#and the other would kind of just require people to be fine with telling people online roughly where they are it seems like

[yatagarasuhonyaku]

The Raven of the Empty Coffin: Chapter 2 "Akeru" Part 3

Disclaimer: This is a fan-translation japanese-english of the original novel. The events of this novel follow after what's already covered by the anime. For an easier understanding, I recommend first reading the few scenes of previous books I've already translated.

Blog version

For the Index, you can find it HERE

Previously: Akeru (Part 2)

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Chapter 2: Akeru (Part 3)

“Isn’t Akeru kinda tense lately?”

It all happened during Horsemanship lessons. Shigemaru and Yukiya found themselves taking a break at a hilltop after finishing the assigned exercises, waiting for everyone else to catch up with them.

That day they were practicing what was called ‘rider-horse switching’. It was just one part of the training required to become capable of flying long distances without breaks and, as the name implied, it consisted of exchanging the roles between rider and horse in midair. At this point, they were only required to fly around the mountain once and then switch places, but Shigemaru had heard rumors that they would have to go all the way from the Center to Yamauchi’s frontier and back during their Graduation Trials.

Although, in theory, it was better to do such an exercise with someone of as similar a build as possible, Yukiya had proved to manage just fine even with Shigemaru as his partner.

“Still, it feels like you wouldn’t have any problems no matter who you partnered with.”

“Well, everyone becomes significantly bigger in bird form compared to their human form. I don’t think someone’s human build actually matters that much.”

“True, there are people way bigger and stronger than you in human form who are, in fact, struggling quite hard.”

“Oh, yes—like Akeru and his friends, right?”

While Akeru’s followers had never been particularly high achievers, even Akeru himself had started to flounder lately despite his initial brilliance. He had started to struggle to keep up as the difficulty of the practical courses ramped up—which was doubly true for Horsemanship, the one subject he had problems with from the start.

“Maybe that’s the reason,” Shigemaru said, bringing the conversation back to Akeru’s situation.

Yukiya gave him a bitter smile. “One of the reasons, most likely, but I doubt that’s all of it.”

The situation was changing even during theory, where Akeru had never before given up his position as the first of the class. “Well, you barely have a chance to study lately yet your grades are still virtually the same as his, I can’t blame Akeru for getting anxious over that.”

——Ever since the incident with Kimichika, Suikan had kept a constant eye on Yukiya.

It had been a month since then, and summer had finally arrived. Suikan, however, showed no signs whatsoever of forgiving Yukiya. He persistently called him to participate during exercise sessions and would find any reason—no matter how small—to give him all kinds of punishments and take away all his free time. Every so often, Suikan would outright lash out at him—telling Yukiya to his face that he should drop out of the Monastery.

It had gotten bad enough that, whenever they gathered, everyone in their usual group would insist that Yukiya should go ask for help from other instructors like Seiken. Yukiya, however, didn’t show a single sign of suffering through anything.

He would argue back at them—‘It’s on me for angering him’, ‘I don’t like the idea of telling on someone’, ‘If my grades dropped because of it that would be a problem, sure, but that won’t happen’. Yukiya laughed it off every time, never paying any mind to their group’s advice.

However, Yukiya was, in truth, losing sleep to finish his homework and he was forced to take tests without any preparation either. Despite that, and uncannily enough, his grades weren’t going down—they were actually improving. They were comparable to Akeru’s, even. He had risen to be the first of the class, or second at worst.

Akeru, meanwhile, was often rumored to spend all his free time on self-study. Even an outsider like Shigemaru could tell how Akeru’s expression would grow stiffer and stiffer every time he learned of Yukiya’s latest score.

“He made such a big deal of being part of the Wakamiya Faction too. I bet the coronation being postponed must be playing a huge part in it. He must not have any peace of mind—neither at the Monastery, nor at home.”

“You know, I feel kind of sorry for him.”

“No need. His grades are just his talent—or lack thereof—talking, and he only has himself to blame for acting high and mighty and humiliating himself like that. There’s not much for us to do.” While Yukiya had proved to be the type to sometimes spew venom with a smile, it was significantly more common whenever Akeru came up in conversation. 

At the same time that he chatted with Yukiya, Shigemaru entertained himself by watching the other trainees fly around. The many pairs would ascend and, as if performing some sort of somersault, exchange places in a matter of seconds. Although they all lost quite a lot of height at first, the trainee who had just transformed into a bird would immediately place himself underneath and spread his wings, catching the wind. Just like that, they would both rise to their original altitude.

It was entertaining to watch such a stunt-like maneuver from afar, but actually doing it was quite terrifying. The person shifting from horse to human was forced to take a shape incapable of flight, wholly entrusting himself to his partner in midair. It wasn’t any easier for the person transforming into a horse—it felt like having a heavy rock on his back as he struggled to remain in the air instead of falling altogether.

Finishing the course with both members of a pair in bird form—hence incapable of becoming a rider and mount—meant disqualification. It truly wasn’t a maneuver you could succeed at without coordination and mutual trust between human and horse. That was exactly why Shigemaru felt it was easier to complete the exercise with someone close to you, rather than someone with a similar build.

As he thought about that, Shigemaru suddenly noticed a pair among their flying peers moving all too slowly. “Yukiya, look!”

Before Shigemaru had the time to point at it, Yukiya noticed it as well. “That looks actually dangerous. Is the rider perhaps tired? Unless they gain more altitude, at that rate—Huh?”

Yukiya didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence. At that precise moment, the rider and mount tried to exchange places and, for a second, it was as if two horses were there at the same time. That was quite the rare sight when the swap went properly.

——He had a bad feeling about this.

The ideal was for both parties to shapeshift simultaneously—that was all too awkward and clunky to fit the criteria. Sure enough, they kept on falling inexorably, even once the initial horse moved upwards and transformed back into a human. The current horse proved incapable of catching the wind with his wings on time and his body plunged against the trees. 

“Someone has fallen!” the hysterical screams of those watching resounded in unison.

“This is bad! With a fall like that, he got hurt for sure!”

“Contact the infirmary!”

In a matter of seconds, a ruckus like bees protecting their hive overtook the place. The instructors flew straight towards the location of the fall. From the looks of it, the rider had managed to transform back at the very last second and so avoided major harm, but the horse hadn’t been as lucky. “But who fell?”

“Shige, that was Akeru.”

“What? Really!?”

“I’m sure. I saw the rider’s hair shine red just before they swapped.”

Shigemaru immediately felt ill at ease. For such a thing to happen right after their conversation. As they spoke, bird-shaped Yatagarasu flocked together above the place of the incident.

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The moment he opened his eyes, he felt a dull pain throbbing through his entire body.

His mind was hazy, possibly because of the pain medicine, and his body felt as if it was burning. The sky, visible through the gaps in the infirmary's window shutters, had gotten completely dark. A doctor had checked up on him the first time he had woken up, so Akeru already knew what had happened to him.

There were scratches all over his body and he had some nasty bruises, but fortunately none of his wounds were of a life-threatening magnitude. However, as he had hit his head during the fall, the doctor had instructed him to remain in the infirmary for the day.

Akeru had a vivid memory of the moment he fell.

Of all people, his partner was Chihaya. After watching everyone during the marching drills, Akeru already knew he was the fastest flier among the Seeds, and yet Chihaya had been flying at an awfully low speed back when it all happened. Akeru had been convinced it was all Chihaya’s attempt at harassment, but Akeru couldn’t afford to waste time like that—he had to become the horse and catch up with the rest. Led by his growing panic, he started to transform before Chihaya was ready to do so, forcing him to go for a switch.

The sound of the wind raged against his ears.

And there, Chihaya. The expression on his face the moment he took human form.

——In the end, Akeru’s own transformation took too long.

A terrible blunder, one that would be a massive problem for his grades going forward. If things kept going like this, maybe Akeru wouldn’t even be able to become Wakamiya’s vassal. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go.

“Dammit……”

Where the hell did I go wrong? an overwhelmed Akeru wondered to himself.

“We have already informed everyone at the Western House.”

“I see…… Thank you for that.”

The next day, his two roommates came to visit. They had accompanied him to the Monastery and had once gone through great lengths to attend to Akeru’s every need, and yet they appeared unmistakably reluctant to come visit this time around. They both had the face of someone fulfilling the bare minimum of courtesies.

“What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“Nothing at all.”

They both remained aloof. Akeru could feel irritation expanding deep within his chest by the second. “...... You have been avoiding me lately. You know, if you have something to tell me, just say so.”

One of them abruptly raised his head. “Then, I’ll take my chance.”

“Hey, stop!”

“I’m not stopping! We are all thinking the same thing. So, I’ve heard about all this recently,” the boy said with a horribly contorted face. “Lord Akeru, you told us that you came here out of your own volition after receiving His Highness Wakamiya’s order to do so. But, apparently, you actually only served His Highness for one single day, am I wrong?”

Akeru was left at a loss. Why was that a problem now, after so long?

“Yeah, what about that?”

“I thought you coming to the Monastery was just in preparation to become His Highness’ vassal. You were truly brilliant at first,” he explained with an embittered look, “so we were almost fooled by that, but then—what did His Highness Wakamiya see in you, when you had barely spent a day with him and hadn’t even held a bamboo sword in your life at the time, to tell you to become a Yamauchi Guard?”

“Haven’t I told you again and again? The Yamauchi Guard is corrupt and I’m here to fix that. The Wakamiya Faction needs their own vanguard, and he chose me for that.”

“But if that’s the case, Yukiya of the Northern House is already there! He’s the most fit to obstruct the Animiya Faction. He’s the Great General’s grandson and the most talented in battle tactics among all our peers.”

To top it all off, Yukiya’s achievements included serving Wakamiya as his close aide for an entire year. If he got to graduate, there was no doubt he would become one of Wakamiya’s close vassals unless something radical happened.

“Command of the country’s warriors is the specialty of the Northern House to begin with. There was no need whatsoever for someone of the West of all houses to come to the Monastery. You were originally supposed to stay close to His Highness, right? As in, assuming His Highness expects Yukiya to fulfill his duty as a vassal by becoming a warrior, shouldn’t the same apply to you but by becoming a Court Official instead? And yet, you don’t even have an inkling of why you merely lasted one day as his attendant?”

“...... What are you trying to say?”

The rank of the Western House’s second son was, fundamentally speaking, one that shone first and foremost at the Court. What was the reason to even bother sending him to the Monastery despite that fact?

——The truth was that most nobles who went to the Unbending Reed Monastery were those whose families had forsaken them. Those too incompetent to get a job at the Court even through the On’i System.

“Wasn’t it simply that His Highness Wakamiya disliked you and used it as an excuse to get rid of you?” 

His roommate’s words left Akeru speechless. “We heard that you had His Highness’ trust, Lord Akeru. That’s why we went through the trouble of coming here with you instead of joining the Court as we had originally intended, but what’s the point if His Highness truly has forsaken you? You wasted our time and effort,” the boy spat out. “We shouldn’t have come to the damn Monastery in the first place.”

The other boy had so far restrained from talking altogether, unlike his fierce friend. Now, he shook his head with a sigh. “I don’t think it’s all your fault. However, the fact is that, as of now, the West-affiliated Court Ravens are increasingly disappointed in you.”

Akeru’s head failed to process it all. There was no way he could believe straight away that these two, those who had been closest to him, actually had such an image of him.

“We’re planning to voluntarily drop out.”

“What!?” Akeru rushed to ask—a hint of pleading snuck into his voice.

“Well, that’s the idea…… So, could you keep your distance from us?”

Akeru couldn’t think of a way to stop them. 

Just as his roommates were about to leave the room, however, Akeru caught sight of someone at the door. To make matters even worse, it turned out to be the last person he wanted to see in the current situation.

“Ah, did I come at a bad moment?”

The boy—Yukiya of the Northern House—tilted his head with a smile on his face.

“Ah, good to know it wasn’t too bad.” After watching Akeru’s roommates leave as if they were running away, Yukiya approached him with a shady-looking smile. 

“Why did you come here?”

“Is that how you greet people? And here I bothered to come deliver a present for the sick. Here, take it.” Yukiya handed him a package covered in wrapping paper. Inside, there were sugar-sprinkled kumquats.

“I don’t want them.”

“Oh, really? Now that’s a waste. Can I have them?” Yukiya didn’t even wait for Akeru’s answer. He immediately sat by the window and started to stuff his mouth with kumquats. For a while, the only sound breaking the silence of the room was his slow chewing.

Akeru had no words for Yukiya. He had this feeling—like he finally understood why Yukiya had given him the cold shoulder when Akeru first offered him his friendship as a fellow member of the Wakamiya Faction. Unlike Akeru, Yukiya had been serving by Wakamiya’s side for an entire year. He didn’t want to think about it, but if Wakamiya had truly sent him to the Monastery out of disgust, Yukiya was sure to know.

While a part of him wanted to know what Wakamiya had intended for him all along, another couldn’t even bear the idea of hearing the truth.

“...... If that’s everything, can’t you leave me alone?” he said in an admittedly dreadful tone—he was too scared of the truth coming out from Yukiya’s mouth. However, as blatant as Akeru’s jealousy turned out to be, Yukiya simply laughed it off.

“I have more to say, obviously. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have come here at all,” he confirmed with a wholly impassive expression. “You see, if things keep going like this, you’ll end up leaving this place sooner or later.”

Akeru flew into a rage the moment he heard that. “It’s not that bad! My grades should still be better than yours if you put them all together!”

“Who’s talking about grades here? You truly don’t understand the position you’re in, huh?”

Yukiya’s demeanor got, all of a sudden, a lot colder. Akeru flinched. “What do you mean? The situation I’m in…”

“Think about it for a moment,” Yukiya said as he fiddled with a kumquat, “the trainees currently on the Monastery’s register are 44 Seeds, 21 Saplings and 14 Evergreens, a total of 78 students. Among those, only you and I were born with a social rank higher than fifth in our region. Furthermore, and this is including us, there are only six Court Ravens in the entire Monastery with the right to employ the On’i System. The vast majority of those are either Seeds or Saplings. Do you understand what that means?” Yukiya asked an astonished Akeru—it was as if he was testing him.

“That most trainees from the high nobility fail out before reaching their third year……?”

“Exactly.” While, at the moment, there were still Court Ravens among his peers, virtually everyone would be either from warrior clans or commoners once they became Evergreens. “There are others linked to the Four Houses, of course, but they aren’t necessarily nobility themselves. It’s obvious what will happen to you if you keep ridiculing Hill Ravens and paying your respects only to your fellow Court Ravens, isn’t it? With that attitude, you’ll just end up surrounded by enemies,” Yukiya explained with a bored expression.

“Besides, to form a West-affiliated faction to reform the Unbending Reed Monastery is, no matter how you put it, both impossible and pointless. Any issues with the Monastery’s policies are for people like the director or His Highness Wakamiya—those involved in the place’s administration—to fix. To ask a trainee to do so is just cruel and His Highness hasn’t ever expected anything like that from you.”

Akeru was appalled. “Then… there’s no reason for His Highness Wakamiya to have sent me to the Monastery, is there?”

——Were Wakamiya’s actions truly a mere attempt to get rid of him?

At the mere thought, Akeru felt all strength about to abandon his body. A moment promptly interrupted by something in his mouth—Yukiya had, all of sudden, rammed a kumquat in it.

“W-what are you doing!?”

Akeru almost choked on it, caught in a coughing fit as an unimpressed Yukiya gave him a bored look. “Oh, you see, I was just thinking about how some incredible idiots truly do exist. His Highness Wakamiya has such high hopes for you and yet you’re completely blind to it.”

“What?” Akeru raised his head, as if in search of an explanation. This time, Yukiya gave him a wry smile.

“I mean, he told you to come to the Monastery, didn’t he? So you could become his vassal in the future,” Yukiya explained as he rolled yet another kumquat on the palm of his hand. “It’s easy to tell why, looking at the guys from before. They didn’t say so per se, but the fact they spoke out like that is probably very much related to the delay of His Highness Wakamiya’s ascension to the throne. Those who only approach you seeking out family influence will change their tune over and over whenever it’s politically convenient. If you want to earn trustworthy allies, the last thing you want to rely on is status and influence. Let me tell you this much—you’re the very reason they ended up acting like that.”

Akeru stammered. He remembered how his followers—people he had genuinely thought of as allies—had blamed him and accused him of lying to them just moments ago. “...... I didn’t ever consider that.”

Embarrassed with himself, Akeru hung his head and, in answer to that, a hint of delight appeared in Yukiya’s voice.

“——Do you realize now? Think about it, what if you became His Highness’ vassal and still committed this kind of mistake?” Yukiya kept talking to the silent Akeru, admonishing him. “Remember, those you look down on as Hill Ravens are about 90% of Yamauchi’s population. Wakamiya is, in fact, very well aware of what kind of people are the majority in the country he rules over.”

The Unbending Reed Monastery was, in a sense, a reflection of Yamauchi itself. Slowly but surely, Akeru started to grasp the meaning behind Yukiya’s words. “So that’s why His Highness told me to come to the Monastery……”

To learn how to socialize with commoners ahead of time. All to stop Akeru from having an attitude unbefitting of one of the Golden Raven’s close vassals in the future.

“Wakamiya told you to come to the Monastery, but he didn’t say you had to become a Yamauchi Guard. He was trying to raise you. That’s the ultimate proof that his expectations weren’t placed on the Scion of the Western House, but on you yourself.” Then, Yukiya unexpectedly looked Akeru in the eyes. “But, what about you? What would you do if His Highness Wakamiya loses his status as Crown Prince? Would you remain by His Highness’ side if he isn’t your brother-in-law? If Lady Masuho no Susuki doesn’t ever enter the Harem?”

Akeru gulped in response to Yukiya’s harsh words. At that moment, what came rushing back to him was that first meeting with Wakamiya, before he even knew of his status, and how he had felt that day.

——The start of everything, a shared secret and a gentle smile under the sinking sun.

“I—” Akeru let out in a hoarse, shaky voice. He closed his mouth to try again with more success. His tone was a lot more firm. “I want to serve under His Highness Wakamiya himself. If he values me as me, then I believe I must respond with the same.”

“I see…… That’s a relief for me too to hear.” 

This time, Yukiya had a bright smile on his face. It didn’t feel shady at all, not anymore.

For the first time since they first met, Akeru genuinely saw in Yukiya a companion, a fellow follower of Wakamiya. He felt like he had at last fully grasped why Yukiya had most likely been chosen as a close aide—that great intelligence of his. Not the kind that makes you good at studying, but a different one altogether.

“You aren’t like me, Yukiya. You have gotten this far, all with the conviction to never rely on your house’s influence.”

That must be the very reason why he had gone through such efforts to get along with Shigemaru and the rest, or so Akeru thought. However, Yukiya laughed Akeru’s sentimentalism off.

“No way! It’s true that I felt like that once, but I don’t have the luxury to say so anymore. I plan to use anything and everything that’s at my disposal.”

Akeru blinked. “But, then, what’s the point?”

“Don’t misunderstand, Akeru.” All of a sudden, Yukiya’s eyes narrowed into slits. Akeru, who had tilted his head in question, watched him. “Power and authority are troublesome things, they can easily cause your downfall when not used correctly. On the other hand, they can also be your strongest trump card. So, what I’m trying to say is,” Yukiya said with a cold smile, “you must not mistake when and how to use them.”

——Akeru felt a sudden chill down his back.

Yukiya’s smile had transformed into something entirely different. His eyes were impenetrable, like those of a snake. What emotions hid within, Akeru couldn’t tell but, in a matter of seconds, a deep terror rose within him.

“What are—” Akeru swallowed.

—you scheming? he tried to ask, but before he could finish his question, a tanned face abruptly popped out through the window on Yukiya’s side.

“Are you all done with the difficult talk?”

Akeru almost jumped up from surprise, but his entire body howled in pain at the attempt. “Shigemaru! When did you arrive?”

“We came here together with Yukiya, to be honest, but it didn’t feel right to intrude given the mood so we hid here to wait instead. Here, a present,” Shigemaru bent himself through the window and dropped a basket full of plums on the floor.

“Oh, I actually love plums. Can I have one?” Yukiya asked nonchalantly.

Akeru was left in a state of complete confusion. What had that been a moment ago?

“You had quite the impressive fall, but you seem better than I thought you would be. How are you feeling?” Shigemaru asked him.

Akeru was incapable of answering at first. Ironically enough, he had the feeling that Shigemaru had just become the first person to show proper concern for him. It was both strangely moving and a source of sudden embarrassment at his own behavior so far.

“Your concern is much appreciated. I’m doing fine, but… ‘we’?” 

“Oh, yes! Actually, he has been way, way more worried about you than me.” Outside the window, Shigemaru vanished for a second. He proceeded to pick up the boy apparently sitting there by the scruff of his neck, effortlessly lifting him up to show Akeru.

A sour face appeared—‘I wasn’t that worried’ written all over it.

“Chihaya.” Akeru was so surprised he couldn’t say more.

Meanwhile, Chihaya seemed to be struggling just like him. He looked to be at a loss for quite a while, before finally letting out a mutter, “It wasn’t intentional.”

That’s all it took for Akeru to understand what was going on—to get an idea of what kind of rumors were spreading all over the Monastery at the moment. Everyone probably suspected that Chihaya had hurt Akeru intentionally. He originally served under Kimichika, whose harassment attempts towards Akeru had turned into a frequent occurrence as of late. Had he not been directly involved in the incident, Akeru would have probably believed the same.

“...... I know. It was my own fault I fell.”

He had seen Chihaya’s expression for a second there—he had been clearly frightened. It all, from his initial transformation to his fall, happened in an instant, but he had still felt how Chihaya had done everything in his power as the rider in an attempt to recover.

However, there was one thing he couldn’t understand about the incident, no matter how he thought about it...

“Hey, Chihaya. You should be able to fly a lot faster, right? Why were you going so awfully slow back then?”

Chihaya answered his question in a dispassionate tone, “You were struggling to keep your balance. I thought you would roll down from my back if I flew any faster than that.”

“——I see.” Akeru let out a big sigh. After straightening himself over the futon, he deeply bowed in Chihaya’s direction. “I’m sorry for causing you so much trouble. I’ll explain what happened to everyone else.”

“No…… There’s no need.” As scarce as Chihaya’s words were, they made Akeru’s chest feel so much lighter.

“Oooh! To see you apologize to a Hill Raven. You too have grown, huh?” Shigemaru’s amused admiration, on the other hand, gave Akeru all kinds of mixed feelings—something the former seemed to pick up on immediately.

“Look, Akeru.” Shigemaru’s expression changed ever so swiftly. “Just like you had your own reasons to come to the Monastery, we all also have ours. Nobody has the exact same circumstances, so it’s a given we all think differently.” 

Akeru meekly listened as Shigemaru spoke. “I think this place is amazing, you know. Where else can people from all corners of Yamauchi gather and share their views and opinions with each other? If we weren’t here at the Monastery, neither of us would have had the chance to speak to each other normally like this, right?”

“Yes, absolutely. You’re right……”

“We’ve been given such a rare chance, so think of it this way—it’ll be for your own sake to try to get along with others,” Shigemaru said with a laugh. “Breaks aside, we gather to study together almost every day in an empty room of the second building. Want to come along? Everyone will be happy to see you.”

At that moment, Akeru’s heart was terribly touched by Shigemaru’s carefree words.

By the time Akeru returned to his own room with the doctor’s permission, one of his two followers had already vanished. He hadn’t given it much thought before, back when they had that talk, but his grades had always been much worse than Akeru’s. Most likely, he had genuinely reached his limit, incapable of keeping up with life as a trainee any longer.

Akeru fretted about it for a while but, by the time night came, he had decided to head to the second building. Once actually there, it didn’t take him long at all to find the room where the study group was held—the sliding door wasn’t only open, but the voices coming from the room were exasperatingly loud.

“I can’t do this anymore! I don’t understand it at all.”

“Get your shit together! Now that glasses dude has found out about it, we can’t just go and copy Yukiya’s homework wholesale anymore!”

“Look, I’m telling you. As long as you memorize the warfare records1, it’s just a matter of applying it all afterwards,” Akeru heard a tired Yukiya say. An onslaught of angry yells followed right after.

“Like that’s easy, you freaking bastard!”

“There’s no way we can memorize those things just like that!”

“By the way—how did you even do it to begin with?”

“I just read it normally? That was it, really.”

“See, here it comes!”

“This is why I cannot stand quick learners!”

Warfare records were a register of what movements were executed by which pieces and when during a Board Drill for later examination, and, by the sound of it, they were trying to finish their Strategy homework. Akeru took a deep breath, steeling his resolve before finally standing by the door frame.

“For warfare records, you should first pin down the Officers’ moves. Infantry movement always uses them as the starting point.” The group, who had been about to collectively throw their textbooks out and get a swing at Yukiya, turned to look at Akeru. Their mouths were wide open.

“...... Akeru?”

“What are you doing here?”

Although both Shigemaru and Yukiya smirked at the scene, neither stepped out to support him. Alongside the wall was Chihaya too, quietly taking care of his own homework all by himself, but he didn’t even bother to glance at him.

Akeru lightly licked his lips, dry out of sheer nerves, and surveyed the faces of those inside before speaking, “I was wondering if, maybe, it would be possible for me to join the study group as well. I know it may sound wrong of me to say but, well, if it’s theory I should be able to help a little. Of course, that’s if you’re all fine with it……”

By the end, he was tapering off.

Akeru knew perfectly that his attitude so far had been anything but pleasant for the people gathered there. He cast his eyes downwards in fear of their reaction when, out of the blue, one of the boys lying on the floor jumped towards him and took him by the shoulders.

“Welcome, professor.”

“Eh?”

“We may actually be able to understand what you’re saying. At least, more than with that Yukiya bastard,” he ruthlessly added.

“Mean,” Yukiya murmured. He was the only one to protest.

“We can’t figure out any of it! At this rate, we’ll end up dropping out.”

“No matter how many times we listen to Yukiya’s explanations, none of them make any sense to us. You’re our last hope.”

Akeru’s eyes were left wide open—their reaction wasn’t anything like what he had expected. 

“...... You’ll forgive me?”

“Not like there’s anything to forgive.”

His fellow trainees, all commoners for the most part, traded glances. “It would be a lie to say we don’t have our own feelings about you, but desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“If you help us so we don’t drop out, we’ll consider all accounts settled.”

“So, less grumbling, more teaching! The due date for these is tomorrow and we haven’t gotten anything done yet.”

Akeru wasn’t quite sure if he should be glad at their reaction or not, but Shigemaru burst into laughter. “In short, no hard feelings!”

After that, Akeru spent the rest of the evening teaching theory to his peers. Yukiya’s explanations proved to be awful and their current situation was beyond subpar, but, thanks to Akeru’s efforts, they ended up being able to solve a lot of the questions with ease. In the end, his overjoyed, frantically crying students were imploring him to come again the next day.

“Tired?” Shigemaru asked him on the way back.

Akeru shook his head. “No, thank you for inviting me. It was fun.”

It had been the first time in his life someone thanked him like that. It was invigorating beyond belief. On top of that, there were many among the study group who were accomplished at Horsemanship and, as a show of gratitude, they had offered to help him practice the horse-rider switch during the next break. Akeru was genuinely glad he had joined them.

——There was, however, a matter much more important than his participation in the study group. One he had left for later.

“Chihaya, do you have a moment?”

Akeru called out to him just as he had left the empty room, heading towards his own. There was clear suspicion on Chihaya’s face, but he nevertheless followed him to a corner of the hallway without ever uttering a word.

“I’ve given you a lot of trouble with the latest incident. Allow me to apologize again,” Akeru bowed.

“I don’t mind,” Chihaya answered just the same way as before.

“But I do mind. You could have also ended up gravely injured if anything else had gone wrong, and now there are weird rumors going around. I’ve been thinking a lot about if there was something I could do to pay you back.”

Chihaya’s expression became slightly troubled, but Akeru kept talking without paying it any mind. “Despite your bad relationship with Kimichika, you came to the Monastery through the Minami-Tachibana’s recommendation, right?”

“..... You investigated me?”

