#but his mother was there and he was being care for

[solxamber]

Choose Us!

In which you have to decide on a dorm to become part of.

Part 2: You choose the dorm

"You're serious?" you blink at Crowley, half-expecting Grim to wake you up from this fever dream. "I can move into any dorm?"

Crowley clasps his hands together with a benevolent smile that doesn't quite match his usual dramatic flair. "Indeed, my dear prefect! It's the least I can do to ensure your safety and comfort!"

Grim looks up from where he’s gnawing on a suspiciously burnt sofa leg. "Wait, what about me?!"

"You’ll go where the prefect goes, naturally," Crowley waves off Grim’s protests. "Now, chop-chop! Let me know your decision by the end of the day."

And just like that, he floats out of Ramshackle, leaving you standing in the middle of the chaos.

Heartslabyul

The second you hit send in the group chat, you regret everything. Ace and Deuce don’t even wait for you to explain. Within minutes, they’re barging into Ramshackle like the Kool-Aid Man.

“Heartslabyul!” Ace yells, grabbing one of your arms.

“Obviously Heartslabyul!” Deuce hollers, seizing the other.

“I haven’t even decided—”

“Blasphemy!” Ace gasps, as if you’d just insulted his mother. “We’re your best friends, how could you even think about choosing another dorm?”

Deuce nods fervently, dragging you toward the door. “Heartslabyul’s clean! Organized! You’d thrive there!”

"And the desserts!" Ace adds. "Think of the desserts!"

Before you know it, you're shoved into Heartslabyul’s rose garden, where Riddle is waiting with the most extravagant tea party setup you’ve ever seen. There’s a towering cake, delicate pastries, and enough tea to drown Grim.

“I thought you might need proper refreshments while considering your options,” Riddle says, adjusting his posture like he isn’t secretly trying to sway you. “Of course, I have no preference where you go. I’m merely concerned for your well-being.”

Trey hands you a plate with the biggest, most immaculate slice of cake you’ve ever seen. “You’d fit right in here, you know,” he says kindly. “We’re all about structure and care… and good desserts.”

"Plus," Cater slides in with a grin, “imagine all the cool pics we could take together! #DormGoals, am I right? You and me chilling in Heartslabyul, like, all the time?”

Riddle clears his throat loudly. “This isn’t about favoritism, mind you. But if you were to choose Heartslabyul, you’d be part of a dorm that values discipline and respect for the rules.”

Ace nudges you with a smirk. “Ignore him. Just think of all the times I’ll sneak you extra tarts.”

You glance around at the hopeful stares. Grim’s already halfway into a tart he snatched off the table. “I feel like I’m being ambushed.”

“Oh, you are,” Ace says shamelessly.

Savanaclaw

You stumble out of the Heartslabyul tea party, feeling like you’ve consumed enough sugar to fuel a small country. Before you can even catch your breath, a shadow looms over you, and suddenly, you're hoisted into the air like a sack of potatoes.

“What the—JACK?!” you squawk, flailing as he throws you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing.

“You’re coming with me,” Jack grunts, completely unfazed by your protests. “You need to see why Savanaclaw is the best dorm for you.”

“I can walk, you know!” you huff, punching his back.

He ignores you. “Not fast enough.”

By the time he sets you down, you’re in the middle of Savanaclaw’s common area, where Ruggie is lounging on one of the couches, counting a suspiciously thick wad of cash. Leona’s sprawled out nearby, pretending to nap, though his ears twitch at the sound of your arrival.

Ruggie grins as soon as he spots you. “Ah, perfect timing! I was just telling Leona how we could totally use someone like you here. Right, boss?”

Leona cracks one eye open and yawns, his tone dripping with disinterest. “Tch. Don’t care. They can do whatever they want.”

“That’s funny,” Ruggie says, nudging Leona hard enough to make him growl, “’cause I distinctly remember you saying—and I quote—‘If they don’t pick Savanaclaw, everyone else can rot.’”

Leona sits up, glaring daggers at Ruggie. “I said no such thing.”

“Sure you didn’t,” Ruggie snickers before turning back to you, his grin as wide as a hyena’s. “Anyway, check this out. Leona generously donated some funds to help you... you know, see the light.”

He shoves the wad of cash into your hands. You blink at it. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Whatever you want! Snacks, clothes, bribes for your annoying friends in Heartslabyul…”

Leona groans and drags a hand down his face. “You’re making us look desperate.”

“We? Speak for yourself, Your Highness.” Ruggie winks at you. “He’s just mad ‘cause he doesn’t know how to be subtle.”

Leona slouches further into his seat, watching you through half-lidded eyes. “Look, Herbivore, if you wanna be around people who won’t coddle you, Savanaclaw’s where it’s at. We don’t do tea parties here—”

“Obviously,” you mutter, thinking about the claw marks on the furniture.

“—but we’ll actually challenge you to grow stronger. You can’t get that in the other dorms.”

Jack nods. “He’s right. And we’ve got the best training facilities on campus.”

Ruggie waves a hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, training’s cool and all, but let’s focus on what really matters. Free snacks. Awesome vibes. Me.”

Leona rolls his eyes. “You’re going to scare them off.”

You cross your arms, trying to ignore the way Leona’s ears flick every time you shift your weight. “So… are you guys going to bribe me with anything besides money and vibes?”

Leona smirks. “What, isn’t my dazzling personality enough?”

Ruggie snorts. “Oh, sure. That’s totally why people flock to you.”

You can’t help but laugh, and Leona’s eyes soften just a little, though he quickly turns his head like he doesn’t care.

“I’ll think about it,” you say, handing the wad of cash back to Ruggie, who immediately starts recounting it like you’ve stolen some.

“Better think fast,” Leona mutters, though there’s the faintest curve of a smile on his lips.

Octavinelle

As you trudge back to Ramshackle, your brain still processing Savanaclaw’s “recruitment tactics,” a pair of arms suddenly wrap around you, lifting you clean off the ground.

“Shrimpy!” Floyd crows, spinning you around like you’re a prize he just won at a carnival.

“FLOYD! Put me down!” you shout, flailing uselessly in his grip.

“Nah, I got orders,” he says, grinning ear to ear as he hauls you off toward the Mostro Lounge.

By the time you’re unceremoniously deposited (read: still stuck in Floyd’s arms like a glorified teddy bear), you’re face-to-face with Azul and Jade, both of whom look way too pleased with themselves.

“Ah, perfect timing!” Azul says, standing up from his chair with his signature business smile. “We’ve been eagerly awaiting your arrival. Have a seat!”

“I would if Floyd let me down,” you deadpan, glaring at the tall eel holding you like a sack of seaweed.

“Nah, you’re comfy,” Floyd chirps, tightening his grip as if daring you to try escaping.

Azul clears his throat, pulling out a scroll of parchment that looks suspiciously like a contract. “Ahem. Now, as I was saying—let’s discuss the many benefits of joining Octavinelle. For starters, we pride ourselves on being a dorm of intellect and resourcefulness. Here, you’ll have access to unmatched networking opportunities, a plethora of unique beverages crafted by Jade himself, and—should you agree—my personal mentorship in matters of… negotiation.”

He flashes you a grin that screams, This is totally not suspicious at all.

Jade slides a glass of something shimmering and iridescent across the table toward you. “I would be delighted to name you our official taste tester. Imagine the prestige of being the first to try all my… experimental creations.”

You eye the drink like it might explode. “Define ‘experimental.’”

Jade smiles serenely. “You’ll find out.”

“Don’t be shy, Shrimpy!” Floyd chimes in, shifting you in his arms so you’re now sitting sideways like some sort of royal guest. “You’d have so much fun here. We’ve got good food, good drinks, and me.”

Azul adjusts his glasses, sliding the contract closer to you. “And, of course, we’ve prepared a special position for you. All you have to do is sign right here, and Octavinelle will officially welcome you as our newest member.”

You glance at the contract, then at the three of them—Azul’s scheming smile, Jade’s unsettling calmness, and Floyd’s unnervingly enthusiastic grin.

“I feel like this is a trap,” you say.

“It’s not a trap,” Floyd says immediately, which makes you even more suspicious.

Azul leans forward, steepling his fingers. “I assure you, everything is perfectly legitimate. Now, shall we seal the deal?”

“Or,” you say, leaning back as far as Floyd’s grip will allow, “I could not.”

Jade hums thoughtfully, handing you another drink. “At least try the beverages before you decide.”

Azul smirks. “I’m sure a sip or two will convince you.”

You glance at the drink, then back at Azul. “Is this bribery?”

“It’s persuasion,” he corrects smoothly.

“Same thing.”

Floyd suddenly squeezes you tight, grinning down at you. “C’mon, Shrimpy. Just say yes already! I’ll carry you everywhere. Betcha Heartslabyul and Savanaclaw didn’t offer that.”

You sigh, resting your head in your hands. This was going to be a long night.

Scarabia

You barely make it out of Octavinelle alive (or at least with your dignity and soul intact) when you’re immediately ambushed again.

“Prefect!” Kalim’s voice rings out, and before you can even process the sound, you’re being yanked into a whirlwind of color, music, and… is that confetti?

You blink as Scarabia's lounge comes into view, transformed into what can only be described as a full-blown festival. Tables are piled high with food, lanterns glow in warm hues, and cheerful music fills the air.

“Surprise!” Kalim grins, throwing his arms wide like he just gifted you the world. “Welcome to Scarabia! We threw a party just for you!”

“A… party?” you repeat, still trying to figure out how you got here so fast.

“Yep!” Kalim grabs your hands, his golden eyes shining with pure, unfiltered excitement. “I thought, ‘What’s the best way to convince you to join us?’ And then I thought, ‘A party! Everyone loves parties!’”

Before you can respond, a plate stacked with delicious-looking food appears in front of you, courtesy of none other than Jamil.

“Eat,” he says simply, pushing the plate closer.

“Oh, uh, thanks?” you mumble, picking up a fork.

Jamil nods, then leans in slightly, his voice low and almost conspiratorial. “This is just a taste of what Scarabia has to offer. Stick around, and I’ll make sure you’re well-fed every day. Properly fed.”

You pause mid-bite, noticing the way he emphasizes the word “properly,” like he knows exactly how many instant noodles you’ve been living off of.

Kalim, meanwhile, is still giving you the most devastating puppy-dog eyes you’ve ever seen. “You’ll join, right? We’d have so much fun together! And think of all the parties we could throw! Oh, and I can get you anything you want! Name it, and it’s yours!”

You glance between Kalim’s hopeful grin and Jamil’s subtle but persuasive bribes.

Jamil catches your hesitation and sighs, placing yet another dish in front of you. “Look, I’ll even help you stay on top of your work. You’re clearly the type who needs someone dependable around.”

“Hey!” you protest, only for him to raise an eyebrow as if to say, Am I wrong?

“Please?” Kalim chimes in, practically bouncing in place. “It’ll be so much fun! And I really, really want you to join. Scarabia would be perfect for you!”

You groan internally, stuffing another bite of food into your mouth just to avoid answering. Between Kalim’s overwhelming enthusiasm and Jamil’s quiet determination, you’re starting to think Scarabia might actually succeed in breaking your will.

You’re doomed. Aren’t you?

Pomefiore

You stumble out of Scarabia, clutching your overstuffed stomach and wondering how you’ve made it this far without officially losing your sanity. Taking the long way around campus to avoid any more ambushes seems like the best idea—you’ve had enough dorm propaganda for one day.

Or so you thought.

You’re halfway through the forest, breathing a sigh of relief at the quiet, when—

“Bonjour, mon cher trésor!”

You shriek as Rook appears out of thin air. Where did he even come from? Why is there sparkly lighting behind him? Is this even allowed?

“Rook! What—what are you doing here?!”

“Ah, I see you were clever enough to evade the others,” he says, ignoring your question entirely. “But you cannot escape me, the hunter of beauty! Pomefiore awaits, mon ami!”

Before you can protest, he’s scooped you up bridal style and is sprinting through the forest with unnatural speed, his laughter echoing ominously.

“This isn’t fair! You’re cheating!” you yell, flailing helplessly.

“All’s fair in love, war, and dorm recruitment, non?”

You soon find yourself unceremoniously plopped down in the middle of Pomefiore’s lounge. Vil is waiting with his arms crossed and an unreadable expression, though the way his foot taps against the floor suggests he’s less than pleased.

“Honestly,” Vil sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Was the theatrics really necessary, Rook?”

“Always,” Rook replies with a wink.

Epel is off to the side, clearly trying not to laugh at your predicament while casually carving an apple.

“Well,” Vil says, straightening his posture and fixing you with a regal gaze. “I’ve heard about this… situation of yours. Joining Pomefiore would be the obvious choice. After all, we are the epitome of elegance and refinement. It would be a privilege for you to stay here, and I might even be able to do something about your… appearance.”

You blink. "What's wrong with my appearance?”

Vil waves a hand dismissively. “Nothing I can’t fix. Consider it a favor.”

Epel, meanwhile, sidles up next to you, whispering conspiratorially “Don’t listen to him. He’s just tryna butter you up. But, uh… you should totally join Pomefiore anyway. Look, I brought you some fresh juice from Harveston. And this apple.”

You glance at the carved apple he’s offering. It’s shaped like a little heart.

“Epel,” Vil scolds, glaring at him. “Stop bribing them. That’s hardly dignified.”

“Well, it’s working, isn’t it?” Epel shoots back, crossing his arms. “I just think we need someone who’ll actually get how hard it is to survive your routines. And they seem cool. So there.”

You feel your brain short-circuiting as Vil and Epel start bickering in front of you. Rook stands off to the side, watching with sparkling eyes like he’s witnessing a masterpiece.

Somehow, you feel like this is still less stressful than Scarabia. But only barely.

Ignihyde

You somehow manage to escape Pomefiore in one piece, though your mind feels like it’s been through a blender. You’re determined to finally make it back to Ramshackle without incident when—

“Prefect!”

You freeze mid-step as Ortho zooms into view, his boosters glowing bright blue. Before you can even blink, he grabs your arm with surprising strength.

“Ignihyde is next!” he announces cheerfully, starting to lift you off the ground.

“Wait, wait!” you shout, flailing. “I can walk! Please, I’ve been carried around like a stolen handbag all day!”

Ortho tilts his head, his LED eyes flickering. “Oh… okay! As long as you promise to come willingly!”

You nod frantically. “I promise! Just no more flying, please.”

Satisfied, Ortho takes your hand and leads you to Ignihyde. The journey is mercifully uneventful, though you can feel your soul leaving your body as you realize what’s waiting for you inside.

Sure enough, Idia is hunched over in the corner of the lounge, a laptop balanced precariously on a stack of game boxes. The moment you enter, the screen lights up with a title slide: “Top 10 Reasons Why You Should Join Ignihyde” in bold, glowing text.

“Oh, you’re here,” Idia mutters, adjusting his hoodie nervously. His hair flickers faintly pink at the tips. “Uh, okay, so—yeah, uh—welcome? Or whatever. Let’s, um, get this over with.”

He clicks to the first slide, which is an overwhelming wall of text filled with bullet points, charts, and what looks like a meme of a cat wearing glasses.

“Reason number one,” Idia starts, stumbling over his words. “Um, we’re quiet? Like, no loud parties or annoying socializing. Uh… unless you count Ortho, but, uh, he’s not that bad. And you can play games as much as you want. Or watch anime. Or—uh—just chill. Yeah.”

Ortho, standing nearby, nods enthusiastically. “Ignihyde is perfect for you! And Brother worked really hard on this presentation!”

You glance at Idia, who’s clearly fighting for his life to make eye contact with you. He clicks to the next slide, which is just a stock photo of a cozy room.

“Reason number two,” he continues. “We, uh, have good Wi-Fi? Like, really good. You could stream in 4K if you wanted to. Not that you’d want to. Or maybe you would? Uh… I dunno. Anyway.”

His hair flickers a deeper pink, and he clicks to the next slide. It’s a crudely edited photo of you and him standing next to each other in front of a glowing Ignihyde logo. You’re not sure whether to be impressed or deeply concerned.

He glances at you, his expression oddly hopeful. “So, uh… what do you think?”

You can feel Ortho practically vibrating next to you, his bright smile threatening to blind you. Meanwhile, Idia is trying (and failing) to look indifferent, but the way his fingers tap anxiously on the laptop betrays him.

“I’ll… think about it,” you say carefully, not having the heart to crush Idia’s dreams outright.

His hair sparks bright pink for a split second before he slams the laptop shut, muttering something about “overheating processors” and “input overload.”

Ortho cheers. “Yay! I knew you’d see how great we are!”

You manage a weak smile, already planning your escape route.

Diasomnia

You’re so close—so, so close—to finally making it back to Ramshackle when the universe decides to remind you that peace is but a fleeting dream.

“Ah, there you are!”

You barely have time to scream before Lilia literally materializes out of thin air, grabbing you by the arm and dragging you into a swirling vortex of green light.

“Wait, NO—”

Too late. You’re already standing in the middle of Diasomnia’s lounge, disoriented and ready to file a restraining order against anyone with teleportation magic.

Malleus looks up from where he’s seated, eyebrows raising slightly. “Child of man? What brings you here?”

“Great news, Malleus!” Lilia chirps, dropping you onto the couch like a sack of potatoes. “They’re choosing a dorm to transfer to, and we couldn’t possibly let them pick anywhere but Diasomnia!”

Malleus freezes, his eyes wide with surprise, before his expression shifts into one of regal determination. He rises from his seat, his imposing height making you feel like a pebble in the presence of a mountain.

“Is this true?” he asks, his voice deep and serious. “You’re choosing a new dorm?”

“Uh, yeah, but—”

“Then it must be Diasomnia.” His tone leaves no room for argument. “Here, you will be protected. No harm shall come to you under my watch. And…” He pauses, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “I have a gargoyle in my room. A fine specimen. You would enjoy its company.”

You blink. “...A gargoyle?”

“Yes,” Malleus says with absolute sincerity, as though that’s the most convincing argument in the world.

Before you can process that, Sebek practically throws himself to the floor in front of you, bowing with the intensity of a knight swearing fealty.

“Human!” he bellows. “You must choose Diasomnia! To live anywhere else would be an insult to the Young Master’s unparalleled grace and power! Surely, you can see this is the only logical choice!”

“Sebek,” Silver mumbles from his spot on the couch, not even bothering to open his eyes. “Maybe let them decide for themselves.”

“But, Silver!” Sebek protests, his voice trembling with the sheer force of his conviction. “The honor! The prestige!”

Meanwhile, Lilia floats into view, holding a plate of… something. “Don’t worry about dinner, dear. I’ve prepared a feast for you! Go on, take a bite.”

You stare at the plate. It looks like it might be alive. “I’m… good, thanks.”

“Nonsense! You need to keep your strength up!” Lilia insists, thrusting the plate closer to your face.

Silver sighs, finally sitting up. “You should just do what feels right,” he says, offering you a calm, reassuring smile. “Don’t let them pressure you.”

You glance between Malleus’s earnest expression, Sebek’s passionate pleas, and Lilia’s… questionable cooking. Your stomach growls, but you’re not sure if it’s hunger or the beginnings of a panic attack.

One thing’s for sure: if you survive this day, you’re going to need therapy.

The sun is setting by the time you finally drag your aching body back to Ramshackle. The dorm looms ahead, creaky and crumbling, but for once, it feels like a safe haven compared to the dorm-hopping marathon you just survived.

As you step inside, you’re greeted by the unmistakable voice of your ever-demanding feline companion. “There you are! What took ya so long? I’ve been waitin’ forever!”

Grim is sprawled on the couch, a can of tuna already half-empty beside him. He squints at you suspiciously. “So? Which dorm are we movin’ to?”

You groan, flopping face-first onto the nearest piece of semi-clean furniture. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“What?!” Grim squawks, leaping onto the armrest beside you. “What do ya mean you haven’t decided? This is important! We gotta pick one where I can get the most tuna, y’know?”

You tilt your head just enough to glare at him. “Oh, sure. Let me just base my entire living situation on your snack preferences.”

Grim puffs up, indignant. “Hey! I’ve been puttin’ up with this dump longer than anyone! I deserve to have a say!”

You sigh, the weight of the day finally catching up to you. Somehow, Grim being his usual self is oddly comforting after everything. No bribes, no PowerPoints, no gargoyle sales pitches—just Grim being Grim.

“Can we talk about this tomorrow?” you mumble, your voice muffled by the cushion. “I’m too tired to think.”

Grim eyes you for a moment before huffing. “Fine. But don’t take too long, got it? I’m not stickin’ around this dump forever!”

With that, he hops off to raid the kitchen, leaving you alone to sink further into the furniture. You stare at the ceiling, your brain too fried to process anything else.

Tomorrow. You’ll deal with it tomorrow. For now, all you want is to sleep in your creaky, drafty old dorm. At least here, no one’s trying to kidnap you.

Masterlist

[dedalvs]

Today is my 44th birthday. I was brought to my mother’s arms as Ronald Reagan was being sworn in and then went to the airport to welcome the Iranian hostages home—a meeting we now know was pre-arranged, as Reagan’s team negotiated to keep the hostages in captivity a little bit longer just so it could be Reagan, as opposed to Carter, who got the credit for releasing them.

Every four years my birthday falls on a US presidential inauguration. Some of those days are good; some are bad; some are terrible. Today is certainly one of the worst.

My birthday also sometimes falls on the day the US honors Martin Luther King, Jr.—or, when it doesn’t, always on a day very close to it. I always spend some time on my birthday thinking of him, too. Like all of us, he wasn’t perfect, but more and more what I think about regarding his legacy is how some of the things he said have been cherry-picked and stored like prize possessions in jeweled boxes for admiring every so often while the rest has been buried. MLK was an outspoken opponent of the Vietnam War, of income inequality, and of capitalism. Of all things I remember the first time I heard anything by him about that was in college when I happened into a record store in San Francisco and heard one of his speeches (not the “I have a dream” speech) remixed in a song.

Often you will hear that you should focus on what you can control. This is true, when it comes to your own personal well being—your state of mind. I feel like there should be a balance, though. Sometimes your well being is well enough that you can spare the anguish that comes with worrying about the state of the world—the many injustices you can’t fix, either by yourself or right away. We need that to push us to actually fix these things, either in small individual ways or collectively, through both direct and indirect action.

Each of us at different times in or lives—or on a micro level, at different times of the week or year—goes in and out of phases where we must focus on self-care and phases where we can look outward. Today I hope we can treat ourselves and each other with a little kindness when it comes to recognizing where it is we need to be in a given moment. Looking around on social media, it may seem that some are always on—always fighting, always pushing for change—and some are always off—cat memes, shipping, fandom. But that’s nothing but a small window into a person. First, that’s simply how that person interacts with one social media platform; it’s not their entire life. Second, it may be that this is the place they come to unwind—or, alternatively, this is the only place in their life where they can share the rage inside of them. Whoever they are, however they are, let them be, and offer them kindness. It’s going to take all of us to fight back.

[celestiamour]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ we're doing better ]❜

ft. the salesman (gong ji-cheol) x f! reader — squid game

╰₊✧ your husband has finally been honest with you, but what now?┊3.0k words; prt one (here)

contains: his pov, lots of perspective and lore, love at first sight, happy ending where the reader forgives him, note that sociopathic/psychopathic behavior has no known cure & that this is unrealistic fiction, he can’t be fixed but he can be here <3

➤ author's note: the long-awaited & heavily-requested part two!! the ending is sucky because i didn’t plan to write a part two and because i personally wouldn’t have forgiven him, but lots of you guys seemed to want to. i wanted to write something exploring their relationship, so i hope this is received well & that you guys will enjoy!

“i love you too, i’ll be back in the morning” were the last words you said to him before rushing out the door and disappearing to your mother’s house. that was last night, but it was now early evening with the sun finishing its descent over the horizon and you were nowhere to be seen. he briefly wondered if you were also watching it from wherever you were like he was through the window, knowing that you adored the beautiful array of colors blending into each other and always pointed it out when you were with him. he never cared for it himself and took the sight for granted until you came along. now he’s aching for your presence asking him if he thought it was pretty when you were always the prettiest sight in his eyes with the orange light reflecting on you.

his hand was itching to call you or send a text, but he decided against it. you needed your space, especially after that fateful conversation which left him with regret weighing heavy on his chest. he wasn’t sure what the regret stemmed from, if it was regret from not trying harder to keep his secret, if it was from not being more careful to hide his tracks from seong gi-hun, if it was from attempting to build a normal life, or if it was leading the type of life had in the first place. it was a mix of everything, and he hated the feeling of it.

gong ji-cheol never regretted anything in his life. he didn’t regret spending his days getting a sadistic kick out of playing judge and jury to people he viewed as worthless trash when they lost against him, whether it was slapping people he was recruiting into games they would inevitably die in or spending his free time messing around with homeless people. he didn’t regret getting tangled up with the mysterious oh il-nam and the activities occurring on that island, starting as a guard and working his way up to a salesman. he didn’t regret firing a gun on his own father in cold blood when he unknowingly begged his own flesh and blood to spare him.

he’s a man who was steadfast and stubborn when it came to his fucked-up morals and ideals, always believing from a young age that it made him better than others. there was never a reason for him to change as he got older when he found himself working for a hidden organization that introduced him to the addicting taste of death, paid well, and protected him from the law if the unlikely situation of getting caught by authorities for his crimes ever happened. he never cared to do the right thing was doing wrong was just so much more suited to him, never minding the strict set of rules he had to adhere to as long as he was allowed to freely exercise his psychopathic tendencies without trouble following him. it made him feel like a god at times who was so high above normal people if he ignored that he was still an employee with a boss.

and now he’s sitting in the living room, disheveled and staring at the floor waiting for your return like a dog awaiting its master.

he couldn’t even be mad at you for storming out like that. he’s surprised about how mellow your reaction was to learning the truth of his occupation and how dirty the cash he used to spoil you was, how you didn’t scream loud enough for the neighbors to hear, and how you didn’t call the police— or maybe you had already called them at some point today and his friends in higher places were working to keep him safe. more than anything, he misses you, filled with a feeling of longing he doesn’t think he’s ever felt before.

at first, he was only trying to look normal. the people around him started to wonder why a man as tall and handsome as he with money that flowed in like water from an unknown source he kept secret was still single. when people wonder, they start to become nosy. he couldn’t have that if he wanted to keep up the lifestyle he had, so he started searching for someone suited to be his wife. 

to others, he seemed incredibly picky, never reaching out for a second date even once or even bothering to send a polite text saying he didn’t feel a connection. to him, he didn’t think he was picky enough. despite carefully combing through his options and sometimes even hiring private investigators to stalk them if needed, there was always something he missed which was a dealbreaker for him in a relationship: ignorance and stupidity, improper table manners when he reserved at a fine restaurant, running more than fifteen minutes late without traffic in the way, and most importantly for him, asking too many prying personal questions which weren’t relevant on the first date. yes, he understands that first dates are all about getting to know each other, no, he doesn’t find it necessary to talk about stupid things. although he would rather not say anything at all, he’s very particular about how quickly he shares information about himself with others and gets ticked off by anyone who tries too hard to learn more about it (he won’t admit it, but he also gets a bit threatened by it).

by the time the day his first date with you rolled around, he was ready for it to be his last before he lived out his life alone as originally planned. he lost his faith that he would find someone who lived up to his lofty expectations and received news that oh il-nam was dead. the next games were canceled to mourn the loss of the founder, and part of ji-cheol wondered if he should cancel the date as well to take the time to pay his respects. he didn’t think you would be the one and believed there wouldn’t be any difference whether or not he actually showed up.

yet there was something in him that refused to pick up the phone and make up an excuse. it was indescribable like a higher power making sure that he followed the path intended for him. he told himself it was nothing but not wanting to be rude when it was only half an hour before the arranged time and because he didn’t want to pay the cancellation fee, nothing more nothing less. he never cared before if he was thought of as rude to people he didn’t intend to keep in his life for long, and he had enough money to buy the entire place if he wanted to.

so what was his problem all of a sudden?

you showed up perfectly on time, a few seconds before the clock struck, looking beautiful. it’s not a word he uses often. pretty, maybe, but not beautiful, yet it was the first word that crossed his mind when you introduced yourself. he found himself enamored by your presence and everything about it from how you carried yourself to the subtle glitter eyeshadow that made your eyes sparkle to the dainty jewelry hanging around your neck, so enamored that he forgot to accept your outstretched hand and to get up to pull out your seat for you at first.

more than easy on the eyes, dressed appropriately, good table manners, well-educated, never pressing too hard on matters he clearly didn’t want to talk about, you were quickly checking off everything on his list as his partner— although what he was really looking for was to draw away suspicions and your likable personality made you perfect for the job, he could even see you as a companion. even if you were visibly nervous, he didn’t mind, your timidness was adorable actually, akin to a little bunny being fed by his hand.

when he finally got home, he realized he was still smiling when he’s usually constantly reminding himself to do so. he also realized that he lost track of time and came back a whopping two hours later than he expected.

it was history from there, gong ji-cheol, a man who saw other humans as unequal trash, had succumbed to love at first sight, which baffled him.

it made him remember a scene from his childhood, one where he asked his mother why she remained married to his deadbeat father after another night of him not showing up in favor of gambling and drinking instead of spending it with his own family. she embraced him with tears, once again reminding him of her own tale of love at first sight, and also telling him that when you’re so deep in love like she was, you’re willing to forgive them for anything.

he thought she was stupid for that. now he knows he’s truly just like his mother just like everyone said.

you were shy in the first steps of the relationship, quickly realizing that you had become a glorified sugar baby of sorts. he didn’t know how to express his affection through words nor did he have the extra time to spend with you during that time of the year, so he spoiled you with lavish gifts and wealth beyond your wildest dreams. any debts you might have were paid off, one of the nicest condos in korea was bought for you to move in together, your parent's retirement was paid off in full to allow them to stop working, and any other money-related issues were quickly covered by him. you could even quit your job if you wanted to, but you didn’t want to become too dependent on him and wouldn’t know what to do with all the extra time in your day.

it soon became clear there was a boundary not to be crossed, which was not to dig too much into his personal life. if he gave you a curt, general answer to your question, you were not to say anything more about the matter. no one you spoke to about this thought this was too strange, even when you were preparing to get married, because what was there to worry your pretty head about? you love him and he loves you, he was treating you better than a queen, and his wealth spread into your circle of people you cared about with friends getting luxury perfumes and parents getting first-class tickets to wherever they wanted. in a way, they didn’t want to ask any more questions if it meant angering him and possibly not having these things anymore.

you never liked it, but he never cared about it. they were just trivial things and he was perfectly fine with sharing what he had, or at least, that’s what he told you. it was mainly to ensure he was well-liked among them and no one would ever try to come between you.

the only people who ever did were a few snakes parading as your friends trying to steal him away from you, trying to seduce him, and getting too close for his comfort. you were too sweet to notice and always forgave it if you did, but he noticed their lingering eyes and was disgusted. it was the one time he allowed his mask to slip, calling them out for being human garbage with a polite smile on his face as they gasped in shock. if they tried to cry to you about how awful he was to them, he simply told you the truth and encouraged you to cut them off which you always did.

the garden he carefully cultivated of a normal domestic life was flourishing. you were so captivated by the colorful flowers he planted and the butterflies pollinating them that you didn’t notice how dirty his gloved hands were when ripping out anything that didn’t belong like weeds trying to sprout through the soil. he was always sure to take them off and discard them afterward, never daring to touch you with the sins of his life outside of you.

then you fell pregnant after months of trying, and while he was overjoyed at first with renovations in mind to turn one of the extra rooms into a nursery, there was an unease in him wondering if the child would turn out like him: a remorseless psychopath who would one day kill his own father as he did his. he would later by a few books about parenting, hoping that he could prevent that type of future.

time flew by and he hadn’t killed anyone in a while although he was still complicit in hundreds of deaths a year. his violent urges slowly calmed and his hand was only raised during ddakji matches, but even then, they were more gentle than before (which meant that they still stung and made their face swell up, but it was an improvement when in the past, he would sometimes hit them so hard that they could taste blood on their tongue). 

the effects of being a husband and soon-to-be father were changing who he was at his very core, but it didn’t change everything he’s already done.

he was stupid to think he could have such a picture-perfect life with the woman he loved after everything. for someone who meticulously plans out things down to each syllable of the words he spoke, he didn’t have the foggiest idea what to do once he was found out.

the law couldn’t touch him, but he didn’t care about the law, he cared about you and your unborn child. 

he ran his hand through his messy dark locks, sighing in frustration trying to think of a solution as he dug around the kitchen until he fished out an entire bottle of wine. he could manipulate himself out of this situation as he had done countless times before, he’s a snake with a forked silver tongue who could easily get his way just by flickering it, but the thought of lying to you again broke his once unfeeling heart. it would never be the same way again with your relationship tainted with distrust. the truth would have to come out eventually.

oh god, but what would he do without you? 

before he could begin to spiral for the fourth time that day about what would happen if you left him, the familiar sound of a keypad being pressed and the front door being unlocked. he froze in place, not expecting you to come back at that very moment— but he wasn’t sure what he was expecting. he wasn’t sure of anything, simply staring at you when you caught him hunched over the counter drinking straight from a bottle of wine and looking like a child whose mom just caught him sneaking a snack at two in the morning.

