#the controls in the first one were a mess

[kaira-diaries]

Backstabber:

Warning: (Smut)(Violence, death, blood)(sickness)

Word Count: 15k(i have nothing to say)

Pair:(Fem!xFrontman)

A/N: The length is a lot..idek. Anyway, this loosely follows season two and when I say loosely I mean LOOSELY.

I hope you all enjoy, happy reading!!

Summary: A young woman finds herself desperate when her family falls into crushing medical debt. Seeking a way out, she enters the deadly Squid Games. Unbeknownst to her, the enigmatic Frontman—her boyfriend of three years, disguising himself as Player 001 and in deep debt, enters the game to protect her, navigating the brutal competition while concealing his true identity from her.

Masterlist <-

________________

Aware of every breath and movement, you were pinned down as In-ho finally peeled away your warm sweater, a contrast to the frigid temperature in his bedroom, completely naked before him and he before you. However all you could feel was his soft lips against your chest, leaving you breathless as he pushed in and out of you with blinding pleasure and strength. His kisses were anything but gentle as you locked your legs around his muscled back, pulling him closer, and he groaned in delight at such a position, dragging his perfect teeth up your neck and eventually reconnecting with your mouth.

You'd been holding onto the weight of a conversation you needed to have with him, the one about your father's medical illness and the mounting medical debt that was dragging your parents under like a relentless tide. You've kept it from him for a while. Was it out of shame? You didn't quite know, but it didn't seem like the kind of conversation to strike up while his tongue worked between your legs, making a mess on the edge of the dining room table. He was on you the moment you got home and after the long day you had, you needed it.  

Freeing him from your grip, you pushed him onto his back and climbed on top of him, aching for control, something you've had to fight for with him the moment you began seeing each other. A look of disapproval shined in his eyes, but you pressed your palms against his warm chest, earning a scowl of impatience. You innocently smile, beginning to rock your hips. He held you, his grip like iron, as he watched you use him to reach your peak. With your head thrown back, his hands explored every inch of your chest; squeezing and grabbing at everything he possibly could. His grip on you was as tight as he could make it without hurting you, something he worries so much about. 

Mumbling sweet praises up at you, you whined, picking up the pace. 

"Fuck you're so beautiful riding my cock." He praised, almost making you shatter, and you would have right then and there until your phone began to buzz on the wooden nightstand next to his head. Your movements came to a sudden stop, making In-ho groan, "ignore it," he pleaded, but it was your mother's icon. 

With the weight of your father's illness in mind, you pulled off him. 

"It'll just take a second." You promised, answering the phone, trying to ignore the slow touch of In-ho's hand caressing your back and his lips sucking the skin of your neck. You slapped him. 

"Hi, everything okay? it's late."

Your mother's panicked voice crackled through the phone, her voice trembling with raw fear. "Y/n, you need to come to the hospital now. I-I don't-"

"Ma, I'll be there," you interrupted, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Just stay calm." You hung up without waiting for more, already throwing the blanket aside as you scrambled out of bed. 

"What going on? What's wrong?" In-ho's voice cut through the chaos, his concern evident as he sat up, his brows furrowed. 

Your mind raced, and the first excuse that came to you spilled out in a rush. "Something's wrong with the cat." You blurted, the lie feeling ridiculous even as you said it. Your shaky hands pulled on a sweater, jeans, and some boots, the urgency in your movements selling the story better than the words ever could. 

"What? the fucking cat? What happened?" In-ho looked confused but didn't question further as you fumbled to explain. "Their car's in the shop, and they can't get to the emergency vet. I have to go."

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, the sheets pooling around his waist. "I'll take you." 

"No!" you snapped, your voice sharper than you intended. The tension in the room palpable as his eyes searched your face for an explanation. 

One thing about In-ho: he never questioned you, and right now, you were grateful for that. "Okay." He said. "Just be careful." 

You nodded quickly, not trusting yourself to say more. Grabbing your keys and bag, you bolted for the door, your thoughts racing faster than your feet. The hallway felt suffocating as you sprinted to your car, your breath coming in shallow bursts. 

Sliding into the driver's seat, your hands trembled as you turned the key into the ignition. The engine roared to life but didn't drown out the panic in your mind. What could have happened? Was it worse than you feared? 

The rain from earlier had left the streets slick, and your headlights reflected off the wet pavement as you sped toward the hospital. You tried to steady your breathing, gripping the wheel so tightly your knuckles turned white. Every red light felt like a personal attack, each second dragging on like an eternity. 

Finally, you pulled into the hospital parking lot, barely bothering to park straight as you threw the car into park and leaped out. The fluorescent lights of the emergency entrance cast an unnatural glow over the scene, and the antiseptic smell hit you as soon as you stepped inside. 

Your eyes darted around the waiting room until they landed on your mother. She was sitting in one of the plastic chairs, her face pale, her hands squeezing a tissue. 

"Mom!" you called out, rushing to her. She looked up, her eyes red and puffy, and the sight of her broke something inside. 

"Y/n..." she began, her voice trembling as fresh tears spilled over. "Its your father. They-they said he's in critical condition. The doctors are with him now, but-" Her voice cracked, and she covered her mouth, unable to finish. 

You crouched down in front of her, taking in her hands in yours. : Ma, I'm here. I'm here, okay? We'll get through through this." Your voice was firm, but your stomach churned with dread. 

As you comforted her, a nurse approached, asking if you were your father's family. You stood up, your thudding in your chest. "Yes, I'm his daughter. What's going on?" The nurse hesitated, her expression grave. "The doctor would like to speak with you. Please follow me."

Your mother let out a soft sob as you squeezed her hand reassuringly. "I'll be right back, Ma," you whispered before following the nurse down the cold, sterile hallway. Each step felt heavier than the last as you approached the room where your father's fate would be revealed. 

The nurse led you to a small consultation room, where a doctor in scrubs was waiting, his face lined with exhaustion. He stood as you entered, his expression grim but composed.

"It's good to meet you, I'm Dr. Patel," he said, gesturing for you to sit. You barely registered the gesture, standing frozen as your pulse thundered in your ears.

"What's wrong with my father?" you demanded, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to keep steady.

Dr. Patel exhaled softly, his shoulders sagging under the weight of what he was about to say. "Your father's condition has taken a critical turn. His heart is failing rapidly, and the medications we've been using to manage his symptoms are no longer enough. He's in cardiogenic shock."

You blinked, the words slow to register. "What does that mean? Can you fix it?"

The doctor's lips pressed into a thin line. "The only long-term solution is a heart transplant. Without it, I'm afraid he doesn't have much time—maybe days, a week at most."

The air seemed to vanish from the room. You shook your head, trying to process. "A transplant? How... how soon could he get one?"

Dr. Patel hesitated, his gaze softening. "It's complicated. He'll need to be placed on the transplant list, and even then, matching him with a donor can take time. There's also the matter of cost. Even with insurance, the out-of-pocket expenses can be significant."

Your stomach twisted into knots. "How significant?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Typically, upwards of $150,000 for surgery, post-op care, and medications," he replied gently.

Your heart sank. You felt like the floor had dropped out from under you. "I can't… we can't afford that. Even with insurance, we're already drowning in medical debt. How am I supposed to…" Your voice cracked, and tears spilled over despite your effort to hold them back.

Dr. Patel leaned forward, his voice kind but firm. "I know it's overwhelming, but there are programs and organizations that can help. I can connect you with our financial counselor to explore options. Right now, focus on being here for your father."

You nodded numbly, standing on unsteady legs. "Can I see him?"

"Of course. He's sedated, but you can sit with him."

The walk to your father's room felt surreal, the hospital corridors stretching endlessly. When you stepped inside, the sight of him hit you like a punch to the chest. He lay still, pale and fragile, tubes and monitors surrounding him. The steady beeping of the machines was the only sound in the room.

You moved to his bedside, taking his hand in yours. His skin was cold, and the weight of his hand in yours felt too light, too fragile.

"Hey, Dad," you said softly, your voice breaking. "It's me."

Your thumb traced over the back of his hand as you blinked away fresh tears. "They said you need a new heart," you whispered, choking on the words. "And I know you probably don't want me worrying about it, but I'm going to fix this. I swear I'll find the money, no matter what. I'll get you what you need."

You leaned down, pressing a kiss to his temple. "You just hang on, okay? Just hang on."

The room was silent except for the rhythmic beeping of the monitors, but your resolve solidified with every passing second. No matter how impossible it seemed, you would find a way to save him. 

Whatever it took.

_______________________

Your hands were frigid, the cold from last night's visit at the hospital still clinging to you as you sat in the dimly lit coffee shop. The air smelled faintly of roasted coffee and winter rain, but none of it brought comfort. Across the small table, In-ho sat rigid, his shoulders drawn tight like a bowstring. His expression was a mask of unreadable calm, but his eyes—those lifeless, glassy eyes—made your stomach churn. There was no warmth in them, no spark of humanity like normal. Just emptiness. You swallowed hard, fighting the instinct to shiver under his gaze.

It happened every year around this time, right before his annual business trip. Yet somehow, it never got easier. That hollow, dead look in his eyes unsettled you more than you wanted to admit, leaving a weight on your chest like a stone sinking in water. He always returned, but the man who sat before you now was different—a stranger wearing the face of someone you loved.

Cupping your warm mug of coffee, you took a tentative sip, hoping the heat would chase away the chill that wasn't from the weather.

"How long will you be gone this time?" you asked, keeping your voice steady despite the unease bubbling under your skin.

"A week or so," he replied plainly, his tone deeper than usual and flat, devoid of emotion.

You nodded, forcing yourself not to press him further. He never shared much about these trips, and you'd learned to stop asking. But this—this lifeless version of him he always snaps into—terrified you in a way you could never quite explain.

He was scheduled to leave today after your coffee date, which explained the gel in his hair and the matching grey outfit he wore, fit for the cold weather. He looked good, but you adored his messy hair. You loved running your fingers through it during sex or washing it while in the shower. It was one of your favorite things about him, the second being his age. You were always into older guys. Despite being 25, men your age still had some maturing to do, so you decided never to dabble with them altogether. Time was precious. 

You traced the edge of your coffee cup with your finger, trying to fill the silence. It stretched thin between you, like a thread about to snap. 

"She's been calling me a lot lately." you said, attempting to steer the conversation toward something lighter. "Mina, I mean. She's gotten into some trouble again." 

In-ho's gaze shifted slightly, though his expression remained impassive. "Drinking?"

"And gambling, she's been asking for money," you added with a faint, humorless chuckle.

"Apparently, she lost a week's rent at that underground poker game she swore she'd never go back to."

His jaw tightened, just for a second quick. You almost missed it. "The one near the station, right? The one run by that man who drives the black sedan."

Your brow furrowed as you stared at him. "How did you know that?" In-ho's expression didn't waver. "You said she was into underground games," he replied, shrugging. "I've seen people like that around. They're dangerous."

The explanation was reasonable, and you opened your mouth to change the subject, but he checked his watch and stood. 

"I should get going," he said, his voice flat. 

You stood as well, the knot in your stomach tightening. "Be safe," you said softly. 

He nodded, leaning in to press a cool, detached kiss to your lips. It was brief, almost mechanical, and it left you feeling colder than before, but it was the same around this time every year. "I'll see you when I get back," he said, his hand briefly brushing your arm before he turned to leave. 

As you watched him walk out into the gray morning, your thoughts lingered on his odd familiarity with Mina's troubles. Something didn't add up, but the question lingered unspoken on your tongue, lost in the wake of his retreating figure.

The bitter dregs of your now-cold coffee lingered on your tongue as you forced down the last bites of a stale croissant, its once-flaky layers now reduced to a dense, chewy mass.

The contrast between this hurried breakfast and the elegant comfort of In-ho's apartment wasn't lost on you—each step toward the train platform felt like moving further from a dream back into your harsh reality.

The morning crowd jostled around you as you weaved between commuters, scanning for an empty seat while waiting. The number "150,000" pulsed in your mind like a neon sign, growing larger and more oppressive with each passing moment. It was a sum so vast it seemed almost abstract—like counting stars in the sky—yet the weight of its importance pressed down on your chest with very real pressure.

Finding an empty bench away from the crowd, you hugged yourself tightly, your fingers digging into the fabric of your jacket. The fluorescent station lights cast shallow shadows under your eyes, and you barely recognized the exhausted person staring back.

Your father's time was running out like sand in an hourglass, and here you sat, drowning in the knowledge that your family's existing debts were already a noose around your neck. Each potential solution you considered crumbled before it could fully form—loan sharks were out of the question, banks would laugh at your application, and friends... well, who among them could even spare a fraction of such an amount? Mina sure as hell couldn't.

It's then a well-groomed man sits beside you. His hair gelled back, similar to In-ho's. You felt his gaze on you, but you tried to ignore it until it became extremely uncomfortable.

Snapping your chin in his direction, you broke.

"What?"

"Hello ma'am, can I talk to you?"

You sighed as he continued.

"Listen, I want to let you in on a great opportunity." You stared down at your hands, not saying a word, when he opened a suitcase beside you.

Looking down at it, you find the game Ddakji next to three stacks of neatly piled money. You perked up a bit at that. The money wasn't enough to pay for the transplant, but it was a cushioned start.

"I'm sure you've played Ddakji before, right?" You nodded.

In-ho appreciated the game.

He held up the two squares, one red and one blue. "Play a few rounds with me. And each time you win, I'll pay you a 1,000. Each time I win you, you pay me the same amount." You bit your lip, feeling how stupid this was. In-ho would tell you to turn and walk away, and you wondered if this man was from that underground poker place Mina indulged in. But, stupid or not, you needed that money for your father.

Exhaling sharply, you agreed but warned the man.

"I don't have any money to spare." It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't true either. You had a decent income, but all of your money either went to paying off your parent's medical debt or to your father's treatments when you were able to pay out of pocket.

He held that same creepy grin, "How about you use your body to pay." You froze, your heart pounding in your chest as the words hit you like a slap. What did that entail? A chill ran down your spine, the blood draining from your face as you felt your breath catch in your throat. For a moment, you felt yourself sliding toward the edge of the bench, your limbs numb with terror.

The man, noticing your reaction, quickly shook his hands. "Not like that, no. I'll take 100 off per each slap to the face."

If a slap was the price to pay for losing, then you would endure it. For your father. You clenched your fists tightly, the memory of his quiet suffering and his desperate need for help fueling the burning determination inside you. You would do anything to protect him, even if it meant bearing humiliation, pain, or worse.

Anything.

You stood from the bench with a sense of purpose, adrenaline coursing through your veins. The salesman rose with you, his smile still wide, but there was a subtle shift in his demeanor—something darker, more guarded—as you reached for your red ddakji. Without hesitation, you slammed it down onto the floor, the force of your movement sending it crashing against his, the paper flipping with a satisfying snap. You didn't just win; you dominated, the sound echoing in the still air.

A small wad of cash landed in your palm, the crisp bills a reminder of the stakes, the desperation that had brought you here. Your pulse quickened, the fear dissipating with each flip of the ddakji, each round stacking your winnings higher. The salesman's smile faltered, but you didn't care. You were in control now. The game was simple, but the stakes—your father's fate were anything but.

Round after round, you flipped his every time, effortlessly outplaying him, earning more money than you'd ever imagined in such a short span. The cash piled up between you like a small mountain, but you didn't stop. You couldn't stop. Each win felt like a victory but also like a countdown to something darker, something you weren't sure you were ready for.

Finally, you sat back down, your breathing steady as you finished the game. The salesman handed you a card, its front emblazoned with three distinct shapes, each one sharp and clean, almost menacing. You flipped it over, the number on the back staring up at you—simple, unremarkable, but somehow heavy.

"There are other games like this," he said, his voice dropping slightly as if the offer itself was something that shouldn't be spoken too loudly. "Where you can earn even more."

His gaze held yours for a beat too long. The words lingered, tempting and ominous in their simplicity.

"We don't have many spots left." He added, a subtle edge creeping into his voice as he picked up his briefcase, the leather creaking under his grip. Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving you alone with the card, the money, and the quiet hum of uncertainty settling in your chest.

________________

POV: In-Ho

You sat at your desk, the glass of imported whiskey sloshing as you threw back the fifth pour, barely noticing as the amber liquid burned down your throat. The decanter was nearing empty, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. The quiet hum of the room was the only sound, and it settled you in a way nothing else could. Leaving y/n had always been difficult, but that was part of the game, wasn't it? Every year, it was the same—her muted resistance to your sudden change in demeanor, but every year, you also found yourself relieved to return to control, to snap back into that power you craved at your fingertips, to something that mattered all the same. Here, you were just mechanical; any genuine feeling of devotion dwindled until you returned home to her.

You leaned back in your chair, the leather creaking under your weight. The time you spent with y/n—it was never enough. And the more you tried to balance it with the games, the more you realized how impossible it truly was.

It was easy to pawn off the useless responsibilities to an underling, to let someone else handle the messes or orders that were beneath you. You had never cared about choosing the players. It was a waste of time. They were all the same to you: pathetic, greedy souls who saw the world through a selfish lens of self-interest.

Getting a phone call, you grabbed the receiver.

"This is The FrontMan speaking. Yes, we are ready to begin."

You set the receiver back down, the soft click of the phone's cradle cutting through the heavy silence of the room. Without a second glance, you reached for the mask resting on the edge of the desk, its cool surface like a familiar presence. Your fingers brushed against the contours, feeling its weight and its unspoken authority. With deliberate ease, you secured it in place, the cold, smooth material pressing against your skin as your identity vanished beneath its form and lifted your hood.

You stood and moved toward the door, your footsteps controlled and purposeful. The air seemed to thicken around you as you passed through the threshold, a shift in atmosphere marking the change. The elevator was waiting—silent, steel, and patient. With a practiced motion, you pressed the central control room button, the elevator's quiet hum responding to your command. The walls around you seemed to close in as you descended. You were going to the heart of it all now, where the control pulse beat steady and unyielding. And there, you would resume your place.

The elevator doors slid open with a quiet, effortless motion, revealing the sterile, dimly lit expanse of the control room. Your men, standing at attention, parted like the Red Sea, clearing your path. They were all towering figures, silhouettes in the shadiness of the room, their presence unwavering and mute. As you stepped out onto the cold, polished floor, you felt the shift—the room realigning as though the game had officially begun.

You glanced at each man in turn, your eyes sharp, and you calculated behind the mask, assessing every one of them with practiced ease. They stood frozen, their posture rigid, hands at their sides, waiting for your next command. You could almost feel the anticipation in the air, stout and expectant.

"Let's start," you said, your voice cold, clipped and filtered. The words carved through the silence. Without hesitation, the men moved to their stations, their bodies sliding into their chairs with precise, mechanical ease. There was no wasted motion, no hesitation.

"Wake them up."

The room came alive, the screens flickering to life one by one. The quiet hum of machinery filled the air, a low, steady rhythm as the monitors illuminated, casting a cold glow on the walls. The lights in the player's quarters were activated, brightening the room as a spokesperson illustrated it was time to wake up.

You stalked closer to the screens, trying to get a sense of the new herd. Your gaze exhausts each face as they adjust, blinking groggily, some still lost in the fog of sleep. You monitored the strongest as they rose quicker, as the weakest fought off the remaining effects of the sedative.

Abruptly, it felt like the air had been punched out of your lungs, your heart plummeting into the pit of your stomach with a force that left you momentarily paralyzed. Your gaze locked onto the screen, catching something—someone—that sent a chill racing down your spine. At first, you thought it couldn't be real, that your mind was playing cruel tricks on you. But the unease clawed at you, refusing to be dismissed.

"Zoom in on player 150," you ordered sharply, your voice slicing through the tense silence in the room.

The screen obeyed, zooming in on the figure until every detail came into agonizing clarity. And then you saw her.

Your breath hitched. Her messy bedhead—the kind you used to tease her about—was unmistakable. She stretched her arms above her head, a familiar routine you'd witnessed countless mornings. Her flawless lips, her face, her eyes. Every inch of her was burned into your memory, and now, there she was.

Standing in the middle of your slaughterhouse.

The woman you've bared your soul to.

"Y/n," you whispered, your voice barely audible, strangled with disbelief and fear. Panic gnawed at your insides, twisting and tightening until it felt like your very core would shatter.

How had she ended up here?

What is she keeping from you?

Of all the people, of all the possibilities—why her?

___________________________

POV: Y/N

The first thing you noticed as you stirred was the faint hum of distant sounds. Your sense of hearing returned before anything else, pulling you from the haze of sleep. You groaned softly, rubbing your eyes as the world around you came into focus.

Fragments of memory surfaced, disjointed but vivid—the musty smell of the van, the creak of its rusted doors, the tattered upholstery that looked like it had seen far too many years. You had hesitated, your hand hovering over the handle, your instincts screaming at you to turn around and walk away. The vehicle was a wreck, the kind of thing you'd imagine a junkie—no offense—might live out of.

But then you thought of your father. His face, his struggle, the weight of it all. That single thought was enough to override your doubts. You had climbed into the van despite every instinct telling you to do otherwise.

Sitting up, you took in your unfamiliar surroundings, momentarily distracted by the nagging awareness of your terrible bedhead. In-ho always teased you about it, though deep down, you suspected he secretly liked it.

Swinging your legs over the edge of the cot, you paused as your fingers brushed against the fabric of what you were wearing. A pajama-like tracksuit, simple yet strange. Your gaze dropped to your chest, where a number—150—was neatly sewn over your left breast.

You frowned, your brows knitting together. "What the hell?" you whispered under your breath.

Looking around, the murmur of movement drew your attention. Other people—strangers—were stirring, dressed in identical tracksuits with different numbers stitched onto their chests. They began to gather hesitantly in the center of the vast room, their expressions mirroring your confusion and unease.

The room itself was massive, stark, and cold, resembling a warehouse stripped of purpose. Above you, suspended ominously from the ceiling, hung an enormous glass piggy bank—empty but somehow radiating a strange sense of suspicion.

Your muscles ached, a dull soreness settling into your body as you stretched your arms overhead, trying to shake off the lingering stiffness, and stood to join the pack of people. The air was heavy, thick with tension and the quiet rustle of fabric as the other players moved cautiously, their faces tight with uncertainty.

As you loosened up, your eyes flicked back to the piggy bank, unease pooling in your stomach. Whatever was happening here, it was far from ordinary—and the number stitched onto your chest felt like it was branding you into something you didn't yet understand.

“Y/n!”

The sound of your name rang out, cutting through the murmurs around you. Your head snapped up, scanning the sea of unfamiliar faces until your eyes locked onto someone you knew—a lifeline in the chaos.

"Oh my God, Y/n!"

It was Mina. Your Mina. Her face lit up with that unmistakable grin, even as the bold 067 stitched across her chest seemed wildly out of place. Relief flooded you, and without thinking, you bolted toward your best friend, your heart leaping in your chest.

"Mina!" you shouted, skidding to a stop just before throwing your arms around her neck. She caught you with a squeal, pulling you into a tight hug as you both burst into a flurry of half-laughs, half-cries.

"What the hell are you doing here, you bitch?" she blurted, pulling back just enough to hold your shoulders, her grin a mix of disbelief and sheer joy.

You laughed, shaking your head. "I could ask you the same thing!"

For a moment, the strangeness of the situation melted away. The towering walls, the eerie piggy bank above, the sea of strangers—all of it faded into the background. Because right now, in this surreal hell, you weren't alone.

Mina shrugged nonchalantly, her lips twitching into a crooked grin. "What can I say? It seems like my hobbies have gotten me into trouble again. Only this time..." She gestured vaguely to the massive, ominous piggy bank hanging above, her tone dripping with mock cheerfulness. "...the stakes are just a little higher."

Your brows furrowed, a sinking feeling settling in your chest. "Oh god, Mina. What did you do?"

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, biting her lip in that telltale way that meant she was about to drop a bombshell. "Well," she started, drawing out the word like she was recounting a funny anecdote, "I kind of... might've signed my physical rights away."

Your stomach flipped. "Excuse me?"

"Yup." She nodded, her voice light, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of unease. "If I don't cough up what I owe by next month, I can kiss a kidney goodbye." She gave you a sly grin, trying to downplay the gravity of her words. "On the bright side, I've always wanted to know what it feels like to live with just one."

Your hand shot up to cover your mouth, your heart pounding in disbelief. "Mina...surely you're joking?"

She shook her head, the grin never entirely leaving her face. "Afraid not, babe. But hey, at least this mess has good storytelling potential, right?"

"Mina!" you exclaimed, punching her shoulder. She laughed, though it came out slightly strained. "What? It's not like I can do anything about it now. Besides, kidneys are overrated anyway."

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. "Mina, could you please stop giving me reasons to worry?"

She gave you a sheepish grin, her shoulder bumping yours playfully. "I'll try, but no promises." Then, her expression shifted, curiosity gleaming in her eyes. "What about you?" she asked, folding her arms. "Why are you here? And where's that delicious boyfriend of yours?"

Your cheeks warmed slightly, and before you could stop yourself, you swatted her arm, a soft snicker escaping. "He's on a business trip," you said, trying to sound casual. "Probably miles away from this place."

You turned your head toward her, but the knowing look in her eyes stopped you short. She tilted her chin, her gaze sharpening. "Uh-huh. But you didn't answer my other question."

Her words hung in the air, and for a moment, the humor between you flickered, replaced by something heavier. Her gaze stayed steady, probing, as if she could see right through you.

A sharp, jarring buzz suddenly filled the air, slashing through the low murmurs in the room. You flinched at the sound, your heart skipping a beat as all heads turned toward the massive double doors at the far end of the room.

With a mechanical hiss, the doors slid open in perfect synchronization, revealing a line of figures that marched in with unnerving precision. They wore identical uniforms—a stark, unnatural shade of pink that contrasted sharply against the cold gray of the warehouse walls.

Their faces were entirely hidden behind black, featureless masks adorned with bold, white shapes: circles, triangles, and squares, just like the strange card you'd been handed by that man.

The sight sent a shiver racing down your spine. The guards moved with eerie coordination, their presence suffocating and cold, as if they were more machine than human. The room seemed to shrink under their gaze—or what you assumed was their gaze, though the masks gave away nothing.

"I'd like to extend my warmest welcome to you all."

"Everyone here will participate in six different games over the next six days. Those who win all six games will recieve a handsome cash prize." One of the guards stepped forward, his voice sharp and authoritative as it rang out, though it was muffled slightly by the mask. You strained to make out the words, but before you could process them, a man standing near the front of the group raised his voice, cutting through the tension.

"Why the hell should we trust you?" he shouted, his tone laced with anger and desperation. His words hit a chord, murmurs of agreement rippling through the players around you. It wasn't an unreasonable question—after all, you'd been drugged and dragged here against your will.

Your chest tightened as you remembered the van, the haze, the disorientation of waking up in this strange, sterile place. Beside you, Mina suddenly grabbed your hand, her fingers lacing tightly with yours. Her grip was firm, almost crushing, and when you glanced at her, her wide eyes told you she was just as terrified as you were.

The guard's reply came swift and clinical, delivered without an ounce of emotion. He mentioned something about a consent form, the words rolling off his tongue with practiced ease as though this wasn't the first time he'd said them. His tone made it clear there was no room for negotiation.

Your stomach churned as the players began to shuffle forward hesitantly, forming a disjointed line. Each person who stepped up was handed a pen and a sheet of paper, the details too far away to make out. The tension in the room was noticeable, every movement slow and deliberate, as if everyone knew they were crossing a threshold they could never return from.

When your turn came, you stepped forward on shaky legs, Mina's hand slipping from yours as she stayed rooted in place. You barely noticed her whispered "Y/n…" as you reached for the pen.

The words on the page blurred before your eyes. You couldn't bring yourself to read the fine print—it didn't matter. You already knew why you were here.

Your hand trembled slightly as you signed your name, the black ink cutting starkly against the crisp white paper. Whatever this was, whatever it demanded of you, your mind was made up. You'd get that money no matter what it took.

As you turned away, clutching the pen tightly, your heart felt like a drum pounding in your chest. Behind you, Mina's gaze burned into your back, her silence louder than any words she could've spoken.

As the last of the players signed their names, the guards gestured for everyone to move, their silent presence ushering the group out of the dorms and into a large, clean hall. The air was cool and clinical, the kind of atmosphere that sent a shiver up your spine despite the lack of overt threat.

