#and ​choosing to live helps the people around you

[thedensworld]

Kiss a Friend | K. Mg

Genre: angst, fluff, smut (18+)

Summary: Mingyu was obsessed with his ex fiancee who had left him on the altar. To get her back, he paid all your debt to help him.

It started with a kiss.

Mingyu had warned you to arrive at 7, sharp. Punctuality, he said, was non-negotiable. He despised people who couldn’t respect time. But tonight, you wanted him to hate you, to see the look of irritation flash across his usually composed face. So, you walked in at 7:50, deliberately late, wearing the plainest dress you could find in your closet. It was all part of your plan to embarrass Kim Mingyu, a small act of rebellion against the man who now held a claim over your life for the next three months.

You sighed, an inexplicable tightness in your chest. Mingyu was more than just the imposing businessman he had become; he was your childhood nemesis. To be fair, your parents had been friends long before you were born, so you and Mingyu were forced into each other’s lives. You spent your childhood squabbling over the smallest things—who was faster on their bikes or who could get highest score in Math. It was always a competition, and Mingyu always found a way to win, leaving you rolling your eyes and muttering curses under your breath. Then, he left for the States to study business and fulfill his destiny of taking over the family empire. The distance was a relief, a clean break from the constant rivalry.

Meanwhile, you had chosen a different path. You found joy in acting, even if it meant playing minor roles or being in small films. You cherished the freedom it gave you, the knowledge that you weren’t bound by family legacies or the weight of expectations. Your life was yours, simple and light—or at least it was until last month.

Mingyu returned from the States a changed man, celebrated and respected in the business world. He no longer resembled the carefree boy from the neighborhood, and communication between you dwindled to polite nods and rare encounters. Then, the invitation came: a wedding announcement for him and his fiancée of two years. You’d laughed to yourself, amused by the thought that Mingyu, the annoying kid who used to trip you on purpose, had grown up enough to commit to someone. The thought of him managing to woo a woman seemed almost comical.

But everything shattered on the day he was left standing at the altar.

The chaos that followed was unforgettable. You ran to his parents, finding his father pale and clutching his chest, too stunned to speak. The paramedics arrived moments later, rushing him to the hospital. You stayed behind, holding his mother’s trembling hand and feeling the weight of Mingyu’s world as it crumbled around him. Hyorin—his fiancée, now ex-fiancée, ex-bride; you struggled to decide what to call her—left only a short letter behind. In it, she confessed that she’d run away with another man, admitting she’d been unfaithful and choosing to leave Mingyu for good.

Days later, Mingyu appeared at your door. Dark circles hung under his eyes, and his usual confident posture was nowhere to be seen.

“Help me,” he said, voice low and raw.

You blinked, unable to piece together what he meant. “Help you with what?”

“Help me get Hyorin back,” he clarified, leaning against the doorframe as if the effort of standing was too much. “I need you to be my girlfriend—just for three months.”

Your mouth dropped open. The idea was absurd. “Are you serious?”

“Hyorin is possessive. She won’t be able to stand seeing someone else with me. I know her. If she thinks I’ve moved on, she’ll come back,” he explained, desperation creeping into his tone. His eyes held yours, unyielding. “And besides, she hates you. That’ll add fuel to the fire.”

He sat comfortably on your couch, surveying your small apartment with an expression that was almost amused. It was a stark contrast to the sleek penthouse or sprawling home he had planned to share with Hyorin. You sat on the floor across from him, disbelief clouding your expression as you struggled to take his proposal seriously. Date Mingyu? It was laughable. He was too entangled in your childhood memories to ever be considered a romantic prospect, even if he had changed into a confident, sought-after businessman. Every time you looked at him, you couldn’t help but picture the mischievous boy with a grin that spelled trouble.

Yet, Mingyu was relentless. The proposal kept coming, woven into daily conversations and backed by small gestures. He pampered you in ways you didn't expect, bringing you coffee, making sure you were eating, all because he couldn’t find anyone better for this crazy plan of his.

“And besides, you’re a great actress,” he said one evening, leaning back into the cushions with a smirk.

You narrowed your eyes, recognizing the manipulative edge in his tone. “I know,” you muttered, barely containing your frustration.

Before the conversation could spiral further, the sharp ring of your doorbell echoed through the apartment, followed by a series of frantic knocks. Alarm bells went off in your mind. No. Not now.

“Hide,” you whispered urgently, pulling Mingyu up by the arm and shoving him into your room before he could protest. If the person at the door saw Mingyu, it would be a disaster you weren’t prepared to deal with.

“Open up, Y/N! I know you’re there!” a familiar voice shouted from the other side, slurring slightly. Your heart sank as you recognized it. The door barely clicked open before it was pushed with force, slamming you back a step as Boemjae stumbled into the room. The stale scent of alcohol and cigarettes clung to him, making you wrinkle your nose.

“Not today, Boemjae,” you said firmly, hoping to sound braver than you felt.

He laughed, a low, menacing sound as he stepped closer and pressed you against the wall. “Who are you to tell me what to do, bitch?” His voice was a venomous whisper, and the sharp pain of your back hitting the wall made you wince. He swaggered toward the kitchen and grabbed a water bottle, taking a swig as if he owned the place.

“Leave,” you tried again, your voice strained but steady.

Boemjae’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “No. I need my money now,” he snarled, his tone shifting from casual menace to a sharp demand.

“I don’t have it now, but I’ll send it later,” you promised, your voice barely above a whisper. Before you could brace yourself, Boemjae shoved you with enough force that you stumbled and crashed into the coffee table, pain searing through your side.

“I need it now,” he repeated, bending down to yank you up by the collar as if you were nothing more than a ragdoll. His laugh was harsh and mocking. “How are you even planning to pay me back, huh? Sleeping with random men? You can’t even land a decent acting role!”

Before you could respond, Mingyu’s voice cut through the chaos like a blade. “Let her go.”

The room fell into a tense silence as Boemjae turned, surprise flickering in his bloodshot eyes before he barked out a laugh. “So, this is the man you’re sleeping with? How much is he giving you? You’d better hand it over right now,” he sneered before shoving you roughly to Mingyu’s side. Relief washed over you as Mingyu caught you, holding you steady with a firm arm around your waist. The old Mingyu would have never stepped in, but this Mingyu—this confident, determined man—was different.

Mingyu’s expression hardened as he stepped forward, towering over Boemjae, his height and presence imposing. “I’m her boyfriend,” he said, voice cold and commanding. “And I want you out of this house. Now.”

Boemjae’s laugh faltered, turning uneasy as he took in Mingyu’s stance. “Boyfriend? Don’t kid yourself. I know her, and she doesn’t have a boyfriend. I’m her important person,” he said with a sneer.

Mingyu’s jaw tightened, and his eyes narrowed dangerously. “If you were truly important, you’d know who I am,” he said, taking another step closer until Boemjae flinched. “Leave now, or I’ll make sure you regret it.”

Boemjae swallowed, the drunken bravado evaporating under Mingyu’s glare. He backed away, muttering curses under his breath before stumbling out the door.

The silence that followed was thick, your shallow breaths the only sound in the room. Mingyu’s eyes bore into you, sharp and intense, the anger still radiating off him in waves.

“Who was that? Why do you even know someone like him? Is he your boyfriend?” he fired off questions, his voice clipped and filled with barely contained rage.

“It’s none of your business,” you mumbled, wincing as you gripped your arm where it throbbed with pain.

Mingyu’s brows knitted together in a fierce scowl. “It is my business if you’re going to be my new girlfriend,” he declared, the conviction in his voice making your head spin. When had you ever agreed to this? Why was he speaking like you’d already signed some invisible contract?

“I never said yes,” you muttered, exhaling shakily as the adrenaline in your system began to ebb.

Mingyu’s eyes softened just a fraction, but his determination remained. “Who is he? Why does he come here?”

“I owe him money,” you admitted, your voice a strained whisper. “He shows up whenever he needs cash.”

A tense silence followed as Mingyu processed your words. “How much?” he asked, his tone commanding.

You bit your lip, irritation bubbling up at his demanding attitude. “It’s none of your business!”

“How much?” he pressed, leaning in, eyes searching yours for an answer.

You hesitated, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Thirty-five billion,” you finally said, the weight of the number hanging heavily in the air.

Mingyu’s expression flickered with surprise before settling into one of resolute determination. The silence stretched between you, almost suffocating, before he spoke again, his voice calm but firm. “I’ll pay it,” he said, the finality in his tone leaving no room for argument. “But only if you agree to be my contract girlfriend for three months. That’s all the time I need to get Hyorin back.”

The room seemed to shrink around you, the enormity of his proposal pressing down on you. This was more than just a game to him; it was a desperate gamble. And now, it was your move.

*

The last day of owning your own life felt strange, surreal even.

You sat uncomfortably in Mingyu’s office, surrounded by the scent of polished wood and subtle cologne, a stark contrast to the chaotic familiarity of your world. The sterile office setting, with its pristine glass walls and neat rows of desks, was foreign to you. You were never an office girl. You were the adventurous one, the free spirit. So when Mingyu called you in to meet his lawyer and sign the contract, you weren’t prepared. Not mentally and definitely not in the way you were dressed—in just a plain shirt and worn blue jeans. If you had known the gravity of this moment, maybe you would have chosen something more formal, something that wouldn’t make you look so out of place among the sleek suits and pencil skirts.

Mingyu, now a commanding presence as the director of his father’s company, sat across the long mahogany table. He was the picture of cool composure, suited up impeccably, his gaze sharp but carrying an odd familiarity. The lawyer spoke up, cutting through the hum of your racing thoughts.

“As you can see, Mr. Kim will give you the agreed-upon sum tomorrow, and the contract will last for three months. If you have any questions, now would be the time to ask,” the lawyer said, his voice professional but devoid of emotion.

You glanced down at the document in front of you, your fingers brushing the paper lightly as you read. Years in the entertainment industry had taught you the importance of dissecting every line in a contract, ensuring that nothing would come back to bite you.

Halfway down, your eyes widened at a clause. “I have to move in with you?” The words slipped out before you could stop them, disbelief clear in your voice.

Mingyu cleared his throat, leaning back in his chair, his expression stoic. “Yes. It’ll create the right image. The media will go wild if they find out a woman moved in with me just a month after being left at the altar. Hyorin will hear about it. She’ll be furious, maybe even desperate enough to come back.”

You frowned, your thoughts racing. “And if I don’t want to?”

A chuckle escaped Mingyu, a sound that brought a flicker of childhood memories—those endless debates, the playful bickering that now seemed like a different lifetime. “Then we’ll negotiate. But I can promise that all your needs will be met. Besides,” he paused, his eyes narrowing just a touch, “Beomjae wouldn’t be able to harass you at my place.”

The mention of Beomjae sent a chill down your spine, your discomfort deepening. You didn’t like how easily Mingyu had brought up that night in front of his lawyer. It was a memory you’d hoped to lock away and never revisit. Still, the thought of escaping Beomjae’s shadow was tempting, more than tempting.

“And just so we’re clear,” Mingyu continued, his voice dropping to a serious note, “you’re not sleeping in my bed. The house has more than enough rooms.” He said it matter-of-factly, but the unexpected implication made your cheeks burn. You felt a wave of embarrassment rush through you as if the contract itself was some guilty secret.

The lawyer pointed to another clause. Intercourse was strictly prohibited; anything more intimate than staged public displays of affection would void the agreement and terminate the contract immediately. You breathed out slowly, relief mixing with an odd nervousness. The contract laid out your new reality in stark, unyielding terms, yet there was no malice hidden in its words. Mingyu might have been many things, but he wasn’t deceitful. He wouldn’t trap you with fine print. And the money? The staggering sum of thirty-five billion won seemed almost absurd, a price you weren’t sure you deserved for playing pretend for three months.

Mingyu’s gaze softened as he spoke, almost as if he could read your mind. “This role is harder than you think, Y/N. It won’t be easy.”

You glanced up at him, a blend of challenge and resignation in your eyes, before signing your name. The final stroke of the pen echoed in your ears like a tolling bell. Tomorrow, everything would change. You weren’t just Mingyu’s childhood friend anymore.

You were now his girlfriend. His thirty-five-billion-won girlfriend.

*

As you stepped into the birthday party hosted by Mingyu’s uncle, Kim Jaejoong, a wave of self-consciousness swept over you. The dazzling lights reflected off shimmering gowns and sharp suits, making you feel more out of place than ever. You were dressed simply, far too simply for such an event, and each glance cast your way seemed to gnaw at your self-esteem. You gave your name at the entrance, "Kim Mingyu's plus one," and the attendant nodded, letting you through with barely a glance.

The room was filled with South Korea’s most influential figures, a crowd where power was worn as naturally as their tailored suits. You scanned the room, trying to find Mingyu's familiar silhouette among a sea of business elites. But everyone here looked alike in their uniform of suit and tie, making it more challenging than you'd expected.

Then you spotted her. Wi Hyorin.

Hyorin, the heiress of Wi Finance, one of South Korea's most prestigious financial empires. The very woman who had left Mingyu standing alone at the altar, igniting a wildfire of gossip across the business world. The alliance that their marriage would have cemented had turned into a scandal overnight, the fallout reverberating through boardrooms and society pages. But why was she here, now, at Jaejoong's event? Was she trying to rekindle something? Your chest tightened as you watched her glide gracefully across the room.

Your eyes found Mingyu. He stood tall, commanding attention in a circle of businessmen, his smile practiced and confident. But as Hyorin moved toward him, you noticed a shift in his demeanor—a flicker of recognition and tension. The past month of living with Mingyu as his so-called “gold digger” girlfriend had been surreal. Tabloid stories had painted you as an unknown actress who somehow caught the eye of the jilted billionaire. Kim Mingyu’s New Flame: The Mysterious Actress After the Altar Scandal. The stories practically wrote themselves, and you, once a spectator to such dramas, were now the unwitting star.

You took a deep breath, a rush of impulse taking hold. If Mingyu’s plan was to make Hyorin jealous to win her back, then a bold move was justified, right? No harm done if it served the goal.

You walked steadily toward him, the room seeming to shrink as your heartbeat drummed in your ears. Mingyu noticed you, his eyes lighting up with a practiced warmth as he lifted a hand to wave, playing the devoted boyfriend role perfectly.

“Meet my girlfriend, Ji Y/N. She’s an actress—”

Before he could finish, you acted. Your hand reached up, pulling him toward you as your lips met his in a sudden, daring kiss. A collective gasp rippled through the crowd, the clink of champagne glasses pausing midair. You felt Mingyu’s initial shock; his body stiffened, and he pulled back, eyes wide with surprise.

The room was a frozen tableau for a heartbeat, but it was Hyorin’s voice that shattered the silence. “So, you’re dating your childhood friend now, Mingyu?” Her tone was soft, almost melodious, but it carried an edge that cut through you like a blade. The implication in her words stung more than you expected. How dare she, after abandoning him?

But before you could react, Mingyu stepped away from you, turning to Hyorin with an almost desperate urgency. His hand reached for hers, a gesture that made your stomach drop. “I didn’t kiss her back, Hyorin,” he said, his voice clear enough for anyone nearby to hear.

The world seemed to tilt, his words echoing in your mind. Your heart plummeted as the realization settled in: Kim Mingyu, the man you once called your friend—no, the man you were now pretending to be in love with—was still devoted to the woman who had humiliated him in front of the entire country. And he had just proven it, publicly.

The plan was to make Hyorin jealous enough to return to him. It was working. You’d done what you set out to do, so why did your chest ache like this? You told yourself it didn’t matter. You had no right to feel this way. This was a job, a role to play, nothing more.

You stepped back, your face a mask of practiced calm as you retreated to the quieter corner of the venue. The din of conversation swallowed the silence you left behind. You reached for a glass of wine, the cool liquid promising a momentary reprieve from the chaos in your mind.

“So, you’re Ji Y/N, the one everyone’s been talking about?” A voice interrupted the solitude you had wrapped yourself in. You turned to see an unfamiliar face—a man you had never met before. He was striking, with sharp features and an air of effortless confidence. He introduced himself as Yoon Jeonghan, a college friend of Mingyu’s. The name registered immediately; he was the CEO of Yoonique, a luxury fashion brand that had been making waves locally and internationally.

“If you’re his girlfriend, I should’ve met you by now, especially with all the news swirling around. But here we are, meeting for the first time,” Jeonghan said, his tone light but with an undercurrent that suggested he knew more than he was letting on.

You felt your heart tighten. This conversation was more layered than you were prepared for, and the probing curiosity in his eyes made you reach for your wine again. “I’m not in a position to answer that,” you muttered, the rim of the glass brushing your lips.

Jeonghan chuckled, a low sound that somehow put you at ease and on edge at the same time. He leaned against the railing beside you, his eyes shifting to the city lights that stretched beyond the venue’s grand windows. “Mingyu’s a fool sometimes. I can see that now more than ever. I’m sorry you got caught up in this mess,” he said, his voice softening, making you turn to look at him.

“He told me about his plan—to win Hyorin back. I never thought it was a good idea, but I see now that you’re his partner in this... charade?” He paused, waiting for a response that you didn’t have. Your silence was answer enough.

You sighed, the weight of the night pressing down on you. “I’ve known him since we were kids. This is the least I can do, especially for his parents. They’ve been under so much pressure since the wedding incident,” you whispered, careful not to let anyone overhear your conversation.

Jeonghan’s expression shifted, a blend of understanding and something else you couldn’t quite read. He nodded slowly, acknowledging the burden you both seemed to carry. The quiet between you was a welcome reprieve from the noise inside, where murmurs and sidelong glances threatened to pull you apart.

You sipped your wine again, eyes drifting over the dark, sprawling skyline. Out here, you didn’t have to hear the whispered gossip or feel the eyes boring into your back.

“Mingyu ditched his girlfriend for his ex-fiancée?”

The thought sent a shiver down your spine, not because it wasn’t true, but because you knew people were cruel enough to say it aloud. Even if you were okay with being in this position, it was still humiliating to be part of such a spectacle.

Jeonghan’s voice brought you back. “Are you free tomorrow? Would you be willing to meet me at my office?” He asked, his eyes catching yours in the window’s reflection, the city lights dancing in them like embers.

You turned to face him, a flicker of curiosity sparking in your chest. What could he possibly want from you? Whatever it was, the idea of visiting Yoonique’s CEO office sounded intriguing, an unexpected twist in an already complicated story.

“Sure,” you replied, a small smile tugging at your lips. You weren’t sure where this was heading, but for the first time that night, you felt a sliver of excitement cut through the haze of doubt.

*

"You ran away," Mingyu said as he stepped into your room, his voice low and sharp. The door clicked shut behind him, and you glanced up to see him in a half-dressed state—his suit discarded, an expensive dress shirt clinging to his broad frame, and a loosened blue tie draped around his neck. The sight was disheveled, raw, and too close for comfort.

You sat on the edge of the bed, the script for your newest and most promising role—a second lead that could finally catapult your acting career—resting in your hands. Your eyes met his, refusing to show the tumult of emotions twisting in your chest.

“You didn’t knock,” you said, trying to maintain an even tone. It was a feeble attempt to set a boundary, one you knew he would ignore.

Mingyu’s eyes darkened as he took a step closer, his presence overwhelming the room. “As far as I remember, this is my house. And this room is technically mine.”

A retort sat on the tip of your tongue, bastard, but you swallowed it down. The weight of the day hung over you like a shroud, and rest was all you craved. You placed the script on the nightstand and sat up straighter, facing him.

“Yeah, I know. You’ve made it abundantly clear that I’m living in your place. So, technically, this is still your room. Want to sleep here tonight?” You threw out the jest, trying to shift the tension, but it landed wrong.

Mingyu’s jaw tightened, and he took another step forward, eyes blazing. “You kissed me and now you’re asking if I want to sleep with you? Is that how cheap you are, Y/N?” His voice was harsh, each word slicing through the space between you.

The accusation stung. It was as if the air had been sucked out of the room. “You think I kissed you for that?” Your tone cracked, disbelief laced with hurt.

“You kissed me in front of everyone and caused a scandal! You really thought that would help my plan?” His voice rose, frustration spilling over like an overflowing dam.

You met his glare, eyes narrowed. “The plan was to make Hyorin jealous, to make her want you back. Didn’t it work?” Your voice was low, trembling with controlled rage.

Mingyu ran a hand through his hair, exasperation etched across his face. “Making her jealous and actually getting her back are two different things, Y/N! Your impulsive stunt just pushed her further away. It showed her that I’m willing to move on. That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

Your chest ached as you watched him unravel. “And whose fault is that?” you shot back. “You practically shouted to the world that you didn’t kiss me back. Right in front of her, in front of everyone. That’s how stupid you are, Kim Mingyu!”

For a moment, silence fell, crackling with unresolved tension. Mingyu’s eyes widened in disbelief, as if he hadn’t expected you to fight back. His anger morphed into something deeper, something unreadable.

Suddenly, he reached out and grabbed your arm, pulling you to your feet so swiftly that the room spun. You gasped as he leaned in, his breath warm against your skin.

“So I’m stupid because I didn’t kiss you back?” he whispered, the proximity making your pulse race. Before you could respond, his fingers found the nape of your neck, and he closed the distance between you. His lips crashed into yours with an urgency that stunned you.

Your mind screamed at you to resist, but the battle was fleeting. He was too strong, or maybe, you were too willing. Maybe it was because deep down, this was what you had wished for when you kissed him earlier—this reckless, unrestrained moment. Your hands found their way to his chest, and you felt yourself giving in, kissing him back with the same intensity.

The kiss became a desperate clash, more a battle than an embrace. Mingyu's hands gripped your waist with an intensity that left you breathless, fingers digging into your skin as if trying to mark you, claim you. You gasped when he pulled back, his eyes dark with something raw and unapologetic, searching your face for any hesitation.

The only answer you gave was a tug at his shirt, buttons flying in reckless abandon as you exposed the heat of his chest. He smirked, a hint of danger playing at the corner of his lips, before he pushed you back onto the mattress, following you down with a deliberate slowness that made your heart race. His body pressed into yours, all hard planes and coiled tension, a silent reminder of the power he wielded.

“Mingyu,” you breathed, the sound half plea, half challenge. He caught the way your voice faltered, and his smirk widened, leaning down to brush his mouth just below your jaw, trailing fire wherever he touched. Your hands found their way into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan, the sound vibrating against your skin and igniting a reckless thrill.

He hovered over you, his eyes boring into yours, the heat between you searing. “Tell me to stop.” he rasped, a taunt that made your pulse quicken. Before you could answer, his lips claimed yours again, hard and consuming, leaving no room for second thoughts.

Clothes slipped away in a flurry of heated motions, the cool air biting at your exposed skin for only a moment before he was there, pressing into you, suffocating and electrifying all at once. The room was filled with sharp breaths and quiet gasps as he explored, each touch setting off a chain reaction you couldn’t control.

Every move was a silent challenge, a push and pull of dominance and surrender. His teeth grazed your collarbone, earning a shiver that he answered with a dark chuckle, fingers tracing paths that left you arching into him. Your nails raked down his back, pulling a hiss from him that made something dark and thrilling coil in your chest.

The space between you became suffocating, bodies moving together in a rhythm that left no room for tenderness, only hunger. Every gasp, every whispered name, was laced with defiance and something deeper, something both of you refused to name.

"The contract..." you muttered, the reality of the situation cutting through the haze that still clung to your mind. The gravity of what just happened settled between you like an uninvited guest.

Mingyu's expression shifted, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before he sat up, running a hand through his disheveled hair. He scoffed, the sound low and bitter. "Fuck, my lawyer doesn’t need to know about this," he said, half to himself and half to you, the implication hanging heavy in the air.

*

"So, did you sleep together?"

Jeonghan’s sharp question made you choke on the sip of tea his secretary had brought in moments earlier. You managed not to spill any as you placed the delicate cup back on the table, eyes locking with Jeonghan's. He was grinning, eyes sharp and teasing as they assessed your reaction.

"No..." he continued before you could answer, a smirk tugging at his lips. "I mean, I heard you moved in." He restated, though the pointed look in his eyes suggested he already suspected the truth.

"It was a business contract, Jeonghan," you responded evenly, though the words felt flimsy in the air. Jeonghan, who insisted you call him by his first name as though he wanted no reminder of his father’s legacy, hummed, tilting his head as if inviting you to elaborate.

"A three-month contract to get Hyorin back," you said, your voice steadying. "You probably already know this, but he wanted me to play the role of his fake girlfriend." At the end of your words, Jeonghan let out a dry chuckle, the sound mirthless.

