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pennyellee · 4 months ago

Text

𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐗𝐈𝐑

title: ELIXIR pairings: mafia hoseok x female reader genre: dark romance, smut, porn with plot, 90s, sort of arranged marriage, childhood friends to lovers word count: app. 22K beta read by one and only @chaoticpuff17 prompt 1: "And I won't be satisfied till we're taking those vows" prompt 2: you were apparently promised to the heir of Jung's criminal empire since birth, not that you ever took that ongoing inside joke seriously. You grew up alongside the said man, yet your mind is conflicted about upholding your part and saying I do until one drunken night reveals a lot more than you'd like.

warnings: minors dni 18+ | explicit language, hurt men's ego, arranged marriage, yandere behaviour, hoseok is complicated to understand tbh, but same for the reader, implied murder, graphic violence, alcohol usage, heavy drinking, abuse of prescribed medication, anti-depressants, oral sex (both f and m receiving), face riding, penetration, unprotected sex, sideways sex, creampie, shame walk, misogyny, old traditional norms forced upon, guns, illegal activities, emotional distress, hoseok is sometimes kind of a dick, manipulative behaviour, and so on (if i forgot something I'm sorry)

author's note: Good morning American, Good afternoon Europe, Good night Korea. Happy Birthday to Hobi! This one has been simmering in my brain for the longest time, and I can’t believe it’s finally out in the world! This is where the heart of the story really began for me when I first dreamt up the telling the tales that happened around 1996 in NYC. Champagne Confetti and Anubis may have made their debut first (and trust me, I’m still cooking up more for those), but this piece is a stand-alone one-shot, though hey, I’m not against adding some filler if inspiration strikes. Princess and Hoseok’s story is woven through all my works, past, present, and future, especially with the Anubis chapters, so you’ll definitely see more of them.

I’m a bundle of nerves and excitement sharing this with you, just like every time I hit that publish button. If you didn't read the preview and my note there, to emphasise - I’m knee-deep in my MA thesis (yes, the chaos is real), so if I go ghost for a bit, know I’m just wrestling with academic deadlines. Thus, that's why there is still no new chapter on Anubis or Lacrimosa.

But I adore you all endlessly for sticking around and reading my stuff, my lovely little fairies! ✨

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐋 | ❝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝟏𝟗𝟗𝟔❞

Winter 1995

"Well thank fuck we are making a ton of those,—" he laughs at you and how you're gulping down nearly a tenth glass of whiskey that has his family name on the crystal clear bottle, poisoning your mind with the elixir more and more each time the liquid meets your lips.

"and that's why you're ordering me another one now," you say, resting your head on your right hand and squinting, eyeing him. The man sitting next to you at the bar loves you, and all he wants is for you to love him back. When it was decided that you were to be wed, he was thrilled to hear the news, as if he would not want it without the blessing. But your disappointment and rebellion against the elder's decision made him calculate how to get you to obey and be the good girl he knows you are.

"You ready to talk, Princess?" The pet names were the usual consensus in your friendship. Though this one turned a shade darker. Everybody called you that and you never minded it, but now this remind you of your "duty" that you are not ready to fulfil.

You have no idea what you just agreed to. The young man nods to the bartender, who begins to prepare the eleventh glass while he only sits by his second.

The bartender places the crystal clear glass with ice and liquid inside in front of you. You inhale the air sharply and press a finger on your eyelid to smooth down your eyeshadow, only for your hand to drop to balance your head on the back of it. The other runs through a sleek, shoulder-length bob with a soft inward curl at the ends, giving it a voluminous and playful bounce that you sport now. Your hair is parted down the middle, with delicate face-framing tendrils that you push out of your eyesight turning to face him.

"What do you want to know, pretty boy?" you play with the words on your tongue. Hoseok momentarily thinks about all the ways he could show you he is the man and not the boy you just called him. But he knows it’s just banter. He takes a sip from his glass while raising an eyebrow at your remark.

"What bothers your mind? You wouldn't be drowning like this otherwise."

You give your so-called wannabe fiancé one drunken look and reply. "They killed off the man I dated and now everything is going to shit. Am I supposed to be happy?" You wave your glass in his face and take a sip. You were too drunk to not be honest with him.

"Look, honey, I've always been honest with you, and I'm not about to change that. I ain't gonna lie to you that I'm sorry that boy is dead because I'm not. You know I didn't like him—"

"Why?" You interrupt him. Deep down you knew why, it was rather obvious, but that didn’t stop you from demanding he voices his thoughts. Hoseok lifts his head and stares into your caramel-brown eyes.

"Because I love you, and you know that." Yeah.

Sadness flickers across his face. He wishes you would say yes when he proposed to you just a few months ago when the elders' approved. They were very angry with you when you decided to chase the already dead boy instead of planning the wedding with the clan's golden heir. But that did not matter. It is decided and they'll drag you down the aisle whether you'll cooperate or not.

Jung Hoseok is the heir to his family’s s empire, your family, and when the heads of other clan families sat down in a meeting about the future of the syndicate, it was already decided that the heir needed his bride. The decision was made for you before you had something to say about it, and going against it, means risking everything. That's why he was more than surprised by how easily you answered when he was on one knee holding the emerald ring in a velvet black box staring at you with happiness in his eyes.

The subtle hum of conversation and the clinking of cutlery provided a comforting background melody. It was a few weeks since the last time you saw Hoseok, hence there was no reason for you to not go to dinner with your best friend to catch up. That's what you considered him to be for you. He had your outermost love and respect and for years you thought that's how he saw you too.

You often laughed at the remarks the other syndicate members threw your way, how you are such a lovely couple. Match made in heaven. Hoseok laughed too, but, in a different manner than you. And now when you look back, you could have seen this coming. His father always spoke about you two should get married one day and you thought that's just a fantasy because you used to be inseparable. You never fought the idea, to confess. Until you met him.

Mark Tuan had you at hello, there's no need to sugar-coat it.

He always had a way of taking up space, not physically—he was lean and unassuming—but in how he commanded a room without trying.

He wasn't like the others. He didn't wear wealth-like armour, nor did he wield power with a showy arrogance. Because he had none.

He was a stark contrast to Hoseok. But that's not why you felt so hard on your knees for him. For that reason, you want to selfishly hide as it is nothing extraordinary.

He understood your desire to be, well, you. Wild and free, being your own person, despite how the family raised you. Mark saw you for who you were beneath the titles, the wealth, and the legacy. He didn't try to contain you, didn't try to mould you into someone you weren't. With Mark, there were no expectations, no carefully laid plans. There was just you and him, two people finding solace in each other's chaos.

And that, more than anything, was why you fell.

To him, you were just some bar owner at the border of Manhattan and the Bronx. But behind the word, some was more.

You weren't serving drinks—no, that's Peaches expertise— you were listening, observing, connecting, and occasionally pulling the strings that kept the undercurrent of your world from swallowing everything whole.

Mark saw through the haze of cigarette smoke and dim neon lights to the person standing behind the scenes. He didn't need you to explain the why of it all, nor did he ask for a justification for the choices you made. He simply accepted you, and that acceptance felt like a gift.

Truth be told, you never questioned yourself why you did not cut yourself from the family. Anubis was in your name, after all.

But it wasn't just a name; it was an identity, a burden, a purpose. It tied you to something larger, something darker, and no amount of neon lights or spilt Jung whiskey could ever wash it away. Ironic that you drink Elixir out of all the liquor in the world. And maybe, just maybe, you didn't want to wash it away.

Why?

Because despite everything you just said, you loved the person you grew up with. The bond was there. A strange feeling of loyalty. When there's a seed, you nurture it until it blooms. You had grown up together in the shadow of your family's empire, running through its grand halls as children, oblivious to the weight of the world you were destined to inherit. He was your partner in crime before you even knew what that truly meant.

That's what they did. They raised you, gave you education, and love, scolded you when you misbehaved and later on gave a role in the family. You were the eyes and ears. But you were not foolish. Even that was temporary.

So, you stayed.

Not like they would let you go.

This wishful thinking by Hoseok’s old man reminiscing about the good old days. You never thought Hoseok took it seriously. Not until that tonight.

"Y/N," Hoseok's voice broke through your thoughts, pulling you back to the present.

He reached across the table, his hand warm against yours and you looked from your intertwined hands to his shiny smile and warm eyes.

"I missed you—" a voice carried a softness that disarmed you, momentarily unravelling the protective walls you'd spent years building. He made you go soft each time he decided he had enough of not being around you. You two were busy, always, but he also always found the little loophole where he could steal you away and parade with you wherever he wanted. And you never thought anything big about it. Just two best friends, living their lives together. But this time, that night, it was different.

"I missed you too," you murmured, unsure if it was a lie or a reluctant truth. His smile widened upon hearing your words and he brought your hands to his lips, laying a warm kiss against your tender skin. Another gesture you never thought twice about before.

The restaurant was dimly lit, its ambience a blend of candlelight and murmured conversations. It was the kind of place Hoseok liked—elegant, understated, and private. Tonight, however, the intimacy of the setting felt like a noose tightening around your neck.

You had a bad feeling since the moment his driver pulled in front of Anubis and you had to drop everything to accommodate Hoseok's need of having an outing with you. Why wouldn't you, right?

He studied you for a moment, his gaze both tender and searching.

"You've been avoiding me," he said, though there was no accusation in his tone, only an unspoken plea for honesty.

"I've been busy, Hobi. You know how it is." You let out a small laugh, shaking your head.

He tilted his head, a slight smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"I know you, love. Tell me the truth."

There was no point denying it, not to him. Hoseok had always been able to see through you, even when you wished he wouldn't. The one who had dared you to climb trees too high, who laughed until his sides hurt when you both got caught sneaking into places you shouldn't have been. You sighed, leaning back in your chair, suddenly feeling exposed.

Should you confide in him?

"I'm just tired,—" you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Hoseok's smirk softened into something closer to concern, his eyes narrowing slightly as he leaned forward.

"Tired of what?" he asked, his tone careful, coaxing.

"Everything?—" you huffed out, a bitter laugh escaping your lips.

"I love Anubis, I do—" you began, but your voice wavered, the weight of your admission pressing down on your chest.

"It's just—" you struggled to find the right words for a moment, "too much to handle now."

It's been a lot to handle. Especially, when the source of your happiness and outermost help with the operations Anubis ran behind the scenes while it posed as an ordinary bar, was nowhere to be found for weeks.

He was missing, and you told yourself he was probably just busy with some shady dealings, something that would blow over in time. He had a way of disappearing when things got too hot, and you never questioned it—at least, not out loud. He was not as protected as you were. A princess.

But never this long. No calls, no messages, no nothing. The usual channels you both relied on for communication were silent. It was as though he had vanished from the world, leaving behind nothing but an eerie void.

And that's when you started to question your place in this world. All over again. As the only source of hushing those thoughts, was gone—

The teasing glint in his eyes was gone now, replaced by something deeper, something that made your chest ache.

"I don't think the place can be what the family wants it to be anymore, Hobi."

Hoseok's brow furrowed at your words, his usual calm demeanour cracking ever so slightly. He sat back in his chair, his fingers gripping the edge of the table instead of your hands now.

He seemed…..nervous.

You looked away, staring at the faint scratches on the wooden table, tracing them with your eyes as if they could lead you to an escape.

"God's timing is always right, I guess," for a moment you wondered whether you heard the same exact words he just uttered.

You swallowed, the lump in your throat growing.

"You've been handling it all this time," he said softly. "You've been holding it together when most people would've folded—"

"I just want to escape it for a little bit," you interrupted him, to not tune him on the wrong octave but by the looks of it, it's too late for that.

"And what would you do?" he asked, his voice a careful balance of curiosity and concern. "If you could walk away from all of it—Anubis, the expectations, the weight of it all—what would you do?"

You blinked at him, startled by the question, not sure what answer he wanted to get from you. The only person who ever asked you that is Mark.

“I… I never considered leaving it fully–” you started, sighed and said the truth.

"--I don't know," you admitted, a touch of bitterness creeping into your tone. "It's not like I've ever been given the choice."

He nodded slowly as if he'd expected that answer. Then, without a word, he reached across the table and took your hand in his.

"But you know that everyone has a choice in this family—" he said, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

"And it's up to you if you choose right or wrong."

That's the family mantra. At least one of many you go by. But what did that even mean to you anymore?

You had always chosen right—or at least, that's what you'd convinced yourself. You had played the game, followed the rules, kept your head down, and stuck to the script the family had written for you.

You wanted to argue, wanted to say that the control had never really been yours to begin with, but you didn't.

"You don't have to be alone you know?—" his voice quieter now, almost hesitant, as if testing the waters, unsure how far to push. But that night he pushed far.

"I'm here for you."

Before you could conjure a response, he leaned forward, his voice lowering to a near whisper.

"Do you remember when we were kids, sitting under the maple tree in the garden behind my house? You used to say you wanted to be free, to see the world. And I told you I'd take you anywhere you wanted to go. Do you remember?"

You nodded, the memory as vivid as if it had happened yesterday. Those days felt like a different lifetime—a simpler one, untouched by the complications of duty and obligation.

But Hoseok's interpretation of freedom never matched yours.

Hoseok's grip on your hand tightened, grounding you in the present.

"I still mean it. I'd give you the world if I could—"

"Hoseok…" you started, unsure of what to say.

"You don't need to worry about anything or about what anyone thinks. I'll take care of everything, I'll make it right."

You wanted to pull away, to find some way to untangle yourself from the web he was spinning around you, but his presence, his certainty, was paralysing.

You could feel the walls closing in, and a part of you wanted to fight, to tear free from the grip he was starting to have on you. But the other part—the part that had been with him since childhood, the part that knew him too well—began to crack under the pressure.

"Hoseok…" Your voice trembled, the uncertainty and the fear finally making its way to the surface. "You're not hearing me. I don't—"

His thumb ran over your lower lip and he gently pressed against the soft flesh, silencing you with a tenderness that only made it worse.

"You don't have to say anything. I know what you need, what you want. I'll give it to you. You don't have to choose anymore—

"I'll choose for you."

You blinked once, twice, thrice but you could not shake his words off. What is he alluding to?

He got the wrong impression. Or did he?

"Why are you saying all this, Hobi?" you asked, your voice barely audible. His touch was warm, and grounding, as his other thumb brushed over your knuckles, again and again.

"I've loved you for as long as I can remember, Princess," his eyes rose to yours, searching for anything. Any emotion, a hint that you're sharing his love, that you're ready for it to bloom like it was always meant to.

When he could not recognise what he was seeing in your reaction to his words, he slowly rose from his chair to move to the side of the table, closer to you.

Before you could give him any response, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black box while he descended to one knee before you.

Your eyes were never wider and even when you connected all the years of your shared youth, you still couldn't believe what was happening before you right now.

"And I won't be satisfied till we're taking those vows–"

He knew about Mark and you. He fucking knows you have a man you love. This was an ownership, a claim. He had enough of your avoidance that you blamed the bar for. He knew that avoiding him meant only one thing.

"Will you make me the happiest man in Manhattan and marry me?"

This wasn't just any love. Any proposal. This was Hoseok's way of drawing a line in the sand, demanding your loyalty, your love, your future—all of it. And in that moment, you realised the truth you had been avoiding.

A quick, shallow breath escaped your lips as his hand hovered over the open box. The family ring you used to see on Hoseok's mother's finger when you were children.

You swallowed hard, your voice trembling as you tried to find the right words. Fuck right words, ANY words.

The emerald settled in a delicate halo of precious diamonds spoke to you. More than once you imagined that ring on your finger, but whether you imagined Hoseok putting it on was hazy and distant, as if you were never sure.

Hoseok's gaze softened slightly, a glimmer of hope dancing in his eyes as if he already knew the answer you were about to give him.

But you didn't answer immediately. Instead, your gaze flickered to the small black box again, then back to Hoseok. You could see it in his eyes now—the certainty, the devotion, the unwavering belief that he was the only one who could make you happy.

The thought of rejecting him, of crushing everything he had built in his mind, gnawed at you. But at the same time, a part of you felt suffocated by his expectations, by his love that felt more like a chain than a choice.

You opened your mouth, but the words still refused to form. Your mind was a battlefield, caught between two worlds, two people, and an obligation that you could never shake.

Your heart twisted, the weight of his words settling into your chest like a stone. You wanted to tell him that you did remember. That you still cherished those memories. But things weren't that simple anymore.

"No."

He'd like nothing more than for you to understand; that you belong to each other.

"It's your fault." You mutter to yourself.

"What?" Hoseok sets a defensive tone, hoping you are not implying what he thinks you are. "What do you mean?" he asks.

"If you'd come with this forward a little bit earlier—" you point at the barren ring finger. By earlier you mean before you fell in love with Mark. You could not wear the ring so proudly when he forced it upon your finger and a second later in the heat of the moment, you threw the ring back at him, storming out of the restaurant.

"—I'd have happily said yes, do you know why, pretty boy?" You laugh drunkenly. The brunette man shakes his head, but when he sees you not continuing, he voices out his answer.

"No," now he waits impatiently for yours.

"I l-loved you—" His breath hitches when he hears your words; this is what he waited for. He does not care, it is the whiskey speaking for you, fogging your mind and critical thinking.

“I do love you, just my own way–”

He-does-not-care. He waited long enough to hear those words from you, and now his heart is becoming whole again.

"You've always been here, and you don't look like you're going to leave me that easily. Appa Jung always used to tell me how we are meant to be, and you know what I did?" You do not wait for him to answer the rhetorical question before you do so yourself.

"I threw it all selfishly away—" You wave your hand sideways until you nearly fall off the barstool. That's what your drunken brain thinks. You could have had it all. Pussy and power. Instead, you chose the wild whirlwind of emotions you felt for Mark.

They took Anubis from you. Not literally, but you knew that the moment you'd step your foot there, Namjoon or any other brother would gladly drag you to Hoseok. So you mentally parted from the bar that embodied your youthful years for the time being. The time you needed to think. And you wish you could slap yourself for selfishly still wanting that life. Your life.

"Because I fell in love with a dead man—" he knew that. Hoseok knew you loved that young biker boy and how head over heels you were for him. In all the years of your life, he never saw you that happy and it pained his heart that it isn't him you so openly adore.

He loathed that boy and all his being. Of course, he was not sad his brain got blasted off.

"You love me?" Hoseok voices out finally. If he'd known that all it would take is for the love of his life to get a little tipsy, he would have invited you to the uphill parties with him a long time ago. He did not hope you’d show up. But this morning, you woke up vomiting last nights tour de bar and decided you are done feeling crappy about man who stole your heart (and money as you got to know later) from you and died with it. Life has to go on.

"I want you under me, Princess,—"

—right-fucking-now," he takes the glass out of your hand, saying the words through his teeth. You would never allow it if it weren't for your lust and the boost the alcohol provided. Or at least you would tease him longer than just agree right away.

You were grieving, drinking whilst on anti-depressants that were causing your body to swell and cloud your mind enough to give up and let the man have you. It’s not like you never wondered what that filthy mouth of his can do to you. Hoseok was an extremely attractive man to say the least.

"Then take me, hon–" You say seductively, biting your bottom lip. Hoseok doesn't flinch and tosses a few bills on the bar with some tips for the bartender. He grabs you by the wrist and pulls you out of the club the party was held at. You obediently put one foot in front of the other, trying not to fall when you trail behind him.

The walk to the elevator feels like never-ending to Hoseok. Once in, he reaches for you, pushing you into the furthest corner of the elevator, pinning you tightly. He pulls your face to his and presses his lips to yours. He traps you there, his hands in your short hair. As he subdues you with his tongue, you taste his relief, his desire, his passion for you and your mind is clouded enough to realise that this is your first kiss together.

Suddenly he stops, leaning into you with his gaze and the full weight of his body too, so you can't move nor attempt to run if you would have wanted to. You have nowhere to go but he's still cautious. It feels like an eternity before the elevator stops at the ground level, and an even greater eternity is the actual journey home. Agony. Hoseok is in agony to bed you and show you how much he longed for your body and soul.

In the sanctuary of his bedroom, you shed your inhibitions along with your clothes, your hunger for each other insatiable. You could feel his masculine body all over you, his hands exploring every piece of your skin and leaving hot wet kisses on your body.

His lips seared a trail of fire along your skin, leaving you breathless and wanting more. You arch into his touch, your nails grazing his back as you pull him closer, desperate for the heat of his body against yours.

In the heat of the moment, there are no words, only the primal language of desire that speaks volumes in the silence. You gasp as Hoseok's lips find yours once more, his kiss a promise of ecstasy beyond imagination.

"Ride my face—" He growled whilst he snatched the panties that covered your pulsating wet pussy.

You feel a surge of heat at his words, your pulse quickening as you meet his gaze with a hunger of your own. You feel his hands grasp your hips, guiding you towards his waiting mouth. Without hesitation, you comply, straddling his eager face as he hungrily devours you. His tongue traces maddening circles around your throbbing core, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. You moan his name, your fingers tangling in his hair as you ride the waves of ecstasy that crashes over you.

The gentle suction, the soft caress of his tongue, and the subtle scrape of his teeth all combine to create a maelstrom of feeling that leaves you gasping and trembling.

Each flick of his tongue, each nibble of his lips, sends you spiralling closer to the edge, teetering on the brink of oblivion. Your hands instinctively reach out, grasping for something to anchor yourself to as the world spins around you. You glimpse at how your fingers are tangled in the soft strands of his hair as you pull him closer, deeper, hips rocking back and forth as you ride the waves of pleasure.

His moans vibrate through every cell in your body, resonating deep within your cunt. Fingers dig deep into your skin, holding you in place as he devours you with an unbridled hunger. And when you finally shatter into a million pieces, it's with his name on your lips, a prayer of gratitude for the bliss he's given you.

Hoseok was painfully hard, his slacks were too tight at the moment. You feel his arousal pressing against you, the hardness of his desire evident even through the fabric of his slacks. With trembling hands, you reach for the button of his slacks, eager to free him from the confines that only serve to intensify his longing. As the soft fabric falls away, you're greeted by the sight of him, thick and throbbing with need.

Without hesitation, you take him in your hand, relishing the feeling of his hardness against your skin. You stroke him slowly at first, savouring the feeling of having him in your grasp for once. He hissed, the sensation travelling his body. The knowledge that you have this effect on him sends a thrill through your veins.

With each movement, you push him closer to the edge, teasing and tantalizing him until he's on the brink of oblivion. And when you finally take him in your mouth, it's with a hunger that borders on desperation, eager to taste the sweet release that awaits.

You take him deeper, you feel him throb and pulse against your tongue, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He grips your hair tightly, guiding your head on his cock while your eyes water when he hits the back of your throat. With each bob of your head, you feel him grow even harder, his breath hitching in his chest each time.

You move faster, your own arousal building to a fever pitch, and you feel him tensing beneath your touch. But he is not ready just yet. Forcefully pushing your head away, you let his cock go with a loud pop, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his throbbing member.

He looks down at you with a hungry intensity, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he catches his breath.

"Gon' fuck you silly, princess."

You meet his hungry gaze with a look of anticipation, eager to feel him deep inside you.

With a hungry growl, he takes you in his arms, his lips crashing against yours in a frenzy of need and longing. You respond in kind, your hands roaming over his body, eager to feel every inch of him against your skin.