One by one, each player stood in front of a sleek screen where their photo was taken. Mina, of course, couldn't resist making a ridiculous face, puffing out her cheeks and crossing her eyes as the camera clicked.

You doubled over, a genuine belly laugh escaping your lips, the sound echoing faintly in the vast hall. For a fleeting moment, it felt like old times, like the world wasn't crumbling around you.

As the line moved, you and Mina ended up side by side, trailing behind the group as you ascended a winding staircase. The metal stairs clanged beneath your feet, the sound rhythmic and oddly calming despite the tension in the air.

"So," Mina drawled, nudging your shoulder with hers, her grin mischievous. "Fill me in. How's it been going with In-ho?"

A warmth spread through you at the mention of his name, and you couldn't help the soft smile that tugged at your lips. "He's been… nothing short of extraordinary," you admitted, your voice almost wistful.

Mina hummed knowingly, her grin widening. "I see. And the sex?" she asked, her tone teasing as her brows waggled suggestively.

You groaned, rolling your eyes. "Ugh, Mina, quit being gross. Let's focus on the game ahead."

She threw her hands up in mock surrender, snickering. "Alright, alright. I'll save it for later," she said, her tone light but her eyes scanning the room ahead, where more guards waited in eerie silence.

As the two of you continued up the staircase, her humor lingered like a comforting presence, a small anchor in the chaos. You couldn't help but feel grateful for her, even if she drove you nuts.

Turning the final corner, you stepped into a vast, open space that made you stop in your tracks. The ground beneath your feet was soft sand, its golden grains warm as they shifted with each step. Overhead, artificial sunlight bore down with an intensity that made you squint, the air thick with the illusion of a desert afternoon.

“Wow,” Mina muttered, her tone a mix of awe and unease. She kicked at the sand lightly, watching it scatter. “This is… interesting.”

You nodded, your eyes scanning the expanse of the room. It felt surreal—like stepping into another world completely removed from the cold, metallic dorms. The space stretched endlessly in all directions, its vastness unsettling.

As you wandered further in, something across the way caught your eye. Narrowing your gaze, you nudged Mina in the arm, breaking her attention away from the boy she had been half-flirting with beside her.

“What?” she asked, frowning slightly.

“What’s that?” you said, pointing toward a shape in the distance.

Her eyes followed your arm, squinting against the glaring light. When she finally spotted it, her expression twisted into a mixture of curiosity and discomfort. “It looks like…” she hesitated, leaning in slightly, “a creepy doll.”

Your stomach churned as you took in the eerie figure. Even from a distance, something about it felt wrong.

Before you could respond, a sharp, mechanical crackle echoed through the air, making you flinch. A smooth, automated female voice spoke over the intercom, its tone disturbingly cheerful.

“Welcome to the game room. For your first game, you will be playing Red Light, Green Light.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “Red Light, Green Light?” you muttered, glancing at Mina with an incredulous smile. “You’ve got to be kidding. A children’s game?”

Mina shrugged, her lips quirking into a half-smile. “What? Would you rather play chess?”

You snorted softly, shaking your head. “Definitely not.”

The voice on the intercom continued, reciting the rules with an unnerving precision that made the simplicity of the game feel sinister. “When the doll says, ‘Green Light,’ you may move forward. When the doll says, ‘Red Light,’ you must stop immediately. Any players caught moving during ‘Red Light’ will be eliminated.”

The word eliminated lingered in your mind, sending a cold chill down your spine.

When the announcement ended, a sudden, oppressive silence settled over the room. The guards lined the edges of the space, their presence a stark reminder that this was no ordinary game.

Mina reached for your hand, gripping it tightly. “We stick together, okay?”

“Okay,” you whispered, lacing your fingers with hers. Despite your nervousness, her touch grounded you, giving you a flicker of reassurance.

The two of you exchanged a nod, solidifying your pact, before turning your focus toward the looming doll in the distance. The game was about to begin, and there was no turning back now.

____________

POV: In-Ho

You could hardly bear to watch.

Your heart throbbed in your chest, a suffocating pressure building as your mind screamed with one agonizing question: What if she dies?

The thought hit you like a sucker punch, the weight of it crushing your ribs, stealing the air from your lungs. If she died—if she dies—you’d be left with nothing. Nothing but the hollow emptiness of a life that had lost its purpose, your balance between light and dark. There would be no going back. No reason to move forward. You'd be a shell, wandering through a world that suddenly felt unbearable.

The air in your quarters felt thick as if the very walls were closing in on you. You couldn’t stand still, couldn’t think clearly. You paced back and forth, each step fraying your nerves further. Your breath came in ragged gasps, shallow and fast, desperate for relief that never came.

You couldn’t do this. You couldn’t—

The glass in your hand was warm, the drink inside it burning your throat with its bitter sting. And without thinking, you hurled it across the room, the sharp crash of glass against the wall.

For a split second, you stood frozen, staring at the mess. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.

Your chest tightened painfully, each breath harder to take than the last. You couldn’t control it anymore—the rage, the fear, the overwhelming helplessness. You wanted to roar and tear this facility to shreds, but it was all out of your hands now.

A player could only be removed from the game if they're eliminated.

The glass shards glittered on the floor like the pieces of your shattered resolve as you stared into it, and all you could do was stand there, trembling, fighting against the suffocating tide of emotions threatening to drown you.

"Green Light,"

Your eyes locked onto the screen, your gaze trained on her every move. You circled the couch, your steps restless, like you couldn’t stand still even if you wanted to. Every muscle in your body was tense beneath the grey jacket. Every fiber of your being was focused on her.

You could see Mina beside her, their hands tightly clasped together. It almost felt like an anchor, a momentary reassurance—but not enough.

Not nearly enough.

You silently begged Mina—pleaded with her—to hold it together. To not screw this up.

If Mina stuttered, if she moved a fraction too soon, if she hesitated for even a second—y/n would follow. And that thought made something tighten painfully in your chest.

You could feel your pulse roaring in your ears, a fierce rush of adrenaline as the seconds stretched on like hours. Your hand itched to pry her fingers away from Mina’s, to pull her closer, to shield her from the inescapable bloodbath.  

"Red Light."

You exhaled sharply, your body going rigid as you watched her, your heart skipping a beat. Her number hadn’t been called, but the terror that played across her face as she witnessed the eliminations around her carved a hollow, painful hole in your chest.

She stood there, frozen, her eyes wide with raw fear as bodies dropped one by one, their lives snuffed out in an instant.

The sound of each shot rang out like a death knell, each one making her flinch, the horror of it all consuming her.

The games were necessary, but you never wanted y/n within a mile of them, and she didn't deserve a spot. She didn't deserve this.

You couldn’t bear it as guilt flooded your head, asking yourself how you could let this happen. How you could be so oblivious. How you could be so careless.

Your arms crossed tightly over your chest as you rubbed your thumb over your lip, trying to steady your breath, but the panic was suffocating. She was scared, and you could see the paralyzing dread in her eyes as the remaining rounds went on.

Your torture had ended as she and Mina made it across safely, allowing your body to release tension.

Your mind raced, every thought swirling with desperation as you considered all the ways you could protect her. Every option seemed dangerous, every move a step closer to exposing yourself to her. Your fingers ran through your gelled hair, the tension in your shoulders mounting. You knew the truth—if she found out... It would destroy her.

And that was far worse than the lie you were living now.

Your gut clenched bitterly as the weight of the situation sank deeper into your chest. She’d never understand. She couldn’t. No matter how you tried to explain it, the truth would damage her. And you weren’t sure if either of you could survive the aftermath.

You sank into the loveseat, your eyes shifting to the mirror ahead of you. The reflection staring back was unrecognizable.

The image in the glass shattered every preconceived idea of who you were supposed to be in this place. The leader. The cold, calculating mastermind who pulled the strings from behind the scenes. The man who kept his emotions in check, who moved through the shadows without hesitation.

But now?

Now, you could feel the walls crumbling, the mask slipping off with each passing moment. The control you had so carefully cultivated was eroding, and it was because of her.

The realization hit you like a wrecking ball.

You were losing yourself to her—losing one of two things that had kept you alive this long. And the only reason you were willing to let it all slip was because of y/n. Because you didn’t want to watch her suffer, you didn’t want to see that terror in her eyes, knowing you're the cause.

A plan developed in your mind, sudden and dangerous. A twisted solution, but one that could save her.

You would have to enter the games.

For her.

And as the weight of that decision settled over you, you had an odd feeling that this was it. 

__________________

POV: Y/N

Your heart was in your throat, pounding so hard you thought it might burst.

Your legs gave out beneath you, trembling so violently that Mina had to grip your arm just to keep you upright. Her voice cracked as she shouted your name, her panic etching through the fog of your stunned silence. You couldn't move, couldn't breathe. You'd never seen someone die like that— so sudden, so violent. A clean shot, some might call it merciful. But there was nothing merciful about the way bodies crumpled to the ground, lifeless in an instant.

Now, back in the dorms, you leaned into Mina, your head heavy against her shoulder. Her breathing was ragged, her frame trembling beneath your touch, and for a moment, you felt like you were both about to shatter.

"So," Mina whispered, her voice raw and barely holding together. "If you lose the game..you die. The words hung in the air like a noose tightening around your neck. She tried to laugh, a sharp, bitter sound that made your stomach twist. "Quite the plot twist, huh?"

You jerked back, glaring at her through the blur of your tears. "Are you serious right now?"

"What else am I supposed to say?" She snapped, throwing up her hands. "We signed the damn contract, y/n. It's not like we didn't know there'd be consequences."

"Not like this," you muttered, your voice breaking as you clutched your knees.

Mina sighed, running a shaky hand through her hair. "What do you want me to say? Crying about it won't change anything. It won't bring those people back. It won't get us out of here."

Her words stung, sharp, and cruel, but you knew she was wrong. You bit down hard on your lip to keep from breaking apart completely. Crying wouldn't help. Begging wouldn't help. Whoever these people were, they weren't going to care about tears or fear. This wasn't just a game anymore—it was survival.

You sat silently next to Mina, absently picking at a loose thread on your shirt, your mind spinning in endless circles. The room felt suffocating with unspoken fear.

Then you hear it—a voice you hadn't heard in what felt like forever.

"Y/n?"

The whisper of your name cut through the haze. Your head snapped up, and your heart dropped into your stomach. Standing in front of you was In-ho.

For a moment, you thought your eyes were playing cruel tricks on you. He looked exactly as you remembered—same disheveled hair, same piercing eyes. But his expression...it was off. Shock, disbelief, maybe even a glint of betrayal flickered across his face.

Your body moved before you could think. You pulled away from Mina, stumbling to your feet. Your legs felt weak, your breaths shallow, and every nerve in your body screamed that this couldn't be real.

"In-ho?" you choked out, your voice trembling.

Without a word, he closed the distance between you and wrapped his arms around you. The hug was tight, almost desperate, as though he needed to hold you as much as you needed to be held. His scent hit you like a jolt—so familiar, so grounding. It shattered the doubts swirling in your mind.

You froze, your arms hanging limply at your sides as the weight of his embrace pressed into you. Was this real? Could it be him? Tears blurred your vision as you returned the hug, clutching him like he might disappear if you let go. A broken sob tore from your throat.

But even as relief coursed through you, a shadow of doubt lingered, clawing at the edges of your mind. What was he doing here? Why now? And why did it feel like something was wrong?

Pulling back, In-ho's hands gripped your face tightly, his fingers trembling with barely contained fury. His eyes burned into yours, raw and piercing.

"What the hell are you doing here, y/n?" he demanded, his voice low and rough.

Your lips parted, but no sound came out. The tears you thought had subsided returned in full force, choking you. He guided you to sit, his movements sharp and forceful, like he was holding himself back from shaking you for answers.

You gulped for air, your chest heaving as you forced the words out. "My father… he's sick."

The admission felt small, fragile, and yet it hit him like a hammer. He exhaled sharply, the sound heavy with disbelief and frustration. His gaze dropped to the floor, his jaw clenching so tightly you thought he might snap.

Behind you, Mina shifted uncomfortably, her presence a tense reminder of the world around you.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he finally said, his voice strained, the anger giving way to something else—hurt.

Before you could answer, he swiped a thumb across your cheek, wiping away the tears with surprising tenderness. The contrast was jarring, his touch soft against the intensity of his gaze.

"I didn't want you to worry," you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper.

In-ho scoffed, pulling back as he ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. "You didn't want me to worry?" he repeated bitterly. "Do you even realize—" He cut himself off, shaking his head.

But your own questions burned too hot to stay buried. You leaned forward, your voice trembling but steady enough to challenge him. "Why are you here, In-ho? Why did you lie to me?"

His head snapped up at your words, his expression hardening into something unreadable. For a moment, you thought he might not answer, that he'd leave you to drown in your doubts. The silence was deafening, the weight of everything unsaid threatening to crush you both.

"I'm here because I didn't have a choice, y/n," he said, his voice low and strained. "The company…I put everything into it. I thought I could make it work. I thought I could save it."

He swallowed hard, his eyes darting away from yours. "But the debt...it swallowed me whole."

Your stomach twisted, the air suddenly too heavy to breathe. "Debt?" you repeated, your voice shaking.

He nodded, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "It got bad—worse than I ever let on. Loans, investors, deadlines. I tried everything to fix it, but nothing worked."

Your eyes filled with sorrow as you reached for his hand, your fingers trembling slightly as they intertwined with his.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice breaking under the weight of everything.

He huffed softly, his lips pressing into a thin line. "For what? I got myself into this."

You shook your head, gripping his hand a little tighter. "For everything. For keeping secrets, for the company. For getting ourselves into this mess."

In-ho's eyes softened, his resolve cracking just enough to let you see the pain behind it. He scooted, his free hand lifting to cup your cheek. His touch was warm, steadying you in a way words couldn't.

"I swear to you," he said, his voice low but filled with determination, "I'll keep you safe during the games."

You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes as a tear slipped free, wetting his palm. For a moment, the chaos and fear melted away, leaving only the connection between you.

"Everything I do," he continued, his voice softer now, almost reverent, "will be for you."

Your breath caught in your throat—until Mina's voice cut through the air.

"Okay, lovebirds, hate to interrupt your heartfelt moment," she said, leaning on her elbows, "but we're still stuck in a life-or-death situation. Maybe save the romantic monologues for after we survive?"

In-ho's eyes darted up to Mina, his expression instantly shifting from tender to thoroughly exasperated.

"Mina," he said flatly, his tone carrying the weight of someone barely holding onto their patience.

She flashed a wide, overly fake smile, tilting her head like she was posing for a sitcom. "Been a long time, hasn't it?"

In-ho's jaw tightened as he let out a sharp breath through his nose. "Not long enough," he muttered under his breath.

Mina, unfazed, grinned wider. "Oh, come on, don't act like you're not happy to see me. I bring joy wherever I go."

In-ho shot her a deadpan look. "Joy, or chaos?"

"Tomato, to-mah-to," she quipped, shrugging.

You tried to stifle a laugh, which only made In-ho shoot you a betrayed look. "You're laughing? Really?"

Mina threw her arm around your shoulder, grinning smugly.

"See? I'm a gift."

____________________________

Meal time passed in a blur as you scarfed down a hard-boiled egg and a small cup of water. It wasn't much, but enough to stave off the gnawing hunger. In-ho, without hesitation, handed you his share, sliding the egg and water toward you with a sweet look in his eyes.

"You need it more than I do," he said simply, ignoring your protests. Mina, never one to let a moment pass with commentary, let out an exaggerated scoff, teasing In-ho and making her remark.

You shot her a glare, "Mina," you said with a sharp edge in your tone.

"Relax," she retorted, smirking as she propped her chin on her hand. "I'm just saying it's cute. Like a scene from a bad rom-com."

You placed a hand on In-ho's arm, silently urging him to let it go. Mina was a professional instigator, and her relentless jabs were as much a part of her personality as her quick wit. He huffed but turned his focus back to you, muttering something under his breath about how she'd been insufferable since the moment he met her.

Later, you lay curled up under the thin blanket on your assigned bed, its scratchy fabric doing little to shield you from the cold. The tension in the room felt slightly less suffocating with In-ho nearby. He'd managed to switch beds, though "convince" wasn't exactly the right word. You'd watched in uneasy silence as he cornered another player—a scrawny man with wide, fearful eyes—and murmured something low and dangerous. Whatever he said had sent the man scurrying away without a second thought.

You weren't sure how to feel about it. Grateful, maybe. Uneasy, definitely. But with In-ho so close, his steady breathing just within reach, you felt a rare sense of safety in a place where none should exist.

The stifling silence of the dorm settled over you as you tried to relax, but sleep remained evasive. The thin mattress beneath you felt harder with every passing moment, and a nagging pressure in your bladder made it impossible to find peace.

You sighed, rubbing your sweaty palms over your face before throwing the blanket off and slipping out of bed as quietly as you could. The cold floor sent a shiver through you as you tiptoed toward the heavy steel door.

With a hesitant knock, you waited, and after a moment, the small window slid open, revealing a pair of eyes behind an ominous black mask.

"I need to use the restroom, please," you whispered, your voice cracking slightly.

The guard's voice was mechanical and unyielding. "No one is permitted to leave during this hour."

You let out a frustrated sigh, shifting uncomfortably. "Please, it's an emergency."

The guard remained silent, and you opened your mouth to plead again when a voice from behind you called out.

"Let her out."

The command was sharp, cold, and filled with an authority that made the hairs on your neck stand on end. You froze, turning slightly to see In-ho standing a few steps away, his posture rigid and his eyes dark and unreadable.

The tone of his voice was unlike anything you'd ever heard from him before—calculated, commanding, almost chilling. It was the kind of voice that left no room for argument, and even the guard seemed to hesitate, the weight of the demand hanging in the air like a threat.

Your breath caught as the guard finally relented, sliding the door open with a reluctant nod towards In-ho. You glanced at him, his face shadowed by the dim light, and felt a strange mix of gratitude and unease settle in your chest.

The guard stepped aside, motioning for you to follow as the heavy steel door groaned open. You glanced back at In-ho, expecting him to stay behind, but he was already moving to fall into step beside you, his expression unreadable.

The cold air of the corridor hit you like a wall, sending a chill through your already tense frame. The guard's imposing presence loomed ahead, his boots echoing ominously against the concrete floor. You hesitated, then turned to In-ho, your voice low.

"You don't have to come with me, you know. I can take care of myself," you murmured your tone a mix of gratitude and concern.

His eyes flicked to yours briefly before scanning the dim hallway around you. The shadows seemed to shift and stretch with every step, making the atmosphere feel even heavier.

"I stay with you," he muttered, his voice quiet but firm, as though the walls themselves might be listening.

You noticed the way his shoulders remained taut, his movements calculated as if expecting danger at every corner. His eyes darted to the guard ahead, then back to you, and for a moment, you caught a glimpse of something deeper in his gaze.

He stayed close, his presence a shield against the unsettling stillness of the corridor.

Reaching the bathroom, you pushed the door open, feeling the cool air inside as it contrasted against the heat building in your chest. You stepped forward, but before you could make it inside, In-ho followed, his movements swift and deliberate. With a forceful push, he slammed the door shut behind him, trapping you between him and the wood.

You gasped, caught off guard by the sudden intensity of the situation. "What are you doing?" you started, but the words died in your throat.

In-ho didn't answer. Instead, he moved closer, his breath warm against your skin as he cupped your face with his hands. Before you could protest or fully understand what was happening, his lips crashed against yours, silencing everything around you.

For a moment, everything went still—your heartbeat, the weight of your breath, the tension in the air. Then, slowly, you let yourself sink into him, your body responding to his touch with a deep, aching need you hadn't even realized was there. You kissed him back with all the desperation and longing that had been building since the moment he left that coffee shop, your hands reaching up to pull him closer, craving the connection, the heat.

His lips were soft yet urgent, and the kiss deepened, a powerful force that seemed to push away everything else—the fear, the uncertainty, the danger. All that mattered in that moment was him and the way he made you feel safe. You hear the lock click, then feel the touch of In-ho's hand on your waist. You pull back, In-ho's lips working against your neck.

You chuckled, "We can't fuck in the bathroom," You choked as he bit your neck. "Says who?" he uttered against your skin. You smiled with a gasp, "The people that run this place." He only pulls you closer, scooping you into his arms. You look down at him, legs wrapped around his back, "don't worry about them."

Laying you gently on the nearest sink, you pulled him closer as he slid his hands under your shirt, cupping your breasts while sucking at your neck. You whined at the sensation, yanking his jacket and shirt off. You needed him.

Now.

"This is wrong," you arched into his touch as he squeezed. The thought of fucking in a place of death, a place of violence, chilled your spine.  

"Tell me to stop, then." He orders.

You couldn't find the words, thoughts drowned out by need—by desire, and you felt him smirk against your skin.

Reaching for the edges of your shirt, he lifted the fabric over your head, laying it behind you on the cold granite.

You ran your fingers through his hair, tugging at the silken strands as he groaned at the ache. You smiled, tugging his head back, attaching your lips and dragging your tongue to his jaw, his neck, his chest—anything and everything you could reach.

With one quick motion, he pulled you off the sink, turning you around and pushing you face-first into the sink. His palm held your head to the cool granite, keeping you in place. Your breath hitched as he pulled your pants down, taking your underwear with. His hands squeezed and grabbed at your ass before administering a sharp slap. You cried out as he leaned into your ear.

"You want me to fuck you?" You whined, your eyes closed, taking in the moment with him. "Fuck you so the guard outside knows who you belong to you?"

He tugged at his pants, removed them completely, and aligned himself to you. He pushed into you with a force that knocked the air from your lungs.  

Your neck was pulled at such an angle that you could see yourself in the mirror—cheeks red, lips puffy, and mouth agape as In-ho was mercilessly fucking you. Your hips ached from the force of hitting the counter, making you shriek. He groaned, "I missed you," he leaned forward again, and you grabbed at his neck behind you, pulling him closer.

You whined, "I-I think—" he grabbed at your jaw, "cum for me," he demanded, forcing your climax to shatter through you. Biting at your shoulder, he fucked you through it, reaching his peak a moment later.

As he slowed, he kept himself right where he was, wrapping his arms around your front and offering a sweet kiss to your cheek.

"That was fun, but I really need to pee." You whispered.

Sitting up slowly, you watched as In-ho moved around the small bathroom, his movements almost automated as he dressed. The sound of fabric rustling filled the silence, but inside, you felt anything but calm. A wave of guilt, heavy and suffocating, crashed over you, the weight of it pressing down on your chest.

What had you just done?

You both had fucked like everything was fine, like you were on some sort of carefree vacation, lost in the moment. But this wasn't a vacation. This wasn't a time for pleasure or escape. People were dying here—people you didn't know, people you'd likely never see again. And yet, you had let yourself indulge in something as fleeting and intimate as this as if nothing mattered. As if you were safe.

The realization hit you with sharp clarity. You were not safe.

You stood quickly, your hands shaking as you hurriedly slipped your shirt and pants back on. The fabric felt tight and foreign against your skin, as if you were suddenly aware of the gravity of every movement, every breath.

You glanced over at In-ho, who had stopped midway through shrugging into his jacket, his eyes narrowing slightly as he caught the change in your demeanor. His gaze softened, but the concern in his eyes only made the guilt in your stomach churn harder.

_______________

The next game arrived faster than you had anticipated, and the tension in your chest only deepened as you prepared yourself for whatever twisted challenge awaited. You instinctively attached yourself to In-ho, walking shoulder to shoulder with him, Mina's hand securely in yours. The three of you were a united front, or at least you tried to be. In-ho, however, refused to acknowledge it, his disdain for Mina simmering just beneath the surface, his gaze sharp and focused as he kept a distance between them.

Entering the game room, your breath caught at the sight before you: a massive merry-go-round, the painted horses eerily still, surrounded by a strange sense of foreboding. You couldn't help but glance around, trying to make sense of it all.

"Any ideas yet?" you asked Mina, but before she could respond, In-ho cut in with an air of certainty.

"Mingle," he said simply.

You turned toward him, a flicker of surprise in your eyes. "How are you so sure?"

Mina's brow furrowed with suspicion, matching your confused look as she eyed him closely. In-ho gave you both a quick glance before answering with a confidence that made your skin crawl.

"The rooms, the platform. It's obvious."

Without another word, he walked ahead, leaving you and Mina in his wake. Mina leaned in closer, her voice low, filled with an edge of concern.

"Don't you think he's guessing a little...too well?"

You pushed her lightly, a knot forming in your stomach as you caught onto the insinuation.

"Don't be silly. We don't even know if he's right."

But Mina wasn't letting it go. She grabbed your shoulders firmly, her eyes crinkling with worry, her voice taking on a more urgent tone.

"I'm saying this as your bestest friend, y/n," she insisted, her gaze locking onto yours, "but something feels off." Her grip tightened, and you felt the weight of her words settle in your chest.

Her voice dropped to a whisper, barely audible, as she leaned closer.

"I've been watching him. I've caught this look in his eye—this calculated look—and it's just giving me this god-awful feeling. The way he threatened that older man, how quickly he figured things out... doesn't it make you wonder why he just randomly appeared after the first game?"

You could feel your heartbeat quicken, the creeping unease crawling up your spine. Mina wasn't the type to stir the pot without reason, and her concern was palpable, making your own doubts resurface. You hadn't noticed it before, but now—he was different. His reactions, his confidence—it all seemed a little too... precise. Too perfect. Not to mention the guard shrinking from his demand.

You swallowed hard, trying to push the rising fear down. "Mina... you're overthinking it."

But the doubt gnawed at you, and the unease in your gut only grew heavier.

"Maybe I am," Mina said, her voice filled with uncertainty but still holding a note of conviction.

She paused, then added, "Just listen for the announcement. If he's wrong, you can spend the rest of our lives rubbing it in."

She gave a slight, teasing snicker, her smile a little more strained now, as if trying to lighten the growing tension.

"Just don't die on me and ruin the moment," she added, the last part almost playful, but there was an underlying concern in her voice.

You couldn't help but laugh, the sound coming out a little too nervous to be genuine, but you couldn't help it. "Oh, don't worry," you said, forcing a grin as you nudged her shoulder. "I'm definitely going to outlive you."

Mina's arm swung around your shoulders, pulling you in tight for a brief, tight hug. Her grip was almost protective, and you could feel her warmth seep through your clothes, an odd comfort in a place like this.

"If you do outlive me," she muttered into your ear, "just promise me you'll still remember who had your back when no one else did."

Her words were light, but you knew she meant them as the two of you stepped on the platform next to In-ho.

The familiar woman's voice echoed, but it felt distant like you were hearing it through a thick fog, muffled and hollow.

"Players, welcome to the second game."

A chill ran down your spine.

"For your next game, you will be playing Mingle.”

Your heart stopped.

No, it couldn't be. Not this. The ground beneath you seemed to tilt, and for a moment, everything went still. Your body felt weightless, detached from the reality around you. The world felt like it was spinning, but you were anchored somewhere far away, watching yourself as if from a distance.

You glanced at Mina, your hand trembling in hers as your gaze locked onto hers, the panic written all over your face mirrored in hers. The sound of the woman's voice faded into static, her words becoming unintelligible as your hearing seemed to dull, the world slipping further from your grasp.

You squeezed Mina's hand with a strength you didn't know you had, but the pressure in your chest only tightened. Her expression softened into something akin to sorrow, the pity in her eyes somehow making everything worse. It was as if she could feel what you were experiencing—the crushing weight of the game's announcement.

Too afraid to look at In-ho, you kept your eyes fixed on Mina, clinging to her as if she could pull you back from the edge as if she could stop everything from falling apart. But the feeling—the sense of drowning in your own mind—was overwhelming, suffocating. The fear clawed at you, and you couldn't stop it, couldn't stop the sense of losing yourself in the chaos of it all.

It was like the world was rushing forward, and you were stuck, frozen in place, unable to breathe.

It was as if everything fell into place in that moment, the pieces of the puzzle clicking together with a sickening clarity. The rush of realization hit you all at once, and it was like a weight was crushing your chest.

You thought back to the things he'd said, the things he'd done—each one a thread leading you to this horrifying truth. The way he'd spoken to you at the coffee shop, so calm and calculated, the same cold detachment in his voice now. That look in his eyes—it wasn't just about the game, wasn't just about survival. It was something darker.