“oh god, i leave for a day and you’re already a wreck, what happened to the ji-cheol who’s always put together even when it’s raining?” you approached him casually, reaching up to mess around with his hair until he looked more like his usual self. there was an air of awkwardness you tried to hide and was successful for the most part, but he could read you easier than a book. you were nervous around him now, acting with slight fear and carefulness like you were inching around a predator, and even flinched when he hugged you to feel your presence and breathe in your scent. 

you hugged him back after a moment, looking up at him with your voice shaking, “if it’s really… that… then i understand it would be dangerous for you to tell me, so i won’t ask any more questions… i don’t… i don’t want to leave you and leave our child fatherless…”

if you were any other person in the world, he would have smirked at the fact that he didn’t need to bother trying to manipulate you into staying with him. he would have relished his control over you and how you came back in the end, free to continue killing and asking people to play a game with him to satisfy his sadistic desires. 

but you weren’t any other person in the world, you were his wife.

“you really forgive me? after knowing all that?”

“i guess love really does let you look past everything no matter how bad… at least you didn’t cheat on me as my friends suggested, that would be the real unforgivable offense…”

the topic of his occupation never came up again, but he made the choice to resign on account of it no longer fitting with his current lifestyle. the current frontman, who was an old friend of his, looked upon him fondly for his loyalty, thanked him for his service, and was even kind enough to use his connections to find him a new place to work. it was boring by his standards, but it paid well and wasn’t illegal, so he persevered. he now has plenty of things to tell you about his workplace, from the annoying co-worker who keeps showing him the most random unfunny things on the internet to how the coffee shop downstairs wasn’t half bad. mundane things that made you grin when he told you about his day, which was all that mattered to him.

you soon gave birth to a healthy baby girl with his eyes and your smile. the world became a lot brighter, even with all the sleepless nights of her crying and learning how to change diapers. she was a little joy born out of his love for you. 

finally, you’re both doing better, and he no longer has to hide himself away from you.

tag list!! @tric0rd / @solatiiium / @iloveragdollcats / @sugaremedy / @pear-1206 / @orangutanjazz / @boowiththegoo / @knoepfl / @miaasmf / @queenjang21 / @larissa-slays69 / @munch3025 / @qrstarz / @capital-koreasofia / @swiftieee4lifeee / @liliylikescats / @maryyyswift / @vaenys2 / @bane-y-zane / @dynaloy / @chunkzdeluluwife / @everyonelovestay / @tomhollandtoothbrush

there will not be a part three, thank you for reading!!

[calebsmuse]

not me haunting your asks in every single blog you own 😈 sooo, do you write parents!au? bc I wanted to request some scenario abt how sylus, caleb and xavier would react to their kids telling u to shut up. I KNOW ITS WEIRD BUT ITS A OLD TREND I THINK?? anyway, love ya babe 💘💋💋

੭⠀ A little prank.

⋆⠀AUTHOR'S NOTES: I love parents!au so much 😭

⋆⠀FEATURING: Xavier, Sylus, Caleb.

⋆⠀WARNING: English is not my first language, so it may contain some mistakes.

Your son’s favorite pastime was annoying his father, and he was certainly better at it than anyone else. Not only that, but he also managed to convince you to help with yet another one of his… pranks.

The boy smiled when he saw his father heading to the kitchen and turned back to his video game. Not long after, you walked into the room with something in hand. “Sweetheart, could you take this—”

“Shut up, mom,” he tried to say in an irritated tone, but a smile was plastered across his face.

𝜗ৎ ⠀⠀XAVIER

Not even five seconds had passed before your son was groaning in pain, Xavier’s slipper lying on the couch beside him after hitting the back of his head squarely. “Dad—”

Xavier raised the other slipper, pointing it at the boy. “Apologize. Now,” he said, his eyebrows furrowing. “Is that any way to talk to your mother?”

“But I was busy, and she—” Once again, the boy didn’t get the chance to finish his sentence, the other slipper flying straight at him. Xavier crossed his arms, his gaze fixed on his son.

You widened your eyes and placed a hand on your husband’s shoulder, squeezing it lightly. “Okay, okay, it was a… joke, just a prank.”

Xavier gave a faint smirk, glancing at you. “…Yeah, I knew that.” He pulled you into a hug, sticking his tongue out at your son. “You think I’d stop at that if I saw him disrespecting you like that?”

𝜗ৎ ⠀⠀SYLUS

Sylus prided himself on being an exemplary father. He was patient, fun—or so he thought—and wealthy. I mean, surely his son was already having a better childhood than most people who came from the same place Sylus had, right?

And perhaps it was exactly that freedom and comfort in his presence that made the boy feel confident enough to make that kind of joke.

“I must’ve misheard. Definitely,” Sylus said loud enough for both of you to hear. You turned away so he wouldn’t see your expression, while your son simply grimaced.

“Dad, she could’ve just asked one of my uncles to go—or, I don’t know, gone herself!” the boy said, spinning the pieces of a pistol between his fingers.

Sylus’s steps were almost inaudible; it was as if he had teleported to his son’s side. He crossed his arms, an irritated expression on his face. His son had never seen that look before—at least, not directed at him.

“Don’t you dare talk to your mother like that under this roof,” he said. “I don’t care if she could’ve asked someone else—if she tells you to do something, you do it. She brought you into this world.”

The boy couldn’t hold back his laughter, bursting out in hysterics. Your husband opened his mouth to say something but stopped when he saw you laughing as well. He let out a sigh, rubbing his face. “You too now?”

𝜗ৎ ⠀⠀CALEB

Honestly, your son was expecting Caleb to yell at him or chase after him, but it was even more terrifying to see him stay silent, slowly turning to face the boy.

He froze, setting the video game controller down on the coffee table. Caleb’s eyes stayed fixed on him, and his silence lingered just long enough to make the boy shift uncomfortably under the stare.

When Caleb finally spoke, his voice was strangely calm—and that wasn’t exactly a good thing. “You have five seconds to do as your mother said and come back here, and another five to apologize and explain yourself.”

You let out an awkward laugh before wrapping your arms around your husband. “It was just a joke, I swear.” Caleb glanced at you, slipping a hand under your shirt to give you a pinch. “Ouch! It was his idea!”

He rolled his eyes but let out a relieved laugh, despite his irritation with your newfound way of spending free time. “I should’ve known.”

[kirbmey]

　 ྀི︶˚̣̣̣⠀⠀⠀vacations w bigbrother!caleb⠀⠀⠀˚̣̣̣︶ ྀི

synopsis: you’re having a summer dinner with your family and friends, but caleb gets angry at an old gossipy lady ( ｡ •` ⤙´• ｡)

tw: reader is implied to be smaller than caleb, reader is very feminine, dumbification, slurs like ‘whore’, possessive!caleb, stepcest, manipulation, dark romance, usage of ‘gege’ and ‘big brother’, slightly inspired by the movie ‘call me by your name’, caleb is kinda aggressive not towards reader tho, etc.

there was this tradition running in your family where you would move to your summer villa for the whole summer season, inviting some of your parents' friends over as well; needless to say, your step brother was also included in the plan.

you were always excited about these, being able to wear your a little too short summer dresses in front of your big brother without question to every dinner, adoring giving yourself a cute look for caleb to see, only wanting to be pretty for your big brother ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

this night was nothing different, you wore this pale pink sundress that left little to the imagination along with some other pink accessories, wearing the necklace he gifted you; you never took it off.

every night your housemaid would set up the long and old wooden table in the patio with refreshing food, all the people in the villa gathering to spend time together after their tiring activities in the beach. you sat in front of caleb as usual, feeling his warm palm rest in the fat of your thigh and caressing it with his thumb in circular motions.

he loved to stare at your angelic-like features while talking about whatever thing you were talking about with your aunt, sometimes forgetting that the rest of your family was there and that he had to keep appearances to any curious eyes.

⠀⠀　　“so, caleb?” he turns his head way too fast at his name being called, getting out of the trance he got caught on by staring at your red plump lips. “how are you doing with your studies?” a friend from your parents asks, he didn’t even know her name.

⠀⠀　　“mmh, well, all good. gotta study more than expected but she helps me with that, I have a hard time focusing, you know…” he answers with a boyish smile and tender voice, pinching your skin when pronouncing your name.

⠀⠀　　“yeah! gege is working really hard for this career, and i try to help him as much as i can” you voice an answer in a sweet tone, him knowing the reality of this said help.

⠀⠀　　“i see, you two seem really close, if i didn’t know you i’d think you ar—”, “well, that cuts it for tonight i’m afraid” your mother intervenes, knowing how annoying her friend gets regarding this topic. they even argued several times about how your relationship should be checked on since it looked very inappropriate from the outside, but she refused to listen, being a blind believer on your innocent sister-brother interactions, thinking caleb it’s just very clingy and protective about you.

a fierce blush creeps onto your cherub cheeks, feeling embarrassed at anyone questioning your relationship with your gege.

wasn’t it normal, having your big brother hold you for way too long, getting kissed on the lips before going to sleep or even helping you with the strange ache between your thighs when he rubbed himself against you to keep you warm at night?

he made sure to keep you away from anything or anyone vulgar, wanting to cherish your pure mind and thoughts for himself to slowly corrupt, carefully making you believe that good girls don’t go out with boys, don’t kiss anyone but their big brothers and reaching him to ask for help regarding any small issue a normal person could take care of themselves, but not you. you were too stupid ૮꒰◞ ˕ ◟ ྀི꒱ა

and just like that, he made you his little doll for him and him alone, emptying your silly head from anyone but him. you depended on him for anything.

your nipples got hard in the winter? don’t worry, he will slowly rub them while you sat on his lap with his cock buried deep inside you, just to keep you warm. whispering sweet nothings to you while leaving wet kisses along your neck, smiling to himself when listening to your adorable whimpers. he had to use every single trace of self control to not break your puffy pussy in two right there.

he actually never properly fucked you, just played with you like adults do (..◜ᴗ◝..) nothing wrong with that, right?

you wanted to help him focus on his homework? you knew how easily distracted your gege could get and you just wanted to help! (•ᴖ•｡) so he told you to get on your knees, making sure it was on top of some soft cushion, and commanded you to start pampering small kisses on his bulge. just like the ones you gave him all over the face when you were happy to see him ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

so you kept your hands on your lap like the good girl you were to approach his big bulge hiding under his grey sweatpants, leaving sweet little smoochies all over his prince's parts (as he called yours your princess’s parts), and leaving light traces of saliva on the way.

just a few minutes like that, completely focused on the task your gege gave you to please him as you always wanted, and he came undone fully clothed. you looked up at him trough your long lashes, surprised to see that creamy liquid stain his pants, the same one he made you lick from his fingers sometimes before (⁠ᗒ⩊ᗕ ྀི)

he can’t help but laugh fondly at your expression, caressing your cheek before slipping his thumb into your mouth, feeling how you wrapped your warm tongue against the pad of his finger.

now you were both heading to your shared bedroom, the inside of the villa specially silent since everybody else stayed outside, smoking and updating on the latest gossips while drinking the leftover wine.

caleb was mad, how dare that bitch even think about questioning you two? he knew what was best for you, he was your shiny armor knight, your big brother who would always protect you. what was wrong with that?

your tiny heels clicked trough the long and empty halls, chasing after caleb as your short legs could; he was stomping, and he was truly angry.

you never saw him so mad ever since he caught you watching some filthy porn a friend of yours sent you when you told her that you didn’t do that kind of thing since your brother told you to not to. needless to say, he made sure to beat her up real good so she wouldn’t get any close to you, ever. but you didn’t need to know what he did, he’s just protecting you! (づ_ど)

once you catch up with him inside the said bedroom you pout, playing with the lacy hem of your dress as you close the door behind you. he’s sits down on the edge of the bed, holding his head between his hands as he takes deep breaths. he had to take care of that whore later, noted.

⠀⠀　　“gege? what’s wrong? did i do something bad?” you inquisitively ask, taking careful steps to stand before him, still playing around with your clothes in a nervous manner.

no answer from him, just a deep breath and a big pair of hands holding the back of your thighs to bring you closer, burying his face in the plush of your belly while featherly kissing it.

⠀⠀　　“no, doll, you did nothing wrong.” he blurs out against the soft fabric of your dress. “it’s just mom’s friend, she made me angry.” you feel his hands creep closer to your ass, holding yourself onto his broad shoulders.

you knew caleb didn’t like the questioning of your relationship, he liked to keep things private, a secret only for you two. your silly head couldn’t find an answer, what were you supposed to say when his skilled fingers removed your cottony panties down and he kept his pinkish gaze on you like that?

⠀⠀　　“you’re mine, pips, you know everything i do is for your own good.” you knew it, that old lady’s words meant nothing to you. “what would you do without me, hmm?”

you heard the side zipper of the dress and before you know it, you’re fully naked in front of him. it’s not the first time, but you can’t help feeling a little ashamed. he’s so perfect, tall and fit, and you don’t match his toned body.

you cross your arms in front of your breasts, hiding your blushing face underneath your hair, feeling his hand once again come up to your chin to lift it up while the other one holds your wrists a little bit too hard.

⠀⠀　　“don’t dare hiding from me, princess, you know I love the sight.” he confesses in a breath, restarting the trail of kisses from your soft belly down to your pubes, rubbing the tip of his nose against the little hairs.

you can’t help but whine, readjusting your hands on top of his head, caressing his soft dark locks trough your slim fingers. “gege, don’t do that, you know it feels achy.” you complain in a peachy voice.

he falls on blind ears, paying all of his attention to your princess’s parts, making you separate your legs by holding your inner thighs before lowering his head to clit level, smothering the growing bud with open-mouthed kisses.

he slowly toyed with your dripping entrance, circling the ring muscle with his index finger while paying attention to your pearl, lost in the sweet and sour flavor of yours. “fuck, doll, what do I have to do to make everyone understand that you’re my good girl, hmm?”

you don’t even listen to him, too caught up in the sensation of said finger caressing your velvety walls, throwing your head back while you pushed your hips closer to his face, letting out an adorable moan when feeling a second one peeking in.

⠀⠀　　“i see, you’re too stupid to answer that.” he said in a condescending way, fucking you with his long fingers slow but deep, even biting your clit at times. “don’t you see you need me to do everything for you?” one harsh thrust, reaching that gummy spot. “to tie your shoes, to wash your hair, even to dress you up in the morning?”

you were a moaning mess, your hair falling like a cascade at your back and sticking to your sweaty forehead, your toes curling at the way his skilled fingers toyed with your weak spot, feeling how he curved them inside you, that strange sensation knotting in your belly. “gege, i feel weird again, stop, stop” the tears in the corner of your eyes fall away to your neck.

⠀⠀　　“let go f’me, angel, you know your big brother likes it.” and he loved it, the taste of your juices, sweet enough to be addictive. before you realize you were creaming his fingers, feeling a strong arm wrap around your waist to keep you from falling. “good girl, you did so good for me”.

his murmurs fall quiet when he laps at your pussy to take every single drop of you in his mouth, moaning at the taste. your head falls on top of his, trying to catch your breath while he wraps you with both arms and lifts you up, heading to the bathroom to clean you up.

he first washed your sweaty body and clothed you with one of his huge t shirts, you falling asleep mid-bath and him taking you to bed carefully, making sure you were comfortable before taking care of his hard dick and rubbing himself against your discarded panties, staining them with cum not many minutes later (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

he threw them inside one of his designated drawers and hugged your smaller frame into his naked chest, drifting to sleep.

your big brother loved you so so much!

a/n: let me know if you liked it, i want feedback! also, idk if this was too long, i got carried away hehe (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

OMFGGGGGGG, MY BOIIIIIISSSS😭😭😭

the 26 y/o versions of the first years warmed my heart. do you have any thoughts about the second years, miss raven🥹🥹🥹?

[10 years later headcanons for the first years here!]

What comes after Ever After?

Like Mrs. Rosehearts wished, Riddle has gone on to become a medical mage, just like his parents. More specifically he is a pediatrician (so he works closely with children) and even leads community classes to promote health literacy and independence among the youth. His temper has mellowed out with time, and most patients report that Dr. Rosehearts is stern and by-the-books, but very patient and caring.

As it so happens, he also has a paralegal certification--something he earned in his free time just because there's still a part of him that's so fascinated with the law. Riddle uses that certification to help the hospital he works at navigate complicated cases such as medical malpractice, malfeasance, and negligence--he'll ensure that the perpetrators get their just desserts!

Though unintentional, Riddle ends up being the kind of adult that his young patients can genuinely look up to and confide in. They tell him all kinds of things, like bullying that happens at school, self-esteem issues, uncertainties about the future, or their parents not getting along. He listens and reassures them with a smile, a sticker, and the advice they need--some of these things, he is quite familiar with, and he speaks earnestly and from his own heart.

He has gone low contact with his mother. She threw a hissy fit about it (which scared Riddle and almost made him walk back on his decision), but he was able to move forward with the decision thanks to backing from Trey and Chenya. Riddle still a lot of complex feelings to unpack, and he feels he can better achieve that by living on his own, without his mother looming over him.

Riddle's slowly learning every day, from little things that every adult does to look after themselves (cooking, cleaning his apartment, etc.) to recapturing lost bits of his childhood (gaming more often, having the freedom to meet up with his friends when he wants to). He feels like... with each passing day, he is discovering new sides to himself--and there's something nice about that.

With glowing references from the second prince of the Sunset Savanna himself, Ruggie has the ability to go practically anywhere. He ultimately settled for hospitality--cuz hey, it's a blend of many of the talents he has accrued over the years, and he's got plenty of expertise in looking after others. Ruggie's not just any general manager either, but the general manager of the Sunset Villa, the luxury resort in Dawn City that hosts royals and important guests from all over Twisted Wonderland.

He has this running joke where he pretends to be meeting Leona for the first time ever if he happens to be staying at the Sunset Villa for an event. Ruggie will address him as "stranger" all while shooting him a very knowing look. It mildly annoys Leona, but he lets it slide because, well... it's his old pal Ruggie.

He's the kind of boss that his employees love. Having been at the bottom of the social rung before, Ruggie's known to treat his workers well (free food at the holiday parties!) and is understanding when an issue comes up. If the season is particularly busy, he'll even roll up his sleeves and join them in doing the dirty work himself!

With the fat paycheck he earns, Ruggie is able to reinvest that money into his family. Granny Bucchi has been moved into a nicer house, has a car and walker to help her around, and never has to worry about the fridge being empty ever again. They even hire a housekeeper to do the chores, so Granny Bucchi can happily retire.

Ruggie pours his money back into the community too. The slum children are frequently over for meals or enjoying the new amenities provided for in part by his donations. A new park, a library, a soup kitchen... He's lauded as a local hero, and he deserves every bit of that praise.

Azul has basically double majored in business and law. He now works part time as a partner at his stepfather's firm, but focuses his efforts serving as the CEO to the ever-expanding Mostro Lounge chain. It started off as one location on NRC campus, but there are Mostro Lounges all over Twisted Wonderland now.

Azul likes to humble brag about how he's "self-made", all while not-so-subtly adjusting the expensive watch he wears on his wrist. His insistence on maintaining his appearance and polite person carries over to adulthood. Azul has strict rules about how his hair should be worn, how his clothes should be tailored, and even what kind of cologne he should wear when greeting clients. That meticulousness has played a large part in his booming success.

He's frequently away on business trips to speak with investors, check up on individual locations that may not be performing so well, and to do market research. Azul's always looking for nice cutlery or fancy furniture to furbish his restaurants. Sampling food abroad also grants him the chance to be inspired to introduce new dishes to the menu.

... Still a mama's boy. Behind his tough businessman attitude, Azul's still a family man. He cherishes the precious time he spends with his mom, stepdad, and grandma and is more than happy to share the fruits of his labor with them. His mom will tend to retaliate with piles of his favorite dishes, which Azul finds difficult to refuse.

Azul has Jade and Floyd's contact information in his phone, but he'll deny it if you ask. He only views them as business partners, you understand? Business partners! They only ever talk for important matters. (That's an obvious lie. You can tell from his sudden defensiveness, how he stutters when he speaks his words--and how his eyes light up when he received the notification of a text message from one of the twins.)

Jade tells you he is an “informant” for the Leech family business (which, to this day, remains unspecified). He describes the job to you like that of a private eye—he snoops around, collects information, and solves harmless little mysteries. You see? Nothing suspicious here :))

If NRC Jade was a knife, then older Jade is that same knife but sharpened to a fine point. He seems to be slicker somehow, polite and poised as he was before, but having perfected the art of deceit and able to chameleon his way into any situation as needed. You don’t know if you can fully trust him, not with that smile.

Jade has turned his interest in flora into something… practical. Are you aware that this fungus can be manufactured into a deadly poison? A single drop of it can stop an elephant’s heart. He knows how it is done—would you care for a demonstration?

His wardrobe is a lot of... black? Jade laughs it off and explains that black is simply easier to maintain, as "the stains" don't show as easily. "What stains?" you ask him, but all he says is that "cleaning up" can be such a mess sometimes, especially if Floyd is feels like he doesn't want to help. Is he talking about laundry...?

He keeps a busy schedule (so many clients to meet and greet, you know), but he reserves the same slot of time every few weeks for him and Floyd to reunite with Azul a “special” acquaintance for an octopus dinner. Jade makes it sound so ominous, but it’s also perhaps the most sincere you’ve ever heard him.

Floyd calls himself the “muscle” of the Leech family business. Again, what they specifically do is never quite defined. He says it’s like being a bodyguard; he’s paid to be beat up people that threaten their operations. Just don’t ask what those operations are and he won’t have to squeeze you too! :))

He retains the same flippant attitude he had in his student era. Floyd never quite settles or plants his roots, he just hops from place to place, partakes in whatever interests him, then peaces out to the next exciting thing. And if anyone gets in his way?? Well, I hope they’re prepared to deal with one angry eel. It’s like he hasn’t matured much from his school days 💦

Some days Floyd doesn’t even bother showing up for work, meaning that Jade (whom Floyd works with) has to dirty his own hands. He gets a scolding for it later, but it doesn’t really bother Floyd. It’s not like his job is in danger, no matter how many times he flakes. (Perks of working for his dad, lol)

There’s a strange rack of shoes in Floyd’s room. None of them match, and they’re of varying sizes too. Surely they’re not his? Floyd claims it’s a miscellaneous collection, kind of like a trophy case to keep a record of all your wins. He doesn’t elaborate further when pressed about the matter.

For his special dinners with Azul and Jade, Floyd likes to make them play Russian roulette with him! He’ll prepare takoyaki with mystery fillings and then bring them in, daring the other two to take turns eating them until they come upon the one with the ghost pepper center. These nights are frequently filled with thrills, chills, and borderline kills—he looks forward to them!

In the past several years, Kalim has been working hard to help with the daily operations of the Asim trading company. Through this, Kalim has wizened up and developed various skills: negotiation, hosting, general business acumen, etc. Now he has succeeded his father as the president of the trading company.

Getting out into the real world exposes Kalim to many harsh realities. Poverty, illness, death. It unnerved him at first, made him want to pull away—but he forces himself to stand his ground and look. These experiences have shaped him to be less extravagant and more mindful. Parades just to share wealth, sneaking out in a worn shawl to buy bread for the local children, etc. He’s never really come to terms with the wealth disparity that exists between him and others, and all of that is just now hitting him. (Quarter life crisis?) Kalim teaches his siblings about this too, hoping that they'll show the same kindness to the world when they're his age.

Life somehow has still not managed to squeeze the cheer out of Kalim. He's still as sunny and as trusting as ever, but now that upbeat disposition and slight airheadedness belies such a sharp mind. Kalim knows how to wield his empathy well, using it to easily worm his way into people's hearts and capture them. Soon you'll find yourself laughing with him, cup of tea in hand, and nodding along to his proposals.

He tries his very best to be more independent! In his free time, he's heading out to try new things or to hone skills to take better care of himself. One day, Kalim would like to be self-sufficient! Cooking, cleaning, shopping, budgeting... These are all things he wants to be able to do for himself!

Kalim’s not so foolish as to believe he can free the Vipers as soon as he steps into power. A generations-long relationship like theirs can’t be dissolved overnight, and certainly not without facing opposition from both sides. Instead, he and Jamil reach an agreement to work together and gradually sever the ties between their families. Little by little, they'll drift apart... until, at long last, that bond snaps. If I really care about him, I'll let him go, Kalim tells himself.

For now, Jamil continues to serve as Kalim's personal attendant and aide. (And taste tester... and chef... and bodyguard... and...) Of course, if he had the choice, he would have ditched the Asims as soon as possible--but he's not so stupid as to do such a thing. He has a plan, but it's steady like poison slowly releasing in his veins. Tough it out now, enjoy the freedom later.

He's even more protective of Najma than ever. She'll remind him that she's not a little kid anymore, but Jamil can't help but still "mom" her... especially now that she, too, has joined the family trade of looking after the Asims. When Jamil looks at all, all he thinks of is their parents and all the Vipers before them. It reignites that fierce fire within him to not allow himself and his sister to fall to the same fate. (He communicates none of this to Najma.)

With Kalim gradually becoming more independent and throwing more restrained banquets (they're more elegant, formal affairs, not wild), there's less work for Jamil to do. These days, he mainly manages the main Asim household and accompanies Kalim on outings (since he can't be left alone). It's a quaint, domestic life--except, you know, those continued attempts on Kalim's life.

In his down time, Jamil finds himself admiring the patterns in the clothing and tapestries around the Asim manor. He sometimes daydreams about being a merchant that curates fine fabrics, or perhaps a stylist who tends to hair outside of his own. There's many what-ifs to fill in that space between this day and the next.

Jamil has the opportunity to travel abroad on several occasions due to Kalim's business trips. Kalim tends to bring others with him in his entourage (including the Viper parents), then dismiss Jamil early claiming he "doesn't need his services" at the moment. Really, that's just Kalim excuse to grant him free time to explore the local area. Jamil at first insisted he didn't need this "charity", but eventually he decided to just take advantage of it. It's time away from Kalim, time to clear his mind, time to do all the things he wishes he could.

Like Sebek, Silver has been sworn in as a knight of Briar Valley and serves as the other half of Malleus's personal retinue. Silver is also a foreign emissary. He works wonderfully as a peacekeeper between fae and humans.

There was outcry from the senators when Silver was recommended for such important positions. Sebek at least has fae heritage, but Silver? Silver is 100% human, and the adopted son of that accursed Lilia Vanrouge!! It took a heartfelt speech from Silver, shouting from Sebek, a stoic defense from Lilia, and the icy insistence of Malleus to get Silver pushed through. He doesn't hold any ill will toward the senators--Silver just looked them all in the face and swore that he would do his best to earn their approval.

He puts his natural affinity with animals to good use, establishing Briar Valley's first ever animal battalion. Silver trains woodland critters that are willing and able to aid their efforts: avians that transmit letters over long distances, horses for riding into battle, deer, rabbits, mice, bears, and more to chomp and bash their way to victory in a fight.

Silver has formally taken on Lilia's surname as his own. They signed off on the official documents and everything. (Please call him Silver Vanrouge from now on!) At this point, Lilia has retired and lives far from him, but Silver makes it a point to speak with him as often as he can, whether it's via call or text. He has to remind his father how much he loves him. Once a year, Silver embarks on a trip to the abandoned Castle Wildrose to pay respects to where his biological father fell. He brings flowers with him and stories of how fae and human relations are progressing. He’s sure the Dawn Knight would be pleased.

The magic-induced narcolepsy that plagued him in his youth seems to have worn away with time. True love broke the spell... Now it only ever really hits him when he's already feeling tired to begin with or under some intense stress. Silver's able to go about his daily life and patrol without a problem!

[plussizefantasia]

Hi! I was wondering if I could request a reader x eddie munson oneshot where reader is very touch starved but is very nervous about asking to be held/be touched by another person or to touch them. Maybe they just started dating so they are still trying to get to know each other's love languages and things they're shy about but Eddie notices that reader is acting stranger and is trying to figure out why.

I personally was thinking like a non-smut story if that's okay, just plain fluffy romance to help me feel some comfort in my life.

I love your writing BTW! As a plus sized girl it's so nice to read stories about people my size. I feel like I can just relate to your characters. Thanks! Have a lovely day :)

eddie munson x reader wc: 1.7k a/n: I'm just going to leave this here and pretend like I didn't disappear for literal months hehe

cw: cursing (not a lot)

You and Eddie hadn’t been together long but the time you had been together was some of the best of your life. He got you in ways that nobody else did, he had a devil-may-care attitude about a lot of things, but not you. From the very first time, the two of you talked you knew that he was going to mean the world to you someday, you just didn’t expect that day to come weeks later with a stolen kiss under an oak tree in the back of the school. 

That had really been the only kind of affection you two had had, Eddie had a tendency to express himself with his words more than his touch which was okay with you. Both your parents were the same way, they would tell you they were proud of you and give you compliments and things like that but neither of them really ever offered up physical affection. You had grown up with it, you were used to it. 

Eddie’s compliments were different from the ones you got from your parents and they were a lot more cheesy that's for sure, but they were never in short supply. Eds practically showered you with his sweet words every time he saw you and you left every interaction with him more sure that this was the guy for you.

That didn’t mean that you didn’t crave to be held, and now that Eddie and you were official that craving had ramped up in your mind. You couldn’t be in the same room without thinking about what it would be like to be wrapped up in his arms. You wondered what it would feel like for the two of you to hold hands in the hallway, or to sit right up next to each other on the couch in the Munson trailer while the two of you watched the same three movies on repeat. 

Movie night at the Munson place started long before the two of you were dating, Eddie had invited all of the Hellfire club to hang at his place during lunch one day and you being the “unofficial mascot”- a term Eddie had coined for you after you stumbled into the room they were playing in and decided to stay and watch- were of course invited.

Weeks went by and slowly more and more of the guy bailed on Movie night until it was just you and Eddie left, you two had long since exhausted the stash of VHS’ that either of you owned but at this point you weren’t really there to watch the movie at all. Just sitting next to each other and talking was the real best part of Munson Movie Night.

