#manipulation of poverty and working classes | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sshnzsr · 21 days ago

Text

cigarettes after sex

wordcount: 16k

warnings: stepcest, smut, unprotected sex, getting caught during masturbation, lying about being on birth control, emotional manipulation, mentions of pregnancy, abortion, family issues, reader shows signs of depression, self-hatred, and isolation, poverty, arguments, smoking, lmk if I missed anything

note: This is my first time trying to write a long fic. It can be kinda repetitive at some parts that’s because I tried to make it longer. Take a look at my other works.

You hated Sunghoon. Not just because he was your stepbrother, but because he was perfect in everyone’s eyes. Your dad, your stepmom, even your cousins—they all adored him. Sunghoon, with his sharp jawline, dark eyes, and easy smile, could do no wrong. He got straight A’s, captained the ice skating team, and had a future everyone envied. Meanwhile, you were the screw-up, the rebellious one who skipped classes and talked back. No matter what you did, Sunghoon was always better. Your own dad, your biological dad, picked him every time.

It wasn’t fair. You remembered the day your stepmom moved in, bringing Sunghoon with her. You were sixteen, he was seventeen, and from that moment, it was like you didn’t exist. Family dinners were about Sunghoon’s achievements. Your dad’s praise was for Sunghoon’s discipline, his talent, his everything. You were invisible, and it burned. You wanted to hurt Sunghoon, to make him feel the pain you carried. You didn’t care how. You just wanted him to suffer.

The plan started as a vague idea. Seduce him. Play with his feelings. Make him want you, then crush him. You knew he wasn’t immune to you. You’d caught him staring sometimes—your tight crop tops, your short skirts, the way you flipped your hair. He tried to hide it, but you saw the way his eyes lingered. You were nineteen now, he was twenty, and the tension between you had grown. You weren’t kids anymore, and you could use that.

It wasn’t part of the plan to catch him jerking off. That was an accident. But it was the perfect accident.

You were sneaking into his room to borrow (steal) one of his hoodies, just to piss him off. His door was cracked open, and you froze when you heard it—a low moan, his voice, rough and desperate. “Fuck… Y/N…”

Your name. He was moaning your name.

You pushed the door open, heart pounding. There he was, on his bed, shirt off, sweatpants pulled down, his cock in his hand. His eyes were closed, head tilted back, lost in whatever fantasy he was having about you. His strokes were fast, his breathing heavy, and he didn’t hear you come in.

You should’ve left. You should’ve turned around and pretended it never happened. But you didn’t. This was too good. This was the key to your revenge.

“Sunghoon,” you said, voice sharp.

His eyes snapped open, and he scrambled to cover himself, face red with panic. “Y/N! What the fuck? Get out!”

You didn’t move. You leaned against the doorframe, crossing your arms, a smirk on your lips. “Moaning my name, huh? That’s fucked up, stepbrother.”

He yanked a blanket over his lap, stammering. “It’s not… I wasn’t… You weren’t supposed to see that!”

“But I did,” you said, stepping closer. His room smelled like him—cologne and clean laundry—and it made your stomach twist in a way you hated. “What were you thinking about? Me naked? Me sucking you off?”

“Stop it,” he snapped, but his voice was shaky, and you could see his cock twitching under the blanket. He was still hard, even with you standing there, calling him out.

You sat on the edge of his bed, closer than you needed to be. “You want me, don’t you?” you asked, voice low. “You’re jerking off to your stepsister. That’s so dirty.”

He swallowed hard, eyes darting to your lips, your chest, then away. “You’re messing with me. Just leave.”

But you didn’t. You reached out, brushing your fingers along his thigh, just enough to make him tense. “What if I don’t want to leave?” you whispered. “What if I want you to finish what you started?”

His breath hitched. “Y/N, don’t fuck with me.”

“I’m not,” you said, and you meant it, at least in that moment. The plan was working better than you’d ever imagined. You leaned in, your lips inches from his. “Fuck me, Sunghoon. Right now.”

He stared at you, torn between guilt and desire. You could see the battle in his eyes, but you knew you’d won when he grabbed your face and kissed you, hard and desperate. His lips were hot, his tongue pushing into your mouth, and you moaned, climbing onto his lap.

The blanket fell away, and his cock pressed against your shorts, hard and thick. You ground against him, feeling the heat pool between your legs. This wasn’t supposed to feel good, but it did. Too good.

“You’re such a fucking tease,” he growled, hands yanking at your shirt. He pulled it off, exposing your bra, and his mouth was on your neck, biting, sucking. You arched into him, hating how much you wanted this.

“Fuck me,” you said again, tugging at his sweatpants. “I want your cock inside me.”

He groaned, flipping you onto your back. Your shorts came off, then your panties, and he was between your legs, his fingers brushing your pussy. You were soaked, and he cursed under his breath. “You’re so wet,” he said, almost to himself.

“Do it,” you begged, spreading your legs wider. “Fuck me raw. Cum inside me.”

His eyes darkened, and he hesitated. “You’re on birth control, right?”

“Yeah,” you lied, the words slipping out easily. You weren’t. You hadn’t been for months. But he didn’t need to know that. Not yet.

He didn’t ask again. He lined his cock up with your pussy and pushed in, slow at first, stretching you. You gasped, nails digging into his shoulders. He was big, bigger than you’d expected, and the burn felt so fucking good.

“God, you’re tight,” he grunted, thrusting deeper. His hands gripped your hips, and he started moving, fucking you hard, the bed creaking under you. You moaned, loud and shameless, wrapping your legs around him.

“Harder,” you demanded, voice bratty. “Fuck me like you mean it.”

He did. His thrusts were brutal, his cock hitting deep, and you loved it. You hated him, but you loved this—his body, his desperation, the way he looked at you like you were everything. You clenched around him, already close, and he groaned, his fingers digging into your thighs.

“Gonna cum,” he rasped, his pace faltering. “Where do you want it?”

“Inside,” you said, locking eyes with him. “Cum inside my pussy.”

He didn’t hesitate. A few more thrusts, and he buried himself deep, groaning as he came, his cock pulsing inside you. You felt the warmth of his cum, and your own orgasm hit, your pussy squeezing him as you shook, moaning his name.

He collapsed on you, breathing hard, and for a moment, neither of you moved. Then reality hit. You’d done it. You’d fucked your stepbrother, let him cum inside you, knowing you weren’t protected. It was disgusting, but it was exactly what you wanted. You’d hurt him now. You’d make him pay.

Weeks passed, and you kept the secret to yourself. Sunghoon was different around you—quieter, softer, like he was trying to figure out what happened. He’d try to talk, but you brushed him off, keeping your distance. The plan was working. You could feel the power shifting.

Then you missed your period.

The test confirmed it. Pregnant. You stared at the stick, your stomach churning. This wasn’t supposed to happen. It was supposed to be a game, a way to ruin him, not this. You felt sick, not just from the pregnancy but from the weight of what you’d done. You’d fucked your stepbrother. You’d lied. And now you were carrying his kid.

You didn’t tell Sunghoon right away. You let it simmer, let the guilt and regret fester. You hated yourself, but you hated him more. He was still the golden boy, still the one your dad loved. This was your fault, but it was his fault too.

You decided to drop the bomb at dinner. Your dad, your stepmom, Sunghoon—they were all there, eating some fancy meal your stepmom had cooked. You waited until everyone was quiet, then set your fork down, your voice casual but sharp.

“So,” you said, leaning back in your chair. “I’m pregnant. From Sunghoon.”

The room went dead silent. Your dad’s fork clattered onto his plate. Your stepmom’s mouth dropped open. Sunghoon’s face went pale, his eyes wide, like he couldn’t process the words.

“What did you say?” your dad asked, voice low, dangerous.

You shrugged, playing the brat like always. “I’m pregnant. Sunghoon fucked me. No big deal.”

Sunghoon choked, his voice barely audible. “Y/N… what? You said you were on birth control.”

You smirked, even though your heart was pounding. “Oops. Guess I lied.”

Your dad stood, his face red with fury. “You… you disgusting little…” He couldn’t finish, turning to Sunghoon. “Is this true?”

Sunghoon looked like he might throw up. “I… I didn’t know. She said she was protected.”

Your stepmom started crying, her hands shaking. “How could you do this? Both of you?”

But your dad’s anger was all for you. “You’re a disgrace,” he spat. “You did this on purpose, didn’t you? To ruin this family?”

You didn’t answer, just stared at him, defiant. Inside, you were breaking, but you wouldn’t let them see it.

“Get out,” he said, pointing to the door. “You’re not welcome here anymore.”

You expected it, but it still hurt. You stood, grabbing your phone, and looked at Sunghoon. He wouldn’t meet your eyes. Of course he wouldn’t. He was still the favorite, even now.

“Fine,” you said, voice cold. “I don’t need you.”

You moved out that night, crashing at a friend’s place. The next week was a blur—doctor’s visits, arguments with your friend about what to do, and the looming appointment at the clinic. Your dad had called, screaming about abortion, saying you had no choice. You didn’t want the baby, but the idea of ending it made you feel even worse. This was your mess, your fault, and you couldn’t escape it.

The day of the appointment came. You sat in the waiting room, staring at the sterile walls, your stomach in knots. You kept looking at the door, hoping, praying Sunghoon would show up. He was part of this. He should be here. You texted him, called him, left voicemails. Nothing. Radio silence.

Of course he didn’t come. Why would he? He was Sunghoon, the perfect one, the one who got away with everything. You were the fuck-up, the one who’d ruined your own life. Tears stung your eyes as you realized you were alone. Completely alone.

The nurse called your name, and you stood, legs shaking. You regretted it all—every touch, every lie, every moment you thought this would make you feel better. You’d wanted to hurt Sunghoon, but you’d only hurt yourself.

The apartment was a shithole, but it was yours. A tiny one-room box on a dead-end street, where the only sounds at night were creaking pipes and the occasional cough from the old folks next door. The walls were stained yellow from years of smoke, the floorboards creaked under your weight, and the single window barely opened, letting in the damp night air. It smelled like cigarettes and stale ramen, no matter how much you scrubbed. You didn’t have furniture—just a mattress on the floor, a rickety table, and a single chair you’d found on the curb. A string of fairy lights hung above your bed, the only thing you’d bothered to make look nice. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.

You’d been lucky to have some money saved up. Not a lot, but enough to cover the deposit and a few months’ rent in this rundown place. Your dad hadn’t called, your stepmom hadn’t texted, and Sunghoon—well, you’d given up hoping he’d show his face after the clinic. You’d sat in that cold waiting room, legs shaking, waiting for him to walk through the door. He didn’t. You went through with it alone, the abortion, and the memory of it clung to you like the tobacco stench in your apartment. It was a sharp, ugly pain, not just in your body but in your head, your heart. You hated yourself for what you’d done, but you hated Sunghoon more for letting you do it alone.

Life wasn’t good, but it was yours. You worked two jobs to keep it that way. Days at a greasy diner, wiping tables and dodging creepy customers, and nights at a corner store, stocking shelves while the radio played staticky pop songs. You came home exhausted, your hands smelling of bleach, your feet aching, but you didn’t cry. You wouldn’t. You’d made your choices—fucking your stepbrother, lying about birth control, dropping the bomb at dinner—and now you were living with them. No one was going to save you.

The nights were the hardest. You’d sit on your mattress, eating instant ramen from a chipped bowl, the fairy lights casting shadows on the cracked ceiling. You’d smoke, even though you hated it, because the guy who lived here before left half a pack of cigarettes, and it was something to do. The smoke curled around you, mixing with the ramen steam, and you’d stare at your phone, willing it to ring. It never did. Your friends had stopped texting, your dad had written you off, and Sunghoon was a ghost. You were alone, and the silence was louder than anything.

Until he showed up.

It was late, past midnight, the street outside dark and empty. You were on your mattress, scrolling through your phone, the cigarette smell heavy in the air. A knock at the door made you freeze. No one came here. No one knew where you lived. You grabbed a kitchen knife from the table, heart pounding, and cracked the door open.

Sunghoon stood there, his dark hair messy, his eyes shadowed. He wore a black hoodie and jeans, hands stuffed in his pockets, looking like he hadn’t slept in days. You stared, too shocked to speak. How the fuck did he find you?

“What do you want?” you asked, voice sharp, but your grip on the knife loosened.

He didn’t answer. He just stepped inside, brushing past you like he belonged there. You shut the door, your stomach twisting. The apartment felt smaller with him in it, his presence filling the space, making the air heavier. He looked around, taking in the bare walls, the mattress, the ramen packets on the table. His jaw tightened, but he didn’t say a word.

“Sunghoon,” you said, crossing your arms. “Talk. Why are you here?”

He ignored you. He set a plastic bag on the table, the kind you get from a convenience store. Inside were containers of actual food—rice, kimchi, some kind of stew. Not the instant crap you’d been living on, but real, cooked food. Your mouth watered just looking at it, but you didn’t move.

“I don’t need your pity,” you snapped, even though your stomach growled. “Get out.”

He didn’t. He sat on the chair, leaning back, eyes fixed on the floor. His silence pissed you off. You wanted to scream, to throw the food at him, to make him feel the hurt you’d been carrying since that night. But you didn’t. You just stood there, glaring, the cigarette smell stinging your nose.

This became the pattern. Sunghoon started coming over every few nights, always late, always unannounced. He’d walk in, drop off food, and sit in silence. Sometimes he’d bring other things—a blanket, a cheap lamp, a pack of bottled water. You didn’t ask how he found your address, and he didn’t offer an explanation. He never stayed long, maybe an hour, and he never talked. You tried, at first, to get him to say something.

“Sunghoon, why are you doing this?” you’d ask, voice rough from exhaustion. “You didn’t care when I needed you. Why now?”

He’d just look at you, his eyes dark, unreadable, then go back to staring at the floor. It drove you crazy. You wanted him to yell, to fight, to explain why he left you alone at the clinic, why he let your dad kick you out, why he was here now, acting like some silent guardian. But he gave you nothing.

One night, you couldn’t take it anymore. He was sitting there, same as always, a bag of food on the table—fried rice and bulgogi this time, the smell making your empty stomach ache. You were tired, your diner shift had been hell, and the sight of him, quiet and untouchable, pushed you over the edge.

“Talk to me, you asshole!” you shouted, slamming your hand on the table. The plastic containers rattled. “You don’t get to just show up and play hero after everything! You fucked me, you got me pregnant, and you didn’t even show up when I had to deal with it! Why are you here? What do you want?”

He flinched, just barely, but his eyes stayed on the floor. You stepped closer, your voice shaking. “Say something, Sunghoon. Or get the fuck out and don’t come back.”

For a moment, you thought he might. His hands twitched, like he wanted to reach for you, but he didn’t move. He just sat there, his jaw tight, his silence louder than your screams. You turned away, tears burning your eyes, and lit a cigarette, the smoke curling around you like a shield.

“Fine,” you muttered, exhaling. “Keep your fucking secrets. I don’t need you.”

But you did. You hated admitting it, but you did. The food he brought kept you from starving. The blanket he left was warmer than the thin one you’d been using. And his presence, as infuriating as it was, made the apartment feel less empty. You hated him, but you waited for him to come back every time he left.

One night, things shifted. It was late, the street outside quiet except for the hum of a distant streetlight. You were on your mattress, smoking, the fairy lights casting a dim glow. Sunghoon knocked, same as always, and you let him in, expecting the usual routine. He set a bag of food on the table—jjajangmyeon, your favorite—and sat down. But this time, he didn’t stare at the floor. He looked at you.

You were in a tank top and shorts, your hair messy, cigarette dangling from your fingers. His eyes lingered, tracing the curve of your neck, the bare skin of your thighs. You felt it—the heat, the tension, the same fucked-up pull you’d felt that night in his room. You hated it, but your body remembered.

“What?” you asked, voice sharp, but your heart was racing.

He didn’t answer, but he stood, stepping closer. You didn’t move, even as he stopped inches away, his shadow falling over you. The air was thick, the cigarette smoke mixing with the ramen smell, and you felt it again—that twisted desire, the need to hurt him, to feel him, to make him pay.

“You want me?” you asked, voice low, taunting. You flicked the cigarette to the floor, crushing it under your foot. “That’s why you keep coming back, isn’t it? You’re still thinking about fucking me.”

His eyes darkened, but he didn’t speak. You stepped closer, close enough to feel the heat of his body. “Go on,” you said, voice dripping with venom. “Fuck me again. See if it fixes anything.”

He grabbed you, sudden and rough, his hands on your waist. You gasped, not expecting it, and he kissed you, hard, his lips crashing into yours. It wasn’t gentle, wasn’t sweet—it was raw, desperate, like he’d been holding it back for weeks. You kissed him back, just as rough, your hands in his hair, pulling hard.

He pushed you onto the mattress, his body heavy on yours. Your tank top came off, then your shorts, and his hands were everywhere—your breasts, your thighs, your pussy. You were wet, embarrassingly wet, and he groaned when he felt it, his fingers sliding inside you.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice low, the first word he’d spoken in weeks. “You’re so fucking wet.”

You arched into him, hating how good it felt. “Just do it,” you said, voice sharp. “Fuck me.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. His clothes came off, and he was inside you, his cock stretching you, filling you. It was fast, rough, no pretense of care. You moaned, nails digging into his back, your body betraying you. He fucked you hard, the mattress creaking, the fairy lights swaying above. You hated him, hated yourself, but you came anyway, your pussy clenching around him, your body shaking.

He didn’t pull out this time either, cumming inside you, his groans muffled against your neck. You lay there, panting, the weight of it all crashing down. He stayed for a moment, then pulled away, sitting on the edge of the mattress, head in his hands.

You stared at the ceiling, the cigarette smell stronger now, mixing with the sweat and sex. “Get out,” you said, voice flat.

He didn’t argue. He grabbed his clothes, dressed, and left without a word. The door clicked shut, and you were alone again, the silence heavier than ever.

The apartment was a haze of cigarette smoke and regret. The fairy lights flickered, casting weak shadows on the stained walls, and the air smelled like tobacco and the leftover jjajangmyeon Sunghoon had brought earlier. You sat on your mattress, knees pulled to your chest, staring at the cracked floorboards. The silence was heavy, broken only by the rustle of Sunghoon cleaning up. He was tossing out the cigarette butts and empty ramen cups you’d left scattered on the table, his movements slow, deliberate, like he was trying to keep himself busy.

You didn’t know why you said it. The words slipped out before you could stop them, soft and shaky, barely audible over the hum of the streetlight outside. “I’m sorry.”

Sunghoon froze, a crumpled ramen cup in his hand. He turned to you, his dark eyes narrowing, shadowed by the dim light. His hoodie was loose, his hair messy, and for a second, he looked like the boy you’d hated for years—your stepbrother, the golden child who stole your dad’s love. But he also looked different, older, weighed down by something you couldn’t name.

He sighed, tossing the trash into a plastic bag. “You should be sorry for yourself,” he said, voice low, cutting. “You ruined your own life while you tried to ruin mine. What is your problem? Do you like living like this?”

His words hit hard, like a punch to the gut. You wanted to snap back, to tell him to fuck off, but he was right. You’d done this to yourself—fucked him to hurt him, lied about birth control, got pregnant, and blew up your family. Now you were here, in this shithole apartment, working yourself to death, alone except for his silent visits. You’d wanted to break him, but you’d broken yourself instead.

You forced a laugh, leaning back on the mattress, a bitter smile on your lips. “Yeah, I do. It’s peaceful.”

He stared at you, his expression unreadable, then let out a short, dry laugh. “You’re crazy.”

For a moment, you both laughed, the sound sharp and hollow, echoing in the tiny room. It was the first time you’d shared anything like this, a crack in the wall between you. But it didn’t last. His laughter faded, and he stood, walking over to you, his steps slow, deliberate. Before you could move, he was there, looming over you, trapping you between his body and the mattress. His hands pressed into the bed on either side of you, his face inches from yours. You could smell him—clean laundry, a hint of cologne, so different from the stale smoke of your apartment.

“I’m sorry too,” he said, voice rough, barely above a whisper. “I never wanted you to be here. I never wanted you to get an abortion.”

The words were a knife, twisting in your chest. You hated him for saying it, for bringing it up, for acting like he cared now, after everything. You shoved him back, hard, your hands against his chest. “Shut up. I hate you,” you murmured, voice shaking, but there was no fire in it. Just exhaustion.

He didn’t move, his eyes locked on yours, dark and searching. Then, quietly, he asked, “Can I stay the night?”

You froze, your breath catching. The question hung in the air, heavy with meaning you weren’t ready to face. Stay the night? Here, in your tiny, disgusting apartment, on your shitty mattress? After everything—the lies, the betrayal, the abortion, the silence? You wanted to scream, to tell him to get out, but your body betrayed you, warmth pooling in your core at the thought of him staying, of his hands on you again.

“Why?” you asked, voice sharp, trying to keep the wall up. “You wanna fuck me again? Is that it?”

He flinched, just slightly, but didn’t look away. “No,” he said, too quickly, then paused. “Maybe. I don’t know. I just… I don’t want to leave you alone tonight.”

You laughed, bitter and cold. “Now you care? Where were you when I was in that clinic, Sunghoon? Where were you when Dad kicked me out? You don’t get to play savior now.”

“I know,” he said, voice low, almost broken. “I fucked up. I should’ve been there. I didn’t know how to handle it. I still don’t.”

You stared at him, your chest tight, torn between rage and something softer, something you hated even more. You wanted to push him away, to keep hating him, but the truth was, you were tired. Tired of being alone, tired of the silence, tired of carrying this weight by yourself. His visits, as infuriating as they were, were the only thing keeping you sane.

“Fine,” you said, voice flat. “Stay. But don’t expect me to forgive you.”

He nodded, like he hadn’t expected anything else. He stepped back, giving you space, and you felt the loss of his closeness, your skin prickling. You turned away, lying on the mattress, pulling the thin blanket over you. The fairy lights flickered, the cigarette smell clung to everything, and you heard Sunghoon move, settling on the floor beside the mattress. He didn’t have a blanket, didn’t ask for one, just lay there, his breathing steady in the dark.

You didn’t sleep, not really. The night stretched on, the street outside silent except for the occasional car. You kept replaying his words, his apology, the way he’d looked at you. You hated how it made you feel—vulnerable, exposed, like maybe he wasn’t the monster you’d made him out to be. But he was still Sunghoon, the stepbrother who’d taken everything, the one who’d fucked you and left you to deal with the consequences. You couldn’t let yourself forget that.

Morning came, gray and heavy, light seeping through the cracked window. You sat up, your body aching from the hard mattress, and saw Sunghoon still there, curled on the floor, his hoodie bunched under his head. He looked younger like this, less like the perfect son and more like a boy who didn’t know what he was doing. You hated how it softened you, even a little.

You got up, stepping over him to make coffee with the cheap instant packets you kept on the table. The smell of it mixed with the ever-present tobacco, and you lit a cigarette, the smoke curling around you as you leaned against the wall. Sunghoon stirred, sitting up, his hair messy, eyes bleary.

“Coffee?” you asked, voice flat, holding out a chipped mug.

He took it, his fingers brushing yours, and you pulled back, ignoring the spark it sent through you. He sipped the coffee, wincing at the taste, but didn’t complain. You stood there, smoking, watching him, waiting for him to say something, anything.

“Why do you keep coming back?” you asked finally, voice low. “You don’t owe me anything. You made that clear when you didn’t show up at the clinic.”

He set the mug down, his hands resting on his knees. “I don’t know,” he said, voice honest, raw. “I just… I can’t stay away. I keep thinking about you, about what happened. I fucked up, Y/N. I know I did. But I don’t know how to fix it.”

“You can’t,” you said, exhaling smoke. “It’s done. I’m here now. This is my life.”

He looked around the apartment, at the bare walls, the mattress, the trash bag full of ramen cups. “This isn’t a life,” he said, voice quiet but firm. “You deserve better.”

“Fuck you,” you snapped, tossing the cigarette butt into an empty cup. “Don’t tell me what I deserve. You don’t get to decide that.”

He stood, stepping closer, and you hated how your body reacted, your pulse quickening, your skin tingling. “I’m not trying to decide anything,” he said. “I’m just… I’m trying to be here. For you.”

You laughed, sharp and bitter. “You’re a little late for that, stepbrother.”

He flinched at the word, like it burned, but didn’t back down. “I know,” he said. “But I’m here now.”

The air was thick, charged with everything unsaid—your anger, his guilt, the fucked-up history between you. You wanted to shove him, to kiss him, to scream until your throat gave out. Instead, you turned away, grabbing another cigarette, lighting it with shaking hands.

“Stay or go, I don’t care,” you said, voice cold. “But don’t expect me to need you.”

He didn’t answer, just stood there, watching you. The day dragged on, and he stayed, helping you clean the apartment, fixing the leaky faucet you’d ignored for weeks. It was weird, domestic, like you were playing at being something you weren’t. You didn’t talk much, but the silence was different now, less hostile, more fragile.

That night, he didn’t ask to stay, but you didn’t tell him to leave. He slept on the floor again, and you lay on the mattress, staring at the fairy lights, wondering what the fuck you were doing. You hated him, but you didn’t. You wanted him gone, but you didn’t. The cigarette smell lingered, the ramen cups were gone, and Sunghoon was still here.

The air smelled like cigarettes, stale ramen, and something new—Sunghoon’s cologne, lingering from where he lay beside you. You woke up in the middle of the night, your body warm, too warm, and realized why. His arms were around you, his bare chest pressed against your back. You were shirtless too, stripped down to your bra and panties, your tank top tossed somewhere on the floor. His jeans were still on, but the closeness, the skin-to-skin contact, felt wrong. So fucking wrong.

You weren’t doing anything, not really—just lying there, tangled together on your shitty mattress—but it didn’t matter. He was your stepbrother. The same stepbrother you’d fucked to hurt, the one whose name you’d moaned while he came inside you, the one who’d left you alone to face the consequences. The abortion, the exile, the mess of your life—it all started with him, with you, with that night. And now here you were, in his arms, like nothing had happened, like you weren’t both broken pieces of the same fucked-up puzzle.

Your throat tightened, tears prickling your eyes. You didn’t want to cry, not in front of him, not again. But you couldn’t help it. You hugged him back, your arms wrapping around his, your fingers digging into his skin. The tears came anyway, hot and silent, sliding down your cheeks. You wiped them away quickly, hoping he wouldn’t notice, and pressed a soft kiss to his shoulder, almost instinctual, like your body was acting without your permission. The warmth of his skin under your lips made your stomach twist—part comfort, part disgust.

