names, even setting up the Great Keep's nursery early for preparation.

All her hard work, all her tears of joy and discomfort, her fears of not being a good mother, would all be for naught in her eyes. Every morning when she woke and every evening before she slept she would silently whisper a prayer to whatever Gods were listening: hoping for a babe that might grow to be just like their father. The life she had cherished for so long would not live to see the day's light.

Cregan would delusion himself, too, if the situation was not in front of his eyes so clearly.

The Gods must have turned their backs on the Starks this time. Even after hearing Cregan's dutiful prayers every morning at the Weirwood tree in the Godswood, praying for his wife and future child's good health and happiness, both requests were denied.

When he had been praying daily for the health and happiness of his House for every year prior to his marriage, that request was fulfilled kindly. Why were they shunning him now? Now, in the most important event of his life?

He summoned the awaiting crowd of people back into the room. They could wait no longer, lest both lives be put more at risk.

Maester Lyson looked up at Cregan from the end of the bed, brows raised impossibly high and indenting the deep creases on his forehead even more.

"Save her." Was all he could mutter.

They immediately moved to work.

The two maids dropped down to grasp at her arm from the other side of the bed, causing his wife to jerk from his shoulder in a panic. "What are they doing?" She asked, looking between the four people in the room and then Cregan.

"They have to turn the babe." He said, shifting to hold her hand and hold her arm subtly towards the mattress. "It will hurt, but it will be swift. You will be okay, you are so strong." He focused on her directly, gently caressing the apple of her cheek and brushing tears from her skin.

She heaved raggedly, though tried to calm herself and closed her eyes tightly. "Okay, okay. It will be over soon." She whispered to herself in comfort.

Cregan nearly broke down himself, but hardened himself for her sake. "It will."

It had already been a full day of the pain. A full day of her just waiting for it all to be finished with and their babe to be in her arms. She didn't need any more, though she would have to deal with it for a while longer.

The pain would soon fade. It would only last minutes. Then, the recovery would start. No one could tell Lady Stark how long that might take. Weeks, moons, years.

The Maester, though weathered with age and grey, still carried skillful and strong hands from his days of experience. Placing them at the sides of her belly, he whispered a plea to the Gods before beginning to apply great pressure on either side in a subtle twisting motion.

Cregan winced as his wife let out a curdling cry. Her head lept forward, though she was quickly soothed down to Cregan's chest by his own hand. His other, still grasping her arm within his to steady her, shook.

After minutes of more tears, cries, and aching pain, the Maester had successfully pushed the babe to position. Panting, he sat back into his chair heavily and leaned forward again. "Push, my Lady." He urged gently.

Lady Stark took a moment to breathe carefully, grounding herself on the bed. She was beyond tired, mentally and physically. She felt as if a single push might bring her to an early grave, never to wake again. But, it had to be done. The worst was yet to be over.

The pushing part might have been the easiest for Lady Stark if she were not so exhausted and pained already. Unlike most other ladies' excruciatingly painful yet amused tales of their babe's giant heads providing a bump in the path on the birthing bed, Lady Stark's babe came quick. Though the hastiness of it did not lesson the pain of what felt like a giant pumpkin leaving her belly, it helped her to ease her own mind. The quicker the babe was out, the quicker it could breathe.

The room was dead silent after the babe was in the midwife's arms. Lady Stark laid back fully, eyes squeezed shut and chest heaving up and down, face shining with exertion. It was over. She could meet her babe, and possibly even never go through that sharp blade of fear again in her lifetime, if it were a son.

"A boy, my Lord..." The Maester whispered out, barely audible though the room.

She opened her eyes, glancing up to Cregan, who held tears from falling from his eyes as he held eye contact with Lyson.

"A son." She gasped out, squeezing Cregan's hand as his head whipped down to look at her again. "You were right." She weakly smiled.

"I was, my love. You did so well. Rest, now." He commanded gently, kissing her knuckles with all the adoration in the realm. Lady Stark fell asleep quickly, allowing herself to rest after all this time. She entrusted the care of her newborn son to Lyson and Esmerelda, and Cregan of course, the three who's been loyally by her side the entire pregnancy.

🗡

Lady Stark was awakened by the soft 'click' of the chamber door. Her blinked herself awake, adjusting herself to sit more against the headboard. As she did, she winced at the feeling in her back and lower region. Taking a deep breath in, the Lady placed a soothing hand on her own stomach, a habit she gained for her time in pregnancy. Feeling the emptiness, she was reminded of the previous day.

Cregan silently planted himself at her side, looking to be in the same clothes he had been in since her labors started. Quite unlike him, she thought with amusement, their son must be keeping him busy.

"It's been nearly two days since you fell asleep. Gave us all quite a scare." He started, smiling weakly at his wife with those tired eyes of his.

Surprised, she raised a brow. "I must've been exhausted from the labors. Where's the babe, have you decided on a name yet?" She asked quickly, peering behind him as if the wet nurse might come in any second with her son in her arms.

He hummed. "Callan."

She smiled, huffing a small laugh. "That's the one I put on most of the babe's stuff." There were many that she planned, boy and girl names, but Callan had been a not-so-secret favorite of hers.

"I know, my dear."

Lady Stark frowned. "Is something wrong, husband?" She asked, wiping at a line under his eye. "You look worse for wear."

He took her hand, leaning into it and rubbing at her soft hand with his calloused one. "Rest up some more. I'll send someone in with your favorite." He said vaguely, standing from his seat and abruptly leaving the room. Lady Stark was left alone, feeling all but abandoned.

A million thoughts ran through her mind. Had her appearance changed after the birth? She'd been the one to comfort her friends whilst they cried about their husbands started favoring maidens after they provided heirs. She'd never feared the same for Cregan, he'd never gave any hinting towards such things. If anything, his hunger for her grew just as she did.

If not that, then what? Cregan was not a liar, and had never been. What he wouldn't lie about, he would simply stay quiet about. As a bowl of potato soup and soft rolls were brought into the chambers, Lady Stark found herself without an appetite even after three days of no sustenance. Weakly sitting herself fully up, she nearly cried at the feeling of pressure. Steadying herself and steeling her nerves, Lady Stark pushed through all the pain to leave the bed (that felt more like a prison by the minute) and stand to her felt. She hunched over like an old lady, clutching at her abdomen at the sharpness. It was a mistake to stand up without aid so soon, but she'd pay the consequences later. For now, she needed to see her son.

Every step felt like ten. She wabbled slightly each time, feeling as if she might tip over. The hearth and walls were her temporary crutches as she leaned against them, slowly but surely exiting the room to the Stark's family hall. Her and Cregan's chambers were just doors down, unused since she had been in the birthing room and he presumably hadn't slept.

Ahead, she found Cregan in the archway leading to the councilroom with Lyson in front of him. Neither spotted her as she leaned her full weight to the cobble wall. Lyson had a guilt-ridden look on his aged face, mostly avoiding his Lord's eyes as they spoke hushedly. She could barely make out the conversation.

"...will be fine, my Lord. As far as complicated births go, she is lucky."

"Lucky?" Cregan hissed, stepping forward. "Tell that to my wife's face. Nothing about this is fortunate, Lyson."

Lyson nodded solemnly, apologizing. "Of course, my Lord. I only meant that the Gods have blessed her with heath. She will be fine, and with some time, she will be healed enough to have another."

She almost groaned at the thought. Yes, it was her duty to provide at least an heir and perhaps a 'spare', though she hated the thought of people calling her second son a spare just because of birthing order. She would need a few years before she'd be ready for that again.

Cregan threw his arms up in frustration, running fingers through his hair. A sign of stress, one that she found he had recently been doing more since her pregnancy.

"We will not talk about her like that. Like her worth is just her womb."

"I do agree, Lord Stark. You know I do." Lyson said weakly. "But it's the people's expectation."

"My son is gone. The people can pretend to give their sympathies, but my wife cannot simply move on that swiftly. I cannot move on like that." Cregan insisted, almost sounding tearful despite present company. It was unlike him to cry, or even show any weakness at all. But Lyson had basically raised the boy since his parents passed.

Lady Stark felt that familiar pit in her stomach fall.

It had to be a lie, a falsehood from the Gods themselves. She had pushed through all the pain she was tasked with. She delivered her babe swiftly, leaving no time for him to suffocate like predicted. Callan was in the nursery.

Lady Stark turned as fast as she could, limping her way backward toward the Stark nursery. Whipping open the door, she was met with a stillness. The room was barren of any noise or life. Not even the trees outside of the window moved, not a leaf stirring. It was utterly lifeless. Moving towards the crib, Lady Stark leaned over the bassinet. The bundle of soft velvety pinks, blues, greens, and yellows lie perfectly still. Moving them, she found nothing but the sheet underneath. All kinds of names were sewn onto corners.

Aevery.

Rickon.

Aelise.

Benjamin.

Callan.

She clutched the grey-blue blanket to her chest, feeling it grow wet with her own tears. Falling to the floor, her knuckles paled at how hard she fisted the blanket.

She should have allowed it. She should have cut herself open to bring Callen out from her womb herself. She killed him. Selfishly, she picked her own menial life over that of her own son. The boy who never got to breathe a single breath outside of the womb. Never got to see the fresh powdery snow of Winterfell fall. Never felt the warmth of the sun on his face. Never got to live a day.

She was unaware of how much time had passed, if any at all, when she heard that soft and deep voice behind her. "Wife?"

She could not find a will to reply. Could not find anger at her husband for him keeping this from her, nor sorrow for her own failure. A stilling numbness surrounded her like a cocoon of protection.

"My heart." It came again, surrounding her. Arms wrapping around her from the front, encasing her further. Though she was silent, he continued to murmur. "I am so, so sorry. I wished to wait—until you recovered a bit."

Lady Stark did not yell. She did not scream or cry, nor pound her fists on his chest til he left her alone in her solitude. She sat there, lifelessly.

"Say something, please. Anything." He pleaded desperately, seperating them only to hold her face in his hands. She lifted her gaze, finding his sturdy grey eyes to be filled with wet tears. They, too, dampened the blanket.

"I miss him." She whispered. "But how can I, when I haven't even met him? When I killed him before he got his chance."

His gaze hardened, "do not ever speak such things. You did not kill our son. This is not your fault."

She stayed silent, nodding simply to please him. He sighed deeply, settling himself lamely next to her and leaning her head upon his shoulder.

"I miss him, too."

🗡

Wanted to do more with his in terms of length and fleshing out the characters but its been sitting in my drafts for so long I just needed to finish 😭

obviously this is written from the povs of the parents, post partem anything is super tough and emotional. it is in no way selfish to pick yourself or your wife over the baby. In fact, it is what I would do. the lady blaming herself for 'killing the babe' and being selfish for not killing herself to do it is purely in grief and not my real perspective on this type of thing.

Needed angst rn im sick of happy endings 😝

[justarkive]

THE JEONS | req 8

Request : Her name, Out loud

summary: a collection of chaotic family drabbles. thats it.

contents: family!au, idol jungkook, girl!dad jk, fluff, angst, sensitive topics + smut sometimes!

• chapter contents: idol! jungkook in this one, fluff with emotional undertones, mentions of parasocial boundaries, off-screen harassment / privacy invasion, dad!jungkook, post-birth tenderness, baby Hana

• req by anon <3

• taglist: @jenniebyrubies @lovingkoalaface @iamstilljk @elinaki92 @rpwprpwprpwprw @mafersame @parkinglot-nights @reallygenerouskoala @mimi1097 @aznstoner @jungshaking @pinkpunkdynamite @angie-x3 @bgfdcvbnjk @starlight-1010 @marblemoonstones @golden-loona @jjkluver7 @jjkkk15 @hoonsbrow @crisle19 @rosesa (check pinned to be added)

masterlist <

it had all started with one single note. Not a photo. Not a behind-the-scenes vlog. just a single post, black screen, white text,

“She’s here. Everyone’s okay. I’m tired, but so in love.”

he didn’t tag you, no baby name, No date, no emojis. Just the truth: simple and quiet.

People lost their minds.

there had already been a lot of rumors before, about you, about the relationship, the pregnancy. But he kept it all tucked away, private and sacred. Then he vanished from the internet for weeks, and suddenly, that one line became the earthquake that cracked everything open.

ARMYs swarmed.

#JKISAGIRLDAD??

#SHESHERE!!

#DILF????

#CONGRATULATIONSJUNGKOOK!!

Some fans were gentle, but most just weren’t. Twitter turned to fucking war. TikTok turned to theory. You stayed offline entirely. He barely took a single look at his phone. You were both just trying to keep Hana fed and held and breathing, trying to figure out how to sleep again, how to be again.

Itd only been the night before. You were both curled up in bed, hana asleep in her little bassinet beside you, the white noise machine humming in the background. He was scrolling through his camera roll with a sleepy smile, blurred photos of her curled fists, a shot of her socked feet next to his tattooed hands, a messy picture of the back of her tiny head in a red strawberry hat.

he turned the phone to you, testing. “This one?” he asked softly.

You nodded. “and maybe the bottle on the nightstand. And that one with your hoodie around her,” you added, reaching over to tap it.

“No face,” he promised.

It had taken weeks to feel ready. You’d talked about it over and over, what you were okay with, what made you nervous. Jungkook didn’t want to share her out of obligation. He wanted to post as a dad, not as an idol. And he wanted to do it together.

You were going to post it the next day.

But then, the next day, a photo. you hadn’t even seen it yet. Jungkook did first. He was on the couch, swaying Hana in her wrap, bottle in hand, phone lighting up his face, and then going cold.

He turned the screen to you silently. Blurry and distant but clear enouh.

jungkook was holding two coffees. A diaper bag slung over his shoulder. His shirt half-tucked. You were behind him, bending into the stroller, your hoodie too big and sunglasses half off your face. someone had taken it two days ago, outside a quiet café. Five minutes, a moment of peace you’d thought.Your heart fell out of your body.

“oh,” you whispered. He didn’t say a word. Just set the phone down, jaw clenched.

“Its okay,” you tried. “Its blurry, could be anyone.”

“They said her name,” he muttered. “In the replies.”

You froze.

“I haven’t even said her name yet. Not on camera. not online. I haven’t even posted her hand. And they’re—”

His voice cracked at the edges.

“It was the strawberry hat,” he said, almost laughing. “I thought it’d cover her. I thought—”

He didn’t finish the sentence. Didn’t need to. You reached for him. His shoulders were stiff, too still.

“She’s not ruined,” you whispered. “She’s just seen. There’s a difference.”

“She’s mine,” he said quietly. “She’s ours. That should’ve been our choice.”

He didn’t post for weeks after that.

But when he did, it was a video.

Thirty seconds, no faces, no music. Just soft afternoon light on your living room floor. Two feet—one big, one small. A single baby laugh. The edge of a familiar strawberry hat.

“This is my family. She is loved. She is protected. I hope you can be kind.”

and just like that, it began.

——

a/n: im so sorry for inactivity, im so stressed atm i have alevels in ONE WEEK ( save me ) anyways. enjoy this <3 love u babies, and ty for being patient with me ! 💓

[movingthisblogcelestialtarot11]

Degree Theory in Charts and Observations 🤍

Moon/sun at 8 or 20 degrees can signify trauma, releasing your ego and patterns that have hurt you subconsciously. 8 degrees and 20 both signify scorpios energy, and when placed on the big 3, it can dampen your signs energy. You may be a Leo sun, but when it's at 8 degrees your passion, creativity, and aspects of yourself can largely remain private. You are passionate, only to those you trust. Introverts become extroverts around the right people.

Gemini degrees on your moon/venus/sun 3, 15, 27 can suggest being a logical thinker, preferring to analyze your emotions and think deeply. You may like hearing podcasts on philosophy, emotional processing, books informed on trauma, and be interested in dissecting religion, spirituality, and occult related topics. Or how different cultures overall approach mental health or spirituality as a whole.

Luigi Mangione has Venus at 3 degrees and early on he wrote an essay portraying how christianity benefitted by appealing to the lower classes of ancient Rome at 15. His words not only reach a few people but a mass global scale, sharing his pain with those who suffered at the hands of the medical system. To this day he is currently seen as smart, intelligent, and romanticized even. He openly speaks out about the failing health care system. It's possible he may go on to write books in prison detailing his experiences and exposing the truth.

Also, his Mars is at 15 degrees of gemini, and it's a theory that this degree is associated with assassinations or killings. With Mars here, he was motivated by his anguish to make a move that started change. His sun is conj mars, so, he already has a following of those who look up to him as a savior, activist, and an important person in social justice.

George Orwell has his moon at 8 degrees in the 8h in Gemini, and he went on to describe the dangers of totalitarianism rising in the west. He wrote 1984 as a warning to the US, and his scorpio degrees also made him incredibly adept to the rising dangers in our politics.

He was intelligent, a philosopher, a politician, and someone who feared humanities behavior much more than the government itself. His sun sits in the 8h, further conveying his desire for truth, honesty and revealing how dark politics are and can be. He not only described the governments regime, but how mind control worked to steer us away from facts.

His sun was in cancer at 2 degrees (taurus) signifying his need for stability in an unstable world, applying practicality to his reasoning and not just spewing words of anger. He was strong in his reasoning, yet flexible to agree with Huxley (another philosopher)

The 22 degree (Capricorn) is considered heavy, intense, challenging and even traumatic whether it's placed on your personal planets or Chiron. It's usually associated with ruthlessness, discipline, and rigidity in the native. It's why people see them as powerful, and intimidating. Capricorn is destructive here, but ultimately leads to a transformation.

Sun at 13 degrees can indicate leaving a legacy, popularity, fame over media. Depending on where the sun sits, this will tell you how it happens. For example JonBenét Ramsey’s had her sun in the 4h at 13 degrees, which is critical. She was thrust into a family related legacy, and was required to uphold it through beauty pageants.

She was a star, with Leo in the 4h. But Aries degree here suggests an infliction of Mars, and her sun was weak (opposing moon) its possible this critical degree conveys what happened behind the scenes of her family life. Surrounded by pressure, aggression, all that responsibility being put onto her at a young age. It’s possible having an afflicted sun had her Mars energy amplified even more, conveying the aggression and high standards in her home life.