He knew exactly where Mina was losing her money. He knew, and he didn't care. And that violent threat he made to that man—it wasn't a slip of anger, wasn't a moment of desperation. It was deliberate. Purposeful. The guard, too, obeying him without question—it wasn't just chance.

"Don't worry about them," he had said in the bathroom. And now, the words echoed in your mind, twisted with new meaning, the lie hanging heavy between you.

You turned to him slowly in that instant, your heart hammering in your chest. The betrayal was like a sharp knife, cutting deeper with every passing second. His cold countenance met your gaze, and in that moment, it all became painfully clear. His indifference to everything, to everyone around him—it wasn't survival for him.

It wasn't coincidence. It wasn't a fluke. It was him.

You looked down and off in the distance.

The games — It was him.

Mina's grip tightened around your hand, pulling you forward off the platform in a blur. You hadn't even realized the game had started—your mind was still reeling, the weight of the revelation suffocating your thoughts. The number 2 echoed in the air, and the pressure of the game became all too real.

Before you could even process what was happening, a sudden force yanked you back, your arm jerking as a strong hand latched onto you. You were pulled against a hard, familiar chest, and you barely had time to breathe before you recognized the feeling—the cold, unyielding presence of In-ho.

A jolt of panic shot through you, but Mina wasn't letting you go that easily. She struggled to break free, her hand reaching for yours, fighting with everything she had to drag you away from him. But it was no use, as a passerby knocked her down with a strong force.

In-ho was swift, dragging you toward the nearest room without hesitation, his grip firm on your arm. The sound of footsteps echoed in the hall, but before you could even register the danger, a man appeared from the shadows, lunging forward and knocking you to the ground.

Twenty seconds

The urgency of the countdown pulsed in the air. In-ho reacted in an instant, grabbing the man by the shoulders and slamming him back.

"Get in! Go!" he barked, his voice cutting through the chaos.

You didn't need to be told twice. Fear surged through your body, and you bolted for the room, throwing yourself inside. But as the door slammed behind you, your heart sank—there was already someone in the room. The man's partner, standing tall, blocking the way.

In-ho was hot on your heels, entering just a moment later. His eyes immediately locked onto the intruder.

"Out," he commanded coldly, his voice carrying authority. But the man stood his ground, refusing to move.

Ten Seconds

In-ho didn't hesitate. He circled around the man with lightning speed, his movements precise and calculated. Before the man could react, In-ho had him in a chokehold, his grip unyielding.

The room felt smaller, the air thicker, as your pulse raced in your throat. Terrified, you backed against the wall, eyes wide with panic. You could feel the countdown in your chest, each second more suffocating than the last.

5...4...3...2...1

A sharp, sickening crack split the silence, and the man's body went limp in In-ho's arms, his life snuffed out in an instant. The room seemed to freeze, and for a moment, all you could hear was the ringing in your ears.

You slid down the wall in a daze, your breath shallow as you pressed your hand to your mouth, trying to stifle the shock and nausea threatening to overwhelm you. You couldn’t look away from the lifeless form, the reality of what had just happened sinking in, making your head spin.

Mina.

You jumped to your feet, looking out the small window of the room.

You couldn't find her.

That was a good thing, right?

Remaining in the room, that same woman's voice spoke over the loudspeaker.

"The following players have been eliminated."

"Player 022, 120, 207..."

You tried to block out the sound of the numbers, each one echoing in your mind like a drumbeat, relentless and deafening. But then, the one number you’d been desperately praying would never come—the one you feared more than any other—was announced.

"Player 067, eliminated."

The words felt like a physical blow, crashing into you with an intensity that took your breath away. A cold, sinking feeling spread through your chest as reality shattered. The world blurred around you, the weight of the announcement pressing down on your entire being, suffocating you.

You screamed, the sound raw and desperate, a cry that seemed to tear from your very soul. You screamed until your throat burned, until the pain in your chest was too much to bear, until everything in your vision distorted in the haze of shock and grief.

And then, cold hands gripped your shoulders—too cold, too steady. In-ho pulled you, almost as if he were dragging you into the abyss with them. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t think. All that remained was the sound of your own voice breaking, the empty, hollow realization that you’d lost someone you couldn’t afford to lose in this hellish place.

His hands guided you down to the floor, but your legs refused to hold you. You crumpled, your body trembling violently as the weight of the loss crushed you.

There was nothing but the scream in your throat and the terrible, empty silence that followed the words you could never unhear.

____________________________________

You didn’t remember slipping into unconsciousness, but in that moment, it felt like a mercy—an escape from the crushing weight of reality.

When you awoke, everything felt distant, foreign, like you had been transported to a place where nothing mattered anymore. The world around you was different, but you barely registered it, your mind too numb to care.

In-ho stood in front of you, his presence as suffocating as the silence that hung between you. His eyes bore into yours, but yours were hollow, glassy, stripped of the light they once had.

"Drink this," he murmured, extending an undersized glass of liquor. His voice was steady, yet cold, as if rehearsed. You took the glass with trembling hands but not to drink. With a sharp motion, you hurled it across the room. The glass shattered against the wall, fragments raining down like jagged tears.

"You're despicable," you spat, the words seething with venom. His face barely flinched, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of something-pain? Regret? It didn't matter.

"You were never meant to be involved, y/n. If you would have just come to me about your troubles this wouldn't have happened."

You scoffed, your lip curling in contempt. "Oh, and everything would have been perfect, wouldn't it? You jetting off on your little 'business trips,' murdering people, while I stayed home like some clueless fool, keeping your bed warm and smiling like an idiot. Is that how you imagined it?" 

Your voice wavered, thick with bitterness, as tears burned your cheeks.

"How..how could you do it?" He circled you, slow and deliberate, like a predator cornering prey. He sank into the loveseat behind you with an air of calculated calm, gesturing for you to sit. His hand barely moved, a silent command. You didn't budge.

He sighed, "I'm doing this for us, for you. Don't you see? The people chosen for the game are parasites—leeches consumed by greed and selfishness. They deserve to be eliminated from existence. Whether they're crushed in the process or crawl away with their filthy riches, it doesn't matter. Either way, they're removed from our world."

Your breath caught in your throat, the words slicing through you like a jagged blade. For a moment, you couldn't speak, couldn't even think. His voice, so calm, so calculating, made your skin crawl.

"For us?" you finally choked out, your voice trembling, caught between disbelief and anguish.

 "How can you even say that?"

He didn't flinch, didn't waver, his eyes cold and distant. But you? You were unraveling. Your chest heaved as if trying to contain the storm brewing inside you.

"People? Parasites? Is that what you think they are? Is that what you thought Mina was? Is that why you had her killed?

"Is that what you think I am?" The words came out sharp, but your voice cracked under the weight of your emotions.

That seemed to get to him. He rose from his seat with slow, deliberate movements, his eyes never leaving yours.

"You?" he said, his voice softer now but no less chilling. "You're not like them."

He began walking toward you, his steps measured, almost cautious, like he was approaching a cornered animal.

"You're not here for your own gain, not for greed or selfish desires. You're here for your father, fighting to save him. That’s why I-I” He started, but you scoffed cutting him off.

But as he drew closer, you instinctively stepped back, your feet moving before your mind could catch up. A cold rush of fear swept over you. You'd never been afraid of him before, but now? Now, you couldn't trust what he was capable of.

"In-ho... don't," you whispered, your voice shaking.

He froze mid-step, his hand half-raised toward you, his brows knitting together. "Don't do that," he said, his voice breaking slightly. "Don't back away from me. Please, don't... don't be afraid of me."

Your heart clenched, but his words didn't bring comfort. They only deepened the chasm between you.

How could this be the same man who once made you laugh until your sides hurt? Who wiped your tears with such tenderness that you thought your heart might burst from the love you felt for him? Memories surged through you—the quiet mornings, the stolen smiles, the promises whispered in the dark. You thought of every moment you had shared, the man you believed in, the man you loved with everything you had.

And now, here he was—a stranger standing before you, cloaked in the shadow of someone you used to know.

"How can I not be afraid?" You whispered, your voice barely audible. You felt the knife twist in your back. Your eyes dropped to the crimson spreading across your clothes, the sheer volume of people's blood making your stomach churn. You trembled uncontrollably, paralyzed by shock and disbelief. Through your haze of agony, you caught In-ho's gaze. His expression was a storm of guilt and regret, but it only deepened your devastation as you crumbled before him.

Finally, your voice cracked again. "I…I need space."

His expression faltered, pain flashing across his face. "Space?"

You nodded, wiping your tear-streaked face with trembling hands. "I can't… I need to think. Please."

He hesitated, then nodded slowly, though his posture screamed reluctance. "You can take the spare bedroom," he said softly. "Down the hall, second door on the left."

Without another word, you turned and walked away, your legs heavy and unsteady beneath you. When you reached the room, you stepped inside and slammed the door shut, locking it before leaning back against it. Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath, your mind racing.

After a moment, you crossed the room, grabbing fresh towels from the small cabinet. You needed to wash it all away—the day, the deaths, the violence. Everything.

The bathroom was dimly lit, the only sound the steady rush of warm water from the shower. You stepped inside, sinking down onto the cold tile floor as the water poured over you, mixing with your tears.

Your mind raced, flashing back to the chaos of the day—the screams, the blood, the merciless decisions. And at the center of it all, the one pulling the strings was him. In-ho.

But then, as much as you wanted to hate him, memories of the past three years flooded your mind. His laughter that lit up even your darkest days. The way he'd hold you, whispering that everything would be okay. The small, thoughtful gestures that made you feel so loved. The way he'd make love.

You buried your face in your hands, the water soaking through your hair and down your bare skin. You still loved him. Even after everything, your heart ached for him.

But how could you reconcile the man who once made your world brighter with the man you'd seen today? The man who was capable of orchestrating so much death and pain?

Your shoulders shook as sobs wracked your body. You didn't know what to do. You didn't know if you could forgive him or if you could ever look at him the same way again.

And yet, even in the depths of your confusion and heartbreak, one thing was painfully clear—you still loved him, but you're not even sure he existed anymore.

__________________

It had been two weeks, two long weeks of isolation. You barely left your room, only emerging when absolutely necessary —for food or the fleeting desire for a change in scenery. In-ho had tried, time and time again, to draw you out of your silence, but every time he spoke, every time his eyes met yours, you couldn't even bring yourself to acknowledge him. The pain was still too raw.

Now, standing in front of the mirror, brushing your damp hair, you let the motions soothe you for a moment. The simple act of taking care of yourself felt almost comforting. But then a knock at the door broke through the quiet.

You approached cautiously, heart beating faster as you turned the knob, only to find In-ho standing there. He said nothing at first, just looked at you, his expression unreadable.

"I want to show you something," he said, his voice low.

You hesitated, shaking your head, instinctively wanting to retreat back into the safety of your room. But his next words made you pause, the sincerity in his eyes pulling at something deep inside of you.

"Please."

It was a simple plea, but it held something genuine—something that made you want to trust him, just for a moment. You sighed, giving in, and followed him down the hall to his office.

The space was quiet and orderly as always. In-ho circled around his desk and sat down, and you stood, hugging your arms tightly to yourself, feeling the chill of the room. He beckoned you over, and you approached, curiosity and apprehension warring in your chest.

He opened a file on his computer, and as the video began to play, your eyes scanned the screen. You recognized the area instantly—it was right outside the city hospital, a place so familiar to you.

And then, you saw him. Your father, sitting in a wheelchair. Beside him, your mother. And the woman next to them…

Mina.

Your heart leaped in your chest, the tears welling up in your eyes as the weight of the moment crashed down on you.

You blinked, trying to steady yourself as you turned to In-ho, your voice shaky. "How..."

He looked back at you, his tone softer than you expected. "Mina was removed from the games. Her death was faked." He turned the screen toward you, showing more of the footage. "As for your father, I made sure the necessary funds were sent and lined him up with a donor."

A sense of relief flooded through you like a tidal wave. You didn't know whether to laugh or cry, but one thing was clear—everything was going to be okay.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you could breathe again. The people you cared about were safe. Your father was getting the help he needed, and Mina—Mina was alive.

Tears streamed down your face, but they were no longer tears of grief. They were tears of release, of a weight finally lifted.

In-ho's gaze met yours, his eyes unwavering as he reached out to take your hands gently in his. His touch was warm, grounding, as if he was trying to reassure you, to remind you that you were no longer alone in this.

"I swore to you," he said, his voice low and steady, "that everything I did, every decision, every action—it would be for you."

You slid into his lap, your knees trembling as you took his face in your hands, wiping away the stray tear that escaped down his cheek. His skin felt warm against your palms, a comfort you had clung to so many times before, but now it only reminded you of how much had changed—how far apart the two of you had drifted.

"All these years," you began, your voice breaking as tears welled in your eyes, "all I've known is what you've allowed me to know. Half of who you are. And I loved that half—I loved it with everything in me." Your voice faltered, but you forced yourself to continue, your fingers trembling as they traced the curve of his jaw. "But this," you said, gesturing to the cold, sterile facility surrounding you, "this is something I can't forgive. These people… they're not parasites or leeches. They're human beings, In-ho. Human beings who were dealt a bad hand. And you've turned their suffering into a game."

His brows furrowed, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, but he said nothing. You could see it—the war raging in his mind, the guilt and conflict he was too proud to admit. You leaned in closer, your forehead almost touching his as you whispered, your voice trembling, "I'm going to give you a choice."

His hands slid up your waist instinctively, as if trying to anchor himself to you, trying to hold on to the one thing he couldn't bear to lose. You felt his grip tighten, desperate, but you pressed on, your words cutting through the silence.

"Come home with me," you said, your voice cracking with emotion. "Leave this all behind and we can reset. Walk away from this nightmare, because if you don't…" Your breath caught as tears spilled freely down your cheeks. "If you don't, In-ho, you will never see me again."

His eyes widened, a flicker of pain flashing across his face as he processed your words. You saw the gears turning in his mind, the walls he had built around himself crumbling under the weight of your ultimatum. His grip on you faltered, his hands trembling as he clung to you like a lifeline.

"In-ho," you whispered, your voice barely audible, "please. I can't save you from this. You have to save yourself."

For a long, agonizing moment, he said nothing, his silence filling the room like a deafening roar. And as you stared into his eyes, searching for the man you had loved for so long, you realized this moment would either be the beginning of something new—or the end of everything.

[aliceinborderlandsquidgame]

Wrong move | The Salesman x Fem!Reader

Summary: He thought you were in love with him....maybe he needs to show you how much you need him.

Warnings: SFW - Possessive!Salesman - Obsessive!Salesman - Controling!Salesman - Red flag basically - Unhealthy relationship - Power imbalance - DARK!Salesman - grammar mistakes -

Note: Not part of "Home Bliss", this is a different universe.

"No"

These were the words that have been in the Salesman's mind for a week now. His aparment, a place he used to love coming to since you were here waiting for him now felt like a empy box. Walls too grey to look at, too dull. The food did not have teaste and his bed felt too big.

When did things go wrong ? He did everything right.

Saw you one day at the local park, got enamoured by you. Followed you around, got to know your schendelure so he could see you from afar. Was able to hack your phone to know every last detail. Your social media were poorly secured. He got to know you like he knew his own skin, when he finally did approach you, you were already his.

And after two years, two years of beautiful moments together, perfectly crafted by him, each one calculated and made so you would fall more and more for him. He got you to move in with him, he was accepted by your friends, your family loved him, and saw him like part of it.

He was sure, centrain that this was the right moment. The perfect one. This was your favorite season, favorite month, perfect hour of the day and a well secured place so you would not feel pressure over it.

Some part of him wanted you to come to him willing.

But your words were marked liked fire. The exchange and after events lived rent free inside his head.

How he had managed to keep his facade he has no idea. The aparment (after you refused to get back) was the one that suffered his rage. All the expensive forniture was destroyed by him, some walls had blood by how much he had punched them.

He was a mess, a disaster. How could yo do it  ? After everything? Weren't you two the perfect match ?

A ding from his phone, the ding he had set just for you sounded.

"Sorry, I think its better if we stop seeing each other. I will pass to get my things soon"

The phone went flying. Were you breaking up with him by text ? When he had read all the exchange with your friends  ? Like how scared you were and how fast it felt. Why were you doing this?

And your doubts ? He never saw them, you seemed content by his side. And loved him like that.

But your personal diary on your phone said different. You felt trapped, like he knew too much, like he was not being honest.

Maybe he should have been more...severe? Showing you just how bad he could be, maybe he let your leash go too large and now he was paying the consequences.

But would he give up ? No. After all you were just confused, and scared, you just needed a reminder of how much you needed him. How he could be the only one for you.

He took the phone back, the screen broke but other functions working. He ignored your message and instead went to his contacts. He had many friends, friends that could ruin you completly.

"I need a favor"

Leaving him was the start of your nightmare.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~

At first the relationship was fine. How does peopel put it ? Honeymoon? Well you two had it for very long.

He was the man any woman could ask for, gentle, caring, doting, never forgot a special date. And would get your favorite things.

But something was off. His eyes, the same dark eyes that sparked when he saw you, these eyes would change to sharp and cold around others. You felt like he was always on you, even when being away for work, he would just know when to send you a message or call you.

Would meet you randomly on the streets, knew when you wanted to do something even when you never mentioned it.

Something was wrong. Your gut told you to run from him but you did not know how. After all on the eyes of everyone he was perfect.

Then he asked to marry you, and you saw your chance. You could say you got scared and that things just did not work out after it.

But it did not go that way.

Once you had got your things from his aparment your Boss called, he had said how sorry he was but the company was cutting off some employees and you were one of them.

Your work, your dream work. The one you had passed years preparing yourself, tears and blood for it. The one that made your parents proud.

Ripped out from you with one call.

Then it came your social circle. Slowly your Friends stopped meeting with you, some removed you from their social media, and some blocked your number. You never got to know what was wrong, or what you did.

And later your parents, it was a shame losing your job, it was worse not being able to get another one.

"Sorry we are looking for something different"

"Your solicitude was read but right now we need another thing"

"We will call you"

Rent became impossible, and so you had to move back with them. Your mother was not happy, telling you how much of a failure you were, how your brother was making money overseas and how your sister had made a family.

Your father did not even look at you. Like he felt guilty, not even the company he used to work for would take you in.

Your days became a circle of sending out curriculums and doing your best to keep your parents happy even when you knew they did not want you there.

And some days you would go to the park and cry. Not caring if others saw you, your life was ruined, you had nothing. Maybe....maybe if you had said yes....

Checking your phone you saw the contacts, mom, dad, brother, sister and him. You were sure you had removed his number but it kept coming back. Maybe you were getting sick because of the stress.  Your finger went over the call buttom till you finally hitted it.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○

He never wanted to see you like this, so broken, so out of life. Maybe he had insolated you too much. Let some lies to your Friends and mother that grew and now they hated you. Your father was a rough one, he had used some...other methods for him. But did coperate at the end.

"You dont seem so good" Were his first words and you looked down at your lap.

"Im sorry for have called you.., after everything"

"Dont say anything. I was glad I got your call. I wanted to know how you were doing" He lied, he knew you were miserable.

Only him could fix it.

"I have...well things have been bad" You addmited "I dont want to burden you with it, maybe this was a mistake"

You went to get up and leave but a firm grip on your hand stopped you. His eyes, cold and sharp like he was seeing his prey.

You, you were his prey.

"Sit" It was an order not a request "Lets talk for a bit more, maybe I can help you, for the old times"

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○

"Are you sure? (Y/N) you can still go back and say no" Your fathers voice cut off.

You were wearing a beautiful weeding dress, outside from a ceremenoy to take place.

"Dad...you have been saying that since I told mom and you that I was getting married. This is good, we actually made up and I even got my work back, with double pay. Was not what you wanted for me?"

Your father did not respond. He still remembers that night. The night your "perfect" boyfriend appear. When he told him how your life would be so bad you would be wishing you were gone.

"And if thats not enoguh, maybe leaving her limp like you will do the trick"

He had tried for many months to hide his injury, the injury that man had caused him and promised to do the same to you.

"Dad? Its your leg hurting? You are crying"

"No dear, im fine. A little emotional to see you go"

When the doors opened and he walked you in and saw the monster you were going to marry he felt like dying there. When he gave you to him he could see it, he was liking his pain.

"I will take good care of her" Were his only words, and by the time his eyes were on you it had changed.

Love? Obsession ? A twisted sense of care ? No one could tell, no one dared to ask.

Him ? He was just happy you finally accepted what was best for you.

Him, he was the best for you.

"Till death do us apart"

Not even death would be able to separate you from him.

[myjjongie]

౨ৎ to my beloved ── p. jongseong ⟢ teaser

SYNOPSIS . . . Moon Yn daughter of a notorious Duke who is said to be one of the Emperor's most loyal aides is married off to Archduke Park Jay. Their marriage soon became the talk of the country. Everyone adored the joining of Yn, daughter of Duke Moon and the Emperor's eldest son Jay. Two people the Emperor cherished very deeply. Unaware of Duke Moon's true intentions, he desired the throne the Emperor sat on. Using his own daughter as a means of infiltration he marries her off to Jay. Yn being shackled down to her father listened to everything he told her to do. Eventually when the day came for the overthrowing of the Emperor's throne Yn dies before ever knowing who truly won in the end.

OR

IN WHICH . . . Yn is sent back in time to before she married Jay, before her father started preparations to overthrow the Emperor, before everything was lost. Finally having a second chance to save the people most dear to her. Yn won't let her father control her as he pleases this time. For Yn will make her own decisions despite the unforeseeable future. With this second chance she'll marry Jay with the intentions of helping him without the control of her father. ⌇WORD COUNT . . . 382 ⌇

.ᐟ PAIRING . . . archduke!jay x archduchess fem!reader

.ᐟ GENRES . . . oneshot histrorical au, time travel trope, enemies to lovers (if you squint your eyes hard enough), magic/magical beings are a thing, contract marriage, she fell first he fell harder, angst, yn was a villainess in her past life (???)

.ᐟ WARNINGS . . . yn unalives herself (in the beginning), family abuse (all from the father), heavy descriptions of certain topics, detailed scenes with physical touch

.ᐟ STARRING . . . enhypen (all members) ive (liz) nct (chenle + mark) aespa (giselle) + possible mentions of other idols

•

꒰ evie's note : so i cooked up this snippet an hour or so ago. posting this fic teaser to test the waters in a way cause i only have a smau being posted at the moment. i've also been itching to write write something and it's been a hot minute since i've gotten my creative brain juices flowing as well. back into reading manhwas again so if this reminds you of any of those, yes. and yes it's about jay again IM SORRY i miss my pookie bear angel can yall blame me :( also if i finish this within a timely manner i wanna have it out before the end of next week tbh. really hoping i'm able to do this fic justice for yall. but alas enjoy the tiny bit of what my brain cooked up. ꒱

taglist ( open! send a ask/comment to be added ) . . . @shinkenprincess-oh @jiryunn @rebeccaaaaaaaa @fancypeacepersona @thinkinboutbin

perm. taglist ( open! send a ask/comment to be added ) . . . @ikeulove @leehsngs @nickiminajleftasscheek

YN POV .

My eyes blink open to see the view of an all too familiar ceiling above myself. It was the same cream colored ceiling that belonged in my bedroom in the manor at the Moon duchy. Slowly sitting up my eyes scanned my surroundings. It was exactly as I had remembered the room, the sitting area for when guests were over. The windowsill where I had often read books to pass time through the day. The tall walls decorated with intricate designs only a Duke could afford for a singular room. Thing was the last time I had been in this room was before I left for the Park duchy. When I left to get married to Duke Jay. My mind was a mess of memories as it all dawned on me.

I remembered the blazing fire as I ran through the trees in the forest next to the Park duchy. I could recall the stinging pain as the branches scratched and tore at the skin of my arms. Then the feeling of my legs numbing as I sprinted in the heavy dress that was tailored for a archduchess to wear. My head ached as everything came back to me. Remembering the sound of the knights corning me in the forest, shouting how I needed to go with them. Jay wanted me alive, but I knew it was all a lie. My father had started a coup d’état, he always craved for the higher power in the aristocracy. Being granted a duke title while not being related to the royal family simply wasn’t enough for him. So he sought out higher power, the throne of the Emperor. Jay was one of the Emperor’s sons, there was a feeling in me. Jay wouldn’t stand for his wife being the daughter of the man who wanted to take his father’s throne as well as his life. If the knights captured me to take me to Jay he for sure would have killed me with his own hands. With no other choice I took my life. In hopes that there would be one last thing I had control over before I died. It was laughable at how in the end I only had control over how I got to die and who got to kill me.

©myjjongie 2025

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  𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (6)

remember lookin' at this room, we loved it 'cause of the light now, i just sit in the dark and wonder if it's time  ten years of being one and the same with jungkook as the country's it couple is the perfect disguise for the reality of a tumultuous relationship hidden behind the scenes. ten years of lies and love and crawling back to one another. once shy, budding first love that blossomed before the weight of fame, the cracks begin to surface amidst your respective rises to stardom and navigation of your twenties. either finding euphoria or the end of the world, there's never any in between in existence for you and jungkook. as you build each other up and break each other down in front of millions of eyes, there is a crossroads ahead with words of "marriage" and "military" looming in the air - all while ignoring the price of fame breathing down your necks. this is the story of love and the lessons learned from the man you made your religion.  and i wouldn't marry me either, a pathological people-pleaser who only wanted you to see her

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: jungkook picks up the pieces of the mess he made, as he looks back on his choices and the people he surrounded himself with. 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒: idol!jungkook/female idol!reader and fictional versions of various idols 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄. idol au, on-and-off relationship, angst, i swear there's fluff, fake dating, and themes of first love, growing up, struggles with fame, and marriage (ish) 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. PLEASE DON'T EXPECT HAPPINESS, portrayal of a toxic couple (implications of emotional abuse and control), both main characters are very flawed, violence, infidelity, foul language, substance use (illegal drugs) 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄. based off of "you're losing me" by taylor swift. this is a fictional portrayal of real-life people that implement some aspects of real-life events. hi welcome back everyone!! it's been a very long time since the last update and i just really wanted to push something out, so hopefully this doesn't seem super rushed because it was important for me to get over my writing slump:) ㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤjoin the taglist here!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤm.list | previous | next

every mornin' i glared with you with storms in my eyes how can you say that you love someone you can't tell is dyin'?

TOP HEADLINE TODAY: are bts' jungkook and s.iren's nova the new power couple of the entertainment industry? positive reception indicates rare acceptance of idol relationshipㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ   may 2018

jungkook was still so young, but as he examined his appearance in the mirror, he couldn’t help but notice the way age settled beneath his skin. one couldn’t tell by first glance, but his eyes were old and tired. it was difficult to remember the last time they lit up with a spark, rather than sitting half lidded and apathetic. his lips were fixed into a permanent frown when he was away from the cameras, despondent like worn out leather. nothing could cut through the fabric, especially not now. he was reminded of this, as his manager read out his schedule for the day and several stylists picked at his dark hair that fell just above his eyes now. his shoulders drooped further when he heard your name amongst the activities laid out for him.

“the red carpet begins at seven, your and y/n’s car will arrive at approximately seven twenty four - not too late, not too early that nobody will be there.”

this was the first public event that the two of you were scheduled to attend as a couple. of course, that was nerve wracking enough, but it didn’t help that you were still giving him the cold shoulder. he didn’t expect anything else and any blame would be misplaced, but it was worrying to look forward to feigning happiness for the cameras. he knew you like the back of his hand and you were a horrible liar. he knew every quirk at the corner of your lips when you smiled and the way a crease formed between your eyebrows when you grew frustrated. jungkook was one of the only people who noticed the way you bit the inside of your cheek when you got nervous and how you looked at people’s ears instead of their eyes when you got shy. 

once upon a time, he would say that it was because you were his. now, you weren’t and he was just some stranger who knew every inch of you with his eyes closed.

jungkook hated himself for what he did to you and what he hated even more was that the world continued to spin regardless. his members, some oblivious to jungkook’s betrayal and others simply just suspicious of his faithfulness to his girlfriend, continued treating their youngest member as usual. seokjin and jimin gave him the hardest time, as the former was genuinely the most disappointed in jungkook and gave him a week-long cold shoulder after yelling at him, while jimin had to bear witness to the dramatic confrontation at hotel azure. however, there was no choice but to simply condemn jungkook’s actions and move on - they were still a unit whose careers relied on each other. they were also brothers at the end of the day and disagreeing with one person wouldn’t break their bond. 

besides, it was clearly a sensitive topic for jungkook, despite the mass of guilt weighing his body down with every breath he took. no one heard from him for days following the dispatch article, presumably locked up in his apartment and drinking his consciousness away. everyone knew about his growing drinking problem, but were shocked to see the extent of it when they finally confronted him.