He flips you on your side and presses himself against your back, the anticipation builds to a fever pitch, the air crackling with the electricity of your shared desire. When he finally enters you, it's with a force that takes your breath away, filling you completely with his hardness and heat.

"Fuck, Hobi," You moan his name as he moves inside you, each thrust driving you higher and higher towards the pinnacle of ecstasy. Your nails dig into the sheets as you cling to him, lost in a haze of bliss that consumes you both.

As he whispers words of longing and desire against your skin, you feel a surge of heat coursing through you, igniting a fire that burns brighter with each passing moment. His hips are rutting against your ass, the skin slapping too, having a contest of what is louder, your united moans or the latter.

"Tell me you fucking love me again." He demanded while his cock was abusing your cunt with all the pleasure. Each thrust passes and you feel yourself edging closer and closer to the edge, your body humming with need and longing.

Your heart races in your chest as you meet his gaze, your eyes locked together in a passionate embrace. He lifts your leg to thrust even deeper than before sending your moans an octave higher.

"I fucking love you, Hobi," you gasp, the words spilling from your lips like a prayer as you surrender yourself fully to the pleasure of his touch.

A hungry growl escapes Hoseok's lips, reacting to your words. He twists your upper body so he can reach to kiss your lips, not stopping to fuck his cock into you. Hoseok's hands roam over your body, tracing every curve and contour with a reverence that sends shivers of pleasure racing down your spine.

You arch into his touch, your nails digging into his hair as you cling to him desperately, unwilling to let go of the intoxicating sensation of his touch.

"I'm gonna cum inside of your pretty cunt."

His lips crash against yours in a passionate kiss, his tongue exploring every inch of your mouth with a hunger that leaves you breathless. Even as he kisses you, his hips never cease their relentless rhythm, driving you closer and closer to the edge with each hard thrust.

You feel yourself inching closer and closer to the edge as you squeeze your eyes shut, a loud whimper coming out of you from the overstimulation that he's forcing upon you.

"Please make me cum again, Hobi. I can't-" Your plea hangs in the air between you. Hoseok's lips curve into a wicked grin as he continues to thrust into you with increasing fervour. He tightens his grip on your hips, his movements becoming even more urgent as he drives you closer and closer to the edge.

Your body trembling with anticipation. And then, with a cry of release that echoes through the room, you finally let go, surrendering yourself fully to the pleasure that consumes you. His throaty moan is muffled as your head is too dizzy to concentrate. He spills his hot cum inside of you just seconds after you release it.

And as you lay tangled together in the tangled sheets, you know that he won't let you slip away tonight. So you drift off to sleep in each other's arms after he takes you again and again and again until you cannot hold your eyes open anymore.

A sharp pain throbs in your head. You gasp when your eyes register the bright light of the morning sun. You rub your hand over them and pick yourself up, leaning with your elbows. You sigh and close your eyes for a moment. Your head spins, and you have a very strong urge to empty the contents of your stomach, which actually has nothing in it. You freeze in place when you hear a murmur from the other side of the bed, and the subsequent rustling of the duvet startles you even more.

Slowly turning your head to the source of the sound, you're scared. On your right side, the man is lying peacefully, snuffling contentedly away. His raven hair is plastered to his forehead, and his eyelids are tightly closed.

Your mouth opens into a big 'O', and you hold yourself from screaming out; the whole house would hear the words that don't belong in a lady's mouth. Your head swivels back into place again, and this time you look down under the duvet just like in all the romance movies you watched alone.

Upon discovering that your clothes are somehow missing, your eyes widen completely, and now you are absolutely awake. The maid must have taken them to laundry earlier. You put your feet on the cold floor of Hoseok's room and grab his shirt from the walk-in closet. Putting it on quietly, you begin to sneak out of his room. At the door, you turn to look at him. The realisation hits you like a truck on the highway — Hoseok won't let this slide.

Your footsteps lead you to your old room where you grew up. You hope to find some of your old clothes there so you won't have to leave the Jung mansion in only a shirt that barely reaches below your ass.

In your mind, you rejoice once finding what you're looking for and begin the smooth flee out of the mansion. You pray that you will not meet Kkangpae Jung or Halabeoji Jung on your way. You know if you do, you'll never leave this house. It wouldn’t be nice talk.

Sighing happily, you get into one of the cars and try to drive away through the open gate just for the guards to surround the car immediately.

Your body tensed and your eyes held the reflection of the armed men prohibiting you from leaving the premise of the Jung's mansion. You switched the car off, the engine's purr fading into silence as the gravity of the situation sunk in. It was clear that escaping unnoticed was no longer an option.

A tall, stern-faced man approached your car, his gaze unwavering as he rapped on your window. Reluctantly, you rolled it down, the crisp early morning air replacing the warmth of the vehicle.

"Miss Kim," the man said, his voice authoritative. "I'm afraid you can't leave. The Kkangpae requests your presence."

Fuck. You were fucked. Your heart raced as you processed the severity of the situation. The Kkangpae, Hoseok's father and the head of the whole syndicate had summoned you. It wasn't a request you could decline without consequence when you were right in his den, and you knew this was the end. They trapped you in.

The Kkangpae's study, adorned with dark wood and leather, exuded an air of authority that matched the man himself. He sat behind a large mahogany desk, studying some documents. Without looking up, he motioned for you to take a seat.

As you sat down, your eyes couldn't help but wander to the framed family photos on the walls. Hoseok's smiling face stared back at you from childhood to adulthood. The Kkangapae was a family man to his core or misogynistic anti-feminist, you choose.

"Y/N,—" he began, his tone measured. You braced yourself for what storm is to come.

"I thought you finally came to your senses when I saw you arrive with Hoseok last night—" his voice was calm, but there was an undercurrent of disappointment. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, knowing that the events of last night were fuelled by the large amount of alcohol you devoured.

Only now you realise that he aimed to doom you all along by bringing you to the epicentre of the whole syndicate instead of his brownstown in the downtown. You mentally cursed at Hoseok and the brilliance of his manipulative nature. You should have known better than to try to negotiate your freedom with Hoseok and drink like that in his presence. Stupid girl, aren't ya?

When he finally looked up, his steely gaze penetrating your soul, you could feel goosebumps on the back of your neck.

"—but I did not expect you to attempt to flee the mansion like you're some whore and not my son's fiancée!" His fist met the surface of the carefully crafted table and you jumped in your seat.

The impact reverberated through the room, the sudden noise echoing in the silence that followed. The framed photos on the wall seemed to witness the confrontation, capturing the Kkangpae's stern expression and your startled reaction.

"We all have been patient with you, dear, thinking you just need to compose yourself—" a tear escaped your eye. No matter what, you won't change the outcome of this.

"But you found solace in drowning yourself in alcohol and whoring yourself around the city!" He shouted your way. "I knew I should have brought you home far earlier than this."

You could not argue with his words, no matter how shameful they are. In a span of four months, you managed to get drunk until you blacked out numerous times all for that one boy you loved and lost. The one that loved but betrayed you back. When you drank you did not think of him and how much you miss that smile of his and how much you should hate him. His tattooed masculine arms that held you at nights and soft pierced lips that kissed yours —only fragments of memories now.

"I did not raise you to ruin yourself. Have I not given you enough?" The Kkangpae's voice, though stern, held a tinge of desperation, as if searching for a semblance of reason in the chaos of your actions. You were sure that if your father would be among the living now, he would have never let this happen. But he is not and by raising you, the Kkangpae means, taking you in after he decapitated your father for betraying his leader. Remorse, he called it.

You are disappointed in yourself. But for a solely different reason. You should have run away from the continent when Mark said he had a way. Perhaps, now, he would be alive and you would not have to write foolish love letters to heaven anymore. Perhaps, you would fall asleep without the extensive drinking and all the anti-depressants you probably did not even need, but with them, you do not hate him for leaving you here to deal with this mess alone.

The truth hit you like a tidal wave, and the weight of your actions settled in the pit of your stomach. The Kkangpae's words, though harsh, were a reflection of the reality you had tried to escape.

"You lost your way, child." The Kkangpae leaned back in his chair, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. The room, once charged with tension, now felt heavy with the weight of unspoken regret. You did lose your way in the name of love. Founding him, already long gone, in the jeep just at the outskirts of Bronx, a hole in the side of his head, dried blood sprawled on the white leather seats, broke you.

There was not a second you did not regret saying no to Hoseok. It haunts you how that selfish decision might have led to the strongest gale in your sea. Perhaps, they would let him live if you would cooperate. The Jungs always found a way to persuade people to do what they wanted. But you did not expect them to go as far.

Suicide. The police ruled it as suicide. Of course, they did, with the right amount of bribery — everyone bent to their will. The day after Hoseok swore that he had nothing to do with it, that it’s an unfortunate coincidence, lying straight to your face broke you even more and that's why you ran. Hoesok knew everything that happened around, but he refused to tell you. You ran around the city as fast as you could so he would not catch up to you.

You loved Hoseok in your own way and when you said that if he'd come with the proposal sooner you'd say yes — that was not a lie. You always had a hunch feeling that those words about you two and your future together were to some degree true. So it was not such big surprise for you when he bent the knee and popped the question, a little too late. But you could not marry him then and you don't think you are willing now. You would be willing to do so, when you are ready. The difference is, now, there's no other choice. He won't let you leave this house alone, he won't let you run away again.

And there's nowhere nor no one to run to anymore.

"I never intended to bring disgrace to the family," you whispered, your voice betraying a mixture of regret and sadness.

"You'll redeem yourself, child, don't worry—" he said

"I need you to understand that you are not just Hoseok's partner; you are the future matriarch of this family. Your actions reflect not only on you but on the entire Jung legacy—"

"I know, I just never thought of this as seriously. I'm scared, I panicked when he popped the question." You blurt out. Your confession hung in the air, raw and unguarded. Or more like a lie so he will let you go, at least from this suffocating office.

You had spent years perfecting the art of composure, of presenting a façade that betrayed nothing only for it fail now.

The Kkangpae regarded you for a moment, his sharp eyes softening just enough to betray a hint of humanity beneath the ruthless exterior. He wasn't used to hearing you admit fear—it was almost as if he didn't quite know how to respond.

"Fear is natural," he said finally, his voice low but firm. "But you have nothing to fear if you choose right."

Choosing right in this family never meant following your heart—it meant aligning yourself with their expectations, their rules, their version of right.

You nodded, not trusting your voice to stay steady under the pressure. Your heart raced as you avoided his piercing gaze, hoping he'd accept your half-truth as sincerity. All you needed was a way out of this office, a moment to breathe, to think.

"You've always been stronger than you give yourself credit for," he continued, his tone measured but unyielding. "This family needs that strength now. Hoseok needs it."

The memory of his hands cradling yours, his eyes boring into you with a fervour that felt more like ownership than love, played on a loop in your mind.

"Okay," you managed to say, forcing the words past the lump in your throat.

The Kkangpae nodded, satisfied with your answer. "Good. Now off you go, Hoseok's waiting."

You stiffened, your pulse quickening.

"He's awake?" Your voice came out quieter than you intended, barely above a whisper. The Kkangpae raised a brow at your reaction but chose not to comment on it.

"Your breakfast is going to get cold if you stall this even more."

The Kkangpae's words cut through the air, dismissing any further hesitation. His sharp gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he returned to the stack of documents on his desk, signalling that your audience with him was over.

You spotted Hoseok seated at the table, a serene picture of composure, his fingers curled around a steaming cup of coffee he enjoys in the mornings.

He looked up at your approach, his eyes locking onto yours. There was no trace of anger on his face, no sharp edge to his expression. If anything, he seemed calm, almost disarming.

"Hobi—" you started before he quickly interrupted you.

"Sit down," he said a bit more firmer than he'd want to, gesturing to the seat across from him.

You hesitated for a moment before lowering yourself into the chair, acutely aware of the weight of the moment. A plate of food sat before you, untouched. Your stomach churned, but the thought of eating felt impossible.

"Are you?—"

"I'm not mad, no," he cut you off gently, surprising you, as if he knew what you were suggesting before you even managed to let those words roll on your tongue.

"So?—" you echoed hesitantly, your voice barely above a whisper. You didn't know what to expect now. Maybe it would be better if he'd be mad and you knew that you have to make it better just like it used to be, instead he is not showing any kind of position in this situation and that was making you uneasy beyond comparison.

Hoseok leaned back in his chair, exhaling deeply.

"You're still here. That's what matters to me for now." He began, his tone measured. For now. Hoseok was always skilled at this—at saying something that sounded kind but felt like a command.

"I panicked," you admitted softly, the honesty slipping out before you could stop it.

"I know, baby, you chose wrong—" he replied, his gaze unwavering.

"—twice," he added fuel to the fire, salt to the wound. But you knew why. He wanted you to submit to him, and he needed to work overtime to do so.

"You need to show me you're willing to make this right, love," you swallowed hard, the tightness in your throat making it nearly impossible to respond. His aura and magnitude of how he could move you however he liked now was overwhelming. You cannot run away, not when he dragged you back to this place instead of his brownstone at 57th street. You're not only under his surveillance here, but the Kkangpae and the rest of the family.

“What’s it gonna be? Cuz’ I can’t fucking pretend anymore–”

His gaze dropped to the table for a moment before he reached into his pocket. You stiffened instinctively, already guessing what he was about to do. Sure enough, his hand emerged clutching the familiar black velvet box. The sight of it made your chest tighten.

"Hoseok," you said softly, your voice trembling with unease. "Please—"

"I don't think I will be so forgiving if you'll choose wrong for a third time, Princess." He ignored your plea, opening the box to reveal the ring again. The one you'd angrily thrown at him that fateful night when he tried to force it down your finger after you explicitly said no to him.

The one that symbolised everything you were not ready to accept, but you had to. It glimmered in the soft light of the room, deceptively beautiful.

"I'm done asking," he said firmly, his eyes locking onto yours. Your breath hitched, but before you could speak, Hoseok reached across the table and took your hand in his. His touch was warm, grounding, yet the weight of his action was suffocating.

You tried to pull your hand back, but his grip tightened—not painfully, but enough to make it clear you weren't going anywhere. With deliberate precision, he slid the emerald ring onto your finger.

"There," he said, his voice softening just enough to send a shiver down your spine. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

You stared at the emerald ring, your mind racing. It looked almost serene on your finger, as if it had always belonged there. Hoseok sat back, satisfied, his lips curling into a faint smile.

Before you could respond, the soft thuds of certain leather shoes announced another arrival.

"Joon-ah!" Hoseok greeted, leaning back in his chair. "I assume there's news?"

Namjoon glanced at you briefly, then back to Hoseok. "Yes. We've made progress with the Anubis situation. The distilleries have been secured, but the reports of interference need attention."

"Anubis situation?" You echoed Namjoon's words. Hoseok's smile didn't falter, but there was a subtle shift in his demeanour. His gaze flicked to you, and for a moment, you thought he might dismiss your question. Instead, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his fingers interlacing.

"Nothing for you to worry about," he said smoothly, his voice laced with a quiet finality that suggested the topic was closed.

Namjoon, however, wasn't as careful with his expression. His brow furrowed ever so slightly, a crack in the façade of calm efficiency he usually wore. It was gone as quickly as it came, but you caught it, and it only fuelled your curiosity.

"Anubis is my responsibility, Hoseok, you cannot—" you pressed, your tone sharper now. You'd learned long ago that brushing things under the rug only meant tripping over them later.

"Not anymore."

Hoseok's words cut through the room with an authority that left no room for argument. He leaned back in his chair, exuding an air of complete control, his eyes locked on yours with a quiet intensity.

"What?!" You breathed out rather loudly now.

"Not anymore," he repeated, slower this time as if daring you to challenge him. And challenge him you did.

"Hoseok," you tried again, your voice quieter this time, laced with both frustration and fear. "This isn't—"

"I gotta punish you somehow, Princess," his one was calm, almost casual, but the weight behind his words was anything but. Your stomach churned as his lips curved into a faint, disarming smile—a predator's smile hidden beneath a veil of warmth.

"Punish me?" you repeated, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to steady it. "Exactly for what you gotta punish me, Hoseok?

"For running," he said, the amusement in his voice doing little to soften the hurt he felt inside. "For throwing the ring. For abandoning me this morning after we made love last night—"

You opened your mouth to argue, but he cut you off with a raised hand. "Don't misunderstand me, Princess. I'm not angry. But actions have consequences."

Your heart pounded against your ribs, the rhythm chaotic and uneven. His calm demeanour made it worse. It took one wide-eyed glance for Namjoon to excuse himself and quickly retreat to Kkangpae's office to leave you two alone.

The sound of the door clicking shut behind Namjoon seemed louder in the heavy silence that followed. Your eyes darted to it, half-hoping for an interruption, but it was futile. Hoseok's gaze was fixed on you, unrelenting and unreadable, trapping you in this moment.

"Hoseok," you began, your voice trembling. "This isn't fair. You can't just—"

"I can," he interrupted his tone steady but brooking no argument. "And I will. You know I don't take betrayal lightly."

"Betrayal?" you repeated, the word stinging as it left your lips. "Is that what you think this is? Hoseok, I—"

"You ran," he said simply, leaning forward, his elbows resting on the table. His fingers interlocked, creating a casual posture that only heightened your unease. "You left me, you threw the ring at me, you abandoned what we're building. Call it whatever you want, Princess, but to me? That's betrayal."

Your breath caught, the weight of his words pressing down on your chest. "I needed time," you whispered. "Time to think, to—"

No, you needed Mark. But you also needed your best friend.

"Think?" Hoseok's laughter was soft, almost amused, but it didn't reach his eyes. "What is there to think about? You're mine. You've always been mine. And this?" He gestured to the ring now firmly on your finger. "This makes it only official."

"You can't force me to—" you said, the defiance in your voice surprising even you. This was never a discourse you or Hobi ever had. Everything was thought to be just platonic. Not for him.

"To what?" he asked, cutting you off again. His tone was low, dangerously calm. "To wear a ring? To stay by my side? To stop running every time things don't go the way you want?"

You flinched, the truth in his words hitting too close to home. Hoseok sighed, his expression softening just enough to make your heart ache. You were running each time you did not feel like the family was doing you justice. And each time it was Hoseok who came to talk sense into you. But this is different. You are not kids anymore, or teenagers. This is serious. Hoseok is serious this time.

"You know what Anubis means to me—"

"And you still thought it was something you could just walk away from?"

You clenched your fists, your nails biting into your palms as the urge to argue warred with the fear.

"I didn't walk away from Anubis," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "I just... I needed space, Hoseok."

"You said you were tired, love."

"You misunderstood—" Hoseok shook his head slowly, cutting you off once again, his gaze hardening.

"I never wanted it to come to this," Hoseok said, his voice softening as he reached across the table, his hand brushing against yours. "But you forced my hand, Princess. And now, you don't get to run anymore. Not from me. Not from us."

"But Anubis—"

"It's still yours. But until you learn your place, Namjoon will suffice."

You bit your lip, caught between the suffocating desire to fight back but all you could do is shut your mouth and obey, telling yourself that this is only temporary.

He was, indeed, not mad.

The sterile scent of antiseptic filled the room as you sat on the edge of a plush velvet chair, your posture tense, fingers gripping the fabric of your dress, as if the soft material of your slip dress that you wore on top of a while turtle neck could shield you from Yoongi's steady gaze.

You couldn't quite remember when the combination of alcohol and antidepressants had become a regular part of your routine, but it had. One to dull the ache, the other to keep the panic at bay. It felt like you were walking a tightrope between relief and disaster. The pills had been prescribed with a promise of healing, but they didn't fix anything, did they? They didn't ease the guilt, the shame, or the sense of being utterly out of control.

And that's precisely why you are sitting in Yoongi's clinic.

Again.

The door opened softly behind you, and your head whipped around, your stomach clenching in a mix of panic and irritation. Hoseok came in after he finished his call, eyes narrowed, lips pressed together in that familiar line of disapproval when Yoongi interrogated you and your well-being this past months.

Not pleasant for both of their ears.

His eyes flicked over to Yoongi, a silent communication passing between the two. You could feel the heat of embarrassment creep up your neck, the shame of being caught in this cycle again pulling at the edges of your pride.

"You've been drinking, and you've been taking your medication," Yoongi said, pretty much summarising what was happening, his voice low but commanding, as he folded his arms across his chest. His usual calm was undercut with a note of frustration. "This combination is dangerous, and you know it. You are being fucking reckless–"

"Well this family makes living that way, so—"

You trailed off, the words hanging in the air, sharp and bitter. You didn't have to look at Yoongi to feel the tension rise, the way his jaw tightened slightly, the subtle flicker of frustration in his gaze. And you didn't have to look at Hoseok, to know he rolled his eyes.

"But we don't use ourselves, not to such extent, Y/N, and you fucking know it."

You winced at Hoseok's words, the sharpness in his voice cutting through you more than you'd like to admit. You had always known that their disapproval wasn't just about the way you led your life these past months, but about how far you had drifted from the person they believed you could be. You were.

"I'm not—" you began, but Yoongi cut you off, his tone flat and unwavering.

"—the choices you're making—this self-destructive pattern—it's not the family's fault. It's not even about the family. This is about you, Princess. About your choices."

You couldn't meet his eyes, couldn't face the depth of his concern, the quiet disappointment in his voice. The truth was, you knew what you were doing wasn't right. The pills, the alcohol, the numbness—it all came with consequences, but they were easier to deal with than the constant whirlpool of guilt and pressure that churned inside your chest every day.

"You don't get it," you muttered, your voice wavering, trying to steady it but failing. "It's hard to breathe sometimes. Everything feels... too much."

"Do you want your liver to fail, sweetheart, or your heart?"

Yoongi's gaze softened, the sharp edge to his features dulling just slightly. "You don't need to numb the pain to survive. You need to face it. And you need to let us take care of you."

"Okay." The word slipped out before you could think about it, the weight of it settling between you all. You couldn't quite believe it, the relief that came from simply acknowledging the truth. It didn't feel like a solution, but it was the first step toward something.

"No more drinking, no more pills—"

The quiet of the room enveloped you for a long moment. The sound of your breathing felt too loud, but somehow, it was a reminder that you were still here. Still breathing.

"And you gotta get you off your birth control too, we do not need additional hormones in your body."

The words hit you like a cold shock, the air in the room suddenly feeling thicker. You blinked, trying to process what Yoongi had just said. His words were muffled by the sounds of Hoseok's Motorola. Excusing himself briefly to pick up yet another call, you stared at Yoongi.

"What?" you breathed, your voice barely a whisper. The thought of changing anything about your routine, especially something so personal, felt like a violation of your fragile sense of control. "Yoongi, I—"

"You heard me," he cut you off, his voice firm but not unkind. "You need a clean slate, and that includes everything. The alcohol, the pills, the hormones. It's all adding to the mess inside you. We need to strip it all down," he spoke, overlooking some of your results that came in this morning.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out at first. Then, the words escaped before you could stop them. "But... you were the one who prescribed it."

"I know," Yoongi replied, his voice calm but firm, his posture never faltering. "And at the time, it made sense. But now? With everything that's going on in your body—"

"Was it his idea?" you cut him off rather bluntly a bit angry with his dishonesty.