"I can't believe he's that childish," he muttered. His gaze shifted, scrutinizing your face as if trying to read between the lines. "And what did you get out of this little arrangement?" he pressed.

You hesitated before muttering, "He paid my debt... 35 billion won."

Jeonghan’s eyes widened briefly before he masked his surprise. "That's a lot of money for three months," he said, watching you nod in agreement. "That’s life-changing."

"I plan to give it back when the contract ends," you admitted, almost shyly.

Jeonghan's brow lifted in disbelief, as though you’d just declared you were planning to burn the money. "Don't give it back. Keep it," he said, leaning forward with sudden intensity. "At least take that much from him after everything."

You let out a small, hollow laugh. "I helped him because he's my friend," you said, your voice tinged with a bitter edge. "And, as I told you yesterday... for his parents. I’ll work hard and pay my own debts."

Jeonghan went quiet, his eyes narrowed in contemplation, taking in every word as if filing them away.

"May I know what kind of situation landed you with that much debt?" he finally asked.

You bit your lip, the weight of the past pressing down like a heavy cloak. It was complicated, a story rooted in tragedy. "It wasn’t originally my debt; it was my father’s," you began, your voice tight. "He owned a production house and partnered with a young director, Lee Beomjae. The project was ambitious, with a promise of 100 billion won. Beomjae even invested his own money, but then... everything collapsed. The company went bankrupt when my father died in a car accident, and my mother... she couldn’t bear it and took her own life. The business fell apart, and no one wanted to pick up the pieces. That left me with 35 billion won I couldn't escape."

The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating. You took another sip of tea, anything to break the tension that stretched between you and Jeonghan.

He leaned back in his chair, eyes studying you with newfound understanding. "Here’s what I think, Y/n," he said, voice soft but unwavering. "Mingyu wanted you to be his contract girlfriend, paid you a fortune, and you signed up for it. Yet, you didn’t take the money. I don’t know any friend who’d go to those lengths for someone."

He paused, his eyes narrowing as a knowing smirk spread across his lips.

"Unless..."

"You have feelings for him."

*

You were certain you didn't have any feelings for Mingyu. That much you knew. But whatever had happened between you and Jeonghan earlier in the office was beyond your control. The way his presence felt so imposing, so suffocating—it was like being caught in a storm you never saw coming. Jeonghan was a menace. You could tell just from the way his eyes glinted with malicious amusement, always reveling in the discomfort or pain of others. And that included his friend, Mingyu.

"Okay, let's say you don’t have feelings for him." Jeonghan's voice cut through the tension, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips as if he'd already dismissed your objections.

Without warning, he pulled out his phone and dialed a number. His thumb slid across the screen, and it lit up with a name that made your stomach drop—Mingyu.

What on earth was Jeonghan up to? Why was he calling Mingyu? Your heart began to pound in your chest as the phone rang, the sound impossibly loud in the stillness of the room.

The line clicked, and Mingyu's familiar voice came through, bright and casual. "Jeonghan... What’s up?"

The friendly tone was jarring to your senses. This was the voice of someone you'd never heard since you threw yourself into this mess with Mingyu. Certainly not the same voice from last night, the one that had been cold and cutting. The same man who, earlier that morning, had made his feelings crystal clear.

“I would never kiss you like I like you, Y/N. You’re a cheap woman. And even if you were the only woman in this world, I still wouldn’t kiss you like I liked you. You understand?”

The words echoed in your mind as if they were still fresh, still raw. The anger, the frustration—it didn’t hurt as much anymore. It was just a painful truth you had come to terms with: he had turned into a bastard. And that realization, as much as you tried to deny it, was freeing.

Jeonghan, however, seemed to savor every moment. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes dancing with mischief as he spoke into the phone.

“I’m with your girlfriend now,” he chirped, his voice dripping with amusement. He glanced over at you, his gaze mischievous. "I invited her over, and she came. She’s a beautiful woman."

There was a long, tense pause on the other side. No immediate reaction. You weren’t expecting one. There was no way Mingyu would get upset that you were here with Jeonghan. He had no reason to. His obsession with his ex, Hyorin, was enough to blind him to everything else.

Jeonghan’s eyes met yours again, but now there was something almost predatory in them as he leaned in closer. “I feel like I don’t deserve his money…” you had told him earlier, confessing a doubt you had never voiced before. And Jeonghan, with his wicked grin, had been quick to respond.

“I’ll help you feel like you deserve it, Y/N,” he’d promised, the words laced with an implication you were too afraid to fully understand.

The phone call continued, Jeonghan now speaking directly to you. “What do you think of my office, darling?” His voice was low, too casual. "How about that... table? Do you like my table?"

You were growing more confused by the second. What the hell was he trying to imply with these questions? Was it a game to him? Did it even matter?

But it was the next question that threw everything into chaos, sending a rush of heat to your face and tightening your chest.

“What do you think about Mingyu?” Jeonghan’s voice was calm but probing. "Do you like being his girlfriend?"

The silence from Mingyu on the other end only made everything worse. You could feel him listening, silently absorbing everything Jeonghan was about to say. The pressure was unbearable, and you found yourself biting down hard on your lip, trying to suppress the tension building inside you. You didn’t want to answer, didn’t know how to.

But you saw the glint in Jeonghan’s eyes. It was playful—too playful—and you knew that once that look took hold, there was no turning back.

“And how about being mine?” Jeonghan’s voice was a low, smooth whisper, the words hanging in the air like a threat, a challenge.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. Mingyu still hadn’t said anything. The silence between the three of you was suffocating, thick with unspoken implications. You could almost hear Jeonghan’s smirk widening, could almost feel the weight of his words pressing down on you, daring you to react.

*

Mingyu pounded into you with an urgency that felt primal, as if his very existence depended on it. Just an hour earlier, he had stormed into the house, eyes dark with something you couldn’t quite name—desperation, jealousy, rage. You'd barely finished toweling off from your shower when he burst through the door, demanding to know why you had been with Jeonghan.

“I was with Hyorin when you called,” you said, the confusion in your voice palpable.

His jaw clenched at the mention of Hyorin. So it wasn’t just Jeonghan's presence that set him off, but the fact that he was with Hyorin?

The realization simmered between you like a storm on the verge of breaking. But then, without another word, Mingyu had closed the distance, capturing your lips in a kiss that silenced your questions and pulled your body flush against his. It was as if Hyorin had never stood between you, as if she didn’t matter at all. The intensity in his eyes told you everything: he was lost, consumed, and somewhere beneath that, afraid.

Why, then, did he hold you as if the world might end in two months?

Was Hyorin really the cause of this frantic need?

Or was there more that he hadn’t told you?

Mingyu gripped your waist and lifted you onto the dining table, the hard edge pressing into your thighs. The table Jeonghan had mentioned in passing just today, in a tone laced with mischief.

Was this what Mingyu had been stewing over? The idea of Jeonghan touching you in his office?

“You’re mine the moment you signed that contract,” he growled, the heat of his breath grazing your ear as he buried himself inside you with an urgent, unrelenting rhythm.

His hands moved up to cup your breasts, fingers curling possessively around them as his voice dropped, husky and rough. “Gotta make my 35 billion worth it, right?"

*

The next morning, you woke up in Mingyu's arms, the remnants of the night clinging to your skin like a whispered secret. The blaring sound of your alarm shattered the silence, signaling the beginning of a day that promised exhaustion and long hours on set in another city. You shifted slightly, feeling the ache from the bruises on your body.

“Did I do that?” Mingyu’s voice, unexpectedly soft, cut through the tension hanging in the room. His eyes were wide with concern as they traced the discolored marks along your skin.

You turned your head to meet his gaze, surprised to see him fully awake, studying you with an expression you hadn’t seen in a while. He was too caught up in his own world to notice these things — too focused on himself last night. You almost wanted to tell him that they weren’t his doing, that it was Beomjae’s cruelty imprinted on you, but you knew better. Mingyu wouldn’t care. Or would he?

“No, it’s not you,” you whispered, the lie slipping out as easily as breathing.

Mingyu sat up, the sheets pooling around his waist, and reached out to touch the edge of a bruise that crept up your shoulder. “Who did this to you?” His voice was strained, eyes darkening. “Isn’t it painful? Do you need to go to the hospital?”

You looked at him for a long moment, searching for a hint of sincerity behind his sudden worry. He looked almost unrecognizable, stripped of his usual indifference, as though the man you once knew was peeking through. A weary sigh left your lips as you pushed yourself up and wrapped a robe around your sore body.

“It’s none of your business, Mingyu,” you said with a practiced coldness, shielding yourself from whatever softness he was trying to show.

“It is my business. You’re my girlfriend,” he protested, his tone almost petulant, as if he truly believed his own words.

A bitter chuckle escaped you. “Are you even listening to yourself, Kim Mingyu?” The disbelief in your voice echoed through the room as you moved to the vanity, tying your hair with mechanical precision. In the mirror, you caught a glimpse of his confusion, brows furrowed and eyes clouded with something unreadable.

“Just stick to being yourself,” you added, the edge in your tone slicing through any pretense of warmth. Before he could respond, you turned away and began preparing for the long day ahead, leaving whatever half-formed thoughts he had unspoken.

You arrived at the shooting location on time, weaving through bustling crew members as they prepped for the day. Greeting everyone with polite nods and smiles, you slid seamlessly into your work. Without the support of a label or company, there was no manager trailing behind you. Every break was spent alone, sitting in your old, worn-out car, waiting for the next call.

“Everyone knows they cast her just because she’s Kim Mingyu’s girlfriend.” The whispers were never far, a constant background noise you had learned to ignore.

You pushed through the two or three scenes you had, monitoring them closely on playback to ensure your performance held up. It was in places like this where you soaked up everything you could, learning and growing, despite the limitations of playing minor roles. The space for growth was narrow, but you squeezed through whatever cracks you found.

“Hey, I’m Boo Seungkwan.” The voice was friendly, and when you looked up, the assistant director stood before you with an open, sincere expression.

You stood and bowed politely. “I’m Ji Y/N. Please take care of me.”,

Boo Seungkwan was a familiar presence on set, a talented and respected assistant director who had built a strong reputation despite his young age. You knew he wouldn’t approach you without reason, which made your heart race with a mix of anticipation and dread.

“Are you the daughter of Ji Jinkyung?” The question hit you like a cold wave.

Your breath caught for a moment. How did he know? You had spent years avoiding this truth, never mentioning your father’s name to anyone. The rise and fall of Ji Jinkyung had been a scandal splashed across headlines when JiPH declared bankruptcy, a tragedy soon followed by your mother’s death. You weren’t ashamed of your past; you were haunted by the guilt of the lives that crumbled alongside your family’s fall.

Seungkwan’s eyes softened with a mix of curiosity and sympathy. “I remember seeing you on set with him every weekend,” he said, nostalgia lacing his voice. “And I saw ‘Morning Mourn.’ You were incredible in that film.”

The memory stung, but you masked it with a practiced smile. “Thank you,” you whispered.

Driving home, Seungkwan’s words lingered like a dark cloud. If Lee Beomjae was spreading the truth about your identity, the ripple effect could be devastating. If the rumor reached the media, the production team could drop you without hesitation. Seungkwan’s heads-up was a lifeline, a warning to prepare yourself.

You parked outside and dialed Beomjae’s number, the cold metal of your phone pressed against your ear as the night air seeped into your bones. You had to confront him, to make sure he understood that spreading rumors would ruin everything—whatever thin strand of normalcy you were clinging to while trying to repay the impossible debt he held over you. You felt foolish, lost in the labyrinth of his manipulation. Was the debt even real? Or was it just another tool he used to torture you, to remind you of your powerlessness?

The vibration of an incoming message pulled you from your thoughts.

“Come to my parents’ house. There’s something they want to discuss with you.”

Mingyu’s text sat on your screen, an unexpected summons that left you staring, uncertain of what awaited you on the other side.

*

“I don’t remember raising you like this.” Mingyu’s father stormed out of the room, leaving behind an icy silence that wrapped around his wife, their son, and the woman who had walked out on Mingyu at the altar just two months ago. Mingyu released a heavy sigh as he sank deeper into the couch, feeling the weight of the room pressing down on him. Next to him, Hyorin sat with her head bowed, looking as fragile as porcelain, having come to his parents earlier to plead for their acceptance—an act that had summoned Mingyu here in a rush.

“Your father’s right, Mingyu. You’re crossing a line,” his mother said, her voice taut with disappointment. “When we heard you had a girlfriend, we assumed it would be someone we didn’t know. But imagine our shock when we found out it was Y/N. She’s like a daughter to us, Mingyu.”

Hyorin’s confession had unraveled everything. She had exposed Mingyu’s plan to win her back, even spilling the details to his parents. Mingyu had thought he could play for time—hold Hyorin off just long enough to make his next move. He hadn’t expected her to take matters into her own hands and throw everything into chaos.

“She agreed to it, Mother,” Mingyu defended, his voice low and strained. “She needs money—a lot of it. And she’s not the same Y/N you remember. She’s changed.”

His mother scoffed at his justification, a sound filled with disbelief and disdain. “Listen to yourself, Mingyu. Do you even hear how ridiculous you sound?” She stood up abruptly, the soft rustle of her skirt filling the silence as she followed her husband out of the room.

Mingyu’s heart sank deeper into his chest. The finality of his mother’s parting words echoed back at him as she turned at the doorway, her gaze steely and resolute. “This conversation isn’t over. I will speak to Y/N myself.”

Mingyu slumped back against the couch, the tension in his shoulders not easing even a bit. He glanced at his phone. The text he’d sent you over an hour ago remained unanswered, and now your silence gnawed at him with fresh urgency.

“I’m sorry,” Hyorin whispered, her hands trembling as she covered her face. Tears threatened to spill, and she struggled to hold them back. “I didn’t mean for it to get this big. I was desperate.”

Mingyu’s eyes softened, a sigh slipping past his lips. “No need to apologize, Hyorin. It’s done.”

“I promise I’ll do better,” she said, her voice breaking. “But please, stop this, Mingyu. Let’s go back to how things were. Let her go and come back to me.”

Mingyu drove home with a storm of thoughts churning in his mind. Frustration clenched his jaw tight, fueling his anger. You hadn't shown up when he needed you, and the disappointment gnawed at him. His parents refused to have a conversation without you; they cherished you, even after all these years apart. And Mingyu despised you for that. You were always the one they looked at with warmth, while he stood in the shadow of their expectations.

As he pushed open the door to the apartment, prepared to unleash another round of arguments with you, a familiar ritual that often ended with the two of you waking up next to each other in uneasy silence the next morning, he froze. His anger drained as he took in the sight before him. You were lying on the couch, eyes closed, face bruised and lips swollen.

“Who did this to you?” Mingyu’s voice cracked with urgency, his earlier frustration transforming into a different kind of rage. He crossed the room in three quick strides and cupped your face, startling you awake with his touch. The worry in his eyes felt foreign, almost out of place, but it was there, unmistakable.

You blinked at him, dazed and confused, mumbling something he couldn’t quite catch. But Mingyu wasn’t listening. His eyes traced the darkening bruise on your cheekbone and the split in your lip, and an irrational fury bubbled up inside him. The idea that someone had hurt you like this made his blood run hot.

“Tell me who did this to you,” he pressed, his tone leaving no room for evasion. His fingers gripped your jaw just tight enough to draw your gaze, his own eyes blazing. He didn’t know what he would do once he had a name, but he was too far gone in his anger to care.

“I fell during shooting and hurt myself,” you whispered, eyes darting away from his.

Mingyu’s shoulders slumped slightly as he exhaled, the tension simmering down just enough for him to think. Without a word, he stood and retrieved the first aid kit and a bowl of ice cubes, kneeling beside you and insisting on tending to your injuries.

“How was the meeting?” you asked, breaking the heavy silence as he dabbed an antiseptic on your lip with more gentleness than you expected.

“Is that really important right now?” he scoffed, pressing the cloth to your bruised cheek. “We need to go to the hospital.”

You shook your head, a stubborn glint in your eyes. “It’ll heal.”

Mingyu’s movements faltered when you added, “I heard Hyorin was there. Did you get back together?”

He stiffened, setting the ice aside as his eyes met yours. “How do you know?” His tone was sharp, a thread of suspicion woven through it. “Were you there?”

You nodded, wincing as the motion pulled at your sore skin. “I came by for a bit. The maid mentioned Hyorin was inside, so I stayed back. I waited for over an hour, but I realized it would take longer, so I left.”

Mingyu’s frustration returned, tinged with a different emotion this time. “With your face looking like this? Are you always this stupid, Y/N?” His voice cracked, half-worried, half-angry.

You flinched but kept your gaze steady. “So, did you take her back?”

Mingyu ran a hand through his hair, the action filled with exasperation. “Is that what matters right now? You’re hurt, Y/N. I didn’t even know until I walked in the door.”

A confused look crossed your face as you whispered, “But that’s why we’re doing all of this, Mingyu. We need Hyorin back, for your sake.”

Mingyu stared at you, the weight of your words sinking in and tying knots in his chest. Your face was a mess of bruises, but there you sat, so focused on his plan, on helping him, as if your own pain didn't matter at all. The guilt gnawed at him, tearing apart the flimsy walls he’d built around himself.

Maybe what Mingyu feel about you lately is just a guilt. He just... pity you, that's it.

*

One month left before you’d be officially disboyfriended Mingyu. The term you coined mocked you with its bitter humor as you called Jeonghan, settling into the driver’s seat of your car. The air around you was heavy after your meeting with Hyorin. She had been surprisingly composed, delivering her message with a practiced smile: Mingyu and she were getting back together. Mingyu had even promised to escort her to the Jeon annual event this weekend, a public confirmation of their rekindled relationship.

You gritted your teeth, the irony not lost on you—did Hyorin know that for the past month, Mingyu had been tangled up with you, both in mind and body? The betrayal tasted metallic on your tongue.

Jeonghan picked up on the third ring. “So, what’s up?” His casual tone brought a semblance of calm to your frayed nerves.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself for what you were about to commit to. “I’m in,” you said, voice low but firm.

There was a pause before Jeonghan chuckled, the sound both amused and intrigued. “What are you implying?” His voice took on a more serious edge, probing for clarity.

“I’ll take your offer,” you clarified, the weight of the words sinking in. “The offer to make me feel like I deserve his money.”

Jeonghan’s laughter came through, rich and approving. “That’s my girl,” he said with a hint of pride. “Alright, listen. Here’s the plan: meet me at my store in Gangnam after lunch.”

A few hours later, you stood under the warm glow of boutique lights as Jeonghan’s keen eyes assessed you. The racks around you were adorned with high-end pieces—silk, satin, tailored elegance. He moved from one option to another, fingers sliding over fabrics, before selecting a few and holding them up against your frame.

“Change into this,” he said, gesturing to a piece that was an explosion of jewel-toned fabric. You nodded and disappeared behind the velvet curtain of the fitting room. The process repeated: outfits changed, critiques delivered. A disapproving headshake here, a muttered comment there—“Not good enough,” he’d say, or a more frustrated, “We need an emergency meeting with the designers. Yoonique has to fit everyone.”

Then, you stepped out in the last dress. Jeonghan’s eyes lit up, and he gasped, genuinely taken aback. The black satin dress hugged your body like a secret, long-sleeved and sleek, with an open back that hinted at danger and a neckline that dipped tastefully. A slit ran high on your thigh, exposing just enough skin to catch anyone’s attention. It was bold yet elegant—perfect.

“That’s it,” he said, satisfaction curling his lips into a smirk. “It’s yours.” He stood and circled you slowly, eyeing the bruises that marred the expanse of your back. His smirk faded, replaced by a frown. “We’ll need to cover these. Is this from Beomjae?” he asked, his voice tight with concern.

You nodded, catching the muttered “that bastard�� that escaped him. Jeonghan’s eyes met yours, a silent promise lingering there: no more bruises, not after today.

On the day of the Jeon annual event, you arrived with Jeonghan, knowing full well the storm of media attention it would draw. 'Mingyu's girlfriend seen with Jeonghan, while Mingyu arrives with the ex-fiancée who left him at the altar.' The headline alone promised chaos and scandal.

Jeonghan had made you two promises. First, he would help you with Beomjae. His legal team was already working on investigating the debt that bound you to that abusive man, ensuring you wouldn't owe a penny and that Beomjae would face justice for what he had done. Second, he would help you reclaim yourself—to feel whole and worthy, with or without Mingyu in the picture.

“Tell me, since when?” Jeonghan’s question came out of nowhere as the two of you drove back from his store that day. The question made your heart stutter.

“Since when what?” you asked, eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

Jeonghan scoffed lightly, his eyes flickering with a knowing glint. “Since when did you start liking Mingyu?”

The silence stretched, and you searched your memory, trying to pinpoint the moment. Since when? Had you even realized you still liked him? Or was it a relic of the childhood crush you’d once harbored? Memories trickled in: Mingyu as the boy who would lose every game with his friends but somehow always win when he played with you—because you let him. That’s what you remembered most clearly. The rest blurred into moments that felt as if they had always existed.

In high school, things shifted. Conversations became sparse, reserved for those rare moments when home felt stifling, and you’d climb into each other’s bedroom windows just to share the silence. Then, without warning, he had to leave. Distance stretched across miles and years, and life pushed you apart. Your father’s passing forced you to sell your phone, cutting off all contact. What once felt close turned distant, and the feelings that remained had never been addressed.

You exhaled shakily, unable to meet Jeonghan’s gaze. “I...I don’t know,” you admitted. Shame colored your voice—shame that after everything, after being discarded and treated like an afterthought, you still cared for him.

Jeonghan’s arm encircled your waist as the two of you stepped into the grand ballroom, the low hum of whispers swelling as eyes followed your entrance. The whispers said everything you were thinking. Why was Mingyu’s girlfriend with Jeonghan when Mingyu had walked in with Hyorin? The question echoed in your mind too.

Jeonghan, ever composed, treated you like royalty throughout the event. His voice dipped to a conspiratorial whisper as he leaned in. “Just follow my lead,” he instructed. If anyone knew how to navigate this social minefield, it was him.

But when you excused yourself to go to the restroom, a hand shot out from the shadows of the corridor, pulling you into a quiet corner. Your back hit the wall, and you were met with Mingyu’s fierce gaze, a tempest swirling in his eyes.

“Why are you here with Jeonghan? He’s my friend,” Mingyu hissed, voice laced with anger barely contained.

You lifted your chin, meeting his glare head-on. “Am I not allowed to be here? Is it because of my status?” The pointed question carried the sting of Hyorin’s earlier remark: ‘You’re not on Mingyu’s level, Y/N.’

Mingyu’s brows pulled together in frustration. “What? That’s not what I meant! I’m asking why you’re with Jeonghan.” His voice strained as he pressed you lightly against the wall.

You took a steadying breath, finding a surge of confidence within yourself. “Because you didn’t invite me. Jeonghan did."

“Everyone knows you’re my girlfriend!” His voice cracked, the desperation seeping through.

You scoffed, your eyes narrowing. “But you showed up with your ex, so tell me, Mingyu, what’s the difference?”

He faltered, searching for words. “I didn’t come with her. We just met here!”

“Does it even matter?” Your voice dropped, quiet and weary. The fight in you waned as reality set in.

Mingyu’s eyes blazed with anger as your words echoed between you. He took a sharp breath, fists clenching at his sides. “What’s gotten into you? Are you even hearing yourself? We’re still in contract!” he reminded you, his tone harsh and commanding.

“So what? We already broke the contract the moment you put your hands on me, Mingyu,” you shot back, holding your ground. “There’s nothing in the agreement saying other men can’t do the same.”

His eyes narrowed, and his jaw tightened as he stepped closer, the space between you suffocating. “Did you sleep with Jeonghan?” The question came out as a growl, possessive and edged with jealousy.

You tilted your chin defiantly. “It’s not your business, Mingyu. I can do whatever I want.”

“No,” he said, voice low but brimming with fury. “You’re my girlfriend. I paid you to be my girlfriend, and you should listen to me. We’re going home.”

The statement cut through you, reminding you of the transactional nature of what was supposed to be a façade. It was true, he’d paid you to play this role, but somewhere along the way, the lines had blurred. Your heart thudded in your chest as you wondered what awaited you once you returned to his house. The memory of last night lingered—how your bodies had moved in sync, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

But tonight, the air was different, thick with tension and unspoken truths. You swallowed hard, worrying if there were still any condoms left in his house, remembering using the last one in a moment of impulsive passion. Your pulse quickened at the thought of what this confrontation could mean, unsure whether it would spiral into a battle or ignite something deeper.

