#and i had way more than that in the beginning

[vrystalius]

Sleeping with the Squid Game men.

No, not like that. The fluffy and cuddly way to sleep with them.

Pairing: Recruiter, Thanos, Nam-gyu, Dae-ho, Gi-hun, In-ho x gn!reader (you have a soft chest/boobs)

Summary: What it’s like to share a bed with your favourite man

Genre: Fluff, slightly suggestive

Words: around 500 words per person; around 2.5-3k words in total

Note: The way I had to google for sleepy/sleep pictures for the actors is crazy 😭

Gong Yoo // The Recruiter // The Salesman

He is a very light sleeper but never obviously shows it when he wakes up. Your husband likes to act like he is asleep so you can hold him in silence for longer. His favourite position is to spoon you with you facing him, his face buried into your soft chest, getting pleasantly smothered by your warmth.

He’s a very quiet sleeper and barely ever snores, but his hand sometimes twitches in his sleep and accidentally slaps you lightly.

His sleeping face is soft and almost angelic, his lips squished together into a soft pout when he’s asleep. His hair is spread over the pillow and his arm tightly wrapped around you, as if afraid to be alone again like before he met you.

You took a picture of his sleeping face once. You wanted to use it as a wallpaper for your phone because of how adorable his cheeks looked on there but you somehow lost it. Maybe it was deleted somehow or by someone.

In the mornings seeing him so confused and messy, his hair ruffled by sleep and his eyes still droopy is quite a sight.

His groans are deep, sleepy and raspy. When you brush your hand over his face, you can feel a little bit of a morning stubble on his chin and cheek.

The morning is the only time you can see your husband so off guard, so comfortable. He’s always so on guard otherwise, but now? A dreamy smile and quiet hums of content scape his lips as his eyes sleepily scan your equally tired features.

You two don’t often have lazy mornings but when you do, your husband likes having your head in his chest while his hand traces invisible patters all over your skin, his other arm behind his head in a comfortable posture.

“Are you comfortable like this? I can make some breakfast for us if you like.”

Thanos // Su-bong // Player 240

Snores loudly, takes up all the space in bed, drools and doesn’t give a fuck. Thanos likes to spread himself out and then complain about you not spooning him like it’s your fault his arm literally took more space on your bed than you had for yourself.

He talks in his sleep and has periods where he snores very loudly and then goes very quiet, making you think he’s either awake or dead. He is neither though, just in a very deep sleep.

He hogs all the blankets too, that dick. Thanos steals them from you and cuddles onto them, thinking you are the blanket, whining in his sleep about you not hugging him back and his drool spilling all over the blanket.

Also, has the ugliest sleeping face ever. So ugly it’s almost cute, especially the way his mouth falls open and he gets a double chin when his mouth falls agape, or when Thanos begins to frown during his sleep or even cross his arms angrily when he doesn’t like the dream he’s having.

In the mornings he is more like a zombie than a human. He can’t get up without you practically dragging him out of bed and even if you succeed, your boyfriend will curl up on the floor and continue sleeping there.

During cozy mornings, he likes getting his chin scratched by you. He pouts and lazily holds his head up so you can give him the mandatory scratches while his eyes slowly close again as you lull him back to sleep.

He also is very sensitive when it comes to where he can fall asleep. There either has to be complete silence or some white noise playing in the background. Like a child, he can’t fall asleep in front of the TV or when anything else is playing in the background.

Thanks to you he Thanos can’t sleep on his own anymore. Either he has to facetime you and fall asleep on the call or be there with you. He is your problem forever now.

“I don’t need to announce my visit, I’m your boyfriend! I don’t give a shit if it’s 2am either, move your gorgeous ass, I wanna lay down too.”

Nam-gyu // Player 124

For some reason, Nam-gyu cannot lay still. He turns and moves around all night, even talking full on sentences while being fully asleep. If you’re lucky you can have full on conversations with him.

He doesn’t move towards you but in fact actively tries to escape your cuddles. Apparently he likes his freedom. And your pillows.

Instead of stealing your blankets, Nam-gyu snatches the pillow from under your head to hug it and hoard it for himself. He doesn’t drool on it but you did catch him giving it an awkward kiss while he was out like a light.

His sleeping face looks stressed for some reason. He’s frowning as if he just went through the messiest divorce or was abandoned by his mom in the mall. It softens up once your fingers brush over his cheekbones to push some hair away.

Nam-gyu is not a morning person but can force himself out of bed pretty easily. To wake you he heads to the bathroom to let cold water wash over his hands in the sink and then throws the water droplets at your exposed skin or grabs your warm feet from beneath the blanket.

Due to his job as a club promoter and not really having anything to do during the day, your boyfriend is almost always available for many lazy mornings.

He likes to lay his head on your warm stomach and scroll through his phone or angle his camera to snap a selfie of your sleeping beauty face and putting it as the wallpaper of your chats.

Also, an admirable talent of his is that Nam-gyu can fall asleep anywhere at any time. Loud wedding you were invited to? He’s catching a quick nap in the corner of the venue. He has 10 minutes before the club opens? His head is resting on your shoulder in deep sleep while you two wait on a random bench nearby.

“You don’t like the pic I took? I think it’s pretty. And I think you look pretty no matter what… don’t act like you ever took a picture of me when I was sleeping. I know you.”

Dae-ho // Player 388

Thanks to both growing up in a big household and his time serving in the marines, once he’s out, he’s out. Dae-ho can sleep through vacuum-cleaning, hammering nails into walls, a storm, you trying to wake him up and through most of his alarms.

You know that calling out to him like a drill-sergeant would be extremely mean and insensitive to his troubles. You know he’s still scarred, so you’ll keep trying to talk and shake him awake.

Your boyfriend barely snores, just lets out the occasional sigh and groan here and there. His cheek is often squished against his pillow while he lays on his stomach, his lips parted and mouth slightly agape. His sleeping face is extremely cute, vulnerable almost.

His voice is extremely raspy in the mornings and his expression formed into a permanent sleepy pout while he is standing by the stove to make himself a grilled cheese. You just sit there and enjoy the view of his defined muscles in the back working.

Dae-ho needs to hold you to fall asleep. It grounds him in reality and reminds the scared part of his brain that you’re here with him, that you’re not going anywhere and leave him on his own. Whenever you’re with him, he can fall asleep with a smile.

Your smell and warmth alone can lull him into a deep sleep in seconds. If your hands begin to remove his hairtie and your fingers run through his hair to untangle any knots, he’s an absolute goner.

Lazy mornings are pretty rare with him, you’d have to tire him out the night before to get him to still be sleepy in the morning.

Dae-ho took a video of you being asleep and squished up against his soft chest, your drool staining his shirt on one side of his chest and your free hand squeezing his other. You never saw that video before, it cracks him up too much to let it be deleted by you.

“Don’t let go, I still need you here with me… I love you, you know that?”

Gi-hun // Player 456

Gi-hun curls up into a fetal position when he sleeps. His face is hidden beneath the sheets, only his eyes and nose peeking out. He snores very quietly and they stop abruptly whenever he begins to stir.

He thinks he’s being slick by acting asleep and listening to what you’re doing but it’s pretty obvious when those adorable snores stop.

Even if he isn’t much of a morning person he still forces himself out of bed and brews a cup of coffee for you two.

You watch as Gi-hun sits with his cup at the edge of the bed, watching the sun rise higher and higher, enjoying the quiet morning. Peace, even if it’s temporary.

He likes holding you in his sleep and having your head nuzzled in his shoulder, but your boyfriend prefers to be held instead. He desperately craves comfort and security and you always spoil him with exactly that.

Your hand slowly and soothingly brush over his back while his arms were tightly wrapped around you, his eyes tightly shut and face buried in your warm chest.

His sleeping faces are surprisingly handsome and peaceful, his mouth shut most of the time. His brows are furrowed in permanent stress though that only seems to go away when he feels the bed shift beneath him, indicating that you just joined him.

Gi-hun likes sharing a bed with you. It’s intimate and a sacred tradition. Falling asleep and waking up next to you feels like you two bonded over night, two souls enjoying being near each other. Maybe it sounds sappy but that’s how it feels to him.

Lazy mornings are rare because he cannot seem to relax and let his guard down, ever. There’s always something on his mind, something to do and that damn salesman to find. You can shut him up by smothering him with a pillow once he begins to ramble about those weird games again.

“I’m exhausted, I’m sorry if I’m being selfish, but join me? I can’t sleep without you.”

In-ho // The Frontman // Player 001

You’ll have to force him to sleep for more than 4 hours a night. Even if the games are not happening right now or it’s still half a year until recruitment, In-ho is always busy with something. It sometimes feels like he’s trying to get out of sleeping in the same bed with you.

When you finally get him to stay in bed with you, it takes a while for him to fall asleep in addition to him being a very light sleeper in general.

He’ll count every tile in the ceiling, scan your face for any new features he might’ve missed or that have changed since last night, then he’ll waddle into the kitchen for a glas of water and then maybe, maybe he’ll begin to slowly fall asleep.

When you wake him up in the mornings, he wakes up like he had the most horrific nightmare just now; eyes shot wide open and a deep gasp emitting from his lips. Your husband always assures you he doesn’t have any though.

He snores in his sleep but it’s more of a pleasant/relaxing sound rather than an annoying dad-snore. They are quiet and rhythmic, giving you quiet reassurance that he’s still peacefully resting next to you.

His face is relaxed as the worry lines in his face slowly melt away, his hair uncared for and his arm shifting around to find your warm skin to touch. He prefers to be the big spoon and have your face nuzzled into his chest or neck, where he can always feel your warm breath and heartbeat.

You gave into the temptation to take a picture of his adorable face once, but In-ho felt an disturbance in the air and shot his eyes open to stare at your face before you could snap your picture. This man can never be caught of guard it seems.

Sometimes you catch him falling asleep in his office, his body curled up in the leather chair as his head hung forward slightly, his glass of whiskey still in his hand with a firm grip on it. He almost dropped it once you woke him up by the way In-ho got startled awake.

“Sorry, I lost track of time. I’m coming to bed now, no need to drag me—“

💠

Author’s note. Thank you for reading!

I always write about the things I want the most; sleep and cuddles. Sleepy cuddles? Whenever I use C.AI I always choose a “sleepy” prompt since I mostly use it after waking up or during breaks, times where I am always very sleepy and in need of affection 😭 Hope this wasn’t too weird to read.

Also I did T.O.P so nasty with the pic I chose I’m sorry 😭😭

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough <33

Take care of yourselves and stay safe my dears!!

[harrysfolklore]

31st - hs

happy birthday to the one and only love of my life 🥹🥹 31 omg! i hope he has the best day ever <33

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

You woke up early on February 1st, carefully slipping out of bed without disturbing Harry, who was still peacefully sleeping. The morning sun was just beginning to peek through the curtains, reflecting light across his face. At 31, he was somehow even more beautiful than when you'd first met him - a few more laugh lines around his eyes, his curls slightly shorter now, but still undeniably your Harry.

Making your way to the kitchen, you began the birthday breakfast preparations you'd been planning for days. You started brewing his favorite coffee and pulled out the ingredients for the banana pancakes he loved so much.

As you worked, you couldn't help but smile, remembering his 30th birthday last year - the big party, all their friends and family gathered together. This year, though, Harry had asked for something quieter, more intimate. "Just us," he'd said, "maybe dinner with family later."

The sound of footsteps made you look up, and there he was, leaning against the doorframe in his pajama bottoms and that old Rolling Stones t-shirt you loved so much.

"You're supposed to be sleeping," you scolded playfully, whisking the pancake batter.

"Bed was cold without you," he mumbled, voice still rough with sleep. His hair was adorably mussed, and he had pillow creases on his cheek. "Besides, something smells amazing."

"Happy birthday, love," you said softly, abandoning your cooking to wrap your arms around him.

He hummed contentedly, pulling you closer and burying his face in your neck. "Thank you, baby."

"Thirty-one," you mused, running your fingers through his hair. "How does it feel?"

"Honestly?" He pulled back to look at you, his green eyes twinkling. "Pretty much the same as thirty. Though I did find another grey hair yesterday."

You laughed, reaching up to touch the single silver strand at his temple. "I think it makes you look distinguished."

"Distinguished?" He raised an eyebrow, trying to suppress a smile. "Is that what we're calling it?"

"Mhmm," you nodded seriously. "Very sophisticated. Very George Clooney."

"Oi!" He tickled your sides, making you squeal. "I'm not that old yet!"

The pancakes were momentarily forgotten as you both dissolved into laughter, play-fighting in the kitchen like teenagers. Finally, Harry pulled you close again, pressing soft kisses along your jaw.

"You know," he murmured, "this is already my favorite birthday."

"It's barely started!"

"Doesn't matter. I'm here with you, in our kitchen, and you're making me breakfast. What could be better?"

Your heart swelled with love for this man who could find joy in the simplest moments. "Well, it might get even better when you see your presents."

His eyes lit up like a child's. "Presents? But you said we weren't doing big gifts this year!"

"And we're not," you assured him, turning back to the pancakes before they burned. "Just a few small things. Though..." you paused for dramatic effect, "there might be tickets to that vintage guitar show in Nashville you were talking about."

Harry's gasp of delight made you laugh. "Really? The one with the '59 Les Paul?"

"Maybe," you sang, flipping a pancake. "You'll have to wait and see."

He wrapped his arms around you from behind, watching you cook. "Have I told you lately that you're the best wife ever?"

You felt your cheeks flush at the word 'wife,' still not quite used to hearing it spoken aloud. After nearly a year of marriage, it was still your precious secret, shared only with family and closest friends. The ring on your finger was usually hidden away in public, and you'd both become experts at careful wording in interviews.

"Shh," you teased, though your heart fluttered at his words. "The walls might have ears."

Harry chuckled, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. "You know, I've been thinking about that actually."

"About what?" you asked, sliding the last pancake onto the plate.

He turned you around gently, his expression thoughtful. "About keeping it secret. Don't get me wrong, this past year has been incredible, having something that's just ours. But sometimes..." he paused, running a hand through his hair, "sometimes I just want to tell the whole world that I'm married to the most amazing woman."

You set down the spatula, studying his face. "Really? You want to go public?"

"Only if you're ready," he said quickly. "But yeah, I do. It's been almost a year, and honestly, I'm tired of not being able to call you my wife whenever I want to. Of having to take my ring off for appearances. Of watching you do the same."

Your heart raced at the possibility. "It would change things," you said softly. "The privacy we've had..."

"I know," he nodded, taking your hands in his. "But maybe... maybe it's time. And what better day than my birthday? We could post something simple, just us."

You thought about it for a moment. The past year had been magical, your private bubble of newlywed bliss protected from the public eye. But he was right - there was something exhausting about constantly hiding, about choosing your words so carefully, about slipping your rings off before stepping outside.

"Okay," you finally said, a smile spreading across your face. "Let's do it."

Harry's eyes lit up. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," you laughed as he pulled you into a tight hug. "But after breakfast! These pancakes are getting cold."

Later, after breakfast and presents, you both sat on the couch, phones in hand. You'd chosen a simple photo from your wedding day - just your hands intertwined, both wearing your rings, nothing too revealing but unmistakably a wedding photo.

"Ready?" he asked, his thumb hovering over the 'post' button.

You took a deep breath, nodding. "Ready."

With a click, your secret was out in the world. You both turned your phones to silent, knowing they would explode with notifications any second.

"How does it feel?" Harry asked, pulling you close.

You twisted your ring, which for the first time wouldn't have to come off when you left the house later. "Liberating," you decided. "Scary, but good scary."

"No more hiding," he agreed, kissing your temple.

"No more hiding," you repeated, then laughed. "Your mum's going to be thrilled. She's been dying to post those wedding photos."

"Oh God," Harry groaned good-naturedly. "She's probably already sharing them as we speak."

You snuggled closer to him, enjoying this quiet moment before the world would inevitably explode with the news. "Happy birthday, H. Sorry I kind of hijacked it with our announcement."

"Are you kidding?" He grinned down at you. "This is the best gift you could have given me. Now everyone knows I'm the luckiest man alive."

"Charmer," you muttered, but you were smiling.

"Your charmer," he corrected, then added with obvious delight, "Your husband."

"My husband," you agreed, loving how it felt to say it out loud, knowing you wouldn't have to whisper it anymore.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by zayn, yourinstagram and 20,876,449 others

harrystyles Best birthday gift was marrying my soulmate almost a year ago. Thank you for keeping our secret. ❤️

February, 2024

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username1 WHAT THE HELL

username2 IS THIS A JOKE

taylorswift Finally!! 🥂 Keeping this secret was TORTURE. So happy for you both ♥️

gemmastyles Bbout time you two told everyone!! now i can finally post all the cute photos from the wedding 😭💕

lizzo YALL I WAS AT THE WEDDING AND HAD TO PRETEND I WASNT THIS WHOLE TIME 😭 CONGRATS AGAIN BESTIES

niallhoran The most beautiful day! Love you both!

yourinstagram Finally 🤍 Happy birthday to my husband (!!!) who makes every day feel like a love song. Thank you for choosing me, always.

username3 HUSBAND???????? MARRIED????????? IM SHAKING AND CRYING AND THROWING UP

username4 OH MY GOD THE SIGNS WERE THERE ALL ALONG. REMEMBER WHEN HE KEPT TOUCHING HIS RING FINGER IN THAT ONE INTERVIEW??

username5 not me zooming in on every detail of this photo 👀 THE RINGS ARE SO BEAUTIFUL IM SOBBING

username6 the way they kept this secret for a YEAR?? we love a private couple

username7 HARRY STYLES IS A MARRIED MAN. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. I REPEAT. HARRY STYLES IS A MARRIED MAN

username8 im so happy for them but also crying in the club rn 😭

username9 THE WAY YN JUST CALLED HIM HUSBAND IM SCREAMING

username10 not me thinking about how they had a whole secret wedding and we had no idea 😭 they're so powerful

username11 "best birthday gift" STOP IM CRYING THIS IS SO ROMANTIC

[solbaby7]

High For This

pairing: eris x reader

warnings: jealous!eris, swearing, another overindulgent ball hosted simply for conspiratorial purposes, sexual themes, wrote this with the implication of Beron being dead, abrupt ending bc if i didn’t stop there i prolly wouldn’t stop at all, not edited

summary: Eris is a jealous man and you’re determined to see exactly how hot his fire burns for you.

—

“Excuse me?”

Your eyes roll on their own accord, hands fluffing through fresh curls as dark mascara dries on thick lashes. A tinted gloss stains full lips and Eris hates the way his lungs greedily gulp in the sensual oud permeating the air.

Everything in here smells like you and he doesn’t resist the indulgence of looking around to take in the fluffy duvet sheets neatly strewn over the mattress and the cream throw pillows tucked near your headboard. The canopy drapes are tucked to each post, the middle dripping dreamily like clouds hovering in the sky.

You’re meticulous, he notes; every item you own continent in their convenient little homes. “I said,” The tone you hold makes his jaw clench, his body visibly perturbed by your nonchalance while he felt himself slipping deeper into your pull. You barely spare him a proper glance—too occupied in looking over yourself in the floor length mirror. “I have a date so you don’t have to wait for me. We’ll meet you there.”

“A date?” Eris repeats sharply, staring at you through the mirror.

“Is there a problem with that?” You know the answer before the question is even fully spoken, a smug little smirk ghosting in the corner of your lips as you sift through your jewelry box. Rings are slid onto your fingers, gold bands and pretty emerald cut jewels glittering in the faelight. “I specifically remember you saying that you didn’t need a plus one.”

“Because,” Each syllable is drawn out, his restraint slipping as you pushed his buttons with such expertise. “—I already had one.” You read between the lines, a brow raising as you settle in the knowledge that the High Lord had expected you to hang off his arm.

“I don’t recall you asking.”

“It was implied.”

Dark kohl lines your eyes and accentuates full lashes, a pretty blush placed on the high points of your cheeks and such beauty seems lethal when you stare through the mirror. “You’ve never had an issue articulating your wants before—if you desired it bad enough, of course.”

You leave room for a response, trying desperately to mask the flicker of hope beginning to drudge to life within the embers. Centuries of waiting for Beron to no longer be an issue, no longer looming over both of your shoulders and destroying every meaningful moment.

Things were supposed to be different when he was finally dead.

Easier.

Only, Eris had grown more guarded. Terrified that showing a hint of affection would backfire as it had so many times before. He takes his time, smoothening out his tone and compulsively straightening out the neatly folded handkerchief sticking elegantly from the breast pocket of his perfectly tailored suit. “This is not up for debate, bunny. Turn your little friend away and let’s go before we’re late.”

“No.” You shove past him, clutch tucked under your arm and high heels clicking furiously against the hardwood.

It stuns him for a beat of time but he recovers far quicker and Eris all but barks out your name as he exits your door, following a few paces behind with a snarl working its way up his throat. “Get back here!”

“I am not some object that you can just command when you please.” Elegant curls bounce angrily with your every step, jewelry chiming with each little bounce down the stairs. One hand grips at the banister for balance, the tight fit of your dress forcing you to move slower than you’d like. “You do not own me.”

"You're right, bunny. I don't own you but I am your High Lord and you will stop walking this instant."

The immediate fae-like stillness of your form has Eris’ heart thumping with excitement against his ribcage. A perfect mask is painted across your features when you slowly turn on the balls of your feet to face him but nothing could ever quench the fire that burns behind your retinas. “My Lord?”

A noise is hummed low in his throat—pleased or patronizing?—you weren’t sure but judging by that leisurely stride and the special time he takes in looking you over, it has to be a mix of both. “I like that tone much better.” Eris’ hands are warm when he brushes a lock of hair away from your face, fingertips grazing against your neck with such care that you have to suppress the shiver threatening to rake up your spine.

You refused to allow him the satisfaction of knowing how his touch affected you.

Not when he was acting like such an entitled toddler.

“Wonderful,” Venom burns under every word, even if it is wrapped in a sickeningly sweet tone. “I aim to please.”

A smile bleeds its way onto his face, the faelight casting shadows over the handsome contours of his features and frustration forces your fingers to fidget when the intoxicating oud of his cologne engulfs your senses. “I’m thrilled to hear that, bunny.” Eyes narrow up at Eris as you clock that tone of voice—that devilish look burning behind amber irises. “Let’s hope all that enthusiasm helps you survive the night.”

“Funny you should say that,” The way your hand elegantly rests in the crease of his extended arm feels utterly natural, no matter how much contempt is quivering behind the movement. “It’s not me who needs to worry about surviving the night.”

—

Playing the part of the demure, doting date is a million times more difficult than you make it look. Sweet smiles and the inviting shape of your figure brings in more attention than normal—or maybe it was because of who’d been permanently fused to your side since the second you’d arrived.

Eris had never been so on guard, amber irises raking over anyone who came within a five foot radius and most of your time is spent wading the rigid line of his shoulders. “Quit it,” You snap through your teeth, concealing the bite if your words with a bright grin. “You forced me to be here with you and now you’re scaring everyone off.”

“Forced you?” He doesn’t even sound offended—just smug as he motions to your hand curled comfortably around his bicep. “Is that the narrative you’re running with tonight, bunny? How unoriginal.” The body language portrays anything but ‘forced’ and once he’s pointed it out, you’re quick to pull away, snatching your hand back and grumbling profanities under your breath.

“What else would you call it?”

Eris feigns aloofness when responding, refusing to grant you the decency of his gaze and your spine goes ramrod straight when his words sink in. “I’d say it’s no different than when any of the other High Lords attend with their plus ones—though it seems theirs are more well behaved.”

“I’m not some hound who submits to your every command, Eris Vanserra.” Hurt lingers in the words you spit out just loud enough for him to hear. “What the other High Lords have are wives, partners—mates. They’re not cowards; wanting someone and stringing them along.” Tears well in your waterline, grip shaky around the flute of champagne until you abandon it altogether. “You’re wasting my time and I have little patience left to offer.”

You’re forced to walk away before the dam breaks, refusing to wear your heart on your sleeve for it never worked well before. Makes you too vulnerable; too tethered to a male too afraid to return the sentiment.

Balcony doors creak under your touch, opening just enough for you to slip through and close it behind you. For once, you’re grateful for the solitude. Basking in the cool breeze and the comforting smell of fresh flora, you let your eyes slip closed, a single tear falling free and your back bows as you sag against iron railings.

Just a single moment of weakness.

And it’s completely shattered by another presence.

“Want me to kill ‘em?”

You snap up like a spring, neck nearly snapping with the force it takes to turn so quickly. Palms wipe at your cheeks, straightening out the fabrics of your dress. “Sorry,” You quickly flush the moment realization sinks in, eyes taking in the towering Illyrian standing just a few feet away. His hair held in a neat bun at the nape of his neck, burly form slouched in a lounge chair, wings stretched high behind him. “I thought I was alone out here.”

“Looking how you do, I doubt you’re ever really alone.”

You scoff, this hateful, bark of a noise that refuses to be tampered down or subdued. “Not everyone shares your sentiment.”

“Date ditch you?”

“A girl could only dream. No, my ‘date’ is spending his time being a grade A douchebag—needed fresh air before I did something stupid.”

He hums in acknowledgment, a chilled glass of amber liquor dripping condensation down the thick stretch of his forearm. His head cocks to the side when he looks you up and down, making note of that forlorn expression casting shadows across pretty features. “Want to make him jealous?”

You should be ashamed for how abruptly the notion piques your interest. For how quickly satisfaction settles within your bloodstream at the thought of Eris watching you waltz around with this brick wall of a male and his effortless presence. “What’s in it for you?”

“Pretty thing on my arm is prize enough, even if it is just for show.”

There’s a pause where the Illyrian can literally see the gears turning in your head. Outweighing the risks. Mulling over potential consequences.

He can tangibly grasp the exact moment you shove all that aside—too scorned to give a shit about retribution. Too much time had gone into getting ready to waste it all on a male too prideful to cherish the gift wrapped before him. You head nods with finality, one hand outstretched before him. “It’s a deal.”

His hand is warm against your own, significantly larger and riddled with callouses. Tattoos the shade of obsidian is etched into tawny skin, arms rippling with muscles that bulge against the tight fit of formal leather attire. “I’m Cassian.”

“I know who you are.” Hesitation lingers in the set of your shoulders, spine not fully lax though Cassian doubts that’s fully possible with the skyscraper for heels adorning your feet. “Do you know who I am?”

His grin only grows when he stands at full attention, so tall your neck cranes just to meet his eye. “I’ve got a pretty good idea.” Ice clinks against his glass as he offers it to you, lifting the rim to your lips and muttering a soft praise when you drink obediently. “There’s a girl. Drink up, you’ll need the liquid courage.”

Liquid courage. Makes sense when it burns on the way down, easing frazzled nerves and a short temper until your arm slips in the crease of Cass’ elbow like it was a regular occurrence.

He’s confident. Borderline cocky with the way he urges you closer, hips bumping into one another with each step. The closeness does the trick though, a smoldering set of sandy eyes fall on you the moment you’re thrusted back into the fray. “Chin up,” Cassian murmurs softly, lips barely even moving over the words.

You’re led to the dance floor, situated smack dab in the middle. It’s a spectacle but something tells you that’s the whole point when Cassian circles a hand around your waist. The other reaches for your free hand, easing your fingers against his own until you’re palm to palm. “Do you even know how to dance? I don’t recall that being apart of Illyrian curriculum.”

It’s a harmless tease—the jab earning you a laugh so organic that it shows both rows of shiny teeth and a pantydropping set of dimples in his cheeks. “Pretty and funny. You really should consider not being so charming, I have an awful habit of hoarding treasures like you.”

Your head dips, a blush growing along the apples of your cheeks that only grows when Cassian is emboldened, ushering you in closer until you run the risk of stepping all over his toes. If he cares, you can’t tell, too washed up in the feeling of being shown off—proudly at that. “I appreciate you doing this for me. Even if it doesn’t work.”

“Trust me,” Cassian drawls, his gaze far off as he focuses on something behind you. “It’s working.”

He doesn’t elaborate, though he doesn’t really have to when you pick up on a familiar step pattern. Nose catching the earthy scent of spicy cinnamon and nutmeg. Of pine trees and bonfire smoke. “Bunny,” Eris fixates on the Illyrian’s hold on you, the corded muscle in his jaw jumping with the effort it takes to restrain himself from burning Cassian’s hands to a crisp. “Mind if I cut in?”

“This dance is nearly done.”

“And you’ll be finishing it with me.” It’s sick how desire pools in your belly at the possessive tone. How pleased you feel with yourself when Eris all but pries you away from Cass and into his own arms. You barely have enough time to say thank you to the Night Courts General before the eldest Vanserra has whisked you far, far away from those giant wings and the enigmatic wearer of them. “Where’d you run off too? I was worried.”

“Worried about what? That someone else was cherishing what you neglect?” You hum to yourself at the raw guilt that screws up the handsome pout of his mouth. “What’s that saying? One males trash…”

“You aren’t trash. You know I don’t think of you as trash.”

“No, you just treat me like it.” The chattering of guests drowns out your words from prying ears. “Hiding me at the bottom of the bin like you’re ashamed of me or something.”

You’re working yourself up again. Overthinking. Self-depreciating. Resenting. Digging a hole with no means of pulling yourself out but Eris halts that train of thinking with a hand to your jaw. The grip is gentle but firm, guiding you to look him in the eye; insisting you see the seriousness that swirls in the copper tones of his iris. “You are everything to me,” His confession stops you in your tracks. Steals your breath away at you hang onto every constant and vowel like a lifeline. “I wake up everyday just so I can see your face and I lay my head down every night praying that it’s filled with dreams of you—of us. Everything I do, anything I’ve ever done is to ensure your happiness. Your safety.”

“Eris..”

“No, listen to me.” Both hands cup your cheeks, all space eaten up until each breath he exhales in the air you inhale. Two halves of a whole slowly sliding into place. The final pieces of a puzzle connecting as one to fulfill the bigger picture. “You are mine.” Thumbs brush over the curve of your cheekbones, tracing at the slope of your nose and memorizing the shine of your lips. “My woman,” Tenderness leaks from every syllable, sincerity bleeding from every pore until you’re unable to fight back the rushing currents of your tears. “My love, my mate and while I can never promise to be a perfect male, I can vow that I am thoroughly vested in all things categorized as your best interest.”

“If I’d have known dancing with another male was all it took for such a confession, I’d have done so long ago.”A breathless laugh emits, one that softens the stern line of his brow and eases the fear his father engraved in his soul.

Noses brush, lashes kissing until your lips meet his own and all of your doubt is washed away. “I love you.”

“All I’ll ever love is you.”

[robertsfloyd]

Present

oscar piastri hasn't presented yet. everybody around him has, you have, but he hasn't. there he is, stuck feeling all too human. until your heat begins, that is

part one

warnings: 18+, abo dynamics

oscar bit back a growl. "fuck," he hissed, his eyes falling shut. you just smelt so damn good. his cock tented his jeans. fuck, this wasn't good. not here, not at the track.

but he couldn't stop herself as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close. he breathed in your scent, almost getting drunk off of it.

it was so damn dizzying. sweet, honey, you. your familiar scent, but it was so much more than that.

whimpering, you pressed your nose against his neck. you could open your mouth, press a bite to where his claiming mark should be. it would have been so easy, just sink your teeth down and he's yours.

yours.

yours.