Moon at 12 degrees can suggest an empathetic, intuitive and sensitive individual. Someone who can read the room, perceives body language well, but can suffer from anxiety, overstimulation and overthinking. This can dissolve boundaries as well, leading to codependent behaviors, a lack of commitment to one’s healing journey for the sake of being there for others. This native can prefer to be by water, either at a beach, stream, river, etc. anywhere where they can be around nature is best for them.

Extra

Thanks all for reading! Let me know if I should make a pt 2 of this <3

Paid readings 🤍

[therealvinelle]

What languages do you think the Volturi would have used as their main methods of communication in which eras? I’m guessing Latin during the time of the roman empire, and clearly english in the modern day

(I’m assuming its not convenient for the guards to have to learn every language in the world, especially since they’re always changing)

Great question.

You can't talk to vampires, explain to them who the Volturi are, what the law is, if they can't understand you, and you can't have witnesses tell you of someone who's broken the law if you don't understand them either.

Vampires, language, and learning

Given how little vampires are around humans (as they lose control near them and the Cullens are considered weird outliers for willingly seeking human company), they are not going to learn much language from them. Perhaps that changes when mass media makes human speech accessible without being near people, but that predicates vampires setting up a radio or a television to begin with.

More to the point, the kind of vocabulary you get from a vampire's interactions with a humans will be extremely limited (they will learn enough to lure victims into an alley with them), just as TV and radio are infamously deceptive sources of language learning - scripted material can leave you with a stylized vocabulary, and purely receiving without producing the language nor having the opportunity to be corrected by a target language speaker means your learning will be slow and limited.

I imagine most language learning occurs between vampires, and to make up for how limited this must be (as there is likely a very low number of vampires alive at any given point) they likely learn language very fast (immersion and repetition are key words in 2nd language acquisition). They also likely learn the language exactly as the speaker teaches it, though if I'm getting very nerdy I can imagine a vampire who spoke a dialected or "L" form of their language would switch to a more standardized/upper/"H" form when teaching it to others (Research has shown this can be a subconscious change, and can even be as sensitive as particular topics, such as politics, will have people switching to a higher form of their language, as well as people who spoke L being in stubborn denial they spoke L at all only to be shocked to hear recordings played back to them. Our teacher-vampire might not be aware he was switching, or he might think of the L variety as not actually part of the language, and therefore not worth relaying).

All this to say vampires out in the world likely learn languages from people they run into, assuming it doesn't turn into lethal fight, and it may only be enough to get by ("I like you, I will teach you enough to tell the other vampires in this region you're not a threat"), or it can be enough to be conversational ("I like you, let's hang out for a month").

Where does this take us?

Let us look at the vampires we meet in canon.

There's the Amazonian coven, Nahuel and Huilen, all people who kept to themselves, will likely have encountered very few English-speaking humans, speak English as well as a native speaker. Alistair, a recluse since the 14th century, is not challenged by what is by now a different language either. Caius is not only fluent, but when he loses his temper or directs his speech at Aro he doesn't switch to another language.

Carlisle, who we see the most of any of the characters with a different language background, only has one mildly archaic phrasing that I ever noticed ("You could but love them", about immortal children), and that could be impacted by him reminiscing about something he saw a long time ago - see the above about people switching subconsciously.

That is the only slip, however, and Carlisle might even have done it on purpose if he privately thinks "but" is sometimes better than "only", or he thought it added to the storytelling. It could even be something he feels comfortable doing because his proficience with modern English is that good, while Nahuel would never because he wants to be Fluent™. We don't see Carlisle talk at length about anything from the past aside from this one occasion, however, so it's possible this was subconscious and he does slip into slightly different speech when reminiscing.

Returning to the Amazonians, Nahuel, Huilen, and Alistair.

They have learned English and learned it so perfectly they're indistinguishable from native speakers. More, these are all people unlikely to have learned it from humans nor from mass media, indicating vampires do learn the language from each other, as I believe is most likely (again, notice how conspicuously modern American they sound).

Further, when it's necessary they learn it fluently. Remember we meet them in the context of them coming to witness a trial, and Nahuel in particular had to make a lengthy speech. It's possible, I daresay probable, he learned his (very modern and American) English from Alice and Jasper on the trip to Forks - where else would he have learned it?

Vampires, in other words, use each other to learn languages and it seems they can pick it up quite easily (though learning is likely very differently for them, something I'm not going to get into because I don't know enough about human language acquisition.)

And now, the linguistic diversity of the vampire world

So, we are looking at a few interesting factors where the linguistic diversity of the vampire world is concerned.

There are, in my opinion, likely to be no more than 500 vampires in the world at any given point, likely less.

Of these 500, many live in covens. These may be a multilingual covens.

This is pure speculation on my end, but I imagine different languages are completely compertmanlized in vampire brains and language A isn't lurking in the background when you speak language B. Caius never switches, even when he's lost his temper, the Denali yell in English when their sister is murdered, everyone's speech stays modern no matter the occasion or who they're speaking with, with that sole and very small exception from Carlisle which could have been intentional on his end. The implications of this could be that it's possible for Carlisle and Victoria (who both lived in London a century apart) to talk to each other in 17th century English, without Victoria experiencing interference from 16th century English nor either of them from later English. Further, if Carlisle never engaged with the English language after being turned, it would still be easy for Victoria to communicate with him and teach him more modern English.

You likely have a Six Degrees of Kevin Spacey-type of linguistic thing happening in the vampire world (remember it's tiny). If you don't speak language E, you may still speak languages A and B, and know someone who speaks B and C, who in turn knows someone who speaks D and E. There will be the person who speaks only language M and no one else does, but he will be an outlier.

This will be a separator between newborn/young vampires and older ones, and nomads/reclusive vampires and more social vampires or vampires in covens. The young or nomadic haven't had a chance to learn more than what they knew as humans, and perhaps what they learned from their creators. The older nomadic/reclusive vampires may have learned bits of many languages, but may not master them the way we see Carlisle's friends (who have an English-speaking vampire friend) and the Volturi master English.

Language is survival: if you only speak language M, odds are you don't know about the Volturi or the law. The Volturi won't be able to communicate with you when you break the law either, which they will want to do so they can track down your creator and potential coven members. For this I imagine Aro and Marcus are brought in.

What this means for the Volturi

The Volturi don't need to speak every language on the globe, they need to be able to speak with every vampire. As mentioned above, in cases where they really don't know the language, where it's a minority language they have no chance of learning, Aro and Marcus's respective gifts mean they will still gain the information they need.

(It will still have been a waste for language M vampire to have broken the law because the language barrier kept him from learning of it, and I imagine a true language M vampire (that is, one who only speaks a language no one else speaks) when encountered is brought to Volterra so Aro can learn his language, and then teach him the lingua franca. Aro learns a new language and meets someone from a new culture, while the language learner is informed of the law and appropriately terrified of the Volturi after being kidnapped like this, everybody wins.)

If you learn English, Arabic, Urdu, French, Spanish, and Mandarin you're going to be able to speak with the vast majority of vampires because most of them will at one point have picked up enough of it to get by in a conversation. I imagine the Volturi, at least the Volturi with roles that require them to communicate directly with people (such as Demetri, whose gift means it's in his interests to have met as many vampires as possible, or Heidi, who has to be able to scam people from all over the world), try to know more than these languages however, and to be better than passing at them. It would for instance be bad if a nomad trying to help them is unable to give vital information because his French was too limited.

It's also in the Volturi's interests, especially in the early days when they were establishing themselves, to teach vampires they meet languages so that they can then go on to communicate with others and inform those of the law as well. I imagine, too, that a particularly multilingual vampire can get recruited into the guard, at least for a few years while the language teaching is transferred to both the guard, and the community he came from.

So no, the Volturi do not learn every language on earth, but it is in their interest to be able to talk to every vampire alive, and I think they're able to speak to the vast majority of them. This, also, is not getting into mutually intelligible languages - learn Danish, for instance, and you get Swedish and Norwegian for free.

I also have to say - languages may be "always changing" but not unrecognizably so within one generation. The pace at which they change and the way they change depends on population size, external influences, the existence of a written language, historical trends- social media, for instance, is seeing a modern day and quite rapid shift in Norwegian (And I'm sure other languages as well) as people of all ages are constantly exposed to English. I've seen toddlers ask for "ice cream", not "iskrem". Our vocabulary and even grammar is definitely changing. Meanwhile, if you present a modern Italian with a text written by Frans d'Assisi, he would be able to understand most of it. Yes, languages change, but I don't think it would be that great a bother to keep up to date even if you were an immortal polyglot (and even then, even if you look at pidgin or creole languages, if you know one or both languages involved then you are going to be able to follow most of what's happening).

[mamadovie]

can we get some kaidan boyfriend headcanons please???

.𖥔 ݁ ˖⠀ ⠀ ⠀𐙚 KAIDAN.

A N: I'm not sure if I did Kaidan on my old account. But I am willing to redo the BF / GF series on this account, tbh. But, yes. Kaidan is the best BF. ♡

A B O U T: You're delusional and spend your time imagining that Kaidan is your boyfriend! (Same)

W A R N I N G S: None!

Kaidan is a hesitant person, but he loves so hard.

At first he becomes distant, you've created a friendship but he's sort of losing it mentally so he distances until he feels better.

This could last a week, hours, minutes, whatever. So he can come across as very hot and cold at first.

He also becomes more wary on your health and well-being, often telling you off for nearly hurting yourself and has the tendency to jump in and take down an enemy that even looks a bit bigger than you are, its cute at times, annoying most of the time.

He knows that you are capable, he just doesn't want to lose you.

Kaidan is a gifter. especially homemade things. From charms and bracelets to silly things like rocks he found by the beaches that looked cool and if you keep them, his heart will quite literally burst from his chest.

He takes note of everything you like and speak on, to make sure to buy something you like, attempt to cook your favourite meal to even making sure to not speak on topics that are sensitive for you.

Kaidan is a perceptive man generally, for you he is all the more watchful.

His way of asking you out is either two things:

Confessing in a tavern while drunk out of his mindddd, he is sloshed and just spills it out, and rather loudly, too. You wait till morning to finish the conversation... Or at least when his hangover isn't so bad...

Or, in the middle of a heated argument. Most likely about your health and recklessness. You are so giving, always accepting to help others and it makes him angrier than it should, you should care more for yourself! So he slips it out and the argument is long forgotten.

Once dating he is sooo goofy.

Sexual innuendos go crazy, followed with a little giggle that contrasts massively with his deep voice.

He is very touchy, especially in private and just loves the feeling of your skin on his, he likes to know that you are with him and safe.

Kaidan is a secret romantic and will write little poems on scraps of paper and draw you and things you like messily with chalk and he'd love it if you ever did it back.

After a long time travelling, his favourite thing to do it just relax with his head against your chest, your hands running through his hair as you tell him stories before you met, even if he's heard of them before.

His whole life has been filled with him learning things the harsh way and he loves to listen to silly stories from you.

His life has become so much better since you entered it, and he wouldn't change that for the world, not even his past.

[cutieeva]

Enslave

Female reader

Warnings : Love bombing. Power abuse. Threats. Coercion. Molestation. Profanity languages. Slut shaming. Rape. Violence. Framing. Attempt home invasion. Molestation.

SYNOPSIS

❛ ผู้หญิง ❜ Muse and Seduction, it is a well known name of the most Luxurious Adult Entertainment Complexe in Thailand also the least respected profession (Y/N) works in, not aware it will soon turn into a memory of calm before the storm in form of a man.

Thailand, a country known for its vibrant culture, rich history, and breathtaking landscapes, also has a complex and multifaceted adult entertainment industry. While it's true that this industry is visible and widespread, it's essential to approach the topic with sensitivity and nuance. From bustling cities like Bangkok and Pattaya to tourist destinations like Phuket and Chiang Mai, adult entertainment venues and services are indeed present. These can range from go-go bars and massage parlors to street workers and karaoke bars offering private rooms to many more and despite the shame and stigma associated with these works, many women still engage in this profession due to limited job opportunities and economic necessity. The pay can be more convenient and immediate compared to other respectable jobs, which may require years of education and experience to achieve similar financial stability.

Alike to the above explanation (Y/N) also choose to work in such environment—All for money and did she succced in having what she wanted ? Yes because the place she works in is called Muse and Seduction, one of the top Adult Entertainment Complexes— it's a adult entertainment where almost all of the sexual activities could be done, separately and wonderfully. It has sections of Cabaret : where dancers perform for their male guests. Private room also known as Lounges : where sex could be given if requested and money are fullfilled. Strips clubs : where adult dances or lap dances available. Sex clubs : only available to VIP members for the privacy of their group sex, fetishes activities and message parlor : to offer erotic messages or intimate service and adult theater : to watch porn without shame and more sections based on how well the adult entertainment complexes is going and her complex has it all that even surprised the past self of (Y/N) who didn't had the slightest idea of such things exist—no she wasn't naïve rather in awe to have so varieties like a deck of cards laid out before her. Despite its grandeur, the complex remained hidden from the public eye, accessible only to those who knew where to look letting her past self marveled at how seamlessly it blended into the surrounding landscape, a testament to the discretion and secrecy that shrouded the adult entertainment industry.

Quickly that time she entered not for the sex work she thought could only pay her rents and shield her from her runaway abusive parents rather at the Cabaret where dancers danced contrast to not being the most skilled or pretty, she impressed the manager with her passion and raw talent. Offered a job on the spot, she found a refuge and purpose in the vibrant world of dance and before she knew it she sat on the position of manager of Cabaret section where she once only stared and worked hard.

"(Y/N) !" The (H/C) haired woman turn around at her name call meeting the eyes of the old general manager who's wiping his sweat yet a smile plastered on his lips.

"Yes, sir". Politely she asked having a hint of some excitement news to be heard noticing the uncontrollable smile and fire on his eyes.

The air was electric as he made the announcement, his face splitting into a wide, toothy grin. "Today, a very, very, very special guest is coming!" he exclaimed, his enthusiasm infectious yet puzzling.

She raised an eyebrow, her head tilting slightly to one side. VVVIP visitors weren't uncommon in their establishment, but the level of excitement radiating from him was unusual. Whoever this guest was, they must be incredibly influential and wealthy to warrant such anticipation.

Her (E/C) eyes watched him practically bounce with energy, a shiver ran down her spine. She couldn't shake the feeling that this visit might bring trouble, particularly for the women who work here. A nagging sense of unease settled in the pit of her stomach, her mind racing with the possibility that someone might be coerced into doing something against their will.

"Understood". She dry chuckle, darting eyes to her pratice hall and to the general manager.

"That's why you also need to perform today". Ah ! No wonder he came to her because despite being a manager she still performs for the double money she is paid.

"So the party is hosted in here ?" Insinuating her sections making the general manager nod.

"Yes, unfortunately they want entertainment to be amused not pleasure". The grin turn into a scoff merely thought of lost profits, his eyes clouding with disappointment.

"They ? Didn't you just said one guest ?" (Y/N) was confused.

"Oh—actually it's group of men from a wealthy company but in mist of that is the golden egg would be". Oh ! She sink the information so rather than entertainment, it's to secure a lucrative deal. The company was willing to do whatever it took to secure success. What a classic tactic.

"Okay, please state the time, date and all the needed details". He nod giving her the paper written all the instruction. "Well then I goona go". Waving gently she enter her dance hall.

Tomorrow at 8:30 pm with Chinese Silk dance theme.

"So, the man is Chinese ? Or have those liking ?" She thought so for better she would single out the Chinese girls just for their safety to not caught the eyes of animalistic men.

Night descended, darkness enveloped the world, like an inky shroud suffocating all in its grasp. Yet, the moon, now a silver crescent in the sky, cast an ethereal glow, as if to defy the all-consuming shadows. Stars twinkled like diamonds scattered across the velvet expanse, their gentle sparkle a beacon of hope.

(Y/N) stood transfixed, her gaze riveted on the clock's ticking hands, mere moments away from striking 8:30 pm. She inhaled deeply, the air filling her lungs like a promise of new beginnings. "Today has to be perfect" she whispered to herself, a fervent wish born of hope and determination.

In her mind's eye, she envisioned a evening unfolding with grace and harmony, each moment a delicate brushstroke on the canvas of time. No embarrassing missteps, no unwilling participants, just a gentle, pleasant tone that would soothe the souls. The clock's ticking grew louder, a countdown to a symphony of perfection, as (Y/N) steeled herself for the moments to come, her heart beating in rhythm with the night's dark beauty.

"Beauties. Everything has to be perfect and do not worry I am here to protect you okay ?" Once more she reassure the women standing in a row each one a vision of elegance and mystery. Golden jewels encircled their arms, a radiant contrast to their varied skin tones, like sunlight dancing across a canvas of diverse beauty. The traditional Chinese dresses, with their revealing midriffs and flowing slit sleeves, seemed to shimmer in the soft light, as if the very fabric was alive. Their face however remained hidden behind delicate veils, a whispered promise of secrets and allure. The veils, like silken whispers, caressed their skin, casting an air of enchantment and subtle mystery seemed to embody the essence of ancient Chinese beauty, where subtlety and restraint whispered tales of untold stories.

"Yes mam". Each one in unison spoke with confidence knowing their mentor for several years.

"Hey (Y/N) I needed—" A man holding few papers walked in the practice hall when he frozen in his root staring at (Y/N) who turn around giving his amber eyes the look of her dress mirroring the several women however he appeared to be mesmerized by her.

"Oh manager Somchai, is there anything I can help you with ?" Jewels trembled with each her step, unleashing a cascade of sparkling light, like tiny stars waltzing across her (S/C) skin.

"Oh—Ah—I-I-I-I forget". Few laughes escape from the women behind (Y/N) watching the bar manager make a fool out of himself.

"Hush ! It's unladylike". In swept the crowd held their laugh at their own manager's scold yet few roll their eyes knowing it was harmless. "Excuse them". (Y/N) apologies to Somchai who shake his head still unable to part his lips and hide the tip of blush on his ears.

