#The only remaining family he has left was his daughter who disappeared only to suddenly come back after years of no sign of her existence

[marsobars]

Happy Birthday to Maxwell Car- FUCK THAT GUY Happy Birthday to JACK CARTER CAUSE HE DESERVES RECOGNITION TOO 💖🎂 Post-Constant Carter Family happiness is so fucking important to me they might not have much but they have each other 😫😫

-transparent version under the cut-

[writing-fanics]

[ a shooting star falling from the heavens ] lucifer Morningstar x F!Reader Concept [eventual slow burn]

[Story Concept: a shooting star flew off course, falling down towards Hell. A star that was supposed to fall into Heaven and become and angel.

The angel was taken in by the Morningstar family and became, a servant for the family. Helping care for the Princess of Hell, Charlie. Who eventually saw the maid as an aunt.

Calling her auntie!y/n.

A few chapters will cover the bases of the years, y/n has served in the family. and still serves years later after the princess has grown up into a young woman and Lilith left her husband and subsequently disappeared

during thoses years of servitude y/n did develop some feelings towards the king, but pushed them down denying them denying her feelings.

Lilith was kind yet could be scary at times but she was beautiful, and treated the maid as if she was apart of the family. one photo hanging on the wall in the hallway of all four.

y/n still stayed even after Lilith had left, helping lucifer as much as she could. even though at this point he didn’t really need her service anymore wish daughter was out on her own. And his wife had left him.

But she still insisted on staying wanting to help him, cause she loved him. Even though she knew nothing would come of it. She just wanted to see him happy and help him through his rough time.

it’s that slow burn that happens during thoses seven years, but doesn’t take somewhat shape till around the time the show begins.

He’s still not over Lilith but there’s this pull he’s feeling towards the reader. He gets a little flustered and nervous, but brushes it off. It’s really only just them in the manor now just the two of them. She still continues to serve the family and will till the end of time, remaining loyal.

I don’t imagine a full on confession, but like maybe either he kisses her on the forehead before he flew off to help his daughter at the hotel. during the finale… when she had a panic attack worried for everyone at the hotel wishing she could help

she then quickly makes pancakes for everyone when the fight is over, after getting a text from Lucifer and bringing them over to the hotel..

it’s just slow burn something small and maybe won’t see any development until season 2

with Lilith being in it most likely

for it to also end with the reader suddenly being beamed up to heaven leaving what will happen when season 2 comes out a mystery

[greatideas-badwriter]

Sacrificed To The Banished Prince Ch. 33

AN: Sorry that the update is a few days late. I was on a trip with my Mom!

Baron Haruno was uncharacteristically silent until the three Uchiha royals led him into Madara’s personal office and presented him with an urn filled with ashes. His face turned red. It was as though all the manners left his body because he barked, peering into the urn, “How can you be sure this is my son when this is all you have?” 

Itachi responded promptly, an air of professionalism intact, “I assure you that the palace mages were very thorough during the identification process. This is Hihara Haruno.” 

Sasuke accidentally shared a look with his uncle, whose eyes burnt with anger. It wasn’t easy to determine the cause of his ire. It was, however, simple to make the deduction that he didn’t wish to be on the receiving end of it. The second prince had never witnessed Madara’s ruthless personality firsthand, but the stories of him during the war when he and his father were in their early twenties were the thing of legend. It was said that the current king killed nearly a thousand people in a single day, all without using magic. The amount of energy, ability, and anger needed to commit such a feat would be immense. 

“Was it not the same crackpot mages who’ve also spent months unsuccessfully searching for the boy?” Baron Haruno bit. 

Madara’s glare hardened, his aura darkening, “Don’t misinterpret this formality as an act of forgiveness for the terrors with which your son plagued Konoha’s only princess. As far as the royal family is concerned, this world is a far better place with that poor excuse for a human dead.” 

Sasuke couldn’t help but add, poison coating his words as he leered at his father-in-law, “Be grateful you’re receiving this much. If it’d been me to discover him alive, nothing would remain but memories.”

It was as though the prince’s lack of faux-kindness reminded the Haruno man of their last meeting and he became awkward while still visibly irritated. He said nothing more about the remains. 

Clearly, the Uchiha men believed their business to be finished, but Kizashi hesitated before sighing defeatedly, “I must admit I haven’t traveled here just to collect my son’s remains.” He avoided Sasuke’s gaze. Instead, he tried to hold Itachi’s, likely since he was the sole member of the royal family who hadn’t shown his distaste openly. “Will you please have your mages inspect my youngest daughter?” 

Everyone stared at him in disbelief. The Baron quickly continued, sensing his plight was unlikely to be thoroughly investigated, “Since shortly after Sakura’s departure, she’s become unrecognizable. She’s always been a kind-hearted girl, but she suddenly became cold and intelligent beyond her years. I’m concerned something is very wrong.” 

‘It’s likely the one humane being in her life disappearing made her realize what a terrible family to which she’s been born,’ Sasuke thought and badly wanted to say. 

Instead, the king bit, “Who are you to ask a favor of us?” 

“Your Highness, please-” “I’ll allow your family to spend the night since it’s already afternoon, but that is the extent of my hospitality. You’re to leave the palace after breakfast tomorrow.” Even Sasuke was intimidated by Madara’s firm tone. 

With no room to argue, the unwelcome guest excused himself from the office. Itachi shared a look with his younger brother, a clear warning not to press the subject, but the prince couldn’t help it. He knew how much the youngest Haruno daughter meant to his wife. Even if the rest of her family was despicable, the girl had personally done nothing wrong. So, he cautiously said, “Uncle, we should at least have the girl inspected by the palace physicians.” 

The king’s gaze remained cold as he stared down his nephew. He took a moment to ponder before shaking his head, “I forbid it. The Haruno family has received more than enough lenience from us. If I treat someone who has disrespected the crown so kindly, our kingdom’s enemies and supporters alike will view the Uchiha name as spineless.” 

Itachi’s teeth gritted. He obviously wanted to say something but didn’t. Sasuke should’ve taken his lead, but he also didn’t. “The princess holds the girl very dear. Please reconsider.” 

“I’ve made my decision, Nephew. I suggest you accept it,” The king’s voice raised. 

The prince opened his mouth to argue, only for Itachi to interrupt, “Brother, I need to speak with Uncle alone. Can you excuse us?” 

Sasuke begrudgingly left, knowing full well that his brother just didn’t want him to butt heads with the king. When he turns the corner down the hall, headed toward the garden where his wife was likely entertaining her sisters, Kizashi Haruno is waiting. His eyes lit up when they landed on the prince, and he fell into step at his side when Sasuke walked right past with the intent to ignore him. 

“Surely you’ll help me, Son-In-Law! Think of how upset Sakura will be if something happens to her beloved sister!” 

Sasuke froze, the man following suit, before facing him with murderous intent boiling his blood. “How casually you speak to me after I explicitly said I’d kill you if you stood in my presence again.” 

Baron Haruno barely looked affected, standing tall and proud while dropping the doting father-in-law act. “Does Sakura know her husband is someone who’d kill a father simply trying to find help for his daughter?”

The prince couldn’t hold back anymore. He hit the man with all his might. Kizashi stumbled, lifting a hand to his bleeding lip and glaring at the prince, who bent forward slightly to hiss, “Sakura is also your daughter! Where was this protective nature when she was being neglected and mistreated within the walls of your own estate?” In the end, that was the biggest issue Sasuke had with the man: that he’d been a bystander and likely even directly responsible for his wife’s tragic upbringing and lack of self-value. 

“That filth is no child of mine!” As soon as the disgusted words left his mouth, the baron closed his lips with an expression that said he was trying to hide the fact that he hadn’t meant to say that. 

‘Does he mean he doesn’t consider her part of his family? That much is obvious, so why would he feel the need to say it? Unless…..’ Sasuke’s glare darkened, “If you’re not her father, then who is?” 

Finally, Kizashi’s face showed unease, fear even. He straightened his spine and gave a poor attempt at covering up his mishap, “I am her father, biologically. I simply meant that, since my late-wife didn’t birth her, she’s not recognized as an official part of my family.” 

How easily it was to determine his words as false was surprising, considering how cunning and collected he’d always been. Sasuke was suspicious of his swift demeanor adjustment and shoved the older man against the wall, “Tell the truth, or I’ll make good on my promise to end your life here and now.” 

Just as quickly as Baron Haruno had become scared did he seem smug once more. His lips curled into a grin, “Any affection you have for her will cease when you find out. Are you certain you wish to know?” The prince was understandably confused but didn’t back down. If it was about Sakura, he had to know. It could be something life-threatening or maybe it could explain some of the unknowns about her, like the strange healing power she possessed. 

“While it’s true her mother was a performer, the man who sired that thing is the same one who gave you the mark on your shoulder, My Lord.” He said the title with disrespect clearly in his tone.

It was as though the world came to a standstill. Sasuke’s heart seemed to stop before starting again at double the pace to make up for lost time. He stepped back, away from the baron, “...The wizard Orochimaru?” 

“Her mother, unbeknownst to me, was already with child upon coming into my possession. It wasn’t until she gave birth that I realized I wasn’t the father,” Kizashi explained, appearing both unhappy with the facts and gleeful that the prince was so obviously disturbed by the news. “To answer the question you’re bound to ask, why I bothered raising a bastard child, her mother claimed to curse my entire family if I didn’t.” Then, his satisfaction faltered, his eyes falling into a glare, “It was shortly after my youngest’s birth that I tested the witch’s promise. I attempted to drown Sakura, which led to my wife’s death.” 

Sasuke could barely wrap his head around all the new information. ‘Does that mean both of her parents had magical abilities? Depending on when Hana was born, Orochimaru could’ve been nearby, or he could’ve been captured by my family already.’ He wasn’t sure of the youngest Haruno daughter’s age, just that she was younger than sixteen since she’d yet to have a debut into society. 

“So, no, I care not for whether that devil-woman lives or dies. I do care for my actual children, so I’m begging for your help despite my pride.” 

The prince couldn’t figure out what to say or how to speak even if he did somehow manage to form a coherent thought. Instead, he turned and left the pathetic man in the hallway. His pace was quicker than before as he searched for his wife. 

He spotted her sitting on a bench in the garden next to her youngest sister. Her body was angled toward the girl, so he couldn’t see her face. As he approached, his steps faltered when a familiar burning met the scar on his shoulder. His hand clapped over the area as he froze. ‘It hasn’t done this since I gained control over The Curse. Is he trying to take over with sheer force?’ Clearly, the demon wanted to arise, but Sasuke gritted his teeth and refused. To be honest, since obtaining control over his body, he wasn’t sure how much easier or difficult it might be to regain it if he should let Akuma feel the sun. 

“Hello, Prince Sasuke,” a dull voice broke his train of thought and he looked up to see the two women looking his way. Hana had been the one to speak, but he could only look at his wife’s face. 

It was evident something was wrong by her pale skin and panicked expression. The thought of somehow bringing up the topic of her biological parents fell away as he approached her side. Instinctually, he held out a hand for her to hold, and she did, albeit softly and while lowering her gaze. 

‘Whatever it is, she doesn’t want to acknowledge it now.’ 

His eyes looked over her to confirm she had no new injuries before noticing someone was missing, “Where is the other girl?” The one that tried to weasel her way between them. 

“Haruka is across the garden. She and Sakura do not get along, so she angrily stepped away.” Hana answered, her tone just as emotionless as before. Sakura nodded slightly, squeezing his hand. 

Taking the hint, Sasuke knelt, “If you’ll excuse us, I believe the princess has become exhausted.” This time, the pink-haired woman didn’t protest when he picked her up and carried her back into the castle and upstairs toward the room they’d shared last night. That alone was enough to convince him her mood was low. 

As soon as the door was closed behind them, he opened his mouth to tell her what he’d learned of her lineage, only for her to cut him off. Her hand held a fist of his shirt as she tearfully said, “That’s not my sister down there! I don’t know who or what it is, but it’s not her!” 

It took a moment for the man to comprehend her words. He sat her down on the edge of the bed. She must’ve taken his silence as doubt because she shook her head, “I know I sound crazy, but I’m telling the truth, Sasuke.” 

“I believe you,” he quickly responded. And he did. “Baron Haruno offered concerns regarding her, as well. He asked my uncle to have the mages look over her.” 

Relief met Sakura’s face, “Oh, thank goodness. Surely they’ll be able to figure out what’s happening.” 

The man nodded but didn’t know why he didn’t tell her the truth, that the king had forbidden investigation of the matter. He also couldn’t bring himself to tell her that everything she knew about herself was a lie. 

As he wordlessly smoothed out her hair and kissed the top of her head so she couldn’t see the unease upon his face, his eyes closed. Until he’d solved all the mysteries surrounding the Haruno family and her birth, he’d let her focus on healing and the child growing in her stomach. 

[mingigoo]

ur wip titles sound so good!! can't decide which one I'm excited for the most, so pls tell us more abt all of them👀 ! (if u want ofc)

AH oh yes! Gladly!

1. Melancholia — song mingi

summary: when all hell breaks loose among the main mafia families, your father arranges your own marriage to Song Mingi, the son of the most dangerous mafia boss. You’re told he’s cold-blooded, a monster of men, but when you start to get closer to him, you begin to see his true, sweet persona no one ever cared to know about.

genre/au: mafia au, arranged marriage au, enemies to lovers, smut, angst

This one is a request

2. Orange Juice — song mingi

summary: growing up as neighbors, you and Mingi were inseparable. Everything came to a screeching halt when he disappeared one summer after a terrible car accident. Years later, he walks through your door, nearly in tears when he sees you. So much has changed, but not how you feel about each other.

genre: angst, smut

3. Sensual Politics — jeong Yunho

part of swift classics series collab with @yourdreamsyourwish-2

summary: set in the 1970’s, you push your way through the obstacles to enter the country's most prestigious law school. With your head on straight, you meet a shy, handsome boy in your major, and fall into a sweet love that you hoped would last forever and ever.

genre/au: more than friends, less than lovers, college au, 1970’s

4. If We Were Vampires — kang yeosang

summary: while living out the last of your sickly days, you begin to wonder how your life would be if you were a vampire. Living forever with the love of your life sounds delightful, but one nightmare changes your whole perspective. Knowing that this can’t go on forever makes it much more special.

genre/au: angst, melodrama, some fluff, smut

based on the song 'if we were vampires'

5. We fell in love in July — Choi San

summary: as the daughter of the notorious underground fight club owner, you’ve had to deal with a fair share of crazy fighters—and there’s one you hate the most. He’s brutal, has no class, and is a certified dickhead. But after a drunken kiss…it’s impossible to see him in the same light as before…

genre/au: smut, slight angst, enemies to lovers, fight club au, grumpy-sunshine

6. Astrophilia — park seonghwa

part of swift classics series collab with @yourdreamsyourwish-2

summary: with only a month left after being diagnosed with cancer, you meet a mysterious man on your train to nowhere. He offers you an ultimatum—you can be pain free for your remaining days if you teach him how to love, as it guarantees both his salvation and your comfort.

genre/au: supernatural au, terminal illness au, angst, fluff

7. Blissful Ignorance — choi jongho

summary: Jongho is the all-star on the University’s basketball team, but as his grades start to drop, he is about to fall from the heights. As he struggles to raise his grades, you swoop in to save him from the fall as his tutor. Despite him being the man of your dreams, you act like you hate him and everything about him. As he falls for you despite your ignorance, he begins to question who he is and where his priorities lie.

genre/au: enemies to lovers, reverse academic rivals, university au

8. Everywhere, Everything, You. — jung wooyoung

summary: love is a tricky word for you and wooyoung. you grew up together, shared your firsts together, and as the years went on, you both went your separate ways. when you meet again, everything in you craves for his love. everywhere you go, everything reminds you of him. Can you let yourself fall once again, even when the future isn't guaranteed?

genre/au: angst, fluff, smut

9. Savior Complex — kim hongjoong

summary: Your life wasn't worth living anymore. After a night of drinking alone, you find yourself on top of your apartment building, ready to risk it all. Suddenly, you are tackled to the ground by a pizza delivery boy, who looks even more upset than you were. Now, ever since then, he is hell-bent on making sure you're okay—following you around to protect you as if his life depended on it.

genre/au: strangers to lovers, angst, smut

10. Tis the Damn Season — kim hongjoong

summary: as you arrive in your hometown for the holidays, you run into the only boy you ever loved. Knowing that this time of the year was rough for both of you, you promise to spend the weekend together one last time, giving both your families a little hope for the future.

genre/au: old flame au, holiday au, angst, smut, slight fluff

Hope these interest you!!!! I’m currently working on a few of them more than others, so hopefully they’ll be out soon!!