“i don’t think you should be the one crying and hiding,” muttered hoseok, who led the charge in recovering jungkook after everyone got fed up with him ghosting anyone who tried to reach him.

it was the eldest four of the group who broke into his home, just several hours prior to their flight to tokyo for a weekend-long event. this was after the first few days since the news broke and since anyone saw him in person. seokjin, although refusing to speak to jungkook, brought food for him, while namjoon and hoseok physically dragged him out of bed and yoongi forcibly went through his belongings to pack clothes on his behalf. 

“i’m sorry, i don’t know what’s wrong with me,” was all jungkook could make out and it wasn’t clear if he was referring to the fact that he wasn’t cooperating or the situation with you as a whole. it also wasn’t clear if his hoarse speech was due to being under the influence or from crying. 

yoongi pinched the bridge of his nose, watching his members push jungkook into his washroom to get himself decent. “this. . .this is pathetic,” he said, as there were no other words to describe the scene. 

at least namjoon managed a sympathetic expression on his features. “he keeps saying over and over again that he’s sorry.”

and that was all jungkook knew. that he was sorry. that he had never made such a mistake in his life. he also knew that he had no explanation or excuse, no matter how he rationalized his actions to himself in the past few months. jungkook couldn’t figure out how he even did such a thing, until yoongi stopped him in his tracks, just before the five of them departed jungkook’s apartment. 

jungkook nearly lost balance, as his head hung low as he walked and dragged his suitcase behind him. the others looked on from the hallway, upon noticing that yoongi paused in front of jungkook before he could close the front door behind him.

“your pockets. empty them, kook.”

yoongi knew before jungkook even realized that he brought it along. it was simply second nature and that was the problem. if it was even possible for further shame to illuminate in his dark eyes, jungkook made sure to cut his gaze away to avoid his older friend’s fiery one. without a word of protest, jungkook reached into the side of his jacket and revealed a flask, which he tossed on the floor behind him. 

that was two weeks ago. it wasn’t much to be proud of, but jungkook swore on sobriety since then. 

that meant it was also over two weeks since he saw you in person. even though it felt like forever, he knew it didn’t mean jack shit to you, who he knew hated him. the look in your eyes when you begged your company to not have anything to do with him, was something he could never forget. he wanted to scrub it off his skin until it was raw. the shame jungkook felt overwhelmed him to the point where he knew he wasn’t even worthy to feel guilt. he was embarrassed for the man he became. 

however, the world kept spinning. nobody stopped to care for his problems or his mistakes, especially with the career he chose. jungkook was bts’ jungkook and people were relying on him - his fans, his group members, his company. nobody cared and he didn’t expect anyone to. 

he didn’t care about the world continuing to spin in spite of him - his thoughts were consumed with how you were doing as the sun continued to set and rise amidst your suffering. jungkook couldn’t even bear to look you up on social media or the internet. sure, he would be reminded of the insane predicament that your companies just placed on the two of you, but more importantly, jungkook knew that he had no place checking up on you. he wanted nothing more than to pull you into his arms and weep, to patch up the deep wound he inflicted on you. when your companies made the publicity plan official, jungkook thought it was the heavens above granting him some sort of second chance at winning you back. 

yet, as he waited in a limousine, waiting for your arrival to drive over to this red carpet event, he was nervous. jungkook felt oxygen trapped in his throat, choking on the fear of facing you once more and it burned a deep hole in his body. he didn’t deserve this. you didn’t deserve this. 

over the past two weeks, you didn't know how else to deal with your emotions other than the only way you’d done so for years - by ignoring it and shoving it into the back of your mind. if anyone crossed paths with you, they would simply congratulate you on the successful relationship and ask to say hi to your new public boyfriend. you would plaster on a tight smile and thank the person through your teeth. 

the worst part was that no one even knew. even if they were present on that fateful night at hotel azure, any party attendee who saw the news could only assume that you were merely a spineless coward that crawled back to jungkook despite being publicly betrayed. you were defenseless and all of your walls were broken down.

it was an ironic thing, for the two of you to be so alone in the world and being pushed towards one another at the same time.

anyone could see that something was wrong, but it didn’t matter and no one dared to speak up. your makeup artist’s curious eyes were hard to miss, as she prompted for you to stop furrowing your eyebrows during the application of your foundation, but your pr manager’s cut eye from the corner of the dressing room silenced any questioning.

“how many times did you read it over?”

through gritted teeth, you responded, “seven.”

the stack of papers wedged between a flimsy plastic binder were just about as thick as your wrist and felt heavier that it actually was - likely because you were forced to carry it everywhere you went for the past few days. it was a collection of various documents relating to media and public relations, including the full-length version of your NDA with your company and bighit in relation to your coupling with jungkook. there was also a detailed guide to answering interview questions, how to stand next to one another, social media etiquette, and anything that could ever come up. hell, there was written practice on how to look at one another. 

ms. choi was the special pr manager assigned to all activities and releases concerning your public relationship. you had met her at the meeting with the board of directors at the bighit company building and she reminded you of a math teacher that you used to hate in school. domineering, always looking over your schedule, and sent shivers up and down your spine. she was not someone to be messed with and above all, she was extremely particular about how she wanted things done. anyone would be a fool to cross her - perfect for the role she was hired to do.

she required you to review the binder several times before all public appearances and it was exhausting. you also had an inkling that your beloved didn’t have the same treatment and your suspicions were confirmed when you crossed paths with him for the first time in weeks, bearing no papers or preparation of any kind in his hands.

instead, he was positioned at the farthest corner of the limousine when the door was opened for you, taking his own precautions against you.

jungkook’s stomach dropped when the vehicle came to a stop in front of the familiar sight of your company building. there was a ticking time bomb at the core of his ribs and it was an explosion to be set off as soon as he saw your shadowy figure approach through the tinted windows. even though he’d been doing everything in his power to brace himself, he still flinched when the door swung open.

his entire body turned cold with rage and guilt when his eyes fell on you. he imagined greek goddesses dripping in gold and glowing in divinity throughout the history of time, but they still wouldn’t hold a candle to you. it was difficult to pinpoint the source of such celestial haze - perhaps your appearance long muddled in self-hatred and anger since hotel azure and now a glistening memory being remembered before his very eyes. it was like learning a lost nostalgia, as if it had been more than mere weeks since laying eyes on you. the taste was bitter and he refused to deem himself worthy of such a thing, but if you picked at jungkook’s brain and held him against his will, it would be a whispered confession of falling in love all over again.

in a tint of twinkling champagne, you donned a floor length evening gown with a fitted, mermaid silhouette. the beaded sweetheart neckline hugged your torso and was accentuated with a sharper edge at your clavicle, before creating a bolder figure flaring out into an hourglass shape. your hair was slicked back into a wet look, as loose curls enhanced by waist-length extensions framed your face. the makeup chosen for the look was simple - a nude gloss, soft flush of pink blush and a sharp eyeliner wing. the star of the show was truly your dress, as just a pair of small gold drop earrings were your only accessory. 

thankfully, the dress wore you and not the other way around, as your misery was too loud to not be seen and so, the glamour of your attire created a successful camouflage. if anyone looked at you, they would only see your beauty and not your anguish - a heartbreaking curse on women who chased fame as their body of work. 

the curse almost snuck past jungkook, who initially was struck by your appearance, but then saw the way you bit the inside of your cheek. the way emptiness sunk behind your regard. the way you accidentally locked eyes with him and broke away immediately, as if letting a curse word slip or touching something too hot.

“ten minutes to arrival.” jungkook’s manager cut through the obvious tension in the air, thick as nectar.

you sat opposite of him, pretending to pick at your manicured nails after setting your binder next to you and in between his manager. the space was well-needed, as you could barely acknowledge any of his team in the limousine. 

jungkook replayed this moment prior to your arrival dozens of times in his head and in every version, he couldn’t even sputter out a polite greeting. he had no place. in this timeline, he, too, failed to say hello.

as the next few seconds progressed, those around you and jungkook were shifting in clear discomfort. jungkook wasn’t exactly prepared by any means, as his staff had barely been able to get him to respond with something more than a grunt and nod to any attempted interaction throughout the day. meanwhile, your team was watching you like a hawk, policing you like a child with your every move. 

naturally, someone from your side - thinking that they uncovered the secret key - reached into a compartment and pulled out a pristine bottle of cristal. 

with the hopes of easing the tension-filled air, she looked between the two of you and mused, “first public appearance together. drinks anyone?”

you were reaching for a flute already, even before jungkook could wave off the champagne. he didn’t miss the way several individuals in the car, including his own manager, exchanged shocked expressions at his decline. jungkook never said no to a drink before an event and it wasn’t rare for him to already show up slightly inebriated in the first place. 

for the first time, you willingly looked up at him, also taken aback. before his eyes could blink back to yours, you were already staring out the window and sipping slowly on your champagne. if you allowed yourself to let your thoughts linger too long on jungkook’s rejection of alcohol, it would mean you cared. meanwhile, he assumed you’d already gone through all sorts of emotions, likely the entire seven stages of grief. maybe you finally came to accept that you no longer needed jungkook in your life.

however, there were precisely four moments that altered everything.

moment number one occurred precisely twenty three minutes after your reunion with jungkook. at this point, he’d used up the entire time on the way to the event trying to not appear like he was sulking. thankfully, your managers began explaining the agenda for the night and several, firm reminders of do’s and don’ts for the camera. the conversation filled up the heavy, dreadful space lingering between you two in the car. 

though there was an obvious attempt to not come off as harsh, given the circumstances of clear torment between you, jungkook knew that this night was crucial. the two of you really needed to sell being a couple or face consequences that he couldn’t even imagine. this was your career at the end of the day and its fragile state laid in his hands.

so, before you knew it, the short ride was up and jungkook was greeted by the blinding lights of photographers at every angle possible, even before the car door was fully open. he knew to step out first and structure the perfect gentleman image, as this photo was surely going to be on every social media platform, every homepage, every magazine. the weight of the world rested on his shoulders and the only thing he could do was stretch a pearly white smile across his face.

“jungkook! jungkook, over here!” several reporters called out, ready like a cannon to fire away all the juicy questions in their arsenal since the relationship announcement.

throughout the past two weeks, the youngest member of bts wasn’t all that concerned with the actual publicity of the relationship. he was far too deep into grief to even consider the emotional toll that this new aspect of his job was going to have. he knew that he’d have to spend a generous amount of time with you, which was where the source of his anguish and guilt came from, but he nearly forgot how awful it was dealing with media in general. jungkook should have known that it was only going to get worse in the role he was now forced to play, as your public beau.

“jungkook! how’s y/n?” one reporter kept repeating over and over, wildly waving with one hand to get his attention.

another yelled, “jungkook, how does it feel to be the most searched term with y/n for fifteen days straight?”

while the screams were loud upon jungkook’s appearance, a hushed anticipation floated in the air. some expected other bts members to appear behind him. the crowd couldn’t even dream of the presence of jungkook’s newly official girlfriend, but as soon as one golden heel hit the velvet carpet, the floor nearly rumbled at the volume of yells. 

this time, there was no choice but to hold a fixed gaze for longer than two seconds with one another, as your figure fully emerged from the limousine and met the blinding lights. the real job had begun and it was evident by the sudden smile mirrored on your face. it took jungkook aback, as he had been replaying your devastated expression at hotel azure over and over again for weeks. he was shackled to those memories of tears in your eyes - by the pool, in the elevator, at the bighit building.

“ready?” 

it took a second to process that you were actually talking to him, as he did a double take. you arched a single, perfect eyebrow at him, as if he just told you a funny joke. one thing you always kept up was the fact that you insisted you were the funnier one out of the two of you, often playing the dynamic of a straight man that refused to laugh. 

jungkook realized what you were doing - already portraying a different character for the cameras and it was one of a loving girlfriend that really wasn’t his. despite the heaviness in his chest, he had no choice but to play along, too.

he held out his arm for you and you gladly grasped it, looping your own through. although fans and reporters alike were still screaming at the top of their lungs, the touch of your hand on his arm nearly hurled jungkook back and to the ground. he forgot what it was like, to have your touch and to see your smile. moment one made him forget who he was and where he was, as if he was just yours once again. 

this single, seemingly mundane, snapshot of the night was immortalized within jungkook’s mind. it was a second that transported him back in time, almost mockingly. he decided right then and there that he would be chasing these moments for as long as he could.

there was a certain fear that settled in jungkook’s skin, wondering if he would forever have to deal with your silence behind the scenes or suffering through forced touches in front of the cameras. 

over time, it got better. when forced together in spaces like these, he was still too concerned with walking on eggshells around you to even try anything with you. he was too ashamed to talk to you, to laugh with you. there was always a safe distance between the two of you and jungkook made it a point to be as professional as possible.

the worst part was that he couldn’t read you at all. despite the fact that the two of you knew each other since you were practically kids meant nothing when the only face you wore was that of a stone cold expression. it drove jungkook crazy, especially when you so obviously feigned excitement or love when your job required you to. he watched puppet strings dictate every slight change of expression on your face and it felt like rocks in his stomach. 

this safe distance was easy to maintain when watchful eyes of staff members lingered at every schedule - until they didn’t.

moment two, unlike moment one with you on the red carpet, was approached with fear and uncertainty. jungkook was ill-prepared this time around, having thought that he was looking forward to a rare friday night off when his phone and ms. choi demanded his presence across the city in less than twenty minutes. unlike the jungkook he knew in himself from even just a month prior, he wanted nothing to do with anything if it wasn’t involving laying down in his bed for the whole night.

deep down inside, he knew he wasn’t a party animal. it was nothing he yearned for, but instead, the idea of losing a bit of reality for even just a few hours. down some drinks here, take some pills there. that was the lifestyle he learned from his group of “friends.”

the “friends” was in quotations because there were a select few people in his life that openly declared themselves jungkook’s real friends - his group members, a handful of the 97 line, and others. they were in mostly opposition to the circle that jungkook ran in outside of the, which included bored chaebols, influencers, producers and club promoters with the world at the palm of their hand. they found jungkook to be a cute little idol that could be used for clout. 

namjoon often warned jungkook about the people he surrounded himself with, but it was hard when they stuck to him like glue. it was as if he had his own little minions that enabled jungkook to do whatever he felt, as they crossed paths in every major city in the world. jungkook had his boys in los angeles, his connections in tokyo, the rich heirs of singapore. being constantly on tour and away from home was painful in every sense of the word, but he was able to numb it with the people around him.

that was the beginning of the end when it came to hurting when away from you.

surprisingly, jungkook avoided groupies. it was an easy trap for anyone blinded by the shining lights of fame to get lost in that world - maybe it had to do with his members and their own reservations regarding such a thing. while the company and management were strict, anyone could get their way if they were smart enough about it. regardless, it simply wasn’t the band’s prerogative to hook up with fans. instead, jungkook crumbled under pressure through other means.

it was a friday night like tonight, but he was certainly not laying down in bed. bts was in kyoto and celebrating their head choreographer’s birthday at a dingy, hole in the wall nightclub. the walls reeked of nicotine and it was so small that he couldn’t make two steps in either direction without crashing into someone. jungkook made this very mistake and that’s how she ended up falling into his arms. from there, they laughed it off, drank too much, and ended up in his bed by the end of the night. 

the only reason why it even happened was because you uttered the words that jungkook thought he’d never hear: i hate you. the fight over the phone was about a multitude of things that was exacerbated by the distance placed between you two because of work and the fact that you were under the influence throughout the entire conversation, sipping on gin on the rocks as it progressed and became rowdy by the end of it as a result. you yelled the three words and hung up on jungkook, prompting him to also get completely wasted before attending the birthday party. he thought that was the end of it, as he heard the words that broke his heart in that moment. you were never one to pull your punches when it came to the harshness of your words, even calling him names in the past, but those three words were beyond anything else.

jungkook didn’t expect you to call him the morning after in tears, apologizing and wanting to make it right.

“dude, it’s not a big deal,” kelvin, one of jungkook’s buddies that was next in line to inherit some singaporean tech company, tried convincing him one night. 

at this point, it’d been a few weeks after the affair and he was starting to feel the guilt building. the tour was about to end, which meant coming home to his girlfriend. the feelings only began to haunt jungkook at night, when he stared up at the ceiling of whatever hotel he was staying at that night. they scraped at his insides with metal forks and jolted his senses like electricity when he dwelled too long about the betrayal he committed. 

“besides,” chimed in nina, another member of their inner circle that was sitting a little too close to jungkook. “you’ve been complaining about y/n for how long now?”

she was a tall and pretty model that looked like she was ready to pounce on the chance to be jungkook’s next hypothetical little secret. jungkook never looked at her like that, though. she’d been bordering on inappropriate closeness with him for nearing a year now and you had been warning him of this, which he ignored. then again, that was the way you were with every female that even breathed the same air as him.

admittedly, you were a bit possessive. for instance, there was no way in hell jungkook was allowed to have female friends while in a relationship with you. you had his location, he had yours - not because he was obsessive over it like you were, but because it only seemed fair. there were multiple instances of you picking fights with girls at parties or other social outings because they simply looked in jungkook’s direction. above all else, it was your way or the highway.

jungkook was a people pleaser and it was his fatal flaw that had an even weaker spot when it came to you. you were outgoing and some may call it flirtatious the way you cozied up to men and women. however, you were able to easily soothe your boyfriend with affectionate touches when he got riled up about it and that was that. it was certainly problematic that you were prone to interacting with others that would have upset yourself and that was one of the issues the two of you often fought about. 

“i don’t complain about her,” jungkook began to scoff, but nina rolled her eyes at his response.

“every time you talk about her, it just sounds like you listing off all the ways how she controls your life,” she said. “just keep doing you.”

a few of the others in the group murmured in agreement. he and his friends were enjoying dinner at some fancy french restaurant that jungkook wasn’t particularly fond of, but went along for the sake of everyone else. in front of the entire group, kelvin decided to spill the beans about jungkook’s affair and of course, they all encouraged it. he was a star, everyone had some sort of little secret on the side. it was a rite of passage amongst celebrities, even. meanwhile, like namjoon, you hated his new friends and warned jungkook that they were full of trouble. it was all the more reason for them to validate his actions and encourage him to continue his affair, maybe even pick up on a few more, when they saw you as a nuisance. 

kelvin continued, “like, come on. everyone does it. who cares if it keeps going?”

it made jungkook feel okay. besides, she was there and you were not. it wasn’t just convenient, it was too easy to create her into an outlet to get away from all his feelings and troubles that couldn’t be numbed with liquor and pills. he was able to forget about all the pressures of being an idol - the way his every move was being watched and how the entire world talked about him endlessly. he didn’t have to think so hard about his growing dependence on alcohol. he was able to forget how much he missed his family and the time he lost to be able to be a kid. jungkook was able to forget how much he missed you and how he wasn’t able to protect you from the harshness of real life - being away from each other, the stress of your respective careers, and everything in between. he knew it was wrong to keep going and there was no excuse, but he also knew he was a coward.

his cowardice is what found him in silence as he waited for you in front of your apartment complex tonight, as per the instructions given to him by mrs. choi, and the aforementioned moment two. these next three snapshots frozen in time would finally melt the ice that burned the deepest crevices of your heart: right now, the night in the hotel room during a snowstorm, and the day of your solo debut. 

[whenikissedthegiyuu]

There’s something about Atsumu that makes me think he would be such a pathetic mess when your lips are stealing his breath and your hand is stroking his cock.

Your lips would be pressed together, tongues licking each other’s mouths. Atsumu would try to hold back at first, but when you palmed his erection through his pants before reaching into his waistband to wrap your fingers around the base, he couldn’t help the whine that escaped him. He stared at you wide eyed, watching as you slowly moved your hand to the tip and rubbed the weeping slit with your thumb.

Atsumu would try to take control, but then you would start moving your thumb over the head to spread his precum and whiny moans would pour out of his lips. You would pull away from his lips for a moment to spit down on his cock before using the saliva as lubrication to start jerking him off. You’d barely started moving your hand when he was tugging you back to kiss you again.

It wasn’t even a proper kiss at that point. Atsumu’s mouth would be wide open as he whimpered your name and begged you to make him come. You’d be shocked at the sounds at first, but then you’d start dragging your cunt on his thigh with a sigh. His cock would twitch in your hand at the warmth on his thigh, his mind too lost in pleasure to grab you and force you down harder or to start bouncing his knee as he usually did. Not that you minded, you were focused on making him come with your name leaving his mouth in pathetic, broken moans.

His eyes were full of unshed tears when you looked into them. You didn’t even expect Atsumu to enjoy it that much, to let you take over his pleasure like that. You just wanted to rile him up so he would fuck you, but now you were determined now to push him over the edge and make a mess of him. Your grip tightened, squeezing slightly harder when you reached the base.

Atsumu closed his eyes and leaned his head back on the couch, one of his hands grabbing so tightly onto your panties that it pulled the fabric taut between your legs and created delicious friction against your clit. You couldn’t help but cry out against his lips as you reached your orgasm, hips grinding down against his thigh as his hot cum coated your hand.

[mixolya]

ᓚᘏᗢ — beneath the stars, we became one: chapter 016.

the kiss lingered. not on your lips, but in your mind.

it played over and over, the memory of rin's hands cupping your face, the softness of his lips, and the intensity of his gaze. the way he'd kissed you wasn't impulsive, it was careful. so so careful, like he'd been holding back and finally let himself go. for someone like rin, who kept his emotions locked away, it felt like a moment of quiet vulnerability. and that terrified you.

the first night after the kiss, you couldn’t sleep. you lay awake in your bed, staring at the ceiling, the city lights casting faint patterns on the walls. the kiss replayed, but it was no longer just a sweet memory. it was tangled in a mess of doubt, fear, and questions.

what does this mean now?

rin wasn’t the type to kiss someone casually. you knew that. and yet, the weight of what it implied felt suffocating. you weren’t sure you were ready to face it.

because you'd been here before.

not with rin, but with kyo.

kyo. your first love.

the thought of him made your chest tighten, the ache of old wounds resurfacing. kyo had been your first heartbreak, the kind that left marks you couldn’t see but always felt. you thought back to how you’d loved him, how you’d given him every piece of yourself, only to watch him carelessly break it again and again.

the charm, the laughter, the sweet words - kyo  had been everything you thought you wanted. until he wasn’t. until the promises turned empty, the texts unanswered, and the apologies hollow. and even then, you’d forgiven him. not once, not twice, but so many times you’d lost count.

you forgave him because you were attached. because you thought that was what love was supposed to feel like - painful, messy, and one-sided.

you curled into yourself, hugging your knees to your chest as the memories washed over you. the fear of being hurt again, of being vulnerable, felt paralyzing.

kyo had taught you how to hold on, even when you should’ve let go. rin, on the other hand…

rin wasn't kyo. he wasn’t careless or manipulative. rin didn’t make promises he couldn’t keep, and he never made you feel small. he didn’t chase after your attention with flashy words or grand gestures; he was honest, steady, and… real.

and that scared you more than anything.

because with kyo, you’d expected the heartbreak. you'd almost braced yourself for it every time you forgave him. but rin? rin made you want to trust again. to hope again. and if things didn’t work out, you weren’t sure you could survive that kind of pain a second time.

you sat up, rubbing your temples as you tried to make sense of your thoughts. the room felt too small, too confining, and your mind raced. the logical part of you knew rin didn’t deserve to be compared to kyo, but the emotional part of you, scarred and cautious, couldn't help it.

maybe if you pulled away now, it wouldn’t hurt as much later.

the thought hit you like a punch to the gut, but it made sense. if you distanced yourself from rin, you wouldn’t have to risk falling for him completely. you wouldn’t have to risk him breaking you.

but as much as you tried to convince yourself, a small voice in the back of your mind whispered the truth:

you already were falling for him.

the thought settled in your chest, heavy and unyielding. you were already falling for Rin, and it scared you. because falling meant losing control. and control was the one thing you had promised yourself you’d never give up again.

you sighed and pushed yourself off the bed, pacing the small space of your room. pullinh away seemed like the safest option, but the idea of actually doing it made your stomach churn. rin wasn’t someone who would let things slide without noticing. if you started creating distance, he would call you out on it. and what would you say?

“sorry, rin, i'm scared of you breaking my heart”?

how pathetic.

you shook your head, frustrated. you hated this. you hated the overthinking, the fear, the way you couldn’t just enjoy the moment. you wanted to be brave, to take a leap and see where things would go. but every time you tried to convince yourself, memories of kyo's lies and your own heartbreak came rushing back.

what if rin got tired of you?

what if you weren’t enough for him?

what if this ended the same way as before?

you stopped pacing and leaned against your desk, staring out the window. the city lights twinkled, indifferent to your turmoil. for a moment, you let yourself imagine a different version of yourself - one who didn’t overthink, who didn’t hold onto the past, who could give rin the trust he deserved.

but that version of you felt impossibly far away.

your phone buzzed on the desk, breaking the silence. you picked it up and saw a message from rin.

my beloved 😈😈😈: got home safe?

three simple words, yet they made your chest tighten. 

your fingers hovered over the keyboard. for a moment, you considered not replying, letting the distance start now. but then you thought about the look in his eyes when he kissed you, the way his hand lingered on your face like he was afraid you’d disappear.

you couldn’t do it. not yet.

you: yeah, just tired. and you?

the reply came almost instantly.

my beloved 😈😈😈: same.

you stared at the screen, at the single word that somehow felt like more. you could almost picture him, sitting in his room, his expression as unreadable as always but his thoughts possibly just as restless as yours.

closing your eyes, you let out a slow breath. you weren’t sure what you were going to do, how you were going to handle this, but one thing was certain: you couldn’t avoid rin forever.

for now, you’d let yourself be in this moment. just for a little longer.

chapter 015 > here > chapter 017

back to beneath the stars, we became one !

my taglist is open <3

a/n: I'm crashing out

taglist: @byakgans @bluberrymochi17 @levihanmyotp @x3nafix @etojlee @chuuyalvover @reocidal @syarc0re @azinniyaa @vashyuu @rwbie @idexmids @giaalorine @modxbea @nensi @anqelkoz @sapph1r3x @yuukigyatgyat @morgyyyyyyy @azharyy @chaerinmin @thenightsflower @narcjsistx @totheseok @meekydeeks @aerisevx @imas1mpp

© mixolya 2025. do not copy, remake or edit any of my works.

[bunny-hwa]

Popular, Boy

☆04: The first surrender.

Pairing: Nerd!Hongjoong x Popular!reader

Genre: +18, slow burn, angst, smut, drama, dark academic, love triangle.

wc: 8,5k

Summary: Alliances and secrets simmer beneath the surface as relationships are tested. Whispers of a returning precense cast shadow over your carefully controlled world.

Amid growing tension, nothing is as it seems, and trust becomes a dangerous gamble.

Warnings: Cursing, emotional manipulation, power dynamics, fluff, SMUT (MDN!!) Virgin! Hongjoong, oral (f receiving) fingering, hair pulling, cum eating, use of pet names (good boy, baby, babe, pretty) suggestive.

Series masterlist

☆03 ☆05: The first fracture.

YN♡: I hope you enjoy your return to the losers’ club, ungrateful pet.

Those words feel like a slap in the face, but there's a part of him that can't deny the sting of guilt. Hongjoong had stood up to you, and now, he was being pushed away.

He feels conflicted, like he's torn between two sides of himself.

On one hand, you have everything he’s always wanted, popularity, control, power. On the other hand, he can’t help but feel a flicker of empathy for Dann, even if it’s not enough to overpower his desire to keep his place in your world.

The past three days have been agonizing for Hongjoong. Your cold text still lingered in his mind, your words cutting deeper than he expected.

He wasn’t sure what stung more: being labeled an 'ungrateful pet' or the realization that you had the power to decide his social fate.

In the hallways, the change was immediate and brutal. Your circle avoided him entirely, with Mindy, Wooyoung and the others offering smug smirks or outright ignoring his greetings.