"So, how can I help ?" She repeated holding her own smile, catching his flustered face.

"I-I— it's the list of drinks that the guests should buy for our profits". Quickly he shoved the paper on her hand surprising her and himself at the rough action. "I-I am sorry". Closing his eyes, his tense hands clap together in forgiveness along the rigid fingers intertwined, forming a tight knot, like a prayer offered to the heavens. The sudden, earnest movement was almost comical, yet endearing, making her giggle at the sweet, silly gesture. The contrast between his serious expression and the childish motion only added to the charm, rendering her helpless against the tide of amusement that swept over her.

"W-what happen ?" The way his innocent doe eyes stare at her never would anyone unaware of his profession could assume he works in an adult industry.

"Nothing. You are so endearing". And as she expected his entire face burst into flame creating a teasing ohh from the women who ship them together hard earn a harsh "Shut up". From their senior.

"Thank you". Finally without stuttering he smiled and part his lips to speak when the clock's loud tick reverberated through the air, signaling the precise moment of 8:30 pm.

"Oh—I am sorry I must go". Swiftly she offered apologies, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Don't be". He disagree, silently encouraging her at their eye contact making her smile wider. Without anymore utters she led the procession of women, their golden jewels glinting in the soft light. At the threshold, (Y/N) paused, her slender fingers fluttering as she donned her own veil at the last moment, the delicate fabric whispering against her skin.

"Everyone ready to go ?"

"Yes". They mutter lightly. (Y/N) take a deep, calming breath as she pushed open the door, and a warm, golden light enveloped them, like a gentle caress. The room was aglow with sensual ambiance, the soft glow of table lamps and floor lights casting a hypnotic spell. The guests, already seated on plush, velvety sofas, turned to regard the newcomers, their faces bathed in the warm, golden radiance. Beers chilled on an opulent, dark-wood table, adorned with delicate, crystal glasses, reflecting the soft light like tiny, shimmering mirrors.

Soft, melodic music whispered through the air, weaving a subtle spell of relaxation and indulgence, as (Y/N) and her companions glided into the room, their veils shimmering like moonlit mist, their long, flowing sleeves rustling softly, like leaves in an autumn breeze. The atmosphere was alive with anticipation, the scent of perfume and the promise of mystery hanging heavy in the air, like the whispered promise of a secret shared among friends.

"Thank you for your services. We shall begin". her voice dripped in honeyed sweetness greeted the awaiting men as her eyes swept across the room, scanning for the golden man the general manager spoken of and then, in an instant, her gaze landed on him—an aged man, with a stomach as round as a full moon, adorned in the finest, most lavish attire, from the glittering gold chain around his neck to the diamond-encrusted watch on his wrist.

Her eyes narrowed. "He must be the one". Sighing deeply she bowed gracefully with a subtle, enigmatic smile, her body begin dancing like unfolding a lotus flower, petals of movement swirling around her. The men's screams of delight and admiration crescendoed, their eyes aglow with hunger and desire, yet she remained an untouchable, ethereal vision. Her dance was a masterful symphony of seduction and grace, each step, each gesture, a testament to her skill and artistry.

As she danced, she wove in and out of the tables, pouring wine with a flourish, her hands moving in tandem with the other women, who mirrored her movements with precision. The liquid gold flowed like a river, filling the glasses, as she continued to enthrall her audience, her body swaying, twirling, and bending in impossible ways.

Regardless of the provocative nature of her dance, she maintained an air of detachment, her skin never once touching the eager hands that reached out to her. Her eyes, like a hawk's, scanned the room, ever vigilant, ensuring none of the men dared touch her or her junior companions. The other women, too, seemed to be under her protection, their eyes locked on hers, moving in perfect synchrony, a testament to their trust and loyalty. The men, entranced by the spectacle, remained at a safe distance, their longing and desire hanging in the air like a palpable mist, yet they knew better than to cross the unspoken boundary. She was a queen, a goddess, and they mere mortals, privileged to witness her glory and forbidden to touch.

Soon the music reached its crescendo, (Y/N)'s dance came to a smooth, graceful close, like a summer breeze gently caressing the skin. The room, electrified by her performance, exhaled a collective sigh of relief and admiration. Though some of the men, entranced by her beauty, had attempted to brush their hands against hers, they had respectfully refrained from any further advances, acknowledging the unspoken boundary. The VVVIP guest, too, had maintained his dignity, his eyes never leaving (Y/N)'s face, yet his hands remained clasped together, a indication to his self-control. With a satisfied smile, he raised his glass in a silent toast, and drank, savoring the moment.

As the final notes of the music faded away, (Y/N) and her companions bowed, their movements fluid and synchronized and they departed like a gentle whisper, a soft breeze carrying the scent of blooming flowers, leaving the men to ponder the memory of their enchanting performance.

Free-spirited and unencumbered, (Y/N) and her companions walk outside the hallway, sharing laughter and whispers echoing down the corridor.

"Today was fun".

"How amazing".

"Thankfully they knew the rules to not mess even the VVVIP was respectful unlike some of the others".

"This is my first time performing Chinese dance ?"

"Really ? Well I am Chinese but never did I also danced so sensually".

"But (Y/N) was best".

"Of course she would be when she is our senior".

Their joys whispered to one another filling (Y/N)'s ears in relief nothing unfortunate occur to one of the women and god forbid— to her. Wiping the line of sweat from her forehead she walked to their resting room passing through the living hall where main events of dances held.

"HELP ! HELP—". A cry of help echoed the room following with a loud thud alike to a slap making all the women wince.

"What was that ?"

"Isn't it sound like a woman ?"

"Also a slap ?"

"I am scared".

A knot of unease twisted in (Y/N)'s stomach, like a pit of pooling darkness, as her mind conjured the worst assumptions. A envision of woman, desperate and trapped, crying out for help in a place where hope seemed lost. The thought sent a shiver down her spine, and without hesitation.

"Girls ! Go !". She commanded her workers to retreat to their quarters, their faces etched with concern.

With a deep breath, (Y/N) steeled herself, her determination burning brighter than her fear. She barged into the lavish hall, the doors swinging open with a soft crash, like a declaration of war. The room, once filled with laughter and music, now seemed tainted, its opulence mocking her. Her eyes scanned the space, searching for the source of her unease, her heart pounding in her chest like a drum.

Until her (H/C)'s eyes fell upon a scene that made her blood boil, a tableau of cruelty that seared itself into her mind. A man, his face twisted in a snarl, sat atop a woman, her body helpless and trembling, her clothes torn and disheveled. He laughed, a cold, mirthless sound, as he cursed with his words coated with venom while the woman's cries, like a wounded animal, filled the air with her sobs as the man rape her in front of others.

The room, once a haven of indulgence, transform into a den of depravity. Some men, seated on a large sofa, laughed and jeered, their faces flushed with excitement, while others watched with a mixture of fascination and disgust. A few, attempting to distance themselves from the scene, silently drank their plain disgust by the beers, their eyes averted, however their presence still complicit.

Red. (Y/N)'s vision was consumed by a sea of red, a crimson haze that fueled her fury. In an instant, she sprang into action, her movements swift and deadly, wordlessly she launched herself at the man, ripping him away from the woman with a strength born of rage. The sound of crashing furniture and shouting men filled the air as she hurled him aside, the group scattering in surprise.

Her eyes scanned the room frantically, searching for something to cover the woman's exposed form. But there was nothing —no cloth, no blanket, no shred of dignity left. So, with a swift motion, (Y/N) grasped the nearest ground mat, tearing it from the floor, and wrapped it around the woman's shivering body, shielding her from prying eyes.

That's when the same man lashed out, his hand closing around her forearm like a vice. (Y/N)'s jaw clenched in pain, her eyes flashing with anger, as she gazed straight into the man's raging eyes, their faces inches apart. "Why is he angry ? No—how dare he is angry ?" Complex emotions once more fueling her brain, hatred spite for the man so far her fingers itch to slit his throat and watch him bleed to death.

"No. No. No. No. (Y/N) you can't do it. Stay calm. Stay calm". Her inner rational self repeated after all the power held is by men not women.

"You fucking bitch ! What do you think you are ! Fucking cunt ? How dare you lay a hand on me ?" The man twisted (Y/N)'s arm only for her to stood firm, her eyes blazing with defiance. Pain was nothing new, and she refused to yield, her silence a challenge to his dominance.

Holding her trembling fist—not from fear rather from anger she calmly utter. "Dear customer, this section is cabaret not private room so please refrain from doing sexual activ—".

"Fuck you woman ! You all are slut what happens if I fuck one of you". Tension weighted heavy on his offensive words suffocating even her lungs by the audacity of this man. How dare ? How dare this man found the chest to spoke about them. This illiterate garbage.

"It seems you are illiterate because the meaning of cabaret is dancers in our complex. Pardon us for not explaining actually, we didn't knew an uneducated person would come to our threshold". Blazing her (E/C) eyes into the man, his grip tighten and she felt the heat of his body underneath the fat meat.

"What did you say you bitch—".

"Or are you perhaps deaf too ?" Her voice not a lace with sarcastism or mock. It's purely fill with rage. Rage of being helpless, useless and shame. Because no matter how this man violented the innocent woman and assulted (Y/N), the fact still stands—he is their customer.

Despicable. (Y/N)'s throat felt dry and cracked at the fact, as if the man's crushing grip had drained the last drop of moisture from her body. The pain was numbed by her revulsion and anger, emotions that seethed like a cauldron as she gazed up at his face, illuminated by the eerie purple and pink lights above. His features, once human, now seemed twisted and grotesque, a stark contrast to the inhumane actions that belied his civilized facade. Tears of rage swelled over her vision, casting a blurry veil over the scene, yet she continued to stare, transfixed by the horror of it all. A twisted sense of guilt slithered in, its dark tendrils wrapping around her heart, whispering cruel lies of blame and shame, as the colorful lights above seemed to mock her, casting an otherworldly glow on the nightmare unfolding below.

The door finally burst open again, this time however by the security guards. They finally trapped the man, even tearing his iron grip that left purple bruises—her eyes stare. This will heal, but what about the innocent woman ? The woman's who crimson blood flow out of her private part in front of so many eyes ? (Y/N) will have her untainted skin back without bruises but can the woman have her virginity back she oh so hard frought only to lose. Sorrows finally slide down mourning the unconsciously woman as she bend down, helping the cloth to prevent her nudity from exposing in process her eyes met a onyx eyes, a depthless pool of intensity that seemed to hold a thousand unspoken emotions burning with a fierce inner fire that she couldn't quite decipher regardless of the black spectacles that meant to conceal, only seemed to accentuate the piercing quality of his eyes. Quickly she avert the burning gaze. "He is no different than that man". Snarling her face, she walk not knowing his sight was set on her from the very moment she step inside.

She find herself sit outside the makeshift medical area, her eyes fixed on the curtain that shielded the woman's privacy. Beside her, the private female doctor, a specialist in treating victims of abuse, tended to the woman's wounds with gentle hands as the moonlight's pear through the window shimmering her unremoved outfit. Suddenly, the general manager burst into the room, his face etched with concern. However, he halted outside the curtain, respecting the woman's privacy. (Y/N) rose to meet him, her eyes questioning.

"What happen ?" she asked, her voice low.

The manager's eyes darted to the curtain, then back to (Y/N). "The security told me everything. Is she g-going to be okay ?"

"Yes but—". She paused, expression somber. "Her clit has tore, virginity is take away that's why it will cause her a lot of trauma". The manager nodded, his face set in a determined expression.

"So, she might not able to work right ?" Before (Y/N) could answer the female doctor pull the curtains closed.

"Yes, she isn't at the headspace to do. I am even afraid that it might also cause a trauma of men which is very much about this job". Discreetly (Y/N)'s fingers curl into fist holding the urge to suffer the perpetrater.

"Gosh ! Why did it had to happen in front of the VVVIP man". The man mutter a curse. "Our reputation and woman is lost face in front of him". A frown ink in between (Y/N)'s brows.

"What ? VVVIP ? But he was entertained and happy. We did our job perfectly". Pluzzed she elaborate. "Also sue the man not the innocent woman".

"I never want to sue the woman. It's not at all her fault rather I am angry at the man because that asshole is the one who last minute came here change the perfect schedule of attending your dance instead went to the living hall dance with completely different setting. A modern one".

"What ?" A grasp lip past her.

"Who was it ?"

"A man with black suit, black spectacles and his name is Wang Ji-Hyuk, he is a Korean man but his entire business is at China that's why we choose a chinese traditional theme also it was said by the asshole but he ruined it !" Fumes smoking out of his ears. "I am goona sue him". Bit his lips, he dial the number of the said VVVIP (Y/N) mistook.

"Wait ! So that man from before ?" (Y/N)'s mind reeled as a quick flashback assaulted her senses, transporting her back to the living hall mere seconds ago. She relived the moment when her gaze met the VVVIP's, the intensity of his stare still seared into her memory. But before she could even process her thoughts, the general manager's urgent grip on her arm yanked her back to reality.

"He's still outside, we should apologize," He whispered hastily, dragging her toward the door.

(Y/N)'s confusion deepened as she stumbled alongside him. Apologize? For what? She couldn't fathom what she had done wrong. The VVVIP's behavior had unsettled her of how a man so boredly sat and watched a woman get rape is truly inhumane, what apologize does she own to the VVVIP ? For protesting against the rape ? Protecting a innocent woman ? Or causing a scene unnecessary. Her thoughts swirled in a jumbled mix of emotions as she struggled to keep up with the general manager's rapid pace. Why were they apologizing? What part was her fault? None, she believes. Still the questions swirled in her mind like a vortex, leaving her bitter.

At the reception, they found the said man standing with his back to them, his imposing figure radiating an aura of authority. The soft hum of conversation and gentle clinking of foot filled the air, a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing inside (Y/N).

Just as they approached, the head manager's voice cut through the calm, "Ah, sir, I see you're still here."

The VVVIP's back stiffened, and he slowly turned around, his movements deliberate and calculated and he faced them, his eyes locked onto (Y/N)'s once more, the intensity of his gaze making her heart skip a beat.

Time seemed to suspend as their eyes met, the air thickening with tension. The general manager's words of apology died on his lips, and the head manager's smile faltered, sensing the changed atmosphere. Pursing his lips, he nudge her hand allowing her to look away.

"W-we are sorry. Extremely sorry for the lack of professional and such unpleasant scenes to be caused". What ? What was her lips utter ? The way her mouth moved, forming words of apology, as if driven by a force beyond her control. Her voice was barely audible, a mere whisper, as she spoke the words she didn't mean to say. Her head bent down, weighed by the shame that wasn't hers to bear.

She felt like a puppet, her body no longer her own, but a mere marionette controlled by invisible strings. Her limbs moved, her lips spoke, but her mind was a distant observer, helpless to stop the charade.

The man's gaze still held her captive, his eyes burning with an intensity that seemed to strip her of her autonomy. She was a leaf blown by the wind, a feather tossed by the breeze, completely at the mercy of forces beyond her control.

"Yes, we are very sorry". The head manager bow respectfully making the VVVIP tilts his head.

His voice was laced with a jaded tone, as he asked "Are you ?" The words hung in the air, a lazy drawl that seemed to imply he already knew the answer.

"Yes we are—" His gaze shifted, those onyx eyes slicing through the manager like a knife.

"Not you". He said, not hiding the disdain as the manager's words were cut off, left dangling in the air like a severed thread.

His eyes narrowed, returned on (Y/N) solely. "Her" He said, the single word a cold, calculated stab.

A gulp pass through her throat fighting the conflict of emotions ranging all together among his gaze piercing through her like a challenge, a dare to deny the truth he already knew and the air vibrate with tension pressuring her to say something against her will even if it's the truth.

"Yes". No. "We are very sorry for the inconvenience". As soon as they passed her lips, a look of disappointment settled upon his face, like a shadow cast by a cloud. His onxy eyes, once piercing and intense, now seemed to regard her with a disinterest that was almost worse than his earlier disdain. He turned away, his movements economical and precise, as if he had already dismissed her from his thoughts.

The head manager's words, a futile attempt to salvage the situation, trailed after him like a forgotten echo. "Sir, please, let us—" However he didn't so care to offer the head manager a face going out leaving a exhausted (Y/N) from the long journey she endured today. Hopefully he never comes back is what she wishes.

A wish that is bluntly ignored by the gods or heavens above after the next day he shown his face once again like a calm before the storm.

"O my gosh ! He came again !" The manager appeared to be in elated mood. "Also he requested for you specially !"

"Alone for me ?" He nod excitedly as if he were to dance in front of the VVVIP. A tangled web of emotions evocated her like : revulsion, obligation, and fear wrestled for dominance as she was asked to dance alone for the same man whose behavior had disgusted her. Her mind recoiled at the thought, her heart heavy with the weight of conflicting emotions. The memory of his jaded gaze at the living hall scene made her skin crawl, her body trembling with the effort to suppress her true feelings. Uncertainty and powerlessness shrouded her, like a ship torn from its anchor, adrift in a stormy sea. "Understood". As common it was such unfortunate things for women to happen in this industry she learnt the past years to forget those memories as soon as possible.

"What is the theme ?" She asked.

"No theme". He answered. "Also he has bring a dress only for you to wear". He added causing a tension.

"What kind ?"

"You will see once you wear". Giggly he answered.

Soon the answer was present as her feet glided into the room, her (slender/plump/bony) figure draped in a flowing, silvery-white gown that cascaded down her body like a river of moonlight. The dress, crafted from the finest silk, hugged her curves with a soft, ethereal glow, its smooth texture catching the light with every subtle movement and the gown's neckline rose to her jaw, framing her heart-shaped face with delicate precision. Around her chest, layers of flowery, silvery-white fabric bloomed like a whispered secret, adding a touch of whimsy and romance to her overall allure.

While her shoulders were cushioned by puffed sleeves that fell to her forearms, leaving a tantalizing expanse of skin visible beneath. The sleeves themselves were a masterclass in subtle drama, with delicate folds and creases that added depth and visual interest to the overall design. As she moved, the gown's silken fabric rustled softly, releasing tiny whispers of sound that seemed to match the beating of her heart. The hem of the dress swept the floor with a gentle, lapping motion, like waves caressing the shore.

