#lots of medical discussions in this chapter

[volfoss]

like the worst aging part of confluence is the medical terminology around kei having his ovaries and uterus removed and tzk assuming that would just instantly make him masc (which like. given the understanding at the time, it makes sense) and some offhanded comments of how bad it would be for kei. ybj decided to lean into the tragedy of being a woman and removing that by having ybj act like... its the only part of being a woman that matters (having the reproductive organs) and that just bc kei would need to have those removed, that it invalidates kei being a woman. come the fuck onnnn

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 36: To The Sea

Summary: It's time to move on. You're not sure where you're going exactly, but anywhere is better than Texas

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 7,811 words

Warnings: ANGST, injuries, medical stuff, descriptions of pain and injuries, brief discussion about strangulation, mentions of PTSD and nightmares, so much crying, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, angst, a very little sprinkle of comfort, language, mentions of medications, still very heavy emotionally

A/N: Not actually a lot of warnings for this one. It's a lot of dialogue and inner monologues. Not a lot happens, just mostly setting the scene for the next chunk of the story. Bring tissues though, the last part of the chapter emotionally wrecked me but also might be the best thing I've ever written.

11/30/24: **This Chapter has been edited and rewritten from its original version**

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It’s warm outside. 

Not even the shade from the building can completely shield you from the dome of heat that seems to surround the base. It seeps into the concrete and asphalt that lock it into place, trapping everyone in a bubble that may as well be an oven. It’s always hot in Texas, though. You hate it. You’ve been spoiled by the cold, rainy seasons in England. You’d gladly take that over Texas. 

You’d take anything over Texas. 

The heat prickles at your skin, your arm starting to get sweaty in the sling. It had been Dr. Keller’s idea to keep your shoulder as still as possible so you don’t continue to cause yourself pain when you move. It still hurts, but at least you won’t instinctively try to use your left arm now.

Despite the warmth, there’s still a chill deep in your bones. The warmth of the pain medicine has worn off and you’ve been left with the perpetual ice that has seemed to coat your insides. Dr. Keller says it's the stress giving you a fever. Every nightmare, every flashback sends your body temperature spiking, your heart beating right out of your chest. You’re not out of the woods yet. It can take a long time to recover from that level of distress and the omega taking over. You almost regret it, but there was no guarantee you would have lived either way at that time. You did what you had to do, and it did work out in the end. 

But at what cost? 

Dr. Keller’s phone buzzes in her pocket and she pulls it out, staring down at the screen for a moment. “Kyle wants to come by.” 

You don’t want to see him. You don’t want to see any of them. 

“I think you should see him. Even if it’s just for a moment.” She squeezes your hand. “I’ll be right here.” 

It’s a predicament. Dr. Keller supports your decision to keep them away, putting some distance between all of you for the time being. Yet, she also says being close to your pack will help your healing. Having your pack around will help your omega settle once again. She needs that safety, that security before she finally lets go completely. 

You don’t want to be close to them, but you may not have any other choice. 

You sit there in silence, picking at the fabric of your sweatpants as you wait for Kyle’s arrival. Sweat has started to bead on your back, the day only getting warmer and warmer as the sun moves higher in the sky. You want to go back inside, back into the cool air conditioned building. You want to crawl back onto the hospital bed and lay there for the next few hours. 

You can’t. 

Footsteps approach, but you don’t look up. You know who it is. You don’t want to see him. 

“Kyle.” Dr. Keller greets. 

“Christine.” He says back. It still throws you off, hearing Dr. Keller's first name. She'll always be Dr. Keller to you. Kyle turns his attention to you, still standing a few steps from the bench you're perched on. “Hi, love.” He says. The affectionate nickname almost makes you wince. You don't look up at him. You don’t want to see his face. “I wanted to stop by and see how you’re doing.” 

You don't move, don't give an answer. You don't have an answer to give anyway. You shouldn't have to give an answer. 

He lowers himself onto the bench, sitting as far away from you as he can. “It’s hot today.” He says, adjusting his hat. Always wearing a hat. Maybe that's why he and Price work so well together. 

He stares at you for a long moment but you don't bother moving, your gaze still on your sweatpants. They're starting to get a bit warm, even with your perpetual chill. 

“I’m not here to apologize.” He says, breaking the silence. “You’ve probably heard enough apologies to last you a lifetime.” He shakes his head. “Words can’t fix what we did. Nothing can fix what we did. All we can do is give you what you need, try and make you as comfortable as possible.” 

Tears burn your eyes as you listen to him. He's not wrong, an apology won't fix what happened. No words will ever be able to fix what they put you through. You're not sure there's anything they could do that would make up for it. An apology still would have been nice, despite the fact you know how guilty he is. Their avoidance of you, their willingness to give you such space in an unknown place just proves how guilty they all are. 

That doesn't make things hurt any less. 

You slowly turn away from Kyle, angling yourself towards Dr. Keller. 

He doesn't say anything further in that regard, taking your movement as an answer to his non-apology. He leans forward instead, resting his elbows on his knees. “I just wanted to let you know that we’re getting ready to leave soon. We’ll be heading somewhere safe, somewhere quiet and secluded. I think you’ll like it.” 

Dr. Keller had informed you of that earlier after she went to speak to them. They've decided what to do, what's best for the pack again. You might have protested, except for the fact it meant you were getting to leave Texas. Where exactly they're taking you, you're not sure. You just know it's not Texas. 

“I want you to know that we’re here if you need us.” He stares at you for a moment longer before pushing himself up to stand. 

If, not when. 

Maybe they're finally getting the message. 

Dr. Keller stands, touching your right shoulder gently before she steps away with Kyle, speaking quietly with him, but you can still hear every word in the nearly silent space around you. 

“In an attempt to remain a neutral, professional party in this situation, I feel it would be appropriate for me to tell you not to beat yourself up too much about this.” Dr. Keller says. “The unprofessional side of me has many words I’d like to say to all of you.” She clears her throat. “That being said, on a positive note I can say you’re all doing the right thing for once, prioritizing your omega and fulfilling her needs, even if her needs require you to leave her alone for now. I know it’s hard, I know every instinct is screaming at you to help her, but just take comfort in knowing you are helping her. You’re doing the best thing you can do for her at this time.” Dr. Keller puts a hand on his arm, squeezing it gently. “Even if it is tearing you up inside.” 

“Thanks, Doc.” He says. 

“I’ll see you soon.” She says, patting his arm before she heads back towards your bench. 

You turn your head just slightly, not missing the way Gaz lingers for a brief moment before he turns his back on you, walking back down the sidewalk. 

It hurts. 

You want to cry with every swallow. No matter how much you chew, it doesn’t ease the pain of trying to swallow solid food. Even the worst sore throat you’ve ever had pales in comparison to this pain. Tears burn in your eyes as you eat, unable to refuse this time in favor of choking down some liquid nutrients. Even liquids make your throat ache, but they are easy to chug to get it over with at once. 

This feels like torture. 

Dr. Keller looks guilty as she spoon-feeds you the soup. Chicken noodle, something simple and easy but still something with some substance. It makes you think back to when you were sick as a child, your mother dutifully feeding you homemade chicken noodle soup until you reached the age you could feed yourself. 

You do feel like a child again, unable to even hold the spoon. Well, you could hold it, but it would have come at the expense of some burns from how badly your hand was shaking. 

So instead you sit here, being spoon-fed soup you can barely stand eating. 

“I know.” She says as a tear finally falls, your inhale shaky from the ache in your throat. “You need something in your system for the sedative. It’s a long flight and you’ll be sick when you wake up if you don’t have anything in your stomach. That’s going to hurt a lot worse than eating now.” 

Yeah. You’ve already figured that out. 

“Strangulation is a tough thing to survive.” She says, dragging the bottom of the spoon against the edge of the bowl to wipe off any soup that might drip on you. “Then again, so is getting shot, and distressing to the point of your omega taking over.” She holds the spoon up to your lips, and you’re tempted to refuse. “You’ve survived a lot, more than most could. And to look this good after...” 

You blink up at her, teary eyed and sickly looking, exhausted and bruised. Your left eye is still almost swollen shut, and your hair is tangled perhaps beyond saving, tied up in a bun at the top of your head. All just reminders of what you survived, all reminders of what happened to you. Of what was allowed to happen to you. 

You’re not quite sure when the last time you had a real shower was either. 

“I know.” She says, spooning more soup into your mouth. “You might not feel like it, right now.” 

“I want a shower.” You say, your voice still hoarse and cracking through your throat. A real shower might solve a lot of problems for you right now. It won’t fix much, but being truly clean would make a lot of things feel better. 

“I wholeheartedly agree.” Dr. Keller says. 

You give her a look. You don't smell that bad. She should know, she’s the one that cleaned the blood off of you and the one who gave you the sponge bath this morning. 

She gives you a look back. “I meant it would be nice to take a real shower. Once we get where we’re going, we can work on the logistics of a shower.” 

Right. You can’t exactly stand for a long time on your own, not to mention the problem of only being able to use one arm without bringing blinding pain upon yourself. That’s where the pack would come in handy. 

The thought of one of them seeing you vulnerable like that, putting their hands on you right now makes your skin crawl. 

A shiver runs down your spine, your body shuddering uncontrollably. You grunt as your shoulder screams in pain, another electric jolt burning straight through your nerves and down through your feet. Fuck. You mouth the word, squeezing your eyes shut. It makes your stomach churn, the soup starting to burn a path back up through your esophagus.

“Breathe for me.” Dr. Keller says, putting a gentle hand on your right shoulder. 

In and out. You focus on your breath, the only thing you can do without feeling like you’re going to go insane from the pain. It’s all you can do in this situation. It’s the only thing you can do at all. Breathe. Just keep breathing. 

Sometimes you don’t want to. 

The pain passes as it always does, leaving behind a subtle ache that will linger until the next flare of pain. It’s a constant, never-ending cycle that you can’t escape from. Weeks, Dr. Keller had said. It can take weeks to heal. You’ll be stuck in this cycle for weeks and weeks. What if it never heals? That is a possibility. It’s always a risk with any injury. 

What if the rest of your life is like this? 

You’re crying again, hot tears blazing a path down your cheeks. They won’t stop, they never stop. There’s a constant stream down your face, even in your sleep. You’ve woken to find your face and neck damp from the never ceasing flood of tears. 

How you can’t wait for the time to come when you have none left.

You’d welcome the numbness at this point, greet it like an old friend and invite it in for tea. Anything over the pain and tears that won’t stop. The depression-fueled numbness that had filled you when Price and Gaz left, then Soap and Ghost would be a welcome relief at this point. Anything would be better than the pain. 

You almost wish you were in a coma right now. Then you wouldn’t feel anything at all. 

Dr. Keller puts the spoon back into the soup bowl before rolling the table to the side. She puts a hand on your head, gently stroking your hair as you cry. The room is silent aside from your sniffles, Dr. Keller not having to say a single word. The silence is almost a blessing. You’re tired of hearing words, of hearing people speak. There’s nothing anyone can say that will do anything to help you, to comfort you, to make it better. 

There’s nothing anyone can do to make it better. 

You’re so tired of being like this. 

The sedative is kicking in before you even reach the airfield. She can see the way your head is drooping further and further forward in the car, your body jostling without any complaint. It had started kicking in before you even got into the car, as you offered very little resistance when Kyle helped her mauver you into the front seat. She chose Kyle out of everyone to help her in hopes it would be easiest on you. Your claimed alpha’s beta is a good place to start in rebuilding the bonds within the pack, and his calm demeanor certainly helps. He is a caretaker through and through, that beta trait prominent above the others in him. He would have made a good medic, had he gone that route. 

Your chin drops to your chest as the car comes to a stop in front of the plane, your body slumping to the side against the door. 

“She’s out.” Christine says, unbuckling her seatbelt. 

“Makes this easier.” Kyle says, getting out of the car. 

They maneuver you into the wheelchair, Christine easing your head onto your right shoulder to avoid aggravating the left. The less pain you’re in when you come out of it, the better, though pain will be unavoidable. Kyle pushes the wheelchair up the ramp of the plane, Christine following close behind. She’s glad she gave you the sedative before you left the med center to avoid as much pain as possible. She almost wishes she had given it to you earlier, as getting you into a sweatshirt had been a battle of its own. Though, the longer it stays in your system, the longer you’ll sleep through the flight. The longer you sleep through the flight, the longer they can delay the inevitable emotional storm of being enclosed in a tight space with your pack. 

If you’re lucky, you’ll be out of it long enough for them to reach the cottage without incident. 

John is waiting near the front of the aircraft, his eyes watching carefully as Kyle helps maneuver you into a seat. Even with the turmoil in the pack bonds, an alpha will always feel protective over their omega. There’s some things that can’t be undone, even in such a fragile state. Some instincts can’t be unlearned, no matter what. 

“I gave her a sedative.” Christine explains as she gets you as comfortable as possible in the seat. “It won’t last the whole flight, but it’ll take a while to wear off regardless.” 

“Is that more for her or for us?” John asks. 

“Both.” Christine says. “Mostly for her. It helps with the pain of moving around, but it will also keep her calm in close quarters like this.” 

“Here.” John says, handing her something. It’s a blanket, brand new by the feel of it. “Johnny made a store run this morning. It’s going to get cold in here, so he got the warmest one he could find.” 

Christine takes the blanket, the fabric thick and soft in her hands. It’s a touching gesture, speaking volumes of their desire to still care for you despite everything, their willingness to do what they have to, to keep the pack together. “Perfect.” She says, carefully draping it over you and tucking it around you before John gets you secured in the seat. 

“It’s going to be a long flight.” John says, taking a step back. 

“It is.” Christine says, pulling out her thermometer. She takes your temperature, letting out a hum at the number that pops up on screen. “I need to monitor her temperature.” She explains as John gives her a look. “It’s been spiking when she gets stressed.” 

“She's not quite out of it yet, is she?” John asks.

“Not quite.” She says, putting the thermometer back in her bag. “I’ve only seen two omegas successfully come back from that point, and I know the number across the board isn’t very high. It takes a long time for the body and the brain to get back to normal.” 

“And on top of everything that happened...” 

She stares up at him for a long moment. “She’s very strong. I knew she was a fighter, but to come out the other side even where she is now...” Christine shakes her head. “I didn’t want to say this at the time, but I was expecting the worst. When that call came in about what state she was in...” She bites her lip, holding the emotions back. “Her resilience and fortitude is what kept her alive. That and Simon’s courage to do what needed to be done.” 

“I know.” John says, looking past her. “We all owe a lot to him.” 

Christine puts a gentle hand on his arm. “You’re doing what’s best for her. No matter how much it hurts, no matter how much it goes against every instinct you have, it’s what she needs.” 

“That’s all that matters to us right now.” John says, staring down at her hand for a moment. “There’s nothing else we can do, so it’s time we start putting our priorities where they should have been the whole time.” 

Christine gives him a small smile. “I’m proud of you for that. It takes a lot to unlearn the things you’ve been told since the beginning.” 

The corner of John’s lips twitch before his face falls into the emotionless mask he’s been wearing for the last few days. “It’s about time we get our heads out of our arses.” 

“I can’t blame you totally.” She shrugs. “We were all just doing what the initiative was telling us to do. We couldn’t have known. There wasn’t any room to question it.” 

“I wish we would have figured it out sooner.” He sighs. 

“Things might have been worse if the truth did come out sooner. If you started digging into the initiative too soon, Shepherd might have gotten antsy and taken more drastic measures to stop the truth from coming out entirely.” She glances down at you. “I think this was all inevitable.” She turns her gaze back to John. “What happened, happened. None of us can change that. All we can do is keep moving forward with what we have right now.” 

He stares at her for a long moment. “The more time passes, the more I’ve come to realize why Kate chose you for this position.” 

The corner of her lips turns up in a smile. “Well, I am rather good at my job, which, among other things, involves advocating on behalf of omegas.” 

John huffs. “Wish we would have listened sooner.” 

“You can’t change the past.” She repeats, looking down at you again. “But you can change the future.” 

You woke from your sedation about four hours from Helston. 

Well, ’woke’ might have been too strong of a word for it. Your eyes opened, but you were still hazy, movements sluggish and entirely unaware of the world around you. You floated between sleep and awareness for an hour before finally gaining consciousness completely. Awareness took quite a while to return, though. Not until they were moving you to the car from the plane. 

Even still you’re groggy, slumped against the door in the back seat of the car. You blink slowly, eyes unfocused as you stare out the window at the blur of green passing by. 

“How is she?” John asks from the driver's seat, glancing up at the rearview mirror. 

“Cow.” You say, blinking slowly as the car passes a field of cows. 

“Still out of it.” Christine answers from the back seat where she's sitting next to you. Your response might have been enough to answer that. “Better than being in pain, though.” 

“How long will it take for her to get out of it?” Kyle asks. 

“Hopefully she’ll be more lucid by the time we get there, but it could take a few hours for it to completely wear off.” Christine says, wiping a bit of drool from your chin. “Probably not a bad thing. This is a big change, and with everything that’s happened, it’s going to take some time to settle in.” 

“Things are going to be rough.” Kyle says. 

“Yes.” She agrees. “Being enclosed in a small space with the people you want to see the least in the world isn’t an ideal situation. It’ll be an adjustment for everyone. I trust all of your abilities to adapt, though. Just don't go in expecting things to be the way they were.”

John's hands tighten around the steering wheel, his knuckles going white. Kyle cracks his window open, prepared for the thickening of John's scent in the air. Christine knows she hit a nerve, but it needed to be said. Even if you were open to forgiveness right now, even if they had chosen to go after you right away, things still wouldn't be the same. Things won't ever be the same. It is their fault deep at the root of it. Those cameras were put up because of them, you were taken because of them. You were chosen for the “initiative” because of them, because Kate thought you'd fit in well with them. Their decisions shaped your life, and will continue to shape your life. 

Can you ever come to forgive them? Christine likes to think so. She has the hope that they can put in the work and regain your trust and earn eventual forgiveness. She knows you'll allow them to try once the initial hurt and emotions begin to fade, once the two of you put in enough work to start processing the trauma around the events that happened. It will take time. Probably a long time. 

She'll be there every step of the way. 

“Ashley did some shopping for us, picked up some stuff to get us until we can get into town.” Kyle says, looking at his phone. 

“Good.” John says, his shoulders starting to relax. “Should wait a couple days before going. Get settled in.”

“She's still working on cleaning up. Probably still be there when we get there.” Kyle says, putting his phone back in his pocket. 

“That's fine. We’ll probably have to utilize her a bit.” 

“Doubt she'll complain.” Kyle says, looking out the window. “Be thrilled to have something to do besides work.” 

You let out a quiet groan, shifting against the door. “Hurts.” 

“I know, honey.” Christine says, carefully adjusting your left arm. “I’ll give you more pain meds once we get to the cottage.” 

“We’ll be there in half an hour.” John says, glancing up at the rearview mirror again before turning his eyes back to the road. 

The half hour seems to take the longest as you continue to become more and more lucid and aware. The pain sets in first, your brain picking up on those signals before anything else. John’s knuckles are white around the steering wheel as you begin to whine and whimper around every bend in the road and turn he has to make, every jostle of the car. Every instinct in his body tells him to pull over and comfort you, but he can’t. It’s more important to get to the cottage, and there’s no guarantee you’d even let him. It might make things worse. 

The last thing you need right now is for things to get worse. 

Christine breathes a sigh of relief as they pull up to the cottage, glad she can finally get you somewhere more comfortable. You’ve been in far too many uncomfortable positions today, moved around too much. She would have liked to keep you in Texas a couple more days, but she knew as soon as you were able to travel, the better. The sooner they could get off the grid, the better. 

The sooner they could get out of Texas, the better. 

Kyle is getting the wheelchair out of the trunk when Johnny and Simon pull up, not having been far behind. They likely took a turn around the back roads to ensure no one was following and to keep things from looking too suspicious. 

Christine keeps you from slumping out of the car as she carefully opens the door on your side. You’re more awake than you were, blinking up at her with almost startlingly aware eyes.

“Crutch.” You pout when she pulls the wheelchair closer. 

She gives you a look. “Honey I'm not sure you could even stand right now.” You may be more aware, but that doesn’t mean your body is working as it should.

You let out a defiant noise as you attempt to get your legs out of the car, trying to hide your grunts of pain and discomfort. 

She's tempted to stand there and let you try, but she knows all hell will break loose if she lets you fall. She's not willing to take that risk, not to mention it will cause you more pain to get you up off the ground. 

“Come on,” She says, stopping you before you can get your feet under you. “Nice and slow.” 

You let out a quiet growl of indignation but you allow her to help you, your legs trembling as she eases you up. Kyle is there with the wheelchair, getting it as close to you as possible so she can sit you down quickly. 

“Ow.” You breathe, eyes pinched closed as you breathe through the pain. 

“I know.” She says, patting your good shoulder lightly. She's glad she put you in the sweatshirt before you left Texas. It's chilly outside, chillier than it was further inland a few days ago. 

It's hard to believe it's only been a few days since you were taken. Barely even a week. So much happened in such a short period of time. It feels like it’s been weeks since everything started, but then again, it had been weeks since John and Kyle first left. It had been weeks since you had been around your whole pack together by the time you were taken. The deep depression you sunk into before the events of the last week had been draining you slowly for weeks before this. It had started before John and Kyle were deployed, back to that day when you revealed the cameras and the secret you had been hiding from them. 

How long you’ve gone in such turmoil. 

How far you still have to go. 

The path up to the door is rocky and uneven, the wheelchair jostling as she pushes it up towards the door. She can picture your face, the way it has to be screwed up in pain. You're silent though, holding it all in. She almost wishes you weren't being silent about it. 

The door is already open, light shining from inside as she approaches. Kyle is in the house already, having gone ahead to greet his sister. John is right behind the two of you as Christine turns to wheel you up the steps into the house. His eyes are on you, focused and ready should you fall.  

Christine would never let you fall, and from the way your hand is gripping the arm of the chair for dear life, you probably couldn't anyway. 

She wheels you through the entryway, the inside warmer thanks to a fire that's burning. It's a nice cottage, far nicer than she had been expecting judging from the outside. 

Johnny lets out a low whistle as he enters behind John, looking around. “Yer parents own this?” 

“It was given to our mum by our grandparents. They did some...renovations before they passed it on.” Kyle says. 

“Yer tellin’ me.” Johnny says. 

It looks new inside. New wood floors, freshly painted walls. The furniture looks like she would expect to find in an English seaside cottage, though. Kyle’s parents went to France for summer vacation instead of utilizing the cottage, and none of his siblings had wanted to use it, he told them. It looks almost perfect, like it came right out of a home renovation show. Kyle’s sister must have worked some sort of magic to get it this clean. 

It is a very nice cottage. It’s small, the door opening right to the main area. There’s two couches and a chair in the middle of the room around a coffee table. To the left of the couches is a fireplace, the fire already lit and crackling. It looks original, likely having been untouched in the renovations. There’s a door to the left of the fireplace closer to the main entryway. A bedroom maybe? To the right of the front door are two doors, one on the far wall and one facing the front door. 

The stairs are in the middle of the house, leading up to the second floor where there’s likely more bedrooms. On the far side of the main area is the dining area and beyond that is a sliding glass door. Around the corner on the far side of the stairs is likely the kitchen. She can see the fridge from where she’s standing. It’s new. Very new. Makes her wonder just how long ago it had been renovated. 

“Everyone, this is my sister Ashley.” Kyle says, introducing the other woman in the room. 

“Hello,” she says, giving everyone a wave and a dazzling smile. 

She’s dressed simply in jeans and a t-shirt, her medium box braids pulled up into a bun on top of her head. They look a lot alike, her and Kyle. Tall and slender and stunning. They have the same smile and the same soft brown eyes. She's wearing scent blockers, but Christine can imagine her having a soft scent like lavender or something fresh like mint. 

“There's two rooms down here, and two upstairs.” Kyle says. “The main bedroom is through there.” He points towards a door to their left. “I figure we'll give that to our omega. The bathroom in there has a walk-in shower.” 

“Perfect.” Christine says. That will make getting you in and out of the shower easier at least, and you won’t have to go far to use the bathroom.

“You should take the other room down here.” John says, looking at Christine. “So you can be close in case of an emergency.”

And so you don't have to be too close to them, so you won’t feel like they’re hovering.

He doesn't have to say that part out loud. 

“I put new sheets on all the beds.” Ashley says. “I also picked up everything Kyle sent on the list. Food, some clothes, some other necessities.”

You let out a quiet groan, Christine patting your head gently. You have to be exhausted and sore after the day. She should give you another dose of pain medicine like she said she would. You’re going to need it tonight. 

“Let's get you laying down for a bit.” She says, wheeling you towards the door. 

Kyle opens it for her, revealing a spacious room with a big window looking out towards the sea. You're going to spend a lot of time in front of that window, she thinks. The bed is in the middle of the room, and there’s two chairs facing the window. She’s almost tempted to sit you in one of the chairs, but laying down will be more comfortable for you right now. 

You're still too out of it now to care much as she wheels you to the double bed. With Kyle's help they get you horizontal, Christine draping the blanket at the end of the bed over you. It’s not very soft, but it will do for now. She’ll have to get the guys to pick up some soft blankets for you when they go to town. She has a whole list of things starting in her head she needs them to pick up.

She leans your crutch against the end of the bed just in case you might need it for an emergency. She hopes you’ll yell first, but you always have been stubborn. Being mostly bed-bound has only made that worse. 

“I’m going to go look through the things Ashley picked up.” She says, patting your leg gently. “Get some rest.” 

Christine leaves the door open a crack as she exits, wanting to give you a little privacy as you nap, or at least she hopes you’ll nap. It’s going to be a rough adjustment, and you’re going to need as much rest as you can get. 

“I’m assuming you’re Christine.” Ashley says, walking up to her. 

“I am.” She says, giving Ashley a smile. 

She can’t help but get lost in Ashley’s soft gaze for a moment. The Garrick siblings seem to share the same magnetic energy. There’s something almost ethereal about them. She could easily imagine them with glowing halos and angel wings. It’s almost like she’s being blessed with the opportunity to look upon her. She could spend an hour staring at Ashley’s face and not grow tired of looking at her.

“I picked up the items Kyle said you needed.” She says, motioning to the bags on the coffee table, pulling Christine out of her daze. “I couldn’t find the exact nutrient powder you asked for, so I got one that was as close as I could find.” 

Christine glances through the bags. She was thorough, getting at least two of everything. 

“I got warmer clothes for her too, since it can get chilly out here this time of year. Just some simple things for now until you guys get into town.” Ashley says. “I did some research too and I read that omegas like comforting things so I picked up some extra blankets and pillows” Ashley says, motioning to a couple bags sitting on the couch. “I also picked up this,” She pulls a stuffed dog from one of the bags, holding it up. “It was the softest one I could find. I thought it might help.” 

A small smile forms on Christine’s face, her heart fluttering in her chest from the sweet, thoughtful gesture. Ashley doesn’t even know you, nor did she know exactly what happened to you, and yet she went so far as to pick up some comfort items for you. You have nothing right now, only the borrowed clothes on your back. All of your belongings are still on base, all of the things that you had built to make your perfect nest. Would you want any of them still? Or have they been tainted by the events of the last few weeks? 

That Ashley thought to do this has warmth flooding Christine’s body. You can have some comfort now without having to wait for their trip to town. She almost feels the urge to cry. She wants to hug Ashley, thank her over and over for her kindness. Ashley has no idea how much her small act of kindness means, how much it's going to mean. 

A smile forms on Christine’s face as she stares at the stuffed dog. “It’s perfect.” 

You can hear it. 

In the distance, the quiet roar reaches your ears as you’re dragged from the sweet arms of sleep. It must be a dream, or perhaps the sedative is still clinging to your mind, making you imagine things. 

No. 

You’d know that sound anywhere. 

The effort to push yourself up to sit is a momentous one, every cell in your body protesting after a day of being moved and jostled. The last thing you want is to move right now, but you have to. 

The pain meds have done little to help.

The crutch at the end of your bed must be a thousand miles away as you sit there and stare at it. The ache in your body only increases as you become more and more aware of the pain, almost as if it can tell what it is your mind is planning. 

The door is cracked open, letting in a slit of light from outside. It’s dark in the room, the curtains pulled over the window. It’s a blessing compared to the bright yellow light outside the door. You welcome the darkness as your head begins to throb. You could call for assistance. You’d get more help than you needed. More help than you want. 

No. 

You need to do this. 

The effort it takes to get standing nearly sends you back onto the bed. The pain nearly blinds you as your feet touch the floor, your body leaning against the side of the mattress out of desperation. If you fall, you’ll never be alone again. You can’t afford that. You don’t want that. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

The breaths out of your nose are short and sharp as you reach for the crutch, fingers trembling in the effort to fight the pain threatening to blind you. You’re trembling like a leaf in a storm as your fingers finally wrap around the cool metal. The rubber bottom drags across the floor as you tug it over to you, holding it against your chest for a moment. 

Breathe. That’s what you need to do. Breathe. 

In and out. 

Nice and slow. 

The pain is only a memory. The pain is nothing. The memories forming at the edges of your mind will take over and wipe out the pain and the misery. You just have to be sure. You just have to be certain.

You push yourself upright using the crutch, tucking it under your arm. You should go back to bed. You should rest. 

No. 

You need to know. 

You need to be certain.

The first step you take nearly makes you sick. 

It’s like watching a baby deer walk for the first time, knees wobbling, feet shaking. You lean heavily on the crutch, your determination the only thing keeping you from tumbling to the floor in a heap. That might almost hurt worse than forcing yourself to stand upright. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

Inch by inch you move across the floor, silently grateful for the socks on your feet. They allow you to slide across the hardwood, but they also pose a threat. Slide too far and you’ll lose your feet. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

The determination and your desire for certainty is what keeps you sliding inch by inch across the floor towards that strip of blinding light in front of you. It’s hovering before you, threatening you. How do you know there’s not one of them standing guard, waiting for you to try and leave? You can’t know. You don’t have a clue what’s waiting on the other side of that door. It could be nothing. It could be your entire pack. 

Breathe. 

In and out. 

You take a moment at the door, resting your aching feet. Your body is throbbing from the effort to keep yourself upright, the sedative still numbing your brain and your movements. It’s like treading through honey, everything twice as hard as it should be. You can walk. You’ve done it before. You did it in the medical center. 

You can do it here. 

You use the crutch to push the door open more, your free arm still tucked in a sling to keep you from moving it. Reaching for it with that arm would have put you on the floor, would have caused more pain than you needed, would have made you fall. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

Breathe. 

The light burns. Explosions of yellows and whites erupt behind your eyelids as you screw them tight against the sudden onslaught. The sun is in the room, shining its rays directly into your sensitive eyes. Your stomach churns, your fingers tightening around the crutch so tight your knuckles begin to ache. The oppressive light makes you want to recede back into the darkness of the room behind you like a vampire shying away from the light of day. 

No. 

You won’t be defeated by the harsh artificial lighting. You need to know. 

You need to be certain.

The others are moving around. You can hear voices around the corner, voices upstairs with thudding footsteps. The air is thick with a mesh of scents, cleaning chemicals, and the burn of scent blocker. Your nose wrinkles at the sudden onslaught against your senses, your sedated brain making it all seem so much worse. 

You need to know. 

The hardwood floors continue and you use them to your advantage as you shuffle your way across the main area. The fire crackles as you pass, the popping of a log making you startle. Your feet slide again, your body pushing up against the crutch to hold yourself steady. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

Your target is dead ahead, a mile away but so close you can almost taste it. Just past the dining table and straight on till morning. 

Despite your snail’s pace, no one seems to notice you shuffling your way across the house. It should make you upset, the fact that none of them notice you moving around, but instead it makes you glad. They’d try to stop you if they noticed you, turn you around and shuffle you back to bed. Or worse, they’d carry you. 

How easily you could slip away, though. 

Well...in theory. 

Perhaps that’s why they ‘re not paying you any mind. How far could you really go in your current state? 

Why would you want to stray from the only safe space you have? 

The world outside is more dangerous with the state you’re in. Not just because of your injuries and your status, but also because you know Shepherd is still out there, and for all you know Graves is as well. 

He could be waiting right outside the door. 

No. 

They’d know. 

They’d protect you. 

They failed. 

You push past the fear in favor of certainty as you push forward, passing the dining table in your slow crawl towards the sliding glass door. 

It poses an entirely new threat as you stand before it, staring out the darkened glass. You have to get it open. Getting it open takes strength and you’re down to one hand that’s trying to keep you upright. 

You have to know. 

You have to be certain. 

You lean your weight on the crutch, ignoring the way it digs into your armpit as you reach for the handle. You click the lock, wrapping your fingers around the plastic before pulling. Your body screams with pain as you tug, the door sliding in the track as slowly as you had moved across the small living area. It’s almost as if it's mocking you. 

It’s open only as wide as you need to crutch your way through, doing your best not to knock your left shoulder against the frame. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

Breathe. 

You can smell it. 

The salty sea air invades your senses, slipping up through your nose and straight into your brain. Memories come flooding back of childhood vacations back when things were simpler. Back when nothing mattered but the sand and the water and avoiding getting chased by your brothers carrying the piece of seaweed they found. 

Polkadot bathing suits, bright red to be seen easily. Toes in the water, sand everywhere. The nap in the silent car home. 

How simple life was back then. How easy life was. 

Your heart aches for those days again. The days when you could exist without a care in the world, trusting your pack would keep you safe, trusting your family would care for you. Your mind yearns for that sense of safety and security again. 

The world is grey as you hobble across the porch, the grey seeming to go on forever. You missed it, the chill in the air, the gloomy grey overhead. How you yearned for the gloom of England while stuck in the heat of Texas. 

Anything is better than Texas. 

Your forward shuffle pauses at the edge of the deck, your eyes looking out into the grey. Your breath catches in your throat as you stare out into the distance, the ache in your chest intensifying. It blocks out the pain in your body, numbing you to everything else as you stand there, legs trembling from the effort of going the short distance from your room to the end of the porch. 

You can see it. 

Emotions swirl inside of you like a hurricane as you stare out where the grey water meets the grey sky in the line of the horizon. Those emotions threaten to choke you as you stand there trembling at the edge of the porch. There’s a breeze, a cold one that bites through the fabric of your sweatshirt and into the skin below, but you don’t care. 

You can’t care. 

Your legs shake from the exertion, the neverending exhaustion that’s settled deep into your bones. It’s not just a physical exhaustion, but a mental one as well. It’s been a long week. 

Only a week. 

So much has happened in a week. 

You want to sit. You want to sink down onto the porch and rest. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

There’s a pain in your chest as your breath catches in your throat. The emotions are whirling, tightening around your chest, squeezing your lungs until they feel like they might pop. 

Breathe. 

In and out. 

You needed certainty. You needed to know. 

You can hear it. You can smell it. You can see it. 

A single tear rolls down your cheek as you stare out at the sea. 

NEXT ->

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[ghelgheli]

i would actually like to hear more of your thoughts on whipping girl, whenever you feel ready enough to talk about it. i've only ever heard positive recommendations for it. i was thinking of reading it. i've read one or two introductory 101 texts on transmisogyny as well as some medium/substack posts, and always looking to read more as a tme person. ty!

thanks for asking! I'm gonna try to be concise because I'm stuck on my phone for the month, but here are my thoughts on whipping girl:

serano is at her strongest in the book in three areas: manifestations of transmisogyny in media (e.g. how trans caricatures pervade movies), the history of medical institutions developing a pathology of transsexuality (like the diagnostics of blanchard et al. or how trans people seeking healthcare were and continue to be forced into acting out prescribed expressions and manufacturing memories), and the construction of her own transition narrative (telling the reader what it was like for her to grow up desiring femininity in a way that confused her, the experience of crossdressing, the effects of hrt for her)

whenever she's just sticking to this, I think she effectively communicates a lot that the unaware reader could benefit from—even many trans women/transfems/tma people who are otherwise in tune with the history of medicalized transsexualism and our popular depictions could probably benefit from her own personal narrative, by nature of how variegated our experiences can be.

unfortunately I think the book fails at its primary—stated—goal, which is to theorize about transmisogyny. in the big picture this is a bifurcated failure:

on one branch of her argument, she remains committed to there being something biologically essential/innate about gender. this manifests thru multiple claims: that we have "innate inclinations" toward masculinity/femininity and "subconscious sex" rather than what I believe, which is that the latter are constructed categories imposed on different matrices of behaviour/expression/desire in different cultural contexts; that there is "definitely a biological component to gender" (close paraphrase) after a discussion of how she believes E and T tend to affect people (thus equivocating gender with dominant hormones!); that we have such a thing as "physical sex" which is the composition of our culturally decided "sex characteristics" (don't ask me how the dividing line is drawn) even as she says we should stop using "biological sex" as a term; that there is "no harm" in agreeing that "sex" is largely bimodal with some exceptions; that social constructionism is necessarily erasure of transsexual experiences in early childhood... altogether she is unwilling to relinquish arguments about the partial "innateness" of femininity/masculinity and gender. this is at tension with her admission on several occasions that these are neither culturally/geographically nor temporally stable concepts! but that doesn't seem to be a line she can follow thru on.

on another, intertwining branch, she engages in what I think is a deep and widespread mistake in the theorizing of transmisogyny: reducing it (mechanistically) to what she calls effemimania* or essentially anti-femininity. it is her stated thesis at the start that masculinity is universally preferred to femininity. she doesn't offer a definition of either term until one of the final chapters, where she defines them as the behaviours and expressions associated with a particular gender. but I think this reduction just misunderstands transmisogyny. it is even in tension with an observation she makes early on, that trans women are often punished for their perceived masculinity! but again, this is a thought she seems unable or unwilling to follow thru with.

my problem with the thesis is that masculinity and femininity do not float free of gender—it is not possible to speak of their valuation in the abstract. anyone who grew up as a masculine cis girl and never "grew out" of that "phase" can attest to the violence wrought upon expressions of masculinity from women. and this applies doubly so to the subjects of transmisogyny! not only are we punished for any perceived bleed-through of masculinity from our supposed "underlying male selves", those of us who are willingly masculine and thriving as mascs are punished for our failure to conform to the rules of the normative womanhood that is imposed on us (just as we are punished for any willing femininity as "false" and predatory upon cis womanhood—observe that transmisogyny is reactive degendering in every case!).

on both branches serano makes only perfunctory remarks about the intersections with race, class, and colonialism. "sex" as such was made to only be accessible to the "civilized", most of all the white european! for a racialized person and particularly a Black person navigating gender the waters are just not the same; the signifiers of sex neither available in the same way, nor granted the same medical legitimacy. what is the "physical sex" of someone who is de-sexed altogether? how can gender have a "biologically innate" component when its expressions between the bourgeoisie and the working class are at total odds with one another? this all goes for the masculine/feminine distinctions as well. what sense is there in the claim that we have innately masculine/feminine inclinations when globally (and transmisogyny has been made global!) what is feminine and masculine can be very nearly mirrored? nor is "masculinity is always considered superior to femininity" innocent of obviating race. transmisogynoir adds yet further degendering thru the coercive masculinization of someone as a Black woman—masculinization as punishment, again!

and as a final point, the account fails to be materialist. there is no attempt to place transmisogyny in its role as an instrument of political economy or, as jules gill-peterson might say, as a tool of statecraft. it is just a psychological response to the way the world is, as far as serano has anything to say about it. but how did the world become that way, and why?? serano's solution, the abolition of what she calls gender entitlement, is naive to the fact that gender entitlement is necessary to the maintenance of the capitalist state, which is structured thru patriarchy and built on colonialism. it is not possible to reskin this into something innocuous!

this is why I cannot recommend whipping girl as a work about transmisogyny except at the most shallow level. it could be a helpful critical read, but imo, it is just wrong about transmisogyny.