Movie nights were on Friday nights, as it didn’t conflict with the DnD schedule and your parents had a more lax curfew on the weekend. Plus now that the two of you were “together-together” you could stay the night and all the adults were chill about it (your dad was not on board at first but your mother told him to relax).

“Alright Angel, what’ll it be this time? Grease, Rocky Picture Horror Show, or Star Wars?” Eddie asked, placing a bowl of popcorn down on the low table in front of the couch and walking over to the bookshelf that held more board games, VHSes, and Vinyl than actual books.

“Well you’ll get too invested in Star Wars and we watched Rocky Horror last week so Grease it is.” You leaned forward and grabbed a handful of popcorn. 

“I resent that accusation, mostly because I know you’re right.” Eddie grabbed the box for Muppets in Space and popped it into the player before joining you on the couch. A good ten inches in between you.

You handed him the bottle of coke you had grabbed for him and relished in the way his fingers brushed you when he took it. All too soon though, his attention was snagged by the movie’s exposition and yours was left to ponder and wish for more.

It wasn’t that Eddie was a bad boyfriend, that was far from the truth he was one of the sweetest boys you had ever known and he was attentive in a lot of ways the past boys you’ve been with haven’t. He just wouldn’t touch you. And (not so) deep down you craved his warmth, you craved the closeness that came with being able to put your hands on him and vice versa. It wasn’t just about the touch, it was about the connection that came with letting someone close to you like that.

Apparently, while you had been musing, Eddie had shifted his gaze to you, and he had certainly caught your thousand-yard stare and the way you were practically gnawing on your lip as you thought.

“Hey.” He threw a piece of popcorn at you, it landed in you hair but didn’t pull you out of your head.

Two more pieces of popcorn, one on your lap and one down your shirt (lucky shot) before Eddie got seriously worried.

“Hey,” he moved closer to you, “Earth, to Angel, what’s going on?” he waved his hand in front of your face and snapped once, twice, three times before your head shot to the side and you looked into his eyes.

“Wha? Oh, Nothing.” You shook your head as if to expel the thoughts from your ear. “Just this stupid math quiz in Donahughe's class.”

“Oh man,” Eddie clicked his tongue, “You’re lying.” He said simply.

“Am not.” You crossed your arms over your chest.”

“Are too, you're doing that thing that you do when you lie.”

“What thing?” You furrowed your brows and looked back at him, pulling your legs up onto the couch and in front of you, shifting your whole body to face him.

“You do this thing with your lips, you pull your front lip in between your teeth, imakes you look a little like Kermit.”

“I do not!” You think for a second. “Holy shit, I totally do! How’d you even catch that.”

“I pay attention, Angel. I pay attention to a lot of stuff about you, which is how I know that something is wrong.”

You inhaled a big breath and let it fall out of you as a sigh, “It’s really nothing Eds, I promise.”

“If it was really nothing then you wouldn’t be sitting over thinking about it instead of watching Danny lose the best thing that ever happened to him.” Eddie nodded his head towards the TV, on which the movie was still running. “Sooooo, what’s wrong?”

“I-” You took a deep breath. “I- fuck why is this so hard to say.” You stood from your place on the couch and stepped back so that you could have room to pace. “I want a hug.” You finally let out.

“A hug? What?”

“Well not just a hug, but that would be a nice place to start. I- God I want to hold hands with you in the hallway and rest my head on your shoulder. I want to sit next to you at lunch close enough that our things touch, I want to snuggle up next to you when we watch movies, I want to kiss you goodbye, and hello and whenever the hell I want to. I want to be in your arms and I didn’t know how to ask because I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable and- I don’t know.” You let it all out as you walked back and forth in front of the low table. Not looking at Eddie once during your tirade only for your eyes to land on his when you peter off at the end.

“Angel.” Eddie stood up, walking closer to you. “If you wanted a hug all you had to do was ask,” In one move Eddie pulled you into his chest, your arms curled up and trapped between your bodies. His arms came to rest behind you, one draped around your shoulders and the other resting comfortably at the small of your back. He continued talking, the vibration from his words rumbling his chest and into your own. “I’m sorry, I guess I don’t even realize that I don’t hug you as much as I should. If I’m honest I think it’s because I like looking at you too much to pull you in this close. But now that we’re here I think this might be better.”

“It is nice.” Your voice is quiet but he hears every word.

Eddie hummed in agreement and rested his head on top of your own. You’re not sure how long you two stood there but you savored every moment. The warmth of his arms seeped into your skin and the smell of the laundry detergent you bought him last week clouded your nose. He placed a couple of kisses on the top of your head and you could feel yourself melt each time. 

“Angel?” He asked.

You hummed.

“The movie is over.”

You looked up and sure enough, the credits were rolling and the tape was about to end. “Oh, I actually kind of wanted to watch it though,” Your lips pushed into a little pout. It only graced your face for a second before Eddie let go of you and moved back towards the TV.

“That’s okay, I’ll rewind it and we can watch it for real this time.”

“Really?” You asked, “It’s already late and I dont want to make you-”

“Shush.” Was his reply. He rewound the tape and got back up to face you. He held his hand out and you took it immediately. He pulled you back towards the couch and into his side, grabbing a blanket that was resting on your arm and spreading it out over the two of you.

You got as close to him as you could, not even bothering to hide the smile that shone across your face. 

The two of you spent the rest of the night like that, leaning against each other and watching the movie. And when Wayne walked out to the two of you sleeping on top of each other the next morning he just adjusted the blanket that had fallen in the night and went on his way.

[httpscameron]

domestic price

he had always been ready to be domestic he was just waiting for the right girl to be domestic with. the both of yours first date was a nice dinner date at his place, he made your favourite meal which he had asked you over messages before a soft night of making love to you. price pulled out all of his best moves.

in the early days of dating he spent alot of time with you, just causally. coming home from work and just making dinner with you before going to sleep. he didnt care that the two of you didnt have sex, he didnt care that some nights you preferred cuddles, he was just happy to be there with you.

however he does make it a routine for the both of you to go on dates most weeks, he likes that time of just the two of you together. simple stuff of walking the dogs (he has two english springer spaniels), having dinner at the pub, going to the cinema and watching the latest film and buying the ridiculously priced tango ice blasts and popcorn.

it was no shock that you and price got a house together pretty early on. it was a nice old build in the country, a feild surrounding for all your plants and a small little chicken coup. he loves this! he loves being with you like this. taking care of the chickens, collecting eggs each morning to make you breakfast.

price is a loverman in his heart and soul and it only increases more when you get pregnant with your first. he turns into full dad mode and its beautiful to watch. price was meant to be a husband and a father and you being his wife and the mother to his children was the cherry on the cake.

masterlist

[wuahae]

hiii hehe :3 first off i'm SOO sorry it took me this long to get around to it omg i really wanted to go into this with a #Fresh mindset and also school Just started and already is pummeling me into the ground but . it's saturday Monday. and i am Here now and i just cracked open a cold one (ginger ale) and i am Ready to get into it!!!!

Here, in the dark, there is just you. 

banger first line btw its so telling... also i remember workshopping this first scene with you and i'm so glad this is what you decided on! it sets the mood perfectlyyyy it fits the perfect amount of humor (SHAKIRA WAITS FOR NO ONE!!!) and ambiance and the ENERGYYY of it is so good like Yeah this is an opening scene of a 2010s romcom! its likeee yeah even though you're in this club at fuckass o'clock the ghost of your mother and all your expectations still digs into you... you can never run away you can only face the things you must!!!! also another thing i wanna say is that its kinda crazy how short this scene is but there's so many things that it establishes like Man... That's good writing... yn who is forced to be everything she isn't and as a result she cannonballs herself into everything she Shouldn't be... just so she can have the feeling of being nothing at all.... yeah!!! oh to be young and wild and free . But what does it all mean for the future...

They stand tall in their planters, majestic and hairy with French lavender. Today you notice that the rightmost one's nose has been pruned off by accident, and he stands, snoutless, staring at his green brothers and sisters. 

picture perfect palace hosting a picture perfect family but if you look close enough you see signs of the suffocation.. the overbearing preening.... WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN!! also the part about y/n noticing the little details about the number of terracotta stones... its like Yeah it's probably bc she's been in this palace all her life but also its like. no one would pay attention to those things if some ounce of her didn't care. used to. etc.

Your father paces near the window, either wondering why you can't be softer, more pliable, like your older brother Jeonghan, or, alternatively, why one of the lions is missing a nose.

only the real ones know who jeonghan used to be... YOU WILL BE MISSED 😭😭😭😭😭

"We have arranged for you to marry someone."  And all at once, it seems as though all the air has been sucked out of the room. There's a sharp pain lodged somewhere between your chest, your stomach, and your unhappy liver. The larks sing emptily in the garden. 

the pacing is sooo good here like yeah... top 10 announcements you won't believe! also the detail of the larks is so good it places you back into the palace setting and also it makes the palace seem so like. big. empty. just a bunch of air and space.

"Why?" you ask. Your voice wobbles, treading over that childlike waver you never learned to control. "Is this to punish me?"  / She's right. She's always been right. Maybe not about the swimsuit, but you haven’t exactly been the PR princess your family needed you to be. If anything, you would think it made Jeonghan look better by comparison, but you know that your parents would prefer you to make appearances in something other than Deuxmoi’s Sunday Spotted. But the royal charade never fit you well either; it clings and sticks and bunches up at the seams like a cheap Halloween costume. 

this makes me sooo like. MY BABYYYYY.... the emphasis on like. you might be an adult but whenever you're dealing with your parents or anything royal it just feels like you're a Child all over again (childlike waver / cheap halloween costume)... i have nothing else to say that doesn't involve my own convoluted parental trauma but just know i #GetHer

You were so sore the next day, you were bed-bound–truly a punishment worse than death, if not for another reminder that everything you do ends up hurting you a little. 

OWIE.....

Past August, you don't think you ever got your brother back.

i loooove this relationship with jeonghan btw idk if i ever said this to you but its like. vulnerabilities in yn that show she isn't just being disobedient to Be disobedient and like. she cares!!!! she just copes bad and has no one around to help her... not anymore :( also this scene in general is just really good backstory without being too monologue-y which is something i am Always impressed by... Good worldbuilding. good dynamic.

Without thinking, you quickly push out the first excuse you have. "I apologize, I was—" 

also i think its so interesting how like. before you know it's jihoon at the door you default to your more proper princess "I apologize" smth that like. Fits your position more even though on the surface level you've long given up on being proper or whatever impossible thing your mother expects you to be.... yeah. Trying is still somehow ingrained in your being

"You forgot your jacket," Jihoon replies. 

unfortunately for both of us i endlessly need him. also reliable best friend jihoon meeowwww I NEEED YOOUUUUU. also yn's imposter syndrome and guilt complex is making me soooo sad....

You wish she was human for a moment so you could show her the crater-sized hole that "prince joshua google images" left in your browser history. 

THIS IS SOOOFDMLDFK me searching up Joshua Hong boyfriend on pinterest to the same effect

The mental image of Joshua Hong being struck down by the first ten seconds of Throat Goat makes you laugh, but you still don't feel far away enough from the truth.

#foreshadowing

You knew you should have done better for your brother, but he didn’t even feel like your brother anymore. 

nooo..... fuck. also me reading this knowing full well What happened that day.... rocking back and forth chanting My Shaylaa....

So you press your heart to Astrid's mane, the pale moon high over the both of you, and you ride. 

astrid who represents the last bit of your childhood and yourself and your Brother, all of which you wonder if you can even bring with you to acros, pressing your heart to her and all that she encompasses... Yeah

You choose to let it slide—you have no choice, really. At least you have an ass. 

#smallblessings

"Didn't know you had a choice."

ooohhhh he's soo.... ITS SO ARC WORDS!!! of course he would say that....

"I mean, I read an insane amount of Dan Brown," you reply. "Not many of us can say we've solved the Davinci code, you know." 

this is actually the worst im clawing at my neck rn MDSFJSDFML is there any greater humiliation than someone not laughing at your jokes...... LAUGH WITH MEEEEE oh my god.... josh being hot and boring. the 10th circle of hell.

You glance to your right to catch a glimpse of Joshua. He smiles, a dutiful press of the lips, and you watch it ripple.

heol........... the first crack in his mask. hah... tfw you're so annoying u make resident stick-in-ass regret his princely duties

He's out of words, so he bends down to awkwardly pat you on the head, which, in all your years of knowing him, is the most affection he can muster. This is why you prefer horses to Jihoon for therapy, although you appreciate the effort. 

he is SOOOOO..... I NEED HIM 😭😭😭😭😭

You still keep your pillow pet on your bed (a horse named Robert).

i tried thinking of a horse pun with robert pattinson for a joke and the best i could come up with was cobert pattinson... robert trottinson... me when rob is destined to have bat puns no matter what . but anyway i love that yn is consistently a horse girl its so cute HSDFJLSFDKM

He's got a copy of Anna Karenina under his arm, probably to weigh the pros and cons of cheating on you. You don't blame him—in fact, maybe it would make your doomed marriage exciting enough to be tolerable. 

THIS IS SOOOODSFMSDFLKJ aaron taylor johnson Where are you!!!

"Oh right, because this is where happiness goes to die, huh?" You snatch it back from him, feeling the knot of anger in your gut flare. 

Oh that's not...... 😬 well Yes actually!

You sink into your side of the bed, a damask-woven vat of quicksand, and watch the spears of light dance on the ceiling.

imagery that fucks immensely..

The prince of Acros owning a book with the words "juicy", "mewling", and "best friend's brother" in the first fifty pages are enough to tide you over for the night. Probably the next week, to be honest.

prince joshua hong caught reading ICEBREAKER?!

"Is it too bright for you?" Joshua's voice, now tempered by the stillness of the evening, pulls you out of your thoughts. "I can turn the lamp off."  / Joshua smiles, and this time, you think it's a real one. 

also one thing to mention is that i love how after the truce is settled they're quick to act like. civilly/almost kind to each other like. they're both not Bad or intentionally hard-to-stand people it's just they're both put in impossible situations . a thin line between hate and kinship and love... etc etc etc. speaking of hate u are an expert at writing e2l banter the tension is palpable

"Any minute now," bitches Jihoon from the other side of the door. 

HE IS SOOOSDFMDSFLK my favorite animal is jihoon being forced to do anything for the royal family. also you calling yourself a HARLOT is so funny. next up the list is calling yourself a reddit-approved hussy

Outside, there is a lone photographer. The sun, morning-ripe, reflects off his camera lens like a third eye. The lawn, freakishly green, sprawls out around you, and the blue spruce frames the scene, perfect by design. 

your descriptions are SOOOO good like theyre so Telling without being too wordy or needlessly purple-y like just a few sentences from you and i am #In it

You can see why people dote on him so much—his cheeks get round, and his eyes magically gain the sparkles that people pay for on Facetune. God really seems to have wasted a perfect face on him.

the thought of being fake-married to him is making me rock back and forth like actually Oh my god.... i unhinge my jaw and swallow him whole with my 8 rows of teeth.

He's just like anyone else, you tell yourself. You're at the club. They're playing Everytime We Touch by Cascada. 

CASCADA MENTION HELL YEAHHHH 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

“Shut the fuck up. Wait, is he actually coming?”  ”Dunno. Wouldn’t be very Mr. Worldwide of him to flake, though.” 

u are actually the funniest person alive. also i think its soooo like. even though you came back home to have semblance of your Old life back your thoughts inevitably drift to joshua again... trying to fit him into the familiar memory of your old life even though you know it's a little funny to imagine him with anything less than 100 year old wine in his hand... and when somi asks if she should invite him you say No even though you were clearly thinking about it . What does it all mean. the dichotomy of having a hot boring HOT fake husband... oh the terrors....

but you couldn’t let him walk away from that conversation thinking wet dirt was a normal, socially acceptable, scent for a bedroom. (—It said moss on the label! —So, dirt. —Moss is not dirt. Maybe you need to go back to school.) 

GWHMASFDLFSDK the parentheses format is so funny i'm stealing that /hj. also im soooo glad you added in this scene about seeing him half naked its so romcom-y... so shenanigans-filled.... pornhub title: HOT PRINCE WITH HUGE TITS CAUGHT NAKED!

Later, on the walk to the library, you reach for your lip gloss. Instead, you pull out q-tip number five and get mad all over again. 

like she's so funnyydfmdflk she's sooo me.

"I just have to know—how did you guys meet?" 

this entire exchange is so funny JSDFMLASDFK like i love when they're bickering and being annoying to each other i feel like they match each other so well also the little digs to each other to ruin each other's reputation... yn raccoon era. joshua stalker era.

Joshua doesn’t reply. Out of the corner of your eye, you see his gaze has shifted. You feel it land somewhere near you, but you’re too engrossed in the race to investigate further. Perhaps he’s admitted defeat preemptively, wisely so.  “You know your stuff,” he murmurs, the clamor of the audience almost burying him. 

oh man...... an ounce of sincerity is all it takes.... me when josh sees the girl underneath the Act.... starts howling.

You turn to Joshua and clasp his hands between yours, somehow less wooden now, and so, so human. The crowd cheers; they come alive. 

OOOUUUUUUUUUGGGHHHH WOLF TEARING OFF HIS SHIRT JPEG.

also next scene with josh and his damn HORSE PUNS HES SOOOO ANNOYINGJFDMLDF but also this is the first time we're really seeing him not be prickly and testy and being Lame so its like. you show me your cards ill show you mine... etc. he's just trying to make you comfortable cause you really are a Team rn... oh man. OH MAN.

You’re not asking for love—just a little bit of like. and, right now, you think you like Joshua Hong. 

rubs hands together like a little fly... all according to plan. also theyre just soooo cute oh my god...

“Do you want to keep this?” Jihoon holds up a choker that resembles a jock strap. “When did you even wear this? It looks like a cat toy.” 

NOOOOOOO

“Right,” says Joshua, and when he gets up from the bench, he doesn’t look back. 

i have a lot of things to say about this scene and All of them are good... i remember the first time you brought up Piano as a scene and i was like. Wrinkles nose. at it because of my own personal experiences with piano being used as a cheesy plot device But i told you this then and im telling you this again Now i think its so well done... the dynamic between josh and yn is so well done like. they're just starting to blindly feel around how to interact with one another now that they're not Enemies but theyre still forced-to-marry but also like. they're also starting to be friends, even if josh was being a tad insufferable After the derby. like i love that they're both fumbling around at the piano and for Once in this palace yn is leading josh on how to do something right... yn teasing him all in good nature ("buddy, left hand goes here.") and josh giving himself the leniency to be a bit of casual when no one is watching ("aw, what?" he whines. "see, i told you i was no good. give me a second.") like its all just so cute. like watching two puzzle pieces spin themselves around trying to click. Pajama joshua is better than prince joshua... but even pajama joshua is thinking of duty... duty the knife and the wound... and Of Course josh brings it up when they're having a cute moment like OF COURSE!!! rubs my temples. yn trying to change the topic again. josh opening up again about wanting to play guitar because this is Pajama Joshua who doesn't know how to read the ledger lines and makes silly puns and not Prince Joshua who looks at you with a firm press in his brow... like everyone else with a crown... Man.

“That's not really fair.” You absentmindedly play a few keys, all disjointed. “Taking guitar lessons doesn’t make you a problem child.”  “It's not about that, though,” Joshua says. He's avoiding your eyes. “It's everything, together. I couldn't just pick up a guitar and be someone else.”  [...] “Yeah, and you think I don’t think about that every day? How, maybe, if I had done something different, then we wouldn’t be here?”  You feel stung. You don’t know how to tell him that you’ve been trying to figure out the same thing your whole life. If you were a better daughter, you’d have spared everyone the trouble. Unfortunately, you’d gotten it wrong so many times, you stopped trying.

FUCK!!! like this whole exchange is such masterful character building . joshua who doesn't know How to give himself leeway and does whatever mommy and daddy tell him because if he disobeys one thing then its like a slippery slope and all of a sudden he'll let himself think he can be someone other than a prince. vs yn who doesn't see the big deal because what's one misstep when her entire life is just one purposeful fuck-up.... but it doesn't even matter!! because even if josh was rebellious and learned how to play guitar and not piano and if yn was the good little princess her parents wanted her to be they would still be here!!! both at opposite ends of the spectrum. DUTY THE KNIFE AND THE WOUND!

like the whole scene is just so push-pull... conflicting coping mechanisms... they see each other but do they really. they see but do they understand... things to consider....... anyway this is my favorite scene. i love character building.

“You ready to get stuffed?” 

GHWMAFSMLSDKVSLDFKSDVMLSDFK

“Yeah, although on second thought, maybe it’s a bad idea to bring the girl who’s gonna puke everything up anyway.” 

Just like me...

“Nope.” You pop open your compact. “I have to change, and I desperately need to locate a coffee. I will suck a fucking bean off if i need to.”  “I'm hanging up on you,” Somi whines. “It's too early for you to be gross and late.”   “As if you weren’t talking about getting stuffed.” 

THEY ARE SOOO FUNNY like somi really is the star of the show... if this was in the 2000s she'd be played by judy greer

“Don’t give me any ideas,” he replies. Under the bluebird sky of late morning, lips upturned and eyes bright, Joshua may be a sight you could get used to. Someday. “Brought you a coffee. I can’t have you sucking off a bean—the reporters would go crazy.” 

i love how his humor slowly gets more crude as the fic goes on HSDFJLSDFK like him laughing at you being the #top in the piano scene... JOSHUA HONG I KNWO WHAT YOU ARE. I KNOW THE PERSONALITY YOU'RE HIDING. also it's actually a skill to casually describe joshua in a way that is injected with so much Need but what else would i expect from husbandjoshi...

Instead, you circle each other in an unsure, clumsy dance. You can’t quite get it right. It's all the same now. The bite of a horse saddle not made for your body, the glow of your heirloom ring, now cheapened by your graceless hand, Joshua’s lonely, reaching palm as he disappears in the rearview mirror. 

aw man... i always feel so bad for her like she's always trying... all she does is try 😭😭😭 like that thing about the jeonghan play too... she tries and its not good enough and so it gets discarded anyway because what good is trying when its not good enough... better to pretend to be perfect than to try and be yourself. and whatnot. my shayla........ what a sad notion... to be perfect and lonely...

You also learn that you, paradoxically, might not know how to love Joshua Hong, but you sure do know how to kiss him. 

oh meow.............. MEEEEOWWWWWWWWWWWWWW.............. you don't need me to tell you how good you are at writing intimate scenes you already know.... i also don't have much to say btw you look in my brain and its like tv static and the rainbow bars bzzzzzt bzzzztttt bzzzzzzzzzt

ok. obviously i have more to say. I will see you on the next part.

title: royally screwed [m]

pairing: joshua x f!reader

wc: 30.8k in total; part 1: 15.4k, part 2: 15.4k summary: between remembering last night’s party and pleasing your unrelenting family, you think being a princess is hard enough. then you’re thrust into an arranged marriage to royal darling joshua hong—straight-laced, infuriatingly obedient, and everything you’re not. pretending to be the perfect couple? impossible.   notes: romcom + smut (part 2), modern royalty!au in which yn is the princess of cotria/joshua the prince of acros (both fictional), enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, quarterlife crisis/coming of age, very very slow burn. lots of swearing, lots of alcohol, lots of feelings. very special thanks to @meiozis for all their help with worldbuilding and @wuahae for bearing with me through the endless drafts, scene changes, second guessing, horrible word choices, etc. you are the only reason this got done, and i love you to the moon and back <3 [read part 2 here!]

Here, in the dark, there is just you. 

The strobe lights press into your skin with all the brilliance of the sun, there's half a Modelo running down your leg, and you think you kissed the stranger behind you last week, but if you close your eyes, it's just you. No rules, no five second curtseys, no talk about the throne or whoever's ass happens to be keeping it warm at the moment. 

Here, you're nobody, and it's perfect. 

"I'm getting more champagne," Somi says, her voice careening over the music. "You sure Jihoon doesn't want any?" 

You glance back at him. He's flattened up against the back wall, holding your purse, like a raccoon caught going through the trash. This is one of the many trials he's forced to endure for your entertainment, but it's his job–not as your closest friend, but as your legally employed bodyguard. 

"No, he's on duty." 

"Right," she slurs. "Sometimes I forget you're a literal princess." 

If only it were that easy. Five drinks in and you think you can still feel your mother's vice grip on your arm and all the little white crescents of her french manicure. 

You love this song–at least, you think you do. You're too drunk to tell, but it doesn't matter. The dance floor is muggy, sardine-packed with one warm body after another, and it's heaven. The crowd moves, and you move with them. Shakira waits for no one. 

Somi must have secured another bottle of Cristal already. Soonyoung, your other partner-in-crime, hands you a flute and you take it, the glittery foam already bubbling over the lip. 

"Cheers." Out of his too-drunk mouth, it sounds like a new word altogether, but you bring your glass to his anyway. 

Tomorrow, you have a meeting with your parents. This, unlike all of your other involvements, is actually important, they said, and their voices had wound around you like a snare. 

When it gets late, Jihoon will sling your arm over his shoulders and haul you back to the palace, still tipsy and holding your stilettos to your chest like a shield. Tomorrow will come, and it's then when you'll have to try to be good. It's a useless, stupid affair, but you'll go through the motions anyway. 

But tonight, there is you and the music and the wonderful laughter of your friends, and you don't have to be anything at all. 

"Cheers," you tell Soonyoung, and you drink. 

--

There are four large topiaries in the palace garden: all lions. They stand tall in their planters, majestic and hairy with French lavender. Today you notice that the rightmost one's nose has been pruned off by accident, and he stands, snoutless, staring at his green brothers and sisters. 

You know this because this is the view from the study, and it has never changed. There is only one study in the east wing, and it is small and useless and the perfect room for your parents to sit you down and remind you that you do not, in fact, own a single thing about your own life. 

There is nothing new about this ritual. Even as a child, when you were more desperate to please, you could never be the right kind of daughter to your parents or princess to your country. Again and again, you landed yourself here, in trouble once more. 

So you stopped trying–you would find these four walls anyway, no matter what you did. Why not enjoy your Fridays instead?

By now, you’ve memorized the carvings on the armrest of the chair you’re in (a knobby column, then underneath, the whorl of a seashell). There are thirty-four terracotta stones on the way to the fountain, all spaced perfectly apart, sanded down to the millimeter. 

The scene remains unchanged. Your mother now stares down at you over the bridge of her nose, with that tight-lipped frown you've gotten so used to. Your father paces near the window, either wondering why you can't be softer, more pliable, like your older brother Jeonghan, or, alternatively, why one of the lions is missing a nose. Maybe both.

"Enjoy yourself yesterday?" your mother asks. 

"Yes," you reply, out of other answers.

"Wonderful. Then our early morning briefing with PR was good for something. You should be grateful last night's pictures won't make it out of the darkroom." 

Her voice, bitter and incisive, makes the hangover bubble up in your stomach. You and the tabloids weren't exactly on good terms, but it wasn't your fault so many people seemed to care about what you were wearing or who you were out with. 

"What did you want to meet about?" you ask, hoping to change the subject. 

You can't put your finger on it, but there's a cloying, heavy energy hanging on you. You feel as though you're on the precipice of something, although that could just be the consequences of all that Cristal ready to reintroduce themselves to your digestive system. 

Your mother clears her throat. 

"We have arranged for you to marry someone." 

And all at once, it seems as though all the air has been sucked out of the room. There's a sharp pain lodged somewhere between your chest, your stomach, and your unhappy liver. The larks sing emptily in the garden. 

"What?" Your voice sounds like it's unraveling somewhere in your throat. Quickly, frantically, you grasp at the faraway possibility that it can't possibly mean what you think it does. Marry? You can’t even remember the last time you thought of going on a second date with someone. Now you might actually throw up. 

"Prince Joshua, of the Hong family. The crown prince of–" 

"Acros. I know," you interrupt, the words jumping out of you in shock and anger. 

Of course you know who Joshua Hong is–Acros is a tiny, unremarkable country nestled into the border of your much bigger one, and Joshua their crown jewel. If you were the nation's problem, he was their darling. A bland thing to coo at when life got boring, the walking embodiment of a media training session. Smile and nod, smile and nod. He might as well be AI generated.

You wouldn't last a day with him. Not with your impatience, your opinions, or that loud mouth your parents always scold you for. Your mind swims with the mental image of the two of you on a gaudy parade float, doing that stupidly slow wave everyone seemed to insist on.

"Wonderful. So you'll pack a bag? The Hong family will be thrilled to meet you tomorrow," says your father.

"Why?" you ask. Your voice wobbles, treading over that childlike waver you never learned to control. "Is this to punish me?" 

"My dear, your brother will be ascending to the throne soon," your mother answers, looking you dead in the eyes. "It’s his face that needs to be on the front page, not you in another abomination of a swimsuit. The Hongs will keep enough of an eye on you.” 

She's right. She's always been right. Maybe not about the swimsuit, but you haven’t exactly been the PR princess your family needed you to be. If anything, you would think it made Jeonghan look better by comparison, but you know that your parents would prefer you to make appearances in something other than Deuxmoi’s Sunday Spotted. But the royal charade never fit you well either; it clings and sticks and bunches up at the seams like a cheap Halloween costume. 

"The Hongs thought their country would benefit from our money. It was an easy decision, really," your mother finishes, as if that makes you feel any less like a silly, bikini-clad pawn in a game of chess you never asked to play. 

"Does Jeonghan know?" 

"He sees its purpose,” your father says simply, like that was all that mattered. “You will too, in due time.”

He nods solemnly, which is how he closes every conversation–just another turn of the silent knife. As your parents turn to leave, their silken garbs trail behind them like ink in still water. Business as always, especially with you. 

"Your brother will be coming home from his press tour this week," your mother says on her way out. "You mustn't ruin this for him. The car leaves for Acros in the morning." 

There's a mean, barbed feeling in your heart. You don't know whether to scream or to cry, so you do what your mother taught you to do. You sit, stilled by a feeling of hopelessness, and let yourself be emptied. 

--

When you were thirteen, you learned how to ride a horse. 

Not the impractical, side-saddle way drilled into you when you were a little girl, with your skirt billowing over the fender and catching in the stirrups, but how to really ride a horse. 

It was on a night much like tonight–indigo and starless. Your brother had climbed up the marble trellis, his teenage, noodle body a perfect fit for scaling the lattice, and threw a stone at your window, just like you had seen in the movies. Jeonghan was still young, then, rebellious and unchanged by the throne. 

It was him who laced up your riding boots, hoisted you on your first horse, and pressed the reins into your palms. You remember the unforgiving hold of the leather saddle, not yet broken in. You were so sore the next day, you were bed-bound–truly a punishment worse than death, if not for another reminder that everything you do ends up hurting you a little. 

"It's great," Jeonghan had told you, breathless and haloed by the moonlight. "You can just ride. nowhere to go and no one to answer to." 

You had spent the summer this way. Every night, you learned the sound of the forest at twilight, chasing Jeonghan's mud-splattered palomino. In the mornings, breakfast consisted of rubbing the sleep out of your eyes and whispering about whatever misadventure you had found yourselves tangled in the night before. 

That was before he had come of age. Before your father gave him the Throne Talk, and before he was whisked away into endless meetings and etiquette lessons and parliaments. Your inside jokes became foul, overripe in his newly coached mouth. He even learned to play golf, and he hated golf. 

Past August, you don't think you ever got your brother back.

You slide the oaken doors of the stables open, feeling your arms squeeze underneath your riding shirt. Here, it’s always quiet after sundown.