Yoongi's gaze sharpened, his eyes narrowing as he met yours. There was a moment of silence between you two, the air thick with tension. The weight of your question seemed to hang in the room, the vulnerability of it pressing on your chest. Yoongi took a slow breath before answering, his voice steady but with an edge of something—something you couldn't quite place.

"No," he said simply, his eyes softening just a fraction. "This wasn't Hoseok's call. It was mine."

You felt a knot form in your throat as you processed his words. A part of you wanted to argue, to resist, but another part, the part that had been drowning in self-doubt for months, simply wanted to listen, to let go of the control you had clung to for so long.

"Don't lie to me, Yoongi."

The accusation hung between you, thick with tension. Yoongi's expression flickered, a brief flash of something—guilt, maybe?

"Was it your decision, or not?"

Yoongi stood still for a long moment, his gaze flicking briefly to the side, avoiding your eyes. His fingers clenched around the papers in his hands, and for a brief second, the weight of everything between you seemed to press down on him, too.

"Princess…" he finally breathed out, his voice low but steady.

"It was my decision, but he encouraged it." The flicker of guilt in his eyes, something raw and unguarded, made your chest tighten. You knew what that meant for you but you could not put your five cents on the table right now.

This choice is yours to make. Not Hoseok's.

The Jung Whiskey Distillery stood in the heart of Brooklyn, a looming relic of a bygone era where industrial ambition met old-money elegance. And you found it fucking ironic to be commanded to stop drinking extensively and simultaneously being called to a place that reeks of alcohol.

The building itself was a labyrinth of exposed brick, dark oak barrels stacked high like sentinels. The faint hum of machinery echoed through the cavernous space, blending with the rhythmic drip of amber liquid into hand-labelled bottles, each stamped with the clan's insignia that did not change even after the Kkangpae-ship changed several times over the decades. A dove.

You stepped inside, the heavy scent of whiskey and charred wood assaulting your senses immediately. You blinked against the dim lighting, the golden glow of antique chandeliers barely cutting through the thick shadows. Your Louboutin heels clicked against the worn concrete floor, the sound swallowed by the quiet hum of workers moving methodically through their tasks. Some cast quick, assessing glances your way, but no one said a word. You weren't an unfamiliar face here, after all.

Hoseok was already waiting, leaning against a towering stack of barrels, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable under the soft glow of an overhead lamp. He was dressed in his usual understated elegance—a charcoal suit, crisp white shirt, and a gold signet ring glinting on his finger, a subtle reminder of his place in the family hierarchy.

"If I knew that you'd take time that equals the three meetings I managed to go through, to actually get here, I'd wake you up in the morning and take you with me," he remarked, his voice carrying easily in the quiet space.

"Traffic," you replied coolly, stepping closer. "And I wasn't exactly given much of a choice nonetheless, was I?"

Hoseok smirked, a glint of something dangerous dancing in his eyes. "No, you weren't."

"I need you to sign some documents—" he started.

You stared at the papers in his upstairs' office, anger and frustration bubbling inside you, but you knew the truth. Hoseok wasn't giving you a choice—he'd planned this all along. You'd taken the risk, now you had to pay the price. Your stomach twisted as you read the details—transferring the market representation of Anubis to Namjoon, at least temporarily.

He didn't say anything at first, letting the silence stretch between you. He pulled out the pack of cigarettes after long deliberation and lighted one.

"You want me to sign this?" you asked, your voice carefully neutral.

"I'd hoped you would've learned the consequences of your actions by now—" finally, he spoke, his voice a quiet challenge, "you thought I was bluffing, am I right?"

Hoseok could read you like an open book, and that only pissed you off more.

"Namjoon is going to represent Anubis while you're away, so the market doesn't wait for anyone—"

"What about Peaches?" you had to ask. The girl who always looked up to you and listened when you needed to yap. She had, among others, a precious place in your heart. You knew she was only working for you as a barmaid until she paid off her college, but you were sure the friendship will remain.

Hoseok's lips twitched into a smirk, but there was no humor in it. His gaze lingered on you for a beat too long before he spoke again, his words deliberate.

"You know…—" he began before you cut him off. You know what he's going to say. Namjoon was rather blunt, and the girl was young and naive to ignore it for so long.

"I know—"

"She's not your concern anymore. Not with the way things are going. Namjoon's got his eyes set on her, and trust me, it won't take long before she's out of there, taken care of...in more ways than one."

"But—" you had plans to move he to work for the distilleries instead of the bar. A safer place.

"You've already dug your own grave, love, hers is not yours to lay in." You clenched your jaw. But it is, you thought.

"She'll hate him for it," she might hate you for it. You muttered, but you knew it was futile.

"That's least of your worries now, you know Namjoon's intentions are good, Princess—"

"Now, unless you want to keep playing the martyr, sign the fucking papers." He had you by the throat, and signing was the only way to keep breathing.

You hesitated, fingers tightening around the paper. "And if I don't?"

Hoseok leaned in, his lips curving into something far too amused for your liking. "Then I can take you to City Hall right fucking now and have us sign a marriage license instead. Husband and wife—your signature won't be needed anymore."

Your heart stuttered in your chest, but you schooled your features into indifference.

"You wouldn't."

His smirk widened, eyes glittering with that maddening confidence.

"Keep fucking trying me, love, a little longer." He said through gritted teeth.

Your eyes flicked back to the contract, and with a resigned sigh, you reached for the pen tucked inside.

"That's my Princess."

You hated how much he enjoyed this. He stood up, retrieving the papers and closing the folder in one swift movement. You were getting inside your head when his shiny shoes came into your vision. You raised your eyes to see him standing in the small gap between the table and your chair, looking at you hungrily from above.

"You're tense," he observed, his voice dropping into something softer, something more dangerous. His thumb brushed against your wrist, tracing slow, maddening circles.

"You just made me give it up—" You swallowed hard, willing yourself not to react, but the heat of his touch seeped into your skin.

"As I said, it's still yours, love, you just won't be its main character for a while." He tilted his head, eyes darkening as he leaned in, his breath ghosting over your ear. Your pulse hammered in your throat as his fingers slid up your arm, slow and deliberate. You hated how easily he got under your skin, how much you wanted to push him away and pull him closer all at once. Why were you so messed up in the head?

You took out the pills. He insisted. Yoongi insisted. You don't drink. At least you're trying not to. You have therapy once a week. Everything but that one thing you kept hidden from him. Your suspicions were quite rightly placed when just this morning he cream pied so deep into your cunt, it made you recount your life-span. No condom on.

The scent of whiskey and expensive cologne clouded your senses, making it impossible to think clearly. You momentarily glanced through the window to see the twin building in the distance where Kim's bourbon was made. You wonder if Namjoon's there or in Anubis now. He's got a lot work to do if he now covers both positions.

Before you could retort, he bent down and his mouth claimed yours in a searing kiss, one that left no room for hesitation. Hoseok's fingers wrapped around your wrist to pull you out of your seat and press you into his hard torso. You felt him. Every single inch.

Your hand shot up to his breasts where you laid your palm straight, trying to push yourself from him and ease the pressure he laid on the small of your back from where he was pressing you into the warmth of his body.

You yelped into his mouth when he stood and lifted you effortlessly onto the cold and hard surface of the desk, his hands roaming possessively over your hips.

"You drive me fucking insane, can't keep my hands to myself" he breathed against your lips. His curious fingers trailed down its way to the black slacks you wore today and slipped past the soft material.

You couldn't help but moan into his mouth.

"All I could think about the whole noon was you—under me."

At least, with the miraculous protection of birth control, you can enjoy sex with him. It was not bad. You wish it could be bad lousy sex but he knew damn well what buttons to push to let you see stars and scream his name. This was your new dose of drugs. Him and his gorgeous body. He knew that the line between him being your best friend was cut into small fragile pieces the moment you sat on his face that night he did not only trick you into his bed but kept you in his life. Forever. And Ever.

It felt oddly right.

Every kiss, every brush of his hand, felt like a promise—one that wasn't going to be broken.

Unlike this table.

It was several weeks later when the little peace you made with this arrangement was shattered as quickly as you built the walls around you.

The twisted branches of bare trees stretch upward like desperate hands, clawing at the sky, trying to touch something they can never reach. The heavens above seem to hum with a strange mystery, an almost suffocating weight in the air.

Beneath your feet, the fallen leaves crackle and crunch, a brittle reminder of the cold that's creeping in, claiming everything it touches. The frost is starting to settle in again, coating the world with a layer of death, a silent witness to the dying season. The peak of winter is coming, relentless and unforgiving, a season full of hidden traps and painful truths.

From a distance, you hear the haunting echo of a raven's call. It cuts through the stillness, adding to the quiet beauty of this desolation. The air feels heavy, thick with something unspoken, something unsettling. You inhale deeply, trying to push away the unease, but it lingers, like a shadow that refuses to leave.

Your eyes flutter shut, trying to hold on to the fragile calm of the moment, but the silence is broken. The crinkle of newspaper reaches your ears, followed by the faint scent of coffee. You open your eyes, slowly, and see Hoseok sitting at the table, his face absorbed in the pages, the kind of concentration that could swallow him whole. His lips are pursed, his brow furrowed, the weight of the world hidden behind those simple movements. He trimmed his hair a little. They were becoming a bother. He said to you when you asked. Nothing major though, just a little change. Not everyone could sport a mullet like Jung Hoseok could. It was such a trivial thing to do but you kept thinking about how your fingers instinctively ran through his soft locks. You liked them long. Is what you said to him and he gave you his shiny smile that you were soft for, in response.

You sigh, your gaze drifting from him to the empty garden around you. The air feels colder now, the frost creeping deeper into your bones. You tug the fur blanket tighter around you. You need fresh air. Yeah well, not in fucking cold January, you don’t. He insisted. For you, for your health. Hoseok, oblivious to your internal storm, shifts the newspaper in his hands. His fingers grasp and release it as he turns the page, his eyes never leaving the print. He's lost in the world of politics, and you're stuck here, in your own head, unable to break free.

"What is it?" he asks, his voice not quite reaching you. The question feels distant, like it's meant for someone else. You take a sip from your coffee mug, the New York City skyline etched in its design, trying to ground yourself in something, anything.

"Nothing," you murmur, but the words feel like a lie even to you.

You still did not know how to feel. You, of course, were still playing with the narrative you created in your head, that you do not want to get married. Hoseok’s not the problem. He never was. Only the cursed piece of paper that will bind you to him for eternity, as this family still worships and protect marriages, is what you’re afraid of. Why? You’re pushing thirty. You are expected to settle. But how can someone like you settle? You still dream of a boy who is no longer walking among living, a man who fucked you over, now that no pills are clouding your mind. And that’s another thing.

How can you have kids after you poisoned your body with so many things? Yoongi recited the report to you and Hoseok, his lips in thin line after he finished, the verdict was clear. Cleanse. In private. They believed in the strength of your young body to recover swiftly and splurt out heirs, just like that. Don’t be mistaken, you were never addicted enough or now you’d be in asylum if you were. You just needed a reality check. But that did not include your boyfriend with a hole in his head and gun in his hand.

Then there was this tiny feeling of betrayal. You felt like you were betraying Mark each time you spread your legs for Hoseok to bury himself deep inside of you. What’s worse. You enjoyed it like this is how it was always supposed to be–

–the sound of paper crunch tears you from your stream of consciousness. Hoseok makes a ball from the newspaper with a deliberate slowness, the sound harsh against the stillness of the room. There must have been something he did not fancy to see. Your rough guess, it’s the pretty journalist that questions every step of Kim Seokjin. Your family consigliere.

He meets your gaze, eyes softening with an unspoken question.

"Are you sure?" His voice is more insistent now, a slight edge to it as his hand reaches out, crossing the distance between you. You want to pull away, but you don't, he would never harm you. Not you.

"I don't want to get married,... yet," you say it with a finality, and rather bluntly, a decision made in the quiet chaos of your heart. You did not know why that thought came out loud. "I don't think I'm ready—"

"We talked about that already, baby" he says, his voice cold, as he releases your hand and strides toward the house, his back turned to you. The distance between you feels unbearable now, the space between your hearts widening with every step he takes.

"No! You talked about it!" you shout after him, your voice cracking as the frustration rises within you. The words feel like a plea, a desperate attempt to make him hear the truth, but it seems to vanish into the bitter wind that bites at your skin.

He doesn't turn around. He doesn't need to. The weight of the silence is enough, and you're left alone in the garden, with only the sound of your own pulse hammering in your ears.

You prop your elbow on the table and rest your chin in your hand, staring into the weak morning sun, trying to chase away the thoughts swirling in your mind. After a moment, you reach for the other copy of newspaper, flipping to the art section where the golden maknae's face is pictured. He's allowed to stay a bachelor, why not you? A bachelorette leaves a bad taste in your mouth though. Sounds cringey.

A quiet voice from the door interrupts your focus.

"You'd better look at the wedding dress catalogue instead," your cousin's voice cuts through the air, light with a teasing lilt. You two were never as close as one would say. But that's because you spent the majority of your childhood with Hoseok. Sometimes Namjoon and Yoongi.

You glance up at him, meeting his dark eyes. That man seriously needs to find his own woman. He needs to do it soon, as he is just as annoying when he doesn't get laid. She could put up with it, instead of you.

"I'm all hot!" you retort, a smirk pulling at your lips as you add the bite of irony to your words, hoping he'll catch the sarcasm.

He grins, unbothered. "Can I see for myself?" His playful challenge hangs in the air, and you can't help but roll your eyes.

"Fucking gross, Taehyung!" You splurt out, grimacing.

"Just kidding, Princess," he says, raising his hands in mock surrender. He glances at you with a wry smile. "You should start looking for them though, unless you want to get married in your pajamas." His gaze lingers on your nightwear, and you fight the urge to blush.

"Hoseok already asked Jimin to have one of his designers on it." You murmur, wishing to not acknowledge how beautiful the designs were.

"Dior… fancy," he whistled.

You shake your head and turn your attention back to the newspaper, but then a loud slam comes from the second floor. Your eyes dart to the open glass door, half-expecting Hoseok to walk back in. A few moments later, he does, but this time, he's holding a white box, throwing it onto the table with a sharp gesture.

"What's this?" he asks, his brow furrowed.

You glance at the box and read the label out loud. "Birth control."

Hoseok's expression hardens instantly, and he steps forward, hands on his hips. "I fucking know what it is," he snaps, his voice low and tense. "But why the fuck are you taking it?"

You swallow, trying to keep your composure and play dumb. That it just might have slipped from your mind to put it out.

"Well, usually, birth control is taken to—"

He cuts you off, his frustration clear. "I fucking know why it's taken, but why the fuck are you still taking it, Y/N?"

You hesitate, unsure of how to answer, but you find the courage to speak. Hoseok would get it out of you nonetheless. Why lie.

"Because I noticed that when you were fucking me—"

"You mean making love," he interrupts, his voice softer now, but still laced with tension.

"Making love,—" you repeat, your lips tight, trying to hide the amusement and disregard the severity of this situation. Him dicking you down until you are nothing but whimpering mess was hardly tender loving. He nods in agreement, and you try not to feel self-conscious.

"—You keep ditching the condom," you add, voice trembling slightly. You're nervous, but you don't back down. “So I just wanted to be careful–”

"Does that matter?" he asks, an eyebrow quirked in disbelief as he takes a step closer to you.

"Well, considering I don't wanna get pregnant, and I doubt you do—"

He cuts you off again, his words sharp. "What if I want you to get pregnant?"

The shock hits you like a cold wave. You blink, your heart racing, your mind spinning. You want to respond, but the words freeze in your throat.

"It's not only up to you," you finally manage, folding your arms across your chest, trying to steady yourself. But Hoseok isn't backing down.

"No?" he asks, tilting his head slightly, a challenge in his gaze.

Before you can say another word, he grabs your elbow, pulling you toward him with surprising force, his chest pressing against yours. The heat of his body is overwhelming, and you feel your breath catch in your throat. The distance between you is gone, and all you can do is stare at him, unsure of what to do next.

The words feel like they hang in the air, suffocating, as he inspects every inch of your body. His gaze is heavy and possessive, and it crawls under your skin, making you feel exposed in ways you can't quite put into words.

"I think the fuck yeah," he says, a slow smirk pulling at his lips.

"Since the fuck when?" you force the words out, the sigh caught between your teeth, as you try to mask the unease creeping through you.

"Since we made it official," he whispers, his voice dark, lips hovering just above yours, as though he's claiming you in ways that go beyond the physical.

"Hoseok, honey, I don't belong to you, I'm not a bitch that you can breed," you grind out, trying to push back, to assert yourself, but your body betrays you, reacting to his touch.

"Aren't you?" His laugh sends a shiver down your spine, and before you can pull away, his hand moves to your ass, squeezing hard, sending a shock of pain that morphs into something else—something dangerously close to pleasure.

You cock your head, trying to make sense of the rush of conflicting emotions, but Hoseok doesn't wait. He presses his lips to your neck, soft butterfly kisses that leave a trail of heat in their wake.

"You sound different when I'm buried deep down in your pretty cunt."

"Hobi—," you moan his name involuntarily, rather surprised by his blunt behaviour than actual excitement, and your hand instinctively reaching for his chest, as if you could push him away, but instead, you draw him even closer. He likes to test where your boundaries lay. And he likes to do it each time he gets you alone and all to himself.

"Now, that's my name you're moaning, isn't it?" he asks, his voice teasing, fingers now shifting to your breast, kneading it with a possessive grip. You gasp, feeling the tension coil tighter inside you as his lips continue their slow, deliberate journey from your neck to your lips. When his kiss meets yours, it's tender—almost too tender—but it pulls away too soon, leaving you breathless, hungry for more.

His hand still rests on your bottom, and your pulse races as he reaches for the white box on the table. You know what it is, and your heart drops into your stomach.

"You know what we're going to do with this?" he asks, his eyes dark, unreadable.

"Hobi, no, please," you beg, your voice weak, desperate, trying to hold onto the last shred of control you have.

"Not this time, Princess," he replies, as though he's trying to convince himself more than you.

"Please Hobi, we have time for that" you clutch his hand, the one holding the box, your grip tight as if you could keep it from happening.

"We ain't little kids anymore," he mutters, his voice cold as he pulls you toward the door, but you resist, shaking your head as he drags you toward the living room.

“Just because we skipped the whole girlfriend-boyfriend phase, it doesn’t mean that–” you trailed behind him, trying to plead with him, but when you see the fireplace you panic.

"NO, DON'T DO THIS, PLEASE!" you shout, panic rising in your chest, but the sounds of Yoongi's and Taehyung's voices drift from the dining room, too far away to help, but close enough to hear.

Hoseok doesn't listen, doesn't stop. He moves as if this is inevitable. He opens the fireplace door, adding wood and paper into the flames with mechanical precision. The white box sits on the hearth, waiting for its fate. You know what's coming, but you can't stop it.

Before he can pick up the box, you do, clutching it to your chest, your pulse pounding in your ears.

Hoseok stops, eyes narrowing, his voice low and controlled. "Y/N, give me the box," he says, his hand extended toward you, his patience wearing thin. You hide the box behind your back, shaking your head, the desperation pooling in your chest.

"Don't do it," you plead, but your voice shakes, and you know it won't be enough to change his mind. It never is. Your heart pounds and the sound fills your ears as you fight to breathe through the rising panic.

“No need for dramatics, I can fucking buy new one, Hobi–”

You hear Yoongi and Taehyung murmur in the background, they're talking, oblivious to the tension in the room, distracted by the box, by its contents. They must have missed the giant label that clearly states so, but the realization hits you too late. In the corner of your eye you can see Yoongi bring his hand to the bridge of his nose and sigh very loudly before he readies himself to speak on your behalf. It's already too late.

"You always know how to piss me off like that!" Hoseok snaps, frustration boiling over. "You're such a brat! Why can't you just do what I ask for once?" For once? He throws his hands up, fury in his eyes.

“Well you didn’t really bother to discuss it with me, why should I?” You snap and Hoseok’s face momentary shows guilt.

"Hoseok—" Yoongi begins to step over to his younger brother, trying to intervene, but Hoseok's swift hand movement stops him in his tracks, his frustration too raw for anyone to touch.

"Don't, fucking, don't!—" he screams his way. Hoseok is fuming.

"How dare you take this from me!" His hands fly up in the air, his chest heaving with the intensity of his words. The heat of his anger crashes over you, and you feel yourself shrinking under the force of it, knowing that nothing will calm him down now. When did he become such a lunatic? Over this?

"You fucking prescribed that shit to her!" He throws his hands up, fury in his eyes. As if Yoongi had any jurisdiction over you.

"You did that!" His eyes are wide, furious, and filled with an undeniable betrayal. And with that accusation, the room feels like it's closing in on you, the weight of everything sinking in deeper.

"Hoseok, I was taking that, years prior, it's not that easy to just stop—" Your voice trembles as you try to find the words, but they're heavy as if the room itself is pressing against your chest. You know it won't make a difference. You know that nothing you say will ever be enough to calm the storm he's become. Hoseok's eyes widen with disbelief, the fury in them turning almost desperate. He steps closer, his breath coming in quick, ragged gasps.

"She was supposed to be off the pill, Hyung! You said she is!" Hoseok's voice cracks as he turns to Yoongi, his anger now laced with something else—desperation, hurt. His words are jagged, the tension in the air so thick you can feel it pressing against your skin.

Yoongi freezes, his eyes flicking between the two of you, the reality of the situation settling in. His hand stays on the bridge of his nose, massaging it as though he can physically take the tension away. But there's no escaping it now, no way to undo what's been said.

"Yoongi-hyung," Hoseok snaps, his voice raw, pleading for an explanation he knows isn't coming. "What the fuck is going on? Why is she still on it?"

You can feel the weight of Hoseok's gaze on you, the accusation in his eyes piercing through the space between you. The betrayal is there, raw and unrelenting, and it stings, more than you ever thought it would. You want to scream, to lash out, but the words don't come. Instead, you're frozen, caught in the quiet storm of their confrontation.

"I didn't know," Yoongi's voice is quieter now, regret creeping in. He looks at you, his expression softening, but it doesn't help. The damage is done. "I withdrew that prescription. I thought she stopped."

Now he turned back to your petite form and the box in question that was the last resort of your independence here. It's just a symbol now, a trigger, a reminder of how everything has shattered in the blink of an eye.

"And why exactly did her highness not listen to her doctor?!"

You try to step back, but you can't. There's nowhere to go. "I didn't think it mattered," you whisper, your hands trembling at your sides. A lie and the weight of the lie you've been carrying sits on your shoulders like a thousand tons.

"I never thought it was something you'd need to know or cared for, at least not for a while."

Hoseok stares at you, his gaze burning through you like a hot brand. "It fucking matters," he spits, his voice sharp and cruel "and I fucking care." Yoongi threw an apologetic look your way when he sensed that this was only going to get uglier, and it would be more humiliating for you if they remained in the room.

"You think I don't care? You think I don't have a right to know? Clean slate from everything, remember?" His voice rises again, and the room seems to shrink around you.

“Hobi–” you attempted to speak to him.

"Each time we made love, I hoped you'd eventually come to tell me I'm going to be a daddy,"

Hoseok's voice trembles with raw emotion, and you feel the weight of his hopes crashing down on you. The air in the room feels thick, suffocating, as his gaze pierces you, demanding an answer you don't know how to give.