[mermaidsirennikita]

ok so word on street is that kate had a nervous breakdown during christmas because she found out william's mistress is pregnant with his child and she’s keeping it. kate is apparently refusing to cooperate hence the disappearing act. honestly out of everything i heard this sounds the most plausible? or she really did have medical complications that left her incapacitated and they're just handling it really badly.

I see why the Rose is pregnant theory appeals to people! Here's why it doesn't make sense to me:

a) I hate to sound like a Royal Gossip Old (aka a total freak) but people have been saying for YEEEEARS that at least one of Rose's kids is William's. I've heard the daughter--more recently, the stuff swirling around Rose's marriage makes the twin boys seem Questionable, but if I'm being real the one I've seen pics of doesn't look like William. And that's when I see pics of him next to George, who most definitely does. However, that doesn't mean anything because genetics,

My point is--stories about William getting Rose pregnant are not new. Kate would be well aware of them, and I think that in some ways this is probably recycled gossip. Until I see Rose pregnant, I'll remain unconvinced.

b) Honestly? I still don't think Rose being pregnant would make Kate throw a big I'm Threatening To Leave with William. Because... I don't think Kate's leavin'. This has been her LIFE. She is SO close to being queen. Even when Charles wasn't sick--he's a senior citizen on the throne. Yes, his parents lived to be a billion years old, but he's still far older than his mother was when she took the throne and for all intents and purposes, William is essentially a breath away from the crown.

Rose, or at least the Rose rumors, has/have been a fixture in Kate's life for a long time. I just don't know that I see Kate suddenly going "I'm not doing anything until she goes" with this. What's different? Even if there is an illegitimate child--half the gossips already thought there was. And ultimately, none of it materially matters. Kate's marriage sucks either way; and Kate will be queen either way. And I'll add... Kate does have an example of a former Princess of Wales to look to. She can be a globally famous mother of the heir with family backing, or she can be one without it. Either path is hard, but one path led to someone being killed.

(I mean, to be clear.... Even NOW, the media insanity around Kate isn't what Diana faced on the reg for yeeeeears and being super idolized by some and hated by others and is way worse than the indifference with which a lot of the world beheld Kate for a long time. But I do think that if Kate left, the interest in her would be much greater, only this time, she would be left without the family's weird protection.)

c) I think the answer is that all of this is probably connected, or at least WOULD LOOK connected. If Kate is much sicker than the palace lets on, the information may, they fear, go like dominos. You admit a Medical Event happened that caused her to have severe complications. Then the question becomes--well, what could the event have been for a seemingly healthy woman in her early forties, if it isn't cancer? It could actually be many things, but what if there is something--what if they dig deeper? What if they discover the mistress, and then think that maybe something happened BECAUSE she was so upset, and so on and so forth.

I mean. I think that all that speculation, we can safely say, IS NOW HAPPENING LOL. But I believe there was some attempt in the beginning to avoid it with total silence. They've just bungled it.

Because the American media is now forcing Rose into the public more, I feel like the instinct is to go "this Rose thing pushed Kate over the edge". However, the Rose thing has been a thing for a long time, and while I think it was potentially a contributing factor to a mental and/or physical health issue, I don't think it's something that Kate would pull a "I'M DONE" over. Because... why now? Even if there was a pregnancy--those who know about Rose already think she may have a kid by Wills. And I'm SURE Kate knows that.

I do think that William being the future king versus a leapfrog away from being king probably has brought a lot of the skeletons out of the closet in a more vivid way than before. Because they've probably had conversations with PR teams since the queen died--what is ALL the dirty laundry, what do we need to know about, etc. Crisis planning.

Which. Obviously didn't go WELL.

[lovelykhaleesiii]

I WATCHED PRIDE AND PREJUDICE FOR LIKE THE 50TH TIME LAST NIGHT AND I HAVE MANY THOUGHTS!!! BUT IM ALSO SO SO SORRY THIS ID SO SO LONG AND NOT SMUT I APOLOGIZE

omg okok so imagine aegon, he’s THE spoiled and seductive womanizer prince of the regency era, always overindulging in food, drink but especially women. unmarried at 23(gasp omg), he has not lived a day where he hasn’t gotten what or who he wanted… unfortunately, his mother is insisting on him getting married, being the eldest and needing heirs, when he would much rather just continue his life of countless drinks and women….

but then! when visiting one of his friends estates in a small town by the sea, that’s when he meets the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen(you!) and he HAS to have her.

you come from a small, not very wealthy family, your parents precious youngest daughter, the last unmarried child in the family. while you know you should start entertaining the many suitors that come by your door, enchanted by your beauty, you would much rather sit by the sea and read novels of lands far away. that’s when aegon first sees you, walking to town as he heads back to his friends estate, focused intently on the story in front of you and not at all at the world around. he’s so captivated by your beauty at first, that he doesn’t look where he’s going and runs right into you. quickly steadying you with a firm hand around your waist and another around your back, he can’t help but feel a bit grateful for the situation, to be able to have your full attention and feel your body against his. before he can get more than a few words out however, you quickly move out his grasp, murmuring a thanks and continuing on your way.

in all honestly, you found him incredibly handsome but having very little experience with men has left you unsure of how to proceed in such situations. this doesn’t deter aegon however and only fuels his need for you. now, every time he sees you, he goes out of his way to talk to you, getting your nose out of your book and your attention fully on him. at first, you were very shy, only saying a few words but after a while, he begins to pry you out of your shell. you begin to enjoy talking to him, his flirty and bold nature never failing to make you blush. ever since he met you, aegon hasn’t had any intimate relations with any other women, not even thinking of doing so, not when he has you. he desires to take you to his manor, to introduce you to his family and make you his bride and princess. however, he’s suddenly called back, due to his fathers failing health. unable to say goodbye to you, he leaves his friends estate in the night, hoping to return quickly. with his sudden disappearance, you are distraught. you had thought he was in the courting stages with you and that you would perhaps be getting married sooner than you thought but his absence caused you unease in your heart. a family matter regarding your older sister and her husbands finances arises, causing you to depart to her home in the capital to help settle matters with your parents. while in the capital, you are invited to a ball with your family in the royal families estate, your parents insisting on finding you a good, wealthy match after aegon’s disappearance and your sisters husbands debts. at the ball, you try to remain a wallflower, desperately trying to escape the countless gentleman’s who ask you to dance with them. eventually you find yourself wandering the grand estates emptier halls, exploring rooms when you hear a man and woman speaking in low tones. you peek around a door, trying to keep yourself hidden when you see aegon himself and a woman seductively beckoning him. distraught and betrayed, you stumble, accidentally pushing the door fully open and aegon’s attention instantly is on you, shock on his face. you don’t give him any time to speak, simply turning and running away, back to the ball and to your parents, begging them to go home.

upon returning to your town by the sea, your parents tell you that they’ve secured a betrothal to an extremely old but wealthy man that will save your family from debt but take you far far away from them. feeling numb and resigned to duty, you just accept it.

meanwhile, aegon is very distraught. the woman you saw him with was one of his many past flings and had cornered him in a room when he had tried to take a breather during the ball. she had tried to seduce him and aegon hadn’t been interested, not in the slightest, but you hadn’t seen him reject her. he had tried to go after you the instant he got out of his shock but upon returning to the ball room, you were already gone.

the next week he spends in a daze, trying to get all family matters sorted so he can get to you as quickly as possible. he catches word of your betrothal and this increases his worry and need to get to you by tenfold. the moment he is released from his duties, he takes his trusty steed, sunfyre and rides throughout the night to you. it is the early morning before your wedding and you’re taking a walk while the world is still quiet, not being able to sleep with your heartache. suddenly, you hear a horses pounding hooves coming up the road followed by the sight of aegon, disheveled and dressed only in a white top and riding pants. the moment he sees you, he stops sunfyre and dismounts, quickly walking to your still form. there is silence for a few moments but then he breathlessly tries to explain his sudden disappearance and the woman you saw him with was simply an old fling trying to get back with him but he wasn’t interested in the slightest. you listen to him quietly, heart feeling relieved upon his explanation. putting a hand on his shoulder to calm him down and let him know you understand, he quickly grabs it, holding it in his larger palm to his chest. he confesses to you that all he truly wants and needs is you and that he wishes to marry you and make you his one and only bride. you tearfully explain that you will be married to an old man because of his wealth and your sisters debts but he assures you that he has much wealth, even more than the old man(bc hello? prince!!!) and he will pay off any debt that your family is burdened with. he vows to call off your betrothal the moment your parents awaken and overwhelmed with emotion, you throw your arms around him, kissing his cheeks and joyfully saying yes to marrying him. he wraps his arms around your waist, lifting you up and planting a firm kiss on your lips, elated that he finally has you in his arms and nothing could take you away from him.

THIS WAS SO SO LONG IM SO SORRY!!!! ILL WRITE SMUT FOR IT AFTER MY CLASSES BUT I JUST HAD TO PUT THIS OUT THERE FIRST!!!!

BOO I ATE THIS UP!!! respectfully I LIVE FOR THESE AUs and this one was no exception 🥵🥵🥵🥵

the ansgt, the tension GRRRRR FERAL!!!!

relieved there’s a happy ending now all we need is a little good ole smut 🤭

thank you for taking the time to write this up beautiful, it was amazing to read!!!!

[8aji]

Do you any books recommendation??⁉️

OKAY SO !! i gotta start by saying that i havent read many books and thats one of the reasons i didnt respond to this ask aside from me taking a break i was a lil embarrassed ngl BUT my response is finally here and i hope you enjoy my rant/rec list !!

all quiet on the western front - erich maria remarque

when i tell you this book destroyed the view i had of life and then built it back again...im not exaggerating. its so beautifully written, and the characterization is wonderful. the narration felt very personal to me, like the story was a little secret between me and paul (the main character), and i don't think it was bc it was written in 1st person pov. ofc im sure it influenced my perception of the story, but the language that was used and constant contradictions and the way paul would go on long, eloquently put together, tangents about his thoughts and emotions and opinions to then disregard everything he said with a sudden wave of doubt and hopelessness — i think it made him very human. i felt very connected to his character, and i do think it was bc i had grown fond of the version i saw of him in the 2022 film (which has nothing on the book, can't even compare em really), the already preexisting feeling was only amplified by the narration and the intricate sentences AND AND i saw my own writing be reflected on the book — for instance, i noticed there were very long long sentences, which is something i rlly like doing. all in all, it showcases the ww1 soldier experience very crudely, in a very beautifully sad way; you can feel remarque's pain and anger in every sentence — his opinion about the war and its futility are very clear, and it honestly makes the book a 100 times better. though i do think my opinion is VERY biased when it comes to this book so please do take it with a grain or a spoonful really of salt

everything i never told you - celeste ng

i read this book a while ago, but even so it remains as one of my top 3 i dont read a lot bear with me TT the book has a very catchy opening line, which instantly had me hooked — it narrates the story of a mixed-race, chinese-american family in the 70s and how they navigate the disappearance of their daughter. i think the book does an amazing job at juggling multiple povs without neglecting any character. it develops each individual storyline very well and the way it delves into the internal conflicts and psyche of each character is just 10/10

little fires everywhere - celeste ng

i gotta be honest, this book didnt "hook" me as much as the other two did, but i still think it was very good and definitely worth a read. i think celeste ng has the tendency to start her books very actively? what i mean with this is that she opens up the story with a very shocking fact or occurrence (?) and then ties everything back to the beginning — almost as if she started writing the story backwards. i think that's really cool, bc even though we as the reader know the "climatic" event, we dont exactly know what happened and are left at the edge of our seats wondering what exactly went down for this to happen, ya know?

the metamorphosis - franz kafka

now, this is also me being biased bc i have the biggest and greatest, most softest spot for kafka and this book. in short, and i mean in very short, the story's about a man who suddenly turns into a bug — the beauty of simplicity in summaries. i read it when i was 16 in literature class and i was absolutely smitten with the story the main character...i really wanted to fix him, kay?? at the time i wasn't at my bestest in terms of mental stability, so im sure that influenced my love and understanding for the book, but analysing it in class and delving into the context behind the book and the author, and interpreting it from my own pov just sigh it was so good.

like water for chocolate - laura esquivel

FUCK i can't express how fun this book is. its a romance book, and also a perfect example of magical realism. AND IT DOES IT THROUGH FOOD !! tita (the main character) has a very deep bond with cooking, and because of this, the food she makes is a direct reflection of the emotional state she was in while she did so — cook the food that is. and, if im not mistaken bc i also read this book when i was 16, each chapter starts with the recipe that tita will prepare — i loved that detailed so much because i love cooking as well, tho i prefer baking. and though it is technically a tragic-romance novel, it is very lighthearted (and i mean this in the bestest way possible) and very funny imo. i would recommend it to anyone in the blink of an eye.

[bohdansblog]

Halloween is coming soon, it just so happened that at this time, I registered on tumblr,That's why the story is about Halloween

I want to introduce you to Ukraine, the Ivano-Frankivsk region, it is like California in the United States, only without the sea and with snow��

An ordinary family moves from the main city in the "Ivano-Frankivsk" region to a city located almost in the mountains, Yaremche. We will call the main characters father SIROZHA (30) years old) Let the mother's name be ESLIS(29 years old) , the eldest son's name is Maxim (11 years old), the youngest daughter's name is Maria (9 years) . They drove in the car for a long time, got tired of the road, and did not immediately notice that the daughter who said " Some uncle is looking at us from the window" not everyone paid attention. They began to unload and then Maksym also noticed a figure near the basement, thought he was hallucinating, The house was, let's say, unusual, after a few months the renovations began, everyone had fun, because the place was really fun, and nearby there were also bands constantly meeting, almost every week they went to someone's concert.We are moving to October 31. In the middle of the night, Mariyka heard strange screams from the basement, she thought that someone from the family had come down to.And what is anyone doing in the basement in the middle of the night? Mariyka went to see. The next morning, everyone noticed that Marichka(Sometimes in Ukraine girls named Maria are called that) had disappeared somewhere It was quite strange because she fell through the ground. But traces remained and the traces led to the basement. They entered this basement. Everyone suddenly felt sick, after that they immediately left the basement, They came out of the basement,

And you see that in their house there are no traces of what they did, the things were ancient, there were no repairs,The family saw the following story

A long time ago, an Austrian nobleman lived in this house, he owed a large amount of money, so the Austrian Guard came to him and brutally killed him right in his house, he was killed so brutally that No person deserves such a terrible and death, according to any rules and canons.That's why this nobleman, every time someone moves in here, if it's one person, he takes it in one night, if it's two people, then in two nights, and if it's a whole family, then he first takes it The youngest, the next night the oldest,And for those who remained, a deadly quest is arranged, no one has yet come out alive.After the family returned to their own time, they found a lot of cases related to this house at the local police station.

So the next night, Serhiy, Elis and Maxim, barricaded themselves in one of the rooms. All objects that are not attached or not heavy began to fly around the house. After that, they all crashed into the wall of the room behind which our family was barricaded.There was a very uneasy silence, everyone was preparing for something worst. And at that moment, a hurricane started in the house from everything that was not attached, and the house itself began to collapse, In the midst of all this chaos, SIROGHU The darkness pulled him in, something literally pulled him out of the darkness,Then Elice and Maxim ran to the basement. There they found the same nobleman, he looked very terrible, let's say so🙃

The mother took a gun that appeared out of nowhere (and here come up with flying gun memes😆)And of course Elice

She started shooting the GUN AT THE GHOST, as expected, it did not happen, but this ghost did not like chemistry very much, so Elice began to scatter all kinds of powders that were on the shelf near her.Meanwhile, Maxim jumped into the mirror (don't ask how he did it🤔)There he found his sister and father chained to an ancient prison, well, they began to think how to get free, one thing to find sister and father, and another thing to free them. And Maksym found a way out, About 10 minutes of work, and the stone helped to break the shackles, they ran together to the car, taking Elice,(fortunately - this is not a horror film and they did not forget their mother here 😆)Of course, the car didn't start, but then a stone hit the hood, I wouldn't say that it could break the car, but fortunately it helped, and they drove away from that ghost, while the Austrian count, He was running around the house, he caught some kind of shelf, and some kind of mixture spilled on him, and the house just blew up, the next morning, this family saw on the news that this house exploded, They heard from their roommates that there is a very cheap house in the neighboring village, cheap even for an old house, they decided to find a more expensive option.

Here is the story, I hope you liked it

Conclusion: do not buy cheap and suspicious houses 🙃

[readingforsanity]

The Wife You Know | Chad Zunker | Published 2024

Everything he knows about his wife is called into question when she mysteriously vanishes in a breathtaking novel of suspense by Amazon Charts bestselling author Chad Zunker.