It hasn't changed since the day you first snuck in with Jeonghan. You let the green scent of the hay fill your lungs, the sleep-stir of the horses like music to your ears. Dokyeom has left the tack room open by "accident" once more, likely to avoid catching you picking the lock with a bobby pin like he had a few months ago. 

"Hey, you," you whisper, coming to the stall of your own horse. Astrid, a bay thoroughbred, was Jeonghan's gift to you on your 18th birthday, a wistful reminder of a summer now past its prime. "No surprise here, but I had a really, really bad day." 

Astrid, oblivious, noses at your palm in search of a nonexistent sugar cube. Somehow, this brings the anxious chatter of your mind to a crescendo—would Astrid come with you to Acros? When would that happen? More importantly, when were you moving? You think of a too-warm summer morning, the ridiculous, oversized brim of one of your mother's sunhats, and a moving truck. That, and a country ready to delete you from its ranks. 

It's now, with the bridle in your fists, that you hear the wheedling groan of the stable door as it slides open. Without thinking, you quickly push out the first excuse you have. "I apologize, I was—" 

"It's me." 

Jihoon. 

You would tease him about his fear of ponies—perhaps it's because he is quite literally the same size as them—but you think hearing another person tell you off would officially push you over the edge. You don't want to be dramatic, but you don't even know if Acros even had horses. 

That, and somehow he's both the first and the last person you want to see. The guilt feels a bit heavier when you know his life is about to change too, in no small part due to your own failings.

"Jihoon, I…" you start. There’s an apology that’s been sitting on your tongue, one you haven’t quite learned to spit up yet. You don’t know who it’s for—yourself, or everyone else—but Jihoon interrupts you before you can finish your thought. 

"You forgot your jacket," Jihoon replies. 

For once, you can't read him. You wonder if he's thinking about if he'd get along with the other bodyguards, but, more likely, he's probably pitying you. You're the last person in the world that should be in an arranged marriage, and even someone who kills people for a living could tell. 

"I'll be in the foyer." 

You don't exchange any more words. Jihoon knows that there is nothing he can say that will erase what's about to happen, and like always, he is right.

After you saddle up, Astrid takes you to the forest like usual. Honestly, you've lost count of the times you've come out here to cry, usually about a boy you don’t even like, or, worse, Jeonghan declining your weekly Facetime session again. But now, you think you both know this time is very different. 

"Astrid," you groan. "Joshua looks like a Ken doll from hell. He probably pronounces tomato like tomahto and has a closet dedicated to his tweed collection. I can't marry him." 

Astrid is none the wiser. You wish she was human for a moment so you could show her the crater-sized hole that "prince joshua google images" left in your browser history. 

"Do you think he only listens to classical music? I think a Kim Petras song would kill him instantaneously." 

The mental image of Joshua Hong being struck down by the first ten seconds of Throat Goat makes you laugh, but you still don't feel far away enough from the truth.

You remember your 21st birthday, a balmy spring Friday. Jeonghan had been helping out at the local youth theater, and the opening night of their production was coincidentally the same day. Jeonghan had never been one for theater (last time, he had fallen asleep during Mamma Mia, of all musicals). You knew the press turnout was expected to be huge, but the whole thing felt like one big charade to you. 

So you had planned your big birthday bash—you only get one 21st, after all—that day. The paparazzi fell for it, hook, line, and sinker. Unsurprisingly, drunk, hot girls made for a better story than Greek theater. 

You remember the raw, stinging look Jeonghan had in his eyes the next morning. He didn't even have to say anything, but you knew. The memory carves out an abyss in your chest. You knew you should have done better for your brother, but he didn’t even feel like your brother anymore. 

Still, actions have consequences, and this was a hell of a consequence. Even out here, the inconvenient reality of it seems closer than ever. but you're out of time. The night fades fast, especially ones like these. 

So you press your heart to Astrid's mane, the pale moon high over the both of you, and you ride. 

--

Late spring is kind to Acros. 

The tulips push their bright heads out of the dirt, winking and blazing in the daylight, and the green fields stretch so far they look like water. 

You had spent the car ride with your nose pressed to the window, watching all the sun-bleached buildings zip by. You mustn't ruin this for Jeonghan. It spins around in your head like an old pair of shoes in a washing machine. 

Now you stand in the grand foyer, your parents on either side of you. Jihoon hovers behind, holding the overstuffed duffel bag you had rushed to pack this morning. 

A hushed arrival such as this was unbecoming of your family, but it was necessary. your parents had stressed that the arranged part of the deal was not meant to be public knowledge because it was bad for optics. To you, the arrangement was actually the entire deal. That, and you and optics never exactly got along. 

Waiting for Joshua and his parents gives you a moment to observe what could be your new home, although you’re still waiting for the miraculous plot twist that will save you from your fate. 

That being said: you’ve set foot in plenty of nice places, but if HGTV ran segments for castles, this would certainly be the blueprint. It’s smaller than the palace in Cotria, but you like that—it’s cozier, less cold-seeming. 

The filigreed ceilings vault dizzyingly high, and the chandelier above the muraled walls is set afire with the noontime sun. the blushing azaleas cascade from their pots, and they line the hallways with joyous pops of white and pink. breaking the spell is the distant staccato of several sets of footsteps on marble, and you straighten your back, as if by divine command. 

Three figures approach you: Joshua and his parents. Even from a distance, you can see the trained walk of royalty, their shoulders straight enough to hold water. You’ll give credit where credit is due—they look even less thrilled to meet you than you are to meet them.

Unfortunately, up close, Joshua is more handsome than the cameras would betray. He's taller than you had imagined, too. without trying, it looks like he jumped out of a shitty Disney movie, one where the prince says two words and still gets the girl. More than that, you notice how his face is like glass—unwavering, cruelly still. One wrong move, and you'd break him. 

"Your highnesses," you say, lowering your head in a pronounced curtesy. 

Joshua bows in response, like clockwork. He reaches for your hand, then brings it to his lips to kiss the back of it. 

At once, you feel your hackles jump up, even though many a man has done far nastier to you. You can’t tell what pisses you off more: a, the fact that he smells like a hotel lobby, or b, that he managed to get his mouth on you in less than five seconds. 

"I'm elated we have the privilege of welcoming your daughter into our home," Joshua's mother says. Like him, she is staggeringly elegant and even harder to read. "She's beautiful." 

Fortunately, she has picked the one compliment that your parents can agree on without lying through their teeth. You watch them laugh and titter amongst themselves, and it's now that you notice Joshua has been looking at you this whole time.

You think look is too kind of a word, though. It's something colder than that, more clinical, and you really don't like it. Your stylist had spent upwards of two hours today in front of your vanity this morning, mostly in a losing battle with a pair of fake lashes, and you wonder if one of them is crooked. That, or Joshua is similarly wondering just how he will endure a life wedded to you. 

"Joshua, please," his mother chides, and you watch him almost immediately pivot towards her, like he’s on wheels. "Where are your manners? You should show the princess around. Get to know each other a bit before press tomorrow." 

Press. Of course. Your least favorite word. You vaguely remember your parents mentioning it in the car this morning, but it must have gotten lost among all the other terrible things they'd told you. 

Your head starts to hurt. Joshua keeps smiling at you, empty, doll-like.

"Yes, I'd love that," you say, feeling like a deflating balloon. You were hoping his company will be better than watching four grown adults fall all over each other, but you're starting to doubt that. 

Joshua offers you his arm, and you take it anyway. 

"We'll be off then," he chirps before bowing once more. His freakishly shiny shoe nudges yours to remind you to do the same. Begrudgingly, you listen, watching your shellacked, angry expression in the patina of his loafers. 

Not a good start, but what did you expect?

You tamp down your irritation and let him lead you into the Great Hall. It's a shiny, golden tunnel, studded with glossy oil paintings of his parents, his grandparents, then the next set of old people before them. Their eyes stare at you, pools of hazy paint in their moon faces. You briefly imagine your painting up there, with Joshua's hand hovering meekly over your waist, unused to being more than two feet away from a woman his age.

"It's nice to finally meet you," Joshua says. "I think I've only seen you in pictures." 

He's referencing the one of many “encounters” you've had with the paparazzi, a la yesterday night. They take trashy photos, overexposed and grainy from the camera flash, with your ass most likely in the frame. 

You choose to let it slide—you have no choice, really. At least you have an ass. 

"The pleasure is mine," you reply. "I believe you were at the cricket championships a few months ago, right?" 

"Correct. Do you watch? I don't believe I saw you." 

"No, but my brother was there." Your footsteps echo against the marbled walls. "Just trying to think of your last public appearance," you offer unhelpfully, since you and he both know those are few and far between. 

"That's right. He mentioned you were busy," Joshua replies. "Glastonbury was that weekend, was it not?" 

He's right. It was, but you don't like the insinuation he's making. You weren't at Glastonbury anyway—your parents wouldn't let you attend, and Jihoon was unwilling to come up with a cover story for you. Because you would rather watch paint dry than attend another cricket game, you instead spent it with takeout and reruns of Rupaul's Drag Race. 

"Can't recall," you answer. "Doesn't matter. I'm not one for cricket, anyway."

"Didn't know you had a choice."

You watch Joshua halfheartedly gesture to the Great Hall. The seemingly mile-long dinner table is empty now, save for a gratuitously piled fruit bowl. 

Your country frequently hosts guests, but the Hongs are notoriously insular. You imagine the four of you, crammed together at one end of the table, making horrendous small talk every morning over wilted danishes and raspberry preserves. Somehow, your mood worsens even more than you thought possible.

"Can I see the library?" you ask in an attempt to pivot. 

"Of course. Do you enjoy reading?" 

"A normal amount." You pass by another set of windows and take note of the rose garden outside, verdant with the May sunshine. Astrid has a bit of a penchant for eating roses, which would definitely complicate your plan to smuggle her in. No matter—you’ve done worse. "I studied political science at university, so I got a healthy dose of it." 

"Didn't we all?" Joshua chuckles.

He pushes the door open to the library, which is just as lavish as the rest of the palace. You wonder how well-worn it is, how many spines have creases in them, how many dedications were speckled with a funny annotation or two. But judging by first impressions, you wouldn't be surprised if all the books still had their dust jacket on. 

"I mean, I read an insane amount of Dan Brown," you reply. "Not many of us can say we've solved the Davinci code, you know." 

You hoped this would crack a laugh out of him, but his grin is thinner than an eyebrow from the 2000s. Truthfully, you would compare this conversation to a death by a thousand papercuts, but somehow that feels preferable to the guillotine of discussing the terms and conditions of your rapidly impending marriage. You feel as though that would be violating some rule you aren't yet aware of, and you're unwilling to endure the patent leather consequences of another faux pas. 

"I've heard of it," says Joshua after much thought. "My parents were shuttling me between meetings and private lessons, so, unlike some, I was quite busy during university." 

You're not about to explain that you were equally as busy as him. Something tells you that he'd be too prideful to believe you anyway. 

"How difficult. Surely you were able to have some fun," you say, your voice betraying your distaste. "Or were you too good for that?" 

Too far. 

"I did what my position allowed," is Joshua's terse reply, and you know you've crossed a line. Still, it dazes you that the man standing next to you may have never done anything for himself in his life. Even Jeonghan did, before your parents really tightened the reins. 

The air buzzes with a silence sharp enough to make you bleed. You wish literally anyone else was standing next to you, but you realize there are no more horses or emergency cabs or Jihoons to rescue you from this one. 

"How about I take you to our room? I hope you'll find it comfortable." 

You glance to your right to catch a glimpse of Joshua. He smiles, a dutiful press of the lips, and you watch it ripple.

--

"Jihoon, it is so much worse than I thought." 

You sit on the plush carpeting of your bedroom floor, amongst your small disaster of things. Jihoon examines you, one eyebrow raised, as he leans against the bedroom door. 

"He's not around, right?" 

Jihoon shakes his head.

"I don't get it," you sigh. "I go out. I get drunk. I have a little fun on the weekends. I don't see how any of this makes me a bad person." 

"You know how traditional your families are." Jihoon bends down to pick up a hair bow that jumped ship from the vanity. "It's just how it is." 

"He treats me like some high school delinquent. I tried, but he has no sense of humor. No joi de vivre. I think he would actually explode if he knew I went out two days ago." 

"Give it time," Jihoon supplies unhelpfully. "I don't know French, but he can't be that bad. You just met him." 

“Yeah. Usually that’s a good thing. I’ve fucked people i know less about.” 

Jihoon shakes his head and laughs, one of those little cackly ones he reserves for your company. 

"Well, you have been with worse," he tuts. "Definitely worse." 

"Jihoon, be serious. This is the rest of my life we're talking about." 

“I know." He draws his lips into a line, likely searching for the right thing to say. "This sucks. I wouldn't be good at this either." 

"You're talking to me. I don't think there's a single royal thing I can do right."

He's out of words, so he bends down to awkwardly pat you on the head, which, in all your years of knowing him, is the most affection he can muster. This is why you prefer horses to Jihoon for therapy, although you appreciate the effort. 

"I'd stay, but they want me to go to some meeting," he says, jerking his thumb towards the door. "I'll see you tomorrow." 

So he leaves you, desolate and linen-covered. Back to square one. 

The room seems to echo with how empty it feels. The bare walls are painted champagne, a rich, indifferent color. They soar to an arched ceiling lined with baroque crown moulding. There's a large window facing the garden, framed by deep green velvet. Atop the vanity cradled to the wall, the ivy of the wrought mirror curls at the edges, as if escaping. The chandelier hangs low, fat and pear-shaped, and its crystals douse the room in gauzy lamplight.

At least the canopy bed looks comfortable. It's the one thing keeping you from calling this place a veritable jail cell, which still seems like an understatement. For once, you miss your own bedroom. Granted, it didn’t look much different on the surface. but despite all the paneling and the heavy velvet, you still like to think it had some personality. You still keep your pillow pet on your bed (a horse named Robert). The back wall is chipped from a Gossip Girl poster your mom made you take down.  

Before you’re able to get too sentimental, the unwelcome sight of your future husband steals you from your thoughts. 

"Evening," Joshua says, stepping into the room. He's so quiet, it takes you aback. "Still unpacking?" 

"Sorry." You gesture around you. "I underestimated my ability to overpack."

"You should have told the staff," he says, surveying the damage. "Do you need help?" 

"No," you insist. Somehow the prospect of him getting on the ground to sort out all of your things upsets you, even more than him touching all of your unmentionables. "No. Please. Just ignore me."

"Alright." 

Joshua seems to take no issue with that, gratefully. He takes a seat on the chaise at the foot of the bed. He's got a copy of Anna Karenina under his arm, probably to weigh the pros and cons of cheating on you. You don't blame him—in fact, maybe it would make your doomed marriage exciting enough to be tolerable. 

"PR event tomorrow," you start, folding up a nightdress. "Bet you're excited for that." 

“As excited as one can be before announcing their arranged marriage," he replies dryly. "But surely you have enough experience with the press for the both of us." 

So that’s how he wanted to play. Fine. You wouldn’t let him walk all over you a second time. 

"Well, I'd hope all those classes you took would be good for something."

"That's rich, coming from the case study on bad media training." 

"Oh, please," you snap. "At least I know how to have a good time." 

"I was having a great time before I was informed this was happening." 

"Forgive me. I had no idea you were so invested in my personal life." You huff as you heave an oversized armful of clothes to the closet. “Think TMZ has any job openings?” 

"Very funny," he retorts. Joshua holds up a skimpy black dress that's fallen from your pile, one well acquainted with the midnight grease of one too many nightclubs. "You dropped this, by the way. I don't really think the nightlife here will be quite to your taste, though." 

"Oh right, because this is where happiness goes to die, huh?" You snatch it back from him, feeling the knot of anger in your gut flare. 

The room seems to pulse with an uncomfortable silence, red-hot with unsaid words. You recognize the all too familiar way Joshua sets his jaw back, and you're transported all the way to the study in the east wing, snoutless lion, terracotta steps, and all. He’s not any different from anyone else, so you’re not sure why you expected anything else. 

You do the only thing you can do—bite your tongue. 

"Look," you finally say, gathering the wherewithal to call for a truce. "I know that we didn't ask for this." 

Joshua laughs. Actually, it's the first time you've heard it since you've met, and it would be an otherwise tolerable, even nice, sound if it wasn't directed right at you.

"Right, because who doesn't want to have to babysit someone for the rest of their life?" 

You take a hard swallow.  You've both done enough damage for tonight, although you'd love to see his expression when you call him the live-action version of Frollo from The Hunchback of Notre Dame. Maybe another time. 

Instead you think of Jeonghan, stuck in his meetings and sunk into this new, starched form of himself that you find difficult to recognize. Still, he's your brother, and you'd hate to see him suffer for it. 

"Stop. I'll be good," you say. "I promise. I know there's a lot at stake for the both of us." 

You can hear Joshua's long, drawn exhale. The furrow dug between his brows flattens out, and he seems to be reminded of everything they taught you both in Conflict Resolution 101. 

"I apologize. I got out of line," he says. You watch the cogs turn on that unfortunately pretty face of his. You hope he finally reveals that he has a much better, kinder personality that he was waiting to debut, but he doesn't. Instead he picks up yet another fallen item from your stash and hands it to you (this time, a much more presentable blouse). 

"I know we don't like each other—" You hold up a hand to interrupt him from lying to you. “—but we can do our best for the cameras. Because that matters. Hate me all you want in private." 

"Okay." He gives you a defeated look, which is all you suppose you'll get out of him today. "Deal." 

That night, there are no more backhanded compliments, quips, or mean-spirited attempts at sarcasm. 

You sink into your side of the bed, a damask-woven vat of quicksand, and watch the spears of light dance on the ceiling. If you had known your last outing was the one a few days ago, maybe you would have drank a little more, stayed out later. Maybe you wouldn't have even gone home. 

Joshua has been reading on the other side of the bed, which seems like oceans apart. The metronomic turn of his pages would have put you to sleep if it wasn't for this new fear, a black, trembling one, that's now taken residence in your chest. It feels like you are further from yourself than you've ever been, and you don't know how to get back. 

"Is it too bright for you?" Joshua's voice, now tempered by the stillness of the evening, pulls you out of your thoughts. "I can turn the lamp off." 

"It's ok," you groan. "Can't really sleep. Don't worry about it." 

He doesn't say anything. Instead you hear the oiled pull of the bedside nightstand before he places something on the bed beside you.

It's a book. Specifically, one of those trashy romances that they only sell at the airport because no one would be brave enough to read them anywhere else.

"It's no Dan Brown," he says. "Hopefully still to your liking." 

You sit up against the headboard and flip through the pages. The prince of Acros owning a book with the words "juicy", "mewling", and "best friend's brother" in the first fifty pages are enough to tide you over for the night. Probably the next week, to be honest.

"Yes, indeed, your highness. Of the raunchy summer fling." 

Joshua smiles, and this time, you think it's a real one. 

--

You hate mornings. 

You thought this one would be different, probably due to the fact that you would soon be standing in front of a few too many cameras to announce your tragic fate to the entire world. Unfortunately, it's like all your other mornings—rushed, nauseous, and now with all the added anxiety of a semi-non consensual public appearance. 

"Five minutes!" you holler as best you can, a hair pin wiggling in the corner of your mouth. Rule number one of a hard launch: don't be caught looking complacent. Even if the other half of the launch would rather be with anyone other than you. 

Joshua's in the attached bathroom doing his hair. Like everything else he does, it is painfully calculated. He might be the only person in the world who takes "pea-sized" seriously as a measurement tool. 

But even as he so carefully measures his pomade, pump by pump, you don't miss the way his eyes skim over your figure as you lean over the vanity chair to apply your lipstick. Maybe it's because your ass is practically vacuum sealed into your sundress, or maybe he's just looking for another fight to pick. Either way, there's a small part of you that takes pride in this, even if just a little. 

"Ready?" Joshua asks, switching off the bathroom light. You hate to admit it, but he looks good in a sports jacket. You remind yourself that you had to literally rock-paper-scissors this morning to use the vanity mirror because you fogged the bathroom up after your shower. "It's not a pageant." 

"Shush. You are so rude. Never interrupt a girl when she's getting ready." 

In the mirror, you watch Joshua huff behind you. Then he procures a little black box from his pocket, and a crazy sort of feeling washes over you before you remind yourself to be normal. Ten-year-old you would have cried and threatened arson if she knew this is how you would eventually be proposed to, but you have no choice. 

You're sure Joshua feels the same. He was probably hoping for something classic with all the works, and instead he's got a pissed-off Jihoon and you, internationally renowned harlot. Funny how things turn out.

"Any minute now," bitches Jihoon from the other side of the door. 

You close your compact and turn around to face Joshua, who's still fumbling with the box.

"I'm sure this is not what you anticipated," he says, finally cracking it open. “But—" 

"No speech. Just put it on." You stick your left hand out, still glittery from last week’s manicure. "Not like it means much anyway." 

"Yeah."

And just like that, it is done. You feel the shock of Joshua's huge hands over yours, then the unceremonious bite of the cold band. He doesn't linger. 

You hold your newly engaged hand in front of you. The ring must have looked better in the box—on you, it seems out of place, gaudy, yet another thing you can't quite fit into. It squeezes your finger a bit, but it'll do. 

"Ready?" he asks. 

"Let's get this over with."

If romance wasn’t already dead, then it died here, today, in your prison cell bedroom. 

You have no time to lament this, as Joshua’s already half out the door. Quickly, he seems to shed his foul, argumentative inside personality and slip into a second-skin, one that is more poised, gracious, and luminous.

Today's objective is supposed to be simple: friendly, premarital pictures to accompany a written statement to the public announcing your engagement. No paparazzi, no journalists. Still, you're starting to see why your parents decided it was a good idea to stick you with this guy. 

In the foyer, your families await you. It's as if their gaze can slow time—at least four people approved your outfit, and still, the weight of their eyes on you, ever appraising, is crushing. Immediately, your mother starts rearranging the strands of hair on the top of your head and fiddling with the sleeves of your dress, like you're some sort of doll. 

"Come, come," a member of the PR team urges. "Everything is set up. We'll be quick." 

There's a frenetic, tense energy over the palace. It's clear that this marriage is a gambit no one is happy with, and today would make it very, very real. 

Outside, there is a lone photographer. The sun, morning-ripe, reflects off his camera lens like a third eye. The lawn, freakishly green, sprawls out around you, and the blue spruce frames the scene, perfect by design. 

"I just need you to stand next to each other and smile," he says. "That's all, right?" he directs this towards your PR team, about seven too many for a task like this. One of them whispers something in his ear. Your parents watch from the shaded doorstep like wax figures in a museum. 

You and Joshua stand shoulder to shoulder, yearbook photo style. 

"Bit closer," the photographer calls out, and you smush yourself against his arm, close enough that you can appreciate he's got some muscle on him. "Alright. Hold still." 

Click. You've always hated the flash, but you root yourself obediently to the concrete. Your cheeks hurt from smiling. Click. 

Your mother interrupts her conversation with a staff member—likely haggling over the minutia of the statement—and says, "Look happier," as if you're in some dystopian advertisement for a new car. 

"She's talking to you," Joshua says through the grit of his fake, pink smile. 

"Right, because you're such a peach." 

You just want to go back inside and have breakfast. 

You place a tentative hand on Joshua's bicep and turn to him, beaming like you would at a hot bartender when there are five other people waiting for a drink. 

There's a glimmer of surprise in his expression before he matches you. You can see why people dote on him so much—his cheeks get round, and his eyes magically gain the sparkles that people pay for on Facetune. God really seems to have wasted a perfect face on him. 

"Move your hand up so we can see the ring." You obey, feeling the firm cord of his arm underneath you, and you wonder where the gym is in the palace. Joshua was certainly gatekeeping it from you. "Perfect." 

You stand there, living your America's Next Top Model nightmare, before the photographer hits you with, "A kiss for the camera, yeah?" 

All the blood drains from your face. You think you actually say Huh? aloud. Joshua opts to turn to his parents to intervene, which would be funny in literally any other scenario except this one. 

"You heard him," his father replies. "Act like you're actually engaged." 

Honestly, it was a fair request. No one wanted to take any chances. Plausible rumors of an arranged marriage would backfire spectacularly. Jeonghan wouldn't see the front cover of anything ever again, and the entirety of Acros would wonder just how deep in the shitter they were that Joshua was forced to marry you. 

Your parents were already so far into the conspiracy, you overheard them talking about using unpublished paparazzi pictures and rebranding them as times you snuck off to see your unfortunate lover. Point taken. 

"Okay, okay," you laugh nervously. "Of course." 

You face Joshua, steeling yourself, and lean in. The world seems to fall away, but not how you like—it feels as though you've been sucked out of your own body and dropped into a new one that doesn't know what a kiss is or how to do it. 

He's just like anyone else, you tell yourself. You're at the club. They're playing Everytime We Touch by Cascada. 

Soon all you know is the heat of your cheeks, the shaking flat of your palm over Joshua's shoulder, and the wet pressure of what feels like a pair of lips, soft but also very unwilling. 

Click. Click. Then it's over. Everyone huddles around the camera, like animals to a watering hole. Shame, hot and heavy, seems to drape itself over you. 

"Can we get one more?" the photographer asks.

Fuck. Your stomach drops. You can't even glare at Joshua. 

"Sure thing," Joshua says easily, unaware he was the reason it went so badly in the first place. 

You take a deep breath. You imagine a good Kylie Minogue song and a tall stranger with pecs that could fit into a bra, and your eyes flutter shut. 

You decide to go for it this time. Unfortunately, you and your inept partner are on entirely opposite pages again, and you almost miss each other by a mile. When you do get it right, it's messy, two teenagers fumbling in a closet with the lights off. 

Once everyone sees this massacre, it seems they resign themselves to the same conclusion you had long ago. Someone throws a thumbs up above their head, and everyone clears out so fast, it's like nothing ever happened. 

Soon, it's just you, Joshua, and your mother with a red pen and the manuscript. Your heart is still buzzing in your chest, even though you and Joshua are now standing at a distance that makes you believe in the cheese touch again. 

"Now that wasn’t so bad," she says, before escorting the two of you back inside. Perhaps lying cushions the blow of a bad decision, but you're already in too deep. The script, the cameras, even your mother's glossy words—your life is starting to feel like a permanent movie set, and you don't know how to clock out. 

The first thing you do is take off the ring. It's starting to look more and more like costume jewelry on your untrained, bumbling hand. Even still, you can still feel its ghost on your finger, see the glare of the camera flash in the laser-cut facets. 

Worse, you watch Joshua shrug off his sport jacket, likely wondering how exactly that went so wrong, and you can feel that same sensation, still warm, right over your lips.

--

"Save me, red wine, save me." 

Home, sweet home. You're back in Cotria for the rest of the week. This morning's stint was the only thing you had on the schedule, and you told Joshua you had some business to attend to at home. 

Said business was a Niçoise salad and half a bottle of wine, but no one had to know that part. Your struggle meals were your own business, and you think you will actually disintegrate on the spot if you have to sit through another conversation about World War II with Joshua's dad. The one you had at dinner last night was plenty. 

The restaurant you’re at is a familiar haunt, but not too familiar. The ass-kissers and the groupies have gotten good at keeping their heads on a swivel, and you’re not exactly planning on another encounter with a camera. But here, the crowd is quiet enough, the food good enough, the service fast enough. It’s enough, which you’ve come to prefer. 

That's the other thing about Cotria—there’s an overabundance of everything. Department stores, parlors, dog cafes, polished bars with overpriced cocktails. It’s almost a rarity to find a place like this, quiet enough to actually talk. 

"You must be in the fucking trenches," Somi says, shaking her head. "When's the press release getting published?"

"Next week," you groan. "The good news is that they want us to go to the derby afterward."

"Okay, miss horse girl," Somi says, clinking her wine glass against yours. "You betting this year?" 

"No, I shouldn't." You shovel another forkful of leaves into your mouth. "But I really hope I get to watch it instead of pretending to like a guy the whole time." 

"I didn't see you pretending in uni," Somi says, cocking an eyebrow up at you. "And those guys are ugly. This guy isn't." 

"Okay, wait," you protest. "Ugly cute. Don't get it twisted. And they don't act like sentient wet paint. This guy sucks." 

You're reminded of the moment before you left the palace this morning. Joshua saw that same black dress that he used against you make its way into your bag, and he gave you the dirtiest stink eye you'd ever seen. 

I'm not above tattling. They were the first words he'd said to you after The Incident. 

Good thing you won't have to, you replied. He didn't even see you out because no one was standing around to clap him on the back for being a good fake fiancé. 

"Whatever." Somi picks a tomato off your plate in exchange for some of her fries. "I wouldn't mind it, is what I'm saying." 

"You slept with the bouncer to get into Annabel’s." 

"Fuck off. He was actually really good. Club entry was just a bonus," she laughs. "That reminds me—you're coming to my birthday, right? Or do you have wifely duties now?" 

"Of course I'm coming!" you insist, feeling the word duty hit like an actual bullet to your chest. "I wouldn't miss it for the world." 

"Just making sure! You know I gotta have my people around." 

You had known Somi since you were in diapers. She's the cousin twice removed of a baron, or a count, or maybe even a viscount–you never were good at keeping track of those kinds of things. Even though you had seen her at countless brunches, coronations, and garden parties, you don't think you actually became friends until you ran into her at a college party in Mykonos. She sidled up to you, smelling like strawberries and the bleachy sting of hair dye, and handed you a cucumber margarita. 

The beer here sucks, she had whisper-shouted to you, right over the shell of your ear. Wanna dance? You were inseparable ever since. 

"It's going to be huge. There are, like, 200 people on the guest list right now. Soonyoung rented a villa, There's gonna be a champagne tower, and the music won't suck. Guaranteed." 

"That sounds perfect," you sigh. "Please tell me there's gonna be a pool. I need to show off my new swimsuit." 

"Duh." Somi rolls her eyes, glittery under her extensions. "The perfect opportunity to show the world that their hottest bachelorette is a bachelorette no longer. Also, we invited Pitbull.” 

“Shut the fuck up. Wait, is he actually coming?” 

”Dunno. Wouldn’t be very Mr. Worldwide of him to flake, though.” 

Pitbull or not, you think of the heat of the strobe lights, the electric trill of the too-loud speakers. You're dancing in a dress that looks like a chunk of the moon, with the little neon ties of your bikini top peeking out the sides. There's a peach highball in your hands and no one is telling you what to do, how to do it, or that you're doing it wrong. 

Then you think of Joshua. Maybe he'd loosen up after a few drinks. Maybe he'd dance with you, put those hands to use on your hips and kiss you like he should have earlier today. Maybe he'd even be good at it. The thought makes your cheeks sting.

“Should I invite Joshua?” Somi says, wrinkling her nose at how you immediately grimace. “What if he’s actually a blast?” 

"No! No. Absolutely not." 

“What if he’s—” Then she drops her singsong voice to a whisper. “Hung? Don’t tell me you haven’t seen those pictures of him in the Galapagos.” 

Unfortunately, you have. A lurid, glassy image of your soon-to-be-husband in a sleazy pair of swim trunks comes into vision. You push past the smile, the unfair pecs, and remind yourself of that horrible, self-righteous twist of the lips that he always has. 

Yes, that’s right. That’s the Joshua you know. 

You grab the wine from her and drink it right from the bottle. 

–

Of course it had to be the one time you’re not late to an event that you forget you had swapped everything in all your purses around. You double check your bag—empty. 