"But you were hiding this from me. You were keeping it from me, Y/N. How could you?" His voice breaks on the last words, and for a brief moment, he looks like he might collapse under the weight of his own feelings.

"I thought… I thought it wasn't important now. That we had time."

Hoseok's eyes narrow, his lips curling into a bitter smile. "Time? Time for what, Y/N? Time to keep me in the dark while you do whatever the hell you want? To fucking run again?" His voice rises, thick with frustration. So this is it, he wanted you tied to him beyond marriage.

"I trusted you. I trusted us. It's just you and me for eternity, Y/N."

“It’s not even about that fucking birth control, it’s about you keeping things from me.”

You swallow hard, your throat tight. You never imagined things would escalate like this. The silence in the room is unbearable, and the weight of Hoseok's words crushes any attempt at defence.

“You are supposed to confide in me. I’m your person.”

"I wanted this, Y/N," he continues, his voice a raw whisper, filled with a kind of hurt you never thought he was capable of showing. "I want to build a future with you."

His words feel like daggers, piercing straight through your chest, and you feel the walls around you closing in.

"You should have talk to me about that." You want to scream, to fight back, but all that comes out is a weak, strangled sob.

"Do you even know what you've done?" he whispers, almost to himself, as if the weight of it all is just now sinking in. "Do you even know what this means?"

You want to explain, but you can't find the words. The room is too small, the air too thick with the unspoken truths hanging between you all. And in that moment, you realize that nothing you say will ever undo what's been done.

"I was not feeling ready, Hobi–"

Hoseok's eyes burn with a mixture of frustration and desperation as he steps closer, his hand still extended toward you, demanding the box. You know what he's going to do, but that knowledge does nothing to ease the dread that grips you.

“We could have discuss this–” but he was not listening anymore.

"Give it to me," he commands, his voice low, filled with an edge that makes your heart race. The space between you two is closing, and there's nowhere left to retreat.

You grip the box tighter, pressing it against your chest as if it's the only thing keeping you anchored. "No, Hoseok," you breathe, but your voice is weak, trembling under the weight of the moment. "You don't understand."

His gaze sharpens, and in an instant, he's on you, his hands grasping at yours, trying to pry the box from your fingers. You stumble back, but he's faster and stronger, and you feel the heat of his body as he presses you against the wall. You gasp for breath, your heart pounding in your throat.

"No!" you cry out, but your words are drowned by his relentless grip, pulling at your hands, forcing you to let go. The box is slipping, and before you can stop it, Hoseok has it in his hands, clutching it like it's the last thing that matters.

You try to push him away, your palms meeting his chest with a desperate shove, but he's unfazed. With a low growl of frustration, he jerks his head toward the fireplace, his expression wild.

Without a second thought, Hoseok strides over to the fire, the box gripped tightly in his hands. You lunge forward, but it's too late. He reaches the hearth, throws the box into the flames, and it disappears with a soft crackle.

"No!" you scream, your voice raw, the loss of control hitting you like a punch to the gut. You're too late to stop him.

Hoseok stands there for a moment, his back to you, his shoulders rigid with anger. The firelight flickers in his eyes as he watches the box burn. "You wanted to hide this from me," he says, his voice harsh, filled with finality. "Well, now, it's hidden better."

You're frozen, watching the box slowly disintegrate into ash. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, the realization settling heavily in your chest. It's done. There's no taking it back now. Everything you tried to keep from him, it's all out in the open.

You open your mouth, but no words come. There's nothing to say. You didn't expect this—didn't expect him to take the box and throw it into the flames like it meant nothing to him. But it does. It means everything to him.

"If you think you can go and get another one, think again—" Hoseok turns to face you, his expression unreadable, his jaw clenched tight.

"Because you ain't leaving this fucking house anymore."

A tear escapes down your cheek before you can stop it, and you wipe it away hastily, still trapped in the suffocating silence of the room. Everything feels wrong, everything feels too much, and you don't know how to make it right. You want to scream, to tell him how unfair this is, but you can't find your voice anymore.

Hoseok's gaze softens just slightly, but it doesn't bring comfort. If anything, it only makes the storm raging within you feel even more intense.

What a good start of 1996.

It was quite a few silent weeks, and although the poetics of “never go to bed angry” was quite overrated, Hoseok seemed to cling to it. You wish you could speak again. It was enough that you were apparently and are under house arrest. The moment you tried to step out of the front door, you were turned on your heel immediately. So you got the memo rather quickly.

Now yes, you are exaggerating a little. Rightfully so, you almost went to fucking knit a sweater being cooped up in here. Even the enormous sunroom full of flowers of every kind felt small after you spent the majority of the days there.

Hoseok’s father keeps himself at his side of the lovely and vast Jung manor and you find yourself not wanting to be in his company for majority of the time. But after weeks of silent breakfasts, lunches and dinners, you found yourself in his quarters to plead to give Hoseok some wisdom. He cannot be mad at you for keeping something to yourself. You were being responsible, and this is what you got in return. It was okay until there wasn’t a ring on your finger and the one fucking you, Hoseok.

Yet, as you stood in the dimly lit hallway of the east wing, the heavy scent of cigar smoke clinging to the air, responsibility felt like a frail excuse. Especially in this family. You neared the slightly open mahogany door of his office when you heard their voices. You halted. Listening.

“The boy’s still angry,” came the rasp of Hoseok’s grandfather.

You hadn’t realized he was in the estate today, now nestled in one of the armchairs, a relic of another era draped in a thick wool blanket. His voice was softer, but the words carried weight.

“Wouldn’t blame him. He did what was necessary, and she went and questioned him for it.”

You frowned. Hoseok cannot be seriously this angry over something so… so fixable, right?

You should have stepped inside. You should have asked what they meant. Instead, your mind spun in circles, grasping at the words and the meaning hidden between them.

“That runaway little gangster decided to fuck his way into this world, so he paid the price.”

Your breath hitched.

Paid the price?

Your grip tightened on the doorframe, pulse hammering against your ribs. The words settled uneasily in your chest, a slow-burning fuse winding its way toward something you weren’t sure you wanted to understand.

“Tuan made his choice when stole from her.”

Mark.

Your stomach twisted. The name struck like the lash of a whip, sharp and stinging because it had been weeks since you’d allowed yourself to even think about him. You can’t reopen the wound. You forced yourself to stay rooted in place, to not stumble backwards as the realization clawed at your skin.

Your hands trembled at your sides, nails digging into your palms, your body urging you to move—to burst into that room and demand the truth. But something held you back. A small, fragile piece of you that was terrified of the confirmation.

Hoseok swore to you he has nothing to do with it nor he knows who it might be. So you opted to believe that perhaps it was one of the family heads, or maybe someone from outside who wanted to make an example that you are not untouchable. Maybe it was someone who you openly declined to purchase their booze and serve it in Anubis. Maybe, just maybe, he did kill himself.

But that’s not the Mark you knew, and after years of seeing this family stage murders, you knew better than to think it was a suicide. Nor did you want believe that, as the recounting of books showed, he or someone was stealing from you. But the only person that would manage to steal from you without your immediate knowing, was him. So you tried to hate him instead of grieving his death for a while. It did not work out. But it did sure opened doors for Hoseok.

Hoseok and his family, your family, had a motive but you refused to let yourself think he is dead because of you. Why did you not urge the police to investigate further? It would put you on the radar. You would have to hand out those incredibly illegal books over at some point. You were not a saint. Obviously you were not as far down as Hoseok or Namjoon and certainly not Taehyung. Your role was a bit cleaner, but not holy at all.

If all those demons that you’ve sent to their death while carefully watching and listening in over the years did not come to hunt you, why now, why Mark? Why’d they speak about him now.

“It was the right decision to eliminate him.”

Your body felt cold, your fingers numb as you forced yourself to step away, away from the door, away from the truth you had just heard spill so carelessly from their lips. Your mind raced. If he lied about this, what else had he lied about?

You needed to leave.

“For her own good.”

Even just for a moment.

You needed to get out, away from this house. You could figure out the rest later, but right now, the walls were closing in, and you couldn’t breathe. You had never wanted to leave, leave before. Not really. Not permanently. But that didn’t mean you didn’t know how.

The question is, though, do you want to?

When you were younger, you had your ways—slipping through unnoticed places, sneaking past locked doors, bending rules until they cracked just enough to let you through. You hadn’t used those skills in years, but desperation was an excellent teacher.

So you ran.

Slipping through the estate grounds, through a route you remembered from your teenage years, your heart pounded louder than your footsteps against the pavement.

A taxi to the downtown. A subway later to get to 59 Street Columbus Circle.

Central Park was quiet at this hour, the city humming in the distance. You walked, your breath fogging in the cool air, your mind spinning in endless circles. You weren’t stupid—Hoseok would know soon enough that you were gone. And when he did, you knew exactly what would happen.

You could almost picture it. The calls. The orders. The silent, well-oiled machine of his influence clicking into place, mobilizing to track you down. It wasn’t fear that kept you moving. It was inevitable. Because you knew one truth above all else: Hoseok never let anything that belonged to him get away. But you wanted to make a point. That you can be gone if you want to.

Right now, you weren’t sure if you were running from him… or to him.

You sat down on a cold bench, eyeing the Plaza that you realised you never stayed in, your whole life. Why would you, right? No, that’s where he would track you down when you had your tour de bar short lived era, counting in Anubis.

You did not want to abandon Anubis, nor did you want to give Namjoon to boss it around. You pleaded hard enough to have something in this family other than pussy between your legs that would throw up heirs. Women in this family do not work. Not usually. But you, growing up with the mighty seven, knew a bit more about how this world functions, thus when you proposed to be the eyes and ears, they considered it. When you proposed you wanted a bar, a place where lips could go loose with the right booze, they considered a bit more.

And that’s how you got to be the owner of Anubis on the borders of Manhattan and the Bronx.

Everyone who entered was watched, catalogued, and, when necessary, reported and the threat eliminated. It had always been a place of control. Yours. But now, standing outside in the cold, you realized how little of it you truly had anymore.

A god of the afterlife, guardian of lost souls.

Poetic, you always were.

But it was your place, and you wanted it back. You made it what it is now and it made you. You did not want to be a housewife or an arm candy for Hoseok. Nor your desire was to leave the syndicate.

No.

You grew up here. This was who you were. And you would not abandon it again because Jung Hoseok decided to step into different shoes in your life or that Mark was now dead. He wasn't with you from the start, you handled it just well without him.

No.

If you have to go through this fucking marriage, you’ll do it your way.

You returned before sunset, slipping back onto the estate grounds just as the first hints of dusk kissed the horizon. But the moment you stepped inside, the air was different. Tense. Hushed conversations snapped into silence the second they saw you. Guards were stationed at the exits. Hoseok’s men were in motion immediately.

“Namjoon?-” He echoed to the flip phone when his eyes met yours on the edge of the living room. “Abort the mission, she’s home.”

He shut the flip phone down and motioned with his free hand to send the soldiers to their original posts. Only then hew threw it on the plush of the white sofa.

“Where the hell have you been, Princess.” He gritted through his teeth, still standing by the conference table, keeping his distance even though he wanted to close it, and cradle your face and kiss your full lips. To reward you for your comeback.

Your pulse pounded, your breath shallow, but your voice—your voice was steady.

“Tell me, Hoseok.”

You took a step forward, the distance between you closing like the pages of a book snapping shut.

“Say it to my face and swear that you did not kill him, and-” he pulled his tall built body slightly back at your straightforwardness and his eyes reflected a little wave of shock that was quickly exchanged with understanding.

Hoseok understood why you ran from this house now. You could have done it before, as it did not take you long to slip out. But he also was glad that after all, you did not want to.

“And?” He urged you to continue. To finish what you started.

“-and I’ll fucking marry you.”

And you needed him to tell you that you were wrong.

And you needed him to lie, just this once, so you could keep pretending.

And you needed him to be the man you had loved before all of this. Before Mark.

His eyes flickered, something dark passing through them before his expression smoothed over. His lips parted slightly, but no words came. This is what he wanted? You on a silver platter. You accepting this union.

Your chest tightened, the air punched from your lungs as you searched his face, desperate for something—anything—to grasp onto. A lie. A denial. Even anger would have been better than this.

You have to bury Mark for good to be with Hoseok.

Hoseok stared at you, his jaw tight, his lips slightly parted as if he was weighing something—choosing something. You could see the war in his eyes, a storm threatening to break, but then…

Then he exhaled, slow and steady, before stepping closer.

His hand lifted to your face, fingers ghosting over your jaw, his touch light but grounding.

“I didn’t kill him,” he said, the words deliberate, carefully measured. “I swear it.”

Your breath caught.

There it was. The answer you needed. The answer you had demanded.

And yet…

It was too perfect. Too clean. The kind of lie that had been rehearsed in the mirror, the kind that fit too well in a mouth that had learned to bend the truth into something beautiful.

But you wanted to believe him. Believe that he did not push the trigger. You’d rather live without the knowledge of who exactly had done it and under whose command.

It does not matter anymore. It’s in the past and Hoseok is your present and future.

You needed to believe him as Mark is never coming to save you from this horseshit you got yourself into right now and whatever reason he had to steal from you doesn’t matter anymore. He is not coming back and it is Hoseok’s arms you’re in this time.

His lips brushed against yours, hesitant at first—like he was giving you a chance to change your mind, to turn away before the lie settled between you. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

You kissed him back, hard and fast, your fingers twisting into his shirt as if anchoring yourself to him would somehow make it real. That if you kissed him deep enough, long enough, it would drown out the whisper in the back of your mind that said this isn’t the truth.

Hoseok groaned against your mouth, his grip tightening, his body pressing into yours like he could make you forget. Like he could mould the lie into something tangible, something that felt like love instead of deception.

You let him.

Because believing was easier than knowing.

"I love you."

You sway to the beat of Material Girl as you make coffee in the kitchen, the rhythm of the music pulling you deeper into your thoughts. Suddenly, you feel his arms wrap around your waist, his head resting on your shoulder. His lips brush your neck lightly, sending a shiver down your spine.

"There is a charity gala tonight," he murmurs, his voice low, warm against your skin. You frown, your movements slowing as confusion clouds your mind. You were allowed to leave occasionally under his strong supervision, which meant that your hand was sweaty in his when he held you for dear life, whenever, wherever. Especially after you went for the little walk in Central Park and did not show up until the sunset.

"What does that have to do with me?" you ask, turning slightly to face him. You were back to being you, at least a little. Step by step. His touch tightens around your waist, a subtle reassurance that he's still there. Even though your little emotional exchange, a few months ago, you were still determined to play this game your way. He wants something? You want something too.

"Well, as my lovely bride, you're going with me," he says, a playful glint in his eyes. He presses a soft kiss to your neck, but you don't feel it this time—not in the way you usually do. Keeping you here like mother hen turned you and your cheeks waiting to be clapped each time Hoseok finished his work day. And if not, your hands wandered around your body while you read a book that had some spice inside. Out of boredom yes. You were just a girl after all.

"Terminate the house arrest, first." You smiled sweetly. Step one, have free reign where and when you leave this house.

"No–" you did not even let him start when you interrupted him.

"Would you like some too?" you ask, ignoring him, You continue making the coffee, your hands suddenly trembling.

"Aren't you listening to me?" His voice is sharp now, a mix of frustration and confusion. He pulls away, the distance between you suddenly feeling cold.

"I'm listening, you were talking about an event," you respond, your eyes not meeting his as you pour hot water into the cup.

"I bought you the Versace dress you liked," he adds, trying again, his tone softening. You let out a breath, the bitterness of it mixing with the heat of the coffee.

"But I cannot go out myself, can I?" you ask, your voice quieter now. The smell of fresh coffee fills the air, but it does nothing to calm the tension between you.

"Are you not listening to me at all?" His voice rises again, this time you can feel the anger building. You don't respond right away, the silence thickening.

"Are you listening?" You retort, smiling wickedly.

You walk to the living room, coffee in hand, the distant hum of the television buzzing in the background. The controller feels cold in your hand as you press the red button to turn on the TV, trying to drown out the noise inside your head.

"I'm sorry your highness, I forgot you love to negotiate," he says, his voice laced with irritation.

You glance at him. His hands shake as he gestures vaguely in the air, trying to explain himself. You roll your eyes, frustration bubbling in your chest.

"You’ve put me under house arrest," you mutter, shaking your head, and taking a sip of the coffee. But before you can savour it, he raises his voice again, and the hot liquid splashes over your denim jeans, soaking into the fabric. You wince, the sting of the coffee mixing with the burn of his words.

"You!-" He started but rather opted to bite his inner cheek than to admit that indeed he could've lifted the house arrest, the moment you said you will marry him. He only lets you go out when it benefits him. But you trusted the process.

"Me?" your hand shot to your heart, acting surprised.

"You're going to put that dress on and come with me at six," he demands, his tone sharp, commanding. He turns on his heel, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the room. You want to smash something, anything, just to get the frustration out.

"Oh so now I can go outside of this house?!"

The tension from the earlier fight still lingers between you. Hoseok's hand rests on your thigh, his touch possessive, but it doesn't bring comfort.

"Did I tell you you're stunning?" Hoseok's voice is soft, low, as he leans closer, his breath warm against your ear. You did put on the dress he bought for you, they were too pretty to leave on the hanger. The sleek, satin slip dress in a light lavender shade. Parade in front of him and threatened to not leave if he does not lift the house arrest first. And you maybe played him dirty when you declared you won’t let him get this dress off you tonight. I have to punish you somehow. You told him. Of course he obliged. Men.

The dress is form-fitting, featuring thin spaghetti straps and a deep, elegant neckline. It drapes smoothly over your figure, exuding an air of sophistication and effortless glamour. As fitted for today’s spring charity gala. Scratch that. Old money rich shitty man gala. Nothing to do with charity, they just needed a reason to throw a party every year.

"Today or since you decided you want to play husband and wife with me instead of being my best friend?" you dare to tease him, even though you already settled that matter, at least partially, your voice edged with sarcasm, knowing he doesn't care about your answer as much as he cares about drawing you in with his touch. The atipique black dress shirt he’s wearing under the suit jacket reveal the his torso to your wondering eyes.

“I’m still your best friend, baby.”

You feel him smile against your skin as he nuzzles your neck, his hand slipping up to rest on your waist. His touch is gentle at first, but it soon deepens into something more—something possessive.

“Sure you are, especially when you bend me over tables.” You whispered, trying to tease him. His tongue slides into your mouth, tasting you, claiming you in a way that makes your heart race.

“Do I really need to listen to that–”

"--Can't you save that drama for when you get home? It's giving old news already—" a voice interrupts, cutting through the moment. The dark-haired handsome man across from you, Kim Seokjin, looks at the two of you with a raised brow.

"Don't be jealous, Jin-hyung," Hoseok cuts him off, but it's clear he's irritated. "You'll find someone one day to match your narcissistic ass. How's that wannabe Nancy Drew doing?"

You shift slightly, pulling away from Hoseok, but his hand remains firm on your thigh.

"Still working on it," Seokjin mutters, giving Hoseok a dirty look. You knew who they were talking about, but Hoseok said he won't intertwine with the media unless it will be a direct threat. That's why above mentioned she was roaming around trying to dig and dig but nowhere near to find the bottom of the pit.

The car stops suddenly, jolting you from your thoughts, and you blink as if waking up from a dream. The flash of cameras outside the car window hits you like a wave, sharp and blinding, and you feel Hoseok's grip tighten around you as he pulls you closer, as though trying to shield you from it all.

The car stopped and we started to make our way out. The first thing that hit you was the flashes of the cameras. Hoseok pulled you close to him and together with Seokjin and the security guard you walked inside.

You step out of the car, the air thick with flashes and the pressure of eyes on you. His hand doesn't leave your back as the two of you walk inside, and though you want to resist, you can't help but feel the pull of his presence, like gravity, like you're being drawn into his orbit.

He's in his element here, greeting people with a smile, his charm effortlessly lighting up the room. He makes you smile, too, almost involuntarily, as he introduces you to yet another guest.

"This is my significant other, Y/N," he says, his voice carrying the weight of ownership, and something in your chest tightens, a mix of emotions—anger, confusion, and something else, something darker you don't want to name. You lost a trace of Seokjin some time ago and a part of you wishes for him to be here, you would not feel as thrown to the wolves as you do now. You don't blame him though, you used to do exactly the same thing when you were not what you are now. Take a bottle and vanish for an hour or two.

“What is it?” Hoseok asked you after few rounds of dances to some forties jazz music after he could not get a word out of you. He leaned in, close enough for you to feel his breath against your skin, a whisper in the midst of the music. Hoseok noticed the way your gaze kept flickering around the room, the way your smile was distant, almost mechanical.

After the rounds of dancing and mingling, he couldn't take it anymore. Your silence, your unspoken thoughts gnawing at the edges of the night, it made him uneasy. This wasn’t how you were supposed to be. You were supposed to be laughing, teasing, maybe even teasing him, not retreating into yourself like you were doing now. Again.

He was used to the strong, confident woman who had a sharp tongue and a sharper mind, but now… this? This wasn’t you. And he did not want to lose you again.

“You know what it is,” you breathed out, a soft exhale, but it felt like a sigh of surrender. His hand, warm against your back, seemed to hold you in place as you turned your face slightly towards him.

He raised an eyebrow, leaning closer, his grip tightening, but not in a way that felt possessive—more like an invitation. He wanted to know.

"I don’t," he replied, his voice as calm as ever, but with an edge of urgency now. "I can’t help if you don’t let me in, Y/N."

You swallowed hard, pulling away just a fraction, as if the distance between you and him could somehow ease the tightness in your chest. Now it was time to ask. Step two.

“I want Anubis back,” you said quietly, the words hanging in the air, heavy with meaning. Hoseok's eyes flickered for a moment, but his composure didn’t waver.

“Alright.” Hoseok’s lips quivered at the edges, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. His response—so simple, so nonchalant—sent a strange shiver down your spine.

“What?” You blinked.

“Alright,” he repeated, as though you’d asked for something as trivial as a cup of coffee. You blinked again, caught in the dissonance of the moment.

That was it? Alright? It felt like the words didn’t align with the gravity of what you had just confessed.

You leaned back slightly, studying him as though searching for any hint of a hidden agenda, but all you found was the same carefully crafted calm. The calm of a man who was too used to getting what he wanted without asking for it.

"That's it?" you finally whispered, voice sharp despite the confusion swirling in your gut. "You just... agree?"

“If Anubis is what will make you my extravagantly beautiful Princess happy again, I’ll give it back–”

You looked up at him, the confusion, the anger, and the uncertainty swirling in your chest, but underneath it all… there was something else. Something you didn’t want to acknowledge.

The night drags on, each introduction another reminder of what you've become. The people you meet seem to glide around you, asking about your upcoming wedding, about your plans, your future. You almost laugh at the irony of it all hanging in the air like a thick fog. You're a trophy in a glass case, and everyone's looking at you, poking and prodding, but no one seems to care to really see you. But him.

Then, an older woman turns to you, and you surely met her once or twice at these sorts of events but you never paid attention to those old snobs enough to know her name. Her gaze sharp as she asks,

"Are you with child my dear?" You freeze, almost choking on the juice, the question slicing through the air. Before you can even respond, Hoseok cuts in, his voice smooth but diplomatic.