You pulled away, slipping out of his arms, and stood, your bare feet cold against the floorboards. The apartment was dark, the street outside silent, just the hum of a distant car breaking the stillness. You grabbed a cigarette from the pack on the table and moved to the small window next to your bed, the one that barely opened. You forced it up, the cool night air hitting your face, and lit the cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating your trembling hands. You inhaled deeply, the smoke burning your lungs, curling out into the dark as you stared at nothing, your mind racing.

You’d ruined everything. You’d wanted to hurt Sunghoon, to make him feel the pain of being second best, but all you’d done was destroy yourself. The pregnancy, the abortion, getting kicked out—it was all your fault. You’d lied, manipulated, fucked him raw, and for what? This? A shitty apartment, a life of scraping by, and a heart that wouldn’t stop aching? You hated him, but you hated yourself more. And now he was here, sleeping in your bed, acting like he cared, and it made you feel even worse.

You didn’t hear him get up, but you felt him—his presence, heavy and warm, before his arms slid around your waist from behind. His chest pressed against your back, his breath hot against your neck. You stiffened, the cigarette dangling between your fingers, your heart pounding. He shouldn’t be touching you like this. Not after everything.

“Love you,” he whispered, his voice soft, raw, like he’d been holding it in for too long.

The words hit you like a slap. You froze, your mind reeling, and flicked the cigarette out the window, watching it fall to the street below. You turned your head, just enough to see him out of the corner of your eye. His face was close, his eyes dark, searching, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say. Love? After all this? After you’d fucked each other up so badly?

You turned fully, breaking his hold, stepping back until you hit the wall. Your bra strap slipped off your shoulder, and you didn’t bother fixing it. “I feel disgusting,” you said, voice shaking, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “You’re right. What was wrong with me? I’m so disgusting. I… I should’ve never done something like that.”

His eyes softened, but he didn’t move closer, didn’t try to touch you again. “Y/N,” he said, voice low, “you’re not disgusting. We fucked up. Both of us. I should’ve stopped it. I should’ve been there.”

“Stop,” you snapped, tears burning your eyes again. “Don’t act like you care now. You didn’t show up. You let me deal with it alone. You let Dad throw me out. And now you’re here, saying you love me? What the fuck, Sunghoon?”

He ran a hand through his hair, his jaw tight. “I know,” he said. “I fucked up. I was scared, okay? I didn’t know how to handle it. You were my stepsister, and we… we did that. I couldn’t face it. But I’m here now. I’m trying.”

“Trying?” you laughed, bitter and sharp, wiping at your tears. “You come here, drop off food, fuck me again, and now you’re trying? You think that fixes anything? You think ‘love you’ makes this okay?”

He stepped closer, and you hated how your body reacted, your skin prickling, your pussy tingling despite the anger. “I don’t know how to fix it,” he said, voice rough. “I don’t know what to do. But I can’t stop thinking about you. I can’t stay away. I hate what we did, but I don’t hate you. I never could.”

You stared at him, your chest heaving, torn between shoving him out the door and pulling him closer. The cigarette smell clung to you, the apartment felt smaller, and his words echoed in your head. Love you. It was wrong, disgusting, but it was there, a twisted thread tying you together.

“Get out,” you said again for the one hundredth time, but your voice was weak, barely convincing.

He didn’t move. Instead, he closed the distance, his hands gentle as they cupped your face. You didn’t push him away, even though you should’ve. His thumbs brushed away your tears, and you hated how good it felt, how much you craved his touch after weeks of nothing.

“I’m not leaving,” he said, voice firm. “Not tonight. Not until you tell me what you need.”

You laughed, a broken sound, and shoved at his chest, but your hands lingered, fingers curling into his skin. “I don’t need you,” you lied, but your voice cracked, giving you away. “I don’t need anyone.”

He didn’t argue, just pulled you closer, his lips brushing your forehead. It wasn’t a kiss, not really, but it felt like one, soft and careful. You let him, your body sinking against his, the fight draining out of you. You were so tired—tired of being angry, tired of being alone, tired of hating yourself.

You ended up back on the mattress, not fucking this time, just lying there, his arms around you again. Your bra and panties stayed on, his jeans too, but the closeness was enough to make your skin burn. You didn’t talk, didn’t need to. The silence said enough. His hand rested on your stomach, where the baby would’ve been, and you didn’t push it away. You just lay there, the fairy lights flickering, the cigarette smell heavy, your tears drying on your cheeks.

Morning came too soon, gray light filtering through the window. You woke alone, Sunghoon gone, but there was a note on the table, scrawled in his messy handwriting. “I’ll be back tonight. Eat something.” Next to it was a container of kimchi jjigae, still warm, and a pack of cigarettes—your brand, not his.

You stared at the note, your chest tight. He’d be back. He always came back. And you hated how much you wanted him to, how much you needed it. You lit a cigarette, the smoke curling around you, and sat on the mattress, wondering if you’d ever stop feeling disgusting, if you’d ever stop loving him, if you’d ever be free.

Sunghoon showed up late, past midnight, like always. The knock was soft, hesitant, and you let him in, your heart pounding. He looked tired, his dark hair falling into his eyes, his hoodie loose on his frame. He carried a plastic bag—more food, probably—and set it on the table without a word. But tonight was different. His eyes didn’t avoid yours. He looked at you, really looked, and you saw something raw, something broken.

“Why do you keep doing this?” you asked, voice sharp, tossing the cigarette into an empty ramen cup. “You say you love me, you bring me food, but you don’t talk. You don’t explain. Why didn’t you come to the clinic, Sunghoon? I begged you. I fucking begged.”

He flinched, his jaw tightening, and for a moment, you thought he’d stay silent again. But he didn’t. He sat on the rickety chair, hands clasped between his knees, and looked at the floor. “I wanted to,” he said, voice low, rough. “I tried. But Dad… he stopped me.”

You froze, the cigarette smoke lingering in the air. “What?”

He ran a hand through his hair, his voice shaking. “I need to tell you everything. You deserve to know. But it’s not an excuse. I still fucked up.”

You leaned against the wall, arms crossed, your heart racing. “Then talk. Tell me.”

He took a deep breath, like he was bracing himself, and started.

Sunghoon’s life wasn’t as perfect as you thought. Growing up, he was the kid who had to be perfect—perfect grades, perfect athlete, perfect son. His mom, your stepmom, was strict, always pushing him to be better, to make her proud. His dad left when he was young, and when his mom married your dad, Sunghoon was seventeen, already carrying the weight of her expectations. Your dad was the first man who treated him like a son, who showed up to his skating competitions, who bragged about him to friends. Sunghoon loved him, needed him, in a way you never understood.

But it wasn’t easy. Your dad favored him, sure, but it came with pressure. Sunghoon had to keep up the act—straight A’s, captain of the team, no mistakes. If he slipped, your dad’s disappointment was worse than any punishment. And then there was you. You, with your defiance, your sharp tongue, your freedom to fuck up and not care. Sunghoon envied you, even if he never said it. You didn’t have to be perfect. You could be messy, loud, real. He couldn’t.

When you caught him jerking off that night, moaning your name, it wasn’t just lust. He’d always noticed you—your tight shirts, your short skirts, the way you teased him with a smirk. But it was more than that. You were everything he wasn’t allowed to be, and he wanted you, even though he knew it was wrong. When you walked in, when you didn’t leave, when you begged him to fuck you, he couldn’t say no. He didn’t want to. He fucked you raw, came inside you, and it felt like freedom, like breaking every rule he’d been forced to follow.

But then you dropped the bomb at dinner. Pregnant. His kid. Sunghoon’s world stopped. He was twenty, still living under your dad’s roof, still trying to be the perfect son. Your dad’s rage was terrifying, but it was aimed at you, not him. Sunghoon felt sick, guilty, but also relieved. He was still the golden boy. You were the one who paid.

The day you went to the clinic, Sunghoon was a mess. You’d been texting him, calling, leaving voicemails that broke his heart. “Please, Hoon, I need you. I’m scared. Come to the clinic. Please.” He listened to them over and over, pacing his room, his hands shaking. He wanted to go. He needed to be there. He grabbed his keys, ready to drive to you, but your dad stopped him.

Your dad was waiting in the living room, his face hard, unreadable. “Where are you going?” he asked, voice cold.

Sunghoon froze. “To see Y/N,” he said, trying to sound steady. “She needs me.”

Your dad stood, stepping closer. “You’re not going anywhere,” he said. “She did this to herself. She’s a disgrace, and you’re not getting dragged down with her.”

Sunghoon’s stomach dropped. “She’s my stepsister. She’s pregnant. I can’t just—”

“You can, and you will,” your dad cut him off. “You think I’m letting you throw away your future for her? She lied to you, Sunghoon. She trapped you. You’re not the father type. You’re not ready for this.”

Sunghoon tried to argue, but your dad’s voice was like steel. “If you go to that clinic, you’re out of this house. No more support, no more money, no more family. You’ll be on your own. Is she worth that?”

Sunghoon wanted to say yes. He wanted to be there for you, to hold your hand, to face it together. But he was scared. Scared of losing everything—his home, his mom’s approval, his future. He was twenty, still dependent on your dad for tuition, for his skating career, for everything. He hated himself for it, but he stayed. He put his keys down, sat on the couch, and listened to your voicemails again, each one tearing him apart. He didn’t go.

Your dad made sure of it. He took Sunghoon’s phone, deleted your messages, and blocked your number. He drove Sunghoon to practice that day, watched him like a hawk, made sure he couldn’t slip away. Sunghoon skated, went through the motions, but all he could think about was you, alone in that clinic, facing the worst day of your life without him.

When you got kicked out, Sunghoon begged your dad to reconsider. He fought, yelled, said you didn’t deserve it. But your dad was unmoved. “She’s not my daughter anymore,” he said, and Sunghoon felt like he’d lost you too. He didn’t know where you went, didn’t have your new number, didn’t know how to find you. He was trapped, living in a house that felt like a cage, carrying the guilt of letting you down.

Months later, he found you by accident. He’d been digging through old family records, looking for something else, and saw your name on a lease agreement your dad had co-signed before cutting you off. The address was there, a shitty apartment in a dead-end street. He didn’t tell anyone, just drove there one night, his heart in his throat. When he saw you, smoking, living in that bare, smoky room, he wanted to cry. But he didn’t. He just kept coming back, bringing food, trying to make up for what he couldn’t fix.

Sunghoon’s voice broke as he finished, his hands shaking. “I should’ve fought harder,” he said. “I should’ve gone to you. I was a coward. I’m still a coward. But I love you, Y/N. I always did. That’s why I keep coming back.”

You stared at him, tears streaming down your face, the cigarette forgotten on the table. Your chest ached, a mix of rage, pain, and something softer, something you didn’t want to name. You’d hated him for so long, blamed him for everything, but now you saw it—the pressure, the fear, the way your dad had trapped him too. It didn’t erase what he’d done, didn’t make it okay, but it changed something. He wasn’t the golden boy, not really. He was just as broken as you.

“You should’ve come,” you said, voice raw. “I needed you, Hoon. I was so fucking scared.”

“I know,” he said, stepping closer, his eyes pleading. “I’ll never forgive myself for that.”

You wiped your tears, your hands shaking. “I don’t know if I can forgive you either,” you said, but your voice was softer now, less angry. “But I… I don’t hate you. Not anymore.”

He reached for you, hesitant, and you let him. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close, and you buried your face in his chest, the smell of his cologne mixing with the cigarette smoke. You didn’t kiss, didn’t fuck, just stood there, holding each other, the weight of the past heavy between you.

The night stretched on, and you ended up on the mattress, his arms around you again, your bra and panties still on, his jeans unbuttoned but not off. It wasn’t about sex, not tonight. It was about something else, something neither of you could name. The cigarette smell lingered, the street outside hummed, and you fell asleep, tangled together, wondering if you’d ever be whole again.

The apartment didn’t smell like cigarettes anymore. The stale ramen scent was gone too, replaced by the warm, sugary aroma of vanilla candles and fresh laundry. The walls, once stained yellow, were now a soft cream, painted over during a weekend when Sunghoon showed up with cans of paint and a goofy grin. The cracked window had been fixed, letting in clean air instead of damp drafts, and the fairy lights were new, strung across the ceiling, glowing golden every night. Your mattress was still on the floor, but it was covered with a thick comforter and fluffy pillows, a cozy nest you and Sunghoon had built together. The rickety table had been replaced with a small wooden one, a thrift store find you’d sanded and painted blue. Your tiny apartment wasn’t perfect, but it was home, and for the first time in years, it felt like one.

You weren’t alone anymore either. Sunghoon was here, not just as a visitor dropping off food, but as your boyfriend. The word still made your heart flutter, even months after you’d made it official. It happened one night, after he’d told you about your dad’s sabotage, after you’d cried in his arms and admitted you didn’t hate him. You’d been sitting on the mattress, sharing a bowl of popcorn, the fairy lights casting a soft glow. He’d looked at you, his eyes nervous but warm, and said, “Can I be yours? Like, for real?” You’d laughed, tears in your eyes, and said yes, kissing him until you were both breathless. That was three months ago, and now, life was different. Better. Happier.

You stood in the kitchenette, stirring a pot of ramyeon—proper ramyeon, with veggies and eggs, not the instant kind. The radio played a cheesy pop song, and you hummed along, your oversized hoodie slipping off one shoulder. It was Sunghoon’s hoodie, soft and worn, smelling like his cologne. You wore it every chance you got, loving how it made you feel wrapped in him, even when he wasn’t there.

The door clicked open, and you turned, a smile already spreading across your face. Sunghoon walked in, kicking off his sneakers, his dark hair messy from the autumn wind. He carried a paper bag, the kind from the bakery down the street, and his grin was brighter than the fairy lights. “Guess what I got,” he said, holding the bag up like a trophy.

“Cupcakes?” you asked, eyes lighting up. You set the spoon down and wiped your hands on a dish towel, bouncing over to him.

“Better,” he teased, pulling out a box of your favorite cream-filled donuts, the ones with powdered sugar that always got everywhere. “And coffee. Real coffee, not that instant crap you used to drink.”

You laughed, grabbing the box and peeking inside. “You’re spoiling me, Hoon.”

“Good,” he said, stepping closer, his hands finding your waist. “You deserve it.” He leaned down, kissing your forehead, then your nose, then your lips, soft and slow. You melted into him, the donut box squished between you, and giggled when he pulled back, powdered sugar already on his hoodie.

“You’re a mess,” you said, brushing it off, but your hands lingered on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart.

“Says the girl with flour on her face,” he shot back, smirking. He swiped his thumb across your cheek, wiping away a smudge you hadn’t noticed. “Cooking without me? Rude.”

“I was gonna surprise you,” you said, pouting playfully. “Ramyeon and donuts. Romantic, right?”

He laughed, the sound warm and bright, filling the apartment. “The most romantic. Move over, let me help.”

You both ended up in the tiny kitchenette, bumping into each other as you tried to cook. Sunghoon insisted on chopping the green onions, even though he was terrible at it, and you teased him mercilessly when he got onion juice in his eyes. “Big baby,” you said, handing him a wet cloth, but you kissed his cheek anyway, loving how he leaned into it. The ramyeon bubbled on the stove, the donuts sat on the table, and the radio switched to a slow ballad, perfect for the cozy vibe.

Dinner was messy, delicious, and perfect. You sat cross-legged on the mattress, the blue table pushed close, sharing the ramyeon straight from the pot. Sunghoon fed you a bite, laughing when broth dripped down your chin. “You’re hopeless,” he said, but he wiped it away with his thumb, his eyes soft, like you were the most precious thing he’d ever seen.

“Shut up,” you mumbled, cheeks warm, and leaned over to kiss him, tasting salt and sugar on his lips. The kiss deepened, slow and sweet, his hands sliding to your waist, pulling you onto his lap. You straddled him, your fingers in his hair, and he groaned softly, his grip tightening.

“Love you,” he whispered against your lips, his voice low, earnest. “So fucking much.”

Your heart skipped, and you pulled back, just enough to look at him. His eyes were dark, warm, and you saw it—the love, the promise, the boy who’d fought to be here, who’d chosen you despite everything. “Love you too,” you said, voice soft, and kissed him again, your hands roaming his chest, slipping under his shirt to feel his warm skin.

It didn’t go further, not tonight. You didn’t need it to. The closeness, the way his hands held you, the way he looked at you like you were his whole world—it was enough. You ended up curled on the mattress, the comforter wrapped around you both, the fairy lights glowing above. Sunghoon’s arm was around you, your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. The apartment was warm, the candles flickering, and for the first time in years, you felt safe.

“Remember when we painted the walls?” he asked, his voice rumbling in his chest. “You got paint in your hair, and I had to cut it out.”

You laughed, poking his side. “You were so bad at it. There’s still a streak of cream paint on the ceiling.”

He grinned, kissing the top of your head. “Worth it. This place looks like ours now.”

“Ours,” you repeated, the word sweet on your tongue. You hadn’t talked about moving in together, not yet, but it felt like it. His toothbrush was in your bathroom, his hoodies in your closet, his presence in every corner of your life. You liked it. You loved it.

You shifted, propping yourself up to look at him. “What’s the cheesiest thing you’ve ever wanted to do with me?” you asked, grinning.

He raised an eyebrow, pretending to think. “Hmm. Probably take you to one of those drive-in movies, like in old rom-coms. Popcorn, blankets, making out in the back seat.”

You laughed, swatting his chest. “Perv.”

“Only for you,” he said, winking, but his smile was so soft, so genuine, it made your heart ache. “What about you? Cheesiest date idea, go.”

You bit your lip, thinking. “Picnic in a park. Like, with a basket and a checkered blanket and those little sandwiches with the crusts cut off. And you’d push me on a swing after.”

He chuckled, pulling you closer. “Deal. Next weekend, picnic and drive-in. But I’m cutting the crusts off the sandwiches. You’d probably burn them.”

“Rude!” you gasped, but you were laughing, and he was too, and soon you were kissing again, slow and lazy, the kind of kisses that didn’t lead anywhere, just felt good. You fell asleep like that, tangled together, the radio still playing softly, the candles burning low.

The past wasn’t gone. The memories of that night, the pregnancy, the abortion, your dad’s betrayal—they lingered, like shadows in the corners. But they didn’t define you anymore. You’d both fought for this, for each other, and every day was a step away from the pain. Your apartment was a home, your life was yours, and Sunghoon was by your side, loving you through it all. It was sweet, it was messy, it was real, and you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

The apartment glowed under the fairy lights, the vanilla candle on the table casting a warm flicker across the room. The air smelled like fresh laundry and the faint sweetness of the donuts Sunghoon had brought earlier. You were curled on the mattress, wearing his hoodie, your legs tangled with his as you watched a cheesy rom-com on your phone. His arm was around you, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your shoulder, and every so often, he’d lean down to kiss your temple, making you smile. Life had been good—better than good. You and Sunghoon were in love, your tiny apartment was a home, and the shadows of your past felt far away. But shadows have a way of creeping back.

It started with a text. You didn’t see it at first, too caught up in giggling at Sunghoon’s terrible impression of the movie’s lead actor. His phone buzzed on the table, and he glanced at it, his smile fading. You noticed, nudging him. “What’s up?”

He hesitated, then handed you the phone. It was a message from his mom—your stepmom. “Come home tomorrow. Your dad and I need to talk to you. It’s important.” No emojis, no warmth, just cold words that made your stomach twist.

“About what?” you asked, sitting up, the hoodie slipping off your shoulder.

Sunghoon ran a hand through his hair, his jaw tight. “I don’t know. But… I think they know about us.”

Your heart sank. You’d been careful, or so you thought. Sunghoon still lived with your parents, commuting to your apartment most nights, but you hadn’t told anyone about your relationship. Not your friends, not your coworkers, and definitely not your family. The idea of your dad—your cold, unforgiving dad—finding out made your skin crawl. He’d kicked you out for the pregnancy, disowned you for less. What would he do to Sunghoon?

“How would they know?” you asked, voice small.

Sunghoon sighed, pulling you closer. “I don’t know. Maybe someone saw us. Maybe I slipped up. I’ve been… distracted lately. Forgot to clear my phone’s location history a few times.”

You swallowed, the warmth of the apartment suddenly feeling stifling. “What do we do?”

He kissed your forehead, his lips soft but firm. “We face it. Together. I’m not hiding you. Not anymore.”

You nodded, but fear gnawed at you. You loved him, more than you’d ever thought possible, but your family’s history was a minefield. You didn’t sleep much that night, even with Sunghoon’s arms around you, his steady breathing a reminder that you weren’t alone. Not yet.

The next day, Sunghoon went home. You stayed at the apartment, pacing, checking your phone every five minutes. He promised to call after the talk, to tell you everything, but hours passed with no word. By evening, you were a wreck, the vanilla candle burned down to nothing, the apartment too quiet without him. Finally, your phone rang, and you grabbed it, heart pounding.

“Hoon?” you said, voice shaky.

“It’s bad,” he said, his voice low, strained. “They know. Everything.”

You sat on the mattress, your knees weak. “How?”

“Dad saw us,” he said. “That day we went to the park, had that picnic. He was there, picking up some client. Saw us kissing, holding hands. He didn’t say anything then, but he told Mom, and they’ve been watching me. Checking my phone, my schedule. They know I’ve been coming to your place.”

Your stomach churned. “What did they say?”

He laughed, bitter and sharp. “Dad called you a slut. Said you seduced me to ruin me, just like before. Mom just cried, kept saying we’re sick, that we’re not right in the head. They told me to end it, to never see you again, or I’m out of the house.”

You felt sick, the memories of your dad’s rage flooding back. “And you? What did you say?”

“I told them I love you,” he said, voice softening. “I said you’re my girlfriend, my future, and I’m not giving you up. Not for them, not for anyone.”

Tears stung your eyes, a mix of pride and fear. “Hoon…”

“I’m coming over,” he said. “I need to see you.”

He was at your door in an hour, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, his face pale but determined. You let him in, and he dropped the bag, pulling you into his arms. His kiss was desperate, hungry, his hands gripping your waist like he was afraid you’d vanish. You kissed him back, just as needy, your fingers in his hair, your body pressed against his.

“I’m done with them,” he said against your lips, his voice rough. “I’m out. I’m not going back.”

You pulled back, searching his face. “You’re moving out? Just like that?”

He nodded, his eyes fierce. “I can’t stay there. Not after what they said about you. About us. I’m staying here, with you, if you’ll have me.”

Your heart swelled, but fear lingered. “Of course I want you here,” you said, cupping his face. “But Hoon, what about skating? Your tuition? They pay for everything.”

“I’ll figure it out,” he said, kissing you again, softer this time. “I’ve got savings, some sponsorships. I’ll get a job. I don’t care. I just need you.”

You believed him, wanted to believe him, and for a moment, the apartment felt like a sanctuary again. You helped him unpack, making space for his clothes in your tiny closet, laughing when his socks got mixed with yours. That night, you made love—slow, sweet, nothing like the desperate fucks of the past. He whispered “I love you” as he moved inside you, his hands gentle, his eyes locked on yours. Your pussy clenched around him, your body trembling with pleasure, and when you came, it felt like a promise. You fell asleep in his arms, the fairy lights glowing, the future uncertain but bright.

But promises don’t erase reality. A week later, things cracked. Sunghoon was living with you now, his duffel bag a permanent fixture in the corner, his toothbrush next to yours. The apartment was still cozy, still yours, but money was tight. You were both working—your diner and corner store shifts, his new part-time gig at a skate shop—but it wasn’t enough. Bills piled up, and Sunghoon’s skating practice was suffering. He couldn’t afford the rink fees without his parents’ support, and you could see the stress eating at him, even if he tried to hide it.

It came to a head one evening. You were cooking dinner, a simple stir-fry, the kitchenette warm with the smell of soy sauce and garlic. Sunghoon was on the mattress, scrolling through his phone, his face tense. You’d noticed he’d been quiet all day, but you didn’t push, hoping he’d open up. But when you set the plates on the blue table and sat next to him, he didn’t look at you.

“Hoon, what’s wrong?” you asked, touching his arm.

He pulled away, just slightly, but it stung. “Nothing,” he said, voice flat. “Just tired.”

“Bullshit,” you said, keeping your tone light but firm. “You’ve been off all day. Talk to me.”

He set his phone down, too hard, and looked at you, his eyes sharp. “You want me to talk? Fine. I’m fucking drowning, Y/N. I can’t skate like I used to, I’m barely making rent, and I’m living in your apartment like some freeloader. I left everything for you, and now I’m stuck.”

You froze, hurt cutting deep. “Stuck? You said you wanted this. You said you wanted me.”

“I do,” he snapped, standing, pacing the small space. “But it’s not that simple. I’m trying, but it’s hard. I see you working your ass off, and I’m barely keeping up. I feel like I’m failing you, failing us.”

You stood too, anger flaring, but it was different from your old fights. This wasn’t about betrayal or the past—it was about now, about the life you were trying to build. “You’re not failing me,” you said, voice rising. “We’re in this together. But you don’t talk to me. You just shut down, like I’m the problem.”

“You’re not the problem,” he said, but his tone was sharp, frustrated. “It’s me. It’s this.” He gestured at the apartment, the cluttered table, the tiny space. “I thought I could handle it, but I’m losing everything—my skating, my future. And you’re just… fine. Like this is enough for you.”

His words hit like a slap. “You think I’m fine?” you said, voice shaking. “I’m working two jobs, Hoon. I’m trying to keep us afloat. I gave up everything too—my family, my old life. Don’t act like I’m not struggling.”

He ran a hand through his hair, his eyes wild. “Then why does it feel like you’re okay with this? Like you don’t care if we’re scraping by, as long as we’re together?”

“Because I love you!” you shouted, tears spilling over. “I don’t care about the money, the apartment, any of it. I just want you. But you’re pushing me away, acting like I’m holding you back.”

He stared at you, his chest heaving, and for a moment, you thought he’d pull you close, kiss you, make it right. But he didn’t. “I need space,” he said, voice cold. “I can’t think here. I can’t breathe.”

“Space?” you repeated, hurt turning to anger. “You live here now. Where the fuck are you gonna go?”

