#LOVE this. must have taken you forever but it turned out so well!!!

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

Okay Cal I’ve taken some time and calmed down and now I’m so very normal about this news. Nico’s back well isn’t that nice. I feel so very casual about that. Just :) so :) normal :)

First theme this round is non-human Buddie!

🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲 (IM OBSESSED WITH THIS ONE!!!! Really loving Buck’s hearing loss story and can’t wait to see where you take it! And I’ve got Thoughts™️ about how it might play into the Diaz family magic… It seems like you’re doing the publish once it’s all written thing again - how many chapters are you planning on having?)

🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️(IM INTRIGUED!! And lol this emoji has bracelets on the arm that totally reminded me of Buck’s line arm tattoo so it’s meant to be! There’s so many interesting directions I feel like this one could go and I’m very excited to watch it play out!)

-PCA <3

HI PCA! So happy you're so excited for Nico.

In the meantime, the creature fics!

96 for 🌲 (THANK YOU!!!!! That makes me so happy. I'm really pumped for this one. I want to hear your thoughts! Yes, publishing this once it's all done. I have a ten chapter outline!)

---

It’s not for very long. Buck said the appointment shouldn’t take more than an hour, plus driving. No biggie. Eddie can handle that. He’s an adult. 

He tells himself the fear is that when he’s alone, something will happen. He’ll cover his house in more leaves and turn more and more into an animal until he loses his human mind. His back will become completely hollow like in all his nightmares. He thinks his fears are rooted in pragmatism. But when Buck is actually gone, the truth of it becomes clear. 

It’s painful. 

Buck being gone is actually physically painful for Eddie. He doesn’t know why. He gets this ache all over his body. This gripping sense of panic and nausea combined. He can hardly function. He needs Buck to be back. He needs to not be alone. His brain sort of abandons reason and starts spiraling to some dark place where he’s forever shut out from any sort of human interaction forever. Where he is utterly isolated. 

He doesn’t just think of Buck. He thinks of Christopher, hating him. His team at work, thinking he abandoned them. Adriana, missing without a trace. Shannon, dead. He starts to shake. It feels like some sort of withdrawal; or at least what he imagines that would feel like. He needs some sort of company. Anyone. Anything. Most of all, he needs Buck to come home. 

There’s a knock on the door around the time Eddie is expecting Buck to get back. If Eddie was in his right mind, he would know it’s not Buck. He would know the door is unlocked, and Buck can walk in. He would know that Buck has keys, regardless. 

Throwing aside any sort of precaution or rational thought, Eddie hurries to open the door. He doesn’t have much in the way of a disguise to conceal himself. He’s still wearing Buck’s sweatpants. Nothing for his face. He doesn’t even think about it. What he must look like to someone who isn’t expecting to see it. 

He’s surprised to see that it’s Tommy at the door. Arms crossed, angry impatient look on his face. Tommy, Buck’s boyfriend. He’s probably here for Buck. But he’s Eddie’s friend, too. Maybe he can keep Eddie company until Buck gets back. 

Not single thought of his own protection in his head, Eddie throws open the door. 

“Hey, Tommy,” he says. “What’s up, man?”

Tommy looks furious and confused. He looks Eddie over, eyes scrunching with confusion. 

“Where’s Evan?” He demands. He blinks a few times. Rubs one of his ears. “I know he’s with you and… And I…”

“Buck isn’t here right now. Should be soon. Do you want to come inside?”

“Do I…” Tommy’s eyes sort of glaze over. It’s like watching drugs settle in. The anger all but evaporates from his face. “Yeah, Eddie. Of course I want to come in.”

Eddie is pleased. That’s good. He didn’t want to be alone anymore. He can already feel the pain in his body beginning to subside. 

“Come on, man. I’ll get you a beer,” Eddie says. No matter that it’s eleven in the morning. 

“I’d love that,” Tommy says. 

He leads Tommy inside towards the kitchen. He grabs two beers from the fridge. He doesn’t think about the tail creating a strange bulge in the back of his pants. He doesn’t think of the fact that he’s wearing Tommy’s boyfriend’s pants. He doesn’t think of anything and Tommy’s not reacting to anything. It all must be fine. 

When he turns around to hand Tommy the beer, Tommy takes a step towards him, leaving very little room between him and the fridge. Eddie feels a bit cornered. 

“Uh, hi?” Eddie asks. He tries to give Tommy the beer but Tommy doesn’t take it. Won’t even look at it. 

“Eddie, I think we should talk,” Tommy says.

Eddie gets a bad feeling. 

“Okay… Uh, sure. About what?”

“Us,” Tommy says. 

Eddie coughs a little. “Us?”

“You and me,” Tommy says. 

“What you and me?” Eddie asks.

Tommy smirks a little. “What we could be to each other.”

Eddie blinks. “Uh… Friends? Friends with someone very important  in common?”

Eddie might be feeling a little out of it lately, but he’s not insane. 

“Oh, come on, Eddie,” Tommy says. “You had to know there was something between us. If you hadn’t been seeing that woman. What was her name?”

“Marisol?” He asks. Or Kim? Both? Jesus, he’s a mess.

---

66 for 🧜‍♂️ (YAY! Thank you! I am excited to reveal my - and Annie's - plans):

---

He knows that it changes you. In lots of strange ways, some small and some large. 

“I’d had an accident not too long before that,” Chimney says. “Nearly died, myself. But… I don’t know. It’s different for Buck. Especially about Bobby. I think he’s just jealous you’re the new, shiny person on the team.”

Eddie is hardly new and shiny. Buck just doesn’t know that.

Eddie nods. “I’ll… Well, I’ll try I guess. To get on his good side or whatever.”

“I don’t think he has a bad side,” Hen says. “Just be patient. He’ll come around.” 

Eddie holds onto this promise. Hopes that it’s true. And really, really hopes his suspicions aren’t correct. 

🌻

Things get worse. 

There’s some downtime in the shift. Eddie decides to hit the station gym. Unfortunately, Buck is already there with Chimney. He considers turning around and walking away, not wanting to deal with the guy more than he needs to. But he doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction. He doesn’t want to be scared off in his own workplace. Not again. 

So Eddie starts on the other side of the equipment from Buck. The punching bag. He gets a conversation started up with Chimney. They talk about the firefighter calendar, which Chimney wants a spot in. Something Buck doesn’t seem thrilled about. It’s clear Buck wants to win, from all the absurd selfies he’s been snapping. 

“Are you gonna submit photos, Eddie?” Chim asks. “Be honest, you’ve probably got washboard abs under that shirt. You submit one of those classic shirtless suspenders photos and you’re a shoe in.”

Ha. No. Abs? Sure. A shirtless photo? No way. 

Across the gym, Buck makes a frustrated noise. Mutters something under his breath. Eddie doesn’t hear it, but he gets the tone. And all he can hear is the sound of someone suggesting he isn’t man enough for the competition. Whether or not it’s what Buck says, it’s what Eddie takes in. 

So he sort of snaps. 

“What’s your problem, man?” He demands, marching over to Buck at the weights. 

Buck looks up at him. He seems surprised to have been confronted. Surprised, but not unwilling to rise to the bait. He stands up, gets close to Eddie, peacocking his considerable height. He’s not that much taller than Eddie, but it sure feels like it, in this moment. 

“Okay. You.” Buck says, voice low and tight. “You’re my problem. Your comfort level.”

Eddie’s comfort level? Is he serious? He’s been doing everything he can to make Eddie uncomfortable. Is Eddie, what? Supposed to know his place? Stay silent and in the background because he’s different? How does Buck even know that he’s different? 

“You’re-you’re not supposed to walk in here like you’ve been here for years,” Buck keeps going. “It’s meant to be a getting-to-know-you period. You’re meant to respect your elders.”

“You’re not his elder, Buck,” Chimney interjects. 

“I don’t know how old you are,” Eddie replies. “But I’m not a probie. I’ve been a firefighter-paramedic for six years. But if you have some sort of prejudice that makes you think I’m not fit for the job-”

“Wait, what?” Buck interrupts. “Prejudice?”

[x-i-l-verify]

I, I did it all I owned every second that this world could give I saw so many places The things that I did Yeah with every broken bone I swear I lived

just a thought

[bluedosjaykewon]

🥹✨Enhypen as Dads✨🥹

Fluffy, only lots and lots of suggar

Heeseung

Making everyone very sad (I know we would all like to see Heeseung being a “girl dad”, I would love it too) but I see Hee being father of two boys (about 3 or 4 years apart)

I honestly think he would be so happy with that since he grew up with his brother too so he wants to provide a childhood as cool as his children was

He is 100% the type of father "don't tell your mother"

"Don't tell your mother we drank soda at dawn"

"Don't tell your mother we stayed up playing video games until 4 in the morning"

"Don't tell your mother I took you to Burger King after school"

Etc etc

I also can see you scolding your son and he saying "hey honey but he didn't do anything wrong" and you just look at him and automatically he turns around and says “VERY BAD KID THIS IS VERY VERY BAD”

What can he do???? He's the good cop

I think Hee would be the kind of father who would be very supportive of his children, especially if they want to pursue a career in music, but I think he would be very wise to tell his children that it's a very exhausting life and full of very complicated obstacles

His oldest son is definitely his best friend (he lives to make this boy feel proud of him)

His youngest son is his baby

As Heeseung is the youngest children in his family I think he sees himself in his baby boy so is that the reason why he’s always very emotional about the youngest

He wants to be the cool and laid-back father to his youngest son while he wants to be the loyal friend of his oldest

I can really imagine him taking his oldest son for a drive at night to clear his head

Speaking of cars, these 3 always go on a fishing trip every month IT'S A TRADITION

His youngest son doesn't like fishing that much but he loves spending time with his father and brother so he goes anyway🥹

His children always come back covered in mosquito bites because Heeseung always forgets his insect repellent home, but they come back smiling and happy so it doesn't matter.

Jay

Ok, let's go

Jay is a couple father, DOES EVERYONE AGREE?????

He has an older daughter, who he raised with all the love, affection, care and protection and will always take care of her because she is his princess.

And he has a younger son that is his best bro forever (maybe 6 years between the children?)

I imagine that his daughter must have been so jealous of her brother when he was born

I can see them at 16 and 10 years old, having a Disney Chanel sibling dynamic, who live to make each other's lives hell, are fighting 100% of the time but deep down love each other deeply

He and his youngest son are quite a duo

They have a garage band together🥹🫶🏼

Jay taught him to play guitar but the boy's passion is the drums

I imagine that he is much closer to his older daughter, but he doesn't know how to deal very well with his daughter growing up and no longer depending on him.

So he spends all the time he can with his youngest because when the youngest grows up it's over for him

Jay loves to keep his kids entertained so he would be up for anything

“Daddy, are we going to the Taylor Swift concert?”

“Sure, my love.”

“Daddy, can we go to the skate park?”

“We’ll leave in a few minutes, okay? Just let daddy finish this first”

Btw, he supports everything his children want to do

I swear his children have already taken every course and private lesson that exists on the earth

Jay will enroll them in and out of anything they want

Because he wants his children to be happy and he grew up with a family that gave him so much support that I believe he will do the same

Btw, the family tradition is take the childrens to see baseball games

In fact, Jay had a huge existential crisis when his daughter started not wanting to go to the games🥹

He started remembering her when she was little with a t-shirt and a cap that was too big for her, sitting on his shoulders and watching the game🥹🥹🥹🥹

Poor man, he collapsed

Jake

I imagine him being such a calm and relaxed father, you know?

I think he would be such a relaxed father.

His relationship with his children is based on trust, affection and love 100% of the time.

I don't think he smothers his children or wants to be with them 100% of the time.

Of course he is a present father, but I think he respects his children's time a lot.

But let’s go, he has 3 children.

2 older boys and a younger girl (about 2 years apart from each child?)

Oh, how this man was in heaven when these children were born.

Jake loves being a father, I think he considers it his favorite profession.

And he is simply so delicate with his children, his tone of voice is always soft and loving, he touches them as if they were made of porcelain.

He loves taking them to the park, riding his bike with them and stopping for ice cream afterwards, or taking them to the pool, spending the whole day at the water park and then stopping at the McDonald’s🥹🥹🥹🥹

God, he loves his little 4-year-old girl, he’s an idiot for her (she gets whatever she wants, he’s her personal butler)

You see him walking around with weird hairstyles and stickers on his face quite often (he’s a regular at the 4pm tea party with his daughter and her bunny every Wednesday)

But he’s so incredibly in love with his 8 and 6-year-old boys

I can imagine them playing with lots of Hot Wheels tracks lol (and Jake taking it so seriously)

They build a lot of Lego together too, God, his kids have BOXES AND BOXES of Lego of every possible and imaginable type

He’s the kind of father who dances with his daughter dressed as a prince and gives her flowers so she gets used to receiving love early on so he doesn’t worry about future relationships

At the same time, he’s an example of such a good man for your children

Your children are so in love with your relationship🥹♥️

I imagine the 3 of you being so close, they are brothers who truly love each other unconditionally because the only reference they have is love, love and more love♥️😭

Sunghoon

OKAY LISTEN…

Two girls

NOBODY WILL PROVE ME OTHERWISE

He has two girls who are about 3 years apart from each other

His oldest is like “🎀✨💕DADDYS GIRL💕✨🎀” and his youngest is more like “💋✨⛸️DADDYS GIRL⛸️✨💋” if you can understand me

Like the oldest is more “Daddy, can I use your card??? I need a new dress” and the youngest is more “Dad, I told you! You don’t have to buy me anything”

BTW

He is absolutely in love with them to an extreme level

They are his world, after they were born nothing else matters more to him than the happiness of his two little girls

He is a REALLY OVERPROTECTIVE FATHER

like really

He can’t be able to sleep if he knows that your girls are on a party or on a date

He just CAN’T

And you’re like “babe, cmon, let’s rest a little” and he will be like “I can’t sleep, y/d must call anytime”

Something he miss when the girls are little babies…

When they were little they cried for him to put them to sleep and sing to them😭♥️

And now his princess wanna buy short skirts and dance all night😭💔

His youngest really like to skating so they do it together sometimes

These two girls are the pinnacle of what a doting and protective father can do with a girl

But like I said he is protective

The day you came to him saying he was so cute like your oldest daughter had a boyfriend in kindergarten….

He went to the school to have a serious talk with a 5-year-old boy and his parents

Even today, more than 10 years later, he still has a grudge against the poor child who just held his little girl's hand

I can imagine your daughter going to say that she has something important to talk about and him saying "did you find out you're a lesbian and are you going to get rid of that idiot?😃"

and your daughter saying "no daddy" and he would reply with "are you absolutely sure you're not a lesbian?😃"

You think Jay would spoil his children but nothing is as good for the economy as Park Sunghoon, his daughters and his black card at the mall

You know that scene from Beverly Hills where the father asks what his daughter is wearing and she answers "Calvin Clain"

They have this energy

He takes them and picks them up from everywhere because he doesn't like his princesses to walk around alone and he doesn't want boys bringing home

Nothing in the world would break his heart more than seeing his daughters cry. He always makes a point of buying their favorite foods, giving them a cuddle and leaving a kiss on their heads when they are crying.

Now if it is because of some boy... God have mercy and may he not find out the address of that boy

Sunoo

He has two girls too, but they are twins.

He is over the moon with them.

Do you agree with me that they would wear matching outfits????😭😭😭😭

He knows ALL the Disney princess songs

ALL OF THEM.

He would be his daughters' best friend 100%. He gives his daughters a lot of space to talk to him about absolutely anything and everything, he is always very present and aware of everything that happens in the lives of his little gems.

One of them is really extroverted and shining just like him and the other is like “omg you two are making me feel embarrassed please stop”

But he is also very protective of them.

Not like Sunghoon, of course.

Dad Sunoo is like a mother lioness, he protects his children tooth and nail no matter what.

(Like the “PELA CRIANÇA EU DOU A MINHA VIDA GRAÇAS A DEUS!!!” meme)

If this man finds out that one of his daughters is being bullied at school... I feel so sorry for the principal of that institution because he will DESTROY her.

He also watches a lot of movies with his daughters, when he gets home from work and his girls have already come home from school, it's always the perfect time to order food and watch Korean dramas together

He would always be available for serious, intimate, or everyday conversations

I think he would be such an attentive father🥹🥹🥹 but at the same time he would have no patience at all

He seems to me like the kind of father who when his kid makes a fuss he leaves the child on the floor of the store crying, walks away and pretends he doesn't know her

I imagine him being very truly with his daughters too, like "are you going out like that? With those clothes???? No, you can't change that, it's not good, you're dressing like Sponge Bob"

He would be their safe place too

I can see him comforting them when they were crying about something, like them lying on his lap while he caresses them and says "it's okay, love, it'll pass, I already have your age too, it'll pass"

Jungwon

He has a son, a little boy

You are thinking about having another one, but he is always analyzing how you have such a comfortable life with only one child and that a second child would require you to give up some privileges, etc.

Obviously he would be up for more children if you wanted, he catches himself thinking about another baby often, but he always brings up this conversation at some point

But anyway, your little boy is around 5/6 years old????

I feel like Won is in a limbo between “being the cool dad” and “being the example of a responsible man that his son needs”

He demands a lot of himself as a father

whenever he gets home and sees that his son is already in bed sleeping and he didn't get him “good night kisses” he feels terrible😔😔😔 (I think you will have to reassure him several times a day that he is doing an excellent job)

I can imagine him like this:

“What's up, son? Boys' day today, huh? Let's go to the park, the movies, and then have ribs for dinner, what do you think????”

“What's up, buddy? How was school today?”

And your son LOOOOOOOVES HIM

Like that type of kids that say “MY DAD IS MY SUPERHERO” is really cute

Doesn’t help the fact that this kid has his father kitty bubble tea eyes😭✨

But he’s really shy when he’s not with you or Jungwon, like, your two are his best friends.

Jungwon is such a fun father🥹

Even if he comes home feeling sad, limping, anemic, fragile and inconsistent, he will take time to play with your son and this will charge his energy 100%.

Just like Jake, Won is the kind of father who lets his son do whatever he wants with him.

His son will stick stickers on his face, draw a mustache and a goatee with a marker, etc., etc., and he will stand there laughing at how cute his son is.

He loves taking naps with your son (he even went through a difficult time when your son stopped being afraid of sleeping alone and asked to sleep with you every night).

I think he would be such a responsible father. He would know how to say no to his child when necessary and would teach that there is a time and place for everything and that we should be polite and patient. 🥹♥️

Riki

Just like Won, I imagine that Kiki has 2 father skins: the fun-child father with a 4-year-old mentality and the extremely mature father who is aware of his activities as a father.

He fluctuates a lot between these two.

He is extremely responsible when it comes to his children, he can handle any situation on his own without any problems.

Btw, I can see him having a family just like his own (two girls and a middle boy🥹). They are like 10, 8 and 5 years old. 🥹🥹🥹

He and the older ones do so much messy together that I swear to God I don't know how your house is still standing.

They play a lot of running games until Kiki stops and says "Aaaaaah daddy's back isn't the same anymore."

Like I said, his older ones brought out his fun and agitated side, but his youngest is so calm and sweet that he can't be the childish father with her, he just wants to protect her from everything

(he also joins the team of daddys who let their little daughter do whatever she wants with him) this girl is almost always riding on her father's shoulders😭♥️

He is the biggest fan of his children, he is there for everything his children want to do

I can see his children so interested in his “idol” career and always with stars in their eyes when they see videos of enhypen's performances

But unlike Heeseung, I think Riki would be reluctant to let his children enter the world of stardom, especially young ones like him, I think he wouldn't want his children to go through as much as he did and he would be far away and imposing to do something...

His favorite pastime is taking his children to Disney, I swear to God they are at Tokyo Disney almost every weekend

I like to think he likes to hold his two oldest ones by the feet while his youngest is on his back and playing mechanical bull AJAKAKAKAKAKA

His kids feel so comfortable talking to him (he's not a very jealous dad either)

I also think that there’s moments that Riki just stops, look at his kids and says “wow” like “they’re real, I made them”

And I think he’s the “what your mom thinks about that?” Type of dad, like “bro, you know that mommy is the leader of this family go ask her”

[lunajay33]

Struggle🖤

Summary: You always loved azriel but never had the courage to say anything wanting to get to know his culture cassian took you to the Illyrian camps but when you get taken you fall into a dark place only one person might be able to pull you out of

Pairing: Azriel x f!reader

Warning: Violence

•Masterlist•

“Sweetie you need to tell him you’ve been head over heels in love with him since…..since we’ll forever” mor said as we were sat around the dinning room in the house of wind

“Mor you know I can’t he means everything to me I can’t risk that”

“But he’s your” before she could finish the three boys walked in cutting off our conversation thankfully

“Welcome home boys me and dear y/n here were just discussing how in love she is with…”

“MOR DONT” I yelled out before she could practically ruin my life, I looked back over at the guys seeing a smirk plastered on Rhys and cassians face as Azriel looked anywhere but me

Standing up I brush out my clothes out of nervous habit and turn to cassian

“Umm can I talk to you in private for a moment”

“Well of course darling lead the way” he smirks as he holds his arm out for me, he’s like my brother, my duffis brother, I bring him to my room and I throw myself on the bed and sigh making him laugh as he does the same almost breaking my bed

“So what is it you need sunshine”

“This is a huge favor but seeing as I’d have my big strong protector with me, could you show me the Illyrian camps, I wanna know more about where Az came from”

“Oh I don’t know that’s not a place for a lady, Rhys would kill me”

“But I’ll be by your side the whole time and we don’t have to stay long I just wanna know more about him”

“Here’s a thought how about you just ask him” he pokes

“Cas come on this is hard for me, it’s obviously not snapped for him yet and we’ll maybe if I know more things it’ll somehow snap into place for him, I don’t know it’s silly but it’s worth a shot”

“Ugh fine but only because nesta would kill me if I didn’t try and help you out, she’s got a sweet spot for you”

“Oh thank you so much Cas, I owe you”

The next morning I got ready in some warmer clothes knowing it could get could in the camps and since cas will be flying I’ll need that extra warmth, making my way downstairs I’m stopped by shadows swirling around my hands and through my hair like the occasionally did

“They only do this with you, must be something special about you” I hear from the corner of the dim hallway as Azriel emerges from the darkness, my heart leaping in my chest

“I quit like them, they’re beautiful”

“You think they’re beautiful?”

“Of course they always find me when I’m down and the comfort me, plus they’re from you so they’re pretty terrific” I don’t know where this boldness came from but atleast it made him smile which was a rare sight

“Well Cas is waiting for me but I’ll see you later, bye Az” I said quickly before making my way to cas

“Ready princess”

“Always!”

It was a long flight there and by the time Cas landed he was pretty tired having to carry my extra weight

“Sorry to have to put you through this I know how much you work”

“Don’t worry about it darling, hopefully this’ll work out like you want it too then it’ll be worth it not having to hear you both complain anymore”

“Wait what do you mean both?”

“Come on sunshine time to show you around” he laughs with a mischevious grin

We walked through the camp for a while he showed me where him Rhys and Az would meet up and where they lived, this didn’t go unnoticed by many males of the camp not taking their eyes off of me

“Come to investigate our camps again traitor?” A large Illyrian man groan as he stood with some other males in our path

“Nothing of your concern now move” cassian growled holding me behind him

“And I see you’ve brought us a sweet treat” before I knew it a fight broke out and even though Cassian was strong and great at fighting it was unfair against 5 men, then arms wrapped around me and started to drag me away

“CASSIAN……LET ME GO!” I scream terrified of what was to come

Dragged into a dark room being tied to a metal hot pipe, my arms over extended behind my back as the heat from the pipe burned my skin

“Oh we’re gonna send that high lord a message”

Azriels POV

After my interaction with y/n this morning I’ve been confused, did she have feelings for me too? She was pretty flirty for someone so timid around me usually

I was broken from my thoughts when cassian busted through the door out of breath, bloody and exhausted

“Cas what the hell happened? Where’s y/n?”

“I knew it was a bad idea……she was taken by Illyrian men they jumped me and I couldn’t find her” Rhys quickly entered the room taking my arm and winnow us to the camps

I sent my shadows out hoping to pinpoint exactly where she is, after a moment they frantically swirled back to me, she was in a run down house near by, Rhys followed me no questions asked

Busting down the door I see a group of men alert ready to fight, Rhys and I so full of anger finished them of quickly and painfully until all that was left in the room to hear was her quiet whimpers

Finding her in a dark corner her forearms burned and blistering red, her clothes ripped from her body showing the red angry cuts and whips littering her body, her nose dripping with blood and her one eye black and swollen shut, my heart clenched at the sight knowing I could’ve protected her, if I sent one of my shadows with them none of this would’ve happened and that’s when I felt it, the pull in my chest the one I never thought I’d experience

She’s my mate

Normal pov

I woke up aching all over hearing voices all around me, opening eyes as best I could realizing I could only see out of one, I slowly reached up feeling the swell and pain that coursed through the area

“Thank god you’re awake” I hear next to me as the bed dips and those hands I could never mistake, the hands of the man I love but then memories of the hands that touched me, that hurt me flashed in my mind and I pulled away out of instinct wanting to just curl up and hide away from the world

“Oh darling I’m so sorry, I knew taking you there was a bad decision” cassian said from behind Azriel, I could see the regret written all over his face

“How do you feel?” Mor asked sweeping my hair aside but oddly her touch didn’t make me want to run away

“Hurts” I groaned out my throat hoarse and dry

“You’ve been out for a few days, Majda says your wounds are healing fast so that’s good news” Azriel said seeming nervous but certain wounds I felt would never heal, my heart ached

“Can I just go to my room, I need to be alone”

“Are you sure Angel” if any other time I heard Az call me Angel I’d be jumping with joy but right now I couldn’t feel that, I just nodded as nor helped me sit up and led me to my room, walking slowly feeling ever cut and pain that was inflicted, slowly laying back down in my own bed, it gave some form of comfort knowing I was home

“Do you need anything?” Az asked as I felt his shadows swirl around me basically engulfing me

I shook my head and they left but before Azriel closed the door he left one shadow with me telling me to call for him when I need anything

Then I was alone letting sleep take me over once again

Azriels POV

Seeing her so broken made me feel like I’ve failed her, the inner circle all sat around the table silently all worried about my dear mate

“What the hell were you even doing there?” I groaned asking Cassian

“She wanted to know more about your past, she thought it would help snap the mating bond for you” my heart stopped

“She did this for me, she knew we are mates?”

“She’s known for a while, hell I’m pretty sure she knew immediately from the moment she met you centuries ago, she didn’t wanna pressure you” Mor stated

“Why didn’t any of you tell me, how didn’t I know” the stress now gnawing at my soul

“It was pretty obvious Az, she’d blush anytime you’d walk in the room, or how happy she’d get when you’d come home from a long mission, she loves you so much man” Rhys added

It’s been a week now and she hasn’t left her room I kept checking on her but she never wanted anything, she’s become pale and frail, never showing emotion, sometimes I’d feel a wave of terror down through the bond and I’d always send her back a wave of calm hoping it would ease her

But I couldn’t take it anymore knowing she’s in pain, everyone has tried helping to get through to her in anyway we knew how, I just have to do something

I knocked on the door knowing she wouldn’t respond but still I wanted to give her that respect, slowly I opened the door seeing her in her usual spot sat at the window my shadow swirling around her hands, seemingly mezmorizing her, distracting her from what plagues her mind

“Hey darling, can I sit with you?” I ask approaching her, shivering from the cool breeze from the open window, she nodded and I sat across from her on the window seat, after I took a blanket and draped it over her lap

“Do you want to talk about it, maybe it’ll help ease what you’re feeling” she was silent for a long time just looking at the shadow till I noticed the tremble of her lip

“It hurts Az” she whispered as she curled into herself

“I’m so sorry Angel” I said placing my hand on her leg gently hoping it could ground her in this vulnerable moment

“What they did to me, humiliated me, stripped me naked and beat me black and blue, I can’t even look at my self anymore” she cried finally opening up

“I just wanna be me again, I wanna be happy”

“I’m hear every step of the way but it’s gonna take time Angel, you know we are all here for you, I’m always gonna be here and I’ll never let anyone hurt you ever again” she sighed as she leaned forward and laid on her side her head resting in my lap

“Can we just stay here for a moment”

“Anything for you, my beautiful mate”

[sinofwriting]

listen, please - Daniel Ricciardo

Words: 316 Summary: Daniel and his girlfriend break the news of their relationship and cause quite a splash with their age difference. (Social Media AU + Blurb) (Olivia Rodrigo as faceclaim and uses her music for reader’s)

Masterlist | Support Me! | listen, please verse

yourusername

liked by dan_nigro, etnews, landonorris, and 548,752 others tagged: danielricciardo yourusername: I learned from my mistakes and finally listened to them. And thank god they were right about you.

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danielricciardo: forever happy they were ⤷ yourusername: ♥️ user01: excuse me??? user02: Uh what? user03: I’m sorry, Daniel??? What are you doing here??? user04: When did this happen? user05: honey, no. he’s in his 30s user06: well, already counting the days for this ending user07: this is going to last all of a month user08: yourusername please, no. Taylor went through this already. Learn from her mistakes!!! user09: Am I the only one picking up on the lyrics from Vampire? We stan using our own lyrics to announce a relationship user10: can’t wait for Dear John yourusername’s version. Gonna be a bop. ⤷ user05: I will sob if she covers that or would’ve could’ve should’ve when this ends. ⤷ user11: will simply die user12: i’m an f1 girlie, but no. This ain’t it. Mick Schumacher is right there, yourusername. Or even Oscar. ⤷ user13: Lando is right there and you went for the nepo baby and a guy who already has a girlfriend ⤷ user12: he was an example! And nearly all the drivers are nepo babies in some way. ⤷ user03: so true user14: how are you going to be such a big swiftie, know the woman yourself and still date a man older than you and believe it’s going to work out?

danielricciardo

liked by maxverstappen1, f1_wags, redbullracing, and 149,875 others tagged: yourusername danielricciardo: Over a year with this one and many more to come, Sweets

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yourusername: so many more to come ⤷ danielricciardo: 😉 maxverstappen1: never seen you happier ⤷ danielricciardo: love ya maxie! user01: first daniel isn’t racing and now he’s taken??? 2023 is the worst user02: daniel, she’s practically a child. What are you doing? user03: weirdo user04: she’s barely 20, what are you doing??? ⤷ user06: yourusername is 22. She’s not barely 20 ⤷ user04: yeah and she turned 22 like barely a month ago user05: Daniel, not like this. I beg user07: well him and pierre have something in common 😆 user08: she’s a baby!!! Get away from her!!! user09: disgusting. Absolutely disgusting user10: you guys are acting like she’s not an adult??? She’s literally in her twenties. ⤷ user04: and he’s in thirties. It’s fucking weird. user11: jail, sir. You go to jail now.

f1_wags

liked by user01, user02, user03, and 2,451 others tagged: yourusername, danielricciardo f1_wags: New WAG Alert! Daniel Ricciardo just announced his relationship with Y/N, a three time grammy winner and musician.