“I’m sorry, but yes. Back when I lost against you during our first match, my followers checked your family register in the census, as well as your general background, and came to inform me. That’s when I heard that you have a little sister and her health is poor, so you couldn’t refuse the Minami-Tachibana’s assistance. When Kimichika intimidated you during your fight that one time, he meant your sister, right?”

In a matter of seconds, Chihaya’s expression went entirely blank.

“I’m fully aware it was presumptuous of me to do so. That said, let me ask you something else. Would you let me assist you with that?” Chihaya didn’t reply to his question. “You must loathe this situation, having your sister essentially be a hostage to Kimichika. This is just as a way of apology, there are no ulterior motives or anything,” Akeru emphasized. “It’s all out of pure goodwill, I mean it.”

Up until then, Akeru had only taken advantage of his own position and the power his birth had given him. He had done nothing but act arrogantly in front of people like Chihaya or Shigemaru. However, he had no plans to commit the same mistakes and misuse his power anymore. He wanted to follow Yukiya’s advice. This would be a good first at using his influence in the correct way, or so he thought.

“The Western House will support you, if you wish so, and we’ll take good proper care of your sister too. It’s not like you want to be under Kimichika either. Right, Chihaya?”

Chihaya opened his mouth after a long silence.

“That’s right,” he murmured in a self-deprecating tone. “That much is true. I’m not receiving the Minami-Tachibana’s aid because I like it that way.”

“Then!” Akeru said enthusiastically.

The look in Chihaya’s eyes, however, was as cold as ice.

“——It’s as I thought. You’re just like Kimichika.” Just like that, Chihaya turned his back on him and quickly left the place behind. Akeru had no time to stop him.

…… Did he just anger him?

Frozen in place, Akeru watched Chihaya as he vanished into the distance.

“But, why?” He couldn’t even imagine the reason behind Chihaya’s anger.

Next: Chihaya (Part 1)

—————————————

1: Warfare Records is my take on Senpu (戦譜), which is in itself a reference to Kifu (棋譜). Kifu is the word for records of abstract strategy games like Shogi or Go, which can be used to fully replicate a game. Each game has their own notation methods.

[thedreadvampy]

sometimes I forget that my experience has been. um. not 'your experiences are not universal' vibes but more like 'your experiences are EXTREMELY atypical'

[eisthenameofme]

i wonder if there's the potential for a solution to the doxxing fucking over marginalized people specifically thing and/or the some people only being able/knowing where to engage with community online thing if we we were able to like. weaponize the relative lack of actual anonymity in the opposite direction.

like for one thing, instead of doxxing just resulting in problems from others in person, using that information to actively support the person instead, and for another for the other potentially more targeted use of the internet to find people to engage with in person (although that one you'd have to be even more careful about in case it worked in the opposite direction. I'm just thinking it would be nice to have something more structured/widespread than happening to find out your internet friends are in your local area, that could potentially be used to circumvent people not meeting in third spaces/other issues people have initially finding local community in person.)

It would be nice if instead of exclusively finding offline solutions/telling people how to be more careful we could also use what's often part of the problem to our advantage when it does happen. Like, having a way to address it that isn't only preventative.

[thatfeelinwhenyou]

THE TATTOO ON MY RING FINGER — sim jaeyun

His neglect wasn’t an accident—it was a choice, one you kept excusing as “busy” while swallowing your hurt and waiting for him to care enough to show up. The harsh truth? He simply didn't care enough to make the effort. Remember this, ladies: if he truly wanted to, he would. "Busy" is just another word for “asshole.” And “asshole” is another word for the man you’re married to.

word count: 22k

pairing: ceo!jake x fem!reader

featuring: enhypen, wonyoung from ive

genre: marriage of convenience, slow burn romance, enemies to lovers (kinda), second chance romance, angst

warnings: this story contains dynamics of a toxic relationship, angst and miscommunication at its peak, sensitive power dynamics, mild depictions of violence, themes of loneliness and low self-worth, implications of infidelity (no actual cheating), rich people drama, jake is kind of an asshole, sunghoon and wonyoung are married in this fic for plot purpose.

disclaimer: this is a work of pure fiction. If any context is similar to any other stories, it's either inspired (in which credit will be given) or just a coincidence. the characters' personalities, words, actions and thoughts do not represent them in real life. any resemblance to any real life events or person, present or past, are purely coincidental. i apologise in advance for any spelling or grammar mistakes. characters are aged up for plot purpose.

notes from nat: inspired by when the phone rings cause i love the colour red /hj. highly recommended to read with the playlist i curated in order! without further ado, enjoy!

tags: #tfwy thetattooonmyringfinger #tfwy au

perm taglist. @hajimelvr @s00buwu @urmomssneakylink @grayscorner @bubblytaetae @mrchweeee @artstaeh @sleeping-demons @yuviqik @junsflow @blurryriki @bobabunhee @hueningcry @fakeuwus @enhaslxt @neocockthotology @Starryhani @aishisgrey @katarinamae @mitmit01 @youcancometome @cupiddolle

taglist. @heeheeyeoiizz01 @heeweenie @ritahyelee @catlicense @sumzysworld @heartheejake @httpenhoon @dreamiestay @baedreamverse @arusio @ywrens @tinycatharsis @blockbusterhee @xocandypoo @jaengwon @yvnempire @enhaverse713586 @bamguetismee @renaishun @yunhoswrldddd @zyvlxqht @jaems-left-toe

They say if he’s not calling, it’s because you’re not on his mind. The first time you heard it, you shrugged it off. Of course, it wasn’t true. He was busy, wasn’t he? Busy with work, with meetings, with people who needed his attention more than you did in that moment. You told yourself it wasn't personal when the texts became shorter, when the phone calls grew less frequent, when the hours between hearing from him stretched into days.

But over time, the silence becomes heavier. The excuses, sharper. If he promised to be home by eight and didn’t show until eleven, it was work. If he forgot to call when he said he would, it was exhaustion.

You let these small disappointments settle into the cracks of your relationship, a habit you didn’t even notice forming until you could barely remember what it felt like to be a priority. 

You tell yourself he’s under pressure, that he’s got a lot on his plate. But deep down, there’s a gnawing thought that won’t leave you alone: If he wanted to, he would. If he cared, he’d show up. Not just in the big moments, but in the small, forgettable ones—the ones that don’t require much but say everything. A text to check in, a call to ask how your day went. Something to remind you that you matter, that you still have a place in the life he leads without you.

But the truth settles in like a bitter cold creeping under your skin: he doesn’t think about you the way you think about him.

When he’s late, when he misses promises, when he leaves you waiting—it’s not a fluke. It’s a choice. And the more you excuse it, the more he learns that it’s okay to disappoint you, that your needs can always wait. He’s fine with it because he doesn’t have to feel the weight of your frustration, your sadness, your growing resentment.

"Busy" has become his favourite shield, his go-to excuse for everything. But “busy” is just another way of saying, "I don’t care enough." “Busy” is what he hides behind when he doesn’t want to confront the fact that he’s letting you down, over and over again. 

And each time, you forgive him. Each time, you swallow your hurt, tell yourself it’s not a big deal, and convince yourself to wait a little longer for him to make the effort you’re aching for.

But deep down, you know. "Busy" is another word for “asshole.” And “asshole” is another word for the man you’re married to.

♡。·˚˚· ·˚˚·。♡

A marriage of convenience—that’s what you call this arrangement with Sim Jaeyun. It’s the only thing you can call it. Nothing about it feels real. No feelings. No chemistry. No intimacy. Just labels and the sweet, sweet promise of partnership, sweetened further by the monetary incentive that comes with it. 

A deal dressed up as love.

At least, that’s how Jaeyun sees it. For you, it wasn’t always so simple.

You entered this marriage with no great love for him, true enough. Just a sense of duty and loyalty to your parents, to the company, to everything you’ve been raised to uphold as the eldest daughter of your family.

Jaeyun’s aloofness during your first meeting confirmed your suspicions that he felt the same. He was another child born with a silver spoon, another soul sacrificed to family ambition. Like you, he couldn’t complain about marrying someone he didn’t love because his parents had done it before him.

Putting aside the whole nature of your marriage, Jaeyun wasn’t a bad man.

In fact, he was decent. Polished. Accomplished. Sim Jaeyun had graduated summa cum laude from an Ivy League and, at twenty-eight, was already a legend in business circles.

They called him The Prodigy—a nickname that reverberated in the boardrooms of the elite. Women flocked to him, drawn by his sharp intellect, his undeniable charm, and, of course, his devastating good looks.

You’d rather bite your tongue than admit it, but he’s the most attractive man you’ve ever laid eyes on. Sim Jaeyun could make anyone’s heart race with just a glance. If you had to be forced into this sham of a marriage, at least you could say you were tied to someone who didn’t make you cringe every time you looked at him.

In the beginning, you played your roles so well that even you almost believed it.

To the press, to the public, you were the Dreamlike Couple. The perfect pair. You—poised and graceful, the epitome of elegance. Him—driven and magnetic, a man at the pinnacle of success. Together, you seemed untouchable, the kind of pairing that only existed in fairy tales.

It was a dream. For a time.

Marrying into the Sim family meant becoming the perfect housewife, a shadow to Jaeyun’s brilliance. Your days revolved around him—ensuring his comfort, supporting his exhausting nine-to-five (more like nine-to-midnight) grind.

And in return, Jaeyun played his part too. He brought you flowers, sat across from you at candlelit dinners, and whisked you away for picture-perfect dates on the rare weekends he wasn’t buried in work.

It wasn’t love, but it was enough. And slowly, against all your better instincts, you fell for him.

You fell for him—not all at once, but slowly, like the steady drip of a leaking faucet, each drop carving its way into your heart. 

It was in the small, unexpected moments: the way his eyes softened when he asked if you were settling in well, the rare, fleeting smile that lit up his otherwise composed face, the quiet patience with which he listened when you nervously rambled about your day. 

He was kind in ways that felt almost invisible, offering you a coat when you forgot yours, leaving your favourite coffee on the counter without a word, defending you in meetings with his parents when they criticised your choices. It wasn’t the grand gestures that pulled you in, but the subtleties—the way he seemed to remember the little things about you, like the books you loved or the songs that made you hum along absentmindedly.

You started to believe, naively perhaps, that behind the formalities and the distance, there was something real. Something that could grow.

And in those moments, you let your guard down, foolishly allowing hope to slip through the cracks of your carefully constructed defences.

But what started as a dream turned into a slow-brewing nightmare.

It took a year.

Just one year for the cracks in Jaeyun’s performance to show. Maybe he got tired of pretending. Maybe the strain of coming home to a wife he didn’t love became too much. Whatever it was, the distance between you started to grow.

The flowers stopped coming. The dinners grew silent, then ceased altogether. Dates became a thing of the past. The man who once made you feel like you were part of his world now barely acknowledged your existence.

You tried to rationalise it at first. He was busy, wasn’t he? Work was demanding. Meetings ran late. Deadlines piled up. Days would pass without a word from him.

But the excuses only held for so long. Because deep down, you knew. If Jaeyun wanted to, he would. If he cared, he’d find the time. He wouldn’t leave you sitting alone at the dinner table or waiting for a call that never came. He wouldn’t let the silence stretch until it swallowed what little connection you had left.

And yet, you forgave him. Over and over again. Each missed promise. Each broken gesture. You told yourself it wasn’t a big deal, that you could bear it. But with every disappointment you let slide, Jaeyun learned he could let you down without consequence.

Now, as you lie awake in the vast emptiness of your bed—yes, your bed, in your room, the one he rarely steps foot in anymore—you can’t help but wonder: Was it ever real? Did he ever try, even for a moment? Or had he always been this indifferent, just more skilled at masking it in the beginning?

Sim Jaeyun—the prodigy, the golden boy, the man you once dared to believe you could build a life with—has become little more than a stranger. A stranger who wears a ring that matches yours, yet feels worlds apart. And here you are, left holding the shattered pieces of a marriage that, in truth, was never whole to begin with.

You should’ve known, from the moment he slipped that ring onto your finger—a ring just a fraction too tight—that you were always going to feel suffocated. It was a perfect metaphor, really.

Now, every time you return home—whether it’s from mingling with the polished wives of his business partners, or from a solitary stroll in the park—you make a ritual of sliding the ring off, desperate to feel untethered, if only for a little while.

But no matter how many times you remove it, you can never truly escape him. Because the ring, with the way it pressed into your skin, leaves its imprint—a faint indentation that lingers long after it’s gone, marking you not as a partner but as a possession of the Sim family.

It feels like a cruel irony, that even without the ring, Sim Jaeyun’s grasp remains, his mark on you inerasable, etched into your skin and your soul like a tattoo.

The clock on the wall ticks steadily, mocking you with its rhythmic precision as the evening stretches into night. The once-flickering hope you’d clung to—that Jaeyun might remember this day—has long since withered, replaced by a familiar, hollow ache.

The dining table is set, the soft glow of candles casting shadows across the untouched plates. You’d debated with yourself earlier, wondering if it was worth the effort. But some stubborn part of you refused to let the day pass unnoticed.

After all, it’s your wedding anniversary. Even if Jaeyun doesn’t care, you do.

By the time the clock strikes eleven, the candles have burned low, the food long gone cold. You sit in the dim light, your hands clasped tightly in your lap, willing yourself not to cry.

When the front door finally opens, the faint sound of Jaeyun’s footsteps echoes through the house. He steps into the living room, his tie loosened and his hair slightly disheveled.

He looks tired—no, careless. He doesn’t even notice the table or the candles.

"You’re still awake?" he asks, his tone neutral, almost surprised.

You rise slowly, your voice calm despite the storm raging inside you. "It’s our anniversary, Jaeyun."

He freezes, his brows knitting together as if trying to recall something important. The blank look on his face confirms what you already knew. He forgot.

"Shit," he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. "I’m sorry. Work was crazy today. I didn’t—"

"Don’t," you cut him off, your voice trembling. "Don’t tell me it was work. Don’t make another excuse."

He looks at you, clearly unprepared for the edge in your tone. "It’s not an excuse. I was genuinely busy."

"Busy," you repeat, the word dripping with bitterness. "You’re always busy, Jaeyun. Too busy to call, too busy to show up, too busy to even remember the day we got married. Do you even care at all?"

His expression hardens, and he steps closer, his tone defensive. "Of course I care. But I have responsibilities, and I can’t just drop everything—"

"Responsibilities?" you snap, your voice rising. "What about your responsibility to me? To this marriage? Or does that come last, after work and meetings and everything else that apparently matters more than I do?"

"You act like I don’t try," he snaps, his tone sharper now. "I work my ass off to give us a good life, to make sure you have everything you need."

"I don’t need your money, Jaeyun!" you shout, your anger finally spilling over. "I need you! I need a husband who shows up, who cares, who remembers things that matter. But instead, I get this—this stranger who walks through the door whenever he feels like it and expects me to be okay with it."

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You’re overreacting."

The words hit you like a slap. "Overreacting?" you echo, incredulous. "You think I’m overreacting because I’m upset that you forgot our anniversary? Because I’m tired of being the only one who gives a damn about this marriage?"

His eyes darken, and his frustration boils over. "That’s because it isn’t real!" he snaps, his words slicing through the air like a blade.

You freeze, the weight of his admission sinking into your chest.

"This marriage," he continues, his tone sharp and unrelenting, "was never about love. It was a deal. You knew that going in. So don’t stand there acting like I owe you something I never promised."

His words hit you like a sledgehammer to the face, leaving you momentarily breathless.

"I knew what it was," you say, your voice shaking but steadying as the anger flares in your chest. "But I didn’t sign up to be treated like I’m invisible. I didn’t agree to be an afterthought, Jaeyun. I’ve been trying—trying—to make this work. And what have you done? You’ve shut me out. You’ve made it clear, over and over, that I don’t matter."

Jaeyun exhales harshly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I didn’t mean it like that," he mutters.

"Yes, you did," you say, your voice soft but cold. "And that’s the worst part. You meant every word."

The silence between you is deafening. Jaeyun doesn’t apologise, doesn’t take back what he said. He just stands there, his expression unreadable, as if waiting for the conversation to end.

Finally, Jaeyun exhales, his shoulders slumping slightly. "I don’t know what you want me to say," he mutters.

"I don’t want you to say anything," you reply, your voice quieter now but no less firm. "I want you to do something. But I don’t think you’re capable of that, are you?"

He doesn’t answer, and the silence feels like confirmation.

You swallow the lump in your throat, tears threatening to spill but held back by sheer force of will. "I don’t know why I keep hoping for more from you," you whisper. "You’ve made it clear that I’ll never get it."

Without waiting for his response, you turn and walk away, leaving him standing alone in the living room. The weight in your chest grows heavier with each step, but you don’t look back. Once inside your room, you close the door softly behind you, the sound somehow softer than the silence that follows.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, you let out a shaky breath and yank the ring off your finger as if it’s searing your skin. It’s almost instinctual, the need to rid yourself of the weight of it—the reminder of promises that were never real. You clutch the ring tightly in your palm for a moment before tossing it onto the nightstand with a dull clink.

You stare down at your hand, at the faint imprint left behind, the tattoo burned into your ring finger. No matter how many times you take the ring off, the mark remains, mocking you with its permanence. 

A bitter laugh escapes your lips as tears prick your eyes, the ache in your chest impossible to ignore. You press your hands to your face, trying to smother the sob threatening to break free.

Back in the living room, the faint crackle of dying candles echoes in the stillness. Jaeyun doesn’t follow. He doesn’t knock on the door, doesn’t call your name. He stays where you left him, as he always does, letting the silence speak for him.

The last candle sputters out, plunging the house into darkness. You lie back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, your chest hollow but your mind racing. 

The ring is now firmly back on your finger, snug against the faint tattoo that refuses to fade.

You sit outside the café you frequent so often that the barista doesn’t even ask for your order anymore, simply bringing your tea the way you like it. The faint clink of ceramic against the table pulls you from your thoughts, and you wrap your hands around the warm cup, as if it can somehow melt the cold ache inside you.

You stir your tea aimlessly, watching the steam spiral into the cool autumn air. Across from you, Wonyoung sits with her usual effortless grace, her beige trench coat draped neatly over her chair, her gold earrings catching the soft light.

"Alright," Wonyoung begins, placing her cup down with a decisive clink. "Spill. You’ve had that look on your face all morning. What’s going on?"

You sigh, leaning back in your chair as the weight of her gaze settles on you. Wonyoung isn’t just your best friend—she’s family now, married to your brother, Sunghoon. That makes her one of the few people who can truly see through you, no matter how much you try to hide.

"It’s nothing," you mutter, though your voice betrays you.

"That’s a terrible lie, and you know it," she says, narrowing her eyes. "Is it Jaeyun again?"

The mention of his name sends a pang through your chest, and you glance away, focusing on the street outside. "It’s always Jaeyun," you admit quietly. "I feel like… I’m stuck. He doesn’t care, Wonyoung. About me, about us, about anything that isn’t his work or his image. Yesterday was the three year anniversary of our marriage. He forgot, and I don’t even know why I’m still trying."

Her jaw tightens, her usually soft expression hardening in a way you rarely see. "That bastard," she mutters under her breath, leaning forward. "You know, I’ve been keeping my mouth shut for months because I didn’t want to overstep, but I’m this close to calling him out. He doesn’t deserve you. Not even a little."

You try to smile, but it’s weak, and the ache in your chest doesn’t ease. "It’s not that simple," you say, voice barely above a whisper. "I signed up for this. I knew what it was. And he’s not awful, you know? He’s just… distant. Cold."

Wonyoung reaches across the table, her hand warm as it wraps around yours. Her grip is firm, grounding. "Listen to me," she says, her voice steady and fierce. "You deserve more than 'not awful.' You deserve someone who looks at you the way Sunghoon looks at me when I burn toast. Like you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to them, no matter how messy or imperfect things get."

Her words bring a faint smile to your lips. You’ve always envied the dynamic between Wonyoung and Sunghoon—how they somehow balance each other perfectly. "You and Sunghoon," you say softly, "you make it look so easy."

Wonyoung chuckles, leaning back in her chair. "It wasn’t always like that. Do you remember how we met?"

You nod vaguely, but she doesn’t wait for an answer.

"It was at one of those insufferable charity galas," she says, rolling her eyes. "I was cornered by some overzealous CEO trying to pitch his latest venture, and Sunghoon swooped in out of nowhere, pretending we were old friends to rescue me."

A small laugh escapes you as you picture it. "Classic Sunghoon."

"Right?" Wonyoung grins. "I thought he was just being polite, but then he started showing up at every event I attended. At first, I thought it was a coincidence, but your brother isn’t exactly subtle."

"He’s not," you agree with a smile.

"One day, he asked me to dinner—no pretense, no excuse. Just, ‘Wonyoung, let’s go out.’ And… I don’t know. He wasn’t like the other guys. He didn’t treat me like some prize to win or a business deal to close. He just wanted me."

The warmth in her voice tugs at something in your chest, a bittersweet ache. "And the rest is history," you say softly.

"Not quite." Wonyoung smirks. "Do you know he proposed to me on the ice rink? He can barely skate, but he insisted on doing it there because I mentioned once how much I loved skating as a kid. He spent more time falling than kneeling."

The image of your brother—stoic, composed Sunghoon—fumbling on the ice (LOL) makes you laugh, the sound spilling out unexpectedly.

"That’s Sunghoon for you," you say, shaking your head. "Always dramatic."

"But always sincere," Wonyoung says, her expression softening. "And that’s my point. Love isn’t about grand gestures or perfection. It’s about showing up, every day, even when it’s hard. Jaeyun doesn’t do that for you, and it breaks my heart to see you settling for so little when you deserve so much more.

Her analogy draws a laugh from you, even if it’s faint. "It’s not like I can just leave," you say softly. "You know how our families are. It would be a scandal. And, honestly, what would I even do? This marriage is all I have right now."

"No," Wonyoung says sharply, her voice cutting through your doubt. "You are so much more than this marriage. And if Jaeyun or your family can’t see that, then screw them."

Her conviction startles you, and you blink at her, taken aback. Wonyoung is always poised, diplomatic, rarely letting her emotions boil over. But now her eyes burn with a protectiveness that makes your throat tighten.

"You know what you need?" she says, her tone softening slightly. "A break. Come stay with Sunghoon and me for a while. I’ll make him cook for us—he owes me after shrinking my favourite sweater last week."

You chuckle despite yourself, the image of Sunghoon fumbling in the kitchen almost absurd. "Sunghoon? Cooking? Are you trying to punish me?"

Wonyoung grins, mischief flickering in her eyes. "Okay, fine, I’ll cook. But seriously, think about it. You don’t have to keep carrying this weight on your own. I’m here. Always."

Her words settle over you like a blanket, warm and reassuring. Wonyoung has always been your safe haven, her loyalty a reminder that not everyone in your life sees you as a means to an end.

"Thanks, Wony," you say softly, giving her hand a small squeeze.

"Anytime," she replies, her smile warm and genuine. Then, with a dramatic sigh, she leans back in her chair. "Now, let’s talk about something that doesn’t make me want to hunt Jaeyun down and throttle him. Did you see the dress Jennie wore to that gala last week? Gorgeous, but the heels—ugh, pure torture."

You laugh, grateful for the change in topic. For the first time in what feels like forever, the weight on your chest feels lighter. Wonyoung chats animatedly, her presence a rare moment of warmth in the cold, suffocating reality of your life.

The house is quiet, save for the faint ticking of the clock in the hallway. You sit curled up on the couch, a book open in your lap, though the words blur together as your thoughts wander. The faint scent of candles lingers in the air, remnants of a night spent trying to make this house feel like a home.

When the front door opens, you don’t look up immediately. Jaeyun steps inside, his footsteps heavy against the hardwood floor. You can hear him shrug off his coat and place his bag on the console table, his movements measured. He doesn’t call out for you, and you wonder if he assumes you’re already asleep.

It isn’t until he steps into the living room that you glance up. His tie is loosened, and his shirt is slightly wrinkled—a rare imperfection in the man who always seems so put-together.

"Hey," he says softly, his voice hesitant.

You close your book, setting it aside as you nod. "Hi."

Jaeyun stands there for a moment, his hands in his pockets, as if unsure how to proceed. The silence stretches, the weight of your last argument hanging between you like an unwelcome guest.

"Can we talk?" he finally asks, his tone tentative.

You sit up straighter, your heart tightening. "What about?"

He exhales, running a hand through his hair as he sits down on the armchair across from you. "About us," he says, his gaze flickering to yours. "About everything."

The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard, and for a moment, hope flutters in your chest. Maybe he’s ready to finally have the conversation you’ve been waiting for.

"Okay," you say quietly, folding your hands in your lap.

"I know I’ve been… distant," Jaeyun begins, his voice low. "And I know it’s been hard for you. For us. But I’m trying, I really am."

You nod, though the words feel empty, familiar in a way that makes your chest ache. "What does ‘trying’ mean to you, Jaeyun?"

He hesitates, his brow furrowing. "It means I’m doing everything I can to balance everything. Work, this marriage—"

"Work," you cut in, your tone sharper than you intended. "It always comes back to work, doesn’t it?"

Jaeyun frowns, leaning forward slightly. "It’s not just about work. You know how demanding my job is. It’s not like I can just drop everything."

"I’m not asking you to drop everything," you say, your voice trembling with frustration. "I’m asking you to show up. To put me first, just once. To prove that this marriage means something to you beyond a contract."

"I do care," he insists, his voice rising slightly. "Why do you think I work so hard? I’m doing this for us—for you."

"No, Jaeyun," you reply, shaking your head. "You’re doing this for you. For your image, for your career. Don’t pretend this is about us when you can’t even remember the last time you asked me how I’m doing."

He opens his mouth to respond, then closes it, his jaw tightening. "I’m trying," he says again, but it sounds more like a defense than a promise.

You lean back against the couch, the faint hope you felt earlier slipping through your fingers. "Trying isn’t enough," you say softly.

The words hang in the air, heavy and unrelenting. Jaeyun looks at you, his expression conflicted, as if he’s searching for something to say that will fix this. But instead, he leans back in his chair, his hands gripping the armrests.

"I have a big meeting tomorrow," he says finally, his tone almost apologetic. "But we can talk more after. Okay?"

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head as you look away. "Of course," you murmur. "After work."

Jaeyun flinches at the sarcasm in your voice but doesn’t argue. Instead, he stands, running a hand through his hair as he glances toward the hallway. "I’ll see you in the morning," he says quietly before walking away.

You don’t respond, your gaze fixed on the flickering candle on the coffee table. The room feels emptier than it did before he arrived, the silence colder, more suffocating.

The sound of his footsteps fades as he retreats to his office, leaving you alone with the oppressive quiet of the house. The weight of his absence feels heavier than the space he occupied just moments ago, pressing down on your chest.

You’re angry. Furious, even. The kind of anger that comes not from one isolated hurt but from countless small disappointments piling up into something unbearable. You feel wronged, neglected, like a ghost haunting a house that was never really yours to begin with.

To make matters worse, his words from yesterday night echo in your mind, sharp and cutting: "This marriage isn’t real."

And you’re reminded—again—of what you shouldn’t need reminding of. Jaeyun wasn’t wrong. This marriage, with its polished façade and perfect pretenses, was built on nothing but a deal. A contract. A partnership that never promised love, only convenience.

You shouldn’t be holding him to the vows he read off a script prepared by his secretary, each word meticulously chosen for the press release that followed your wedding. You shouldn’t be expecting more from him when you went into this deal without any expectations.

He’s right, as always. He always is.

You just hate to admit it.

You hate that you’ve let yourself forget the terms. Hate that you’ve let hope slip through the cracks and take root where it was never meant to grow. You hate that his indifference, while expected, still feels like rejection. And you hate that despite everything—despite the truth you’ve known from the beginning—you still feel like you’ve been betrayed.

Jaeyun didn’t lie to you. He didn’t promise anything he hasn’t delivered. You’re the one who strayed from the script, letting feelings creep in where they had no business being.

But even knowing that, the ache doesn’t fade. It settles deeper, rooting itself in your chest like a splinter you can’t quite remove.

It’s fake, you tell yourself again. But no matter how many times you repeat it, it doesn’t feel any less real to you.