*

Hyorin had asked you that one time, "Are you two sleeping together in our room?" Her question was layered with implications. Was she trying to confirm if you and Mingyu had crossed that line? Or was she mocking you by emphasizing our room, as if to remind you that she once had ownership over that space, even after she left him on the altar? Your mind raced with anger and confusion. The only thing you wanted to do as you sat across from her was to slap that smug smile off her face. How dare she come back after everything she'd done?

“Why?” The word slipped out of your mouth before you could stop it.

Hyorin’s smile widened, cruel and taunting. “Well, he doesn’t like anyone else in his bed, so I was wondering if you sleep there, in our room. I mean, the master bedroom. I’m sorry…” Her tone dripped with insincerity, and you knew she wasn’t sorry at all.

The memory stung as you woke up before dawn. You were back in your own room, while Mingyu lay sleeping beside you. The events of last night still echoed in your mind. After he dragged you out of the event, you had dared to ask him, almost pleading, if the two of you could sleep in his room instead.

“No. I don’t like when someone else enters my room,” he had said, his voice cold and detached.

“But you said I’m your girlfriend,” you had whispered, trying to understand where you truly stood.

Mingyu’s gaze darkened. “You’re just a girlfriend I paid for. Don’t ask for more.”

The words cut through you like a blade. You sighed and gently pulled yourself from his embrace, a hollowness settling deep inside. It was time. You couldn’t ignore the truth anymore.

He had Hyorin back. The proof sat on the nightstand—his check for 35 billion won, neatly tucked under his phone. Your job was done. Everything you had endured, every humiliation and compromise, had led to this. And it wasn’t enough to let you into his real space, his heart. You knew then that Jeonghan was right; staying by Mingyu’s side would only continue to break you.

You packed your essentials silently, fighting the lump in your throat, and slipped out of the house before the sun rose. You drove aimlessly, just needing to be far away. Your apartment wasn’t safe with Beomjae still lurking; Jeonghan had warned you that it might take two more months to gather enough evidence to protect you in court. He urged patience, but today you had none left.

All this time, every sacrifice you made for Mingyu, every part of yourself you gave, it was never enough for him to let you into his true sanctuary. It was time to go, time to leave behind the pain and reclaim whatever was left of yourself.

Mingyu woke up to an emptiness that gnawed at him immediately. He reached out instinctively, expecting to feel your warmth beside him, but his hand met only cold sheets. He sat up, confusion creasing his brow as he glanced around the room. The stillness was unsettling, the house too quiet.

“Y/n?” he called out, his voice breaking the silence. He listened, hoping for the sound of your voice or even the light shuffle of your footsteps. Nothing. A wave of irritation surged through him as he threw back the covers and stood up, the cool floor beneath his feet doing nothing to temper his rising anger.

He strode through the house, checking the kitchen, the living room, even the guest room. Empty. The frustration that had simmered inside him since the event now boiled over. Why would you leave without saying anything?

As he stormed back into yout room, something on the nightstand caught his eye. The check he had written for you sat there, staring back at him like an accusation. His eyes narrowed, and his jaw tightened. The sight of it made his blood run cold and hot all at once.

It was the final insult. You hadn’t just left—you had left him with the one thing that symbolized the transactional nature of your relationship, the thing that once gave him control but now mocked him with your absence. He clenched his fist so hard his knuckles turned white. The implications of you leaving the check behind sent a spike of panic through him, laced with anger. You were rejecting everything: the arrangement, the money, him.

“Damn it, Y/n!” he roared, sweeping his arm across the nightstand. The check, his phone, and a glass of water crashed to the floor. The sound of shattering glass echoed in the room, mirroring the turmoil inside him.

He paced back and forth, running a hand through his disheveled hair. The idea of you walking out without a word gnawed at him. You had always been the one constant in his chaotic life, the one person who, despite everything, was there. Now, the emptiness felt sharper than ever, and he realized too late how deep your absence cut.

Mingyu grabbed his phone from the floor, ignoring the cracked screen as he tried to call you. The call rang once, twice, and then went straight to voicemail. Frustration clawed at him as he dialed again, the unanswered call only fueling his desperation.

“Pick up, damn it,” he muttered under his breath. The third call met the same fate, and it was then that a sinking feeling set in. This wasn’t just you leaving for a break. This was different.

He stared at the check on the floor, now crumpled and stained with water. The reality of your departure settled heavily on his chest. You were gone, and for the first time, he felt the weight of what it meant to be truly alone.

*

Mingyu stormed into Jeonghan's office first thing in the morning, his eyes dark with urgency and frustration. Jeonghan, who had been informed of his sudden arrival, greeted him with a polite smile that quickly faded at the sight of Mingyu’s tense expression.

"Where’s Y/n?" Mingyu demanded, his voice sharp and accusing. Jeonghan’s smile faltered as confusion clouded his features. What did he mean?

"She’s gone, Jeonghan. And you were with her last night," Mingyu continued, his tone carrying a hint of accusation, referencing the moment you arrived at the event on Jeonghan’s arm.

Jeonghan’s brows knitted together, a flash of realization and disbelief crossing his face. "No," he said firmly, shaking his head. "You were the one who took her home. You dragged her out of the event, remember?"

Mingyu’s expression darkened, and he muttered a curse under his breath. "Shit."

Jeonghan leaned back in his chair, studying the man in front of him. "What’s going on, Mingyu?" he pressed, his voice steady but probing. The room felt heavy with the weight of what was left unsaid.

Mingyu bit his lip, his eyes darting around as if searching for the right words. "It’s... complicated," he finally mumbled, his shoulders tense.

Jeonghan tilted his head, his gaze sharpening. "What could possibly be too complicated for me to understand? The contract? The debt? Spill it."

Mingyu’s eyes widened slightly. He knew? Did you tell Jeonghan everything? After a moment’s hesitation, Mingyu nodded, acknowledging Jeonghan’s knowledge. His mind raced as he tried to piece together what you might have shared.

"I wrote her a check for 35 billion won. She was in debt, so I helped her, and in return, she helped me with... well, everything. But now she’s gone," Mingyu’s voice cracked as he threw his hands up in exasperation, his frustration palpable.

Jeonghan was silent for a moment, his gaze unreadable. Then, with a deep sigh, he said, "She didn’t take the money."

Mingyu’s heart skipped a beat, disbelief flickering across his face. Did you tell Jeonghan that as well? The thought of you leaving behind the money he had given you felt like a slap in the face.

"If she’s gone, she’s really gone, Mingyu," Jeonghan said quietly, a hint of empathy coloring his tone. "You have Hyorin back, don’t you?"

Mingyu’s eyes flashed with something close to desperation. He ran a hand through his hair, disheveling it further. "This isn’t about Hyorin," he said, almost growling the words.

Jeonghan nodded slowly, a knowing look settling on his face. "I know. You're confused right now, I can tell. But maybe you need to ask yourself why it’s not about Hyorin anymore."

Mingyu paced back and forth in Jeonghan’s office, his mind racing with thoughts that tangled and frayed like a rope under too much pressure. Every moment that passed without you felt like sand slipping through an hourglass, a reminder of how close he was to losing you for good.

“Jeonghan, tell me where she went,” Mingyu’s voice cracked, a rare vulnerability shining through his usually composed demeanor. He wasn’t used to feeling so out of control, and it gnawed at him.

Jeonghan leaned back in his chair, arms folded over his chest, watching him with a look that was part sympathy, part indifference. “Even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you,” Jeonghan said, his tone as calm as ever. “You need to figure this out for yourself, Mingyu. Chasing her without understanding why she left won’t help either of you.”

Mingyu’s jaw clenched, frustration coursing through him. “I don’t need a lecture, Jeonghan. I need answers,” he snapped, his eyes narrowing. “You said you knew everything, so why won’t you help me?”

Jeonghan sighed and stood up, walking over to the window where sunlight filtered in, casting long, jagged shadows across the room. “Mingyu, you’re looking for her like she’s an answer to a problem. But she’s not an answer—she’s a person who needed more than you were willing to give,” Jeonghan said, turning to face him. “And if you don’t understand that, you won’t find her in any meaningful way.”

Mingyu’s breath quickened as anger and panic warred inside him. He wanted to shout, to lash out, but deep down, he knew Jeonghan was right. You had left, and it wasn’t just because of Hyorin, or the contract, or the money—it was because he hadn’t given you what you truly needed. A place in his life that was more than just obligation or arrangement.

Mingyu paused in the doorway, half-turned back to Jeonghan, who was still watching him with an expression that mingled curiosity and challenge. The silence crackled between them, charged and tense.

“I’m doing this because she’s my friend,” Mingyu finally said, his voice strained as if he was convincing himself as much as Jeonghan. “I love Hyorin. I always have. This isn’t about feelings, it’s about doing the right thing.”

Jeonghan’s eyes narrowed, a wry smile curving his lips. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the window frame. “Your friend?” he echoed, the words laced with skepticism. “Mingyu, if she was just a friend, you wouldn’t be standing here, desperate and wild-eyed because she left. You wouldn’t have risked everything to keep her by your side.”

“I’m not risking anything!” Mingyu’s voice rose, his fists clenching at his sides. “I’m looking for her because she needs help, not because—”

“Not because what?” Jeonghan cut in, raising an eyebrow. “Not because you’re afraid of losing her? Not because seeing her with someone else drove you crazy last night? Tell me, Mingyu, what kind of ‘friend’ does that?”

Mingyu felt the heat creep up his neck, anger and confusion tangling in his chest. He opened his mouth to argue but couldn’t find the words. Every accusation Jeonghan made landed too close to the truth, hitting on a part of him he refused to acknowledge.

“It’s not like that,” Mingyu muttered, though even to his own ears, it sounded hollow. “She’s different. She was there for me when no one else was, and now she’s gone. I owe her, Jeonghan. That’s all.”

Jeonghan stepped forward, his expression softening for a moment. “If you owe her, then give her more than just this frantic search. Be honest with yourself. If she’s just a friend, why did you let her become more? And if she’s more, why are you fighting so hard to deny it?”

Mingyu looked down, the room blurring as his thoughts spiraled. Memories of you, laughter shared in quiet moments, the way your eyes softened when you looked at him—all of it clashed with the image of Hyorin, the woman he once thought he’d spend his life with. The weight of conflicting emotions pressed down on him until he could barely breathe.

He turned away from Jeonghan without another word, storming out of the office, his mind a chaotic mess.

Jeonghan sighed as he pulled out his phone, his fingers tapping impatiently as he called you. It took five rings before you finally picked up.

"Sorry, I had a shoot," you muttered, your voice laced with exhaustion. But that wasn’t the answer Jeonghan was looking for.

"You didn’t take the money. What is wrong with you?" he shot back, frustration sharp in his tone.

There was a pause on your end, the kind of pause that said more than words ever could. Then, a quiet sigh slipped through. "How do you know?"

"Kim Mingyu stormed into my office looking for you," Jeonghan said, his voice growing more clipped. "He’s running around like a madman, and you didn’t take the money! I thought we were clear, Y/n."

But it hadn’t been clear, and Jeonghan knew that. It was never clear when it came to you and Mingyu. Silence lingered on the line, thick and telling.

You thought you’d fallen in love alone.

Jeonghan wanted to scream at you, to tell you that Mingyu loved you back. He wanted to shout that Mingyu’s ego was too big for him to admit it, that Hyorin was a convenient excuse, and that the people around him had only ever clouded his judgment. But Jeonghan wasn’t naive. He knew Mingyu better than that. Deep down, he knew Mingyu cared for you. No, it was more than that — Mingyu wanted you. He just didn’t know how to want you properly.

"It’s complicated," you muttered, the words barely above a breath.

Jeonghan pressed a hand to his forehead, fingers threading through his hair. Since when had he, of all people, failed to understand "complicated"? He'd seen it from the beginning — the way Mingyu's gaze lingered too long on you, the way your eyes softened at the sight of him. He saw it every time Mingyu made an excuse for you to stay. Complicated was an understatement.

"Okay," Jeonghan exhaled heavily, trying to stay calm. "Where are you?"

"Why should I tell you?" you countered, voice laced with weariness and defiance. "I’m just at a shoot. It’s a little far away."

Jeonghan let out a dry scoff. "Don’t play with me, Y/n. I’m not in the mood." His eyes darted to the window, the sunlight blinding but not nearly as irritating as the situation. "I need to make sure Beomjae doesn't get to you. Who’s gonna do that after you left Mingyu, huh?"

There was another pause, and this time it lasted longer. The weight of his words settled into the air, heavy and undeniable.

"Jeju," you finally admitted, voice quieter than before. "I’m in Jeju Island."

Jeonghan closed his eyes, letting the tension drain from his body. His head tilted back as he stared at the ceiling, lips curling into a faint, bitter smile.

"Of course you are," he muttered to himself, glancing out at the sky as if Jeju was close enough to see.

*

It was hard to control everything rationally when your heart had been battered one too many times — and it always seemed to be by the people you cared about most. Your father had left you with a crushing 35-billion-won debt. Your mother had left you behind as if you’d never existed. And now, Mingyu... You couldn’t even put into words what he had done to you, perhaps because he’d never truly been yours to begin with. He was just a friend. A friend who made you his contractual lover. How had it all come to this?

"That’s a wrap for tonight! Thank you so much for your hard work, everyone!" Boo Seungkwan's voice rang out loud and clear on set, cutting through the evening air.

He was the one who had cast you himself — handpicked you to play the lead in his film about a woman struggling with depression, seeking the meaning of life on Jeju Island. He’d told you he saw something in you, something raw and unspoken.

What a cruel twist of fate, you thought. The script no longer felt like a story you were telling. It had become your story. Every scene, every line, every emotion you were asked to portray felt like you were reliving your own pain on screen.

The crew slowly packed up, their tired voices fading as they made their way back to the rented house to rest. But you stayed behind, drawn to the shore like it had called your name. The night air was cool against your skin, and the steady lull of the waves was the only sound accompanying your thoughts.

You sat by the edge of the water, hugging your knees as you gazed at your reflection in the rippling surface. The moonlight softened the contours of your face, but it didn’t soften the hollow look in your eyes. The water moved, shimmering, shifting — it looked like it was calling you. Come closer, it seemed to say.

But you knew better. You knew that chasing that call wouldn’t solve anything. Ending it here wouldn’t leave anyone with peace — it would only leave scars. The kind of scars your mother had left behind when she vanished. She had been forgotten by most people, but for the ones who had loved her, the wounds never quite healed.

Who loves you, though?

The question struck you like a sudden gust of wind. It wasn’t the first time you’d wondered, but tonight, the ache was sharper.

Has anyone ever truly loved you?

Your mind wandered to your first love.

Your first kiss.

Your first everything.

All of them had been with Kim Mingyu.

You blinked, your lips parting to whisper his name, "Kim Mingyu..." The sound of it disappeared into the breeze, unnoticed and unanswered.

It was foolish, you knew. Because at the end of it all, Mingyu didn’t love you. He loved someone else. Wi Hyorin.

Her name alone carried a weight you didn’t want to bear, but it settled on you regardless.

What’s so great about Wi Hyorin? you wondered bitterly, clenching your fists against your knees. Your heart wanted to scoff, but your mind was crueler.

She’s soft-spoken. Calm. Composed. Smart. And from a wealthy, well-respected family.

You let out a bitter laugh, hollow and sharp like glass breaking. Of course, it made sense. She was everything you weren’t.

So what about you?

Your lips pressed into a thin line. No words came to mind. Not a single one. Because what could you offer him? Debt? Baggage? A heart too bruised to believe in love anymore?

Nothing. That’s what.

The ocean breeze brushed past you, cold but oddly comforting, like a quiet reassurance that you were still here. Still alive. Still breathing. The waves rolled in and out, persistent and unyielding, never once doubting their place in the world. You envied them.

For a moment, you closed your eyes, letting the sound of the sea fill the hollow space inside you.

If only love could be as steady as the tide.

"Ji Y/n..."

The familiar voice made you freeze, your heart lurching in your chest. Slowly, you turned toward the source of the call.

Your eyes widened. Kim Mingyu.

He stood there, breathless, still in his office attire, his tie loosened and his hair slightly disheveled. His chest rose and fell with each sharp breath, as if he’d run straight from the city to find you. His gaze locked on yours, his brows drawn together in a deep, urgent frown.

"You—" you stumbled toward him, your mind scrambling for words. "How did you get here? Why are you here?"

He chuckled lightly, a dry, breathless sound. His eyes, however, were far from playful. They were intense, sharp with resolve.

"You really want me to chase you, huh?" His voice was low, almost like a whisper meant only for you.

Before you could even process his words, he moved. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close, firm but gentle at the same time. His warmth seeped into you, his heartbeat thudding steadily against your ear. For a moment, you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, caught completely off guard by his sudden embrace.

"Mingyu, what are you—"

"I need you, Y/n." His voice was low, rough, filled with something raw and unfiltered. He leaned his head down, his breath fanning lightly against your hair. His words fell like quiet confessions against your ear, each one carrying more weight than the last. "I need you in my life."

Your breath hitched, your fingers curling into his shirt as if you were afraid he might disappear.

"You’re—" you pulled back slightly, just enough to see his face. His eyes, usually so guarded, were bare now, stripped of all his usual bravado. You saw it there — the honesty, the fear, the vulnerability. The love.

Your heartbeat felt like it stopped entirely when his next words fell from his lips.

"I think I love you, Y/n," he said, his gaze unwavering, his tone steady despite the chaos of emotions swirling between you both.

You blinked, stunned into silence. Your heart thudded painfully in your chest, faster and faster until it felt like it might burst.

"But..." Your voice trembled, barely above a whisper. "What about Hyorin?"

Mingyu’s eyes softened. He let out a slow, measured breath, as if he’d been waiting for that question. His hand cupped the back of your head, his thumb gently tracing small circles against your hair. His forehead leaned against yours, eyes closed, his next words spoken with absolute certainty.

"Not once in the past three months did I think about anyone but you."

The weight of his words crushed every doubt you’d been holding. It wasn’t just something he’d said to convince you — it was the truth, raw and undeniable.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, your chest tight with the weight of all the unspoken feelings you’d been burying for so long.

"You’re cruel," you whispered, your voice shaky as you tried to hold back your tears. "You’re so, so cruel, Kim Mingyu."

"I know," he murmured, his eyes opening to meet yours, filled with guilt and something that looked too close to regret. "But I’m here now, Y/n. I’m here."

His arms tightened around you, his embrace firm and unyielding, as if he was afraid you’d disappear.

"And I’m not letting you go this time," he said softly, his voice steady but filled with an unshakable resolve.

Your breath came in shallow, uneven waves as you stared into his eyes. The weight of his words pressed down on you, making it hard to think, hard to breathe. Your heart wanted to believe him, but your mind, bruised and battered by everything that had come before, hesitated.

"You say that now," you muttered, your gaze dropping to his chest where your hands rested, still clutching his shirt. "But what happens when it gets hard again, Mingyu? What happens when Hyorin looks at you like you’re her whole world, and you start to doubt this—" You swallowed hard, blinking away the tears threatening to fall. "—start to doubt me?"

He tilted his head, his eyes soft but unwavering. "I won’t."

"How can you be so sure?" Your voice cracked on the last word. "How am I supposed to believe you when it’s always been her? She was your dream, your everything. I was just—" Your voice broke entirely, and you hated how vulnerable you sounded. "I was just convenient."

"Stop," Mingyu said firmly, his voice leaving no room for doubt. He cupped your face with both hands, forcing you to look at him, really look at him. His eyes were darker than usual, filled with something you hadn’t seen before — clarity.

"You were never convenient," he said, his thumbs gently brushing away the tears that slipped down your cheeks. His forehead pressed against yours, his eyes closing as he breathed you in, like you were air after suffocating too long. "You were the only thing that ever made sense."

Your chest tightened, your breath hitching as you fought against the onslaught of emotions threatening to pull you under. "You’re just saying that because I left. People always want what they can’t have."

"No," he replied, his voice low but steady, carrying the weight of everything he’d been too blind to see before. "People always want what they’ve already lost."

Silence hung between you, thick and suffocating. The sound of waves crashing against the shore echoed in the distance, rhythmic and unending, a stark contrast to the storm brewing between you both.

"You didn’t lose me, Mingyu," you whispered, your voice small but certain. "You gave me away."

His face contorted with pain, his brows furrowing as if your words had physically struck him. His hands fell from your face, his head dropping low, his breathing sharp and shallow.

"You’re right," he muttered, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "I did."

You took a step back, needing space to breathe, needing distance before your heart betrayed you again. "So why are you here now, Mingyu? What do you want from me?"

He lifted his head, eyes wild with desperation, his gaze locking onto yours with a ferocity you’d never seen before. He stepped forward, closing the distance you’d tried to create.

"I want you," he said with such raw intensity that it left you breathless. "Not as a friend. Not as an arrangement. I want you because I’m in love with you, Y/n. And it took me losing you to realize it, but I know it now. I know it with every part of me."

Your breath hitched. The waves crashed louder in the distance, or maybe it was the thundering of your heart in your ears. You shook your head, backing away another step, but Mingyu followed.

"You’re just scared," he continued, his eyes never leaving yours. "You’re scared because I hurt you. I get it. I hurt you worse than anyone else ever has, and I’ll regret that for the rest of my life. But I’m here now, and I’m telling you I won’t hurt you again."

"Don’t promise me things you can’t keep, Mingyu," you said, your voice trembling with exhaustion and heartbreak. "I’m so tired of hearing people say they’ll stay, only for them to walk away."

"I’m not walking away," he said, his eyes glinting with determination. His voice didn’t rise, but it carried a conviction so strong that it made you pause. He took one slow, deliberate step forward, his gaze unwavering. "If you tell me to leave, I will. But if you tell me to stay, Y/n, I’ll never leave again. I swear it."

His words hung in the air between you, delicate but unbreakable.

Your breath trembled, your body taut like a wire pulled too tight. "And if you’re lying?"

"I’m not," he answered immediately, his gaze steady and sure. "But if I ever do, you won’t have to leave me, Y/n. I’ll walk away myself, knowing I never deserved you in the first place."

Silence. Long, heavy, unbearable silence.

The waves filled it. The seagulls in the distance filled it. But you didn’t speak.

He stood there, waiting, holding himself still like he was afraid that any sudden movement might scare you away. His chest rose and fell slowly, his breath measured, but his eyes... his eyes didn’t waver once.

"I hate you," you said softly, but your voice cracked in a way that betrayed you.

Mingyu exhaled a small, almost broken laugh. "I know."

"I hate how easy it is for you to say these things now," you continued, your lips trembling, tears brimming once more. "I hate how much I want to believe you."

"Then believe me," he said, stepping closer, his hand reaching out to take yours. He held it gently, like he was holding something fragile and precious. His eyes searched yours, soft but certain. "Believe me, and I’ll spend the rest of my life proving you made the right choice."

You stared at him, his words sinking in, the sincerity of it wrapping around your heart like a thread you couldn’t untangle. It terrified you how much you wanted to believe him.

"Mingyu," you whispered, his name a breath, a plea, a warning all in one.

"I’m here," he replied, his eyes never leaving yours. "I’m right here."

The tears you’d been holding back finally spilled over, and you hated him for that too. Why did he always make you cry? Your fingers gripped his shirt, your forehead pressing against his chest as the weight of everything came crashing down.

"You better not be lying," you mumbled into his shirt, your voice muffled but not lost. "If you are, I’ll never forgive you."

Mingyu’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you in with a tenderness that shattered every wall you’d built. He pressed his lips to the top of your head, lingering there for a moment longer than necessary.

"I’m not lying," he whispered, his voice steady as the waves beyond you both. "I’m never lying to you again."

And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe him.

*

"Cut!"

The director’s voice echoed through the set, and the entire crew let out a collective sigh of relief. Mingyu watched from the sidelines, his gaze fixed on you. His lips tugged into a small, proud smile as he saw you beam at everyone, bowing politely and thanking each crew member for their hard work. Your energy was infectious, even after a long day of filming.

"That’s a wrap, everyone!" Boo Seungkwan, the ever-lively director, announced with his trademark enthusiasm.

Mingyu stepped forward, his presence as commanding as ever in his sleek suit. Seungkwan spotted him and grinned, walking over with open arms. They exchanged a firm handshake, the weight of trust and friendship clear in the gesture.

"This movie better be a hit," Mingyu joked, his deep voice laced with playful seriousness.