YOURS.

"mine," you managed through your whimper.

a growl tore from oscar's throat as he tightened his grip on you. his control was slipping as his teeth moved over the spot where your shoulder met your neck.

god, his first rut and he was ready to claim someone. not just someone. you. the girl he used to keep protected from asshole alphas that got too close. the girl he used his lack of designation to take care of when you were in pre-heat, getting you food and snacks to keep you going as you went through it.

here he was, ready to claim you. he didn't even have you consent and he was ready to sink his teeth in, to claim you, to make you his.

his teeth touched your neck and you sucked in a breath, almost like you were ready for it. like you wanted it.

no.

his mind wasn't all the way gone, not yet. he pressed his forehead against your shoulder and sucked in a breath. bad idea; he just breathed you in.

"sweetheart," he whispered as he dropped your hands to your waist. his touch more gentler than it had been a moment ago. the whimper you released wasn't one of need. well, not of sexual need, really. no, you needed him, but you needed him to hold you, to take care of you. "i need to get you out of here."

he stood up and your brain turned to mush. towering over you as you sat down, broad shoulders blocking out the light behind him. "alpha," you couldn't stop yourself from crying out, reaching for him. your fingers brushed his waist but oscar stepped away.

he didn't want you. this alpha didn't want you. your omega cried as you pulled your knees up to your chest.

an omega, distressed and upset. oscar's alpha scratched at the mental bars of his cage, desperate to get to the upset and distressed omega.

he was on you within moments, pushing you back against the sofa. he climbed over you, caging you in with his arms. his lips were on you, insistent and desperate. he was doing everything he could to sooth your omega, to stop her from crying out.

you couldn't help it as you wrapped your legs around him, keeping him trapped. "omega," oscar growled out against your lips. and then he accidentally grinded his hips against you. fuck, big mistake.

his drivers room filled with a heady smell. overwhelming to everybody that walked past, but neither of you knew. the smell of alpha and omega, desperate to be locked together. everybody that walked past the drivers room sped up their steps to get away from it.

everybody but mark.

attending this race weekend had been a last minute decision for oscar's manager. but, as soon as he took in the smell outside of oscars drivers room, he knew it was the right decision.

as soon as he threw open the door, oscar released a growl. he dropped his body onto you, keeping you protected from whoever came into the room. in his pre-rut haze, he couldn't see who it was.

not until mark scruffed him.

oscars body went limp on top of you. you whimpered as you held him, eyes wide as you kept him on top of you.

"hey," mark said gently as he grabbed oscar from on top of you. it wasn't easy to get his limp body over his shoulder, but mark still did it. he didn't let the strain show on his face as he held oscar. "i'm gonna get you somewhere safe."

when he took oscar, you followed. the cramping in your stomach returned with your alpha so far away from you. just a few steps ahead as mark took the two of you to a car. he had to be quick, had to get you both to somewhere safe. what happened then was none of his business.

in the back of the car, oscar began coming to. he opened his eyes, staring at you. slowly, he blinked.

his omega.

he breathed in, desperate for you. but it wasn't just you. there was something else, too. mark. but he didn't realise it was mark. all he knew was that another alpha was near. another alpha was near his omega.

his growled as he pulled you closer. "alpha," you whimpered when he held you again.

mark sped up.

getting you both up to oscar's hotel room wasn't easy. oscar had an alpha growl for the first time in his life, but he didn't know how to use it. didn't realise how powerful it was to the omegas and betas in the hotel lobby.

as powerful as oscars growl was, marks was more powerful. his growl controlled oscar, led him into the elevator. he couldn't get in with you, couldn't risk being in such an enclosed space with an omega in heat and an alpha in rut.

neither of you remembered getting to oscars hotel room. but you were on the bed and he was on top of you, lips kissing down your neck. "omega," he growled between each kiss. "omega." he pulled away slightly, but you were still trapped beneath him. "my omega."

the heat was still clouding your mind when you held his neck, fingers resting where his mating claim should be. where your bite mark should be. "my alpha," you said through an omega growl. "my alpha."

a/n: part 3?

[infiniteglitterfall]

Incorrect.

Happy 50th anniversary to the first article that came up when I googled "'transsexual lesbian' 1974."

(I picked a year at random, and searched for transsexual instead of trans because nobody was using trans as shorthand back then.)

Gay Community News.

February 22, 1975

"The Lesbian/Transsexual Misunderstanding."

By Margo. (Illustrated by a large grayscale photo of a long-haired lesbian doing a sort of show-offy squat pose in a pleated floor-length maxi skirt. actually she might be sitting on a stool we can't see, idk my image processing skills are crap. The photo is captioned, "This is Margo!" I'm going to bold things here and there for emphasis and easier reading; the original just bolded the beginnings of some paragraphs for easier reading.)

Being both a radical Lesbian and a male-to-female transsexual, I find myself at a vortex of conflict between the Lesbian and transsexual communities. In my more pessimistic moments, I sometimes feel as if the whole Lesbian community is down on me for being transsexual, and vice versa; in my more optimistic moments, I feel like writing articles like this one.

Although a few people have made Lesbian/transsexual controversies an arena for sheer hatred and bigotry, my hope is that honest misunderstandings between the overlapping Lesbian and transsexual communities are at the root of most problems.

To begin with, I myself as a Lesbian feminist have observed a great deal of sexism and heterosexual chauvinism among male-to-female transsexuals which must be upsetting to any Lesbian or even any straight feminist.

For example, Jan Morris (on the Dick Cavett Show) spoke about the "tragic" case of a male-to-female transsexual who desired Lesbian relationships after surgery: Cavett commented that the idea of a transsexual choosing Lesbianism was just too confusing to discuss further. As a Lesbian who considers love between women to be simple and very natural, I was depressed and angry.

Yet often transsexuals on television and other media make Ms. Morris seem feminist. They extol home and family as the essence of femaleness, reject gayness as immoral or unnatural, and define themselves in relationship men. When I hear such interviews, I find myself virtually crawling up a wall; it does not surprise me that other Lesbian women react in the same way.

At the same time, I have experienced a great deal of pain from the conduct of some Lesbians toward me as a transsexual. The dilemmas I face are almost identical to those faced by Lesbians in the feminist movement a few years ago. If I proclaim my transsexualism, I will be perceived as separating myself from my natively female Lesbian sisters; if I say nothing unless and until I am asked, I will be judged as hiding some vile secret.

Last year I became involved with a group of Lesbian anarchists; I was immediately accepted as myself, a very freaky Lesbian. Then, at the beginning of the next meeting, everyone froze toward me; I had become a "problem" to them, as Lesbians were a problem for straight feminists not so long ago. "Was it true?", they asked in so many words, as if this were the Fifties and I was rumored to be a former Communist. In the end I won at least temporary acceptance; but I did so by apologizing for rather than celebrating my struggle of 22 years to become the woman I felt was me.

On another occasion I was at a feminist bar, where I met a woman who did not know me but who had put down Lesbian transsexuals in general. We got along well; she related to me simply as a Lesbian woman (which I am), and I discovered that she also was a sensitive human being. Yet I was haunted by the feeling that if she knew my past she would probably have rejected me, even at the same time as felt that my past should be irrelevant.

It is like being Gay in a job situation where the boss does not know. You are not hiding it, you are just being your natural self; but you wonder how the boss would react if she/he knew. There is a strange closety tension about it all. Can I feel comfortable among other Lesbians who accept me as the real person I am, but would reject me if they knew how I got there?

At this point in time there are many transsexuals who would throw Lesbians to the patriarchal wolves as long as they could live in their desired submissive "feminine" roles; there are some Lesbians who would ignore or even trample over transsexuals if this served their neat and rigid "revolutionary" plans. I would like to explore why it is that transsexuals ignore or even ridicule Lesbians and vice versa, but first we must deal with some aspects of human sexuality which are often confused.

In discussions of both gayness and transsexualism, there are three concepts which often get tangled or confused. First, there is one's overall feeling of being female or male, which I will refer to as gender identity. Secondly, there is one's preference in forming intense love relationships for one or both sexes (or even for a compatible human being regardless of sex), which I will call sexual preference, although I might prefer the term "amatory" preference in order to stress the element of love whether or not it is genitally expressed (more on this later). Finally, there is one's conformity or defiance (or simple ignoring) of sex roles, the arbitrary sexist definitions of what is supposed to be "feminine" or "masculine."

To begin with, many confuse gender identity with sex roles; and such confusion makes it impossible to understand transsexualisin. Perhaps I can make the distinction clear by considering a situation which many natively female Lesbians experience.

A radical feminist may challenge all sex roles: she may joyously celebrate her "masculine" strengths: she may repudiate all patriarchal definitions of what it means to be a woman; yet she still feels that she is female, and that all women are her sisters. Let us refer to this total affirmative feeling as femaleness.

In contrast, the patriarchal system speaks of femininity; this means being submissive, being a sex object, and above all being attractive to men rather than to oneself or one's sisters. Thus radical feminism means celebrating femaleness (sisterhood, women's culture, etc.) in our own terms while rejecting all sex role barriers (e.g. accepting both sensitivity and strength while rejecting both submission and domination).

I have found that living as a woman full-time for the past 16 months, celebrating my femaleness, has made me much stronger and more "masculine" in many ways. Musically, I find myself belting out some very gutsy Blues which border on screaming; I find this one of the heaviest expressions of my femaleness and Lesbianism. Recently a gay male at a coffeehouse called me a diesel dyke; I thanked him for letting me know that I have character!

In other words, as radical feminists we feel a deep sense of being women and sisters, but this feeling is beyond any definition or stereotype. This is true of us whether we are natively female or transsexual. We all face the same paradoxes and dilemmas. Once this is understood, a lot of Lesbian/transsexual tension may suddenly vanish.

Sometimes feminists have asked me why, if I consider sex roles both unjust and ridiculous, do I not just live as a man and express both my "feminine" and my "masculine" qualities in that way? In doing this they are assuming that somehow I have chosen to be a woman so that I can be "feminine."

In fact, I have chosen to live as a woman simply because that is what I am, and because only by affirming my femaleness and sisterhood with all women can I be myself, strong and filled with energy as well as sensitive. How would these feminists feel about living as men? Obviously they would consider it a masquerade, and would demand their right to celebrate their femaleness. So do I.

Moving to another confusion which many Gay people have battled against, gender identity must not be confused with sexual preference. Lesbians (as opposed to female-to-male transsexuals) are not biological females who have a male gender identity: they are simply women who love other women. Gay men (as opposed to male-to-female transsexuals) are not biological males who have female gender identities, but are men who love men.

People who are trapped in the het trip often find it contradictory for me to be transsexual and Lesbian, because they assume that to be a woman is to love men and vice versa. Thus my parents alternately would suggest that the main reason I wanted the change was to relate in straight ways to men; or, they would argue that if I were going to relate to women, why do I need to be a woman myself. My parents are two of the best meaning straights I have met, but I guess that they are still a bit confused.

However, there is no reason that my situation need be confusing to Gay people. Regardless of my native genitals, I feel myself to be a woman who loves women, or simply a Lesbian. As I wrote above, I consider love between women to be a natural thing, whether the women are native or transsexual. The problem is that sometimes even Gay people apply het logic to transsexuals: and I would say that a great majority of male-to-female transsexuals apply het logic to themselves and everyone else. For example, I read an interview in which a transsexual defined Lesbians as "women who want to be men. If I had been at that interview. I would have had some interesting comments to make!

Finally, of course, sexual preference is different from any stereotyped adherence to sex roles. We all know that gay and straight people cannot be separated in general on the basis of sex role behavior: even more importantly, we are struggling to get totally away from the butch/femme trip. For me, being a Lesbian woman means being both strong and sensitive, for love requires both qualities.

Unfortunately, my sister Lesbians sometimes hold anti-transsexual attitudes. By anti-transsexual attitudes, I mean prejudices which would exclude from the Lesbian movement those transsexuals who are living full-time as women, and would exclude them for any reason which would not equally exclude their native sisters. Opposition to sexism in any people, including both transsexuals and Lesbians, is of course necessary! Anti-transsexualism does not refer to this kind of opposition. Rather it refers to prejudice and exclusion directed against transsexuals as a category.

Before analyzing the reasons for anti-transsexualism among Lesbians, I feel it necessary to challenge one argument against even raising this issue: unfortunately, it is an argument which has gained currency in the Gay/feminist press in Boston.

According to this argument, the discussion of transsexualism causes disagreement in the Lesbian movement; and, after all, how many Lesbian transsexuals are there? The conclusion is that the suffering of a few strange people can and should be put safely aside until "after the revolution.

Further, it is sometimes even argued that transsexuals must take the responsibility for this dissension among their native Lesbian sisters; to use the favorite macho-radical phrase, transsexuals "are objectively counter-revolutionary" because they are distracting their native sisters from much more important things. I have been given this argument not only in print but in person.

In the year 1862, a number of Blacks met with President Lincoln to demand emancipation of the slaves. Lincoln replied that the important thing was preserving the Union, with or without slavery. Further, he argued that the slaves and Black people generally, were responsible for the Civil War, since without them there would be nothing for white people to fight about!

In the early 1960's, during a peace march in the American South, it was argued that segregation should not be raised as an issue, since that would alienate the white population of the region from joining in the struggle against nuclear war. After the world was saved, some people argued, then Jim Crow could be tackled.

Later in that decade, when women first demanded their rights in the male-dominated Left movements, they were put down: after all, women did not constitute a class or oppressed group, according to the going macho ideological definitions.

Little things like feminism could be dealt with after the working class (or Third World or whatever) was liberated. Further, women who demanded their own freedom were accused of being counter-revolutionary, since they were causing division and conflict among their male comrades.

At about the same time, Gay people were also accused of being "bourgeois decadents;" furthermore, they were obviously capitalist agents who would even stoop so low as to challenge the revolutionary government of Cuba for a few minor imprisonments of homosexual perverts.

Last but not least, around 1969 and 1970 straight feminists attacked Lesbians for "dividing the movement" and for raising issues "irrelevant to the majority of women, irrelevant to the main focus of our movement." Betty Friedan went so far as to call Lesbians "the Lavender Menace," and to suggest that Lesbians were CIA agents sent to disrupt the respectable feminist movement.

Thus it is not surprising that transsexuals should be treated in the same way that Blacks, women, gay people, and Lesbians specifically have been treated, and all in the name of "revolution." We also note that whites, men, and straights find it easier to postpone other people's liberation in the name of radicalism than to confront their own prejudices now. All Lesbians (transsexual and native) should reject this logic of slavery and hypocrisy, and all transsexuals who respect themselves should challenge it aggressively and without hesitation or apology.

At the Congress to Unite Women in 1970, the straight feminists in charge blocked a workshop on Lesbianism. About 20 Lesbians staged a nonviolent takeover of the Congress, in which they humorously and effectively presented the justice of their cause. They demanded that women be united by supporting Lesbian liberation rather than by ignoring or denouncing it. The time has come to unite women regardless of native genitals, and to unite them by all nonviolent means necessary.

Now we come to the specific reasons for anti-transsexualism in the Lesbian community. Of course, one reason is the very genuine mood of anti-Lesbianism among many transsexuals. It is important that we as Lesbians, avoid the classic prejudicial practice of judging all the members of a group by the actions of some.

However, coming to the other reasons. we find that misinformation and outdated sexist attitudes are crucial. The causes are basically: 1. Misinformation about transsexualism; 2. Overly narrow concepts of Lesbianism; 3. Misguided notions of polarization in the Lesbian/feminist struggle; and 4. Clinging to patriarchal definitions of sex and gender.

(This is not the end. Look for more of Margo in future issues.)

And here's a close-up of the sidebar, transcribed in alt text:

[dirthenera]

Ok I need to get this out with the news about devs being fired dropping.

There will be spoilers for Veilguard here so proceed with caution.

EA fucked the game, and the more I think about it, the more angry I am with them.

It all starts with one choice- the devs wanted the veil to come down in that opening, and EA told them no. Told them they couldn’t bring the veil down at all.

It was never going to be a player choice- it couldn’t, it would create two entirely different worlds leading forward, so it would have to be something outside player control, and they were told no.

The veil coming down was outside forces and the veil staying up was Rook’s choice. And had to be Rook’s choice.

Because of that, our Rook could never see the veil coming down as a worthwhile option. Which means we could never engage with it as a reality. We could never ask what that would look like, or question the morality of the veil, either practically, or as a thought experiment. No companions will bring up what it might be like in any positive way or even just as an “I wonder.”

We only get to see veil =bad so Rook must be right.

They cut Solas’ elven followers because having even *one* npc on his side for noble reasons would make us question too much, and we were not allowed to have an opinion other than veil =good, because the devs were hamstringed by it.

No companions ever discuss what it could be like without the veil, and they *should*. Can you imagine Emmrich and Bellara debating it? Emmrich absolutely fascinated by how it would impact spirits and they wouldn’t need to possess anyone or anything, Bellara leery after seeing so much wild magic in Arlathan but wondering if uninterrupted etheric flows would create more stable magic over time. Taash surprising the party by being way more cool with it than expected due to their Rivaini upbringing, and more open to that than necromancy.

Lucanis and Harding being firmly against it to the point it causes some friction in the team, Davrin just staying out of it because he doesn’t get it and doesn’t want to. Harding has a moment of questioning at a weak point after reminiscing about Cole, and wonders how many like him there could be if the veil did come down.

Neve feeling extremely mixed about it, between it possibly allowing a reshuffle of power in Tevinter, removing the ability for mages to make deals with demons, but also upset at the potential raw chaos.

But we never even get to look at that. Because there was no option there. Even if each character landed on veil=good, we never even got to have the discussion, because we couldn’t do anything with it.

And we can see how that spirals out and created a much less morally complex game than we’ve previously gotten. Rook is the good guy because they said so, Solas is the bad guy who, despite being beyond willing to talk to anyone who will listen to him, refuses to expand on what the veil coming down looks like. Because he can’t. Because then we might agree with him.

We’re only allowed Varric’s point of view, which makes sense for the beginning, but there was never an option to expand it. There is one single dialogue option where we can tell Solas “whoops didn’t know that.” But that’s the beginning and end of that train of thought.

They even set us up as this FANTASTIC foil to Solas, having meddled in a ritual we didn’t understand and unleashing multiple blights and elven gods, essentially destroying the south, blighting most of the north, partially destroying a city, and a countless death toll. But taking actual responsibility with that isn’t allowed- because we may sympathize too much with Solas. Because we clearly did the right thing because the veil is still up. It’s not even addressed in the regret prison! Solas tells you thousands would still have died if he took down the veil, but thousands did die as a direct result of Rook meddling. And nowhere can you acknowledge that.

[plethorawrites]

TW: Mentions of dub con/non consensual intimacy or coercion. (From his past lovers, not reader) (A/N this is my favorite thing I've ever writtenreader

TW: NSFW content.

2.5k word count

---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---_

Okay, this could be a bit of a hot take, but I am a firm believer in soft Jason Todd during sex.

Especially at the beginning of a relationship. He died young and his only sexual experiences were with Talia, who groomed him, Essence, who he believed betrayed him for the longest time and maybe Artemis, (Idk if that's canon? Can someone confirm or deny?) who was probably pretty rough given her arrogant, abrasive, and violent personality.

So, when he dates you, he's more than just hesitant. He's pretty much terrified. But he's used to hiding his feelings because they make him feel vulnerable and weak, which he hates. When you start tearing down his walls, he starts to panic. He likes spending time with you, thinking about you, kissing you. Especially that last part.

But it never goes very far because he always pulls away when things get more heated. Like, you in his lap, him nearly fully hard before quickly picking you up by your hips and moving you to the other side of the couch before standing up, clearing his throat and leaving.

It takes over two months before he feels comfortable enough to even tell you the reason he doesn't want to be intimate and the only reason he did is because you started to feel like he wasn't attracted to you or you had something wrong.

He rushed to reassure you that wasn't the case and finally told you the —partial— truth. He had scars he didn't want you seeing, he had bad prior experiences, he felt like he was being used almost every time he slept with someone and couldn't stand that feeling because it made him physically ill.

It took several weeks after that to slowly adapt to that realization and discuss how to make that feeling go away. Taking things slow, making it last, keeping it gentle, seemed to be the best way. And it was somehow perfect and tortuous all at once. He let you ride his thigh, at first. That was the first time he'd ever allowed any form of intimacy between you too. Partially because you looked desperate and he felt bad and partially because he genuinely wanted to see what you looked like while doing that.

Not to mention, he was still too afraid to be the one doing anything. So, it was best if he just helped.

His grip was firm, his eyes glued to you. You whispered more praise in those few minutes than he had heard from anyone in months all together, maybe even the year. He felt good. He was helping you. You appreciated it. You appreciated him. He was attractive. You were thanking him for giving this to you. Practically begging for his help.

And it made his heart clench, not to mention his teeth. There were other forms of physical intimacy after that, still only to you, because he didn't want to risk showing his scars or get that nausea in his stomach again during sex. You'd allow him pretty much anything and everything, if it meant he was more comfortable with you and your body. Sliding his hand under your shirt while you slept over (quite literally just falling asleep after eating dinner together) brushing his knuckles against your breasts, hesitant to touch them, but finding comfort in it all at once.

You assured him three different times—before he did it, when his hand was just barely under your shirt, and when his fingers first tugged at your nipples. It's when he's finally a bit more comfortable, pressing his lips to your shoulder blade that you hum and roll over. Your hair finds his hair, stroking it and he presses his lips to your neck, almost on instinct. You let him kiss lower and lower, gently guiding his head towards your breasts, all while repeating more and more praise, reminding him he's under no obligation to do anything, ever, if he doesn't feel comfortable.

But he does. With you, he does.

It leads to him kissing and sucking at your chest until he loses track of time and you're painfully wet. That was plenty, you promised. He doesn't need to do anymore than that. But he does, because he doesn't want to take his hands off your soft skin. So you gently drag his hand down, keeping the other firmly on his shoulder while you stare into his eyes, as his fingers slide through your slick. A sharp inhale makes him hold his breath. The other women he'd been with only ever wanted the most physical part of sex, never to do something like this. You were so soft and warm, assuring him he was doing fine while guiding his hand until you eventually couldn't keep looking at him and had to close your eyes. He liked that. A lot.

The way your hand moved, letting him do what he wanted while you gripped the sheets. He listened so well, trying to make you happy or just keep making those sounds—his name falling from your lips. If you wanted his fingers to move faster, they would. If you said deeper, they were. If you said to curl them, they'd curl. You were so... captivating, he had found. Usually, he was too in his head, so focused on how long until it was over that he never even considered being able to enjoy it.

But he wasn't rushing with you. He didn't want you to stop saying his name. When you finally came down from the high he'd brought you, your first words were a question, asking if he was alright. When he nodded, you started telling him how perfect he was, how good that felt. He liked that almost as much as your moans.

Yet, you felt guilty, never taking care of him. He never asked. In fact he repeatedly denied the offer until you chose to stop asking rather than upset him.

Until one day, when you were on the couch, leaning against him as he read, your hand perched on his thigh. He didn't know if it was the fact that you were wearing such a low cut tank top or how you'd been absent mindedly rubbing circles around his sweatpants while reading over his shoulder, but he was worked up. It took twice as long to finish a page with your motion making his mind go to places it shouldn't.

He was worried, about you rejecting his desires, or something like that. Something mocking or doing something that was uncomfortable. People had done that before, eliciting physical reactions he didn't want to feel. But he wanted to try, to feel you on him the way he'd felt you.

His hands grabbed yours and when you looked up in confusion, he just gently and silently slid your hand a bit further on his leg, towards his erection. He'd absolutely taken care of himself, and often, because it was a quick stress relief that left him tired before bed. But lately, the more he did it, the more his mind wandered to you and that, for some reason, made him finish a lot harder than usual.

Your hand brushed against it and you asked if he was sure before pressing a kiss to the side of his shoulder and sinking down to the carpet below, on your knees in between his legs. Running your hands up and down his thighs in a soothing sort of gesture both calmed him and felt like torture all at once. But it only lasted a little bit, while you promised him he was in control, because that's what he needed to hear.

That he could say no at any time if he was even the slightest bit uncomfortable. When you slid his boxers down, his heart jumped in panic. Of course you noticed the scars on his thighs instantly. But ignored them, because he still hardly ever showed them aside for occasionally wearing short sleeves. You were silent and he was scared but all you'd said at last, was that he was pretty.

"Pretty."

That word had never been used to describe him. Not before his death and certainly not after. Even the feeling of your gentle kiss on his skin and your thumb swiping over the top had him gripping the pillows, still stressed. Your hand took his, squeezing it when your lips finally enveloped him, his length disappearing into your mouth. His breaths were shaky, his hold on your hand getting painfully tight.

He felt like he was in pure bliss, his mouth falling open to pant as his head fell back against the couch practically begging you to keep going. The feeling of your hums had done him in. And his moans, loud and tough, getting whiny towards the end as the euphoria wore off assured you he was fine. He slid his boxers and sweats up quickly, his cheeks red, from the act not embarrassment (he'd say and lie) but you just laid your head on his knee, staring at him, asking how he was.

Good was an understatement. Great, too. Incredible. Amazing. None of those compliments came out. He couldn't speak, just looked back up at the ceiling as his breathing came back under control.

All you'd done in response was tell him he didn't have to say anything if he didn't want to, climbing back into the couch and wrapping your arms around his midsection, resting your head against him. You stayed like that—silent. The only question you dared to ask was if he'd want that again and his response was a kiss.

He realized after that, how truly deeply he loved you.

A feeling he was so unused to, he couldn't pinpoint it for the longest time. You felt safe. Maybe that's what made him want to finally seal the deal with you. Or maybe it was the way his body physically ached in a way that no amount of help from his own hand or your mouth could fix.

Something about it was missing.

He wanted the lights off. You had accepted that, but told him you'd really rather see him. He caved almost instantly, because as afraid he was of you seeing him, he wanted to see you too bad to care enough. You were undressed first, naturally. He'd seen that before, in bed while touching you, or just as you changed it got in the shower. He wasn't any less smitten, still obsessed with every inch of exposed skin. It took a few deep breaths and reassuring words before he was willing to unbutton his shirt.

In fact, he couldn't. He'd asked you to do it.

That felt oddly more intimate to him. Your fingers moved slowly, undoing them one by one, a bit more of his chest exposed with each button undone. You had seen a lot of his scars, after he got more comfortable wearing shorts or shirts that showed his arms. He still never revealed his chest and when you did, he looked away, his teeth sinking into the inside of his cheek to keep from tears brimming in his eyes as he heard the small gasp leave your lips.

He almost jumped when you touched one, your fingertips feeling light as a feather. Tears kept pricking but he refused to let them fall. He was being vulnerable but he couldn't allow himself to be that weak. Your other hand found his cheek, pulling his face to look at your face, brushing your thumb over his bottom lip as you pursed your own, tightly to keep from any strangled sounds escaping.

Your voice was equally as emotional when you eventually spoke, telling him in a shaky voice that he was still pretty. Those words or perhaps how your voice cracked when you said them, broke him. A tear slipped down his cheek and you were quick to brush it away with your thumb and kissed his cheek softly, confessing that you loved him.

He couldn't stand it anymore.

He wrapped his arms tightly around you, burying his face in your neck letting himself breathe for what felt like the first time all over again. A real breath. One without any heaviness attached to it because you'd stolen all the stones from his walls one by one. You repeated it, so he knew it wasn't a mistake or accident and he started peppering short kisses to your neck, all the way to your lips, which he kissed deeply, his bare chest pressed entirely around your own.

Your arms were around his neck, in his hair, pulling him closer and his hands started to wander, desperately craving to have you without any barriers anymore. He stared at you, or at least tried to, when he felt your velvety walls surround him, clenching tightly when his hips were finally flushed with yours. His jaw was locked tightly until you started running your hand up and down his spine, telling him he could take a moment, if he needed it.

He did.

Not because he was nervous, since for once, he wasn't, but because he wanted to stare at you in this state and revel in your feeling for a moment more. He did, until it became painful for both of you and every thrust he made was slow and deep, staring into each other's eyes, taking full breaths in at the same time for several moments until his pace was quick, along with your breathing.

Your praise never stopped, even when it wasn't fully coherent and ended in a moan or whine. His own praise for you wasn't lacking either, telling you how perfect you felt, how badly he wanted you, how much he appreciated you waiting on him because he really was enjoying it, probably more than he'd enjoyed anything in his entire life.

When you're both a mess, panting and quiet from the feelings that washed over you both, his body goes limp, laying on top of you. Your hands rub his shoulders reassuringly, although slowly and his hands hold either side of your head, fingers threaded into your hair as he pressed his forehead against yours, feeling your breath on him. It was silent, until he eventually lifted his head to admire you, your stray hairs sticking to your face, your puffy lips, your blown pupils.

He said it back, at that moment.

He loved you too and couldn't stand letting you think anything else for a single moment more.

You didn't respond, but your lips curled into a grin and a heavy sigh left your chest, your hands moving from his shoulders to cup his face and lean up to kiss him.

He rolled you over, causing a slight squeal from you, letting you lay on him so he wasn't crushing you any longer. You rested your head against his chest, silently tracing his scars as he messed with your hair, the moonlight streaming in through the window.

His voice eventually broke the comfortable silence when he whispered to you, asking you to "Say it again."

You didn't hesitate to tell him you'd "Say it as many times as he wanted to hear it."

With his lips twitching, the slight wit he always possessed came back, questioning what you'd do if he "Wanted to hear it forever."

Like before, your response was immediate when you replied, telling him you'd "Say it forever, then."

[tpwk-formula1]

Hello, can I please request Charles jealous smut?

AN: Definitely went a bit of a different route than normal but I enjoyed writing this! Started it right before I went to the hospital and was able to finish it tonight! I hope you guys enjoy. I know its a bit shorter but I'm running on melatonin and oxi so bare with me haha

TW: multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, low-key asshole Charles (very beginning)

WC: 1.2K

Y/N POV

"Charles, what's wrong?" I ask for the third time since getting back into the car after leaving the end of year Ferrari dinner.

"God damn it, Y/N! Nothing I said nothing was fucking wrong," Charles snaps at me making me gasp slightly at the out burst.

"Charles Leclerc, do not ever speak to me like that again," I shout at him when we finally get back to the apartment.

I had chosen to keep quiet the rest of the way home, hoping it would help cool the both of us down but when we walked through the door and Charles instantly beelined for our bedroom mumbling to himself I finally snap.

"Then don't ever talk to Carlos Sainz again," Charles snap back while turning around to show he had fire in his eyes.

It finally had clicked for me. Charles was jealous which isn't something that happens often but when it does he tends to turn into the green monster.

"Charles, are you fucking kidding me! Carlos is leaving Ferrari, and I was telling him about how I've enjoyed his time with Ferrari," I shout back at him making Charles roll his eyes before stomping his way into the bedroom and slamming the door. The whole dramatics

A part of me just laughs softly at his childish antics but the other part of me is still raging with anger at the way he had spoken to me.

I make my way into the kitchen grabbing myself something to drink before grabbing the bottle of tequila and taking a shot of the bitter liquor.

