#the last heiress fic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

onlymingyus · 3 months

Text

give it to me

pairing; jeon wonwoo x f!reader

genre; smut (minor dni), angst, toxic, fluff

summary; From the outside looking in your life is perfect. It's the perfect ones who are the most fucked up and have the most to lose, or so you thought.

dark/content warnings; murder, kidnapping, talk of abuse, talk of solicitation, illusion to sexual abuse, wonwoo is not a nice guy for a large part of this fic -- hitman!wonwoo, kidnapper!wonwoo, ransom negotiations, corrupt business world, seedy gang/mob underworld, crying (pain and mental pain), depression, fucked up family dynamics, yn has parents/parent death mentioned, police, dead bodies, blood, guns, lying, eating/drinking -- i am sure there is more, this fic can be a lot. please consider the warnings before you read.

smut warnings; unprotected sex, creampie, fingering, oral (m receiving), begging, crying (pleasure), olfactophilia/mysophilia (panty sniffing), grinding, petnames

w/c; 22k and some change (980~ bonus on patreon only)

a/n; thank you to my @junkissed for proofreading this for me! i know i am on a dark fic kick. thank you all for going along on this ride with me -- perhaps you might catch some easter eggs 🤫 -- i really hope you enjoy this one.

before continuing remember reblogs are incredibly important and please read how to support me here

“Stop pouting.”

You throw a contemptuous glare towards Wonwoo from the rearview mirror as he sits in the passenger's seat. He was a handsome man with strong features that made you both nervous and furious. He had been assigned to your personal security by your father in the past week after some changes and discoveries with your previous bodyguard had come to light.

While you didn’t care who watched over you, it was important to your father, who was by his daughter’s side. You had no assumptions that it was because he loved you; no, it was more that you were the heiress of his multimillionaire dollar stock trading company and his only living child.

“I don’t want to go.”

Shaking his head, Wonwoo glances down at his phone to see a text message from your father, only to let out a sigh. He knew you didn’t want to go; you had been telling him that all day. You were a brat. You were every bit the part of Mr. Y/L/N’s daughter and he could tell that you lived a very charmed life. Rarely were you told no, and the times you were, you threw a fit.

“It doesn’t matter if you don’t. Today isn’t about you, Y/N. It’s about your father, but you are well aware of that. We’ve talked about it enough times today. Stop pretending that you don’t like attention.”

Rolling your eyes, you lean your head back as Wonwoo talks down to you. You hated him. He was worse than any other bodyguard that your father had put in his place. He was strict and he degraded you. Your last bodyguard was a sweet man who would let you sneak out and get laid, but Wonwoo was an asshole who triple locked your door.

“Fuck you. You don’t know me. Stop acting like you do. God, I can’t wait for you to get fired.”

Smirking, Wonwoo glances at you in the rear view mirror, letting his eyes move over your pretty features as the car comes to a stop outside of the venue. The flashes of cameras already make him feel anxious, but he has started to get used to it. They weren’t looking at him, they were looking at you.

“That’s sweet, Princess. I don’t want you to like me. They want you to like them.” Wonwoo gestures his head towards the window, drawing your eyes to where people are falling over one another to try to catch a glimpse of you. “Your fans and daddy are waiting.”

Reaching for your door, you pull on the handle, instantly feeling frustration take hold of you when it doesn’t budge. Glancing back at you, Wonwoo grins before opening his door and moving to yours. Opening it from the outside with ease, the man looks down at you with a smug expression.

You hear your name yelled by several people and lights flash in your eyes before Wonwoo steps in front of the photographers, allowing you to step out of the vehicle. At least he was good for something. Meeting his eyes, you narrow yours for a moment before putting on a pretty, fake smile, letting him know he could move and allow your picture to be taken.

Wonwoo stays on your left, his eyes watchful as he moves them from you to the crowd and back. He was good at what he did. He could feel the weight of his gun on his side, but he knew he wouldn’t need it, not even if someone did try something. His hands were more than enough to take care of them, but his gaze was deterrent enough. There was something dangerous, almost feral, about Wonwoo’s eyes that told anyone and everyone not to fuck with him, including you.

Hearing your name, your father sighs and looks towards the double doors. Appearances were everything for him and you looked like you were worth every single penny he had spent on you. While you left much to be desired on the business front, at least he could count on you to look stunning on the front page of a magazine along with his last name. You could make his company's stocks climb by 3% with a smile on a good day, and today was a great day or at least your father wanted it to be.

“Mm, Y/N, darling.”

You keep your fake smile on your face, letting your father’s lips brush the corner of your lips before he takes your arm into his. His grip is a little too tight for your comfort, but at events like this, it always is. You hated business dinners. You despised talking to the business partners and their “handsome” heirs. None of them were attractive, no matter how many times your father told you to tell them they were.

“I want you to meet two of my oldest friends, Hyong Songmin and Hong Jinyoung.”

Clenching your jaw, you glance at your father, knowing where this is going, before he squeezes your forearm to the point of pain and your eyes move to the two older businessmen.

“Hello, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes watching you put on a face for the old men. He could tell you didn’t want to be there anymore than he did. Glancing at his watch, he sighs under his breath and purses his lips, listening to the conversations around him while keeping up the appearance of guarding you and your father.

Reaching out to take your hand from your father, Hyong Songmin is just a bit faster than Hong Jinyoung. Your brow lifts out of curiosity at the two men and their obvious competitive nature before you laugh a bit awkwardly, feeling the older man’s lips brush against the back of your knuckles.

“No, dear… the pleasure is mine. I wish my son Kihyun was here today, but at least I’m not the only one with a missing son.”

Rolling his eyes, Jinyoung looks you over, almost appraising you, before he meets your father’s eyes and tilts his head like he’s considering a deal.

“He’s not wrong. Joshua was, I quote, “just too busy with numbers” to attend today. I’m certain he would be ashamed to have missed the opportunity to meet you, Miss Y/L/N.”

You had met Hyong Kihyun before and you had heard some rumblings about Joshua Hong, but you knew what this was really about. This was about your father, his company, and mergers.

“What a shame... perhaps we can set up another time for my beautiful daughter to meet with either of your dashing sons in the near future. Dinner?”

Gritting your teeth, you look in your father’s direction, meeting his eyes, only to feel his hand wrap back around your arm.

“I’m so busy, Father. I’m sure that both of their sons are as well, no matter how large the dowry is.”

Your father scoffs into a laugh upon hearing the two men laugh at your "joke.” Luckily for him, they had found it amusing, but he had not. Digging his fingers into your arm, your father’s eyes burn holes into your face before he looks towards Wonwoo, clearing his throat to get his attention.

“My apologies, gentleman. My daughter has her mother’s tongue. Mr. Kim?”

Lifting his brows, Wonwoo smirks at the name before he meets your father’s eyes, taking your arm when offered to him as your breath quickens. You watch as he leans closer to the bodyguard, whispering something into his ear, only for the man to meet your eyes and nod.

“Now, where were we? Ah yes, planning dinners for our children. Mine needs a meal and a good night's rest today, but seeing as how your sons aren’t here…”

You feel Wonwoo guide you towards the back of the banquet hall as your father turns his eyes away from you, distracting his guests. He was good at that, diverting attention from people and things he was ashamed of. That was the reason your mother wasn’t around anymore and no one ever asked why. That was why you were always leaving early if you spoke out of turn, like you did tonight.

Tugging at Wonwoo’s grip, you feel his hand tighten around your wrist, but he never holds you to the degree that your father does. It never hurts, he always knows when to stop and that you will follow him anyway.

“Leave it alone, Y/N. You didn’t want to be there anyway.”

Learning against the wall, you sigh as Wonwoo looks out into the alleyway, waiting for the car to come into view. Glancing back at you, he lifts his brows, almost feeling sympathy for you, but what was there to feel sorry for? You weren’t the type of person that Wonwoo felt anything for.

Pulling at your elbow, Wonwoo kicks the door to the noisy venue, leaning down to glance in the vehicle and nod at the driver. You hear him mutter a few words before you are ushered into the back, like always. You were used to this song and dance. Anytime you would embarrass your father, it didn’t matter who your bodyguard was, you were always sent back to your apartment and called later with a firm reminder of who you were and who you belonged to.

So when the car turns in the opposite direction of your apartment, you furrow your brows and look towards the front seat, seeing the wide eyes of your driver. You didn’t know the man’s name; it had never seemed important until this moment. Today he looked scared and you weren’t sure why until he muttered something towards your bodyguard and his voice got louder, feeling the barrel of the gun against his side.

“I don’t—okay!”