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yourusername

liked by dr3wines, zedd, charlesleclerc, and 462,345 others tagged: danielricciardo, dr3wines yourusername: Congrats on the new wine, Danny! Little sad that it will no longer be for just us and our baths together, but happy to see it be shared.

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danielricciardo: thank ya, sweets. danielricciardo: girl in the second picture is absolutely gorgeous danielricciardo: bath tonight? I’ve still got a few bottles ⤷ yourusername: I’ll always want a bath with you user01: why is his face on my feed user02: throwing up at their comments user03: well, this made me feel incredibly single charlesleclerc: another great wine. Thank you for convincing him to let me try it before the launch! ⤷ yourusername: of course!

user04: leave him!!!! He’s using you for free promo of his wine!!! user05: taylor must be pissed!

taylorswift

liked by yelyahwilliams, taylorlautner, yourusername and 2,873,421 others tagged: yourusername, danielricciardo taylorswift: Was a pleasant surprise to see these two when I stepped off stage tonight. Lovely to see you guys and will see you again for dinner next week!

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yourusername: not a single better performer. Watching is you magic every single time. And dinner will be fun! danielricciardo: amazing show! user01: taylor??? user02: i’m sorry what user03: my 2023 bingo card is in shambles user04: living rn. all of you fuckers were saying that taylor was disappointed and now look. She knew before we did user05: some many clowns staying silent in these comments user06: i was at this show!!! Wyd mean that yourusername was there?

daniel3.jpg

liked by landonorris, f1_wags, sourandguts, and 187,392 others tagged: yourusername daniel3.jpg: my two favorite subjects: you and us

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landonorris: do you two do anything but take baths for date night? ⤷ daniel3.jpg: we do. Just like our baths y’know user01: um, i’m sorry. But that last photo user02: lando is so real. This is the second bath photo we’ve gotten ⤷ user03: i don’t want that water bill user04: gross user05: how do you feel comfortable posting this with how young she is? ⤷ user01: you’re acting like she’s a kid. She’s in her twenties. Fuck off user06: am i supposed to just act like i don’t know now that daniel likes car sex??? ⤷ user03: i’m doing my best to not think about it user07: daniel, thank you for feeding us.

—

Daniel could feel his grin grow, eyes softening, and his shoulders loosening all at the sound of her name. It takes him a moment to register the question, but when he does his grin grows more.

“I wasn’t really expecting it, you know? But she’s just great, I mean absolutely fantastic.” “And the age difference isn’t an issue?” The reporter presses, though more gently than expected. He scoffs, shaking his head. “No, not all. We want the same things in life and we both have very similar timelines for when we want them. We talked about all of that before we even went on a date and us wanting the same things, just helped finally take the next step.”

“And has the backlash affected you two at all?” “No.” Daniel smiles at the confused look the reporter gives him, letting out a chuckle. “We knew it was going to cause a splash. We’ve never ignored the age difference between us. It’s there and ignoring it wouldn’t do anything.” He pauses, “I understand why people are so concerned, there is a history of large age gaps not being great. But there’s also a history of them working out great, I’ve got plenty of examples in my personal life. Besides, it's not really the age difference that matters, it’s where you're at in life and what you want to come next. We just happen to be in the same place and want the same things to come next.”

The reporter is looking at him stunned before they finally manage to find their voice. “Thank you, Daniel.” “Of course, cheers mate.” He winks, before throwing up a hand to wave at the camera before he jogs off, already knowing that he’ll have a text or two from her calling him a sap over his lovesick grin. And he’d hate to not see them as soon as they came in.

[dotster001]

For Tuna; Rook End

A/N: editing this is gonna suck, cause Tumblr is so glitchy today 😭 but as I'm sure no one is surprised...some of you have been waiting a long time for this specific ending, so I figured he deserved his own title . The next ending is a three way tie, so keep an eye out for a poll in the next couple days.

Chapters One Two Three Choose another End

“Rook Hunt, you have been chosen-”

“At last! The moment has come!”

Grim was immediately second guessing his decision. Y/N had told him all about how Rook's family had multiple villas, so he'd thought he'd be willing to put up with him the one day a year he'd have to. But the man was far too excited.

“Wonderful,” Grim said through gritted teeth. “So what we'll do is, tomorrow-”

“You're adorable, Monsieur Fuzzball. No need for that though!”

“Huh?”

“I don't need you. Au revoir!”

Rook practically skipped out of the room, singing a cheery tune to himself.

….

Grim was terrified. All day he'd been waiting for whatever Rook had planned. He'd stuck to your side all day, quivering in anxiety.

“Okay, Grim, what's wrong?” You asked, finally tired of ignoring it for the sake of his pride.

“N- nothing is wrong, human! You insult me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered. 

You closed the book you'd been reading during the break in the lesson, and turned to him.

“Okay, so what's not wrong, then?”

Grim mumbled under his breath. But you soon forgot all about it, as the lights in the classroom dimmed, followed by a shower of rose petals raining down on all of you.

“Who is responsible?” Trein bellowed, but he was soon forgotten as well, as Rook appeared at the front under a single spotlight, violin music playing to his entrance.

“Bon jour!”

“What the fuck?” You whispered, quickly realizing that Grim was no longer by your side. He must have taken the opportunity to flee classes. Little rat.

“I am here because I can no longer keep silent about my affections!” He pressed one hand to his heart, the other dramatically extending to the classroom. “I am deeply in love.”

You looked to see if Trein would stop him, but just watched him sigh. Even the teacher knew to just let Rook be Rook. 

“Mon Trickster! My heart beats so hard for you, it is apt to burst into a bloody mess of my adoration.”

There was now a second spotlight on you. You looked around to see where it was coming from, only to find there was no source of it.

A gust of wind picked up around Rook, making the rose petals that had fallen to the floor pick up, and swirl around him.

“Mon Tresor, say that you will allow me to forever kneel at your feet. Say that you will allow me to sing your adoration until my vocal cords tear. Say that I can write you poetry until my fingers fall off. Say-”

“God, Rook! I'd rather have you in one piece,” you cut him off with a laugh.

He stood upright with a light smile, swirling a finger in the air to turn the rose petals into a single rose. He gently kissed it, then tossed it to you across the classroom. You caught it, sniffing it and letting the aroma wash over you.

By the time you looked back up, he was standing right in front of you. You blinked, looking at the spot he was standing, then back at where he stood now. He smiled as though he was unperturbed by your confusion.

“If I stay in one piece, will you pledge your soul to me?” He asked sweetly.

“My soul? Not my heart?”

“For Seven’s sake, tell the boy whether you love him or not, so I can move on with the class,” Trein snapped.

“Okay! Rook, I like you too!” You said quickly.

“How exciting!” He snapped his fingers, and you heard the beginning of an orchestral intro. 

Rook inhaled heavily, and began to sing.

“Goodness, class dismissed!” Trein shouted over the aria, which was not going to stop anytime soon. You gave Trein a pleading look. While you liked Rook, and were totally happy to start seeing him, this song sounded like it would go on for a while. Trein gave you an apologetic look as he shut the door of the classroom, locking it behind him.

....

Tag list-@shytastemakerthing @stygianoir @leonia0 @lleoll @eccedentesiast-sapphic @supertmntgirl @cxsmicdustdreams @aethermostbeloved @krystalkiller25 @asmallbean3 @theneurodivergentdummy @candlewitch-cryptic @smilingfox22-blog @phantomgaming1920 @the-dumber-scaramouche @noidonothavetimeforthis @bontensbabygirl @xxoomiii @somany-fandoms-solittle-time @bre99 @stupidsimp @sus0daddy @a-small-tyrant @imlost-sendhelp @mizukiblogs @redglasstear @ondragonhonour @1fandom2many @h3110-dar1in9 @ny0000mw00m @dreamlessnight @2dsimp @professionalreblogs @bigmoose1964

[scaralvr]

⠀⠀ 💤 GOOD LOOKING! scaramouche x gn!reader

synopsis: kunikuzushi is confused as to why his 'heart' craves something besides you, his lover. when he comes to realize he abandoned you just like his creator and friends did to him, he returns only to be greeted by nothing. ୨ sfw, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort ୧

⠀⠀📋 this is a short nd silly little filler post while i'm working on heaps of reqs atm😵‍💫 this is based off of suki waterhouse's song good looking!!

kunikuzushi seeks something greater in the comforting and quiet life he has with you. after three betrayals, he's finally found someone to love and care for without having to worry about them leaving. but why is it that his heartless chest yearns for something else? is it possible you're not what he needs?

he awakes in a cold sweat when he finds out. a heart. the puppet longs for a heart of his own. being able to love and be loved wasn't enough, or so he thought. one day when you leave to get groceries, kunikuzushi asks if he can join you, to your surprise. and of course, you could never turn down your lover.

you smile and allow him to go to inazuma city with you. you tell him it's good for him, that he has a chance of meeting new people and improving his communication skills. and kunikuzushi may have met people, but definitely not the ones you would've wanted him to.

tides thrash inside, baby, i'm high octane

you find your lover's presence to be something rare nowadays, as you're spending nights alone with an empty bed and a blank mind. it's not as lively without kunikuzushi, you would think. you turn to face the window and the moon is high and proud among the pitch black sky filled with stars.

the familiar sound of the door opening alarms you and you get out of bed with a hopeful smile on your lips. "kunikuzushi!" you greet the puppet with a warm welcome as you help him take off his materials. lately, he seems to be indulging in oddly different clothes rather than the ones you sewed just for him.

his gaze is so cold and distant. you notice this while waiting for him to speak up, but he never does. scaramouche brushes past you and slides the shoji doors shut to his room. your heart twinges for a moment. you were hoping to finally talk to him after what seemed like forever, but he must be busy again. surely, he doesn't need his lover as a thorn in his side.

fever in a shock wave, my core vibrates in an opium haze

scaramouche barely remembers he even had a lover to begin with. he supposes being occupied with fatui business has taken a toll on his memory as well, besides his physical and mental state. he allowed the doctor to perform strange tests on him after studying scaramouche as a specimen. he'll admit; the "harmless" experiments performed on him were rougher than he expected, but all's fine.

if he can't take on all of this pain on his own, how can he continue his path to stealing the gnosis and becoming a God? through these experiences, scaramouche has come to hate mirrors. when he looks at himself, he finds the same vulnerable boy inside him despite changing so much within time. the split ends of his hair remind him of how he ruthlessly cut it himself after his mother abandoned him.

he merely scoffs at the thought. only weaklings dwell upon the past. scaramouche is the present and future; he believes that the past is a waste of time and it will always be that way. yet through all of this time, he didn't even realize he left someone else in the past.

yet you think we're the same

scaramouche doesn't notice your disappearance until it turns into months, maybe even more than that. well, it doesn't matter, if anything, this should help. he'll deal with the pain all by himself like he always does and it'll strengthen himself as he journeys to the birth of his becoming of a God. but why does it hurt moreso than usual?

scaramouche doesn't understand why he holds too many emotions. he doesn't want to have emotions and he never needed them in the first place. he believes it's a flaw, along with the other mistakes his creator made when making him. he doesn't understand why tears cascade down his face in an uncontrollable state as he curls up on the bed, void of anyone's warmth.

starting at that point, he began to change into the pleasant yukata you sewed for him rather than his uncomfortable fatui attire. the scent of you still lingered in the cotton as he buries his nose into the material. scaramouche solemnly pulls away and looks around as if he just awoke from a bad dream.

"where are you... (y/n)?" kunikuzushi queries.

the skyline falls as i try to make sense of it all

kunikuzushi can hardly pay any attention to his fatui duties when he finally realizes your sudden disappearance from his life. you promised to stay by his side, and that you did, but where were you now? maybe you went down to the city and he simply didn't notice. although, your trips don't usually take this long.

kunikuzushi is aware he doesn't have a heart, so why, why is there an inexplicable pain in his chest where it's supposed to be? it hurts, he cries to himself at night as he recalls all of the innocent lives he took, their blood in his hands as he kept it to himself. a poor excuse for a God in the making...

he felt so useless and lost. how much time has past? for how long were you already gone? did you leave of your own accord? did someone else take you away? questions plagued his mind as he could hardly rest with such thoughts.

i thought i'd uncovered your secrets but, turns out, there's more

as time passes, he grows a temper that would make anyone turn the other way the moment they saw him. scaramouche is filled with nothing but loathe for this wretched teyvat he roams and the heavenly celestia that watches upon him. why did they take you of all people? what made you leave?

these are the type of things that he's thinking the second he sees you after lesser lord kusanali takes the gnosis away from him. he can't tell whether it's real, and in this case, it probably isn't. but he hasn't seen you in so long, he doesn't care if it's short lived. scaramouche allows himself to sink into your embrace, unknowing of the fact that he's falling to the ground after the wires of the machine detached from him.

"it hurts, (y/n). i don't want to be here anymore," he cries into the crook of your neck as you hush him, your fingers brushing through his hair. "you're the strongest i've come to known, my kunikuzushi. continue what you began for me. i'll be waiting for you."

a kiss is planted against his forehead and he awakes from his slumber.

you adored me before, oh my good looking boy.

in a frightened state, the wanderer looks left and right, searching for your whereabouts. it doesn't take him very long to find you, for you're sound asleep next to him. he slowly gulps and his hand hovers over your face in hesitation. dear teyvat and celestia above, can something go right for once? just this once, as he's suffered for so many years and he doesn't wish for it to continue.

your eyelids flutter open and he quickly retracts his hand. you look at him and your lips form a smile. the smile he came to love and missed for the longest time. then, you part your beautiful lips to speak, and your voice is as soft and gentle as ever. "what are you doing up so late, dear? you and the traveler have a busy day tomorrow, don't you?"

you ask as you gather all of your strength to sit up, still half-asleep. he struggles to release a sentence from his mouth, even a word would do good, but he just couldn't. his lips are agape as he marvels at your presence. you sleepily giggle, "oh, love. you can't keep slacking off, you know that, right? the traveler's little fairy... thing, paimon, is constantly talking about how you seem so lost in your thoughts all of the time."

"i..." a word. he finally speaks. "can i..." all of a sudden, tears begin to stream down his face and you're taken aback. "k-kunikuzushi, are you alright?" you question him in a panicking state as you're fully awake, sitting on your knees to examine his face. he takes it upon himself to hide his face in the crook of your neck, his arms slithering around your torso as he clings to you for dear life. his hands are clutching at you as if you were to disappear at any given moment, but it never happens.

the one and only time, can he feel relieved. his muscles aren't as strained anymore as he allows his frail body to make your embrace its home. you pause, your movements at a stop as your body is tense, but you rest your hand in his hair. "can i stay here? i don't feel like helping the traveler with whatever tomorrow..." he mumbles, hoping you'd say yes, at the very least. a chuckle escapes your lips.

"of course, love. we need more time alone, don't we? but for now, let's rest together." you pull away as he does and you slot your lips into his. he eagerly indulges in the kiss and his chest, though heartless, comes to be filled with a happy warmth that can cause a grin to break out onto his features. "rest with you... i need that, more than ever."

© scaralvr.

[haikyu-mp4]

Expensive taste

word count; 483 – f!reader, suggestive!

The promotional event that the JVA hosted for the all-star battle of the generation of monsters would certainly not give Kuroo any time to rest. From hours before the event even started until the athletes arrived on the red carpet, Kuroo did his job and tried to converse with everyone, from sponsors to volleyball players to journalists.

He was in the groove, truly in his element despite feeling the tiredness creeping up on him. The only break he had taken the last three hours was when his eyes found you.

You arrived on the red carpet in a floor-length, absolutely gorgeous dress, holding the arm of none other than Yaku Morisuke. Even from a distance away, Kuroo could tell you were closer to his height, but Yaku must have felt like the tallest in the room with such a beautiful date. The two of you smiled and laughed as the cameras clicked, seemingly having small hushed conversations as you moved to the end of the red carpet, finally taking in deep breaths. You still held onto Yaku’s arm, albeit a bit looser as you two approached Kuroo.

The taller man turned on the charm and started by greeting his old friend with a pat on the back before moving his attention back to you, picking up your hand and pressing a kiss to the back. You told him your name and Kuroo nearly purred it back to you. He knew he was rude for having these thoughts when he didn’t know the nature of your relationship with Yaku, but you look like you taste expensive and Kuroo was dying to spend whatever money it would take to find out.

“She’s my team’s manager,” Yaku said, eyes narrowed on his friend. He still knew him well enough. “Thought she deserved a trip out of the gym as well.”

Your eyes sparkled as you looked around at everything and everyone, subconsciously smoothing your hand over your dress as if you had any flaws. Kuroo would forever argue you have none. “I can’t believe I got to go here. Thank you again, Yaku,” you gushed with a glowing smile aimed at the Libero.

“My pleasure so far, just don’t go too wild on the drinks,” he chuckled, winking at you before looking around as well. Kuroo chuckled with him, eyes moving behind you as he realised he had to keep doing his job.

“I would love to stay and chat with you…” His eyes were solely on you saying that. “…but I have to keep welcoming everyone, please excuse me,” he said, bowing shortly before moving on. At least it gave him a chance to feign looking for something so he could get a good look at the open back of your dress while walking away.

At the end of the night, Yaku went home alone. You were very taken by his old captain’s… conversational skills.

masterlist

[breakyourrxles]

↳ Forever was simple: meet a man you love, and live happily ever after.

A hope built on lies, and when it all comes crashing down, you find a new faith inside of the atrium at the countryside.

painter!lee minho x fem!reader/prince!hwang hyunjin x fem!reader (side pairing) — arranged marriage au, historical au. royalty, slow burn, angst, idiots in love, sexual content. [26k wc] cws: themes of vaguely period-typical sexism, themes of loneliness, (heavy) pining + the poor decisions that sometimes result from that, themes of social anxiety + using alcohol to cope, heavy sexual content.

𝕀.

Everything around you glitters in the ambient light of the evening masquerade ball.

Tables lined with beautiful cloths sit along the edges of the ornate hall, piled high with decorative and delicious foods. Amber, bubbling drinks flow and occasionally spill out of long, crystal glasses held by perfectly manicured hands holding them just a little too excitedly.

The kind of night life that you have grown so accustomed to.

Your dress is stunning and perfectly to your tastes, hair styled to match and draped in decadent jewels to showcase yourself with. The suitors are dressed much in the same, though in far more drab colors as men tend to do. This is of no consequence to you, because your eye is set on only one in particular.

Crown Prince Hwang Hyunjin.

You watch him from across the marbled floor, through groups of guests who might as well not even be present with how rapt your attention is on him. He is tall and broad, far from lanky but toned enough to give the impression of a certain kind of sturdiness that has always edged a particular curiosity in you. Hyunjin's hair is black, tied back from framing his face with its length, and you watch him laugh through conversations with other women who likely desire the same thing as you.

Engaging in private rendezvous with potential suitors is strictly against the royal code, all the more reason that no one must ever find out about the edge above the rest that you have taken for yourself in regards to him.

The memories date back to the summer—winter now—a late night out with other women that you've mostly grown up with and set as your entourage. The first time, running into the royal Hwang entourage without prying eyes to watch you felt like something of a hint, and the second, more of a blessing as the night ended with soft hands against your skin, and plush lips pressed against your own.

These secret encounters carried on through the months, as well as implicit promises in relation to the royal choices soon to be made. Between the sheets and with warm breaths of air exhaled against the shell of your ear, Hyunjin has promised time and time again: "You will be my choice, you have nothing to fear, my love. It's all for show and display, isn't it?"

You believe him.

"Are you going to spend the whole evening in the corner by yourself?" A woman steps up beside you with a knowing grin, and you offer your elbow to her side lightly in response.

"I've no particular interest in showing myself off like some prized cut of meat for men to fawn over, you know this, Sana."

This woman, a friend since your earliest days, looks out across the crowd not unlike yourself just moments before, and then offers yet another smile of understanding before speaking.

"Not for men, perhaps, but for a man," she says. "Are you really so sure that you only carry interest in Crown Prince Hwang? There are so many other perfectly acceptable suitors to choose from."

You sigh, taking a small sip from your glass. "I do not doubt that there are, but when have you ever known me to be the type to spread myself so thin between any such possibilities in life? I have always been something of a single-eyed woman."

"That much I do know, yes," Sana says with a small laugh, "but I don't want you to be left with nothing in the event of things not turning out the way that you wish them to. The Prince has many hopefuls, and while he is the only prince, would it be so bad to consider a life outside of the royal court? You've never much cared for the excessive nature of their goings on, anyway."

Turning to look at her, you cast Sana a questioning glance, "I have grown up in the lap of luxury, it is all that I know, are you to imply a step down is what suits me rather than a step up?"

"I would never, but there are many levels between poverty, and royalty."

"Anything other than a step up, is a step down," you say firmly, pressing the rim of your glass to your painted lip again. Your eyes wander out towards Hyunjin once more, and a slight curve upwards takes them, perhaps some enjoyment in the fact that you know something that even your closest confidants do not. Perhaps some enjoyment in the fact that you have already won a game that the others still insist on competing in. "Besides, do you think not of me as future Queen?"

"I wouldn't dream of such a thing, just remember me and all of our times shared once you begin lobbing off the heads of people who dare to oppose you."

Feigning horror, you reel exaggeratedly, "Now who is assuming things?"

Sana's hand finds the small of your tightly bound back, and lightly pushes you forward.

"Go dance with your future husband, would you?"

𝕀𝕀.

While far from unusual for your nights to end up like this, perhaps after everything that this one has presented, the aura casts something different, something intangible and strange that you can't quite grasp despite its familiarity still.

The masquerade ball winds down three levels from where you reside now. People still dance and laugh and shout amongst themselves, though the largest collective of guests have long since begun their journeys back to their own homes. Your entourage awaits you somewhere outside for much of the same, though they have long since learned not to bother coming and finding you in the event that you have disappeared.

For that, you are thankful, because nothing good can come of being discovered like this.

The room is small—a sitting area with little more than a table, chair, window, and tall bookshelves filled to the brim with just that. Moonlight shines in as the only illumination, faint and appearing cool to the touch if one were able to. Only enough to find one's way, and plenty to remain hidden in the darkness while people engage in their disagreeable deeds.

Lips hurriedly find your own, teeth nipping at them with a needy hunger. Palms graze up the outside of your legs, dress hiked up and leg eventually along with it. The door is pinned shut by your back firmly pressed against it, your head tips back with a small thud, Hyunjin chuckles under his breath at the sound, and then drives his hips forward to give the both of you what it is that you've been waiting all evening for.

"I saw you speaking with Lady Sana this evening," Hyunjin whispers, mouth feathering against your neck. "Am I wrong in suspecting that you were speaking about me?"

He presses himself forward, pulls your body down and against the effort simultaneously, ensuring no space is left between your figures. You gasp at the feeling, and he smiles at the sound, fingernails digging into the flesh of your thighs and hips in places that you don't dare let any of your house staff see.

"You would not be wrong," you reply, forcefully maintaining some semblance of composure. "Only good things, of course."

Chest pinned against your own, Hyunjin pulls back, then presses into you again. The glide is smoother this time, and you can't help the moan that escapes you suddenly.

"Have you told her?" he asks, drives quicker and less shallow than before. "I must announce my decision tomorrow afternoon, not long to wait now."

The ability to converse is leaving you with each steady roll of Hyunjin's hips. Your fingernails grip tightly into his suit jacket, though it grants you little purchase with the smoothness of it. Harder, faster; the tell-tale signs of nefarious activities beginning to be heard in rhythmic fashion against the wood of the door, as well as the explicit, unmistakable sound of skin meeting skin.

"No," you manage to say, though barely, "I would never, would never jeopardize what we have waited so long for."

Hyunjin's lips trail up your neck, along the edge of your jaw and settle lightly against your own. He kisses you gently, then merely sits there to drink down the gasps and whimpers of you accepting him. There is little time for this—something that the both of you know—rolls and snaps of his hips become quick, erratic in order to meet his end, and so he does with the kind of rapidity that leaves you terribly wanting and wishing for more.

There is a parting kiss left to you, and Hyunjin readjusts himself so that he can reemerge into the public. Smoothing your dress and slipping out from the doorway, he cracks it open to leave but looks back at you with a smile that you can only assume to be full of sly adoration for you, and for this. The joys of engaging in such things unbeknownst to others, the excitement of deception.

"A shame that tomorrow we will put an end to this, isn't it?" he says.

A shame indeed, you think to yourself. And then he is gone.

𝕀𝕀𝕀.

Just as you had anticipated it would, the city streets come alive for the naming of the Crown Prince’s companion.

Bodies crowd around you by every inch, music performed with accompanying dancers displaying their crafts as well as shop setups lining the way selling beautiful merchandise; hand crafted with care that shines blindingly under the sunlight above.

As you move along your way, the numerous scents of charred meats and grilled vegetables infiltrate your senses, all encompassing and inviting in a way that makes you almost wish to give up on what it is that you are meant to do today. In order to keep your mind set, you remind yourself that soon you will be at the receiving end of royal chefs and all that it is they have to offer you. There is charm to the street cooks and their home grown and cut ingredients, but nothing matches the knowledge and adeptness of the throne.

You have dressed simply today, not wanting to draw attention to yourself nor wanting to appear expectant. Reaching closer to the stage, the bodies are packed in far more tightly, as do the frequency of other potentials come more into vision. So many women; hair stacked high and curled in such a lovely way, all standing in wait in their best dresses with moderate jewelry. It is cold today, and the lavish, heavy coats that hang around their shoulders allude to as much, but you are warm with a deep understanding of what you are to gain this afternoon.

 A few rows back from the front of the stage, you find Sana as well as another friend shared between the two of you, Tzuyu. A beautiful woman wrapped in dark vermillion red with black hair that hangs so opposingly to Sana's blonde. They both smile and greet you, as do you, to them.

"Are you anticipating the naming as much as the rest of us are?" Tzuyu asks, a bright, cheerfulness to her tone that gives her something of a charmingly juvenile expressiveness. "So many women are here in wait, I do wonder what His Highness has in store for us."

"A difficult choice awaits him, no doubt," Sana adds, glancing up towards the place where he will soon call his decision towards the people. "I question how these sorts of decisions could ever be made through matters of the heart, but I suppose when it comes to royalty, the heart is of the least concern."

Pulling your coat tightly against yourself, you force back the smile that wishes to take your lips. "I trust that he will make the right call, do you not?"

"I'd sooner disappear into the forest, never to be seen again than dare speak ill of the royal house and their choosings," Sana says through a laugh. "Besides, I would be banished to such a place for doing so, anyway."

"You speak in theatrics," Tzuyu scoffs, a roll of her eyes punctuating it. "The rulers of our country are not so sinister."

"One can only hope, but knowledge of the Crown Prince and his ways are not well known to the people, only time will tell if he is as benevolent of a ruler as His and Her Majesty are," Sana says.

You look at her questioningly, "You suspect otherwise?" you ask, but she is quick to shake her head.

"No, but I am realistic in all of the possibilities that lie before us. Quite the contract, in fact, I have heard rather good things."

Sana's tone is peculiar to you in a way that you find difficult to pinpoint as she speaks on the intricacies of Hyunjin's personality. Her face is simplistic enough to not give anything away, but the sound of her voice carries a sort of inflection when referring to him that settles a strangely ire spark within your chest.

You are given no time to question it further, however, because the royal guards set themselves perfectly in place along the stage, and the arrival of the throne is loudly announced from beyond.

His and Her Majesty step forward first, luxuriously sparkling with expensive jewels and fur coats that you would otherwise never hope to afford, not even from your own place of incredibly comfortable class. The two of them settle in the background, and without wasting any further time, the man that you have grown to love and adore enters the stage in long, tall strides that exude confidence and elegance both.

Thankful for your place in the crowd, you gaze up at him and await his eyes to meet your own. A scroll is handed to him by one of the royal staff from just outside of the main stage, and he slowly unfurls it for all waiting eyes to see.

Hyunjin, all white in attire and garnished with a stunning sash that weighs heavily with brooches and sigils, inhales deeply and then looks out towards the crowd. You stare expectantly, because this is your time. So many nights shared hushed and secret between the two of you, discussed between sheets and pillows of just this very moment that will be granted unto you. His eyes do not find yours, but it is of no particular concern to you, as there will be so many more times for adoring moments to be had between the both of you from this day forward.

No more secrets, no more hiding your love for one another.

"Thank you for gathering here today, it is an honor for me to be able to share this with the people of my country. I do not wish to take much of your time, as there are far more convivial activities for you to be partaking in, aren't there?"

Gentle laughter resounds through the crowd, and Hyunjin smiles ever so slightly at the sound of it before glancing down at the paper in hand once again.

"With my greatest pleasure, I will announce to you the future Queen of the Hwang throne…"

Excitement flows through your veins, head light and nearly dizzying as you await the call. You clutch tightly to your robe, knuckles white and forcing your breath steady as the seconds pass by you like decades until the name is called.

A name is called.

"Minatozaki Sana."

A name that does not belong to you.

From just beside you, a shriek falls from Sana's lips but is forced back halfway through, presumably as to not embarrass herself. Tzuyu clutches at the friend’s shoulders and the two of them celebrate with covered mouths, wide eyes, and hushed shock. The world dulls into a kind of unfelt, nonexistent quietness around you as you stare forward and towards this man; this man that you have shared your body and a bed with, so much of your time and trust with.

He has betrayed you.

You can no longer hear the other women around you, shrouded in disbelief as you gawk at him. Something within you wishes to disappear—humiliation beginning to thrum up and across your skin—there is a small token of solace in the fact that no one else knows of your engagements with him prior as it is widely and heavily frowned upon for the both of you, but this knowledge does nothing to ease the pain that swiftly starts to replace all of the other initial feelings that have befallen you in these seconds passing.

The dizziness begins to set in faster and heavier, you realize that you must take your leave now. You take a step backwards, bumping into another saddened hopeful, but don't even have your wits about you enough to apologize for having done so. Sana and Tzuyu grab at you, say something, but you cannot hear it through the thick blanket of betrayal that casts so heavily between you, and them. Perhaps you congratulate her, words leave your lips but you haven't the slightest clue of what they are. Sana is smiling, crying, so perhaps they have been adequate enough.

Another step back, and you look up towards Hyunjin again. This time, his eyes find yours, and all he offers you is the faintest of wicked grins.

You take your leave quietly, without another word. Heart hanging heavily and not allowing him to take the tears from you that he has so evilly and rightfully earned.

𝕀𝕍.

You are not given time to grieve your loss, as if to intentionally add insult to injury.

Unfortunately, your parents can only be as understanding as information granted allows them to be. The first month, you are given space to wade through your reasonable disappointment, but past that point in time, questions of your next potential suitor once again begin to find themselves at the forefront of discussion amongst the dinner table. You did not know this man, I understand your disappointment in not being chosen, but it's high time to look forward and set your sights towards other potentials, your mother says. Royalty is not everything, there are plenty of other perfectly well-to-do men to take your pick from, your father says.