"We have just recently started to try, Misses Kang." She was a fucking busybody. Too curious. You can feel the weight of the room shift, all eyes on you now, judging, whispering. You want to run, to scream, but you hold it in, even as your fingers tighten around your drink, your knuckles white. The grey-haired gentleman beside the woman snorts under his breath, a comment you don't hear, but you don't need to.

"Men like us Mister Jung, we need strong lineage—" It doesn't matter. You've already checked out, retreating into your mind again, thinking about how Hoseok just handed Anubis to you without thinking twice. Your brain screamed that this is not just because he had some sort of epiphany but a part of something bigger. Does he perhaps know…? Know that you cannot leave him anymore. You were ready to wield that to have your way. But he just gave it back.

"I need some air," you mutter, standing up abruptly, and leaving the table behind. You don't look back as you walk out of the room, the hallway stretching out before you. You take the stairs two at a time, the sound of your heels echoing in the otherwise silent space.

You find a door, and a balcony, and step outside, your breath catching in the cold night air. Your dress flares around you as you lean against the railing, the weight of the night pressing down on you. You stare out into the distance, the tears you've been holding back finally spilling over, rolling down your cheeks.

A voice interrupts your thoughts, rough and grating against the wind, "Are you going to jump?"

You turn sharply, startled by the sudden presence. The man before you is in his twenties, with longer brown hair and a stubbled jaw. His Australian accent is as clear as the night sky above you.

"What?" you stammer, confusion swirling with all the confused emotions in your chest.

"I asked if you were going to jump," he says, his hands shoved casually into his black slacks. He lifts his head slightly, waiting for an answer, as though he's seen this all before.

You scoff, bitterness creeping into your voice. "What's it to you?"

"I'd jump after you," he says casually, his eyes never leaving you. You give him a look, incredulous.

"This isn't some fucking rom-com," you snap, your voice sharp, trying to push him away with words.

He raises an eyebrow, unbothered. "No, but the situation is very similar," he argues. "I'm not saying you're about to jump off a boat, but there's a pool down there. You'd survive."

Your gaze drifts back to the darkness below, the tears still falling. You don't want to talk to this stranger. You just want to be alone, but his words, his strange calmness, begin to settle into your mind.

And then, like a physical force, strong arms wrap around you, pulling you back from the railing you were almost ready to mount. You gasp in shock, struggling at first, but the man's grip is firm.

"What are you doing?" you ask, panic rising in your chest. You try to push his hands away, but he doesn't let go.

"I'm saving you, and your very very expensive Versace dress," he murmurs calmly, his voice soft but insistent.

You stop fighting then, your body slumping against him, exhaustion settling into your bones. He holds you for a moment longer, then whispers in your ear, "How about you tell me why you wanted to do it?"

There's something about the way he says it that makes your body go still, something in his voice that makes you want to open up, to speak the words you've been choking on for so long.

“I wasn’t, it just went through my mind for a moment.”

You sit down on the cold tiles, your tears finally slowing as you tell him everything—the fear, the suffocation, the way Hoseok's love feels different now. That you’re scared to admit your feelings like you could before.

When you're finished, you feel raw and exposed, but somehow lighter. You don't expect him to understand, but his quiet sympathy soothes something in you.

"Please, just don't tell anyone," you beg, the weight of your vulnerability heavy on your chest.

He nods, his eyes soft as he glances at the balcony door.

He doesn't seem to share your fear. Instead, he looks at you with understanding. "He's a friend," He says, "and he talked about a woman he wanted to marry...a lot. But I can't say I'd agree with everything he's ever done to achieve it."

You look at him, eyes wide with confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I'm can’t help you escape this feelings," he adds gently, his tone softening, "but I can be a friend when he no longer can be one." You don’t want to escape do you?

"You did not tell me your name—"

His eyes scanned your face with something that almost resembled concern. But the fleeting moment of solace shattered like glass the moment the door swung open.

Hoseok stood there, framed in the balcony doorway. The soft light from the hallway illuminated him in a way that made him look almost angelic, but the glint of steel in his hand told a different story.

You froze. What is going on?

"Step away from her," Hoseok's voice was quiet, deadly, his grip steady on the gun pointed directly at the other male.

He leaned back at the railing, his hands raising slowly in a display of mock surrender.

"Easy there, mate," he said, his voice unnervingly calm. "Didn't mean to step on anyone's toes. Just having a little chat."

Hoseok motioned for you to stand up and run to him, his eyes pleading for you to understand through his firm gaze on you two. What is going on?

Hoseok ignored him, his eyes locked onto yours. "Are you alright?"

You nodded slowly, your throat too tight to speak. The tension in the air was palpable and you did not know what to think. Where is the danger in here if he's griping the gun, not letting it down?

"I should put a bullet in your head right the fuck now," Hoseok seethed. What for? You were utterly confused and when Hoseok motioned for you to get the fuck up, you hesitated but did in the end. If anything, you trusted his gut more than you did yours over the years.

His smirk didn't waver when he gripped your hand and pulled you back. Your eyes widening with shock. His touch lacked the warmth you felt before and his next words sounded utterly different than before.

"See, that's the thing, Jung. You're all about control, but I don't think you have as much of it as you think." He flicked his gaze toward you, his eyes gleaming with something dangerous. "She looks tired. Must be exhausting being your pretty little bird in a cage."

Hoseok took a step forward, his gun aimed directly at his head now, his lips curling into something dark.

"You think I don't know what you're doing? Trying to get close to her, take what's mine, use her as leverage?" He didn't flinch or let you go. And you stood frozen. Without any explanation.

"Wasn't too hard. Seems like she's already looking for a way out." He provoked, knowing what it will make Hoseok to think. Inflitrate his thoughts. Homewrecker.

Your breath hitched, and Hoseok's gaze snapped to you for a split second—long enough for him to make his move. In a flash, he grabbed your other wrist, yanking you toward him, using your body as a shield between him and the gun. You gasped, your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

"Put the gun down," he said, his tone dangerously low, his grip firm but not painful. "We both know you're not going to risk her."

Hoseok's face darkened, his finger twitching over the trigger. "You're making a grave mistake right now, Luen."

Luen.

Your blood ran cold. The Luen family. You'd heard whispers of them—new money with old grudges, climbing the ranks with ruthless efficiency. But you never encountered one. They avoided press, they avoided public outings. They operated from shadows. No wonder you did not know him, if he’d ever show his face in your circles, you’d know.

While your clan rebuilt their empire on this continent through generations of calculated business moves and deeply rooted alliances, the Luens were a wildfire—spreading fast, consuming everything in their path with ruthless efficiency. Your families used to be closer in the past. The times before World Wars and you yourself did not know exactly when their connection severed.

As you later got to know, this particular Luen man was a ghost from the past, one Hoseok had thought buried overseas while he studied abroad for some time. But now he was here, standing in front of you with his cocky smirk and calculating eyes. It was no coincidence. The Luens were patient and hidden hunters, and it was clear that he had been sent for a reason—to sink his claws into Hoseok's most vulnerable spot.

You.

"Am I?" his lips brushed against your ear, and you shivered involuntarily. "I just wanted to talk, but now... now I think I might just take her with me. Seems like she'd like that rather than being with you."

No. No. No.

He felt so wrong suddenly. Everything felt wrong.

Hoseok's knuckles turned white around the gun, his eyes burning with fury.

"Let. Her. Go."

"Give me what I want, Jung. A slice of your market and territory, and she walks free. Easy trade, yeah?"

Hoseok's lips curled into a humourless smile, his eyes narrowing. "You must be dumber than I thought. You think I'd ever let you walk away with anything?"

Before he could respond, Hoseok moved—fast. In one fluid motion, he slammed the butt of his gun into his side, forcing him to loosen the grip he had on you. You stumbled forward, gasping for air as Hoseok yanked you away and shoved you behind him, his body a solid wall between you and him.

Well that was strangely easy.

He groaned, clutching his ribs, but that infuriating smirk was still there. "Right… your choice."

"Get the fuck out," Hoseok growled, his voice low and menacing. "Before I change my mind and wash the floor with your brain."

He held up his hands in surrender, circling you to get to the balcony door.

"This was fun. We should do it again sometime." He glanced at you one last time, a knowing glint in his eyes before disappearing out the door.

"Goodbye, Princess." He winked at you and you felt the disgust bubbling inside of you.

Hoseok turned to you, his expression dark, stormy but worried. Too worried. He might have lost you right here and right now if he didn't decide to check on you.

You swallowed hard, your voice barely above a whisper. "I... I didn't know who he was. I just needed to breathe."

"Did he hurt you? Did he threaten you?" He blurted those questions fast while he scanned your smaller physique for any signs of injuries.

"No, we just talked, I didn't—"

Hoseok stared at you for a long moment before sighing and dragging a hand through his hair.

"You're not leaving my sight again."

You wanted to argue, but the words died on your tongue. The look in his eyes told you there would be no room for negotiation this time. You were not even sure whether you wanted to argue with him. Not after this.

"How come I don't know that Luen's revisited their feud with us?" You ask Hoseok the moment you step into his room. Or yours now. Can't seem to get used to saying that.

Hoseok shut the door behind him with a quiet click, his jaw tightening as he shed down his suit jacket and went to get rid of his dress shirt too.

"You weren't supposed to know," he said finally, his voice quieter now, but no less firm. "Because I handled it." Shirt down, point taken.

You scoffed, crossing your arms as you turned to face him. "Handled it? Right. And that's why that Luen—which disgusting brother was he again— had his hands on me"

His gaze darkened. "Jinsoo—"

Hoseok exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "The Luens made their first move a few months ago. Small things. Disrupting shipments, trying to flip some of our lower-level guys. I let them play their little games because I didn't think they had the balls to escalate." His eyes flicked to you, sharp and assessing.

"Clearly, I was wrong."

You swallowed, trying to ignore the way his words sent a shiver down your spine.

"Now we have to kill him, Hoseok—" Hoseok's eyes flickered, something unreadable flashing through them before he let out a low, humourless chuckle. You held your ground, ignoring the way your pulse spiked at the weight of his gaze.

"Why? What could you possibly tell him?" He knew you were not a rookie, and that whatever you revealed from now and then to anyone who's not in your inside circle, was an oblique and vague angle of events. This was non-negotiable. This clan did not even allow its members to have a doctor, therapist, lawyer, even fucking plumber outside of the ties this syndicate had.

And suddenly, the room felt smaller, the air tighter, the weight in your chest no longer just from adrenaline.

"Baby?" His sharp eyes flicked back to yours, his fingers still curled loosely under your chin.

"I'm sure it cannot be that bad, you've been taught well—"

Your breath hitched, your fingers tightening around the fabric of your sleeve.

"He might have figured it out—"

Hoseok's entire body went rigid. The silence that followed was deafening.

"Figure out what, love?" You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. Your pulse pounded, but you refused to look away.

You hesitated for a moment. You should have told him before.

You glanced at your engagement ring that was set under your new addition to your vast jewellery collection thanks to Hoseok— a wedding band. A matching gold one wrapped around his ring finger mocking you now. It was barely a month and half since you tied the knot.

You should have told him that day. Maybe that way he would now fall down to his knees and hug your below and murmur every single word that expressed gratefulness and admiration. This is what he wanted. But you were not sure if this is what you wanted, that’s why you gave yourself time to think how you want to do this. It takes people years to have this but God has chosen you. Or listened to Hoseok’s prayers. You can't seem to undo it now. It would not fly in this family. This was even more permanent than marriage in this clan.

And now, because of this little detail, Luen Jinsoo was as good as dead.

And now, the smile Hoseok flashed you with, told you everything you needed.

Of course he knew.

"I'm pregnant."

I N T E R L O G U E

The ceremony itself was something out of a dream, a carefully curated illusion of romance to mask the reality beneath.

Beneath the glinting chandeliers, the whispered toasts, and the weight of Hoseok's gaze as he slid the ring onto your finger, there was something else. And you were not sure what.

But once you were sitting on the closed lid of toilet in the bridal suite, wedding dress bunched around your thighs, clutching the piece of plastic in your french manicured nails, the room around you was suffocatingly silent, save for the faint echo of music filtering through the heavy doors.

The test in your hand made everything spin, the two pink lines staring back at you with finality. People were trying for months or even years and here God decided to bless you. Or Hoseok.

Too soon, it happened oddly soon. You should have bought another box. You should not get distracted but other things to forget about this. You thought you counted your ovulation correctly, you could have taken ovulation tests to ensure it won't happen. You could have done so many things to avoid this, but here you are with a new life under your heart.

A knock on the door made you jump.

"Baby?" Hoseok's voice was low, muffled through the wood but unmistakably laced with something—concern? Possessiveness? You couldn't tell.

"You okay?"

You swallowed, staring at your reflection in the mirror across from you. What interior designer would bask in your dismay when placing a wall-tall mirror right across the toilet? Your veil was still clipped into your hair, and your makeup was still perfect. But your eyes—your eyes—looked different now. Wiser. More terrified than they had ever been.

Another knock. More insistent this time.

"Y/N." His voice was sharper. "Open the door."

He was scared. Of course he was. Even though there is no way you could vanish, he was scared that you would change your mind, that you would flee the first chance you got. He was not stupid, he knew that you staying by his side was his choice but also yours. He would not underestimate what you can do. After all, you were you.

You exhaled shakily and forced yourself to move, tucking the test under the tissues in the bin like a terrible, wonderful secret, and you straightened the folds of your dress. Your hands trembled as you reached for the door handle and turned it.

Hoseok stood there, still in his wedding suit, tie loosened just enough to reveal the column of his throat. His dark eyes flickered over you, assessing, reading you the way he always did. His fingers twitched at his side like he wanted to reach for you but wasn't sure why you looked so shaken.

"What's wrong?" he asked, stepping closer, his warmth seeping into you. "Talk to me."

You opened your mouth. Hesitated.

"I think the shrimp cocktail was not a good appetizer."

©pennyellee. please do not repost

tag list: @iveivory - @tea4sykes - @btspurplesky - @hecateslittlewitchling - @fancypeacepersona - @bambii111 - @babygirlskz98

Don't be a silent reader, let's be friends chummers! ♥ 𖦹 ☼ ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ♡.

lots of love, p.

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mobonyc · 2 years ago

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hrrtshape · 20 days ago

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a guide on how to survive socialite nyc

hi. i'm emma. i shifted to my better current reality at seventeen where i live on the upper east side, my mom's a billionaire, my dad's kind of royalty-adjacent, and i'm the kind of girl who says "i have to study" but don't actually ever study.

someone asked me to make a survival guide for new york socialite culture, and i did. but now i'm rereading it and i think i accidentally wrote an exposé. i don't know what happened. i blacked out. i woke up and there were ten thousand words about the whitney board and custom-moulded ski boots and my fake boyfriend named marco. this was supposed to be gossip girl meets succession, and somehow it turned into joan didion gets eaten alive by her own cotillion class. i'm sick and i'm dying and please don't look at me.

anyway. take this as a guide. or a warning. or a cry for help. i'm definitely killing myself over this. ok bye.

section i . appearance

you're not trying to be beautiful. you're trying to be "correct-looking". you need to look like you live inside a fridge built by dior and lit by a tolomeo lamp. your skin should glow in the dark but in a non-radioactive, genetically superior sort of way. if you're doing it right, no one compliments you. they just say, "you look well." and that means something. it means you've been seen and passed inspection. not praised, not envied, confirmed.

hair colour : blondes get treated like family money. brunettes get mistaken for pr girls until proven otherwise. redheads (natural only) get suspected of being from somewhere interesting. the kind of interesting that means your grandmother maybe wore galliano and drank at indochine with madonna. dark roots are only acceptable if they've been there since easter brunch at the plaza. don't dye it platinum unless you're in the lvmh bloodline. don't balayage. don't ombré. don't do anything you saw on pinterest. your hair needs to look like it's been this way since you were four and your au pair gave you a haircut with gold scissors. the correct answer when someone asks what you do to it is "nothing really." your shampoo is unavailable in the u.s. and comes in an opaque bottle wrapped in brown paper from a pharmacy in geneva.

face : everyone is pretty. you need to look congenitally expensive. clean skin, no highlighter, not even for the birkin gala. your brows should not be threaded. they should just be like that. your lashes are never fake. your blush is from exhaustion, not makeup. your under-eyes are hollow from birth and elite suffering. use the drunk elephant moisturiser but put it in an avene bottle. no contour. no bright lip. your lipstick is the same shade as your tongue. your foundation is mixed by a dermatologist who doesn't believe in sunscreen. your beauty mark is real. your cheekbones are not filler, they're "genetic."

body : you don't need to be skinny. you need to look "expensively maintained". if your thighs touch but your pilates instructor knows your dog's name, you're fine. your arms are long. your back is straight. your posture is from equestrian camp, not yoga. you don't run. you get walked by your trainer. no muscle definition. no fake tan. you are vitamin d deficient in a $900 tennis skirt. your legs are bruised from skiing, not clumsiness. you own two pairs of trainers: one for walking, one for looking like you walk.

when to wear designer : never in a way that's obvious. your hermès should look inherited. your dior should be vintage (even if it's not). if you're wearing chanel, it better be archival and you better be with your grandmother. never wear logos unless they're ironic, and even then, only if your parents own property in provence. the only monogram allowed is stitched into the inside pocket. not even your driver should know you're rich. it should just be assumed. if it zips, it better have been tailored. if it buttons, it better be mother-of-pearl. if you wear a tee shirt, it should be hanro. if you wear sunglasses, they should be old céline. the only exception to the logo rule is a goyard tote with your initials. but only if it's filthy.

the optics :

looking rich = old money.

looking cultured = foundation grants.

looking interesting = childhood trauma + niche education + subtle jewellery.

ideally, you're all three.

but if you have to choose: go with cultured. rich is obvious. cultured is strategic. interesting is what gets you profiled in air mail. interesting is why the chair of the whitney board remembers your name. interesting is why you were asked to read at the pen america gala even though you don't write.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　┊

section i (and a half) . location

fifth avenue (upper east side only) : if you live above 60th and below 96th, you're in the golden rectangle. this is the museum mile stretch. your doorman will be asleep but he'll still remember your bat mitzvah dress. you don't take the subway from here, you exit the city. buildings here come with plaque-level pedigree. if your building has a name, not a number, you're already winning. your neighbour is on the board of the frick. the florist downstairs knows not to wrap in brown. this is where your mother did her christmas shopping at barneys before it closed. you get sent the new year's schedule for the philharmonic by name.

park avenue : if you say you live on park and don't clarify east 96th or south 30th, people will assume you mean the correct part: between 60th and 92nd. this is legacy socialite land. your grandfather had a secretary. your parents met at a squash match. you eat cottage cheese and pineapple for breakfast and call it wellness. everyone has the same doorman portrait from their childhood: red vest, gold buttons, white gloves, first name basis. your apartment is large but cold. rugs from sotheby's. kitchen never used. the smell of your building is bergamot and chlorine. no one wears shoes inside. you say things like "oh, i think she was in my cotillion class."

central park west : used to be weird. now it's "stable." it's the address you give when you don't want people to google your last name. you have taste. your parents are both remarried. the living room has a view of the reservoir and a de kooning. you own three dogs and a therapist. you've had dinner with a gallery owner. your friends' parents have all written memoirs. your friends' memoirs were published before age 25. this side of the park is for people who fund ballets but never attend them. your building has a doorman named larry. he has seen you through every era of your life. you still cry when you see him.

central park south : this is the purgatory between hedge fund dads and finance guys who think they're philosophers. your building is sleek. there's no dust. the fridge talks. you're new here. you're rich but (sadly) you're not trusted. your kitchen has smart lighting but no knives. people here drink negronis in blackout sunglasses and pretend to read the economist. there's no art on the walls because the interior designer said it would "overwhelm the space." you have an investment property in lisbon. your girlfriend's name is genevieve and she's "between agencies."

upper west side : sweet. proper. unchanging. your dad is in publishing. your mom is a therapist. your apartment has books on every surface. the hallway smells like antique wood and dog. your oven's broken. no one cares. the window sills are wide enough for your cat and your emotional crises. you still get bagels from h&h and take them to riverside to eat on a bench. you applied to columbia and got in. you didn't go. your clothes are unironed but made of cashmere. your rich is subconscious. there's a poster for the new group theatre on the door. your parents met at a rally. they still go to lectures.

upper east side : not to be classist but this is the final boss. not because it's hard to get in, but because once you're here, you never leave. you have a driver named salvador. you have a doorman who fought in a war. your mother has not cooked since 1987. you get your hair cut by a woman named giancarla who doesn't advertise. you were in cotillion. you have a junior board. you've had the same family lawyer since you were born. you've never written your own check. you think going downtown is "a treat." your friends live within a ten block radius and you all eat lunch at sant ambroeus pretending not to.

west village : this is curated bohemia. your mom's a sculptor and your dad used to be famous. your godparents are in theatre. your apartment smells like parchment and good weed. you still use a landline. you never use google maps. your life is full of corner bookstores and 18-year-olds from new jersey who think you're mythical. your floors creak. your cat has an agent. you've dated a writer. you've dated a painter. you've dated a waiter who told you he was a painter. you own records. not vinyl. records. this is where you say "i just grew up around artists" like you didn't go to dalton.

downtown (tribeca, soho, nolita, chinatown, etc) : this is status coded in reverse. you pretend not to care while spending twelve grand a month. you have an ice bath. you wear jnco jeans and a $500 shirt. you've been to art basel but not for art. you own one suit and it's margiela. your idea of a splurge is a $90 candle. your building used to be a button factory. now it has a pool on the roof. you don't talk to your neighbours. one of them is a dj. another is a war criminal's daughter. everyone has an aura. yours is grey. your therapist told you that means grounded. your girlfriend sells resin art. your boyfriend is in berlin.

brooklyn : ONLY carroll gardens. only if inherited. only if your grandmother still lives upstairs. otherwise, you're pretending. the people here have opinions about olive oil and four kinds of salt. you use a tote bag your friend screen printed. you only go into manhattan for doctor's appointments or your godchild's choir recital. your rent is fake. your clothes are all wool. your wine is always open. if you have a backyard, you're a demigod. you have friends who've moved upstate. you judge them. you get coffee from the same man every day and he calls you miss. he doesn't know your name, for som reason that's how you like it.

the real secret : co-ops. you want a board. you want restrictions. you want to have to know someone to get in. if your building has a concierge, you're either french or new here. if you live in brooklyn, it must be carroll gardens, and it must be inherited. if you rent, lie. say it's your godmother's pied-à-terre. say she's an editor at large for t: the new york times style magazine. say it was passed down through divorce, not death.

what your building says about you :

740 park = you were born in the wrong one but with the right lawyers.

one beacon court = you're nouveau riche but hiding it well.