[simpxxstan]

Nobody Else (final: part 2)

pairing: chaebol!wonwoo x chaebol!fem.reader

genre: enemies with benefits to lovers, smut (minors do not interact please), arranged marriage, a lot of angst, and some fluff.

summary: the girl who was proud about making her own destiny, the boy she swore to never interact with. sometimes it takes a lifetime to know someone, even yourself. because who would've seen any of this coming?

chapter word count: 22.8k

warnings: angst warnings: overthinking, anxiety, a lot of it. spiralling, constant worries, mention of insomnia. mention of illnesses and a lung tumour, hospitals, medical treatments, relapse. discussions about death. please do not read if you find these triggering! a lot of arguing and usage of profanities. mention of smoking, drinking, food.

smut warnings: oral sex (m. receiving, f. receiving), usage of sex toys, unprotected sex, overstimulation, dom-sub dynamics, breast play, spanking, use of spit during sex, usage of petnames (darling, babe, sweetheart, princess, baby for female), degradation, usage of sir (for male), sir kink, marriage kink, breeding kink, office sex, elevator sex, sex in a public place.

a/n: OH MY GOD. so many people were waiting for this, i can't even imagine. i've had some really tough months when i could not find time to write at all, so i am very sorry for the delay. well, here you go! i hope it meets your satisfactions! putting the taglist in a reblog because the fanfic itself is massive. please let me know your thoughts!! reblogs, comments and asks are so appreciated <3 thank you for reading!

part 1

You bite your nails nervously. You do this often, it’s a habit you mask well through regular manicures at your home. No one knows about it. No one needs to know. 

You’ve tried it all in these last two days, you swear. You’ve tried every trick on the web- listing the pros and cons of your thoughts on a sheet of paper (on your phone’s notes app), venting to someone (yourself in the mirror), meditation, drinking wine and unwinding in a bathtub, listening to white noise to help you sleep. 

It doesn’t help. Nothing does. Nothing helps to erase the thoughts from your mind, nothing helps to stop the cogs and wheels of the gears turning in your head, nothing helps to drown out the noise of your overthinking. You’ve worried yourself to a fever, and it’s on the fourth day that Jisung caves in and asks you, “Ma’am, are you doing okay?”

You can trust him, you know that. He had, after all, not outed your antics to your mother in spite of her attempts at bribing him with a higher salary. He had remained loyal to you, as he had himself confirmed when you’d brought up the issue with him the day after the fateful lunch invitation. 

But he feels too close, too personal, and yet too distant. He would understand, and yet nothing at all. It feels like a gamble.

“Yes, why wouldn’t I be?” You smile, while popping another paracetamol. At least the fever and its meds help you sleep. 

“You don’t look like yourself. I don’t know if I am in a position to say this, but… is this about the thing your mother discussed with you Ma’am?”

“Are you reading my mind, Jisung-ah? Is that your secret to being the best secretary in the world?” You chuckle drily, staring outside the glass window that makes up a wall in your office. It’s a rainy day, not the stormy kind, but the pestering kind. Where it drizzles light enough that people don’t want to carry umbrellas, but the rain is so insistent, it drenches you right through anyway. 

“I don’t know how appropriate it is for me to ask anything regarding this Ma’am. But I genuinely am curious about how Mr Y/L/N and Mr Jeon agreed to it in the first place.”

On the day you’d spoken to him about the entire affair, you’d told him the truth about your relationship with Wonwoo. His loyalty had earned him at least this much truth, and you were glad to have a confidant. You tried to play it off as coolly as you could, but as soon as you’d spilled the truth, you’d realise what a big weight had been relieved off your chest. It felt like being a teenager again. You had explained to Jisung that it was not romantic in the least, and in fact, you wanted to draw an end to it. You didn’t care to tell him that it was because you were addicted like a drug. 

That was the problem. These last three days wouldn’t have become such a burden for you had you simply called Wonwoo and sought his help. Like a magician, he’d silence the thoughts in your mind and leave you with more clarity than ever, almost like a fresh slate beginning anew. You knew he was the perfect solution, but you had decided to cut it off. There was no point in persisting in this kind of a relationship where you weren’t even friends, not even on talking terms, and yet you needed him to stabilise you. All while he didn’t need you at all. For him, you were just another of his regulars. He’s probably already replaced you by now. 

“My mother can be�� very capable when she wants. She has her ways.”

“I’m sure she does. It must not have been an easy feat to swallow pride to agree to the idea of the wedding and take the Jeons out for lunch.”

Words get stuck in your throat. Pride. You’ve never let go of it. Life has been humbling, but you’ve never stopped being proud of who you are and what you’ve been able to achieve. All the dreams you’ve fulfilled. It forms an integral part of who you’ve become, your identity, and the way you perceive yourself. You’ve tried to not let it become arrogance nor vanity, although you have had sufficient reasons. That discipline is also something you pride yourself on. 

“But I guess it’s not a big price for happiness,” Jisung completes his little philosophical speech and busies himself with arranging out letters on your desk that need to be signed, arranged in order of urgency. “I’ll be at my desk Ma’am, should you need any help.” He bows and leaves the room, and you’re still staring out of the window. 

Happiness. 

What an odd word.  What an odd sensation for the billions of people across the world to be chasing all their lives. You had always considered yourself to be above that rat race for gratification and validation. Your successes spoke for itself, and you had no reason to consider yourself unhappy when you were living the dream you’d envisioned since you were a child. 

But are you happy?

_

It’s just for an enjoyable late night drive, you reason with yourself when you find yourself driving on the road that takes you from your office to Wonwoo’s office building. It’s just to see if their coffee has improved, you think, when you step into the building and walk inside. It’s just to see if their employees are forced to work overtime, you figure, when you’re granted a visitor pass by the reception desk even though they’re shocked to see you here. 

“What are you doing here?”

Wonwoo stares at you from the end of the corridor. It’s not lit very brightly and totally empty. 

“Are you busy?”

Wonwoo’s tongue goes into his left cheek, you see it through his skin. He’s wearing a suit in baby blue. You knew he’d look good in blue. 

“Yes. I’m working late as you can see. I don’t enjoy it particularly, so I don’t do it unless I’m really behind on work.”

And why’s that so? Trying to catch up with our closing figures for the financial year? A snarky comment is on the tip of your tongue, but you don’t want to say it. The jibe feels tasteless, even for you. 

No, tonight you’re here in desperation, you finally admit to yourself. You’re here because like any other addict, it’s hard to let go once you get used to the high of happiness you ride when the dopamine kicks in.

“Sorry. I’ll leave.” His rejection is clear. He knows what you’re here for, that’s for sure. You’d never go out of your way to come to his office if it had been for anything else. It’s a good reminder call of reality. 

This is the boy your parents want you to marry. This is the boy you rejected from marrying and from sleeping with. He has every right to turn you down now.

Wonwoo takes a step forward, you take a step backward. It’s a dance. You pause, you don’t even know when you were on the verge of tears. You bite your lips and turn away your face. You walk away quickly, as silently as you arrived. Your thoughts are loud enough to mask the sound of Wonwoo jogging after you, and you only realise when he grabs your arm as soon as you enter the elevator. He enters too, naturally, face a bit flushed from the chase, but before you can ask him what’s up, he pushes you against the mirror on the back of the elevator and kisses you hard. 

It knocks your breath away. In the best way possible. 

You kiss him back. Wildly, passionately. Like lovers, you would think in retrospection, not like rivals who fuck. As if you’d missed each other. Another second of overthinking and you’d delude yourself into believing that he needs you as much as you do. But thankfully, he kisses well enough to wash your thoughts away. 

“Don’t run away from me like that, girl.” He snarls near your ear, his breath making you ticklish, and you whimper when he begins to kiss your neck. He’s going to leave marks again, and frankly, you can’t find it in yourself to reprimand him. Not when your brain is finally drifting away from the anxiety. 

The elevator dings just as he puts his lips back on yours, tongue forcing itself in. You break apart, gasping for air. You haven’t even noticed what a mess you’ve made of his hair. “Wonwoo I… I can leave, really. If you’re busy.” “No, stay.” He doesn’t step away from you even when the elevator door opens, holding you down with his hands, keeping you close to him. The elevator door closes again, and he frantically presses the floor number of his office. “Come with me while I pack up,” he says as an explanation, and you understand. Then he unbuttons your shirt and begins to suck bruises all over the exposed flesh over your collarbones and chest, hands fondling with your breasts. Even over the bra, he instantly finds your nipples and rubs them to perfect hardness, making them so sensitive, that when he lifts you up into his arms and wraps your legs around his waist, your nipples brush against his face and he can feel the nubs poking out. 

“You get turned on like you’re a touch-starved bitch,” he says roughly, making you thrash your arms against his back for the rudeness, before chuckling and thrusting his mouth onto the clothed nipples to suck them while he walks out of the elevator, holding you in his arms still, and seemingly facing no difficulty in walking at all. You become silent again, as you ponder on how strong he really must be, and his bites at your nipples do nothing to prevent the manhandling kink from showing itself. 

“Take me on your desk, Wonwoo.” You beg as he enters his office, but he laughs and puts you down on his chair. Thankfully the entire floor is empty. He begins to arrange papers and turn off his desktop, while you sit silently at his desk. The high slowly wears out as his clearing up takes longer and longer, until you’re no longer turned on anymore and reality strikes. 

He looks at you once all the work is done, staring deep at your soul, making you feel naked. Consciously, you start to button up your shirt and fix your collar.

“I thought we were done with this, Y/N.”

He says it like you’d dumped him while dating, and it’s funny. But you can’t laugh. You did cut him off and now you’re begging him to take you back. It’s a little absurd- inconsistency has never been one of your weaknesses. You’re tempted to dissect it in your brain and understand why it’s happening, but you fall into a spiral of overthinking again.

It’s getting tough to breathe.

You stand up and walk around the room. It’s spacious, with a simple layout, nothing modern like your own office space. You can’t blame it, it definitely screams Wonwoo to you. Instead of huge windows on the walls, he has mahogany shelves stacked with books. Instead of a statement chandelier, he has minimalist lights in focal points of the room. Instead of a charcoal grey settee with everything in cool shades of steel, his office is done in off-white, decorated with rich tones of wood. The room tells you so much about Wonwoo, although you probably know it all already- legacy, tradition and diligence. This is what he’s made of, old money that takes no risks and succeeds without gambles. 

“You know why I had to come back.”

“That doesn’t change anything.” He walks up to you, standing in front of you, as you gaze at the books on his shelves. “Y/N, look at me.” And you do. He looks like Adonis and you want to kiss him. “You said it was getting toxic for you.” He snaps you back to attention, and you sigh. “I can’t… Wonwoo, I tried. But I…” you walk away, unable to continue. Continuing would mean telling him what’s driving you to the brink of anxiety every moment of the day.

“We can talk. If this is about that day, we’re in this together. We may not be friends, but we can be allies in this.” 

The simple way in which he says these words, you don’t think he realises how much more vulnerable he makes you feel. How much more tempted to spill it all to him and be relieved of the burden of this worry. 

“I don’t want to talk to you, Wonwoo. I didn’t come here for talking.” You walk back towards him. “Fuck me and make my brain stop thinking, please.” He closes his eyes for a second. The tension is palpable, it’s making your palms sweat. You tilt your head and gently lean in to kiss the edge of his jaw. His stubble grazes against your softer lips and it’s a nice feeling. 

“I can’t say no when you ask like this.”

_

You wake up in the middle of the night, clammy with sweat and naked under the sheets, alone in Wonwoo’s king-sized bed. Your wrists hurt from being tied with his tie for too long, and you’re definitely too sore to move, but the pleasant buzz all over your body is too good a sensation to forgo. But now that you’ve woken up, you feel thirsty and hot all over, so you get out of bed. You notice your underwear neatly kept on the couch, Wonwoo had taken care to not rip them. You quickly wear them before looking for any waterbottle in the room. Seeing none, and not seeing Wonwoo either, you open the bedroom door and slowly tiptoe your way outside. Once past the small corridor, you notice there’s a dim light in the kitchen, and you can see Wonwoo’s shadow from far away. As you step closer, you notice he’s wearing formals, complete with a glazing white shirt and a grey tie, and his hair is brushed back neatly, although his pants are still pyjamas. He’s doing something on his laptop. You wait in the shadows for a few minutes, trying to understand if he’s in a video meeting or something, but you only hear frantic typing noises from the kitchen. After a whole five minutes pass, you step into the kitchen, and Wonwoo looks up at the same time. 

“Oh! You scared me.”

“Are you in a meeting?”

“No, it got over a while back. Why are you up?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“The meeting was with a firm in Canada. They couldn’t adjust timings.”

“And you couldn’t get someone else to do it for you?” You huff, annoyed at how unbothered he is about waking up this ungodly hour and sitting for meetings. You once again thank Jisung for scheduling foreign meetings at suitable timings.

“Do you get someone else to attend your important meetings for you?” 

You both stay in silence for a minute, Wonwoo sitting on his kitchen stool, and you standing awkwardly near the door, staring at each other. It’s only when you start shivering in the cold that you realise what you actually came here for.

“You’re working hard. Too hard. Don’t try to compete with me, Jeon.” You lean down on the island next to him, close enough to hear his breathing but not touching him at all. 

“Go to bed, Y/N.”

“I was thirsty. Where do you keep water in your house?” 

He gets up from his stool and brings a bottle. “Drink, and go to sleep. Or go home.”

You silently sip the cool water, without replying. You can see the dawn slowly coming up from the window in the kitchen, lighting the room up. The circles under Wonwoo’s eyes become prominent to you, and for no reason at all, your heart aches. This is what it’s going to be like, marrying you, Jeon Wonwoo, you think, as you look at him with a careful glance. He’s focusing on his laptop again, typing at light speed, his glasses perched on the edge of his nose. You’re sipping water from his bottle, in his kitchen, wearing nothing but your underwear, and watching the sunrise. Is this what those nights filled with deadlines and insomnia are going to look like if you get married? Is this what staying up together will look like? Is this what watching the dawn together will be like? The sensation tingles your nerves and makes you anxious again. 

“Y/N, if you want to say something, just say it. Or go to sleep, trust me. You’ll need to wake up fresh tomorrow morning.”

The kitchen is warm, cosy, and filled with the familiar scent of Wonwoo’s body. You want to stay wrapped in it, and not say a word. You don’t want to break this moment, although you have no idea why sharing this simple moment is making you so emotional. Perhaps because you’ve never done it before and never imagined you would do it?

“My father is dying, Wonwoo.” 

Wonwoo stops typing and looks up.

“He has a tumour in his lungs.”

“Since when?”

“A few months now. He hadn’t told me. He didn’t want to bother me, my mom said.”

There’s a beat of silence. Again the warmth of the kitchen wraps you up and you both stare out at the slowly brightening sky outside. As a girl, you’d hate watching the sunrise. It would remind you of the nights you’d been unable to sleep and had been forced to stay up all night. But now, you can appreciate its beauty. Its consistency, its reliability. It happens every day. One of the precious few things that happen regularly, you’ve come to realise. 

Wonwoo breaks the silence. “So why now?”

“Huh?”

“Why tell you now, of all times?”

“He wants to see me married before he dies.”

Wonwoo shuts down the lid of his laptop with a smash, knowing fully what’s coming next.

“Y/N. What do you want?” He stands up and comes to stand next to you, leaning against the counter and looking down at you.

There are many things you want to say. I don’t want to throw away my freedom. I don’t want to marry a stranger. I don’t want to dance to my Appa’s whims. I don’t want to lose focus on my career. I don’t want to marry you. “I don’t want to disappoint him, Wonwoo.” It’s the ultimate truth. It’s what has fueled you for years- the desire to become that child for your parents who would take care of them when they need you, to love silently and support unconditionally, to give back everything they’d given to you. 

“I don’t want to lose him.”

“Is this what you were so worried about?” You look up at him, and he tilts your face upwards with his hand on your chin. You want to lean into the warmth of his palm. “Yes. I don’t… I … I don’t know what to do. I feel so helpless.”

“What about treatment?”

“Stage 4, practically impossible, that’s what the reports say. My mom showed them to me. She cried so much, and I… I couldn’t do anything. I can’t do anything.” You move away from him, turning your body to the other side. He lets you move away.

“Treatment abroad? In the US?”

“Yes, that’s… that’s what I’ve been trying to figure out. I’ve spoken to a few people, but Appa is adamant. He refuses to talk to me about this every time I’ve raised it, these last few days.”

He sighs. Your heart aches again. You don’t even notice when tears begin rolling down your cheeks. You’ve never felt more alone than this, more helpless, more pitiful. What worth were your dreams and successes if life successfully left you unshielded in one stroke?

“Let’s get married. You’ll have more bargaining power to talk to him then.”

He makes it sound so simple. You’ve thought of this a hundred times before, and you still can’t register that he just said that. You turn around slowly, looking up at him through your wet eyelashes. “Don’t joke with me.”

“I’m not.”

“But I don’t want to marry you.”

“Even if it gets your Appa into a good treatment abroad?”

You stomp your foot, and hurt your bare toes on the cold tile. “Why is my Appa so stubborn?”

“Just like you, isn’t he?”

You glare at Wonwoo, but he’s deadly serious. There’s not a hint of a joke on his face, and he genuinely seems to be invested in this idea. “You’re serious.” “I am. I wouldn’t offer marriage to you casually.” You bite your lip, your heart rate begins to slow down. Wave after wave of calm washes over you, suddenly you can breathe well again. “You’re serious,” you say again, not believing it still. “I am. Do you want me to go down on my knees?” “Wonwoo, you’re not thinking about this. Don’t turn your back on me when you regret it later. This isn’t a light thing, it’s a marriage, for fuck’s sake!” “Is your Appa’s life more precious than your ego?” “If it weren’t, I wouldn’t have come begging to you, would I?” “Then you know why I’m agreeing to this.” “Wonwoo, don’t take this on your conscience. I’ll forgive you if you step back right now.” “I won’t forgive myself.” He bends down to your eye level, and takes your chin in his hand again. “It isn’t going to be that bad, is it?”

You let out such a big sigh of relief that you’re sure the air tickles Wonwoo’s palm holding on to your chin. 

_

You don’t fall asleep that night, or rather morning. Wonwoo makes tea, and you sit on the living room couch, an arm’s distance away from each other, chalking out a plan to convince your Appa to go abroad for treatment.

“When did your mother come and tell you all this?”

“The day after the lunch. She called me over.”

You’re our breadwinner now, Y/N. Your father didn’t want to tell you because he doesn’t want to bother you anymore. Your mother’s words echo in your mind. Is this what you’d come down to? Were you that male who couldn’t be bothered with any problems of the household just because you earned an income? Had you become those slimy men you’d hated all your life? Just because you had taken over the company didn’t mean you had stopped being their daughter, for god’s sake. 

“He wants to die in Korea, he says.”

“That doesn’t mean we let him die without treatment.”

We. Wonwoo has started using it so freely, as if he’s truly considering you an ally like he had said before. 

“What are you going to get out of this?” You perch yourself on the kitchen counter, your bare legs dangling next to where Wonwoo sits on his stool. You’re chewing on the granola bar you found in the fridge because you’re suddenly hungry.

Wonwoo looks at you for a second, pensive and thoughtful in the pause before replying. “We don’t have to do forever and always. We can divorce after the treatment is done.” 

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I have my reasons.”

The sunrise is beautiful, another day has begun. Although one tornado in your heart has calmed down, it doesn’t mean you’re completely at peace though. You’re still burning with worry, there are a thousand questions floating in your head. You don’t know the answers to most of them, and you’re scared just like you had been when you had stepped into the adult world on your own footing, for the first time. But unconsciously, you’ve come to realise that you’re not alone this time.

You have Jeon Wonwoo with you.

_

You drive directly to your sister’s house to tell her about your decision. You realise that she has no idea that your mother has spilled the news about your father’s health to you, when you tell her that you’re only agreeing to this marriage on one condition. She tries to deny it at first, but then she realises it’s a useless task against your obstinacy. 

“If you could admit now that you were dating Wonwoo, why didn’t you admit it that day?” she says finally, resignedly. 

“So that you could hide Appa’s illness from me forever?

“It’s nothing like that.”

“Firstly, tell me why you’d been stalking me for so long.”

“Not for so long. Ever since Appa found out, he became obsessed with settling you down. It’s become his last wish, you know, that kind of thing. His last project. His last duty. His last task to complete before he… you know. It was just a happy coincidence that as soon as we prodded your chauffeur he spilled that you and Wonwoo had been spending an awful lot of time together.”

You scoff. 

“Yeah, well, Wonwoo and I needed to talk over things. Commitment and stuff. Anyway, now we’ll give Appa what he wants. Promise me you won’t object to anything I say. Promise me you and Mom will back me up when I take him to the US for treatment.”

Her eyes soften down, tears brimming on the edge.

“He always loved you more, you know? Probably because you’re exactly like him.” “Unnie…” “No! I’m not jealous or anything. It’s natural to have a favourite child. He’s only human, after all. He found his ideal child in you- responsible and independent. He really sees himself in you, that’s why.” 

You hug your sister from the side, as you sit down on the couch. Her belly is quite bulging now, stretched against the fabric of the loose lycra dress.

“If anyone can convince him, it’s you, Y/N-ah. Our maknae. The apple of his eye.” She smiles. There’s something so broken in her eyes, and you hate it. Your Unnie, who you’ve never seen sad. You wonder how much she’s had to hide from you to keep this news a secret. You wonder how long they’d planned to keep it a secret, anyway. 

“Do you trust me, Unnie?”

She kisses your forehead, and smiles again, “Yes of course. Where’s this coming from?”

“It’s just… nothing. I just want to know I’m not alone.”

“You never were, sweetheart.”

_

After that, everything becomes a whirlwind. You barely have time to process things, how fast they happen. Wonwoo informs his parents, there’s another meal shared by the two families. You both still don’t tell anyone the truth about your relationship, and frankly, there’s no need to explain, when both families are so happy with the wedding. Especially your father. His eyes shine, and you stick by his side all evening. 

“My little girl’s all grown up now.” He says to you later. You almost cry at the fondness of his words, affection he rarely shows. There’s no more words spoken. There’s no need for words. You tuck him into bed, and pat him to sleep. You don’t want to leave his side at all.

_

You don’t cross paths with Wonwoo for the week running up to the wedding. There’s a clear division of work- he’s handling the internal logistics, and you’re running the external front. This is nothing but a business project for the two of you. You’ve pushed the worries about the marriage to the back burner, your priority being your father right now. You’ve already booked a treatment plan for him in the US, booked his flight tickets, and sorted everything out. Of course, you haven’t approached the topic with him yet, but you drop hints every day. 

You’ve decided to live with your parents until the wedding. You find it harder to stay away from them these days. Somehow, everything reminds you of them, and you’re brought to tears in the middle of a work meeting one day, when you remember how your father had brought you to the first stakeholder meeting when you were 16 years old, to introduce you to the world of business. You don’t want to leave life upto fate anymore. At least not the bits you can help. 

Part of managing the external front is speaking to the media. There’s countless questions at your latest press conference. Although the conference is to launch a new product, the journalists seem to be more interested in hearing the truth about the rumours currently floating around. You’d expected this, that’s why you’d timed the release of the rumours and the launch of the product at the same time. The public opinion needs to be in favour of your marriage, otherwise the alliance would hurt you both. 

“Y/L/N Y/N-ssi, is it true that you’re soon getting married to Jeon Wonwoo-ssi of Jeon Estates?” 

You blush, again a carefully practised move. You’ve spent many a minute in front of a youtube screen last night, trying to perfect the fake blush.

“Are we really going to discuss personal matters at an official conference like this?” Another measured smile, followed by a general laugh rippling across the audience for the sake of being polite. “But yes, it’s true. I won’t try to hide it anymore.”

At that very moment, a thousand questions pop up from all corners. “Anymore? Y/L/N Y/N-ssi, does that mean that you’ve been together for a long time now?” “Can we expect a merger of Jeon Estates with your company, then?” “Is the marriage a business decision or an affair of love?”

You’re another fake smile away from throwing up right now. Their curiosity gets on your nerves, you know that no matter what you say, they’re going to interpret what they really want to. Thankfully Jisung, who is moderating, carefully steps in and stops the journalists from asking any more questions. “We’ll not be taking any more personal questions. With that we come to the end of the conference. If you have any more questions, please write to us and we shall answer them over mail. Thank you for attending today.”

You exit the conference hall quickly, eyes hurting from the flashlights. It’s going to only get worse, you think. Time to brace for impact.

_

It’s only the night before the wedding that you get the jitters. You’re sitting on the floor of the balcony, looking at the roads of the Seoul night view, stress-eating cotton candy. You can’t believe that this is happening. Would you ever be able to have guessed this is how you’d be getting married? Not that you had ever harboured any ambitions about love or marriage. You’d been happy to see your parents share a loving marriage, and your sister as well. But since a young age, you’d decided that marriage was not for you. Sex? That was necessary. Dating? Perhaps, but casual. Love? Your first relationship in college had convinced you it was not your forte- you’d fallen out of feelings after a few months, and you had never tried to fall in love again. Marriage? Not even on the cards right now. Kids? Probably never. You didn’t think you’d live that long. 

And yet, your wedding invite was sitting idle on your lap. Printed on beautiful handmade paper, intrinsically engraved with orchid petals, and the fonts printed out in a loopy serif font, it was really pretty. Posh and classy, like everybody expected. It had been sent out to a few people only, Wonwoo had asked for a small wedding, and you had happily agreed. Having to deceive your parents and sister was bad enough. Lesser the better. 

The doorbell rings. You’re taken by surprise, not expecting anyone at this hour. Probably Jisung, perhaps he’s come to drop something off. That boy’s working too hard as well, you need to give him a raise after this entire affair is finished. 

But it’s Wonwoo. 

“Are you busy?” He asks before even entering. 

“No?”

“Can I come in?”

He looks over your figure, the long t-shirt you’re wearing with the shorts that are hidden under the t-shirt. You’re getting more confused by the moment. You open the door wider, and he steps in. 

“What’s going on?”

“There are details we need to talk about.”

You take a deep breath, leaning against the wall. Since that conversation at dawn with Wonwoo, you had started guarding yourself against him. Something had changed in your mind- you’d feel more vulnerable next to him, more bared, more naked. Even if he didn’t look at you, you’d feel like you could read your mind all the time. 

“Like what?”

“I made a contract. It’s a… guidebook of sorts.” He sits at the sofa, taking out his phone and placing it on your coffee table. He’s wearing his work clothes, so you’re guessing he’s come directly from work. “What’s it about?” You sit next to him, and he pushes your phone towards you. “Do you have a printer? We could print it out. Or you can-” “I’ll get a print. Do you want something?” He leans back on the sofa, but his posture is still stiff. You’ve not seen him like this. It’s almost like he’s nervous. “No. I need to leave quickly, so it’s best if you can go through this quickly. I don’t have time to waste.” You roll your eyes and stand up, keeping your knee perched on the sofa, terribly close to where his hand is. “What’s this attitude? We’re getting married tomorrow, and this is how you’re going to be?” “Well, what did you expect? Just because I agreed to marry and help you out, doesn’t mean I’m going to suddenly be in love with you.” “Help me out? I didn’t fucking need your help, Wonwoo!” “Really? Your desperation told me something else that night.” He’s standing up now too, and it feels like he’s towering over you on purpose to make you feel small. You take a step back, he doesn’t move forward. It’s not push and pull, it’s gravity unwinding. 

“Listen, we can still call this off. I don’t want to be an object of your pity.”

“Pity? I wanted to help you, Y/N. There’s a difference, or is your brain too ego-clouded to understand?”

“Wonwoo, I could marry anyone-”

“And yet, it was me you came to!”

“It was convenient! I couldn’t really marry … say, Jisung, when my parents had proof that we’d been sleeping together!”

“Oh, so it’s Jisung now-”

“It was a damn example!” You’re shouting now, but his voice is still low and hoarse. It creates goosebumps on your skin. 

“If that’s who you want to marry, you can go ahead. You better know that I have no desire to be wedded to you tomorrow!” He takes a step forward, and you step back. “What do you think I am, huh? Your toy? Today you want to fuck, tomorrow you want to end things, the next day you come begging at my door to blow your mind with my dick, and the day after that you want to get fucking married? You don’t think keeping up with your plot twists are stressful for me? Do you think I’m getting off on your mood swings? I am helping you, because you’re in a dire situation. Don’t you dare spin this narrative to anything else, because it is not charity or love for you that’s motivating me to step into this hell of a marriage that I can see coming.” 

With every word he utters, he steps closer and closer, and you keep walking back until your back hits the wall. And then he’s standing right in front of you, close enough that you can see the exact dilation of his pupils even beyond his glasses. “I don’t need your help, Wonwoo. I’m not a damsel in distress.” He closes his eyes for a second, breathing in. When his eyes do open again, they’re different- darker, yet with more clarity, less angry and yet more dangerous. He leans down, and for a second, for a delusional mindless moment, you think he’s going to kiss you. You part your lips, waiting for impact, as he tilts his head ever so slightly, all while staring into your soul.

“I don’t give a fuck about you, Y/N. I don’t care. I’m just repaying an old debt.”

Then he steps back and picks up his phone from the coffee table. “I’ll mail it to you. Don’t be a brat and make sure to read it.”

You’re still stuck against the wall like an insect, too stunned to move. Before he walks out of the door, he says without looking at you, “See you tomorrow, sweetheart.” 

_

The wedding dress is simple, nothing in frills. You see it for the first time when you wear it on the morning of your wedding. As you sit in your dressing room, revising your vows, your sister enters. She’s all but jumping in excitement. “Darling, why so serious?” She grabs your hands and smiles widely at you. “Today’s your big day! Don’t think about Appa’s sickness today, or work stuff, or anything at all. Your wedding day isn’t going to come back, so you make sure to make the most of it!” You wish you could laugh at her face, her words seeming ridiculous to you. You wish she wasn’t so excited, it would only save her the disappointment she’d have to face later. 

So you force a smile. “Is it time? I’m just nervous. What if I forget my vows?” “Then you forget them. You love Wonwoo, Y/N-ie. You can just declare your love freely. You don’t need to stick to a script. Go ahead and curse him if you like!” You do laugh at this, and she joins you too. “There! That’s my girl. Honestly, discovering that you and Wonwoo… together… it was a shock for us. Like, we’d never thought of you both ever liking each other. But then, it made sense. Especially what he had said that night, I remember. That’s the moment I knew, something was definitely up” You gawk, “What night?” She giggles, “That night at the party. You know? Don’t act dumb, cutie.” She wriggles her eyebrows and it dawns on you what exactly she was referring to. Fuck. Of course she had heard, fuck Wonwoo for being so damn loud. 

You got out of your head, when someone called you to the hall, telling you that it’s time. You slowly make your way out of your dressing room, making sure your dress doesn’t get spoiled. Your father waits outside the room, dressed elegantly. 

“Are you ready?”

There’s an odd peace in his eyes, as he smiles at you with pride. 

Fuck it. Thank god you’re getting married early. Otherwise who’d walk you down the aisle… if you got too late?

“Yes, Appa.” You smile back, and loop your arm through his outstretched arm. 

_

The gates of the hall open up, revealing a beautifully decorated banquet, with an announcer standing in the centre, to conduct the ceremony. All the guests turn to look at you, dressed to their nines. But you’ve got eyes on only one person in the room. 

For the first time in your life, you think Wonwoo looks beautiful. Attraction based on looks was barely something you experienced with him, but today you realise why people fell for him like dominos. He looks absolutely regal in his tuxedo- simple, yet that’s what suits him perfectly. You think, you’ve never seen Wonwoo wear anything excessive, always minimalistic, and really he looks best like that. Because he doesn’t need any accessories, his face does enough. 

“Go, sweetheart,” your father leaves you midway the walkway, and you realise you have to walk the rest of the way on your own. You bow a little to Appa, and then look up front again. Your eyes meet Wonwoo’s and your heart races. He looks too pretty to be real, and yet you find yourself walking towards him. The entire audience erupts into applause when Wonwoo takes a few steps forward and extends his hand. You take it, and he accompanies you to your place, dropping your hand only after a slight peck pressed on the back of your hand. The crowd erupts in cheers again, and for the first time in your life, you blush genuinely. 

You stand facing the announcer, not daring to look at the man next to you. You have enough time to look at him anyway. 

_

The rest of the wedding ceremony went off peacefully. After reciting your vows perfectly, hand in Wonwoo’s hand, avoiding his eye contact desperately, and exchanging the rings, the announcer asked you to kiss. Well, that was easy. He didn’t use tongue, thankfully, otherwise you would’ve moaned in public. Even the drinks and dinner arrangement afterwards was easy. Smiling and small talk came like free flow to you after so many years. 

The hard part comes later, when you both sit in your designated limousine, exhausted after the long ceremonies of the day. Your feet hurt in the heels, and using the washroom had been a pain in the dress, so you’d desperately held on to your bladder. You’re counting down the minutes to going home, and all you want is peace.

But Wonwoo, like so many other things, is not on the same page as you. 

“Where are we going?” You ask, noticing that the car’s heading in the opposite direction as your house.

“To my house.”

“Wait, what?”

He looks up from his phone. “Didn’t you read the guide?” 

“Wonwoo, I’m not jobless, you know.”

“I fucking knew it. Right, you’re too busy being a brat.” He mutters under his breath, before opening a can of a fizzy drink from the mini cooler inside the car, and looking outside the window. 

“I haven’t even packed my stuff, Wonwoo. I can shift in once I’ve got my stuff ready.”

“You don’t know how many eyes are following us? What will the media think if we get off at different apartments tonight? It was hard enough stopping my parents from booking us a honeymoon suite.” 

You sigh. He’s right. But he doesn’t stop talking.

“You’ve got time now, read the guidebook.”

“Just tell me what’s in it, Wonwoo. Stop making such a fuss about it. Also what the fuck is a guidebook without my suggestions.”

“If you’d read it, you would have made suggestions, darling. I wasted my time going to your place last night. Anyway, if you need anything urgently from your apartment, I’ll send my secretary to fetch it for you.”

“No thanks. I don’t need anything.”

Thank god you’re familiar with Wonwoo’s apartment, because you immediately lock yourself in the bedroom and take off your dress. Once it’s off, you unlock the room, and find an exasperated Wonwoo standing outside. “Woman, why are you monopolising territory already?”

“Just go change in the guest room, Wonwoo.” You push past him, dressed in underwear, carrying your heavy dress and laying it across the living room sofa to avoid creases from forming. Then you head straight into the bathroom to clean your makeup and take a shower. 30 minutes later you emerge, and Wonwoo’s nowhere to be seen. 

After a few minutes you find him on the small personal rooftop that extends from his apartment through a small flight of stairs. You’d never gone to the roof, but now you see it has a nice bench on it, and is surrounded by lights. 

Wonwoo’s smoking. 

“I didn’t know you smoked.”

“I didn’t know you were going to hoard my space as soon as you entered my house.”

He doesn’t look at you, still gazing out at the Seoul skyline. 

“You could’ve used the other one.”

“You could’ve used the other one.”

You breathe in once, and then speak again. 

“I’m going to bed. I’m really tired.”

“Wait.” He finally turns around, and you can see his hair is completely messed up and his eyebags are visible under his glasses again. 

“Did you take my clothes?”

“Just a pajama shirt.”

He nods, seeing what you’re wearing. The cool breeze makes your skin tingle, almost making you regret taking off your bra and wearing only panties under the shirt. 

“Goodnight.”

“You’re not coming along?”

He turns away again. Well, fuck it. It’s not like you’re going to butter him up for a response. And yet when you go downstairs again, you make sure to sleep on the left side of the bed, like you’d always done whenever you’d slept together before. You don’t know why you do it, but you go to sleep assuming he’ll eventually come to bed.

_

He doesn’t. The next morning, you wake up to see the other side of the bed absolutely empty and untouched. He’s even taken away his pillow and blanket and you suddenly find yourself shivering. When you’re awake enough, you squint at the clock on the wall and figure out that it’s almost eleven in the morning. Quite late for someone like you. But then, it has been an exhausting day. 

Did Wonwoo not sleep at all?

You put these thoughts away when you stumble into the washroom, nearly slipping because your step is unbalanced. But that minor shock completely jerks you awake at least. 

Once you’ve brushed your teeth (without even realising how your toothbrush had magically appeared in Wonwoo’s bathroom even though you hadn’t packed and brought a thing), you walk out of the room. Again, there’s no sign of Wonwoo. The house is humid, from no windows being open, so you gently open up a few sources of ventilation. As the noise from the outside world begins to float into the house, the silence gets broken and you feel less claustrophobic. Sunshine falls on the simple upholstery and decorations of the house, and it makes everything shine. It’s a hot day, but at least it’s a sunny day. You hate gloomy days. 

You quickly search for Wonwoo in every room. And you eventually notice that the bed in the guest room seems to have been slept in last night. Was that where Wonwoo had slept last night? 

It didn’t make sense. It’s not like you two had not shared a bed earlier. Sure, Wonwoo had never stayed in the same bed with you for longer than an hour after the sex, unless it was a marathon until the morning, and you rarely ever woke up next to his warm body, but it seemed absurd that he’s treating you like a complete stranger. It’s not like the movies, for fucks’ sake. You’re familiar with each other, even if you’re not in love. And sharing a bed isn’t a big deal. 

Exactly Y/N. So why are you making it such a big deal?

There’s a printout of something on the coffee table. You head over and see that it is the ‘guidebook’ he’s kept blabbering about. Why is he insisting that you read it? You have an impulse to go and dump it in the dustbin and push his limits a little further, but then you have pity on him. But it’s not like you wanted to stay with him either. He’s the one who made you come and live with him. So technically, you shouldn’t feel any remorse or pity. So you do dump the prints in the dustbin without a second look at it. 

That’s when you hear your phone ring. “Hello, I’m speaking from ABC Packages. We’re here to shift your packages from your old house to your new residence. We’re waiting outside the door, are you at home?” Huh? “I’m sorry, who asked you to do this? Do you have a name?” “Yes Ms. Y/L/N. The order came from a Jeon Wonwoo-ssi.” No wonder. “Aaah. Okay, just wanted to confirm,” you quickly say to avoid any suspicion. “Yes I’m home. I’ll open the door.” 

And so the next hour is spent in a flurry of bringing in boxes, and when the delivery persons leave, you open them all. There seems to be enough space in Wonwoo’s walk-in closet for your stuff, which isn’t much at all. So you hang up all your formals, which form the majority of your clothing, and stash the rest of it in the shelves. Your shoes are also lesser than Wonwoo’s and you barely have any accessories and makeup apart from essentials. The problem arises with your underwear and … other personal belongings. You’re not sure if Wonwoo would appreciate opening his underwear drawer to find your box of dildos stashed there. But there’s no other space, so he’ll just have to deal with it. 