Tears instantly threaten to well up in your eyes at the sight in front of you. Has your driver done something wrong? Was he a bad man? Has Wonwoo noticed something you hadn’t? Swallowing hard, you reach for your cellphone to do something, anything, when you hear Wonwoo’s tongue click in disapproval.

“Give it to me. Now, Y/N. I won’t fucking ask again.”

Meeting Wonwoo’s eyes, you see that dangerous look making your brows furrow. Seeing his outstretched hand, you whine and shake your head, realizing the situation was the opposite of what you had quickly deduced. Your driver had done nothing wrong. Wonwoo was doing this. You barely knew Wonwoo. He had been assigned to you for less than a week.

“Wonwoo…”

“Now!”

The tears spill on your cheeks when Wonwoo yells at you. You put your cellphone into his hand and sit back in your seat before glancing towards both doors. Your mind goes back to when you arrived at the venue and how Wonwoo had to open your door from the outside.

“Pull into this parking garage. Fuckin—why are you two making me repeat myself? Just do it!”

You close your eyes, hearing your driver’s head hit the side of his door when Wonwoo forces the man’s head hard against it. The man lets out a painful sound, along with affirming words, as you feel the car take a sudden left and any light from outside is taken by the oppressive walls of the concrete parking garage.

The moment the car is in park, you look around for a way to get out, but the sound of Wonwoo’s gun going off pulls your attention back towards him quickly. Meeting his eyes, your hands over your ears, you watch him speak, but you just shake your head until he grits his teeth and forces your hand from your head.

“Fucking listen to me, Y/N. Be a good girl and I won’t have to hurt you.”

Your eyes shift to the body of your driver slumped over the steering wheel and the panic rushes back through you, causing Wonwoo to jerk your arm once again.

“You are worth more to everyone without a bullet in you, but that doesn’t mean I won’t. Do you understand me?”

Pleading words fall from your lips just above a whisper as Wonwoo lets go of your wrist, leaning over the man in the driver’s seat. You hadn’t noticed the gloves that Wonwoo always had on until now. It took your brain being shocked into reality for things to sink in. Your door is locked from the outside. The gloves on Wonwoo’s hands. Was that his real name? Kim Wonwoo?

Pushing the body with his knee, Wonwoo grunts and watches the body fall with a thud next to the car. It wasn’t ideal, but it would work. The parking garage was in a secluded part of town and it would take at least a few hours, if not a day for someone to stumble upon it.

Looking into the rearview mirror, Wonwoo lifts his eyebrows at you as you tremble visibly. He knew you were scared. That was something you were feeling for once, and that made sense. All the times over the past week that he has seen you be unreasonably annoyed over simple shit made this even easier.

“Let’s go for a drive, Princess.”

Rubbing at the mascara drying on your fingers, you feel the car come to a stop. Wonwoo sighs, his brows furrowing as he looks around at the empty parking garage and finally back at you. You hadn’t spoken since he had started driving, but he wasn’t complaining. He could hear you crying, your pathetic little whimpering as he drove, but that had been the most of it. You had been resigned to what was happening. You had been “a good girl,” and Wonwoo could give you a bit of credit for that.

“Home sweet home, Y/N.”

Looking up, you furrow your brows at the sight around you. This parking garage had clearly not been used in years, probably closer to a decade. The building itself is probably in similar, if not worse, condition. There was nothing about this that you wanted to call home, but as Wonwoo opened his door and moved to yours, opening it, the gun pointed in your direction, and you knew you didn’t really have much of a say.

“Wh–why are you doing this? Did my father not pay you enough?”

Scoffing, Wonwoo sighs, leaning back against the door as he waits impatiently for you to gather the train of your tight dress and slide towards him.

“I thought you were supposed to be smart. Isn’t that what all those degrees on your office wall are for?”

Your stomach twists at Wonwoo’s words as your high heels unsteadily meet the uneven concrete of the garage. Reaching out with his free hand, Wonwoo tugs you upward and keeps your body against his, letting the barrel of his gun rest against your abdomen as he walks with you.

“This is ridiculous, Wonwoo. You’re throwing your life away, and for what? A paycheck—”

Scoffing at your words, Wonwoo cuts you off with a look as he kicks open a heavy door to the stairwell. Obviously, the elevator wouldn’t work in a building like this. You whine at the idea of the stairs in your heels, your eyes searching Wonwoo’s as he shakes his head and digs the gun into your side.

“You’re the one who’s ridiculous. You look ridiculous and you are acting pathetic. Walk!” Raising his voice, Wonwoo feels your body jerk in his arms before you do as he says and move forward up the stairs. “This isn’t about some stupid ass security job. This is about your daddy, and him paying for you. I was hired to take you, Princess.”

You feel your knees buckle. Wonwoo’s fingers dig into your arm, lifting you back up as he rolls his eyes at your reaction. He figures you are playing the role of the grief stricken daughter, but in reality, you are fighting the urge between laughing and crying. Your father? Paying for you? Who was stupid enough to think that he would?

Using his shoulder, Wonwoo pushes open the door to one of the many rooms before letting you stumble inside in front of him. You look around, your brows furrowing in confusion and you feel some disgust at the sight in front of you. You weren’t sure what you had expected. The rest of the building hadn’t given you the impression that any of the apartments would be in good condition, so seeing it firsthand shouldn’t be surprising.

“Welcome home.”

You give Wonwoo a look of contempt, making him laugh as he gestures towards a dusty couch with his gun. You didn’t want to sit on the couch. The first thought in your head was that the dress you were wearing cost thousands of dollars and that cleaning it would cost hundreds, but the look in Wonwoo’s eyes made you take a step in its direction.

“He won’t pay you any money for me. If—listen, Wonwoo... if you let me go, I can pay you the money myself.”

Sighing, Wonwoo lifts his free hand to his brows, rubbing hard as he watches you. He could see you hesitating to sit down. The way you were brushing at the couch with your fingers only to rub them together as if you were in pain. When you finally sit down, you look stiff and struggle to not let any of your skin touch the dusty material under you.

“Doubt this is about what you can offer, sweetheart. Get comfortable, you are going to be here for a while. So stop acting like you are going to get the plague from some dust.”

Wrinkling your nose to the smell of rot, you force your eyes open. You hope that everything that has happened has been a bad dream. Instead, you open them to find things were worse than you remembered. Whining, you push against the leather couch, searching for a way out, only to find Wonwoo leaning against the door, his eyes on you.

“How was your nap?”

It was interesting to see you like this, out of your element. Wonwoo had grown accustomed to seeing you prim and proper. Your outfits are always in perfect condition—not a hair out of place. Now you are starting to show signs of wear. You had grime on your cheek from falling asleep on the couch, which you hated so much. At least he had been nice enough to let you sleep somewhere soft.

Rubbing at your cheek, you turn your eyes away from Wonwoo as you shake your head. You were stiff and uncomfortable. You had only fallen asleep out of exhaustion, not because you wanted to or because you were comfortable. The last thing you wanted to do was fall asleep around him.

“I want to go home.”

Nodding, Wonwoo runs his fingers along his palm. He knew what you wanted. You had told him many times before finally passing out for a few hours. He had slept off and on, but he was used to living like this. He was a light sleeper and with one movement from you, Wonwoo knew he would be on his feet, ready to put you back where you belonged.

“And you know the answer to that. So stop fucking telling me. Tell me something different.”

Biting at your lips, you blink back your tears, glancing over at Wonwoo again. He was so cruel. You try to imagine a world before today when you actually found him attractive and enjoyed pushing his buttons. The idea of it was terrifying now. You had no idea who you had been teasing. You had enjoyed pushing your bodyguards to their limits until you met Wonwoo.

“You are such an asshole.”

Wonwoo smirks, his thumbnail tracing the longest line in his palm as he looks over your face, even from a distance. Even with all that grime on your face, you were still beautiful. It was a pity that you were such a bratty bitch.

“Thanks, I try. You’ve made it easy with your stunning personality.”

Scoffing, you rub your arms, the chill in the air causing chill bumps to spread along your skin. Wonwoo watches you shiver, his brows furrowing, before he rolls his eyes and moves to his feet with a loud sigh. You watch as he moves to a duffle bag you hadn’t noticed before. Rummaging through it, he tosses a protein bar on your lap, followed by a bottle of water.

“Eat, we are gonna be here awhile.”

Your stomach growls at the idea of food. It had been hours since you had eaten anything substantial. Anytime before you would attend an event, you had a habit of skipping a meal in an attempt to make your dress fit better. Now you were mentally cursing yourself for the tradition.

“I’m fine.”