Seungkwan snorted, rolling his eyes. "With your investment? It better be. I’m not about to ruin my spotless reputation."

"You should be grateful," Mingyu shot back, raising an eyebrow. "I let you use my name and my wife's name for this movie. And I even let her make a cameo appearance." His grin widened with mock arrogance, and Seungkwan waved him off like he’d heard it all before.

"Yes, yes, thank you, Mr. Investor," Seungkwan quipped, tilting his head in a sarcastic bow. "I’ll be sure to write that in the credits — 'With gracious permission from Kim Mingyu, the benevolent.' How’s that sound?"

Mingyu's laugh came from deep in his chest, sharp and rich with amusement. "Don’t forget to add 'world’s most handsome husband' in there too," he added, eyes flicking toward you as you approached.

Seungkwan's gaze followed Mingyu's line of sight, and his face lit up as he noticed you walking toward them. Your smile was bright, your strides light and confident, even as exhaustion clung to the edges of your movements.

"Amazing," Seungkwan muttered under his breath, his grin turning sly as he watched Mingyu’s entire demeanor soften.

“Thank you so much for letting me be part of this movie, Director Boo,” you greeted Seungkwan warmly. Your voice was light, your eyes crinkling with genuine gratitude.

“Trust me, I wish I could’ve had you in more scenes,” Seungkwan replied, shooting a teasing look at Mingyu. “But this man refused to let me put you in for more than two.”

Mingyu, as if on cue, jabbed at Seungkwan’s side, but Seungkwan dodged with the agility of someone who had been friends with Mingyu for far too long.

"Don’t listen to him," you said, letting out a soft, melodic laugh. Your hand rested lightly on Mingyu’s arm, grounding him in a way only you could. "I would’ve been happy with more scenes. Honestly, I would’ve loved to do more if you'd asked."

Seungkwan’s eyes widened with dramatic flair as he whipped around to face Mingyu. "See? See? Your wife doesn’t mind. She’s a professional, unlike some people I know."

Mingyu shook his head, his lips quirking into a grin that didn’t quite hide his possessiveness. "Nope. Absolutely not. I’m the one who minds," he declared, his eyes darting to you like he was staking a claim. "My wife is pregnant, and she needs to rest. No long shoots, no late nights, no unnecessary stress."

You shot him a playful glare, pinching his side just hard enough to make him flinch. “My husband is a bit noisy, isn’t he?” you said, glancing at Seungkwan like you were seeking solidarity.

Seungkwan raised both hands in surrender, his smile wide with amusement. “Don’t look at me. I’m not about to go against Mr. Handsome Husband, World’s Best Protector.” He snickered, his eyes darting between you and Mingyu. "But if it were up to me, you’d be in every scene."

Mingyu pulled you close by the waist, his hand resting protectively on your lower back, his thumb rubbing soft, absentminded circles. He leaned in, his eyes filled with that familiar mix of pride and adoration he could never seem to hide.

“It’s not up to you, Seungkwan,” he muttered, his gaze never leaving you. “We’ll be taking our leave now, Director Boo. My wife needs to rest.”

His words were simple, but the affection in his tone made your cheeks warm. You glanced at him, your eyes softening, and this time, you didn’t fight him on it.

“Take care, Director,” you said with a small bow. Seungkwan waved you off with a knowing grin, watching the two of you walk away.

“Yeah, yeah, go be all in love or whatever,” he called out, unable to hide the affection in his teasing.

As you walked side by side with Mingyu, his hand firm and steady on your back, you glanced up at him with a small smile.

“Possessive much?” you teased quietly, nudging him with your elbow.

“Protective,” he corrected, glancing down at you with that look that always made your heart stumble. His eyes softened as they lingered on you, his voice quieter now. "I’m protecting what’s mine."

You rolled your eyes, but your fingers intertwined with his, and you squeezed his hand just a little tighter.

“Okay, Mr. Handsome Husband, World’s Best Protector,” you murmured, leaning your head against his arm as the two of you walked off into the evening light.

*

Seungkwan sat with the entire cast during the promotional interview for his highly anticipated movie. The host was lively and charismatic, effortlessly guiding the conversation while bringing out the natural chemistry between the cast. Laughter filled the room, and the atmosphere was warm and relaxed.

“Director Boo,” the host began with a playful grin, leaning forward with curiosity. “You mentioned that this movie was inspired by your friend’s story, right? Care to spill a little tea on that?”

Laughter erupted from the cast and audience. Seungkwan’s eyes widened, and he waved his hands frantically as if to push away the implication. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but he quickly composed himself.

“Ah, I don’t want anyone to misunderstand,” Seungkwan said, half-laughing, half-sighing. “It’s not like that. I drew inspiration from a lot of places — life experiences, stories I’ve heard, observations. But,” he paused, his grin turning sly, “I’ll admit, my favorite actress, Ji Y/n, agreed to make a cameo, and we did use her name and her husband’s name for the characters.”

“Oho!” the host gasped, eyes lighting up with excitement. “Using your friend’s actual names? Sounds very intentional, Director Boo!”

More laughter followed, with some of the cast members playfully nudging Seungkwan as if to expose him further.

“Look, look, look,” Seungkwan chuckled, his hands raised in surrender. “It’s not like their relationship is exactly like the one in the movie. It’s totally the opposite, I promise!” His gaze flickered to the camera, as if directly addressing the viewers. “They’re an amazing couple, honestly. The kind of couple that makes you believe in love again.”

The host’s eyes narrowed with mock suspicion, leaning forward like he’d just uncovered a scandal. “So you’re telling me that you just so happened to name the characters after them and just so happened to cast her as a cameo?”

The audience howled with laughter, and Seungkwan pressed his palms together in a mock plea for mercy. “I’m innocent, I swear! I’m just a man trying to tell a good story!”

"Glad he didn’t mention that the 35 billion won contract was actually true," you muttered, eyes glued to the television as the interview played. Your three-month-old daughter, Sera, lay in your arms, breastfeeding peacefully. Her tiny fingers occasionally curled and uncurled against your skin.

Mingyu let out a long, exasperated sigh from beside you. "I should’ve read the script myself before signing that deal," he groaned, rubbing his face in frustration. "I didn’t think Seungkwan would actually bring up the contract."

"Why? Feeling a little exposed now?" you teased, shooting him a sly grin. "Starting to see what an asshole you were back then?"

His gasp was immediate, his eyes wide with faux horror. "Language, woman!" he said dramatically, reaching over to cover baby Sera’s tiny ears. "She can hear you, you know."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hold back a soft laugh. Gently, you lifted Sera from your chest and placed her carefully in her crib. Her lips puckered in her sleep, and her little body shifted slightly before settling back into slumber. You watched her for a moment longer, letting that familiar warmth fill your chest.

With Sera safe and sound, you made your way back to Mingyu, plopping down beside him on the couch. Your head found a home against his shoulder, your hand resting on his chest, fingers tracing slow, lazy circles.

“It’s true, though,” he muttered, staring at the ceiling as if reliving the memory. “Everyone thought I was gay, and somehow, my genius solution was to get a contractual girlfriend.” He shook his head at his younger self, clearly unimpressed.

"But you have to admit," you murmured, your voice low and teasing, "I was way too gorgeous to pass up, huh?"

Mingyu glanced down at you, his eyes softening with that look he reserved only for you. A slow, crooked smile spread across his face, and he let out a quiet chuckle, the deep rumble of it vibrating through his chest.

"You are," he said simply, his hand coming up to rest on top of yours. "The most gorgeous mistake I ever made… and the only one I’d make again."

His words were so sincere, so steady, that it made your heart squeeze in your chest. You tilted your head up, catching his gaze, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. It was one of those rare silences where everything was already understood.

"Smooth talker," you whispered, lips curling into a smile as you leaned up to kiss him softly.

"Only for you," he replied, his voice a little quieter now, his eyes still locked on you like you were the only person in the world.

And in moments like this — with your baby girl sleeping soundly nearby and the man who once made the worst mistake of his life now holding you like you were his greatest treasure — you believed it.

[agatalunar]

new year, new me… ㅤㅤ𖤓 · What will 2025 bring you? ㅤㅤ· 𖤓

merry christmas everybody 🤍🎄 sorry for the delay, I hope you enjoy this last reading of the year, and as always thank u for your support… it would be a pleasure for me if you let me know if the reading resonated with you so do not hesitate to send me a message, comment or reblog, it will make me immensely happy

- choose the one with which you feel most connected -

Pile 1… 2… 3…

ㅤㅤ

𖤓 Pile 1

cards: five of pentacles, six of wands, five of wands, nine of pentacles, five of coups

Independence is a great word for this year that is beginning. You are going to start facing the world on your own, so you must act with certainty. It is a year of a lot of personal growth in relation to how you want to present yourself to the world, what you offer.

“Adult life is no longer a game.” You may be a very, very young person or you may not have had the opportunity to do things on your own, but if you really want the things you want, it is important that you take action.

It is a year in which your soul is going to take very different paths in relation to the past and all of them will be good if you know how to choose them and know how to handle them. For some reason it is as if you are embarking on the path of being a CEO/ a type of boss (?)

Getting out of your comfort zone, recognizing your potential and having security and confidence will lead you to success. Use your mind but also your heart, do not let greed or ego guide you. You may want this to help your family's finances, but you are also doing it for yourself. You deserve to get everything you want and the universe is helping you get it in 2025. Be patient and don't despair. Everything comes at the best time.

Things that may resonate with you or are significant:

Happy than ever - Billie Eilish, This will be - Natalie Cole, “we don't play around”, Let me - Zayn, Whatever - Oasis, “Im freeee”, applause, decisions, “all action is reaction”, being latinx or latin descent, depend on others financially, Cuba or Miami, 565, 6, 3, 333, “I used to pray for what I have today”, Simple - Kali Uchis, Jenny from the block - Jennifer Lopez, emigrate-migrate, vision board

Thank you for your time and energy, dear pile 1 ♡

𖤓 Pile 2

cards: eight of pentacles, knight of swords, the moon, knight of cups, the dead

2025 brings you a lot of internal learning. Your guides want to communicate with you. Dive into the spiritual sea of ​​your soul and life purpose. Dare to see what has been hidden for a long time.

You will know and recognize yourself from a deeper perception, you may need to connect with your past lives, understand where certain repetitive patterns come from, your soul needs to be healed and there is no one else who can do it but yourself.

If for a long time you have wanted to buy crystals, tarot cards, learn more about astrology, meditate... 2025 is the perfect year to carry all that out.

Do not set expectations, enter that path with a blank mind. "Reborn." You will become the most authentic version of yourself when you manage to recognize the spirituality in which you live. Do journaling, automatic writing, guided meditations... etc. And remember that healing the soul is also about eating well, surrounding yourself with people who have positive intentions, not being hard on yourself and just taking life easy.

This process will also change your style, you will want to dress differently, your observation of yourself will change completely and everything will be for your highest good. Your spiritual guides can't wait for you to take that big step... "do it, do it baby"

Things that may resonate with you or are significant:

Frailty - Violent vira, 18, 8, “save yourself”, third eye chakra, role models, Very special - Chris brown, Nobody - mitski, Conquest of Paradise- Vangelis, watch things on the laptop at 3 am, Chachachá - Josean Log, Blueprint - Tyler Jane, blue light

Thank you for your time and energy, dear pile 2 ♡

𖤓 Pile 3

cards: the chariot, the magician, knight of cups, eight of wands, the moon

“Just take it easy, baby, enjoy it”. Literally just have fun, 2025 is a year where you shouldn't think about things so much, “don't overthink it”. Act like a child, enjoy the moment, don't worry about what might happen. But just because you let yourself be guided by the universe doesn't mean you have to leave your inner voice behind, use your intuition, have faith and trust but act consciously.

DANCE, connect with your inner child. Don't care what people might say, it's your life and you decide how to live it. Dare to challenge the rules you've been forced to follow. Connect more with music, it may be a way for you to heal or simply relax.

Be your best friend, no one will know you as well as you know yourself. Take care of yourself in all aspects, physically, energetically and above all emotionally and mentally. Transform nostalgia into healing potential.

Just as you act when no one is watching, act the same way when everyone is watching; 2025 will be a year of great satisfaction for you, the universe embraces you and pats you on the shoulder so that you take the next step.

Things that may resonate with you or are significant:

BTBT - B.I, 222, False starts - Zayn, “trust me, you’re not gonna crash”, butterfly, Felling good - Nina Simone, wings, Alma mia - Natalia lafurcade, cherry, strawberry, makeup for children, 2000s, Deceptacon - Le Tigre, blue shirt with white stripes, party decoration, dancing in the kitchen, rock, music from your childhood or what your dad listened to, Rock you like a hurricane - Scorpions, As it was - Harry Styles, “be a diva”, You & Me - Jennie, Opera House - Cigarettes after sex, Modern Love - David Bowie, The breakfast club

Thank you for your time and energy, dear pile 3 ♡

[karuuhnia]

TF2 Chapter 7 - Karuuhnia's analysis

Christmas came early for the TF2 fandom this year, didn't it? (Well, it really came 7 years LATE if we're completely honest lol)

It was an emotional rollercoaster and had a happy, wholesome ending and conclusion for both the mercs and for us. Several mysteries from the past comics were resolved.

And you know me: I love to overthink and overanalyze every bit of lore and story that I can get my fingers on lmao

So here's my essay:

A) Solved mysteries

1. What the Administrator was planning

It turns out: There WAS no evil plan of world domination or whatever. Just pure hatred for a man who ruined her life - apparently. It's been so long she doesn't even remember the reason. But the thought of revenge was enough to fuel her every life choice.

And to think, it all could have ended in the 1850s already - if it weren't for smart-ass Gray Mann and his narcissistic tendencies to brag about his knowledge and plans. (How he himself figured this out is never explained.)

He was the one who introduced the Administrator to Australium in the first place, around 1850ish. If he hadn't told her that it could bring people back from the dead and prolong life, the senseless Gravel War would have ended with Blutarch's and Redmond's natural deaths.

Well, on the other hand we must be glad that the conflict didn't go on even longer.

Since Dell stated that none of his family members ever went into the room where Zepheniah was kept, the Administrator must have build all of that herself, right? That would certainly explain why it looks so crude and consumes so much Australium. I mean, look at this construction and then compare it to the one Dell built:

The Mark 5 machine gave her ~6 months of life for just a tiny flask of Australium. Imagine what would have happened if one of the Conaghers had improved Zeph's machine as well! She could have kept the zombiefied corpse in a living nightmare for many centuries more instead of burning through tons and tons of Australium so quickly. Good thing it didn't come to that.

2. Who helped the Administrator

Well, we didn't get a clear answer, but I think it's safe to conclude now that it was the Administrator's elite merc teams A-E that obtained all the Australium during the 6 months Miss Pauling and the TF2 team went off the grid. Which only further proves that the Administrator did not really care for Pauling at all and only came to her and her "team of rejects" as a last resort, after everything else had failed.

It's really heartbreaking how much Pauling admired her and wanted to be her trusted second-in-command while the Admin apparently never even invited her to the secret HQ. Nobody there even KNEW of Team Fortress after all. It was such a relief to see Pauling let go in the end and choose a free life instead.

3. Scout's second chance

Well, not really a mystery here, but I really like how Scout had an epiphany that there were other girls out there that would like him as he was and moved on from Miss Pauling. There was no heartbreak, no animosity, no rejection. They are still friends and support each other! I love it!

And then Scout even saved all of humanity by having sex with several women so that God wouldn't have to destroy the world! What a great, selfless guy he is!

I really love Spy and Scout after the time skip. No more bickering, no more annoyance, no more mean comments, just kindness. Spy is also so sweet to his grandchildren! ADSGFSDAF

I hope they all remain in contact and on good terms. Because let's not forget: Scout's health isn't good and he even has a confirmed death date. Which is only 8 years into the future of 1979.

All of his orphaned children would still be minors at that point. When it comes to that I hope Spy and Scout's Ma can take care of their grandchildren.

4. What Charles Darling and Maggie were planning

Darling stated he wanted to obtain Australium in order to make his rare animals immortal and in return he would get Saxton's company back.

The way Maggie always reacted to Saxton led me to believe she knew Darling was planning something ELSE and she felt bad for not telling Saxton and having to betray him in the end:

But turns out, I probably just misinterpreted Maggie's facial expressions. She looked so sad because she loved going on adventures with Saxton again and just hated the thought that he'd go back to Mann Co. afterwards.

I'm very happy that in the end Saxton let go of the company and spent the rest of his days punching wild animals with his true love! (Although he might have started a war again, now between Reddy and Bidwell lol)

B) Unsolved and new mysteries

However, as much as I loved the last chapter, I feel there are still a lot of things that were never cleared up or adequately explained.

So after re-reading every single comic and update page these are some other things I still find inconclusive:

1. Olivia Mann's mother

Not really that important to be fair, but still: Is she really the biological daughter of the 150 old mummy Gray Mann? If so, who is the poor woman who… mated with him and where is she now?

Or was Olivia adopted, abducted or grown in a lab? Well, at least she gets to live a happy and free life now and is provided for by the dad who stepped up. Good on you, Saxton!

2. Darling's knowledge

Back to Darling real quick: Why DID Maggie start working for her nemesis?

HOW did Charles Darling learn about Australium's properties and the Administrator's history?

There is also the fact that the Mann triplets' mother was a Darling!

These things were never brought up again! Whyyyyyyyy?????

3. What was all the set-up with the TFC mercs about?

The TFC mercs made several ominous remarks that made us believe there was more to them:

Both Virgil and Greg were trying to say something interesting, but then got cut off before the revelation. And especially TFC Heavy talked about dying as if it was an immediate danger to all of them. Sure, they were old, but they were still going strong, being able to kill all of the Admin's elite teams after all.

4. Fred's destiny (and identity?)

In Chapter 6 Spy disguised as Fred, trying to trick Virgil. After being found out, the two had this conversation:

Spy managed to impersonate Fred really well apparently. That means he must have studied Fred's personality, mannerisms and way of speaking before he went to Virgil. That also means he must have spent quite a while talking to and studying Fred. Did he and Sniper capture and interrogate him? But more importantly: What happened afterwards? Tbh, they probably just killed him off-screen after learning what they needed.

Because I no longer believe that Fred was Dell's father, as much as that sucks. It would have made for a great plot point and possible conflict within the team.

But Fred obviously had no idea about anything related to Australium or the immortality machines.

Since later on in Chapter 7 Dell says that neither his grandfather, his father nor he himself ever set foot in that basement, we can conclude that they all knew that the Administrator was hiding something nefarious down there. Which also means they WORKED for her and thus must have also worked on her immortality machine. So it makes no sense that Fred would not know anything about that if he really were Dell's father.

That still leaves us with the question: Why was young Fred in the photo with child Dell? Or WAS this guy even Fred?

I mean, a lot can happen in 40ish years between those two pictures:

But my new headcanon now is: These two are not the same person. TFC Medic had to replaced by our beloved Dr. Herbert Ludwig (still not over that name btw lmao), so who says the original TFC Engie wasn't replaced too at one point? TFC Heavy was very obviously worried about his friends dying one after the other.

Virgil said he knew Fred since before the war. So maybe after Dell's father died/left the team, Virgil told TFC Heavy about his old comrade Fred who also happened to be an Engineer. And only then Fred became part of TFC.

But as I said, that's just my headcanon. In reality it's probably just an inconsistency over the many years of convoluted lore. lol

5. Soldier's cave, covered in Australium

In A Cold Day in Hell Soldier and Zhanna have the following conversation:

First it's a stink-barn, then he claims to be homeless. But in Chapter 7 Heavy suddenly says that Soldier lives in a cave.

And it turns out there is tons of Australium in that cave! Now of course I wonder: When did Soldier move into that cave and where is it located? We were always told that Australium only exists in Australia. But I highly doubt this American patriot owns a cave in Australia. Also, how is it possible that the Admin and the elite mercs never managed to find this cave? Did they just not bother to look in America because all known Australium is in Australia?

So in return, does that mean that Australium is NOT exclusive to Australia after all? If so, there could still be hidden caches of the stuff anywhere on Earth. At least the Admin and Gray Mann are no longer around to collect it and Miss Pauling does not look for it anymore either. The only one who still has an interest in it is Charles Darling. Him again...

6. Soldier with the photo of the Mann family

Quick reminder: This is the only version of the family photo we'd seen up until this point:

But when Soldier and Merasmus are held by the mafia and the wizard asks him why he needed so much money, Soldier pulls out an intact, unteared photograph of the Mann family!!!

His thumb conveniently covers up the still unknown person standing in the middle. How did Soldier obtain this photo? How does he even know who everyone is, considering he's, well, Soldier?

Could he have any relations to the unknown person in the middle? And why DOES he need so much money (granted, it was only like 20 $ in the end, but still lol)?

Am I just overthinking this? Has anyone an explanation??? Is he and if yes, HOW is Soldier connected to the frigging Mann family??????

*cough* Anyway. This concludes my analysis of the TF2 lore. For now. If I come up with more things or if Valve ever decides to continue the story (That was a joke, haha, fat chance), I will come back to this. In the meantime, thank you for reading this and please feel free to share your own ideas and opinions! I'd love to read all of it! ❤️

[paige1722]

Bah Humbug

Summary: instead of playing nice with the village that chooses to sacrifice you, you get revenge!!! This is an alternative to Silent Night.

Pairing: Krampus!Konig x GN!Reader

Warnings: major death, gruesome, Krampus, attempted sacrifice, mentions of hell

I hope this is what you were looking for, it starts out kind of similar but I made the characters a little more cruel towards the reader. I hope you like it!!! @melimelisworld

The village you live in is small and quite quaint; everyone knows everyone, and nothing stays secret for long. Growing up here, you recall how loving everyone was to each other, people constantly stepping up to help others. Now that all seems like a distant memory, as the never-ending blizzard that plagues your town causes food and trading shortages, everyone has become bitter and cruel towards one another, willing to do anything just to save themselves. 

As you looked out of the window of your small cottage towards the center of town, where in years past, you would be able to see streets filled with people walking around with their loved ones, children, and their parents playing out in the snow together, laughter filling the air, but now the streets are empty nothing but the white snow covering the stone paths throughout the village. The harsh wind caused the window panes to groan, and the snow kept piling up more and more. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched as a figure marches their way through the thick snow from your neighbor's house towards your front door. 

You walk to your front door just in time to hear a harsh knock. When you open it, you see Philip, the assistant to the village leader. Moving back so he can enter, he makes his way inside, tracking snow throughout your house. Once inside, he makes his way towards your fireplace, placing his hands in front of the fire. 

“Philip, what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” you asked, closing the door behind him and moving to stand in the middle of your living room. Feeling a bit uneasy at the sight of him in your house, nothing good ever comes from one of his visits, usually trying to con people out of food rations for himself, saying it is for the good of the village. 

He turns around, placing his hands around his back to keep them in front of the fire, his eyes scrutinizing you, a small sneer on his face. The fire casing an ominous shadow over his frame, and you are now able to get a better look at him. The food shortages obviously have no effect on him. At the same time, most people in your village, yourself included, are forced to ration their food just to make it through the week. He and Shepherd, the village leader, constantly have full plates, never once having to starve, wondering where their next meal is coming from. His expensive fur jacket looked more pristine than ever, and nothing on his outfit was out of place. 

“Yes, I have been tasked with letting everyone know that at six tonight, there will be an emergency village meeting in the church. It is mandatory for everyone to be in attendance.” He sounds as if this task is below him, but he will do whatever Shepherd tells him to do.

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and you feel skeptical about the emergency meeting. “Oh, okay. By any chance, do you know what the meeting will be about?” 

At your innocent question, Philip squints his eye, looking at you up and down suspiciously, clenching his jaw and taking quick steps towards you. He points an accusatory finger in your face, causing you to step back at his fast approach. “It does not matter what the meeting is about. You are required to be in attendance, understand?” 

Your back hits the wall separating the living room from the kitchen; setting your hands on his chest, pushing him back from you, he stumbles back, grabbing hold of your wrist, disgust clear on his face. His breath hits your face, “have some respect for your village leaders.” 

Ripping your hand from his grip, you walk towards the door, open it, and motion for him to leave, venom clear in your voice, “You are just the assistant, not the town leader. You can leave now. You told me about the meeting.” 

Smoothing down his jacket and giving you one of his signature smiles, Philip chuckles and walks back toward the front door. He pauses to stare at you, a strange look in his eye. “I look forward to seeing you at the meeting then,” he winks as he walks out the door and back into the snow.