The house feels colder now, the weight of Jaeyun’s indifference wrapping around you like a heavy fog. In the distance, you can faintly hear Jaeyun moving around in his office, his presence more distant than the sound of wind outside your window. 

You sit on the couch, staring at nothing in particular, your thoughts circling back to the offer Wonyoung extended to you at the café.

It hits you like a revelation, though it shouldn’t. Some time away from Jaeyun, from this house, from the constant ache of trying and failing, might be exactly what you need. You exhale sharply, almost laughing at yourself. Geez, what took you so long to figure that out?

Before you can second-guess the idea, you pick up your phone and dial Wonyoung’s number. She answers on the first ring.

"Hey," she says brightly, as if she’s been waiting for your call.

"Is your offer still open?" you ask hesitantly, gripping the phone tighter.

"Of course it is," she replies without missing a beat. "When do you want me to pick you up?"

"Now?" you say, wincing slightly at how desperate you sound.

"Perfect," she chirps. "Give me ten minutes."

And she delivers, just as she always does. Not even ten minutes later, you hear the low purr of a car engine outside your gate. You peek out the window to see Wonyoung and her bright pink Porsche, the car gleaming under the streetlights. She’s leaning against the driver’s side door, sunglasses perched softly atop her nose, her effortless glamour making her look like she’s stepped out of a magazine shoot.

She waves when she spots you. "Come on!" she calls, her voice light but filled with purpose. "Grab your things and get in."

You hesitate for a moment, glancing back at the house. It’s quiet, the kind of quiet that feels heavy, oppressive. You don’t even know if Jaeyun has noticed you’re still sitting out here, much less that you’re about to leave.

Shaking off the thought, you grab an overnight bag you’d hastily packed and head out. As you reach the car, Wonyoung slides her sunglasses down slightly to look at you, her expression softening.

"You don’t have to explain anything right now," she says, opening the passenger door for you. "Just get in."

You slip into the car, the plush leather seats a stark contrast to the cold, hard reality you’ve been living. As soon as you’re buckled in, Wonyoung cranks up the music—a pop song you vaguely recognise—and pulls away from the gate with a flourish.

"You did the right thing," she says after a moment, glancing over at you. "Sometimes, you just need space to see things clearly."

You nod, though the knot in your chest hasn’t quite loosened. Still, as the familiar streets blur past and Wonyoung’s confident energy fills the car, you feel the faintest flicker of relief.

The soft hum of the kettle fills Wonyoung and Sunghoon’s kitchen, blending with the faint sound of rain tapping against the window. Wonyoung hums as she busies herself making tea, while you sit at the counter, wrapped in a blanket she insisted you take the moment you arrived. It’s warm here—not just from the heater, but from the unmistakable feeling of being cared for, a sensation you’ve been starved of for far too long.

"I swear, this house is the only place where I don’t feel like I’m suffocating," you admit softly, watching the steam curl up from your cup.

"You’re always welcome here," Wonyoung says, placing a hand on your shoulder. "Even if Sunghoon pretends to be annoyed, you know he loves having you around."

The sound of footsteps descending the stairs interrupts her, and Sunghoon appears in the doorway, his hair damp from a shower. His sharp features are set in an expression of irritation that immediately reminds you of how he looked when you were both kids and he’d caught someone picking on you.

"You’re staying the weekend, right?" Sunghoon asks, crossing his arms as he leans against the doorframe.

You hesitate, fiddling with the edge of your blanket. "If it’s okay. I don’t want to impose—"

"Impose?" Sunghoon cuts you off, his voice firm. "You think you’re imposing by needing space from that asshole? Please. Stay as long as you want."

You wince slightly at his tone. Sunghoon rarely speaks about Jaeyun directly, but you know he’s never approved of how distant your marriage has become. And now, with you physically seeking refuge in his home, it seems his patience has run out.

"Sunghoon," Wonyoung warns gently, though she’s clearly on your side.

"No, babe, she needs to hear this," Sunghoon says, stepping closer. His dark eyes meet yours, softening just slightly. "You deserve so much better than how he treats you. I’ve kept quiet because I thought maybe he’d figure it out, but he hasn’t. And I don’t know what it’ll take for you to realise that you’re too good for him."

"Sunghoon," you mumble, feeling a lump rise in your throat.

"You’ve given him everything," he continues, his voice tight with anger, "and what has he done? He keeps you at arm’s length, barely puts in the effort, and makes you question your own worth. If he can’t see how incredible you are, then screw him."

"Sunghoon, that’s enough," Wonyoung says firmly, though her eyes flick to you with concern.

Sunghoon exhales, running a hand through his hair. "I’m sorry," he mutters, his tone softening. "I just… I hate seeing you like this. You’re my sister. I’m supposed to protect you."

You blink rapidly, fighting back tears. "I know," you whisper. "And I appreciate it. But it’s complicated."

"It doesn’t have to be," he replies, his voice low.

Before you can respond, your phone buzzes on the counter. The screen lights up with a notification, and your stomach twists when you see the name: Jaeyun.

Wonyoung leans over, glancing at the screen. "Let me guess," she says dryly. "He’s just now noticing you’re not home."

You bite your lip, hesitating before picking up the phone. The message is short, as always.

Jaeyun: Where are you?

It’s not the words that make your chest tighten, but the tone you imagine as you read them—detached, almost transactional. There’s no concern, no affection. Just a question, as if you’re a misplaced item he needs to locate.

Sunghoon notices your reaction immediately. "What did he say?" he asks, his voice sharp again.

You hold up the phone, showing him the message. His expression darkens, and Wonyoung sighs, placing a hand on his arm.

"Don’t," she says softly.

"I’m not going to text him," Sunghoon snaps. "But if he thinks he can just demand to know where she is after everything—"

"Sunghoon, please," you interject, your voice shaky. "It’s fine. I’ll… I’ll handle it."

"No, it’s not fine," he says firmly. "But I get it. Just don’t let him guilt you into going back before you’re ready, okay?"

You nod, though your fingers tremble as you type out a response.

You: I’m staying at Sunghoon’s for the weekend.

It feels like a small act of defiance, but even hitting send makes your heart race. You place the phone face down on the counter, half-expecting an immediate reply.

"Good," Wonyoung says, her voice gentle. "Let him sit with that. He needs to know you’re not going to drop everything for him anymore."

"She’s right," Sunghoon adds. "And if he tries anything, you know I’ll handle it."

"If our parents finds out you’re always trying to start shit with Jaeyun, they’d be furious," you half-joke, swirling the tea in your cup. There’s a thin thread of humour in your voice, but it’s tied to a hard truth you both know too well. Your parents owe their entire business to the Sim family.

At the edge of bankruptcy, your marriage to Sim Jaeyun had been the final card they could play, a lifeline they clung to when everything else was crumbling. It worked, of course. The Sims, with their wealth and power, lifted your family’s business from ruin.

And in this, as in so many other things, you lose to Sim Jaeyun.

Be it in this sham of a marriage, in the tenuous stability of your family’s finances, you know the Sims don’t need you. Not really. Not as much as you need them.

Sunghoon leans back in his chair, his expression darkening. "You know I never agreed to marrying you off to that family, despite the consequences," he says, his voice low but resolute.

"I know," you reply softly, your gaze falling to your cup. "You got into a huge fight with Father over it. But you also know I’d do it anyway, even if you tried to stop me."

"Unfortunately, you’re as stubborn as a mule," he mutters, though his tone is fond. He exhales sharply, his brow furrowing. "But I hope you know you’re not tied down to this marriage anymore. Our family’s doing significantly better than it was three years ago, with or without the Sim backing us up. You can divorce him, if you want to."

The words hit you harder than you expect. Divorce. You’ve thought about it in the quiet corners of your mind, but hearing Sunghoon say it aloud feels different. It feels real.

"I’ll… sit on it," you say after a moment, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sunghoon studies you carefully, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly. He knows you too well, knows that even though Jaeyun pretends you don’t exist most of the time, you’re still hanging onto that faint, stubborn hope that things might go back to how they were in the beginning. Even if you can’t admit it to yourself.

He doesn’t push. He simply nods, leaning forward to rest a hand on your shoulder. "Just remember, you’re not alone in this," he says firmly. "Whatever you decide, I’ve got your back."

You manage a small smile, the lump in your throat easing slightly. For the first time in a long while, you feel supported—truly supported.

As the rain continues to patter against the windows, Wonyoung pulls you into a conversation about dinner plans, her voice light and teasing as she asks Sunghoon to attempt making something edible for once. The tension in the room softens, and for a brief moment, you let yourself breathe.

Your phone buzzes faintly on the table, and your heart skips when you see Jaeyun’s name. The message isn’t anything special—nothing more than a curt reply to the one you sent earlier. It’s impersonal, distant, but you tell yourself it’s enough.

At least, that’s what you try to tell yourself.

The house is eerily quiet when you step inside, the echo of your keys hitting the console table filling the space. You kick off your shoes and glance around, expecting the usual stillness of a house that’s more empty than lived-in. Jaeyun should already be at work. It’s Monday morning, and his schedule is usually airtight at the start of the week.

You place your weekend bag by the stairs, your chest feeling lighter than it has in months. The time with Wonyoung and Sunghoon had been a breath of fresh air, a reprieve from the weight of this house and everything it represents.

But as you make your way toward the kitchen, something feels… off.

The air is heavy, and there’s no sign of the usual orderliness Jaeyun insists on. A mug sits abandoned on the counter, and his shoes are still by the door—things that wouldn’t be there if he’d left for the office.

Curious, you make your way upstairs, the faintest sense of unease prickling at your skin. The door to Jaeyun’s room is slightly ajar, and when you push it open, your breath catches.

He’s there, lying in bed, his usually impeccable appearance replaced by disheveled hair and a pale complexion. The blanket is pulled up to his chin, and the faint flush on his cheeks tells you everything you need to know.

He’s sick.

"Jaeyun?" you say softly, stepping into the room.

He stirs at the sound of your voice, his eyelids fluttering open. His usual sharp gaze is dulled, clouded by fever. "You’re back," he murmurs, his voice hoarse.

"I thought you’d be at work," you say, approaching the bed cautiously.

He lets out a weak chuckle that quickly dissolves into a cough. "I tried," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "Made it as far as the shower before I gave up."

For a moment, you’re not sure what to do. This is new territory for both of you. But then something shifts inside you, something instinctive. You sit on the edge of the bed, reaching out to press the back of your hand to his forehead.

"You’re burning up," you say, frowning. "Why didn’t you call someone?"

"I didn’t think it was that bad," he mutters, closing his eyes again.

You sigh, standing up and glancing around the room. "Stay here. I’ll be back."

His lips twitch, almost as if he wants to argue, but he doesn’t. Instead, he watches you leave, his usually stoic expression softening ever so slightly.

You return a few minutes later with a damp cloth, a glass of water, and the medicine you keep stocked in the kitchen. Jaeyun doesn’t protest as you sit beside him again, carefully pressing the cloth to his forehead.

"You don’t have to do this," he says, though his voice lacks conviction.

"I know," you reply simply.

He watches you for a moment, his gaze softer than you’re used to. "Thank you," he murmurs.

You nod, focusing on your task. There’s a quiet intimacy in the moment, the kind you haven’t felt in a long time.

As you help him sit up to take the medicine, his hand brushes against yours, and for a second, neither of you moves. It’s such a small, fleeting thing, but it feels monumental in the stillness of the room.

"You’ve done this before," he says suddenly, his voice tinged with curiosity.

You raise an eyebrow. "Taken care of someone who’s sick? Of course."

"No," he says, shaking his head slightly. "You. You’re… good at this. Gentle."

The comment catches you off guard, and you glance away, busying yourself with adjusting the blanket. "It’s nothing," you say quietly.

But Jaeyun doesn’t let it drop. "It’s not nothing," he says, his voice softer now. "I don’t think I’ve ever noticed that about you before."

The words hang between you, and for the first time in years, you see something in his expression that isn’t indifference or frustration. It’s gratitude.

"Rest," you say, deflecting the moment as you stand. "I’ll check on you later."

"Wait," he says, his voice stopping you in your tracks.

You turn, surprised. "What?"

"Will you… keep me company?" he asks, his tone hesitant. "Just for a little while."

Your heart clenches, and despite everything, you nod. "Okay."

You sit back down, leaning against the headboard as Jaeyun closes his eyes, his breathing evening out. For a while, you watch him, the tension in his face melting away as sleep takes over.

And in that quiet moment, with the soft hum of the rain outside and the warmth of his presence beside you, something shifts.

You open your eyes to find yourself tucked into the comforter of a bed you never thought you’d ever lie in again. The unfamiliar weight of the blankets is warm against your skin, but it takes a moment for you to orient yourself. The room is dim now, the last traces of sunlight gone, replaced by the faint glow of the bedside lamp.

The house is silent, and most notably, Jaeyun is no longer where you left him.

A faint pang of concern rises in your chest as you sit up, running a hand through your hair. He was feverish just hours ago, barely coherent. The fact that he’s no longer in bed is enough to pull you out of the comfort of his room.

You step into the hallway, glancing around. The living room is just as still and empty as it was when you first returned this morning, the silence almost oppressive.

Then, out of the corner of your eye, you spot it: the familiar glow spilling out from under the door to Jaeyun’s office.

You narrow your eyes. Don’t tell me…

You walk toward the door, heart sinking with every step. Pushing it open slightly, you find him perched over his laptop, his face illuminated by the screen. His fingers move swiftly across the keyboard, his focus unbroken. He didn’t even bother changing out of the clothes he slept in, the faint flush on his cheeks a reminder that he’s still sick.

"Jaeyun," you say, your voice sharper than you intended.

He startles slightly, his gaze flicking up to meet yours. For a moment, he looks almost guilty, but the expression is fleeting. His face hardens, and he’s back to his usual self—detached, dismissive.

"What are you doing?" you demand, stepping into the room. "You should be resting."

"I’m fine," he replies curtly, his attention already shifting back to the screen.

"You’re not fine," you retort, your frustration bubbling over. "You had a fever this morning. You could barely sit up. And now you’re here, working as if nothing happened?"

He doesn’t answer, his fingers hovering over the keyboard.

"Why do you do this to yourself?" you ask, your tone softening despite your anger. "Why can’t you just take a break for once?"

"Because I don’t have the luxury of taking a break," he snaps, his voice sharp. He glances at you briefly, his eyes glinting with something you can’t quite place. "Not everyone can afford to stop when things get difficult."

You flinch at his words, but you refuse to back down. "You’re not invincible, Jaeyun. You’re sick. Pushing yourself like this is only going to make it worse."

For a moment, he says nothing. Then, with a heavy sigh, he closes his laptop and leans back in his chair. His face is pale, the dark circles under his eyes more pronounced in the harsh light of the office.

"Why do you care?" he asks quietly, his voice devoid of its usual edge.

The question catches you off guard, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. Why do you care? After everything, after the distance and the arguments, why do you still feel this pull toward him?

"Because someone has to," you say finally, your voice steady. "And whether you like it or not, that someone is me."

He blinks, clearly not expecting your answer. His expression softens, the usual mask of indifference slipping just enough for you to catch a glimpse of the man he used to be—or maybe the man he still is, buried under all the walls he’s built.

"Come on," you say gently, nodding toward the door. "You need to lie down."

To your surprise, he doesn’t argue. He stands slowly, wincing slightly as he stretches. As he follows you out of the office, the silence between you feels less heavy, less hostile.

Back in his room, you watch as he climbs into bed, his movements sluggish. You adjust the blankets around him, your hand brushing against his briefly.

"You’re stubborn," you say softly, a faint attempt at teasing.

He lets out a weak chuckle, closing his eyes. "Takes one to know one."

You smile despite yourself, stepping back toward the door to give him space. But before you can leave, his voice stops you.

"Stay," he says quietly.

You freeze, your hand still on the doorframe. “So I can find you missing again when I wake up?” You joke, but you know it got lost on him when you spot the hint of guilt that colour his face.

"Just… stay," he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes open, and for a fleeting moment, you see something vulnerable in his gaze.

You hesitate, your mind racing. Despite the years of being his wife, despite all the public pretenses and shared spaces, Jaeyun has never asked you to stay—not like this.

"Okay," you say finally, your voice soft. You move back toward the bed, sitting gingerly on the edge, unsure of what to expect.

Jaeyun shifts slightly, making space for you. "Lie down," he murmurs, his tone almost… tender.

You blink at him, stunned, but something in his expression—tired, open—compels you to obey. Slowly, you lie down beside him, careful to keep a polite distance. The room is quiet, the sound of your breaths the only thing breaking the stillness.

But then you feel it.

His arm snakes around your waist, tentative at first but firm as it settles. You inhale sharply, your body stiffening under his touch. Despite being his lawfully wedded wife, whose only purpose, it seems, is to sit there and look pretty, Jaeyun has never once touched you—not like this. Not in an intimate setting. Not at all.

"Jaeyun," you whisper, your voice catching.

"Don’t," he interrupts softly, his voice muffled against your shoulder. "Just… let me. Just for a moment."

You don’t move, your heart racing as the weight of his arm presses against you, grounding you in a way you hadn’t anticipated. His warmth seeps into you, a stark contrast to the cold distance you’ve grown so accustomed to.

For a long while, neither of you speaks. The silence stretches, but it isn’t uncomfortable. Instead, it feels like something fragile and unspoken is passing between you, an unsteady bridge forming where there had only been a chasm before.

"Thank you," he murmurs finally, his breath warm against your neck.

"For what?" you ask, your voice barely audible.

"For being here," he replies simply.

You close your eyes, your hand hovering uncertainly before resting lightly on top of his. "Get some rest, Jaeyun," you say softly.

His hold on you tightens ever so slightly, and for the first time, you let yourself lean into his touch. As Jaeyun’s breathing evens out and the warmth of his presence lulls you into stillness, you feel something unexpected stir in your chest. 

Not hope, not yet.

You tell yourself not to expect too much. This could just be a one-off thing, and it’ll go away just as quickly as it came, disappearing like so many other fragile glimpses of something more in your marriage.

Still, you stay still, letting the warmth of his touch seep into you, even as your mind tries to brace itself for the inevitable return to indifference. You tell yourself this means nothing—it’s just circumstance. He’s disoriented, caught off guard by his own vulnerability.

But then your gaze drifts downward, and you find yourself puzzled. His left hand covers your own, his touch firm yet gentle, and you’re struck by the sight of his wedding ring etched tightly around his finger. The gold band catches the faint glow of the moonlight outside, its presence so sure, so constant, as if it’s always belonged there.

Your eyes drop to your own hand. The ring you once wore is absent, likely discarded at some point when you returned home earlier, leaving only the faint tattoo etched into your skin.

His fingers shift slightly, and you feel the rough edge of his thumb trace over the spot where your ring used to sit. The action is subtle, almost unconscious, but it makes your heart race.

Does he realise what he’s doing? Is it just a fever-driven habit, a thoughtless gesture? Or is there something more to the way his touch lingers there, his warmth seeping into the empty space where a symbol of your bond once rested?

You glance at his face, but his eyes are closed, his breathing soft and steady. He looks peaceful, almost childlike, so far removed from the sharp, composed man you know him to be.

You let out a slow breath, your heart conflicted. This moment feels too fragile, too fleeting, to hold onto. And yet, the weight of his hand over yours, the brush of his thumb against your tattooed ring finger, lingers in a way that’s impossible to ignore.

Don’t expect too much, you remind yourself, closing your eyes and letting your head rest against the pillow. But even as sleep pulls you under, the thought remains, a quiet whisper in the back of your mind.

The soft glow of morning light filters through the curtains, and you stir, slowly coming back to consciousness. Your first thought is that the bed feels strangely warm, a comforting weight anchoring you to the mattress.

Your second thought is that Jaeyun is surely gone by now. 

But when you blink your eyes open, you’re surprised to find him still there, lying beside you. His head is propped up on one hand, his eyes watching you with an unusual softness. He’s awake, fully present, and for a moment, you think you might still be dreaming.

"You’re still here?" you mumble, your voice thick with sleep.

He smirks faintly, though there’s a gentleness in his expression that you can’t quite place. "Good morning to you too," he says, his tone light.

You push yourself up slightly, propping yourself on your elbows. "I thought you’d be gone by now. Off to work or something."

He chuckles softly, the sound low and warm. "I figured you’d think that," he says, his gaze steady on yours.

"Am I wrong?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.

For a moment, he doesn’t answer. Then, his lips twitch into the faintest smile, and he says, "I wanted to prove you wrong."

You blink, caught off guard by his words. "Prove me wrong about what?"

"That I’d be gone when you woke up," he says simply. "I know that’s what you expected. I wanted to stay… just this once."

His honesty takes the air from your lungs, and you find yourself staring at him, searching his face for some kind of ulterior motive. But all you see is sincerity, an openness that feels so unlike him it almost makes you uncomfortable.

"Why?" you ask softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He shrugs, his expression faltering slightly. "No reason.”

The words hang between you, fragile but significant. You don’t know how to respond, your heart warring with a mix of emotions—hope, skepticism, confusion.

"Jaeyun," you begin, your voice uncertain, "are you—"

"Don’t read too much into it," he interrupts gently, his gaze shifting away for a moment. "I just… wanted to be here. It’s the least I can do in return for taking care of me last night. That’s all."

You nod slowly, unsure of what to say. It feels like there’s more he isn’t saying, but for now, you let it be.

"Well," you say, clearing your throat to break the tension, "you succeeded. I didn’t think you’d still be here, but you are."

He smiles faintly, the corners of his mouth lifting just enough to make your chest tighten. "Good," he says, his tone soft.

The two of you lapse into silence, the morning light growing brighter as it fills the room. Strangely, the quiet between you isn’t heavy or suffocating—it’s almost comfortable.

And that scares you.

The late morning sun filters through the curtains, casting soft streaks of light across the living room. You’re perched on the couch, a mug of tea warming your hands, and for once, the house doesn’t feel so empty. It’s quiet, but not the cold, distant kind of quiet you’ve grown used to. This quiet feels… peaceful.

Jaeyun is in the kitchen, rummaging through drawers in search of something. The sound of clinking silverware drifts into the living room, and you can’t help but smile faintly at his muffled muttering.

"You’ve been in there for ten minutes," you call out. "What are you looking for?"

"Nothing," he replies, his tone nonchalant, though it’s clear he’s lying.

A moment later, he emerges with a slightly triumphant expression, holding up a mismatched pair of chopsticks. "Found them."

You raise an eyebrow. "Were we missing chopsticks?"

He shrugs, sitting down beside you on the couch. "Apparently. But not anymore."

It’s such a mundane moment, so insignificant in the grand scheme of things, and yet it feels monumental. Jaeyun—your distant, often aloof husband—sitting beside you, chopsticks in hand as if this is the most natural thing in the world.

"So," you say, tilting your head to look at him, "you’re really not going to work today?"

He leans back against the couch, stretching his legs out in front of him. "Called in sick," he says simply.

Your eyes widen slightly. "You did what?"

He glances at you, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "You heard me. Just one day. I figured the world wouldn’t end if I wasn’t at my desk for twenty-four hours."

The admission surprises you more than you’d like to admit. "You? Calling in sick? Are you sure you’re not actually still feverish?"

He chuckles softly, shaking his head. "I just… thought it might be nice to stay home. Spend the day here."

The words are casual, but they hit you with unexpected weight. He doesn’t say it outright, but you can tell he means with you.

The day unfolds in a series of small, quiet moments.

You make lunch together—or rather, you try to make lunch while Jaeyun critiques your cooking with a faint smirk that earns him a flick of flour to the face. He retaliates by stealing a bite of your eggs before it even makes it to your plate.

Later, you find yourselves sitting on the floor, a forgotten deck of cards between you. The game dissolves into laughter when Jaeyun’s competitive streak makes him accuse you of cheating, though you both know he’s just annoyed that you’re winning.

At some point, he drags you to the couch, insisting you watch an old movie he loves. The two of you sit side by side, shoulders brushing, as the black-and-white film flickers across the screen.

The golden hues of sunset stream through the kitchen windows as you both sit at the table, sipping tea after finishing the leftovers from lunch. The warmth of the day still lingers in the air, wrapping around the two of you like a cocoon.

As you lean back in your chair, savoring the moment, Jaeyun suddenly tilts his head, his gaze dropping to your hand.

"Where’s your ring?" he asks, his tone casual, but his eyes sharp.

Your heart skips a beat. The question catches you off guard, and for a moment, you freeze.

"My ring?" you repeat, stalling for time as your mind races.

"Yeah," he says, his gaze still fixed on your bare finger. "You’re always wearing it. Did you take it off for something?"

"I… I must’ve left it in the bathroom," you blurt out, forcing a smile you hope looks convincing. "Probably when I was washing my hands earlier."

He raises an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. "In the bathroom?"

"Yeah," you say quickly, nodding as you avoid his gaze. "I’ll grab it later."

Jaeyun doesn’t say anything for a moment, his eyes lingering on you longer than you’d like. The air feels heavier, and you’re painfully aware of how obvious your lie probably sounds.

Finally, he leans back in his chair, shrugging slightly. "Don’t forget it," he says, his tone light but his words carrying an undertone you can’t quite place.

You nod, forcing yourself to relax. "Of course."

But as the conversation shifts and the moment passes, the weight of his question lingers. You glance down at your hand, at the faint tattoo where your ring should be, and a wave of guilt prickles at the edges of your thoughts.

It’s not like you haven’t taken it off before. In fact, you do it almost every day when you’re at home. It’s become something of a ritual—the first thing you do after stepping through the door. You slip the ring off your finger and leave it somewhere out of sight, free from its weight, if only for a little while.

The cool metal feels foreign against your skin most days, its presence a constant reminder of what your life is—or isn’t. You never think twice about leaving it behind when you’re within these walls. Here, there’s no one to see, no one to judge, no cameras waiting to catch a fleeting moment that could spiral into something scandalous.

When you’re not out and about, it feels pointless to keep it on. The ring, for all its shine, doesn’t mean much in the confines of this house. It’s more for show, a symbol of an agreement carefully constructed to protect your family’s image and his.

Not a promise. Never that.

At least, that’s what you’ve told yourself. The habit of slipping it off has become so second nature, so tied to the quiet rebellion you allow yourself in these small, insignificant moments.

And yet, when Jaeyun notices its absence today, it feels like the weight of it hasn’t truly left you. As if even without wearing it, the ring leaves its mark in more ways than one.

He’s never noticed before—or if he has, he’s never said anything. So why now? Why today, of all days, when things between you feel… different?

Unlike you, he never seems to take it off. It’s always there, snug around his finger, as if it belongs. The sight of it used to annoy you—how he could wear it so easily, without it seeming to weigh him down.

Now, you’re not sure how it makes you feel.

You run your thumb over the faint tattoo on your ring finger, and force yourself to look away. It’s just one day, you remind yourself again.

Just one day where things feel lighter, less complicated.

But you can’t help wondering if Jaeyun’s question meant more than he let on. And you can’t shake the feeling that this small, seemingly insignificant detail might mean more than either of you are ready to admit.

And like every other time you think things might start changing for the better between you and Jaeyun, you’re reminded once again why you don’t hope.

Jaeyun goes back to his old ways, the distance between you returning like a shadow that never truly left. It feels like déjà vu.

You can’t help but wonder how one person can do such a thing—be kind and leave you helplessly yearning for one day, only to completely pretend you don’t exist the next. It’s as if he’s perfected the art of making you feel like you matter, just enough to keep you tethered, before yanking it all away again.

He’s gone before you wake up, and by the time he comes home, it’s well past dinner, the faint smell of his cologne mingling with the crisp air he brings in from the outside world. There’s no more lingering conversations, no more stolen glances or hesitant touches. It’s as though the day you spent together was a dream you woke from too soon.

You try to tell yourself it doesn’t hurt, but it does. Every time he brushes past you without a word, every time his focus remains glued to his phone or laptop instead of on the life you’re supposed to be sharing, it stings.

One evening, as he’s seated at the dining table with his laptop, his face illuminated by the cold, blue glow of the screen, you bring it up.

"There’s a charity gala being held by the Park family this weekend," you say, your tone light, careful. "We’re expected to attend together."