Shrugging, Wonwoo takes out his own bottle of water, tossing the cap down on the floor before tipping the bottle back on his lips. His eyes never leave your face as he swallows the water in large gulps until, finally, the last of the water is gone.

“Suit yourself. I’m not going to force you to eat or drink, Y/N. But trust me, starving yourself won’t make you a martyr. No one cares that much.”

Wonwoo’s words bite at your self esteem. You look down, your stomach turning as tears run down your cheeks. You knew he was right. Your father probably hadn’t realized you were gone yet, not if the person who had wanted you kidnapped hadn’t sent him a ransom note. Even if they had, your father would keep it quiet until he couldn’t.

The dinner had ended a few hours ago and your father had already started nursing his headache in typical fashion, a glass of brandy in his hand from the moment he stepped into his house. You had disappointed him. He wished that just once you could attend a business function with him, put a smile on your face, and keep your mouth shut.

Luckily for him, both men he had hoped would be interested in his proposition had left him with some hope for the future. You hadn’t completely fucked up everything he had been working for. Out of the two men, your father hoped that Hong Jinyoung’s son would be the one who took the bait. While both of the companies were worth something, Hong Investments was like a beacon, and your father was swimming towards the dollar signs.

Settling into his chair, your father furrows his brows at his phone and the lack of messages from you. You knew he was upset with you. He had sent you away with the new bodyguard, what was his name again, Kim? Sighing, the older man presses down on your name and puts his phone to his cheek, leaning back to take a sip of his alcohol and listening to the phone ring until your voicemail picks up.

Cursing under his breath, your father tries your number again with the same result before scowling at your picture on his phone. You were ignoring him? You were a prideful brat, but you weren’t a complete idiot. You knew that he would cut off your credit cards if you made him mad enough; no, something else was going on.

Just as he was about to press down on your name for the third time, an unknown number appeared on his phone. Furrowing his brows, your father starts to wonder if perhaps something happened to your phone—this was you calling from a new number. That didn’t make sense. Sighing into his words, he answers the phone with annoyance and confusion evident in his tone.

“Hello?”

The man on the other side of the phone smirked at hearing how annoyed your father seemed. He had never met Mr. Y/L/N, but he had heard stories and he knew the man’s pockets were deep.

“Mr. Y/L/N, good evening.”

Scoffing, thinking that it’s a solicitor or even a collector of some kind, your father starts to press the end button before he hears the man speak again.

“Missing something—or someone, I should say?”

There were many things that your father didn’t enjoy and being pulled along and fucked with was one of them. Sitting up, he narrows his eyes, glancing down into his glass of brandy before taking a sip and letting out a breath between his teeth before answering the man.

“Like what? Who is this?”

A grin stretches on the other man’s face as he leans back in his chair, glancing down at the picture of you on his desk. Using the tip of a pen, he pushes the picture around aimlessly before letting out an unamused laugh at the old man’s questions.

“Don’t play senile. I know you are wondering where Y/N is. As for my name, just call me Mr. Park.”

There were plenty of Mr. Park’s in Seoul. Rolling his eyes, your father clenches his hand around the brandy glass before sitting it down hard on the table in front of him.

“Fine, Mr. Park, where is my daughter?”

Now they were getting somewhere. This is how money is made. Park Bonhwa grins at your picture once again, pulling it back towards him. You were beautiful and even in the candid picture he had of you, he could tell that you were expensive. You were worth every penny he had been offered to set up this job.

“With a friend... where she will stay, until we can come to an agreement.”

At those words, a smile pulls at your father’s lips. The idea of you being kidnapped is ridiculous; you had a bodyguard—handpicked by him—with you at all times. Shaking his head, he laughs, causing Park Bonhwa’s grin to slip and his jaw to tighten.

“You think this is some kind of fuckin’ joke, old man? I’ll have him cut off her fingers one by one and put them on your door. Don’t you ever laugh at me again.”

It was a joke and your father wasn’t intimidated. He would prefer to have you back in one piece, but how much this Mr. Park wanted for you was going to determine that. This wasn’t the first time that your father had been threatened and he wouldn’t turn over and show his belly to just anyone.

“Apologies; please continue with your script. How much are you wanting for my daughter?”

Furrowing his brows, Bonhwa finds himself a bit flustered and confused by your father’s tone and his choice of words. Was he not concerned about your safety or the condition you might be returned in? Shaking his head, he pushes forward with his task as he licks his lips and pushes your photo away.

“10 billion won, and I can promise she will be returned to you safe—”

“You have to be fucking kidding me.”

After being cut off by your father, Bonhwa grits his teeth and sits up in his chair. He hadn’t played the middle man for many kidnappings, but they had never been unsuccessful. Yours shouldn’t be either. The plan seemed flawless; you were going to die either way.

“Excuse me?”

Standing up, your father shakes his head and looks at the phone as if the man is standing in front of him and he could shake some sense into him. He was looking at the phone as if he could teach the man how to do business better, as if the man wasn’t telling him he wanted money for his daughter’s life.

“She’s not worth that amount of money. Where did you pull that number from? Your ass?”

Picking at the granola bar, you could feel Wonwoo’s eyes on you when his cellphone had gone off in his pocket. Yours had gone off a few times earlier, but he had just glanced at it and finally turned it off before putting it back in his pocket. You figured it was your father and by the look on Wonwoo’s face, he wasn’t in the mood for your phone or his.

“What?”

Watching him, you furrow your brows as Wonwoo lifts his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose in annoyance. Maybe it was his boss? Did he have one? He had said he was hired to take you, so there was someone in charge of this. If so, why did Wonwoo look so annoyed by the man?

“Negotiations? So what the fuck—no? What? No, I fuckin—you know what?”

The conversation didn’t seem to be going well. If it were about your father, you could only imagine how poorly it could be. You had tried to warn Wonwoo and you had tried to make this easier on yourself and him, and yet here you sat on a filthy couch in the middle of nowhere.

Park Bonhwa’s voice was like tin foil on a grater to Wonwoo. The man was an idiot, but he had lined Wonwoo’s pockets for this job. However, this job was starting to look like more of a pain in the ass than it had to be.

“Don’t you tell me anything, Jeon! You’re my help. I hired you. He’s gonna agree; he just needs the motivation. Take a picture of the little bitch after you rough her up.”

Shaking his head, Wonwoo glances over at you, watching you glance down quickly. You were afraid of him or at least afraid of the situation. He didn’t want to rough you up; he didn’t hit women. Sure, he had taken you and threatened you, but he had never hit you. He had never hit a woman in his life. Killed them? That was left up for debate, if they deserved it.

“Yeah, whatever…”

Hanging up, Wonwoo drops his hand to his side as he tilts his head. You already looked like shit. Maybe he could figure out another way to do this.

“Y/N, get up. Come over here.”

You swallow hard and shake your head. You weren’t sure what he had been told to do and you didn’t want to make any of it easy for him. Has your father really said no? Was he going to kill you now? Make you walk to him so he could put a bullet in your head? Deviantly, you grab at the couch under you, letting the granola bar slip off your lap and into the floor as Wonwoo watches his frustration rise.

“Get the fuck up! I am giving you the chance to do this yourself. Don’t make me fucking move you myself.”

When you still don’t move, sitting firmly on the couch, Wonwoo lets out a frustrated groan that almost sounds like a growl from his throat. Your eyes meet his and he sees the fear mixed with anger in them when his hand wraps around your bicep so that he can lift you from the couch by force. The pain reminds you of your father’s grip on you, and you feel tears collecting on your eyes, but you will them back, not wanting to give Wonwoo the satisfaction of seeing them if this is the last thing he sees of you.

“Walk! Goddammit, why are you so fucking stubborn? I wouldn’t have to be so damn mean to you if you’d cooperate with me. You realize that? Here! No, I said here!”

A whimper slips from your lips as you stumble in your heels, feeling your ankle roll when Wonwoo pushes you against the wall. You feel the peeling paint against your skin and you smell the mold radiating off the drywall as you squirm in his grasp until finally Wonwoo’s anger gets the best of him. A hand slams into the wall next to your head, mere centimeters from your face, making you stop moving.

You stare at Wonwoo’s hand, letting your eyes move to his wrist and forearm, where his muscles are tense from the amount of pressure he used. You squeeze your eyes shut, imagining how bad it would have hurt if he had chosen to hit you instead of the wall.

Wonwoo swallows hard, feeling you go pliant in his grasp. While he was used to his life, it didn’t make moments like this enjoyable. You had been a bitch to him and others around you, but it didn’t make scaring you to this point seem fun. Taking a breath, Wonwoo watches the tears run down your cheeks as he pushes away his compassion and rubs his hand against the dirty wall before grabbing your face and hearing you sob, begging him to stop.