You tell them that you will look, with no intention of truly doing so. Once the second month passes by with little more progress, you begin to find the signs around the house of your parents taking matters into their own hands.

Letters line the desk of your father’s library room, and one in particular causes the hair at the back of your neck to stand on end.

Only partially sticking out from beneath the stack, you just so slightly pull the corner to unearth more of the words that bring a sickness to your stomach. 

"Would be honored to be chosen as your daughter's suitor. The estate is grand and well-kept, though rather empty of life—" the sentence is cut off, you skip to the next area that you can read. "Staff around the clock. Any endeavors she wishes to engage in will be made available—"

The spin inside of your stomach has you reaching forward and clutching at the sides of your father’s desk. It has only been two months, and already there are discussions of having you shipped out and elsewhere, to a strange man that you have never met, and will be expected to placate in all of the ways that one might. While these sorts of scenarios are nothing new to you—the knowledge well known—this was never supposed to be you. No, you were to marry into the royal house, to be made Queen, and having done so through a shared love. 

Not pawned off to a stranger who intends to keep you as a moderately cared for pet. You have heard the stories of other such arrangements before; the best that you can ever hope for is a perfectly tepid and boring man who has no interest in your being there, and has only accepted it for the offerings that such an agreement carries between the families in a monetary and societal sense.

How could your parents do this to you? The truth of the matter, however, is that they do not know the intricacies of what it is that they are doing to you. The details of your prior goings on. They must never know, and god forbid potential suitors were to ever find out about your involvement with the Prince beforehand…shunned and displaced, you will forever remain.

Turning towards the doorway, you begin to take your leave. The wheels are in motion and there is nothing left for you to do. Moving forward, you will await the day that your father comes to you with the news of having come to an agreement with a man for the arrangement of your marriage, and you will grin and bear it as daughters of high class households are told to do. In the meantime, you will hope and pray that the man chosen by your father is a kind one, a simple one. Dull and uninteresting and with only enough attention to give to his own things.

𝕍.

Writing takes you by the soul, and always has for as long as you found yourself able to hold a pen.

Your timing in finding out about your father’s misdoings an impeccable sort, because it is only two days later that he finds you in the large study of your manor and informs you of the news. A decision has been made about your future—one that you have had no part in making—and you will be sent off in two weeks time to the northern countryside to live with a man who he describes as "kind, albeit a little eccentric from what I can gather." The documentation has already been signed, and as far as you are concerned in a legal sense, are now married to someone whose name you do not even know.

"Lee Minho," your father says quietly, and you can't help but wonder if the airiness to his voice is of true sadness in having done this to you, or a feigned one, only given because he believes it to be what you desire of him. "He's a painter, quite gifted. A very well-off man, you shouldn't worry about wanting for anything in the absence of our affluence."

Hand gripping the pen tightly, still pressed hard against the paper, you find yourself indifferent to whether or not he can see the displeasure washing over you.

"Understood, I'll have my belongings packed by the handmaidens in proper time."

Your tone is simple, offering nothing more than the most basic of expressions. He does not reply to you with any sort of swiftness, and instead sighs as he turns to make his exit.

"I'm sorry it had to come down to this," he says suddenly, and with no warning. "As you know, you are coming up on your age and—"

"I know, father," you reply, just as flatly as before and continuing with your work along the page. "It is understood."

He leaves, and your scribbling comes to you with a slightly more erratic speed.

𝕍𝕀.

The goodbyes shared with your family carry little weight, and while there is a large part of you never wishing for this day to have come, there is another area that finds solace in no longer having to live under the roof of people who have done so wrongly by you, and with such great ease.

All you needed was time, and you were not given that. Is it so difficult to carry empathy for people who are hurting? To cast aside asinine traditions of age and worth for the sanctity of caring for those that share blood? 

Sitting in the back of the carriage as it plods along, you stare out of the small window and contemplate just that. What is family, if not the people meant to care for you above all else? Hyunjin betrayed you with a kind of extravagant ease, but your family, he was not. What excuse do your parents have to cast you aside so eagerly? All but sell you off to a man and for no other reason than to maintain social appearances. Yes, my daughter married that famous painter, Lee Minho. How exceptional and prized such a partnership is. 

The journey is a long one, and you hope to have settled in your anger by the time that you arrive. You have no interest in maintaining any sort of exceptional appearances with this man, but perhaps at the very least, he does not need to be on the receiving end of your indignation.

Instead, you fantasize about the perfect life you may be able to cultivate upon your arrival. Perhaps there are perks to him being involved in such a solitary way of life; you imagine two sides of the same mansion, one for you, and one for him. The painter and the writer, and never shall they meet.

𝕍𝕀𝕀.

Nighttime falls upon the land before you make your arrival, and late into the evening do you come. 

The estate is seen long before you come upon it, with a handful of lights standing out against the otherwise stark darkness of the countryside surroundings. You recall a mention of the home being relatively lifeless, and so few lights on inside certainly give truth to that. Barren trees line the street and as far as the eye can see given how deeply into winter it still is. There is little snow piled up into little hills along the ground, but it is impossible to see the vastness of the land without proper daylight to guide you.

When you arrive, a handful of house staff are there to greet you. Three women smile and bow, help you out of the carriage and then move along to retrieve your things. One remains with you, and you pull your jacket tighter so as to not allow the frigid air to touch you.

"It is much colder in the countryside than what you are used to," she says gently. "You'll get used to it in due time, but it can be frightening at first."

You glance at her, though not for long. It feels strange to be attended to by staff other than those that you are used to being handled by. This strange woman—older but softer in demeanor—smooths a hand down your arm with little more than a feather-light touch, and then offers you a slight yet understanding smile.

"My name is Mai, I am the head of the housing staff, you'll be seeing me around quite often, so I hope that we can grow comfortable with one another quickly. I understand that this is difficult for you, and strange, so please take your time. There's no rush to become acquainted with myself or the estate grounds."

It's only then that you come to realize the stark lacking of someone else's attendance to your arrival. You glance around slightly, perhaps you have missed him? But there are no men, and so, you ask the question, "What about Mr. Lee?"

Mai's features drop ever so slightly, like she feels some level of sympathy for you. Her hand smooths over your arm again, then gently tugs you towards the large doorway.

"The Master of the house will seldom make himself known, I wouldn't worry too much about that, dear."

"He didn't even come to welcome me, a strange sort of fellow to not bother greeting his wife upon her arrival," you say pointedly. It garners another, particular sort of look from the woman bringing you inside.

"Yes, the Master has been referred to as strange before, this would not be the first time. Please don't take it personally, or as some sort of slight towards you individually. I'm sure that given enough time, the two of you should meet and become acquainted with one another."

You chuckle under your breath, "Husband and wife, acquainted with one another. What have my parents done."

Though your wish upon arriving has ultimately come true, you sift through the confusion in your feelings regarding Minho's disinterest in finding you. The woman that he has taken into his home, agreed to marry, surely expected to have children with—yet with no apparent interest in your being there whatsoever. Stepping inside of the home, it shines and exudes beauty, almost like a museum. Pieces of painted art and statues sit at every inch, as far as the eye can see, but all you can think about is the absence of the man who has beckoned you here.

"I apologize for the darkness of the estate, as you know, it's quite late. I hope that you will take it upon yourself to wander tomorrow during the day. Everything is yours, please make yourself at home." Mai extends a hand forward and towards the large staircase, then points upwards at the centered emptiness created by the winding steps. "At the highest level is the atrium, the only place that is strictly off limits. The Master does most of his work up there, though it's difficult to simply stumble upon, no cause for concern as far as that goes."

Continuing to gaze up at what feels like forever, you slowly bring your attention back down and then fully towards Mai.

"Why has he brought me here?" you ask.

A single corner of her mouth perks, as if contemplating offering a smile that may or may not be apt. Besides that, however, the only expression of feeling you can find amongst her features is that of compassion, and perhaps, maybe even pity.

"As you know, these sorts of things tend to be about maintaining appearances…" Mai trails off, likely on account of having nothing more to add to the fact. It is plenty enough, and indeed, you are very well aware.

"I'd like to be taken to my room now."

There's a hazy numbness that finds your limbs as the staff take your things and begin moving towards the stairs. This is your new life, your new normal for the rest of your life. A loveless existence, a loveless marriage with a man that you will scarcely meet. You wonder, albeit briefly, what you have done to doom your existence to that of such fleeting tenderness. 

Hyunjin did not love you, but he was willing to pretend, and while your body was beneath his, you could so easily believe it.

Minho does not love you, and will not even grant you as much. No willingness to try, no interest in feigning the possibility of as much. You are not so foolish to expect to fall in love with this man, but is it so wrong to wish for moments that offer themselves to the fleeting fantasy of it? Infrequent dinners, shared glances from down the hall, and if all goes well, even a kind of friendship developed amongst incapable lovers.

Your bedroom is stunning and immaculately decorated. Mai informs you that anything that you wish to have added or removed is yours to have, and that she will see to it being done swiftly. The walls are lined in a dark, royal blue and accented at the corners with incredible, gold fillings that make the estate feel more like a castle than a simple home for only one man and his house staff. 

The thought is appreciated, but you truly cannot fathom wanting for more, not in the physical sense of owning and acquiring physical things. The emptiness inside of you is so much heavier and deeper than the shade of the walls, or the perfectly waxed oak of the floors.

"Thank you," you say. The words are small, and sound far more defeated than you would like them to. Mai is heavenly, everything that you could ever want from someone that you're likely to be spending the majority of your time here with. "What time shall I come down for breakfast in the morning?"

Mai smiles in the doorway, her light gray dress swaying with every slight movement that she makes.

"Eight is standard for the house, but whenever you prefer. If you are an early riser, we can see to it that it is ready and waiting for you by the time you find your footing."

You glance at your handbag, manuscript of your writing sticking out by the corner from it and make your decision going forward.

"I am something of an early morning type. I like to write, I find that I do my best work before the rest of the world begins to stir," you say, forcing a small smile into your lips. "I don't require much, especially just for one person. Just some small breads with butter and coffee will suit me just fine."

Mai nods happily, so obviously delighted by your willingness to allow her to do what she does here. "Of course, anything you wish. If you need anything else in the morning, please don't hesitate to inform any of the staff, we want to make your transition here as smooth and seamless as possible."

"Thank you," you say again, and Mai takes her leave.

Sleep does not find you well that night, despite the weariness of your body from the travel. Instead, your mind races with possibility and wonder about the ghost that you now share a home with, and when you finally do find rest, all that is there to greet you now is the dark, faceless silhouette of a man that you may never come to meet.

𝕍𝕀𝕀𝕀.

Time at the estate feels as though it crawls, and yet slips away and through your fingers in ways that make it feel as though it doesn't really exist at all.

Another month passes you by, a new routine set into motion not unlike yours from back home. Different settings, different foods offered; scents that arrive to you like they are foreign and fabrics against your skin that feel entirely different from that which you have become accustomed to. Life here is easy, and for that, you are thankful, but the dull ache of listlessness begins to take hold of you faster than you might have anticipated it to, and your curiosities about the manor creep up and make themselves known to you without much of an ability left in you to fight them off.

You have yet to meet Minho, even in all of your time here. A month is not long to spend in one place, but feels like a lifetime to not have met the person that you live with, the man that you are married to and meant to spend the rest of your days alongside.

Writing, at the very least, comes to you with incredible ease while cased inside of these walls. Your manuscript—a sort of anonymous autobiography of your life—grows and grows like it is showered with all of the sunlight and nutrients of a lovingly kept garden. There is nothing else for you to do here, after all.

These routines come to you naturally, not one to stray from those things that come naturally and comfortably to you. In the mornings, you wake early to head downstairs to eat warm, buttered bread and take your cup of coffee; leaving towards the large study that sits looking off into the flowerbeds with a large, never dirtied window to grant you such a view.

Books surround here, as do their smells. You could never hope to read them all, though you might like to. When particularly down about your circumstances, you consider the fact that you have ample time to begin such an endeavor, as nothing else inside of this building will ever bother to ask for time from you.

One day after the mark of a month from your arrival, you stay up a little later than usual and slowly sip an aged, red wine from the shined lip of a glass. Your nighttime gown already drapes from your body, but you have no such intention of finding sleep any time soon.

For one reason or another, the atrium calls to you silently in the ambient darkness of the house.

The house staff is long asleep, nobody lurking the corridors to ensure that the inhabitants are not allowing the whimsy of curiosity to get the best of them. You step out and into the hallway, small candles lining the way and towards the stairs that lead further up, guiding lights beckoning you, asking you to follow them, telling you to take liberties not truly afforded to you.

So you do. Up so many flights, a climb that feels endless at points, until of course, you reach the top. 

Perhaps you had expected too much, built up the possibilities so much in your mind that whatever it is that you might find here never standing a chance in living up to your imagination. There is little that greets you once you climb the last step; no warning signs, no guards or traps set for intruders stumbling upon this place. Instead, you find an incomprehensible mess along the large and wide expanse of floor. Canvases sprawled as far as the eye can see—some still basking in their unmarred perfection, others splashed with color or linework—paint pots and filthy brushes, palettes that appear as though they've never seen the loving touch of water to clean them.

Furthest away from where you stand, you find a table and a single chair, though it would not seem to be used for its intended purpose with the way items have been set against and atop them. There are papers sitting on the wood, however, and your budding curiosity gets the best of you even more as you carefully step forward and over all of the belongings that coat the floor.

The floor beneath you is sturdy, and for that, you are thankful. There are no creaks of footsteps to alert anyone of your presence here, and when you arrive at the table, you find piles upon piles of letters pinned down beneath dirty, likely forgotten jars of water.

The penmanship of one draws your attention, familiar and loud as it stares back at you. It is from your father.

This date is recent, one of the few things that you can make out from where it sits. You care little for maintaining your invisibility here now, and pull the sheet out from within the others so that you can read it in full.

You realize quickly upon scanning it that you did not know what to expect, but what it is that you have found now somehow sits even more strangely in your chest. Your eyebrows furrow as you take in the words from your father—they are nonsensical in every sense of the word—incomprehensible when paired with the realism of your life at this place.

One part reads: I am happy to hear that the two of you are getting along so splendidly. Of course, it is impossible to say when putting together such matters, but I had something of a feeling that it would be right, and I am so blessed to find that this meeting has been a successful one.

He has been lying to your father ever since your arrival here.

"Is there something I can help you with?"

Your attention shoots up from the letter, which drops from your hand on account of the shock in being found. What jars you from your thoughts much more than having been caught, however, is not that fact in and of itself. Rather, it is the fact that it is the voice of a man that has questioned you.

And looking up from here, back towards the stairs, the moonlight shines in from the glass ceiling panels of the atrium, down onto the face of a man with somewhat long and relatively unkempt black hair that curtains in front of his eyes delicately. His jaw is strong, sharp; outlining narrow eyes and lips that settle into a somewhat upturned position when not forced into another shape.

Could it be…?

You do not respond right away, and neither does he press you further for a reply. Instead, the man carries himself forward and kneels down in front of a particular pile of painting supplies. Perhaps you hadn't taken careful enough notice of them, the way that the paint is still fresh and wet, now that you look at it.

His shirt is white, sleeves rolled up along his forearms and cuffed carelessly at the bend of his elbow. He appears strong, not at all the dainty, frail image of an artist type that one might typically assume someone like this to be. Somewhere within you swims the possibility that this is not the man that you are married to, merely some other person who also is granted the ability to use the atrium for its assigned purpose, but the thought seems asinine with the evidence presented in front of you.

He grabs a brush, takes a palette into hand and dips the bristles into something dark. One stroke, then another onto a canvas that has already been seen by his hand previously. He ignores you for many long moments, and as a result, you merely stand there in silence and watch as he continues on.

The brush dips into a jar of water, swirled around and faintly clinking against the glass. Then, the man looks up at you again.

"Is there?"

Forgetting that there has ever been a question posed, your mind races to catch up to what it is that he's asking. Nervousness catches your limbs, not knowing what to do with your hands, your feet, the expression on your face when suddenly and finally addressed. 

But you have no interest in answering his inquiry, and instead, pose one of your own.

"Why have you been lying to my father?"

"Ah," he says, the sound quiet and coming out with a knowing exhale. His attention drops back to the canvas and colors in front of him. "Do you make it a habit of reading other people's mail, then?"

"We've not even met once since I moved here, yet you're telling my father that we're getting along swimmingly, why?"

"Are we not?" Minho says, his engagement in the discussion confirmation enough of the fact that this is him. "No arguments, no raised tones or names called. As far as I'm concerned, we're getting along as well as one might hope, all things considered."

"We have never even met!" you nearly yell, dropping your volume at the tail end with the way that you know voice carries through the halls of the estate. This is a discussion meant for the two of you alone. "The least you could do after all of this time is introduce yourself to me, especially if you're going to be lying to my parents about the goings on out here!"

Minho looks up at you then, but his face is empty of feeling. "This is why I thought it best that we not meet, now I have to tell him that things have taken a turn," he says.

His face does not allude to it, but his tone very much does in the way that the faintest hint of amusement can be discerned throughout his words. Hearing such coyness does nothing to calm your growing resentment towards him, if anything, only adding fuel to the budding fire.

"Do you think this is funny?" you ask, anger laden in your voice. "Is that why you brought me out here? For your amusement, so that you could laugh to yourself in the late hours of the night about the woman that you're keeping holed up while I rot away inside of these walls and lament what my life might have been if my father had only allowed me a little more time?"

Stare unwavering, your eyes remain locked onto Minho's once you finish speaking, and he is not quick to reply in any fashion. Silence slips in between the two of you, only the faintest ticking of an old, antique clock stationed off to the side heard between the nothingness growing inside of the atrium.

Then, he sighs.

"I brought you out here because of the nature of our society and the expectation of certain norms therein. You know this as well as I do, what is expected of us by certain ages. Unfortunately for you, both of our time is nearly up and as a result, this is how fate would have it."

He explains it so matter of factly that the entire concept of these arrangements feels strange and foreign to you, despite its familiarity. Minho is right, and what he says to you is true, but it does little to make you feel calm in the matter. He offers you no comfort, no easiness or soft words to sort any pain that you may be feeling as a result of it. Perfunctory in delivery, Minho only gives to you precisely what it is that the two of you already know; nothing more, and nothing less.

You know this, but the dull ache of pain inside of your chest does not wane. It grows instead, so much so that you find yourself losing the ability to maintain disdain for him, or the fact that he brought you here, at all.

"Did you reach out to my father, or did he call out to you?" you ask, voice timid and broken. The details of the arrangement are of little consequence now, but you find yourself questioning it all the same. Perhaps they have only both ended up here by chance, and if so, is that the best possible outcome of all?

Lips thinning straight, it's a sort of forced smile that barely ever comes through, and Minho breaks eye contact once you present the question to him like he is aware that nothing he has to offer you will ever be enough.

The brush handle rattles against the glass once again, the sound sharp and jarring, bothersome to your ears now.

"He reached out to me," Minho says plainly, "and for that, you have my condolences."

𝕀𝕏.

Two weeks go by without so much as a sighting of the man that lives among you. In that time, however, a letter finds you from your mother. Late in the morning on a particularly dreary day, Mai comes to you in your study and hands off the envelope with a gleeful smile, seemingly thrilled to be offering you something instead of your husband.

"I was hoping that they would write to you soon," she says. "The early stages still require much conversing between the Master and your parents, but it's good that they have found the time to reach out to you now, as well."

"Yes, very good," you reply, forcing the sound of pleasantness through the words. You wonder if she knows about your meeting with Minho not so long ago, if she has been informed of your snooping and the knowledge you gained therein. "Thank you, I'll read it quickly."

Mai takes her leave and you are once again left to your things. Your finger slides beneath the flap of the envelope and pulls the seal apart, nimbly releasing the letter inside from its confines. Heart beating rapidly and not knowing what you will find, you attempt to steady your anxiety and land your eyes onto the page.

The words penned across it are happy ones, and that shifts your nerves at a sudden pace. She expresses her joy at all of the things your father has informed her in regards to his constant speaking with Minho; how well things have been going between the two of you, how worried she had been at the possibility of otherwise, and how proud she is of you. The words feel empty and as if they are not meant for you—how could they be? There is no truth held inside of any of it.

Once finished, you slip the letter back inside and tuck it away beneath your manuscript, opting instead to turn your attention towards the garden that awaits you just through the dampened window. Rain lightly pelts it, a calming sound that is very much needed in the aftermath of this reminder. 

Recalling your conversation with Minho in the atrium, you hone in on the specifics of it now. In particular, his stoic interpretation of this combination between the two of you. It was not he who intended to seek you out, and rather, the both of you share the difficulties of age and societal expectations that have been casted upon you at birth. A loveless marriage it is, convenience, even; but circumstances that the both of you are flattened beneath the pressure of.

You had once wished for him to be a man with no interest in you, and that is precisely what you have been graced with. Minho does not care for your presence, does not wish to spend time with you or converse with you in any way that people who share a home tend to do. This is what you had wanted for, so then why now does it feel so rotten to be on the receiving end of it?

A flash of lightning in the far off distance comes to pass, and it is at that moment that you come to your decision: you will make your way to the atrium once more.

𝕏.

Shadows flicker and dance across the darkness of the walls and bookcases lining the crescent shaped sides of the atrium, seen long before you reach the topmost step. There is no sound besides faint rustling, and the occasional, familiar clinking of wooden stick against glass rim.

Minho is there.

You reach the top and find him; on his knees and hunched over not unlike your last meeting in this place. His shoulders and back flex against the tightness of the white blouse that holds him, deceptively firm muscles that you are only now able to see from this angle. He stills briefly, silent acknowledgment of his knowing that you are there, but carries on with his task for a while before bothering to utter a word.

"You shouldn't be up here."

An expected warning, but it does little to deter you. Instead of turning back, you continue forward, towards him, and stop only a few more strides away. Distance given out of the goodness of your heart, and because you accept wrongdoing in ever having come here in the first place.

"Why?" you ask.

With busy hands, Minho remains fast at work, splashing blues, pinks and purples across the white canvas. His features do not twist or contort in any sort of way that one might expect from tortured artists who suffer at the hands of their crafts. Quite the contrary; he appears at ease, calm and collected in this place that is meant only for him and the creations that pour from his skilled fingers.

"For no other reason than it being my working space, and working spaces must be maintained as such." He pauses finally, drops the bush into the water sitting just beside and then looks up at you through messy, loose strands of black hair. "It is no place for conversing, especially if you wish to fight with me like before."

The reluctance in his voice, almost pained in the way that he says it, has your eyebrows pressing together with rather intense confusion. While it is true that you had been far from pleased with the discoveries made the first time you made your way up here, to call it something of a fight feels rather excessive to you, in hindsight.

"I wouldn't say that we fought, can you blame me for feeling the way that I had felt then?"

"Not at all," he admits with ease, "but you shouldn't go through my things, and you shouldn't raise your voice at me in regards to matters that are just as much out of my control as they are your own."

That rubs you wrongly, and your eyes narrow as a result of it. "They are not equally out of our control. You desired a woman to live idly in your home and that is what you received. I desired only the smallest allowance of time in order to get my surroundings back on track, and in the end, what I received was nothing more than being the aforementioned idle woman."

Minho sighs heavily, then turns back to the canvas in front of him. "How many times must I apologize for that? It's not as if I had known when the inquiry was sent to me that you would be so displeased. Is it not enough that I do not force you to engage with me?"

"That's not—"

"I ask nothing of you," Minho continues, a newfound pointedness to his voice. "I do not request your company in any capacity, no expectation of you to entertain me in any way. I do not bother you, I do my best to stay out of your way. Anything you desire, it's yours. Money, gifts, luxury cloths or even the most expensive art pieces from all across the globe…any of it can be yours, should it suit you."

His voice wavers as he reaches the tail end of his words, and the weight of it hangs heavy on your heart. Minho sounds sad, defeated in a battle that he hadn't even bothered to take on. 

Then, he looks up towards you again. 

"If a lover is what you wish to have, you may take one. I understand the difficulty in meeting people so far out in the countryside, but I'll see to it that the staff will accommodate your needs in any way."

Once he finishes, you stand silently just off and to the side of him. Your stares towards one another rest in the balance, you anticipate him saying more, but the words never come.

You frown at him, just slightly.

"What do you know about me?" you ask.

The question seems to take him aback, eyes widening slightly at the suddenness of it being presented towards him. His eyes fall from yours then, cast around the floor between you as if the answers sprawled out somewhere there. Eventually, he accepts his fate, and looks back up towards you.

"I…I don't know. Nothing, I suppose. Not beyond what your father has told me throughout our correspondence."

"My father knows nothing about me, not beyond the perfected image of daughterhood that I am expected to present. You know all about expectations, don't you, Mr. Lee?"

His watching you continues, but no words dare to be uttered by the man.

"Perhaps instead of holing yourself up here your whole life, you come down and do what is expected of you." Turning back towards the stairs that brought you here, you begin your descent down—one, two—and then pause to turn back for your final parting words.

"A man is expected to be seen by his wife, is he not? To talk to her, to know things about her, to learn. More than that, a husband is expected to do all of that, and even more. I refuse to allow you to use my invisible presence here as nothing more than a story that you can tell people while you're away presenting your art pieces. You wanted me here, and so I am. You will have to do better, because I have nothing left to lose, and the humiliation of returning home from a failed marriage is a far cry from the things I have already endured."

Minho does not reply.

𝕏𝕀.

The next morning, just as any other, you maintain your routines.

Exiting your bedroom, your feet pad along the floor one after another—simple slippers that adorn them, keeping your toes warm—the sound of it is one that you have now grown accustomed to, the echo as it carries through the emptiness of the estate.

Thankfully, as you draw nearer to the lowest level and towards the kitchen, the gentle music of other inhabitants fondly make themselves known to you. Scents mix in as well, cinnamon and coffee and vanilla all whirled together in the air that you can't help but find peace amongst it all. When you enter, you are greeted brightly by Mai, as well as the other housekeepers lending their hands to ensure a seamlessly run ship.

You offer your thanks, and head along your way towards the study. The door hangs ajar, just as you always leave it. No concern for whether or not Minho will make his way down and curiosity will get the best of him upon catching sight of your belongings; a man who has made it more than clear that he holds no such fascination in you.

The large seat situated in front of the window awaits you. Today is sunny, the short rain that tells a tale of spring soon to come, having since passed during the nighttime and bringing after its having gone bright skies and pristine white clouds. A good day, a nice day. You sit, opening the drawer inside of the desk and pulling from it the notebook that holds your manuscript. So many years of work, so personal and encompassing everything that makes you. 

With your back towards the door, you only vaguely hear the sounds of Mai's hushed utterance from just within the kitchen. Some exclamation of surprise, though it disappears with the same swiftness that it seems to have caught her. Perhaps a bug, or a misplaced knife settled within the wrong drawer—anything could be the case—and for that very reason, you brush it off and focus instead on the pen and paper before you.

Then, there's a knock at the wood of your door.

"Yes?" you call back out at it, unsure of what the housekeepers could be wanting from you. Your typical routine with them has been more or less concluded, no obvious reason for anyone to be looking for you now. "I've not finished with my first coffee yet, I'll come when I have, you need not wait on me and worry yourselves sick."

"Does the Lady of the house have a moment of her time to spare?"

Before you can so much as fathom it, your body whips around and you nearly wholly twist in your chair to look back at the place that the masculine voice has come.

As if what awaits you there could be anything else, anyone else; Minho stands in the small crack of the doorway, barely enough for him to fit half of his body through. He does not dare attempt it, waiting outside for your word of affirmation. His face is downcast, looking up through eyelashes at you like he is doing something entirely wrong of the both of you. Anticipating being turned away, expecting to be berated for having the gall to make such a brave attempt.

"Y-yes, of course, come in!" you reply, biting back the eagerness in your tone at the end of the sentence. Suddenly, you become painfully aware of the space around you and how unkempt you have allowed it to be. "I apologize, it's something of a mess. I only come in here to do some small tasks to keep myself busy and then I leave so I don't think much of keeping it tidy."

Minho steps inside, though the effort is barely there. Two steps into the room, and then he stops; looks around it like he has never been here before. Eventually, you come to understand that he is not so much looking at the things he keeps and rather, that he is avoiding eyes that belong to you.

"It is yours, you may keep it as you wish," he says. His hands dance between being cradled in front of himself, to similarly behind his back. Forward again, thumbs craned into his pockets, then out and to his sides—strangely, uncomfortably. He does not know what to do with them. "I apologize for intruding on your time like this, I—" he pauses, stops looking around once he realizes he has seen all that there is to see, and then has no other option than to look at you. This action is short lived, however, eyes quickly falling to the wood beneath his feet. "I believe that you were correct last night, in your assessment of me and our arrangement. For that reason, I want to make an effort. I want to…do what is expected of me."

Silence blankets the room, his eyes cast upwards again; "If that's all right, of course."

"Yes, yes of course it's…what I would prefer, I think." Once again, excitement that betrays your unwillingness to give too much, too fast. Even if he weren't looking at you, the glee would be heard in your voice. "At the very least, an effort made to get to know one another on a more personal basis. We may never fall in love, may never become lovers…it's impossible to say if we will ever even become friends, but I think it best for the both of us if there is some level of acquaintanceship here."

Minho nods once, swallowing so hard and through a throat so dry that you swear you can hear it. "Understood. Though I must say, I do…" he trails off in thought, returns to it only moments later, "I still intend to spend the majority of my time in the atrium, for work. I must insist that even with our new arrangement, you do not come up there. I will instead…make myself more common down here, or if you request my presence—not that I suspect you will—please inform Mai, and she will retrieve me."

"I accept these terms, but in the inception of such, it is only fair that I forge those of my own."

Eyes widening in shock, Minho seems surprised by your candor. Though you do not know him well, one thing you are thankful for is his seeming unwillingness to abide by much of the traditional social construct that exists around the expectations of the way that men and women are meant to engage with one another. You speak loudly and brashly with Minho, a man that you barely know, and he accepts as much with grace. When he wishes for you to not engage with him in such ways, he calmly asks it of you, rather than demands it through authoritarian fear.

When you wish to push back, he takes a step backwards of his own in order to grant you the space to do so.

"That indeed is fair," Minho agrees, a barely-there smile curving into the corners of his lips. "What does the Lady seek?"

"We have a meal together, most days. Breakfast or dinner, it is of no particular consequence to me. I do not know if you prefer the morning or evening hours, but based on your artistic habits and the dark circling beneath your eyes currently, one can only assume that breakfast is out of the question."

Your own smile perks up, and along with it, Minho's widens. He turns his head, looks over in an attempt to find the nearest reflective surface. Only a silver vase, his face coming out all wobbly and distorted as he looks at himself against it. The truth of your words is still found, however.