When I feel myself cool down just enough I march into out bedroom to find Charles already under the covers ready for bed but instead of him laying in the middle of the bed like normal he's on the very edge as far away from my side as possible.

"I hope Leo pushes you off the bed," I scoff when Charles doesn't even acknowledge me.

"Maybe if you slept in Carlos's bed like you want I would have more room to cuddle with Leo," Charles replies back in a sheepish mumble showing me that he's getting close to crumbling and apologizing.

"It's actually why I came in here. Need to pack an overnight bag," I comment with a smirk on my face but before I can even make it into the closet Charles is up from his spot on the bed and storming towards me before pushing me against the wall.

"You think this is funny?" Charles seethes making me shrug my shoulders.

"I mean ya kind of Charles, we both know damn well I have never and will never be into Carlos, so ya you being jealous and threatened by him is hilarious," I reply back making Charles's eyes narrow slightly at me before I see his should relax slightly.

"I- 'm sorry," Charles mumbles clearly letting the embarrassment sink in.

"I don't know why it upset me so much tonight. I know it's not an excuse but I am sorry for getting jealous and even more sorry for how I spoke to you," Charles admits softly while pulling my face into his hand.

"I don't even care when you get jealous, if anything I find it hot as fuck, but I do care about the way you speak to me," I tell him softly feeling my anger slowly start to ease.

"I know and it was wrong, I really am sorry," Charles says again making me smile softly and nod my head.

"You're forgiven, but I demand 3 orgasms," I say with a smile and a nod.

"Deal," Charles says with a laugh before pulling me in and placing a soft kiss on my lips and pulling me by my waist towards our bed.

When Charles drops me down on the bed he quickly climbs up to join me pulling off his shirt at the same time.

When Charles joins me on the bed he wraps my legs around his hips before he leans down and pulls me in for a kiss while grinding his hard cock down into my dripping core.

"Charles please, I need you," I whine when I can feel my pleasure soaking through my flimsy panties.

Charles finally pulls back and quickly pulls my panties off before wasting no time attaching his mouth to my sensitive clit. He knew it wouldn't take long to throw me over the edge but when I feel him slipping his fingers into my soaked pussy I can't help the loud cry that falls from my lips.

"Fuck! Charlie," I cry when I feel his fingers grazing my G-spot while his lips are still sucking on my clit.

"Cum for me," Charles mumbles into my pussy making me cry out and cum all over his finger.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," I moan in a chant as Charles continues to fuck me through my first orgasm.

"Too much," I cry when I realize Charles isn't letting me come down from my high but rather throwing me right into another orgasm.

"You want three no?" Charles asks with a smirk on his face before speeding his fingers up even more and attaching his mouth back to my overly sensitive clit.

"Charles," I cry out when I feel his start speeding all his actions up clearly with the intentions to bring me to another orgasm.

"Charlie," I cry out when I feel myself fall over the edge again not expecting the orgasm to hit me so fast.

"Fuck, good girl," Charles groans while fingering me harder and letting me squirt all over the bed and his face.

As soon as I started to come down from my high Charles is quickly pulling his boxer off before climbing back into bed and quickly rubbing the tip of his hard leaking cock through my soaked folds before finding my dripping hole and quickly pushing his whole cock deep into my pussy making me whimper the the stretch of his cock.

"Fuck!" Charles and I both groan put at the exact same time while he starts slowly thrusting his hips in and out of my soaked pussy.

It doesn't take long for me to fully adjust to Charles's size and once I do he quickly speeds up his trusts while making sure to hit all the good spots deep within my pussy.

"Fuck Charlie," I cry out when I feel myself crawling closer and closer to another orgasm.

"Fuck, feel so good," Charles cries out as his hips start to shutter a bit letting me know he was getting close to cumming as well.

"Fuck, I'm cumming," I cry out when I feel Charles bring his fingers down to my clit and teasing me until I fall over the edge pulling him with me.

"Fuck," Charles grunts out when I feel his hip shutter one final time before filling my pussy up with his hot cum.

As we are both trying to catch our breath I wrap my arms around his neck pulling him down to rest his body on top of mine.

"Fuck, that was good," I breath out making Charles laugh softly.

"I'm sorry for the way I spoke to you in the car and when we got home," Charles says while slowly slipping his softening cock out of me and laying on his back and pulling me into his chest.

"You're forgiven, I guess," I tease making Charles roll his eyes softly but still pull me in tighter to his chest.

"I love you and thinking about losing you makes me a bit insane," Charles admits making me smile softly. I definitely couldn't imagine my life without him either.

"I love you too," I reply back softly while curling into his side a bit closer.

[somerandompun]

I was going to put this in the tags but realized I have a lot to say on this.

Anywho, to begin, I am a modern-day Homestuck fan and My Little Pony FIM fan (yes, yes, I hear you, to be cringe is to be free or whatever) but my heaviest special interests rn are Bottoms, Ginger Snaps, and Wednesday, all of which either barely have fandoms due to low popularity at release (Ginger Snaps) or due to the fandom dying off (Wednesday, Bottoms).

I fuel my own fandom, essentially, writing pages upon pages of self-serving fanfic, making headcanons, etc, but I miss the type of fandoms I used to be in. Carmilla was popular when I was in middle school (lol, I'm 22 shush), and that was an insane time to be in that fandom space as it was so new, so full of life. There are still people who write for Carmilla today, though the fandom was never really "at large" due to the fact Carmilla was not very mainstream (YouTube series L).

Similarly, I do not see much of the Orphan Black or Orange Is the New Black fandoms today, both of which I also was a part of during their primes. Sure, people still write for them, but they similarly lack people who held on.

And then there's Bottoms and Wednesday, two fandoms I thought would hold on for a loooooong time given the content and all (everyone's fav nihilist and lesbian fight club), but they didn't. I still regularly read fics from both fandoms, make moodboards, the likes, but it feels hollow, no new content being generated like it used to.

I have a theory about this, mostly that most people stopped sustaining fandoms with the rise in disdain for fans in 2020, especially those viewed as "cringe," think about all the "cringe" tiktok compilations on YouTube, mostly involving kids just cosplaying as their favs. This rise in online bullying to in-person bullying sorta ostracized anyone who liked something "too much." To be quite honest, I was one of those kids in middle school, odd, strange, and "too much," and, at times, I feel like I cannot discuss my interests or share them due to feeling like I will be shoved aside and ostracized yet again.

Similarly, I think we lack heavy fandom spaces simply because people do not wish to or cannot focus that much energy on media anymore. For fucks sake, Yellow Jackets should be much more popular than it is, much like how OITNB was. Bottoms should have been a phenomenon. We MOST LITERALLY used to pray for days like these, days where shows and movies consisted of so much queer content, esp queer women! Do y'all remember how bad it was for a while? What, we had trauma porn show where everyone gets shit on or dies all the time (OITNB), lesbian killer shows (The 100), shows with toxic lesbian situationships/relationships (OB), web series (Carmilla), and fucking kid's shows (Steven Universe). Now, that's not saying those shows are bad (except for the 100, which I have a grudge against bc my Anya, MY SHAYLLAAAA), but God, I would've killed to have Bottoms or Wednesday around when I was still in school.

Anywho, all of this is just a long-winded way to say: please create content, be the change you wanna see in fandom spaces. Make that Pinterest board, be a fandom blog, post shitty fanfic, argue in the tags, make headcanons, watch and rewatch more things you enjoy, engage with things even if they feel cringy, please, fandom space depends on all of us and our passions! Do not bow to people who view creation and passion as cringe!

TO BE CRINGE IS TO BE FREE

personally I think it’s a shame how fandoms “died” too soon these days. I’m not talking in literal sense and I know there are people who stay passionate about their fandoms long after the hype is gone. I’m talking about the “popularity” and how people in general engage with a piece of media they like and how fast they let the hype die down? I don’t know if I’m making any sense, but what I’m trying to say is a fanfic or a fan art of a show that is recently released will get tons of likes, comments, reblogs which is great. but the engagement for fan made content about that same show usually drops drastically — and I mean drastically — once the show is no longer “recent”. and I’m not even talking about when the show is several years old. because you can see the significant drop of engagement a fanfic or fan art about that show receives once the show is like a month old or two. it’s discouraging how most people tend to lose interest and stop engaging with fanfic / fan art once its source material is no longer “new and shiny”.

especially when writing fanfics and creating fan art take time. writers and artists often receive less engagement / appreciation for their works if they take “too long” to create and the source material is no longer “new and shiny” and so people move on to something else that’s new and shiny. it’s heartbreaking to see.

obviously this is in no way to manipulate or guilt trip people into engaging with anything. because yeah you can do whatever you want. this isn’t to force, manipulate or guilt trip anyone into liking or reblogging a fan work or anything. this is just me hoping people will one day take things slower and enjoy things they’re passionate about longer like how we used to in the past.

[barnesafterglow]

the art of missing someone

summary: bucky barnes was a lot, but he would always be yours

pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader

word count: 3.2k

warnings: brief college then modern au, little bit of angst, don't ask if this is based off personal experience i will cry, smut (MINORS DNI!) [unprotected sex, oral (f receiving)], confessions, idk man i'm just here

a/n: first fic of 2025!! this was a bitch and i still lowkey hate it but it is what it is

main masterlist - i no longer have a taglist but you can follow @theafterglowlibrary for updates!

The thing about Bucky Barnes was, well, he’s kind of an asshole.

In a funny way, really, but an asshole through and through and, for some reason, that did it for you.

It did it for you so much, in fact, that you had been going in circles with him for years now. You met him originally at a party in college; you didn’t know anyone except for your roommate, Natasha, and she introduced you. You immediately gravitated towards him, with his quick wit and sharp opinions, you felt like you could talk to him about anything. He kept close to you the entire night, getting more touchy as the evening dragged on, until the tipping point came.

You were finishing up a game of beer pong where you and Bucky absolutely dominated, and as you sank the last cup, he picked you up, swinging you around before setting you back on your feet. The thing is, he didn’t really let you go. You stood there, in the middle of a crowded party, with his arms around you and it was like everyone else disappeared.

Searching your eyes for permission, he bent his head down and his lips met yours and that was really the beginning of it all. It was unlike any kiss you had ever had, sweet but a little desperate and you craved more.

It became a thing, after that. You would see Bucky at a party, make nice for a few hours, then end up in a closet or empty bedroom making out until someone came to find you.

But more than that, Bucky became your friend. He was who you talked to in your darkest moments, who you sent stupid videos to, everything, and you liked it like that.

That is, until everything got turned on its head.

It happened right after graduation. You had just moved into your own apartment and were waiting for Bucky to come over for movie night. You hadn’t seen each other in a few weeks, the communication very much lacking, but you figured it was just a busy time for both of you and once you got settled, everything would be fine.

That is, until you got a phone call as you closed the microwave door and started the popcorn. Immediately seeing Bucky’s name, you wiped your hands and answered.

“Hey, you almost here?”

There was a moment of silence on the other end, then a sigh.

“I- I don’t know how to say this,” Bucky started, and you found yourself growing nervous. There was nothing you and Bucky couldn’t talk about. Well, almost nothing. “Me and Dot, well, we’ve been talking and…”

His voice trailed off, the line going quiet again. But you were going to make him say it.

“We’re getting back together. She really wants to make it work this time.”

And there it was. Dot was Bucky’s on again-off again for the last several years, stretching back to before you even knew him, and it was a sore spot in your friendship. They had mostly been “off” in the time you’d known him, save for a few memorable occasions where she wormed her way back into his life for a couple weeks just to break his heart all over again. It was safe to say she was not your favorite person, and you certainly weren’t hers.

“Bucky…” you started, but he cut you off.

“No, I know what you’re thinking.” He actually probably had no clue how evil the thoughts you had were, but you weren’t going to enlighten him. “But it’s serious this time, we’ve been talking since graduation and we’re both ready to give this a real shot, without all the bullshit.”

He sounded so sincere, and he was your best friend, so you took a deep breath and sighed, accepting the fact that if you wanted Bucky in your life, this was just something you would have to deal with.

You could hear his relieved laugh on the other end, and you felt your stomach give an odd lurch, like someone had pulled a carpet out from under you.

“I knew you would understand, thank you.”

“Of course, Buck. Now, what about movie night?”

Another beat of silence, then, just like you knew it would happen:

“I can’t, Dot is coming over.”

You wanted to argue, to scream, to make him feel bad about choosing her over you, but hadn’t he already? So instead, you mumbled a quiet agreement and hung up, not wanting to talk to him any longer. Already, it felt like the beginning of the end.

And you weren’t sure you were ready for that.

-

It didn’t even happen slowly, is the worst part. You didn’t see Bucky that night, or any night for the weeks that followed. It wasn’t until you saw him at the coffee shop by your apartment that you were able to talk to him.

You sat down at his table, no longer interested in placid excuses and apologies, and asked him point blank what was going on.

“I’m just trying to keep Dot happy.”

“By staying away from me?” You were frustrated, sure, but under that really you were just hurt. “Listen, you know I don’t like her, but I would never ask you to choose between us. That’s not fair and if she cared about you like she said she does, then she wouldn’t either.”

“It’s not like that!” His voice was raising, just a little, so you knew he was just being defensive. He must have heard it too because he cleared his throat, voicing going back to normal. “I just don’t want to cause any problems.”

You nodded, grabbing your coffee as you stood up, and headed for the door. If he was willing to let your friendship go, then you weren’t going to fight him on it. So you left, face heated with embarrassment and tears threatening to spill over.

As you passed the threshold to the coffee shop back onto the sidewalk, you pulled your headphones on, ignoring the bustle of the city and Bucky still watching you leave through the window.

-

Adjusting to a life without Bucky was weird, you had to admit, but you did it anyway. The first few weeks were the hardest, when he was the first person you wanted to text during any occasion, but eventually that muscle memory faded until you were reaching out to the people who actually valued you in their life. 

Almost a year passed, and you moved on in all the ways you could. You heard Bucky moved back across the river to Brooklyn and that was about all you knew; your friends avoided the mention of even his name if they could help it, even though you knew at the very least Steve and Natasha still talked to him.

You just hoped he was happy, no matter what he was doing.

It was a cold January night when the notification came through. Wanda had recently convinced you to get on a dating app, even though you were perfectly content being single, thank you, but you had to admit the attention didn’t hurt.

You weren’t expecting much when your phone chimed and you unlocked it without even looking at the notification. Which is how you came face to face with Bucky’s Hinge profile, and a message attached to a picture of you that you knew he had taken saying: hey, you look familiar.

Was that really how he was going to make amends, on a dating app?

You supposed it was kind of funny, in that asshole way of his, and you stared at the message for another moment before responding.

oh, i know you?

if you want to

And, well, that was the thing. You did want to. No matter what he did, no matter how much he hurt you, he was still your best friend. Your Bucky.

Instead of answering, you pulled up a contact you hadn’t opened in months and pressed call. It rang one time before a familiar voice flooded the other end.

“Hey, stranger.”

“Hey, Buck.”

It was a healthy conversation, if you were being honest. Bucky apologized, told you he and Dot were done for good this time and, against your better judgment, you accepted it. You talked for hours after that, catching up on life and reminiscing on old memories, until you checked the time.

“Shit, it’s late,” you said as you put the phone back to your ear. “Almost midnight.”

And then, the words you dreaded but wanted desperately.

“Come over.”

“To Brooklyn? Buck I can’t take the subway this late.”

“I’ll pay for your Uber. Just come over.” You could hear the words he wanted to say, the ones on the tip of his tongue that he just wouldn’t force out.

“Well, I did miss you.” You tried to press it, to make him say it, but he only hummed on the other end.

“So is that a yes?”

You looked down at yourself, cozied up in sweatpants and a hoodie that you were almost entirely sure was Bucky’s, and sighed.

“Yes.”

“Perfect, your Uber will be there in 8 minutes.”

You didn’t have time to wonder how he got your new address - probably one of your mutual friends, maybe he had been keeping more tabs on you than you had on him - and shot up from the couch. With no time to change, you headed to the bathroom and brushed your teeth before taming your hair in the best way you could. As you were stuffing some clothes in an overnight bag - just in case, you told yourself - your phone chimed with a text from Bucky that your Uber had arrived. 

In a whirlwind, you rushed to the car where the driver seemed very put off at having to wait a whole 90 seconds for you to walk four flights of stairs, and slid in.

The whole ride there you were nervous. The thing with Bucky was, despite many drunken hookups, you’d never actually had sex. You weren’t really sure why, just that it had never happened and you had been grateful for it in the long run. You weren’t even sure if it would happen tonight, if he still wanted you like that. Even with all your talking and catching up, you hadn’t been brave enough to ask what this meant.

At nearly 1am, your Uber pulled up outside a beautiful Brooklyn brownstone and, there on the front porch, stood Bucky.

He wrapped you in his arms as he stood in front of you, and it all felt so heartbreakingly familiar you gave in immediately, all the tension leaking from your body at the feeling Bucky gave you. 

“Hey,” he said softly into your hair. “Come on in.”

Bucky’s house was so far from his old college apartment it was frightening, yet it couldn’t have felt more like Bucky. More like home. 

You took in your surroundings, shelves of books and vintage furniture and warm tones, it was almost like stepping back into your own place, the aesthetics were so similar. That was the funny feeling in your chest, you were sure.

Eventually, you ended up on Bucky’s couch with some superhero movie on, not really watching it but still grateful for its background noise to fill the room with each lull in the conversation. Not that there were many, one thing that came easy with Bucky had always been talking - although neither of you did much of that when it really mattered; you figured you could put that out of your mind for now. 

Over the course of the movie, you and Bucky shifted closer together until your thighs were pressed flush and you could feel the air from each of his exaggerated hand movements. It wasn’t until a wayward wave nearly grazed your nose that you truly realized how close you had become, and the sight of Bucky’s eyes shifting subtly to your lips has your self restraint at an all time low.

Fuck it, you thought. You had wanted this for so long, but you also knew you could live without Bucky if everything went tits up. It was a sad thought, that, but you couldn’t let this opportunity go. With every bit of courage you had, you let your hand float up to cup Bucky’s cheek, eyes searching for any sort of hesitation. When you found none, you leaned forward to close the admittedly small gap between your lips.

It was electric. Never had a kiss from someone else ever lit a fire inside you the way one from Bucky did. It started off slow, searching, a chance to reacquaint yourselves. But the second Bucky’s hand reached to tangle in your hair, everything shifted. 

Suddenly you were pulled in Bucky’s lap, legs straddling his, lips desperate for a taste of what you’d missed for so long. It was everything you hadn’t let yourself wish for, and you had a feeling you weren’t going to be missing it again anytime soon.

It wasn’t until your shirts were on the floor and Bucky was making quick work of your clasped bra that you thought maybe it would be smart to just slow down. Just for a second, just to get your bearings. 

An honest to god whine fell from his lips as you pulled back, stopping his hands from undressing you any further. 

“Buck,” you whispered, forehead pressed to his, hands cupping his face as if he was something precious. Though you supposed he was, to you at least. “What’s going on?”

“I just…” His voice trailed off, obviously unsure of himself even though this at least was familiar territory. What was to come next, however, was not. “I can’t go another day without making you mine.”

Your core tightened at the words, vivid memories of what Bucky’s hands and mouth could do; fantasies of what else he could do invaded as well as suddenly talking didn’t seem like a priority anymore. 

“Take me to bed.” And that was all he needed. 

Bucky scooped you up bridal style, carrying you across the threshold of his bedroom and laying you gently on his bed. Your eyes darted around, wanting more of snippets of the life Bucky had built here, but you were quickly distracted by his body covering yours, the weight of him pressed between your thighs was comforting and intoxicating. 

Bucky’s touch proved even more distracting as he shed you of your bra, mouth immediately latching to one nipple, the little nips and sucks enough to drive you crazy on their own, while his hands pinched at the other. He continued his assault until you were dizzy with want, then he trailed down your body with his mouth, not leaving an inch of skin undiscovered until he reached the waistband of your sweatpants.

He pulled them down just an inch, then his eyes shot up to meet yours at the discovery. 

“No underwear?” His voice was deep, husky, almost fucked out if you really thought about it. It was a thrill that your hold on him was so tight that just the thought of you without underwear was enough to leave him reeling just a little bit. 

You batted your eyes innocently. “Someone didn’t give me much warning about my Uber, I apologize.”

The giggle in your voice suggested the insincerity of your apology, but it didn’t deter Bucky as he pulled your pants from your body, mouth and hands still exploring. 

His fingers traced unknown patterns along your inner thighs, gently pushing them apart until you were fully exposed to him. You felt nervous all of a sudden, like you had never been in this position before. You had, of course, but never sober, and never with Bucky looking at you so attentively - like he was going to eat you alive. 

It was intense, having Bucky’s eyes bore into you as he lowered his mouth to your core, starting with gentle kitten licks until your hips were bucking, searching for more friction. One of his hands pinned your hips to the bed, while the other slipped through your folds, spreading spit and slick, before he slipped one inside of you. Then two, then three, until you were begging for release.

All it took was a soft whisper of come on, baby and a crook of Bucky’s fingers and you were falling apart, the intensity of your orgasm whipping through you, and as you floated back down to your senses, Bucky was still going. 

It was feverish, like he couldn’t get enough of your pleasure, and each twitch and moan encouraged him until your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him away from your spent body.

He let out a protest, but you silenced it by pressing your lips to his, moaning at the taste of yourself as his tongue pressed into your mouth. You were lost in the sensation, letting yourself be manhandled until you were once again in Bucky’s lap. Sometime while you had been transported to another planet, his pants had been shed and you were oh so close to getting everything you ever wanted. 

With your mouth still pressed to his, you rolled your hips, feeling the weight of him sliding along you. You kept at it, teasing and grinding until he thrust his hips and there it was; one slight adjustment and the feeling of Bucky stretching you out to was more overwhelming than you could have imagined.

Your hips stilled, as did Bucky’s, letting you adjust to him until you pressed a chaste kiss to his lips, your way of telling him that you were okay, that he could move.

His thrusts started slowly, letting you feel every inch of him until you were begging for more. When his hands stopped roaming to grip your hips tightly, you knew you were done for.

Bucky held you in place, his hips snapping up to fuck into you and all you could do was hold on for the ride. 

You were so overwhelmed you almost missed Bucky’s words, mixed in with his moans, but once you caught them, they were as clear as day:

I missed you.

Over and over, Bucky was repeating the words, interspersed with groans and heavy panting, but your heart restricted regardless 

He missed you. Bucky missed you.

With your thoughts such a jumbled mess, reveling in the fact that this was really happening, your orgasm snuck up on you. One second you were floating on the high of Bucky and the next you were crashing, falling, and he was right there to catch you as you came down.

His hips slowed, stuttering as he spilled into you with one final thrust.

For a moment, the world around you didn’t exist. All there was was this moment, with Bucky’s arms around you and your head buried in his shoulder. Everything came back at once: your harsh breaths, the noise of the TV far away in the living room, and Bucky’s hushed whispers as he held you.

“I missed you so much.” You didn’t respond for a moment, but you lifted your head to meet Bucky’s eyes. In them lay the sincerity of his words, vulnerable now that they weren’t being said in the heat of the moment.

“I missed you too, Buck.”

[https-lvesick]

RUNAWAY BRIDE ★ huang renjun

summary . . ♡ Just weeks before your wedding, doubts begin to creep in, and on the big day, you panic and make a break for it. Desperate and still in your bridal gown, you flag down a passing car driven by a friendly stranger. He offers to take you to safety, but what starts as a temporary stop turns into something much more. As you hide from the life you left behind, feelings grow, and the lovely stranger finds he doesn’t want you to leave.

pairing . . ♡ renjun x rich girl!reader

word count . . ♡ 23k

genre . . ♡ fluff, angst, smut, strangers to friends to lovers, love at first sight

content . . ♡ family issues, renjun is downbad since day one, reader used to be a good girl, but now she's a big girl, mentions of jeno x reader (briefly), minhyuk and hajoon are assholes the whole time, jealous renjun, other nct members and idols make appearance.

smut content . . ♡ a lot of kissing, unprotected sex, masturbation (both), fingering, cum eating, cunnilingus, humping, fellatio, reader compares renjun with minhyuk but in a good way, (mentions of) multiple rounds.

You stared at yourself in the mirror for the thousandth time. Your eyes traced every detail—the flawless hairstyle, the delicate diamond tiara, the long white dress with intricate lace sleeves, and the impeccable makeup. Pride swelled within you for reaching this milestone, for taking the first step in building your future family. But why? Why did you feel so heavy with dread? Why did every thought of a future with your fiancé fill you with unease instead of joy?

The door creaked open, and one of your bridesmaids—your best friend—entered the room. Her radiant smile was contagious, filled with pride and warmth. It almost made you believe in the illusion of a blissful future. Because this was the right thing to do.

Wasn’t it?

"Here’s your bouquet..." she said, placing the bundle of crimson roses in your hands. Red roses, the ultimate symbol of love, carefully adorned with tiny diamonds nestled between the blooms. Joy beamed with excitement, far more emotional than you felt. Her eyes drifted to your trembling hands, interpreting it as a case of perfectly reasonable wedding jitters.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, taking your hands in hers. You inhaled deeply, letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

"Nervous," you admitted with a weak, insincere smile. Everything about this moment felt like a facade. "My heart’s racing faster than one of Sung’s monologues."

She chuckled, and for a fleeting second, the tension eased. Was the rapid beat of your heart merely pre-wedding anxiety? Or was it doubt?

"That’s perfectly normal," Joy reassured, her tone as light as if describing a fairytale. "I felt exactly the same on my wedding day. Trust me, the nerves disappear the moment you say ‘I do’ and seal it with a kiss."

For her, this was magic. It was supposed to be for you, too. You had always dreamed of this moment—finding the perfect man, getting married, building a life together, a house filled with love, children, the happiness you grew up surrounded by. You had always wanted to create that for yourself.

While Joy hums your favorite song, her voice light and soothing as she glides—almost dances—around the room, tidying up stray objects, you glance at the mirror once more. A deep breath fills your lungs as you close your eyes, trying to conjure a vision of a happy future with Minhyuk. But it’s the same as before: not the image of a fulfilled life, but of an unhappy woman trapped in her own story. Now, though, even that vision is gone. It’s as if... there is nothing after the ‘I do.’

Your eyes flutter open. Joy, still twirling around the room with a smile on her face, sings in that melodic voice that always brings you peace. You stare at your reflection again, knowing there’s still a chance—one fleeting chance—to make the right choice.

"Joy?" you call softly. Her attention snaps to you instantly, her warmth as comforting as always. "Could you get me some water? I think these nerves are really getting to me..." Your voice trembles just enough, sounding perfectly fragile—exactly like the version of yourself everyone expects. Joy giggles at your tone, unaware of anything unusual.

"Of course," she says cheerfully, excusing herself before slipping out the door.

You draw another deep breath, your heart thudding in your chest.

Better to regret doing too much than to regret doing nothing at all.

The words echo in your mind as you pull off your heels and set them aside. You remove the diamond tiara, placing it on the chair with care. Then, with your pulse racing, you open the door that leads to the garden where the celebration waits.

The moment your bare feet touch the grass, you run.

You run as fast as you can, ignoring the weight of the dress pulling you down, ignoring the stinging thoughts of what people will think, ignoring the consequences that tomorrow will bring. All that matters is getting out—escaping the cage before it locks you in forever.

When Joy returns to find the door ajar, the tiara and heels abandoned, the crystal glass slips from her fingers, shattering on the floor. Fear flashes across her face—fear of the uproar your family will unleash when they realize what’s happened. But she doesn’t chase after you. She lets you go.

"I hope you know what you’re doing..." Joy whispers to herself. She laughs in disbelief, shaking her head. She waits a moment, giving herself just enough time before putting on the perfect mask of panic for when the news breaks—the bride is gone.

It takes longer than you'd like to escape the mansion grounds, and even longer before anyone realizes the bride is missing. Minhyuk stands in stunned silence at first, refusing to believe it’s true. Then anger overtakes him, his fury mirrored by your father, whose mind is already racing with ways to punish you for disgracing the family.

When you finally reach the street, your legs burn and your lungs ache. You stop to catch your breath, heart pounding in your chest, knowing that by now, everyone is searching for you. The security team must already be mobilized. Finding you will be easy—too easy. After all, a bride running through the streets of Los Angeles isn’t exactly inconspicuous.

You take off again, pushing your legs to move faster, weaving through traffic, not waiting for the light to turn. The inevitable happens—a car screeches to a halt, clipping your side just enough to send you stumbling. The driver’s face is as terrified as yours.

“Help me,” you murmur, voice trembling as your eyes lock with his.

For a moment, he hesitates, his eyes darting between you and the road as horns blare and angry drivers shout behind him. His decision comes fast.

"Get in!" he shouts, leaning out of the window.

Without thinking, you yank open the door of the white car and slide into the back seat. The man wastes no time—the car surges forward as he presses the gas.

You finally exhale, eyes closing as a rush of emotions floods you. Tears begin to fall, quiet and unstoppable. The adrenaline still courses through your veins, but your mind clears just enough to fill with the images you’ve been running from—the glares of your parents, the disappointment of your former in-laws, the fury in Minhyuk’s eyes, and even the hurt expression of your brother.

You might be disowned. You might be cast out and cut off from your family forever.

But you refused to surrender your life to anyone else’s plans.

“Miss?” you hear the man call softly. Your eyes flutter open, and for a brief second, you meet his gaze in the rearview mirror. Then, you catch sight of your own reflection—your makeup mostly intact, though streaked with tears. You wipe them away with trembling hands, but they keep falling.

“Yes?” you respond, voice barely above a whisper. His eyes linger on you, filled with concern.

“Do you have somewhere I can take you?”

You pause, thinking. A hotel is out of the question—you have no money on you. Going back home is impossible—it’s ground zero for everyone you’re running from. And all of your friends? They’re at the wedding.

“No…” you mumble, shame creeping into your voice. Your eyes drop to your lap, fingers fidgeting nervously. “Just… please, get me far away from here. Anywhere. I’ll figure it out.”

You can feel his pity, an emotion so palpable it wraps around you like a heavy blanket. You don’t want to meet his gaze again—you already know what’s written in it. But how could you blame him? How could anyone leave a distraught woman in a wedding dress stranded in the middle of nowhere?

He sighs quietly, his voice careful but resolute. “Alright. How about this—I’ll take you to my place. You can shower, calm down, and maybe… call someone. Does that sound okay?”

Relief washes over you, and with no better options in mind, you nod. “Okay.”

He glances at you in the mirror again, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. “I’m Renjun, by the way.”

Despite everything, you manage a weak smile in return. “I’m…” You introduce yourself, your name feeling strange on your tongue, like a part of a life you just left behind.

The thought of making that call, of confronting the fallout from your grand escape, churns your stomach. But you push it aside. You can’t afford to think about it now. Instead, you stay quiet, unsure if Renjun wants to talk. You clutch your hands tightly together, focusing on the blur of the city outside, each passing streetlight pulling you further from a life you no longer wanted.

The drive felt agonizingly slow, each second stretching like an eternity. The upbeat song playing on the radio only made the suffocating tension worse. Renjun tried changing the station a few times, but nothing seemed to fit the mood, so he turned it off altogether—which only made the silence heavier. He wrestled with indecision, unsure whether to break the quiet and attempt a conversation to ease your discomfort or leave you alone with your tears. Never in his life did he imagine finding himself in this situation: a bride in distress, heartbroken and crying, in the backseat of his car.