Thank God you’d taken the day off. Jisung had offered that staying away from work would make the impression of the honeymoon more imminent, and you’d agreed. Although it does seem like Wonwoo had gone to work all the same. And so, you’re left all alone in the house, and while it’s a little odd, you sit at almost every surface of the apartment to get used to it. Sure, you’ve been sat at all of these before, in various positions, as Wonwoo had fucked you, but it feels different now under the sunlight. You’re not surprised to find Wonwoo’s fridge stocked almost completely with ample groceries, so making lunch isn’t a hassle (apart from the fact that you barely know how to cook anything). But all-in-all, it’s not a tedious day, and you’re settling in nicely. 

Until Wonwoo comes home, blazer on his arm and his hair messy. He lets himself in, but you’re sitting on the kitchen counter, checking out what’s kept where. “Oh, you’re here.” You turn around and see him flunking down on the sofa, legs sprawled out. “Are you that tired?” He doesn’t answer at first, just stares at you for a second too long. “I am. It’s been a long day.” “I’m making coffee, do y-” “No. I’m going to the gym now.”

Gym takes longer than you imagine. It’s well past 10 pm when Wonwoo makes his way back, and you’ve already finished your dinner of cup ramen and ice cream. He doesn’t bother to look at you and wordlessly enters the guest bathroom. You consider entering the guest room and waiting for him, and then talking to him about why he slept separately, but then you drop it. You know he won’t answer you properly, and it’ll be a waste of effort. You sigh and make your way to the bedroom, leaving the door unlocked and slightly ajar so that he knows he’s still invited inside.

_

Wonwoo and you arrive last at the little gathering your family has set up to celebrate the one month anniversary of your marriage. Wonwoo’s family is here too, along with Kyungmin Oppa and your sister, and it’s a big group even for the large sprawling, and largely empty house, where you parents reside. You’d think it’s easy to get lost in the crowd, but not when you’re the newly wed couple who’s the focus of the party. 

“I’m so disappointed y’all aren’t going on a honeymoon,” your sister endlessly complains, and she’s completely backed by the two mothers. “Yes!” Your mother joins in. Just like the rest of the family members, she seems to have bought your wedding as 100% real as well, although she should’ve been the first to connect the dots that you’re only doing this sham wedding for the sake of your father’s wishes. “I have itineraries planned for Bali, for Scandinavia, for the Maldives, or even for Japan, if you don’t want to go too far!” She giggles, and the other ladies do too. You don’t understand what’s so funny. Especially when you know how little conversation you’ve shared with your husband over the last month, in spite of not being strangers. 

In fact that makes it worse, you think. Wonwoo’s wearing a dark blue blazer over a white shirt which puts his pecs right in your face. You know what it’d be like to touch them, and bite all over them. The way he has his left hand pressed against the small of your back means he knows what it’d be like to just drop his hand an inch lower and feel your ass against his palm. Andit is worse because even though you know each other intimately, there’s so little emotional connection you feel with him now. Whatever vulnerability had developed around him when he’d first agreed to the wedding had become hardened again under his cold attitude, and you’re back to just who you were when you’d grinded up against him at your sister’s engagement party. You curse yourself for thinking that you could ever feel a nice way about Jeon Wonwoo, because honestly, look at the man. He’s probably never regretted any decision taken after midnight as much as he’s regretted the decision to marry you. 

When you sit down at the dinner table, you notice him not eating any of the seafood. You wonder if he’s just not hungry or rudely ignoring the special grilled fish that is your Appa’s speciality. It’s probably the latter- some testosterone shit. And yet, he’s speaking charmingly smoothly with your Appa, even though Wonwoo’s not much of a talker and you know that. 

When he sits in the corner of the room, smiling and talking to your mother, you wonder what lies he’s spewing. You’ve noticed how easily lies come to him at the wedding itself, when he’d spinned tale upon tale about your ‘love story’. I fell for her, honestly, for the first time, when she’d walked into my class in ninth grade. You had scoffed, remembering the disgusted expression he had worn in reality, when he’d seen you being introduced into the class. Of course, we’ve known each other for a long time now. Naturally, there have been ups and downs. Gosh, this reminds me of the time we’d gone on that date to the amusement park after our last day at school, huh? We’d fought so bitterly after that, you’d think we were enemies. Haha. You’d nearly laughed at that- your school had taken you all out to the amusement park on the last day of classes, and somehow Wonwoo and you’d been seated together on all the damn rides. Fuck him for laughing at you for becoming scared on the roller coaster rides and then pretending to take care of you when you had passed out in his arms at the very peak of the ride. You bet the teachers had cooed at him for being so chivalrous, when in reality it was a smack to your face. 

When he leaves early, and leans in to press a kiss to your lips, you almost cringe away. It feels like you’re kissing a stranger even though his lips and the stubble on his jaw feel so familiar. This is the first time he’s shown you affection in front of others. It’s all a show, you know. You gotta do what’s needed to keep the show running.  “I’ll see you at home, sweetheart,” he says before pulling away and tucking your hair behind your ears. You search in his eyes for honesty, and all you find is a dark abyss. 

_

But it seems like your family buys the facade again. Banking on the fact that they seem pleased with your husband, and on your good choice of marriage, you finally broach the real issue with your father. You’re both sitting at the patio, sipping whisky after everyone’s left and the two of you have some peace after a long day of chattering and feasting.

“Appa, there’s something I want to talk to you about.”

“Yes, Y/N-ah?”

You pause before answering. Finally, you decide to take the blunt route, knowing that there’s no easy way about this. 

“Come with me to the US for your treatment.”

He sighs. It’s a sigh that sounds almost like a cough, and it makes you wonder how much phlegm is stored in his damaged lungs now. You wonder how you didn’t notice it before.

“Who told you?”

“Eomma.”

“Of course she did.” He sighs again, and looks at you. “Are you asking me or commanding me?” 

“Appa, I’m not your boss. I can’t command you.”

“But you’re my daughter. I know how children feel when they think their parents aren’t listening to them.”

You smile. “I’ve always been stubborn, you know. I’ve got it in my genes.”

“Genes I’m proud of. How much has your mother told you? Did she mention I’m in stage 4 and it’s practically incurable?”

“Yes, and no. There are still chances to cure it, Appa, if only you’ll listen to me.”

“Sweetie-”

“Why aren’t you giving this another chance? I didn’t know you to be a person who easily gives up!” You can feel yourself getting angry, tears pooling in your eyes. It’s stupid how he’s arguing against it, illogical, meaningless. Your heart breaks every time you look at his eyes- they’re old, wrinkled, and yet the fire hasn’t gone out. Does he really want to end it all this fast?

“You know, I get where you’re coming from. But… I don't want to prolong suffering, Y/N-ah. It’s time, I can feel it. There’s no point being a vegetable pushed about in a wheelchair and drinking soup for the rest of my life. There’s no point living if I have to just gobble medicines all day and not drink any more port wine. There’s no point living a life which isn’t even a life, it’s just a laboratory experiment.”

You do burst out crying at this. You want to throttle his neck, and shake him, and ask how could he say such things. 

“Aaah, Y/N-ah! Don’t cry-”

“You’re making me cry, Appa! You didn’t even tell me! Were you just planning to sit on it till it’s too late?”

“It is never too late, Y/N-ah. Appa is always here with you, even if I can’t be here physically.”

The tears don’t stop, he pulls you closer, until you’re wailing on his shoulder, and he hugs you with one arm. 

“It’s not fair,” you mumble in between tears, hiccups interspersed in your words. Then he only rubs your back and you gently quieten down. “I don’t care, Appa. Come to the US with me. I’ve spoken to doctors, they’ve said there are chances to improve.” He smiles wistfully, looking at your face, which is childishly covered in snot and wet tears.

“Appa, you have to promise me you’ll try. For me, please. I’m not ready for this.”

“It will be a waste of time and effort. I would rather you pay attention to your career. And also your marriage.” “There’s not much to pay attention to. Wonwoo and I are busy almost all the time,” you try to dismiss him. “But you are young, and in love. I should believe there’s nothing other than your love life you should pay more attention to.” You sigh. It’s sad, just how well you and Wonwoo have deceived them all, even your most observant father. You wonder how it is possible, given how distant the two of you are- emotionally, always, and physically, recently. “There is something called urgency, Appa. There’s an order to how things need to be done.” 

There’s a few long minutes of silence. Your father finishes the drink in his glass and looks at the stars in the sky. You, for one moment, are sure he’ll put up another fight. “You’ve never asked me anything with so much insistence, Y/N-ah.” “You’ve not hidden anything from me before, either.” There’s another pause. The waiting is tiring, and you’re going to cry again. 

“Alright. I’ll do it, Y/N. But on one condition.” You hang on to his words, waiting for him to continue. “One chance. I’m not going back again if there is a relapse. I will not push my fate to a sour ending. You go back to your life, where I want to see you happy. And I will let nature take its due course.” You dare to smile, too afraid he’s going to take back his words. But then he smiles back, and beckons you to lie down on his lap, as he begins talking about something new he;s recently read, and you’re grateful for the distraction. 

That night when you go home, you find Wonwoo playing in his gaming room. It’s a small room, probably meant to be a spare bedroom, or a kid’s bedroom, but he has an elaborate gaming setup there, and he locks himself up in it every weekend. Sometimes you wonder if he’s dead, but then you hear his cocky, hushed whispers of victory when you lean on the door. He’s always been good at games. 

Today the door is slightly open, and you think for a deluded moment, that he perhaps left it open so that he could hear you enter the house. So you lightly knock and he turns around in his gaming chair. You realise he’s wearing a tank top, his hair hidden under a hideous beanie, and for a second, he doesn’t look like the brooding adult you’re married to. 

“I spoke to Appa tonight.”

He looks up at you and takes off his headphones. He nods once, understanding immediately.

“I’m leaving for New York tomorrow, and I don’t want to delay the appointment.” 

He stares at you for a second, then replies, “When is your flight?” 

“Afternoon.”

“And how long are you going to be away?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps a month, perhaps longer. I don’t want to leave until it’s all done. I want to see it to the end.”

He nods again, standing up from his chair. The screen flashes something about the game being paused, and his character awkwardly bounces about in the game field. The character has black hair and wears glasses like Wonwoo. 

“Pack enough, then. I’ll be here when you come back.”

You nod, and he smiles. This is why you got married in the first place, afterall. You bet he’s glad to get the wheels moving as quickly as possible so that this farce can come down before he’s so tired of it that your mere sight repels you.

_

The next three months pass by like a whirlwind, a miracle from heaven. Because not only are the doctors extremely positive about your father’s condition, but also hopeful for complete treatment. A part of you is too wary of everything going too great, too good to be true, and you’re crying every night when you lie sleepless in your hotel bed. There’s not a single second you’re free from anxiety, and there’s literally nothing else in your mind except praying that every minute of the treatment goes well. You’ve never been so nervous, except when you’d been in college and getting your papers approved by your professors and they’d laughed straight up in your face at your ambitiousness. You get periodic calls from your colleagues, the managers and Jisung, most often. But if there’s a perk of being a CEO, it’s that your employees know when to respect your personal space, unless there’s an absolute emergency. Relatives call you, your sister calls you ever so often. You hope she doesn’t go into labour with your father still stuck on the hospital bed, but it’s only a small part of her worries, you’re sure. So you assure her about everything being alright and encourage to focus on her pregnancy being perfectly smooth, although Kyungmin Oppa tells you that her mood swings are more distinct now with more things to worry about. The baby kicks for the first time, and you wish you could be there. You don’t want to miss a lot of firsts, but it’s a small tradeoff you don’t mind making. 

There’s only one person who doesn’t call you, Wonwoo. He probably knows that you don’t want to be disturbed, but sometimes you have thoughts. Thoughts about how different your life was just a few months ago. Thoughts about how your marriage is due to be annulled as soon as this business ends. Thoughts about whether you should have let Wonwoo ever into your life. Thoughts about how he feels about this entire thing. You know how he’d said he had just wanted to help you, but was it a moment of pity or a calculated decision? Was he actually humane enough to want to do this? You’re unsure, just like you’re unsure about how much you even know him. Sure, you’ve known him for your entire damn life, but not really. 

Firstly, there’s the matter of the wedding. The fact that Wonwoo didn’t actually need to be roped in to convince your dad is a surprising issue. You hadn’t expected Appa to be so pliant to your words and your tears, when he had supposedly protested so much in front of Unnie and Eomma. Well, there perhaps was something called a favourite child. Secondly, there’s the concern of what happens now. It’s already been four months since your wedding, and it’s almost mid-December now. You’re 100% sure that Wonwoo will not be interested to drag on this farce for longer than necessary, so you mentally take notes to draft up divorce letters and take them to him as soon as you return to Seoul. Your PR team’s done a fairly good job in hiding the fact that you and Wonwoo have barely spent any time together since the wedding. So it’s not going to take much to silence the media if they raise eyebrows at such a quick divorce. Family will be easy to convince, as well. We just don’t have enough time for a full-on relationship now. We’re focused on our careers, that’s where our priorities lie. Honestly, this was why we were so hesitant about marriage in the first place. See, we told you, we weren't made for this relationship business. If only you hadn’t practically stalked us into it, we wouldn’t have to disappoint you all like this. 

And what happens after that? 

Do you remain exes who smile at each other at social gatherings? Do you remain fuckbuddies, forgetting about your trash past altogether? Do you become strangers who don’t even bother to remember birthdays? 

You’re feeling dizzy, so you pass out on the couch in your hotel room. 

_

It’s New Years’ Eve when you return to Seoul, and nobody can stop the smile on your face from breaking out every three seconds. Your father’s body may still be weak from chemotherapy, and he may have to visit the hospital every other week to get follow-ups on his treatment, but he’s alive and the spark in his eyes haven’t been snuffed out. There’s hope, infinite hope, and you feel whole again. There’s incredible joy blooming in your heart, even if all the trees are barren and all the world is grey. The doctors say that it is a godsent gift, and there can be a relapse, but the chances are low enough to be confident that there’s going to be at least five more years of happy life for your father. For someone who was praying for five more minutes, it’s a harvest too bountiful, and you feel like a person born again. 

The happiness lasts the entire journey back home, back into the wide waiting arms of your mother who had never gone to the US because she was too scared of being there. You can see how the stress has taken a toll on her, as her figure seems frailer than before, and there’s no longer than glow radiating off her face. And yet, this gift is more than she, or you could ever have asked for, so you take what you can get. Your father’s organs haven’t failed yet, and he can eat better things than soup, so your mother’s cooked specially for him, although she hasn’t entered the kitchen in years. It’s softly cooked galbi and prawn pajeon, and he devours the meal after months of hospital food. You stay the night at your parent’s home, as your sister comes over along with her husband. It’s a great family reunion, and you feel like you could die in this happiness.

Except reality strikes when you wake up the next morning and realise that you should go to your actual home now. You wonder if he’s going to be at home or not, given that it’s the New Year and he may have plans with others. 

But there he is, as you let yourself in through the main door, and he locks eyes with you sitting on the couch, wearing shorts and no shirt, his hair quite wet. Apart from the fact that this is the first time you’ve seen him wear shorts, nothing’s changed. He’s still exactly the same. It’s cold outside, and the journey here has frozen your limbs, but the house is warm as fuck, just how Wonwoo’s always liked it. 

You can’t stop yourself. You don’t stop yourself when you run halfway across the living room and hug him without waiting for him to say anything. 

To his credit, he doesn’t say anything. He simply hugs you back. His body is so warm in spite of being shirtless, and you can smell the fresh soap clinging to his body. He rubs one hand on your spine and for a second you feel tears threatening to flow down your face. Did you miss him?

“How’s your father?” 

“Much better. There is hope.”

You can feel his hands moving more insistently on your back, stretching through all your muscles. It feels comforting in a way you’ve never received from Wonwoo. He doesn’t ask anything else, and you don’t mind. 

“Welcome home, Y/N.”

_

You’re bent over on the floor, unpacking your suitcase in your own room when he casually saunters into his walk-in and you don’t pay heed. It’s only when he walks out wearing a black leather jacket, a turtleneck, a light gold chain dangling on his neck, and fancy sunglasses perched on his nose that you turn around to look at him. You’re shocked at seeing him like this- you realise you haven’t seen him in casuals in so long. You haven’t seen him in so long. 

“You’re going out?”

“Yeah, it is the New Year. I have a party with my friends.”

You’re too busy ogling him, so he asks, “Don’t you have plans?” 

“Yeah, I’m going to unpack my stuff.”

“You could do that tomorrow. Going out with friends on New Years’ will not happen tomorrow.”

You roll your eyes. You assume I have friends. It shouldn’t be news to him, you’ve told him this before. And yet, you feel embarrassed again. You didn’t know Wonwoo had friends, but it’s wrong of you to think every workaholic has no life like you. 

“No. It’s been a tiring few months… I’d rather just sleep in.”

Wonwoo, surprisingly, sits down on your bed, facing you, and removes his sunglasses. You can see his pretty eyes from up close, and you realise that he’s never really sat on this bed since you’ve come to his house. “Do you want to come with me? They’ve been asking about you for quite some time now.” You look at him silently, “Nah, I don’t… don’t want to barge in.” “You won’t be.” “You’ll get late if you wait for me now.” “It’s not a big deal, most of them will be late anyway.” “Are you going to a nightclub?” “No, we’re going to a barbecue party.” 

Small, private, cosy. You’ll definitely be barging in.

“No Wonwoo, I don’t want to go somewhere where I’m not welcome. And anyway, I’m cool with whatever you’ve told your friends about us.” “I haven’t said anything in particular.” “Well, then you’re good at avoiding things.” “I am. You must’ve been away too long if you’ve forgotten about this.” 

You want to run away. He’s surely talking about avoiding being your husband- and he’s proud about it as well. 

“Then you might avoid it further. There’s no need for me to make a public appearance.”

Wonwoo stares at you for a second too long. His jaw hardens, and you can see his tongue in his cheek. Then he gently pulls your hand into his own, and carefully touches your fingers, purposely avoiding the bit around your wedding ring. The way your fingers seem much smaller compared to his makes you feel a certain way. You pull your hand back, but he doesn’t let go. He ends up pulling you up to stand, so that he’s still sitting on the edge of the bed and you’re standing right in front of him. His fingers are still laced around your own, and you feel sparks at the touch after months. 

“I’m going to show my wife off to my friends. And your excuses are pathetic, darling. You know you want me to show you off as well.” His fingers tighten their grip against your wrist, and you feel the vein in your wrist throbbing around his touch. “So get dressed nicely. I know you clean up well.”

It takes you a solid ten minutes to find something good to wear. Sure, you’re not big on fashion, but you like to look fit for the occasion. Especially if Wonwoo’s dressed up all fancily like that. But when you finally step out of the closet, you’re wearing a beige corset top with a black skirt, and a long black coat with tiny gold details. You find Wonwoo still sitting on your bed, scrolling through his phone. “How do I look?” you ask at the same time as he raises his head to look at you. After checking you out twice from top to toe, he nods slowly, but before you can exhale in relief, he says, “Will you feel cold in that skirt?” “No. And before you ask, I’m not wearing stockings. The coat will be enough.” “Don’t complain if you get cold later. Come down in five.” 

_

When you’re finally in the car, you ask him if you should buy something for the host, since it is New Years’ afterall. “If we bought something for him, the others will be mad at us for not buying something for them too.” You laugh it off, wondering how that could be possible, and proceed to stop at a nearby store to buy one of the trendy perfumes that’s popular amongst men these days. 

You find, not even half an hour later, that it is possible. 

“Wonwoongi! You only brought presents for Mingoo? None for hyung? How will hyung survive without your generosity?” A lanky, beautiful man immediately latches himself onto Wonwoo’s arm as soon as you both enter Mingyu’s house. It’s a pretty bungalow situated a little far from the city, and decorated extravagantly with lights. It’s only after Wonwoo makes it through the first few people crowding near the entryway that everybody notices you. 

There’s a collective gasp going around when everyone turns around and looks at you, smiles galore. And then they all start speaking together, and you get overwhelmed. Wonwoo shushes them all in an uncharacteristically loud voice, and announces, “Since y’all wanted to meet her, this is Y/L/N Y/N, my wife,” and you bow deeply to everyone as everyone greets you back. When you stand upright again, you stumble a bit, not having noticed the thick carpet, and Wonwoo’s quick to grab your hand. He casually interlocks his fingers with yours, and you both make your way into the apartment. 

The first man you meet is Mingyu, the host. You’re shocked to see him, not expecting to see him as the host. So he’s the host. He’s become taller than Wonwoo now, his face still identical to what you remember from high school. It sparks an annoyance in you, as scenes from each sports day of your high school years flashes by. There wasn’t a single time when you hadn’t defeated Mingyu in tennis, badminton and squash. You really loved playing racket sports, and it seemed that so did Mingyu. But not just that- Mingyu’s arrogance was even more childish than that of Wonwoo because he was insanely arrogant about his looks and the number of girls (and boys) thirsting over him every day. Although you hardly met him outside school because he didn’t belong to a chaebol family, you’d actively glare at each other every time you met in school. You wonder what version of these same memories flashed in his mind as you stand in front of him now. 

“It’s been a long time, Y/N-ah. Didn’t imagine that you and Wonwoo would end up married.” It’s a genuine smile, and for a moment, you wonder if you’d had the wrong impression about him all along. “We didn’t imagine it either, trust me.” Wonwoo smiles, and it breaks you out of your reverie. You hand Mingyu the gift, and say, “Thank you for extending your invitation to me.” “There’s no need to be so formal, Y/N-ah. But what’s the need for the gift?” “Since I’m visiting you for the first time… as Mrs. Jeon, I felt I shouldn’t come empty-handed.” Mingyu giggles and nudges Wonwoo’s arm, “Mrs Jeon, hmm? Feels like a Hollywood movie. Thanks Y/N, I’ll use it well!”

Then Wonwoo introduces you to the rest of his friend group one by one. You meet Seungcheol, who you remember all too well. “How the tables have turned, huh?” He chuckles, before handing you a glass of wine. There’s a familiarity in his mysterious smile, that twinkling look in his eyes, that elite tilt of his chin, as if he owned the world, which used to annoy the hell out of you, because to you, he seemed to be the stereotype of the worthless chaebol heirs who’d do nothing in their lives except eat out of their parents’ money. And yet, he’s made it big on his own, if news reports are correct, and perhaps you can find some respect for him now. “I hope we get along better this time, Seungcheol Oppa.” He’s the only man from Wonwoo’s high school group who you would call Oppa, and that was only to tease him because he’d been voted as the Sexiest Oppa of the Year at the end of the high school year. Seungcheol seems to remember that too, because he laughs, and you realise it’s a fond memory, no matter how much annoyance it had sparked in you back then. 

Then there’s Jeonghan, who’d been that beautiful man who’d spoken to Wonwoo earlier with that aegyo nickname of Wonwoongie. who disarms you instantly with his jokes. Joshua, who’s introduced as the gentleman, but you can see the mischief in his doe-like eyes, much too good-looking for his own good. There’s Soonyoung and Seokmin, who are already playing beer pong, laughing and spilling a lot of the beer on the table (and the carpet, but they implore you to not tell Mingyu that). Seungkwan referees them, while he’s wrapped around his boyfriend, who’s extremely charming and interesting. Vernon and you speak for a good two minutes before Seungkwan interrupts you both and takes you to meet Jun. Jun is sitting on the other side of the room, with his girlfriend, Lihua. She’s also Chinese but speaks fluent Korean, as she’s a teacher in Seoul, as she explains.You find out that Jun is an actor in both Korean and Chinese tv shows, and his visuals explain a lot of it, for sure. Then there’s Minghao, who’s busy discussing Met Gala looks over the years with two women, Soyeon (Jihoon’s fiance) and Aeri (Chan’s girlfriend). Chan and Jihoon themselves are missing, but soon you find them in the kitchen, helping Mingyu and his fiance, Hayi, to make cocktails. 

And when the introductions finally end, Wonwoo and you flop down on a couch in one corner, both tired from all that smiling and small talk. 

“Are you sighing so loudly because they’re not nice?” He teases you, as he place an arm around the head of the sofa, successfully cradling you without even touching your body. “Wonwoo. I didn’t know you were still close to Seungcheol and Mingyu.” “Hmm… should I have warned you before bringing you here?” You turn your face away from him, “A warning would have been nice. I wasn’t really ready to see Mingyu’s annoying smile again after all those years of his delinquency.” Wonwoo laughs, and you continue, “But I’m curious. What did you tell them about me that they’re welcoming me with open arms? Did you tell them that I’ve completely changed or something?” “No. They had their reservations too, but it’s not like they could do anything. I told them only a day before we got married.” You open your mouth to refute, but quickly become silent. Not for the first time, you wonder, how had Wonwoo adapted into the marriage so quickly in spite of having nothing to gain and everything to lose. It reminds you of the divorce papers you had asked Jisung to prepare, so you don’t say anything.

Jeonghan comes and sits on your other side too. “Oh, we have another person joining our lazy line, I see.” He giggles as you look confused. “Wonwoo, Hao and I are the lazy line. We run out of battery first. We can’t keep up with the other over-energetic boy.” “But the absolute first is Wonwoo, of course. There’s no end to group photos where he’s yawning in all the shots.” Minghao strolls in, grabs Wonwoo by the arm, calling him to the other room where they’re all playing billiards, and then it’s just you and Jeonghan on the sofa. 

“So, Y/N, I hear that you and Wonwoo have been friends since school?” You laugh, because he can’t have heard that. You know Jeonghan knows you both have never really been friends. He laughs too, and you realise how easily he’s prodded right into the truth. “It’s complicated,” you say safely, as you get a feeling you can’t hide from this man. “And yet I think you’re perfectly fit to be Mrs Jeon, from what I hear.” You laugh again, because genuinely it is a funny statement. You think he’s making a joke- probably about how you both hated each other’s guts in school, or had an equal temper. But no, he’s all serious and he repeats his statement with more sincerity. You twist your lips in confusion, and ask him, “How can you say that?” “Because I know Wonwoo very well. That’s it.” He then laughs a bit and continues, “They call me the Eomma of the group for a reason, you know. They’re all my kids. Even Cheol and Shua.”

And then Wonwoo calls you both to the barbecue which had begun on the outdoor patio. 

_

The party may have begun awkwardly for you but it soon becomes quite exciting. The temperature continues to fall as it becomes darker in the night sky, but everyone’s gathered around the barbecue grill outside so you don’t want to move. The girls are mostly sitting together, sitting cocktails that Mingyu prepares for you, winking every way until he reaches his fiance who exaggeratedly winks back. You sit sandwiched between Aeri and Wonwoo, and while Wonwoo is busy discussing games with Seungcheol, Aeri doesn’t let you feel isolated. You’re included into the group surprisingly quickly, and soon you’re playing drinking games with them. Games you’ve never played before, so you’re obviously totally incapable at defeating them. They seem to play these every other weekend, while you’ve never even heard of these game rules. The reality sends pangs to your heart because it hits harder than ever that you’ve never had a friend group with who you could drink with. Not even a casual drink. Not even a girls’ night out. Not even a pole dance at a strip club. 

“Okay! Let’s play the hongsam game,” Seungkwan shouts out and immediately everyone cheers in agreement. You must be looking confused as hell, because Jihoon quietly leans in to explain the rules simply. Seungkwan and Jihoon show you a small demo, and you nod. You may not have understood fully but you don’t want to hold up others in the game. And so the game goes on for nineteen rounds, and you lose ten of them. You somehow miss the timing every time, or maybe you just don’t know their names well enough. Even Joshua, who messed up the first three times, seems to have caught on, but you’re just stuck. Although they make you feel better about it, laughing with you instead of at you, and reassuring you that it’s okay to make mistakes, you feel embarrassed. It’s not a tough game, just requires hand-eye-brain coordination that you’re sure you’re not lacking in, but perhaps some part of you wants to do better because it’s Wonwoo’s friends you’re playing with, and performing poorly here would mean… well, you don’t know what it would mean, but it doesn’t sit right with you. So you try to be more competitive, and although you keep losing, as the shots go in, it feels less stressful and more fun. You become more familiar with the games, and the S.coups game you’re actually good at, although you have no idea why it’s called the S.coups game and Seungcheol personally makes it a point to threaten anyone who’s about to tell you why it’s called the S.coups game. 

And so, as the night goes by, you become more comfortable. Even if it is still a little awkward, it’s not altogether bad. Mingyu and Seungcheol are being nice to you, although a bit wary. The others have positively welcomed you with open arms. And Wonwoo, well, he’s being a little odd. He’s having a hell lot of fun, being much louder than you’ve ever seen him. He seems more reserved than his friends, but then, his friends are too hyper. And while he doesn’t make direct efforts to talk to you, he’s becoming more touchy by the minute. The first few shots in, he was just putting an arm around your shoulders. Next few shots in, his hands are properly rubbing all over your bare arms as he makes you open the coat when you say your body’s getting warm with all the soju. When you feel the buzz of alcohol getting more serious by the second, his right hand, the same one which had held your hand earlier that day, places itself on your thigh and refuses to move. It’s splayed all over your thigh, nearly covering from end to end, and there’s not much skin showing anyway, but with his hand, it feels like you should’ve worn a shorter skirt. 

Wonwoo’s favourite game is the mafia one. The game app somehow generates him to be mafia three out of four times, and he has way too much fun killing the innocent citizens who seem to be completely deceived by him. Wonwoo’s too good at lying, you realise, when you’re taken aback each time on finding out he’s the mafia although you’re sitting right next to him. The fifth round, you both are mafias, and after the penultimate round of guessing, when you two are the only mafias left alive and you lock eyes to decide who to kill, you giggle at the way he’s staring you down. 

“I say, Soyeon. She’s the closest to guessing me out.” You say seriously, but his eyes aren’t even on your eyes. They’re fixed lower, at your lips, but you panic and shift away from him. Now his eyes look up at yours, confused, but you’re guessing he’s just drunk. He would never behave like this if he were sober. 

“I say let’s get out of here. While their eyes are still closed.” He smirks, whispering hotly in front of your face, and you feel red all over. 

“Wonwoo! They’re your friends.” “So what? They love you already. They wouldn’t be mad at you for leaving, if that’s what you’re thinking.” “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re having so much fun, why would you want to leave?” “Because I know I could have more fun with you with my face under that skirt of yours.” You’re blushing again. “You don’t want to know the number of times I’ve left fun gatherings like this to fuck you in my car, sweetheart. This time, at least, they’ll understand better.” You blush even harder, with the way he’s speaking. It’s making your heart beat too loudly. You know it’s because you both are drunk, but you’ve never been able to resist it when he talks dirty to you. And now his hand starts squeezing your thigh, so you’re left wondering what it would feel like if his face was under your sk-

“Oh for fucks sake! I know it’s Wonwoo and Y/N with all this whispering, I’m sitting next to y’all, guys!” Aeri whines from next to you, and the moment is broken. Everyone opens their eyes and Wonwoo’s hand stop squeezing, although it’s still on your thigh. “If you’re going to undress each other, just go home!” Chan says, and you laugh. “I’m not leaving the party even if Wonwoo does, just so you know. I’m having way too much fun.” Aeri and Hayi hug you from one end, pulling you away from Wonwoo. “Yes,” says Hayi, “we’re not letting you go either. Boring mafia men can leave if they like.” So they pull you away from Wonwoo and you end up sitting somewhere far away from him, between Joshua and Minghao, and it’s nice to be around people who aren’t game aces either and you can have a lot more fun because they’re not as serious as Wonwoo.

A few seconds later, your phone buzzes in your pocket, so you take it out. There’s a text from Wonwoo. 

I wasn’t kidding, Y/N. I really want to get out of here with you.

_

Twenty minutes later, you’ve bid the last round of goodbyes, hugging Jeonghan and exchanging numbers with most of them, while they whine about why Wonwoo gatekept you for so long. Even Seungcheol and Mingyu joke around you, showing that they’ve become more comfortable around you. Perhaps growing up has taken away some of their jerk attitude from them. 

Wonwoo’s already leaning against his car when you walk out of the house. You know he’s drunk with the way his eyes check you out without any filter, and you’re also drunk and out of your inhibitions. You try not to get into your head as he opens the door for you, and you get inside the warm car. Wonwoo joins you in the backseat, and the chauffeur drives you out slowly. 

But somehow, being in the car now, away from the dopamine of the party, and the general excitement from having a surprisingly fun evening with strangers, the overthinking does kick in. Wonwoo doesn’t say a word, but his hand has returned on your thigh, and you let it be there. But you can’t help but think, is he finding you attractive only because he’s under the influence? 

So you ask him that, when you both get out of the car and he opens the door to the apartment. Drunk, dishevelled Wonwoo looks glorious in the night light, his dark hair falling over his eyes, which are hooded in desire as plain as day. “Are you fucking serious, woman?” That’s all he says, before he pushes you against the back of the same entry door, and puts his hand under your skirt. He finds you panties as an obstruction so he pushes them aside before kissing you and entering one finger inside your cunt simultaneously. You immediately melt under his touch, not just because it’s been months since Wonwoo’s touched you, but also because you’re feeling so relieved he’s still attracted to you. At least the farce hasn’t repelled him away this far. 

So you don’t speak any words. You both stay silent except the sounds he forces out of you. You come embarrassingly fast with just two fingers up your vagina, and his mouth creating hickeys all over your neck. “Fuck, Wonwoo, I-” “Shit you’re still coming- your whore pussy’s thanking Sir for taking care of her after so long?” You moan his name harder, your entire body writhing under his touch as he drags out your climax under his touch. “Yes, Sir.” “And what to good girls say in gratitude?” You can barely form the words but you say it, “Thank- thank you, Sir!”

“Where do you wanna take it, hmm? To my bedroom which you’ve taken over? Or my bedroom where you’ve exiled me to?” He picks you up and shrugs off your coat, and you wrap your legs around him, stretching the skirt. “It doesn’t matter.”

So he takes you to the bedroom where he’s sleeping these days. He flunks you on the bed, and you tumble to fall on your face. The sheets smell like him, and you breathe in his scent. You don’t want to sleep anywhere else after this- only next to him, if this is what his bed smells like. 

He leans in from behind you, and unhooks your top and skirt, leaving you in your underwear. Your panties are ruined, so he makes quick work of removing them. But he keeps the bra on, and gently slides in under you until your pussy is on his face as he prepares to eat you out from behind. His hands are splayed over your ass, and as soon as his tongue makes contact with your already abused vagina, you scream out his name. But he doesn’t stop- he continues, his tongue harshly fucking your cunt. When he’s done making you orgasm again like that, and you’re done screaming his name into his pillow, he finally moves away from you. You fall limp on the bed, as you hear him take off his clothes. Eventually he cages you from behind, and slowly fills you up from behind, one hand on your neck and the other rubbing your nipple over your bra. 

So he fucks you like that, his cold chain makes sparks every time it brushes against your spine. “Sir, please! Faster, please-” Wonwoo doesn’t reply to any of your begging, but he responds physically to everything you say, by doing the exact opposite and dragging out your misery. His hands don’t leave your nipples as he leisurely fucks you. “Fuck, Y/N, not even four months, and you’re tight like a virgin again.” Your hands slip and weakly try to clutch at the bedsheets, but you feel useless, like a toy, and he feels every inch of skin which he’s missed out on all this time. You don’t know what he’s looking like now, but his hand presses your head down on the pillow softly, and his grunts and moans are soft enough to be enveloped by your own louder moans and pants.

“Please, I’m begging you, please- pl- faster- Sir!” And the second he lifts his body away from yours, thrusting into you faster, you spasm and orgasm right there, and it triggers his orgasm too. The warmth of his cum flowing inside you stays there as he gently falls down on your body, panting. When he begins to pull out, you whine, unable to say anything but he gets the message. He lies down next to you softly, without pulling out for a few minutes. When your body finally comes down from the high, you go limp around his body, and Wonwoo gently pulls out. 

“I’ll clean you up.” “I’m sleepy…” “Yeah, then sleep.” And then you pass out.

_

When you wake up the next morning, Wonwoo is, unsurprisingly, not next to you, although his side of the bed is not cold. It feels like an upgrade, and you take what you can get. For the first time since you’ve gotten married, you’ve slept together and the thought of it makes you pleased for some reason. 

“Morning,” he walks in, before you can properly wake up. He’s wearing a peach-coloured hoodie with sweatpants, a cup of coffee in his hand. “Is that for me?” “No, I didn’t know if you were up.” “Okay, I’ll go and get my own.”

So you do. You brush your teeth and make your coffee and return to the bedroom, and Wonwoo’s still sitting there, his back leaning against the headboard. For a second, you feel like you’re stepping into someone else’s married life, but then you realise it’s yours. It makes you giddy. You don’t understand why- it’s not like you’ve ever craved for Wonwoo, or anyone, in this way. But somehow, you’ve warmed up well to the idea of having him as your … partner. There’s nobody who could be an equal match to you, to be honest. Either they’d be seriously less intelligent and you would be able to hold no conversation with them, or they’d be arrogant as fuck if they were smarter than you, and they’d make it a point to make you feel lesser, always. So Wonwoo is the perfect match for you. 

Although, Wonwoo could surely find someone better. Jeonghan’s words float in your brain once again, and you fight the urge to contradict him. Mrs Jeon could definitely be someone else- someone who’s less distant from Wonwoo, someone he could love truly deeper than just skin-level attraction, someone who would want to be with him for real feelings and not just a facade.

“There’s something I want to talk to you about, Wonwoo.” 

“Yeah, me too.” You both sit against the headboard, bodies far apart, as if repelled again by magnetic force, no matter how close you were last night. 

“Okay, you go first then.”

So he says, “Last night was… a mistake. I know it sounds cliche, but it’s true. I don’t… want to do this with you.”

Oh fuck. You did not see that coming. Sure, the relationship could have been a mistake. Getting married without him getting anything out of it could have been a mistake. Continuing this marriage after your dad’s treatment was successful could have been a mistake. But last night? Last night had felt so right to you. There was no one who knew your body like Wonwoo did, and you knew it went the other way round too. Then how could he say that?

He continues, “I don’t want to be fuckbuddies with you like this, Y/N. We got married for a goal, and now that goal’s been fulfilled and…”

“And you want a divorce. I get it.” 

He looks at you with confusion, his eyes wide and his eyebrows furrowed. “No, that’s not what I said.” 

“That’s what you meant. I’m an adult, Wonwoo, don’t teach me nuances.” You get off the bed and walk away. 

“Y/N, you’ve got to hear me out when I’m saying something.”

“Wonwoo, I already know what you’re trying to say.” 

“Fuck you, Y/N. This is why it’s not possible to have a proper conversation with you.”

“You’ll get what you want, Wonwoo. Don’t worry. Thanks for telling me, I needed to know.”

_

It feels good to get back to work after so long. The familiar sound of people typing away on their laptops and the busy movement of people everywhere, it brings peace to your heart. There are people hovering around you, hoping to speak to you, but Jisung somehow brings you to your office without you having to say anything more than good morning and happy new year to anyone. 