“I don’t know,” he said, grabbing his jacket. “The rink. Anywhere. I just… I need to figure this out.”

You stepped closer, your voice low, sharp. “If you walk out, don’t expect me to wait forever. I’m not your fucking safety net.”

He looked at you, pain flashing in his eyes, but he didn’t stay. He grabbed his duffel bag and left, the door slamming behind him. You stood there, tears streaming down your face, the stir-fry cold on the table, the apartment too quiet. You wanted to run after him, to beg him to stay, but you didn’t. You’d fought too hard to rebuild yourself, and you wouldn’t let him break you again.

Sunghoon didn’t come back that night, or the next. You heard through a mutual friend that he was crashing at the ice rink, sleeping in the locker room, showering in the communal bathrooms. He’d quit his job at the skate shop, pouring every hour into practice, trying to claw his way back to the top. You missed him, ached for him, but you were angry too. He’d chosen to run, to shut you out, and it hurt more than you’d expected.

The apartment felt empty without him. The fairy lights seemed dimmer, the blue table too big for one. You kept working, kept living, but every night, you checked your phone, hoping for a text, a call, anything. Nothing came. You wondered if he was okay, if he was eating, if he was thinking of you. But you didn’t reach out. You’d meant what you said—you weren’t his safety net.

A week later, you got a call from one of Sunghoon’s teammates, Jay. “You need to come to the rink,” he said, voice urgent. “It’s Hoon. He’s… he’s not okay.”

You didn’t hesitate. You grabbed your jacket and ran, the night air cold against your skin. The rink was a short bus ride away, and when you got there, it was dark, the parking lot empty except for a few cars. Jay met you at the entrance, his face grim.

“What happened?” you asked, your heart pounding.

“He fell,” Jay said, leading you inside. “During practice. He’s been pushing himself too hard, not sleeping, not eating. He hit the ice, and… he just broke down. He’s still out there.”

You followed Jay into the rink, the cold air hitting you like a wall. The ice gleamed under the dim lights, and in the center, you saw him—Sunghoon, sitting on the ice, his head in his hands, shoulders shaking. He was alone, his skates still on, his practice gear soaked with sweat. You’d never seen him like this, so small, so broken.

You stepped onto the ice, your sneakers slipping, and called his name. “Hoon?”

He didn’t look up at first, but his sobbing slowed, his hands dropping to his lap. His face was red, tear-streaked, his eyes hollow. “Y/N,” he said, voice cracking. “You came.”

You knelt in front of him, the ice cold through your jeans. “Of course I came,” you said, voice soft but firm. “Jay called. Said you fell. Are you hurt?”

He shook his head, but his hands trembled. “Not hurt. Just… fucked up. I can’t do this. I can’t skate, I can’t live like this. I miss you. I miss us.”

Your heart ached, but you didn’t touch him, not yet. “Why didn’t you call? Why did you run?”

He laughed, a broken sound, wiping his tears with his sleeve. “Because I’m an idiot. Because I thought I could fix everything by myself. I thought if I skated harder, if I won, I’d be enough. For you, for me, for them.” He gestured vaguely, meaning your parents. “But I’m not. I’m falling apart.”

You reached out, touching his cheek, your fingers cold against his warm skin. “You don’t have to be enough for them,” you said. “Just be you. That’s all I want.”

He looked at you, his eyes searching, and fresh tears fell. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice raw. “I didn’t mean what I said. I’m not stuck. I love you. I love our life. I just… I got scared. I don’t know how to do this without their support.”

You pulled him into your arms, not caring about the ice, the cold, the rink. He clung to you, his face buried in your shoulder, his sobs shaking both of you. “We’ll figure it out,” you whispered, stroking his hair. “Together. But you can’t run again, Hoon. You have to stay.”

He nodded against you, his grip tightening. “I will. I promise.”

You stayed like that, kneeling on the ice, until his tears stopped, until his breathing steadied. Jay brought you a blanket, and you wrapped it around Sunghoon, helping him off the rink. He was shaky, exhausted, but he held your hand, not letting go. You took him home, to your apartment, and for the first time in a week, the fairy lights felt bright again.

The apartment was a warm glow of morning light, the kind that made everything feel soft and safe. The window, no longer cracked, let in a golden stream of sun, catching on the cream-colored walls you and Sunghoon had painted two summers ago. The fairy lights were coiled in a box now, saved for winter nights, but the room didn’t need them to feel alive. A small shelf held your growing collection of thrifted books and Polaroids—snapshots of you and Sunghoon laughing at a street festival, kissing under an umbrella, sprawled on a picnic blanket with powdered sugar on your faces from those donuts he loved. The blue table, still a little wobbly, was cluttered with coffee mugs, a plate of half-eaten toast, and a tiny cactus you’d named Spike. The air smelled like brewed coffee, butter, and the faint musk of Sunghoon’s hoodie, which you were wearing, the sleeves too long over your hands.

Your mattress days were long gone. A proper bed sat against the wall, a secondhand frame you’d sanded and stained together, piled with a thick comforter and mismatched pillows. The apartment wasn’t big, wasn’t fancy, but it was home. Your home. Yours and Sunghoon’s. It had been two years since he left your parents’ house, two years since you both cut them off for good. No calls, no texts, no tearful letters begging for reconciliation. Your dad had tried, at first, leaving voicemails that went from angry to desperate before they stopped altogether. Your stepmom sent one letter, formal and cold, asking Sunghoon to “reconsider his choices.” You’d burned it in the sink, watching the edges curl and blacken, and Sunghoon had held your hand, silent but steady. That was the end of it. You didn’t need them anymore. You had each other.

You were twenty-one now, Sunghoon twenty-two, and life was quiet, steady, beautiful in its simplicity. You worked as a barista at a cozy café downtown, the kind with mismatched chairs and live music on Fridays. Sunghoon coached kids at the ice rink, teaching them spins and jumps with a patience you hadn’t known he had, and picked up shifts at a local gym, cleaning equipment and spotting for lifters. Money was still tight sometimes, but you managed—bills paid, groceries bought, a little left for small joys like movie tickets or a new plant. The past, with its pain and betrayal, was a distant ache, not gone but softened, like a bruise you barely noticed anymore.

You sat on the bed, cross-legged, sipping coffee from a chipped mug. Sunghoon was sprawled next to you, his head propped on one hand, his t-shirt rumpled from sleep. His hair was a mess, dark strands falling into his eyes, and he had that lazy, morning smile that made your heart skip. The radio played softly, some indie song about love and rain, and outside, the street was waking up—cars humming, neighbors chatting, the world moving on.

“Remember when we thought instant ramen was a personality trait?” you said, grinning over your mug.

He laughed, the sound warm, filling the room. “God, yeah. We’d eat it every day, like we were gourmet chefs. You’d put, like, a single slice of cheese on it and call it ‘fancy.’”

You shoved his shoulder, laughing. “Excuse you, that was high cuisine. You were the one who thought ketchup was a spice.”

He grabbed your hand, pulling you closer, his fingers warm against yours. “I stand by it. Ketchup makes everything better.” He kissed your knuckles, his lips soft, and you felt that familiar flutter, the one that hadn’t faded even after years together.

You leaned against him, your head on his shoulder, the coffee mug cradled in your lap. “We’ve come a long way, huh?” you said, voice softer now, thoughtful. “From that shitty apartment to… this.”

He nodded, his cheek resting against your hair. “Yeah. Feels like a lifetime ago. You were so mad at me all the time. Thought you’d kick me out for good after that rink thing.”

You smiled, but it was tinged with the memory. “I wanted to. But I couldn’t. Even when I hated you, I didn’t.”

He turned, shifting so he could look at you, his eyes serious but warm. “I’m glad you didn’t. I was a mess back then. Still am, sometimes. But you… you make me better.”

Your chest tightened, a mix of love and gratitude. You set the mug on the table and climbed into his lap, straddling him, your hands on his shoulders. “You make me better too,” you said, voice quiet. “I was so angry, so hurt. I thought I’d never trust anyone again. But you showed up, kept showing up, even when I pushed you away.”

He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer, his hands slipping under the hoodie to rest on your bare skin. “I couldn’t stay away,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper. “Even when I fucked up, even when I didn’t know how to fix it. I loved you too much.”

You kissed him, slow and deep, your fingers in his hair, your body pressed against his. It wasn’t desperate or hungry, not like the early days when every touch was a fight against the past. This was soft, certain, a promise in every brush of his lips. His hands roamed your back, warm and gentle, and you felt safe, loved, whole. You pulled back, resting your forehead against his, your breaths mingling.

“Tell me something,” you said, smiling. “What’s the biggest thing you’ve learned since we started this?”

He thought for a moment, his hands still on your waist, his thumbs tracing circles on your skin. “That I don’t have to be perfect,” he said. “Growing up, Mom and Dad… they made me feel like I had to be the best, always. No mistakes, no weaknesses. But with you, I can just be me. I can fuck up, and you’ll still love me.”

You smiled, your heart swelling. “I do. Always.” You kissed his nose, then leaned back, your hands on his chest. “Your turn. Ask me.”

He grinned, his eyes bright. “Okay. What’s the biggest thing you’ve learned?”

You bit your lip, thinking. “That I’m enough,” you said, voice soft but sure. “I spent so long feeling like I was less than you, less than everyone. Dad made me feel like I was nothing, like I’d never be good enough. But you… you showed me I’m enough, just as I am. I don’t have to prove anything.”

His smile softened, and he pulled you into a hug, his chin resting on your shoulder. “You’ve always been enough,” he whispered. “More than enough.”

You stayed like that, wrapped in each other, the radio humming, the coffee going cold. The conversation drifted, turning to memories, to how you’d grown. You talked about the early days, when the apartment was bare, when you lived on instant noodles and stubborn hope. You laughed about the time Sunghoon tried to “fix” the leaky faucet and flooded the bathroom, or when you burned a cake for his birthday and ended up eating the charred remains anyway, giggling like kids.

“We were so young,” you said, lying back on the bed, Sunghoon next to you, his hand laced with yours. “Not in age, but… in how we saw things. I thought hurting you would make me feel better. I thought I’d never get over it.”

He turned on his side, propping his head on his hand, his eyes tracing your face. “I thought I’d never be free,” he said. “From Mom, from Dad, from all their expectations. I thought I had to carry it forever. But you showed me I could let go.”

You smiled, reaching up to brush his hair from his eyes. “We saved each other, didn’t we?”

He nodded, leaning down to kiss you, soft and slow. “Yeah,” he said against your lips. “We did.”

The day passed in a haze of quiet joy. You cooked lunch together—spaghetti with homemade sauce, a recipe you’d perfected over months of trial and error. Sunghoon insisted on chopping the garlic, even though he always made a mess, and you teased him when he got sauce on his shirt. “You’re hopeless,” you said, but you kissed the spot on his cheek where a speck of tomato had landed, and he laughed, pulling you into a dance in the tiny kitchenette, spinning you until you were dizzy.

That evening, you sat on the bed, a blanket draped over your legs, sharing a bowl of popcorn as you talked about the future. Not big plans—neither of you were ready for that—but small ones. A weekend trip to the coast, maybe. A new shelf for your books. Trying a new recipe. Sunghoon wanted to teach you to skate, though he admitted he’d probably spend more time catching you than coaching.

“I’d be terrible,” you said, tossing a popcorn kernel at him. “I’d fall every two seconds.”

He caught the kernel, popping it into his mouth with a grin. “Good. More excuses to hold you.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart fluttered. “Cheesy,” you said, but you leaned into him, your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. The apartment was quiet, the street outside calm, and you felt something you hadn’t in years: peace.

Growing up together hadn’t been easy. There were fights, tears, moments when you thought you’d lose each other. The past—your parents, the pregnancy, the betrayal—had left scars, but they’d faded, softened by time and love. You’d learned to forgive, not just Sunghoon but yourself. You’d learned to live, not for anyone else, but for you, for the life you’d built together.

“I love you,” you said, voice soft, almost lost in the hum of the radio.

Sunghoon’s arm tightened around you, his lips brushing your hair. “Love you too,” he said, and you knew he meant it, not just for now but for always.

The night stretched on, and you fell asleep tangled together, the coffee mugs forgotten, the popcorn bowl tipped over, the world outside irrelevant. You’d grown up, not just in years but in heart, and you’d done it together, step by step, love by love.

The apartment was a cozy haven, bathed in the soft glow of morning light. The cream-colored walls were adorned with more Polaroids now—snapshots of you and Sunghoon at a carnival, sharing ice cream, laughing in a rainstorm. The blue table, still a little wobbly, held a vase of daisies, a new addition from your weekend market trips, and a stack of takeout menus for lazy nights. The air smelled like fresh coffee and the cinnamon rolls Sunghoon had tried (and mostly succeeded) to bake, their golden tops peeking out from a plate on the counter. The bed, no longer a mattress on the floor, was a proper frame with a plush comforter, piled with pillows that always ended up scattered after your late-night cuddles. The apartment was small, but it was yours—yours and Sunghoon’s, a home built from love and stubborn hope.

Three years had passed since Sunghoon left your parents’ house, three years since you’d both cut them off and chosen each other. You were twenty-two now, Sunghoon twenty-three, and life was good—really good. You’d upgraded from your barista job to managing the café, a role that came with better pay and creative control over the menu. Sunghoon was thriving at the ice rink, coaching kids full-time and even competing in local tournaments, his passion for skating reignited. Money wasn’t a constant worry anymore; you could afford small luxuries like weekend getaways or new furniture. The scars of your past—the pregnancy, the abortion, your parents’ betrayal—were still there, faint and faded, but they no longer defined you. You’d grown up together, learned to love without fear, and built a life that was yours, free from the weight of your family.

You were curled on the bed, wearing Sunghoon’s t-shirt and a pair of his boxers, your hair still messy from sleep. Sunghoon was in the kitchenette, flipping through his phone, his sweatpants low on his hips, his bare back lean and strong from years of skating. The radio played a soft pop song, and you hummed along, scrolling through your own phone, when an email notification popped up. It was from an old family friend, someone you hadn’t spoken to in years. The subject line was simple: “Checking In.”

You opened it, curious, and skimmed the message. It was mostly small talk—updates on their life, questions about yours—but one line stopped you cold. “I was sorry to hear about your dad and Sunghoon’s mom splitting up. Divorce is tough, but they seem to be moving on.”

You sat up, heart pounding. “Hoon,” you said, voice sharp. “Come here.”

He turned, eyebrows raised, setting his phone down. “What’s up?”

You handed him your phone, the email open. “Read this.”

He scanned it, his expression shifting from confusion to surprise, then to something like amusement. “They got divorced?” he said, looking up at you. “When?”

“I don’t know,” you said, taking the phone back. “This is the first I’ve heard. I mean… we blocked them. Nobody told us.”

He sat on the bed, a grin spreading across his face. “So, technically, we’re not step-siblings anymore.”

You stared at him, then burst out laughing, the sound bubbling up uncontrollably. “Oh my God,” you said, clutching your stomach. “That’s… that’s so stupid. We’re not related anymore?”

He laughed too, the sound bright and free, his eyes crinkling. “Guess not. We’re just… us now. No weird family baggage.”

You fell back on the bed, still giggling, tears of laughter in your eyes. “All that drama, all that guilt, and now it’s just… poof. Gone. They’re not even together.”

Sunghoon lay next to you, propping himself on one elbow, his grin wide. “Kinda funny, right? We went through hell because of them, and they couldn’t even make it work.”

You turned to him, your laughter fading into a smile. “It’s like… we’re free. Really free.”

He nodded, his hand finding yours, his fingers lacing through. “We always were,” he said, voice softer. “But this? It’s like the universe saying we’re okay. That we’re right.”

You leaned in, kissing him, slow and sweet, your lips lingering against his. His hand slid to your waist, pulling you closer, and you felt the familiar warmth of his body, the steady beat of his heart. The kiss deepened, but it wasn’t urgent, wasn’t desperate. It was love, pure and simple, the kind that didn’t need to prove anything. When you pulled back, you were both smiling, your foreheads pressed together.

“Love you,” you whispered, your fingers tracing his jaw.

“Love you too,” he said, his voice low, warm. “Always.”

The discovery could’ve been heavy, could’ve stirred up old wounds, but it didn’t. It was a relief, a punchline to a bad joke, and it made you both lighter. You spent the morning talking about it, laughing over the irony, wondering what your parents were doing now but not caring enough to find out. They were gone from your lives, and their divorce was just a footnote, a reason to chuckle and move on.

That evening, Sunghoon was acting strange. He’d been fidgety all day, checking his phone, pacing the apartment, muttering to himself. You noticed but didn’t push, assuming he was just wired from the divorce news. You were in the kitchenette, washing dishes, humming to the radio, when he came up behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist.

“Hey,” he said, his voice soft, a little nervous. “Can we talk?”

You turned, drying your hands on a towel, raising an eyebrow. “You okay? You’ve been weird all day.”

He laughed, but it was shaky, and he ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… come sit with me.”

You followed him to the bed, your heart picking up speed. He sat, pulling you down next to him, his hand tight around yours. The fairy lights were plugged in now, glowing golden, and the room felt warm, intimate, like it was holding its breath.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice low, serious. “I’ve been thinking about us. About everything we’ve been through. The good, the bad, all of it.”

You nodded, your stomach fluttering, not sure where this was going. “Okay…”

He took a deep breath, his eyes locked on yours. “I love you. More than I ever thought I could love anyone. You’re my best friend, my home, my everything. And today, finding out we’re not tied to them anymore… it made me realize I don’t want to wait. I want you forever.”

Your breath caught, and he reached into his pocket, pulling out a small, velvet box. Your heart stopped as he opened it, revealing a simple silver ring, a tiny star etched on the band. It wasn’t flashy, wasn’t expensive, but it was perfect.

“Marry me,” he said, his voice steady despite the nerves in his eyes. “Not because we have to, not because of anyone else. Just because I want you, always.”

Tears welled up, and you laughed, a soft, shaky sound, your hands flying to your face. “Hoon,” you whispered, voice thick. “Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

He grinned, wide and bright, and slid the ring onto your finger, his hands trembling. You kissed him, hard and desperate, your arms around his neck, his hands in your hair. The kiss was messy, full of tears and laughter, and when you pulled back, you were both beaming, the ring catching the light.

“I love you,” you said, your voice breaking, and he kissed you again, softer this time, his lips lingering.

“Love you too,” he murmured, his forehead against yours. “Forever.”

You didn’t want a wedding. Neither of you did. The idea of a big ceremony, with dresses and flowers and people you barely knew, felt wrong. You’d spent years tied to expectations, to your parents’ rules, and you didn’t want your love to be a performance. Instead, you went to the courthouse a week later, just the two of you, in jeans and t-shirts, the ring on your finger and a matching one on his. You signed the papers, said your vows in a quiet room with a bored officiant, and laughed when you tripped over the words, Sunghoon catching you with a grin.

It was enough. More than enough. You celebrated with takeout pizza and cheap wine, eating on the bed, the fairy lights glowing, the radio playing your favorite songs. You made love that night, slow and tender, his hands gentle on your skin, your pussy clenching around him as you whispered his name, your bodies moving together like they were made for it. It wasn’t about passion or need—it was about love, about being one, about promising forever in every touch, every kiss.

After, you lay tangled in the sheets, his arm around you, your head on his chest. The ring felt new, a little heavy, but right. You traced his collarbone with your finger, smiling when he shivered.

“Mrs. Park,” he said, testing the words, his voice teasing but soft. “Sounds good, huh?”

You laughed, poking his side. “Don’t get cocky, Mr. Park. I’m still me.”

He grinned, kissing your hair. “Good. I wouldn’t want anyone else.”

You talked until the candles burned out, reminiscing about your journey, laughing about the divorce news again. “We were so stressed about being step-siblings,” you said, shaking your head. “And now it’s like… who cares? They’re not even a thing anymore.”

“Right?” he said, chuckling. “All that guilt, all those fights, and they just… imploded. Guess we won.”

You smiled, snuggling closer. “We did. We really did.”

You talked about growing up, about how you’d changed. You weren’t the angry girl who’d wanted to hurt him, the one who’d lied and schemed. You were stronger now, kinder to yourself, proud of the life you’d built. Sunghoon wasn’t the perfect son, trapped by pressure. He was free, passionate, a man who loved deeply and fought for what mattered. You’d both learned to forgive, to heal, to love without conditions. The past was a lesson, not a chain, and you carried it lightly now, a story you’d survived together.

“I’m happy,” you said, voice soft, almost afraid to say it out loud. “Like, really happy.”

He looked at you, his eyes warm, his smile soft. “Me too,” he said. “Happier than I’ve ever been.”

The night faded into morning, and you fell asleep in his arms, the apartment quiet, the world outside irrelevant. You were married, not by a big wedding but by choice, by love, by a promise no one could break. You’d grown up together, from pain to peace, and now, you’d grow old together, just the two of you, forever enough.

The house was alive with the chaos of a Saturday morning. It wasn’t the tiny apartment anymore—that was a distant memory, a place you and Sunghoon still talked about with nostalgic smiles. Now, you lived in a modest two-bedroom home on the edge of the city, with a small backyard and a swing set the kids adored. The walls were painted a soft blue, covered in crayon scribbles and framed family photos—you and Sunghoon at the courthouse, your twins as newborns, all four of you at the beach last summer. The kitchen smelled like pancakes and maple syrup, the radio playing an old love song, and the living room was a mess of toys, books, and a half-built pillow fort.

You were thirty, Sunghoon thirty-one, and life was everything you’d dreamed it could be. You owned the café now, a thriving little spot with your artwork on the walls and Sunghoon’s skating trophies on a shelf. He ran a skating school at the rink, coaching kids and adults with the same passion he’d always had, his smile brighter than ever. Your parents were a faint memory, their divorce a footnote you’d laughed about years ago. You hadn’t spoken to them in over a decade, and you didn’t need to. Your family was here, in this house, with the two people who made every day a gift.

The twins, Hana and Minjun, were five, a whirlwind of energy and giggles. Hana had Sunghoon’s dark hair and your stubborn streak, always bossing her brother around. Minjun had your eyes and Sunghoon’s quiet charm, content to follow his sister’s lead but quick with a cheeky grin. They were sprawled on the living room rug, coloring a giant piece of paper, their crayons rolling everywhere.

“Mommy, Daddy’s burning the pancakes again!” Hana called, not looking up from her drawing, a lopsided rainbow.

You laughed, standing at the stove, flipping a pancake that was, in fact, slightly too dark. “He’s not burning them, baby. He’s just… making them extra crispy.”

Sunghoon, beside you in a faded t-shirt and sweatpants, nudged your hip with his. “Liar,” he teased, his voice low, warm. He leaned in, kissing your cheek, his hand brushing your waist under the hem of your shirt. “You’re the one who distracted me.”

You swatted him with the spatula, grinning. “Keep it PG, Park. Kids are watching.”

He chuckled, stealing another kiss, quick and soft, before turning to the twins. “Who wants pancakes?” he called, holding up a plate stacked high.

“Me!” Hana and Minjun shouted, scrambling to the table, their coloring forgotten. You set the plates down, cutting their pancakes into small pieces, while Sunghoon poured orange juice, dodging Hana’s attempt to grab the jug.

Breakfast was loud, messy, perfect. Minjun got syrup on his nose, Hana told a long, dramatic story about a butterfly she’d seen, and Sunghoon kept sneaking bites from your plate, his hand resting on your thigh under the table. You caught his eye, and he smiled, the kind of smile that still made your heart skip, even after all these years.

“Eww, Daddy, stop looking at Mommy like that,” Hana said, wrinkling her nose. “You’re all mushy.”

Minjun giggled, covering his mouth. “Yeah, mushy-gushy! You’re always kissing!”

You burst out laughing, and Sunghoon leaned back, pretending to be offended. “What? I can’t kiss my wife? Who made that rule?”

“Me!” Hana declared, crossing her arms. “It’s gross.”

“Gross?” Sunghoon gasped, scooping her up and tickling her until she squealed. “You’re gonna be mushy-gushy one day, kiddo.”

“Never!” she shrieked, giggling, while Minjun joined in, climbing onto Sunghoon’s lap, demanding tickles too.

You watched them, your heart so full it hurt. This was your life now—pancakes and laughter, crayon stains and tickle fights. You and Sunghoon were still so in love, the kind that made you steal kisses in the kitchen, hold hands under the table, make love late at night when the kids were asleep, your bodies tangled, your whispers soft. Your rings, simple silver bands, caught the light, a quiet reminder of the vow you’d made—not with a wedding, but with each other, every day.

Later, after the dishes were done and the twins were napping, you and Sunghoon curled up on the couch, a blanket over your legs. The house was quiet, the radio off, just the hum of the fridge and the distant chirp of birds outside. He pulled you close, your back against his chest, his arms around you.

“Happy?” he asked, his lips brushing your ear, his voice low.

You smiled, tilting your head to look at him. “Happier than I’ve ever been.”

He kissed you, slow and sweet, his hand resting on your stomach, where the twins had grown years ago. “Me too,” he said. “You, the kids… it’s more than I ever dreamed.”

You turned in his arms, straddling his lap, your hands on his face. “Love you,” you whispered, kissing him again, deeper this time, your fingers in his hair.

“Love you more,” he murmured, his hands sliding under your shirt, warm against your skin. The kiss heated, but the sound of small footsteps made you pull back, laughing softly.

“Mommy?” Minjun’s voice came from the hallway, sleepy and curious.

Sunghoon grinned, resting his forehead against yours. “Busted,” he whispered.

You climbed off him, smoothing your shirt, and went to scoop up Minjun, who was rubbing his eyes. Hana followed, dragging her blanket, and soon you were all piled on the couch, the twins nestled between you. Sunghoon draped an arm around you, his hand resting on Hana’s head, and you leaned into him, your heart full.

“Still mushy,” Hana mumbled, but she was smiling, snuggling closer.

“Always,” you said, kissing her forehead, then Sunghoon’s cheek.

The afternoon faded into evening, and you stayed there, a happy, messy family, built from pain and love, stronger than anything that had tried to break you. You’d grown up together, you and Sunghoon, from anger to trust, from chaos to peace. Now, with your twins, your home, your love, you were whole—a family, forever.

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whumpthemusical · 1 year ago

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Whump: The Musical Prompts!!