As his car turned into a quiet suburban street, your teary gaze lifted. You took in the picturesque neighborhood with wide eyes. The houses stood in perfect uniformity, a row of identical designs—slate-gray siding, black-shingled roofs, and bright white doors and windows. It was nothing like what you were used to. The garage door opened with a soft hum, and Renjun pulled into the driveway, parking with precision.

“We’re here,” he said gently, turning the key to cut the engine. His eyes flicked back to you. “Shall we?”

You nodded, wordlessly stepping out of the car, feeling the cool pavement under your bare feet as you followed him inside.

With every step into his house, a sharp pain flared in your left foot. You ignored it. After all, you had just sprinted a marathon barefoot to escape a nightmare.

The scent of clean linen and fresh pine filled the air, wrapping you in an unexpected calm. The place was spotless, impeccably organized—a serene contrast to the storm inside you.

“I’ll grab something for you to wear,” Renjun offered kindly. “Make yourself comfortable.”

“Thank you,” you whispered. You sat on the pale, plush sofa, your feet dangling as you swayed them back and forth. But as the stillness settled over you once more, the weight of everything returned. The tears you had momentarily paused came rushing back, and the sorrow sat heavy in your chest, pressing down like an unforgiving hand.

Back at the mansion where the wedding was supposed to take place, chaos reigned. Tension hung thick in the air as your father stormed through the grand hall, his fury palpable. The rest of your family shared in his anger, but your brother remained the calmest, quietly observing the fallout. Your friends stood uncertain, hopeful that there might be a rational explanation for your sudden disappearance.

The guests had long departed, murmuring whispers of scandal and speculation as they left. Even Minhyuk and his family were gone, their pride wounded. Your phone had rung incessantly until one of your bridesmaids, Arin, noticed it—along with all your personal belongings—left behind in the bridal suite. The search for you began in earnest: through the garden, under the canopy of the gazebo, even into the winding hedges of the labyrinth. But there was no trace of you. Frustrated, your father ordered the security team to comb the streets.

“I will not rest until that ungrateful girl is back in this house!” he roared, his face red with rage as he shoved aside anyone offering comfort.

“Dad, blowing up like this isn’t going to help anything,” your brother Jungwoo said, folding his arms with a resigned sigh. He had seen this spectacle before and was already half out the door.

“If you’re not going to help, Jungwoo, then leave,” their father snapped, gesturing dismissively.

“As if I haven’t thought of that already,” Jungwoo muttered under his breath. Turning to face him fully, he added, “And don’t bother calling the police. She wasn’t kidnapped. She’s a grown woman making her own choices. The police won’t do anything about it.” He walked out, his steps steady, leaving behind a trail of truth no one wanted to hear.

“Uncle Kim, maybe you should sit down, take a breath, and think things through before making any rash decisions,” Joy ventured gently, her hands raised in a placating gesture.

Her words were met with a glare sharp enough to cut glass. “And you, Sooyoung,” he spat, pointing an accusatory finger at her, “aren’t you supposed to be her best friend? Why don’t you know where she is? Or are you hiding her from us?”

“Of course not!” Joy retorted, her eyes flashing with defiance. “And you know what? Even if I did know, I wouldn’t tell you!” She grabbed her purse, slinging it over her shoulder. Her voice grew stronger, her conviction unshakable. “If she ran, it’s because she was unhappy with this whole charade of a wedding. I stand with her.” Without waiting for a response, she stormed out.

The silence left in her wake simmered with rage. In one swift, furious motion, Kim Hajoon seized a large vase of flowers and hurled it to the floor, the porcelain shattering into jagged fragments. “When I find that girl…” His voice dropped to a venomous whisper, his jaw clenched so tight it trembled. “She will be punished for disgracing this family.”

You had already taken a bath. The clothes Renjun lent you fit perfectly—a pair of black sweatpants that hugged you comfortably and a loose yellow T-shirt sporting the logo of a band you didn’t recognize. He had even provided a pair of slippers, slightly oversized but perfectly serviceable. During your shower, you discovered a shallow cut on your left foot from a shard of glass. Fortunately, a quick rummage through the bathroom drawers revealed tweezers, allowing you to carefully remove the fragments. The injury made walking painful, causing you to limp as you descended the stairs, using the walls and furniture for support.

In the living room, Renjun sat on the sofa, eyes focused on a movie playing on the TV. He seemed to be waiting for you. Two glass mugs rested on the coffee table, the rising steam hinting at freshly brewed tea. When he noticed your presence, his face lit up with a warm smile.

“I see the clothes fit.” His brows furrowed as he took in your posture, leaning heavily against the wall. “Did something happen?” he asked, his voice laced with concern. “I mean… aside from… well, you know…”

“Do you have a first-aid kit?” You interrupted his fumbling words before he could tie himself into further knots.

“Uh… wait a second!” Renjun shot up and disappeared into the kitchen, returning moments later with a small white medical kit. He placed it on the coffee table, and when he saw you hobbling toward the couch, he quickly came to your side.

He wrapped one arm around you, his other hand lightly supporting the small of your back as he guided you to sit down effortlessly.

“What happened?” he asked as he settled beside you.

You lifted your leg, resting your ankle on your other knee. Gently peeling away a makeshift paper bandage, you revealed the small wound. “Glass cut. Guess running around barefoot isn’t the best idea…” you remarked with a soft laugh, prompting a smile from him.

“Were there shards?” Renjun opened the kit, pulling out gauze, antiseptic, and iodine. He was already puzzling over why you hadn’t mentioned the injury sooner—perhaps you hadn’t realized at first.

“There were, but I got them out. I cleaned your tweezers properly, I promise! They’re back where I found them.”

He chuckled, brushing the concern aside.

“All right. May I?” He gestured toward your foot, waiting for permission.

You nodded shyly and adjusted your posture, resting your foot across his legs.

Renjun dampened a piece of gauze with antiseptic, handling your foot with a tenderness that made your breath hitch. The sting of the solution made you hiss softly, drawing air between your teeth. He glanced at your expression, careful to remain as gentle as possible. After thoroughly cleaning the cut, he applied the iodine and secured a fresh gauze with adhesive tape.

“There we go,” he said, his tone light and reassuring. “Take it easy, okay? No more wandering the streets barefoot.” He closed the kit and set it aside. “I made tea for us. Hope… it’s to your taste…” His voice softened as he handed you a warm mug.

You accepted it with a grateful smile. “I’m sure it’ll be perfect. Thank you, Renjun.” You took a tentative sip, inhaling the aromatic steam. It wasn’t exactly your favorite flavor, but knowing the care behind it made it sweeter.

Your gaze began to drift across the room. Every detail—from the cozy furniture to the tasteful decor, the paintings, and even the muted tones of the walls—spoke of simplicity and warmth. It was all so different from the lavish grandeur you had grown up with. Renjun caught your curious exploration.

“Like the decor?” he asked, a playful lilt in his voice.

Your eyes widened, startled, as if you’d been caught peeking into a forbidden room.

“Uh, yes,” you murmured, taking another sip of tea to hide your embarrassment. “It’s beautiful. Different from what I’m used to…”

He raised an eyebrow, amused. You immediately regretted your words, worried they had sounded snobbish. You rushed to clarify, stumbling over your explanation.

“A good kind of different! It’s… lovely, really!”

Renjun burst into laughter, his eyes crinkling with delight as his head tipped back. His laughter filled the room, infectious and genuine. He nearly dropped his mug but recovered just in time. The sound of it, so full of life, made your heart flutter.

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” he said, wiping away the tears forming in the corners of his eyes. “But now you’ve got me curious. What’s so different? Do you live in a castle or something?”

His teasing tone made you smile, the tension melting away like morning fog.

“Almost… it was a mansion.” You used the past tense without thinking. You weren’t sure if you’d still be living there, but honestly, it wasn’t as though you wanted to. “It had two floors and covered… about six of your houses in size…” You let the memory linger for a moment. “The décor was extravagant. My mother always loved flaunting the family’s wealth. She made a smart choice marrying my father.”

Renjun took a small sip of tea, his fingers lightly brushing the warm glass. “Well, my humble little house definitely doesn’t compete with… that.” His voice carried a faint laugh, but his eyes flicked downward. Embarrassment? Insecurity? Even he didn’t quite know.

“Please, don’t think I’m bragging or rubbing it in,” you said quickly, your words tripping over themselves. “It’s just… I don’t even like it. All that luxury… it’s too much to look at, too much to keep up with, and in the end, none of it really matters. It’s all just… stuff.”

He murmured agreement, nodding thoughtfully. “Yeah, you have a point.”

With the conversation trailing off, your attention returned to the TV. You weren’t sure what movie was playing, couldn’t tell who the characters were or what the plot was about. But you kept your eyes fixed on the screen, pretending you were following along. Renjun finished his tea first, setting his mug on the table. You did the same soon after, inhaling deeply as you placed it down.

“Feeling better?” he asked, stretching out to grab his phone from the side table.

You rubbed your palms nervously over your thighs, nodding.

“Do you want to call a friend? Or family?”

Your heart skipped. A rush of panic swelled in your chest, making your breath come shallow and quick. You didn’t want to leave. Not yet. Here, in this small, cozy space, you felt safe—a world away from the consequences waiting for you outside. The mere thought of facing your parents made your skin crawl, the weight of their judgment already pressing on your shoulders.

He noticed your change in demeanor immediately. His eyes darkened with concern as he set his phone down. Leaning toward you, his hand found the small of your back while the other wrapped gently around your trembling fingers.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay,” he whispered soothingly. “You don’t have to do anything right now. You’re not being forced. I’m not going to pressure you. Not at all.”

You clenched your jaw, fighting the tears burning behind your eyes. You had to say it. You had to ask.

“I can’t go home, Renjun.”

He stiffened at the desperation in your voice, the way your words trembled on the edge of breaking.

“Why? What happened?” His eyes searched yours, wide and worried. “Do you need the police? Is that why you ran from your wedding?”

The shock on your face was answer enough. You shook your head fervently, gripping his hand tighter.

“No, no, no police, please,” you whispered. “I’ve already made enough trouble. I don’t want more.” You lowered your head, your voice growing small, fragile. “I’m… sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

He watched you in silence, trying to piece together your story, to understand the fear etched into every word.

“Then…” He paused, hesitant but sincere. “Stay the night. You’re welcome here. But you need to tell me what’s going on. I can’t help you if I don’t know.”

His eyes held nothing but kindness, a warmth that radiated safety and trust. How could you not believe in someone who carried protection in every glance, in every gentle movement?

You hesitated, the words locked behind a wall of doubt. Could you really open up? Could you share what had brought you to this moment? You knew once you began, you wouldn’t be able to stop. But wasn’t that the least you owed him?

Sitting in his home, seeking refuge under his roof, didn’t he deserve to know?

You took a deep breath, still hoping—just maybe—that trusting a stranger could be the right thing after all.

There, you told him everything. From the very beginning of your relationship with Minhyuk to the complicated dynamics with your parents. You explained how, ever since your father learned that your ex-fiancé's family wanted to partner with his company, the engagement—and eventual wedding—felt more like a business deal than a union of love. The pressure to marry had crushed the affection you once felt. You also shared how, despite your parents being loving, they valued the family’s public image above all else. To outsiders, you were the picture-perfect family, even if you and your brother Jungwoo avoided media attention. You feared what facing them now would mean. After all, you had dishonored them, and the news had likely already hit the headlines.

After all, it wasn’t just any wedding that collapsed. It was a high-profile merger between two of the most powerful families across Asia and North America. Walking away from Minhyuk at the altar would surely be seen as more than a scandal—it would be a public humiliation and the collapse of a strategic alliance.

Renjun listened intently, his expression never wavering from one of understanding. He offered his home for as long as you needed, reassuring you that there was no rush to face your parents until you were ready. To break the tension that had thickened the air, he proposed a change of subject—something lighter.

“How about we get to know each other a little more?” he suggested with a smile. “Since we’ll be under the same roof for who knows how long.”

The hours melted away as you both shared pieces of your lives.

You learned he worked as a bridal gown designer for a renowned fashion house, dressing celebrities and socialites. His eyes sparkled with pride as he scrolled through pictures of his creations on his phone, and you fell in love with each one.

“When I get married… for real this time…” You laughed, your cheeks warming with a mix of nerves and humor. “Can I wear one of your dresses?”

“It would be an honor to dress you, Miss Kim,” he teased, bowing like a courtly gentleman presenting himself to royalty.

You also learned he was eager to adopt a dog, ever since falling in love with Daegal, a friend’s fluffy white puppy. Speaking of friends, he warned you that they would be visiting tomorrow.

The conversation meandered into trivial, delightful corners—how you both liked your eggs in the morning, and which way the toilet paper should hang (an intense debate you both thoroughly enjoyed). By the time the night stretched into the early morning, you found a friend in Renjun.

Somewhere between the stories and the laughter, sleep claimed you both. You woke hours later, still on opposite sides of the couch.

A delicious aroma drifted into the room, stirring you. Blinking, you took in the faint morning light seeping through curtains drawn closed for your comfort. Stretching, you inhaled deeply, savoring the scent of breakfast. You rubbed your eyes and rose to your feet, following the inviting smell into the kitchen.

Stopping in the doorway, you watched your new friend setting the table, carefully arranging two plates and pouring juice into glasses.

He noticed you immediately and broke into a grin. “Good morning!” he greeted cheerfully. “I set up the guest room for you. Fresh sheets, stocked the bathroom, even put a new toothbrush there.” He gestured at the plates. “Now, go wash your face, or I’m eating without you!”

A laugh bubbled up before you could stop it.

“Good morning, Renjun,” you said with warmth before turning away, a rare calm settling over you.

And for the first time in a long while, you felt like you were exactly where you needed to be.

At their parents' home, Jungwoo had come to check in on them. His father, as expected, was as implacable as ever. He hadn't even offered a polite good morning—just the same grim scowl that seemed carved into his face. His mother, on the other hand, at least acknowledged him with a nod. Though her fury matched her husband’s, she knew there was no point in unleashing it on her son.

“Have you heard from her, my son?” Katherine asked, dabbing at her mouth with a linen napkin.

“No, Mother. I came to see how you’re holding up. I don’t have any news.” He reached across the table, his hand covering hers as he traced small, soothing circles with his thumb. “But I would like to talk about what happened…” His words hung cautiously in the air. He knew this was treacherous ground—too soon, too raw. And if the news wasn’t already plastered across every major outlet, it was only a matter of time before it flooded every screen and headline.

“What’s there to talk about, Jungwoo?” His father’s voice sliced through the room, hard and cold. “You’ve made your choice. You sided with your sister—the irresponsible, selfish girl that she is.”

“What side, dad?” Jungwoo shot back, meeting his father’s tone head-on. “There are no sides. We’re a family!”

“A family?” Hajoon stood abruptly, his chair scraping harshly against the floor as he towered over his son. His eyes burned with rage. “She is not my family. That girl had everything. I gave her everything, and how does she repay me? She destroyed it all, Jungwoo! She is the shame of this family!”

Jungwoo rose to meet his father’s glare, his own anger boiling just beneath the surface. “And what will you do? Disown her? Cast her out because she didn’t follow your script?” His voice sharpened like steel. “Don’t forget, everything you gave her was your choice. You had children because you wanted to. Don’t act as if she owes you her life for that, Kim Hajoon.”

Between them stood Katherine. She remained seated, her eyes shifting between husband and son. Despite her own anger, the woman could not ignore the fierce pull of her maternal heart. Her daughter was still her child, a piece of her soul—a part of her that she could never abandon.

“Watch your tone, boy,” Hajoon growled, his voice rising to a full roar. “I am your father! And yes, that’s exactly what I’ll do. When you find your sister, you tell her she’s no longer part of this family.”

Jungwoo’s lips curled into a bitter smile. His next words came slowly, each syllable dripping with disdain. “Then be my guest. You don’t have children anymore.” He took a step back, chest heaving. “Find yourself another heir to fill your shoes when you’re gone. Maybe Minhyuk—your perfect son-in-law—can step in.”

He turned away, his steps heavy with hurt and defiance. He felt his father’s furious gaze searing into his back, but he didn’t look back.

“Get out of my house!” Hajoon bellowed after him, his voice thundering like a storm.

Jungwoo kept walking. The words, no matter how harsh or cutting, could not pierce the armor of truth he carried within him. Yet, deep down, each cruel utterance still weighed on his heart.

Because no matter how righteous the fight, no matter how strong his resolve, nothing cut quite as deeply as hearing those words from his own father.

“I’m here to collect my sister’s belongings,” Jungwoo said, his voice cold and clipped. “Don’t worry, Hajoon. Just documents—what she’s entitled to. Rest assured, when she comes back, I won’t let you lay so much as a finger on her.”

With that, he turned and strode toward the staircase, urgency propelling him forward. He didn’t need much—only her phone and papers—but the weight of his father’s presence made each step feel heavier.

Behind him, Katherine watched her son disappear up the stairs before fixing her gaze on her husband.

“You didn’t mean a word of that,” she said, her voice a knife hidden in silk.

“I did,” Hajoon snapped, though the crack in his voice betrayed him.

“No, you didn’t.” Her eyes darkened with resolve. “Hajoon, let me make one thing crystal clear—if any harm comes to our children because of one of your outbursts, I swear I’ll destroy you.”

The silence that followed was as sharp as broken glass. She wasn’t bluffing. He knew Katherine’s word was as unyielding as steel.

Moments later, Jungwoo descended the stairs, a small bag in hand. His jaw was set, his eyes stormy as he marched past his parents.

“Jungwoo—”

Her hand reached for his arm, a desperate attempt to keep him from leaving.

“Let me go, mom.”

“Please, my son—”

“Let me go,” he repeated, firmer this time, his patience fraying at the edges.

Reluctantly, her fingers loosened. She stood in silence as he walked out the front door without a backward glance. No goodbye. No hesitation.

Outside, the cool air bit at his skin. Jungwoo crossed the street to where his car waited, pulling out his phone and scrolling for a familiar number.

When Joy answered, he didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “Any news?”

“None,” she sighed.

“When she reaches out,” he said, his tone sharp with urgency, “don’t let her go home. Don’t let her call them—don’t even think about letting her contact our parents. I don’t care if she avoids me too, just let me know she’s safe. I’m bringing her things over. You’ll probably be the first person she tries to find.”

Before she could respond, he ended the call, gripping the phone tightly in his hand.

He slumped against the steering wheel, his breath heavy with frustration.

I hope you know what you’re doing, little sister…

After breakfast, Renjun stretched his arms, gathering the dishes to take them to the sink.

“I’m heading to the market,” he announced, turning on the faucet as water began to flow over the plates. “I need to grab a few things and get ready for my friends coming over later.”

You sat silently for a moment, your fingers absentmindedly rubbing your palms together.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?” He glanced over his shoulder, water running between his fingers as he scrubbed a dish.

“I’m sure.” Rising to your feet, you picked up a dish towel and began drying the plates as he handed them over. “I don’t want to risk being seen.”

Renjun shrugged, exhaling softly in understanding. The silence that followed was calm, broken only by the steady sound of water and the gentle swipes of fabric against ceramic.

“I…” Your voice faltered, hesitant. “I think I want to call Joy.”

He raised an eyebrow, curious but patient.

“Or maybe not,” you added quickly, averting your gaze. “Forget it. It doesn’t matter.”

He turned off the faucet and leaned back against the sink, watching you. “Your best friend?” When you nodded, his lips curved into a small smile. “Of course it matters. You should call her. Even if it’s just to let her know you’re safe… and maybe to find out what’s going on with your family. It might help.”

Your teeth worried your lower lip as you hesitated.

“You don’t have to tell her everything,” he continued. “Just enough.”

Your heartbeat quickened. It’s only Joy, you told yourself. She’s your best friend.

You inhaled deeply, steadying yourself. “Alright…”

“Great.” He handed you his phone with an easy grin. “Use mine. The passcode is 2303.”

He started to leave but paused at the doorway, glancing back with a playful wink. “I’m just going to change clothes. Holler if you need anything.”

Alone with the phone in your hand, you stared at it as if it carried a weight far beyond its physical form. Why? Why this hesitation to reach out to the one person who always had your back?

Just breathe.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you keyed in the passcode.

Moments later, the dial tone buzzed in your ear. You held your breath, the world shrinking to this single connection, until…

“Hello?”

The tension in your chest melted at the familiar voice, and a smile crept onto your face before you realized it.

“Joy.”

Relief poured into your words.

“Oh my God, it’s you!” Her voice burst with a mix of panic and joy. “Where have you been? Are you okay? Are you safe? Are you staying with someone? In a hotel? Do you even know what’s happening out here?”

Her rapid-fire questions shot out like arrows, sharp with urgency, but each one wrapped around you like a warm embrace—reassuring, grounding, reminding you that you had a refuge in her.

And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, you no longer felt alone.

“Joy, I’m fine. I’m safe, staying at a… friend’s place. He’s taking good care of me, so don’t worry.” You hear her let out a heavy sigh of relief before you continue. “I called just to let you know I’m okay and, well… to find out how things are going over there.”

There’s a pause on her end, a hesitation that tells you everything you need to know: things aren’t going well. Which, honestly, was to be expected after yesterday’s spectacle.

“Your dad’s absolutely furious, but I’m sure you figured that out already,” Joy says, her voice lowering into a somber murmur. You hum in acknowledgment, anxiety building in your chest. “Jungwoo had it out with him. Told him they weren’t even part of the same family anymore.”

Your eyes widen. What? Jungwoo fought with dad? What does your brother have to do with this?

“I didn’t get all the details since he didn’t explain much, but…”

You barely catch her words as you notice Renjun descending the stairs. You murmur, “Hold on a sec, Joy,” then turn your attention to him.

“You’re talking to your friend?” he asks with a smile, and you nod, unable to stop a small grin from forming despite the tense conversation.

“Yeah.”

“Well… I won’t be too long. I should be back in about 40 minutes, give or take, depending on lines and traffic. Do you want anything from the market? Ask for anything you like!” His warm smile makes you feel at ease.

“Could you get some granola bars? I love snacking on those…” You ask timidly, feeling a bit shy about requesting something. But honestly, with everything going on, they’ve become your comfort food.

“Of course, silly.” You smile, telling him your favorite flavors and thanking him before he heads out.

When you return to the phone, Joy’s teasing voice immediately greets you.

“So… is he cute? That voice of his sounded dreamy.”

You nearly choke. Coughing a few times, you hear her giggle on the other end.

“Joy! That’s not something you ask!”

“Oh, come on! Just because you ran from a wedding doesn’t mean you can’t notice a handsome guy. So? Spill. Is he hot?”

You can’t help but laugh.

“Um… yeah, he’s pretty hot. And sweet! He’s honestly amazing, Joy,” you say, feeling warm as memories of the night before and this morning flood your mind. Renjun really was a gem. “But enough about him for now. Tell me what happened next!”

“Right, sorry!” Her tone shifts again. “Jungwoo came by earlier. He dropped off your documents, your phone, and a few clothes you left at his place. He knew you’d reach out to me first.”

You bite your lip, grateful for your brother’s intuition.

“But…” Her voice lowers, turning serious. “He said not to let you talk to your parents under any circumstances. Whatever’s going on, it’s bad. So please, don’t reach out to them until I figure out what’s really happening.”

Your stomach twists at her warning.

“Okay… If you find out more, tell me.” A thought occurs, and you add quickly, “Oh, and save this number! It’s Renjun’s phone—this is how we’ll keep in touch.”

“Got it,” she replies.

“And Minhyuk and his family… well, I haven’t heard much about them, but it’s safe to assume they’re just as furious as your father. Jooheon said Minhyuk didn’t say much after the wedding. He just left and hasn’t really kept in touch. He thinks Minhyuk is still processing everything, probably feeling disappointed. I just hope he doesn’t do anything stupid… You know how he can be—bitter and vengeful,” Joy says, her voice full of concern.

“Yeah… What I did to him was so unfair. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if he retaliated. I even thought about talking to him, explaining what made me do it, but… I don’t have the courage.” You exhale a soft, humorless laugh.

“And that’s totally understandable. I’ll reach out to the guys, see if anyone knows how he’s doing, and I’ll keep you updated on whatever I find out, okay?” Sooyoung’s tone turns lighter. “But now, tell me more about this Renjun guy I’ve never heard of! Come on, spill!”

“Well, actually, I just met him yesterday while… running away. I almost got hit by his car.” You chuckle at the memory, even though it was a close call.

“You’re staying at a guy’s house you met yesterday? And he almost ran you over? Do you have any idea what you’re doing?” Her tone shifts from curious to stern. And she has every right to be concerned — what are you thinking, spending the night with a total stranger?

“Joy, I told you, it’s fine. He’s been nothing but kind to me. He didn’t push boundaries or make me feel uncomfortable. If he had, I wouldn’t still be here.” You try to justify your actions, but she scoffs in response.

“I still don’t like the sound of this,” she mutters.

The conversation flows from there, stretching into a good few minutes. You talk about everything — from the chaos of the wedding to what happened after your escape and your scattered thoughts about what comes next.

After more than half an hour on the call, you and Joy say your goodbyes. With nothing else to do, you decide to explore the house. Hopefully, there might be a task to keep you occupied until the Chinese boy returns. You get up, leaving your phone on the coffee table, and start with the living room console. There are a few picture frames there, each holding a photo.

You pick up the first one, which shows Renjun and a friend, seemingly on a climbing trip. The two are posing playfully on a massive rock, making you smile. You vividly recall what he told you about that day and how he recommended trying it—well, at least with someone experienced. The second frame holds a picture of him with three kittens, probably belonging to his friend. Two of the three fluffy white furballs are gazing at him adorably, as if mesmerized by the young man. The third frame contains a photo of him alone, with a brightly lit city at night as the backdrop. He’s leaning over what seems to be a bridge railing, wearing a brown trench coat and glasses, accompanied by that beautiful smile of his—the one that suits him so perfectly. You could swear that the first time you saw him smile, especially when he laughed, your world became a little more colorful.

You hear the sound of keys, and moments later, the door opens. Renjun steps in, carrying a few shopping bags. Instinctively, you go to meet him and help.

“Thanks. Wow, I think I took longer than I planned—jeez!” he complains, closing the door as the two of you head to the kitchen.

“Just a little…” you tease, glancing at the clock. The time he estimated had been exceeded by… about an hour and nine minutes.

“A guy’s car broke down in the middle of the avenue. A few of us had to help push it to the shoulder. That little adventure took about twenty minutes,” he explains, washing his hands at the sink. “Oh, and there were some new, unusual flavors of snack bars, so I got a few for you too. Hope you like them,” he adds shyly, glancing at the bags.

You offer him a sweet smile and a shy "thank you." He pulls the little boxes out of the bag, showing them to you. You examine each one with enthusiasm. Truly, you'd never seen them before—not even in advertisements. You felt happy that Renjun had thought about you and even happier knowing you’d get to try all those treats.

“I didn’t ask earlier—how’s your foot?” he asks, unloading the groceries and placing them on the counter.

“Oh, it’s fine. It still hurts a bit, and I definitely can’t put too much weight on it, but I think I’ll survive,” you joke with a smile.

“If you need me to clean it again, just let me know. The last thing I want is to have to take you to the hospital because your wound got infected, Miss Kim.” His shoulders drop slightly as he speaks. How is it that even his scolding sounds so gentle?

“Yes, Sir Huang!” you reply with a mock salute, making him laugh.

“How was your conversation with your friend?” he asks as you sit down on the stool with a sigh.

“The conversation was good, but the situation could be better…” He watches you with a worried expression, walking over and gently holding one of your hands. Your gaze drops to where your hands touch, and you can’t help but feel a warm, comforting sensation.

“What happened?” Renjun’s thumb strokes the back of your hand, his eyes locked on your face. You don’t think he’s doing it on purpose—making you feel this way. This sense of safety, of being cared for. He’s just so naturally good at it.

“Uh… Well… Joy said Jungwoo had a fight with our father, and apparently, they’re no longer on speaking terms… And about Minhyuk, she hasn’t heard from him. I think he’s still shaken, you know? Being left at the altar… I feel a little guilty about it. I mean, he was so good to me…” You sigh, memories of happy times with your ex-fiancé flooding your mind.

“But you didn’t feel the same anymore. And that’s okay. You shouldn’t blame yourself for that. He might be hurt, maybe even angry, but if he truly loves you, I’m sure he’ll give you the chance to explain why you did what you did,” Renjun says, his voice calm and reassuring. You give him a faint smile in response.

“Thank you, Renjun. I think I’ll go back tomorrow. I’ll talk to Joy, Jungwoo, and, of course, try to speak with Minhyuk,” you say. Renjun’s soft smile makes your heart race. Silly heart, why are you doing this? Calm down!

“That’s a good idea. Joy might have already told them you’re okay, but there’s nothing like hearing it directly from you, right?” he says with a playful tone. “If you don’t want to do it alone, I can go with you,” he offers.

You’re tempted to accept—partly out of fear, especially of facing your parents and the Lee family, but also because you’ve come to love Huang’s company. Still, none of this has anything to do with him. The messy family drama, the unresolved emotions, the impulsive decisions—none of it should affect Renjun, even though being with him is already a conflict in itself.

“No need, Renjun. I think it’ll be better if I handle this on my own…” you say. He nods, still gazing intently at you. You smile awkwardly, noticing he hasn’t realized he’s still caressing your hand. “So… what’s for lunch? Can I help you?” you ask, pulling your hand away quickly to change the subject.

Renjun seems to snap back to reality, blinking a few times and clearing his throat before returning to what he was doing. “Ah, yeah… I was thinking of making jjamppong. And, of course, you can help! Just don’t stand up—stay seated right there, exactly as you are,” he responds, a bit shy.

You comply, staying seated as you watch him. Renjun washes the vegetables and hands them to you to chop. As you prepare the meal together, you chat about various things, mostly his friends, who are coming to visit in a few hours. He shares bits about them, wanting you to feel comfortable around them.

“Renjun, how am I supposed to meet your friends looking like this?” you exclaim, gesturing at yourself as you turn to him. He chuckles at your reaction.

“What’s wrong? My clothes fit you perfectly. It’s like a feminine, much prettier version of me,” he jokes, letting the compliment slip naturally, leaving you flustered and shy.

“W-what’s wrong is, have you seen how I usually dress casually?” you ask, exasperated.

“Of course not. I just met you yesterday, and I’m pretty sure your casual wardrobe doesn’t include a wedding dress,” he teases, leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you fuss.

“Nothing like an oversized men’s shirt or jersey shorts, seriously, Renjun?” you protest, trying to fix your hair at the very least.

He watches you, utterly captivated, a small smile lingering on his face. You had just come out of the shower, wearing his fresh clothes—a plain white shirt and gray jersey shorts. Renjun didn’t have anything remotely feminine in his wardrobe, which made sense since it wasn’t his style, nor did he have a sister to help out. This was the best he could manage. You tried folding the shirt and tying it to look more “presentable,” as you put it. He listened as you muttered complaints like, “I’d never go out in public like this” or “A slightly tighter, shorter shirt would make a huge difference.” But he couldn’t care less. You looked so effortlessly beautiful in his clothes.