The glances from the rest of the school stung even more, whispers of, 'Guess YN dumped her charity case,' followed him everywhere.

Hongjoong tried to go back to his old routine, hanging out with Yunho, Yeosang, Jongho and Dann in the library, but it wasn’t the same. The nerdy jokes and shared interests felt hollow, overshadowed by his embarrassment.

He couldn’t stop feeling like he’d failed… failed you, failed himself, and maybe even failed Dann.

“Joong, are you okay?” Dann’s voice pulls him from his thoughts during lunch.

Her gaze is soft but cautious. He knows she is trying to reconnect with him, but guilt twists in his stomach.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” He mumbles, shoving a forkful of food into his mouth to avoid saying more.

But Dann isn’t convinced. She has noticed how his shoulders slump when your table erupts into laughter or how his eyes flicker toward you every time you walk by, as if waiting for something.

Was he regretting standing up for her? She wondered, unsure whether to feel gratitude or guilt herself.

✮ ⋆

Brat woo: Party at my place tonight, babydoll!! We’re gonna get lit!!

You smirk as you read Wooyoung's text. Typical of Woo, his personality is always bright and comfy.

You bit your lip, twirling a strand of your perfectly styled hair as an idea formed in your mind.

YN: Invite Hongjoong, too.

The three dots appear almost immediately, followed by Woo’s response.

Brat oo: Babydoll, why would I invite him?

Brat woo: Isn’t he banned from your bad bitches club?

You laugh at his last message as you lean back against your plush chair, crossing one leg over the other. Your perfectly manicured nails taps the edge of your phone as you craft a reply.

YN: Yeah, but invite him.

YN: It would be fun, babe.

Brat woo: Fine. But you owe me a blowjob, doll.

You scoff rolling your eyes, and you prefer not to bother replying. You knew Wooyoung well enough to predict he’d follow through.

You lock your phone and you get up to head to your closet, it's time to look for something cute to wear tonight.

✮ ⋆

His first instinct was to assume it was a mistake. Jung Wooyoung wasn’t his friend. The last party held at his house was amazing and he treated him like they were friends for years, but it was only because he was with you... but not anymore.

Hongjoong read the message again, searching for some hidden sarcasm or trap.

J Wooyoung: Party at my place tonight, you must come.

Why would Wooyoung invite him?

Was this a chance to prove himself again? To get back into your orbit? The thought makes his chest tighten with both excitement and dread.

His phone buzzes with another text, this time from Dann.

Dann: Hey, wanna hang out tonight? We could watch that weird series you’ve been talking about.”

He hesitates, guilt creeping in. Spending time with Dann sounded comfortable, easy, even, but the allure of Jung’s party looms large in his mind. And then, an idea struck him.

He quickly types a reply.

Joong: Actually, wanna come with me to a party tonight?

Dann: What? A party? With whom?

Joong: Jung Wooyoung invited me.

Joong: It’s at his place. You should come.

His reply is almost casually, as if it weren’t a big deal. There is a pause before Dann’s next message comes through.

Dann: Joong, that sounds… weird. Why would Wooyoung invite you? And why are YOU inviting me?

Dann: I remind you that the last time I went to a party, everything went wrong!

Hongjoong frowns, his thumbs hovering over the keyboard. He didn't think that far ahead, but now that Dann brought it up, the invite does seem odd. Still, he can't let her skepticism damp his resolve.

Joong: Does it matter? It’s a party, Dann. It could be fun. We haven’t done anything like this in forever.”

Dann: I don’t know…

Joong: Come on!! It’ll be fine.

Joong: You’ll be with me the whole time.

Joong: If it sucks, we can leave.

Another pause, longer this time. Finally, her reply comes through.

Dann: Okay… I’ll go.

Dann: But if this turns into some kind of disaster, you owe me, Joong.

He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He tosses his phone into the bed and starts rifling through his closet, searching for something that looks remotely party-appropriate.

This is it, he thought, half to reassure himself. This is my chance to prove I’m not just a nobody anymore.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

The party is already in full swing when you step through the door, your entrance commanding attention as always.

Wooyoung is the first to greet you, slinging an arm over your shoulder in a casual, brotherly way.

“About time, babydoll.” He teases, steering you further into the house “You’ve got people asking for you already.”

You smirk, brushing a perfectly styled strand of hair from your face.

“Good. Let them wait. it builds anticipation.”

Your eyes scan the room, taking in the crowd of familiar faces. The thrum of music, the faint haze of smoke, and the sharp scent of expensive cologne feel like home. But tonight, it’s not the crowd you’re interested in.

“Did you do it?”

He glances at your sideways, catching the subtle edge in your voice “Yeah, I invited him. He is coming, right?” Woo asks casually, though there’s a glint of mischief in his tone.

You nod, lips curving into a sly smile “Of course he will. Thanks for the invite.”

“Anything for you, Queen Bee.” Woo chuckles, patting your shoulder before disappearing into the crowd.

You barely take two steps before Seonghwa appears in your path, leaning casually against the doorframe of the kitchen as if he’s been waiting.

“You really showed up.” He says, his tone teetering between disbelief and sarcasm.

“Obviously, miss out on this? Never.”

His sharp eyes rake over you, the casual air he projects cracking just slightly.

“So, you brought him here?”

You lift your chin, feigning innocence “Who?”

“You know who,” Hwa says, his voice dropping “The nerd.”

“Oh, him. He’s just part of the fun, but he is not coming with me today.”

“Fun,” Hwa repeats bitterly, stepping closer “That’s what you’re calling it?”

You don't back down “You’re awfully concerned for someone who’s supposed to be done with me.”

The jab hits, and Hwa’s jaw tightens “We’ve been through a lot, Clarke. I know how you operate, and this is reckless—even for you.”

“Reckless?” You scoff, taking a deliberate step toward him “Spare me the lecture, Seonghwa. If you’re so worried, maybe you should focus on your own vices. Or do you need me to remind you how much recklessness you’ve been indulging in lately?”

His eyes narrow, his jaw clenched “You always twist things around, don’t you?”

You tilt your head, a flicker of amusement dancing in your gaze “Only when necessary.”

The tension between them hums like a live wire, but before either can escalate further, you sigh and soften your tone.

“Look, Hwa, I get it. You’re mad because I’ve been spending time with Hongjoong. But you and I both know this—whatever this is—doesn’t have to be like this.”

Seonghwa’s perfect brows knit together, his posture relaxing just slightly “And what’s ‘this,’ YN? Because it feels like we’re always walking the same damn line.”

“Friends,” You say firmly, though your voice carries a hint of warmth “We’ve been friends forever, haven’t we? Almost more than friends, at times. I’m not throwing that away just because we’ve hit a rough patch.”

He studies you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he exhales and runs a hand through his hair.

“Yeah, well, you’ve always been good at getting under my skin. Guess I should be used to it by now.”

You smile, a real one this time “You should. And for what it’s worth, I didn’t mean for things to get so tense between us. Truce?”

Hwa hesitates but eventually extends a hand, his lips quivering into a faint smirk-

“Truce. But don’t think I’m letting you off the hook completely.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” You say, shaking his hand briefly before pulling him into a quick hug.

As they pull apart, Wooyoung reappears, his grin as wide as ever “See? Told you it’s a party, not a courtroom.”

Both of you laugh, the tension finally dissipating. After all, you've been friends since you were kids, fighting over who got the best gifts or who got the most toys during Christmas.

Yes, maybe fights always were and will always be frequent, but the bond you created will always be there, whether as friends or as lovers. And no one can deny it.

✮ ⋆

The laughter still bubbles around you and friends as you relax on the plush couch in the middle of the buzzing party. The low hum of music blends with the chatter of your friends, creating the perfect backdrop for your carefree moment.

You perched elegantly with your cocktail in hand, tossing your hair back with a playful smirk.

“Remember when you told everyone I cried about losing that silly bet when we went to Meeru Island in the Maldives?” Mingi says, aiming a mock glare at Wooyoung.

He chuckles, shrugging. “You did cry, Mingi. Like, full-on wailing. I saved you from complete humiliation by telling everyone you were faking it.”

“You’re insufferable, Woo.” You lean forward to swat at him, but your grin betrays your amusement.

San joins you, plopping down on the armrest beside Seonghwa, his beer in hand.

“God, you two never change. Should we get you a reality show or something?”

Mingi rolls his eyes but laughs along, the tension from you and Hwa's little fight seemingly evaporating. It’s like old times again, your rhythm unshaken.

Then Woo’s gaze shifts toward the entrance, and his playful expression stiffens slightly.

“Uh… you told me to invite him, but I didn’t think he’d actually show up.”

You follow Wooyoung’s line of sight, your smile freezing as you spot Hongjoong stepping into the house. His attempts at looking casual—down to his carefully chosen shirt and forced grin—betray the nerves he’s clearly trying to hide.

But it’s not just him. Dann is with him, hovering awkwardly at his side.

Seonghwa notices too, his smirk turning razor-sharp “Well, if it isn’t the exile. You sure know how to pick your projects, Clarke.”

Your grip on the empty glass tightens ever so slightly before you recover, placing it calmly on the coffee table. You rise with an air of detachment, smoothing your short silk black dress.

“Don’t start, Hwa.”

Hwa leans back, watching you with an amused glint “I don’t need to. This show writes itself.”

Ignoring him, you stride toward the entrance, movements deliberate, your heels clicking against the polished floor.

Hongjoong’s face lights up with hope when he sees you approach, but you don't acknowledge it.

“Enjoying the party?” You ask coolly, your gaze sweeping over both Hongjoong and Dann.

“Uh, yeah,” He says, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly “Thanks for—”

“Wooyoung invited you,” You interrupt, your eyes flick to Dann, your lips curving into a smile that’s anything but friendly “Didn’t realize you’d be bringing… extras.”

Dann stiffens under your gaze “I just came because Joong—”

“I didn’t ask,” You cut her off smoothly. your focus shifts back to Hongjoong “Enjoy the party, and stay out of my way.”

Before Hongjoong can respond, you turn on your heel, heading back to the couch where all your friends are waiting, barely containing their laughter.

“That was subtle.” Mingi teases as you sit back down.

You pick up another drink and take a long sip, your face calm but your mind racing. You had ordered Jung to invite him, but seeing him here, with Dann of all people, scratches at your carefully curated control.

Seonghwa leans closer, his voice low “Trying to make him mad, huh? Gotta admit, it’s fun to watch.”

You don't reply, your gaze lingering on Kim as he and Dann hover near the edge of the room. The party continues to swirl around you, but the game you’re playing tonight is only just beginning.

“Let's go dance.”

And without waiting for an answer, you drag Seonghwa to the center of the dance floor.

✮ ⋆

The party pulses around Hongjoong, but all he can see is you. You were radiant, laughing as you danced with Seonghwa, your hand grazing his chest as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Weren't you supposed to be on bad terms? He threatened you a few days ago and now you act as if none of that has happened.

Every glance, every touch, feels like a slap to Hongjoong’s face, and when your eyes meet his for a brief moment across the room, he knows it wasn’t accidental.

Dann stands beside him, trying to engage him in conversation or distract him with sarcastic comments about the crowd, but he barely responds.

His guilt over snapping at her earlier only adds to the storm brewing inside him.

As the night goes on, you and Seonghwa grow bolder. You dance closer, bodies pressing together in a way that feels almost taunting. Your hand trails lazily over Hwa’s chest as you throw a sly glance over your shoulder, directly at Hongjoong.

He can't take it anymore.

“I need a minute.” He mutters to Dann before walking away.

He finds you in the corner of the room, laughing at something Seonghwa had said. Your head tilts back, the sparkle in your eyes brighter than ever. You look utterly in control, utterly untouchable.

“YN.” Hongjoong says, his voice tight.

You turn to him, your expression cool and unimpressed “Hongjoong, enjoying the party?”

“I…” He hesitates, glancing at the tallest, who stands smirking at him like he knows exactly how pathetic he feels.

“Spit it out.” You cross your arms waiting for his next words.

Hongjoong swallows hard, his pride crumbling under the weight of your icy stare.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” You ask, feigning ignorance as you raise an eyebrow.

“For… for defending Dann.” He admits, the words tasting bitter on his tongue “I shouldn’t have done it. I wasn’t thinking. Please, YN. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

You tilt your head, a small smile playing on your lips “Is that so?”

“Please, YN. I’m sorry. I’ll do whatever you want to make it up to you.”

You raise an eyebrow. That phrase sounds kinda familiar. Your gaze sweeps over him with an air of detached amusement.

“Anything?”

“Yes.” He said, desperation dripping from every syllable.

“Prove it.”

He looks at you confused, unsure what you mean. But when you point at the floor with a slight nod, his heart sinks.

Here? Now?

The party is still bustling around them, and though the music is loud, he knows there are enough eyes on them to make this moment humiliating.

But the thought of losing your favor, of being cast back into obscurity, is unbearable.

Slowly, he sinks to his knees in front of you like the first time he did it. The weight of the action crushed the little pride he had left.

“I’m sorry,” His voice trembling as he looks up at you “Please, YN. Forgive me.”

Your lips curve into a slow smile, and you reach down, brushing your fingers along his jaw.

“Good boy.”

Without another word, you grab his hand and pull him to his feet. Ignoring the stares of the partygoers—and the way Seonghwa’s amuse chuckle follows them—You lead him through the crowd and up the stairs.

Hongjoong’s pulse races as you push open the door to an empty room, shutting it firmly behind you.

“YN, I—” He starts, but you silence him with a finger to his lips.

You step closer, a hand sliding up his chest before tangling in the collar of his shirt. Your lips hover just above his, teasing him, your breath warm against his skin.

“You want me to forgive you, don’t you?” You whisper against his lips.

“Yes…” He breathes, his voice shaking.

“Then show me how sorry you are.” You say as your lips finally crash into his.

The kiss is rough, demanding, leaving Hongjoong breathless as your hands roam over him.

You push him into the edge of the bed, your confidence unwavering as you climb into his lap.

“Make it up to me.” You murmur against his ear, your tone lace with both seduction and dominance.

The room remains shrouded in heavy silence, broken only by the sound of your ragged breathing and the soft rustling of fabric as your hands continue their work.

Hongjoong sits before you, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his eyes glazed with a mix of guilt, desire, and submission. He’s completely under your control, each deliberate movement you make reinforcing your hold over him.

You trail your nails lightly down his chest, exposed now as his shirt hangs loose from his shoulders.

“See, Joongie,” You purr, leaning in to press a lingering kiss to his neck “When you beg like that, it reminds me how much you want to be here… how much you need me.”

He shivers under your touch, his lips parting as if to speak, but no words come out. His mind is a haze, lost in you—your voice, your touch, the overwhelming weight of your presence.

He feels as if he’s drowning, yet he doesn’t want to come up for air.

Your lips return to his, capturing him in a kiss so intense it steals his breath. His hands caressing from your waist to your bare legs as you tug him closer, your hands tangling in his hair, ensuring there’s no escape.

Not that he wants one.

Your smirk deepens as you lean closer, your fingers curling under his chin to tilt his face up. Your dominance is unshakable, your presence commanding every ounce of his attention.

“On your knees.”

You order, carrying a weight that leaves no room for protest as you get off his lap to sit next to him on the bed.

Hongjoong’s breath hitches. His mind scrambles for a response, but the intensity of your gaze renders him silent. Swallowing hard, he glances around the empty room, then back at you, his cheeks already red when he sees you spread your legs.

He thinks he knows what you want him to do, and that makes him more nervous.

“YN, I don’t know—”

“Do you trust me or not?” You interrupt, fingers trailing down to his collar, tugging him forward “You said you’d do anything for me, didn’t you?”

Caught in your words and unwavering stare, Hongjoong nods hesitantly.

“I do.” He whispered.

“Then show me.”

Slowly, he slides down to his knees, the fabric of his jeans scraping lightly against the floor. His hands hover awkwardly at his sides, unsure of where they should go, as he looks up at you, his wide eyes fill with a mixture of anticipation and nerves.

He's never done this before. He's seen it in porn videos but still doesn't know exactly what to do.

Your fingers slip into his hair, touch firm but not rough, and you guide him closer with a slow, deliberate motion.

“I always tell you this. Relax, Hongjoong, I’ll take care of you.”

Your other hand moves to the hem of your dress, slipping it up just enough to expose the soft fabric of your black panties.

Hongjoong’s gaze drops instinctively, his breath catching in his throat as his pulse races.

“Focus, Joongie.” You tease, tugging lightly on his hair to draw his attention back to your face “Start slow. I want to feel how much you want my forgiveness.”

With shaky hands, he rests his palms on your soft thighs, his touch hesitant and careful, the cold of his rings making you shiver.

You guide him lower, your smirk never wavering as his lips brush against your thighs.

The warmth of your skin, the faint scent of your perfume, the weight of your hand in his hair—all of it consumes him.

His inexperience is obvious, but you don't mind. You encourage him with soft sighs and subtle movements, your hips tilting forward slightly as he grows bolder, leaving little bites on your inner thighs as his fingers play with the edge of your panties, sliding them down slowly.

He starts taking his time dishing out kisses and biting on both thighs, making you impatient.

You let out a whimper pulling his hair slightly “Hongjoong… hurry up and eat me out.”

For the first time in his life, Hongjoong feels confident enough to smile mockingly against your delicate skin.

You, begging him to touch you? He never imagined it.

Still holding his smile, he slides your panties all the way down to your ankles, and removes them eagerly, leaving on your pretty high heels.

When he returns to his starting position between your thighs, he can't avoid looking to your bare core, all glossy with slick. He bites his lip at the sight.

Did he provoke that?

“Joong...” You reproach again with a whine.

You really need him to do something on his own or you'll force him to sink into your folds right now. You've never felt so desperate before, so eager for someone to touch you.

Hongjoong smiles again, your whiney voice turning him on.

The dry humping in your car, the blowjob in the empty classroom, and all the little make outs can not compare to this. Your pussy inches from his face, your hand tugging his hair and your desperate form waiting for him to touch you.

Fuck, he can’t believe this is happening.

With the highest confidence ever, even though he keeps in mind that he does not know what he is doing, he leans towards your pussy, giving a long lick that makes both of you moan in pleasure.

His warm tongue explores every millimeter of your womanhood, you whine as Hongjoong swipe his tongue up and down your wet slit, taking all your slick on his mouth.

“Shit, you taste so good, baby.” He says without realizing his words, his mind already cloudy.

You open your mouth in surprise at his daring words, you swear you feel more arousal coming out of your cunt.

“Fuck, Hongjoong…” You tighten your grip on his hair, forcing him to sink his head further and he lets you do it gladly, smiling against you “Ah… f-fuck me with your tongue, babe.”

And he does, he leaves your swollen clit to play with his tongue rubbing around your entrance, making you whine desperately.

He snorts with fun when you pull his hair harder, he is loving the way you’re acting, all whiny and desperate for him.

Without making you wait any longer, he slowly introduces his long tongue in your core.

He moans when he hears you do it and starts moving his tongue in and out, your walls clenching on it, his nose rubbing your clit, and his hands squeezing your thighs, bringing you closer to his mouth.

You arch your back, squirming and moaning under his exquisite touch. You never imagined that a virgin nerd like him could eat pussy so well.

Fuck, you never imagined he'd ever do this to you.

“That’s it,” You whisper, voice breathy but firm “Just… just like that, Joong.”

Each sound you make spur him on, his nervousness slowly giving way to determination. He wants to please you, to prove that he is worthy of your forgiveness, even if he doesn't fully know what he is doing.

Your breathing quickening as you tilt your head back “Good boy…” You murmur, your words sending a shiver down his spine.

The tension in the air is electric, every movement charged with a mix of control and surrender.

As your soft moans grow louder, Hongjoong can't help but feel a sense of pride, his confidence building with each passing moment.

✮ ⋆

The music blared through the speakers, the heavy bass vibrating the walls of Wooyoung’s mansion. Dann squeezed through groups of laughing, dancing people, her eyes scanning the crowd.

She’d been looking for Hongjoong for what felt like forever.

She finally spots Jung Wooyoung leaning casually against the bar, a drink in hand, and his signature easygoing grin in place.

Relief washes over her as she approaches him. She has never interacted with him, but she must find Joong.

“Wooyoung,” She calls out, raising her voice above the music “Have you seen Hongjoong?”

Jung tilts his head, his expression is a grimace when he sees her. He's drunk but he doesn't remember inviting this loser to his party, much less knowing the grudge you have against her.

“Little Hongjoong?” He echoes, taking a slow sip from his drink “Yeah, he went upstairs. With babydoll.” At Dann's confused expression, he rolls his eyes “He is upstairs with YN.”

Dann’s stomach drops at his words, her brows knitting together.

“With YN?” She repeats, her voice tinged with disbelief.

Wooyoung nods, smirking “Yep. Upstairs. Why? You jealous or something?” His tone is teasing, but Dann doesn’t have the energy to respond.

She turns on her heel and heads for the stairs, her heart pounding with every step. As she climbs, the noise of the party grows muffled, replaced by the quieter sounds of her own breathing and the creak of the steps.

Her mind races with thoughts she doesn’t want to entertain.

Why would Hongjoong be with you? After everything, after all the tension between you?

She reaches the top of the stairs and pauses before she approaches the only door that is closed in the hallway. Something tells her that they are both in there.

Her hand hesitates on the doorknob, her heart hammering against her ribs. Slowly, she pushes it open, the hinges creaking softly.

Her breath catches in her throat at the sight before her.

There you are—You and Hongjoong. You’re laying on the big bed, moaning as your hands grip Hongjoong’s hair while he is between your legs.

Hongjoong’s shirt is half-unbuttoned, hanging loosely off his shoulders, and his hands grip your thighs tightly, pulling you closer.

Dann’s chest tightens as a sharp pang of betrayal and hurt courses through her. She stands frozen in the doorway, her fingers gripping the frame as she struggles to make sense of what she’s seeing.

Neither you nor Hongjoong notice her. You’re too consumed by each other. The intensity of Hongjoong’s movements speaks volumes, and he is clearly enjoying being there.

Your dominance is evident too, your control absolute, while Hongjoong seems lost, entirely under your spell.

Dann bites her lip, willing herself not to cry as she takes a shaky step back. The scene before her is a confirmation of every fear she’s tried to suppress.

She retreats into the hallway, her heart aching with every step.

Downstairs, the party rages on, oblivious to the turmoil in Dann’s chest.

✮ ⋆

“Joong… I’m close.” You announce closing your eyes shut and your whines get louder, the pleasure is too much to handle.

At your words, Hongjoong places his lips around your sensitive clit, sucking and pulling at it, and without you expecting it, he thrust two of his fingers into your narrow entrance, making you open your eyes and groan in surprise.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…”

You quickly lift yourself up on your elbow to get a better view of him eating you like a starved man, It is certainly a spectacular sight.

His eyes closed in concentration, his warm mouth on your pussy and his fingers caressing the right places in your tight cunt.

Shit…. Is he really a virgin? Because this is the best oral sex you have ever received.

“L-look at me… look at me, baby.” You order him and he immediately obeys, looking at you with those doe eyes, those pretty doe eyes make a wave of pleasure run through your body “F-fuck… gonna cum, baby. K-keep going.” You moan again tilting your head back, your eyes rolling back “J-just like that…”

Damn, Hongjoong swears that this is the best view in the world, your mouth agape, eyes rolling back, you saying his name like a fucking mantra, this will undoubtedly be an image that will stay in his mind forever.

“Cum for me, pretty… cum on my mouth.”

He doesn't know where that sentence came from but he can't help it, the adrenaline of the moment has his mind clouded.

With those words, you lose it. Your strength leaves your body when the well-known pressure on your abdomen appears, your grip on his hair becomes stronger and your legs begin to tremble from immense pleasure, your orgasm explodes like never before, leaving you breathless.

He moans in satisfaction, the taste of your slick driving him crazy, he moves his tongue everywhere collecting every drop of your orgasm, just like you did that day with him.

“Ah… fuck, Joong!” You squirm under his movements, feeling the beginning of overstimulation “Hongjoong… ‘s too much, baby.”

With a last lick and a wet kiss on your clit, Hongjoong lifts his head with a light smile.

He’s pussy drunk right now and you smile, taking him by the cheeks and bringing him closer to you to kiss him.

His lips are swollen and his chin is soaked with your fluids, he looks messy, but you don't care. The kiss is full of something special this time, you don't know if it's gratitude, warmth or love. But you're definitely enjoying it too much.

“Did I do it right?” He murmurs against your lips and he smiles when you nod.

“That was amazing.” You pull him back, your breathing uneven, your eyes meet his with a satisfied gleam “Not bad for your first time.”

Hongjoong remain above you, his chest heaving as he tries to process what had just happened.

You run a hand through his messy hair, glancing down at him with a mix of amusement and approval.

“Let’s go back to the party.” You add, leaning down to press a quick, teasing kiss to his lips before pulling back.

And Hongjoong smiles satisfied, satisfied to have your forgiveness

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

The hallway outside Wooyoung’s upstairs den is dimly lit, the faint bassline of the party vibrating through the walls.

Dann leans against the banister, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as if to shield her from the storm raging in her chest. Her mind replays the image of you with Hongjoong in that compromising position.

She blinks back the sting of tears, her breath hitching.

“Pathetic,” She whispers to herself, trying to steal her resolve.

But the pain lingers, twisting deeper with each passing second.

“You look like hell.” A voice cuts through her thoughts, sharp yet strangely casual.

Dann startles, her wide eyes locking onto Seonghwa as he saunters out of the shadows. His shirt is half-buttoned, his tie hanging loose around his neck.

He takes a slow drag from a cigarette, the embers glowing faintly in the dim light.

“What do you want?” Dann’s voice wavers, a mix of anger and embarrassment as she hastily wipes at her cheeks.

Seonghwa tilts his head, smirking “Relax, I just happened to notice you running out of there like the world’s ending.” He exhales a thin trail of smoke, his eyes narrowing with mock “Saw something you didn’t like?”

Dann glares at him but says nothing. The silence between them grows heavy, thick with unspoken truths.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Hwa finally says, leaning casually against the banister “Let me guess… Hongjoong and YN, all over each other like she hadn't kicked him out a week ago because of your little show in the cafeteria?”

His tone drips with derision, his smirk deepening when Dann flinches.

“Why are you telling me this?” She snaps, her voice cracking slightly “You’re supposed to be her friend, aren’t you?”

Hwa chuckles, low and mirthless “Friendship’s a funny thing, don’t you think? Especially when it comes to someone like YN.” He flicks the cigarette away, watching the faint glow disappear into the darkness “You think she really cares about anyone but herself?”

Dann’s gaze falters, the weight of his words settling over her.

“Look,” Hwa says, his voice softening just enough to sound sincere, “I know what it’s like to be on the receiving end of YN’s little games. She’s been pulling this crap since we were kids, using people, discarding them when they’re no longer useful.”

Dann clenches her fists, her voice barely above a whisper.

“But Hongjoong isn’t like that.”

Hwa raises an eyebrow, his smirk returning “You sure about that? He dropped you pretty fast for her, didn’t he?”

Her breath catches, the truth of his words cutting deeper than she wants to admit.

“But here’s the thing,” Hwa continues, stepping closer, his voice lowering conspiratorially “YN’s not untouchable. She’s got secrets, vulnerabilities… things she wouldn’t want getting out.”

Dann looks up at him, confusion and hesitation warring in her eyes.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying… if you really want to hit her where it hurts, I can help.”

The air between them crackles with tension. Dann hesitates, her instincts screaming at her to walk away.

But the memory of Hongjoong doing such a thing with you flashes through her mind again, the sting of betrayal fueling the embers of something darker.

“Why?” She asks cautiously, her voice steadier now.

Seonghwa’s grin widens, his eyes glinting with calculated charm

“Let’s just say I have my reasons. And besides…” He leans in closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper “Don’t you want to see her fall?”

Dann swallows hard, the weight of his proposition pressing down on her. Her mind races, torn between doubt and the growing need to fight back.

Finally, she nods, her voice quiet but firm.

“Okay. I’m in.”

Hwa straightens, satisfaction flashing across his face “Good. Stick with me, and we’ll make sure YN regrets every move she’s made.”

As he walks away, Dann stands frozen, the faint echo of his footsteps fading into the music downstairs.