He doesn’t look up, his fingers tapping steadily at the keyboard. "Hmm," he mutters absently, his tone distant.

You suppress a sigh, leaning against the counter. "It’s important, Jaeyun. The Parks have always been close to your family, and you know how much these events matter to them—and to us."

"I’ll see if I can make it," he replies, his eyes never leaving the screen.

"See if you can make it?" you repeat, a note of irritation slipping into your voice. "It’s not a suggestion, Jaeyun. We’re supposed to go together."

He pauses for a fraction of a second before resuming his typing. "I’ll try," he says, his tone flat.

You swallow the lump in your throat, nodding even though he isn’t looking. "Alright," you murmur, retreating to the safety of your room.

But deep down, you already know how it will play out. He won’t come. You’ll stand alone at the gala, wearing a practiced smile while the whispers swirl around you. And when you return home, he’ll have some excuse waiting, polished and hollow, leaving you wondering why you even bother to hope.

And yet, against your better judgment, you do. You hope.

You’d spent hours convincing yourself that he would come, that this time would be different. But as the car pulled up to the venue without him, the weight of the truth settled back onto your shoulders. Of course, he hadn’t come. You knew it was too good to be true.

The Park family’s charity gala is as dazzling as you expected. The grand ballroom is a sea of glittering gowns, tailored suits, and sparkling champagne glasses. Crystal chandeliers cast warm light across the room, illuminating faces that belong to the city’s most influential.

As you make your way through the crowd, trying not to let your disappointment show, you almost immediately feel the weight of eyes on you. 

People glance at the space beside you—empty, conspicuously so. The absence of Jaeyun is louder than any announcement, a glaring reminder of how alone you are in this marriage. 

"She’s here alone again," someone whispers as you pass.

“Where’s Jaeyun?" one woman asks lightly, her tone laced with curiosity.

You hold your head high, your practiced smile in place, though the sting of their words burns beneath your skin. You knew this would happen. You prepared yourself for it. And still, it doesn’t make it any easier.

An hour passes, and you’ve made your way through polite conversations and obligatory greetings. You exchange small talk with acquaintances and pose for photographs, every move calculated to maintain the image of perfection.

And before you know it, you find yourself at the bar, nursing a glass of champagne as the evening drags on. The music is lively, couples twirling across the dance floor, and yet you can’t shake the gnawing feeling of being out of place.

"Mrs. Sim," a warm voice calls out. It’s smooth, familiar, and you turn to see Justin Park standing beside you. The eldest son of the Park family is the picture of charm, his tailored suit impeccable, his smile easy.

"Justin," you greet him with a smile, grateful for the familiarity. "It’s been a while."

"It has," he agrees, taking your hand briefly in his. "I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about us."

You laugh softly, shaking your head. "Never. The Parks throw the best events, after all."

"Flattery will get you everywhere," he teases, his grin widening.

The conversation flows effortlessly, his presence offering a welcome reprieve from the otherwise stifling evening. Justin has always had a way of making people feel at ease, and for the first time tonight, you feel a small sense of relief.

But you’re not oblivious to the glances. You can feel the eyes of the room on you, hear the faint murmurs growing louder as the two of you continue talking. Justin doesn’t seem to notice—or if he does, he doesn’t care.

He takes the seat beside you, signaling for a drink. "No Jaeyun tonight?"

You let out a soft laugh, though there’s no real humour in it. "Work," you say, the excuse slipping off your tongue before you can stop it.

Justin raises an eyebrow, his expression thoughtful. "Work seems to take up a lot of his time."

You glance at him, unsure how to respond. There’s a knowing look in his eyes, but he doesn’t press further. Instead, he shifts the conversation to lighter topics, asking about your family, your thoughts on the gala, your latest endeavours.

But as the conversation continues, you become more and more aware of the glances being cast your way. The whispers. The pointed stares.

It doesn’t take long to piece together what’s happening.

The perfect wife of Sim Jaeyun, left alone at a gala, seen laughing and chatting with Justin Park—eldest son of the host family, no less. The headline practically writes itself.

You excuse yourself politely, leaving Justin with a gracious smile as you slip away to the powder room. Your heart pounds as you grip the edge of the sink, staring at your reflection in the mirror. The whispers have always followed you, but this feels different.

When you return to the ballroom, the tension is palpable. More eyes follow you now, the buzz of speculation almost tangible. You press on, keeping your head high, your composure intact.

But inside, something breaks.

You’d held onto hope, despite everything, that Jaeyun might show up, that he might stand beside you for once, silencing the whispers with his presence. Instead, his absence speaks louder than words ever could.

The night drags on, and by the time you leave, the damage is done.

When you arrive home, the house is dark, just as you expected. Jaeyun’s car is in the driveway, but the silence inside confirms what you already know—he’s here, but he’s not really here.

You find him in his office, his laptop open, his face bathed in the cold glow of the screen.

"You didn’t come," you say, your voice flat as you stand in the doorway.

He glances up briefly, his expression unreadable. "I told you I was busy."

"Busy," you repeat, bitterness creeping into your tone. "You couldn’t even spare one evening? You didn’t even try, did you?”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t respond.

"Do you have any idea what tonight was like for me?" you ask, your voice rising. "Standing there alone while people whispered and stared? While they speculated about my marriage—and about Justin Park?"

At the mention of Justin’s name, Jaeyun’s gaze sharpens, a flicker of something—anger, perhaps—crossing his face.

"Justin?" he asks, his tone clipped.

"Yes, Justin," you snap. "He was kind enough to talk to me while my husband couldn’t even bother to show up."

Jaeyun’s eyes narrow, and for a moment, you think he might actually say something. But then he leans back in his chair, his expression closing off once more. "I’m sure people will find something else to talk about tomorrow."

The dismissal in his tone is the final blow. You shake your head, the weight of the evening crashing down on you.

"Of course," you say softly, your voice trembling. "Why would you care?"

You turn and walk away, the sound of his keyboard clicking resuming as the door closes behind you. In the quiet of your room, you slip off your gown, your hands trembling as you let it pool around your feet.

You knew it was too good to be true. Jaeyun’s warmth, his attention—it was fleeting, a momentary lapse in the distance that defines your marriage. And now, you’re left with the echoes of what might have been, wondering if it was ever real to begin with.

The days following the gala, marked by a heavy, stifling silence that seems to wrap itself around the house. You try to carry on as if nothing has changed, though it’s impossible to ignore the fact that Jaeyun is now home every day.

It’s disorienting. He’s always been someone who thrives on his demanding schedule, constantly in and out, using work as an excuse to avoid the cracks in your marriage.

But now, he’s here—present in a way that feels more like a shadow than a comfort.

You desperately try to avoid him, sticking to your routines with an almost obsessive precision. You spend longer in the kitchen, longer in the guest room you’ve claimed as your own, and shorter stretches of time in shared spaces like the living room. Yet, no matter how hard you try, it’s like his presence lingers everywhere.

In the mornings, you find him in the kitchen, sipping coffee at the island as if he’s always been there. The air is thick with unspoken words as you pour yourself tea, your movements stiff and deliberate. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t acknowledge you beyond a glance, but the weight of his silence is deafening.

At night, it’s worse. You hear him moving about the house, the faint sound of his footsteps stopping and starting as though he’s unsure where to go. It’s as if he’s waiting for you to confront him, to say something—anything—but you don’t. You can’t.

One evening, as you retreat to your room, you notice the door to his office is wide open, the lights dim. You hesitate for a moment, glancing inside, only to find him sitting at his desk, staring blankly at his laptop.

He doesn’t look up, but his voice cuts through the quiet like a blade. "You’re avoiding me."

You freeze, your fingers tightening on the edge of the doorframe. "I’m not avoiding you," you lie, your voice steadier than you feel.

He lets out a dry laugh, though there’s no humour in it. "You’re not very good at lying."

You don’t respond, your pulse quickening as the weight of his gaze finally lifts from the screen and settles on you. His eyes are darker than usual, a storm brewing behind them, but you refuse to let it intimidate you.

"Why are you here all the time now?" you ask abruptly, the question tumbling out before you can stop it. "Are you not needed at the office?"

He leans back in his chair, his expression unreadable. "Maybe I realised I’ve been away too much, I’ve decided to work from home for the time being."

You scoff, shaking your head. "You’ve always been away too much. Why does it matter now?"

For a moment, he doesn’t answer. His gaze lingers on you, searching, as if trying to decide how much to say. "Because you were right," he says finally, his voice quieter but firm. "About a lot of things."

The confession catches you off guard, your carefully constructed walls trembling under the weight of his words.

"And what am I supposed to do with that?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

He exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don’t know. But I’m trying."

You laugh bitterly, stepping back into the hallway. "Trying doesn’t undo what’s already been done, Jaeyun."

"I know," he says softly, almost to himself.

You leave before he can say anything more, retreating to your room and shutting the door behind you. The house falls silent again, but it feels more suffocating than ever.

The knock at the door is sharp, insistent, cutting through the quiet of the night like a blade. You hesitate, your book slipping from your hands onto the couch. 

It’s late—too late for anyone to show up unannounced. The second knock is harder, more aggressive, and the urgency in it sends a chill down your spine.

Jaeyun’s office light is still on, but the house is otherwise silent. You glance down the hallway, half-expecting him to emerge and handle it, but when he doesn’t, you steel yourself and head for the door.

Justin Park stands on your doorstep, his usually composed face marred by a split lip and a bruise darkening his cheek. His suit jacket is gone, his shirt wrinkled and bloodied, and his eyes burn with a fury you’ve never seen before.

You swing the door open, your voice trembling. "Justin? What happened to you?"

He steps inside without waiting for an invitation, his movements stiff and pained. "Where’s your husband?" he snaps, his voice low and dangerous.

"What—what are you talking about?" you stammer, closing the door behind him as he staggers into the living room.

"Get Jaeyun on a leash," he growls, turning to face you. His eyes are blazing, his anger palpable. "Because if this is how he handles things, you’re going to have bigger problems than rumors about us."

You stare at him, your mind struggling to catch up. "Jaeyun? What does he have to do with this?"

Justin lets out a harsh laugh, though there’s no humor in it. He presses a hand to his side, wincing as he moves. "You really don’t know, do you?"

"Your husband sent his men after me," he growls, his voice dripping with anger. "Three of them cornered me at the bar tonight. Told me I needed to stay away from you. When I didn’t back down, they made sure I 'got the message.'"

The blood drains from your face as you take in his bruised cheek, the torn fabric of his shirt. "Jaeyun… he wouldn’t—"

"Wouldn’t he?" Justin snaps, his eyes blazing. "You think he didn’t know exactly what he was doing? He made it very clear who was behind it."

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. This couldn’t be true, could it? Jaeyun, who has spent years pretending you don’t exist, who didn’t even bother to show up at the gala, suddenly cared enough to orchestrate this?

You swallow hard, your hands trembling as you step closer. "Justin, I’m so sorry. I didn’t—"

"Don’t apologise for him," Justin interrupts sharply, his gaze softening slightly as he looks at you. "This isn’t your fault. But you need to talk to him. Make him understand that this isn’t how you fix things."

You nod slowly, your mind spinning. "Let me get you some ice," you say, moving toward the kitchen.

"Don’t bother," Justin says, shaking his head. "I just came to let you know what happened. Whatever you do with this information is up to you."

"Justin—"

"Take care of yourself," he says, cutting you off as he heads toward the door. He pauses, his hand on the doorknob, and glances back at you. "You deserve better than this."

The sound of the door shutting behind Justin reverberates through the house like a final gavel in a court sentencing. You stand frozen, trying to collect yourself, when you hear it—the unmistakable sound of Jaeyun’s footsteps behind you.

"Who was that?" Jaeyun’s voice is calm, almost indifferent, but there’s a sharpness beneath it that makes your skin crawl.

You turn slowly to face him, your anger simmering just beneath the surface. "You already know who it was."

His gaze darkens, his expression unreadable. "And why was he here?"

You scoff, crossing your arms. "Why do you think? He came to show me the bruises your men left on him. Did you send them, Jaeyun?"

Jaeyun doesn’t flinch. Instead, he leans against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. "He needed to understand his place," he says flatly.

"His place?" you echo, your voice rising. "You sent your men to beat him up over a conversation? What’s wrong with you?"

Jaeyun straightens, his eyes flashing. "He was disrespecting our marriage."

You stare at him, stunned for a moment before letting out a bitter laugh. "Disrespecting our marriage? What marriage, Jaeyun? The one you’ve ignored for years? The one you couldn’t even show up to defend at the gala?"

He steps closer, his voice sharp. "Don’t twist this. You were out there talking to him, laughing with him, while people whispered about you. About us."

"Why does it matter to you anyway?" you snap, your anger spilling over. "You don’t see this arrangement as anything more than a convenience. Why do you care if I was talking to Justin or not?"

"Because it reflects on me," he fires back, his voice hard. "On my family. On my name."

You flinch at the bluntness of his words, your chest tightening. "So that’s all this is to you? Image? Reputation?"

He clenches his jaw, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "You don’t understand."

"No," you shoot back, your voice breaking slightly. "I don’t understand. Because you don’t let me. You don’t let me in, Jaeyun. And then you act like you have the right to control me when I’m just trying to survive this sham of a marriage."

His expression falters for a moment, something flickering in his eyes—guilt, regret, anger—but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared.

"You don’t know Justin Park," he says, his tone cold. "Not like I do. It’s best you stay away from him."

"And you think I know you?" you ask, your voice trembling with fury. "Maybe it’s you I should be staying away from."

The words hit him like a slap, and for a moment, he’s silent. The tension between you is suffocating, the weight of everything left unsaid crushing down on both of you.

Finally, he exhales, his voice quieter but no less sharp. "This isn’t about me."

"It’s always about you, Jaeyun," you reply, shaking your head. "Your name. Your image. Your pride. But what about me? What about what I want? Or do I not even factor into this equation anymore?"

His silence is answer enough.

You turn on your heel, your chest tight as you storm down the hallway, leaving him standing there in the suffocating silence. Your footsteps echo through the house, but his don’t follow.

In your room, you sit on the edge of the bed, your hands trembling as you press them against your temples. Justin’s words replay in your mind: You deserve better than this.

And for a moment, you wonder if he’s right.

The thought comes to you slowly, quietly, like the first ripples of a tide that eventually swallows the shore. Divorce. You roll the word around in your mind, tasting its finality, its promise of freedom, and the bitter pang of everything it would mean.

For so long, it felt like an impossible idea, a step too drastic to even consider. You told yourself it wasn’t an option—not with the intertwined fates of your family and Jaeyun’s. Not with the whispers that would follow you for years, the headlines that would smear your name.

But now, as you sit alone in the dim light of your room, the faint murmur of Jaeyun’s movements down the hall a constant reminder of how broken things are, it doesn’t feel impossible anymore.

It feels inevitable.

Your mind drifts back to the last few months, to the endless cycle of hope and disappointment. For every fleeting moment of warmth from Jaeyun, there’s a cold wall waiting to slam back down, leaving you questioning your worth, your sanity.

You deserve better than this.

Do you?

The idea both frightens and exhilarates you. To walk away, to sever the ties that have bound you for so long, feels like a leap into the unknown. What would your life look like without Jaeyun? Without the expectations and pretenses that have consumed you?

Your thoughts turn to your family. You know the sacrifices they made, the desperation that led to this marriage in the first place. For so long, you told yourself you couldn’t leave because they needed you to stay. But now, with their business stable and the weight of the Sim family’s influence less critical than it once was, you wonder if you’ve been clinging to that excuse simply because it’s easier than facing the truth.

The truth is, you’ve been afraid. Afraid of the fallout, of the shame, of the unknown. Afraid that walking away would mean admitting failure—not just to your family or society, but to yourself.

But as you sit there, the faint hum of the world outside filtering through the window, you realise something else: staying is its own kind of failure.

You press your hands to your face, breathing deeply as you let the thought settle over you. Divorce. It feels heavy, like a word too big for your chest to hold, but also strangely freeing.

You don’t make the decision tonight. But for the first time, you allow yourself to think about it, to imagine a life where the weight of this marriage is lifted, where you can breathe freely again.

But while the thought of it doesn’t feel impossible, it doesn’t feel like hope either.

Not the kind of hope you would feel when the coldness between you and Jaeyun would melt for a day or two, his rare gestures of warmth thawing the ice between you before it inevitably froze over again. Not the kind of hope you would feel when you allowed yourself to dream of a happy marriage with him, only to wake up to the nightmare of its absence.

This doesn’t feel like hope.

It feels like resignation. A quiet acceptance of the reality you’ve been avoiding for years. But even as the word divorce lingers in your mind, whispering promises of freedom and relief, there’s something else that you can’t seem to ignore.

Even after everything—after the indifference, the distance, the way he treats you like an afterthought—you can’t deny the feeling that has rooted itself so stubbornly in your chest.

You love him.

It feels absurd, almost laughable, to admit it even to yourself. How could you love someone who has hurt you so thoroughly, someone who has made you feel invisible in a marriage that he vowed to protect? And yet, the truth is undeniable.

You love him.

You love him in the quiet moments when his mask slips, and he shows glimpses of the man you thought he could be. You love him in the memories of the rare times he made you feel seen, however fleeting they were. You even love him in the ache of longing, in the endless hope that maybe, just maybe, he’ll come back to you in the way you’ve always wanted him to.

It’s maddening. It’s painful. And it’s real.

The thought makes your chest tighten, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. How can you even think of divorce when your heart refuses to let go? When a part of you still clings to the idea that something salvageable remains between you?

You press your fingers to your temple, willing the thoughts to quiet, but they don’t. Instead, they linger, heavy and unrelenting, as the faint sounds of Jaeyun moving about the house reach your ears.

You love him. Despite everything. And maybe that’s the worst part of all.

You decide that you’ll never be able to come to a conclusion as long as you’re stuck in this house, surrounded by everything that reminds you of him. The walls feel like they’re closing in, every corner holding fragments of a life you’re not sure you can continue living. His cologne lingering in the hallways, the faint indent of his weight on the sofa, the silent hum of his presence—all of it suffocates you.

So, you do the only thing you can think of. You pack your bags.

You don’t give yourself time to overthink it. A small overnight bag is enough; you don’t even care if you’ve forgotten something. The urgency to leave, to breathe, to escape the weight of him, pushes you forward.

You don’t bother texting or calling Wonyoung or Sunghoon first. She’s your best friend and he’s your brother. You trust that they’ll understand. Frankly, you don’t care if you’re interrupting something. You just want out of this house.

When you step out into the cool evening air, the weight on your chest lifts ever so slightly. You pull your coat tighter around you and get into the car, gripping the steering wheel as if it’s the only thing anchoring you.

The drive to Wonyoung’s is a blur, the city lights flashing past your windows like fleeting memories. You don’t know what you’re going to say when you arrive, but you trust that she’ll take one look at you and know. She always does.

Your grip tightens on the steering wheel, knuckles white as you try to focus on the road and not the storm brewing inside your mind. But as you take a glance at your rear-view mirror, a flicker of unease slithers into your chest.

The car behind you has been following you for far too long.

At first, you brush it off as coincidence. It’s a city, after all, and traffic can be unpredictable. But the longer you drive, the more you notice the pattern. Every turn you make, every lane change—it mirrors your moves with eerie precision.

Your chest tightens, and your breath comes a little faster. You test the waters, making an abrupt turn onto a side street. The car behind you follows.

Panic starts to creep in, and your mind races with possibilities. Who would follow you? And why?

Your foot presses harder on the accelerator, your heart pounding as the car behind you matches your speed. You weave through the streets, your mind screaming for clarity, for an explanation. But none comes. The only thing that matters is the need to escape.

As you merge onto a less busy road, the car behind you inches closer, its headlights glaring in your rear-view mirror like eyes boring into your soul. You push the accelerator to the floor, the speedometer climbing as your car barrels down the road.

The high-speed chase feels endless, your pulse a deafening roar in your ears. You barely register the turns you’re making, the streets blurring together as you fight to stay ahead. But in your desperation, you take a corner too sharply.

The car swerves, tires screeching against the asphalt. The world tilts as your vehicle careens off the road, smashing into a lamppost with a bone-jarring impact.

Everything goes quiet.

Your head throbs, the airbag deflating in front of you. Smoke wafts from the crumpled hood, and your vision swims as you try to make sense of what’s happening. Before you can gather your thoughts, the sound of approaching footsteps snaps you to attention.

You fumble with your seatbelt, panic surging as the car door wrenches open. A figure looms over you, silhouetted against the harsh glow of the headlights.

"Let’s go," a voice growls, low and urgent.

Before you can react, strong hands grip your arm, dragging you from the wreckage. You kick and thrash, your protests muffled by the haze of adrenaline and the ache radiating through your body.

"Stop fighting," the voice snaps, and you freeze, recognition dawning.

"Justin?" you rasp, your voice hoarse and disbelieving.

He doesn’t answer, his grip on your arm tightening as he pulls you toward a waiting car parked just behind yours.

"What are you doing?" you demand, trying to resist despite the pounding in your head.

"Saving you," he bites out, his tone cold and unrelenting. "From yourself and from him."

The words send a chill down your spine, confusion and fear swirling in your chest. "What are you talking about? Let me go!"

But Justin doesn’t falter. He opens the car door and all but shoves you inside before sliding into the driver’s seat and locking the doors.

"You don’t get it, do you?" he says, his voice quieter but no less intense. "You’re a pawn in his game, and he’s not going to let you go. Not unless someone forces his hand."

The engine roars to life, and the car speeds off, leaving the wreckage—and your sense of safety—far behind.

"Justin, what are you doing?" you whisper, your voice trembling as the weight of the situation presses down on you.

He glances at you briefly, his eyes dark and unreadable. "Making sure you don’t go back to him."

Panic bubbles up in your chest, and you realise this night is far from over.

The warehouse is cold, damp, and utterly silent except for the faint hum of fluorescent lights flickering overhead. Your wrists ache from where Justin had bound them to the chair, though he’d been careful not to make it too tight—almost as if he wanted to justify this madness to himself.

He paces in front of you, his movements restless, his face a storm of emotions. His disheveled appearance is a far cry from the polished, composed man you’d spoken to at the gala. Now, he looks unhinged, his sharp gaze flickering between intensity and something softer that makes your stomach churn.

"Why are you doing this, Justin?" you demand, your voice trembling but resolute. "What do you want from me?"

He stops abruptly, turning to face you. His lips twitch into a faint, humourless smile. "This isn’t about what I want," he says quietly. "This is about what’s right."

You scoff, your anger surging despite the fear gnawing at you. "Right? You call kidnapping me right? You’re delusional."

He doesn’t flinch at your words, instead crouching down to your level, his eyes boring into yours. "You don’t understand, do you?" he says softly, almost pityingly. "You’re a pawn in a much bigger game. Jaeyun’s game."

"And what does that make me in your game, Justin?" you snap, your voice sharp.

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t look away. "I’m not playing games," he insists. "I’m trying to show you the truth. Jaeyun doesn’t care about you—he never has. To him, you’re just another piece on the board, someone to control and manipulate to his advantage."

You glare at him, your hands gripping the edge of the chair. "And you think you’re any better? You think dragging me here, tying me up, and ranting about Jaeyun makes you some kind of saviour?"

His face darkens, and for a moment, you see a flicker of something—regret, perhaps, or guilt. "I’m trying to free you from him," he says, his voice low.

"Free me?" you laugh bitterly, shaking your head. "Stop treating me as your moral compass. You know damn well this has nothing to do with saving me. You just want to use me to get back at Jaeyun."

Justin’s expression falters, his composure cracking. He stands abruptly, running a hand through his hair as he begins pacing again.

"It’s not like that," he mutters, more to himself than to you.

"Then what is it, Justin?" you press, your voice trembling with both anger and exhaustion. "Because this isn’t about me. This is about you and Jaeyun. And your obsession with him."

He stops pacing, his back to you. For a long moment, he says nothing, the silence stretching between you like a taut wire. Then, he speaks, his voice quieter, almost reflective.

"Jaeyun and I… we’ve been at this for years," he admits, his tone tinged with something bitter. "University. Work. Every step of the way, we’ve competed. Top marks, top internships, top investments. And every time I get close, he finds a way to edge me out."

You stare at him, your mind racing to process his words.

"Do you know how frustrating it is to always be second to someone who doesn’t even care?" he continues, his voice rising. "He doesn’t care about the people he steps on, the lives he ruins. He just takes. He took everything from me—and now he’s taken you too."

"Taken me?" you echo, incredulous. "This isn’t some prize to win, Justin. I’m a person, not a trophy for your petty rivalry."

He turns to face you again, his expression hard. "You don’t understand. He doesn’t deserve you. He doesn’t even see what he has."

"And you think you do?" you snap. "You’re not trying to save me, Justin. You’re trying to hurt him."

Justin’s pacing grows more erratic, his voice rising as he spits out his frustrations. "He never cared about you," he snaps, his tone dripping with venom. "Sending men to beat me up because he can’t even do it himself! Everything he does is about rubbing it in my face."

You flinch at the bitterness in his words, your breath catching as the room seems to grow colder.

"He couldn’t even be bothered to show up at the gala," Justin continues, his voice cracking with anger. "But the moment he thinks I’ve crossed some invisible line, he sends his dogs after me. And you think that’s about you? No. It’s about me. About proving he’s one step ahead, always in control."

"You’re wrong," you say, your voice trembling.

"Am I?" he counters, his eyes narrowing as he stares at you. "Think about it, Y/N. Think about the way he treats you. The way he treats everyone. You’re just a piece on his board, another way for him to win."

You shake your head, tears stinging your eyes. "You don’t know that."

"I know him better than you ever could," Justin growls, stepping closer. "I’ve seen it. I’ve lived it. Every move he makes, every decision—it’s all calculated. And this? Sending men after me? That wasn’t about protecting you. That was about humiliating me."

You bite your lip, refusing to let his words burrow deeper. "And what about you, Justin? Are you any better? You’ve tied me to this chair, dragged me into this mess, and you’re standing here acting like you’re doing me some kind of favour."

"I’m trying to show you the truth," he snaps, his tone raw.

"No," you say firmly, your voice shaking with a mix of fear and fury. "You’re trying to one-up Jaeyun. This isn’t about me, and it never was. You’re just as obsessed with beating him as you claim he is with controlling you."

His expression falters for a moment, a flicker of guilt passing through his eyes. But then he clenches his jaw, his resolve hardening. "I’m not like him," he insists, though his voice lacks its earlier conviction.

"Then prove it," you say, meeting his gaze head-on. "Let me go."

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, you think he might actually listen. But then he shakes his head, turning away from you.

"Not yet," he murmurs, almost to himself. "Not until I’ve made my point."

You swallow hard, your chest tightening as the reality of the situation sinks in. Justin isn’t going to let you go—not until he’s done whatever it is he’s convinced himself he needs to do.

His fingers move swiftly over your phone, the glow of the screen illuminating his face. "I’ll show you exactly how little you mean to him. When he comes, he won’t even bat an eye at you. It’ll all be about him—his pride, his control, his need to be the one in charge."

Your stomach twists, and you tug at the restraints on your wrists, panic building in your chest. "Justin, stop this."

He ignores your protests, holding the phone up so you can see the screen. He snaps a picture of you—bound to the chair, your face pale with fear—and then types out a message.

You: You want her back? Come and get her.

You watch helplessly as he hits send, the message shooting off to Jaeyun.

"You’re insane," you hiss, struggling against the bindings. "This won’t prove anything."

"It’ll prove everything," Justin says, his smirk widening. "You’ll see. When he shows up, it won’t be about you. It’ll be about him. About showing me up. About proving he’s the better man."

"You don’t know that," you snap, though your voice wavers.

"I know him better than you think," Justin says, his tone calm and measured. "He won’t even look at you properly. He won’t ask if you’re okay. He’ll only care about putting me in my place."

Your chest tightens, and for a moment, you’re not sure what to believe. The man in front of you is unhinged, but his words strike a chord of doubt you can’t entirely ignore.

Justin steps back, his confidence radiating as he pockets his phone. "You’ll see soon enough," he says simply. "And when he comes, when he proves me right, you’ll finally understand who Jaeyun really is."