As stated before, this challenge will run from March 1- March 31, 2024. All fandoms are welcome to participate despite it being prompts based off of musicals. Once again, all types of media are allowed. This challenge has the standard "choose one for the day" style, but feel free to do all three prompts if that's what you want to do!! All types of whump are allowed, but please be respectful to your fellow audience members and properly tag it!! Some of these prompts are sensitive, so make sure you warn your readers correctly! There will be an ao3 collection and an FAQ post coming soon, so if you have any further questions or comments about this challenge, feel free to drop me a line. Happy writing, my beautiful ingénues, and enjoy the show :)))

The prompts will be listed under the cut for those who have difficulty reading fonts!!

Cats- Sabotage • Second Chances • "I Can Dream Of The Old Days."

Wicked- Mob Mentality • Propaganda • "No Good Deed Goes Unpunished."

Jesus Christ Superstar- Whipping • Betrayal • "Then I Was Inspired, Now I'm Sad And Tired."

Les Mis- Survivor's Guilt • Failure • "Drink With Me To Days Gone By."

Heathers- Poison • Reluctant Whumper • "Wanna fight for me?"

Newsies- Chronic Pain • Exploitation • "Let 'Em Laugh In My Face, I Don't Care."

The Last Five Years- Infidelity • Gaslighting • "I Will Not Lose Because You Can't WIn."

Hadestown- Deals • Doomed Narrative • "Doubt Comes In."

Sweeney Todd- False Imprisonment • Razors • "Have You Decided It's Safer In Cages?"

Rent- Substance Abuse • Poverty • "Feels Too Much Damn Like Home."

Bare: A Pop Opera- Outing • Religious Trauma • "Please, See Me."

Waitress- Unplanned Pregnancy • Abuse • "She Is Broken And Won't Ask For Help."

Tick Tick Boom- Atychiphobia • Working To Exhaustion • "Is This Real Life?"

Dear Evan Hansen- Deception • Broken Bone • "Words Fail."

West Side Story- Star-Crossed Lovers • Prejudices • "A Boy Who Kills Cannot Love."

Come From Away- Stranded • Aftermath • "Blankets And Bedding And Maybe Some Food."

Spring Awakening- Withheld Information • Suicide • "I Don't Scream, Though I Know It's Wrong."

Hamilton- Hurricane • Dueling • "I Will Kill Your Friends And Family To Remind You Of My Love."

Falsettos- Sickness • Identity Issues • "Death Is Not A Friend."

Into The Woods- Blame • Lost • "Nothing But A Vast Midnight."

The Great Comet- Abduction • Letters • "Did You Love That Bad Man?"

In The Heights- Grief • Homesickness • "I Know That I'm Letting You Down."

Be More Chill- Mind Manipulation • Panic Attack • "Everything About Me Makes Me Want To Die."

Moulin Rouge- Class Differences • Sex Work • "Come What May."

Chicago- Cold Blood • Trial • "He Had It Coming."

Six- Execution • Trauma Bonding • "Playtime's Over."

Ride The Cyclone- Unexpected Tragedy • Forgotten Whumpee • "I Hear The Anguish Of The Street."

The Rocky Horror Show- Obsession • Wrong Place, Wrong Time • "I've Seen Blue Skies Through The Tears."

Nerdy Prudes Must Die- Bullying • Ritual • "Who Will Pray For You?"

Jekyll And Hyde- Duality • Good Vs Evil • "If I Die, You'll Die."

Phantom Of The Opera- Disfiguration • Shunned • "My Power Over You Grows Stronger Yet."

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artemisia-black · 2 months ago

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The Deatheaters as a metaphor for the far right?

The Death Eaters as a metaphor for a far-right movement doesn’t quite work because they do not need to seize power (they already have it). Historically, far-right movements emerge as a means for individuals or factions to gain or regain control, often by mobilising a discontented base that believes it has been displaced.

For example, the KKK was a reaction to abolition, an attempt to violently reinforce white supremacy after the formal structures of enslavement were dismantled. But crucially, the rank and file committing the violence were not the old plantation elites—they were overwhelmingly poor and working-class white men who had far more in common, economically, with the newly freed Black population than they did with the Southern aristocracy they were fighting to uphold. The ruling class did not need to get their hands dirty. Instead, they manipulated the lower classes into doing their dirty work for them, convincing them that the real enemy was Black Americans, not the wealthy landowners and industrialists who were actually responsible for their poverty and disenfranchisement.

To be absolutely clear, this is not to excuse or diminish the horrific violence carried out by these groups, nor to suggest that those who participated were merely victims of manipulation. They were fully responsible for their actions. The point here is to highlight how ruling elites have historically exploited economic and social divisions, ensuring that the people carrying out their violence are often those who stand to gain the least from the system they are defending.

This pattern is a hallmark of far-right movements.

Nazi Germany functioned in much the same way—the rank and file of the Nazi Party came from the lower and middle classes, particularly those who had been left economically devastated by the Treaty of Versailles. Hitler’s rhetoric was designed to redirect their anger away from the actual causes of their suffering (economic collapse, wealth inequality, and an industrial elite profiting off their desperation) and instead blame minorities, mainly Jewish people, as the supposed architects of their misery. MAGA operates on the same principle today: working-class white Americans are convinced that immigrants and minorities are stealing their jobs and eroding their culture, while the billionaires bankrolling the movement continue to hoard wealth and exploit labour.

These movements rely on the ability to manipulate people into defending a system that actively works against them, maintaining elite control without the elites ever having to expose themselves.

The Death Eaters do not do this. They do not mobilise a desperate lower class into fighting for their cause. They do not appeal to a disenfranchised group with promises of restored greatness or economic prosperity. Instead, they come entirely from the aristocracy and fight their own war - they are marching out themselves, openly declaring war on a society that already benefits them.

Their violence is not a tool for gaining power, nor is it a smokescreen to consolidate control and profit from chaos. It is simply indulgent, self-destructive, and utterly unnecessary. If they had any real understanding of how power works, they would be letting others do the bloodshed for them while they remained hidden in the shadows, pulling the strings.

Which is actually what they’ve been doing all along.

The Muggle-borns have no real power—they are allowed to exist, but that is it. They are tolerated within wizarding society, but only as second-class citizens, never as equals. The structures of pure-blood dominance do not need to be enforced through mass violence because they are already woven into the fabric of the system. Muggle-borns may be permitted to attend Hogwarts, but they do not rise to positions of power within it. They may enter the Ministry, but they do not shape policy. They are granted just enough space to exist within wizarding Britain, but never enough to threaten the status quo. The illusion of inclusion is maintained, but the mechanisms of control ensure that they remain peripheral.

And the most effective form of oppression is the one that does not feel like oppression, the one that convinces those at the bottom that their place in the system is simply the way of the world (you know like the enslaved creatures who like being slaves). The ruling elite does not need to actively suppress anyone when the entire structure of wizarding society is already designed to keep them out of meaningful positions of power.

This is where the series does utterly fail to grasp how power actually works. While Voldemort is attempting to seize power, once he has it (once he has the pure-blood aristocracy under his control via the knights of Walpurgis and later the death eaters), what is the purpose of waging a war? He doesn’t need open terror when he controls the people who move the levers of power. He should let the bureaucracy do the oppression for him, enacting banal evil.

The Death Eaters, then, are not a metaphor for real-world far-right movements because they do not function like one. They are not manipulating the lower classes into enforcing their ideology. They are not trying to reclaim lost power. They are not using violence as a strategic tool to seize control. They are a ruling elite that already had power, throwing away the advantages of hegemony in favour of mindless brutality.

#harry potter

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edenfenixblogs · 3 months ago

Note

What suffering? You’ve never suffered for a single fucking second, and no, the holohoax doesn’t count. Is being in control of western media, banks and hollywood not enough for you? Is being disproportionately wealthy not enough for you? Does being called out for anything hurt your precious special snowflake jew feefees? Are meanie words on the internet oppressing you?

Date: 2/2/25

Note: ok so this Holocaust denying antisemite is literally just looking for attention and will be blocked by the time this comes out of the queue but in order:

1. First off, I literally have diagnosed ptsd as a result of intense and ongoing trauma suffered in childhood involving murder, manipulation, illness, and neglect. Being from a group (Jews) that you consider (incorrectly) to be free of suffering doesn’t magically erase any other suffering. Also I’m queer and neurodivergent and lived the past few years with chronic medical issues. So…uhhh…yeah. Assuming that this is in reference to a post where I talked about Jewish suffering in general since 10/7 here is and incomplete list of some examples of my suffering and the suffering of other Jews in diaspora.

Total isolation from non-Jewish social circles whether or not we have expressed any opinion on Israel

The inability to attend classes without harassment

The inability to submit work to bigoted teachers and professors who refuse to accept work from or about Jews

Harassment on public transit, restaurants, and other public areas for being visibly Jewish

Living in fear threats being called in to synagogues, Jewish childcare centers, and Jewish schools

Living in fear because local antisemitic groups organize and have carried out Jew hunts

Being told to leave places of business for wearing kippot or Magen David necklaces

Watching my people get slaughtered and ripped out of their homes and kidnapped and assaulted by people who gleefully filmed themselves committing these acts.

Watching people around the world cheer on the actions of the people who committed these atrocities listed above because they think people who share my ethnic identity deserved it because of where they were born.

Watching politicians who are supposed to represent my interests single out my cultural identity for condemnation or violence or ridicule daily.

2. The Holocaust counts as generational trauma and suffering, which is an unarguable fact given that the entire idea of generational trauma was INVENTED to describe the aftermath of-effects of the Holocaust, which was not a hoax you fucking idiot.

3. I work in media and barely make a living wage and have no power to shape any messages at all. I control nothing. In fact, I frequently have to work on content that makes me extremely uncomfortable personally and religiously. If you have the info of anyone I could contact in banking or media or, apparently(??????) the city of Hollywood where all the Jews are laughing over the piles of money they hoard for some reason like medieval storybook dragons, please give me that contact info. I could use some extra cash. Can you also have a word with the Space Laser folks? I want a turn.

4. I earn a living wage, which I fought a bitter multi-year union battle to achieve. And even then, just barely. Jews place a high emphasis on education and serving the community. Which is why many of us pursue higher and post graduate education, which is linked to higher pay. However? Half of all Jews in the US (including me) work in non-profits, because we find great meaning in serving the community. Interesting that nobody seems to have measured what percentage of atheists, Muslims, or Christians work in non-profits. I doubt half of any of those groups works in non-profits, because there are many more of them than there are of Jews. And if half of the Christians, atheists, and Muslims in the USA worked in and for nonprofits, then there wouldn’t be such horrible conditions for people suffering from poverty, homelessness, or inadequate health care.

5. This isn’t a call out of behavior I have practiced or participated in that is bad. This is a mocking of my religious and cultural identity based on stereotypes. Words mean things. You are bullying me. This is what bullying is.

6. “Snowflake” …interesting. So you might not be a leftist antisemite. You might be the old fashioned right-wing kind. Well, at least you lot have always said what you think of us. You don’t hide behind a thin veneer of self righteous savior complex to justify and excuse your hatred. So kudos for that. Shame you used a throwaway account though. Can’t really give you points for having the balls to come off of anon if you use a throwaway account. Then again, you might be a leftie, because the horseshoe has become a circle these days.

7. Yes. Words on the internet are oppressing me, but they are not doing so in isolation. The words on the internet are part of public discourse which has become overwhelmingly antisemitic in the past two years. Being surrounded by language like this online and in real life is severely damaging my quality of life and sense of safety and my belief in the trustworthiness of my fellow human beings. I am afraid to attend publicized Jewish events like local Jewish film festivals, meet ups, or other social events in fear of being attacked. I am afraid to participate in queer groups or social justice events like I used to before 10/7, because I am afraid of being harassed for being Jewish at them—many Jews have. I left my old city after being unable to drive to a cafe without seeing graffiti accusing all Jews of being genocidal and after my mom was harassed publicly by an aggressive man while being visibly Jewish. Are words on the Internet the sole source of my oppression? No. But are words on the Internet part of the oppression I face? Yes. And you have contributed to it here today. And you feel good about yourself for doing so. Because you have the power in this relationship. And you are using your systemic power to torment me. Because that is how oppression works: you have power and feel as though you deserve it and I don’t deserve it and you’re justified in maintaining that status quo, you piece of shit.

8. I may have to deal with bigots like you, but I have dignity and you do not. I say what I feel and think with my actual username and you do not. I am part of a community based on love and acceptance and mutual participation and respect and history and education and you don’t. Because if you did, you’d be engaging with them instead of harassing me. I’m happy to be me and not you. I’m happy to be visibly and vocally Jewish. I’m happy my world is full of love and support, and I’m sorry you have to anonymously send hate to people you’ve never met in order to get enough dopamine to make your life feel meaningful. I’m sorry you have so little joy in your life that you have to find it by doing whatever the fuck this was. I hope things get better for you. But also, as long as you behave this way, you’ll continue to feel this way. You’re a bad person. Because causing other people pain brings you joy. And clearly not even a lot of joy. What a horrible way to waste your precious, limited time on this planet.

9. Fuck you.

#qqq #antisemitism #leftist antisemitism #right wing antisemitism #the antisemitism experiment

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nobodypunk · 3 months ago

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Vampire Knight Analysis: Classism

Long Post !

10,000 years ago, climate change caused the apocalypse. Because of lack of food and resources, vampires are at the top of the food chain, preying on humans. Kaname is a pureblood and the progenitor, we first see him as the Lord of a village, in which he gives the villagers his blood to sustain them and keep them healthy, but in secret he takes their blood to sustain himself. Eventually, he run-out the village when they suspect he is a vampire.

He is in a position of power over his people and while it is framed as benevolent that he is healing them and helping them live, he is also stealing from them in secret. I think it is a fair comparison to equate this to money or goods. Serfs work the land for their lord and in return he offers them protection. While the lord may be a good one, he is still partaking in a power structure that ultimately benefits him. A lord still takes their livelihood as payment and in the way of secrets, may be oppressing them in ways they are not aware of, taking things they did not agree to give away.

Kaname along with The Hooded Woman observe how their kind, pureblood vampires, have taken to turning many humans into vampires. But the hooded woman says this is not for equality, the purebloods are turning humans to make slaves of them. So purebloods are explicitly abusing the power structure as the upper class and abusing the lower class (humans) turning them into slaves (Level D).

As the story continues The Hooded Woman and Kaname oppose the purebloods, rebel against them, and also search for a cure to vampirism. They recognize that the system that they are both a part of, needs to be dismantled.

Through their research, Kaname becomes disheartened but wishes to make the necessary sacrifice to liberate humans from vampire tyranny. The Hooded Woman however is the one who has been working with a group of humans, having them ingest her blood to gain her power. In doing this she creates Hunters. Hunters who are human yet possess the strength of vampires given to them by a pureblood. She then casts her heart into a fire that will produce the Parent Metal which they can then make weapons to defend themselves against the vampires.

Which I find to be such an interesting dynamic as we can view this as a royal who despises the royal class, donating all of her funds to lower class people for a rebellion. The upper class woman willingly sacrificed herself “Viva La Revolution!” style for the lower class. However for me, this feels a little weird subtextually. The Hunters having their genetics changed by her pureblood makes them have similarities to vampires, like Kaien living an unusually long life, or the Hunter Twins curse. I will return to this thought later.

Kaname fights the revolution with Artemis for a period of time, but eventually loses hope that vampires will ever be stopped or cured. He abandons the cause, abandons the humans, abandons the Level D/E vampires to their doom.

Let’s now focus on the time period that Vampire Knight takes place:

In VK we now have a very literal class system of vampires as illustrated by the pyramid in the manga:

Level A: pure bloods that are the reigning class (born vampires, beautiful, precious, powerful, manipulative)

Level B: the noble/aristocrat class (not as powerful as purebloods but still beautiful and have specialized powers)

Level C: common vampires (that we see very little of … I can’t think of a single named character that is one)

Level D: vampires that used to be human (can only be turned by the pure bloods, seen as lesser and generally not accepted as part of vampire society)

Level E: vampires that used to be human who have lost their humanity and sanity (ugly, bestial, outcast, thought of as murderers, violent, often dressed like they are poverty level).

And finally humans (viewed as a food source, but strangely are treated socially above Level D and Level E vampires, almost a Level C/F combo???).

Let’s break down this pyramid:

Purebloods are reflective of royalty. At one point Kaname was formally titled The Vampire King, and even though they are not per se a legally recognized monarchy, the role of the Kuran family is the same. They are a hierarchy based on ancestry and bloodlines exactly like a monarchy. “Pureblood” is very obviously a classist ideal. Blood unmixed, blood not dirtied by “lower classes” or also in this case, human blood. Royals were thought to have “blue blood”; that they were called by divine right as sovereign, and that they were special and above everyone else. It is very much the reason why incest in royal families was practiced to “keep the bloodline pure”.

Incest is a reoccurring theme in Vampire Knight that is controversial and something I have always been confused by and wildly uncomfortable with. We have themes of incest with Kaname and Yuuki, Haruka and Juri, as well as Rido, and later with Ai and Ren.

Incest between Rido and Juri is framed as assault and not right, but the incest between Juri and Haruka is framed as loving and pure. When Yuuki finds out Kaname is her brother she remarks that it’s strange that she was in love with her brother this whole time, to which Kaname says: ‘Vampires are just beasts in human form. We are already betrothed. Our parents before us were siblings.’ He justifies the incest as bestial and a system that she was born into as a pureblood. (Which is an interesting contradiction as animals do not often practice incest as it is not good for genetic diversity. However, selective breeding can be something that humans force animals to do which does have parallels with royalty practicing incest. There is a different theme in VK that is “Humanity VS Beasts (in human form)“ that I will hopefully write about separately but right now we are going to focus on Classism)

I think having this correlation between royalty and incest makes the presence of it in this particular series make more sense and as a part of the horror genre (and generally) incest is supposed to be uncomfortable and grotesque. Vampires often manifest our social anxieties with class and sexuality.

I also want to touch on the term “pureblood” and how it is a clear link to eugenics.

Japanese vampires have distinct differences in interpretations from western vampires, there is a wonderful video about Vampire Hunter D that explored some of those differences (UNFORTUNATELY, It was by @thegamingmuse on YouTube and IT HAS BEEN TAKEN DOWN but have this one ‘History of Vampires in Japan’ instead). Like how Japan’s view of classism is very affected by the country’s long history with feudalism and subsequently their past with fascism. I want to stress that these may not have been the author’s clear intentions but rather things that affected her writing subconsciously.

Eugenics began to gain popularity in Japan around the 1880s when scientists introduced a theory that through selective breeding they could make the people of Japan (the Yamato race) stronger and smarter to dominate over other cultures including the west. They valued “junketsu”--pureblood and looked down on “konketsu”-- mixed blood. Social Darwinism, forcible sterilizations and abortions began occurring more and more in the early 19th century and specifically in the 1930s at the height of imperialism. They deemed certain traits to be undesirable such as disability, genetic disease, criminal inclinations, and even race (look up the indigenous people of Japan like the Ainu), etc. Ableism and xenophobia are still very much ingrained in Japan’s culture today because of this.

It is hard to talk about purebloods and not talk about Level E’s at the same time. Only Purebloods have the power to turn humans into vampires so they are therefore responsible for all Level D and Level E vampires that come into existence.

Level D vampires in Vampire Knight are treated with disdain, they are usually servants or scandalous lovers to their higher class pureblood masters. As we see with Shizuka, she took a human lover that ended up being a target because society did not approve of her relationship to him. As well as Shizuka’s master bond over Zero. He physically has to fight to harm her because the power of the bond, Master vs Servant, Creator vs Creation, is so strong. They are meant to be slaves with no will of their own.

Vampires that used to be human need the blood of a pureblood to remain stable and sane and when that blood isn’t given they lose their humanity. They roam the streets with insatiable thirst, killing to barely survive a cursed life. Food that did not die, only to be used and discarded. Level E vampires are those that are discarded, plaguing the humans with violence and fear.

So purebloods, like royalty, are framed as desirable, beautiful, fashionable, the peak of society versus Level E’s that are portrayed as starving, ugly, bestial vermin that need to be slayed. They both prey on humans but one is deemed more villainous because of their lowly state. The Level E’s are the lower class created by the upper class. The upper class took their resources and left them in the streets to die. They are othered and thought of as a plague to both human and vampire society. Does that remind you of the eugenics that I was just talking about?

The Level E’s are also portrayed as mentally unstable, mirroring Japanese disdain for mental illness. Hikikomori is a phenomenon in Japan of severe social withdrawal. One of the reasons this could be happening is because it is not socially acceptable to have a disability, visible or not. It is more acceptable to remain inside your home. Much like ‘The Ugly Laws’ in the United States: “These laws targeted poor people and disabled people. For instance, in San Francisco a law of 1867 deemed it illegal for "any person, who is diseased, maimed, mutilated or deformed in any way, so as to be an unsightly or disgusting object, to expose himself or herself to public view.”

I’ve always thought it was interesting and really sad that in VK they search for a cure for vampirism, but they never specifically say that it’s to help Level E’s restore their humanity or their sanity. It’s almost as if the cure is more geared toward curing purebloods and the acceptable parts of vampire society. But that view was most certainly influenced by a group.

Aristocrats are exactly like they sound, they are privileged in high society. In VK they hold a lot of power though they are not as powerful as the Purebloods they are subservient to. Still they pull the strings and abuse their station. In many ways they control what is socially acceptable and what is not. Vampiric Aristocrats are as their nature is, greedy and hungry for blood. Pureblood is coveted by them and held as a rare and precious commodity. They are the ones encouraging incest to keep their blood stores full. In Shizuka’s case it was her family and the aristocrats that kept her caged after deeming she was unstable (there’s that disdain for mental illness and disability again, even though inbreeding can cause such things even in royalty) The Aristocracy is also responsible for supplying humans for Purebloods to feed on, such is the case with Kaname meeting Seiren.

The Aristocracy benefits most from how society has been set up, even with their dealings with humans. The secret of vampire society is best kept, and that is why they sneer at vampire/human coexistence. Humans are just food and tools. Like the Hunter Society.

The Hunter Society as it is in VK’s time is corrupt, we find out the President has been in league with the leader of the Aristocracy, Ichio. In exchange for protection they get pure blood for their drinking pleasure. Though it is not explicitly said, the Hunter Society is basically an extermination system for the victims of purebloods. Hunters only kill targets on the list curated by the corrupt President who with their ties to the Aristocracy would know what humans were turned into Level Ds and Es. The real world equivalent for hunters is the police. The police are funded by the government, are easily corrupted, and often unfairly discriminate against the lower class, arresting them for stealing food when the upper class hoards it all to themselves.

So like I said before we have this really interesting view of the Hunters as being like vampires: being a part of the leech, upper class, and feeding into a system of oppression.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I might do more parts to this as a series, such as analyzing the class system and how it pertains to certain characters, but those were all the thoughts that have been bouncing around in my head for the last two months. Let me know what ya'll think or feel free to request a take!

#vk #i'm anime trash #vampire knight #vampire knight analysis #vampire analysis #zero kiryu #yuuki cross #kaname kuran #pureblood #pureblood vampire

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oyasuminto · 6 months ago

Note

what do you think the mouthwashing character's home lives are like?

OOOOOOH I HAVE THOUGHTS ABOUT THIS!!!

Anya

I think her upbringing was actually pretty normal. A working-class family making ends meet, vacations were a week with the grandparents or a trip to the beach, that kind of thing. Nothing exemplary, but also nothing bad. Her parents were incredibly hard-working, sometimes to the point of Anya being a latchkey kid.

As an adult? I think she's a little more lonely and isolated. She has her own apartment, a tiny one with noisy neighbors and a lazy landlord. It's nothing special but it's hers.

Curly

His upbringing was less than ideal. Perhaps he was poor, perhaps he lived in a disadvantaged area. Regardless, he clawed his way out of that and found success as a pilot. According to the devs, he likes spending time with his family, meaning he's likely had them cheering him on as his career advanced.

Really, his home life seems ideal; he makes good money, he plays multiple sports, he can do just about anything he wants when he's off work... but there's still an emptiness inside him, a hesitance.

Daisuke

Still lives at home with his parents, of course. He doesn't exactly have the funds to move out on his own. Despite Jimmy's assumptions, Daisuke's family isn't rich. They aren't even middle class, they just have good connections.

Daisuke's parents love him. He and his mother are especially close, though. I could see his father being a little more distant, perhaps due to work, or just being less warm than Daisuke's mother.

Jimmy

A struggle. Jimmy has known nothing but struggle. I'm of the belief that he grew up in poverty and came from an abusive household. People like Jimmy don't become who they are out of nowhere, and the cycle of abuse is called a cycle for a reason. Anger and aggression and manipulation meant survival, it meant he could get what he needed and a little more.

He never really had to face repercussions in his youth. It was so easy to justify what he did as necessary. Everyone else was doing it too, right? And if someone did fight back? Then Jimmy became the victim, and now he had even more reason to lash out at others.

Addressing generational trauma and unlearning toxic behaviors takes effort, it's hard work, and it's ugly. You'll see parts of yourself that are upsetting. Sweeping things under the rug, running before consequences find you, and telling yourself that the ends justify the means is much easier.

Jimmy is an unholy culmination of untreated trauma, unchecked mental illness, and an unwillingness to change.

#Mouthwashing #Mouthwashing Anya #Mouthwashing Curly #Mouthwashing Daisuke #Mouthwashing Jimmy #Headcanons #Abuse TW #....can you tell who I've been studying like a lab rat

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violetgroans · 5 months ago

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So, the Luigi Mangione situation has been consuming my thoughts for days. Honestly, I’m surprised to see even those who typically consume right-wing media starting to connect the dots.

Kyle Rittenhouse was hailed as an “American patriot” and a “hero” by right-wing media like Fox and co, not because they’re anti-establishment but because they blindly support the establishment. After his acquittal, conservative media framed his actions as self-defence, the ultimate embodiment of “law and order.” But let’s be honest—this wasn’t about justice or morality. It was about doubling down on a toxic gun culture, one that upholds violence as a virtue when it aligns with their politics.