You’re already down by half of your worldly possessions (still at home, your real home), and you probably left the other half on Joshua’s bathroom counter. Yesterday, you got derailed mid-task by Joshua lighting the grossest candle ever. You never thought you’d ever fight over candles of all things, but you couldn’t let him walk away from that conversation thinking wet dirt was a normal, socially acceptable, scent for a bedroom. (—It said moss on the label! —So, dirt. —Moss is not dirt. Maybe you need to go back to school.) 

You fling open the bathroom door, still checking the pockets of your handbag, before you collide into a big, sopping wet wall. 

“What the—?” You look up. The wall is not a wall. No, in fact, it is your fiancé, bare fucking naked. 

Your heart jumps up to your throat. It feels like you walked right into a porno, and you can hear Somi’s self-satisfied, witch cackle right in your ear. His dark hair seems to fall into his eyes just right, a nice change from how he normally gels it up, and you watch the beads of water from the shower, torturously glittery, run down his jaw, the hollow of his neck, right onto his chest. 

Men should not be allowed to have bigger boobs than you, at least, not dowdy Joshua Hong, who normally has the sex appeal of an eraser. And God forbid your eyes travel downward and confirm Somi’s sick and twisted hypothesis, past the washboard abs, the v-line, the trail down his— 

“Sorry, did you need something?” You blink again and Joshua suddenly has a towel wrapped around his waist. And he’s eyeing you like you ate a million cloves of garlic and then proceeded to spit on him. “Or are you just going to stand here and ogle me?” 

“I wasn't—no!” You start snatching things off the counter, anything really, and throwing them into your bag. “I just needed to grab stuff for my… my thing. You’re in the way.” 

“Right, because you need four q-tips and my razor to read a children’s book,” Joshua replies, plucking the offending items out of your purse. “It's almost 12:30, by the way.” 

“Shit. Fuck,” you stammer. You can’t glare at him anymore because you know where your eyes will end up and it is not on his face. “Stop distracting me. Whatever.” 

“Have fun,” is the last thing Joshua tells you before you close the bathroom door, that portal to hell, right back up. 

What you can’t do is return the image of what you saw back to where it came from, the wicked, glistening form of Joshua and his B cup tits. He looked so good, it makes you angry. 

Later, on the walk to the library, you reach for your lip gloss. Instead, you pull out q-tip number five and get mad all over again. 

–

The car ride to the derby feels like your own personal Saw trap, if Jigsaw wore a ridiculous hat and was actually your mother. 

Your engagement was announced to the public just a few days ago. It came with no fanfare, no warning. You were sitting on your bed, making your way through the smut Joshua called a novel, when the news app on your phone kindly notified you that you were now a taken woman. 

To some degree, the media uproar fascinated you. The idea that people with actual journalism degrees were writing headcanons about your honeymoon when you hadn’t even seen Joshua since The Bathroom Incident was surely entertaining, to say the least. But, like everything, the unsaid pressure of being a perfect princess, now part of an even more perfect couple, hangs heavy over you. 

You remind yourself this is supposed to be fun. A real couple would be pawing at each other in the backseat, perhaps pregaming with champagne or fan-casting their pick for Spirit the horse. Instead, you’re stuck rehearsing your pitch to the reporters when they inevitably ask you about how the hell this happened. You wish you could tell them you’re not quite sure either. 

Silently, you look at Joshua. Joshua looks out the window. The world rumbles under you. 

[10:15 am, race 1]

The air seizes, swirls with clay-colored dust in the morning sun. The clubhouse is already heady with the low buzz of conversation—you watch the freckled sunhats and oily toupees bob up and down in the swell of the crowd, deep in the morning’s small talk. You wonder how many of them are talking about you, given how recently the news hit. You’re used to people ignoring your media appearances, not celebrating them. 

Someone, tipping their head down to greet you, hands you a program. Joshua elects to tuck his in his back pocket. People don’t come to the derby to watch the races. Instead, it’s an excuse to gossip, day drink, and gamble, which would ordinarily be a good time for you if you weren’t overly invested in the racing circuit. 

All the way from the entrance to your seats, you were met with a tidal wave of camera flashes, all hungry for a glimpse of your first public appearance as a couple. Alongside this, a decidedly worse flurry of congratulations paired with an overly familiar touch to the shoulder or a limp handshake. Joshua is quick to respond with either a smile or some trite platitude. Your least favorite: We couldn’t be happier. Now he’s just lying for sport. 

“We should find the reporters doing interviews,” Joshua says the second his ass touches the chair, unfazed by the onslaught of perhaps a million different people. “The Sun probably wants to talk to us.” 

You’re not listening—you can’t let on that this whole ordeal is mildly terrifying for you. He has enough reasons to dislike you, and stage fright wouldn���t exactly be a good addition to the list. 

The racehorses have lined up at the track, their manes catching the daylight like holy fire. You like the one on the end. He looks like Peanut, Jeonghan’s stubborn palomino. 

Joshua says your name insistently, curdled with the annoyance that you’ve now become acquainted with, and you catch a stray camera flash from the stands. You have an audience, and the audience demands a show, even if they’re second-rate journalists like the scum from The Sun.  

“Darling,” you reply flatly. “Relax. Let's enjoy the races.” 

The horses stretch their long legs, anxious for the thunderclap of the starter’s pistol. Joshua raises a tired eyebrow before the same realization dawns on him. 

“Absolutely.” He clears his throat. “Darling.” 

You wrap a hand around his arm—somehow he makes hand-holding seem like third base—and watch his shoulders sink with a sigh, like you just popped him. 

Likewise, your highness. Likewise. 

A shot crackles through the air, and you’re off to the races. 

[12:43 pm, race 2.]

"I just have to know—how did you guys meet?" 

You know the duchess of Pemarlia to be beautiful and unashamedly nosy, and she has yet to prove you wrong on either account. 

The last time you saw her was on the beach at Lake Como last year, where she spent the entirety of your conversation asking if Jeonghan was single (and peeking into your bag to see what brand of lipstick you were wearing). Like everyone, she always seems to have a look of appraisal on her face. What makes her different is that she never really bothers to hide it; instead, she wears it like an en-vogue accessory. 

She eyes you with an intensity, sizing up your dress, your tawdry sunhat, your ring. You wonder if she’d agree that marriage didn’t look good on you, but any shorter of a dress, your mother would call you a stripper. And God forbid you leave the house hat-less. 

Now she’s no minotaur. This shouldn’t be much of a problem, save for one very small issue: you actually hadn’t planned your answer to this. You had quibbled over it briefly in the car, but you were too focused on your interview pitch to worry about minor gossip. 

"Well," Joshua starts. Through his smile, you can hear the warning edge of his voice. “It was quite ordinary.” 

"Actually," you cut him off. Not only would his version of this story be boring, it would also be horribly out-of-character for you. You did not come this far for your cover to be blown by Joshua’s lack of imagination. "Josh's parents hosted a—" 

"Brunch," Joshua finishes. Whether his teeth are gritted because he's grinning or frustrated is none of your business. “It was Easter brunch, wasn’t it, sweet pea? Four years ago?” 

The pet name makes you want to puke. Now he’s just trying to piss you off, but you know this is his attempt to play along. He's annoying, not dumb. 

"Yes, we sat across from each other.” You playfully dig your elbow into Joshua’s rock-hard side. “He was giving me the eyes the whole time.” 

You watch your hapless victim giggle, her spidery lashes wide with intrigue. Joshua is a little less pleased. 

“If you could call it that,” he replies. “I think you had chocolate on your nose.”

“Which you so kindly wiped off for me, dear.” You try to peek around the flaxen billows of the duchess’s blowout to watch the horses behind her, but to no avail. “After a morning of staring, we had to do an Easter egg hunt, planned by Joshie himself. I had no idea he loved silly little games like that.” 

“It's because people like the princess get so competitive,” Joshua says, with his laser beam grin boring into your eye sockets. “I believe I found you rummaging through the trash for eggs, like some kind of animal.” 

“Oh my goodness,” the duchess laughs. “How...charming.”  

You feel your eyebrow twitch. Only you’re allowed to ruin your own reputation, but you suppose that’s just another thing your horrible fake fiance gets to take from you. 

“Not as embarrassing as seeing Joshua leer at me from behind the corner,” you retort. “He was so enamored that when I invited him to join me, he got right down on his knees to look through the trash together.” 

“Well, did you find anything?” 

“Yes—”

“No—”

“Well—”

Fuck. Luckily, the duchess is either stupid or wildly entertained by the clown show playing out before her. Maybe both. 

“Cute,” she coos. “You must have been too smitten to notice.” 

“Absolutely,” Joshua says, as if there is a gun held to his pretty head. “Among all the garbage and the girl next to me, I suppose nothing else really mattered.” 

“If that isn’t love, what is?” she asks blithely. 

If only she knew. 

[3:45 pm, race 3]

The sun descends on the stadium, swollen and yellow with the afternoon. 

Last year, you and your friends had a betting ring set up during the racing circuit. Obviously, you had won—not too hard when your competition included Soonyoung, who only bet on horses named after food (sadly, it was not Tater Tot’s year). Somi was no better, and your brother thought every horse deserved a participation award.

This time around, things aren’t so simple. But you’d hate to say that you spent a whole day at the track and didn’t bet on a single race. Life could afford you at least one win for today. 

Again, the horses take their positions at the starting line, wound up like a line of rubber bands. The air heaves with bated breath. 

“Joshua,” you say, folding your hands in your lap as you find your target. “I'd like to propose a bet.” 

“You must be a glutton for punishment.” 

You bite back a laugh as you watch your favorite horse, the palomino, ripple in place. Fans would call her a charity case, but you know better. 

“Pick a horse. Mine is number Three, in the blue.” 

“And if mine wins? What’s in it for me?” he asks. Still, he leans forward, corded forearms on his thighs. You watch him squint as he surveys the field with renewed interest. 

“You pick,” you reply. “Choose wisely. I personally cannot wait to call in a favor from you.” 

“The chestnut one. Number Nine.” So he is competitive. “And likewise. Perhaps I'll hold it over your head until the wedding.” 

Before you can reply, you hear the starting pistol rip clean into the air. The racehorses surge forward, as if a silken ribbon through air. 

“Nine makes sense for you,” you say, eyes fixed before you. “He's flashy, the crowd favorite. Spotless pedigree.” 

“I'm picking your punishment already.” 

“I didn't say he would win.” You feel the lilt of your voice rocking upward, the tremulous beat of your heart against your ribs. “You see, Three’s had a rough season. There she is, passing Four right now.” 

“Nine is still first, though.” 

“It’s not about that,” you reply. “She does this, she starts all the way out back and then flies up. No one suspects anything—it’s like she likes proving people wrong. The first couple races of the season, she was just stretching her legs; they were small, small fry. It’s this one that matters.” 

The saddles are just blurs on the track now. To the march of the hoofbeats, Three lunges past Five, Six. The crowd roars. 

“This will be her first win. I'm counting on it. She’s come really close before.” 

Joshua doesn’t reply. Out of the corner of your eye, you see his gaze has shifted. You feel it land somewhere near you, but you’re too engrossed in the race to investigate further. Perhaps he’s admitted defeat preemptively, wisely so. 

“You know your stuff,” he murmurs, the clamor of the audience almost burying him. 

“How can I not?” Three coasts past One and Ten like she’s flying, until it’s just her and unlucky number Nine. “Oh my god. Go, go, go!” 

You and Joshua rise to your feet, as if drawn by a string, now wholly invested in the race. 

“Still beating you, you know.” 

“Not for long! Come on!” 

You watch your darling number Three, against all odds, pull past Joshua’s number Nine, burning a trail past the inevitable finish line. 

From somewhere inside you emerges a joy that you hadn’t felt since this whole ordeal started. You turn to Joshua and clasp his hands between yours, somehow less wooden now, and so, so human. The crowd cheers; they come alive. 

[4:50 pm, races 4 and 5. mainly, the reporter from the sun.] 

The smaller races take place shortly after the headliner, for better or for worse. This forces you to finally face the music—the music being a dull-eyed, greasy journalist ready to sink his teeth into the public’s new favorite topic. 

Joshua is a good sport about it, or at least, he’s good at pretending to be one. 

“It was great,” is his answer to a question you didn’t hear. You’re busy going over the parts of the script that you remember. Your media team spent the better part of the morning repeating it back to you, which was helpful until it wasn’t. You weren’t sure how to tell them you’ve actually never been good at speaking to the press, since you had spent the better half of your life doing the exact opposite. 

“And what did the princess think? It’s not often we catch you for an interview, you know.” 

The eye of the camera seems to pierce through you. You can see your shellacked figure, long and distorted, in the reflection. 

“I—um,” you swallow hard. God. Pull it together. You can already hear the lecture you’re going to get on the way home today. “Yeah, big day today.”

“She’s had to really rein in her excitement, you know,” Joshua adds, chuckling. 

Briefly, you feel his hand brush against yours. Ordinarily, you’d pass it off as a fluke, but you feel the steady, insistent warmth of his palm again, first, to the inside of your wrist, then lower still. Before you’re able to really process what’s happening, he then takes your hand in his all at once, as if to say, I’ve got this. I’ve got you. 

You figure he’s cashing in his favor early–he’d much rather leave you out to dry, let you flounder a bit so you learn to read the PR memorandums the night before. I told you so, he’d say. That’s what everyone else would say, anyway. 

“The races are sure exciting, but I'm sure you’re even more excited about your upcoming wedding.” The reporter grins at you, as if he smells your fear. His hair looks like it’s glued to the top of his shiny head. “If I'm going to be honest, you were one of the last people we’d expect to tie the knot this year. We are all dying to hear more.” 

What? You force yourself to breathe, feel the air fill your lungs, to avoid making an expression you’ll regret. 

“Well, yeah, I'm sure it looks like it all happened quickly,” you answer, feeling your tongue trip over the words. Mostly because it did, in fact, happen quickly, but you can’t let them know that. “But Josh and I feel strongly about, uh, this whole thing, and—”

“Please, don’t spare us the details.” 

Telepathically, Joshua squeezes your hand. This, you understand. He’s telling you to lean on him, and you trust that. 

“Hold your horses,” he cuts in, almost too quickly, which makes the corners of your mouth twitch upward. He was definitely looking for an opening, but you, bizarrely, don’t mind at all. He turns to you and smiles. “What's the fun without a little mystery? It's been a wild ride, but I'm loving every second of it.” 

It’s this one, the lamest and most embarrassing dad joke of them all, that gets you. 

You laugh: a real one, big, loud, and unafraid. It's here, caught in the glare of the camera flash, where you find yourself hoping, even just a little, that this wasn’t just a favor, that this was a sign you could actually survive this arrangement. 

You’re not asking for love—just a little bit of like. and, right now, you think you like Joshua Hong. 

—

In the evening, you find yourself in the oaken parlor nestled away in the back halls of the Acrosian palace. 

There's a piano there, gathering dust. It's a Steinway, spindly and chestnut, almost identical to the one you have at the palace in Cotria. 

You and Jihoon had been unpacking your hodgepodge of things (unsorted, since the act of sorting would have forced you to stomach the fact that you were actually moving), when he had found your old lesson books. 

You should break in that piano, he had said. Either that, or wait for your fiance to find you. He seemed ok at the derby today. 

I guess. 

What Jihoon hadn’t seen was all the photographs you had to take after your interview with The Sun, where Joshua decided to remind you that you were supposed to hate him. By that, you mean that he managed to make every single one unbearable. (A tap of the foot: Stand up straight. A careful brush of the elbow: Let’s link arms. A discerning, tactful glance at your chest: Pull up your dress. That, or he was no better than the average man.) 

You and he hadn’t talked much after that. Hopefully, he’s fled to your cold, dark dungeon of a room to read, so he can finally leave you alone.

“Remember when your parents invited all their friends over and asked you to play?” Jihoon says, perched on the loveseat while he sorts through an old jewelry box. 

“Yeah, and I literally forgot everything?” you laugh. “Freaking Jeonghan had to check on me because I locked myself in my room for 24 hours straight. And then he had the nerve to laugh at me.” 

You thumb through the fattest book of the pile. The binding is soft; the pages now yellow and fuzzed over by time. 

On page 5, Chopin's Waltz in A-flat major. three four time or whatever, you had scrawled in defiant red ink. Page 37, a thick black line through Debussy's name on Arabesque No. 1. This is because you would always laugh at it during lessons, and you wanted to save yourself the trouble. 

“Do you want to keep this?” Jihoon holds up a choker that resembles a jock strap. “When did you even wear this? It looks like a cat toy.” 

You ignore him and start to play. You were never excellent—competent would be a better word. Still, it was enough for you. Soonyoung would ask you to play during drunk karaoke, and you could still keep up with Jeonghan when he played one of his overcomplicated duets. 

Your hands remember the velvet thud of the keys, the glide of the pedal. When you turn the page, there’s a scrawled in BITCH! next to a heavily circled allegro. Piano was one of the only things that your parents forced you to do that you actually liked. The kicker was that it didn’t even do you any good. You weren’t as talented as your parents would like you to be, meaning that, to them, you weren’t talented at all. 

It’s then that your fingers slip, and you miss a chord. In your defense, you have a fresh manicure. Always blame the nails. Your mom hated when you kept them long, even more than your hardass tutor.  

“The prince is helping with the theater production this year, right?” Jihoon holds a single earring up to the light. You think you lost the other one in Ibiza last year. “You gonna help out again?” 

“Maybe.” Another wrong note. You’re losing steam trying to read all the ledger lines and your smeared, illegible writing next to them. “I don't know. He probably won’t even want me to. I'm choosing a different piece, by the way. Bored of this one.” 

The truth about your 21st birthday was that you did actually intend to spend it at the youth theater. It was your idea before it was Jeonghan’s idea, but, at the time, you both still were a package deal.

You were on piano; Jeonghan was on whatever else he pleased. He'd always been indecisive like that. At the bench, you’d hoist the little ones on your knee and regale them with the classical version of the opening song from paw patrol. Jeonghan stole prop masks from the back, mostly to hide behind the curtains and scare people, you included. You’d both stay up late, paint spackled on your palms, trying to Michelangelo a backdrop with the combined artistic talent of a TI-84. 

The production became your thing, just you and him, no cameras, no press releases, no parents. But like everything else, neither you, Jeonghan, nor anyone else was able to keep those inevitable truths apart. The set pieces were repainted in Italy, the finger-painted fields turned luminescent with varnish; the pins and needles in the costumes swapped with mother-of-pearl; and, finally, you, replaced by a classically trained pianist from Juilliard. At least he was hot. 

Everyone knows the rest of the story—the red carpet, the empty seats, and the puffy pink balloons outside the mansion in Saint Tropez. 

“Oh please,” Jihoon wheedles. “You and I both know he wanted you there.” 

“Then maybe he should have fought harder.” You flip to a random page, this one marked up in pink gel pen. You remember it bled through all the pages behind it, making it a pain to read but awfully funny during lessons. “It doesn't matter. There’s probably wedding stuff i gotta deal with.” 

Jihoon lets you play this next piece uninterrupted. It’s not that it’s a sensitive subject for you—there were plenty of other things that filled the wedge between you and your brother—but it certainly didn’t help. 

You let your fingers wander over the stubborn keys. It feels good to play, even if you’re almost unforgivably rusty. You reach for the page, when you hear Jihoon again: “You know, you’re allowed to come in, your highness.” 

Immediately, your hands freeze. Like a scolded child, you become aware of how your fingers teeter over the keys, the stumbling, awkward clacking of your nails, the one or two missed quarter notes from the last measure. 

You turn to face the door, where Joshua stands, leaning against the frame like a sleazy model from an Abercrombie catalog. He probably came from the gym. Seeing him dressed down is still very weird, mostly because you can’t decide if it’s because he looks good or if it’s because it reminds of seeing your teacher at the grocery store. 

“Anyone teach you manners?” you ask, unsure if your hackles should be raised. 

“No, I was raised in a barn, just like those horses you like so much,” he laughs. “I didn’t want to interrupt. You’re not bad, you know.” 

“Thanks.” You eye him skeptically. “Thought you were gonna comment on the nails.” 

“Do you want me to?” 

“Preferably not, but it’s not like you‘d listen to me anyway.” You look for Jihoon’s reaction, but he seems to have conveniently disappeared. “Let’s play a duet. I’m cashing in my favor.” 

“Sure,” Joshua replies. “I'm no good, though. Might be more of a punishment for you.” 

You slide over on the bench, and he sidles up next to you. He smells like Le Labo and sweat, the sting citrusy and bright, close enough to linger. 

“No good?” You pick up another fat book from the stack atop the lid: The Joy of Duets. “Me neither.” 

“You have no idea,” he chuckles. “And trust me, I tried.”  

“I’ll do top?” you announce. 

Joshua snickers, and you kick him under the bench (really, just a tap of your foot). 

You spend the next two minutes tripping over a Schubert piece. Terribly, this is endearing to you. You make somewhat of a couple—you, with your horrible form, and Joshua, now squinting at the key signature like it’ll make it easier to read.

“Buddy,” you exclaim. “Left hand goes here.” Laughing, you reposition his hand mid-chord to an octave below. You feel it tense beneath you before yielding to proper technique. 

“Aw, what?” he whines. “See, I told you I was no good. Give me a second.” 

You watch him puzzle over the next few lines, pretty brow furrowed. You conclude that Pajama Joshua is decidedly better than Prince Joshua. He’s funnier, kinder, warmer. Even his hands feel softer. 

“Also, about earlier today,” you start. The words are starting to dry up on your tongue, but you figure Pajama Joshua is an easier target than usual. “I didn't know they trained you in stand-up comedy.” 

“We laugh in this country too, you know.” When Joshua says this, he grins, bumping into your shoulder like you’d been friends for a long time. For once, it feels easy, natural. 

“Well, thanks anyway.” 

“I couldn't leave my fiancée out to dry.” The word must sound ridiculous even to him, because he laughs just the same as he did when he unloaded his ridiculous puns onto the unassuming world. “No really. We’re in this together, unfortunately. It’s my duty.” 

Duty, both the knife and the wound. You can’t say you’re surprised he’s only nice to you out of obligation. So is everyone else, and you don’t know why you thought it’d be any different, especially coming from him. It’s not like you’re wearing your ring now either; you suppose you’re just as guilty. 

“You cross over here,” you tell him, changing the topic. You slide your hand over his, and it bends to you. “Thumb under. Sorry, I couldn't help but notice.” 

“It's ok,” Joshua replies. “I only learned piano because I had to. When I stopped going to lessons, I forgot everything. Now I feel like I put this piano to shame.” 

“Really? Not to stroke your ego, but you strike me as the type to be good at everything.” 

“No,” he chuckles. “Only when I have to be. I actually wanted to learn how to play guitar.” 

“No way.” 

“Yes way. I wanted to have one of those woven guitar straps, get a little pick collection going, be able to play any song from the Beatles discography. All the cliche stuff.” 

“Well, why can’t you?” you ask. “Minus the Beatles thing. Pick better music.” 

“Back then, it never occurred to me. We all learn piano.” 

“That's silly,” you blurt out. “Who cares?” 

“That's a little rich coming from you.” 

You frown, feeling all the usual unpleasantries bubble up through your skin. 

“That's not really fair.” You absentmindedly play a few keys, all disjointed. “Taking guitar lessons doesn’t make you a problem child.” 

“It's not about that, though,” Joshua says. He's avoiding your eyes. “It's everything, together. I couldn't just pick up a guitar and be someone else.” 

“Someone else? You mean you? The real you?” 

“Yes,” Joshua presses. “That's the point. I can't just do whatever I want. Sometimes the real you is more trouble than it’s worth.” 

“Someone’s dramatic. If you do everything the same, nothing will change. Maybe getting into a little trouble isn’t such a bad thing.” 

“Forgive me,” he says, mid-chuckle. “You wouldn’t call this trouble?” 

He’s got you there. Childishly, all your pride hardens to a lump in your throat, one you’ve never learned to swallow. 

“Your family needed our help too, remember?” 

“Yeah, and you think I don’t think about that every day? How, maybe, if I had done something different, then we wouldn’t be here?” 

You feel stung. You don’t know how to tell him that you’ve been trying to figure out the same thing your whole life. If you were a better daughter, you’d have spared everyone the trouble. Unfortunately, you’d gotten it wrong so many times, you stopped trying.

What's worse is that he doesn’t even sound mad—you watch his fingertips ghost over the keys of a C-scale, rhythmically, methodically. Piano scales, this marriage, everything: just things to do on his never-ending list. 

A hesitant knock at the door interrupts any possibility of you coming up with anywhere close to the right thing to say. 

“Prince Joshua, the king and queen need to speak to you.” It’s an aide, probably sweating bullets deciding when and how they should intrude on this wonderful conversation of yours.

“Right,” says Joshua, and when he gets up from the bench, he doesn’t look back. 

—

“You ready to get stuffed?” 

Good fucking morning to you—Somi’s voice, fluorescent through your phone speakers, seems to be enough of an alarm clock for you. Joshua, in the doorway dual wielding a coffee cup and the morning paper, raises a tired eyebrow.

After the events of last night, you’d wondered if he would somehow disappear at nighttime in an effort to avoid his eventual fate (you). Instead, you found him on his usual side of the bed, drinking his usual mug of chamomile tea, in his usual silence. 

You've heard that couples shouldn’t go to bed angry, but no one said anything about indifferent. Then again, you and Joshua are hardly a couple. 

“Ew,” you laugh. “No. Maybe? Should I be scared?” 

“Absolutely. You’re eating your weight in food today because I need your opinion on catering.” 

Smushing your phone between your cheek and your shoulder, you watch the mirror as your wavering reflection puts on a layer of mascara. 

“For your party?” 

“Yeah, although on second thought, maybe it’s a bad idea to bring the girl who’s gonna puke everything up anyway.” 

“My IBS is none of your business. Besides, the real food critic is Jihoon,” you reply. “Sometimes I feel like that’s the only reason he still works here.” 

“You’re coming in an hour, right?” 

You check the clock. No, you are not. You’re only halfway through a full beat and if you don’t get any caffeine inside you within the hour, you will commit a crime. 

“Nope.” You pop open your compact. “I have to change, and I desperately need to locate a coffee. I will suck a fucking bean off if i need to.” 

“I'm hanging up on you,” Somi whines. “It's too early for you to be gross and late.”  

“As if you weren’t talking about getting stuffed.” 

“Whatever.” Click.

At this point, you feel like Somi’s party is both the proverbial and literal light at the end of the tunnel. No expectations, no rules, and no semi-arguments between you and your doomed fiance. 

Then you notice that Joshua’s disappeared from the room—he probably couldn’t stand listening to your end of the conversation. Briefly, you wonder where he is. Off running an errand for his dear parents, perhaps, or maybe at the gym you still haven’t discovered yet. Even from the hefty distance he keeps you at, you can still appreciate a man who looks like he’s touched a dumbbell. 

It's only when you’re halfway out the door, almost an hour later, juggling your purse and your phone and the distinct absence of a caffeinated beverage, that you find him. 

“Come to ruin my day?” you ask, maybe three-fourths joking. 

“Don’t give me any ideas,” he replies. Under the bluebird sky of late morning, lips upturned and eyes bright, Joshua may be a sight you could get used to. Someday. “Brought you a coffee. I can’t have you sucking off a bean—the reporters would go crazy.” 

Jihoon, hovering by the car, chokes on his water. 

“Oh!” The surprise knocks the sound out of you. “Thank you. Really.” 

“Gladly,” he says, and he sounds like he means it.

He holds all your stuff as you clamber into the car, before handing it back to close the door for you. You’ll admit it’s nice, but as Jihoon starts to drive, you feel a familiar twist in your chest.

“Interesting,” he remarks. “Didn’t know you were on a coffee order basis.” 

“We’re not,” you answer. You pop the lid open. It's a cappuccino, made the classic way, milk foam bubbling out the top. Not your favorite, but it’ll do. 

More than that, it’s an olive branch. Yesterday did get weird, but you’re getting the impression that it’ll always get weird. Undoubtedly, there is someone out there who’ll get Joshua. His schedules, his straight-backed obligation, the polished photo ops and the cappuccinos made to a perfect one to one to one ratio. You know this because this is the world you came from, one that should be home to you. 

Instead, you circle each other in an unsure, clumsy dance. You can’t quite get it right. It's all the same now. The bite of a horse saddle not made for your body, the glow of your heirloom ring, now cheapened by your graceless hand, Joshua’s lonely, reaching palm as he disappears in the rearview mirror. 

—

On your arrival home in the evening, you return with two things: a few extra kilos and an absolutely horrendous copy of the Daily Mail, courtesy of Somi, who saw it at the grocery. 

"Great showing from the couple of the year," you say, shucking your copy at Joshua. "It looks like we're in Shark Tale." 

Even from a distance, the cheap ink-spackled cover shows more than enough. LIP LOCK FLOP!, it reads, although you wouldn’t really call it a lip lock. 

It was at the derby—Quick, they’re looking at us, you had said. Then what you would call a nun’s version of a kiss: you, already halfway out the door, and him, lips hesitant and pursed, as if he was asked to smooch his withering, dusty great-grandmother. 

"I'm not even going to ask what you mean by that," Joshua answers, voice level. "It's not that bad." 

He puts his book down to pick the magazine up, holding it at a distance like the image will jump out of the page and bite him. You see his expression flicker, and that's all you need to confirm your suspicions. 

"Ok, it's a little bad." He places it on the nightstand next to him face-down. "It'll be alright. It's not like the wedding will be called off over one bad picture." 

"You know that's not the issue." You sit on your side of the bed, about a full meter away from him. You kind of want to look again just to see how bad it is, but you're sure it'll be inescapable by the morning. 

"Since when did you care what the press thought of you?" 

"Since it mattered." You stare at your lap, eyes fixed on the too-new, wiggly hem of your pajamas instead of him. You can tell he's still looking at you, though–you think those big, watery eyes have some sort of flashlights in them, and you don't like it. "It seems wrong if our mistakes take up space." 

You hear him make a small noise of agreement. Joshua still won't admit that you're right, but you suppose you like that a little. At least he'll be stubborn about something, even if it's about clearly not liking you. 

"What do you suggest?" he asks, putting his book down. “We didn't choose each other, so I'm not surprised there's no attraction." 

"Ouch." He's right, but you'd rather be the one saying it. "I'm a good kisser. You aren't." 

"I'm just not good at kissing you," he retorts. 

"Evidently." You shimmy towards his side of the bed, where the sheets are cooler under your thighs, the pillows still neatly arranged on the headboard. "What I'm saying is that we should at least try to look more realistic. Like–" 

"Are you saying we should practice?" Joshua looks at you over the frames of his glasses, incredulous. 

"Yeah," you say, now too far in it to back out. "Like exposure therapy. For unwilling couples." 

The room gets quiet, as if it wasn't unbearably so before. You watch Joshua pick up his book again. He puts the bookmark in, two-thirds from the spine of the book so as to not ruin the binding, and places it over the doomed tabloid. 

"Okay." To your surprise, he turns to face you. The lamplight catches the lens of his glasses and makes his eyes look warmer than they truly are. "How should we do this?" 

The way Joshua's gaze settles on you makes you feel like you're being evaluated. An exam in Kissing 101, except the test would rather not have anything to do with you at all. For the first time in your life, you let your eyes wander to his lips, rosy and full, and you feel the pit of anxiety in your belly grow wider. Somehow he's managed to take all the fun out of one of your favorite activities, but you'll be damned if he walks away from this thinking it's you who's the problem. 

"Just...let me lead," you say quietly, now leaning closer to him. You have to ease yourself into it. You let your body respond, feel the skip of your heart, a heady flush wash over your cheeks. He smells like spearmint and clover. 

You've kissed a lot of people. None of this should feel new to you. His eyelashes skim against your cheek, and you can hear the breath he takes, quivering, gentle.