"How can I dance in this properly ?" (Y/N) asked noticing the man's eyes glossing over the material.

He ignore her question. "It must be expensive. Because you of course looked beautiful but now you look drop dead gorgeous". A strained smile came to her lips despite feeling the nagging rings on her stomach.

"Thank you". The old man waved his hand.

"Okay, now go ! Go fast". Pushing her back tenderly (Y/N) was faced to face into a private room with Ji-Hyun.

"Thank you for requesting me, Mr. Wang—".

"You look beautiful". His gazed at her, his voice barely above a whisper. "More than I imagined." His eyes devoured her, drinking in every inch of her being, as if attempting to memorize her contours. His gaze lingered, branding her image onto his soul, claiming her as his own. Time seemed to bend, stretching out the seconds as he feasted his eyes upon her like the world around him melting away.

"Thank you". Nervously she thanked. "So, Mr. Wang, what dance would you—".

"Sit".

"Huh ?" She felt her ears misheard. "I said sit". Perhaps not because her sight followed his palm patting the cushion beside him causing her heart sink.

"I cannot".

"Why ?" Almost like an genuinely question he asked.

"Because I am here to dance not to talk if you want to talk, you can go to the host section where women will talk—".

"I know," he drawled, his tone laced with ennui along his face unreadable. Yet, his next words dripped with intention: "But I want you." The phrase hung like a challenge, freighted with unspoken consequences.

She began asking, "What do you—". But he truncated her inquiry.

"Well, I'm not here to talk, rather to propose something only to you". The hidden meaning behind his words sent her heart racing, as multiple worst-case scenarios flashed through her mind like a chilling slideshow. "That's why sit down". She obeyed regardless of her mind commanding the opposite.

"Good". A smile curve finally. "So, I want you to be my girlfriend".

Silence. For few seconds the words pass her mind registering not to process rather how to defy without offending because he isn't the first person to offer such kind of want from her, many did and will in the future for sure.

"You mean, sir. You want to have sexual relationship with me ?" He must be, because no man in their right mind would offer a cabaret dancer to be their girlfriend for romance unless it involves the sexual favors. Right ?

"I do". She bit her bottom lips. "However I want full ownership of yours. Like partners do. I want to be your boyfriend not just a sexual client to satisfy my needs". Ji-Hyuk with straight face explained, his piercing eyes bore into hers.

"Ownership ?" She is at loss. Truly, because men offered their advances for her services she crearly doesn't work for—never confess their love.

"Yes. I crave a bond that goes beyond mere physical satisfaction. I want to own your heart, just as you own mine." The intensity of his emotions left her breathless, his words echoing in her mind like a promise of forever she didn't ask nor want. Uncomfortable flooded her body, confuse to know the right way to react to a VVVIP guest who suddenly profess his love for her when she met twice or more like met eyes twice.

"What if I reject ?" Her own voice whispered in the almost silent room if overlooking the light pleasant music from behind. Her fingers dug in the cloth that isn't belong to her to earn comfort.

"Why would you ? I have everything a woman needs in a partner so you shouldn't have to reject me". His nonchalant attitude was eerie to her and it gave her the answer she needed. She can't reject him. She shouldn't. Because the way his gaze pinned her, heavy with expectation. The dress, a luxurious trap over her body along his weight with unspoken threats with the air thickened seem to have clear his intention. He isn't here to hear no. Let alone from a woman like her who's expected to be impressed, to be grateful, and to accept thoughtless like a doll to buy and show off.

Still she choose to say. "I am sorry but I can't, sir. I am very very sorry". More than the consequences she fears her freedom stolen, controlled and tramped by a wealthy man she is yet to even know.

"Okay," Ji-Hyuk said, his voice flat and emotionless, like a door slamming shut. He turned and walked away, leaving the dancer alone in the private room, surrounded by the suffocating silence. The soft click of the door echoed through the space, a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing inside her. His abrupt departure left her thoughts reeling, anxiety swirling like a maelstrom, as she struggled to decipher the true meaning behind his enigmatic answer.

Was it a genuine understanding, or a cleverly disguised manipulation? The uncertainty hung in the air, a heavy fog that refused to lift. Soon the head manager burst into the room, his face flushed with urgency, and demanded

"What's going on? Why did he leave so abruptly ?" His voice was laced with a mix of frustration and concern. However, (Y/N) was too engrossed in her own thoughts to acknowledge his presence similar to Ji-Hyuk, who sat in the backseat of his luxurious car, puffing on a cigarette, his eyes gazing into the distance. His mind with how first and hard he fallen in love, and the rejection that came with it. The smoke from his cigarette swirled around him dwelling him to how he fell.

Trash. He thought, the moment these Thailand business men invited him to a Adult Entertainment Complex, he already judged them and cancelled the deal in his mind. Because two types of men are pathetic, one if they are consumed by greed lost rationality and another drown in lust lost control by their lower part that's why he doesn't make deals with entertainment industry, with what tragedy did he accepted their proposal. Huh ? Merely thinking of the chaos he is about to witness create a mirgrane however he still decided to go, why ? Because he wanted some relaxment too however his meaning of relaxment wasn't watching a barely adult woman getting rape by one of the trash from the Thailand worker.

"I regret coming here". He thought drinking the bitter beer. Gosh, he should have ordered wine, beer never suited his taste nor his class what father told him and he was right. Dull the mood has transformed and he outstretched his hand to his private secretary when the door bust open by a woman, a beautiful one and clearly from this industry judging from her Chinese theme clothes marched with pure rage towards the trash.

Intrigue fill his interest, he partly expected the woman to be naïve and display her emotions however he was beyond delightful to find her compose yet fierce personality. The way her eyes twitch yet not a wince slip her lips when he twist her arm, the way her delicate jaw clench in anger and those (E/C)'s burn like flames and the light hues from above shone at her so beautifully, gorgeously, he wished right there and that moment to claim her as his especially given his initial disappointment with her timid apology before departed the complex.

But now, Ji-Hyuk's lips curled into a sly smirk, the cigarette dangling precariously from the corner of his mouth, as he savored the unexpected turn of events. "She rejected me". She isn't as timid as he thought who needed a little push to be claimed instead turn out to be a little firecracker, who knew exactly when to withhold her flames, leaving him intrigued and wanting more. Her rejection was a tantalizing challenge, a hint of a deeper intelligence and inner strength that he found irresistible. A smart woman, one who could match wits and defy expectations, was a far more captivating prize than a naive, submissive one.

"(Y/N)!" The manager's sharp voice cut through her intense focus, snapping her back to reality. She blinked, her gaze shifting from the task at hand to the manager's expectant face.

"Yes, manager? Why did you come?" she asked, her tone measured, but her mind still reeling from the sudden interruption. Lately the manager has been coming to her a lot from the moment that VVVIP's existence came—her throat constricted, memories of the previous day's conversation with Ji-Hyuk flooding her senses.

"What conversation did you had with him ?" Her (E/C)'s eyes stare at his unusual stress expression.

(Y/N) paused, her eyes avert from his.

"So, I want you to be my girlfriend".

"However I want full ownership of yours. Like partners do. I want to be your boyfriend not just a sexual client to satisfy my needs".

"Nothing special". Lies smoothly roll her tongue.

"Is it really nothing special ? Really ?" The manager asked, his voice raising enough for to flinch.

"Why ? Yes, nothing special". In low voice she said, as her palm reached out to placate the middle-aged man. Her hand made contact with his shoulder, a gentle touch that spoke of reassurance. While a quick smile to others who stare at the raised voice.

"Then explain why did not only that Thailand business company cut our services but also all of our Thailand business companies !" (Y/N)'s eyes widened, a mixture of confusion and dawning recognition swirling within them. The manager's words hung in the air like a challenge, forcing her to confront the unspoken questions she had brushed off earlier. Why were there fewer people than usual today ? And now, all of their Thailand business companies? No. It can't be. Why did he leave with such a short "okay" if he was going to take this step ?

"Look ! (Y/N), you are my long term employee, I have watched you from the start of your life in this grey world of lust and men so I know you wouldn't do something to hurt our complex, will you ? No right ?" Immediately she shake her head. "That's why tell me if you said some offense words, we can apologize to him and correct the mistake". Past his calm voice suggesting, (Y/N) could clearly see his trembling hands.

"How did you know it's him. It could be anybody more powerful". She questioned, not want to confront the reality just yet. How could she ? After she rejected him ? If indeed he is behind the work, the cabaret manager can't limit her imagine of how power he has in his palm.

"Because, today every single Thailand client called at the same time, canceling their services. Of course I forcefully asked one of them where he told me the truth that a powerful person ordered them". He revealed. "And Mr. Wang is one of the top business man who has hands all over the Thailand industry even if the companies don't work together, it's easy to pull strings of connection". (Y/N)'s gut twisted into knots, her stomach churning with a sense of foreboding. The weight of the manager's words settled upon her, making her feel like she was drowning in a sea of responsibility. The pressure was suffocating, each breath a struggle as she tried to process the magnitude of the situation.

With a sense of resignation, she nodded her head, agreeing to take the fall for the mistake. "I'll go apologize," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. The words felt like a betrayal, a admission of guilt that she didn't fully understand.

"Then let's go ! We must hurry to seal the deal". Excitedly the manager without sparing a look at her, guide her to outside.

Why ? Why ? Why ? Why ? Why ? Why ? WHY ? like a annoying ring on her head spin around making her unconsciously deep her crescent scars on her skin. Like a holding her inner demons to explode. How ? Why ? How can fate always make her the victim of pathetic humans ? Huh ? Why she ? Wasn't her inhumane father trying sell his own daughter for few dollars enough that fate somehow brought a man to toy her entire meticulous bulit like crumble down. Yes, Roman wasn't built in one day but it sure burned in one day.

A cruel reminder that even the strongest foundations can be razed by the whims of fate.

Clenching her jaw, her heavy feet step towards the destiny she very much fears at the same time loathes. That's when a hand hold her wrist spinning her around and her eyes wide seeing the man.

"Hello, Mr. Wang. Thank you very very very much for letting us in. The fault entirely lies on us that's why Miss. (L/N) came to apologize with me". Forcing his hand together he plead in front of the Ji-Hyuk who across him sat lounged on the massive sofa, his casual attire—a light blue shirt with white line strips and grey trousers —a stark contrast to the gravity of the tense situation. One leg crossed over the other, his back leaned against the plush cushions, exuding an air of relaxed superiority while his gaze was fixed intently on the woman beside the manager. (Y/N) herself sat rigidly, her posture a picture of tense contrition. Her head bowed, chin tucked in, and jaw clenched in a tight line. Fingers curled into fists, her hands rested on her lap, betraying the turmoil brewing beneath her subdued exterior. A portrait of contained anguish.

Reading the obvious implication of his attention over her. The manager nudged her arm to which she part her lip. "Mr. Wang, please forgive me if any of my words that I didn't knew held much power offend you personally that's why I am sorry". She bow slightly. "Hopefully you can look past my mistakes and still continue to be in our services".

Click ! The soft scratch of the sliver lighter to a fleeting spark, and the gentle whoosh of flame embracing tobacco. Ji-Hyuk's eyes never left (Y/N) as he raised the cigarette to his lips, the tip dancing with each inhale. He smoked with deliberate slowness, exhaling wispy tendrils of smoke that curled around his words. His gaze, calm and collected, held (Y/N) captive as he spoke, his voice low and even. "So, will you finally accept the proposal you rejected?"

The woman swears she doesn't need a glance to feel her higher up head swirl to her side with perplexed written.

"If I do, will you continue to be in our services and spread good words among other business ?" His eyebrows rise in intrigue and the message clearly send to cut the trouble and make it back to normal.

"This". A gleam of satisfy flicker in his eyes. This passion, fire was he expecting from the woman he desires and he wasn't disappointed.

"Yes. Will you be my girlfriend". He asks, a question from his side however a taunt to her after all, 'no' was never an answer.

"Yes". Finally a smile touch upon his lips along his eyes crinkled at the corners.

𝑾𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝑰 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒏' 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒆��𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆 𝒐𝒌𝒂𝒚

After the chaos subsided and (Y/N), her boss drove out of the mansion by his personal driver, the air was electric with the buzzing of phones. The screens lit up with notifications, a flurry of activity that signaled the return of Thailand's services—and more. New companies, behemoths in their industries, had flocked to Ji-Hyuk's empire, eager to tap into his influence. The sheer scale of it all was suffocating. (Y/N) felt a wave of disgust wash over her as she realized the true extent of Ji-Hyuk's power. He had effortlessly manipulated the situation, bending the world to his whim. The thought made her skin crawl, her anger simmering just below the surface.

She was nothing but a tiny, insignificant doll in his vast playground, subject to his every caprice. He could trample her, walk all over her, and she was powerless to stop him. The realization was a bitter pill to swallow, her resentment growing with each passing moment. Snatching her wrist, she glance at the decorative lights of the cities with moon light donning from above and the next thing she knew she found herself standing in a cramped, dimly lit room, surrounded by the faint scent of perfume and smoke. She was dressed in a revealing theme outfit, her reflection staring back at her from a mirror-lined wall like usual ready to entertain the customer alongside her coworkers, equally dazzling in their attire, bustled around her, their chatter and laughter a cacophony in her ears.

Suddenly, the door slid open revealing Ji-Hyuk and the enigmatic owner of Muse and Seduction she never been lucky to catch glimpse of, stood before her. Mutters ring behind her, reeling her mind and she watched him come near her.

'𝑪𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝑰 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒂𝒎 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒆

"From now onwards you aren't allowed to dance ever again". And her entire world crumble down once again.

"Am I getting fired ?" She swears, (Y/N) swears to not sweep desperation and hurried in her voice however her eyes also betrayed her vulnerably in front of the same man her fate is controlled by.

"No. You are just only allowed to work for me". Ji-Hyuk replied nonchalant as if he didn't taking away her dancing too, the only source of her income and comfort of identity.

𝒅𝒐𝒆𝒔𝒏'𝒕 𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚𝒘𝒂𝒚

"Can I reject ?" She tries but she was aware of the defeat the moment his eyes racked over her figure and the owner of her complex cleared his throat.

Her answer doesn't matter. Never did and will. How unfair as her (E/C)'s in agonizing slow motion as her juniors slipped away, one by one, into the private rooms without her felt fresh twist of the knife hollow her inside.

Never again.

Suddenly the sanctuary, being to transform into a shrinking cage as its walls closing in with oppressive force, squeezing the last vestiges of hope from her lungs. Suddenly every tick of the clock was a countdown to her demise, suddenly the silence seems to be a uncomfortable noise she can't ignore and eyes of his heavy like a death warrant above.

Softly, she breathed: "Are you satisfied?" Her whisper hung in the air, a fragile question mark, as her gaze remained fixed on the empty space where the women had vanished, their absence a haunting echo.

A smirk lift his lip and with a sign of hand Ji-Hyuk command the owner to leave the couple alone to which he obeyed.

"Yes". Anticipation bumble within him as he stare at her waiting for the gaze to be returned.

She looked at him.

Chill. Straight chills ran through his body the way her numbed eyes bore into his, as if she could see right though his soul. Oh ! The taste of breaking a strong woman is like conquering a fire with bare hands. His fingers tremble to touch her.

So he did. Snake his hands around her waist and tighten the hug almost burying her into him.

𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕, 𝒘𝒆'𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒂 𝒘𝒂𝒍𝒌, 𝒊𝒕'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏' 𝒇𝒖𝒏𝒏𝒚 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒌.

"How about we spend the night together. Alone, only you and me ?" The question mark lingered, a sly taunt, as if daring her to respond but she knew better. Only humans are worthy of consent or choice, not a pig, even the one who is about to be butchered. No one asks a pig if it wants to be slaughtered so does she that's why she nod lifting a smile.

The mini city lights twinkled like diamonds from the car window is once again a wonderful sight yet her inside remained heavy with a numbness that suffocated any spark of awe or happiness. Only pumping heart mechanically, a mere reflex before the slaughter.

𝒑𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒆

His tan slender palm, hold hers on her lap that she dared to glance at him finding his eyes already on her. He was about to speak when the driver announced.

"Sir, we have arrived". The master nod, merely going outside on his own before signaling her and her (E/C) eyes saw the familiar mansion like the previous time of her asking to apologize with her manager—not alone making her wonder if she not come, would her fate had been different ? Perhaps—for worse. She likes to delusion.

His palm finds her and almost drag her inside ignoring few numbers of servents bowing to them walked straight to the white stairs. Only noise of her racing heart and heels clicking echoed the eerie mansion until they arrived at his bedroom—she guess.

He released her hand, only to shed his professional armor, his fingers deftly untying his tie and unfastening his cuffs, the soft clinking of metal and rustle of silk. The cabaret steeled herself, bracing for the inevitable prepared to be used as a merchandise and discard at his whim.

As expected he closed in, his chin whispering against hers, their faces inches apart, the air thickened with anticipation. But just as their lips were about to meet, he detected the slightest hint of defiance—her hyoid bone tensed, a tiny rebellion, and her fist, clenched in a secret gesture of resistance. His onyx eyes, burning with intensity, snapped to hers, searching for surrender, but instead found a spark of refusal that turn him on so hard.

As their lips entwined, he was transported to a realm of pure bliss, his senses ignited by the sweet nectar of her mouth. He felt like a man blessed by the gods, granted the ultimate treasure to savor and devour. Every fiber of his being thrilled with ecstasy, his heart soaring on wings of delight, as he indulged in the tender flesh of her lips. The world around him melted away, leaving only the intoxicating taste of her, a divine elixir that left him drunk with pleasure. He was a king, and she was his conquest, his prize, his heavenly gift.

Unawarely he concerned her to the wall, cornered (Y/N) further than she was trapped. A nausea threat to pile over as she was clawed, touched, sucked into the unwanted torture. Tears swell her eyes, she wanted to bite his tongue and shove him away but against her want she continue to let the starved man indulged because the pig is layed, its flesh inspected, and now the blade poised about to slash its throat, mirroring the brutal violation of her own dignity.

𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆

Greedy hands tore at her outfit, exposing her flesh alike the pig's carcass, his onyx eyes devouring the sight of her breasts. His palm fondled one, hunger burning in his gaze, as her fingers instinctively wrapped around his hand, her nails digging deep enough to draw blood, a primal reaction to his violation.

Her breath hitched.

His lustful eyes snap to her.

Oh no. No. No. No. What did she did. She wasn't suppose to protest. She shouldn't be. A mistake—apologize—right she should apologize but why no voice is uttering. Suddenly his gaze burn her bare flesh, shame her.

And to her surprise, he retreat his hand. A displease paint his expression. Not to her intrude as she is thinking rather Ji-Hyuk realize this fire isn't his yet. She still doesn't belong to him.

Body, yes. Mind, yes but heart ? No. A not astonishing information wash cold over him. No, this is not good. No, not at all. He wants her everything. From her body to her fire to her heart—too. He wants her every bit to feast or else she never belonged to him at all.

𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒘𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒑 𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒍 𝑰 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒆

That's why he shifted away. Marching to the bathroom leaving (Y/N) with a command. "You are staying the night".

That night, they lay in bed, a chasm of silence and space between them. He had freshened up, and she had too, separately, as if seeking solace in solitude. They faced away from each other, feigning sleep, but (Y/N) was wide awake, her senses heightened. She felt his gaze upon her, multiple times, as he quietly turned to watch her pretended slumber. His eyes lingered, a silent scrutiny, as if seeking answers in her stillness. The darkness was palpable, punctuated only by the soft rustle of sheets, as they both waited for the dawn, their minds racing with unspoken thoughts. The distance between them seemed to grow with each passing moment, a heavy, unbridgeable gap, as they lay there, lost in their own private worlds.

As the sun's golden rays peeked through the window, casting a warm glow on her side of the bed, she quietly sat up on the soft mattress she rarely gets to touch let alone sleep, her gaze drifting to his peaceful form. His sleeping face, relaxed and serene, is a sight to behold, his features softened without the stiff spectacles that usually framed his eyes. Yet, as she beheld his tranquil countenance, a morbid thought crept into her mind. "Would he look as peaceful, as serene, if he were to die with his eyes closed ?" The question lingered.

"This is the first time you are so eagerly sparing me a look," His sudden, raspy voice sliced through the silence, making her jump as she realized he was awake, his eyes now opened to meet her surprised one. "What ? Why so shock ? Can't a man wake up early ?" He chuckle, sitting up and she shifted away as much as possible. Ji-Hyuk notice it.

"Well, good morning ?" He greeted expected to be returned.

"Good morning". (Y/N) replied.

Then he silently rose from the bed and vanished into the bathroom, leaving (Y/N) alone in the quiet morning light.

A soft knock on the door preceded the entrance of a maid, who curtsied and presented (Y/N) with a neatly folded outfit. "It's the master's order," she whispered, her eyes cast down. (Y/N) nodded, accepting the clothes, and followed the maid to a separate bathroom she used yesterday to freshen up and she changed into the new outfit, her movements were quiet and obedient. After finishing, she made her way to the master bedroom, where he awaited.

The moment she stepped into the room, his face transformed, a warm smile spreading across his features, like a sunrise breaking through the clouds. It was a sight she noticed how frequently he is showning alike she recalled the gentle curve of his lips in the morning, and the soft smile he had worn the day before raising a question is he letting his guard down ? Good then.

"It really did suit you. Looks pretty." His eyes crinkled at the corners, and his voice was low and smooth.

"Thank you". Ji-Hyuk stood up, walked near her.

"What would you like to have in breakfast ?" She narrowed her eyes on his caring question.

"Anything". Meekly she answered.

"Even grass ?" He smirked at her clenched jaw action.

"What ? What was funny ?" She wanted to yell yet knew to keep her mask on of compose and said. "I am sorry. No. Rather I do not have much preference as you like sir, order it". Polite and low her voice sounded however to Ji-Hyuk, it sounded distant and cold.

"Well, what country are you from ?" (Y/N) is confuse at his sudden question session.

"(C/N)".

"Hmm..then order something from your home country". The dancer paused a second to realize why he asked about that and it twist something alike a knife inside her guts of how caring his thoughts might be, it's ironic to his actions and power use he done.

"Understood".

"Ji-Hyuk". He called his name. "Call me by my name".

"Understood—". His onyx eyes burn into her eyes as if waiting for his name to roll out of his name. "Ji-Hyuk". And the sound certainly lighten the mood of the VVVIP due to his wider smile like a boy got his desired candy.

Soon they entered the grand dining hall with they sat at opposite ends of a sprawling, polished table. The long, empty plates stretched out before them like a canvas of fine china, adorned with intricate silverware and crystal glasses. At the head of the table, the private butler from the previous day she seen stood poised, his eyes fixed on her with a silent expectation, his presence exuding an air of refined elegance and discretion.

The butler approached, his eyes inquiring, and asked, "May I take your order?"

She parted her lips to say when under his watch she said her favorite meal from her home country while he opted for the Grilled Salmon. As they waited for their food. (Y/N) felt his gaze without looking the entire until their meals arrived, they ate in awkward silence.

"So, why did you start working in this kind of place". He sliced into the salmon, his knife gliding smoothly as he watched the juice trickle across the white plate.

She paused a quick second to meet his gaze thinking whether she should be honest or lie and as if reading her mind he answered. "I will know about your background anyway". She smiled quitely at his sentence because then why ask her ? It feels like being interrogated by the police.

"To escape my abusive parents". Her eyes then slide to her own meal.

𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒘𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒑 𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒍 𝑰 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒆

"Oh, physically or mentally ?" She furrowed her brows, her eyes narrowing slightly as she looked up, meeting his gaze and he simply smiled, seeming to revel in her reaction because he had intentionally asked the question to draw her in, to make her willingly meet his eyes. After all, he had never gone to such lengths for a lady like her— dining together, wasting time, and inquiring about her past, which he could easily access. But he knew that to truly captivate her heart, he needed to understand it first. And so, he watched her, his eyes sparkling with amusement and curiosity.

"Both". He nodded, putting a piece of salmon inside his mouth not averting his own gaze.

"Then why didn't you go to sex work ? It pays more than cabaret do".

"It's uncomforta—it's uncomfortable to be in pain. As a woman, I always have to be in pain at my first period, my first sex and probably for my first birth that I decided not to have the latter two for the sole sake of pain". His notions paused as slow, knowing smile spread across his lips sinking the realization of her touched and in this moment he knew he had chosen perfectly. "Unlike men". She added noting all his reactions.

"Sounds almost to me you want to become a man".

"No". She chuckle bitterly. She wants to crush men. Cutting her meal she missed the way his eyes glowed in astonishment.

𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒍 𝑰 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒆

"S-She smiled ?" It's the first time she smiled willingly and it's beauty so captivating that his breath caught in his throat.

"Ji-Hyuk, could I ask which country are you from ?" Her question snap from his daze.

"You already have known it".

"Not from you". Ah ! This wit is what drives him crazy. The challenge is to his liking. Too liking.

"Korea but stayed at China my most childhood due to my father being Chinese and his business in here".

"Then your friends must have celebrated birthdays together". (Y/N) smiled in envy.

"Yes. Very happily". Ji-Hyuk answered. "When is your birthday ?"

"(M/D), yours ?" It created a smile at his lips knowing her interest awaken on him.

"Mine at August 31". She nod noting.

"I would like to celebrate my birthday with you". An order it is she understood from his tone.

"And what about your parents ?" She asked something quickly.

"Well, they are dead. Both died in their arms". Smiling Ji-Hyuk said. "What a love. I want that too". Glancing at her he tilts his head making her look down in uncomfortable.

After that he continued to engage her in conversation, asking about her interests and hobbies. However, she responded with brief, monosyllabic answers while also trying to slip some questions about him.

Finally the breakfast ended with her glancing at the lavish clock attached on the white wall. "Ji-Hyuk, then I should go ?"

"Where to ?" He straightforwardly asked.

"Home". Ji-Hyuk clench his jaw. "Can't this be your home ?" He was tempted to say but he didn't, too soon.

"Okay," (Y/N) breathed, feeling a wave of relief wash over her as she turned to leave. When Ji-Hyuk next words stopped her in her tracks. "But—" Her heart sank, her lungs tightening once more as she turned back to face him.

"Give me your phone," he said, his hand outstretched, his eyes gleaming with an unsettling intensity.

Finding no excuse to refuse with a sense of detachment, her hand reached into her bag and handed over her phone. The VVVIP's fingers closed around it like a vice, his thumbs flying across the screen with a speed and accuracy that made her skin crawl and when he handed it back, (Y/N) felt a chill shiver her spine. Her GPS and location services were now enabled, her every move trackable.

Holding her phone tightly with a bright, empty smile, she waved goodbye, feeling like a puppet on strings as his personal driver escorted her to the car, and she was driven away from the mansion towards her own home.

The driver's silent gaze met hers in the rearview mirror as he pulled up to her apartment building, the unassuming structure a stark contrast to the opulent villa she'd just left. (Y/N) felt a mix of relief and anxiety as she gathered her belongings and stepped out onto the familiar sidewalk.

"Thank you," she murmured, her voice barely audible over the hum of the engine.

With a nod, the driver waited until she disappeared into the building before pulling away, leaving (Y/N) to climb the stairs to her apartment with a sense of trepidation.

As soon as she locked the door behind her, she pulled out her phone and dialed a familiar number. Somchai, the bar manager.

☾ ───────────

𝒘𝒆𝒍𝒍, 𝑰 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒏' 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰'𝒍𝒍 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒔𝒂𝒚 𝒊𝒕 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏

Three hours of silence. Three hours of utter disregard the woman he waste so much time isn't caring to pick his call nor seeing his messages making Ji-Hyuk anger seethed, simmering just below the surface as he glared at his phone, willing her to respond. But she didn't. She was ignoring him, dismissing his attempts to contact like he was nothing. The thought sent a venomous rage coursing through his veins. Who did she think she was, anyway ? Didn't she know he wouldn't be ignored ? He should have kept her locked away, hidden from the world, where she couldn't humiliate him like this. Now, he have no choice but to confront her by going to her home, hopefully she isn't with a man being a whore. Just the mere thoughts made his skin crawl, his mind racing with visions of her with another man. He couldn't let that happen. He wouldn't let that happen.

The business man almost burst out of the car if his driver late to scramble open the door one second and Ju-Hyuk is at this point consumed in rage and jealousy. He reached floor and stood at her door, his hand slamming into the bell three times, the sound echoing through the hallway.

"Bitch ! If there is a man. I will fucking kill him". He swore and the no answer only fueled his anger, he began pounding on the door, his fists shaking with fury. "Open up!" he bellowed, his voice echoing off the walls. "I know you're in there! You can't hide from me!"

And before he thought to break the weak wooden door, it swing open by (Y/N) herself who's surprise cross her expression finding his disheveled appearance, for the moment his heart skip a beat as his gaze lock into her beautiful (E/C) eyes and his anger falter until a glimpse of an unfamilar man behind her sat on the sofa, seems to be waiting for her.

𝒔𝒐 𝒌𝒊𝒔𝒔 𝒎𝒆 '𝒕𝒊𝒍 𝑰'𝒎 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚, 𝒃𝒂𝒃𝒆, 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒈𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒂𝒎 𝒂 𝒎𝒆𝒔𝒔

"Bitch, fucking bitch". He mutter under his breath, staring at the man and snap ! As if the thread of holding his inner demon exploded and all his vision could see was red and his mind the urgue to kill the man alive.

He pushed (Y/N) aside, his hands shoving her away like a mere obstacle. She stumbled, her eyes wide in alarmed seeing him march into the room.

"What is he doing ?" (Y/N)'s confusion dissipated in an instant when the VVVIP's palm curled into a fist, poised to strike her co-worker. Her eyes widened in horror with her piercing screams earning Somchai's attention who now noticed his menacing stance is already too late. Ji-Hyuk fist flew, connecting with a sickening crunch that sent Somchai stumbling backward. The sound of the impact was like a crack of thunder, making (Y/N)'s heart skip a beat on contrast to his satisfaction.

"Stop it ! What are you doing ?" She scream and jumped before him to defense the only man who ever treated her like a human angering him more.

"Move". She shake her head.

"Please tell me why are you doing this ?"

"Because you are fucking having an affair". Flames coating his voice as he narrowed his eyes to her pluzzed gaze.

"What lead you to believe that ?"

"Well, this alone of him being in your room proves that and the reason of not answering my messages and phone calls". She openly for the first time scoff.

"First of all I had no idea of your messages and phone call because it was charging in another room and". She paused, looking at her side. "There are people with me". The table turns and Ji-Hyuk turn to the side with his eyes wide finding two women and another older man standing in horror holding few papers related to work. "They are all managers like me in Muse and Seduction".

His eyes dropped, falling to the floor as the weight of his mistake crushed him. He felt like he'd been punched in the gut, his breath knocked out of him. His hands, still clenched into fists, now felt limp and useless, painted with the innocent manager's blood. "Fuck !"

The room fell silent, the only sound the heavy breathing of the managers, who were still trying to process the scene that had just unfolded and Ji-Hyuk's mind is a jumble of emotions, his thoughts racing with the realization of what he had done. All his hard work, all the progress he had made in building trust with (Y/N), had been undone in an instant, all his hard work in drain and now start from square one again. What a fucking idiot. Never did he knew one day his emotions overshoadow his logic that he so thinks is pathetic at the same time a newfound realization set in. He can't anymore bear the loss of this woman. How beautiful yet tragic.

"It was my fault. I-I will pay the bills of his medica—".

"Sir, could you please step a bit ?"

"S-Sir ? Step a bit ? What do you mean ?" For the first time in front of (Y/N), he stutter his words, bewildered by the fact she is choosing a random man over him ? Why is she telling him to leave ? "You want me gone ?" His voice accusing and onyx eyes betrayed feeling the regret of letting the man alive.

"No, sir I meant to—".

𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰'𝒍𝒍 𝒉𝒖𝒓𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒍𝒍 𝒉𝒖𝒓𝒕 𝒎𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒘𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒏'𝒕 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒕

"What ?" Aggression evade his face and (Y/N) flinch in pain when Ji-Hyuk's grip on her forearm, his fingers digging deep into her skin "Fucking bitch, what ? Cat caught your tongue".

"Ji-Hyuk, I am simple asking you to move so I can grab my phone to call—". He scoff loud to cut her polite request.

"Now you are calling me by my name ? What a clever little mouse you are ?" He twist her arm a little, gleaming to find a hint of change expression.

"Aren't you a fucking whore ?" He twist some more and she clench her jaw brushing off the memories that comes with the pain, bitter memories of the past men repeating the action.

"Aww, is my whore daughter crying ?"

"What bitch ? Spread your leg, why can't you open your legs like a bitch in heat".

"What a little woman we have here ? Listen, woman are submissive, not wild cards".

"Fuck you woman ! You are all slut, what happens if I fuck one of you".

"So, (Y/N) fucking (L/N) talk, do you want to me to leave ?" Bottled anger and resentment simmered, a potent brew of fury and fear the more he speaks. The echoes of past men's condescending voices swirled around her, a cacophony of control and possession that threatened to consume her.

"Talk ! Can't you fucking talk ?" Each word, each phrase, was a drop of water, slowly drowning her, suffocating her.

"(Y/N), answer me !" Her lungs burning, her heart racing, as the weight of their collective entitlement crushed her. And then, something inside her snapped.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP". She exploded and he was silenced. "Yes I do indeed want you to be gone. So please for god's sake go away with your sad excuse of a man". She straight glare at him making him falter a little and without a word he left.

For few seconds she stood silently before Somchai's gently pat on her back bring her to reality.

"I am sorry for the scene". She asked forgiveness to her co-workers who shake their head, brushing off her apologize. "Also I am sorry, Somchai". She said to the man who watched and seen the entire thing and couldn't help feel pride swell his chest.

"Don't be". Shortly making eye-contact he smiled silently telling her it's not her place to apologize.

Gingerly, (Y/N) asked, "Should I call an ambulance or take you to the hospital ?"

His response was nonchalant "No need, it's not my first time." A hint of a reckless past lingered in his words, leaving (Y/N) wondering what kind of life he had led to become a bar manager in this Adult Entertainment Complex along the lines his teenage years, he claimed, were a blur of wild abandon and devoid of serious goals or direction.

The meeting had reached an impasse, with Somchai and the others swiftly exiting, leaving (Y/N) alone to ponder the consequences of her action, sitting on the sofa. She massaged her forehead, trying to ward off the looming headache and speak of the devil, her phone buzzed, a message from Ji-Hyuk, popping up on the screen.

"Make sure to come to my birthday tomorrow". (Y/N) was taken aback by Ji-Hyuk's calmness in the message as she brace herself for anger, resentment, or even threats only to get this ? Her initial unease grew more, scared of unpredictability. When another notification pop. "Or else you have to pay for today". A clear threat despite the indirect words still she felt a twisted sense of relief after all at least she knew he was indeed still mad and have a temper because another one of the lessons she had learned on this job is the unreadable ones were always the worst. It's never known when they would explode or what they were brewing inside the calm facade so, with Ji-Hyuk's overt threat, she could prepare herself, unlike the unpredictable ones who kept her on edge.

"What a headache". She hold her head on her hand and slumped on the sofa not having the strength to move.

Beautiful the color blue is and Y/N looked absolutely stunning in the silk light blue dress sent by Ji-Hyuk this morning. The delicate fabric hugged her body perfectly, and the soft hue complemented her skin tone exquisitely with her hair cascaded down her back like a golden waterfall, with loose strands dancing in the gentle breeze as she stood on the sidewalk, waiting for the taxi to arrive she booked few seconds ago.

"What is going to happen ?" Worried cast upon her face imagining his treatment for talking back at him yesterday. She hated it. Hated being scared of little things, little mistakes makes her reminiscent back to the days of her parents where her mother unnerving, unforgiving eyes follow her around along her father's hating her guts for being merely a female. Her (E/C) eyes stare at the gift she held, a expensive watch—not with much thought she brought but it hurt her to spend her hard worked penny on to someone she doesn't care plus with her finance—the gift is too much for her. Hopefully he doesn't break it into pieces.