You glare at him, your heart pounding as you pull against the bindings. "You’re delusional," you spit.

"Am I?" he asks, his smirk unwavering.

The room falls into a tense silence, the weight of his words hanging over you like a dark cloud. You can only pray that he’s wrong, that Jaeyun will come—not because of pride or rivalry, but because somewhere, buried deep within his frozen heart, there’s a small warmth that still holds you in it.

But as the minutes tick by, the doubt Justin planted in your mind begins to grow.

The memories swirl in your mind, colliding with Justin’s words like pieces of a puzzle you wish didn’t fit. You’ve always told yourself that Jaeyun’s indifference was a defence mechanism, a way to protect himself from something deeper. But what if it wasn’t? What if Justin is right, and everything you’ve clung to was just wishful thinking?

"You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?" Justin’s voice cuts through your thoughts, smug and sharp. He leans against the wall, arms crossed, watching you with a knowing look. "Wondering if I’m right. Wondering if he’ll even come."

"Shut up," you snap, though your voice lacks its usual strength.

"I don’t blame you," he says, shrugging. "He’s made you doubt yourself. Doubt him. That’s what he does, Y/N. He keeps you just close enough to keep you hoping, but not close enough to let you in. And when he does come, it’s never for you. It’s for himself."

You shake your head, refusing to let him poison your mind any further. "You don’t know what you’re talking about."

"Don’t I?" he counters, raising an eyebrow. "Then why are you here, Y/N? Why aren’t you at home with a husband who loves and protects you? Why are you the one who always has to wonder if you even matter to him?"

Tears sting your eyes, but you blink them away, refusing to let him see you break. "You’re only saying this because of your hatred for him. You don’t care about me. You’re just as bad as him."

Justin’s smirk fades, his jaw tightening. "Maybe I am," he admits. "But at least I’m honest about it. Can you say the same for him?"

The sound of your phone buzzing on the table snaps both of you to attention. Justin picks it up, glancing at the screen with a satisfied grin.

"Looks like he got my message," he says, holding up the phone so you can see Jaeyun’s reply: 

Jaeyun: Where is she?

Jaeyun: Fucking bastard, I swear if you so lay a single finger on her I’m going to kill you.

Justin tosses the phone back onto the table and crosses the room to face you. "This is it," he says, his voice dripping with confidence. "When he gets here, you’ll see exactly what I’ve been trying to tell you."

You swallow hard, your heart pounding as the weight of the situation sinks in. The doubt, the fear, the flicker of hope you can’t quite extinguish—it all swirls together as you wait for the man you’ve spent years trying to understand to finally show his hand.

The silence in the warehouse is shattered by the sharp screech of tyres outside, the deafening sound of a car coming to an abrupt halt. Justin’s smirk falters slightly, though he quickly masks it, his eyes darting to the door.

Moments later, it bursts open with a crash, and Jaeyun strides in, his suit dishevelled, his tie loosened as if he’d rushed to get here. His eyes immediately scan the room, landing on you—bound, frightened, but alive. His expression hardens, the sharpness in his gaze like a blade cutting through the tension.

“Let her go,” Jaeyun growls, his voice low and dangerous.

Justin steps forward, placing himself between you and Jaeyun, his smirk widening again as if to taunt him. “So predictable,” Justin sneers. “You just couldn’t resist, could you? I knew you’d come running.”

“I’m warning you, Justin,” Jaeyun snaps, his fists clenched at his sides. “Let her go.”

Justin chuckles, shaking his head. “You think this is about her? It’s always been about us. About showing you that you’re not invincible, that you’re not always in control.”

“Is that what this is?” Jaeyun spits, his voice rising. “A desperate attempt to prove something to yourself? You’re pathetic.”

Justin’s expression darkens, and he steps closer to Jaeyun, his movements quick and aggressive. “Pathetic? You’re the one who couldn’t even be bothered to care about her until now! Don’t act like you’re some hero. You don’t even love her.”

“You have no idea what I feel for her.” Jaeyun bites back, his voice trembling with restrained fury.

The words hang in the air, and for a moment, Justin seems taken aback. But then he scoffs, his confidence returning. “Words, Sim. Just words. But actions always speak louder.”

Before you can process what’s happening, Justin lunges, his fist aimed directly at Jaeyun. The sound of the impact is sickening, Jaeyun stumbling back as blood trickles from the corner of his mouth. But he doesn’t back down.

“You think this will prove anything?” Jaeyun snaps, his voice filled with fire as he ducks under Justin’s next swing. “You’re nothing but a coward hiding behind your jealousy!”

Justin lets out a roar of frustration, his movements becoming more erratic as Jaeyun deflects blow after blow. It’s brutal. You scream, your voice echoing as you plead for them to stop, but neither man listens.

The room is a whirlwind of chaos, with fists flying and grunts of effort and pain filling the air. Justin’s confidence is beginning to waver as Jaeyun fights back with an intensity that you’ve never seen before. But the tide turns when Justin grabs a metal pipe from the corner of the warehouse, his face twisted with rage.

“Stay back!” Jaeyun growls, shielding you as Justin brandishes the weapon.

Justin’s laugh is bitter, almost maniacal. “Stay back? You think you can protect her, Jaeyun? You can’t even protect yourself.”

Before you can register what’s happening, Justin’s attention shifts to you. His gaze sharpens, his grip on the pipe tightening as he steps forward.

“Maybe she’s the problem,” Justin sneers, his voice low and menacing. “Maybe I need to remind you what’s really at stake.”

Your heart stops as Justin raises the pipe, his body coiling to strike. Panic floods your veins, your voice breaking as you scream, “Justin, no!”

But the blow never lands.

In an instant, Jaeyun moves, throwing himself in front of you just as Justin swings the pipe downward. The sickening sound of metal meeting flesh reverberates through the warehouse, and Jaeyun staggers, a sharp cry escaping his lips.

“Jaeyun!” you scream, your voice raw with terror as he crumples to one knee, his arm instinctively clutching his side where the pipe struck. You struggle against the bindings, the rough material sinking deeper into your skin the more you tug on it.

You’re helpless, watching the man you love cradle in pain at your feet.

Justin stumbles back, momentarily stunned by what just happened. The pipe slips from his grasp, clattering to the floor with a metallic clang. “Why would you—?” Justin begins, his voice faltering.

Jaeyun doesn’t waste another second. Summoning the last of his strength, he lunges forward, delivering a final, powerful punch that sends Justin sprawling to the floor.

The room falls silent except for the sound of Jaeyun’s laboured breathing. He stumbles towards you, his movements unsteady but determined. “Are you okay?” he asks, his voice hoarse as he kneels to untie the ropes, his eyes scanning you for any sign of injury.

Tears blur your vision as you nod, your heart pounding in your chest. “You’re hurt,” you whisper, your hands trembling as you reach for him.

“I’m fine,” he mutters, though the wince that follows says otherwise.

Justin groans from the floor, trying to push himself up. “This doesn’t change anything,” he sneers weakly. “You don’t care about her. This was about beating me, as always.”

Jaeyun doesn’t even glance his way. Instead, he cups your face gently, his eyes searching yours. “Are you hurt?” he asks softly, his voice trembling with something you can’t quite place.

“N-No,” you stammer, overwhelmed by the intensity of his gaze.

“Good,” he breathes a sigh of relief, his thumb brushing a tear from your cheek. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner.”

Justin’s laugh is bitter and broken. “Still pretending to be the noble husband, I see. How long can you keep up the act, Jaeyun?”

Jaeyun turns to him, his expression cold and unyielding. “This isn’t about you, Justin. It never was. You wanted to prove I don’t care about her, but you’re wrong. She’s the only thing I care about.”

The words hit you like a tidal wave, your breath catching as the weight of them sinks in.

Justin stares at Jaeyun, his confidence finally cracking as the realisation dawns. He’s lost—not just the fight, but the twisted narrative he tried to build.

Jaeyun helps you to your feet, his arm wrapping around your waist as he steadies you. “We’re leaving,” he says firmly, leading you towards the door without sparing Justin another glance.

As the warehouse disappears behind you, the cold night air hits your face, and for the first time in what feels like hours, you can breathe again.

“Jaeyun…” you begin, your voice trembling as he helps you into the car.

“I’ll explain everything,” he says, his tone soft but resolute. “But first, let’s get you home.”

And as the car pulls away, you realise that for once, you believe him.

The drive home is silent, except for the hum of the engine and the shallow breaths Jaeyun tries to control. You steal glances at him from the passenger seat, your heart twisting at the sight of him wincing with every turn of the wheel. His shirt is stained with blood, his knuckles bruised and swollen, but his grip on the wheel is steady, determined.

“Jaeyun,” you whisper, your voice cutting through the tension.

He doesn’t take his eyes off the road, but his jaw tightens slightly. “I told you, I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” you argue softly, your hands wringing in your lap. “You need to see a doctor. Your ribs—”

“We’ll deal with it later,” he interrupts, his tone firm but not unkind. “Right now, I just need to get you somewhere safe.”

The word safe settles heavily in your chest, and you’re not sure if it means the house you share or simply being by his side.

As you pull into the driveway, the reality of the night crashes over you. The headlights flick off, leaving you both sitting in the dark, the faint sound of crickets filling the air. You hesitate, unsure of what to say or how to move forward.

Jaeyun breaks the silence first. “Let’s get inside,” he says, his voice softer now, almost gentle.

You follow him to the door, his movements slower and more careful than usual. Once inside, he collapses onto the couch with a heavy sigh, leaning back and closing his eyes as if the weight of the world has finally caught up with him.

“Let me clean you up,” you say, your voice trembling as you move towards the kitchen to grab the first aid kit.

“You don’t have to,” he murmurs, but the exhaustion in his voice tells you he won’t fight it.

When you return, kneeling beside him, he opens his eyes and watches you silently. You avoid his gaze as you press a damp cloth to the cut above his eyebrow, your hands trembling slightly.

The room is quiet now, save for the faint hum of the fridge and the soft rustling of your movements as you clean Jaeyun’s wounds. His eyes remain fixed on you, studying every flicker of emotion across your face. He winces slightly as you dab a cut on his temple, but he doesn’t pull away.

You break the silence first, your voice trembling but resolute. “Why did you really come tonight, Jaeyun?”

He exhales deeply, the tension in his shoulders visible as he leans back against the couch. “You know why,” he says softly.

“No, I don’t,” you reply, setting the cloth down. “I don’t know why, I never know why. So, please, talk to me.” Your voice falters, the weight of the night catching up with you.

“I couldn’t let him hurt you,” Jaeyun replies simply, his eyes fixed on you. “It wasn’t even a question.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your throat tighten. You pause, your hand hovering over the cloth as you finally meet his gaze. “Why?” you whisper. “Why now? After everything? You’ve spent so much time pushing me away, avoiding me like I’m some kind of plague. And then tonight…” 

His jaw tightens, and he looks away, his expression unreadable. “I’ve been avoiding you because it’s the only way I could keep you safe.”

Your brow furrows, confusion mixing with frustration. “Safe? Safe from what?”

“From me,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “From my life. From the kind of man I am.”

You freeze, the confession hanging heavy in the air. “What are you talking about?”

Jaeyun leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he clasps his hands together. “I’m not a good person, Y/N. I never have been. In business, in life, I do what needs to be done. I act with consequences in mind, and I don’t regret it. But that means I’ve made enemies—people like Justin, who would do anything to see me fail.”

You stare at him, your chest tightening as the pieces begin to fall into place.

“Justin isn’t the first person who’s tried to get to me through someone I care about,” he continues, his voice steady but filled with a quiet anguish. “He won’t be the last. And the thought of you being dragged into that—being hurt because of me—is something I couldn’t, and still can’t handle. So I distanced myself. I thought it would protect you.”

You shake your head, your voice rising with disbelief. “So you thought ignoring me, shutting me out, was the answer? Do you have any idea how that made me feel? How lonely it’s been, living in this house with someone who acts like I don’t even exist?”

His eyes snap to yours, and you see a crack in his armour. “I know,” he says, his voice breaking slightly. “I know I hurt you. And I hated myself for it every single day. But I didn’t know what else to do. Loving you—it feels like giving you a loaded gun and hoping you don’t get hurt because of it.”

The words hit you like a tidal wave, leaving you breathless. “Loving me?” you echo, your voice trembling.

Jaeyun nods, his gaze unwavering. “Yes,” he says firmly. “Loving you, Y/N. Keeping my distance was the only way I know that I’m capable of loving you. Because I know you deserve better than me—better than the life your parents and I have dragged you into.”

His words hit you like a blow to the chest, the rawness of his confession cutting through every wall you’ve built. You stare at him, your breath catching as the weight of his emotions settles over you.

The cold distance, the avoidance, the rare moments of tenderness—it all makes sense now, in the most heartbreaking way.

“You think loving me means pushing me away?” you whisper, your voice trembling with a mixture of anger and heartbreak. “Don’t you think I should get to decide what I deserve?” 

He looks at you, his expression filled with regret and longing. “I didn’t want to be selfish,” he says quietly. “I didn’t want to keep you in a life where you’d always be a target, always be second to the chaos I bring. But tonight—” His voice breaks, and he takes a shaky breath. “seeing you like that, knowing Justin had you—I couldn’t… I couldn’t stand the thought of losing you. Not like that. Not ever.”

Jaeyun looks down, his hands clenching into fists on his knees. He’s crying now—fully, uncontrollably crying. “I didn’t want to hurt you,” he murmurs, his voice trembling. “But I didn’t know how to keep you safe without hurting you either…”

You stay quiet, mostly because you don’t even know what to say. Part of you understands Jaeyun did what he thought was right, that he truly believed he was protecting you. But another part of you is just so angry—angry at the thought that he didn’t trust you enough to make decisions for yourself, angry that he acted as though he alone could determine what was best for you.

But as you look at him now, shoulders hunched, tears streaming down his face, and barely able to catch his breath as he speaks, you falter. You see the pain etched into every line of his face, the raw anguish in his voice, and you know it hurt him as much as—maybe even more than—it hurt you.

When you don’t respond for a long moment, Jaeyun exhales deeply, his breath shaky and uneven. “I wanted you to leave me on your own,” he admits, his voice breaking, “because I knew I could never leave you. But you were so stubborn. You stayed. Even after everything, you stayed.”

His words hit you like a blow to the chest, striking a nerve you didn’t even know was exposed. The trembling vulnerability in his voice, the quiet admission of his fears, cuts through your anger and replaces it with something else—something raw, aching, and painfully bittersweet.

“You stayed,” he repeats, his voice barely a whisper, as though he still can’t quite believe it. “Even when I gave you every reason to walk away. Even when I hurt you. And I couldn’t understand why.”

“Do you want to know why I stayed?” you ask, your own voice trembling now as you search his face for the answers he’s yet to give.

He nods, his tear-filled eyes meeting yours, wide and filled with uncertainty.

“Honestly, I’ve been running away from this feeling, from this truth that I was never ready to face,” you begin, your voice wavering but steady enough to push through. “And that is, despite everything—despite every bone, every nerve in my body telling me to stop doing this to myself—I hoped. I hoped that you’d prove me wrong one day. I hoped that if I stayed long enough, maybe you’d stop pushing me away and let me in.”

Jaeyun flinches, his expression crumpling under the weight of your words. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his voice cracking as fresh tears spill over.

The silence that follows is heavy, thick with tension, the air between you charged with everything unsaid. His hands twitch at his sides, as though he wants to reach for you but can’t quite bring himself to do it. The hesitation in his movements is almost palpable.

“I thought if you hated me,” he says finally, his voice low and pained, “it would be easier for you to walk away. But you didn’t hate me. You never gave up. And that scared me more than anything.”

Your voice trembles as you stare at him, the weight of the moment pressing heavily on your chest. “I do hate you,” you admit, the words falling like stones between you. “So much.”

Jaeyun flinches as though you’ve struck him, his breath hitching, and for a moment, he looks like he’s bracing himself for more. But you’re not finished.

“But loving you…” Your voice cracks, and you take a shaky breath, blinking away the tears that blur your vision. “Loving you hurts more than hating you.”

His head snaps up, his wide, tear-filled eyes locking onto yours. The vulnerability in his gaze mirrors your own, and the silence that follows is deafening.

“I’ve tried,” you continue, your voice breaking under the weight of your emotions. “I’ve tried to hate you, to tell myself that it’s easier, that it’s what I should feel after everything. But it isn’t. Because no matter how much you’ve hurt me, no matter how much I’ve wanted to walk away, I can’t stop loving you. And that… that’s what hurts the most.”

Jaeyun’s breath shudders, and for a moment, he doesn’t move. You can see the hesitation in his movements, the way his hands twitch at his sides as if he’s fighting the urge to reach for you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers again, his voice trembling. “For all of it. For every time I hurt you, every time I pushed you away when all you ever did was stay.”

Your heart clenches at the rawness in his tone, the vulnerability he’s finally letting you see. You take a small step forward, the distance between you shrinking, and for the first time, you see the cracks in his carefully constructed walls crumble entirely.

“You don’t have to apologise anymore,” you say softly, your voice trembling with emotion. “Just… don’t make me regret staying.”

Then, as if something inside him snaps, he steps closer, his trembling hands reaching out to cup your face. “I won’t,,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “I swear to you, I’ll do everything in my power to make sure I never give you a reason to hate me again.”

Before you can say anything else, Jaeyun closes the remaining distance between you. His arms wrap around you, tentative at first, as though he’s afraid you’ll push him away. But when you don’t, when you melt into his embrace, his hold tightens. Even with the searing pain in his ribs, he presses his body against yours as though he’s terrified of letting you go.

The warmth of his touch is overwhelming, and you bury your face in his chest, your fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt. His heartbeat is erratic against your cheek, mirroring the rapid pounding of your own.

You tilt your head up to look at him, your breath catching as you see the intensity in his gaze. His eyes are filled with something you’ve longed to see—love, raw and unguarded. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear that had escaped.

“I don’t deserve you,” he says softly, his voice thick with emotion.

“Maybe not,” you reply, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “But I’m still here.”

He leans in slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. But you don’t. You meet him halfway, your lips pressing against his in a kiss that is as tentative as it is electrifying.

The world seems to fall away as his lips move against yours, soft and searching, as though he’s pouring every unspoken word, every buried emotion, into this one moment. His hand slides to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as the kiss deepens, a mixture of desperation and relief in the way he holds you.

When you finally pull away, breathless and overwhelmed, his forehead rests against yours. “I love you,” he whispers, his voice steady despite the emotion trembling beneath it.

The words hang in the air, soft but weighty, like a promise long overdue.

You nod, your fingers brushing against his cheek as you smile softly. Hearing those three words from him is something you never thought would happen, something you’d almost given up hoping for.

They settle in your chest, filling the void that had been carved out by years of distance and pain. And yet, they don’t feel fleeting or uncertain. They feel real.

“I love you too,” you whisper back, the confession spilling from your lips without hesitation.

His arms tighten around you, as though anchoring himself to you, and in that moment, the weight of the past begins to fall away. It doesn’t erase the hurt, the scars, or the battles you’ve fought, but it lays the foundation for something new.

Something worth hoping for, worth holding onto.

The morning sunlight streams through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the bedroom. The faint chirping of birds filters through the open window, blending with the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze. You stir beneath the covers, blinking against the golden light, and instinctively reach out.

Your hand brushes against Jaeyun’s, and his fingers wrap around yours reflexively. A soft smile spreads across your face as you realise he’s already awake, propped up on one elbow, his gaze fixed on you.

“Good morning,” he murmurs, his voice low and warm, carrying a hint of amusement as if he’s caught you in a rare, unguarded moment.

You smile, the simple greeting filling the room with a kind of light you hadn’t felt in years. “Good morning,” you reply, your fingers brushing against the wedding ring that now sits firmly on your finger—a symbol that, finally, feels like it truly means something.

Jaeyun leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “You looked peaceful,” he says, his fingers brushing your cheek. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

You laugh softly, resting your hand on his chest. “You can’t just watch me sleep, Jaeyun. That’s… mildly creepy.”

His laugh rumbles in his chest, a sound you’ve come to treasure. “Fair point,” he admits, his eyes sparkling.

“Do you have any plans today?” he asks, shifting closer, his arm slipping around your waist as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You shake your head, laughing softly. “Not unless you count breakfast.”

He grins, the boyish charm you rarely saw before now shining through. “I was hoping we could spend the day doing nothing. Just… being here. Together.”

You nod, the simplicity of the suggestion warming you. “I’d like that.”

The morning unfolds with quiet moments that feel extraordinary in their ordinariness—Jaeyun making coffee, you teasing him about burning the toast, laughter filling the kitchen as you both try to perfect pancakes. It’s these moments, you realise, that make a life worth living. Not grand gestures or elaborate plans, but the small, quiet ways you choose each other every day.

As the day stretches on, you find yourselves curled up on the sofa, your head resting on his shoulder while his fingers absentmindedly trace patterns along your arm. The television hums in the background, forgotten as you both bask in the peace you fought so hard to find.

The man beside you now isn’t the distant, closed-off Jaeyun you once knew. He’s present, attentive, and more open than you ever thought possible. It wasn’t an overnight change, that’s for sure. But somewhere along the way, you both chose to stop running—from yourselves, from each other, and from the future you could build together.

What you have now feels special, priceless. You wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world. You’ve learned, through pain and healing, that happiness doesn’t come from wealth or success. True happiness comes from love.

The kind of love that makes you giddy inside.

The kind of love you once believed only existed in fairy tales.

The kind of love that everyone seeks but few find.

The kind of love you’ve found with him.

They say if he’s not calling, it’s because you’re not on his mind. Once, you believed that. You let it eat away at you, let it shape your every thought, every quiet moment when his absence felt louder than words. You told yourself his silence was a choice, that his excuses were just another way to say you didn’t matter enough.

But now, sitting beside him as the evening light filters through the curtains, his hand resting over yours, you realise how wrong you were—not about the hurt, not about the cracks that formed between you, but about what lay beneath them. He wasn’t running because you didn’t matter. He was running because you mattered too much. And it took breaking everything apart for you both to understand how to rebuild it.

Your gaze falls to the tattoo on your ring finger, a faint mark that once felt like a brand tethering you to emptiness. It’s still there, as permanent as the scars this marriage once bore. But now, it’s different. It’s not a reminder of disappointment or neglect, not a mark of the silence that stretched between you. It’s a symbol of endurance, of a love that’s messy and flawed but undeniably real.

But you’ve learned that love isn’t about perfection. It’s about showing up, about facing the hard truths and still choosing to stay.

“Busy” may have once been his excuse. But now, “always” is his answer.

Always.

Copyright© 2024 thatfeelinwhenyou All Rights Reserved

[honnelander]

go fish! part 2

guyssss i did NOT expect this little series to blow up. y'all are amazing! i'm turning into a Sanji writing blog and am i mad about it? no lmao i received a couple of requests and i'll work on them as soon as i can. i'm really in the zone rn so i'll ride this wave as long as i can. if you want to be a part of the taglist for whenever i post new Sanji content, lmk. i hope you enjoy!

WARNINGS: none

word count: 2.8k

pairing: opla!sanji x fem!reader

summary: after being humiliated by Usopp earlier, reader stays in her room to decompress. however, she gets a visitor.

prequel part 1 part 3 part 4 masterlist

taglist: @smolracoon25 @mischiefmanaged71 @jovialcat123

Mortified. That’s how you felt. Still. 

Ever since you ‘forfeited’ from finishing your Go Fish card game with Usopp a couple of hours ago, you had taken your glass of water that Sanji had poured for you and boarded up in your shared room with Nami, refusing to come out due to “heat exhaustion”. 

Poor Luffy, ever the golden hearted captain, was immediately worried for your wellbeing as soon as he heard that but after multiple reassurances from you and getting up off of your hammock multiple times to prove you were in fact, just fine, he relented from wanting to stop by the nearest island so he could find a doctor for you. Usopp had managed to convince him as well that all you needed was some water, alone time, and that you would be fine by dinnertime. 

You rubbed your eyes as you let out a sigh, vowing to yourself that the next time you wanted some time by yourself, you should just take a bath or something, since any other excuse would cause someone on the crew (Luffy) to lose their mind at the thought of someone not feeling well. 

You readjusted yourself, sitting more upright, as you downed the last of your water, it being warm by this point since it had been poured by Sanji hours ago. 

Sanji. Ugh.  

Your heart fluttered once again at the mere thought of him, but that flutter was immediately replaced by a wave of crashing embarrassment at the thought of the afternoon’s sequence of events. What had happened earlier wasn’t even anything that groundbreaking or special, but to you? It was everything. It wasn’t common practice in your life for the object of your affections to be so kind towards you, so thoughtful, to read and anticipate your needs before you even knew they were even there. But Sanji? He was all of that and more. And you didn’t even know him for that long! You’ve all been a part of the straw-hat crew for 5 months at this point and it felt silly to admit to yourself that you had developed a crush on one of your crewmates in that short amount of time. 

And having feelings for your crewmate? Someone who you literally couldn’t get away from since you all were trapped on a ship together (not that you would ever want to be away from him or anyone else for that matter, besides Usopp, but still), it felt morally wrong. You guys were all a team. Sure, you all were off to sail around the world and chase dreams, but achieving all of that required teamwork and trust, and that was hard to do if two of those people were caught up with matters of the heart every hour of every day. 

Like, what if things didn’t work out in the end? Would you really want to put the crew’s dynamic at stake just because you thought the blonde guy was cute? No, you wouldn’t. It would be selfish so you would never dare to put yourself or Sanji in that position. No matter how much you liked him. 

So as much as it pained you, you could never tell Sanji how you feel. You would never cross that line of being a ‘professional pirate’ into something more, like a pirate wife. Or a pirate chef’s wife. 

It definitely didn’t help that freaking Usopp of all people on the crew knew about your affections for Sanji. Ugh, you groaned. He was the absolute worst person to know about it too. Why did he have to figure it out? Why did he have to be the one that had put two and two together to equal four? That your random bouts of awkwardness and shyness plus ‘heart eyes’ and blushes whenever Sanji was around equaled to you having a forbidden crush on the crew’s chef? It was embarrassing. And complicated.  

He loved to stir the pot too, so whenever he could tease you for it when you both were alone or in front of a clueless Sanji, he would. You remembered the kiss he had shared with Kayla back when the straw-hats had acquired the Going Merry, so you definitely jabbed him right back when you had had enough, since part of you felt guilty for it since Kayla was thousands of miles away and Sanji lived on this ship with you. Your situations were slightly similar but completely different.  

Also, completely different in the way that him and Kayla were basically dating at this point, albeit long distance, and had shared a kiss while you could barely sustain eye contact that lasted more than 5 seconds with Sanji. 

You were hopeless. 

“Knock, knock,” a familiar accented voice came through the closed door. “Y/n? Are you awake?” 

"Sanji?” you blurted out in complete surprise.  

Shit. You weren’t mentally prepared to see him just yet. At all. You were still replaying the interaction you both had earlier in your head, your overthinking mind going over every minute detail to figure out if Usopp’s careless teasing had given away your affections.  

Usopp, you mentally ground out. You were going to kill him. Sanji had never stopped by your room before so what on earth was he doing here now?  

Suddenly, a thought struck you like a bolt of lightning and made your stomach drop fifty miles below sea level: if Sanji had specifically stopped by your room just to gently let you down, that no, in fact he did not feel the same way about you, that he only thought of you as a member of the crew and nothing more....then yeah, you were definitely going to kill Usopp and throw him overboard. 

Before you could mentally plot out more details on Usopp's murder, the door opened and the straw-hat chef’s blonde head appeared. His eyes quickly scanned Nami’s empty hammock on the room’s left side before turning his head to the right, his blue eyes immediately finding your surprised ones, a (relieved?) smile lighting up his face at the sight of you. 

“So, I take it you’re awake?” Sanji asked in a light, teasing tone but not making an effort to move himself away from the doorway. 

“Uh, y-eah,” you stuttered out in surprise as you just stared at him dumbfounded. You still couldn’t figure out why he was here. 