Despite all this, the first kiss is no better than any of the other ones. his lips meet yours, hesitant before they start moving. He's shy, and it would almost endear him to you if he wasn't so annoying. But then the charade is over. His nose clocks yours and it startles you both enough to draw away, ever so slightly. 

"Not my fault," you murmur. You're so close, you can see your reflection in his pupils, glassy and dark. 

"Thought this was practice," responds Joshua, unfazed. 

So you lean in again, giving it another go. Two is better—sweet and succinct. a first date type of kiss. You can taste the berry of your lip balm on him. 

Then again, except this time it's him who goes in, chases your lips. 

The scary thing is that you thought this would be much harder. You had stood in the bathroom, looked yourself in the mirror, and psyched yourself up to do the impossible. 

But the moment you meet him, now so close there's no room to breathe, you feel an impenetrable, unshakable desire crawling up your bones. Your palm finds the flat of his chest. Even under the silk of his ridiculous pajama top, you feel the heat of his skin, the restless quick of his heartbeat, and your stomach flips. 

Four, five. You're losing count. Joshua's hand trails up your arm to cup your cheek, and you'd be lying if you said you didn't feel your breath catch in your chest. 

He's warm, so warm. When your other hand finds the back of his neck, he makes a small sound in his throat and you like it.

It's at this point you realize there is no point in pretending. Maybe you don't want to kiss Joshua at any other moment during any other day, but you do now. You really do. 

When your tongue meets the seam of his lips, it feels all too natural. At first, predictably, he buffers a bit. For a split second, you envision him pulling away and saying you've gotten more than a lifetime's worth of practice in. 

But he doesn't. Instead, an arm winds around your waist and that's all it takes for your body to stop listening to you altogether. Lips still connected, you lift yourself to straddle his lap, right over the folded up covers, and his hands, devastatingly strong, find your hips to keep you rooted there. 

You're starting to think he isn't such a bad kisser after all—maybe he really was holding out on you, but there's something weirdly rewarding about him waiting until he liked you just a little more. Whatever that means. 

You learn that his hair is soft, really soft, at the base of his neck. You learn that he likes when you bite his lips and you learn that his spearmint mouthwash does, in fact, taste as good as it smells. 

You also learn that you, paradoxically, might not know how to love Joshua Hong, but you sure do know how to kiss him. 

--end of part 1--

[part 2 -> ]

[codnasties]

https://x.com/lanadelgothx/status/1809680296184361440?s=46&t=fHuJTuL3jnkyylKU8Lbw_g

Saw this and thought of single dad John with nanny reader.

single dad!price x nanny!reader 🚬 (🌽 link)

being a single dad was not in prices to do list, but it just so happened to happen. he thought he was with someone who was on the same page as him until he came back from work one day and found his child crying and a note from the mother saying that she didn't want that.

if there is one thing he was sure of at that time is that he wasn't going to let his barely a few months old child suffer the consequences. so he found himself some of that much needed help. and he appreciated it a tad more when it came in the form of you.

sweet pretty nanny that takes care of his kid, a girlie in her mid 20s in need of a job. he would be lying if he said that he didn't think about how beautiful you would look carrying a baby of his and how much eh wished he could fill you to the brim with his cum every time he sees his kid perched on your hip.

in prices mind, you deserve to be taken care of too, but he was way too scared of crossing the line and losing you - especially now that his child loved you -. so he 'compromises' in some way, not fucking you but plunging his thick calloused fingers into you, playing with your soaking wet pussy as you make out.

wouldn't be surprised if in a months time he already had you pregnant. this man doesn't waste time.

[jjscrybaby]

thinking of jj still being on the marsh or even on the beach when his baby’s born, so their first adventure out of the hospital is jj walking them around the water while you rest after giving birth to his baby

dad!jj maybank x mom!fem!reader | fluff | (haven’t named the baby in this little universe yet, will have to think about that, just adorbs!)

i’ve got an obsession with dad!jj. have my babies.

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

“She’s gonna need to eat,” you argued weakly from where you laid in bed, watching JJ roam around the bedroom excitedly packing up a bag.

“It’ll only be an hour, she’s eaten,” he replied, waving you off. He turned to you, crawling up the bed to lay beside you and press gentle kisses to your cheek. “It’s gonna be fine, baby. Promise. I can take care of ‘er.”

“She’s just so little,” you pouted, arms wrapping around his shoulders.

“I know,” he laughed, pecking your lips. “When you’re healed up we’ll take her out together, a’ight? But, for now, you’re gonna have a nap and we’ll be back before you know it.”

It didn’t take much more reassuring from JJ for you to let him take your two week old baby out, strapped to his chest with a big hat covering her from the sun. He was beaming from ear to ear as he slowly walked around, not straying far from the house but walking down towards the beach.

“This is where we all used to get drunk, you’re never doin’ that, tell you that for free,” JJ said softly, pointing to the Boneyard in the distance. Obviously all he got in response was a gurgle, but he was happy with that. “Mommy threw up riiight in that bush there.”

“Havin’ fun?” John B called, appearing behind him with an amused expression on his face. “I’ve been sent to make sure you’re both still alive.”

“We’re alive,” JJ laughed, walking towards him.

“Lookin’ like a real mother-hen there, Jay,” John B teased, handing him a bottle of water — sent from you, of course.

“Just showin’ her around,” JJ explained, taking a long sip and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Was gonna head home soon. Surprised I haven’t had any messages.”

“She wanted to let you have fun, for a short amount of time,” John B smirked, clapping JJ on the back as the three of them made their way back home.

“Better getcha back to mommy, huh? ‘Fore she makes me sleep on the porch,” JJ stated, kissing his daughter’s head.

John B couldn’t help but watch in awe. Never did he think that the same guy who used to throw up in his sink and smoke all his weed would have a baby. Then again, the moment you came along he figured it was only a matter of time.

[henrycangelbaby]

NSFW 18+

Baby daddy!Simon who simply can’t keep his hands off you no matter what, he finds you irresistible like there’s a reason you have been pregnant so many times

Baby daddy!simon who slaps your ass whenever you walk by despite the fact you keep telling him that he can’t do it I front of the kids because they will start mimicking his behaviour

Baby daddy!simon who doesn’t stop it and pays the price when you make him leave work one day to pick up your daughter from school cause she slapped her teacher on the ass

In her defence she saw it as a sign of affection

Baby daddy!simon who is big and strong and is always holding you and your kids when you go out in public together

Baby daddy!simon who has a child in one arm and you in the other, the other children are in and between one eager to explore under his parents careful eye and one strapped to your chest

Baby daddy!simon who still manages to have an arm around you at all times hand usually resting on your growing bump

Baby daddy!simon who hates going out in public but loves watching the way that you glow when you mother his kids with your natural ability and the way you are so friendly to everyone you encounter smiling at even the grumpiest of minimum wage workers

Baby daddy!simon who always wants a kiss from you a reward whenever he does anything remotely helpful

Baby daddy!simon who pouts his lips bearing a steady resemblance to his ever pleading toddler every time he doesn’t get a kiss right away

Baby daddy!simon who looks at you saying “can I get a kiss?” Only for you to smirk at him asking “you think you deserve a kiss?”

Baby daddy!simon who moves closer to you placing a hand over your prominent baby bump and ghosting his lips over yours

Baby daddy!simon who whispers close to your ear “gave you this baby” he says rubbing over your belly “think I deserve a kiss for knocking you up so much huh? You love it” he smirks down at you

Baby daddy!simon who smiles fully when you lean up to kiss him you do love it

Baby daddy!simon who drapes himself all over you while you sleep together wanting to be impossibly close to you during sleep

Baby daddy!simon who always has a big hand placed over your bump smiling when he feels a small kick in what he believes is recognition

Baby daddy!simon who insists that you are never ever to heavy for him no matter what

Baby daddy!simon who will pick you up even when you are heavily pregnant your bump forcing a gap between you as you giggle at him to put you down

Baby daddy!simon who picks you up whenever you do something he doesn’t like or thinks is unsafe

Baby daddy!simon who picks you up by your hips when you get up onto the bench once again ignoring your protests reminding you that this is the seventh time he’s told you not to do that

Baby daddy!simon who insists you sit in his lap after the kids have gone to bed he laughs at you when you complain about being heavy pulling you without asking straight onto his thighs

Baby daddy!simon who hooks his head over your shoulder and watches whatever thing you put on the tv while his palms cover your bump fully

Baby daddy!simon who needs you fully all the time secretly loving being home with you and the kids but hating the fact that he can’t bend you over whenever because there are so many tiny people that require your attention

Baby daddy!simon who waits till everyone has gone to bed to fuck you against the dinner table muttering about how you are soon going to need a bigger table cause he’s gonna keep giving you babies

Baby daddy!simon who is a horny needy bastard that would spend 24/7 drapes all over you and in you if he could

[berryhatfingers]

“He was laughing hysterically from shock”

No. Fundamentally no. He made a point to watch, and he was hysterically laughing from relief and glee.

Andrew goes to therapy. Neil orders hits on people during dinner. They are not the same.

I’m not saying Andrew doesn’t have issues, he definitely does, he’s violent, anti-social, etc. but he knows how to…Idk, function in the world(?) so much more than Neil does. He existed in a mappable environment – not the same or stable because of foster care and abuse – but he was in the US, one primary language, one primary culture, one country, one set of laws, one set of social normals, there were threads to hold onto to ground himself in reality somewhat. He came out of it severely traumatized with a whole bunch of social and behavioral issues, but he had through-lines. Another difference I would be remiss not to name is Andrew entered foster care at birth, he’d never had a home until South Carolina. He was unwanted, intensely abused from the age of 7, if not younger. Like it’s the foster care system, we know what that’s like in the US. He had 12 different foster homes by age 13, and says none of them were good. Was the victim of at 4 child rapists. At 13/14 he goes to juvie (a juvenile detention center) which prison industrial complex and for-profit penitentiaries. During his time in juvie he tells his uncle about the child-rapist at his last foster home and is told he’s wrong, it was a “misunderstanding” and just brotherly-love. At 14/15 he gets early parole and comes to live with him biological-mother and identical twin brother only to discover she’s physically abusing his brother and they’re both addicted to and on drugs. He takes a year to plan killing his mother before staging a car crash (that could have killed him too) at 15/16. He is temporarily placed with his CSA-denying uncle and aunt along with his brother after this. Somehow his brother knows the crash was intentional and hates him for it. His weird-ass 18/19 y-o cousin he’s never met and who there are no photos of comes rolling in from Germany, takes over guardianship, gets them a house, etc. Andrew finally has a supportive figure in a safe environment, said figure is only like 3 years older than him (and he’s gay too). This cousin helps him do the incredibly dangerous act of cold-turkeying his brother off drugs. When Andrew’s 17 his cousin is physically attacked, it’s unknown how bad it could have gotten, by 4 homophobes – Andrew steps in and nearly beats the 4 adult men to death as a 5-foot high schooler. He has prior conviction and juvie stay, the courts deem his behavior in defense of his cousin disturbingly violent and is put on INTENSELY mind-altering drugs by the court. He doesn’t manage to find a non-shit mental health provider for two years (relatable), but then he finds a good one in Betsy Dobson. A coach offers to sign his, his brother, a cousin to be college athletes and he agrees to support them. During his first year of a dude comes to his school, tells him the sport he plays is tied to the yakuza, the second-son who’s supposed to be his bestie is actually a violent mad-man who just shattered this dude’s hand and begs for protection. During his second year an interesting guy joins who’s full of secrets and lies but hot, he’s also somehow liked to this yakuza mess. Also in Andrew’s second year he gets raped by a guy who did that to him when he was a kid, then is sexually assaulted at the facility that’s taking him off his scary meds. He comes out to discover hot-guy looking like he’s been tortured, has a sport-cult tattoo, new hair, and showing his natural eyes. Etc. Etc. He has a weird thing about deals and pathological insistence on their being held, and for example is abusive-levels of controlling to his brother as part of one of those deals. He’s known to drug people, physically assault people (he hits Matt, nearly destroys Allison’s shoulder, throws Katelyn into a wall), pulls knives and it’s implied he’s used them on people. And despite people’s perceptions He’s The More Normal One.

Then there’s Neil. It’s unclear if he went to school before age 10? Regardless his home life from birth-10 was a wild ride. He was trained to use guns, as well as knives (up to and including on dead animals) starting in single-digit-ages. His father and his father’s people serially killing and torturing people his whole life, he was raised with criminal enterprise as the norm. His only outlet/joy was exy and he went there with armed bodyguards under a pseudonym. In the span of 24-hours at the age 10: he played exy with new people, watched his father performatively flay a man (he doesn’t seemingly didn’t find it odd that Kevin and Riko watched), and then his mother took him on the run. He then spent 8 years on the run with people trying to kill him, his mom, and his mom’s contacts, went through 16 countries, had 22 different names/aliases (because there was more than just a name there were backstories as Neil Josten proved). At 18 he notes it had “been years since he had been directly responsible for someone’s death” so there’s a possibility he killed someone as a minor. The altercation in Seattle would not have been the first in 8 years on the run. “teach me how to fight” my ass. His physically and verbally abusive mother was his only through point beyond reading about (and maybe watching videos of?) the sport he loves and those kids from when he ran who turned into stars. And then his mother died, he burns her corpse in the car, buries her bones in a backpack on that beach, before hitchhiking for days to another state to live another alias life, alone. He trades the support line of his mother for a sport he’s obsessed with and attends high school for the better part of a year with no substantive human relationship that we’re aware of. He sniffs cigarettes during this time because it reminds him of burning his mother’s corpse, and still stalks those two boys from when he was 10. Then he joins a college sports team, decides he’s only going to live for a year, antagonized a second-son of an organized crime family, said-second-son has a teammate killed which doesn’t phase Neil besides angering him, the Andrew entanglement, playing at socially normal while being very cagey and abnormal, he doesn’t get to be the one to murder Andrew’s rapist and wants the racket back because he doesn’t care it’s a murder weapon, gets tortured for 2/3weeks for his crush, ignores a countdown for months, still thinks he’s gonna die by summer, gets kidnapped and tortured by his dad/dad’s people, watches his estranged uncle murder his dad and is fucking thrilled, shares truths and lies with the FBI being an absolute nuisance. He also manipulates the new head of the yakuza branch into killing his brother (the memory of which Neil will later relish), while also negotiating for a stay-of-execution for himself and two others. He almost gets killed (again) but then gets to watch that annoying second son get shot and celebrates by making out with Andrew. Flash forward and he is again manipulating the FBI, having dealings with his British Mafia uncle, pulling Jean’s poor soul into it, and also ordering a hit on Jean’s rapist. He Is Decidedly Not Normal.

personally I’m torn on if he was homeschooled or public schooled because public school keeps up airs of normalcy while homeschooling allows for control and monitoring, though his going to school on the run implies he was in school but Idk thoughts?

A line from a fanfiction I’ve read (that I do not remember the name off the top of my head, I’m so sorry) is Nickey asking “who’s humanizing whom in that relationship?” And it’s so real. They’re humanizing each other but neither has a real baseline to orbit them towards.

Hey so it's actually batshit crazy that the upperclassmen (other than Renee probably) still think that Andrew is the crazy/fucked up one in the relationship when this was Neil's internal monologue.

Like he's really sat in the back of a COP CAR, covered head to toe in bandages due to the FRESH TORTURE WOUNDS he's currently sporting, and he's just destressing by daydreaming about his father's death THAT HE WITNISSED AND WAS FUCKING LAUGHING HYSTERICALLY ABOUT AFTERWARDS.

[clockwayswrites]

I made myself sad with the last part of ‘City Pigeons Bleed Green’ and the whole Annalise thing (and then shared it to make all of you sad too). It wound back to me saying in a server, mostly joking, that now I need to make an AU of my AU where Annalise lives. And as @any-mouse pointed out here by themselves: this crossover is full of realms. And then I showered and had too many thoughts. So have some of them here!

Bruce and Annalise met at boarding school. Not the same boarding school, obviously, how crass. They went to an all boys and all girls school respectively, but they were ‘sibling’ schools and so would hold certain events together. Annalise was an awkward girl, all limbs. She was too tall, too smart, too in the clouds. She was weird. But so was Bruce. He decided they could be the weird kids together.

They became something of confidants for each other—for all the secret things inside themselves no one else would understand, not really.

They didn’t run in exactly the same circles, the Wayne line was far more grand than the Linwood line, but Bruce did his best to stay in touch even as they grew up. That fell apart some when training and Batman consumed his life. That’s when Annalise, in an effort to be normal ended up making some poor decisions and listening to the wrong people.

In the AU of the AU, Bruce asks her to visit before the baby is born. As recklessly caring as he can be, he offered to say he was the child’s father. He would either set Annalise and the baby up to be comfortable, or they could get married. Divorce was always an option later, should either of them find real love. Of course Bruce insists on the best doctors and they find what was missed: a risk to the lives of both Annalise and the baby.

Bruce and Annalise basically end up in a queer platonic relationship together, raising ‘their’ child.

Instead of playboy Brucie, Bruce’s cover becomes that of the slightly hapless but very loving dad. Why on earth is he so fit then? Well, he spends so much time chasing after children! After all they adopted that circus boy, how patient with Bruce Annalise is. Not to mention the other several—wait, when did they get so many?

Well, see, they took in a child from the streets, yes, Park Row, awful place—though better now with the Martha Wayne Foundation’s efforts. And then there was that whole thing when Annalise found out that Tim Drake was being horrible neglected. Such big hears that family.

And when Dick is feeling stifled, he has a little sibling to focus on. To be useful to. (And Annalise has long talks with Bruce.)

And when Jason finds out about Catherine, Annalise is there—a mother to talk to. (And Annalise has long talks with Bruce.)

(And Annalise has long talks with Bruce.)

And one little hilarious scene in my head:

Jim stared up the steps of Wayne manner. Officer Montoya stared back. She was clearly off the clock. Her hair down and dressed more casually than Jim had ever seen. He didn’t know Montoya could do casual. He supposed casual made sense though, considering the hickies on her neck. Jim pinched the bridge of his nose. “Please tell me you’re not sleeping with Bruce Wayne.” “What?! Ew, no. Not ew as in—I’m sure he’s very attractive to people into that but no. No, I am definitely not sleeping with Bruce Wayne.” "Well, that's a relief—" “I am, however, sleeping with his wife.”

[katerinaaqu]

Achilles being who he is could be a subject of his upbringing (and how CONTEMPORARY his case seems if one thinks of it!) - an Analysis

Soooo I got an amazing ask today here and got inspired for some random thoughts here!

Has anyone noticed that Achilles's complicated psychology might as well be a result of his upbringing and how incredibly MODERN his case can be? Think about it;

He was prophesied he would die early. His family of course was concerned about it (how similar it is to children born with terminal illnesses nowadays indeed!)

His mother was already worried given how she was immortal and she was already worried her son was mortal much more when she found out he would be short-lived

His father cared enough to fight his goddess wife but also to send him to Chiron, the man who was known to train the best heroes in hope that his son would get the best education but also be prepared for every terrible situation in his life

His mother dressed him up as a woman and hid him among women so that he would live

His father promised his hair to a river god in hope that he would escape his ill fate (how similar to parents who want their child to go for treatment abroad even if they know it is hopeless!)

One can say Achilles is a child ill-fated, already people overly-indulge him because of his natural talents but also his ill fate. He got his life settled for him one way or another. Built skills as spherical as possible (arguably even for his mother's charade he learnt some female roles as well!), he had the best education as a golden child (from the art of war till music and all) and exceeded in all but also he had his family always worried of him. He even had a companion by his side at all occasions to make sure nothing would happen to him. Arguably his withdrawal to Chiron in nature also shielded Achilles to remain pure from the intrigues of palaces, from actual talks of violence and war WHILE being prepared for war just in case he would need to use it!

But also if one thinks of it...

Achilles was a child of divorced parents. Thetis abandoned the already bad for her marriage with Peleus. Peleus who attacked her with accusations that she would hurt her own child, for example in Argonautica, when he saw her hold the child over the flames to make him immortal. His family loved him;

And yet his parents abandoned him one way or another in his young mind!

His mother abandoned him in Phthia when she divorced his father

His father abandoned him to Chiron to get education

Abandonment pattern became apparent in Achilles's life! Both his parents loved him he knew that very well. Both parents wanted to protect him almost to a suffocating degree. They shielded him from violence and all that could potentially bring violence such as intrigues and plans but they also prepared him for the worst all his life while his father was telling him to always aim for being noble.

Achilles learnt by them to care and love to almost an unhealthy degree. He could see people who loved him abandoned him! He was trying his best to be the golden child, the honorable one. The one who would bring pride to his noble father and his goddess mother and his god ancestors. And yet he felt people who loved him unconditionally abandoned him! No wonder he clang to Patroclus. He was the only person that would stick around; he was following him. He was his family, his friend, his companion, his squire and his everything basically. His love for him was unconditional. Achilles also probably expected that Patroclus would never abandon him; he would die after him!

Achilles was introduced to violence way too soon, way too quickly and way too definitive!

He was sent to conflict very quickly

He saw first hand how blasphemy affects humans

He witnessed a human sacrifice (or the attempt of it depending on the source)

He saw intrigue arguably for the first time in his shielded life

He caused a lot of slaughter at a bloody war that wasn't even his business

He had his honor, the one he was fighting SO HARD to maintain for it would be the only thing left of him

And finally he lost that ONE PERSON he was sure he wouldn't leave him all alone! And he lost him because of HIS DECISION to send him in his place!

No wonder how he broke down eventually. His mind which was already at a limbo state because of the expectations he felt he was carrying on his shoulders in combination to the overly protective love he received from his parents. He simply collapsed!

He committed all the atrocities one could expect a person pure as him wouldn't commit;

He wished other people harm even if he had a personal grudge against one person

He refused the heroic ideal in order to go home

He fell into an absolute emotional collapse when he lost Patroclus clasping a dead body for DAYS (miasma) and wouldn't allow anyone to bury him (technically disrespect for the dead)

He went to blind rage and killed many for the name of his lost companion

Utterly disrespected the dead by dragging Hector's body around with the aim of absolutely destroying them

Barrage of human sacrifices before or even after his death

Possibly attempt of rape of Troilus and his killing over an altar

Achilles seems to have completely broken down to every single thing his family wanted to prevent him from! It was as if all the sins he was taught to avert were introduced to him all at once and that was catastrophic for his mind and eventually Patroclus's death was the final stroke for his already fragile psychology! I feel like these ancient writers knew what psychology was before psychology was a thing because man! One can get mind-blown every single time!

Next time someone says that these ancient poems are "out of date" or that they are "not connected to our reality" please think of stuff like this! I mean how can one get more contemporary than that!?

My other analysis on Achilles: Achilles and Patroclus relationship "Devil's advocate" reasons (under a post by @justvea18) On Achilles being on the edge On silence and Achilles's expression of emotion (inspired by @deadbaguette)

To gather some more Achilles potential squad: @hermesmoly , @h0bg0blin-meat , @deadbaguette , @greeknerdsstuff , @smokey07 , @wolfythewitch , @achillesisnotcomingdown , @emmikay , @superkooku , @captnbunnie , @ri-dumb-fck , @hymnoeides , @cynicalclairvoyantcadaver , @venomspecs , @roachcicle , @mt-isnothere12 , @mythology-lover , @mythology-loving-lee , @kindred-spirit-93 , @dionysism , @margaretkart

If I forget someone forgive me please join us!!!! Also please join the profile of my friend @yararts for other type of amazing stuff!

[thedensworld]

Something Between Us | H.Js

Genre: angst, arranged marriage, exes au!

Summary: An old couple meet again, with the same feeling inside their chest. What's something between them still left?

Author note: i dedicate this story for all of my plot twist lover. Here's for you guys. With love and— of course, so much care🤍

Joshua held his cup of coffee, feeling its warmth seep into his hands as he waited for you to arrive. Nervous? Of course, he was. It had been three long years since the two of you had seen each other. In all that time, there had been no reason or opportunity for your paths to cross. But today, after meticulous planning and endless back-and-forth between your secretaries, the two of you were about to meet again—this time as business partners.

Joshua had always been skeptical about arranged marriages. His parents' marriage had crumbled when he was just ten years old, and his father had remarried only two years later. His mother eventually found the love of her life in her fifties, but not before enduring two failed marriages. Joshua himself had experienced a failed arranged marriage—with you, three years ago. So, when his friends claimed they were happy in their arranged marriages, he couldn’t help but doubt them.

He had once said the same thing during the first year of your marriage.

As you walked toward him, Joshua couldn’t help but notice how much your hair had grown since the last time he saw you. You had always preferred muted tones, but today you wore a baby blue work attire that caught him off guard. Rising from his seat, Joshua offered you a professional handshake before motioning for you to sit across from him. Your secretaries took their seats beside you both, their awkward silence adding to the already tense atmosphere in the room.

Today's meeting was supposed to be strictly business. After your father passed away a few months ago, you had surprised Joshua by sending a proposal to rekindle the business relationship that had been severed when the two of you went your separate ways three years ago. He was genuinely shocked. He never imagined that the Ji family would reach out to him first, especially given that your families had also "divorced" in a sense when you did.

"I’ve gone through the proposal you sent. It’s clear there’s still potential between our companies, but a lot has changed in the past three years.”

You nodded, your expression unreadable. “Yes, quite a lot has changed,” you agreed. “The industry has evolved, and so have our respective companies. That’s precisely why I believe it’s important for us to explore a new collaboration.”

Joshua studied you carefully, his mind racing. Your brother Seungcheol was the rightful successor, the one running the family business now. There was no logical reason for you to involve yourself—especially after being away from the business world since your divorce. Why would you suddenly want to rekindle this partnership? Was this truly about the companies, or was there something more you weren’t saying?

“Your brother,” Joshua began cautiously, “is more than capable of handling the business. I’m curious why you felt the need to personally reach out to me, given that Seungcheol is the one at the helm now.”

You met his gaze, your eyes steady. “Seungcheol is indeed in charge, and he’s doing an excellent job. But there are some things only I can handle, and this partnership is one of them. I know the history, the nuances between our companies. There’s unfinished business here, Joshua. You and I both know that.”

Joshua couldn’t deny the truth in your words, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more beneath the surface. “And you think you can just step back in and pick up where we left off?” he asked, skepticism lacing his tone. “You’ve been out of the industry for three years. A lot has changed—not just in business, but in the way we operate, the strategies we use. Do you really think you can bring the same value you once did?”

A faint smile played on your lips. “I may have been away, but I’ve kept my eyes open. I’m well aware of the changes and the new dynamics at play. But this isn’t just about proving my worth, Joshua. It’s about leveraging the strengths of both our companies for mutual benefit. We have something unique—a history, a shared vision, even if it was derailed for a while.”

Joshua leaned back, crossing his arms as he regarded you thoughtfully. “And what exactly are you offering? What do you bring to the table that your brother or anyone else in your company can’t?”

You took a deep breath before answering, your voice firm. “What I bring is a perspective that no one else has. I understand the intricacies of both our businesses, and I know what was lost when we parted ways. I also know how to regain that edge. This isn’t just about merging resources or expanding markets. It’s about restoring what was once a strong alliance—something that could be stronger than ever if we approach it the right way.”

Joshua could sense the conviction in your voice, but he also sensed something else—a personal stake that went beyond business. You weren’t just here to broker a deal; there was something deeper driving you, something you weren’t ready to reveal just yet. But for now, he played along, curious to see where this would lead.

*

Seungkwan, Joshua's dedicated secretary, arrived at ten o'clock at night with a box of Joshua's old files from his parents' house, driven by an urgent matter. The contents were from a pivotal time in Joshua's life—the period when his business had merged with his ex-partner's company.

Joshua had been immersed in the business world since his college days, with a particular passion for coffee beans. His grandfather, recognizing his potential, gifted young Joshua a piece of land to cultivate and manage. After years of gaining valuable experience, Joshua made the bold decision to take over his family’s business—a company specializing in the distribution of fresh food sources. His natural talent for business didn’t go unnoticed; your father, who was well-acquainted with Joshua's grandfather, saw a promising match between you and Joshua.

Your family’s legacy in the industry stretches back further than Joshua’s, with a focus on real estate—hotels, buildings, and shopping malls. In fact, Joshua’s grandfather had once worked for your family before establishing his own empire. Over the years, Joshua's family business became a key supplier of fresh food for your family's hotels, creating a longstanding partnership between the two enterprises.

What began as a mere introduction between you and Joshua quickly evolved into a strategic arrangement orchestrated by your father and Joshua's grandfather. They agreed to a marriage between the two of you, believing it would further solidify the bond between the companies.

Fortunately, neither of you had any objections. Joshua found himself deeply attracted to your integrity and kindness, qualities that only strengthened his affection over time. What started as a business arrangement blossomed into a genuine partnership, both in life and in the boardroom.

"Let's get divorced after a few years," you suggested, your voice carefully measured as you spoke after a family meeting just before the wedding.

Joshua raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Let's not talk about divorce when we haven’t even said ‘I do’ yet."

You sighed, trying to find the right words. "That's not what I meant. I just want us to have the freedom to express our thoughts about this... arrangement. I don't want you to regret anything."

Joshua glanced at you briefly before focusing back on the road as he drove you home. A gentle smile played on his lips. "You're too kind, Y/N. Too kind for me."

After the wedding day, Joshua’s life was turned upside down—in the best way possible. His heart raced every time he saw you, and he found it increasingly difficult to keep his hands to himself whenever you were near. It didn’t take long for him to realize he was falling deeply in love with you.

As Joshua started to believe that you might feel the same way, he nearly forgot about the contract you both had signed before the wedding—a marriage contract stipulating that you would divorce after five years.

"Two years," you said one evening, your tone serious as you brought up the contract.

Joshua shook his head, a determined look in his eyes. "Five, at least. That’s the right amount of time to have everything settled between our companies before we divorce."

Living with you had been effortless for those years, a seamless partnership that made life feel easy and natural. But one night, after returning from a business trip to Taiwan, Joshua was blindsided when you handed him divorce papers to sign. His heart sank as he stared at you in shock, unable to believe you were bringing up the contract he had thought had long been forgotten.

"We've been fighting a lot," you began, your voice steady but laced with sadness. "And it's always about the same things. We see the world differently, and I don’t think I should live with someone who doesn’t share my vision."

Joshua felt something inside him shatter. He had believed you would understand him, that you were different. But now, he realized you were just like everyone else in his life. Just like his parents who had left him behind.

In that moment, the walls he had built to protect himself from pain crumbled, leaving him feeling more vulnerable than ever. He had fallen in love with you, but now he was faced with the harsh reality that love alone might not be enough to keep you by his side.

"Sorry for taking up your time, Seungkwan, but I really need these papers," Joshua said as he began rifling through the box Seungkwan had brought over.

It had been two weeks since the tense meeting between you and Joshua. Since then, any further communication had been handled strictly by your secretaries, Seungkwan and Chan. The deadline for Joshua to make a decision on your offer was only two days away.

Seungkwan sat down, opening his tablet to check his list of tasks. As he glanced at the screen, a thought crossed his mind. "By the way, do you know who Jina is?" he asked Joshua casually.

Joshua frowned, shaking his head. "Jina who?"

Seungkwan shrugged. "I’m not sure. Chan, Ms. Choi's secretary, mentioned that she had to take care of her child, Jina. I was wondering if she might have remarried already?"

Joshua’s hands froze mid-movement as his heart skipped a beat. Child. The word echoed in his mind, bringing with it a flood of questions. Are you married already? Did you finally have the family you always dreamed of? Are you happy now with the child he couldn’t give you?