You shut the door behind him, sliding the lock into place. You let out the breath you had been holding, wishing that things could go back to normal in the village. What does it matter if you were not going to attend the meeting? Though with his reaction at the thought that you were not going had him acting like that, you fear to think of what he would actually do if you failed to make an appearance. Not to mention, you are very curious as to the details of this emergency meeting; perhaps it was about food rations or the never-ending blizzard. 

You place your head against the door; a headache begins to form with all the frantic thoughts running through your head. Opening your eyes, you see the trail of snow Philip tracked into your house. Cursing him under your breath, you move to the kitchen to grab a towel to clean up the mess before it ruins your floors.  

—----

You glance at the small hand-carved clock on your wall. Seeing that it is almost time for the meeting to start, you make your way to your front door, putting on the thickest coat you own, your gloves, and winter boots. Opening the door and closing it behind you, you wrap your coat tightly around you, pulling up the collar to cover the bottom half of your face as you venture down the snow-covered stone path that leads throughout the village. You see your neighbors already making their way inside the church. Two men stand outside wrapped in thick fur jackets and hats, each holding lanterns to signal the start of the meeting. You trudge through the thick snow, carefully walking up the ice-covered steps to the entrance. The two men, who you now recognize as Simon and Johnny, the town’s butchers, open the massive doors. You mumble a quick thank you to the men and make your way inside the warm church. 

Looking around the massive sanctuary, a long line of lit candles operas on either side of the pews gives the room an almost eerie glow. You realize you are one of the last villagers to arrive, seeing as most of the pews are already filled to the brim with people waiting for the meeting to start; whispers could be heard throughout the room, filled with hateful gossip about one another. You decide to sit in the back, where there is still a little bit of space left, sitting in one of the only empty spots left.

You take off your thick jacket and hang it on the back of the pew you were sitting on, and continue looking around the room. At the front of the pulpit stands Philip Graves, talking in hushed tones to the village leader, Shepherd. They look to be arguing, judging by the looks on their faces. Philip turns his head, looking near the door; when he makes eye contact with you, he turns back to Shepherd, whispering in his ear, a sinister grin appearing on their faces.

The front doors slamming closed behind you cause you to jump a bit. You turn around in your seat to see Johnny and Simon standing inside the church, placing the lanterns on the golden hooks on either side of the doors. They move to stand behind the pew you are sitting on, making you feel uncomfortable, but before you can ask them about it. A throat clearing causes you to turn your attention back to the front of the church, where Shepherd now stands behind the podium with Philip by his side.

“Thank you all so much for joining us today for this emergency meeting. We know that things have been tough recently for us all. But fear not; we have come up with a solution that will surely save us all from this torment.” 

Everyone perks up at the news, excited at the thought of ending their suffering. For some reason, you feel a sense of dread overcome by this news. Something about this whole situation does not sit right with you. Something in your gut telling you that nothing good is going to come out of this meeting.  

“Now, I know you all must be wondering as to what the solution to our problem is. Philip and I have found who is responsible for our suffering it is none other than the demon Krampus. He must be growing bored with punishing children and is looking to torture the innocent people of this village.” 

Gasps echo around the room; Shepherd raises his hand up to silence the murmuring, “To appease his wrath, we must give him an offering; then I am certain we will be saved.” 

Your heart starts to pound in your chest, an offering? What could anyone in the village possibly possess that would be good enough to use as an offering to a demon to appease them? Shepherd locks eyes with you, “I know what you all must be thinking: we have no material possessions good enough for such a beast. We will give the demon a human sacrifice!” 

The room suddenly becomes too hot, sweat beads down your face. Johnny and Simon come up behind you and pull you out of your seat. They begin dragging you, kicking and screaming, to the front of the church. You try to pull your arms from their grip, but is it no use, kicking your feet, trying anything to free yourself. Tears flow freely from your eyes. You look around at the people of your village, pleading with them, hoping that someone, anyone, will help you, but they just all sit there watching, doing nothing. Reaching the front of the church, Philip grabs you from the grip of the two butchers, placing a rough hand over your mouth to silence your yelling. 

Your back is pressed against Philips's chest, his arms wrapped tightly around you, keeping you in place; you struggle in his grip, causing him to tighten his grip on you. His grip bruises your arms, but you refuse to give up. Ignoring your efforts, he says, “Tomorrow, everything will be back to normal once the demon has his offering! Return to your homes and await the glorious rewards that will be gifted upon us all!” He yells out, his chest rumbling against your back. 

As you watch, everyone slowly rise from their seats and make their way toward the entrance of the church, leaving you to your demise. You bite the hand covering your mouth as you let out more screams for help, “Please don’t do this, there must be another way!!” you yell out desperation clear in your voice,  but all you get in return is a slap across the face from Philip. 

“Bitch just bite me, hand me the gag. I can’t stand to hear any more of this pathetic screaming.” Simon reaches into his pocket and pulls out a gag before harshly shoving the cloth in your mouth and tying it around your head. 

Once the door slams, such as the last of the villagers returning safely to their homes, Shepherd grabs a rope from his pocket and stands in front of you, “Ah, fear not. Think about the good your sacrifice will bring to the people of this village, all the lives you will save.” He pulls your wrists together in front of you and binds them tightly together, the rough rope digging into your skin.

Philip unwraps his arms around you and grabs the rope around your wrist, dragging you towards the front doors of the church, the rope squeezing your wrists, causing you to let out a pained gasp that is muffled by the cloth in your mouth. What was about to happen to you setting in, causing you to dig your feet into the carpet of the church trying to free yourself. Tears flow down your face, muffled screaming, as you try desperately to escape. 

“Alright, I can’t deal with this the whole way to the forest. We got to do something,” says Philip, annoyed by your constant struggle. 

Johnny walks back to the podium and pulls out more rope; he picks you up and throws you over his shoulder, handing the rope to Simon, “Tie their feet together. It will probably just be easier to carry them.” 

Simon takes the rope from Johnny, grabs both of your kicking feet and ties them together as tight as he can, making it more difficult for you to free yourself.

With you bound tightly over Johnny's shoulder, the group makes its way to the front of the church. Simon and Johnny retrieve their lanterns from where they had been left earlier. The heavy church doors open, and they begin their journey toward your death, the flickering flames casting long, eerie shadows in the snow. Your muffled screams echo through the village. Through blurred, tear-filled eyes, you catch glimpses of people watching from behind their windows, doing nothing to help you. 

—-

They have been carrying you farther and further into the forest, walking for what seems like hours. The light from the moon can be seen through the trees; the only source of light for miles is the lanterns. Your throat is sore from all the screaming, and you're pretty sure your wrists and ankles are now bleeding due to the rope rubbing against your skin from your flailing around. As you all reach a clearing in the middle of the forest where only a single twisted tree stands in the darkness, everyone stops walking; Johnny throws your body on the ground, the harsh impact knocking the breath from your lungs. 

Philip yanks you up from the rope around your wrist, dragging you through the snow towards the tree, the fear flooding your body, giving you a new rush of adrenaline, trying to dig your feet into the ground but with your ankles tied together, making it near impossible. Shepherd is already standing underneath the lowest hanging branch of the tree, holding one end of a rope that has been tied around the branch. They tie the rope through the rope on your wrists, hoisting your arms above your head until your arms are straining and your toes are barely scraping the ground. You let out muffled groans of pain and cursing them as best you could.

All four men are standing in front of you; no sympathy for what they are doing to you can be seen on their faces. Shepherd gives one last look at your body hanging from the tree, “This is where we leave you. Thank you for your sacrifice.” he says smugly before turning with the others and leaving you to your death.

  As you watch them all walk away, the light from the lanterns slowly fades away until you can no longer see it, leaving you in the dark forest alone. You begin to try to free yourself from the tree. Tears run down your face and neck. You try and scream to the best of your ability, but the cloth in your mouth muffles your shouts. Flailing around, trying to somehow untie the ropes on your wrists, all you end up accomplishing is tightening the knots, burying the rope farther into your skin, and blood from the open wounds on your wrists running down your arms. 

Your body quickly runs out of energy from your constant struggle, crying, screaming, and the cold. You begin to feel tired, struggling to keep your eyes open, thinking to yourself that you really don’t want to die, especially not for the people of the town who did nothing to help you; they all just watched. Until, from the darkness, you begin to hear the distant sound of bells jingling closer and closer. Looking all around you in the darkness, you see the glow of a lantern with an outline of a huge figure. You automatically think it is probably someone who is out hunting, so you begin screaming as loudly as you can through the gag, trying to gain their attention. The figure pauses walking, turning towards the sound of your screams, and begins walking in your direction.

 A huge figure emerges from the trees, standing nearly seven feet tall with twisted horns protruding from the mask peeking out from under the hood, his eyes shining through the darkness, the mouth carved onto the front of the mask was open with sharp teeth and a long red serpent-looking tongue, underneath the dark red hood covering his face and body. With every step it draws closer to you, you catch small glimpses of the jingling of bells hanging on a chain wrapped around his torso from underneath the red cloak glimmering in the light from the lantern. 

Frozen in fear at the person walking towards you but still in the back of your head, you are hoping that they will set you free. He stops right in front of where you are hanging from the tree, even dangling in the air, the top of your head barely level with his chin. The soft glow from the lantern gives off an eerie glow to whoever is standing in front of you. You swear that you can see his eyes staring right through you. You let out a muffled “help.” 

“Warum bist du hier draußen?” The demon in front of you utters, reaching for the gag tied around your head. He pulls the fabric out of your mouth, letting it hang around your neck.

Your voice hoarse from all the hours you spent screaming for help, you manage to croak out a gasped, “What?” 

He eyes you curiously, looking at your bound hands and feet. He reaches inside the large red cloak and pulls out a sharp hunting knife. Wrapping an arm around your waist to keep you from falling to the ground. He cut the rope around your wrists, your numb arms falling limply to your sides. Lowering you to sit on the snowy ground, he moves down to the rope around your ankles, cutting the rope. You rub your wrist, trying to bring feeling back into your body, the blood flowing through your arms causing a tingling sensation. 

Still crouched down in front of you, he places the hunting knife back inside his cloak and pulls out a small water skin, holding it out for you to take. You eye him cautiously before grabbing the water skin and taking big gulps of water, the cool water soothing your raw throat. As you hand him back the half-empty water, he says,  “Now, let's try this again, ja. Why are you out here?”

Sniffling due to the cold, anger courses through your body at the memories of the past few hours. You hiss. “They said I was supposed to be some kind of offering to save the village from Krampus’s wrath. They tied me up and dragged me out here against my will.” You take a deep breath, pulling your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them before continuing your voice much softer this time, “No one even bothered to help me. I was screaming at them, but they wouldn’t listen.” 

The man in front of you lets out a hum, “I have no need for an innocent sacrifice. Where do people get these silly little ideas from.” he says, scoffing and shaking his head in disbelief. 

You squint your eyes at him, looking him up and down from the way he is sitting in front of you, causes his cloak to open a bit and allowing you to see the chains wrapped around his torso more clearly. On the chains are the little golden bells engraved with small intricate designs. You can barely make out the cursive ‘Krampus’ written across them. Come to think of it, his cloak, mask, the bells remind you of the description of Krampus from the old stories people in your village used to tell children to keep them from misbehaving or else the demon would arrive and punish them. You look up into his eyes, and seeing him already staring at you, you ask, “You are Krampus?” 

“That’s me. Though you can call me Konig.” He stands up to his full height, holding his gloved hand out for you to grab, “come, let’s go.” 

Taking his hand, allowing yourself to be pulled to your feet, swaying slightly due to the feeling not completely coming back to your legs. “Where are we going?” you ask, tilting your head back to look at him. Still holding his hand, following him deeper into the forest.

He looks down at you, his voice dripping with disdain as if the answer should be obvious. "Back to your village."

"My village? Why?"

Konig stops in his tracks, turning to face you fully. His eyes rake over your face, a calculating look in his eyes. "I am Krampus. I punish those who are bad."

You furrow your brows in confusion. Is he really suggesting that he's going to punish your village for you? And what does he mean by "punish"? Scare them? Or… something worse?

His gaze lingers, reading the flurry of thoughts playing out behind your eyes. After a moment, he adds, his voice low and heavy with dark promise, "I assumed you'd want revenge. It is your choice. After all, you are the one they wronged. Though I should probably warn you, many will not survive."

The memories of your village’s betrayal flood back—how they ignored your pleas for mercy, how they bound you and left you to die in the forest. It is no longer the same village you grew up in. You nod in a slow, deliberate motion. "I want revenge."

Even with the mask hiding his face, you can see the faintest crinkle at the edges of his eyes, a wicked gleam catching the faint light. He lets out a low chuckle, a sound that sends a shiver down your spine. "Let’s go then," he murmurs, continuing walking. "It’s been a long time since I let my elves have any real fun."

—--

You stand at the outskirts of your village with Konig, his elves circling the perimeter, waiting for him to give the word. The streets are empty; everyone is already in their houses, settling in for the night. Rage courses through your veins at the thought that while they left you to freeze to death hanging from a tree, they were all snuggled up safe and sound in their beds without a care in the world. 

Konig’s elves were dressed similarly to him, standing tall in the darkness, though none of them were as tall as Konig. They wore terrifying masks with twisted and crooked horns protruding from their foreheads demonic-looking faces carved into the wood of their masks. Their gloved hands gripped jagged tools that clinked along with the bells wrapped around them as they moved. The air around the village seemed to thrum with a dark, malevolent energy.

Konig places a hand on your shoulder, “Stay with me. I do not want you to get hurt.” You nod your head in response, grabbing a hold of the chain around his torso, which is now on full display. His cloak sits wrapped around your shoulders to protect you from the harsh weather. 

“Hinterlasse keine Überlebenden.” His thick accent echoing in the darkness. The elves take off their maniacal laughs and pounding footsteps, announcing the chaos that was about to ensue.  

He trails behind them, you in tow, gripping tightly onto the chain wrapped around his torso, struggling to keep pace with his long strides as he makes a beeline straight toward the church where all of this began.

Screams pierce the stillness of the night as the elves burst into homes, ripping people from their beds. Some set fire to houses, others destroy everything in sight, their chaos unquenchable. Simon stumbles out of his front door, drenched in blood, not making it very far before an elf hurls a bola at his feet. The cord wraps tightly around his ankles, sending him crashing face-first into the snow.

When Simon sees you walking alongside Konig, he tries crawling toward you, desperation in his voice. “Please! Help us! We’re being attacked!” 

You don’t even spare him a glance as you keep walking, your pace steady as Konig leads the way. Behind you, you hear the sound of the elf dragging Simon away back into the madness. No one had come to your rescue when you screamed and begged for mercy. No one here will get any sympathy from you. They deserve this.

You both reach the church and with a single, powerful kick, Konig sends the locked doors crashing to the ground, causing some of the candles near the door to extinguish the smoke traveling to the ceiling. The wood splinters violently under the sheer force of his strength. He enters the church, ducking to clear the doorframe. His gaze sharpens as he spots Philip and Shepherd huddled in fear before the pulpit.

Konig rolls his shoulders back, making himself seem more menacing and threatening as he approaches them, his heavy footsteps echoing throughout the church. With every step, the bells make a small chime. Each jingle is a reminder of their impending doom. Shepherd and Philip stand unmoving as Krampus now stands before them, towering over their trembling forms. 

He stands tall, the shadow created from the lit candles throughout the room, causing him to look more and more like a demon, but you are not scared, knowing that you are not the one receiving his anger. His eyes glow with a burning hatred and promises of pain. You let go of the chain around his torso, moving to stand beside Konig, wanting to see them suffer as they made you suffer.

Shepherd tries to appear unfazed, staring Konig right in the eyes. “What is the meaning of this? We gave you a sacrifice to save us, not kill us all!” he says, raising his voice at the end and pointing a finger toward you. Both men gave you disgusted looks as if it was your fault that all of this was happening to them.

“You thought sacrificing someone who has done no wrong would put an end to your suffering?” Konig growls, his accent thick, “I am the one who brings retribution to the wicked.” 

With a flick of his wrist, using his dark magic, a rope slithers down from the rafters of the church, wrapping itself around Philip’s and Shepherd’s wrists and hauling them up until they were dangling in the air much like how you were when Konig found you. They let out groans of pain, trying to free themselves from the rope, but the more they continued to struggle, the tighter the rope wrapped around their wrists.

Konig rips one of the bells from the chain, a sinister glow now emitting from the bell, the intricate details now shining a dark red. He tosses the bell on the ground at the men’s hanging feet. As soon as the bell makes contact with the floor, the ground begins to shake and split open, revealing a deep, fiery pit. 

They both look down, seeing the entrance to hell open up beneath them, causing Shepherd to frantically try and plead with Konig to let them go, “Please, let us go. We are sorry, don’t do this.”

Philip looks at you, screaming profanities at you, “This is all your fucking fault, bitch. Stop him! Set us free!” 

Tired of hearing their useless pleading, Konig waves his hand, and a gag appears over their mouths, muffling their angry shouts. Konig turns to you, his eyes softening, reaching his hand again for you to take, “do you still wish to do this?” 

Placing your hand in his and moving closer to lean into his side, you look up at his masked face, “do it.” you whisper. 

Konig looks back to where the two men hang from the ceiling, both of their wrists bleeding from where the ropes have become embedded into their skin from their constant struggle. "You failed to show mercy," Konig growls, his voice low and guttural. "Now you shall receive none."

The rope snaps, causing both men to fall into the fiery pit, screaming, descending into what you can only assume is hell, both of their souls destined to be tortured forever. The light from the pit begins to dim until all that’s left is a deep hole in the ground with a single bell in the middle of the pit. 

The village is silent once more. There is no more screaming coming from outside the church. Following Konig back out into the snow, you see your once beautiful village in ruins, homes burnt to the ground, and everything destroyed, but you don’t feel any sadness or regret for what happened here. The elves are now nowhere in sight. If it weren’t for the damage, you would have never even known they were here in the first place. 

 You walk hand in hand with Konig back into the forest, a sense of relief falling over you. The people of this village tried to sacrifice you for their own survival, not caring about you at all, but in the end, you got your revenge.

[justkatattack]

You’re taking away other people’s agency like mine and the authors to say that we were influenced by other people, when nobody around me was trans. I live in Texas where it’s ostracized and politicalized. I didn’t choose to be trans and to imply that it was a choice is harmful and dehumanizes me

Every major medical organization around the world agrees that transgender healthcare helps people! You based your opinion off nothing but your own feelings

You make inferences, that there is conspiracy of people influencing a child to be transgender. Do you not think a child can be transgender? What about a child who is gay? Or lesbian?

Also nice job taking away my own agency. My family is half anti trans, my boss at the job I’ve worked my whole life is anti trans. There’s laws against being trans where I am.

But yeah someone once said something online about being trans and my agency goes out the window and I’m forced to be trans

Amazon Description: "Nobody seems to understand that Hannah is not a girl. His parents ask why he won't wear the cute outfits they pick out. His friend thinks he must be a tomboy. His teacher insists he should be proud to be a girl. But a birthday wish, a new word, and a stroke of courage might be just what Hannah needs to finally show the world who he really is."

The idea that there are certain clothes, behaviors, activities that determine whether you are a boy, or a girl is just reinforced with the idea of gender identity. This book basically teaches young children that wanting short hair, not liking pink, wanting to actually play and have fun, not wanting to be "pretty", not wanting to wear "girl" clothes, makes you a boy.

It is so hard to explain the very simple idea that gender is oppressive. Of course kids aren't going to like being taught from birth that you must wear pink, no you can't play that sport, those are boy clothes!, etc... And no, the answer is not to say someone was "Born in the wrong body!" when they express dissatisfaction from forced gender roles. Straying from gender roles doesn't mean anything is wrong with you, your body or mind. You can cut your hair, wear different clothes, play sports, or whatever, none of those things make you a different sex.

[novaursa]

Legacy (castle black)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Paring: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Note: Both the canon plotline and timeline have been altered to compliment the story. Consider plot holes to be magic.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: of bloodline

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @luniaxi @alkadri-layal

The soft sound of waves crashing against the shores of Dragonstone provided a rhythmic backdrop to the day. The midday sun filtered through the narrow windows of your solar, casting fractured beams of light across the ancient stone floor. You sat at a carved table, your fingers lightly tracing the edge of a goblet as you read over a missive Tywin had sent from the great hall earlier that morning. Maelor lay in a cradle nearby, his quiet coos filling the room as he batted at the dangling dragon-shaped toys suspended above him.

It was a peaceful moment—a rare reprieve from the weight of duty that pressed upon you every day. But that peace shattered with the soft but deliberate sound of footsteps outside your door. You looked up as Varys entered, his movements graceful and silent, as though he were a shadow come to life. His face, usually a mask of calm neutrality, was grave.

“My lady,” he said, bowing his head slightly. “I bring news. Grave news.”

Your heart stuttered, an immediate sense of foreboding settling in your chest. You stood, your hands tightening into fists as you moved toward him. “What is it?” you demanded, your voice sharper than you intended. “What’s happened?”

Varys hesitated—a rarity for the spymaster. His gaze dropped for a moment before meeting yours, and you saw the weight of his words in his eyes. “It’s about Jon Snow… your—” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “The man you raised, my lady. The one you loved as a son.”

The blood drained from your face. “What about Jon?” you asked, your voice trembling now. “What’s happened to him?”

Varys exhaled softly, his hands folding in front of him. “He was betrayed, my lady. By his own men of the Night’s Watch. Stabbed to death… on the grounds of Castle Black.”

The room seemed to spin around you, the weight of his words crashing into you like a wave. You stumbled back, your knees buckling as you grasped the edge of the table for support. “No…” The word came out as a whisper, barely audible over the pounding in your ears. “No, he can’t—he can’t be gone.”

Varys stepped forward, his expression uncharacteristically sympathetic. “I am truly sorry, my lady. The news comes from a trusted source. It is true.”

Tears blurred your vision as you sank into the nearest chair, your hands trembling. “How?” you choked out. “How could they do this? He was their Lord Commander. He—he swore to protect them, and they… they murdered him?”

Varys nodded solemnly. “It seems his actions divided the men. Bringing the Wildlings through the Wall did not sit well with many of his brothers. They called it betrayal. And so, they turned on him.”

A strangled sob escaped your lips as you buried your face in your hands. The image of Jon—brave, strong, so much like the man you had helped raise—being struck down by the very people he had sought to lead and protect was too much to bear.

“I should have been there,” you whispered, your voice muffled by your hands. “I should have done something. Protected him. Warned him.”

“You could not have known, my lady,” Varys said gently, his voice soft but firm. “Jon Snow made his choices, and they were choices born of honor and conviction. He lived as he believed, and he died the same way.”

You looked up at him, tears streaming down your face. “And what does that mean? That his honor was worth more than his life?”

Varys hesitated, his gaze steady but kind. “It means, my lady, that he will be remembered as a man who stood by his principles, even in the face of betrayal. And that is no small thing.”

Your hands clenched into fists as you struggled to compose yourself, though the grief threatened to consume you. “He was… he was my son, Varys,” you said brokenly. “Maybe not by blood, but in every way that mattered. I raised him. I taught him. And now he’s gone.”

Varys bowed his head slightly, his hands clasped before him. “You gave him the strength to become the man he was, my lady. That is no small legacy.”

But his words were little comfort in the moment. The ache in your chest was unbearable, a raw, gaping wound that no amount of logic or reasoning could ease. You turned your gaze toward the cradle where Maelor lay, his innocent face oblivious to the pain in the room. The sight of him grounded you, reminding you that life continued even in the face of loss.

You wiped at your tears, your voice trembling but determined. “Thank you for telling me, Varys. I… I need a moment.”

Varys inclined his head, his expression understanding. “Of course, my lady. If there is anything you need…”

You nodded absently, your focus already drifting as he slipped silently from the room. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone with your grief and the weight of the loss you had just learned to bear.

You rose unsteadily, moving to the cradle and gently lifting Maelor into your arms. His small, warm body against your chest brought a sliver of comfort, though it could not ease the ache in your heart.

“I’m sorry, Jon,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I should have done more. I should have been there.”

The soft murmurs of the sea wind brushed through the narrow windows of Dragonstone, carrying with it the faint tang of salt and the ever-present weight of isolation. You sat near the large window, your gaze fixed on the horizon, though your attention was far from the waves that danced below.