She was lost in her thoughts when a sleek, lavish car pulled up beside her, its black windows gleaming in the sunlight caught her attention. "It's his". Shs understood and confirmed more when the window rolled down, revealing the familiar face of the driver, who greeted her with a courteous smile. "Come inside, ma'am."

Wordless she obeyed feeling to step into a world of wealth and power, the scent, the softness, the space all makes the car so much more lavish to sit on, a mix of surprise and curiousity brew inside her soaking on the money she never dreamed to be inside and the door closed behind her with a gentle thud, snapping her out of the admiration.

Soon they pulled up to the grand estate, the driver opened the door, and she stepped out, her smile faltering for a moment as she gazed up at the imposing structure. The familiar mansion loomed before her, its beauty almost painful in its intensity. The sunlight danced across its facade, casting a warm glow that made it shine like a golden palace of the gods.

As she entered, her eyes observed in awe at the opulent interior. Crystal chandeliers refracted rainbow hues, and intricate frescoes adorned the ceilings. The air was alive with the sweet scent of exotic flowers, and the soft hum of classical music whispered through the halls. The decoration certainly more heavenly than before.

And at the heart of this splendor stood her master, his eyes locked onto hers, and she felt the familiar tug of the invisible leash on her neak holding on his hand.

𝒑𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒆

His hand outstretch and she smile like a pretty doll letting him hold it like a prince he is and they walked together towards the private ballroom where faint party noise could be heard and her (E/C)'s glance at him. "Happy birthday...". She tailed off. "Ji-Hyuk". Finally she added making him smile and caress.

"Thank you". He said caressing her hand by his thump. "You look beautiful in the dress I choose".

"Here's your gift". (Y/N) extended her hand, offering the gift bag. "It's not much, but I hope you like it." Ji-Hyuk's eyebrows shot up in amusement as he accepted the bag, his eyes sparkling with curiosity and he opened the packet, revealing a sleek watch with a black leather strap— a luxurious and expensive timepiece indeed, yet to Ji-Hyuk, it was surprisingly plain and almost...tacky.

"This ?" His gaze narrowed, his expression hidden the disdain staring at the color black seemed dull and unrefined to his eyes, a far cry from the sophisticated and elegant accessories he was accustomed to making him wonder about (Y/N)'s taste. Had she really thought this was something he would appreciate? Shouldn't she have at least asked him before bringing something so...pedestrian into his home?

The air was thick with unspoken questions as Ji-Hyuk's eyes met (Y/N)'s, his expression a mask of polite gratitude. "Thank you," though his voice neutral, still his eyes betraying a hint of disapproval. And (Y/N) notice it.

"Your welcome". She look away clenching her fist.

𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆

"By the way you are staying the entire night with me". He commanded leaving no room for argument not like she has a tongue to argue. Once was a mistakes. Twice wouldn't be so she bit her tongue.

Then they stepped into the resplendent golden ballroom, the air was alive with the gentle clinking of champagne glasses and the soft hum of conversation. The room was abuzz with people from all walks of life, each with their own agenda, yet united in their anticipation. They mingled and chatted, forming tentative bonds, their eyes gleaming with a shared desire— to curry favor with the elusive Ji-Hyuk.

However beneath the polished smiles and courteous laughter, a different story unfolded. Each guest harbored a secret hope, a dream they dared not speak aloud. They were all waiting for the host, the enigmatic Ji-Hyuk, rumored to possess the power to make their deepest desires come true and once they spot him, a collective hush fell over the room. Ji-Hyuk's arrival was met with a subtle yet palpable shift in the atmosphere. The masks of civility slipped, revealing glimpses of avarice and longing. Eyes gleamed with an unspoken hunger, as if the very presence of Ji-Hyuk might unlock the doors to their wildest ambitions.

"Terrifying". She mutter under her breath, clearly feeling eyes burn her skin along his as the spotlight is on both of them together.

𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒘𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒑 𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒍 𝑰 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒆

As Ji-Hyuk's lips grazed her cheek, a shiver ran down her spine. His gentle whisper, "Let's go, sweetheart". sent a mix of emotions swirling within her. Their steps harmonized, drawing them closer to the crowd, and with each stride, her anxiety intensified. The air thickened, making her feel like she was being slowly suffocated, as if the walls of her lungs were closing in.

The crowd loomed before her, a sea of faces blurring together like a den of hyenas waiting to pounce. Ji-Hyuk's reassuring squeeze on her hand only added to the pressure, a reminder that even the gentlest touch from the most powerful predator could be overwhelming. The thought sent a tremor through her veins, as she felt like a vulnerable prey being led into the heart of danger.

"Welcome, Mr. Wang".

"Oh my friend, long time no see. Happy birthday".

"Happy birthday. Just didn't saw you for few years and you look more younger than before".

"Happy birthday. Mr. Wang, here meet my wife".

"Mr. Wang nice to meet you".

"Mr. Wang, you seem such a busybody ?"

"Mr. Wang, thanks to you the new wine business is going smoothly".

All their voices come mush to her yet when she glance he looks as unaffected rather he looks composed, calm and smiling and answering to each one of them.

"Oh ! Mr. Wang, who is this beautiful lady in your arms ?" This earned her attention holding her breath to hear. A escort ? A girlfriend ? A nobody ? Hopefully he choose one of these.

But her heart sank.

"My soon to be wife". Her eyes wide and breath hitched. Chest racing and almost as if feeling her eyes he slide to meet hers.

What ? Wife ? Wasn't the deal to be his girlfriend ? Why ? What changed ?

As if reading her mind he part his lips speaking wicked words. "And I am proposing to her right now. In front of her".

𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒘𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒑 𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒍 𝑰 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒆

Her body froze, shock and fear rendering her immobile. She couldn't look away, couldn't speak, could only watch in horror the scenario unfolded. A waiter approached, bearing a dark blue box, which Ji-Hyuk opened with flourish as if it's hold a treasure in it, revealing a stunning ruby ring. Without a word, he slid the ring onto her finger, his eyes glinting with triumph.

The room erupted into applause and cheers, the noise almost deafening her. Ji-Hyuk's smirk grew, his lips curling into a cruel smile as he mouthed the words, "You are mine now, forever." Pleasuring from her tears sliding from her eyes the guests that the guests are oblivious to her distress, mistook her tears for joy, or simply chose to ignore them.

Tormented.

Hatred.

Anger.

Is all she felt. Those negative feelings spread thoughtout her body like a poison bit by the snake in front of her a man, who is smiling so wide, so happy she wish to crush it and watch him suffer, cry, beg. Anything but happiness.

"Excuse me. I need to use the restroom". Without hearing his reply she march toward to the escape, gripping her grown and dug her fingers on the innocent fabric she wish to tore it right there and then. While the business man observed her every single little moments and drowning in her torment after all it's her punishment. Her punishment for humiliating and shaming him yesterday in front of those pest. As much as he urged to rip her head off he also realize she was a wild cat without a leash so as a good master he brought a leash on his name and put the ring of forever to always remind the woman she belongs to him in eyes of law and all and she should be submissive. Ah, the pleasure of breaking her fire.

𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒍 𝑰 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒆

With arrogance drunk his mind, he mindlessly exchange strings of words to the pathetic men he deems until he frown glancing at his watch to still not find (Y/N) at his side. "Where is she ?" Certainly not ran away because it's stupid and such action from her is honestly disappointing so hopefully she won't sad him. Right ? Right. Because excusing himself he went to their shared bedroom and about to go outside not finding her when his ears perk at the shower water and immediately a smile curve.

His eyes burned with anticipation, his mind consumed by the promise of forbidden pleasure. He shed his tie, his movements deliberate as he walked to find the door unexpectedly open. Sweet, such a two-faced woman. It's really a sign of inviting him isn't it ? And indeed it was beholding a sight that made his heart race because there she stood beneath the shower's gentle caress, her clothes plastered to her body, accentuating every skin, every contour. The water had transformed her outfit into a translucent second skin, making her irresistible. Ji-Hyuk's onyx eyes devoured the sight, his gaze lingering on the way the fabric clung to her, highlighting the softness of her skin that he noticed the subtle stiffening of her shoulders, a whisper of awareness that she was no longer alone. A sly, sensual smile spread across his face as he stepped closer, his movements silent as a predator's. With a gentle, yet possessive touch, he wrapped his hands around her waist, his fingers brushing against her skin.

The water continued to cascade down, creating a sultry melody that accompanied his whispered words "Such a siren you are". His breath caressed her ear, his lips grazing her skin, as he pulled her closer, his body aligning with hers, the heat between them palpable.

Finally she turned, her movements unfolded like a tantalizing dance, each moment a promise of surrender. Her expression remained serene, yet her half-lidded eyes alike to velvet curtains covering her beautiful (E/C) eyes with water continued its gentle caress, dripping down her face, tracing paths of desire and her pink lips, inviting and plump, seemed to whisper a silent invitation, begging to be kissed, to be claimed.

Sending a painful thorb in his pants and without second thought forgetting the party, the people awaiting and everything he descended, anticipating a tender kiss when her grip on his shoulder electrified his body with a sudden, searing pain. She slammed him against the wall, his head cracking against the hard surface, sending a jolt of shock and taken a back through his veins escaping a low groan from his lips yet she showed no mercy, her fingers tangled in his hair, yanking his head back with a fierce cry. His vision blurred, the room spinning around him, as she smashed his head into the wall once more crashing his vision to be lost only seeing glimse of her hateful eyes.

☾ ───────────

𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘, 𝒘𝒆'𝐥𝐥 𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒔𝒍𝒐𝒘

As Ji-Hyuk's eyes fluttered open, a throbbing, sharp pain hit him like a sledgehammer, forcing his lids shut again. The harsh glare of the bathroom light bulb pierced through his brain, making him question his surroundings. Why was he in the bathroom ?

Gingerly, he sat up, and the pain struck again, making his head spin. Memories began to resurface, fragmented and hazy, like a dream. He recalled inviting (Y/N) to his birthday party, proposing to her in front of everyone...and then following her when she stormed off.

The memories came flooding back, and with them, the anger and humiliation widen his eyes. She had pushed him, violently, against the wall. The audacity! How troublesome women could be. She thought she could escape him? Ha! He would track her down, and when he did, he would be polite, coaxing her back with a gentle touch...or else she might flee again.

Ji-Hyuk stood up, shrugging off the stiffness in his shoulders and back. He dusted his already immaculate clothes, a habit born of precision and control. He walked outside to the bedroom, expecting to find her gone, "as I thought". A wry smile twisted his lips as he confirmed his suspicion.

Rolling his eyes, he headed downstairs to summon his butler, intending to order a thorough search of the mansion. After all, no one thought to look for a hiding person in their own home, do they? But before he could issue the command, the servant approached him with a knowing look.

"Master, I think I should inform you...she left last night," the female servant said, her voice neutral. "She took her luggage and instructed us not to disturb you."

Ji-Hyuk's laughter echoed through the hallway, a low, menacing sound. "Ah, how delightful. She thinks she can outsmart me ?" His eyes gleamed with amusement, impressed by her audacity.

𝑰 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒐, 𝒘𝒆'𝐥𝐥 𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒔𝒍𝒐𝒘

Ji-Hyuk's expression turned glacial, his voice dripping with calm anger. "Find her right now. I want her in front of me within 24 hours." His demeanor had shifted from amused to menacing, leaving no room for failure.

𝑰𝒕'𝒔 𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒍𝒊𝒑𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒈 (𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘)

His butler, usually unflappable, appeared before him with a panicked expression. "S-sir, I-I have something to report..." he stuttered, parting his lips to deliver the unthinkable words: "She's gone forever, sir."

Ji-Hyuk's eyes narrowed, his mind racing with questions. What? How? What did he mean by gone forever" ? He demand an explanation when the door burst open, and a group of police officers entered, their presence a jarring surprise.

The sudden invasion of his private space, combined with the butler's ominous words, made Ji-Hyuk's head spin. He felt a growing annoyance, his control slipping. "What is the meaning of this ?" he demanded, his voice cold and authoritative.

𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒎𝒚 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒐 𝒏𝒖𝒎𝒃 (𝒘𝒆'𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒔𝒍𝒐𝒘)

"Mr. Wang, you are under arrest for tax evasion, embezzling money from your shareholders and series of crime that are still under investigation". He felt like he'd been punched in the gut, his mind reeling with the implications.

"What ?"

𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒂𝒎 𝑰 𝒔𝒖𝒑𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 (𝑰 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒐)

The butler's whisper jumbled words added to the chaos "All of the bank contracts, shareholder agreements and those important evidence are missing...and I've got a message from the bank that all of our money is gone, finished." Ji-Hyuk's gaze snapped to the butler, his eyes blazing with a mix of anger and shock. "Someone took today early morning verifying it's you, sir".

𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒆 ?

The butler's voice cut through the chaos, "And I believe it's—" but Ji-Hyuk finished the sentence himself, his voice dripping with venom, "(Y/N)'s work, right ?" The setvant's nod was like a confirmation of the most unpredictable he never imagined.

"And the shareholders are very anger along other companies who's contracts are missing".

𝒐𝒉 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒏', 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒏', 𝒃𝒂𝒃𝒚, 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝐫𝐞 𝒔𝒐 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒆

Ji-Hyuk's laughter echoed through the room, a cold, mirthless sound. "Ha! She was playing the bigger game, huh? I underestimated her...this time." He felt a wave of fury wash over him, realizing he was not only facing arrest but also financial ruin, all because of the woman.

Ji-Hyuk's smile grew wider, his eyes gleaming with a manic intensity as he muttered, "Oh, such a fierce woman cost me my ruin." The police officer's words droned on, a familiar litany of rights and warnings, but Ji-Hyuk's mind was elsewhere. How classic, he deem men pathetic who lost control by their lower part and here he is the same.

"You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can be used against you and you have the right to an attorney..." The irony wasn't lost on him —he couldn't afford food let alone a lawyer now. The thought sent a fresh wave of complex emotions coursing through his veins.

His mind was else where though while the police's the cold metal of the handcuffs and the police officer's firm grip on his arm. Still Ji-Hyuk's smile never wavered, even as he was led away in disgrace, wondering where (Y/N), who he was ruined by is.

The sky above seemed to stretch out in endless splendor. The white clouds, fluffy and soft like cotton candy, gathered around the plane, casting a serene shadow over the landscape below. The sprawling cities, once bustling and overwhelming, now appeared tiny and insignificant, a testament to the power of perspective.

She couldn't help but gasp in wonder, her eyes fixed on the breathtaking view. She had never been on a plane before, let alone in first class, and the experience was almost surreal. The gentle hum of the engines, the soft glow of the cabin lights, and the attentive service of the flight attendants all combined to create an atmosphere of luxury and tranquility.

Somchai's voice cut through the hum of the plane's engines, his words dripping with genuine interest. "So, how are you liking it?" he asked, his eyes never leaving hers, as if she was the only view worth beholding.

(Y/N) met his gaze, a laughter-filled smile spreading across her face. "Amazing," she replied, her voice bubbling with enthusiasm. "I've often seen how it looks from phone and TV, but never in real life...due to financial problems." She shared her truth without hesitation, her words unfiltered and raw.

Somchai's expression remained soft, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled, leaning on the seat besides her. "Well, now you won't have to," he said, his voice low and reassuring. The words hung in the air, a reminder of their shared secret— the plan to steal Ji-Hyuk's money, the plan that had brought them together.

Clenching her jaw, her heavy feet step towards the destiny she very much fears at the same time loathes. That's when a hand hold her wrist spinning her around and her eyes wide seeing the man.

"Somchai ?" The least person she expected to see stood in front of her.

"Boss, can I...for few seconds talk to her ?" He pleaded the general manager who looked skeptical however she didn't wanted because the only bit of dignity of her should be remain at her work place.

"No, Somchai. Please let me go". She tug her hand for him to lose yet not go.

"I am sorry, (Y/N) for holding you wrist against your will. But please, please talk to me". The way his eyes begging and brows frows together she nod getting the boss's permission too "Thank you. Thank you". Then only he let go before apologizing to hold her wrist.

After they went to another room.

She asked. "What is it ?"

"You are not really going to apologize right ? After all working in this industry I know this much first it's not your fault". Her eyes flick clenching her heart at the reality how by little humanity from a man seem like a blessing when it's nothing. "And second your life will forever be trapped once you she step foot into his mansion because he wants you".

"I know". Without emotions she lowered her gaze.

"And you are okay risking it all ?"

"Woman never have choice". Bitterly she said and he realize.

"Then how about create a choice ?" Her eyes confuse.

"What do you mean by that ?"

"The entire reason you are force to do this becsuse you lack financially and even if you did not lack it the man is powerful enough to strip you down until you are nothing so why not steal the reasons of your imprisonment ?"

"What ? How ?" She breathed looking at him as if he had horns in his head. However he smirked telling his plan of her pretending to be with him when in reality she is going to find Ji-Hyuk's all documents and papers of bank to steal his money and fly somewhere he can't find her in case he wants revenge or simply her.

"It's risky". (Y/N) shake her head. "And crazy". She added.

"Well it's better than doing nothing also I want to see you smile and free like you deserve". He smiles. "Like all women deserve.

As soon as she locked the door behind her, she pulled out her phone and dialed a familiar number. Somchai, the bar manager.

"Come to my place immediately ! I have gps tracker on my phone and I am sure people will tail me if I go out so come to my place". After that he went to her apartment where she showed him all the detail bank records she took when he was asleep.

"But there is something else too". (Y/N)'s words earned his attention and his eyes wide seeing even the shareholders and business companies contracts and corruption. "And I think we should leak the corruption and take the shareholders and other companies's money to frame him of stealing money also leaking their private information". Making them plan not only running away but also ruining him for once and all before running away that's why at the proposing day she knocked him out to escape.

"Thank you, Somchai, without you I do not what I could have done".

"It's alright". He simply shrug.