“Shut up and listen to me.”

Tilting his head, Wonwoo narrows his eyes, almost eyeing your face like a canvas as he uses the dirt on his fingers as paint while he talks.

“You’re fucked, Y/N. Daddy isn’t willing to hand over the money like they thought he would, so they want... wanted me to fuck you up.”

Moving his hand back to the wall, Wonwoo uses your tears on his fingers to collect more of the dirt, moving his hand back to you and wrapping his hand around your throat. You tense, your hand moving to grab his forearm, nails digging into his skin, causing Wonwoo to hiss before he tightens his grasp around your throat only for a moment and loosens it.

“I’m doing this to make it look like I beat you. I don’t beat women.” Meeting your eyes, Wonwoo watches confusion walk over your face before he clarifies. “Doesn’t mean I won’t kill you. One bullet to the back of your head and you are done, Princess.”

He was a complicated and confusing man. You could appreciate that he wasn’t going to actually beat you like he was told to, but he was still scaring you. He was still reminding you that he could and would kill you easily. Reaching up, you start to wipe your tears but Wonwoo grabs your wrist and shakes his head before tilting it.

“Let them run through the dirt... Makes you look more pathetic, plus... there’s something red in the dirt and your tears make it look like you are bleeding.”

Wonwoo looks through the pictures he sent to Bonhwa. They were too convincing, but he owed that to how terrified you were while he had taken them. Glancing over to where you lay on the couch, Wonwoo sighs, seeing the dirt still covering your face.

It had been over 16 hours since he had taken you, and you were still in that dress. It was filthy and ripped. Your shoes were now off because your ankle had started to swell after you had rolled it. Now Wonwoo couldn’t help the way his eyes scanned the floor of the dilapidated apartment, seeing rusty nails, glass, and pieces of metal that could all end up in your feet.

He shouldn’t care. After the pictures had been sent to Bonhwa, he received another call. Your father still wasn’t sending money and it didn’t matter anyway; Bonhwa’s contract wanted a bullet in your skull. Apparently, it wasn’t enough to bankrupt your father. The man wanted to make sure every point of income, including children, was cut off from him.

Sliding his duffle bag closer to him, Wonwoo digs through his supplies, counting up his rations and looks over what else he had the forethought to pack. He was used to disappearing for months, even years at a time, so this wasn’t a big deal for him. It was having you here and the gnawing bit of compassion biting at the back of his head that was causing him issues.

Taking out a pair of sweatpants, a t-shirt, and a pair of tennis shoes, Wonwoo sighs and narrows his eyes at you. He didn’t care about you. You were a dead woman walking, so why should it matter that the sight of you in that stupid fucking evening dress was making him feel sick? You had been beautiful in it before the dinner. He could admit that to himself. You were a beautiful woman. The dress had probably been custom made for you and right now it represented where you had pretended to come from. All the filth covering it represented what was really underneath all the glitz and glamor.

Moving to drop the clothes next to you, Wonwoo watches you slowly wake up. You didn’t have much energy. You weren’t eating or drinking enough, so your body was choosing exhaustion instead. Pointing at the clothes, Wonwoo lifts his brows and waits for you to give them some recognition, but instead you sit up and wrap your arms around you, chill bumps spreading over your skin.

“There’s no running water here... but at least you can change into something cleaner. We can get that shit off of your face.”

Your brows furrow deeply at Wonwoo’s words. You wanted to fight him, but you just nodded and started to put your feet down when he reached out to stop you.

“I’ll turn my back; you slip on the shoes first and then the clothes. There’s nowhere you can go, understand?”

You were too tired to run. Looking down at the floor, you see why he had stopped you, the glass crunching under his feet as he moved a few steps away from you. Turning his back, Wonwoo glances over his shoulder to watch you put on his shoes before he looks back towards the wall when you start to unzip your dress under your arm.

“Why are you doing this? He’s not gonna pay, Wonwoo. I’m tired…”

It had only been 16 hours and you were already giving up. Wonwoo shouldn’t be annoyed that you were giving up; that should be a good thing in theory, but instead it was frustrating. Rolling his eyes, Wonwoo peeks over his shoulder to see you dropping your dress into the floor, your body covered in matching lace as you reach for his t-shirt.

“Suck it up. What would you rather happen? I just killed you now.”

Pulling the shirt over your head, you scoff, finding it amusing how his words don’t really scare you this time. They almost seem like a joke. Meeting Wonwoo’s eyes briefly, you watch him look away quickly, clearing his throat. You know you should be upset that he was looking at you in a vulnerable state, but instead you slip one foot out of the borrowed shoes and start pulling on the sweatpants.

“Why not? Seems like a waste of everyone's time.”

Taken aback by your answer, Wonwoo hears you sigh, the couch settling as you sit down behind him. Turning around to face you, he looks at you in his clothes before his eyes move to the dirt he had painted on your face and throat. You watch as Wonwoo takes a bottle of water from his bag along with a towel, pouring some on to it as he kneels in front of you.

“Think so low of yourself all of a sudden, Princess? What happened to all that confidence you had yesterday?”

Wonwoo lifts his hand with the towel to wipe at your skin but at first you wince in fear. Meeting his eyes, he gives you a look of reassurance before trying again and this time you lean slightly into his touch. It takes some pressure for Wonwoo to get the dirt off of your skin; his eyes follow his hand even as he pours more water on to new sections of the towel.

“I’m just a good liar.”

That Wonwoo could tell wasn’t a lie. He knew you were a liar. He had caught you in plenty of lies in the short time he had known you, so perhaps he wouldn’t call you a good liar, but a liar nonetheless. Wonwoo’s brows knit together in thought as he lifts his free hand up to hold your chin as he rubs as gently as possible at your neck to clean his handprint from it, feeling you swallow under his touch.

“So you gonna be truthful with me now that you are so ready to die? Or are you ready and willing to die because you hate your life so much?”

It was none of Wonwoo’s business to answer either of those questions, but you didn’t mind that he had asked them. The only issue was that they brought tears to your eyes. Wonwoo moves your face from side to side, his eyes searching for dirt to clear from your face, before he meets your eyes and sees more tears threatening to spill over the rims.

“You know I hate my life. You saw it firsthand.”

Tossing the towel to the side, Wonwoo stands and puts the lid back on the water bottle before dropping it back into his bag. You watch as he leans to swipe your destroyed dress from the floor, balling it up in his hands like trash as he thinks.

“I did, and from the outside looking in, darlin’, your life looks cushy. But that’s all smoke and mirrors, isn’t it?” Wonwoo doesn’t watch you nod, even as you do. “Won’t lie, your daddy acts like he’s running an escort service, but you’re the only one working.”

Wonwoo’s words cause your face to heat up. You are angry with him, with his words, and with the truth. You know he’s not wrong and you’ve heard the rumors before. If it isn’t a marriage he is trying to set up for you with a rich son or a business partner, at least he can get a date for you, and you are reminded to make them happy. Happy is such a broad term, but you knew what it meant. You hate your father for it and any of the men who wanted the dates.

Dropping your dress in the corner of the room, deeming that the new trash pile, Wonwoo moves back over to you to kneel in front of you. He meets your eyes, then reaches out to slide the leg of your new sweatpants up so he can look at your ankle. When you wince, his fingers prodding at the swollen muscle, he nods and sighs.

“It’s not broken; you’ll live.”

Wonwoo runs his thumb along his palm as he watches you sleep. This has become his new pastime over the past couple of days. It hadn’t been his plan, but between disappointingly annoying phone calls from Bonhwa and watching time tick away, Wonwoo watched your spirit dwindle with it.

In reality, he knew he shouldn’t care. In fact, it should be a good thing. You were less combative. You ran your mouth less. You complained about things less, and yet Wonwoo was starting to miss that fiery woman who made his blood boil. This fragile thing laying in a ball on the couch was a shadow of you, and he had done that. Maybe not on his own, but he was the hands, if not the head.

Leaning his head back against the door, Wonwoo picks up his cellphone, looking at another text message from Bonhwa. Each time his phone rang today, he had let it go to voicemail. He wasn’t some errand boy. Park Bonhwa had already paid him for this job; sure, there was still something left to do, but he couldn’t keep asking him for more shit without adding zeros to the end of what he had given him. Especially the shit he was asking for.

Park: I’m tired of your bullshit

Park: As if I’m not already dealing with enough from the bitch’s daddy

Park: Hyong wants more pictures

2 missed calls from Park

Park: You son of a bitch

Park: answer the fucking phone!

