#someone please write this i have so much to do

[boyfhee]

NO ESCAPEㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ─────𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝗃𝗈𝖻 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗋𝖾 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗂𝗍.

𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐄 ﹑ 𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒𝗀𝗎𝖺𝗋𝖽 𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗇 𝗑 𝖿!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋⠀⠀(⠀⠀2134⠀⠀)⠀⠀♥︎⠀⠀𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑔𝑢𝑛ㅤㅤ천사ㅤㅤfirst time writing bodyguard hoon, hope you like it ◜ᴗ⁠◝

ㅤㅤㅤ𝗥𝗘𝗕𝗟𝗢𝗚𝗦 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗙𝗘𝗘𝗗𝗕𝗔𝗖𝗞𝗦 ♥︎

“once again, miss,” your bodyguard sighs, lowering his hand to load the gun once again. “this is my job,”

lately, you have been insisting on learning how to use a gun. you had asked about it one night on your way back from the gala, a request that he had kindly denied, and now you’re at his training grounds.

“yes, but i should know how to protect myself,” you insist, taking a step forward. it smells like gun powder inside; and his cologne, way too familiar. “you can’t always be there for me,”

sunghoon doesn’t really like the sound of that.

you watch as his fingers swiftly move over the magazine, working through the gun to reload it. your gaze follows his movements, as always, he can feel it too.

it’s a little maddening, always driving him off the focus.

the instructions are clear— he’s supposed to protect you, always staying at an arm distance on the lookout for danger. although, there is someone that keeps gravitating him towards you.

“i will be,” he sighs, hair falling over his face. and your heart almost skips a beat when he runs his hand through his silky locks, exposing the very forehead that you wish to kiss every night. “you don’t have to worry,”

“please?” you’re playing coy. he can hear it in the way you say that word, honeyed and hypnotising, rolling off your tongue so perfectly.

he avoids looking at your face that he sees in his dreams. “no—”

“please, hoonie,”

and it’s annoying. not you, the name, the way his mind stops working for a few seconds when you call him that. he hates how you can practically crack his composure with a few sweet words and a bat of your pretty, doe eyes.

he only takes orders from you but much to his surprise, you always request. pouty lips and glassy eyes that are full of hope, you’re pouring your heart out. you request for a midnight escape and he obliges with a sigh.

sunghoon thinks if you ever requested him to take his own life, he would gladly do it for you.

“okay,” he surrenders to you, as always. “come here,”

he notices how your steps are laced with happiness, the way your eyes gleam at the sight of the firearms— or maybe his arms when he takes off his jacket and slips it over you.

your skin feels like a feather against his finger tips when he fixes your safety glasses. you hold your hair up to tie it in a ponytail and he can hardly think straight at the sight of your nape.

you shuffle through your pocket for a scrunchie and he waits and waits, before finally reaching out to hold your hair. “let me,”

every touch of his fingers against your skin ignites a silver of desire in him, he almost forgets he is on a payroll. he runs his fingers between the strands, getting them in a perfect ponytail before securing it with the spare hair tie that he always wears on his wrist, unbeknownst to you.

he can see how your face is heating up because of shyness, and how you whisper to him so dreamily when he is done. “thanks,”

he takes in the way you pick up the gun, noticing the slight tremor in your hands. first times are always nerve racking. good for you, sunghoon believes in hands on teaching.

with a swift move, he is standing behind you with arms around you to adjust your grip— slow, deliberate.

you’re going to get him fired.

“stand straight,” his hand is on your back, helping you straighten up, and then he ghosts up your waist to tuck your jaw up with the utmost tenderness. “chin up,”

sunghoon doesn’t think you’re half as nervous as he is. one arm distance? that’s long out of the room— he can barely think before his hand supports yours from behind, his handsome face right next to yours.

and you’re bad at hiding, always been, because he can see through you. every shiver, every hitch in your breath, every heart beat— thump, thump, thump— right against his chest.

he wonders if you realise his heart is beating in synchrony with yours.

“finger off the trigger until you’re ready,” he warns softly, helping you align the trajectory with the target. “and don’t fight the recoil,”

and you nod cautiously, afraid that one wrong move and your lips would be in his, although you would hardly complain. “you can let me go,”

“i’d rather not. you’re trembling,” his hold only tightens and you shout internally. as if it isn’t because of you! maybe, you should say it to his face sometime, maybe now, but then he guides your index finger to load the gun, soft, slow, gentle.

he might be writing his own death statement right now.

“focus on the target. if someone points at you, look them in the eye,” a subtle nod, your finger asserts over the trigger, and he whips his head towards you. “not yet, breathe,”

the air gets knocked out of your chest.

it’s what he does— protecting you while killing you slowly, drowning while telling you to swim, getting closer while pushing you away— it’s not his job. it’s simply what he is good at.

his hot breath caresses against your ear and a rush of adrenaline follows. a pause, he mumbles. “go,”

you fire. a miss.

there’s silence after the loud bang. it’s heavy, you can feel it, definitely not from you missing the target. you lower your hand, a step almost away from him, but sunghoon has always been quicker.

he holds you from behind again, supporting your arm. he’s closer, less tense, crazier, devoted. “let me show you again,”

[mggslover]

MR. HOTCHNER — aaron hotchner

In which being a nanny for the Hotchners doesn’t only mean taking care of Jack, but also pleasing your boss

genre smut (18+) cw free use arrangement, nanny!reader, age gap (r is in 20s), post haley, mentions of jack, lowkey toxic relationship, soft to hard cock, thigh biting, some brat taming, praise, shower sex: oral (f receiving), p in v, use of showerhead, body painting wc 5k a/n i have been feeling #insecure about writing, but it's the same as when you haven't driven in a while and you're like "fuck i need to go on a ride otherwise i'll be too anxious to ever do it again", so here is me ignoring my inner demons yelling at me and posting anyway. oh and this is also my formal job application to be hotch’s free use nanny!!

You are a feminist, obviously. But beliefs tend to change in certain situations. To be precise, around certain people. The certain people in question being Aaron Hotchner.

You’d been babysitting throughout your entire college career—a job not only you, but all of your friends did. It’s no one’s plan to continue their college side job after getting a degree, but sometimes there isn’t much of a choice. You didn’t know what to do with your life after graduating, not sure how to navigate the struggles in your twenties while it seemed like everyone else had their shit together. A stable factor in your life was what you needed, and with capitalism taking over the world, the money was welcome too.

Nannying for the Hotchners was better than the families you babysat for in college. The term says it already; you were a nanny now, a live-in nanny at that. You had a home, a stable income, and took care of a shy but very sweet kid who grew more comfortable around you every day. If you closed your eyes, you could almost picture this being your life: the apartment you clean and cook warm meals in being yours, the mothers at Jack’s school seeing you as their equal and not just as “the nanny of”... And if you squint hard enough, you could imagine Aaron being your partner, the one who brought in the money so you could be a stay-at-home wife.

It’s not as delusional as it sounds, promise. Even though you and Aaron weren’t actually dating, at this point you might as well be. Because, honestly, can there really be any love involved with a man who always prioritizes his job? You lived in his house, took care of his kid, and besides that, there was only one more thing needed for the label of having a relationship: sex. And sex there was. Lots of it.

Okay, again, it might not be like the sex you’d see in a traditional relationship, but you lived in the 21st century, for Christ’s sake. It counted as something. At least to you. 

It had been a couple of months since you started working for Mr. Hotchner when you had made the mutual decision to add an extra addition to your contract: a free use policy.

The decision didn’t come out of nowhere. The second you had met up with Aaron over coffee to see if you were suitable for the job, there was a tension that neither of you could deny. An undeniable attraction that lingered in the air when your eyes first met across the café. A spark that coursed through both of your veins when he held out his hand and cupped your smaller one in his. The way your heart did a jump when he pulled out a chair for you and how his body had the same reaction at seeing your dress ride up when you sat down, revealing the slightest sliver of skin. 

This arrangement was destined to work. Aaron was stressed out and on the verge of breaking down if he didn’t get the relief of tension he so desperately needed after a long day of work. You needed to feel useful and worthy. Wanted by someone that in your eyes had it all. 

One and one make two.

It sounded simple enough to you: being each other’s sex buddy, satisfying each other’s needs without overcomplicating it. But it wouldn’t be your life if the execution of this plan went that smoothly. 

During a late night on the couch, several glasses of wine in, you tried making a move on Aaron. Your legs were intertwined, bundled up beneath a warm blanket. His fingers had found the bare skin of your calves, drawing slow circles as he listened to you recalling your day with Jack. His lips would curl ever so slightly when you mentioned Jack getting a compliment from his teacher or when you laughed as you repeated the pun you had learned from his son.

Still, the tiredness in his eyes remained, just like the dark circles beneath them that never seemed to fade.

You just wanted to help, make him feel comforted in a way you knew would work. He didn’t object when you scooted closer, turning your upper body to his to rest your head on his shoulder. He didn’t react when you used the tip of your nose to lightly graze his neck—apathetic to the small shiver of his shoulders and the trail of goosebumps that followed with your movement. He did not even flinch at the first couple of kisses that you pressed to his skin.

It was only when your hot breath fanned over the shell of his ear that he had stopped you. 

“We need to set boundaries. This isn’t professional.”

You swallowed down your sigh, chirping out a high-pitched sure. Deep down you could’ve predicted this. Aaron was the type of man disciplined enough to print out another copy of your contract, all the while ignoring the hard-on that was uncomfortably pressing against the zipper of his pants. 

It was admirable how he took the time to explain this “free use” arrangement to you. Despite you working with kids, you weren’t as patient. You were getting sex. That was all you needed to know. So you politely nodded along to his words as he scribbled down new information on the contract. 

“I need you to sign here,” Aaron murmured, glancing up at your position on the couch.

With an inaudible huff, you stood and walked up to the wooden table he was bent over. Aaron took a step back, giving you the space to prop yourself in between the table and his frame to take a better look at the paper.

Your eyes flit over the rules:

No kissing

Minimal talking during the act (sounds of pleasure and code word allowed)

No talking about the act outside of the act

And most importantly, since he is the boss, he makes the calls on when you’ll be having sex. No arguments.

The second you had scribbled down your signature on the new document, Aaron had pressed his body to yours. Large arms wrapped around your waist, his palms finding a home on your lower stomach. The erection you had spotted earlier wasn’t gone, as it now poked against the soft curve of your ass.

A breathless sound escaped your mouth, quickly turning louder when Aaron’s short, dark hair brushed against your ear, placing open-mouthed, wet kisses on the place where your neck met your jaw.

You remembered how his hand slid into your jeans next, his fingers expertly slipping between the puffy folds of your pussy. His breathing heaved with every curl of his finger, and so did his movements as he rocked his hips into your back. He was visibly enjoying making you feel good. That much you could tell, but still you had thought that this was just a warm-up to get you ready for him. But when you came—with a loud cry he had to muffle with his other palm—he had simply left the room.

It had been like this for the next couple of times: Aaron worshipping your body with his mouth or hands but never asking for anything in return. Maybe it was a boundary he wasn’t ready to cross yet, or maybe watching you come undone was enough to satiate his needs and take away his stress. No matter his initial reasons, eventually he wasn’t able to hold back anymore, your endeavors more often turning into you sucking him off while he’s on a tense phone call or having a quickie in the kitchen before the workday would start. Yes, specifically in the kitchen. Or any location other than the bedroom, for that matter. Because although not on the list, having sex in bed was an unspoken form of intimacy you agreed on not having.

But all sexual acts aside, at the end of the day you were a nanny. One who had a job to do. 

With a long stretch of your arms and a loud groan, you climbed out of bed this morning. The weekend—two days filled with cheering Jack on during his soccer matches and baking chocolate chip cookies—unfortunately has come to an end. 

Your feet moved on autopilot, still in a dazed state from your sleep, until you found yourself in Aaron’s bedroom. It was only to enter the connected master’s bathroom. It was probably against the “rules”, but no one could deny that his bathroom was superior to the guest one: it had a large shower cabin made out of glass, a window where the perfect amount of sunlight beamed through in the mornings, and there were discreet spotlights hidden in the ceiling that illuminated the room in a romantic setting during late night showers.

You never showered here when Aaron was at home. But he had been on a case this entire weekend, giving you the opportunity to fully enjoy the luxuries of his apartment. You did suspect that he was aware of your sneaky endeavors. One day he had come out of the shower smelling exactly like the vanilla scent of your shampoo—the shampoo you had forgotten to take back to your room with you.

Turning on the shower made you realize why waking up early was worth it. Warm drops of water fell down your skin, the fog that came free wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. You had exactly one hour until Jack would wake up, one hour to abuse Mr. Hotchner’s water bill and carry out your sacred full-body routine.

You were in the middle of rinsing the shampoo out of your hair when the creaking of the bathroom door sounded. 

“Fuck,” you curse under your breath, blindly reaching for a towel to dry your eyes from the prickling foam that’s running down your face. 

“Jack, what did I tell you about knocking when—“

Standing in front of you, barricaded only by the fogged shower doors, stood a man that—considering someone couldn’t grow twenty inches overnight—was not Jack. 

The dark, short-cut hair and the black blazer that was thrown over the figure’s form gave him away. It was none other than your boss standing in front of you.

“Jack’s still asleep,” Aaron said matter of factly as he tugged the blazer off his arm before dropping it into the laundry basket.

A tinge of worry filled your chest, your mind running in a million different directions as it tried to come up with the most natural and fast explanation for you being here. “I didn’t want to wake him. Your room is at the other side of the apartment, and you weren’t home, so—“

He waves you off with a motion of his hand. “Good call, he needs his sleep.”

The fogged glass hides the deep breath of relief you're letting out at hearing his approval. 

With the anxiety slipping away, you carefully reach out to wash the rest of your hair. You should turn around, face your back to him, and get the job done as fast as possible, but your boss had this essence that was too captivating to look away from. Squinting your eyes, you could make out the exhausted expression that lingered on Aaron’s face as he was busy untying his tie. 

“Rough weekend?”

He gave a short snort. “As always.”

You nodded in understanding, although he couldn’t see. Another silence followed, causing you to finally look away. It didn’t take long for your curiosity to be piqued again, when the sound of a belt buckle unclasping and the soft thud of a shirt falling to the ground interrupted the steady stream of spilling water. 

Turning your head, you could make out a vague tanned beige color where you previously saw the white of his dress shirt. The skin… the belt… Fuck, was this man getting naked?

“What are you doing?” You gulp when a strong hand reaches out for the shower’s doors. 

“Joining you.”

Such a deadpan tone, like your boss joining you in your morning shower is the most normal thing to happen on earth. But this is what you wanted, wasn’t it? To feel like it was a mundane thing. For it to feel like you had an actual, healthy relationship with Aaron, that you weren’t essentially getting paid for your services.

“Okay,” you respond back with a newfound confidence.

You weren’t sure whether Aaron had waited on your confirmation, but the second the approval left your mouth, the doors were being opened. 

There was no need to hide your body; it wasn’t anything he hadn't seen before. The way he looked, however, was different. You’d only seen Aaron in a state where he was turned on, where he’d either been fantasizing about you all day at work—walking around with a painful boner all day—or where you’d been teasing him before you had greedily pulled his pants down. Now, however, he was still soft.

It wasn’t a sight you’ve often seen in your life, most men that you’d encountered feeling ashamed of the flaccid state; being a grower, or not thinking it looks sexy. So the fact that Aaron didn’t think twice of walking in showed a sense of trust and intimacy that made your stomach flutter. Besides, he had no reason to worry about his looks, because he looked good in this state. His balls were tight and roundly shaped, his length looked a bit shorter when soft but hung thick and heavy over said balls, and what drove you even wilder was the way his full tip twitched when his eyes had landed on you.

“Can I help you with that?” He asked, nodding down to the pink loofah in your hand.

You answered by taking a step back, giving him the space to fully enter the shower and close the doors behind him. He reached out his hand, and you had to blink a couple of times to make sure that this was really happening before handing him over the sponge.

Aaron accepts it. His other arm extends, almost brushing against yours. You inhale a deep breath, only to find out he was reaching for the shower gel behind you. With the use of his thumb, he clicks open the cap and squeezes a generous amount of liquid onto the loofah. 

Aaron’s eyes flick over your body, as if deciding where to start first. It was difficult for him to imagine that he had you right where he wanted. That you were standing right in the spot where he had fisted himself for months to the thought of you. The way you looked, with your curves bare on display as drops of water fell down the side of your body, was beyond any visualization his own mind could’ve ever come up with. 

Your nipples harden under the weight of his long, dark gaze, and it seems like the decision is made for him. Gently, he places the sponge on your collarbone, then moves it down in a slow stroke, following the curve of your breast. Your eyes close shut when the rough material catches onto your nipple, sending a jolt of electricity straight to your core.

With curious eyes he takes in your reaction, then repeats the movement, moving the sponge back up. Your breast sways along, causing Aaron to swallow back a groan. In circular motions he moves on to your other breast. You hum in pleasure as he repeatedly caresses the pebbled bud while covering you in little bubbles of soap. 

“Don’t fall asleep on me now,” he teases. “Is it that relaxing?”

The corners of your lips lift up, it’s not often that he breaks his own rules by talking to you. When you open your eyes, you notice a mischievous glimmer behind the stoic facade. It’s not just that that you notice: the proximity is undeniable. In the few seconds your eyes were shut, Aaron had moved closer. So close that his forehead was nearly touching yours. So close that you could almost count the curly hairs on his chest that have deepened in color because of the streaming water. 

It was a mistake to look down.

Just an inch away from your stomach, heaved Aaron’s rock hard cock—that’s how fast the transformation can go. The large vein that you could dream at this point had made its appearance, and his bulbous head was shining in pre-cum. A thick drop hypnotizingly coating the slit.

“That’s what you do to me,” Aaron breathes out, leaning in to rest his forehead against yours.

Your heart was beating a million miles an hour. He could kiss you right now, his lips impossibly close to yours as he wet them with his tongue. Instead, his mouth moved: “Up.”

Before you were able to squint your eyebrows in confusion, Aaron had his arms wrapped around your thighs, giving you a firm tug up, allowing you to jump like he’d asked you. 

In a smooth—way too smooth—motion, you were thrown against the cold tiled wall, legs wrapped around his waist. Then he said it again. Up. 

Like a toddler being lifted by their parents, Aaron had managed to climb you up so that your thighs were seated against each side of his face, legs dangling over his shoulders and the back of your calves planted firmly against his lower back.

“How the fuck…” you gasp out in belated shock.

“Don’t waste your words asking questions,” he murmured, his hot breath fanning over your spread pussy. Not like you’d be able to in the state he’s got you in. “Just enjoy yourself.”

With his hands pinning you against the wall, he used the sole power of his neck to dive in. No time was wasted as his wet tongue split open the folds of your pussy, immediately latching onto your swollen pearl—completely magnetized by it.

Your thighs clenched around his head, a sound in between a moan and a gasp escaping you as you threw your head back.

“Shit,” you hiss, the back of your head making contact with the cold surface. 

Aaron groaned. You knew him well enough to know that it was a sound of disapproval, one of his dad-like “I told you to be careful” huffs. It didn’t have its designated effect, though; his muffled sound vibrates through your body, causing a wave of tingles to ignite your skin, your clit twitching against his tongue. 

When you looked down, he was rolling his eyes at you. “Are you serious?” his face spoke. A giggle left your chest, you couldn’t take the stern attitude seriously. 

Apparently, he did take it seriously. Aaron leaned back just enough to turn his head, and you missed the warmth of his mouth on you already. The light stubble that covered his jaw from being away on a case all weekend grazed along your inner thigh. 

“More,” you whimpered, lifting your hips from the wall and driving your cunt into his face.

His eyes flick to yours for a split second. It was easy to miss the moment, but something behind his eyes shifted, reaching the max of dealing with this daring disobedience of yours. Your breath gets caught before it happens: his teeth sink into your thigh.

You sputter in his grasp, legs locking tighter around his waist. He didn’t bite hard enough to cut skin, but he was definitely leaving a mark. You were sure of that when, after the use of teeth, he wrapped his lips around the aching spot, sucking and not stopping despite your sharp nails digging into his back.

“Are you going to be good for me now?”

“Yes! Yes, I promise!”

Wrong answer. Another bite.

This time you just nod, not speaking any excessive words. 

His teeth are replaced by his lips. He leaves two featherlight kisses on the bruised spot and moves back to your needy hole.

“Haven’t touched you in a minute, and you’re already dripping.”

Apparently the rule of not speaking doesn’t apply to Aaron Hotchner today. Not that you minded.

He licked the sweetness off your pussy, getting back into rhythm. Aaron’s lips sealed around your labia, gently suckling until the only sounds leaving your mouth were passionate moans. 

At this point it was impossible to decipher whether the wet, sloppy noises came from your pussy or from the water that dripped out of the shower's head, warming the sides of your bodies. 

You dug your nails lightly into his shoulders, grounding yourself from the accumulating heat that was starting to form low in your stomach.

With every up and down of his chin, Aaron’s nose would bump against your clit, making it twitch in desperation.

“Mmph,” you whine in response to his actions. I’m close! Aaron, please! Is what you wish you could scream out to him right now. Wishing you could beg for a fast release as the obscene sounds grew louder around you. But you couldn’t, not if you wanted to have any release at all. Forced to endure his sweet torture.

Aaron lifted his head, his mouth inches away from where you needed him most. 

“Are you close?”

You obediently nod up and down, making sure he gets the memo. 

“Will you cum if I touch her?” 

You vehemently nod, tears burning in the corners of your eyes. Please, touch my clit, Aaron. 

His hot breath ghosted over the swollen bud. “Hold on tight.”

You moved your fingers to wrap tightly in his locks, right on time as Aaron wraps your throbbing clit in between his lips. It was a combination of his satisfied moans and the slurping of his tongue that tipped you over the edge.

By the time Aaron had placed you back on the ground, you were wobbling on your legs, and your throat felt sore from the cries that had tumbled from your lips. 

There wasn’t much time to recover, Aaron’s hands finding your waist, warm palms burning your skin as he turned you around. Your chest heaved from your orgasm, and your heart rate only sped up when his fingers made contact with the back of your arms. He guided his hands up until your fingers locked. 

The bathroom tiles weren’t as cold as you expected them to be when you placed your palms against them, still heated by Aaron’s hands that were pressed against the same spot only a minute ago.

“Arch your back for me, sweetheart,” he instructed. 

The nickname had your legs close to giving out. You clawed against the wall as you arched your back, ass raised high in the air, your cunt making contact with his poking cock as it pulsed from the sight of you. 

An arm cups around your frame, holding you steady against him. With the other, he brushes the skin of your curves, mapping out his favorite spots.

Aaron’s thick fingers grip around the cheek of your ass, spreading you open and watching you in a mix of lust and adoration. “Fucking beautiful,” he murmured under his breath, as if he’d just witnessed the opening of an exotic flower.

You felt the weight of his solid chest against your back, dew drops falling from his skin and melting onto yours. Aaron bent slightly through his knees, enough to line himself up with your hole. Then he pushed in.

“That’s it, you can take it,” he encouraged as his throbbing length entered you inch by inch. “Almost there. You’re doing so good, taking all of me.”

“Feels good,” you whisper softly, not able to help the words from spilling out.

“I know, honey. Going to make you feel even better.”

With that, he started pumping himself in and out of you, creating a mark in your cervix that he kissed with every thrust of his hips. It was hot. So fucking hot. The steam that has built up in the shower cabin, the warm press of Aaron’s body, the fullness of him inside of you, the heaving of his breath in your ear… Too hot.

It’s like he heard you, because in the next moment he had you pushed up against the cool expanse of tile. A shiver ran through your body, a pleasant one, as your nipples peaked against it, stimulated by the continuous rubbing against the surface as Aaron moved your body up and down his cock. 

A groan tore from his throat, the sound lightning through your body. “I missed this. Missed having you wrapped around me.”

The words were dirty, definitely, but it was the most affectionate thing he’s ever said to you. You could do this for the rest of your life: have him use you, be the reason he feels good, because there truly was nothing that made you feel more whole than to be praised by him. 

You fluttered your pussy around him, enticing another deep groan from him. 

“I’m getting close,” he hisses, and you nod. Give it to me, please. 

Instead of speeding up the slapping of skin, he halts his movements, pulling a whiny no out of you. 

With your back facing him, you don’t catch on to how he’s taking the shower head from its bar. Not even noticing the change of there being no more water falling down your body. 

What you do take in, is him hungrily cupping your mound. And you are definitely aware when he uses two of his fingers to spread your lips. You swear you can feel his grin against your neck when the shower head magically appears in his hand, turned to a setting where a strong current of water spurts out, which he places directly above your clit.

A high-pitched cry leaves your mouth, making you wiggle in his grasp. If he didn’t have you pinned against his body, you would’ve fallen to the ground, your legs feeling like complete jelly.

“Hold yourself open for me.”

Regret followed later, when you realized that Aaron would pick up his pace again, all the while your clit was being overstimulated by the flow of water.

Your mouth was agape, moans and gasps and cries tumbling out—sometimes loud, sometimes utterly breathless. The last sound that left you was a scream of Aaron’s name as you came around his cock. 

Your hand had left your pussy, reaching back to grip Aaron’s ass—the most accessible, and convenient place to hold—as your orgasm stuttered through you. You held him tightly, forcing a few more deep thrusts out of him before he pulled himself out.

“Knees. Now.”

The next moment passed in a blur. You fell to your knees, your legs squeaking against the cold, wet floor. You didn’t have the time to decide where to settle your eye: on his thick length that he held tightly in his fist, on his soft stomach and chest that heaved in anticipation of his orgasm, or on his face that was barely visible with the way he had his head thrown back, lip caught in between his teeth. 

His hips twitched, and his muscled thighs clenched as a white-hot fountain erupted on you. His release fell down your body, covering you from your breasts to your stomach to your legs. He even made a mess of himself, his hand covered in his essence, spread all over his cock by the jerking of his hand.

“Jesus,” Aaron curses, using his clean hand to push his hair out of his face. 

When his eyes fell back on you, he caught sight of you obediently sitting in front of him, using your thumb to flick a white stain off your breast before swirling your tongue around the digit.

He squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing his face. “You’ll be the death of me.”

You pick up the shower head that was thrown beside you on the ground, then place your hand around his thigh for leverage, wanting to clean him up.

Aaron sharply inhaled, body tensing when the stream hit his sensitive cock. “Don’t do that!”

“I’m sorry!” You quickly apologize in a stutter, then burst out in small laughter.

He shakes his head, opening his palm. “Hand it over to me.”

For a second you’re afraid he’s planning his revenge, but he turns the handle so that a gentle and even stream flows out of the head, then holds it above your body. Your personal waterfall.

With a hum, you wash yourself clean, almost sad to see the proof of his loving vanish from your body. 

“Come here,” he whispers when you’re done and helps pull you up by your arm.

Surprisingly, he wraps a strong arm around you, the back of his fingers running across your cheek to put the wet strands of your hair back in place. 

“I can bring Jack to school today.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Are you sure? You haven’t slept all night. I don’t mind—“

“Me neither,” he assures. “I know the work here is tiring too.”

It was. You knew nannying wasn’t an easy job, but nothing had prepared you for the days and nights spent alone while Aaron was catching killers in different states. It wasn’t easy being the main responsibility of a child in his most formative years, no matter how much gratification the work gives you.

“Okay,” you hum. “Thank you.”

“I have some free time when I get back.” His eyes search for yours as he speaks the words, awaiting your reply to the invitation. His eyes soften when they catch your small smile.

“Sounds good.”

He nods. “Good.”

[writer-freak]

hii! im having suchh kpop demon hunters brainrot rn omg, could you do sfw & nsfw headcanons for baby saja please? he's my saja boys bias lol, ty!!

A/N: Baby's also my bias, and I actually wanted to write these first but I kept going back and forth on how I see him😭. So if these seem a bit messy or all over the place, that's the reason (maybe I will rewrite them in the future). Thank you though and hope you enjoy

Casually flirty in the most annoying way. Like leaning against a doorframe while you're ranting and going, “You look so hot when you're mad at me.” He says it just to fluster you and walk off before you can react.

In general he will purposefully say the most inappropriate things at the worst possible times ,whispers“Wearing that again, huh? You trying to get punished?” right as you're about to leave the house.

Calls you a very inappropriate nickname even in public one day he just called you "my lil earthquake.” You asked him what that even meant and he just smirked and went, “Cause you shake when I—” Hand over his mouth. Immediately.

Back hugs but like he’ll wrap his arms around you real sweet, then suddenly whisper the filthiest shit in your ear just to make you choke on your coffee.

His hand is either in your back pocket or riding way too high on your thigh. Doesn’t care who might see, he likes the attention. "They should know who you belong to."

His favorite thing in the world? Annoying you for fun. He hides your stuff just to watch you lose your mind over it. “You sure you checked everywhere?” he says, absolutely knowing your phone is in his pocket.

Bored easily. If he's stuck somewhere, he’ll start texting you the wildest out-of-pocket things just to pass the time. “Do you think I’d look hot in a maid costume or should I make you wear it?”

Sometimes just pokes your cheek in public until you react, or slides his cold hands under your shirt just to hear you squeal.

Doesn't help right away when you struggle with something (like reaching a high shelf or carrying a box) because he likes watching you struggle. “Oh I know you got it” he teases from the doorway. Only helps after you call him a jerk (and even then he's grinning while doing it).

He acts innocent in front of others a bit more polite, wearing a smile, quiet. But the second you're alone, his expression changes just enough for you to realize: You're in danger. The fun kind.

Cocky. So cocky. Constantly smug about how much you love him. “You’re obsessed with me, y’know that?” If you deny it, he’ll raise a brow. “Mhm. Keep lying. See what happens later.”

Lowkey possessive. If you’re giving someone else too much attention? He’ll silently pull you onto his lap and whisper, “You’re being real loud for someone who wants to walk tomorrow.” All while sipping his drink like nothing happened.

Instead of “I love you,” he says “You’d be lost without me.” But if you say it first? He’ll blink slow and go, “Yeah. I love you too” Like it was obvious.

Surprisingly affectionate. He’ll play with your hair when you’re sitting together, doodle your name on the sides of his lyric pages, send you blurry animal memes captioned “us.”

He won’t say much, but he knows when your mood drops. Doesn’t make a big deal of it, just puts on your comfort show and hands you your favorite drink without a word.

Secretly protective. He’ll tease you mercilessly, but the moment someone else even thinks about doing the same, he switches up completely. “That’s cute, but they didn’t ask for your opinion.” Cold eyes. Tight jaw. Suddenly very serious.

He can change his tone so fast. Can go from deadpan and chill to teasing in 0.2 seconds. “You really thought you were gonna win that argument?”

NSFW

Talks. So. Much. Shit. Half of it makes you want to slap him, the other half has your legs shaking. “You get like this just from my fingers? You sure you’re ready for my cock?”

Whispers the filthiest things while he’s holding you like you’re fragile. Face buried in his chest, blanket pulled up to your chin, and he’s like, “You looked so pretty choking on my cock earlier. Gonna dream about it tonight.”

Power trips like crazy when you’re a mess for him. Will literally say things like, “Look at you can’t even think straight. I did that. That’s all me.”

WANTS you to squirm. The more flustered and needy you get, the calmer and cockier he becomes. “Aww, look at you. You can’t even talk. What happened to all that attitude, hm?”

His tone of voice drops so low when he's serious. No more playful teasing, just a sharp, commanding, almost cruel tone that makes your knees go weak. “You think I’m gonna be gentle with you after the way you acted today?”

Big on control. Likes manhandling you, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand while the other is between your legs

Doesn’t let you win unless he wants you to. If you try to tease him, he’ll raise a brow like, “Cute.” And then absolutely rail you until your legs give out.

Definitely a neck-grabber. Not hard enough to hurt, just enough to make you squirm. Especially when you talk back. “Watch your mouth. Or I’ll find better ways to keep it busy.”

Obsessed with your thighs. Bites them. Slaps them. Sleeps with his head between them like they’re his personal comfort zone. “Best pillow I’ve ever had.”

Favorite thing? When you ride him. Claims he’s letting you take control but ends up grabbing your hips and slamming you down harder, just to watch your reaction

Calls you things like “pretty thing” and “baby” in the most degrading way possible.

Possessive in the hottest way. Leaves bite marks just below where clothes cover. Grips your jaw and makes you look at him when you’re close. “Eyes on me, babe.”

Loves to drag things out. Kisses up your thighs and just stops before touching where you need him. Smirks while you beg. “Patience, sweetheart. You’ll thank me later.”

Loves hearing you beg. The more whiny and desperate, the better. He’ll edge you for hours just to hear you plead. “Say please real sweet for me and maybe I’ll let you cum.”

Gets off on making you cry from pleasure. Not sad tears the broken, shaking, can’t-take-it-anymore kind. He’ll wipe them with his thumb and chuckle. “Tears already? We just started.”

He’ll intentionally overstimulate himself just to keep up with you. Like if you're still needy after he finishes, he'll mutter, “So fuckin' greedy,” and keep going anyway, groaning while you squirm. He lives for it.

He’s mean in the moment, but afterward? You’re immediately getting cuddled, praised, fed snacks, and hes putting you into one of his shirts. “You did so good for me. C’mere, lemme hold you.”

But if you ever use your safeword? His demeanor changes instantly. “Okay, okay. You good? Talk to me, baby.” Holds your hand, kisses your forehead. Doing anything that you ask of him

Divider by: @cafekitsune

My Kpop Demon Hunters Masterlist

[elliot-gay-boi]

Okay hi, this is my first time publishing fanfiction so please just leave it if you think this isn't good enough.

But this gif set and cinnonyms tags just inspired me to write a small ficlet.

So here:

Mary Margaret is standing in the kitchen making coffee. It was early enough and she luckily still had a bit until she had to go to school. She really hoped Emma would have a moment for them to talk since lately she felt like she didn't see her best friend at all. Sometimes Mary Margaret wondered if something was up and if Emma was avoiding her. But she quickly shoved that thought aside. Surely Emma would tell her if something bothered her. And besides it was very plausible that work and Henry was keeping her busier than usual.

Mary Margaret took a sip of her coffee looking up when she heard footsteps coming down the stairs. Suddenly nearly choking on her drink when she recognized who was coming down into the kitchen.

It was the Mayor. Regina Mills.

What was Regina doing in her flat?

Why was Regina coming downstairs in the morning?

Mary Margaret head spun.

"Are you alright Mrs. Blanchard? You are looking a bit pale" Reginas voice was as always icy with an unusual tense hint of sarcasm.

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine." Mary Margaret answered automatically without thinking.

Despite not feeling fine at all.

However before she could find her footing again and ask Mrs. Mills, Mayor of her town, what she was doing in her kitchen at 6:30 am she heard a second person descending down the stairs.

Mary Margaret suddenly felt like she was in an alternative reality.

Emma came down the stairs her eyes on Regina with a huge smile, looking like she was best friends with Regina despite hating her and only recently telling Margaret what a pain she was to work with and just all around such an unpleasant incredibly smug person.

Additionally Emma was clearly wearing her bed gown, an oversized, hole riddled T-shirt that just barely reached over her underwear.

It took everything in Mary Margaret not to clear her throat to make Emma aware she wasn't alone with Regina.

"Do you want some coffee?" Emma asked Regina easily only for her smile to freeze completely when her eyes (finally) fell on Mary Margaret.

"Oh." Emma breathed.

'Oh indeed!' Mary Margaret thought. She increasingly felt irritated over the sudden closeness of the two and being completely ignored in her own home no less! And anyhow why didn't Emma ask her if she could invite someone over at 6:30 in the morning?

Of course it would have been okay for her, even if Regina Mills would not have been her first guess, however it was about the principal of things! Wasn't it?

"Good morning Emma." Mary Margaret said as neutral as possible. Though it ended up sounding cold since her usual demeanor especially with Emma was always so warm and carefree.

"Why are you alre... I mean good morning Mary Margaret. I thought you have a later class today?" Emma interrupted herself mid sentence only to say something only marginally less rude. Clearly having not expect to see Mary Margaret today in the morning.

Clearly not wanting for her to see Regina Mills leaving.

Regina Mills who, now on a closer look, was not in her usual Mayor attire. It was a tick too... much. Nearly like an outfit one would wear on a date. One that you would wear again in the morning for your way home after ... after staying the night.

Mary Margarets head wiped back to Emma.

"Did you guys, uh....." she let her words fade not entirely sure how or even what exactly to say.

It was so obvious, yet her whole body still felt like that could just not be.

Emma hated Regina.

Emma talked about her constantly how horrible she was, how much of a pain in her ass, how annoying she was about every little detail, how caring she was with Henry, how annoyingly self confident, how infuriating hot she looked in her small red dress.

Now that she thought about it Emma had at some point started to sound more and more like she had a crush on Regina then actually disliking her...

Mary Margaret was not sure what to make with that.

It was sinking in more and more.

Her best friend was in Love with the bossy, over controlling Mayor.

Her best friend had taken said Mayor on a date and then brought her home, home to Mary Margarets house to.... to hopefully only sleep.

But suddenly with growing horror Mary Margaret remembered she woke up in the night because an unusual loud fox was screaming in the back yard.

Mary Margaret closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

Okay so apparently, unfortunately, now completely undeniably, her best friend had fucked the Madame Mayor in Mary Margarets flat while Mary Margaret was asleep.

She let out a deep sigh and opened her eyes again.

Infront of her Emma was looking like a deer caught in the headlines. Then put her bright red head into her arms groaning like a teenager who got caught looking at porn.

Next to her Regina took it better. Or what if Mary Margaret didn't know her could have seemed like taking it in stride. But Mary Margaret knew her, sometimes more than she thought made sense with them only interacting as teacher and mother of a student.

Her neutral smile fell for just a moment and then it was back but she looked down and then elegantly found an interesting spot on the counter to stare down on.

It was the most obvious 'yes' they both could have given.

After another moment of uncomfortable uninterrupted silence Mary Margaret spoke up:

"Soooo.... how long are you two already an item?"

Emmas ears turned even redder and she let out a breath but didn't manage to answer.

Regina looked at Emma, realised she was completely useless, cleared her throat and answered herself.

"I'm not sure it's any of your buis- ouch!"

"What Regina wanted to say," Emma quickly took over, after very not discreetly kicking Reginas foot under the counter, "is that this is all very fresh and we... we haven't yet told anyone and... and thought we still had some time to prepare before....... making it official."

After a beat she added a bit too quickly:

"Of course I would have told you first!"

"Of course." Mary Margaret repeatedly slightly sarcastic. Not sure if Emma was telling the truth. Not sure Emma was as close to her as she assumed just moments ago.

"Of course." Regina whispered while rolling her eyes, clearly thinking noone would hear her, only to be hit by Emma again.

Mary Margaret didn't feel any empathy for her. She had it coming.

"Sooooooooooooooo....... what do you think?" Emma asked looking like a beat puppy in desperate need of approval.

"About?" Mary Margaret asked confused for a moment only to catch herself a moment later "Ah. That."

"Yeah that." Regina said with venom dripping from her voice. Clearly not liking her relationship to Emma being referred to so negative.

Mary Margaret shot her a -seriously?- look she usually only used on especially stupid comments from her students.

Which worked surprisingly well on Regina who looked, for the first time Mary Margaret known her, somewhat guilty.

"I...." Mary Margaret decided to be honest with Emma, "I am caught off guard. I didn't expect it. However it also, somehow, impossibly so, makes a lot of sense."

Emmas look turned hopefully and happy in a way Mary Margaret hadn't seen on her, ever.

"I get it's sudden," there Emma laughed and turned to Regina shooting her a fond smile, that made them look so much closer than they physically where, "it has been sudden and surprising for us as well."

At Emmas smile and words Regina smiles the fondest smile, Mary Margaret has ever seen on the stone cold face of the Madam Mayor, at Emma.

It makes Mary Margaret involuntary suddenly also smile. She's always been a sucker for love stories that work out against all odds. She's always felt like hers was somehow still on a path to work itself out, her still being stuck in the difficult before stage where she's alone and unhappy because her second half was missing.