Sanji continued to lock eyes with you, making your cheeks flush the longer you both stared at each other, and your palms sweat as the silence stretched on, making the tension in the air become thicker by the second. He blinked, his eyes darting to the side in confusion, raising an eyebrow as he asked, “May I come in?” 

“OH! Yes, of course- sorry,” you stuttered as you waved him inside, sitting up in your hammock and mentally face palmed yourself. Of course, Sanji was waiting on you to invite him inside. Like always, he was acting like a true gentleman. “Please, come in. Have a seat. Sorry, that was rude of me. Make yourself at home.” 

Sanji stood up to his full height and walked into your room with an easy smile and a small laugh, closing the door behind him. “Ah, don’t ever apologize y/n. You could never be rude to me,” Sanji rebuttalled and waved off your apology as he looked around and took in your very plain and basic shared room with Nami.  

Your room, or side of the room more specifically, wasn’t much to brag about considering you really didn’t have much to your name but for now, it was home to you. Your side consisted of your hammock, a wooden barrel next to it to act as a makeshift nightstand that housed your only book, a journal, and a lamp, along with an empty wooden crate to act as a makeshift seat and another to hold some of your other clothes and small travel bag. Nami’s side was similar to yours but had a touch more personality as she hung up some maps she found at various markets and drew up herself on her wall. 

You swallowed, suddenly feeling a tad self-conscious about the lack of things in your room considering your current guest was dressed, as usual, to the nines in his signature black suit and blue and white striped shirt complete with a skinny black tie. “Sorry for the sad state of my room-” 

“Sad?” Sanji stopped admiring your room and snapped his gaze to look at you. His eyebrows pulled together as another confused smile adorned his features. “Why would you say that? Your room isn’t sad, I like it. It’s a reflection of you,” his next words came out softer, “and I think that’s beautiful.” 

You could feel heat crawling up your neck at his words as you busied yourself with placing the empty glass in your hand on your barrel nightstand. There was no way Sanji was calling you beautiful, he was just commenting on your room. With Nami. On your shared room that owed any ounce of ‘personality’ to the ship’s navigator because it was obvious you literally brought nothing special to this room whatsoever.  

You stopped yourself from spiraling into ‘I don’t bring anything special to the straw-hats, I don’t know why they keep me around’ thoughts because now wasn’t the time to think about any of that. Those dark thoughts were reserved when you couldn’t sleep in the middle of the night.  

As you placed the glass on the nightstand, you asked, “So, what brings you all the way to my room? Aren’t you usually prepping for dinner around this time?” 

Sanji’s eyes followed your hand and lit up when he saw the sole book on your nightstand. “Oh, a book? I didn’t know you liked to read.” His megawatt smile lit up a couple of notches as his eyes sparkled, he looked like he had just learned one of the universe’s greatest mysteries as he took a seat near you on an empty crate. “What book is that?” 

“Oh, that?” You mentally deflated at the fact you now had to tell Sanji about your favorite book, “It’s Pride and Prejudice.”  

You weren’t ashamed of having that book specifically, you loved it and it was your favorite book of all time, you had lost count at how many times you had read it at this point, but it was the fact that you now had to share this part of yourself with the guy you fancied. Guys normally scoffed and turned their nose up at romance book and romantic things, so you were bracing for Sanji to scoff and laugh at you like all the other guys did (like even Zoro and Usopp did when they first saw you reading it) but it never came. 

Instead, Sanji’s smile remained bright. “Ah, so you’re a lover of classic romances? Pride and Prejudice? Romeo and Juliet?” 

Immediately, you smiled, finding yourself instantly comfortable suddenly whenever you got to talk about one of your favorite things. “Absolutely. I don’t think there’s a problem big enough out there that love can’t solve. Family backgrounds? Wealth and status? At the end of the day, none of that stuff matters. What matters is if two people love each other.” 

Sanji stayed quiet for a moment, looking into your eyes with a twinkle of an emotion that you couldn’t decipher. It made your heart skip a beat. “Yeah,” he agreed quietly, never breaking eye contact. “I agree.” 

You swallowed. “You like this stuff too? Have you read Pride and Prejudice?” 

Sanji blinked and that indescribable emotion he had in his eyes was gone. His smile remained, however, and became sheepish as he held up his hands, “Ah ok, you caught me. I’ve never read the full thing, but I know the main parts of the story. My favorite part that I did read though, was the first dinner with Mr. Collins and he complimented the Bennets on their ‘excellent boiled potatoes’.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, shaking your head slightly as you teased, “I should’ve known that the chef of the Going Merry’s favorite part of the book is when food is discussed!” 

The blonde cook held his hands up again with a good-natured laugh, “Ah, you got me!” His face softened as he asked, “What about you?" He nodded towards the book. "What’s your favorite part?” 

You paused for a second as you mulled the question over. “Well, I'm not sure if you know about this part since you never read the book...” 

“Try me,” he encouraged softly. 

Your face turned to the side, your eyes looking at the wooden wall to your right, unable to bring yourself to look at Sanji as you told him your favorite part of your favorite book. You took a deep breath to steady yourself and calm your nerves, your voice becoming quiet as you told him, “My favorite part is...when Mr. Darcy barges in on Elizabeth for the first time, while she’s at her friend Charlotte’s house writing a letter. He had come to practice ‘conversating’ with her since he admitted that it wasn’t something he was good at and she had told him to practice it. So, Mr. Darcy just barged in and they had one of the most painfully awkward conversations ever...and he did all that just because he loves her. He did something he hated and was bad at, and opened himself up to embarrassment just because he wanted to improve and be better for her. It’s so romantic and beautiful.” 

The air was quiet after your mini monologue and for a moment, nothing could be heard except for their quiet breathing and the occasional crash of the ocean from outside your small window. 

Part of you worried that your little rambling had bored Sanji, so when you finally looked at him, imagine your surprise when you found him leaning in towards you, hands clasped, elbows resting on his knees and his eyes watching you, completely engaged. It was like he was hanging onto your every word. 

Sanji scanned your face for a moment, the corner of his lips curling upwards as he said, “Yeah, you’re right. I’m not familiar with that part in the book,” and before you could open your mouth to bring yourself down, he continued, “but, that doesn’t mean your answer is wrong.” He leaned back and slapped his hands against his thighs, “Hell, it’s a much more insightful answer than mine!” He laughed. “I just liked how they were poking some fun at boiled potatoes.” 

You laughed with him because yes, that part in the book also made you laugh as well. But at the mention of food, you realized that you still didn’t know why Sanji was here in the first place. Wasn’t he normally prepping for dinner at this time? He had to be running behind schedule at this point. 

“Why are you here, Sanji? Isn’t it almost time for dinner?” 

“Yeah, it is actually but I heard you weren’t feeling well so I wanted to check in on you, make sure you’re feeling alright and see if you have any special requests for dinner?” 

You couldn’t help the slight smile that overtook your face, trying to hide the blush at the fact that he was kind enough to check in on you and offer to practically be your own personal chef for the evening. 

You hummed for a moment, acting like you were deep in thought before asking with a raised eyebrow, "And what would you say if I requested some boiled potatoes?”  

The smile that lit up the chef’s face was priceless. He had never looked more beautiful. “To that, I would say ‘Absolutely. If that’s what the missus wants, then that is what the missus will get.’” 

Missus. There it was again. You felt all warm inside whenever he called you that, it made you feel like he was your husband and that you were his wife. But that wasn’t the case. Sanji definitely must have called other women that before. You weren’t special to him, he was just being polite.  

You swallowed down your emotions, putting your sudden wave of sadness away for later, putting on a small smile. “Then that sounds perfect. I would like to formally request some ‘excellent boiled potatoes’ as a side for dinner, please.” 

If Sanji noticed your sudden change in mood, he didn’t show it. Instead, he grinned as he said, “Excellent choice, Madam. Boiled potatoes, coming right up.” As he stood up and made his way towards your door, Sanji did one of the most unexpected things that nearly knocked the wind out of you. With his left hand on the doorknob he said, “And don’t worry, Madam. I’ll sprinkle in a little bit of extra love in there,” he turned and winked at you, “just for you.” 

With that, Sanji left your room, gently closing the door behind him, leaving you completely dumbstruck in your room, your mouth agape and body frozen. 

Did Sanji just say he loved you? 

You shook your head, because there was no way he did, right? He said he’d ‘sprinkle in some extra love’ into your potatoes, not 'I love you". You weren’t a chef, maybe that was a euphemism for something. 

You sighed.  

Those better be some good boiled potatoes. 

[buckets-and-trees]

I’d like to point out this man’s insane hotness🥵

Also… imagine needing a place to sit and Bucky tells you to sit on his lap😍

I've been sitting on this one for ages, Shannon, I'm sorry! But I was waiting for a storyline that truly swept me away because this look and the potential for this moment couldn't be squandered if I was going to take a stab at it...

Poison Blood from the Wound of the Pricked Hand

Characters/Pairings: Post TFATWS!Bucky x curvy!Millennial Female!Reader Word Count: 3k Summary: You've made a life-altering decision, and even though it feels like the only choice you could have made, you hope it's the right one, and you hope the man you're being forced to rely on tonight will help you accomplish what you need to, or else your life could be at stake - not to mention the safety of so many others.

Content/Warnings: intense physical intimicy, but no actual smut (I know, shocker)

Author Notes: Possibly the last piece for the Deliciously Debauched Labor Day Weekend! And, yes late, but the final piece to complete out my collection for @buckybarnesevents Hot Bucky Summer - week twelve "what should I wear?"

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

“How are things going in there?” Bucky called loudly to you.

“Um…” There was a long pause, before you called back, “Fine.”

You glanced at the clock.

You knew at this rate you were going to make the two of you late. But that only ate at you more. You weren’t trying to cause problems.

Or, rather, you weren’t trying to cause more problems. You already felt like a walking liability.

All you had tried to do was get out of the danger of your brother’s organization.

You had finally gone to the authorities, looking to make some kind of deal for safety, maybe witness protection, you didn’t know exactly how these things worked, only that you had to leave.

But evidently things had been even worse and more complicated than you knew, and the price for safety had come with strings.

They needed more information, and they saw you as a means to be able to get it.

And so they’d dangled a deal that required you to play your part as a trusted member of the family one more time.

You had only been gone for just over twenty-four hours, so it wasn’t likely that your brother would suspect your defection yet. But it was so recent that you still felt unsettled over whether you’d made the right decision - especially now that it wasn’t a clean break and you were being used be the people you expected to be the good guys.

“Are you sure?” Bucky’s voice broke through your thoughts again.

You shook your head. Since he was in the other room, there was no danger in him seeing your doubt and uncertainty.

Of all the moving parts in this scheme, Bucky was possibly the only piece you thought you might be able to trust. His reputation preceded him as someone more than capable of handling any dangerous situation, but he also seemed to harbor a question in his mind over working this operation and trusting the government agencies who had a hand in this.

You sighed, then bit your lip. The clock ticked relentlessly, each second a reminder of your indecision. Your eyes darted between two outfits laid out on the bed, both chosen with care but now seeming woefully inadequate for the task ahead.

You sighed, your eyes darting between the two outfits laid out on the bed. One was a sleek black dress, form-fitting and elegant, with a high neckline and long sleeves that would conceal the nervous goosebumps prickling your skin. The other, a tailored pantsuit in deep navy, exuded an air of professionalism and confidence you wished you felt.

Both outfits were carefully chosen to blend in at the high-stakes charity gala where you'd be making your reappearance in your brother's world. But which one would better sell the lie? Which one would make you look like you hadn't just betrayed everything you'd ever known?

You ran your fingers over the cool silk of the dress, then the crisp wool of the suit jacket. The clock's incessant ticking seemed to grow louder with each passing moment, mocking your indecision.

You needed to look like your old self, the trusted sister, and you’d worn clothes just like these a hundred times before. But now?

And with the added caveat of needing to have a brand new man on your arm and sell that he was a valid new part of your life, too?

You grabbed both hangers and went out into the living room of your apartment where Bucky had been patiently waiting for you.

Bucky's eyes widened slightly as you emerged from the bedroom, clothes in hand. He was sitting on the couch, hands in his lap, already dressed in a sharp looking suit with leather lapels - edgy but impressive. For a moment, you were struck by how different he looked from the dangerous operative turned superhero you knew him to be. He looked like he could effortlessly blend into the opulent setting you expected tonight.

"I can't decide," you admitted, your voice hesitant. "Which one do you think would be more… convincing?"

Bucky's gaze flickered between the two outfits, then back to your face. His expression softened, and you saw a glimmer of understanding in his eyes.

"The dress," he said after a moment. "It's more in line with what you'd typically wear to these events, right? We don't want to raise any suspicions by changing your style too drastically."

You nodded, grateful for his insight. "You're right. Thank you."

As you turned to go back to the bedroom, Bucky's voice stopped you. "Hey," he said softly, his blue eyes searching your face. "We don't have to do this if you're not ready."

For a moment, you were tempted to take the out he was offering. To tell him you couldn't go through with it, that you'd made a mistake. But then you thought of your brother, of all the people he'd hurt, and you steeled yourself.

"No, I can do this. Besides,” you thought of all the things you’d learned in different meetings and conversations and reports today, “this is our best chance to get the information we need to bring him and the rest of the organization down.”

“But it doesn’t have to be you,” he insisted.

You tilted your head and smiled sadly. “But it should be.” They had been planning to try and infiltrate tonight’s gala before you had presented yourself, but with you, you were practically a golden ticket into the event and into so many more of the areas once inside.

Bucky nodded, a mix of admiration and concern in his eyes. "Alright. But remember, I'll be right there with you the whole time. If anything feels off, just give me the signal and we're out of there."

You nodded, grateful for his reassurance. As you headed back to the bedroom to change, you couldn't help but wonder how convincing you and Bucky would be as a couple. You'd only known each other for a day, and while he seemed kind and protective, there was still so much mystery surrounding him.

As you undressed, you tried to calm your racing thoughts. You'd been to countless events like this before, schmoozing with the elite and corrupt. But never as a double agent, never with the weight of so many lives hanging in the balance, and certainly not since discovering the secret that had shattered your world and opened up your eyes to the fact that everything your brother was involved in was corrupt and dangerous.

As you slipped into the black dress, you couldn't help but feel like you were putting on armor for battle. The silk clung to your skin, cool and familiar, yet somehow foreign now. You zipped it up, fingered the neckline, then pressed your hand to your heart and took a deep breath.

In the mirror, you saw the woman you used to be—poised, elegant, the perfect sister to a powerful man. But your eyes betrayed you, filled with a storm of emotions you'd have to learn to hide in the next few minutes.

You applied your makeup with practiced precision, each stroke of mascara and swipe of lipstick another layer of protection, of disguise. Once satisfied with your appearance, you squared your shoulders, and put the lipstick in your clutch.

You emerged from the bedroom, smoothing down the fabric of your dress. “I’m ready.”

Bucky’s eyes roamed over you appreciatively, and you felt something pool in your stomach - the attraction to this man you’d been trying to ignore since you’d been introduced to him early this morning. You could not have a crush on this man who was supposed to infiltrate your brother’s organization with you, steal information, and try and get both of you out safely.

It would be too much of a distraction.

Bucky's lips quirked into a small smile.

“What?” you asked, suspicious.

“You forgot your shoes,” he said simply.

You looked down and sighed.

“Nervous?” he asked, his tone kind, soft.

"Bucky," you said, looking back at him, "how are we supposed to explain your presence? Won't my brother be suspicious of a new man in my life?"

"We've got a cover story. I'm a potential new investor in your brother's 'business ventures.' You met me at a networking event last week and thought I'd be a good fit for tonight's gala."

You raised an eyebrow. "And you just happened to sweep me off my feet?”

"Something like that," Bucky replied with a roguish smile. "We'll keep it vague - a whirlwind romance, sparks flying. Your brother will be more focused on the potential investment than on our relationship."

You nodded, trying to quell the butterflies in your stomach. It wasn't just nerves about the mission now; the idea of pretending to be swept off your feet by Bucky wasn't entirely unpleasant.

"Right," you said, forcing yourself to focus. "I'll just go grab those shoes."

You hurried back to the bedroom, slipping on a pair of elegant black heels. As you turned to leave, your eyes fell on a framed photo on the nightstand - you and your brother at last year's gala, both smiling widely. Your stomach churned. How had you been so blind?

Taking a deep breath, you pushed the guilt down and away. You needed to do this. There was no other path in your mind now that you knew the truth. Your eyes flicked from the frame to the luggage packed next to your door. When you’d left yesterday, you hadn’t taken anything with you, not wanting to draw suspicion. With this return to your place and the cover of being swept into something with Bucky, it gave you the cover to pack some of your things - luggage that was being picked up and taken care of for you by one of this “rich investor’s” staff to go with you on a two-week vacation to a private island in the Phillippines. It was a perfect cover, provided you could sell it.

He was so handsome, with his dark hair styled perfectly and his strong jawline. Still sitting on the couch, he radiated confidence and charm, making it easy to see why he was chosen for this mission. You couldn't help but feel slightly nervous under his intense gaze.

Bucky's eyes flicked over your ensemble. "You look beautiful," he said, his voice low and husky.

Your heart skipped a beat at the compliment, feeling self-conscious under his scrutiny. "Thank you," you replied shyly.

You’d been so worried about all the other logistics of tonight, you hadn’t thought about the believability of you and Bucky until now.

“Come here,” he said, holding a hand out to you. You crossed the room and took it, gasping as he pulled you down to sit across his lap.

“Bucky,” you protested, insecure about sitting all of your plus-sized body in his lap. You had never been comfortable with your few previous partners in this situation, but he pressed one cool vibranium finger to your lips, while his other hand moved softly up and down your back.

“Don’t be nervous,” he whispered. “You’ll need to look comfortable around me when I touch you, and if your brother is going to believe you’ve agreed to go away with me tonight, I can’t touch you for the first time while we’re there.”

You nodded. He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, and you shivered.

You felt a flush creep up your neck as Bucky's lips brushed your cheek. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, but you could feel the strength in his arms as he held you. You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself further. He seemed unconcerned, even happy to hold all of you, and the contrast between his warm flesh hand and the cool metal of his other arm sent tingles down your spine.

"Is this okay?" he murmured against your skin, his breath hot on your neck.

You nodded, not trusting your voice. Your heart was racing, and you weren't sure if it was from nerves about the mission or the proximity of this dangerously attractive man.

Bucky's hand traced lazy circles on your back, and you found yourself relaxing into his touch despite your better judgment. "We need to look natural together," he explained softly. "Like we can't keep our hands off each other. It'll sell the whirlwind romance angle."

You swallowed hard, trying keep it together.

Bucky's hand continued its soothing motion up and down your back, and you found yourself leaning into his touch despite your better judgment.

"Tell me more about your brother," Bucky said softly. "What should I expect?"

You tensed slightly at the mention of your brother, but Bucky's steady presence kept you grounded. "He's… charming," you began, choosing your words carefully. "Charismatic. He can make anyone feel like the most important person in the room. But there's always an agenda behind it."

Bucky nodded, his fingers still tracing patterns on your back. "And how does he usually react to you bringing someone new around?"

You sighed, leaning your head against Bucky's shoulder. "He's protective. Suspicious. I haven’t brought many men around. He'll probably try to get you alone, size you up."

"I can handle that," Bucky assured you, his voice low and confident.

You lifted your head to look at him, suddenly struck by how close your faces were. His blue eyes were intense, searching yours. "Bucky," you whispered, "what if I can't pull this off?"

His hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing softly across your skin. "We will," he said firmly. It didn’t escape your notice that he’d said we, not allowing you to feel alone. "You're stronger than you think, and I've got your back.”

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself. "Underneath that charm, he's calculating. Always looking for an angle, a way to use people. And he's dangerous when he feels threatened."

Before, you hadn’t questioned his cold side, thought it to usually be warranted, protective of you and the family and his organization. But now you knew better, illusion shattered.

Bucky nodded, his expression grave. "I'll be on high alert," he assured you. "We'll have to make sure he sees me as an asset, not a threat. But remember, we're not there to confront him tonight. Just to gather information."

"Right," you said, trying to calm your racing heart. "Just information."

Bucky's hand resumed landed on your thigh, and he squeezed reassuringly. You put your hand over his.

"Good," he murmured, eyes dropping down to your coupled hands. "That's the kind of reaction we need."

You nodded, trying to focus on the mission, on the act you needed to sell. But it was becoming increasingly difficult with Bucky's strong arm around you, his warm breath on your neck.

"We should practice," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "What if... what if we need to kiss?"

Bucky's eyes met yours, a mix of surprise and something darker, more intense. "Are you sure?"

You nodded, your heart racing. "We need to be convincing, right?"

Without another word, Bucky's hand slid to the nape of your neck, pulling you closer. His lips met yours, soft at first, then with growing intensity. You melted into the kiss, your hands instinctively moving to his chest. The stubble on his jaw scratched lightly against your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

For a moment, you forgot about the mission, about your brother, about everything except the feel of Bucky's lips on yours. It felt electric, a spark of something real amidst all the deception you were about to undertake. His metal arm tightened around your waist, and you gasped softly into his mouth.

When you finally broke apart, both slightly breathless, Bucky's eyes were dark with desire. "That was..." he started, then cleared his throat. "That should be convincing enough.”

You nodded, unable to form words. The kiss had felt all too real, and you were struggling to remind yourself that this was just part of the act. You couldn't afford to develop real feelings for Bucky, not with everything at stake.

"We should go," you managed to say, glancing at the clock. "We don't want to be late."

Bucky nodded, but neither of you moved.

Then you leaned in and kissed him again. He returned your kiss, metal arm pulling you even closer. Your hands tangled into his hair, and you shifted in his lap so you could press your chest flush against his.

"We really should go," you murmured against Bucky's lips when you had to break off for another breath, but made no move to pull away.

He hummed in agreement, his fingers tangling in your hair as he deepened the kiss. You melted into him, all thoughts of the mission momentarily forgotten. There was only the warmth of his body, the softness of his lips, the gentle scrape of his stubble against your skin.

Your hands roamed over his broad shoulders, feeling the strength coiled beneath his suit jacket. Bucky's flesh hand slid from your hair down your neck, leaving a trail of goosebumps. You gasped softly at the contact, and he took the opportunity to trace your lower lip with his tongue. Heat pooled in your stomach as you parted your lips, allowing him to deepen the kiss further.

His vibrainum hand continued its exploration down your body, while his warm, flesh hand stayed at the small of your back, anchoring you. You lost yourself in the sensation, forgetting for a moment about the dangerous mission ahead. Bucky's kisses were intoxicating, making you dizzy with desire. His metal hand traced the curve of your hip, sending shivers through your body.

Suddenly, the sharp ring of a phone cut through the haze of passion. You jerked away from Bucky, reality crashing back. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a sleek black device.

"It's time," he said, his voice husky. "The car's waiting downstairs."

You nodded, trying to catch your breath and calm your racing heart. As you stood up from his lap, you smoothed down your dress, acutely aware of how close you'd come to losing control.

Bucky rose as well, adjusting his tie and running a hand through his slightly mussed hair. His eyes met yours, filled with…

Filled with what, you weren’t sure.

If you made it out tonight, maybe you might have a chance to find out.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

Read more stories from the Deliciously Debauched Labor Day Weekend!

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What do we think? Do we want to see more of them?

I think this could be a post-TFATWS and pre-Thunderbolts kind of thing maybe. idk.

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[llamagoddessofficial]

Can we get some Horror fae headcannons? I'm twiddling my thumbs and waiting for the big boyo to appear while I lose myself in your fae realms

Goodness, do try not to get lost. Though if you do get lost, he's certainly the one for you.

Quite similar to his non-fae self, really. Quiet, large, wild, bloodthirsty when required but completely unafraid to show his soft side to those he loves.

He does have a bit of a... 'reputation', in both realms. A reputation for being a frightening beast that you do not want to encounter out in the wastes.

Apparently, he did something unspeakable in Summer - banished from that court, he found himself immediately warmly welcomed into Nightmare's fray. He was one of the first of the Winter court.

He and Nightmare aren't exactly "friends", in the way Nightmare and Killer almost seem to be. But there's a certain degree of trust between Horror and Nightmare that just isn't there with anyone else. A level of mutual, unspoken understanding. They rarely talk to one another, but somehow, they seem to know each other very well.

(There seems to be some truth to the Summer rumours, given his absolute visceral hatred of even the word.)

Living in Nightmare's court means Horror has ample food. People are still scared of him, though.

Big fuzzy guy!! His wings are the biggest and softest out of anyone's; cuddling him will be like hiding in the thickest blanket imaginable. If you sit on his lap, you can pull his wings over you and fall asleep snuggled up like that. Rest assured, if you do that, you will never meet a happier skeleton.

Tricking you simply does not cross his mind. He's too slow with words for that kind of nonsense. If he wants to keep you forever, why does he need to steal your name? He'll just bake you the best pie you've ever had, that'll do it.

Or chase you down when you run. That works too.

Not good at telling you he likes you. He can show love just fine - gestures of devotion are part and parcel of who he is. But when it comes to the talking side of romance? An absolute wreck.

Killer helps. "hey, my buddy over there thinks you're cute," [points to the enormous shaking & sweating anxious monster who's unsuccessfully trying to hide behind a candelabra]

He tends to disappear for several days in a row, to go on long treks through the snow. They clear his mind. He probably knows the realm better than anyone alive. He would really like it if you came with, making you the first person to ever be invited along, but he doesn't mind if you don't want to go. He doesn't expect everyone to be interested in multi-day snow hikes.

(You could sit on his shoulders the whole way, though. In case that changes your mind. He'd also show you untouched natural wonders beyond comprehension. And he packs snacks)

His love language is bringing food back for you from his 'trips'. Baked salmon from the ice rivers, steaks of venison from the winter forests, slow-cooked rabbit from the plains, and on rare occasions bear stew from the mountains. If you're vegetarian it'd be good to tell him immediately because this will become a pattern.

He also likes making furs into clothes for you. For someone who struggles with shaking hands, he's surprisingly good with a needle and thread.

You'll never be cold, when he's around. And you'll never sleep alone.

[munsonsmixtapes]

Sweetheart

Evan “Buck” Buckley x shy!fem!probie!reader

summary: you and Buck spend a day by the pool with the rest of the 118

word count: 1k

part one part two part three part five

The sun shone down on the pool of that belonged the apartment building where you and Buck lived. The two of you had invited the rest of the 118 and their families over for a pool day which was a lot to get your building to agree to.

You were sat on one of the loungers with a book in hand, occasionally looking up to see what Buck was up to. He was in the pool playing a game with Jee-Yun, Denny, and Christopher and you couldn’t help but notice how sweet and gentle he was with them.

He felt your gaze and turned to look at you, giving you a small wave, which you returned before going back to your book. You had gotten so invested that you hadn’t even realized he was hovering over you until you felt water drop onto your chest.

You looked up at him, shielding your eyes from the sun and he was just smiling down at you, nothing but admiration in his eyes.

“You wanna get in?” He asked, leaning down so that his face was hovering above yours.

“I don’t know, I think I’m good,” you held up your book.

“Oh, so you prefer your fictional boyfriend over your real one?” He raised an eyebrow and your eyes went wide. He had never referred to himself as your boyfriend before. At least, not to you.

“No,” you replied as you flipped the page. “I’ll get in once I finish this chapter.”

“Fine,” he said as he moved your legs so he could sit down then put them over his lap. He wiped his hands off on your towel then grabbed your sunscreen before putting some more on your legs to make sure that you didn't get burnt.

"Read to me then," he said as he finished rubbing the sunscreen into your skin.

"I um-I can't read this to you," you told him, and he furrowed his eyebrows

before wiping his hands off then reaching for the book. 

“Why not?” He asked as his eyes skimmed over the page, a blush creeping up on his face as realized what you were reading. “Is this…porn?” He asked in a whisper so the others couldn’t hear him. 

“I mean, that’s not exactly what it’s called, but sure.”

“Fine, I won’t make you read it. Not now, anyway. You can read it to me later,” he winked, and you felt your face get hot. Maybe reading something like that wasn’t the best idea, but that was the only one you hadn’t read a billion times. You knew that it had those kinds of scenes, but you at least thought that they would be later so you could read them in the comfort of your own home and not around other people, especially not your coworkers. 