Take Donald Trump, for example. He’s their golden boy, the so-called saviour of the working class, but what did he actually do for anyone struggling to make ends meet? He gave billionaires a massive tax break, slashing corporate rates to 21% and leaving crumbs for everyone else. Universal healthcare? Forget it. Trump spent years trying to dismantle the Affordable Care Act without even pretending to offer an alternative. And wages? They stagnated while he bragged about a booming economy. He couldn’t stop talking about low petrol prices—as if that fixes lives ruined by medical debt or the soaring cost of living. Meanwhile, his obsession with fracking wasn’t about energy independence; it was about making oil companies richer.

Trump’s entire existence is proof that capitalism rewards incompetence if you’re born into the right family. He’s failed at business after business, but the money and connections always find their way back to him, bringing power along for the ride.

Now compare that to someone like Luigi Mangione. Here’s a guy from a privileged background—an Ivy League graduate, no less—who allegedly assassinated UnitedHealthcare’s CEO, Brian Thompson. And why? Because Mangione had seen enough of the system Thompson profited from: a healthcare industry that lets people die while executives rake in bonuses. Mangione reportedly left behind a manifesto condemning health insurance companies for putting profits over people. Even Daily Mail readers, who’d normally back the establishment, are expressing sympathy for him and calling out billionaires. When even the most propagandised audiences are waking up, you know something’s wrong.

This isn’t complicated: poverty kills. Debt kills. And billionaires like Thompson—who faced criticism for policies that punished patients seeking emergency care—are perfectly comfortable profiting off that suffering. They sit in their towers, insulated from the consequences of the system they exploit, while working-class people are forced to choose between survival and dignity.

What billionaires should really fear is us realising we’ve been played. For decades, they’ve worked to convince us our biggest threats are each other—minorities, immigrants, anyone but them—when they’re the ones pulling the strings. Without our labour and endless, soul-crushing consumption, they’re nothing.

Do I feel bad for a billionaire who’s scared? Not in the slightest. They don’t know fear the way we do. They don’t have to worry about eviction notices or medical bills. They’ve convinced us their success is aspirational, but it’s all a con—a rigged game that keeps them on top no matter what.

I hope the Luigi Mangione case sparks a backlash they can’t ignore. I hope it forces people to confront how deeply this system has failed us. The media will try to spin it, of course. They’re already working to humanise people like Thompson, men who built their careers on denying claims and leaving sick people to fend for themselves. Meanwhile, these same journalists won’t write about kids being pushed into poverty or the way empathy disappears when a rapist gets elected to office. It’s so absurd it feels like a cruel joke—like we’re being manipulated for laughs as reason abandons our collective psyche.

People have turned this murder into a meme, and they’re being condemned for it. But billionaires, propped up by the likes of Murdoch, have relied on our desensitisation for decades to amass wealth and control political narratives. The internet makes that harder for them now, and they know it.

And people are tired. We misdirect our anger into the wrong places, often at each other, and can you blame us? What have protests actually accomplished lately? Millions marched for Palestine—one of the largest demonstrations in recent memory—but did it stop the US or UK from backing Netanyahu? Of course not.

So where do they think all this frustration is going to go? Because one day, it’s going to boil over—and no amount of money or media spin will protect them.

#billionaires #capitalism #poverty #wealth inequality #social justice #politics #economic justice #kyle rittenhouse #luigi mangione #brian thompson #donald trump #why is this my first post lol having a crisis so bad i needed to write on tumblr for the first time in years

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gatheringbones · 1 year ago

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best books I read in 2023:

sophie strand, the flowering wand: rewilding the sacred masculine

alex iantaffi, gender trauma: healing cultural, social, and historical gendered trauma

matthew desmond, evicted: poverty and profit in the american city

betty dodson, sex for one: the joy of selfloving

ching-in chen, andrea smith, jai dulani, the revolution starts at home: confronting intimate partner violence within activist communities

robin stern, the gaslight effect: how to spot and survive the hidden manipulation others use to control your life

nick turse, kill anything that moves: the real american war in vietnam

lori fox, this has always been a war: the radicalization of a working class queer

arline t. geronimus, weathering: the extraordinary stress of ordinary life in an unjust society

roxanne dunbar-ortiz, not a nation of immigrants: settler colonialism, white supremacy, and a history of erasure and exclusion

eyal press, dirty work: essential jobs and the hidden toll of inequality in america

rabbi danya ruttenberg, on repentence and repair: making amends in an unapologetic world

michelle dowd, forager: field notes for surviving a family cult

starhawk, the empowerment manual: a guide for collaborative groups

betty dodson, orgasms for two: the joy of partnersex

timothy snyder, black earth: the holocaust as history and warning

kidada e. williams, I saw death coming: a history of terror and survival in the war against reconstruction

judy grahn, another mother tongue: gay words, gay worlds

jennifer m. silva, coming up short: working-class adulthood in an age of uncertainty

susanna clarke, piranesi

megan asaka, seattle from the margins: exclusion, erasure, and the making of a pacific coast city

starhawk, truth or dare: encounters with power, authority, and mystery

laura jane grace, tranny: confessions of punk rock’s most infamous anarchist sellout

molly smith, revolting prostitutes: the fight for sex worker's rights

richard c. schwartz, you are the one you've been waiting for: applying internal family systems to intimate relationships

timothy snyder, our malady: lessons in liberty from a hospital diary

peter levine, trauma and memory: brain and body in search for the living past

kylie cheung, survivor injustice: state-sanctioned abuse, domestic violence, and the fight for bodily autonomy

timothy snyder, bloodlands: europe between hitler and stalin

joan larkin, a woman like that: lesbian and bisexual writers tell their coming out stories

cj cherryh, hammerfall

#book recs tag

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voidnoidoid · 11 months ago

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Donald Na Character Analysis: Undefeated Emperor

I genuinely thought I posted this analysis on tumblr already months ago... but apparently I didn't? Or maybe I did. I don't know anymore. This was written before the webtoon's completion so keep that in mind. If you've seen this already then oops read it again. If not, enjoy! MAJOR WEAK HERO SPOILERS AHEAD. (24/6/2024)

After reading the conclusion of the Eunjang v Union fight, I had some thoughts about who Donald is, why he became the way he is now, and more thoughts about how the fight ended and his parallels with Gray. Apologies if this becomes rambly im just writing off the top of my head. To begin with,

Who Is Donald?

From the very beginning of Weak Hero, Donald Na has been set up as the big bad, the final boss, the overarching antagonist. He is the sole mastermind behind the Union, controlling it from above in his luxurious office, only descending to force rebellion back in line much like he did with Ben and Myles. He was established as cruel, cunning, intelligent and menacing; but most important of all: untouchable.

Time and time again we see Donald's sheer strength forcing even the most powerful of fighters into submission. He's both the brains and the brawn, with incredible charisma to boot. He's the sovereign ruler of the Yeungdeungpo region. It's clear he hasn't seen a real challenge in some time. Until the final fight, us readers have never seen Donald so much as break a sweat, even in his (one sided) fight against Changhui Han.

He's got everything planned out, nothing seems to phase him and he is adaptable to any plan, seeing as he worked around all the setbacks Eunjang threw at him.

However, Donald's many layers have been peeled back, allowing us to glimpse moments of a troubled childhood that explain why Donald is the undefeatable monster he is now.

Why Is Donald?

Based on the short flashbacks of Donald's childhood, (as of right now more fleshed out episodes are being released but I haven't caught up yet) he grew up in poverty with an abusive father and sickly mother. He is seen wearing tattered clothes and was gaunt and scrawny. Another was of his getting his school reports scattered on the ground, meaning he was bullied by his peers despite being one of the top scorers in his class or the entire school. At one point he was driven to desperation and broke into a bakery just to eat. This explains why he likes eating bread so much.

Donald grew up with nothing. No money, no respect, no friends, no food, not even a loving family. Despite trying the best he could in school, he could never be equals with anyone, in fact the seem to look down on him more for doing so well whilst not having financial stability. Because he grew up with nothing, he strove to obtain everything.

Donald went from dressing in rags, to wearing branded goods from head to toe. He went from having no support system, to creating an army of thugs to serve under him: The Union. He went from being powerless, to having an entire region under his thumb, manipulating everyone from kids to adult business owners. No longer was he the scrawny little boy but now a powerful, cunning, imposing presence.

It was all calculated. In a recent episode, Donald himself mentioned that he did everything he could to not only look the part, but play the part of big bad mastermind. He got tattoos all over his body to seem more intimidating, he beat down every enemy to strike fear in them, he created a steady source of income to keep his goons loyal, not just by threat of violence but also money.

To me, Donald seems like someone who tried desperately to reach the top so that nobody could ever hurt him again. And he succeeded, at what cost?

Is It Lonely On the Top? Eunjang vs The Union

Now that he's gotten everything he wanted, did it make him happy? Perhaps it did, perhaps it didn't. With almost everything under his thumb, it is only natural that Donald craved a challenge, whether unconsciously or not. Hence, when Eunjang high started making a move, it became new motivation for Donald to keep going.

Of course, Donald already had plans with his many businesses but Eunjang proved to be a source of amusement, then annoyance, then rising to be a legitimate threat. As Eunjang toppled more of Donald's executives and cemented itself as a group to be taken seriously, Donald's empire began to crumble. With one single variable, many of Donald's plans had a wrench thrown in them. He grew complacent at his spot in the top. Long he had gone without a worthy challenger that he took his power for granted. Little did he know, Ben was building up strength to face him head on once more, together with a certain white mamba.

Not everything could be under Donald's control. Case in point: the Eugene Incident. Because of one careless mistake from one of the company shareholders who approved Eugene's design without thinking, the flaws in the companies Donald had a stake in were exposed and a large portion of profits went down the drain. To make matters worse, he sent Dongha out only to capture Eugene and bring the boy to him, but Dongha ended up beating him to a pulp and facing the wrath of Gray Yeon, escalating the incident further and provoking Ben's wrath even more for real. The Eugene Incident was the catalyst for the big war between the Union and Eunjang.

All this time, the Union had been weakening. Wolf and Philip turned tail and sided with Eunjang for their personal reasons, and Jake wanted to resign from the Union for good. Donald was losing more and more manpower. This escalated into the massive Union v Eunjang war to end all gang wars. However, this was all a backdrop for Donald's main fight: between Ben Park. Leader vs Leader. However yet again, Donald would not get what he wanted, all because of one of his closest allies: Kingsley Kwan.

Kingsley is a curious character who's only been shown as Donald's right hand and most trusted confidant. His backstory has yet to been revealed but clearly, he is very important to Donald and only has his best interests at heart. Kingsley is the closest thing Donald has to a friend. Yet, Kingsley unintentionally betrayed Donald by kidnapping Ben Park, taking away the fight Donald wanted most. Donald lost trust in his closest companion, and lost the chance for a fair fight with the one person he thought had a chance of taking him down.

This brings into account what Jake said at the end of the big fight: that deep down, Donald wanted to be defeated. Donald wanted someone to challenge him, to fight against his tyranny and show him the taste of failure. On the surface, it would seem that Donald only wanted to fight Ben just to crush him and show everyone who's boss, but I believe that deep down, Donald really wanted this to all end. His motives are unknown thus far but I think it has something to do with Gray.

To tie up this (kinda disjointed) section, Donald's newfound power and domination only isolated him from forming any meaningful connection with others. His desire for defeat and victory conflicted with each other, but I think he only realised what he truly wanted when he finally fought with Gray.

Donald Na vs Gray Yeon: Two Sides of the Same Coin

These two are shown to have interesting parallels with each other, going so far back as to have Jake comment on the similarities between them.

Both Donald and Gray are shown to have a lust for power and love for the thrill of fighting. Donald fights to cement himself as the strongest, and Gray fights to teach bullies a lesson, and to protect those he cares about. Gray slowly develops a dark bloodlust, which he hones as his deadly precise and calculated fighting strategy. Donald let his bloodlust consume him in his rise to power and control.

They are also similar in their intelligence, planning and problem solving skills. Both make plans and like it when events happen according to predictions. Donald makes lengthy schemes and manipulates people behinds the scenes, getting angry when things don't go according to plan. Gray only fights when he is certain he will win, with the exception of his Wolf beatdown. Gray analyses his opponents and "studies up" so he can have every advantage to beat them, making up for his lack of physical strength. Donald relies on his superior strength and cunning to carry him through fights, to which he has become complacent but he can adapt on the fly too.

The two have also battled in their academic prowess, duelling each other in creating and solving math problems. Usually, the questions are formulated by Donald, and Gray comes up with solutions to solve them. Notably, the questions set by Donald are complex and mind boggling, but Gray comes up with a creative and straightforward way of solving them. This implies that since they have a similar way of thinking, Gray could easily see a path through the problem. Or on the other hand, Gray is more innovative, creating a new way of problem solving that even surprised Donald. This battle of intellect has been Donald's way of getting to know Gray. Donald's statement at his final math problem was "this is the last time we play together, white mamba." Implying that all this time, Donald was toying with and testing Gray's capability, yet also enjoying the mental exercise and anticipating their in-person meeting.

Personally, I think that the key difference between Gray and Donald is the presence of a Stephen. Or... Friends. Gray's backstory shows that before Stephen came into his life, he was just drifting. An empty shell that kept searching for something, anything to fill the void in his heart. Gray lacked a purpose, endlessly consuming random knowledge and "studying like an idiot." Stephen was a welcome friend, a light in Gray's darkness, and became the purpose for Gray to keep living. Stephen became Gray's catalyst to change the world around him and stop standing by. Since Stephen made an effort to change his surroundings for the better, Gray decided to do the same, albeit in a more violent, cold manner.

Both Gray and Donald are connected by the concept of "absence" or "lacking". While Gray wasn't financially struggling, his parents weren't around and he didn't have friends. He lacked emotional connection with others, and lacked a purpose for living, thus creating that empty void within him. Gray became motivated by friendship to create a better environment for himself and his friends. Donald on the other hand lacked safety, security and power, so this became his personal purpose to rise above everyone and have the control he lacked as a child. However, he lacked FRIENDS, those other people he could count on emotionally.

Gray made new friends who he cares about and who care about him, but Donald sits atop a lonely throne, having nobody but himself he could fully depend on, since everyone around him disappointed him in one way or another. He has no equal, not even Kingsley. That was who Donald was looking for: a friend, an equal.

Donald made this realisation during his fight against Gray, who repeatedly outsmarted him using cunning tricks, who was the only one brave enough to take him on aside from Ben, and who was the other contender who pushed him to the brink. Ben made Donald realise the fear of losing, but Gray made him realise what he was chasing after this whole time. He thinks to himself, near the end of the fight that in another life, if things played out differently, could he and Gray have been friends? This means that Gray is the one he finally saw as equal to him, the one he wanted to befriend. He found someone who could potentially understand him, but circumstances pit them against each other. And when he beat Gray, any hope of potential connection was shattered.

Donald's Defeat: Last Man Standing

Technically, Donald won the fight against Ben and Gray, and against Eunjang. On paper, this is a huge win for the Union. Logically, this would mean that Donald could further his conquest and rise even higher on the chain of power. However... this ended up being the Union's loss overall. Donald wanted someone to beat him, he wanted someone to take him down a peg, he wanted a true equal in strength, character, ideals, which Ben and Gray had combined. (Ben's sheer power and Gray's character) But after Donald won, there wasn't any point in going on. He knew he was the strongest, but he wanted to be proven wrong. Now there is no chance of anyone who could take him down anymore.

The Union was just a means to an end, a method of accruing more power and wealth, all of which has lost its meaning for Donald. Hence Donald essentially put the Union on hold. His unrivalled might is still evident as he beat the piss out of Myles Joo and his cronies while severely injured. But mentally, he's destroyed. He's lost his purpose and meaning and snapped.

So what does he do? He tries again by seeking out Gray. In a semi-crazed delusion he calls out to Gray from below an overhead bridge for them to fight again. Only then could he relive that sense of connection and rekindle the hope of defeat. Gray and the eunjang gang are understandably shocked... but Donald is too fascinated with Gray to care. He just wants to fight again, to understand Gray even more.

Then he got hit by a truck (Donald isekai when?). The only thing that could take down Donald wasn't even a person but a whole vehicle.

In the end, Eunjang lost the fight but won the war, as Donald became demoralised and shut down Union activity. Donald lost, as he lost what he desired most (friendship) and whatever he still had didn't mean anything anymore. He was someone who lost himself in dark ambition, and deep inside wanted someone to save him from his endless spiral of violence that he trapped himself within as its kingpin.

#weak hero webtoon #weak hero #donald na #kingsley kwan #hwangmo ju #ben park #gerard jin #teddy jin #jake ji #wolf keum #eugene gale #juntae seo #alex go #gray yeon #weak hero analysis #character analysis #character breakdown #essay #rowan im

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winterchimez · 2 years ago

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Insanity | Ji Changmin

SUMMARY: It has been several years since Gotham City mourned the passing of the previous Robin, Ji Changmin. However, as you continue with your career as Batgirl to protect the city while filling in for your mentor, Batman, you eventually discover that Changmin was alive all these years after all but has now turned into the city’s most wanted criminal. It is your job to eliminate him for good, but you just can’t bring yourself to do so. How could you? Especially when you still have feelings for him even after all these years.

PAIRING: robin/joker Changmin x batgirl f!reader (feat. nightwing Sangyeon)

GENRE: batman au, angst, crime, thriller, some fluff, slight suggestive

WARNINGS: nc-17, slow-burn, violence, manipulation, mentions of drug trafficking, torture, traumatic(-ish) childhood, time skip, characters' death, kissing, mentions of weapons (guns, snipers, blades, etc.), blood, both Changmin & Sangyeon are just SO flirty here

WORD COUNT: 14,136 (wowza)

A/N: happiest birthday to my pookie, my beloved lil 妹妹 whom i love so so freaking much and would protect with the rest of my life, @sungbeam 🥳 you've been there since day 1 of my writing journey, and no words could ever describe how much you mean to me 🥹 i hope this fic would somehow be a worthy gift to you miss beam 😮‍💨

also this is my first time writing a superhero au, so pls bear with me it might not be the best i apologise 😭 (this is by far the longest oneshot ive ever written oops—)

Year 2X42

“There have been reports of cases of drug trafficking on the outskirts of Gotham City, and the league have decided to deploy you and your team for the job since it is your area of residence, after all.”

Turning around from his chair, the male looks up at his huge monitor, seemingly replying to the person on screen as half-heartedly as possible. “Sure, Clark. Leave it up to me to deal with the dirty business of the city.”

Clark—better known as Clark Kent or Superman, then quickly shifted his facial expression towards his good old friend, indicating that the situation was far more gruesome and serious than it used to be.

“Bruce... just a fair warning. You do know who the mastermind of this particular crime spree is, especially when you have dealt with him for decades. You certainly don’t plan to bring your two kids with you, right?”

That was when he immediately brought up his fingers to massage his temples. Bruce knew he would eventually bring them up on this particular topic. Why wouldn’t he? Especially when his two kids, whom he is especially proud of—you and Changmin, have assisted him in many of his work.

You both have been registered in the league’s system for quite a few years now, Changmin starting a little ahead of you since he was a few years older than you were. Both you and Changmin have lived in poverty in the dark slumps of the outskirts of Gotham for many years, having been abandoned by your parents from a young age. It was tough to live in Gotham City, especially when the city was often tied with crime and corruption. If only you were born into the upper class, then you would’ve had a better chance of survival.

Unfortunately, you and Changmin just had to end up in the city's lower class. All Changmin knew about his parents was that his mother was a prostitute, and he ended up becoming an aftermath of a one-night stand. Hence, he was immediately dumped on the streets right after birth. Some kind-hearted families took him in for a while, but eventually, he needed to venture out on his own to ease the family's expenses.

On the other hand, you had a relatively good upbringing until your parent’s murder when you were 9. Having no other place or family to turn to, you eventually find your way into the slumps.

And that was when you met Changmin.

By then, Changmin had already created a reputation for him. He somehow became the so-called “leader” among the troupe and led the kids around to make a decent living even during the worst situation possible. He treated you like a little sister, and you both became inseparable as time passed. You both would always stick together, even going up to the main city to look for food to provide for the others back at your so-called home.

It wasn’t until several years later, both of you aged 16 and 14 respectively, that you came across the infamous Bruce Wayne himself. He was out on a business around the slumps—seemingly tracking down one of the most wanted criminals then, which was also when he found you two and the rest of the kids.

Thanks to Mr Wayne’s contribution, he placed all of the kids into a care facility sponsored by the Wayne Enterprises, where they would finally have a rooftop over their heads and a better future ahead of them. On the other hand, you and Changmin have seemingly intrigued the man himself, and he decided to take you in and raise you two as if you were his children.

It turns out that his intuition about you both wasn’t wrong after all. Both of you possessed a higher intelligence level than usual and could pick up combat skills almost immediately. The first time he brought you both down to his training station to have a go, you adjusted quickly to all the provided gadgets. With the help of his trusted butler Alfred, both of them made sure that the two of you were trained to be skilled fighters and have a loving family of the four of you.

It was obvious among the two of you that Changmin stood out a bit more and earned the title Robin at 18. All you knew was that Mr Wayne had raised an individual before you two and he was the original Robin, but certain things happened along the way and he hung his cape up, never to return. All you could assume was that he had enough of his life as the superhero himself and perhaps created a new alias to start anew. Discussing it was hard with Mr Wayne, so you’ve never pressed further.

You were certainly a bit jealous at the beginning as Mr Wayne would only take Changmin with him out on missions, pressing that you needed more practice or it was too dangerous for a woman like you. But you proved him wrong and finally made a name for yourself about a year prior.

Batgirl. The first ever in the family.

With that, Mr Wayne has trusted you enough to take you along on his missions and eventually assign minor ones for you both to deal with when Batman himself isn’t present to deal with them personally.

You and Changmin made a great team, and it might even become the best combo Batman has ever seen. Even better than himself than the original Robin decades ago.

So it all came down to making the decision. To take you both along with him during this special assigned mission from the league or not? It was a risk, especially when the mastermind behind this mission was someone who had been hunting Bruce Wayne himself for as long as he could remember. Dealing with him has always been a life-and-death situation.

The Joker.

But Mr Wayne trusted you both, and it was about time for him to prove to the league his proudest achievement just yet.

“I’ve made my decision, Clark. And there will be no second thoughts about this.” He paused briefly before finally tilting his head up to the screen and looking at his friend seriously.

“I’m taking both of them with me.”

“Come on, Y/N. You can do better than that.”

Changmin pinned you down to the ground and head-locked you, ensuring you had little to no escape from him.

You both were sparring as usual in the training station in the Batcave, and it is always a competition between you two. Just as the male thought he had everything under control, you freed yourself from his grasp and turned him around. The next thing that happened was that you were hovering over him and pinning both of his arms above his head.

“Says you, Robin. This is now my 35th win, and you owe me a bowl of Akamaru Ramen down the streets later tonight.” You smirked.

“Sheesh, Batgirl. Seems like you have improved from the last time we sparred.” He gives you a wink, and you roll your eyes up, trying your best to ignore his flirty remarks.

It wasn’t long before the two of you broke off from your positions as the familiar grunt filled the entire training room.

“You’ve gotten a new mission for us, Mr. Wayne?” Changmin asked enthusiastically, desperately wanting to be deployed almost immediately and showcase his newly perfected martial arts skills and new gadgets he had just gotten from Alfred a week ago.

“Slow down, cowboy. I am going to need you two to listen to me very carefully. And I will not allow a single mistake to happen for this one.”

With that, both of you followed your mentor right back into the control room where the batcomputers were stored. It was clear that Mr Wayne was here minutes ago and had just recently hung up a call from someone from the league. You guessed it would’ve been Superman since he would be the main person to contact Batman often, being the league's chief.

Mr Wayne then leaned back onto the computer desk, crossing his arms as he pressed play on one of the remotes that were situated in his hand. Immediately, the video footage on-screen depicts a series of trucks entering a secluded area outside Gotham City. It was rare as the number of trucks slowly grew each second. 10, 20, and eventually up to 30 of them.

Once the trucks were parked around the area, one of the drivers, whom you both assumed to be the squad leader, got down from the vehicle and opened up the trunk boot. And that was when you both saw it with your own eyes.

Heroin. One of the most life-threatening ones to humankind.

Just as you thought it would be over, another figure pops up on-screen, someone you have all been familiar with for decades. Too familiar with to be exact.

“Joker.” Changmin clenched his fist, his eyes now narrowed and his facial expression seemingly changed almost immediately compared to when he was back at the training station.

You know how much beef The Joker has with the Bat Family, including Changmin. As much as he was the ultimate archenemy of Batman—he was also, in fact, the same for Robin. Changmin had his fair share of encounters with the infamous enemy, and neither had been pleasant. Adding salt to the wound, he would often return with an injury whenever he faced the psychopath himself, never once coming back home in one piece.

But usually, it was both Batman and Robin who dealt with The Joker, not Batgirl. So why even did Mr Wayne request for your presence this time?

As you open your mouth to get an answer, Mr Wayne beats you to it by explaining the situation in detail.

“I know we have dealt with the madman himself countless times, and it’s nothing new that he would do such a thing. But judging by the amount of drugs he had smuggled in this time, I fear the worst could happen.”

“Mr Wayne, you don’t think…” Changmin proposed.

“It is exactly what’s on your mind, Robin.”

No way. The Joker plans to drug at least half the population of Gotham City.

Knowing him, he could execute such a plan in countless ways or methods. Besides, he would definitely strike when law enforcement least expects it to happen. Hence, it is up to the Bat Family to put a stop to this massacre from happening.

With that, Mr. Wayne turned towards you and began speaking up again. “And I thought we could definitely use a little more manpower for this job.”

You were ecstatic, to say the least. Going on a mission with both Batman and Robin? Oh lord, that would be a dream come true. Most of the time, you were either often deployed on minor cases that you could’ve dealt with on your own or paired up with Changmin to deal with slightly more dangerous matters that were right up your alley and didn’t require the presence of Batman to clean up the dirty work. You have probably been deployed just once or twice with Mr Wayne himself, but not with both of them present.

But you were hesitant. You have never encountered the madman himself before, while Batman and Robin have. So what in the world was Mr Wayne thinking to bring you along for this mission?

Was it a test for you? Was it for you to prove to him how much you have grown? Were you finally going to make a name for yourself and be as famous as the duo already are in Gotham City?

As much as you liked your last idea, you were still reluctant.