15 central park west = your parents are on the board of the met.

any new development with "tower" in the name = leave. go back to miami.

the elevator should be brass. the lobby should be beige. the staff should have known you since you were small enough to be carried in a burberry baby sling. the security guard should call your mother "ma'am" and you "honey."

floor plan flags :

pre-war = elite.

post-war = insurance money.

floor-through = fine.

duplex = trust fund.

maisonette = you're weirdly connected and possibly european.

penthouse = new money but trying.

anything with "open concept" = west coast interloper.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　┊

section ii . routine

you are never busy. you are booked. your calendar includes lunch with your father, your mother, art auctions, pilates at reform club, and a three-hour window to wander madison in silence. your days are carved into ritual: the same cashmere sweater, the same black coffee, the same twenty minutes sitting in the lobby of the carlyle pretending to wait for someone. you own a franklin calendar. you own a montblanc pen. you never ask for wifi. you already know the password.

before 8am : your macrobiotic chef makes you a green juice. you only drink half. your vitamins come in sachets from a doctor who doesn't advertise. you read the ft weekend in your mom's bathrobe. you do pilates in your mother's solarium. your skincare is nine steps and none of them are from sephora. you take calls on speakerphone in the bath. your toothbrush is swiss. your towels have your initials. you journal. you write thank-you cards. you reply to three emails. one of them is from your trust administrator.

after 8pm : dinner at casa cruz or omakase at masa (only if you're being courted). otherwise . . . late drinks at bemelmans. your table is the one in the corner, under the portrait of ludwig bemelmans' dog. if it's taken, you leave. you are not on the list at cathédrale. you don't want to be. you don't go to equinox. your gym has no signage. your doorman calls the elevator for you. you own pyjamas with piping. they are ironed. you read on a chaise. you only wear cotton at home. you answer no calls after 9 unless it's from your mother or your lawyer.

where you never go :

equinox

any place with a prix fixe menu and instagram account

any rooftop without a legacy donor

restaurants with tiktok in the reviews

dumbo

the whitney gift shop

times square (unless your cousin is in a broadway revival)

the standard

jack's wife freda

any café with neon signage

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　┊

section iii . networking

school : i had scripted in my own private school, st lazarus, but you can go to chapin. or spence. or brearley. if you don't, you don't bring it up. your mom tried to get you into dalton but your father said no because of the art teacher scandal in 2012. your friends are legacy kids. your enemies are legacy kids. your ex-boyfriend is a legacy kid who got into harvard by playing squash and writing an essay on cicero. you've known each other since that nursery in the carlyle. you've all taken a photo on the met steps. you've all blacked out at the same house in east hampton. you've all cried in the same powder room at the four seasons.

you only socialise across schools when you're forced to. you pretend not to know who got into yale or harvard or oxford early. you've cried at the nypl. you've been grounded for getting caught sneaking out of a deb ball. you went to model un once. it wasn't for you but you think your boyfriend is about to take over and become a dictator. your notes app has two kinds of people: those who sat next to you at cello recitals, and those who married your godfather.

trust fund friend groups : you know the difference between old money (soft voice, bad jeans, two homes in nantucket) and new money (veneers, cashmere joggers, the words "start-up"). the trick is to be old money in temperament but new money in liquidity. you summer in sagaponack but you winter in switzerland. you know when to split the bill and when to pretend not to see it. your group chat is called something obscure. there is always someone in it who's a kennedy cousin. one of them tried to kiss you at ski camp. your best friend's trust is bigger than yours. you've never spoken about it.

legacy circles : talk about horses, not brands. never correct someone on pronunciation unless they say "hermès" like it's a venereal disease. don't name-drop unless it's a baroness. remember who summered in sardinia vs. st. barths. know which parents got indicted. know which parents bought the judge. always act bored by scandal. always pretend your parents are normal. always say "oh i think we met at the greco-roman exhibit" even if you didn't. never bring up college unless it's to say you left.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　┊

section iv . reputation

rich girls are on the list. wealthy girls own the building. important girls don't explain. they're just known. you are not a brand. you are a rumour. you are the girl who cried during the metropolitan opera but not at your own party. you are known because you never speak on important matters online. your last tagged photo was three months ago and you were holding a cigarette and a copy of the golden notebook. it was taken by someone who's now at columbia for film. you left the party before midnight. you didn't say goodbye.

you are trusted because you don't post on tiktok that has below 500k followers. you are invited because you don't ask. your last scandal wasn't even public. you've ghosted every publication that tried to profile you. you said no to vogue. you said no to tavi. you said yes to nothing.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　┊

section v . dating

first rule : date like there's a will being written.

second rule : most of the time, don't date at all. it's embarrassing. it's traceable. it's how scandals start.

there's a difference between a real boyfriend and a power arrangement. a real boyfriend carries your bag and makes fun of your therapist and remembers your cat's birthday. a power arrangement is when you date a venture capital heir so your dad can get invited to that investor dinner in geneva. you know the one. the one with the truffle risotto and the private quartet.

finance bros : acceptable between the ages of 17 and 19. don't make my mistake and date a non-homicidal-patrick-bateman-guy. don't even think about it. they must be reformed. they must be family-adjacent. they must be afraid of your mother. goldman > evercore > lazard. no citadel boys. no softbank freaks. you can date someone who did a summer at bridgewater, but only if he cried about it later.

art boys : fine in theory. dangerous in execution. he must not be trying. he must have inherited his gallerist grandmother's house in tribeca and only show in basements. if he says the word "residency" and means it sincerely, RUN. if he was at your cousin's RISD graduation in 2021, he's fair game.

older men : proceed carefully. he must be already-divorced. he must be the one who offers you a ride and never the one who asks for one. he can call you "kid" but only if you once made him cry during a backgammon game in east hampton. you must have a point of exit, a fake emergency contact, and a backup dinner invite ready. if you end up in air mail or curbed, you did it wrong and in less than three years he will be cheating on you .

( and . . . ) how to date someone older without becoming a story : never be alone with him two nights in a row. always say you're "not looking for anything serious." never show up in a dress you wore in high school. and when he tries to show you his collection of rothkos, ask if he's ever read any female authors who weren't in his divorce deposition. don't be his publicist. don't be his therapist. don't be his pr plan.

how to reject an heir without it becoming a scandal : smile. say you're flattered. say your schedule's a mess right now. say you're seeing someone in geneva (you're not). if he pushes, invoke your mother. say she's very protective and doesn't approve of his politics. if he still pushes, leak his trust size to the girl who runs the party list at the standard.

timing :

never date in spring (too many engagements)

never date in september (school chaos)

never date during tax season (obvious)

only date in november if you're ready to spend christmas at his family estate in montauk

only date in summer if you've already been to his family's place in capri and didn't find anything weird in the guesthouse

first date script :

no alcohol unless you know where it was sourced

always pretend you're allergic to something obscure

order the second most expensive thing on the menu

ask him what his family's position on offshore accounts is

leave before dessert

if he survives, you may text back.

boyfriend hierarchy :

real boyfriend (emotional support, security detail, hot)

soft-launch boyfriend (for optics only, must be good at standing near you)

trial heir (wealthy but mid)

scandal buffer (older, boring, strategic)

ghosted ex who still keeps you on his private flight list

and finally : if he doesn't know your favourite book, your mother's maiden name, and your preferred florist, he's not your boyfriend. he's a liability. date accordingly.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　┊

section vi . travelling

there's a way to go. and there's a way to leave. you never go. you're leaving. very different verbs. no one should know where until you've already landed. no itinerary posts. no time stamps. just a quiet flick of the wrist and the next thing they hear, you're in geneva and your hair's doing something new. it always does something new when you're in geneva.

teterboro if you have the car. jfk if you have the mood stabilisers. laguardia if you lost a bet. commercial or charter. it doesn't matter as long as you behave like your father's plane was just in maintenance and you're coping. you do not complain. you gesture vaguely. you don't take photos in the lounge. you don't say "priority boarding." your phone is already on airplane mode. your driver put your bag through security. you're holding a black coffee and a boarding pass tucked into an envelope from le sirenuse. you forgot your charger. you remembered your eyebrow serum. you don't sleep on flights. you pretend you don't know how.

airport outfit :

cashmere jumper. the same one you wore to your eighth birthday. still fits. still smells like almond soap. or a bit like your mum's perfume when she used to hug you goodbye.

cream trousers. lint rolled. slight stain from pistachio gelato in venice. you don't notice. or care. you only notice if someone else tries to comment.

rimowa carry-on. no stickers. only initials. silver. dented. ancient. perfect. it's been with you since ibiza 2016 and it holds grudges.

passport cover is leather. no logos. no pink. initials or nothing. it was a christmas gift from someone who now only communicates via monaco lawyers. you've started keeping a pressed flower inside it.

headphones are big. they don't even connect to your phone anymore. you carry a dongle. your driver hates the dongle. you lost one of the earpads and found it in your mother's glove compartment. they creak when you adjust them. they're a personality trait now.

optional add-ons :

box of clementines for the plane (you eat none), but you drink a lot

tiny stuffed animal that lives in the front pocket (you do not explain it)

old envelope with customs forms you never filled out

prescription sunglasses that only work in theory

hotel slippers you keep stealing "by accident"

inside the rimowa :

three paperbacks. one by simone weil. one by joan didion. one you never actually read. sometimes it's the ethics of ambiguity, sometimes it's franny and zooey, sometimes it's a paperback copy of the bell jar with your notes in red pen. one of them is in italian. you don't speak italian.

an extra white shirt. a pharmacy bag from france. a lint roller you don't use. travel candles you got as a gift and pretend to hate. your skincare fits in a pouch labelled "derm." eye mask from a spa you didn't enjoy. your mother's pearl earrings in a sock. an open pack of gum you've had since zurich. emergency earrings. letters you never sent.

summers :

sagaponack = you call it "the house." not "the hamptons." not "our place." it's the house. the lawn is mowed by someone you've known since you were five. your bedroom still has the wallpaper you picked in 2009. the shower smells like aveda. you bring two friends. you forget one of them on the ferry. someone's cousin always shows up with a guitar. you steal peaches from the kitchen and eat them standing over the sink. someone brings up boarding school. someone cries in the linen closet. someone's mother flies in from stockholm and gets mad you used her shampoo.

capri = your godmother lives there. your mum has a chair on the piazzetta. the boat is moored in the wrong spot and you know it because the neighbours texted. you eat fruit with a knife. you tan on stone. you call the waiter by name. your sandals are leather and broken. you get a rash from the hotel's pool towels and blame climate change. the lemons are too big. the espresso is always burnt. you fall in love with a waiter named marco who disappears the next morning. your mom pretends not to notice. you write down his name on the back of a postcard and forget which book you hid it in.

east hampton = acceptable only if your grandparents bought before 1980 or your cousin is on the zoning board. otherwise no.

montauk = only if you inherited a property with a bad roof and a wine cellar. or you're having a crisis and need to be ignored.

south of france = acceptable. avoid cannes unless you're on a yacht or being paid. you stay in provence, not antibes. you bring books and forget sunscreen. your uncle knows the vineyard owners.

italy = always a yes but never rome in june unless you're doing latin summer at the vatican or on some kind of bureaucratic punishment. florence if your brother is with you. venice if you're meeting someone's parents. sardinia if your friend's dad is on a boat.

winters :

switzerland = you ski. obviously. your boots were custom-moulded in geneva. you complain about the snow. you throw up at altitude. you do après in your ski trousers because your legs are too sore to change. your mother buys a painting you hate. your brother drinks half a bottle of grappa. someone cries in the sauna. it's never you. your instructor is mean and british and calls you “miss” and you have a crush on him for three years. you pretend not to know how to put your gloves on. you get a nosebleed. you flirt while bleeding. you fall asleep next to a fireplace that doesn't work.

maldives = your father booked it. you weren't consulted. the villa has no wifi. you reread death in venice. you cry because you got too tan. you take pictures you don't post. the staff speak four languages. you pretend to speak five. you get bored. you tan again. you find a crab and name it after your boyfriend. you order room service and pretend it's a tasting menu. you fall asleep during a massage and wake up alone and confused and covered in oil. you swim in the rain. it's freezing. you pretend it's not. you write a poem in your notes app and delete it the next morning. your mother asks if you're okay. you say you're cold. she gives you her scarf.

austria = underrated. real power girls know how to ski and speak german. you go for christmas, say you're visiting your cousin, come back with a new necklace and a changed perspective on the monarchy.

the bahamas = only if it's someone else's island. it doesn't count if you paid for the villa. must be family-invited or romantically-involved. you can only post photos from the plane.

los angeles = no. never. not even for premieres. if you must go, tell people it was layover-induced.

spring and fall :

japan = if you've got art world parents or you're visiting someone who's getting married in kyoto. no cherry blossom photos. no public commentary on sushi.

berlin = you pretend you hate it. you secretly love it.

morocco = if your aunt is weird and rich and doing her doctorate on colonial textiles. you bring too many skirts. you forget to charge your kindle. you have mint tea and say you needed this.

oxford = if your older brother is graduating or if you've just gotten over someone named milo. you wander into blackwell's and pretend not to care. you buy four books you won't read.

paris = only if you're registered for something. a language program. a dance intensive. an unpaid internship your mother arranged. not for fun. for improvement.

barcelona = because we love barcelona.

back to the city by october. you don't miss halloween. or midterms.

how to behave in other countries :

be polite. be bored. be quiet.

never speak more than three words of the local language unless you're fluent.

tip in cash. smile with your teeth. never say thank you too much. looks weird.

buy one souvenir. it must be heavy and inconvenient. your dad must sigh when he sees it.

no guidebooks. you do not read tripadvisor. you text your auntie who once dated warhol and ask for the name of her favourite trattoria in milan. she replies with a fax number. you go anyway. it's closed. you end up at a restaurant that doesn't have a name, just a doorbell. you eat alone. it's incredible. you say nothing about it online. you keep the receipt. you tape it into your notebook. you show no one.

bonus behaviours :

be a mystery. leave before the bill. carry receipts in other currencies. pretend your tan is genetic.

tell customs you were visiting family even if you weren't.

lie about your return date.

pack snacks you never eat.

send one postcard and never mail it.

pretend not to know the timezone. check the time every ten minutes anyway.

key principle : you can go anywhere, but you don't arrive. you're simply present. for now. the trick isn't leaving. it's acting like you never did. you went somewhere, but you never went away.......you know what i mean? anyways ok bye

325 notes · View notes

kanmom51 · 2 years ago

Text

JK live 23 September 2023 (NYC)

20:11 or 8:11 pm EST

cr./to the creators of the media used in this post.

24 September 2023 9:11 am KST.

Coincidence? Starting the live at 8:11? I think not.

And not the first time he goes live at that time either.

So yeah, JK came live at 8:11 and ended the live at 13:23 minutes.

13 again? Coincidence again? Given that he said his goodbyes at around the 12 minute mark and then waited (?) for it to reach 13? Maybe. Fact is it did.

OMG, he opens up the live like this:

He's so damn adorable.

And it's a Bratz lip gloss, lol.

How can you not love him?

Anyway, JK starts the live saying long time no see and with talk about 3D coming out on the 29th. He tells us how it was his idea to add the clip at the end of the GCF performance, but someone ruined the surprise by running it during the rehearsals, which they obviously weren't supposed to. Oopsy. Spoiler king was spoilered. Lol.

He is a little fidgety, feels like he's doing the live cause he needs to, rather than really wants to... just a feeling I had.

JK says that as much as he was busy he actually did have time to come to us live, but, and this is where JK has decided to place the boundaries that he himself kind of tore down just a little while ago - he talks about there having to be a push and pull, but I guess he realised, perhaps with some help from others, that tearing down those walls between himself and us has also created an expectation from some fans for more, too much. Also, there needs to be some mystery (he was probably told) and leave the fans with a want for more...

I don't think this is the end of the JK we came to know and love the past few months, but I do think that he is trying to re-assess and set some boundaries between the artist that he is and us as fans.

And truthfully, let's be real here for a sec. Us, the fans, we were kind of a filler in. When the real thing is there, and the time to enlistment is getting shorter and shorter, and there is a choice between the two, who do you think he will choose? A 3 hour live with us or a sleepover with JM? I really don't think the choice is such a difficult one. Do you?

JK asks how the performance was. Hasn't monitored it yet (oh, and believe me when he does he's going to be hard on himself). And yet, even though he heard from fans they liked it, he feels he did better at rehearsal. Says it's a jynx. On the day of the performance his throat got dried up. It's called anxiety or nerves JK. If only there was someone there with him to calm those nerves...

And before you come at me, yes. I do feel he was anxious. He was a little closed up and distant as well. The enormity of it. The having to speak English. The being there ALONE. There were these little moments of disconnect during the performance. Maybe if he would have started his set with the more lively songs it would have helped, but if only there was someone there to support him and calm him, that dryness in the throat he talks about... yeah, non existent. My opinion. Fight me.

Then Jin shows up in the comment.

I mentioned that it felt like he did the live because he had to (after the performance and the 3D teasers dropping). Jin showing up in the comments, his reaction, felt like relief in a sense. He was really happy.

He saw one of the members commented, went in to see who it was and was really happy to see him.

The whole interaction between them was so older and younger brother, lol.

Jin with the "stop touching your hair", the whole call me convo (JK saying the times aren't lining up him being overseas and Jin answering with him texting Jhope 300 messages a day, as in "you ass, you can always send me a message instead", lol).

Watch the interaction here:

youtube

What did I take from the interaction with Jin?

First of all, that JK was really happy to see him. Not JM level happy, of course, but really happy. Do I say what I'm thinking? About members showing up in his comments and his reaction to them? Nah. In this instance I will take the fifth.

Second, we get it straight out of the horses mouth: JK is enlisting soon. Not like we didn't know it already. Like seriously. But there are those, solos mainly, that seem to still think that JK won't be enlisting with the others. Well, JK made it abundantly clear in that conversation that he's definitely enlisting and it's happening soon. It's the "I'll be joining that party soon" (as in the Jin and Jhope army party) and it's in the "you'll be out while we're still in so take care of Army until we're done" whole convo as well.

Anyway, you gotta love Jin.

Moving on.

JK tells us that 3D is different from Seven - and to look forward to it.

Wanted to thank army that came to the concert, thank K army for taking the time and supporting him.

29th September is Choseok. JK says the reason the song is released that day is he thinks we will like it more. Ok, yeah. Not the tight schedule and looming enlistment. Well, he does hint about it. Starting up about the reason it's hurried, and why he's been in a hurry, but leaves it up to our imagination. I guess we know, right? If they want to be back by mid 2025 enlistment needs to happen by at the latest start of 2024. And in the little time left he has the single and an album to release. And my guess is there is more too. Some set for before enlistment, some set to land while they are away. JM and him.

He asks "what's after this? what is it?" laughingly answering "your curious, right?"

"What is it? I am really looking forward to it." he says cheekily.

Then he says he's working hard in preparing something for us.

And then he looks down and finds the exact comment he wants to answer:

The Weverse translation is a little different.

The gist is the same.

We have JK recognizing a JM comment and answering it specifically. And I say specifically because there were PLENTY of Tae comments in his live. Layover, Tae, Slow dance, screaming at him to just say a god damn thing about Tae's album or releases. But our man, he stood fast, lol.

And don't get me wrong, I don't think he doesn't support Tae or want him to succeed. He's his bandmate and friend. But you know what he ain't, is his boyfriend. That is the one and only Mr. Park Jimin. So, it's not that JK doesn't care, it's that Tae just ain't on his mind. Wasn't it Tae that used to say, repeatedly, that JK just ignores him? Lol. But even if Tae isn't on his mind, the comments, they can definitley serve as a fucking annoying reminder. Which JK chooses very loudly to ignore. And making a statement of sorts while doing so, by reacting, out of all of those comments, to the one relating to JM.

That's what I call a big ass JK FUCK YOU to the cult.

Anyway, we were talking about JK's reaction. And when you talk about reactions you look not only at the verbal but also the body language.

The way he leans in to read the comment once he recognizes it's about JM.

The way he does that head tilt when talking about JM's dancing.

The neck crack.

The hand gesture.

Let's talk about the hand gesture for a second here.

Man knows the choreography. That hand gesture was him doing part of the choreo. Muscle memory. And his eyes and facial expression.

Also, have a look at this:

Ok, so it is funny how JK knew JM posted to IG and watched it as well... You know, considering the man told us he not only deleted his own IG account but deleted the app from his phone all together...

Thing is man monitors SM. We know that!! You think he wouldn't have seen it on Twitter? Or TikTok? JM's dance is all over the place. So yeah, my initial thought was: hey, how did he see it without an IG account? But then, you know, when common sense took over, I realised he could have seen it ANYWHERE. We know he monitors. We assume he monitors JM and Jikook accounts. He would have seen it either way.

But in any case, as I mentioned, this wouldn't have been the first and only time he has seen this choreo or dance.

JK continues to tell us he's going out for diner with staff. A good reason indeed to end the live (that like I said, he wasn't in the feels for).

And continues telling us to be curious.

Didn't someone tell him curiosity killed the cat?

At the end of the live JK makes us know he's monitoring SM (like I said before, something we already knew). He knows what fans are saying. He talks about the good. And he is thankful for those kind words.

But he also sees the bad. We know it!!

Ooh, btw, do we talk about that ring JK was wearing?

This is the second time around we have him wearing this kind of ring.

Interesting.

So to sum it up:

In those 13 minutes and a bit of his live, he mostly spoke about the performance, 3D coming out, talked to Jin in the comments and answered the comment that happened to be about JM.

I guess that wraps it up.

#Jungkook #JK #JK live #JK Weverse live #JK 3D #Jikook #kookmin #Minkook #Jimin #JM

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jess-moloney · 22 days ago

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Who Is Funding Jess Moloney's Lifestyle?

[Original Post: Josey Lemons || 12/04/2023]

I can’t figure out what it is that Jess does that she is also making money to sustain her lifestyle.

She has to spend thousands of dollars to upkeep her face thanks to the cosmetic surgery she’s gotten. She definitely gets cheek fillers and she would also have to keep getting fillers for her lips.

Look at her cheeks here. This isn’t natural or normal. This is a sign of filler. You can look at her cheeks in lots of photos and see that it bulges abnormally under her eyes.

On top of that, she is somehow affording:

The ability to renew a business license for at least one business (Jess Moloney Management) and office space.

If you look at public records you can actually see that she’s lost money between 2021 and 2022. Which means that she’s lost work/clients/any number of things. This isn’t a woman who is running a thriving business whatsoever. This is also net assets so it wouldn’t be cash in the bank. Still, this indicates she’s not making a lot of money on this business anyway she’s probably putting more into it than she is making a profit out of it.

You can also see she’s changed the address of the office several times over the years starting from more expensive locations to less expensive ones. This business is not operating at a profit it’s operating at a loss. Someone with a thriving career and client list wouldn’t be having profits go down.

I also, for the life of me, cannot find a physical address or location for Ice Studios. There seems to be one, somewhere, as they do promote it as a place/building where Renell takes their photos but it also doesn’t seem to exist. Any business address I can find for Ice Studios goes back to the management company that filed for the business (and is not Ice Studios it’s their offices). I can find a very old filing address for Ice Studios years ago but it’s for a house in Brooklyn and I’m assuming where Renell lived when the business was first filed.

Since the house is not available I would assume that Renell still lives in that location (it’s estimated to be worth half a million dollars) but does she run the studio out of her house? Is there an office location? Why doesn’t this business have an office location when there seems to be a studio somewhere where photos are being taken? That also doesn’t make any sense. Not all businesses need to have an office location, some can be run out of the home, but since Renell is clearly taking photos somewhere and there is a business called Ice Studios (with that word in the name) you would have to assume there is a photo studio location and/or filming (since they seem to produce videos as well).

