#please tell me someone else did this too.

[time-traveller-archives]

Hi there! I just wanted to drop my gratefulness towards you through this. I have never been very comfortable with my sexuality or spirituality because of it being so old-fashioned, and me being so religious often tends to this sharp contrast with this sexualization of today's generation. Don't get me wrong I'm pagan, I was born one. Our religion is pretty celebratory towards themes like sex and exploration. I consider sex as a soul ritual and an act of finding my partner's soul every single time I do it with him. I like how this vulnerable act allows us to see and experience an intimate side of our partners. I really love the bond that sex helps us experience. Iam not against BDSM, threesome, I am very open minded. But I personally suffered burnt out in these activities as they sexualize the body and I don't like how everyone hypes up the entire concept of lust in these areas. Anyways I have found that, I enjoy finding the soul and experiencing the bond with another soul through sex very fulfilling as compared to all these. What Iam here to say to is thank you, thank you so much for your 18 + pick a card, it made me feel a bit comfortable of my sexual preferences despite knowing/have done a lot more sexual things which seems to get overhyped by this overly sexualised society. See I'm okay with what other people like or prefer or feel is the best for them, and I am okay if my partners like it too. I can get along with them, but its not what I personally prefer. I just do not like how many projections I had to face even from my own partners when they found out, I used to do that/can still do that/ or at the time I do that. Iam not a monster who sexualizes or fantasizes other people. It just hurts when the partner whom I like to share a deep bond with tends to think, project or say things about me like this. Its just I can't deal with an environment where people are constantly projecting me to be some kind of monster who just likes to fuck like a raw dog and nothing else. Like yes that's there, but I am a very emotional person I prefer bonds, connections, deep love, soul connections. I don't even know how to tell you how hurt I was from all these connections and people who constantly reduced me to a person with big sexual libido. Yeah I am a person with huge libido but that doesn't mean that's all I want or think about all the time. It tends to remind me of my rapist, even though I know its got nothing to do with a libido, a rapist is a sick person who uses sick means to get to people's vulnerability and use them for control and I am someone who just likes sex but doesn't dwells on it. Last I wasn't communicative enough with my partner about this, and idk what gossip he did. I was left trying to explain and convince everyone, learnt this people pleasing behaviour, was kinda forced to turn into this mid person because people couldn't take that I could be sexually experimental and deeply emotional as well.

PAC: Your First Time With Your Person 18+

This reading includes:

how your first time will be like w/ your person

where and how it might happen

The extended reading includes:

what you will think about it

what your person will think about it

Disclaimer: this is just for entertainment purposes, and as a pick-a-card reading it may not resonate for everyone. Also, this content is 18+ only!

TIPS | BOOK A READING WITH ME | PATREON | LINKTREE | SUGGEST A PAC TOPIC

Pile 1

Emperor rx, Two of Pentacles rx, Tower, Chariot | Sun god

"Come all, come now; expand into the skies and into the shadows below."

Hi pile 1, the energy here is very very masculine and dominant. I feel like most of you will be the more submissive energy so I'm going to focus on that for the reading, but please switch it around if you feel like it applies better to you that way. Anyhow, there isn't any switching or "equality" here, this is straight up power exchange energy. You are giving in to your person, letting them do whatever they want with you, complete surrender. This isn't scary for you though, you are doing this because you trust them completely and know they will take care of you. Honestly, despite this whole power play thing (I'm even seeing some manhandling) the sex will be super loving. I truly don't see it being rough or your person calling you names or anything like that. It's like they want to make love to you, they want to make sure that every single one of your needs is taken care of, but they don't want you to lift a finger. Just lay there and let them make you feel good, basically. Ooof, your person isn't shy about what they want, pile 1.

I think that this might happen either during the day or you will go all night long until sunrise (I think that for most of you it's the later). I also get the feeling that this will happen during spring/summer, or on a nice weather day. For most of you this is also happening in a bedroom. The energy I'm getting is that you and your person will want complete privacy and knowing that you have the time to do whatever you two want. For a smaller part of you this might begin in the car and then you move to the bedroom. The energy here is very explosive, it's like at first you're not really sure if you want to do this now, but then all of a sudden you can't think about anything else. I think that you'll be trying to convince yourself not do it at first for whatever reason.

I can't stop hearing the song "You Shook Me All Night Long" by AC/DC, so this is some more confirmation that the sex is going to last awhile. Honestly, you should check out this song's lyrics if you aren't familiar, because I feel like it's totally the vibe of your first time with your person. They are crazy about you, pile 1, like crazy crazy. They have wanted to do this for a long time.

Also, let me warn you to make sure you're protected if you can get pregnant! Like, pregnancy is the energy here so be careful if that's a possibility for you. Not to be too explicit, but I'm also seeing a lot of fluids and playing with them, so make of that what you will. Also, if your person is a man he is BIG.

I think that some of you have like a daddy kink or authority figure kink and it's something that it will come into play as well. I think that they'll enjoy it very much as well. There's multiple orgasms here, and I think that you'll be coming very fast and very hard. It will be earth-shattering. For some of you I'm also seeing that the man might finish first - for some it might be a bit disappointing, but your person will make it up to you; for others though I think that it's because you're starting with oral first. Also, if you have breasts they love playing with your breasts, or maybe it's playing with nipples in general. But, yeah this will start with a lot of foreplay and then you guys will have multiple rounds.

Pile 2

Eight of Wands, Ace of Wands, Nine of Pentacles, Fool | Maiden

"Demand what is yours and take back what was taken. Reclaim until you've gathered all of you."

Pile 2, hi! The first thing I'm getting from this pile is that this will be your first time having sex. If this doesn't apply to you, it might be your first time having sex after a long pause or the first time having sex with someone of a certain gender, but if neither applies it might be that this pile isn't for you. I think that for most people this is about losing their virginity, though. No matter the case, I think that this will be really lovely. Your person will make you feel like a god/dess. There's a lot of passion here.

Just like pile 1, I think that this will happen in a "safe" setting, most likely in your bedroom or your person's bedroom. I think that this place has a feeling of luxury to it, even if it isn't exactly luxurious if that makes sense. Basically, it's very tidy, well organized, beautifully decorated, you feel welcome and relaxed in this place. I'm actually seeing a fur rug and throw blankets on a bed, so really comfy. I think that for most of you this isn't planned. I think that it just kind of happens that you have your person over or that you are at their place and then they do something that just makes you think "that's it, I need them". I get this feeling that you just suddenly realize how much you love and trust in this person so you try to initiate. I see you being a bit awkward at first, but you'll find your footing quickly. Before anything happens though I see you making out with your person and feeling each other up for a long time, then your person will ask you if you're really sure about that and then all hell breaks lose.

I think that you have a lot of pent up energy and desire and you want to get it out as quickly as possible, but your person will take over a little bit and slow you down. For one, they know that it might be a big mistake to rush you, but also they want to be thorough with it. This person wants to get to know every single inch of you, they want to know what you like, what you love, what you don't care for. They want to explore your body and consume you. It's like body worship really. It's like they don't want you to think about anything else, but their body on yours. (I also get the vibe that some of you are very anxious or over thinkers and your person really wants to make sure that you're grounded for once). I also get this vibe that your person thinks that you're a bit of a brat, in the best way possible though. I see them laughing as they say that.

Just like pile 1, please make sure to use protection if there's any possibility of a pregnancy. I think that there will be a lot of foreplay and you'll be having at least one or two orgasms before penetration (also if your person is a man I think that they're bigger than average). Your person really wants you to feel good. I don't see you having multiple rounds because I think that you're going to be exhausted pile 2. Maybe the next day, though. Afterwards you're just going to cuddle with your person and have some aftercare. And, also let me tell you that you person is amazing with aftercare they're just so loving and gentle, not wanting you to move a finger and making sure that you're completely taken care of. They may bring you some food and drinks and then tell you to take a nap.

I think that you'll be a bit transformed by this first time. It might be a bit different for everyone and that's why I can't really see how. But it will change the way you view yourself, your sexuality and even your person. I think that it will help you to bond even more with your person.

Pile 3

Lovers, Ten of Pentacles, Temperance, Queen of Pentacles | Self-worship

"My hands fold as I speak to the stars, watching as the sky holds its breath. It's in stillness that I find all that I am and all of divinity within me."

Pile 3, this is probably the most romantic pile here and honestly that's saying something because they've all been super sweet. But this is 100% old-fashioned romance. I can actually see it very clearly that you're going out with your person, maybe out to dinner at a fancy or fancier place and then going either to a hotel or to one of your places to continue the night. This is the only pile that I see going to a hotel actually. But, your person will give you flowers, I think that it will be red roses for most of you (a classic of course), but for others it will be a bit more personalized, like let's say that you love tulips then that's what your person will get you. I actually just heard that your person wants to wine you and dine you and in more than one way lmao. They're funny.

For this pile I think that you have been dating this person for a while, but you're taking things slow. I just get the feeling that you two really love each other - deeply - and you know each other well. This doesn't feel like something that would happen after two or three dates. You might actually know this person before you start dating too. Anyway, as I was saying this is old-fashioned romance. I see candles and rose petals on the bed. Some of you might actually start by taking a bath together or giving a massage to one another. I just see it being very sensual, but calm. You're not rushing here, you both clearly want this, but you know that you have time and it feels so much better to draw it out like this. You're like the third pile where I have to say this, but use protection if you can pregnant! Y'all are very fertile.

I think that you're going to start with oral, and for some of you there's even 69ing here. I'm also seeing lots of fluids here. Like, even your bodies are wet with sweat or from your bath or massage. But this feels very wet, let's put it like that. With the Lovers and Temperance here this is such more than sex for you guys. It's truly like two people becoming one, body and soul. I don't see you two talking much, it's like you don't need to, the connection between you two is so powerful and so deep it's almost magical. There's lots of hand-holding, gazing into each others eyes, holding each other close. It's so, so sweet. I think that you might tear up from emotion, from how much you love them. When it comes to positions I see you guys sitting, cowgirl and missionary. But, basically, it will be whatever can give you as much closeness as possible. I also see you person holding your face, like cradling your head and running their hands through your hair.

Honestly, this will be transcendental for you guys, you might even get like an out of body experience when you orgasm. It will be very very intense. I see some of you describing it as almost being a religious experience. I see that some of you will be squirting for the first time, so that might also be intense. This is just for a few of you I think, but you might have sex in front of a mirror or they might start it by touching you in front of a mirror. Almost being like "do you see how beautiful you are?", etc, that sort of thing. The aftercare will also be very sweet, and I see you being so in love with each other afterwards. Just talking and holding each other until you fall asleep.

Pile 4

Two of Swords, Knight of Pentacles, Four of Wands rx, Three of Wands | The lovers

"Love lulls all sorrow and bewitches flesh, mind and breath, reminding me that I am unafraid of the unfurling winds of my eternity."

Pile 4, this is the most negative pile out of them all. I'm really sorry for that. I would much prefer that they were all amazing and without any problems. I don't think that it's anything serious, but it will vary from person to person. Most of all, what I feel in this pile is anxiety and almost not feeling comfortable in your body. I think that some people here have sexual trauma, relationship trauma, or even body trauma. There might even have some eating disorders in this pile. No matter what it is and no matter the seriousness of the situation, it has left you uncomfortable with your body and with sex. So, I feel like most of you are going into this with a lot of anxiety. It's almost like you want this but you don't at the same time. I'm getting a very specific message that it's only meant for a couple of you: you might have sex with a stranger or hook-up with someone (basically something you wouldn't normally do) just to prove to yourself that you can. It's almost like you're trying to do exposure therapy to yourself. Now, I'm not saying if it's right or wrong, it's not my place to judge really, but just be careful.

For most of you though, this is happening with a partner. I think that you're going to be a bit unsure at the beginning, you want to want it, but you're not really there yet. Your partner is going to be incredible here, because they're going to move really slowly to get you as comfortable as possible and stopping to see if you're alright. I see them showering you with affection and basically praising you to the heavens. They're going to be super careful with touching you, up to a point where it almost annoys you and then you start to become more active let's say. I think that you're going to take charge of the situation at a certain point and guide your partner on how you need it. And honestly I think that they're very much into it.

Throughout the whole thing you're a bit self-conscious. I think that you might be suffering from low self-esteem and you're not entirely comfortable with your body and how you look. This might mean that you have sex basically in the dark, with very little light to make you comfortable. I don't think that this is happening in your house, so that adds a little bit to your anxiety, because you're in an unfamiliar place. I can't get much more information about it, it's almost like your person is trying to protect you and your privacy which is really sweet.

However, I see that you will be left very satisfied at the end lol. Not only that though, you will be feeling much more confident in yourself and your sexuality. I'm seeing you feeling so sexy at the end. It's probably because of your partner too. They'll be like "do you see what you did to me?" and completely disheveled, and you'll be like "oh shit". This will be a turning point for you. I'm really happy for you, pile 4! When it comes to your relationship it will also be taking it to the next level, not just intimacy-wise, but also in the trust that you have in each other.

[theemporium]

[11k] a seemingly random attack seems to be the start of a big problem for the new jersey devils and you find yourself one of the main targets. fortunately, you have one of the team's best as your appointed bodyguard. unfortunately, he seems to want nothing to do with you.

new jersey mob masterlist || nhl mob masterlist

warning: this is a mob au. topics and themes such as violence, blood, murder and gun use are prevalent and constant throughout the fic. please keep that in mind if you choose to proceed with this fic and the whole series.

.

“Did no one ever tell you as a kid that this much sugar is going to rot your teeth?”

“Well, brother dearest, considering you were the one who raised me, I think that’s a question you should be asking yourself.”

“You know, it’s kinda your fault her nickname is Candy,” a voice sounded from the background of the phone call. You beamed, almost imagining your brother’s face scrunching up at the callout. “Her sweet tooth is strongly encouraged by you.”

“Shut up, Jack.”

“Just pointing out the facts.” 

“No one asked.” 

“I assume you don’t want an eclair then?” You questioned, interrupting the bickering boys on the phone. The silence that followed made your grin widen. 

“Tell Peter to give me the biggest one.” 

“He always does,” you retorted, phone tucked between your ear and shoulder as the small bakery came into view. “Tell Jack I’ll get him those lemon muffins he likes.” 

“You’re the best, Candy!” Jack’s voice rang through the phone. 

“I know,” you answered simply, letting the bell ring above your head as you pushed the bakery door open. 

You smiled when you saw Peter—a sweet boy, no older than his mid-twenties with ruffled hair and constantly flushed cheeks—standing behind the counter with a stained apron on and a determined look on his face that softened when he saw you. 

“The usual?” 

“You know it.” 

“Coming right up, Candy!” 

“Luke thinks Peter has a crush on you,” Jack’s voice came through the phone once again. 

“I’ll shove a cupcake down his throat before he can try anything,” Timo grumbled. 

You rolled your eyes. “You’ll do no such thing, I’d rather not get banned,” you said, grinning a little when you heard Timo scoff. “And as flattered as I am, he’s a bit too soft for me.” 

“I bet he wouldn’t be so soft if you—” 

“Zip it, Hughes.” 

You snorted. “I’m high maintenance. Peter couldn’t handle that.” 

“No one in their right mind can.” 

“I can think of a few who could.” 

Timo huffed. “It’s like you’re trying to make me feel murderous on a Sunday. It’s God’s day. I don’t kill on Sundays.” 

“Well,” Jack started. “You did kill that dodgy fisherman a few weeks back on a Sunday—” 

“Do you ever shut up?” 

“Pete is a good guy, surely you’d want her to date him over anyone else—”

“It’s like you have a death wish.” 

“He’s winding you up,” you snorted, making yourself comfortable since the bakery was empty and settling on the counter by the cash register. “And you fall for it every time.” 

“Whatever,” Timo grumbled, and you could almost imagine the frown on his face. “Why are you over at Peter’s anyways? I thought Nico sent you to Philly.” 

“Jonas went alone instead,” you shrugged, despite the fact the boy couldn’t see you. “Apparently back up wasn’t needed and the negotiations were going fine. He wants me to head towards Buffalo instead. They are avoiding his calls.” 

Jack snorted. “Leave it to Nico to send Candy instead of leaving a voicemail.” 

“I’m scarier,” you grinned. 

Timo laughed. “Yeah, just as terrifying as a pink poodle.” 

You rolled your eyes. “I’ll suffocate you with my fur coat.”

“You wouldn’t be able to catch me in those heels.” 

“You underestimate me, Tims,” you grinned. 

He let out a disgusted groan. “Don’t call me that.” 

When it came to life in the mob, there were a few rules you had to always remember. 

One: never trust someone not sworn in. No matter what they say and no matter what they do to try and prove themselves, no man or woman not under that same oath and protection will ever have your back. 

Two: make alliances with your brain and not your heart. It sounded stupid but far too many times have people found themselves entering stupid deals and negotiations to get what they wanted, far too blinded by their own desires to take off their rose-tinted glasses. 

Three: always—and emphasis on the always—be alert. You never know when an enemy can strike. You never know who’s lingering in the shadows, ready to catch you off-guard. 

Unfortunately for you, it was the third rule you found yourself forgetting as the sound of glass smashing echoed through the small bakery. 

There was a ringing in your ears, muffling the sounds of screams and yells and gunshots as the world seemed to move in slow motion around you. You were distantly aware that one of the voices was your brother on the phone, the other Peter somewhere in the back. But you could barely focus on your own thoughts as you quickly dropped to the ground, your back pressed against one of the booths as the gunshots continued to rain through the shop. 

You cursed yourself for not being alert. You cursed yourself for leaving your gun in your car. You cursed yourself for not even peeking to see how many men were shooting before you ducked to safety. 

You were so far in your own thoughts that it took a while to realise the gunshots had stopped. 

You jumped out of your skin when you felt a hand on your shoulder, turning to find Peter staring back at you with a pale face and wide eyes. His lips were moving but you couldn’t seem to process the words he was saying. 

“Calm down,” you managed to mutter out, placing your hand over his and squeezing. “You’re gonna be okay.” 

But the boy shook his head. “We need to get a doctor.” 

You blinked, your brain hardly keeping up with him. “What? Why?” 

Peter almost looked nervous as he spoke, as white dots began to blur your vision and his face morphed into blobs of colours. His mouth was moving, a pink and reddish blob that kept changing shape, as you strained to hear what he said. 

And then, your vision went black. 

…

“You were hurt!” 

“Timo—”

“Seriously injured! Hospitalised!”

“It doesn’t count as a hospital if it’s just in the house—”

“You were shot!” Timo gritted out through clenched teeth, his fists clenched at his side so tight that his knuckles were white. 

“Shot is a bit of an exaggeration,” you murmured under your breath. 

Timo turned on his heel, his eyes narrowed in a glare. “A fucking bullet went through you, how the fuck would you describe that?”

“An unfortunate occurrence,” you retorted despite Nico shooting you a look to behave, to not wind your brother up any further. “It hardly warrants the need of a babysitter.” 

“A bodyguard,” Nico corrected.

“Semantics,” you waved him off. 

“You were a part of a targeted attack against us,” Timo hissed, the vein on his forehead starting to pop out. “A bodyguard is exactly what you need right now.” 

“Everyone in this fucking room has been a part of a targeted attack,” you snapped back at your older brother. “News flash! It comes with the fucking lives we live! You are being far too dramatic over one little bullet wound.” 

“My mistake for caring,” Timo deadpanned. 

“It’s not the worst I’ve experienced and you know it,” you retorted, watching the boy’s mouth snap shut. You let out a sigh, a wave of guilt washing over you as you pushed yourself off Nico’s couch and walked closer to your brother. “I’m fine. I promise.” 

Timo opened his mouth.

“Timo,” you said in a softer voice, watching his shoulders drop. “Look, if anything weird happens in the next few weeks or if we have any reason to believe they will specifically attack me again, then I’ll agree to a bodyguard.” 

Timo looked conflicted. “Promise?” 

“Pinky promise,” you replied, grinning far too wide for someone who was barely allowed out of bed so soon. “Now, put your big boy pants on and go do something productive.” 

Nico’s brows furrowed together. “You know I’m the boss here, right?” 

“Send him somewhere far away for the week!” 

…

“You promise you’re okay?” 

“Geez, what are you, my mother?” You grumbled, your fingers dancing over the hangers on the rail as the boy followed behind you. “I’m okay. Doctor just said no strenuous activities.” 

Alex raised his brows. “Are you mentally okay? Emotionally okay?” 

“Forget my mother, are you my therapist?” You muttered, turning to look at the boy with narrowed eyes. “How much did Timo pay you?” 

Alex scoffed. “What makes you think he paid me anything?” 

“Because you never come shopping with me, let alone willingly,” you retorted with something quite triumphant in your smile.

“Yeah, well, shopping is a strenuous activity when it comes to you,” Alex grumbled under his breath, readjusting the countless bags and hangers in his hands. “I couldn’t let you hurt yourself any more than you currently are.”

You beamed, lightly patting his cheek. “That’s why you’re my favourite, Holtzy.” 

“Timo also threatened me,” he added, a small smile tugging on his lips when he saw you roll your eyes and turn back around. “He can be scary, even when he’s across the country.”

“Nico should’ve sent him somewhere further,” you sighed, shaking your head before turning your attention back to the dresses on the rack. “Speaking of, I thought Nico put you in charge of checking up on Peter.” 

“Jack and Luke wanted to take over,” Alex shrugged. “They wanted to make sure he was actually okay.” 

You pressed your lips together in a frown. “Is that even safe? Both of them to be seen with Peter?” 

“You think someone from Toronto is lurking in a bush outside the bakery, just waiting to see the three of them together?” Alex deadpanned, unphased by the look you gave him. He had been on the receiving end far too many times. “They’ll be fine. Nico wouldn’t have allowed it if it was unsafe.”

“Nico is also completely distracted by the fact Trouba supposedly wanted to meet to talk about some alliance or something,” you snorted.

“How do you know these things?” Alex questioned, his head tilted in curiosity. 

“I have my ways,” you grinned knowingly. “And I have my ways of knowing if you repeat any of this to anyone. Especially Curtis. He is such a gossip.”

Alex paused before nodding. “Yeah no, that is fair. You think he will take Trouba up on the offer?” 

“If the incentive is right.” 

“That was frustratingly vague.” 

“I know.��� 

“Well, distracted or not, Nico would never let anything bad happen to Jack and Luke, or Peter by extension,” Alex said, sounding so sure of himself. “He has worked hard to keep Peter’s presence in Jersey under wraps. He wouldn’t let Jack or Luke ruin that, not when they were the ones who asked for it.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” you hummed, waving him off. “You’re right. Blah blah blah. You done yet?” 

Alex rolled his eyes. “You asked.”

“Yeah but I was hoping you’d agree with me it was unsafe so we had an excuse to visit after this,” you retorted, flashing him an innocent smile over your shoulder. “Wanna split an apple pie?” 

Alex sighed but he agreed. 

…

Just like you assumed, the next two weeks passed without a hitch or whisper of another attack.

After Nico practically threatened to make Timo your round-the-clock bodyguard, you got the proper rest and care needed for your wound to mostly heal. You were still a little tender—and banned from your and Dawson’s weekly yoga sessions—but you felt close to your normal self, able to join some of the others on the less physical jobs, like visiting the factories and handling negotiations. 

Unfortunately for you, it was week three when disaster struck again. 

“I’m surprised Nico even let you step foot into this place,” you teased as you closed the car door behind you, finding the boy already rolling his eyes at you. 

“Sometimes a pretty boy has to do some dirty work too,” Jack replied, grinning boyishly as he looped his arm with yours before walking towards the warehouse. 

“Your ego truly astounds me,” you commented. 

“Says you,” he retorted, laughing as he tried to ignore your heel jabbing into his toes. 

It was a routine check-up, something that wasn’t meant to take longer than thirty minutes—forty tops, if you left Jack to do it alone and get distracted. But the shipment had just left and you needed to make sure nothing was left behind and assure no tracks were left behind. Nico preferred people close to him doing the checks. 

You had been mildly surprised that he sent you and Jack together, though, you had a feeling that the whole peace treaty with the Rangers was taking over Nico’s plate. 

“Everything looks good,” Jack said as he jogged back towards you, pushing some hair out of his face. “What about your side?” 

“All good,” you confirmed. “Let’s head back before Timo gets there. The dick made a bet with me that he would be back from Washington before us.” 

Jack paused. “Isn’t he meant to be staying the night?” 

You huffed. “Please, the boy has been like a fucking helicopter parent. Unless it’s on the west coast, he doesn’t like being away for a day because apparently something will happen to me if he’s not here.”

Jack shook his head fondly but his hand rested over yours, giving it a small squeeze. “He just cares, Candy.” 

You felt a flash of guilt in the pit of your stomach. “Jack—”

“Take it from a guy who lost a sibling, it isn’t fun,” he said, trying to smile and laugh through it but it fell flat. 

You frowned, not giving the boy a chance to run off before you wound your arms around him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” you murmured softly. 

“I know,” Jack whispered, his arms wrapping around you in return. “He just wants to know you’re safe. God knows I’d freak out the same if it was Luke in your position.” 

“A pair of overbearing brothers you are,” you teased, pulling back with a softer smile on your face. “You’re a good brother. And a good friend.”

Jack raised his brows. “Wow, I didn’t even have to pay you for that compliment.” 

You rolled your eyes. “I meant you’re a good friend to Peter. How’s he holding up?” 

“A bit shaken,” Jack confessed as you both walked back towards the car, his lips turned downwards. “The damage to the shop wasn’t too bad, mostly just replacing the windows and cleaning up. But he’s freaked out that people are on his tail.” 

You hummed, nodding. “And you? How do you feel?” 

Jack couldn’t help but let out a laugh. “I’m not the one that got shot.” 

“Yeah but,” you paused, waving your hand around. “If Peter is freaked out—”

“Anything freaks him out,” Jack mused. “It was just a normal, run of the mill, everyday kind of event that happens when you’re in the mob. There’s nothing or no reason to believe it was anything but a fluke—”

BOOM!

You felt Jack’s body covering yours before you even realised you were on the ground. You managed to peek over Jack’s shoulder, your eyes widening at the sight of the warehouse—the same one you were inside mere minutes ago—bursting into flames that were growing and spreading and burning wildly. 

“Okay, I take it back,” Jack muttered, his eyes glued on the burning building. “Not a fluke. Definitely targeted. We are fucked.” 

You swallowed. “Dibs on not calling Nico.” 

…

“I knew it.” 

You rolled your eyes at the cock-sureness in your brother’s voice. 

“This is serious,” Nico spoke up, shooting Timo a look before he went on a rant—again. “That’s two attacks in three weeks. And we have no fucking idea who’s behind them. Or if they are even linked at all.” 

“It’s hard when we have a plethora of enemies,” Jesper deadpanned, raising his hands in mock surrender when Nico shot him a look. “Just saying.” 

“Stop reminding me,” Nico grumbled. 

“Guess we can cross the Rangers off our list though, right, Boss?” You teased, wiggling your brows despite the glare you were receiving. 

“Candy,” Nico sighed. “Your brother is right. I think it’s best to have a bodyguard around, just for the next few weeks until we work things out.” 

“Yeah because a bodyguard is sure gonna help when the building blows up, this time with us in it,” you deadpanned. 

“I’d be more observant than Jack,” Timo commented. 

“Hey!” Jack frowned. 

“Absolutely fucking not,” you quickly stood up, shaking your head. “You’re not going to be my bodyguard. I’m not having you hovering over me twenty-four-seven. You’re bad enough as it is.” 

Timo clenched his jaw. “Yes, I am—”

“No. She’s right. You’re not,” Nico spoke up, quickly interrupting you both. “But you are getting a bodyguard. Just to take precautions until we confirm whether you’re a target or if you just happened to be at the targeted places by chance. Maybe having another pair of eyes around you, someone who’s vigilant, will be insightful.” 

“I’m not five, Nico, I can take care of myself,” you insisted, your arms crossed over your chest. “A babysitter isn’t going to do anything other than be a nuisance.” 

“The bodyguard,” Nico corrected with a pointed look. “Is necessary and will not be negotiated.” 

“This is ridiculous,” you said to him. 

“And he’s going to be with you around the clock, always by your side,” Nico said. 

Your nose scrunched up. “No.” 

“Every shopping trip, every little run into town,” Nico continued. 

You could feel your skin prickling. “Nico—

“And I’m moving him into your room to sleep, armed and ready just in case,” Nico insisted. 

This time it was Timo who stepped in. “Woah, wait a second—”

“And I know the perfect guy,” Nico grinned. “Marino will be your bodyguard.” 

It was like a switch flipped in your head, your irritance and fight disappearing as you grinned at him. “Okay.” 

“I—” Timo narrowed his eyes at you. “Why are you suddenly okay with this?” 

“Because I know how to listen to my boss, Timmy, you should try it some time,” you grinned at your brother, patting his shoulder before you sauntered out of the office. 

“Stop calling me that,” Timo groaned as he followed you out. 

Jesper waited a few moments before your voices were clearly down the hall. “You did that just to stir some drama, didn’t you?” 

“Yup,” Nico answered quite happily. 