For the first time that night, she feels something other than pain—something sharp and dangerous, simmering just beneath the surface.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

The soft glow of the afternoon sun filters through the expansive windows of your house, casting a warm, golden hue over the sprawling living room.

You and Hongjoong sit cross-legged on the expensive carpet, a mess of images, glue sticks, and markers spread out between you. The project you’re working on is for the literature class—a visual timeline of key events in European history.

For once, you aren't delegating the work entirely to Hongjoong. Instead, you’re snipping pieces of paper with surprising focus, handing them over to him to paste onto the board.

“Here,” You say, holding up a carefully cut-out image of the Berlin Wall “Paste this next to the 1989 marker. And make it straight this time.”

Hongjoong smirks, taking the picture “Yes, pretty. Anything else you’d like me to do, Your Majesty?”

You roll your eyes but hide a smile “Just don’t mess it up. My grade’s on the line, too.”

You share a laugh, the recent nickname he loves to call you since that night at Wooyoung’s party makes you feel butterflies in your stomach.

Since that day, Hongjoong feels the ease between both of you—something he never thought possible just a few weeks ago. He doesn’t feel nervous or out of place anymore.

Being with you feels natural now, like he belongs here.

You lean back, brushing your hair over your shoulder, and look at him with a curious expression.

“You’re actually not bad at this. Who knew?”

He grins “Wow, high praise coming from you. Should I write this down?”

You smirk, tossing a crumpled piece of paper at him “Don’t push your luck, Kim.”

The banter continues, light and comfortable, until the sound of heels clicking on the marble floor interrupts them.

Your mother appears in the doorway, dressed immaculately as always, her gaze sweeping over the room.

“Oh! Hi, Hongjoong. Didn't know you were here.” Your mother greets him with a lovely smile

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Clarke.” He bows his head politely.

“How are you doing with that guys?” She says while looking curiously at your project.

“Great, we’re having fun.” Hongjoong answers with a sweet smile and your mother giggles gracefully.

From the first time your mother met him, she was delighted with the boy, saying how handsome and polite he was.

“Incredible. Sweetie?” Now she addresses you and you hum in response “I wanted to let you know your brother will be returning from Germany next week. He finished his program early.”

You freeze, your hands stilling on the paper you're cutting. For a moment, a flicker of something—fear?—crosses your face.

“Oh…” You say, voice strained despite her attempt at nonchalance “That’s… great.”

Your mother narrows her eyes slightly, as if detecting the unease.

“Yes. He’s looking forward to seeing you. I hope you’ll make him proud of how you’ve been handling things here.”

“I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.” You reply with a forced smile.

“Well, I'll let you continue with your work.” Your mother gives a curt nod before leaving the room.

Hongjoong glances at you, sensing the sudden shift in your mood.

“Mike?”

You exhale sharply, tossing the scissors aside “Yeah. My amazing brother. If he finds out I’ve been… well, less than perfect, he won’t hesitate to tell my parents.”

Hongjoong frowns “He sounds… intense.”

“You don’t know half of it.” You mutter, running a hand through your hair. For a moment, your confident exterior falters, revealing a hint of vulnerability.

Hongjoong reaches out, hesitating before placing a hand on yours.

“Hey, it’s okay. Whatever happens, you’ll handle it. You’re YN, remember? You always do.”

You look at him, your expression softening “You’re sweet, you know that?”

He shrugs, a blush creeping up his neck “Just for you, pretty.”

You lean in, your lips brushing his in a soft kiss.

“Let’s finish this project before my mother comes back and give you compliments just for existing”

Hongjooong chuckles, but he can’t shake the lingering thought of your brother. Whoever this guy is, he clearly has a hold over you—and that’s saying something.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Dann quietly tidies up remnants of her lunch, her movements mechanical. She hasn’t spoken to Hongjoong in days. He doesn’t even look at her anymore.

But she notices the change in you—the way you smile more, laugh more, when Hongjoong is around you.

And Dann can’t help but feel the ache in her chest grow sharper with each passing moment.

How much she wishes she was in your place, to be so close to Hongjoong.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

The house buzzes with quiet anticipation, the staff moving about with heightened energy. Your mother, dressed in her usual pristine elegance, stands in the center of the room, her voice carrying an air of authority but still kind.

“I want everything perfect for my son’s return,” She announces, her tone leaving no room for error “The table arrangements, the food, the decor—everything must reflect our family’s standards. He’ll be here in three days, and this dinner must welcome him properly. The whole family will come, so the banquet should be for twenty-five people.”

Dann crouches in the corner of the hallway, hidden behind a large vase. She had come to deliver your paperwork but froze when she overheard the conversation.

Her heart pounds as she listens, her mind racing. YN’s brother… She wouldn't know that the Clarkes have two children if it weren't for some pictures hanging on the walls, in all this time she never heard anyone mention it, not even your parents.

She knows almost nothing about him, but the little mention that Seonghwa made one day left her intrigued.

Why does no one in the family talk about that guy?

The moment your mother leaves the room, Dann slips out and makes her way to the backyard, her hands clutching the papers tightly.

She unlocks her phone in hand and calls Seonghwa.

He’s been a constant presence in her life these past two weeks—not as a friend, but as a partner in their silent pact.

In these weeks, Hwa has treated Dann with a mix of indifference and amusement. He never misses an opportunity to remind her of their deal, yet he’s never outright cruel.

For him, she’s a tool—a means to an end. But for Dann, every interaction feels like walking a tightrope, unsure when his charm might twist into something sharper.

“Seonghwa,” she calls softly when he picks up.

“Hi, what’s the news?”

Dann hesitates before speaking “YN’s brother… He’s coming back in three days. Her mom is planning this big welcome dinner for him.”

“The golden boy, huh? Interesting.”

“Interesting?” Dann blurts out before she can stop herself.

“Of course, it is. Daddy’s favorite, perfect older brother who can do no wrong? He’s probably the only one who can knock YN off her pedestal.”

Dann frowns, clutching her hands nervously “Are you sure about this?”

“Don't be scared, Seo, I’ll take care of everything.”

Dann isn’t comforted by his nonchalance, but she knows better than to push. Seonghwa isn’t someone who worries; he plans, manipulates, and waits for the perfect moment to strike.

“Okay… bye.

Dann bites her lip, hanging up before walking back inside the house. But as she retreats, she can’t shake the feeling that she’s stepping deeper into a game she barely understands.

✮ ⋆

You lounge on the oversized velvet sofa in the living room, your legs tuck beneath you as you flip through the book Hongjoong recommended to you.

You’re not reading it—your eyes skim over the pages without absorbing a single word.

Around you, the house is abuzz with activity. Maids dust every surface, fluffing pillows to perfection.

A team of florists meticulously arranges extravagant bouquets in the foyer, filling the air with the overpowering scent of lilies and roses.

Your mother strides into the room, clipboard in hand, rattling off instructions.

“The table settings must be silver, not gold. And make sure the wine glasses are spotless—he deserves only the best.” Her voice drips with excitement.

You glance at the dining room, now transformed into a stage for the grand dinner. Crystal chandeliers gleam above the polished mahogany table, which is already set with fine china and embroidered napkins.

Everything is immaculate, screaming perfection—just like your brother.

Your father joins his wife, a rare smile softening his otherwise stern face “Finally, our son is coming back. Three years is far too long.” He places a hand on the woman's shoulder, his tone filled with pride “He’s the best of us.”

Your stomach twists. Their words sting in a way you don’t expect. It’s not that you hate Mike—not really. But the shadow he casts is suffocating, the impossibly high bar he sets that you’ll never reach.

The perfect son, the golden child who’s never made a misstep—or so everyone thinks.

Because you know better. You know the cracks hidden behind his flawless exterior. The things he’s done, the lines he’s crossed.

The way he’s used you to cover his tracks, forcing you to dirty your hands so his reputation could remain unscathed. The memory of his voice, cold and commanding, still echoes in your mind.

'You’ll do it, YN. You owe me.' And you always did because saying no was never an option.

Your parents know about his anger issues. They’ve seen his temper, the way his anger can spiral into violence.

They’ve heard the arguments, felt the weight of his wrath. But they ignore it, choosing instead to uphold the illusion of their perfect son.

You know they love you and love to spoil you, but you also know their disappointment runs deep.

To them, you’re the little child who always gets her way, who causes trouble without considering the consequences.

A loud clatter from the kitchen breaks her thoughts, and your mother whirls around.

“What was that? We can’t afford any mistakes!”

You watch your mother hurry away, and your heart sinks further. Mistakes.

That’s all you feel you are lately and a series of disappointments waiting to be uncovered. Your eyes drift to the grand staircase, and you imagine Mike descending it, his presence commanding the room, and your parents beaming with pride.

Your phone buzzes, pulling you from bad thoughts. It’s a text from Hongjoong, something sweet and simple about your project.

Joongie: We’re getting a 10, pretty.

Joongie: Promise!!

For a moment, you smile, but it quickly fades. Hongjoong is your escape, your distraction, but even he can’t erase the weight of your family’s expectations.

Sighing, you set the book down and lean back, closing your eyes. The house feels suffocating, filled with reminders of who you are supposed to be.

But this time, you won’t be caught off guard. If your brother’s return is inevitable, you’ll face him on your terms—even if it means confronting the secrets they both carry.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

The school backyard is too quiet to be the last class, a gentle breeze rustling the leaves of the trees as students chatter in the distance.

You and Hongjoong sit on a bench, the space between them comfortable but heavy with unspoken thoughts.

You swing your legs lazily, your eyes looking at the horizon. Your usually confident demeanor seems a little more distant today, like your mind is elsewhere.

Hongjoong notices it instantly, and though he’s not the type to pry, he can’t help but ask.

"Hey, what's going on? You seem… off today."

You glance over at him, lips curling into a small smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“It’s nothing. Just stuff with my family.”

He raises an eyebrow, sensing that it’s more than just ‘stuff.’ He leans a little closer, his voice softer now.

“Your brother, right?”

You freeze at the mention of him, gaze flickering to the side, as though trying to avoid the thought altogether. Your fingers fidget with the hem of your jacket, and you sigh deeply.

"Yeah, he’s coming back today." You try to mask the vulnerability in your tone, but Hongjoong catches it anyway "After three years, my parents are so excited. You should see the house, Joong... everything has to be perfect."

Hongjoong watches you carefully, his expression thoughtful. He remembers when your mother told you about Mike’s return.

You had been visibly upset, though you masked it quickly, eager to avoid the conversation. He knows that you have spent your whole life living in your brother’s shadow, constantly compared to his perfection.

"I get it," He says softly, his voice steady "You’ve always felt like he’s the ‘golden child,’ right? The one your parents adore."

Your lips tighten, but you don't argue, just nod, glancing at him with a half-smile.

"It’s exhausting. He’s everything they ever wanted in a son. Business master. Perfect grades. Perfect manners. Perfect everything." You pause, a bitter edge creeping into your voice "It doesn’t matter how many times I get a perfect score or do everything right. It’s never enough."

Hongjoong nods, his hand resting on the back of the bench, his gaze still on you. He knows you hide a lot behind that confident exterior, but the cracks are starting to show now, and it makes him feel both protective and… uncertain.

"It sounds like a lot to deal with. But your parents love you. They just have high expectations, don’t they?"

Your gaze flickers briefly to him, but you don't meet his eyes. You bite your lip, as if debating whether to continue.

"They do, but sometimes it feels like it’s not enough." You shrug, trying to brush it off, but the weight of the words lingers in the air between them "Anyway, enough about that."

You shift in your seat, a new thought clearly forming.

“Hongjoong,” You say, voice softer now, almost vulnerable "I know I’ve been, uh… caught up with my family stuff lately. But would you… would you ever invite me to your place one day? Just, you know, to get away from all of this?"

He blinks in surprise, but the warmth of your request is clear. It’s not about the drama or the pressures you face at home. It’s just you wanting a break, wanting something simple.

A break from being the ‘perfect’ daughter, the one always judged against the golden child.

"Of course, pretty." He replies without hesitation "Whenever you want. You can always come over."

You look at him, eyes softer now, a real smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

"Thanks, that means more than you know."

You sit in silence for a moment, the weight of your words settling between you. Hongjoong’s heart races, unsure of what this means for their relationship but knowing one thing:

Being around you, seeing you like this—vulnerable, honest—it pulls him in deeper.

Finally, you break the silence again “Well, if I have to put up with my perfect brother for a while, at least I’ll have something to look forward to, right?”

He chuckles, the sound filling the quiet space between you “Exactly. And you know, I think the ‘perfect’ brother might need a little dose of reality. No one can be perfect all the time.”

You grin at that, your usual self-assuredness flickering back to life.

"Maybe.”

"Well, you’ve got me for anything. Always."

As you sit there, the rest of the world seems to fade away. Just for a moment, everything is okay.

And for now, that’s enough.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

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All rights reserved ♡bunny-hwa. Do not copy or translate my work.

[mothlau]

hello, for the kink meme, could i humbly ask you for leztappen and watersports/piss kink please? (and, if possible, with little to no desperation/humiliation?)

also, i wish you a happy new year, may it be filled with joy and good things for you!

hiii beloved!!! this one got out of control and also I hope it has enough humiliation. I tried to tone it down but honestly, it's piss play, you need the humiliation. anyway, happy new year to you too! 10 days too late but oh well! enjoy the piss play, puppy play, daddy kink and gp!max combo friends:3 (kink meme here)

6451 words :3

Most of their friends assume that it's Charles who's wrapped around Max’s finger. That she cannot say no to Max no matter how extravagant the demand may be, that whatever Max says or wants is final. To an extent, they're right. After all, she’s the femme, and according to people’s heteronormative minds, the one who is more feminine in the relationship is the one who cares more, who’s more attentive. 

Charles is wrapped around Max’s finger. But just as much, Max is whipped for Charles. If someone were to compare the amount of fondness they have for each other, people will quickly realize that it's not Charles who's wrapped around a little finger 24/7. 

It's Max. 

Max cannot deny Charles’ wishes; Max bends the whole world to give her lover the happiness she deserves. It's Max who spends nights upon nights to plan perfect getaways for their anniversaries, it's Max who gave into her wishes and got Charles the Steinway and placed the piano directly in their living room.

And, at the end of the day, it's Max who does everything in her power to make sure Charles enjoys herself. 

Whenever she notices something that Charles may find pleasure in, she stores the information away, making sure to bring it up when they're discussing scenes or new interests that may have sparked. Even with Charles’ overbearing eagerness to try new things with her, she  rarely initiates ideas. 

She's still shy, in spite of the time they've been together. It's endearing to Max, that Charles still blushes bright red when Max takes her bra off, that she’s still a mess when Max slides her hands down her thighs.

The list of things she wants to try is getting long, something that Max doesn't mind, per se. She doesn't, because in the end she can twist Charles into the perfect little puppet for her to toy with. They don't mind, because they’re certain Charles will like whatever they propose to her. 

He's toyed with an idea before, almost put it into action too, but in the end it didn't seem fit to make Charles piss herself without any rules set in stone yet. There's no doubt that the woman won't agree with it, but Max will rather postpone their play than do something that may make Charles even a little bit uncomfortable. 

So, despite her wishes and desires to break Charles, Max keeps everything under wraps. 

Whatever thoughts Charles shares with them during heated sessions and foggy mindsets, Max notes all in their head, safe to be used later on. Where to hit Charles, how to press her buttons theoretically, when to push, when to pull. Every little idea, all of them organised in Max’s brain, nicely and orderly. 

The last thing Charles told them about seemed easy enough when she first uttered her fantasy. Slap Charles’ pussy until she was cumming and begging for mercy. Simple, Max's done worse in her relationships. 

But with Charles, it wasn't as simple. She’s hit her lover before, tied her up and used whatever she fancied to break her, but it was always kept under an invisible, unspoken line. 

In spite of his cruel hands and words, Max can never truly hurt her beloved Charles. As much as it turns Max on, it pains her to cause her harm, even when Charles begs for that torture. Unless she's positive, one hundred percent and then some more, that at the end Charles will be drunk on pleasure. 

It's not unusual for their plays to be hit or miss, but Max prides herself in them being hits most of the time. 

They mention wanting to try new things during a relaxed dinner, when they’re almost sure Charles forgot about the things she's babbled on during a previous scene. And, of course, Charles agrees readily, albeit a bit timid and flushed. 

After that, it's smooth sailing on Max's side, at least. Charles is stuck with anticipation bubbling under her skin and the fear of uncertainty tearing at her conscience. 

To Max, who likes the waiting game, it's beautiful. To Charles, who is used to getting whatever she desires with minimum effort, it's hell. 

Every other day he makes Charles drink more than she can usually handle, slowly but surely trying to train the woman into holding her piss longer and longer. Most days it's a hassle which ends up with Charles whining and rushing to the bathroom, Max not bothering to stop her. But then there are some days, rare and in between, when Charles manages to go hours upon hours without running from Max's hold. 

The praise Charles gets also helps her, no matter how much she's trying to deny the humiliating claims. 

Almost a week later, Charles pushes a full bottle of water into Max's hands, making her look away from the laptop. Max doesn't need any clarification as to why she does this, nor does he need any pleas or guilty looks to nod at Charles' silent request. 

She trusts Max enough for the blonde to gain complete control over her bodily needs. Max can't help but smile fondly at it as they let the bottle rest on their thigh. Charles sits on the ground, head thrown back on the edge of the couch, minding the poorly balanced laptop. 

"Whenever you're ready," Max whispers, hand reaching out to tug at a few matted strands. Charles simply nods and allows herself to fall, Max's soothing touch being the only thing keeping her afloat. 

It takes Charles only an hour to finish the water, drinking obediently every time Max urges her to. She's even quicker to bring Max another one and one more, all whilst finishing them without any fuss. 

And then, as Max closes his laptop and opens his arms for Charles to crawl into, it only takes a few minutes for Charles' eyes to get cloudy and for her touch to get needier. The sight before her makes Max euphoric, an undeniable call to protect and please the withering woman in her lap. 

"You still with me, darling?" The words are barely above a whisper, but even so they grasp at Charles' conscience and pull her in just enough for the brunette to nod against Max's chest. All pliant and soft in their hands, Max isn't sure whether or not to move their play away from the couch and into their bedroom, where towels and mats lie specifically for what's to happen next. 

"Hurts a bit, Maxie," Charles says, voice all hushed and feeble. The hand resting on Max's bicep tugs and squeezes, a poor attempt for Charles to regain control over herself. 

"Colour, pretty?" 

It takes Charles a moment, already gone and drifting, but soon, she mumbles a simple and clear, "Green." 

"Do you want me to carry you to the bedroom, angel? I don't think we'll like our couch smelling like piss after this." 

Despite how embarrassing the words should be, Max doesn't find them shameful anymore. She’s been fantasising about this for months now, the idea of watching Charles crumble under her orders and hands, her lover losing whatever ounce of self-control she still has and letting it all loose. That's enough for Max to push away any shame that might've been left inside. 

With Charles, it's not the same. The woman’s face flushes a bright red, the color travelling under the collar of her shirt, painting the hidden skin in beautiful hues of reds and pinks. Almost as beautiful as the marks they flush over. 

Almost. 

When there's no answer coming from Charles, Max gets the unspoken message. As always, Charles wants Max to carry her, manhandle her as if she's nothing but a lightweight in Max's hold. Which, undoubtedly, she is. 

With a quick movement, Max stands, gentle hands reaching out to lift Charles with ease. Her perfect little girl whines and squirms, the sudden change already too much for her sensitive state. 

"This ok?" Max asks, voice full of worry. 

Charles can only nod again, words lost somewhere in her head, muddled by thoughts full of desire, lust, animalistic instincts. After the quick answer, Max takes her time getting them to the bedroom, mostly because with each sickeningly slow step she takes out of the living room and down the hallway, Charles becomes that much more responsive to Max's cold touch. 

In preparation for their scene, Charles spread out the puppy mats they’ve gotten, while Max took his time to make sure that nothing of value could be ruined. The pillows were all sitting on the reading nook next to the window, towels have been placed close enough to the bed that Max didn’t have to look around for them and amid the whole mess of colorful cotton and stark white paper, now lies Charles. 

Charles, her perfect girl, who looks up at Max as if she’d hung the stars in the sky and then proceeded to create a whole universe just for Charles. Charles, her lovely girl, who is barely able to hold back tears as Max refuses to touch her just yet. Charles, her divine lover, whose back arches off the puppy mats when Max's knees hit the mattress, wanton moans and whined pleas falling from between bitten lips. 

"Puppy," Max bites back a smile. "Puppy, can you sit up a bit?" They crawl on the bed, remaining above Charles without their knees touching the woman’s sides. "I want you to drink some more, can you?" 

"Yes," Charles breathes out, fingers tightening around the puppy mat underneath. "Yes, daddy. Anything for you, Maxie." 

Max's face fills with love and adoration for the woman writhing beneath. Such a perfect, responsive being, all belonging to Max alone. He couldn't be happier. 

Helping Charles sit up, back leaning on the hardboard, Max reaches for the bottle left on the bedside table. Another thing Charles prepared, in hopes that Max would make her drink it and push her to the edge. 

"You're being so good for me, Charlie. Making me so proud right now." 

"I am?" Charles asks, a look full of hope blooming on her face. 

Max kisses the smile off her face, gentle and careful. "You are. My best girl, perfect little one. That's what you are, Charlie."

"Maxie–" the human whines, pressing her face into their open palms. "Need you." 

Unable to stop herself, Max pushes with her malevolent teasing, a vicious smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. “You need me? How? Need me to touch your greedy cunt? Need me to slap it? Want me to press here?” Max's fingers push on the swollen bladder, light enough to simply make Charles cry out. “Or maybe you need me to fuck your dumb hole until you’re pissing all over yourself.” The woman sobs again, nodding along with Max's words mindlessly. “Which one is it, puppy?” 

“Yes,” she answers, muffled by her own hand.

“Dumb puppy,” Max smiles, feeling his chest overflow with butterflies and flowers. “Let’s finish the water first, then I’ll decide what you deserve.”

The silence that fills the room feels deafening as Max watches Charles. She is struggling to twist the cap off, fingers white with how hard she’s gripping the bottle. Max makes no move to help her, smirk still plastered on their face, eyes ranking up and down Charles' shaking body as she gets more and more annoyed. 

She lets out an exasperated whine, head hitting the wood behind him, “Max.”

“Yes, pup?”

Suddenly she has a handful of plastic to deal with, all while Charles stares at her with the same hurt expression she abuses whenever Max refuses to immediately give in. He can’t say no to her, no matter how much he’d like to watch her struggle some more. One simple twist later, the warmed liquid spills onto Charles shorts, seeping into the cotton and making Charles tremble.

Without uttering a word, Max grabs Charles face, fingers digging into the woman’s flushed cheeks to hold her mouth open. Charles tongue lolls out, expecting Max to spit on top of it, to push their finger past her lips and fuck her mouth ruthlessly. 

From her place above Charles, Max laughs. Her weight falls atop of Charles thighs, sweatpants clinging to her legs, making the restrictive touch feel worse. If he could, he’d take the pants off in an instant, but right now Max has to focus on Charles and Charles alone. 

Pink lips attempt to close around Max's fleeting forefinger, but the force Max has stops Charles before she can even whine. The water bottle feels heavy in her hand, and though it would feel rewarding to dump it over Charles' head, humiliate her further, Max knows that what’s to happen next will be even sweeter. 

“Charles,” she says, tone icy cold. Max sees her lover swallow, fear budding in her eyes. “Tilt your head back for me, mutt.”

That’s all the woman needs. Eyes fall shut, mouth slips open with little resistance and her head falls back. Max's hand still resides on top of Charles’ cheeks. She can’t stop herself from moving it lower, enticed with the beauty presented so effortlessly in front of her. It rests on the column of his neck, barely touching the trashed skin. 

Underneath him, shudders run down Charles’ spine, lips agape in a soundless moan. They’ve never seen something as beautiful before, not once in their lifetime have they witnessed such perfection falling apart mere centimeters away from them. 

Bright red spreads down Charles neck, skin hot beneath Max's hold. The woman’s cheeks, dusted scarlet and covered by a thin layer of sweat, invite Max to press kisses on the crimson expanse of her face. A promise of being able to do so after he breaks Charles consoles Max's urge to revere the angel. Her pretty girl shifts under her touch, eyes opening slightly to see why Max is not painting her skin in hues of purple and red. 

“Daddy…” Charles sounds wrecked already. “Why aren’t you touching me?”

“I am, silly,” Max answers simply, hand tightening around the brunette’s neck. “See?”

A pathetic whine rips through Charles sobs, fingers closing around Max’s wrist. It is so unbelievably easy to toy with Charles’ feelings, to push her buttons until she’s begging like a mindless, broken mutt. Max loves it, almost as much as she loves the gentleness that engulfs them after. 

“Let’s drink the water and then I promise to touch you however you wish.” His thumb presses in the neck juncture, eliciting a pitiful moan from his beautiful lover. “Colour, Charlie? You still with me?”

“Green, daddy,” Charles breathes out, her hold on Max's wrist relaxing. “Please, Maxie… Please ruin me. Need-- Need it s’ bad, baby. S’te plait”

Something about the slurred speech, the glazed look in Charles’ eyes when she pins Max under a lustful glance, the slight tremble in Charles’ hands and shoulders stops Max from pulling the woman’s head back. He’s never had Charles this far gone before they even started. Part of them wants to stop, pull their lover out and make sure she’s alright and coherent enough to know what’s happening to her. 

Reluctantly, she lets go of Charles, scooting back enough to loom over her while still presenting a form of comfort for her shaking lover. 

“Charlie, I need you to check in one more time. Can you do that for me, please?”

“‘M green, Maxie. Promise.”

The look that Charles fixes Max with is one of pure lust, undeniable desire burning hot in molten emerald. It sets Max back a few steps, a carnal desire spreading in her blood, wrapping around each and every organ inside of her. It tugs painfully at the ravenous wish to destroy Charles. 

Holding back those sinful impulses, Max leans back in, hand on Charles shoulder as she carefully presses a kiss on the woman’s nose. Soft and gentle, exactly the opposite of what Charles asked for. 

Charles mewls, fingers tightening around the material of Max's shirt. “Max. Fucking fuck me, you idiot.”

He moves without thinking, the ear splitting sound of a slap resonating in the room. “Impatient mutt, you have to wait for what you want or else I’ll leave you. Do you want to be here alone, without my help or permission to touch your pathetic pussy?”

“No!” Charles all but cries, thrashing under Max's weight. “‘M sorry, daddy, didn’t mean to be rude. Please don’t leave me.” 

The tears streaming down Charles’ cheeks ignite the fire further. Their body feels aflame, possessiveness spiraling inside their chest. Max is the only one who can make Charles cry like this, the only one who can light her body a bright vermillion with few and in between touches and stares. He is the only one who will never leave Charles, not in a time of need, not in a time of sickness. 

Never. 

“I’d never leave you, darling,” Max reminds her, voice dripping in honey. “I’ll stay with you for as long as you’ll have me.” 

“Forever?” Charles asks, gaze shy, yet hopeful. 

“Forever,” Max easily agrees, sealing the deal with a short lived kiss. 

The tenderness is just as short lived, mean fingers wrapping around Charles locks and finally, finally pulling her head back. The woman’s lips fall open as she swallows dryly at what’s to come. 

Max wishes she could capture the work of art unraveling in front of her, keep it forever with her, tucked into her phone for her to enjoy when apart from her lover. Shaking her head, Max pushes those thoughts aside. 

“I’m going to make you drink all of this water, Charlie. Gonna make you drown on it until you’re sobbing and pissing all over yourself, understood?” Her voice leaves no room for argument and Charles can sense the strictness. She nods, attempts to despite the hand holding her head still. 

Not a single breath escapes Max while he pours the water past Charles parted lips. Mesmerized, he watches the woman struggle to swallow, her Adam’s apple bobbing with each gulp she manages to take. Tears fall from her closed eyes, breathing becomes more erratic. Still, Max doesn’t stop pouring. Not when water leaks down the sides of Charles face and onto the mats, not when Charles closes her mouth to calm herself, the two simple taps the woman places on his bicep fueling Max's sadism. 

The last few drops fall on top of her closed lips, running down heated skin with ease. Flushed skin seems to make the water evaporate, heating it up and leaving Charles hot and bothered before Max. Her eyes, though shut tight, twitch with every momentary touch. 