“Well, I guess this will do,” you finally declare, snapping him out of his little reverie. You had done a simple half-up hairstyle and managed to adjust the shirt to your liking, tying it into a makeshift crop top. “Do you have any makeup around here?” you ask with a playful flutter of your eyelashes, and he obliges.

Renjun retrieves the kit he uses daily and hands it to you, resuming his quiet admiration.

“Some of it might not match your skin tone, so just stick with the eyeshadows, blush, and this brand-new lip balm,” he says, placing the products in front of you, along with a serum. “And can I ask why you’re going to all this trouble to get ready for my friends? You’d look fine to me, messy hair, no makeup, and wearing my clothes just the way they are.” Everything about his words radiates comfort and domesticity.

You can’t help but think of Minhyuk. He used to love you just as you were—completely disheveled, makeup-free, in wrinkled clothes, even with a bit of drool after a night’s sleep. A small, warm smile creeps onto your face at the comforting memory.

“Who said I’m getting ready for your friends?” you retort, raising an eyebrow mockingly. “For your information, I always have to look presentable, even when I’m sleeping. You never know when an emergency might happen in the middle of the night! What if I have to run out because the house catches fire? Or worse, what if I die in my sleep? My ghost is not going to wander around wearing a stained band T-shirt, ripped shorts, and ankle socks.” You explain this while applying the lip balm, your logic making Renjun burst out laughing. Once again, his laughter warms your heart, setting it beating in a way you’re all too familiar with.

The doorbell rings, and your eyes widen. Despite coming from a wealthy, famous, and highly sociable family, you’ve never been a social butterfly—that was always your brother’s role. You’ve preferred to stay in the background, keeping your social circle as small as possible. When necessary, you’d interact politely, of course—your upbringing wouldn’t allow rudeness. But the thought of meeting six new people, all men no less, was nerve-wracking.

Renjun helps you down the stairs, as he’s been adamant about minimizing the strain on your injured foot. One hand supports yours, while the other rests on your waist—now slightly exposed thanks to your tied-up shirt. His firm grip steadies you, and it’s only sheer willpower that stops him from carrying you straight to the sofa. He couldn’t quite understand why he felt so protective of you, but he knew he’d do anything to prevent you from getting hurt again.

“Sit here,” he says, guiding you toward the sofa, but you shake your head in refusal. “Don’t be stubborn.”

“I’m not being stubborn, Huang. But you don’t greet people while sitting down. I’m fine standing for a few minutes,” you explain, resolute. He sighs in defeat, though a soft smile soon tugs at his lips as he lets you be.

The doorbell rings again, this time more impatiently. Renjun strides toward the door, muttering, “Learn to wait, Chenle!” as he unlocks it. Three men come into view, and the one who seems to be Chenle strides in first, grumbling.

“If you were just a bit more efficient... It’s just a door,” he says with a dramatic roll of his eyes. He looks like he has more to say, but his gaze lands on you, standing beside the sofa, and he stops mid-sentence. “Oh, hello, gorgeous,” he says with a grin, stepping closer and extending his hand. “I’m Chenle.”

Shy, you shake his hand and introduce yourself.

“Renjun! You didn’t mention your friend was this pretty,” says the freckled boy—Haechan, apparently. His words make you duck your head, shyness spreading over you as you glance down.

“Shut up, Haechan, and behave, or I’ll throw you out,” Renjun warns, glaring at him. Haechan raises his hands in mock surrender before stepping closer to you and repeating Chenle’s greeting.

“That antisocial guy over there is Jisung,” Renjun says, gesturing toward a tall boy dressed entirely in black. You offer him a polite wave, and Jisung returns a friendly smile.

“And the others?” Renjun asks, watching as Haechan sprawls out on the sofa.

“Mark went to pick up Jeno and Jaemin, but one of his cats wasn’t feeling well, so he’s checking on it. Worst case, he’s bringing the three little troublemakers with him,” Chenle explains, flipping through TV channels. You gasp audibly at the mention of three kittens, and suddenly all eyes are on you. You shrink back slightly.

“Sorry, I just really like cats,” you mumble, which only makes the group chuckle in amusement. Renjun steps closer to you, gently touching your arm.

“You can sit down now. They’re going to take a while, and I don’t want you straining your foot,” he says softly, his tone full of care. It’s obvious he’s trying to divert your attention from the slightly overwhelming presence of the three men, having noticed your discomfort.

Meanwhile, Chenle, Haechan, and Jisung exchange knowing looks, their expressions oozing mischief. Haechan is the first to grab his phone and start typing furiously in their group chat, announcing “renjunnie’s girlfriend :(”. Predictably, the three absent members of the group explode with curiosity and excitement in the chat.

It’s not like Renjun hadn’t already told them what had happened yesterday afternoon. The issue was that he conveniently left out a few crucial details: the girl he almost ran over was now staying at his place, wearing his clothes, and about to have lunch with his friends.

Was this normal behavior for someone who’d just met another person yesterday?

“So, what’s for lunch, huh?” Chenle asks with a cheerful grin.

“Jjamppong. And be nice—she helped me make it,” Renjun replies as he sits beside you, carefully placing a cushion under your leg to keep your foot elevated.

“What’s the story there?” Haechan asks, eyes glinting with curiosity. Renjun shoots him a less-than-friendly look.

“Well, I was…” You hesitate, unsure if Renjun had already filled them in about your situation. You also don’t feel like telling complete strangers that you ran away from your own wedding, so you opt to downplay the story. “...running barefoot on the street and ended up cutting my foot. Definitely not my smartest idea.” You laugh lightly, trying to ease the awkwardness, though the three men exchange puzzled glances.

Once again, the doorbell rings, and Renjun gets up to answer it. He wasn’t expecting Mark, Jeno, and Jaemin to show up so soon—especially since Jaemin is famously attached to his cats and tends to hover over them when they’re unwell. What he wasn’t expecting even more was the sight of each of them carrying one of the cats in their arms.

“Weren’t they supposed to be sick?” Renjun whispers to Jeno as they step inside, visibly confused.

"Yeah, but he just gave them their medication and brought them along. Out of all of us, he’s definitely the most excited to meet your girlfriend." After Jeno’s comment, Renjun could almost swear he saw a question mark floating above his own head, like in a cartoon. But soon enough, he let out a sigh, already knowing who had spread the rumor.

As he closed the door and turned around, he noticed Jaemin standing right next to you, holding Luna in his arms. You looked absolutely delighted. Your love for cats was unmistakable, evident in the way your eyes sparkled as you gazed at the three of them together.

"Our dad never let us have a pet," you shared as Jaemin moved closer, stroking Luna and Luke gently.

“‘Us’?” Mark asked, curious.

"My older brother. When we were kids, he once tried to steal the neighbor’s puppy, but as you can imagine, it didn’t end well. She called the police on him, accusing him of theft, and he denied it to the bitter end, crying his eyes out, begging the officer not to arrest him." You all burst into laughter at the story. The memory was vivid in your mind. You could still picture Jungwoo trembling with fear, even wetting his pants at the thought of being arrested at the tender age of eight—but that part of the story didn’t need to be shared.

"And… how did you two meet?" Jaemin asked, his curiosity piqued. Renjun had given a brief explanation earlier, but Jaemin wanted to hear it from you. He found it hard to believe his friend could start dating someone in just a day. That was more of a Haechan move. Still, who was he to judge love? If Renjun felt it was right, then it was.

You glanced at Renjun, hesitant about how much to share, but he gave you a reassuring nod and a thumbs-up, silently encouraging you to continue. "Well, I was running down the street… barefoot..." you said with a laugh, lifting your injured foot as evidence. "I was so desperate that I didn’t notice the light was green and ended up throwing myself in front of Renjun’s car." You turned to him with a smile, which he returned.

"Good thing I’m an excellent driver with great reflexes," he said smugly, flashing a proud grin—until he noticed your expression.

"But isn’t that just the bare minimum for a driver?" you replied, arching an eyebrow. The room filled with laughter, and all the teasing eyes turned to Renjun, who sighed in defeat. Apparently, you had already joined the club.

"Looks like she got you there," Jeno quipped, laughing as he stretched his legs out on the coffee table. A habit Renjun absolutely despised but had long given up trying to correct after countless ignored requests.

"I refuse to let you join the ‘Renjun Hate Club’ with these degenerates," Renjun muttered, heading toward the kitchen while the others chuckled behind him. "Jisung, come help me!" he called out to the youngest, who groaned as he reluctantly followed.

"I can help—" you started to offer, but Renjun shot you a look that made you pause and blink, lowering your head sheepishly. "Never mind, I guess I can’t…" you murmured, and he gave you a soft, affectionate smile before disappearing into the kitchen.

During lunch, everything went smoothly. The boys made an effort to make you feel more comfortable by bringing up lighthearted topics, giving you plenty of opportunities to join in on the conversations. Even Jisung opened up and shared a few words, and you realized he was simply shy—much like you. He felt more at ease in the presence of close friends.

You also learned that Jeno was once part of the same world of media and wealth but had given it all up to live in anonymity, free from his family’s expectations and pressure. And he was absolutely right to do so; you were sure you’d follow his example after the whole wedding fiasco.

Amid the laughter and chatter, lunch came to an end. The meal was excessively praised which made you feel bashful, though in a good way. After all, if Renjun had been solely responsible for the meal, he would’ve been endlessly teased.

Now, everyone was debating what to watch. Renjun and Mark were voting for comedy, while Jeno and Jisung leaned toward action. Haechan and Chenle argued for suspense, and you threw in a random vote for romantic comedy, aligning with Jaemin. Honestly, you didn’t think the choice of movie mattered much since, from what little you’d seen of Renjun’s friends, they seemed like the type to talk over the whole thing anyway.

“It’s a tie…” Jisung stated the obvious.

“Why doesn’t Renjun decide? It’s his house, isn’t it?” you suggested, and everyone turned to you, though only two of them looked pleased.

“No,” Haechan shot back, making you laugh. “Let’s settle this with a wheel spin.” He pulled out an app on his phone and entered the genres into a digital roulette. Clearly, these disagreements happened often.

The TV was still tuned to a random news channel. Jeno had turned it on, thinking the guys might behave a bit better with you around. He was wrong.

You were completely distracted, stroking Luke, who was napping peacefully in your lap. You almost didn’t notice Minhyuk’s face appear on the screen. But when your eyes caught the image on the TV, you froze.

“Jeno, turn it up, please,” you asked, your tone suddenly serious, your gaze glued to the screen.

“Come on, are you seriously gonna watch the news—” Jeno joked, not giving it much thought.

“Jeno. Turn the damn volume up.” This time, you looked at him directly, and he swore a chill ran down his spine. He had never encountered a woman so… commanding, except maybe his mother. There was something in your expression and tone that left no room for argument.

“[...] And as I stood at the altar, waiting for the woman I thought was the love of my life, she abandoned me.” Your eyes widened. Something deep inside you told you this press conference would spell disaster for your reputation. “She ran away from the wedding, leaving everyone waiting and worried, while she ran off with her lover. And she hasn’t even shown up to explain herself.” Minhyuk’s voice was dripping with hatred. You could almost see the venom in his words.

Your jaw dropped instantly, and the boys around you exchanged worried glances. No, he’s not doing this.

“Do you know him?” Renjun, sitting beside you, asked cautiously. But you didn’t answer. Your focus remained entirely on the screen.

“That’s why I’m saying this here and now, to finally end this charade. Y/N Kim is not who you think she is. She’s manipulative, deceitful, and cruel. She fooled me for years without a shred of remorse…” At that moment, you stopped listening.

You couldn’t believe the man you once loved was capable of doing this to you—spreading lies just to ruin your reputation. Sure, your heart still carried guilt for leaving him at the altar, but this? This was too much.

Yet, you could feel the guilt and regret fading, replaced by anger and a thirst for vengeance. If he wanted an ex-fiancée who was manipulative and cruel, then that’s exactly what he would get.

“Renjun, give me your phone, please,” you said, extending your hand toward him, your voice calm but firm. Your gaze quickly flickered to the others in the room, taking note of the shock on each of their faces. But you weren’t intimidated. Taking the already-unlocked phone, you searched through the call history and dialed Joy.

The phone rang three times before Sooyoung’s voice came through. You didn’t even need to say anything before she spoke. “I’m watching the show too. Jooheon just told me about it—apparently, Minhyuk gathered everyone at the last minute, and even he didn’t know.”

You let out a dry laugh, your tongue pressing against the inside of your cheek as you kept your eyes fixed on the nonsense your ex-fiancé was spewing on TV. “I need you to come pick me up. Now,” you said curtly before hanging up.

You asked Renjun for the address, which he immediately provided. Typing it into a text, you sent it to your best friend.

Without missing a beat, Jeno turned off the TV, sparing you from any further torment. The room fell into an awkward silence. While Renjun watched you with concern, the other boys seemed more curious than anything else.

“Is it okay to ask?” Chenle finally muttered, only to receive a light smack from Mark, who promptly silenced him.

“You all asked how I hurt my foot…” you began, your voice carrying the weight of suppressed emotion. “I was running away from my wedding to that…” you paused, closing your eyes as anger surged through you. Words failed to capture just how furious you felt toward Lee Minhyuk. “Idiot. And no, I didn’t cheat on him—least of all with Renjun. I’ve only known him for a day,” you clarified quickly, eager to dispel any lingering doubts.

“I just… I wasn’t feeling right. It wasn’t what I wanted, and without thinking, I ran.” Your expression softened, tinged with melancholy. You felt truly disheartened, betrayed by someone you thought you knew so well. Years of what had seemed like a happy relationship had come crashing down, leaving behind a bitter taste you couldn’t ignore.

A familiar warmth enveloped you as Renjun pulled you into a hug. You looked up at him, offering a small, grateful smile, before leaning further into his embrace. He held you with care and kindness, making you feel secure in a way you hadn’t expected.

Tilting your head back to keep the tears at bay proved futile as emotion overwhelmed you. They spilled over, your fragile heart breaking under the weight of everything.

“And I don’t even want to think about how my dad’s feeling—if he’s watching this,” you choked out, your voice quivering with restrained sobs. A comforting hand rested on your shoulder, this time from Jaemin. “God, he’s going to kill me…” you murmured to yourself, curling further into Renjun’s chest for solace.

Part of you felt pathetic for crying in front of seven men you barely knew—especially over someone who hadn’t even given you the chance to explain your side before painting you as the villain. You knew your actions hadn’t been the most rational and that you should’ve at least talked to Minhyuk. But you’d been too desperate to think straight.

On the other hand, you couldn’t deny how comforted you felt in Renjun’s arms. You never thought you’d find solace in a stranger, but here you were. Feeling something so deep and reassuring, you dared to think that Minhyuk had never made you feel this way.

“I’m sorry, guys…” you mumbled, your voice muffled against Renjun’s chest but still loud enough for the others to hear.

"You don’t have to apologize. He was a complete jerk; it’s not your fault," Mark reassured you, sitting down on the floor beside you.

“It kind of is. I left him at the altar…” you lamented, sniffing as your eyes began to burn again, threatening another wave of relentless tears. Unable to hold it back, you buried your face in Renjun’s chest once more.

“Like you said yourself, you weren’t feeling good about it. You just did what you thought was best for you at the time. And you did the right thing. You don’t have to blame yourself for anything,” Jeno’s calm voice chimed in as he walked closer.

“Exactly. If he had any sense, he would’ve listened to you. Seriously, it’s been, what, a day? And he’s already pulling this ridiculous stunt?” Haechan added, placing a comforting hand on your back and rubbing it gently.

“Yeah… It’s almost like he’s trying to gain something out of all this…” Chenle speculated, suspicion evident in his tone.

Before you realized it, you were surrounded by all of them, each radiating care and concern.

“I’ve already told her she’s not to blame, but does she listen to me? Nope,” Renjun teased lightly, his fingers running through your hair. “Can we all agree now that he’s not worth it? Look at you—here you are, crying your heart out over a guy who doesn’t even deserve it.” His hand slipped down to cup your cheek, gently tilting your face up so he could meet your eyes. His gaze held you captive, and gradually, your tears began to subside.

“Yep. Men are trash,” Jisung quipped with a disdainful shrug.

“Hey, let’s not get carried away,” Jeno protested, feigning offense.

“What? I’m a man who doesn’t like men. And I’ll say this—I always support women in their rights and wrongs!” Jisung’s dramatic declaration earned a genuine laugh from you, breaking the trance Renjun’s gaze had put you in. Smiling, you buried your face back into his chest, feeling a little lighter.

“Are you rooting against your own team, you idiot?” Mark tossed a pillow at Jisung, who dodged it effortlessly.

“Oh, as if you don’t use that same line to flirt with girls,” Jisung shot back, smirking. Mark’s expression turned red, especially with you in the room. Without a word, he began chasing Jisung around the living room, carefully avoiding the cats scattered on the floor.

“Hey, I have a genuine question,” Jaemin called out, grabbing your attention. “Is it true that women like pathetic men?”

You burst out laughing at his so-called “genuine” question. “Not all, but yeah, a lot of them do,” you replied, resting your head against Renjun’s shoulder while glancing around. Mark had paused his pursuit of Jisung, looking intrigued by the conversation.

“Hmm… are you one of them?” Haechan asked slyly, clearly attempting to flirt. His comment made Renjun visibly flustered, prompting him to swat at Haechan in irritation.

“Alright, alright, my bad! Forgot she’s yours,” Haechan teased with a mischievous grin. The comment made Renjun’s eyes widen, his cheeks flushing a deep red.

“Yours?” you repeated, sitting up straight as you smirked. You weren’t offended at all; in fact, you found it amusing. Of course, you didn’t take the comment seriously, but you couldn’t resist playing along. “Am I yours?” you asked again, leaning closer to Renjun, watching as he became even more flustered.

The other boys were barely holding in their laughter, enjoying the sight of their friend practically melting into the couch.

“You know they’re just… messing around,” Renjun mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper, clearly embarrassed. Mentally, he vowed to get back at Donghyuck as soon as you left the room.

You turned your attention to Haechan, who still wore a mischievous smirk. Whatever comeback he was planning was cut short by the sound of the doorbell.

Startled, you stood up quickly, inadvertently putting too much pressure on your injured foot. Pain shot through your sole, causing you to wince sharply. The boys immediately noticed, their expressions shifting to concern. Before your legs could give out entirely, Jaemin stepped in, wrapping an arm around your waist to steady you.

The doorbell rings again, and Mark is the one who goes to answer it. He barely has time to register who’s at the door before the man barges in, pushing the door—and whoever was behind it—aside, frantically looking for his younger sister, desperate for news about her. He scans the room, and the relief on his face is almost tangible.

“Oh my God, you’re okay!” he exclaims with a smile but quickly notices her pained expression. Jungwoo swiftly moves to kneel in front of you. His eyes catch Jaemin’s hand still resting on your waist, and he shoots him a deadly glare, making the younger man withdraw immediately. “What happened?” His tone and demeanor shift dramatically.

“I hurt my foot while running away from the wedding,” you explain quickly.

“Sorry about him; he was just worried,” Joy apologizes, still standing by the door. Mark invites her in, and she thanks him, stepping closer to the group. “I had to bring him. He was with me when you called,” she explains, feeling the need to clarify since she’d never intended to reveal your location to anyone.

“It’s fine, better here than… causing trouble,” you mutter, referring to someone who shouldn’t be mentioned now.

“I wasn’t going to cause trouble,” Jungwoo defends himself, stroking Lucy, who has found comfort resting against his legs. “I just wanted to have an honest conversation, you know, man-to-man.” Both Joy and you exchange tired looks.

“Even you don’t believe that,” she counters, shaking her head. “Anyway, I’m Joy, and this is Jungwoo. It’s a pleasure to meet you all,” she introduces herself warmly. Behind you, you hear a sigh and turn to see the smitten faces of Chenle and Haechan.

“You better not even get it started; she’s married,” you whisper, and their attention snaps back to you.

“To your brother?” Haechan asks curiously, still unable to take his eyes off the older woman. He doesn’t notice the disgusted face you make at the absurd suggestion.

“Who cares? It’s better to compete with one than with a hundred,” Chenle quips but quickly glances at his friend with mild disdain. “Or two…” Hearing this nonsense, you toss a pillow at the Chinese boy, though the older one is smart enough to dodge your attack.

“I’m Renjun,” Huang says, standing up and offering a handshake to both Joy and Jungwoo.

“Wow, you were right…” Joy glances at you but then focuses on the younger man in front of her. She studies his delicate and attractive features, smiling, which flusters Renjun.

Her comment makes you nervous too. Thank goodness she didn’t give any context!

“Well, I hope you don’t mind if we don’t stick around,” Jungwoo announces, getting to his feet. “We need to take you to the hospital, and missy, you’re staying at my place.” He helps you stand up.

“Hospital?” you ask, alarmed. You’ve always hated hospitals—they smell bad, are full of sick people, and worst of all, they hurt you more before they heal you.

“Yes, ma’am. Who knows what you stepped on?” Jungwoo says in a firm tone, making you pout. You always feel like a naughty child when he talks to you like that. It takes you back to the days when your father would scold you for every little thing you did as a child.

“Fine,” you agree reluctantly, though it’s not like you have much of a choice.

Before leaving, you grabbed the dress. You needed to return it to the designer. You weren’t going to wear that piece again—not when you were no longer marrying the man you once thought was right for you. As you looked at the dress, anger surged within you. Anger at having almost entrusted your life to someone who, at the first opportunity, threw you to the wolves. You couldn’t even begin to imagine what people were saying, what your family was thinking, and honestly, you didn’t want to. You had already punished yourself enough in the span of one day—you needed a break.

You said goodbye to Renjun, the boys, and, of course, the kittens, with a promise to return and spend much more time with them. They seemed to like you so much.

At the moment, Jungwoo was driving to Joy’s house because you refused to go to the hospital before changing clothes. Renjun’s clothes were comfortable, and you loved them, but they weren’t exactly suitable for being out in public. Joy sat beside you, scrolling through social media, looking for reactions to Minhyuk’s important statement. Her expression was unreadable, which only made you more uneasy.

Noticing your agitation, she spoke up: “Jungwoo, why don’t you explain to your sister why she can’t go back home?” Her attention shifted, now interested in what your older brother had to say.

“Earlier, I went to our parents’ house, and Hajoon was impossible.” His words startled you—not so much because of the situation, which you’d already expected, but because he referred to your father by his name.

“Hajoon…” you murmured, and Jungwoo glanced at you through the rearview mirror. “Why?”

Your father had always been stern and struggled to show affection to you and your brother, especially you. For some reason, you had always been very attached to him. You wanted him to host tea parties, play with your dolls, and even help you choose outfits on special occasions. But this often irritated him, as he came home exhausted from long days at work. You would still pester him, asking him to sit on the floor and pretend that the sink water was tea and that your dolls could talk.

Most times, he’d refuse, but after your insistence, he would grow even more irritated, leading to shouting matches. That’s when Jungwoo would step in—your protector, your knight in shining armor. Time and again, he argued with your father on your behalf. He had long ago accepted that your father wasn’t interested in spending time with you both. But you didn’t understand that and kept going back, hoping for more. Jungwoo was never particularly close to Hajoon, but he still respected him and always called him “Dad.”

Now, hearing Jungwoo refer to him by his name felt like a punch in the gut. What have I done…?

“He said he was going to disown you and kick you out of the family, so I disowned myself too,” Jungwoo said, smiling faintly as if to soften the blow.

“Jungwoo, this has nothing to do with you, for God’s sake,” you scolded, watching him pull a face.

“Of course it does. You’re my sister—I’ll stand by you anywhere, anytime.” You gave him a small smile, squeezing his shoulder. “And honestly, who even wants to be that man’s son? Let’s be real. If it weren’t for mom, we’d have spent our childhood in a boarding school. I couldn’t care less about giving up being a Kim,” he finished, turning his face away in a huff.

“You know you can’t change your brother’s mind,” Joy chimed in, still focused on her phone.

“Yeah… but it makes me think that in twenty-one years, he’s finally stopped pretending to care. He’s not even trying to fake it anymore…” You felt the tears welling up again. “I guess you were right—Minhyuk and Dad really do think the same way.”

Jungwoo’s heart clenched painfully. Why did you have to be so attached to a man who had never valued you? Why did you have to love him so deeply when he hadn’t returned even a fraction of that pure, boundless affection?

Joy wrapped her arms around you in a warm embrace, comforting you. She glanced forward, trying to read Jungwoo’s expression as he clenched his jaw and gripped the steering wheel tightly. If letting him near your father before was risky, now that Hajoon had made you cry, there was no way the two of them could be in the same room.

Against your brother’s protests about freshening up, the first thing you did upon arriving at his house was grab your phone and hurry to the bedroom—or at least move as quickly as you could with your injured foot. You had already asked Joy for Renjun’s number, and she gave it to you without hesitation.

And now, here you are: sitting on the bed, talking to Renjun.

“And how are you doing? I mean, with the whole situation, you know?”

“I’m still processing everything and… planning my revenge.”

“Revenge? Look, I know what he did was awful, and I’d definitely want to punch his face in, but revenge?”

“Renjun, in this world—even though I’m not exactly ‘public’—reputation still matters. And he destroyed mine. Of course, I’m going to get even! Now, enjoy yourself with the boys. I have to convince Jungwoo that I don’t need to go to the hospital. Take care.”

Without waiting for his response, you lock your phone and toss it onto the bed before standing. Just as you were about to leave the room, your brother appeared, knocking twice to announce himself before opening the door. You sighed and sat back down on the bed.

“Don’t be like that, little doll. I only want what’s best for you,” he said, crouching in front of you.

“I know, but I’m fine now. The cut isn’t deep, and Renjun took great care of it,” you explained, crossing your arms and watching as your brother’s expression turned curious.

“Why don’t you tell me more about this Renjun, huh?” Jungwoo stood, plopping down on the bed next to you and pulling you down to lie beside him. “You two seemed close. I mean, all of them did…” His gaze fell on you, eyebrows furrowed. “Was it them you—”

“No! Shut up, Jungwoo!” You slapped a hand over his mouth to silence him. “Actually, I only met him yesterday. He almost ran me over…” you said, smiling fondly at the memory of meeting the Chinese boy. You predicted your brother’s reaction and cut him off before he could begin a lecture, just like Joy had tried. “Save your breath. Renjun was incredibly kind and respectful to me. I know it was reckless… going to a stranger’s house, but I was desperate, and he seemed trustworthy.”

Jungwoo opened his mouth again, only for you to interrupt him once more. “And I was right! Don’t start with that either. I think I’m old enough to have learned my lesson, Woo.” You fixed your gaze on a spot on the ceiling.

“How do you do that?” he asked, horrified, looking at you strangely.

“I know you too well. And it’s not just that—you and Joy are like the same person. Seriously,” you teased, making him laugh as he folded his arms behind his head.

The room fell into silence, with both of you staring at the gray ceiling. You were both thinking about the same thing, though in different ways. You wanted to take down Minhyuk—subtly, little by little. This public fallout had already gone too far, and the last thing you wanted was to worsen the situation for your family. You couldn’t even bring yourself to check social media, too afraid of what people might be saying.

Jungwoo, on the other hand, had already asked Joy about it and knew things weren’t looking good. While a fair number of people were on your side, others were saying cruel things. He preferred to shield you from it. As for Minhyuk, it was best to keep him far away. If Jungwoo had the chance, he might send him to the hospital—and that would only escalate everything, especially for you.

“So… what do you plan to do now? About the… situation…” he asked gently, turning his head to look at you. He was trying to tread carefully, unsure of how much this had hurt you.

“I don’t know yet, but I’m dying to give him what he deserves,” you said, still staring at the same spot on the ceiling. “I just need some time and to see how much traction his idiotic speech is getting.” You sighed, sitting up and looking back at him. “I hope you brought my clothes.”

“There are some you left here. I didn’t grab anything from Mom’s house because Hajoon already blew up when I took your documents. Imagine if I walked out with a suitcase.” He sighed, mirroring yours. “But if you want, I can ask Joy to buy some more for you.”

“No, that’s fine, Woo. Thanks.” You stood, and so did he.

“Tomorrow, I’m going to talk to our parents, whether they like it or not,” you declared, heading to the bathroom. “I just need this foot to heal so I can wear my heels again. I hope I left a few pairs here,” you muttered to yourself, making your brother laugh at your priorities.

Soon after, he left the room to give you some privacy.

Downstairs, Jungwoo found Joy on the phone. The moment she noticed him, she abruptly ended the call, making him narrow his eyes in suspicion.

“What was that about?” he asked, his tone laced with curiosity.

“Nothing for you to worry about,” she replied quickly, locking her phone and crossing her arms. “How is she?” Joy asked, clearly trying to change the subject.

Jungwoo hesitated, still suspicious of her sudden behavior.

“Come on, Jungwoo, it was just an unnecessary call. Don’t stress over it,” she pressed, raising a brow as if daring him to challenge her.

“Huh. She’s doing fine. And if I know her well, she’s already plotting something against that jerk. Honestly, I don’t blame her.” Jungwoo walked to the kitchen, grabbed a glass, and filled it with water. He offered it to Joy, but she declined. “Oh, and she said she’s planning to go to mom and Hajoon’s place tomorrow.” He caught himself mid-sentence, quickly correcting how he addressed his father, and took a big gulp of water, visibly restless.

“Jungwoo, you really need to stop worrying so much about her. She’s a grown woman now,” Joy said, her voice calm but firm.

“She might be grown, but she’s still, and always will be, my little sister, Joy. I’ll never stop worrying. I just need... to figure out how to adjust.” He refilled his glass and exhaled deeply.

It wasn’t that he thought Hajoon would harm you physically, but he couldn’t guarantee there wouldn’t be yelling or some harsh words thrown your way.

“Missing her already, lover boy?” Haechan’s teasing voice cut through the air, immediately getting under Renjun’s skin. He sighed loudly, scrubbing a plate with more force than necessary.

“Shut your mouth, Donghyuck, or I’ll throw this plate at your face,” Renjun snapped, making Haechan raise his hands in mock surrender while laughing. He went back to organizing the kitchen counter, but the grin never left his face.

Ever since you left, Renjun’s mood had noticeably shifted. He had grown quieter, barely engaging in conversations or reacting to jokes. It was obvious that something was bothering him, and Haechan, of course, couldn’t resist poking fun at it.

The only time Renjun seemed even remotely himself was when he looked at his phone. He had even smiled for a brief moment earlier. Jisung, ever the observer, caught a glimpse and quietly told the others that it was you he was texting. That small revelation earned knowing smiles from the group. However, as soon as the conversation ended, Renjun returned to his sulky demeanor.

“Come on, just admit it—you’re smitten with her, aren’t you?” Mark asked casually while drying the dishes.

“Is this what love at first sight looks like?” Jaemin chimed in from the living room, his voice dripping with mock curiosity.

“Oh, you’re one to talk about love, huh, Jaemin?” Renjun shot back irritably, referencing his friend’s own complicated situation. Jaemin muttered something inaudible, clearly embarrassed. “And no, I’m not smitten with her. I’m just worried. I’ve only known her for a day, but she’s my friend.”