"Well, I am going to my home country where my father earlier transferred from to thailand but—". She side eyed him. "Why are you coming with me ?" And he put a hand on his chest, acting as if he is in pain.

"Ouch ! You wound me. I thought you would be happy".

"I am but..." She tailed off laughing. "You seem to be a romeo helping his Juliet after all. O my gosh ! What am I saying, I do not like that story at all". A disgust expression cast her face.

"Ah ! Why not ? It's such a tragic love story". The bar manager argued.

"Right, love story more like a impulsive infatuation". She roll her eyes.

Somchai chuckled humbly "Also, indeed, I am not a Romeo." He confessed with a sheepish grin, acknowledging his unromantic past. After graduation, Somchai was a free spirit, splurging money with his friends, and living life on his own terms. His days blurred together in a haze of adventure and recklessness until one day he saw a girl, a beautiful girl he swear took his breath and her name is (Y/N) (L/N) and her profession, rather than shocking him, filled him with admiration for her fearlessness and dedication. Unlike his past self, who had been coasting through life on his father's wealth, (Y/N) worked tirelessly, unapologetic inspired him to stop relying on his family's influence, left bad influence and joined the very same complex to protect his secret crush blossomed into love from alongside even if she isn't his, Somchai is proud of her independence as long as he can stay beside her.

"Good because I can't see you becoming one".

"Really ?" Amused he laughed.

"Really". She sweetly said. "Somchai". At her smile his heart swelled with joy, knowing that he was the cause of her happiness making him bliss to simply be near her, to bask in the warmth of her presence, and to watch her shine.

"You really know how to make a person—".

"What ?" (Y/N) cut him off excited.

Laughing he finished "Enslave".

FIN

⌜ This story is inspired and I thought to turn the lines of song ❛ make you mine by public ❜ into my dark thriller. It was fun and hopefully you like it ⌟

[minerwarfare-suzuya]

Ask box response

This post is a follow up to the previous reblog post to update what's going between me and Cagney alongside other associates in the group that I have departed from a while back.

During the afternoon I just received a response from one of the group members yesterday which I will respectfully keep anonymous but I think only a handful of people will know who it is regardless of the edited screenshot when reading further on this post.

We'll be taking this interaction step by step to construct some criticisms, make statements and opinions of the overall message.

Here's the first half of the message sent to my inbox:

One thing to clarify is that I'm not being dense when I know that the group and you included, tend to nitpick at a lot of things. I was aware prior to what were the few reasons for being cut off before the announcement of my departure given the tension between the group conversations in the private community.

Now that's not to say that there wasn't a good point made for kicking me out!

Especially given the number 1 point made on your list.

1. I won't lie that giving away crucial details and conversations within screenshots was something I did totally out of left field. I knew that it was against the community's group protocol which I did get chewed out for showing the screenshots to Zombify.

But-

If I had not gone back and forth between two groups then I wouldn't have been given crucial details from Blurry's end about him doing a Cease and Desist order onto the Moboxcritique/TheGoldFiles Blog along with Kevonica being the primary suspect of quote on quote "Harassment" or "Defamation". Meaning that if Blurry had sent you a Cease and Desist letter, you'd be given a warning and restricted from posting on the blog that mentions him which would've led to possibly going to court/legal actions if you had gone any further with the drama to criticize him more. Then there's a possibility that the blog as a whole would've been taken down prior to its deactivation if Blurry did go to court with Kevonica and the blog given how much he'd get the judge and the jury to side with him regardless of what was put against him on the Moboxcritique blog's documents, posts or archives to justify your actions from calling him out.

So, yes I fucked up in leaking the group's conversation but at a cost of knowing about the Cease and Desist order ahead of time until a mutual agreement was made to keep the Blurry drama under the rug.

Then of course, I shared this post revealing a recorded conversation between Anonymous123maybe/Tammy Tuna and Miles to show that Miles never changed. This was another thing I got chewed out for publicly sharing but it was from Kevonica this time.

But did Anonymous123maybe/Tammy Tuna mind?

No

Plus, Miles only proved our suspicions correct.

2. I don't know why you need to rub it in that you and the group you're associated with have been victims of abuse when I've been through a mentally abusive relationship prior. It's not a competition or comparison to be made and I can understand that we can all take a stand in getting ourselves out of abuse and have it be known or unknown. Either way, if this is a complaint for being in defense for Piaojun's artwork of William x Renata in our chats together or on my "Parting Ways" post then I don't wanna hear it but even if it's not. Then it's likely about my other post discussing the themes of Mobox87's art work.

So, let me put it out there as simple as I can get. On my draft script post "Understanding", we talked about domestic abuse being an often taboo theme projected in Mobox87's stories and visual illustrations. The key important details mentioned are what likely inspired her and how it's become a progressive cycle that it feels romanticized but most importantly that it's a sensitive topic that can still work with storytelling.

We can all agree that Mobox87 always makes the abuser superior in a majority of her stories and I get that in this harsh reality that it is true the victims tend to lose or not survive from domestic abuse but when it's a constant visual being shown with each different story variation told. It gets bothersome to the viewer and you question the morality of the person behind the story. So, it's completely understandable to be critical about it. Now for the theme of that to work in a story, you wanna project it in a way where it can appeal to the audience. Such as the victim surviving or getting out of the situation. Other cases would be showing the victim getting some moral support through the trauma of abuse.

I know that I mentioned the episode "Mad Love" from the 1997 "The New Batman Adventures" series, a follow show to "Batman The Animated Series" from 1992. I go over how Harley Quinn's relationship with The Joker and how it projects the abusive relationship very well to the audience as a way to educate the consequences of what happens between the abuser and the victim or a toxic relationship. Heck we even see in the Harley Quinn show that she practically leaves Joker after realizing she was only being used. Another good example would be in the show Steven Universe on the episode "Alone at Sea". Where Lapis tells Jasper that she doesn't want to be a part of their unhealthy relationship anymore which if you're aware of them being fused together under the ocean for a long time from watching previous episodes you'll get why she doesn't wanna go back and that projected the importance of asserting boundaries and leaving when someone is abusive towards you.

Anyways, let me rewind things back to "Romanticized abuse with your strange takes upon things". I wanna make this clear I DON'T romanticize abuse and you know DAMN well that I don't when I've made it clear on a few occasions when you shit talk about Piaojun behind their back that they have no intentions of wanting to project the characters William and Renata the way Mobox87 has done. Even if they did have, it was illustrations projected to tell it's story purposes between the characters crucial fate of relationships departing. Like I get the idea you don't like the ship and the same can be said with a bunch of other people in or outside your group but don't ever drag your battles upon someone else who doesn't wanna associate with the drama. Let alone DON'T BITCH about what someone is doing between two characters who they clearly want to change from their original story for the better. You don't dictate what others can or cannot do in art especially if that person is doing their own thing. If you can't agree with that then FUCK OFF. I have my own morals and mutual understanding that are common sense. I'm not going to judge someone and make publicity about it unless necessary. You should know better. YOU DO NOT SPEAK FOR THE ARTIST'S VISIONS AND DECISIONS THEY MAKE! Yes you can be critical but there's a limit and you are pushing it to your own judgements that are opinionative. So, get over it. No one does that to your own work and if people have then your just projecting that negativity onto others.

3. So, I wanna mention that YES I did force Cagney to reblog my post because I simply wanted a favor and if you or anyone had read the post "Parting Ways" you'd understand how frustrating it was to get them to post it. Like honestly you of all people should know that I've been supporting Cagney and Patty when I got involved in this drama when you reached out.

I literally reblogged posts when it came to talking about Mobox87, Nicole, Mobox87's brother SonicCrash, The FON game's process of dealing with its supposed virus issues, Mobox87's sales prices, Mobox87's harassment and especially topics about Miles! I shared heavy amounts of criticisms and gave out my opinion on things that Cagney would publicly post about while they gained more attention for it! So when I asked for the favor to help me with the situation about Arion the Kid/Blue's Journey that I was gonna go over with Red Radiant and others who were victims. I expected some help but instead I got the short end of the stick because-

Cagney didn't want to reblog my post or take part in it when it's about someone who is known in this Mobox87 community on the app "Amino" for sexually harassment minors who has continue to do so to this day on Discord!

Cagney and likely you along with the other associates would rather talk about petty SHIT involving Mobox87's comic series development or about Blurry's artwork than take on something far bigger and serious to discuss! I practically needed to force Cagney to reblog my post because I literally begged for it which resulted in Red Radiant and Andikai needing to back me up for wanting the Arion situation to be known!

Why should I have to be in a position where I'm like Oliver Twist begging for more food when it comes to a favor after I stick my FUCKEN neck out for you guys on drama topics!

Like-

How the fuck does Mobox87. A person we know who is controversial for a lot of things went out of her way to share a post about Arion?

https://www.tumblr.com/red-the-radiant-official/708998004953202688/hey-remember-that-guy-who-sent-you-those?source=share

Take note! She knew about this person long ago because I told her about them after she had a run in with them disturbing her Amino community back in 2019 when I used to moderate on her community!

Like yeah I get that it's one post she made in regards to the situation but you'd think that someone in Cagney's position. They would drag onto talk about this topic of Arion's manipulation and harassment like they do with other topics but-

No!

Instead they would rather talk about something petty and nitpick at the smallest issues because they were scared of being impersonated then went on hiatus after people misinterpreted their blog post about Piaojun. Just to only see that the rebranded blog "TheGoldFiles" now deactivated after months passing by.

Honestly, a lot would've benefited if they helped out more and kept pushing on talking about Arion as much as I did. Things would've been easier but instead I had to go out of my way to spread awareness of him following people on Tumblr in the Mobox87's fanbase when doing my document timeline.

https://www.tumblr.com/minerwarfare-suzuya/755834695937327104/just-confirm-with-you-all-that-i-have-police?source=share

Plus, I told Kevonica directly so that she would know.

You'd think at that point, Cagney would really need to touch up on the Arion topic by now but NO! Nothing said when brought to Kev's attention despite Cagney going on a hiatus.

I guess fuck awareness on a pedophile following people under our noses. ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯

4. Okay... Now you're just poking the bear at this point and I wouldn't be surprised if you or someone in the group was the one who sent this anonymous message onto the second blog awhile back.

This topic about aging up a character is known to be a mixed opinion or controversial to some people. So, I'm just going to say this.

Like if an artist (like myself) made fanart of a character aged up preferably for a new narrative or head canon story and it's deemed not okay.

Then this isn't okay.

Now you're probably going to say this-

"Oh but it's not the same because the creator made them underage, you can't age them up cause it's not canon!"

My brother in Christ! You are delusional cause the creators themselves might as well catch a heat over aging their own characters. Quit complaining about fanon artists or illustrators for making their own ideas on a character as adults in their fanfiction for their changes in character development.

This is an exact argument I had with Miles about the Vinsnake drawing last year!

https://www.tumblr.com/minerwarfare-suzuya/732636849810669568/miles-ownership-drama-timeline-part-5?source=share

But oh wait!-

That's not the issue!

Yeah, apparently you and the group were "uncomfy" with the Affinity remake's rewrite since the characters were "sexualized".

Yeah cause it's MY remake and I draw attractive Men and Women. Deal with it! I've been developing and pre-establishing the story for a long time with it's characters who are still undergoing redesigns as my surviving casts and designing characters with mature designs suitable for what I pictured best in FNAF Affinity that Mobox87 made a mess out of when it came to ages and over all looks.

Plus!

It's been pinned on my second blog that my remake is going to be meant for older teens and adults with WARNINGS before reading! So, I am taking precaution!

So, if you consider it strange without realizing I've planned things two steps ahead then maybe YOU'RE THE PROBLEM.

The second half of the inbox message:

5. ...

Okay! How FUCKEN dare you stoop that low! That is full on low blow! This part in particular is what has me really up my ego!

How dare you compare Red to Arion! Red is a victim of his harassment over the years that has gone by! Which had been ongoing still during this year in 2024 so far!

Comparing the person who I'm representing online and to police for not just himself but for others online that have been harassed, groomed, blackmailed, impersonated, manipulated, traumatized and mentally abused to a FUCKEN Pedophile! A pedophile that Cagney doesn't have the balls to callout or constantly post about throughout everything that has happened to Red, me and the likes of others online!

You wanna compare Red to Arion? Just because of a character Red has developed and been in talks with me about being added into my Affinity remake with his story restructured to fit in with my own interpretation when I'm directing and producing FNAF Affinity the way I want it? Fuck You!

Like legit Fuck You! You don't even know what we have been dealing with and what we have been documenting about Arion. Just for you to make that comparison.

Go kill yourself! I'm dead ass serious just take your blade off choice and cut your wrist vertically. Go tie a noose and hang yourself. Get run-over by a truck.

HOW DARE YOU COME TO MY INBOX AND MAKE THAT COMPARISON TO A VICTIM OF A PEDOPHILE OVER A CREATIVE DECISION THAT I AGREED TO ADD IN MY OWN WORK THAT YOU LISTED AS AN ISSUE ON YOUR TOP 5 SHIT LIST!

It's like what I've said to you years ago. You don't think before you speak and this really does show.

Anyways, Cagney is still active online even if you claim she's barely online since she went out of her way to respond to my last post and you still archived one of Mobox87's latest videos even if you also claim to be taking a break from archiving. So, there is activity going on behind the scenes.

Top it off, don't go off saying "Stop acting holier than thou" as if I'm being superior to you or anybody for that matter when you're clearly the one in that position.

Besides that I'm not taking down any posts. So Fuck off.

You may claim that now you see my true colors but really it's you who has shown your true colors that afternoon. Be glad that I've kept your username covered because I don't want anyone harassing you or anybody coming after you. If anyone is going to say anything to you during this feud, it's me only or Red.

I may have gone off too extreme with what I said but I DO NOT CARE and I Won't Forgive Myself For it but FUCK it. You put this on upon yourself. Woe is you if I name drop Cagney on a post, get over it. I'm not going to give y'all the satisfaction of going back and forth.

[oshinohoshi]

Oshi no Ko - In defense of Ai's "lies"

Warning: Manga spoilers below.

This post is a reaction to people occasionally saying, "Maybe Ai was the real villain all along" or "But Ai lies" as evidence of her character being sucky. And just... come on. I know, dear reader, that you understand how silly that is but I'm gonna spell it out anyway.

I always want to say in response: "Who did Ai hurt with her lies?" There is one character you may be thinking of and I'll get to that, but the person she hurt the most was herself. Because she told herself nonsense about how she was an irresponsible, dirty liar.

This breaks my fragile heart because this, right here, is the lie. Her negative self-talk stemming from a childhood filled with abuse and loneliness framed her issues with understanding love as if it were her fault and not, I dunno, the woman who fed her glass (see 45510) and abandoned her.

What were Ai's lies? Should they even be classified as such? Let's break it down:

She hid her kids. I would hardly call this a lie so much as a totally normal boundary for a celebrity with a public and private life. It only mattered because of the absurd standards for idols. It was more of a lie by omission anyway, but if someone asked her point blank if she had kids (maybe after one too many times nearly mentioning her kids lol) it would be perfectly acceptable to say no.

She put on a happy face at all times, hiding her emotions. This primarily hurt herself because it increased her social isolation and caused the girls in B Komachi to view her as untouchable and inhuman. Nino wouldn't have been so hurt by their fight if Ai better knew how to express herself, or maybe even if she had shown that she cared by yelling back, but that's a lot to expect from someone with Ai's background and lack of experience with relationships.

There's also Ai's neurodivergence. I don't want to speculate too much about that as I am not hugely familiar with the topic besides what I've learned by googling, but it can cause difficulty with social situations and expressing emotions. Sounds pretty familiar.

We are told in ch 137: "She could neither love nor trust people. She was timid and sensitive. She got hurt after being at odds with her friends. She really was an ordinary girl you could find anywhere. That's why she lied. A big lie that concealed her weak self completely."

Another description for this is a defense mechanism. Ai was not raised in an environment where vulnerability was met with reassurances. Moreover, as an idol it was hammered into her that she needed to hide anything about herself that could be deemed as negative or ugly. Anything that made her human. Ichigo told her at age 12 to lie until she understood love. She was set up from the get go to consider herself nothing but a liar.

She lied to Hikaru when she said, "I can't love you." This is actually not a big lie so much as the most negative take on her emotions. She wasn't sure she could love him but she wanted to. The real untruth is the way she flippantly strolled out the door as if she didn't care about him. But that doesn't make her a villain and her reasons are obvious given everything told to us about her in ch 137 and her avoidant tendencies she used as a shield to protect herself. She handled the breakup with all the grace of an elephant wearing ice skates but I'm not about to blame her for it.

She lied about love. I saved the big one for last. The thing her characterization hinges on. But it was hardly a lie at all. Not only because she actually did love her kids or that she was trying so hard to love which was its own form of love ("lies are love"), but because the idea of having to love her fans in a personal manner that goes beyond appreciation is actually ridiculous.

Nobody expects an office worker to love their clients or someone working at Starbucks to love their customers. But as an idol she was marketed as a perfect, pure girl, someone men could project their fantasies onto and who was supposed to genuinely love each and every one of them in return. It's nonsense. Ai was certainly not the only idol failing to live up to this. She just took it incredibly hard because she felt her lack of understanding of love was a personal failing.

We are told that Ai was a liar but she was honest as often as she hid the truth. She asked Gotanda to film the real her after he called her out about putting on an act. She was candid in the fan Q&A in 45110. In Viewpoint B she wrote a song that expressed her genuine feelings. She adored her kids so much that she slipped up and nearly talked about them on camera. Ai wanted to share how they had impacted her life but couldn't except through veiled statements. She was completely honest with Ryosuke, treating the moment as if she was in a confessional detailing her sins.

None of this is to say Ai was perfect. We're bonked over the head with the fact that Ai was a regular person who could get angry, who was too timid to push herself to connect with her fellow members of B Komachi, who undoubtedly did and said things that did not reflect her best self just as we all do. But I don't think liar is her defining trait. It's probably not even in her top five. I would describe her as sensitive, loving, mischievous, playful, and intelligent (she could be airheaded but she was incredibly savvy about her image) before I'd call her a liar.