But she was surprised to find that she was genuinely growing more and more happy for Emma and Regina who very evidently have found their person.

Reginas smile fell when she saw Mary Margarets smile, but before her face could turn that venomous cold that she sported so often especially when looking at Mary Margaret, Emmas pleading look to play nice, made her force the smile back again.

"You two make a good couple." Mary Margaret couldn't help but note surprising herself and the other two looking at her shocked.

"You are okay with the two of us being... an item?" Emma asked a insecure look at Regina at the definition of their relationship.

Regina was too busy looking at Mary Margaret completely shocked and stunned. Her mouth slightly open and her eyebrows furrowed.

"Don't get me wrong it was a shock seeing the Mayor walking down my stairs in the wee hours of the day. But I can see that you two," she briefly paused there assessing the two, searching for the right words, "you fit together. You two look at each other with so much care despite both claiming to hate each others guts only weeks ago." she finishes a bit awkwardly.

At her words Emma turns bright red again evading Mary Margaret and especially Reginas eyes.

Regina on the other hand looked like a sculpture. One that blushed ever so slightly and suddenly didn't look quite as challenging at Mary Margaret but rather discreetly looked at the cabinets behind her.

"Thanks." Emma squeaked hoarse, only to look even more embarrassed at her voice failing her.

Mary Margaret chuckled, not being able to stay angry at Emma, and answered warmly:

"You're welcome."

"Just don't have a sleep over again without asking before. I'd like to get earplugs in before I wake up from fox screams again." Mary Margaret adds half serious, half wanting to make Emma suffer at least a bit for surprising her and keeping something so big from her.

Emma looks confused for only a moment until realising just how exactly the fox that sometimes visited their backyard sounded like.

Upon realising turning red again and hiding in her arms with a long suffering groan.

Regina looked at her, eyebrows slightly knitted until realization what Mary could mean dawned on her. Clearing her throat and trying desperately to keep her voice even, despite her cheeks also blushing, she answerd diplomatically:

"I will make sure to not come by unannounced again."

Emma lifted her head again all embarrassment leaving her as she looked, oh so hopeful at the implications of Regina coming by again, wanting to repeat last night again.

And Mary Margaret couldn't help but smile at the two and feel like something just shifted to the better.

[dating-eveeything]

can you do romance hcs with an autistic mc? any characters you want really, but i would love dorian, cam, skips, johnny, betty, idk i'm not picky!

Them with an autistic S/O

Featuring: Dorian, Johnny, Betty, Amir

Fic type: fluff, comfort, headcanons/scenarios

Gender neutral reader, I'm using my own experiences of being autistic as a reference- please keep that in mind. Length varies for each

In all honesty, he's a decent person to be around, especially if you're overstimulated or about to have a melt down.

He's an overall quiet guy, and can easily recall stories or just talk about something random if you need the distraction.

His build is firm, and while he doesn't do it often, his hugs are just as firm and are a good way to calm you down, the pressure of his big arms a wonderful way to ground someone who's out of it.

Honestly, he doesn't really know anything about autism, nor does he quite care- he's a busy guy guarding doors, but post-relationship he pays attention more. He's watching out for you, making sure you don't stress yourself out; especially if you're leaving the house.

Very helpful when it comes to remembering things, he can help you find anything you might've misplaced. He always goes over a list of essentials needed when you leave the house.

If you're someone who gets overwhelmed quickly, he's your guy. Like earlier, he's a pretty quiet guy, so go ahead and sit against him- he'll keep quiet for you. And if you ask real nicely (though you really don't have too), he'll crouch down and pull you into his side, humming a quiet melody. The melody doesn't really matter, he knows the deep vibrations of his chest are what's helping you.

His outfit isn't as textured as you'd expect- he's a simple guy- but if you really like textures he'll let you touch and play around with his suit. Secretly enjoys it when you wrap your arms around him to feel the inside of his suit jacket (which is most definitely silk).

He stands at the door, barely letting a muscle twitch as he stares ahead. It would've been an intimidating sight if it weren't for you hugging his legs, leaning your head on his thigh like he was a pillow.

It had become a somewhat common occurrence after your relationship with Dorian started to truly blossom, you started going to him when you felt stressed and needed a moment of silence. The soft texture of his pants was enough to get some sort of sensory to help you calm down.

His hand slips down from his chest where it was crossed and rests his hand on the top of your head, not doing anything else put lightly resting it there. What a sweet door.

THIS MAN. He is the person you go to when you need to TAAALK. Lemmie tell you.

Johnny is open to hearing all about your hyperfixation or special interest. He knows so much about how it feels to be ashamed for his passions, for simply liking what he likes, and he would never want to make anyone feel that way.

He'll sit on the floor with you and listen about whatever it is you like, doesn't even have to know anything about it! He'll try and ask related questions to understand more.

Will be so excited when you come to him all excited to tell him about something that happened with your favorite topic. Go ahead and tell him all about your favorite show or game, the plot twist in your book or maybe an animal you saw that isn't usual for the area!

Absolutely remembers the little things about what you like, and when he sees you (even in passing) he'll ask for updates or just to see if he can chat you up.

Just for fun, he would write little songs just for you about your special interest! It's not exactly related, anyone but you wouldn't be able to tell what he's singing about, but you? You hear him say a single line similar to what you've told him and you're basically jumping up and down and leaning in while he sings. He does his best work just for you.

Johnny sits on the floor, legs stretched out, and listens as you speak. He has a huge smile on his face as he listens to you yap about this TV show you've been watching recently, going episode by episode about the plot and how the characters are cool or stupid.

You sit on his knees and hold onto his shoulders, every now and then shaking him when you get really excited about something. His smile never fades, and you can tell it's the most genuine smile he's ever had on his face- well, other than when he sings.

Another amazing object to go to when it comes to sensory/stimulation.

Her honey smooth voice is like a favorite song you play on loop when everything gets too much, and she knows it.

She holds you close, but doesn't whisper in your ear knowing it's uncomfortable, her head lays on yours and she practically suffocates you in her hole; just like you want. Often she repeats things she's said before, quiet funny stories she remembers about other objects in the house, repetitiveness is good for you.

Telling you something you know already is calming. She doesn't get it herself, but if it helps you she'll repeat the same thing over and over.

The blankets and pillows that decorate her are almost always the perfect temperature for you. Never too hot nor ever too cold, she makes sure of it.

Absolutely let's you play with her hair. The curls as soft as a freshly washed pet, easy to brush your fingers through and mess with, making little braids before brushing them out and starting again.

She's one of the few objects that can get anyone to shut up with a polite ask, especially if the other lives in the bedroom as well (the Hanks). It's real nice to know you have a guarantee of a quiet space whenever you want.

"There you go, lover" Betty mutters, her arms keeping you close to her. Your hands are wrapped around her and playing with the ends of her hair, the soft texture relaxing against your fingers.

She rests her hands on your head and places a big kiss on the crown of your head, resting down and slowly recalling a story she's told a million times, something about Jean Loo and Dorian- probably a silly fight- she knows you don't pay attention to the stories; just that you like to hear her voice verberate though her and to you.

Amir is GREAT for self image help and helping set routines. No one knows how to help get you out of an episode funk like this guy, let me tell you!

He'll sit next to you on the bed and rub you back as you lay away from him, not able to do much but lay there. He can be quiet if you really want, but he enjoys giving you compliments; we know this, it's like second nature for him.

Eventually he does get you out of your bed, at least getting you to sit up and lean against him. His arms wrap around you and a hand of his will come up to run through your (let's be realistic here) greasy hair and just sit there for as long as you need.

Of course he can't go a true minute without giving you a compliment. He's stroking your cheek and talking about how gorgeous you are, even with how out of touch you look after sitting in bed for who knows how long, he still takes the time to tell you how gorgeous you are.

When it comes to setting up a routine, Amir is your object. He's supportive every step of the way, holding onto you to help. When you forget to do something he's reassuring you it's alright, when you can't bring yourself to do something, again, he's there to reassure you it's alright and that you'll be able to do it tomorrow. Routines are made to be broken sometimes.

Even at your worst, when you haven't taken care of yourself in days, he's still giving you the sweetest- most genuine compliments; it's hard to believe him at times, but he has never lied about how much he finds you to be the most stunning human he's ever seen.

Amir sits on the counter, holding you- who's standing- in-between his legs as he holds onto your face. He's got a bright smile on his face, looking at you with nothing but love. "It's alright" he murmurs, moving his thumbs to brush up on your face.

Your routine had been ruined for after you had slept in and refused to get out of bed when you had woken up. It was a minor setback, but to you it was the destruction of something you had worked so hard to set up. Amir believed otherwise, helping you into the bathroom to help start up when you would've done a few hours ago.

"It's alright my darling, so you're a few hours behind. No problem, there's no better time to start than now." He leans down and kisses your forehead, grabbing the brush behind him to bring up to you. "What do you say, Sweetheart?"

[paucubarsisimp]

Girll poly lewis x max x reader please where they see you being too friendly w another driver pleaseee?

only ours

pairing: poly!lewis hamilton x reader x max verstappen

summary: basically the request

warnings: jealousy jealousy

a/n: i accidentally deleted this and then i had no motivation to write it so this is kinda ass sorry love

you didn’t mean anything by it. really, you didn’t.

lando had always been that easy presence. someone who made you forget the sharp edges around you, the whispers that floated between the teams, the constant pressure that sat heavy on your chest all weekend long. you never thought twice before laughing too loud at one of his jokes, or brushing your hand against his arm when he said something dumb but funny.

it was just a moment, a break from everything. an escape.

you forgot how visible you are. you forgot the way lewis and max always watch you — like you’re something they’re both guarding and claiming all at once. you forgot how much it hurts them when someone else gets even a glimpse of your attention.

and tonight, when you caught them staring from across the paddock, you should’ve known better.

you’re halfway across the paddock when you notice max standing there. he’s leaning against the fence, arms crossed, jaw tight. not angry exactly, but close. behind him, lewis’s posture is rigid. he’s watching you with a look you don’t quite understand.

your heart jumps.

you want to walk past, keep things normal. maybe this is nothing.

but it isn’t.

“hey,” you say softly when you get close enough. “everything okay?”

lewis looks up, but there’s something in his eyes that makes your throat go dry.

“should we be asking you that?” he says.

you blink, confused.

max’s voice cuts in, cold and steady, “you were having a good time with lando.”

you try to brush it off, “it was just a joke.”

“you were laughing like he was the only person in the world,” lewis says.

you want to say you didn’t mean anything. that you didn’t realize how it looked. that it wasn’t like that.

but their eyes pin you down.

“you were glowing,” max says low. “like you forgot who you’re with.”

and suddenly the air feels too thick to breathe.

you’re frozen.

you try to explain. “i wasn’t thinking. i’m sorry.”

lewis steps forward, close enough that you can smell the faint hint of cologne, warm and familiar. “that’s the problem,” he says. “you didn’t think. but you should’ve.”

max’s hand brushes the small of your back and you jump. “we don’t share,” he says softly.

you swallow.

you’re theirs.

and yet, somehow, you forgot to be careful.

the tension between the three of you stretches, taut like a wire pulled too tight.

you’re not angry.

you’re not scared.

you’re embarrassed.

because it wasn’t flirting. it was a moment of letting your guard down. but they don’t see it that way.

lewis steps closer, one hand sliding to cup your jaw. “we protect you,” he whispers. “you belong to us.”

max presses his forehead against the back of your neck, voice almost a growl, “we don’t let anyone else touch you.”

you close your eyes, trying to steady your breath.

“show me,” lewis says. “show us.”

and so you do.

later, on the yacht, the cool night air mixing with the smell of salt and expensive liquor, you’re wrapped between them. their hands are everywhere, claiming, comforting.

lewis’s lips trail over your collarbone while max’s hands trace slow patterns on your thighs.

there’s no rush.

no pressure.

just the weight of belonging and being claimed.

“you’re ours,” max murmurs. “only ours.”

you nod against lewis’s chest, heart finally slowing.

you smile, “i know.”

and you mean it.

taglist: @barcapix, @universefcb, @joaosnovia, @ilovebarcaaaa, @levidazai, @hollyf1,@mxryxmfooty, @halfwayhearted, @landoslutmeout , @linnygirl09, @spidybaby, @dessashippr, @freyathehuntress lmk if you want to be added or removed!

[tojbnuy]

hey! Please could you write a little something where roommate sukuna is a little mean to reader and it’s a bit angsty but he feels bad and has to make it up to her with lots of cuddles

thank you for the request! i know it’s been a while but i hope this is okay :3 this is the same reader as part one and two pls do check them out <3

yours and roomate!sukuna’s relationship was complicated to say the least. complicated yet comfortable. your old dynamic was still up and running just with the addition of proximity. but that didnt mean things were always perfect, sukuna was still sukuna at the end of the day and he was far from perfect but he was trying.

bickering was common for the two of you, it was usually about guys or cleaning up mess but there were times were your heart was left feeling slightly shaken. you were a sensitive soul that was clear as day. sukuna was a lot more gentle with you than he was with his friends for example but sometimes the words left him before he could think about their repercussions.

today’s fight was a minor one to begin with. who had forgotten to unload the dryer and led a few of your clothes to become incredibly creased.

‘like seriously i need this shirt for tomorrow morning now im gonna have to wake up early to iron.’

‘im telling you kuna it wasn’t me, i would have remembered i always do.’

‘pssh yeah definitely.’

‘what does that mean?’

‘it means what more could i have expected from you of all people.’

‘if it was me i didn’t mean it.’

‘you didn’t mean it yet you’re always managing to do and say dumb shit. like seriously fucking grow up.’

immediately tears welled up at the harsh tone of his voice and the anger behind his words. you knew you weren’t as clever as some people but you didn’t think he found you this annoying, you had thought maybe there was even a bond developing between the two of you. comments from others about your sometimes unusual behavior and out of the blue remarks didn’t affect you as much, it was the ones from people who’s opinions you valued that tore away at your self esteem. stupid of you to think he would want to create a bond with someone as stupid as yourself when he has plenty of beautiful smart women at his hand. he would make random remarks about you being silly, maybe call you a dummy but you tried to not let it get to you, this however had tipped you off until you could no longer keep it inside. you were ashamed. ashamed to have done something so stupid.

sukunas hands were still inside the dryer, his focus on the task at hand so he hadn’t realised you hadn’t responded. then all of a sudden he heard the slight squeak of your feet on the tiled floor and a whispered sorry and only then did the guilt begin to situate. he himself was having a shitty day and the anger had built up so much so that the first inconvenience had him lashing out. at you of all people. he felt bad of course he did and he didn’t have the slightest clue as to how to check on you.

he made his way over to your room ready to be met with anger, that he could deal with. what he wasn’t prepared for was you hunched over, breathes coming out short and your shoulder shaking with how much you were crying.

‘baby? baby, hey look at me.’

you frantically wiped at your tears and attempted to stop the trembling of your hands. he hated to see you trying to act unaffected. he knew he was crazy about you before but seeing you like this, because of him was a pain he had never experienced before. the words were stuck in his throat, his pride always managing to ruin things for him.

‘you hate me.’

‘no i don’t brat, look what i said was out of line i was just mad i shouldn’t have said any of that. how could you think i hate you?’

‘because you’re always calling me stupid. i know im not like your other girl friends but you don’t have to be so rude to me all the time.’

sukuna had fucked up. majorly fucked up. what he thought was a harmless joke was actually hurting you. how could he care about anyone the same way he cared for you.

‘No, no i’m sorry baby i really am. i don’t give a shit about anyone let alone any girl the same way i care about you. i mean that doll from the bottom of my heart. i didn’t know it hurt you. i love everything about you doll. i look for you in everyone.’

‘do you think i’m stupid?’ you said with a sniffly nose and your hands gripping the comforter.

‘no doll i don’t think you’re stupid. i think you say some funny things sometimes but it makes you you. and i lo-‘ ‘i’ve gotten used to your antics by now brat’

‘i’m still a bit upset.’

‘yeah? what can i do to make it better?’

‘i think you have to cuddle me extra today.’

‘i’ll see what i can do’

immediately he folded you so you were pressed intro him. he was laying in his back against your pink fluffy cushions with you resting directly on his chest. he could feel your stuttered breathing against his chest, some tears still falling onto his shirt. he wanted so badly to tell you exactly what he was feeling but instead decided to stroke up and down your back, occasionally letting his hand roam down to your ass, softly molding you, patting you gently. your soft flesh under his palm was not only comforting to him but had you purring directly into his ear. he alternated between massaging your scalp, rubbing you back and patting your bum until your breathing had completely calmed.

‘really am sorry doll’ he whispered into your hair.

‘i know’ you whispered back with a little kiss to his chest.

he was really and truly fucked but this moment right here was one wherein he would die happy.

[daylightmidnights]

It's been ages since this was posted and I got time to read it today. Finally!

I cannot begin to tell you how happy I am that they're married now. My babies!!!! I love them so much. Kingrry has turned into such a pookie bear for her I can't help but love him. Can I have him please? I need someone who'd fight everyone for me like he did for his Queen 🥺

Those people are so disgusting and real pos. The audacity of Lord Mayor, Mrs Mable and the doctor!!! They all should rot in hell. And they don't even have any respect for harry as their king and what he wishes. Fuck all of them. Especially Mrs Mable because why the fuck would you want your daughter to be a mistress and then you are offended when he calls her ugly? That bothers you? And you're fine with using your daughter as your golden ticket to secure a spot at the palace? Disgusting!! I kinda feel bad for Pearl because that girl is also a victim of the system. Yn is 20 so I'm guessing Pearl is younger than her. That girl's brain is not fully developed yet and she's being fed all this bs by her mother and the people around her and the society. Just a horrible time for women to live in. That being said, i absolutely loved the way harry insulted her looks. I lost it at the bug comparison. Especially loved when yn said "I heard her tell this one..." Imagine being referred to as this one! Poor pearl, but deserved 😂

I have to mention the words you used tho. Bedswerver, i never heard of it. Gutter-waif, I don't even no what that means. There's so many words you use that are so fascinating. Must take so much time researching for all that. Thanks for doing that.

Love her friendship with Phoebe so much. She even kisses her when tucking her in? That's so so sweet it made me emotional. I love them. Everyone deserves a friend like Phoebe. When yn said "I'm not queen yet" and Phoebe replied "You are to me" aahhhhhh i love her so much. Supportive bestie!!!!

And I was so glad when the new dressmaker treated yn so nicely and with respect. And I found this hilarious for some reason "She wasn't sure if he'd said leave this dress to me, or leave the stress to me…" my sleepy confused queen.

Lastly their wedding was beautiful. I know no one in attendance was actually interested or happy but it was still beautiful solely because harry was super happy and excited for her to be his wife. He's just so in love. He even kissed her properly. I love him more than i hated him in the beginning. That says a lot about how the story has progressed and how well you wrote him.

This chapter was so eventful and action packed. A rollercoaster really. Made me angry on so many instances but also soothed me with the little bit of wholesomeness in between. You did so good wrapping it up nicely and leaving the spicy part to the next chapter.

I just cannot thank you enough for this story. You don't understand how much this means to me. It has become my favourite and i look forward to it so impatiently. I appreciate you for taking your time researching for this and making time out of your home life and busy patreon schedule to write this for free. Just know that you make me and many of us happy and we are so thankful to you for everything you put out on here. I love you so much and I'm so proud of you for pulling this story off so perfectly. Can't wait for the next chapter ❤️

[5] It's Good to Be King | mean king!harry

MAIN MASTERLIST | It's Good to Be King Masterlist

Series Summary: Harry, a handsome, but ill-mannered new king, bound by tradition, must select a queen, and against all expectations, he chooses Y/n, a street beggar. Now, Y/n finds herself caught between the gilded cage of royalty and the cold, harsh simplicity of her past, navigating a court shocked by her presence and a king who revels in the scandal of it all.

Note: Harry is mean/uncouth in this, though things do get better. He doesn't treat anyone around him with much respect at all. Expect to not like him much at first. Also, this is set in the 1800s England, and while not completely historically accurate, I did my best to keep it as accurate as possible.

Ch. 5 Word Count: 8,476

Ch. 5 Warning: Discrimination, bullying, slight angst and miscommunication, jealousy, hurt feelings, wedding scene -> smut will be in ch. 6, for those anticipating it

. .

The Duke remained quiet and sat in the comfortable feather-down cushioned chair near the fire as he watched Harry and Virgil go back and forth. He'd been meant to mediate the discussion, but Harry overrode that decision and told him to sit before he was removed from the castle. The king didn't need someone there to arbitrate anything. Harry would be the one with the final say, no matter what the Duke's opinion.

It started, on the surface, amicably. But quickly spiraled when Virgil told him he'd regret his choices as king (stripping the Lord Mayor of his title for one, and marrying Y/n for another). Harry'd expected to hear the Lord Mayor bemoan his decisions again. It was no surprise to him, but it was quite galling to listen once again to the same justifications.

Harry rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. "And I thought you came here to accuse me of theft. You are a sad, tiresome man, Virgil. I'm bored listening to this drivel."

Niall watched from the door, letting his eyes rove the three gentlemen slowly. He was only there to protect Harry, should he have needed to. But more than that, he found their little tiff to be quite amusing, though he'd never let on to it.

The Lord Mayor continued, dismissing Harry's comments. "And furthermore, it's clear to everyone that you do not have Thornekeep's best interest in mind. Marrying a gutter-waif? Setting her up in the castle like she's been bred for the crown? Why… It's preposterous!"

Harry bristled at gutter-waif, but decided to hold his tongue (and his anger) in front of the Duke. "Bred for the crown? What are you? A husbandry worker now? You breed animals and ready them for royalty?"

A quiet breath fell from the Duke as he turned his head away from the pair arguing. Even he was amused.

A sputtered noise of disbelief fell from the Lord Mayor as he shook his head. "Quite vulgar! Once again!"

The king laughed sardonically and stepped around the edge of the table, glancing at Niall as he ticked his fingers, tapping his nails together slowly. "Are we done here?"

"Before we make our leave, I want to discuss the young woman again. Pearl."

"And what would you like to tell me about the young woman with whom you are infatuated?"

"Your Highness! I am not infatuated!" Virgil pushed himself up from the chair and stepped near to Harry, but not close enough that the king could get his hands on him. "I'm trying to offer you a better choice of wife. Pearl will not disappoint you. She is happy to serve you as a good wife and queen should, and she learns quickly. She will see to it that you are well taken care of."

"I do not want Pearl. I've already made my choice. If you want her so badly, you can have her. Your wife seems quite meek. She wouldn't mind you taking a lover, I'm sure. Most men of your ilk do."

Virgil sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, ignoring how Harry had once again suggested that he wanted Pearl for himself. "My Lord, we can attest to and confirm that Pearl is a virgin, which is required of the queen consort. I have my doubts that Y/n is pure and virginal."

Harry laughed darkly, without a single drop of humor. "I suggest you make your leave before I become violent with you. My future wife is not up for discussion. I will not have you speak her name again."

"Then a mistress! Pearl would make a lovely mistress for you. She's fine to take on the role as long as you keep her and take care of her and her family in return."

Clenching his jaw, he shook his head and looked at the Duke. "Is he deaf? Dumb? Were you able to understand my orders just now, or am I the mad one here?"

"My Lord, I understood well your desires," the Duke said, not daring to look the Lord Mayor in the eye as he sided with the king.

"You cannot expect to be satisfied with just one woman. Surely you have plans in place to accommodate a mistress, if you haven't already," the Lord Mayor added.

Harry sighed and looked toward Niall again before stepping closer to the old man. "I think I can infer what's going on here. You and Mrs. Mable were quite close at one time, weren't you? The rumors were true then. She was your house-fed lamb, and you're a bedswerver. Your poor wife. Is Mrs. Mable threatening to let the cat out of the bag if you don't secure her virgin daughter a place in the castle?"

Virgil's mouth dropped open as his eyes nearly bulged from his head. "I… Why that's not even—"

The king moved closer, and the old man backed up to keep his distance. "That is what this is all about, isn't it? Most would wonder if Pearl was your daughter and not Mr. Mable's, but I'm convinced you're all dried up, impotent. And you, being like every other fleece-monger in Thornekeep, took Mrs. Mable as your secret, fancy piece."

"This is outrageous! I take umbrage at your accusations!"

Calmly, Harry looked at the Duke with a pleased grin. "Our old billygoat here takes umbrage. What do you say to that, Duke?"

Duke Hughes looked from the King to the Lord Mayor and stood up from his seat. "I say that it's time for us to make our leave."

"Now that is a smart answer. You could learn a lot from the Duke, Virgil."

"Just one meeting with Pearl, my Lord. She is ready to serve and would make a beautiful Queen, if not a kept mistress…"

"I said, get out! I'm quite finished with you, worm. Niall, remove him from the lounge…"

The old man raised his hands in surrender as Niall stepped forward. "We're leaving. No need for intervention. But please, consider meeting with the girl once. You will not be disappointed."

The dress was exquisite. Y/n glanced at Phoebe, who had covered her mouth with her hands after seeing all the pieces put together. She grinned at her friend and looked back at her reflection and couldn't help but focus on the young woman who Mrs. Mable had brought along for the final fitting. She had not been introduced to her, but Y/n could see that the girl was dissatisfied and annoyed.

"It's a shame this wedding and everything to do with the king's selection was rushed," the dressmaker said as she pulled at the fabric and tightened the bust, making Y/n gasp.

"Mama… When can I meet King Styles? I'm bored, and the stench in here is unbearable."

The young woman looked directly at Y/n as she mentioned the stench but Y/n was more worried about the girl's request to see the king. She'd become accustomed to insinuitive remarks and had learned to brush them off. But she did not like the idea of this pretty, young, blonde asking about her husband-to-be.

"Soon. He's been summoned. I imagine he'll be coming in any minute."

Y/n quickly grabbed her skirts and lifted them as she stepped down from the platform and looked at Phoebe. "He can't come in here! I'm in my bridal gown. It's bad luck—"

"It won't matter anyway. There's nothing customary about any of this. No one is so deceived as to think you're a virgin anyway…"

"It's so vulgar to think of it!" The pretty blonde said as she stood up and stepped in front of the mirror, smoothing out the silk panel in her dress. "The king deserves purity and beauty above all."

"Who is this? Why is she here? What business has she with the king?" Y/n pointed at the blonde as she stepped in behind her.

"There's the stench," Pearl said as she turned to look at Y/n, a smug expression drawn on her face.

Just then, the door opened and Harry barreled in with Niall and his assistant Fred trailing behind him. "Y/n… Is—what is this?"

He looked at Pearl, her mother, and the other women in the room, his brows pinched together dubiously. Y/n tried to hide the fabric of her skirts and duck behind a wooden table, but it had all been too late. He'd seen her gown.

"This is my dress fitting. You're not supposed to see me like this!" Y/n was almost in tears, and she knew it was a trivial thing to be so worked up over, but she had envisioned the surprised look on his face when she walked down the aisle toward the altar. She'd been so excited for that moment, and now that would be taken from her. He'd already seen her beautiful dress and it would no longer be a surprise.

Harry let his eyes sweep over her gown and back up to her face. "I was told that I was needed urgently. Who sent for me?"

The room fell quiet as Y/n narrowed her eyes at Mrs. Mable and then Pearl. "They did." She pointed. "I heard her tell this one that you'd been summoned but I did not call for you."

Harry could see the dismay on her face. To him, it was all the same. It didn't matter if he saw the dress now or on the day of their ceremony. But it was clear that it meant a lot more to Y/n and so for that he was livid.

"You're the dressmaker. Mrs. Mable…" Harry said and then he set his eyes on the pretty young blonde who was blushing softly and lowering her gaze in respect. "And you must be Pearl. Virgil has spoken highly of you, but unfortunately, you're wasting your time here."

Mrs. Mable rushed toward Harry and pointed at her daughter. "She is ready, Your Highness. She's been trained for this and she will do anything you ask of her. Give her a chance. You may take her into your chambers if you'd like to make a more informed choice."

Harry sniffed and looked at Y/n before he shot a look of disdain at Mrs. Mable. "Are you dull in the head? Your conniving with the Lord Mayor is pathetic. I know what you two have done and I care not if you expose him and yourself for the bedswervers you are. But do not pull my bride-to-be into this ratbag scheme."

"Is she not more lovely, not more fit to your tastes and to the kingdom's? You will require a virgin—"

"Pish! You and Virgil seem to think I hold virgins in high regard when that is the least of my concerns. Take her away. I don't wish to look at your daughter or to have her near Y/n. I can tell by just a glance that she's jealous."

Pearl let out a frustrated laugh. "I would never be jealous of her! She's akin to the filthy swine at the entry of the rookeries from where she came!"

Harry calmly stepped in front of the blonde, a rage boiling beneath the surface that he had to tame. She had to crane her neck back to look up at him. "I pity people like you," he said in a dark, spiteful tone. "Wrapped up in silk with pink lace bows and a turned-up nose. You haven't a single original thought in that tiny brain of yours and that's the most unattractive thing about you. Moreover, I can't find a solitary redeeming quality that you possess. I do not find you to be pretty. On the contrary… Your face is too wide and pasty, your wrists like a hollowed sprig, and your eyes are set too close, reminiscent of those fat bugs that like to feed off dung in the farmyards. I would never take you as my wife, much less a mistress. You are no better than anyone in this room, and you never will be."

Pearl stepped back and turned her face downward as tears threatened to burst from her eyes. Y/n felt a spike of satisfaction course up the knobs of her spine. She had been blind sided by their little trick to get the king to walk into her room for her fitting, so to hear Harry speak his mind to the young girl in that way had her holding her head a little higher, despite the devastation she felt at him seeing her dress before he was meant to.

"You bootjack! Do not speak to my daughter that way!" Mrs. Mable wrapped her arms around Pearl protectively.

Harry laughed. "Brave soul you are to mock the king and your queen-to-be. What did you expect of this disgraceful, desperate exhibit? That I'd look at her…" He gestured toward Pearl, who still had her face downcast. "And find myself smitten by her pastel garments and curled locks? She is nothing more than the dressmaker's daughter. She does not interest me in the least."

Mrs. Mable scoffed and looked at Y/n, Phoebe next to her, holding her arm. "She's a regular street beggar turned flag-hopper. Who knows how many men she's done the business with and if you want to marry into that kind of rubbish, then you dishonor your father's legacy. You are an embarrassment to the kingdom."

Letting his eyes flicker over his bride-to-be, he clenched his jaw. "If you were a man I'd have you tossed from the window down to your painful demise for speaking that way about her. Does she look rubbish to you? And who do you see standing before you as King? Not my father. He's dead, buried in the ground where he belongs."

One of the seamstresses gasped and turned away quickly in surprise at Harry's rough words for the beloved, deceased King Augustus. He shook his head and pointed toward the door. "Niall, take Mrs. Mable and her daughter down to the study and wait with them until I arrive. The rest of you are dismissed. Phoebe, you may stay with Y/n and help her out of this dress."

Niall motioned to the pair and Mrs. Mable scowled at the king on her way out of the room. Pearl kept her head down in shame with cheeks wetted by tears. Y/n watched with cautious delight, her eyes shifting from Mrs. Mable and Pearl, and then the workers as they all filed out of the Rose Room.

Then, before she even realized he'd made his way to her side, she felt his hand wrap around hers, and she turned to look up at him. "We'll have a new dress made for you. A better one. You will never have to see Mrs. Mable and her insufferable, hideous daughter ever again." He thumbed at her cheek as she nodded, a small smile working up on her lips.

"But the wedding is in two days. I don't know that that's possible. There is no better dressmaker in the kingdom than Mrs. Mable."

"I will find you a better dressmaker even if I have to bring them in from another province. Fred," Harry said, his sight still on his bride-to-be, "go find Luther and have him send for that Parisian man in Bethel. Find out who he uses and have them brought here at any cost."

The door closed behind Fred, and Phoebe stood to the side, watching as Harry and Y/n stared at one another. "You are not upset by them, are you?"

She blinked and looked toward the door. "I'm unsure how I feel. I found Pearl to be very pretty, and I imagined you would like the looks of her." She turned her gaze back to him. "Is it true you find her to be hideous?"

Harry continued running his thumb along her cheek as he lifted his other hand to the opposite side of her face. "Compared to you? She's repulsive and boring."

"But you wouldn't even take her as your mistress?"

"I won't be taking a mistress."

Y/n shook her head. "Isn't it customary for the king to have mistresses to keep him satisfied? What if I cannot make you happy?"

"Do not worry about that, little mouse. Now, I need to go and sort out the hatchet-faced sows who await me."

She giggled quietly as he stepped away from her, a cheeky grin on his face.

The moment he closed the door, Phoebe stepped in behind her and began helping her untie the corset. "She's not pretty. Not at all."

"Who? Pearl? I believe she was very pretty."

"Her attitude was ugly. I can't believe he compared her to a dung bug!"

The girls laughed together. "I wonder what he's going to say to them in his study."

"He's already love-stricken. It's so romantic," Phoebe said as she laid the corset down on the dressing table.

"Love-stricken? I don't believe so."

"Oh, but he is. I have a secret. Something I've wanted to say but didn't know if I should… But now I can't hold it in any longer…"

Y/n looked at Phoebe. "Well, what is it?"

"He's telling you the truth that he doesn't want a lover. I overheard him with his assistant and the castle steward telling them to clear the room that was meant to be kept for a mistress, but he didn't want it. He had changed his mind. Mr. Fred told him to leave it just in case, but the King insisted they give the room another use. He said it was no longer necessary, and I think it's because he can't imagine having anyone but you."

Y/n smiled and looked toward the window as her heart thumped in her chest. It was becoming quite common for her heart to patter harder every time she thought about Harry. He made her skin heat and her fingertips tingle. And she even indulged in touching herself as she imagined his eyes and his lips and his fingers… She knew her feelings about him were different than anything she'd felt before.

She had never belonged anywhere before, begging in alleyways, sleeping on the floor in her family's cramped tenement, ignored by carriages that splashed muddy water on her skirts. And now, she stood in there in castle with a little more meat on her bones and a relaxed smile on her face. The king had not only chosen her but defended her with the kind of fury only true feelings could ignite. Her feelings of being an impostor still bubbled to the surface at times, but she couldn't deny that Harry soothed the rising simmer with each passing day.

When the new dressmaker, Eugène Louise Lafitte, arrived the following evening, he had brought with him a whole caravan of helpers. Three covered carts filled with dresses, designs, supplies, and materials; two hairdressers, three seamstresses, a milliner, and two of his own assistants; as well as all of his personal belongings, as he was going to replace Mrs. Mable as the official royal dressmaker.

Y/n found the whole ordeal to be chaotic, but if she insisted on a new gown (she didn't really), then this was the only way. Eugène had set up everything in the Rose Room, and he began to measure and fit her right away. And despite the fact that there were a dozen people milling about in the room, jumping at every command Eugène spat, she found this fitting to be much better than with Mrs. Mable. For one, he never "accidentally" poked her with the pins the way Mrs. Mable had. For another, he treated her with appropriate respect. As if she were the queen already.

"Bring me the white silk Lanvin bodice…" Eugène said as he waved an arm toward his assistant, his other hand clutched at the middle of Y/n's back as he held fabric in place, and then snapped his fingers. "And check the third trunk for the custom silk skirt with cream lace. And those silk flourettes I've got in my leather satchel. I need them here."

And it went like that until Y/n could barely hold her eyes open. The buzz in the room continued for hours until Eugène was pleased with the look. Of course, he checked in with Y/n, often asking her opinion, of which she had none.

It embarrassed her, in a way, that she had no clue about what looked pretty and what did not. She didn't know fashion, but she did love the little silk flowers that were pinned along her outer skirt between bunched lace and smooth satin. The dress was lovely, Y/n could tell that much. And the finished product (which needed to be ready by midday) would be stunning. It would be paired with the original Turkish diamond necklace she'd been gifted and the finished veil that Mrs. Mable had made.

"Now, you rest," Eugène said to Y/n after Phoebe had helped her out of the delicate material and tucked a robe around her chemise. "The most important part of any outfit is the person wearing it and her disposition. Your beautiful smile will be the star of the ceremony, and you need your sleep. I will take care of the rest for you, madam. Leave the stress to me."

She paused and squinted at the odd man (he was quite odd, but she rather liked him). She wasn't sure if he'd said leave this dress to me, or leave the stress to me… Either way, she was too exhausted to think of much else than her comfortable bed as all of the workers left the room and Phoebe tucked her in and kissed her cheek.

"Goodnight, Queen." Phoebe smiled.

Y/n fluttered her eyes closed with a small, quiet laugh and whispered tiredly, "I'm not Queen yet."

"You are to me."

Despite the pre-wedding spiky nerves Harry was feeling, he was pleased and maybe even a little excited. The ceremony was only a couple of hours away and the castle was abuzz with activity all over. His suit was ready. He'd hidden in his study in hopes of a bit of peace and quiet before the doctor had forced his way in and begun talking nonsense.

"She has not yet had her physical examination, My Lord. It would require, at minimum, a quick and simple two-finger test, which is very run-of-the-mill."

Harry pinched his brows together and nodded with a sneer, his leg draped over his knee as he listened to the castle doctor. Sucking at his teeth he narrowed his gaze. "That will not be happening."

"Excuse me?" The doctor looked surprised.

"I said… That .. will not .. be happening."

"I don't understand. It's customary to check that the bride of the king is a virgin. How will we determine her virginal status if she doesn't have an examination?"

"I am sorry you're confused, but I believe I made myself clear. She will not be needing an examination. She's already told me she's a virgin." Not that it mattered to him in the first place.

"Please accept my sincerest apologies, My Lord, but how do you know she's telling you the truth? That is why we have protocol for this kind of thing. We cannot trust her to be honest about that. Of course, she'd tell you she's a virgin in order to procure her spot as Queen."

Harry sighed and placed his foot down on the floor, as if her were about to stand, his posture only slightly threatening as he leaned forward and kept his eyes hard on the doctor. "When I first picked her, I sought a woman who was not a virgin on purpose. I had hoped to enjoy some wick-dipping with her right off, but she was quite unsettled by the idea, worried about God and purity and all that. She's a virgin."

"My Lord, this is a—"

"This is a discussion that has come to an end. I won't hear of it anymore. You may take your leave. I'm busy. If you hadn't already realized it, I'm getting married today. I don't have time for your nonsense."

The doctor seemed rather vexed but he left the king's study without another word. Harry understood the usual traditions. He knew that it was expected that Y/n be a virgin. He was also not under any illusion that the people would demand proof and want to see their bedsheets the following morning to check for her blood.

He shook his head and gulped down the last of his gin. He hadn't even wanted a virgin. Mostly for selfish reasons but also because he'd never been with a virgin before. The very first time he saw her up close outside the castle gates, he found her features to be very pleasing and he made the mistake of assuming she was not a virgin. Though even after learning she was, he didn't regret his choice after getting acquainted with her.

He smiled as he stood from the chair. That's what she did to him when he thought of her. She made him smile. The kind of drowsy, sappy smile that told the world he was done for.

He wished he could see her right then. Ask her how she was doing, make sure she was being treated well… and perhaps to soothe his own nerves as well. What if she ran off? What if the foul treatment she'd been subjected to had finally gotten to her and she was on the run? Not many would stop her from running because they didn't like her anyway.

With a heavy sigh, he looked out the window to find the day overcast in soft pewters, clouds hanging low as if reluctant to bear witness to the scandal of the century. He was looking forward to making Y/n the Queen, but even more than that, he was looking forward to having her as his wife.

Y/n tried to stop the tears from escaping her eyes as she looked at herself in the mirror, the final product of her hair, the dress, her jewelry... The gown was even more luxurious than the previous. It had a fuller silk skirt with ribbons of cream lace and soft pink, green, and yellow satin flowers delicately sewn in. The bodice gave everything structure and form at the top, and the thin lace sleeves fitted over her arms like a second skin.

She grazed her fingers over the diamond necklace and inhaled a wobbly breath. "I can't believe it. I've never seen anything so beautiful."