"I accept," he says. "Dinner. Let's have dinner together tonight."

You grant him a nod, and he cumbersomely turns towards the door to take his leave.

"One more thing," he adds, paused perfectly within the doorframe but choosing not to look back at you. "Perhaps we should…prepare for the conversations that will be had. It would be awfully unfortunate to waste our time together among the dead of an otherwise quiet night."

Charmed in all of the most fascinating and incomprehensible ways, you see straight through the veil that Minho has attempted to hold up. A million questions run through your mind already; regarding him, this estate, his work, where he has been, and you cannot fathom the possibility of him not experiencing the same. Rather, the second likelihood swims within your thoughts, humorously intriguing, and serving as the catalyst for your ability to begin putting the pieces of him together into something far more recognizable.

Lee Minho is reserved. Locked away in the countryside and borderline cripplingly timid in the face of anything new and not easily understood—made sense by the dabbing of colored paints onto a canvas, dragged and splotched into something that his eye can really and truly see.

Later that evening, Mai and her staff spend far more time and effort preparing a meal than is truly necessary. You worry to yourself slightly watching the lot of them hustle about—there are only two of you, after all—but Mai insists each and every time that she finds the concern spread across your features that she is actually quite thrilled to be doing something such as this for once.

"The Master does not have company often, and for that reason, does not frequently take a proper meal in the evenings," she says, delight dripping from her voice.

Comically to you, however, is the fact that Minho is here and seated at the table across from you already; spoken about as if he is not even in the room. You look him over when Mai admits as much and his features pan, somewhat pained by the truth of it all, you suppose.

"I'm busy in the evenings, more often than not, you are well aware of this, Mai."

"That's no reason not to allow us to have some fun in this kitchen." Her fists ball up at the tops of her hips, and then a handful of other staff begin making their way over to set dishes atop the table.

"You shouldn't say it like I don't permit you to do so," Minho says. He glances up at you briefly, as if to gauge how you're taking all of this. Worried you might think him to be an evil ruler of the manor. "You can, it's just—"

"Wasteful!" Mai finishes with a knowing nod, and then disappears from your side of the table altogether. Her next words are spoken from quite a ways away, down the hall and out of the dining area. "Enjoy your meal! Call for us if you need anything!" she says.

And then the room is silent.

The smells of roasted chicken and glazed vegetables quickly beckon your attention. Buttered dinner rolls in wicker baskets and already poured glasses of wine await each of you. The serving of food has already been completed, your plate piled high with items that drown in delicious looking gravy and topped with garnishes. 

You reach towards your wine glass, and make short eye contact with Minho along the way.

He clears his throat, shuffles uncomfortably in his seat after it, and then picks up his eating utensils.

"Some men," he starts, then waits, like he isn't sure that it's so much of a good idea, "some men can be strange about the types of food, or the amount, that their wives eat."

You continue staring at him, because what is the point of this?

Minho reaches for his glass, takes a large sip from it. "Uhh, I'm not like those men, so please, have your fill."

"Are you informing me that I am permitted to not go hungry for appearances?" you ask flatly.

"I—" he begins, short and cut off, not sure where to go from here. "Yes, I suppose that I am. I just wanted to be clear, in case there was cause for concern."

"With all due respect," you say through a light chuckle, "we're in the middle of nowhere, and I've not left the estate since I came. Who am I really intending to impress?"

Minho does not respond to that. He seems to be willing to relent to the conversation at just about any turn, which amuses and also confuses you. Watching him, he cuts into a piece of potato and carefully puts the chunk between slightly crooked, off kilter front teeth. Sort of charming, one of those quirks about a person's appearance that grows on you over time.

He looks up at you suddenly, then takes another sip of the wine.

"What do you do here? How do you spend your days?"

That is unexpected, though you can't quite pinpoint why. Perhaps it is the brashness of finally asking something so quizzical, so personal; a true attempt at learning something about you in a way not before seen or expressed by him. You do not answer right away, nor does he press further. Only the scraping of silverware against fine porcelain is heard throughout the space for entirely too long.

Might he think you strange for your habits? Is he someone safe to tell?

It's worth the chance, and you will yourself to be unbothered by any negative reaction that he may have.

"I…um, I'm writing a book," you say, steadying the tremble that punctures the words, "I do a lot of writing. In the mornings I wake up early, have my breakfast, and then I write in the study by the garden."

You remain nervous about Minho's reaction, but for no discernible reason you come to find. His eyebrows perk up, attention rapt by what it is that you've said. "A book? That's quite impressive, how long have you been working on it?"

"Oh, many years." Stumbling through the strangeness of his sudden exhilaration, you attempt to maintain your composure. "It is something of a memoir, so I have been collecting moments of my life for as long as I can remember."

Minho shakes his head, evidently stunned by such a possibility. "Writing is such a magnificent craft, everyday I wish that the gift of language and written word is the one that had come to find my hands."

"Painting is an incredible art, so few people are creatively capable of mastering the concepts of color or line like you have. Anyone literate can write a sentence."

Minho looks up and the two of you meet glances. It is a moment shared between people who have a newfound understanding amongst one another, and as a result, it feels special; magical. He smiles slightly, and you can't help but match it, too.

"Well, anyone can scribble color onto a canvas, but I think we both know well enough that there is much more that goes into the arts than that," Minho says, a newfound casualness that you feel as though you have only just unlocked to his tone. "Are you looking to publish someday?"

"I think I might like to, if the opportunity were to arise." You stop, reconsider the content therein, and correct for that. "Anonymously, or under a penname. Not my own."

He nods in acceptance of that, then takes another bite of food with his vision cast down towards the plate. In times like this, Minho reminds you of a small child, poorly socialized and unsure of how to move about the world with other people in it. He tries his best, has only the best of intentions, but it never quite feels as though it's enough.

Little by little, you're peeling through those layers. All things considered, so far, the journey isn't half bad.

"I'm pleased that we've decided to do this," Minho says, focused solely on pushing the broccoli around on his plate idly. "Spend time together, I mean. Getting to know one another."

Thus far, perhaps there is a part of you that cannot help but agree.

𝕏𝕀𝕀.

New routines unearth themselves throughout the estate.

Spring washes over the land in waves; flowers in their fullest blossom, live with color and birds that joyously scour the land for new perches to rest their tired wings atop. The trees fill in once more with lush greens and fruits that begin to fill in along the firm branches.

Minho makes himself more often seen throughout the manor corridors, though often brief and insistent on his having some other place to be. You learn not to take it to heart—his insistence in giving himself an out of the conversation—as it would seem that conversation with others is not a skill that comes naturally to him.

Still, you appreciate the effort. Some mornings, Minho slinks down the stairway and into the kitchen, long before his usual rising hours, and asks you about the agenda for your day. You often do not have much to offer him, but Minho watches on as you fill him in with his chin cradled in his hands and eyes that sparkle under the barely breaking dawn that washes in from the windows. He always smiles; somewhat crooked, with one side pulling ever so slightly higher than the other. It isn't a lot, but for now, it will do.

The month is April, and out of the study window you find Minho tending to the garden.

The outside grounds are not well traveled by you, partially on account of arriving to the countryside in the dead of winter. Now that the breezes have warmed and the snow has melted, it's as fine a time as any, and you carry yourself off towards the side door in the kitchen to take your first few steps into the garden that you have adoringly watched all of these months.

"Decided not to keep yourself cooped up in there, did you?" Minho asks playfully, only briefly glancing up towards you from his bent and knelt position in the turned soil. His hands are dirty—no gloves to be seen—but his forearms flex and pulse with strength as he rips at weeds and digs his holes. "People are going to start to think I don't permit you to leave."

"People? What people?" you reply. "Even my own parents have grown bored of writing to me. I don't think you live in any fear of what the people might think. Perhaps they assume that we are wildly happy together, no interest in sharing that with the rest of the unworthy world."

"Aren't we?" Minho says, chuckling lightly. 

You make an effort to ignore the question, as well as the way his muscles all appear taut and well attended to beneath his moistened white shirt. Minho is a good looking man, in ways that are a little surprising to you and even in spite of his lack of social character, but even as your husband, he is a stranger. A man that you now live with because it is nothing more than convenient for the both of you, not someone to be lusted after.

Hyunjin comes to mind suddenly. Every time you find yourself missing the touch of a man, it's him that torments you still.

"Of course." You make an effort to ignore the thoughts, and change the subject. "I didn't know you had an interest in gardening. Perhaps I wrongfully assumed it to be something kept up with by the staff."

"Wrong indeed," he says, wiping at his forehead with the rolled up sleeve of his shirt. His skin glistens under the spring sunlight, hair collecting the moisture of his face within its strands. 

You are only lusting after him in this way because you wish to be touched by a man again, you barely even know him, you reason. Some reason.

"It's something I picked up a good many years back, when I was shoved deeply into the success of my career. I spent even more time locked away with my work and my paintings, if you could even believe it," Minho says, smiling at himself at the memory of it all. "So, I had to find a reason to get out of the house. Not too far, or for too long, but something. Additionally, I enjoy the act of creation…" he pauses, picks up a small vegetable bulb and holds it up for you to look at. "What's more creative than life?"

You smile, wide and with teeth in a way that you don't remember having done in such a long, long time. Minho laughs at your reaction, and then carries on burying the plant into the ground as originally intended.

"You like to play God in the garden, then?" 

"I wouldn't say that."

"What would you say?"

Minho looks up, a surprisingly thoughtful expression etched into his features, as if really, genuinely giving the question an ample amount of thought. "I would say that I like to create!"

A beat of silence passes between the two of you, and Minho continues on with his task. You cock your head to the side, watching him quietly as he moves as if an incredibly bizarre exchange hasn't just taken place. The truth of the matter, you know without so much as even having to ask, is that the discussion is more than likely not strange to him, at all. A perfectly fine chat, nothing out of the ordinary.

Naturally, in the midst of moments like these is when Minho seems most at ease.

"You're a bit odd, Mr. Lee," you say. Calmness is heavy in your tone, marking down the potential distaste that might otherwise accompany such words. "Do you often hear that?"

"Yes, but my oddities and eccentricities are what make the mind tick, the art work and come to life. If I were anything other than myself, who knows what may come of it. I'd rather not find out. Oh, that reminds me—"

Setting his tools down and wiping his hands uselessly on his brown trousers, Minho pauses all of his toiling about to give you his full attention for the words that he is intending for you. His face appears somewhat disappointed, but there's something else mixing within the emotions that you might easily name that you can't quite pinpoint.

"At the beginning of the summer, around June or so, I will leave you to carry on with a showing. I will be gone until autumn time, perhaps November…it will be cold again when I return."

Your stomach drops, and that feeling shocks you.

"Of course, the estate is yours to do as you see fit, and you may leave it as frequently as you wish, too. All of the staff will be yours. It is all yours."

Your lips thin into a frown, and as it would seem, the reaction surprises Minho. He looks up at you in confusion, and perhaps quickly works through the thoughts by himself, because his eyes dip down and away from you, unable to share his gaze with your own with how displeased you appear.

"I'm going to be alone here…for months…"

"Well, you won't be alone…" he says quietly, offering nothing.

"We've finally begun the process of getting to know one another in a meaningful way, and now you're leaving until autumn…it'll be as though we're strangers all over again when you return."

"Surely it won't be that bad…" Minho forces himself to give you answers, but none of them quell the feeling that presses against your chest. "I'll return before you even notice I'm away. For a long time upon your arrival, it was as if I wasn't here at all."

"And I hated it!" you reply quickly, brashly. The words come out loud and honest in a way that you have not intended. Your eyes sit wide on your face, and finally, Minho slowly looks up at you again with eyes not unlike your own.

Neither of you speak for a long while, until Minho sighs and has no other option but to do so himself.

"I apologize, I…did not anticipate that you would feel this way about it, but nevertheless, there is nothing that I can do. This is a part of my work, I often must leave to do such things. The year after this one will be no different, and if it is, then the futility of fame and the fickleness of the human intrigue has finally caught up to me." He quiets again, continues trying to wipe the dirt caked onto the skin of his hands off and onto his pants uselessly. A pointless endeavor. It feels not unlike wanting to be loved. 

"I can…try to come home sooner, at the tail end of things. Sometimes it wraps up earlier than anticipated," he says, looking away from your disappointed eyes. "I've not bothered to rush home before, with nothing waiting for me. Not to imply that you are…waiting for my return…"

"I would like that," you say, simply put. "Suppose then we should make an effort to make these last two months together count, yes?"

Minho doesn't look up at you, too socially strangled to do so. It's not necessary, however, because the small perk at the corner of his mouth as a result of what you have proposed says plenty.

𝕏𝕀𝕀𝕀.

"Another lovely dinner, thank you, Mai."

She nods to Minho kindly, accepting the compliment, and then finishes up her small cleaning tasks to head out and away from the dining area. You look out and across the living room at the large window that leads into the garden—not unlike your study—and bask in the way that the moonlight shines down onto the glistening, wet leaves and petals that have since come to bloom.

"Have you been out yet? In the evening, I mean." Minho turns to you when he says it, notices where it is that you've been looking, but you shake your head.

"No, too busy with my writing, I suppose."

"You'll find an excuse forever if you allow yourself to, come on, let's go."

Minho doesn't touch you, but he waves his hand towards you and then back into the direction of the side door that leads into the garden. You follow along without much argument, wanting just as much to see what the grounds have to offer you, and perhaps now is as good of a time as any.

The nighttime breeze is cold, and you are not at all dressed to be traversing it with only a thin shawl draped over your shoulders. Immediately upon stepping down and onto the cobblestone pathway your arms fly up to cradle yourself, attempting to hug back the warmth that escapes. Minho seems far less bothered by the pricking of cold against his skin. He is never dressed in anything special or extravagant for as long as you have known him; a plain, white button down shirt with brown, fitted pants suited for not much more than becoming dirty without a care. 

Regardless, you push through. It is not often that the two of you partake in anything other than a dinner, or a coffee together. Two people so wrapped up in their own things that they nearly forget about the existence of the other. You make an effort—Minho is getting better over the weeks—but only so many hours in a day.

The two of you slip around the gray, brick corner of the home; grand in its stature. As far as the eye can see sit beds of flowers, ornate bushes, and the shining droplets of rain from earlier in the day that still collect on each. It's a beautiful sight, the way that they twinkle, and when Minho turns to look back at you, a rare and wide smile pulls at his face.

And then it falls.

"Are you cold?" he asks, concerned and rushing towards you instead. "You should have said something, only now do I realize that you're not dressed for the evening breeze."

"I'm fine, really," you insist, something of a lie with the way that you tremble. He must not be thinking clearly, too wrapped up in the sight before him to thoroughly consider all of his options. Minho reaches for you, presses smooth, warm palms to your arms and runs down them carefully before grasping gently at your wrists and pulling your body against his. He wraps his arms around you—he is firm, both in body and embrace—and he smells like the strangest combination of paint and cinnamon.

Indeed, you are warmer now.

You are not unfamiliar with the touch of a man, and it is not that in particular that dredges up the nervousness in your stomach. Rather, you have never shared a touch with this man, and this man is the one that you live with, are married to. You wonder if it is only natural to have considered the possibility of wanting him; handsome, smart, kind, who wouldn't at the very least enjoy the fantasy of such a thing.

But never to touch.

Minho's hands, surprisingly strong and confident, inch down your back to pool at the small of it as distance is created between the both of your bodies. You crave the kind of intimacy that being like this gives you, but still it feels wrong when it comes from him. Accepting this arrangement as nothing more than a marriage of convenience cements certain ideas for the remainder of your time with this man, and one of those, unwaveringly, is that love and love making will be strictly absent from it.

Yet you enjoy the way that he touches you now.

In the dark of night, and just outside of the manor, Minho pulls back from you slowly and it's like this that you are finally able to see him up close, the tiny, charming intricacies of his face otherwise missed due to proximity. A small freckle on his nose, the ever so slight crookedness to his front teeth that—while you have noticed—are so much more handsome and real like this.

His eyes sparkle looking at you, and there's a pause before anything more happens. In your mind, you beg. Loudly asking for that which you seek, no matter the outcome. You can deal with that when it comes, and perhaps you don't even know precisely what it is that you desire from him now. Still, you beg; please, please, please…

Minho's eyes fixate on yours, and then drop down, down, to where your lips sit. His own part, as if with intention to speak, or a desire to taste, one you prefer far more than the other. He does neither, however, finds eye contact once more, but his fingers grasping harder into the loose fabric sitting at the small of your back sends chills down your spine in a way that the meeting of your lips might not even manage.

Do you want, Lee Minho? Do you crave, as well?

"We should go inside," he says, a whisper that shakes. His gaze finds itself fixated down towards your lips again, and all concern aside, you want in that moment for him to have you. "You're not dressed to be out here, you'll catch a cold."

If Minho has ever desired you, even for a moment prior to this, never has he shown so much as an inkling of it. Now, he stands unraveled, pulled apart and bare for you to see. You wonder if he aches, you cannot help but wonder whether or not the need will be sated.

"Yes, let us do that," you answer, but only because you should. No part of you wishes to find warmth within the walls of the estate. 

The following weeks bring a sort of comfortable bliss to the previously cold, ominous interior of the home. One morning, however, that all changes.

Early mornings are warmer now than they once were, each passing day cutting through the chilly breeze. The grounds come to live in lush greens and colorful petals; you've even begun taking trips out of the countryside and into the nearest, small town. It has little to offer besides functional necessity, but leaving the estate is a breath of fresh air that rejuvenates your senses.

You hope to make that journey today, but first, there is work that must be done.

The manuscript is coming along, words filling each page like they've always meant to be there. With your coffee in hand, you make your way towards the study that keeps your things like an untended vault. Secrets hide inside, but no one dares to seek them out—or so you thought.

You push the door open, and what you find is nearly enough to drop the cup from your hands and to the floor completely. Your heart stops similarly instead, and for a brief moment, you cannot believe your eyes.

Minho looks up at you from inside, standing by the desk from which you often work. In his hands sit all of your deepest, innermost secrets. Things you wish not to share with him now, perhaps ever, but the look on his face is one of someone who now understands everything.

He is difficult to read from here, his feelings incomprehensible from just what his features have presented as the two of your eyes meet.

You rush inside, though the damage is done, you know. "What are you doing?" you ask, making little effort to mask your feelings on this matter. Once you reach him, you snatch the pages from his hands and shove them back inside of the drawer from which he got them. "That's not yours to read!"

He does not respond right away, and instead, the room fills with a heavy silence. Minho's hands drop slowly to his sides as he watches you, lips pulled thinly across his face. He appears neither angry, nor sad. He has the appearance of nothing, at all.

"I only wanted to understand you better, get to know you more than what we already have, I thought…" he trails off, eyes falling away from yours, "I thought this to be the best way, suppose I was not mistaken."

You don't dare make an attempt to find his gaze, not looking at one another. It's better like this. Anger bubbles up inside of you, as well as the humiliation of everything that has led you to this point, to this place with him. "So, now you know. Now you know everything."

"I don't…" Minho starts again in response, once again there are words that he cannot seem to find with the same sort of urgency that he needs them. "If it is some concern about my feelings on the matter, I'm unbothered by what you've done, by your history."

"And why should you care?" you ask, the words coming out biting and spit like a kind of venom. "We are not involved in this partnership in any typical sense of the word. This is a marriage of convenience, and convenient it shall remain." It feels bad when spoken, as if betraying your own self-interest. What you feel it to be instead is the most logical course of action given the circumstances; neither serving you nor your heart as far as any potential, budding relationship between the two of you is concerned.

Minho's eyes dart up at that and find your own, but you continue on. "A wife for show, am I not? And for show I will continue to be. No one else knows, you will never experience the same sort of humiliation as I have, if that is your concern."

"It's not." His face twists at the words you've said to him. "That couldn't be the furthest thing from my concern. Do I come off as someone who loses sleep over the opinions of people?"

There's more fight in his voice now, something you're not used to hearing from him. It rattles you, but only slightly, because you are not frightened of him or what he may do. Rather, it serves as a sort of reminder of just how little you appear to understand about him. Most men, most husbands, in these situations would be livid, and demanding of the dissolution of a partnership from which has been built upon deception. This, however, would seem to be far from Minho's interest.

"I would be dishonest if I said that I didn't wish you had told me, of course I do, but I am reasonable enough to understand why you have not," Minho says. "You have lived a whole life before ever having met me, your path leading you elsewhere. That is neither my business, nor my concern. My concern is…"

He does not complete the thought and instead turns away from you once more. Minho makes his way towards the door of the study, but gives pause just before making his exit.

"I am to leave in a week's time, perhaps the space will do us well, after all."

The reminder of all of the time that you will spend by yourself hangs grossly dense inside of your heart. Everything about this feels so wrong, not as it was meant to ever be. Birthed from some incomprehensible place is the desire to beg him to stay, to not leave you here alone despite knowing that he cannot. So much progress has been made between the two of you, only to be spoiled by this; left to fester for the summer months, and you cannot fathom a scenario in which he returns having missed you now.

𝕏𝕀𝕍.

When Minho leaves for his trip, you do not bid him farewell.

Instead, you watch from the window of your bedroom as bags and canvases are piled into the carriage. Minho, Mai and the rest of the staff all smile and say their goodbyes—you can't help but wonder if he wishes you were there alongside them.

It is unimportant. What must be done carries on regardless, and Minho sits himself inside, the carriage pulls away, and down the pathway he eventually disappears; not to return until the leaves on the trees begin to color and fall away with the soon to be onset of winter air once more.

You wonder if you will miss him, only time will tell.

The passing months bore you, and offer you little to placate your wandering mind.

Summer is in full swing, it comes and works its way to closing before you have much of a moment to enjoy it. You make many trips into town to partake in the fresh bakeries and even engage with the folk who enjoy their lives there. They seem happy, you can't help but wonder what that must be like.

Though the manor had been lonely upon your first arrival, there is a stark difference between then, and now. The knowledge that Minho was there—somewhere—within the halls somehow serving as just enough of a comfort to take the edge off of the blanketing nothingness, now gone; and worse than that, you do not know what awaits you when he will return.

Mai offers you kindness, and that is appreciated, but her dedication to her job makes it so that the line towards friendship never truly becomes crossed. You have not seen your parents, and they do not write to you as often as you might like them to. Tzuyu has sent a letter or two, but they are as infrequent as the others, as she is busy with the courtship process herself after the announcement from the prince.

Seven days into September, there is a knock at the door.

Sitting in the vast living room area, surrounded by old paintings, books and other such decorations, the sun begins to set on the home and the summer heat finally starts to wane. The book in hand—one Minho had recommended before his departure—is one that tells the tale of an old painter who traveled all around the world, and gifted a canvas of his art to every person that he met along the way. You wonder if this is the life that Minho wishes for, you wonder if eventually, you will be left behind for good as nothing more than another collectible that he has accumulated inside of the estate.

"Miss…" 

Mai comes up from behind, wringing her hands strangely, unlike anything you've ever seen from her before. Nervous. "You have a visitor."

"I do?" you question, reeling. You are not expecting anyone. "Who is it?"

"I think it might be best if you come quickly."

She has never appeared so concerned to you, and thus, you make haste to follow her and trust her word. The strides past the kitchen and through the small hallway are quick and long, there's a kind of worry bubbling up inside of you. All of the worst potential things begin to muddle your mind; what if your parents have passed away and someone has come to deliver the news in person? 

But turning into the foyer puts a different kind of nail into a different kind of coffin.

Three men stand in the doorway, one on each side of the person intended to be the centerpiece of their arrival. A simple, loose black shirt draping over broad shoulders and a thin, lithe torso, cinched at the waist and carelessly tucked into the matching black trousers there.

He nearly gives the appearance of someone normal, everyday. Just a spot above Minho's own, usual look. Fascinating, the way your mind instantly moves to compare the two.

"Hello, darling," Hyunjin says. Then, he turns to his guards. "You may go."

You feel Mai's eyes on you, and quickly turn to acknowledge them. "Please, leave us."

She nods, and you can only imagine the questions running through her head. You have not a clue how you intend on ever addressing them in the future, but there are many things that you do not understand yet in front of you.

"Your Highness," you say, and then begin to take your bow. Hyunjin steps forward with a gentle scoff, and quickly waves the display away, instead setting his hand atop your shoulder as he moves past you and into the direction from which you came. 

"That's not necessary, let us leave the theatrics of royalty for the streets, where the people might see them, shall we? I think we are a long way away from requiring that between us."

And so you do. The two of you make your way back into the common area of the downstairs and each take an end of the lengthiest couch. Hyunjin sits leaned forward, hands clasped together and resting against his knees. His hair is still long and dark, you thought he might cut it to relinquish such a boyish, juvenile look, but you find that has not been the case.

"I must admit," he begins through a sigh, "I was a bit taken aback when I heard who it was that you ended up being married off to."

"Yes, well, suppose I experienced much of the same when it came to you," you reply curtly.

To that, Hyunjin smiles slightly and stares down at the floor between his feet.

"Fair play. Unfortunately, there are certain expectations…"

"Was everything a lie? Did you never have any intention of marrying me? Did you never love me? If there are expectations then surely you knew when we began our private affairs what could come of it all, so why…"

"It's not so simple," Hyunjin says slowly, turning to look at you now. "My parents have the majority of say in who gets chosen. How lovely it would be if falling in love were enough."

You look at him, but frown. The possibility that the choice be wholly out of his hands is not one that had ever crossed your mind, too busy cursing him for a choice that may have never been his to begin with. Your eyes rake over him, his face; and perhaps there is something of a sadness behind his eyes if you dare to give him the grace of seeing it.

"Where is Sana?"

To this question, Hyunjin sits back with a heavy, loud exhale. "At home, perhaps shopping with her friends as she tends to do. Where is Mr. Lee?"

"Away for work, until the end of autumn."

"It must be lonely, being cooped up here in the countryside alone for so long."

"I…" you hesitate, unsure of how much of yourself you wish to indulge in a man who has already hurt you so gravely in the past. "I make do."

Looking towards you again, Hyunjin's gaze is heavy and narrow, full of a silent contemplation that he has not yet shared with you. Talking to someone that you know so well feels comforting, welcomed. You feel at home. He is disarming.

"Does he suit you?" Hyunjin asks.

You hadn't thought about it in such simplistic terms before. Does Minho suit you? you question yourself in your mind again.

And then you give one, single nod. "He suits me enough, I suppose. Our partnership is a bit…unorthodox perhaps, but we find joy in each other's company."

His eyebrow perks up at that, catching the hint of something unspoken hidden between the words.

"Is that so? A loveless marriage then?"

You scoff, shifting uncomfortably in your seat at the mere mention of it, regardless of how much truth there may be in the statement. "I think loveless makes it seem so much more harsh than it is. I believe we have begun to care for one another in some fashion, over the months. We talk, we have meals together—"

"But he doesn't make love to you."

Stilling your awkward movements, you slowly turn to look up and meet Hyunjin's curious gaze once more.

"No. We've not…reached that point in our relationship, if we ever do." Your eyes fall away. "Surely you are familiar with marriages of convenience, and that very much is ours. We are both at peace with it. Minho is kind, he is accepting of my interests and allows me to do as I please in order to maintain a sense of self, I couldn't ask for more."

As if taking your words as an invitation, Hyunjin slowly begins making his way down the length of the empty couch and towards you. A wry smile tugs at his lips, and though the better part of you knows better than to entertain the possibility of whatever it is that this man may have to offer you, there does still remain the wicked loneliness of a woman who misses—craves—the adoring, wanting touch of a man who desires her.

You tell yourself to create more space between your bodies as Hyunjin comes near, to stand to your feet, to ask him to leave. You are not frightened of him, not an ounce of concern laden in you that he may wish to take something that you are unwilling to give him; no, the horror lies within the fact that you very much do wish to give to him.

Hyunjin's hand finds your leg. The touch is light, tentative and testing. You do not pull away.

"That is no way to live the rest of your days, my love."

It should be harder, you imagine, to give in to his whims. The consideration should weigh heavier on your chest, not handed over so easily once his lips find the skin of your neck, and shortly thereafter, your own. Hyunjin's hands smooth up your legs and beneath your dress, laid back against the sofa. He hovers over you with long, black hair that curtains the both of you inside of this moment. Unsure whether or not it is right, or wrong. For him, the answer is a simple one, but suppose these sorts of things are commonplace among men of a royal standing; after all, who exists to cast down judgment upon them?

His touch is electric against your skin, even more so with the first, slow press of himself into you. You gasp at the feeling. Indeed, you have missed this more than even you had known.

Still, you think of Minho.

When Hyunjin takes his leave once more and bids you farewell, new thoughts and feelings run rampant through your mind as you smile and wave down the cobblestone walkway. Perhaps there had been a kind of truth in his words—that this is no way to live forever—but you cannot fathom any other way, either.

Falling into Hyunjin's touch is easy because it is one that is so familiar. The same motions repeated time and time again and to a kind of perfection, however; something is missing, something that you cannot quite put your finger on.

𝕏𝕍.

The weeks continue to draw on, as does the day of Minho's return in November.

Leaves begin to change their colors, falling away from the branches that they once called their home. The flowers litter the ground, browning and dying to spring anew in the following year. It reminds you of your first arrival upon this place, though snow covered the land then. Not yet has it fallen for the first time this season, but soon it shall.

You keep busy, trying to put out of your mind the happenings in his absence. It is of little consequence to you what has happened in Hyunjin's brief visit, and perhaps the worst part of your soul considers it a kind of unearned payback towards a friend who had taken everything you had hoped for from you. It is unfair, not the kind of person you wish to be, and you put the thought to bed just as quickly as it comes to you. You do not expect to see him again, and in kind, you decide to never delve in such foolish and unbecoming behaviors regarding him even in the event that you do.

Written off as closure, there is some semblance of peace therein. 

On the day of Minho's return, the house is alive. The keepers of the manor all rushing around to ensure that everything is precisely as it should be for the moment that he steps inside; it fascinates you to watch them, knowing full well that Minho is not the sort of man to be bothered by the occasional, misplaced item or a spec of dust left upon the mantle. Of course, this is their job, and they take it upon themselves to make sure that it is done to the best of their ability. You wait just inside the foyer as good wives do when his carriage pulls up, and the quick, anxious beating of your heart comes to be a far more unexpected guest than the man of the hour is.

The doors open and he enters. Two other men are with him and aiding with his belongings, a sight that reminds you of Hyunjin's visit, and you are none pleased by that fact. Minho is dressed differently than you are used to seeing him; far more put together, and with a heavy coat sitting atop his shoulders. Hair less unkempt, it makes you wonder if someone had their hand at his appearance before he left to begin his journey.

He greets the staff first, those that arrived with him handing off his things, and then, he turns his sights towards you.

"Welcome home," you say, fighting back the shake of your voice. "Was it a good trip?"

"It was, but long. Too long for my liking," he admits with a smile. "I'm happy to be home, and not looking forward to having to do much of the same next year, but we'll take it as it comes."