Before you, on a padded mat strewn with soft blankets, Damon and Maelor played. Damon, nearly three years old, sat cross-legged, holding a small carved lion in one hand and a dragon in the other. He made them "roar" at each other with all the dramatics of a child. Maelor, just shy of a year, lay on his belly, his tiny fists grabbing at the dragon toy Damon occasionally waved above him. Their laughter, innocent and sweet, filled the chamber, yet it barely seemed to reach you.

Your fingers twisted a strand of silver hair as your mind churned, haunted by the news of Jon Snow's betrayal and death. His name lingered on your lips, unspoken but ever-present. The image of him—of the boy you had raised, guided, and loved as your own—stabbed by his brothers, left to die alone in the snow, was a torment you could not escape.

The heavy door creaked open, and Tywin Lannister entered, his presence commanding as always. He wore a dark crimson doublet trimmed with gold, and his expression, sharp and calculating, softened slightly as his gaze fell upon you and the boys. He closed the door behind him, the sound heavy in the quiet room, and stepped closer.

“You’ve been here all day,” he said, his voice low but edged with concern. “You’ve missed the council meeting.”

You didn’t look at him, your fingers still absently twisting your hair. “The council will survive without me,” you replied softly, your voice carrying a weight that hadn’t been there before.

Tywin’s gaze lingered on you for a moment before shifting to the boys. Damon let out a triumphant roar as his dragon “defeated” the lion, while Maelor giggled and reached for the toy. Tywin’s lips pressed into a thin line, and he stepped closer, placing a hand on the back of your chair.

“I know what this is about,” he said, his tone measured. “You cannot let grief consume you.”

Your gaze flickered to him, finally meeting his eyes. “It’s not just grief, Tywin,” you said, your voice trembling but firm. “It’s anger. It’s… guilt. Jon didn’t deserve to die like that. Alone, betrayed. He deserved better.”

Tywin’s expression remained impassive, though his gaze softened slightly. “The world does not often give us what we deserve,” he said. “You know this better than most.”

You turned away, your hands clenching in your lap. “He was a boy when I left Winterfell. A boy I raised, who trusted me. And I left him there. I thought I was protecting him, but… I should have done more.”

Tywin’s hand rested on your shoulder, the weight of it grounding. “You did what was necessary. You gave him the tools to survive, to lead. His choices were his own.”

You swallowed hard, your throat tight with unshed tears. “And now he’s dead,” you whispered. “Because of those choices. Because of… betrayal.”

Tywin was silent for a moment, his gaze moving to Damon and Maelor. “You cannot change what has happened. But you can ensure the future remains secure—for them.”

Your gaze drifted to your sons, their innocent laughter like a balm and a wound all at once. “And what of Jon’s future?” you asked softly. “What justice is there for him?”

Tywin’s grip on your shoulder tightened slightly. “Justice, like legacy, is what we make of it. But it must not come at the cost of what you’ve built here.”

You didn’t respond, your thoughts swirling like the storm clouds that often lingered over Dragonstone. Your gaze returned to the horizon, and in that moment, a quiet resolve began to take shape within you.

Tywin lingered for a moment longer, his sharp eyes studying you. Then, with a quiet sigh, he turned and left the room, his heavy boots echoing against the stone as the door closed behind him.

The chamber fell silent save for the boys’ laughter and the distant crash of waves. You leaned back in your chair, your hands trembling slightly as you exhaled. Viserion’s presence stirred faintly in your mind, the bond between dragon and rider stronger now than it had ever been. You could feel her restlessness, her growing awareness of your turmoil.

You rose slowly, crossing the room to where Damon and Maelor played. You knelt beside them, brushing a strand of hair from Damon’s face as he looked up at you with a wide grin. “Mama, the dragon wins!” he exclaimed, holding up the toy triumphantly.

You smiled faintly, though it didn’t reach your eyes. “The dragon always wins,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

Damon returned to his game, and you scooped up Maelor, holding him close as he babbled happily. But even as you cradled your youngest son, your mind was elsewhere—far to the north, where snow fell and shadows loomed.

The room seemed to tremble as a low, resonant shriek echoed through the air. It was not loud, but it carried an undeniable power, a vibration that seemed to rattle the very stones of Dragonstone. Damon looked up, his eyes wide, and even Maelor quieted in your arms.

You turned your gaze to the window, your expression hardening as Viserion’s call reverberated through the night. It was as though she knew, as though she felt the decision solidify within you.

“I’ll avenge you, Jon,” you whispered, your voice trembling but resolute. “I swear it.”

The dragon’s cry grew louder, echoing across the island like a war horn, and the storm over Dragonstone seemed to answer, its winds howling in tandem. The night had begun, and with it, the first steps toward vengeance.

The stillness of the night on Dragonstone was broken only by the faint howl of the wind and the distant crash of waves against the rocky cliffs. The moon hung low in the sky, its silvery light casting long, ghostly shadows across the ancient castle. The air was cold, biting against your skin as you pulled your cloak tightly around you, the hood drawn low to obscure your face.

Your footsteps were silent as you navigated the winding corridors and stairwells that led to Dragonmont, where Viserion slumbered. Each step was deliberate, your resolve solidifying with every quiet breath. The weight of your decision pressed heavily on your chest, but it was dwarfed by the fire of determination burning within you.

When you reached the open archway leading to Dragonmont, the heat hit you immediately. The cavern pulsed with warmth, the faint glow of molten rock illuminating the jagged walls. At the center of the cavern, Viserion lay coiled. Her massive form rose and fell with each deep breath, her tail curling around her like a protective barrier.

Standing at the entrance, as if waiting for you, was Ser Barristan Selmy. His white cloak billowed slightly in the breeze, and his expression was solemn but calm. He made no move to stop you as you approached, his hand resting lightly on the pommel of his sword.

“My lady,” he said quietly, inclining his head. “You’ve made your decision.”

You nodded, your voice steady despite the turmoil within. “I have. I cannot stay here, not after what I’ve learned. Jon deserves justice.”

Ser Barristan studied you for a moment, his weathered face unreadable. “You know the risks,” he said finally. “Flying north alone, without support, into the unknown… It is dangerous.”

“I know,” you replied, your gaze unwavering. “But I must do this, Ser Barristan. For him. For myself.”

He exhaled softly, his hand falling away from his sword. “Then I will not stop you. But know this—I would have followed you into the fire, had you asked.”

A flicker of gratitude crossed your face, and you stepped closer, placing a hand briefly on his arm. “You’ve served me well, Ser Barristan. But this is a journey I must make alone.”

The old knight nodded, his expression softening. “Then may the gods watch over you, my lady.”

You turned toward Viserion, her massive golden eyes opening as she sensed your presence. A low rumble echoed from her throat, a sound that was both a greeting and an acknowledgment of your intentions. She shifted her great body, the ground trembling slightly as she unfurled her wings, the glow of the molten rock catching on her membranes.

You approached her slowly, your hand resting against her warm, scaled flank as you whispered, “It’s time, girl. We’re going north.”

Viserion let out a soft growl, her eyes narrowing in what almost seemed like understanding. She shifted again, lowering her body to allow you to climb the saddle that rested between her shoulder blades. You pulled yourself up with practiced ease, fastening the leather straps around your waist as you settled into place.

“Fly fast,” you murmured, leaning forward to brush your hand along her neck. “We have far to go.”

Viserion let out a resonant roar, the sound echoing through the cavern and beyond, shaking the very walls of Dragonmont. Her wings unfurled fully, their span massive as she crouched low, her muscles coiling in preparation.

Behind you, Ser Barristan watched in silence, his expression shadowed by both respect and worry. He gave a slight nod as Viserion leapt into the air, her powerful wings propelling her upward with a burst of heat and wind. The night sky swallowed you both as she soared through the open mouth of the cavern, the stars above glittering like cold fire.

In the great hall, Tywin Lannister sat at the head of the long table, his eyes fixed on the maps and reports spread before him. Around him, several lords and knights listened intently as he laid out his strategies. The talk was grim, centered on the looming threat of Daenerys Targaryen and her army of Dothraki, Unsullied, and her dragons.

“She will come by sea,” Tywin stated firmly, his voice cutting through the murmurs. “The Greyjoys will provide her with ships, and their rebellion will ensure they have nothing to lose. We must be ready to meet them head-on.”

One of the lords, a burly man with a thick beard, leaned forward. “And the dragons, my lord? How do we fight them?”

Before Tywin could respond, a low, guttural roar echoed through the night, vibrating the very air around them. The room fell silent, all heads turning toward the sound. A moment later, another roar followed, louder this time, accompanied by the distinct rush of powerful wings.

Tywin rose from his seat, his sharp gaze snapping to the nearest window. “Viserion,” he muttered, his expression darkening.

Jaime, who had been leaning casually against the wall, straightened, his golden hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “Where is she going?”

Tywin’s jaw tightened, his mind working quickly. “North.”

One of the knights spoke hesitantly. “Shall we send riders to—”

“No,” Tywin interrupted sharply, his voice cold. “This was her decision. She’ll face the consequences, but not now. Not yet.”

Jaime stepped closer, his brows furrowed. “She’s your wife. And she just flew off into the night with her dragon. You don’t find that concerning?”

Tywin’s gaze was like steel as he met Jaime’s eyes. “What I find concerning is the chaos Daenerys Targaryen will bring to our shores if we are not prepared. That is where my focus lies.”

Jaime opened his mouth to retort but was silenced by another deafening roar that seemed to shake the very foundations of Dragonstone. Through the window, they saw the golden shimmer of Viserion’s scales as she flew northward, her massive wings cutting through the sky like a knife through shadow.

Tywin turned back to the table, his expression hard. “The dragon is her weapon, just as this castle is my stronghold. She knows her path, and I will not distract myself from mine.”

But even as he spoke, a flicker of something unspoken crossed his face—worry, perhaps, or a grim acceptance of what was to come. Jaime watched him closely, his own thoughts clouded as the sound of Viserion’s roars faded into the distance.

Far above, you clung to the saddle, your eyes fixed on the horizon as the cold northern winds began to bite at your skin. Your resolve burned brighter than the stars above, guiding you toward the vengeance that awaited. Viserion, as if sensing your thoughts, let out another roar, her cry carrying across the sea like a herald of fire and fury.

The cold at Castle Black was relentless, biting through even the thickest furs as the dread within the Wall's ancient halls grew unbearable. The air was heavy with unease, the divide between the mutineers and Jon Snow's loyalists as sharp and icy as the winds that howled across the frozen expanse.

Within Jon’s quarters, where his body lay cold and still upon the wooden table, a quiet desperation filled the air. Ghost, Jon’s massive white direwolf, lay curled protectively near his feet, his glowing red eyes flicking toward the door at the faintest sound. Around the table, Davos Seaworth, Eddison Tollett, and several others stood in uneasy silence, their breaths visible in the frigid air.

“We can’t stay here forever,” Edd said finally, breaking the oppressive quiet. His voice was low but edged with urgency. “Thorne and his men are outside. It’s only a matter of time before they try to break through.”

Davos, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, nodded grimly. “Aye, but what choice do we have? There’s no running from this. Not with Jon still here.”

Ghost growled softly, his ears twitching as though he sensed something amiss. The sound sent a shiver through the room, drawing every pair of eyes to the direwolf.

“We need reinforcements,” Davos said, his tone firm but laced with frustration. “But who would come to our aid? We’re isolated, surrounded by men who’d rather see us dead.”

“We’re not alone,” Edd replied, glancing toward Jon’s still form. “Jon’s not just the Lord Commander. He’s a Stark, and the North remembers. There are men out there who’d fight for him.”

Davos sighed, his fingers brushing over the hilt of his sword. “That’s if we survive long enough to send for them.”

A sudden noise cut through their conversation—a faint, distant shriek that seemed to echo from beyond the Wall itself. The men exchanged uneasy glances, their breath hitching as the sound grew louder, more resonant, shaking the very walls around them.

“What in the Seven Hells was that?” Edd whispered, his voice barely audible over the rising noise.

Before anyone could answer, a deafening roar split the air, followed by a sound like thunder as something massive flew overhead. The ground trembled beneath their feet, and the icy cold seemed to intensify as a distant crash reverberated through the castle.

Davos unsheathed his sword, his face pale but resolute. “Stay close. Whatever it is, it’s not here for pleasantries.”

Ghost stood, his hackles raised as he let out a low, menacing growl. The men tensed, weapons drawn as the sound of shouting erupted from outside. The muffled cries of the mutineers were punctuated by the clang of swords and the unmistakable terror in their voices.

“Something’s out there,” one of the men whispered, his hand tightening on the hilt of his axe. “Something big.”

Another roar shook the ground, this one closer and more visceral, followed by a heavy thud that rattled the walls and sent frost cascading from the ceiling. Ghost snarled, his teeth bared as he moved toward the barricaded door, his entire body stiff.

“We can’t just sit here,” Davos said, his voice steady despite the fear in his eyes. “We need to see what we’re dealing with.”

Edd nodded, his grip firm on his sword. “Agreed. Whatever it is, it’s got Thorne’s men rattled. Maybe it’s on our side.”

Davos moved to the door, his hand resting on the wooden barricade. He glanced back at the men, his expression grave. “Stay sharp. And if this goes sideways… protect Jon.”

He pushed the barricade aside with effort, the door creaking open to reveal the chaos outside. The courtyard of Castle Black was in disarray, men running in every direction, their cries of fear and confusion filling the air.

And there, in the center of it all, stood Viserion.

The massive dragon loomed like a creature out of legend. Her wings, partially unfurled, created an imposing silhouette against the night sky. Her eyes burned with an intelligence that sent a chill through even the bravest hearts.

The men of Castle Black were paralyzed with fear, their weapons clutched tightly but useless against such a creature. Some dropped their swords and fled, while others stood rooted in place, their faces pale and wide-eyed.

A figure dismounted from the dragon’s back, descending the saddle with practiced ease. Clad in a thick cloak of black and crimson, her silver hair catching the firelight, you stood tall and resolute, your eyes sweeping over the chaos with a calm intensity.

Davos and Edd stepped out into the open, their weapons lowered but their stances cautious. Ghost bounded forward, his growls quieting as he stopped short, his ears perking up in recognition.

“My lady,” Davos said, his voice carrying a mixture of awe and confusion. “What… what are you doing here?”

You turned to him, your expression hard but resolute. “I’m here for Jon.”

The words carried a weight that silenced even the chaos around you. As the men of Castle Black watched, unsure whether to see you as savior or threat, Viserion let out another roar, the sound shaking the very ground beneath their feet.

The North had felt fire for the first time in centuries, and it would never be the same again.

The icy wind howled through the courtyard of Castle Black, carrying with it the sinister air that clung to every man present. Viserion stood like a looming sentinel, her eyes glowing faintly in the firelight as they swept over the men assembled before her. Her massive wings partially unfurled, creating an imposing shadow that stretched across the snow-dusted ground. Every movement she made—every twitch of her tail or puff of smoke from her nostrils—sent ripples of unease through the mutineers.

You stood before them as you pulled your cloak tighter around you. Your violet eyes blazed with fury as they scanned the faces of the men who had betrayed Jon Snow, your voice cutting through the cold air like a blade.

“Bring them forward,” you commanded, your tone brooking no argument.

The crowd hesitated for a moment, unsure of who should move first, until Alliser Thorne stepped forward, his expression as hard as the ice beneath his boots. Behind him, Bowen Marsh, Othell Yarwyck, and the boy Olly followed, their faces pale but defiant. A few others shuffled forward as well, their guilt written in the stiffness of their movements and the way their hands twitched near their weapons.

Alliser’s gaze locked on yours, his jaw tight as he spoke. “You have no place here, Targaryen,” he said, his voice steady despite the weight of the moment. “The Wall and the Night’s Watch answer to no king—or queen.”

You took a step closer, the snow crunching beneath your boots as you raised your chin, your voice steady and cold. “The Night’s Watch answers to honor,” you said sharply. “To duty. Tell me, Alliser Thorne—was it honor that drove you to plunge a blade into Jon Snow? Was it duty that led you to murder the man who saved your lives?”

Alliser’s lip curled, but he stood his ground. “Jon Snow was a traitor. He brought Wildlings past the Wall—people who’ve killed brothers of the Watch, burned villages, slaughtered innocents. He betrayed us. We acted in the best interests of the Watch.”

“Betrayal?” you hissed, your voice rising as your fury spilled over. “You speak of betrayal when you stabbed a man who trusted you, who led you, who sought to protect you from a threat greater than your petty hatred? Do you even know what’s coming for you, for all of us?”

Viserion growled low, the sound reverberating through the courtyard. Smoke curled from her nostrils, and the ground seemed to tremble beneath her massive weight. Some of the mutineers flinched, their bravado faltering as they cast wary glances at the dragon.

Alliser sneered, his defiance unshaken. “You don’t scare me, Targaryen. This is the Wall. Your fire has no place here.”

You took another step forward, your voice dropping to a dangerous calm. “You think I need to scare you, Alliser? I could burn this entire cursed castle to the ground and turn you all to ash in a heartbeat.” You gestured toward Viserion, her eyes narrowing as if in agreement. “Or perhaps I could simply starve you. No supplies, no food, no warmth. How long would you last up here with nothing but your pride to keep you company?”

The crowd murmured uneasily, the reality of your threats sinking in. Even the most loyal of Thorne’s men shifted nervously, their hands twitching at their sides. Bowen Marsh’s face paled, and Othell Yarwyck glanced down at the ground, his resolve crumbling under your gaze.

Alliser opened his mouth to retort, but you cut him off, your voice like ice. “You will burn alive,” you declared, your words ringing through the courtyard. “Each and every one of you who raised a hand against my son. That is a promise.”

Viserion roared again, the force of it shaking the very walls of Castle Black. The torches flickered wildly, and the men cowered, their earlier defiance melting away like frost under the dragon’s breath.

Turning abruptly, you addressed Davos and Eddison Tollett, your voice softening but still carrying the weight of command. “Take me to Jon,” you said. “Now.”

Davos nodded, his face grim as he gestured for you to follow. Edd glanced once at the mutineers, his lip curling in disgust, before he turned to lead the way. Ghost padded silently at your side, his red eyes glowing with an intensity that matched your own.

As you walked away, the mutineers were left standing in the dragon’s shadow, their breaths visible in the cold air. Alliser Thorne’s defiance faltered for the first time, his gaze following you as you disappeared into the dimly lit halls of Castle Black.

The weight of your promise lingered, heavy and unrelenting. The men had no doubt that the fire you threatened to unleash was real—and that it would consume them all.

The halls of Castle Black were eerily silent, the usual sounds of men at work replaced by the faint echo of your footsteps. Davos Seaworth walked beside you, his face grim and solemn, while Eddison Tollett led the way, his shoulders squared despite the weight of the moment. At your side, Ghost moved silently, his massive white form a steady presence, his eyes fixed ahead.

As you turned a corner, a group of Wildlings, led by Tormund Giantsbane, came into view. They stood clustered in the shadows near the stairwell, their weapons still in hand, their expressions wary but curious. Tormund’s piercing blue eyes locked onto you immediately, his brow furrowing as he took in your presence, the dragon outside still fresh in everyone’s minds.

“Targaryen Princess,” Tormund said gruffly, stepping forward. His voice carried the weight of suspicion and curiosity. “You’re the one they’ve been whispering about.”

You stopped, meeting his gaze with your own, your voice steady but heavy with emotion. “I am. And I am here for Jon.”

Tormund’s lips pressed into a thin line as he studied you, his expression unreadable for a moment before he nodded. “He spoke of you,” he said quietly. “Said you were the closest thing he had to a mother.”

Your throat tightened at his words, but you forced yourself to speak. “And he was the closest thing I had to a son at Winterfell. Let me pass, Tormund. I need to see him.”

Tormund’s gaze softened, and he stepped aside, motioning for his men to do the same. “Go on, then. But know this—we owe him a debt. Whatever you plan to do, we’ll stand by you.”

You inclined your head in gratitude, your voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you.”

As you passed through the group of Wildlings, Ghost let out a low growl, his hackles raised slightly as he stayed close to your side. The anxiety in the air was thick, every step toward Jon’s quarters feeling heavier than the last.

When you entered the small room where Jon’s body lay, the sight before you was like a dagger to your heart. Jon was stretched out on the wooden table, his pale face still and peaceful, his dark curls framing his head like a crown. The bloodstains on his tunic were stark against the white fabric, a grim reminder of his brutal end.

Your knees buckled, and you sank to the floor beside him, your hands trembling as you reached out to touch his face. His skin was cold beneath your fingers, and the reality of his death hit you like a storm.

“Jon,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Oh, my sweet boy…”

Tears streamed down your face as you leaned over him, your forehead resting against his shoulder. “I should have been here,” you sobbed quietly. “I should have protected you.”

Davos and Edd stood silently by the doorway, their heads bowed in respect as they gave you the space to grieve. Ghost moved to the other side of the table, his low whine breaking the silence as he nudged Jon’s hand with his nose.

You stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, the weight of your grief pressing down on you like the cold of the North itself. Memories of Jon as a boy flashed through your mind—his shy smile, the way he’d look to you for guidance, the pride in his eyes when he’d achieved something he thought impossible.

Finally, you sat up, your fingers brushing a stray curl from his forehead. “They’ll pay for this,” you murmured, your voice trembling but resolute. “Every single one of them.”

The room seemed to grow colder, the air thick with an unspoken tension. And then, as if summoned by some unseen force, the door creaked open.

Melisandre stood in the doorway, her red robes vibrant against the shadowed hall behind her. Her expression was serene, almost otherworldly, as her piercing gaze swept over the scene before her.

“My lady,” she said softly, her voice carrying the weight of prophecy. “You mourn, but do not despair. The Lord of Light has not yet abandoned us.”

You turned to her, your tear-streaked face hardening as you met her eyes. “What do you mean?” you demanded, your voice sharp with both hope and anger.

Melisandre stepped into the room, her presence like a flame in the darkness. “Death is not always the end,” she said cryptically, her gaze drifting to Jon’s lifeless form.

The room seemed to grow even colder as Melisandre stepped fully into the chamber, her presence radiating an almost oppressive heat despite the icy air of Castle Black. Her red robes swayed with each deliberate step, the ruby at her throat glinting faintly in the firelight. Her gaze remained fixed on Jon Snow, her expression serene yet filled with purpose.

You, however, froze as a sudden, chilling voice echoed in the recesses of your mind. It was not your own but felt both ancient and familiar, laced with the weight of a truth long hidden.

"She is the one."

The voice sent a shiver down your spine, your breath catching as it continued.

"The one who sent the shadow to take what was yours. She sought the life of your unborn son—Damon. It was her hand that set the darkness upon you, but the old powers protected him. Protected you."

Your heart pounded in your chest, the memories flooding back. The night in the Red Keep when you were heavily pregnant with Damon—the unnatural chill that had crept into your chambers, the fleeting but horrifying image of a shadowy figure reaching for your swollen belly, and the deafening caws of ravens that had inexplicably swarmed the room, driving the shadow away. You had never understood the event, dismissing it as something random. But now, the pieces fell into place with sickening clarity.

Your body trembled with a mix of fury and horror as you turned to Melisandre, your voice low and trembling with restrained rage. “You,” you said, the single word cutting through the air like a blade.

The red priestess paused, her serene expression faltering as her gaze shifted to you. “I sense… anger in you, my lady,” she said carefully, though her voice carried a note of caution. “What troubles you?”

You stepped forward, your fists clenched, your violet eyes blazing. “It was you,” you hissed, your voice rising with each word. “It was you who sent that shadow after me. After my son.”

Melisandre’s eyes widened slightly, her composure slipping for the briefest moment. “Your son?” she repeated, her voice soft yet guarded.

“Do not feign ignorance,” you spat, taking another step toward her. “When I carried Damon, a shadow came to take him from me. I thought it was something else, but now I know the truth. It was real. And it was you.”

The air in the room grew filled with dread, even Davos and Eddison Tollett shifting uncomfortably, their hands instinctively moving toward their weapons. Ghost growled low, his red eyes locked on the priestess, his hackles rising.

Melisandre hesitated, her expression unreadable as she regarded you. Then, with a small, almost regretful nod, she spoke. “It is true,” she admitted, her voice calm but laced with something resembling remorse. “I sent the shadow.”

The room erupted with gasps, and your breath hitched as her words confirmed your worst suspicions. “Why?” you demanded, your voice breaking with a mixture of fury and anguish. “Why would you try to take my son? What did he ever do to you?”

Melisandre stepped closer, her gaze steady but no longer serene. “It was not personal,” she said softly. “It was necessity. At the time, I believed your child to be a threat to the great war to come. A child born of fire and lion’s blood, destined to reshape the balance of power. I believed his existence would disrupt the will of the Lord of Light.”