“I… I don’t know about this, Mr Wayne. With all due respect, I deeply appreciate the opportunity given. But are you sure a common girl like me could do the job?” Your voice was shaking, unsure of this whole situation at hand.

But Mr Wayne steps closer to you, placing one hand on your right shoulder. “You are not just a common girl. You’re Batgirl. You are my pride and joy, and it’s time for me to finally show the world how amazing you are and that you are finally ready to join the Justice League.”

Your ears perked up at that. Even if he seemed cold outside, Mr Wayne always knew the right words and timing to comfort you. That was all you needed to know to be sure that you were needed for this mission, and there was no mistake.

At the same time, Mr. Wayne pulls Changmin towards him so he is now hugging you two. “Batman could always use some good sidekicks by his side, and tonight is the night.”

Finally, he breaks off the hug and puts on his stern face, which the public has grown familiar with.

“We leave tonight in two hours. Gear up, kids.”

It took Alfred less than an hour to figure out the exact coordinates of the exact location where the drug trafficking was taking place. Thanks to that, the three of you immediately hopped into the batmobile and eventually reached your destination within 15 minutes.

After parking the vehicle somewhere undetected, all three of you used your batclaw to get yourselves up to the higher ground, now examining the entire base area of operation with your own eyes.

The area was an abandoned factory, where the men had begun unloading the bags filled with heroin. A few individuals stood out as they possessed a walkie-talkie around their hips, indicating that they were responsible for giving orders and communicating.

Upon closer inspection, all of the trucks used were freezer trucks— all embedded with the Wayne Enterprises logo all over the exterior of all 30 trucks. There was no doubt they could bypass the security borders, and it was very bold and cunning for them to do so as well.

“There is no way I’ll let them tarnish your name, Mr Wayne. This is all a sick joke.” Changmin said furiously, already ready to hop into action.

“Easy now, Robin. Let us establish our roles before going into action without a plan.” You stopped your friend by placing your hand on his chest.

“Batgirl’s right. Now, listen to me, you two. As this operation is way too dangerous, there is no way I’m letting you both step close to The Joker himself, did I make myself clear?”

Mr Wayne immediately turned his direction to Changmin, knowing fully how he would definitely be the type to act all mighty and head straight for The Joker’s head. But given the situation and the look in Mr Wayne’s eyes, Changmin had no choice but to obey his commands if he wished to return home in one piece.

“I will be the one who’s going to go for the psychopath. I need you two to clear out all of the thugs and workers here. Once you’re done, contact Alfred and he will let you two know on what to do with the large amount of drugs. If you ever come across The Joker, don’t engage. Call me and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

With that, Batman gives a pat on both of your shoulders, extends out his cape, and flies all the way down—taking down several henchmen at once and quickly making his way down into the basement, where The Joker would most definitely be.

“Alright, Robin. You’re the senior here. Tell me what to do.” You nudged Changmin’s shoulder, waiting for his reply.

He smiled at you and crossed his arms before filling you in with his plan. “Okay, Junior. Listen and watch. You and I will clear off the thugs from the main entrance first, and then we’ll hack into the system and get in to deal with the rest. I’ll leave the hacking to you as the computer wizz of the team.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Within seconds, both of you extended your capes and flew all the way down, both taking down a thug at a time. Immediately, the enemy noticed your presence, and about 20 men seemingly emerged from the shadows—all armed with baseball bats, ready to knock you both out.

But 20 was just a number as you both were skilled in martial arts—it was only a matter of time before you two eventually defeated them all to clear the pathway to access the main door. You immediately took out your remote hacking device to open the main door, and within seconds you succeeded. It was Batgirl’s forte, after all.

As the door pried open, there were more who had been expecting your arrival. Some of them were equipped with shotguns and snipers this time, but that didn’t bother you both that much. Working together with Changmin, each of you took one side of the hall, landing a punch or kick to knock these bad boys out.

Huh. This wasn’t as difficult or dangerous as Batman had mentioned. Now why would—

Your thoughts were interrupted as you felt a bullet graze through your shoulders. It definitely stung and blood was now oozing out slowly as you clutch onto your open wound with your hands. You were turning around to see who was the culprit behind this.

Suddenly, you felt your limbs start to go numb, and you immediately collapsed onto the cold solid ground.

What’s happening? Why is my body aching all of a sudden?

Still trying your best to look around your surroundings, you were starting to feel your eyelids drop, which was a very bad sign.

No. No. Batgirl! Stay focused!

Finally, your eyes fall on one individual who stands out from the rest of the crowd. As the individual slowly made their way towards you, you noticed how the other thugs had begun to back off, making out a pathway for the individual to come to you without having any obstructions in their way.

That green hair. That pale white skin. And those horrendous blood-red lips.

Joker.

“My my, who do we have here for company tonight? Huh, seems like I’ve got a new visitor in town!” It was that sinister voice all of you have grown accustomed to. God, he was now right in front of you, squatting down while placing his pistol right onto your skull, which was the weapon you assumed he had just used to shoot that bullet that grazed you a minute ago.

“Good heavens, if it isn’t the infamous Batgirl that has been the talk of the town! It seems that Batman can no longer contain his little one and finally let her out of the cave!”

As taunting as his demeanour and voice were, you were still struggling and fighting with yourself to keep yourself awake and not fall into his trap while trying to figure out an escape plan or counterattack right back at the madman himself. The Joker constantly pressed the tip of the pistol into your skull, applying slightly more pressure each time he did it.

Batgirl… please… do something—

“Stay away from her!!”

Both you and The Joker dart your eyes in the direction of the voice, and sure enough, you find Changmin just a few meters away from you now, holding a shuriken in both hands, aiming towards the madman himself.

“If it isn’t my favourite superhero boy, Robin! How have you been, my dear, it has certainly been a while since we last met.”

Changmin wasn’t interested in playing games with The Joker and he immediately cut to the chase. “What have you done to her.”

“Oh no, nothing much. Just loaded my trustworthy pistol with some infused poison bullets. And your poor girlfriend seemed to have taken a close shot of it, so she is unable to move now.” This time, The Joker grabs a chunk of your hair and pulls them up aggressively, which was where you were also pulled up from the ground against your will.

Both of you remembered Batman’s warnings to never engage with The Joker and to contact him immediately. But there was a problem—you were wounded, and you both were now surrounded by tons of thugs around you, with the madman himself threatening your life at this point. If only you weren’t poisoned, perhaps you both could have pulled something off quickly to distract him and contact Batman immediately. But you were stuck, and there was no way Changmin would take his eyes off you, especially when The Joker was right in front of you, having full control over you now.

Changmin’s tut was visible and loud enough for you to hear even meters away, and you knew you both were stuck big time.

“Tic toc, tic toc. Robin. I might as well just fire the fatal blow into Batgirl’s skull if you keep standing there!” The Joker taunted, and immediately he was loading his pistol again, getting ready to fire this time.

In a flash, Changmin aimed and threw one of his shurikens at The Joker, and he quickly made his way towards him, landing a punch right into his abdomen and then quickly picking you up and moving to higher ground.

“You’ve gotten a little heavier, haven’t you?” Changmin teased; clearly, he was panting.

“Please… not the time, Changmin. We’ve got to contact Mr Wayne now.”

“Hah.. right.”

Just as he was about to ring Mr Wayne, Changmin immediately felt an excruciating pain, and his entire body felt numb. Within seconds, his grip loosened around you and he fell back to the ground. You were now trying to understand what was happening when you realised that The Joker fired that shot right into Changmin’s back. And now, he was poisoned as well.

“Well, what did I say, kiddos! You’ve got to make a decision quickly before I land that shot! Oh, don’t worry, Batgirl. The poison is not enough to kill Robin immediately—he will die a slow and painful death instead.” The Joker and his thugs were slowly approaching Changmin, and you were all alone on the higher grounds, having to witness this scene helplessly.

That was when you finally received a transmission from Batman.

“You two, change of plans! I’m going to blow the entire place up. Both of you get out of there immediately!”

Within seconds, bombs began to detonate one by one, and the abandoned factory was now slowly collapsing. It was chaos, and everyone was running around frantically while trying to escape as best as possible.

You tried your best to push yourself back up, supporting yourself with the pillar right beside you. Equipping your batclaw, you have decided to swing back down to get Changmin out of there.

But you were too late, for The Joker was now grabbing Changmin by the shoulder, seemingly backing off to enter back into the abandoned factory.

“It seems that this operation has failed, and I am not having one of you escape alive, that is!”

“NO!!!”

You ran towards them, but the next thing that happened, the final explosion blew you away, and all you could hear was a siren. You tried to keep your eyes open, and all you could see was the entire factory up in flames, not a single human in sight. Before you passed out, you could vaguely make out a black figure approaching you, your mentor.

And what happened after all of that was then a blur.

It has been a week since that fateful incident.

When you have jolted awake from your slumber, you find yourself on the operating table back down in the Wayne Manor. You’ve had an oxygen mask placed over your mouth, with some IV drips inserted into your arms. How long has it been since then?

Just as you are about to stand up, Alfred makes his way into the room while passing you a tray of food to fill up your hunger.

And that was when you remembered the events that happened.

You begged to know the details but Alfred remained silent, not wanting to speak up just yet. But eventually, you’ve managed to get him to spill the tea, and you wish you could’ve taken it all back instead.

After the explosion, Batman was the one who scooped you up, took you back into his batmobile and brought you back to Alfred immediately. He tried his best to search for Changmin and The Joker amidst the blazing inferno, but all he could find was a piece of fabric from Changmin’s outfit and from The Joker, which could only mean the worst.

You screamed. You placed your head down into both of your hands and began screaming frantically. In order to save you, he took on the bullet, knowing very well that The Joker was planning to aim it at you. That explained why he turned his back towards the madman back then to shield you from taking another shot of the poisoned bullet.

Mr Wayne did not take it well either. He secluded himself in his room for days and wouldn’t step out from it, even when the league called multiple times to ask for updates regarding the case. It was all up to Alfred to take up the job in his presence.

But the days then passed into a week, and now all three of you were standing in the pouring rain of Gotham Cementary, overlooking the newly carved headstone that read your partners-in-crime’s name and span of life.

How badly you’ve wished that all this was a terrible nightmare, and you begged anyone to put some sense into you and wake you up from this bad dream. As much as you pinched yourself, it surely was a reality. You dropped down onto your knees, resting your head on the headstone, crying your heart out loud.

Why did it have to be you? Why did it have to be this particular mission? Just. Why?

Mr Wayne and Alfred said nothing as they stood in the rain with their eyes closed, not wanting to accept reality either. Countless thoughts were also going through their mind, along with the guilt and sadness—the same emotions that you were feeling.

But what pains you the most wasn’t his passing; it was how you’ve never got to confess your love for him after all these years.

Year 2X47 — 5 years later

It was your usual routine as you were back down in the training station once again, both of your fists tied up with the usual white bandages as you landed one punch after another onto the punching bag. You have always loved to keep yourself busy—always finding the time to improve your skills whenever you had some time to spare in the Wayne Manor and Batcave.

It surely hasn’t been easy since that fateful day five years ago. Since then, Batman has forbidden you from taking on any missions involving The Joker—quite frankly, you were thankful for in one way or another. There was no way you could’ve forgotten about what happened then so easily and faced the psychopathic killer himself. Instead, you were left with crimes that the GCPD occasionally required some assistance with.

You had to thank the GCPD for even requesting your help. Otherwise, you would’ve rotted away in the comforts of your room and sulked for years. At least fighting crime and assisting them was also a way to keep your mind busy and away from all of the negative thoughts.

Just as you were done with your training, you heard a sudden ping from your earpiece; it was from Alfred.

“Batgirl, report to the control room immediately, please.”

Once you have gotten the message, you quickly put all of the equipment away and shut down the room. You hoped that the mission for tonight was something worthwhile.

You were baffled, to say the least, when you approached the computer screen. It wasn’t from the GCPD tonight but from the league. Since Batman was away at the moment, you had no choice but to step in for Mr Wayne.

Accepting the call, the screen immediately opens with Superman on screen—even he was surprised that you would answer the call. But there was no time to waste and he eventually cut to the chase.

“Joker is back in town and he is plotting another major catastrophe that could bring the entire Gotham City down. He is planning to eliminate the GCPD and take over the city.”

What a jokester the madman himself sure is.

“But I am aware from the last mission that you’ve had that Bruce forbids you to step close to The Joker himself. With Bruce being away to deal with some league missions, I’m afraid the only person I could turn to in Gotham City is you.”

Well, that was true. It has always been the three of you in Gotham City. Now, only the two of you were in the picture since Robin’s passing. It was up to you to take on the job or not.

You have definitely shown some hesitation there, and given your facial expressions, it was clear that you needed some time to think about it. Superman then decides to give you at least ten minutes to make the decision and he hangs up the call.

One thing is for sure: Alfred was against you going alone alone on this mission. With the absence of Batman, there was nobody who was going to be your sidekick this time.

If only Robin were still alive, that is.

Alfred’s feelings were valid and understandable, especially when he has been concerned about your well-being since that day. He has also been your father figure, just as Mr Wayne had done all these years.

But if no superhero was available in Gotham City, you were practically left with no choice but to face your worst nightmare. You gave yourself a deep breath and mentally prepared yourself that it was about time to overcome your fear—it was time to face the madman himself while putting closure to all of this.

You made a promise to Alfred that you would always keep in close contact with him by constantly sending him transmissions to let him know each and every single one of your movements. And this time, you will immediately retreat if you’ve sensed danger or threat to your life.

You were definitely not taking risks anymore especially facing the psychopath himself all alone.

Returning the call to Superman, you huffed and closed your eyes before opening them once again to stand firm on your decision.

“Send me the coordinates of the location.”

You arrived quickly at the designated location on one of the rooftops of the nearby buildings, which gave you a clear look at the GCPD. Just as Superman has stated, the police department was in an awful state—countless windows were broken through and there were plenty of hostages within the building. These hostages also included the policemen themselves.

You knew you would definitely not act hastily, given the current situation. It was just you—you’re all alone in this madness. You had to think carefully about your next plan of action if you wished to keep all of the hostages and yourself alive, that is.

With that, you took out your binoculars to scope out which floor would be the best for you to infiltrate—the fourth floor. Using your batclaw, you aimed at the balcony of the building and swung away into the floor itself—crashing into the glass windows while taking down the few thugs that were stationed there. It wasn’t too hard for you to find the lighting control panel which you used your remote hacking device to crack the code open and shut down the lights from the entire building. That way, you’re able to roam around without being detected easily.

Quickly jumping and breaking down the glass tiles from the current floor onto the ground, you managed to take down the thugs one by one by doing so undetected. Once that was out of the way, you freed the hostages by cutting through the ropes they were bound with using your batarang.

“The Joker is on the top floor with Commissioner Gordon. Please be careful, Batgirl.” One of the officers warned you.

Taking that down mentally, you slowly made your way up to the top floor, eliminating all enemies that were in your way.

Eventually, you’ve come face-to-face with The Joker while the commissioner is tied onto a wooden chair. But something felt different.

The Joker himself was wearing a clown mask over his face. Why did he decide to do so? Was it because he was wounded from a previous crime spree he was on? Or did Batman manage to land a blow on one of his missions?

“Well, what do we have here? If it isn’t the infamous Batgirl! It has been a few years, sweetheart. It’s a pleasure to be able to see you again in person.”

Even the voice sounded different somehow.

“What is your purpose, Joker. Why even consider taking over the GCPD.”

He chuckled. “Oh, honey. I’ll be a dear and tell you why, hmm?”

He walked closer to you and you couldn’t help but take a few steps back. Eventually, he stops about a few centimetres apart from you and bends down to be at eye-level with you.

“I do very bad things honey, and I do them very well. And nobody is going to stop me because they fear me, and I fear nothing. So I will gladly take on any chances I can get in this beloved city of yours and turn the tables around, doesn’t it sound tempting?”

Not wanting to hear his sick jokes anymore, you quickly balled up your fist and landed a punch directly onto his face, but his hands were quick enough to grab hold of your fist, stopping your tracks.

Since when did The Joker have such great agility?

“Seemed like someone’s been working on their reflexes since we last met, haven’t we.” The Joker taunted before trying to grab hold of this pistol behind his hips and aimed the bullet at you. He shot a few times, but each time you dodged them to the best of your ability as you were constantly running around the room.

Once you were at a distance between you and he was, you took out your batclaw and aimed it at the pistol, which you managed to bring it over to your side—loaded it before pulling the trigger and aiming at the mask he was wearing.

Sure enough, one of the bullets managed to penetrate through the mask and it was surprisingly way more sturdier than it was. It managed to form a small crack, but the blow was not enough. Perhaps your only choice was to have a close combat range, and you would either take it off or destroy it to find out who is really behind that mask.

It took a while before you managed to come close to The Joker as he was shooting you from afar. Once you’ve done so, you managed to grab hold of his arm that was holding the pistol and punched right through the mask. You’ve succeeded in destroying it with your brute strength in one blow.

But you wished that you could’ve taken it back.

Whatever that you’ve just seen was horrifying, and you were in absolute shock and denial.

There’s no way. It absolutely can’t be.

He… but he’s…

“Cha-Changmin…?” You stuttered, and your eyes widened. You thought you were hallucinating. That can’t be. He died 5 years ago, and you and Mr Wayne were there to witness it all.

Is this some sort of joke? A reincarnation? Another bad joke from the real Joker himself?

You backed away, and so did he. You could tell that it was fine for now, and he wasn’t going to shoot because he seemed as baffled as you were. As much as you want to pinch yourself to wake you up from this bad dream, you notice his sincere eyes. One that you’ve always loved since you both met at the slumps.

Unbeknownst to him, a single tear drop eventually fell onto his face, ruining the white makeup that he had got on him. He gently raised his hands and touched it, looking bewildered as if he had no idea what was happening.

You did what you thought was best at the moment, taking a step closer and reassuring him that it was all alright and how much everyone had missed him.

How much you’ve missed him, to be exact.

“Changmin…”

“Don’t come any closer. Please… stay away from me!” He protested, taking several steps back to keep a distance from you. He then placed one of his hands on the side of his head as if he remembered something—or rather, it actually triggered something within him. His pupils were now shaking, and you desperately wanted to help and hold him close to you.

Then, you both heard footsteps coming up the stairs, which meant your alone time was up. The officers were bound to capture The Joker and place him behind bars for good this time.

Just then, Changmin regained his composure and aimed his pistol directly at you. Before loading the gun, he said one last sentence to you.

“The person you once knew me as has died.”

With that, he pulled the trigger but he missed his shot. Instead, it landed on one of the window latches and it broke apart—giving him the immediate escape route as he ran and jumped out of the building. You stood there, baffled by the situation, while the officers had now filled the room scanning for signs of The Joker.

Commissioner Gordon approached you, thanking you for saving his and his comrades' lives. He also reassured you that they will be keeping track of The Joker’s movements and keep you updated with anything.

But only one thing filled your mind and you needed answers desperately.

Changmin was alive this whole time. But how?

You quickly made your return to the Batcave and immediately approached Alfred. You needed to know that whatever answers—even the tiniest detail, could help you solve the puzzle.

Alfred was quiet at the beginning, debating on the right words to tell you the truth at this point. Apparently, Batman has found out about this a year prior, knowing very well that Changmin was alive and well, and has somehow taken the persona of The Joker. But according to Alfred, Mr Wayne was still looking for answers about how it had all ended up this way.

As much as you were furious about not knowing this earlier, there was no way you could’ve blamed it on Alfred. He was simply following Mr Wayne’s orders, and that was to keep you away from anything relating to the madman himself.

“Fine. Then tell me where Mr Wayne is, and I’ll confront him myself.”

“That’s the thing, miss Y/N. Master Wayne has been on a league mission for the past few weeks, but I haven’t heard from him. I myself have been trying to track down his coordinates but to no avail.”

Now that was strange. Disappearing for quite a while wasn’t deemed unusual in Mr Wayne’s books. But more than a week? That was definitely a red flag, and someone must look into this matter.

Taking in a deep sigh as you were overwhelmed with everything happening, you calmed yourself down and spoke to Alfred in a low voice.

“I’ll find the answers to all of them.”

You decided to head back to the rooftops of GCPD, where the Batsignal was located. Commissioner Gordon often used it to signal to summon the Bat Family whenever they needed help. But it seemed as if the searchlight was destroyed and torn apart—revealing that whoever had done this definitely held a grudge against you and your squad.

You did contemplate using it to reach out to Batman, but with this option down, you were now back to square one.

If Alfred cannot contact Mr Wayne through transmissions, then you wouldn’t stand a chance either.

God. Think, Batgirl. There’s got to be a way to contact—

“It seemed as if the rumours were true after all.”

You were startled by the sudden voice coming from behind you. As a common reflex, you immediately throw a punch towards the individual’s face—only to be stopped by their hand grabbing onto your fist. Once you got a glimpse of who it was, your eyes widened.

“Nightwing.”

“Ah, I see you have heard about me before. Then that saves up the trouble of having to introduce myself. Also, sorry about startling you. It’s my fault.”

As both of you backed down and composed yourselves, you finally got a good look at the individual standing before you. He was tall and definitely well-built (a little too well-built to your liking actually); he wore a black with some outlines of a blue suit and a domino mask. Even through the mask, he was a pretty darn good-looking individual.

“Ogling at my beauty during our first meeting already?” He teased.

“Are all Robins meant to be this flirty?” You shot back. He chuckled and his voice somehow lightens up the mood for a bit.

“Ah, so you knew about my backstory.”

“Well, I learned about you through the files Mr Wayne kept in his office a decade ago. Consider that a time when I will snooping around his stuff because I was curious about many things.”

“Bruce definitely has loads of secrets that he keeps from others, alright.” He shook his head, thinking that his former mentor was still the same old individual he had known for many decades.

As far as you know, Nightwing was the first Robin and has worked alongside Batman for many years, even longer than you and Changmin ever did. He was a former circus acrobat when he was younger, so his skills and agility had to be one of the toughest Gotham City—or rather, the league has ever seen. At one point, you have once heard that the league has appointed him to look over the younger superheroes, the Teen Titans, from time to time. So he has got plenty of things on his hands to deal with.

But there was one question that has pondered you for long enough. One that you knew you could never ask Mr Wayne and Alfred themselves because they definitely weren’t comfortable bringing up this topic.

Nightwing somehow knew this topic would come up eventually, and he decided to indulge in your curiosity for the time being. Leaning back towards the headlight, he crossed his arms and told you about his backstory.

“To begin with, Bruce had taken me in ever since my parent’s murder when I was 8. He trained me to be a soldier, his sidekick and I’ve never left his side for 20 years. But you know what they say—when the time comes for the baby birds to leave the nest, then there is no explanation needed.”

“So you left willingly?” You questioned.

“In a way, yeah. Now I mainly patrol crimes in Blüdhaven, occasionally returning to Gotham City to assist Bruce and the team if needed. Commissioner Gordon seems to really enjoy my company after all.”

The way he spoke lit up the mood, and you could tell how he was definitely worth being the first Robin. Anyone would agree on how behind that jovial and friendly smile he possessed, he could be one of the most feared individuals on the battlefield.

Given that he was trained by the one and only Bruce Wayne himself, he has then gained insane human strength, speed, agility, and even reflexes. He was definitely the type you would want to anger the least—otherwise, you would definitely find yourself being killed by the 50,000 volts of Escrima Sticks that he always carried on his back.

If a superhero like him is back in Gotham City during such a right timing, you assume he’s probably back for the same reason as you did, more or less.

“Say, are you perhaps back for The Joker?”

“Yeah, but there’s more to that. The Justice League has contacted me to investigate Bruce’s disappearance as they couldn’t contact him for a week now.”

Disappearance? Now that’s new for you. You knew that he was away for some league missions, but never would you have thought that he would actually disappear.

Could he have done it himself for an unspecified reason? Or worse, has Mr Wayne fallen into the traps of the enemy?

Now that is something you definitely have to look into as well—because finding him would be the key to knowing about Changmin’s faked death for the past several years.

“Count me in, Nightwing.”

“Woah, slow down Batgirl. What makes you think you would wanna come along with me?”

“Well, for one, the current Joker is somehow the former Robin that we all thought he died. But I’ve just encountered him days prior, and he is very much alive and well. And I need answers.” You firmly stated, and you did not take no for an answer. Clearly, Nightwing had sensed that in you and knew there was no point in convincing you otherwise.

“Hmm, this seems more like a romantic couple reunion situation to me.” He teased.

He wasn’t wrong though.

“He’s family and I deserve to know, Nightwing. Please.” You emphasised the last word while taking a few steps closer to him as you stared into his eyes.

He looked at you for a few seconds before he eventually put on a smile. He gently laid his hands on your head and patted you. “Alright, girlie. Let’s figure out where would be the best place to look for them.”

Just when he finished his statement, a radio transmission was sent in through his earpiece, and he shared one of them with you to hear the message.

“Reports have stated that there were sightings of The Joker near the ports, and he has gotten several hostages with him. All officers on duty, please report to the site at once!”

“Then that’s where we’re headed, sweetheart.”

Immediately, you got your batclaw out, ready to start swinging across the buildings to head to your destination. You looked at Nightwing in confusion as he stood there and stretched his muscles.

“Well, aren’t you leaving too?”

“Oh no, you get to the location first. Don’t worry, I’ll catch up in no time. I was a former acrobat, after all. Don’t need no batclaw to swing around buildings.” He winked, and you rolled your eyes back slightly as you started to get used to his flirty remarks.

Before you made your move, he spoke to you one last time before you two were to part ways for a bit.

“Call me, Sangyeon. It’s much better than repeating my superhero name all the time.”

Just as you reached the port's entrance, Gotham City had to start a heavy downpour, making the situation much worse.

But it wasn’t something you weren’t used to since you have been in such conditions before on several missions. However, since the motive tonight was to find both Changmin and Mr Wayne, you couldn’t help but feel nervous, something that you haven’t experienced in a while.

At least not since that fateful day 5 years ago.

Shaking your thoughts away, you calmed yourself down and reminded yourself that the hostages come first, then family.

You ran to the gates but saw that they were already hacked open. Just then, Sangyeon jumps down from one of the higher buildings and places his hands on one of your shoulders.

“They don’t call me a hacking wizard for nothing.”

“Well, guess I have a rival in this field of work now.” You chuckled.