The two of you step towards one another, and to your surprise, Minho takes your hand into his.

"How have things been while I've been away? Hopefully not too dull."

His eyes are gentle as he looks at you, and there is a part of you that wonders if he even recalls the events that took place only just before his embarking. If he does, he shows no signs of it; only a captivating adoration for you.

"Things have been fine…good," you say with a nod, eyes forcing themselves away from his own. Your nervousness and secrets catching up to you, making themselves known within the room. "The days passed as they do, I took many trips into the small town down the way, worked on my book…you've not missed much along the way."

You can feel Mai's eyes on you as you tell the half-truth, and for that reason, you continue on. Perhaps a wild assumption that you would be able to keep this large a secret strictly under lock and key.

Squeezing his hand lightly, you smile ever so slightly at him and say, "We should talk, there are some things. It would be best that way, once you're settled in."

"Of course, I only need a short while. A rinse off and a change of clothes from being cooped up in travel for so long, and then I'm all yours."

Pulling his hand away to attend to his things, you wish deeply to hold on tight—afraid that this may be the last time Minho ever offers you such a genuine, cherished moment.

Later into the afternoon, the changing colors of the sky can be seen through the windows. Hues of blues, purples and oranges that decorate it so beautifully, informing all of those who can see it that the sun is soon to take its rest along the horizon.

You stand in the kitchen, a bowl of fruits sitting before you. Apples, cranberries and persimmons give off their assortment of shades to choose from when Minho quietly makes his way inside.

Eyes meet, and smiles follow after.

Minho's hair is damp from water, strewn about his head and face, entirely uncared for in appearance. He is back in his usual attire; pants with paint stains that not even Mai has managed to defeat, but that function perfectly well as far as he is concerned, you reckon.

Leaning against the counter beside you, he pops a cranberry into his mouth and then cocks his head to the side inquisitively. "You wanted to speak to me?"

Moments like this make it so much harder. You'd not wanted to disclose this to him in any case, but have since decided it better to do so. The guilt weighs so heavily on your chest—has ever since the day—and you wonder if it is selfish to put that onto a man who does not need to carry the burden. Minho is your husband, yes, but in title and legality alone. He has given you permission to carry on as you please, explicit permission to take a lover if that is what you so wish to do; so why is it that having done so feels so regrettable?

This is not a situation that you have ever found yourself to be in before, and thus, you do not know how best to navigate it. You are not one to mince words, however, and so you make the choice to simply come out with it.

"While you were away, Hyunjin was here."

Minho's chewing slows, all softness in his face melting away once the words finally come together as something that he understands the meanings of. "Here? He came here?"

"Yes, to see me."

"He came here…to see you…" Minho says slowly, thoughtfully. "If he knew to come here, then surely he must know that you've been married." He pauses briefly, thinks it through just a bit more before continuing. "As has he."

You nod affirmatively and then say, "Yes, all of this is true. He wanted to see me…I think…there was something of unfinished business between the two of us, as you know with the way that things turned out. It was a brief encounter, he was not here long. I do not think we will meet again in the future."

Minho looks at you tentatively, and you can nearly see all of the questions that beg to be asked swimming around behind his eyes. Surely, he fights back the urge to do so with all of his might for your sake alone, and instead chooses to stomach the brunt of this knowledge by himself, no matter how much discomfort it may bring.

But you do not escape them all.

"You say the encounter was…brief," he starts, though his eyes are unable to meet your own as he presses forward with what he must know. "I have little interest in prying into your personal affairs, I understand what this is—between us—just as well as you do, but I must know; did you—"

"Yes."

Rather than making him say it, you put an end to the entire thing abruptly. Minho blinks through the acceptance of it, a little awe struck, you can tell. He gives two, small nods and then swallows down hard.

"Thank you for telling me," he says. His voice is level, but you can tell as well as anyone else might that it is a facade. Minho turns towards the hallway and says, "If you don't mind, I have work to attend to. Have a good evening."

He does not appear outwardly angry or upset in the ways that you are used to men expressing such emotions, and thus, you are unsure of what to make from all of this. You watch him take two, three steps towards his exit before you rush around the corner of the marble counter and towards him. A hand reaches out towards his arm, but you do not dare make contact—unsure of what may happen if you do. Minho does not scare you, nor has he ever shown aggression, or violence towards you, but you must at all costs aim to protect yourself in such precarious circumstances.

The movement must catch his attention and he stills in place, seemingly waiting for you to reach him. Minho turns to look at you from over his shoulder, unwilling to fully give himself to your insistence of such.

Your chest feels impossibly tight, the struggling burn of discomfort creeping up and into your throat. Are these tears that threaten you? Why, you wonder. You care for him, yes, but there is little between you, and in most recent times not much more than some sort of contention. What is there to care for? And more than that, when has this man ever bothered to express as much towards you?

Still, you press forward. "Are you upset with me? It was thoughtless, but you have said before that I am able to do such things. Don't punish me for the allowances that you have offered!"

"Punish you?" Minho says, tone questioning. "I have no interest in punishing you for anything that you have done in my absence. Your personal matters are your own. If you wish to sleep with the prince then who am I to tell you not to."

"I do not wish to sleep with the prince! I wish to sleep with—"

It comes out faster than you have the chance to pull it back. Dripping with pure emotion and absolutely unbridled truth, you manage to cut it off at the tail end, though you fear that the damage has been done. The heat of humiliation curls up your spine, you take a step back and away from the man in front of you.

Too much silence creeps up between the two of your bodies, and Minho offers nothing to you in the immediate aftermath of the words. Wordlessly, you beg him to say something—anything—to cut through it, even if it is condemnation that sits at the tip of his tongue.

Much to your surprise, however, Minho turns back to face away from you fully with something of an awkward shift to his stature. He does not look at you, but the more that he chooses not to, the less you believe it to be a sign of displeasure and more so one born from a kind of strange unsureness of how to move forward, where to go with this from here.

He clears his throat loudly, one by one cracking the knuckles in his fingers as if to fill in the empty space between your bodies. Finally, he says, "Perhaps we simply move on from this, as if nothing ever happened. In any case, I'll be in the atrium, should you need to find me."

A curious thing to say from the man, one that has you reeling in shock upon hearing it. 

"Is that…an invitation?"

And to that, Minho sighs aloud.

"Must you make me speak everything into existence? Surely you've noticed I lack the capabilities for these sorts of things."

It's not perfect, but you'd not expected to leave this particular discussion with a smile pulling at your lips.

𝕏𝕍𝕀.

The atrium smells of cinnamon, paint thinner, and alcohol.

Rum, in particular. You're not able to make out its particular scent until you're much closer to the man that it emanates off of, pungent and impossible to ignore. You try to recall any other time that you've been aware of Minho's drinking, but you cannot.

Tonight must be a special night for him to be partaking.

There's a soft spot in the wooden paneling of the floor, and it creaks beneath your weight. This is enough to finally alert Minho of your arrival to this place, having not noticed you before. He glances at you from over his shoulder—not unlike the hours before—and then carries on with the mixture of colors that have already been dabbed onto the bristles of his brush.

"You came," he says.

"You drink."

Minho sighs at your response. "You know this, we have shared wine at the dinner table before."

"Yes, but not like this."

Hunched over and knelt onto the floor, Minho ignores this and instead continues painting. You opt out of pressing any further on the matter and instead, bring yourself to his side in order to see what it is that he is working on.

The canvas is wide rather than tall, with hues of blue, white and green masterfully splashed across the majority of it. The beauty of the ocean and the waves that live within it perfectly captured in time by his hand—a small ship depicted amidst it all.

"I spent some time by the harbor on this trip, and spent a good deal of my time there thinking about how my life might be if I ceased to exist here, the way that I have been, the way that I do."

You look down at him, but he does not look up. He continues with his work.

"The truth of the matter, is that there isn't much keeping me here, is there? Not much would change. I could be anywhere in the world doing this. No reason it must be here."

"Is that why you painted this? Your wish to escape it all?" you ask.

Minho stops his strokes, then drops his paintbrush into the muddied mixture of water just beside him. He stands to his feet—albeit wobbly—and stares down at the piece of artwork as if it's something not crafted from himself. A strange existence that has somehow found its way into his home, into his thoughts, but not of his own doing.

"I'm not sure that I even wish for it," he says. "I'm unsure of a lot of things. I make decisions largely because they are expected of me, because I see what everyone else does, and so I emulate it. It's easy to assimilate like this, I don't have to think about it all that much."

"Like taking a wife."

Minho looks away from the painting then and over towards you. You meet his eyes, but feel a sense of nervousness under the intensity that sits behind them tonight. 

"It has always been difficult for me to set my anxieties aside without the aid of warmth that the bottle brings. I don't partake often, I know it's unhealthy, so I keep to myself and suffer alone." Minho's hand reaches towards yours, and while you're happy to allow him to take it, that is not all that he does. Quickly you feel the gentle tug of his strength, inching you closer to him. His warm, soft palm tracing up the outside of your arm until it disappears behind your back to rest there. Now the scent of alcohol is strong on his breath, but you cannot find it within yourself to care when proximity is so tightly held between you.

Minho's finger traces down the middle of your back, an action that sends chills up the very same place. You fight back the shudder that threatens to shake you while in his grasp, and your own hands find their placement at the front of his broad, firm chest.

The alcohol indeed must be making him brave, lowering his inhibitions and the torrent of thoughts that otherwise might bar him from ever attempting this. For that, you are thankful. You glance at his lips, then up at eyes that are already watching you. Minho's thoughts and feelings are nearly indiscernible on his face; still thinking, thinking, thinking, no doubt.

He leans in towards you, so short and small that you nearly miss it entirely if not for how rapt with attention to him you are. A tentative gesture to test the waters, to see if you will pull away.

But you will not.

And so, he presses forward again, slowly still, as if to give you ample time to escape him. You couldn't imagine yourself a world where you might; heart beating hard and fast within your chest in anticipation of this, fingers gripping tightly into the fabric of his shirt with each passing second between the two of you. Truthfully, you have been wanting this, for so, so long. Longer than you could ever fathom to allow him to know, the kind of dull, anticipatory, hopeful desire that rests dormant often, but never completely able to be ignored.

It's hard to pinpoint the moment in which Minho became more than just a concept of a husband in your mind, muddied even more once his lips finally find your own. Careful and warm, he kisses you like he's afraid to break you, but the hand gripping at the small of your back tells a different story; one of forced back desire, of bitten back need. It presses your body more firmly against his, it informs far more than his words will allow for now. 

When you do not create space, the kiss becomes heavier too. Testing, unsure lips that at first only ghost against your own then expose their want for you in the careful turn of his head and ever so slight nips of teeth at the bottom of your lip. Harder, faster with every moment that passes in the atrium; you forget to breathe and gasp into his mouth, Minho finally relents in tasting you so ravenously.

Physical desire is nothing new to you, but never have you experienced it quite like this.

Minho's free hand comes up to cup your face, thumb grazing lightly against the skin of your cheek as he looks at you. Both just slightly out of breath, you can't fathom how wrecked you appear just from a kiss.

His lips part as if to speak, and then close shortly thereafter. Once again; thinking, thinking, thinking. The alcohol is incapable of disposing of it all. Then, they part again, and Minho pushes forward with the words that fail him so frequently.

"Do you still love the prince?"

The least that you can do is answer his question honestly.

"I don't know."

And though it may not be the ideal reply, Minho still appears pleased by it. Everything that you have learned about him since your arrival here points to the very same conclusion, because he smiles ever so slightly, and gives a small nod in acceptance.

𝕏𝕍𝕀𝕀.

Though not spoken of, the kiss lives on in every interaction shared between the two of you going forward.

You wish deeply for the conversation to come to a head, but by now you know Minho and the way that he functions well enough to know that that will more than likely not be the case. Still, you manage to find solace in this fact; his nervous mannerisms and the barely there catch in his voice when speaking to you on occasion, as if the memory of such has just caught up with him in real time. You smile through these instances, pleased by them in some capacity. Pleased knowing that it is not a thing that has simply come and gone.

The only person that Minho answers to in his life is his agent, and his agent insists on having a holiday party at the estate.

On the day of, it is a week into December. Snow has begun to fall, though not heavily yet. It sprinkles like sugar from the sky, only lightly dusting the windows and grounds. It is a beautiful sight, but you're thankful for not having to be the one traveling within it, and when the guests start arriving, you realize just how grossly unprepared for this volume of guests the home truly is. Not enough coat racks, not enough space for wiping off their shoes. Hats are placed wherever it is that they can go; Mai scuttling about the hallways with her staff in an attempt to make it all work.

To your surprise, Minho makes himself seen. No doubt a push by said agent, but his displeasure at doing so resides heavily within his stature.

First laying eyes on him is a sight to behold. His hair is more put together, set into place purposefully. He wears all black, but the front panel of his coat is garnished with the sparkle and shine of dark jewels that bring it to life. It's a little unlike him, you have to admit, but Minho wears it well.

Quickly, you finish up a conversation with people that your husband barely knows, that you have barely been partaking in, and go to him. He, too, is amidst something of the same, though handling it far less gracefully than you have.

You put on your widest smile, and curl your arm firmly around his own from the side.

"My sincerest apologies," you start, tone dripping with a sweet edge, "I'm afraid I must take my husband from you, if only for a brief moment."

The man smiles and nods happily, understanding of whatever situation it is that you've made up in your head in order to rescue Minho. It's late into the evening and you've not been keeping a watchful eye, but the smell on his breath of alcohol is one that you're quite familiar with, and disappearing into the halls towards less-traveled passages, you can't help but wonder what this instance has in store.

Minho drags along, but doesn't say a word. He stumbles slightly once, you try not to ascribe it to his drunkenness unfairly. You have just the place in mind, and once you reach the old, empty study at the far, opposite end of the hall, you push Minho inside lightly, and then close the door behind.

"Are you rescuing the damsel?" Minho asks, cheeky and with a smile. "Was it that obvious?"

"Only to someone with the eyes to see it," you reply. "I know that you don't enjoy these sorts of busy situations."

"One might say I hate it, in fact." Minho steps towards you, and you take a step back. Only there is nowhere left for you to go, and your back is up against the door from which you came. "Indeed, I much prefer quieter moments of peace, just between myself and another…"

His hand finds the outside of your thigh, only the thick layers of your dress between skin. He closes the space further, as much as he can, until his body is pressed tightly against your own. You've been holding your breath—for how long? you wonder. A sharp inhale takes you, though it's ragged and shudders at the feeling of being with him like this. Everything that Minho offers you feels white hot, regardless of the clothes that keep you separated, and when his mouth finds the line of your jaw, you cannot help but melt into the touch.

You ache for him. A dull throb that makes itself known, impossible to ignore. His other hand snakes around your waist to pull you closer—as if closer is physically possible. You could beg for him to touch you elsewhere, drunk with want not unlike his own intoxication.

"I don't care if you love another man," he says suddenly, and seemingly out of nowhere. The abrupt mention of Hyunjin sends something of a cold chill to your otherwise hot skin. "I'm happy that you're here, I love having you here…" His lips are still lightly mouthing against the flesh of your jaw, voice low, nearly a whisper. "I love…you. Even in the event that you love another, that is of no consequence to me. Not really."

Desire has waned, flushed away quickly as if it had never even been there. You gently push Minho away so that you can look him in the eyes, but all that you find is the slightly drunken, but incredibly sincere glean looking back at you.

"You're drunk," you say, rejecting his advances for this to go any further. Now is not the time. "You always say and do such things when you're intoxicated."

"Do you assume me to be more intoxicated than I am so that you don't have to acknowledge the words?"

You don't respond to this immediately. Minho does not deserve to be told a lie, and thus, you say nothing.

He continues on. "In the atrium that night, you assumed that I was making poor choices, outside of the realm of my own logic? Things that I would never do just because of the drink? And then now, you think the same? Do you truly believe that, or is it easier than the words? Because no one understands that feeling better than I do."

"Is that why you drink, then? To say and do all of the things that you can't do when you're sober?" You scoff lightly. "You can't drink through every step of your life."

"I don't, I won't," Minho says firmly. "Think of it more…as a coincidence."

Stepping towards you once more, Minho closes in on you all over again. His lips mere inches away from your own as he gazes down at you.

Then, the door opens from behind you, and he pulls it open to fashion himself an exit.

"If you don't believe me, then you're more than welcome to nurse my hangover in the morning hours, since you'll be awake!" he says loudly, far too cheerfully for everything that's gone on. 

You smile at him, and hate that you do. This annoying, eccentric, strange man that has buried himself so deeply beneath your skin. An unshakable, ineffable and unquantifiable shine to his mere existence.

Minho disappears back down the hall and towards the guests that await him, nearly skipping as he does so. You watch from the doorframe, make an effort to steady the quick beating of your heart, and replay the words over and over again in your mind; unremittingly.

"Good morning, darling."

Bent over the kitchen counter, chin perched up against your palm, you cock your head and smile at Minho as he slowly, carefully enters the shared space. Eyes narrow, like any light pains his entire being.

"Shall we take you for your bath, then?" you add, walking towards him and circling your arm around his.

A light steam rises from the water as Minho's sore body sinks into it. You reenter just moments later with a set of clothing in hand, and sit yourself just beside the porcelain tub to aid him in his recovery.

"You shouldn't drink so much," you say, obviously.

"I know," he admits through a groan. "Every time I do this, I say it'll be the last. Then another social event comes up."

"There was no such social event in the atrium that evening."

"Sure there was, you were there."

Silence falls between the two of you in the following moments, and you watch as Minho closes his eyes, sinks his body deeper into the water to the point that only his head sticks out from the top. You take it upon yourself to lightly remove strands of hair stuck to the dampness of his forehead, and then, Minho inhales with intent to speak.

"I apologize for last night, as well as for the evening in the atrium. I apologize for…parts of them, but not everything." He pauses, eyes still closed, but forces himself to continue on. "The truth is: I do not care about your history with the prince, no matter how recent it has been. I understand there is a complexity there that I may never be able to grasp, nor do I think it necessary for me to do so. What is necessary of me—as your husband—is to be kind, understanding, and perhaps if there could be space for it; loving."

You still completely, allowing the words to wash over you and sink deeply into every crevice of your being.

He speaks again. "Suppose what I had hoped for; some starry-eyed, hopeless romantic sort of expectation in all of this that was left unspoken, is that regardless of your feelings for him, your history with him, that you might still find space in your heart to someday love me too."

An immediate reply escapes you, and you lose sight of just how tortuous such a wait can be until Minho cracks one, single eye open and peers at you cautiously through it.

"Please, say something. Put me out of my misery, if you must," he says.

Your senses come back to you quickly, shaking your head in the negative. "No! No, Minho…have you truly not noticed? Let us not forget who it was that insisted upon the two of us becoming more than strangers who share a home together…"

"Living with strangers is, well, strange. You could have meant anything by that."

You try not to roll your eyes, but fail. Instead of pressing further on this particular endeavor, you decide to revisit the original one, as brought forward by him. The entire thing remains fascinating to you—the density of his capability to understand things that come to you with such ease.

"I probably can," you say, acknowledging his hope for the openness of your heart. "I probably do."

Minho closes his eyes again, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. The tension that collected at his shoulders amidst all of this falling away like weights strapped to him. You are calmed watching him unravel before you.

"Let us share an evening meal tonight, something special. Think about all of the things that you wish to say to me in earnest, and I will do the same," you offer quietly.

"I would like that."

𝕏𝕍𝕀𝕀𝕀.

Minho enters just as the large, antique clock begins to sing its tune of nine in the evening.

Candle light flickers against the walls of the dining room and illuminates the table where all of the dishes that Mai has hand crafted herself sit. A beautiful display, though hardly what you're taking an interest in tonight.

He takes his seat across from you, clears his throat gently, and averts his eyes as much as he can until it seemingly dawns on him that he cannot do so for much longer. Reluctantly, Minho looks at you, and though his appearance is not unlike his usual self, something new makes itself apparent within him.

Mai comes over and pours your glass of wine, then makes her way around the table towards his. However, Minho does not accept the gesture. Watching you the entire time.

"You're not having wine with your meal?" you ask.

"No, I've decided to come off it, at least for a time."

"For a time?"

"This time."

Surprisingly confident and almost sinister sounding, Minho no longer makes an effort to avert his eyes from you and as a result, the weight of them rests heavily on your form. There is a sort of humor to this, you find, desiring nothing more than for him to see you for so long and now feeling as though you should shrink away from beneath his gaze. Why is he looking at you in such a way? Why is it that you feel like prey?

You steady your nerves and smile. "Well, there will be other times."

"Do you wish to remain married to me?"

Your attention pulls towards him quickly and with a confused earnestness. "What? Why are you asking me such a thing?"

Minho leans forward against the table. "We agreed to have this meal together and discuss such things. I think…I have not done much to aid in the ease of your comfort here. I think we have grown a lot together, maybe even enjoy our time shared. Perhaps it is time that we decide on just how much of a married life we wish to have with one another. Thus, do you wish to remain married to me?"

"Is there really an alternative?" you question, somewhat humorously. "Of course, marriages have ended before but we hardly meet the sorts of societal requirements for such a thing."

"You have not answered my question," he insists.

You press your palms abruptly to the table, fed up by his ridiculous pushing on the matter.

"Yes! I wish to remain married to you! My goodness; we've shared meals together, our thoughts and dreams and hopes for the future together, intimacy together! As if I've not made it clear where I stand on the matter while I drag you along through all of this kicking and screaming the whole way…you don't exactly make it easy on a woman!"

"So you are happy."

"Yes!" you quickly bite back.

"Content."

"Yes, Minho!"

"But you want more," he continues on, the rapid fire back and forth between you now mounting the anticipation of where this is meant to go.

"Of course I do!"

"You desire more of me."

"Yes!" you reply, exasperated by the questioning but barely even having a moment to register what's been laid out before you. The affirmation slips out from your lips unwillingly, but it's too late to bring it back. Instead, you watch Minho's eyes narrow mischievously as a result of the grin that tugs at his lips. He must be pleased with himself.

"We should eat." Hardly convincing when you say it. Still, you pick up your utensil. "The food will get cold."

"We can eat any time," Minho says, still playfully persistent. "Is there anything that you wish to ask of me?"

"Yes! What has gotten into you?"

"You, us; the concept of it, the possibility of it." Minho pushes his chair back then and stands, makes his way around the table and towards you. He takes your hand gently, timidly, and pulls you up towards him. Protest dies in your throat before you have the chance to make it heard, because his hand slips around your back and as a result, your body rests flush against his. "Admittedly, I am slow on the uptake of such things. My thoughts get the best of me, second guessing every interaction, every word…" He trails off, the hand at your back slipping to settle at your waist, and then it tightens. "Every touch."

Minho's face dips over to the side of yours, lips edging at the shell of your ear and then he whispers against it, "But you say you want more of me, more that I've not yet given. More that I can give."

Your head swims, warm breath tickling your skin in such an enticing way. Minho's grip against you does not relent, nor do you want it to. You've quietly yearned for what appears to be now presented before you; his touch, and in ways, so much more than that.

"I've still not seen where you sleep," you say quietly, pointedly. "Only ever the atrium."

"Some husband I am, making my darling wife wait so long for such a thing." Minho's hand then slowly falls from your waist down to your hip, then further more to your thigh. His palm settles atop the front for a short moment before he then continues the journey between them, bunching the fabric of your skirt where his fingers rest. "I've not been doing my due diligence, have I?"

Knees nearly buckling at the touch, you clutch onto him by the shoulders, breath hitching as you attempt to answer him. "No, you certainly have not."

This is your best attempt at maintaining composure, but truthfully, you stand in his grasp, disoriented with want for him. Minho's lips graze your jaw, teeth bared within a smile. He says, "Allow me to make it up to you, then."

The large, ornate door to his bedroom closes, and with no more time to waste, Minho's hands begin to artfully search for the flesh of your body.

His lips hurriedly find yours, as if the only thing he ever wishes to taste is within them. Fingers adeptly unfastening the buttons and clasps of your dress while you, in turn, do much of the same at those that hold the fabric of his shirt in place. The race is won by you, and your mouths part only long enough to remove the hindrance from his body—but he follows just after—and your garment falls away, exposed to the ambient chill of the room, though not for long.

Minho leads you with a gentle urgency back towards his bed. There's a haste behind his motions that alludes to a dormant kind of desire that has been held inside of him for far longer than you have been aware of, not at all unlike yourself. As your back finds the mattress, Minho follows you over it; mouth only leaving your skin for the briefest of seconds before finding it once again.

Your legs fall apart to fit his body between them, and his hand slips beneath your last remaining undergarment soon after. Deft fingers that glide between your folds, ample pressure that has you gasping into his mouth for him to drink down and arching your back up to meet the firmness of his chest. Minho smiles against your lips as you do so, slowly and methodically unraveling you for his own viewing pleasure.

He pulls back, slinks down the length of your body and trailing his lips along the way. Warm, wetness circles at your chest before he continues further down.

Hands grip firmly into the plush flesh of your thighs, prying them apart for him just that much more. You glance down, but cannot stand to look at the sight of him; his face mere inches away from just the place that you wish for him to touch again. Minho does not leave you wanting, perhaps he cannot bear to do so, and his tongue finds you, mouth pressed flush against your own lips. The gasp that escapes from you is horrid, far too telling of how much you've been wanting to have him like this. 

Minho pulls off of you, but his dominant hand finds the place he has only just left instead. The wetness pooling is nearly humiliating if not for the comfort that you feel in his presence, and his fingers delicately trickle downward further, carefully driving into you. He watches your face as he takes you apart just that much more, but you do not have the sensibilities to muster up much for words.

"Do you like this?" he asks, the first words spoken since entering the room. The press of his fingers against you is slow, rhythmic, testing. Before you find it within yourself to respond, his mouth reattaches to the place just above where his hand works you open.

Yes falls away from you, though you're not sure how you've managed it. It appears to please him, however, and he continues on with a newly found enthusiasm. He pushes deeper, and a moan escapes you with every drive. A sheen of sweat collects atop your skin, strands of hair matted against you, fingers curling tightly into the sheets beneath your grasp.

Your skin prickles, warmth spreading across your body and muscles stiffening as he continues on. Breaths to take in become shorter and faster, the grind of your hips against the way that he works your body less and less within your conscious control. You slip a hand down between your legs, gently carding fingers through soft, black hair. His fingers curl inside of you, and as a result of it, so do yours atop his head. A whimper slips out from between your lips, and following immediately after, come the desperate pleads for him not to stop.

And he has no intention of doing so. Minho does not stop until your pleasure peaks and ravages your body within his hold. You shake and cry out; wounded gasps and moans that avalanche from you thoughtlessly, the only thing that you can manage through this feeling. Once satisfied, he slows to bring you back down gently, and once delicately seated, he removes himself from you and the bed entirely to finish the act of disrobing.

Chest heaving with exhausted breaths, you nearly miss his doing so, only alerted to the fact once the bed dips again, signifying his return to you. Minho crawls between your legs and up the length of your body just as he did the first time; kisses your chest, your neck, your jaw, only to then settle atop your lips. Teeth faintly find the bottom of your lip, already well and truly bitten raw from your own abuse. Still, you reach up to feel the warmth of his skin under your hands and revel in the way that his body feels against your own. Though release has found you once this evening, you are not truly satiated by him yet.

Minho's hand slips down between both of your bodies to hold himself in place. You feel him against you; wet and solid, enticing and teasing. You move almost involuntarily against him, hopeful to receive what it is that you desire from him now, but he is unwilling to relent to your neediness just yet.

You gasp lightly against his mouth, and Minho happily accepts it into his own, delighted by the way you come apart beneath him.

"Have you thought about it before?" he asks, a coy whisper shared only between lovers. A question that does not require further expansion, for you know precisely what it is that is being referred to.

"So many times," you reply.

At that, Minho begins the slow, precise drive of himself inside of you once more. "Apologies for keeping you waiting then."

He sinks into you, body accepting him with ease. Minho's mouth hangs slightly ajar as he does so, taken by the feeling, and settles momentarily once his hips meet flush against your own before his hips pull back and he repeats the process once more. The thick drag, hard and strong is dizzying and nearly disorienting to your senses—your fingernails dig into his skin, and for the first time, Minho groans with a sort of primal lust that has the hairs across your skin standing on end, and the fire inside of your abdomen burning just that much hotter than before.

With the ease in which your body accepts him, Minho is able to find a quick and strong rhythm. Harder and faster his hips find your own, the urgency needing this moment for so long finally coming to a head between the both of you. Your whimpers and moans echo off the walls, losing sight of the once prominent thought in your mind that the staff may hear you; instead, you beg and plead for more of him, anything that he is physically capable of giving you—he does.

Body tightening beneath him, you feel once again the familiar promise of release. Your hands glide over hot, damp skin; muscles that flex and move with every drive of himself inside of you. Minho kisses you—a sloppy attempt—but you meet it happily, and his face falls away to the crook of your neck to nip into the skin there. One, strong hand slips down to grip at your thigh, pulls you apart further and wider for him to work your body open with his own. Hard, methodical strokes; one after another, whimpers and whines punched out of you with each. You beg for more, continuously beg as if never satisfied, and Minho continues to give relentlessly to you until his own ability finally falters and gives way; rhythm shifting, failing, wavering. He hisses against your skin, choking out a pained groan, and you find your end just alongside him in bitten back cries and a final, deep sinking of himself within you.

Chests heaving and basking in the afterglow for many, long moments, he does not hurry to separate your bodies, and instead, his lips begin to work at the sensitive skin of your neck once again. You close your eyes to simply enjoy the feeling of this, of him, and hold tightly in your arms the man that has somehow come to be precisely what it is that you have always hoped for someone to become.

"Stay here tonight," he says quietly. "Don't go."

You smile, barely there. Mustering up all of the energy within your bones that you have left to expend and say, "I wouldn't dream of it."

𝕏𝕀𝕏.

The new year brings new cheer, as well as new prospects to the household.

It has been a year since you've been back to the city center, and though covered in snow and the dreadful darkness that winter brings, you feel some semblance of ease having returned.

You remember the days that you spent dreaming of being inside of these very same castle walls, though now that you're here, you can't help but feel as though they glitter less brightly than what it is that you had imagined.

Beside you, Minho stands with a forced and feigned confidence. He glances at you, perhaps having felt your eyes upon him, and offers a nervous smile that does nothing to placate your concern for him. Indeed, not all things change with ease—and some may never—but having the comfort of those who love you shouldering much of the burden instead. 

In arm, he holds a wrapped painting. One that you know well; a small ship atop a vast, brightly colored sea.

You hear the echo of doors opening from behind you, and when you turn, you are familiar with what you see.

Methodical clicks of shoes being the only thing that cuts through the silence, you watch as the prince makes his way towards the two of you—a smile on his face—and most certainly a genuine one. You've never known Hyunjin to be particularly petty, or mean-spirited; and despite all of his shortcomings, he likely does feel softness in his heart for you and the happiness that you have found.