Eugène stood behind her with a smile on his face. "I've never seen a more beautiful bride. You wear this dress well, my dear. I know it's not in keeping with tradition but I've been told that you and Harry are not a traditional royal couple. I hope it's just scandalous enough to make everyone turn heads and talk. If anyone can pull this off, it's you."

"And all in less than 12 hours! It's magnificent!" Pheobe exclaimed.

"Thank you, sir. I didn't believe it would be possible, but you've proven me wrong. I'm overwhelmed with happiness."

"Then I've done my job. Now, I believe your carriage awaits to bring you to the cathedral. I will be riding with you and your family, should anything come loose and need fastening."

.

The bells of Thornekeep Cathedral tolled with a heavy, ceremonial rhythm, each echo rolling over the gray-tipped rooftops of the town center like a reluctant proclamation. Inside, sunlight filtered through tall stained-glass windows, coloring the polished stone floor with fragments of ruby, emerald, and sapphire light. It was beautiful, solemn, and grand.

The nave was lined with nobles, foreign dignitaries, and members of the peerage, each clad in their finest silks, lace, and tailored uniforms. Rows of powdered wigs and jeweled collars bobbed stiffly above tight lips and narrowed eyes. They did not applaud. They did not smile. But they did watch carefully. Judging as if they were qualified.

A hush settled as the great organ began to play, a stately, thunderous processional. In the vestibule, Y/n stood just beyond the threshold, her hands trembling against the folds of her gown. The dress was nothing like the ones she used to imagine when watching brides pass in the street. It was better. Phoebe stood at her side, fussing with the long veil that trailed like mist behind her, whispering encouragement.

“You look divine,” Phoebe said, adjusting the fabric atop Y/n’s head. “Now, chin up. If they’re going to hate you, let them hate a queen, not a beggar.”

At the front of the cathedral, King Harry stood waiting beneath the high stone arch of the altar, dressed in a black frock coat with gold embroidery along the cuffs and collar. His ceremonial sword hung from his hip—a nod to tradition he’d allowed begrudgingly—but his cravat was loosened ever so slightly in subtle rebellion. Fred stood just behind him, rigid as he watched on.

Harry’s expression, however, was anything but restrained. He grinned brightly when he saw her appear at the end of the aisle, arm looped with her father's. Gasps rippled through the crowd, not at the gown, not at the diamond necklace, but at the girl wearing them. A commoner. A beggar, soon to be their queen.

Y/n walked slowly down the aisle, trying not to falter under the weight of stares that clung to her like sticky brambles. Her breath caught when she met Harry’s eyes, mischievous, proud, and tender. There was something grounding in his gaze, like a rope cast to a woman who was still learning to stand on marble floors.

At the altar, the Archbishop cleared his throat and began the ceremony, reading from the Book of Common Prayer, as was custom. The vows were traditional, spoken clearly before God and court:

“Will you, Harry, take this woman to be your wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony?”

He didn’t hesitate. “I will.”

“Will you, Y/n, take this man to be your wedded husband, to live together after God’s ordinance—”

“I will,” she said, quietly but firmly, not letting her voice sound weak in front of the staring spectators.

There were no whispers of love, no passionate declarations. But when Harry slid the ornate ring, a band of twisted gold and sapphire, onto her finger, his thumb brushed hers with lingering affection. A touch that said more than their vows ever could.

When they were pronounced husband and wife, the organ swelled. Tradition usually dictated a polite kiss on the cheek before turning to face the congregation. But Harry, never one for subtlety, leaned in and kissed her full on the lips, dipping her ever so slightly, and Y/n grabbed onto his coat to steady herself. Gasps rose, half in horror, half in delight. He pulled back with a wink only she could see.

Then, side by side, they faced the court. Stone faces stared back. Y/n straightened her spine.

"Let them glare," he said under his breath as they smiled.

The cathedral bells rang again as the newly crowned Queen Y/n emerged from the grand oak doors on Harry’s arm. A scattering of cheers broke out in the crowd gathered beyond the palace gates, though they were thin and uncertain, peppered with scowls, taciturn nobles, and commoners caught between fascination and suspicion.

The royal carriage stood gleaming in the late afternoon light, a glossy black and gold coach pulled by six white horses adorned in crested harnesses. Its polished sides mirrored the anxious faces that lined the route, and the royal seal glinted on the carriage doors.

Y/n climbed in first, the veil like a cloud behind her. Harry followed, waving once to the crowd with an exaggerated flourish, as if daring them to boo. Fred closed the door after them with a look of quiet resignation, before hopping into the carriage behind with the footmen.

Inside, the carriage was warm and velvet-lined, the heavy scent of roses clinging to the seats. Y/n stared out the window as they began to move, flanked by guards on horseback.

“They hate me,” she whispered.

Harry leaned against the cushion and smiled as he pulled her hand into his. “You shouldn't worry about what a bunch of thick-headed sardines think of you. They'er blind.”

She looked up at him and smiled. "I woke up thinking that you'd come to your senses and call it off. That I'd be waiting, all dressed and ready, and you'd be locked in your chambers and have me removed."

He shook his head, soft green irises sliding over her frame and up to her face. “I’ve come to my senses, all right. That’s why you’re sitting here now.”

Y/n looked down at their joined hands—his thumb gently stroking over her knuckles—and for a moment, the heavy world outside the carriage fell away.

“I don’t know how to be a queen,” she admitted, voice barely audible over the rhythmic clatter of wheels on cobblestone.

Harry leaned closer, his voice lower, softer now. “Good.”

She huffed a quiet laugh, and he smiled at the sound, genuine and unguarded. Then he brought her hand to his lips, brushing a kiss against her fingers. “You don’t have to be perfect, Y/n. You just have to be real.”

Outside, the crowd grew louder as the palace gates loomed ahead, but inside the carriage, it was warm and still. She shifted closer to him, their shoulders touching now, the lace of her sleeve brushing the brocade of his coat.

And though the kingdom buzzed with scandal, and the court plotted behind polished smiles, in that quiet stretch of space before the next curtain rose, King Harry and Queen Y/n simply breathed, side by side.

.

The Great Hall of Thornekeep Palace was transformed for the occasion—hundreds of beeswax candles glittered from chandeliers high above, and polished mirrors doubled the light across the walls. Tapestries were drawn back to reveal the grand stonework of the castle’s bones, lending an air of both splendor and severity. Long banquet tables were laid out in rows, gleaming with silverware, crystal goblets, and floral arrangements that spilled over with wildflowers and white roses.

Music floated through the room, an ensemble of violinists and harpists near the hearth played a series of traditional waltzes, though the tempo felt more funereal than festive. No one danced yet. The air was too tight.

At the head table, Y/n sat beside Harry beneath a carved wooden canopy bearing the royal crest. Her plate was filled, but her appetite lagged behind her nerves. The food was elaborate: roast venison with plum glaze, lemon-rosemary quail, bowls of minted peas and white asparagus, and trenchers of honeyed bread and soft cheeses. There was wine from the southern vineyards and towering sugar confections shaped like swans and crowns.

Phoebe stood nearby, ever watchful, whispering quiet instructions on what to do with each fork, when to dab her mouth, when to rise. Y/n nodded gratefully.

The murmurs never stopped.

“She curtsied too shallow.”

“She speaks like she’s from the gutter.”

“Can’t even hold a wineglass properly…”

Harry heard them. Y/n could see it in the tick of his jaw. At one point, a nobleman seated halfway down the table made a thinly veiled comment about the "peculiar scent of fishmongers at court." Harry stood, clinked his glass, and with all the weight of his crown and grin declared:

“I rather like the smell of a woman who knows how to survive.”

The room went silent. Then, reluctantly—awkwardly—a few polite claps began. Phoebe stifled a laugh. Fred looked like he’d aged ten years.

As the night wore on, the air grew looser. Jugglers and acrobats entered, performing near the rear hearth to entertain the children and lower nobility. A small group of traveling actors performed a dramatic retelling of King Augustus the Wise, a none-too-subtle dig at Harry’s late father, much to Harry’s delight.

Y/n watched it all in a dreamlike haze, the velvet of her seat warm beneath her and her crown tugging gently at her temples. She caught Harry looking at her between sips of wine. He reached across the table, not for her hand, but to slide a sugared fig onto her plate.

Y/n picked it up and bit into the fig. Sweet. Sharp. Decadent.

She looked at him with gratitude, holding his gaze a beat longer than proper, feeling something settle in her chest, something warm, steady, and terrifyingly real. Before she could say anything, Fred appeared beside the table with the stiff posture of a man who’d tried to interrupt twice already and failed.

“Your Majesty,” he said quietly, bowing slightly toward Harry. “Lord Chancellor Whitely requests a word regarding the foreign trade representatives. He says it won’t wait.”

Harry groaned under his breath, tilting his head back like a man being dragged to the gallows. “Of course it won’t.” He gave Y/n’s hand a final squeeze under the table. “This is important. I will return as quickly as possible.”

As Fred guided him away, a soft voice called Y/n’s name from just behind her. She turned to find Phoebe leaning in with that same practiced smile she wore whenever navigating nobility like thorns.

“Your mother’s asking for you. I told her you’d come as soon as you’d had a moment and now that the king has been called off…”

Y/n blinked, surprised, rising carefully, nodding her thanks as Phoebe adjusted the fall of her gown behind her. The palace loomed vast and glittering, but with Harry’s warmth still clinging to her skin. Y/n lifted her chin and walked toward where her mother and sisters were standing.

Her mother let out a dramatic sob and pulled Y/n's hands into her warm ones. "You are the Queen. I hear the whispers of everyone around me, but I know you and you are worthy. Even if he already has his mistress up in his room waiting, we all know who his wife is. Whom he has chosen as his queen."

"His mistress?" Y/n looked over her shoulder at Phoebe, who shook her head in confusion, eyes flitting between the mother and daughter.

"Yes. I heard some people talking about a woman named Pearl. She's waiting for him in his chambers right now. Did you not know?"

Y/n swallowed, the back of her throat hollow as she shook her head in disbelief. Her head swirled, making her dizzy, and her sight suddenly shaded in red. Had that been the real reason why he was called off so suddenly? Had he lied to her about what he thought of Pearl? But why?

"I did not know. Thank you, mother. I need to sit."

Y/n tried not to let the dismay that clenched at her heart show on her face. Phoebe was speaking, but Y/n couldn't put together the sentences or make sense of anything. If he'd just been honest the first time around, she wouldn't have so suddenly been caught off guard. She had expected him to take a mistress but when he told her he wouldn't be…

Sitting back in her place, she looked around at the lingering gazes and then at her plate in silence. The food she hadn't finished staring back up at her in a taunt. She couldn't believe that she'd been deceived by him. But she refused to let tears stain her cheeks. She was already the butt of the joke and now she knew it to be true. She'd been so stupid.

Even though the room was full of wealth and opulence, no one danced to the music, and very few applauded the children's entertainment on the other side of the Great Hall. The longer she sat in her fancy chair, in her beautiful dress, without Harry by her side, the more she became certain that he was with Pearl. Why would he be rushed away on the evening of his wedding if not to secretly see his new lover? Would he really allow a business meeting to take precedence? None of it made sense anymore.

Y/n drank down her glass of wine and motioned to have another filled. If she was going to be ignored by her new husband while he played with his mistress behind her back, she was going to try and get on with things, and a bit of drink couldn't hurt. Phoebe had tried to offer her comforting words but it didn't help.

"He's off with her. How long has he already been gone? It's been an hour? I know better than to trust him again."

"Please, madam… I think your mother was mistaken. The king only has eyes for you—"

"My mother knew her name. Someone was speaking about it right in front of her, and she learned a secret that was not meant to be exposed. I'm happy to be armed with the truth. At least I know now."

The chatter in the room softened as heads turned toward the hall's arched entry when Harry and Fred stepped back inside. Y/n looked away. It wasn't fair that he was so handsome after having come back from wherever he'd been. His bed with Pearl likely.

When he sat back down, he reached his hand under the table to place over her skirt but she scooted herself away as much as possible and turned sharply to look anywhere but at him.

"What's wrong, mouse?"

She lifted her glass to her lips and took a long pull of her drink before setting it back down with a loud clunk onto the table. She refused to look at his face. "Do not call me mouse ever again."

Harry glanced up at Phoebe, who was standing near Y/n's chair and then back at his bride's side profile, speaking louder that time. "What is wrong? Tell me what has happened?"

Those who sat closest to the king and queen watched on curiously.

"Did you have fun while you were away? Was it necessary to take an hour to do it?"

"The Lord Chancellor had very important news, and I needed to settle an issue. I did not intend for it to take as long as it did. I apologize. Is that why you're angry?"

She felt her heart thudding in her chest as anger rose up her spine. "Liar."

"Liar? Do you think I am lying right now? Why would I lie to you about something like this? I did not… Will you turn and look at me?"

Y/n turned away further stubbornly, into an uncomfortable position in her seat as she kept her gaze set away from him. Harry groaned and a few seconds later, Y/n felt her chair being pulled back and a hand grasping at the top of her arm, pulling her up to stand. She huffed as Harry brought her with him away from the table and toward the servant's door out of earshot of the guests.

"Look at me right now, Y/n. I will not tolerate your cryptic anger. Tell me what's wrong at once."

She clenched her jaw and slowly, ever so slowly, let her eyes land on his. "I know what you did. You don't need to lie to me and make a fool of me. At least have the respect to be honest with me!"

Harry wanted to laugh, but he was beginning to get angry himself. He hadn't the slightest idea of what she was on about. "Okay. Then tell me what you think I did."

Y/n tried to maintain a stern, defiant expression and not let her emotions rise to the surface but the longer she looked at his pretty face the harder it was. "Pearl."

He raised his brows and blinked. "What about Pearl? The Mables were all disinvited from the wedding. They are not here. What of Pearl?"

"She was waiting for you in your chambers, and you just went to her. Everyone already knows that's what you did. Your secret got out, and now I know."

He couldn't help it when he a laugh fell from his mouth, and Y/n scowled. "You think that I was with Pearl? Are you serious? Have you not learned yet that believing the whispers of the overly pampered people in this room are as good as fiction?"

She blinked at him, her lips turning downward as her conviction faltered. "My mother told me."

He shook his head. "I don't care who told you. You were lied to. I was with Fred, the Lord Chancellor, and two of his men…" Harry pointed behind Y/n. "Look. There they are now. Taking their seats."

She turned to see three men sitting down, smiles on their faces. And as she let her eyes wander the room, she noticed that many people were not paying much attention to her at that moment. A few were staring, but most were drinking their wine and talking to the people around them.

She looked back up at him. "Do you have a mistress? You might as well tell me now, Harry. At least be honest with me. It's not like I'm going to end the courtship or anything. Too late for that."

"I told you I wasn't taking a mistress, and I meant it."

Y/n searched his face, eyes flitting between his irises and the anger, and the sharp ache of betrayal slowly dissolved when she found nothing but honesty in his eyes. She realized that someone had purposely said those things about Pearl in front of her mother for this very outcome. She'd fallen for the lies.

"You need to trust me. No one else here can be trusted. No one cares about you like I do, so you can't listen to them. They are lying to put a wall between us but it won't work because you're smarter than that. Look who I married?" He ran his knuckles along her jaw. "You're all I want. Why would I ever go with Opal when I have you, here, looking like this…" he said as he looked down over her gown.

"Pearl."

"Who?" He grinned playfully.

She smiled, finally, and Harry let out a breath. "There's that smile. Beautiful."

Y/n looked down, feeling embarrassed by her behavior.

Harry ran his hand down her arm and pulled her closer. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

She breathed out a soft laugh. "And you're the devil."

"A handsome one?"

Nodding, she grinned wider, unable to stifle it any longer.

"Let's go back and take our seats before we politely make leave."

The great hall had grown quieter. The candlelight, though still plentiful, seemed to flicker more lazily now, wax dripping down to silver trays as though the evening itself were beginning to loosen its corset. The musicians had shifted to slower, gentler melodies, less formal, less performative. A lull had settled in.

Guests were beginning to drift away in pairs and small clusters, offering final bows and well-wishes to chamberlains and assistants rather than seeking out the king or queen directly. No one had announced the end, but the message was clear: the night was folding itself closed, and that was more than fine with Harry and Y/n.

Y/n's back ached faintly beneath the weight of her new crown as they took their seats again. Across the room, Phoebe stood watchfully near the far wall with Niall next to her, whispering, while the kitchen staff had begun clearing away the final courses with quiet precision.

Harry slid his hand against hers under the table, and quiet chatter surrounded them. She was ready to leave the Great Hall and be done with the theatrics of the day. Her emotions had been quite volatile all day, and the quiet of Harry's bedchambers was beginning to sound like a dream right then.

Fred appeared at Harry’s side and said something in his ear. Harry gave a faint nod, then turned to Y/n with that same roguish smile he’d worn at the altar, but softer, laced with something she couldn’t quite name.

He leaned toward her, close enough that only she could hear. “It's time for us to depart.”

She rose with him, and though no formal announcement followed, the shift was immediate. Some of the guests turned their eyes away in practiced discretion. A few nobles bowed as they passed. Some merely watched with disapproving eyes.

They exited through a smaller side corridor, footsteps muffled on hand-woven rugs. The hall behind them continued to hum, but it was like walking away from a fever dream, something ornate and strange, but already fading.

Once they were alone, past the eyes and expectations, Harry reached for her hand again as he led her up to his room. The corridors of the royal wing were hushed, dimly lit by flickering sconces.

Neither of them spoke. There had been enough of the show. Enough talking and forced smiles. As their footsteps echoed down the long hallway, Harry’s thumb traced idle circles against her knuckles, and Y/n held onto his hand like it was the first real thing she’d touched all day.

At the doors to his chambers, he paused only briefly before pushing them open. The room had been set up for the wedding night, warm with candlelight and perfumed faintly with cedar as the fireplace crackled. The moment the heavy doors clicked shut behind them, something inside the silence softened. The weight of the crown, the stifling eyes of the court, the perfect stillness she’d worn like armor… it all began to peel away.

Harry turned to her and reached for her waist to pull her close, his touch gentle and secure. Her hands slid over the lapels of his coat, anchoring herself in the solid warmth of him.

"My Queen," he spoke just above a whisper as he palmed at her cheek softly.

Y/n smiled shyly. "My King."

He leaned down, slowly, unhurried, and pressed his forehead to hers as they both closed their eyes. There was no rush to move away from the quiet moment; in fact, it had been necessary, vital. The sound of their breaths, the feel of closeness between them… Y/n trailed her fingers up his arm and tilted her face toward his lips, before pressing them to his in a kiss that was sweet and filled with quiet relief.

. .

Chapter 6 is where we'll finally be getting the smut. I'll be dedicating the entire next part to their wedding night 🤭 xoxo

. .

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[syluses]

HEART WANTS WHAT IT WANTS

𓍯𓂃 PART THREE (3) of the stepdad! sylus x reader series

(3) LOVE ON THE BRAIN

𓍯𓂃 CONTENT: stepdad! sylus therefore step/pseudocest, eventual smut, nsfw, dubcon, slowburn, yandere undertones, all characters are 18+ (mc is presently 23; sylus is in early forties), possessive & yandere behaviors, age difference, daddy kink, unreliable narrator, drinking, non-evol au, modern au, lowkey enemies to lovers, lots of (sexual) tension, loss of virginity, emotional breakdowns, some angst, some fluff, a lil bit of everything; tags will be added as story progresses— but know the story is relatively triggering

𓍯𓂃 SIDENOTE: hi guys sorry for the wait :,) this one’s a lil bit of a slower chapter imo but it’s still super important to the story. the next part or two might also be a lil ‘slow’ by some definition, but it’ll build onto itself do not fear. shoutout to the anon who gave me that song rec btw bc i was listening to it throughout writing this chapter 🫰 amazing taste. anyway without further ado.…. please enjoy :,) ALSO thank u sm for the support thus far!! i’m so happy yall seem to be liking it!! 🥹 if there’s any typos no there ain’t; i might come back to edit a lil later :,) [art credit: @/chimmyming on twitter/X]

He comes like a flashbang into your life.

And to preface this: you get it, alright? that your mother misses your late father, she’s not doing half as well as she used to be and she technically can be considered single, open for the dating market. This is a trying time for you both. God as your witness, you’ve been slipping down the slope while she’s been putting her nose to the grindstone; there’s no shortage of struggle for you both since your dad died- but finally, it’s settling in for her.

The loneliness.

The need for something- someone- more.

And you somewhat bitterly suppose you just don’t qualify, do you?

It was an inevitable thing.

Away from the metaphorical sand you buried your head in, deep down, you knew it was only a matter of time before a new man walked into her life- some actually half-decent, upstanding suitor- and flipped your world off its feet.

It wasn’t a maybe. Not a what if, either.

It was a when.

…Call it naivety on your end or just sheer stupidity, though, your sixteen-year-old brain having a lapse in judgement, but for whatever reason, you didn’t think that when would come.

You prayed against it. Childish or not, whether it can be considered a secret little attempt to sabotage your mother’s possible, budding relationships you had no proof of but suspected all the same (you recognize her perfume; not the rich cologne lingering on her blouse when she finally comes back from work)- you’d hoped she’d keep off from it, anyway.

From, you know,…

The whole ‘falling in love’ thing…

You’re not so deluded to believe it’s infidelity, her quietly seeking out another man outside of your father whole years after he’s passed (anyhow, you’re sure the legal side of it, the paperwork, doesn’t hold up the same), but that doesn’t ease the blow that is the idea of it.

Sure. He’s gone. That much is clear to you…The days pass- weeks, two years- and it’s almost like your life has reached a stopover, waiting for him to come back. I mean, sometimes, it’s almost like he was never even there.

…But at night, when darkness comes with its unbroken silence, you lie there and your heart thinks of him. Wherever you remember him, it hurts.

And yeah, maybe your mother seems growingly eager to leave your father behind… to truly make him a thing of the past even in memory- the final thing you have left of him. But you’re not so chummy with the silent suggestion of joining her there.

You don’t want that ‘when’ to come. Desperately, you don’t.

Oh, but it does.

Out of the blue like a comet from the sky, blindsiding you.

Swinging through the door, chuckling at something she’s said over her shoulder, you think, but the amusement on his face is almost too bare, too shadowed, to tell from where you sit.

You jolt in your chair.

The microwave, droning on, beeps, signaling your frozen dinner’s finally thawed out. But while it draws the attention of your drunken mother- otherwise distracted by the stranger she leads inside your little apartment- your growling stomach becomes the furthest thing from your mind in the moment.

Apparently, the stranger— tall, broad-shouldered, all suave with his sidepart and tailored leather jacket draped behind him like a cape— couldn’t care less for what’s cooking, either.

He doesn’t take his shoes off.

For that, you’re grateful, observing him with a reasonable sum of doubt as he lingers by the entry: It means he doesn’t have plans to stay long.

Which is good, because if he did, you think with a morsel of unease, your brow slowly creasing, you might’ve had to consider grabbing the broom and brushing him out.

The con is that he does wipe them off on the mat, though. Evidently, he plans to step deeper in.

His eyes, a ruby red, sharp as a hawk tracking prey, find yours from where you sit at the table, caught unawares as you scramble to hide your bare legs under your shirt, and he raises a subtle, curious brow at the observation.

“Oh,” he cocks his head, the front door- your front door- clicking behind him as he swiftly fixes his slight surprise into a cool, inscrutable mask.

“What a surprise. Your daughter, I presume?”

Distantly, in your head, a warning bell chimes.

…O-Or maybe it’s just the microwave, but—

Your mom turns it off, “Oh, honey,” in lieu of a greeting, she says, giggling as she walks over and sets her purse down on the tiny, round table you sit at.

Her work blouse is at least intact: you’ll give her that much. But her shift ended four hours ago and by the looks of it, she’s forgotten that promise to stop by the store on her way home- clearly occupied with something else- and in any case, you can’t really say the same for the stranger…

Dapper as he is— what with his perfect posture and urban get-up, the image of dashingly handsome, debonair, imposing (yet somehow just a touch weathered, too, however that may fit)- just to list a few traits off the bat— his top buttons are undone.

His hair, a natural silver all the way through, is almost imperceptibly disheveled. And maybe those things could be reasoned for or go unnoticed- to the untrained eye, they would- but you’re a little too paranoid, on alert as this asshole saunters into your house like it’s his, to miss the outlying factors.

The most damning of them all:

The wine-red smear of lipstick on his neck, only half concealed by his collar.

Your heart shudders in your chest.

And this is scary, this is nerve-wracking, yes, suddenly being force-fed the reason behind all the late nights your mother spent out, the whiffs of man on her clothes and the inexplicably giddy mood she’s been in lately- oh, it’s a million negative adjectives all packed in one- but when he strides forward, confident like you wouldn’t believe, and extends a hand for you to shake-?

You wonder if it’s fury, rising above anything else, that broils in your gut and makes accepting it an all but impossible task.

“Sylus,” he purrs as introduction.

And to be honest, that’s what this feels like in the most grandiose, pervasive of ways: the bad guy being introduced.

It’s true that you caught fragments of him: the vestigial notes of bergamot and vanilla that follow after your mother like some ghostly haunting; the odd lifts in her mood as of late; the phonecalls she gets at night that she always dismisses, but not without a thick swallow and a darting look your way before letting it ring— hell, you’ve even heard whispers within her friend circle of some dishy man dropping by her work building, nonchalant with a bouquet of flowers in tow—

Actually being face-to-face with him, literal inches apart, is freshly alarming.

Meeting him is something cinematic and new. Like a chord in the soundtrack dips; a note lowering to introduce the villain as one of the keys shake.

And perhaps comparing the scene, this man, to a movie isn’t so bad a coping mechanism, because yes, as the surround-sound kicks in and he’s all you can hear- that rich voice of velvet and bass to boot- the room going dark as you tunnel in on him before you— it feels like none of it is even real.

The kitchen blurs. The tiles on the wall smearing into one another, fuzzing together in a way that doesn’t resemble the home you know.

Bergamot, subtle but carrying a little bit of a punch, floods your system and inundates you. Vanilla lays the base for it, as sweet-smelling as nectar.

It settles in your lungs like congestion.

Truffle wrap. Marble and stone. The banister: meant to be sturdy.

It is.

He must be within the same age pool as your mom, yet when his penetrating stare briefly shifts over to her (if you didn’t know any better, amused at your reluctance to accept him)- and he grins that damned grin— he looks young again.

You’re actually almost fooled into believing he’s a gentleman.

There’s nothing… inherently wrong with him, you suppose. But none of that, him seeming apparently decent, matters- not when you’d already decided you’d stay loyal to your dad no matter what. N-Not when-

Not when something is wailing in your subconscious, parting cars in its path. Like a siren in the night shaking you awake to tell you something is terribly, terribly wrong. A wildfire. A disaster.

You quietly wonder if being in places he doesn’t belong gives him a confidence boost, or if he’s just impossibly tone deaf to the environment as it whispers in his ear, ‘you shouldn’t be here.’

All the while, something- mystical in nature, almost, like an angel or devil on your shoulder (it could be either)- is whispering to you, too.

Faintly, that voice in your head, deathly-quiet, says stop. Stop this. Nip it in the bud before it—

This is overwhelming. All of it.

You’re mortified and unsure of yourself; a mite betrayed, even, as you toss a cursory glance to your mom who watches on with a look of both expectance and worry, chewing away at her bottom lip.

It’s a little humorous, the faint concern made ten times more obvious in her half drunken state, as she puts herself on standby.

You can’t help but wonder what face you’re making now. If it’s one of shock, anger, or fear. Or an ugly amalgamation of the three— that’s possible, too.

Truthfully, you’re just as hard pressed to distinguish what you’re feeling: unsure of your next reaction. If anything, you might appreciate if she chooses to step forward and help you figure out just what the hell is happening, whether that means by extraction or a gentle hand on your shoulder to help steady you as he tells you his name.

Two minutes ago, you were waiting for your frozen dinner to thaw (really just a block of something half edible, but with the milk gone, you can’t make your routine cereal), thinking you were in the clear to lounge around with panties and a baggy shirt with your mother out God knows where. Now, you’re looking dead-on at what is perhaps your worst nightmare as the kitchen, not so comfortable anymore, fizzles to nothingness around you.

From this close, he’s… Leonine, that’s a pretty good word for him. As elegant and cocksure, relaxed, as a king of nature.

He doesn’t worry about what he will eat tomorrow: his sheer presence is dominating enough to have it served on a silver platter for him. Something about him just tells you so.

But he’s… beautiful in a way, too, you’ll concede that much (and only that much). Said with the best of intents, he reminds you of some prized thing from an antique shop, lacquered and pretty but weathered all the same.

You can’t imagine all the zeroes on his price tag, but he’s definitely an expensive thing. Part of you wonders what the hell he’s doing with your mother: you don’t come from wealth, so if he has any desire to romance her, it’s not for material gain.

…An admittedly endearing revelation. But it doesn’t quite placate you.

You can see the slight scruff of his chin, the faint wrinkles settling into his angular features. The harsh fluorescence of your kitchen isn’t the most flattering of lights, but he fairs surprisingly well under it regardless.

It’s obvious he takes good care of himself. And it’s also clear to you that he knows his worth- but considering the air of snugness around him, and your flowering dislike for him, you can’t help but wonder if he overestimates it.

The guy is a complete fucking stranger. You know him about as far as you can throw him.

A few beats of silence pass on. Each more unbearable than the last as you wordlessly drink the stranger in, his brow lifting with what you can only assume to be the stirrings of a challenge as he waits for you to take his much larger hand in yours.

Your uncertain gaze- made wide at the unwanted suddenness of it all- flits down to that hand. Despite the many jewels and glittering things that adorn his long, svelte fingers, though, there’s a lack of a wedding ring.

You allow yourself to deflate just a tiny bit at the observation.

It’s good to know he doesn’t have a wife and kids waiting at home for him, you sarcastically guess, while your mom guns for him as they sit unawares.

Still. You don’t know this man. You don’t- you don’t know what he’s doing with your mother (but don’t you?).

And he’s…

Perhaps draconian, actually, is the best descriptor.

Parting your lips in a silent breath, trying and failing to provide a simple hello to the guest or your nervous mother to the side, spectating it all, you’re at a bit of a loss for words when your subconscious realizes it’s presented with the quiet comparison of an animal or a devil for the guy— and no in between.

Sweetie, hey- Are… Are you able to talk? It’s… Important.

I… have some news. Not the good kind. Find somewhere to sit down and breathe.

…Breathe, you remind yourself. Yes. Just…

Just breathe.

Yet, his cologne- that citrusy spritz he wears like a coat, a smell you’re so unexplainably sensitive to for some reason, with its treacly vanilla undertones- is all you can breathe.

“Honey,” a thin, yet encouraging voice, your mom’s, calls out, and then her hand does settle on your shoulder as she sidles up to your chair hesitantly. “Say hi to him?”

You blink, lashes fluttering.

…And his stupid hand is still there, outstretched and waiting.

✦

You’ll give him credit for this:

Sylus, at the first opportunity to ditch his bratty, seething stepdaughter after his wife- his only real obligation to her- passes— doesn’t take it.

He had every chance to kick you to the curb now that your mother’s out of the picture. And to be honest, he has every reason, every right, to give you the boot. You’ve only been a complete bitch to him for the last seven years you’ve known him. Not to the point of ball-breaking, not quite, you were only a teenager after all, but it wasn’t extremely far off from that either.

Sylus, by his own volition, stays.

Moreover, he invites you into his home. And yes, you know it’s technically yours, too, but the circumstances of your filling out the rest of your youth under his roof weren’t the prettiest, and you weren’t the most… pleasant of persons to be around. Let alone live with.

Yet every stolen, curious glance he takes of you and the gentle, half smirks in passing- brushing your shoulder like it’s the most casual thing ever, like you never left- is a reminder in its own that this is your place, too. Whether you believe it or not is irrelevant.

If your stepfather’s aim is to reassure you, it’s working.

Slowly but surely.

Four days into the visit, you let go of much of your resistance and let yourself simply… breathe.

The past is the past, and, capable of rational thought, you’d do well to leave it behind. Let bygones be bygones and forgive both yourself and the people around you for former hurts of former times.

It’s called maturing, you quietly decide at the door one early morning, having been all but hauled out of bed, bidding the twins adieu as they hover at the porch.

This little resolve you let bud in your heart and grow is what compels you to wrap your arms around them when they hug you, embracing them back as Kieran mopes in your ear and Luke reminds it’s only for a few days.

It’s not as much to comfort you as it is to comfort himself and his brother.

You’re well aware of this, but keep quiet on the matter; you’re too sleepy to be in the mood to tease him for it, but mentally pocket it for a later time anyway.

Occupying any sort of space with the twins guarantees that you’ll need a decent deck of comebacks on standby. You’ve been adding to yours.

This short business trip of theirs isn’t some long, drawn-out pilgrimage taken to distant lands, despite their theatrics- it’s not even obligatory- but you know very well how eager the boys are to please their father, and if working a few days at one of the subsidiary companies to better the career he gave them will make him preen, then they’ll do it. Gladly.

You wouldn’t call either of them homebodies, per se… but wherever their father is, so is their heart. It’s only natural they’d want to make him proud. You know that.

You understand why they’re going, you do…

It’s just…

Over Luke’s shoulder, your eyes meet Sylus’s only briefly, but a second is all you need to read his emotions.

Propped against the threshold with folded arms and a spark of amusement that’s only slightly obvious, he watches them sandwich you in a big hug.

If it hasn’t been made clear yet— yes, they’ll miss you.

“Oh, so dramatic,” their father comments, not with any shortage of entertainment. You think if he could, he would’ve prepared a bowl of popcorn for this- but while he’s certainly tickled by the sight, there’s something else in his stare as he divvies it between you three, gathered in a tangle of arms and suitcases, that he won’t admit aloud.

Pride, maybe…?

Satisfaction?

Or… Content. That’s the closest word.

You hope Sylus doesn’t see the slight fluster left on you by his flippant remark. Untucking your chin from one of the boys’ shoulders as you stand upright and pat their backs respectively.

“A-Alright, boys, that’s enough.”

“Say it back,” Luke chirps, “say you’ll miss us!”

Sighing, you roll your eyes. “I just said I did-“

“But do it louder! We’ll be gone for three whole days!”

“Yeah! Don’t you love us, sis?! Will you really just stand there unaffected as we turn our backs and go?”

If unaffected means arms crossed, shivering in freezing temperatures with the faintest of frowns on your face, some inner piece of you experiencing a quiet, unanticipated ache at their departure, then yes- by all means, you’re unaffected.

You purse your lips, snipping back with only half the bite, “If you keep pushing it, I’ll email the firm specifically and tell them to keep you dummies there for longer.”

A deep, languid chuckle answers back; like a slowed song with reverb, it hits differently.

Considering your newfound efforts to squash the beef between you both- even if it was only one-sided- you don’t ignore him out of bitterness, but the slight unease is still something you can’t quite shake, so you momentarily survey the porch below (anything but him, stood somewhere behind you), and sniff.

I mean, it’s reasonable to be a little awkward, isn’t it…? You’ve spent all your adult years clinging onto the straws of a grudge your teenage self kept for him- and back then, you were only fiercer, more vocal, in your stance taken against your new stepfamily.

So yeah, while it’s safe to say the worst of that metaphorical storm has blown over, the debris is still absolutely there: the ruined bits you have to cautiously step across and just- try to overlook.

Too low for anyone to hear, you softly sigh.

Just as you determined to make peace with him, though, you tranquilly think to yourself, you’ll too learn how to navigate the aftermath of that silently-signed treaty.

Of course, that awkward feeling in the air, not powerful enough to take precedence in your mind, but niggling all the same, is only temporary.

Two weeks.

“Geez, sis,” Kieran snickers, Luke grinning ear to ear at your other side, the duo forming a flank, “someone woke up on the wrong side of bed, huh?”

“You’ll be late, you two,” a lilting voice from behind chimes in, effectively putting an end to the antics.

You don’t bother looking behind, but the twins’ focus shifts over your head before they slump their backs and sigh, conceding.

Hmph. Theatrical as always.

“Yeah, yeah, we got it, dad! We’re going!”

Rewrapping your robe, you offer a longanimous exhale when Kieran’s lanky arm unfurls from you, the boys finally stepping away for the car. The thin cotton does little to ward off the December cold, its roots digging bone-deep within seconds of lingering on the porch, and underneath it, your tanktop and panties offer not an iota of warmth, either- but you weren’t about to wave them goodbye half-naked, so the robe does its part to cover you.

Within a few minutes, you’ll be curled up in your bed anyway, allowed to revisit the sleep you’d been so rudely pulled from.

Piling into the car, they holler to you, and with a smile you can’t quite fight off, you shake your head at them all the while.

The engine grumbles to life. The idiots they are, they give it a few gratuitous revs (to impress you? God only knows their end goal) and then the gate is opening for them as they peel off.

Dummies.

And then it’s just you and him.

You and Sylus.

You and… your stepfather.

A hand, broad and big but warm- oh so reluctant- places itself on your shoulder, circling the blade reassuringly with its thumb. To your immense surprise, you manage to keep from flinching beneath it, but just barely.

Still. If that’s not progress, you don’t know what is.

With an only somewhat visible shiver, you turn around and face him as he shifts sideways to the door, his chin trained your way as he offers a slight, deliberate smirk. Something like encouragement is used as its subtext.

His hand leaves as quickly as it came, slipping away. Its imprint of warmth slowly fades, too.

He opens the door wide, gesturing with a nonchalant little nod, “Ready to go in?” In flannel pajamas, bare foot, he doesn’t even shiver.

Vacillating, you spare one last look behind you, out to the courtyard with its sprawling, greyed lawn and erected fences, and watch the stillness. It’s a sight worthy of your admiration.

A flurry— the first of the season— begins to fall.

You breathe out. A cloud of white whisks from your lips and blends into nothingness. It’s pretty in the way that it doesn’t last for long.

And it’s freezing but it’s… strange. How this one cold winter develops this way of thawing you out.

Returning to the man in front of you, waiting patiently, you nod, dipping your head on the way past him. Bundling yourself tighter. “Yeah.”

✦

Not long after midday, you’re a fraction through one of your new books- but you decide to put it down.

It’s for a couple different reasons. One of them being that it’s not gotten good yet- the plot moving at a snail’s speed, the protagonist not interesting enough to even remember the name of- and you figure the chapter you’re closing out on now is a good breaking point. The main one, though, is that you’re awfully bored and this house, despite holding not the best of memories, has lots to offer.

When it comes to fun— exploring its labyrinthine rooms, utilizing its many services and amenities (like a personal chef, for instance, or a home theater and gym)— there’s no shortage of things to do.

It’s just with an ounce of unease that you realize those fun opportunities, however, are only half the appeal without the twins.

Annoying, troublesome, experts at exaggeration and being thorns in your side— yes, they’re all of that and then some. But if we’re listing all their shining traits right now, then for the record, ‘fun’ must be one of them.

And yeah, okay, their absence is starting to kick in just a little bit. But it’s not a big deal. I mean, what’s it matter if they’re gone for a few days? You’ll blink and it’ll be over.

They’ll be back. You’ll greet them at the door after they veer into the driveway, waiting there just as you did when waving them goodbye, and Sylus will be chuckling behind you in that rich, unruffled way he does as they herd you inside and divulge their journey.

Heaving a sigh, you toss your book aside on the dormer window and relocate to your bed.

You belly flop on it before rolling on your back to stare at the ceiling.

For only a moment, you close your eyes and let yourself be barraged by the thoughts you’d been blocking out; the unique responsibilities and aches.

You intake an unsteady, deep breath and attempt to manage them all one at a time— but they don’t stand in single-file, eager to attack you from every angle all at once.

The dress for the funeral…

Looking through your mother’s old things…

And then everything that comes afterward of that, too. Whatever that might entail.

As ambivalent as the future may seem, an abstract thing veiled behind fog and uncertainty, you ruefully suppose not wanting it to come won’t stop it from doing just that.

And then of course, there’s the whole booking your flight thing… leaving this place for, if you’re being realistic, probably the last fucking time and then—

Have you even asked Sylus who’s giving the eulogy?

“No,” you mumble before rolling on your stomach again, legs and arms splayed on the bed like a starfish.