Still, all of these things cost money, and it does seem that the place that Jess currently has listed as her office (for Moloney Management) has residential/living space. Though I can’t get the exact price on that address, the surrounding space for sale is listed as £684,000 - £756,000. If she didn’t outright buy a house/space there she’s certainly paying rent of some sort and it’s not going to be a low number. Nor is it going to be low if there’s a studio space in NYC and she has to pay at least %50 of it because she’s %50 owner of Ice Studios.

With all of this evidence that her own business is operating at a loss and there’s little to no evidence that Ice Studios makes any sort of profit on anything….how is she affording any of this stuff without:

A massive trust fund that she has for some reason

Scamming people out of money and getting them to “invest” in her “business”

Taking Jamie’s money and/or making him pay her for “management services”

Subletting office space/residential space since she clearly doesn’t use it (but not legally since her name is still listed as owning that space/house)

A combination of these things

I’m very confused as to what she does as a job that justifies her keeping this business open and running, out of England of all places (with a residential space that she could potentially live in) when she’s basically never in England and when/if she is, it’s with Jamie and for short periods. We never see her in this office/house. We never see her at Ice Studios or Renell’s house (I guess one could assume that Renell operates her studio out of her house but it’s a small house so I would be surprised). None of this makes any sense. What exactly is her source of income that she can also continue to run these businesses and live this lifestyle when by all accounts she doesn’t even have a job?

#jess moloney #jamie bower #jamie campbell bower #Josey Lemons Throwback

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antagonizedjordan · 2 months ago

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Staving Off Nihilistic Defeat: April 18, 2025

I’m alone at Thai Long-An – a gem, a haven.

A wonder of a woman walks in, magnificent and loud with her booming energy. A decorated gambler hat tilts forward, barely concealing a gorgeous homage to 80s makeup. Creases and lip filler meet bright eyes, warm and genuine.

She’s stunning.

“Oh, wait!” She runs to the kitchen window past the register and adds pumpkin to her dish (she caught the blackboard's special only after ordering). The owner knows this woman; she laughs loudly from the back and waves her away.

I forget how we start talking, but she uses a question about the menu to come closer and stand at my table.

We find our way naturally and quickly to her history – she grew up in the Bronx, deeply addicted to heroin. “A crazy fucking junkie,” she says. She got clean, went north, raised two stepsons, returned to NYC, relapsed, and then landed here in PHX, once again clean. I share about losing my uncle to drugs. “Well, AIDS,” I add at the end.

She lunges forward and words pour. This is a world she knows intimately. She was there, living through the thick of tragedy.

She talks of her time in 80’s NYC, a junkie, watching first the gay community, then her own, die all around her without any understanding of how, of why.

She looks out the window and sees a patch of fake grass.

“I was at this psych ward,” she starts, eyes locked out the window. “And however depressing you think it was, it was worse. People walking down the halls, life gone…” Her eyes are back to me as she animates the walk.

She points at the grass. “And the walls, god the walls – they were this awful, putrid green, like that." There’s disgust in the gesture.

“A few rooms down, there was a trans woman. She was so beautiful, so tall.” Her tone has shifted to reverence; her words have slowed down. “So, so skinny – I mean, she weighed nothing. She was dying, you know?” ... “I would walk over to her room every day, every single day, and I’d put all these beautiful magazine clippings on her wall, you know, to block the green.” There’s magic in her voice; her arms are in the air, gesturing to the walls she so clearly sees in this moment, crystalline even decades later.

Her throat starts restricting, I can hear it. We’re both feeling the burn of tears to come.

“And I’d go over and, I’d do her makeup, and – ”

She’s smiling, tears welled.

“ – And then, one day, I went to her room and it was empty and it was just – ”

She doesn’t finish the sentence, the words seemingly stolen. She’s looking down, and I can feel her upper body's urge to curl forward on her arms.

We both exist, suspended in that moment.

She shakes her head and wipes her eyes, words back to their original quick pace.

“I lost so many people I loved to that shit.”

She shakes again.

She smiles at me, her memories moving back from the forefront, their weight less outwardly visible.

We hug for a long time.

Her takeout is ready. She tips her hat at me.

She’s gone.

Human connection. Empathy. Love, to Grief, to Love. This world holds magnificent depth and infinite memory. She holds irreconcilable pain alongside unyielding hope. Immeasurable joy expanded to encompass inconceivable loss.

As parts of this world, our stories are necessary. Interactions like this were always, and remain now, a vital antidote.

Through this exchange, I now know these two women. I have in my chest a connection to a point in history – a moment on the timeline that witnessed magazine clippings and makeup in a psych ward with death at a bedside.

Reading this, now too do you.

You know these women existed. You know of this moment they shared.

Which means you also feel the consequence of conservative administration policies (with cultural apathy-turned-violence) that declared through public silence the anguish and death of entire communities ignorable.

This is happening now. On both a micro and macro scale, minority communities are being ripped to shreds through policy. So many of us are silent.

Apathy is violence.

Not knowing a trans woman, not knowing a drag queen, not knowing an immigrant – it shouldn’t matter. Your empathy should be able to expand beyond what you intimately know.

We look back at the AIDS epidemic and see the destruction for what it was: an apathy rooted in fear, rooted in ignorance, rooted in hate. Violence through policies of inaction that were, in actuality, very active in their destruction and cultural influence.

We can do better this time around. We can fight back and support the minority communities targeted by our government’s policies. We can reject apathy as families are torn apart. As lives are ended.

This terror is happening. History will name it aptly.

Resist the impulse to give up. Resist the impulse to look the other way. Place empathy at your forefront.

Keep telling stories. Keep sharing memories. The way to survive this is through human connection. The atrocities of the AIDS epidemic then, and the atrocities against trans communities today, against immigrant families, against disabled communities (hello RFK’s speech on autism yesterday), seem less atrocious if the victims are dehumanized.

Recognize the dehumanization our government is demanding of you. Recognize and with righteous anger, reject it.

Humanity. Humanity humanity humanity.

Hold humanity, and we will survive this.

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storkmuffin · 22 days ago

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pointing out plastic surgery in a group is usually "anti" behavior, like fans of another group criticizing ateez (for example) by saying stuff like "they're not NATURALLY beautiful, they got surgery!" as a way to diminish their visuals, make their beauty less "valid"

and it's usually followed by some statement about how their ult group is better, more beautiful, less "fake" than yours

that's why my first instinctual reaction is irritation lol

because generally it's hard to tell if the person had good intentions (which they did!) or were just being a sneaky hater

i was like, here we go again 🙄

i said that cosmetic surgery seems super common in korea because in the 4 years i've lived there i've seen it advertised everywhere, on the subway, on planes, on tv, on buildings, on cars/buses/trains

in the west it does not happen to the same extent. people tend to hide their cosmetic procedures while is sk it's very normalized

as another anon said (it wasn't me) in korea it's very common for teens to get cosmetic surgeries as birthday presents

as a spanish tutor i've also seen many of my students get a little tweak (or a major one) after good test results or at the end of the school year

one of my students got their ears reshaped at 12 and not for medical reasons (the parents were super open and matter of fact about it)

(though of course it depends on where you teach, my students were generally from upper middle class families)

i thought this was common knowledge so i didn't think much about it when i said that, but now i'm wondering if this is a relatively new development since you didn't notice?

and how much kpop/the entertainment industry influenced that in the past few years

Ah, thank you for explaining about the anti fan thing. That sort of engagement with anything seems like the mark of a deeply stupid person with too much privilege and time on their hands, but I guess there are worse ways to waste one's life. Shrug.

This idea that someone who didn't 'need' plastic surgery being superior to someone who did need it seems deeply dehumanizing to me. It doesn't stand up to scrutiny. Were they going to breed this person like a purebreed dog or something? Were they hoping the 'naturally' beautiful person would donate their sperm or eggs to a breeding project? It's fucking creepy for 'born this way' to be a factor at all.

As for advertisement and openness about the availability of plastic surgery etc. I just see this as Koreans being more forthright and pragmatic about certain things than many other cultures. We don't tell silly lies about how 'everyone is beautiful.' We don't pretend pretty privilege doesn't exist. There's a lack of artifice and pretense about certain things in Korean culture that I think throws the hypocrisy of other cultures into high relief, and the frankness and bluntness about plastic surgery happens to be one of them.

What I'm faced with then is the fact that a lot of English speakers don't use their one and only language very well, and can't think in nuanced ways either. Koreans more openly discuss and permit advertising of plastic surgery. This is true. And moreover, when something is profitable, Koreans often exhibit a great enterprising spirit. So when you go to Apkujong, you see hordes of bandaged up foreigners who came to get their plastic surgery in Korea.

You kind of hit the nail on the head - other cultures lie about their plastic surgery. We don't.

I've seen so many white women in NYC with lip fillers, false eye lashes glued on, hair extensions woven in, and breast implants. I really don't see a qualitative or quantitative difference between doing all that on a monthly basis and getting one time plastic surgery to fix your ears that stick out in an unflattering way. And it's not actually a Korean thing for me to think this.

This guy who is a white American plastic surgeon and has an approach that I think is quite sensible.

#this is the last time i discuss this question bc it's one of those borderline bad faith questions about koreans that get asked a lot #i just see it as western hypocrisy about appearance that we blow wide open #i like our honesty better

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chillingwithtavesss · 8 months ago

Note

I'm gonna say that Kaia is the one who started all this speculation back in May with that People Magazine article.

I really never paid attention to Austin's personal life until that point. I was always hot and cold with him and Kaia. In some moments they seemed cute together. More of in the sense of two good looking people looked good together. But on the other hand, I was cold on them because as a couple something didn't seem right. No substance between them.

They seemed ok together during the Dune part 2 era and even before the Met Gala, they were at least somewhat affectionate still. Then those pictures of them looking miserable in NYC came out in late May. It caught a lot of people's attention. Kaia had changed her whole look up by then (darker hair, extensions, lip filler, losing extreme amount of weight). But they looked like they couldn't stand each other.

Then People Magazine comes out with this statement that "They are still going strong and still in love"...um those pictures didn't display any of that. In fact, other than denying the engagement rumors no one really cared enough about these two to warrant any statements like this. That article in People came out of nowhere. No one was asking. But also, when you have to put statements out there like that, usually means something is going on. It was Kaia's team who gave the statement. For me, that's when I really started to see all this talk of their relationship begin to take over.

Austin's team responded that things in fact we not actually good. It's the same statement put out just a few weeks ago. Throw in Austin's shady likes on Instagram towards Kaia....things are not good. At least on his end.

So much other stuff has happened between May and October. I don't need to go into detail, we all know. But Kaia once again brought attention to the status of her relationship with that shady book quote on Instagram. Then being all over another man in public.

Only now has she done damage control because no one actually believes these two are genuine. The fact 6 months later, Austin still looks miserable. And his team is still saying the same thing that they said in May, that he's over her.

I can't see these two lasting much longer.

The relationship is a joke and always will be . Nothing can convince me otherwise

#ausssbutlershortstories

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trendingallblogs · 6 months ago

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What Are Dermal Fillers Used For?

Dermal fillers are versatile cosmetic treatments designed to restore volume, smooth wrinkles, and enhance facial contours. Made from biocompatible substances like hyaluronic acid or poly-L-lactic acid, dermal fillers are injected beneath the skin to target specific concerns. They are widely used to rejuvenate the face, creating a more youthful and refreshed appearance.

One of the primary uses of dermal fillers is to reduce the appearance of fine lines and wrinkles, such as nasolabial folds (smile lines) and marionette lines. By filling these areas, dermal fillers restore lost volume and smooth out creases, giving the skin a plump and youthful look.

Dermal filler injections are also popular for enhancing facial features. Long-lasting Lip Fillers, a specific type of dermal filler, can add volume and definition to thin or asymmetrical lips. Similarly, cheek fillers are used to create more prominent cheekbones, while chin fillers can provide better facial balance.

Additionally, dermal filler can address under-eye hollows, also known as tear troughs, reducing the appearance of dark circles and tired eyes. They are also used for non-surgical nose reshaping (liquid rhinoplasty) and to soften the appearance of scars or pitted acne marks.

With minimal downtime and immediate results, dermal fillers offer a safe and effective solution for those seeking facial rejuvenation or enhancement. Whether you want to diminish signs of aging or refine specific facial features, dermal fillers provide a customizable treatment tailored to your unique aesthetic goals.

#dermal fillers #lip fillers #dermal fillers in NYC #lip fillers in NYC #dermal fillers in New York City #lip fillers in New York City

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it-may-be-dull-but-im-determined · 6 months ago

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So it's been an entire week of Wicked-the-Movie-part-the-first being completely unavoidable and I am so.freaking.tired.

And why am I still going on about why I didn't love it? Because it's one of those things that people vaguely know I'm a fan of the show. So they keep asking me what I thought and I'm just overtired enough to still launch into an incoherent explanation of why it didn't work for me.

That explanation is entirely meaningless, because I am really not the intended audience. I never really thought I would be (probably from about the moment they cast Ariana Grande, if we're being honest). And mostly that's because I read the book multiple times 20+ years ago and I've seen the west end production 20+ times since then. I've sidetracked NYC trips to see it on Broadway and to San Francisco to see it at the original workshop theatre and I remain obsessed with the 2007 Broadway cast. I did indeed show up to the opening night screening dressed in pink and green and I have two different types of Chistery plushies sat on my sofa idk??

I'm a.. fan, to all intents and purposes. But I'm too much of a fan to want a new version that doesn't really add anything meaningful to how the show tells the story - part one is an hour longer than the show and yet it moves it further away from the book, if anything. It took me a LONG time to process how the show adapted the book back in 2006 but the show added that goddamn all time great soundtrack dammit. The movie adds pretty much.. nothing of note?

The things that bug me about the movie are not things that would ever occur to the people asking me what I thought it the film, and they're probably irrelevant to other people who consider themselves long term fans. Everyone is a fan in their own way, and that's great. It also means I reserve the right to want the character choices to make sense (they do not make sense. Why is Elphie being treated like a grown adult and not even enrolled at school?? Why is she wearing a version of her Act 2 dress TO THE OZDUST and not only undermining the costume reveal in Defying Gravity but also making the lyrics of Popular MAKE NO SENSE to the point they then ...have to invent the word 'froat' for absolutely no reason? This version of Elphie does not actually even need a makeover. Why are we even here, folks? I'm so confused 😭)

What I wanted was the damn film made fifteen years ago with a lot fewer intense close ups starring... Literally any of the show cast, idk? Idina and Kristen, Julia Murney and Kendra Kasselbaum, Kerry Ellis or Rachel Tucker, idk I have a lot of favourite Elphies?? Actually let's not get started on casting because *sob* Ariana Grande?? really?? And I will yet again be baffled why every other shot of the film was a close up of the actor's face. It's a musical. The songs are designed to be viewed from a distance. As per the show, the cast are very much decades older than the characters they are playing, but unlike the show this then becomes VERY OBVIOUS in close up on a cinema screen. In IMAX it was veering on fucking terrifying at times, and Ariana Grande becomes an abject lesson in how lip filler can go horribly wrong *shudder*

Here's the other thing: I know full well the show creatives were involved in the film as well, so I'm not sitting here complaining about John Chu per se (although I am also complaining about a fair few of his choices to over-egg the existing story). Stephen Schwartz is just as responsible for how the songs sound in the movie. The choices to keep the nonsensical points of the show plot but pad out the runtime to bizarrely now give you time to notice that the plot structure verges on nonsensical. There's a whole clash of sensibilities as to how they approached the work 20+ years ago compared to now, and to what it meant to me back then and now as well.

Yep everyone else loves it. Good for them. I'm just kinda being forced to keep having pointless conversations about why I didn't love it and it's giving me thinky thoughts about what the hell fandom means in that context idk.

#I'm not even tagging this for wicked #apologies to anyone who has had to sit through me rant in the tags about this multiple times already #i feel like I'm failing as a fan lmaooo but idk i just have basic standards about character arcs #especially when youre going to spend this much time and money #i am very much not the target audience and I'm so tired of talking about it

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fletchervanhall · 1 year ago

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Big Talks | Flavier

Featuring: Fletcher Van Hall & Xavier Mitchell; mentions of other Van Halls and Mitchells. Location: Millennium Hilton Hotel; NYC, NY Time Frame: Early morning, April 26, 2024 Notes: Flavier have an important talk, the same morning that this took place. @xaviernottheprofessor

XAVIER

Waking up with the biggest smile on his face, Xavier’s immediate reaction was to wrap his arms around Fletcher but to his surprise, he wasn’t in bed with him. He rubbed his eyes and reached for his glasses before reaching for his phone and when he read his boyfriend’s text message, he smiled and stretched his arms. He had a slow day considering he’d be performing tomorrow which would give him and Fletcher time to be touristy. Xavier stood up as he checked his emails and made sure he had finished his work. He had one meeting in a couple of minutes and he figured he had enough time before Fletcher got back. Feeling a little sore but in the best way, Xavier practiced a few yoga poses before throwing on a t shirt and joining the quick Zoom call. Once he had finished, he looked at the time, getting slightly worried that his boyfriend was still out. Maybe it was just a busy morning at the store. He waited, wanting to take a shower with Fletcher and not alone and as he was about to text him, Xavier heard the door and smiled. “Hey! I was getting worried. Packed store?” He went to help Fletcher with the drinks and pressed a kiss against his lips. He noticed something off almost immediately and looked up at him. “Everything okay?”

FLETCHER

Despite his best efforts, Fletcher was still fuming from the encounter with Gerry. He'd stopped in the hotel lobby and set the bagels and drinks down to flex and straighten his fingers about a dozen times over. On impulse, he reached for his pho

ne to call his uncle now, but somehow, amidst his upset, remembered the 3 hour time difference and the likelihood that Drew was probably still asleep. So, after a few more deep, deep breaths, Fletcher picked up the breakfast items and strode to the elevators. Once he reached Xavier's hotel room, he arranged everything to one hand and opened the door with the key card. His expression was stony even though he'd wished it was calm and relaxed like it'd been when he left. He returned Xavier's kiss with little gusto and said, "No, not really," about the bagel shop being packed. He'd let Xavier take the drink tray and then set the bag of bagels down so he could pull his hoodie off. Tossing it to a chair, Fletcher stepped out of his shoes and sat down on the bed, running a hand down his face in an effort to wipe the tension away. "It will be. I'm just pissed. Kinda." He didn't even know how to start this conversation considering he never talked about his parents with anyone. He didn't even talk about them with Drew anymore.

"You should have your coffee before it gets cold. It should still be close to hot at least. And there's bagels in the bag. We've never had 'em together before so didn't know what you'd like and got a few different ones." Half naked in just his sweats, Fletcher leaned forward with his elbows on his thighs and his forefingers deliberately pressed against the corners of his eyes. "I know I should tell you what's up. I just don't know how." He sighed, almost never being one at a loss for words.

XAVIER

Xavier set the drinks on the table but kept his gaze on Fletcher. Something was definitely off about the other. "Well, that's good. Friday mornings shouldn't be too bad and rush hour is basically over." This was all filler conversation, of course. Xavier hoped Fletcher would take a moment to shake off what was bothering him enough to talk about if he needed to. When Fletcher said he was pissed, it got Xavier's attention. He could care less about the coffee, especially with how bothered and annoyed his boyfriend looked. "Alright, just take your time." He walked over to Fletcher and sat beside him, letting his hand settle on the other's back to massage small circles. "Don't worry about the coffee. I'll put it in the microwave if it gets too cold. I'm more worried about you."

Xavier glanced over to the bag of bagels and a small smile appeared on his face. He was grateful that Fletcher had gotten them breakfast. "Thank you. I like all bagels so I'm sure they're all great." He watched Fletcher, his smile slowly fading. Whatever was bothering his boyfriend, it was serious and he hated seeing him like this. "Whatever it is, I'm here to listen. Judgement-free zone and with an open heart and mind." He leaned in to press a kiss against Fletcher's temple. "What's going on?"

FLETCHER

He nodded, hearing but not fully listening to Xavier's comment about the busyness of the morning. And shortly after he felt Xavier approach, he moved his fingers from his eyes, rubbing them slightly to help clear his vision. He brought a hand down to rest on Xavier's thigh and finally said, "Don't worry about me, I'll be fine. Just..." He trailed off and leaned into Xavier's words of comfort. His shoulders slowly rose and fell, and his back expanded and contracted as he drew in a deep breath and sighed it back out, deciding to start somewhere and just go with it.

"I've never told you about... my parents. And it was on purpose because they're mostly irrelevant in my life now. Drew talks to them from time to time and that's about as much of a tie to them as I still have. They seem to have no real problem being a brother or a sister-in-law but being a parent? That was too much for them to handle. I was too much for them. They had me when they were close to 40 and back then, they were the oldest parents of anyone my age. I was born here, in New York, and I had a lot of energy as a kid. Like most kids. And like most kids, I wanted to ask every question that came to my mind which exhausted and annoyed them. I wanted to go everywhere and do everything. They didn't." He thought back for a moment, remembering times where he argued with both of his parents until his dad shut the entire conversation down--usually with threats of a belt whooping. He remembered them arguing with each other about him and on rare occasion, one of them was in support of him being who he was.

"But neither of them could really be parents. It just became more and more obvious as I got older. And when they couldn't take it anymore, they sent me to live with Drew. There's an age gap between him and my-... than Gerry." He wouldn't call the man his father. Not out loud and not in his head if he could help it. "At first it was just during the school year and I'd come back home during the Winter and Summer breaks. And then, after a few years, it was permanent. They didn't want me getting my hopes up of coming back to New York for good anytime soon, which at the time, was what I wanted." He cracked a brief, mirthless half-smile Xavier's way, "So when I say I was a little shit to Drew when I was a kid, now you know why. He was kinder to me and more patient with me than my parents ever were, but I didn't want to be in California with him. I wanted to be back home. It didn't make sense then but it was what I'd wanted. And when that wasn't an option to even come visit, I got angry. I acted out at home--namely towards my idiot cousins who resented me being there. And I acted out at school, got into trouble for it and acted like I didn't care. I'd cuss out my parents if they tried calling to talk to me, so eventually, they stopped trying. First Gerry. And then Shirley." He took another deep breath and balled his fingers into knuckle-white fists. "I hadn't seen or heard from either of them directly since high school. Drew tried to keep me in the loop on their lives but he learned pretty quick that I didn't wanna hear about them.

"But he must've talked to Gerry recently because the old man knew I was in town. And he knew I was here because I ran into him when I was coming back with breakfast."

XAVIER

Xavier shook his head in response to never being told about Fletcher's parents. There were a lot of conclusions that Xavier had made on his own based on conversations with Drew and things he had picked up along the way but nothing seemed concrete and he figured, it was a topic Fletcher didn't like to dive into. The mere fact that Drew was constantly praised and given credit for Fletcher's upbringing and the man he is today was enough evidence that Fletcher's parents weren't people worth mentioning and the more Xavier listened, the more he realized that was correct. It saddened him knowing his parents didn't want him and had made a big effort to push Fletcher away. No kid deserved that no matter the intention. Even if sending Fletcher to Drew was best for him, it didn't mean that as a boy he didn't feel neglected. Xavier listened intently, his heart hurting for Fletcher and the little boy that once existed and was forced to live a different life. While Drew was an angel and did right by Fletcher, he still had to go through the feeling of not being wanted or loved. He was starting to understand the barriers and walls that his boyfriend sometimes held up.