“Alright, let’s go.”

As you both entered the ports, a group of thugs were already on standby, as if they were expecting your arrival hours ago. Each of them was armed with a weapon, ready to put up a fight.

Sangyeon then gets both of his Escrima Sticks out from his back and positions himself in his offensive state.

“Wanna see the famous Nightwing himself in action?”

“Just be careful out there.” You replied.

“Always have been.”

As soon as the thugs began charging towards your direction, the both of you did the same, beginning to take down the enemies one by one.

It seemed that Sangyeon wasn’t all talk and thought highly about himself because you’ve now witnessed how skilled and quick he is at combat with your own eyes. He could take out at least 4 at once, leaving no room for them to retaliate. None of them stood a chance against the superhero himself—quite frankly, he could handle them all on his own if needed.

You have definitely improved from 5 years ago too. You were now much quicker and your skills have upped a level—handling several enemies simultaneously. With the new gadgets that Alfred has equipped you with, you definitely found it a lot easier to deal with the enemies and not just entirely rely on pure brute strength.

Within 10 minutes, both of you have successfully wiped out the entire thugs, and they were all lying lifelessly on the ground, allowing you to move on to find the hostages.

“Well, aren’t you a rather good fighter yourself, Batgirl.” Sangyeon was surely impressed with the way you presented yourself tonight.

“Now that’s flattering coming from the former Robin himself.” You counterbacked, and you earned a laugh from the man himself.

“This isn’t over yet, Y/N. There are definitely more thugs lurking around the area. I suggest we split up and take on each side, and I’ll let you know if I come up with anything.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Let me know if you need help, okay? You’re not in this alone.”

Thanks, Sangyeon. It means a lot. “I’ll contact you soon.”

Splitting up, you decided to take on the right side of the ports, defeating the thugs in your way as you slowly made your way through. Eventually, you found hostages along your way, and you freed them by using your batclaw to cut through the ropes they were tied up with, and they ran to their safety towards the GCPD at the front entrance.

Finally, you have reached the last destination that you could’ve scooped out for any remaining hostages, the lighthouse.

Fingers crossed, you were mentally praying before making the move that Changmin would be there.

It seemed that you had deduced your theory correctly, and sure enough, he was there—holding up several hostages, ready to throw them down into the deep, freezing ocean.

“CHANGMIN STOP!!” You screamed, and that got his attention.

He turned back to look at you, and his eyes widened upon the contact. It was you again; this time, he wasn’t wearing a mask anymore.

It seemed as if he hadn't recovered from the encounter days prior because he was beginning to malfunction again, and how badly you just wanted to help him by taking him back for good now.

“Please… Changmin. Let us talk. Please, talk to me about it.” You begged, and unknowingly tears began to form in your eyes.

Immediately, he dropped the hostages down onto the concrete floor, and they quickly ran for it. His attention was now entirely on you, eyes widened while trying to make sense of everything.

“Y/N… I… All these years later… I can’t…”

“No Changmin. You can, and you will come back to us.”

Come back to me.

“What have I done? I’m… I’m a monster now, a terrifying criminal and psychopath. I’m beyond saving.” He now stares down at his bloodied, shaking hands, and his speech begins to stammer.

“No, you just need to press reset. And we will help with that.”

Let me help you.

“Why? Why, Y/N? After all these years and everything?” Tears were now beginning to form in his as well, and he was trying his best to hold them back.

“Because I love you and have always been after all these years.”

You were now slowly taking one step at a time closer to him, and he slowly did the same but backwards.

“Y/N… No, you can’t.”

“I can and I will. I have longed for you endlessly, and I always find myself coming back to you, even if you are no longer Robin.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is. And I will prove it to you.”

Changmin was now pinned against the guardrails of the lighthouse and he was stuck with nowhere to run. You were now standing right in front of him—centimetres apart, when you gently laid your palms onto both sides of his face, slowly rubbing away the white makeup that sat on his face.

He then looks down at you, standing motionless before muttering a quiet: “I warn you. I’ll break your heart.”

You smiled back at him. “I know you more than you know yourself, cowboy. Fill me more with that dangerous love of yours—there’s nothing Batgirl can’t take on anyways.”

With that, you quickly took Changmin into your embrace, and the tears that formed within his eyes began to drip down slowly.

Yes, Changmin. I’m here now. I will protect you from all of this madness—

That short-lived moment was then interrupted abruptly as that familiar chilling voice from years ago started to haunt you.

“My my, what do we have here? A little family reunion, isn’t it?”

Both of you turned behind to see the real Joker standing in front of you, with a syringe containing a rather intriguing green liquid, while having a group of thugs behind him.

You and Changmin were now cornered, and there was no way to escape. It seemed as if history was repeating itself.

“Damn, I guess the dose wasn’t enough for that Robin boy to take on my persona fully. I guess the test was an ultimate failure.” He was now flicking the syringe bottle; his eyes were now entirely on you.

“Hmm.. maybe another test subject would be worth trying out… someone whose name rhymes with Batgirl.”

The Joker was taunting you and moving closer to you now. You had to think of something quickly because clearly, Changmin was in no state of fighting back. You could use one of your gadgets for close-range combat, but given the number of enemies you were up against, there was only a 50% success rate.

Maybe I could use a smoke bomb to distract them while I think of something real quick—

“Batgirl!! Dodge and leave right now! Trust me!!”

That voice. It was Sangyeon. You quickly redirected your attention to the opposite building across the lighthouse. He was now equipped with several explosive batarangs, and is now aiming towards your direction. Once he let go and threw them towards you, you quickly grabbed Changmin and jumped straight down into the cold, freezing ocean.

As soon as you both touched down into the waters, the explosion went off and the parts of the lighthouse came crumbling down along with the enemies that were on it.

Before you knew it, both of you were slowly beginning to lose air before finally being fully engulfed by the ocean waves.

It has been a few days since that encounter with The Joker himself at the port. When you dived into the ocean, you tried your best to swim towards the shore while carrying Changmin with you—despite the constant moments where the ocean waves would engulf you both while trying to swim back up again. As soon as you reached dry land, you immediately passed out before seeing Sangyeon coming to both of your rescue.

When you finally came to, you were left with just a few minor scratches and nothing major. You demanded to know where Changmin was and eventually found it lying on the operation table—the same one you were lying on 5 years ago. An oxygen mask was attached around his face, along with an IV drip by the side.

According to Alfred, it seemed that Changmin was systematically subjected to a wide range of shock therapy and torture over the few years that he was captured alive by the psychopath himself. Eventually, Joker decided to take things a step ahead and injected various serums into his body, eventually leading to his breakdown. Hence, he decided to let Changmin take over his identity for a period of time while he went into hiding.

It was definitely a lot and hard to take in for you. You couldn’t imagine how brutal it was for Changmin over the past few years, all wounded and injured from that fateful day, only to be taken back to The Joker’s lair and left to experience all of the barbaric tortures he had up his sleeve.

You stood right at the windows of the operating room, placing your hand on it while trying your best to hold back your tears. This went on for a few days—it was best to let him rest after all.

Sangyeon was staying for a while as he was still on the mission to track down Mr Wayne’s location, and he would often check up on you as well, ensuring you that Changmin would be alright and he would wake up real soon.

All you could do at this point was hope for the best and that Changmin would return to his usual self when he woke.

The bright glaring lights blinded Changmin’s eyes as he finally struggled to open them up. Once he has finally adjusted his sight, he tries to make sense of his surroundings.

He was back at the Batcave—all patched up and had an IV drip right into his arms. He tried turning his head around, trying to take in everything as he struggled to regain his memory.

And that was when he remembered that the both of you were up at the lighthouse, desperately trying to escape The Joker.

Almost immediately after that thought, a pair of arms wrapped around him tightly as he tried to sit up from his bed.

It was you whom he had been longing to see.

God, how much he had missed your embrace. Your scent, the warmth you gave, and your bright, bubbly persona that radiates whenever you are around him.

And now he’s back to witness it all close-up.

He returned the hug to you, squeezing a little tightly and clinging onto you for dear life. He wouldn’t let you go anytime soon, and he wants to savour the moment and make it up to you after being away for years. He slowly turned his head to take the sweet strawberry scent of your hair—ah, you were still using his favourite shampoo. He couldn’t help but to also rest his lips on your scalp as well.

“Changmin… I don’t even know where to begin…” You muffled since you were squeezed into his big muscular chest.

“Let’s just stay like this for a while, hmm?”

Silence. But it wasn’t awkward in the slightest bit. Instead, you both appreciated it—a lot was happening in both of your minds.

He’s back. He was back in his comfort zone, former residence, and home.

You were his home.

There were just so many things he regretted back then too, how he wasn’t able to save you and ended up being held captive and tortured by The Joker himself. Most importantly, he regretted that he couldn’t tell you how he felt about you, especially when he had seen you more than just a friend and sidekick for years.

But now that he was alive and back in the game, it was his chance.

Gently grabbing your shoulders, he pushes you away so that you look at him deep into his eyes. He takes in a big breath before he decides to spill the beans. What he didn’t expect was that you spat out the same exact thing that has been lingering on his mind, word by word.

“So uh, I thought you should know that I’ve had feelings for you for years now.” You both said at the same time. It took a few seconds for the both of you to process what the hell actually happened before bursting out in loud laughter.

“Gee, Y/N. And I thought it has been one-sided for years, and all those flirty remarks I’ve made were just for show, and my efforts have gone down the drain.”

“Well, I’m pleased to tell you those flirty remarks worked.”

You both giggled before Changmin decided to press on. “So when did this lovey-dovey feeling start?”

“Maybe around when I was 12?”

“Hah! I win. I’ve liked you ever since you came into the slumps.”

“That isn’t a victory, Changmin. It just shows how whipped you have always been and how easily you actually fall in love with someone.”

“Hey, it's not my fault when my love interest is actually a rockstar who excels at everything she does. Mind you, she is the best computer wizz I’ve ever seen with that long luscious brown hair of hers.”

“Yeah, you’re insufferable.” You huffed.

“But admit it, you like it.” He winked back at you, causing you to slap him on the chest while rolling your eyes back.

It was when he decided to lean in a bit closer while gently placing his fingers around your chin, lifting your face so that he could see you clearly.

“Since my princess literally saved my life, it is time for her prince charming to return the favour, no?”

You gave him a confused look. “Whatever are you planning, Mr. Ji Changmin.”

“Something that starts with the letter K.”

He then swipes his finger on your lips to feel those luscious, juicy lips once before crashing his onto yours. And he was right all these years, after all—on how good they tasted, and it was definitely a kiss that was worth the wait and savouring.

You didn’t reject it at all and proceeded to adjust your position so that it was easier to ease into the kiss. Tilting both of your heads to grant more entrance while your fingers moved up into his hair, Changmin did the same while his other hand rested on your waist.

How badly he wished to stay like this forever. To kiss you, hold you tight, and never let go nor fail you again. He made a promise to himself this time that he was definitely not going to repeat the same mistake, and he was no longer going to hurt anyone else.

Including you.

The intense moment was abruptly cut short by a low grunt coming from behind. It was Sangyeon.

“Well, it seems as if I have chosen the wrong timing, haven’t I?”

Oh, how badly you knew he somehow did it on purpose. You were definitely going to make him pay real soon.

Changmin being innocent, brushes him off and asks if something was the matter (since, technically, he hasn’t encountered how flirty he could be).

“I’m here to ask you about Bruce. I’m sure you have some information that is worth hearing about.” Sangyeon then crossed his arms, and immediately his facial expression shifted, and you both knew well that it was time to get back into business.

Once Alfred came to ensure that Changmin could continue his daily routine as usual, Sangyeon immediately cut to the chase and began pressing on the topic of importance.

“It was definitely a recent thing, I would say. The Joker tortured me for a few years before finally making me into his other half to take over his dirty job for him while he disappeared into thin air. And it was recently when I actually saw how he was dragging a body down into the basement of his lair. If it aligns with what you have in mind, then I’m sure it is worth checking it out.”

All of you pondered what Changmin said. It could be Mr Wayne who was under the hands of The Joker at the moment. According to Sangyeon, there have been reports of sightings of the man on the most recent site where Mr Wayne was last seen.

“So that would be the first place for us to look at, I suppose?” Changmin questioned.

“Supposedly, yes,” Sangyeon answered bluntly.

Just as all of you would start gearing up to head out to the place of interest, the batcomputer began blaring—it was from Commissioner Gordon. Picking up the call, all of you were met with a very distraught commissioner. Something must’ve happened.

“You guys have to see this right now.”

Immediately, the commissioner forwards a link that redirects all of you to a live webcam.

It was live. And there on screen sat a badly wounded individual, tied up on a wooden chair with only a single light bulb above his head as their only light source.

It was Batman.

The Joker swiftly turned the camera towards him, and he placed this huge menacing grin on his face, knowing that he was up to no good once again.

“Welcome, my fellow watchers to tonight’s grand show! Ah, it seems as if the entire GCPD & the Bat Family are here to witness the epic performance of the century!!”

The Joker then turns the camera back to Batman as he begins circling him, continuing with his act.

“Now, I’m pretty sure we all recognise this lovely individual right here. Isn’t it a bummer how he’s all wounded up badly? When he is supposed to be the strongest superhero in Gotham City?” He began laughing and then slowly stood behind Mr Wayne, bending down to rest his hands on Batman’s shoulders.

“It seemed as if my very first experiment had failed terribly, given that Robin had escaped thanks to Batgirl & Nightwing. Perhaps the 10,000 volts of shock therapy & the dosage of my serum weren’t enough throughout the years Robin was held captive at my lair. But fear not, ladies and gentlemen! For I have a new subject now, the famous Batman himself, and I wonder what would happen if I turn him into a Joker?”

The madman then walked over towards the right, and his hand gripped the latch of a switch, and all of you wished you did not have to witness what came next.

Pulling down the latch, it triggered the shock machine and Batman was screaming at the top of his lungs, clearly in a lot of pain while the high electricity flowed through his entire body. It went on for a good 10 seconds before The Joker finally decided to turn it off. Then, he walks towards the front of the camera, completely blocking Batman out of the picture.

“Here’s my suggestion, fellow Bat Family and the officers at GCPD. I will be kind enough to tell you my location. Come to the abandoned Nightville Amusement Park in an hour. I’m pretty sure your “father” here would want his children to come save his ass, no?”

The Joker then laughed menacingly again before ending the livestream.

Oh my god.

Batman is now in the hands of The Joker. And he has clearly shown all of you that he wasn’t kidding and meant serious business. If neither of you were careful, Mr Wayne would be next in line to get killed.

All of you will definitely have to come up with an actual plan and strategy before heading to the site, and this time you will stop this whole fiasco the psychopath himself has planned.

Thankfully, that was where Sangyeon came in and he began to take charge of everything and everyone as he gathered both sides to listen closely to his words.

“Are you with me, lads?”

The clock struck strictly at 10 at night as the three of you arrived at the amusement park. Based on Sangyeon’s lead, he deemed it too dangerous for the officers to tag along at first. The plan was to let the three clear out the place until 80% of the thugs were wiped out, and then the GCPD would step in and scope the place out. Commissioner Gordon couldn’t agree more.

On the other hand, Alfred remained at his position in the Batcave in front of the monitor screen, keeping you three updated with everything going on around your surroundings while being the middle person to communicate to the GCPD upon Sangyeon’s orders.

As you three stood in front of the amusement park gates, Sangyeon decided to break the ice and loosen the atmosphere for a bit. He focused on Changmin, who was clearly doing a few stretches here and there.

“So how does it feel to be back in the Robin suit, young lad?”

“Is it bad that the suit’s gotten a little tighter?”

“Well, guess that’s some good news for you, Batgirl.” He then poked his head out to look at you, who were standing on the far right side.

Dear heavens, Lee Sangyeon. I swear, for the love of God—

“What about yours, mister? I’m sure all of the time that’s gone to leading the Teen Titans and patrolling Blüdhaven has taken a toll on your romantic relationship.” You fought back, but clearly, he doesn’t back down easily.

“Nah, I have my ways. She’ll come back to me when she’s bored and lonely. She always has been anyway.”

Huh. So he does have a certain special someone. That is definitely going to be added to your books of “things to stalk more about Nightwing’s dirty secrets”.

Clearing your throat to bring everyone back to reality, you turned your head back to the entrance, where all of you began to hear the footsteps growing louder each second.

“Mr Lee, there’s about 60 thugs headed your way. Be prepared.” Alfred’s voice chimed into the intercom.

“Well, 60 is just a number.” Sangyeon proclaimed.

“So what do we do now?” You asked.

Then, Changmin stepped forward and stood in front of you both. “We fight.”

Immediately, he charged towards one of the thugs and wrapped his legs around his neck, pinning him down to the ground and punching him hard enough to knock the individual out cold. Not wasting any time, he began moving onto the thugs one after another.

“Gee, your boyfriend’s one impatient little fella, isn’t he?”

“And so are you, Nightwing.”

You and Sangyeon did the same by charging towards the enemies. It was as if the tension and atmosphere were different tonight, and you felt the company that you had been longing for years. With both Robin and Nightwing with you, you knew that you were all in good hands and reaching The Joker himself wouldn’t be a problem this time round.

The three of you worked amazingly as a team, performing a combo of attacks and matching one another’s fighting style almost instantly, even though it was the first time the three of you fought together. Sangyeon was definitely impressed, to say the least, that Bruce had gotten himself some good young sidekicks to fill in his spot after he had left. He was smiling like a proud older brother would as he looked at how you and Changmin battled.

The enemy was successfully wiped out within 10 minutes thanks to the great teamwork. With that, the screen from one of the televisions that hung loosely at one of the lamp posts started broadcasting what seemed like a live message.

The Joker.

“Well well, I must say, an amazing job well done as a team!! Bravo bravo, you three have certainly exceeded my expectations! Now, moving deeper into the parks will not be that easy. So choose wisely and find out where Batman and I could be. Adios for now!!”

“God, will he stop with all of these taunts?” You complained, getting sick and frustrated with all of his jokes by now.

Changmin then walked close to you and placed one of his hands on your shoulder. “It’s okay, Y/N. We will definitely get Mr Wayne back home safely.”

“Yeah… we will this time.” You tried your best to return a smile.

Sangyeon then makes his way towards you both to inform you that it was best to split up to narrow down the possible location where The Joker and Batman could be. Before he could even suggest the plan, you gripped Changmin’s hands tightly, intertwining your fingers with his.

“I suppose you wouldn’t mind Robin and Batgirl taking on one side of the park, right?”

Sangyeon stared at you both for a moment, and you were clearly not budging, standing firm to prove that you were taking no as an answer.

He immediately sighed and agreed to your request. “Okay okay, lovebirds. Just make sure to do your actual job.”

You swear if it weren’t for him being your senior and part of the Bat Family, you would’ve whooped his ass and sent him back to his rightful place.

“Alright, jokes aside. Both of you, please contact me as soon as you find out something. Don’t even try to act bravely and jump into your demise. I mean it.”

It all sounded too familiar. It was precisely what Mr Wayne said to the both of you 5 years ago. The Sangyeon that stood before you now wasn’t the flirty yet annoying senior you have come to despise. Now this man is feared across the nation, and one you would look up to actually. He was the spitting image of Batman.

“Understood, Sangyeon. You should be careful out there too.” Changmin said firmly.

“Kiddo, I always have been.”

Within seconds he was out of sight, jumping down towards the other side of the park as he made his way quickly through the thugs.

“So, what do you suggest we do then, miss Y/N? You clearly asked me to stay with you.”

“Well, for starters, let’s look around and get rid of the thugs along our way to find Mr Wayne as soon as possible. Find The Joker, put him behind bars, and that’s a wrap.”

“Sounds good to me. Lead the way, Batgirl.”

Both of you went to each section of the park and searched every crook and corner to see if there were any traces or clues to where both of them might be.

If you were to deduce, according to the live footage—they were either at higher ground or beneath the amusement park. You tried searching for a latch which would lead you down but to no avail.

It was when Changmin finally called out to you as he noticed one of the buildings furthest from you had a little light source coming out from it. It led up to one of the roller coaster rides, and the stairs were clearly destroyed so that the officers could not reach high ground alone.

Only those of you equipped with the batclaw could swing your way up to the building itself.

On both of your signals, you both immediately launched your batclaw and quickly made your way towards the source, hoping that it was finally where your mentor would be.

Please, Mr Wayne. Please hang in there. We’re coming.

“Hmm… it seems as if your kids are taking a little longer, don’t you think? The Joker was now swinging his pistol around his hands, growing impatient as there was no sign of either of you coming anytime soon.

That was when Batman slowly tilted his head up as he tried his best to mutter a few words back to counterattack his remarks.

“Don’t… underestimate my kids… they’re a lot… stronger than… you think they are…”

The Joker immediately threw a punch right into Batman’s face once again. “You know clearly that’s not the right answer, no?”

“Well, clearly you aren’t thinking straight, Joker.”

His eyes widened as he turned towards the source of where the voice came from. When he finally did, he found Changmin already in position with a few shurikens within the palm of his hands, and you did the same while holding onto your batclaw.

“Why, if it isn’t my wonderful “son” back in town! How have you been? Papa has missed you loads.”

“It’s over, Joker. Your spree of crimes ends tonight and you’re finally going to jail after all these years.” Changmin declared.

“Disrespecting your papa, I see. Well, then. I’m sorry but it seems like I will have to teach you and your little girlfriend a lesson then.” The Joker slowly walked towards you with a group of thugs emerging from the shadows behind. Just like 5 years ago, they were all equipped with their weapons, the right to strike whenever.

“Y/N, let’s do our usual formation?”

“Say no more, Robin.”

Both sides struck simultaneously, and a heated battle soon erupted within the building. With the batclaw in hand, you use it to shoot to get the thugs close to you as you knock them out cold with your punches and kicks. Changmin, on the other hand, used his shurikens wisely and aimed at all of the thugs, not missing a target.

The Joker managed to get this way close towards you both, but he always seemed to have missed his shot or he was often caught by either of you two, pulling him close and throwing punches while he backed off to regain himself.

As all of the thugs were wiped out, The Joker was now the one being cornered by you two, and he clearly did not stand a chance.

“Hah! Don’t even think that you’re about to win!” He reaches into his back pocket and pulls up a vile of green liquid. However, judging from the container that was used this time, it wasn’t an ordinary serum now.

No. A poison gas bomb!

“I guess you know what this means then. That saves a lot of trouble. Robin, this is for you!” The Joker was about to throw it at Changmin when he finally decided to change direction and threw it towards you instead.

“Y/N! No!!!” Changmin quickly jumps onto you to push you out of the way as the poison gas bomb detonates.

But he was in no luck as Nightwing made his way here in time, destroying it before the gas spread around too much. At the same time, The Joker was pinned down by the one and only Batman, who was now free from being tied up thanks to Sangyeon.

The GCPD officers then made their way here along with the commissioner as they handcuffed the psychopath and started taking him away.

“This isn’t over, Bat Family!! I will be back to haunt Gotham City again!!” Those were the sentences that The Joker kept repeating on a loop till he was out of the picture.

Eventually, Mr. Wayne made his way toward you and brought you both into his embrace.

“I knew you both could’ve done it. Welcome home, Robin.”

Those words were enough to get you both all teary-eyed, primarily for Changmin though. He had longed to be reunited with his mentor, and how much he wanted to apologise for all of the trouble he had caused over the years.

“Mr Wayne…I—”

“It’s not your fault, and it was beyond your control. I’m sorry I failed you as your mentor. And father.”

He rests his chin upon Changmin’s head and closes his eyes before muttering something for you too. “You too, Batgirl. You have grown and I’m beyond proud of you.”

You have yet to hear Mr. Wayne praise you like that. He doesn’t talk much, nor has he ever praised you in such a manner since he wasn’t really great with words. Hearing that from Mr Wayne himself, after all of what you’ve been through, was surely enough to get you bawl your eyes out in front of him.

Sangyeon notices the little heartwarming family reunion and he can’t help but smile from afar. It was nice seeing how Bruce has gotten a new family on his own, and he is happy how you two were given a new life and beginning with him. A few seconds later, he decided not to interrupt, turned his heel in the opposite direction and started walking away. That is until Bruce’s voice stops him in his tracks.

“Nightwing. Or rather, Sangyeon. Thank you.”

He hasn’t heard those words from Bruce either in a very long time. Every time they met, Mr. Wayne often gave him a cold shoulder as he tended to focus more on the mission and rather cut to the chase. But Sangyeon knew that he had always been like that—it was just his way of worrying about his former sidekick. And how Sangyeon will always have a special place in Bruce’s heart.

Without turning back, he raised one of his arms and began waving. “I’ll see you around, Bruce. Don’t get caught next time.”

Mr Wayne chuckled for the first time in a while. “I won’t.”

A couple of days had passed since that day and it was time that the Bat Family took some time off to rest up and relax.

Mr Wayne was stuck in his room most of the time, with Alfred constantly checking up on him—bringing him his meals and checking his vitals to ensure that he wasn’t pushing himself too hard during recovery. Knowing him, Mr Wayne is definitely the type to wander around and get himself busy even when he is in no shape to stand up or perform his daily routines as usual.

On the other hand, you and Changmin have been spending as much time as you could with one another. It wasn’t easy when Alfred often dragged Changmin down to the sick room, claiming that he hadn’t fully recovered and had no time to play around. You had to muffle up a laugh whenever you see Alfred taking him away to his second home now.

It was a relatively calm afternoon as you decided to curl up with a novel in your room. Every so often, you would be reminded of what Mr. Wayne had told you last night about everything that has happened until now.

First and foremost, he apologised for keeping you in the dark about Changmin’s condition as he was afraid of losing you as well, and he wanted to keep you safe from The Joker as much as he could. But when you encountered Changmin at the GCPD, he knew his secret wouldn’t last long.

He has been keeping track of both of your movements even when he was away on league missions, having elicited the help of Alfred. When you helped Changmin escape from the lighthouse, he knew that The Joker was definitely going to target you next without a doubt. Hence, he decided to surrender himself as bait—knowing fully that you both would definitely come to the rescue. At the same time, it also saves time in finding out The Joker’s actual hideout.

As much as you thought he could be insane at times, you knew his methods somehow always work, and he has definitely thought them through. Giving a little scolding to Mr Wayne was all that you could do before it was time for him to rest up.