Widower Luke Driskell didn't expect to fall in love and marry again so quickly. But Ashley and her daughter, Joy, are special - a quality borne out when Ashley rushes into a burning daycare center to save the children. Immediately she's a social media sensation and hero. Then, just as suddenly, Ashley and Joy disappear into the bitterly cold night.

With no trace of their whereabouts, Luke begins a panicked investigation. Alarmingly, he can find no proof that the woman he loves even exists. Left behind: just a hidden stash of fake IDs. Different names. Different cities. Same haunted face. Now the devastated husband has only questions: who did he marry? What is she hiding?

Luke's cross-country pursuit of the truth soon spins into something more dangerous than he imagined. Because Ashley's secrets run so deep and dark that finding her could threaten all their lives.

Luke Driskell is a 30-year-old widower, living in Vail, Colorado. After his parents died when he was 4, he lived a life of poverty with his grandfather, a man of seldom words who drank from sun up to sun down and had very little to do with his life, except for short bursts of parenting advice here and there. After his death, Luke thrived in college, before making it as a successful businessman in the world of technology.

After the death of his wife and unborn child, Luke relocated to Vail, Colorado, traveling back to California for work meetings but mostly working out of his own home. After meeting a young local artist named Ashley Tolly and her 3-year-old daughter, Joy, Luke fell in love with them both, and the two married just a few months before.

While away on a day business trip back to California, Ashley noticed and saved 8 pre-school children from a fire at a daycare center, receiving minor burns and smoke inhalation in the process. The entire situation had been captured on video and shared through the world of social media, becoming an instant sensation and people wanted to speak with Ashley. But, for the entire time Luke has known her, she's always been hesitant about leaving any sort of trail online, though would never explain why other than she preferred her privacy.

But, with this incident an instant viral situation, Ashley is now in the spotlight against her wishes. On the behest of the hospital staff, Ashley is advised to remain at the hospital overnight and Luke leaves to care for his stepdaughter. But upon waking the next morning, Joy is gone and Ashley cannot be contacted. Unsure of what to do, he begins searching for them throughout the town, coming up empty, until he finally discusses his options with the local police. Desperate, he also contacts a nationwide news station in Denver, going on air to speak about his efforts to find his family and offering a $1 million dollar reward for information leading to their whereabouts.

Luke is eventually contacted by a FBI Agent, only named Chang, said to want to talk to Ashley about the incident as they suspect arson was at play during the fire. However, after contacting a satellite FBI officer, where a former basketball rival, Danny Lamar, is now a Special Agent, Luke knows now that Chang isn't whom he said he was. And for Danny Lamar, becoming involved in the situation quickly leads to his death after Luke discovers a bag with four identities inside, all with pictures of Ashley with different names and addresses spread throughout the country.

Desperate to find out what happened to Ashley and Joy, he slowly begins piecing together what could have happened to her. Ashley had always been demure about the identity of Joy's father, simply stating that he had been a gallery owner in Laguna Beach, California and he had died in a car accident shortly after Ashley found out she was pregnant. However, that gallery owner turned out to have been murdered, and had been gay, therefore could not have been involved romantically with his wife.

Moving on to the other states and towns listed on her fake IDs, Luke is able to figure out that Ashley was in fact Sarah Bowman, believed to have died in a China prison cell when she was just 20 years old, visiting the country on an international mission trip. After discovering that Ashley had been adopted when she was 14 years old out of the foster care system by a woman namd Janny, who had also died four years ago, he meets with Janny's sister to learn more. Claudia tells Luke that Janny had received a call from someone claiming to be Sarah, and a few days later, after requesting help from a local government official named Pullson, ended up drowning in her bathtub, which CLaudia had initially believed to have been suicide after simply not getting over the death of her daughter.

When Luke is attempting to get back to his hotel room after confronting Senator Pullman regarding the mysterious phone call that Sarah had made to her mother, he is confronted by two large security men who take him captive, but he is eventually saved by former CIA agent Nick Cantley, who he had first encountered in the office of his home in Vail, discovering that this mysterious man stole $10,000 in cash.

The two of them are able to get away, and though he doesn't wish too, he promised Ashley to tell LUke the truth: that she had found a man raping one of the young girls she had been involved with in China during the mission trip, and had been taken captive by this man, and the story of her death was put out in order for him to hold onto her. After this man's own two young daughters found her, he kept her captive at his home in order for Ashley to teach his young children all about the U.S. and its customs, including teaching them to speak English. However, Ashley met the U.S. Ambassadors son, Han Liu, and the two quickly fell in love. They married in secret, after Han converted to Christianity to be with Ashley. Ashley was pregnant at the time, and this unfortunately led to Han Liu being executed at the behest of his own father.

Nick had been involved in the rescue mission to attempt to save Ashley and Han from the Chinese government, and helped Ashley return to the U.S. and began giving her new identities in order to make a life for herself, keeping away from the Chinese government as they had wanted Joy back in China, the only child of the son he had had murdered.

Luke is given the choice to return to his own life, where he will continue to be monitored by the Chinese government, to be used as bait, hoping Ashley would return to him eventually; or he could completely cut off his old life and create a new one with Ashley and Joy in a remote location, completely off the grid. Luke has no choice but to leave behind his old life, promising the both of them that he would leave everything behind in order to be with them.

A week later, Luke is reunited with his wife and stepdaughter.

[reptilianmephistopheles]

Fictive/inner world mask self speaking. Experiences and identities the transcribing host body has never experienced or had. My words are my own. 👁️

Agreeing with 80% of the things somebody says about me until they’re like “oh and you also had a romantic and sexual relationship with the daughter of the monarch who lead an active still ongoing genocide against every other nation emergent from this homeland including your own” and it’s… can you please bother to actually respect me beyond my use as an allegory or as your little blorbo. Can you please give me the barest of decencies to trust as much as you trust the sun will keep rising that I would never willingly form any sort of genuine union with femme shitler’s race fetishist daughter. That i am genuinely and truly and permanently repulsed by herself, her family, their occupation, and their god?

“Brief relationship” the 72 hours i spent in her company were 71 too many. “Fond of her partner” who was feeding her mother and cleric council direct information about our attempts to destabilize their monarchy, grant ourselves some second of grace, even a little more peace, a moment of free breath. “Fond” of a man who betrayed his own heritage and his own community for a colonizer’s dehumanizing love?

I was fond of it being over. I am sorry it ever happened. We lost a powerful negotiator and i lost a comrade for whom I’d once held a deep respect. That her eyes and ears could follow him into our councils, and he knew that, he purposely betrayed our trust and cost hundreds of us our lives, not only our combatants but our children, our elders, our healers and orators, how many of us were disappeared into the prisons beneath their castle, the labor camps surrounding it, how many raids did we endure, how many strategies were unmade for us as we seemed to become suddenly and horrifically predictable to them? Do you have any idea how crazy it drove us? How maddening it was? He sat there twiddling his thumbs, defending himself, as we searched feverishly for the mole, watched me as i argued against the idea of an active spy. That anyone who had endured with us all this time could never. The liar he made of me. The light of my faith in my siblings he did his damndest to steal. To get his dick wet? I don’t honestly care if they even could truly love each other. I would think true sovereign love between people must come with a recognition of all people as human in the political function of the word at least. Note she never came to us. Note she never spied on her mother’s and her own regime for us. Note that when she inherited the crown, the genocide did not stop. She is not a poor thing, nor a helpless woman, she did not try her best, she didn’t do whatever she could to fulfill any semblance of what an actual ally would do. She was not a noble nor a commoner, but the direct and only heir to their empire. I am not entertaining the idea she was ever powerless especially after her mother’s death. While i would not expect allied work from her as a child, I have known many children far braver than her at every stage of her life I’ve been forced to be aware of.

Their remains were burned beside each other. That is all the grace i had left to give.

[thewastedpotential]

Eros and Psyche

Once upon a time, there was a king who had three wonderful daughters. The youngest, Psyche, was much more beautiful than her two sisters and looked like a goddess among mere mortals. The fame of its beauty had been spread throughout the whole kingdom and men kept coming to her palace to admire and worship her.

When people would see her, they used to say that not even Aphrodite herself could compete Psyche. The more people were getting to know Psyche, the less would remember the goddess of love and beauty. The temples of Aphrodite were abandoned, her altars covered with cold ashes and the sculptors would no more make statues for her. All the honors reserved to her were then attributed to a simple, mortal girl.

The goddess could not accept such a situation and required help from his son, Eros. He told him in distress, Use your power and make this little shameless girl to fall in love with the vilest and the most despicable creature who has ever walked on Earth. Eros agreed to do so but the moment he saw her, he himself felt his heart pierced by one of his own arrows. He couldn't make that charming maiden fall in love with a horrible creature but also decided not to tell his mother.

always admired but never really loved. It seemed that no man would want her as his wife and this caused great anxiety and distress to her parents.

That is when her father went to visit the oracle of Delphi to ask Apollo for an advice on what to do to find a husband for Psyche. The prophecy of the god was terrible. Apollo decreed that Psyche, dressed in black dress, should be brought to the summit of a mountain and stay there alone. The husband that was assigned to her, a winged serpent, terrible and more powerful than the gods themselves, would come up and take her for his wife.

No one can imagine the despair of the family and friends of Psyche. She was prepared for the hill as if she were to face her death and with more cries than if they were to drive her to the tomb, they led the young lady to the hill. Desperately, they all departed, leaving Psyche to her fate, radiant and helpless, and they locked themselves in the palace to mourn her for the rest of their days.

On the hill and in the dark, Psyche remained seated and waited. While she was shaking and crying in the quiet night, a slight breeze reached her. It was the fresh wind of Zephyr, the mildest of the winds. He felt that she was being raised. She was being taken into the air, over the rocky hill, to a soft meadow full of flowers. He did his best to make her forget her pain and put her to sleep.

She then woke up by the sound of clear stream and when she opened her eyes she faced an imposing and magnificent castle. It seemed destined to a god, with gold columns, silver walls and floors of inlaid precious stones. Absolute silence ruled. It seemed uninhabited and Psyche approached cautiously to admire its splendors. She remained suspicious at the threshold, where she heard a noise but could not see anyone. However, she could clearly hear the words: The house is for you. Come in and do not be afraid. Take a bath and we will immediately honor you with a great dinner.

Never had she taken such a refreshing bath nor tasted such delicious dishes. While eating, she heard a soft music around her, like a harp accompanying a numerous choir. She heard it but she could not see it. The whole day she was alone, only accompanied by the voices. But somehow she knew her husband would come at night. And so it was. When she felt he was close to her and heard his voice whispering sweetly in her ear, her fears disappeared. Without even seeing him, she was certain that he was not a monster but the loving husband she had always been wishing for.

The following days passed in full joy and Psyche could not remember any happier time of her life. However, day after day, she was feeling sadness that she could not see her husband. Moreover, she was left alone all day and boredom filled her heart. Suddenly, she started missing her family. They must have been mourning for her and she was alive and happy. This was not fair and she didn't want her family to suffer.

That night, she asked her mysterious husband to grant her a favor. She wanted her tow sisters to come up at the palace and make sure that she was fine. That would be a comfort for her old parents. At first, her husband refused but when Psyche turned out so sad, he told her. OK, I will allow your sisters to come up here, but I am warning you, do not let them influence you. If they do, you will destroy our relationship and suffer a lot.

Next day, her two sisters, carried by the wind, they came up to Psyche. They were all happy to see each other and cried in happiness. However, when they entered the palace, the two older sisters were amazed by all those magnificent treasures. During dinner, they heard a wonderful music and drank the most delicious of wines. Envy was flourishing in their heart and an irresistible curiosity to know the owner of such magnificence, the husband of Psyche. They kept asking the poor girl questions on her husband, his look and his occupation. Psyche just said that he was a young hunter.

But, they didn't believe her, of course. Could a simple hunter be so rich? He must be a prince or even a god, they thought. The two sisters knew that compared to Psyche, their own wealth and happiness were nothing at all and in total jealousy, they made a plan to hurt their sister. When, they were saying goodbye, they two evil women told Psyche that her husband must be the awful snake that the oracle of Delphi had told her husband. That is why he doesn't allow you to see him. Because he knows that if you see him, you will disgust in his sight and leave him forever. Oh, poor Psyche, how can you sleep with such a horrible creature?

From that day on, Psyche could think of nothing else but these words. Her sisters must be right. Why doesn't he come to me in the day? Why doesn't he allow me to see him? What is his secret? Why hasn't he ever told me about his life? These thoughts were puzzling Psyche for many days long. He must be hiding something horrible and that is why he does not want to be seen in the daylight. I must find out. Tonight, when he falls to deep sleep, I will light a candle to see him. If he is a snake, I will kill him. Otherwise, I will turn the candle off and go happily to sleep. He had taken her decision, forgetting all about her husband's warning.

Indeed, that night, when her husband fell asleep peacefully, she took courage and lit the candle. Walking on her toes she approached the bed and she felt a deep relief. The light did not show a monster but the most beautiful of men. Ashamed by her madness and her little confidence, Psyche fell down on her knees and thanked gods for this happiness. But while he was leaning on him, a drop of oil fell from the candle on the back of that handsome, young man. He woke up in pain and saw the light. He looked her at the eyes and, facing Psyche's distrust, he left their bedroom without uttering a single word.

Psyche immediately ran after her husband. It was dark and she could not see him, but could hear his heartbroken voice: Love can not live without trust. Those were his last words before flying to the dark sky. The god of love!, she thought. He was my husband and I did not trust him. She cried and cried for days and then she decided to do anything to gain her back. She would look everywhere for him and she would prove her love.

Without knowing what else to do, she went to the temple of Aphrodite and prayed to the goddess. She asked Aphrodite to speak to her son and persuade him to get Psyche back. Aphrodite had not, of course, overcome her jealousy for Psyche and still wanted her revenge. She told the young girl that she needed to be completely sure that Psyche was the appropriate wife for her son. Therefore, Psyche should accomplish three tasks to prove her skills. If she failed in even one of these tasks, Eros would be lost for ever.

Psyche agreed and Aphrodite led her on a hill. There the goddess showed her a dune of different small seeds of wheat, poppies, millets and many others. I want you to separate these seeds by this afternoon. If you do not, I will never let you see Eros again, said Aphrodite and left. How could see do that? How could see separate all these tiny seeds? This was a cruel task that filled her eyes with tears. That moment, a group of ants were passing by and saw her in despair. Come, feel mercy for this poor girl and let us help her, they said to each other. They all responded to this appeal and worked hard, separating the seeds, something in which they were experts. From the big original dune, they formed several smaller dunes, each with one king of seed. These smaller dunes saw Aphrodite and became angry.

You have not finished your work she said and ordered Psyche to sleep on the ground, without giving her any food, while she leaned in her soft bed. She thought that if she could compel Psyche to hard work for a long time, her beauty would not resist. Meanwhile, Aphrodite would not let her son to leave his room, where he was all that time mourning for Psyche's betrayal.

Next morning, Aphrodite came up with a new job from Psyche, a dangerous task. Can you see those black waters descending from the hill? That is River Estige, awful and abhorrent. Fill this bottle with its water, the goddess said. On reaching the waterfall, Psyche realized that the surrounding rocks were slippery and steep. The waters rushed through such abrupt rocks that only a winged creature could approach.

And indeed, an eagle helped her. It was flying with its huge wings above the river when it saw Psyche and fell sympathy for her. It seized the bottle from her hands with its beak, filled it with some black water and gave it back to Psyche. Venus accepted her with a cold smile. Someone helped you, she said sharply, otherwise you would not have been able to perform this task by your own. I'm going to give you another chance to prove you that you are as determined as you claim to be.

She gave a box to Psyche. She had to take it to the Underworld and ask Persephone, queen of the Dead, to drain a little of her beauty into the box. Obedient as usual, Psyche took the path leading to Hades. When she entered the gates and took the boat to the other bank, where the dead people used to leave, she gave much money to Charonte the boatman to help her find her way in the dark to the palace of Persephone.

Indeed, the boatman helped her and after a while, she was right in front of Persephone. When she asked her to drop a drain of her beauty in the box, Persephone was glad to serve Aphrodite. Psyche took the box and returned cheerful to the Earth. When she gave Aphrodite the box, the goddess got extremely angry. She yelled the poor girl that she would never let her go and she would always be her servant.

At this crucial moment, the Gods, who were watching this wrongdoing all this time, decided to take up action. They sent Hermes, the messenger God, to narrate Eros all the misfortunes that his wife was going through. Eros was touched and this healed the wound of betrayal. He left his room and found Psyche exhausted in his mother's garden.