"Your Highness," Minho says with an accompanying bow, but Hyunjin is quick to put a hand up and wave away the gesture.

"I do believe the three of us are well past the need for such things." Looking at you, Hyunjin smiles. "I see things worked out in the end, then?"

With half a mind to question how it is that he knows, you instead chalk it up to a sort of intangible, understood aura that simply exists between lovers; people who are madly, deeply in love with one another. You couldn't fight back the smile if you tried, and so, you don't. Instead, your hand finds Minho's free one, and you nod.

"Yes, indeed they have."

"Splendid news! Perhaps someday I will find myself to be so lucky," Hyunjin says, though there is a particular bite of discontentment in the words that you feel you understand far too well. "Nevertheless, you've brought the painting! I wish I could express in words how eagerly I've been anticipating receiving this piece…ever since it was put up into the auction, I simply knew I had to have it."

"I appreciate your kindness," Minho replies, squeezing your hand lightly. Just another, small offering shared between lovers.

"You will be paid handsomely for this. I am aware of what the asking was but I feel as though it is worth far more, and I'll see to it that you receive precisely that which you are deserving of."

Eyes widening in surprise, Minho glances first at you—but you merely shrug, unmoved by Hyunjin's antics—and instead, he defers to the prince, himself. "Your Highness, that's not—"

"Aht! It is. You creatives truly must value yourself higher, the world moves and exists and revolves around these crafts. Without art, we have nothing. We are nothing."

Hyunjin calls for his housestaff to take the canvas from Minho's grasp, and as they disappear down the hall, the man smiles widely at the two of you as if pleased with himself, with everything that has taken place today.

"Perhaps next in line is getting that book of yours published."

You shake your head, a sort of nervousness striking you that isn't commonplace. "I'm not so sure that's a good idea, you know, there is much of you written inside of those pages."

He waves his hand in the air again, unbothered by the fact. "So be it, I'd rather like being not just a part of history, but a part of art, as well."

"Strange fellow," Minho says, walking beside you through the city streets and long after having bid the prince farewell. "Not sure what it is that you ever saw in him."

The comment is pointedly comedic, and you judge him playfully with your elbow before responding in words. "He's handsome, and royalty. Suppose for a long time I didn't consider there to be much else outside of those things. What else could a man have to offer me?"

"As it would seem, only having one of those things is plenty to suit you," he jokes, slinging an arm up and around your shoulders as the two of you carry on. "You have been taken by my confusing whimsy and cumbersome charms."

"So it would seem," you reply, watching the sprinkle of shimmering snow collect atop a difficult, complicated head of black hair that you have incomprehensibly grown to love.

a/n: thanks for reading and i hope you enjoyed it! no pt. 2, and kind words are always much appreciated ♡

[purplekissinger]

Ten points to Hufflepuff

ah yes comedy. Muggleborn Hufflepuff reader. Please do not take this seriously because i sure don't

“Now it’s all done, Becky. And always after this, you know, you ain’t ever to love anybody but me, and you ain’t ever to marry anybody but me, ever never and forever. Will you?”

"Ten points from Gryffindor," Tom said lazily, waving his wand to put the scattered books into a neat little pile. Y/N  picked it up, smiled gratefully and hurried away, leaving Prewett on the floor with a rapidly growing bump on his forehead. "No running on the fifth floor”.

“Well, she just threw herself at my feet,” Prewett tried to justify. The pathetic fool had no idea that Y/N was allowed to throw herself at the feet of only one person. Y/N herself did not know that either (for now, of course). "Don't you want to, I don’t know, take points from Hufflepuff too? What do the rules say about being blind?.." and, before he could even finish this foolish, foolish sentence, he gasped and grabbed his head.

"Shall I escort you to the hospital wing or send you there?" Tom asked very politely.

*

"Fifteen points from Ravenclaw," he said sternly, pushing Fawley out of the restricted section of the library. Y/N  looked at them, confused. Glancing over his shoulder, Tom assured her, "L/N, Professor Merrythought warned me you had a pass. Good luck with your research".

"What are you up to, Riddle?" Fawley asked in an annoyed whisper as they left the library. "A pretty lady struggling with her essay, helping her is basically winning her heart..."

"What's the essay about, by the way?" Tom asked innocently. "Horcruxes, probably?"

"What in the world is that?.."

"And, alas, five more points from Ravenclaw. Woeful ignorance, I must say".

*

"Now what? Are you going to take points from your own House?" Malfoy huffed. They both stood on the landing, looking down. It was midnight. "The pattern is pretty clear, don’t you think? Leave her be, Riddle, for Merlin's sake. It's a pity to watch a Slytherin chase a badger."

"An interesting combination, indeed" Tom said thoughtfully. "As a fellow Slytherin, I can assure you, not a single point will be taken and no witnesses will be left. Now, could  you please stand a little to the left..."

*

"Tom, I have a bad feeling about this," you said timidly. "Think what you will, but all these cases... All of them have something to do with me. Terry Prewett says that he has had a lump for a month now. Malfoy fell down the stairs after he called me... well, that word, and does not remember anything."

"Bizzare," Tom replied.

"Wait, let me finish... This didn't add up until Fawley asked me out and fell off his broom later that evening. Maybe..." You looked around as if looking for someone, then turned to Tom, "No, that's just too stupid, I think I’ll tell that in your ear..."

And so you did. 

Tom was not thinking about your words, lost in the feeling of your breath tickling his cheek, the smell of your hair. He will do anything in his power to have more such moments in the future.

You pulled back and looked at him with a strange mix of emotions on your face. Fear? Hope? Reproach?

"Ten points to Hufflepuff! You're a smart one, Miss L/N," Tom chuckled. "What will you do with that knowledge?"

[unconventional-lawnchair]

I'll Look After You: Prologue

Sirius Black x Reader / Remus Lupin x Reader / Remus Lupin x Sirius Black

Masterlist Series Masterlist

Summary: the set up for GOF timeline, Harry and reader reunite over the summer, Remus and Sirius as well

Cw: Use of {Y/N}, the Durley's}

Wc- 1909

Taglist- @otterlockholmes @stylesann

“My dearest Harry,

I am sorry it has taken this long. It shouldn't have been more than a week, but you are aware of everything that has happened since I returned home.

The ministry, as I expected, came to me first when they had heard of Sirius Black’s escape from Hogwarts. They have dropped all accusations on behalf of Bartemius Crouch Sr, our Minister. I have been allowed my properties and seized possessions. I am home now, Remus has joined me, and Padfoot is two days out. 

Another thing the Ministry has returned to me, is my title as your godmother. It was reinstated yesterday, and as I am regretful that it took a month, Harry, you will be coming home.

The papers have been sent. I must give you fair warning, Harry, when you return to me, you will also be returning to the {L/N} house hold. Much like the Blacks, we have a reputation. My father, for one, was not too pleased with my involvement with the Potters since day one. I will fight for you, Harry. I will. I do not expect you to bend to the pressure, but I will always hope our relationship is open and honest.

Forever here, {Y/N}”

Home. He was going home. Harry didn't think he had ever smiled so much while at the Dursleys’. 

“You should feel lucky boy. I could have fought it, thirteen years too late if you ask me!” Mr. Dursley huffed from the head of the table, flicking through his newspaper. They had just finished dinner, it was late, and Harry found himself fidgeting. He was packed, he was ready, tonight he was going to start over. With family. People who loved him. “But the sooner you're gone, the better it is for everyone.”

“I agree.” Harry snarked and stood up, leaving Mr. Dursley stunned and blabbering like a fish. Harry wasn't scared anymore. The paperwork was signed yesterday, and in just a few more minutes, you would be here, and you would take him home. 

“No respect! Fed and housed you all this time! Still, you seem to think-” His words were interrupted by a firm knock on the door. Harry lit up and practically dashed off to it, before he slowed to a stop as Petunia stepped in front of him. She looked in the side mirror and made herself presentable, fixing her dress and huffing. Turning to glare at Harry before she opened the door.

…

You were standing on the doorsteps of that same bloody house. Merlin, you always said if you ever saw any of them again it would be too damn soon. You were staring off at the street, until you heard the door finally open.

Turning, you had to hide a wince as you saw Lily's sister. She looked like all those tears did a number on her when she was younger, her face was pinched and tart, like a damned sour sprout from Honeydukes. You smiled sweetly at her, even when she began to shove Harry’s luggage out like it was trash. “Abandoned him for thirteen years, hm? Now you're finally here?”

“Fantastic to see you again as well, Petunia. Haven't aged a day.” You purred with a wink and looked around her. When Harry's eyes landed on yours, you both smiled like absolute fools. You 

opened your arms and Harry squirmed past his aunt with a small, “Excuse me,” before he practically tackled you.

You had a delighted laugh and held him tighter, spinning in a small circle, so distracted by each other Petunia finally gave in with a scoff. Waving you both off. Pulling away you quickly began to fix his clothes and hair, putting his glasses back proper on his face.

“Are you ready?” You asked and began to pick up his things, he quickly moved to help you, grabbing his actual luggage bag as you grabbed his smaller bags, holding Hedwig. 

“Ready.” Harry nodded and you walked down to the street. He stared at you curiously before you waved your hand and suddenly, a large black car pulled up. It seemed more in line with a chauffeur and luxury ride. 

You waved your hand again and the trunk and back doors popped open. You began to load up the back seat and hurried around to help Harry slip his things into the trunk.

Once everything was packed away, you both got in. You looked at him and smiled, he returned it. Looking around once more, you shifted the car’s stick shift, and suddenly, it became as dark as the night outside. Harry gave a laugh and shook his head, you turned to him and tilted your head curiously.