God help you. Half of you is expecting for the twins, just as irksome as they are entertaining, to come bursting through your door at any moment and save you from the woes of having nothing to do. To be fair, sitting around and doing absolutely nothing is better than some things- like work, namely (you don’t want to imagine the stack of papers that’s building on your desk during your leave)- but as you quietly ponder the week and a half ahead, you start to worry it’ll be uneventful from start to finish.

Well, as uneventful that a trip begotten by a funeral can be, anyway.

Maybe it’s being wishful- sickeningly optimistic in a situation with no one silver lining- but you’d like to hope you can at least squeeze out some enjoyment during your stay.

As sheepish as you are to admit it, the twins were a staple in that halfbaked idea.

But now they’re gone. For three days. And God only knows why it was so simple a decision for them to make, leaving you behind when right now, realistically speaking, your little screwed up family should be huddling together now more than ever, but—

(‘Why was it simple?’ Well, why do you think…? Because you’ve been so coldly pushing them away and they finally took the hint and-)

You get up and leave your room, traipsing down the hallway. You can’t find it in you to care, right now, about who you might bump into while the house is left to two people and a whole lot of ice.

Sylus is probably in his study, anyway. Assuming he even is in the home right now, but with the long laundry list of errands and contractual deals that require his flowery, hasty signature to be secured, you doubt he spends too much of his time here on weekdays.

As you walk through the stretching halls, you trace the walls with a finger, bored.

You’re stopped in your tracks by a picture- just one of the many lavish decorations- and tilt your head up to stare at it in its entirety.

It’s a big thing; a large, elaborate wooden frame without dust.

Five portraits stare back at you. But you- squished between the cheerful twins, stood before your mother and stepfather who join in a kiss behind your head, smiling lips smushed together as he holds back her veil- don’t don the same delighted expression.

Maybe it’s immature of you, but as the lingering, subtle whisps of something citrusy waft by, you do offer a slight huff of amusement at the image. It’s just so comically awful, nailed to the wall in a frame so stupidly opulent it’s like some boast against poor people— a should-be perfect wedding photo marred by the bitterness oozing off the stepdaughter.

Alright, to be fair, you’re not outright scowling or anything, but the smile you plaster on is so clearly fake it’s hard not to laugh at it—

“She looked like you, you know.”

You must jump five feet into the air.

He adds, raising one wryly amused brow, “Somewhat.”

Startled, you turn to find him staring not at the picture he presumably references- but you.

Your brow furrows slightly, and then he does glance over to the frame as you hover your hand over your heart, clutching your invisible pearls in a moment of deja vu.

A soft sigh. Is this how you’ll be seeing him now…? Every time you happen to bump into your stepfather- evidently not the best at evading him- does it mean you’ll be caught off guard as he stands there, unbothered, before apologizing?

Except, this time he doesn’t. He’s content pretending not to notice your shudder- your fear of him. Ruby-red hues drifting off as his jaw imperceptibly tightens.

Murmuring under his breath as he surveys the illustration almost quizzically, “But wasn’t… quite you.”

Ah, right- the wedding photo. Your mother. You resemble her— That’s what he’s getting at here.

“Y-Yeah…” You mumble back. You don’t have much to offer him, but it’s better than ignoring him: the thing you recently decided you wouldn’t be doing on this trip.

Slowly, you close your mouth. You do a quick once-over of him, and then look back towards the hanging memory.

There’s a certain silence that occurs between you both, then. Simultaneous to it- is a weight dropping in your heart, slowly descending the longer you reminisce on the familiar woman’s profile.

Not only has the stepdaughter’s scornful face been immortalized, but so has your dead mother’s.

It’s in a moment of weakness, perhaps, that you reach out to trail her jaw, pondering the past as it sweeps you up in its nostalgic current.

Your mind is less focused on acting cool and indifferent in front of your stepfather and more on the parent that has been ripped away from you- now stood before you in an intricate frame along a dark wall. So maybe later you might regret showing your belly to him, but right now, you really can’t find it in you to care.

You told yourself the past is the past.

Now, all there’s left to do is commit.

“She looked… so happy,” you’re surprised to realize the voice filling your ears is your own, gravelly from disuse, barely audible. Part of you debates feeling embarrassed, but quickly erases the idea because you don’t think your stepfather would have any real intent to ridicule you, least of all right now.

Your younger self has always been fairly good at believing everyone around you is a sworn enemy, out to get you behind your back, but your stepfather is…

Family, a little voice in the back of your head supplies. And you’re puzzled at the lack of backlash it receives this time around.

You start to wonder if he’s heard, the quiet sprawling for just a touch too long, self-consciousness a breath away as something, his attention, you think, bores into the back of your head, but then he hums and you’re at ease again.

“She was so happy,” he agrees. “We both were.”

Sylus, from the corner of his eye, watches.

Some gear turns in the very back of your skull and begs to ask the question of just what he’s doing here right now; the master bedroom- now his alone, you realize with an unbidden squeeze of your heart- is on the other wing of the house. During the daytime, he’s typically downstairs, anyway.

But you suppose that’s besides the point.

Your eyes flutter down, and then your hand follows. Ghosting along the photo in one sweeping motion before you turn just halfway to face him.

You’re making headway on squashing your beef with him, oh definitely, but there’s a sort of intimacy that comes with standing front-to-front, and right now, you think that’d be overwhelming and weird for the both of you.

He’s not… used to you being exactly nice to him, anyway, or open. Or agreeable. Or- or anything, really. For your teen years, you erected a wall in between you both and actively refused to let anyone scale it— and after you moved out, you weren’t so hellbent on keeping him away, sure, not half as immature and bratty as you had been, but the distance was absolutely still there. Just quieter.

No longer screamed, but rather implied.

For a while, you’d even wondered if he’d agreed upon it. If he threw in the metaphorical towel on building a relationship with you; defeated and exasperated. But you guess he’s a multimillionaire for a reason— it requires dogged ambition- drive- to reach those heights, after all— and you’ve sometimes wondered if meeting Sylus was like an immovable object going head to head with an unstoppable force.

For your part, you’re not so used to this, either. Kind of giving into this… paternal subtext to your nonexistent connection.

It’s odd. New, as it creeps in on you, slowly dialing up the temperature. Though the way it plants its seed is too gradual to make you want to dig it out from the dirt right away.

It’s a foreign thing, yes— when your eyes meet his, an inscrutable, glittering red, and a ribbon of warmth unfurls in your aching chest as you quietly realize he’s there for you, that in this tragedy, you’re not alone— but it’s not… bad, per se.

Not like you’d always imagined it’d be, anyway.

I mean, back then you didn’t even want to imagine it, but now—

Two weeks, your nagging subconscious reminds, and then you’ll be gone. Your… family (the pest-like, ever plotting twins; Sylus, even, the persistent but gentle stepfather you’d kept on hold indefinitely) will become just a speck in the distance as it grows behind you. And then….

And then you’ll be alone. And that was what you wanted, wasn’t it?

But maybe if you had just- not been so fucking stubborn and bent on making a point to your mother, if you had just visited a little more, then maybe by some stretch of inagination you could’ve done something to-

Your soul sinks in your chest. The feeling of regret, terrible and distinct, rips you a new one as you try not to wilt in the silence. But Sylus’s eyes are warm, softening into a pass of concern as he drops his folded arms.

Business-oriented, arrogant, competitive, bound and determined. You and the world have seen each of those facets of him, but the gentler side is one that the latter doesn’t own access to.

When Sylus’s fingers twitch, his arm nearly reaching out to you as he visibly vacillates, you feel a strange flash of endearment towards him.

Your mother saw this side of him all the time, you inwardly consider. Because that’s who he reserved it most for.

Sylus assigned things to one of two categories: his family, and then everything else.

And you- you infuriating, lovely little dragon of a daughter- fell to the former.

There’s all kinds of uncertainty swirling in his eyes, but he settles for a soft clear of his throat, looking you over. The gloss in your stare, the one that hangs over your lashes and refuses to fall as if permanently suspended there, makes him open his mouth, but before he can say anything, you undercut his words.

“What are you doing here?”

You ask. Not in a demanding way: you’re just eager to distract you both from your impending waterworks.

You wonder if he knows; what’s running through his head as you stand there and fidget with the hem of your shirt, rapidly blinking to keep the tears at bay. You don’t remember giving them permission to come, but here they are, knocking.

His brow raises by the faintest tick, and then he smiles an easy, slight smile. Dipping his hands in his pockets to rest.

“The twins forgot something on their journey, it seems. They texted me to grab it for them. So,” he says, giving a loose shrug with one shoulder, looking down the hallway past you, tone as mocking yet sincere as ever, “Here I am, letting myself be treated like some poor… errand boy.”

“Oh.”

Poor is… certainly not the word you’d select for him, but…

He finishes, eyes catching yours in a second of boldness, “I’ll mail it out to the firm. They’ll receive it no later than this evening.”

You give a small nod, looking down to his chest because it offers a convenient escape to his penetrating, sharp stare, and frankly, if you’re getting emotional at some old picture on the wall- then you need the respite.

You rub your forearm, “Well, I’ll just be going now.”

“Where to?” A tiny twitch of his lip tells you he spoke too soon. His chest swells out. Your eyes jump to his.

“If you need a car, you can use any of the ones in the garage,” he remedies. You blanche. “Just point, and I’ll give you the keys-“

“Oh, no, no, no,” you chuckle suddenly, shaking your head. Sylus pauses, quirking one brow as he tilts his chin by a fraction, interest and maybe even a little bit of mirth reshaping his face at your change in demeanor.

“I didn’t mean I was going out,” you quickly add, “Realistically, I probably would’ve just went downstairs and ate something... Or brought a snack out to the sunroom.”

He frowns. “The sunroom might be a bit cold, though.”

“I know. I- I just wanna see how it looks after all this time.”

To your surprise, Sylus lets out a smooth, somewhat short chuckle. At your confusion, he elaborates, “This place is still the same, Kitten,” he chides in a harmless, rather loving tone, “All that’s different is that you’re here.”

…And that this time around, your mother isn’t.

Yet Sylus, as if clueless to the glaring elephant in the room, smirks and doesn’t mention it. And truthfully, you’re grateful for that. Just- you have your questions, those little segments of his short account over the phone that you want to pick apart and scrutinize- but all of that is for later. An indefinite later... Right now is too soon.

You’re hardly keeping your feelings in check as is: you don’t need to pile further revelations of your mother’s death onto the plate. In any case, as much as a gritty, inward part of you would like to know every scrap of information possible- at the end of the day, it’d be unnecessary.

Your mother died the way she did. And all attempts or methods of probing for more context, you fear, would only do more harm than good.

“I guess it still feels the same,” you mumble out an agreement, peering down the corridor towards the stairs, his figure standing tall and unruffled to your side. “All the decorations are the same.”

“Exactly,” he hums, “and the sunroom is no different. You wouldn’t want to… catch a cold on your vacation, would you?”

Vacation is a funny word for it, but you won’t shoot him for being optimistic. You’d honestly benefit from following his example.

You snort softly, sheepishly looking down, “I won’t catch a cold. It can’t be that bad. Besides,” you lift your chin, meeting his gaze- wholly transfixed on you, a glimmering, fascinated red- “Back at my apartment, the AC and heating is usually broken, so… I’m used to arctic temperatures.”

You try to joke, but he doesn’t laugh at it. In fact, his lighthearted smirk ebbs into a thin line as he parts his mouth and furrows his brow at you. Your breath hitches slightly.

The tears that had been beading at your eyes are gone, but now a sense of uncertainty replaces them in your chest.

He unstuffs his hands from either of his pockets. “That’s nothing to brag about,” he croaks.

Your lashes flutter, ears perking under his uneven timber. You… don’t often hear that voice come from him.

He swiftly recorrects himself, saying in a lighter but just as firm tone, “You should take care of yourself. Have you… been well, by the way? How is it back at your old place?” Sylus lowly ventures, before one half of his mouth quirks up playfully.

He leans his back against the wall, localizing his attention fully to you. Not paying the smallest of glances to the large, idyllic photo you stand in front of.

“I wonder,” he starts, “What a day in the life looks like in your shoes.”

A beat of silence passes. In that time, you realize it’s not just a spoken fragment of his thoughts, but a question. You answer accordingly.

Not without a look down the hall, though, silently wishing to exit the conversation as it begins to drag on.

The sunroom, for as cold as it’s advertised, sounds better and better.

You don’t quite laugh, but by some standard it might be considered one. “Well, it’s not really anything interesting. Obviously, it’s not as glamorous as like, you guys here,” you say, “but I’m fine where I am.”

Physically, fine. Although, the level of content you hold inwardly is a bit of a different story.

You’ll keep that on its shelf. Right now, it’s better where it is: in the dark; in the quiet.

Safe with you.

Sylus simply says, “You… shouldn’t settle for less,” impossibly careful with his choice of words, albeit you don’t fully know why.

“I-I’m not,” you jump to justify. You have a growing inkling that this conversation is going nowhere, and you don’t exactly like small talk, so you aim to wrap this up.

“I work hard at my job, but-“

But what? you still don’t wanna die in a cubicle during your mundane 9-5 job? Hmph. Yeah, get in line behind literally everyone else.

Not everybody has the same luxury that Sylus does, though: he’ll die without regrets, knowing he secured riches for his next thousand generations, but you can’t really say the same. That is… assuming you branch off from the Qins and separate yourself from that golden heritage. Which-

You are. You will. These two weeks will either fly by or slug by, but it doesn’t change the fact that you’ll be bidding the boys farewell one last time.

You’ll do the right, reasonable thing, excuse yourself from the metaphorical table that is your stepfamily (who, if you’re being honest, are probably done with you deep down but are too nice- sympathetic in this dark time- to say something), and go back home. To that shitty, cramped apartment with its broken utilities and cracks in the ceiling. To that cubicle; to all the paperwork on your desk amounting to a miniature Tower of Babel.

You’ll go back to the loneliness and uncertainty.

Yet it will just be even colder, then. Knowing that palatial house on the hills, once a backup plan of sorts- a final failsafe if your humble little life you’d been trying to make for yourself collapsed- is no longer an option.

Because the one precious thread tying you to it—

Snapped.

“I work hard at my job,” you try anew, inexplicably having trouble meeting his eyes. “I always strive for better, just- I know how to be content with what I have, you know?”

It’s not meant as a jab towards him, you swear it’s not, albeit your way of going about it could use a little bit of work. Considering you’ve been making all sorts of revolutionary improvements on this trip, though, you don’t think adjusting your tone should be too big of an issue.

At any rate- you’re not about to start this big discussion with your stepfather on career paths and how satisfied you are with yours, though, and that’s where this seems to be headed.

You gesture down the hall with a shoulder and smile if only to be polite.

“But anyway, I think I’ll-“

“You know,” Sylus starts, glancing up to you expectantly, and it’s only right then that you realize he’d been looking at the floor- or, more accurately, your legs- while mulling over something, silent. His words are measured, slow; his hues more obsidian than ruby in the dimly-lit corridor. The vibrant twinkle of scarlet is still there, but a shadow pours over his brow. His slight crow’s feet can be spotted.

He’s pushing forty one now, but it’s strange- how you look at him and don’t notice the age. He’s as virile and manly as ever. In his prime, you’d say.

Silently, you wonder in a breath if all men are like wine in the way that they age, or if your stepfather was a result of a fluke.

I mean, you’re aware that he takes good care of himself. Those boxing sessions he does on the side in the home gym certainly do their part to keep him physically afloat, and his chef only uses ingredients of the highest quality— but still…

It’s not wrong to make the comment that he’s a bit of a genetic jewel.

You remind yourself to tune back into his words, straightening your spine slightly.

Yes, you can acknowledge- in absolutely no weird way, mind you- that your stepfather is an attractive guy. There’s no science to it: he just… is. Your mother certainty knew it; all her gossiping friends, too. You’re not so taken by an old grudge to pretend Sylus’s charm isn’t universal.

“Don’t… take this the wrong way, I don’t mean to be pushy,” he drawls, the image of casual. There’s a wisp of hesitance in his eyes, though. You don’t miss it. “But if you ever want to try your hand at my company,” he leaves the suggestion open-ended, although there’s nothing you need further clarity on.

You laugh nervously, ignoring the inward part of you that perks a little at the offer.

“Ah, no, I… already have a job back at my place. And I think the commute would be a nightmare,” A commute is a bit of an understatement— if you were to hop aboard your stepfather’s panel, you’d actually have to move back out to Linkon or, perhaps more conveniently, just live out of your old bedroom already here.

But for so many reasons, working for Sylus just… isn’t a great idea.

Besides- he’s just being nice to you, anyway. The four of you are in a hard time right now.

You’ve never gotten along well with Sylus, sure, and he’s well-acquainted with your abrasive exterior, but he’s never been half as immature as your younger self in regards to sympathy, so of course he’s trying to make you feel better— you’re his veritable stepdaughter, after all. There’s not many better ways to do that than to offer you an extremely lucrative job that he knows you’ll ultimately decline— meaning he’ll take no loss.

He’s just being polite… Which makes you a smidgen more uncomfortable to acknowledge your bumpy past with him. Here he is with the twins, flying you out and making efforts to comfort you in his own roundabout way after his wife’s died- no doubt dealing with that loss as well- and you’re still trying to fully commit to ‘new beginnings’ and all.

He’s just a man at the end of the day, you realize right then, a pang of guilt fattening your heart. He fell in love with your mother; so much so that he was willing to put up with her insufferable, brat of a child for years on end.

And you were- well, for lack of a better word you were a bitch.

And yeah there’s a million justifications you can make for it, but the point of the matter right now is that you feel bad. You feel like such an intruder, a nuisance, a burden now weighing on his, Luke’s, and Kieran’s shoulders, and-

Sylus shrugs like there’s nothing on them. Glances down to rub his forefinger and thumb together. Dripping nonchalance right from the pores.

“Suit yourself.” He says smoothly, taking your rejection no different than a duck would with water off its wings. “But Sweetie,” he states, eyes clashing with yours as if to add emphasis to whatever he’ll say, “The opportunity will always be up in the air for you. Do you understand?”

Oh, the emphasis is there, alright.

You swallow. “O-Okay.”

“See you, then.”

And then he’s breezing past before you can even clumsily dismiss yourself. Tall and broad and gone.

His heady cologne remains in a subtle draft and then that, too, disappears.

R-Right, you blink, sighing out a big breath you didn’t realize you were holding all along.

The sunroom.

✦

His large hand, extended like an offering, slightly falters when he understands you don’t have a lick of desire to shake it.

Maybe you’re a bit hangry, yes, and you’ll admit that probably does no favors for your current mood as this ridiculous scene unfolds before you- but all these emotions that bud inside you now, flowering no different than weeds, entangling themselves as they expand- are very much valid and real.

You’re still positively pissed and confused and above all, hurt that she’s been going behind your back and flirting around without so much as telling you.

See, of course you had your ideas and creeping little doubts— it was hard not to what with the way her schedule was warping in front of your eyes, how she seemed just a pinch happier than usual, giddy, almost— but being faced with the truth of it all in its real, physical form is a different matter entirely.

And-

And how she could do this to you? after- after what happened with your father?

Well, you just don’t fucking know.

But she’s doing it to you right now, anxiously peering at you from your side, and she’s smiling.

A beat of silence occurs, loud and tedious.

His hand stays out, dangling like a modifier, and it’s like the sumptuous asshole knows you’ll change your mind and backtrack or something: as if that’s all he’s used to, people parting like the Red Sea and bowing for him without question.

…Audacious: you’ll admit that much. But you’ll give him no more credit than that, as kind of backhanded as it is.

Time slows. In reality, no more than two seconds must’ve passed, but as the eyes of your mother drill into your profile both in a mash of expectance and worry, and your heart lodges in your throat, it feels like you’re stuck in a time capsule.

You’ve been standing here too long. This enigmatic, admittedly dashing stranger (Sylus, your mind- seemingly having shut off in the moment to lend your senses full control- helpfully contributes) has been in your home too long and—

Mentally, you scold yourself for visibly balking. You steel yourself against him and school your expression.

This is your house.

He won’t make you feel like an outsider in it.

The silver-haired man, with the scruff on his chin and the punch of whiskey underlining his fancy-shmancy cologne, with his sharp red eyes, drops his hand back to his side and actually laughs at your blatant rejection of him.

“Very hospitable, I see. I like that,” he tosses behind his broad shoulder to your somewhat mortified mother as he, egregiously enough, goes to take his shoes off at the door, a hand in his pocket. “Your kid is as bold as you are, honey.”

Honey?

…Honey?

You grow a mite afraid in that moment, internally struggling to pinpoint just what degree of involvement this awful yet handsome guy has with your mother.

How deep into this little… fling of theirs are they, anyway?

She opens her mouth, looks at you, then closes it. Blustering out a laughing apology, she leaves your side and flutters over to him. You don’t know if you’re thankful for the reprieve, the momentary alone time to your own thoughts, or unbelievably hurt as you watch her take his jacket and hang it in the coat closet, happy to do it despite the turmoil hidden beneath all her inebriated twirling.

On the inside, your world is fracturing down the middle, drifting apart steadily like the planes of Pangaea— but this stupid awful guy just shrugs out a kink in his neck, turning back to your mother (who’s only slightly embraced on your account) to swoop down and thank her with a peck to the lips.

The rest of your weak appetite for microwaved dinner flies out the window.

And in your undies and that old beloved tee of your late father’s, you take the chance while they’re distracted to hop off the chair and fly up the steps.

For everyone’s sake, you hope the guy— Sylus, your mind so helpfully provides as you sob into your pillows— is only temporary.

♡ tags: @leftpoetrymoon @valhalla-soulstealer @gingybimby @crowsandapples @novthirty @mcdepressed290 @jadeloverxd @satansdaughter123 @blitziwitch @luminaaaz @eialovescats @noliniodeaes @dramaticalsachan @loudhologramturtle @softiepeachess @reni502 @datfangirl @lilyalone @thatsbunnysmind @lioria @floooring @babyx91 @rosie279 @calistaxoxo24 @kingheinrey @msturi2u @theplaid-wearingmoose @blueseachelle @themonotonysyndrome @crazyartist0001-blog @librarydame @deathlycrow @whdhjfjvjvjfjdhsj @terriblesoup @floofycookie @sdlyoongi @hikaakox @melba1982 @crimsonsylus @miuangel @ravynstreasure @corvo-core ✦ ask to be added to the taglist! just make sure you have an age in your bio (17+) ✨ hopefully i got everyone down lol :,)

[vanillarosekiss]

simon riley x teacher!reader

lowk kinda shit but enjoy after 2 months of no posts (which btw i've gone thru a tragic failed talking stage recently that's been making crash out, so i'm thinking writing hella smut may fix that..? we'll see).

content warnings: vanilla (sort of but not really), fingering, praise kink, sliiiight degredation, mean simon but only playful, time skip cuz i'm lazy like that!

word count: 1.4k

Often, parent-teacher conferences were the bane of your life. Excruciatingly painful hours spent (after an already long day) talking to the children's parents, some of whom were particularly difficult in nature. Still, it had to be done, and it was just another part of your job that needed doing.

However, you did enjoy seeing the parent's faces lighting up when you spoke well of their child, pride becoming one of the most common recurrences in your classroom as most of the kids were perfect. One little girl in particular had a (secret) special place in your heart. The girl in question, Emma Riley, had been an absolute delight to have in class.

She shared her crayons. She said "please" and "thank you". She hugged everyone good morning. That kind of kid made teaching feel like bliss. So naturally, even when you were slightly apprehensive on the night of parent-teacher conference, you were excited almost to meet who had raised such a polite little girl. You expected someone gentle. Maybe a bit shy. Probably the kind of man who read bedtime stories to her every night.

What you weren't expecting was him.

He walked into the tiny classroom with heavy boots and a quiet kind of weight. Broad, muscular shoulders stood out the most on him, and the black hoodie that was layered under his jacket made him seem even bigger. The skull print balaclava peeking out from his pocket wads enough to make you blink twice. Interesting.

"You must be Mr. Riley," you said, standing quickly and offering a smile. "Thank you so much for coming."

His gaze flicked over the cheerful posters on the wall, all hand-made and coloured by the children, before it landed on you. Soft lavender knit sweater, pastel yellow painted nails, and a small dainty necklace resting on your chest. You looked like you belonged in a picture book.

"I try not to make a habit out of it," he said dryly shaking your hand, "But Emma insisted."

That made you laugh. "Well, she's very persuasive. And, honestly? A complete angel. One of the sweetest kids I've ever had."

Simon raised a mock brow. "Emma Riley? My kid?"

You pulled out a folder of drawings. "She helps everyone, always cleans up after herself, she even wrote the cutest story about a unicorn who makes sure everyone is included at lunch. Would you like to see it?"

He stared at the glitter-covered paper you gave him, silent.

"She's such a sweetheart to have in class, really. You must be doing a wonderful job with her. And her mum too, of course. I'd love to meet her one day..?"

A tightness set in around his mouth, something that shifted his expression. "I do my best," he muttered. "Emma's mother hasn't been in the picture since she was a couple years old, so you won't be meeting her."

You paused, unsure how to respond, fingers still brushing over the glittered corner of the drawing you had taken to put back into the folder. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to assume- "

He shook his head gently, the edge of his mouth lifting. "No s'alright. Just... not something I talk about much."

For a moment there was quiet, the kind that lingered. Then his eyes found yours again. A little softer, less guarded.

"She talks a lot about you, y'know. My kid. You've certainly made an impression."

That made you smile, a warmth blooming inside your soft cage of bone. "She's a special one. Honestly, I feel lucky."

There was a brief look he gave you, unreadable, before his mouth twitched into qa small smirk.

"You really are sweet, aren't ya?" His tone dipped. "Almost too sweet."

You blinked at him, like a deer caught in headlights, caught off guard. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Simon leaned in slightly, teasing and curious. "Just noticing. Makes me wonder if you're like that all the time... or just in a classroom full of six-year-olds."

You felt your face go warm, heart skipping a beat, as a warmth spread past your core and downwards to somewhere much more private.

"I- well-"

His eyes dropped to your mouth for a second too long. "Mm. That's what i thought."

—

The last thing you had ever expected from the conference was to end up back at Simon's house later that evening, tucked underneath him on his sofa as his daughter slept soundly upstairs.

Arching into every touch, gasping at his hands on your skin. You were so utterly sweet about it. No attitude at all, just soft whimpers and wide doe-eyes like this was the first time someone had ever really handled you.

"Let me walk you back in here like a little lamb, didn't you?" he murmurs. "Didn't even ask what I'd do to to you. Just nodded and followed."

"I trust you," you whisper out into the room.

He chuckled softly. "That's the stupidest part, sweeth'art."

"You're clearly so vanilla, it hurts. S'pathetic how turned on you get just from my voice," he says, hand dipping into your panties, disregard to the skirt that he'd slipped off of you earlier (that was now crumpled up on the floor). "You wanna be used a little, don't ya?"

You moaned, nodding helplessly.

"Course you do. You're too soft to ask for it. You want someone to make you dirty instead."

He was kissing you all over, drawn to your lips over everything, hands moving effortlessly atop your pearl making you gasp in an unexpected pleasure.

"You walk around all day giving stickers out and singing songs, actin' like you've got a single thought in that head of yours that isn't being touched like this."

He was being mean in a playful way, and you knew it.

'Si-" you whimpered out, eyes closed and breathless.

He grabbed your jaw with his free hand, gently but firm, tilting your head to make you look him in the eyes.

"No." he said. "Don't get shy on me now. You're the one who let me bring you back home with me. You're the one who begged me with those pretty eyes."

Your lips trembled slightly in the feeling.

"You knew exactly what you were doing. All soft and innocent like some little doll. And now look at ya. Letting me pull you apart string by string like it's the first time anyone's made you feel good."

You let out the tiniest noise as your thighs clenched together with his hand almost trapped in between. You felt another gush leak from your slit, a wave of embarrassment hitting your cheeks in a pinkish blush.

"Fuckin' hell sweeth'art. You're soaked" he teased, curling his fingers back into something reverent.

You were so utterly embarrassed. Laying on the sofa you even resorting to panting now you were that desperate. But he didn't rush. He didn't stop, either.

"God, you're so fuckin' soft. You don't even fight it do ya? Y'just give in." Simon leaned in closer, his free hand now stroking your side, grounding you as he kept you on edge.

"Don't you dare close your eyes."

You looked at him, barely, tears brimming out of pleasure with your pupils expanded wider than ever.

"Good girl," he whispered, breath hot against your lips. "There she is."

He sped his movements up, not much, but enough to just tip you over the edge with enough pressure to make you gasp and try to twist away from him. But his grip held you firm.

'Ya gonna come for me pretty girl, hm?" he asked tauntingly.

"I- I can't-!" you gasped, hips jerking upwards.

"Yes you can," you said, voice firm and reassuring. "You're doing so good, love. So fuckin' good, just let go. I've got ya."

And just then, like his words were the key to your soul, you broke.

Your whole body arched as you called out his name, softly but with an intensity only Simon could cause. You clutched at him blindly, pulling him in as waves of pleasure rolled over your body.

Simon held you through it, murmuring soft filth against your temple.

"That's it lovie."

"Fuckin' perfect."

"Look how pretty you are when you come for me hm?"

As you collapsed back against the sofa, heart racing and legs trembling, Simon kissed your temple again.

"Did so fuckin' well f'me," he murmured. "Messy little thing. Bet you'll be thinking about this next time you're handing out stickers in that classroom."

You let out a breathless laugh, burying your face in his neck.

"Shut up."

"Mm," he hummed, smug. "Didn't seem to mind me runnin' my mouth five minutes ago, love."

Tag list 𖠋: @punkkture @slut-lmao @sebastianstans-slut @ilikeoldmen @g1rlfa1lure0 @queenoflaflames @tmartin0918 @kkloubee @patricksoulmate @writingandsins @mxnii777 @bruisedfig @mlthree @cupidswan @siphon07 @decaffeinateddelusionbread @kiss4tell @kylies-love-letter @catssmirkingrevenge

[paulyenvol6]

Falling For You

Based on this request. Once again, I still haven't watched Materialists, (I will soon though) so please don't be upset if you think I didn't write Harry very movie-accurately. Enjoy :)

Contains: fluff, kissing, very sweet and attentive Harry, age gap (late 20s and 45), mentions of reader's mother's death (I don't know why this got kind of dark suddenly lol), reader and Harry were set up by Lucy, first date awkwardness

Wordcount: 7,239

Masterlist

"Don't worry. I promise you, I thought about this long and thorough."

You chuckled because you didn't know what else to do.

"It's the perfect match. You just wait and get to know him and I'm sure the two of you are going to vibe."

"Thank you," you forced your lips to curl into a smile and briefly touched Lucy's arm.

"For what?"

"For meeting up with me again today."

She chuckled, returning the smirk and then staring down the street.

"No problem. But I gotta go now. You got this, okay? Be yourself because that's what he's gonna like you for and best of luck."

Lucy threw back her thick brown hair, her white teeth blinding you as she gave you a movie-like hollywood smile.

"Thank you," you replied, but felt very small all of a sudden.

Within seconds the lively matchmaker had disappeared into the hustle and bustle of New York City which made you realise that there was nothing left to do now but walk the few feet to the café where Harry and you had decided to meet up. You would have liked nothing more than to trap Lucy in another conversation about something meaningless just so you could postpone the imminent date for another five minutes, but now that Lucy had vanished, that option had faded away as well.

It wasn't like you were always like this when it came to dating. There was a reason why you had approached New York City's best matchmaker in desperate need to be set up with your perfect soul mate. And you were fond of Lucy, you had been content with the two men you had already been on dates with even though they hadn't worked out. Yet, you had realised that Lucy was good at her job and seemed to have a delicate sensitivity for finding suitable counterparts for you, so you sincerely trusted her. And you wanted to trust her with this. Even though it sounded so wrong in your head.

A 45 year old man, someone who was almost twice your age. It wasn't appropriate and neither had you ever had any particular interest in man much older than you. Would you even be able to find topics both of you were into? Would you be able to have pleasant conversation with such a gap – both metaphorically and age-related? You felt the insecurity in every muscle of your body, a worried crease between your brows that you weren't able to straighten even when you were standing right in front of the café. The rational part of you still wanted to give this a shot though. You were here already so why not at least use the time to explore this yet very strange man? If things would end up being horrible between the two of you, you could still flee the scene with some lame excuse and never see him again.

You were brutally ripped from your thoughts at the sound of a pair of shoes dragging over the stoney sideway, but it was just an elderly woman walking a small dog. The faint hint of hot anger was already thundering up your throat when a quick glance at your phone made you realise that it wasn't even past 3:50pm yet so Harry still had more than 10 minutes. You stopped in the motion, staring at your phone screen and furrowing your brow.

I wonder if he even has a phone? He was 45, so that meant that he was born in… 1980. He had already been in his adulthood when it had become normal for people to use a phone in their daily life so what if he was some retro, bitter man who refused any kind of new technology? You knew that you were being unfair, even your own mother had a phone and you didn't even know this man yet. More so, Lucy had set the two of you up, so there must be something connecting you.

You spun around at yet another noise behind you and this time stared into a pair of brown, hazel eyes. Beautiful, intense deer eyes that had small little wrinkles around them as the man they belonged to smiled at you.

"You must be y/n. Hi. Harry Castillo, very nice to meet you."

He offered you his hand, which you took with a trembling hand, but your mind was somewhere else. You were in awe of him because he might be much older than you, but he was gorgeous. Black, thick, wavy hair that was perfectly messy yet organized. A mustache and a beard stubble that looked neatly trimmed and well maintained. As for clothes, you were more than satisfied. Harry wore plain black trousers with a beige linen button up shirt that was just tight enough around his arms to show off the broadness of his shoulders, but wasn't too obvious either.

"Hi," you said, still caught off guard because you certainly hadn't expected him to be that good-looking – despite the pictures Lucy had shown you. They hadn't done him any justice, you now came to realise.

"I'm y/n. Nice to meet you."

The smile you gave him was genuine, not that you didn't have any doubts about the age gap now, but his appearance was nice. Not strange, not unattainable, not lacking in style or elegance. He definitely wasn't what you had imagined a 45 year old man to look like. Harry now gestured to the door of the café, a friendly grin playing around his lip that made him look even younger.

"Should we go in?"

You gave him a nod, grabbing the door handle and only barely catching it due to your weak hands.

"After you," he lowly made and then stepped inside behind you.

You hadn't been to this specific café before, but what could go wrong with an iced matcha? Harry staunchly approached a waiter, putting his hands in his front pocket and raised his voice against the roaring chattering and laughter.

"Hi, I reserved a table for two on the name Castillo."

You didn't hear the waiter's reply, but quickly followed when the man pointed toward a more quiet corner of the café.

"Here you go," he spoke, taking the small papery nameplate and gesturing to the chairs.

"Please."

Harry turned toward you as to make sure you had found your way and then pulled a chair back for you to sit down. To say that you were surprised was an understatement.

"Oh, thank you," you said, but quickly realised that you had to speak louder in this environment. Well, next time then.

Harry took his seat across the table, folding his hands in front of him once the two of you had gotten comfortable and watching you through warm eyes.

"It's very nice to meet you. Lucy raved about you the last time I spoke to her and so I was very eager to finally get to know you."

You chuckled, nervously playing with the salt shaker before dropping your gaze.

"Oh how she praised you. I almost started to feel like I was about to, I don't know, meet a celebrity."

"I hope I'm not a disappointment then," Harry said, pursing his lips and crossing his legs under the table.

"Not at all."

"So what do you do, y/n? Tell me about you and help me figure out why Lucy believed that she found a match made in heaven."

You bit on your lower lip, the bubbling in your stomach much more pleasant now than just a few minutes ago.

"I work as a journalist at the new york post."

"Oh really? Wow. A journalist…" Harry grinned, face twisting almost like he was amused about something, but he didn't say anything else.

"Yes. Honestly, it's the best job I've ever had. And I've had some."

"Tell me more."

You scoffed, shrugging with your shoulders and leaning back in your chair with a newfound calmness, which was unusual because usually it took two or three dates before you felt at peace around a stranger.

"I did a lot of different stuff. I don't know, growing up I – I guess I was the kind of person who never felt like they've found their passion. I always liked writing, but it never occurred to me that this could ever be my job. So I studied physics – weird, I know – but it was a pain. Let me tell you. I just instantly realised that this wasn't my thing, but instead of making the right decision and doing something else, I suffered through it without ever feeling satisfied. It was strange 'cause my life was moving on, I… I got closer and closer to graduating and really starting my life, but I didn't feel like I was changing or taking large steps. I felt like I was stuck at this point and hadn't done anything even when I finished college with a degree in physics. It didn't feel like I had moved. And then I had a million job interviews, and some firms offered me positions that I all rejected. Today I know that this was because it just wasn't my thing so I wasn't interested in any of these jobs, but back then I just thought that a better one would come."

It was now that you realised that you had been talking much too long and how strange it must be to tell your life's story in your second sentence. But stopping now would only make it worse so you would have to finish it. Fast.

"Anyways, I lived like that for a year, working in cafés and bars until I actually accepted a position at a research institute, but I didn't make it there long. On a random Tuesday evening I realised that I bascially wasted the past four years of my life and decided to change everything. So I quit my job, went back to college and studied journalism. And it was the best decision of my life."

You took a deep breath, but avoided his gaze. Did he think that you were crazy now? You had just poured out your heart and talked for two minutes without giving him the chance to ask a single question. He might think that you were a yapper and that you wouldn't give him the opportunity to tell anything about himself. Should you ask him something back now? Maybe what he was doing or – or –

"Oh I see. You really have a history then. I can't believe I'm not only sitting across a physicist, but also a journalist for the new york post. How am I supposed to say anything without feeling intimidated?"

You laughed it off, but instantly felt relieved. Him making jokes was a good sign, right? Maybe he wasn't completely put off by your oversharing.

"Oh please don't. I forgot about half of the stuff I learned about physics anyway. All I might be able to explain to you is the double-slit experiment. I always liked quantum mechanics the most."

You stopped, shaking your head and twisting your lips into an apologetic smirk.

"But I'm sorry, I don't wanna waste your time with physics, oh god."

You genuinely felt bad, the nervous quivering in your chest area returning, but Harry just briefly brushed with his palm over the back of your hand that was resting on the table.

"It's okay. I don't mind it. You're definitely not wasting my time. Especially because you seem to have a very interesting history."

Your eyes lit up, but nonetheless you decided to take matters into your hand and find out more about him now.

"What about you? What do you do and what's your life's history?"

Harry exhaled, making you think that you had said something wrong for an instant, but then he tilted his head.

"It's definitely not as exciting or vibrant as yours. I'm in finance and it's just as boring as it sounds. What can I say, I studied economics at the NYU and then pretty quickly found a job at an investment bank, but then didn't really feel fulfilled there, I guess. So when I was 29 or 30 I think, I found myself a new position."

"And are you happy with it now?" you wanted to know, but were interrupted by the waiter.

"Can I bring you something?" the young man smiled and then proceeded to take your orders which consisted of two cappuccinos.

Once he was gone, Harry picked up right where you had left off.

"Yeah, I'm happy. I'm not ruling out the thought of… I don't know, working somewhere else at some point in my life, but as of now, I'm content."

Harry shrugged, thoughtfully twisting his lips before leaning forward.

"May I mention that you're wearing beautiful earrings? I noticed them immediately, but didn't want this to be the first thing I say, so… They're stunning."

You instantly blushed, heat rushing to your cheeks and you felt your heart thump in your chest.

"Thank you, I'm so glad you noticed. I actually did them myself."

"Oh really? You're into crafting?"

You involuntarily played with the hanging earrings, made of a silver spiral and three small beads in various blue tones above on each side.

"Yes. I love making my own jewelery. I even tried myself with clothing but my talent doesn't extend that far. It's good for making presents though. I'm the most uncreative person ever, so when I have no idea at all I just make a pair of earrings or a bracelet or necklace."