“It’s a deal,” you winked back. “Let’s get in,” you told him and he grabbed your hand, helping you up from the chair. 

You walked a little fast to keep up with Buck and neither of you noticed the giant puddle of water. Your feet slipped in it and before you could stop yourself, you were falling face first onto the concrete. Thankfully, you had put your hands out to catch yourself and they had taken most of the fall along with your knees that had been scraped up when you collapsed to the ground. 

Everyone gathered around you and Buck and Eddie helped you to your feet before helping you sit in one of the chairs at one of the tables. It stung, but you hadn’t been hurt so badly that you required help from all the members of the 118. 

Buck pulled out a first aid kit from his bag and set it down next to him as he knelt in front of you. He grabbed an alcohol wipe and wiped down your hands and knees before putting on some antibiotic gel and finishing up by putting on some bandaids. 

“You okay?” He asked, trying to gauge your reaction from the look on your face, but he knew that you never showed how you felt. That was one thing that you were really good at.

“I’m fine, Buck,” you assured him. “It was just a little fall.”

“As long as you’re sure.” 

“I am.” Eddie could tell that Buck wasn’t aware of how much he was smothering you and could see that you were feeling a bit overwhelmed by all of the attention you were getting.

“C’mon, Buck,” Eddie helped the man to his feet. “Let’s go get y/n a lemonade, okay?” 

“But-”

“Buck,” Eddie warned. “Lemonade.”

Eddie pulled Buck over to his own table where he reached for his bag, pulling out one of the lemonade pouches he had brought for Christopher, knowing that his son wouldn’t mind if Eddie gave it to you. 

He eyed Buck who was staring at you with a worried look on his face as he watched you laugh with the other women of the group. God, he was so in love with you that it made him sick sometimes. He just wanted to shrink you down and put you in his pocket so he could protect you at all times. Especially during calls when you were separated. He would page you on the walkie so often that he actually had his privileges taken away. 

He had never felt that way about anyone before and he was treading into unknown territory, but he was having a great time. He had never felt so comfortable with someone before and could have definitely seen himself being with you for the rest of his life. That brought a wide smile to his face as he continued to watch you, a giggle falling from your lips as you played with Jee-Yun who Maddie had set on your lap. You were tickling her and the both of you were in a fit of giggles as you did so. You were sweet and beautiful and good with kids? Was there anything that you couldn’t do? At that point, Buck didn’t think so. You were just so perfect and he felt like the luckiest man alive to have been chosen by you. God, he was so down bad. 

Eddie nudged Buck and held the pouch out to him which he took. He made a beeline for you and held the drink out to you, feeling his heart swell as you looked up at him with the most grateful smile. You put the straw inside the pouch and took a sip. 

“Thanks, honey,” You smiled up at him and his heart warmed at the term of endearment. Watching you share your lemonade with his niece, he didn’t think he could love you anymore. Maybe one of these days, he’d finally get the guts to tell you. 

“Anything for you, sweetheart,” he replied, pulling a chair to sit next to you, watching you with such admiration, knowing that you were the only woman for him. He didn’t want anyone else. He just wanted you to be around forever. And he figured that if he played his cards right, you would be.

[leahssmile]

— just focus on me

pairing: lia walti x reader

summary: reader is anxious about filming a video for Arsenal, luckily your girlfriend is there to help!

notes: short wally fic, sorry if this one's a little choppy and for the awkward ending, it was written in between flares up over a few days! ♡

nevertheless I hope it's enjoyed and thank you to everyone who's interacted with my blog so far, I hope to get more writngs out for ya'll and maybe take requests soon! :)

You dreaded media day.

Not because of the busy schedule or constant moving like most people, no, you hated the cameras themselves.

Ever since you were a little kid you’ve been camera shy. Your mother often joked that she had no clear photos or videos of you, but you just couldn't help it.

The thought of being in front of a camera made your already bad anxiety spike, of messing up and it being forever captured made you almost feel sick.

It's not like you had stage fright or anything, you could get on a field in front of a crowd of thousands and play fine, it was just the cameras that made you feel bad.

At least with interviews before and after games you could wiggle your way out of them, convince a teammate that they had more to say and would be better to talk to.

But media day was mandatory for everyone, including you.

Today you had managed to participate in the required photos, done with plenty of teammates around to focus on instead of the anxiety growing in you.

But after a quick lunch break you’d been cornered by one of the media people, asked to join in on one of the silly game videos to post on the team's social media, and not really given any option besides yes.

It was just a quick trivia video, questions about who had played in however many games, who had the most goals, nothing series.

And yet as you hover a few feet from the media people as they set up the cameras, you feel the anxiety start to gnaw at your insides.

The unfounded fear of forgetting every fact about your teammates, or even more unlikely, insulting one of them by forgetting the exact number of caps they had, making you squirm as you wait for you to be called over.

You tuck yourself into a chair out of the way, too busy trying to calm yourself to notice your girlfriend, Lia, approach you. “How's it going?”

You jump when she speaks, quickly turning to look up at her, offering a badly concealed nervous grin. “Great! Just waiting to film a quick video.”

Lia knows you well enough to know that something’s bothering you, and a glance from the cameras being set up to your bouncing knee tells her what she needs to know.

Your aversion to cameras has been well known to the Swiss footballer even before you two had started dating, but she never judged you for it, it was just a part of you and she had always tried her best to comfort and reassure you the best she could.

This time isn't any different, and she takes a seat beside you, reaching over to take one of your fidgeting hands.

“What kind of video?” She knows the best way to calm you is to ask simple questions, they usually redirect your train of thought from your worry.

“Um. A trivia one? Like, ‘who has played for Arsenal the longest’ and stuff like that.” Lia nods, “You're very attentive, I think you'll do great.” She offers softly.

It's true, your attentiveness is the thing that leads to your anxiety, noticing the small details, the blinking lights, the shifts of people's expressions, they all get to your head.

But you suppose it is also helpful for the video ahead of you. Now that you think of it, you do know quite a lot about your teammates.

You let out a soft breath, “Yeah. But the cameras…” You trail, and Lia takes a moment to look around.

Her own schedule was pretty much over, having taken most of her videos and pictures earlier in the day, and she'd really just been wandering around talking to her other teammates for a bit.

She was all for staying to make you comfortable. “Look, I'll be right behind the camera, just focus on me, okay?” She points to a spot far enough to not bother any of the media people, but close enough to stay in your eyesight.

You ponder the offer briefly before finally nodding, if anything could ease your anxiety it was Lia.

“Okay, I'll give it a try.” You say and she smiles, leaning over to hug you and press a quick kiss to your cheek. “You got this.” She reminds you as you stand, the media people having turned to wait for you to come join them.

You position yourself in front of the camera, following the directions of the media person as your eyes wander over her shoulders, looking for Lia.

Your eyes finally find hers, and she offers reassuring thumbs up and a smile that you return before taking a breath and turning to the camera, giving a nod to the media person as she holds up the first card with a question written across it.

[shaevilux]

People knock on Rhoam for being a bad dad cuz he's distant and stern to little Zelda and say how Rauru is the goat (heh) for taking her in like his own daughter. Like Zelda had her real parental connection with Sonia and Rauru. But frankly that's a little reductive.

Rauru literally descended from the heavens, married a priest, started a kingdom. Man didn't really know much strife yet. There's no looming threat of calamity or prophecy yet. Things are peaceful. Things are fine. Things are great. Zelda dropped in during this time, talking about a doom that's going to happen tens of thousands of years in the future.

This sad, lost princess.

Of course any reasonable person would take her in and calm her and tell her she is fine and listen and support her.

Rhoam not being able to be this kind of figure for Zelda is tragic. Just read this poor man's journal entries:

"It has been a year and three months since her mother passed. Perhaps she is held back by heartache too deep to heal. If the Ganon prophecy wasn't looming over our heads, I would tell her to take her time... To wait until she is ready. But our situation is dire and leaves no room for weakness—even on behalf of my beloved daughter. My heart breaks for Zelda, but I must act as a king, not a father. I must order her to train relentlessly at the fountain." Pg 4.

"In truth, I understand Zelda's feelings. Painfully so. She lost her mother, her teacher, before she could learn from her. Ten pointless years of self-training, without so much as a book or note to help her find her way... Those in the castle talk behind her back. And I, her only family, scold her for her shortcomings. No wonder she wishes to hide away in her beloved relic research. I'd love nothing more than to console her... But I must stay strong. She MUST fulfill her duty, just as we all must. Even if she comes to despise me." Pg 6.

"I have been told my Zelda went to the Spring of Wisdom... This will likely be her last chance. If she is unable to awaken her power at Lanayru, all hope is truly lost. If she comes back without success, then I shall speak kindly with her. Scolding is pointless now. I forced 10 years of training on her... and after all that, it seems her power will stubbornly awaken some other way. Perhaps I should encourage her to keep researching her beloved relics. They may just lead her to answers I can't provide. For now, I sit anxiously, more a father than a king in this moment. I sit and await my daughter's return." Pg 7. (He fucking dies and never gives Zelda this bit of closure uuuugggghhhhhhh Zelda I'm so sorry Rhoam I'm so sorry)

It sucks because most people remember the cutscenes (duh it's more immersive and important) and in the cutscenes of the first game Rhoam was mostly shown as being stern and mean to babygirl Zelda, who is closed fists explaining herself to him at the verge of tears. And in contrast everyone in the first royal family of hyrule in the second game treated her with such kindness and we can see how happy she was being there with them.

Rhoam was shackled by duty. By prophecy. By the looming calamity. And from the day he named his daughter 'Zelda' he shackled her as well.

And what does Zelda do with these shackles? She accepts them. She tolerates them. Because she loves her father and her kingdom and knows there's a power dormant in her that can stop the calamity that she must do her best to unlock. She does this dutifully. She does all the training, she does everything that is required.

But it still doesn't unlock. So she tries other ways. She isn't just going after the 'relics' because she's scholarly and nerdy and wants to learn about them. She does it because she's pragmatic. She knows her sacred sealing power isn't present in her. She knows she might not be able to control it or even unlock it in time.

So she tries this alternative approach. The Divine Beasts, the guardians. Ancient tech that was used to prevent the calamity of their time. And she awakened the tech. And her father chose the champions for each divine beast. And they were all prepared. And it's all thanks to Zelda.

And then... Fucking tragedy again. Ganon probably learned his lesson from the last time he was thwarted and immediately went for the tech, corrupting it and turning it against the new users. Against Zelda.

It's never really stated how fast it all turned to shit when the tech betrayed them (or maybe I don't remember) but every account points to it being almost overnight. The champions died. Rhoam died. And suddenly, suddenly Zelda unlocks her sealing magic.

I always always hate the literary trope of using tragedy to unlock a great power that could've actually stopped the tragedy from happening in the first place.

And it's no different in BOTW. I hate that Zelda had to go through all this to unlock her powers.

And then what happens next?

She's stuck in limbo (in an almost mocking parallel to Rauru in the next game with his imprisoning arm) holding Ganon back. For a hundred years.

This young woman had gone through so much only to be trapped with a calamity seeking to destroy Hyrule for a century.

Does she know her father died in the war? Does she know the champions died in battle? Would she know Link would survive in the Shrine of Resurrection? Would she know how long it would all take? The century she would have to wait?

I think she didn't. I think it all happened too fast. I think ultimately, she decided a stalemate with ganon was an agreeable outcome. I think in her mind she probably thought she failed Hyrule. When the divine beasts turned she must have been distraught. Distraught might not even cover it tbh. But at least... At least when the kingdom was brought to it's knees by the corrupted tech and was waiting for the final blow, she had the ability to ensure the final blow never came.

And oh boy I have a looot more to talk about regarding Tears of the Kingdom. But I do want to have a couple of more playthroughs of it to really formulate what I want to say.

[ms-demeanor]

Hi. I've followed you for a while and your advice to others always seems pretty good. You seem very knowledge about therapy and driving. This may be a bit out of your depth, feel free to delete this ask if so, but if you have any advice I would greatly appreciate hearing it. I've got a problem: the field I'm studying for and love doing will require frequent trips to places I cannot walk/bike/bus/fly to, and I'm terrified of driving. My father decided the best way to start teaching me was to put me behind the wheel on a small road in a big city with pedestrians and bikes on the road, and tell me to drive. It's been 4 years and I can't even think about getting behind the driver's seat without bursting into tears. Riding in the front passenger seat is fine. I want to get over this fear and finally learn to drive, with paid therapy if necessary, but I don't know what terms to search for to find a therapist that can help me with this. Any ideas?

So I think pretty much any decent therapist will be able to help you with this fear, just like any decent therapist will be able to help you figure out how to approach any fear that you've got.

But I'm also not sure this is something you need a therapist for so much as some very good friends and a lot of time. If you don't have your learner's permit I'd recommend getting one, and from there I think I'd say to ask some good friends, who you know are good drivers, to help teach you the rudiments of driving.

I think that you should do this by starting on a closed private property where there aren't people or pedestrians or anything else, and just put the key in the car, put the car in drive, and drive up and down a driveway until you are capable of doing so without panicking. From there, have your safe trusted driver friend take you someplace with no traffic of any kind but that does have some kind of lane markings (school parking lots on weekends, shopping center parking lots late at night, etc) and begin practicing things like stopping, turning, and acceleration. Do that until you're comfortable driving around empty parking lots, at which point I'd say that you should look at enrolling in a driving school with a closed course.

You were put in a very stressful situation that frightened you a lot, but there are ways that you can build up that should help you to see that it doesn't have to be stressful like that. Sit in the driver's seat of a parked car. Turn the car on without putting it into gear. Drive it back and forth just to get used to the car being in motion at very slow speeds.

If you want to work on this with a therapist you're probably going to want to be looking for someone who specifically discusses dealing with phobias around driving or accident-related trauma and recovery; cars can be terrifying and there are a ton of people who have had bad times with cars so there are lots of professionals who have dealt with getting people comfortable around cars as a necessity of our car-centric culture. That's the kind of stuff I'd be looking for, is people who talk about vehicle-related or accident-related trauma.

But also I think that's just a good thing to say out front if you're shopping for a therapist. "I am scared of driving and want to learn to drive, that is my primary current interest in therapy and I'm looking for a professional to support me while I work through this." Say this out loud as you call offices, and DO make calls, don't just look for reviews. People may not advertise this kind of thing specifically because it may just be taken for granted that it's something that their office can help equip you for.

Though, again, I think that you can likely do a lot of that yourself with the help of a good friend or a patient family member who is willing to respect your boundaries and work within them, but you need to think about what your boundaries are and what your goals are before you get to work.

[meanbossart]

ASK COMPILATION: BODY HAIR, BHAALIST DU DROW, BLOOD INQUIRIES, THE MAN'S DICK AND HOBBIES.

Answering more asks! As always, I want to apologize for not being able to get to everyone - literally nobody has ever complained about it, but I still feel bad 😅I appreciate everyone's questions and sweet messages all the same, and even if your ask isn't here I hope you can be entertained by the other replies!

Anon I feel terrible about having to say this because I can tell you were hoping for a specific answer here, plus doing your very best to sell your pitch to me -

But DU drow hates body hair.

I'm not making this up in the spot just to be a contrarian, this is one of various unimportant character details that have come up already at some point or another, for whatever reason. It is no coincidence that many of the characters he finds unattractive do have visible body hair, like Gale and Halsin whose hairy toes he dreads the sight of.

I refuse to believe that elves are truly dolphin-smooth as that would be an absolute biological nightmare, so both him and Astarion have a normal amount of peach-fuzz all over. Otherwise, DU drow finds the sight of anything longer/coarser than that unseemly, and the feeling unpleasant; it is simply what he grew up with and hence what he's used to. In this respect, he wants people who take after his own image.

As with most things, he could forgive it if he were in love with someone - assuming you don't mind the occasional joke about it. And unfortunately I think something as significant as Halsin's case would be too off-putting for him to ever give them a chance. A Shadowheart situation, on the other hand, he could grow to like.

I believe there's some sources that imply bhaal-corrupted(?) blood should taste a particular way, leaning towards the unpleasant. People can make up whatever headcanons they want with that information, BUT since I spent over half of this game supplying the guy with the stuff and he seemed all too pleased about it, I choose to assume it's not that bad.

I think there would be something... Lively about it? Fairly normal taste but it leaves a tingle on his tongue, like it squirms on its way out and dies in his mouth moments before it can hit the throat. Very salty, but it could just be his skin.

[FAR, FAR MORE UNDER THE CUT]

Bhaalist DU drow likes both cats and dogs just fine (again, he considers the animal kingdom to be it's own thing and hence removed from his fate to butcher humanity) and you wouldn't be wrong to assume he has a thing for dogs in that AU because of their unconditionally loving and loyal nature, however Bhaalist DU drow is still very much a cat person. He likes their independence, their little attitudes, their self-sufficiency, plus the fact that they keep the rat population in check inside the temple. He finds those qualities admirable, respectable, perhaps he would even find them desirable in a partner if, unlike he cats, he wasn't so opposed to them roaming free.

In-game DU drow succeeded the check required to spot Astarion before he could jump him - so yes, just not the version where they end up rolling awkward around the sand for 2 minutes, LOL.

He's semi aware of it, or at least he becomes aware whenever Astarion's mask slips. When Astarion is putting on a good performance, DU drow wholeheartedly believes it. Also, It's worth noting that Astarion does manage to have fun occasionally, and have periods of... Superficial happiness? They just so happen to be unfulfilling, and don't make up for all the other pitfalls of his situation when they inevitably come crashing back. He's also great at tricking himself into thinking this is a good time.

Bhaalist DU drow makes vague attempts at "making things better" whenever he catches him in a mood, usually through physical affection or lavish gifts. That works well enough the first year I think, before everything kind of loses its luster. After that, DU drow just gets it into his head that Astarion "doesn't understand what he must do to succeed and keep him safe".

This is a VERY interesting observation and... Maybe? Especially early in the relationship, DU drow finds Astarion's quasi-predatorial behavior very attractive, but only AFTER he notices his vampirism. I think this outlook of the character contextualizes Astarion's condition in a way that he can immediately understand and simpathize with, even if DU drow doesn't know much about vampires themselves. Of course, this is specific to Astarion - he does not extend this grace to the rest of his kind.

I'll be thinking about this one!

I don't know the video in question but from your description I think they would both be VERY confused, LOL.

HMM, I think that might actually depend on a lot of things! Assuming the woman (or just the other partner) in the relationship isn't a drow, and exactly what KIND of devotion we're talking about (is the drow pro-active? Protective? Does he put his neck on the line for this relationship with pride? Does he seem strong and capable and like he doesn't rely on his partner?) he might see enough of himself in him that they could actually get along. This is similar to how DU drow immediately took a liking to Aylin even though she's this moon-goddess child and a supposed beacon of justice.

The quickest way to get on DU drow's good side is to be the idealized version of what he believes himself to be. Oh, and not get in his way.

If they're both drow it's kind of hopeless though, yeah LOL.

Planning on it!!

DU drow never slept with Haarlep! He only took his clothes off and then attacked him full in the nude.

...I'm not sure how to justify that in the lore, but it's exactly what I did and it's too funny to take it back, LOL

I think Astarion was just kind of baffled by what transpired until DU drow turned to while hopping around pulling his pants back on and asked if he enjoyed the show, then he remembered he just loves finding any excuse to take his clothes off.

That's a lovely compliment, I definitely go for a very "organic" look so I genuinely appreciate it. Thank you!

Thank you!!! A lot has actually been said about Gortash in my #enver gortash tag, if you'd like to get all the gritty details. Suffice to say that they had a very odd but significant friendship.

DU drow is the kind of person who shoots awake as soon as the sun starts gracing the sky, but he tends to do whatever he has to do and then go back to bed right after, and stay there at least a bit past noon. He did this both in his bhaalist days and in Astarion's company, though the amount of time he spends asleep during the day definitely increases because of the vamp, especially over time!

So, the urethra in a penis is located pretty much on the underside of the shaft, so the wound actually does not reach it! As far as functions go - peeing and ejaculating - it comes out of the tip's opening as normal. When he first caused the wound it probably did puncture the urethra, but that would have closed up over time. What you see is the injury many years after the fact, after all.

So the implications are pretty minor. Aesthetically, his foreskin hangs a bit weirdly when he's soft (like a tiny little penis curtain) and has more give than usual. Functionally, he has spots within the scarred up injury that are either numb or overly sensitive. Also, you can kind of see the dickhead notch through his underwear which is fun.

Otherwise, that is pretty much it! No worries about the nature of the question I've gotten worse, LOL. Thank you for your kind words as well!

I think he used to write in his bhaalist days - very, very occasionally mind you - like if you scoured the temple you would find a dozen or so ripped up pieces of paper with little short poems on them, written in a very sharp and carefree hand. Anywhere from 3 to 10 lines per-poem, usually less than more. The sentences are descriptive of actions, never feelings or thoughts, but they don't ever seem literal.

Back in those days, he also went to the theater every other year.

Post-tadpole, he ends up dabbling in carpentry, leather-work, and enjoys listening for musical numbers taking place in taverns and inns to go to and watch. He eventually starts pulling Astarion into little slow dances when that happens. I think he might end up writing again someday, but not for many, many years.

[pedge-page]

Sub!Himbo!Jealous!Joel! The people demand it!!!

Statement

Sub!Himbo!Joel x F!Reader

Notes: the people have spoken! This could takes place between Closer and Mine is Mine when reader is in mid pregnancy but not required to read those for this.

Warnings: sub!Joel, Himbo!Joel, Jealous!Joel, possessiveness, breeding kink, hand job, doggy style, pregnant reader, unprotected sex, pregnancy sex, Joel fucks rough but acts subby, Mommy kink, multiple orgasms, creampie, one slap on the face for Joel

18+ ONLY

- - - -

While you mind your business at the coffee shop, engaging with friends and neighbors upon your visually evident bump now, Joel is fuming in the booth in the back. You hadn’t noticed him when you walked in, and he was about to greet you until he saw Brian launch over smiling, gesturing surprised to your belly and then kissing you on the cheek.

That set off a nerve.

A few others joined in to create a little circle. Joel sits back, visibly fuming as everyone else touched your swell or held your waist, swarming over you for your attention.

Out here, he’s a big, scary, reserved kind of guy. Joel Miller. 

The two of you … haven’t exactly come out and made it official, despite reassuring each other you weren’t seeing anyone else. He always avoided you in public, like you weren’t truly connected in more ways than one now. And to keep it emotionally simple, you usually never attempted to engage with him either outside the bedroom to keep it less obvious. If he didn’t want to be linked to you, then fine. It was too difficult trying to understand him when he wasn't humping you like a desperate bunny.

You feel good conversing with other people. You had spent so long being entangled with Joel’s limbs on the bed, ignoring the outside world to instead indulge his inner needs to be dominated and dumbed by you.

 This was probably the first time you’d been around others now entering the heavily rounded phase of your pregnancy that could no longer be kept hidden.

You did not notice Joel was here too, steaming in a mix of rage, anxiety. He feels unsure when he sees you out like this. You’re not the same. He’s not the same either, and he fears he preach his masculine demeanor, knowing just one look from you would have him on his knees in this whole shop in a second.

He grinds down along his jaw, slitted eyes unable to tear away from the silhouette of your gorgeous body and the hands that don’t belong to him getting too friendly with his baby inside you. 

What were you telling them? That you had a boyfriend? A husband? Or some random fuck that turned into an accident?

It wasn’t a fucking accident. 

With one last flirtatious laugh towards Brian, Joel’s had enough.

He aggressively cuts between all of them and closes you off. 

“Joel—“ you begin, surprised by his presence.

Brian goes to put a firm palm of Joel’s chest, ready to step between this raging bull and his pregnant friend. “Hey man, be gentle—“

“FUCK—OFF,” he snarls at Brian. The rest of the group backs away. The shop goes quiet as all fearful eyes are on Joel, his chest puffed out to intimidate. 

“It’s okay,” you say softly. Your hands grasp gently around Joel’s bicep, and he takes a deep breath. Though his eyes are still murderous towards Brian, he feels that wave of relief overcome him when you, only you, make contact with him. “It’s okay, Brian. Joel’s just been helping around my house. Getting the nursery built for the baby. Right, Joel?” 

You stroke along his plaid shirt, begging the muscles under there to relax. He rolls his tongue along the inside of his lip before nodding.

He steps between you and Brian entirely, grasping your arm an yanking you out of the shop. You try to give a final reassurance to your friends that you were late to discussing wall paint with Joel, but your words were cut short as the door closed on you.

-

You’re not even through the house entrance when he starts aggressively undressing you. The tearing screech of your top makes you flinch, “J-Joel,” you stammer, but it doesn’t stop him from ripping you down to your bra, your swollen belly not quite to full mast but so quickly evident. “Joel,” you say more firmly, but he just growls, avoiding your eyes as he makes quick work to rid you of your bottoms, until finally you ball his shirt in your fist and slap him hard across the face.

“What the hell is the matter with you?"

He goes soft, eyes blinded like a deer in headlights. The stinging pain in his cheek reverberates over his body, and if you were any of the people in that shop today, you’d be scared shitless of what aggressive Joel Miller might hold for just slapping him.

But you’re not one of them.

Then, to that of a scolded child, a wounded wolf pup that doesn’t know its own strength, he goes still, shoulders slumped and head tilted down in guilt.

 "I don't like it,” he says just barely above a whisper.

“Don’t Like WHAT?"

"When they—touch you.” He blurts out the last part like it’s a curse. “I thought. I thought I was yours. Why do you let them touch you?”

You sigh heavily. It looked really bad, the way he jumped in and started manhandling you. Even if you were used to it here, in the confines of your apartment where the two of you made extremely passionate love every day. Out there, to others, it was more complicated to explain. Had you known he was there, you wouldn’t have let others touch you—knowing it would go the wrong way in his caveman brain.

You didn’t care about anyone else but Joel. It’s just hard trying to make him understand that when he makes a 180 on you and keep up the lone tough world appearance with other people. So, of course, he misunderstood it all. That no one there was trying to take you from him.

Poor thing.

You cup his scratchy cheeks in your hands. “You are mine.” 

His eyes look downward still, and you can see each etch and fine line of his wrinkles, the grays turning to white in his beard, the tension so strong in his jaw that you need to rub your thumb over it to remind him its ok to relax for you.

His hands drift down to smooth over the sides of your belly between you. At the same time, one of your palms trace flat against his massive chest, down his flanneled top until you reached the bulge in his jeans. Your hand sneaks below the belt line.

You begin stroking his cock. “—And I’m yours.” 

He whimpers at your touch, your words. Like silk settling over his flaming ego and soothing the sting in his heart once again. The agitation deflates, and you can almost feel the physical shedding of his barren skin into the soft, sweet, dumb little boy you know best. 

"They were asking me who the lucky man who made me a Mommy.”

He hisses in your hair, his eyes closing at the sweet smell, the aroma of you filling his senses and taking over. “M-mmm-m me.”

"Mhm.” You nod, making his eyes meet yours. You continued stroking along his hard cock, fishing them out of his pants. His tip weeped into your belly button with each gentle tug against his length. “They were so jealous of you, baby. Not the other way around. You did this to me. You bred me full of your seed. You made my belly grow. My tits swell.”

Joel lets out a rasp, eyes closing and knees bent, like he’s unable to hold himself up now when surrendering to you. You pump his cock faster, refusing to let him shrink away from you. 

“M-Mommy!” He groans, hunching over, but you wrap your fingers in a tight o around the base of his cock, cutting off his flow and preventing him from cumming just yet.

“You need to owe up to it now.”

"I ... I like you…like this. Full. Full of my—Fuck. I want—nnffgggg—“

"Use your words.”

"I want to keep you like this,” he breathes out, eyes hypnotized by your pregnant tummy. “Forever and ever, just mine, just for me.”

You laugh and grant him mercy, slowly stroking his weeping length once again. "You wanna keep breeding me, hun? Wanna knock me up every chance you get, keep me pregnant forever with your babies? Give ya a whole class full of kids? A fucking soccer team? Thank what you want?"