“Just a bout of deja vu.”

~~~  

You drove for a few hours, gliding above the clouds as Harry kept you company with stories of the remaining days at Hogwarts before summer. Eventually, his voice faded into silence. You two enjoyed a bit of quiet, before you asked him if he'd like to listen to some music his mother loved. He lit up as you reached over to the glove box and took out a few cds. 

You turned a few on loop for him, and eventually, you were greeted by his soft snores. You lit up at the sudden squeeze to your chest. So much love ached in you, like this was how it was meant to be. For years now. 

Eventually, you landed in an open field, hidden deep within the thick and vibrant green forests of the Scottish countryside. You were isolated, when you and Sirius were younger, this was the best of both worlds. Space, quiet, away from London, but also full of life and peaceful wonder, a place you thought you'd raise a child one day. Well, you weren't entirely wrong. You were happy to be the one to finally clip Harry free of that horrid house.

You gave a frown as you leaned over and rubbed Harry's shoulder. You hated to wake him.

He snapped his head up and blinked a few times. “We are almost there.” You whispered to him and he glanced around himself in curious and baffled silence. 

“Where are we?” He mumbled. You suddenly laughed, remembering all that Harry could see was the thick forest around you. “Sorry, Harry. We are going to 1 Grindlebay coast.” You whispered and stared at him, as you watched his eyes snapped open wide.

For him, the trees before you sunk below, to the ground and completely out of view. the ones that lined the entrance curved and bent, until their branches threaded together in a nature made entrance. Gravel and thick cobblestone shot from the dirt and created a path, one you began to drive down.

Eventually, you made it to a huge open property, with a single cottage right by the path, entrapping you between thick dense trees and the cobbled gate around the small yard. 

He was slack jawed, turning to you and you couldn't help but laugh. “Grand, isn't it? Even with something so simple, Sirius still insisted on something remarkable.” You mumbled and looked at the door. 

There was Lupin, standing with Sirius. Harry noticed them and began to hurry out of the car. You climbed out of it yourself. Leaning over the trunk to watch as Harry ran to Sirius and Black hugged him just as tight back. Lupin was going to come help you with the bags, before Sirius yanked him into the hug as well. You felt like you could melt, just watching your boys greet each other.

“You know, it's very impolite to let a lady carry your things in for you, Harry.” Remus teased and Harry quickly pulled away to watch as you waved your wand and his things began to unpack from the car and float to the door. Sirius jumped to the side and laughed, having been standing in the path. You walked over and smirked at him. 

“Planning to concuss me, hm?” Sirius mused and you rolled your eyes. “I've tried too many times to think it's still possible, Black.”

“What's that mean, pretty girl?”

“It means-” You paused and pointed at him. “Don't call me that. It means, in order to concuss you, you'd have to have a brain up there for it to work. I think Quidditch did you and James a misfortune in that regard.”

Your heart hurts a bit. Not hearing James’ signature offended gasp, and Lily's condescending and playful coos for his pride.

Remus watched your banter and couldn't help but smile. Harry gave a bright smile as well.

Sirius rolled his eyes fondly. You took him in, the week away did him good. He was cleaned up, shaven, and looked much more managed. “Though, it never did do away with your grooming habits, did it?” You reached forward and fiddled with his hair a moment before turning his shoulder to push him inside.

You turned to Remus and Harry next, gesturing them in. “Come on then, you need to get settled, Remus, can you show him to his room?”

Remus nodded and clapped his hand to Harry’s shoulder. “Right we go, Harry.” 

The exterior made the house seem little more than a single room, but much like a tent when you walked inside it quickly grew in size. You and Sirius had charmed it after it temporarily became one of you and your friends' many safe houses. When you were still all together.

It was two stories, with a cozy feel to it. Remus led him down the hall and up the stairs which was where the guest rooms were. 

You watched them wonder off before you turned to Sirius with a small patient smile. “Where are your things?” 

“I uhm.. put them in the spare room down the hall from our- from yours.” He corrected himself and your face fell a bit. You didn't want to say it, but you did feel a bit nervous about what Sirius would want when he returned. You didn't know what you expected. You were no longer engaged. You were the one who gave the ring back. You were the one with the idea to call it off. You were the one who wanted more than he was willing to give. You just figured, maybe, he was ready to let his pride away and admit to you that there was more to it then just Remus that made him not want to continue. You shook the thought away. 

Emotions were bothersome.

“Well, Sirius. I looked over what I could salvage from the years, plenty of your clothes still in the old room. Then we can look into getting you and Harry some new summer clothes.” You mused with a wave of your hand. He gave you a thinned smile, nodded before he turned to stray further into the house. 

They left you with your thoughts, you could hear Harry and Remus’s voices from above you, fought back the urge to join them. Turning to walk into the living room. Looking around at all the photos and evidence of life. Everything is still like you left it all those years ago. Waving your wand to straighten everything. You have done several cleaning spells, but it didn't save the discolored furniture and foggy photographs half eaten by the moths. Then you remembered. The photo album. You had a treat for Harry once he was settled.

[miniteezez]

To Be Loved, Is To Be Saved

Hongjoong x (fem)reader

WC:13.2k

Warnings:manipulation, fake religion, false gods, violence, abuse, harassment, creepy men, bad language, talk of trauma

Disclaimer: in no way am I trying to say that any /REAL/ religions are bad or hurtful in any way. This is purely fiction and something that I made up. Please do not take offence.

Synopsis: You stumble into Hongjoongs life, just as your own is getting too much. He’s everything you’ve been told is a sin. Turns out, it’s exactly what you need.

“And what can I do for you today pretty?” Those words stuck to your mind like hot glue. His nails tapped against the wooden counter, the ring finger painted a scratchy black. Snake bites were reflecting the dull lighting and moving with the way his lips pressed together. Taking a deep breath, you clasped your hands together and looked at the male anxiously.

“I’d like a lip piercing. Please.” You added on quickly, not wanting to seem rude. He hummed, dragging his finger along the price list and explaining each one. Though, you weren’t listening, fully mesmerised by the man before you. He was so different from anyone you knew. Arms inked up, hair split in two and rings adorning most of his fingers. Truly, you thought he was so cool. Noticing your look, he chuckled and leant forward.

“Where do you want it sweets?” Blushing heavily, you pointed to the left side of your lip. The man pulled out a form, handing you a pen to sign it. Once that was done, he gave it a stamp then looked at the time.

“Well, Wooyoung is just with a client right now. So, it’ll be about ten minutes.” He explained, pulling out a stand with different jewellery displayed.

“You can either get a ring or a stud. We have gold, silver or steel.” Looking over them closely, you felt yourself pouting slightly before standing straight again.

“Like yours…” he grinned at your response.

“Black steel hm? You have good taste, sweets.” Again, you blushed, quickly pulling your card out to pay.

“That’s just fifteen.” The man let you know, getting the card machine ready. Meanwhile, you were confused and, after taking another look at the price list, you frowned.

“What? No it should be more right?”

“Hm, can’t I give a pretty girl a discount?” He asked, tilting his head with a witty smile. You stood there, cheeks glowing in disbelief whilst he chuckled. Taking your card, he tapped it for you then flipped it quickly.

“So, (y/n)..” gaining the information of your name, he gave it back, “Like I said, it’ll be a minute, wooyoung takes forever.” He rolled his eyes playfully, muttering something about him being a flirt.

“What’s your name?” You questioned shyly, playing with the tips of your acrylic nails.

“Hongjoong.” He spoke, resting his elbows on the marbled, wooden surface. It suited him, you thought whilst checking the time on your phone.

“Wow, I haven’t seen a phone like that in years.” Hongjoong scoffed, observing its chipped screen. You shifted awkwardly, shoving it back into your bag.

“Yeah, it’s my dad’s old Nokia.” You admitted, leaving out the part that you had, in fact, taken it without permission. In fact, you were in the tattoo studio without permission. If your parents knew you were there, you’d be sent for a review by their pastor. And the thought of that made you shiver. Sensing something was off, hongjoong cleared his throat.

“You good, sweets?” All you did was give a brisk nod.

“I’m guessing your parents are quite old fashioned huh?” Pursing your lips, you shrugged slightly and subconsciously dug your nails into your palm.

“You could say that.” Truth be told, it wasn’t that at all. But you doubted a stranger wanted to know of your recent woes. A door opened to the left of you and out came a man with longer, black hair. He waved off a customer then turned to you expectantly. It must have been wooyoung, he looked almost too friendly. Before hongjoong could say anything, you looked at him almost scared.

“Could you do it?” Even though your voice was quiet, he heard you loud and clear. A smile grew on his face, as he instantly ducked under the counter.

“Woo, you hold the front. I got this.” He grinned again, earning a salut from wooyoung who moved to the desk. Placing his hand on your lower back, hongjoong lead you into the sterile room and locked it behind the both of you.

“If you could just hop up on there.” He motioned to the hospital style bed, covered by a fresh paper towel. The room smelt of a bleach like substance, the walls a stark white and a mirror on the back of the door. To the side, there was a basin, with a counter that hongjoong was busy getting everything ready on. Now you were trembling slightly, hoisting yourself onto the bed and letting your legs swing. Hongjoong had begun speaking, but you weren’t listening. All you could focus on, was the needle lying still in its packaging.

“-then you’ll feel…hey, (y/n)?” Seeing the look on your face, he stopped and turned to you. Gently, he took hold of your hand. You snapped your head in his direction, eyes wide and hardly blinking. He smiled softly.

“Nervous huh?” Again, you nod.

“I only have my ears pierced. Will it hurt?” Your voice was so low and quiet. It was obvious you were really scared of the needle. You just prayed he wouldn’t laugh at you. Instead, he simpered.

“It’s honestly just a scratch. Won’t hurt one bit.”

“You promise?” You asked doubtfully.

“I do. And hey, if it does, I’ll give you a hug ok?” Even though his deal was an odd one, you nod and shook his hand. He took his pen, tilting your chin and dotting the under part of your lip with precision. Catching your eye, he smiled warmly.

“How about you close your eyes?” He suggested and you shut them tightly almost instantly. It made him chuckle, carefully placing the clamp on your lip. Sensing it was about to happen, you felt yourself go stiff.

“Relax yourself for me pretty. That way it’ll be less painful okay?” Hongjoong explained, waiting for your shoulders to ease up. Taking a deep breath, you slowly relaxed.

“That’s it, good girl.” Your heart fluttered with his praise, hardly catching the way he was counting down. Then, suddenly, you felt a slight sting then, nothing. He was quick to push the jewellery through and step back.

“All done for you, sweetheart.” You slowly opened your eyes, looking in the mirror and smiling brightly. He was right, it didn’t hurt at all. Though, you were almost tempted to pretend it did. A hug did sound nice.

“Didn’t hurt right?” And there it was, his promising words. Turning to him, you decided against lying. He was probably only joking anyway.

“No it was fine…” you grinned, allowing him to help you off the table and out of the room.

“So uh, does that phone work enough to text?” hongjoong suddenly asked, smiling at your surprised face. Nodding quickly, you handed it to him and watched as he put his number in there.

“If you ever wanna hang out, I’m free at the weekends.” You blushed at his suggestion, humming in understanding. Once you had collected your ointment, You waved goodbye and braced yourself for what was to come at home.

———

It went exactly as you knew it would. Sitting in your bare room, you pulled your knees up to your chest and hugged them tightly. Your body shook slightly, heart pounding and ears pulsing from all the screaming. Throat now dry, you swallowed thickly and dugs your nails into the flesh of your legs. Why did they have to change so much? If it wasn’t for that stupid man, your parents would still be like their old selves. So loving and nurturing. Your father saw you as his pride and joy, his little girl. He’d take you to the moon and back if you needed. And your mother, your biggest supporter. There for you no matter what. But that was all gone now. Sniffling, your hand shook as you pulled out your phone and clicked down to your new contact. Ignoring your bloodied knuckles, you sat there for a good few minutes, trying to figure out what to text. Was there even any point in texting? Surely he didn’t want to be bothered. Then again, he obviously had given you his number for a reason. So, against your better judgement, you began typing.

You: thank you for doing my piercing today :)

Short and sweet, but a good start.

Hongjoong: I’m hoping this is (y/n) and not the greasy biker I gave a nose piercing to?

You: yes yes. It’s me, sorry.

Biting back a giggle, you mentally scolded yourself for not even dropping an introduction in there.

Hongjoong: it’s good to hear from you sweets, I was beginning to think you wouldn’t text.

Had he been waiting for you to message him? The thought made you blush, rushing to text back honestly.

You: sorry, I didn’t want to seem weird.

Hongjoong: weird? Why would it be? I’m very happy you did, has anyone seen your lip?

You: my parents.

Hongjoong: tough crowd I’m guessing?

You: yes.

Hongjoong: well, if it means anything to you, I think it looks really good on you.

Heat rushed to your cheeks, eyes scanning the message repeatedly. A giggle slipped past your lips, hardly noticing you hadn’t replied.

Hongjoong: hope I haven’t scared you off.

You: oh no I’m sorry! Thank you :)

Hongjoong: no need to thank me sweets ▪️

Your brows furrowed as you stared at the block square, seemingly punctuating his sentence.

You: what’s that square?

Hongjoong: oh yeah, I forgot your phone was from the Middle Ages. It’s an emoji.

You: hey! It’s not that old!

Hongjoong: you’re cute.

Again, you blushed a smile gracing your lips. No one had ever been so nice to you, not for a long time. It warmed your heart. But on the other hand, you could hardly fathom that any of them were true. Maybe he was just messing with you? Though, he seemed so genuine.

Hongjoong: I was wondering if you’re busy on Saturday?

Glancing at the grey, pixilated text, you frowned now. Saturdays meant community lunch. You hated it. All the people from the community would gather for a fancy meal. They discussed various, controversial topics that always made you so uncomfortable. The chance to finally miss it, was definitely not escaping you.

You: I usually am, but I can be free.

Hongjoong: wow, I feel lucky. Well, how about we meet up in the park?

You: sure thing, what time?

Hongjoong: how about 12.

———

Taking one final look in the mirror, you worried your outfit was either too much or too weird. You knew your parents didn’t approve of your style. But you had managed to save enough to buy a few cute items. This included the black, plaid skirt you were wearing that day, and the grey tight fitted turtle neck. As of recent, you’d always had to opt for a long sleeves because of your parents. Them and the dumb “pastor”, if you could even call him that. He was a manic in your eyes. Just an average man with outlandish views and a convincing glint in his eye’s. Either way, you tied up the laces of your boots and grabbed your bag, then headed downstairs.

“Skipping on the dinner are we?” Your father caught your attention, making you turn to him slowly. He was having his bow tie done by your mother. Since joining this “organised religion”, she’d become almost like a maid to him. All you did was nod at him, taking in their overly formal attire. The pastor did live in a mansion, but still, it was too much.

“Of course you are, such a pity. To waste your youthful soul.” Your mother sighed out in disappointment. She stepped back and looked you up and down with a shake of her head. “What has happened to my little girl? You look so unholy.” The woman barely knew the meaning of that word. Still, you shrunk back and just shrugged, turning to leave. Except, your father gripped your arm, twisting you back painfully.

“Answer your mother, stupid girl.” He spat with anger. Knowing to keep calm, you took a deep breath and slowly moved away, bowing your head.

“I’m sorry. Mother, father. But I’m going out today. If you could excuse me.” Without waiting, you headed for the door briskly, not missing their snide remarks. You knew what they thought of you, it hurt too. But what could you do? They’d been fully corrupted.

It was light out, few clouds dotting the pastel sky. You loved the end of spring. That calm, early may breeze brought you out more. Even if you usually only sat in your garden. Coming to the park chosen by hongjoong, you made your way to the centre, where a large, stone water fountain sat. It was very old, a few chips here and there, mossy patches in various places. Yet it was pretty, unique and oddly serene. You took a seat on the edge, gazing down at all the loose pennies tossed in by wishing hopefuls. Sometimes you wished you could be so open minded, yet you felt trapped in your sorry life. Clear water was falling from the decorative points at the top, creating a peaceful sound that filled the surrounding area. You were grateful to be there, even if you thought the boy wouldn’t show up. Why would he? In your mind, it was hard to believe. Your parents told you that no one would want to be associated with a girl of your kind. Making you sound as though you were a sinner. In their eyes you were.

“Well, hello pretty.” Jumping, you let out a slight squeak and turned to find hongjoong. He chuckled.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” He was smiling, still looking as cool as the other day. Wearing a crumpled band T-shirt, ripped jeans, combat boots and an oversized hoodie. You were jealous.

“That’s okay, I was distracted.” You admitted shyly, standing yourself up to face him. He hummed, glancing up at the fountain.

“It’s lovely here, huh?” Hongjoong said, taking in his surrounding before focusing back on you. You nod, toying with the hem of your skirt. He simpered, watching your fidgeting fondly. “So I was thinking we could get ice cream?” He suggested, stuffing his hands into his pockets. You perked up, looking at him hopefully.

“That sounds great!” Realising how eager you may have sounded, you stepped back and pressed your lips together.“Sorry, I mean, yeah that’s a nice idea.” Hongjoong looked down at you and scoffed lightly.

“Why are you apologising sweets? Come on, let’s go, I know a good place.” He grinned, turning on his heel with you following shortly after. The walk to the pallor didn’t take long at all. And on your journey hongjoong spoke to you about his week at work, and all the odd clients he’d served.

“We even had an old lady come to get a more…intimate piercing. But wooyoung did that thankfully.” You couldn’t help but laugh at his stories, already feeling more relaxed than before. It was strange how quickly you’d began to forget your troubles around him. Acting more like yourself than you had in years.

“But see, woo is such a flirt. He can flirt his way through any appointment. Which is why I’m glad I got to do yours.” Hongjoong explained, glancing at you. Confused you looked back up at him.

“Why? He wouldn’t flirt with me, would he?”

“Of course he would. He does it to everyone. But he’s ten times worse with pretty girls.” He let you know, stopping in front of a small shop.

“What’s that got to do with me?” You asked, looking up at the pink and brown canopy fondly. Hongjoong frowned a little, placing a tentative hand on your shoulder.

“Everything.” He stated, leading you inside briskly so you couldn’t ask anymore. You were greeted by pastel pink walls, littered with retro ice cream posters and neon signs. There were a few wooden tables and chairs, only one being occupied by two elderly women. At the top of the store was a glass fridge, containing over twenty different flavours of both ice cream, and sorbets. Hongjoong walked to the cash desk, looking over the options without much thought.

“What are you thinking?” He questioned, watching as your eyes wondered the casing. It was a tough one. There was too many.

“I really don’t know. What about you?” Looking at the taller, he hummed pointing at a colourful tub.

“Probably sherbet and cherry.” He said, clearly having been there before. You couldn’t help the small pout on your lips.

“Two flavours?”

“Yeah of course. Get whichever you want.” Something about the way he spoke made you feel at ease, smiling as you decided.

“Then I’ll get chocolate chip and raspberry.” pulling out your card, hongjoong gently pushed your hand down and both ordered, and paid before you could protest. He smiled, collecting your cones off the worker and sitting at one of the tables in the window.

“I could have paid, don’t wanna be a burden you know?” You sat opposite and carefully took your ice cream from the male. He observed you for a moment, taking a small bite of his own treat.

“A burden. I asked you on a date, it’s hardly-“

“This is a date?!” You cut him off, eyes wide in surprise. Hongjoong scoffed and laughed.

“Well yeah, I hope so. That was my intention. But if you don’t want that, then that’s fine too.” You blushed, listening to him. He wanted it to be a date?

“No I do I just…I’ve never been on a date before and I didn’t think anyone would you know, ever ask me. But I do…” you rambled slightly, busying yourself with the ice cream. Hongjoong never took his eyes off you, tilting his head to watch your flustered actions.

“I’m flattered, to be your first date. I find it hard to believe that you’ve never been on one though.” He let you know, taking more bites which you found odd. Did his teeth not hurt? Either way, you responded.

“Why?”

“Well, you’re probably the prettiest girl who’s ever walked into my shop.” He said nonchalantly, not expecting you to choke on a chocolate chip. Your cheeks felt hot, quickly covering your mouth.

“You’re too kind hongjoong. I highly doubt that. But thank you.” You laughed a bit, trying to calm yourself down from his unexpected compliment. Hongjoong frowned, not liking your dismissal of what he was saying. You saw this and looked at him with worry and decided to carry on speaking.

“Well Uhm, I actually have been asked out before. But I said no.”

“Oh? Why?” He leant forward, clearly interested.

“Because, the guy is a creep I can’t lie.” You both laughed at this, him still deep in thought. It was as if he was trying to work you out, figure out what was beneath the surface.

“How so?” Oh no. You had two choices. Be honest and risk him thinking you were from a family of freaks. Or lie. Though, you hated lying. With a sigh, you turned your head away.

“He’s the son of a pastor. And his dad is even worse.” You admitted, biting into the slightly soggy cone you were holding still. Hongjoong bobbed his head slowly.

“You’re religious?”

“No. Not at all.” You clarified fast, horrified at the thought of being part of that. Humming, the man decided to brush it off and started asking more simple questing. Favourite colour. Favourite music. Just the basics so you could really get to know each other. The conversation flowed naturally, like you had known each other for years.

The sun was beginning to set, wind picking up slightly and making leaves twirl through the air. Hongjoong walked beside you, both going at a leisurely pace.

“Do you like being out at night?” He asked, hands tucked away in his pockets. You nod at him with a smile, feeling a lot more free than you had in a long while. The man watched you with a soft look in his eyes. Spotting a bench beneath a street lamp, he took your arm and pulled you to sit down.

“So, would you like to go out with me again?” You could feel the nerves radiating off of him and smiled to yourself.

“I’d like that a lot yeah.” The way his eyes lit up almost made you blush, it was strange seeing someone genuinely want to spend their time on you.

“You can pick our next date then.” Hongjoong chuckled, watching the panic take over as you wracked your brain for ideas. What would make a good date? You had no clue?

“I don’t..I’m not-“

“Hey relax…” Hongjoong simpered, moving closer and placing a hand on your thigh comfortingly. All you did was blush more at this.

“You can text me, there’s no pressure. Anything you want. Even if that’s just…sitting here again. I don’t mind.” His compassion made your heart beat erratic.

“Coffee?” You mustered up, thinking of your favourite downtown cafe. His snakebites reflected off of the streetlight, that infectious smile resurfacing.

“Yeah I’d love to get coffee with you. Is there cake?” His question made you giggle, nodding your head in confirmation. He laughed along with you, rubbing your leg in effort of creating a bit of warmth.

“Let me walk you home?” He offered, and who were you to refuse?

——————

The floors were white, the ceiling tiles were white, the shelves, railings, hangers. Everything was white. The clothes that lined this section of the store, were indeed also white. It was starting to hurt your eyes. Even so, you had no choice but to be there. Like a zombie, you followed the grisly, old lady you’d come to know as Elder Candace around the aisles. Her heels clicked against the ground almost piercingly, the noise making your teeth catch your lip ring, in efforts of a distraction.

“Are you even listening to me child?” Candaces’ squeaky voice brought you from your mind, your eyes coming to meet hers. She shook her head with a privileged huff. You thought of how funny you must have looked with this group of women. Dressed far too formal, in pearly long dresses and their stilettos. Whilst there you were, short black skirt paired with a plain black T-shirt, a grey cardigan and your boots as per usual. You almost smiled, feeling like everyone’s stereotype of the family disappointment.

“Not really no.” You mumbled in response, at least deciding to be honest with the old lady. She stopped, along with all her little minions, turning around glaring down at you.

“Then pay attention, we’re here to help you see our lords vision. His ways are the key to our future in the promise land.” As she repeated her holy script, you felt nauseas. Oh how you wished you could have met with hongjoong that day. Initially, after waking up that morning, you had tried to call him to see if he wanted to go and get breakfast. The coffee date had gone so well, you had stayed out well into the night and lost count on the amount of caffeine you’d had. In his company, you felt one hundred percent yourself. Since then you’d text all the time, you even went and met him on his lunch break most days. Wooyoung had started teasing you both, yet you found it flattering. However your mother was in your room, taking your phone and forcing you out with Elder Candace. Speaking of her, she had continued to look through the clothes, trying to find you something they deemed holy. The store was empty, yet you still felt hot and bothered. Probably due to the fact you were hungry, thirsty and extremely on edge. You knew at any moment these women could lash out at you. Using their “religion” as an explanation to be violent, and using your “demonic” looks as an excuse. Though, the thought of them seeing hongjoong, imagining their scared faces made you smile to yourself. He was everything they despised. Tattooed, confident, black and white hair, had the guts to show uniqueness and personality. The women would probably scream at him. So distracted by your funny scenario, you weren’t watching where you were going and walked straight into one of the clothing racks. It twisted awkwardly and fell into an unsuspecting you man holding a baby grow. Now panicked, you quickly bowed your head.

“I’m so, so sorry.” You apologised, wasting no time in crouching and picking up the items hastily.

“Hey it’s okay, don’t worry.” The male smiled at you kindly, helping to pick up the ugly, white clothes and hang them back up. He had longish black hair framing his well structured face. You thought it was pretty, noticing some was pulled back into a pony tail.

“Still, I should have been paying more attention.” Guilt was clear in your tone, your hands clasping together. The tall man simply shook his head, but before he could speak you felt a bony hand grip at your arm.

“(Y/n). Get away from this man. He is not one of us, he is one for the devil with those aesthetics.” She spat out, giving the poor boy a look so cold you thought it might freeze him. Even though he looked unfazed, your stomach twisted awfully. With her hold on you tightening, she yanked you away harshly.

“You’re never going to become pure! You evil little cretin. Im going to file a report for this, talking to a man. Are you a whore?” You were completely taken aback by her outburst, swallowing down your emotions with difficulty. You didn’t want to be there, you wanted to scream and run, yet you felt there would be no use.

“No i ju-“

“Enough! I didn’t want to believe it but your mother is right! You’re a traitor to our saviour. Dressed like a fiend, with your spiked lip and your inappropriate clothes.” Candace had a look in her eye that made you shiver and shrink back. Though her hold on you meant you couldn’t even move an inch. “You’ll be damned to the burning depths for all your sins, imagine how betrayed your parents are going to be! You filthy littl-“

“(Y/n)?” Candace froze, stopping mid-sentence to look passed you. Her eyes widened in horror and you felt as though all of your prayers had been answered. Turning around, relief flooded your veins upon seeing Hongjoong. He stood there, eyes piercing into the woman holding you like a hostage.

“Get away from here boy, this is none of your concern.” Candace tried to sound authoritative, but there was a shake in her voice that couldn’t be missed. He raised a brow at her, looking her up and down with a grimace. Letting out a breath, hongjoong looked at you and held out his hand.

“Come on.” The simple demand was easy to want to follow, and maybe he really did scare her, because Candace let you slip away easily. You waisted no time in taking hold of his hand, relaxing as Hongjoong pulled you into his embrace. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you buried your face into his shoulder, basking in the security he provided. Meanwhile, he continued to stare at the gang you were with, watching as they scurried off almost comically. Once they had dispersed, he enclosed his arms around your waist protectively and sighed.

“Are you okay?” His voice was gentle, a hand moving up and down your back. All you could do was nod, not wanting to let go.

“I told you it was her.” That voice. Glancing up, you saw the man you had bumped into earlier.

“(Y/n), this is Seonghwa, my close friend. He said he bumped into you before and well, said you looked like you were in trouble.” Hongjoong explained, keeping a hand on your waist. You’d never felt so grateful for embarrassing yourself before.

“Thank you.” You uttered, giving them both a small smile.

“Come on, let’s get out of this weird place.” Hongjoong moved to hold your hand, heading for the exit without a second thought.

Sugar melted into your tea within a second, as you stirred the spoon around the red mug slowly. The cafe was quiet, only a few people coming in and out. To your left, Hongjoong sat with his iced Americano . Opposite sat Seonghwa, sharing a few worried looks with his friend. You weren’t really saying anything.

“Who was that woman?” Hongjoong asked, hoping for you to open up to him.

“I have to call her Elder Candace. She’s a disciple.” You replied, eyeing up the muffin that was kindly bought for you.

“Is this the same religion you told me about?” You nod to hongjoongs question.

“Yeah, I mean, she’s just a crazy old lady really. But he’s filled her head with all his spiel. And she really believes everything he says.” They listened to you intently.

“Sorry, what?” Seonghwa was right to voice his confusion, making you sit straight.

“About five years ago, my grandmother passed away, she was in hospital with a chronic illness and she couldn’t hold on any longer. My mother was heartbroken, of course, and my parents decided to relocate and start fresh. Here.” They gave you a sympathetic look. “We’ve never been a religious family, never been to church or prayed. Never. Though my mother was struggling and my dad wanted an outlet for her. That’s when he found this website…” you trailed off, remembering everything in detail.

“It was simply called ‘FaithsKey’, with a stupid little tagline. It’s something like ‘helping you find the key to faith and the glorious promised land’. But my dad was drawn in by the comments, everyone apparently seemed happy. And that’s what he wanted for my mum.” Hongjoong moved a bit closer, slipping his hand onto your knee comfortingly. Leaning back in your seat, you looked down at his hand and admired his rings. You couldn’t help but to toy with them as you continued. “So they joined the site. It was a slow integration. I barely noticed at first. They would go one Friday a month to his speeches. Then every two weeks. Then every Friday. Until it became a regular thing. I’d be alone more and more. I was confused. I didn’t know where they were or what they were doing.” You glanced between the men, hongjoong lacing your fingers together. Seonghwa rested his elbows on the table, giving you tight lipped smile.

“Then one day, they pulled me out of school, told me that it would corrupt my pure soul. They started homeschooling me with one of his schemes. It was all nonsense. No maths. No science. Teachings about purity and how to achieve the most pure mind and status. I hated it. And I told them that. That’s when everything really changed…”

“What do you mean?” Hongjoong pressed, thumb running across your knuckles soothingly. You looked at him, lips slightly downturned.

“My father slapped me. After hearing that I hated the program and wanted to return to a normal college, he hit me. He told me I was a disgrace, that I was betraying them and failing the one true path to purity. Then that never stopped.” You could almost see Hongjoongs heart drop to his stomach, his hand tightening in yours. “They took away my phone, my laptop. They forced me to every meeting and every event. The community lunches every Saturday. The galas every six months. It was torture. But when I turned twenty they let up a bit. I have a bit more freedom now. Though I had to steal an old phone.” You also laughed at how ridiculous the truth was. But the men weren’t laughing. Instead, hongjoong pulled you into his chest, an arm around your shoulders steadily. You rested your head against him, letting out a shallow breath.

“Who is this man?” Seonghwa spoke up, voice bitter.

“I don’t know his real name, they call him the saviour. Or sometimes even the lord. It’s not like they’re praying to god. They pray to him. It’s sick. I’m not and never will be religious but even so, it’s wrong. And he’s raising his son to be his prodigy, the next best thing.” This just left the pair with more questions.

“Is this the same son who asked you on a date?” Glancing up at Hongjoong, you nod shortly recalling the events of that day and shivering. Subconsciously, you shuffled closer to the man holding you.

“I say asked, he more demanded. As did my parents. It was a big thing. They’re desperate for me to be a part of it, to give my soul to them.” Becoming more annoyed, hongjoong shook his head.

“How can you put up with that?”

“I had nowhere to go. No one to run to. I’ve just been on my own for the past few years. It feels like I really lost my parents the day they went to that first meeting. I miss them.” Tears began to cloud your vision, and you desperately tried to blink them away, yet it was useless. All you wanted was to feel wanted once again. Hongjoong lifted his hand, softly turning your face into his chest, as if to shield from the world around you. Keeping his hand on the back of your head, he pet your hair affectionately.

“It’s okay, you have us now. You can relax. I’m not going to let them keep hurting you, I promise.” Somehow, you actually found yourself believing him. His voice was like honey. “Are you family at home right now?” He asked, wiping your cheeks softly. You shook your head, sniffling slightly. “How about we head to your house, pack a bag of your things, then you can stay with me for a while?” Hongjoong suggested,

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure, I don’t really like the idea of you being there. Not after everything you just said.” His words were certain, already having made up his mind. You felt the weight fall off your shoulders in an instant.

“But won’t I be in the way?” You worried, even if you loved the idea, you wanted to feel reassured.

“No absolutely not.”

“Trust me, his house is massive.” Seonghwa boasted happily, causing the shorter to roll his eyes half heartedly.

“I don’t think she meant physically in the way, hwa.” You giggled at them, picking up your mug once again.

“Oh! This means you have to come tomorrow night!” You looked across at Seonghwa confused. “Ah, it’s mine and my fiancés baby shower! We’re hosting a little get together.” He explained, eyes filled with pure joy.

“Oh so that’s why you were in that store?” You realised, earning a nod back from them back.

“I’d love to go.” They seemed pleased with your answer.

“Let’s go before your family get home then.”

———

It was strange, seeing Hongjoong in your bedroom, picking up your various hello kitty plushies. You smiled, packing a duffle bag up with essentials.

“Don’t worry too much, we can go clothes shopping tomorrow.” Hongjoong reassured, taking the bag frown your hands. “Bring some of the plushies. They’re cute.” He decided, watching you scramble to pick a few up.

His house was massive, Seonghwa wasn’t joking. You stared wide eyed at the building, mouth agape. A vintage, blank and White House. With pillars at the entrance and many French windows.

“Are you rich?” You asked, following Hongjoong into his home. More in amazement than anything. He chuckled, leading you up a centre staircase. It was dark but beautifully decorated, the floors a dark wood and the wails painted cream; with different pieces of art hung up.

“Why? Do you want a sugar daddy?” Hongjoong joked, leading you along the dimly lit corridor. You hummed in amusement.

“Only if it’s you.” Your comment caught him off guard, causing him to pause and look at you. His cheeks were flushed, a half laugh passing his pierced lips. Shaking his head, Hongjoong pushed open a door.

“After you, pretty.” Giggling, you slipped in past him.

“This is my room.” He let you know, following behind you. It suited him, you thought whilst walking around. With a king sized bed, that had a mahogany frame and navy sheets. The walls were black, with a white skirting board and a few signed posters hung up precisely. All the furniture matched, the drawers and built in wardrobe the same shade as the bed frame. In the corner of the room sat a guitar and leather sofa. Opposite his bed, a large flatscreen TV. There was a fluffy throw at the end of his bed, plus unlit candles along his dresser.

“It’s really nice, tidy.” You commented, spinning on your heel to face Hongjoong. “Where will I stay?” You asked timidly, his face dropping slightly. He took a step closer, letting your bag sit at the foot of his bed. Taking your hands in his own, Hongjoong looked at you sheepishly.

“Well, I thought you could stay in here. With me?” He suggested with a nervous timbre. Usually so confident, it warmed your heart to see him more vulnerable.

“Really? You don’t mind?”

“I don’t mind in the slightest. I want you to, if I’m being honest.” He grinned, bringing your hand up to kiss your knuckles. “Now, how do you feel about having a cosy, little movie night?”

“I’d love that.” You simpered, shivering lightly. Hongjoong moved across the room, pulling out a sweatshirt from his wardrobe.

“You can wear this, the bathroom is just through there okay?” He pet your hair affectionately before heading downstairs.

After freshening up in his en suite, you put on his sweatshirt and smiled to yourself in the mirror. It was big on you, and very soft inside. You folded your clothes neatly, walking out of the bathroom and putting them in your bag. Spotting a lighter on the bedside table, you took it and carefully lit the candles in the room. They were apple scented, a nice surprise. The wicks crackled away, some nearly burnt out. You just thought that made it smell better. The whole room smelt comforting though, a mix of smoke and cologne, now with apples too. Hoisting yourself up onto the bed, you looked around happily. You wandered if it was considered rude to light the candles. Or if it would be rude to turn on the Tv.

“You look cute.” Hongjoong suddenly appeared in the door, having changed into a pair of sweats and a vest. His tattoos were more visible now, black ink looking too good on his tanned skin. He strolled over casually, taking place on the bed beside you. Noticing how rigid you were, he laughed a little. “Relax, (y/n). Get comfy okay?” Hongjoong helped you under the duvet, propping the pillows up for you.

“I lit the candles, is that okay?” You gazed up at him, his eyes already on you. He leered, getting under the cover and pulling you into his chest.

“Of course it is. You can do whatever you like here.” You simpered, nuzzling against him naturally. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close.

“Whatever I want?” You asked, peering up at him with big eyes. Hongjoong stared down at you, throat bobbing. Sadly though, your phone began blaring out its ringtone, ruining your happy moment. With a groan, you reached over to get it and instantly frowned.

“It’s my dad.” You said, unsure of what to do. Hongjoong took the old device from you, ending the incoming call. There were hundreds of missed calls and texts, they were after you.

“You don’t have to contact them anymore, okay? In fact,” he started, opening his drawer and pulling out a box before handing it to you. “I got you this.” Hongjoong looked at you proudly. Taking the box, you gasped upon seeing the newest iPhone.

“Hongjoong this is so expensive!” You gaped, looking up at him in shock. He just smirked cockily, giving you a shrug.

“Money doesn’t matter, I want to be able to text you normally.” He jabbed, poking your waist. Feigning offence, you scoffed.

“Was my brick not good enough for you?” You questioned sassily. Hongjoong moved towards you, cupping your cheek.

“No actually. It wasn’t. You deserve the best.” Face red, you looked at him bashful, unsure of how to act. He tilted his head, inching forward ever so slightly. As much as your heart was racing, you couldn’t pull away, enjoying the closeness. His eyes searched your face, landing on your lips like a target. Tentatively, Hongjoong closed the gap and pressed your lips together softly. Time slowed as he kissed you, your arms subconsciously winding around his neck. Finding yourself instinctively getting closer to him, his hand trailed down to your waist as you parted.

“Was that okay?” He questioned quietly, thumbing your side soothingly. You nod with shy smile, toying with the hair at the base of his neck. Hongjoong smirked lightly, brining you against his chest. There was a shared warmth between you, a real, true element of finally belonging.

———

Just as he’d promised, Hongjoong took you shopping the very next morning. He was far more eager than you’d expected, excitedly pulling you into all his favourite alt shops. Not that you were complaining, it was great to finally shop for exactly what you wanted.

“Hongjoong I have six skirts in my basket already.” You giggled as he picked up another. A short pink, pleated skirt with black bows on the waist.

“But it’s cute, and it’ll suit you perfectly love.” He said with certainty, adding it to your basket without a second thought. You huffed, shaking your head and picking up some T-shirts. His arm snaked around your waist, leading you over to another section filled with graphic sweaters. After looking around, you picked out a couple then gazed up at the man beside you.

“I think this is enough Joong.”

“You sure? I’ll buy you whatever you want.” He clarified, eager to make you happy. Simpering, you cupped his cheeks and pecked his lips affectionately.

“I know you would. But this is more than enough, I promise.” There was a slight flush to his cheeks, a grin on his lips. Hongjoong, ignoring your reluctance, payed for everything and head out into the mall.

“I’m so hungry.” He complained and pursed his lips. “We don’t have to be at Seonghwas until four, wanna get food?”

“Yes please.” You smiled in response, trying and failing to take the bag from him. Instead, he took your free hand and guided you into a bakery on the floor below. Sitting in a booth, he placed the bag down on the opposite side before sliding in with you. You were really enjoying just how clingy he was now you were “officially his”. Picking up the menu, you rested your head on his shoulder as he read it aloud.

“-coffee and walnut cake, Victoria sponge, white chocolate and raspberry, chocolate orange, mango-“

“Chocolate orange.” You cut in quickly, making the man laugh. A waitress came over, taking your order quickly. Hongjoong even remembered your drink preference and ordered for the both of you. He laced your fingers together, resting your hands on his thigh.

“Do you want your nails done? They’re outgrown.” You scoffed at his observation. “Not that you look bad, I’m just saying, it might make you feel better.” He chuckled, his thumb running over your knuckles softly. Nuzzling your cheek against his shoulder, you bobbed your head.

“Mhm, pink and black?”

“With hearts.” He pointed to your index finger. “I’ll pay.”

“No you won’t. You’ve done enough.” You almost whined, gripping his hand a little tighter. Leering, Hongjoong just pressed a chaste kiss to your temple. “I won’t take no for an answer, let me spoil you.”

———

You arrived at Seonghwas just after four, looking and feeling better than you had in years. Hongjoong had indeed payed for your nails, along with everything else. He was really stubborn. Seonghwa was over the moon to see you both, taking you both into the lounge. A few people greeted you, but you only recognised Wooyoung. There was a slightly taller man with him who said hello, and two very tall men who were sat off in a corner looking through all the opened gifts. On the couch sat a pregnant woman, Seonghwas fiancé.

“Thank goodness another girl.” She joked, offering you the seat beside her. Giggling, you sat there and introduced yourself to her. The woman was thrilled when she found out you were Hongjoongs girlfriend.

“We didn’t come empty handed don’t worry.” Hongjoong said, giving her a pretty pastel gift bag. She opened it excitedly, gushing over the three Jellycat bunnies you’d chosen earlier that day, along with the cute dresses Hongjoong had already bought.

“(Y/n)!” Wooyoung bound over, stealing you away easily and pulling you over to his little group. “Guys look it’s (y/n)! The girl I told you about!” He almost yelled but no one was phased at all. “Hongjoong is like, obsessed with her.” He boasted, your cheeks turning red.

“I dunno about that.” You laughed shyly, avoiding the eyes of these new people.

“Don’t embarrass her woo.” One man spoke, his deep voice catching you off guard. Wooyoung whined.

“You’re no fun Yeosang. I thought we were besties. You’re supposed to back me up.”

“We’re not disagreeing with you, but look at the poor girl.” The other laughed. “I’m San by the way.” He shook your hand curtly.

“He is obsessed though, he never stopped talking about you in our group chat.” Wooyoung continued, pulling out his phone to prove a point. Rolling your eyes, you nudged him playfully and made him put the device away.