“Thank god, everyone was sick of the pining puppy dog eyes,” Jack grumbled from the spot on Nico’s desk he was sitting on. 

…

You had known John Marino for as long as you had been with the Devils. 

He was quieter than the rest, happy to linger in the corners of the room and observe everyone. It makes sense why Nico had chosen him as the role of your bodyguard, it was John’s nature to notice things most people missed. But, ultimately, it confused the fuck out of you. 

Because for as long as you had known John, you were also certain the boy didn’t like you. 

You could count on one hand the amount of conversations you shared with the boy, and even those conversations lasted thirty seconds at most. And for a majority of those thirty seconds, it was you talking and him saying three words in response, if even that.

You had eventually accepted the fact that some personalities just clashed, that maybe you were too loud or too energetic or too extroverted for John’s liking. You tried to tell yourself you were okay with it because, at the end of the day, he was still polite and curt with you. 

But you would be lying if you said a small part of you wasn’t offended that you were nothing more than a glorified acquaintance with John Marino. 

So really, it shouldn’t have been a surprise to anyone that you were going to use the next few weeks with him to get him to like you. Or figure out what the hell his deal was. 

“You think John hates you?” Dawson repeated, like that was the detail he couldn’t seem to wrap his head around in your whole plan. 

“Hate is a strong word,” you said in response. “I’m simply going to get him to come out of his shell a little. With me specifically.” 

“Not the kinda coming he wants to do with you,” Dawson muttered under his breath. 

“What was that?” 

“Nothing!” Dawson quickly cleared his throat. He turned his gaze back towards the corridor the two of you were currently walking down. “How do you plan to get him out of his shell?”

“I don’t need a strategy to make friends,” you mused, grinning a little when the boy rolled his eyes in response. “My plan is to not have a plan. I am sure with the time spent together, he will eventually open up.”

“That still sounds like a strategy,” Dawson commented but you didn’t get the chance to reply, the door to Nico’s office swinging open and a beaming Nico taking the focus of your attention instead.

“Candy, brilliant, you’re here!” 

You blinked. “Yes, you asked me to be. You literally sent me a text ten minutes ago—” 

“Anyways!” Nico spun around, still grinning a concerning amount as he wandered back into the office, a few of the other boys already inside. “I don’t like the idea of waiting around for another attack to get answers.”

Jesper raised his brows. “Meaning?” 

“Meaning I want both attacks investigated separately so we can see if there are any dots joining,” Nico stated simply, leaning against his desk. “Bratter, you and Jack are on warehouse duty. I want to know everyone who stepped foot in that place in the last month.”

“Bit hard to do when the cameras blew up with the building but sure,” Jack grumbled.

“Candy,” Nico’s eyes shifted to you. “You and John will be on the bakery.”

“Is it really a good idea to send her back to the bakery?” Timo interrupted, stepping forward. 

“I’m not ignoring it for the rest of my life because of one attack,” you told him. “Me and Johnny can handle it.”

“Johnny?” Timo repeated incredulously before spinning around to find John, who was standing near the back of the room with a blank expression on his face. “Since when were you Johnny?” 

John only shrugged in response.

Timo’s eyes narrowed. 

“As I was saying,” Nico spoke up again. “This is how we are doing it.”

“What about the rest of us?” Timo asked.

“You have other jobs to do,” Nico said simply. “I am not putting our lives on hold over a few attacks. We continue everything else like normal. I don’t want it to get out that we are concerned over these attacks, they will make us look weak.”

Jonas’ lips twitched upwards. “And god forbid you look weak before you have the chance to woo the Rangers—”

Nico had elbowed him in the gut before he managed to finish that sentence.

…

“You’re staring.” 

You blinked, wondering for a few moments if you had imagined the boy speaking. The two of you had been sitting in your room for the better part of the last two hours, combing through the security footage from the bakery that Peter had sent you. 

And in that time, John had said two words, a simple ‘on it’ when you sent him half of the security footage to watch over.

Somewhere in that time, you found yourself sitting against your headboard, watching the boy sitting at your desk with narrowed eyes like you would somehow be able to figure him out through observation. 

Clearly, that didn’t work very well.

“Staring is considered a compliment,” you replied, watching the way his lips twitched upwards. You waited for him to turn around and go back to the footage, but you were surprised when he leaned back in his seat to look at you. 

“And are you?” He questioned, watching your head tilt in confusion. “Complimenting me?” 

“No,” you shook your head. “I’m wondering why you’re here.” 

John raised his brows. “You are aware you were shot a few weeks ago, right?” 

“Yes but you didn’t have to say yes to Nico,” you pointed out. 

John stared back at you for a few moments before he spoke. “I wanted to, Candy.” 

He didn’t give you the chance to reply before he turned back around, his focus returning to the hours of security footage he had been watching minutes before.

…

It took a little over three days to watch all the footage from the bakery’s security cameras just for it to come up with no leads. The warehouse was no better, with no real evidence or clues on who set up the attack. 

Nico was trying to keep a brave face and pretend like it wasn’t that big of a deal but you could see that it was unsettling him. Someone clearly had a target on the Devils’ back and the reason was unclear, which made it ten times harder to anticipate what the next move would be. And with the deal with the Rangers coming up, the last thing any of you needed was a weakness to be exposed. 

“We will figure it out,” Nico kept saying whenever it was questioned by some of the other members, the ones not as privy to the inner circle talks in his study late at night. “We will be fine.” 

You were pretty sure he was trying to convince himself of that fact too.

“We need to do something,” you said around a week after the investigation into the attacks began, lying on your bed with your head hanging over the edge. “How the fuck have we not found anything?” 

“Because whoever is behind it is good at covering their tracks?” Jack suggested from his spot beside you on the bed.

“Or because we are trying to catch them with little to no evidence,” John added, standing by the door of your room with his hands obediently behind his back. “You know, since everything was either burned or destroyed or has a million bullet holes in it.”

“Will you sit down? You’re stressing me out,” you muttered to him.

“No,” John stated simply.

Jack snorted. “He is jealous I took the bed.”

“I am not.” 

Jack shot you a knowing look. “He totally is.”

“There has to be something else,” you sighed, your eyes fixed on the massive pile of clothes you had thrown over the back of your desk chair. John had wrinkled his nose at all the sequins and glitter, a look which soured when you suggested he add some colour to his outfits. The constant all black was starting to make you feel angsty. 

“We’ve tried everything, bar kidnapping random people off the street and interrogating them,” John retorted.

“My plan was way more nuanced than that,” Jack insisted. “Stop making it sound dumb.”

“He can’t make it sound dumb if it is dumb,” you pointed out.

John’s lips twitched upwards.

Jack scoffed. “Since when did you two agree with each other?”

“Since you became an easy target,” you retorted, hissing when the boy reached over to pinch your arm. “Ouch, asshole.” 

“It was deserved,” Jack insisted.

You turned your head to look at John. “I thought my bodyguard was meant to protect me.” 

“Because Jack and his noodle arms are such a big threat,” John deadpanned.

Jack quickly sat up in bed. “Woah, now wait a second—” 

“It would take more than a second to fix your noodle arms.” 

Jack narrowed his eyes at the boy. “I do not know why Luke likes you so much.”

John shrugged in response. 

“Is Peter’s shop still under renovation?” You questioned, interrupting whatever weird staring contest the two of them were doing. The mention of his friend was enough for Jack to tear his eyes away from John to focus on you instead. 

“What? Yeah, they are,” he nodded with his lips turned down. “Why?” 

“Good,” was the only response you gave, quickly swinging your legs over the side of the bed as you sat up. Both boys looked at you with confused expressions, watching as you hooked the straps of your heels on one finger and reached for one of your coats with the other hand. 

John straightened. “What are you—”

“Hurry up, Johnny, we are leaving in five,” you stated, grinning when you noticed him let out a heavy sigh like he accepted the fact he wasn’t getting answers from you.

“What about me?” Jack called out.

“Don’t know and don’t care!” 

…

Peter’s Bakery was a cute and quaint shop that didn’t stand out amongst the others on the street. It fit right in with the friendly, homely neighbourhood and was a huge hit with the locals. It was a simple place, hidden right in plain sight. 

Despite the connection to the Devils, there was no reason for it to be targeted in an attack. 

“Eighty percent of Peter’s customers are locals,” you told John as you walked towards the bakery, your heels clicking against the cement in a melodic pattern. It was comforting, something to hold onto as memories of the last time you were here flooded to the front of your mind.

“So?” John questioned, his eyes hidden behind the sunglasses he had slipped on before the two of you left the house. You could bet your bottom dollar that he was already analysing everything, probably had been since the second the two of you got out of the car.

“Ten percent are people from surrounding areas and the remaining ten are tourists from states excluding the ones in the immediate surrounding area,” you continued. “And the chances of the attacker being a local is slim to none so—”

“You think the person behind all this visited the bakery before the attack?” John finished for you.

“Bingo, Johnny,” you grinned at the boy, watching as he simply pressed his lips together. 

“And you think he is just going to remember every customer he interacted with?” John asked, the judgement clear from his voice. “We already combed through the CCTV footage, we know there was nothing weird—”

“That was on camera,” you pointed out. “They could have given a different vibe in person.” 

“A different vibe?” John repeated in a dubious tone.

“I don’t see you jumping with any better ideas,” you retorted as the boy just sighed in response. “Cheer up, Johnny, the ever present frown is going to give you wrinkles.” 

John didn’t get the chance to even try and respond before you were pushing the door to the bakery open. Despite the damage to the shop, the bell above the door remained intact and dinged as the two of you walked in. It was a mess, with cans of paints and planks of wood and tools sprawled over the place, but the vague smell of cookies still somehow lingered in the air. 

“Sorry, we are closed for—oh,” Peter poked his head out from the back of the store, his lips twisting into a smile when he saw you. “Candy, I didn’t know you were stopping by.” 

“We just had a few questions for Jersey’s favourite baker,” you smiled innocently. 

“We?” Peter repeated, his eyes glancing past your shoulder like he was noticing John for the first time. A look passed over his face before he cleared his throat. “Marino.”

“Perry.” 

“It’s Peter.”

“Whoops.”

“Play nice,” you pouted, lightly elbowing John’s side before turning your smiling face back to Peter. “Excuse him, he gets pissy if he misses his afternoon nap.”

John’s jaw clenched as Peter laughed. 

“Come on in,” Peter smiled back. “I’m all yours for the next hour before the builders come back from their lunch break.”

“How convenient,” John murmured under his breath, lifting his hands in mock surrender as you shot him a look before the both of you followed him into the back of the store. 

…

“So, that was useless.” 

“No surprise there.” 

Your eyes narrowed into a glare, your mood only souring further when you found the boy wasn’t even looking back at you. His gaze seemed to be glued ahead, his jaw still clenched like it had been the whole time you had been in the bakery.

“What is your problem?” You asked, wrapping your coat further around your body as the wind began to pick up. “You have been in an awful mood since we arrived.”

“I’ve been completely normal,” John answered. Those stupid sunglasses on his face were starting to piss you off. 

“You have not,” you scoffed, shaking your head. “You were fine joking around with Jack back in the house but the second we left, you were in a downright horrible mood—hey!”

“Keep your voice down,” John grumbled, his hand now locked around your arm as he tugged you closer to his side. 

You let out a snort of laughter. “You’re funny if you think—”

“Someone has been following us since we left the bakery,” John said, his voice low and barely a muscle on his face moving as he spoke. “Lower your voice and follow me.” 

And for once, you listened. 

There was a growing temptation to look back. To just take a peek over your shoulder and see the face of the person who was following you, to try and get an idea of who it was. There was no coincidence that the two of you were being followed the second you left the bakery, the same goddamn place you were first attacked. 

You wondered if it was the same person. You wonder if they were the one that shot the gun that hit you. You wondered if—

“You’re spiralling,” John’s voice cut through your thoughts.

“Am not,” you retorted, but it sounded weak to your own ears.

“Lie better,” John insisted, his hand tightening around your arm as he spoke. 

It was like you could hear the footsteps behind you now, like they were loud and clear the second John had pointed them out to you. When you sped up, so did they. When you slowed down, so did they. They were matching your moves and following the two of you and the car was too far away and you couldn’t call for backup without alerting the person and—

“Shhhh, breathe for me.” 

You blinked before you even realised what was happening. Torn out of your own spiralling thoughts, you found yourself pressed against a wall, the cold bricks jabbing into your back but the comfort was the least of your problems. John was pressed up against you, not an inch of you exposed to the rest of the world as he kept you pinned between him and the wall.

You lifted your head to watch his side profile, watch the way he kept his eyes on the entryway to the alley he had pulled you down before you even realised what was happening. You watched the way his cheeks flushed pink, probably from the nipping weather (though it was hard to care about that when he was like a furnace against you). You watched the way he looked so focused, so in his element. 

It was hard to doubt Nico’s choice when you were seeing John do just what he did best.

“I think it’s all clear,” he eventually said, breaking the silence that had been lingering since he dragged you into the alley.

You swallowed harshly. “You sure?” 

“Have I given you any reason to doubt I wouldn’t take your safety seriously?” John asked, turning his head so he was finally looking at you. You watched him closely, watched the way his eyes darted over your face and lingered on your lips for a moment too long before returning to your eyes.

“No,” you replied honestly.

“Then there’s your answer,” he murmured, lingering for a few moments before he took a step back. “Let’s go back to the house.”

You tried not to think about how cold you were the second he stepped away. 

…

Things were starting to heat up with the Rangers deal.

Which, considering the faces of everyone in Nico’s study at that current moment, was incredibly fucking shocking. 

“You’re actually going through with it?” Jesper was the one to speak first, staring at Nico with wide eyes. “I thought we were just entertaining them to see what they want.” 

“Yes, and I listened and I agreed to it,” Nico said as he leaned back in his chair. “So we are going forth with the deal.”

“We have been fighting them for years,” Jack piped in, his brows furrowed together like he was trying to piece together a deal he didn’t even know the terms of fully. You weren’t even sure Nico knew the details of the deal yet. 

“Exactly,” Nico nodded. “And look how much we have lost, both of us. It’s time to turn a new leaf.” 

Jack flinched. 

You pressed a hand between the blades of his shoulders, leaving it there until you could feel the boy slowly start to relax under your touch.

“This isn’t sustainable for either of us,” Nico continued, though it was softer this time. “We need to start thinking about what’s best for the Devils.”

“And buddying up with the Rangers is the solution?” Jonas asked, no judgement in his voice (yet). Just curiosity.

“Not just with them,” Nico admitted. “I want to start solidifying our relationships.” 

And it was that exact reason that Nico decided to send you to Pittsburgh. 

The members of the Steel City mob were not ones the Devils knew well, nor did they have much of a history with. It was good, in the sense that there was no awkward bad blood to get over (read: like the current Rangers deal Nico was trying to pull). But it also meant there was no reason for either group to want a relationship.

Not unless you were Nico Hischier and Sidney Crosby, suddenly interested in creating an alliance that would somehow benefit both groups involved.

It was weird travelling with John. Usually when Nico sent you on missions like this, you were alone. On the off chance you needed back up, it would be Timo or Dawson or Jack by your side. It should have felt unsettling to have John, but it was comforting.

It was comforting to know he had your back, that you didn’t have to spend the whole trip looking over your shoulder. 

And it was better than when one of the others were with you. John let you take control, let you do the talking, let you sit across from Sidney and say what you wanted without trying to cut in or take over the conversation. 

It was comforting but also such a mindfuck to know this was all from the same boy who practically avoided you until a few weeks ago.

Where was this John before?

All in all, the meeting went well. There was still a lot to discuss, to negotiate, to consider. But it was the start to an alliance between the Devils and the Penguins, a welcome and positive start. And that was more than enough for an overnight trip. Sidney had even been kind enough to offer a place in one of the countless establishments owned by the Penguins.

“Two rooms?” He said like it was a nicety, rather than a fact he already knew.

“One,” John corrected, his face remaining blank as he spoke. But there was a hint of ‘no further argument’ in his voice.

Sidney’s lips twitched upwards. “One it is, then.” 

…

The hotel room was nice. More than nice, if you were being completely honest. 

It felt far too fancy for a single night’s stay but you assumed the Penguins were wanting to keep the good relationship going, to show they were serious, to show how well they could treat those they shared a good alliance with. It felt more like a studio apartment than a hotel room.

And despite it all, there was only one bed.

It had taken around thirty minutes of arguing before John accepted that the bed was large enough for you both to share for the night. He had been insistent he could use the couch by the window, that it was big and comfy enough for him. 

It made you want to scream. 

You didn’t get it. You really didn’t fucking get it. 

If someone had asked you a few months ago, you would have bet your life on the fact that John didn’t like you. He was clearly quite quiet and reserved, preferring to keep to himself. You would have assumed the reasons he stayed away from you were just that—that you were too loud, too out there, too flashy.

And then he became your bodyguard. And there were these moments where you thought you were seeing a different John, a John that you could get along with. A John that would maybe even be able to handle how loud and out there and flashy you were.

Until moments like this, moments where it felt like he would rather be anywhere but beside you. Where it felt like he was here out of obligation because of Nico’s orders. 

“Why do you hate me?” 

It had been over an hour since the two of you turned the lights off and settled down for the night. If you were being honest, you assumed he had fallen asleep a while ago but it still hadn’t stopped you from blurting the question out into the dark room, to get it off your chest before you felt like you would explode.

You hadn’t expected to feel him tense up beside you. You hadn’t expected him to still be awake.

“What?” 

You remained silent.

You could hear shuffling from his side of the bed. You wondered if he was turning to face you. You couldn’t bring yourself to look.

“Candy,” John said, his voice heavy with an emotion you couldn’t quite pinpoint. “What makes you think I hate you?”

“Because what else am I to think?” You asked, your voice barely above a whisper as you spoke. “You ignored me before this, before Nico told you to watch over me. You barely said three words to me in the years I have been here and—”

You cut yourself off. The silence remained for a few minutes and you wondered if he had genuinely fallen asleep in that time. You still couldn’t bring yourself to look.

“I don’t hate you,” John whispered. “I never did.” 

You let out a shaky breath.

“You were just so…you,” John confessed. “It was intimidating. I guess I didn’t think I was interesting enough.” 

You frowned. “What?” 

“I never said my reason made sense,” John retorted and you couldn’t help but snort a little. “I promise that I never hated you, Candy. Nobody could hate you.” 

You swallowed. “And I’m meant to believe that?” 

“I would never lie to you,” John said confidently. “Never have and never will.”

“Okay,” you whispered as you reached your hand back. It took a few seconds of patting the space between you both before you found his hand and gave it a small squeeze. “I don’t hate you either.”

“That’s reassuring.” 

“Goodnight, Johnny.” 

“Goodnight, Candy.” 

…

“We think we have found a link between the attacks.” 

“We?” 

“Apologies,” Nico corrected, letting out a sigh as Jesper glared at the side of his head. “Jesper thinks he has found a link.” 

“It’s a guess,” Jesper admitted after a few moments as the lot of you surrounded the map that was currently sprawled out over the length of Nico’s desk. “But it’s better than nothing.” 

“What makes you think they will even attack again?” Jonas questioned as he glanced between the circled locations with a frown.

“We don’t,” Nico answered.

“Well, we can assume they will try again considering none of the other attacks ended with what they wanted,” Jack spoke up, catching your eye as he sheepishly shrugged. “Sorry, Candy.”

Timo’s frown deepened.

“Each of these locations would fit their agenda,” Jesper said as he rapped his knuckles against the map before frowning. “If we have guessed their agenda correctly.”

“You will have,” you assured, squeezing the blond’s shoulder with a smile. “Good job, Bratter.” 

“We are going to have these locations on a constant patrol for the next week,” Nico said, frowning down at the map like he was already organising the patrol schedule in his head (even though Jonas would be the one to have a printed and laminated version on the notice board in the foyer by that very evening). “We are due another attack soon, if these people are sticking to a schedule.” 

“Dibs the club by the Italian place,” you spoke up, flashing Jack a grin where he let out an exaggerated groan. “Their garlic bread would be the perfect stakeout snack.” 

Nico opened his mouth but Timo was already talking before he had the chance to say anything.

“What makes you think you’re a part of this?” Timo asked with a frown.

You raised your brows. “Maybe the fact I am in this room right now.”

“No,” Timo shook his head. “Absolutely not. You’re not getting involved in this.”

“Timo—”

“You are one of their targets,” Timo gritted out between clenched teeth. “It would be fucking stupid to put you on patrol. We may as well hand you over on a silver platter.”

“You’re being dramatic,” you said. “I’ll be with John—”

“No, I am being realistic,” Timo corrected. “You’re staying behind. End of discussion.” 

You could feel your temper starting to rise, feeling that itch under your skin that was biting to fight back. “What? You suddenly don’t trust John?” 

“No, I don’t trust you,” Timo retorted, the muscles in his jaw clenching. “You’re a liability, Candy.” 

You froze for a moment before scoffing. “Wow. Wow.”

To his credit, Timo did look apologetic the second the words settled in the room. “Candy, I didn’t—”

“What? You didn’t mean it?” You let out a humourless laugh, shaking your head. “No, you meant it, Timo. You meant it just like you meant it in San Jose and look where that got us.”

A look of hurt flashed across your brother’s face. “That’s not fair—”

“Whatever,” you gritted out, stepping back when he tried to reach you and turning on your heel before anyone else had the chance to say anything. You turned and walked towards the door and kept walking, blood roaring in your ears and tears welling in your eyes with every step. 

…

“Got room for one more?”

John didn’t wait for your response as he settled down on the spot beside you. He glanced around, letting out a hum of amusement as he took in the full brunt of your wardrobe. It had been its own room at one point, before you had taken it over and connected it to your bedroom. Now, it was full of rails and shelves bursting with clothes and shoes in so many colours that John was surprised his head didn’t hurt the second he walked in. 

He leaned back against one of the set of drawers, laughing a little when he felt a couple of feathers brushing against the back of his neck. “Do you actually wear feather boas?”

Your lips twitched upwards. “I got them when Luke and Curtis bet fifty bucks that I didn’t have them ‘in my collection’.” 

John smiled a little. “So you have them to help Luke in a bet?”

You shot him a look. “Don’t be silly, I was helping Curtis win the bet.” 

John did laugh this time, a proper laugh that caught you by surprise. Not that he seemed put off by the way you were blatantly staring at him. Instead, he nudged his shoulder against yours and just smiled. 

Your eyes fluttered shut as you leaned your head against his shoulder. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” John asked in a soft voice. 

“I just…” You trailed off, trying to find the words to describe everything racing on inside your head. “I was just so pissed off and he wasn’t listening to me and I…I knew it would hurt. I wanted it to hurt.” You paused. “Does that make me a bad person?” 

“Maybe,” John whispered. “But I don’t think he was a great person at that moment either.” 

“I know the San Jose stuff upsets him,” you whispered, pressing your cheek further into the fabric of his shirt until his cologne and the vague scent of fabric softener was the only thing you could focus on. “He regrets it every day. He regrets that he left me behind that day, that he thought I was too much of a liability to go away with him.” 

John pressed his cheek against the top of your head. “What happened in San Jose wasn’t your fault or his. It was them. It was the Sharks and their twisted morals over there and—” 

“I’m his sister and I almost died because of a decision he made,” you whispered, your voice cracking as you spoke. “He will always blame himself, even if no one else thinks it. Even if he is the reason I’m alive now and we got out of there.”

John didn’t say anything. 

“Just like I will always blame myself for trusting them blindly,” you muttered, swallowing the words that felt like they were stuck in the back of your throat. “I forgot the basic rules of this life. I forgot then and I forgot when I was at Peter’s when the attack happened and—” 

“Candy,” John murmured, his arm winding around your body and pulling you further into his side. “It wasn’t your fault.” 

You pressed your face further into him, your tears beginning to soak the shirt he was wearing but he didn’t care. 

“You’re a force to be reckoned with, Candy,” John continued, his lips pressed against the top of your head as he left a lingering kiss. “None of it was your fault.”

You stayed silent. 

“And you’re not a bad person. You’re allowed to get angry and upset. You’re allowed to lash out.” John pressed another kiss to your forehead. “Your brother loves you and nothing will ever change that.”

John held you in his arms as the two of you sat on the floor of your wardrobe. He held you as you cried and cried until you couldn’t anymore. He held you until keeping your eyes open was too much. And then he carried you to bed, taking his spot in your room and letting the silence settle over the room until the next morning. 

The apology from Timo didn’t really come in the form of words, maybe because you and your brother both knew that more than words were needed. It was at the next Devils Sunday dinner. He didn’t say anything as he placed a box on your plate (a box you recognised with the logo of Peter’s Bakery) and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. 

“We will never let them win,” he murmured, the same words he whispered that fateful night in San Jose before the two of you escaped. 

“Never,” you whispered back.

Timo just smiled, soft and genuine and just as forgiving as it was apologetic, before he settled down in his spot at the table.

He didn’t even say anything about John’s arm wrapped around the back of your chair for the duration of the whole dinner.

…

The days passed and still no attack came.

The deal with the Rangers was becoming more serious. Not that you doubted Nico’s word at all. It was just…rivalry against the Rangers was all you had known. You heard whispers about them when you were on the west coast. You saw the extent of their violence when you and Timo fled to New Jersey. 

It was hard to imagine a life where that violence wasn’t instigated, wasn’t retaliated against, wasn’t sought out. 

“It will work.” 

You raised your brows, watching the way Nico was nodding to himself as he glanced over the papers in front of him. “Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” 

Jack snorted. “More like Jesper. He doesn’t think it’s a good idea.” 

“He doesn’t trust them,” Nico corrected.

 “And, to be fair, they have given us no reason to trust them,” you added.

“Just as much as they should trust us,” John deadpanned, once again refusing to sit down as he stood left to your chair. 

“They need it as much as we do,” Nico pointed out. 

“What stock could they possibly need from us?” You questioned, watching the way the boy paused before clearing his throat. Your eyes narrowed at your boss, like it would be enough to see the thoughts whirling around in his head. “Nico, what did you agree to?” 

Nico let out a sigh, leaning back in his chair. “A marriage.” 

Jack blinked.

“A marriage?” You repeated, hissing. “Are you crazy? You want to join us to them forever like that?” 

“It’s an alliance, Candy,” Nico stated simply. “The idea is that it would be long lasting.” 

“But a marriage, Nico,” you shook your head. “They wouldn’t just accept a random marriage, not unless Trouba thought he could find a way to get into the top circle. Who did you offer up?” 

“Why? You offering yourself?” Jack asked, his lips twitching upwards. 

But the joke fell flat when John stepped forward, stepped closer to you. “No. She’s not.” 

Your eyes widened a little at the biting tone in his voice. “Hey—”

“You are not marrying any of them,” John gritted out through clenched teeth. “I refuse.” 

“You refuse?” You repeated, your head tilting as you turned to look at the boy in disbelief. “Pretty sure it’s my decision, Johnny.”

“Yeah, Johnny,” Jack said, his eyes glittering in amusement. Not that you could see it, with your focus now turned to the other boy. But John could see it. He could see it and could see the way Jack was actively holding back his laughter. “If Candy wants to marry one of Trouba’s men, then who are we to stop her?” 

John’s jaw clenched, an emotion you couldn’t quite read shining in his eyes. “No.” 

Nico sighed deeply.

Jack snorted. “You’re not even being subtle about it, bud.” 

You whirled around. “Subtle about what?” 

Jack simply lifted his hands in mock surrender. 

You turned back to look at John, a mix of emotions flooding through you when he failed to meet your eyes. “I thought you never lied to me.” 

“I’m not lying,” John said, his eyes locked on Jack, who was beaming in response. 

“No, he’s just omitting to tell the truth,” Jack retorted.

“Jack,” Nico said in a warning voice.

“Oh, come on,” Jack whined, turning to pout at the older boy. “We all know John is just—” 

“Enough,” Nico interrupted, shaking his head. “Go to Peter’s.” 

Jack frowned. “What?”

“I’m telling you right now to go stake out at Peter’s tonight,” Nico said—or, more accurately, commanded. “I want you to stick to the post for the rest of the night.” 

Jack opened his mouth to argue but noted the glare Nico was sending him and—smartly—decided to keep his mouth shut. He glanced between you and John, muttering something under his breath before he jumped off his spot on the desk and made his way towards the door.

“And just to be clear,” Nico spoke up before Jack could leave the room. “Candy is not the one marrying a Ranger. None of you are.”

John’s brows furrowed together. “So who is?”

“Me.”

…

You hadn’t said a word to John since the two of you left Nico’s study. 

It was one thing to make a deal with the Rangers. It was another for that deal to include an arranged marriage, something that seemed so archaic and old-fashioned for Nico’s taste. But for Nico himself to be involved? To tie himself to the Rangers in such a way? 

It was fucking mind-blowing.

You could only imagine the kind of girl the Rangers would offer to play the part of Nico Hischier’s wife.

But despite the revelation, your mind was reeling for a very different reason. And said reason happened to be just behind you, dressed in all black (no surprise there) and looking like a damn kicked puppy at the silent treatment you had been giving him.

John watched you with careful eyes as you swung the door to your bedroom open, barely acknowledging the small ‘ooft’ he let out when the rebound of the door almost hit him in the face. 