Answering the phone Wonwoo hisses out his words, keeping his voice low so as not to wake you.

“What the fuck do you want? I sent pictures—”

“Shut your fucking mouth. Price came down and the motherfucker is still refusing to pay up like Hyong wants him too. Send more.”

Wonwoo didn’t know who Hyong was; he figured it was the man who had hired Bonhwa, but truthfully, he didn’t care. The less he knew, the better. Biting at his cheek, Wonwoo rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

“I’m not touching her again. Bad enough, the fucker wants her dead anyway.”

Slamming his fist down on his desk, Bonhwa grits his teeth and scoffs into his phone.

“Worthless. I thought you were a professional. The best? Did I waste my fuckin’ money?” Giving Wonwoo only a moment to start to speak, Bonhwa cuts him off before he gets out the first syllable. “Do I need to send some boys to find you and the girl? Have them finish the job?”

The idea of that made Wonwoo sick to his stomach. He knew enough about Park Bonhwa and his men to know he’d rather kill you himself than let them near you. They wouldn’t just kill you. They would assault you, torture you, film it like Bonhwa wanted, and then kill you.

“Fuck off. I'll take care of it.”

Hanging up the phone, Wonwoo tosses the phone into his bag with a louder groan than he meant to cause you to stir from your sleep. Furrowing your brows, you glance towards the man with a bit of concern in your eyes. The past day, he had changed his attitude towards you in some ways. He wasn’t nice, per se, but he wasn’t unnecessarily cruel either.

Meeting your eyes, Wonwoo sighs, lifting his hand to brush it through his hair. He needed a shower and so did you. It would do some good to move locations. It wasn’t his plan. He knew he could tie you to one of the exposed pipes and go do what he needed to do, but for some reason he found himself not wanting to do that.

“Wanna go for some fresh air, princess?”

Sitting up slowly, you consider Wonwoo’s question before nodding. You had heard some of his conversations with his boss, this Park man, and none of them had you convinced that this was going your way.

Wonwoo gets to his feet, leaning to pick up his duffle bag as you slide from the couch. His eyes follow you carefully, watching how you weakly move towards him. That pang of pity hits him and Wonwoo tries to force it back down, only for it to rise up in his throat like bile. Shaking his head, Wonwoo wraps his arm around your waist, letting you lean against him as you try to keep some weight off your swollen ankle as the two of you walk back down the stairs.

“Can I ask a question?”

Your voice surprises Wonwoo as he opens the back door of the car for you. Meeting your gaze, he tilts his head and nods once, waiting for you to continue.

“Are you going to kill me?”

Your question makes the bile bubble in Wonwoo’s throat once again. Looking away, Wonwoo has to clear his throat, forcing the sick feeling down before he once again meets your eyes. There is fear in your eyes, but also a deep sadness that Wonwoo has started to notice as your confident facade starts to crack. Wonwoo knew he could lie to you but what good would that do to anyone?

“I’m supposed to. That’s the job.”

Tears sit on the rims of your eyes as you nod while sitting down on the backseat of the car. You try to think of the right words or a reason to beg for your life, but you can’t think of a single reason. Wonwoo furrows his brows as he watches you nod and pull your legs into the car. His eyes trace the tears as they run down your cheeks before he closes the door and curses under his breath. No other mark had made him feel like this. Why did you feel different?

Looking around the house, you wrap your arms around you, waiting for the punchline of Wonwoo’s joke. He had taken you from the most disgusting, dilapidated apartment building you had ever seen to a modest sized house just outside of the city. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it was clean and had modern comforts.

Wonwoo locks the door, shielding the keypad with his large upper body, as you hear the sound of a code being keyed into the security system. Turning back to face you as you stand in the foyer, clearly confused, he sighs, dropping his duffle bag with a dull thud before crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes.

“Let me make something clear to you, Y/N. This doesn’t change anything. I’m just tired of sleeping on the fuckin’ ground.”

You couldn’t tell if he was lying. That was something you hadn’t mastered yet. Wonwoo was so closed off and you were too tired to pry. Swallowing hard, you look down as he keeps staring at you, his eyes almost studying you as they move along your frame, continuing his explanation.

“You try to open a door to the outside; I’ll know and you’ll regret it. Don’t fuck with me, understand?”

Nodding, you pick at a loose string on the sweatpants you were currently borrowing. They were ill fitting, but still warmer and better than the dress that you had been wearing. You wanted to tell Wonwoo you were grateful for the clothes and for him moving you here, but you find yourself almost afraid to tell him anything. You were afraid that if you showed any sign of comfort, he might take it away because Park told him too.

“Good girl. Come on.”

Grabbing your wrist, Wonwoo guides you down the hall, turning on a light that makes you squint. You had grown accustomed to the low light of the camping lamps in the apartment. The lights in the house were almost too much at first. Glancing up, you blink a few times before you realize Wonwoo has led you to a bathroom. You feel tears once again coat your eyes, but you will them back as you watch him turn on the shower and mutter to himself before sighing and looking you over.

“Here’s the deal, alright?” Swallowing hard, Wonwoo looks like he’s in pain at the words he is trying to force out of his mouth as he leans against the bathroom counter before he meets your eyes once again. “I don’t want to hurt you. What I told you is true, but they want more pictures.”

A small sob escapes from your lips and Wonwoo feels his stomach tighten, the bile once again churning. Perhaps once he had enjoyed putting a little fear into you, but now it was chipping away at something inside of him.

Taking a step back from Wonwoo, you feel the wall behind you as you close your eyes, tears slipping down your cheeks. You had no idea what sort of pictures they could want now. The last ones had broken you and Wonwoo hadn’t done more than scare you. He had taken them in a way to mimic pain, but still, they had caused you enough pain.

“I don’t want to, Wonwoo.”

Running his hand over his mouth, Wonwoo nods. He wants to tell you that he doesn’t want to either, but he also doesn’t want the alternative if he doesn’t deliver them.

“If I don’t send them to him, Park will have his goons track you and I down. They are worse than me. Their pictures won’t be fake…”

“Yours aren’t fake! I’m—” Lifting your hands, you rub at your cheeks, smearing dirt from your hands onto your face in the process of wiping your tears. “I’m so scared. Just kill me. Please? I don’t wanna do this anymore.”

Taking the step across the bathroom towards you, Wonwoo listens to your breath get caught in your throat. He watches your body tense up as you prepare yourself for him to scare you; instead, he takes your wrist loosely in his hand. With his other hand, he carefully rubs at your cheek, trying to clean a smear of dirt from your skin.

“Why the fuck are you just giving up now? Because your daddy is an asshole? You already knew that.”

Leaning your head back against the wall, you meet Wonwoo’s eyes briefly before his eyes move along your face. You were still scared, but there was something about him and about his words that made your shoulders rise. You felt less small if, even for just a moment, you wanted to explain yourself, but maybe that was why he had chosen those words.

“Why not? I told you the moment we stepped into that apartment that he wouldn’t give up any money. He’d rather see me dead.”

Groaning in annoyance, Wonwoo slides his hand from your face to rest his fist next to your head on the wall. You feel how close he is to you; his body caging you in. It feels oppressive for a moment until he shakes his head and meets your eyes and the look in his eyes makes the way he’s standing and how close he is feel like a shield.

“I don’t care what he wants and neither should you. I don’t know why you are so fucking sure—”

“Life insurance, Wonwoo.”

Your words cut him off; Wonwoo’s brows knit together tightly. The look on his face is almost one of pain, as much as it is confusion, until the words seem to sink into reality. Nodding, Wonwoo scoffs and leans his head back, a laugh slipping from between his lips before he looks back down at you and shakes his head.

“How much?”

Wonwoo can see how you have relaxed in front of him. The steam filling the room is comforting and tempting, but he keeps his eyes on you, waiting for your answer.

“100 billion.”

That explained everything. You were worth so much more to him dead than you were alive. Park’s associate clearly hadn’t done his homework. Wonwoo feels his blood boiling at the idea of a father putting that much worth on his child, hoping she would die before he would so he would benefit. There had been a lot of shitty things he had done in his life, but in that moment, he decided that killing you wouldn’t be one of them.

“No.”

Confused by Wonwoo’s response, you tilt your head and repeat it back to him as a question. To you, it was simple. It was exactly what was happening. You were explaining it perfectly, there was no reason for Wonwoo not to understand. Starting to speak again, you stop when Wonwoo shakes his head. You feel his fingers trail up your forearm as he lets out a sigh before they once again encircle your wrist.