"That's so cool. Is this self-made as well?" Harry spoke, reaching for your silver bracelet and briefly tracing the chain and the single rubin pendant.

"No, unfortunately not. This is old, a family heirloom. I got it from my mother when she… Shortly before her death."

You swallowed hard, forcing your mouth to form a smile so you wouldn't ruin the mood with the side information. But when your eyes met with Harry's, you saw that it was already too late. The bright eyes ensnared by the many laugh wrinkles were replaced by soft brown eyes that reminded you of a puppy's eyes. He watched you for a moment before chewing on the inside of his cheek.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to open up wounds."

"How could you have known?" you murmured, averting your gaze and looking down to your tangled fingers. The memory was still fresh, still cutting deep in your flesh when you thought of the events two years ago. The whole 12 months had been rough with one stroke of fate after the other. Your grandfather's death followed closely by your mother's, even though the latter hadn't been a big surprise. And then the breakup with your boyfriend. Your boyfriend of 6 years. The aftermath of it, the sorrow and heartbreak had made you think that you would never date again. Yet, here you were.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Harry said, connecting his fingertips with your knuckles again and gently caressing them, which somehow in a strange way was just what you needed.

"Do you want to talk about it?" you sarcastically laughed and then shrugged. "I don't wanna ruin the mood, you know? I… I guess it's not what people talk about on their first date, is it?"

And for some reason Harry's reaction was the best thing he could have possibly come up with. He squeezed your hand, once then twice. Then he took one of your hands, enclosed them with two large ones of his and held it comfortably like he wanted to protect it.

"Is this okay?" he asked lowly and you had to laugh again, only that this time there was nothing sarcastic about it.

"Yes," you replied and wholeheartedly meant it. This wasn't at all how you had pictured this date to go, hell, you had expected to sit in a café with a man almost 20 years older than you who you didn't have a single thing in common with. You had expected a dry conversation about his own thrilling youth back in the 80s or the special car that he had bought in the late 90s for 20 dollars and was now emotionally attached to until the two of you would part ways forever. And now you were here about to tell this man about the toughest and most traumatising year of your life. You still had your doubts whether you weren't actually traumadumping on him instead of opening up. This was a first date after all and wasn't this about having small talk and vaguely getting to know about one another's hobbies and likes and dislikes?

"I… I mean I don't want to overshare too much. This isn't like typical conversation for a first date, I think," you wryly grinned, ignoring your heartbeat thundering up your throat.

"I don't care what's typical," Harry replied friendly and almost joyfully. And you fell for it.

"It was just overall a tough year. Two years ago. My grandfather died in March which came as a surprise. He wasn't the youngest of course, but – but I guess I didn't expect it because he's just been a force of nature for as long as I can remember. We were close so of course it hurt. Around that time my mother found out about her cancer. It was clear from the beginning that – that she didn't have a chance to beat it. The last three months with her were actually very beautiful. Ironically. We did all the stuff we've always wanted to do and it was as if we suddenly remembered that we had free will. My brother, her and I spent two weeks in Norway. In a cabin on a mountain with absolutely no one around and they were the two best weeks of my life. It was so beautiful that I forgot what was actually coming, so her death hit hard even though I would've been able to prepare myself for it. I don't know, when I look back today I'm somehow indecisive about whether I handled it well or not. I enjoyed those three months and… I now have the best memories of her that I can always come back to and I think that's beautiful. But at the same time I think I wasn't able to face what was about to happen and it made everything after so much worse. It was like I distracted her and my brother and myself so much that I forgot why we even did all of the fun stuff in the first place. And then… you know, I had a boyfriend at that time. And I guess all of this was obviously a burden for me and therefore for him too, and in November of that year he broke up with me. Said that all of this was too much for him. I wasn't in a good place at this time of my life and at some point he didn't want to have anything to do with it anymore. Didn't want me to pull him down with me."

You stopped abruptly, short of breath and heart aching at the old memories flickering before your eyes. Your younger brother and you at your mother's funeral. How he could barely hold himself up from all the crying. He had been so young, so vulnerable. It wasn't fair, you had told yourself over and over again. He didn't deserve this and you didn't either. Your view was blurry faster than you were able to process, let alone do something about it and Harry's grasp around your hand tightened.

"I can't tell you how sorry I am, y/n. I don't even wanna say anything that sounds like I can understand because I can't, but I can tell you that what you had to endure was cruel and terrible."

You brought about a crooked smile that certainly wasn't as convincing as you had imagined it in your mind.

"Thank you. Jesus…," you then hissed, wiping over your eyes with the back of your hand and blinking away the remains of your tears.

"I… Could we maybe just change the topic? I think this is already enough for today."

You chuckled and this time you at least didn't have to fake it, even though it was a sarcastic and ironic laughter.

"Of course. No problem. Tell me… what kind of music do you like to listen to?"

It was an hour later when Harry asked for the bill and insisted on paying it.

"You really don't – " you had said, reaching for it, but he had lifted his eyebrows and snatched it away right under your nose.

"It's alright."

Another 10 minutes later you were standing outside, the sun low in the sky now, casting long comical shadows, but the streets just as busy as earlier.

"I had a good time," Harry said, wasting no time with awkward hum and haw as he stepped closer. "I would really like to repeat it if you're up for it too."

You sucked your bottom lip into your mouth, feeling slightly embarrassed as you stuffed your hands into your back pockets.

"I did too. But I wanna say sorry again for… I don't know, I know you said you didn't mind, but I still feel weird that I traumadumped on you like that. I don't know what has gotten into me, I guess – I guess I just felt comfortable, which is a good sign, but I hope I didn't make it weird."

You glanced up to him at your last words and felt your heart clench at his big eyes that looked so sincere, so truthful and honest. This didn't feel like a first date. And neither did it feel like a second. Why did it feel like you've known this man for years, why did it feel so natural to breathe the same air as him, look into those brown eyes of his and walk beside him like you had never done anything else in your life? This definitely wasn't normal.

"You didn't. You didn't make it weird, you didn't traumadump on me and you got nothing to apologise for. The most important thing is that you feel comfortable and if you tell me that you did, I'm glad. Actually I feel honored that you opened up to me like that. Or do you think I would like to see you again if I felt weirded out by you?"

He had a good point and Harry seemed to see your relief written all over your face.

"Thank you. For saying that."

"So? You're on board too?"

The corner of his mouth lifted, the hint of mischief glistening in his eyes.

"Yes. Of course. I had a good time with you. I haven't felt that relaxed in weeks so thank you for that."

It was settled then. Harry wished you a goodnight, then pulled you into a gentle hug, so soft and slow that you would have had the opportunity to withdraw in case it was too much physical contact for you on a first date, but you didn't feel anywhere close to driving backwards. Not only was he gorgeous, felt warm against your body and smelled heavenly, but you felt like the bond you had shared today had opened up doors to which a hug couldn't compare. You had only known each other for roughly two hours, but had connected on a level that you in some cases hadn't even reached with people you had been friends with for years.

Three hours later you were lying in your bed, the room dark aside from the moonlight glooming through the small slit between the curtains and the windowsill and the air silent. All the more, the inside of your head was loud like there was a fight happening, different types of voices screaming and shouting at each other, which kept you from sleeping. You had felt tired an hour ago, sure that you would need a good night of rest, but now that your head was flush against the cushions, your body sprawled out underneath the blanket, you couldn't have felt farer away from drifting off to sleep.

There was one very distinct voice, a slightly hazy and lovedrunk one that was over the moon, utterly swept off her feet and lingering on cloud nine. All she could scream was Harry's name and urge you to call him on the spot. Tell him how much fun you had, how much you were looking forward to the next date and that you wanted to put a ring on his finger before another bachelorette would snatch him away.

Although this wasn't a serious option, you couldn't help but feel seducted by this very distinct one every now and then, the high, soft, crystal clear sound that was almost like a pretty song so tempting and alluring that you found yourself savouring it from time to time.

But then there was this other voice, slightly lower and definitely more dangerous. Threatening, almost. She mentioned all the cons, the disadvantages and doubts she had and even though the first voice wasn't shy to toss in that there weren't many cons, you listened to that second voice as well. With his 45 years, Harry was too old. That was the most obvious one (and perhaps even the only one, voice number one noted). How were you supposed to explain any of this to your friends, your brother and everyone else in your family. Your aunt Maria was 48. The mere image of showing up at a family feast with Harry sent shivers down your spine. He, sitting next to you your aunt Maria while they were exchanging stories about their childhood and bonding over the toys that had been trendy in the late 80s. What a strange and disappealing picture. Certainly none that you would ever want to look upon.

He was too old. This wouldn't work. Not just because of the pressure from outside, but also from the inside. Sure, the date had been magical, a literal dream, but what if it wouldn't go on like this? What if there would come a point where you would stumble across a obstacle that was so deeply driven into the ground between the two of you that it was impossible to overcome. The differences, the different world views, the unfamiliar, the unforeseen… Maybe the problem was that you didn't know the risk. Maybe you were afraid of falling head over heels for this man without knowing if your relationship had a future. If you would work. But did one ever know before trying it out? With a throbbing ache in your temple you couldn't help but wonder whether Harry had any of these thoughts as well…

Around 5 and a half miles away, a man was lying on his side, the silky bedsheets halfly kicked away so only his legs and ankles were covered by the cool, slick fabric. He was hot although the thermostat was showing a reasonable temperature. Maybe it was just his mind playing tricks on him. It tended to do that a lot recently. It also wanted to convince him of the fact that dating a woman in her late 20s as a 45 year old was completely and utterly reasonable, morally okay even.

Harry sighed, his lips producing a wet smacking sound as he closed his eyes with a groan. His head was spinning and it only got worse whenever the darkness of his mind surrounded him. Guilt, regret and sheer uncertainty enmeshed him, knives twisting into his side and a sour taste thick in his mouth. He liked you, god, he had never been swept off his feet like that after a first date. He was in awe of you, captured by your wit and vulnerability that you were so proud and confident to let show. He was in admiration. In absolute reverence of your sensitivity, but also your humor and generousity. And the fact that this was happening after one date was remarkable.

But every time Harry was too deep in his daydreams, thinking of your laughter or the way you had fondled with your fingers every time you had unnecessarily felt embarrassed, it hit him like a sharp blow in the stomach area. You were 28. That meant an age gap of 17 years, which was too much and no one could possibly be able to deny that. Part of him wanted to slam his head against a wall because things would have been so much easier if he had figured that the two of you had nothing in common and could have moved on in an instance. Although… he hadn't felt like that then.

Harry didn't want to fool himself, he had just met you. There was a chance that he would find grave differences and things he didn't like about you once he got to know you better. If that happened, he knew he would feel disappointed, but at the same time it would mean that he wouldn't have to live with these doubts and feelings of guilt anymore. Did he want to be disappointed in your character? No, of course not. But did he want to date a 28 year old and be mistaken for your father whenever you stepped outside? No, definitely not.

Harry groaned again, turning on his other side only to come to the conclusion that the shift in his sleeping position had the amazing effect of having the moon shine directly onto his face. He sarcastically scoffed and shoved a pillow into his face.

The next days passed swiftly, perhaps because Harry had found that the best method to distract himself from his sinful thoughts was to focus on work and every other task he came up with in his free time. Therefore he listened to music all the time – although he avoided the artists that he had talked about with you -, fixed his toaster, ironed his shirts himself instead of bringing them to a dry cleaning store and went for a jog three days in a row.

Still, despite all these sidequests, he felt like a teenage boy who had a crush on a girl just from talking to her for once in his life. He was being childish, obsessed and completely torn from reality. And yet when he met up with you for a second date he was nervous, even more than before the first one. This time it was in a vietnamese restaurant that you had recommended. The date passed much too quickly for Harry's liking and sooner than he wanted, you were standing in front of the door in the dark, both your eyelids heavy, but your hearts light and your stomachs full.

"Thank you. Thank you for such a lovely evening," you whispered and adjusted your jacket to protect yourself from the cold.

"Thank you. I had a fantastic time."

He pulled you in for a hug, involuntarily smelling your hair and thinking how perfectly your bodies fit against each other. It felt natural. Right.

Later, Harry sat on his couch despite the hour. He had made himself a cup of tea even though he wasn't a big tea drinker. Tonight he had craved it, but he didn't know why. He felt cheerishful, skittish like he had just ran a marathon and didn't know what to do with the remaining adrenaline. A wild animal trapped in a cage and yearning for freedom. But kind of in a good way. In a way that made him all dizzy, his surroundings dream-like and indistinct.

How he found sleep that night, he didn't know. He couldn't stop thinking about you, all those little details that he hadn't noticed the first time he had met you, but now had completely captured him. The way you threw your head back when you broke into laughter. The way your nails scratched over your own palms when you were deep in thoughts. The way your ears moved when your face was drawn with a broad bright smile.

Eventually sleep must have taken over him in the midst of one of the vivid memories replaying in his head because when he woke up the next morning he had a strong suspicion that you had come visiting him in his sleep. He didn't know what exactly he had dreamt, but there was this feeling. This feeling of you.

Harry was looking forward to his next date rather than feeling anxious about it. You had bewitched him and every opportunity to learn more about you, even just spending a minute in your presence seemed like a gift from god.

He was at the restaurant before you and once again greeted you with a wide smile.

"Hi there. Good to see you."

"Good to see you too. I'm surprised you haven't grown tired of my face yet."

Harry raised his brows, looking at you like he was in disbelief and wrapped an arm around your shoulder as he guided you to the entrance.

"Me growing tired of your face…? I don't think I could."

"Oh you just wait and see."

The smell of pizza was strong in Harry's nose as the two of you were being led to your table by a waitress and he unconsciously swallowed. The italian restaurant was one of his recommendations and he certainly hoped he wouldn't disappoint you.

"Tell me about your project from work," you immediately spoke with flashing eyes the moment your back touched your chair. Harry chuckled, but then started to tell you all about the past two days and the project he had been so nervous about.

The waitress came and went, brought an expensive bottle of wine to your table, took your orders and then after what felt like a minute, two steaming plates of pasta were standing in front of you. This was just the case with you. Every conversation felt effortless, easy and light. You pulled one in like a black hole, only that you were pure light. Pure warmth and comfort. Every moment spent with you felt meaningful and important and maybe that was part of the reason why he knew he would never feel bored of you.

And still, the doubts about your age gap hadn't vanished with the second date. If anything, they had become greater, they had made their way from the back of his mind right to the top. The more time he spent with you, the more he felt like he had to be careful not to be too hasty and fall for you before he hadn't figured this out with himself and with you of course. He was scared of the disappointment that would follow when one of you mentioned the age gap for the first time. And this fear had put him before a drastic decision: Enjoying the time you two spent together while waiting for you to note the obvious or discuss it to avoid any miscommunication. Harry had fought with himself, he had even considered asking his brother for advice, but in the end he had picked the latter. Hadn't his pervious relationship failed due to a lack of healthy communication? You were precious to him and he didn't want to lose you that way, which was why right now was the best time to address the topic.

He cleared his throat, nervously tracing the stem of his wine glass.

"There's something I'd like to talk to you about," he started, his stomach twisting at the concern in your eyes.

"Nothing bad, really," he quickly reassured before sighing. "Well, you know… I just wanted to discuss something with you because I feel like we have to talk about it and I thought the earlier we do it, the better."

"Yes, sure," you replied, more relaxed now.

"I really like you, y/n and I know this sounds like there's a 'but' and there is a 'but' even though I don't know if we have to make it one."

You furrowed, forehead wrinkling as you tried to follow him.

"Okay, I'm definitely gonna rephrase this. The point is that we obviously have an age gap. Of course I'm aware of it and I've been aware of it from the start. And I do have my doubts just because it's… not so socially accepted? I guess I would just like to hear your opinion."

You laughed softly, tilting your head to the side. If he wasn't mistaken, a light pink shade was coloring your cheeks.

"I mean of course I'm aware of it too. I had my doubts when Lucy set us up thinking that we wouldn't connect or – or it would just be awkward. But… I don't know, I like this. Between us. It's in my head all the time that we shouldn't do it or that it doesn't have a future and of course we still have so much more to figure out about each other, but right now… I – I feel good going on dates with you and I'm thinking it can't be that wrong, can it? Because I have fun and I do think we connect."

Harry had felt like his heartrate had picked up with every word you had said and by the end his body was a trembling mess, his heart thumping in his chest and the butterflies in his stomach swirling and dancing.

Answer. He had to answer.

With a grin, he leaned forward until his elbows were supporting the weight of his upper body on the table.

"I agree. And I don't think I would like to stop seeing you because of it. It doesn't mean that I don't feel uncomfortable with it sometimes, but call me selfish, but I don't wanna put an end to this."

Your eyes seemed to sparkle at his words, a mixture of a mischievous and sly glitter and something relieved.

"Yeah?" you made, briefly brushing over the back of his hand, making his heart pound so loudly, it echoed in his head.

"Yeah."

"Me neither, Harry."

"Wait lemme just, lemme just – " He stopped mid-sentence, throwing his head forward as his body trembled and vibrated with laughter. You couldn't stop either, pinching your eyes shut as you held on to the armrest to control your shaking body.

"God… you needa – " Harry rubbed over the flushed skin of his forehead, but then another wave crashed over him and he shook his head.

"I'm going to suffocate," he whispered, a broken chuckle leaving his throat as he tried to regain control over his breathing.

"Jesus…," he then coughed after a while, wiping a single tear away. "You're gonna kill me. All I wanted was to get another bowl of ice cream and now look at me."

He pointed at his face, the redness of his skin even visible in the dim light of his apartment, the only source of light the TV screen.

"Oh ice cream. I'm sorry then, go on, mister."

He shook his head again, silently giggling as he rose to his feet and made his way to the kitchen. In the meantime, you adjusted the blanket again that Harry had kicked away with his feet during his laugh attack and then tapped on the cushion to your left when his head peeked through the kitchen door.

"Well hello there," you grinned and pulled back the blanket so he could slip underneath it. Your eyes jumped to the two delicious looking bowls, but before you could pay attention to the ice cream, you had something else to do.

You waited patiently, waited while he tucked himself in, waited while he ran a hand through his hair and waited while he relaxed beside you. Then you turned toward him with your whole body.

"Harry?" you asked, his eyes softening up at your shy smile.

"Yes?" he asked, a muscle around his mouth twitching.

"I really like this. Spending time with you."

You came a little closer, a hand reaching for the backrest behind him.

"So do I."

Your eyes frantically sprang between him and the pillows. Nervousness was flooding your system, an icy hand gripping your heart and part of your confidence seemed to fade away now. But you had made it so far, so you would finish it.

"Harry?"

He softly chuckled, tilting his head and his gaze lingering on your lips for a short, yet recognisable moment. That was all the reassurance that you needed.

"Can I kiss you?"

His smile deepened, his eyes impossibly warm and mellow. You couldn't even make out the color in his eyes, so dark they looked. Although that might be due to the darkness in his living room. Jesus, you had to stay focused now.

"Yes."

His words were soft and quiet, his voice low, but what they were eliciting in you was indescribable. A whole orchester seemed to play in your mind, a thousand little butterflies dancing and singing in your stomach, which made your body shiver and pulsate under the liveliness inside of you.

You bit the inside of your cheek before leaning toward him, eyes closing just before your lips touched. It was gentle and slow, like the two of you had come to a quiet understanding about what your first kiss was supposed to feel like. Harry was warm and his lips were moist just the right amount. Like he had prepared himself for this moment. You wanted to believe that he had.

At first, you did't even noticed the large hand cradling your head, but when you did you pressed yourself against it, purring like a satisfied cat while his mouth was savouring your taste. You lifted your pliant hands as well, blindly reachind for his face and stopping at his neck to find the soft locks in his nape. Harry was now softly covering your bottom lip with kisses, sucking it into his mouth every now and then while caressing your cheeks like you were something delicate and precious. You wanted to believe that you were to him. When Harry pulled back at last, his face briefly hovered in front of yours, examining you like he was still processing what had just happened, which you were more than grateful for. You really needed a moment as well.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, a thumb trailing down your jaw before brushing over the corner of your mouth.

"Thank you. So are you."

You stared into each other's eyes, but there was nothing awkward about it. Maybe you were acting like a couple of teenagers that were in love for the first time, but who cared?

Suddenly you felt a hand searching for yours and the next thing you felt was his palm squeezing yours as he placed both of your hands on top of your stomach.

"You wanna keep watching?" he asked.

"Yeah."

He could have asked you anything and you would have said yes.

He could have asked you to visit the end of the world with him and you would have said yes.

You had first met this man with the lowest expactations, thinking there was a good chance you would just walk straight out of the café and now there you were, deeply in love with that very same man.

And you were so tired of fighting it.

[cursedhvn]

Yun you have me so giggle😭tysm for reading and leaving the most entertaining review ever oh my god

See I am such a sucker for a good opening line/passage and you, Adeline, took my breath away and swept me off my feet with this. How can I not fall for your writing when you weave words so beautifully?

I think this and the ending lines were some of my favourite lines written and I just think the perfectly encapsulate Gyu and Mc :(

They just met and the chemistry already flying off the roof? Good lord this was so hot.

SHE'S SO!??!@!@#@$# *shoves beomgyu away* move bitch it's my turn now

I wanted them to have a great initial chemistry while still taking a while to unravel truly </3 and I KNOWWW, I'm jealous of her confidence honestly.

At first I really imagined it to be the actor Dong-wook since he's such a fave but then I made him do some seriously bad things so I had to forget my vision of him😭

ADELINE WRITING SMUT WAS NOT ON MY BINGO CARD BUT I NEVER KNEW I NEEDED IT UNTIL YOU PRESENTED IT BEFORE ME. GOOD LAWRD YOU WROTW SO FUCKING WELL.

It was 2 days of hell writing it but I genuinely wanted to include it for the plot but Jesus it was literally the most brain-wrecking thing to write

Respectfully, I don't have the words to say how I felt at this scene. I hope the pictures were enough. And some incoming messages that will flood our chat.

Another aspect I didnt plan to include initially but I just thought the idea of Taehyun loving her so unconditionally despite her loving someone else was heartbreaking yet beautiful

This right here, can RIVAL famous litterateurs. This has to be your greatest work ever. And to think this is only your second, which means whatever you'll show us in the future has potential to even surpass this? THIS? Finishing this fic make me feel so hollow, just like how finishing a great piece of media leaves you feeling empty for days. I wish, so desperately, to lose my memories just so I can reread this masterpiece again. You're incredible.

Adeline, if there's one great thing that has happened to me this year is knowing you exist. Another will be the fact that you started writing. Please, never stop writing.

I was tearing up as I read this Im such a softie but thank you Yun :( Looking back there's so much I believe I can expand on but honestly? Im proud of it because I never expected to even write something like that to begin with. Again, thank you soso much for reading :( <3

𝕲𝖊𝖙𝖍𝖘𝖊𝖒𝖆𝖓𝖊 || 𝕮𝖍𝖔𝖎 𝕭𝖊𝖔𝖒𝖌𝖞𝖚

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✦ pairings ➥ underground boxer!choi beomgyu x investigative journalist!fem! reader ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✦ genre ➥ strangers to lovers, angst, fluff, smut [MDNI] ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✦ word count ➥ 23.7k ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✦ warnings ➥ dark themes [violence, murder mention, stabbing, gunshot mention, vague sex-traffiicking mention], heavy religious motifs, exploitation, smut warnings [semi-public, oral (f. rec.), fingering, unprotected sex]. ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✦ inspired by ➥ gethsemane [sleep token],  missing limbs [sleep token], blood sport [sleep token], moral of the story [ashe]. ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✦ synopsis ➥ gethsemane /ɡ��θˈsɛməni/ a garden at the foot of the Mount of Olives in East Jerusalem, where Jesus Christ underwent the Agony and was arrested.  Places often reminded you of persons, and he—he was your garden—your Eden and you?—You were his Gethsemane. Parallels that didn’t quite meet. Golgotha became your cursed haven—a bitterly sacred place. You never imagined that your journey would lead you here—cuffed, standing at your own Calvary, with a love that never saved, only one meant to break. You sought to grant salvation, but in the end, it was you who needed it the most. Was salvation something you deserved—or had your own betrayal already condemned you to a life beyond redemption?

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✦ adeline's ✉︎ 𖹭.ᐟ - It's finally out! I added a bit more to the end at the last minute and I still think it's a piece I'm proud of overall. I know I can still improve certain aspects of my writing but for right now this is okay and I'm good with that. Anways I hope you enjoy(❁´◡`❁)

Act I || At the Foot of the Hill

They say that the Garden of Eden was a place, but to you, it was Beomgyu—a person too pure for the world. A victim of the lingering serpent, compelled to consume the forbidden fruit he offered—a fruit that unlocked a part of him that was supposed to remain hidden. Unleashing a darkness that should have never surfaced. And if Beomgyu was like Eden, then you were the Garden of Gethsemane—a betrayer—like Judas, the cause for his silent agony.

The weight of truth and sleep pressed heavily behind your eyes as you blinked it away, forcing yourself to focus on your laptop before you. The cold air from the AC gently kissed your neck, a stark contrast to the boredom that settled in. You enjoyed being an investigative journalist, there was a particular thrill you gained from uncovering corrupt stories that made you feel alive, free—as if life truly held meaning. But lately, when the most interesting news was a fireman rescuing a cat from a tree—an overused cliché—you wondered if journalism still called for you.

The office wasn’t particularly quiet, but it wasn’t extremely noisy either. There was a soft buzz around you, gentle whispers and frantic typing woven neatly into the atmosphere, broken every now and then with an occasional hopeful ring of a phone. Then, a ping from your inbox flashed on your screen, preventing your mind from wandering.

Taehyun: Got some interesting intel for you; an underground fighting ring. There’s something interesting going on, so Boss wants you on it. Bringing you the details now.

Taehyun, your best friend and colleague. You always worked on cases together, something you were appreciative of, not only for his insight but also because he was the more level-headed one between you too, often preventing you from putting yourself in even more danger. You were excited for a more interesting case, something to get your mind buzzing and free from the confines of the office.

“Here,” Taehyun said, sliding a manila folder onto your desk as he appeared beside your cubicle. “It’s right up your alley. Boss wants you to work on it ASAP. Said it's a big one.”

You raised an eyebrow, skimming through the details. “He said that last time too. And all that turned out to be was just some petty spat between shop owners. I wouldn’t trust him.”

“Maybe this time’s different,” Taehyun smirked. “You never know what goes down in that ring.”

Your brows furrowed deeply, “It’s for the rich?” you whispered. “I thought people just did this to make easy money.”

“That’s exactly why it’s interesting,” he replied.

That night, dressed in outfits that cost more than your monthly salaries combined, you and Taehyun stood outside where the supposed underground fighting ring hid. According to the intel, this underground club was meant for people of a certain calibre. Thank God your boss was really banking on a big scoop and decided to generously fund every aspect of the investigation.

“Are you nervous?” Taehyun asked as you descended an inconspicuous flight of stairs.

“Me? Never.” 

At the bottom, you’re met with a small bar—quaint—its ambient lighting setting an intimate mood. Clearly (and thankfully) your intel was credible as the patrons within the bar were well-known faces; from famous wealthy businessmen to celebrities were littered across the bar, each doing their own thing. The entrance to the underground fight club wasn’t as discreet as you expected it to be. The door was made from a dark mahogany, carved into it The Creation of Adam while being adorned in golden accents. Beside it stood a guard—tall and buff—dressed in a proper suit as patrons whispered a secret code before he opened the door for them. He was a clear warning but also a very obvious sign of where you needed to be.

The man barely spared you and Taehyun a glance when you made it to the entire, his rough voice cut through the air, “Code?”

“Judas,” Taehyun replied smoothly, eyeing him with intent. 

For a heartbeat, surprise flickered in the man’s eyes before he bowed deeply, opening the door for you both. “Sir and Madam, welcome to Golgotha. Please, enjoy your stay.”

You exchanged a glance with Taehyun as you stepped through the grand doors. “What is it with them and the biblical references?” you murmured.

“Rich people.”

Golgotha’s atmosphere left you at a loss for words. Its ambiance mirrored that of the earlier bar, but it felt as though you were transported to an entirely different place. The vaulted ceiling was high—impossibly so—stretching overhead like the nave of a cathedral. The walls were simple, a soft beige that bore various religious paintings, a solemn contrast to the activities that took place. In one corner, there was a small bar that served patrons’ drinks out of lavish gold and red chalices; in another corner had a towering marble sculpture of the three crosses mentioned to be at Golgotha in the bible, a sign of their dedication to the theme.

Seating ranged from simple velvet floor lounges to overhead VIP enclosures with a stage like no other as its glorious centerpiece. Unlike the typical ring, this one was elevated in such a way that it resembled a stone altar, each of its corners with a praying angel standing tall, as velvety blood-red rope weaved through its hands making it secure for the performance. Above it hung a single chandelier—large and made of crystal, one that illuminated the entire space with a warm and inviting glow.

“What the hell is this?” you whispered in awe, overwhelmed with the surroundings.

Amidst the sea of tailored suits and glamorous gowns, there was him. He stood out from the crowd, catching your eye. He was buff—rugged and raw—dressed in a simple tank top and shorts. His eyes were fiery with quiet defiance and his knuckles were wrapped tightly in tape, old scars from previous battles peeking through. A fighter, you thought. And a gorgeous one at that. His hair was slightly tousled as it cascaded along his neck. He was talking to a man beside him, his boss you presumed. His eyes seemed more fiery then as he nodded at whatever the man was telling him. In that moment you knew your story was no longer just about uncovering the secrets of Golgotha but also about him and how he came to be.

A man came to the stage, like everyone else he was dressed nicely in a suit. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming out tonight. As the first act of the night is about to begin, we’d like to welcome our performers. On our left, Xavier, a fan favourite.” The patrons clapped and some enthusiastically threw money onto the stage. It was odd, you thought. The way fighting was being treated as an act—a performance—instead of something fighting for their life. “And to our right, Beomgyu, a reigning champion.” The crowd was eerily dead then, a stark comparison to their previous behaviour. Though there were a few claps, it was drowned by the deafening silence.

Choi Beomgyu. Even his name felt hot against your tongue. It rolled off with ease, a forbidden thrill that sent a shiver down your spine. “Enjoy the first act of the evening.” With that, the host stepped back, and the lights dimmed. A sharp gong echoed against the walls, the crowd hushed instantly as Beomgyu and Xavier moved onto the stage.

The moment the referee gave the go-ahead Beomgyu immediately stepped forward with a fluidity that exhibited raw power. This was his altar, his battleground as he seamlessly fought Xavier with ease, dodging his punches with grace. Your heart quickened as you leaned in closer to Taehyun. This wasn’t just a fight—it was a spectacle to the crowd—a performance drenched in sweat and blood. But to Beomgyu, it was more than that—desperation clung miserably to him, with every throw, every dodge, his story waiting to be revealed.

The match ended in a final, breathtaking exchange with Beomgyu as the victor—his knuckles bloodied and bruises blooming like flowers across his body. The crowd was clearly disappointed with the outcome but cheered nonetheless. 

“Thank you for enjoying the first act ladies and gentlemen,” the host started as he found his place back on stage. “We will now have a performance by one of our artists. Please enjoy the refreshments as the altar is prepared.”

“Hey, you okay?” Taehyun asked, breaking the silence between you.

You nodded slowly, voice barely above a whisper, “Yeah, more than okay. I think…I think I need to know everything about him. About this world they’re in.”

“Just be careful,” Taehyun pleaded softly, “I don’t want you getting hurt again.”

You ignored the way his words got to you, weaving your way through the crowd and entering through the door Beomgyu had disappeared into. The voices of the crowd still echoed faintly as you stood in the quieter room within Golgotha. It was simpler than the main space, dimly lit with plush carpeting on its floors. There was a small table with refreshments and like the main room, the walls were adorned with religious decor. In the corner, there was a leather couch where you found him, a lit cigarette in his hand as smoke curled around him. 

His eyes flickered towards you. “I don’t sleep with men’s wives,” he said, his eyes sharp and unforgiving as you made your way in front of him.

You raised an eyebrow, and the corner of your mouth twitched into a teasing smile. “Well, since I’m no one’s wife you'll make an exception for me, right?”

A small smirk coated his lips. Without answering, he exhaled a ribbon of smoke toward you, playful yet challenging.

“That’s a dangerous game you’re willing to play,” he said after a beat.

“Maybe I like the danger,” you shrugged, leaning in slightly, enjoying the tension that rose between you.

Before the moment could deepen, the door swung open. A man entered frantically.

“I swear to God, Beomgyu. A little heads-up before your match is appreciated. You’re so lucky I didn’t have a night shift or else I wouldn’t know who would tend to your wounds.” The man stopped as he saw you, glancing between you and Beomgyu. “Sorry, he doesn’t sleep with patrons,” his tone clipped as he knelt beside Beomgyu, his hands moving with purpose as he began to tend to the damage from earlier.

“Don’t worry about her, Soobin. She’s fine.”

Still, Soobin eyed you suspiciously, “Whatever the case is, you’re playing with fire. Be careful not to get burned.”

You watched as Soobin tended to Beomgyu’s wounds with ease, delicately wrapping his bruised knuckles. Shamelessly, you stared at Beomgyu as his eyes silently challenged you. You felt the weight of Soobin’s gaze on you, assessing you, almost as if he could see right through your intentions.

“So why is a new patron like you so interested in Beomgyu?” Soobin asked as he packed away his materials in the corner.

“How do you know I’m new?” you asked as you took a seat next to Beomgyu.

Soobin sighed exasperatedly before giving you a pointed look, “It’s obvious you’re a new face. And besides, everyone knows Beomgyu doesn’t entertain them. So, what’s your deal? Why him? And as a matter of fact, how did you even get into Golgotha?”

“Word of mouth,” you said simply. “And Beomgyu? He interests me.”

“I’d appreciate it if you both stop talking about me as if I’m not here,” Beomgyu spoke up as he flicked away the remnants of his cigarette.

Just then, there was a soft knock on the door before Taehyun came in. He gave the two men a nod of acknowledgment before he said your name softly. “I think we should call it a night.,” he gave you a knowing look. You pouted for a moment before you turned to Beomgyu, “Guess that’s my cue to leave. I’ll see you later, Champ.” Before you left, you leaned closer to Beomgyu, kissing him on the cheek. “A reward,” you whispered, “for winning your match today.” 

Beomgyu watched as the door clicked softly behind you, his cheek tingling from the kiss you left him. He pulled out another cigarette, frustrated. Your departure left a tight, uncomfortable ache in his chest.

“What was that all about?” Soobin asked, “You never let patrons get that close.”

He inhaled sharply, letting the cigarette’s warmth encapsulate him. “She’s different,” he murmured with uncertainty, “I don’t know why yet. But I have to have her.” As he exhaled, Beomgyu watched the smoke dance around in the air, under the dim light.

Soobin shook his head, unconvinced, folding his arms across his chest. “I don’t trust her. What if Kwang-soo put her up to this? To control you even further?” 

Beomgyu’s jaw clenched at the name. Kwang-soo, that bastard, he thought. His boss, someone who was part of his life for too long, someone who only sold him a bittersweet dream.

Beomgyu’s gaze hardened. “Soobin. She’s not like that.”

Soobin scoffed under his breath, “You’ve barely known her for a night, what do you know?”

Beomgyu didn’t flinch, but his voice came quieter. “She didn’t look at me like I was just a performance.”

Soobin frowned, “But what if she is like the others, but smarter? Then what?”

He crushed the cigarette into the ashtray, its hissing, a silent warning. “Then I’ll deal with it.” 

Soobin  rolled his eyes, arms still crossed, but something in his stance softened. “You’re not a child anymore,” he said. “Don’t act like one.”

 Beomgyu didn’t respond. He just sat there, his eyes gazing at the ceiling. You weren’t like them, he thought. He was sure of it; he could feel it. Or maybe he just wanted to believe it. Either way, he was already going in too deep. And if you were playing him…maybe he didn't want you to stop.

As soon as the door shut behind you, the buzz of Golgotha returned—almost bringing you back to your reality, but not quite. You mindlessly followed Taehyun until you were by his car, the cold evening breeze raising goosebumps along your arm.

“You’ve got that look again.”

You blinked, still riding the high of Beomgyu’s presence. “What? What look?”

“The ‘I’m about to ruin my life for a guy with bloodied knuckles’ look,” Taehyun said dryly. “Had the same look when you started seeing your ex, remember?”

You looked away, wrapping your arms around yourself. “That was different.”

“Yeah,” he said, opening the door for you. “Beomgyu has better biceps.”

He did have better biceps.

You swatted his arm playfully as you sat inside, a small grin on your lips.

“He’s not like him,” you said as Taehyun took his seat.

He rolled his eyes, “You said that last time and look where that got you.”

You stiffened. “Can we not talk about him right now, Taehyun? Please?”

Taehyun sighed, looking at you sadly. “Anyways, while you were busy giving Beomgyu the bedroom eyes, I actually did some digging.”

You sat up a little straighter, “What did you find out?”

Taehyun glanced at you for a moment before focussing on the road, “Turns out the exploitation, at least, at surface level is true. Kwang-soo, Beomgyu’s boss, is notorious for that kind of behaviour for years. Fed the patrons lies and pocketed most of the money when Beomgyu just started out. It’s only when Beomgyu actually learned to fight things got easier for him.”

You frowned, “So he’s a survivor.”

“More like a pawn who fought back,” Taehyun said with a nod, his expression darkening. “He’s valuable but dangerous. And Kwang-soo? It’s more than exploitation.”

“There’s more?” you asked.

“Yeah,” Taehyun sighed, running his hands through his hair at a red light. “Rumours say that Kwang-soo had the last guy under his wing killed. Not sure how true it is right now, but patrons said the guy was stabbed during a match—no rules in Golgotha, just performance. Everything right now is just rumours though, and no one is willing to talk. We’ll need to dig deeper.”

You frowned, “We have to. For Beomgyu.”

Taehyun raised a brow, “For Beomgyu? What about the story?”

“It’s more than a story now. It’s someone's life.”

  You laid wide away that night. The ceiling above you blurred, but it wasn't the room spinning, it was your thoughts. You thought back to Beomgyu. He wasn’t just magnetic, he was fiery—a man forged in violence. A man who built a wall to protect himself from a world that hurt him one too many times. His eyes were the only thing you saw in your mind, the way they bore and tore apart your soul.

You sighed. Unable to sleep with the swirling thoughts, you got up, taking with you a voice recorder. The night was eerily still, perfect to begin recording your findings.

You hit record. The sound of the click was sharp, cutting through the stillness of the room.

“Day 1. Investigation; Underground fighting ring. The first subject, Choi Beomgyu, participant in underground fighting events at Golgotha. His boss is Kwang-soo, a primary suspect in the investigation.”

You cleared your throat, trying your best to keep your tone neutral and focussed—reminding yourself that it wasn’t about feeling but about fact.

“Beomgyu has an established reputation at Golgotha for being a reputable fighter but in his earlier days, Kwang-soo took advantage of his lack of skill to reap profits. But as his fighting skills developed Kwang-soo began seeing a loss. This is all for now pertaining to their relationship, but Beomgyu is a clear victim of exploitation, to what extent? That is yet to be known.”

You paused for a moment, reviewing the details in your head.

“Further discussion with Taehyun suggested that the suspect had a prior fighter before Beomgyu. Based on rumours from the patrons, it seems he had premeditated his death. Currently all the given information is purely based on rumours. More investigation will be done to confirm these claims.”

You thought back to the night once again, recalling the eerie feeling Golgotha had given you. You felt the hairs on your arm rise, this was more than a spectacle, more than a performance. There was something truly evil about there and you were going to get to the bottom of it.

“Golgotha is a place like no other. The rich revel in the exploited fighting for their lives on their behalf. All in the name of performance. There is something deeper than this. With time, the truth will be revealed. This is the end of Day 1.”

With a final click, the recorder went silent. You wanted some form of recording to keep yourself grounded. You had no clue what this story would bring, but you knew that you had no choice but to be prepared for it either way.

“Well?” your boss’s eyes flicked between you and Taehyun. The two of you sat across him in his poorly lit office, the AC working overtime as he intensely gazed at you both. “What do you have?”