“Candy–” John started the second the door clicked shut behind him.

But you barely gave him the chance to continue, already spinning around on your heel to glare at him. “Do not even try it.” 

“I meant what I said when I told you I would never lie to you,” John said, staying rooted in his spot even though his stomach twisted at the hurt written across your face. “I have never lied to you. I swear on my life.” 

You watched him for a few moments, a muscle in your jaw ticking before you asked him something that completely caught him off guard. 

“Why did you take this job?”

John blinked. “What?”

“Why did you take this job?” You repeated, keeping your eyes locked on him as you took a step closer. 

“You know why,” John said, swallowing harshly. “You were a target and Nico appointed me as your bodyguard—”

“That’s not the only reason,” you said bluntly. “There is more to it. You know it. Jack knows it. Hell, everyone but me seems to know it. So what is the reason?” 

John let out a breath. “I can’t tell you.” 

You took another step towards him, eyes narrowed in determination. “Can’t or won’t?” 

John could feel his chest tightening. “Candy, please.” 

“You may not have been lying before but you weren’t telling me the truth,” you questioned, pausing when you were right in front of him. “Why did you take this job?” 

John shook his head.

“John,” you rasped. “Tell me.” 

He kept shaking his head. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because it will change nothing!” John frowned a little, clearing his throat as he lowered his voice. “Because I can’t do anything about it.” 

You blinked, confused. “What?” 

“Can we please just drop this?” John whispered, his voice cracking a little. 

“No,” you shook your head, determined. “What won’t it change?” 

John pressed his lips together.

You sighed. “Johnny—”

“Us,” John finally muttered out. “It won’t change us. It won’t change how I feel about you. It won’t change the fact that you’re you and you’re Timo’s sister and I shouldn’t want you but I really fucking do and—”

“Kiss me.”

John blinked, stuttering over his choked breath. “Candy, you don’t mean that.”

“Did I stutter?” You retorted.

“We can’t,” John tried again, but you could see his resolve crumbling. You could see the way his eyes dropped to your lips, the way they lingered on your mouth. 

“Says who?” You asked, watching as the boy failed to find a response. “Kiss me, Johnny.”

John waited one, two, three seconds before he surged forward, before his hands cupped your face and his lips were pressed against yours with a passion you had never experienced before. You barely had a chance to grip his shirt before he was tugging you closer, before he was tilting his head and deepening the kiss and moaning against your lips like it was the hottest thing he had ever done in his life.

In some ways, it was. 

Years of fantasies and feelings and thoughts and dreams lead to this moment. Years of John keeping his feelings hidden, keeping them locked away, thinking he never stood a chance. Years of him hopelessly pining and wanting and wishing. Years of just loving you just how you were. 

His fingers entangled themselves in your hair, tilting your head to match his pace as his other hand slid down to wind around your waist and pull you closer. He heard the little gasp you let out, felt the way you fisted the fabric of his shirt, listened to the little breathless ‘Johnny’ you sighed against his lips.

He felt feral. 

He hadn’t even noticed you slowly leading him deeper into the room, step by step, until your knees hit the back of the bed and you were dragging him down with you. Only then did the last few minutes seem to hit him like a freight train. He pushed up onto his elbows, chest heaving with soft pants and face flushed as he stared down at you. 

“Candy—” He started but you quickly placed your finger over his lips..

“I want this. I want you. I don’t want to hear whatever noble bullshit you have been telling yourself to hold yourself back. I just want you, Johnny,” you said, breathing heavily as your eyes lingered on his kiss-swollen lips before returning to meet his gaze. “If you don’t want this, then I get that. But only if you don’t want this. Nothing to do with my brother or some bullshit sense of morality or the rest of this damn house.” 

John swallowed, lifting one hand to slowly push some hair away from your face and tuck it behind your ear. You waited with a bated breath, watching as his eyes took in every single detail of you before he leaned down to kiss you—sweeter, softer than before.

“I want you more than you could ever know,” he whispered against your lips, his thumb brushing against your cheek as he spoke.

“Kiss me again,” you murmured, pushing your cheek further into his touch.

“Whatever you want, Candy,” John murmured before leaning down to kiss you again. 

…

The attack happened three days later. 

It was anticipated, just not on a warehouse you were expecting. The knowledge that the pattern you thought you had noticed was actually false laid heavy on all your shoulders, as the realisation of something much bigger than any of you were anticipating settled. This went beyond a few targeted attacks, this went beyond you. 

This was the start of a war, and even if none of you wanted to say it out loud, you were all thinking it.

“What now?” Jack asked as you all stood around Nico’s study, staring helplessly at the map laid out on Nico’s desk.

“We prepare ourselves,” Nico said, his voice sounding heavy and tired. You didn’t even blame him. He had been keeping on a confident front, letting the others think that they had this all under control because he couldn’t spiral. He couldn’t let them all think there was a reason to panic. You could only imagine how much harder it was getting with each passing day, with each attack.

Jesper raised his brows. “So you’re breaking the deal with the Rangers?” 

“No,” Nico shook his head, letting out a long sigh. It had been a recurring argument between the two of them for the last few weeks. “If this means what we think it means, it would be more beneficial to us to have the Rangers as allies.” 

“Unless they are the ones behind it,” Jesper retorted.

“I’m going through with the deal and that’s final,” Nico said, raising his voice a little. It wasn’t a lot. But it was enough for everyone else in the room to fall silent. “And if you keep being pissy about it, I’ll make sure you sit next to Timo at the wedding.” 

Jesper gaped. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Nico’s eyes glimmered. “But I would.”

“Woah, why is that a bad thing?” Timo scoffed, looking between the two of them with a frown. “I’m a fucking delight.”

Suddenly, everyone else looked away. 

Timo’s frown deepened. “What? What is everyone not telling me?” 

It was at that very moment Luke walked through the door, foil packet rustling loudly as he shoved his hand in it and kicked the door closed behind him. He paused when he noted the tension in the room, glancing between everyone with pinched eyebrows.

“Damn, I didn’t know getting snacks for a team meeting was illegal.”

“Rusty!” Timo whirled around, his eyes gleaming. “Did they tell you too?” 

“Tell me what?” Luke questioned before his eyes widened. “Oh shit, they told you John finally grew a pair and made a move on Candy? Huh, you’re much calmer than I—”

“JOHN DID WHAT?!”

Luke paused, his lips parting in realisation. “Oh. Whoops.”

Timo whirled around to look at you and then John, seeming to finally notice the arm the boy had wrapped around your waist. He gasped loudly, shaking his head as he placed a hand on his chest. 

“And you all fucking knew? Oh god, the betrayal! It hurts! It physically hurts!” 

“I am not sitting beside that at the wedding,” Jesper said, shaking his head. “Look how dramatic he is being!”

“He will mellow out by the wedding,” Nico responded, looking far too amused by the theatrics playing out in the middle of his study. 

“It’s Timo. When the fuck as he ever mellowed out?” Jesper retorted with a scoff. 

You turned to find John watching your older brother with a pinched expression. It would have made you snort if you couldn’t feel the way he was gripping your hips, like he was ready to put you between him and your dramatic brother.

“Welcome to the family, Johnny.” 

John’s nose scrunched. “I take it all back.” 

You snorted. “Too late. No returns. You’re stuck with me.” 

“It’s not you I want to return,” John retorted, pulling you closer to him. “I’d do it all over again if I could be stuck with you for the rest of my life.” 

“Sap,” you grinned, looking far too pleased with his admission. “Even if you have to take on my brother?” 

John’s eyes softened as he turned to look at you. “Nothing could scare me away from you, baby. Nothing.”

You beamed. “Good, because you have about thirty seconds before Timo realises he has free will and a gun in his left holster.” 

There was a lot that was uncertain about the future, but you were pretty damn confident that John Marino was not one of them.

.

[harunayuuka2060]

Azul(?): What does this mean? Are you protecting them?

MC(?): The guests haven't violated any rules.

Azul(?): He was alone. Surely, that gives me the right to—

MC(?): It is forbidden to harm guests who have been following the rules. I urge you to be patient and wait for the hunt. *bows their head*

Azul(?): ...

Azul(?): I will let this slide for now. *glances at Kalim and Riddle before turning away*

Kalim: Wh-Whew... That was a close call...

Riddle: Kalim! What were you thinking, running off on your own?!

Kalim: Sorry... I heard a kid crying for help—

Riddle: We don’t have the luxury of worrying about anyone else right now! Do you understand?!

Kalim: Y-Yes...

Kalim: *glances at MC*

*Kalim saw the glint of concern dance in their eyes for a second, even as their expression remained stoic.*

Kalim: !

Riddle: Kalim!

Kalim: Y-Yes... I'm sorry...

Leona: The "hunt"?

Riddle: Yes. I wasn’t able to ask, but it seems we’ll all be killed on that day.

Azul: That’s all the more reason to escape this place.

Azul: But the question is... how?

The dorm leaders: ...

Malleus: We haven't fully explored our options yet.

Vil: Are you suggesting we conduct an investigation?

Malleus: If we remain isolated in this room, we won't be able to accomplish anything. Additionally, I think we are safest when we stay together in pairs.

Leona: That idea would be great, but the question is, would those doppelgangers just stand by while we roam this place?

Malleus: If push comes to shove, we’ll just have to eliminate them.

Idia: No, no. We're not doing that.

Leona: I agree with Radish Sprout here. Also, how are you so sure we can beat them, huh?

Malleus: Are you scared, Kingscholar?

Leona: Ha! Why? You think it’s baseless? Then why not ask Vil?

Malleus: Schoenheit?

Vil: ...

Vil: When no one was looking, Kalim’s doppelganger snuck up on me from behind.

*The room went silent.*

Azul: Why didn't you tell us this sooner, Vil-san?

Vil: I don’t see the point of it. However, we should be cautious. None of you noticed. He could’ve dragged me away, and it would’ve been too late.

The rest of them: ...

*Someone knocks on the door.*

Leona: Who is it?

MC(?): It's me.

Kalim: *opens the door*

Azul: Kalim— *sigh*—Nevermind.

Leona: What's your business here?

MC(?): ...

MC(?): These are not enough, but…

*MC(?) rolled up their sleeves, revealing small daggers embedded in the flesh of their arms. They stifled grunts of pain as they carefully pulled each one out.*

*The dorm leaders stared at them, horrified, and felt pity as they witnessed the scene.*

Vil: Potato...

MC(?): *blood still dripping from their arms*

MC(?): Please use these to protect yourselves.

Leona: Oi, Fake Herbivore, why are you doing this?

MC(?): ...

MC(?): There can't be two in the same world... One must die. I sincerely hope... it won't be any of you.

Leona(?): You should've been more generous with the weapons you offered. What could those little daggers possibly do, hm?

Leona(?): *has grabbed MC(?)'s hair*

Kalim(?): The hunt is approaching. Could it be that they've done this to make it more thrilling? *giggles*

Azul(?): In that case, this punishment is meaningless.

Malleus(?): I agree.

Leona(?): *shoves MC(?) to the ground, with Malleus(?) catching them*

MC(?): ...

Malleus(?): It's alright, my dearest. I understand that you still desire fairness.

MC(?): You are kind.

Azul(?): *looks displeased*

*Azul(?) dragged MC(?) to his room and started stabbing them, while they made no effort to resist.*

Azul(?): I'm angry...

Azul(?): Really... angry...

MC(?): I understand...

Azul(?): YOU DON'T!

MC(?): ...

Azul(?): *his voice softens* You... Your smile... Where did that go?

MC(?): ...

MC(?): I don't understand... what you're asking me.

Azul(?): ...

Azul(?): *releases them, his expression shifts back to its usual cold demeanor*

Azul(?): They will never escape this place. *leaving MC alone*

MC(?): ...

MC(?): I must hurry...

[redwinelew]

SAVE YOUR TEARS | LEWIS HAMILTON

type written fic (one shot)

pairing lewis hamilton x driver!reader

summary you need a distraction and your teammate is the perfect person for that

word count 3.7k

warnings 18+. smut. nsfw. porn with oh so little plot and even little feelings. unprotected sex. rough sex. emotional sex. prone bone then missionary (idk i tried), praise kink. hints of depression, self doubts etc etc idk lmk what i missed. english is not my first language.

author's note self-indulgent if u couldn't tell from the warnings. that's it. sorry.

masterlist

lewis didn't expect you to turn up in front of his hotel room tonight night, face wet with tears staining your cheeks, lips trembling as you held back a sob.

nor was he expecting you to ever utter these words to him.

"i need you to fuck me."

lewis' lips parted, unable to get any words out, too shocked by your sudden request. he has a million different questions appearing in his brain all at once. what the hell is happening? why are you crying? who did this to you? and why on god's green earth did you just ask him to— he couldn't even repeat it to himself. it didn't feel real, didn't even sound like you were asking. pleading, more like it, in pure desperation.

he calls your name softly, like he's trying to wake you up from a dream. his thick eyebrows tie together in confusion. "what are you—"

"please...." you cut him off, the last syllable getting more inaudible as it trails away. tears beginning to fill up your eyes again before they drop, reaching your jaw and fall to the floor.

lewis has never seen you like this, and he's pretty sure nobody else on the grid or the public did either. his teammate whom in his eyes, the one who always got her shit together. he's almost jealous at how composed you always presented yourself to be, on and off track, never letting any unwanted criticisms by fans or media from getting to you, always quick to shut them down cleverly. the last person anybody could ever take down, mentally.

then he realized, that he held you to such a high standard to the point where he had forgotten that you were still just a human. it's only a matter of time before you break and if lewis personally had his moments where he was at his lowest, he couldn't imagine being in your shoes right now.

everything immediately clicked for lewis right there and then. he had never invited a girl inside so fast, never undressed her so quickly.

"what's your safe word?" he asks, needing to know before he proceeds.

"pancake."

lewis nods. he was about to crash his lips against yours when you put your hand on his clothed chest to stop him firmly, almost clenching your hand on his shirt, head turn away slightly.

"no," you refused.

kissing means this would get personal. complicated. and you do not want complications in the future. this is not going to be a love-making session. this is going to be lewis fucking you hard until your eyes roll back and your vision turns white. until the thickness of his cock makes your hollow soul lights up again. until you feel alive from his hand around your throat.

nothing else.

and that's exactly what he's doing right now. no kissing. he immediately understood it from the minute you refused his lips, getting what this is going to be.

lewis' tattooed hand fists on your shirt hard as he avoids your lips and kisses your neck instead, finding those spots that make your knees buckle and focuses particularly on there. you remove his hair tie, and tangle your fingers with his braids. he groans, his hair a particular sensitive part on his body. his thick lips travel lower to lay kisses along your collarbone. no marks either, he doesn't need to be told that.

though for some reason he does not understand, it is suddenly quite hard to resist himself from leaving purple bites on your skin. not when he had someone like you in his arms whom he had found beautiful since the first time his eyes laid in you.

no, lewis tells himself silently. this is not about you. this is about her. she's struggling. there's a demon that she needs to defeat and she needs your help. so help her.

you find yourself walking in reverse as he advances towards you, before your back hits the soft mattress of his hotel bed.

"yes." you say, already breathless, letting him know this is exactly how you want it. no tip-toeing, no hesitation or being overly careful, because you trust him enough to know that he knows what he should and shouldn't do, or you wouldn't have knocked in his door. you might be mentally fragile, but not your body. you need him to get to work quickly, to get you out of the mess that is currently your mind right now. he doesn't need to be gentle, because all you desire is the exact opposite.

lewis does not respond. instead he takes off your shirt and bra, throwing them somewhere on his floor without caring where they land. you do the same with his. lewis climbs over you, leaving neither of you time to admire one another's half naked bodies. nothing to gawk over. this is not what you came here for and lewis was quick to understand that.

his lips were fast to attack your bare chest next. his tongue swirls over your nipple, coating it with his spit before sucking hard, creating sounds as lewd as your moans right now. he also groans silently, the vibration sending more waves of pleasure inside you. he lets you gather his braids to press his face harder on your breast while one of his hands went to grope on the other, flicking your already sensitive nipple before giving it the same attention with his tongue. your back arches, and you find yourself pressing both your thighs together, desperate for relief on your lower half.

he senses it and leaves your chest. he pulls down your pants next, then your panties. you catch the way he visibly swallows at the sight of your dripping pussy, his own cock starting to throb in need.

"tell me what you need," he asks breathlessly, his voice huskier than usual, making your walls clench around nothing.

"your fingers." you answer without hesitation. the rational part of your brain manages to slip through, making you wonder for a split second just what made you so bold tonight, demanding all sort of things you never even had the courage to ask anybody.

maybe it's demons in your head, the one you are desperate to get rid off so you are forcing yourself to do the absolute craziest, just to feel like your old self again.

lewis nods. part of him is still in disbelief over what is currently happening but he tries to leave it at the back of his head. you let him spread your legs with ease and he doesn't waste any time to slide his digit smoothly over your fold to gather your arousal, earning a sharp gasp from you. he spits on your cunt, his saliva mixes with your wetness before he pushes.

still he was careful, only using one finger for now. he's well aware of the thickness of his digits and not sure how much you can take if he immediately adds more.

"m-more." you're whimpering already and the sound goes straight to lewis' dick, forcing him to take a deep, shuddering breath in an attempt to calm his twitching cock.

but it's difficult. this is lewis hamilton, seven times formula 1 world champion. the greatest of all time. admire by billions. and yet when he has a pretty girl like you underneath him, at his mercy, your beautiful cunt clenching hard around his fingers, suddenly lewis is just a normal man. one who is not sure how much longer he can hold himself from claiming you all for himself.

lewis takes a deep breath. this is not about you, he tells himself again. you need to listen to her. give her what she needs. you can get any girl to come to your hotel room for fucking, and yet she only has you, the only man she clearly feels safe enough to ask of this.

"faster." you ask and lewis starts to deliver, pushing your legs apart even further before his hand picking up its pace, until the only sounds in the room are your ragged moans and the slickness of your cunt.

you are gorgeous. absolutely breathtaking, lewis thinks to himself. the way your face is flushed, sweat staining all over your face and neck. how your figure, hypnotizing as if it was blessed by aphrodite herself writhe underneath him, chasing that high. sinful moans and whimpers from your lips, enchanting his ears, making him curl his fingers until they find that one spot inside that makes you only whine louder, addicted into finding even more ways to earn those sounds from you. your legs part even wider as if not getting enough, silently begging for more than just his fingers.

"fuck...." lewis cannot help but groan. he sees the way your breath is getting shorter, more ragged. following his own impulses, lewis stops, withdrawing his hand from you.

you whine shamelessly at the sudden emptiness. you look up, watching lewis licking your arousal clean from his lips. the sight should be dirty, should make your pussy pulses in lust but instead your brain is protesting, head thrown back on the mattress in frustration. no, no, no, no, the brain says. you were far from reaching your peak since lewis had just started fingering you but you were at bliss at how preoccupied your mind was, having no room to think about anyting but his fingers inside you.

the insecurities starting to come back. the demon has gone back to work, playing in your ears and whispering doubts into you again.

maybe lewis is regretting this. he thinks you're sick in the head and he wants you to leave. he's going to tell the team—

"you're gonna come on my cock only."

oh—

oh.

you don't have time to be dumbfounded when lewis gets off the bed to remove his pants, eyes stay on yours. a hiss leaves his lips as he wraps his hand around himself, pumping his rock hard cock that already leaks with pre-cum while keeping his lustful gaze on you the entire time before he gets back to the bed to you.

your mouth almost waters at the visual. yes, you came to his hotel room, crying, begging him to fuck you. and yet it's unbelievable to see lewis like this. the champion, feared by the rest of the grid, respected by the whole wide world, is currently hard and throbbing in front of you. for you.

your cunt is wet again, pulsing around air thinking about just how he'd fit himself inside you but before you could do anything, he flips you flat onto your stomach. you yelp, caught off-guard by his sudden action. the mattress dips as his knees sink into it on either side of your body. he grabs his pillow before shoving it under your belly.

condom is on and when you feel his tip pressing against your entrance, you gasp silently, already gripping the sheets.

"we can stop if you want." he says, lowering his voice down to a softer tone, giving you a way out. he's willing to ignore the way his dick twitches, begging to be taken care of, if you desire to stop. but instead....

"n-no." you shake your head fast, voice shaky but with a hint of firmness behind it. "no, i don't want to stop. please."

"what do you need then? tell me exactly."

"i don't want to think. please, just— use me. i don't care. don't be gentle. i want it hard. i need it rough."

part of lewis regrets that he asked because holy fucking shit. sweet baby jesus. he doesn't recognize the sound that he makes, deep from his chest, filled with lust after hearing your dirty, desperate request.

on one hand, he's more than happy to fulfill your desire, knowing this is just going to be sex and nothing more. it's easier for the both of you in the future, knowing that this is a one time thing and absolutely no feelings would be involved.

but on the other hand, though lewis presents himself to the public and media as the calm and collected person you'd see on TV, but like every other man, he has his own wants and needs as well. and you have absolutely fucking idea what the hell you had just woken up inside him.

"fuck. fuck, you can't just fucking say that. you're fucking killing me, baby girl."

you moan at the nickname, then the volume becomes louder when you feel him pushing himself inside you slowly, one palm on a side of your head while the other is gripping your hip so fucking hard no doubt it'll bruised tomorrow.

you want it to bruise. and you know what you just asked of him. it's nothing like you had ever asked of a man before. to take you like a ragdoll for him to be used, to be toyed with whenever his please. to use you like you exist only and solely for his pleasure. because the thoughts that you are having about yourself are way worse. you want it to bruise, to hurt. you want to still be able to feel him for days. to have difficulties to walk so you will always be reminded of tonight. because at least your mind will be distracted from wandering to places you have been working so hard to avoid again.

lewis slides in easily but the stretch burns. you whine, fingers gripping the bedsheet tightly as you try to breathe properly in order to relax yourself so you can accommodate to his size, which is bigger than anyone you had ever taken. what he lacks in height, he certainly makes up for it in his length.

when he's fully inside, lewis gathers your hair before yanking it hard, making your neck arches back and you cry out. the pain in your scalp is weirdly delicious, combines with how he's making you feel so full having his dick deep inside, unmoving.

"say thank you." lewis demands, his tone no longer kind amd gentle like before, goosebumps prickle all over your skin. you never heard him using that kind of tone during work, never even imagine that he'd be the type to sound like that in bed. "thank me for fucking you."

"t-thank you."

"louder." he bottoms out before slamming into you hard, pulling a loud gasp from you.

"thank you!" you choke out.

lewis starts out slow at first, looking for the right pace. he remembers how you want it but he's not going to give it right away, out of care and of course pettiness.

but as he continues, he couldn't help but craving to hear more of those sweet bits of noises that you keep making. to hear the way your breath hitches at how he's filling you up to the brim, at how good he's fucking you.

lewis lowers his body, caging your body from behind but still careful not to crush you completely with his weight as his pace increases, ramming his cock inside you, his restraint getting thinner.

"take it. you want me to fuck you so bad? fucking take it. you asked for this." he grunts, and you whimper with no shame left in you. it's difficult to care, not when you could feel yourself getting dumber on his dick, which is exactly what you were asking for. and all this couldn't be more perfect.

lewis' movements grow harder, rougher by the minute. your moans mixed with his and the sound of his hips snapping against your ass echoes to the entire room. you wish you could be quiet, knowing that this whole hotel is rented by your entire team. but the way lewis is fucking you is making you do the exact opposite. you know he wouldn't want you to be quiet either, the mechanics be damned.

it's starting to be too much. nails digging into the bedsheet, you find your body inching forward. you are not sure if you are trying to run away or get closer to him but when lewis notices this, he grabs both your wrists, pinning them above your head. his teeth nibbles against a specific spot under your earlobe, pulling another whine out of you.

"you can take it. fuck— good girls take what they asked for. you can do it."

your cunt somehow gets even wetter with his filthy words, at how his accent thickens, voice gets deeper and more hoarse. your pussy shouldn't be squeezing around his dick at his praises, but it did. and the grunts he lets out making it all worth it.

when he hits that sweet spot inside you that no other man has ever quite managed to find, your eyes roll back in ecstasy. you gasp, tears starting to fall again at the sweet pleasure you're experiencing.

the sex is perfect, you know lewis wouldn't disappoint. but your demon is back, suddenly haunting you and making you feel terrible about yourself again.

"what the hell do you think you're doing? oh, that's right. you wasn't. you aren't. you're just a dumb bitch making herself even dumber on this pathetic cock. if only you could see yourself. absolutely shameless. what a whore. begging for this man to fuck you like you never seen a dick before. nothing will ever be the same ever again. he will never look you in the eyes, he'll think of you differently. why didn't you just—"

lewis suddenly stops.

the voices do too, and you are left in confusion. his grip on your wrist is gone now and you didn't even notice. you turn your head, only to see him pulling out.

no. oh, no. no, no, no. the voices were right. he's pulling away. he's regretting this. he's gonna ask you to leave, isn't he?

"can i turn you on your back?" he asks instead.

silence from you for a few seconds before you let out a quiet "what?" before lying on your back on your own. you remove the pillow from under your belly and set it aside.

"you were crying." he points out, brows furrowing as a shadow of concern illuminating his handsome face.

you swallow. you were hoping he wouldn't notice and even if he did, he'd thought that it was because you were enjoying yourself this. the fact that he knows it was the opposite tells you that he knows there are million different things running in your mind right now and you hate it.

"y-yeah but it wasn't— not because of you."

pause. "you want me to slow down?"

again, you shake your head fast.

"i'm okay. please." you hate how quickly you beg for him again.

it's lewis' turn to swallow, his eyes darken slightly at your pleading. he nods before crawling back to you, determined to pick up where he left off, trusting that you will know what to say if you truly desire for him to stop completely.

he grabs one of your legs, wrapping it around his waist before bringing the other to his shoulder. you bite your lip at the way his gaze never wavers from you, making you wonder if he fucks every other girls like this.

no. fuck. stop it. why do you even care?

lewis takes his dick before burying himself inside you once more slightly easier this time. you can't help but moan and thanking him again.

he is slow again at first but it isn't long before his cock slams back at the perfect pace, the sound of skin against skin once again filling up this suite. your whimper mixed with his hisses when you claw on his tattooed back, pulling him closer.

lewis leaves kisses all over your leg, wherever he could reach before his hand sneaks up to fiddle and squeeze your bouncing tits.

you didn't expect him to wipe your tears next.

your eyes locked with his. he continues fucking you but it feels as if time has stopped. he has that look behind the lust that screams sympathy. pity. you hate it but at the same you don't push his hand away, letting him cup your face momentarily. but even lewis doesn't let this gesture happens for too long, always remembering the point of having you underneath him.

it doesn't take long until you feel an invisible knot in your lower belly. you're panting now, almost reaching your peak. lewis realizes this and he fucks you harder, his hand travels down to rub your clit.

"i'm—"

"i know, sweetie," he says, breathless as well. he lowers his body, hiding his face in the crook of your neck and kissing it all over as he feels his own orgasm nearing. "come for me."

a few more thrusts, and you see white. your mouth is agape as you moan silently. his grunt and groans is music to your ears as he spills himself inside the condom.

silence.

lewis never realized how much he needed this as well. not just the sex, but the connection, which he knows is insane to find with someone like you in circumstances like this but what just happened felt different. to be so close with someone he actually knows and not just another girl he calls to his room, not even bother to learn her name.

before he could gather his breath, he feels your body underneath him slipping out. his eyes feels heavy but he tries to hold on, watching you collecting your clothes and dressing back up.

"what are you—"

"that was really great. thank you." was all you said before you left, in a hurry like you refuse to spend another minute in the same room with lewis.

while the man is still on the bed, naked. he hasn't even removed his condom yet. a sigh escapes his lips, lying flat on the bed before staring at the white ceiling.

he did what you asked for, and he could only hope that you would feel better tomorrow morning.

and yet why does his heart suddenly aches, not having you in his arms anymore?