“He doesn’t get what he wants.” Gesturing his head towards the shower, Wonwoo takes a step back from you, gently pulling you from the wall. “Take a shower; we can talk about the pictures later. Fuck all of them.”

Opening your mouth, you close it once again when Wonwoo mutters something under his breath before leaving you in the room alone. You were confused and surprised by his reaction. You had expected him to talk you into taking whatever pictures Park wanted. You had been mentally preparing yourself for some humiliating experience, but instead you were now alone in a warm bathroom.

Looking at yourself in the mirror, you frown at the sight. You can see the dirt smeared on your skin and how disheveled your hair has gotten from a lack of care. Giving one last glance at the door, almost certain Wonwoo will come back in, you let out a slow, calming breath before stripping yourself of your borrowed clothes and making your way to the much welcomed shower.

Leaning against the wall outside of the bathroom, Wonwoo listens to the sound of the water hitting the shower floor. He can imagine it running along your body, though he tries to push that thought from his mind quickly, afraid of where it might lead. Instead, he reminds himself how good a shower must feel after a couple days of being with him and how he has treated you. Sighing to himself, Wonwoo imagines the water pooling at your feet after it washes away the dirt, hoping it will wash away some of your stress, just like he hopes it will wash away his own.

Taking his cellphone from his jeans, Wonwoo scowls at a text from Bonhwa before replying and shoving it back into his pocket. He had no respect for the man. Not that he had before learned from you, but now he had no reason to keep any loyalty towards him.

Park: Chop chop, Jeon. I want my pictures.

Wonwoo: When I’m ready.

Picking up his duffle bag, Wonwoo climbs the flight of stairs to the second floor, turning on the light for the bedroom. He had many safe houses. They were in various locations around Korea and other countries. None were in his real name and each one was kept stocked by people he could trust. This one was no different.

Opening the dresser, Wonwoo furrows his brows at the clothing choice. There was plenty for him, but he was limited in his choices for you. It wasn’t his every day that he kept a mark with him and clothed them. Tossing a few things onto the bed, Wonwoo turns his attention to the closet, tilting his head at a few items near the back. Things he had forgotten had been left behind by those he would never name. He found himself pleased with his own hoarding tendencies as he pulled a simple summer dress and sweater from the closet, hoping they would fit you.

With a towel wrapped around your body, you look through the drawers in the bathroom for things you might be able to use. A face wash and moisturizer catch your eye and you find yourself wondering if they belong to Wonwoo or if he had friends, perhaps a girlfriend you weren’t aware of. Shaking your head, you quickly use the products and relish in the feeling of brushing your teeth before you hear the sound of Wonwoo’s voice on the other side of the door.

“Y/N? I—are you decent? Well, decent enough for me to come in?”

You think back to Wonwoo peeking over his shoulder at you changing at the apartment as you glance towards the door. Your cheeks start to heat up as you hold your towel tighter and pull the door open, letting Wonwoo inside if he wants.

Wonwoo takes a deep breath as his eyes move over your legs and up to your face. You watch as he seems to forget what he is doing for a brief moment before lifting his hands to show you the clothes he has collected for you. Furrowing your brows, you can’t help but smile even slightly at the sight of the dress over Wonwoo’s arm. It’s a simple soft green knee mid-thigh length dress that you know you would have never worn before all of this, but now the dress looks like comfort and kindness.

“I don’t know if they will fit you, but they are all I could find. I could get you some of my things if you’d prefer—”

“These are great, Wonwoo, if that’s okay?”

Reaching out for the dress and sweater, you accidentally brush your hand over Wonwoo’s before pulling your hand back on instinct. You find yourself nervous, perhaps even a bit afraid of what his response might be. Looking down, your brows furrowed, you hear Wonwoo say your name softly, drawing your attention back up to him.

“It’s okay. Get dressed and we can…” You watch Wonwoo scoff into a laugh at how ridiculous he feels at his own words as he says them. “Talk about your situation.”

Not really understanding what Wonwoo means, you just nod and take the clothes from him, stepping back so he can shut the bathroom door once again. Your fingers carefully brush over the fabric in your hands and you feel goosebumps spread over your skin at how soft the sweater feels. Had Wonwoo noticed how cold you had been at the apartment? Was this a kind gesture to keep you warmer here? Should you not think about it like that?

Glancing up at the ceiling as you hear water running, you tilt your head, realizing that Wonwoo was probably using another bathroom to take his own shower. He was trusting you not to run. Granted, he had given you a warning not to run. He had set an alarm and told you what would happen, but there was still a level of trust in taking a shower knowing you were done.

With the sweater over your new dress, you look at the front door. There were three deadbolts, a chain, and a keypad that you had heard Wonwoo type something into earlier. It would take you a few minutes to get them all undone and the alarm would go off, but then you could run. You were exhausted, you were hungry, and now you were confused.

Running your fingers over the soft sleeves of your sweater, you look behind you up the stairs, where you can still hear running water. Was this a test? Your mind goes back to what Wonwoo said before he left you alone but more so about what he said before your shower.

“He doesn’t get what he wants.”

Moving away from the door, you look around the living room. Your eyes fall to the soft couch, a sigh slipping from your lips as you sit down on it, feeling the cloth against the back of your legs. It was so much nicer than the dirty leather of the one in the apartment. You weren’t sure how this house worked if Wonwoo lived here often, but it was clean and almost felt like home.

Running his fingers through his wet hair, Wonwoo looks around the bedroom, listening for any signs of you. He hadn’t gotten any alerts that the doors had been opened, but if you had, he wouldn’t have really blamed you. Sure, he had warned you not to do it, but that had been before everything he had learned about your father and now if you walked out that door, he might just let you go. The only thing stopping him was the fear that Bonhwa’s men would find you before he did.

Jogging down the steps, Wonwoo tugs his shirt down his torso, only to meet your eyes as he rounds the doorway into the living room. You were lying on the couch and it reminded him so much of the apartment. The main difference here is that you looked comfortable and somehow even more beautiful. You almost took his breath away in the new dress, the sweater’s sleeves held at your palms by your fingers.

“Hey…”

Meeting Wonwoo’s eyes, you sit up quickly. That fear that he might be upset at your comfort suddenly hits you until he sighs. Gesturing with his thumb over his shoulder, Wonwoo closes his eyes in thought before finally speaking.

“I’ll make something warm to eat. I can’t promise it’ll be good or not expired. But it’ll be food. Then we can talk.”

Smiling to yourself, you lift your hand to your lips to hide your smile as you watch Wonwoo move across the hall into the kitchen. There had been a shift in him over the past couple of days but more so today. This Wonwoo was still intense; he frightened you at times, but he was also warm and comforting in a strange way.

Turning to lay on your stomach, you rest your chin on your arm, watching Wonwoo open cabinets. From where you are, you can hear him muttering something to himself and see him occasionally reach up to scratch at his brow before he finally seems to figure out what to do next.

After a few minutes of struggling, he finally manages to find a pot for water and some ramen. Looking over his shoulder back into the living room, Wonwoo has to hide his smirk, finding you watching him from the couch. The way you are lying is cute—your ankles crossed, knees bent so your feet can be up in the air. It reminds him of girls in dramas watching television or writing in their diaries, not that he’s watched a drama or movie in years.

With ramen on the table in front of you, still in the pot, Wonwoo offers you a set of chopsticks as he sits near you on the floor. Shifting to sit next to him, you lean over the table to look down at the food with appreciation before giving the same look to Wonwoo.

“Thank you… I–I honestly didn’t expect you to give me anything.”

Taking a deep breath, Wonwoo nods, gesturing for you to take the first bite. He watches you savor some of the noodles as his brows furrow, feeling his phone vibrate in his sweatpants pocket. He knew he should check it, but that would require caring what Park Bonhwa had to say, and right now he didn’t. Right now, the only thing that he cared about was getting something in your stomach and having a conversation that didn’t end with you being terrified of him.

“That’s fair. I haven’t—look, this isn’t the most ideal situation we are in.”

Scoffing, you stop yourself immediately, lowering your head apologetically at your gut reaction. You couldn’t help but find the irony in Wonwoo’s words. You knew it wasn’t an ideal situation but if it wasn’t ideal for him, he should try being you. You were the one who was going to be dead soon.

“You’re allowed to react, princess.”

That name. At first, it had made you angry, but you figured that was probably Wonwoo's desired reaction to it. Now the name makes your cheeks burn with something else. It made you feel shy and while it still made you feel smaller than Wonwoo, you didn’t hate that feeling. His larger than life stature over you, standing between you and Park somehow seemed like a good thing right now.

“Just don’t wanna piss you off. I’m good at that, if you remember...”