It’s only when you enter the office and you see the pending paperwork that you realise just how much you’ve missed. There’s a deal with Lee Corp. that’s sitting on your desk, and Jisung presents it to you with a proud smile. “We got it done, Ma’am. Every detail you wanted, to the t.” You don’t know how to respond, because it’s unbelievable. “But how?” This is your dream- signing a contract with Lee Corp., the leading organisation for facilitating stools for robotic surgery in Korea. Although your technology has always been more modern, they’ve retained their large market share because of simply how long they’ve sustained in the business- after all, when it comes to health, trust comes before modernity for customers. 

“Jeon Wonwoo-ssi set up the deal for us. The Deputy CEO and myself attended the meeting, I can share the minutes with-”

“Wait, stop. Wonwoo, you said?” 

“Yes Ma’am, I… did he not tell you? He told me he’d tell you.” Jisung looks genuinely confused, so you know it’s futile to investigate him further. 

“Well, as you can see, it’s news to me.”

“There is a meeting today, at noon, Ma’am, I need to brief you about the details before you-” 

“I’ll get the details directly from Wonwoo, thanks Jisung. Ask my chauffeur to get my car ready please. I’ll be back before the meeting.”

_

Wonwoo’s office building is bustling with the same energy as your own, and you face no trouble finding his office. So you walk right in. 

“What’s this I’m hearing?” He’s standing next to a shorter man showing him something on a tablet, but he immediately leaves when he sees you, bowing quickly. “I was busy, Y/N, you can’t just walk in like that as if you own the place.” He walks up to you, and gently closes the door, before leaning against it and asking you, in that fucking relaxed expression he always has, “What’s the matter?” 

“You fixed a deal with Lee Corp. for my company?” 

“What about it?” 

“And you didn’t bother to tell me?”

“I thought it was best not to disturb you when you were busy with your father.”

Your eyes widen in disbelief. “Wonwoo, this is literally the most important event that can turn my career around forever, and you choose not to tell me-”

“So you’d rather I invade your privacy for this? I’d arranged it so that it would be closed only after your return anyway, so it’s not like-”

“It’s exactly like you were making deals behind my back! God knows what subscript you’ve mentioned in the clauses with the Lees- yeah, step one: get into a trusting contract with Y/N, step two: slowly overtake all her market power, step three: make the company so weak that Jeon Estates can easily take over.” 

You’ve taken a step closer with every word, and now you’re standing at a hair’s distance from Wonwoo, who’s just staring at you. “For god’s sake, Jeon Wonwoo, say something!” 

And then, he fucking laughs. It’s a bitter laugh, one with no mirth, and it makes goosebumps rise on your flesh. 

“You’re mad, Y/N. You’re paranoid, stupid, ungrateful, selfish little bitch, and I can’t even be mad at you because I knew this is how you’ve been all along and yet, I can’t fucking stop myself from falling in love with you every damn day!” 

It’s your turn to go speechless. The documents in your hands fall limply to the floor, as your jaw opens and you stay rooted in one spot, stunned beyond belief. “You… what?”

“You were so fucking right every time you called me a dumbass, Y/N. Because I am one.” He laughs again, taking off his glasses with one hand, and rubbing his eyes with another. Then he stops laughing and when he wears his glasses again, his face looks twenty years older. 

“Wonwoo… I’m not understanding.”

“You will never understand. Because you don’t have a fucking heart. One would think I have a masochism kink- the way you kick me out every day and I come back to you like a dog. Have you ever thought that maybe I don’t want to take over your company? I’ve told you before- I have enough ways and means to bring you down already had I really wanted to. For fucks’ sake, it’d take a minute for me to destroy your reputation by spreading a rumour about how you wanted to bang me just because you thought it was a great way to get your dad to get into treatment.”

“You still could-”

“I’ve never taken advantage of you- never. I’ve respected you, with as much as I could. When you’ve been petty, when you’ve been oversmart, when you’ve been angry. And you think I’m really interested in destroying you? No, Y/N, if there’s anything I feel towards you and your professional career, it’s admiration. And respect.”

“Don’t lie to my face, Jeon.”

He laughs again, and kneels down so that he’s looking away from you, down at the floor, his body no longer held up in his usual manly stature. 

“I’m so tired of running around and playing these games with you, Y/N. I’ve admired you since you’d been promoted two classes at once in ninth grade.”

“That is a lie. You’d gone right after that class to bitch about me, very loudly, to your friends, about how I’d been promoted only because my dad’s business was flourishing.” 

“It was a front, because all of my friends, and mind you, I don’t mean Mingyu and Seungcheol, had become pissed at you for it. I had to… I don’t know… be popular? I couldn’t be any more of a loser than I already was. I’d lost a year as it is for breaking my leg and not being able to attend classes, and then… owning up that your intelligence and intellect amazed me and got me on my fucking knees would mean I’d no longer be the cool boy in class who everybody wanted to be with.” 

You kneel down next to him, imploring him to look into your eyes. But he steadfastly avoids eye contact- and you feel the floor slip away from your feet. Things you’d believed for years… hearing them become untrue… hearing them being simple misunderstandings… it was too frightening and too overwhelming to be believable. 

“But there’s not been a moment these last dozen years when I’ve not had my heart beat fast whenever I think about you… see you. I’d accepted your harsh words and your cold attitude as the norm because… I knew it was because I’d not behaved very nicely with you either, and I was to be blamed for it after all. But I took what I could get. A beggar cannot be a chooser, you know?” 

And he finally looks at you. 

And finally you can read Jeon Wonwoo. Every expression is as clear as day on his face. His eyes clouded with betrayal and pain, his lips twitching, seconds away from breaking down, his hands pale and trembling. You want to walk away, be a coward again, run away and escape to your bubble of yourself and only yourself. But you also want to take his hand, and feel the truth he’s speaking coursing through his veins buzz out into your own skin.

So you do that. 

For once in twenty six years, you do the brave thing. 

You sit down completely on the floor, and you lean forward to face him, and touch the tips of his fingers. You’re surrounded by the flurry of papers you’d brought to him, but in this moment, when the current of his touch matches the voltage running in your mind, you forget what they were. He looks away, and says, “Everything about you was so electrifying. You were the first woman who had never pedestalized me for my money and my position in society. The first woman who’d made me feel like just another human being. The first woman who I’d been unable to seduce with just a casual look. The first woman who threw a challenge at me with not just her attitude but also her smartness. And boy, you know how competitive I can be.”

“I was okay with being fuckbuddies too, you know. This way, I didn’t have to pine over you from a corner of the room at social gatherings and wonder how you smelt. I didn’t have to look at you from the other side of the cafeteria at school and imagine how it would feel to kiss the cream off the corner of your lips. And I fucking loved it. I loved being able to hold you close, make you mine. I- well… the first night you’d hooked up with me? If you’d not come back to me yourself, I would have begged you and confessed that very night. I would have cried at your feet to let me be your lover.”

There’s a single tear falling off his cheek and onto the point where your fingers touch. He doesn’t look at you. The sky outside darkens with the impending rain, making the room infinitely darker than it was earlier. 

“And then… when you’d asked me to stop… the world had broken down on me. I’d given up on making you want to like me- but,” and he laughs again, that broken, mirthless laugh, “a man can dream, can he not?”

“Wonwoo, I’m sorry.” you whisper. You know it’s pointless, but you still want to say it.

“For what Y/N? You’ve done nothing wrong. You’ve just shown me my place.”

“For hurting you. I didn’t know…”

“No you… you didn’t even know you were hurting me. You were just being you.”

“And it’s sick that I hurt you so much when I was just being myself.” 

There’s a long minute of silence, as he looks up at you. Lightning cracks on the horizon outside, your body shivering with the sudden sound of thunder, and his hands withdraw from your own.

“Y/N, I don’t want to interfere in your life any longer. I’ve lived happily this last year, being so close to you, even when I knew it wasn’t in the way I wanted. But last night…”

“Wonwoo. I-”

“It was a mistake because I can’t do this so casually anymore, Y/N. I don’t want to wake up next to you just like that, Y/N. I don’t want to be married to you on paper, Y/N. I don’t want to pretend in front of my friends and not make you mine in public. Seungcheol and Mingyu accepted you fully… because they knew just how smitten I’ve been with you forever.” The edge of his lips tilt upward in a lopsided, winsome smile, as he continues, “That day in the amusement park? You’d been so mad at me for no fault of mine at all, but you’d been so cute when you’d lolled all over my shoulder and clutched onto my clothes for your dear life. That time you’d made your first speech as your father’s heir to the company, I swear I could’ve run to you and kissed you right there, you’d been so hot up on stage, in the spotlight, right where you belong.”

He starts standing up, looking away from you. He begins picking up the first paper next to him. 

“Oh, you bought the divorce papers.” 

You spring up to attention at once, and snatch it away from him. “Wonwoo, I-”

“No, thanks for bringing them. Thank you for putting me out of my misery of this awful mirage called hope.”

“No, please, I-”

“I see you’ve already signed-” 

“Wonwoo! Just please listen to me?”

He finally pauses in his tracks and looks at you. “You’ve said enough, Y/N-ah. You’ll get the divorce you so want. And if you like, I’ll ask Jihoon to put in a word to take away the deal as well. If you feel so threatened-”

“Wonwoo, hold up. Jihoon?”

“Yeah? You didn’t know? His cousin is the CEO of Lee Corp. currently.”

He picks up a pen to sign, and you literally lunge yourself on his body. It’s cinematic, a little unreal, but you do it out of desperation. It results in you being draped all over his body, as he falls back on his desk. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Shut up. Let me talk,” and you clamp a hand on his mouth before he can say another word. You take a deep breath, as his eyes widen for a second, but then he stabilises himself on his desk and waits for you to continue. 

“I’ll admit it, I’ve been an awful person. I’ve been mean, selfish, and paranoid- and yes, while I may have been justified to some extent, I … should’ve trusted you. It’s absurd though- had I not trusted you at all, how could I ever submit to you even in sex? How could I trust you with my body at my weakest, most out-of-control moments? Perhaps, deep down, I knew that, no matter how much we sparred with our words and our eyes, we… you would never harm me. And I think you know I wouldn’t have harmed you either, really. Because you’ve been nothing if not my twin spirit. You’ve been the only person competitive enough to challenge me. You’ve been the only man who hasn’t given me up even when I threw tantrums. And I want to stop talking in the past tense. Even in the future, I see… I see you as the only man who’d ever really understand me. If I tell you I need a week to just cut off from the world and focus on my work, you’d understand me. If I tell you, Wonwoo, I… well fuck it, I didn’t even need to tell you that I don’t like being lonely every New Years’ Eve, did I? You agreed to be my ally when our families turned against us. You agreed to be my husband when I hadn’t even asked you about it. You’ve… you’ve shown me that a world beyond me exists, you’ve shown me that I’m not the only person in this world I can care about, and you’ve shown me that you don’t need to be loud and obvious when you want to do things for others. And I haven’t even shown gratitude for it. So you’re right when you call me a paranoid, stupid, ungrateful, selfish little bitch.” He shakes his head, but you only laugh a little. “No you’re right. You are. Wonwoo, I… these last few weeks. When I was away, with my dad? I didn’t think it was love but… I did think it was longing. I didn’t even know when I’d gotten used to not living alone at home. I didn’t even know when I’d developed the habit of waiting till 10 pm to see you enter the house after working out, sweaty and your muscles bulging. I’d told you I had become dependent on you as a way to relieve my stress? Well, turns out now I’ve become dependent on you for attention, for affection, for a way to cure my loneliness. I am a paranoid, stupid, ungrateful, selfish little bitch because I’ve been so lonely for years. Apart from my parents and my sister, I… I’ve never had anyone else. And I thought it was  a strength of mine … until I grew up and realised just how lonely I had become. And then… I found you, I guess? Even when we just had sex, it was better than spending all those nights alone, drinking on my own. Even when you’d tie me up to your bedpost for hours on that stupid yellow vibrator of yours, it was more intimate than anything else, and simply because… you even read my face and understood when I was reaching my boundaries. And I’m having all these epiphanies right now, and I feel like a fool for priding myself on my smartness, because truly, what have I gained if I’ve lost you?”

And then, he wrings his hands free and leans over you, and kisses you. Kisses you with his mouth open, his eyes on yours as he gauges your expressions turn from surprise, to wonder, to thrill. When he’s finally kissed you out of breath, you pull away from him to breathe in and feel alive again, only to find that the roles have switched and he’s got you pinned against his desk now. 

“Baby, if only… if only I’d known, that your pretty mind was having so many epiphanies, I’d have not left you on the bed alone in the morning. Tell me you don’t really want the divorce, tell me what you said right now was not a joke?”

“It’s not… I don’t want a divorce, please Wonwoo. I had only got them prepared because I thought you’d want them- but…” 

“Well, I deserve to be treated like a shithead for not making you feel just how badly I want to hold on to this marriage. Because even if it is fake…”

“Wonwoo, shh… it’s not fake if I love you, right?” You say, experimentally, hoping you’re doing the right thing now by being brave, and when he doesn’t reply for a second, your brain goes on a spiral again, but then he must know it because he kisses you again. “Say that again, princess.” So you do. He asks you three more times, and each time, he punctuates his sentences with kisses on your face, and you blush harder each time you admit that yes, you have fallen in love with Jeon Wonwoo. The last person you’d expect to fall for… but it’s true, and it’s real, and it’s warm and novel with how it’s coursing through your veins. 

“I love you too, Y/N, if you’ll really have me.” So you kiss him back, your tongues lazily sliding against each other, the sensation making you numb. It feels good to kiss Wonwoo, but it feels even better to kiss your lover Wonwoo, you realise, and you go back for a million more kisses, before the grandfather’s clock in his room rings out and reminds you that it is noon. 

“Wonwoo… Fuck! I’d forgotten,” you whisper as he kisses you down your neck, lavishing every inch of your skin. “The meeting with the Lees!” “Oh.” He looks up at you. “I’ll call Jihoon and ask him to reschedule. Can’t let work get in the way of pleasure, right now, Mrs. Jeon. Not when I can finally make love to you like you’re mine.” You giggle at his words, unimaginably corny. But you can’t deny how good it makes you feel. “Wait, who said I’m yours?” “Fuck, don’t mess with me, woman. You- you just said!” “I am, relax! It’s a joke, Mr. Jeon. I see your cheesiness has changed now… but your sense of humour is just as poor as before.” He snarls against your lips, although it’s sexy in a way. “I’ll not let you go for comments like that, you know?”

_

So he doesn’t. He calls Jihoon and reschedules the meeting, and then he drives you home, in his car. He’s sitting in the driver’s seat, his hand wrapped in yours, as he pauses at every red light to kiss you. “I still can't believe it.” “You’ve got me here, Jeon. I’m not going away.” You can see the way his hands tremble, but you hold on tight. You’re telling him as much as you’re telling yourself, you’re never going away. 

It’s still raining outside, but he covers your head with his blazer as he picks you up and carries you all the way upstairs to his apartment, doesn’t even lower you in the elevator. Thankfully there’s only an ahjumma inside the elevator, who doesn’t seem to mind, only giggles when you apologise. “It’s okay. I know how lovesick men can be,” she says, before she gets down at her designated floor. 

And then he doesn’t stop kissing you. He doesn’t leave your mouth even when the elevator door opens and you both walk out into your apartment. He doesn’t leave your mouth when you shrug off your heels and he takes off his own shoes. He doesn’t leave your mouth when he directly takes you all the way to the master bedroom, and just plops you down on the bed, you nearly springing up with the impact. 

“Wonwoo?” You ask when he turns away and walks into the closet, only to return with a box that’s too familiar to you. It has all your toys in it. “Do you know, Mrs. Jeon, just how cruel you’ve been by forcing me to see these every time I open the drawer to take out my underwear? He opens it slowly, showing you the three dildos inside, and the bullet vibrator Wonwoo himself had bought for you. “Every time I see them, it feels like you’re cheating on me, because fuck, how can anything give you pleasure when I literally exist?” His words are cheesy again, but in that dirty way which is so on brand for him. You’re leaking under the suit pants already, you know that. 

“Wonwoo… I… you know I don’t use them when you’re around.”

“And you shouldn’t have to use them ever. Not when I’m here to fuck you good like you deserve, like the cumslut you are, hmm?” He presses a finger under your chin, taking in a good look at you from above, before he orders, “Strip.”

So you do. He takes his sweet time watching you strip, while taking out one dildo from your box and his favourite ties. When you’re down to your underwear, he pauses you and extends a hand waiting for something. You know what’s coming, so you just extend your hands to him and let him tie you up. He smirks at your gesture, so he ties you up the poles of the bed. He also uses another tie to wrap around your eyes, and then he gently peels off your panties. “God, fuck. You smell heavenly.” Did he just sniff your underwear? “Wonwoo! Don’t!” There’s a sharp spank on your pussy, exposed to him in its wet glory, and you crumble instantly. “Little baby girls don’t tell Sir what to do and what not to do, hmm? They just take it as they’re given.” So he spanks you again, and it sends shivers through your body. Just the thought of fucking in the broad daylight seems like a sin, but then… isn’t this what married couples do?

You realise that Wonwoo’s seated himself next to you, and he’s gently taken your head into his lap. His hand is already playing with your clit, and you feel something cold and liquidy being rubbed over your pussy flesh. Lube? He’s still fully dressed, and you can feel the cold metal of his watch graze against your sensitive thigh, making you hiss in pleasure. 

“It’s been far too long since you’ve been taught a lesson, darling. Seems like getting married has made you feel like you’re beyond Sir’s control. But that’s not how it goes, is it?” You whisper out, “No… No Sir.” “Good girl. If you want to be treated like you’re married, then you’ve gotta earn it, yes? Now. Can you take one finger?” He inserts his finger gently, which is coated in the cold substance you’re assuming is lube. It isn’t really necessary, given how wet you are already, but it feels hotter when the lube is so cold inside you. 

You nod. “Words.” “Yes, I can.” So he slowly pumps it in, before saying, “Can you take two fingers?” You whimper as he stretches you by putting in two fingers. “Yes Sir.” “That’s a good girl.” The praise is making your head spin.

“And can you take-” he puts in another damn finger, “three fingers?” Now it’s a real burn. It’s in till his knuckles all too quickly but you can’t say no because you want to please. “Quick, princess. Don’t keep me waiting. Yes or n-” “Yes! I can. I will. I’m a good girl, Sir?” He pumps all three fingers deep until it hits your spot, and you scream out his name. “Such a good girl. Now fuck yourself on those fingers thinking that’s Sir’s cock.” 

You push up your hips, and he thrusts in, meeting your halfway. And then he sets the pace, as he fucks into you relentlessly, his other hand gently wrapping around your jaw and you take out your tongue, almost drooling, until he puts a finger inside your mouth too. You just know he’s smirking right now, with you being desperate for something in your mouth too, but you can’t care less. 

Your orgasm hits you as soon as he orders gently, “Cum for me, pretty baby.” But when you come down from your high, he doesn’t take his fingers out. He gently pumps in your cum into your system again, and you writhe with sensitivity. But he uses his other hand to stop you, as he takes it out of your mouth. “Now, can you take a dildo along with these fingers?” You gasp, because it’s not imaginable. “No, I… it’s too much, Sir.” “Is it? I don’t think it’s bigger than your husband’s dick, is it?” And fuck, you can’t stop yourself from clenching at that. It’s crazy how hot he makes it sound, but it feels amazing when he calls himself your husband. And he must feel your cunt clenching around his fingers as well, because he whispers near your ear, “Oh Mrs Jeon likes that, huh? Too bad she can’t take her husband’s cock then, because it’s too much-” “No I can take it! I can- I can fit in my husband’s cock.” You can hear the way Wonwoo grunts, as he plunges his fingers deeper into your cunt. “But first, I’ve got to train you, yes? You’ve become too unruly. You want to be the perfect wife, don’t you?” “Fuck!” you can’t form words as you clench around his fingers hopelessly, overstimulation forgotten, and buck up your hips to help him reach your spot. He just laughs and begins fucking you again, all three of his thick fingers snugly fit inside you till the knuckles. 

“Can you feel my wedding ring inside, baby?” He whispers again, and you cry out his name continuously as he drives you to a new high, so familiar, and yet so new. He’s your husband now, fuck. It’s a revelation that hits harder in the middle of sex, and you come instantly, coating his fingers with your essence. 

“Oh, my cockslut’s eager to please her husband, is she? So eager to be the perfect wife, is she?” 

“Yes, yes! Please- pl- I just want-”

“Want?”

“Please fuck me Wonwoo!”

He immediately removes his fingers from your pussy and you scream out as you feel empty. “Aaah! Please!” 

“I’m not making any girl who’s forgotten rules in the bedroom, feel good.” He takes off the tie that was wrapped around your eyes, and you notice that he’s not leaning down at you, his glasses still on, but his eyes dark with hunger. God, he’s hot.

“I’m sorry Sir.”

There’s a sharp spank to your clit, and you jump. It’s too much, but in the best way possible. 

“I’ll ask you again. Can you take three fingers and one of those dildos you love so much that you torture your husband with its sight every day?” He doesn’t break eye contact, and you whimper in front of him, pathetic and desperate. 

“Yes, Sir. I can.”

“Open your mouth.” 

Wordlessly, you do, and he spits into your mouth. Then he puts in the dildo. As you see the purple dildo, which is considerably slimmer than Wonwoo’s dick, but about the same length, enter your pussy, you notice how much Wonwoo’s gaze has hardened. Is he really jealous of that damn toy? It’s funny, so you buck your hips up to meet the way he’s slowly fucking you with the plastic dildo, and his eyes become more dangerous. 

“Are you that desperate for it, darling?”

“I want to feel full, Sir.” 

And then something in Wonwoo snaps. He wraps three fingers around the head of the dildo and along with the fingers, he plunges the dildo into you, stretching you out much more than before. The burn eases out after a second, but he fucks you at an incredibly slow pace, which only makes you eager for more. “Faster, please!” “You want me to fuck you with this plastic toy how I fuck you with my cock?” “Yes! I d- I do! I just want to feel full!” Then his other hand finds its way to your tits and twists a nipple hard enough to make it painful. “You’re such a whore, Y/N. Just a pretty whore. You’d take any cock just to keep your holes filled?” “No! I … I only like it when Sir does it for me.” “Liar. Just now you’re so happy to take this dildo, huh?” You can’t even think straight with the pace he’s torturing you at, but you do reply, “That’s- aah! Only- only because Sir’s fucking me with it. Because I can feel your wedding ring inside me, Sir!” 

“Fuck!” There’s another sharp pinch at your nipple before Wonwoo begins fucking you faster, and it only takes you a minute before he’s bringing you to yet another high which leaves you dizzy. 

“God, you’re left speechless. Does Mr Jeon fuck you that good?” He leans it to kiss you, his wet fingers now wrapped around your breasts. You can feel the way your cum still sticks on his fingers, but it feels too good to be gross. You kiss him back, arching your back off the bed, until he pulls away. 

He stands up from the bed, and languidly takes off his clothes. “So pretty like this, princess. Legs all spread out for who?”

“You, Wonwoo. My husband.” 

He stops his movements and stares at you for a second. It seems like calling him husband has the same effect on him as the effect on you when he calls you wife. “Yes, you’re right. Your husband.” He sits next to you to kiss you again and this time, you try to sit upright, in spite of your hands still being tied. When he breaks off, he says, “So let me train you to be my wife, hmm? I want to fuck you so good that your pussy shapes itself around me. That you won’t even need prep when I want to fuck you because it’ll be so used to me.” Oh, no wonder for that size training. “Why? Does your cock get bigger now that you’re my husband?” He smirks, eyes cruel because you’re talking back to him. “No, because I need to fit in perfectly to ensure none of my seed leaves you when I’m breeding you.” And then he attacks your neck, and you’re moaning even before his lips hit skin because his words flip some switches in you that you’ve never even known. Sure, Wonwoo’s always fucked you raw because you’ve been on pills for years, but the idea of him breeding a child into you? Fuck. You’d never even thought about having a child, but this idea turns you on remarkably insanely. 

Soon his shirt is off and he unties your hands. “Take off my pants for me, baby.” And you do. You tease him a bit, but that’s only fair with how hard he’s sucking your breasts, as if he’s born to do this. Before taking off his boxers, you notice the precum that’s leaking out so much that it’s made the fabric quite wet. So you lick his dick clean while it’s still inside his boxers, and you’ve got him hissing and grunting like never before. “Fuck, Y/N, don’t,” he pulls your head away. “Why?” He must notice the way his precum is still sticking on your lips, because he groans again. “I want to cum inside you. Breed you full, baby.” That puts a shy smile on your face as he takes off his underwear, and you finally see his cock upright, leaking and bright red. And perhaps you’re delusional after all those orgasms, but it does seem bigger than before. 

“Please, Mr Jeon, take me.” And he responds to your begging. He kisses you softly, as he lines himself up with you, his left hand still pulling your hands up above your head, and your right hand clutching your hips in an iron grip that will leave marks. And then he just enters, without warning, till the hilt, and you both moan out at the sensation. You don’t know why it feels different, but with how he’s kissing you, almost softly and gently, like he’s a gentleman, while fucking you ruthlessly like he’s in rut, you’re in heaven for sure. 

It’s also the first time Wonwoo is so audible during sex. He’s panting and moaning, although much softer than you, but his sounds spur you on even harder. He can’t stop whispering your name and other pet names in your ears, while you keep moaning his name loud even to burst his eardrums. He doesn’t care. He responds to every word you utter, every little request you beg, and he fucks you fast and hard, until he can’t hold on any further and his entire body is trembling with the incoming orgasm. “Mrs Jeon, can you cum with me?” “Yes, please, Sir.” And so you do, releasing into each other while still making out with each other. It feels like you’ve entered a different dimension of pleasure, and Wonwoo is here with you. It’s a safe feeling beyond description, and you pass out right there.

_

When you do wake up, you find Wonwoo sitting next to you with a cloth in his hands, wiping gently at your legs. 

“How long have I been out?” 

“About ten minutes?”

He doesn’t answer smoothly. You can see the way his hands move softly, almost worshipping. 

“I love you, Wonwoo.”

Then he looks up at you, and you see the way his eyes are quivering. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” “Nothing.” “No, tell me.” “Nothing just-” You sit up, and take his hands in your own. Then you nod at him, gently urging him on. 

“Was it too much?”

“Huh?”

“Did I push you too much?”

“No. I would’ve used my safeword if you did.”

“But what if you forgot the safeword in the middle of it all- what if you got too pushed by me-”

“I wasn’t, and that’s what matters. I remember it all the time, Wonwoo, you… the traffic lights aren’t really easy to forget. I would tap out somehow if I felt like too much. But it wasn’t, so where’s this coming from?”

“Nothing… I… I hope you’re not just taking it from me because I’m your husband now.”

And at that, you laugh. “Hell, nah, Wonwoo. You know I wouldn’t take it from you even if you were god. You’ve really got me all wrong, then.”

He smiles weakly, and you know it’s still on his mind. So you move over to sit gently on his lap. “Wonwoo, when I said earlier that you know my limits. I wasn’t lying, you know. You do. You don’t push me too much.”

“But if I ever do-”

“If you ever do, you should know that I’ll tap out at once and never forgive you. You always make me feel safe, Wonwoo.” And you hug him, and the fact that you’re both naked makes your hug even warmer and softer as you feel Wonwoo’s hands wrap around your back as well. 

“I love you too, Y/N. I promise I’ll always keep you safe.” And then he kisses your forehead, and you snuggle your face right into the crook of his neck. He smells… like Wonwoo, and it feels like home. 

“Now, how about some lunch, baby?”

“You’re hungry when I had to do all the work?” You gasp while still tucked into his neck, and he giggles with the way your breath tickles his neck. 

“So what does my pretty wife want?”

“She just wants to cuddle you and sleep.” 

“And my wife’s wishes are my commands.”

So he lays down, with you still on top of him like a koala, and pulls the blankets over you both, wrapping you into one tiny ball. You look at him with a fond smile, and you see your expression mirrored in his. “I love you so much, Y/N-ah.”

“And I love you, Wonwoo. I could love nobody else apart from you.”

[trans-axolotl]

US Harm Reduction Resources

continually updating, not a complete list. feel free to add on any resources you find helpful.

Free Safer Supplies:

Each organization will have different supplies, but generally, harm reduction orgs provide things like syringes, safer snorting + smoking kits, Narcan, condoms, lube, and wound care supplies. Each org has different policies for how to get supplies--some do deliveries, some have drop in centers, some only do one to one needle exchange, some are more flexible.

Next Distro: mail based syringe provider for certain states. Also mails free Narcan.

NASEN: national map of syringe providers

a lot of harm reduction collectives aren't going to have their information listed on big national websites--it's always worth searching "harm reduction in my area" and seeing what's around you. Even if you don't live in a big city, there might be a harm reduction organization in your state that can help you find someone closer to you. there's a lot of rad people doing underground work who want to be there to help you who aren't as easy to find online. If there's street medic collectives, mutual aid groups or groups like Food not Bombs in your area, you can ask people in them who might know where to find harm reduction services in your area!

Drug Users Unions:

Drug users unions are activist groups made for people who use drugs, by people who use drugs! Drug users unions do advocacy work to end criminalization, as well as providing vital community support. Many drug users unions are also inclusive of sex workers and work to decriminalize sex work as well. You can search for "drug users union" in your state.

Urban Survivors Union: National, has resources for creating drug users union

Chosen Few: Drug users union for Black drug users in DC

San Francisco Drug users union

Sex Work Advocacy Groups:

Organizations that do decrim advocacy and provide support for sex workers.

Sex Worker Outreach Project USA- National, has chapters in many states.

Black Sex Worker Collective

Sex Workers Project

How to Use Safely:

Guides, videos, toolkits for safer use!

Harm Reduction Coalition Resource Library

Getting Off Right: A Safety Manual for Injection Drug Users

Safer Crack Smoking

Safer Snorting

Safer Hormone Injection

Levels of Risk: Veins

Wound Care video w/ ASL

How to Use Fentanyl Test Strips

DanceSafe-testing kits, including reagent testing kits!

Erowid-shares experiences people have with different drugs, dosages, what things to expect

Bluelight- another forum for discussing experiences with drugs.

Drug Interactions Checker

Sex Work Resources:

Tricks of the Trade by L. Synn Stern: tips for street based sex work

A Quick and Dirty Sex Worker Safety Toolkit

Girls Do What they Have to Do To Survive by YWEP

Dis/Organizing: How We Build Collectives Beyond Institutions by Rachel Kuo & Lorelei Lee

Tryst Blog

Hotlines:

Never Use Alone: 877-696-1996. Overdose Prevention Hotline--Volunteers stay on the phone with you while you use and call emergency services if you overdose.

HIPS Hotline-​​​1 (800) 676-4477. Emotional support for drug users and sex workers. Does not work with cops.

feel free to add on more resources. love + lube <3

[sapphicfandompirate]

Did any of the Strawhat's even go to school?

Chapter 1134 has sparked discussions on the state of the Strawhat's education, so I figured I would do a little analysis on my thoughts on it based on canon.

Luffy- Feral jungle child. Makino probably taught him to read and write, and attempted to teach him manners. Jury is out on whether or not Garp actually taught him anything. Doesn't seem to know much history. Does know beetles, and probably a lot of survival skills, including hunting.

Zoro- Ok this is the real reason why I made this post.

A dōjō (道場, Japanese pronunciation: [doꜜː(d)ʑoː]) is a hall or place for immersive learning, experiential learning, or meditation. This is traditionally in the field of martial arts. The term literally means "place of the Way" in Japanese. -Wikipedia

Isshin Dojo (一心道場, Isshin Dōjō?) is a kenjutsu school, a school of Japanese swordsmanship. Its owner is Koushirou, who is a skilled swordsman and father of the deceased Kuina. It is the place where Zoro trained his Three Sword Style and in the anime is the only dojo Zoro did not take down the sign of. -One Piece Wiki, Emphasis added by me

As a member of the Isshin Dojo Zoro has attended school! Koshiro taught him primarily swordsmanship and meditation, but someone taught him reading, writing, and math and I'm just going to guess it's Koshiro as well. Seems to know a bit of sword-related history, but not much world or local history.

Nami-Stole education books. Not formally educated. Everything was probably taught by Bellemere and the rest was learned on the fly. Probably knows the basics of mainstream world history. Is capable of formulating advanced equations, and has vast sailing, navigation, cartography and weather knowledge. Studied at Weatheria during the timeskip, but it doesn't seem like a formal institution.

Usopp - Orphaned street rat. Unknown who taught him to read, write, and do math. Possibly Banchina before she passed away. Somehow he knows chemistry and engineering? Might have borrowed books from Kaya? Mostly self-taught it seems.

Sanji- Definitely has a formal education, up until he ran away. Noble child who had a variety of tutors. Learned whatever noble children learn plus a variety of fighting techniques and fields of science. Then was taught cooking by Zeff. Boy definitely knows how to do math. Anyone who cooks for a large group of people can at least multiply on the fly, or has a calculator taped to the wall. One Piece appears to use the metric system, so at least he doesn't have to figure out how to quadruple a recipe that originally called for 1 2/3 cups of flour.

Chopper - Professionally taught by Dr. Kureha (and Dr. Hililuk). They are both referred to as Doctors, but it is unknown what sort of medical knowledge is actually needed for that title, or if there is like a degree or anything. Assumably one of them taught him reading, writing, math, and chemistry in addition to medical stuff. Also read all of the books in the Torino Kingdom during the timeskip. According to the wiki, Kureha established an academy during the timeskip.

After establishing a medical academy, she taught and trained at least eighty students who became skilled enough to join the Isshi-20, expanding their members to a hundred under her leadership.

Robin- Got a degree in archaeology at the age of 8. Has all of the reading, writing, and history skills, including dead languages. While she taught herself how to read the poneglyphs, I think it's safe to say that Professor Clover taught her regular history, math, science, reading, and writing. Robin went to school!

Franky - Apprenticeship under the shipwright Tom. His state of education was unknown before meeting Tom at age 10. Should know all of the basic skills (reading, writing, math) in addition to carpentry, and shipbuilding. Tom's Workers is referred to as a shipbuilding company, so I don't think it counts as a school? Knows at least enough medical knowledge to turn himself into a cyborg with scraps from a ghost ship after being runover by a train. And Survive. Somehow.

Brook- APPARENTLY??? Stated that school makes him nostalgic, which implies he attended. Also knows a variety of things usually nobility would, namely various musical instruments and fencing. He also knows sailing, and various other things to be a battle convoy leader and pirate captain. I have questions for this man.

Jinbe - Dojo again, this time the Fish-Man Karate Dojo. Later joined the Neptune Army. So, since a dojo counts as a type of specialized school, he's attended a school as well as had military training! Knows basic historical stuff, especially that pertaining to fishmen and human-fishman relations. Seems to know other basic life skills (reading, writing, math, ect)

So, in conclusion:

Went to school: Zoro, Robin, Brook, Jinbe

Private Tutors: Sanji

Vocational Training under a Professional: Sanji, Chopper. Franky, Nami,

Self Taught with some instruction by a parent or other adult (non-professional): Luffy, Nami, Usopp

Out of the ten members, 4 of them attended a school of some sort and several others had some sort of professional training or supervision of study.

Feel free to add on if I missed anything!

[angelpuns]

How did Leo diee in the L330N au?

I've talked about it a bit before, but here's a rough comic of what happened:

TW IMPLIED DEATH, DISCUSSION OF DEATH, FAMILY DEATH

So basically, Leo went out on a rescue/cargo mission to both save a bunch of people as well as bring back necessary medical supplieas and food.

His ninpo is weaking somewhat at this point, so he can't portal super long distances, so he takes one of Donnie's new ships. They're untested in the field, but Donnie's crunched the numbers and they should pull through.

However, the ship is shot down and Leo evacuates all the cvivilians, before going back for the necessary supplies. He goes down with the ship and it explodes on impact. So there's not really anything left :/

Donnie feels a lot of guilt for many reasons. He thinks he should have gone instead, but knows it had to be Leo so he could properly save the civilian. But he wishes he had been able to tes the ship better. That he had been able to at least keep it rom exploding.

When I was finding screenshots for the ships in the beginning of the ROTTMNT movie I noticed they DON'T explode on impact, so in this au, I like to think Donnie learned from his mistake and made them less likely to explode/catch fire/etc. He also made them controlled by AI/a drone situation so it isn't necessary for someone to be in the ship for it to work. That bit wouldn't have helped a smuch in this situation, but he wanted them to be as safe a spossible so that the worst thing would be an injury rather than death.

I eventually wanna make a more detailed comic of this, possibly as a L330-N chapter :)

L330-N Masterpost

[amethystwrytes]

Safe. (Part Three)

Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin x Fem. Reader x Lee Minho

Summary: A broke ER Nurse offers up her services to a large crime organization in exchange for much higher pay and benefits that are unconventional, but lucrative. The life proves to be questionable at best, and downright isolating at worst which leaves her feeling unsure, unstable and dangerous. 

Warnings: Explicit language. Explicit depictions of sex (some chapters will be more explicit than others sexually). Violence. Blood. Trauma injuries. (Organized) Crime. Emotional manipulation. Discussion of murder and physical assault. Medical inaccuracy galore. Smoking. Past addiction. 18+ Only.

Chapter WC: 5.5k

Read Part One and Part Two here.

~ PART THREE ~

“Okay, let’s look at the options,” Christopher starts hanging dress bags around the room. “I think this red would look really great with-,”

“No,” you say quickly. You would rather give blood until you pass out than play dress up for a night out that you’re dreading. 

“Oh-kay,” he blinks, then goes over to unzip the next bag, “This one is a lavender number, and I know it’s not Spring, but hear me out-,”

“No.” 

Christopher looks like his eye is about to start twitching and his lips move into a tight line, “Did you maybe have something in mind?” 

“Is there a black option?” you ask. Black feels appropriate. 

“Black option,” he claps his hands together and looks around at his bags, “Of course there’s a black option, there’s always a black option.” He runs across the room and unzips another bag, pulling out the skirt of a black satin gown with a slit that makes you blush from where you sit but you said black - and if you refuse this one, Chris might actually strangle you with the straps of a high heel. 

When you emerge from the closet Christophers eyes widen, “Holy shit,” he says. 

“Don’t start,” you roll your eyes, then turn to look at yourself in the full length mirror. You do have to admit that it fits perfectly, it looks as if it was custom made just for you. The slit in the front is dangerously high, and the neckline is dangerously low - it’s a dangerous dress, you think. Which feels even more appropriate for the evening, you want to be dangerous. 

“You look…phenomenal actually,” Chris smiles.

“Thanks,” you blush. 

“I don’t do hair and makeup, but Jisoo will be here around 5pm to doll you up, she works at the salon Minhos wife used to own, she’s very good,” Christopher says, lining up some shoe options. 

Your eyes widen and the very breath in your lungs seems to deflate, “Minho has a wife?”

Chris pauses for a moment and looks around the room as if you aren’t completely alone in the house. “He used to, she died - she was killed by one of Kims men when she was out visiting a friend. They saw the SUV and thought it was Minho.” 

“Fuck,” you cover your mouth with your hand, “I didn’t know that.” 

“Well you wouldn’t, it happened three years ago, and he never talks about it anymore. He was a complete mess for a long time, barely spoke, didn’t seem to give a fuck about the job anymore, none of us were sure if he was ever going to come around, a lot of the guards left and ran off to Kim of all fucking people. The ones who stayed were well rewarded when he finally started to put himself back together, but he doesn’t talk about it, he’s never been the same,” he shares. 