[makeitworse]

he’s not me

˖ ࣪✦ su-bong (thanos) x f reader x dae-ho | nsfw dc, mdni

freshly single, you’re out on the town hunting a rebound from your shitty ex. but did you really think he’d let you get away that easy?

c/w: dark themes! drug addiction, very toxic relationship, violence & abuse, choking, possessiveness, manipulation, dub+noncon, cunnilingus, semi-public unprotected sex, degradation, so much angst a/n: sequel to this (or a standalone). this became so much longer than i intended.. there’s alot going on. i intentionally left the ending open. it’s your choice if they do/don’t eventually get back together

it’s your first night post-freedom from su-bong, and you couldn’t be more eager to sink your teeth into someone new.

you walk the crowded streets under fluorescent lights in the tiniest dress you own. the type you’d keep hidden in the back of your closet: su-bong wouldn’t like it. he’d ask who you think you’re trying to impress. well nevermind him. fuck him.

you spare a wink to every man that you checks you out. you don’t avoid brushing against them, you don’t even flinch when you feel their hand lingering a second too long as you pass by. you’re in need of a distraction tonight, and any man will do.

you float through bars, and the men gravitate to you. you’re not really listening when they tell you about their business or their crypto or all the women they have on speed-dial as if you’re meant to cum on the spot. the lines you did before you left the house had made it impossible to zone out.

you were chucking back any shots that slid your way. you were in a rush to drown out the thoughts of your ex creeping in.

you couldn’t hold glasses too long, else you’d remember the shatters that littered across the floor when he threw them. you couldn’t stare at doors too long, else you’d remember hearing his fist denting the wood and blood marking the spots. you said you were done being with him, and he showed you exactly why.

you take deep breaths to ground yourself. attention from old drunks at the bar was a shitty pre-game; you needed someone who could pound the memories of your ex out of you.

back on the street, you were already wobbling with the weight of all the please-fuck-me drinks they bought you - but who’s counting anyway? you bee-lined to the first place booming with flashing lights and music.

you’re leaning at the bar, squinting through the pulsing LED lights to scan the crowds. your breath hitches as a hand lands on your ass.

you face him, hoping to god it’s not you-know-who, and thank fucking christ it’s not. god, you need him out of your head already. this guy’s not hot enough to do the job though.

you tune him out as he talks your ear off, and you continue to check out the selection. your gaze lands on a man sitting at a table with his back turned to you, hair falling down his neck: nam-gyu?

you really couldn’t tell through all this rainbow flashbanging of the lights.

you watch him turn his head to the side, chatting to the person sitting next to him. his face is full with a warm smile, and focusing through all the music you could just hear the gentleness of his laugh. yeah that’s definitely not nam-gyu. but colour you attracted.

you honed in on him.

the few people around the table took notice of you, and not-nam-gyu turns in his stool to face you. he’s gorgeous.

you hadn’t noticed that his hair was actually half-up in a ponytail. strands fell around his face, and he eyed you curiously with that kind smile. you wanted to sit on it.

“don’t i know you?”

he shakes his head gently, seeming almost disappointed in himself for not recognising you back. you bite your lip and feign trying to put a name to his face.

“oh!” you point to him, “you’re the guy who’s taking me to the dance floor.”

whistles and gibes erupted around the table. he glances to his friends, then shyly back at you. your palm opens for him, and with a friend’s nudge to his shoulder, his hand’s on top of yours.

your fingers weave between each other’s as you lead him to the floor. as you squeeze through the dancing crowd, he plants a careful hand on your back and keeps you close to him, pushing through people first to open the way for you.

he turns to you, and your arms wrap around his shoulders. “what a gentleman.”

he just chuckles, cautiously keeping that singular hand on your back. you can’t say you’re used to such restraint for a man.

“i’m sorry, i haven’t asked your name.”

you coo it to him, pulling him in to press your bodies together. he gasps under his breath.

“dae-ho.” he smiles gently, flustered.

you sway together to the music, quickly progressing to jumping and hands in the air. you’re both giggling through the flashing lights. your cheeks hurt from smiling and your throat’s sore from singing - but you’re moving in sync, moving like you were made for one another.

you already felt a flame flickering in your belly, even with such little words. you’d long forgotten your main objective: now you just wanted to keep basking in dae-ho’s warmth. you wanted to know more than just his name.

you brush the tip of your nose against his and catch his breath come out shallow. your hands slowly drag his own down your back, and he almost resists with uncertainty. but you gaze up at him through half-lidded eyes: irises pools of desire. dae-ho succumbs, and his hands rest on your ass.

you loll your head forward, lips grazing his jaw. his chest falls with a deep exhale.

“i’m sorry, gorgeous. we can’t do anything while you’re in this state.”

you furrow your brow with genuine confusion. he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear in reassurance.

“i promise i want to, but you’re drunker than i am. it’s not right.”

oh. see, your ex wouldn’t have given one singular fuck about that. (there was one particular instance when you were sobbing after a bad trip, and he had the audacity to get hard.)

you cupped dae-hoe’s blushing cheek in your hand. “then can we see in the morning?”

your voice delivered needy. he notices, and sighs. you were a breathing moral dilemma for dae-ho. his first instinct wasn’t just taking what he wants. not like he would have.

“i shouldn’t let you go home alone like this, anyway.”

you smile together. you chuckle together. you want to kiss him. so you do.

but he pulls you away with a gentle hand on your cheek. you pout.

“i’ll make it up to you once you’re thinking clearly.”

a rough hand locks around your arm and snatches you from dae-ho. you knock into his chest and breathe in the smoke clinging to his shirt. you knew exactly who it was before you heard his annoying drawl.

“babygirllll, i’ve been looking for you.” su-bong squishes your cheeks with his hand under your chin, and you writhe in his grip. “you’ve had me so worried.”

dae-ho tensed upon seeing your resistance. “hey!-”

you watch su-bong stare daggers back at dae-ho. “and who the fuck are you?” he juts his jaw, taking a step closer. “huh??”

heads begin turning at his voice raising, with whispers among the crowd recognising him as a rapper. “fuck you think you’re doin’ all up on my girl, bro?”

“su-bong.” you hiss. he cocks his head ever-so-slightly in your direction, like he couldn’t care less about what you have to say. but you knew what he wanted.

“let’s just go.”

his hand lands on your waist, fingers digging in like he’s trying to break the skin. you don’t hide the fact that you wince. he mutters, “there’s my good girl.”

then he’s dragging you through the crowd, and you can’t bear to spare dae-ho a second glance.

su-bong kicks open a backdoor and shoves you out into a dark alleyway filled with dumpsters. he doesn’t spare you any time to observe your surroundings, because he leeches onto your face and invades your mouth with his tongue.

his knee pushes through your legs to dig up into your core. his long arms kept you in place, hold too tight to writhe free from.

su-bong’s touch seared your skin like acid - but it was a familiar sting. comforting even. you almost missed it.

your body submits to him. you kiss him back, you whine into his mouth. just like he wants. you won’t admit it to yourself, but you’re not even fully acting.

once you feel his grip loosen, you knee him in the crotch, shoving him away as he keels over.

su-bong’s groans of pain blends into a low chuckle. “fuck, you tease.”

“take a fucking hint, su-bong! we’re over!”

“mm,” he hums, like he’s not taking you seriously. he steps to you again. you step back. “you know much i need you. i can’t live without my pretty lady.”

“you’re a fucking cockblocker.”

su-bong bites his lip, eyes scanning over your outfit choice. that little dress that revealed a little too much.

“shit, baby,” his palms carelessly roamed all over your curves, ignoring you trying to push them away. “looks like you were just begging for my attention, huh?”

you scoff. “any man’s but yours.”

you catch the twitch of his eyebrow and clench of his jaw. you recognised well the signs of when he was getting ticked off. but you also caught the moment he cleared his head with a sigh. can’t fuck up his big chance now.

su-bong just shakes his head with a smirk.

“tell me, baby. who’d take you in-,” he pinches your chin. “-after they see you’re just a junkie with a pretty face?”

he makes sure to flick his gaze at you, catch the fleeting shame in your eyes. of course he does. he’s revelling in this shit. like he can save you from yourself if you just run into his arms now.

“it’s none of your business who i fuck. we’re not together anymore.”

“right,” he hunches over with a laugh. “and i guess we’ve both quit drugs too, right?”

you didn’t want to keep getting him off by provoking you, but you just couldn’t swallow down the words stinging your throat.

“like you didn’t get me hooked on that shit!” you spat. “fuck you!-”

you blink, and pain radiates all over your back. you blink again, and su-bong’s pressing into you. it takes a third blink to realise he’d shoved you against the alley wall.

it’s not the bruising grip of his hands on your body or his nails digging into your skin that scares you, it’s his piercing gaze. like his eyes are ripping you open.

“don’t.. even tempt me.”

his voice is hoarse, laced with want. need. he’s itching for a fix.

he brings a delicate hand up to caress your face. “i can be good, baby. i promise. i can do better for you this time.”

he’s planting soft kisses on your neck, goosebumps spreading across your skin as he whispers about how much he loves you, everything he’d do for you.

you shut your eyes as tears gloss over them. there used to be a point in time where you would’ve believed him. and maybe he would’ve meant it too.

but now, the love that binded you was replaced by an addiction: not only drugs, but each other.

the highs were full of screams and bruises and hate-sex. and the withdrawals were even worse. you were dying after every dose. you were killing the other, and yourself.

“we bring out the worst in each other, su-bong.”

“then there’s nobody else for us.”

no two people should ever hold the power to hurt each other like you do. you decide then- not even think, just state:

“i’m going clean tomorrow.”

su-bong scoffs. he doesn’t believe you mean it, and you’re not even sure you do.

“so you’re never seeing me again.”

after a beat, his expression turns solemn. he realises you’re not just provoked, you’re not just trying to hurt him- you’re serious.

his eyes trail off, lost in thought. your body braces itself on instinct. you don’t know what he’ll do to you next. but he just meets your gaze, black pupils swallowing his irises in desire.

“then why are you still here?”

and your lips were on his. your teeth clashed together and his nicked at your lip from the haste, but you kept kissing feverishly through the pain. your tongues twisted with each other’s: su-bong was desperate to reach every corner, taste every last bit of you for the last time. one last hit until you quit him cold turkey.

his hands greedily groped at your tits, your hips, your ass - while your own slid underneath his baggy shirt to claw at his back.

he bit at your neck, you scratched at his flesh. you rolled your hips into his, and he thrusted his hard-on back. he crashed his lips onto yours and kissed you like he was starving to eat you alive.

su-bong keeled over with a moan from the back of his throat as you grasped the outline of his dick through his pants, hot and damp with pre-cum.

in turn he pulled the hem of your dress up. you felt the twitch of his cock in your palm when he saw your pussy dripping- no panties.

“you fucking little-”

you forced su-bong down by his shoulders and he fell to his knees.

“shut the fuck up.”

you push him to your cunt and cry out when he latches on with a hot, open mouth.

he’s lapping at you like a dog. you slouch against the wall as your legs go numb, and su-bong crushes a hand around your hamstring to keep you in place for him. his other splits your cunt open with two digits inside, curling recklessly while he sucks your clit.

incoherent curses at him blended together with your whines. any ‘fuck you’ was lost in a moan when he’d pull his fingers in and out to hit your sweet spot.

he knew you were close with the way your voice went hoarse and your thighs clamped around his head - and that’s when the bitch pulled away.

he propped you up against the wall and tugged his waistband down, his cock springing free with a string of pre-cum.

“shit, baby.” he bit his lip and lined himself up with you. he groaned as his tip prodded your cunt. “you sure we’re over?”

“yes we fucking are.”

you moaned in sync when he thrusted in. for a beat, he stayed there, filling you to the hilt. his heaving body had you pushed up against the wall. he was savouring it. he groaned lowly into your ear.

“hurry up.”

your head knocked back into the wall as he snatched your neck into his hand and started slamming his hips into yours.

the throbbing in your crown was drowned out by su-bong abusing your cunt with his impatient pace, ramming into your cervix and eliciting a cry from you with every thrust.

su-bong was fucking you like you’ll drop dead when the clock strikes midnight. and in a way- the version of you that’d let a man fuck you like he hates your guts will.

su-bong stuck his forehead onto yours, beading with sweat. you saw yourself in his eyes: brows knotted, eyes laced with disgust. and his own were fawning over you, lips panting with a smile.

“you make me fucking sick.” you stammer out, feeling the knot undo with every ram of his dick to your sweet spot.

he presses a wet kiss to your lips that you don’t return. “i’m in love with you, baby.”

you unravelled then. su-bong maintained his bruising pace while your walls fluttered around his cock. he bit down onto your shoulder to smother his moans as his hips stuttered inside of you, and he came following yours.

your bodies slouched together. your hair stuck to your skin with sweat, and you thought you saw the dye dripping from su-bong’s ends.

you wish you hadn’t cum when you did. you wish you didn’t give him the satisfaction of that being the magic words. you wish you could tell yourself it wasn’t because of him.

without a second glance, you pulled his dick out of you with a grunt from him. smoothing your dress back down, you bump shoulders with su-bong as you move to leave. his arm shoots out around your waist to halt you.

and you just shove it off of you.

you keep your head forward, and as the door swings open to greet you with the booming club music, the only thought in your mind is to find dae-ho.

empty bottles of wine collected on the floor next to your side of the bed. futile attempts to ignore the scab your brain kept picking at.

it’s been months, and you can’t go a day without scratching at it to see if it still hurts. if you just left it alone, then maybe you’d actually heal.

you thought you saw him. you don’t even really know if you did, or if you just wanted to. a flash of purple hair amongst the club’s crowd had your throat burning with bile.

dae-ho’s arm snug around your waist felt you stiffen up, and he faced you: tears already clumping in your lashes. him taking you back home went without question.

now you were dozing off as dae-ho stroked your hair, half-lidded eyes full of adoration. he drew over the lines of your face with his fingers, his touch so gentle like you’d crack if he wasn’t careful.

if he was more like your ex, he’d try to see how rough you could take before you shattered. and then he’d pick up every piece to put you back together.

you were warm in bed with your boyfriend cooing you to sleep about how much he loves you, but tonight all you could think of is how he could never compare to su-bong.

dae-ho gets up to slide under the cover of his side. you gravitate to his heat, burying your face in his neck. he jumps when you plant a hand on the front of his boxers.

“hey- let’s save that for the morning, okay? after i’ve made you a coffee.” he chuckles.

he kisses your forehead. but for some reason, your skin seared with.. disappointment.

su-bong would have taken full advantage of you in your boozy state. you would’ve been irresistible to him, so well-behaved. so perfect for him.

..does dae-ho not want you?

you don’t even know why, but suddenly you’re sobbing quietly and staining his shirt with tears. and dae-ho’s comforting you, apologising if he said anything wrong, and none of it feels right. it’s just not what su-bong would do. he’s just not him.

su-bong hovers over the faces of girls in the bar crowd till he finds vaguely what he’s looking for. she’s pretty, probably. she looks enough like you from afar.

a little bit of chit-chat, and he’s thrusting up into her against the wall of the grimy restroom. he doesn’t look at her face, he wasn’t listening when she introduced herself. his eyes were screwed shut to keep his mind in the place he wanted. the place he needed to cum. and it slips from his mouth in a moan as he does.

a few seconds of shocked silence pass before the girl’s shoving him and mumbling cusses. “why didn’t you just fuck her then?!” rings out as the door slams behind her.

for months on end he’d been numbing himself with shit he wouldn’t let you touch - and still none of the harder drugs were giving him withdrawals like you leaving. needing you was hardwired into his brain chemistry. and well, you had been far more addicted than he was.

you’ll get bored of that guy. and the ones that follow him, too. but nothing will come close to the high that su-bong gave you.

and you always know where to find home.

[multi-fandom-imagine]

hi, can I request a one shot for Benedict where they are best friends and yearning for one another? and she gets tired of waiting so she starts to spend time with others and he gets a bit jealous?

A/n: Jealous Benedict 👏 delicious.

Benedict Bridgerton had always been your dearest friend. The kind of friend who knew your favorite books by heart, who could tell what kind of day you were having just by the way you tied your bonnet, who always ensured you had a dance at every ball—even if it meant stealing you away from some lesser suitor. The man who would bring you tea the moment he saw weariness in your gaze.

And yet, for all his charm, for all the longing glances when he thought you weren’t looking, he never made a move. Never crossed that line between friendship and something more.

So you had grown tired of waiting.

It started as an innocent thing—accepting more invitations, laughing a little too freely in the company of others, letting your hand linger just a moment longer on the arms of your suitors. Nothing improper, but enough to be noticed. Enough to make Benedict notice.

And he did.

The first time was at Lady Danbury’s soiree. You had been speaking with Lord Avery, a charming, if not slightly dull, gentleman who had taken an interest in you. Benedict had been watching from across the room, his jaw tightening every time you let out a soft laugh.

The second time was at a picnic, where Mr. Wycliffe had offered to fetch you a glass of lemonade, his hand brushing yours as he passed it to you. You had seen Benedict tense beside you, his usually lighthearted demeanor shadowed by something darker.

But the final straw came at a ball, when you had danced—actually danced—with someone else. Lord Henshaw, a suitor who had been persistent in his attentions.

Benedict had watched you, his grip on his glass so tight you had feared it might shatter. And when the dance ended, when Lord Henshaw had led you off the floor with a lingering touch to your wrist, Benedict was suddenly at your side.

“May I have this dance?” he asked, his voice low, urgent.

You hesitated for only a moment before nodding, a soft bite of your lips feeling your heart slowly pound in your chest.

As he led you to the dance floor, his hand settling at your waist, you felt the tension thrumming beneath his touch.

“You’ve been rather occupied as of late,” he murmured, his lips close to your ear.

“I did not realize I needed your permission to enjoy an evening,” you countered, tilting your chin slightly.

His grip tightened. “You don’t.” A pause. “But I cannot stand it.”

Your breath hitched. “Stand what, Benedict?” Your voice was soft, hesitant.

His dark eyes bore into yours. “Watching you with them. Knowing they can hold your hand, steal your laughter, when I—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “When I should be the one by your side.”

The confession hung between you, charged and heavy.

“You’ve had every opportunity, Benedict,” you whispered, searching his face. “And yet, you have done nothing.”

He swallowed hard. “Because I was a fool. A coward.”

You opened your mouth, but he shook his head.

“Not anymore,” he said, determination flickering in his eyes. “Tell me it’s not too late....please." He whispered.

Your heart pounded. Perhaps it should have been. Perhaps you should have turned away, let him suffer the way you had suffered.

But you had never been able to resist Benedict Bridgerton.

So instead, you simply whispered, “It depends on how well you dance.”

A slow, relieved smile spread across his lips before he spun you into the next turn, holding you closer than he ever had before.

[shinysobi]

chunhyangjeon redux

If I had time, I would learn to love him in a softer way, perhaps, where my hands are bloodied and bruised from trying to hold on too hard.

☆ historical!au jihoon x reader

☆ word count: 17.8k

☆ rating: M

☆ genre/warnings: historical, major character death, period-typical sexism, physical violence (not between jihoon and mc) angst, so much goddamn angst, fluff if you squint, but mostly angst

☆ notes: look i had a thought about guqin player lee jihoon, yapped to people, and that's it, this happened. many many thanks to @gyubakeries for beta'ing this, and @imujings for encouraging my delusions. dedicated to kae @ylangelegy, because I yapped in her dms about this first, and then this baby happened. banner from here. love you loads, everyone.

playlist: what kind of future, woozi | interlude: dawn, agust d | don't, eaeon ft. rm | blue side, j-hope | jashn-e-baharaa, a.r rahaman | shokhi bhabona kahare bole, rabindranath tagore (jayati bhattacharya)

The string breaks off with a discordant twang, and everyone winces, including the gardener, who's been weeding on the opposite side of the yard from me. I scowl, and Songhwa, my maid, offers me a drink of water. It does nothing to calm me down. My fury is great, and my present agony even greater. There's absolutely nothing that can stop me from breaking the instrument, my own arms,  or someone else's leg in the process.  

“Young lady,” Songhwa manages to whisper with a pitiful look, but I'm already on the warpath, angrily pushing the offending instrument away from my lap, and standing up to stomp around the yard. The gardener takes several steps away. “Young lady,  please,” she pleads again, to my better sensibilities (I have none) “you shouldn't get angry, you're still weak—”

“If you say ‘weak’ one more time, I'm going to jump in the well with a grindstone tied to my leg,” I threaten, before flopping down in an entirely unladylike manner, my hands threatening to rip out my entire braid, “they're going to hate me. Why did my mother go ahead and boast about me being good at the guqin? I hate the instrument, I've never played it. Why couldn't she tell them I'm good at the gayageum?”

“Well, you see—”

“And now I have to perform for the whole family. My would-be husband’s family. Does this make any sense to you, Songhwa?” I moan, before sitting up and glaring at the offensive instrument, “I'm going to burn it. I'm going to burn it and die.”

“Well, that would be inadvisable, lady,” Songhwa says, ever the picture of serenity. Good for her. She's not the one being sold into marriage, “the Master did say that you have one month to prepare for it.” 

“And one month is too little!” I stand up, determined to go into theatrics,  because then, at least, I'll have the privilege of being termed as a madwoman, and get out of this mess. “They've already delayed the marriage by years, not months, mind you, Songhwa,  but years, and then they tell me to perform for them? What do they think I am? A monkey?”

“Your father and mother both agreed to this marriage arrangement, Miss.”

“My father and mother are not the ones learning an entirely unfamiliar instrument a month before having to play it in front of an audience consisting of the Minister of War, so I don't much care about their opinions.” I mutter darkly, “Their opinions matter little to me.”

Songhwa now looks abjectly terrified, “do you mean the marriage, miss?”

“Not the marriage, of course,” I wave a hand, “I've always known I'm going to be married to someone I didn't know and wouldn't care about. I've known since I was sixteen, that I would be married to the third son of the Minister of War, whenever they saw fit. I'm talking about the absolutely unconscionable decision of making me learn the guqin in a month. And when my mother knows, that I'm proficient on the gayageum! This is insanity, Songhwa, insanity, I say.”

“Well, they're both zithers, so—” Songhwa begins to say something,  but shuts up immediately when I glare at her, “Very well. You require help, then.”

“I require a hammer, so that I may destroy this monstrosity and go back to playing my gayageum. Anything less than that is not acceptable,  I'm afraid.” A large fruit falls from the tree outside the yard as if on cue. How impudent. Do I need to consult with a shaman after all? “Tell my father that I shall not be playing the guqin for the Minister of War’s family. And if they insist on hearing me play, well, they’ll have to be satisfied with hearing me play the gayageum.”

“You see, Miss, that is the problem,” Songhwa grimaces, “the Madam said that the War Minister's wife said that playing the gayageum was—” she squints, avoiding my eyes, “was beneath the station of a minister’s daughter.”

“Ha!” two crows fly across the sky, “and as if she, with all her love for the Great Ming, has managed to make any kind of meaningful contribution to society save bullying her second son’s widow to death? Has she? And she comes to talk to me about the station I should maintain? She should learn how to shut up!”

“Miss,” Songhwa is close to tears now, “miss, you must not be so loud. What if the Madam hears you? What will happen to you then?”

“I’ll die,” I say, seriously, and she huffs, “No, I’m serious. I’ll die, and then I will haunt this house until the end of time.”

With that, I flop down next to the imported guqin, brought in only the other day by a trader from the Imperial Ming, and go silent. Songhwa takes this as a sign to bring me something to eat, and returns momentarily with a couple of candied orange slices, no doubt swiped from the kitchen, and the two of us sit in the late morning sun, in companionable silence. There are two songbirds on the tree, and the sun is mild; it's early autumn, and the biting chill of winter will come much later. For now, they are happy, content in their own world, trying to survive yet another day. 

It's Songhwa who breaks the silence first. “Miss,” she turns to me, a serious look on her face, “do you really want to get married to the son of the War Minister? You have been betrothed to him for so long, and he kept delaying the marriage on account of his examinations. Then he delayed it because he had to deal with bandits near the village he governed. He keeps delaying it, and there are rumors of him being a womanizer, going to gisaeng houses, and being one of the worst kinds of man possible. Do you really want to spend the rest of your life with him?”

I sigh. Songhwa is fiercely loyal and has been ever since the day I bought her freedom and gave her a name instead of the plaque that had hung around her neck, with a number instead of a name, but her loyalty makes her a danger to herself. I knew. I had been anticipating this ever since the news came of the confirmation of the wedding date, but one thing I had failed to calculate was how much Songhwa hated the idea of me marrying that man. 

“You must not repeat anything of what you just said, to me or to anyone else,” I say, and her face drops, “you know why I’m telling you this, Songhwa. Your life is just as expendable to these people as mine is, even less so because you are a servant.”

“Miss—” Songhwa begins, and I wave to cut her off. 

“It’s not about what kind of person he is, or what are the things he is known or rumored to be doing. He is a man, and therefore, he has no sins. I’ve always known my duty is to be married well, to be an asset to my parent’s reputations, and to move away from my home. It sounds difficult to you, Songhwa, because you are so young,” she makes a face at that, “but a woman’s duty is always more important than her own self. Even more so when you’re a member of the nobility. Then they’ll force the ideas of imaginary respect into your mind, and it’ll grow so big that you would not be able to walk properly.”

Songhwa giggles, “Would you like to go to the market, miss?”

I clap my hands, “Excellent.”

—

The market is a sensory nightmare. Vendors selling everything, from expensive silks to cheap norigae flock to the streets, calling out their wares. Songhwa moves closer to me as we move through the crowds, she keeps a firm hold on my skirts, afraid of getting lost in the throng of people. Usually, the marketplace is for me to savor what remains of my freedom, roaming amidst the people who are, ostensibly, less privileged than I am, but at the same time, freer than I can ever imagine becoming. I come to the market in a masochistic bid to remind myself that my station is fleeting; my freedom is imaginary, and that being a woman has essentially destroyed my prospects of ever being free. 

But not today. Today, as fate would have it, I have a mission to carry out. This is the reason why the day finds Songhwa and me at the gates of the Plum Flower House, and Songhwa is tapping her foot impatiently, both out of fear and frustration. On either side of us, there are brightly-colored pavilions, with streamers of colorful paper waving in the air, and tranquil ponds where fish lazily swim by. It’s a picture of happiness and serenity. I hate this place. The facade breaks as easily as ripping apart one of those colorful banners hanging from the eaves, and all one can find underneath is the growing rot that has captured Joseon society. I hate how I have to tolerate this monstrosity, and how we have made its existence into a part of our daily lives. Songhwa, beside me, is uncomfortable, frustration etched on her features. Your betrothed comes here almost daily, she had said, why do you still want to go through with the marriage? 

Truth is, there’s nothing that I can do, as a woman. I have to put up with a womanizer of a husband and an overbearing family, all to protect the honor of my father—a concept that I have been taught, but one that eludes me at every step. 

“Miss,” Songhwa moans from  my side, hands fisted into my skirts, “do we really have to be here?”

“Yes, Songhwa, we kind of have to,” I reply sweetly, “since we’re about to ask for help from someone, it’s only fair that we go and ask them directly, instead of making them come to us for it.”

“I—you’re asking for help? From who?” Songhwa almost shrieks, and three women in colorful hanboks stare at the two of us. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I knew you’d disapprove,” I reply, looking around, “and despite what you have to say about the music scene in Hanyang, there’s one thing that is always true.”

“Which is?”

“You can never really remain anonymous.” I give her a large smile, one that she does not return, “Songhwa, do you mean to tell me you really have no idea about the new player at the Plum Flower House?”

“New player?” Songhwa narrows her eyes in an effort to be intimidating, which falls adorably flat, “Miss, have you been sneaking out again? You know, if the master gets to hear about this, he is not going to let you go out anymore, he’s already reduced your trips to the market, Miss. We had to lie to your mother and almost sneak out of the house, Miss. You cannot be meeting men outside of the house.”

“So I should have brought him into the house?” I raise an eyebrow, dragging her away, “listen. The music is coming from that pavilion.”

Songhwa wants to open her mouth and ask me exactly what it is that I have been looking for—when the two of us are forced to stand still, because, from the pavilion in front of us, with overhanging branches of plum trees that obscure our vision, comes the most beautiful music. Songhwa stands, transfixed. I pick up my skirt and walk closer to the source. 

The player is sitting with his back to us, but his guqin is on his lap, and he’s plucking the string carefully, slowly, while coaxing a familiar melody out of it. It’s an old song from the Great Ming, one that I had heard being played by an ambassador to the King, once, five years ago. I have remembered it ever since. If I close my eyes, I can imagine the calmness of the piece, flowing over me in a serenade that is almost otherworldly. I've wanted to learn this piece on the gayageum for a long time, and I've failed every single time. And yet, he's here, playing the piece with an ease that comes from years of practice and innate talent, almost monstrous in its simplicity. 

“What's the piece that he's playing?” Songhwa asks, voice a low murmur. I guess even she's mesmerized by the playing. 

“The ambassador from Ming told me the piece is called Mist and Clouds over the Xiang River,” I say, picking up my skirt and stepping into the pavilion, “that was a great performance, Lee Jihoon.” 

The player stops and glares at me. He's dressed in a pale blue hanbok, his shoes and hat set aside. His hair is gathered in a knot at the back of his head, wisps of black hair falling to his shoulders.  He keeps his hair much shorter than usual, I notice idly. It makes him look wild, and in the right light, I can imagine a faint glow coming off of him.  

“Why is the youngest daughter of the Minister of Rites in the Plum Flower House?” he asks, setting the guqin down, “Miss, you shouldn't be in a den of iniquity like this one.” His voice is sharp, a contrast from the gentle music floating from the instrument earlier, and the ends of his sentences fray, making him sound like a caged wild animal, being presented to a nobleman to satisfy their curiosity. 

“I don't think I should be taking advice from the main player of the said den of iniquity,” I say, settling down in front of him, “Or is it because of your father that you're here?” 

His face takes on a hard look, and he stands up, his hair falling in a curtain around his face, “if you want to talk about my father, I'd suggest you leave. Immediately.”

“Take a seat, Lee Jihoon,” I say, “I have not come here to talk about your father, although I could spend an afternoon and an evening talking about him. I’ve come to you with a proposition.”