“Drink?” You yelped in surprise when someone suddenly spoke by your ear. Turning, you saw another young man, with dark brown hair looked at you blankly.

“I’m ok, thanks?”

“That’s Jongho. He’s quiet like that.” San cackled at your scared expression. Jongho just shrugged and went to sit with Yeosang.

You spent around fifteen minutes with them, listening to their constant petty arguments. It was fun but very loud. Glancing back, you saw Seonghwa and Hongjoong sat on the couch talking casually. Meanwhile, the lady of the hour was over by the food with one of the taller men and a girl you didn’t know. Slipping away from Wooyoung, you perched on the arm of the sofa behind Hongjoong. Noticing you, Hwa gave you a kind smile before resuming his conversation. It was if he could detect you, because Joong leant back against you almost immediately. You grinned, running your fingers through the pale section of his hair, noticing how much had actually outgrown.

“I think you need your roots doing babe.” You mumbled once there was a gap in the talking. Tilting his head back, Hongjoong raised his brows.

“Yeah I know, maybe we could do it together?” Liking that idea, you nod happily and wrapped your arms around his shoulders.

———

A few weeks had passed, Hongjoong had been kind enough to let you work with him and Wooyoung. On the front desk, allowing for more customers and a better logging system. For your first payment, they decided to either let you get a new piercing or a tattoo. Hesitantly, you’d gone with the tattoo, choosing a floral piece for your upper thigh. Of course, your boyfriend had been the one to do it, not letting Wooyoung anywhere near you. It was beautifully done though, and hardly hurt, in the comfort of your new home too.

Currently, Hongjoong was pulling everything out of his bathroom cabinet. You sat on the edge of the tub.

“How do you have so many hair dyes?” You chuckled in question, watching as he inspected every pot.

“Well, I get bored. Luckily I have bleach too.” He stated casually, eyes lighting up at the pack he was holding. Shaking your head, you spied one of the pots he had abandoned and picked it up. A dusky pink colour that had never been opened. “Want to do it?” Hongjoong suddenly asked, making you look at him. Pressing your lips together, you shrugged.

“Do you think it’ll look good?”

“You’ll look good with any colour, pretty. Plus, if you really don’t like it, we can go over it?” Convinced, you bobbed your head slowly. Elated, Hongjoong hastily put everything else away and stood up. Having done it so many times before, he got all the supplies ready, the gloves and the mixing bowls. “So, I’ll bleach your hair first. Then you can do my roots? Then we’ll w-“ he was cut off by your phone ringing. Confused, you picked it up and frowned at the unknown number.

“Maybe it’s someone wanting to book an appointment?” Hongjoong suggested, pouring the peroxide into a bowl.

“Hello?” You answered the call, pressing speaker as you’d grown a custom to recently.

“(Y/n).” You froze, your heart leaping to your throat. Puzzled, Hongjoong turned around, worried at your pale complexion. “I’ve been trying to reach you for weeks.” You swallowed thickly, unsure of what to say. How could he have found your new number? It made no sense.

“Why?” You managed.

“Can’t I contact my own daughter?” In a flash, Hongjoong was by your side on the tub. “Come and see us. We just want to talk.” Your father tried, a twinge of honesty in his inflection. You just sighed with conflict. “Your mother misses you.” He did his best to be persuasive.

“I don’t know dad.”

“Just, please? Come to the gala on Saturday?” It was strange, your father almost begging you for something. Like you actually held the upper hand for once.

“If I go, I’m not coming alone.” You said sternly, leaving no room for discussion.

“Yes, that’s absolutely fine.” You said nothing else and hung up. Hongjoong pulled you into his chest instantly.

“Are you sure?” He asked, your arms hugging his waist tightly.

“I’m sure, you’ll be with me. And the second they try to convert me, we’re leaving.” You responded, mumbling against the skin of his neck. He rubbed your back soothingly, nodding along with every word.

“Let’s make you look even prettier then, show them how amazing of a daughter they’ve lost.” Hongjoong simpered, pinching your cheek which made you smile bashfully. He got to work, doing your hair quickly and instructing you on how to do his. It was a fun experience, one you really enjoyed. Adding the bright blue to his hair was even better, even if it did stain your fingers. When it was time, he rinsed the pink off of your hair before doing his own. Being the gentleman he is, Hongjoong dried your hair first and styled it for you. You weren’t allowed to look in any mirrors, sitting on his bed and watching as he dried off his own hair.

“It looks really good.” You smiled as he turned around. “Might be better than your split dye.” There was a faint blush on his cheeks from your compliment. He pulled you up, gazing into your eyes lovingly.

“And you look even better, pretty. Beautiful.” Now it was your turn to be shy, pressing your face against his chest in return. Hongjoong chuckled, brining you to a mirror. His hands covered your eyes as you stood in front of it. “Ready?”

“Yes.” You giggled, trying to wiggle out of his grip. He laughed at your effort, slowly removing his hands. Seeing yourself in the mirror, you gasped. It was so different, a lovely light, dusky pink. But it felt so right and so you. Hongjoong wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Like it?”

“I love it. Thank you.” You ran your hand through the freshly dyed hair with a thrilled smile. Pressing his lips to your cheek, Hongjoong guided you back to the bed and sat himself against the pillows. You crawled on top, sitting yourself between his legs and lying against his chest.

“So, tell me. What do I have to do to be ready for this ‘gala’ on Saturday?” He asked, drawing shapes on the skin of your arm tenderly. You sighed softly, thinking back on the many you had attended.

“There’s so many rules, and things you have to do.”

“And that’s fine, we’re in this together yeah? Then it’s up to you how you deal with your parents.” Hongjoongs words comforted you greatly, making the whole ordeal not seem to bad.

“You have to wear all white, your tattoos must be covered. You have to dress smart, a shirt a tie, pants and dress shoes.” You started listing of the requirements, the man nodding along. “The first thing we’ll have to do is attend the sermon. It’s a disaster. It makes no sense I’ll warn you now. But we’ll have to sit through that.” You explained, sitting yourself up. Hongjoong followed suit, tugging you closer to face him properly. “Then, there’s a feast. The food is bland and strange. Just pretend to eat it. The less you eat the more pure they’ll think you are.”

“That’s toxic.” Hongjoong commented, holding both of your hands. You nod in agreement, leaning forward and resting your forehead against head shoulder.

“He’ll sit at the head of the table, with his stupid family. He looks down at everyone as if he’s a god.” You murmured. “I suppose, to them, he is. They worship him.” You spat, angry for the families he’d corrupted, including your own. “Then it’s the “gala”. Which, is actually just an over the top house party.” You concluded, not moving from the warmth your boyfriend was providing. Hongjoong had his arms around you now, his grip tight.

“Alright. So what can’t I do?”

“Swear, get drunk, talk badly to the pastor or his family, eat too fast, eat first, eat to slow, finish eating first, get up and leave the table, leave the sermon, go in any of the roped off rooms, cry, shout, raise your voice, cause a scene, disobey any instructions, and never talk over him.” Your voice grew quieter with every rule you repeated. They had been ingrained into your head for years, forced down your throat, practice choking you. Hongjoong cupped your cheeks, making you look at him. He wiped under your eyes, drying the tears you didn’t know were there.

“You’ve been through so much.” He mumbled, stroking your cheeks lovingly. “You’re away from that now yeah? I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you again.” You nod your head at his promise, sniffling lightly. He smiled, pressing his lips against yours. You kissed back with fervour, your thoughts melting away in an instant. Swiftly, hongjoong pulled you onto his lap, as his lips moved against yours in perfect conjunction. Your hands gripped at his oversized T-shirt, tilting your head and effectively deepening the kiss. Neither of you could pull away, even if your lungs were protesting. The moment was intense, fulled by burning emotions and the realisation that you were finally in control. In control of your own life and your own feelings. You had a choice now. Hongjoong moved back an inch, resting his forehead against yours.

“I love you,” he breathed, brown eyes flittering between your eyes and your lips. “You know that right?” Your heart was hammering in your chest, cheeks a deep shade of red. He smiled at your timid nature, kissing your lips a few more times. “You don’t have to say it back, pretty.” He reassured, not an ounce of judgement in his bones. Shaking your head, you gave a teary smile.

“I love you too.” You said, feeling a weight fall off of your shoulders. You’d never seen a man smile so bright, his eyes crinkled in pure joy. He wrapped his arms around you, rolling onto his back and pulling you down on top of him. A cheerful laugh spilled from his lips.

“Say it again?” Hongjoong promoted hopefully, earning a sheepish whine from yourself. “Please?” He begged, allowing you to shuffle into a more comfortable position. You looked down at him, at his doe eyes and expectant expression. Unable to resist, you leant in close and spoke softly.

“I love you.” His hand found the back of your neck, pulling you into a heated kiss once again. You giggled against his lips, sinking into him with ease. Saturday definitely seemed more doable all of a sudden.

———

A drilling alarm brought you out of your peaceful slumber on Saturday morning. Hongjoong groaned, quick to turn it off and settle down again. His bare chest pressed to your back as he wound his arms around you.

“It’s so cold.” You complained, basking in the warmth now being supplied to you.

“I know sweetheart.” He nuzzled into the back of your neck. “How about I make us both a hot chocolate whilst we get ready hm?” His offer was tempting, a smile gracing your lips. You nod, disappointed when he got up and left you alone. Hongjoong scoffed at your small whine, pulling on some pants. “I’ll be two minutes.”

When he returned, you were in the bathroom getting washed, he could smell your pumpkin spiced soap. Smiling to himself, Hongjoong got out the new clothes he’d bought you both, remembering fondly how you’d scolded him. But he’d spend every penny on you ,no matter what you said. You emerged from the bathroom, fresh for the day. Glancing up, Hongjoong whistled at your appearance and you felt yourself blush. Before you could hide yourself, your boyfriend crossed the room and placed his hands on your waist. He sighed contently, considering your flushed face for a moment.

“You’re beautiful.” Even after all the months, you were still shy to his compliments. You smiled, catching your lip between your teeth and avoiding eye contact. Hongjoong chuckled, pecking your lips before pulling away and entering the en-suite. You couldn’t help the stupid grin on your face, turning to the outfit he had laid out for you. It was pretty, a white turtleneck, paired with one of the short, pleated skirts you loved so much. That was of course, also white. You’d found some white tights along with basic converse. It was smart yet casual, not looking like you’d done too much. Before getting dressed, you took a few small sips of your hot drink and sighed. Outside, orange leaves were scattered along the damp grass. Bare branches rustling filled you with joy, a reminder of the cosy season. The anxiety you once had for Gala days was no longer present. Instead, you felt comfort in knowing that, at the end of the terrible day ahead, you’d be returning home with Hongjoong. There was no pressure to be perfect and poised. You were going in there with a new confidence. Hongjoong. Setting the mug down, you got yourself dressed and looked in the mirror.

“You look like an angel.” Hongjoong said, slipping from the bathroom and coming to your side. Blushing, you looked back at him and watched as he pulled on his white slacks. Stepping forward, you helped him with the buttons on his dress shirt. He stared down at you lovingly, cupping your cheeks the second you were done. “How are you feeling?”

“On edge, but I’m okay.” You loosely did his tie, straightening up his collar. He thumbed your cheeks softly, searching your (e/c) eyes.

“I’m right here, I’ll punch the pastor if he insults you.” You couldn’t help but laugh, peering up at him with affection. Leaning up, you left a tender kiss on his pierced lips before stepping away.

You arrived to the gathering house just before midday, hongjoong helped you out in surprise.

“You were surprised at the size of my house? This is insane?” He gawked quietly, sizing up the mansion before him. It was a stunning building, with marble stairs leading to a grand entranceway. Of course, everything was white, even the fake flowers and the pots they were in. Humming, you took hold of his hand and began walking forwards.

“Your place feels like a home…unlike this place.” You shivered, noticing other people entering the house. A tall man stood at the door, one you recognised from previous visits. Getting behind a small family, you looked down at the little boy sadly. Even at that young age, he looked drained, probably from his brainwashed parents and the teachings of FaithsKey. Noticing your expression, Hongjoong pulled you into his side his arm holding your waist in comfort. The doorman saw you and raised his brows.

“Ms (y/l/n)? Your parents are already inside. I haven’t seen you in months?” His tone was questioning, buff arms folded tightly over his chest. You just shrugged, signing the form by the door. He wasn’t a terrible person, even so you didn’t want to give him any of your time and pulled your boyfriend inside hastily. Making your way up the centre staircase, the air was filled with the unmistakable scent of sage. The place was barren, colourless and almost prison like.

“It’s silent.” Hongjoong mumbled as you came to the second floor, no one in sight down the long, dull corridor.

“That’s how he likes it.” You muttered back, holding his hand a little tighter as you remembered your way back to the sermon room. “Remember, no talking, no sudden movements. We just sit at the back like we’re ghosts.” Squeezing his hand tighter, you could feel the anxiety creeping back into your mind.

“I know, pretty. I’m right here with you, remember? Just try to block it all out.” Hongjoong reassured, kissing your temple softly as you stopped outside a shut, double door. You nod, taking a deep breath before quietly slipping inside the sermon room. It was almost full, but you found an empty pew right at the back. Hongjoong tucked you into his side protectively, linked fingers resting on his thigh. It was dystopian, watching the people, clad in white gowns finding a seat. They sat like clones, eyes zoned in on the crystal stand at the head of the room. You knew your parents were somewhere in the same room, so close yet so far from you now. All that could be heard was the flickering of wood wicked candles, hushed breaths and fancy shoes finding their places. Even with everyone in white, the room was dark and dreary. After a long five minutes, the doors at the other end of the room opened, and out came the man you hated most. His presence intoxicated the room. By his side, were his son and wife, along with a few disciples. Elder Candace guided his family to the first pews as everyone rose from their seats. Hongjoong held your waist firmly, eyes darting around the room.

“Greetings my beloveds. The new, the faithful, those of you rejoining us-“ the pastor met your eyes for a split second, “-I’m delighted to have you with us on this fine day.” He held his arms out gratefully, veneers on full display. He began to preach, clasping his hands together and bellowing out in the silent room. All around you, his followers listened eagerly, taking in his every word like it was gold. “My children, you take my words now. I am the path to greatness. With me, you shall always be enlightened. You shall always be pure, unadulterated and happy.” It was the same spiel as always, his charisma manipulating the crowd. Your throat bobbed thickly, suddenly you felt very hot. Noticing your discomfort, hongjoong brought you closer, careful not to alert anyone. “I have led many people to glory, shown them the light. With me, I’ll ease all your troubles, reward your faith. Trust me. I have what you need.” A shiver ran down your spine, not liking the sound of that at all. Yet, the people were soaking up every word he said.

Luckily, the sermon passed quickly and people filed out of the room. Hongjoong draped his arm around your shoulders, walking down the hallway with you.

“(Y/n)?” you froze, slowly turning back. There they stood, your parents. Dressed in their best formal wear. Tentatively, your mother took a step closer, yet she didn’t reach out to you. “It’s good to see you.” She continued, voice almost breathless.

“I’m glad you agreed to come.” Your father added, not so subtly looking at the man holding you. You just nod at them, the words stuck in your throat. They walked beside you both, an awkward tension spreading.

“So, who is this?” Your father asked, breaking the silence. Hongjoong looked over, holding his hand out confidently.

“I’m Hongjoong, (y/n)’s boyfriend.” He shook your dad’s hand firmly, sending him a direct message not to upset you further. Your dad faltered slightly, something you hadn’t seen before.

“Well, Hongjoong, you’ll love the food, it’s delicious.” Your mother boasted on the Pastors behalf. He didn’t believe her at all, but nod politely either way.

Entering the dining hall, the brightness caught Hongjoong off guard. The long table was made of glass, surrounded with crushed-velvet, grey chairs. The floors were white tiles, the walls a light grey pattern. From the ceiling hung huge crystal chandeliers. Along the table, were pot plates and shiny silverware, wine glasses with tacky prints. Walking along, you found yours and your “plus one”s name places. Next to your parents and luckily not too close to the host. Hongjoong pulled out your chair, tucking it in once you were sat. He instantly held his hand out for you, to which you held it immediately. Your mother sat on your right, your father by her side. It was silent yet again, the followers putting the white napkins on their white clothes. The pastor took his seat at the head of the table, nodding to a man stood by the door. After a second, waiters entered the room and began to dish out food onto peoples plates carefully. Following this, they came around with decanters. Everyone was poured a glass of a clear, green tinted liquid, except for you. Both your parents and Hongjoong looked confused as your glass was left empty.

“My beloveds, I have provided this nutritious meal out of the goodness of my heart. As I the saviour give you the key to a long, prosperous life.” Everyone clapped at his nonsense, as he raised a glass in toast.

“Thank you. You may converse.” You let out a breath, the room breaking out into idle chatter.

“What’s with the drinks?” Hongjoong questioned.

“It’s grape juice. Not wine.” You confirmed, but he just shook his head.

“No, I mean, you didn’t get anything?”

“I know, I’m not sure why…” you trailed off, trying not to think too much about it. The guests all around you seemed so happy, spooning the food into their mouths with joy. They spoke with glee, eyes alight unnaturally.

Beside you, Hongjoong stared at his plate in dismay. It was a mixture of congealed, beige stuff, not appealing at all.

“What is this?” He asked in a hushed voice, pushing the creamy sludge around his plate.

“Mashed potato’s, with diced anchovies and egg relish.” You watched as his face dropped, lips pursing as he tried to remain unfazed. Your lips twitched as you held in your laughter, leaning onto his shoulder and hugging his arm. “No?”

“No.” He agreed to your unasked question of ‘do you like it?’, moving the food around to make it seem like he’d tried. You chuckled quietly, relaxing when Hongjoong slipped his arm around your waist. He smiled down at you, brushing a few stray strands of your hair back from your face. A hand suddenly landed on your shoulder, cold breath hitting your neck uncomfortably.

“I’m glad to see you again, (y/n).” The pastor grinned menacingly, pouring a deep red liquid into your glass. You were frozen, unable to do or say anything. Hongjoong tightening his grip on your waist, pulling you away from the pastors grip. Their eyes met, and Hongjoong could have killed him with the look he was giving. “No one truly leaves us, (y/n). Welcome home.” With that eerie statement, the pastor walked away. Hongjoong was quick to move the glass away from you.

“Don’t drink that.” He voiced whilst shaking his head. You sighed, placing your head back onto your boyfriend’s chest. Nothing had changed then. At least now you had someone to lean on during the horrific event. “How about tonight we go on a little night drive hm?” A small grin broke onto your face at his mumbled suggestion. “We’ll get any food you want, put on your favourite band and drive for as long as you want.”

“I’d love that.” You felt eyes on you, but didn’t bother look back at your parents, you didn’t need their disapproval on top of everything.

———

Shortly after the meal had been consumed, the beloved pastor directed everyone down a floor. There you were free to roam, anywhere that wasn’t roped off or locked, that is. The lower floor consisted of a showy kitchen, clearly never used, a few living rooms and garden access. You tugged Hongjoong into one of the pallor rooms, knowing it would be fairly empty from your previous visits. Sitting down on one of the hard, leather sofas, he turned to you.

“You did this on your own? For so long, no wonder you were so drained.” He sighed, pulling you into his chest comfortably. You hummed, relaxing against him in a second.

“It’s fine, you took me away from all of this.” You replied with a small smile, toying with the buttons on his shirt. He couldn’t help but grin, petting your hair affectionately.

“Well, I knew I’d fall in love the second I saw you.” His lips pressed against your head tenderly, a blush creeping up your neck. Hongjoong chuckled, stroking your cheek. “You look like a tomato.” You hit his chest.

“Ouch. A cute tomato!” He defended, making you both laugh. Just then, your mother entered the room, a look of relief on her face as she turned back to let your father know she’d found you. They came over, sitting on the sofa directly opposite. Hongjoong pulled you even closer, a subtle gesture that meant so much to you. For a minute, it was silent, an awkward atmosphere in the air. Eventually, your mother sat forward.

“You didn’t touch your food, are you still not eating much?” Her brows furrowed in concern.

“She eats, don’t worry.” Hongjoong responded for you, both your parents looking at him in surprise.

“You live together?” She asked, and you nod a yes. Surprisingly, they seemed okay about it, not what you’d expected at all.

“What do you do for work?” Your father looked at Hongjoong expectantly, yet with no malice.

“I own a studio. I do tattoos and piercings.” He explained proudly, prepared for a horrified reaction, as were you. Except, your father just hummed in response.

“It’s impressive to own your own place so young.” He complimented. Hongjoong looked at him in shock.

“Oh, thank you sir.” Neither of you knew how to take their behaviour. You were used to the yelling and berating, the constant judgement. And, of course, Hongjoong was expecting that too. But they just seemed so different. Turning to your boyfriend, you smiled.

“I’m just going to the bathroom.”

“I’ll go with you?” He offered with worry. Simpering, you kissed him quickly.

“I’ll be fine I promise.” You got up, heading out of the room and down the dim hall. Everyone you passed were in such high spirits, sipping their grape juice and cackling all the while. It baffled you how much the man could brainwash people.

You used the bathroom quickly, standing at the sink and washing your hands in the hot water. Glancing up, you let out a near scream upon seeing someone behind you in the mirror. It was the Pastors son. When had he come in, you hadn’t heard a thing. When he saw you’d noticed, a grim smirk appeared on his lips.

“Good evening (y/n).” You didn’t reply, turning slowly to face him. He stepped forward, making you move off of the sink and away from him. “What’s the matter? You don’t look so good.”

“What are you doing?” You tried to sound confident, voicing your confusion best you could. All the man did was smile.

“My question still stands.” He said, coming even closer. “We could wed. Oh we’d make a perfect couple.” He boasted, coming so close your back hit the white wall behind you. “We can fix your disgusting aesthetic. Get you to look pure and godly. Just as my father likes.” You shook your head fiercely, but this only annoyed him. “What? You think you’re better than us?”

“No!” You tried, hoping he’d stop but he only drew nearer. “Of course not! But look at me, we’re too different it won’t work.”

“My father can fix you!” He yelled, getting up in your face. His breath reeked of the disgusting meal served earlier.

“I-I don’t need fixing. I’m happy. I have a boyfriend.” Even that knowledge didn’t deter him.

“We can get rid of him. You’ll be happy with me. I’ll show you a real man.” His hands ghosted over your waist, trailing the shape of your body in a way that caused a shiver of fear.

“Now, now Ananias. That’s no way to talk to little (y/n) here is it.” The Pastor slithered into the room like a snake, tutting falsely. You swallowed thickly, back still pressed against the tiles. At least you now knew one of their names. Ananias looked at his father, hands hovering just before your neck.

“But I want her as my wife.”

“And you may, but use more force child. No woman wants a man who can’t handle her.” Your heart began to beat faster than you knew it could. There was no way this could be happening. Surely, with so many people around they wouldn’t, but it looked like they would.

Hongjoong kept his eyes on the door you had left through, feeling every second passing like a sin. Your mother cleared her throat, catching him off guard. When he looked, he found the pair of them looking at him already.

“How did you meet?” She asked, perching on the uncomfortable seat.

“She came in for a lip piercing, and then we went on a date that weekend.” He told her, not scared of any reprimanding he may receive. They looked at each other for a moment before your mum spoke again.

“She left us, one day. Did you take her in?” There was a hint of sadness in her inflection. Still, Hongjoong nod firmly.

“Yes. She lives with me now.” Looking between your parents, his lip twitched slightly. “We even work together. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” He grinned, checking the time on his phone. You’d been gone ten minutes and he was getting worried.

“You’re a good man, Hongjoong.” Your dad said suddenly, making the younger man’s eyes widen.

“I can see the love and adoration in your eyes. It’s written all over your face. I’m glad my daughter found you.” He gave Hongjoong an approving nod, a tight-lipped smile nearly coming out. It was like they weren’t at manipulated as you’d described. Perhaps not seeing you had stirred something within them. Snapping out of it, Hongjoong checked the time again and stood abruptly.

“I’m going to find her, excuse me.”

Hongjoong rushed down the hall, vaguely recalling where the bathroom was on his way down. Noticing the door was ajar, he felt his stomach drop and instantly knew something was off. Without a second thought, he barged into the room and immediately saw both the pastor and his son cornering you.

“Get away from her!” He lunged forward, yanking the creepy men off of you and pulling you into his arms quickly. You hugged onto his waist for dear life, trembling slightly from what had almost happened. Feeling you shaking, Hongjoong looked at the Ken with anger.

“Don’t you dare touch her.” He spat, moving to get you out of there as fast as possible.

“Shes become a worthless tool now it seems.” The pastor sighed patronisingly. Hongjoongs eye twitched, and he spun on his heel, his fist connecting with the elders jaw furiously. Ananias gaped, cowering in the corner. Keeping his breathing under control, Hongjoong lead you out of the bathroom, holding you at arms length and checking you over. Seeing your tears almost made him angry again, but his worry ran deeper.

“You’re okay pretty, I’ve got you. Did they touch you?” You shook your head quickly, leaning into his warm hands as he wiped your tears. Hongjoong relaxed at this, hugging you tightly once again. He kissed your temple repeatedly. “We’re leaving. Right now okay?”

“Please..” you pleaded, needing to get out of that stupid house.

“Thank you.” Your mother appeared behind you both, and you looked at her in surprise. Both your parents glanced at you with regret, tears in the woman’s eyes. They had just witnessed all of that. “We’ve been so blind.” She added, choking up with emotion.

“You were right, we’re sorry. Could you forgive us?” Your father almost begged, edging forward. You stopped Hongjoong from scolding them, as you knew he would. Taking a deep breath, you stood in front of your parents trying to appear strong.

“Get help.” You started, letting your (e/c) eyes look between them. “Real, professional help. Then I’ll consider it. You really hurt me. But we can try.” They looked at you with a melancholy understanding. Nevertheless, it was a good sign. Hongjoong laced your fingers together, briskly walking past your parents and out of the house. Once in the safety of your car, you let out a long breath. It was all over, finally. You really never had to go back, ever again. you hadn’t even noticed your boyfriend driving off, until you looked out the window to see you were on the motorway.

“Can we get food still?” You mumbled. Hongjoong placed his hand on your thigh as he drove.

“Of course, pretty. We can do anything you like.” You finally smiled, playing with the rings on his fingers calmly. He really was your everything, the light that had brightened up your dark life. When he stopped at a red light, the man leant over, pressing his lips to yours lovingly. “The rest of your life just begun, (y/n).” He smiled, “and it’ll be us until we’re old and grey.” Warmth spread in your chest at the idea of growing old with Hongjoong. Truly, it sounded perfect, like for once, you knew everything would finally work out. As long as he was there with you.

———

[cherrieflavouredheadcanons]

Hello! Can I apply for a general relationship hc with Lyney?

Ah yes, greatest magican, aka the rizzard. I should say that at the point of writing this, I still have not played his character story and have evaded spoilers for it very well so far, so if anything is not that accurate that's why. But I hope you enjoy these headcanons!

CW: None GN Reader

Lyney Relationship Headcanons

Let me start this off by saying. This man is an absolute simp for you. If he could, he'd buy you everything you could ever want or need in life.

He lives to see you happy, a day where he hasn’t made you smile and laugh is a day he considered wasted. If the people of Fontaines believe in justice is the power used to energise the technology in Fontaine, then your laughs and smiles are the power to energise Lyney.

Lyney always gives you a rainbow rose before every date. Sometimes he gives them to you like a normal person, most of the time though he will give them to you with a magic trick. You have no idea what he does to the flowers, but he has to do something with them since they never seem to wilt away. You once asked him how he did it and all he claimed was “They will bloom as long as I love you my dear, which means they will bloom forever.”

Surprising you with magic tricks is one of his favourite activities. He comes up with so many ideas that it is impossible to carry them all out. And poor Lynette always has to help him set up the ones he does carry out and has to be his assistant for them, even if she is hidden somewhere so you won’t see her. She loves her brother truly, but by the Archons his love sick self could be annoying.

Speaking of magic tricks, for every one of his shows he has a seat reserved for you. He is aware that you can’t go to every one of his and Lynette’s shows, but he still reserves a seat for you anyways. So that when you are watching them you are always in the same seat and he can easily find your eyes amongst the many people in the audience. He will look at you, and his eyes turn soft and his smile grows a bit wider.

And should he ever need an assistant from the audience? Well lets just say that whenever you are watching the number generator randomly picks you every time. What a coincidence right?

Walking through the streets of Fontaine while holding hands is a must for him. He wants everyone to see what an amazing partner he has. If it were up to him all of Teyvat would know that he is taken and absolutely enamoured by you.

Though it should be said that despite being absolutely in love with you, Lyney would not be in a relationship with you if his sister or brother couldn’t stand you. They are a big and very important part of his life, and anyone who does not like them has no place in his life and heart. Luckily for you Lynette likes you, she sees how happy you make her brother. Freminet appreciates that you do not force him to speak when he is clearly uncomfortable and is also grateful for you that you treat them all with respect and love.

Whenever you aren’t paying attention to your surroundings, be it because you are sitting somewhere and reading a book, engrossed in the story, or because you are cooking a meal for Lyney, his siblings and well yourself, he will sneak up on you from behind and wrap his arms around you, kissing your cheek as he laughs. You want to be mad at him for scaring you, but how can you when he laughs so happily and his eyes shine with love?

While Lyney obviously has many magic tricks he works on to show them in front of a big audience and always has Lynette as his assistant. There is one trick that he is currently planning where he doesn’t want an audience or an assistant for. 

What is that trick? Well let’s just say it has to do with a ring sitting in a small velvet box ;)

[nicoline1998enilocin]

“Are you blind? I love you!” (“I Love You” Prompts List) + “kiss/touch me, everywhere” (Praise/Soft/ETC Smut Prompts) with Tony Stark please? 😃

Secretly in love

PAIRING || Tony Stark x Bounty Hunter!Reader

WORDCOUNT || ~ 950 words

SUMMARY || You and Tony have been madly in love with one another for years, but to the outside world, it looks like you're harboring a deep-rooted hatred for one another. Feelings are revealed when it almost goes wrong during a mission, and the sexual tension between you two is finally resolved.

RATING || Explicit (E)

TAGS || Enemies to lovers. Idiots in love. Mutual pining. Misunderstanding. Use of Y/N.

SMUT || Oral (F receiving). Unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!).

A/N || This drabble is part of Nicoline's Summer of Drabbles. I want to thank @ccbsrmsf1 for giving me this amazing idea as well as proofreading! I am forever grateful for you, bestie! 🤍

EVENTS @anyfandomaubingo || Bounty Hunter!Reader @fandom-free-bingo Maritime May || 'My Old Man's Got a Problem' @kinky-things-happen || Cunnilingus

@marvel-smash-bingo || Enemies To Lovers @mcukinkbingo || Trope: There's only one bed @sweetspicybingo Hurt/Comfort || Human shield

Photo: @ccbsrmsf1 || All other graphics are made by @nicoline1998enilocin

Main Masterlist || Tony Stark || Summer of Drabbles

As soon as you got Steve's phone call about a meeting at Avengers Tower, you were on your way, knowing they would need your help once again. A few years ago, you were hired by SHIELD to do your job as a bounty hunter for them when they needed you, and today's one of the rare occasions they have asked for your help.

By now, you knew the drill. Get changed into your tactical gear before heading up to the meeting room, as they will brief you right before going on the mission. Just as you're about to head into one of the gym's changing rooms, you spot the man you're always looking forward to seeing: Tony Stark. However, you'd never tell him that because, to the outside world, you both have a deep-rooted hatred for one another.

He doesn't say anything as he goes to change, though he wishes he could. He has to hold up this facade of not liking you, but he would love to do nothing more than fuck you right then and there as he tells you how badly in love he is with you.

The moment you walk into the briefing room, you're greeted by the happy faces of Steve and Natasha and the seemingly emotionless face of Tony. He's less than impressed with your presence, but you're used to it by now.

"What's got your panties in a bunch, Stark?" Natasha asks, making him glare at her when you can't help but chuckle at her question.

"My old man's got a problem with me being here, Nat. You should know that by now," you say, making her laugh aloud, and Tony rolls his eyes at your joke. Once you've taken your place next to Natasha, Steve explains the mission you've been called in for.

"Y/N, you're here to take Nat's place during the mission. While she's an amazing spy and fighter, we need someone with your abilities, so you'll be going on the hunt with Tony. This will be a perfect bonding moment between you two, and I hope you two will finally learn to behave during the mission. There's no one to save your asses when it goes wrong, so you two must work together to finish this mission successfully."

Once the briefing is over, Tony and you go to the Quinjet, accompanied by Steve, who gives you the last instructions before it's officially time to leave. During the trip, neither of you says much aside from a few short comments, and when you're there, the only messages shared relate to the matter at hand.

Only when Tony throws himself in front of you as a human shield is he getting a reaction out of you, and not one of hate. As soon as the mission is successful, you get to the hotel room and immediately turn to him to give him a piece of your mind.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Stark? I could handle it perfectly-" is all you can say before he cuts you off.

"Are you blind?" he asks with a pointed tone. "I love you!"

"You... love me?" you ask him, your entire demeanor softening as soon as the words leave your lips. After holding up this facade of being enemies, letting the mask slip momentarily feels good.

"I do, Y/N. However, when I first met you a few years ago, I thought you didn't like me, so I put up this front. I guess it was easier to hate you than to show anyone - and more specifically, you - how I'm feeling," he says as he walks closer. With every step he sets closer, your heartbeat steadily rises.

Rather than returning his words, you close the gap between you two as you grab his hair, your lips molding together with his perfectly. The moment your lips are pressed on his, a new world opens for you two, and you're not sure how you ever could've lived without him.

"I love you too, Tony. I want you to kiss and touch me. Everywhere."

With those words, Tony pushes you back onto the bed you were in front of. You land with a smile, enthusiasm, and a need for Tony seeping into every fiber of your being. With skilled fingers, he undresses you completely, leaving not a single inch of your skin covered, before stepping out of his clothes, too.

"I can't believe I finally get to have a taste of you. I've dreamt of this moment so many times, and now I won't let you leave this bed until it's time to go home," he grumbles as he gets onto the bed, your legs spreading as you're waiting for his arrival. As soon as he's comfortable between your thighs, he dives in with an enthusiasm that has you arching your back and pulling his hair, your hips grinding against his face, seeking the friction he's willing to give you.

"Close, I'm fucking-" is all you can say as he latches onto your clit, pushing you over the edge with a scream of his name. He doesn't waste any time as he climbs over you, his cock immediately lining up as he carefully works his thick length into you.

"That's it, you're taking me so well, Gorgeous. It's a good thing there's only one bed here because there's no fucking way you're sleeping anywhere else from now on," he tells you, and you nod as he pounds into you, only prolonging your high with every thrust.

When you two return from the mission, Steve and Nat look at each other approvingly, knowing their plan worked perfectly, and you two are happier than ever.

[pablitogavii]

MORE DAD TO BE GAVII

My Person

Having a baby really changes the whole routine and the hardest part seemed to be breastfeeding. It takes time to get get used to the feeling and it leaves your breasts really sore after.

"Amor..is he sleeping??" Pablo asked walking into the living room in his grey sweatpants and no short on. It was definitely a sight to see.

"Mhm.." you said sounding very tired and Pablo smiled at the two of you reaching to take the baby and bring him to crib himself. The moment he raised baby Gavi off your chest you winced and Pablo caught notice.

"Todo bien preciosa??" he asked and you nodded starting to massage your chest which was very sore right now. Pablo knew it must have taken a huge toll on your body having a baby and all but he hated seeing you in pain like this.

Pablo took Matteo to crib and returned to sit besides you pulling you to his side and kissing the top of your head.

"Now it's your turn to be my baby..what's hurting amorcito??" he asked kissing your head and you smiled looking down at your breast shyly.

"Our little boy really takes a lot out of them huh..?" he asked and you nod with a pout going all red when Pablo moved down raising your shirt and starting to kiss your breasts.

"A..ah..q..que..h..aces?" you moan really feeling relief when his lips were on your skin kissing all the sourness away. He started to massage gently and you closed your eyes enjoying every second.

"Hmm just tranquila amor..your person is right here" he whispered and you smiled remembering the first night he said that to you..the night you gave him your all.

He was holding you afterwards tightly kissing your head and running his fingers down your naked back while you enjoyed the moment together. It was a special night..and Pablo wanted you to know that he will stay forever.

"I'm your person princesa.." he whispered and you looked up with tearful eyes kissing his lips lovingly.

"My Person.." you whisper into the kiss

"Have I told you recently how amazing you are..you brought our baby into the world..and you take care of him everyday..you're my angel princesa" he spoke seeing that the soreness went away and you were finally comfortably cuddling him.

"Thank you amor.." you say tiredly and he smiled resting your head on his shoulder and playing with your hair to lull you to sleep. When you were lightly snoring, he carefully placed you down with blanket on top before taking Matteo for the walk so he doesn't wake you up.

pablogavi

At Home

Mi princesa linda..Celebrating life and supporting women is something every man should be raised to do. Matteo will certainly know that from me ❤️❤️ They are the real strong ones! I love you princesita!!

cometarios:

y.n.bebe: te amo my person!!❤️❤️

aurorapaezg: beautiful!!😍😍

belengavira79: well said hijo❤️

gavisfans: he loves his wife so much and proudly posts about her breastfeeding! good man!

mikkykiemeney: love her 💛💛

[burningstrangerkingdom]

Jealousy

Charles Leclerc x reader Summary: It's not that easy to date one of the most handsome faces in the world. Notes: Based on the song Pienso en tu mirá - Rosalia

Jealousy was not in your nature for the simple reason that you had researched too much about it, as well as to understand that this feeling is the first step needed to transform a beautiful relationship into a toxic and inhospitable environment, you had read it in various sources and had reinforced it through the experiences of your friends.

Even so, and although you gave everything of yourself to avoid it, a terrible feeling of fear flooded your being every time Charles walked out the door, fortunately for you the gesture you made to want to hold him a few more moments before leaving, far from seeming invasive she found it adorable.

Once again, Charles left his apartment, this time heading towards the golf course where his brothers, Pierre and Joris were already waiting for him to spend a relaxing afternoon with the boys.

"See you later, chérie", he said goodbye, leaving a small kiss on your lips.

As usual, you joined hands when he kissed you and, as usual, when you had to separate for him to continue on his way, you hesitaded letting him go.

"What's wrong, mon cour?" He said with a little smile.

"About what?" You ask, pretending you don't understand what he meant.

"This", he pointed to your index finger still clinging to the palm of his left hand.

"Nah, it's just silly", you gave him a reassuring smile that didn't serve it's purpose.

"No, it's not silly, it must mean something, and I'm not complaining. I really like feeling your love, but it's something I've been noticing a lot lately and I want you to know that you can tell me anything."

"I don't want you to be late for the boys, you go with them and when you return I'll tell you", trying to distract him you started to play with the rings on his fingers.

He pretended to think about it but he turned around and sat on the sofa making you sit on him, "Don't leave me wondering, Y/N, tell me please", he said now more seriously and the look on his eyes gave you no choice but to speak your mind right away, those gorgeous eyes always did their trick on you.

You let out a breath and whispered "I'm scared, Charles."

Suddenly the smile on his face faded and his place was taken by a frown of concern. "Scared of what, Y/N?"

With your eyes closed, you let out another sigh and then looked directly into his eyes as you placed one of your hands on his heart and the other intertwined with his fingers, "That one of the times you go out you don't come back to me, Charles. I'm afraid of the effect that your angelic appearance causes on others, and don't get me wrong, I don't intend to lock you up by my side forever and I love your independence, it's not that I doubt the love you have for me… it's just that all these feelings are so new to me, I've never experienced them with anyone else."

Your eyes were glossy as you let out those overwhelmed thoughts that rounded on your mind, "I'm jealous, Charles, a kind of jealousy that comes more from envy of everyone and everything, of people who see you from afar even when you walk together me, the water that runs through your body even when we take showers together, the fraction of a second in which a morning craving takes over your mind, everything, Charles. Even if I try to limit myself, I can't help but want to be everything to you , and I'm afraid that maybe this will make you walk away from me forever."

He listened attentively to those thoughts and feelings that torment you and, by the time you completely removed them from your chest, he raised your clasped hands and deposited a series of kisses on your knuckles.

"I understand what you're saying, mon âme", your hopeful gaze looked at him more intensely, "I understand you because I feel that way about you too, it's just that I'm not good enough to put it into words just like you just did, so I thank you for translating my mind and for loving me the same way that I love you… And I want you to know that there is nothing wrong with feeling as intensely as we both do, I know that right now society seeks to balance everything it can to make it more pragmatic, but we are talking about feelings, our feelings. And for me it is important that you know that in our relationship we can be ourselves, we do not have to limit ourselves in any way."

At the end of their confessions, you both had tears running down your cheeks, however, none of you rushed to get rid of them as had happened on previous occasions, since this time those tears would not come from negative feelings but from an excess of love that flooded your hearts. seeing its opportunity to come out in watery form.

"I love you so much Charles Marc Hervé Leclerc".

He poured all his love for you in a breathtaking kiss that made you feel the purest places of his soul.

"I love you so much Y/N".

Thank you so much for reading, any kind of interaction is highly apreciated