From that moment on, Eros and Psyche lived happily together in their lovely palace, which was always full of roses and other flowers. Psyche persuaded Eros to forgive his mother for what she had made her suffer. As a wedding gift, Zeus made Psyche immortal and allowed her to taste ambrosia, the drink of the Gods. Even Aphrodite was happy because, now that Psyche was living in the sky with her husband, men on earth had forgotten all about her and were again worshiping the true goddess of beauty.

[warrioreowynofrohan]

Random Silm/LOTR fanfic snippet for my lil’ gremlin OC:

***

King Eldarion did not use the palantír frequently; it showed present events only as from a great distance, and most things within Gondor and Arnor could be learned more effectively, if more slowly, from messengers on horseback. The glimpses it showed of the future were perilous and easily misinterpreted. But it was useful, by times, for watching the borders of his realm, and learning of any great changes or new threats before they reached his people.

It could no longer be used to communicate with others; the stones of Arnor had been lost, those of Osgiliath and Minas Ithil destroyed, and that of Minas Tirith was kept locked in the vaults of the tower, with only the former Orthanc-stone remaining for the King’s use.

Which was why he was startled, when using the Stone one afternoon, to find his visions interrupted by a dark-haired, grinning, unmistakably Elven face.

“Hi! How are you? I knew we could talk, even though everyone insisted we couldn’t! We ought to, we’re family, and I’ve never met a human before and I want to know everything about Gondor - ”

“Who,” said Eldarion sternly, “are you?” He focused his mind on the stranger with all the authority of the rightful owner of the Stone. “Identify yourself.” The being’s demeanour was far from threatening, and she looked youthful - though it was difficult to tell, with elves - but appearance could be deceptive or counterfeited, and a stranger breaking into use of the palantír and immediately seeking information on his realm could not be treated as other than a potential threat.

“There’s no need to be rude. We’re practically cousins, a bunch of times removed, and I just wanted to talk, because Middle-earth is fascinating and everything’s so boring here, and I haven’t done anything so I don’t se why you’d be mean and you’re giving me a headache - ” The stream of words was suddenly cut off by a look of abrupt realization. “Oh, right, because of Uncle Cel, but you don’t need to worry - ”

The face abruptly disappeared from the palantír as suddenly as it had appeared.

Eldarion scanned the palantír for hours more, but found no sign or trace of the intruder’s origin.

*****

Eldarion continued to consider the event for days afterwards. A being that was trying to learn of his realm and councils for ill might counterfeit a fair form, but would almost certainly try to display more gravitas, and would be unlikely to specifically bring up Celebrimbor, as he was increasingly certain she had. The juxtaposition of ‘Middle-earth’ and ‘here’ suggested that she was from Valinor, which was - unless someone reached through time from Númenor - also the most likely place where another palantír could exist.

And she certainly acted like a child. Though that in itself was strange; the Orthanc-stone, and the other stones in earlier years, were safeguarded as powerful and perilous objects, not left where anyone might run across them.

Nearly a week later, as he was again scanning the atone, a face appeared, but a different one. Still Elvish, but blond, male, older, and far more formal in address.

“I ask your pardon for the earlier interruption, King Eldarion. My daughter is eager and heedless, and frequently does not think through the repercussions of her actions. She meant no harm, and I hope she has not alarmed you unduly. She should never have had access to the Eressëa stone, but she is, unfortunately - ” he laughed ruefully - “rather cleverer than most of us. ”

The elf looked tired, reminding Eldarion of how himself had looked when his children were aged one and three. Eldarion felt inclined to believe him, but he could not operate solely on trust.

“Will you, then, identify yourself? And her?” He merely asked, and did not attempt compulsion this time; he had an inkling that it would not have succeeded.

The elf’s expression became awkward. “I suppose I must, though I would prefer you not to pay too much heed to it, and to think of me only as a father with an errant daughter. You would know me as Finrod Felagund.”

Eldarion’s mind went almost blank with shock. He looked instinctively down at his hands, at the ring on his finger -

Finrod Felagund. He was speaking with a legend. He was being apologized to over, apparently, a childhood prank by a legend.

“My daughter is called Mischief - an epessë of course, but you can easily see how she acquired it! She is still young, in your terms about fifteen, and has a great interest in everything, both within and outside our borders. We in Valinor had no intent to contact you or to interfere in your affairs, but after her actions an explanation seemed like the least harmful of choices.”

[iliveiloveiwrite]

an artist’s eye // Benedict Bridgerton

Summary: Benedict Bridgerton was an artist, even if his inspiration had no idea of what he feels.

A/N: I promise to slow down with the fics! I go back to work in a couple of days anyway so I’ll definitely slow down. I hope you all like! It’s shorter than my last few fics so I’m sorry for that!! My taglist is open so if you’d like to be on it, let me know and I am considering opening my requests for Bridgerton fics... considering.

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Fem!Reader

Warnings: mentions of food and drink, pining, mutual pining, sketching, art, drawing (I am not an artist, I cannot draw a stick man so I apologise in advance), kissing.

Word count: 1.8k

The graphite point sits heavy in his hand as Benedict struggles to remember the lines he needs. With only his memory to aid him, Benedict struggled more with the portraits he preferred to draw than the landscapes that were growing increasingly popular among the highest of London society.

Sighing, Benedict presses his fingers to his eyes as if it will help jumpstart his memory to bring forward the correct image he needs. He regrets the action as quick as he had done it when he thinks of the mixture of graphite and charcoal coating his fingers.  

Rubbing his face with the sleeve of his shirt, he feels a moment of pity for the servants who would no doubt grumble and complain at the state of it. However, as he glances down at the sketch – the arch of his subject’s smile, the depths of their eyes – he cannot bring himself to care too much.

It wouldn’t see the light of day. Once complete, the sketchbook would be tucked away in the drawer in his desk. If it was to fall into the wrong hands, then as much as he is confident of his artistic talent, he would not recover from the fallout. Benedict worries for the day that the look in your eyes changes; once you realise the extent of his feelings for you.

He hadn’t meant to fall in love with you, but he had. There were a lot of things in Benedict’s life that he hadn’t meant to do and has regretted completing such an action once done. However, he cannot find it in himself to feel bad about falling in love with you even when he had not meant to.

As much as he puts on airs and graces, he would not approach you with his feelings. He wasn’t ready though you made his heart sing like no other.

One day, he tells himself as he finally remembers the swoop of your neckline. One day he will tell you as he picks up his graphite point and charcoal once more.

Not yet, however.

------------

The drawing room remains quiet as Benedict silently adds to his sketch collection. His mother sits across the room, content with a stitching pattern for the arrival of Daphne’s new baby. Eloise lounges on the couch, a book in her hand and a box of chocolates on her stomach, eyes pouring over the pages hungrily.

The only sound in the room is the roughness of his pencil on the paper. It didn’t matter what angle he approached this drawing at, he could not get it to look right. It was going to vex him until he had bested it.

“Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N) has arrived,” The Butler announces to which Benedict suddenly sits up straighter, closing his sketchbook, leaving it on the table.

“Wonderful,” Violet Bridgerton smiles, “Show them up, please.”

“I didn’t know (Y/N) was calling today,” Benedict comments lightly as the Butler disappears from the room, trying to sound as if his heart isn’t currently pounding in his chest.

“(Y/N) always calls on a Thursday,” Eloise states, voice puzzled. She shares a look of confusion with her mother when Benedict suddenly stands, announcing to them both, “I shall clean myself up a bit, make myself look presentable for our guest.”

The look of confusion soon turns into one of understanding as both women watch their son and brother dash from the room. As if at the same time, a smile crosses both their faces when they realise that their beloved son and brother has fallen in love and with a dear friend of the family too.

They do not get to discuss the topic, however, for you are shown to the drawing room, greeting both women with a large smile and buoyant conversation.

“Help yourself to tea and biscuits, dear,” Violet invites, gesturing to the tea service now being laid on the table. Your stomach rumbles at the sight of the biscuits, unable to turn down the buttery goodness.

“Thank you,” You reply, taking a seat at the table, reaching for a biscuit and the teapot.

It’s then that you see it. A leatherbound book left on the other side of the table, barely hidden by the cake stand of treats.

Curiosity being your besetting sin, you reach for the leatherbound book on the table and begin to flick through the pages. A sketch of a pair of hands at the beginning; they hold a single flower – a rose, though what colour is impossible to tell since the sketch remains firmly in shades of greys and blacks. Enraptured, you turn the page to find a detailed image of a parasol, still sketched in the same greys and blacks as the previous picture. The artist has captured the lace trimming perfectly. The longer you stare at it, you come to realise that the parasol is being held by someone, but it isn’t clear who.

It isn’t until you reach a sketch of your side portrait that you come to realise that the previous sketches – the hands, the parasol with just a hint of a shadow under it – they’re of you.

They’re all of you. Each stunning sketch is of you.

Your breath quickens in your chest when you see who the sketchbook belongs to; when you spy the initials written on the inside sleeve of the front cover. ‘B.B.’ written in his elegant script – an artist in every aspect of his life. Whilst you had observed that Benedict sometimes appeared with smudges to his fingers and paint stains on the cuffs of his tailored white shirt, you had never seen a sketch or a painting until now. He truly had a gift; a talent worthy of being displayed in Somerset House.

You hadn’t been aware of his feelings for you though, but you would not be the first to admit that you found yourself attracted to the Bridgerton. Taught at a young age, you knew it was not wise to share such feelings with others. Instead, you dampened them down, hiding them away where they grew unattended – they rooted in your heart, making it very difficult to find another love worthy.

Bringing a hand to your mouth, you hide your smile, not wanting to give too much away to ever observant Bridgerton matriarch. You turn page after page, letting yourself fall deeper into your feelings for Benedict now that you find there is hope of them being requited.

------------

Benedict’s breath leaves his body in one fell swoop when he returns to the drawing room and he realises exactly what you hold in your hand. He hadn’t moved it upon your announcement; he thought he had, but instead, like a fool, he left it sitting there on the table.

A fool. He was a fool. How quick, Benedict thinks to himself, how quick a life can change – mere minutes he had been gone and now he was to have his love for you outed.

You haven’t noticed his presence yet, and for that Benedict is thankful. It gives him time to come up with something – anything – to explain the numerous sketches of you. His mind is running too fast; he cannot come up with a thought good enough to excuse the sketches in his book. His heart continues to pound in his chest; it had not slowed down since your announcement though at this point it reminds him that is, indeed, alive and not suffering from a night terror.

As if finally sensing the extra person in the room, you glance up. Your eyes meeting the deep blue of Benedict’s, and you freeze in your spot. Violet and Eloise glance between the two of you. Violet, not one to usually ignore tradition, hurries her daughter from the room – knowing the conversation that was about to take place.

“I’m sorry,” You whisper at the click of the door shutting. You close the sketchbook, placing it on the table as far away from you as possible to keep your temptation at bay.

“I think I should be the one apologising,” Benedict confesses, taking one more step into the room. He tucks his hands behind his back, ever the picture of grace and elegance as he thinks of how long he has left without before your opinion of him changes forever – artistic talent or not.

“I knew you were an artist; I had seen the smudges on your hands, but I didn’t think…”

“What?”

“I didn’t think you were drawing me.”

“Surely you know?” He asks, voice loud in the quiet room. When you remain silent, he continues, “Surely you know of my feelings for you?”

You shake your head, eyes glancing between the taller Bridgerton and the leatherbound sketchbook lying on the table. “I didn’t know,” You whisper, voice breaking as you take in the distraught look on his face.

“Well,” Benedict murmurs, clearing his throat, “You know of them now.”

“I do,” You murmur,

“I hope I haven’t offended you,” Benedict remarks, “Those sketches were not meant to be seen by anyone else.”

“Only if I haven’t offended you by looking through them.”

Benedict shakes his head, “You could never offend me.”

“Then I am not offended either. I’m quite flattered, you’re very talented.”

“Thank you,” Benedict says graciously, nodding his head slightly.

“You need to know that your feelings are returned, Benedict,” You declare suddenly and plainly, displaying your feelings for all to see.

“They are?” Benedict asks, voice awed as if he didn’t take into account this reaction.

“They are,” You state firmly, meeting his gaze proudly as if you could ever be ashamed of your feelings for the brunette.

Benedict stalks across the room; tradition and etiquette be damned as he reaches for your hand to pull you from your chair. His hands settle on your waist as you tilt your head back to look at him. A silent question reflects in his eyes to which you answer with a nod of your head.

His hands move from your waist to cradle your face as he dips down, pressing his lips to yours. It isn’t hurried; it’s perfect as Benedict takes control of the kiss, groaning softly at the feel of your mouth and your body pressed against him. You smile into the kiss as your arms wrap around Benedict’s neck, pulling him ever closer to you.

Benedict’s mouth brushes against yours as he asks, “Would you like to accompany me to Lady Danbury’s ball next week?”

“As in you would court me?”

Benedict chuckles softly, “Yes. I would like to court you, is that okay?”

“More than okay,” You smile before pressing a kiss to the corner of Benedict’s mouth and stepping away.

Turning back to the sketchbook, you open it to image that had kickstarted your heart into an irregular rhythm. Benedict stands by your side as your eyes pour over his sketch; each line and angle, each section of shading. “You truly have an artist’s eye,” You say quietly, tangling your hands together.

“Thank you,” Benedict whispers, bringing your entwined hands up to his mouth whereupon he lays a gentle kiss to the back of your gloved hand.

“Will you show me more?” You ask, turning to face the man that had turned you into a work of art.

“Darling, I’ll show you them all.”

***********

Bridgerton Taglist: @heloisedaphnebrightmore @dreaming-about-fanfictions @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown @janelongxox @aspiringsloth20 @wallwriterstuff​ @magicalxdaydream​

[today-only-happens-once]

out of focus

title: out of focus

word count: 3955

summary: 

The actions of a Fire Nation admiral during a meeting causes some problems for Sokka. The words of that admiral causes some problems for Zuko. They try to take care of each other. 

“What did the admiral mean,” Sokka blurts out without really thinking about it, “when he talked about insubordination?” 

Zuko freezes, the rag half-out of the bowl and his other hand still bracing Sokka’s (not quite holding it… far too gentle to be holding it). “What—uh. I, uh.” Zuko stops. Takes a breath. Tries again. He still doesn’t look up at Sokka. “When I was younger, I spoke out at a meeting.”

Warnings: burns (description of), violence, threats of violence, discussion of canonical child abuse, characters curse but no curse words are written, character is non-permanently injured, yelling/arguing, trauma

A/N: me? writing a zukka AtLA fic and posting it an hour short of midnight? Apparently, it’s more likely that you’d think. 

Read on AO3

--

Zuko has the patience of a saint, Sokka thinks to himself.

It’s an unusual thought, he realizes. A year ago, if you’d told Sokka that he’d come to think of the Banished Prince as ‘patient’, he’d probably have thrown his boomerang at you. A year ago, Zuko was one of the most short-tempered people he knew. A year ago, Zuko was the face of the enemy.

A lot changes in a year.

Sokka barely stifles a frustrated sigh. The attempt does not seem to go unnoticed by Zuko, who glances at him quickly before the corner of his mouth twitches with something like amusement. The meeting had been going on for hours, and Sokka can’t help but feel that very little progress on the treaty had been made. It wasn’t for lack of trying, Sokka knows, but war leaves messy problems in its wake. He knows that both the literal and metaphorical shrapnel left behind by a century of conflict can’t be swept away in a night or a week or a month.

It doesn’t make these meetings any easier to sit through.

“I want immediate release of all prisoners of war,” an Earth Kingdom ambassador demands.

“I second that,” Sokka hears his father--sitting across the table from him--add, a bit more calmly but no less firm. “I have men in those prisons that haven’t seen their family in a decade.”

“Of course,” Zuko replies at the same time a Fire Nation soldier snaps, “absolutely not.”

Zuko levels a hard look at him. “Admiral, people who were arrested as prisoners of war have no need to remain so after the war has ended.” He looks to Hakoda, then to the Earth Kingdom ambassador. “I’ll draft that mandate tonight and will ensure it’s circulation as soon as possible.”

“This is an outrage!” The slam of a fist against the table makes Sokka’s hand fly to the boomerang strapped to his hip instinctively. The admiral is on his feet.

“Admiral,” Zuko says, his voice steely as he rises from his own chair. The Fire Nation soldier cuts him off.

“Where is the justice for the Fire Nation families whose sons and daughters were slaughtered by those criminals?”

“Admiral--”

“I remember a time when you cared about Fire Nation soldiers! And it’s hard to believe you’ve forgotten, seeing as you ought to be reminded every time you look in the mirror--”

“Enough!” Zuko snaps. “You will watch your tongue or you will be escorted out. You approach insubordination.”

“You are a child,” the admiral sneers. “Though one that ought to know a thing or two about insubordination, given your father’s attempts to brand you with a permanent reminder of its consequences--”

“Warriors!”