His head rolls along your cheek, collapsing forward in pathetic ruts as you work his brain and his dick over and over. “Yesyeyes so pretty, so full of me, wanna keep you mine for everyone to see all the time. Don't want them touchin’. Just wanna touch you, only one to touch you, have you, breed you, please.”

“If you want to claim me for yourself,” you hum, teeth gliding along his jaw and pinching his bob in his throat, “Then you need to fuck me like it.”

-

 So doggy it is. Not a position he likes to get in until you coax him. but tonight, he needs to feel like he has possession over you... and he's still learning to be gentle.

You need him to let go, to use that physical power and fuck you to his hearts content. You don’t want him holding back, so normally concerned for you a your pleasure. Tonights about him. 

A smile cracks through your parted lips as he forces a particularly deep thrust into you. While he's so fully capable, strong, leader oriented, when he's with you in the safety of the bedroom, all thoughts go out his brain. He can't think for himself, goes so fucking dumb when thinking about getting inside your pussy that you have no choice but to take control and guide him and his little dumb thoughts.

His hips slap against you hard and fast, his meaty hands clamped so tightly around your waist that there will be bruises there. Your baby is safe, for now, at this size, even if your lower back is killing you with each rough crash against your ass. But the coil tightening in your core feels too good to think about anything else.

“Fuck—FUck Joel, feels good, huh? Feel good fucking your pussy?” You pant, arms propping you up on the bed that rocks violently back and force.

“Mommy’s pussy Mommy’s pussy Mommy’s pussy—“ he chants. His gaze is plastered on the sight of his cock disappearing into your squishy heat, practically sucking him in with each stroke. 

“Yeah, good boy, my good fucking boy,” you voice cracks, eyes rolling back as your orgasm plows through you. "Love seeing your baby grow in me? getting all—mm—big—my body's changing because of you, Miller. You did this to me."

You feel his pace stutter, desperate whimpers escaping his throat. His cock can barely handle your walls convulsing around him.

“Love Mommy's body, love everyone seein' what I done to ya, knocked Mommy up," he rasps, swallowing hard as your warmth clenches around him. "Warm,wet,tight,mine,mommys pussy mine, all mine, warmwarmwarm fuck—Put my cum in mommy’s pussy’s n now she’s mine!”

He pulls you up, one arm strapped over your chest and the other with his palm splayed possessively over your swell. You both make eye contact in the mirror, watching him hump you with such speed you’re seeing spots in the reflection. You don’t dare look away, nodding to him despite your oversensitivity, and whispering yesyesyes to make sure he keeps going.

You feel his jaw clenching so hard against your cheek, straining his neck nearly blacking out. His sweaty chest pressed flush against your back, pinning you too him.

The hand on your belly glides gently down so that his thumb can rub along your clit. You flinch for a moment, but his strength and the speed he’s slapping his balls against your ass leave you with no option but to take the second orgasm that screams through your body.

“Fuuucckkkkk Joel!” You cry, closing your eyes and grinning. You pull his hand back onto your belly. “Fucked me so good, Daddy. Everyone’s gonna see the baby you put in me, gonna know you’re gonna be the daddy that bred me.”

“Bred—my—Mommy,” he grunts with each forced breath, and with one final slam, he croaks out a drawn out moan, hips spasming as he drains his seed into you.

“That’s it, that’s it baby. There you go. All for you, my good boy. Mommy loves taking your cum. That’s all you gotta do, baby. Empty your balls into Mommy’s belly. Just like that. Doin so good. My good Joel.”

He buries his face into your neck. He’ll never want to draw away from your sweet scent, like nectar to a gluttonous bear. As his balls twitch with the final spurt of his cum into you, he sighs heavily. “Mommy’s good Joel,” he repeats. The two of you look in the mirror, still propped up on your knees, cupping over your little swell together and marveling at the hard work that’s now finally evident to the world.

- - - -

Sub!Himbo Joel fics:

Safe, Closer, Mine is Mine

Taglist:

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrs-oharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee

[boringbones]

A Letter to Talented Creators

I've been part of this community for 20 years, watching artists rise, fall, leave for new journeys, or simply stop playing or creating. We've received amazing content, but we've also missed out on much.

I wonder how many of these artists could still be creating extraordinary content if they had the support of their communities. It’s common to encounter cliques of creators who vilify anyone considering making a living doing what they love. They’ll use every trick to convince you that not only do you NOT deserve it, but that pursuing it somehow taints you.

With every new friend and artist I meet, my first advice is always: FIND a way to monetize what you do. I believe that if you have the chance to make a living doing what you love, you gain MORE TIME to do what you're great at and, especially, what others love.

Besides, you don’t need everyone’s support—just those who, like me and many other players, are willing to contribute to ensure you have the time you need to keep producing and delivering something only you can create. There are ideas that haven’t been thought of and projects that haven’t been started. Life brings unexpected situations, and we never truly know what goes on behind the scenes for each person who shares their art with the world.

Let me tell you, people are willing to support you. In reality, there are more people willing to support a creator than those who aren't. The difference is that those who are willing don’t make as much noise, but they genuinely enjoy helping an artist who continually exceeds expectations.

I know some people think, “If I make money from this, I’ll have to commit to a level I’m not willing to.” And if that’s the case, that’s fine. You don’t have to if you don’t want to. However, I see this commitment as something positive, but I respect those who disagree. As an artist, you want a certain level of "healthy" pressure. After all, art requires it—not too much pressure, but not too little, either.

Criquette, for instance, is one of the best creators for The Sims 2 in my view. He made incredible things that nearly every player has used. He was ambitious on a level I’ve rarely seen. But he’s been inactive for years. I wonder how much more he could have created if he’d been able to monetize his work—cover household bills, put food in the fridge, or handle basic expenses. How much more time he might have had to create and share? How many brilliant things we could have today in The Sims if he were still here? But he wasn’t monetized, and maybe he was never interested in it, and that’s okay!

For every artist who monetizes, there are many who prefer to do it as a hobby. And that’s wonderful. There are many runners who do it for well-being, pleasure, social connections, or the benefits it brings to life. However, there are those who run professionally. They commit to a level an “amateur” NEVER would. They undergo training that a casual or hobbyist runner would NEVER endure. They maintain diets that others would NEVER tolerate. But the fact that some monetize running and turn it into a career doesn’t prevent others from running for love, fun, or enjoyment.

So, what I’m trying to say is: it’s all okay. If you believe monetizing your talent would give you more QUALITY time to sit and produce what you love, give you the chance to take someone you love to a special restaurant simply because you can, or allow you to be BETTER at what you do because it frees you from worrying about adult responsibilities—then do it!

Be prepared for the noise others will make, but remember that those people aren’t your target audience. Even if they make noise, they don’t consume what you produce. And if they do, they might do so in secret—because attacking a creator and consuming that creator’s work is contradictory. But believe me, there’s often more inconsistency than consistency in this world. And that’s okay!

Remember that on the other side, there are many kind people who don’t mind contributing a small, medium, or even significant amount to support a creator they love, appreciate, and benefit from. Keep this in mind when considering monetization, no matter which version of The Sims you create for. If there’s even one person willing to support you, that’s all you need to start.

I am sure that with this, you’ll have more time, more quality of life, more joy, and a healthy commitment to push yourself in a positive way to give back to your audience for the support and love they have for what you create.

If I have time to create and contribute today, it’s because of these people. They’ve changed my life, shown me that I have the chance to live the life I genuinely want for myself rather than the life circumstances might have dictated. They show me daily that I can LOVE what I do and make a living from it, and that monetizing it doesn’t take away my love for it—instead, it enhances it. I hope you consider my words.

In the end, remember this phrase: “Beyond daily life and what others think of you, what do you think of yourself?” Your value is something only you define. People will respect you to the extent that you respect yourself. If anyone says you don’t have a place “here,” remember, we’re always speaking about ourselves.

We can only give to others what we have, what we are. Trust in your talent and find a way to monetize it, whatever it may be—whether it’s making jarred cakes, selling pudding door-to-door, or creating content for The Sims. I’ve done all these things, and if I’ve learned one thing, it’s that our circumstances change according to our sense of worth. When we recognize that every job has value and that there’s nothing wrong with making a living if you’re providing benefits to others with what you have to offer... So follow your heart. Take risks, give it your all, and be the artist you want to be, because there are people ready to support you. You deserve it, and you will succeed. I hope this letter reminds you of your worth.

Never forget that each of your creations is a unique expression, something only you can bring to the world. May that value and uniqueness always guide you and give you the confidence to keep doing what you love.

[ithebookhoarder]

If your still taking requests could u pls do “if you were taken by an unsub” criminal minds imagin? Or smth along those lines, if not that’s fine tho

~ ☘️

(BAU Headcanons) If you were taken by an Unsub

A/N: Um, of course you can?! Thanks for sending this one in angel 😇 I'm only sorry it's taken me this long to answer this. Hope you like it!

Warnings: Usual Criminal Minds references to criminals, murder, violence etc. Mentions of mental health. (Let me know if I missed any)

Aaron Hotchner

If you were taken? This man would not rest until you were back and safe with him - and not just because of what happened to Haley (though it doesn’t help). 

He would bark orders at everyone in a cold and blunt manner that tells them he is not in the mood to be messed with.

They will do as they are told and they will do it now. 

This poor man would be fighting not to let his fear show but he'd be seen clenching his fists over and over and taking long deep breaths in front of the mirror in the bathroom in an attempt to ground himself and get his head on straight. 

He's no good to you if he lets himself fall apart. His team - and more importantly, you - are counting on him.

You know he’s blaming himself and you’re both going to need therapy once this whole experience is over with. 

He would go into his hyper-rational mode, focusing on making plans and ignoring anything that isn’t getting you back safe and sound - which means no sleep. None. He’s running on fumes and caffeine - even after you’re found. 

It would take days for him to feel secure enough to close his eyes and be able to trust you’ll still be there when he opens them again. 

Also you best believe he is breaking out his old law text books and ensuring this UnSub goes down for a lonnnnnng time… if they even make it to trial that is. This man is a trained sniper and knows other trained snipers… just saying… 

David Rossi 

He may like to remind you all of his passionate Italian nature from time to time but it’s impossible to miss when he hears what’s happened to you. He’s an emotional mess, staggering between horror and rage to a frighteningly cold determination that is rare for the eldest team member.  

He’d try to act in control, pulling rank on everyone - including Hotch, which obviously doesn’t work. 

“No offence, Aaron, but I was chasing down Unsubs when you were still in diapers. I know what I’m doing.”

However, they know him well enough to see that despite having years of experience under his belt, Rossi is terrified of making some kind of mistake. 

Once they do find you, he’d be one of the first through the door, too concerned with checking you’re ok to worry about anything else. 

He’d also be sure to pay for the best medical care money could buy, if you needed it following the ordeal.

He also knows people and has no problem paying for you to see a counsellor of some sort if the situation required it. He just wants to take care of you now that you’re back in his arms again. 

Derek Morgan

This man is like a whole military unit in himself at the best of times, but he’s a whole other level of lethal when it comes to protecting the ones he loves. You do NOT want to be on the wrong side of Morgan, and that’s exactly where the Unsub who took you would sit. 

There isn’t a door he wouldn’t be willing to kick down to get you - and everybody knows better than to say a word about it. (Hotch is already mentally filling out all the paperwork he’s going to need once this rescue is done, but he doesn’t exactly mind, given the situation).

Also, Morgan may have trained you himself, drilling you in self-defence and marksmanship so you’d known how to protect yourself out there in the field, but none of that matters now. You may have the Unsub at your mercy already, or you may be at theirs, but he doesn’t know and that’s what’s killing him: the not knowing. 

It’s why Penelope is basically glued to his side the whole entire time, telling him everything she finds out the very second she finds it.  

“We’ll find them sugar, I promise. They’re just as tough and strong as you are, so don’t give up on them, ok?”

He’d be leading the pack once you are found though, tearing through anyone and anything that stood in his way. All he cares about is seeing you with his own eyes and getting you as far away from danger as possible. 

“I’m so sorry, baby. It’s my job to keep you safe and I failed you.”

He’d be beating himself up for weeks after and it would take an entire team intervention to get him to let you go back out into the field again without him being glued to your side. After all, he’s not making the same mistake twice. Any Unsub wants that wants to get close to you will have to get past him first. 

Emily Prentiss

This woman is a super spy and a lethal weapon on an average day but if you were taken? Then she would be the most dangerous woman in the entire United States. 

She knows people in every agency and on every continent so you best believe she will be calling in favours left, right and centre. (Even Rossi is terrified by how quickly she was able to get the Pentagon on the phone…)

She would also be action-focused, needing to do something rather than sitting around wasting time. Every minute spent talking was one more minute the Unsub had to hurt you - and that thought makes her feel physically sick. 

This would end up causing her to explode, taking it out on whichever unfortunate soul is closest. Like, you know she would definitely have to be reminded by Hotch that they actually need the local law enforcement to work with them, if they want to get you back alive, after she is seen screaming at an unfortunate officer for their ‘utter stupidity’. 

Thankfully, she gets to turn that rage on the Unsub after they find you. I mean, let’s be real. It would take Morgan physically holding her back to stop her from beating their face in. 

This frustration would ultimately then be transferred to you, once she knows you’re safe. 

You almost can quote her ‘You almost died’ speech by this point, but you know it makes you both feel better to hear it so you let her rant and rant until she’s calm enough to crawl into your arms and squeeze you close. 

“I love you so much. I can’t lose you.” 

You’re also pretty sure she now has people following you at all times, watching over you when she can’t, so that this never happens again. 

JJ

JJ is every bit as lethal as Emily is when those she loves are at risk. If anything, she’s more terrifying because she’ll hide that murderous rage behind a ‘butter-wouldn’t-melt’ smile before deciding to strike. 

However, it would take everything in her not to just charge in and go on the offensive. After all, she was willing to run into a bank full of armed robbers after Will. 

It would probably end up with the team having to physically holding her back to stop her - usually accompanied by a well meaning pep talk about how she needs to get her head on straight if she actually wants to help get you back. 

You know this woman would follow you everywhere afterwards, never letting you out of her sight. In fact, she hits ‘super Mom mode’ where she is constantly fussing over you and seems to have the world in her go-bag. 

You need tissues, pain-killers, chocolate: she got it.

���Hey, it’s ok. You know I’ve got your back, right? I won’t let anything else happen to you. You’re safe now.”

She would also call you out on all your BS, if you tried to downplay what happened to you or if you were still affected. 

One twitch of her eyebrow is all it takes for her to have you pinned to your chair and spilling your guts about your emotions. You know better than to make her ask twice. After all, she may be the first to downplay it when she’s hurting but when it comes to her team and her family, she’d do anything to take care of you. If that’s driving your ass to therapy or just holding you, she’ll do it without complaint.

Penelope Garcia 

Would immediately panic as soon as she hears what’s happened to you. Like, we’re talking SO much panic.

Poor girl is spiralling and needs the team to help ground her so she can get back to the lair and do her thing. It would probably be down to Morgan or like JJ to get her to actually remember to breathe and not make herself pass out. 

But once she’s up and running? Well, she’d be all over the Unsub like a bad rash. Every teeny tiny detail of their life is suddenly unearthed and splashed on the 

board for everyone to see. (No one dares ask how she found certain items, but knowing her history with the dark web it’s probably for the best). 

Also, she would be begging for constant updates once the team is out in the field.  Any other day, it would drive the team insane to have a constant running Penelope monologue in their ears, but they’re surprisingly tolerant in this case. 

“Guys, do you see them? Are they ok? What’s going on? I need to know people! I have no eyes here!” 

Would be all over you once you’re safe and insists on installing tracking software on everything. She wants a digital link to you, 24/7 so that this NEVER happens again. It’s simultaneously flattering and slightly terrifying how much power this angel has at the end of her glittery, manicured fingers. 

Dr Spencer Reid

Depending on which season-Reid you’re with when you’re taken, you would have a distraught super genius who makes it his life’s mission to get you back. Or, you’d have a prison-hardened super genius with a slightly grey-er view of the world on a mission to find you. 

Either way, there’s probably no one you’d want more to be in charge of locating and rescuing you. 

Like Hotch, I feel he would become obsessed with nothing other than finding you. He wouldn’t eat. He wouldn’t sleep. Hell, no one on the team has even seen him leave the briefing room long enough to go pee, let alone take a break. This results in the team all taking it in turns to be parental figures and coax (and eventually threaten) him into pausing long enough to down a glass of water and eat some snack bar. 

Between Morgan’s physical threats, JJ’s guilt-trips, and Hotch threatening to bench him from this case, they’d eventually succeed. 

“You guys don’t get it. They need me. I have to figure this out - they’re counting on me. I can’t fail them. I won’t. So either help me or get out of here and let me think.”

We all know he would probably harass any medical professionals charged with caring for you, once you’re back. He doesn’t trust them - especially when it comes to your welfare. 

He’d also confine you to the couch and force you to rest, queueing up endless re-runs of Doctor Who and whatever shows you find most comforting to have playing in the background. It’s selfishly what he needs too, being able to sit and hold you long enough to quell any fears he may have about you and your wellbeing. You’re here and you’re real and you’re safe. 

Masterlist

[idk6123]

Puppeteer The Puppeteer (Homelander X Male Reader)

With The Seven constantly being on the hot seat, Homelander only wishes one thing during days like these, control. He wishes there were a way The Deep do less dumb stuff. He wishes A-Train wasn’t some junkie that relies on drugs to use his powers. He wishes he could actually trust Starlight. He wishes Queen Maeve actually would listen to him and stop hating him. He wishes Translucent was still alive. He was fine with Black Noir.

With the lack of a member, he wishes someone more reliable to have in the team. Someone that meets all of his requirements, strong, obedient, trustworthy, basically everything that lacks with his current team. Thus, he got Ashley to scout for potential heroes.

“…And by doing this, we will be keeping up with the trend for more inclusivity.”

Homelander frowns and drops the information file on his desk. “You really think someone blind and in a wheelchair would fit the team?”

“She may be handicapped, but she’s strong. Besides, we never had a handicapped person in The Seven.”

“True, but we do have one in the PR team.” Homelander ruthlessly comment. Without even looking at the offended Ashley, the blonde looks through the files of how he finds interestingly enough to take even a peek.

“Luckily, we many other candidates. I’m sure we can reach a compromise-” Homelander drops the files on the side. Then he gestures to Ashley to give him the files she’s holding. She’s quick to give it to him, making him to look again. “We have plenty of strong heroes who will make the public-” She then stops talking when Homelander stops browsing to look at one file in particular. Judging by his face, he found his new hero. “Who’re you looking at?”

With a satisfied smirk, Homelander continues to look through the file. “We got our new member.”

-

“I highly advice to not get him.” In the hallway, Ashley is following Homelander, who’s meeting his new teammate. “He just made his break as a hero. He only got 11 followers on Instagram, most of them being family members. He caught only 2 burglars. He’s an introvert and I’m not surprised he only leave the house to do grocery shopping. The only good thing is that he’s gay, but I got 100 gay guys on my list.”

“I don’t care about them. I want him.” Homelander insist. He doesn’t stop walking. Not even looking at Ashley as he talks. “And if you’re going to have trouble having him good PR, that is your problem.” With that, Homelander enters his office, with Ashley following him with stress.

Inside of the office, Homelander is quick to see the young man, who looks a bit nervous. He stands up to give his new boss a nervous smile. “It’s an honor meeting you, sir.”

Homelander accepts his hand, smiling back at him. “Please drop the formalities. Please treat me like you treat your friends.”

After introductions, Y/N sit back on his seat, while Homelander is sitting opposite of him. Ashley is standing at the side, wondering what her boss is up to. “I have to say, I’m quite surprised I received a call. I just started all of this, and I’m already being recognized by The Seven.”

“There is a reason for that.” Homelander shows a kind smile. “You got a gift like no other, Y/N. “I never seen a telepath that has such potential like you have. I know you’re an amateur right now, but I can see in front of me a hero that will save millions of lives.”

Y/N blushes a bit, didn’t expecting to receive so many complements from his idol. “T-Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. If you don’t mind, I would like to see you demonstrating your powers. I want to see how good you are right now.” Homelander requests. “I want you to tell me something embarrassing of Ashley.”

Ashley looks alarmed, with Y/N being taken a little aback. “…I don’t use my powers on people casually unless necessary.”

“Don’t worry. She’s fine with it.” Homelander brushes it off. Although not wanting it, Ashley merely forced a painful smile. “Besides, considering this is about your future, don’t you think it’s necessary?”

Y/N knows things seems off, but this is ones in a lifetime chance. So, he uses his powers. Within a second, his face looks disgusted. “What kind of BDSM shit are you in?”

Homelander looks amused as Ashley looks even more embarrassed. “I don’t even need her to confirm it that you did it.” He then leans over. “Now for my final request. I want you to use your mind control power, take over Ashley’s mind and do something ridiculous in the hallway.”

“Wait-!”

Before Ashley could beg for Y/N not to, he did, though he feels a bit guilty. Her entire face only shows some hollowness. As she walks to the hallway, Homelander smirks and stand up. Both men get out of the hallway to see what’s going to happen. There, Ashley stands in the middle of it, with people passing by, not knowing what is going to happen.

“Attention! People! Attention!” Every worker in the hallway looks at her. “I need to confess something! Yesterday, we had a party back at my house, but I didn’t invited most of you. I want to apologize for sleeping in front of some of you and I was advised to go to the doctors.” Every worker frowns at hearing her. “I also want to apologize for the… ‘bathroom’ incident. I shouldn’t drink that much, and I got karma for it. I puked over some of you… and I’m sure you also saw me shitting in my pants at the same time. Again, I’m apologize, and I’m hope we can work normally from now on.” With that, she walks away. When she’s gone from the scene, Y/N let go of her mind.

Homelander looks proud at him as he put his hand on Y/N’s shoulder. “Congratulations teammate. You’re in.”

-

Somehow, Ashley managed to create a story surrounding the new Seven member. Y/N apparently helped Homelander during a mission as a rookie, without knowing the big hero were there. Because of it, Homelander took the newly hero under his wing and train him. The whole spin is basically a sidekick and coach relationship, which worked well for the public.

Right now, it’s the first interview for the new hero. As he awaits in the lounge room, he nervously thinks through the interview, playing it in his mind. Homelander walks in, knowing Y/N is stressing.

“You don’t look too good, buddy.”

“…I never got interviewed before, that’s all.” Y/N nervously steps on the ground. “Especially not one at national tv.”

Homelander gives him an assures smile as he walks over to him. “Remember you can just be yourself. It’s alright to be shy. In fact, Ashley would love to represent someone more introverted on the big screen. Just be humble, nice and honest, exactly how we met. Think you can do that?”

Y/N hums. “Yeah. I’m not one for scripts to be honest. But I’m fine lying if it makes you guys lives a bit easier.”

Homelander looks proud. “That’s my sidekick.” He put an arm around the younger man, who looks a bit nervous. “And don’t worry. I’m going to sit right besides you if you need me.”

Y/N can’t help but smile. “Thanks.”

-

Y/N been accustom quiet well in The Seven. He and Starlight became quick friends. He took training sessions with Queen Maeve. He and Black Noir often spend time together, since both aren’t much talkers. He got stamina training from A-Train. He doesn’t talk to The Deep because he’s currently off the team because he raped someone. Y/N isn’t one to judge people quickly, but he makes an exception with him. That leaves Homelander, who spends the most time with. He helps him train his powers, his fighting moves and helping him PR wise. The boy often views Homelander as his mentor, and comes to him for general life advice, like today.

“I can tell there is something up your mind.” Homelander speaks up as both eat their lunches. “You can talk to me.”

“Well…” Y/N looks a bit uncomfortable. He takes a second for how to phrase it. “…So, I met this guy at security. He’s kinda my first friend that aren’t you guys. But yesterday, he… he asked me out.”

This makes the blonde curious. “Like a date?”

“Y-Yeah…” Y/N replies. “I never had one, so… I’m a bit nervous.”

Homelander smiles, as he thinks through the situation. He’s quick to have a solution in his mind for the new problem. “Want some advice? Just be yourself. He already knows you, so don’t worry about presenting yourself as being social or something. Besides, there is nothing to be ashamed of being quiet.”

Y/N can’t help but smile. “Basic advice, but your right. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

-

Later that day, Homelander got to the guy’s apartment to ‘fix’ the problem. Afterwards, all he had to do is send a text to Y/N the date is off because he wasn’t interested. Knowing the effect he’s going to get; he calls it a day and await for the next act.

The next day, he met with Y/N in the training room, seeing him more stoic then usual. “Everything alright there?”

“…My date bailed on me.” Y/N avoids looking at Homelander. “He said he wasn’t interested.”

“You serious?” Homelander sits down at the side. Afterwards, he gestures his sidekick to sit besides him, which he does. “What a jerk. Are you alright?”

Y/N shakes his head. “…I-I was really looking forward for it. I thought, maybe now I’m in The Seven, it’s fine to be the quiet guy… but it looks things hasn’t changed a bit.”

Homelander put an arm around Y/N, scooting him a bit over to him. “Don’t be ashamed. I know you’re an amazing guy. You’re kind, polite, honest and a hard worker. If he called the date off, that is his loss, because any guy is lucky to be with you.” With that being said, he put his other hand on Y/N’s knee, making the man blushing a bit as Homelander’s face is so close.

“Y-You really think so.”

“I don’t think so. I know it.” Homelander smiles warmly. “Think you’re going to be okay?”

“Yeah.” Y/N smiles. “I’m going to be fine.”

-

Some days later, Homelander invited Y/N to his room. Once there, he sees the blonde holding a bottle of champagne alongside two glasses on the table.

“Since you did so well last mission, I thought we should celebrate.” He opens the bottle, as a pop sound comes from it. With a smile, he tempts Y/N to drink, which he does.

With both men smiling, they drink the champagne from the glass as they sit down. Homelander is proud of his sidekick, now finally being stand on his own. Last mission, Y/N managed to mind control 10 people at the same time. Without even getting someone hurt, he successfully removed some terrorist who would’ve ended innocent people’s lives.

“Just imagine what you can do in the future. Wouldn’t be great if you could do, let’s say, 100 people?”

“I had already trouble doing with 10.” Y/N laughs. “It’s going to be a while before I can do even 20. That being said, it’s all thanks to you. You saw the potential in me and helped me achieve it.”

“You’re welcome. I know talent when I see it.” Homelander smiles. “And I know you’re only to get better from here out.”

“I feel like that too.” Y/N sounds hopeful.

“And I continue train you. …But I have something to confess to you. I have an ulterior motive.”

Y/N is curious. “Really? What’s it?”

“Well…” Homelander avoids looking at him. “When I first saw your file, I knew you were going to be a great member, and I was more then happy to help you. But as I spend more time with you, I grew more attach to you. Not as a teammate, or a friend, but as someone who cares for you.”

Y/N looks a bit stunned. “…You mean as a partner?”

Homelander looks back at him. “Nothing would make me happier to have you at my side… as something more then a friend.”

“W-Wow…” Y/N continues to look startled. “…I-I never expected this.”

Homelander smiles. “It’s alright. Take your time.”

“I… I would be very happy to be your boyfriend.”

With a wider smile, the hero leans in and kisses Y/N, who nervously kisses back. Both of them being gentle with the other. It was short, but it was sweet, something what the blonde was going for. After the kiss, he put his hand on Y/N’s cheek.

“You look so beautiful. I’m very happy to have you at my side.”

-

The next day and the big hero wake up in his bed. His eyes quick to look at the side to see Y/N lying next to him. His front is facing towards him. With a wide smile, Homelander get on his side to carefully hug Y/N, who’s face is now against his chest. The new recruit mutters something.

“Y/N?”

But it appears he’s still asleep. The blonde then looks pass Y/N’s head. As he continues to smile, he knows he got what he wanted. To have someone’s loyalty, now in the form of love. And to make it better, have someone that is powerful. With his powers, Homelander can use his telepathic abilities to get any information instantly and control someone’s mind without any problem. Sure, he needs to mold his lover to do what he wishes, but if he continues to be patient and dedicated to his project, things will turn out very well.