“It’s only been one day, sir,” Taehyun said as he leaned forward, his face calm. “We only have information based on word of mouth. There’s no tangible proof just yet.” Your boss’s face hardened.

“And I don’t care, Taehyun. Any information is good information. A story is on the line!”

The atmosphere thickened. Your boss wasn’t one for small talk, nor was he one of patience. He valued information, and he valued it fast. He didn’t care by which means it was given, once it got done.

“Sir,” you started “I have a recording for the first night. We can fill in any excess details after if we believe anything was left out.”

He gave you a small nod of approval. “Good, let’s hear it.”

As your voice played out in the room, you relived the moments again—relived Beomgyu. You remembered his gaze on you, the proximity, the way his natural scent mixed with his cologne of choice that night. You felt it then, and you hoped he felt it too—the undeniable pull between you, something unexplainable.

Your boss’s features spoke for itself; it was a familiar gaze he’d given you when you failed before. “The stakes are higher now.” He said your name harshly, “You’ve been on thin ice before, and I won’t let your decision drag me down again. I don’t care what it takes, but you will get that story. Do not mess up. Do I make myself clear?”

You stiffened, biting back a response. You gazed at Taehyun beside you who watched you with worry coating his features. He knew the mistakes of your past and the inevitable spark that would form between you and Beomgyu, he just didn’t know what decision you’d make this time.

“Do I make myself clear?” your boss asked again, his voice clipped. 

You nodded, swallowing a lump in your throat. “Yes, sir. Understood.”

He gave another small nod before his features tightened. “Don’t come back until you’ve got something solid. No rumours, just the truth.” With that, he stood, dismissing you both without so much as a glance back, turning his back before either of you could speak.

Taehyun’s eyes met yours as you came out of the office. “Will you be okay?” he asked, “with Beomgyu?”

You didn’t respond right away, the recorder in your hand felt heavier than before.

“I just…have to use Beomgyu for the truth. I don’t know how I feel about that.”

“It’s more than just a story to you,” he continued “I hope you’re able to make the right decision when the time comes.”

Maybe you would be ready, maybe you wouldn’t. But for now, you decided to live in the moment—exploring another’s life, another story. And maybe, just maybe you would find love along the way.

Act II || Your Forbidden Fruit

From that moment on, things were in full swing. Every night, like clockwork, you found yourself at Golgotha, with or without Taehyun. It wasn’t that the world was magnetic—no—it was more than that. You strived for the idea of living another life, one that wasn’t confined to the walls of the office, one where you played a more confident version of yourself, a version that could dance with danger.

Three months passed and frustratingly your relationship with Beomgyu remained the same—tense and unmoving. Every time you felt as though progress would be made, and a story would unravel before your eyes, Soobin always remained nearby. Like a watchful guardian, his presence served as a constant reminder of the imaginary boundary you dare not cross. But Soobin, as much as he tried, couldn’t always be there.

That night, everything changed.

Taehyun didn’t join you then. Despite his involvement in the case, other stories at the office took precedence, especially with no progress being made. You wore a simpler gown, sleek black, one that hugged your curves beautifully and its dramatic open back that left for a pleasant surprise.

As usual, you met Beomgyu in his locker room after his match. He was graceful as always, a definite force of nature. Even as blood trickled down his lip in his victory, he looked damn good.

“Beomgyu, good fight as usual,” you said as you entered. He was on the couch as usual, medical supplies in hand as he tried to patch himself up, his eyebrows furrowed as he concentrated.

“Is Soobin not coming tonight?” you asked, taking a seat next to him.

He grunted in response. “Has a late-night shift tonight. So, I gotta do it myself.”

Your eyes filled with worry. “Here let me help. You can’t possibly do this on your own.”

Beomgyu watched as you took the supplies from him, a glint in his eyes. “Do you even know how to clean someone up? Can’t afford to have your pretty rich hands getting dirty now.”

You looked at him, determined. “I think I can do an okay job.”

“Alright,” he said softly, “Patch me up.” 

Gently, you soaked the cloth in antiseptic before brushing it against his bruised cheek, his skin, smooth against your fingertips. He hissed, leaning into you as you cleaned the cuts, the scent of sweat and alcohol mingled in the air.

“You’re…surprisingly gentle,” he murmured. “Not like I thought a rich girl would be.”

You smirked, but heat rose to your cheeks. “Maybe I’m not what you expect.” Beomgyu’s gaze softened ever so slightly. His eyes no longer felt like a raging fire but had a tenderness to it.

Slowly, your hand moved to his slightly swollen lip, cleaning away the remnants of blood that dries on the corner. He leaned into you, the warmth from his body felt overwhelming against yours. You glanced up at him, searching his eyes for something, anything. 

Suddenly, he pulled you even closer, his breath warm against your ear. “I don’t let anyone get so close,” he confessed. “What is it about you that makes it so hard to be away?” Then, without warning, he kissed you. Softly. Tenderly. A stark contrast to his rough exterior. You tasted him—salt, sweet and smoke mixed together with the faintest trace of metal. Your hands found their way into his hair, pulling him closer. The only thing that mattered was the way his lips felt against yours.

The kiss deepened, becoming fiercer, more desperate as Beomgyu’s hands found their way on your waist. As he pulled you onto his lap, the moment felt unreal. The liveliness of Golgotha disappeared into the background, leaving you two in a world of your own.

“Beomgyu,” you breathed against his mouth, almost begging for more. He pulled back slightly, his eyes dark and intense, lips smeared in your lipstick. 

“Ah, what do we have here?” A new voice entered, shattering the moment. Your body froze, but Beomgyu’s grip tightened on your waist, holding you in place.      

“Kwang-soo,” he growled, “What do you want?”

So, this was Kwang-soo, you thought. His gaze was sharp, his eyes flickered around the room like a predator. There was something about him that felt off, you weren’t sure what it was but the way he moved felt unnatural, too calculated, too deliberate.

“Wanted to talk business,” he said, his eyes lingering a moment too long on you. “But it seems like I interrupted something.” He smirked. “Lookin’ to sponsor him, sweetheart? He’s worth it. Can guarantee you’ll double your money.”

Beomgyu’s grip tightened even more, his eyes returned to their fiery state as Kwang-soo stepped closer. “Not interested,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

“C’mon darlin’. One match, you’ll be richer than before. I promise ya.”

“That’s enough Kwang-soo,” Beomgyu interjected. “Go and scheme someone else out of their money. Leave her out of it.”

Kwang-soo sighed, giving you a lingering, almost predatory look. “Alright, alright.  But if you ever change your mind…” He winked at you, before turning on his heel, leaving the room.

You shivered. Gross. 

Beomgyu rested his chin on your shoulder. “Don't worry about him,” he whispered. “He's just my boss.”

“Your boss?”

Beomgyu hummed, his lips grazing your neck. “Yeah, I hate him.”

“Why?”

“He exploited me for years,” he murmured against you. “Made my life hell.”

“Then why not leave?”

“Sometimes it's hard to leave the hand that feeds you,” he murmured.

You looked down at him, your heart tight. “I’ll be here to listen if you need me to.”

Beomgyu’s hand glided along your back, the coolness of his fingertips sending shivers down your spine. “I'll tell you everything, pretty. In time.”

With his lingering touch, you leaned into him, listening to his heart beat against his chest slowly. This was more than a kiss, this was a choice. This was you consuming your forbidden fruit. No matter what you said to try to convince yourself, you couldn’t deny it anymore. Beomgyu was temptingly sweet.

“You’re mine now,” Beomgyu whispered, caressing your hair softly.

You nodded. You had chosen this. And now, there would be no going back.

Since that night, everything between you and Beomgyu shifted—subtle but undeniable. You found yourself at Golgotha even earlier, savouring his presence before matches, enjoying the tender kisses that became more frequent with each passing day. As always, you visited him after each match, sharing a lingering kiss as a reward for his victory before Soobin came.

But it was only a matter of time before the secret moments blurred into everyday life, regardless of who was there.

The first time you kissed him in Soobin’s presence, the tension was so thick, not even a knife could cut through it. It happened so unconsciously. One moment you were laughing over something ridiculous after his match and before you knew it, your lips were on his, the kiss soft but lingering.

Soobin froze. His hands stilled in midair, his medical supplies clattering to the floor as the scene played out before him. He didn’t even spare you a glance. Instead, his gaze was solely fixed on Beomgyu, sharp and unreadable. His jaw clenched tightly; his body taut with barely contained frustration. 

“Are you serious, Beomgyu?” his voice strained, disbelief and anger evident. “Really? Her?”

Beomgyu didn’t flinch, seemingly unaffected by the tension or his words. He simply smirked, wrapping an arm around your waist, pulling you closer, deliberately testing Soobin’s patience.

“What, Soobin? You gonna beat my ass?” Beomgyu teased, a playful edge evident in his voice.

Soobin’s lips quivered in annoyance. “She just pops up out of nowhere, gives you a bunch of sweet words and you just give in? Just like that? Are you stupid?”

Beomgyu’s smile dropped, all playfulness gone. “That’s not any of your concern, Soobin. What I do with her isn’t any of your business.”

“But it is!” Soobin stood up in anger. “You’re my best friend and I can’t watch you get used by 

some rich whore.”

Your heart broke at his words. You knew Soobin was speculative of you, hell, he had a right to be, but hearing him speak like that, even if your true intentions weren’t pure, felt like he meticulously stabbed a knife in your chest. Before you could defend yourself, Beomgyu’s voice cut through with a coldness only reserved for Kwang-soo.

“Enough, Soobin. You can say all the other shit you want, but don’t call her a whore, that’s going too far. You don’t know her.”

“And neither do you!” his voice cracked. With a sharp breath, Soobin finally turned to the door. “I can’t have another person use you,” he said softer before storming out of the room, slamming the door with a resounding bang.

Beomgyu pressed a soft kiss against your shoulder, his way to silently comfort you. “I'm sorry about him. He'll come around soon, I'll promise.”

“I'm not sure about that,” you laughed softly. “He really doesn't like me.”

“He's just protective. And this is not me excusing his behaviour. Just wanted you to understand his perspective.”

You gazed at him softly, “I know, Beomgyu. I understand.”

Eventually, Taehyun also noticed the way you became, more avoidant, more silent. The tension that night was higher than usual between you, Taehyun didn't talk as much, as if his mind was distant.

He said your name softly. “I'm going to ask you something and I need you to be honest with me.”

“Okay. Is everything alright?” you asked.

“When were you going to tell me?”

You stopped. Your heart started to race. You didn't like where this conversation was headed.

“What are you talking about?” you asked defensively.

Taehyun rubbed his temples, saying your name harsher this time. “Don't do that to me. I'm not stupid.”

He sighed before continuing, “When were you going to tell me that you started kissing Beomgyu?”

You felt your heart drop. You definitely did not like where this conversation was headed.

“Taehyun I—”

“No. You don't get to apologize. I understand that you had some weird connection to him but you're going to get yourself hurt.”

“It's for the story,” you defended.

“You and I both know that's bullshit.”

His words were harsh, there was no room for comfort. You knew why he did this, but it didn't hurt any less.

“You don't get it, Taehyun,” you said.

“I don’t get it?” Taehyun looked at you as if you were stupid.

“I do get it. I was the one who saw you live through it. The rush, the trill, the way you think you’re so desperately helping him but you're only going to hurt yourself again.”

“You think I don’t know that?!” the words tore from your throat before you could stop them, raw and jagged at the edges. “You think I don’t remember what happened? It happened right in front of my eyes, Taehyun. I killed her.”

Taehyun’s face faltered for a second. His breath shaky as he took a step closer. His voice dropped to a whisper, “You didn’t kill anyone. But the man you fell in love with did.”

The world felt as if it was spinning. You didn't even realize you were crying until you felt the salty taste of your tears brush against your lips. You squeezed your eyes trust, desperately trying to keep the past buried but it crashed in with the force of a tidal wave, pulling you under.

You could still see his face—the fear, the betrayal—as the police stormed in. The gunshot still echoed in your ears as the victim crumpled to the ground. He hadn’t meant it. He really hadn’t. But it didn’t change the fact that he killed her. 

Everything felt like a blur—the way you rushed to the victim, her warm, sticky blood coated your hands and soaked through your clothes—but his eyes were the only thing that remained. It was always the eyes. His weren’t fiery—no—they were cold, afraid, betrayed. You were his Judas, his demise and in some sick way, he was yours too.

“I just wanted to fix him, Taehyun,” you sobbed, your voice breaking. “I thought I could make things right.”

“And you think you can do it again?” Taehyun asked softly, his hand brushing against your shoulder.

You nodded. No matter how much you thought about it, there was no saving him, he was already too far gone.

You were naïve then. A doe-eyed 21-year-old ready to take on the world. It was your first big-girl case, an investigation into the corporate world. And your target? Lee Dong-wook—corporate heir on the Forbes 30 Under 30 list. His name was everywhere, the epitome of success. He was the kind of man everyone wanted to be or be with.

You should’ve known something was wrong when he so easily welcomed you into his world—his unavoidable charm and charisma reeling you in effortlessly, setting you ablaze. “You have potential,” he had told you the first time, but something darker hid beneath the surface. “Glad to see a beautiful, young investigative journalist like you, make your mark in the world.”

You thought it was pure genuineness at first, but every praise was a calculated move, involving you seamlessly into his world until you were too far gone. It was the small things at first, from the late nights to the drinks at high-end restaurants, the conversation never stayed on business, just you.

Then, there was a crack, and the hidden part of his world revealed itself. His eyes were no longer warm; they were icy cold. The darkness creeped in gradually before it consumed you entirely. He showed you the other side of his empire—the drugs, the shady dealings, the trafficking, the girls.

Those poor girls. Just like you, young and naïve.

 It wasn’t part of his plan, for him to fall in love with you so deeply, and maybe that was the worst part. You were never meant to be anything, just another casualty.

You remembered the first girl you saw, eyes wide with fear, pale as if she was a ghost. She didn’t belong there, but he made sure you belonged.

Dong-wook's grip tightened on your wrist, pulling you away from the girl harshly. “Remember what I told you, sweetheart,” he muttered. “No paying attention to them. They’re insignificant.”

You hated yourself for it. For gathering the evidence, for getting the police involved so hastily. But it wasn’t just the investigation. You were scared—scared that more girls would’ve become like her—lost, broken, used.

You wanted to save her. You wanted to save him. You wanted to save yourself.

But in the end? No one was saved.

You were on temporary layoff after that. The company faced severe backlash when news spread that you had mishandled sensitive information and escalated the situation by getting too involved with the suspect. The world seemed to turn against you, but they never understood that you were a victim too caught between what you thought was right and the sweet lies he fed you.

Days had blurred, the only that remained was the guilt, the regret, the nightmares. Therapy and Taehyun were the only things that felt grounding, but even then, it wasn’t easy. Reliving the moments to understand what you went through was tortuous—maddening—when you realized you deep you had allowed yourself to fall into it.

Taehyun tried his best to be there. He wasn’t assigned to the case directly, only able to watch from the sidelines, but you shared every detail with him. You had been his partner before the storm hit, and after? You weren’t even sure you were yourself. 

But Taehyun tried, he tried so hard to keep you afloat, refusing to let the guilt of the case consume you. No one but you could’ve fixed this, no matter how hard anyone tried, only you had the capabilities to save yourself from well…you.

It took some time, more time than you’d like to admit, but for that very first time, you remembered how to float, how to breathe again. Pieces of yourself were broken then, and there were still some broken pieces now. But now, you could breathe.

You heard Taehyun calling your name, his voice breaking through the fog. Slowly, you became aware of your surroundings. You were back in the parking lot. Your senses felt heightened—tears had long since stopped falling but your legs ached. You somehow ended up crouching, knees pressed against your chest. The cold air against your skin jolted you back to reality, reeling you in from the dark corners of your mind. 

“Hey, you okay?” Taehyun’s voice was soft now, laced with concern. “I’m sorry if I was too harsh. I just… want to protect you. I’m not saying Beomgyu is like Dong-wook. You just need to think of all the possibilities when faced with the unknown.”

You knew he meant well. Taehyun always meant well. But you couldn’t bring yourself to respond, not because you didn’t want to, but because of the lump stuck in your throat. So, you simply nodded.

Months passed. Slowly pieces of confirmed information came to light. Golgotha was surprisingly very thorough when it came to protecting their information, maybe the number of high-profile clients involved had something to do with it.

“Day 153. It's been roughly five months since I’ve started unveiling the secrets of Golgotha. But things have been…slow. Golgotha is very particular with the information they have pertaining to clients and staff. We were able, however, to get our hands on the file of Kwang-soo. We hope to find more information on the mastermind behind this, but for now, this is what we have.”

You paused. The last five months felt terribly stagnant. The mastermind behind Golgotha was careful, perhaps a bit too careful. You watched as the rain condensed against your window. You had a feeling something bad was coming, but you didn’t think much of it—hoping it was just the anxiety talking.

“The file confirms that Kwang-soo, Park Kwang-soo, is in fact known to be the primary person within Golgotha to exploit his workers, at times, leaving them to live in sub-par conditions. Additionally, the file also indicates that 10 years ago, he had Chu Jung-Hwa, his last client before Choi Beomgyu murdered as he played him at his own game, exploiting him of his own money. This further solidifies that Kwang-soo is not only a suspect, but also a threat to Choi Beomgyu. This is all the information for now. With time, the mastermind will be revealed.”

With the familiar click of the recorder, you concluded another day. You hoped things became more interesting soon, something to shatter the monotony of everything. And to clarify, you loved the time you spent with Beomgyu, you were just scared you lost yourself even worse this time.

And things became more interesting indeed. Just…not in the way you hoped. An unlikely friendship formed between Soobin and Taehyun, both bonding over their shared protective nature for Beomgyu and you, respectively. 

It was almost comedic to witness. Soobin would glare at you suspiciously, his eyes narrowing, only to turn around and happily engage in conversation with Taehyun. And Taehyun? He was no better. He hardly spared Beomgyu a glance, focusing instead on his budding friendship with Soobin, whom he deemed “the only other sane, sensible one in this symbolically religious hellhole.”

Both you and Beomgyu smiled at the absurdity of it all—thankful that in the midst of Golgotha’s chaos, a common ground had been found. You just hoped that when the truth began to unveil, the formed friendship would remain the same.

“Let’s go for drinks,” Soobin had suggested to Taehyun one night. You and Beomgyu were cozying up on the couch while Soobin and Taehyun sat on another—a recent addition to the room. Soobin watched you both, eyes narrowing before muttering, “You guys can join too, I guess.”

Golgotha was lively as always with patrons enjoying the performances of the night. But in the corner of your eye, you saw red. Bright red hair. His smile was unbelievably confident, and a charm that was sure to turn heads. He made immediate eye contact with you, one that read “Jackpot”. 

“Soobin. Beomgyu,” he greeted. He stared at Taehyun, who received only a polite smile, clearly uninterested before he turned to you, eyes glimmering with intent. “And who might this lovely lady be?” When you said your name softly, he took your hand, kissing it gently, “The pleasure is mine. Yeonjun’s the name.” He flashed you a charming smile, the smile becoming even larger when Beomgyu wrapped a protective arm around your waist. 

“Back off, Yeonjun,” he hissed. “Don’t even think about it.”

Yeonjun smirked, unfazed. “C’mon Beomgyu, lemme have her. Everyone knows you don’t associate yourself with patrons. Gotta know if she’s willing to sponsor me.” He winked at you, clearly hoping you’d get the hint.

“Sorry,” you said softly, “I don’t sponsor fighters. I just like Beomgyu.”

Yeonjun looked at you in shock, “Him?! I can offer you so much more, sweetheart.”

“Yeonjun,” Beomgyu interjected, his town sharp. “You go through women like they’re cheap underwear. Leave my girl alone.”

Yeonjun’s smirk somehow grew even larger. “Your girl, huh? Well…if you ever want a change…” he trailed off, waving goodbye, going God knows where.

Soobin and Taehyun exchanged amused glances, watching Beomgyu with barely concealed grins. “What was that about?” Soobin spoke up, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Just shut up and let’s go for the dumb drinks, Soobin,” Beomgyu grumbled.

“So, I’m your girl, huh?” you teased, leaning into him. 

He smiled as he looked down at you, warmth in his gaze. “Of course you are.”

“Who was he though?” you asked, curiosity piqued.

“Rival,” Beomgyu grunted. “He’s the only person in Golgotha that has the potential to beat my ass. He’s just annoying in the ring. Don’t mind him much.”

You rested your head against Beomgyu’s shoulder, feeling the steady rhythm of his breath. Taehyun and Soobin ignored you as usual, enjoying their own world, leaving you two alone. Beomgyu held your hand in his, rubbing his thumb over it slowly as you waited for your drinks to arrive.

Something felt off.

The warmth of his touch should’ve been comforting, but there was a strange unease twisting in your chest. The sound of his heartbeat only seemed to summon the raging storm called your thoughts —your past, present and future overlapped—overwhelmed with possibilities, of things that could have been and the things that could be.

Then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw him. 

At first, you deemed it nothing, just a flicker—a flash of movement. But said movement lingered, cold eyes staring at you, his cold eyes. It was dark, but the features you made out could have only belonged to one person.

Dong-wook.

He should have been in jail, you thought. There was no way he’d be there. It shouldn't have been possible, not after everything. But the longer you stared, the more you became convinced that it was him.

Adrenaline rushed in and your throat closed up. Your heart pounded aggressively against your chest, trying to escape. Your body tensed. This shouldn't be happening right now. 

“Hey, you okay?” Beomgyu’s voice broke through, laced with concern. His other arm tightened around you, almost as if he sensed your panic. “You suddenly tensed up. Is something wrong?”

The eyes stayed. No matter how much you blinked, Dong-wook's icy cold eyes never seemed to disappear. 

“It’s nothing,” you said softly, forcing a weary smile. “Just thought I saw someone from my past.”

Taehyun’s ears perked up at your words. His gaze immediately shifted to you.

“Where?” he asked, his conversation with Soobin long forgotten. The moment Taehyun looked to where you pointed, his eyes were gone.

“There’s no one there. Are you okay?” 

You waved your hand dismissively, “I’m fine, really. I probably just need some sleep.” 

Taehyun stared at you a touch longer before he turned his attention back to Soobin while Beomgyu gave your hand a gentle squeeze. “You sure?” he asked, “I can fight, baby. Just say the word.”

You nodded again, more firmly this time. “Don’t worry, Gyu. It’s alright.”

He didn’t seem convinced but chose not to push you further.

Despite wanting to convince yourself that it was okay, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was there. The shadow of your past was back, and he was closer than you thought.

Act 3 || Flesh and Fire 

Beomgyu leaned against a wall in his locker room, smoking a cigarette as the sound of Golgotha simmered beyond the walls. Nothing was special about today’s performance, but for some reason he felt more tense than usual. He exhaled the smoke, its warmth doing nothing to alleviate his unease.

He needed to focus, to block out everything else. But his thoughts kept slipping back into a past he wished he’d forgotten. Beomgyu closed his eyes, but the thoughts seemed to fester more. 

Kwang-soo

The name made his jaw clench. He had promised him then. At eighteen and desperate to make a living, Kwang-soo appeared with flowery words laced with thorns, promising an easy life, easy money. What bullshit that turned out to be. Kwang-soo was nothing but a greedy bastard who cared about no one but himself. Carving a profit out of the pain Beomgyu was left to suffer.

Things were hard then. Seven years ago, Beomgyu was nothing but a punching bag in the ring. Every punch, every fall, every bitter taste of defeat was seared into his memory. Week after week, he was knocked down, a terrible fighter, barely able to hold himself up. Yet with every loss, Kwang-soo’s pockets grew heavier. Like Beomgyu, the patrons succumbed to Kwang-soo’s words, betting millions on him, just to lose it all in the end. 

And Beomgyu’s share? Pity scraps that barely covered his basic needs.

But with every loss, he learned. Ached. Grew. Came back stronger. Not because he wanted to, but because he needed to. It was no longer about money, but survival. Slowly and painfully, he started winning. Eventually, Beomgyu started placing small bets on himself—not openly, of course. Kwang-soo would never allow that. He asked Soobin to do it for him and eventually his money flowed back to him. Not because of fighter insights, but because he was just that good.

Still, the fools kept betting against him. Chasing pity miracles, hoping to one day see his fall from the grace he had bled to reach. And Kwang-soo? He hated every minute of it. But staying true to his greedy nature, he switched sides—taking a cut from his winnings. A cut that no longer left him bleeding.

But that wasn’t the worst part. 

The worst part was that Beomgyu had allowed it. Allowed the bastard to profit off his pain. For so long, Beomgyu had been his puppet. But not anymore; it was his playground now.

His mind flickered to you, pulling him out of his spiral. It always seemed to be you these days. Seven months. 213 days. Beomgyu had come to know you in seven months and life hasn’t been so good since. He thought you were like every other patron at first. But now? You had become so much more.

It didn’t happen all at once, it was gradual. Despite your initial interaction, despite the pull he felt, Beomgyu heeded Soobin’s words, keeping you at an arm’s length. But you were persistent. Not in a domineering kind of way—you didn’t treat Beomgyu as if he was just another part of the act. You showed genuine interest in him, something that wasn’t seen among people of that stature, especially when it came to people like him.

You came every night, never missing a moment to truly talk with him. Even during the days, he barely spared you a glance, you stayed—choosing to keep quiet in the corner of the room, quietly smiling at his interactions with Soobin. With time, you melted his ice and by the time he blinked you became an integral part of his life.

You became his light, his reason—offering him something he once lost—his humanity. He lost himself once before, when the anger and resentment consumed him. But now, he had you—his guiding light among the dark and terrible sea of manipulation and greed. To him, you were the biggest anomaly.

Now that he had you, Beomgyu feared he’d lose you. People fed on betrayal, greed—using others for their own gain. There was some part in each of us that reeked of Judas—not necessarily in a literal sense, but as a reflection of human imperfection. He just hoped that you were the latter.

Not now, he thought. He couldn’t afford for his mind to wander to you now. Not before the match. Beomgyu drew in a deep breath, shaking off the weight of past memories and you. He needed to get through this fight, the last one for the night before his mind could have you.

He finished his cigarette, crushing the remnants under his shoe before taking a deep breath and making his way to the main room. His eyes immediately found your face in the crowd, but his jaw clenched. Yeonjun. So that was the reason he felt tense, he thought.

Yeonjun found his way back to you, his grabby hands around your shoulder as you both laughed. You seemed to be enjoying it. Beomgyu hoped you were just being polite, for Yeonjun's sake. It wasn’t like him to be jealous. But his stomach twisted in unease at the proximity between you. He hated it. Beomgyu refused to admit that jealousy was present. He didn’t want to acknowledge the unfamiliar heat that rose in his chest. 

He needed his match over. Now. His hands were antsy to do something, anything to get his mind off Yeonjun’s touch contaminating you. He felt temporary relief as the host announced his match, thankful you found your way back to his side of the ring. You gave him a knowing smile. You had a mischievous glint in your eyes, almost as if the entire scene was a deliberate means of testing his very thin patience.

He gritted his teeth as he stepped into the ring, barely registering the liveliness of Golgotha in his ears. All that mattered now was getting the match over with. He almost felt sorry for whoever was going to receive the brunt of his annoyance.

Yeonjun entered the stage. He had forgotten he was fighting him—now, he felt no remorse.

The gong rang and Beomgyu’s body sprang into motion. Focus. That was his mantra. All he did was focus on you—your smile, your laugh, your everything—just you. With each thought, his punches landed faster, harder, stronger. 

Yeonjun. That fucking smile. The way he touched you. And the way you let him.

Beomgyu’s knuckles cracked against Yeonjun’s ribs, the sound barely registering to him as blood flowed through his ears. The only thing running through his mind was the way fingers were against you. Yeonjun staggered, but Beomgyu didn’t stop, landing another punch, stronger than the last. 

Despite the punches Yeonjun took, he had the audacity to smirk, taunting him with that dumb confident look on his face. Beomgyu’s blood boiled, dodging Yeonjun’s shitty attempts at punches, slamming a fist straight into his face. 

But that wasn’t enough. Beomgyu needed him down. He wanted to break him, destroy him for even thinking he could touch you that way. And with a final blow, his fist kissed Yeonjun’s jaw, sending him crumpling to the ground. The gong rang again, bringing him back to his senses. 

He didn’t care for the host’s commentary or the patrons' applause. His eyes immediately searched the crowd; all he wanted was you. He climbed out of the ring, making his way to you—his chest feeling full, having finally found you.

Before you could even react, he grabbed your face, crashing his lips against yours, possessive and urgent. This was his message. Every ounce of jealousy oozed out of him as he savoured your taste. You were his. And if you didn’t know that before, now you knew.

The kiss was raw. There was no gentleness, no easing in. This was pure need. Possession. He couldn’t explain it—not to you, not to himself—savouring the way you whimpered against him.

“You’re mine,” he rasped as he pulled away for air. He watched your eyes intensely, seeing the way you gasped for air. “You’re fucking mine. You hear me? No one else's.”

“And what a beautiful conclusion to such a wonderful performance, ladies and gentlemen,” the host concluded as he and the fellow patrons watched on.

Without giving you a chance to speak, he dragged you through the crowd, ignoring the surprise on your face at his very forward action. His grip didn’t loosen once, aggressively opening the door to his locker room as he yanked you inside.

Beomgyu’s eyes darkened. If you were going to act like you didn’t know, Beomgyu was going to make damn sure that you understood that he owned every single inch of you.

Fuck, you thought. You were royally fucked, and quite literally at that, but it’s not like you had mind.

You savoured the way Beomgyu’s lips found their way back on yours as the door to his locker room closed behind you. The kiss had a different kind of fierceness to it—one you didn’t experience before, one that ignited an inextinguishable fire within you. He had you up against the wall, trapped, with no room for escape. He pulled away from you, his eyes bleeding with a fiery passion. “You belong to me,” he growled, “No one else. Only me.”

His hands gripped your waist tightly as he kissed along your neck, determined to mark every inch of your skin as his. You whined, dizzy with pleasure as you felt the heat radiating from his body. Every part of you that he touched burned with desire, longing, a desperate need for more.

“Beomgyu,” you moaned as he left passionate marks on your neck’s sensitive skin. Each hickey was just the start of his possessive claim of you. He trailed his mouth downward, the fiery kisses became a touch softer, leaving more trails between your chest, your low-cut dress giving him ease of access.

Beomgyu ripped your dress off with a vengeance. “You could afford another one, can’t you?” he murmured against your chest. You shivered as the cold air caused your nipples to perk up, holding back a moan as Beomgyu took your breasts into his hands, massaging them as he returned to your neck once more.

“Come on, love,” Beomgyu whispered against your neck. “Don’t hold back. Let me hear you.”

And just like that, your moans began to echo off the walls. There was no sense of time here—just the two of you stuck in limbo. With ease, Beomgyu picked you up, the sweat from his skin dripping onto you as he moved you to the couch. 

“I need to remind you of who you belong to,” Beomgyu said as he spread your legs open, leaving more kisses along your thighs, each one sending a gentle shockwave through you. The more Beomgyu kissed every inch of you, the more your core throbbed, eager to have him in indescribable ways. He slipped a finger through the delegate fabric of your lingerie, tracing along the edge with a slow deliberate touch.

He chuckled darkly before he nudged the fabric to the side, pressing a teasing kiss against your core. “This is about my pleasure,” he grunted as he looked up at you, his eyes filled with hunger and possession. “I need to teach you a valuable lesson.”

As his lips met with your core, he worshipped you with a sense of reverie—savouring every inch of you—your taste—his holy communion, his bread and wine. He gripped your thighs open, his tongue honouring every one of your folds. 

“You’re so wet, baby,” he murmured before going back in again.

Each wave of pleasure that coursed through you felt like different parts of your higher self were being unlocked. His tongue traced slow, deliberate patterns, flicking gently, teasing you as you so desperately whined, begging him for more.

Beomgyu pulled back, pulling your face down, capturing you in another searing kiss. His tongue danced with yours, the salty-sweet of you mixed with the flavour of his cigarette smoke. “Savour your taste,” he whispered against your lips, “Don’t let this moment go to waste.”

His fingers traced your body once more, your sensitivity even more than before. He rubbed his fingers against your core teasingly, looking up at you with a mischievous look on his face before he slowly slid a finger inside you. He moved with deliberate, slow movements, teasing you as you adjusted to the new sensation inside you.

You whined, your body desperately wanting more. “Look at you,” Beomgyu tutted as you squirmed under his gaze. “Such a desperate slut,” he teased as he slid another finger inside you, curling his fingers just enough, finding the perfect spot that made you shiver uncontrollably. You whimpered, helpless beneath his touch, your mind hazy with pleasure as his fingers continued to pound rhythmically into you.

Your moans grew louder, your body arched with need as you felt your climax building up. His eyes locked unto yours, dark and teasing as he slipped his fingers out of you. A smirk spread across his lips as you whined, aching and undone.

“Not yet,” he whispered, “You can only cum while I'm in you.” Beomgyu’s gaze never left yours, his body tracing your curves once more before he began to strip away his clothes, his length becoming even more apparent, girthy—desperate for you. With one fluid motion, he lined himself up with you, teasingly rubbing his tip against your swollen clit. You whined.

“You’re mine,” he reminded you again. “No one else will ever feel you the way I do.”

Beomgyu then buried himself into you slowly, tortuously. The sensation of him buried inside you sent hot pinpricks cascading across your skin—your body was on fire. Your body instinctively arched as every inch of him found a home inside you. His fingers tangled in your hair, tilting your head back as his lips found your neck once more.

His pace was slow and deliberate, a rhythm that consumed you—raw and unrelenting. “Beomgyu…” you whimpered. “Faster, please.” He pulled back, his passionate eyes locking with your lidded ones—doubling the sensations you felt.

“Not until the way I feel inside you is ingrained into you,” he growled. “Not until you know every inch of me.”

You felt everything. Every nerve ending sent an electrical signal throughout your body. Your mind was hazed as Beomgyu’s tip kissed your cervix. 

“Say it,” Beomgyu growled low, “Say you’re mine.”

The words tumbled out of you like a rushed confession, “I’m yours, Beomgyu.” Tears pricked at your lash line, threatening to spill over—the pleasure was overbearing. “Fuck, I’m yours.”

“Good girl,” he smiled darkly as his pace quickened—each thrust a fierce claim, an increased sense of urgency. Your breath quickened; the waves of pleasure crashed into you unapologetically. Every aspect of Beomgyu was intoxicating, from his musky sent to the way his skin glistened and stuck to you—the moment felt unreal.

This was your sin—not from the tree of knowledge but one of the seven. Lust—it was undeniably sweet—and in some symbolic way, he was your Adam and you, his Eve. Succumbing to your desires, surrendering to the intoxicating allure of lust, submitting to each other.

“Fuck,” Beomgyu groaned, “you’re so fucking tight.” Somehow his pace intensified, pushing the limits to how deep he can be inside you. Your body shuddered beneath him, trembling as your pleasure built up. 

As Beomgyu’s grip on you tightened, you felt him tense and twitch inside you. With a sharp, guttural sound, his climax hit—his cum spilled, hot and sticky, a primal mark of possession that sent even more heat through your veins. The sensation triggered your own release crash through you, loud and fierce, like a tidal wave, a perfect echo to his.

Beomgyu picked you up again, resting your body against his as he sank onto the couch, his cum spilling out of you slowly. His breath was heavy and uneven as his lips crashed onto yours, the raw, possessive desire still present. 

“You’re mine,” he murmured, his voice low and husky.  His hands traced your trembling body, “in every breath, every touch, every moment. No one else will ever have you like this.” 

He pulled back strands of your hair that stuck to your face,  “Especially Yeonjun,” he whispered before kissing you softly, his gentle promise to you.

Only your breathing filled the silence, the two of you wrapped in the hush of what had just transpired. The air was heavy, a sacred, still moment suspended in time. This was your garden—your Eden—before the fall, before the crash; a time that would soon fade into a distant memory.

Suddenly the door swung open, and Beomgyu’s grip around you tightened. Soobin entered, focusing on his supplies as he talked. “Beomgyu! I heard your fight with Yeonjun was a hit among the patrons. Something about what you did at the end. What was it…” he trailed off, looking up, his eyes widened in shock at the sight before him, the both of you naked and entwined.

His hands immediately covered his eyes as he groaned. “Ugh, you guys are disgusting!” he exclaimed, a deep crimson rising to his cheeks. “Could it not wait?”

“Sorry man. Had to teach her a lesson,” Beomgyu spoke up, the smirk evident in his voice.

“Gross! Just call me in when you’re decent.”

“Uh, Soobin,” you called out, feeling embarrassed. “Could you grab me a change of clothes?”

He peeked through his fingers, “What happened to your clothes?” he asked, his tone in disbelief.

“I destroyed it,” Beomgyu said, a satisfied grin spreading across his face.

“Of course you did,” Soobin mumbled, shaking his head in disbelief as he turned to leave.

You turned to Beomgyu as the door closed, both of you grinned in amusement. The moment shifted, becoming softer as Beomgyu gazed at you lovingly. He leaned in and kissed you again—this time not with hunger, not possession— it was raw, genuine love. It was slow and deliberate, the kind of kiss that said everything for words that hadn’t been found yet.

And if you succumbed to the Judas within you in the end, you’d make sure to savour these moments—because when the day of crucifixion came, you'd become undone on the cross, offering everything for the sins that could never be undone.

Guilt wrapped itself around you, threading through your fingertips, causing your hands to tremble. You promised yourself to do this—you had to. Telling Taehyun you slept with Beomgyu wasn’t ideal. Nothing about it was. But sooner or later—one way or another—he’d find out, and who better to tell him than you, right? Wrong.

You knew what Taehyun would say. You knew the protocol. Yes, you’d become too involved, that was obvious from the start. But how could you help it when Beomgyu loved you in a way you never thought you’d experience?

You picked at your lip as you stood outside of Taehyun’s apartment. Showing up unannounced wasn’t unlike you, but if you thought about it any longer, you wouldn’t be able to go through with it at all.

With the ring of his doorbell, you heard him call, “Coming!” muffled by the door. Your anxiety spiked with the sound of his voice. You prayed Taehyun would understand your complexity of the situation.

He opened the door, his doe eyes widening in shock as he took in the sight of you standing there. His expression shifted to confusion as he softly spoke your name. “What are you doing here? Not that I don’t want you, but you never show up unannounced.” He studied your face, searching for some kind of explanation. “Are you okay?”

You swallowed the lump that formed in your throat, unable to find your voice for a moment. “Taehyun, I—I need to tell you something,” the words stumbled out, fast and breathless. “Can I come in?”

Taehyun's eyes widened in surprise. “Of course!” he said, quickly stepping aside, gesturing to you to come inside. His gaze softened as he sensed your anxiety. “Do you want anything?” Water? Juice? Cider?”

“Water’s fine,” you replied softly, wrapping your arms around yourself; a failing attempt to calm yourself down. You offered a small smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Thank you.” 

“Take a seat. I’ll be right back.”

As you sank onto the couch, the weight of the moment stayed beside you. The case lost its true meaning long ago—the moment you kissed Beomgyu, you knew it was never the same. And sleeping with him? That only solidified it—there really was no turning back now. You stared at your hands, the tremble was still there, the weight of your own guilt made it hard to breathe.

“Here,” Taehyun said softly, handing you a cold water as he settled beside you, cider in hand.

“So,” he said, his voice getting a little quieter, “What’s going on?”

You took a deep breath, feeling the heaviness settle in your chest. This was it.

“I slept with him,” you confessed, voice barely above a whisper. “Beomgyu.”

“...What?” Taehyun’s voice cracked slightly as hurt flashed across his features. His hand froze mid-air, the cider forgotten as your words left him confused.

You saw the immediate shift in him—the way his posture stiffened, the subtle way he tried to pull back emotionally, but the shock was still there. He placed the cider aside and looked at you. He was mad, but not his usual outward anger. No, this was different. This anger was silent, and that's what made it terrifying. 

Taehyun sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Why?” he whispered, voice hoarse. “Why him?”