Smirking, Wonwoo tilts his head before leaning to eat some of the noodles and licking the broth from his lips. He did remember, but the you that had seemed dead set on frustrating him to no end a few days ago now seemed like she was miles away. You were someone different and he wanted to find the woman who was in the middle.

“Trust me, I do.”

Watching you, Wonwoo can’t help the way he has to take a breath as you blow at the ramen with a small smile on your face at his words. If this were any other situation, one might mistake it for a date, but he knew the reason you were here just as much as you did.

“Do you even want to go home?”

The question makes you stop what you are doing mid bite. Furrowing your brows, you glance over at Wonwoo, finding his eyes on you. Your stomach tightens at how intense his gaze is, the weight behind it and his question. It was a loaded question with many different possible answers, but only one that you could think of.

“No.”

Looking down at his hands, Wonwoo nods, letting that reality sink in. He had a few options laid out in front of him of how this week could end. He could follow through with what he had been paid to do. He could kill you, put your body on your father’s doorstep, and call it a job well done. He could let you go, never thinking of you again, but Wonwoo finds himself struggling to picture himself doing that and you surviving. Then there was the third option...

“I have a friend—mmm, no, let’s call him an acquaintance; we aren’t friends. This acquaintance has been in touch about you.”

The words all make sense but yet you shake your head, not understanding what any of them mean. You didn’t know Wonwoo’s acquaintances or his friends and you weren’t sure what they would want with you, unless...

“He wants to kill me?”

Meeting your eyes almost in shock by your assumption, Wonwoo shakes his head and sighs. The sigh is loud and exasperated because clearly he’s not going quickly enough and explaining well enough.

“No, Jesus, Y/N… No, he’s—he’s a detective. I could either hand you over to him or—or I could have him help me let you disappear.”

Looking around the room, you repeat some of what Wonwoo had said back to yourself as if trying to understand it before meeting his eyes. He had changed his mind. He wasn’t going to kill you. You hadn’t been wrong in the shift you had seen in him; you just didn’t understand why.

“Why? I mean… not that I’m not grateful and that I don’t want it—”

“Which one?”

Cutting you off with his question, Wonwoo slides his arm along the couch cushion behind your back as you look at him, lost for words. He expected a quick decision and you weren’t sure you were capable. Shaking your head, you lay down your chopsticks and lean back against the couch, a bit surprised to feel Wonwoo’s hand against your arm. Looking down at his fingers, you furrow your brows, watching them flex once before he braves the water and rests them against your bicep.

“I need to know because there isn’t a lot of time for this to work. I’m not trying to scare you by saying that, but honestly, you should still be scared. I’m not saying anything about me; I’m not going to hurt you… but Bonhwa…”

Meeting Wonwoo’s eyes once again, you have a new, intrigued look on your face at learning a name. You hadn’t heard the name Bonhwa before; was that Park’s first name?

“He would? Park Bonhwa?”

Realizing what he had said, Wonwoo looks down with a sigh. Nodding, he lifts his free hand to rub at his brows before looking up at you once again.

“Yes, he’s a piece of shit, Y/N. Some bigger piece of shit hired him to do this. Somebody who doesn’t like your father.”

Now you are starting to learn things and understand them. You didn’t know anyone named Park Bonhwa, but your father had plenty of enemies and plenty of people pretending to be friends who would want his downfall.

“So if I disappear, how does that work?”

Pursing his lips, Wonwoo shifts closer to you and makes an unsure sound.

“I’ll have to work it out with Cheo—with my acquaintance. If it’s what you want, I’ll figure it out.”

Looking over Wonwoo’s face, you find yourself nodding, convinced by his words but still something hangs in the air. There was something that made you pause and look at him with uncertainty.

“Why are you doing this for me? You hate me.”

Looking at his hand as he picks at the sweater resting over your arm, Wonwoo sighs at your question. It was a fair one. He hadn’t given you any other reason to think otherwise. He had pretty much told you more than once that he didn’t like you, that he hated you, but you had returned the favor. Looking at you now, Wonwoo was almost too shy to look back up at your eyes.

"Uh—yeah, well, shit changes, doesn’t it? When you aren’t trying to actively hate someone for the job and they aren’t being a bitch for fun?”

Letting out a scoff, you meet Wonwoo’s eyes, almost defiantly realizing how close he is. You can see his brows knit together as his eyes waver from your eyes to your lips and back. Neither of you are idiots or immune to the tension blanketing the two of you as your eyes follow a similar path on his face.

“It wasn’t for fun... all the time. Most of the time it was—”

“A shield?”

Nodding, you find your brows pulling together this time at Wonwoo’s words, as he seems to know you better than to anticipate. He had been paying attention to you and listening to what you had been saying over the past few days. Inhaling softly, you feel Wonwoo’s fingers press against your arm as he mutters a curse under his breath, leaning his head in closer to yours. You can almost see the internal battle written on Wonwoo’s face as he struggles with the desire to act on his wants and instincts compared to what he knows he should do.

“Are you still afraid of me?”

Shaking your head, you pause to lick your lips and Wonwoo smiles, knowing you aren’t telling him the full truth. Maybe you weren’t as afraid of him as you once were, but there is still fear left. Giving into desire, Wonwoo leans in the last few inches, letting his lips barely brush against yours as he speaks, letting you decide to meet his kiss or pull away.

“Promised I wouldn’t hurt you. I won’t let anyone else either.”

A small whine escapes from your lips at Wonwoo’s confession and the feeling of his breath on your lips. You have a split second to consider your options before you give in to your desires and meet his kiss gently. You have little to no reason to trust Wonwoo and yet now everything in your being is telling you that you can, as his lips mesh with yours.

Flexing your fingers, you dig them into the mattress under you, enjoying the feeling of it under you. There was something freeing about this fucked up situation you found yourself in. There were still some who expected something out of you, but you had the most unexpected shield.

Opening your eyes, you look at Wonwoo’s face as he sleeps beside you. After the simple kiss, he insisted you finish eating and ushered you upstairs to bed. You could remember the same man who had forced you up steps a few days earlier, but he seemed a million miles away now.

The man sleeping beside you now, his brows knit together as he dreamed, wasn’t that person. Perhaps he was on the surface, but underneath that mask, you were learning he was a warm, complicated person. He wasn’t the asshole you had called him so many times and you weren’t the bitch you pretended to be. There was an art to lying as much as you two had to one another.

Shifting slightly, you take a breath, only to hold it when Wonwoo’s eyes flutter open. He was apparently a light sleeper. You had wondered if he was; he always seemed to be awake at the apartment so seeing him asleep was a rare, fleeting treat. Looking over your face, Wonwoo’s lips pull up slightly in a smile before he turns to lay on his back with a sigh.

“Didn’t mean to wake you up.”

Shaking his head, Wonwoo rubs his eyes with his middle finger and thumb as he yawns. You smile watching him enjoy how domestic the moment feels, wishing it would never end. You find yourself letting your eyes move over Wonwoo a bit more brazenly while he’s distracted. How attractive he was had never escaped you; it had just been overshadowed by how much he had frightened you, but now, as he rubbed at his tired eyes, you found him even more handsome.

“I don’t really sleep.”

Pursing your lips, you pull your legs up towards your stomach under the blanket, your thumbnail resting against your lips as you try to hide your smile. Wonwoo lifts his brows at your reaction to him, his eyes doing something similar to yours, but he takes a bit more time before taking a breath and licking his lips.

“What? You don’t believe me?”

Resting your head on your bicep, you shake it slightly, move your hand from your lips.

“It’s not that. You just confuse me. I’m not sure you are human.”

Smiling, Wonwoo lifts his brow and lets his eyes once again move over your pretty face. If he let himself, he could imagine this being a very normal situation. Just two people lying in bed, getting closer to one another. It was almost terrifying to him that he wanted that, but looking at you as you nuzzled your cheek to the soft sweater you were now lovingly wearing, Wonwoo yearned for it.

“I am… I just tend to run off caffeine and power naps.”

Your laugh is welcomed music to Wonwoo’s ears. He had heard it before, when you were living your life before all of this. It hadn’t sounded like this, though. It was almost robotic then and annoying. It had gotten on his nerves; everything about you before had, and it had made hurting you easier. He couldn’t imagine hurting the girl in front of him now. Now he was fighting the urge to run his fingers over your face and over your hair. He was trying to convince himself not to kiss you again.

“That can’t be healthy. Someone needs to take care of you, Kim Wonwoo.”