Returning to your novel, you slowly reached the story's climax until you felt someone gently hit your head with a book.

Changmin.

“Hey, what was that for!”

“Someone has been too invested or daydreaming to the point that she hasn’t heard me call out her name for over 10 times now.” He crossed his arms while giving you a pout.

“Ugh, please don’t do that face, for goodness sake.”

“Why? Because you like it?” He purposely widens his eyes ever so slightly.

“You need to go see a therapist for real, Changmin.”

Standing up from your couch, you decided to tuck your book away before walking towards him and wrapping your arms around his waist.

“So, what brings you here today?” You asked while giving a little peck on his lips.

“Well.” He pecks your lips back. “Alfred said that I’m fully recovered and I should be able to return to my usual routine with no problem.”

“Should. Changmin.” You emphasised the word.

“Hey, I’ll prove to you that I am one healthy man. What do you say? Shall we go out on our first date?”

“Hmm, tempting. Where are we going exactly?”

“Well, for starters, I still have to treat you to your favourite Akamaru Ramen that I promised 5 years ago.”

A/N: who knows i might cook up a nightwing Sangyeon fic in the near future 🤭

masterlist

taglist: @deoboyznet @kflixnet @k-films @flwoie @hokupi @zzoguri @kyusqult @tinkerbell460 @cheonsafics @sulkygyu @jaerisdiction @lngwayup

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konohokelly · 1 year ago

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LEECH - Sejanus Plinth (1/2)

Leeches are segmented parasitic or predatory worms that comprise the subclass Hirudinea.

Summary: Hirudinea Snow is going to baby-trap Sejanus Plinth to get her hands on the Plinth fortune. Warnings: Sex, manipulation, sexual assault (baby-trapping), toxicity, gaslighting, OC is a bitch, Sejanus is too good for her, OC is a bad person through and through, OC is a Capitol supremacist, Dead Dove Do Not Eat. Minors DNI Past!Hilarius Heavensbee I’m a first time smut writer. Sorry if it’s not good :( MC is fem and named but her appearance is NEVER explicitly described.

Borders by @saradika on tumblr

Graduation was a few months away, and Hirudinea Snow saw no future ahead.

Hirudinea was a lot of things; she was mean-spirited, spiteful, judgmental and shallow. Or at least that's what she's been told.

If her outside matched her inside, she would be as hideous as could be, but they didn't match, and she thought herself to be fairly good-looking. After all, she didn't have much else going for her.

Unlike her older sister, Tigris, she wasn't talented at anything in particular, and unlike her cousin Coriolanus, she wasn't academically inclined.

This was going to be a problem. Her time at the Academy was coming to an end, and she couldn't cheat off Coriolanus to get into University like she had done to secure her place at the Academy.

She often dreamt of her childhood before the uprisings when she was content with the family fortune, but they were brought to ruin by those ungrateful districts, and the money wasn't coming back. It was blown to bits with District 13.

If Hirudinea had her way, the rest of the districts would have ended up like 13, but the Hunger Games would just have to do.

It was times like this that she ruminated on the Plinth family, who were dirt beneath her shoes, yet they lived like kings while she holed away in this rat's nest they called an apartment. And Sejanus Plinth was the worst of them.

She couldn't keep her vision from turning red whenever he spoke against the Capitol in class. He should be thankful that people like her tolerated his living amongst them.

‘I deserve everything he has. It’s not fair.’

Yet he had a legacy set out for him, and all she had was a year left at the academy. After which, her popularity with the student body would mean nothing, and all her friends would move on.

She was nothing, and she contributed nothing. Tigris took care of the family, and Corio studied hard to take them out of poverty, but how would he afford university? How would Tigris not burn out before she achieved her dream?

Hirudinea couldn't help them, all she did was take; she was just a parasit-

"Dinea," Tigris interrupted the depressing train as she entered the room.

"You should come while the food's still hot," Tigris informed her with a warm smile.

Right in the middle of the old oak dining table was a large loaf of bread flanked by a meager serving of butter and jam. Grandma'am and Corio were already seated, eating in silence.

Hirudinea didn't bother using the knife. Tearing into the bread, she moaned as the taste of freshly baked goodness filled her mouth.

"Hey!" Coriolanus exclaimed, unimpressed by her lack of table manners.

The cousins never got along; they were too alike yet too different at the same time. Both had a deep-seated cruelty but while he kept his sentiments disguised, she struggled to keep hers in.

"Don't shout at little Dinea, Coriolanus. Manners!" Grandma'am warned. It was no secret that Dinea was the favorite grandchild. The girl could get away with anything in their home.

She tutted smugly at Coriolanus before turning to Tigris with her mouth still full.

"It's sooo good. How did we afford fresh bread?"

"I, um... I had some extra money from work," Tigris rushed out, quickly turning away to cut a piece for herself.

Hirudinea threw her gaze across the table, meeting Coriolanus's. They both knew what Tigris did to feed them tonight.

It was one of the many things they acknowledged but never voiced aloud.

Sensing an oncoming uncomfortable silence, Hirudinea quickly changed the topic. "You'll never guess who Lysistrata was spotted with last week."

She looked off mysteriously, hoping to drum up interest in the otherwise irrelevant drama.

Back in her room, Hirudinea resumed her wallowing as she flipped through the gossip column in yesterday's newspaper.

She thought of the bread and the things her sweet sister had to do to put food on the table. Their parents would be rolling in their graves to see their daughter reduced to such. How little Tigris was worth.

Hirudinea’s eyes landed on the story of a woman who was impregnated by some society woman's husband and has allegedly been living off the child care allowance ever since.

'Isn't that funny, my life is going down the drain but some hussy gets pregnant and...'

A lightbulb went off in Hirudinea's head. She sat up on the bed, a scheme coming to life in her mind, one that would change everything.

Hirudinea would get her fortune, and she would leverage all she had to get it.

For the first time in probably forever, Hiridinea was excited to be in school.

Today was the first day of her new life.

It was easy.

All she had to do was have a baby. She decided that going off with some gross old man would leave her with too little control so the father of her child would have to be around her age.

She never cared much for children. She wanted them at some point, but it was never a priority and never for any reason more than she felt she was supposed to have them.

But now there was urgency to it. The only question was which one of her classmates would be the patsy.

She sat in the last row of the class alone today, far away from her best friends, Arachne and Livia.

As she saw their mouths move in conversation, she didn't wonder what they were talking about; she knew the topic was probably her. Hirudinea didn't mind; she did it to either of them whenever the other wasn't around too.

She scoped out the boys in class. None of them would do. In fact, most of them would outright call her a slut and turn her away if she came up to them and said

"Remember that time we had sex? Yeah, you got me pregnant"

Hilarius Heavensbee was her first choice; they had dated for a long time and had similar views of the world, but he was also deathly afraid of disappointing his mother, a battleaxe of a woman who didn't like Hirudinea much. The feeling was mutual.

The woman had finally told Hilarius to break up with Hirudinea after a particularly bad argument between his mother and girlfriend, and he did!

If she ended up pregnant for Hilarius, she would either be forced to abort or give away the baby, and then there wouldn't have been a point to any of it.

Pup was the next best choice. Although she couldn't imagine kissing him, with his food-lodged braces.

She knew of his father's sense of responsibility, a military trait. If she had Pup's baby, the boy himself might turn her away, but his father would not.

As she began to pack up her belongings to move over to Pup and begin her seduction, the doors of the classroom burst open.

In came Sejanus Plinth. Hirudinea scoffed, he couldn't even be bothered to show up on time. But this lack of public etiquette was to be expected, after all, he wasn't like the rest of them.

"Sorry," he quietly apologized to the professor, not bothering to explain himself, as he knew a trip to the dean's office was in his future regardless.

He looked towards Coriolanus to find the seats surrounding his friend already full. He sighed and reluctantly moved towards the back of the class.

As he walked up the stairs, Hirudinea noticed his shoes; they were brand new, dark leather with silver accents. They must have cost a fortune.

The cogs in the girl's head began to turn.

He sat a few chairs down from her.

'Maybe...but no...wait, this might be something. Yes, this is perfect!'

She gathered her books and quietly moved down the aisle, settling down beside the curly-haired boy.

The young heir didn't notice her. He was too focused on whatever he was writing in his notes.

From what little she had gathered over the years, he was the perfect candidate: Insanely wealthy, influential, attractive and stupidly naive.

The best part was that he had an annoying sense of moral superiority and would never turn her child away. His parents were a piece of cake; Mrs. Plinth seemed nice enough, and Strabo, in desperation to be considered Capitol, wouldn't deny his grandchild, born from a member of the reputable Snow family.

Of course, there's the fact that Sejanus is District. He was below her. But it didn't matter, she reasoned; the districts owe her for the dark days, and this was just compensation. The Plinths would take on the burden of providing for her child, and she would get their money to save her family and do with as she likes.

Yes, it was perfect.

"Psst," she whispered. "Hey. Sejanus."

Sejanus finally glanced up, shocked when he realized who had called to him.

Hirudinea never made much of an effort to interact with him in recent years, only ever addressing him directly, although briefly, when she needed to speak with Corio and Sejanus was around.

He didn't really miss their childhood interactions either, which consisted of her leading the charge to push him around and call him district scum on the playground.

As they grew up, she had become cordial with him but would still snicker whenever someone made a comment about his upbringing.

He quickly returned his expression to the stoic face he wore when dealing with Capitol people like Hirudinea.

"What are you up to?" She asked with a smile, a playful lilt in her cadence.

Now that was weird to him.

"Taking notes" he replied neutrally

She nodded, looking around as she came up with something else to talk about.

She turned back to him,

“I forgot my notepad in my locker” she used her arm to cover her notepad which was on the table “Is it okay if I copy off yours after class?"

Was this some sort of trick? He thought.

She saw his hesitation and acted quickly "I'm doing really bad in this class, and I can't afford to fail the next quiz." She placed her soft hand over his. "Please."

It would be wrong of him to let her fail, wouldn't it? His soft brown eyes sparkled with compassion.

"Okay, I have a free period next. Meet me after class?"

Coriolanus seemed to be the only one to notice the strange interaction.

He had been surprised when Dinea had sat away from her irritating friends but now she was talking to Sejanus of all people.

She was definitely up to something and he would get to he bottom of it.

She met Sejanus in the library after class. There weren't many people around, and the librarian was busy somewhere far from them.

He stayed mostly silent, expanding on certain things he had written every now and then.

She needed to get the conversation started. But what could she talk about? A shared memory, maybe?

"Do you remember that field trip to the Capitol testing facility we went on when we were eleven?" she asked out of nowhere.

He was confused about the question but remembered the trip well. "The one where you dared Felix to sneak out one of the specimen; he was too scared so Clemensia went instead."

He laughed a bit, remembering how a little Clemmy was led out of a lab by her collar. She still hadn't lived it down.

"She got in so much trouble. A whole week's suspension," Hirudinea added with a giggle.

"What did you call Felix the next day again?" He asked

"I said he was so chicken, I could see the feathers growing out of his ass."

They both burst out laughing.

It was the most relaxed he had ever been around her.

It wasn't long before the librarian came over to shush them. They apologized and spoke with a quieter tone.

"You know, he made sure I wasn't invited to his birthday because of that. I hoped the party was a disaster. What did you think of it?"

"I, um, didn't get an invite either, remember?" Sejanus said with an awkward chuckle.

She did remember now. Hirudinea was the one to tell Felix not to invite the boy. In front of his face too. It didn’t do her any favors so she decided to change up the story a bit.

"Felix was such a jerk for doing that to you. I told him not to, but he never listens."

Sejanus vividly recalled her being in on it too, but he decided he remembered wrong. After all, she had been so nice today, why would she lie now?

The girl got somber all of a sudden, looking down shamefully.

"You know, I'm really sorry about how we all treated you in the past. You didn't deserve that." She hoped he didn't catch her false sincerity.

A small smile appeared on his face. "It's okay."

"Am I forgiven?" She playfully offered her hand to him.

"You're forgiven." He took her hand in a surprisingly firm handshake.

Hirudinea hung out with Sejanus often over the following weeks.

They established an easygoing friendship.

She made him swear to keep their friendship secret from Coriolanus, although he didn’t like it.

She didn't need her cousin sticking his nose in her business.

Sejanus came to trust the Snow girl to the point he spoke of his home in District 2 with her. She didn't say much about the topic during these conversations and he assumed it was because she wanted to listen intently. But the truth was she could hardly hold in her groan whenever he spoke of his old home.

‘Why is he reminiscing over THAT when he’s in the Capitol? How ungrateful can he be?’

She didn't abandon her objective of getting into his bed, pushing it as subtly as she could. A too-long hug here, a lingering hand on his thigh there. It always left him flustered.

He was quickly developing a crush, and she knew it.

Soon enough, the moment of truth came. Sejanus had invited her to his place to hang out, and she would make sure to be prepared.

It was almost time for Hirudinea to leave for Sejanus' house; she just needed to get some things in order.

Tigris was the only one at home and was holed up in her room. Hirudinea was thankful for this since her broken door lock provided no privacy for what she needed to do next.

She picked up a small foil packet from her lap. It was a condom. Without hesitation, she used one of Tigris smallest needles to poke holes through the protective barrier. She couldn't let Sejanus into her raw just yet; it had to look like an accident when she ended up pregnant.

When she felt like there were enough holes in the foil, she retrieved another and repeated the process.

Hirudinea sat on Sejanus bed.

He was in the kitchen getting her a glass of water, refusing to send an Avox. An act of rebellion against the status quo.

Hirudinea had to hold a fake smile through a brain-numbing conversation with Sejanus mother when she arrived. The woman was kind, but the lack of Capitol urgency made speaking with Mrs. Plinth feel like a chore. Thankfully, the woman had left to attend a party soon after, giving the two some privacy.

The girl dreaded having to hear Mrs. Plinth drone on about baby tips in the near future.

Hirudinea just wanted to get this over with and go home.

So she got up and stripped down to her lacy underwear. It had taken all her savings to afford them, but they would be worth it.

"Sej" She whispered the nickname seductively as he entered the room.

"Here you go..." He trailed off, closing the door behind him.

Sejanus paused. His face heated up as his eyes moved over her body once before snapping to her face.

"Come over here, Sej" she purred.

She brought her fingers to her mouth, twirling her tongue around them expertly. His jaw slacked.

Her fingers dropped to her panties next, slowly working the wetness into her entrance through the fabric.

His eyes were glued to the wet spot on her panties but his face was riddled with guilt.

"What about Hilarius? Aren't you together?" He asked

She freely rolled her eyes since he wasn't looking at her face. Only Sejanus would be worried about another man's relationship when a pretty girl was spread out before him.

"We broke up a while ago"

"I'm sorry"

She had no idea why he was apologizing.

"It doesn't matter. I want you"

His eyes snapped up. He was confused, but she gave him a soft smile, her eyes squinted ever so slightly, and his heart melted.

He placed the water down and moved over to Hirudinea.

Settling on the edge of the bed, He slowly brought his hand up to stroke her shin, moving up to her knee, then back down again.

"I want you too. I-I really like you, Hirudinea. I have for a while now”

'This is too easy'

All the lust gone from his eyes and replaced with something gentler. Hirudinea didn’t need that right now.

She took his hand from her shin and slowly slid it to her waist

"It's okay, Sej, you can do what you want. I feel the same way"

That last statement was all he needed.

Sejanus surged forward over her and captured her lips in the most gentle kiss possible. It didn't last long, as she opened her mouth and initiated a deeper kiss. It was wet and hot. She wondered if the sloppiness of the kiss was due to a lack of experience or his need for her. She decided it was the latter when she felt his growing erection against her core.

Hirudinea lifted her hands to his curls, tugging at the strands, earning a deep groan.

He pushed his tongue into her mouth, licking at her tongue, her teeth, anything he could reach. The hairs on her arms stood up as she moaned softly at his need.

His lips moved down from her mouth to the curve of her neck, licking and sucking at her skin until he arrived at the cup of her bra.

He looked up, asking for permission to remove the article of clothing. She nodded, biting her lip.

He struggled for a second but once it was off, he sat back on his heels. Looking at the beautiful woman before him.

He was in absolute awe, and it was making her impatient.

Hirudinea raised her hands to her breasts, squeezing them harshly and moaning his name.

Almost immediately Sejanus reacted, wrapping his arms around her waist and lifting her onto his lap.

With his height and powerful build, she shouldn't have been surprised by his strength. She kind of liked the way his big arms held her so firmly...

He buried his face in her breasts, nuzzling into her and taking in her scent, before turning to take a nipple into his mouth. His tongue laved over the sensitive spot as he breathed heavily into her chest. Her other breast occupied by his hand which squeezed her gently.

"Oh, Sej" she breathed, leaning into his touch.

"Take off your clothes, baby" she said.

She didn't have to tell him twice. He laid her down, kissing her softly, before rising to pull off his clothes.

She bit her lip as each piece of clothing fell away from his body. His boxers were the last to go, and she gasped when she saw what was beneath them.

His rock hard member was long and wide as it stood at attention, curving slightly to the left. The head of his cock was an angry red and the veins around the shaft were strained with his need.

Underneath Sejanus’ shaft were his large balls, they sat heavily, ready to be emptied. His hair was trimmed neatly.

She knew he was big from the outline in his trousers when he was flaccid but she never imagined this.

She mentally prepared herself to take him, having never been with anyone so well endowed.

It didn't take Sejanus long to grasp the edges of her panties and pull them over her legs, adding them to the pile of clothes on the floor.

She wasn't expecting him to brush over her clit high his fingers. She gasped at the tingles it sent down her legs.

“I want to touch you, can I?” He asked with a politeness that didn’t belong in the bedroom.

"There's no need for that, Sej. I want you inside me" she said with a laugh.

"Please baby, let me make you feel good" he begged.

As much as she wanted to get to fucking, she supposed she could allow herself a treat.

'I might as well get off since I'm already here'

"Okay, baby. Go ahead"

Rubbing over her clit with his thumb, his middle finger teased her entrance.

"Mmm" she sighed. Pressing her head back against the bedding

After a few more swipes with his thumb, his middle finger began to work its way in. He pushed in as far as he could go, stopping when his knuckles met her mound.

Her back arched up from the bed as his finger brushed over that spot inside her.

Sejanus could help but groan at the way her walls gripped his finger. He imagined what she would feel like around his cock.

Her wetness coated his finger as he began pumping into her core and before long, he added a second finger, stretching her out. She cooed and rocked her hips against his hand.

She moved her hips in time with Sejanus’s movements. Spearing herself down on his fingers. A coil had begun to wind itself in her abdomen, begging to snap.

"Oh Sej, I need more"

He pumped harder, adding a third finger. Wet sounds filled the room.

That was it.

Hirudinea threw her head back, hands squeezing the sheets as she writhed against them, crying out her pleasure.

”Yes, Sej!”

The bliss was so intense her vision whited out temporarily.

As she came down, still letting out soft moans, she wondered why she had never come that hard when Hilarius had fingered her, or any of the other boys.

But she didn't have time to think about that, not when she needed Sejanus’s cum inside her.

"I need you in me, baby," she pleaded.

He didn’t need much convincing. He was aching and ready to burst.

Reaching under the pillow, she revealed one of the tampered-with condoms she hid there and with a naughty expression tore the foil open and slid it onto him.

He climbed over her as she spread her legs wider.

Holding himself up by his forearms and knees, he lined up his cock with her entrance.

“Are you sure” he asked, needing her explicit consent.

“Fuck me, Sejanus” was all she said.

He pressed against her entrance and took his time pushing in. He couldn’t get enough of the way her gummy walls bared down on his cock but didn’t want to hurt her.

The stretch was uncomfortable but she would have to manage. She she brought her legs up and used them to put slight pressure on his hips which spurred him to relent and slide home.

His cock was stuffed into her as far as it could go, making him groan uncontrollably. The feeling of her around him was better than anything he'd imagined.

"You feel amazing," he grunted out.

He didn't move for a second, enjoying the fit. But soon enough, he was gently thrusting.

Hirudinea wasn't satisfied with his pace, "Harder, baby" she demanded.

He obeyed and began thrusting hard and fast. He tried to control himself, letting out grunts of passion, but they quickly turned into "oh"s and "ugh"s.

"Does my pussy feel good, Sej. Do you like the way I squeeze your huge cock" she asked with a sexy voice.

"Feels so good, baby. Ughhh"

His upper body fell a bit, letting half of his weight pin her to the bed as he shoved his cock deeper into her pussy, hitting her cervix. His forehead resting against his lovers.

Wet squelching sounds filled the room as his cock went in and out and in and out. Her hands ran over his bare back, pulling him into a passionate kiss.

Although she felt some discomfort with the way he was pressing against her cervix, she let out moans at the stimulation to that sensitive spot inside her. No inch of her pussy was left untouched by his thick cock.

Her sweet sounds fueled his relentless thrusts, and she didn't mind. It was actually really hot.

His hands found her knees, pushing them against the bed to spread her wide open for him. This was hot. She could feel another orgasm building within her.

If only her grandma'am could see her now, legs wide open and spilling soft noises as a district boy ruts against her. The old woman would certainly have a heart attack.

Sejanus pulled away from her lips to look deep into her eyes. It felt as if he were staring at her soul.

"Your eyes are so pretty," he whispered. The softness of his voice didn't match his thrusts.

She was dumb-struck. This hadn't happened to her during sex before; it usually came before sex to lull her into a false sense of security. She needed whatever he was doing to stop.

Splaying her hands out on the back of his head, she guided him to look down at where they were joined.

'This will distract him'

It worked. Sejanus groaned loudly as he watched his cock push and pull from her core covered in her slick. He stayed like that for a minute or two, allowing her to enjoy the feeling of his cock scraping against her g-spot, but then the spell wore off of him, and he was looking into her eyes again.

"So beautiful"

He had caught her out of left field. She didn't know what to do, so she pulled him close and buried her face in his neck, breathing in the citrus-y scent of his shampoo.

He was getting there; she could tell by the way his body was stiffening and the way his movements were getting jerkier. She was close too, moans falling from her lips like a waterfall.

"I'm so close. Are you gonna cum, Sej?"

"I'm going to come so hard, baby," he groaned, body continuing to tighten.

"Then fucking cum," She said through gritted teeth as her second orgasm hit her. She cursed out loud, feeling the waves of ecstasy wash over her.

He moaned her name as his end hit him hard, spurred on by the tightening of her cunt. "Fuck, I'm cummin'," he paused, pushing flush against her before beginning to thrust faster and shallower, his rhythm completely lost.

His eyes nearly crossed at the pleasure. Rope after rope of cum filled the condom, and Hirudinea smiled to herself, knowing it was leaking into her womb. He moaned loudly.

“OHHHhhhh…”

His arms gave out, and he fell fully on top of her, but she wasn't bothered by his weight. He once again nuzzled into her breasts as his breathing evened out.

"Mmm, You smell good," he murmured.

She gave him a few moments before gently pushing him off and rolling on top of him. Removing herself from his cock, she carefully took the condom off under the guise of helping through the post-coital haze, pecking the tip of his nose before standing up. She disposed of the rubber before beginning to dress.

"You don't have to leave yet; my Ma won't be back for a while,"

Hirudinea cringed at his use of District 2 vernacular.

She hoped their child would never address her in such a manner. She preferred a distinguished 'mother' or 'ma'am'

"I should get home. I don't want to worry anyone"

She was a little peeved when Sejanus insisted on walking her to the Corso.

He had escorted her home before, but tonight, his incessant need to smile like an idiot the entire time was pissing her off.

Walking side by side, the backs of their hands brushed occasionally, sending sparks up his arm. Eventually, Sejanus takes the initiative to grasp her hand in his own, entwining their fingers.

"Will I see you tomorrow?" He asked hopefully

"I would like that." She feigned bashfulness.

When they arrived the door of the Corso, she refused to let him take her any further, saying, "My grandma'am won't like to see me with a boy this late."

It convinced him to let Hirudinea off here, not wanting to get her in trouble. He did ask for one more kiss though, which she allowed. It was sweet and light.

"Goodnight, Dinea" he said as the door closed behind her.

The journey upstairs gave her time to think about what had just happened.

Her periods were infrequent, only coming every three months or so. So she would have to get pregnancy tested at the hospital. But how would she afford it?

It was only when she reached the penthouse that she realized he had called her by her nickname.

'What gives him the righ-'

The door burst open to reveal an upset Corio.

"Where were you!?" He yelled.

Hirudinea rolled her eyes and pushed past him.

She went straight to her room and laid back on the mattress, picking up a magazine to flip through.

Corio had decided not to let it go and ended up standing over her with his arms folded.

"If you must know, I was with someone" she finally said after a minute of him just staring.

"With who?"

"That little friend of yours, the one from District 2," she waved her hand as if trying to recall his name. As if she hadn’t been screaming it out an hour ago.

"Sejanus?"

"Sejanus! That's the one. We were studying at his house"

"He's not my friend, Dinea. I tolerate him, but you don't, and the last time I saw you study, we were still using crayons. So you should understand why I don’t believe that’s what were you really doing there?"

Dinea stood up at full height and jabbed her finger into his chest. "I don't need to explain myself to you, Corio. You're not my dad"

"I might as well be, since Tigris and I have been carrying your weight ever since we were kids, just because you're grandma'am's golden child. You've never achieved anything by yourself!” His frustration was evident in his voice.

"Is that what this is about? You're looking for a reason to get me in trouble with grandma'am. You're pitiful, Corio," she laughed and walked into the living room. "It's no wonder your mother died trying to replace you; you know, old Crassus Snow probably killed himself in 12 to get away from you too"

Coriolanus' face hardened as he began marching over to her.

She always dealt out the low-blow in an argument.

Tigris came out of her room at just the right moment, "What's going on, you two?"

"Go on, Corio. Tell her the great sin I committed," Hirudinea pressed. She knew Corio would look like he was overreacting if Tigris knew the fight was over Dinea hanging out with Sejanus, whom Corio himself hangs out with.

"Nothing," the young man huffed.

As the family dispersed, Hirudinea called out to the blonde boy,

"Don't worry about what I'm doing. Remember, snow lands on top" she assured.

Part two

How do you feel about Hirudinea and Sejanus? I'm really interested in your thoughts on Dinea and the things she’s doing!

Please like and reblog, if you feel like. Your feedback and interactions keeps me motivated XO

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