What a sight Max made of Charles. What a beautiful masterpiece he had created, all for himself to marvel at. This angel, this holy being that’s at Max's mercy is the embodiment of deadly sins. Lust and gluttony and pride and greed, all paint the insides of Max's chest in shades of green and bleeding red. 

Hypnotized, Max stares. 

She is so in love with this woman, so in love that no one could understand her devotion. No other can compare to Charles, no other can even come close to how dear Max holds this woman.

A whimpered whisper of his name breaks him out of his day dreaming. Their eyes focus on Charles’ face, red and blotchy with dried tears, trails of water and saliva going down her chin. She’s splendid, perfect in each and every way imaginable. She’s more than Max deserves, more than what she could’ve asked for. 

In any way, shape and form, Charles is her God, her angel and muse. 

“Max, please.” And despite not knowing what Charles is begging for, what she’s holding onto Max for, he cannot deny her precious love. When she’s pleading and sobbing for Max's touch, she’d have to be mad to ignore such saccharine requests. 

“Yes, my love, I know. You want me to touch you and make you cum. Your greediness never fails to impress me,” she sighs mournfully, putting on an act to rile her pretty girl up even more. “Say, you think you deserve to cum? You really think you’ve been good?”

“Yes!” Charles sobs, digging her fingernails into Max's shoulders. “I’ve been s’ good for you, daddy! Drank everything and-- and held my piss like a good girl.” She’s crying again, choking on her own sobs and spit. It’s a pitiful image, but Max relishes in the loud weeps. 

Charles is just so bewitching when she’s reduced to nothing but a sobbing mess. 

Max hums, deep in thought as she pretends to weigh the limited options she has. They don’t want to tease Charles for much longer, doubts they even can do it without giving themself blue balls, but God, they want to. Briefly, she thinks back to the list of things she’d planned out to do with Charles today and suddenly she doesn’t care about teasing Charles. She’d rather overstimulate her until she’s blabbering nonsense and shaking. 

“Colour?” 

Charles frowns at him, pout tugging at her lips. “Green,” she mumbles, chin tucked into her chest. “Please, daddy. It hurts!”

“Oh?” Max quirks her eyebrow, smirking down at the corrupted little thing. “Where does it hurt, baby girl?”

Her hand flies from Max's shoulder, resting gently above her own bladder, careful as to not press on it. Max can’t have this. Without much care, she moves Charles hand aside, pressing her thumb into the woman’s swollen abdomen. 

Charles’ sobs rip through her body, writhing as she tries to get away from the pressure Max is putting on her. In one swift move, she pulls her lover down, shirt riding up along with the mats. He moves from his place atop Charles’ thighs, momentarily sitting on the mattress while observing her. 

Without the weight on top of her, Charles lifts his head, confused and dazzled. She spots Max quickly, and without much thought she gives Max her best puppy eyes, bottom lip jutted out to effectively pull on Max's heartstrings. 

“Daddy, please come back and touch me,” her girl demands, face smushed into the pillow. “Wanna cum, please.”

Gods, Max will never tire of hearing her beg. 

He doesn’t utter a single sound while maneuvering Charles to sit between her legs. Doesn’t sprinkle any mean comments in when Charles wraps them around Max's waist, ankles crossed behind her back to hold Max close. Even when Charles buries her face deeper into the pillow, Max doesn’t say a word. 

They’re observing, committing every detail unfolding in front of them to memory, tucking away the pictures for later. 

Charles whimpers into the cotton covers, holding back another sob. “Hurts, daddy.”

“Does it?” Max asks. Her fingers itch to touch, to claim what’s hers with dark bruises in the form of Max's palms. “Should I make the pain go away, puppy?” The woman nods minutely. Had Max not been paying attention, he might’ve missed it. “Alright, darling. I’m gonna take your shorts off now, ok?” Another easy to miss nod. “Can you check in with me real fast, angel?”

“You can take them off, daddy. I’m green, j’st really hurts. Wan’ cum but it’s too much.”

As soon as the shorts and soiled panties are off, Max holds Charles’ foot gently, bringing it to his lips. She presses a single kiss in the middle of her sole, making the woman giggle despite the discomfort she is in. It brings a smile on Max's face, hearing her pretty girl laugh like this, all shy and soft. Charles covers her face, hands hiding the beautiful blush Max's put on her cheeks. 

Still, she can’t hide her pretty pussy, bruising red and leaking down her thighs, making for the most unholy view, nor can she conceal the flush on his neck, going under the shirt and coming back on her hips and thighs. Charles blushes beautifully, Max has come to know. Her whole body turns the loveliest shade of red, from the tips of her ears when Max leans in to whisper sweet I love you’s in public, to her thighs, burning red under Max's ministrations. 

It’s truly and absolutely fascinating, to say the least. 

“How do you want this, Charlie? On your back or on your stomach?”

“Back,” Charles answers eagerly. 

Max chuckles darkly, amused by the woman’s enthusiasm to piss all over herself. “Well, pup, go ahead. Wet yourself like the dumb mutt you are.” 

It’s an interesting progression, what happens next. Charles’ eyes shut tight, a deep frown creasing her forehead. She’s silent, panting while she struggles to let go. Under Max's loving gaze, Charles breaks. Frustrated sobs wreck through her, fists balling into the mats. The image is enough to make possessiveness spark underneath Max's skin, igniting their desires to keep these moments safe and away from anyone else. To keep Charles to themself. 

“Max, I can’t.” 

In a way, Max understands her pain and frustrations. She can imagine how hard it must be to let go, how humiliating the idea of pissing herself must be for Charles. Worry seeps into her bones again. 

“What can’t you do, angel?”

“I can’t--” Charles cuts herself off with a loud mewl. “Can’t go, daddy!”

“Can’t?” The fingers rubbing soothing circles on Charles' ankle ghost over her leg, moving to her hip, touch cold and brief, before stopping on the woman’s abdomen. “Or won’t?” The press is just a brief, a green ticket for Charles to call it quits in case she changes her mind. 

She doesn’t. 

“Can’t, daddy! It’s too ‘mbarrassing,” she mumbles into her hands, hiding behind them as a form of faux-comfort. “Help, Maxie…” The hushed and broken tone makes Max blink at his lover. 

Realization floods him. “Oh, you’re such a naughty thing, love,” he says with a laugh. Her previous gentleness is gone, thumb pressing roughly into Charles bladder, making the woman squirm in discomfort and pain. “Needing me to make you piss,” Max tuts, shaking her head at the crying beauty laid before her. “Naughty, messy little one. You never fail to impress me.”

Back arching off the mattress, Charles thrusts her hips in the air, oh so close to Max, yet so far away. She humps the air, ivory teeth biting the back of her hand, canines digging into tanned skin without an ounce of self-control. And yet, she’s still not letting go. 

It’s a wonder, how she’s managed to keep it in for so long, despite Max's continuous teasing. It makes Max just that more hungry, craving to see Charles come apart at his hand. 

“Daddy--” Charles stutters, the frown on her face only deepening with each second in which Max tortures her slowly. “Can’t do it, Maxie. Need your hand on my clit, daddy! Hurts too much!” She sounds so completely and utterly broken, so distressed and in this moment, Max swears she’s never been more in love with the sounds someone makes, let alone with the person letting them out. 

“Since you’ve asked so nicely,” she agrees without a fuss, right hand moving between Charles’ thighs, finger pressing into her swollen clit, squeezing it harshly to draw out more needy noises from Charles. 

“Thank you, thank--” Charles whines loudly, teeth pulling at her fingers, bitemarks imprinted on them. Desperate sounds bleeding into the room plague Max's mind. “I’m gonna--”

But Charles doesn’t get to finish her warning. With Max's hand moving faster and faster over Charles’ clit, she finally comes undone. Her whole body goes rigid, before relaxing into the sheets as a hot stream of piss leaks down her thighs, soaking the sheets, the mats, Max’s sweatpants, everything. 

Max didn’t know what to expect when he was planning this. Piss, surely; a mess, of course. But she didn’t expect for it to be so… enticing. The idea of Charles pissing herself did fascinate her, but she never thought it will be this hot. Watching Charles break turns her on more than she’d like to admit; it’s maddening, intoxicating. 

The stream doesn’t seem to be ending, liquid glistening atop Charles skin, seeping into his shirt, the mats absorbing as much as they can. Max is surprised that not much gets on his own clothes, only his knees wet with how he’s standing on the bed, the shirt he’s wearing remaining dry, safe for the edges pooling around his waist. 

She’s impossibly hard in her sweats and the sinfully erotic image of Charles panting, eyes shut tight, pussy spasming and leaking, piss drenching her clothes and the bed she’s resting on… It takes everything out of her to not devour the woman, but despite her best efforts she can’t stop her fingers from twitching with need, moving from Charles abdomen down her thigh, squeezing the fat with brute force. 

“Charles,” Max breathes out, voice strained. “Can I fuck your thighs?”

Charles legs tighten around her waist, hands gripping at Max's forearms. They’re bound to be bruised the next day, but neither care. Max loves being marked and purple just as much as she adores putting them across Charles' perfect body. 

“Yes, yes, yes,” Charles chants, head thrown back in pure bliss. “Please touch me, daddy. Wanna cum now, daddy.”

Laughing to herself, Max reaches into their bedside table for the lube, fingers still massaging and squeezing at Charles thighs. “What, pissing yourself wasn’t enough to make you cum?” There’s no time to wait for the woman’s response. Max needs to cum just as badly as her sweet girl. 

The pretty blush spreading across Charles' body stops them for just a moment. A moment they uses to gawk at Charles, put some more images away in their head for later. She’s gorgeous. Thoroughly and unconditionally so. 

And Max, Max whose heart beats faster each time she steals a glance at her beautiful girl, Max whose stomach fills with butterflies and whose organs are wrapped in flowers and crystals and vines so thick they're making it hard to breathe, Max who cannot do anything but fall deeper in love with Charles, falls. She falls again and again, until she’s bruised and her knees are bleeding, yet she cannot stop. She wants this perfect woman, her perfect girl forever. Wants to fall for her more and more as their bones grow weak and the soil reclaims what belongs to it. 

The lube is cold when it hits Charles’ thighs, if the hiss she lets out is any form of indication of it. Not even the hotness that Charles emanates is enough to warm it up while Max sheds her sweatpants, cock springing free. He’s redder than Charles, untouched and begging to be buried in between Charles thighs. They’re both silent as Max guides Charles to squeeze her legs together, feet thrown over Max's shoulder to make it easier for her. 

Soft moans fill the room, Charles saccharine noises coating Max's dazed mind with a thick fog. Charles is a fuel, a fuel for unprompted decisions leading to handprints bruised on a tanned neck and fingerprints atop wide hips. Charles burns her, her touch burns deep into Max's skin, melting hardened walls with ease. It feels like she's boiling alive, underneath her skin. 

All because of Charles. 

His cock aches as he pushes its head past Charles' thighs. The press is astonishingly tight, so much so that Max feels the air being knocked from her lungs the more she pushes. God, she loves Charles’ thighs; she cannot get enough of feeling them around her, squeezing her, pulling her cock farther in. They want them wrapped around their head, their waist, their cock. Everywhere. 

“Angel,” Max moans, grip on Charles hips more secure with each shallow thrust. “You feel so good around me, angel. Your thighs were made to be fucked.” As an answer, Charles whimpers, biting on her bottom lip to keep the loudest noises away. “Made entirely for me to use, isn’t that right--” Max prides herself for the amount of self-restraint she has, but once she’s touching Charles, it all dissipates. 

“Yours, daddy. Only belong to you,” the woman agrees mindlessly. 

The drag across hot skin is rough, even with the amounts of lube and piss still on Charles legs. It’s mind numbing, uncomfortable enough to make Max hiss in pleasure as he increases the speed minutely. 

Charles' eyes are glued to her own legs, watching Max's cock poke out between them hungrily. If Max didn’t know any better she’d even say she’s salivating, mouth slightly open, tongue sticking out. But she’s not, because in moments like this, when Charles gets so focused on something that she doesn’t even blink, it’s almost like all her bodily functions shut down. All but her ability to stare and burn each detail into her retina. 

“You like watching your thighs swallow me whole, baby girl?" Max asks with a soft chuckle. “You have no idea how good you feel, love,” his words get stuck in his throat, another frail whine escaping Max. 

“Want you to touch me, daddy,” Charles whispers into thick air. It takes Max a moment to realize she’s spoken and then another one to take in what Charles said, but once she does her hand immediately moves to rest against Charles' clit. 

He doesn’t move it yet, waiting for Charles to break once again and beg for Max to make her cum. The thrusts don’t slow down, each one pulling Max closer to the edge. Volatile reds bloom across Charles' body, tainting Max's pale skin in its progress. She’d rather have the woman’s teeth stain her ruby and violet instead, but this will do. 

The sight of her beautiful lover alone can make Max cum. Seeing her so transfixed on the part where her cock peeks out, eyes glazed with want and lust only adds to the carnal effect she has on Max. 

Max is close, thrusts coming to a halt every time her navel touches the back of Charles’ thighs. He’s close and Charles is surprisingly quiet, yet just as spellbound. Without hrt own accord, Max's fingers rub over the woman’s clit, drawing out a series of rich whines and sobs, each more delicious than the other. 

She swallows them all with a hungry, starved kiss. 

In a flurry of chasing their own orgasm, Max's hand begins moving faster over Charles, sweet noises escaping the woman with each thrust and every press. The position is uncomfortable, Max's neck hurting as she leans down to press kisses on Charles face. She doubts the way Charles is folded is any better, but her lover’s only complaints are about needing to cum faster and harder. 

“Max, Maxie--” Charles chokes on her own spit. “Can I cum? Please, let me, daddy!” She’s sobbing again, beautifully so. Face red, with streaks of tears upon streaks of tears, saliva dripping down the corners of her mouth. 

Max almost doesn’t manage to give her permission, voice dying in her throat before she can get the words out on the first try. Their movements get that more clumsy with every pull back, the hand on Charles’ pussy stopping its strokes for a brief moment.  “Yes, sweetheart,” she says after her hips still enough for Max to recompose herself. 

That is all Charles needs. The granted permission, the grazing kissing Max continues to press all over her face, the hand that resumes its fast paced stroking. All of them tilt Charles over and with a single, loud keen, she cums all over Max's hand. 

Max isn't far behind. The woman brings her legs closer, impossibly tight, wishing to have Max's cum mix with hers. Max can barely breathe, air coming out in short puffs as he struggles to keep himself above Charles, lest he wants to collapse on top of his lovely girl. 

Charles' thighs are Heavenly around him. 

"Maxie," Charles moans, a quiet sob coming out of her. "Cum for me." 

With a whimper, Max goes still, spilling all over Charles' perfect thighs. The room is silent, safe for their heavy breathing and occasional whine Charles lets out. 

Blissful afterglow seeps into Charles' features, red bleeding out and leaving only coral pink behind. She's breathtaking, basking in her own orgasm, eyes closed and head tilted back. She's breathtaking, thighs still shaking around Max, hands letting go, without meaning to, of Max's arms.

Max's hand pulls away, moving up towards the woman’s mouth. The cum is already drying on her fingers, but that doesn't stop her from pushing two of them past Charles lips, watching with so much love as she sucks them into her mouth without a single complaint. 

God, Max just keeps on falling. 

"You're so pretty, Charlie. Been so good for me today," Max's tone is quieter, scared of breaking the moment they've created. Charles stays silent, only smiling up at her lover, completely blissed out with the fingers slowly pushing in and out of her mouth, resting on the brunette’s tongue every now and again. 

“Thanks, mate,” she whispers around Max's fingers. 

Max stops altogether, a stunned expression on his face. “Did you… just call me mate after I made you piss yourself and fucked your thighs?”

The smile Charles offers him is so stupidly endearing that Max can’t even find it in her to be upset by the absurdity of it all. 

“Alright, pretty girl, let’s get you in the shower. You reek of piss and I’m too tired to do anything else tonight,” Max says with a soft laugh. Her fingers leave Charles mouth, and though the whine the woman gives her does tug at her heartstrings, Max doesn’t give in. Charles can always fall asleep sucking on their fingers if she really does want that, but right now they’d rather take a long, hot shower and not think about the smell seeping into their mattress. 

“You have to carry me, though,” Charles informs him, matter of factly. 

Max scoffs, but nonetheless she stands and picks the woman up, throwing her over her shoulder. “I always carry you, idiot.”

“Yes, because it turns you on that you can manhandle me,” Charles scoffs back. “I’ll blow you in the morning if you wash my hair.”

Max sighs. “Fine,” she agrees, not bothering to tell Charles that she would’ve taken care of that without the promise of a blowjob. Charles doesn’t need her ego inflated any more than it already is. “It better be the best blowjob of my life, though.”

“Oh, you’ll love it, mon chou,” Charles laughs. 

Max doesn’t doubt it, but it’s nice to play the role sometimes. 

After all, Charles still hasn’t caught up on the fact that Max is so in love with her she’d give up everything to make her happy.

[e-vasong]

36 for the prompt?

SOME BORGWIN FOR YOU, NIC!!! May not make sense if you haven't read my Star Trek AU for DBDA.

TW: Attempted suicide

36 - Total Control

….

On the fourth day, Edwin tries to kill himself.

If he were more resilient, if he were stronger, his assimilation would be nearly done. But he isn’t. His body takes poorly to the implants, and at this rate, the process could take weeks.

Edwin is the sort of inferior specimen that the Borg would otherwise cull. He knows that. But he also knows the precise location and relative distance of almost every populated planet in this system and the next, including several who have only made First Contact in the past few years. He’s the one who mapped them after all, and that is the sort of knowledge that makes him worth assimilating.

He waits for an opportunity to escape, at first. Then when one does not present itself, and when his condition begins to deteriorate, he waits to die. Except he doesn’t. He begins, very slowly, to get better. To become only more conscious as his limbs and organs are taken one by one. Some are replaced immediately, others left as open and empty wounds for now. 

The Borg are with him always. They’re physically all around him, of course, some hanging limply from their wires like cadaverous marionettes and others jammed gracefully into the walls in perfectly compact tangles of limbs, dim-eyed and still in their stasis.

There is a terrible moment on the third day where they crack open his skull and reach inside. He feels nothing at first, then a strange, mushy sort of give and—

They’re inside him now. A colony of ants crawling through the folds of his brain, a second set of neurons that he can feel, marching in perfect lockstep to the beat of a silent drum. 

And Edwin knows that he’s a bit of a coward. His family had expressed that very clearly when he shied away from a more glorious role in command, then again when he declined riskier field science roles so he could make star maps instead.

But he is not quite such a coward that he would let the Borg kill millions with the knowledge he possesses.

It should be simple, really, to unplug himself—he hasn’t fully taken to his artificial lungs yet, so they have him on a ventilator. One simple tug, and that will be it. He’ll suffocate, and it will no doubt be terrible beyond description. 

A worthy trade, if it saves all those lives.

He has to stretch an arm across his body to reach the machine. The other has already been amputated — the port in place but the mechanical prosthetic not yet installed. It takes three halting tries for him to close his hand around the wire.

And then he goes no further. His fingers freeze, every muscle and nerve locked into place. Even his trembling stops. 

The Borg’s awakening to his plans is quiet, mildly confused. In this moment, Edwin feels less like he’s been caught and more like a flyaway hair, noticed by chance then tucked neatly back into place. 

THIS DOES NOT BENEFIT THE COLLECTIVE. 

His hand uncurls. 

RESISTANCE IS FUTILE, say a hundred hundred thousand minds as they brush up against his own, but the words are softer than Edwin remembers. Kinder. Countless glowing eyes peer from the walls, from the ceiling, all unblinking in the dark. YOU WILL GIVE UP TOTAL CONTROL TO THE COLLECTIVE. WE WILL ADD YOUR DISTINCTIVENESS TO OUR OWN, AND YOU WILL ADAPT TO SERVICE US.

And when his arm lays itself back down, he sees himself for the briefest moment as the Collective does. Prone. Disassembled. A mess of flesh and blood that may yet be salvaged. The watchers and the watched, reflected endlessly back upon each other.

The lights around him flicker out one by one. Stars and planets consumed, wiped off the map as the Borg turn their gaze once more outward, into endless darkness.

[oceanicwriting]

drink.

summary: for months theodore nott has been waking up on the shores of the black lake, disoriented and unable to remember how he got there. you thought he would never discover your secret, but one night everything changes irreparably and secrets of darkness meet the light of his eyes.

pairing(s): theodore nott x vampire!fem!reader

a/n: this story has a lot of context! i got really inspired in the first half because i love the whole vampire-obsessed-with-theodore-nott thing and i couldn't help myself hehe. i hope you like it. any phrase in cursive without dash are theodore's thoughts.

+18 smut, mention of blood, violence, public sex, blow job, standing, missionary, masturbation (mostly m!receiving), cursing

ㅤㅤㅤ if you had to describe theodore nott in one word, that would be perfect. his features that resemble those of a greek god are overwhelming, making you lose any sense of reason when he is paralyzed in front of you. anyone would believe that this is the interest of any human about him, but you are a nocturnal monster, and there were other things that interested you more.

ㅤㅤㅤ you breathe heavily, feeling the liquid you suck being transported to every part of your insatiable body. your head is spinning from the sensation that silences the hunger you had controlled during the week, weakening your power over his dormant mind. some lucid part of your brain forces you to separate, disappearing into the shadow of the trees and cleaning the remains of blood that have fallen on your chin.

ㅤㅤㅤ from your position, you can see how the strong frost hits the boy's bare chest, messing up his hair and tensing every exposed muscle. his lips have turned purple from the lack of a coat, the same color that the tips of his fingers and his bare knees adopt. maybe you should have dressed him before taking him there.

ㅤㅤㅤ where am i? what...? you try to keep listening to his thoughts, but it is a practice that you do not master and you can not hear beyond that. what you have no doubt about is the labored breathing you hear from your spot, accompanied by the accelerated gallop of his heartbeat and moans of pain originating in his arm. the simple smell of his blood turns your stomach upside-down.

ㅤㅤㅤ when he has gotten up, he steps on the mud, careful not to slip. his blue gaze scans everything around him, but nothing catches his attention, setting off for the comfort of the castle.

ㅤㅤㅤ as he disappear among the dark shadows of the night, you let your body fall against the ground, savoring the metallic taste that his blood always leaves in your mouth. that begins to feed the hunger that accumulates at the bottom of your stomach, and all that remains is to wait for your human characteristics to return back to normal.

ㅤㅤㅤ —theodore is fucking a hogsmade vampire. —draco malfoy’s voice, one of your most frequent food friends, rises over the professor’s voice—. and he doesn’t want to tell any details.

ㅤㅤㅤ your heart starts to pound in panic, going over the past few weeks and all the ones before, assuring to your anxiety that you always did everything perfectly. if he knows something, it's because someone else told him, but who would? no one has seen you or even listened.

ㅤㅤㅤ —why should i tell you? —theodore replies. his voice comes out much louder, as if you have a filter to hear him more clearly than anyone else—. do you guys need stories to jerk off to when you’re alone? because of course i’m fucking a vampire.

ㅤㅤㅤ you frown, knowing he was lying. any bad liar would start to show a racing pulse, and you could hear his without a problem.

ㅤㅤㅤ —look —he says, forcing you to turn over your shoulder to see how he shows the mark of your fangs on his forearm—. what else could it be?

ㅤㅤㅤ you try to read his thoughts. however, you can’t. his body language shows that he is as confused as he is fascinated by the unmistakable mark of a vampire on his pale skin. his friends are shocked by the revelation and make dirty jokes about theodore’s fake sexual experiences. so stupid.

ㅤㅤㅤ —and what is his name?

ㅤㅤㅤ theodore, turning his head to look at his friends, locks eyes with you. so cute and naive.

ㅤㅤㅤ —you will never know.

ㅤㅤㅤ and neither do you, you think.

ㅤㅤㅤ your vampire lineage dates back thousands of years, being one of the most famous and well-known in the entire magical world. although no one really knows your true nature, because your father was banned from all stories, diaries, or writings after falling hopelessly in love with a human witch. before turning her into one like him, wanting to leave the decision of being a full vampire to his children, they had four beautiful half-vampire creatures.

ㅤㅤㅤ beings of your kind have always been classified as an inferior race to full vampires, but your father had taken it upon himself to teach you how to handle your abilities since you were little. of course, you weren't as good as him, who at your age could read the thoughts of any living being, change shape, manipulate minds, and more.

ㅤㅤㅤ —hey, where are you going?

ㅤㅤㅤ you turn, watching your roommate light the candle on her nightstand. you clap loudly, drawing his attention and, in the blink of an eye, your eyes turn bright red like a ruby.

ㅤㅤㅤ —you think you saw me, but you didn’t. now you’re going to go get a glass of water from the bathroom, go back to bed, and sleep until the next morning —you say, your demanding voice clashing with every part of the room.

ㅤㅤㅤ whenever your skill accomplished its goal, you felt a tingle at the tip of your fingers, and this time was no exception.

ㅤㅤㅤ when you reach theodore’s room, and even meters before you arrive, you can feel the calm beat of his heart. it’s so slow that you can’t help the smile that appears on your lips as you imagine him sleeping so peacefully. you close your eyes and focus your energy on awakening his mind, but not his dream.

ㅤㅤㅤ —come to me.

ㅤㅤㅤ in less than a second the door emits a soft click that reveals the tall figure of the boy. you don't have time to stop and contemplate him, controlling his walk to the exit and looking over your shoulder every now and then.

ㅤㅤㅤ arriving at the foot of the black lake, protected by the full moon night, you stop to look at theodore nott. his pale skin shining against the reflection of the stars in the water, messy hair that moves with the wind, a slightly swollen face and eyelashes resting on the highest points of his defined cheekbones. he looked so appetizing that the idea of ​​drinking all his blood was tempting.

ㅤㅤㅤ you force him to lie down on a thin layer of grass, and you settle with your legs on either side of his waist. you take two deep breaths, feeling your fangs lengthen to bury themselves in the same wound as always. the delight of his blood filling your mouth makes you close your eyes to fully enjoy his refined taste. you were so enraptured by the sensations of his blood in your mouth that you can't understand how theodore wakes up and pushes you against the ground.

ㅤㅤㅤ —don't move. —you look at him, feeling his body imprison yours and gently push a wooden stake into your chest—. you...? what the fuck?

ㅤㅤㅤ although his frown shows how angry he is, his pulse only indicates that he is as scared as you are dismayed.

ㅤㅤㅤ —theo... —you try to deny what he has seen, but the drop of blood running down your cheek was as real as the color of your reddened gaze.

ㅤㅤㅤ —since when do you do this? —he asks. you try to answer, but the scent of his blood only awakens an animal that theodore would never be able to control—. answer me.

ㅤㅤㅤ you could have gotten into his mind to force him to sleep in less than a second, but there was a mystical force that prevented you from getting back into his head.

ㅤㅤㅤ —i’m sorry. i’m so sorry.

ㅤㅤㅤ you can hear theodore’s heart skip a couple of beats, taking advantage of that moment of doubt to hit the stake and push him. your hands intertwine to form a fist that hits the back of the boy’s neck, who falls unconscious at your feet. now, what would you do?

ㅤㅤㅤ since that night, you haven't been able to stop thinking about theodore. he had found a way to break your power with an enchanted stone hidden in the pocket of his pajama shorts. your father would have told you that you should look for another food to prevent something like that from happening again. however, forgetting the brown-haired boy's blood was an impossible task.

ㅤㅤㅤ during the two weeks that you were away, drinking animal blood at night, theodore hadn't said anything. you had seen each other in classes, meals, the common room, and the library, but he didn't seem to register you beyond the normal. will he not question you again?

ㅤㅤㅤ it's likely that if you had listened to your father's inner voice instead of your starving heart you wouldn't be battling with the shadow of the boy who had just poisoned you with a garlic potion. yes, you went to look for him once again. and yes, theodore nott had just made you fall unconscious in front of him.

ㅤㅤㅤ when you wake up, the first thing you feel is a cold breeze hitting your face. your limbs still feel paralyzed by the effect of the potion, disappearing minutes later.

ㅤㅤㅤ —it took you a while to come back. —it's his voice, strong and clear. as you sit up, you can see him with the stake pointing straight at your heart and another swig of potion in his free hand—. i even thought you had gotten bored. i don't want you to move, okay? i have no intentions of killing you, if that worries you.