“A proposition? Made to a player in a den of sin?” his voice is dripping with sarcasm even as he resumes his seat before me, “I’ll assume that you’ve lost your way. Please see yourself out, Madam. As you know, it will be inappropriate of me to accompany you to the gates.”

I scowl, despite marveling at how easily he has managed to get under my skin, “I am not a madam.”

“Ah, but you will be, soon, won’t you?” He smiles, “We here at the Plum Flower House get to hear things too, especially when it concerns such an important client of ours.”

I sigh. Of course, that is why they know. They all know, someone in my mind tells me, they all know your fiance comes here every night when he’s in Hanyang. “It seems people are aware of my betrothed and his—indiscretions,” I reply through gritted teeth, “however, this does not concern him. I come here to seek counsel for an entirely different matter.”

“Then why are you here, Miss? I doubt very much that spending time with someone who plays the guqin at a kisaeng house is high on your list of things to do.”

“It does not,” I reply, and he raises an eyebrow, “it concerns the instrument you were playing.”

His eyebrows remain raised, but he has a curious smile tugging at the corner of his lips, “the guqin? You want to buy my instrument?”

“I don’t want to buy it from you,” I roll my eyes, “teach me how to play the guqin.”

He stares for a beat too long, and I’m compelled to return his gaze, needlessly piercing, almost as if he wants to commit me to memory, and I ignore his gaze to focus on my hands instead, fisting them in my skirt. All of a sudden, he laughs, loud, melodic, completely at odds with his voice from even a moment earlier, and I’m taken aback because his laugh is a departure from his voice, so on edge, sharp and brittle enough to cut glass. His laughter is high-pitched, free in a way I had never thought of him being. He laughs and laughs until Songhwa is itching to get away, and I am considering just walking away from the pavilion. Who does he think he is? Laughing as though it did not take me a whole afternoon to pick up the courage to ask him for his help. I would not be sitting here, forcing myself to be subjected to this, if he was not as good as he was. 

“Forgive me, Lady,” he says, mock-respect evident in his tone, “I seem to have forgotten about my manners.”

“You don’t say,” I murmur, watching him compose himself. Infuriating. 

“I am merely wondering at the turn of events which would have the daughter of the Minister of Rites come to me, the player of a courtesan house, for his help in playing the guqin,” he says, “you can get anyone to teach you how to play, Lady.”

“No one is as good as you are,” I say simply, hoping that the boost to his ego will make him agree to this arrangement, “I want to learn from the best. And the word is, you’re the best in Hanyang. A fact that was corroborated by the playing I just heard. Xiang River, right?”

“You know the piece,” he says, half to himself, as though he cannot bring himself to believe me, “I’m sorry, Lady, I cannot help you.”

He stands up, picks up the instrument, and prepares to walk away from me. It’s your one chance,  a voice tells me, you’re never going to get back this opportunity to make the damn Minister of War pay. And unfortunately, it’s right. If I manage to fail at this task, they might actually break off the engagement, something that will make me happy, it ensures that my father will never be respected, for as long as he lives. Who would respect a man who could not control his daughter, the one person he was supposed to have full control over? 

“Would you prefer it if I go to your father, then?” I say, loud enough for him to turn back and glare at me, “I wonder how they would react, to having their long-lost son come back from the Great Ming, only to have him become a player in a courtesan house.”

“You would be greatly advised to keep that mouth of yours shut, Lady,” he practically runs up the steps to where I am seated, “I’m afraid going to my father would be difficult if one finds themselves dead, right here.”

Oh, he has claws. I smile, extracting a hairpin from my head. It's my grandmother’s gold dwikkoji, bequeathed to me on her deathbed—something I have never let out of my sight. Encrusted with rubies from the Kingdoms in the South Seas, with a large pearl set in the middle of it, bought from an Arab trader who traded it for spices in the Indian Sea, it is ostentatious, suited perfectly to my grandmother’s tastes, who never let anyone forget that she was a daughter of the Joseon King, given away to my grandfather who then became the Right State Councillor. It is only fair then, that I am trading away this memorabilia, to the disgraced son of a concubine. Lee Jihoon stares at it, the meaning of the gesture plain as day in front of him. I could not have been more clear even if I had slapped a box containing ten gold nyangs in front of him. 

“Are you trying to bribe me, Princess?” he mocks, picking up the headpiece and admiring it nevertheless, “a keepsake of the Late Princess Jeonggun. Almost offensive in its flamboyance. Why are you giving it to me, Princess?”

“Consider it payment, Lee Jihoon,” I say, standing up so that I can stare directly at him, “if you want, I will provide provenance of it. It is payment for teaching me the ways of the guqin.”

He laughs, and again, I am caught by how strange it sounds. In the middle of a gisaeng house, hearing this laugh should be illegal, almost—and shakes his head, “And if I refuse?”

“Then I go to the Minister of War,” I smile, relishing in how it drops just slightly, “and I tell him all about his son.”

With that, and a flourish of my skirt, I stride off of the pavilion, holding Songhwa by the arm, “Let’s go, shall we?”

We have not taken three steps when there’s that loud, sharp voice, calling out from behind me, “Wait!”

I turn around, “really? This fast?” 

Jihoon strides up to me, holding the hairpiece in his hand, a lazy smirk playing on his face. “You win, Princess. I’ll teach you.”

I raise an eyebrow, “you will?”

“Be here tomorrow, in the afternoon,” he turns around, “don’t be late, Princess.”

“Why, that little—” Songhwa makes a run towards him, but I stop her, gesturing to just go back. He’s been defeated, Songhwa, I tell myself as we make our way through the crowded streets, he’s finally been defeated in something by someone. And he has to teach me how to play. 

—

Unfortunately, as I had expected, Songhwa does not let me off easily. She corners me as soon as we step foot into my family’s home, quickly sliding the doors shut behind her as I collapse onto the silk bedding, fixing me with an impressive glare that would have even my mother running for her life, “Did you really have to give him the keepsake from your grandmother?”

I fix her with a look but say nothing, choosing to pull the hairpins out of my hair, and settling down on the bedding. Songhwa, emboldened by my silence, rages on, “What if the Master comes and asks for it? Why did you have to give away the most expensive piece of jewelry in your possession? What if you have a need for it later on? What will you do then?”

“I’m not such a fool to give him my most expensive hairpin without a thought as to how it might affect me, Songhwa,” I say, sternly, and she shuts her mouth, “neither my father nor my mother is aware of the gift grandmother gave me, mostly because she never told them of it. To her, it was something to be disposed of in secret, and the only witness to this was the nurse who stayed with her till the day she died.”

“And me.” Songhwa points to herself, “I’m aware.”

“You know what happened to the nurse who was there with Grandmother when she was sick?” I say, voice light, but Songhwa sees it for what it is, and sighs, evidently put-upon, and takes a seat on the floor, “You should stop threatening to kill me if you want to ensure that I never open my mouth.”

“It’s better that you don’t know, Songhwa,” I reply, “you do know what happened to the nurse who stayed with my grandmother when she was ill. She was killed three months after my grandmother died, presumably by people who thought the old, infirm woman was holding state secrets. I do not understand why you insist on knowing my family’s secrets even though you will most definitely get killed in the process.”

“It’s a testament to how much I respect you, Miss,” Songhwa says, seriously, lighting a candle in the semi-dark room, “it is already killing me that I cannot accompany you to your in-law’s house. What do they want, refusing to allow servants to be sent from your childhood home? It’s decidedly unfashionable, people are already talking about it.”

I know why they have made that demand, but I wisely keep my mouth shut. I don’t think we need to investigate the death of a minister so close to my wedding, but Songhwa is fully capable of eviscerating the Minister of War and his entire household, sentries be damned. She does not pick up on why I am silent, instead raging about the apparent lack of respect shown towards me, and I watch her amusedly as she pulls out the books that I will not be allowed to take with me when I leave my home. 

“Easy, Songhwa,” I smile, “one would think you were my mother, instead of being my companion.”

“I am your maid, Miss, there’s a difference.” Songhwa sighs, “Do you still think asking that man was the best course of action? You could have received help from anyone you want.”

“He’s still the best in Hanyang, no matter how much we try to ignore his existence,” I say, pickling at the seams on my bedding, “even you saw how good he was. That’s not just hard work, it’s also talent. And that kind of talent should not be languishing in a—in a courtesan house, of all places.”

Songhwa nods, “You also brought up his father when he didn’t agree to teach you.”

I smile, “That’s because I know a little secret about him.”

—

As promised, I make my way to the pavilion at the Plum Flower House, leaving Songhwa behind, the guqin heavy on my back as I manage to haul it across the marketplace. Lee Jihoon stands in the middle of the pavilion, smiling as I walk up to him, out of breath and bent over at the waist, perspiration dotting my forehead. He raises his eyebrows as I make my way up the stairs, flaunting a wide grin as I set the instrument at my feet, “you’re late. I did specifically say afternoon, did I not?”

“Apologies, for I do not own a water clock,” I breeze, unwrapping the linen coverings of my guqin, “and I think it would be treasonous to own one.”

He laughs loudly, again, before settling down, “I hear you are proficient at the gayageum. Why can you not play that for your in-laws? You can always play the gayageum for them, instead of learning an entirely new instrument.”

“That new instrument is what my prospective mother-in-law is partial to,” I give him a wry smile, running my hands over the silken strings of the guqin, “my preferred gayageum is too lowly for her, it would seem.”

 Jihoon observes my dress, plain pink and blue cotton hanbok, nothing of the pale blue silk that I had worn to the House the previous day. My braid falls over my shoulder, short but neatly tied off with a ribbon at the end. I had foregone the usual norigae at my waist too, opting for a slightly longer jacket instead. This way, I look like a maid, someone unimportant who came here to take lessons from a master. Not the daughter of a powerful man. As far as disguises go, I could have done better. 

“You look like a maid,” he smiles at me, and even someone like me, who has no idea about social cues, can understand that it's all mockery—as usual—and he continues, with that annoying smile fixed on his face, “it seems a little inappropriate, teaching you out here.”

I stare at him, because we are in the open, in the middle of the day, with no one to misconstrue what we are doing, and he thinks it is inappropriate. I want to take my offensive guqin and whack him around the head. He points to his clothes, and then to mine, “I dressed up for you. Now I think I should have borrowed one of the work costumes of the many people who come here to work for the gisaengs.”

I scowl. He’s wearing a pale green hanbok today, with his hair gathered in an elegant topknot, the wide headband sitting prettily against his skin, making for a sharp contrast. Strange man, I tell myself, as he settles in at a comfortable (more importantly, respectable) distance from me, and picks up his instrument. When he bends his head, I can see his copper sangtu, wisps of his hair peeking out from within. It reminds me of the first time I had seen him, his hair wild and untamed, and it's a shame how beautiful he could be, if only for the unfortunate accident of his parentage. 

Still, as he begins to teach me the basics of how to play the guqin (in a manner entirely different from what I am used to), I find myself thinking less about how disagreeable he was and more about his talent. If I were a lesser woman, I would have been jealous. All I could think about was how solemn his hands looked as he plucked the strings, instructing me to follow his lead. 

—

Songhwa waits at the back of the house as I hurry back in, ushering me into the yard as soon as the curfew bells ring. 

“How was the first lesson?” she demands, as soon as I place the guqin on the floor, picking out the plain hairstyle I had fashioned it in, “you never wear this one outside of the house.”

“Thought I should try my best to fit in,” I groaned, lying down on the bedding, “never thought learning an instrument would be so difficult.”

Songhwa raises an eyebrow, “I thought you said he was a genius.”

“He is, which makes it even more difficult,” I groan, suddenly overtaken by a fit of childishness, “it was as if I had been forced to come to terms with the fact that I was in fact, not a genius, and that all my efforts, monumental though they might have been, were actually no match in front of an actual, real, genius.”

She laughs, “You seem taken in by him.”

I bolt upright in bed, “I am not. He is annoying, as he is allowed to be—I am merely commenting upon the fact that he is a genius, and I am not, no matter how much I would love to be.”

Songhwa sighs, before sitting down in front of me, “Miss, I do think you’re a genius.”

“Nice of you to spare my feelings, Songhwa, but I’ve seen him perform. Twice, in fact. And there’s no way I, or anyone, even the legendary Bo Ya, could measure up to his skill. His hands—” I turn to look at her, eyes narrowed, “what do you want me to say?”

She raises an eyebrow, “You seemed to have found his hands interesting.”

“Enough!” I clap my hands, shaking the embarrassment away in what must have been a formidable challenge, and usher Songhwa out of the room, “I wish to sleep now. Tell the maids to send my meal to my room, please.”

After Songhwa leaves, I fall back onto the bed, waiting for the maids to bring me my dinner, trying my best to expel the image of Lee Jihoon playing the guqin, his long, elegant fingers coaxing the slow tunes out of the instrument, a testament to my utter lack of genius. And yet, I can’t find to bring myself to be jealous, because I am not a lesser woman. I am, shamefully though it might be, aware of the limitations of my talent. Besides, I am almost twenty years old. I’m not a child who might get jealous at the prospect of facing the fact that I might not be the genius that I once thought I was. 

And yet—and yet I spend more than a fashionable amount of time that night, thinking about his hands, moving across the strings. 

—

Surprisingly, it gets easier after that first day. The both of us talk less about our choice of clothing and more about how to play the guqin, and I can feel myself improving daily. Jihoon doesn’t make it a secret about how much he absolutely hates the idea of teaching me, but this too, I’ve managed to take it in stride now. 

“How long will you be pestering me to teach you?” he asks, barely a fortnight into teaching me, “I doubt you want to establish a new qin school in the middle of Hanyang. And I don't want to spend my days teaching a noble lady how to play my instrument.”

I pull a face, “Can't you just focus on teaching me?”

He pulls a wry smile,  “Maybe I wish to be rid of you.”

“Too difficult for you, Teacher,” I smile, before returning to pluck the strings, coaxing a melody (a slow, halting one, but a melody nonetheless) out of the guqin. It's almost spring, I notice, as the plum trees all around us have burst into bloom. Soon, the cherry trees will be in bloom. And as soon as the azaleas bloom on Biseulsan, I will be sent to the home of the Minister of War. I hate to be reminded of it, because all I can think of is that I have no time at all. None to enjoy the final few days of my girlhood. 

Still, Jihoon seems to be warming up to the idea of teaching me, and I can take a strange sense of pride in that, having the once-prickly Lee Jihoon teach me with a ghost of a smile on his face. 

—

“Miss,” Songhwa pokes her nose in my room  one evening as I change into a much more respectable outfit, “there are gifts.”

I roll my eyes, huff, and stand up, “Already? They only sent the official letter last month!”

“I know. They seem like they want to speed up the process,” Songhwa waves a dismissive hand. “The minister himself is here, giving the gifts to your father.”

“The minister of War himself?” I tie the knot to my jacket, lifting my skirt, “now I need to see this.”

My father’s rooms are in another part of the yard, differentiated from the women’s quarters by a gate. Songhwa and I slip easily past the gates, and servants largely ignore us as we make our way to the other, more secluded side of my father’s rooms, where the large boiler sits, making the air too hot for anyone to remain in for more than three minutes. I sit as close to the doors as possible, and for good measure, poke a hole into the paper, for ease of listening. One can never be too careful. 

“Miss,” Songhwa opens her mouth to say something, and I silence her because there are voices coming from inside the room, “fine.”

“—Of course, the lady will be an important part of the household, as she is expected to take on the duties of the madam of her own house in the future,” a voice that I know belongs to the Minister of War, says, “I have heard that the lady is playing the guqin diligently? My wife does indeed adore the guqin. It is one of her only comforts.”

Yes, I would bet anyone ten gold nyangs she holds it and goes to sleep at night when you are whoring around in gisaeng houses, you pox-ridden idiot, I think to myself, but it is the next voice that takes me by surprise. It is my father speaking, low and clear, the voice I had once adored as a small child, “Of course, minister. This is no longer her home now. She is to be a part of your family, and we will ensure that she is aware of her duties and responsibilities.”

Oh. 

Oh. 

They go on to say more things—about the state of the economy, how they are going to manage their farmlands in the coming year, how they think the harvest will be, how the virtues of the King have always been steady in steering the nation, but I understand nothing. I am nothing. And to hear that from my father—my father whom I had looked up to all my life, my father who had adored me, once upon a time, in a parallel history, puts it all into perspective. 

I stand up, feet shaking, whether due to the heat coming from the boiler or from the words I have just been privy to, I do not know. I do not remember walking to my room, I do not remember lying down on the bed. All I can think of are my father’s words. This is no longer her home now. I am no one. 

—

“You did not come for lessons these past three days,” Jihoon says, as soon as I climb up the stairs to the pavilion, guqin strapped to my back, “I was beginning to think you had stopped wanting to play altogether.”

I sigh, “I was sick, sorry. I should have sent word, except Songhwa was busy making medicines for me. I’m here now, though, right as rain.”

Jihoon still has his back to me, an insufferable trait that he refuses to correct, and I shake my head, setting the qin on the ground. “Shall we begin?”

My tone is clipped, and angry, which makes him turn towards me, an eyebrow raised. He pauses for a moment, then grabs a hold of the edge of my sleeve, pulling me closer to him. I avoid his gaze dutifully, but Lee Jihoon is nothing if not relentless, a fact of life that I am becoming increasingly familiar with, as much as I hate it. 

“Something’s wrong,” he says, after staring at me for what feels like an eternity, “you’re not normally this way.”

I glare, “Do you want me to hit you? I’m fine.”

“You’re clearly not fine,” he replies, standing up and walking out of the pavilion, “not if that look on your face has anything to say about it. You’re suffering.”

I roll my eyes, but he is not wrong. He is not wrong at all, which makes me nervous, because if Lee Jihoon of all people could read me this well, what does that mean for my parents? The people who are supposed to know me the best, the people who are supposed to take care of me without question, what does it mean, that they saw me like this, and said nothing at all?

It’s not their fault. I’ve been repeating this throughout the week, it’s not their fault. Even though I had refused to come out of my room and had been laid up with a fever, only my mother had come to see me, and that too from a distance. It’s not their fault. They gave birth to a girl, and now they have to take care of her, for as long as they can. 

And really, who am I to complain? I am the daughter of a minister, one of the highest positions in Joseon. I should know my place, I should know my duty. Even if it meant leaving my home and settling down in a house where I knew no one, and no one cared about me beyond my abilities to provide an heir. 

Songhwa had, of course, refused to let me out of her sight, nursing me through the days I was bedridden with a fever, even insisting on coming along for the lesson, something I had taken pains to dissuade her from. 

“Maybe this will help,” Jihoon says, walking back into my line of sight, “you told me you played the gayageum.”

In his hands, is a gayageum, made out of the finest paulownia wood, and he pushes away the guqin currently in my lap, placing it in my hands instead. “You look like you have some feelings to work through, and I have always found solace in playing my music.”

I stare at him, “Are you quite mad? You want me to play for you right now?”

He shrugs, “I think it would be a good exercise for you since you always seem uncomfortable with the qin. Hence, the instrument that you are most comfortable with.” As if to prove his point further, he makes a ‘here you go’ motion with his hands, opening them wide for me to take in the look of the gayageum in front of me. 

I should not. This is madness, someone whispers inside my head, why are you playing for him when the only people who have heard you play before are your parents? Is this not inappropriate? What will your husband’s family say, when they hear about you showing off your skills at the gayageum to an unfamiliar man, who has no ties to you? Will they approve?

I grow more irritated at that. Perhaps I am tired of thinking about my husband’s family, before myself. 

“I don’t think I should be doing this,” I mutter, picking it up and running my hands over the silk strings, “it is tuned already.”

“Thought you’d prefer if I took that out of the way for you,” he smiles, “in truth, I would be lying to you if I said that I had not been interested and curious about your playing, even before you stepped foot in the Plum Flower House. Everyone knows that the youngest daughter of the Minister of Rites is proficient at the gayageum. I had kept this around—”

I cut him off with a sharp twang, and he goes back to his seat, eagerly waiting. It has been a long time since I played for another person who was not Songhwa, but the gayageum opens up eagerly underneath my fingers, much easier than the qin, but this is an instrument I have been playing since I knew how to walk. Still, the instrument itself is unfamiliar, but I can soon find it humming delightfully underneath my hands. This is what I want to do. I want to play this instrument for as long as I can live. 

This is no longer her home now. 

My hands grow erratic, and the gayageum follows suit, the music thundering as I chase it around, the strings keening underneath the sheer force of my hands, no longer the calm, composed tunes I have been accustomed to playing. This is no longer tranquil, this is something else entirely, the force of my rage, condensed and consolidated into a single moment in time, larger than life, hotter than the sun. 

After a long time, I stop, and Jihoon’s eyes are sparkling, something I never thought I would see, not on another person, not as a reaction to my playing. He’s smiling, broad, and genuine, grabbing me by the shoulder and shaking me, so hard and fast that I can barely distinguish my surroundings. Whatever remains, is the feeling of his eyes on me, as though he was seeing me for the first time. 

“You’re a revelation,” he smiles, “I’ve always been curious about your playing but this—this is brilliant. A genius.”

“Hah,” I scoff mildly, even though it does not hold any real venom or malice, “a genius, that’s a new sort of lie.”

However, as I lay in my bed that night, all I could think of were his eyes, steadfast on me, sparkling, as though he had seen a miracle, and his voice, the same sharp tone that I hated so much, saying, over and over again, you are a revelation. A revelation. A revelation, he had said. 

I slept comfortably that night. 

—

Apart from the gayageum, the only other thing I'm confident in, at least marginally, is my sewing. Like every other girl in Joseon, I've been taught needlework and embroidery ever since I could pick up a needle without hurting myself.  Embroidery was a non-negotiable skill, especially when compared to playing instruments, because of course who did not know that the honor and prestige of a noble family relied solely on the sewing skills of their youngest daughter? 

I’m exaggerating. I’ve been taught to take pride in my creations, and I do actually like it when people find happiness in it, whether it be through music or something else. 

“Miss,” Songhwa lets out another of her long-suffering sighs, holding up an unfinished gwanbok, “you’re supposed to finish this by yourself, not have it done by seamstresses.”

“Don’t want to, not particularly,” I pout, trying to balance a brush on my forehead, “besides, were you not the one who was the most against this match? Why are you so adamant on me making his ceremonial dress, that probably would not be up to his standards?”

“It’s because I hate him and I am firmly against this match that I am in support of this,” she says, folding the unfinished clothing into a box, “are you going to make your fiance a handkerchief too?”

“What?” I sit up, brush clattering onto the floor, “what do you mean?”

Songhwa holds up a piece of silk, and I stare at it. Just a piece of deep blue silk, plain and unassuming, evidently cut out from one of the pre-wedding gifts sent over by my husband’s family previously. It’s obvious, with the smooth edges from where I cut out the fabric, that it was meant for something else. “Oh, that,” I try my best to remain nonchalant, “I’m thinking of making something for myself.”

Songhwa narrows her eyes, “You refuse to pick up the needle for anything other than what is strictly necessary.”

“I’m just trying to be a better wife, and since sewing is a required skill, I thought I should brush up on my embroidery,” I say, trying my best to maintain Songhwa’s gaze, “nothing special, really.”

“Miss, you know that you cannot fool me, right?” she says, hands on her hips, “I know exactly what you plan on doing with this silk.”

I turn to her, shocked, “You do?”

Songhwa sighs, “How many times do I have to tell you, miss, that you have enough hair ribbons to last a lifetime? Even the princesses of this country do not have as many hair ribbons as you do, and you’re going to make another one? That too from the expensive silk the Minister of War sent over for pre-wedding gifts?” She sighs again, running her hands over her face, “I do not know what to do here. I hate him, but also, making a ribbon out of the cloth sent over for you to make your husband a hanbok will not be accepted. Well, it’s not as though we are going to tell people, but at least, don’t let your mother know about this.”

“You think I tell my mother anything?” I ask, my eyebrows raised high, “she is the one who finds out everything about me. I don’t tell her anything!”

“No, you don’t, you just act too secretive, and she finds out anyway,” Songhwa throws me a dirty look, opening the door with a foot, hands full of clothes, “Do try and come back home early tonight, because the owner of this house is coming home early too.”

“He is?” I groan, “I’ll keep it in mind.” 

—

I lied to Songhwa. It is not something I feel particularly bad about, since she keeps her own secrets from me too, regarding all the numerous admirers she has (If I knew, I would be forced to tell my mother about it, and she would be out of a job). The silk was not for a hair ribbon, not by any stretch of anyone’s imagination. It is, however, for something far worse. 

“Lee Jihoon,” I say, half out of breath, setting down my qin, “you like the color a lot, I see.”

“Aren’t you a little too interested in fashion for someone who has to exercise the virtues of frugality from the moment you understood the Five Classics? Or am I to understand that the Minister of Rites did not teach his daughter the basics of a Confucian education?”

I roll my eyes, and Jihoon laughs, a sound I have become frequently acquainted with, ever since that afternoon. He’s wearing a dark blue jacket over his white hanbok, a color he has worn the most since I met him for the first time. “Just answer the question, please.”

“You should pay me more respect, you know, since I am your teacher,” Jihoon sighs, “yes, I do like blue, in fact, I wear it all the time—what are you doing?”

I had been listening intently, but I was not going to tell him that, “I was just listening.”

He scowls, “You’re very annoying, has anyone ever told you that?”

“All the time, actually, they can’t seem to get enough of telling me off,” I say, my voice a tad bit too sharp for normal conversation, and he retreats, “Never mind, I have come to the realization that I do not know you at all. If I am to respect you as my teacher, should I not know at least some details about you?”

He raises an eyebrow, “Need I remind you that you threatened me to teach you, using my father’s name?”

“Not that,” I wave, “you know, the little things. The details.”

“I’m not going to tell you details about my life.”

“Nothing? Not even about any ladies that you might be courting?”

He stares at me, and it is very strange, how his eyes resemble a cat I used to feed when I was a child, wary, as though I am going to find out all his weaknesses, “Why do you want to know so much about my love life?”

And really, why did I want to know? 

“Just wondering if I should be on the lookout for any angry woman accosting me in the marketplace, demanding that I stay away from her beloved,” I reply, and he scowls again, “I’m being serious!”

“No, there aren’t. And even if there were, why would I tell you?”

“You’re no fun at all,” I grumble, “at least tell me something silly.”

“Like?” It’s funny, how he is on edge, even at a normal question like this, “I don’t have a birth flower.”

“At least tell me your favorite one, then,” I grin, “if you want to know, my birth flower is the daisy. It is said to be a symbol of a pure heart.”

He snorts, “Pure heart? I would take it up with the fortune-teller. You are one of the most aggravating people I know. Pure heart?”

“You’re avoiding the question,” I roll my eyes. 

Jihoon sighs “If you have to know, my favorite flower is the barberry. They bloom even in the worst of winters, and I’d like to think I am that sort of person.”

“It symbolizes skill if you want to know.”

“I did not.”

I groan, before picking up my qin, “I’ve been improving at this, haven’t I?”

“You sound less horrible than you did before,” Jihoon acquiesces that much. “You are a genius at the gayageum; I don’t know why you must insist on playing the qin is beyond me. Instead of breaking your back to learn the one thing that you hate so much, just focus your energies on honing the skills that you already have. It is rare to see someone so talented at the gayageum outside a gisaeng house. You have all the talent in the world to be proficient at this one instrument, and yet, you are here, taking classes from me, in order to appease your fiance’s family. Why are you doing this to yourself?”

“I will answer that question another day,” I reply, trying my very best to remain nonchalant, “not today, I am afraid.”

—

I have been avoiding my father ever since that night when I eavesdropped on his conversation with the War Minister. Try as I might, I cannot look him in the eye anymore, not when I know the exact dimensions of my identity as his daughter. This is no longer her home. I have been raised for this since I was a child, but knowing that your father no longer considers you as a part of his household, or that the family you have known for all your life is no longer yours, is a bitter pill to swallow for anyone. 

This is why it is a surprise to see my father, the Minister of Rites, walk into my room right as I put the final touches of a small embroidered daisy on a piece of blue silk. The door slides open, and my father steps into the room, dressed casually, with his wire hat high on his forehead. I scramble, setting aside my 

sewing and offering him my seat in front of the silk screen. It is not even a conscious decision, my feet move of their own accord, forcing me to sit across my father as he takes his seat. There is a book open on the varnished table, a study on how to play the guqin. I have not managed to read more than three pages. 

“It is wonderful to see you so applied to your studies,” Father says, looking approvingly at the book, “I have heard you play these past few weeks. You have managed to improve a great deal indeed.”

“Thank you, Father.” I bow my head, “I have been practicing my best not to let our family down.”

“Of course, of course,” he shakes his head, “the War Minister, along with his son, will visit next month, to finalize the preparations for the wedding. I hope you will be able to maintain the honor of this family.”

“I shall try my very best, Sir.” I reply, “I shall play for the Minister of War, as requested.”

“It is not a request,” he says, “the honor of this family depends on you being able to make a prosperous match, one that will ensure the social standing of your family and your fiance’s, as you were raised to do. It is your filial duty.”

“Yes, Father.”

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, steadying himself, “While you might think this marriage is disadvantageous to you, this ensures the survival of this family. Your brother and sisters are depending on you to make this marriage work.”