“Damn, calling her ‘just a friend’ even stung me,” Haechan muttered under his breath, loud enough for Renjun to hear. In response, Renjun splashed water in his direction, silencing him.

“I’m serious. I’m just worried,” Renjun insisted. But even as he said it, his thoughts drifted to you. He couldn’t help but think about you, replaying every interaction in his mind. Was it possible to fall for someone so quickly? It didn’t make sense.

“Look at that—he’s thinking about her again,” Mark whispered to Haechan, both of them chuckling under their breath.

Renjun spun around, his patience wearing thin. “Why is my love life suddenly your favorite topic? Shouldn’t you two be more worried about your own, Haechan and Jaemin?”

“Oh, mine’s doing just fine, thanks for asking,” Jaemin quipped as he strutted into the kitchen, one of the kittens trailing behind him. “I’m handling things like a pro.” He crossed his arms smugly, flashing a self-satisfied grin.

Everyone exchanged skeptical looks.

“What? Why are you all looking at me like that?” Jaemin asked, confused, as the kitten let out a soft meow — almost as if it, too, was judging him.

“Seriously? ‘Handling it well?’ You break up with your girlfriend, and the first thing you do is go after her best friend?” Chenle asked, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

“The girl’s cool, and honestly, it’s just an unfortunate coincidence that she happens to be my ex’s best friend. Everything’s fine, though, guys,” Jaemin replied smoothly, but his laid-back attitude only earned more mocking looks from his friends.

“When Lyla finds out, she’ll probably cut the girl’s throat,” Jeno chimed in, joining the conversation.

“That’s the thing—she already knows, and she’s fine with it,” Jaemin explained confidently. Jeno raised a skeptical brow.

“I’m serious. Everything’s good,” Jaemin added with a casual shrug.

“Anyway, what about you, Haechan? Hooking up with your ex’s enemy?” The attention shifted to the younger Lee after Renjun pointed at him.

“Okay, I admit it wasn’t my most mature decision,” Haechan conceded, almost giving Renjun a point. “But she’s hot, and we’re having a lot of fun,” he added with a mischievous laugh, causing Mark, Jeno, Renjun, and Jisung to sigh in unison. The others, however, couldn’t help but laugh along, clearly enjoying the chaos.

“You’re all a bunch of idiots,” Renjun muttered under his breath, turning back to finish washing the dishes.

Standing in front of the mansion, you hesitated. You mentally replayed everything you planned to say, going over every possible reaction your parents might have when they saw you. It had been a day since Minhyuk’s infamous press conference, and, as promised, here you were—at your parents’ residence.

Taking a deep breath, you called out to the security guard.

“Miss Kim,” he greeted politely, and you gave him a brief, tight smile. You weren’t in the mood for pleasantries, but you weren’t going to be rude either. Making your way to the front door, you raised a hand to knock, but before you could, the door opened, revealing your mother.

You braced yourself. You expected her to yell, to reprimand you, and only then to offer comfort. But to your surprise, the moment her eyes landed on you, she pulled you into a warm embrace.

Katherine seemed eerily calm, and that unnerved you.

“Come in, sweetheart,” she said gently, guiding you into the house with a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “When we didn’t hear from you yesterday, I was worried sick. I feared the worst,” she confessed, stopping in front of you to cradle your face in her hands. “You can’t imagine the relief I felt when Joy told me you were okay.”

Joy. Of course, she had called your mother. You wanted to be annoyed, or at least curious, but deep down, you knew she had done it out of concern for your well-being.

“I thought you’d be angry,” you murmured softly, sadness lacing your voice. Katherine smiled faintly.

“Oh, my darling, I was,” she admitted, her tone firm for a moment, making you glance at her warily. But then it softened again, washing away your anxiety. “But when Joy explained what happened... I understood. And I’m so sorry, Peanut,” she said, using your childhood nickname and brushing your cheek with the back of her hand. “I admit, when Minhyuk’s parents proposed the idea, I agreed without much thought. I didn’t think you’d feel pressured, especially since Minhyuk seemed to agree so readily. I thought you two were on the same page.”

You frowned, confusion clouding your expression.

“What do you mean? He knew about it from the start?” you asked, shocked. You had only found out about the whole arrangement—the merger of families and businesses—after the wedding.

“Yes…?” Your mother looked just as confused. “He was at the meeting. He said he’d discussed it with you and that you only weren’t there because you had plans with your friends.”

That was the last straw. Anger surged through you, your expression hardening.

“It’s fine, Mom,” you said curtly, ending the topic. “Thanks for worrying, but as you can see, I’m fine. I didn’t come here to talk about this. I’m guessing you already know what I want to discuss.”

Katherine sighed, straightening her posture and nodding.

“Is dad home?”

“In his office.” You turned to leave, but she grabbed your wrist, stopping you.

“Sweetheart, your father is furious, especially after Minhyuk’s press conference. Are you sure you want to do this today?” she asked, her eyes searching yours.

“Before I share my side of the story, I need to talk to both of you. I’m not putting this off. My image is being destroyed because of your ‘golden boy,’ and I don’t care if dad’s mad. Believe me, I’m much angrier.”

You pulled your arm free from her grasp and marched toward your father’s office, determination blazing in your every step.

The dark doors burst open with a sudden force, cutting Hajoon's phone call short. He immediately ended the call as soon as his ungrateful daughter appeared in his office. Behind you was your mother, following closely, though she didn’t seem angry at all—her calm demeanor puzzled Hajoon.

“What are you doing in this house? You are not welcome here,” he snapped, rising from his seat. Your father was an imposing figure—his height, stern face, and booming voice could intimidate anyone. But you didn’t flinch. You were tired.

Katherine quickly moved to his side, trying to calm him down. She could see his rage building and wanted to prevent things from escalating.

“I just came to grab a few things and ask your opinion, dear father, about that sleazy Lee’s speech. And, of course, I’d like to know how you manage to be so… miserable, rejecting your children the way you do,” you retorted, your tone dripping with mockery. The bitter taste of rejection filled your mouth. You wanted to say more, to hurl years’ worth of pain at him, but you restrained yourself. Being painted as the traitor was bad enough; you didn’t need to be the hysterical one too.

“Reject? My behavior is proportional to yours!” His voice grew louder. “I gave you everything, girl. To you and your brother! And this is how you repay me? First, you run away from the marriage I invested money, partnerships, and countless hours planning, only to have you throw it all away. Then, I find out—on national television—that you’ve been cheating on Minhyuk all along?” His tone was mocking, incredulous at the allegations. “And your brother? He made his choice when he sided with you. You are the disgrace of this family, Kim Y/N!” he roared, the final sentence echoing like a thunderclap.

“Disgrace? Because we didn’t bend to your whims?” you shouted back, matching his intensity. Both your father and mother looked stunned.

It wasn’t like you to yell or confront him. That role was usually reserved for Jungwoo. You had always been the obedient daughter—the good girl who caused no trouble, accepted everything without complaint, and kept her head down. But not anymore. Being the perfect daughter had gotten you nowhere.

“I’ve had enough,” you said, your voice calmer but no less firm. You stood tall, meeting his glare. “I’m done being the good little girl you always wanted me to be. You’re not worth it.”

He opened his mouth to respond, furious, but you cut him off.

“Shut up. I’m not finished,” you snapped, and both your parents’ eyes widened at your audacity. Hajoon’s fury only deepened.

“I’m done chasing after you, begging for scraps of love from the father I once adored. Look at me—where did being the perfect daughter, always silent, always obedient, get me? I said shut up!” You were beyond caring now. To hell with hysteria, to hell with family unity, to hell with Hajoon and his oppressive control.

“When have I ever done something for myself? Ballet, friendships, schools, even college—it was all for you. I’ve always obeyed, and this is how you treat me? My happiness has never mattered to you, Hajoon. To you, Jungwoo and I were never more than heirs to your empire. And now, the moment I do something for myself—fight for my happiness—I’m suddenly the disgrace of the family?” You laughed bitterly, running a hand through your hair, your blood boiling with rage.

“And you think, because you gave me ‘everything,’ including an amazing mother—one of the only things I can thank you for—you know me so well? You should know I’d never betray someone.”

“Funny you say that. That argument died the moment you walked out of this house two days ago. What guarantee do I have that you’re not just a slut who’ll sleep with anyone?”

The sharp crack of your hand across his face echoed through the room. His eyes widened in disbelief at what just happened.

“You will never speak to her like that again, Hajoon,” your mother’s voice broke the tense silence. Her eyes burned with a fury you had never seen, not even when Jungwoo and you accidentally ruined her expensive painting. Katherine’s breathing was ragged, her anger barely contained.

“Not only are you questioning my daughter’s character, but you’re also insulting my worth as a mother. If you ever say something like that again, I swear I’ll do something I’ll regret,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Enough. You are not my father. You never were. Jungwoo was right to abandon you at the first opportunity. You’re lucky to still have Mom, because as far as your children are concerned, you have none,” you declared, turning your back on him. “Not that you wanted us anyway, right?” you added bitterly, storming out of the room.

Your mother called after you, her voice pleading, but you ignored her, quickening your pace to leave the house. You had even given up on retrieving your belongings. You wanted nothing from that man—not his money, not his name, not his legacy.

It had been hours since you left your parents’ house, and the sun was beginning to set.

Since walking out, you had wandered the streets, lost in thought. Memories flooded your mind—everything that had happened before the wedding, during the preparations, and everything that had led to your current situation.

A soft knock on your bedroom door broke your reverie. You were finishing getting ready, spritzing on perfume and checking your bag one last time.

Katherine entered after you gave her permission, stepping inside with a proud smile.

“Minhyuk is waiting for you in the living room,” she announced warmly. She was proud of you, proud that you were taking steps to focus on your life and find clarity—even in your relationships.

Unlike Jungwoo, who buried himself in work and showed no interest in any of the daughters of the family’s business partners, you had decided to give Minhyuk a chance. You had met him at one of the many charity events his father hosted. As usual, you and Jungwoo were dragged to these events to present the image of a happy, business-minded family, destined to inherit the empire.

At the start of the evening, you and Jungwoo greeted the hosts before being promptly abandoned by your parents, who left to socialize and discuss business with other guests. Jungwoo wanted to catch up with a friend but hesitated to leave you alone. Only after you assured him it was fine did he finally leave, while you wandered off to distract yourself with the appetizers at the party since you weren’t allowed to drink yet.

“You might like this one; the dough is made from potatoes,” a male voice interrupted your thoughts. You turned to see who it was. You recognized him—he was the son of one of your father’s friends.

“Thank you...” you murmured shyly, feeling slightly uneasy under his persistent gaze.

“I’m Minhyuk. It’s a pleasure,” he introduced himself, extending his hand. When you hesitantly offered yours, he brought it to his lips, leaving a soft kiss on your delicate skin.

Later, you asked your mother to clasp the necklace around your neck, and she happily obliged. As you looked up from your purse to the mirror, you caught sight of her face beaming with pride.

“I’m so proud of you, you know?” she said, resting her chin on your shoulder and gently adjusting your hair. “It makes me happy to see you giving someone from our circle a chance. Do you think he can make you happy?”

You hesitated for a moment. It was too soon to tell—after all, you had only met him two weeks ago, and tonight was your first official date. But if he continued behaving as he had been, you were sure the answer would be yes.

“I think so, mom…” you replied, smiling.

“Good. That’s all that matters,” she said, brushing your arms affectionately. “Now go, don’t keep him waiting!” Katherine encouraged you, handing you your purse before ushering you out.

As you descended the stairs, you could hear two male voices, which you quickly identified as your father and Minhyuk. The moment they noticed your presence, both turned to face you with smiles. Lee Minhyuk always had a certain sparkle in his eyes whenever you were the center of his attention, but tonight... it felt even more intense. His gaze glimmered like that of a tiger.

But you weren’t happy. Far from it.

You couldn’t believe you had trusted that man. Fury surged through you as you abruptly stood from the bench, slinging your purse over your shoulder. With purposeful strides, your heels clicked loudly against the floor, echoing your growing anger.

“Y/N?” A familiar male voice called out. Turning around, you saw Jeno approaching, his smile widening as he recognized you. “Oh, wow, you look… different,” he remarked, gesturing to your outfit.

You were wearing a sleeveless white dress with a V-neckline, paired with white high heels, a light blue purse, and a matching headband that swept your hair back. It was nothing like the casual clothes you had worn the day you first met.

“Yeah, I look less... Renjun,” you said with a smile. Though the mention of the Chinese boy brought a genuine smile to your face, the scowl on your features remained evident, prompting Jeno to frown slightly.

“Is everything okay? You seem upset. Is this about your... ex-fiancé?” he asked cautiously. But the mere mention of Minhyuk made you roll your eyes.

“I think so...” you muttered with a pout before resuming your stride, expecting him to follow.

“It’s just... the more I think about it, the more I’m convinced this was Minhyuk’s plan all along,” you whispered. With every passing thought, the pieces fell into place.

“Jeno!” you suddenly stopped, startling the boy as you grabbed his shoulders and locked eyes with him. “Will you help me?” Your gaze was full of hope, but Jeno averted his eyes, sighing.

“Why is it always me...” he muttered in defeat.

You squealed, throwing your arms around his neck. Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around your waist, silently agreeing to assist you. For a fleeting moment, Jeno thought he heard the faint click of a camera shutter, but he dismissed it.

Later that day, you were getting ready to visit Arin’s house. You needed to explain everything to her. After Joy, she was your closest friend. Following your conversation with Jeno and the partial formulation of your plan, you felt a glimmer of hope. Jeno would gather evidence against Minhyuk, you would hold a press conference to clear your name, and everything would fall into place. You’d prove your innocence to everyone—including your parents, though you hardly cared about their opinion—and finally, this ordeal would end.

Or so you thought, until the intercom buzzed.

Picking up the receiver, you heard the doorman’s voice. “Miss Kim, the young man from yesterday is here again. Shall I let him up?” You immediately agreed, knowing the only “young man” from yesterday was Jeno. Placing the receiver back down, you headed to the living room. A few moments later, a knock sounded at the door. Opening it, you found Jeno, looking flustered and out of breath.

“Oh no, what happened?” you asked, equal parts concerned and irritated.

“Have you seen the news?” he asked, pulling his phone from his pocket and scrolling to find what he wanted to show you.

“No, I don’t use social media, and I turned off my phone after leaving my parents’ house,” you admitted, your tone laced with anxiety. You rushed to retrieve your phone from the apartment.

When the screen lit up, it displayed a barrage of missed calls and messages—from your mother, father, Joy, Jungwoo, Jisung, Changbin, Arin, Minhyuk, and... Renjun? Ignoring the others, you opened Renjun’s chat, the crease between your brows deepening.

“You never told me you knew Jeno... or that you were with him after that day. I just hope your ex-fiancé isn’t right about you. If he is... I’ll hate myself for helping a traitor, especially with one of my best friends. What a mess...”

It was clear he was upset. Not that he had any right to meddle in your life, but still, you had considered him a friend. Didn’t he feel the same? And what was he even talking about?

Swallowing hard, you turned to Jeno, who sighed and handed you his phone.

“It seems the heiress of the Kim Group—the cosmetics giant—was indeed having an affair during her engagement to Minhyuk Lee. And the alleged lover? None other than Jeno Lee, the former heir to another enormous brand—”

You stopped reading. Your head throbbed. You couldn’t believe this was happening. The barrage of calls and messages from your parents and Minhyuk already worried you, but now, knowing the potential cause, you were furious. You hadn’t even realized the article was from yesterday, shortly after you had hugged Jeno to solidify your plan.

“I knew I shouldn’t have ignored that sound…” Jeno muttered, running a hand down his face in frustration. “Even my parents called me. My parents, who haven’t spoken to me since I gave up the inheritance,” he added bitterly. “And they congratulated me...” He continued ranting, oblivious to your simmering rage.

All you could feel was hatred. The world around you blurred, and Jeno’s words became distant noise. Nothing mattered except resolving this mess. You weren’t going to wait any longer. If Minhyuk wanted a showdown, you’d give him one.

“Forget the plan. Forget everything. I’ll handle this myself,” you declared, your voice trembling with anger. You didn’t even bother finishing your makeup or applying perfume. Instead, you grabbed your bag and keys, storming out, with Jeno scrambling to keep up.

“What are you planning to do? Hey, slow down!” he called, squeezing into the elevator beside you.

“I’m going straight to Minhyuk. If his goal was to infuriate me, congratulations to him—he succeeded. I’m not going to let him destroy what’s left of my reputation. One question, Jeno—do you have your car?” He nods hesitantly, swallowing hard. As the elevator doors open, you stride into the parking lot with determined, forceful steps, not even knowing which car belongs to Jeno.

“Over here,” he calls from the opposite direction. “God… please don’t let this woman make me crash my car…” he mutters under his breath, eyes closed, opening the passenger door for you.

At the bridal shop where Renjun worked, his melancholic mood was impossible to miss, even for Hyunjin, his coworker and friend. Renjun had been so out of sorts that he couldn’t even tend to customers properly and was relegated to handling the cash register.

“All right, what’s going on?” Hyunjin asked directly, taking advantage of the quiet lull in the shop, where it was just the two of them for the moment.

“Nothing.” Renjun kept his response short, still scribbling idly in his sketchbook. Hyunjin let out an incredulous laugh and snatched the notebook from his hands.

“Listen here, Huang Renjun. Your sulking is dragging down your energy and the whole vibe of the shop. You’re supposed to be the charming designer who makes brides feel excited about their special day, but instead, you’re spreading your dark cloud of misery everywhere.” He wagged a finger in mock reprimand, while Renjun pouted in annoyance. “Look at this!” Hyunjin gestured dramatically at the small flower pot on the counter. “Even the flowers are wilting!”

“It’s just a bad day, Hyunjin. Leave me alone,” Renjun muttered, stretching his hand out to retrieve the sketchbook, but Hyunjin held it out of reach.

“Give it back, Hyunjin.”

“Nope,” Hyunjin replied smugly, tilting his head as he kept the notebook away.

Just as Renjun moved to chase after his friend, the door to the shop opened. He froze in surprise as Mark and Jaemin walked in, both holding coffee cups.

“What are you two doing here?” Renjun asked, perplexed.

“We were nearby and decided to check on you,” Jaemin explained, handing an extra coffee to Renjun, while Mark offered his to Hyunjin.

“You guys really need to stop treating me like some kid who needs constant babysitting,” Renjun grumbled as he sipped his drink.

“So, you’re not upset about the news involving her?” Mark asked, raising an eyebrow. Hyunjin’s eyes lit up with curiosity.

“Ooh, who’s ‘her’?” he teased, earning a deadly glare from Renjun as he snatched his notebook back. “Rude,” Hyunjin muttered.

“She’s Renjun’s girlfriend,” Jaemin announced with a grin, making Renjun’s face flush instantly.

“You never told me you had a girlfriend!” Hyunjin gasped in mock offense.

“She’s not my girlfriend! She’s just a friend—I’ve told you a thousand times,” Renjun snapped, clearly irritated, not just with their intrusion into his workplace but with the reminder of the tabloid article showing you and Jeno hugging. That photo. The way Jeno’s hands rested on your waist. Almost as if he were holding you in a way that was… intimate. Just thinking about it made Renjun’s blood boil. And the worst part? He didn’t even know why.

“Renjun,” Mark began, “you got upset when you saw her with Jeno. You were down when she left your house.”

“And, out of twenty thoughts you have a day, twenty of them are about her,” Jaemin chimed in. “You think we didn’t notice how soft and caring you were with her? Just admit it—love at first sight is real, and you miss her because you like her.”

Renjun blinked, the words hitting him harder than he expected, but he shook his head. “I refuse to take relationship advice from either of you… or Haechan.” He sighed, grabbing his coffee and notebook as he stood. “Hyunjin, take over the register—I’m taking my lunch break.”

“Hey! Of all of us, I had the longest relationship!” Jaemin shouted after him.

“That doesn’t count if she was crazy!” Renjun retorted. “And I’ve said it before—you two have the most messed-up love lives of all seven of us.”

Jaemin turned to Mark and Hyunjin, offended. “Did you hear that? I don’t have a messed-up love life…”

“Oh sure,” Mark smirked. “Breaking up with your girlfriend so you could date her best friend? Totally healthy.”

“I broke up with her,” Jaemin said as if it were obvious. “Better than cheating—I still have my principles!”

“Sure, Jaemin. We’ll revisit this tomorrow.” Mark sighed, turning to leave.

“And no one’s going to tell me about Renjun’s girl?” Hyunjin complained.

Mark and Jaemin exchanged a glance and grinned.

“Mind your own business, Hyunjin,” Mark said, walking out.

“A man with too much time on his hands…” Jaemin muttered, chuckling as Hyunjin’s grumbled curses followed them out.

After navigating Jeno’s car with hurried directions and nearly causing a crash, you both arrived at your family’s company. Predictably, Minhyuk was with Hajoon.

The guards blocked you at the entrance.

“Excuse me?” you asked, incredulous.

“Apologies, ma’am. We have explicit orders not to let you in,” one of them said firmly.

Jeno placed a hand on your shoulder. “Y/N, we should leave.”

You shook him off. “If you don’t let me in, I’ll cause a scene that’ll cost both of you your jobs. I may be disinherited, but my mother—who owns half of this company—would love to hear about this.”

The guards hesitated, fear flashing in their eyes, but they held their ground. Just as you inhaled to raise your voice, a familiar voice cut in.

“Stop this nonsense. Let them through.”

Amy—your father’s assistant—had always been kind. Like your mother, she never bought into Minhyuk’s lies.

“But, ma’am—” one guard began, but she silenced him.

“Do as I said. Mr. Kim is expecting them.”

As the guards stepped aside, you hurried to Amy’s side.

“You’re here for Minhyuk, aren’t you?” she asked as you moved toward the elevator.

“‘Here for’ is putting it lightly,” you muttered.

“She’s joking,” Jeno cut in quickly. “No hitting anyone today.”

Amy chuckled. “A good choice in company,” she teased, making both of you flush.

“We’re just—”

“Friends,” you both said simultaneously.

Ah, young love, Amy thought, smiling knowingly.

The silence between you was almost deafening, broken only by the soft background music that played in the room. As soon as the doors opened, Amy spoke up, her eyes wide with disbelief.

“He’s in your brother’s old office.”

“What?” Your frustration with Minhyuk had already been simmering from everything happening in your life, but now… your anger extended to your father as well.

“After your brother stepped down, he gave the office to... him. I’m sorry…” Amy trailed off. You didn’t respond, simply reached into your bag for your phone and marched straight toward the office.

Throwing the doors open with force, you startled Minhyuk, causing a few papers to flutter to the ground. He was reading over some contracts.

“Are you out of your mind?” he snapped, hurriedly gathering the documents before standing up.

“No, but you must be, testing the limits of my patience like this.” You weren’t one to raise your voice or pick fights. Confrontations had never been your style—until you rebelled against your father. And if you could go head-to-head with him, dealing with someone like Minhyuk was child’s play.

“Quite the audacity, don’t you think?” Minhyuk sneered, circling his desk to approach you, but Jeno swiftly stepped in front of him. “Ah, so now you’ve got a guard dog too?” He laughed mockingly. “You barge into my office with your little lover in tow... truly lacking decorum.”

The room fell into a heavy silence. You needed a moment to process his words. The tension between Jeno and Minhyuk thickened, the air practically vibrating with animosity. Then your laughter rang out, shattering the quiet. Both men turned to you, confused.

“Do you really think slandering me will get you what you want, Minhyuk? The company? Hajoon’s share? Because, let me assure you, my mother’s portion isn’t up for grabs.” Your smile didn’t waver. “I’ve figured out your plan, ever since my mother told me you attended the family meeting about the marriage and claimed I was on board with everything. Frankly, Minhyuk…” you sighed. “But this smear campaign? I’m curious—what’s your angle? Surely you’re not trying to turn the public against me for no reason… or are you?” You tilted your head, your eyes sparkling with amusement as they locked onto his. “Are you really that pathetic, trying to ruin a woman’s reputation just because she didn’t marry you?”

Jeno watched, perplexed, as you calmly dismantled Minhyuk’s facade. He didn’t fully understand your tactics, but one thing was certain—he wasn’t leaving you alone with this man. He barely knew him and wasn’t about to take chances.

“You think I’d let you walk away, all radiant and triumphant, after humiliating me like that?” Minhyuk’s voice quivered with barely controlled rage, his smirk gone. “You destroyed my career, my carefully laid plans. But if I destroy your reputation—turn everyone, even your parents, against you—I’ll get what I want. Your brother abandoned his post. You’d be disowned. It was the perfect plan. I didn’t expect you’d actually be cheating, though. Points for me—just look at who’s here.” He gestured at Jeno, who stood with arms crossed.

“Hey, jerk, keep running your mouth and I’ll make sure you end up in a hospital,” Jeno growled for the first time since entering the room. Minhyuk’s response was another derisive chuckle.

“Minhyuk,” you interrupted before the tension escalated further. A fight could wait — Jeno could send him to the hospital later if needed. “It doesn’t matter what you do. My mother controls most of the business, and guess what? She’s on my side.” You grabbed Jeno’s arm, leading him out. With a playful smirk, you blew Minhyuk a kiss. “I’d brace for a headline-worthy scandal this week!” you teased, winking before walking out.

“Care to explain?” Jeno asked as the elevator arrived.

You pulled your phone from your open bag, stopping the recording. “This, Jeno, is how I clean my name.” Your sly smile deepened as you bit your lower lip. The elevator doors closed, and you pressed the button for the ground floor. “A few months ago, I would have done nothing. I’d have waited for my mother or Jungwoo to handle it, as always.” You sighed, weariness weighing your voice. “But I’m done living like that. After this, I’m walking away. I’ll give up my inheritance, finish my degree, and leave this mess behind.” Bitterness lingered on your tongue as you spoke. The decision had barely settled in your mind, and already regret nipped at the edges of your resolve. How could you stay? How could you leave?

The car ride back was quiet until you reached for your phone, dialing Arin’s number.

“Finally, you’re alive! I had to call Joy to check if you were okay!” Her voice was a mix of relief and irritation, and you couldn’t blame her.

“Sorry, Arin. Everything exploded after the wedding. I’ve barely talked to anyone—just family, and now Minhyuk…” You rolled your eyes at the mention of his name.

“I saw his press conference online. What a psycho. Good thing you escaped. When I see him, though, I swear—”

You cut her off with a laugh. “I’m fine now. More than fine. But I called for a reason. I have an audio clip I need you to release. An article would be better, but a leak will do. Just make sure it hits the internet.” You sent her the file. “It’ll need some editing.”

Arin, a dedicated journalist for a respected firm, specialized in professional reporting. She’d climbed the ranks with sheer determination, earning her own column. Still, bending the rules for a friend didn’t hurt, right?

You heard her sharp intake of breath before she spoke again. “I can’t believe that scumbag.”

“And he won’t get away with it. Can you release it by the end of the week?” You knew it was a lot to ask—she was busy, and this wasn’t exactly her beat—but desperation called for boldness.

“Girl, I’ll get it out today!” The sound of furious typing reached your ears, filling you with hope. “I’m on it. But don’t think you’re getting away—I want the whole story later!” She hung up before you could even say goodbye. Honestly, how wasn’t she working for a gossip column?

Jeno glanced at your radiant smile. “I take it things went well?”

“They did,” you said, satisfaction lacing your voice as the car sped down the road.

"Yes! Arin is my friend, a journalist. She’s going to publish the audio along with a story. She said it might be out by today." Your enthusiasm was contagious.

"So, in the end, you didn’t even need me." He murmured playfully, feigning offense. His light-heartedness made you laugh as you squeezed his shoulder in gratitude.

"Oh, stop it. You were a huge help. If it weren’t for you, I might not have seen the article. And how else would I have confronted that weasel?" You smiled warmly at him, your eyes full of sincerity.

Night had fallen, bringing with it a weight of worry for Renjun. You hadn’t answered his messages, which was understandable given the accusations he had thrown at you—but Jeno wasn’t responding either. None of the guys, for that matter, and that only heightened his concern. The last update they had about Jeno was from that disastrous article, and it wasn’t like him to simply vanish.

A knock on the door made Renjun’s heart leap with hope, silently praying it was his friend. But nothing could have prepared him for what came next.

"I… came to return your clothes…" you murmured, lifting the bag. "And… maybe talk." You sounded far more timid than usual.

Renjun’s eyes didn’t leave you. Your style perfectly suited your figure, matching your personality in ways that had always mesmerized him. A smile tugged at his lips, and he stepped aside to invite you in.

"Look, I was a jerk in that message. I want to apologize." He closed the door behind you, his words rushed with guilt. "I didn’t mean to offend you like that. I was just… frustrated. I don’t even know why..."

You set the bag on a nearby shelf and approached him, a gentle smile on your face.

"I think I know why..." Your hand cupped his cheek in a soft, tender touch filled with warmth. "But… let me show you something first."

Reaching into your bag, you retrieved your phone, unlocked it, and turned it toward him.

It was Arin’s article. Published barely an hour ago, it was already going viral. Of course, your name, Jeno’s, and Minhyuk’s were at the heart of the buzz. Your lips curved into a proud smile—not just for yourself, but for your friend, who had pulled off this exposé in record time.

"See? He was lying. I’m not a traitor. I never even met Jeno before that day here."

Renjun’s gaze shifted from the screen to meet your eyes.

"I needed to show you, I—"

You were cut off as he pulled you into a tight embrace, his arms circling you with fierce protectiveness.

"I believe you," he murmured against your neck, his voice low and muffled. "I just got so upset because..." He pulled back, his eyes searching yours. "The thought of you with him… with anyone else, it tore me apart. And it’s crazy. I’m falling for you after only a day. I’m sorry." His voice cracked, tears pooling in his eyes. "I’ve never been a romantic, but… Jaemin said something about love at first sight. And now I feel like a fool."

You cupped his face, your thumbs brushing gently over his cheekbones. Drawing closer, you rubbed your nose affectionately against his cheek.

"Jun…" you whispered, his name dripping with tenderness, making his heart swell. "Jeno talked to me, too. I think he and Jaemin might be on the same wavelength." You giggled softly, running your fingers through his soft hair. "He told me about love at first sight, too. Opened my eyes. And he said a certain someone got all pouty after I left..."

You sang the words with teasing delight as you pulled away.

Renjun watched you with wonder, his lips curling into a shy, almost bashful smile as his cheeks flushed pink. That timid grin made your heart flutter, a sigh escaping your lips.

Unable to hold back any longer, you threw your arms around him once more, drawing his delicate face toward yours and pressing your lips against his.

For a moment, he was too stunned to react, but when it finally hit him, he wrapped his arms tightly around your waist, pulling you closer until your bodies were flush together. The kiss was delicate, deliberate. Your fingers caressed the back of his neck as your lips moved in slow, perfect harmony with his. His hands slid beneath the hem of your short top, finding your bare skin. The warmth of his touch made you gasp softly.

"Jun..." you breathed his name, your voice trembling as his lips grazed your neck in slow, lingering kisses, each touch igniting a deeper burn beneath your skin. Your eyes remained shut, surrendering to the heat spreading through your body. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, desperate for something to anchor you as your knees turned weak beneath the onslaught of sensation.