“Then again, he always was twice the leader you will never be. Long live the Phoenix King!”

Sokka sees the warning signs—the slight shift of weight, the clench of the man’s fists—and leaps to his feet. “Zuko--!”

“Sokka!”

There’s a blinding light and scorching heat. Sokka feels something slam onto his shoulder and he dives instinctively for cover as the familiar roar of a fireball explodes in front of him. The flames are bright and lick around him, and Sokka throws a hand up to protect his face. He blinks the spots from his vision as he yanks his boomerang out of his belt.

Zuko is standing beside him, his stance ready and his hand outstretched, having evidently dispelled the fireball that had been launched at him. Sokka leaps back up to his feet and hurls the boomerang in his hands towards the Admiral, hitting his hand right as he moves to launch another attack and forcing it to go wide. A burst of flames slam against the wall to the left.

The room is in chaos.

Sokka barely hears the shouts of alarm and curses over the roar of dying flames. He sees his father, already on his feet, diving underneath a bolt of red fire. Across the room, the Earth Kingdom ambassador jerks their hand. There’s a rumble in the ground before it rises and anchors around the Admiral’s feet, holding him in place.

Sokka sees the admiral’s gaze meet his own and narrow. The Fire Nation soldier bares his teeth in a snarl, his fist shooting out. Before Sokka can blink, Zuko steps in front of him, dispelling the flames just as the door ricochets open. Two Kyoshi Warriors flood in and in a series of quick strikes, the admiral drops. Awake, but limp.

Sokka thinks idly that he’s grateful that Ty Lee taught them how to block chi.

“Your father should have killed you that day!” the admiral shouts as he’s dragged through the doors. “He showed mercy on your pathetic, worthless—” the door slamming shut cuts him off.

The silence that follows makes Sokka’s ears ring. He can still feel stale adrenaline coursing through him, his heartbeat pounding in his chest. For a moment, nobody moves. Zuko awkwardly clears his throat.

“Apologies for the, uh, disruption. It shouldn’t happen again.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Firelord Zuko,” Hakoda assures him, but there’s something odd in his father’s expression when he looks at Zuko that Sokka doesn’t understand.

Zuko says something in response, but Sokka doesn’t catch it. As the adrenaline bleeds out of him, his muscles relaxing, Sokka realizes that his fists are still clenched. Sokka forces them to relax, and hisses as it sends a jolt of hot pain through his left hand. When he looks down, he realizes that the skin on the top of part of his hand near his knuckles is a blistering, angry red.

Sokka’s hiss doesn’t go unnoticed. Zuko looks at him over his shoulder, his brows drawn together in confusion before his eyes fall to Sokka’s hand. Then, they go wide.

Zuko turns back around suddenly to address the room, his back straighter. “We will adjourn the meeting for the afternoon. We will reconvene tomorrow.”

“Firelord Zuko—” an ambassador from the Northern Water Tribe protests, but Hakoda interrupts him.

“I think we could all use a breather, Kovrik. Coming back tomorrow with a clear head is a good decision.”

“Yes… yes, I suppose that’s fair.”

Sokka is finding it increasingly difficult to follow the conversation. His hand hurts, and it’s taking every last drop of his willpower and pride to grit his teeth and swallow back the whimper that wants to push up his throat. It’s not until Zuko’s face is taking up his entire field of vision that Sokka realizes everyone but the two of them and his father have left the room.

“Let me see,” Zuko says quietly, then curses under his breath when he looks at Sokka’s hand. “Where’s Katara when you need her.”

“Do you have anything that can help?” Hakoda asks from behind Zuko.

“Yes, sir,” Zuko replies, his brows still furrowed in concentration. “Though it’s not quite as immediate as waterbending healers. But it should help with the pain, and prevent infection. Follow me.”

Sokka feels Zuko take his elbow and guide him out the door of the meeting room and down the hall. He’s distantly aware that Zuko is moving quickly—not quite a jog, but only barely shy of it—through a network of corridors. His hand feels like it might still be on fire, and Sokka looks down at it again just to be sure that’s not actually the case. He tells himself that he’s endured injuries more painful than this. The broken leg was worse, he thinks, though it does little to actually help with the burning sensation in his hand.

He’s vaguely aware that Zuko says something quickly to two guards that are flanking a set of doors before he rushes in. Sokka looks up and realizes it’s Zuko’s chambers. He’d only been in here a couple of times before, largely while Zuko was still recovering from Azula’s lightning strike in the weeks following the end of the war.

“Wait here,” Zuko tells him before disappearing through another door on the far side of the room.

“You had good reflexes in there,” Sokka hears his father’s low, soothing voice speak up. He’d had almost forgotten he was there. Hakoda moves the chair that had been beside the bed closer to Sokka in a clear direction to sit down.

“Lots of practice,” Sokka replies as he sits. He hisses a little again as his hand flares and grits out a swear behind clenched teeth.

“Easy,” Hakoda says softly. He places a bracing, comforting hand between Sokka’s shoulder blades. It’s grounding, and he’s grateful.

“Wish Katara was here,” Sokka tells him, echoing Zuko’s comment from earlier.

“I know. Unfortunately, I don’t think she’s coming to Caldera for a while. She’s still in Ba Sing Se with Aang.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Her magic water comes in handy though.” Sokka gives his father a tight smile. “Get it? Hand-y?”

Hakoda snorts just as the door opens again. Zuko has his arms full of a large bowl, his hands fisting a few vials and some bandages. There’s something pinched about Zuko’s expression, and the way he doesn’t meet Sokka’s eyes as he kneels in front of him feels odd. The bowl is full of water, Sokka realizes, as he sets it on the ground and begins to empty the vials into it.

“Can I see your hand?” Zuko asks, and the question—for some reason—catches him off guard.

Sokka blinks. “Yeah. Sure.” He grimaces as he places his hand in Zuko’s, but the excessive gentleness surprises him so much that Sokka almost forgets that his hand hurts.

Zuko was many things, but Sokka can’t remember a time—even after he started to get along with the Fire Prince—that he would have described Zuko as gentle. But his grip on Sokka’s hand is careful. Almost excessively so.  

Zuko hums in the back of his throat as he inspects the burns. “I don’t think it’ll have permanent damage,” he says quietly. “But I still need to treat it so it doesn’t get infected. It… might hurt, a little. But then it should feel better.”

“No permanent damage. That’s good,” Sokka says. He swallows, and nods. “Okay.”

For a long moment, the only sounds that fills the room is the quiet splash of water in the bowl as Zuko submerges the cloth rag again and wrings it out. Sokka lets his gaze float around the room.

Zuko has left it mostly bare. There’s a portrait of Iroh and a woman that Sokka remembers being the Fire Lady—Zuko’s mother—hanging on the wall near the headboard of the bed. On the dresser beside it is a drawing that Sokka did of the group of them months ago. He sees a pile of papers on the desk across the room. He thinks one of them has Aang’s signature at the bottom, but it’s too far away for him to know for sure.

Bright, painful heat searing his hand slams his attention back to Zuko in front of him and Sokka yelps, yanking his hand away. Zuko grimaces, retracing his own hand.

“I’m sorry,” he says, sounding more earnest than Sokka expects. “This part is painful, but it’ll stop hurting in a minute.”

Sokka fights to pull his breathing back under his control. In through his nose, out through his mouth. “Right,” he manages, his voice tight. “Right, sorry.”

“Don’t be. I know it hurts.”

Something about that line—and about the fact that Zuko still hasn’t met his eyes since returning from the other room—drags Sokka’s thoughts back to the conversation in the treaty meeting. There were several things that the admiral had said to Zuko that Sokka didn’t quite understand. He could only remember pieces of things said, but they repeat in Sokka’s head like disjointed pieces of a puzzle that he can’t quite make fit together.

seeing as you ought to be reminded every time you look in the mirror… insubordination… your father’s attempts to brand you… consequences…

Sokka’s gaze falls back to Zuko, dutifully bowed in front of him. There had long been pieces about Zuko that Sokka had found puzzling. Things about him that didn’t quite fit together. Sokka considers himself a person pretty good at figuring out how things worked together, and that extended (with less success) to figuring out how parts of people make up the sum of their whole.

Zuko, though… Zuko had always been something of a mystery. But as the words of the admiral ricochet in his mind, there’s a picture beginning to come together that is still just a little too hazy, a little too out of focus, to fill in the spaces that Sokka felt were missing.

“What did the admiral mean,” Sokka blurts out without really thinking about it, “when he talked about insubordination?”

Zuko freezes, the rag half-out of the bowl and his other hand still bracing Sokka’s (not quite holding it… far too gentle to be holding it). “What—uh. I, uh.” Zuko stops. Takes a breath. Tries again. He still doesn’t look up at Sokka. “When I was younger, I spoke out at a meeting.”

Sokka’s brow furrows as Zuko presses the rag to the back of his hand again. Sokka realizes that his hand has stopped hurting, but he’s too preoccupied with what Zuko said to pay it much mind. “After the stuff at Ba Sing Se? When you went home?”

“No, I, uh.” Zuko clears his throat. “Before that. Before… yeah. Earlier.”

Your father’s attempts to brand you…

“What happened?” Sokka asks. The way Zuko’s shoulders seem to tense doesn’t escape his attention, and there’s a part of him that wonders if perhaps he shouldn’t have asked. But it also feels like a question that once asked, is too late to take back.

Zuko pats Sokka’s hand dry with another towel and begins to gingerly wrap a bandage around it. He keeps his gold gaze steady on the work. Sokka keeps his gaze steady on Zuko.

“My uncle allowed me to attend a war meeting where they were talking about some battle strategies to use against an Earth Kingdom battalion. There was a general that wanted our newest fleet to serve as a distraction while we mounted an attack from the rear,” Zuko begins. There’s something off about his voice, though. Something detached and careful. He keeps wrapping the bandage. Around and around and around.

Sokka frowns. “That’s not fair,” he says. “Your newest recruits? They’d be slaughtered by an experienced battalion like that.”

Zuko sighs, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Exactly,” he says in a low voice. “And that’s what I told them. I wasn’t thinking. I just… yelled at him.” Sokka opens his mouth to disagree—it sounds like Zuko was thinking, unlike anybody else at that meeting—but Zuko cuts him off as he secures the end of the bandage to Sokka’s palm. “My father didn’t… take it well. I was challenged to an Agni Kai, and I thought I would be facing the general in it, so I accepted.”

Zuko gathers the bowl and empty vials as he stands, crossing the room to set them on the edge of his desk. Sokka stands up slowly as Zuko does so. The pieces that had been out of focus for so long are starting to come together, and Sokka feels his stomach rolling with a leaden weight against what he can sense is coming.

“No…”

“It wasn’t the general,” Zuko continues, his voice so quiet that Sokka is sure he would have missed it if it hadn’t been dead silence around them. “It was my father.”

“You faced your father in an Agni Kai?”

“Not exactly. I…” Zuko stares down into the bowl of water beside him, his gaze distant. “I couldn’t fight my own father. Instead, I begged him for forgiveness. I was met with a fistful of flames.”

Zuko gestures vaguely at his face, and Sokka’s blood turns to ice.

“He…” Sokka’s throat closes, cutting off the rest of that sentence. All this time being chased by Zuko—all this time being friends with him—and he’d always assumed that the scar was the result of a training accident, or a fight with a firebender he lost. Sokka thinks bitterly and viciously that the second assumption wasn’t far off but his own father—

“I was banished after that,” Zuko says, and his voice is hollow and empty and wrong. And he finally, finally, meets Sokka’s gaze. “I was told to bring the Avatar back and all would be forgiven, or to not come back at all. That was before you and your sister woke Aang up from the iceberg.”

Sokka stands very, very still. He glances down and realizes his hands are trembling. He curls the non-bandaged one into a fist to get the shaking to stop. “How old were you?” he asks, and he doesn’t know why—of everything he could say—that’s the question that tumbles past his lips, but he feels like it matters.

“Thirteen.”

“Thir—” Sokka cuts himself off, scrubbing a hand across his mouth and swallowing hard. “Thirteen. Tui and La, when I was thirteen—”

Sokka breaks off again, his throat closing, his gaze falling to his father. When Sokka was thirteen, his father had left to go fight in the war and told Sokka he couldn’t come along. He’d protected Sokka, and though Sokka had found his way into fighting in the war regardless a few years later, he knows his father had only been trying to keep him safe. The idea of his own father striking him—let alone with a fist full of flames to his face—was incomprehensible.

Hakoda doesn’t look back at Sokka. His gaze is trained on Zuko, and there’s something in his eyes that Sokka doesn’t quite understand. But he’s seen it before. It was the same look Hakoda wears when he hears other water tribe soldiers recount war stories. The late-night ones. The ones where their voices betray the weight on their shoulders and tremble with the generations of nightmares on their backs.

Sokka takes a sudden, faltering step forward, and Zuko instinctively tenses. Sokka freezes. “Zuko…”

Zuko shakes his head. He coughs a little, as if trying to clear his throat. “Anyway. That’s—that’s what the admiral was talking about.”

“You…” Sokka tries again, his voice carrying just the barest hints of hysteria. “You were his kid.”

“Yeah, well.” Zuko’s gaze meets Sokka’s again. “He spent most of my life wishing I wasn’t.”

“Zuko,” Hakoda speaks up, his voice a low, soothing rumble to Sokka’s trembling nerves. “I… hope you understand that you didn’t deserve that.”

“I know, sir,” he replies, sounding steadier than Sokka feels. Sokka feels a little like the ground has shifted beneath his feet as he stares at his friend across the room. Zuko continues, frustratingly calm. “It… I didn’t at first. It took me a long time to understand that it was wrong of my father to do that. But I know now.”

“Where is he?” Sokka demands, flushing with a sudden and intense fury.

Zuko blinks, looking taken aback by the vehemence charged through Sokka’s voice like a steel rod. “Where’s who?”

“Ozai.”

“Sokka, what are you gonna do? Fight him? He already lost.”

“Against Aang, not against—did Aang even know?”

Zuko’s brow furrows and he rubs the back of his neck. “Um. I guess I don’t know. I never told him. I… never told any of you.”

“Yeah—and what’s that about, huh?” Sokka demands. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Sokka,” Hakoda warns, but Sokka’s words are already bubbling up throat and spilling past his lips, hot and bitter and angry.

“What, did you think we wouldn’t care? That it wouldn’t matter?”

“It doesn’t matter!” Zuko waves a hand towards the window that overlooks the courtyard. “My father already lost to the Avatar, Sokka. The war is over. The fighting is over. Aang took his bending. And that—I don’t know about you, but that’s the best, most justified end to his legacy I can think of.”

Sokka is still shaking. He can’t explain why. He knows, logically, that Zuko is right. He’s right. But Sokka can still feel his hands shaking, can still feel his heart hammering in his ribs with the urge to run something through with sword, can still feel the way his eyes sting with tears he won’t let fall. Sokka clenches his jaw and rips his gaze away from Zuko out towards the window, where he can see the sun setting on the horizon and painting the palace courtyard in an orange light.

“Wherever he is, I hope he rots,” Sokka says finally, and yet it still doesn’t feel like enough. “He deserves worse.”

Sokka looks back at Zuko, whose gaze is a little wide. He looks… taken aback. Sokka cocks an eyebrow.

“Don’t tell me you disagree—"

“No,” Zuko replies, shaking his head. “I just… Nothing.” The corner of his mouth tugs upwards in the barest hint of a smile. Sokka doesn’t understand why, just like he doesn’t understand why it uncoils the tight knot of burning anger in his chest.

Sokka takes a deep breath. Wills himself to relax. It helps… a little. There’s a beat, and then Sokka hears his father take a step forward. “Thank you for helping Sokka’s hand, Firelord Zuko.”

Zuko blinks, and Sokka swears his cheeks take a faint pink tint as he rubs the back of his neck. “Oh. Uh, of course, sir. And… just Zuko is fine.”

Sokka glances over and sees Hakoda smile, inclining his head. “Understood.” He looks to Sokka. “I should draft a letter to Bato tonight to update him on the treaty. Will you be okay without me?”

Sokka rolls his eyes teasingly. “Yeah, dad. I think I can manage.”

Hakoda squeezes his shoulder, nods to Zuko again, and quietly slips out of the room. The silence afterward seems to stretch, and Sokka feels the lingering tension bleeding out of him as he looks at Zuko, who quietly shuffles through the papers on his desk. Sokka watches him for a beat, his gaze lingering a little on the scarred tissue across his face. Sokka swallows.

There are other questions Sokka thinks he could ask. Like why—after doing that—Zuko was still so bent on returning home to his father. But there’s a part of Sokka that thinks he maybe understands.

Spirits know that he understood what it was like to crave the approval of your father.