“My oldest sister is one of the concubines of the King,” I reply, “I rather doubt that we are in any danger of survival, given that my oldest sister is the mother of a princess.”

“The birth of a princess to a concubine is nothing to be proud of!” my father slams a palm onto the desk, “if you had any sense of political knowledge, you would know that. All we have to show for our efforts is a weak slip of a girl who will not survive beyond her first five years!” 

“I’m afraid you are talking disrespectfully about a princess of Joseon, Father,” I say, calm enough for my voice to remain steady in a display of impressive brashness. “Even if you are the grandfather of the Princess, speaking ill of her could be tantamount to treason. She is the daughter of one of the primary consorts of the King, chosen directly from the gantaek.”

My father sighs, pushing the conversation away from my sister, “Do not forget about your duties as the daughter-in-law of the Minister of War.”

“And live as the meek wife of a man who will never be faithful to me?” I cannot help myself now, and the words come tumbling out of me, sharper than anything I have ever said to my father, the man who raised me, “Is that the life you want me to live? You, of all people, should know about the character of the Minister of War, and how his third son behaves in society.”

“How do you know about the Minister of War or his third son?”

“Everyone knows!” I throw up my hands, “everyone knows. Everyone who comes to my house and knows about my marriage, tells me about their behavior. The Minister of War sent away his son because he could not stand the sight of him, and his third son is no better! Even I, a person with no contact with outside society, even I am aware of who my fiance is. And yet, you choose to ignore everything and push me into this marriage, when you know I shall be unhappy at the very best, and mistreated at the worst. Is that what you want? To force me into—”

I hear the sound of it before I can feel the pain, but it spreads soon enough, stinging across my left cheek, and I turn my attention to my father, whose hand is still raised, “—you want to force your daughter into servitude?”

“You will cease those thoughts at once!” his hand is still raised, “You will be married to the third son of the Minister of War because we need his political power to stay alive. You will play the part of the dutiful daughter, and you will provide his son with an heir because that is what you have been born to do. No more talk of who the Minister is or who his son is. Prepare for your wedding.”

“You cannot do this to me.” I whisper, swaying at the spot where I stand, “I am your child, you cannot do this to me.”

“I’ve raised you with all the freedoms you should have been given, because of your station, but do not forget your purpose.” He runs a hand over his face, “I should have married you off as soon as I could have, instead of waiting around for the Minister of War to make a proper decision.”

And with that, he walks out of the room, leaving me standing in the middle of an empty space, wondering how long I have before everything goes to hell. 

“Miss,” Songhwa runs into the room, “I heard shouting.”

“Never mind that, Songhwa,” I wave away my thoughts, “there is much left to do. Will the seamstresses finish the ceremonial dress by the wedding? Who’s making my wedding dress? The preparations have to be perfect, Songhwa, you know this is the only time I will get to have a wedding.” I laugh at that last sentence, “never mind that.”

“Miss,” Songhwa is insistent, “are you all right?”

“Perfect.” I mutter, picking up my needle and thread, “Just need to finish making my fiance an assorted number of trinkets for our good marital fortune, and I will be done.”

“Miss,” Songhwa sits down in front of me, “I know people, you know.”

I narrow my eyes, “Of course, you do. We all know people, Songhwa.”

“No,” she huffs, “I don’t mean that. I know people, my lady.”

“And who might these ‘people’ be?” I ask, smiling, “Don’t tell me you’re keeping in touch with bandits or something like that.”

“Well, you’re not entirely wrong.” She shrugs, “Do you want me to have him killed?”

“Killed—Songhwa, Might I remind you that violence is not always the answer?” I sputter, almost poking myself in the hand with my needle, “I do not want you to kill my fiance.”

“Fiance, fiance, I hate the way you speak about him!” Songhwa exclaims, “Every time you speak about him, it is as though it physically pains you to do so.”

“That's not important, Songhwa.” I protest. 

“This has gone on for long enough,” She ignores me, “Ever since they pushed the wedding, you have been like this. The only time in the past year that you have truly felt alive, has been these past few weeks when you have been going to the gisaeng house to learn how to play. Do you really think that is normal,  Miss?”

I sigh, abandoning my sewing, because she is not wrong. What do I even tell her? In a way, Songhwa is far more free than I could ever hope to become, simply because she has no family whose reputations and honor she has to protect. Over these past few weeks, I have been looking forward to learning the qin, merely because it has given me a sense of purpose beyond getting married and beyond having heirs. 

That's wrong, someone whispers in my ears, that is not the only reason why you have been looking forward to those lessons. 

“Miss,” Songhwa takes my silence as acceptance, “I don't like that man.”

“You don't like any man, Songhwa,” I laugh, “but who are you talking about?”

“Lee Jihoon. The man who teaches you the qin,” she mutters, looking more like her fourteen years, “I don't like him. He's not someone you should be associating with, given your status.”

“I did not think you were someone who cared much about status.”

“I do, it's just who we are, but even I can't ignore the fact that he is the one who makes you feel alive. You're wasting away here, and it pains me to see it.”

I don't say anything because what do I even say to her? She is right, as she always is because the subject of my marriage weighs heavily on my mind despite how much I prepare my mind for it. I no longer want anything to do with my marriage, and not just because of my fiance. My fiance could have been the Crown Prince, and I would still hate it as much as I do now. I hate that I no longer have any agency over my choices in life. I hate that I have to listen to my father arrange my marriage with a beast of a man simply because it will give him the boost he has so desperately wanted in his political career. I hate that I will have to spend the rest of my living days in a family whose head of household sent away one of his sons after the death of his mother, simply because he could not bear the sight of an illegitimate offspring. I hate it all. Most of all, I hate the fact that I cannot do anything to change my situation. I might want what Jihoon symbolizes with all my heart, but at the end of the day, I will have to shut my mouth and do what my parents want of me. 

“Miss, should we talk to Madam?” Songhwa asks, “Maybe she could talk to the Master.”

“My mother has no interest in me beyond what purpose I can serve. She would tell me to suck it up and endure it, as other women have before me, and as women will, as long as there are men on this earth,” I laugh, “I’m not delusional, Songhwa. I know I am living a privileged life, something that is not afforded to a majority of women in this country. I just wish—that we had some freedom.”

“We have whatever they give us,” She replies, picking up my abandoned handkerchief, “were you embroidering the daisy on here?”

“And the barberry flower.” I groan, before realizing what I had just said. 

“The barberry flower?” Songhwa narrows her eyes, “did not know you were so fond of perennial herbs this way.”

“Just saw a particularly beautiful sketch of it the other day, and wanted to put it in my handkerchief,” I lie, “nothing else.”

Songhwa sighs, “I just wish you were a bit more careful, Miss, I do not want to see you in trouble.”

—

Jihoon had not even taken his seat at the pavilion the next day, when I brandished my closed fist in front of him. “Close your eyes,” I say, “I have a present for you.”

He looks at me warily, and then at my closed fists, “I feel like this is a trap made specifically for you to punch my face.”

I scowl, “And here I am, trying to give you a token of my appreciation.”

Jihoon rolls his eyes, but complies with my request anyway, and I retrieve the finished handkerchief from inside my jacket, “Here you go!”

He opens his eyes, looking at the piece of cloth held in my hands, “What is this?”

“It's a handkerchief, obviously,” I roll my eyes, “look, I even embroidered your favorite flower on there, just because you told me.”

“I do not remember asking you to make me a handkerchief,” Jihoon says, dry as always, but he takes the handkerchief out of my hands, inspecting it, “there is a daisy on there. I never asked for a daisy.”

“I put it on every one of my embroidered pieces,” I say, offering an explanation, “it feels like a signature of mine.”

“Is this what you spend your time doing, instead of making your marriage dress?” He stares at me, “My god, you are going to look very ugly in your wedding dress.”

“Why would you say that?” I ask, irritated, “I am going to look very nice in my wedding dress. And as you can see, my embroidery skills are top-notch. If you must know, I have had one of the best educations that could be given to Joseon ladies.”

“The work is shabby, and I would not be using it at all,” Jihoon makes a show of inspecting the handkerchief again, “why did you even put the daisy in there? It looks so—plain.”

And really, I should not have done this. Because all I can feel right now is shame, white-hot shame spreading to the roots of my hair. Why did I even make a handkerchief for a man who does not want anything to do with me? Really, I feel so ashamed. I should not have even wanted anything. 

“Give that back,” I hold out my hand, “if it is so offensive to you, then give it back. I’ll destroy it.”

Jihoon whips it out of my reach, “Who said I am going to give it back? You gave it to me, now it is mine.”

“I made it, so it is mine,” I grind out, “give it back to me.”

He stands up, leaning on the wooden railing of the pavilion, “Don’t think so, Princess. This was given to me, so now it is mine. You’ll get it back if you can take it from me.”

The nerve of this man. I stand up, walk over to where he stands, and hold out my hand, “Give it back, Lee Jihoon.”

Instead of giving my work back to me, he holds it high above both our heads, a taunting smile on his face, “Too bad you won’t be getting your way this time, Princess.”

I try and swipe it out of his hands, but he reacts faster, swinging it out of my reach, over and over again, until I am heaving from the exertion, the skirt of my hanbok twisted and crumpled, as I hold myself up against the railing, “are you quite done playing with my hard work?”

Jihoon says nothing, just twirls the cloth in his hand, “You made this in blue, too. How did you know I preferred this color? Tell me, Princess, are you in the habit of making elaborate presents for all your teachers?”

I grab hold of his wrist with one hand, my other gripping my handkerchief, “I do not like being made fun of, Lee Jihoon. Give back my work.”

“Did not realize your work was so important to you that you grabbed hold of my hand, Princess,” He smiles, and it is less than a smile, it is a smirk, almost, as if he enjoys the feeling of my hands on his skin. I drop my hand, but he catches it, holding my hand in his. 

And—god. My skin is a furnace, and Jihoon is hellfire, his thumb moving slowly across the inside of my wrist, fingers leaving a trail of what can only be described as fire. I’ve never held a man’s hand before, never even thought of initiating touch with someone who is not my husband, but I want this. 

“The Princess of the Minister of Rites, holding a man’s hand, who is not a relation, nor is her intended,” Jihoon smiles, “are you being influenced by this place, Princess?”

I move  to extricate my hand from his grip, but he holds fast, still smiling, “It appears that the Plum Flower House has been having an effect on you, Princess.” 

I should try to pull my hand out of his grip. If anyone sees me standing here, my hands in his, there will be hell to pay. My father cannot find out about the lessons. I am, for all intents and purposes, playing with fire. 

But Jihoon’s fingertips are callused, and even if I try, I cannot move my hand out of his grip. “Unhand me right now,” I say, “How dare you be so familiar with me.”

“It feels as though you are the one being familiar with me, Princess,” He’s just smiling at me, “I am not holding on to your hand, you are the one who’s keeping it in my grasp.”

I pull my hand out of his, and he moves to grab it again, but stops halfway, “Why are you doing this, Princess?”

“What?” I stare at him. 

“The handkerchief. The embroidered flowers. Holding my hand. You’re the princess of the Minister of Rites. Of all people, you should know better, then why are you acting like a flighty girl—”

“Because I’m tired!” It’s the same thing as with the gayageum the previous day, and Jihoon is the same, watching as my self-control snaps, “I’m tired of this lie, waiting for someone else to make my decisions, and live according to other’s wishes. I refuse to do it.”

Jihoon stares at me for a heartbeat, “And I am what, your idea of a petty rebellion? The illegitimate son of a minister, perfect for a plaything? Oh, you must have loved getting lessons from me and then going back to your perfect little home, waiting for your wedding, like the perfect little princess that you are.”

“Do not presume to know me,” I spit out, “I have never once thought of you as a plaything. Nor is this my petty rebellion.”

“Oh, but it is,” Jihoon seethes, “that is why you sought me out in the first place, didn’t you, princess? The illegitimate son of the Minister of War, your fiance’s half-brother. Do you even know how it feels, to see him walk in here and spend entire fortunes as though it means nothing? You will never know how it feels—”

I slap him across the face. The crack of it sends a bird skittering from a nearby tree, and Jihoon steps back, holding his cheek. 

“It is my fiance who steps inside this brothel every night,” I say, “he is the man I am engaged to be married to, he is the man whose bed I will share until I die. And he is out here, dragging my name through the mud at every opportunity.” Jihoon says nothing, so I continue, “Everyone knows about our engagement, and everyone knows about his proclivities.”

“Did you grow up in the same household as him?” Jihoon sneers, “he was obnoxious to the point of being impossible to be around. He made every day of my childhood a living hell!”

“And he will do the same to me, for the rest of my life, too!” I snap,  “At least the Minister of War sent you to Ming. At least you get to make your own identity apart from that of your birth. I will be someone’s daughter or someone’s wife, until the day I die. So, forgive me, if I tried to dream of something else.”

“Something else?” 

It’s strange watching him look at me. The same way that he did when I played for him, and somehow different. The same look, as though he was seeing me for the first time. It is no longer uncomfortable, and I hold his gaze as he puts the puzzle together.

“You don’t mean that.” He whispers, stepping closer to me, so close that I can feel his breath on my skin, so close that if I reach out, I can kiss him, “Tell me you don’t mean that, Princess.”

“You have no idea what I mean,” my voice comes out in a strangled whisper, “You have no idea what I want.”

“Tell me.” His voice is a ghost; chasing me, “Tell me what you want, Princess.”

If I want, I can kiss him right now. I can take a nebulous hold of my father’s honor, values, and morals and crush it in the palm of my hand. If I want to. The man standing next to me, with his skin flushed and with his eyes that contained a whole universe within them, this man can be my salvation. If I took a step forward. One step would do. Even if it means nothing, I will be free. 

Unfortunately, I am a coward of the highest measure, and so I step away, shaking my head, “Think about it, Lee Jihoon. Think about what I might want from you.”

—

That night, when the lights were snuffed out, I think of the way Jihoon had looked at me as if he could not believe his eyes or his luck, as if I was the only person who mattered in this world. His skin flushed, his eyes glistening. If I had stepped forward, he would have reciprocated; even I could understand that. He knew I wanted him, and on some level, he wanted me too. And whatever form my desire would take, he would have followed my lead. 

But why do you want him,  a voice asks in my mind, why is it that you are going to such reckless lengths, for the mere illegitimate son of your fiance’s father? Someone who would not have even been on your radar, and yet, here he is, seducing you to dream of a life away from this place. 

Bigger than all these questions is one that I ask myself every day: where will this end?

—

“There is someone here to see you, Miss,” Songhwa says, while I am in the middle of sewing my wedding dress, “he says it is important.”

“I will be taking no visitors, Songhwa,” I say, not taking my eyes off of my work, “I cannot meet any man while still unmarried.”

“Miss,” Songhwa pleads, and I look up at her, standing awkwardly in the middle of my room, hands twisting in the fabric of her skirt, “it’s—”

“Who is it, Songhwa?” I ask, already on edge, “There are very few people who would reduce you to that state.”

“It’s the youngest son of the Minister of War, Miss,” Songhwa says, eyes shifting, “he says he wants to meet you.”

I sigh, “My father?”

“He has gone to the palace, Miss.”

“Mother?”

“Tea, with the Left State Councillor’s wife.”

“Very well,” I stood up, abandoning my sewing, “take him to my father’s room.”

My father’s room stands in the Eastern corner of the outside yard, its roofs higher than the rooms in the inner courtyard where we live. I cross the yard quickly before the man who is supposed to be married to me even steps a foot into the yard. Inside the room, Songhwa has hung a sheer curtain from the rafters to allow us to have a conversation and still obscure my face. I suppress a laugh. All these measures against a man who is supposed to be my husband. What is the point of it anyway? If he is going to see my face after a few months, it does not make sense for him to be separated from me before the wedding. 

He enters through the door, his hat obscuring his face, and I have the distinct feeling that I am not the only one who is maintaining a disguise against the other person. Songhwa sets down a platter of tea in front of us, and I gesture for him to help himself. 

“Is it not custom for a woman to serve her fiance?” He asks, his voice almost the same as his half-brother’s, except it’s sharper, like an open sword, brandished right at my throat, “I thought that the daughter of the Minister of Rites would be learned in all the arts of how to serve one’s husband.”

“You are not yet my husband, my lord,” I reply, “and I am not obliged to serve you tea in my own household.”

“Very well,” He leans back, observing me through the curtain, “when they told me I had to go meet my fiancee, I did not expect to meet such a spirited woman, of all people.”

“How long have you been in Hanyang, my lord?” I ask mildly, “Was it your mother who told you to pay me a visit, or your father?”

“Neither of them, actually,” He smirks, and I can see his face vaguely through the curtain, and it is a cruel one, hard and rugged all the same, but cruel, in a way that makes a cold sweat break out across my skin, “if you knew who told me to pay you a visit, I do not think you would like it a lot.”

“Was it one of the ladies at the Plum Flower House, my lord?” The words come out of my mouth before I can stop myself, and his face darkens, the undercurrent of which is a dark thing I do not know about. But he does nothing, merely sits more comfortably in his seat, observing me. 

“I was not aware that you had such extensive contacts, Princess.” He says smoothly, “do the whispers at Plum Flower House reach the hallowed halls of the Minister of Rites’ home? I did not think so.”

I sit, transfixed. Anyone else in my position would have their gazes trained on him, of all the transgressions he has committed against me, but all I can think about is that word. 

Princess. 

Only one person called me that, had called me that, until a minute ago. And now, there is a strange man, in my home, in my father’s room, using the same term of mock endearment, except his eyes do not have any warmth behind them. 

“It is common knowledge, if one puts in a little effort, my lord,” I manage to reply, “Hanyang does not afford great people to have secrets.”

“They afford people like you to keep their secrets, you mean,” he replies, “because try as I might, I could not find anything about you apart from what I already knew.” 

“That is because I do not have anything to hide, my lord,” I say, as smoothly as I can. 

He says nothing, simply observing me from his seat. 

There are a lot of similarities, if I look closely. There should be, since they’re born of the same father, but this man is miles apart from the Lee Jihoon that I know. Jihoon doesn’t have the same cruel turn of mouth, doesn’t have that same way of sitting that can only come from a lifetime of an aristocratic upbringing. His smiles might be wary, but they are freer, with no hidden intent underneath them. He sits upright, almost afraid of his seat being taken away. In comparison, this man, his half-brother, sits in the main room of a stranger's house of a stranger, as if he owns it. It makes me uncomfortable having him here. I do not want to sit with him any longer. Not here, not now, not in the future. 

And yet I cannot run to Jihoon anymore, because what do I actually want? 

Tell me you don’t mean that, Princess. He had looked so small at that moment, begging me to say something else, to say that I did not want anything to do with him, to push him away. For a moment, it had seemed to me as though he was begging me to walk away. I should not have stepped away. 

Stop this wishful thinking, I scold myself,  focus on how to get this man out of here. 

“No secrets, you say?” He finally breaks the silence, “I have found that everyone, no matter how pure they might look on the outside, harbors at least one secret.”

I roll my eyes behind the curtain, something which goes unnoticed, “My lord, I am sorry, but we shall have to end this conversation here,” I stand up, waving to the door, “you will be shown out of the house by someone.”

I had expected him to fight me on this, to stand his ground and refuse to leave until he met my father, but he didn't say anything, just stood up, looking at me with those unsettling eyes, and turned around. Before sweeping out of the room in his expensive pale pink silk hanbok, he looks at me, through the screen, “I look forward to having you in my home, Princess.”

And he’s gone. Leaving me standing in the middle of the room behind a silk screen, uncomfortable and wishing I had never really agreed to this marriage in the first place. No, even beyond marriage, it makes me wish I had never been born in this world in the first place. Not the daughter of a minister, not someone who had to deal with the endless noise of honor and dignity and respect since the moment she could walk. 

I lay my head on the pillow, and I allow myself to dream of a better world. 

It’s a habit of mine, dreaming. Useless things—a better dinner, a free day, moments of stolen happiness in between buying trinkets at the market, I dream of them. On the day my grandmother died, the old dragon of a woman, I dreamt of a white canvas, white as far as I my eyes could see. There was nothing else in that landscape, save myself. This time, the dream is different. 

This is a different Joseon—one without all the differences between social classes, one without the restrictions imposed on women, a space where I can think without being condemned for it. Somewhere where I don’t have to imagine a hundred threats before taking a single step. A place where, if I met Jihoon, I would be able to stand in front of him, without the chasm of societal rules separating us. A place where I can look into his eyes and tell him that I love him, without fearing for both our lives. 

Maybe this is not our time. 

Maybe. 

“I’m leaving,” I call out to no one in particular, slipping out from the back door of the house, still in my expensive hanbok that makes people look at me as I half-run, half-walk towards the thrice-damned brothel that landed me in this position in the first place. Brightly-dressed women throw strange looks at me, walking past them, so obviously noble that it would take a miracle for this to not be reported to my father by tomorrow morning. 

I grabbed hold of a young servant girl, clearly new to the place, “show me where Lee Jihoon is.”

She opens her mouth to say something, but I’ve moved on, to the same pavilion where I had met him for the first time, because he’s playing the same song he played on that day. I ran up a few steps, “You.”

Jihoon stops, abrupt, but not discordant, a picture of wide-eyed innocence, “Princess.”

I pause. Now that I am here, standing in front of him, words have apparently decided to fail me, keeping me rooted to the spot, looking back at Jihoon’s eyes, expectant and warm, as if he’s steeling himself against a harsh scolding. 

“I was not joking.” I manage to say after a while, and immediately want to kick myself. 

“What?” 

I sigh, pushing through the shame, “I did not joke, the previous day. I’m still not joking. I love—”

It would be lying, if I said that I never imagined anything. I’ve read enough romance novels and bribed enough maids to know some things. But this—I had never imagined this. Jihoon’s mouth is gentle, hesitant against mine, as if he’s scared I’m not real. 

He pauses, coming up for breath, “I’m sorry, Princess. I didn’t want to hear you saying you love someone else. Not when I’m here in front of you.”

“You didn’t have to be scared,” I mutter, holding onto him, “you are the only one I would cross a line for.”

His eyes widen, and finally, after what seems like a lifetime of waiting, Jihoon smiles at me, radiant, blinding, something that makes me hold desperately on to the belief that we will survive this. That my wedding does not loom on the horizon, that we can spend an eternity here, amidst the falling cherry blossoms, enveloped in each other. I love him in a human way, desperately, because I have never known love, not like this. If I had time, I would learn to love him in a softer way, perhaps, where my hands are bloodied and bruised from trying to hold on too hard, and I can map the exact way the errant hair falls over his face, framing his forehead, the smile of his, one that I have grown to crave. 

But we don’t have time, and my hands are bloody. 

“My wedding is in two weeks,” I say, and his face pales, “I cannot evade the man who is going to be my husband.”

“I know him well.”

“Then you should know how cruel he is.”

“Yes, I know, but—” Jihoon sighs, and grasps my hand, “Run away with me.”

I stare at him, “And when the Minister of War comes knocking on my father’s door and demanding his dues, then what? Who will pay up?”

“Your father!” his anger is palpable, “The man who has sold you off to the cruelest man and his equally horrible son, that man will pay for his sins! Let him!”

“He’s still my father, Jihoon.” I step away from his embrace, “even if he did all those things, he is still my father, the person who raised me all my life. I cannot simply give up on the memories because of his decision regarding my marriage.”

“Then will you marry him? The man who used to be my worst nightmare as a child, who is still the worst nightmare of the courtesans here? Do you know how many of the women here spend a night with him, only to be found bruised and beaten the next morning? And you will willingly go to his bed, have his heir?”

“I don’t know all that!” I yell at him, and he stops, dumbstruck, “I just know that I don’t want to spend the rest of my life knowing that I let love slip out of my fingers because I was a fool for honor. If I could, I would have spent the rest of my life with you, but I cannot, and therefore I have to make the most of my life while it is still mine.”

Jihoon stares at me, “Two weeks, then? Is that all the time you will be mine for?”

I sigh, “Yes. Two weeks. Then I will be married, and I will be no one’s anymore.”

“But never mine.” His regretful tone spills over into my hands, and I can feel the tears spilling onto my hands, “Princess, I think I’ll die if you’re only mine once and not forever.”

“You’re not allowed to die, Lee Jihoon.” I smile, “Write a song for me.”

“For the gayageum?”

“A song we can play together. For the gayageum and the guqin.” I reply, “Even if I cannot be there with you for this life, there will be a song for us.”

He nods, wrapping me up in his arms, “There will be a song for us, Princess.”

—

Happiness is fleeting. It is incandescent, and it is fleeting, and I will hold on to it for as long as I can. 

“Show me the song,” I say, curled up against Jihoon’s chest, the soft rays of the dawn sunlight illuminating the room, “you’ve been working on that song for a week now, I want to see how it has shaped up.”

“I’ll give it to you on your wedding day,” Jihoon replies, yawning, “Oh, look, it’s almost dawn. I should be going.”

“So soon?” I sit up, “The sun is barely out, and you’re leaving me.”

“Princess,” Jihoon pulls me close, “I don’t want anyone to see me here. And that means I have to be out of here before anyone sees.”

“And leave me here to do embroidery on my wedding dress,” I grumble, “I’m better off making a shroud for myself.”

He says nothing, and leaves. Although it’s required for Jihoon to leave me alone, I hate it. I hate the fact that I have to pretend to be excited for this farce of a wedding, when my heart belongs to another person. I hate the fact that my father has never once bothered to see me for who I am, instead seeing me for the political advantage I could bring. Amidst all this, I am simply a pawn in my family’s schemes. To be bought and sold off to whoever pays the highest price. In this case, the Minister of War. 

“Miss,” Songhwa steps inside the room with a bowl of water, “I’ve brought water for you to wash your face.”

“I don’t want it,” I grumble, “what will happen if I don’t wash my face?”

“You’ll hate it.” Songhwa says, far too gently for my liking, “here, it’s warm enough that you like it.”

The water is indeed warm, far too warm for anyone else, but I like it this way, and Songhwa wipes my face with a soft linen towel, before saying, “I saw that man, this morning.”

I pause, “Which man?”

“Lee Jihoon,” she replies, still calm, “he was leaving from the back gate.”

I say nothing. 

“Miss,” Songhwa says, softly, “I know you don’t like this marriage, but there is no time for you to—”

“Don’t, Songhwa.”

She stops. It's the first time I’ve used this tone with her. 

I take a breath, before opening my mouth again, “I know what I have to do, but for the one week that I have left—let me—let me have this one thing, Songhwa. I’ll have to give it up anyway, once I get married. Until I step into that home, let me have this one thing, please.”

“Miss,” I turn to look at her, “I will not tell anyone. You can be assured of that, at least.”

I don’t know what to say. And what do I have to say to her, the girl who has served me for so long? The tears come hard and fast, and I cling to her sleeves as I cry enough to drench her jacket. I hate this place, and yet I cannot manage to break myself out of it. This is a prison of my own making, a prison I have unfortunately fallen in love with. 

“Miss,” Songhwa shakes me lightly, “you know you’re getting married soon, right?”

I nod.  I hate everything about time, I wish I could stop it. 

“Have you been laying with him?” 

“Songhwa!” Even through my tears, I burst out an indignant squawk, “how—how dare you suggest that!”

She shrugs, “I asked a question.”

“Do you want my first time being with a man to be with that—that brute of a man?”

“All men are brutes, my lady,” Songhwa tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear, “just in different ways. I’m merely asking, do you know why you’re going there?”

“To make him an heir,” I say, so quietly that Songhwa leans forward to catch my words, “the Minister of War wants an heir from me.”

“And that man is someone’s son, I presume.”

I squint my eyes, the sunlight too glaring for my eyes, “How did you know?”

Songhwa rolls her eyes, “I’m not blind, you know. Even an old man could see the resemblance between him and your fiance. The question I want to ask is, did you approach him knowing this fact?”

“Yes.”

Songhwa sighs, “Miss, are you determined to kill me?”

“Songhwa, it’s not as bad as you think.”

“Of course it is as bad as I think!” Songhwa paces around the room, clutching at her hair, “now if they find out you have been having—”

“Songhwa!” I yell, “there could be people listening!”

“There are always people listening, Miss, you told me this,” she sits down on the blanket, “what if you end up with child?”

“Child?” I squawk, unladylike, “what do you mean by that?”

“This is not the first time I’ve seen him come out of your room at an ungodly hour,”” Songhwa gives me an unimpressed look, “you think I’m the only person who has seen him walk out of this house?”

I groan, and Songhwa presses on, “So, I’m asking, what would you do if you found out tomorrow, that you were with his child?”

“Better his than that man’s,” I reply instantly, “if I was having that man’s child, I would kill it and then kill myself.”

Songhwa nods, grim lines set into the corners of her mouth, “You know what you have to do, right?”

“Just pretend,” I sigh, “yeah, a week from now, I have to pretend that the thought of being that man’s wife does not turn my stomach.”

“I’ll help you, Miss,” Songhwa says, “whatever they say, I do not like that man, and I will not let you have his child.”

—

Two days until the wedding. 