The words hung in the air. You knew the answer to it, and you knew that he knew too; but saying it out loud would mark a change in your relationship forever.

Taehyun wasn’t looking at you, his gaze fixed on the floor as if he couldn’t bear to look at you anymore. 

“I—” you started, but your voice faltered, breaking under the weight of what you were about to say.

He lifted his head slowly, his eyes finally meeting yours, and in them you saw something that made your heart drop—hurt. A raw, sharp kind of hurt but there was something deeper to it, something you weren’t sure you could fix. 

“Say it,” he whispered, almost pleading. “Admit it.”

You opened your mouth again, but no sound came. It wasn’t until your heart caught in your throat, constricting your chest that you whispered, “I love him.”

Taehyun laughed in disbelief, “You love him?”

You nodded. It was eight months of knowing Beomgyu and five months loving him. It might seem rushed to others, but love didn’t conform to the rules—love, love worked in mysterious ways. And with Beomgyu, it wasn’t planned, it just crept up on you like a thief in the night.

“Does he even know how you like your coffee?” Taehyun asked, his voice surprisingly calm. “Black, two sugars with a touch of cream?”

You blinked, taken aback by the shift in conversation. The question felt like an unwilling razor against your skin.

“How about the way you rip off your tags from your clothes?” he continued. “Does he even know how uncomfortable it makes your skin feel?”

Your breath hitched. Taehyun casually listed little things about you—things you barely remembered about yourself.

“Or the way you carry a journal with you, to sketch and write poetry? You always loved connecting with art and nature, always mentioning how grounding it was.”

He sighed. “And what about your real identity?” his voice lowered. “Not the rich girl in Golgotha. The real you. The one beyond the case?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but nothing came out—the words were tangled in your throat. What could you say to Taehyun that wouldn’t hurt him? The truth? The truth that you never felt this way before? You always believed love should follow a certain process, but now that you were in it, you realized that love just happened. There was no correct time frame when it came to falling in love.

Taehyun’s eyes softened, but the pain was still there. He ruffled his hair in frustration as his eyes searched yours for something—something to stop him from pouring his heart out to you.

“...I’m sorry, Taehyun,” you whispered. “I can’t help who I fell in love with. It just happens.”

Taehyun laughed softly, almost bitterly. Tears glistened in the corners of his eyes, but he didn’t let them fall. Instead, he stared at you, all the brokenness scattered across his sleeve. “I know,” he murmured softly, his voice thick with emotion. “The worst part is I can’t get mad at you… because I know.”

He took a deep breath, “I know because that’s how I feel with you.”

Your heart dropped—blood rushed to your ears in shock. You blinked at him confused, as if he grew a second head. The weight of his words were undeniably heavy—no chance for you to carry.

“What?” you asked, the disbelief evident in your voice. “You love me?”

The frustration was engraved in Taehyun’s features as he stared at you—stared at your soul. “Yes. I do. And I always will.” His words became heavier, more than you could ever bear. “But I never had the guts to say anything. Not when I saw the way Dong-wook left you.”

His voice became softer as he continued, “You needed a friend, not a lover. I couldn’t let my selfish desire get in the way of you—your recovery. I couldn’t do that to you.”

“...I’m sorry, Taehyun.”

He looked away, his jaw tightening as he held back his voice. “You aren’t,” he murmured coldly. “You can’t be. It’s not like you knew.”

He sighed, his frustration transforming into exhaustion. “And you know what's even worse? I have the authority to pull you off the case. To tell Boss you’re emotionally compromised, but I won’t.” His voice faltered again, “Because you’re lucky. I am lucky that I love you.”

He continued, his tone softening despite the raging storm inside. “As much as I hate it… I can’t take that love away from you.”

“Taehyun…thank you,” you whispered, tears spilling from your eyes, “Thank you.”

“Just prove to me that this love you have isn’t a mistake,” he said coldly, “Prove me wrong.”

Your heart twisted at his brokenness, “But…what happens to us?”

“Nothing,” he said simply. “Despite all of this,” he gestured between the both of you, “I just want you to be happy. And if that happiness is with Beomgyu, then so be it.”

Then, without thinking you hug Taehyun, wrapping your arms around him as you whisper guilt-ridden apologies—not for your feelings, but for the mess that the situation had become. 

But what broke you down completely was the sound of a quiet sob escaping his lips, the way his breath hitched, and the tremble in his arms as they tightened around you.

His tears soaked your shirt, the warmth of them seeping through the fabric—a clear testament to the feelings he had been holding back—to the words that could have never been said. 

You confessed to finding love that day. And Taehyun? He confessed to losing it.

And yet, despite the pain, life still moved on. It always did. The world kept turning, whether or not you were ready to face it. But sometimes, moving on wasn’t about letting go, it was about surviving. And in that moment, that’s all you could do. Survive.

Weeks passed and everything blurred together. Time became a series of disconnected moments—half-hearted conversations, strained smiles, even barely recognizing yourself. You didn’t know if Taehyun treating you the same made things better or worse—the way his smile hadn’t shifted, staying the very same—even when he saw Beomgyu by your side. 

The investigation had another pregnant lull—no progressions, no breakthroughs, nothing. After confirming Kwang-soo’s role, after seeing his eyes in the darkness, it felt as if the secrets of Golgotha were closing in. Whoever or whatever, was watching you didn’t want you uncovering the truth.

But the funny thing with secrets was that they always had a way of revealing themselves, didn’t they?

You were nursing a drink at the bar that evening, waiting for Beomgyu to finish cleaning up before you spent the night at his apartment—another obvious shift in your relationship. The drink burned your throat—the alcohol—your only current semblance of feeling. There was a man across the bar, a pair of unfamiliar eyes staring at you. His gaze was sharp, almost knowing.

 You weren’t sure when he came in, but his presence thickened the air, something unspoken, something you don’t think you wanted to know. He leaned against the bar, his posture too relaxed for someone who was a clear higher up. His gaze was like no other you had encountered that night, sharp and calculating.

Before you could turn away, the stranger approached, his presence imposing. He slid onto the stool beside you, his words instilling an unimaginable fear within you. “So, you’re Dong-wook’s girl?” 

Your stomach churned, bile and alcohol rising up your throat. “Pardon?” you choked out, your heart skipping a beat. “Dong-wook?”

He nodded slowly, as though confirming something already obvious to him. “Are you not her?”

You shook your head aggressively, the words tumbling out in a panic. “I’m sorry, I think you have the wrong person. I’m…Beomgyu’s girl.”

He didn’t seem convinced, his lips curling into a half-smile, something dark, something far too knowing. “Once you’re Dong-wook’s girl, you’re always his. Boss doesn’t forget. He never forgets. Especially with you.” 

Your blood ran cold. There was no way the past could be resurfacing, not now, not ever. “Don’t worry though,” he added with a sly smile. “Boss has his plans for you.”

The man walked away without sparing you a second glance, leaving you alone with the sickly taste of his words lingering in the back of your throat. You forced your attention back to your drink, trying to drown out the feeling of being watched—but it didn't leave you. 

It felt as though the world around you began to close in. The hair on your neck rose, anxiety bleeding out your veins. You couldn’t shake the feeling—the weight of someone’s eyes on you. You turned around, and there they were. Those eyes. Cold, calculating unblinking. Fixed on you. Watching. Waiting. Studying.

It was impossible to look away—not when you felt the weight of their scrutiny pressing into you, as if they knew everything about you. And that? It scared you.

Before you could make sense of the spiralling thoughts, a familiar warm touch found its way around you—Beomgyu. He placed a soft, lingering kiss on your forehead before gently cupping your cheeks, kissing you sweetly—without missing a beat.

“My beautiful girl. Are you okay?” he asked quietly, his voice full of concern as his eyes searched yours for an answer, instinctively sensing something was off. You blinked, his presence immediately putting your body and mind at temporary ease.

You nodded, even if it was only half-true. “Yeah,” you murmured, “The vibes are just a bit off tonight.”

Beomgyu’s eyes searched yours once more, before conceding, offering you a gentle smile. “Then let’s get out of here,” he said as he slipped his hand into yours—his touch—a protective shield around you as the lingering eyes faded in the distance. 

You didn’t remember the drive to Beomgyu’s apartment, your mind dazed as the cold eyes remained engraved in your mind. The only thing that kept you grounded was Beomgyu’s hand in yours as he drove, opting to let the silence fill the void.

“Sorry if it isn’t up to your standard,” Beomgyu mumbled, embarrassed as he jiggled his keys in the door. He held your hand as he opened the door, turning on a light and guiding you in. He nervously glanced around his small, cozy apartment, “I know isn’t much but…it’s home,” he smiled softly at you.

You inhaled deeply, taking in his apartment—it was everything you lacked in your life—safe, secure, perfect. Every aspect of his apartment felt like him—from the guitars hanging from the wall to the pictures that hung up on his walls, everything had a piece of Beomgyu. It was a stark contrast to the heaviness of the outside world. Here, there were no shadows, no one to judge. Just you and Beomgyu in his little corner of the world.

Beomgyu gauged your reaction, his voice uncertain, “I know you’re used to fancier places than this. If you want to—”

“Beomgyu,” you interrupted softly, squeezing his hand gently in reassurance. “It’s perfect.”

He led you to his room and you felt even more overwhelmed—the feeling of home even more present. It dawned on you then that you never truly felt at home where you lived. It was a house, yes, but not a home. Beomgyu’s however? It was the ultimate definition of one. Despite his struggles, Beomgyu managed to make this place his—his home—his sanctuary.

Beomgyu’s presence soothed some of the noise in your head, but you couldn’t silence it completely. You were tangled in a web called your thoughts, the anxiety of the investigation, the mastermind behind it all, the weight of Taehyun’s confession and Dong-wook. It felt as though everything was spiralling, and you didn’t know how much longer you could hold everything inside.

“Here,” Beomgyu said softly, handing you a change of clothes, the soft fabric comforting against your skin. “Change into something comfortable,” he suggested.

You nodded silently, thankful to have that moment—a space to breathe. You slipped into the bathroom, slipping into Beomgyu’s clothes—his oversized shirt swallowing you whole—making you feel small, vulnerable. And the moment you stepped back into the bedroom, everything crashed in. The tears, the stress, everything you had been holding in broke free, hot and uncontrollable.

Beomgyu’s arms immediately wrapped around you, his warm touch comforting. “I’ve got you,” he whispered, “Just let it all out.” Your tears seemed to fall harder with his words; your breath shaky against Beomgyu’s chest as he held you a little tighter. 

He pressed a soft reassuring kiss on your temple as he pulled you into bed, holding you close as your tears slowly began to subside. “I know there’s so much more to you than you let on,” he said quietly, his voice filled with understanding. “I’m not asking you to tell me anything. I trust you. No matter what, I will always be here.”

Guilt gnawed at your bones—how much more were you going to be able to protect him? You knew your time was closing in, but this time, you couldn’t afford to make any mistakes.

“Look at me,” he murmured, his voice steady. “I love you. I don’t care what secrets you’re holding. None of that can change how I feel about you.”

He paused, his hand cupping your face tenderly as his thumb brushed over the curve of your jaw, grounding you. “Even if my body ceases to exist,” he confessed softly, "my soul will still be in love with you.” 

You knew love came in various ways—was expressed differently, but Beomgyu’s love was like no other. There was an indescribable fervour about it—one that felt like the sun’s warmth on a summer’s day, even during the darkest of days, his warmth wouldn’t be swayed.

You didn’t have the strength to speak; the weight of the last 8 months finally took a powerful hold on you. But in that moment—that night—you understood what his love was. His love wasn’t earned; it was given—wholeheartedly without question. In the end you realized you were wrong. Beomgyu wasn’t like the Garden of Eden, he was Boaz—like him, he loved you with patience and generosity, despite the secrets you kept hidden, he loved you without question. And you? You just had to wait and see if you were really like Judas after all.

Beomgyu listened to your breathing as it steadied, soft and rhythmic as you fell asleep. A feeling of tranquillity washed over him as he watched your features relax—the steady rise and fall of your chest, your tear-stained face softening in peace.

Beomgyu had noticed it all. He wasn’t blind to the truth. Your existence in Golgotha had always been strange—you lacked the selfishness that permeated that world. But the real giveaway? Your curiosity. No one from that world of the rich would spare a glance at the fighters; they were all just part of a performance. But you? You wanted to know too much—and that curiosity, Beomgyu knew, could be your downfall.

Still, he chose to ignore it—accepting the way you loved him, without hesitation, even if it was temporary.

He remembered that day, it wasn’t long after you had your first kiss—probably a few days later. You were in the parking lot with Taehyun—his voice sharp and unforgiving. Beomgyu had stood in the shadows, behind a wall, unable to tear his eyes or ears away. He knew it was wrong; he shouldn't have listened. But there was so much more to you than you were willing to share that Beomgyu just wanted to know.

And maybe, it was better not knowing. 

Because when Dong-wook’s name slipped past Taehyun’s lips, Beomgyu’s blood ran cold.

Dong-wook, the creator of their hell—the owner of Golgotha. He was a man shrouded in mystery; one they only ever spoke of in whispers. Beomgyu was told he disappeared after his last empire crumbled, only to resurface with something stronger—safer—it became Golgotha.

The real story behind its origin, Beomgyu never knew. What he did know was that the place transformed from an empire of trafficking to a sanctorum for the elite—a place filled with bloodshed and violence—a place—of performance. There was so much more to the eye than it seemed. On the surface, a place for the rich to lounge, but below?   

The darkness hadn’t disappeared—it transformed. Changing shape. Some fighters were bought, others stolen, some participated willingly and finally there were those like him, exploited, caught in schemes run by men like Kwang-soo, loyal stray dogs to a master that should’ve never returned.

Beomgyu remembered the way you stiffened against him months ago, dismissing your own behaviour, blaming it on tiredness. But when you stared at the corner with a fear that couldn’t be displaced, he knew there was more to it. And tonight was the true confirmation of your connection to Dong-wook. He had watched you at the bar, he saw the way the higher up approached you—a man not meant to be there. He saw the way you stiffened when he called you Dong-wook’s girl, correcting him, saying you were his—Beomgyu’s.

But the man knew. And from the way you faltered…he knew you did too. 

Even as you slept in his arms, Beomgyu’s thoughts kept spinning. He knew that somewhere between the folds of this story, there was a part you didn’t share—the part with Dong-wook. Beomgyu didn’t know the truth, not completely, and he wasn’t sure if he was ready to. Not now, not ever. 

“I love you,” he whispered, as he pressed a soft kiss on your forehead. “Whatever it is…I still do.”

And as he held you a little tighter that night, Beomgyu let himself believe that the fragile, borrowed peace was enough.

Act 4 || The Apostate’s Kiss 

They say patience is a virtue—ruled by the angels, the embodiment of divine order.  But you? You were no angel. And your patience? It had worn thin. 

Ten months.

It had been 310 long, excruciating days spent inside that sanctified hellhole. And quite frankly, you were over it. 

Beomgyu was the only thing that kept you grounded—your anchor among the chaos. Without him, you would’ve lost yourself a long time ago. 

Tonight, Golgotha felt different. There was a cold, eerie stillness in the air—unnatural for a place that fed on the patron’s energy. It was as if the walls were holding their breath, watching and waiting. You stood at the corner of the bar with Taehyun, savouring the comfort of his presence despite everything that took place between you.

“Madame,” a voice interrupted, drawing your attention. A man came up to you—the same one from before, his smile too wide, too knowing—a smile that created an anxious hole in your stomach. “Boss wants to meet you. I am meant to be your escort.” 

You and Taehyun exchanged a glance—yours was fear; his curiosity. “Go on,” he said quietly. “Just…be safe. I’ll let Beomgyu know where you went.”

You gave him a small nod before turning to the man who waited, his arms folded in front of him as he eyed you with intent. Without a word, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a blindfold.

Your stomach dropped. This can’t be happening. You looked at him in disbelief.

“You can’t be serious,” you said.

“It’s protocol,” he shrugged. “Boss doesn’t want guests remembering the way.” 

As the fabric slipped over your eyes, the darkness that encapsulated you felt uncomfortable. The warmth of Taehyun’s reassuring hand on your shoulder was replaced by the cold, iron grip of the escort, guiding you forward.

Two lefts. A right. Then a decent twenty steps down a hallway large enough to cause your heels to echo against the floor. You committed each turn, each footstep, to memory.

Finally, you’re pushed into a room on the left. You stumble inside and there’s silence. You hear footsteps approaching you slowly and your heart quickens—a part of you wishes it isn’t who you think it is, but a part of you knows you aren’t wrong.

The man’s cold hands caressed your arms, and it made your skin crawl, made you feel dirty. “Angel,” he said lowly as he removed the blindfold from your eyes. “It’s wonderful to see you again.” As your eyes adjusted to the bright light in the room you felt sick. Dong-wook. You expected this. But even then, it still felt surreal seeing him before you.

He looked the very same as he did all those years ago. 

“Dong-wook,” you said coldly. “It’s really you.”

Your fists clenched the moment he stepped closer. His calloused fingers cupping your chin with a firm, possessive grip.

“Still so sharp,” he whispered. “So full of life.”

You recoiled, pulling away. “Don’t touch me.” 

He chuckled, soft and maddening. “It’s funny. You would’ve begged for the opposite back then.” Then after a beat, “Glad to know the world hasn’t broken you yet. That’s the fire that I remember.”

“You’re not meant to be here,” you seethed, “how is this possible?”

He began to circle around you slowly, like a wolf with its prey. “Some parts of you are still so innocent,” he mused. “The world is run by money. It was easy to crawl back in.” His tone shifted. “As for Golgotha,” he said, casually brushing dust from his sleeve, “I started that seven years ago. Just another exploitation ring. Another profit.”

Then he faced you, the glint in his eye made your stomach twist.

“But then I met you.”

You froze.

“You were young, gorgeous and with a dream,” he said, his voice drenched in false compassion. “You were supposed to be nothing to me. Just another girl. Just another name to erase. To be stripped and sold.”

Your breath caught in your throat. You knew that was the truth, but it didn’t hurt any less coming from his mouth.

“And yet, you tempted me. Like the devil,” he whispered, “You were the devil, and I loved every minute of it.”

“I rebuilt Golgotha for you,” he said. “The symbolism, the velvet, the power, it wasn’t for the clients. It was for us. Your devil inspired me. This was meant to be our empire.”

“But then,” he said, his eyes cold, “you betrayed me.”

He sat in his chair, drumming his fingers on the armrest. There was a heavy silence between you until he chuckled lowly, almost amused with the memory that crossed his mind.

“She reminded me of you, you know. The last girl.”

You were going to throw up.

“She had your eyes. Same fire, same bite.” He shrugged, “Shame she fell so easily though. Tell me, did it haunt you? Her blood on your hands?”

Your knees felt weak, but you forced yourself to stand tall.

“Then, I brought you back myself.”

“The intel—” you choked out.

“ —was bait,” he finished for you, smug. “I’ve been watching you. And your boss? Easy to fool. It was easy to get you here.”

He tilted his head, looking at you with multiple layers of disgust. “But what I didn’t expect was him,” his words, soaked in venom. “Beomgyu.” You couldn’t respond—you couldn’t bring yourself to. The only thing running through your mind was he had been watching you.

“Disgusting,” he spat. “What can that low life give you? Money? Power?”

He stood, even more angry. “ I can give you an empire. All built in your name. What can he give you that I can't?!” he shouted.

“Love,” you said softly. “He gave me love, Dong-wook. All you fed me were obsessions and false beliefs.”

“I would’ve given you the world.”

“I didn’t want the world,” you said, voice steady. “I wanted to be seen. But you never saw me.”

His features hardened, “Let’s see how your little toy feels when his face hits the floor.”

Your expression faltered—and he smirked. 

“He’ll meet the same fate as the girl,” he said coldly, holding up a folded paper between his fingers. “This is the fight list,” he said simply. “And I choose his next opponent. One of mine. I’ll make sure he won’t come out of that ring alive.”

“Don’t,” you warned, but your voice broke.

Dong-wook rose from his seat, leaning into your face, his breath sour with power. “A divine sacrifice,” he whispered. “Now wouldn’t that be poetic?”

You tried to step back but he immediately gripped your wrist. “Unless…” his voice laced with faux tenderness, “You come back to me.” 

His other hand slowly wrapped around your throat. His cold fingers applied steady pressure. “Don’t make the same mistake twice, sweetheart.” His hand squeezed tighter, “Come back to me,” he whispered. “Be my queen.”

The world was spinning by the time you were shoved back into the main hallway, the blindfold once again covered your eyes, but now it was tighter—suffocating. You didn’t remember the turns again; you didn’t have the strength to. Even though your legs moved, your mind remained stuck there, trapped beneath Dong-wook’s gaze.

As the blindfold came off you saw Taehyun waiting for you, his eyes filled with worry.

“Hey,” he caught you before you could stumble. “Are you okay? What did their boss want with you?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. You scanned the room, the only person on your mind was—

“Beomgyu,” you called out, your voice panicked and uneven. He was talking with Soobin near the bar but turned at the sound of your voice.

“Love...” he said softly, “Are you okay? What did the big guy want?”

“When’s your next fight?” you asked breathlessly, grabbing onto his arm.

“What?”

“When…” your voice cracked. “When’s your next fight?”

“In three days,” he said confused, his eyes scanned yours with worry. “...Why? Baby, what’s going on?”

Your breath hitched. “Three days…” you mumbled to yourself, the bile rising in your throat. That wasn’t enough time. 

You let go of him, turning toward Taehyun, and held his wrist. “I need to talk to you. Now.”

Beomgyu called your name out, but you couldn’t look back. Not yet. Not until you found a way to save him.

  The cold burned—your skin was on fire and your lungs felt as if they were filled with water. You crouched on the floor as the walls of the world seemed to close in around you.

“Hey,” Taehyun called out, crouching in front of you. His voice felt as if it was underwater. “Hey. Focus on my voice. Follow my breathing.” You looked up at him, tears in your eyes as you tried to match your breathing with his.

“It’s okay,” he said softly, picking you up. “Now tell me, what’s going on?”

You gave yourself a moment, taking a deep breath and regulated your thoughts.

“He’s going to kill him, Taehyun,” you whispered. “If I don’t stay with him Beomgyu dies.”

“Who?” Taehyun asked, his jaw tightened.

“Dong-wook.”

His name burned on your tongue—as if you were being force fed poison and finally had the courage to spit it out.

Taehyun froze. His eyes widened at your words. “What?” he asked. “How?”

“Money passed,” you said. “He took the time and rebuilt Golgotha. He baited us with the intel. All so that he can get me back.”

You looked at him terrified.

“He wants me to be his queen, Tae. I can’t do it. I don’t know what we can do, I have to save Beomgyu, I—”

Taehyun pulled you into a hug. “Listen to me,” he said, wiping the tears that fell from your eyes.

“Let me handle it. Do one last recording for today and give me all of them. Notes, footage, everything. All of it.”

“What?” you blinked through your tears. “What are you going to do?”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got it. The less you know, the better.”

“But why?” you asked.

“I lost my love,” he smiled sadly. “I won’t let you lose yours too. I promise.”

Today was D-Day, and quite frankly, you were terrified. You’d spent the last 3 days at Beomgyu’s side, clinging like it might be the last. He noticed, of course—the way your hands lingered just a little longer, how your eyes memorised the curve of his smile each time you kissed him. Whenever he brought up that night, you brushed it off.

“Just a tough matchup,” you’d say, your smile not quite reaching your eyes. And each time, he chose to believe you—whether it was trust or fear, you weren’t sure.

Golgotha was more alive than you’d ever seen it—almost bursting at the seams. The atmosphere was buzzed with energy and the haze of drugs consumed by the patrons. Their laughter silky rich, thick with anticipation for the night ahead. You knew the turnout was probably Dong-wook’s doing, a grand finale of sorts.

And maybe that was the most unsettling part—just the sheer number of powerful faces crowding the room, eyes eager on the altar for Dong-wook’s sacrifice.

“Heard Dong-wook is making an appearance tonight,” Taehyun muttered beside you, loud enough for only you to hear. “He’s really going all out for this.”

The only thing that was on your mind was Beomgyu—his eyes, his nose, his lips—his everything. You wanted to see him; you needed to see him. You didn’t know how this night was going to end, you just hoped Taehyun’s plan worked out after all.

“Hey sweetheart,” a voice called out to you. 

Yeonjun. 

You turned your expression neutral. “Yeonjun,” you said politely, “What can I do for you?”

“Still in love with Beomgyu?” he asked, smirking. “I’ll give you one last chance.”

Your eyes narrowed, “What are you going on about?”

He let out a soft laugh, “Back when I asked you to sponsor me. That was your chance.” Then he leaned in just enough for his breath to brush your ear. “Shame you chose the wrong side, and I always liked you too.”

He stepped back, smiling coldly. “But you chose the stray dog. And now I’m tasked with putting him down.”

You frowned, “You work under Dong-wook?”

Yeonjun’s eyes twinkled with amusement at your realization, “Last chance, sweetheart. Make things right.”

Your blood ran cold, “Fuck off Yeonjun.”

His smile dropped slightly, his eyes softened with something that didn’t quite look like pity, “See you at the altar, angel.”

You pushed through the crowd, trying your best to ignore Yeonjun’s words—but with each step the weight of them lingered. You really hoped that tonight didn’t end in bloodshed.

Beomgyu stood near the stage, the light casting a soft ethereal glow on him. His hair was slightly damp from his warm-up, his eyes lighting up the moment they found yours. And his smile—soft and warm—but this time, it broke you.

“Love,” he said, kissing you tenderly. “I’m so glad to see you.”

You couldn’t form the words to respond—not when he looked at you like that, not when you thought this would be your last. Your fingers brushed against the apples of his cheeks, savouring the warmth of his skin before pulling him into another kiss.

“Hey,” he whispered. “What’s gotten into you? You aren’t one to display affection like that.”

“Beomgyu,” you hesitated, “I need to tell you something.”

“Let’s talk later, okay?” he smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you too.”

“But Beomgyu, Yeonjun, he—”

“You tried to scare me these last few days!” he laughed, shaking his head. “I fought him before, babe. It’ll be fine.”

You shook your head desperately, but he didn’t pay you any mind.

“After this victory,” he said, "I'm treating you to dinner. Just you and me.”

He rested his forehead against yours, his voice soft, as he gazed into your eyes lovingly. “I love you,” he whispered as he kissed you again.

And for the first time, it didn’t feel like a gift-wrapped promise. It felt like an agonizing goodbye. 

The gong rang once causing the atmosphere of Golgotha to shift—becoming colder as the host stepped forward. The crowd fell into hushed reverence, anxiously waiting for the commencement of the night’s event.

“Ladies and Gentlemen.” the host began, his voice smooth. “Tonight, we are blessed with the presence of The Anointed. He will deliver the greeting.” 

As the host stepped aside, Dong-wook emerged, cloaked in dark crimson and black, his garments resembling a cassock warped by sin. His presence was domineering, magnetic—like a false god entering a temple. 

“Dominus vobiscum,” he intoned, his voice deep and chilling.

The Lord be with you. What an odd way to begin a greeting, you thought.

The crowd answered as one, “Et cum spiritu tuo,” the response echoed through the room.

And with your spirit. Your skin crawled at the twisted devotion. The theatrics of it all were too much.

“We all have gathered here for the Final Act,” he declared, his eyes sweeping the room before settling on you, staring at your soul. “Their last performance reached into your depths—so a final act has been summoned.”

He smirked at you from the stage, the knowing glint in his eyes. “Let us bear witness to a divine sacrifice.” 

He turned his gaze to Beomgyu and Yeonjun before continuing, “Upon this altar, one of these men shall rise as the Redeemer—” 

A deliberate pause.

“ —and the other shall fall as the Sacrificial Lamb. 

He outstretched his arms to the crowd like a preacher. “A lovely performance is among us.”

The gong rang a second time—feeling its vibration deep in your bones as the host and Dong-wook stepped back, marking the beginning of the final act.

Beomgyu stood across from Yeonjun, body taut with confidence and an unparalleled focus. He moved with precision and accuracy, an animalistic glint in his eyes as the patrons watched in anticipation. The tension was thick—it left you holding your breath, each movement in the ring made your heart race.

You felt horrible as you watched helplessly, anxiety taking over. Taehyun placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder and for once it did nothing to quell your worries. Yeonjun’s ribs cracked under the impact of Beomgyu’s fist—a breathless, painful gasp escaped him as he staggered back, steadying himself for an attack.

The punch seemed to awaken something in Yeonjun as his eyes flashed with something darker—terrifying. Beomgyu’s gaze met yours for the briefest of moments, his lips moved with a familiar movement. “I love you,” he mouthed before he launched himself at Yeonjun again. Yeonjun’s speed increased, terrifyingly so as he dodged Beomgyu’s attacks—a speed that caught Beomgyu off guard. There was no stopping them, and that made you feel worse—knowing Beomgyu’s fate was sealed and there was nothing you could do about it.

“Beomgyu,” you whispered his name like a hushed prayer, hoping to a God that was already dead. His chest rose and fell with a rhythm, his cheek slightly bruised from a punch Yeonjun landed on him as he tried to gain his balance. Yeonjun knew no remorse—striking again, but this time he reached into his pocket, a faint glint of steel caught your eye. A flash of silver. A knife.

You couldn't shout, couldn't scream, couldn't warn your love of the consequences he was about to reap. And it was as if time stood still—only the sickening sound of the blade piercing Beomgyu’s side was heard. Beomgyu staggered back, his hands instinctively clutching his side as blood seeped through his clothes, staining the white fabric of his shirt. He faltered as his faced etched in pain and surprise.

 The patrons gasped in surprise, watching in awe as his blood slowly dripped to the floor. And Yeonjun had a crazed look in his eyes—a deranged smile as he got closer to Beomgyu.

“No,” you whispered, pushing forward, only to be stopped by Taehyun’s firm grip on your arm.

“Not yet,” Taehyun warned. His eyes were locked on Beomgyu, “It’s not over.” His voice was calm, too calm, as if he knew something you didn’t.

 You heard him murmur something under his breath—barely audible to you, but your mind was too cloudy to make out the words.

Just as Yeonjun prepared to strike again, a deafening crash resounded—the door of Golgotha slammed open and the SMPA stormed in. The patrons gasped, some screamed, and others tried to escape in fear, but it was no use, the SMPA had already blocked all possible exits.

“This is the SMPA! Everyone in this room is under arrest. You are all under suspicion of partaking in illegal activity. Please comply with the authorities.”

You didn’t pay attention to the officer’s words after that—forcing yourself out of Taehyun’s grip and rushing to Beomgyu’s side, kneeling beside him, one hand trembling as you cupped his face and the other desperately placing pressure on the wound.

“Beomgyu,” you whispered as tears streamed down your face, “please, stay with me.”

He chuckled painfully, “No wonder you were worried. It’s as if you had a prenotion of what was about to happen.”

“You shouldn’t talk,” you sobbed. “Just focus on your breathing.”

“I love you,” he breathed in painfully. “So much. More than you’ll ever know.”

The ground beneath you trembled as more SMPA officers descended making their way to the stage. One of them moved toward Yeonjun and cuffed him in one fluid motion, another advancing on Beomgyu. You tried to hold onto him helplessly as they pulled you away.

“Please,” you begged, desperation thick in your voice. “Please help him…” 

But the officers didn’t hear you. All that remained was the weight of the cuffs, their cold steel biting into your wrists—a suffocating sense of agony was all that persisted.

This was Golgotha. A place where salvation was never meant to exist.

The office was cold, at least that’s what Taehyun’s mind told him—perhaps it was playing tricks on him. Laid across the table was a recorder—your recorder, your footage—everything. All the work you did for the past 310 days, everything that led him there.

Taehyun subconsciously held your recorder in his hand, brushing his finger along the edges, hoping it would bring you closer to him. The weight of the situation had finally dawned on him with your past rearing its ugly head, Taehyun knew that everything he was doing right now was for you. 

Every cell in his body screamed—screamed that this was the only way for you to truly put that part of you behind closed doors. And even though you’d never love him in the end, Taehyun didn’t mind because your presence taught him how to love, and for now, that was enough. 

The door behind him creaked open, pulling him from his thoughts—Kai, a long-time friend and seasoned tactical officer of the SMPA entered. Kai’s reputation for leading high-risk operations preceded him. A selfish thought crossed Taehyun’s mind; had Kai been involved in Dong-wook’s takedown years ago maybe things would’ve been different, maybe you wouldn’t have met Beomgyu and maybe you would've—

No. Taehyun shook the thought away. There were just some things that were just not meant to be.

Kai smiled at Taehyun for a moment before his face turned serious as a wooden judge. “Taehyun, you ready?” he asked.

Taehyun glanced up, locking eyes with him before nodding with assurance. “Let’s do this.”

It felt like an eternity, sifting through evidence, listening to your voice echo off the walls of the room before it finally dawned on them. There was no safe way out of this.

“We can’t use any of the evidence,” Kai sighed frustratedly, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not that I don’t want to, but you didn’t have authorization to gather it. It’s inadmissible in court.”

Taehyun rubbed his temples, feeling a headache creeping in.

“Sorry man,” Kai continued. “Even if I wanted to, Dong-wook’s attorney would almost exercise the exclusionary rule. You know how this works. I don't want us or the team to face legal consequences for using evidence that was technically illegally obtained.”

Taehyun’s shoulders sagged as he huffed in irritation. The evidence you worked so hard for—now rendered useless in a matter of seconds.

“Then what the hell can we do?” Taehyun asked with a bite in his voice.

Kai looked him in the eye for a moment. “I know this isn't ideal, but Beomgyu has to get attacked before we can invade.”

Taehyun's heart dropped. “Is there really no other way?”

Kai shook his head, “I know it’s brutal but without legal evidence, this is the only option. But we can give you a discreet earpiece. The moment Beomgyu is stabbed, you give us the go-ahead. You’re our eyes. You’ll signal us once the moment comes.”

Taehyun didn’t speak for a moment—his mind wandered to you, knowing the way you’ll protest at the idea, begging them to find an alternative way.

Kai nodded then said your name softly. “What about her, why isn’t she here to hear the plan? She was a big part of this too.”

“She doesn’t need to know,” Taehyun said quickly—too quickly. “We thought it was best for her to not be involved. To make the entire thing more believable, at least.”

Kai's eyes narrowed at Taehyun, “You weren’t even sure what was going to be done, Taehyun.” Kai continued after a beat. “She’s not emotionally compromised, right? She isn’t involved with Beomgyu or worse, Yeonjun, right?”

Taehyun dismissed it quickly, though his voice lacked the usual confidence. “No, we’re good. We’re just being extra careful. The last incident with Dong-wook is still fresh in her mind—especially with his involvement in this as well.”

Kai hesitated, eyeing Taehyun closely. Then after a long beat, he nodded slowly, “If you say so. But Taehyun, listen to me, if things go south, you need to be sure she’s safe.”

“Always.”

Kai stared at him for a moment longer before leaving the room and returning moments later with the earpiece. It felt heavy— the weight of responsibility in Taehyun’s hand.

“We have one chance at this,” Kai said seriously. “Let’s not mess this up.”

The world felt unreal. 

Looking back at the life you lead, you never thought you'd be here in this moment—handcuffs biting into your wrist, adrenaline surging with nothing but pure agony. As the officer began dragging you away, Taehyun stepped forward, his voice too calm for the moment at hand. 

“Officer, she’s with me.”

 The officer asked, surprised. “Oh, you’re the partner they mentioned?” He unlocked your cuffs without hesitation. “Sorry about that! Your acting was good, you seemed genuinely distraught. You rubbed your wrists, but relief never came. Acting? You thought, confusion clouding your mind.

“Uh…thanks?” your voice shaky as you struggled to stay focused.

Then the officer who detained Beomgyu approached. 

The sight of him stole a breath from your lungs—pale, bleeding—his breath ragged as he barely held himself upright.

“Do you know this man, ma’am?” the officer asked, his gaze locking onto you. 

You didn’t know what to do. Admit to knowing and possibly be charged with failure to report a crime or deny the allegation and pretend you didn't know him at all? All the possibilities ran through your head and unfortunately, fear won.

“I…I don’t,” you hesitated, a lump forming in your throat.

The officer’s gaze shifted between you and Beomgyu, a flicker of suspicion crossing his face. “You don’t know him?” he asked again, his voice sharp, as if he was waiting for your admittance.

“No,” you said, blinking back tears. “I don’t.”

“Are you absolutely certain?” he challenged.

“Yes,” you said, sharper this time, glaring at him. “I was just part of the investigating team with Taehyun. I have nothing to do with him. You’re doing nothing but delaying the help he needs. He’s bleeding. Hurry up.” 

The officer seemed taken aback by your forceful tone, but after a brief pause, he nodded. “Very well.”

The moment the thirst denial slipped from your lips, your ears rang—the ringing—sharp and unforgiving. The sound was deafening, ruthless, a relentless force you couldn't escape. Beomgyu’s eyes were the only thing carved into your mind—dark and wounded—your denial cutting deeper than the blood spilling from his wound.

All this time, you believed you were suppressing the Judas within you—avoiding betrayal for thirty measly pieces of silver. But you were never him. No, you were Peter—denying him to protect yourself—denying your love when he needed you most. 

And now, in the wake of your lie, you weren't sure if that made you a coward or a traitor.

Dong-wook’s voice shattered the silence.

“All that for a fucking stray dog?” he snarled, his body thrashing against the officers that held him back. His voice was venom itself and his eyes burned into you, full of scorn—hatred.

He let out a laugh, bitter and full of disbelief. “I can’t believe you did this shit again. Really?” You didn’t respond—you couldn’t. 

“I hope your fucking dog bleeds to death,” he spat. “I should’ve killed you. I hope you fucking bleed out too. It’s what you deserve.”

Everything felt as if it was crashing down on you—his words chipping away at the last bits of sanity you had left. The guilt you felt didn’t suffocate you; it consumed you, his words echoing louder the further he was dragged away.

Bleed. Bleed out. Just like you deserve.

“Hey,” Taehyun’s voice broke through the haze. His expression softened, but the concern in his eyes lingered, “You okay?”

You looked at him, tears welling in your eyes. “Okay?” your voice cracked, hoarse and raw. “Beomgyu was stabbed, Taehyun. Of course, I’m not okay.”

Slowly, the crowd in Golgotha dissipated but the tension still hung heavy in the air. You should be happy with the way things turned out to be, but as you remember the way his breath slipped through your fingertips all that remained was the hollow echo of the man you loved most. You followed Taehyun without thinking—legs heavy and mind numb—every step felt like you were being dragged further into the abyss of unforgiveness.

“Hey, Taehyun!” a voice called out. Without a word, Taehyun took off a sleek, discreet earpiece and handed it to the man. 

“Here,” Taehyun said smoothly, “Thanks for all the help, Kai. I really appreciate it.”

Kai accepted the earpiece with a slight nod. “It’s not a problem,” he replied, his tone light. “I’m just glad the entire operation went smoothly.”

He turned his gaze to you, his eyes softening with a quiet understanding. “Good job out there,” Kai said, his voice warm. “And thank you for all the evidence you gathered. We can’t use it legally, but our team can get a warrant to bring in proper evidence. You’ve done enough. Get some rest.”

You nodded, but the words felt distant—hollow. No part of you believed you were deserving of any praise. Not when you failed and let go of the man who needed you most. “Will he be okay?” you managed to ask.

Kai looked at you, his expression heavy with pity. “He’ll be okay,” his voice steady. “ I’ll make sure of it.”

The cold air seemed to be the only thing that gave you some semblance of feeling that evening as you left Golgotha. Standing in the car park one last time felt surreal—surreal knowing that this was the end of everything.

“I'm sorry,” Taehyun whispered. “There was no other way to save him.”

“You could’ve still told me, Taehyun,” you whispered. “I may be emotionally involved but I’m not fucking stupid.”

You wanted to scream—cry—to shake him until he understood the pain that blossomed in your chest. But nothing you would've done would change anything. And that was the shittiest part.

“I think he should've known. At least then he could've minimized the damage.”