"Don’t make me stop... please," he whispered against your skin, his breath hot and uneven as he inhaled your intoxicating scent. You tugged at his hair, and a groan rumbled low in his throat, sending a shiver straight to your core.

"Then take me to bed... your windows aren’t covered," you teased, your voice low and dripping with playful temptation. His lips curved into a wicked smile as his teeth grazed your pulse point, making your body shudder.

Renjun didn’t wait. He guided you with unsteady steps toward the guest bedroom—his own was too far, and he wouldn’t risk losing another moment. His hands roamed freely over you, sliding your blazer from your shoulders with unrestrained hunger, letting it fall forgotten to the floor. Your fingers traced the hard planes of his chest, reveling in the heat of his skin, before tugging impatiently at his shirt. He tore it off in one swift motion, baring himself to you, his gaze dark and full of desire.

You melted into the mattress beneath him as he lowered you down, his lips claiming yours again in a kiss that was raw, urgent, and unrelenting. His hand slipped beneath your skirt, gliding up your thigh with deliberate slowness, teasing you until his fingers brushed the damp heat between your legs.

"Are you sure I can?" His voice was hoarse, trembling with restraint as his eyes searched yours, wide and vulnerable, his lips swollen from your kisses. His hair fell messily across his forehead, making him heartbreakingly beautiful.

"Yes, Jun... I want you," you whispered without hesitation, your voice trembling with longing as your eyes stayed locked on his.

A soft curse fell from his lips as he slid his fingers beneath your panties, his touch finding you already slick with need. A groan of satisfaction escaped him as he felt your wetness, his fingers circling your swollen clit before slipping inside with aching precision. You gasped, arching into him, your fingers tangling in his hair as he worked you with practiced care, his hand moving with a rhythm designed to unravel you.

You rocked your hips into his hand, your body begging for more. He understood—oh, he understood perfectly—and his pace quickened, thrusting his fingers deeper, curling them just right. Pleasure coiled low in your belly, sharp and consuming, as your moans filled the room, each one pushing him higher with pride and lust.

The sound of your pleasure was everything. He had never felt so intoxicated, so lost in the power of making someone fall apart for him. You were his, and he would prove it over and over again, all night if he had to—until there was nothing left but the sound of his name on your lips.

Just as your orgasm hovered at the edge, his fingers withdrew. The sudden emptiness made you whimper in frustration, your body trembling, your eyes heavy with need. Renjun grinned, wicked and full of mischief, as he brought his glistening fingers to his mouth. His eyes never left yours as he tasted you, his tongue swirling around his fingertips with a hum of pure pleasure.

"Perfect," he murmured, his voice thick with reverence. You were his perfect indulgence, the sweetest addiction he’d ever known.

He made quick work of your shirt and panties, his gaze darkening as he took in your bare body. Heat crept into your cheeks, a flicker of shyness in your chest, but Renjun left no room for shame. His touch worshiped you, his eyes devoured you like you were a vision made for him alone.

He knelt between your thighs, spreading them gently but firmly. A sigh escaped him—deep, reverent—as he pressed a kiss to your pubic bone, savoring the moment before lowering himself further.

Then his mouth was on you.

His tongue licked a long, slow path through your folds, tasting every inch of you as though you were the rarest, most exquisite thing he had ever had the privilege of devouring. Your breath caught, and your fingers twitched in his hair, but you were too weak to hold on.

When he sucked your clit, just hard enough, your back arched, a cry ripping from your throat as your body convulsed. His name spilled from your lips, again and again, a chant, a prayer, a plea.

Renjun was relentless. The world faded. There was no time, no thought—only him, only pleasure, only the stars bursting behind your eyes as he unraveled you completely, again and again.

Your body trembled as the pressure within you built higher, the crest of your orgasm drawing nearer with every flick and swirl of his tongue. A desperate prayer echoed in your mind—please don’t stop, not again. He seemed to hear your unspoken plea. His tongue thrust deep inside you, curling, stroking with languid, deliberate intensity that made you whimper and moan in pure abandon.

The tension shattered, a wave of release crashing over you as bliss and calmness flooded every nerve. You cried out softly, your body melting into the mattress as the world dissolved into sensation. Renjun groaned against you, his tongue savoring the sweet, sticky essence of your pleasure. His lips and tongue worked meticulously, devouring you until there wasn’t a trace left, kissing the delicate skin of your thighs like a man utterly intoxicated.

He kissed his way upward, his mouth mapping a trail of reverent worship—across your trembling stomach, the curve of your breasts, until finally capturing your lips in a kiss so deep it stole your breath. The taste of yourself on his tongue only heightened the heat between you, making the kiss more intimate, more forbidden, more perfect.

“I don’t think I can live like before now that I’ve tasted you,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire.

A weak, breathless giggle escaped you as you basked in the afterglow. “You’ve made me your addiction.”

He chuckled, nipping at your neck, his lips brushing over your shoulders, leaving trails of warmth in his wake.

Your hands, still trembling, rested on his chest, feeling the rapid thrum of his heartbeat. With a playful push, you rolled him beneath you, straddling him. The spark in his eyes ignited, a mixture of amusement and pure, unfiltered desire lighting his face. The sight made your heart race—Renjun, so beautiful, so vulnerable, so yours.

You let your body tease you both, dragging your sore, sensitive core slowly over the hard ridge of his clothed arousal. The friction was electric, drawing a shared, shuddering moan from your lips as his hips bucked instinctively beneath you.

“God, you’re perfect,” he groaned, his voice heavy with need as his hands gripped your hips. He held you firmly but reverently, as if you were both fragile and the only thing keeping him tethered to earth.

Every movement of your body sent shockwaves through him, yet he refused to close his eyes. He couldn’t bear to miss a single second—the sight of your flushed, glowing skin, your parted lips still swollen from his kisses, and the way you writhed above him, utterly lost in your shared pleasure.

You moved together, lost in each other, and the world beyond you ceased to exist. There was only this—only him, only you, only the endless rhythm of need and passion and love.

When your movements stilled, Renjun let out a soft, frustrated whimper, his brows furrowing in need. But as he realized what you intended, his expression shifted—desire darkened his eyes as he lifted his hips to help you strip away the last barrier between you. His pants and underwear hit the floor with a soft thud, leaving him gloriously bare before you.

Your breath caught.

Renjun lay there, his chest heaving with shallow breaths, his skin glistening with a sheen of sweat that only heightened his beauty. Your gaze drifted lower, following the lines of his stomach until it settled on him—his cock, flushed and needy, the swollen tip already glistening with arousal. A bead of it pooled just above his navel, and the sight alone made your mouth water.

A soft sigh escaped your lips, part awe, part hunger.

You climbed onto the bed, your hands trembling slightly as they wrapped around his length, feeling the heat of him against your palm. He twitched at your touch, a strangled gasp leaving his mouth. Slowly, reverently, you leaned down, your tongue darting out to catch the trail of arousal that had dripped onto his skin. The taste of him sent a shiver down your spine—salty, heady, intoxicating.

You flicked your gaze upward, watching his face as you took him into your mouth. His eyes fluttered closed, his lips parting in a silent gasp. His fists clenched the sheets beneath him, his knuckles whitening as he fought to keep still when the tip of his cock brushed the back of your throat. The restraint, the tenderness, the pure, unselfish desire to never cause you harm made your heart thud wildly.

And then, unbidden, thoughts of Minhyuk crept into your mind—how selfish he had been, how little he had cared for your pleasure. The contrast was stark, almost cruel. Renjun’s passion, his overwhelming affection, his every action was a testament to how deeply he cherished you. The realization tightened your chest, and without meaning to, your eyes welled with tears.

You blinked them away quickly, grateful that he was too lost in bliss to notice.

Focusing once more, you hollowed your cheeks, your head bobbing in a steady rhythm that left him gasping. You cupped his balls, heavy and full, rolling them gently in your hand while your tongue danced along the underside of his cock. His hips twitched involuntarily, and a strangled groan escaped him.

The sounds he made—the breathless whimpers, the way he chanted your name like a prayer—were a symphony of raw, unfiltered need.

You felt him pulse against your tongue, the telltale quiver of impending release. With a final swirl around his sensitive head, you sucked him deep, teasing the slit with your tongue. His body went taut, and a shuddered cry of your name tore from his lips as he spilled into your mouth. The heat, the salty rush of him filled you, and you swallowed without hesitation, relishing how he writhed beneath you.

As his orgasm ebbed, his eyes found yours. He chuckled softly, watching the little grimace that flitted across your face at the bitter taste.

“Cute,” he murmured, his voice still thick with pleasure.

His hand reached for you, and you crawled into his embrace, straddling him once more. The heat between your bodies lingered, and as he pulled you down into a slow, searing kiss, there was no room for anything but him. His passion consumed you, and you gave yourself to it completely.

"Are you tired?" you whispered, your fingers brushing gently over his cheek as he pressed soft kisses to your knuckles, his lips lingering like a lover’s vow.

"Not even close, love," he murmured, a slow, teasing smile curving his mouth. His eyes glimmered with warmth, and you felt your heart race as he drew you in deeper. "We have all night… I’m definitely not worried."

His words, low and sultry, sent a spark of heat through you, and a soft laugh bubbled from your lips just as he rolled you beneath him. His body hovered over yours, his presence surrounding you, intoxicating and irresistible.

Then his lips found yours again—hungry, tender, and overwhelming. The kiss was more than a touch; it was a confession, an unspoken declaration of love and need. Your tongues tangled, a slow and fevered dance that left you breathless, your desire simmering like wildfire between you. His hands roamed your body as though committing every inch to memory, and with every stroke of his lips, every caress, you melted further into the sheer ecstasy of him.

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[fangirl-erdariel]

One thing that sometimes bugs me in the comparisons to Tolkien is that - it's not even like Tolkien's works are entirely devoid of sexual violence?? Like. He doesn't go into graphic detail on it, it's not something Tolkien has in central focus. But it most definitely is there. (And hey, Tolkien also doesn't go into detail on non-sexual violence if he doesn't need to)

More specific examples and rambling on the topic under the cut, bc this got long on what is already a long post

It really doesn't take a particularly attentive reader to figure out Wormtongue's intentions and desires regarding Éowyn, for instance; like yeah he never lays a hand on her as far as we know, but the threat of what could have happened if he'd gotten his way is... pretty obvious

And Silmarillion has its share of male characters desiring women (or the political power of those women's families, depending) and attempting (sometimes succeeding) to force them into marriage. I don't feel like getting involved in the debate of whether Aredhel initially not being "wholly unwilling" to marry Eöl and stay in Nan Elmoth disqualifies her from the list or whether the amount of coercion involved is enough to still make it count.

But Lúthien most definitely is kidnapped against her will, and though she escapes before anything happens, Celegorm's intention explicitly was to marry her whether she wanted or not. Upon seeing Lúthien, Morgoth, the evil dark lord "conceived in his thought an evil lust, and a design more dark than any that had yet come into his heart", and I think we all can figure out what that is (and his lines in the Lay of Leithian, talking of Lúthien as "a pretty toy for idle hour" and speaking about kissing and then bruising and crushing pretty flowers... it's not particularly subtle), even if once again he doesn't get to actually do so.

And there's Maeglin, who desires Idril, and who is promised "the possession of Idril" as reward for betraying the location of the hidden realm of Gondolin, "and indeed desire for Idril -- led Maeglin the easier to his treachery"

And in the children of húrin bit there's Aerin of the folk of Hador whom the invader lord Brodda takes as wife against her will. And then of course there's Míriel of Númenor, whom her cousin Pharazôn forcibly marries in order to seize her throne that is rightfully there

All those are just what I can think of off the top of my head; I'm sure there'd be more examples if I cared to go digging through the material, but I can't be bothered

So, like. Yeah. Sure. Tolkien doesn't really ever use the word "rape" for the things that happen (he seems to mainly use that word in the more archaic meaning of large-scale destruction and/or robbery by violent means, rather than in its modern definition). And in Lúthien and Idril's cases, of course ultimately nothing happens, they escape and all. And as noted, Aredhel's case is more debatable since she wasn't "wholly unwilling". But still.

I'm pretty dang sure that Tolkien understood that a woman being married against her will would be subjected to sexual violence, and is assuming that to be the reader's understanding of the situation when those cases come up. Gríma's, Morgoth's, and Maeglin's intentions towards the women they desire are definitely to be understood as violent and with no care towards what the women in question want (and at least in Morgoth's case, judging by Lay of Leithian, even actively delighting in the idea of doing it by force to an unwilling victim)

And just. I don't know. It kind of bugs me when people act like Tolkien's setting and works are unrealistic because they're devoid of sexual violence? Like. Well first of all, as earlier posters in the thread have pointed out, massive amounts of sexual violence aren't necessarily realistic to begin with. But like also it is a thing that does happen in the setting too... I don't even mean this as a like "oh isn't it so fun doesn't this make the books so much more adult" or anything, and I understand people who enjoy Tolkien's books because it doesn't have like explicit rape scenes the way some other authors do. I just like... the fact that people keep claiming that sexual violence pretty much doesn't even exist in Middle-Earth, when it very much does, it's just kind of left as a threat and an implication or spoken of in very vague terms, is kind of baffling? Honestly it kinda gives the impression that the person saying it either hasn't read Tolkien since they were thirteen or doesn't actually spend the time to understand what the text they're reading means beyond the most obvious surface level. Or they're deliberately saying something that isn't true because it serves some point they want to make

Like, just because something is not shown explicitly in graphic detail with pages upon pages of description, doesn't mean it's not there in the story or the setting at all? You're supposed to pick up on implications and read between the lines and understand those as deliberate choices from the author and a part of the story and setting too?

Someone over on Discord asked, "I'm morbidly curious: How BAD is A Song of Ice and Fire in terms of the authenticity George claims it to be?"

My reply was straightforward:

The long and the short of it is that ASOIAF is basically a vehicle for GRRM to present both his rape fetish and his Hobbesian view on human nature and has less historical accuracy than Frozen or most other Disney movies.

That's actually a good way to think of it, now that I've said it--he's Family Unfriendly, they're Family Friendly, but both have the same relationship with History: just Pure Aesthetic with no consideration for how the worldbuilding would work.

[katsu28]

summer's golden haze - chapter six

pairing: lando norris x reader

summary: a love confession, a PR scandal, and an explanation (5.2k)

a/n: don’t hate me for this folks 😅 things are going to be fine with our favorite couple, don’t worry! (or are they??? guess you’ll just have to read and see mwahaha)

previous chapter | masterlist

Somehow Lando convinces you to stay the night with him after spending a little quiet time together at his place once the jet lands, instead of going home like you’d originally planned. You won’t go into detail, but it involved little talking and a lot more kissing. 

He lets you shower off the nightclub musk first, and only when you’ve made yourself comfy in his bed can you shoot a text to your friends. 

You: staying at lando’s tonight. no need to wait up for me, he’ll drop me off at ours in the morning

Samira: ouuu get it girl 

Maren: be safe wear protection etc etc 

You: GOD no not like that you perverts

Camille: sure 👍🏼

Camille: is he reading over your shoulder? WE’RE ONTO YOU NORRIS. 

You: i hate you guys ❤️

Maren: why are u still texting us go spend time with ur man 

“Everything good?” 

Lando’s toweling his hair dry as he walks into the room, wearing only a pair of shorts. He’s a bit sunburnt on his chest and shoulders from today, but he’s still got that aftersun glow about him as he makes his way over to you. He collapses dramatically beside you on the mattress, wasting no time in sprawling into your space with a content sigh. 

“Yep, fine. The girls say hi and goodnight,” You say airily, putting aside your phone. Lando lets out a noncommittal hum, too busy with making himself comfortable next to you to form a response. In the end, he finally settles with an arm thrown across your thighs, face pressed into your side snugly. 

Your fingers trace the dip of his spine gently, coming up to brush over his reddened skin. “You’re all burnt, Lando.”  

“Sun cream is for wimps,” He mumbles, words muffled. “I’m tough.” 

“You might rethink that when your skin starts to peel.” 

“Did you have fun?” He asks, changing the subject in favor of aiming a hopeful smile up at you. 

“I did. I still can’t believe you’re friends with Martin Garrix, though.” 

Lando chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re still hung up on that?” 

“Uh, yeah! Normal people usually don't know world famous musicians!” 

“Guess I’m not normal then, am I?” 

“No, you’re not,” You hum, pushing his damp curls away from his forehead. His face screws into an overdramatically offended look that makes you giggle. “You’re not normal, you’re better.” 

“Good save, that,” He mumbles, face morphing into what has to be the most fond, heart-melting, doe eyed expression you’ve ever been looked at with.

What you say next seems to fall out of your mouth before you realize just what you’re doing. All you know is he’s gazing at you like you’re holding up the moon and the stars, and suddenly it feels like exactly the moment to say what you’re thinking. 

“I think I’m in love with you too.” 

Funnily enough, Lando’s eyes widen the same way Max’s did when he’d accidentally told you. “What?”

“I love you too,” You say, though a little more unsure this time. There’s a key difference between your first and second confessions, but saying it out loud the first time only solidified what, deep down, you think you’ve already known. 

You love Lando. You’re in love with Lando, and you want him to know. 

Only now he’s staring at you like you’ve just told him some deep dark secret that he wasn’t supposed to know, which definitely isn’t the response you thought you’d get from him, and it makes your brain kick into overdrive. 

Max had seemed entirely genuine at the time, but maybe he was just messing with you. Maybe your entire relationship with Lando was some sort of a prank, or god forbid, a fucking bet. The thought had crossed your mind at the beginning, but you’d shoved it aside because Lando was so charming and so painfully your type that you were willing to take the leap. 

Less than two weeks. It took less than two weeks to fall in love with the boy in front of you, less than two weeks for you to put your heart into his hands and pray that he wouldn’t break it. The heart that he’d already wormed his way into and made his home.

It’s definitely fast, you’re fully aware of the fact. At the beginning, you weren’t expecting to get into anything serious. Telling yourself you’d let things play out, let whatever was to happen happen, prepared to leave any and all thoughts of Lando behind if things didn’t work out. 

You didn’t actually think you’d end up in love with him, and for some reason, it scares you more than you could’ve ever imagined. There’s something terrifying about falling in love, but something even worse than it was him not feeling the same. 

“How did you—” He stops mid-sentence, looking so utterly floored you’ve figured it out that you forget any and all previous doubts of Lando not sharing your feelings. “Have I been that obvious?” 

“Max let it slip.” 

He lets out a groan, squeezing his eyes shut momentarily before opening them again. “Max couldn’t keep his mouth shut if his life depended on it, the twat.”

“Y’know, he said the same thing,” You giggle quietly. 

“Because it’s true! His big mouth has been getting me into trouble since the day we met.” 

“Do you think falling in love with me is trouble?” 

“No! God, no, absolutely not,” Lando insists, shaking his head. In one fell swoop, he manages to shift the both of you so you’re on top of him now, sitting on his thighs with a leg on either side of him. His hands travel up from your waist to cup your face in his palms reassuringly. “The opposite, really. I think you’re the best thing to ever happen to me. I just…I wanted to tell you on my own terms. Had it all planned out too.” 

“Oh yeah?” You hum, hooking your fingers over his biceps. “What'd you have planned?” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He teases, grinning from ear to ear. You make a pleading noise from the back of your throat, but he just shakes his head, zipping his lips with an imaginary key and pretending to hold it high above his head. 

You play along, going to reach up for it, but Lando leans forward, capturing your lips in a gentle kiss. It’s a total distraction move, and it works. You forget all about what his plans could’ve been, the thoughts quelled by his mouth on yours, kissing you sweetly. 

Your hands slide over the broadness of his shoulders without thinking, fingertips pressing into lean muscle to keep yourself upright. 

“Ow, fuck—” He hisses, pulling away from you with a wince. Thinking you’ve hurt him, your eyes go wide. “Sunburn,” He explains hastily. 

You scramble off of him. “I am so sorry!”

“No, no, it’s fine, I’m fine, let’s just—” He leans in for another kiss, but the moment is over now. 

You snuggle into his side, splaying a hand over his chest. Your fingers immediately go to toy with his necklace. “What will things be like when your break ends, when we have to go back to our separate lives?” 

If your question catches him off guard, he doesn’t show it. He just sighs like he’s been thinking about the same thing, rubbing a hand down your arm. “Honestly? I’m not sure. Tried not to think of it much, really.” 

“It’s coming soon.” Your voice is almost a whisper, like saying it as soft as you can would make the day you have to leave each other never come. “Too soon.”

“Too soon,” He echoes sadly. “Do you—I mean, would you want to go public?” 

The first answer that pops into your head is no. 

No, you don’t want to make your relationship known to the public. Lando is a celebrity, and within that territory comes many things you aren’t comfortable with sharing. And it might be selfish of you for the thought to even cross your mind, but part of you doesn’t want to share Lando with the world. 

You’ve gotten used to your peaceful little bubble the last few weeks, and once he returns to racing, that bubble will be popped. It might only be a matter of time before people start to figure things out, and you’re not ready for that. Until you part ways, you don’t even want to think about it. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Lando murmurs, drawing you out of your spiraling thoughts. His hand is on your face again, cradling your cheek tenderly, thumb rubbing over your cheek. “We’ll keep things under wraps. I’ve got no problems with that.” 

“You don’t?” 

“You sound surprised.” 

“I’m not,” You say immediately. You must not sound very convincing, because Lando tilts his head in question. “I mean—maybe I am? I just thought you’d want to, y’know, go out and stuff. Press events and races, like the other drivers’ partners.” 

“You’ve been looking?” He sighs, but not unkindly. More like an oh, I wish you hadn’t kind of way. 

“Yeah. A little.” You feel a little embarrassed admitting it, but you just wanted to know what might be expected of you as Lando’s girlfriend. 

In doing so, however, all you’ve done is hurt your own feelings. In your hours long deep dive about Formula 1 WAGs, as you’ve come to learn they’re called, there seem to be some commonalities.

They’re all brilliant, accomplished women. Some of them are models, some athletes, some businesswomen. Everything about them seems pristine and polished, always perfect. From their makeup, to their clothes, even their posture is perfect. You, on the other hand, you’re nothing like them. You’re not a model, you’re not as accomplished or as brilliant, and yeah, most of the time you slouch when you sit. 

You’re just…you. 

And for some reason, Lando likes you. Loves you. That should be enough for you, and you hate that it isn’t. 

You hate that at the very back of your brain, the thought that you’re not good enough for him digs its way into your self conscience, burrowing deep into the pit of your stomach. It has its claws in you, and it isn’t letting go any time soon. You’re not sure it ever will. 

“You’re spiraling again, baby,” Lando chides lightly, bringing you back to the present moment once more. You meet his gaze again, thinking you’ll find pity, but seeing nothing but adoration. He bumps your chin with his knuckles lightly. “I love you. Not who you think you should be.” 

Your heart swells so big you’re certain it might burst out of your chest. Lando knew exactly what you needed to hear in this moment of self doubt and didn’t hesitate to tell you. 

You smile at him, leaning forward to press your lips against his with all the love and affection you can muster, because words aren’t enough to explain just how lucky you are to have found someone like him. 

Lando sighs against your mouth, having no hesitation in swinging himself to hover over you. 

You let him nudge you back gently against the pillows, knees falling apart easily to accommodate the thigh he slots between them, and it has him pushing in even closer, chasing the breath right out of your chest with the way he’s kissing you. 

Safe to say, sleep does not take you until a long while later, not until you're both wearing a lot less clothes, tangled in each other’s embrace, fighting to keep your eyes open. Lando tells you he loves you one more time before you drift off for good, a whisper pressed against your temple in the darkened room. 

You’ll sleep well tonight with the ease of knowing that there is no question of how Lando feels about you, about your relationship. Everything is perfect. 

-------

“No, that’s bullshit. I’m not doing that. I don’t care if that’s what they want, I’m not doing it.” 

Lando’s hushed voice is what wakes you up, quiet but still sharp. Firm. 

Light from the bathroom pours in one beam through the cracked door on the other side of the room, piercing the darkness of early morning. You can see him pacing back and forth too, phone pressed to his ear, and it piques your concern. Whoever is on the other side of the line has obviously said something to get him heated. 

Work again, maybe? 

“Is everything okay?” You yawn, squinting at him through the sleep in your eyes as he shuffles back into the bedroom after the call ends.  

“Sorry for waking you,” He says stiffly. You pull yourself into an upright position.

“S’okay. What’s wrong?” Lando just tosses his phone into the mess of clothes in his bag on the chair. You’ll take that as a no, everything is not okay, and yes, something is wrong. “Lando.” 

He sits at the edge of the bed, facing away from you, elbows braced on his knees. You scoot towards him, smoothing a gentle hand over his back as your chin presses into his shoulder, his skin still warm under your fingers. You’re not sure what's wrong, but whatever it is, you’re there for him. 

“There’s pictures of us from the other night, at the club, and the beach. People took pictures of us together and now they’re all over social media.” 

Your heart sinks. “Oh. That’s not great, is it?” 

“No. Not really.” 

“Was that your PR officer calling?” You ask. Lando nods. “What did they say?” 

“Best to not go online today. And turn off your notifications too, because they’ll find you fast. Honestly, just turn off your phone.” He stands abruptly from the bed, away from you, pacing and muttering and raking his hands through his hair. You can almost see the cogs in his brain spinning from where you are.

This is foreign territory to you. You haven’t the slightest idea on how to deal with a situation like this one. You’re not even sure Lando fully does, given the way he’s acting right now. 

Still, it feels…violating. Having photos taken of you without your knowledge or consent, then having those photos spread around like they’re some sort of gossip. Even more so because you’ve felt safe around Lando up until this moment. 

Now he’s telling you to stay offline, to turn off your phone because strangers on the Internet will find you. You don’t even want to know what’ll happen when they do. 

“Will you slow down for a minute, please?” You ask, crossing your arms over your chest. He doesn’t answer, just continues in his back and forth actions. “Can we talk about this, or have you gotten everything about our relationship figured out on your own already?” 

It’s a bit petty, a little bratty of you. Of course he hasn’t gotten much of anything figured out—he’s only just been made aware of the situation that had likely progressed overnight. It isn’t something he should be having to deal with on his summer break, but he does. 

He stops in his tracks, stares at you blankly, and for a second, you think he’ll sit down and listen to you. But then he’s on the move again, rifling through his bag for something. “I think I should take you home.” 

You let out a sharp exhale, raising a skeptical brow. “Are you serious right now?” 

“Why wouldn’t I be? This isn’t a joke, this is my image we’re talking about.” He procures a wrinkled shirt from the depths of his bag, wasting no time in pulling it over his head. 

That leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. You’re very aware that you have no idea what it’s like for him, no idea what it’s like to have your every move be so up for public speculation. That being said, you do know how a biting jab like that makes you feel. 

“Your image!” You chuckle wryly. “Oh, I’m so sorry, you’re right. You need to keep up your image, my bad.” 

There goes the tic in his jaw again. He’s still not making eye contact with you either, which irks you to no end. “Let me find my keys, I’ll drive you home.” 

“No, that’s okay. I’ll just take an Uber. Wouldn’t want to put your image at risk any more than I already have.” You throw the blankets off yourself, going to find your clothes yourself. 

Lando lets out a frustrated noise from the back of his throat. He’s probably just as ticked off as you are, but you're not really thinking of that right now. “C’mon, don’t be ridiculous. I’ll drive you home, sweetheart.” 

Sweetheart. He’s being all pissy like this and he still has the nerve to call you that. You fight to ignore the butterflies in your stomach at the nickname. You’re still getting used to it. Right now, you have a love hate relationship with it. 

“Fine.” 

That’s the last word said by either of you until you're almost back to your place. By this point, you've cooled down considerably. You’ve gathered your thoughts enough to realize you were being a little bitchy about the situation. He’s frustrated, you're frustrated, but it's not either of your faults. 

The car pulls to a stop and the doors unlock automatically, so technically you could just let yourself out without saying anything at all. You almost do, but you don't want to leave things the way they are with Lando right now. 

“I love you,” You say softly, carefully watching him for a reaction. 

The clench in his jaw softens almost imperceptibly, but the crease between his brows, the set of his shoulders, the laser focus he's got on something off in the distance, those still remain. 

It’s an entire world away from the way his face had lit up brighter than the sun when you said the exact same three words to him for the first time, just last night. “Text me when you get back so I know you're home safe?” 

“Yeah, sure.” His voice is clipped, void of any emotion. He doesn't want to talk. That you can see loud and clear. 

Still, you try again. “I’m sorry about the photos, Lan.” 

“Not your fault.” 

It’s not your fault either, you want to say. You want to look him in the eyes and tell him everything will be okay, that things will work out in the end. You don't—you can’t—because he’s angled himself away from you. 

Tears burn at the edges of your eyes and you think you can feel your heart crack a little bit, but you will yourself to get out of the car before he can see them fall. The last thing you need is to add to whatever is going on inside his head right now. 

Yeah, maybe you’d been a little combative with him at first, but at the end of everything, you love him now. You still want to figure things out together. But judging by the way he won’t even look you in the eye right now, it isn’t what he wants. 

How could you go from basking in the light of newfound love to barely being able to get a word out of him, with just one phone call? A phone call about you, your relationship with Lando, one where you don’t even know what was said. 

You hear him pull away as soon as you shut the door behind you. 

Is it bad that a small part of you is glad he waited for you to get inside? It means he still cares about you enough to make sure you’re in safely, even though he might be upset with you. 

Then you’re hit with the fact that he is upset with you, and that sliver of hope vanishes. 

You sink down onto the cold tile of the entryway, back against the door. Everything was so good and now it’s all going to shit, and you hate to think about how you’ve messed things up. 

“Tell us everything and don’t leave a single detail—” Maren’s gleeful shout dies in her throat the second she comes barreling around the corner and sees you on the floor with your head in your hands. 

She’s quick to call for the other two, rushing to your side in a second and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. 

“I’m gonna kill him. Do I need to kill him?” Samira sounds beyond angry. You’ve only ever seen her this angry a few times, all of which you were glad to have never been the source of. 

Camille hushes Samira’s threats, kneeling by your other side. “What happened?” 

“Too much,” You mumble, half muffled by the sleeve of your jumper. Lando’s jumper. You want to rip it off and chuck it in the bin, but it’s the same one he’d been wearing the first night you spent together—soft and well loved, smelling like his cologne. Instead, your hands clench into fists around the worn cotton, squeezing the material tight between your fingers. 

You eventually find your way to the couch, where you remain until nightfall nears, a half empty bottle of wine sitting open on the coffee table in front of you while your comfort show plays quietly on the television. Realistically, you should be getting ready to go for a night out on the town, but you’re all in your pajamas, curled up against each other nicely. 

You’d managed to tell them what was going on through tears that had stopped a while ago, but the thought of Lando putting up walls to keep you out of the situation still burns bright in your mind. 

The doorbell rings suddenly and you wrinkle your nose, confused. 

Camille untangles herself from the pile, squeezing your hand gently. “I’ll get it! It’s probably our food.” You didn’t even know she’d ordered dinner, but you won't complain. All this wallowing in your hurt feelings has really spurred an appetite. 

But then Maren and Samira leave for the door too and you're alone on the couch, even more confused. 

“Don’t get mad at us, okay?” 