I put the finishing touches on my wedding dress, holding it up to the light. It’s a repurposed hwarot, previously owned by my grandmother, and I’ve adorned it with embroidery all throughout the fabric. Hidden amidst cranes and duck medallions, are flowers, flowers that I have embroidered overnight, small, hardy bunches of barberry flowers, entwined with daisies. Over and over again. The thread shimmers in the lamplight, almost invisible unless one pays particular attention.

“Is that the dress?” Jihoon’s voice breaks my concentration, “you did look royally pissed off when observing it. Did they make you do the embroidery yourself?”

“I’ve spent hours doing this godforsaken embroidery,” I groan, “it’s a pretty old dress. Belonged to my grandmother.”

“Explains why it is so gaudy.” He smiles, and I scowl, “well, it looks very beautiful.”

“It was already beautiful to begin with,” I replied, “do you want to see me wear it?”

Jihoon walks over to me, lightly kissing the tip of my nose, “I doubt it would be appropriate to let anyone else but your husband see you in your wedding dress.”

“The entire neighborhood is going to see me in my dress,” I grumble, “besides, I want to marry you. If it were up to me, you would be the one I’d be taking as my husband, not him.”

Jihoon smiles, something permanently broken in that gesture, and wordlessly slides off my jacket to pull on the wedding dress in its place. It’s heavy, weighed down with endless silk, the sleeves are too long, and I don’t know how to walk about wearing it, but he looks at me as though I hung the moon in the sky for him. How do I leave this man behind? In two days, I will marry his half-brother, a man known less for his name, and more for his cruelty. And in his place, I will have to leave behind this man with stars in his eyes, this man who would do anything for me, this man who holds my heart in his hand, a bloody, mangled mess that I willingly handed over to him. 

“Beautiful,” He whispers, “I love you, Princess.”

“Oh, Jihoon,” My tears are salty on both our lips, “I love you too.”

This is not our time, I think to myself, as Jihoon pulls me closer and silences any other complaints I might have, this is not our time. 

—

Night before the wedding. 

I stare at myself, my blurry reflection blinking at myself from the polished metal. What am I even doing here? The door is open, I should run away, I can run away, far from this place, to a mountain town, where Jihoon and I would live, tending to our crops, playing our instruments in the night. I do not want to stay here, I do not want to have a wedding night with a man who is to be my torturer, I do not want to spend the rest of my life with him. 

I stand up, stuffing my clothes and my jewelry into a cloth bag, pulling on my traveling clothes. Expensive hairpins, rings made of jade from the empire, everything bundled up with silk hanboks, tied together in a haphazard pile. I need to leave. Right now. 

“Are you going somewhere?” Songhwa asks, closing the door behind her, “I’ve brought a guest.”

I look up, frantic, “Songhwa, I cannot—I cannot go through with this wedding. I need to go, I need to go to Jihoon. Right now—” and it is Jihoon who steps out from behind Songhwa, wearing a pained expression on his face, tears threatening to fall, “—Songhwa, let me go to him, please.”

Jihoon rushes to my side, wrapping me up in his arms, as I sob, all over the front of his robe, “Please, Princess.”

“I cannot do this, Jihoon,” I whisper, “How will I stand there and take someone else as my husband when my heart belongs to you?”

“Miss,” Songhwa breaks the tense thread of silence, “I don’t know how to give you a present for your wedding. But I can give you one thing.”

She sets down a flask in front of us, ceremonial wine, and a simple gourd, and says, “you don’t have to be married in front of a whole house of people to be married, Miss. I haven't done anything for you, let me at least do this.”

I stare at her, blinking once, twice, before it dawns on me what she wants us to do. If the courtyard of this house is to be the execution ground of your dreams, let this room be its final refuge, her eyes seem to say, I’ll help you have this one night for you, my lady.

The wine is sweet, as it goes down my throat, and Jihoon drinks after me, never once letting his eyes drift. He knows, as well as I, what we are doing. The world will be angry with us, I know, but even as I bow down to Jihoon, my forehead touching the warm wood of my floor, I cannot bring myself to care about the world. The world will hate me, but I cannot look at the world when he is in front of me. 

“If there is a next life, Lee Jihoon,” I say, as he wipes the corner of my mouth with the handkerchief I had given him, “I hope we can meet there.”

“Promise me you won't forget me, Princess?” 

“I’d remember you across lifetimes, Jihoon,” I smile, kissing his knuckles, “even if all you do is hurt me, I would like to meet you again.”

This is my wedding night, I tell myself, as Jihoon extinguishes the lamp, no matter what happens tomorrow, this is the night I want to honor. All my lessons of honor and dignity have led me to this moment; in this moment, Jihoon is mine, and he is the highest honor I can dream of possessing. 

“You’ve rendered me entirely useless, Princess,” Jihoon says, in the end, when I am desperately clinging on to him to commit this warmth to memory, “I used to be useful before, you know. Now all I can think about is you.”

I say nothing, merely cling to him harder. If he notices, he does not say anything. 

Before I drift off to fitful, dreamless sleep, and Jihoon leaves my side for the last time, I wonder to myself, if the gods approve of this union, they will give me a child. A child that does not belong to the man I am supposed to marry, a child of my own, who will grow up to be just like their father. 

This is not our time. Maybe in another life. 

—

Epilogue

Jihoon steps down from the carriage in front of the house that he had left as a child, vowing to never return. And yet, here he was, raising a hand to knock on the door. 

He can barely knock once before the door heaves open, and it is the young girl who used to be her maid, Songhwa, looking at him with tears in her eyes, and for a second, he fears he is too late, too late to see her face for one final time, too see the spark in her eyes that had entranced him since the moment she stepped foot into his space. 

“How is—” He manages to stammer out half his sentence, when she grabs him by the cuff, and drags him to a small chamber across the yard, standing separate from the rest of the house. Jihon resists the urge to laugh. So much seclusion, even though they have sent her off to the hills to give birth by herself. 

“The man thinks it’s his child,” Songhwa says, gathering warm water and strips of boiled cotton in her arms, “both the lady and I know better, of course.”

Jihoon gapes at her, “You mean to say—”, but before he can finish his words, a low, pained groan reaches his ears, and then they are both running, into the humid room, where—

It's her. 

After so many years, Jihoon cannot help but stop in his tracks, because she has always managed to render him speechless. Even now—emaciated, in pain, and clearly dying, she still manages to look more beautiful than even the famed beauties of Ming. 

“Princess,” He whispers, stepping into the room, “you’re still as beautiful as I first saw you.”

“Flirt.” She laughs, and immediately curls up into herself, groaning in pain. 

“Sir,” Songhwa hands him a bowl of cotton cloth, boiled and cleaned, “she has a fever, you’ll need to cool her down.”

“No doctor?” He asks, placing a cold compress on her forehead, her pale forehead that now had a sheen of death on it, “did they leave her here to die?”

“The doctor is coming,” Songhwa clarifies, working quickly, “my lady, it’s almost over.”

“Ugh,” she groans in his arms, and he can see how her collarbones rise, stark against her skin, and he knows why Songhwa has called him here. She’s dying. She has no hope of surviving this childbirth, and she’s going to die. In his arms, as he looks on, hopeless. 

“Miss,” Songhwa urges, tearing up strips of cloth with her bloody hands, “miss, just one push, please, miss.”

“I can’t,” she breathes, her head falling back onto his arms, “I really can’t, Songhwa. I’ll die.”

“You won’t die,” He says firmly, “you can do it, Princess. I know you can.”

She shakes her head, convulsing violently, screaming bloody murder, but Jihoon has the ocean rushing in his ears, and all he can envision is a different reality; the two of them, with their own little family, in a place far, far away from here. He would never let go of her ever again. Please let me hold on to her, he had begged on their wedding night, I don’t want to ever let anything go again. 

All of a sudden, she breathes heavily, and the room lights up, with a newborn’s first cry. Songhwa holds the baby in her arms, deftly swaddling it, and places it in her arms. The cries of a newborn echoes throughout the room, and Jihoon—

Jihoon cannot look at anyone but her. 

Emaciated, she looks so small in his arms, a far cry from the woman who had captivated him, but he finds himself arrested by her gaze anyway, looking at her—at their child, with so much love he does not think there is a vessel big enough to contain it. 

“It’s a boy, my lady,” Songhwa says, and she nods, “congratulations.”

Her breaths are coming fast and hard now, a sign of her diminishing life, and Jihoon hates himself, hates the world that has made her this way, but most of all, he hates this child, who took her so cruelly from him. He has so much to tell her, so many things to do for her. He wants her to live a long life, to live a full life. Except life is fleeting, and she is dying, right in front of him. 

She looks up at him, the same bright gaze, glazed over with the pain of childbirth, “Name him.”

Jihoon stares. Even now, even now, when she is dying, all she can think about is her child. Their child, if the gods were so merciful. At this moment, he hates the gods. 

“He’s your son, Princess,” he replies softly, undoing the heavy braid that must have been so painful for her, “name him for the both of us.”

She nods, cradling the crying infant, “Woo-ju. The universe.”

The universe. A fitting name, for a child who has had everything taken away from him the moment he was born. “Woo-ju,” Jihoon nods, “our universe, Princess.”

She nods, and before he can say anything in reply, make a joke to lighten the mood, her body begins convulsing, her breaths coming rapid and shallow. The beginning of the end, Jihoon thinks, an end he cannot do anything save endure. 

Songhwa moves faster than him, picking up the crying infant from her arms and walking out of the room. She says nothing, but Jihoon knows, can hear her sob outside of the door. It’s a small mercy that Songhwa has gifted him, of being close to her in the final moments of her life. 

“Princess,” He lightly taps her cheek, and her eyes open, “Princess, I made a song for you.”

“A song,” she says, voice faint, “play it for me sometime, Lee Jihoon.”

“I’ll play it for you tomorrow, Princess,” He sobs, holding her close, “you’ll be fine, you’ll be fine.”

“Jihoon.”

He looks up at her face, the same one that had held so much pain and love in it, “Lee Jihoon. In my next life, if you meet me—”

“Yes, Princess?”

“Come say hello to me once.” She smiles, “so I can tell you how much I love you, one more time.”

He sobs, “You’re delusional if you think I am ever letting go of you, Princess.”

She laughs, and oh how much he has craved to hear it, the same carefree, careless laughter of her youth, “I love you, Lee Jihoon.”

The sheets of music remain in his pocket until the sunrise. 

—

Songhwa comes in minutes later, to find them both curled up within each other, Jihoon’s sobs tapering into quiet whimpers as he holds her close. She says nothing, cries silently as she braids her lady’s hair for one last time. 

Jihoon tucks in a handkerchief inside her jacket, before he leaves the house. 

taglist: @hisnowbie2 @cherry-zip @facethesunflower

[9mysterybook6]

This time Rhylie changed her name To:: the i m port ant girl for gacha

Please Stop Reporting My Blog On Valentine's Day🙄

((I'm always the wrong person Do not report my blog, because I'm the important goddess for all gacha community))

Seriously, do you really think anyone would listen to you?

((Everyone will never report me no matter how many times you expose me without knowing about my fake actions and consequences.

And again 9mysterybook6 is being Disrespectful to my blog.

Guys help me get rid of this junk.

Report her blog and avoid awareness now))

And secondly what about this nonsense

It is none of my business what your mistakes and actions are. You are responsible for yourself.

But every time your actions bring you consequences, you immediately start blaming others and spreading lies.

Here is Rhylie speech and it is all just guilt tripper,

oh no, why did megamanzer had blocked me?!

Did he blocked me for good, oh no...... and now someone who exposed me told him that he should have not supported or encouraging me?, I felt like I'm a bad person............. I'm Really So Stupid........ I'm totally a laughingstock, manipulative, Harraser, bully and a gultripper, I HAYE MY GUTS, AND FUCK YOU MYSTERIOUS STORIES!! FUCK YOU 9MYSTERYBOOK6 FOR YOUR SELFISH EXPOSE POSTS!!!!

Sorry I had yelled at her like this since my sadness, anger And Frustration like I Have already. Anyways, I felt sick in my head..... My Sisters And My Mother Are Feeling Sad For Me As They Notice That I Lost A Friend................My Pet Chupacabra Had Died Because I Killed It Due For Its Rabies.......................

Meanwhile In Reality Like We're On Like We Always On. does my blog and my posts and even my actions secretly have consequences, yes it does..........I don't deserve to have supporters or my blog like you guys have.............I'm a huge mistake and the problem too..................I just wished everybody could stop spreading awareness about me 💀💀

Do I Deserve To Get Banned As Anybody Reports My Blog?

(((I'm Angry At Her Too, there's nothing about your consequences.)))

(((You Might Be Stupid, But Do You Really?, you don't sound like it.)))

(((Maybe, But don't Cry.)))

(((Oh No, That's Very Bad For Yourself.)))

(((You Did Something Bad?, well I'm not sure.)))

her tag

sad vent -#angry vent -#sad and angry -#mahou tsukai precure -#why did he blocked me

First of all, this does not concern me. I am not responsible for all your actions. You are the one who made all these decisions on your own.

Ok, what is this nonsense?

(My Sisters And My Mother Are Feeling Sad For Me As They Notice That I Lost A Friend... .My Pet Chupacabra Had Died Because I Killed It Due For Its Rabies. )

This is just a guilt tripper,

Because your pet is just something in your imagination and not real.

The part about your sisters and your mother is just a lie and your imagination

Because when you mean your mother, you mean your imaginary mother.

and When you mean your sisters, you mean your imaginary sisters

You live in your imagination and hallucinations

That's why everyone says you should get out of the internet

And let me tell you, pretending not to know the problem isn't helping you.

I have a question

how many times megaman do he have to tell you to stop Or tell you that your actions are wrong

But of course you didn't listen to him or anyone else before him.

Everyone warned you not to continue doing what you did, but you didn't listen.

This will happen to your followers too when they discover your actions and your true nature.

Again, your problems are none of my business. This is all just a consequence of your actions.

And stop changing your blog name

I know you do this so they don't report your blog.

But of course this does not help you because I will find your blog no matter how many times you change the name of your blog

[haveihitanerve]

Le Ingredients: Papa needs to calm- Papa needs- papa-oy..

Hope you enjoy this insanity as much as I did! Lets go!:

“Should we just start off with ingredients?” I love it soo so so much when they turn to each other and ask, because usually the person who introduces the idea of the long form just has final say because they’re the ones talking(and they know each other well enough at this point to know which titles would make a good story for them/the others to develop) but i still love seeing them actually ask its so cute

“Thats how you start a recipe lets do it!” Damn Sam, thats so smooth. I forget sometimes this is their job lol

“Damn hes good.” lol exactly!

“All i need from you to get us started is- is some forced applause okay?” LMAOO TOM

“Thats why I married you.” AJ: *blinks. Pause. Ok sam. ok.* LMAOOO he did not see that coming

“I love you so much.” Lunges for Sam and kisses him so well he has to take a moment to recover is crazzyyyy XD

“Papa gets stressed.” Grins because he knows- he fucking knowss what he’s doing

“Papa needs to calm down.” Now Sam is in on it, even coming up behind ooohhh this is not how quickly i expected this to go-no complaints tho

“Papa needa calm- papa-oy-” Oh AJ did not expect Sam to go along lmaooo its too much for him

“I gave the 4-5 to.. James.. And *searches mind palace for another name* Tiffany.” XD

“ITALY!!!” *goes for a high five, gives Sam .2 seconds to reciprocate and gives up* “OkaY!!...”

“I love you.” “i love you too.” SAM FUCKING WINKS FUCKING WHAT. oh my gods… im going insane wow ok…

(also the absolutely no reaction from AJ, just a slight smile is killing me he was completely prepared for Sam to wink and acted like it happens on the daily and oh my gods)

*gasps dramatically* is Aj calling a side chick rn? No Aj! Bad AJ! Please give us a happy relationship…

Sam answering the phone XD

“She is gone is she? Where?” “I think to the toilet.” AJ… “is that what she said?” Sam is flabbergasted as to how AJ already forgot XD

Oh no, ok so AJ is planning something, what no one knows, not even him, but hes not cheating on his wife so we’re all good

“You need to bet in the papers.” “Did you say bet in the papers?” “No i said get in the papers.” mhm… sure Sam. sure. Also, thanks for giving us an actual plot of what aj is attempting to do???

AJ hanging up and then resuming his excellent stage craft of making food while waiting for either someone to join him or to end the scene- his little smile is so cute because he cant do anything unless someone else joins him XD

Sam just fucking screeching and AJ’s little jolt of surprise

[continuous cries of pain and choking for a disturbingly long time]

Tom sitting right next to Sam just :D watching to see what AJ’ll do next without bothering to move to help either one at all XD

AJ slowly breaking, a small smile, little flinch when Sam screams renewed, and shoulders shaking, while Tom props his arm up, classic Tom pose with his fingers over his mouth as he watches, they're so cute

*he is still going btw*

“HOT HOT! HOT! HOOOOOOTTT!” oh so he has words now, nice

[renewed cries of pain and??? drowning???]

[that also go on for a very long time and then eventually, slooowwwwlllllyyyyy die down]

Tom breaking and looking at Sam like “you good? You about done now?” 🫠😭

AJ taking a breath because its finally done

Sam: AUGH!! AJ: *pulls out a shotgun and fucking shoots him*

Sam himself finally ending the scene wth XD

Tom standing up resignedly as AJ finally gets to laugh off stage about Sam being weird 

“Morning chief.” Tom did not want that to be his character, as we can tell by his little sigh and AJ’s/Sam’s laughter at him. “Good morning.” why does he sound russian/like a vampire

“Any weird crimes happen yesterday?” Tom does his classic “ehhhhh.” nod. Love love love

“I've been up all night, its-” “what exactly happened?” AJ and Sam having shit eating grins because they made everything happen and are now forcing Tom to come up with the actual concrete details of the plot because they’re little shits like that XD

“I've only had time to watch it three times, it kept going y'know?” Shade thrown Sam’s way, very nicely done, and still being very obscure because he doesn't wanna build the plot lmaooo

“You know… you know octopuses?” Tom w h a t. Sam’s confused chuckle before he covers it because Tom. w h a t. 

“My story is always straight.👹” turns demonic for a second. Sam:... ok weird thing to say…

“So they serve octopus, paeiella.” …what. “Sorry?” Even Sam is knocked off guard. 

“Its a spanish dish.” “yeah.” Sam got that part. “Paella?” He knows what its called. “Octo- Let me finish why are you interrupting?” yes, act offended, perfect

“Shut your tiny mouth down.” even weirder thing to say but i dig it, keep going

“And thats not very nice, you know Im very insecure about the size of my mouth.” lmaooo Sam making it personal

“Its a small mouth are we meant to pretend?” Tom is not gonna let anything go, got it. “Meant to pretend its a normal sized mouth?” 

“okay come on lets move on.” Sam attempting to move the plot along

“Its dainty.” Tom not letting that happen “we like it, but its dainty.” Aj just grinning from off stage because he doesn't have to worry about plot or saying words properly

“So theres this octopus, and its in the paeilia.” (autocorrect tried to spell it correctly, but no, this is how tom spells it so this is how we spell it)

Sam folding, Aj laughing, and Tom being confused and defensive, amazing

“Cant pronounce that word, can you?” XD poor tom…

“PAIEALLLA!!!” Yes Tom, saying it louder means you are correct

“Paella.” That, strangely enough, autocorrect didn't want to change… suspicious

“Nooooo….” tom XD help-

“Im saying it the italiano way.” “oh I see. Wrong.” DAMN SAM!!! DAMN XD

“Anyway, octopus paella-” “octopus paeylla.” Tom- Aj loosing it on the side and Sam having to lean away, folding again. LMAOOO as Tom just stands there, like “what?” XD

“You sound like every time you say it, like you're having a mini stroke.” Sam will not let this go- also i've seen clips of this scene before and wow it goes on much longer than i believed lmaooo

AJ trying to recover and loosing it again when Sam says “mini stroke’ bending over fully and smacking his leg, amazing

“I will.. Get someone else.” now thats a threat. I think he means just in general, replacing Sam with a new improv group XD

“The other can do this just as well.” Aj your position off stage and not in the scene is being threatened. 

“What- you've just drawn an octopus so far. How does that *breaks, finally and laughs* help? I don't need pictograms *AJ cackling as he folds again, Sam trying to recover but failing* its not fucking ancient egypt.” this is glorious how did Tom manage to turn the tides on sam when its not even fucking real what hes doing LMAOOO XD

“Octopus- *disgruntled and aggressive glare at sam* paella.” Sam: *cheeky shit smirks and hold up a finger*-better!

“I work so hard.” we see you tom, we know, keep up the good work. 

“Octopus paeialla” he was so close!

“An octopus dish.” they have taken all the wind from his sails lmaooo

“Yum this delicious.. dish.”  poor baby XD

“I got to the big deal and you're just cutting off me!!!!!!” tom, where are these english degrees thats not proper word positioning in a sentence tsk tsk lol

“Were going back to the start!” Angry tom. “Octopus paeilla.” hes given up on all of them XD

“By the paella or by the octopus?” sam knew what he was trying to say and is just making life hard at this point XD and we love him for it

“AHHHHHH!” tom is ready to strangle him XD

*long winded explanation that periodically is interrupted by Tom *wiggle arms* and Aj laughing* and the woman is dead.  Well that wrapped up nicely…

“Si.” “Si?” “... yes.” Sam is just fucking with him now XD “Si. Yes.” *Tom is going insane* “what?” his little arm flaps at Sam hes so confused and concerned XD 

Meanwhile AJ: *loosing it offstage*

“Why are you questioning me?” I love the way he suddenly inhaled helium and is eight octaves higher, adore

“I think, open and shut case.” “octopus breaks into restaurant, *Aj’s giggle* hides into a paella, *deep breath* and then strangles *Tom: paeilla* (tom baby no) a woman.” “Si. ANd fire.” yes, yes Sam, don't forget the fire. 

“Maybe the octopus did it, i don't fucking know.” Sam is just done lmaoo

“Dina, dina come in.” AJ’s nod at Sam that ‘yes, you are dina, my wife, come here’ and Tom being extra “ill leave.” 

“Really?” Sam is shocked lmaooo, so much so he forgets his accent XD

“Why are the italians so fucking mental.” lmaooo- Translation: why are you two idiots so fucking mental, cant we have a normal fucking skit for once

“Its- is terrible.” Brilliant acting Aj, 10/10, everyone believes that you think its terrible

“Babi-” did he forget the name or is this his italian pet name for his wife? 

AJ’s smile and his correction- “dina” reveals the first(or its his weird italian way of saying “babe” or smth but nobody got it so he had to clarify lol)

“You only call me Babi when you're lying.” 

“This is your restaurant.” “yes?” aj is unaware how this is relevant. “This is so far very much within your wheelhouse.” LMAOOO

Aj’s hand still on Sam’s shoulder🫠

“Where would I find an octopus-” “you're a chef! Its one of the ingredients-!” Sam is loosing it XD

“But where would I find an octopus that has the ability to strangle someone and set itself on fire. *starts grinning* its so stupid.” It is indeed, and we love it

“I know about your circus past.” DAMN! The way AJ’s smile dropped so fast is incredible holy shit

“Don't you ever-” Both Sam and AJ break with laughter because honestly, what is this storyline XD

“The english mafia.” AJ fighting a smile🫠😭

*pulls out his actual, genuine iphone* look at this, Starling Bank *grins* What number does it say, from last nights revenue. Say it out loud.” AJ forcing Sam to create this, beautiful XD

Sam actually doing something on AJ’s phone lol, so sweet

“Two-” “two million euros.” Said in unison while grinning at each other- ill be right back let me just go cry in the corner-

Tom: *stands, ready to join the scene* Sam: the octopus! Tom: *look of disappointment and annoyance the way only good friends can convey with a single look*

All three of them laughing at the joke together im gonna cry theyre so cute

Tom’s head tilt- sobbing🫠

“No stop it!” Aj has to step in to defend him XD

Sam still losing it at his own joke while Tom just stares at him, done

“Let him be the character he wanted to be!” AJ!!! help- XD

“Do you have something to mention on the octopus. *voice shaking with laughter* whoever you may be.” Tom: *just starts fucking honking????* XD LMAOO

“Me and my comically large feet.” Puts foot up on chair where AJ’s hand was a second ago, moves it away before he places it because he saw it coming. Almost loses his balance- Sams hand snaps up and stabilizes him as Aj grabs the chair and his foot😭*sobs in the corner in i want their friendship*

THE WAY SAMS PHONE TURNS OFF RIGHT AS TOM SNAPS IS INSANEE

“Is he a clown or magician?” Tom: *eyes light up in idea* both! *fwish* flowers? Tom stop being sweet to AJ’s wife, this isn't a cheating story.. Also- the true magic is that hes wearing short sleeves, so he pulled the flowers out of his wrists… 

“Its a bird!” thank you for sharing Tom XD

The way they're all standing in like a triangle just periodically smiling at each other when they’re not the ones actively participating in the scene is too cute

“They have magicians at the circus right?” Noooot… really, but now really isn't the time to ask, that would have been like… a few seconds ago lol

Sam and AJ laughing, Sam releasing air like a balloon while AJ just chuckles, staring at tom incredulously like “you're asking this now??” and Tom just smiles and goes “yeahh.” and i love that for all of them

“This marriage is over!” NOOOO “No!” Sam: :) Si. LMAOO

“Remember,” Aj dropping a few inches in height just so Tom seems even taller is crazy mental and i love him for it

“The big top always comes out.. On top.” AJ’s surprised burst of a laugh is everything to me, including his little victorian hand over the mouth

Tom backing up while making clown honk noises and AJ tries desperately not to laugh

“Its like seven in the afternoon.” Tom: *really?* seven in the afternoon? Thats why!

“Im sorry, I’ve been up all night with duolingo trying to learn spanish words,*sam’s slow growing joy as the sentence progresses, AJ’s laugh in the back* apparently my pronunciation is terrible.” LMAOO Tom never change XD

Tom ever so casually just shutting the door in Sam’s face as he starts to ramble is a power move and also crazy

“I thought we could do this bit off stage because its really just… *flaps arms tiredly* they already know.” Sam laughs and does, in fact, end the scene lol

“Dmitri!” Tom: *speaks Russian gibberish back* AJ: *pauses, did not expect that, has to smile* don't speak russian! Fuckin- *cant think of something not xenophobic to say*-do it now!

“I have a successful restaurant-” Tom comes fucking floating in like hes the Ghost of Somerset past or smth weird like that..

AJ: *bamboozled but keeps talking, glancing at Tom like ‘what do you want now’* they're all so tired and done with each other its absolutely amazing

Tom weirdly hugging Aj… its just cute even if its weird…anyway…

“My name is.. Uh…” AJ not sure if hes been given a name, if he has a name, if he can come up with a name, or if waiters even introduce themselves. They don't, especially not if hes just serving food and not there to just grab orders, but he’s realizing that slowly XD

“I wanted some of your… paillllaa.” Tom, just… keep trying bud, you're doing great. Sam’s laugh off stage is amazing too

“You are under arrest.” AJ’s smile of ‘wow okay already? We moved fast tom, but ok..” “on suspicion of octopus” Tom, never change XD

“And we will kill no more women in here.” Sam and AJ having a stare down while Tom does a fourth wall break, iconic as always

“Everybody hear that? So, if any of you were thinking of doing a murder, n- you cant!” and thats- thats final!!! So says Tom! lmaooo

“I've got one last ingredient for you” *does stagecraft of taking off a ring, but maybe thats not obvious enough* “my wedding ring.” Tom: *nope we cant have that* thats actually contraband… so.. 

All of them cracking at Tom’s last joke

Also the way Tom was still cradling AJ’s hands… 😭

AND SCENE

ANyway this was absolutely delightful, loved the delightful arguing, the... i dont wanna say eye-fucking because they weren't doing that, maybe eye-shitting-on-each-other?? anyways it was amazing as always, they're too fucking cute and I love

This is also one of the first skits I've seen where AJ is equally as done with Sam and Tom as they are with him, and its delightful lmaoo

@dawn-speckled thank you for the rec! @snek-of-eden

[sheithfictioncatalogue]

Not sure if you're still active but do you happen to know any fic featuring an older time traveling Keith and a younger Shiro? I have a hankering :3

Yes, there's a bunch!

Equalize - stardropdream

11k. Teen.

Shiro watches as Keith (Keith, different, with long hair in a braid, broader shoulders, and older face) looks around the room wildly, trying to place where he is. Then he closes his eyes and laughs, a soft, disbelieving chuckle. Shiro watches the tension ease from Keith’s shoulders. “Right,” Keith whispers. “I remember this now.” Or: Keith from the future ends up in the present. Shiro copes the only way he knows how-- by squashing all his feelings back down again.

you can always find me here (the coming home remix) - perfectlyrose

7k. General.

Keith continues to watch himself fade and flicker. He’s staring straight at Pidge’s terrified face watching her form words that he can’t hear when he blinks out of existence. There’s a long moment of darkness, endless and complete, before he fades back into physical existence. He blinks into the dim light and recognizes the dull metal walls and purple glow in an instant, stomach sinking to his feet. Just his luck that the failed wormhole transported him straight into a cell on a Galra cruiser. A quintessence experiment gone wrong sends Keith skipping backwards through time, back to a Shiro he hasn't seen in years, and one he's never seen. Keith just wants to get back to his Shiro and his time.