“Hey,” he says, and Zuko’s gaze snaps over to him. “I… thank you for telling me. I… know that wasn’t easy, and… it means a lot that you trust me with that.”

“It… it wasn’t a question of trust, you know,” Zuko replies quietly, averting his gaze. “Not telling you, I mean. It was just—”

“I know,” Sokka says, and means it. “But I also know what it’s like to have things you don’t necessarily… want to relive. So it means a lot that you told me.”

The corner of Zuko’s mouth twitches again. He takes a deep, slow breath. “Thank you for listening,” he says.

“I like to think I’m a pretty good listener,” Sokka teases, shrugging.

“You are,” Zuko says, with far more sincerity than Sokka felt was warranted for what he’d meant to be a joke. Sokka blinks at him, and Zuko clears his throat, ducking his head a little. “I was thinking of getting some tea. There’s a place just outside the palace. It’s not as good as Uncle’s, but um. Did you want to come?”

“Yeah,” Sokka replies with a small smile. “I could use a cup of tea.”  

[awritingtree]

Never Enough (1/7)

Sirius Black x daughter!reader

Summary: You were content with your life, living with your cousin while the whereabouts of your father, Sirius Black, and his wellbeing remained unknown after escaping . But that all changed when you had to move into 12 Grimmauld Place for the summer. The worst part of it all? He was there too. (Wow I suck at summaries)

Words: 1.7k

Warnings: angst, shitty father-daughter relationship, mentions of abandonment, tell me if there are any others 

A/N: Yes, I know I changed the timeline up a bit to fit the fic. Please don’t be the asshole that points it out. I had to adjust it slightly for the plot. My heart broke writing this but it was too good an idea to pass up. I abandoned writing all my other fics for this. And all I can say to you is I’m sorry.

Series Masterlist

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All those years, you’ve felt lonely. The Tonks were a wonderful family, raising you as one of their own. But there was always an empty feeling, a missing spot in your life that only your father could fill. If he’d come to you after he had escaped from Azkaban with an explanation, you would’ve welcomed him into your life with open arms. Therefore, when you found out he’d escaped and had been in contact with Harry all this time, not even bothering to check up on you once and the fact that you had to go live with this said person for the rest of your summer, away from your family, you went livid. You’d trashed your room; lamps broken, chairs and desks overturned, all your books had caught fire from not being able to keep your emotions, hence magic, in check.

But Aunt Dro and Dora had reassured you that it’d be fine, Dora even promised to stop by every day to check up on you without fail.

“It’s for your safety,” Uncle Teddy had said as they dropped you off.

You loved him, of course you did, he was your father. Though you had no fond memories of him, he seemed like the person you would get along greatly with. You’d heard a lot about his days at Hogwarts from your aunt. You were very much like him; just as reckless, having a knack for pranks (though people usually took it as a form of bullying or you being mean only because you were a Slytherin, even if your pranks were not as bad as those executed by the Weasley twins), and just as hot-tempered if not more. That’s why everyone should’ve this coming. It had started off as a normal day, waking up and having breakfast before getting to cleaning the grim place you were currently living in. All the house’s occupants were in one of the unkept rooms, getting rid of objects, which you thought had to be filled with dark magic.

You didn’t know when it happened; when the argument broke out. Ginny and Hermione were only asking you about your life all these years with the Tonks. Everyone should’ve seen it coming but no one had any inkling that it would escalate to this.

“You left me! You left to get revenge, without thinking for a second what would happen to me. And you came back for revenge, to protect your godson. That was enough motivation for you to leave that prison after 13 years, the rat’s picture and his safety. I wasn’t a good enough excuse to have escaped years ago, the thought of me, alone, wasn’t enough for you. I was never enough, was I!?”

Your words echoed through the silence of the house, everyone still, dumbfounded. Not even the portrait of your grandmother made a sound. The impact of your words far too great.

You knew he had escaped, but you never met. Not until this summer when you were forced to move into your ancestors’ house. He hadn’t come looking for you back in your 3rd year - he had come looking for him. The boy with the lightning scar marking his forehead from the night you lost your chance at having a life with your father. The boy who wasn’t here, for his own protection. The boy everyone seemed to drop everything for and for some that included their own daughter.

You don’t know when the argument had broken out and escalated this far, no one saw it coming. The previous playful atmosphere that hung in the air disappeared, replaced by an ambience that reeked of agony and anguish.

You, a Slytherin, a disappointment in his eyes. But truly, he was the disappointment. He left you all alone in this horrid world with no one.

“You had Remus.”

“Right,” you scoffed folding your arms across your chest, “I had a godfather who decided he couldn’t take care of me and abandoned me, not even bothering to keep in contact.”

Remus visibly flinched at the pure venom directed towards him through your words.

“That’s not my fault. I wasn’t here, what could I have done?” Sirius spoke back frustrated, throwing his hand up in the air.

“That’s the thing, you weren’t there. But it’s always James and Harry isn’t it? Harry and James,” you said defeatedly. Your shoulders slumped down as you looked down to the ground, trying to hide your tears from the rest who were staring at you, astonished but with pity. You quickly spun around on your heel and walked away, heading towards your room in this dark, repulsive house, a house that in another life you would’ve called your home.

And no one came after you.

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That was two weeks ago, and things hadn’t gotten any better. You would stay in your room when you weren’t helping Mrs. Weasley out with the cleaning. You’d sit with everyone for meals, but a tense air would surround you every time you were in the same room as your father. He hadn’t made any move towards reconciling with you, towards having a relationship with his only child. After all that you’d said that day, you really thought he would. But you were left disappointed once again.

Just when you’d thought things couldn’t get worse, Harry had arrived a few days ago. You didn’t have anything against the boy, but watching your father dote over him every second of every day hurt you more than you cared to admit.

It was currently dinner time. You were sitting next to Dora who was changing her face to sport a pig’s snout upon Ginny’s request. You found it funny, you did, but you had no energy to laugh or even muster up a smile. You felt drained. The past few days made you feel like you were suffocating in this dreadful place. Your throat felt like it was constantly constricted, refusing to let air fill up your lungs, refusing to let you breathe and let go of the heavy weight that seemed to have made its home on your chest.

“You know, I thought the first thing you’d when you got here was ask about Voldemort.”

Your father’s conversation with Harry suddenly piqued your interest. The name caused a chill to run down through everyone’s spine.

“I did!” exclaimed Harry, “but everyone said we’re not allowed in the Order. That we’re too young.”

“You are too young,” reprimanded Mrs. Weasley.

“He’s been trapped in that Muggle house for over a month! He has the right to receive answers about his questions.”

That brought about an uproar from the rest of the kids.

“Harry’s not even of age!”

“Why does he get his questions answered!?”

~“That is up to your parents.”~

“But we’re of age!”

“Harry will tell me and Hermione everything anyway!”

You stayed silent through it all knowing anything you said wouldn’t change the minds of the adults in the room. There was nothing that you could contribute that would work in your favour.

After a row between Sirius and Mrs. Weasley (in which some out-of-line things were mentioned), it was finally decided that Ron, Hermione, Fred and George would stay as Harry got to know what had been happening. Ginny, on the other hand, was to go upstairs. Though she did not go without a fight - blazing and fuming, she reluctantly made her way to her room.

“Y/N, you too. Go upstairs,” said Remus.

“I’m not going anywhere. If they can stay so can I,” you said, looking up from your uneaten dessert.

Sirius looked away from Harry towards you, appearing to just realize you were in the room as well.

“Moony’s right. Go upstairs, Y/N,” he told you.

You stayed in your seat, going back to picking at your unappetizing dessert. Your silence and staying put began to tick Sirius off.

“Y/N, I told you something,” said Sirius, trying to keep his temper in check.

“I know, I heard you.”

The silence carried on. You stayed planted on your seat, refusing to move an inch.

“Y/N Black, you are still underage, and I am your father. So upstairs, now.”

You huffed, slamming your fork down on the table as you stood up abruptly. The chair scraped back and fell onto the floor from your sudden action.

“Fine,” you said through your gritted teeth, looking directly into your father’s eyes; eyes so alike yours. Sirius felt like he had actually been scorched by the fire burning in your eyes, contradicting the sickly-sweet smile you shot at him before storming out of the room, slamming the door shut behind you.

You made your way towards the room that was temporarily yours; one that could’ve been your room if only… You shook your head trying not to dwell on such thoughts.

You were done.

Your trunk slammed against the stairs as you dragged it down, waking up Walburga Black’s portrait, screaming at everyone:

“Half-breeds, mudbloods, and blood-traitors in my house! If I was alive-,” you tuned her shouts out.

“Y/N, dear. What are you doing?”

“What I should have done a while ago,” you replied, looking up to see Mrs. Weasley, who had just escorted Ginny up to her room, peering over the banister.

You walked towards the front door through the unlit hallway, a migraine forming from the shrieks of your biological grandmother and the screeching of your trunk dragging across the floor.

You opened the door, stepping out into the summer night. The quiet took over as soon as you shut the door behind you. Your throat finally let up and expanded as you breathed in the cool summer night air, allowing your lungs to fill with large volumes of air; air that you had been gasping for the past few weeks. The heavy weight on your chest dissipated, making you feel lighter than you had ever felt; as if you could walk on clouds.

A loud ‘pop’ sounded through the empty street a few seconds after you’d raised your wand out in front of you.

You climbed onto the bus, not once looking back at the house that no one around could see, except you.

Not even when you heard a voice call out into the empty street as you disappeared along with the Knight Bus with a ‘pop’.

“Y/N!”

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Taglist: @heloisedaphnebrightmore @pregnant-piggy @approved-by-dentists @kashishwrites @remmyswritings @angelinathebook @idont-knowrn @coffee--writes

[ktheist]

2 | all yours to enjoy [m]

title inspired by blackpink’s sure thing cover.

⟶ read part one, play me like a toy, here.

muses. heiress!reader x ex-mafia!hoseok

genre. age gap factor. chaebol-mafia au. arranged marriage au. modern au.

warning. implied smut, mentions of gun use and all that mafia shizz

verse. knj. ksj. myg. kth. pjm. jjk. jhs.

synopsis.

“marry me or be killed.”

“is there a third option?”

“we fucked but you were too drunk to remember so that option’s invalid.”

x

the carved name above the handle points in wayward angles. as if made by a child.

well, 5 year-old-you lacked tact. and a sense of artistry but nobody dared insult the work of the only daughter of the han group.

the room hoseok stepped in feels familiar yet foreign at the same time. it’s been years, but the pink unicorn plushie still sits on your bed like it’s waiting for you to climb in and cuddle it every night.

the pastel peach walls have been repainted in a deep maroon shade. at your order, hoseok suspects. it’s as if you’ve renounced that childish innocence and took on a blood oath for the han family name.

much of that youthful wander in your eyes has disappeared.

‘it was my fault, i shouldn’t have left her all alone in this wretched place,’ hoseok surly thought to himself.

before he can even think about how inappropriate his actions are - to have stepped into a woman’s room without a reason - a surprised voice echoes from the door adjacent to where he’s standing.

“hoseok...” you’re standing there, in front of the ajar bathroom door, with a pristine white towel around your body and another wrapped around your head, water dripping from the stray strand that manages to escape from your towel turban.

perhaps he had a reason, after all.

perhaps he just wants to see you, the person who coerced him to come back to this god forsaken house where he’s seen more deaths than his fingers could count.

“i’m sorry- i didn’t know you were taking a bath-” hoseok didn’t even manage to take a step back when you shake your head, a smile he’s not used to seeing curved on your lips.

“it’s fine, come in. close the door behind you.”

when he remains frozen in his spot, hand on the handle that seems to seep cold, icy frost into his palm - you raise a pair of trimmed brows, “what? we’re getting married, aren’t we? you forgot but you’ve seen all of me,” a coquettish smile on your lips, “don’t tell me you’re getting all shy now after announcing to the entire head of families that they should sleep with one eye open.”

the funeral had been handled by uncle jihoon, your father’s right hand man and most trusted confidant. he probably cleaned up the skeletons in your father’s closet more times than you’d met your own father in your 25 years of living.

your father had enemies and someone had to get rid of them.

such was the ways of the hans.

yeojun was yours and sehun was chanyeol’s.

hoseok was meant to step in once uncle jihoon resigned since at an early age, he’d gathered enough support to ruin the whole nation. his only fault was being loyal to your father, han jiseok.

and it was his loyalty that made your father drive him away.

because no matter when hoseok was and what he was doing, he’d never betray the hans.

“he’s just a kid,” you’d once heard him say to uncle jihoon.

several months later, he’d announced at the annual family gathering that hoseok got into yonsei university as a business major. it also meant that his ties with the han group would cease to orphan student-influential family sponsors. every record of his existence was wiped clean. he was no longer the child uncle jihoon took in because he pitied hoseok’s miserable state of living. he’d come to your house in tattered clothes and a bluing bruise on his cheek.

jung hoseok was meant to carry half of the burden of the head of family until the true heirs grew up and learned the ropes of leading the han group.

in short, hoseok was a proxy. a stand-in who gathered a little too many support that threatened the powers of the actual heirs.

their bow lingered longer, as if they were thanking the gods for bringing him back just as they’d lost a great leader.

you didn’t mind though. you liked hoseok - he was the only one that didn’t look at you like you were a prophecy of death. a child who’d grow up just as wicked as her father.

he’d looked at you like a human.

han jiseok took a liking to hoseok, the loyal dog of the han family that would drive a fist into someone’s gut at the command of the head or any of his heirs. hoseok wouldn’t question it either - why he was beating someone up half-dead, he just... did it.

so when that jung hoseok who got cut off from the han family at chanyeol’s whining over how his succession would not be supported by the branch families if hoseok were to remain as the stand in - came back and announced  first thing after his return, his engagement to the heiress of han group, naturally, all hell broke lose.

hoseok had stood by your side as you’d kept your head low, the black veil covering your eyes and nose did well to hide your dry gaze.

true to his reputation, as soon as he stepped into the mansion with you, the men who swore their loyalty to the han family, one by one, started bowing at hoseok whilst the heads of the vassal families started whispering among themselves.

“hoseok, the loyal dog? that’s him?”

“did the boss ever say who was going to inherit the family business?”

family business was just a white washed term of the commercial front of han group that was meant to blur the eyes of the korean government on what truly goes on underground.

“the attorney hasn’t been found, right? that means nobody here knows the contents of the will.”

“did he ever mention chanyeol would inherit the business?”

“____’s achievements aren’t something to be turned a blind eye on either.”

one of the heads of the branch approached you, he smiled too sweetly on the day of his principal’s passing. rubbed his hands together schemingly as he murmured words of condolences that sounded like congratulations, “the boss suffered for so long from leukemia, the gods must’ve answered his prayer. i’m sorry for your loss, miss ____.”

foolish fiend.

kang sungho was chanyeol’s uncle from his mother’s side. he was the head of one of the closest branch family who’d swore loyalty to the han’s. yet he acted like a stranger who didn’t have anything to do with his brother-in-law’s passing.

“say, hoseok, you’re here too,” sungho didn’t even wait for you to respond - perhaps he thought you were too in shock to say anything, “it’s been a while, thank you for coming even though you have no relation with han group anymore.”

just like that, sungho made a u-turn and spoke on the behalf of han group.

your hand that you didn’t even know was balled up into a fist shook silently - that was, until hoseok slipped and grasped it with his large hand as he lowered his head in a nod.

“it’d always been my intention to come back to serve the new boss,” his hand had left you to wrap his arm around your shoulders, “well, a husband is a slave to his wife, anyway, right?”

it was clear from what hoseok said that he didn’t mean chanyeol was the soon-to-be wife.

you’d sent yeojun to the hospital to confirm your father’s status while you’d met up with an - well, you were holding her son and husband hostage if she didn’t corporate but still - acquaintance who works at the korean embassy to speed up the marriage registration process.

it was when you were walking out of the embassy and to the car that hoseok slips his hand in yours and murmurs to himself.

but you’d heard every word of it, “your hands are trembling. you’ve never shot a man, have you?”

a sense of melancholy paints his face as his grasp tightens on your hand, as if saying ‘sorry i left you all alone in that house.’

you shook it off, heart too dried and withered to ponder on what he’d thought. thoughts of you father filling your heart.

no ceremony, no nothing.

and now you’re married.

the hoseok from just hours ago stood with his back straight and an ease in his aura. yet his presence alone was enough to make even the eldest of the head bow to him.

“are you... are you okay?” this hoseok asks you with hesitance in his voice.

“what makes you think i’m not?” you amble to the bed and drop your towel, letting it pool around your ankle.

there’s no mistaken low breath hoseok let out at the sight of your naked body. as if he’s a teenage school kid who’s never seen the body of a woman.