“Necessity?” you repeated, your voice trembling with outrage. “You call an attempt to murder an unborn child necessity?”

“I was wrong,” Melisandre said, her voice firmer now, though a shadow of humility crept into her tone. “I miscalculated. The forces protecting you—protecting him—were beyond my understanding. The shadow was driven back before it could fulfill its purpose. That night, I realized there was more at work than even I could comprehend.”

You took a step back, your breathing ragged as her words sank in. The sheer audacity of her confession, coupled with the cold detachment in her tone, made your blood boil. “You miscalculated?” you repeated, disbelief heavy in your voice. “You speak as if this was some minor mistake, like spilling wine at a feast. You tried to kill my son!”

Melisandre’s gaze softened slightly, though it did little to soothe your rage. “And yet, he lives,” she said, her voice quieter. “He was protected. Shielded by forces older than any of us. Forces that even the Lord of Light respects.”

Your chest heaved with anger, but something in her words gave you pause. “Forces?” you asked, your tone sharp. “What forces?”

Melisandre glanced toward the ruby at her throat, her fingers brushing it briefly. “I do not know their name, my lady. Only their power. Your blood—your son’s blood—it is touched by something ancient. Something beyond my sight.”

You stared at her, your fury mingling with confusion and unease. The room seemed to grow colder, the weight of her words pressing down on you like the icy winds beyond the Wall.

“I will never forgive you for what you’ve done,” you said finally, your voice trembling but resolute. “If you ever come near my son again—”

“I will not,” Melisandre interrupted, bowing her head slightly. “My actions were a grave mistake, and I have no intention of repeating them. But my presence here is not for him. It is for Jon.”

At the mention of Jon’s name, your focus shifted, the raw ache of your grief resurfacing. “Why are you here, then?” you demanded. “What do you want?”

Melisandre’s gaze flickered to Jon’s still form, her expression somber. “To serve the will of the Lord of Light. He brought me here for a reason, my lady. And I believe that reason lies with Jon Snow.”

Her words hung in the air, the silence in the room thick and unrelenting. For a long moment, no one spoke, the crackling of the hearth the only sound.

Finally, you turned away from her, your hands trembling as you moved to stand by Jon’s side. “If you think I’ll trust you after what you’ve done,” you said quietly, your voice cold, “you’re a greater fool than I thought.”

Melisandre said nothing, her gaze lingering on you for a moment before shifting back to Jon. Whatever she intended, you knew one thing for certain: her presence here was far from benign.

And whatever her Lord of Light intended, you would not let her—or anyone else—threaten what remained of your family.

[serendipitous-girl]

𝑰𝒕'𝒔 𝒂 𝒃𝒊𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒚 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆

❀ summary: Hyunjin never expected falling in love to be so…peaceful. Like a feather blown in the breeze, slowly and gently settling to the ground. He expected it to be harsh, dramatic, and loud. He expected one day for a brick to plummet in his heart with a You're in love! written in big bold letters.

❀ warnings: long ass story, physical descriptors being used but no name, they could be ooc i am not a skz expert, mentions of other kpop bands & people i have no clue about, almost 5k words 💀

❀ notes: i took multiple months to write this and i might have to separate it into multiple parts bc it is annoyingly long. I dunno if its super good but I wrote it for my bestie who loves hyunjin 😁

Hyunjin never expected falling in love to be so…peaceful. Like a feather blown in the breeze, slowly and gently settling to the ground. He expected it to be harsh, dramatic, and loud. He expected one day for a brick to plummet in his heart with a You're in love! written in big bold letters.

But watching her, with her fluffy purple hair and glittering dark eyes, he couldn't help but picture falling in love like cozying up against a fireplace after a long day playing in the snow. Falling in love with her felt easy. It felt like something he'd known all his life without fully realizing.

It was unfortunate that they seemed to be in entirely different realms. She was an American streamer with funny jokes and a big smile. He was a Korean idol who could barely utter a word lest the public eye shun him. Sure, it had gotten better since JYP had passed his entertainment industry to his much more progressive daughter, but still.

His fingers idly curl around his pencil, light strokes against the thick pad of his sketchbook as he watches her most current stream. She was with her friends, having a simple talk with her fans. It reminded him of the lives he did for his own fans, although he was sure her videos were not as filtered.

“Oh my favorite music? I have really liked K-pop since I was in middle school.” she says, her lips curving into that grin that never failed to send butterflies to his stomach. Of course, this led comments to flood all of them asking about her favorites.

“My favorite when I was in high school was Stray Kids,” She explained, making Hyunjin’s heart lurch in his chest. He set his drawing supplies down, fully turning to look at her as if studying the pixels of the screen might help him understand the real her better.

He caught a glance at the comments, asking who her bias was (something he has shamefully been tempted to do) and sat silently hoping she'd answer the question.

The heavens must have been looking out for him because she said, her voice like a melody made by Apollo, “My bias is Hyunjin though I love them all.”

Was he dreaming? Should he get Felix to pinch him? He shook off his thoughts, trying to clear his mind to make sure he heard you right. You kept talking about how you liked Stray Kids as a teenager, how they helped you through difficult times. Hyunjin struggled to understand the way his heart beat in his chest, the swell of pride in his stomach.

He took a glance at his unfinished sketch, yet another futile attempt at capturing the beauty of you. He could never feel like he got it quite right. He needed it to be perfect. One crafted by the gods must be worshiped, not tolerated.

Hyunjin continued to watch your stream until it ended, although his mind was still focused on that moment. It repeated in his head like a broken record, one that he was grateful had broken. If he was to be stuck in one moment eternally, he would choose that one easily.

As though he had been summoned, Felix bounced into Hyunjin's room. He wore a big smile, ready to poke and prod Hyunjin as if they were blood related brothers. However, the older boy was on a mission, and it could not be interrupted.

“Have you heard of this streamer..?” Hyunjin asked, her name slipping past his lips easily. Felix, as chronically online as he is, nodded that he had. Settling the nerves in his stomach, Hyunjin knew he ought to explain.

And so he did. Multiple times, actually, because Felix decided to involve the entirety of the band. Hyunjin couldn't even be that upset. They were a close-knit family. And he knew they would help him.

….

He was fairly certain that everybody around him was fully and clinically insane but he couldn't bring himself to care in the slightest bit. Somehow, he had managed to get an entire event hosted by JYP, which invited all sorts of streamers….namely her.

Although Hyunjin couldn't guarantee she would show up, he was certainly hoping against all odds. So was the rest of the Stray Kids.

“Hyunjin’s got a crush~” Bangchan teased, wrapping his arm around Hyunjin's neck and bringing him closer so he could ruffle his hair. Hyunjin laughed while he tried to wriggle out of the older boy's hold.

Finally, he got out of his hold, just as Hwa-Young entered. She was dressed as formally as ever, a crisp suit and perfectly styled hair.

“Please treat all our guests with respect and understand that the reason they are here is to advertise JYP Entertainment and the music festival at the end of the weekend.” She explained, letting her eyes travel across the people here. All bands under her company had been gathered to discuss this, making for quite the large display.

Hyunjin listened carefully, knowing that part of the reason was so she would come to South Korea. All expenses paid trip in exchange for her to advertise and spread publicity for JYP. He hoped she would spend time with Stray Kids the most.

After she had finished discussing basic ground rules for having a bunch of American social media influencers all around for two entire weeks, she gave a smile and said they would be arriving later that afternoon. It would be a lot, but it would be good for getting international fans for some of the lesser known bands.

All Hyunjin could do was pour all his emotions into the dance rehearsal while he waited to meet her for the first time. Each step helped make him stop overthinking, terribly anxious thoughts plaguing his head.

He just kept moving, making his blood flow through his body. He focused on each step of the dance until it was etched into his bones. Eventually, he had to succumb to the natural progression of exhaustion all humans must deal with. It was conveniently timed because the influencers were starting to arrive.

He wiped off some of his sweat with his shirt and took a swig of his water. Then he walked with the rest of the band with the hopes he didn't look gross.

…..

His eyes immediately darted to her as the crowd emerged, her arm wrapped around her friends’. She was even more breathtaking in person, the red of her shirt complimenting her skin. She wore black cargo pants with a metal chain wrapped around her belt loops, with red combat boots, and a red off the shoulder, slightly oversized top. Hyunjin tried to suppress his smile, happy that she was even fashionable just like him.

Bangchan hurried over to them before he had a chance, after he was the leader and the most sociable of the group. Without thinking much of it, Hyunjin followed closely behind with the rest of the Stray Kids.

“Hi!” Bangchan said, greeting both women with a hug. They accepted it with warmth, both being enveloped by Chan. Hyunjin watched from his spot, trying to stop him from running away screaming. She was rather intimidating!

I really need to go say hi. I don't want to seem unfriendly. He frowned a bit, trying to get his feet to move. With a small burst of relief, he felt himself move closer.

He was standing in front of her, in all her gorgeous glory. She was shorter than him, her head tilting up so she could see his face. Hyunjin wanted to paint her and capture her beauty forever. He wanted to study every feature and examine every inch of her. He wanted to worship her.

Hyunjin’s face flushed when she waved at him, suddenly making him realize where his train of thoughts had been going. He couldn't possibly expect to memorize her body if she didn't even know what he's like beyond a stage presence. (He wondered if they had ever met before, if she had gone to a concert long ago.)

“Hi.” He finally said, pushing the words off of his tongue and into the world. It sounded awkward and shy, like he sometimes felt when placed in front of a camera. Hyunjin wished he could be the painter instead of the muse sometimes.

She smiled brightly, her cheeks curving to allow such a beautiful expression. He was sure he had died and gone to heaven. Why else would an angel look at him so beautifully? He tried to ignore the blood rushing in his ears and hoped that it wasn't obvious he was warming up feverishly. (Would she mind if he kissed her? Just a small one, just to get a taste.)

“It's nice to meet you, Hyunjin.” She said, still looking up at him, “I've been a big fan for years.”

Maybe this was all a very big dream. Maybe the Sandman had decided to give Hyunjin something to enjoy, and he gave him…her. If this was a dream, Hyunjin didn't want to wake up. If the only way he could be in the presence of this woman was through his fantasies, so be it.

Oh, I still have to reply.

Bangchan glanced at Hyunjin expectantly, probably wondering why he was forgetting to speak. His brain was so full of thoughts that he couldn't help the way he got sidetracked.

“Well I am a big fan of you too.” He said with a smile, “I like your streams.” Was that too honest? Would she feel uncomfortable by his confession? He'll repent if she needs him to wash his hands with holy water and pray his awkwardness goes away.

She looked a bit shocked, her warm brown eyes widening ever so slightly. But then she warmed up again, like chocolate melting on his tongue. She was comforting without even realizing it.

“Who would've thought we'd be fans of each other?” she said with a shrug and a laugh before eventually moving on to greet the rest of the people. He wished he could make her stay, say something so stunning she can't help but feel transfixed by him.

Instead, he watched her walk away, trying to ignore the way his heart deflated. It made sense that she needed to walk away and do what she needed to do. It was understandable.

…..

The first day of advertisement was pretty boring. Hyunjin doesn't like to complain much, but he barely got the chance to hang out with her, and he was stuck going over plans. There were a lot of conference meetings, with stale cookies and uncomfortable seating. (He wondered if that was what it's like to work an office job - he's suddenly glad to be an idol.)

“Can we go home soon?” Han whined, already flopping on top of a displeased I.N. Hyunjin couldn't help but understand Han's frustration. They had been holed up for hours doing nothing.

Hwa-Young nodded in sympathy and said, “One more thing to discuss, then you can return to your dorms.”

Hyunjin perked up a bit at this, happy that today was almost over. He had been hoping to spend more time with his love, but she had been placed with the also influencers on the other side of the conference room. His eyes flickered to her as if he were a moth drawn to a flame.

She was listening intently to Hwa-Young, her arms crossed across her chest. She looked more relaxed, maybe even a bit sleepy, based on the way her eyes started to flutter shut. She was so pretty, and Hyunjin would be happy to die if it meant he could look at her forever.

“We have hotels for everybody. Listen carefully to your name so you can retrieve your housing information.” Hwa-Young explained before she started to talk about everybody. Soon, all the streamers left, all of them except for her and her friend.

Hwa-Young blinked in surprise, reading over her list once more before she flushed. Hyunjin watched with a bit of confusion, wondering what happened.

“I am terribly sorry, miss.” Hwa-Young said, hurrying over to whisper in the woman's ear. They talked quietly before Hwa-Young turned to face the bands.

“Will anybody volunteer to house these lovely ladies?” Hwa-Young announced, making Hyunjin’s heart fail. Maybe he was going into cardiac arrest because what the fuck?

Before Hyunjin could even begin to process Changbin stood up, with Bangchan giving an encouraging smile. Oh no, oh no no no.

“Hyunjin can take them in, as long as they are comfortable with it.” Changbin said, giving a charming smile to the foreigners. He was annoyingly friendly, like a gym bro teddy bear or something.

It didn't take long to convince her and her friend, Changbin was very good at charming people. She smiled and said, “Oh if he offers I would enjoy that very much. But I don't want to intrude.”

Hyunjin forced himself to speak, opening his mouth and saying, “It's not intruding. You can stay with me and Changbin.”

He didn't want to do this. He needed to escape her even for a moment. What if his heart gives out from racing so much? Hyunjin did not want her to stay with him, to leave him without any way to stay calm. But he would be kind (mostly because Changbin forced his hand.)

“Thank you, that's very nice.” Her friend also added, still standing beside her. Hyunjin noticed his love’s friend seemed to be rather awkward, looking anywhere but at the group of people before them. He supposed he could understand, but he hoped Changbin might get along with her. Hyunjin would be housing his favorite person in the whole wide world.

Maybe that's a bit aggressive to say though, she may bias Hyunjin but that doesn't mean she likes him all that much. So Hyunjin kept his thoughts locked up tight, not wanting a single one to slip through the cracks.

“Well, now that it's all settled we can head home.” Hwa-Young said with a smile and a clap of her hands. She stood up along with the other idols, all heading to their various dorms.

“Well, I guess we'll be off.” Bangchan said with a sly grin, having the other members follow behind him like ducklings following their mother. It was just Hyunjin and her, well and her friend and Changbin. But they were basically alone!

“Do you want to head to the dorm now?” Hyunjin finally asked, hoping his expression was calm and collected. Basically, it's the opposite of how he was feeling.

She nodded and allowed Changbin to lead the way with her friend following close behind. She walked side by side with Hyunjin, her hand brushing against his.

Surely he would explode, his heart would inhale until it was bursting with excitement. Hyunjin was totally going to die over this weekend. But maybe it wouldn't be that bad.

…..

He did not get a single wink of sleep that night. All he could think about was the fact she was sleeping outside his room, on the couch. She was so close to him, how could he possibly be expected to sleep?

Hyunjin got dressed the next morning, not being sure what to expect. What sort of videos might they film today? Who would he be filming them with?

With a yawn, he exited his room and noticed that she was not there. She must have gone already.

Changbin was waking up around the same time, stretching his muscular arms. His black hair was a bit messy and curled, since it was without the products he puts his hair in.

“Are we heading to the studio today?” Hyunjin asked the older man, tilting his head slightly. Maybe they would be showing the influencers new dances or something. Or maybe they would be writing songs and collaborating. There were many things they might do.

“Yeah, and we're late so c'mon.” Changbin said, walking towards the door and wrapping his arm around Hyunjin's neck. He dragged the younger boy with him, despite Hyunjin's attempts at getting free.

Hyunjin groaned, but allowed Changbin to ruffle his hair and do all the things he usually does. He is like a strange older brother, with the way he likes to tease and is awfully goofy. But Hyunjin likes it.

They walked quickly to the studio, remembering that the boys often left clothes there. So they would be able to change once they were there.

Once they arrived, Hyunjin felt incredibly underdressed compared to her. She was wearing a lavender chunky sweater with a black mini skirt and black tights. She was so elegant and pretty, he couldn't help but feel awkward still dressed in his lounge wear.

She smiled upon seeing Hyunjin, making his heart swell with a strange sort of fuzzy feeling he was unused to. Sure, he always felt warm and safe with the other members of Stray Kids. But this was a sort of feeling that made him want to wrap it around himself like a blanket. It was so lovely.

“What are we doing today?” He asked, momentarily forgetting he should probably apologize for being late or maybe he should get ready instead of staring at her with a look of amazement. He was certain his eyes had glazed over and he had his lips parted, staring as if she had just descended from heaven.

“Oh we are going to be doing some Tik Tok dances together then later we are going to do a kitchen stream,” She explained, her voice confident and self assured. Hyunjin wasn't completely inept when it comes to social media but this still wasn't his speciality. She was in her realm and bringing him in, despite his confusion.

“Oh,” He nodded, only half understanding what she meant. But he didn't want to look dumb in front of her- he wanted her to be impressed. A stream about kitchens? How strange, but if it worked for her Hyunjin would do it without complaint.

“While you get changed, I'll set up the camera.” She said with her lips curved up with a delightful grin. How was he expected to function when she looked at him like that? Like she saw him as more than an idol. Perhaps he was as deluded as his fans, but he wondered if there was a chance she liked him as he liked her.

Hyunjin nodded and moved away, wanting to get dressed as quickly as possible so he could spend time with her. She was calmer in real life, or maybe that's because she needs to be professional. (He wants to uncover each facet of her personality, to peel away the layers until he is greeted with her, the whole and true of her soul.)

…..

“I regret doing dances with professional dancers,” She grumbled, taking a swig of water. Hyunjin watched her from behind, trying his best to not let his eyes stay on her for too long.

“You're doing great,” he said, with an attempt at an encouraging smile. She definitely wasn't a dancer like he was, but she was trying her best. And he was sure fans would find her attempts at doing the Beabadoobee dance to be amusing.

“Well, it's okay since we are going to do the cooking video now.” She explained, turning to look at Hyunjin. Her brown eyes were shimmering delightfully, reminding him of dark glittering jewels. He could stare at her for hours and never get bored, memorizing every line of her face would be the best of tasks.

“What are we going to make?” Hyunjin asked, following her to the kitchen. The other members of Stray Kids were working with other streamers and influencers, doing a variety of activities from singing to doing the hear me out trend.

“Empanadas.” She hummed in reply, pulling Hyunjin’s thoughts back to her. He was like a moth to a flame, helplessly attracted to her. He was weak against her attacks, her ability to reel him in constantly impressive.

She pulled out ingredients while Hyunjin turned on the camera, flickering it onto a stream. A steady flow of viewers came in, making the count get higher and higher. He wished his English was better so he could better read the constant stream of comments in the corner of the screen.

“Hi everybody! Welcome or welcome back depending on if you're new here.” she said, glancing at Hyunjin, “Today's stream is extra special because I have a guest with me! Hwang Hyunjin from the band Stray Kids!”

The chat spammed with excitement, using a lot of smiling emojis and capital letters. He smiled at the camera, trying not to get suddenly shy. He was used to being in the public eye- just not used to it with his crush right next to him.

They got started, with her giving Hyunjin instructions and working carefully on the empanadas. He did as he was told, trying to focus on making food while also appearing entertaining. (How did she do this on a daily basis? At least Hyunjin has his other members to lean on whenever he gets tired. She works alone and works constantly.)

“Guys, stop.” She scolded suddenly, causing him to turn around so he can read what's happening in the chat. He read a few of the comments, a flush rising in his cheeks. Were.they teasing her for having a crush on him? He was so bewildered he didn't realize he had been staring blankly at the screen until she made a noise.

She said to Hyunjin, “Okay, I will admit I had a crush on you back when I was in highschool. Hopefully that will appease chat enough for them to stop bothering us.”

She sent a playfully stern look at the camera, unaware of the way Hyunjin felt like he was going to explode. She had a crush on him when she was in highschool. Which meant she used to have feelings for him. Holy shit.

The rest of the day went by extraordinarily quickly, but perhaps that's just how it felt since he was still distracted by the revelation. Did she still have feelings for him? How deep of a crush did she have back then? Had she talked about it before and how had he not noticed if she had? He watched her videos almost religiously, he couldn't possibly have missed a video of her talking about him. He would have remembered surely!

He couldn't get to sleep for the second night in a row. He was busy thinking about what he learned, how she used to have a crush on him. Maybe he was just overthinking, maybe it didn't matter that she had a crush on him in highschool.

But he couldn't let it go no matter how hard he tried. There was a strange feeling in the smallest part of his heart that told him she still felt the same.

…..

“Hyunjin,” Han said suddenly, snapping his fingers to get his friend's attention. Hyunjin turned around, flustered that he was very likely caught staring at her. It didn't help that she was working with TWICE so close by. He could probably feel the warmth of her skin, smell her perfume. Hyunjin was trying his very best to not get distracted.

“What do you need?” Hyunjin asked, stretching his arms. They were doing some sort of challenge where they needed to run and sing at the same time. It sounded complicated but it could be helpful for when they would go on for a concert.

“You should tell her how you feel.” Han replied, looking up with a rather serious look. He had his arms crossed in front of his chest, tapping his foot against the wooden floors. Hyunjin’s eyes widened, his lips parting a bit with shock.

Was Han serious? Did he actually expect me to bare my soul to the girl of my dreams so casually?

“Why? She probably doesn't like me back.” Hyunjin dismissed with a wave of his hand, looking away as though he couldn't fathom admitting this while making eye contact. Feelings are so troublesome it seems.

Han laughed and put his hand on his friend's shoulder, still staring so intently at him. “You can't be serious, Jinnie. She has fallen for you, almost as hard as you have for her.”

He turned away to look at her. She was busy with Momo, helping the girl do some sort of silly TikTok. However, what Hyunjin noticed when he also turned was the fact she was looking at them.

Her mouth broke into a smile and she paused enough to wave at Hyunjin, acting so casual despite the fact she was setting his heart on fire. Did she really feel the same way? Could she possibly want Hyunjin the way he wants her?

Hyunjin looked back at Han, and grumbled in a low tone, “How would I confess to her anyway?”

Han grinned at that, clapping his hands together. The shorter boy said, “Do what feels right to you, Hyunjin. What's a good way to confess?”

Then he walked away, returning to the influencer they were working with currently. Hyunjin stood in place, feeling almost as if there was cement in his bones keeping him still.

How would he confess? Should he write a letter to her? Maybe he should march over there and demand they go on a date! Okay..maybe that's a bad idea. But still, how should he confess?

She will only be around for the concert tomorrow and then she'll be returning to America. Suddenly he faltered, his heart racing with excitement.

What if…? Hyunjin could barely contain his sudden happiness, wanting to already put his plan into action.

…..

“This was a bad idea.” Hyunjin said, attempting to wrangle himself out of Changbin's strong grip so he could avoid getting on stage. It was a futile attempt, with the older man wrapping his arms around Hyunjin's shoulders.

“Nope, you're doing this.” Changbin said, shoving Hyunjin even closer to the stage. There was no getting out of this- he was going to confess to her.

“Fine, fine.” Hyunjin relented, pushing Changbin away with a half hearted glare. Then he shook his hands, trying to be rid of the nerves rattling around his chest.

He walks onto stage, ignoring the way his heart was pounding against his ribs. Looking up, he immediately found her. She was as beautiful as always, staring up at him with awe. He needed to do this - he needed to confess properly.

He said her name like one might a god, worshipping the shape of the vowels on his tongue. “I love you, so very much. I wish to be with you forever, and so I sing this for you.”

Then Hyunjin did what he does best: sing. He chose to sing Ice Cream, knowing it was one of her favorite songs after he had done his research. He put his soul into the lyrics, every ounce of his love into the silky tones of his voice.

…..

After the concert, he was greeted by her. She was a vision, something he wished to see in his mind's eye every time he goes to sleep. He might dream of her forever, use her as solace from the grim realities of the world. If he had her, he might be able to survive anything.

“You love me?” She asked, reaching out to grab his hands. Sparks shot through his fingertips, warm rushing through him wherever she touched.

Hyunjin nodded and said, “Yes, I do. I have loved you for a long time.”

She took a moment to process his words, squeezing his hands. She kept touching him, even the slightest brush of skin sending shockwaves directly to his heart. She was so lovely and she was holding his hands, was she trying to give him a heart attack?

“I love you too, Hyunjin.” She whispered, looking up at him. Her brown eyes glistened with an intense emotion, and something he is finally realizing is love. She stared up at him with a sense of adoration he had only dreamed of previously.