“I just wanted to protect you,” Taehyun said softly.

“And I just wanted to protect Beomgyu,” you snapped, your voice trembling with anger and hurt. “ I guess we both didn’t get what we wanted.”

Taehyun opened his mouth as if to say something, anything to ease the tension between you, but the words never came. You didn’t want his words—not when you were so torn, conflicted.

“God…” you whispered, “I’m such a fucking coward.” The admission stung but you made your choice. Denying knowing Beomgyu, a truth that hit you in the gut.

“Hey…” Taehyun said softly. “You’re human. That fear you felt? It’s valid. This is law enforcement we’re dealing with. You have to protect yourself too.”

You shook your head, swallowing the lump in your throat. “You saw his face when I said it, Taehyun. I can’t help but hate myself for being the cause of that look. He was so broken.”

Taehyun remained silent for a moment before his lips parted again. 

“Then, hate me.”

You blinked, confused. “What?” you whispered, “Why would you want me to hate you?”

“Because despite your relationship with Beomgyu. I still selfishly love you,” he admitted. “And that's all I have left to offer you. Hate me, if it helps you. Get the feelings out. You need to keep yourself together, for you, for Beomgyu. As much as I hate to admit it, that’s the only thing I can give you now.”

No matter how angry you felt, you couldn’t bring yourself to hate Taehyun—not when he loved you so unconditionally, even without reciprocation. The weight of everything still crushed you, but in that moment something small shifted inside you. You couldn't afford to let yourself get back in this space, not for you, not for Beomgyu. The hollow space that was once your heart was filled with hope—hope for Beomgyu, that he could forgive you despite everything. Any maybe, just maybe there was some hope that you could forgive yourself too.    

Act 5 || The Weight of Tomorrow

Beomgyu had lost track of how many weeks had passed, each day bled into the next, forming a never-ending loop. The sterile beige walls of the detention centre were all he saw—blank, lifeless, monotonous— and if that didn’t send him mad, then he would himself. The physical pain after the surgery had long since faded, instead replaced by something far worse—a gnawing emptiness in his chest that refused to go away. That was the real torment, and it was you.

You were the only thing on his mind, were you okay? Were you happy? And the most important one, were you safe? 

The nights were the worst part—that’s when your voice got louder, echoing in the back of his mind, sweet and sharp like a blade. It was haunting. Too many times Beomgyu lay awake staring at the ceiling, counting the cracks in the plaster, wondering if you were sleeping soundly or if you were haunted like him.

Despite everything that happened, there was no way Beomgyu could have hated you—sure, he was disappointed with the way things turned out and yes you lied about your identity, but that didn't change the fact that you were the same person he loved. Beomgyu knew he could never stop loving you, regardless of what Soobin told him when he visited—his love for you was a boundless ocean and he just hoped that your love was the same for him.

He was sitting in the visitor’s room now, confused. Soobin wasn't supposed to visit for a few more days and Beomgyu had no one else—well, except you. And you know how that story goes.

“Beomgyu,”  Taehyun’s cold voice said as he entered. He didn’t sit, opting instead to stand rigidly by the glass separator, barely sparing him a glance.

Beomgyu’s brows furrowed, “Taehyun? What are you doing here?”

Taehyun looked around the small room in disgust, almost as if it had offended him to be there. He shifted his weight, clearly uncomfortable. “This place doesn’t suit you,” he muttered, avoiding Beomgyu’s gaze. “But I guess Golgotha didn’t either.”

Beomgyu blinked. Unsure if his words were laced with sympathy… or just pity.

Taehyun cleared his throat. “We got you a lawyer. A good one. They got your case pushed forward. The hearing’s next week, so if you get lucky you might get out soon.”

Beomgyu’s heart raced. The news was great, but something still gnawed at him, something far more urgent—you. Where were you? Why weren’t you here? Were you afraid? Or worse, did you no longer love him? The uncertainty clawed at his insides.

“I— I mean, that's great. Thank you, Taehyun,” Beomgyu said, his voice shaky. But a more important question burned at his lips. “But you don’t exactly like me. So why are you doing this… and what about—”

“This isn’t out of my own goodwill,” he interrupted coldly, folding his arms across his chest. His eyes softened subtly before he said your name only in a way love can. “She’s the one who made me come tell you about the lawyer. That, and well, she doesn’t want to see you.”

Beomgyu’s breath caught in his throat. “...What?”

Taehyun’s gaze softened briefly before the walls were put up once more. “It’s not because she hates you. She just…thinks you hate her after everything. Thinks you’re better off without her.”

“No,” Beomgyu whispered, his hand hitting the glass separator.  She thinks I hate her?” 

His voice cracked. “I don’t. God, even if I tried, I couldn’t. She's the air I breathe. Please, Taehyun. I need to see her. I can’t live without her,” he begged, desperate.

Taehyun’s expression flickered for a moment, as if he wanted to say something but he closed his mouth without muttering another word. Slowly making his way toward the door, his pace slow and deliberate.

“Please,” Beomgyu said softer, his voice barely a whisper as he tried to grip the glass. “Tell her I still love her. I don't care about what happened. I just need her here.”

Taehyun’s gaze flickered to him for a split second, his eyes unreadable, “...I’ll see what I can do. But I can’t make any promises.”

“Thank you,” Beomgyu said, his voice was low but sincere.

Taehyun hesitated just before leaving, his back still turned. “I’m not doing this for you,” Taehyun said flatly, his voice colder than before. “I’m doing this because I know she can’t live without you.”

Beomgyu’s chest tightened, the weight of Taehyun’s words sinking deep. As Taehyun left, Beomgyu sank into the chair, the emptiness in his chest was a little heavier now. He closed his eyes, his breath shallow as he prayed—prayed to a God that he didn’t believe in that you would come back. Even if it would be the last time, he prayed for you to come back.

The drive to the detention center felt like a blur—the anxiety gnawed at your insides, eating you alive as your hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles turning white from the tension. It had been over a month since you last saw Beomgyu, and his face from that day seemed to be the only thing that replayed.

You hated the way the nightmare played out the same every single time. The two of you were in his bed, sharing a moment before the world collapsed and you were transported back to Golgotha. The way his face warped with hurt and pain as the denial rushed past your lips was forever engraved in your mind as if it were a branding.

Then you fall. And it seems endless, the deep kind—the one that makes your legs feel like jelly. That is until you land in a pool of blood—his and hers—mixed. The last thing that always haunts you is Dong-wook’s voice, cold and merciless, so full of hate. 

Bleed. It's what you deserve. 

Then you wake up—sobbing, drenched in sweat, praying to a God that was already dead to end the torment, to end the pain.

You barely remembered the check-in process, only recalling the way your hands trembled as you signed the visitor’s log and handed over your ID—ignoring the way officers looked at you with either pity or disgust almost as if you were a criminal yourself.

Each second you waited felt like an eternity, the ticking of the clock slowly being your painful demise. So many questions ran through your mind; Did he hate you? Was he okay? Would he even still love you, the real you? Your fingers tightened around your wrist as you fought the urge to run—to act as if you weren't there in the first place.

“Visitor for Choi Beomgyu, you’re up.”

Your heart dropped as you followed the officer—feeling more vulnerable with each step you took. The closer you were, the tighter your chest became. You nearly turned around twice but your feet were adamant, dragging you forward as if it knew something your brain didn’t. 

The grip of your fingers hurt. Beomgyu was finally going to see the real you. There was nothing to hide behind now. Not here, not anywhere. This was no longer Golgotha.

“You have 30 minutes,” the officer said coldly. “Make the most of it.”

You swallowed hard, nodding without a word, your heart stopping as your eyes met his. Behind the thick glass partition, he was still him—still your Beomgyu. He was thinner than you remembered, his features more drawn but his eyes—those warm eyes of his remained the same, so full of love, everything you could have dreamt of.

“Beomgyu…” you whispered, your throat tightening at the mere sound of his name.

His eyes glistened slightly as he watched you, “Baby…” he said softly. “You came.” He leaned forward, his hand resting on the glass as he tried to get close to you. 

The nickname simultaneously wounded and soothed your heart, all at the same time.

“What happened?” he asked. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Tears welled in your eyes before you could even stop them, your heart breaking for the man you still loved so much. “I wanted to,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “ I really did, but I didn’t know what to do. And Taehyun…he was the one who had the entire plan. I’m sorry.”

“I just wished he decided to cooperate with me,” he sighed. “Would’ve made things easier.”

“I’m sorry,” you said softly, “I’m sorry I denied knowing you. I was scared and I didn’t know what to do.”

Beomgyu's eyes softened, “It’s okay. It hurt at first, but I get why you did it. You were scared and you’re human. It’s your default that you protect yourself.”

“Still,” you cried softly, “I still lied to you, Beomgyu. I betrayed you.”

“Love isn’t always perfect,” he said quietly. “It’s about being real and despite everything you were always real with me. I don’t care about the mask you wore. I care about who you are underneath it all.”

You bit your lip, fighting the urge to break down completely. “I never meant to hurt you. I truly just wanted to keep you safe.”

“And you did,” Beomgyu reassured. “This is just a tiny detour and that's okay. I just need you to know that I still love you, all of you.”

The anxiety, the guilt, the fear; still lingered, but something began to take root inside you—a tiny, fragile seed of hope. Seeing the way Beomgyu remained unchanged, loving you the very same made all the difference.

Your eyes flicked at the timer. Ten minutes. 

“We don’t have much time left,” Beomgyu said softly before he smiled a bit wider. “Hi, my name’s Beomgyu, I was an underground boxer and I’m desperately in love with you.”

You laughed softly, wiping away your tears, the sound a mix of relief and disbelief. You said your name softly. “I’m an investigative journalist and I’m desperately in love with you too.”

And for the first time in weeks, you felt like you could finally breathe again.

  The detention center had become your new normal. Every week, you went through the same process, signing in, waiting, and then walking down the cold corridor to the visiting room. Each time you saw Beomgyu, you slowly got to know each other again—not some persona, just raw, genuine persons in love with one another. 

Some days were quiet, filled with tear-stained faces and heartfelt apologies. Others, laughter, to the point where the officer complained about it being a disturbance. You talked about your dreams, your bad habits—you without various masks on, the you behind closed doors.

Sometimes Soobin accompanied you after Beomgyu mentioned your visits. At first, he wasn’t keen on the idea, your persona in Golgotha was still fresh in his mind. But as the weeks passed, he saw the real you, and eventually a tiny friendship formed. It was still awkward—no surprise there—but you were both trying. And for now, that was enough.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence one afternoon, your voice broke the stillness, sounding more serious than usual. “You know I can’t act as a witness for you against Kwang-soo right?” you said quietly, meeting his gaze.

Beomgyu blinked, confusion flickering across his face. “What? Why?” 

“Because it can be used against you in court since she’s too emotionally involved with you,” Soobin interjected beside you. “Kwang-soo’s lawyer will destroy any credibility she has in court. Will just make things worse for you.”

You nodded. “He’s right,” you said. “Sorry, I can’t do more, Gyu.”

“It’s no big deal.” Beomgyu’s brows furrowed. “But what about Dong-wook?” his tone serious. He hesitated for a moment before continuing. “Are you going to testify against him? Considering the intricacies of your past relationship, would it still be considered biased… but in a negative way?”

You winced at the question, your heart raced as you remembered your last interaction with him. “Yeah,” you said dejectedly, rubbing your temples. “I don’t have a choice then though.” You ran your hand through your hair, trying to push the thoughts of him aside. “There was never a court ruling for the last incident with him and someone has to testify on behalf of the girls. None of them want to, they’re too afraid.”

“That’s nice of you though,” Soobin said, gazing at you. “To fight for them even though it makes it disadvantageous for you.”

“It’s the least I can do for them.”

You felt the weight of your decision settling over you as the days passed—nerves gnawing at you as the court date loomed over you like a shadow. It wasn’t the thought of facing Dong-wook again that terrified you—it was the sheer weight of his influence, the way he had always been able to hurt so many people and get away with it.

The trial day arrived quicker than you had imagined, and honestly, most of it felt like a blur. You didn’t say it out loud, but the idea of being in the same room as Dong-wook again made you sick. His voice never stopped echoing in your nightmares, angry and bitter at your final decisions. As much as you hated to admit it, he still owned a small part of you—the part once manipulated by the words, the part that once believed he could be saved.

But now, you only wanted closure. You wanted peace.

You had rehearsed your lines, packed the certified documents Kai gave you to testify—photos, phone records, everything that tied him directly to all his underground operations. You were prepared to refute every claim yet some part of you wasn’t ready for the way Dong-wook’s cold eyes would follow you.

Outside the courthouse was swarmed with the press and fans, eagerly waiting for the verdict. Inside, the air was thick—a suffocating coldness prevailed filled with a mix of individuals; those who loved Dong-wook and others who hated him. You were thankful that amidst the nervousness eating away at you, Taehyun and Soobin had accompanied you, their presence being the silent support you needed.

You barely remembered testifying. The moment you entered the witness stand, your responses were automatic, as though your body had gone into autopilot, recounting every painful detail and presenting all the evidence. No matter how much his lawyer tried to strike you down and refute your claims, it was no use. You didn't back down and the truth was out, and Dong-wook would finally get the treatment he deserved.

“The verdict has been determined,” the judge’s cold voice rang out, slicing through the tense silence. “Lee Dong-wook, you have been found guilty on charges of murder to the second degree, sex trafficking, exploitation, and racketeering. You are hereby sentenced to life in prison on all counts.”

You couldn't remember exactly what happened afterward—only the sensation of Taehyun and Soobin enveloping you in a tight hug, their warmth a stark contrast to the coldness you felt inside. But the only thing that clung to your mind were the last words Dong-wook had whispered to you.

“It’s not over,” he had said, his voice icy with hatred. “Don’t underestimate my influence. I hope that stray dog can protect you.”

The court case might have been over, but the battle wasn’t completely won. You had fought for the girls, exposed the truth, and for now, justice was served. Now you had to try your best to leave Dong-wook’s influence on you in the past, to keep that door shut and locked—no matter how many times his words crept up on you. You finally had the time to focus on you.

The courtroom’s heavy silence hung in the air long after Dong-wook was led out, but your thoughts were already shifting. The fight wasn’t over yet. Not by a long shot. Beomgyu’s trial was next and while his circumstances were far different, you still held onto the hope that somehow justice would be served.

Like Dong-wook’s hearing, there was a vast amount of media coverage for Beomgyu’s. Thanks to your article Golgotha: Life From An Outsider’s Eyes, Beomgyu had the public’s sympathy on his side—the abused fighter rather than the criminal mastermind. He was no longer seen as a ruthless participant, but now a boy who just wanted to make a living. You just hoped that your words would be able to make a difference.

You watched the judge—her expression unreadable as she shifted through the last pages of her ruling. Despite the murmurs and the shuffle of papers filling the space around you—everything felt still, quiet. Beomgyu was beside you, his warmth doing little to ease your comfort. The silence was deafening. His hand tightened around yours and your heart raced.

“The verdict is in.”

This was it—this was either going to be the beginning or the end.

“Choi Beomgyu, while your involvement in the underground operations was undeniable, the court acknowledges the circumstances of your exploitation under Park Kwang-soo. Due to the overwhelming evidence of coercion, the public’s support, and your efforts to minimize illegal involvements given your condition, you are hereby sentenced to one year of probation and community service with counselling.”

Relief crashed into you like a tsunami, drowning out the noise of the courtroom around you. For a moment, everything felt distant—the people, the cameras, the world beyond this room—it all faded away leaving just you and Beomgyu. His eyes were wide and they met yours, his face frozen as if he hadn’t quite processed the news.

He was free. 

Free to live the life he deserved, without the looming shadow of the ring, without anyone pulling at his strings. Just free.

Before anyone could speak, Beomgyu turned to you, his face softening into an expression of pure gratitude and love. He didn’t wait—he couldn’t—with a tenderness that made your heart race, he cupped your face gently and with the weight of everything finally lifting off his shoulders, he kissed you, right there in front of everyone.

The world faded back in with the clattering of the judge’s gravel as she moved on to Kwang-soo’s verdict, but you no longer cared. There was no more pain, no more uncertainty.

“Thank you,” he whispered as he pulled back, his voice thick with emotion. “For loving and believing in me.”

It wasn’t just a kiss of celebration—it was a kiss of freedom—a testament to everything you had been through, everything you had fought for. A kiss to seal the end of one chapter and the start of another. Finally, the future was yours to shape—together.

Who knew a year would pass by so fast when you’re in love? Days that were once heavy with guilt and dread had now transformed into something brighter, sturdier—real.

Beomgyu was no longer bound by probation and was free of the chains of Golgotha. He had successfully built a new life for himself—one rooted in hope and purpose. His new boxing ring and gym gained a lot of traction from the youth and became a dedicated space to teach kids the proper ways to defend themselves—to become strong and resilient in a world that tried to tear them down. Beomgyu’s success was undeniable, creating the sanctuary he had always dreamed of.

You followed a similar path, deciding to step away from the world of investigative journalism to pursue a quiet, simpler life—one offering a different kind of thrill for you to experience. Your cafe strived alongside Beomgyu’s gym, and the popularity of your story was still present to this day. The cafe and gym became a cornerstone of the neighbourhood—your personal testament to growth.

Together you moved in—not into a house, but a home—one filled with different aspects of yourselves, creating a safe haven of happiness and bliss, one you enjoyed together. Taehyun and Soobin always spent time with you too—your friendship with Taehyun had been restored and your friendship with Soobin managed to blossom even more.

As the last customers trickled out of the cafe that evening, the scent of fresh coffee still lingered in the air as you cleaned up. You glanced over at Beomgyu who came in moments before, his gaze unwavering as he made slow, deliberate movements towards you. You wiped your hands on your clothes, your heart full with the typical giddiness Bromgyu’s presence had on you.

“I’ve been thinking,” Beomgyu started, his voice cutting through the comfortable silence.

Your eyes shone with mischief. “About what? It’s dangerous when you think.” You teased.

Beomgyu smiled at you gently before his face turned serious. “About us, what we’ve been through. I’ve made my mistakes and you’ve made yours.” He continued, stepping closer to you until there was no space left between you, “But I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life than I am now, in this moment.”

The tenderness of his words washed over you as nervousness of what may be happening crept up on you.

“I can only see my future with you. Not just today or tomorrow, but forever. So…” He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small velvet box. You froze and he dropped to one knee, holding your hand as your breath caught in your throat. “My soul had become bound with yours. Will you marry me?”

The box flipped open revealing a simple yet elegant silver band, the diamond catching the light from the cafe. You couldn't believe that this was happening. The man who had fought for his freedom, who had rebuilt himself, the man who loved you despite it all wanted to build a future with you. Your eyes swam with tears—those of disbelief, those of joy, those of relief.

“You don’t have to ask,” you whispered, your voice heavy with emotion. “Of course, Beomgyu. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

He grinned, relief flooding his features as he stood up, carefully sliding the ring onto your finger. His hands shook just slightly, this one gesture changing everything for you both. “I can’t wait for this new chapter to start with you,” he whispered, the tremor present in his voice. “This is for us and our new future together.”

You smiled through your tears and he kissed you, thankful that all the pain was worth it. You both knew that this new journey wouldn’t always be easy, but together you would conquer the challenges life would inevitably throw at you.

As you gazed at the new ring on your finger, you were reminded of his promise. The ring wasn’t just a symbol of your love—it was a symbol of everything you had overcome. A promise of what was to come, a future that belonged to you.  It represented the start of a new journey, another chapter in your story.

And for the first time, you were no longer Peter, Judas, or even Eve—you were just you. And you were exactly where you wanted to be.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✦ adeline's ending ✉︎ 𖹭.ᐟ - If you've made it to the end, thank you so much for reading! It means the world to me that you read it. I'd love to know which moments were your favourite(❁´◡`❁)

special taglist⭑.ᐟ -  @filmsbyun, @dawngyu

permanent taglist⭑.ᐟ - @izzyy-stuff, @just-nc-tea, @flowerkeu

taglist⭑.ᐟ - @filmnings, @demidelulu, @neobeomjii @ramdomheyl, @melmochii, @mwahvvis, @beomiracles, @i-am-not-dal, @immelissaaa, @orangyuuuu, @fatbixchwithanopinion, @fancypeacepersona

[those in bold couldn't be tagged!]

[intoanotherworld23]

Masked Seduction

Summary: a mysterious, handsome masked man named Joel watches you at the masquerade ball, and he gives you a night you’ll never forget

Rating: Explicit 18+ only MDNI

Warnings: mature themes, explicit content, smut, unprotected sex, rough sex, oral female receiving, dominant Joel, submissive reader

Word Count: 1,292 words

A/N: Hi y’all! How’s everyone doing today?? Let me know in the comments if you liked this one, and I encourage y’all to reblog so that others may enjoy it as well! I love to hear back from my readers. If you want to be tagged for future writings please let me know I would love to add you! Thanks everyone so much!! XOXO

Hall of Hunks

Tag list for everything: @iam-laiya @rosie-posie08 @madzleigh01 @alwaysclassyeagle @mytbel0st @shanimallina87 @marvelstarker-mha98 @powellssugarbaby @lora21 @kmc1989

Tag list for Pedro Pascal: @pedrohoe04 @k-k0129 @livingdeadmaria @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @milly-louise @kittenlittle24 @trisaratops-mcgee @subconsciouscollapse @hooked-on-penapascal27 @red-red-rogue @fellinfromthetop @drewharrisonwriter @vickie5446 @millerfan @lover-of-books-and-tea @bbyanarchist @justajoelsreader @meetmeatyourworst

The air in the grand ballroom was thick with perfume, candle smoke, and mystery. Shadows flickered across golden walls as violins sang high above the murmuring crowd. Laughter chimed from behind velvet masks. You stood by the edge of it all, dressed in a tight black gown that clung to you like second skin, your lace mask tickling your cheeks.

You didn't know anyone here. That was half the thrill though that you always chased.

This mansion it was like something out of a dream. Marble floors, massive chandeliers, and the kind of wealth you could taste in the air. You'd snuck in with a friend's borrowed invitation, curiosity burning in your chest. It was supposed to be harmless. A little fun. A night of mystery.

Then you saw him. Joel.

Tall. Broad shoulders draped in black velvet. Dark mask molded perfectly to his sharp cheekbones, and lips you swear were curved into a permanent smirk. He didn't move like the other men, didn't bother with small talk or faked politeness. He watched. Quiet. Calculated.

And he was watching you.

You felt it before you turned. The weight of his attention slid down your spine like a silk glove. When you met his gaze across the room, your breath caught. His head tilted slow, deliberate and he lifted a crystal glass to his mouth. Even from here, you saw the way his lips pressed against the rim. You pressed your thighs together.

Then he moved.

Every step toward you felt like a countdown.Wanting to move and wanting to look away, pretend you hadn't noticed, but you didn't. You couldn't. The crowd parted around him like he owned the place. Maybe he did.

"Lost?" His voice was deep, low, smooth like warm honey poured over sin. He stopped just in front of you, close enough that you could smell the expensive whiskey on his breath. "Or just waiting for someone to come find you?"

You swallowed. "Maybe both."

That smirk widened. "I'm Joel." He didn't offer a hand. Just stepped closer, his gaze dragging down the neckline of your dress, slow and shameless. "And you don't belong here."

"I could say the same to you."

His brow lifted. "Feisty." He leaned in, lips nearly brushing the shell of your ear. "I like that."

Your knees nearly buckled.

"Dance with me." It wasn't a question.

You let him pull you into the center of the ballroom, his hand firm on the small of your back, the other clasping yours. His body was hard beneath the fabric, heat rolling off him as both moved. He danced like he did everything else with control, purpose, and just enough restraint to make you wonder what would happen when he snapped.

"You've been watching me all night," You whispered.

His smile didn't fade. "Of course I have. You're the only one in the room worth undressing."

Your breath hitched. "You're quite bold."

"You haven't seen anything yet."

And then, without warning, he spun around, and you were pulled away from the ballroom, down a narrow hallway, into a wing of the mansion you hadn't noticed before. Your heels clicked on polished floors. Your heart raced with each step. He didn't speak. Just opened a heavy door, tugged you inside, and shut it behind both of you with a soft click.

The room was dark, decadent. Candlelight glowed on deep burgundy walls. There was a fireplace, a velvet chaise, and a massive four-poster bed that stole the air from my lungs.

You turned to him, heart pounding. "You just bring strange women into your bedroom?"

Joel smirked. "Only the ones who stare at my mouth when I talk."

You gasped completely flustered. "I was not—"

"Liar." He stepped forward, hand reaching out to brush your cheek, then your jaw. His thumb dragged down your bottom lip, slow and possessive. "Let's not pretend, sweetheart. You came here looking for trouble."

You didn't deny it.

He moved like a predator, backing you against the wall, his thigh sliding between yours. "I could smell how wet you were on the dance floor."

"Joel..." His name left your lips in a whisper, needy and confused and desperate.

He chuckled darkly. "That's it. Say it again."

"Joel..."

His mouth crashed down on mine hot, commanding, mine. His hand cupped your face while the other dragged down your spine, gripping your ass through the silk dress, squeezing like he owned it. You moaned into his mouth, and he groaned against you like he'd been starving for the sound.

Then he dropped to his knees.

"Turn around," he growled, already flipping you toward the wall. Hands slapped the cool wallpaper as he shoved your dress up over your hips. "Look at this fucking ass. You wore this for me, didn't you?"

"Maybe," whispering, breath catching.

He pressed a kiss to the back of your thigh. "You're going to say yes, baby. Every time I ask."

"Yes," you breathed.

Joel growled in satisfaction. "Good girl."

His fingers tugged your panties down, slow and torturous. He didn't ask before he parted your thighs. He didn't need to. You were soaked and already trembling. His tongue slid between your folds like sin, and you cried out, head falling forward.

"Fuck—Joel..."

He groaned against you. "That's it. Let me taste that pretty little cunt." His mouth was filthy. Tongue dragging over every inch, lips sucking your clit until you were panting, begging. Your knees buckled and he held you up with one arm, the other gripping your thigh like he'd never let go.

"Joel—I'm gonna—"

"Come," he growled against you. "Now."

You came apart absolutely shattered. He didn't stop. Licked through it, made you scream into your arm, fingers bruising your skin as you writhed against the wall.

Finally gasping for breath, he stood and spun you around, mouth shiny with your arousal, eyes burning with hunger.

"I'm not done with you."

He lifted you like you weighed nothing, carried you to the bed, and tossed you down onto the mattress. Barely being able to catch your breath before he was unbuttoning his shirt, tossing his mask aside. God he was beautiful. Strong chest, ridged stomach, a cock that made your mouth water.

"You gonna be good for me, baby?" he asked, crawling up between your legs.

You nodded, wide-eyed, trembling.

He leaned down, kissing your mouth letting you taste myself on his lips. "Say it."

"I'll be good. For you."

His hand wrapped around your throat, not tight just enough to claim. "Damn right you will."

And then he pushed into you. Hard. Deep. Perfect. You cried out, hands flying to his shoulders, digging in as he filled you inch by inch. He didn't stop. Didn't give you time to adjust. He owned your entire body from the first thrust.

"Look at you," he rasped against your mouth. "Taking my cock like you were made for it."

"Joel, God—"

"That's right. You'll come when I say. You'll scream my name so loud the whole damn party hears you."

He pounded into you hard and fast with every thrust pulling a moan from your throat. You were unraveling again, pushed to the edge, lost in him.

"Come again," he growled. "Right now. Let me feel you."

And you did. Screaming, clawing, coming apart beneath him while he fucked you through it.

Joel didn't stop. Not until he'd chased his own release, burying it deep with a growl of your name. When he collapsed beside you, sweat drenched and panting, he pulled you close, fingers stroking your cheek.

"You don't leave tonight," he whispered. "You understand?"

Nodding without hesitation, still shaking.

"You're mine now."

And something in you, something you hadn't expected, liked the sound of that.

[conelluwrites]

Don't think this is weird, but Thanos acting like a baby and reader cares for him or something?

Warnings: Drug use, reader is referred to as "you" rather than using pronouns, tried to not go heavy into age regression in case that's not what you were looking for

Other: No smut, sorry if you were wanting age regression (which I'm fine doing WITHOUT smut. We all got things we like reading, no sweat. Like I have in my intro post, I have super low limits on what I will/won't write). If you preferred age regression and want a full fic rather than this, don't feel bad about reaching out, I'll do it. He looks so fucking adorable in this gif, I'm dying!! Pretty disjointed and short, sorry :((

Requests open!

Thanos is no stranger to drugs and you're no stranger to seeing the after effects of his drug use. Usually it's just him staring off into space, acting more eccentric, and thinking he's got the best ideas for a new bars that'll totally get him back on the charts that he totally won't forget this time.

But this is a first, the way he acts is almost concerning. Not concerning enough for you to seek outside help of course, but enough for you quirk an eyebrow and tap his face with a 'hey, you good, bro?' When he gives a nod and taps your cheeks in response, you can't help but roll your eyes. He's surely just fucking with you then, right?

Fuck no... He's just... This newest drug he was hyping up has him acting younger than his ass is. Not in a teenage way (thank God, you hate the idea of dealing with teen Thanos). He's speaking in shorter, slightly disconnected sentences. Nothing worrying, he's not overdosing or having a stroke or some dumb shit. The way he points to what he wants and makes a noise instead of just using his damn words to tell you. And of course the way he clings to you like a fucking baby.

"Get the fuck offa me, dumbass."

"Nuh-uh. 'm not a dumbass."

Well there's that, you can't argue with someone who's practically laying on you and putting all of his weight on you. You try to shove him off, but he just whines and clings harder to you. He buries his face in your neck, not in a way to try and tempt you or seduce you, but more like he's seeking comfort.

--

"Feed me."

"Hell no, Thanos. You're a grown man."

"Please?"

Fuck the way he says please like he's so damn helpless, so dependent on you... You sigh and roll your eyes, shoving him away from you as you go to grab some random food from the kitchen. It's not much, just some crackers, you're overdue for a grocery trip so he just has to deal with it. You feed him slowly, his eyes blinking slowly at you as you let him nibble at the dry crackers and then tap his chin so he leans his head back slightly for water.

If it weren't so time consuming, it would be adorable. The way he places his hands on your legs in a way that he rarely does, it's not to tease you, it's just to remind himself that you're here for him. You want to rush him, want to tell him to hurry the fuck up, but you don't. You can't. Not when he's like this.

--

"Hold me? I'm sleepy."

"..."

"Please?"

You roll your eyes and stand up, holding out a hand for him to take so you could lead him to his shitty bed. He takes your hand gently and it takes all of your strength to not recoil at his clammy hands. His room is a wreck, you kick through clothes on the floor and get into his bed, tugging on his hand to drag him down with you. You lie on your back, staring up at his ceiling as he grins and gets almost fully on top of you. His face in your neck, a arm and leg over your body.

"Comfortable?"

"Mhm. Thanks."

Thanks? Fuck, you think you might kinda prefer him like this- even if it means he's more needy. You don't say anything in response, just sigh and put an arm over his and run your fingers through his hair. It doesn't take long for his breathing to even out and for him to snore.

You know when he wakes up and the haze of the drug wears off, he'll have some dumb shit to say about getting you in bed with him, but for now it's enough to be with him like this.

[neodymiumcuilz]

The state of pain and terror people in Gaza are in is unfathomable.

Food, clean water, shelter, clothes, hygiene, these have all become luxuries, the conditions of humiliation and destruction continue. The people of Gaza awe subject to diseases die to these conditions.

This becomes even worse for people who are sick, or injured.

Could you imagine, being shot in the abdomen, and needing surgery and treatment that you cannot recieve in Gaza.

Could you imagine, your life being at risk due to slow donations and delayed travel?

Could you imagine, your family needs $300 daily for these costs (along with food and other basic needs) but this has become difficult as you hardly reach $30 daily. Imagine the frustration.

Samir is in dire need of medical care, and time is running out, his family are desperate.

Samir's father, Ahmed, was forced to risk his life at one of these "aid distribution" death traps.

If you have the means to donate, you have no excuse. Absolutely no excuse. If you have the means, I guarantee this family need it so much more than you do. If you could give any amount, $5, $20, $50 or more... than can help so much. Or if you could share this with someone who does have the means.

If you have a bigger blog, I am asking you to write some words or link this fundraiser on you blog, please put some effort into the post. This can bring so much awareness and could really help save a life.

Fundraiser now at 40%, donations are slow.

We need to focus towards getting $300 donated daily, so what you can do is;

Donate whatever is in your means, whatever you have I guarantee Samir needs more. Share with family and friends, ask them to donate.

Post and write some words (especially if you have a bigger page, it can bring so much awareness and donations towards this initiatives)

Share on social media, outside of tumblr (especially if you have a bigger following on any other platform, but your follower count doesn't matter please share anyways)

Reach out to people and tell them about Samir and Ahmed's situation, and ask them to share and donate.

VERIFIED HERE.

tagging for reach:

@wormzandgutz @tlirsgender @apas-95 @doorhine @chilewithcarnage @daloy-politsey @renegadeer @fadedlovemp3 @lelouch @saint-vagrant @dayvan @1eos @serial-unaliver @cakemadeofbacon @mx-piggy @autisticandroids @taffybuns @anarchblr @ragingbullmode @997 @sunlitmcgee @cdfreak @starsincline @tpwrtrmnky @sonicattos @xinakwans @givemearmstopraywith @loombreaking @thedarksideofmymoonhasmatches @killy @deathlonging @palms-upturned @gigginox @threefeline @creativebrainrot @fabmab @budd-ie @medusadyke @relelvance @teachiisan @vincentspork @teabisexual @officialscud @lazyleafeon @vensulove @nosferatu-library-for-palestine

STOP SCROLLING, SAMIR AND HIS FAMILY ( @samirahmed125 ) need urgent help !!

As I said, Samir's family have been working unbelievably hard to try collect donations. They are broken and tired and seeing Samir in pain is unbearable.

Together, we can help save Samir's life with donations, please let us come together and have our hearts and humanity come together. It's abhorrent to me how many people (especially with bigger platforms and pages) don't post or talk about Gaza, people could find a fundraiser and help because YOU shared.

Please, take part in helping save Samir, donate here, 38% of the goal has been raised. VERIFIED BY @/gazavetters (#428) and by various other accounts.

Samir needs his spleen removed, he is also in a coma and risks having his foot amputated.

(Please share the QR codes scan to donate !!)

tagging for reach:

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[sylusgworl]

hi!! I just found your blog and I noticed you were asking for requests! I’m not sure if you write for Caleb but if you do, could you please do domestic hcs for Caleb x gn!MC? like them being affectionate around the house, going to the grocery store, hanging out at the animal shelter, paying taxes (lmfao) etc. ty 😄

CHAOTIC? NOPE, JUST CALEB ft. caleb

content: domestic fluff, gn!reader, adorable caleb because i refuse to believe he'd ever be harsh and manipulative with reader, it starts normal but gets progressively more chaotic, teeny bit suggestive (mentions of love bites, kisses, but nothing specific).

a/n: THANK YOU for requesting, i had lots of fun writing this one!! i rarely write for caleb (hopefully he's not too ooc, i have the lowest affinity w/ him unfortunately *pouts*) since i never seem to have ideas that 'fit' him, but this was a breath of fresh air tbh, i hope it's to your liking. wc: 1k . rbs are very appreciated <3

m.list

If someone were to ask you how it is, living together with a certain Caleb Xia, you’d have one word to describe it: chaotic.

Not because you didn’t enjoy it or something, but let’s just say you never went through a boring moment while living with him.

Starting from your daily life at home, Caleb is just the best man you could ever ask for.

He cooks for you every time he’s not away for work, doesn’t let you carry heavy objects—why would you, with him here?  And, he just never stays away from you for longer than half an hour.

Yes, call him clingy, but Caleb just wishes to shower you with his affection every second of the day. 

When the two of you wake up in the morning, as you try to get up from the bed, you have his arm draped around your waist, anchoring you down, as he groans, half asleep, not wanting to be separated from you. You try to wiggle out of his hold for long minutes, before sleep takes him away and his tight grasp loosens, although not much.

“I’ll get you to stay next time,” he mumbles, and you don’t understand if he’s dreaming or if it’s the last sliver of his consciousness talking. You giggle and slip out of the bedroom door with an idiotic smile.

In the afternoons or evenings, when the two of you sit on the sofa, sometimes he takes your feet and rests them in his lap, at times tickling you if you ever dare to ignore him, too engrossed in your movie. Other times his head is the one resting in your lap, as you gently brush his soft brown locks, hearing hums of pleasure coming from him.

And, not to forget, at night, it becomes impossible for you to sleep for obvious reasons.

Caleb, knowing your schedule well, knows how to take advantage of the situation. So, when the two aren’t working the next day, he’s all over your lips, his hands slipping under your shirt, touching, loving you—he keeps you awake for hours.

“Caleb Xia!” you yell at him, first thing in the morning, feeling your legs shaky and throat aching. You throw a pillow at him, missing his face completely as he simply chuckles, bed hair springing up from his head. He makes a run for it, getting inside of the bathroom before more pillows can reach him. 

You just sigh heavily and look at the damage on your body, love bites painting your skin, cheeks flushed and hair sticking out.

After showering, the two of you eat breakfast in silence.

He’d like to break the ice but… you just ignore him, pouting, still mad at him for what happened (although you were equally at fault).

“Pipsqueak I... I’m sorry,” he mutters, stabbing his fork into his pancakes, like a child does with vegetables he doesn’t like.

He looks so adorable, you even imagine puppy ears appearing, so you just chuckle and smear some cream on his cheek.

“There, we’re even now,” you say, and get back to eating, ignoring the boyish grin spread on his lips.

Later that day, Caleb decides you’re running out of groceries, so the two of you head out to the store.

The supermarket is swarming with people and chilly, different from the outside, with its warm and sticky weather. It's as if everyone was taking shelter from the high temperature, a funny sight.

He pushes the cart, you tagging beside him, while his eyes wander over the aisles, thinking of what is necessary to buy. 

Fruits and veggies, dairy and meat taken, he goes for the most essential thing: snacks.

As he has no self-control when it comes to them, you have to stop him multiple times from getting too many, but in the end he manages to sneak in some more—choosing the ones you like first and foremost, although you tried to tell him you wanted to eat healthier.

You are not allowed to pay, not with him right there. So, the fight being already lost in the beginning, you simply scoff and put the food in the cart while he whips out the card from his wallet with a grin.

—

Usually on your free days, the two of you like to volunteer at the animal shelter.

It’s not something everybody knows, but it’s kind of the continuation of a promise you’d made as children, when a stray kitten followed you home and the two of you took care of its needs, before grandma called the animal shelter a couple of days later.

You’d felt betrayed, back then. But as you grew up, you’d understood that you couldn’t have taken care of it back then, too young to even fend for yourselves.

But now, you have the opportunity to do so.

At the shelter, most animals loved Caleb. It came to the point of him being surrounded by kittens and puppies, with no way out as they all jumped at him in unison.

Except for one black cat, older than the rest, who for some reason stayed away from the chaos and instead, insisted on resting in your lap, purring as you streak his head gently.

“Aw come here, kitty,” says Caleb, nudging it lightly, but only gets a hiss in response, as it closes its eyes and goes back to rest.

He’s bummed, a small pout holding his lips hostage. You find him too adorable, and  even giggle a bit at his antics. 

It’s needless to say, the two of you get home exhausted. 

You wash up and head straight for bed, a long day of work awaiting you the next morning.

You are in your pajamas, comfortable, his strong arms pulling you to him, and ready to drift off to sleep—when catastrophe strikes.

“‘leb?”

“Yes, pips?”

“When did you say those tax return documents were overdue?”

He springs up, sitting upright and switching on the light. “Shit,” he lets out, as desperation paints his features while he wipes his face with one hand, sighing loudly.

So, that night none of you get an ounce of sleep, papers and documents sprawled on the floor as you try to make out anything of the situation, and fail miserably. It always ended up that way, no matter how many memos you put.

So let’s just say life with Caleb was chaotic: eventful, but never boring.

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