ㅤㅤㅤ you knew he wouldn't do it because of his weak grip on the stake. didn't he know you could stand up, take the wood from his hands, and kill him to avoid trouble? you had a thousand ideas of how to do that, but you don't move.

ㅤㅤㅤ —at least, not if you don't give me reasons.

ㅤㅤㅤ does that sound intimidating enough? you look at him, noticing that he hadn’t said anything else since his last sentence. were you perhaps listening to his thoughts?

ㅤㅤㅤ —doesn’t this look familiar to you? —he asks, circling you as if you were the one with the lowest chance of survival—. sure, you’re a lot more subtle about getting me here, but i still haven’t mastered the psychic techniques of magic.

ㅤㅤㅤ you were hungry. you were so eager to taste some blood that hearing theodore’s veins pump makes your head hurt. if there was a quick way to end all this to feed yourself, you would do it.

ㅤㅤㅤ —you want to know what happened, right? —he shows a small ring on his finger—. i have to assume, because you didn’t take it from me last time, that you don’t know a memory stone when you see one. even though you took away the one that prevented you from entering my mind, you didn't realize that i had this one right here.

ㅤㅤㅤ it was such a small stone that it seemed incredible to you how images could be reproduced there. theodore didn't remember it, but that small transparent stone had everything that had happened that night printed on it, and those marks on his arm were enough proof to understand the whole situation.

ㅤㅤㅤ you wish you had something to say, but you had your mouth completely closed for fear of saying the wrong thing. you search for something that can calm your anguish, and when you hear his heart pumping calmly, something lights up inside you.

ㅤㅤㅤ —why my blood?

ㅤㅤㅤ you weren't going to lie. you could do it and find a way to escape, but the bravery of facing you with such serenity dangerously attracts you to him.

ㅤㅤㅤ —your blood is... delicious. you have disgusting habits, smoking and drinking every weekend don't do your body any good. but that liquid is always as intact as can be.

ㅤㅤㅤ she's cute.

ㅤㅤㅤ —have you done this to anyone else?

ㅤㅤㅤ you can notice that his grip on the stake is weakening a little and you take the opportunity to get up, making the boy alert. your body moves on its own, now understanding what had just awakened inside you. ㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤ —why do you ask? jealous? —you ask, laughing softly. his laugh is precious too—. after all, it seems that nott is the only one in hogwarts who is fucking a hogsmade vampire.

ㅤㅤㅤ all the sounds that reach your ears fade into the background when you hear his heartbeat again. hunger has begun to ache throughout your body, and you could assure that you would become a monster if you did not feed yourself right then and there.

ㅤㅤㅤ —did you hear that...

ㅤㅤㅤ —i have other powers, besides manipulating people. —you take his hand, effortlessly lowering the stake. you could hear the string of thoughts exploding in his head so clearly that it was impossible not to smile—. there is no one in this place with the blood i want. maybe that's why i drink yours or...

ㅤㅤㅤ theodore had heard all kinds of stories about vampires. he knew they were ruthless, callous, and murderous beings of darkness. he knew they would use any means to achieve their goal, but when he sees you, he can't make that connection. how can such a beauty be so bad?

ㅤㅤㅤ —have you ever thought that i might like you? —you say, looking at him tenderly and caressing his arm—. what should i do to get you to let me drink you, theodore?

ㅤㅤㅤ nothing. fuck me. no, that would be too much to ask. his thoughts are heard loud and clear, making your skin crawl from the mixture they have with his lust-tinged eyes. at that moment, you can hear his heart beat faster, pumping blood to hidden parts of his body and feeding your desire to drink.

ㅤㅤㅤ —do you want to drink my blood?

ㅤㅤㅤ the question has you nodding frantically, lighting a fire that’s stoked by those sea-blue eyes. that’s so hot.

ㅤㅤㅤ —maybe we can make a deal —you say, squeezing his arm and forcing him to crash into a tree—. you let me feed whenever i wants and you... you can brag about how you’re sleeping with a vampire. and this time, you wouldn’t be lying like a brazen man.

ㅤㅤㅤ theodore grabs your neck, twisting to slam your back against the tree with a force that makes you gasp. you hadn’t seen that coming.

ㅤㅤㅤ —you think it’s that easy?

ㅤㅤㅤ you laugh, running your hands down his chest and saying—: i can smell your desire. you don’t have to play hard to get with me.

ㅤㅤㅤ theodore breathes heavily, and you can hear the blood running through his jugular, throbbing. can she really? you know his brain is filled with questions, fear, and a desire that builds up in his member. you had to play along.

ㅤㅤㅤ —come on. aren't you a little curious about what a vampire can do in sex?

ㅤㅤㅤ yeah, of course i'm. theodore can't say anything, because his thoughts are taking over his answers.

ㅤㅤㅤ —are you afraid to find out? —your hands travel to his pants, unbuttoning them and letting them fall—. tell me, theodore, do you want to try what a vampire really does?

ㅤㅤㅤ —isn't that obvious? —he answers scathingly, smiling so close to your face that your hands must cup his cheeks—. why do you keep playing if you know the answer?

ㅤㅤㅤ his lips stick to yours as if they had waited their whole lives to touch you. both of you felt so desperate, needy, and eager that it was impossible not to battle back and forth. so sweet that it's impressive. a smile slides down your face, tasting the exquisiteness of his mouth with such impatience that theodore must calm his own internal fire.

ㅤㅤㅤ you pull away, noticing theodore is pushing himself to reach you, but you cover his mouth. your hands descend with you from his shoulders to his waist, looking into his eyes from your new kneeling position. one of his large hands caresses your face roughly, pressing one of his fingers to your lips. shit.

ㅤㅤㅤ —you're so fucking hot.

ㅤㅤㅤ your hands pull down his underwear, stealing a heavy sigh from you as you realize how big and thick he is. one of your hands grabs his cock to hold it in front of your mouth, being embraced by your hot tongue that elicits a hoarse growl from the boy. then you begin to put him in your mouth slowly, unable to take it all and having to use your hand to cover what's missing.

ㅤㅤㅤ at first, you have a hard time adjusting to the feeling of his thick member scraping against the walls of your mouth, but when you begin to take it in slow and easy, everything becomes simpler.

ㅤㅤㅤ fuck, so soft. theodore rests his hand on the tree, enjoying the way your mouth sucks and kisses his cock. he was fascinated with the way your tongue moved over his member when it was buried deep in you mouth. he liked the way your hand moved when your lips weren’t hugging it. what he adored the most, always stealing a soft moan from him, was when you watched him while licking his glans with a devilish eroticism

ㅤㅤㅤ —so good —you say, choking soon after when you take his cock again.

ㅤㅤㅤ this time, your mouth moves quickly, listening to theodore sigh, moan, and grunt. your tongue works magic to embrace his length as best it can, bringing a perfect movement that not only causes shameless sounds in him but in you.

ㅤㅤㅤ —ah... so perfect. s-so cute. —theodore's hand caresses your face that moves against him—. i won't feel bad at all for doing this to you.

ㅤㅤㅤ then his hand tangles in your hair, holding your head to begin thrusting his hips. the simple collision of the tip of his hardened cock with your throat makes your eyes fill with tears, gasping and losing balance.

ㅤㅤㅤ you had to admit that the way he sinks, deeper and faster, was exciting. your hands must tighten on his legs to support the back and forth that theodore has established. he moves with incredible dominance, trembling with pleasure and rumbling from the heat of your mouth.

ㅤㅤㅤ —just like that. a-a little more. you're doing so well.

ㅤㅤㅤ it's pathetic to think that hearing him speak turns you on, but it does and you strive to help his pleasure by using your hand at the base of his cock. so close. theodore sighs, then you feel it, a tremor that mixes with your cry muffled by the semen that hits your walls.

ㅤㅤㅤ theodore tries to get out of your mouth, but your hands hold him still, unloading all his semen inside your mouth. the smile that draws on his face is so magnificent that it lightens a little the suffocation that the viscous substance causes.

ㅤㅤㅤ —you taste good —you whisper, getting up from the floor.

ㅤㅤㅤ —i bet you're not just talking about my semen.

ㅤㅤㅤ a mischievous smile escapes your lips and you feel the boy's hands tighten on your hip. he looked so cute after the orgasm as if a glow had passed over his face to highlight every bit of his beauty.

ㅤㅤㅤ —when are you going to fuck me? —you ask, gently removing his clothes from his torso—. i want you to fuck me. i want you to sink into me, theodore. i can’t wait any longer.

ㅤㅤㅤ it’s a request he doesn’t plan to refuse, rushing his hands to grab the articles of clothing you wear in between kisses filled with laughter. not before long you’re half-dressed, pressed against the tree and burning to be touched. it’s so perfect that it hurts.

ㅤㅤㅤ —have you ever fucked a vampire? —you ask, over the soft movement of his lips against yours.

ㅤㅤㅤ —you’ll be my first —he answers with a smile that widens when you jump to wrap your legs around his waist, feeling his member getting harder between you—. proud of that?

ㅤㅤㅤ you nod, moving your hips against him.

ㅤㅤㅤ —you have no idea.

ㅤㅤㅤ you could get addicted to the way he kisses you. he had this thing about biting your lips just enough to pull you against him. yes, you wanted to kiss him every day, just as much as you wanted to feed off of him.

ㅤㅤㅤ theodore adjusts himself to support your weight on his arms and lowers his free hand to the growing wetness of your panties. so perfect, wet and ready for anything.

ㅤㅤㅤ —i need to be inside you —he whispers, his voice heavy with desire. he drops one of your legs onto the floor—. now.

ㅤㅤㅤ a stifled gasp escapes your lips when you hear the sound of your underwear tearing into a simple rag that falls to the floor. your hands tangle in his hair, as he adjusts himself to push the tip of his cock against your tight entrance without warning. it’s so slow and perfect that it feels like pleasurable torture.

ㅤㅤㅤ —ah, theo —you sigh, pulling at the end of his hair at the pain that crosses the line into pleasure soon after.

ㅤㅤㅤ —just a little, angel. r-relax a little more.

ㅤㅤㅤ it feels so good. the last portion of his member pushes inside you with a searing, arousing heat that travels throughout your throbbing body. he was so big that you can feel your muscles contract. then, theodore begins to move with soft shallow thrusts that tickle throughout your body.

ㅤㅤㅤ when his movements have sped up, making you whimper because of the wood scraping your back and the crash of his pelvis against you, a deadly sensation runs through you. deeper, harder, needy, and hungry. all that and the mixture of your juices has created a constant sound that clouds your senses.

ㅤㅤㅤ there are so many stimuli that it is impossible not to enjoy it. constant blows from the boy, wind crashing against your nakedness, heart beating desperately and sexual sound of his member pushing to the possible limit. how could all this be more perfect? ​​

ㅤㅤㅤ —theo, m-more.

ㅤㅤㅤ he looks at you, capturing your lips, while his free hand goes down to your clitoris. at the slightest contact of his cold fingers, massaging and pressing, you feel a wave that tickles to the depths of your being. the moans that merge with the contact of his lips is so pleasurable for theodore that he can feel his cock tremble. it can't be now, it can't be so fast.

ㅤㅤㅤ theodore grabs your leg, still moving, this time more gently. you smile, playing with his hair as he lifts and lays you down on the wet grass.

ㅤㅤㅤ —you look gorgeous.

ㅤㅤㅤ and mouthwatering. the thought manages to get stuck at the back of your mind, igniting something much stronger than your pleasure. it was hunger. a desire to bury your teeth in the throbbing vein of his neck and drain every last drop of his blood takes over you. you pull his arm, pressing your lips together until a small wound brings blood to your mouth.

ㅤㅤㅤ —i can't take it anymore. theodore, please —you plead, him tasting his own red liquid as he sucks the pain from his lip. you feel the little drop change everything inside you, and you can see theodore's gaze widen—. p-please.

ㅤㅤㅤ for fuck's sake, she'll be the end of me. his lips trail down your chest, beginning to move his hips again and chuckling softly at the way your chest bounces.

ㅤㅤㅤ —why the rush? are you that hungry, little vampire?

ㅤㅤㅤ the repeated movement of his hips colliding with yours quickens your breathing, and you gasp at theodore's wet attack on your chest.

ㅤㅤㅤ —just keep waiting for your prize.

ㅤㅤㅤ you look at him, knowing he means to drink his blood, but your fangs had already grown seconds ago.

ㅤㅤㅤ —who said i was going to keep waiting?

ㅤㅤㅤ damn. theodore moans at the pain of your teeth, piercing his flesh, feeling the blood gush into your mouth from the way you suck effortlessly. the mere taste makes your eyes turn bright red, and you can hear the boy's breath hitch. for a moment, he's completely still, panting, but soon he moves carefully again.

ㅤㅤㅤ the sensations mix inside you in a hellish way. his deep thrusts have intensified their power inside you from the pleasure of his blood running down your throat and the boy's soft moans. that mix was enough to clench your muscles tightly.

ㅤㅤㅤ —so pretty.

ㅤㅤㅤ your legs hug his hips, helping you find his rhythm in the air. theodore moans at the feeling of your mouth drinking, while your interior embraces his cock tighter and tighter. and it happens. you feel it like a wave charged with joy, but when he touches that same spot again, it is impossible to control the cry that arches your back.

ㅤㅤㅤ —r-right there. that's it... —he doesn't waste time pushing himself once more to that same spot as if he knew exactly what to do to touch it.

ㅤㅤㅤ what a sight. you try to take his arm again in the middle of your muffled moans, but theodore doesn't allow it. his mouth curves into a smile that you can't enjoy too much because his lips find yours in a messy kiss, panting and full of a lust that neither of you had felt. when he pulls away, he tastes his own blood as if he can understand what it does to your wet core.

ㅤㅤㅤ —shit...

ㅤㅤㅤ and it's enough because your entire body convulses under his power, while theodore moves about two more times to leave a line of semen on your abdomen. you both look at each other, catching your breath before you can feel his blood hit your nose.

ㅤㅤㅤ —i need to feed —you say, stopping your instincts from taking over—. please.

ㅤㅤㅤ theodore drops down beside you and extends his arm, giving you free rein to drink as much as you want. the thing is that you now found something even more addictive than his blood and you don't know what will happen with it.

[tqlepatia]

https://www.tumblr.com/valalice/772312352006782976

This but Poly!Caitvi x Fae reader who they find injured and nurse her back to health. Falling in love with her in the process. Also love love love your bots😘- ✨

─ fangs, claws, and wings.

vi and caitlyn found you half-dead in some sketchy alley in zaun, your wings shredded like paper. caitlyn knelt down first, her sharp blue eyes scanning your injuries while vi hovered close, sniffing the air like she could taste the blood on you. typical vampire.

“she’s fae,” caitlyn muttered, her voice low but still calm, even though her golden wolf eyes kinda gave away the internal struggle.

“doesn’t matter,” vi said, already scooping you up in her arms like it was nothing. “she’s coming with us.”

you were too messed up to argue, so yeah, you let them take you. their place wasn’t much, but it was warm, and honestly? it felt safer than anywhere you’d been in ages.

weeks passed, and it was... weirdly nice. caitlyn was all precision and control, patching up your wings and making sure you ate, even when she was still recovering from her own full-moon wolf nonsense. vi? she was a whole vibe—always teasing, bringing you snacks, and pretending she wasn’t eyeing your neck every five seconds.

one night, after a full moon, caitlyn sat next to you, looking softer than usual. her hand brushed yours, and she said, “you know you don’t have to leave, right? you could stay... with us.

vi, leaning against the doorframe with her fangs peeking out, smirked. “yeah, wings. you’re stuck with us now. fang gang, claw crew, all that shit.”

you couldn’t help it—you laughed. like, a real laugh, something you hadn’t done in forever. when caitlyn’s hand squeezed yours and vi flopped onto the couch next to you, throwing an arm around your shoulders, you realized... maybe being stuck with them wasn’t so bad.

Uurrgh 💘

[ravelqueen]

Because of one person asking POPULAR DEMAND: Metaphor Re:Fantazio a/b/o thoughts, to wit:

What if the alpha/omega thing is the super special Elda tribe trait but nobody knows about it anymore.

Used to be it was common knowledge, but since omegas almost only ever conceive during heat and only go into heat if they feel safe, the constant stress of being hunted as an "inferior race" got the population down, which in turn led to Elda leaving broader society behind to survive, so now it is more folklore to most other tribes. However, it DOES still survive as part of the stereotype attached to the Elda that now extends to them also being promiscuous/sexually perverse/too seductive/only good for sex.

So the insults that Will gets have a bit more of "get away from my husband you wicked harlot" or "well the army will sure find a use for an Elda" on top of the standard stuff - only since nobody actually knows shit about Elda/genotypes it's pretty inaccurate all around so it bothers him almost less than some other insults, because it's kind of funny? Like of course he's not "always wet and ready", how would that even work? "You in heat?" Clearly them asking means they don't know the first thing about a heat, because you're def able to tell.

He'd sometimes like to just at least correct the wrong assumptions people make about how this all works but the elders in the village were VERY CLEAR that people's ignorance around their nature is the best protection they could get - no way to abuse a heat-addled omega if you don't know the signs of pre-heat, no controlling a bunch of alphas through stressing out an omega enough that they'd do whatever it takes to not have to smell the terrible sour scent in the air.

In a way he feels almost safer after a while than he did at home sometimes, at least on that level, because other tribes have no scent glands so no matter how overtly threatening someone might behave towards him, at least he doesn't have to deal with someone trying to overwhelm his resistance through aggressive alpha pheromone bullshit. It's especially relaxing when he realises that none of these other people seem to be able to smell him either - he doesn't have the most distinctive scent, but there is definitely no way he could have enjoyed Barton working shirtless the way he did without stupid comments.

And that was fine at the when he left his village - he only thought about helping the prince and sure it was going to be hard in the outside world - especially with the elders INSISTING that he definitely can't fuck a non-Elda - but he wasn't a slave to his instincts just because he's an omega, he was going to fine. The mission was going to be a few weeks at most.

Only then he suddenly decides to go on the campaign trail and oh it's a lot harder than he thought. And turns out that "don't get involved with other tribes, don't tell them anything about what it means to be an omega, definitely don't sleep with them, don't ask why doesn't matter" isn't as easy an advice to follow when you are on the third month of being surrounded by distressingly hot non-Elda, who have also provided you a place that feels safe and home and smells like them (even though none of the others actually have scent glands, Will can still sort of get their natural scent and ohhh it is so nice, it smells like family, it smells like pack)

And yeah he doesn't want to mess with his new comrades dynamic too much (doesn't want to explain what he is, now that he's heard how the outside thinks of them, what they are taught an omega is) but there are others he meets, on the road and so many of them are big and buff and often protective, and he's not supposed to sleep with them, but there are no other Elda around to take off the edge, to keep him balanced.

On top of that there is Strohl who doesn't smell like an alpha, doesn't smell like anything really aside from clean sweat and clemar and burnt orange and the sword oil he uses a lot, who has especially decided to be buff and protective and affectionate and it's driving Will to DISTRACTION.

The THING IS Strohl has been really trying his very best at Checking His Privilege - not just around Will, but clearly the MOST around him. He especially gets angry at all these people insinuating that Will is easy or that he could control people through sex - it's ridiculous and demeaning and terrible of them (and just because Will could ask him anything with those big eyes and he'd do it, no questions asked, obviously is just because he's - they - HE'S NOT GOING TO THINK ABOUT IT). Who insists that it an absolute OUTRAGE that they would look at Will and think he'd into getting dragged down a dirty alley and get fucked hard (Will who has been trying not to imagine Strohl doing that "[strangled] yeah terrible")

Only when Strohl does these things - physically puts himself between Will and someone who tries to grope him in a bar, gets so offended, defends Will's honour - Will knows it's not what he thinks, he knows Strohl just cannot abide by injustice, maybe - best case - he just really likes Will, but to him it reads so much like courting that he can't help get his wires crossed sometimes. But the elders were very clear and he is terrified of messing things up with the really good thing he's got going right now, so he sort of resigns himself for a while to just being very horny for a while

And the nice thing is at least he gets to be horny without anyone the wiser, because while yes throwing his pheromones around the way he's been doing would be seen as extremely rude in his village, it's not like anyone around him can smell it and be influenced by it, so while it's uncomfortable, he's going to survive and it's just a him-problem in the end.

Only turns out that while other tribes don't have noses as sensitive/receptors capable of interpreting subtle shifts the way the Elda can, the elders were wrong in that omega pheromones don't affect them at all - which Will realises after he breaks and hooks up with Batlin after the exhibition at which point he apparently induced a sort of mini rut in someone who is really not equipped for it (he passes out after the third round).

So maybe everyone's dazed looks weren't just because of the sometimes oppressive heat in the gauntlet runner and maybe Strohl isn't feeling faint just because of sea sickness after all.

Well, shit.

[olenvasynyt]

A Court of Embers and Sunlight: A Lucien backstory fic

Chapter 12: White Light and Warnings

Fic Summary:

It has been eighty years since the end of the Human War, and a delicate, tenuous peace has grown in Prythian. But as an ancient rivalry between two High families suddenly arises, the consequences of the War are pondered, and painful memories are stirred up for members of the Vanserra family, including Eris Vanserra and the Lady of Autumn. But being sixty and the youngest of seven brothers, Lucien Vanserra is eager to avoid a lot of things. Including the consequences of the War. Haunted by secrets and keen to avoid the Forest House, Lucien allows his errancy to lead him to Prythian’s Summer beaches, Winter lakes, and Spring fields until he finds himself stumbling down a path to a female he never expected. One who lights up his dark, rotting world like dappled sunlight through the leaves.

Read on Ao3

Start from the beginning

Excerpt:

Puberty for a High Fae male was painful growth spurts, vocal fries, and—at least for natives of the Autumn Court—burnt fingers.  At just eight years old, Lucien’s powers were beginning to show.  It started as a spark here and there, but then the flames started.  Uncontrollable, translucent flames that were almost impossible to notice until it was too late.  He had already set fire to three of his shirts, a pair of socks, the end of a tablecloth, and no less than five books (though he would not admit to his tutor that he let the fifth book A Comprehensive History of The Forest House and Its High Lords burn a little longer than the others, purely out of spite for the subject).  

His mother, of course, was the first person he showed when he finally managed to light a real flame on his own.  He suppressed a smile as he ran throughout the Forest House to find her, a candle in hand.  

He found her in The Canopy, drinking tea with Frieda accompanying her. Thankfully none of the court ladies were with them; he tried to avoid them as much as he could.  They liked to pinch his cheeks and talk about gossip he never cared about.  His mother seemed more subdued around them as well, and that alone was a good enough reason to dislike their presence.

Lucien set the candle down on the tea table.  “Watch,” he told his mother.  

With a smile, she set aside her embroidery and folded her hands in her lap in reverent anticipation.  Satisfied with her full attention, he held his hand out, beaming from ear to ear with pride.  Concentration was key; you had to imagine the flame shooting down your veins, erupting from your fingertips.  He willed his power to flicker and spark, to ignite that tiny wick…

The candle instantly exploded.  Burning wax and flecks of dazzling white light sprayed at the three of them.  Lucien yelped in alarm and nearly fell off the couch.  Frieda leaped back in her own seat, clutching her whiskers.

But a laugh echoed throughout the room, a gentle, merry tinkle like the suncharms above their head.  Lucien’s mother batted away the sparks.  “Did he get you, Frieda?” she asked, peering at her handmaiden with a smile.

Frieda slowly lowered her paws from her whiskers.  The fae was usually sweet with him, but now she stared at him so incredulously Lucien turned red under the soot that now stained his face.  

“I’m sorry,” he stammered. Dried wax now covered the entire surface of the table, ruining the polished wood and the tea set.  He clutched his chest to soothe his bare hands, to steady his racing heart.  He could imagine his father’s face, his narrow, angry eyes flickering between him and the mess…

But his mother waved her hand, and the explosion of melted wax vanished.  “It’s alright, Lu, it’s hard to control in the beginning.  Come here and sit with me, I can show you.”

He sank into the cushions next to her.  “You have fire powers too?” He had only seen her do trivial magic, like wiping away the wax or summoning objects from across the room.  Not fire magic.   

She nodded and held out her hand.  Slowly, flames began to flicker around her fingers, starting from her fingertips and spreading until it covered her like a lace glove.  Lucien watched in awe as the flames stroked and kissed his mother’s porcelain hand.

His powers could be good like hers.  His fire could be gentle and warm and life-giving, instead of violent and terrible like his father’s and brothers’.

“Do you remember your lessons about your grandfather, my light?” his mother asked, extinguishing the flames.  “My father?”

He nodded and said simply, if a bit sheepishly, “He was a general during the war.”  

He didn’t want to say that he died during the war.  It felt unnecessary, and he hated how the light went out in his mother’s eyes whenever his grandfather or aunts were brought up.  They had no graves, since Autumn traditionally held pyre burnings for their dead.  But memorials for those lost in the war stood in the Forest House temple.  His mother only took him to visit them a few times, but he would often see her walking with Eris, a bundle of chrysanthemums in hand.  

“Yes, he was.  He was a very powerful fire wielder and he passed that power to me and your aunts.” 

There: that little beam of light in her eyes vanished, like the sun being blocked out by gloomy autumn clouds.  But as she looked down at him, he thought he saw a flicker of that light return.  “You got your powers from me and your father, so you will be especially strong.” She brushed a strand of hair away from his forehead.  Her hand was pleasantly warm as if the fire was under her skin.  “Beron will have you train.  It’ll be a bit like your sword lessons.”

“Great,” he muttered. 

She chuckled.  “You can always come to me if you need help.  Or Eris.  But I want you to be careful at first, though, alright?  Until you can control it.  You know your brothers; they will not take it lightly if you accidentally set one of their cloaks on fire.”

Lucien knew that to be painfully true.  His brothers had always been hateful towards him, but his relationship with them got worse.  So much worse.  Scoffs and teasing and the occasional explosion from his “incompetence” seemed to have switched to pure hostility overnight.  They talked and joked openly about him during meals; they came to watch his fire-wielding lessons just to jeer.  They tried to corner him in the halls as well, but he knew their tricks well enough to avoid them, and all of the hiding spots he could go to.

The seventh Vanserra had entered the competition.

[daeley]

[namazunomegami]

Lord of the Flies, Gluttonous Queen, Prince of Filth, Prince of Decay, Goddess of Ekron, Lord of Slander, Queen of Pestilence and Famine, The Rotting One

I Solomon said unto him: “Beelzeboul what is thy employment?” And (s)he answered me: “I destroy kings. I ally myself with foreign tyrants. And my own demons I set on to men, in order that the latter may believe in them and be lost. And the chosen servants of God, priests, and faithful men, I excite unto desires for wicked sins, and evil heresies, and lawless deeds; and they obey me, and I bear them on to destruction. And I inspire men with envy, and desire for murder, and for wars, and sodomy, and other evil things. And I will destroy the world.” - The Testament of Solomon

[somethhing-someethinng]

I see no one talking abt bangladesh right now and most people are focusing on england but basically a couple weeks ago the uni students started protesting against the job/admission quota previously in place where a percentage of the accepted applicants can get in on other claims such as the women's qouta (it was 10% i think) the disabled quota (somewhere like 1-5%) and the 1971 freedom fighters quota w/ their children and grandchildren which was a whooping 30%.

Naturally people were kinda against that. This girl i talked to on the bus told me she was in 406th position based on her merit but wasn't able to get physics on her uni subject but a guy on the 2385th position did cuz he admitted to the quota system on basis of having a freedom fighter grandparent. So naturally she went to protest too.

Unfortunately politics are a finicky thing so soon you have small terrorist groups attacking the students and causing more destruction and arson. Now there is a death toll. The prime minister has already called the protestors rajakar for going against the 'legacy of our independence' (for context rajakar is basically a slur around here which was used to refer to people from our side during the was who helped pakistan and killed and tortured people worse than they ever did. It was... not a good move)

It gets worse and the police get involved students die. Police officers die. Both of them blame each other. The actual perpetrators are still at large.

The students started a nine point demand but it wasn't accepted and instead people died. So they just turned it into a one point demand for the resignation of the prime minister who has been handling the entire situation quite poorly and has already made things was worse.

As of today on Aug5 near the afternoon (in GMT+6 at least) the former Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina resigned. And now we await further news.