Could that be why he reacted to your rejection the way he did? Is there actually some vulnerable piece inside him that hurts? You think about this long after Christopher is gone, and while Jisoo the stranger does your hair and makeup. You try to laugh at her jokes, carry on a normal conversation with the first female you’ve interacted with in months, but still, you can’t stop yourself from picturing a grieving Minho, his heart slowly turning to cold stone, uncaring - and for the first time since you’ve known him, you feel sorry for him, and you care about him. 

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

From inside the car that’s dropping you off you see Minho, Seungmin and Hyunjin waiting in front of the Casino for you. Your stomach drops, and a mixture of excitement and dread overwhelm you. 

The car stops and Minho opens the door and offers you his hand as you get out, you try to keep it still so no one sees how shaky and nervous you are. 

“My God,” he looks you up and down, “You are stunning,” Minho traces your jawline with the tip of his finger. 

You shake your head, “Chris brought really beautiful dresses and Jisoo-,” 

“Nuh-uh,” Minho argues, “This is all you love, and you look amazing,” he smiles and offers you his arm. You take it, briefly making eye contact with Hyunjin, who isn’t even trying to hide the fact he’s staring at you. You clear your throat and brush imaginary wrinkles out of the satin. 

“You look pretty,” Seungmin says, looking anywhere but at you. 

Your eyes widen, “Sorry…is there an insult coming or did you actually just compliment me?” 

Seungmins eyes narrow, “Don’t push it…shut up,” he sneers before hurriedly skulking off into the casino. 

You’ve seen Minho’s Mirroh Casino lit up like a Christmas Tree towering over buildings on the edge of downtown for years - though you had no idea it belonged to him of course until you met him several months ago. You’d never stepped foot inside, in your previous life you didn’t really have the time nor the money to be spending evenings in a high end Casino. Then, after you started working for him, your nights were spent bandaging wounds, taking inventory of items, and anticipating the next injury - the thought of going out so far from your mind that it never even occurred to you. 

You keep mostly quiet as Minho walks you around, introducing you to people you’ve never seen, will probably never see again. You alternate between being awestruck at the extravagance of the place, politely making conversation with him and his associates, and pretending like you aren’t thinking about his tragically dead wife. You wish you could ask him if he’s okay, give him a hug - just do something. 

“Can you find something to keep yourself occupied, love? I need to have a private conversation with Mr. Jung for a few moments, play anything you’d like, I have you covered Kitten,” he rubs a gentle circle on your back and kisses your temple before departing towards a set of stairs. 

You’re not a gambler, and you’re about as skilled at Casino games as you are with open heart surgery. Which is to say, not at all. You stand in the middle of the giant space trying to decide, but probably just looking like an idiot. 

“You look lost,” Hyunjins voice comes up behind and you and you spin around, happy to have someone to talk to so you don’t look so clueless. 

“This isn’t really my scene,” you chuckle, fidgeting with your hands. 

“I didn’t want to comment on it before, but, when you got out of that car you took my breath away,” he smiles, “I’ve never seen someone look so beautiful,” he whispers. 

You look at him, “Be careful, I’ve been glued to Minho all night and I don’t need anyone in here reporting to him that the second his back is turned I’m falling all over you,” you warn him. 

“You’re probably right, but I’ve got a slew of new ideas for sketches, this dress should be illegal,” he grins. 

“Hyunjin,” your voice is a warning, you lower your voice, “I’ve been thinking about what happened the other night, the kiss,” you say quietly. 

“And?” 

“I feel safe with you,” you tell him honestly, “you’re the first person I’ve come across since starting all this that I’m not afraid of, that makes me smile, when you walk into view all my tension relaxes, and I know as long as you’re there everything will be okay. That’s how you make me feel. All I want is for you to wrap your arms around me and hold me and just exist in that feeling.”  

“Why do I feel a but coming?” he sighs, pretending to be interested in a coin machine. 

“But…I can’t just waltz up to Minho and tell him I can’t be his plus one, and that I can’t continue,” you scoff, trying to think of a word that described your relationship, “Can’t continue whatever the fuck he and I are doing, because I have feelings for you. Can you imagine how that will turn out?” 

“I get that,” Hyunjin nods, “but I want you to know that I care about you deeply, I’m enamored with you, I think about you all the time, and I’m fine just being grateful for every second alone I might get with you. I don’t care if I have to keep it to myself, I keep so much shit a secret that it’s just my normal state of mind at this point, I can keep you a secret.” 

You stare at him, wishing you could throw your arms around him and kiss him, thank him for being such a light in the shadows for you, and apologize for taking so long to see him, and for not being able to take his hand in yours this very moment. 

“Blackjack,” he says, nodding over to a nearby table. 

“Pardon?” 

“Go play blackjack, it’s easy, and even if you bust every time Minho will take care of it. It’ll give you something to do, I’ve got to get back to my post, but I didn’t want the night to go by without me telling you how beautiful you look, or how I feel,” he smiles, “Have fun tonight, beautiful.” 

You watch him go before deciding to take his advice and sit down at the Blackjack table. 

To your utter shock you win four games in a row, and you find that you actually might be having a good time. 

“Evening,” a deep voice greets as a tall man takes a seat beside you. 

“Good evening,” you respond. 

“Good fortune at this table I hope? ‘Cause I’ve been getting slammed,” he jokes and you smile. 

“So far so good,” you laugh, “but I’m sure my luck is overdue to run out any minute.” 

“Ah, that’s the thing about luck, it’s fleeting,” he says seriously, his tone makes you uncomfortable. “Especially when you’re friends with Lee Minho,” he adds in a lower cadence. 

At this you look at him out of the corner of your eye but say nothing, you’ll play out the hand then leave. 

“I will say that it’s nice to see him out and about with someone, we all figured he’d get tired of the blowjobs from Han Jisungs adorable little mouth at some point,” he chuckles darkly, and you nearly gasp at his audacity. “I have to say, you’re an absolute vision, how much is he paying you for the evening?” 

“I’m not being paid to be here you asshole,” you spit, “and you are playing a very dangerous game,” you warn. When the dealer flips her cards you’ve lost, and you get up from the table. 

“Sit down, ___, we’re just having a chat,” he motions you with his fingers and something in his voice sounds so incredibly dangerous that you’re afraid to defy him. 

“How do you know my name?”

“I know everything about everyone,” the man grins, lighting a cigarette and blowing the smoke in your face, you fan it away and look at your cards, “I know your name. I know that until four months ago you were working your ass off at the Anam Hospital until you found Lee bleeding in the parking lot, refusing to go into the emergency room, and you broke every rule in your precious book while you stole medical supplies and treated him in a van in the lot.” 

“Then I guess you already knew I wasn’t a paid escort, so either you’re just a fucking loser trying to insult me or you got a point to make with all this precious info - so make it,” you bite back. 

The man chuckles and takes another puff, “I like you. Know why? You got a mouth on you, despite being so fucking scared all the time - don’t deny it,” he shoots you a look when you start to argue, “You’re scared to death of what your life has become, I can smell the fear on you, but that mouth of yours doesn’t know when to quit huh?” 

“Must be the nurse in me,” you spit, “Do you want something? You got a rash or a burning sensation you need treated? Otherwise I’d like to go do literally anything else than sit here next to you.” 

“Don’t worry, I need to get back to my own date over there,” he points and you follow the line to see a pretty woman staring at him from across the room looking like she wants to leave, same, you think. 

“Then go,” you tell him. 

“I just want to know one thing,” he asks, throwing his cards down as he stands up, “Do you love each other?

“What?”

“You heard me.” 

“What do you care?” you demand instead of answering the ridiculous question. 

He smiles and snubs his cigarette out, “So that’s a no,” he laughs, “Good. I won’t feel so bad then,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets and sauntering off with a shit eating grin. 

“Who are you?” 

The man just laughs and without looking back says, “I’ll be seeing you.” 

You watch as he approaches his pretty date and kisses her, then leads her toward the exit. You have zero time to think about the insane conversation before you feel someone's hand come down on your arm. 

“Get up,” Hyunjins voice is low and nervous.

“Oh - okay? What-,” 

“You were just speaking to Kim fucking Taehyung,” Hyunjin spits. 

“That was him? Oh shit…I didn’t know, Hyunjin I didn’t…” 

“Did you tell him anything that he can use against us?” Hyunjin asks urgently. 

“No! I barely said anything, he was just an asshole, I didn’t say anything!” 

“I shouldn’t have left you alone,” Hyunjin shakes his head. 

“Is Minho angry with me?” you’re scared again, and Kim Taehyungs voice echoes in your head - can everyone smell how scared you are all the time? 

“I don’t know,” Hyunjin stops you in front of two giant mahogany doors that presumably lead into Minhos private office. “Go on. It’ll all be okay.” 

You slide through the door Hyunjin opens for you and feel it shut with a heavy thud. Minho is alone, pouring two drinks and bringing them over to a lavish sitting area. You stay frozen to the spot, unsure of what’s to come. 

“Well, sit down,” he gestures to the sofa and you slowly make your way over, gently setting yourself on the cushion, unable to find any comfortable position. 

Minho hands you one of the glasses of amber liquid and you’re happy to have something to do with your hands.

“Hyunjin told you who you were just speaking with?” he asks, sipping his own glass.

You nod, “He said it was Kim Taehyung, but Minho you must believe me when I tell you that I had no idea who that man was, and all he did was insult me, insult you, then walk away, I told him nothing.” 

“I know,” he shrugs. “You don’t think I have microphones at every table in this building?” 

“So…you’re not upset with me?” your voice sounds so small in the gigantic space. 

Minho’s face scrunches up, “I really fucked with your head the other day, didn’t I?” he sighs, “No, ___, I’m not upset with you.” 

You visibly relax with relief and take a long sip of scotch, though typically you can’t stand the stuff. 

“Kim Taehyung and I have an exceptionally brutal, bloody history,” Minho explains, and you remember Christophers story about his wife being killed by Kims men. “We go through wanes and waxes of feuds, the fact that he had the audacity to walk into my Casino tonight tells me we’re about to march into another period of fighting for territory in the city, but I’m no longer interested in trying to negotiate or spill the blood of our guys - this time I’m going to kill him, or be killed, but I swear to God, it will end with one of us dead,” he says so coldly, so resolutely that it sends chills down your spine. 

“Minho…” you say his name, a sadness on it that you can’t quite explain. 

He looks at you from over his glass, that dark, wild danger seeping from somewhere deep in his eyes. It’s terrifying, but it’s also intoxicating. You don’t know what you’re doing, but you find yourself scooting across the couch, capturing the side of his face with your palm. You kind of hate that it makes you happy when he seems to melt into your hand. 

He sets his glass down and pulls you onto him, his lips coming down on yours, hands tightly gripping your hips. 

“Have I told you how delectable you look tonight?” he whispers, bunching the fabric of your dress up until you’re exposed from the waist down. 

“You might have,” you smile at him, brushing your fingers through his dark hair, giving the ends a little tug. 

He groans then lifts you up momentarily before dropping you roughly onto your back on the sofa. You watch as he towers over you, loosening his tie with one hand and downing the rest of his drink with the other before tossing the glass to some unseen place. 

“Good enough to eat,” he licks his lips and stares down at you in a way that sets your whole body ablaze. You bite down on the inside of your cheek as you watch him lower his mouth between your legs. He doesn’t waste time teasing or playing, he just moves the ridiculous, pointless thong you wore to the side and wraps his lips around your clit. 

You gasp, your fingers flying to his hair. You pant and try to stay quiet as he sucks and licks, the thought of a Casino full of people below seems to only fuel how hot the situation is. 

“Please…Minho…” 

“Want me to stop Kitten?” he smiles, wiping the wetness from his lips and chin. 

“No,” you shake your head back and forth frantically, your eyes darting down to the hardness bulging behind his pants. You slip your fingers under your underwear and pull, he helps you remove them easily. 

“My girl gets whatever she wants,” he chuckles darkly, removing his belt and unzipping his fly, shimmying his pants and boxers down his thighs. He hitches your thigh around his hips and lowers himself, teasing your clit with the head of his cock. 

“Mmm,” you whine, screwing your eyes shut, fresh manicure pawing at his hips to bring him closer, “please.” 

With that, he pushes into you deep and hard and you gasp, your back arching off the sofa as his hips thrust, snapping against the back of your thighs. He grabs your hands and pins them over your head, fucking into you like it’s going to fix every problem he’s ever had. You try to meet his thrusts with your hips, lifting yourself off the couch just so, and it ends up hitting the most delicious spot, you can’t stop your eyes from nearly rolling back into your brain. 

“Oh fuck,” you groan, “oh fuck, keep going, right there…fuck.” 

“You’re so fucking perfect, my perfect little slut,” he grunts, unpinning your hands. He slides his fingers gently around your throat, not squeezing but anchoring you down while he drives his cock into you like you asked. You can feel the whitehot pull in the pit of your abdomen, you dig your nails into his arms and he moans from deep within, he stills himself and spills into you just as you reach your own climax. 

He continues to pump in and out of you slowly, your eyes meet briefly and he’s about to say something when the door to his office opens. 

“Sir, Mr. Park has the intel-,” Hyunjins voice stops abruptly and you flinch, “Shit. I’m sorry,” he says and you don’t have to see his face to hear the surprise in his voice, surprise laced with hurt. 

“It’s fine,” Minho stands and pulls his pants back up while you lay motionless in front of him, out of Hyunjins line of sight, “Tell Park to give me five minutes, and arrange for ___s car to be pulled around please.” 

“Yes sir.” 

You sit up when you hear the door close, grab your panties off the floor and slide them back on. This was one hundred percent you, and you’re torn between feeling disgusted with yourself, and also wanting to ask Minho to come home with you. What has gotten into you? 

“I’ll come over tomorrow,” Minho says, and you wonder if he can sense your desire to not part ways just yet. 

“Okay,” you stand, voice quiet and legs still wobbly. 

“I don’t really let people in,” he says, “I don’t really want to, it’s not worth caring about people when you stand to lose them, but you’re making it very hard for me ___.” 

You’ve no idea what to say to that. The door opens again, and you brace yourself to look Hyunjin in the eyes right after he caught you fucking Minho after bearing his soul to you, but this time it’s Seungmin peeking his head in, “Car’s ready sir.” 

“Go on,” Minho nods to the door, “Get home safe.” 

You nod and turn on your heels, Seungmin silently escorts you down to the car, opens the door for you and shuts it, all without a word, thankfully. You don’t see Hyunjin again, and for that you’re also thankful, though you wager that it’s intentional on his part. 

You ride home, watching lights blur together as you get lost in your own thoughts. You don’t think about Minho or Hyunjin, you push those away violently. Instead you think of inventory, think of stitches, practice them in your head, and think of how you miss the hospital. How you miss the fact that between rounds, white boards, charting, and drama you never had a spare second to get lost in bad thoughts, guilty thoughts. At one point you’d have traded it for just about anything, but now you crave it. You want your old life back. Though you think it’s probably too late for that. 

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

You’ve just gotten out of the shower and tucked yourself into bed when you hear the pounding on the door. You look at your phone - no missed calls or texts. The pounding continues and you push the blankets off of you, wrap a robe around you, grab your phone and make your way downstairs. 

You bet it’s Hyunjin, coming to tell you that he was wrong, that he never wants to see you or speak to you or even draw you on paper ever again. You almost open the door, but then Minhos voice in your head stops you. 

If anyone ever comes knocking and they haven’t called first, tell them they have to give you the password before you unlock the door. Hellevator. If they can’t produce that specific word then don’t you dare open the door, and call me immediately. 

Your hand freezes on the handle, “Give me the password!” you yell through the door, your heart suddenly pounding in your chest harder with every passing second of no answer. You unlock the phone in your hand and start to find the only contact you have saved in it. 

Suddenly one of the metal chairs on the front porch comes crashing through the window. You scream, running towards the kitchen for a knife. When you dare to look back you see three men closing in on you,  masks on their face, it’s the most terrifying image you’ve ever experienced. Like something out of a nightmare.  

Foolishly you point the knife at them, but the nearest man seems unimpressed as he forcefully smacks it out of your hand. 

“No, no!” you scream and try to run, but it seems like all you do is run straight into another mans chest, he turns you around, holding your hands painfully behind your back. 

“Don’t fucking touch me!” you cry, throat searing with pain from the sheer volume of your voice. 

“Shut her up!” 

A thick, meaty fist comes down hard against the side of your jaw, you feel the inside of your cheek fill with blood almost instantly and you wonder if a tooth has been knocked out. Before you can process that, a hand comes down on your shoulder to hold you still against the man behind you, and the same meaty fist against your jaw comes down directly into your gut, knocking the wind out of you. Your knees buckle and the man from behind releases you, so you fall to the floor with a  hard smack. 

The men take turns kicking you in the back, the chest, the legs. The pain is so severe you black out every few seconds, only to come back to consciousness for another kick. 

You’re not sure how long they do this. It could be minutes or hours, but finally they seem to stop. One of them bends down, grabs you by the hair and pulls your face off the floor. 

“Tell your boyfriend Mr. Kim is waiting for his next move,” he laughs, then shoves your face into the floor violently, you can feel the blood seeping from your nostrils now. 

You lay there, you can see their boots moving towards the door, shuffling out. The digital clock on the entry table says it’s just after midnight. You lay your head back down on the floor and close your eyes. When you open them back up it’s almost two in the morning. The house is dark, but you see the reflection of the refrigerator light glinting off your phone a few feet away. You lay your hands flat against the hardwood and try to drag yourself. Everything hurts, it hurts so bad, and you have no idea how bad the damage could be. You could be bleeding out internally for all you know. You try again, this time you move your legs just a little for momentum. It takes several tries before you move more than just wiggling your body. 

Finally you make it to the phone, you unlock it, still on Minhos contact. You hit the call button and listen to the ringing echo in your ear. 

“Hello?” he answers and you start crying into the phone in painful sobs. 

“___? What’s wrong?” 

“Help,” you manage to gasp into the phone between screams and sobs, the taste of salty, bloody spit covering your tongue, your lips. 

“I’m coming baby, hold on.” 

Then everything goes dark again. 

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

You hear the voices first, though everything sounds like it’s underwater. It’s when you feel the hands on you that you shoot up, screaming, flailing, begging them to stop. 

“__!! It’s me! It’s Hyunjin, sweetheart please!” 

“Give her a bit of space.” 

“God, they really fucked her up.” 

“What should we do?” 

All voices seem to be coming from different people, or they could be coming from the same person, you don’t know. You don’t care. 

“__, open your eyes, it’s alright, you’re safe now.” 

Safe. The very concept feels so far away right now that you actually laugh. You slowly open your eyes and wince at the bright light. Minho kneels before you, an indescribable expression on his face. Concern? Anger? Horror? You aren’t sure. You can feel your back propped up against someone, Hyunjin, you can smell his cologne. Seungmin and Changbin stand off in the background, hands in their pockets, looking at you like…well, like you’ve had the shit kicked out of you. 

“Can you stand darling?” Minho extends his hand to you, but you won’t touch it. 

You shake your head, the simple act a painful one, “You need to take me to a hospital,” you moan, “I need to get checked out, everything hurts so bad,” you sniff. You feel the tears spill down your face, hot and searing against your sore skin. Even crying hurts. 

“I’ll take you, come on,” Hyunjin says from behind. 

“You can’t go to any hospital,” Seungmin reminds him. “Especially with her all fucked up like this? They’ll throw down every red flag they can.” 

“He’s right,” Minho nods. 

“I don’t give a shit!” Hyunjin yells and it makes your ears ring, “What are they going to do? I don’t even have so much as a fucking parking ticket to my name, detain me? Big fucking deal!” 

“They’ll detain you, and as soon as Kims cops get word you’re in there, the only way you’ll come out is in a body bag,” Minho explains. 

The mention of the Kim name floods your thoughts with the deep, guttural words of the men who did this to you. 

“He said…” your lip shakes and you can’t get the words out. Minho kneels back down and grabs your hands with his. “They said to tell my boyfriend Mr. Kim is waiting for your next move.” 

Minhos jaw clenches, though you suspect he knew Kim was behind it regardless of the message. He stands back up and drags his hand down his face, “Seungmin, call Chris. He won’t be on anyone’s radar anywhere, he can escort her to the hospital. Changbin, call Felix and ask him to take the others to the new safehouse and get it set up for her, this one’s dead, no one comes back here.” 

Changbin pulls his phone out and leaves the room. Hyunjin continues to hold you on the floor, rocking you gently in his arms. 

“Even if Chris isn’t on any radars, they’re still going to know what happened to her,” Seungmin nods towards where you sit on the floor. 

“They can tell the staff she fell down the stairs,” Hyunjin suggests but to your surprise both you and Seungmin scoff at this. 

“They never believe that shit,” you say quietly. “I’ll tell them I got mugged walking home, Chris was a good samaritan that found me and brought me in, he can go wait in the car until I’m ready to be discharged, but I have to make sure nothing is bleeding internally, those bastards had to be wearing steel toed boots,” you groan, clutching your stomach. 

Seungmin nods with a sad smile and walks off to make the call. 

“We can’t let this go unpunished,” Hyunjin growls from behind you. 

“And we won’t,” Minho looks down at him with a lethal visage. 

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

“What did they say?” Christopher asks as you struggle sliding into the passenger seat. 

“I’m not dying,” you pant, resting your head against the back of the seat. “Three cracked ribs, lots of deep bruising, a few lacerations but nothing that can’t be fixed with some pain killers and ice packs.” 

“Good,” he nods, “Minho and Hyunjin have been calling nonstop, do you want to call them back?” 

You shake your head, “No.” 

“Works for me,” he shrugs, “Did the hospital ask any questions?” 

“Obviously,” you scoff, “but I told them the same thing we said when we got there. You found me mugged, that’s why I didn’t have my ID or anything on me, I didn’t get to see who did it but he was wearing a mask and heavy black boots. They asked the police to come in and I gave them my statement but you and I both know they won’t look very hard. Eighty percent of the cops in this town are crooked, they probably already know who did this anyway. I doubt I’ll hear from them, especially since the address I gave them I won’t ever go back to again.” 

“Yeah,” Chris shakes his head, “I’m sorry sweetie, this all just…really fucking sucks for you. The new house is gorgeous though, if it’s any consolation, I think you’ll like it.” 

“I’m sure it’s nice,” you say, staring out the window, “but I won’t be staying long.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I’m out, and I know I shouldn’t be telling you this but I really don’t give a shit. I’m done. I’m not sticking around to wait for those…monsters to come back and finish me off, or get gunned down on my way to the fucking grocery store. No. I am out.” 

Chris reaches over and takes your hand in his with a gentle squeeze, “I hear what you’re saying, and I hope that you get what you want, but honey - and I say this with all the love - don’t hold your breath.”

Endnotes:

Endnotes:

Taglist: @katieraven @linocz @screamobubbles @hpnsfwaddict @simpforleeknaur @the-sweetest-rosie @hyunjinhoexxx @aeri-skzver @mbioooo0000 @seungminindabuilding @moni-logues @shioriyametho @jamlessstars @tirena1 @bswrldd @chartrucewhore @yaorzu-blog all for wanting to be tagged!! I appreciate you <3 If your name is in bold I still can't tag you for some reason, so I apologize!!

As per usual, if you've made it this far, here is your virtual smooch! Thank you for reading <3

[nyehilismwriting]

Have you seen the recent comment made by Jelly Fish Field on your itch page for Project Hadea. I just read it, and found their view really interesting and extremely important criticism on how you've decided to write certain reactions. I love your writing a lot, so it was extremely eye opening what they wrote. What i'm getting at is, I would just like to hear your feedback on that specific comment! all love, and I do hope this won't be taken the wrong way!

I've seen it, yeah. and... okay, I've discussed my reasons for not using rape as a content warning before, and I stand by them; I'm not revisiting any discussion on what does and does not constitute rape. the content is warned for, by specifics of what occurs in the text, to give people the chance to make the most informed decision they can about whether to play. that's it.

as for the rest of it... there's things in there that I understand. I get being frustrated that you can't fully explore the extent of the operative's trauma, yet; I get feeling like the rest of the crew don't trust you, or like rohan is a bitch. they don't, and xe is.

the thing that I find disagreeable about a lot of these criticisms (and similar ones) is that I think they betray a fundamental misreading of the text: the operative is a war criminal. they are heavily armed, unstable, and trapped on a ship with civilians. they kill multiple civilians in chapter one; they might well attempt to kill rohan in front of everyone, and later succeed in doing so. they are a confirmed murderer, who by and large refuses to tell the civilians why they are so angry with rohan. this is by design.the focus of this story is very much about coming to terms with your trauma - from long before you meet rohan! you've been medically experimented on, had your personhood denied for a long time, and had any kind of human empathy stamped out of you. part of the point of the game is for me to explore how trauma can be expressed in ways that are deeply unpalatable - the operative is not a "perfect victim" (a phrase I loathe) and their trauma impacts the way they move through the world, drawing out reactions that aren't wholly sympathetic or empathetic, because their actions are often unjustified and cause real harm, or seem that way to those who don't have full context.

this is why joia is important, this is why your relationships with the crew are important. the crew aren't intended to be author voices, they're not the moral compass here or audience stand-ins: they aren't supposed to represent the "correct" approach to dealing with other people's trauma. no character in this situation is intended to be seen as perfect, but as a way to shine light on different facets of the story.

the operative is built a very specific way, for very specific reasons: this is intentional. they are a person who has been deliberately dehumanised, used as a weapon, who volunteered and fought for the right to be a scientific guinea pig for the war crimes company, in order to be of greater use to said company. they have had their bodily autonomy violated so habitually, for their whole career - they have been coercively used as a test subject by their employer - that they can't see it as an abnormal violation. this isn't to say it is justified, or to diminish the traumatic impact rohan has, but... it's not the operative's first rodeo here, even if it's the player's.

they're bad at processing their emotions. the operative Does Not Cry: this is a character choice I have made. this is because they have had that emotional response beaten out of them. the operative isn't capable of taking their own trauma seriously, because they're not equipped to deal with it. they can't look at it head-on.

likewise, nash isn't capable of being a gentle, reassuring, sympathetic person, much as they might want to; a big part of that relationship is the idea that the pair of you have to relearn to how to relate to one another in your new contexts, and that isn't a smooth process. nash also has reasons to be reticent with you that are yet to be explored - this relationship is undergoing development, with both of you as violent people who commit violent acts, and who relate through violence. your relationship is built on your capacity to commit violence together. they are not equipped to deal with violence affecting you in the way it might someone else, because you've both spent the last ten years being conditioned and trained to assault other people. part of the theme of this game is to explore the way these people might experience a uniquely traumatic violent event, and the effect this might have on their own capacity to endure and process violence again themself.

I understand that it might not be the way people want to play their characters, but it's the way the character is written, and I am doing that on purpose. all I'm asking is that you trust me when I say that this is not going to be swept under the rug, even in the least volatile relationship you can have with rohan. if that's not possible for you - if you can't trust me to do this - then you're welcome to stop playing.

[brynthewriter]

Weirdly Competent: Discussion Post

Danny Fenton studied medicine under Frostbite. Because of this, he has a lot of medical expertise when it comes to working with a lot of different species, including Kryptonians and Martians. The doctors on the Watchtower who hired him did not know that he had experience and thought he was just talking back, so they fired him on day one. A few days later they tried one of his suggestions. To their surprise, it worked. The Justice League now has questions about Danny, starting with "Why the hell did you fire him??"

Chapters: 5/?

Words: 3,017

Fandom: DPxDC

Beta reader: @soupteeth

DPxDC Doctor!Danny fic based on this prompt by @bet-on-me-13!!

This is the post to leave notes on if you want to discuss the fic! I'll update the number of chapters and words as time goes on. I love seeing what y'all think, so please leave notes with feedback and such!

[thehereticdiaries]

Into the Wonderland: Chapter Five

Summary: You're getting some assignments done ahead of time since your heat is swiftly approaching. Marcus tries to make another move, resulting in a fight between him and Hongjoong.

Warnings (IMPORTANT!): Violence!! Descriptions of injuries, Hongjoong loses his shit, campus security and emts are so tired, hospital, slight description of medical procedure (staples), lots of tears, lots of anger, lots of panic

Hey team we're going out of order this time bc I've been planning this chapter for WEEKS and I need to post it immediately or I'm gonna start eating drywall. Pack Mentality is coming soon, I promise! Also this bitch is LONG (10 pages sheesh)

Series Masterlist

“Korean dialogue” / “English dialogue”

Your nightmares didn’t completely disappear, but they were much less frequent. Having a pack member with you helped you calm down and fall back asleep when you did have one, improving your sleep schedule significantly. Hongjoong still kept a watchful eye on you even if he wasn't the one spending the night with you.

With your heat now only a week away, you completely forgot about Marcus in your rush to turn in assignments ahead of their due dates. You’d have less to worry about when you came back to class that way. You were staying late in the computer lab for the third night in a row, but you needed access to a program you couldn’t download on your laptop. You quietly cheered to yourself after you finally submitted the assignment, leaving only one more easy discussion board post to finish. 

“Oh, shit,” you cursed under your breath when you realized the time. You were supposed to meet Seonghwa and Hongjoong fifteen minutes ago. You hastily shoved your class materials in your backpack, locking the door behind you with a key from your professor. Rough hands ripped your backpack from your shoulders, knocking you off balance. An all-to-familiar scent filled you with panic.

“You made a big fucking mistake, Y/N,” Marcus growled next to your ear. Before you could react, his hand wrapped around your throat to slam you against the wall. The back of your head collided with the sheet rock, blurring your vision and sending a sharp pain through your skull. Your classmate slowly came into focus.

“You think flaunting that shitty little pack bond is gonna keep me from taking you for myself?” He was deranged, pupils blown wide and spit dripping down his chin. 

“Marcus, please stop,” you pushed weakly against his wrist, tears stinging the back of your eyes.

“No! I know you want me! You are mine, omega, and I’ll make sure you forget all about that fucking pack.” His face turned red with the effort of keeping his voice down. He refused to be interrupted again. Your chest heaved, tears now streaming down your cheeks. Your mind was fuzzy from the pain. You couldn’t think straight. All of your thoughts turned to one person, so with every ounce of your strength you clasped both hands over your mating gland and you screamed.

“Hongjoong!”

The lobby of the computer science building was lined with large windows and plush armchairs. Seonghwa relaxed into the leather, scrolling on his phone while he and Hongjoong waited for you to finish in the lab. 

“Sit down, she’ll be out soon.” Seonghwa repeated for the fourth time in the last ten minutes. Hongjoong paced in front of the omega, eyes glued to the door labelled ‘Students and Staff Members ONLY’. 

“She’s late, Seonghwa. She’s never late, not without sending a text.” His fingers flexed by his sides, every nerve in his body on edge. He learned a long time ago to never ignore his instincts. “Something’s wrong.”

“You’re being paranoid,” the elder sighed, sparing the alpha a brief glance. Hongjoong glared at the door, the knot of dread in his stomach growing larger by the second.

“Fuck it,” the alpha stormed through the door, ignoring Seonghwa’s protests. The hallway split into two, forcing Hongjoong to stop. 

“What is wrong with you?!” Seonghwa dug his fingers into the younger man’s shoulder.

“What room did Y/N say she was in?” His eyes flicked from one hall to the other, then to the placard on the wall pointing to different room numbers. 

“I don’t –”

“Hongjoong!” His head snapped to the left, sprinting towards your voice with Seonghwa hot on his heels. Marcus slammed you into the wall again right as you came into view. He couldn’t hold back the growl that ripped from his throat, vision glazing over with red.

“Get the fuck away from her!” With his protective instincts on overdrive, Hongjoong didn’t even feel the sting of his knuckles connecting with Marcus’s cheekbone, knocking him to the floor. Hongjoong sat on his chest, locking his arms to his sides. 

“Were we not fucking obvious enough for you, asshole?” Another hit landed on Marcus’s nose, blood pouring from his nostrils. Hongjoong grinned sadistically at the crunch of cartilage under his fist.

“You couldn’t figure it out by our scents, our clothes, my bite on her neck? Let me spell it out for you.” His hand engulfed Marcus’s forehead, yanking him up just to shove his head into the tile floor, the sound echoing down the empty hallway. 

“She’s fucking taken.”

You collapsed to the floor once Marcus let you go, pulling your knees to your chest. Seonghwa dropped to your side, holding your face in both of his hands. You blinked slowly in an attempt to focus on him.

“Y/N? Baby, can you hear me?” His worried voice pushed past the fog surrounding your brain.

“Seonghwa?” You tipped forward, resting your forehead on the elder’s collarbone. Sobs wracked your body as you clung onto his shirt. He ran a hand through your hair to soothe you, but yanked it back at your yelp and the feeling of something warm and wet on his palm.

“Hongjoong,” Seonghwa stared in horror at the blood covering his hand. Your blood. The pack alpha was blinded by rage, still not satisfied with the damage done to Marcus’s face. 

“Hongjoong, please forget about him. He doesn’t matter, Y/N is hurt. Hongjoong listen to me, god dammit! Hongjoong! Alpha, please, she’s bleeding.” Seonghwa struggled to fight back the panic bubbling in his stomach, voice growing more desperate the longer he was ignored.

“Hwa ‘m tired,” you mumbled into his chest.

“Nononono, you can’t fall asleep.” He forced you to sit up, gently patting your cheek to bring your gaze back to him. Seonghwa’s eyes darted between you and Hongjoong. “Y/N, I know you’re tired and I know you’re scared, but I need you to do something for me.”

“Hmm?”

“I need you to get Hongjoong’s attention. Say his name, call him alpha, anything to get him to stop.” You looked over at your alpha, confused by the snarl marring his pretty face.

“Hongjoong?” You whimpered at the sharp sting in your head from slightly raising your voice. He froze, fist reared back to strike, his anger clashing with his need to comfort you.

“Yes! That’s it, omega. Keep going, sweet girl,” Seonghwa encouraged, stroking your cheek with his thumb. You took a shaky breath.

“Hongjoong. Alpha, please.” In an instant, your classmate was forgotten, left lying on the floor barely holding onto consciousness. He stole you from Seonghwa’s grasp to pull you onto his lap. 

“You’re okay. I’ve got you, alpha’s got you, it’s okay,” he rambled into the crown of your hair, wrapping you tightly in his arms and pressing you into his chest. Your nails dug into his bicep. 

“She’s hurt.” He muttered, eyes snapping over to Seonghwa, the omega’s earlier words finally sinking in. “You said she’s bleeding, where?”

“The back of her head.” Hongjoong gingerly moved your hair, blanching at the large gash. He frantically searched for something to stop the bleeding, coming up empty. Frustrated, he tore the sleeve from his sweater, folding it in half to hold against the wound. 

“Oh, my god!” An unknown voice shrieked from down the hall. Seonghwa tore his eyes from the man on the ground to see a woman with a hand clutched over her heart. “Oh my god, you assaulted those students!” 

“Ma’am, please,” Seonghwa jumped to his feet, holding his hands up to show he meant no harm. He took note of the staff badge hanging from the woman’s belt loop. “We need you to call the police. Or call campus security and have them contact the police. Security knows the situation between the two students. Please trust me.”

“O-okay,” she hesitantly agreed. “What are their names?” 

“Y/N L/N and Marcus, I don’t know his last name.” The staff member nodded, pulling out her phone and stepping further away from you. Seonghwa’s shoulders deflated. He sat next to you and Hongjoong, running his hand across your lower back. 

“I knew something was wrong,” Hongjoong glowered at his elder. Seonghwa turned a sharp eye to the alpha.

“We are not talking about that right now,” he hissed, voice dropping low in his throat. They stared each other down in a heated silence until movement to their side caught their attention.

“This isn’t done, asshole.” Marcus slurred, spitting out a tooth. He tried to sit up, but flopped onto his back with a groan.

“Shut the fuck up,” Seonghwa and Hongjoong said in unison, the former sounding more tired than angry.

“Security, the police, and EMS are all on their way. I can watch him if you’d like to take her to the lobby,” the staff member offered after returning from her phone call. 

“Thank you,” Seonghwa quickly bowed before trailing after you and Hongjoong. The alpha settled into one of the arm chairs with you in his lap, one hand still holding the sleeve to your head. You looked up at your fellow omega through the tears still clinging to your lashes.

“I don’t want to take an ambulance,” you sniffled, then winced again at the throbbing in the back of your skull. 

“Y/N–”

“I’ll go to the hospital, Hwa, but the sirens will be too loud and the lights will be too bright and, and,” you faltered at the lump growing in your throat. 

“Okay,” Seonghwa caved against your pleading, watery eyes. “I’ll call Yunho so he can come pick us up.” He moved a few feet away, growing impatient at the prolonged dial tone.

“Hey Seonghwa,” Mingi answered for Yunho.

“Where’s Yunho? I need him for something,” he avoided giving away any details. He really didn’t need three pissed off alphas on his hands.

“Uhh, I think he’s in the middle of a League match. Why, what’s up?” Seonghwa rolled his eyes. Of course the only pack member with a license was preoccupied with a video game, of all things.

“Well he needs to turn it off. He needs to come pick us up from Y/N’s campus,” he insisted with a huff.

“Why, Seonghwa? What happened?” Mingi demanded, now on edge from how vague his elder was being.

“Nothing happened.” He was immediately contradicted by your yelp and frantic apologies from Hongjoong. 

“Seonghwa.”

“Get the phone to Yunho, then I’ll tell you.” Mingi grumbled curses under his breath, annoyed by the negotiations. He ripped Yunho’s headphones off.

“Turn the game off, something happened to Y/N.” Any arguments from being interrupted mid-game died in Yunho’s throat. “You’re on speaker.”

“Yunho, you need to come pick us up from the computer science building on campus. Marcus attacked her. She’s bleeding and probably has a concussion,” Seonghwa quickly explained, pulling his phone away from his ear.

“He fucking what?!” Mingi shouted, loud enough that it drew Hongjoong’s attention from several feet away. 

“We’re on our way,” Yunho stated after stealing his phone back. 

“Please don’t bring the whole pack,” Seonghwa pleaded. “She doesn’t need to be crowded right now. Security is here, got to go.” He ended the call without waiting for an answer.

“Okay, what happened?” A very tired man with a “head of security” badge asked, looking between the three of you. Seonghwa stepped forward to recount the attack, seeing as you were fighting to stay awake and Hongjoong was still fuming. A female security guard approached you, keeping a bit of space to avoid agitation. 

“I have gauze, if you’d like to use it for her head instead of a sleeve,” she offered, extending a hand with a small stack of clean gauze. Hongjoong eyed the officer warily, but accepted the offer, dropping the bloody sleeve to the seat next to him. After a few minutes, red and blue flashing lights stung your eyes. You hid in Hongjoong’s neck with a groan. Two pairs of EMTs entered the lobby. The pair with a stretcher were led to Marcus, while the others walked up to examine you.

“She’s not taking an ambulance,” Hongjoong snapped before they even opened their mouths.

“She really–”

“We’re going to the hospital, but we’re using our car.” The EMTs shared a look, one of them sighing heavily.

“Alright. Can I at least check on the wound?” Hongjoong didn’t even try to hide his displeasure, curling his lip back to show his teeth. 