“do you mind zipping this up for me?” you say, standing with your exposed back on him, damp hair pulled to drape over your shoulder and chest.

hoseok lets out a cough. as if to announce that he was in the room and he was coming closer.

the fingerpads feels callous against your skin. you have to remind yourself to breathe through your nose than hold it in until your lungs feel like they’re about to burst.

hoseok takes his sweet, leisure time tracing down his index finger down your spine to get to the zipper. and when he does, he drags it up in an agonizingly slow pace, the grazing sound it makes causing the hairs on your neck to stand.

“skip the after-reception... you look tired,” he says after his hand falls away from your body and you’re suddenly missing what warmth it provides, like a flame that thaws the ice in your heart.

a dry laugh escapes you, “the elders are finally looking at me as an heiress, you know i can’t afford to slip out of the spotlight on the pretense of fatigue.”

before hoseok can offer any response, you twirl around, arms banding around his waist and bare face buried in his chest.

“hold me like you used to when i woke up from a nightmare and i’ll be fine,” the remnant of your sob threatens to spill from your mouth - true, you didn’t shed a single tear when you arrived late at night at the hospital.

the death of your father had been announced at 1703 hour.

but it’s only ever sunk in that the only family you have is gone - once you’ve left to your own devices to take a bath and change into new clothes before the after reception begins.

it’s then, that the waterworks began to pour over your cheeks without any hints of stopping.

hoseok must have seen the aftermath of your puffed, pink eyes when you stepped out of the bathroom, not expecting for anyone to be there except the silence.

a pair of strong, secure arms wrap around your body wordlessly. hoseok tilts his head so his cheek is pressed against the side of your head.

“you grew a few inches,” his husked voice brushes your ear like a dream you’d never want to wake up from.

a small laugh escapes you, “oh come on, i got more than my height on me but you-”

hoseok groans and you clamp your mouth shut, chuckling.

“i’m sorry,” he confesses, a treasure trove of remorse laced around those two little words.

all of a sudden, guilt gnaws at your conscience for having teased him too many times about forgetting something he couldn’t control, “don’t say sorry,” you mumble, “now i feel bad.”

“i used to tease you a lot about your obsession for ponies and unicorns.” his voice drums in your ears.

“i used to fantasize about finding a unicorn in the forest behind our beach house and beating chanyeol at a race someday,” without you realizing it, your cheeks are hurting from how wide you’re smiling.

silence lapses around you.

but it has no space in between your flushed bodies. you hear hoseok’s unusually fast heartbeat.

“you’ve changed...” you murmur, somber.

“i did?” he sounds melancholic, as if reminiscing about the days in this household.

chasing after the troublemaker daughter that always thinks they’re playing hide-and-seek. beating and threatening any rival members he sees hovering around the han group’s territorial influence.

“i didn’t say i don’t like the new you,” you tear your face off his chest, tilting your chin to gaze up to his warm eyes that appear deep brown under these fluorescent lights.

standing on the tip of your toes, you peck his lips lightly.

a sweet smile plays on your lips.

‘yeah, his lips are as soft as they look,’ you affirm.

it’s the way his eyelids cover his eyes as he blinks. the way his lips part as if surprised at the sudden, unannounced advancement. the way the realization seems to sink in that there was nothing stopping you from kissing him again-

an index finger presses against your pouted lips as you stand on the tips of your toes once again.

“it’s dangerous...” is all he offers.

but with the way his gaze becomes hooded as the chains of self-restraint shackles his hands and ankles, you think you know what he means.

instead of offering an answer, you sweep your tongue over the length of his digit, mouth opening to lightly bite his finger all the while gazing into his stormy eyes.

“guess i’m just a little kitten compared to the wolves in that room full of old wolves to you, huh?”

once the storm passes, his gaze becomes hooded with something - something you can’t pinpoint.

yet you let him slide his finger deeper into your mouth, feeling the soft pink flesh of your tongue on his fingertip.

you flutter your lashes skittishly, hand pushing the hair to the back of your ear as you lick a strip down his finger like you would his other head. but the rap on your door and the “miss ____, it’s yeojun,” coming from the other side almost sends your heart leaping into your throat.

you suck in a deep breath around hoseok’s finger before pulling away and stepping to the side, completely aware of the sexual tension that hovers in the air like thick, dark clouds.

“yeojun, is everyone here?” your gaze is fixed on the handle that your hand’s reaching out for.

“everything’s set, we’re waiting on the priest to arrive,” his voice sounds muffled through the door.

you step out of the door with half-damp hair and a face bare of make up whilst patting down the skirt of your dress.

but it’s not your half-as-acceptable appearance that makes yeojun stare at you for five solid seconds.

rather, he’s staring at something behind you as you feel the warmth of a body heat against your back.

“i’ll be the one escorting my fiance, yeonjun.”

he speaks casually despite yeojun being older than him and yet it felt natural. hoseok holds out his arm for you as yeojun stepped back with a bow, making way for you and hoseok to walk down the hallway leading to the flight of stairs where the main hall would be.

x

“god, i hate ties,” hoseok murmurs under his breath from next to you, nimble fingers pulling on his collar.

“you wear it well for someone who claims to hate going around in crisp button downs and shiny leather loafers,” a smile tugs on the corners of your lips.

chanyeol finally stepped away with the madam for some fresh air. maybe the death glares she’d been shooting you since you arrived - has finally got the world spinning behind her eyes.

“was the only option an orphaned nobody like me had when i was offered to work a nine to five,” he says casually, still fumbling with his tie.

your hand feels like a child’s when you place it on his. he pauses, gazing down at you before letting his hand fall on his side whilst yours remain on the knot of his necktie.

“may i?”

hoseok’s head moves, not quite a nod but not a shake of ‘no’ either. so you take out the pin from your hair that yeojun fetched from your room after your hair started falling into your face with every head bow you made in front of the guest. undoing the knot on hoseok’s tie, you slip the pin between the knot before looping the end over the knot and patting it down once you’re done.

the ‘how did you learn to do that’ look that hoseok shoots you makes you laugh. he’s both impressed and suspicious.

“my mom-” the one who’s confined to the house your father give and can’t even attend her late husband’s memorial service, reception and after reception, “-taught me all the things i needed to know to be the ‘perfect’ wife.”

“never pegged you for someone who’d obediently absorb her teachings,” he comments.

back then, you were as ruthless and spoiled as they come. the fine lines on your mother’s forehead was probably caused by your bursts every time she tried to push her views on you.

“a year after you left the seong’s proposed for our families to join together... they had a son and daddy had a daughter at his disposal... i was preparing to be a bride because that’s all people around me made my life to be until i just... had enough of being treated like a doll. so i cut a deal with seong joongki, got rid of his dad so he could step up as head, we remained engaged until i turned 18 and broke it. now he’s one of the people i know i can count on,” a shrug of your shoulder and you look up to him, locking his gaze with yours.

“seong, huh?” hoseok scanned the faces of the guests behind you, eyes narrowed like a hawk before they paused on something.

his gaze returns to you, an overly sweet smile appearing on his face as his dimples dig into his cheeks, “people like him cut and run when things get messy.”

you laugh, it sounds tired, but it’s still laugh, “if he does, i’d be the one to tell him to.”

“and i’ll put a bullet in his head if you didn’t,” he says words of murder like a romantic confession as he gazes into your eyes like there’s no where he’d rather be.

that is, until an unfamiliar voice calls the husband of the heiress by his name.

x

“namjoon,” hoseok hugs the chairman of kimcorp. for a lingering moment as the man pats his back once, as if unspeakingly consoling him.

kim namjoon, the second child and heir of kimcorp. and hoseok’s college friend and boss who booked a sudden trip back to seoul at the news of the head of the han group’s passing.

though the later generation washed their hands off the dirty work that got them where they are, they still remember their roots.

when they break apart, hoseok turns to you, arm around your waist, “___, this namjoon. namjoon- ___... my wife.”

hearing the word ‘wife’ slip out of hoseok’s mouth warms your heart yet makes your stomach knot painfully. ironic how you’d want to believe the heartrendering way he introduced you to be anything more than the act you told him to put on.

“ah,” kim namjoon narrows his eyes at you, as if shifting through his memories, “the kid hoseok babysat.”

the disparaging regard to your status as heiress tells you enough what this so-called friend of hoseok thinks of you.

“the friendless nerd hobi befriended out of pity,” you state, flashing you best smile.

a nod from his side. as if saying ‘touché’.

“ah, mrs. aera didn’t come?” hoseok asks, eyes searching the crowd until namjoon shakes his head, a meaningful smile playing on his lips.

“she’s too tired so i told her to rest at home,” he says and hoseok nods, as if understanding the underlying reason that kim aera is missing from honoring the master his husband’s family’s served for generations.

the kim’s are one of the oldest families that was tied down to han group by an oath. your great great great grandfather helped his great grandfather build the legacy the kim’s found themselves on now.

though the later generation washed their hands off the dirty work that got them where they are, they still remember their roots.

he steps away, greeting chanyeol and han chohee, your father’s legal wife before meandering away and keeping out of the spotlight for the rest of the night while you amble languidly with your hand on hoseok’s arm, exchanging pleasantries with the guests like it’s a wedding rather than a funeral until it’s time for the head of the family to gather in the boardroom.

everywhere you and hoseok goes, eyes follow. those who you approach tenses up while they wear their best smiles and utter words of sweet saccharine but as soon as the attorney turns up, you have no sliver of doubt that these people will be the first to vote for your head if it turns out the will appoints chanyeol as the next and rightful heir of han group.

those who you pass by end up with twisted faces. they’re the acquaintances of the han group, loyal to no master - the actual people who’d cut and run.

“mr. jee,” the middle aged man with too big of a nose and overbearing personality turns his full attention to you after hoseok was done talking about the stock market he’d been investing in, “a friend of mine, doctor maria wong, is a skin specialist who just received the asan award in medicine for her recent findings, i can introduce you to her, if you’d like.”

the youngest jee suffers from a rare skin condition which is why she never attended any social functions. they claimed she got accepted to a boarding school in europe when she was actually getting treated in one of the most prestigious private hospitals in the world in switzerland.

the situation is kept under wraps. you lost one of your holiday villas for this piece of information.

“o-oh, yes,” it takes a moment of him staring at you like you’re emitting halo from your body before he stammers back to life, “i- we,” he looks at his wife who shares the same hopeful gleam, “would really like that.”

“one down... tens more to go,” hoseok murmurs under his breath when you walk away from the couple, “you’re pretty good this ‘you know whose side you should be on, don’t you’ kind of threat.”

“i threatened the jung hoseok to marry me, this is child’s play,” you shoot him a coquettish smile, not expecting for him to lean down to your ear and whisper lowly.

“the lock was on the whole time,” he chuckles as he straightens his back at the announcement summoning all the heads of the families present, its representative, the children of the han’s and their spouses to the meeting room.

hoseok pulls out a pair of tucson, ariz’s tucked behind him and places them on the metal tray soobin’s holding out. he slips a hand under his suit, pulling out a revolver from his shoulder holster you didn’t even know he had on. then, two grenades from each of his pockets like he’s taking out a piece of candy. a foldup knife from the pocket of his blazer.

red lights go off when he walks past the metal detector, cursing to himself before he shoots you a sheepish look - the one the new hoseok would - and bends down before pulling out two kolibri the size of your palm and appear like toy guns in hoseok’s that was strapped on both his ankles.

one of your father’s men manually hovers a handheld metal detector and scans him from head to toe before giving him the greenlight to walk into the room just as kang sungho screams, “i’m the uncle of the future head, you’ll regret this!”

you roll your eyes at the old man’s outburst, taking out the dagger strapped to your thigh and pretending to not notice hoseok’s ogling at your exposed thighs when the dress rides up.

“bringing a knife to a gun fight - ballsy,” hoseok murmurs under his breath, his words meant only for you as you join his side, both of you stepping into the still-empty boardroom as the heads of the branch families you pass by grumble to themselves, pulling out the weapons they have on them and piling the tray in front of them.

one even pulled out a bandolier wrapped underneath his coat. the others merely have a pile of handguns and revolvers on their tray.

“oh, i brought something better,” you feel your lips stretching into a smirk as hoseok pushes the chair behind you before slipping in the one next to you, inquisitive eyes boring into yours.

a peck lands on his lips as you giggle at the way his eyes go wide for the briefest moment.

“tch,” someone says as they pass you and hoseok. chanyeol sits across from you, glare digging holes into your skull as he looks at you as if you were guM under his sole.

“please, tell me you have a plan that involves me driving my fist in his face,” hoseok’s low voice sends shivers down your spine.

it takes a moment for you to grasp that his statement needs a response.

“even better,” you murmur, head tilted to him, “you’ll get to do whatever you want with him after we walk out of this room.”

x

“we can’t go on without a leader for longer than 48 hours!” kang sungho smacks his pudgy fist against the clear glass surface of the oval table.

“we get your frustrations head family kang, but we need to locate attorney hyeon first,” seong joongki speaks informally to the man 20 years his senior and kang sungho can only grit his teeth.

in this room, no peerage title exists. every head is equal and that means every single person here is below you and chanyeol, the heir and heiress of han group.

“for all we know, attorney hyeon could be dead,” ahn sujin glances around the room, meeting every eye of the head until her gaze rests on you, “they found traces of tires on the road and a wrecked tree trunk a few feet away.”

“are you saying attorney hyeon got into an accident on the way here but someone quickly moved the car and bodies as if they were planned it, auntie sujin?” chanyeol baritone cuts through the tense air.

he throws you a side glance as he sits at the end of the oval table where your father and his father and his father’s father sat, bearing the weight of a legacy as old and majestic as the royal family had they survived all these years. the audacity of this man you call a brother walked straight up to the seat your father used to occupy and plopped down as if he owned it.

“the crash mark in the bark of the tree was still fresh,” ahn sujin nods.

“well...” at the sound of your voice, the whole room falls silent, “let’s ask him shall we?”

soobin, nods at you like he’s known your ways for years. he pulls out a remote and the tv screens tacked behind the leader’s seat.

the screen flashes with a picture of uncle jihoon getting into a sleek black car with the plate number HG that only you, chanyeol, the madam and your father have access to.

a blurred buzzing echoes against the soundproof walls of the boardroom before it gradually becomes clearer.

“...get the names?” a deep voice asks - the owner sitting directly across from you stares with knitted brows as he focuses on the familiar sound.

“a-... -re you... sure about...? ...involve ...your mother’s family...” uncle jihoon’s dialect wrapped around the syllables of the words, giving out who that voice belongs to.

he used to be proud of where he came from and wore his dialect like a medal.

“..-actly, they’re my mom’s family. not mine. ‘sides, kang sungho’s been clinging onto dad like a fucking leech even though he knows there’s nothing he can offer us that we want.”

silence fills the audio.

hoseok’s hand slips over yours, as if reminding you to let out that breath you’ve been holding.

chanyeol’s jaw tightens as he shoots daggers at you with his eyes.

“the names, uncle.” a sense of urgency laces around chanyeol’s voice.

“th-the kang’s, byun’s and ahn’s agreed to get molly to the scorpios in thailand on 23rd of april on flight ka8792 at 2:35 pm.” uncle jihoon says after a heartbeat.

each of the families listed are known for either their couture designs that receive orders from ministers’ wives all over the world, custom made colognes or either owns five star hotels in south korea and overseas.

“this isn’t enough, you think the cops are gonna believe all we have is the names of families involved in some mid level drug smuggling? my reputation’s on the line here.”

“a-and a fishing vessel will be making port at around 3 in the morning five days from now. it’s owned by the cha’s, they’ve been using it to smuggle meth and hide it under the hauls of fish they caught.”

the cha’s hold the monopoly to the wet market business.

“that’ll do for now, get out.”

the audio cuts off and the screens begin to move again, this time showing shots of chanyeol and a man in his 40′s sitting across from each other, having coffee.

shifting your hand so your palm is facing up in hoseok’s, you slip your fingers in the gap of his longer ones.

“that’s detective kim namseok and my beloved brother having brunch together - that’s right, chanyeol with the held of uncle jihoon, sold the kang’s, byun’s, ahn’s and cha’s off in his grand scheme of getting the leader position in exchange for police immunity for the han group... oops?” your lips purse into a mocking pout.

“lies! you know how much this bitch wanted to take over han group!” chanyeol roars, pushing himself off the chair and turning to face the wide-eyed gazes and dropped jaws of the heads of the families.

“i-i was b-blackmailed...” uncle jihoon stares at his reflection in the table, as if in a whole different world, “i-it’s not my fault! the young master threatened me!”