He forced himself to respond, keeping his voice as neutral as possible. "Really? I didn't know."

Seungkwan nodded, seemingly unfazed. "Maybe it was a secret marriage. After all, it’s only been three years since her divorce from you," he speculated.

Three years. That was all it took for you to move on, to find someone new. To build the life that he had always wanted with you. Meanwhile, Joshua couldn't even fathom replacing you. The mere thought of it felt impossible, as if no one could ever fill the void you left behind.

*

Joshua met with you once to sign the MoU between your two companies. A month passed, and he began to realize that rekindling the business relationship between your families had been a good idea after all.

One afternoon, Joshua was out for lunch with a client. After their meal, he headed to the restroom and was surprised to find a little girl crying in front of the men’s room. Seeing that no one else was around, he gently picked her up and wiped the tears from her chubby cheeks.

“Mom…” the little girl whimpered, her voice breaking Joshua’s heart. Deciding to help, he started looking for her parents.

As he walked down the hallway, he heard familiar voices arguing. Turning the corner, he saw you scolding a younger woman dressed in what looked like a nanny's uniform.

"How could you lose her?" you snapped, clearly distressed.

Before Joshua could speak, you spotted him, your eyes widening as you quickly approached. "Jina, where have you been?" you called out as you reached for the little girl.

Joshua’s breath caught as your eyes met his. For a brief moment, your steps faltered, but then you took the girl from his arms, your expression softening as you spoke to her.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m here,” you soothed, cradling the little girl you had called Jina.

“Thank you so much,” you said to Joshua, your voice filled with relief. “She just learned to run, and she slipped away from her nanny.”

You handed Jina back to the nanny you had been scolding moments before, and Joshua couldn’t help but stare at the little girl. She had your beautiful eyes, and Joshua couldn’t deny that she was the cutest toddler he had ever seen.

As he watched you comfort Jina, Joshua felt a pang in his chest, a mix of emotions swirling inside him. Seeing you with a child—a child who looked so much like you—brought back memories of the dreams he once had, dreams of a life you could have had together.

Joshua stood there, watching as you cradled Jina in your arms, and memories of your time together flooded back. During your marriage, you had often expressed your deep desire to start a family. You had dreamed of having children, of creating a warm and loving home where you could nurture and protect them. You had spoken to Joshua about it openly, passionately, yearning for a child who would be a symbol of the love you once shared.

But Joshua had been paralyzed by fear. The idea of becoming a father terrified him, more than he could ever admit to you. He had grown up in a house filled with anger and pain, a witness to his father’s cruelty. His father had been abusive, both physically and emotionally, to Joshua and his mother. Joshua had seen firsthand the damage a father could do to his family, how easily love could turn to hate, how trust could be shattered by betrayal. He had watched his father cheat on his mother, breaking her spirit before finally leaving her for someone else.

These memories haunted Joshua. The thought of becoming a father brought back all those fears—the fear of repeating his father’s mistakes, the fear of not being good enough, the fear of hurting those he loved the most. He didn’t want to bring a child into the world only to fail them, to fail you. And so, every time you spoke of starting a family, Joshua found himself pulling away, unable to share your dream. He was too afraid of the past repeating itself, of becoming the very thing he had always despised.

He remembered the arguments that would arise whenever the topic came up, the frustration in your eyes when he hesitated, the sadness in your voice when he couldn’t give you a clear answer. He had loved you, but his fear had been stronger than his love. He had convinced himself that he was protecting you, protecting any potential child from the possibility of being raised by someone who wasn’t capable of being the father they deserved.

But now, as he looked at Jina—this little girl who had your eyes, your gentleness—he couldn’t help but wonder what might have been. Seeing you as a mother, so natural, so caring, made him realize just how much he had deprived both of you by letting his fears control him. The life you had wanted, the family you had dreamed of—it was something he could never have given you because he had been too afraid to try.

Joshua felt a deep, aching regret settle in his chest. He had let you go, thinking it was for the best, thinking it was the only way to protect you from the darkness inside him. But now, he could see how much he had lost in the process. You had moved on, found the family you always wanted, while he remained trapped by the ghosts of his past.

As you walked away with Jina, Joshua realized that he had not only lost you but also the chance to be part of something truly beautiful. And for the first time, he wondered if he could ever forgive himself for letting fear steal away the life he could have had with you.

*

Joshua was interrupted by a notification that there was a call from Seungcheol, your older brother and the soon-to-be president of Choi Corps. He immediately put down his work and picked up the call, his focus sharpening. Seungcheol’s breathy, urgent voice greeted him on the other end, asking if Joshua was in town at the moment.

"Yes, I'm in my office right now," Joshua replied, his concern mounting.

Joshua and Seungcheol had known each other since college, having attended the same business school. They knew each other better than mere acquaintances, but their relationship was complicated by an underlying competitiveness. Both were driven, ambitious, and determined to succeed—traits that had prevented them from becoming close friends. There could only be one star, and Seungcheol had often seemed to take the throne, aided by his privilege and relentless work ethic.

"I need you to get to Seoul University Hospital. Now!" Seungcheol’s voice was sharp, tinged with urgency.

Joshua’s heart skipped a beat, panic setting in. "What's wrong? Did something happen to Y/n?" he asked immediately, his pulse quickening.

"No, it’s not Y/n," Seungcheol answered, his tone tense. "Someone else needs you."

"Who?" Joshua pressed, confusion and worry battling within him.

"Just get here, Joshua. I’m begging you. My sister... she’s not in the right state of mind right now," Seungcheol pleaded, his voice cracking with desperation.

Joshua’s mind raced, trying to piece together what could have happened. The urgency in Seungcheol’s voice told him it was serious, and despite their complicated history, he knew he couldn’t ignore the call. Without wasting another second, Joshua grabbed his keys and headed out the door, a sense of dread settling in his chest as he rushed to the hospital.

Joshua arrived at Seoul University Hospital, his heart pounding in his chest. The cold, sterile smell of the hospital hit him as he hurried through the halls, searching for the ICU. His mind raced, trying to make sense of Seungcheol's cryptic call. The worry in Seungcheol's voice had been unmistakable, but Joshua still didn’t fully understand what was happening.

When he finally found the ICU, his eyes immediately landed on Seungcheol, who was standing rigidly with a tense expression. Seungcheol’s eyes locked onto Joshua as soon as he approached, and he stood up straighter, signaling Joshua over.

You were sitting on a bench beside Seungcheol, your head buried in your knees, your body trembling slightly. Chan, your secretary, stood beside you, a hand resting on your shoulder, trying to offer some semblance of comfort.

Joshua felt his stomach twist at the sight of you like this—so vulnerable, so unlike the strong, composed person he knew. His gaze flickered between you and Seungcheol, searching for answers in their expressions.

"Seungcheol, what’s going on?" Joshua asked, his voice laced with concern and confusion.

Seungcheol took a deep breath, his face strained as he struggled to keep his composure. "It’s Jina," he began, his voice heavy with emotion. "She collapsed earlier today, and they had to rush her here. The doctors said she needs an immediate white cell transfusion."

Joshua blinked, trying to process the information. "A white cell transfusion? But... why? What happened to her?"

Seungcheol ran a hand through his hair, clearly distressed. "Jina has a rare blood disorder. Her white cell count dropped dangerously low, and she’s in critical condition. The doctors are doing everything they can, but they said she needs a specific type of transfusion—one that’s not easy to come by."

Joshua's mind reeled as he tried to comprehend the gravity of the situation. "But why... why did you call me? What does this have to do with me?"

Seungcheol hesitated, glancing at you before answering. "Jina is your daughter, Joshua," he finally said, the words heavy with the weight of the truth. "That’s why we need you. You’re her father."

*

"Get that bastard here!" your father roared, his voice echoing through the house. You winced, hearing the fury in his tone as your mother quietly explained what had happened to you over the past few months since the divorce.

Seungcheol sat across from you, his eyes fixed on you with a mixture of disappointment and concern, as if you had committed some unforgivable sin. In a way, you had—you had made a decision that not only affected your life but also threatened to tear apart the relationship between two powerful companies.

He sighed heavily, breaking the tense silence. "He didn’t want the child. Is that why you two got divorced?" His voice was quiet but edged with disbelief.

You nodded slowly, unable to meet his gaze. The truth was hard to swallow, even now.

"Then why did you run away?" Seungcheol asked, his voice softening with confusion and concern.

After six months of hiding in Jeju, Seungcheol had finally found you and dragged you back home. The shock on his face was unmistakable when he discovered you were pregnant. At first, he had assumed that someone had taken advantage of you while you were away after the divorce. But when you tearfully confessed that the baby was Joshua’s, his shock turned to something deeper—betrayal, perhaps, or simply the weight of a truth he hadn’t been prepared to hear.

"Is there anything else you're hiding?" Seungcheol asked, his eyes searching yours.

You shook your head, unable to speak. The shame and guilt were too much to bear.

He leaned back, his expression unreadable. "I won’t tell anyone about this," he finally said, his voice firm but kind. "But one day, he needs to know. You can’t let a child grow up without a father, Y/n."

"He doesn’t want them," you whispered, your voice trembling. "Why can’t you understand that?"

Seungcheol bit his lip, clearly struggling with his emotions. He wanted to protect you, but he also knew the importance of a father’s presence in a child’s life.

Suddenly, the door burst open, and your father stormed in, his face contorted with rage. He marched straight to you, his anger palpable. "Has he ever touched you inappropriately? Has he ever been abusive to you?" he demanded, his voice harsh and filled with protective fury.

"No, Father," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "He never did."

Your father’s face darkened further as he turned to Seungcheol. "Cut ties with him, Seungcheol. How dare he divorce you while you were pregnant with his child," he ordered, his voice seething with anger.

Seungcheol nodded slowly, his eyes flickering between you and your father. The decision had been made. The relationship between the two companies would be severed, and Joshua would be held accountable for abandoning you. But in the back of your mind, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of the secret you still carried—the knowledge that despite everything, a part of you still loved Joshua, and you couldn’t bring yourself to hate him entirely.

Joshua’s mother had always been frail, suffering from a rare condition that left her frequently unwell. It was this reason that led Joshua to make the decision to live with his mother after just a few months of marriage. Despite both of you juggling demanding careers, Joshua insisted on taking care of her personally, sending the nurse away each night so he could attend to her himself.

Since Joshua had taken over the highest responsibilities at his company, business trips became a frequent part of his life, often leaving you alone with his mother. In the beginning, it wasn’t so bad. His mother was kind and nurturing, and you appreciated her presence. But as the months went on, things began to change.

Her once gentle suggestions started to feel more like subtle commands. "Don’t you think you should prepare a bath for him?" she mentioned one evening, shortly before Joshua was expected home from the office. You simply smiled in response, too tired to engage after a long day at work. But the comment lingered, an unspoken expectation hanging in the air.

"Y/n, you should stay at home," she said another time, her tone laced with concern. "You’ll be too exhausted to properly take care of your husband if you keep working."

Her words, once easy to brush off, began to grate on your nerves, especially on days when work had already worn you thin. Yet, you remained composed, understanding that she was his mother and that her meddling came from a place of care—even if it didn’t always feel that way.

There were nights when you would approach Joshua, hoping to discuss the possibility of the two of you living separately, away from the constant strain of these expectations. "Can’t we find a place of our own?" you’d ask gently. "It’s just… it’s getting hard, Joshua."

But Joshua would always respond with the same quiet firmness, his love for his mother evident in every word. "She’s too ill, love. I don’t think I can leave her to live alone."

And so, you tried to understand. You tried to be patient, even as the weight of the situation began to press down on your marriage.

One evening, as you were tidying up the living room, Joshua’s mother approached you with a soft but probing tone. "Have you checked yourself at the hospital, darling?" she asked, her eyes studying your reaction. "It’s been a few years now, and you still haven’t gotten pregnant. Is everything all right?"

Her question, though couched in concern, felt like a punch to the gut. You paused, the magazine you were holding slipping from your fingers as her words echoed in your mind. You had been bracing yourself for this conversation, knowing it was only a matter of time before she brought it up.

You took a deep breath and forced a smile, trying to keep your emotions in check. "The doctors say everything is fine, Mother," you replied, keeping your voice as steady as possible. "It just hasn’t happened yet."

Joshua’s mother frowned slightly, her concern deepening. "But it’s been so long, Y/n. You should consider seeing a specialist, maybe even explore other options."

The suggestion stung, though you knew she meant well. It wasn’t just the pressure to conceive—it was the weight of expectation that you carried every day. You had wanted a child just as much as she did, if not more. But Joshua… Joshua had been hesitant from the start.

You remembered the conversations you had had with him, the nights you had spent lying awake, thinking about the future, imagining the family you could build together. But Joshua always seemed reluctant, his fear of fatherhood holding him back. He had grown up in a broken home, witnessed his father’s abuse, and the scars those memories left on him ran deep. He had confessed to you once, in a rare moment of vulnerability, that he was terrified of becoming like his father, of hurting you or any future children the way his father had hurt him and his mother.

"We’ll have a child when the time is right," Joshua would say, his voice heavy with the weight of his own fears. "But not now. I’m not ready, Y/n."

And so, you had waited, pushing down your own longing, hoping that one day, he would feel ready. But as the years passed, the strain began to show—not just on you, but on your marriage as well. Now, with his mother’s pointed question hanging in the air, the unspoken tension between you and Joshua felt more palpable than ever.

"I understand," you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper. "But it’s not just about seeing a specialist. There are other things… other reasons why it hasn’t happened yet."

Joshua’s mother looked at you with a mixture of pity and concern, clearly wanting to say more but holding back. "I just want what’s best for you, dear," she said softly. "For both of you."

You nodded, appreciating her concern even though it added to the weight you were already carrying. "I know. And we want that too."

But as you turned away, the words she didn’t say lingered in your mind, amplifying the doubts that had already taken root. You wanted to believe that everything would work out, that Joshua would eventually overcome his fears. But as time went on, it became harder to ignore the growing distance between the life you had imagined and the reality you were living.

"You know, she’s a lovely girl," one of Joshua's mother friends said when they came for visiting, her voice laced with that particular tone people use when they’re about to say something less than flattering. "But it’s strange, isn’t it? They’ve been married for years now, and still no children."

Another woman chimed in, "Yes, I’ve noticed. It’s unusual, especially for a young couple like them. Have they mentioned anything to you about it?"

There was a pause, and then you heard Joshua’s mother sigh. "No, she hasn’t said much. But I’m beginning to worry… What if she’s infertile?"

The words hit you like a slap. You froze, your breath catching in your throat as the conversation continued.

"Oh, that would be such a shame," one of the women responded sympathetically. "Your son deserves to have children, to continue the family line."

"I know," Joshua’s mother replied, her voice heavy with a mix of concern and resignation. "I feel so bad for him. He’s always wanted a family, and I’m sure this must be hard on him. But… what can we do?"

They moved on to other topics, but you couldn’t focus on anything else. The words echoed in your mind, over and over, each repetition cutting deeper than the last.

Infertile.

A shame.

I feel so bad for him.

You knew Joshua’s mother meant well, in her own way. But hearing her talk about you like that, like you were some kind of defective person, made you feel like you didn’t belong in this family—like you were failing Joshua, failing yourself. The weight of it all was too much to bear.

The tension between you and Joshua had been building for months, and after overhearing his mother’s conversation, it finally reached a breaking point. The desire for a child had always been there, but now, it felt like a constant, pressing need—one that you couldn’t ignore any longer.

“Joshua,” you began carefully as the two of you sat down for dinner, “we need to talk.”

He looked up from his plate, his expression wary. He knew what was coming. You had had this conversation before, and it never ended well.

“Can’t we just eat in peace?” he asked, his voice tired.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “Your mother… she’s been putting a lot of pressure on me about having a child. She’s been saying things that… that hurt.”

Joshua frowned, confusion clouding his expression. “What do you mean?”

“She’s been asking me why I haven’t gotten pregnant yet. She even suggested I should see a doctor, as if there’s something wrong with me,” you confessed, your voice breaking slightly. “And I overheard her telling her friends that she thinks I might be infertile. She felt bad for you, saying that you deserve a child, and she doubted if I could give you one.”

Joshua’s face darkened, his eyes narrowing. “She said that?”

You nodded, tears welling up in your eyes. “Yes. And it hurt, Joshua. It made me feel like I’m failing you, like I’m not good enough. I’ve tried to be understanding, I’ve tried to be patient, but… it’s tearing me apart.”

Instead of the sympathy you had hoped for, Joshua’s expression hardened. “My mother is ill, Y/n. She’s under a lot of stress, and she’s worried about us. That’s why she says those things. It’s not fair to hold that against her.”

“I’m not trying to hold it against her,” you said, your frustration rising. “But it’s affecting us, Joshua. It’s not just about what she said—it’s about how it’s making me feel. I’ve been trying to handle it on my own, but I can’t anymore. I need you to understand how much this is hurting me.”

Joshua shook his head, his voice growing colder. “So what? You want me to blame my mother? You think she’s the villain here? She’s just looking out for me, for us.”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying,” you replied, feeling your own anger flare up. “But you can’t just dismiss how I feel. She’s making me feel like I’m not enough, like I’m failing as your wife, and you’re not doing anything to stop it.”

Joshua stood up from the table, pushing his chair back with more force than necessary. “She’s sick, Y/n! She’s the only family I have left, and you want me to start a fight with her because she’s worried about us having kids? You’re blowing this out of proportion.”

You stood up as well, the pain in your chest twisting into something sharper. “I’m not blowing it out of proportion! I’m telling you that your mother is hurting me, and instead of listening to me, you’re defending her!”

Joshua’s face was flushed with anger now, his hands balled into fists. “You don’t understand what it’s like, Y/n. You don’t know what she’s been through, what I’ve been through. She’s trying to protect me, and you’re turning her into some kind of monster!”

“I’m not!” you shouted, tears spilling down your cheeks. “But I can’t just keep pretending that everything’s fine when it’s not! I’m drowning here, Joshua, and you’re more concerned about protecting your mother’s feelings than mine!”

Joshua’s voice dropped, cold and sharp. “You’re the one who’s making this a fight, not me. Maybe you’re just looking for someone to blame because you’re not getting what you want.”

His words hit you like a slap in the face, and you recoiled, shocked by the bitterness in his tone. “Is that really what you think?” you whispered, your voice shaking.

Joshua’s gaze softened slightly, as if he realized he’d gone too far, but the tension in the air was too thick to dispel. He sighed, running a hand through his hair, but he didn’t apologize. He didn’t take it back.

Instead, he turned away, his back to you. “I can’t do this right now, Y/n. I just… I need some space.”

The room felt colder as he walked away, leaving you standing there alone, your heart aching with the weight of everything unsaid. You had come to him, hoping for understanding, for support, but instead, you felt more isolated than ever. The chasm between you and Joshua seemed to grow wider with every passing moment, and you were left wondering how, or if, you could ever bridge it again.

*

After the divorce was finalized, you wasted no time in disappearing to Jeju. It was a quiet, impulsive decision—one made in the heat of heartache and confusion. You didn’t tell anyone, not even your family, because you couldn’t bear the thought of facing their pity or questions. You needed to escape, to be alone with your thoughts, away from the memories and the pain.

The divorce had happened faster than you expected, almost too smoothly. There had been no drawn-out arguments, no legal battles. It was as if Joshua had been waiting for this, and that realization stung more than anything. You had thought there would be some resistance, some sign that he was still holding on to what you had built together. But there wasn’t. He signed the papers without hesitation, and with that, the final chapter of your marriage was closed.

The speed of it all made you wonder if Joshua had already given up on you long before the papers were drawn. Maybe he had been tired of you, tired of the constant tension and arguments, tired of your desire for a child that he couldn’t bring himself to accept. It was easier for him to let go than to fight, and that thought was devastating.

In Jeju, you found solace in the quiet. The island, with its endless ocean views and soft winds, offered the peace that you so desperately needed. You stayed in a small cottage near the shore, far removed from the life you once knew. The waves crashing against the rocks became your lullaby at night, and the sunrises over the water offered a sliver of hope each morning.

But no matter how hard you tried to run away from the past, it followed you. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw Joshua’s face. You heard his voice, the way he had told you he needed space, the way he had defended his mother over you.

You woke up to the harsh, sterile smell of alcohol and the blinding white light that filled the room. Your head throbbed as you slowly opened your eyes, and for a moment, you struggled to make sense of your surroundings. The last thing you remembered was sitting on the shore, watching the waves roll in. The peaceful rhythm of the sea had always calmed you, but now, everything felt off—foreign, wrong.

Panic surged through you as you tried to sit up, only to realize you were lying on a hospital bed. The walls were white, the sound of medical machines humming in the background. You weren’t on the beach anymore. This wasn’t your cottage.

A soft voice pulled you out of your daze. “Mam, can you hear me?”

You turned to see a man in a white coat standing beside you. His expression was calm but concerned. “I’m Dr. Kim. You’re in a clinic now. Can you tell me your name?”

You blinked, your mind still foggy. “Y/n,” you whispered, your voice dry and weak.

Dr. Kim nodded, offering a small smile. “Good. Do you remember what happened?”

You tried to think back, but your memories were jumbled. The sea, the breeze, the quiet… and then nothing. You shook your head slowly. “I was on the beach. That’s all I remember.”

He sighed softly, glancing at the chart in his hand. “You were found by a fisherman early this morning. You passed out, and he brought you here. We’ve run some tests to make sure you’re okay.”

You swallowed, a sinking feeling growing in the pit of your stomach. “Tests?”

“Yes,” Dr. Kim said gently, “and I want to assure you, you’re going to be fine. But there’s something else you need to know.” He hesitated for a moment before continuing. “You’re eight weeks pregnant.”

Your heart stopped. Pregnant? The word echoed in your mind, but it didn’t feel real. “No,” you muttered, shaking your head. “That can’t be right.”

Dr. Kim’s expression softened with understanding. “I know this might be unexpected news, but the tests confirmed it. You’re two months along.”

Two months. Eight weeks. The timeline fit perfectly with everything that had happened just before you left Joshua, before the divorce, before everything crumbled. You placed a trembling hand on your stomach, still flat but now holding a secret that was no longer just yours.

Suddenly, everything rushed back—the arguments, Joshua’s rejection, and his fear of fatherhood, And now, here you were, in a clinic, alone and pregnant.

Tears stung your eyes as the weight of it all came crashing down. You had hoped to avoid this moment, to escape it, but there was no running away from the truth now. You were going to have a child—Joshua’s child—and no matter how much you had tried to distance yourself from him, he would always be a part of this.

Dr. Kim’s voice broke through your thoughts. “Is there anyone you’d like us to contact? A family member, perhaps?”

You shook your head quickly, the tears now freely falling down your cheeks. “No. No one.”

He nodded, his expression kind but professional. “Take your time. We’ll make sure you’re stable and that everything with the pregnancy is progressing well. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”

As he left the room, you were left alone with your thoughts and the knowledge that your life had just changed forever. The child you hadn’t dared to hope for was real, growing inside you, and now you had to decide what to do next.

But even as the fear gripped your heart, a small flicker of hope began to grow. For the first time in months, you weren’t running away. You were facing the future—one step at a time.

*

"Can we talk?"

You froze in place as Joshua's voice reached you. Turning slowly, you saw him standing there, dressed in a hospital gown, clearly preparing for his medical checkup before the donor. His eyes were tired, filled with confusion and something else you couldn’t quite place.

"I'm sorry," you muttered, your voice strained, "I have no energy for this right now."

"At least give me some enlightenment," Joshua said, his tone surprisingly calm despite the tension between you. "I came here two hours ago not knowing I had a daughter. And I've been patient enough to wait to ask this."

You felt the weight of his words pressing down on you. He had a right to know, and yet, telling him had always seemed impossible. You took a step toward him, meeting his gaze as you spoke quietly, “Yes, she's your daughter. I found out I was pregnant a week after our divorce.

A heavy silence hung between you as Joshua absorbed the news. His face remained unreadable, but you could see the storm of emotions brewing beneath the surface.

"You need a proof?" you asked, almost defensively, your heart racing.

Joshua shook his head slowly. "No... I don’t need proof."

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, but before you could speak again, he continued.

"I wish she was mine," Joshua whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "From the first time I saw her, I wished she was mine."

His words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you couldn't respond. You had prepared for anger, for denial, for resentment, but not this. Not the raw longing in his voice, the quiet regret that had been buried deep inside him.

“I—” you started, but your voice faltered. You weren’t sure what to say.

Joshua took a deep breath, his hand running through his hair as he tried to keep his emotions in check. “Why didn’t you tell me, Y/n? Why did you run away without saying anything? I would’ve—”

“You would’ve what?” you cut him off, your frustration bubbling to the surface. “You would’ve told me how scared you were? How much you didn’t want this? You were terrified of becoming a father, Joshua. I couldn’t bear the thought of you rejecting me, rejecting her.”

He flinched at your words, his jaw tightening. “You should’ve given me a choice.”

“A choice?” You almost laughed, but there was no humor in it. “You couldn’t even handle the idea of having a child. You wanted time. And what was I supposed to do? Sit around and wait for you to be ready while I carried your child?”

Joshua’s eyes were filled with a mix of guilt and pain, but he remained silent, letting you speak.

“I did what I thought was best,” you continued, your voice trembling. “I couldn’t wait for you to come to terms with something that was already happening. I was terrified too, Joshua. But I didn’t have the luxury of walking away from it.”

Joshua looked down at the floor, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "I get that I was scared. I admit it. But I never would’ve abandoned you... or her." His voice cracked slightly as he spoke.

The vulnerability in his words caused your anger to soften, but the hurt remained. “Then why didn’t you fight for us?” you asked quietly. “Why did the divorce happen so easily?”

Joshua's eyes met yours, and for a moment, you saw the truth—he had been just as lost as you were. “I thought you wanted out,” he said simply. “You brought up the divorce, and I thought you were done with me. I thought... I wasn’t enough.”

You shook your head, tears stinging your eyes. “I didn’t want out. I wanted you to see me, to see us. But you were too focused on your fears.”

The silence that followed was heavy, both of you caught in the weight of everything left unsaid for years.

Joshua watched you closely, piecing together the puzzle in his mind. The business offer that had suddenly appeared out of nowhere, the meetings, the subtle ways you kept a professional distance—it all started to make sense. His eyes narrowed slightly, and he couldn’t help but voice the suspicion gnawing at him.

"This whole sudden approach in business," he began slowly, his voice calm but laced with a quiet intensity, "was it just an excuse? Were you trying to find a way to retaliate our relationship in case Jina needed me?"

Your breath hitched, caught off guard by how quickly he’d reached the conclusion you feared he might.

“Joshua—”

“Just tell me the truth, Y/n,” he said, cutting you off gently but firmly. “Was the business deal just a cover? Were you keeping me close because you thought... she might need me?”

You hesitated, unable to meet his gaze, and that was answer enough for Joshua.

He let out a breath, running a hand through his hair, his expression a mixture of frustration and understanding. “I thought something felt off. The way you kept me at arm’s length, the professional tone... I kept thinking this wasn’t like you. But I didn’t want to push, didn’t want to make it harder.”

Silence fell between you, the tension thick as you struggled to find the right words. Finally, you sighed, your voice low. “I didn’t plan for this. I didn’t expect to reach out to you, not after everything. But when Jina got sick... I panicked. I realized she might need more than just me.”

Joshua’s jaw tightened as he processed your words. “So you were going to keep me out of her life unless she needed something from me?”

“No,” you said, shaking your head quickly. “It wasn’t like that. I wasn’t trying to use you, Joshua. I just... I didn’t know how to let you back in after everything that happened.”

Joshua stared at you, his expression softening as he saw the genuine conflict in your eyes. “You should’ve told me, Y/n. I had a right to know about her, about everything. You can’t just make those decisions on your own.”

“I know,” you whispered, guilt washing over you.

Finally, Joshua took a shaky breath. “I’m here now, Y/n. I don’t know how to make up for the past, but I’m not running away anymore. I want to be in her life. I want to be a father.”

His words hit you like a wave, and though part of you wanted to believe him, another part still held onto the hurt, the disappointment. "She's not something you can just decide to be a part of when it suits you, Joshua."

"I know that," he said softly, his eyes pleading with you. "I’m asking you to let me try."

You looked at him, the man who once couldn’t fathom being a father now standing before you, begging for a chance. It wasn’t forgiveness he sought, but a way forward.

And you didn’t know if you were ready to give it to him. But for your daughter’s sake—for Jina—you had to at least consider it.

"I need time too," you whispered, finally breaking the silence.

Joshua nodded, understanding in his eyes. “Take all the time you need. I’ll be here.”

*

The next day, the results came back—the match was confirmed, and Joshua was prepped for the procedure. The white blood cell donor was done swiftly, and you waited anxiously for updates on both Joshua and Jina.

When you heard Joshua had regained consciousness, you made your way to his room. As you entered, he looked pale but alert, his eyes immediately searching for you.

“How’s her condition?” he asked, his voice still weak, but full of concern.

A smile broke across your face, relief flooding your system. “Her surgery just finished. The doctor said her condition is stable.”

Joshua let out a deep breath of gratitude, sinking back into his pillow. You stood there for a moment, watching him—this man who had once been terrified of fatherhood, now willing to give everything for his daughter.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice full of emotion. “Thanks for doing this.”

Joshua nodded, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “I’m her father. I’ll do everything for her.”

There was a weight to his words, an unspoken promise hanging in the air. You felt a knot loosen in your chest, the tension between you easing, if only slightly.

You sat down next to Joshua’s bed, the weight of everything finally sinking in. It had been a whirlwind, from the moment Jina fell sick to this very moment, sitting here with Joshua after the transfusion. Despite everything that had happened between you two, you couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of peace.

"How did you know?" Joshua asked, breaking the silence, his voice tentative.

You glanced up at him, unsure of how to answer. "That she was sick? Or that i have her?"

"Both," he replied, his eyes searching yours for answers.

You sighed, shifting in your seat. "I found out I was pregnant a week after the divorce. At first, I didn’t know what to do. I was scared, hurt, confused... and I didn’t want to reach out to you because I thought you'd reject her, reject us."

Joshua winced, his hand running through his hair. "I didn’t mean to push you away. I just didn’t know how to handle... everything."

"I know," you said softly. "And I ran too. I thought leaving was the best way to protect her. But when Jina got sick, I realized I couldn’t keep you away anymore. She needed you."

There was a pause, and then Joshua's expression turned serious. "You mentioned that Jina’s illness is the same as my mother’s. How did that come to light?"

You took a deep breath, nodding. "Yes, Jina’s condition is indeed the same rare illness your mother had. The doctors confirmed it. It’s hereditary, passed down through genetics, and that’s why the transfusion was so crucial. They said it was a match because of this genetic link."

Joshua's eyes widened with a mix of shock and realization. "I thought... I thought that illness was gone. I didn’t realize it could be passed on."

You reached out, gently touching his hand. "None of us knew until now."

Joshua's face fell as he absorbed the new revelation. "So, she has the same battle to fight as my mother did?"

You nodded sadly. "Yes. But she has a chance now, thanks to you. And that’s what matters."

Joshua’s gaze softened, a mixture of sorrow and resolve in his eyes. "I’ll do everything I can to help her through this. She deserves that chance."

You smiled faintly, feeling a sense of shared purpose. "Thank you, Joshua. That means more than you know."

For now, despite the challenges ahead, there was a shared commitment to face them together, for Jina's sake.

You gently introduced Jina to Joshua for the first time. Holding her small hand in yours, you led her into Joshua’s hospital room. She looked around, her eyes wide and curious, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. Joshua, still in his hospital gown, sat up in bed, his expression a mix of nervousness and anticipation.