“Hongjoong, he’s just trying to do his job,” you vouched for the poor EMT. 

“Fine.” The EMT pulled on gloves and kneeled behind you while his partner left to help with Marcus after a voice from his radio asked for backup. 

“The bleeding has mostly stopped. It’s not too long, 6 or 7 centimeters from what I can see. They’ll probably staple it shut and check for a concussion at the hospital. Keep the gauze on it.” The EMT stood, grabbing his first aid bag and heading back to the ambulance, passing Mingi and Yunho on his way out. 

“What happened?” Yunho asked as the two of them stormed over to you. He kneeled in front of you while Mingi sat on the arm of the chair directly behind you.

“The officer said Y/N can wait until tomorrow to give her statement due to her injury.” Seonghwa returned from talking to security and a cop. “How did you get here so quickly?”

“He drove fucking fast. I’ve never seen him that reckless, I thought I was gonna puke,” Mingi replied. Yunho shrugged at the flat glare from the omega.

“I was leaving the computer lab and he snuck up on me. It’s kinda fuzzy after I hit my head.” You slowly lifted your head from Hongjoong’s neck, fighting back the dizziness. 

“Hey, don’t push yourself. Keep your head down if you’re not feeling well,” Yunho urged with a hand on your knee. 

“I wanted to see you both.” You twisted around to look up at Mingi. 

“Don’t move around like that, I’m trying to keep the cut covered.” Hongjoong turned you to face forward again. Mingi trailed his hand up your shoulders to rest on the back of your neck. 

“Did he–” All five of you looked at the door that slammed open. The EMTs rolled the stretcher out with Marcus handcuffed to the rail, spewing profanities. Your alphas glared at him. Yunho moved into a crouch with his back to you. Marcus faltered under their intimidating stature, clenching his jaw and averting his eyes to his lap. The three of them felt an animalistic sense of pride and satisfaction at the other alpha’s submission. 

“Serves him fucking right,” Mingi snickered at the blood and bruises covering your classmate’s face.

“He deserves worse,” Yunho clicked his tongue. He turned to you again once the stretcher was out the door. 

“I could have kept going, but she needed me. My omega’s health is more important than that shithead,” Hongjoong sneered. “Besides, killing him would have been too merciful. He can rot in prison.” The taller alphas hummed in agreement. 

“Let’s go, she needs to see a doctor,” Seonghwa ordered, herding the alphas up and out the door with you still in Hongjoong’s arms.

“Should one of us take her?” Mingi asked, pointing to the leader’s hands. “You’re bleeding, too. And your hands are shaking.”

“No.” His voice was strained, face and muscles still tense from the slew of emotions going through his mind. He and Mingi got in the backseat, sitting you between them. The car fell to a heavy silence, only interrupted whenever someone shook you awake. Hongjoong opened the door before Yunho even put the car in park.

“I’m going to call the others. I’ll be in soon. Please behave,” Seonghwa urged the alphas. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep them in check,” Yunho called over his shoulder. They walked through the sliding doors of the ER. You were whisked away in a wheelchair almost immediately for a CT scan. Hongjoong’s leg bounced impatiently while they sat in the waiting room. 

“Mr. Kim?” A nurse announced from the door leading to the patient rooms. He shot out of the chair, looking at her expectantly. “Oh, I’m sorry. Y/N is still being evaluated. You can’t see her yet. I’m bringing you back for your hands. She should be ready by the time you’re done.”

“Fine.”

Out by the car, Seonghwa called Jongho. He was the most reliable in terms of answering phone calls. Honestly, he was surprised that anyone picked up when he called Yunho. 

“I hope you’re calling to explain why Mingi and Yunho left the dorms looking pissed,” Jongho skipped the greeting to get right to the point.

“Yeah, is everyone there?” Seonghwa asked with a sigh, tired and fighting back a headache.

“We’re here, you’re on speaker,” San chimed in. The eldest launched into a hasty retelling of everything that happened in the past hour. 

“What the actual fuck is wrong with that guy?” Wooyoung swore once Seonghwa was finished. 

“Is there anything you need us to do?” Yeosang asked.

“Get a nest set up in the living room. I have a feeling she’s going to want all of us near her tonight,” Seonghwa requested. After confirming, they exchanged goodbyes so he could check on you.

No one was in the waiting room, spiking his anxiety. Another nurse spotted him from behind the front desk and led him to your room. You sat on the bed between Hongjoong’s legs, your back to his chest and his arms wrapped securely around your waist. The pack alpha’s hands were wrapped in bandages. Mingi and Yunho stood on either side of the bed. 

“Hey, the doctor’s coming in soon to go over their scan results,” Yunho informed him as he approached the bed, sitting on the edge on the same side as Mingi.

“What scans did they do?”

“CT and MRI for Y/N, x-ray for Hongjoong,” Yunho pointed between the two of you. 

“Y/N, baby, are you still awake?” Seonghwa squeezed your knee. Your eyes stayed closed, but you nodded and mumbled ‘mhm’. 

“Hello, I’m Dr. Lee,” a woman in navy scrubs walked in while reading something on a clipboard. “Hongjoong, you’re lucky you didn’t get any fractures in your hand. Keep the abrasions clean and you’ll be just fine.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Hongjoong agreed through gritted teeth.

“Y/N has a minor concussion. As for the cut, I’ll need to put a few staples in so it heals properly.” Dr. Lee placed the clipboard on a counter, thanking the nurse that brought in the staple gun. She gently parted your hair and cleaned the excess blood from your skin. She warned you before she began putting in the staples. You winced at each staple, making the alphas tense up in order to stay calm. A muscle in Yunho’s jaw twitched and the other two stared daggers at the doctor.

“Okay, we’re done. I know it hurts, but you did wonderfully,” she reassured with a pat to your shoulder. Hongjoong suppressed a growl. “You’ll need to have them removed in two weeks. You can either come back here or go to your primary doctor. One of the nurses will stop by soon to go over your discharge paperwork and give a packet for care instructions.”

“Thank you,” Seonghwa nodded to the doctor before she left for her next patient. 

Finally, after forty-five minutes, you were back at the dorms. Hongjoong reluctantly let Seonghwa and Yeosang bring you to the latter’s room to help you change into your pajamas. As soon as you returned to the living room, which was covered with pillows and blankets, Hongjoong pulled you back into his lap. The betas took turns checking on you, giving you soft kisses to your forehead and cheeks. Everyone settled down around you, most going on their phones since it wasn’t even ten o’clock yet. You drifted off to sleep, safe and surrounded by your pack.

Permanent Taglist: @furfoxsake22 @babygirlskz98 @miniverse-zen @holly-here @corgilover20 @eastjonowhere @bookswillfindyouaway

Series Taglist: @popcatx0 @m00njinnie @awkward-fucking-thing @fr34k4c1dr41n @nchhuhi @pixie0627 @bby-boo4u @queen-thiccness

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 37: The Silence

Summary: Tensions are at an all time high in the pack as an eerie silence settles over the cottage

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 6,179 words

Warnings: Angst, heavy emotions, arguing, medical stuff, injuries, descriptions of pain, brief discussion about strangulation, so much crying, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, panic attack, PTSD, language

A/N: Uh yeah, this one did emotional damage. Prepare yourselves.

11/30/24: **This chapter has been edited and rewritten from its original version**

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

They stand there watching like four knights in a tower guarding their kingdom. Their eyes are glued ahead, staring through the glass out into the backyard. They’re alert and watchful, eyes assessing and scanning for any threats. There are none except for your trembling legs. 

They stand there watching like four knights guarding their princess. None of them are brave enough to move, none of them dare break the moment. They can’t help but wonder what’s going on in your head, what drove you to push past the pain and exhaustion to shuffle your way outside. 

Panic bubbled in Kyle’s chest when he saw you shuffling your way across the living area. He’d nearly intervened when you stumbled, but John’s hand on his chest stopped him. You were in your own world, oblivious to everyone and everything as you shuffled determinedly toward the back door. They’d silently followed you, Johnny and Simon joining them when they descended the stairs. 

All you’ve done is stand out there. It feels like it’s been an hour, but it’s been less than five minutes. You’re frozen there, all except for the tremble of your legs and the subtle shake of your shoulders. 

You’re crying. 

It hurts his soul. It tears through his very chest as he watches you. He wants nothing more than to run out there and take you in his arms and soothe your tears. 

He can’t. 

He lost those privileges when they left you just like that. They knew you were in danger, they knew that something was wrong, and yet they just up and left you. They should have known something was going to happen. They should have known even leaving Johnny and Simon behind wouldn’t mean safety. They were called away, and they followed those orders because that’s what they’re supposed to do. Be obedient soldiers and follow orders. 

John isn’t always the most obedient. He’s gone against the orders and wishes of his superiors many times, yet this time he didn’t. He didn’t even question those orders. 

Would things have changed if he had questioned it? Would John have listened if he had brought up just how suspicious the timing was? Could he have avoided all of this if he had just questioned his alpha? 

Not all of it would have been unavoidable. 

He has no doubt they would have still come after you regardless. They would have found some other way to isolate you. Even sending you to stay with Kate in a secure location wouldn’t have worked. Shepherd still would have known where you were, and it would have been just as easy to snatch you from right under their noses. 

Graves wouldn’t have given up that chance so easily, even if he knew what the outcome would be. 

Shepherd fucked him over too in the end. 

Things happened the way they did and they can’t change that. That’s what Christine keeps telling them. The past is the past and you can only work to build the future. 

It’s going to take a lot of work. 

“How long has she been out there?” Christine asks, stepping up next to them. 

“About four minutes.” Simon answers. 

“She shouldn’t be out there like that.” Christine goes to move to the door, but John stops her. 

“Let her have a moment.” He says, still staring out the window. “She needs it.” 

Christine lets out a quiet huff but she doesn’t move, turning her gaze out the sliding glass door as well. 

You continue to stand there, frozen like a statue. Time passes slowly, all of them captivated by the silent moment they’re witnessing. It’s almost hypnotic. The fading light, your figure standing there surrounded by grey skies and green earth like some sort of painting. 

Pain and bliss. 

That’s what he’d title it. He knows that’s what you must be feeling. Pain, visible and invisible from wounds that go far deeper than the flesh. Pain in its purest form as you stand there under heavy grey skies that echo the heaviness in your mind. The bliss echoes from John’s words, his reveal of your desire to see the ocean again, to stand on its shores and let its essence consume you.

It all makes sense now. No wonder you would cling to him the most, press your face into his neck and just breathe. His own briney scent was a gateway to what you desired in your landlocked position. How long had you been holding that desire in? Were you disappointed when you rolled up on their doorstep to find yourself still far away from the sea? You hid that desire from the knowledge that, as an omega, your wants and needs would always come last, in the knowledge that their jobs would come first and you would be at the mercy of that job. 

His eyes burn with tears as he stares at you. 

You begin to tremble more and more the longer you stand there, shifting on your feet. It breaks the haze they’ve all been frozen in, the five of them snapping back into reality. Christine is out the door before any of them can move, hurrying to your side. She wraps an arm around your back, careful not to touch your left arm as she steadies you. Kyle jumps into action automatically after her, hurrying to your new designated room to grab the wheelchair. With how much effort it took to walk out there, you won’t be walking back in. 

He wheels it out, holding it still as Christine maneuvers you into it. As much as he doesn’t want to, he turns, slipping back in the door as Christine wheels you towards the house. The four of them watch as she passes, time pausing as they stare at you. You don’t look up at them, don't acknowledge them at all. Your gaze is turned down in your lap, head lowered as you hunch, shoulders rounded.

Pain and exhaustion are weighing on you from your exertion as Christine takes you back to your room. How heavy the world must seem from the combined weight of your physical and mental injuries. The state of your mind would be one thing, but being stuck in a temporary handicapped state due to your physical injuries must be driving you nearly insane. There’s no getting away, no isolation. You can’t even walk fully unaided yet. 

There’s no freedom.  

All of them share a look in the heavy silence, understanding without even needing to say a word. 

The mug is burning his fingers but he can’t bring himself to care. His gaze is locked, mind focused elsewhere. He hasn’t moved in so long his joints are aching, but he can’t find it in himself to even shift his position.

“Drinking it black?” His fingers twitch as Kyle takes the seat next to him, his own mug of tea in his hands. It clunks as he sets it on the table before he lowers himself into the chair with a sigh. “That’s low even for you.” 

Simon lets out a grunt, eyes still focused out the sliding glass door. 

“She’s fine.” Kyle says, pulling out his phone. “The Doc won’t let anything happen to her.” 

“Don’t like that she’s out there alone.” Simon says, finally releasing the mug, squeezing his burning fingers into his palm. 

“Technically she’s not alone,” Kyle says, giving him a sideways glance. “We’ve been over this. We’re perfectly safe here.” 

“For now.” Simon lifts his mug to his lips, ignoring the burn of the tea on his tongue. He’s long become numb to that sort of pain.

“No one knows we’re here except Kate and my sister. Neither of them would say anything, no matter what.” Kyle turns his gaze back to the sliding glass door, to your figure huddled in the chair outside. “She’s where she needs to be right now.” 

Footsteps thud down the stairs, John letting out a groan as he reaches the bottom. He takes a moment to stretch before heading for the kettle in the kitchen. 

“Rough night, sir?” Kyle asks, taking a sip of his tea. 

“I’ve slept worse.” John grunts, grabbing a mug from the cupboard. 

Both of them had tossed and turned last night. Simon had listened to the occasional creak of the bed frame as they turned. He knows that’s what it was. They’re not ready yet. None of them are. Things are too fragile, too frayed. 

“Anyone thought about breakfast?” John asks. 

“Still some eggs left, and some bread. We need to make a store run soon.” Kyle says. 

“Today.” John says, pouring water into the mug. “A lot of things we need to pick up.” He turns to face Simon and Kyle, leaning against the cupboard. “Simon and I will go.” 

Simon shifts in his seat, his hand tightening around his mug again. “That’s not a good idea.” 

“What, you’re doubting our ability to watch the house?” Kyle says, turning to Simon. 

Simon glances at him, his eyes hard. “No, There should just be an alpha here at all times.” 

“Really? Because that sounds a lot like you don’t trust Johnny and I.” Kyle says, getting angry. 

“Enough.” John says, setting his mug down on the table. “We keep fighting amongst ourselves, nothing is going to get better. Tensions are high, but none of this is about us. We have to keep our heads on straight for the sake of our pack, and our omega. Simon and I will go to town today. That’s final.” 

Kyle and Simon both lower their eyes to their mugs of tea as John takes a seat at the table. He is right. Fighting amongst themselves will only make things worse for you. You’re already struggling, and the bonds fraying further will only cause more damage, more stress for you. Their bonds with you are delicate enough. They can’t risk the bonds between themselves getting any thinner. They have to be strong for you. They have to be strong for each other. They have to be strong for the pack. The whole pack. 

It falls silent between the three of them as they sit there, sipping their tea. Johnny is the only one still in bed. He cried most of the night last night. He’s cried most of the night the last three nights. He’s probably shed more tears than you have. 

Simon feels stuck in the middle, like he’s being torn in two separate directions. He got up in the night to free himself from the sounds of Johnny crying just to hear your own quiet sobs through your closed door. Each broken sob had his heart splitting in half, the ache in his chest getting worse and worse. He was sure he was having a heart attack that first night, his chest compressing and squeezing, his hands going numb from how tense his body was. 

He wants to reach out and make it better, but he can’t bring himself to. Johnny will just shrug him off, and you won’t even look at him. Even John and Kyle are distant, gravitating further and further away. The gravitational field in the center of their pack continues to get bigger and bigger, forcing them further and further away from each other, and none of them know how to stop it. They’ve lost their point of equilibrium. They’re all spiraling further and further away. Eventually that gravitational field will dissipate and they’ll be left free-floating through space and time. 

They all turn to look as the sliding glass door opens and you crutch your way in. Dr. Keller is right behind you, closing the back door before guiding you back to your room, the blanket you had been draped in folded neatly over her arm. You’re moving better, even just in two days since their arrival. Steadier on your feet, walking better with the crutch. You even look a little better, more alive than you were when you arrived here. 

They all watch you walk to your room, but you don’t spare a glance their way. You haven’t looked at any of them in two days. You haven’t spoken a word to them, to anyone, in two days. 

Kyle gets up to make breakfast as soon as you’ve passed, broken from the spell as Dr. Keller gets you settled in your room. You’re almost hypnotic now, all of their gazes drawn to you as soon as you enter the room. They’re all thinking the same thing every time you pass. Maybe this will be the time you finally look at them, when you finally glance their way. What he wouldn’t give to have you smile at him, give him that cheeky little grin after sassing him. 

Little shit. 

His hand tightens around his mug again as guilt floods him. You’ve sunken into an empty shell because of them. They sucked the life right out of you. They dragged you into this and failed to do what they were supposed to do. Anger bubbles in him as he thinks back to that moment. He should have fought back. He should have questioned those orders, disobeyed for the sake of his pack. He should have been brave enough to help you through your heat. 

He’s not your alpha. 

He almost wishes he was. 

He stares down at the scabbed imprint of your teeth on his skin. He should pick up a bottle of ink in town, tattoo that mark on his skin forever as a reminder of both you and what he did to you. 

“How is she?” John asks when Dr. Keller enters the kitchen. Simon’s shoulders square as she passes him, having been so lost in his thoughts he hadn’t even noticed her enter. 

Bloody hell, he’s getting to be as bad as you.

“As good as she can be.” She sighs, grabbing a can of soup out of the cupboard. You won’t get the eggs and toast Kyle is making. Your diet consists of soup and only soup. 

“Hasn’t said anything still?” John asks, turning to look at her. 

“Not a word.” Dr. Keller shakes her head. “I’d be worried, if it wasn’t expected.” She pulls out a pot, opening the can before dumping the contents in. Chicken noodle. The staple soup in your diet. “Strangulation can be a hard thing to recover from.”

“I know.” Simon winces, taking a sip of his tea. 

The doctor gives him a sympathetic look. He doesn’t want it. “She had some mild damage done from it, which will take time to heal. And, everyone deals with trauma differently. Silence isn’t that unusual of a response.” She puts the pan on the hob, turning the heat on. “If I was worried, you would know.” 

“Thank you for looking after her.” John says, nodding at the doctor. “You didn't have to stay.”

“I made a promise.” She says, stirring the soup. “She's still my patient, even if the initiative was bogus. I still have a duty to perform as her doctor. Kate wouldn't have chosen me from the start if I was the type to just up and leave as soon as I found out my job wasn't actually real. I care about her a lot, and I want to help her get through this.”

“We all owe a lot to you.” John says. “We wouldn't have made it this far without you.”

“No,” The corner of her mouth twitches. “You probably wouldn't have.”

Christine lets out a quiet sigh as she steps into your room. You're in the chair by the window, your usual spot when it's too damp and cold to sit outside. 

It's dark in the room aside from the light coming through the window. It’s always dark in the room, except at night when you sleep with the bedside lamp on. She flips that lamp on, not wanting to blind you suddenly with the overhead light. You’ve been blinded by enough bright lights over the last week. Nearly a week and a half. It feels like so much time has passed, yet it still feels like yesterday when she was coming to in her office after being attacked and drugged. The terror she’d felt upon finding you missing still fills her stomach, and she finds herself getting up in the middle of the night to check and make sure you’re really there. 

She’s not the only one that does it. 

The paper bags in her arms crinkle as she carries them over to you, setting them on the other chair. Your gaze is far away, staring off at the grey, stormy sea in the distance. How fitting the weather is, both for you and the members of the pack. 

The tension between them is still palpable, all of them moving stiffly around each other. They’ve lost the natural fluidity of a pack comfortable in their bonds. They’re stuck, and they can’t, they won’t, heal until you do. They won’t allow themselves to until they know you’re willing to at least try. 

“John and Simon went to town and did some shopping. They picked up some things for you.” She says softly, breaking the heavy silence in the room. 

You don’t even turn to look at her. 

“More warm clothes.” She continues, looking in one bag. “As well as some boots.” She pulls a box out of another bag. “A nightlight, so you don’t have to keep using the lamp.” She looks in the third bag, the heaviest one of the three. “Another stuffed animal.” She says, pulling out a stuffed bear. It’s a nice thought, but she’s not sure you’ll even want to touch it. “And some books.” She says, pulling the stack out of the bottom of the bag. 

There’s three of them, ones not in the collection on the shelves in the living area. Some of your favorites. They’re trying, putting in efforts to try and make you as comfortable as possible in the only ways they can right now. She sets the books on the side table next to you, taking a long look at you as you sit there. 

You haven’t picked up a book in the two days they’ve been at the cottage, though she’s not surprised. You’ve been in and out of it, sleeping off the pain medicine, or sitting in a haze, mind far away from the cabin. She wonders where you are, where your mind is going. Out on the water? Out on the beach? Or maybe somewhere back in your memories where it’s safe. Receding back somewhere when life was easier and safer. 

Are you thinking of your mother? Are you imagining her here with you? 

Her heart hurts for you, being torn away from her at such a pivotal moment in your life. If she had the ability to find her she would. If she could track down your mother and bring her here for you she would. 

You begin to sniffle, almost as if you can somehow read her thoughts. The tears are falling, streaming down your cheeks again. She doesn't say anything, she doesn’t have to as she stands there beside you, gently stroking your hair. She’s seen many things in her time as an omega specialist. She’s had patients that have gone through things that would make even the most seasoned doctor’s stomach churn. She’s helped omegas that have been pushed to the brink of insanity, omegas pushed to the brink of death. Yet none of them have affected her the way you have. Maybe it’s because she’s never been quite so invested in an omega’s life before, never been quite so inserted into an omega’s reality. 

If she was a better doctor, she might have refused to stay here, keeping distance between herself and your pack. She’s gotten too close, pushed past the barrier of professionalism. If she was a better doctor, she’d distance herself, stick to the decorum and expectation of doctor/patient relationships. She knows omega specialists can get too close. She’d been warned over and over about how easy it is to invest too much into the lives and well beings of omegas. There’s a boundary that must be kept, both for the professional and for the sake of the omega. She won’t be around you forever. 

Eventually she’ll have to distance herself. She’ll have to go back to America, return to her practice. Now that the initiative is over, now that her job doesn’t even exist, she’s running on borrowed time. She’ll have to leave you at some point, close your case and move on. 

When is the question there. When will it be the right time? When will she decide you’ve healed enough to be graduated from her care? When will she be confident enough to break the bond that has formed between the two of you. 

Will she be able to? That’s the deeper question. 

Those are thoughts for a different day, she decides, pushing them aside. Instead she pulls you into her side, resting your head against her hip as she continues to stroke your hair. 

You look just about as happy to be at the table as they do. It's quiet in the room aside from the clanking of dishes in the kitchen and the occasional sizzle of food in a pan. Your gaze is in your lap, assuming your normal position of a drooping head and rounded shoulders. 

Your back and neck have to hurt from being in that position for so long. 

The only time you're not in those positions are when you're outside. Then your gaze is out at the sea in the distance. You sit there and stare, almost like a statue. You’d make for a good painting, seated still enough for long enough a skilled artist could make a masterpiece of it. 

He's surprised Johnny hasn't even sketched you like that yet. Perhaps if you can ever come to be more comfortable around them, you'll allow him to paint you. You’ll be taking up residence out there in that chair as often as you can. 

He’s not even sure rain or storm would deter you, if it wasn’t for Christine’s intervention. 

Kyle sets a plate of chicken on the table as Christine brings over your soup, setting it down in front of you. Always a bowl of steaming hot soup. How you’re existing off of mostly liquids is beyond him. Maybe that’s why you look so fragile and frail. 

“There you go,” Christine says as she sets a spoon down beside the bowl. Chicken and rice, a changeup from your normal chicken noodle. “I know you don’t want to, but you need to. You’re not going to feel better without food in your system.” 

You let out a quiet noise, just barely audible over the shuffling of bodies as they sit at the table. Simon is to your left, Kyle next to him, Christine and Johnny on the other side. He’s on the opposite end of the table, staring right at you. No wonder you don’t want to move from your hunched position. 

They keep their eyes off of you as they begin serving themselves. The food they’ve managed to make is decent with the help of their combined cooking skills. They’d had a long discussion about the intricacies of British food versus American food the first morning after their arrival. Christine advocated for more American-based dishes, with Johnny taking her side purely out of spite for the three Englishmen. 

John has caught Christine sneaking seasoning into the food every so often. He hasn’t said a word.

“Come on, eat up.” Christine says, gently nudging your hand where it rests over the spoon. 

Your face screws up in a grimace as you stare down at the steaming soup. It’s a breath before your fingers wrap around the spoon, lifting it to the bowl. Every movement feels practiced and calculated as he watches you sink the spoon into the bowl, just barely sinking below the surface to get just broth. He watches as you lift the spoon, holding it halfway to your mouth. There’s a subtle shake to your hand, not much but noticeable to him. You stare down at the spoon for a long moment before lifting it the rest of the way, quickly putting it in your mouth before your hand starts shaking too much. 

You grimace as you swallow, a quiet grunt leaving your lips. He can’t bring himself to look away as you sit there, taking in a couple deep breaths. He can’t bring himself to eat as you stare back down at the bowl, your fingers trembling around the spoon. 

Fuck. 

You sniffle as you sink the spoon into the bowl once more, the spoon shaking more now as you bring the second spoonful to your mouth. It’s like watching some kind of sick, twisted children’s windup toy as you feed yourself, following the pattern of spoon in soup, soup to mouth, pained grimace, quiet sob. It gets worse and worse with every bite, John barely able to stomach his own food as he watches you with every bite.

You stare down at a chunk of chicken on your spoon, a fearful look on your face. Your hand is shaking enough that soup is dripping off the bottom back into the bowl. Christine had cut the chunks up smaller, yet you stare down at it like it might jump off the spoon and bite you. 

Tears start rolling down your cheeks as you bring the spoon up to your lips, forcing it into your mouth. You chew and chew and chew, delaying the inevitable. The face you make as you swallow nearly breaks him. He lowers his gaze to his own plate, barely touched despite the fact he feels like they’ve been eating for a lifetime. 

“Take a break.” Christine says quietly, lowering your hand with the spoon back onto the table. 

None of them can bear to look at you. Johnny and Kyle are busy staring at their plates as they eat while Simon glares holes into his water glass. He’s watching you just as closely, he’s just not brave enough to stare at you so openly. 

The tears continue to fall as you start feeding yourself again, Christine watching you as your hand begins to shake more and more, the pain starting to get to you. John wants to reach out, to take the spoon and feed you himself, but he can’t. It’s destroying him inside, seeing you struggle so openly. Christine won’t intervene, she won’t do anything as she sits there. Rationally he knows why. You need to get used to feeding yourself again, you need to work past the pain and exhaustion to keep yourself going. 

His alpha is screaming. 

Your hand is nearly vibrating as you hold another spoonful up, this one full of rice and chicken. You let out a quiet sob as you stare at it. That’s going to hurt. He can nearly sense your pain, the agony you’re feeling. Your scent is like a cloud fogging up the air, sour with fear and pain. It’s sinking right into his brain, his alpha clawing at him to do something. You’re in such open distress in front of him but he can’t move. He’s frozen, staring at you in shock, unable to look away. 

It’s Simon’s quick reflexes that save you, his hand darting out to flip the spoon onto the table before you drop it on yourself. It lands with a clang, startling all of them out of their ruminations as it hits the bowl of peas, splattering rice and chicken and broth across the tablecloth. Christine is on her feet almost immediately, checking you over for burns from any of it that might have landed on you. 

“You're okay.” Christine says, wiping your face with a napkin as you sob loudly, openly crying now. “It was a good try. Come on.” 

She helps you to your feet, grabbing your crutch before leading you back to your room. 

All four of them sit there in silence, still as statues as they process what they had just witnessed. 

“Fuck,” Kyle breaths, his eyes glued to the half-eaten chicken on his plate. 

Johnny starts to sniffle himself, his gaze locked on his own plate. Simon's eyes are on the spoon he'd flipped where it lays on the table. 

He had no idea just how bad things really were. He knew they were bad. 

He just didn't think they were this bad.

You’re sitting outside in that chair again. It’s a lovely morning, cold but the sun is rising up over the hills, casting a pink and orange glow across the sky. You look almost ethereal out there, even if he can only see the back of your head. Your eyes are cast out at the sea in the distance, where your gaze always seems to lie. 

His fingers itch in a desire to draw you, the art supplies Simon had picked up for him sitting unopened upstairs. It’s the first time he’s felt the desire to draw in weeks. Not since your heat when he’d sat there by your side, drawing to keep the thoughts away. The pictures are probably still up on his wall, the pieces he’d done to keep his own distress away. Had you laid there and stared at them after they left you? He can picture you laying there numbly, eyes glazed as you stare at them, picturing yourself far away. 

You don’t need his drawings now to imagine yourself far away. 

You’re still as a statue as you sit there, the thick blanket he’d picked up in Texas tucked around you. It warms his heart, even if he knows it was Christine who wrapped you up in it. The mug of tea beside you is still steaming in the cool air, untouched as it will remain until Christine eventually brings you back inside where you’ll recede to your room to sit in front of the large bay window to stare out at the sea. 

He wants to take you. 

He wants to load you up in the car and take you the short drive down the road to the beach. He wants to let you stand there in the sand, see the waves as they crash onto the shore. Hell, he’d let you walk into the water, let it soak your shoes and pants. Whatever you need to do, he’d let you do it. 

John would have his hide if he left with you like that. 

Simon would eat him alive. 

He won’t do that, though, mostly because he knows you wouldn’t be strong enough to make it down to the beach, nor stand there for a long period of time. Carrying you would be out of the question. You’d never let him that close. 

Instead he takes a gamble, getting as close as he dares as he slides open the door, stepping out into the cool morning. You don’t move, don’t even look up as he takes a seat in the chair next to you, the one Christine occupies when she’s out with you. He’d volunteered to watch you through the door to allow her some time to herself, something she hasn’t been getting much of. She’s been caring for you nearly 24/7, only getting breaks here and there while you sleep or nap, or on the rare occasion she trusts one of them to watch you. She never complains, but he knows she’s tired. Anyone would be after everything they’ve been through, after everything she’s had to see and experience over the last week and a half. 

It’s the least they can do, even if you won’t allow them to do more. They all wish they could. They wish they could ease some of your suffering, take some of the strain off of Christine’s shoulders. Kyle even went so far as to invite his sister to visit over for the weekend in hopes she might be able to lighten the load, and to see if you’ll allow her closer than you’re allowing them to get. 

He moves cautiously like he’s approaching a wild animal, not wanting to startle you and cause you more pain than you have been in. He can be a bull in a china shop, or he can be silent and deadly. He chooses something in the middle, making his footsteps just loud enough to be heard across the wooden planks of the porch, but he moves slowly enough he won’t startle you as he appears in your peripheral. 

Your gaze never leaves the horizon, focused and far away even as he takes a seat next to you. His mug of coffee is warm in his hands, fighting off the chill outside. It’s a natural response to the sudden temperature change after being inside in the warm house. He almost wishes he had his own blanket, but then again, he’s not sure he’ll be outside very long. 

He’s prepared for yelling, screaming, getting hit with your crutch as you tell him off, chasing him back inside. He’d almost prefer it over the eerie silence. He has to glance at you just to make sure you’re breathing, make sure the blanket is rising and falling over your chest. He follows your gaze out to the sea, sitting there silently as he gazes out at the dark blue water. Silence is hard for him. He can feel it throbbing in his ears, the ringing that fills his head when it’s quiet. He likes noise. He needs noise. 

He just wants to hear you speak again. 

He needs to hear you speak again. 

He wants to talk to you, he wants to say something, he wants to drop to his knees and beg forgiveness. He wants to feel your touch again, even if it’s just a brush of fingers across his hand. He wants to get something out of you, some kind of reaction. You’re an empty shell, a ghost of what you were. 

Tears fill his eyes as he stares out at the blue water. The silence is deafening as he sits there with you, still and quiet. 

He might as well be sitting alone. 

It’s the dead of night. The stars are out, or they would be if the clouds weren’t blocking them. It makes the world seem so much darker without their light. The fire is out, the curtains drawn closed. The only light is from the porch and the lights on the patio out back. The house is quiet, not even the hum of appliances filling the silence. 

Kyle’s breaths are quiet and even, finally asleep after laying awake for far too long. Their backs are turned towards each other, yet the double bed forces them close enough they can feel the warmth radiating from the other. It’s the only position they can sleep in, even if they’ve woken up cuddling a few times in the night. It’s almost as if their brains are subconsciously trying to force the bonds back, to force the healing. It’s as if their instincts are laughing at them for trying to deny what they want deep down. 

John lays there in the silence, his mind racing. He can’t sleep again for the fifth night in a row. He hasn’t been able to sleep since they left weeks ago on their mission to track down the missiles. No, it’s been longer than that. Not since you revealed the cameras to them. How long ago that seems now. How inconsequential it feels. If he knew back then what was going to happen, he would have changed a lot of things. 

You can’t undo what was done. You can only change what happens going forward. 

Things happened the way they happened. Now he has to make up for it. Now he has to prove himself not just as a capable alpha, but as a trustworthy human being. Your omega is screaming. He knows it. He had sensed it at dinner with your quiet sobs, the pain flooding your scent. He can still smell it, the sourness permeating his nostrils and sinking right into his brain. His alpha is still clawing at him angrily for just sitting there, for just letting it happen. 

Simon intervened. Simon saved you once again. 

He had barely comprehended the quick movement of Simon’s hand as he knocked the spoon out of your grip. He’d gotten soup on his hand, the droplets visible, yet he hadn’t moved as he sat there, letting it burn his skin. Better his than yours. He could almost hear Simon’s thoughts at that moment. 

What a good alpha Simon is. 

What a failure of an alpha John is. 

Your omega must be screaming in your mind, clawing at her cage. It’s almost like he can hear it rattling in his ears, reminding him of the pain he’s caused you. The pain brought on by his failures. 

Something is rattling in his ears, piercing through the silence. 

It is a scream. 

It’s your scream. 

NEXT ->

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My Hero Academia Final Thoughts

There's a line that I absolutely adore from the Justice League cartoon. In the episode Hereafter, Superman is believed to be killed and a funeral for him is held. Martian Manhunter, in his speech, concludes with, “Let us all strive to accept his gift and pass it along as an ongoing tribute to Kal-El of Krypton: the immigrant from the stars who taught us all how to be heroes.”

My Hero Academia is coming to an end after around a decade now, and a lot of discussion is happening around the ending, and what has and has not happened. The world of My Hero Academia is one that is shown to be deeply flawed and at points outright cruel. Discrimination runs rampant through all levels of society, and the populace is plagued with a general sense of apathy. People are not inspired to act, but to be passive. Why bother putting in the effort to help others when you can wait for a Hero to do it?

All Men Are Not Created Equal.

This line from the start of the series has been used in many discussions of My Hero Academia over the years especially in regard to the themes of discrimination, but this final chapter provides a new interpretation of them. It is because people are different that we seek each other out. Humans are, after all, social creatures. We simply cannot survive alone. This has been true for thousands of years.

My Hero Academia is a story about justice. Many people wanted the entire government torn the ground, burned, and replaced. But who would that help? How many people would die from that because they needed financial or medical aid that the government supplies? How would a new government even be formed that way? That is the truth Shigaraki’s righteous destruction. It would solve nothing. Cathartic, perhaps, but it would leave a scarred world that may never actually recover.

My Hero Academia is a story about helping people. It is a story about refusing to engage in dehumanization. It is a story about empathizing with others and reaching out to help them. And it is in that act that heroism is performed.

The world presented in the final chapter of My Hero Academia is not perfect.

But it’s better. And it’s still improving.

Shoji has worked to further decrease discrimination.

Uraraka is providing resources for people whose Quirks might cause issues for themselves and others.

The final thesis of My Hero Academia is not about superheroes or an empowered police force. It is that the word ‘hero’ applies to anyone who wants to make a positive change. Heroes are people who help others in need. Heroes like that old woman who helped the boy from the previous chapter, or the middle schooler that tried to help the child who tripped.

There’s a reason that the final scene of the manga is Class 1-A responding together to a natural disaster and not to a Villain attack.

Heroes are a function of Community Outreach.

Midoriya’s legacy is not what he did with One For All. It is that he stood in front of a Japan—a world—struck by apathy and indifference and said “This is wrong!” Midoriya’s legacy is holding his hand out to help others. Midorya’s legacy is that he inspired others to do the same, to throw off their apathy and apply themselves to others.

Let us all strive to accept his gift and pass it along as an ongoing tribute to Midoriya Izuku: the Quirkless man who taught us all how to be heroes.

[flowerandblood]

The Taste of Shame

[ dom!modern • Aemond x friend sister • female ]

[ warnings: mention of sex working, sexual tension ]

[ description: Aemond works as a professional dom, fulfilling the various fantasies of his female clients - however, he guards his privacy and does not enter into any relationships with them, recognizing that he does not want or need it. It turns out that what he wants and what he doesn't no longer matter when he meets his friend's younger sister for the first time. Slow burn, sexual tension, doubts related to sex work. ]

Series & Characters Moodboard Aemond NSFW Alphabet

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Until he met Criston and Robert at university he was a total loner, really only going to classes and shopping. Ever since he moved out of his family home, he didn't feel the need to interact with anyone except his mother and his youngest brother.

Nonetheless, once their quantum physics professor selected them as a group to tackle a joint project in his class, it turned out that they got along very well.

He was quiet and withdrawn, best at solving equations and finding the correct formulae; Robert threw interesting, chaotic insights and ideas from his sleeve, and Criston pulled it all together to form a whole.

They scored the highest possible grade and from then on they naturally stuck together; Robert and Criston didn't seem to mind that he usually didn't contribute to their discussions, simply allowing him to be in their company with a cardboard cup of coffee from the vending machine.

They often asked him where he got his money from, since, according to him, his parents did not help him financially to live in a completely different city. He usually answered evasively, feeling a squeeze in his throat in those moments, a fear that one day they would somehow find out how he made his living.

What he was doing.

That women paid him to tie them up, to beat them, to slap them, to degrade and humiliate them, to fuck them in ways he wouldn't even be able to explain, taking unspeakable satisfaction from it.

He was a professional; he signed contracts that included each party's boundary and safety words. He expected his clients to have medical examinations to make sure they didn't carry any diseases, but he used condoms anyway.

He rented a bedsit intended as a meeting place, with no intention of hosting anyone in his flat; his main rule was not to get emotionally involved, apart from having sex and entitling himself that his client was comfortable, he did not get into any conversations with them even though they tried to do so.

It started with one woman, Alys, who he met when he graduated from high school; it turned her on when he tied her up, when he fucked her while telling her she was a nobody, when he punished her and it shocked him what a tremendous sense of power it gave him.

She told him admiringly that he could be a professional dom and earn a lot from it, which gave him pause for thought. To her despair, he ended their relationship shortly after he started doing it for money, recognising that he didn't want to break his rule about not having a relationship, where she already knew far too much about him.

He was more careful with others.

They called him sir and knew nothing about him except what they read on the website.

He admired in a way how desperate some of them were, how much they were balancing on the edge of overdoing it; in a few cases he had to check their pulse to make sure he hadn't killed them.

His clients were not poor women and sometimes, for extra things or to show him their admiration, they paid him more than what they had agreed for; however, he never accepted excess money, knowing that if he broke the rules they would think they could expect more from him, which he was unwilling to allow.