There is no Real Villain Ai. And I can't tell you how glad I am that the theory some people held about her forcing sex on Hikaru was thoroughly debunked. Right up there with people speculating that Crow Girl is actually reincarnated Ai. That just made me laugh. The last thing reincarnated Ai would do is jerk her kids around.

We're told Ai was a liar because that's how she viewed herself. It's not an objective fact or at least not a fact that trumps everything else about her. So the next time someone says "Ai was a liar" my response would be "OK. So what?"

[meatychunks]

Conan the Barbarian and how it correlates to Mike's inner struggles

I know the topic of Mike's bedroom has been talked to death, whether it's the one-way sign or the buff dragon with nipples poster. However, rarely do I ever see talks on the Conan the Barbarian poster or even on the film itself, which is properly due to the film being somewhat notorious for its terrible treatment of women.

Whenever I do see it, people usually stick it up to being a part of his gay sexual awaking, which was sprinkled throughout his introduction in this season. And while I agree that's a part of it, I believe that they choose this film specifically rather than its sequel (which was only two years old in 86') for its depictions of minorities and masculinity to perfectly sum up his struggles with not only conformity but also toxic masculinity of the 1980s.

A HEADS-UP WITH TALKS OF SEXISM, RAPE, HOMOPHOBIA PLUS BREIF NUDITY.

Let's start with how it portrays sensitivity among men. Right off the bat, we see the film favours traditional masculine values with a conversation between Conan and his father shortly before the massacre of his tribe by the doom cult, with him telling Conan not to trust anyone and allow himself to be vulnerable, only trusting the steel of his sword which, in the film's own words, was founded by men.

Rather than this being a critique on how men are often been forced out of emotional availability by generations before them, it's taken as words of wisdom that Conan takes to heart as we see him from a scrawny kid that lost everything to a muscular killing machine, stripped from sensitivity and is seen by other characters as the prime specimen of man.

Male sensitivity is often depicted as a weakness and is unsurprisingly lumped with homosexuality as something to be ridiculed. We see this as Conan tries to sneak into the temple of the cult by pretending to be a shy and nervous bystander while wearing flowers (to which he says "for a girl" when being asked the purpose of them the scene prior), this attracts the attention of a priest who makes suggestive comments about his body all while caressing his chest. He asks to continue their discussion in private, an obvious implication of a hookup, and ends up getting killed by Conan.

Not only it's presented as something antagonistic with the act of desiring another man seen as something perverse, but also, the implications of GNC men shouldn't be taken seriously and only seen as a target for sexual assault.

Traditional masculinity carries into how women are represented. With it not only their screen time is few and far between but also only serve as sexual reward to male characters or to show off their power, women who don't fall into this category are usually ridiculed by our main protagonist, often being called sluts or hoes. They are disregarded shortly after their introduction by being killed and/or raped (including a woman being raped by Conan during his montage to power).

The only recurring female character is Valeria (we only find that's her name in the film's credits, so take that what you will) who gives the illusion of a strong character with being able to fight aside the male characters and her snarky attribute during her introduction, but ultimately ends up being a tool for Conan by falling into the wife role with her never being able to have true goals of her own. She disappears from narrative, only to show up towards the end for a tiny bit to meet her demise.

The poster reflects her role in the narrative with its composition, with her kneeling down so the viewers' eyes lead up to the main piece Conan, just an add-on to show his power.

Now that's not to say it doesn't cater to female viewers (and unknowingly to queer men) by taking full advantage of the female gaze with multiple lingering close-up shots of Conan, some framed in suggestive angles and even scenes only exiting just to show off Arnold Schwarzenegger's muscular frame (take the random sex scene with the witch for example). And while there is female nudity, like women in this film, it's treated with a lot less care with being in wide shots and going just as quickly as it appears.

Which finally brings us to this film's queer coding. It's common for macho action films to fall into homoerotic undertones due to their misogynistic tendencies, this film being no different with it being parodied in other media, even during its initial release, particularly in underground comics.

An example I like to bring up is Conan's "first time" in a fight. He's confused and nervous as he's thrust into battle bare apart from a loin cloth and is attacked by his opponent, but as the fight progresses, he gets more confident and begins to relish in it.

Overall, the film does serve escapism for it's male audience with its power fantasy elements, but rather of it being done through our main protagonist, it's done through the world where the narrative inhabits with it taking pride that worth is achieved through physical strength, wealth and sexual conquest. And while the narrative is the classic trope of the underdog going against a figure of high power, even they can't help finding his lifestyle appealing.

Now....

What does this tell us about Mike?

Well, we know that his family often emotionally neglect him and encourage him to give up vulnerability (i.e., making him give up his childhood toys that have emotional value and viewing his outbursts as just "delinquent behaviour").

His poor treatment towards El starting when they are together at the start of season 3. Starting off somewhat small with implicitly being disinterested in her when they are actually alone, take their conversation during his bike ride to the mall during his introduction or him jumping on the first chance he got on reducing their time together when Hopper stepped in (despite going against his wishes when it came to looking for Will in season 1).

However, when she starts to gain some independence through Max and stops being "his pet", rather than admit his mistakes and apologise like how Lucas does with Max or how he does to Will shortly after upsetting him, he starts using sexist language and starts to get controlling when said independence is applied to her use of powers.

His implicit homophobia during his projection, when Will (Who is canonically considered GNC during this time) implies his changed in behaviour as something negative.

And this might be a stretch, but maybe him tying his self-worth to whether or not he is able to provide and protect is also due to the societal pressures of gender roles and him feeling inferior to El could possibly be a hint of jealousy due to her being able to fulfil said roles despite her gender.

And we all know he has a certain type when it comes to men.

[rubbership]

free free to delete or answer this privately -- ohhhh my gd your point about millennials absolutely refusing to take accountability and bitching & moaning while grooming us absolutely got to me.

my own groomers/abusers were either millennials or gen z emulating millennials. downplaying & making jokes out of personal trauma to cope is one thing, but i'm so sick of millennials (and some facets of gen z) refusing to admit what they're doing to themselves and especially to others is harmful.

we get it, you (general you) are upset that you're an adult now after being raised by gen x -- acknowledge you are an adult, acknowledge you have power in situations, that what you say & do means something, positive & negative, regardless of intent. LEARN WHERE YOU ARE AT FAULT & TEACH YOURSELF BETTER!

tl;dr, i am SO glad you brought this up. it's been abstractly nagging at me for days, coincidentally.

yep, yep yep yep. my experiences with grooming was all millenials and late gen z/"zillenials" too, and not only are they so fast to make jokes out of their personal trauma but specifically put the spotlight on you to either comfort them or make your own joke. and it is so, so fucking awkward because 90% of the time im like. youre the one who traumatized me. this isnt a comradery where we talk about mutual traumas. youre doing it again. youre doing the exact thing you did when i was 14. youre making weird trauma jokes and then are forcing me to comfort you or to play along. its the same fucking dynamic. how have you not realized this. and if you point this out they FREAK THE FUCK OUT.

i have a couple tiktoks on this topic and let me tell you the reception was fucking terrible. i made a couple different videos talking about my frustration about how millennials kind of just "got away" with grooming us despite there being so much public evidence of it happening everywhere and how gen z and gen alpha deserve the right to speak up about this and they are my worst received videos. out of everything ive made. ive made videos about incels and transphobes and 4chan and terfs and abusive distant parents. but its the post about millennials that got me the worst hate. millennials in DROVES were coming into my comments harassing me and saying extremely disgusting and triggering shit about me, then turning around and calling me a cry baby and a sensitive snowflake for ~crying about it on the internet~ when they never made it anyone elses problem that THEY were abused. like its actually insane. its insane!

its even more insane to me because before that, i had MULTIPLE VIDEOS DEFENDING MILLENNIALS. MULTIPLE! where i talk about how their clothing interests and lingo like doggo and puppo and friendo or whatever the fuck might be cringy but thats also going to happen to gen z when we get older, that thats just a part of how trend cycles work through aging and how its a beautiful thing to be able to live to that point where younger gens call you cringe. and how gen z should be more aware of this because theyre really scared of being cringe and its inevitable, once gen alpha is in their late teens and early twenties, our lingo and style and behaviors will be so normalized that people will think we're cringy and out of date and annoying. its a good thing! it means youre the adult now! it doesnt mean anything if kids think youre cringe because. theyre kids. give them a few years. theyll be cringe too as adults.

and now im just. i literally cant believe it. they were my worst ever received videos and it got genuinely scary. i had people screaming at me in my comments about how "millenials didnt even use the websites" i listed (youtube, tumblr, twitter) and how millenials NEVER interacted with gen z, and how we're all just pussies and pansies and snowflakes and faggots for ever bringing this up. it was insane. like i genuinely cannot believe it. it scares the fuck out of me, and its making me realize that this is likely connected to the whole fetish situation i keep talking about on my furry account. i notice that a lot of the really big vocal "profetish" or "proshipping" accounts are also always millenials or older gen z. i dont know what the fuck is going on with them, but they need to shut up and get help. like i genuinely feel grossed out for defending them so much in the past. i genuinely did defend them, i think the generation gap and the idea of cringe is something that really damages society and shit, but god after that i was like. oh something is really, really really wrong with you guys.

i dont know whats going on. i feel like everyones decided they want to become a baby again. especially millenials. but like. EVERYONE. its just so fucking weird. so so so fucking weird. i still cant believe how many comments i got that were like OK BUT MILLENIALS DIDNT EVEN FUCKING USE SOCIAL MEDIA. and id be like heres a list of millenials on youtube who publically groomed their audience and theyd be like WELL HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW ABOUT THAT and id be like. you didnt know about miranda sings. or onision. or cryaotic. or dream. or most of the minecraft rpers. ever? youve never heard about them? it was insane. like genuinely. i cannot believe they said theyve never used youtube/twitter/tumblr/instagram. ever. THATS INSANE

WHAT AN INSANE AMOUNT OF DENIAL.

[stinkykitty8]

DOING YOKI FIRST :3

(Yoki belongs to me!!! Everything else credits to Gatobob!!!)

WARNING

This post incudes very heavy topics, nsfw, 18+ stuff, and overall just not very good things. Do not read if you are sensitive to these things.

Read warnings before pressing more please!!!

(Events of BTD 1 happen with Ren and Strade but Ren was kidnapped at 19 and decided to escape at 21, still dealing with a bit of stockholm syndrome he never actually goes to police after.)

After escaping Strade and building himself back up Ren ends up paying a prostitute to fuck during his heat. And because of this it caused an accidental pregnancy she didnt want. She wanted nothing to do with the baby but she also couldn't afford to get rid of it. Instead she just waited it out and after having Yoki she tracked down Ren and gave Yoki to him. Ren took full custody of her and Yoki's mom hasnt been seen since. Ren named Yoki (full name Yokino) and raised her all by himself even thoughit was a bit of a struggle. Ren allowed Yoki to be more free and give into her animalistic instincts more which also caused her to be much more animalistic then Ren. Aka being more feral and getting triggered much easier around like blood or food (especially when hungry). As a young child she really liked meat of course, especially rabbit. Due to Ren taking her out into the woods sometimes and allowing her to hunt she enjoyed bringing back a fresh kill with her bare hands (even when being young she was still able to do it). He doesnt mind Yoki hunting on her own, actually enjoys it and is happy it makes her happy. As long as she doesn't come back home covered in blood or brings the dead animal she killed on the porch he doesnt care. Hes proud of his little girl. At a young age Yoki was introduced to Rens jobs but she didnt really care. Since she basically grew up with it even as a baby its sorta just a thing she knows about and Ren does. They are animals afterall. They have to give into their instincts at some point. Over time Ren started disposing of his 'stars' a different way by giving them to his private chef and asking them to cook it. It helped dispose of bodies easier and quicker all while having a good meal after. Because of this Yoki developed a taste for human flesh. Now she can't go a week without having her favorite meal, human heart. From rabbit hearts to human hearts. Yoki absolutely loves shopping and spending daddys money. Like once a week she gets his black card and goes shopping. Ren doesnt mind though since at this point hes pretty loaded. Plus he loves making his little girl happy. Ren and yoki have probably the most healthiest relationship out of all 3 kids. Ren has raised her well and the best way he can all while giving her a comfortable happy life.

As a young child yoki was often bullied in school for being a freak since beastkin are rare to find. It wasnt until around highschool she started to gain popularity due to her getting popular online. Shes your average tiktok and Instagram girly and being the daughter of a rich guy everyone wanted to be her friend after that. During middle school though she did make a few friends (and a few enemies) but nothing to serious. Basil was her number one friend all the way though just because of how well they bonded together (or well she bonded with basil). She saw him as a close friend and even better a brother to her. And with Hanz. Well he was the little prick. He was the main person that targeted both Yoki and Basil, picking on them and even going so far as to pull on Yoki's tail. Then one day he hust stopped and started staying to himself. Nobody knows what happened to Hanz during that and he never said what happened. Yoki alway knew Ren had scars but never knew what caused them. After learning some information from Hanz when they were older she gets help from one of Rens men to get on the web and check out of what she heard was true, and after snooping around on Strades account she finds out why Ren is that way. And due to this she gets in a small fight with Hanz but they end up settling it out. Yoki and Hanz are sorta a thing when older? But not? Its nothing serious. Mainly because Ren doesnt accept or like it at all. If he could he'd kill Hanz and Strade. He wants nothing to do with strade whatsoever even though Hanz did nothing wrong. Ren found out about Hanz and Strade during a parent teacher conference. Ren knew about Hanz before because Yoki would complain he would pick on her but after finding out it was strades kid he seemed to hate them both even more. Ren would have pulled yoki out of school if it wasnt for it being the only decent school around and plus he wanted Yoki to interact with other children. He couldnt just take that from her and hide her away. So he just protected her from afar. Ren wants nothing to do with Strade and as long as he doesn't bother him or Yoki he doesnt care. Strade likes the thought of fucking with Ren even if hes not doing anything. He could just sit back and relax as Hanz does all the work for him.

Yoki does know a bit of Japanese from Ren and Ren taught her a bit about their culture (trying to remember what his mother taught him). After getting older she could maybe only remember a few things but not everything.

IF YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS ASK!!! :3

(Hopefully i wrote everything correctly and it makes sense X3)

[glorysbox]

Hi! I really liked your "chubby reader" headcanons, can you do same with Smoke and Kenshi?

okay guys… let’s be honest. tomas is inexperienced as hell. he’ll definitely have good intentions, but i can see him as a super fumbly boyfriend—he’s obsessed with wanting to say the right thing and with not upsetting you in any way.

being in the lin kuei—i doubt that he’s really had any interaction with anyone other than his brothers and the other ninjas. now, with that being said, in some of the intros… he’s become friends with johnny. and i think johnny would influence him, especially with relationships. but not negatively! in the way where he tells tomas about how sensitive some people can be on the topic of weight—and because tomas is so enamored with you, he really takes this to heart. he doesn’t want to mess up

tomas is the type of boyfriend to ask if he can touch you. again, making you uncomfortable is the last thing on his mind—so when you’re alone, expect him to truly ask if it’s okay for him to feel the your body. even innocent touches, really.

that being said, the more he’s comfortable, the more bolder he would be. he’d especially love cuddling you in the nighttime; savoring the contrast between your two bodies. to him, you feel like home—and after being rejected by bi-han and losing his family, that’s all he really wants or needs

he’s sweet. if you were to be insecure and be hesitant with him touching you in any way… expect a lot of apologies but also a lot of praise from him. like bihan, he wouldn’t understand WHY you felt this way. to him, you’re the most beautiful person he’s ever met—he lays awake at night thinking how he was even able to date you. but he wouldnt be a dick about it. he would tell you how much he loves your body; regardless of your weight or the shape of your body—you’re you. that’s all he wants

kenshi can’t see you, so… to make up for that, he spends a lot of time touching you. everywhere. he wants to create an image of how you look in his mind—since he can’t see you physically, he spends the most time memorizing every curve and shape of your body.

when with him, expect touches… everywhere. not only your face, but the soft parts of your body. he is very, very hands on… he has to be. (just know, if he has his sight, he’d spend entirely too much time looking at you and admiring your beauty)

and especially in private—after a life of struggle and seeing his clan fall and be so influenced by the yakuza… there’s nothing better to wash the bad memories away than the feeling of your body on his. even though its not really touched on, i think kenshi has been through a lot of things. not only that, but he’s soon to be the leader of his clan to help separate them from the yakuza’s influence…. basically, the man is stressed. let him cuddle you

don’t be mistaken, though. he doesn’t just want to feel you with his hands… kenshi, though i don’t really see him as an affectionate guy, would definitely want to feel the softness of your body with his own. pressing up against you (in private), pulling you into his arms to feel you on his chest—seriously, nothing makes him happier.

he strikes me as a pretty caring lover. if you were to voice that you were insecure about your body, he would really do everything he can to ensure you know just how much he loves you—if you feel an increase of his hands on you or feel his chest on your back… that’s why. weight is not and has never really been something that’s ever deterred him from liking someone

(secretly, his favorite thing about you is your weight—it brings a sense of comfort to him)

[sweet-self-indulgence]

Random headcannons are filling my brain while I'm trying to write.

Brothers have a familect. Some of it came from the need to discuss sensitive topics without others knowing both in the demon and human world, but most of it is a consequence of having five kids being weird together.

One example is they have a kind of safe word with Damien’s mind reading. When they don’t want Damien in their thoughts  (or at least not talk about it), they think of a particular fruit that Damien happens to hate and the rest of them enjoy. They picture it, imaging eating it, or even just repeat its name.

As a little kid even the thought of the fruit would make Damien shudder. (imagine lil baby Damien going “blech!”, stomping a foot, and whining to “think of something tasty!”)

It’s morphed into how they talk to each other. The demon name sounds a little bit like papaya and it’s seeds are similar so they use that word when speaking English. Saying something like, “This is a papaya topic” communicates that it’s personal/private/should not be discussed with anyone else.

They’re so used to it that it takes Mika being verbally confused for them to realize and explain it to her.