Learning that Fletcher was from New York wasn't so much a surprise. There were certain times that Xavier had picked up on an accent but didn't really think much of it. He continued massaging his boyfriend's back as his gaze remained fixated on Fletcher's eyes. When he had mentioned that he had run into Gerry, Xavier frowned and shook his head. He couldn't imagine what that encounter was like. "You wanting to be here as a child does make sense. This is what you knew and no matter how terrible your parents made you feel, they were still your parents and at that age, there was some part of you that wanted to belong to them. Also, this was your life. I'm sorry that this all happened to you but I'm so glad that Drew had the patience and love to give that they did not."

"That was all you really needed at that time. Like you said, you were like most kids full of energy and wanting to do things. None of that was your fault. I empathize with them maybe feeling older or too old to do it but that's life. There were other ways to go about things and you were the child not them. However they wanted to go about it, they didn't handle things the way a parent should. You didn't deserve that. You got a little surprise with Phoebe and you are about the age your parents were when they had you and you stepped up for that baby by yourself. I know you have a giant village behind you but you made that decision on your own. That's what I mean by that. You have given Phoebe a chance and that makes you --you're not your parent's child. Whatever your father said to you or tried to tell you, if it was negative which by the looks of things, it was--well then...fuck him. He has no right to come into your life so many years later and try to fuck you over." He kept massaging his back. "Do you want me to go saran wrap his toilet? I can change your mom's shampoo and add Nair or something?" He sighed. "Tell your inner child that you're incredibly loved and wanted."

FLETCHER

When Fletcher paused to let Xavier take everything in, he wasn't the least bit surprised to find his boyfriend not only empathizing but coming to his defense for the way he was brought up and how his parents went about things. He gave Xavier's thigh a gentle squeeze, and then a low, "Sweetheart," as Xavier kept going. And then he turned his head to look directly at the younger man. "X." Taking a beat, he raised a hand to the back of Xavier's neck and leaned over to kiss his forehead. "Thank you. I know. And believe me when I say that I've already worked through a lot of this. Drew's a great mentor, plus I've gone to therapy before and I've had a long time to come to terms with how things turned out. Yeah, once in a while I get worried when I think about how I'm forty and Phoebe's not even one yet, but it's okay. Deep down, I know it's okay and that if I fear anything now--you know, aside from that typical parental fear of fucking up your kid--I only worry about missing important things later in her life. But I'm making the best of all the time I have with her. I know damn well I'm not and never will be anything like my parents when it comes to her or any kids in my life. Trust me, if you had seen me when I found out April was having my baby and nearly cost me the chance at being her father?" He shook his head and resumed looked to the floor. "It wasn't a pretty side of me. I'll leave it at that."

He reached for Xavier's hand that had been rubbing his back and held it in his instead. "I don't want you to do anything to them. I don't even want you to meet them. It'd be an honor they don't deserve." Fletcher squeezed his boyfriend's hand and said, "I just wanted you to know what I hadn't told you before, and what I don't really tell anyone for that matter, so you'd understand why I was pissed because yeah, I did run into Gerry just before coming back up here." After another deep breath, he went on with a sense of finality in his voice. "He came by to be nosy among other things. Nothing innocent or polite about it either, and without flattening him on the sidewalk, I told him he can go back to staying the hell outta my life." He wasn't interested in giving a play-by-play of the conversation with Gerry or what the older man said and almost said since it was what pissed him off to begin with.

"Thinking about you, Drew and the kids was what kept me from probably getting arrested on battery charges this morning," he admitted, giving Xavier a sideways glance to take in his reaction to this admission. And then he reminded, "I just... wanted you to know what happened. And to say sorry for the delay with breakfast. I was planning to be back before you woke up. Let the coffee smell wake you and all."

XAVIER

He could hear Fletcher saying his name probably in an attempt to get Xavier to stop fretting and to listen to him but Xavier was too wound up. In fact, the more he built himself up, the more he wanted to reassure his boyfriend that was amazing and all the positive things he had learned about him over the last couple of months. It had felt like someone had pushed a knife into him when he heard of what Fletcher had dealt with as a child. "yeah?" He was just getting started but listened as Fletcher continued. "That's good." It gave him some satisfaction hearing that his boyfriend had already worked through a lot of the trauma inflicted on him. "Well, I'll just have to keep you healthy so you don't miss too much and you're here for all the important things." In his mind, there was a strong emphasis on him being one of the people to keep Fletcher healthy for his daughter. Xavier didn't mean to be presumptuous. If anything, he was being hopeful. He rubbed the back of Fletcher's head, letting his fingers run through his dark tresses. "You two are so lucky to have each other. I am so glad you both got the chance to be in each other's life." He didn't want to think of Fletcher being in a state that wasn't a 'pretty side'. Xavier had become extremely protective.

When Fletcher took his hand, he smiled softly, chuckling a bit at the thought of doing anything to Fletcher's parents. "Just say the word, okay?" He'd never hurt anyone. Most people would probably say he's incapable but thinking of Fletcher having to deal with his parents again especially knowing his father was unkind made his blood boil. "Thank you for telling me. No secrets here, okay? Whatever you or I have to say to each other, we should feel like we can in a non-toxic, loving way." He squeezed Fletcher's hand lovingly. Hearing that thinking about him, Drew and the kids anchored Fletcher made him smile again. "Well, good. We need you here and now in some orange jumpsuit. It'll drown you out..." Xavier chuckled, moving his hand over his face. "Nothing to be sorry about. That's incredibly sweet of you though." He leaned in to kiss Fletcher's cheek. "I am so proud of you for not decking your dad and for being you and for telling me all of this. I know it wasn't easy."

FLETCHER

He gave a smile that didn't touch his eyes when Xavier spoke of keeping him healthy. He'd been working on it already with smoking less weed to be mentally present, and drinking less. And although it wasn't as frequent as before, he was back to going to the gym. His boyfriend's support meant a lot to him. He murmured a, "Thank you, sugar," to himself and lowered his head to rest on Xavier's shoulder.

"Sure thing," Fletcher told him, shutting his eyes as more calm came over him, the more he stayed close to Xavier. "No secrets," he echoed. "Like I said, it just wasn't something I talk about. Drew and I don't even talk about them together anymore. But you know all the significant parts of my life now." His eyes opened as he let out a small, short chuckle. "No, I won't land myself in an orange jumpsuit. Not on purpose anyway." Fletcher lifted his head in time to receive Xavier's kiss to his cheek. In turn, he lifted their joined hands and kissed the back of his boyfriend's. "It wasn't. But you needed to know. I love you for listening, and for caring so much about me." As he tenderly released Xavier's hand, he wrapped his arms around his boyfriend and held him tightly. He loved him for so much more than that but in the moment, it was what he'd said.

XAVIER

Xavier loved the new nickname. Sugar and sweetheart were words he loved hearing it come from Fletcher. Gently, he placed his head on top of his boyfriend's and smiled. "Anytime, mon cher. I'll take care of you." He'd be sure never to let Fletcher down in that promise.

"I know. It was just not relevant. Drew probably wants there to be some sort of relationship between you and your parents. Thank you for telling me. And good! I'll bail you out every time but let's not." Xavier teased with a soft chuckle. He leaned into the embrace and wrapped his arm around Fletcher, attacking the side of his face with a few kisses. "You can't blame me. I'm a sucker for you." He murmured against Fletcher's cheek and then pressed his forehead against his temple. "You're so special, Fletcher." Xavier didn't have to say the rest of the sentence but he hated that his boyfriend's parents couldn't see that. 'Want me to get your bagel ready?" He kissed Fletcher's temple. "Are you originally from Manhattan or somewhere else?"

FLETCHER

"I'm sure Drew wants that. He's a good person like that but it's not going to happen. And I'm gonna talk with him about not sharing all my business with them anymore. I used to not care but after today, no more." He knew Drew would respect those wishes, especially if Fletcher repeated even half of what little Gerry had said. He smiled a little more genuinely for the first time since returning to the hotel room, thanks to Xavier's words and affection. He held his boyfriend for a while longer and then drew back, kissing him on the lips for a moment. And then he pulled apart with a small shake of his head, "It’s okay, I got it. Actually, why don't you tell me what you want and I'll bring you breakfast in bed?" He pecked Xavier's lips and then stood, grabbing the coffee cups to heat up for the both of them. As he fiddled with the microwave, he said, "I was born in The Bronx and my parents moved to Manhattan when I was two." He opened the bagel bag and said, "There's just plain cream cheese and then with the bagels, I got plain, everything, sesame and blueberry."

XAVIER

“He really is a good person.” Xavier agreed with that statement knowing that Drew probably wanted to aid in Fletcher and his parents talking again. “But I am proud of you for wanting to place some boundaries and I know Drew will be receptive and understanding of that. Quite frankly, your parents don’t deserve knowing the happenings in your life especially with your dad trying to come at you.” He returned the kiss and was glad to see Fletcher come down from his initial anger. Gerry didn’t deserve an ounce of it. When his boyfriend stood up to prepare the bagels and heat up their coffee, he smiled, pushing himself back on the bed. “Ooo la la breakfast in bed. And they say romance is dead.” He chuckled, and reached for Fletcher’s hand to kiss it before he went off to get breakfast ready. Xavier listened as he spoke with a small smile on his face. “The Bronx! Ohhh that explains the toughness. I went to the Bronx last year for a show and it the crowd was tough but in the end they had the best laughs, I swear.” Xavier listened to the options with a grin. “Sesame please. What is your favorite kind of bagel?”

FLETCHER

Fletcher knew Drew had good intentions but if Fletcher had the chance to do a trip like this again, he'd have to make it clear to Drew that he didn't want or need either of his parents seeking him out in the city. He'd nodded in agreement with Xavier and had taken another deep breath before kissing him, quietly thankful that the anger he'd felt had dissipated. Xavier had a lot to do with that, he was sure of it. He'd gotten up but paused and looked back at his boyfriend just as his hand was kissed. His eyes said the 'thank you' that his mouth didn't need to voice, just before he resumed readying their breakfast. He chuckled at Xavier's reaction to him being born in The Bronx and joked, "Yeah that's it. They baptize all the babies born there in toughness water, found only in that borough." Taking out the plastic knife and the semi-sliced sesame bagel, he sliced it in half all the way and then opened one of the cream cheese cups to smear on both halves. "Damn, yeah that doesn't surprise me that you won the crowd over in the end. Or were you at that show as part of the audience?" He lightly closed the two halves back on themselves and left it on a napkin while returning to the microwave to take out their coffees and fix them how they both liked theirs. As he did so, he said, "No surprise here but I'm an equal everything bagel fan. Best of all worlds." He set his coffee down in exchange for Xavier's bagel and napkin, and walked over to the bed to present him with his breakfast. "So I guess we'll both be guilty of getting seeds in the bed." He smirked a little and went back to fix up his own bagel and then join his boyfriend, sitting next to and facing him--one leg bent and resting on the bed while the other hung over the edge--and knowing that any mess would be easy enough to brush away or shake off of the bed linens.

XAVIER

Xavier watched as Fletcher prepared his bagel, chuckling at the thought of babies being baptized in 'toughness water'. "I wouldn't be surprised if any of that were true but it all makes sense now. Look at me dating a Bronx boy. What I've learned in my time in New York City is that you're not really from New York if you're from upstate. Bronx people are tough as nails and they have the best Dominican food. Brooklyn is great for authentic Italian and people who think they're tough but are sawft." Xavier chuckled as he tried to imitate the accent. "Queens people are pretty friendly and if you want a good diner, that's where to go and finally Manhattan has some fancy folks who love a good slice of pizza and wine. And we don't talk about Staten Island. Did I get that right?" Xavier smirked and then nodded at Fletcher's question. "I was doing some standup. It's been a long time since I've done any but when I had the chance, it was a lot of fun." He listened to Fletcher with a smile on his face. "Good choice. I like them all but Sesame Seed is a fan fave. Oh, why thank you, sir." He grinned at Fletcher as he took the bagel from him. "It's alright. When do we get to do this anyway?" He took a bite of his bagel and chewed as he happily sat beside his boyfriend. He sincerely hoped that his run-in with his father hadn't ruined the good time they were having. "Mm, this is so good. Nothing like a New York bagel that's for sure."

FLETCHER

Fletcher listened to Xavier while he worked on the breakfast. He chuckled a little bit, "Yeah, I mean geographical stereotypes are a thing. But they exist because there's some level of truth to them." Once he had his own bagel together, he grabbed his coffee, added several packets of sugar and a couple cream cups, and then brought his breakfast over. He sipped on the hot beverage after making himself comfortable, and then said, "Yeah we never do. But we should start trying to make it a thing. Maybe on Sundays." Phoebe wouldn't allow herself to be left out but if they were up early enough, they could possibly get away with a cup of coffee in bed together. He set the cup down on the ground beside the bed and then bit into his bagel, feeling like he was biting into an old memory. He enjoyed it and the bites that followed, and then licked a couple of poppyseeds from his lips. "This is nice." He eyed Xavier for a moment and then leaned forward to peck his lips a few times. "Mmm, and so's this." Stealing one more kiss, he sat up a little straighter and took another bite of his bagel. "Thank you for being the best boyfriend in this relationship." He winked, knowing Xavier was likely to argue and then picked up his cup for another drink of his coffee.

XAVIER

"Amen to that." He licked the cream cheese off his thumb and took another bite of his bagel. Xavier set the bagel down on his thigh and reached for his coffee, blowing on the lid and smiling at the warmth sitting between his hands. "I like that idea. Making Sunday morning breakfasts our thing sounds nice. That would mean more sleepovers which I'm always down for." He smiled at his boyfriend. They had already discussed seeing each other more especially now that Xavier would have more time. They were both going to work on accessibility for their children so they could do a week on and off here and there at each other's home and he loved the idea. Xavier chuckled at the kisses and licked his lips after Fletcher stole another kiss. He then leaned in for another, swiping his tongue against the corner of his boyfriend's lips. "You missed a seed." He sat up and reached for his bagel again. "Don't start that..." His smile grew as he pulled a piece off to toss into his mouth. "You just want to fight so you can have your way with me after. I'm on to you." He then took another sip of his coffee. "Not that I'm complaining but I think we're both pretty solid in this relationship mister let me surprise Xavier with a trip to New York City." He set the half of the bagel that was left and his coffee on the end table and shifted to face Fletcher. "And knowing what I know now about you and your past and the memories that come with being here and you still came here to see me and surprise me to not only see me but tell me you love me..." His gaze lingered. "Well, I'm sprung. If that wasn't already obvious. I could do this for a very, very long time."

FLETCHER

"More sleepovers was always the plan, right?" Fletcher took another bite of his bagel while thinking about them alternating time in each other's homes. He thought about Drew and how a change of environment was good for him. He had his physical therapy appointments, and he was extremely fond of his garden. Fletcher would make sure Drew still got to come back to tend to it whenever they were staying at Xavier's. It might not be a long term plan but it was what he and Xavier were going to explore soon. After a few kisses, he'd taken another bite of bagel and lightly smirked as Xavier came close to his face, expecting another kiss and ending up pleasantly surprised by the quick lick. He smiled and sipped his coffee, only to raise both of his brows in faix innocence, "What?" only to listen to Xavier call him out on exactly what he was doing. "I'm just telling the truth is all. Sheesh. Bite a guy's head off why don't ya?" He grinned a little and set his cup back down, along with what was left of his bagel. After seeing that Xavier's hands were free, Fletcher drew his leg up on the bed and shifted so that he was situated in between Xavier's legs. "I had a compelling reason for coming here. You were more than enough for me to return." His eyes were on his boyfriend's and his hands were running up Xavier's arms as he spoke to him. And then he kissed his forehead and trailed slow kisses to his jaw, neck and throat as he muttered, "Now when you say you could do 'this' for a very, very long time..." Fletcher nuzzled his love's neck while guiding his hands back down Xavier's arms and threading their fingers together. And then he raised his head to meet his gaze again. "Tell me what you mean, exactly."

XAVIER

"Sure are." Xavier was looking forward to this new step in his relationship with Fletcher. Being home meant spending more time with his kids and friends and hopefully his family in London too. He was excited about seeing his boyfriend more often and getting to know Drew better. Xavier had already promised to help Drew with his garden whenever he had a chance and he also wanted to get the opportunity to watch Phoebe grow. It would be an adjustment but he knew it would be for the best for everyone. His kids already adored Fletcher, Emiliana, and Drew and Xavier wanted to see more of that flourish. He grinned at his boyfriend's coy behavior, wondering if he'd ever stop falling in love with him. Was it a perpetual thing? Would he always find new reasons why he keeps falling for the other? Was that the norm when it came to being in love? It sounded almost childish in his head but the questions still existed. He'd never felt this way not even for people he swore he'd marry as a teenager. Everything seemed like child's play in comparison. It was exhilarating and quite frightening. He'd do it all for Fletcher. He'd fight his demons, yell at his probably very terrifying father, help raise his child, and install every necessary accessible feature for Drew in his house and in the Van Hall's. He'd do it out of love and appreciation. He'd fallen harder than he expected. "Just being observant." Xavier laughed but his eyes remained softened as his gaze fixated on his boyfriend. Fletcher's gentle touches and kisses relaxed him, turning him into a puddle of putty. A content sigh escaped his lips as he enjoyed the kisses against his skin. Xavier closed his eyes as he smiled when he felt Fletcher's lips against his throat. It was one his weak spots and his boyfriend knew that. He'd already lost his train of thought but recovered the moment Fletcher looked up at him again. He laughed, bowing his head bashfully before raising his gaze again. There were many ways he could answer such a simple question. "This. For starters, all of that." He couldn't help but laugh again at how little sense his answer made. "Everything. Us, this, life. I could do life with you for a very, very long time." Xavier took one hand so that he could cup Fletcher's face. His thumb grazed the grooves of his nose and then his cheekbones, settling at the apple of his cheeks. "Sleepovers, finding new places to fuck, making you laugh, making you happy. Taking away the bad shit and parking it elsewhere in return for a lot of good shit. You marking me with your bites and scratches and yes, tattoos." He leaned in to kiss him. "Waking up next to you, breakfast together, Drew telling me stories, the kids making fun of their very much in love dad, Phoebe laughing at my jokes that she doesn't understand. I think she thinks my face is just funny." He kissed Fletcher's temple and then nuzzled his face for a bit. "I don't want to do this with anyone else. I'm reaalll good here."

FLETCHER

A throaty chuckle rose from Fletcher when he heard Xavier's answer to his question. And he continued to listen to him. His words penetrated his heart and pumped it up to where it filled his rib cage. He rested into Xavier's hand on his cheek and met his kiss. The way Xavier described their relationship and their lives together--the way their families were melding so beautifully together really had been such an incredible thing. "Funny because I don't want you to do this with anyone else either." Grinning softly, Fletcher's arms slipped around Xavier to hold him close, and then his lips relaxed as he let out a content sigh. "I'm good here too. I love you so much, it's wild. And I love the life we're building together. Everything you said about us and our families? That's exactly how I feel. You, Winter and Henry make my life better. I know you all do that for Phoebe and Drew too. And I know Emiliana loves and adores all of you too." He kissed Xavier's shoulder and then lifted his head, loosening his hold a bit to meet Xavier's eyes again. "But I love and adore you the most. I don't have the poetic words that you do but I'm glad you kissed me that night at the gala. You put yourself on my mind from that night, on, and you planted yourself in my heart."

XAVIER

This closeness to Fletcher felt right. Xavier had always wanted this with someone even when he joked that he didn't before going on the island. He had admired his friend's relationships, seeing how happy everyone was and how they all supported one another. To have one of the only relationships that had failed out of his reality television stint stung and while he wasn't purposely looking for someone when he decided to kiss Fletcher, he was glad he did. Thinking back on it, he couldn't remember why he felt bold enough to do it. For whatever reason, it made sense. "Good. I'm yours for as long as you'll have and want me." Hearing that Fletcher loved him again and again and with such confidence and conviction made his heart soar. He felt mushy all over and was glad that he had succeeded at making Fletcher feel better. "I love the life we're building together too. I know it's been a short couple of months but it feels longer yet not. I love the feeling of being comfortable with you and still having the opportunity to learn new things about who you are. I end up falling in love with all of you and I've never felt that way about anyone before." He laughed softly and shook his head before pulling his boyfriend in for a tight embrace. "You say I'm the poetic one. I told you, I think I've had a crush on you for a while now probably before that boo bash if I'm being honest. I don't know what gave me any courage to kiss you that night but I had to. I'm glad I did too." He pulled back and smiled at Fletcher. "I said for a very, very long time. I mean forever. I know that's a scary thought but that's how I feel and hopefully, that's how it'll be." It was a tiny promise that could be translated into many things. Xavier wasn't trying to frighten Fletcher or talk about major future life plans but he simply wanted it known that no one else could exist for him or take Fletcher's place.

FLETCHER

Fletcher listened to Xavier some more and gladly returned the embrace when he was pulled toward his boyfriend. Loving his daughter and his uncle had been one thing. Falling in love with Winter and Henry had been special. But finding love with Xavier was something else indescribable, even though he'd tried putting it to words just a moment ago. While they were close, he'd kissed him on his neck again and then met his eyes again once Xavier pulled back. He smiled lazily as he told him, "And you're still the poetic one here. One of these days I'm gonna pay you a compliment or just say something flat out true about you and you'll accept it for the truth that is is." He stole a peck on Xavier's lips and then listened to him some more. His heart leapt in his chest while he threaded their fingers together. His gaxr turned languid as he echoed, "Hopefully, that's how it'll be." He gently squeezed their interlocked fingers and leaned in to rest his forehead to his boyfriend's for a bit of comfortable silence. When he spoke up again, Fletcher had tilted his head and nuzzled his nose along Xavier's cheek. "I hope you're done with your breakfast because I really want to make love to you right now." They'd done tons of fucking the previous day (and night) but he wanted to go slow and be more attentive to Xavier's entire body than usual.

XAVIER

He never wanted to hear of anyone hurting Fletcher again and while that was a naive thought, Xavier knew that just meant he was hopelessly in love with his boyfriend. Knowing that the conversation that had started sour was turning into something positive and loving gave him relief and made him happy. He wanted nothing more than to kiss Fletcher everywhere, thank him a million times for surprising him in New York City, for getting them breakfast, for letting Xavier in. That meant more to him than anything else. "I do accept it I just want it known that you're also those things and I love you for it." So much had changed for him in a year. He had left a toxic relationship, had fostered the most incredible children, and was now promising forever to a man he had kissed impulsively one night. He closed his eyes when Fletcher nuzzled his cheek and he smiled softly at the intimacy. He wondered for a few seconds what that'd be like. Making love sounded so beautiful coming from his lips. "I'm done with breakfast." He grinned at his boyfriend, having searched for something sweet or adorable to say and coming up with nothing. Instead, Xavier leaned in to kiss Fletcher's cheek before murmuring. "I love you." He kissed his earlobe and then whispered, "Je t'aime" before cupping his face and pulling him down on top of him.

#Xavier #Big Talks para #Flavier things

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