So, for obvious reasons, he kept his profession to himself, fearing that if his friends found out about it they would think he was just fucked up. He genuinely liked them, as well as the field of study he was attending, and didn't want to change anything in his life.

When Robert invited him and Criston to his house for his birthday he agreed immediately, seeing no obstacles to celebrating with him; he knew that apart from him and Criston there would be a few more friends from his neighbourhood and he was fine with that.

When he got his car into his driveway he decided to have a smoke before going inside, tired after a long, intense session with his female client, wanting to clear his mind.

That's when he heard her for the first time.

"Are you Robert's friend?!"

He looked over his shoulder and saw her − she had jumped off the blue slim bike with the white basket in the front. Her hair was loose and in a slight disarray due to the wind, her face pink from exertion, her full lips parted slightly in a quickened breath, her large eyes shining with curiosity.

He felt everything he saw in his cock, looking at her pale, with his eyes imagining her moaning beneath him with that pleading, sweet voice to keep fucking her.

"− yeah −" He hummed in a slightly trembling voice, taking a deep drag on his cigarette, trying to hide what was happening to him, in what direction to his horror his thoughts had fled.

"That's wonderful! I'm Robert's sister. I forgot to buy candles for his cake, which was rather unfortunate considering it's his birthday and I had to go quickly to get them." She said breathing heavily as she walked with her bicycles deeper into the driveway, looking at him expectantly over her shoulder. "Do you have a lighter?"

He couldn't play the idiot and pretend he didn't have one, so, as she requested, they went around her house and walked inside from the terrace, walking quietly to the kitchen − he could hear the voices of Robert, Criston and the other guests in the distance.

She opened the fridge, which illuminated her pleasant, smiling face with a bright, bluish light, and slowly pulled out a meringue cake with a cucumber glaze decorated with berries.

"It looked better in the picture on the internet, but I was making it for the first time. Can you help me?" She asked lightly, pulling candles from the pocket of her dress.

He just nodded, feeling his mind working in slow motion, his heart pounding like mad, his mind focused on her body and on her scent, some sweet, girly fruity perfume.

He thought, swallowing loudly, that she was like a ripe peach or strawberry, begging to be bitten into, to taste its flesh.

He pressed his lips together, sticking the last candle into the crisp texture of the meringue, thinking with despair that he was a disgusting man, that she was his friend's younger sister.

And above all, she was not his client.

He handed her a lighter; their faces lit up by the warm glow of the fire as she began to light the candles one by one. She smiled at him when she finished in a way that made him feel like saying he didn't give a shit about the candles, the cake and Robert's birthday − just to pull her panties off her legs and fuck her on the countertop.

"Let's go." She said warmly and he nodded, letting out the air from his lungs, watching her with a look that, had it not been for the darkness in the room, would surely have terrified her.

They walked into the living room; his sister began to sing a Happy Birthday loudly and the other guests joined her in chorus, Robert stood up embarrassed but clearly pleased. After a round of applause, he walked over to them and blew out the candles, saying happily that his little sister remembered how he loved the meringues and hugged her.

He lowered his gaze at the thought that they were close.

That he needed to pull himself together.

When Robert offered him a drink he immediately agreed, distraught and terrified at the thought of spending the whole evening in her company; she walked around the room with a smile, talking to everyone lightly as if she had known them for years.

At the same time, he craved and feared that she would eventually sit down next to him, noticing his distancing and tiredness and walked out into the garden, sitting down on a bench, lighting a cigarette.

He closed his eyes as he heard someone's footsteps and for some reason he knew, subconsciously felt, that it was her.

He smelled her scent as she sat down next to him with a quiet creak of old wood and slowly opened his eyelids, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.

She was holding her drink, probably vodka with orange juice and mango, for some reason it seemed obvious to him that she only liked alcohol if it was sweet.

"Beautiful evening." She said warmly, softly, her gaze slightly dreamy, gazing up at the cloudless, starry sky, her body as if spilling over the backrest of the bench, her head lying comfortably on it, framed by her shiny hair.

He thought with embarrassment that he couldn't cause her pain even if she begged him to.

Though maybe he could slap her buttock a time or two before sinking his face between her thighs, leaving the red mark of his hand on her skin.

He swallowed loudly, taking another drag on his cigarette, looking ahead, feeling the heat in his lower abdomen, the arousal he knew so well, his manhood twitched in his trousers.

He didn't answer.

After a moment, however, Criston came out to them, chatting them up, making him feel relieved, feeling like he was going to go mad because of her presence.

He left the party faster than he wanted to; Robert tried to stop him by saying that he could spend the night at his house, but he refused, terrified by this vision, knowing that he wouldn't last, that he would go to her room.

That one word from her would be enough to make him fuck her and regret it for the rest of his life.

He would leave her with nothing afterwards.

She seemed like a good, nice girl, deserving of a decent man who wouldn't think about tying her up.

As he drove home in his car he breathed out loud, somehow proud of himself, knowing that he had done the right thing, that maybe he wasn't as bad a person as he thought he was.

He fought with himself not to look for her on social media, and although he himself had accounts under pseudonyms with black squares in place of profile pictures, knowing that she was Robert's sister, finding her was too easy for him to resist.

So, in despair, he spent the evening giving up, recognising that if someone publishes something on the internet it means they agree to let others look at it. He swallowed loudly, surprised to see a new notification on Facebook and it was nothing other than an invitation from her.

He felt the cold sweat on his back and the quick, hard pounding of his heart, as if he was about to defuse a ticking bomb.

Accept?

Reject?

Do nothing?

He stared at his screen with his lips clenched and involuntarily clicked accept.

Fuck.

He ran his hand over his face, knowing it wasn't the best idea, but that if he removed her quickly from his friends now she'd still get a notification that he'd accepted her before and it would be weird to say the least.

He figured that she had surely only added him because he was a friend of her brother's and she had no intention of doing anything more with it.

He almost choked on his tea when he saw that she had sent him a message.

He stared at the chat bubble and clenched his eyes, clicking on it, unfolding the conversation, recognising that he wouldn't fall asleep if he didn't see what she had written to him.

He looked at her message with a fast-beating heart, reading it several times, swallowing quietly with a sense of some kind of relief that it had no subtext. It made him feel warm at the thought that, in essence, what she had written was kind and affectionate, expressing only her innocent concern and gratitude.

He figured he could write her back without any remorse that he was doing something wrong, for some reason feeling excited about talking to her.

He wrote back and sighed heavily, recognising that his reply was terribly dry and distant, but then thought that perhaps it was better. He twisted restlessly in his seat looking expectantly at his screen when he saw that after a moment she had displayed his message.

He involuntarily smiled reading it and thought she was sweet.

Over the next few days, he involuntarily returned to that brief exchange of words, thinking only of the fact that he wanted to somehow strike up a conversation with her again, although he didn't know how to do so.

"What are you thinking about, buddy?" Robert asked him with amusement, slapping him on the back with a friendly, masculine hand gesture; he swallowed loudly, pulled out of his reverie, looking at him with wide eyes.

"Nothing."

One of his clients had expressed a desire to meet again after their last session, wanting a more intense experience this time. Looking at her message, he ran his hand over his face, for some reason feeling doubts surging into his mind, though he didn't know what they stemmed from.

What would she think of him if she found out?

During the meeting with his client he had given her everything she wanted, but there had been no intimacy with penetration between them and he had satisfied her only with his hand.

He felt for some reason distanced from what he was doing, as if his thoughts were somewhere else entirely.

He imagined that if it had been her lying in front of him he would have done it differently, that he would have brought her to the edge of despair, but he would have had more understanding and patience, he would have been tender to her.

Why?

When it was all over and the woman had left he cleaned everything, threw the old bedding in the washing machine and put on the fresh one, so that it would be ready when he returned there.

He left and locked the flat, then ran down the staircase and headed for the car park across the street.

"Aemond!" He heard a happy, girlish, warm voice, her voice; he turned over his shoulder, terrified, for some unexplained reason certain that she had caught him in the act, even though they were standing in the middle of the street.

She jumped off her bike halfway down the road, grabbed the handlebars and ran over to him, a shopping bag in her basket, a cute fabric clasp backpack on her shoulders.

She was dressed in dark, long high-waisted trousers, pleasantly emphasising her waist and a short-sleeved T-shirt, her hair tied up in a braid that was partly blown by the wind.

She stood in front of him smiling broadly, in the light of the sun her face seemed even more gentle and soft to him, although she appeared to him to be nothing more than a figment of his imagination, so he merely stood and looked at her with his mouth slightly parted.

"Where are you going?" She asked lightly, her eyes shining with an innocent, childlike curiosity from which he felt a tightening in his throat; he thought she literally beamed with a kind of warmth from which his whole body shuddered.

He licked his lower lip quickly, swallowing loudly as he tried to get any meaningful sentence out.

"I'm just getting home." He said in a low, cool, distant voice, having no idea why he sounded that way − he had the feeling that his whole body was somehow trying to prevent what was just happening to him. She blinked, cocking her head as if she was expecting the rest of his statement, though he wasn't planning one.

"I…I had my business to take care of. And you?" He changed the subject quickly wanting to distract her from himself − she smiled even wider, shifting from foot to foot.

He noticed the outline of her breasts under her T-shirt proving she had no bra underneath and looked away, horrified and aroused by this discovery.

Fuck.

If she was his, he'd show her what he thought of it.

He squeezed his eyes shut wondering what he was even thinking about when the last thing he was looking for was a relationship.

"I'm just going to a lecture by my favourite professor in the history of philosophy. Want to join me? Entry is free!" She said clearly excited by her own idea and proposal, and he swallowed loudly, looking at her in disbelief, analysing quickly what she had said, whether he should do it.

He had no commitments, his whole evening was free.

He hummed under his breath, putting his hands in the pockets of his black trousers.

"How far is it from here?" He asked hesitantly, and she waved her hand.

"The lecture will be held at the Community Centre, two streets away. Five minutes' walk."

He looked at her, at her pretty, overjoyed face, and gave in.

"Why not."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + six

authors note: i really like how this one came out. hope you guys do too.

i use some psych terminology, so just as a lil glossary: pt=patient, dx=diagnosis, hx =history, fx=functioning status (mental stability, essentially) and hopefully everyone can understand the rest with context clues.

if any cw/tw’s are missed, please let me know, and i will add them!

cw/tw: fluff, language, medical report following suicide attempt, discussion of sexual abuse, mention of torture

song inspo: ‘looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes

masterlist

words: 10k (i don't know how to write short chapters, clearly)

The last thing Solana expected to wake up to is a handwritten note left for her in the same journal she deposited on Roman’s bed despite her better judgment. She was filled to the brim with anxiety regarding that bold decision, asking him to do something she’s certain is miles outside of his comfort zone.

She expected him to ignore her. 

What she didn’t expect was for him to reply.

Reading over his words, Solana struggles with the ease of his acquiescence. He indicated it could be short term, but she’ll take that, because it’s a hell of a lot easier for her to talk to this man if it’s through written word.

And the last part. 

There’s nothing you can’t tell me.

There’s actually a lot she can’t tell him. A lot he can never know. No one can know, but the sentiment behind it…..it has her puzzled. He has her puzzled. 

Solana grabs the journal and scans the kitchen for a pen when a thought crosses her mind. She bites down on her bottom lip, forever battling with the idea of something vs the actuality of carrying out the plan.

In a plot twist, she sides with the plan and pulls out her phone, searching for Roman’s contact.

She types, deletes, and does so again at least three times before settling on a text that really could have been conjured and sent in seconds vs the solid ten minutes she takes to issue it out.

Solana: Hi. Thank you. Do you think we could text too? I know that writing is my thing, but I can text if that’s easier for you too….thanks.

Solana nearly tosses her cell phone on the large slab that is his granite kitchen island and moves around to figure out what she’s going to fix for breakfast. The perfect excuse for her to not think about the knots in her stomach at her message. It doesn’t stop the overthinking though.

What if she’s asking too much? Pushing him too far out of his comfort zone? It doesn’t take long for her to regret her decision, wishing it was still within the time limits to unsend her message.

And then her phone dings.

Solana nearly drops the egg she was about to crack over the skillet. Swallowing, she places it back in the bowel as her feet slowly carry her to the phone that has now dinged a second time. Her fingers dance against the sides of her pants, stretching and scratching the cotton. 

Lifting her phone, she unlocks her phone and heads straight to his thread.

Roman: Yes.

It’s a simple response that makes sense for him and is beneficial for Solana who sighs in relief at his agreement. She stews on how to respond, eventually settling on a simple thank you as well as answering his question. The least she can do. 

Solana: Thank you…

Solana: And I don’t work this weekend. 

Solana: Can I ask you something?

Solana again starts chewing on her bottom lip as she mentally berates herself for bombarding him with messages when he’s probably in the middle of working.

But even so, that doesn’t stop him from replying almost instantly.

Roman: You don’t have to ask if you can ask me something, Solana. Just ask. 

It’s hard not to imagine the frustration on his face at answering her question while also having to remind her of what he’s already stated at one point or another. 

Solana: Okay…

Solana: Where are we going?

She’s unsure if he will respond and has accepted that he may not, which is okay with her. He’s already being more responsive than she initially anticipated he would. And Solana is barely able to put the skillet on the fire before her phone is buzzing again.

Roman: You’ll see.

His answer makes her frown. It’s not what she wanted to hear, but it’s also not a complete disregard or verbal lashing for asking a simple question.

Solana prepares to leave it as is when Roman’s voice is in the back of her mind, nudging and reminding her of his desire for her to communicate with him more.

Nervous fingers type out an expression of said nerves.

Solana: Okay….surprises just make me nervous. 

She doesn’t have time to put her phone down when those three dots appear, indicating he’s typing.

Roman: It’s nothing bad.

Roman: I wouldn’t lie to you. 

And for some strange reason, Solana believes that. Roman doesn't seem like a man to lie in general, because he’s too blunt for that. 

Unless….

Unless it’s one of his mind games, because he is notorious for that. Still, she can’t find a reason why he would waste his time playing one of those with her. 

Solana: Okay. Sorry to text you while you’re working.

Roman: You’re apologizing again.

Roman: And I don’t care. 

Roman: I’d rather talk to you than listen to the twins bullshit.

Solana tries to not put too much into his words, into him saying that he wants to talk to her. It’s not that he directly wants to speak to her, more she’s the lesser of two evils. Nothing to get into her head about.

Solana: They’re kinda funny….🙈

Roman: You’d feel differently if you had to deal with them all the time. 

Solana: Fair.

The exchange is so in the moment, back to back, that she doesn’t put her phone down again until her last message. She then returns to preparing her breakfast. 

Solana is frying her eggs, adding in seasoning when her phone dings again. Wiping her hands on her apron, she expects a message from Bayley or even Naomi.

Especially Naomi. She needs to talk to her about what happened, apologize for putting her in what must have been an awkward situation.

It’s neither of them.

Roman: How’d you start writing?

Roman continuing or prolonging the conversation isn’t something she saw coming. But, the message is right there in white writing against that gray background.

Solana briefly debates how honest to be in her answer, deciding to step a bit out of her comfort zone in offering more than just her usual three to five word responses. 

Solana: My mom. She spoke English, but she wasn’t fluent, so she’d write letters to me in Spanish, and I’d have to respond in English so we both could learn.

Solana: My dad wouldn’t let her teach or speak it around me and Wes so that was the only way I/she could learn.

He stops replying after that, and Solana feels stupid for being so open, for not just giving him a simple answer with all of the unnecessary verbiage.

And then her phone goes off.

Roman: Not surprising. 

When he doesn’t say anything else, Solana debates on whether to end it there or follow up with another question given that he asked one first. It feels like returning the favor or reciprocating manners.

Hence, she decides on texting him again. 

Solana: What is that language you speak to the twins sometimes?

Roman: Samoan. I’m fluent. Italian and English as well. 

That’s not entirely surprising. Roman is obviously a well educated, well rounded man. 

Roman: You’re more perceptive than you let off.

Solana: Maybe. But no one ever cares what I have to say or think, so it doesn’t make sense to share it. 

He stops replying after that.

And Solana tries to not think too much about her disappointment, moving around the kitchen to finish fixing breakfast as a distraction.

A poor distraction, because not even twenty minutes later, she’s ready to check her phone again even if it hasn’t made the special sound that makes her belly flutter. However, the sound of the doorbell pulls her from that premature excitement.

Solo comes to meet her in the kitchen informing matter-of-factly, “it’s Naomi and Bayley.” 

Solana stills. That’s definitely not someone she expected to see so soon. Neither of them.

“Invite them in?” Solo’s voice tinges with borderline irritation, which she can understand.

Cheeks reddening, she apologizes. “Yes. Sorry. Of—of course.”

Solana hears Bayley before she sees her. “Damn. This is how it’s like to live as the Tribal Chief's wife? Maybe shit isn’t so bad after all.” The two walking in wearing friendly smiles brings back Solana’s grin.

“Hey there. We wanted to come check on you.” Naomi introduces, the first to ask, “is it okay if we hug you?”

Solana doesn’t hesitate as much as she would expect herself to. “Yes.” 

Naomi also doesn’t hesitate and steps forward, hugging Solana in such a sincere way she’s not sure she’s experienced in years. Since her mom. 

And Bayley does the same, maybe even a little tighter.

The three of them sit down at the kitchen island as Bayley asks in a sympathetic tone. “How you doing, lady?”

“Better.” It’s an honest answer, and Solana can’t help but think about the additive that it’s largely due to Roman. But, she keeps that part to herself. She looks at Naomi. “I’m so sorry—“

Naomi lifts a manicured finger to silence her. “Girl, you have nothing to apologize for. If anything, I’m sorry I didn’t know what was going on. You could have told me too, but I get it must have been hard for you.”

This part had Solana deeply nervous, the part where she’d have to ‘face’ Naomi after causing such a scene and getting the whole place shut down for an entire day, So, for the woman with the penchant for bold colors that look delightful against her complexion to be so understanding and empathetic, it means a lot to Solana.

It means a lot that Bayley would also even tag along when she wasn’t even part of that chaotic ordeal.

“Just know you can tell us anything. We’ve got your back,” Bayley affirms, adding with a smirk. “And clearly your big bad husband does too.”

We’ve got your back.

Solana doesn’t even know where to begin comprehending and swallowing that. 

Thankfully, she doesn’t have too long to be in her head, because Naomi starts talking again. “That was wild,” she comments with a shake of her head and then looks at Solana. “Oh shit, you probably don’t know, do you?”

Solana’s stomach does the opposite of butterflies, the uncomfortable clenching and twisting that accompanies anxiety. “Know what?”

There’s no delay with the answer.

“Theory and Waller are dead.” Solana wasn’t sure what to expect to hear Naomi say, but even if she tried to guess, that would have never been one of her options.

Confusion is painted all over her face. “Wha—what?”

Dead.

The two men who just yesterday caused her to breakdown and revert back to her teenage years where dissociation was her coping mechanism, the men who’d been sexually harassing her with zero regards for her as a human and even more, as Roman’s wife….are dead.

It feels almost impossible to be true. 

Bayley backs up Naomi’s assertion, adding, “yeah, he had their bodies, or what was left, displayed at the Warehouse this morning.”

Chills travel up her spine. “W–why?”

It’a a word aimed towards a lot of the questions Solana has unanswered. Why are they dead? Why did Roman kill or have them killed? Sure, she expected there to be some form of punishment, merely for the simple fact that messing with her was a clear sign of disrespect toward him, which the Tribal Chief would never tolerate. But, for them to be killed, in such a what sounds like a gruesome manner, and their remains to be left for all to see?

Why?

Bayley answers with a shrug of her shoulders. “To send a message.”

Solana is surprisingly fast with her follow up. “W-what message?”

Naomi is quick with the answer, but in general, she seems to be knowledgeable about a lot of things Bloodline. “You’re Bloodline now. No one messes with us. And you’re Roman’s wife? Yeah, he’s making sure everyone knows what happens if they even think about fucking with you.”

It lines up, Solana reflecting back on Roman’s departing declaration the night before.

“I told you. No one lays a hand on you. I’m gonna make sure everyone understands that shit from here on out.”

She just never expected such a….big message. 

“Honestly, they were fucking creeps anyway.” Solana cannot and does not disagree with the first part of Bayley’s statement, the second part, however, is iffy for her. “They got exactly what they deserved.”

Solana neither agrees or disagrees with that.

“I’m thinking we do your training from here for a little while,” Naomi suggests. While her initial response is to apologize for any inconvenience this may cause Naomi, Solana can’t deny the fact that just the thought of walking back in that building right now makes her physically ill. “I know Roman got a state of the art gym here and that massive backyard of yalls? This will do just fine.” 

“Oooh, I gotta see this.” Bayley then asks, “Solana, are you working today?”

“No, I called out.” Solana needs at least a day to get her mind right, hence taking today off.

Bayley then suggests, “Naomi and I were gonna go shopping. Why don’t you come with us?” 

It's an interestingly timed question given one of Solana’s text exchanges with Roman not even an hour ago included him informing her that the stack of envelopes on the kitchen island earlier were her new set of cards, all linked to his accounts. 

And he made sure to reiterate again that there is no limit. For any of them.

Bayley then decides and declares, slapping her hand on the island. “Matter of fact, we’re not asking. We’re telling you that you’re going shopping with us.” That is something Solana is familiar with, never being asked, always being told.

It���s just rare, if ever, it’s something that isn't entirely bad or terrible she’s being told she needs to do. 

“I’ve been wanting to take you shopping for forever anyway. Because as sweet and great as you are, Solana, you dress like college freshman meets Billie Eilish.” Before Solana can ask what exactly that means, Naomi explains. “So much neutral and dark colors. And everything is oversized. I can tell you’re kind of insecure about your body, but you literally have no reason to be because you have an amazing shape.”

Solana doesn’t say anything, but her hand naturally goes to one of the scars on her arm from that night. 

Naomi notices this and advises in a gentle voice, “we all have scars, Solana. Some you can see and others you don’t.” Solana has both, and it’s a miserable experience. “That doesn’t mean you have to hide them and be ashamed.” 

“Naomi is right.” Bayley agrees, and something tells Solana she’s going out shopping today whether she wants to or not. “We are going to help you learn to embrace your curves one better fashionable choice at a time.” 

________

Solana can probably count on one hand how many times she’s gone shopping in person over the past couple years. Maybe longer. She mostly sticks to online shopping when she is in need of a couple new pieces, always sizing way up so she can assure that it fits. More so drapes over her body, but that’s always been the preference.

She’s also never shopped at stores where the price for a single item can be upwards to three to four figures, which apparently isn’t the case for Bayley and Naomi.

Cause one of the first items they pick up for her is a single blouse that reads $650.00 on the price tag. Solana nearly faints when she reads that. That’s probably the entire cost of her wardrobe put together. 

She’s starting to regret telling them about Roman adding her to his accounts. Naomi especially seemed thrilled at that, and she seems to be the one piling the cart with more and more items. Bayley also offering her fair share of contributions.

All the while Solo keeps a safe but comfortable distance, wearing that infamous stoic expression, Solana can’t help but wonder how he must be feeling about this, about having to spend his time watching her while she shops. It can’t be enjoyable for him at all. She feels sort of bad. 

“Oh my god, you have to try this on.” 

Feeling bad for someone else morphs into feeling bad for herself, to a certain extent, when Solana sees the dress that Naomi is holding up for her. 

In all interactions, Solana does her best to be polite and kind, to never invite a volatile or mean response. “Ummm, I don’t—I don’t think that’ll look good on me.”

It won’t look good for a lot of reasons, the main one being it’s too small. Solana can see the thin sleeved dress is intended to be form-fitting—another major red flag—but even with that, it’s obviously a size, or eight, too small.

Naomi makes a sound. “Girl, that’s just how it looks. It molds to your shape, and with all your curves, I know it’s going to be a killer look.” She then pushes it in Solana’s direction again. “At least try it on. You never know unless you try.”

But Solana does know. She knows this dress is going to draw attention to all of her flaws. The rolls, the pudge of her belly, her big arms, and those damn scars. But, she also doesn’t want to be rude, so she agrees, disappearing in the dressing room before emerging a couple minutes later, never once checking her reflection before doing so. 

She walks to where the ladies are waiting, asking with an awkward shrug of her shoulders, “well?”

Naomi gasps. “Holy shit, that looks amazing on you, Solana!”

“Of course it does. You see that body?” Bayley joins in on gassing her up, adding, “it really does look good, Solana. We wouldn't lie to you.”

Huh. That’s the second time today Solana has been told that. 

Bayley then instructs her to look at her reflection in the full body mirror of the dressing room, a dreaded task but one she makes herself complete. 

Solana does her best to try to be as neutral and not negative towards her appearance, but it’s hard when she keeps honing in on the scars on her arms, the one on her face, not to mention her weight and how, to her, it just seems too much. 

Her father’s sharp and consistent criticism starts to return to the forefront of her mind when she notices Naomi snap a photo. Turning on her heel, she asks with a level of nervousness, “w–what are you doing?” 

“Helping you to realize how bad as hell you are.” Naomi says it so casually, so calmly, turning her phone toward Solana. “See.”

It’s a thread, a group chat, and along with the picture Naomi just snapped, there’s an accompanying text.

Naomi: Solana is being stupid and thinks she looks bad in this dress. Please prove me and Bayley’s point. 

Solana’s eyes go wide when she realizes just who is in this group text. Jimmy, Jey, and Roman. 

Her stomach is twisting all over again. “Naomi, I—I don’t think—”

Naomi’s phone chimes, and a smile grows on her face as Bayley moves closer to Solana. 

Naomi starts laughing and then smirks as she flips it so Solana and Bayley can read. “I rest my case.”

Jey: Damn, Soso 👀 Hell yeah, she look good. Goddamn! 😫

Jimmy: I GYAT to start coming over to ya’ll house more, Uce. 🍑

Bayley makes a wolf sound, playfully shoving Solana whose cheeks are reddening by the second after reading the surprising response from the twins. She definitely either expected no response or an either kind or unkind disagreement. “We told you, girl. You look amazing.” Bayley then comments, directing her statement to Naomi. “Man, you and Jimmy definitely have a strong ass relationship, cause I’d be ready to kick his ass.”

Naomi shrugs, simply responding. “We trust each other. I know it stops at just looking for him. Same for me.”

Her phone makes a sound, and she reads whatever the latest incoming messages are, instantly rolling her eyes. “Roman is such an ass sometimes.”

Solana’s ear perks up at the mention of his name as she asks, “what did he say?”

Naomi turns her phone again so Solana can read for herself, her stomach twisting with anxiety when she reads his trenchant reply.

Roman: Shut the fuck up.

Roman: Unsend this shit, Naomi. Now.

But before Solana can panic about his response, her phone dings and she pulls it out to see his name on her lockscreen. Instead of delaying the inevitable, she unlocks to read his response, anticipating the worst.

Roman: You look good.

Roman: But you always look good. 

Solana has to read his text a couple of times before it actually registers. He thinks she looks good. Roman thinks she looks good. Even more, he thinks she always looks good. Solana doesn’t know how to take that, even though there really is only one way to take such a message.

Bayley and Naomi being the bit of nosy Nancy’s that they are, sneak a peek at Solana’s phone and also read his text. Bayley is the first to speak, displaying that knowing dimpled smile. “Ha! See. The Tribal Chief himself has spoken.”

Naomi and her share a laugh as Solana finds herself also with a small smile. Roman had told her the night of WarGames that she looked beautiful, and she hadn’t really known how to take that either, chalking it up to the face full of makeup and fancy updo.

But this photo Naomi snapped and sent shows her without a lick of makeup on, hair messily pulled back and out of the way. It’s literally just her in a dress, a dress she normally would never dare to brave, but something Roman apparently thinks she looks good in.

“Does…..does he really think I’m beautiful?” It’s a question she never intended to leave the safe confines of her mind, but it’s a rebel, sneaking its way out and landing on the doorstep of the two women before her.

Bayley, as per usual, is the first to speak. “Is that a serious question? Of course he thinks you’re beautiful, because you are. You’re absolutely stunning, Solana. You have to see that.”

“Most of the men at your wedding kept commenting on how pretty you are. And your boobs, of course, because men have no couth.” Naomi rolls her eyes but continues. “And as someone who has had the displeasure of knowing Roman literally since we were in elementary school, I can tell you that you’re 1000% his type.”

Solana doesn’t believe that Naomi has reason to lie to her. Bayley either. And as Naomi has been around the family for so long, her word has to be true. But, Solana has a hard time separating the fact that Roman, who has someone as beautiful and unflawed like Samantha, in the same vein, could think someone like her is beautiful. 

Samantha is beautiful, and someone he can actually touch.

Because regardless of how he views her, it all comes down to that. Physical intimacy. One of many things that Solana can’t give him.

But Samantha can.

Samantha does.

That’s why she was in the house that day, doing what Solana should but can’t because she’s too fucked up, too damaged, too broken. 

Bayley reaches over with a comforting hand, switching to Spanish. “Whatever you’re thinking right now, don’t. You’re beautiful, Solana. That’s it. Nothing more. Nothing less. Fuck anyone who’s ever said different.”

Solana isn’t quite sure how to describe how grateful she feels in this moment, to have such support, to have people be so genuinely and sincerely supportive. She hasn’t had that in so long, she’d almost forgotten that it was possible.

Emotion thick, she responds in the same language, “thank you, Bayley.”

“Okay, now that’s just not fair. I wanna know what’s going on too.” Naomi’s protest and almost childlike pout makes Solana smile, a nice break from the heavy emotional experience going on in her head. 

“Just some girls supporting girls shit.” Bayley shrugs and claps her hands together. “Okay, now let’s see what sexy little red pieces we can find for you….”

________

Texting and writing with Roman on and off for the rest of the week was never on Solana’s agenda, but it’s exactly what’s been happening. 

And she has no idea what to make of it. 

Every time there’s a delay with his response, she assumes that’s it. That’s the end of the conversation. Only for her phone to buzz with not only a response but usually a follow up question.

It’s almost as if he wants to keep the conversation going, but that can’t be it. She can’t see why he’d want to speak with her.

Even if he literally stated that he’d prefer to talk to her than listen to his cousins bicker. Still, his entire day can’t involve their presence. There has to be some separation at one point or another. 

But even with that, he’s consistent with eventually replying, acknowledging her messages even if the responses come hours after her first one was sent. 

And for the life of her, Solana cannot find a good or logical reason as to why her stomach flutters with a modicum to medium level of excitement every time her phone dings. 

Because she thinks it’s another text from Roman.

Because she’s enjoying speaking with him. Because she seeks out opportunities even while working to check her phone and see if he’s text her. It’s not traditional communication, and she’s certain there’s no way in hell she’d be able to talk to him this freely, this comfortably if it was verbal. 

Not a chance.

But in texting, she finds a level of ease that makes it significantly easier to get to know him. And maybe that’s what it is, she has some level of desire to get to know him more. If this “marriage” is to last, whatever that looks like, it feels like she needs to know more about him other than that he’s big, strong, and a killer.

Those traits more than speak for themselves, but there’s gotta be more, and there is. Like her now knowing he speaks three languages fluently and would like to pick up another someday if he ever has the time. Or that he works out at least twice every day and doesn’t feel right if he can’t get in at least one workout.

Similarly, Solana finds herself reciprocating his sharing of information, small facts that aren’t major but make a smidge of difference. Like her love of books and words. The few shows she enjoys. She especially doesn’t understand where that comes from. The sharing on her end. It’s something similar like her growing relationships with Bayley and Naomi. 

But that’s different, so so different, for a variety of reasons. One, they’re women, and while anxiety is something she struggles with in interactions with all individuals, regardless of sex, it’s much easier with them than men.

And Roman is not the average man, far from it.

He scares her.

Or does he? 

Solana has been struggling to make sense of the fear that often cripples her and the behavior he’s shown her thus far. They don’t add up. Sure, he’s expressed irritation and a level of anger towards her, but both were more than warranted. And even in those moments, there was still a level of control and composure. He didn’t scream at her. Didn’t belittle her. Didn’t hit her. 

And his words from earlier that week circle back around to the front of her mind.

Even that day at her job.

He’s made it clear now two times that he has no plans or desire to ever hit her. Initially, that didn’t mean anything to Solana, because she’s never known a man in her life to never beat on her. The second time, it made her start to wonder if he was telling the truth.

And now, in a week of genuine and okay interactions, maybe even good interactions, that wondering of the truth is gradually meshing into believing.

Especially because something tells her Roman’s not a man to lie, not unless he’s playing one of his infamous mind games. And what reason would he have to play a mind game with her of all people?

She’s nobody.

But not enough of a nobody for him to end the conversation, which she’s expected all week but yet to see happen. Even more, a part of Solana feels like he’s also wanting to keep the conversation going, matching her with the questions vs just responding and leaving it as is. 

And Solana appreciates it a lot, maybe even to the point where she’s gradually starting to appreciate him.

If she doesn’t already.

It’s why she doesn’t mind waking up earlier than she already does to fix breakfast and get ready for work to do something for him that she hopes he views as nice while he gets in his morning workout in the home gym.

Finished and almost too nervous to stay around for his response, she grabs the notebook, leaving a quick message before heading up the stairs to get in at least another hour of sleep as there’s still leftovers from yesterday’s breakfast.

Roman,

I noticed you tend to start off your breakfast with a protein shake. I saw how you make it, so I figured I’d just make it for you. Less for you to do.

Hope that was alright.

Solana

________

Roman didn’t plan to text and write Solana as often as he has. It just…..happened.

She was right in that communication does seem smoother and even easier through this channel. It’s also nice to “hear” her communicate without all that damn stuttering and stammering. Her texts and letters read so much better than actually listening to her speak aloud.

Not that her voice isn’t pleasing to some extent. It is. Soft and almost melodic, minus the fucking stutters. 

Roman is in the middle of reviewing income spreadsheets when Jimmy walks into his office and

drops a stack of paperwork on top of Roman’s desk. He then plops down in one of two chairs opposite his cousin. “Solana’s medical records.”

Roman is pleased, thankful to the Wise Man for his promptness regarding his request.

“There is something you should know though.”

Instantly, Roman is annoyed, because he recognizes that tone of Jimmy’s. The tone that lets Roman know he’s not going to like what he’s about to hear. “What?”

“Apparently, information is missing.”

“What do you mean it’s missing? Find the fucking hospital that has them. I want all of her records.” Roman’s orders were clear as day, and he fucking hates when even with comprehensible issuance, there’s still a fucking problem. 

“That’s all that’s available. Paul said the records indicate shit was deleted or something. Like cleared out of the system.” Before Roman can express his dissatisfaction and suggestions, Jimmy explains, “He said he consulted with Pearce to see if he could retrieve the files, but even he couldn’t get them. Something about systems changing over time and not being compatible. You know, all that tech shit Pearce be talking.”

Roman was right. As always. He’s annoyed.

Because he knows exactly who would have had a hand in something like this.

Xavier.

He expresses as such. “It was Xavier. Son of a bitch probably had it deleted somehow.” Roman knows Miller has hands and ties in the medical community as well as social services, though that power and leverage has definitely dwindled over the years due to Miller’s mounting financial problems. However, around the time Solana was a kid was very much the peak of Miller’s paltry empire. 

“What exactly are you looking for, man?” Jimmy asks, trying to get a read on his cousin, never an easy feat. If at all possible. “I’m not trying to be mean, but it’s obvious Solana been through some shit. You really need to know all of it?”

It’s a sound question that Roman isn’t certain he has the answer for. Knowing just what Solana has been through could be helpful in helping him understand her better, but there’s also a part of him that doesn’t know why he’s even bothering with that. Why does he even need to understand her better?

“I mean, just what happened to her mom could be the reason for a lot of her….struggles.”

“That’s part of it.” Roman’s certain of that, but he also knows there’s more. “Her father and brother were abusive.”

At that, Jimmy appears shocked. “What?” His expression quickly turns into a scowl. “That’s why you had us handle up on ole’ boy? You should have said that was why. Would have broke that bitch left hand too.”

“I’m going to kill them both before all is said and done.” And that’s a fucking promise, an oath. Their days are numbered. “But until then, I’ll keep them away from her.”

“That must piss them the fuck off.”

“Exactly.” Beyond making sure they don’t fucking touch Solana, Roman recognizes flexing his power and authority by cutting off all contact between them is something Miller and his boy must find infuriating. They’ve clearly thrived on controlling and torturing Solana, but that shit is over. 

Solana is Bloodline now.

No one fucking touches her.

“Well.” Jimmy blows out a big breath and shrugs his shoulders. “I just hope you know what you doing, Big Dog.” 

“Don’t I always.” Roman mutters, opening the manilla envelope to start going over the files. “Jimmy.”

“Yeah?”

“Have Naomi continue to do Solana’s training from the house.”

“Come on, man, my girl is already on that. She said Soso’s been getting better and better too. ” Jimmy answers, explaining, “I think she and Bey should be over there right about now anyway. Feels like they always over there these days.”

Roman wouldn’t entirely disagree. He gets regular updates from security regarding any and all happenings at his home, which includes a list of visitors, and Naomi and Bayley have been consistent on that list. 

Roman also understands now why Solana hasn’t replied to his latest text.

Not that it bothers him. A lot, at least. He has shit to do anyway. 

A couple minutes later, Jimmy leaves, and Roman is left alone to venture into the next task on his to-do list. 

As expected, Solana’s medical records consist of a lot of emergency visits for accidents. Sprains. Broken bones. Fractures. Endless bruising, hematomas even. The visits eventually die down, but Roman suspects it’s not because the abuse stopped or paused. More likely they stopped taking her and she tended to her wounds herself.

But, the largest section of her records is the most telling.

Subjective: PT is a 16 y/o mixed race female currently admitted following SI attempt. PT was reportedly found in bathroom by family maid and transported to ER by ambulance where she was formally admitted. PT does not appear fully oriented to person, place, and time. PT offered minimal responses to questions and would only speak when prompted. PT denies auditory and visual hallucinations. PT reports wanting to be with mother who is deceased. PT reports no will to live. PT indicated yes with a head nod when asked about hx of sexual trauma. PT observed to become teary eyed following this acknowledgment and would not speak on nature of trauma. PT began to cry and moved into fetal position after being asked reasons for attempt. PT was heard repeating the question, “why didn’t you let me die?” PT became unresponsive after this exchange.

Assessment: PT presents with flat affect and depressed mood. Presents with poor insight and impulse control. PT’s wrists medically wrapped. Faded scars and bruises observed on PT’s arms, legs and partially faded bruise on left eye. PT also has scars on both arms and face, reportedly from knife attack during childhood.

Objective: PT does not appear stable enough to be released from care. Fx is severely impaired. I suspect a long history of complex trauma, confirmed sexual abuse, and suspected physical abuse. Medical records from client’s initial admission indicate “numerous” pre-existing cuts on PT’s inner forearms, indicating repeated incidents of self-harm. I deem PT to be an imminent danger to herself and suspect a release would result in another SI attempt.

Plan: I strongly recommend client be transferred to an adolescent residential facility or kept inpatient at hospital where she can be monitored and placed on medication regimen as well as participate in intensive individual and group therapy to assist in mood stabilization.