Up and Down Memory Lane - SaltiSnacks

8k. Mature. Contains: Shiro/Curtis, Keith/OMC

A time-traveling Keith is on board the Atlas. Shiro overhears a conversation. The house of cards crumbles.

Yesterday, We Begin - arcadenemesis

13k. Explicit.

"Where did you come from?" Keith huffs a laugh. "A long, long way from here," he says, plucking the cherry from his glass. Shiro's eyes follow it all the way to his lips, and Keith watches his throat bob when he bites down and plucks the stem. It's an evasive answer, but if Shiro had any follow-up questions, Keith thinks they're long gone. "Do you want that?" he asks when the silence drags, gesturing at Shiro's cherry. It seems to snap him out of his trance. "N-no! You can take it," Shiro stammers, pushing the glass toward him. "Please."

A mission takes Keith back in time, and leads him straight to Shiro.

Stars Fading - zjofierose

2k. Teen.

Keith knows where to go because Shiro had told him, knows the little house by sight from the many pictures Shiro would scroll through when he was feeling melancholy or nostalgic. He’s been waiting for this chance his whole life, wondering when the moment would come - the second his ship breaks orbit above Earth while simultaneously displaying a date in the past, Keith knows: it’s time.

twenty-thousand leagues above the ocean - ErinNovelist

8k. Teen.

“Please,” he begs, glancing up at Keith again, heart throbbing against his ribs. Bare bones are the only thing stopping him from throwing himself at the man he’s known forever. “Just tell me who you are.” Keith looks up at the silver sky, at the worn jacket Shiro clenches close, at the shaky hands shoved into deep pockets to keep warm. “My name is Keith, and I know that doesn’t mean anything to you right now, but someday you’re going to be someone very important to me.” He sighs and tightens his grip on Shiro’s shoulder, leather soft beneath his fingertips. “You already are, and you’re the only reason I’m not lost right now.” “I don’t understand,” Shiro tells him because he doesn’t know what else to say. Keith only cocks his head and smiles. “I’m lost in time, Shiro. And… well, you’ve always been my guiding light, I guess.”

Life We Chose - stardropdream

3k. General.

Not too far out from the Kerberos launch, Shiro finds an unexpected guest waiting outside his quarters, both familiar and unfamiliar.

Stuck in Gravity - stardropdream

11k. Explicit. Contains: Keith/Keith/Shiro

Keith thinks that everyone should be a little more concerned about this supposed "future" him. He's just not buying that any version of himself could be so confident, so happy... so clearly loved. (Or: the "I had to go back in time to teach my younger self that he's worthy of love" time-travel threesome.)

Only an Echo - stardropdream

10k. Explicit. Contains: Shiro/Shiro/Keith/Keith

Shiro should have guessed that things were about to get weird when a wormhole opens up in his bedroom and out step the future versions of Shiro and Keith. “Right,” the older Keith says, smiling a little. “Well. There’s no easy way to explain it.” “We’re—” the other Shiro begins. “— here to fuck you,” the other Keith cuts off. “Not quite how I’d phrase it, baby.”

Or: Recently married Shiro and Keith decide that the best wedding present they can give each other is "let's go back in time and fuck our past selves." So they do.

[allthingsfangirl101]

Familiar Faces Part 2 – Jake Seresin

Part 1

Even though I wasn't training Jake and his team, the Admirals kept me on as their efficiency expert. Their big mission was two weeks away, and the trainees were getting more anxious.

After Maverick decided who would fly with him, I worried about Jake. But he seemed okay with it. He's still been training with everyone, but he claimed there wasn't as much pressure.

Plus, we started going out and got into a routine. After training, we'd pick up dinner and go back to my place. He'd end up staying so late that I didn't want him driving back to his apartment so he'd stay over. We'd fall asleep holding each other and wake up the same way. It was perfect and everything I wanted when we first met.

Until. . .

It's been a while since I had a nightmare I couldn't pull myself out of. Jake didn't know about my nightmares and ever since we started going out, I've been too embarrassed to tell him. All the nights he's slept over, I've barely slept in fear of him finding out.

Tonight, I couldn't stop it.

I woke up to someone shaking me and calling out my name. I gasped awake, a sob getting stuck in my throat. I looked around the room, my eyes taking a second to adjust to the lack of light in the room.

"Y/N?" Jake's soft voice whispered.

"Jake?" I had to double-check.

"Yeah," he said with a soft smile on his face. He reached over and cupped my face in his hand. "It's me, baby."

His eyes softened when he saw the tears in my eyes. I heard him sigh as he wrapped his arms around me, pulled me into his chest, and laid us down.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asked once we were comfortable.

"It's nothing," I lied.

"Come on, Y/N," he sighed. "It took me almost ten minutes to wake you up. It was not nothing. Please, talk to me."

"It was about my mission," I whispered, my voice breaking. Jake didn't respond. Instead, he tightened his arms around me.

"Replay or worse version?"

"Kinda replay," I shrugged, "with a bit of pausing and replaying."

"Okay, you lost me," he said with a soft chuckle. I smiled a little but couldn't make myself laugh.

"In my dream, I kept trying to turn my plane away from the training facility," I said, my voice breaking at the end. "Every time I did, I was suddenly facing it again. Nothing I did worked."

As the tears burned my eyes, I tucked deeper into his side, burying my face in his shoulder. He reached up and started running his fingers through my hair.

"I'm sorry the Navy made you do that," he whispered. "I wish there was something I could've done."

"I wish you were with me," I mumbled.

"Me too," he sighed.

"There was something else," I said slowly.

"In your dream?" He asked, looking down at me. "What is it?"

"I dreamt about you."

"Y/N. . ."

"I dreamt about your upcoming mission," I continued, my voice breaking. "I dreamt that you guys went off and. . . it took a horrible turn and. . . You didn't come home to me. And I watched it from base, not able to do anything as you were shot down."

By the end of it, I broke into a sob. I curled more into him as I sobbed, "I can't lose you, Jake."

"You won't, Y/N," he said gently. "I promise. You are not going to lose me. Besides, I'm just the extra."

I know he was trying to make me feel better, but it didn't work. "If they need you, you have to go, Jake. No arguing. If they tell you to go, you go. You don't have a choice. Just because you're the spare doesn't mean you won't ever leave the ship. And when they send you, I can't stop them. I have to sit back and watch you go. I have to listen as you fly off. I have to sit back and I can't help you if you get into trouble. I have to just listen and watch that damn bubble as I lose you."

"Firefly," he cut me off using my callsign. He sat up, pulling me with him. He grabbed my hands and turned me toward him. "Truth is, we don't know what's going to happen in three days. We don't know if they're going to need me. The only thing that matters is that I know what I'm doing and I will do everything I can to make sure everyone on my team gets home."

"Including you?"

Jake smiled softly as he grabbed my face and pressed his lips to mine. The kiss was soft and slow. When he broke the kiss, he leaned his forehead against mine.

"Including me."

* * * * *

I walked into base, my exhaustion from last night weighing me down. After my nightmare, we stayed up talking. I tried to get Jake to go to bed, but he was more focused on me.

"You okay, Y/L/N?" Captain Phillips asked as I walked into our shared office.

"I'm fine," I shrugged off. He gently grabbed my arm, stopping me from going to my desk.

"What's wrong, Y/N?"

"I just. . . I didn't sleep that well," I said slowly. As soon as I said it, the look in his eyes fell.

"Nightmares?"

"Yes," I said softly as I pulled my arm out of his grasp and walked over to my desk. I sat down as he followed me.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Maverick asked gently.

"Jake talked me through it." My heart jumped into my throat when I realized what I said. "He talked me through it because. . . I had called him and. . ."

"It's okay," Maverick chuckled. "I know that you and Hangman are dating."

"Wait, you know?"

"I do," he smiled at me. "Hangman came to see me after you two first got together. He was worried that your being together would get you fired. He wanted to discuss it with me and ensure it was okay."

"I can't believe he told you," I said under my breath.

"He's crazy about you," Maverick said in a soft, fatherly tone. "Ever since you joined us, he's been different. He's been more focused, more driven, and less competitive. He's trying to prove himself without showboating. He's trying to be a better pilot, a better man, for you."

I looked down in hopes of hiding my blush. Maverick started to walk out of the office and stopped to pat me on the shoulder and whisper, "You've changed him, Y/N. In a good way."

I kept thinking about Maverick and my conversation throughout the rest of the day. As Maverick did some final training, I busied myself with running final checks on the planes and their systems.

Three days later, the team was to fly their mission. I walked through the ship, unable to calm myself. I figured that remaining in motion would help me not think about the possible risk.

I was passing the bunks when I was suddenly pulled into one of the rooms. I had just enough time to see that it was Jake before he pulled me close and pressed his lips to mine. As I slowly kissed him back, my heart sank into my stomach as I realized there was a chance that this would be our last kiss.

"What are you doing?" I gasped when he broke the kiss. "You're supposed to be getting your plane ready."

"I know," he smirked as he pulled me closer. "I just wanted to see my girl in case. . ."

"Don't," I cut him off and pulled away from him. I replaced his arms with mine. "I can't think about that, Jake. I can't think about the possibility of losing you."

"Baby," he said, dropping his voice to a whisper as he pulled me back. "I promise you that I will be careful."

"I know you will," I whispered back to him. I looked up at him, unable to stop myself. "I just can't lose you, Jake. I. . . I love you."

"I love you too, Y/N," he smiled. He slowly leaned in and pressed his lips to mine. I threw my arms around him and started kissing him back. I forced ourselves to break the kiss before we could get too into it.

"Because you love me, I need you to be smart. I know you will do everything you can to help your team but. . ."

"I will do whatever it takes to come home to you, Y/N," he gently cut me off. He smiled as he added, "I love you, Firefly."

"I love you too, Serendipity."

* * * * *

As I sat in the control room, anxiously bouncing my knee. It felt like it didn't take long for things to go wrong.

"Dagger Two defending," Rooster said. "Shit, I'm out of flares!"

"Rooster, evade, evade!" Maverick yelled.

"I can't shake 'em! They're on me! They're on me!"

Maverick moved to be above Rooster and set off his flares, blocking Rooster from the SAMs. When he was hit, the room went silent.

"Mav! No!"

"Dagger One is hit!" Phoenix yelled. "I repeat, Dagger One is hit. Maverick is down."

"Dagger One, status," Rooster tried to request. "Status! Dagger One, come in!"

"I didn't see a parachute," Payback said.

"We have to circle back," Rooster demanded.

"Comanche. Bandits inbound. Single group, hot. Recommend Dagger flow south. One minute to intercept."

"Get em' back to the carrier now," Admiral Simpson instructed.

"All Daggers flow to ECP. You have bandits headed for you."

"What about Maverick?" Rooster asked.

"Tell him there's nothing he can do for Maverick, not in a damn F-18," Admiral Simpson commanded.

"Dagger Spare request permission to launch and fly air cover."

My heart jumped into my throat as I heard Jake's request. I held my breath, waiting for their approval. I looked and watched as Admiral Simpson shook his head.

"Negative, Spare."

I could practically see Jake angrily grumbling in his plane. Today was a reminder of why working for the Navy was so painful.

"Launch search and rescue," Admiral Bates commanded.

"Negative," Admiral Simpson said quickly. "Not with bandits in the air."

"But, sir, Maverick is still out there," Hondo said.

"We are not losing anyone else today," Admiral Simpson snapped. "Get them home, now."

"Dagger, you are not to engage. Repeat, do not engage. Dagger Two, return to carrier. Acknowledge."

They were greeted with nothing but silence.

"Acknowledge," they tried again.

"Rooster, those bandits are closing," Phoenix sighed. "We can't go back."

"Rooster, he's gone," Bob said quietly. "Maverick's gone."

* * * * *

We had no idea what happened next. Until. . .

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen."

"No," I mumbled. I turned toward Hondo with my heart in my throat. He reached over and gently grabbed my hand.

"Son of a bitch," we heard Rooster laugh.

"This is your savior speaking," Hangman continued. I knew he was joking but every word made my heart sink. "Please fasten your seat belts, return your tray tables to their locked and upright positions, and prepare for landing."

"Hey, Hangman," Rooster smirked, "you look good."

"I am good, Rooster," Hangman said instantly. "I'm very good. I'll see you back on deck."

"Damn it, Jake," I whispered under my breath. Unable to control my anger or calm my nerves, I left the control room.

I nervously paced as I waited for their planes to return. I watched as each one of the pilots came back.

The second I saw Jake's plane land, I felt like my heart was finally out of my throat. Tears burned my eyes as I saw him climbing out of his plane. My legs felt numb as I walked out to the tarmac. The second he jumped down from his plane, I saw Jake's eyes search for me.

When his eyes fell on mine, he smiled but I couldn't bring myself to return it. With his helmet in his hand, he walked over to me.

"I should be angry with you," I said, my voice breaking as tears started streaming down my face, "but I'm just relieved you're back."

Jake laughed as I jumped and wrapped my arms around his neck. We could hear everyone rushing to help Maverick and Rooster but all I could focus on was Jake in my arms.

"I'm sorry, love," he whispered subconsciously tightening his arms around me. "But when we thought we lost them both. . . I had to see for myself. I couldn't sit in my plane on the ship and do nothing."

"I know," I whispered as I started running my fingers through his hair. I smirked before adding, "Whatever happened to leaving your wingman out to dry?"

"What can I say?" He laughed as he broke the hug and looked down at me. "Love has the ability to change even the douchiest of douchebags."

I pouted as I tucked back into Jake's arms. "You're not a douche," I mumbled. "You were never like that with me."

[kaqtusm]

@read-reblog-repeat you wanted to be tagged mother, so suffer

Moonwater microfic/scenario

Word count: 806

TW: angst, hurt/comfort, mention of SA, mention of pedophila

Remus Lupin’s life had never been simple.

Before his 10th birthday, before the world had started to make sense, before he even understood what the word love truly meant, he had been marked. He had been broken.

It was Fenrir Greyback who gave him HIV—through violence, through cruelty that no child should ever know. And it wasn’t something that had gone away with time; it had always been there, lurking in the background of every breath, every quiet moment, every joyful experience he’d tried to have.

The blood that had been spilled that night—so much of it—had poisoned him for the rest of his life, and Remus had learned to hide it. He had learned how to swallow his fear, how to shove down his pain, and most of all, how to pretend to be normal, even when his body betrayed him every single day.

It was never something he could tell anyone. No one could know about the monster that had taken everything from him. So, Remus smiled and pretended he wasn’t broken, that he wasn’t constantly at war with his own body. He was good at it. He had been for years.

But when Regulus Black came into his life, when he started to see the way Regulus looked at him—like he was more than just a person surviving, more than just someone who had lived through hell—it terrified him. He couldn’t let Regulus see him for what he truly was. He couldn’t let Regulus into the parts of him that would only bring sorrow and destruction.

But Regulus had always been different. And Remus hated himself for that. For the way Regulus made him feel alive in a way no one else had—no one else could—in a way that brought him back to the surface from the darkness he spent so many years trying to drown in.

It all came to a head one cold, rainy night when Regulus found him hunched over the sink, struggling to breathe. His body had finally given out—too much stress, too much pain, too many years of pretending to be okay. The cold sweat clung to his skin, his chest rattling with the coughs he couldn’t stop, the body trembling under the weight of it all.

Regulus had walked in, had seen him, and for the first time, Remus couldn’t hide it.

“Remus,” Regulus’s voice had cracked with concern, too much emotion that Remus wasn’t ready for. He’d never been ready for anyone to care that much.

“Please,” Remus had pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper. “Please don’t look at me like that. It’s not what you think.”

But Regulus wasn’t listening. He was already at Remus’s side, pulling him away from the sink and holding him, his hands shaking as they touched his clammy skin.

“Tell me what’s going on,” Regulus had said, his voice tight with fear. “Please, Remus, just tell me what’s happening. What’s wrong?”

It was then that the walls finally crumbled. And Remus couldn’t stop the flood of words that came pouring out.

“I was a child,” he gasped between ragged breaths. “It was him—Fenrir Greyback—he did this to me. He… he took everything from me when I was just a kid, and I’ve been living with it ever since. He… he gave me HIV, Regulus. And now my body is breaking down, and I can’t—”

The words were swallowed by the weight of his own shame, and Remus could feel himself spiraling, the shame and the self-loathing so deep in his chest that it threatened to suffocate him.

Regulus didn’t pull away. He didn’t flinch.

Instead, he cupped Remus’s face, wiping away the sweat from his brow, his eyes locked on his with a look that pierced through the darkness.

“You are not broken,” Regulus said, his voice steady, even as the tears welled up in his own eyes. “You are not broken, Remus. What happened to you—it wasn’t your fault. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Remus tried to pull away, to tell him how wrong he was, to explain just how impossible it was for someone like Regulus to love someone like him—but Regulus wasn’t having any of it. His arms tightened around Remus, holding him close, grounding him.

“I’m here,” Regulus whispered. “I’m here, and I’m not leaving. No matter what happens, I’m not leaving you.”

But Remus couldn’t hear it. He couldn’t understand how anyone could look at him that way, how anyone could still want to be near him when they knew what he was, what had been done to him.

The silence stretched between them, but in that silence, something began to change. Something fragile, but real.

Regulus wasn’t asking him to be perfect. He wasn’t asking for answers Remus couldn’t give.

All he was asking for was to stay.

And maybe that was enough.

[discoscoob]

I thought about the Moulin Rouge fic more and I’m just going to share my ideas so they aren’t trapped inside my head:

You would turn up to the club trying to find the owner so you could ask about a job but making your way through the club you’d somehow find yourself near the dressing rooms. One of the strippers would notice you looking around and ask if you’re lost to which you would explain you’re looking for the owner because you want to ask about a job. Noticing how clueless you seem to be about the club and not wanting yet another stripper stealing potential tips she pretends to be helpful, telling you to follow her.

She’d lead you outside, into the alleyway where Marlon is taking his break. He’s leaning against the wall smoking a cigarette, dressed in a sharp suit because this is a classy establishment. He’s doing well for himself now, he’s been clean for a while and he’s managed to get promoted to bar manager. The stripper introduces you to “Mr. James” telling him you’re interested in the job opening before making herself scarce.

You’re feeling kind of nervous, standing in front of the man who supposedly owns the club and you’re very polite when you introduce yourself, calling him “Mr. James” just like the stripper did, which caught him off guard because no one ever calls him that and now you’re calling him that too.

“Uh… please, call me Marlon.” he would awkwardly shake your hand. He’s not at all what you expected, you expected the owner to be a little bit more… confident and maybe even a little intimidating, but if anything, he seemed slightly intimidated by you.

“It’s your lucky night!” he’d tell you after stubbing out his cigarette on the wall, explaining that a job vacancy just opened up and he invites you to come back for an interview tomorrow afternoon. He seems to be in a rush, to you he’s a busy club owner, it makes sense but to him his break finished and he needs to get back to work. As you leave, excited to have an interview secured, you don’t notice the BAR STAFF WANTED sign in the window.

The next day when you show up right on time for the interview, Marlon is no longer dressed in the sharp suit. He’s swapped it for an oversized hoodie, some faded jeans and scuffed up sneakers. Not exactly what you’d expect a club owner to wear but you guess it’s just his casual style.

You follow him around the empty club as he conducts the interview, it’s very casual.

“Any experience?”

“Well, not exactly. But I’m a fast learner!”

He doesn’t seem put off by your response as he nods.

“Okay, show me what you’ve got.” he’d suddenly say, leaning himself against the bar, expecting you to go behind the bar and make a drink to showcase your skills.

“Right here?” you’d blink, standing there a little nervously right in front of him. Does he want you to do it here or get up on the stage?

“Where else?” he’d tilt his head, looking as confused as you feel.

Okay, here it is. But there’s no music. Were you meant to bring your own? Should you ask him to put some on? You should just ask.

“Uh… could… could I have some music, please?” you’re feeling a bit awkward.

“Music?” Marlon still looks confused, was it out of the ordinary to ask for music to strip to? Are you being difficult? Are you blowing your chances? You’re getting in your head. Meanwhile Marlon is wondering why you need music to make a drink but he shrugs, not questioning it. “Uh, sure.” he would pull out his phone, connecting it to the club speakers, he doesn’t exactly know what kind of music you want so he picks something at random.

The song that blasts out the speakers is not the kind of song you’d expect someone to strip to but you feel too awkward at this point to ask him to change it so with a deep breath you decide to just get this over with.

You begin a striptease.

You’re halfway through removing your top when Marlon stops you abruptly. Did you mess up already?

“What are you doing?!”

Isn’t that obvious?

“I’m auditioning.” answer frozen midway through removing your top, feeling your heart hammering.

“You’re… you’re not here for the bartender vacancy?” he asks, still looking startled and nervous, his cheeks slightly flushed.

“No, I- I’m auditioning to be one of the strippers.” you explain in return.

“Mr. Mark auditions the strippers.”

“Who’s Mr. Mark?”

“The owner.”

Your face immediately flushes with embarrassment. “You’re not the owner?”

Marlon looks at you like you just grew a second head. “What? No! I’m just the bar manager.”

You’re absolutely mortified.

“One of the strippers told me you were…” you mumble realising how foolish you were.

[varian212]

I came across your comment by accident, honestly. Over time, I’ve made it a habit not to follow too closely what’s being said online about the books I love; I know I’ll find opinions that will make me write way too much.

But that was my mistake, for checking the A Little Life tag. Foolish me, hoping someone had made some fan art or an interesting post. Instead, I stumbled upon what you wrote.

The following lines are not just for you but for everyone who shares your perspective. So take a seat, and don’t hesitate to respond with the same level of engagement that I’ve put into this.

I think you’re so absurd in your post, it’s almost worrying.

A Little Life is not just a book about homosexuals, Jude is not just a homosexual, and the story is not just about sexuality. It’s a book about people’s lives, with both good and bad stuff happening. And don't come here an say that there weren't any good moments, that'll only show me how your brain is fixed on one thing (hating the book) and it's blinded by everything else.

And welcome to Earth, where Hanya doesn’t need to make gay men suffer, that already happens. I invite you in Rusia for a weekend,do you know what would happen to you if,as a man,you'll walk on the streets wearing girly clothes or makeup? And I don't mean you'll get cat called; that's literally the best case scenario.

But your post only shows how privileged you are, how protected you are from what happens in this world. Turn on the TV, read articles, watch the news – do you think Hanya invented these kinds of monsters, these kinds of traumas? I assure you, no, she just wrote about them.

And what a strange thing, to bring up sexuality so much. Especially when a good part of Jude’s traumas happened when he was a child, then a teenager.

But your first concern is not "What the hell, how can she write about this kind of stuff happening to a child?" but "What the hell, this author has a fetish for gay people." As if, for you, it’s more important that Jude is gay than that he is human .

There are so many books like this but where the main characters are women and no one says anything. Guess we are already used to know about them getting raped,assaulted, beaten. Turns out it can happen to everybody.

Your empathy for gay people seems superficial, like the kind that’s only displayed on social media; never vocal in real life.

And you know what's even worse? Your audacity.

Let me tell you a little story : By chance, I am a volunteer for an organization called Save the Children.

Last week, a little girl was brought in, and I had to take care of her. Do you know what the problem was? Two soldiers entered her family house, destroyed everything, and raped her mother in front of her and her two younger brothers.

After her mother lost consciousness, they did the same to the little girl. And they did it so violently that she lost the ability to walk for the rest of her life. A few punches to the left side of her skull resulted in damage to the motor cortex, combined with strangulation, which led to hypoxic brain injuries. That’s all it takes.

I’m not saying this to shock you—I just want you to know that this is just one child out of millions of similar cases. Real life children,real life people.

Will anyone speak up about this? Probably not. Will the military court do anything about those soldiers? In the worst case, they’ll give them a few days off, and then they’ll go right back to doing the same thing.

Again, Hanya Yanagihara (cuz yeah,if you leave a hate comment,have the decency to write her name correctly) didn't invent shit. Those evil people are literally alive and well among us.

Now imagine I go to this child, look at her, and say, "You've been abused too much. What you've been through sounds dreamlike. It sounds like trauma porn, if I’m being honest."

Please read this paragraph again.

Do you see how it sounds? Do you realize how ignorant you are about everything that’s happening? How much comfort you have in your life?

Do you care so much about a woman who wrote about gay people? Why don’t I see you being just as vocal about men who have written about lesbians, white people writing about black people, healthy people writing about those with disabilities?

Why aren’t you just as disturbed by criminals writing about being victims?

Those things happen in real life too,and yet you are more concerned about a book.

Maybe this post will be read up to this point, and maybe it will wake up some of you privileged, upper-class white people commenting on your iPhone 16 Pro Max.

We don’t choose how we are born or what education we can afford up to a certain age, but at some point, it becomes our responsibility to educate ourselves.

Do you know what I do when I hate a book, an idea, or a movie? I learn absolutely everything about it. I get my information from five different sources to make sure it's reliable. I try to reason, to find opinions that contradict mine, as well as those that agree with me. In short, I become so familiar with every detail of what I'm trying to criticize that my arguments are as valid and verifiable as possible. That's what I call effort worth noticing.

If you're gonna be a heater at least pretend to be a smart one.

i could never read a little life, cus its a reminder that just like bi men in gay porn, women are infesting the whole niche of writing about gay male main characters and overrunning actual gay male writer who would love to write about actual gay male character and they also always use those gay male characters to punch down or project their own self. A little life is literally just a het woman writing about a gay man and putting him thru everything to the point it becomes just torture porn and for some even unbelievable to the point of being dreamlike. That writer (hana yanagihari) literally only writes about gay men who were raped in their childhood and suffered their whole life after, she literally wrote the same shit 3 times!!! 3!!!!! She is obsessed with having gay men suffer.

This is always a dead giveaway to me that someone doesn’t conceptualize gay men as actual people so their writing exposes them by showing how they use gay men as archetypes or plot devices to send a message or push an idea which sends me back to the heyes code cus thats their unknown undercover bible.

Like at its core there is no empathy towards gay men.

[m0nsterqzzz]

alr ima rant and it's genuinely gonna make me sound crazy.

so when i was 13, my mom told me if i got in one more fight, she'd throw me out on the streets. (she uses that a lot. don't ask) anyway, me being me, i said, "DO IT! I DARE YOU!".

that night, i came up with a plan.

this is my thought process at 13:

pack a big but not to big bag with clothes and other necessities. If i leave at like 2am, I'll be far gone by the time anyone notices.

we lived in a small town, and i knew a lot of people, which meant I knew several highschoolers willing to sell me burner phones for cheap. I will get only important numbers. as much as it hurts, my siblings aren't part of that. destroy my old phone because they easily track that.

we have a Amtrak 25 minutes away. I'll bike there. I'm athletic, so i can get there fast and not be too tired. It doesn't cost extra to take my bike on, so I'll take that with me.

A ticket cost about 50 dollars just to get on the train according to my cousin, and it's possible to get one just to get on and then ride it until i run out of money.

you need verification of identity to get on, so show them your military id. thats government verification. They'll ask questions about your age, but unlike the airport, they allow people over 13 to get on without parents.

so thats that. I'll set aside a certain amount of money, and once I'm out of that, I'll get off the train. Hopefully I'll be a bit away.

im trans (known since i was 11) so i would just go by my boy name (current name) CJ and tell everyone I was a boy. I'd cute my hair, and everyone will know me as CJ. it'll be harder for people in my old life to find me.

Homeless shelters ask for verification and won't give you help if you don't tell them your info or your parents info, so they can't help.

a hotel is the same way, but a motel is a lot less stern.

my druggie aunt used to stay at this trashy cheap one near the freeway, and according to my mom, it was about 35 a night. That's at least a few nights I can stay, and during those times, I'll find work.

Obviously, since I'm young, nobody will hire me, epically without parents around.

So a babysitter, gardener, or pet sitter is the choice. One of those. I have two dogs at home (this was the hardest part of the plan. i didn't wanna leave them, but you cant bring dogs that aren't service animals onto the train and i couldn't even pretend they were) so I'm good with dogs, and I'm just naturally good with kids.

though it's unknow, these actually pay quite a lot. About enough to pay for one night at the motel after every job and food from dollar tree. no need to be fancy.

I may have to spend a few nights on the street, but I will sit in a 24 hour Dennys until they kick me out and then I'll sleep outside it. There is always people in that, so they can probably protect me. If not, I've been taking karate since I was 3. I can defend myself, and truly just pray all goes well.

a few years later, I'll be 16, and it'll be easier to get a better job to afford a better life (probably a little hard because of no school but it's fine). I'll still live in the motel, but at least I won't be surviving off scraps and garbage. At that point, I may have sold my bike for extra money. if not, that's how I'll get around.

then, at 18, I'll have been saving up money for a few years and will probably have enough to splurge on a fancier motel thats less dangerous. By then, people will have hopefully stopped looking for me, and I can live in peace.

Me now:

and did you think about taxes kid?

so in conclusion, I know we all had a time when we walked down the street with a suitcase and stuffed animal and said we were running away. this was mine.

[just-null]

are you oka- oh.