"Jina," you said softly, guiding her forward, "this is your father, Joshua."

Joshua’s eyes were warm as he looked at Jina. "Hi, Jina. It’s nice to finally meet you."

Jina was shy at first, hiding behind your legs and peeking out with wide, hesitant eyes. But as Joshua spoke gently to her, a flicker of recognition seemed to spark in her. She slowly moved closer, drawn by the undeniable bond of blood and the kindness in Joshua’s voice.

Over the next few days, Jina spent a lot of time in the hospital room with Joshua. The transition wasn’t easy at first, but Joshua made an effort to bond with her. He played games, read her stories, and held her hand during her treatments. The connection between them grew stronger with each passing day, and Joshua embraced his role as a father more than you could have hoped for.

As Jina’s condition improved and it was time for her to leave the hospital, she expressed a strong desire to stay with Joshua. She had grown attached to him, and the idea of living with her 'new' father excited her.

Joshua, seeing the bond they had formed and understanding the importance of this new family dynamic, made a heartfelt offer. "Why don’t you and Jina move in with me? It would be better for all of us, and I’d love to be there for both of you."

The offer took you by surprise. You had been adjusting to this new phase in your lives, but the thought of moving in with Joshua again was daunting. There were old wounds to heal and uncertainties to address.

You debated the decision with Joshua, weighing the benefits and challenges. Jina, however, was overjoyed at the prospect of living with her father full-time. Her excitement and the genuine bond she had formed with Joshua made it difficult for you to turn down his offer.

After much consideration, you agreed to move to Joshua’s place. It wasn’t just about convenience; it was about providing Jina with the stability and love she needed. You saw how deeply Joshua cared for her and how committed he was to being a father.

The move was bittersweet. There were remnants of old tensions, but there was also a hopeful sense of new beginnings. As you settled into the new routine, you focused on rebuilding your family and creating a supportive environment for Jina.

Joshua was more present and involved than ever, and the family dynamic slowly began to heal. With each passing day, the past seemed a little less burdensome, and the future, though uncertain, seemed filled with possibilities for all of you.

*

Joshua loosened his tie as he stepped into the house, feeling the familiar weight of exhaustion from the long day. The house was quiet, the kind of peaceful stillness that had become his sanctuary in recent weeks. Usually, by the time he got home, you were already in bed, the soft murmur of the television or the gentle rise and fall of your breathing the only sounds he’d hear. But tonight was different.

As he walked into the kitchen, he heard you come through the door just moments after him, the click of your heels and the tired sigh that followed. He turned, spotting you leaning against the wall, your shoes already off, looking like the day had been longer than usual.

"Just back home?" he asked, casually unbuttoning his shirt collar. The question felt natural, like a routine that had formed between the two of you without either of you realizing it.

"Yeah," you sighed, rubbing the back of your neck. "A very long day. Minha told me Jina fell asleep after playing with the trampoline you just bought her."

Joshua couldn’t help but smile at the mention of Jina. "I’m glad she likes it," he said, feeling that familiar warmth that had come with being a father. Every day with her was new, different, and he found himself looking forward to each moment, no matter how small.

As he grabbed a glass of water, he glanced over at you. Things between the two of you had become... easier. That surprised him more than anything. After everything that had happened—the divorce, the years of separation—he had never expected this sense of peace between you. It was strange, but it was also something he hadn’t realized he’d needed.

It wasn’t just about Jina, though she was the center of it all. It was the way you both slipped into this new life so seamlessly. The tension that once filled the air between you had dissolved into something almost unrecognizable. He wasn’t sure how or when it happened, but somehow, living together again didn’t feel forced or uncomfortable. It felt... right.

"I never thought it would be like this," Joshua found himself saying, almost without thinking. He turned to you, watching as your gaze met his, a look of curiosity in your eyes. "That we’d be here, living together again. Raising her."

You nodded, like you understood exactly what he meant. "Me neither," you replied quietly.

He exhaled slowly, realizing just how much had changed in such a short time. Every part of his life had once been filled with uncertainty, with fear, especially when it came to fatherhood. But now? Now he was coming home to something that felt solid, like the pieces of his life were finally falling into place.

"It feels..." Joshua hesitated, searching for the right words to explain the rush of emotions inside him. "It feels good. Better than I thought it would."

He wasn’t just talking about Jina. Of course, his daughter was a huge part of why he felt this way—being her father, playing with her, watching her grow—it was everything he hadn’t known he wanted. But there was more to it than that. There was something between him and you, a kind of unspoken connection that had started to rebuild itself, brick by brick, without either of you acknowledging it.

The conversation flowed easily from there, a mix of random topics—work, the trampoline, Jina's antics. It was a nice change of pace, a chance to just talk without the weight of the past pressing down on you.

Eventually, the topic shifted to Jina, as it always did. Joshua smiled, thinking about their nightly routine. "She loves her bedtime stories," he said, almost fondly. "It's the best part of the day."

You nodded in agreement, your expression softening. "Yeah, she does. But she asked me something the other night that caught me off guard."

Joshua raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"She asked me why we weren't like Sasha's parents." You said it casually, but there was a hint of something deeper in your voice. "You know, from her favorite book. The one about Sasha’s morning routine before school. Waking up, taking a bath, having breakfast."

Joshua thought about it for a second, then nodded. He remembered Jina's animated voice as she read along, her little hands gesturing wildly as she described Sasha's day. "Her parents kiss every morning, right?"

You sighed, a soft smile playing on your lips. "Yeah. And she asked, 'Why don't you and Daddy do that?'"

Joshua could almost hear Jina's voice in his head, the innocent curiosity behind her words. He could picture her big eyes looking up at you, her tiny hands mimicking Sasha's parents.

He glanced over at you, a mischievous glint in his eye. "So... do you want to kiss every morning?"

You rolled your eyes, but there was a slight laugh behind it. "That's not what I was getting at."

Joshua laughed too, the sound filling the room. "Then why bring it up?"

You took a sip of your beer and shrugged. "I don’t know, I guess I just wanted to share what she said. But we don’t have to force ourselves to do things just for her sake. She’ll understand eventually."

Joshua’s smile faded, and he turned serious for a moment. "But she’s still so young. I don’t want her to have to understand everything that’s happened between us. It’s not her burden to carry. That’s on us."

You glanced at him, sensing the weight behind his words. "Is that coming from experience?" you teased lightly.

He let out a soft chuckle, nodding. "Yeah. And trust me, she’ll thank us later if we handle it right."

You sighed, leaning back. "Alright, alright. I get it."

Joshua raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a playful smirk. "So... does that mean you want to kiss every morning?"

You looked at him, a mix of exasperation and amusement. "Joshua."

*

Joshua stepped into the dining room, his usual morning grogginess slowly lifting as the familiar scene came into view. You were already sitting with Jina, who was happily in her baby seat, excitedly munching on her breakfast. Her face lit up as soon as she saw him.

"Morning..." Joshua said softly, his voice warm as he walked over to Jina. He leaned down, ruffling her hair with a fond smile. "Hi, baby... Do you like your food?"

Jina giggled, showing him her messy hands, oatmeal smudged across her cheeks. Joshua chuckled, his heart swelling at the sight. Mornings like these—simple and domestic—were beginning to feel more natural, more like something he hadn’t realized he craved.

You stood up, walking over to the counter, grabbing his coffee and setting it down in front of him with a casual "Morning."

He was about to respond when your lips brushed his, a fleeting touch that froze him in place. It wasn’t long or deliberate, but the surprise of it sent a jolt through him. His mind went blank, his body stiffening in shock.

Before he could even process it, Jina's excited voice cut through the air. "Eomma, appa, kiss!" she squealed, clapping her hands in delight. In her excitement, she managed to fling bits of food everywhere.

You laughed softly, wiping her face and the surrounding area with a cloth, completely unfazed by her mess. "Alright, alright, let's clean you up."

Joshua, still dazed, blinked a few times, trying to shake off the feeling. Did you just kiss him? Did he imagine that? It felt real—too real to just be in his head. He looked down at the coffee you placed in front of him, but he couldn’t focus.

"Do you like your coffee?" Your voice was light, casual, as if nothing unusual had just happened.

He blinked, snapping back to reality. "Uh, yeah. It’s... it’s great." He picked up the cup, taking a sip, the warmth grounding him as he stole a glance at you. You were back to wiping Jina's hands, acting like the kiss hadn’t just happened.

Joshua couldn’t help but replay the moment in his mind, over and over. It was so brief, but it lingered—just like the unspoken questions between you both. Was it for Jina’s sake? Was it just part of the routine now?

Each morning, it became a routine—Joshua would come down to the dining room, greeted by Jina's excited babbling and your calm, steady presence. And each morning, without fail, you would kiss him. It wasn’t long or deep, just a brief brush of your lips against his, but it was enough to make his heart skip. He never expected it, and yet, when it happened, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

At first, Joshua didn’t know what to make of it. Was it just for Jina? A way to give her the illusion of a normal, loving family? He didn’t ask, though. He couldn’t. The kiss, no matter how small, made him feel something—something he hadn’t felt in years. And if it made you feel anything close to what he did, he didn’t want to ruin it by questioning.

The routine didn’t stop at breakfast. One day, after the morning chaos settled and Jina was off to school, you casually suggested, “What if we take Jina out every weekend? A day just for her.”

Joshua nodded, happy to spend time with both of you. But as the weekends rolled by, your casual suggestion evolved into full-on plans. The park one weekend, then a picnic, followed by the aquarium. Soon you were planning beach trips, and even talks of weekend getaways or out-of-country vacations floated between you two. Joshua didn’t quite understand why you were so insistent on it—why it had to be every weekend, and why everything was planned so meticulously. But he didn’t complain. Instead, he followed along, content with how things were.

The spontaneity didn’t end there. You started coming home early from work, which caught Joshua off guard. He’d walk in from work, loosening his tie, only to find you in the kitchen, dinner already half-prepared, Jina babbling away at the dining table.

At first, Joshua didn’t know how to feel. It was strange seeing you so present. But after a while, he adjusted. He even started leaving work earlier, making sure he was home before dinner so he could sit with you and Jina. That hour before dinner became something he looked forward to—an hour of calm, where the three of you could just be together.

And then there was Jina’s bedtime. What had once been an alternating task—one night you would read her a story, the next it would be Joshua—turned into a shared routine. You both started reading together, one of you voicing the characters while the other filled in the details, Jina giggling between your voices. The joy in her eyes was infectious, and Joshua often caught himself getting lost in the moment.

He hadn’t realized it until recently, but this was the life he’d always dreamed of. He had a daughter, a family, a sense of stability that he never thought he’d have. And you—well, you were more than just a co-parent. Slowly, without either of you acknowledging it, you were slipping back into something more.

Joshua didn’t know where this was going or what you were thinking, but he was happier than he’d been in years. It still felt fragile, like everything could fall apart with one wrong move. But for now, he was content to let things unfold, to enjoy the routine, the warmth of your kiss each morning, the laughter over dinner, and the shared bedtime stories.

It was more than he ever thought he deserved, and he was too scared to ask for anything more.

Joshua came home, but something felt off immediately. The house was unusually quiet. There was no sign of Jina’s usual laughter or your familiar voice filling the space. His brows furrowed as he stepped deeper into the house, scanning the rooms until he finally reached the family room.

There you were, sitting on the couch with Jina nestled in your arms, and across from you sat his mother, her posture stiff, eyes sharp. The tension in the room was palpable.

"Joshua," his mother said, her voice icy. "Care to explain why your ex-wife is here?"

Joshua’s stomach dropped. He hadn’t prepared for this—hadn’t even told his mother about the new situation with you and Jina. His mother had no idea that Jina was her granddaughter. He hadn’t planned for her to find out like this, and now, with everything out in the open, his carefully constructed plan was unraveling.

Taking a deep breath, Joshua walked over and stood between you and his mother. He glanced at you, and the look in your eyes told him you were just as surprised and unsure of what to say.

"This is Jina," Joshua finally said, his voice steady but filled with the weight of the truth. "She’s my daughter."

His mother’s gasp echoed in the room. "Your daughter? What do you mean? What’s going on here?" she demanded, her voice rising with disbelief.

Joshua sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "It’s a long story, Mom. A lot has happened, and I wasn’t ready to tell you yet. But I’ll come by tomorrow and explain everything. For now, I need you to trust me."

His mother looked between him and you, her confusion and frustration evident. Joshua gently took her arm, helping her to stand. "Please," he added softly, "just give me time to explain. We’ll talk tomorrow."

Reluctantly, she nodded, still looking at Jina as if trying to comprehend the new reality. Without another word, Joshua led his mother to the door, closing it softly behind her as she left.

The quiet returned, and when he walked back into the house, he found you already in the kitchen, washing dishes in silence. Jina sat on the floor, engrossed in her favorite TV series, oblivious to the tension that had just filled the house.

Joshua watched you for a moment, the silence between you louder than anything. You moved mechanically, your back to him, the distance between you more than just physical. He knew something was wrong—knew it by the way you didn’t meet his eyes when he walked in, by the way you had prepared his dinner without a word.

"Hey," he said softly, stepping into the kitchen, but you didn’t respond.

After a moment, you finally spoke, your voice low, emotion barely restrained. "I’m going to read Jina to sleep. You should eat your dinner."

Joshua nodded, watching as you wiped your hands on a towel and turned toward Jina. But the weight of the situation hung heavy on him, and he couldn’t let you walk away without saying something.

"Look," he began, his voice hesitant. "I know tonight was... unexpected. I wasn’t ready for her to find out like this. I’m sorry."

"That's fine."

With that, you walked over to Jina, scooping her up and heading toward her bedroom to read her a bedtime story. Joshua stood there, staring at the dinner you had prepared for him, but the food was the last thing on his mind. He knew things had to change, and quickly.

Joshua knocked on your door, knowing you were inside since Jina was already fast asleep in her own room. His heart pounded a little harder than usual, but he had to do this. He needed to clear the air.

"Can we talk?" he asked softly when you opened the door.

You stepped aside, silently giving him permission to enter, and Joshua walked in. The room was small but cozy, though it struck him how different it was from the shared life you once had. His eyes scanned the desk piled with papers, a computer still open—clearly, you had been working late. He realized how much you were juggling, and it only made him more determined to make things right.

"I'll explain everything to my mom tomorrow," he began, his voice steady, though there was a vulnerability in the way he stood. "And I’ll tell her that we’re back together."

You didn’t respond right away, just slowly nodding. But Joshua noticed the way your eyes flickered, the subtle tension in your posture. He couldn’t tell if you were on board with his plan or simply accepting it because it was easier than arguing. That uncertainty gnawed at him.

He knew that his mother had hurt you deeply in the past, her interference during your marriage a wound that hadn’t fully healed. And now, here he was, bringing his mother back into the equation. But this time, the situation was different. His mother had remarried and didn’t need to live with him anymore. There wouldn’t be anyone else in your home to create the chaos that had driven a wedge between you before.

"You won’t have to deal with her like before," Joshua added, his tone softening as he stepped closer. "She won’t be living with us, and I’ll make sure she knows her boundaries. I don’t want her—or anyone else—to hurt you again."

You looked up at him, and for a moment, your eyes locked. He could see the hesitation there, the doubt that lingered from old wounds. But there was something else too, something hopeful. Joshua wasn’t sure if it was enough to convince you, but he had to believe it could be.

"I just need you to trust me," he said quietly, his voice almost pleading now. "I know I’ve messed up before. But I’m trying, and I want to make things right—for you, for Jina, for all of us."

*

Joshua was relieved that the routine didn’t fall apart after that tense night with his mother. Despite the confrontation and the heavy conversation that followed, nothing drastically changed in the way you, Jina, and he interacted. In fact, the next morning, everything seemed normal. Jina was her usual excited self, giggling and bouncing around the house. You were busy as usual, managing the house and work effortlessly.

He had explained everything to his mother, sitting her down and finally telling the truth—about Jina, about you, and about the part she played in your separation. It had been difficult to admit, but he couldn’t hide from it anymore. His mother was one of the main reasons why your marriage had fallen apart, and for so long, he had shielded her from that truth. But now, things were different. He needed her to understand that his relationship with you was no longer just about the two of you—it was about Jina.

To his surprise, his mother had listened quietly, her face drawn and serious. She had taken the news with more grace than he’d expected, though he knew it wasn’t easy for her. When he asked for her understanding and support moving forward, she had nodded, albeit hesitantly. The wounds were still fresh, but at least they were out in the open now.

Jina, unaware of all the complexity around her, was the glue that kept things light. She had no idea what her parents were going through emotionally, and for that, Joshua was grateful. All she saw was that both her parents were around more and that they were starting to act like a family again. One night at dinner, she had blurted out, "I love it when we’re all together!" Her bright smile and simple joy hit Joshua right in the heart, making everything feel worth it.

It wasn’t long before you and Joshua found yourselves sharing a bed again—not out of any sudden romantic resurgence, but because Jina wanted it that way. She had insisted that the three of you sleep in the same room, piling up her blankets and toys in your bed. Joshua had been nervous at first, wondering if this step would complicate things between you two. But Jina, being the little whirlwind that she was, had no idea of her parents' internal struggles.

What made it easier—what turned the nerve-wracking into something sweet—was Jina’s newfound love for counting. Every night, before bed, she would proudly count to twenty, her voice a mix of concentration and excitement.

“One… two… three…” she would begin, and Joshua and you would both have to follow along, pretending to be as invested as she was. By the time she reached twenty, Jina would cheer, pleased with her accomplishment, and only then would she allow herself to settle down, curling up between you both.

As Joshua lay there, the warmth of Jina’s tiny body nestled against him, he couldn’t help but feel like life was starting to come together. It wasn’t perfect, and there were still a lot of unspoken things between you and him, but for now, this small routine, this quiet moment with Jina, was enough to keep him going. It was the family life he’d always wanted, and he was willing to take it one step at a time, hoping that eventually, everything else would fall into place too.

*

Joshua was in the middle of an important meeting when his other secretary stepped into the conference room, catching his main secretary’s attention with an urgent signal. Joshua noticed the subtle exchange but didn’t think much of it until his main secretary quietly approached him, phone in hand, his expression grave.

“Sir,” he whispered, “your daughter has been rushed to the hospital.”

Joshua’s heart stopped. Without a second thought, he abruptly ended the meeting and rushed out, his mind racing as he made his way to the hospital.

When he arrived, he spotted you standing motionless in front of the ICU, your eyes locked on Jina, who was lying weakly on the hospital bed, her small body surrounded by machines. The sight made his breath catch in his throat.

“What happened?” Joshua’s voice was thick with fear as he approached you, but you didn’t immediately respond. You looked distant, as if the weight of the situation had drained all the life from you.

Around you, the family had gathered—your secretary, your brother Seungcheol, and your mother, all wearing similar expressions of dread. It felt suffocating.

“Where’s Minji?” Joshua asked about Jina's nanny, his voice sharper than intended. His mind was racing, trying to grasp any detail that might help him understand the situation.

“She’s been dismissed for a week,” you mumbled, your voice barely audible. You turned and glanced at your mother, who silently pulled you into a tight embrace.

Joshua’s heart clenched with confusion and fear. “What’s happening?” he asked, turning to Seungcheol, desperate for answers.

Seungcheol hesitated, his eyes filled with sadness. “Her heartbeat dropped.”

Joshua felt like the ground had been ripped out from under him. His pulse roared in his ears. The words didn’t seem real. His little girl, who was so full of life just hours ago, was now fighting to survive.

The doctor appeared, asking for both parents to step forward. Joshua moved on autopilot, standing beside you as the doctor spoke.

“I’m afraid Jina’s condition is critical,” the doctor said gravely. “Her lungs have collapsed, and their function has been decreasing over time. We are doing everything we can, but...” He paused, his expression pained. “You need to prepare for the worst.”

The room seemed to close in on Joshua. He glanced at you, your face pale and expression blank, as though you hadn’t quite processed the enormity of the situation. He wanted to reach out, to hold you, to reassure you—maybe even reassure himself—but he felt paralyzed by fear.

The weight of the doctor's words hung in the air, crushing, unforgiving. And for the first time in his life, Joshua felt completely powerless.

*

"You knew about this." Joshua's voice cut through the heavy silence as you stepped into the house after the funeral.

Everything had happened so fast. In just eight hours, you lost Jina forever. The world seemed to blur around you, every moment a haze of grief and disbelief.

You collapsed onto the couch, still in your black dress. Joshua sat on the floor in front of you, his suit rumpled, his tie undone, holding your hand tightly as if you were his last lifeline. His eyes searched yours, filled with sorrow and something close to desperation. "Did you know this was going to happen?" he asked, his voice a whisper but laden with the weight of his pain.

You couldn’t meet his gaze at first, the tears spilling down your cheeks for what felt like the hundredth time that day. Even though you had expected this, even though you had imagined it in your worst nightmares every night for weeks, it still felt impossible. How could Jina be gone?

Slowly, you nodded, your breath hitching as you tried to speak. "Since the surgery," you choked out between sobs. You lowered your head, resting it on your knees, while Joshua’s head dropped into your hand, both of you clinging to the last vestiges of each other as the world fell apart.

"Why didn’t you tell me?" he whispered, his voice cracking. "Why didn’t you let me prepare?"

"I couldn’t," you replied, the words barely making it out through your tears. "I couldn’t bear to say it out loud... not to you."

Joshua’s grip on your hand tightened as his body shook with silent sobs. "So you’ve been counting down to this day?" His voice was raw, filled with disbelief and heartache.

You nodded again, unable to stop the flood of tears. "Everything I did... was for her. I didn’t want to burden you with the truth, not when there was a chance..." Your words trailed off into the weight of your grief.

For a long moment, you both sat there, entwined in each other's pain, crying for the daughter you loved more than anything, for the future that was now gone, for the emptiness that Jina's absence left behind.

Joshua's head rested against your hand, and for once, you let yourself cry together with him, no walls, no shields, just the raw and unrelenting agony of loss. There were no words that could fix this, no actions that could bring her back.

You still remembered the moment the doctor delivered the devastating news. Jina’s condition was worsening rapidly, her lungs failing. "She needs a donor immediately," the doctor had said, his expression grave. "But even with a donor, her body won’t recover more than 50%. It would only extend her life by a few months."

Those words had shattered you. But instead of collapsing under the weight of grief, you had shifted into survival mode, planning out every detail. You formulated a plan, almost like a business pitch in your head—asking Joshua to be the donor for Jina and ensuring that her last months were spent together as a family.

You approached Joshua on the day he found out about Jina, masked in calmness, hiding your desperation. You asked him to be the donor, and to your relief, he agreed without hesitation. Everything seemed to fall into place—Joshua moved back in, you created a life that felt, for once, complete. But all the while, you knew time was ticking.

Seungcheol had been the one to snap you out of your delusions, his blunt words slapping reality into you. "You need to accept that Jina wants to live a full life with both of her parents," he had said, his voice firm but understanding. "She deserves that. You both do."

That was when you accepted Joshua’s offer to move in together. You knew it wasn’t just for Jina—it was for you too. Jina’s happiness in her final days became your only priority. You spent your days like a family, and for everyone else, it looked like a dream come true. But every passing moment felt like walking through hell for you, knowing that Jina’s time was running out.

Every night, after you put Jina to bed and Joshua retreated to his room, you would sit in the darkness and cry, trying to hold on to every precious second. You could feel the inevitability of her leaving you, and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to tell Joshua the truth about how close the end really was.

Jina had been happy. She got the life she wanted, with her two parents by her side, filling her days with laughter and love. But for you, it was a torturous countdown. Every tick of the clock reminded you that this family, this life, would soon shatter.

You held it together for her. You played the role, smiled through the pain, and made sure Joshua never suspected how deep your sorrow ran. And now, sitting in the empty house, that silence pressed down on you. You had given Jina everything you could, but the ache of her absence was more than you could bear.

After Jina’s passing, the house was cloaked in an oppressive silence. The once lively and joy-filled rooms now seemed hollow, echoing with the absence of her laughter. You found Joshua in the kitchen, his face drawn and tired. He had been trying to hold everything together, for Jina and for you, but the weight of loss had become too heavy to bear alone.

You approached him quietly, a lump in your throat. "Joshua," you began softly, your voice trembling, "the role of being Jina's parent... it’s over now. We both did everything we could for her, and she’s no longer with us."

Joshua’s eyes filled with pain, but he nodded slowly. "I know. It’s just hard to let go."

"I understand," you said, feeling the sting of tears behind your eyes. "But now it’s time for us to return to who we were before all of this began. We have to face reality."

Joshua’s gaze was distant, as if he was still trying to process everything. "And what about us? What do we do now?"

The heaviness in the room was almost suffocating as you stood there, Joshua’s hand still in yours. His grip tightened, as though he could feel something slipping away.

“There’s no ‘us’ in the present, Joshua,” you said softly, pulling your hand away. Your voice was steady, but the words felt like sharp edges, cutting through the fragile connection that had formed between you both in the past few months. "No ‘us’ without Jina."

Joshua blinked, his face crumpling slightly as the truth of your words hit him. “But we’ve been—”

“There’s no point in pretending,” you interrupted, your voice wavering but firm. “Everything we did, everything we built these last few months... it was for Jina. Now that she’s gone, there’s nothing holding us together anymore.”

Joshua stood still, his breath catching as he looked at you, a storm of emotions brewing behind his eyes. “I love you, Y/n,” he confessed, his voice thick with desperation. “I’ve never stopped loving you. I can't stop loving you.”

You froze, his words like an old wound being torn open. You looked down at the floor, the weight of his love too heavy, too late. The silence between you was deafening, and for a moment, it felt like time had stopped.

Finally, you looked up, meeting his eyes with a sadness you couldn’t mask. “I lost my sense to love you the same again when you told me to leave years ago, Joshua,” you said quietly, each word carrying the weight of the past. “When you pushed me away, that’s when it all broke. And I don’t think I can find that part of myself again.”

Joshua’s face crumpled with guilt and regret, his shoulders sagging as he absorbed the truth. “I didn’t mean to... I was scared, I was confused—”

“I know,” you cut him off, your voice gentle but firm. “But it doesn’t change what happened. We can’t undo the pain we caused each other. We’ve both lost so much. I don’t have the strength to go back and try to fix us.”

Tears welled up in his eyes, but he didn’t move, didn’t try to argue. He just nodded slowly, as though he had finally accepted the truth that had been looming over both of you.

"I wish things could be different," Joshua whispered.

“So do I,” you whispered back, the finality of your words settling in the air between you.

Joshua watched the video in silence, his hands trembling slightly as he held the phone. The screen flickered with a memory that wasn’t his own, but one that pierced through his heart like a knife. The video showed you recording Jina on the beach during a sunny weekend. Her small hands sifted through the golden sand, her laughter ringing out like a melody against the backdrop of crashing waves.

Your voice came through the speakers, bright and warm, filled with an unmistakable love. “Are you happy, Jina?” you asked, the camera focusing on her tiny face lit up with joy.

Jina giggled, a sound so innocent and pure that it felt like a balm and a wound all at once. “I’ve never been this happy, Mom!” she exclaimed, tossing sand into the air in celebration.

Joshua couldn’t help but smile faintly at her enthusiasm, but his chest tightened as the moment unfolded.

Then came her next words—words that felt like a punch to the gut. “I could’ve died!” Jina declared, her small arms flailing dramatically.

Your voice faltered in the video, turning hoarse as you gently scolded her. “Don’t say that, Jina. It’s not a nice word.”

The weight in your tone was evident, even through the recording, and Joshua felt it too—a mixture of fear, protectiveness, and sorrow.

On the screen, Jina’s expression softened, and she stared directly at the camera, her small lips forming a pout. “Sorry,” she mumbled, her voice small and sincere.

Joshua felt his tears begin to fall, hot and unchecked, as he watched her. The sight of her—the way she wrinkled her nose in apology, her innocent smile shining like the sun—was too much to bear.

“I’m just so happy with you and Daddy here that I think I could’ve died,” Jina added, her voice brighter now, as if she wanted to reassure you. Then she raised her tiny hand as if making a solemn vow. “But I promise I won’t actually die, Mom!”

Joshua’s vision blurred as the tears came harder, streaking his face and dripping onto his hands. He pressed a hand over his mouth, trying to stifle the sob that threatened to escape, but it was no use.

On the screen, Jina beamed at the camera, her small frame outlined by the golden rays of the sun. She was radiant, alive, and so full of promise.

“Jina,” Joshua whispered, his voice breaking. His little angel. His light. The realization hit him like a tidal wave—she had found her home, her happiness, her peace. And yet, he was still strayed, lost in a storm of his own making.

The video ended, but the sound of her laughter lingered in his mind, echoing like a prayer.

*

"I can raise her alone," you insisted, your voice steady but filled with underlying desperation. You were sitting across from Seungcheol in the quiet of your dimly lit living room. It was late, but the weight of the conversation felt heavier than the silence of the night.

Seungcheol, ever pragmatic, leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “Yes, you can,” he said, his tone measured but firm. “But are you really going to ignore what the doctor said? Jina needs a donor as soon as possible, Y/n. There’s no one else—only her father.”

Your heart sank at his words, the weight of the truth pressing down on you like a boulder. “He hurt me,” you whispered, your voice cracking. The memories of Joshua’s rejection and the pain he left you with resurfaced, raw and unhealed.

Seungcheol’s expression softened, and without hesitation, he stood and walked over to you. Gently, he pulled you into his arms, his embrace warm and steady. “I know,” he murmured, his chin resting lightly on top of your head. “I know he hurt you. But he’s still her father, Y/n. And right now, Jina needs him. That’s the only way to save her.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as the magnitude of the situation hit you. For a long moment, you let yourself lean into Seungcheol’s support, the sound of his heartbeat steadying your own chaotic thoughts. His words lingered, piercing through your pain: This is the only way.

After what felt like hours but was likely only a few minutes, you pulled back and nodded. “Okay,” you said quietly, your voice trembling but resolute. “Let’s do it. Prepare whatever I need to get this started.”

Seungcheol’s face brightened with determination. “Good,” he said firmly, already moving into action. He reached into his bag and pulled out a folder, handing it to you. “Here’s everything you need. I’ll coordinate the rest. I’ve already asked Chan to assist you during this time. I’ll brief him myself.”

Your gaze fell on the cover of the folder, and the bold letters stared back at you like a challenge: The Hong Joshua Project.

It felt clinical, impersonal even, but you knew this was no ordinary task—it was the fight for Jina’s life. You flipped through the pages, scanning the meticulous plans Seungcheol had outlined, and you felt a surge of gratitude for him. He had always been there, a constant source of strength and clarity in your life.

Seungcheol placed his hands firmly on your shoulders, grounding you. “Listen to me, Y/n,” he said, his eyes locked on yours. “This is going to be hard. A very hard journey. You’ll need to push aside your emotions, your pride, and everything else you’re feeling—for Jina’s sake. But I promise you, I’ll be right here. I’ve got your back, just like I always have.”

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. Memories of all the times Seungcheol had stepped in to support you flooded your mind. He wasn’t just a brother— he was a bestfriend, family, a lifeline, and you knew you could trust him with anything.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice filled with sincerity. “For everything.”

Seungcheol smiled faintly, his grip on your shoulders tightening briefly in reassurance. “Now,” he said, stepping back and gesturing to the folder in your hands, “this project starts today. Let’s save her.”

And with those words, the weight of the task ahead settled over you. It wasn’t going to be easy—nothing about this would be. But for Jina, for the little girl who was your entire world, you would endure anything. Even if it meant facing the man who had broken your heart.