Your mouth pulls into a confused frown at your friends who’ve just reappeared, but then you see Lando step into the room. He looks disheveled and just like you were hoping he’s been feeling—guilty. 

Your eyes flick to the girls. You don’t feel betrayed, but rather the thought of them reaching out to Lando brings you a surge of love. 

They’ve always known what you need, even if you don’t know it yourself. 

“You two need to talk things out, so we’ll be in the kitchen. But if you make her cry again and I’ll kick your pretty rich boy ass, I swear to—” The rest of Samira’s threat is cut off by the other two pulling her out of sight. 

That just leaves you and Lando, staring at each other, expressions unreadable. He steps forward, hesitant feet bringing him to the edge of the couch, where he perches awkwardly. 

“Hey,” He says meekly, shoving his hands into the big pocket of his jumper. You can’t bring yourself to greet him back. “You weren’t answering any of my texts or calls.” 

He looks like he wants to reach out for you but refrains himself from doing so. You’re partly glad he does, because if he did, you’re not sure you could’ve stopped yourself from burying yourself in his arms. 

Instead, you stare at him blankly. “You told me to turn off my notifications.” 

Lando sucks in a breath through his teeth, head bobbing slightly. “I did say that, didn’t I?” 

“You shut me out, Lando. You wouldn’t even tell me what was happening,” You grit out. You’re hurt, to say the least. You hope he knows that. “Don’t you think I have the right to know what’s going on?” 

“I know. I know, and I’m sorry,” He insists, almost pleading. “I didn’t mean to shut down like that. I guess I’m just used to doing these kinds of things on my own, y’know? Usually when my name trends on social media, it’s something I’ve done. Something I’ve got to deal with the aftermath of. But now, this time…” 

“This time, there’s me,” You finish, frowning.

“Yeah. It isn’t just my life I have to think of, it’s yours too. Having your every move watched and judged by people who don’t know you is the last thing I want for you to have to go through. I can handle it because it comes with the job, but you shouldn’t have to. It isn’t fair to you.” 

“It’s not your fault.” 

“Isn’t it? We’re in this situation because of me. Because of who I am.” 

“You didn't ask for this. Like you said, it comes with the job, no matter what you do.”

“Yeah, but I—”

“Lando, I’m not mad that the photos got leaked, I was hurt because you just took me home and left me here without telling me what was going on,” You say. Your voice only wavers the tiniest bit, and you fight it even more. “It felt like you didn't want me to have any input on our relationship, and that's not what a relationship is supposed to be like. At least, not one that I want to be in. I would hope you’d feel the same way.” 

“I do. Baby, I do feel the same way. I love you, and I should’ve said it back in the car, I know. And I was angry this morning, but not at you, and I should’ve made that clear too. I was upset and I made some rash decisions, and I’m so sorry,” He sighs, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. When he opens them again, there's pain swirling within them. “I just wanted something to be just mine for once. I wanted our relationship, I wanted you to be that something, because in my life, everything is public. Even if I’d rather it not be, somehow it always ends up out there for the whole world to see, and I don’t want that for us. I know you don’t want that. I don’t ever want you to feel like you're giving up anything to be with me. That being said, I understand if you want to call things off.” 

He doesn’t look at you when he says it, but the pure sense of defeat in his tone makes your guarded posture finally soften.

Despite how things were left this morning, the thought of calling things off with Lando had never even crossed your mind. The fact that he thinks it was enough to make you want to break up with him has every ounce of frustration you have towards him leaving your body. 

“I don’t,” You say firmly. His head flies up, gaze snapping to yours, a mixture of relief and confusion. “I don’t wanna break up, Lan.”

“Thank god, ‘cause I don’t either.” Finally, he reaches a hand out towards you, and you feel okay enough to crawl over and curl into his side. He immediately presses a smattering of kisses against the side of your head that makes your stomach feel all fuzzy again. “I hate that your privacy was stripped away so soon.” 

“Honestly? Part of me knew something like this might happen,” You admit, pulling his arm around you snugly. “I’ve made my peace with it.” 

“You have?” 

You shoot him a tiny frown paired with a sharp exhale. “Well, obviously it’s not great, but it was bound to happen at some point, right?” 

“So you’re cool with it?” 

“I’m not ready to make it publicly official, if that's what you're asking. But I’m…not as upset as I thought I’d be.” You shrug, humming thoughtfully. “Can I ask what your team said on the phone?” 

Lando lets a mirthless scoff escape from the back of his throat. It stings less now that you know he's not upset with you for asking about it. “They wanted me to say you were just some random girl. That you were a fan, or something, and that I didn’t know you.” 

“Well, that seems a little excessive.” 

“Yeah, I know, I said the same thing! Nobody with half a brain would believe it either. I mean, just look at us.” He digs his phone out of his pocket, scrolling around until he finds what he’s looking for and flipping it around for you to look at. 

Turns out you’d been right on the nose about someone recognizing Lando at the club. The photo is grainy and a little blurry, but you can tell it's him cozied up behind you even though his head is tipped down. There’s no mistaking that messy head of curls. 

Then there’s the one at the beach, of the two of you holding hands as you walk along the shore with your heels dangling from Lando’s fingers. There’s a video too—Lando brushing your hair away from your face before leaning in to kiss you gently. 

It’s still an invasion of privacy, definitely, but there's something romantic about it. Like, at least it's nothing bad. It’s just an outwards expression of your love. You might not be quite ready to share that love with the world just yet, but one day, you might.

“Y’know, if you ignore the whole gossip mill of it all, the pictures are actually kinda cute.” 

“Ha! You think so?” 

“Sure do. My boobs look great in the club one.”

Lando draws his lower lip between his teeth, shamelessly zooming in on the specific photo. “Mm, yeah they do, huh?” 

You scoff, digging your elbow into his stomach lightly. “Stop that!” 

“What? You said it, I’m just agreeing!” He protests, holding his hands up in surrender. Then he tilts his head hopefully. “We’re okay now? I’m forgiven for being a big stupid idiot?” He asks, tilting his head hopefully. You chuckle, nodding, and he beams. “Mint! Love you.” 

“I love you too, you big stupid idiot.” 

"Fuck, I love hearing you say that."

"What, big stupid idiot?" You tease, dodging the decorative pillow Lando swings your way.

"Funny. The first part, obviously. Say it again for me?"

"I love you, Lan," You say again, looking directly at him.

The giddy smile that curves his lips and makes his whole face brighten is worth everything to you. You'd tell Lando you love him every single day if it'd make him happy.

“Am I allowed to ask you all to come over? Max is fetching Pietra from the airport and she wants to meet you all so badly, I don’t think I’ll be allowed back in the house if I don’t bring you back with me,” He says, smile turning sheepish. “D’you think the girls are gonna try to kill me?”

“Uh, I’m not sure.”

“You’re not sure? It’s a yes or no answer, baby.” 

“I’m ninety percent sure you’ll be fine.” 

“Ninety?” 

“Eighty five.” 

“That’s so much worse.” 

When you inevitably do make it back to Lando’s villa, Max and Pietra have just arrived home too, still outside as Lando pulls up right next to their car. 

Max folds you into a hug once you’re in range, pausing briefly to say quietly into your ear, “I knew you’d work things out. I’d have kicked his ass if he didn’t.”

You squeeze his shoulder gratefully, because you know he’d had something to do with getting Lando to make things right. 

Pietra and Lando bicker kind of like siblings, but even then you can tell they're close. He introduces her to all of you, and she instantly melds in so seamlessly with you and your girls it feels like you’ve been friends for ages, chattering away about what Max has told her about your adventures in Greece so far.

Finally, things really are all perfect in your little world. 

follow @katsu-library to be notified when i post a new chapter :)

[404creep]

Here's another little installment for my Simon x Civilian Cleaning Lady series. I'm trying to leave some of the REALLY good ideas for one shots, but sometimes I just gotta get the ideas in my head OUT through these drabbles!!!! I'll try and finish up the one shot I'm working on this weekend and post it by Monday! (Spolier alert, it's about the time you learn Ghost's real name 👀)

Previous Next Series Masterlist

The first time Simon truly interacts with your nephew happens roughly three weeks after you both begin having real conversations (you know.....rather than him just lurking like Michael Myers, silently observing you from behind a wall down the hallway)

Simon came for his daily visit later than he usually does on this particular day. Bro was swamped with work so you'd already clocked out when he came looking for you.

He was honestly scared he'd miss you. But he figured you'd have to get the kid before you left so he tried the daycare.

He just hung around outside the daycare until you exited holding the small 4 year old.

You honestly didn't expect to see Ghost there. It did scare you a bit ngl.

Y'all kinda do a stare down for a bit before you shoot him a smile that makes his tummy flutter

You introduce him to your nephew and he's just kinda awkwardly standing there looking at the kid like "idk wtf to do"

Bro does not know how to interact with toddlers and you can't change my mind on this.

Your nephew is kinda just burying his head into your neck and mean mugging Ghost

Honestly ghost is sweating a bit cause the kid is a little intimidating ngl

kid's been through a lot

You tell him to wave to the nice uncle army man

The kid does a half hearted little finger wave and then turns his head completely to face the other way so he doesn't have to look at at the masked army man

Ghost is honestly sweating cause how is he gonna marry you if your nephew hates him? Who will be the ring bearer????

Simon had it all planned out

NOOOOO! NOT HIS ELABRATE WEDDING PLANS

He'll survive

Anyway he figured that the way to any man's heart is through his stomach so he decides to sacrifice one of his snacks on you for the kid. Simon ALWAYS has snacks for you hidden in one of his pockets.

Decides to use YOUR daily treat for the kid as a bribe.

Kinda digs a package of gummies out of his pocket and then shakes them a bit "He old enough for this?" is all he asks. Doesn't wanna hop the kid up on sugar without your permission.

You see it for what it is, a bribe to make the kid like him.

and honestly you find it kinda sweet that he's trying

so you say yeah

he kinda taps the kid's arm with the package and the kid turns his head back to look

cue less mean mugging and very focused eyes on said package of candy.

Ghost can't help but crack a little smile under his mask

kid is cute, there's no denying it. Looks a bit like you.

He rips the package open and offers it to the kid.

The kid reaches in with his little fingers and grabs a few and then promptly shoves them into his mouth, still basically hiding in your neck.

Pretty sure the kid also eats a bit of your hair because you feel a bit of a pull so you can't help but wince at the pain. Kids are gross sometimes.

You tell Simon you guys gotta go because you need to get home and cook dinner

simon nods and follows you out to your car and watches you buckle the kid into his carseat

He's mentally taking notes in case he ever has to do it on his own

Tells you to be safe and that he'll see you tomorrow and gives you the rest of the candy for the kid later. He'll have more for you tomorrow anyway.

Watches you drive out of the parking lot and doesn't go back inside until he can't see the car anymore

One day you guys will be going home together :)

It takes your nephew a while to warm up to him (Oneshot about this cooking as we speak)

Your nephew may or may not immediately love Johnny.......Simon is jealous of this fact.

[softtdaisy]

your favorite brother / Aaron Hotchner

summary. you thought you would never deal with Hotchner brothers again. And here came Aaron. Arresting you. And making up for the arrest.

words count. 3,055

what to expect. mention of murder, mention of abuse, mention of Sean (guess it's important to say it) not a real smut because i'm still uncomfortable writing it but it's implied

a/n. this might be one of my favorite fic since i started writing again, i really took the time to do something sensual. and i'm trying to something new with the gif so??? i hope you will love it 🤍

F1 masterlist | general masterlist | request

You’ve seen Aaron Hotchner more these past two days than the whole time you were dating Sean, his brother. 

It’s not like you didn’t try to back then. You always found it sad that both brothers weren’t in touch and didn’t seem close at all. Sean didn’t seem very fond of his brother, criticizing him a lot for many things that you didn’t even understand most of the time. You often thought that he was looking for excuses to blame Aaron for many things in his life that were not his fault. But it wasn’t your place to defend a man you never met. 

You only met Aaron once, in your ten months relationship with his brother.

You guessed he tried to do some effort by inviting him to Jack’s birthday that year. You almost didn’t come. It was the beginning of your relationship with Sean and you weren’t sure it was right to be there after months (years?) of the Hotchner’s brothers not seeing each other.

But Sean insisted. Saying he didn’t want to go alone in case they argue. So you were there. 

You remembered the first time you saw Aaron Hotchner.

He looked nothing like your boyfriend. Neither physically or mentally. Maybe that’s why it was harder to contain the immediate attraction you had for him.

Aaron had this dark masculine figure, so serious and imposing, yet with a little light coming from the happy look on his face that it was impossible to miss him. It was his son's birthday and Aaron was the center of attention.

You guessed the FBI outfit was different from the one he was wearing that day: a dark blue shirt that was revealing his biceps and veins and a dark jean that looked so good on his long legs. His hair was not styled, almost like he woke up a few minutes before you arrived.

And when he turned around to greet you, the smile that he gave you was easily one of the most beautiful ones you’ve ever seen. Sincere, genuine and glowing.

He was far from the gloomy figure that Sean described to you. You even wondered if he didn’t overstate that description to prevent you from falling for his brother. 

Funny coming from a confident man that never seems to fear losing his women.

As much as you tried to fight it, you ended up daydreaming about Aaron more than once that day. 

The way he bent over the table, talking to his coworkers, got you lost in your mind about being in this position too. With him.

The way he put a hand on your shoulder to thank you for being here got you thinking about the heat of his skin and how good it would feel elsewhere on your body.

Your brain even memorized his features so well that Aaron was even part of your dirty dream that night. You claimed it was the other Hotchner brother but you could never forget the feeling of the dark haired hands on your body. 

But the two brothers ended up fighting only a few days after Jack’s party and you put aside everything you remembered about Aaron right after. Not only because of the fight but because of the way Sean ended up treating you.

You never wanted to hear about the Hotchner brothers ever again.

And you could have easily gone with that state of mind for the rest of your life. If your coworker wasn’t killed in the elevator. 

Real problem.

You weren’t sure why the FBI got called on the case. Sure it was terrible and premeditated, you don’t kill someone on an elevator out of nowhere, not even after a bad day. And that man had a few complains against him for sexual harassment. It didn’t take two detectives to get the motive.

So when your boss told you that the FBI would work on the case, you didn’t really get it but accepted it.

But when you saw Aaron Hotchner coming through the door, you thought that maybe fate was behind it.

If the attraction was born on Jack’s birthday with his casual look, it came back bigger when you saw him. The charcoal grey suit, the burgundy tie, the dark hair perfectly styled, the silver watch shining on his wrist and the serious look on his face, everything made you lose it that day.

You weren’t the only one surprised by the unplanned and supposed-to-never-happen-again reunion. 

“Didn’t know you were working here.” Aaron said after he finished talking to your boss. He walked straight to your desk, his knees barely touching it. Like he was trying his best to not enter your life again.

“It’s not like you knew a lot about me.” you replied, folding your arms against your chest. You noticed his eyes looking down on you before going back to your face. This was almost a criticism. But could you really blame him for not staying in touch with his brother’s ex-girlfriend?

Aaron sighed, looking away to make sure nobody was listening. “Listen, I know you complained about the victim. We need to hear you.”

You tried not to look disappointed that it took him less than a minute to change the conversation and focus on the case. There was so much more you wanted to say. 

But you also noticed that it took him that same amount of time to change his mind about his place in your life and put a hand on your desk.

“What do you want me to say?” you asked, frowning. “He was convinced every person that walked through this door wanted to have sex with him. To the point he didn’t mind cornering people to get what he wanted.”

You noticed how the hand Aaron had put on your desk turned into a fist. “I slapped him, once.” you added. “It was during last year Christmas’ party. Apparently, my red dress attracted him like a bull to the point he followed me to the toilet to finally have his rest. He said it was my fault.” you took a break, breathing. “He’s the one who’s dead now.”

Maybe you dreamt it but you’re sure you saw a smile on Aaron’s face. Short and very small. But a proof he heard you. Anything else, Aaron?”

“I’ll tell you.” you loved how his eyebrows went up and down, just like his eyes on you. He took one second from his time to look at you before walking back to his team. 

You spent the whole day searching for him in corners and other rooms. Your colleagues always laughed about you being closed to the coffee machine as a way to satisfy your caffeine addiction. Which wasn’t completely false. But you were more than glad when the man haunting your thoughts came to take one more than once. It was good a distraction from work and the mess happening that day.

Next thing you knew, it was 8 p.m., your day was over and Aaron Hotchner was waiting for you. But not casually. 

He was waiting to bring you to the police station. 

“That’s a joke, right?” you asked, chuckling at the idea. It was kind of funny to be arrested by your ex brother-in-law. But there was no sight of fun on his face. 

And when he walked behind you to escort you, Aaron leaned closer to your ear. “Don’t make things more difficult.” he whispered. You closed your eyes for a second, imagining other moments where this man could whisper things in your ear. But only for a second. Because Aaron was walking quickly behind you, hurrying you up outside.

He was the one helping you get in the car. You appreciated the irony of him opening the door like a gentleman. Aaron noticed the look in your eyes, the anger of being arrested for something you clearly didn’t do. And the betrayal of him being the one arresting you. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled so softly you almost didn’t hear it.

But you did. And it was the melody that stayed in your head the whole ride.

The questioning was pure torture.

Aaron asked to not do it, a conflict of interests that the team quickly learned about when they did some research on you. So you met agent Prentiss and Morgan. Well, meet again technically because you remembered seeing them at Jack’s birthday. But there was no time for chatting.

Maybe it was because of your connection with their boss or they saw the sincerity in your words, but none of them seemed to believe in your guilt.

But you still had to stay there because you were one of their unsub. Telling the same story over and over.

“You said you wanted him dead.” Prentiss said, showing you a screenshot from a conversation with your colleagues. 

You couldn’t contain your laugh. “That son of a bitch tried to abuse me. He tried to abuse almost every woman that walked in our office. He was waiting for them like a goddamn hunter. And I should ask for his happiness? He’s better where is now.” you looked at her in the eyes. “But that doesn’t mean I killed him.”

This continued like that for hours. Of them leaving the room and leaving you alone. Even if you could still feel Aaron’s look on you through the glass -at least you liked to think he was there. And both of them coming back to ask you more questions about work and the victim. 

It was midnight when you finally were allowed to come home. This time, you didn’t look for Aaron at the station. But you found him in your dreams. Whether you wanted it or not. 

That was how you ended spending the day at your apartment instead of work. You took your day off and learnt in the afternoon that the real responsible had been caught. 

And again, you thought this case being solved meant you were finally free from the Hotchner brothers.

When the sun started to come down, you heard three knocks on your door. The atrocity of what happened the day before didn’t stop you from opening your door to strangers.

Except it wasn’t a stranger.

It was the man hunting your dreams and fantasies. 

“What do you want Aaron?” you asked, moving away to let him come in.

You weren’t the only one to whom the first meeting between you two was engraved in your mind. Aaron perfectly remembered the day Sean brought you to Jack’s birthday.

His brother didn’t tell him he would bring someone. And when he heard the gossips when you arrived, before seeing you two, he regretted inviting Sean. Of course his brother would do something to annoy him.

Then he saw you.

You had lowered to be at Jack’s level and were laughing at a joke he apparently told you. You looked mesmerised, like his son was the most interesting person in the whole garden. And if you asked Aaron, he would say it’s true. But to see that look on someone that didn’t know either him or Jack was flattering. And appealing.

It wasn’t only the way you acted with Jack. It was you, entirely.   

He remembered the glow in your eyes when you first talked. He remembered how you always seemed to look for him. He remembered seeing you get lost in your thoughts, wondering if he was the cause.

He remembered the necklace you were wearing: a gold chain with an emerald. A gift from Sean. He remembered thinking how his hands would look so much better around your neck. 

Aaron felt bad for having such a sudden and massive desire for his brother’s girlfriend. And just like you, you were the only one in his mind when he went to sleep that night. Or during the showers that lasted longer than usual the following days.

Then life carried on. He somehow forgot about you or his attraction for you. And after his fight with Sean, he wasn’t even aware that you two broke up. Not until yesterday, when you revealed during the questioning that you were single.

“Apologize.” he finally replied. You turned around to look at him. Aaron leant against the wall, like a statue that belonged there. You guessed his day was over by the way his tie was a little less thigh around his neck than yesterday or how the first button of his shirt was undone. He looked tired. This case was draining. Not only by the murder itself but by you being part of it. 

You nervously chuckled at this. “Don’t worry Aaron, I’m used to the Hotchner brothers hurting me.” 

You haven’t thought about Sean since your breakup. You even erased the memory of him in your apartment. The way he would always sit at the same place, the mug he always used -one you got rid of- or how his perfume would always stay for a day or two after he left. These were gone from your mind and you were glad that your life didn’t change after he went away.

Aaron being here could have revived this.

But it didn’t.

Seeing him here made you want to create new memories. With him. 

It started with him taking long steps to catch your wrist. “I’m not Sean.” a fact he needed to hear more than you. Thank god he wasn’t his brother. Otherwise he would never have come. “What did he do to you?” 

Anger. Passion. Eager. You could see all that in his eyes. You could feel it in his hand, how he was gripping your wrist but softly touching your skin with his fingertips. You could hear it in his breathless sighs. 

“Does it matter?” you whispered, close to his lips.

You didn’t know which one of you was leading this dance that couldn’t be seen but you soon felt the wall against your back and Aaron’s body against your chest. “Maybe we should focus on what I can do to you now.” 

Next thing you knew, Aaron's lips were on yours. Angrily kissing the memory of his brother on your mouth away. Passionately biting your lips to taste more of you. Eagerly taking your shirt off to discover your body. All his thoughts went silent with you around. All he wanted was to get more and more of you.

His hands felt exactly like you thought they would on your body: hot and firm. He was grabbing your hips, pressing his body harder against yours. Soon your legs were around his waist. You felt the tense in his arms being tighter holding you like this. But not like it was hard. Like he was living every single second of that moment with appetite. 

When his lips slid on your neck and your hands got lost in his hair, you knew you never wanted this moment to end.

Later, you would find it funny how Aaron found the way to your room without even looking. He was too concentrated on kissing every piece of skin he was unveiling to think about that. Yet, he had no problem walking through the corridor and laying you on your bed. He followed his gut and his gut was driven by his need to be inside you.

When Aaron started untying his tie, you stopped him by putting a hand on it, meticulously placing it on his heart.  “Let me do that.”  you said, your lips so close to his ear that you almost kissed it.

You always had a thing for undressing men. Especially men in suits. 

You took your time with his tie, letting it slide all along his neck in a soft way. You slowly did every button of his shirt, kissing his chest centimeter by centimeter. You lost it for a few seconds looking at the strand of hair running through his chest. This would be a new addition to your dreams, you knew that.

His belt fell on the floor, his pants made the best noise sliding through his legs. And there you were, both naked, and you in front of the man with whom you had the most insane fantasy.

Aaron took a moment to look at you. You were close to it, with him on top of you. You got lost in the beauty of his eyes while he was admiring you. “What does it mean?” you asked him, softly bringing a hand to his cheek in a moment of tenderness that you didn’t expect to happen. 

You saw the conflict in his head. Being torn between knowing he shouldn’t be there with you -because of his job, because of his brother, because of who he was as a man. And putting everything aside for once in his life. “I don’t know.” he replied, still leaning closer to you. 

“And I don’t care.” he added, finally letting his body explore yours entirely.  

You got lost in Aaron’s arms that night. Every minute felt better than the past one. Every kiss felt nicer than the post one.

And every moment, you let yourself fall for him harder.

You couldn’t say you had feelings for him already, except for the obvious attraction you both had for each other. 

But looking at Aaron, asleep in your sheets at 4 a.m. after making love to you multiple times, you thought that maybe. Maybe. You could let yourself be in love with a Hotchner brother again. 

“I see you,” you heard him say in his hoarse sleepy voice. You were a little to blame for it after making moan harder than you thought he even would.

You laughed a little which caused a sweet little smile on his lips.“With your eyes closed?”

“I can see you everywhere.” he replied, opening his sweet eyes. “Even when you’re not there. And I know you did too.”

“Are you a magician, Aaron Hotchner?” you asked with a fake surprise. Slowly, his hands guided you on his lap again. A place you never wanted to leave.

He never answered your question. Not now nor ever. He simply kissed your lips in the softest way, his arms tightening around you so you could lie on his chest.

An offer to discover that yourself, if you were willing too. 

[therayofsonshine]

was in a&e, so no better time to do this than now! (edit: missed the entirety of this as i was logged out. FUCK. so… um here is day 17 to 24. the very late version.)

day 17: my camera roll in my dr is.. honestly a vibe. but i have the weirdest shit going on over there. it’s tame to begin with: photos of england n my family. n then it just goes to shit: pics of our empty house with boxes everywhere and carnage from moving in and getting accustomed to a new environment. and tbh i can’t be arsed to delete anything 😭 so i’ve just left it and pray i can find the photos i need in time.

i wish i had a way to organise all of my camera roll into eras of my life and categories regarding photos. but.. that’s definitely something to add to my script.

day 18: i’ve scripted in a spontaneous drinking night for the reality show. i’m somewhat subscribed to the whole “drunk words are sober thoughts” thing so it would be really interesting to see what people think of certain topics/people on the show after a few games haha. this hasn’t happened yet but i’m really looking forward to how that one pans out!

day 19: i have a few hobbies in my dr! some are a work in progress whilst others i am confident + comfortable getting on with. they include and are not limited to: thrifting (my original occupation in this dr was a fashion student, but i changed my mind as it just happens randomly and i fear i would lose all love for it if forced to create), music (ironic as my boyfriend is literally an idol), crochet/knitting, and drawing.

i enjoy making things and making myself and others feel good whilst doing them. i have knitted my family/friends quite a lot of clothing (i am LITERALLY keeping the bills paid and lights on and providing clothes on the back’s of my family like damn!). if i’m not working i’m doing one of these things. n enjoying every bit of it.

day 20: i’ve recently discovered - in fact - my main love language is NOT words of affirmation (tho it is still one of them), but quality time (which actually makes more sense to me). so any date that revolves around me spending time with another person is quite literally the most romantic thing ever. FUCK romance!!!!!

for example, recently in my CR two of my friends watched the entirety of the hobbit trilogy with me in one sitting, into the early hours of the morning. and i am STILL telling people about it because it meant the world to me. those films are long too! so! yea, something like that.

day 21: WORKING. i work too much in my cr n now i have to do it in my dr as well????? damn it’s almost like i signed up for this! but i guess that’s one of the downsides of having a family business: i actually have to help out and do the work. yikes. no i’m kidding (kinda), but working in a café is not for the weak.

also, not really a downside - as again, signed up for it - but watching people want and like yunho before i go out with him. (context: this is a dating reality show dr, so people are going to fancy him alongside me. but can i blame them?). it doesn’t make me uncomfortable or awkward tbh, just a little like… oh! oh 😔.. oh 😏😏😏. you get me.

day 22: i scripted i can cook. (….yea.) i just cannot. i can make beans on toast but that’s as chef-like i get in the kitchen, unfortunately. and obviously having to work in a baking environment + serving customers food that may potentially poison them if it doesn’t agree with them, i need to know how to cook.

that’s as good as it gets i’m afraid!

day 23: MY FAMILY ARE SUCH LOSERS LMFAO. we do those matching pyjamas on Christmas Eve. we also make gingerbread houses! which is very fun!!!!

day 24: the vibes of this dr!!! it’s technically a dr for me to be on a reality dating show so a lot of it revolves around being in love (am not complaining yo…)

day 25 (FINALLY): i spend xmas with my family. my family always book the week off and we close the café for christmas because let’s be frank who tf is coming into our shop on christmas day????? nobody yo. we’re not even in korea anyways so the shop just sits dead - and collects dust - during that time of the month. it’s a fun game to place bets on the state of the building after we return - tho we do try to leave it spotless when we leave.

xmas is always chaotic with my family it’s so funny. someone always ends up drunk and singing - eventually roping the rest of the family into it (or most LMFAO).

𝟐𝟓 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐒. ❆ ⋆⁺₊❅ .

a series of questions for the days leading up to christmas for shifters!! Some of these questions are Christmas specific and others aren’t, feel free to answer what you want and how you want, ex. moodboards, short answers, longs answers. And if you’d like, you can reblog so it reaches more shifters. Merry Christmas and Happy Shifting :) post tags are #shiftmas #shiftmas2024 tagged: @arishifter

⌗ 𝟏. christmas caroling ; What are a few songs that remind you of your dr? Why?

⌗ 𝟐. gingerbread houses ; What does your house look like in your dr? Who do you live with? What is your favorite aspect of your house?

⌗ 𝟑. eggnog ; What is some drama going on in your dr?

⌗ 𝟒. sledding ; What does a hang out with you friend group look like? Where do you go? Who is your friend group?

⌗ 𝟓. snowman ; What is your OOTD? (outfit of the day)

⌗ 𝟔. stockings ; What is your family like? What are your relationships with different members? Any extended family? Who is visiting for Christmas?

⌗ 𝟕. candy canes ; What gives you dr euphoria? (like gender euphoria but for your dr…)

⌗ 𝟖. mistletoe ; Who is your s/o? What is your dynamic and how do you spend time together? Are you two doing something special for the holiday?

⌗ 𝟗. snowflakes ; What are some headcannons you have about people in your dr?

⌗ 𝟏𝟎. icicles ; What is your occupation in your dr? Your coworkers? (Or if student, your classmates?) What is your favorite and least favorite aspect of your occupation?

⌗ 𝟏𝟏. tree skirt ; How did you find out about shifting? What was your first dr and what is your main dr now?

⌗ 𝟏𝟐. ornaments ; What are some objects you have in your dr that you don’t in your cr? Why do you have them in your dr?

⌗ 𝟏𝟑. sleigh bells ; Are there any priveleges you have in your dr that you don’t in your cr? What are they?

⌗ 𝟏𝟒. cookie cutters ; What are some smells that remind you of your dr? Why?

⌗ 𝟏𝟓. elf on the shelf ; who is your main wingman/women/person? What is your dynamic? What do you guys do when you hang out?

⌗ 𝟏𝟔. wrapping paper ; What is your favorite way to script? Why is it your favorite way?

⌗ 𝟏𝟕. gift tags ; What is your camera roll like in your dr? (photos or just describe it)

⌗ 𝟏𝟖. snowballs ; What is a silly scenario you are looking forward to in your dr?

⌗ 𝟏𝟗. mittens ; What are your hobbies in your dr? How do you usually spend your down time?

⌗ 𝟐𝟎. ice skates ; What is your ideal date in your dr? (friends or s/o)

⌗ 𝟐𝟏. coal ; What is something unpleasant you have/have to experience in your dr? Why are you not looking forward to it?

⌗ 𝟐𝟐. tinsel ; What is something fun or random you have scripted? (ex. Thundersnow is more common, you have a ring that allows you to read minds, you have good luck with thrifting, you’re good at gambling.)

⌗ 𝟐𝟑. fir tree ; What are some traditions you have in your dr but not your cr? Why?

⌗ 𝟐𝟒. hot cocoa ; put together a moodboard of your dr or you in your dr

⌗ 𝟐𝟓. christmas ; How are you spending your christmas? Who with? What might be some gifts you are giving and to who?

divider credits.