“let’s ask the detective shall we? since it’s been  proven that men from the han group have a hard time believing the women’s words,” you roll your eyes.

the screen flashes with an dark, barren room with nothing but a man tied to a chair in the middle of it. his head is hung low but there’s no mistaking the sight of blood covering his face and shirt.

the ghost scent of the blood makes your stomach churn yet you wear the malicious smile of someone who’s about to grasp the very thing she desires - perfectly.

“he’s a little... tied up. we caught him just in time before he called up his partner and spilled everything your darling heir provided.”

“uh, hello? are we live?” a cautious, brittle-like voice echoes from the intercom as a man with greying hair enters the frame as he adjusts his glasses to sit higher on his nose bridge.

“attorney hyeon, you’re live,” you affirm, smiling tightly.

“ah, good evening,” a light of recognition glints in the man’s eyes as he smiles, bowing deeply before straightening his back and backing up until he’s standing next to the half-conscious detective, “i apologize for not being able to attend the meeting myself. i got into an accident, drugged and would have had my nails pulled out if miss han didn’t come to my rescue and brought me here.”

“argh... a... ah...” the detective interjects, groaning.

attorney hyeon laughs calmly as if he didn’t just hear the bloodied and bruised man asking for help.

“in my hands here, i have the contents of the will which i will now have my... uh, assistant-bodyguard share it to the screen and send to your phones... are you sure... they’re sent?” his voice becomes quieter whilst phones and tablets begin to ding with a notification simultaneously.

“... the three holiday villas in incheon, jeju and daegu will respectively go to the madam...” he begins listing out the properties owned by your late father and the distribution of a portion of it to the madam and your mother.

no one interjects even though attorney hyeon’s voice seems to drone on and one despite the tape and audio that leaves everyone on the edge of their seats.

“...and for matters regarding the succession of the new head, the boss, han jiseok, wishes a fair voting system be used to decide whether mr. han chanyeol or miss han ___ will take the position a starting a month after his death.” by the end of it, the room is deathly silent as if a pin drop would echo like thunder in this spacious room.

“the heir and heiress are given three months for them to prove themselves to the vassals and in the absence of a leader, jung hoseok will be appointed as proxy-”

at that, the whole room breaks out into a roar.

“jung hoseok hasn’t stepped foot in han manor for over fifteen years!”

“miss ___ and hoseok are married! this will lead to unfair results!”

a screech against the floor as a chair falls over.

“you still want to support the son of a bitch that’s willing to sell all of us out to the blue bastards?!”

“who’s to say the young master’s not selling out the names of sons of bitches like you who switches sides the first chance you have!”

in the midst of the shouting, chairs screeching and the elderly lawyer trying to gain calm the elders, chanyeol turns to you with the eyes of a man who’s watching his legacy fall right in his very eyes.

“i should’ve left you in the forest when we got lost 15 years ago,” he reaches for something behind his back.

you recall the brother with scratches all over his body, the sun was setting and his back had looked broad for your 8 year old self. you were just two kids who lost their way, slipped and fall in the forest not too far from the family villa.

that same brother is holding a gun to your face.

x

hoseok takes a long whiff of the cigarette that sits in between his index and middle fingers.

“that was a shitstorm,” someone laughs from behind him - your voice sounds oddly free for someone who’s about to either get hexed or get worshipped within three months.

the curve of smile on your lips makes him smile too. he breathes out, laughing, “yeah...”

“do you mind sharing?”

hoseok blinks once. then he regains his senses, looking at the smoldering bud and tapping the middle part of the cigarette with the tip of his index finger to get the ash off so it wouldn’t hurt you if it fell.

“yeah... here.” he pushes down the wince that comes from the slightest strain of passing the cigarette to you.

the way your eyes linger on the clean white bandage on his arm tells him you’re not fooled by his unfazed mask. yet you don’t say anything, your eyes flutter close as your matte burgundy lips wrap around the beige colored bud and inhale.

when chanyeol pulled out the gun, hoseok tried to reason him out of it. promises were made at the expense of his own life. all that, in exchange for yours. in the fleeting moment that chanyeol took to consider pointing the gun at hoseok, you find your opening, shoving his hand upward and hitting that spot in his rib.

the bullet didn’t hit you but it grazed hoseok’s arm. he was standing right next to you.

And hoseok has a brand new pack of cigarettes in his pocket along with an electric lighter - he’d probably grab them both in one grasp if he slipped his hand in his pocket now.

for some reason, he takes the cigarette you pass and takes a good, long whiff out of it.

“did you know?” the puffs of smoke pass through your mouth as you speak and breathe out.

“when i left,  boss told me that i should be ready to drop everything i have... everything i am at any moment... they would have dragged me back one way or another and it’s not gonna be with a gun with its safety lock on if i didn’t walk in on my own accords,” hoseok taps the ashes off a second time, watching them flutter down and settle in between the green blades of grass.

a sense apprehension follows your nod as you stare at your reflection in your polished pumps, “after all this... after i convince the vassals, i’ll make sure you walk out of this alive. heck, i’ll sign the divorce papers today-”

the half of the unsmoked cigarette hits the ground.

hoseok finds himself swallowing the gasp that slips out of your lips at his sudden movement. you freeze underneath his fingertips like the ice you build in your heart but you don’t push him away and hoseok takes that as a maybe.

maybe there’s stability in this chaos.

maybe love does bloom in the most desolate place.

he feels his heart leap into his throat when your arm goes around his neck as you kiss him back just as desperately.

maybe, just maybe, you need him as much as he needs you.

x

the three months fly by with you gathering the majority of the votes by exposing the dirt you have on chanyeol as well as obtaining support from the main branch families by giving them more control over the underground market that was previously monopolized by han group.

though you’re competing with no one, the three month grace period still went on to ease you into the leadership spot.

to keep everything fair, you and hoseok lived apart. him in his apartment he’d been living in up till now and you in one of the holiday villas that your father gifted your mother.

by virtue, you had every right to keep staying in the main mansion as the heiress but chanyeol’s presence was still too strong. his people still lurk behind the mask of the so called loyalty for the han group. he’s locked in one of the safest hideout where only a selected few know where it is. one of them being hoseok. you never asked him what happened with your brother.

that brother of yours was dead to you the moment he pointed a gun at your head.

and with that, you find yourself in a standstill when it comes to your relationship with hoseok.

the last time you mentioned divorce was on the day the will was read. you ended up in one of the empty guest rooms in the mansion because yours was too far away. hoseok fucked you into the silk satin material of the bed like he did that night. as if begging you to keep him - even if it was only for cheap thrills and fleeting passion.

once you stepped out of that room - somewhat presentable and barely any feelings in your leg, so much so, he had to wrap an arm around you to keep you upright - he was whisked away to discuss ground rules of what being the proxy head is entitled.

and that included maintaining a professional - as professional as a mafia leader can be - relationship with the heir and heiress he were to oversee.

once the three months were over, hoseok moved in with you. did all the things married couples would do - attended social functions and established your power as the head and him, the husband of said head. as if saying he had no eye for the position of the head. as if saying if they’d get on their knees and bow down at his will, they better be ready to die for you at his will. only when you’re away on trips overseas, visiting other ruling families in tokyo, hong kong, china and everywhere in asia - would he take over your job.

he kept the men in check and made sure they had a good beating if they went astray. and even then, they’d still follow him to the ends of the earth.

jung hoseok has the full support of the people who swore loyalty to the han family and you have the majority support of the heads of the branch family.

to anyone and everyone, you two make a dangerously powerful couple.

except there’s one problem: you’ve only consummated your marriage once and you can barely kiss your husband without him running away like you’re the literal devil that’s after him.

“h-honey, you’re back,” hoseok stammers, his adam’s apple bobbing as he gazes down at your exposed cleavage that’s pressed up against his body, trapping him between the desk and you.

he looks as if he’s a touch away from losing his mind and fucking you against the table in front of the frames of your predecessors on the wall.

but then his phone vibrates in his pocket and he doesn’t need to take it but he does, a ‘namjoon’ flashing across the screen.

as if seeing a lightbulb go off his head, you shake your head, ‘don’t you dare’.

“i remember taehyun caught the baek’s men in our territory, they’re in the tortu- interrogation room. i was gonna kill them and get rid of their bodies, but since you’re back... i have golf with namjoon, see you tonight.” with that, he kisses you on the corner of your mouth.

in other words, hoseok was saying ‘they’re your problem now, boss.’

“wh-what, jung hoseok, you-!” you manage to yell back but he’s out of the door before you knew it.

hours later, the clock hands strike an hour and a half past midnight as they mock you for making your own husband run away at the sight of you. the door clicks twice as some slips in and shuts it behind them.

you don’t even catch the sound of footsteps as hoseok goes about the room, taking off his shirt and wrapping a towel around his waist. the only indication he’s even here is the body that suddenly freezes up at the sudden flash of light on the nightstand on your side.

“where were you?”

“i was out... golfing... with namjoon...” he drags out the sentence as if his brain short circuited when put in the spotlight in nothing but a flimsy towel around that muscular body of his.

“your wife comes back after two weeks and you decide to go golfing on the very day she touched down?” you say curtly, arms crossed over your lace donned chest.

“i-...” hoseok starts pointing to the open bathroom door behind him that he was about to go in had it not been for your abrupt intervention.

“come here,” you order.

“i just got back and i sweated a lot-” is it the way your eyes bore into his without so much as blinking that makes him clamp his mouth shut?

“yes, ma’am.”

a sigh leaves your lips heartbeats after he comes to stand by the bed, head hanging low like a puppy who knows he’s about to receive a scolding. but you’re not his owner and hoseok’s your husband. your lifetime companion.

“hobi,” the nickname slips out of your mouth without you realizing it as your fingers graze his, tugging on his index finger like a child.

he seems to understand your beckoning, bed dipping when he takes a seat, facing you. it takes everything in you not to let your eyes linger longer than a millisecond at the way the towel ends up stretching, revealing a very noticeable lump protruding in between his thighs.

you clear your throat, mentally chiding yourself for the wave of memories that flood your mind when hoseok is looking at you with attentive eyes. all ears for you.

“for some reason, i feel like you’ve been avoiding me and it’s not just this afternoon. since we started living together... it feels like we’re back to being strangers with memories who happen to have to spend their lives together from now on.” you play with his fingers that you tuck into your lap, heart beating too fast for you to look at him in the eye.

and to think you started off like a lioness prepared for war.

all of a sudden, the temperature of the room drops as you mention the word you promised you’d never utter again since the day of the reading of the will.

“i meant what i said about divorce - monthly alimony until the day you die, a house in gangnam a car with a driver, all expenses paid. and if you find someone and want to start a family with them, i swear on my honor as the head of han group, your family will be protected under our care for as long as i’m alive.”

“i don’t want a divorce.” hoseok says, sounding somewhat hurt.

“then- why-” you begin but he cuts you off with his troubled voice.

“____, i watched over you, i dropped you off and pick you up after school,  taught you how to ride a bicycle-”

this time, it’s you who speaks over him,“-ten years ago. hobi -”

i’m an adult who literally knows how to put a bullet in someone’s head.

but you don’t get to say that when hoseok shakes his head.

“do you remember why you started calling me that? because you came home one day and said you learned a new word- hope. you said i was your hope and you were so excited because you could equate a new word to someone you know... someone who’s been like a brother figure to you- how messed up am i to marry the little girl that i watched over and actually desire her as a woman now?”

“so you do see me as a woman.” is all you say.

“is that all you heard, ___?” hoseok’s wide eyed gaze bore into yours, as if disbelieved by your nonchalance.

“it’s the only thing i care about,” you shrug, the easy arrogance almost costing you another ruined relationship but you sigh a second later, eyes fixed on the motionless hand in your lap before you slip your hand in his, holding it like you’re about to commence a thumb war, “i may have acted like a spoiled brat the majority of the time after we met again which is probably why this whole existential crisis is happening right now,” you laugh, “it’s easier to play the role of a bimbo daughter than a strong overbearing heiress. i guess i acted like that for so long, i started becoming that.

your hand lies still in hoseok’s as you look up, meeting his gaze for what it is, “i admit, it’s my fault if you think that my feelings spurred from the fond memories of the only person who treated me like a human.”

“but i assure you, i didn’t get to where i am now because i’m driven by sentiments like hate for chanyeol and everyone who looked down on me nor the love i had for you as a guardian. in life, there’s only one thing i want and that’s to be the head of han group. you’re a chest piece that helps turn the tables around for me but you’re not my only piece.”

the line of hoseok’s shoulders sag, as if hearing the truth hurt him more than the lie convinced himself of.

“choosing to make you my king is entirely up to me... not because of some childhood memory or dependency on a guardian figure like you thought but...” your thumb grazes hoseok’s knuckles as you lift his hand to your lips, pressing a lingering kiss on his knuckles, “we can take it slow, i won’t tease you anymore and you can see for yourself how true my words are.”

“feels like i should be the one saying that,” the lips on your forehead feels warm, spreading through your body like a mid summer’s night.

arms wrap around your body, hugging you to a strong, tight, unclothed chest as your breath hitches in your throat. you raise your hands to return the embrace but decide against it - it feels like a sin to be drooling over hoseok’s abs and greek god-like body when you’ve just promised to stop jumping the gun.

“you smell nice,” you finally cave, slender hands wrap around his naked torso as you breathe in his scent - a faint trace of musk and sea and masculinity.

at that, the body underneath you seems to freeze up, “i-i think i should take that shower now.”

hoseok’s sudden retreat almost has you falling face first into the sheets. you watch as he covers his face with that large, pretty hands of his while his feet carries him into the bathroom door and closes it shut.

x

the room is silent.

save for the sound of the droplet gathering underneath the tap before hitting the quartz countertop.

hoseok stares at himself in the mirror. lips parted, glazed eyes that are becoming clearer with each passing second as if gradually realizing the sticky situation he found himself in.

the bathroom smells like your favorite floral bath gel but he can still sense the scent of his arousal that, after running the shower head over, finally washed down the drain.

the water was obviously hot. not scalding - hoseok couldn’t take scalding hot showers like you do. but since he’d moved in and after screaming and almost tumbling down to his death if the water didn’t boil him alive first - the next day, he’d found the water to be cooler. warm enough not to make him freeze but not hot enough to have his skin emitting vapor like a half cooked human meat.

but that’s besides the point.

the point is - he’s already had a good, warm shower and jerked himself off but he’s still hard.

it’s the way your delicate frame presses against him when you try to hug him. no- hoseok shakes his head mentally, it’s the way you breathe and compliment his scent which, hoseok is certain, smells like sweat and grass and soil that he rolled over after miserably failing to hit the ball.

he might be well acquainted with riches and luxuries but he’ll get used to these rich people hobby namjoon’s been trying to get him on after his marriage with the head of han group.

these days, it feels like namjoon’s been trying to get hoseok to meet him more than the times they have to actually see each other when he was slaving over his perfectionist ass at work.

before hoseok can even ponder further on namjoon’s unarousing quirks and get his boner down, he hears a rap on the door and a hesitant,“hobi?”

“y-yeah?” ha manages to answer somewhat smoothly.

“i just wanted to say that i can sleep in my old room... if you’re not comfortable sleeping in the same-”

“no!” a rushed rejection, a heart trembling inside a chest.

hands of fear grasps at his wrists and ankles as though if he stayed tight-lipped any longer, he might actually walk out to an empty bedroom with no trace of you at all.

as this is all just one beautiful, tragic dream.

“no, i like sleeping with you.” hoseok slaps himself in the cheek, “i mean i like sleeping next to you... in the same bed.”

the silence seems to stretch on for hours until he hears the giggle coming from the other side of the door - hoseok’s heart warms, you sound like you’re back to yourself, “okay, well, come to bed faster.”

“i will!” he curses himself for that rushed response but you’re probably back in bed with the lights from the nightstand off, probably tired as fuck after a one hour flight back to seoul, having had baek’s men’s territory breach matters shoved into your arms and waiting up on your pitiful husband who was avoiding you over his conflicted conscience.

by the time he’s out of the bathroom, loose pajama pants hanging lowly around his hips, he sees that small lump underneath the blanket, your fetal position telling him you fell asleep facing his side of the bed.

hoseok slips into bed, laying on his side and admiring your pretty lips and thick lashes. his hand clenches and unclenches as if he’s not sure if he should sleep hugging you the way he’s used to.

he caves, hand wrapping around your back as he kisses the top of your head.

unbeknownst to him, you’re still awake. you pretended to be asleep because you didn’t want to make hoseok uncomfortable. but now he’s cuddling you like a child whilst his semi erected head presses against your stomach and it’s kind of too late to say anything.

not to mention, you were a virgin up until awhile ago and you’re not sure if it’s normal for men to be able to hold out this long without fucking their wives or if hoseok’s self-restraint is just over the roof and you’re the one with too high of a libido.

‘damn it, should’ve jumped on his dick before initiating a heart-to-heart.’