If released and left untreated, it is my belief and professional opinion that PT will eventually be successful in efforts to end life. 

Diagnosis: F43.10 Posttraumatic Stress Disorder w/ Dissociation 

Roman keeps reading over this section of the file, but there’s one part that stands out the most.

PT indicated yes with a head nod when asked about hx of sexual trauma. 

That’s the part that Roman can’t seem to move past. He’s read it all. Every fucking word. And it’s all horrific. But, it’s that one sentence, that one damn sentence that confirms what he’d started to suspect, had gradually started to put the pieces together to see the much larger, darker picture.

She’d been touched. He doesn’t know to what extent, but regardless of the specific nature, at fucking sixteen years old, she’d already been violated.

A single swoop of his big arm across the desk sends all of the items once neatly situated sprawled across the cherry wood flooring. Roman stands up and slams his fist down on the table, head down as he tries to calm his suddenly shot nerves.

Livid. He’s livid.

The Bloodline is a lot of things but that has never and will be one of them. It only took one time for some fucking piece of shit to even suggest the Bloodline enter the world of Human Trafficing to increase their reach and profits even more for everyone to know that’s where the line in the sand is drawn.

Roman’s never put a fucking bullet in someone’s head so fast. 

The same urge he has currently.

An urge that’s almost instantly lessened by a small amount when his phone lights up and a name appears across his lock screen.

Solana

Eyes shutting, Roman runs his hand over his face and snatches the phone, unlocking it to view her text.

Solana: What time will you be home tonight?

Instantly, Roman feels a lessening of his anger, reading her message, almost hearing said message in her gentle voice. It’s a distraction but both a reminder of why he’s all upset. Solana’s softness doesn’t equate with the violence she’s experienced, the violation, the pain. Especially as a fucking child. Roman has never understood and has always been especially infuriated by violence against children. There’s wrong and then there’s immoral. 

That’s beyond immoral.

Roman will never deny he’s committed his fair share of sins, earning a VIP spot in hell when that time finally comes, but that is something he could and will never get behind.

Solana: Just so I know what time to have dinner ready by…..

Her follow up is typical, always explaining what she doesn’t have to. 

Roman gives her the best reply he can muster up at this moment in time.

Roman: Not sure. Don’t worry about that. Probably won’t get in until late.

And he truly doesn’t know, because going home in this state of anger won’t do her any good. He told her he’d try to be mindful of his temper around her, and this is just that. He doesn’t want to scare her. 

He needs an outlet.

But, here lies the fucking dilemma. 

Since he was a teenager, Roman’s outlet has always been sex. He’s the type to fuck away his feelings. Working out also helps, but sex always took the cake, helped out sometimes just a smidge or a shit ton more. 

And in a different kind of world, he’d do just that working out with the same woman he finds himself infatuated over. His dick stiffens in his pants thinking back on the picture Naomi sent and wisely unsent to his disrespectful ass cousins. 

But not before he could save it to his camera roll.

Roman has never and will never deny his physical attraction to Solana. She checks every box for him in that category, but she’s not an option. He can’t touch her. He can’t touch her because some fucking piece of shit did just that to her when she was essentially a child, and now she can’t stand to be touched because of it.

Roman finds himself returning to his previous level of rage. 

He needs to work this off him.

And he knows just how.

Grabbing his phone and switching from Solana’s thread to hers, he shoots out a simple text.

Roman: I’m coming over.

________

True to his word, Roman gets back late after an…..interesting visit to see Samantha. Somewhat worth it, but mostly now just another irritating thing he has to handle. Not that her being upset bothers him in the slightest.

She can fuck off and ride off into the sunset for all he cares. 

Granted, the non-asshole side of him, more a small section than a side, can understand why she was upset with him.

He just can’t find it in him to give a fuck.

What he does find, however, is something else.

Roman steps into the living room and sees none other than Solana sleeping on the sofa. Confused, he quietly moves closer in her direction and sits opposite of her on the sturdy, mahogany wood coffee table.

And he watches her, studies her sleeping expression, wondering if she had another nightmare. The possibility drags him back to his earlier disposition, the reason he didn’t allow himself to come back to the mansion at a more reasonable time.

He didn’t want to expose her to that. To that side of him.

Without much thought, he reaches for her face, fingers gently caressing the smooth skin of her cheek. She feels so soft, a stark contrast against his roughness.

In more than one area. 

He’s not sure if she felt his gesture or, like him, is just a light sleeper because her eyes slowly start fluttering open. He waits for her to become more aware and cognizant, and she does, whispering, “hey.”

He matches her low volume. “Hey.” Roman studies her, asking, “you alright?”

She nods, gradually sitting up, and he tries not to notice how instead of wearing the type of baggy shirts he’s noticed she likes to sleep in, she’s donning a thin sleeved top that accentuates her chest. “Yeah, I—” She closes her mouth, and he can tell by the way her brows furrow slightly that she’s trying to figure out how to word whatever she wants to say. “You seemed off. I just—just wanted to make sure you were okay, but I guess I fell asleep….”

It’s Roman’s turn now to not quite understand or make sense of what he’s hearing, so he asks, still in that subdued voice, “you waited up for me?”

Roman can’t recall the last time anyone cared when and even if he made it home. He doesn’t know how to feel about this. At all.

With a sheepish expression, she nods, “tried to, at least.”

“You didn’t have to do that.” And it’s the truth. He doesn’t know why she would in the first place anyway. “It was just….a long day.”

Solana nods, “I get that.” He also takes note of the fact that she’s not stammering as much, doesn’t seem as jittery as he’s used to seeing her. “I should—I guess I’ll go to bed now.”

Roman doesn’t say anything, just sits back so she can stand up without him being too in her space. He especially understands now why that’s such a big thing for her.

But, it’s when she stands that his gaze seems to travel to her inner forearms, faded scars now having an even bleaker meaning as he now has the full story.

Another sentence from her medical report whizzes back to him.

If released and left untreated, it is my belief and professional opinion that PT will eventually be successful in efforts to end life. 

He should write it. Roman knows this. Knows that she’d probably respond better and be more comfortable writing, but he also knows it makes him feel almost physically uncomfortable with having to wait to get a response.

He’s much too impatient for that shit. 

He needs to say this shit now.

“Solana.”

She’s halfway to the staircase and turns around, “yes?”

Roman’s never been one to beat around the bush, so he gets straight to the point. “You used to cut, right?”

Always perceptive, Roman sees the shock in her face at his question, the unease that brews as she nervously runs her hand along the side of her cardigan pajama pants. “I—yes, but—not since….it’s been a long time.”

He half expected to have to ask her about the last time she actually did it, though he can tell by how faded the scars are that it has been quite some time, so he believes her. Knows she’s telling the truth.

Still, he needs to make something perfectly clear.

“Any of those thoughts come back, you tell me. I don’t care if you have to paint it on the fucking wall. I want to know.” His intense expression is set right on her, needing to make sure she understands what he’s asking of her. “Understand?”

Solana looks just as confused as he feels as to why this is suddenly important to him, important that she knows she can come to him if those dark thoughts and urges occur. But still, she agrees, acknowledging in that same small voice.

“I understand….”

________

The breeder is only about a half hour out from the mansion, allowing for a drive that’s on the shorter side than what Roman was initially anticipating.

Just like he successfully anticipated Solana’s nervousness throughout that entire drive. She keeps looking out the window, most likely trying to navigate where they’re going. And if not for the unexpected but necessary business call he had to take that lasted almost the entirety of the drive, he would have tried to calm her nerves.

He’s realizing he doesn’t like seeing her so on edge.

When they arrive, Roman is the first to exit the SUV, circling around to open the door for her. She offers a nervous smile and steps out, Roman’s eyes darting to her ass, the sway of it in her yoga pants as she moves a bit away, taking in the average two story house in front of them.

She looks back at him, and he redirects his focus to her eyes, big, brown, and just as innocent as the rest of her. “Where—where are we?” 

Paul also steps out of the car, almost immediately coughing and waving at some flying insect that whizzed at him. “In the middle of nowhere.” He then sets his cautious gaze on Roman. “My Tribal Chief, I’m not sure if you’re aware, but I have terrible allergies—”

“I don’t care.” Roman cuts him off, speaking to Solana, gesturing with a nod of his head. “Come with me.”

A part of him wonders if she’ll hesitate, freeze up on him, maybe even refuse. But she instead moves closer to him, walking along his side as he leads them up the steps of the porch. He reaches for the doorbell and is almost instantaneously met with the sound of barking. Interestingly enough, one glance down at Solana and he sees a spark of excitement that chips away at her nerves. 

A couple seconds later, the door opens revealing a middle aged white woman wearing an inauthentic smile. The kind of smile someone forces for a business meeting or possible transaction.

“You must be Mr. Reigns?” She correctly guesses, eyes then landing on Solana. “And you must be the Mrs?”

Roman places his hand on the small of Solana’s back, noticing how she initially tenses but, surprisingly, relaxes just a few seconds later. “My wife, Solana.”

Solana offers a small wave and polite hello but nothing more.

“I’m Beverly.” She introduces, but Roman doesn’t care. He doesn’t need to know shit about her except whatever her price is. She steps aside, motioning for them to come in. “Please.” He allows Solana to walk in first, followed by himself. When Paul doesn’t also follow suit, Roman turns around. “Wise Man.”

Paul, complexion starting to become pinkish, politely declines. “I’ll just wait here—”

“Wise Man.”

“Coming, My Tribal Chief.”

Once all three are inside, Betty or whoever, offers something to drink which all three decline, shortly after which the woman asks, “so, are we looking for—”

“It’s for her.” Roman motions to Solana who looks at him still wholly confused as a teenage girl, who looks like the spitting image of her mother, descends down the stairs. “Whatever she wants.”

Betty’s eyes light up as she directs the teenager. “Honey, can you take her outside to see the puppies?”

“Sure.” The teen’s voice is annoyingly preppy, like nails on the chalkboard, like a fucking cheerleader or something. “Follow me.”

Solana again looks at Roman, as if for guidance, but he only nods, encouraging her to follow. She’s still reluctant—he can see as such—but ultimately follows the blonde out the backdoor. 

As soon as she’s out the door. Betty starts with the irritating sales pitch, talking to him about the history of Pomeranians, the benefits of that breed, dietary guidelines and other things he couldn’t give two shits about. It’s why he doesn’t hesitate to take the business call the minute his phone rings and instead advises Paul to listen to the woman talk. 

He moves to the front of the house, securing another layer of privacy and doesn’t even hesitate to walk right past a wheezing Paul to head out back where Solana is once the call is over.

Roman finds her outside in the spacious yet somehow closed in yard. She’s sitting in the grass, legs open as a tiny dog, a puppy, moves back and forth between sitting in Solana’s lap and running in a circle before coming right back to her. Roman realizes she’s playing with the freakishly small animal, but beyond that, she’s smiling.

And laughing.

Roman can’t recall the last time, if ever, he’s seen her do the latter of the two. Even her smile is much larger, much more genuine than he’s seen her offer in the short time he’s known her..

“That one.” The woman, Bonnie, who came outside at one point with Paul, moves toward Roman. “She wants that one.”

Bonnie steps forward and frowns, slapping on that disingenuous smile he’s learned how to read all too well with years of experience working with people. “Oh no, that one’s not supposed to be out there. My daughter must have forgotten to pull her.”

Roman really does try sometimes with people, but they always end up fucking annoying him one way or another. “She wants that one.”

The woman stutters. “I–I’m sorry, but that dog is already under contract.”

Rolling his eyes, he asks, surprisingly calmly, not wanting to necessarily cause a scene in front of Solana. “How much?”

“Pardon?”

Roman does his best to hide his irritation at having to repeat himself. “How much?”

Betty releases a nervous smile, crossing her arms across her badly built body. “I—I can’t sell you a dog that’s already under contract, sir.”

Politics. It’s all politics. Roman knew the second Betty’s smile grew as her eyes landed on his Hublot watch that she saw this as a great, unexpected windfall. And she’s not entirely wrong. “Everyone has a fucking price, lady. Name yours.”

She stutters again. “Sir, I—I appreciate the interest, but that dog comes from a champion bloodline. The buyers intend to show her, so they’re paying a pretty penny.” She throws out casually, as if he can’t tell what she’s trying to do, the deal she’s trying to see if she can score. “They’re paying $10,000—”

There it is. The sin of greed that gets us all at one point or another. 

Without second thought or guess, Roman states, “I’ll give you $20,000.”

As expected, her eyes nearly bulge out of her head, the expression highlighting excessive crows feet no doubt caused by unnecessary time spent under this scorching sun. “$20,000?” He doesn’t even have to counter again. “Well, I suppose I could offer them another puppy—”

“Good.” Roman knew right away “negotiating” with this woman wouldn’t take much. She’s in it for a clean, high profit, which is fair considering one could say that for all business owners. But, if all else failed, he had…..other strategies. But those are much messier, and he’d rather just throw a stack of cash her way so they could be on their merry fucking way. “Wise Man.”

Paul steps forward, pudgy cheeks reddened and eyes watering. “Yes, my Tribal Chief?”

“Pay the woman.”

Paul swallows. “But, my—”

“Wise Man.”

Paul’s cheeks redden as he nods and motions to the house. Roman doesn’t need to say anything else. “I will handle the sale. Shall we?”

As Roman allows his counsel to handle the closing of the deal, he walks over to Solana who looks over at him with that same smile. He crouches down near her, observing, “she seems to like you.” And it’s the truth, seeing how the other puppies are content with playing with each other, this one is sticking with Solana.

She looks at Roman, petting the top of its head carefully, looking back down with that happy smile.“Thank you for taking me—”

“She’s yours.” 

Her head snaps in his direction, right as the dog climbs into her lap. “W–what?” Solana blinks, face painted in plausible confusion. “M–mine?”

Roman chuckles. “It’s certainly not for me.”

“Really?” Roman watches the hairy ass creature stand on its legs, as if demanding her attention. Attention whore ass.

“Yes, if you want her—”

“Yes,” she answers almost immediately, suddenly. And true to her nature, she’s already backtracking. “I mean—“

“You want her, so she’s yours,” he reiterates his previous statement, but there’s a tone of finality that lets Solana know he’s not open to a discussion or debate.

It’s a sure thing. 

“She’d be your dog. Not mine.” He clarifies. Solana can tell it’s also his way of telling her he’s not doing shit to help her take care of this dog, which is more than fair since Solana would bet he had no plans to purchase a dog anytime soon.

So why is he? 

She just has to ask again. “You don’t—-you really don’t care?”

It feels unreal. Too much like not an option. Not a reality. Why would he allow her a pet? Buy her a pet? 

He eyes the animal that’s seemingly already taken so well to Solana. “She’s so damn small I’ll probably forget she’s there half the time.”

There’s that laugh again, and Roman finds himself with a small smile of his own, not as big, nor as genuine, but a smile nonetheless. But just as quick as it’s there, it’s gone. Clearing his throat, he asks, “what are you gonna name her?”

Solana looks down at the puppy in her lap, nestled so comfortably against her stomach, eyes fluttering close like she’s about to fall asleep. With a soft smile and gentle caress of her coat, she answers. “Dulce.”

Roman’s thick brows arch together as he asks, “is that Spanish?”

She nods, glancing over at him just long enough to answer. “It means sweet.”

He makes a sound. That lines up. For both of them. 

The dog's eyes then land on him with as much disinterest he feels about it, quickly focusing back on Solana. “I suppose we’ll have to get supplies and shit for her.”

Roman doesn’t consider himself having a childhood, so he refers to what most call just that as his ‘formative year.’ And during those formative years, he never had a pet, so this is new to him as well, outside of just the common sense parts of owning a dog.

She’s petting the sleeping puppy “Aren’t you busy today?” 

Yes. Always. Roman’s to-do list is on subscribe and save, constantly delivering him new shit when he’s still working on the old shit. It’s just a part of the job though.

“No,” he answers. “It can wait.”

________

A couple of stops at different stores to pick up all of the shit Solana needs for Dulce along with getting the first vet appointment scheduled for the puppy takes just under three hours, which still grants Roman plenty of time to head into the office. Not until, though, he makes sure Solana is good to go, good with being left alone with the dog.

He meant it when he said it was her dog and he wouldn’t be helping out and shit, but given it’s the first day, he can see how there could be some nerves there.

But, there’s not. She’s good to go, hence his okayness with leaving for a little while to get some work done.

She doesn’t text him as much during the day, a noticeable thing that he understands is because she’s spending time with the dog. 

But, he does come home for lunch to get in a workout where he finds an entry in the notebook.

Roman,

Thank you so much. 

I promise I’ll take care of her and keep her out of your way. Paul’s too. I’ll keep her in the room with me when he’s over.

I always wanted a dog, but my dad hates them, and even if he didn’t, I was always too scared Wes would do something to it or worse….just to hurt me. He hates me, if you didn’t notice….

Solana

Roman doesn’t take much, if any time, to reply. He’d prefer to talk to her in person, but Bayley and Naomi are over, the three women in the backyard playing with the dog. So, he allows her that time, settling for a written response. 

Solana,

You’re welcome. 

Don’t worry about Paul. He won’t fucking die from allergies, and if he does, oh well.

I noticed. It’s why I’ll never leave you alone with him or your shitty father. Ever.

Why does he hate you?

Roman

Solana is partially upset when she realizes she missed Roman coming home for a workout, not that she wanted to bother him, just maybe….see him. Maybe even talk to him. Possibly tell him thank you again in person vs writing it in the notebook, but after Naomi and Bayley are gone and she’s fed Dulce her dinner, Solana sees Roman replied, leaving the notebook on her bed this time.

Most likely for privacy.

The first part of his note makes her laugh, even if she doesn’t enjoy Paul clearly suffering from his allergies. The second part, however, Solana struggles with.

She doesn’t know how honest to be with Roman, doesn’t know where she should draw that line in the sand. However, it’s not missed upon her that everything she’s shared with him, he’s been surprisingly okay with. Never having such a major reaction that it made her second guess her sharing.

And the man just bought her a fucking dog, something she’s always wanted. For no apparent reason.

Maybe….maybe she can be a bit more honest, a bit more forthcoming, even if it is a somber truth.

Roman,

I don’t want to inconvenience Paul. That’s not fair to him….

Wes blames me for our mother’s murder, says it was my fault.

And he’s not wrong.

She is dead because of me.

Solana

The minute Solana brings the notebook to Roman’s room, she regrets it. She regrets opening up, regrets being so vulnerable with him. Just because he answers her questions and bought her a puppy doesn’t mean he gives two shits about her trauma.

She’s so tempted to sneak into his room and take the journal back. It keeps her up, makes her toss and turn as Dulce sleeps peacefully in her pink dog bed beside Solana’s. 

But, it’s when Solana wakes up at 4am and notices the notebook on her nightstand, her anxiety reaches another level. Instead of avoiding it until morning, she sits up and snatches it, flipping to the page they’re on.

And her stomach achieves a new level of butterflies when she reads his response. 

Solana,

It’s not your fault.

Also, you were wrong.

I care what you have to say and think.

Roman

[danieyells]

@mayoigotokurousagi TIME FOR OUR FAVORITE FRANKENSTEIN'S MONSTER INSPIRED MEDICAL PROFESSIONAL. I mean. Maybe there's another you're into. Idk. I like Jiro. He's so. . .blunt. I'm so curious about him, I really really cannot wait until we get the Mortkranken chapter.

also, uh, brief content warning for a mention of assisted suicide? It's under the 'Default' lines, if you feel the need to avoid that.

Hello: (the first time the game is opened after that character is set as home screen NPC. Only happens once per day, unless the character is switched out and back.)

"Oh, there you are. I was about to go give you a health check. This saves time and effort." ああ、そこにいたんですか。今からあなたの健診に行こうと思ってたんです。手間が省けました

You've Got Mail: (whenever there's something in the inbox, usually Arena rewards)

"Are those letters piling up over there? It's interesting that doesn't bother you.  Not that my opinion is relevant." そこに溜まってるのは手紙ですか？よく気になりませんね。 まあ、俺には関係ありませんけど

Default: (requires no affinity, has no time constraints)

"I don't like unproductive discussions. Like this one." 非生産的な議論は嫌いですね。例えば、今のような会話です

"They said they wanted to die, so I prescribed them what they needed. I don't see the point of discussing ethics after the fact." あちらさんが死にたいと言うので、必要な薬を処方したまでです。今更倫理を持ち出されても、困りますよ

Hey. Buddy. Jiro. That's fuckin' dark dude. This is why you don't joke about wanting to kill yourself. Someone will take it seriously. Jiro will just hand you cyanide pills, a bottle of water, and direct you to a hospital bed to die in. Like jesus christ.

"I save lives that can be saved. It's part of my job to decide the order of priority though." 救える命は救いますよ。まあ、そこに優先順位をつけるのがこちらの仕事なので

"part of my job is to decide if your life is worth saving" IS ALSO A VERY DARK THING TO SAY. I love that his default lines are all very dark and callous. It kind of drives home a dichotomy between how he feels about just anybody and how he feels about you. I also like that he's just. . .kind of dark and gloomy and like ASPECTS OF HIM ARE VERY UNPALATABLE. Like I'm sure there are a lot of people who see those lines and think "that's gross why would anyone like him he's the worst" and THAT'S A GOOD KIND OF CHARACTER TO HAVE ESPECIALLY AS A LOVE INTEREST okay moving on

"One of our patients is thrashing around again? That's inconvenient. I'll administer a shot." また患者が暴れてるんですか？ はあ……面倒くさいですね。１本打っておきますよ

jiro stabbing you with a sedative filled needle like 'stop moving. you are annoying.'

"You should—  Hurk... Hm, I let my guard down. I better go back to Mo— Orgh... Hurk...!" あなた、そろそろ…… うっ……まずいな、完全に油断してました。早く帰っえ、うっ……おえっ……

Affinity 1: (between 5am and 11am)

"Good morning. I'm going to take your pulse, so could you sit down?" おはようございます。脈拍測るんで、座ってもらえます？

Affinity 2: (between 11am and 4pm)

"I was in a prolonged coma, so I haven't fully recovered yet. It's been a long time since I ate anything." 俺、長いこと昏睡状態だったんで、まだ本調子じゃないんですよ。飯なんて、しばらく食ってませんし

i wonder when he woke up. it must have been a few months ago at most.

Affinity 3: (between 4pm and 8pm)

"What do you want? I'm conducting an incubation experiment. Please wait till I'm finished." なんですか？　今、培養実験中なので。話なら後にしてください

Affinity 4: (between 8pm and 5am)

"I'm about to receive my medication. It should take approximately one hour. Are you going to wait for me?" ああ、今から投薬の時間なんです。多分１時間くらいかかると思いますけど、待ちますか？

Affinity 5: (between 8pm and 5am)

"I attend classes every day since Yuri does, but sometimes they mark me as absent. I'm supposed to reply when they say my name? I didn't know that." 佑理に付き合って毎日授業に出てるんですけど、時々欠席扱いになってて。 返事が必要？　知らなかったな

"yeah you're supposed to let them know you're there." "i am one of the largest people in the room at any given time. that seems unnecessary." also it's cute that he only goes to class because Yuri does, but also he doesn't learn anything from it since he studied it all independently lol

Affinity 6: (between 4pm and 8pm)

"The blood? I believe one of the wounds on my stomach tore. I'll have to get Yuri to suture it." ああ、この血ですか？　さっきから腹の傷が開いてるみたいなんです。佑理に縫ってもらわないとな

Affinity 7: (between 11am and 4pm)

"What's the purpose of educational facilities like this? You can learn everything you need through self-study." こういった教育施設って、なんのためにあるんでしょうね？　勉強なら自分ですればいいだけですし

Affinity 8: (between 4pm and 8pm)

"Who is that noisy blond person? He runs away whenever he sees me. That's rude, isn't it?" 時々見かける、うるさい黄色の人は何者なんです？　 俺の顔を見るといつも逃げるんです。失礼ですよね？

i love the 'isn't it?' like he doesn't know normal social convention but he's pretty sure you're not supposed to run from people like that.

Affinity 9: (between 8pm and 5am)

"You don't have to mind me. Go ahead and eat. Even in childhood I never really had an attachment to food, clothing, or shelter." 俺のことは気にせず、飯食ってください。元々、ガキの頃から衣食住にあまり執着がないので

hey jiro that's uh that's kinda fucking depressing you good?

Affinity 10: (between 10pm and midnight)

"Yuri's holed up in the lab, so I'm going out. If he comes looking for me, tell him I went to bed." 佑理が研究室に籠ってるので、今のうちに出かけてきます。もし俺を探してたら、寝たと言ってください

Wouldn't Yuri just check your bed and not find you there though??? Also when will you sleep???? like i know he doesn't realize a week of allnighters isn't normal but jfc

Affinity 11: (between 5am and 11am)

"Your face looks terrible. Come over here and inhale this. They're mild smelling salts. They'll wake you up." あなた、ひどい顔ですね。ちょっとこっち来て、これ嗅いでください。 軽い気付け薬です。目が覚めますよ

Affinity 12: (between 11am and 4pm)

"Hello. I'm here to pick up Yuri.  Hm, that's strange. I thought he would be here." こんにちは。佑理を迎えに来ました。 ……あれ？ここにいると思ったんですけど

. . .i wonder why he thought yuri would be with you? how often does he lose track of where yuri is? and why pick him up wouldn't yuri be able to get home himself? unless he figures yuri fell asleep somewhere lmao

Affinity 13: (between 4pm and 8pm)

"I can just manage to ingest water, so I brew herbal tea as an indulgence. Would you like some too?" 辛うじて水分なら取れるので、嗜好品としてハーブティーを淹れるんですよ。あなたも飲みます？

Affinity 14: (between 5am and 11am)

"Yuri wouldn't get up, so I was about to give up on getting my morning medication. He got up after the ninth time he used the snooze button though." 佑理がなかなか起きないので、朝は投薬を諦めようかと思いましたよ。９回目のスヌーズで起きましたけど

Yuri and Jiro, like Rui and Haru, need healthy sleep schedules please.

Affinity 15: (between 5am and 11am)

"What's this? A rice ball? I suppose I might be able to eat some of it." なんですか？　これ。 おにぎり？　まあ、少しくらいなら食べれるかもしれませんが……

can't you only eat fluids. . .are you gonna throw that up later. . . .

Affinity 16: (between 11am and 4pm)

"You already had tea at Frostheim? The tea I make tastes better though, so please drink it anyway." フロストハイムで紅茶を飲んできたんですか？　 まあ、俺の方が美味く淹れられますから、飲んでください

lmao the mortkranken boys really do not appear to have a great opinion of frostheimers!!! "you had tea at--pfffff nah their tea sucks ass drink mine instead."

Affinity 17: (between 10pm and midnight)

"I enjoy being alone. The noise doesn't really bother me when I'm reading though. Can I go now?" ひとりの時間は好きですよ。まあ、本を読んでいる時は、周囲の喧噪も気になりません。もういいですか？

Affinity 18: (between 8pm and 5am)

"What am I doing? I'm making confections. I'm used to making precise measurements when preparing medications, and it's quite similar to that." 今ですか？　製菓をしてるんです。 計量は薬の調合で慣れてるので、まあ、似たようなものです

jiro makes cupcakes and candies and stuff. . .he can't even enjoy them though. . . . .

Affinity 19: (between 10pm and midnight)

"See you tomorrow. ...What? You're the one who told me I should say that while smiling." また明日。 ……なんですか？こう言って笑えばいいと、あなたが言ってたんじゃないですか

i love lines where it's like 'you told me to do this so now i'm doing it.' especially when the pc is shocked when they actually do it lolol

Affinity 20: (between 5am and 11am)

"We're doing a complete check up today, so please change into these. ... Do you need me to help you undress?" 今日は精密検査なので、この検査着に着替えてください。 ………… 脱げないなら、脱がしましょうか？

strip faster bitch

Affinity 21: (between 11am and 4pm)

"You want to know why I started studying anomalous infectious diseases? I don't know. I just became knowledgeable about them at some point and kept going." なぜ怪異伝染病の研究を始めたか？さあ、気がついたら詳しくなってたので。何となく続けてるだけです

Affinity 22: (between 4pm and 8pm)

"My wounds often tear so I've told Yuri deep dermal suturing would be more effective than simple interrupted, but he won't listen to me." よく傷口が開くんで、結節縫合ではなく真皮縫合の方がいいと言ってるのに、佑理が聞かないんですよね

I get the feeling Yuri doesn't listen to most people. . . .

Affinity 23: (between 8pm and 5am)

"Yuri's combat skills are poor, so I have to protect him. If he dies, there won't be anyone left who can treat me." 佑理は戦闘が下手なので、俺が守るしかないんです。あの人が死ぬと、俺を治せる人がいなくなるんですよ

"if he dies i die so i'm just kinda protecting him because i have to." kind of an oof lmao

Affinity 24: (between 10pm and midnight)

"It's been a long time since I had a family, so I don't know what you're supposed to do in these situations. Could you teach me?" 俺には長いこと家族がいないので、こういう時、どうすればいいかわからないんです。教えてくれません？

GET FAM-ZONED HAHA aaaaAAAAAA HE SEES YOU AS FAMILY AND HE WANTS TO TREAT YOU THE WAY HE'S SUPPOSED TO TREAT FAMILY. . . . . . ;0; just be yourself jiro we love you as you are, dark and morbid and a little distant but actually quite sweet--

Affinity 25(max): (no time constraints)

"There's a high probability that your curse is related to my field of research. It's a problem for me if you die." あなたの呪いは、俺の研究分野に関係している可能性が高い。 あなたを死なせるわけにはいかないんですよ

the bluntness and distance in this one is so perfect for Jiro haha ESPECIALLY AFTER THE "I WANT TO TREAT YOU LIKE FAMILY" ONE BEFORE IT. . .he went from being kind of sweet to being like "if you die it'll be a problem." and not even in a tsundere way just 'it matters to me if you die for academic purposes.

Spring: (March-May) (between 5am and 11am)

"I'm going to see some flowers on Yuri's orders. Do you want to come? I'll be harvesting mandrakes." 今から佑理の指示で花を見に行くんです。あなたも一緒に行きますか？ マンドラゴラの採取ですが

"Yuri told me to take a break so I'm gonna go work near some flowers i guess."

(between 11am and 4pm)

"Cases of the infectious disease gastroenteritis explode at this time of year. It's boring prescribing the same thing all the time." この時期は感染症の胃腸炎が爆発的に増えるんですよ。次から次へと、同じ処方ばかりで飽きました

attention darkwick students: please catch more interesting illnesses. thank you -jiro

(between 4pm and 8pm)

"Ha ha ha ha! I observed Yuri fighting the urge to fall asleep during class today. Would you like to see the photos?" はははは！ 今日は授業中、ずっと眠気と戦っている佑理を観察してたんですよ。この写真、見ますか？

i really wish it were during the hours this one can play because i wanna record it lolol Jiro smiling and laughing because Yuri's trying not to fall asleep is so precious. Tiny little humanization for our monster boy.

(between 8pm and 5am)

"There are rumors that pollen contains ephedrine, a central nervous system stimulant. They're false, though." 桜の花粉に、興奮を誘発するエフェドリンが含まれるという噂があるそうですね。 まあ、それデマですけど

Summer: (June-August) (between 5am and 11am)

"Good, today's temperature matches the forecast. I'll be starting a new experiment this afternoon, but the temperature regulation is difficult. It should be fun." 今日の気温は……予報通りですね。 午後から新しい実験の着手をするのに、温度管理が大変で。楽しみです

temperature regulation experiments are fun! i'm glad Jiro enjoys what he does.

(between 11am and 4pm)

ああ、また手足口病の患者でした。本来子供に多い感染症なんですが、免疫がない人は可哀想ですね "It was another case of hand-foot-and-mouth disease. It's an infectious disease usually more common in children. People without immunity are unfortunate."

(between 4pm and 8pm)

"A dare? Okay, I'll do it with you. I've always wanted to try screaming in fear." へえ、肝試しですか。 いいですよ、付き合います。恐怖で叫ぶ経験を、一度くらいしてみたいので

"a dare" isn't really a good translation here--肝試し is a "test of courage", an activity usually done on summer evenings where you go someplace scary with your friends to overcome fear together! Or something like that. It's most often done in summer because that's when it's believed there are more like. . .supernatural occurrences? several other characters' summer lines mention more anomalies in Japan in the summer as a result of these beliefs. Either way it's cute that he's like 'oh. that sounds cool. i hope it'll make me experience fear.' I want him to scream in an exaggerated way, just SHRIEKING for the sake of it, not even because he's really that scared just "this feels like the appropriate situation for screaming :)" lmao

(between 8pm and 5am)

"Ha ha ha ha! Oh, sorry. I tried letting the stag beetles I caught for an experiment fight, and it was funnier than I expected." はははは！　ああ、すいません。 採取の時に捕まえたカブトムシ同士を戦わせたら、想像以上に面白くて

i feel like that's something that comes up now and then as like. a thing young japanese boys do. which makes jiro kind of childish in a way which is super charming? it sounds to me like he didn't have much of a childhood. so i'm happy he can explore it now and have fun.

Autumn: (September-November) (between 5am and 11am)

"I don't understand why you would go somewhere without a purpose. Why would you go to a mountain if you didn't need to harvest something?" 行楽ですか？　いえ、単純に何が目的か理解できないんです。採取もせず、山を歩くんですか？

mods, show him the beauty of nature.

(between 11am and 4pm)

"I went to the botanical garden to get some ingredients and I was given these yams. Do you like candied yams?" さっき植物園に原料をもらいに行ったらサツマイモをもらったんです。スイートポテトは好きですか？

(between 4pm and 8pm)

"A lot of people in Mortkranken dislike exercise.The sporting clubs in Darkwick must be made up of people from other houses." うちの寮は、体を動かすことが嫌いな人が多いですね。学内でスポーツをしてるのも、他寮の人ですよね？

i am once again asking why i was put in fuckin frostheim--

(between 8pm and 5am)

"I read books every day, not just in the fall. I like medical journals best. I don't remember what made me start reading them." 秋に限らず、本は毎日読みますよ。特に医学の専門書は好きですね。 いつからなのかは……忘れました

Winter: (December-February) (between 5am and 11am)

"Hurk...! Phew... I'm fine... The change in temperature between indoors and outdoors this time of year causes my physical condition to deteriorate more frequently." うっ……はあ……大丈夫です……この季節は室内外の寒暖差のせいで体調を崩しやすいので……

i remember someone i followed also gags when going from a cold place to a warm one lmao. . . .

(between 11am and 4pm)

"I found an anomalous plant that can only grow in extremely low temperatures and successfully created a medication with it. It was just a coincidence though." 極低温のみ自生する怪異植物を見つけたので、試しに原薬にしてみたら上手くいきました。まあ、偶然です

'i made a medical breakthrough but it was just an accident' is the medical equivalent of 'i'm not a model'. also Yuri has a line referencing this one!

(between 4pm and 8pm)

"Streptococcal infections are on the rise. They're spread through droplet and contact infection. Have you been taking precautions?" 溶連菌の感染が増えてますね。飛沫感染と接触感染が経路になります。 あなた、ちゃんと予防してます？

jiro says WEAR YOUR FUCKIN' MASK.

(between 8pm and 5am)

"There are no merits to lowering your body temperature when you're not experiencing inflammation. I made some herbal tea that warms the body. Do you want some?" 炎症時以外、体を冷やすメリットはないですからね。体を温めるハーブティーを淹れたので、いかがです？

His birthday: (October 13th)

"Whose birthday? Oh, mine? I forgot. Did Yuri leak my medical records?" 誕生日？　誰のです？ ああ、俺のですか、忘れてました。カルテ、佑理が漏らしたんですか？

"did yuri fuckin dox me--"

Your birthday:

"Oh, it's your birthday today, isn't it? What should I do? I suppose I'll go to your room later." ああ、あなた今日、誕生日じゃないですか。何をすればいいんですか？ まあ、後でそちらの部屋に行きます

jiro no you don't have to do that you are moving so fast WHAT HAPPENED TO BEING FAMILY WAIT--

New Years: (January 1st)

"Happy New Year. Why are you looking at me like that? Even I celebrate New Years." 明けましておめでとうございます。 なんですか？　その顔。正月くらい俺だって祝いますけど

Valentine's Day: (February 14th)

"What's this packet? I can't eat solids. You made it? Oh. I can probably eat some of it then." なんですか？　この包み。俺、固形物は食べれませんけど…… なんだ。あなたの手作りなら少しはいけます

bby if you can't eat it don't make yourself sick with it. . . . Actually since the PC feeding him let him eat food, maybe if it's something the PC makes he can eat it???

White Day: (March 14th)

"Here. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, something handmade for something handmade. Eat it here and tell me what you think." どうぞ。目には目を、歯には歯を、手作りには手作りをと思いまして。ここで食べて評価を教えてください

April Fool's Day: (April 1st)

"Yuri's kicking up a fuss and saying I deceived him? I don't remember doing it. It doesn't matter though." 佑理が、俺に騙されたって騒いでるんですか？　そんなことしましたっけ。 まあ、どっちでもいいですけど

i wonder if he actually pulled a prank and he's just hiding it really well. . .or if Yuri is just paranoid lol Yuri's for the record:

"Hmph, did you honestly think you could fool me? I won't fall for your cheap tricks. I've already been fooled by Jiro seven times today!" ふんッ。貴様も僕を騙すつもりで？その手には乗りません。今日はすでに、次郎くんに７回騙されたのでね

Halloween: (October 31st)

"I don't know much about Halloween. I can't eat candy though, so I have to play a trick on you, right?" ハロウィン？　よく知りませんが、俺、お菓子は食べれないので。 あなたに悪戯すればいいんですよね

Christmas: (December 25th)

"This tree? It's a fir tree. Yuri told me to get one, so I cut it down and carried it back here. My special artifact doesn't cut very well." この木ですか？　佑理に言われて、モミの木を切って持ってきました。俺の特質怪具、切れ味が悪いんです

Idle: (about 20 seconds without interacting with the game) (below 13 affinity)

"Are you dead? Oh, you're alive." ……死んでます？　ああ、なんだ。生きてたんですね

jiro poking you with a stick like 'you dead?'

(13 affinity and above)

"Oh, Yuri's calling me. It'll be annoying if I pick up, so I'll just ignore it until you're ready to go again." ……ああ、佑理から連絡です。出ると面倒なので、あなたが動けるようになるまで、無視しておきます

'yuri is the only reason i'm alive but he's gonna yell at me so i'll just wait to pick up the phone' why??? i guess he wants to go back with you if yuri's telling him to come home lol ALSO DON'T YOU THINK IGNORING YOUR PHONE RINGING WILL WORRY YURI. . . .

Absent: (logging in for the first time in 2 or more days?)

"You've skipped too many appointments. It's been a long time since your last check up...  I suppose I'll have to re-examine you." あなた、受診サボりすぎです。前回からかなり間が空いてるな…… まあ、今から再検査すればいいです

time to fill out your whole chart again! examination from top to bottom!

THERE WE GO. sorry that one took so long!! He's actually a bit of a goof but his no-affinity lines make him come off as extra cold and cruel. He just has to get used to you!! But I think it has a very charming contrast. AFTER THIS IS JIN! Tomorrow night maybe? it's almost midnight and i have to wake up early again and my insomnia kicked my ass last night. . . .