He leaned down, feeling her breath warning his cheek. He wanted to stay like this forever, holding her hands and keeping his face close to hers. With a small dose of courage, potentially regrettable or not, he leaned in close enough to kiss her.

He brushed his lips over hers, savoring the taste of her chapstick. He removed his hands from hers to hold her hips, pulling her flush against him.

She kissed him back, her hands pressing into his chest. She was so perfect, and she was his now, his to love and his to care for.

He pulled away and leaned his forehead against hers, letting his eyes flutter shut. This was everything he had ever wanted and more. If this wasn't heaven, he wasn't sure what was.

“Will you give me the honor of being your boyfriend?” He asked softly, still holding her close. If he could put her inside his heart, he could.

“As long as you'll let me be your girlfriend.” She replied, curling her fingers into his hair. Hyunjin could barely think, barely do anything except get her closer and closer. He wanted her, and now he had her. He was the luckiest man in the world.

Hyunjin didn't expect to ever fall in love the way he did. It was a gentle and slow descent, like ice cream melting on a summer's day. He was melting for her, his cold heart thawing to recieve her love. Having her in his arms was like coming home. He might nog have expected to fall in love like this, but he was incapable of regretting it. It was lovely, just like her.

[theartofwoompwoomp]

Taboo AU : the start pt.3

TFO Megatron x human!reader

Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 ———————————————————————-

His optics opened a bit faster this time, something kept tingling his servo. Looking down he saw you frantically pulling at his digit. 

You were yelling at him. Something was wrong. You kept signaling him on what to do. Following along he got up, holding you close to his helm as you adjusted a device on his audio receptors.

“Do you hear me?”

Surprised he doubled checked, holding you close to his face plates. Optics scanning your own smaller optics. “Big guy, we don’t have time.” Your voice desperate, “I need to know if you can understand me.”

Blinking a bit he composed himself. “Yes, I can understand you.” Relived you let out a breath, “thank goodness.”

But that peace is short lived. “We need to go. The base has been discovered. I already loaded all the cargo we both need to survive. It’s in that cubicle over there,” following you he found it and grabbed it. 

“Your injuries shouldn’t hurt,” tracing the tape on him, “can you take us to this location?” He saw you pull out an archive with a location that should be a wasteland as far as he knew. “Big guy, please stay with me. We don’t have time to lose.” Looking back towards your optics he gives you a nod, content to see your relief.

“Great ! Let’s get going then.” You were smiling, but he’s been around long enough to see it was all a facade to hide your fear.

It took awhile, but your escape route was flawless. As a warlord himself, he was impressed. Especially since earthians were never independent as far as he knew. But he guesses that’s what wars do,… they change people.

After arriving at an underground base, he realized the place was extremely empty. Setting you and your things down he recognized the room to belonging to past cybertronian. He’s honestly surprised the whole things still standing. 

He felt something tap his foot. It was you. “Big guy, I need to check your wounds.” You held up the equipment ready to examine him. 

He didn’t know why he even let you live. Maybe out of courtesy for helping him. But he knew that in a war, it’s all bot for themselves. He couldn’t comprehend your actions.

“Earthian.”

Voice rasp as his metallic brows frown a bit, he stands up tall only lowering his optics with the intent of intimidating you. “what is your intent with these actions.” Your head tilted a bit analyzing every word, “Even if you help me, that won’t guarantee your life.”

Expecting to see fear sink into you, the only thing you did was make a face. Almost as if you were judging him for saying the logic. 

Feeling anger from your lack of fear he snatched you from the ground. Making sure to squeeze enough to cause somewhat of pain. He held you in front of his face. 

“earthian. I wont.ask.again.”

You groaned a bit, wiggling, barely being able to respond. “I can’t-, I- breath,, too much,” gasping for air when he finally loosened his grip.

You quickly composed yourself, rubbing a bit on your body where the pain still lingered. “I simply want to make sure you’ll fully heal on your own. You can leave after that.”  Your voice, it was soft, but the delivery was strong. 

“Whether you choose to kill me after, is up to you, not me.” 

You didn’t flinch once, not even as you heard a low growl escape from him. Even if he didn’t want to admit it, he valued your strength. Not letting those with more power to control you. He respects your resolution.

Deciding to let you do what you want, he puts you on the ground and positions himself letting you do your thing.

———————————————————————-

Masterlist 

previous

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom. TW: suicide thoughts.

John’s War

When it begins, it’s subtle. A flutter in his stomach, which later turns into an ache in his heart. He knows it’s wrong, and he desperately tries to fight it. It’s like a war, and he is the only participant. 

John’s been in love many times. Audrey was the first, Bethany the last. And it’s been fine. Normal. Girls seem to like him. He’s got quite the reputation by the time he’s reached sixteen.

***

It all started to crumble when his sister, Harry, came out as a lesbian at fourteen. Their parents had been livid, but Harry came prepared and was totally unfazed. She’d even arranged to stay at her girlfriend’s family, fully aware that her own mum and dad would kick her out if she didn’t retract and started to act normal.

***

Lance was half American, half British. He and his mother had recently moved back to London after almost twenty years in America. The moment John laid his eyes on Lance, the fluttering began. Lance looked like a film star. Golden, curly hair, green eyes, androgyne features, a slender body, strong hands, long fingers. He was everything John wasn’t. Gay, for starters. And he wanted John of all people.

Words John’s father used on such people, played on repeat in his mind:

Faggot. Queer. Degenerate.

John tried to tell Lance, he was straight, but there was no denying how much John wanted Lance to kiss and touch him. His penis reminded him repeatedly and inconveniently every so often of that particular fact.

“John. Stop this. It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Lance whispered softly and kissed John’s neck. “Haven’t you heard of bisexuality?”

***

Running away to Afghanistan was the only way forward for John when he couldn’t rescue Lance after his overdose. He felt the need to atone for his lack of observation. 

How had he not seen the self-destructing path Lance was heading down? He was a bloody doctor, for Christ’s sake! Had he been in denial about that too? Didn’t he want to believe that such a talented man Lance turned out to be, could choose to destroy himself just because he failed the interview for the main role in a West End play?

“I’m sorry, darling, but there’ll be other roles. New chances. No one gets them on the first try, surely,” John had tried to reassure his lover, but to no avail.

So, there he was. In Afghanistan where danger lurked around every corner. John was quite startled that he enjoyed the danger so much. He felt alive, thrilled, his broken heart notwithstanding. 

And then, another man invaded his thoughts, and eventually his bed. Major James Sholto.

***

Mike Stamford had never seen a more broken man in his life than John Watson, as he limped past the bench, where he was sitting thinking about Sherlock's words from earlier: 

“Who would want me for a flatmate? I’m a difficult man at best. People hate being around me. Can you imagine someone actually living with me? Who is alive themselves. No, Mike. There exists no such human, I assure you.”

“John! John Watson!” he called out. 

When John just gave him a blank stare, Mike sighed and introduced himself. The response was insulting to say the least. No “oh, nice to see you again, mate,” or “what have you been up to?” There was…nothing.

“Who has left you heartbroken, John?” Mike didn’t say and let John walk away without having said a word.

***

After his meeting with Mike, John finds himself outside Barts hospital. He’s got fond memories from his practise here. With Mike. He winces when he reminisces how rude he was to the jovial man. But it couldn’t be helped. John’s a broken man in so many ways, and he just wants to be left alone. He looks up. Wonders how it would feel to stand on the edge of that roof. Would he dare to jump off it if the opportunity arose? He’s never been afraid of heights. And he longs for the pain to subside. The emotional pain. The pain that scars his heart.

Time eludes him. Why are his knees hurting? He opens his eyes. Is he kneeling on the pavement? Apparently. When did that happen? How long? His thoughts stop abruptly when a warm hand is placed on his good shoulder.

“Are you alright?”

A deep baritone. John perceives a posh accent. The warmth from the man’s hand travel down his spine like lava. 

Radiant. Alluring. Dangerous. 

He lifts his head. At first glance, the man could be Lance’s twin. But then, John realises that it’s only the curly hair and height they have in common. This man’s hair is almost black with tinges of auburn. His eyes are blue, but also green and blue green. The colours are constantly shifting. They’re mesmerising. John wants to drown himself in them.

John stands. He still hasn’t said a word. The man hands him his cane and speaks again.

“Afghanistan or Iraq?”

For the first time in years John’s first response isn’t to flee. Instead, he straightens his back, lifts his chin and asks:

“How? Tell me.”

The flicker of surprise, quickly followed by insecurity on the man’s face, makes John realise that this can be, if he lets it, a new beginning.

“Go on,” John prompts.

When the man speaks again, John is lost. An ease sets within him, and his heart stops cracking.

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

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[anothergameofwickedgrace]

Okay I'm starting this post off with saying I do not tolerate discourse. I will block immediately. I am posting my own thoughts and opinions, not looking to debate. Just stop reading if you don't like it.

This may be an unpopular opinion, but it's still one I feel very strongly about .

I don't want Millie to keep the baby. She should abort it. They shouldn't have kids.

I know a lot of people like to fantasize about them having kids, but I fucking hate it. Why is it bad to have a happy couple so dearly in love that doesn't have or want kids? Why is that always invalidated in media?

I'm so very tired of every fucking time a woman gets pregnant in a show, she ends up keeping it. For once, can we please see someone choose to not have kids? As a person who has never wanted kids, it's so disheartening to see this play out like that time and time again. It makes me sad.

I also don't think she wants it. I think she's scared Moxxie does.

Think about it. She's the oldest of 5 kids (and a girl). She definitely grew up helping raise them. There's no way she wasn't parentified to some extent. A lot of people who grew up like that end up not wanting kids because they spent their own childhood being a 3rd parent.

She also doesn't seem the type to want them in general. Nothing about her makes me think she'd dream of or want to be a mother. It also puts a huge damper on the life she's currently happy living; she'd have to stop doing the job she loves. Everything would have to change.

Now on to Moxxie. I think she'd be right in worrying he'd want to keep it. He had a shitty family and having a chance to have a happy version of his own is probably appealing. He's super kind and responsible, and I think he'd make a great dad. I feel he'd be very excited about a baby.

But I don't think that'd make Millie happy. (Though I think she'd definitely feel pressured to keep it if Moxxie wanted it.) In the end, Moxxie would come around because his wife and her happiness matters more than a hypothetical child. That he's happy with their current life. That Millie is enough for him and he doesn't need a kid for their lives to be fulfilling and happy. That it's perfect the way it is.

(Also, people please figure out what you'd do in this kind of situation before getting married. You should both be on the same page from the start if it were to occur.)

[ghostnotoast]

I'm having withdrawal symptoms from waiting for the new episode to come out, and this has been buzzing around my head since this part came out (also I wanna talk about my wife Lily)

Relistening to this part twice made me cry I'm not even gonna lie but weirdly enough it made me think of the end of season 1 where John gets a taste of being the king for a split second but then chooses to go back to Arthur. After he returns, he says:

"But it was in that time in the hospital, that month alone. Trapped in this body without you, when something changed"

"I found meaning. I found that the challenges of life within the boundaries of death were not only acceptable, but could be meaningful. That without a purpose I could forge my own. Is that humanity?"

Don't get me wrong, I don't think it was Lily who was fully responsible for giving John humanity - if anything, that's the mistake Arthur makes in season 3 when comparing John to Yellow (which John calls him out for). It was Arthur who laid out the pieces, and Lily was basically the one to make it click.

Buttt I think reducing John's reason for humanity to only one thing is almost a disservice- because developing a sense of self is so much more complex than that.

It was Arthur's love, it was the stories and thoughts he would share with John, it was being in awe of seeing trees and nature again after so long of living in the dark, it was hearing music, it was listening to the radio, it was the joy he felt after they complished something and he was finally able to feel something other than fear, it was seeing the wraith help them, it was holding a cute baby and picturing her future as a pianist, it was seeing her mother and recognising that she had just lost something priceless, it was having to hold onto hope that anyone is capable of redemption, it was defending and having empathy for the widow despite what Arthur had said.

The last moment is paralleled in season 3 with their conversation about Yellow. Listening to all these makes me realise just how much Yellow missed out on.

Arthur no doubt played a massive role in helping John find humanity and meaning, but honesty? I don't know if purely being with Arthur is what made John who he is. John himself has a conscious and had to make decisions on his own and, on multiple occasions, fights Arthur about ideology with basically little to no outside influence (e.g, their infamous first divorce).

Despite all that though, I still do think Arthur was one of the biggest reasons, I mean just look at Yellow 😭 I'll write an entire essay about him one day

But this entire yap session was basically me trying to imagine what exactly was so special about that month at the hospital because let's be real if I were John I would go crazy BUT sometimes i just imagine John being there, in a hospital without Arthur, being able to do nothing but think

He thinks about the bright clear blue sky he saw, a bird that landed on the windowsill when they were at the library, he thinks about how alive this world is compared to where he came from, he thinks about the radio that's playing, he thinks about the piano, and then he thinks about Arthur

And I imagine he looks at Lily, at her tending to them, at her chatting to them, at her turning on the radio for them so they're not bored and even though people would call all these extra bits of care pointless - she does it anyway, and she does it for them, and John is there to witness this, and that's the moment where it clicks.

I imagine it sort of being like being moved back to see a finished puzzle and finally understanding what you've been making this entire time after spending so long up close looking at individual pieces

And I think that's what the witch didn't understand about John's story. Lily's care was the climax of John becoming John, and even though John acknowledges that for her it was probably another Tuesday - it still doesn't dampen the fondness and love he has for her, he just loves for the sake of it

[mrsuncannycan]

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Includes: SMUT!!, Sub!Sunoo, pegging, fingering (male receiving), boy wearing skirt, Y/N is a top, (first fic so please mind the wording) brat Sunoo, whiny Sunoo, female reader

Genre: Enemies to lovers

(Lemme know if I missed something!)

______________________________________________

Y/n and Sunoo had always hated each other, in Y/n's perspective Sunoo was a gossip guy, and a total brat. She saw how he side eyes people and how he rolls his eyes at HER. And he also ruined her chance to confess to her crush. Now she holds a grudge.

In Sunoo's perspective, Y/n was mean to him first. He just wanted to say 'Hi' and she was the rude one. She was the one who brushed his greeting and insulted him. Their meeting ended with both having bad first impressions of each other.

But for the past weeks going around, Sunoo started feeling.... For Y/n. And he decided to come clean to his friends.

"Guys, don't judge me please.. But you guys know Y/n right?" Sunoo said looking at all of his friends faces. Jake raised a brow. "You mean the one you complain about?"

"You mean the Y/n that you want to 'end'?" Heesung added. Sunoo stopped the others from talking with a raise of his arms. "Okay I know I hated her.."

"Hated!?" Sunghoon exclaimed, he threw his phone on the couch behind. "Go on please. I always knew fan fictions predicted this."

Sunoo rolled his eyes before saying. "Well these days, I started liking her... I think!"

Silence settled over the room before Jungwon laughed. "Oh! Oh I knew you started crossing paths with her more often! And you guys called me crazy!"

"You are."

Jungwon's head snapped towards Ni-ki who was eating his cheetos like he didn't insult his friend. "So what should I do? The girl obviously hates me."

Sunoo sighed, all his friends thought for a second before Jake said. "Well remember when the school had a party? What if we held one and invited Y/n and some other girl so no suspicion is raised. The place would be... At Heesung's house!"

"Oh hell no! My parents would end me!" Heesung protested. "Come on Hee, Just a one time thing. Don't you wanna help Sunoo?"

Heesung looked at Sunoo who was pouting (purposely) at him. Heesung sighed and nodded. "Thanks!!"

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

As planned, Jake went to Y/n and invited her. And after a bit of convincing, she agreed. Jake then went to some girls he and his friends had spoke to sometimes, and invited them.

The plan was going good. The girls plus Y/n arrived at Heesung's house, they spoke, talked and ate snacks that were prepared.

Then, Heesung proposed to play Truth or Dare. The and girls and boys got into a circle. When it was one of the girls's turn (Grace?), they dared Sunoo to wear a skirt.

Though this wasn't part of the plan, Sunoo agreed. He took the outfit bag from Grace and went upstairs. When he changed he looked in the mirror. It was humiliating. "Ugh, this skirt is short. What the.."

Sunoo saw something peeking out of the bag. He pulled it out and saw... Panties!?

No way in hell would he wear this!

He put it down and took a deep breath, trying to calm his, tomato-like face down. But then he looked at the panties.

Fuck it...

"Wow looking good!"

Is the first thing he heard when he came downstairs. All the girls were clapping and sayin how cute he looked. But when he looked at Y/n she wasn't looking at him and was just eating food.

Even though he expected it, he still wanted her to at least see him. But thinking about it again, that probably wasn't a good idea since she hated him, she probably would've laughed.

The game continued. "Heesung I dare you to... Drink some oil!"

"Huh!?"

Heesung looked horrified as his friends laughed. He went to the kitchen and took a large sip before going (bolting) back to the living room for water.

Soon it was Jake's turn, he looked at everyone before choosing Sunoo. "Truth or Dare."

"Uh..." Truth wasn't an option, since Jake would probably make him confess on the spot. "Dare...?"

"I dare you to... Sit on Y/n's lap till the end of the game."

Sunoo gasped loudly, Y/n looked up from the ground, she'd been zoning out. "Excuse me?" She asked, her brows furrowed.

Sunoo slowly scooted towards her before sitting right on the space, since she was sitting criss cross. He could hear Y/n scoff and move away from him.

(Like leaning her chest away)

Sunoo felt her move a bit and he held back a moan. Her foot accidentally touched his dick. The game continued, Sunoo went to grab some snacks that were in the middle of the circle. Though he momentarily forgot he had, not only a skirt, but panties on as well. So he basically flashed Y/n.

When he sat back down he looked at Y/n, she was smirking at him. Did she see?

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Layer when the game ended, Y/n went upstairs. Sunoo soon went up to go use the bathroom, that was until he got pulled into a room. "So... Wearing panties now, huh Kim?"

Sunoo turn to see (guess). Y/n. She was looking him up and down.

"W-well. It was apart of the dare so.."

Sunoo looked away. Y/n grabbed his chin and made him look at her. "But Grace said you didn't have to wear the underwear."

Sunoo let out an exhale. He so wanted to kiss her lips, but didn't want to freak her out. Maybe she was pulled him aside to tease him?

"Oh, I'm gonna have fun with you..."

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Sorry but... I need time to process this and make a quick part two. It will include smut.

[themareverine]

this proves to me that logan is two things, among many.

first, that he is human. people want to quickly shove Logan into a bestial/non-human/creature category because of experimentation and his instinctual mutation. somehow they demonize him into being "less human," and it's frankly an insult. i'm reading novelization right now that goes through the absolutely visceral experimentation that Logan survives and it is hellish, nightmarish how they dismantle his emotions, rip apart his humanity. And yet, he prevails. Logan is as fully man as the next, fully human. we need to stop reducing him. he feels, he has emotions and consciousness, he endures trauma and psychological events like any other human being. and because he lives longer than most, he has to live with these things. he has to survive what happens to him, what goes on around him, and somehow come to terms with this. which is way TAS probably hinted at his backslide out of faith and religion, because Logan can't truly handle, in a good way, what happens to him and in the world around him, being unkillable. he hasn't resolved.

second, that he so desperately wants family. again in this fandom, with this character, people like to keep Logan on his own little island. but Logan, I think deep down, so desires to be loved and have people to love. He craves it. It screams out of him, in many of his interactions. But again, because of all the unresolved aforementioned life that's happened, he keeps people at bay. Logan genuinely is a broken man in more capacities than one; mentally, emotionally, psychologically, relationally, spiritually. never bodily, we know, but in every other aspect, Logan isn't whole. he has a gaping hole inside of his heart that he tries to fill, as we know, with substances, loose sex, violences and standoffish meanness that comes across as cruel and ghoulish when in reality, Logan is a hurt man. probably emotionally and mentally stunted, to some degree, as a child when these events started happening to him.

and as we see, Logan collects people to mentor. he takes them under whatever shadow he has to offer to teach them about who they are, how to come to terms and not be like him. in a sense, he relishes in their innocence, helps them come to terms, perhaps, because he cannot himself. lives vicariously, as it were. and i think this dual mindset of i love being here, but i hate that it hurts them comes ultimately from his crushed self-esteem, his rejection, his brokenness.

you can say he's self aware but this isn't Logan's self. he's aware of his abilities, what he is capable of and his past. Logan isn't so self aware, I think, about what he needs. what he desires, what's broken and hurting. or maybe he is and he crushes this in an adamantium fist, chooses not of face the inner demons.

i really love him as a character. i haven't had so much fun studying and character analyszing since i was a child studying Batman and Optimus Prime. Wolverine in a way culminates the two, weirdly, and he's my dream character. my dream hero, my prince not-so-charming-but-getting-there.

this little panel is beautiful and it breaks my heart, yes. but i love it because it shows the duality of man, the duality of character. Marvel really has outdone themselves with this character, and while there are some choices i'll never agree with, Wolverine is a gorgeous creation of fiction, theme, and story.

wow this was real long, sorry, lol.

Anyone else remember when Wolverine #48 dropped and people were spreading this around like "Aww so cute 🥺" even though this is actually like. Harrowing. An active awareness that you love your kids AND ALSO make their lives worse with your presence and these two things do NOT negate each other. Isn't that so much more gut-punching and interesting than a family roadtrip.

[ambrosiagourmet]

This is just a smaller observation that will hopefully someday be part of a larger analysis on Kabru's view of Laios & how Laios impacts him...

But I think it really interesting that Kabru surrenders something for Laios twice, and that these moments are inversions of each other.

The first time, Kabru gives up his life to maintain his control. He changes the course of the entire story with this action, and is willing to die to achieve that. Kabru is (supposedly) entrusting the future to Laios, but he is still very much the primary actor in the overall narrative. He is still the one choosing what the story should be.

The second time, however, Kabru gives up his control to keep hold of something personal and selfish (in the way of dungeon meshi selfishness - it is a good thing to keep this desire. It small piece of what makes him a living creature). He steps aside to let Laios choose the way forward. He surrenders narrative agency for personal agency... not changing the story, but changing himself.

[thelaurenshippen]

open ai made a little post about how they chose their chatbot voices and two things stood out to me:

a) I am genuinely pleased and surprised that the voices come from specific real people that they hired and paid, rather than being built off of all of the data open ai has scraped. the voice for siri did one job for one company 20 years ago and now she is literally everywhere without ever being compensated by apple or even acknowledged as the voice. there's simply no way she was paid enough in that original job. whereas, open ai says "each actor receives compensation above top-of-market rates, and this will continue for as long as their voices are used in our products." this could mean literally anything (what market rate are we going above? does continue mean they get residuals or get paid for doing more sessions?) but, christ, at least the actors are doing it with full knowledge of what their voices are being used for and can decide for themselves if the compensation is enough

b) the post talks about working with "award-winning casting directors" to get the voices. first of all, yay for paying casting directors! we love to see it. but they also say the CDs received over 400 submissions in a week and they state that like a big number and it's just...not at all. and look, without knowing the intricacies of the casting process, it's hard to know what approach the CDs took - it's very possible they were selective from the jump and 400 is a lot from the pool they were tapping. 400 would be a lot if you were going to the agencies directly and asking for names, but there's just no way in hell open ai went after big stars for this. so it would've been a pool of unknowns. in which case, 400 is laughably small. even if you're not using the big casting sites like actorsaccess, I've worked on projects with CDs and their own internal systems where we've gotten over 100 submissions for a single role. I've posted roles on casting sites and received literally thousands of submissions in just a few days

look, I have a very limited perspective on this - I am not a casting director (imo, one of the most important and undervalued jobs in hollywood) and I, in fact, hate the process of casting with a passion. but 400 just seemed like such a tiny pool to pull from and, idk, it heartens me! it's heartening to think that there's very little interest from actors and agents to be doing this kind of stuff. and absolutely no shade to the actors who did--I want actors to get their bag however they want as long as it's, like, safe sane and consensual, you know? but there's something encouraging about thinking that open ai hired some big casting agency to get their foot into the voice acting door and people didn't come running

[queencaramilflinda]

The real message of Lucy vs Buddy is that worshipping a divinity is about following the values that the god puts forth, not about preaching or praying or evangelizing.

When Buddy was offered to die a Helio worshipper or live with a different god, he chose to abandon the faith he claimed such devotion to. When Lucy was offered the same thing, she looked to her values as they related to her religion and decided that she would not add to the coldness of the world. Lucy, even in death, remains a light in the dark, the warm memory in the coldness of the ratgrinders. That’s true devotion. That’s the point of religion.