Hearing the fake name that he had given you and your father, Wonwoo’s smile fades. You watch Wonwoo’s eyes move away from yours, his mouth opening and closing as if he’s trying to think of what to say. You are about to ask him what’s wrong when the sound of his phone ringing draws his attention away from you and towards the nightstand.

Narrowing his eyes at the name on the screen, Wonwoo sits up, swiping it almost angrily from the top of the nightstand before answering the phone. Your eyes follow him as he slides from the bed and runs his fingers through his hair, his voice suddenly deeper and rougher.

“What the fuck do you want now?”

Scowling at Wonwoo’s attitude, Park Bonhwa slams the door to his Cadillac, giving a lingering look to his driver. They all knew he was in a bad mood, he had been since he had taken on this contract and it was giving them all a headache. Jeon Wonwoo was a serious pain in the ass.

“You know what I fucking wanted, motherfucker! Now I just want her corpse. I’ll send someone else to get it if you are too much of a pussy to—”

“You won’t do anything!”

Being cut off by Wonwoo, Bonhwa smacks his hand against the metal door in front of him. The professional that had come so highly recommended was starting to look more like a petulant child than a hitman.

“Who the hell do you think you are to tell me what I can and can’t do, Jeon?”

Swallowing hard, Wonwoo glances back at you, realizing you could hear more of his conversation than he would like. He could see the tears on your cheeks and he needed to fix this. Pulling open the bedroom door, Wonwoo slams it behind him, leaving you alone and unable to hear anything more than his muffled angry voice and the occasional word, but it was enough. You understood what “Park” wanted. Wonwoo had offered to help you disappear, but maybe that was too difficult.

Hissing out his words like venom, Wonwoo glares at the window in front of him as if Bonhwa is in front of him. At this point, he wished the man was. He would let him take your place and make this all a lot simpler.

“I’ll take care of it! Wire the goddamn money, you piece of shit. If your timeline can speed up, my price can go up.”

Wonwoo can hear Bonhwa’s argument starting but he is quick to cut him off before he starts by ending the call. There was a lot to explain to you and a lot to apologize for. Granted, he didn’t really owe you or anyone an apology for living his life and making a living in the best way he knew how. It wasn’t his fault he had fallen—no, he wasn’t going to admit that even to himself.

Scrolling through his contacts, Wonwoo hits another name, placing the phone back against his ear and letting it ring. His head was starting to hurt. He hadn’t slept enough; like he had told you, he rarely did, but now it was starting to weigh on him.

“What? Turning yourself in?”

Wonwoo scoffs at Choi Seungcheol’s words as he slides down the wall outside of the bedroom. There had only been one man who had even come close to catching him and it had been Detective Choi Seungcheol. The only reason he hadn’t was because of a deal struck between a desperate man and an even more desperate, not always by the book, detective. It had worked in Wonwoo’s favor then and he hoped it would now.

“Never. Need to ask for that favor.”

Rolling his eyes, Seungcheol glances around his office before leaning to close the door with a deafening click. He owed Wonwoo more than one favor, but luckily for him so far none of them had bit him in the ass. He hoped this one wouldn’t either.

“And you need to get that girl home, Wonwoo. How long are you gonna keep her away from her family?”

"Forever, hopefully, with your help.”

That hadn’t been the answer that Seungcheol had been expecting. He hadn’t heard about your kidnapping through your father until another reliable source brought it to his attention. It was only when he and another officer approached your father did he even admit to you being taken. Seungcheol knew there was something strange about this case. It didn’t matter if fathers were told not to tell the police about their children being kidnapped, they would. That was just a father’s instinct to protect a child. Your father was different. He seemed like he had already accepted your death.

“I—and why the fuck would I—”

“Because I’m going to help you get a promotion, Cheol.”

Wonwoo knew that would get Seungcheol’s attention and it did. Now the detective was listening, his lips pursed as he looked at his computer in front of him, deep in thought, before finally letting out a breath.

“How so?”

Of course, he would want to know what he would get out of it first. That detail didn’t make Wonwoo feel the best about this, but he would go about it however he needed to in order to help you now. Glancing towards the closed door, hoping that you weren’t upset with him for walking out, Wonwoo chewed at his cheek and knocked his head back against the wall.

“Her dad, I think I can get—no, I know I can get enough to blow a whistle on his company. It’d be one hell of a bust for you, Detective Choi.”

Leaning forward to rest his elbow on his desk, Seungcheol scoffed at Wonwoo’s attempt at flattery. It was working. He knew that Y/L/N Financial Incorporation was shady, but he couldn’t touch it. There were too many lawyers and hoops to jump through in the corporate world that gave Seungcheol ulcers, but if it were laid in his lap… Well, that was a different story. Bringing down a corrupt trading company that many had lost their money to could do just what Wonwoo had said. He could have almost any position in the department that he wanted, or he could run for office.

“And what do you need from me?”

A breath of relief washes over Wonwoo at Seungcheol’s question. He knew the man had other connections and between the two of them and pulling a few other strings, they could solve this.

“She doesn’t want to go home, Cheol, and they all want her dead. So, we give them what they want. She gets a fresh start and a new name.”

This wasn’t something easily done, but Seungcheol knew that Wonwoo knew that. He knew what he was asking of him and now Seungcheol wasn’t sure if the prize was worth the work. Making a sound of concern, Seungcheol sits back in his chair, glancing towards his door, when Wonwoo speaks up once again.

“Have you met her father?”

Furrowing his brows, Seungcheol remembers talking to the man in his office. The older man had refused to come to the station, and even meeting in his own plush personal office seemed like an inconvenience. Talking about your kidnapping and possible impending death seemed like an inconvenience for him. Seungcheol remembered leaving frustrated and confused. He wasn’t a father yet but he hoped that he would be a better one than yours.

“Mm, a real son of a bitch.”

“He’s got a hell of a life insurance policy for Y/N. He doesn’t want her back, Cheol. Imagine how that might make her feel. She knew the moment I took her that she wasn’t going to make it, and I wasn’t even the one who told her.”

Guilt hits Seungcheol in the stomach. He wants to argue with Wonwoo, turn on the cop and get angry with him for taking you, but from the sound of your situation, maybe it was a good thing he had taken you out of it. He wasn’t an idiot; he had already been told the stories of the business parties and the deals your father tried to make involving you. Seungcheol shakes his head and scoffs, making a face as if he’d eaten something sour.

“Fine, I’ll help you—I’ll help Y/N. Get your information together to make it worth my time. You know what you’re askin’ for, Wonwoo. Your information isn’t good enough and I lose my job? I’ll kill you.”

Wonwoo grins at Seungcheol’s threat, though he knows it's a good one. He knew that Choi Seungcheol would be one of the only people who would probably be able to hunt him down and would kill him given the chance, but it wouldn’t happen.

“The information will be better than good.”

Picking at your nails, you lean your head back against the headboard, listening to Wonwoo’s muffled voice just outside of the bedroom. The first conversation had been heated and full of hatred, but this second one seemed to be going his way.

Your tears had dried on your cheeks, but the churning feeling hadn’t quite settled in your stomach by the time Wonwoo opens the door. He could almost feel how your attitude had shifted from before as he leaned against the doorframe. That smile that he had been enjoying was nowhere to be found, and he knew that laugh was going to be hard won.

“Y/N…”

You weren’t necessarily afraid of Wonwoo anymore. You weren’t even afraid or surprised by the situation; at this point, you were coming to terms with reality. Meeting his eyes, you feel the tears once again well up in your eyes as he frowns and shakes his head.

“It’s fine, Wonwoo.”

Moving on to the bed, Wonwoo reaches for your hand, trying to come up with the right words to explain things when you continue.

“I know you didn’t want me to overhear it, but it really is okay. I know my father doesn’t give a shit about me. He didn’t care about my mother, so why would I be different?” Using your free hand to rub at your nose, you glance down at your hand in Wonwoo’s. “If I could just ask a favor or two?”

Your words were breaking Wonwoo’s heart, but as you spoke, they felt necessary. Each word builds on one another, like an explanation of you, until you finally ask something of him. Humming softly to let you continue, Wonwoo swallows hard, reaching out with his free hand to push at your tears on your cheek with his thumb.

“I don’t want to be in pain and could you make my death mean something? Make it a lesson for him? He’s going to get even richer from it, but that doesn’t mean—-”

Having heard enough, the implication of you asking him to make your death not painful, Wonwoo slides his hand along your cheek to cup your face.

“Stop, Y/N… just—shh, please, princess?”

Closing your eyes when Wonwoo stops you mid sentence, you lean into his touch, feeling his forehead rest against yours. You meant every word. You hated the idea of being overwhelmed with pain or fear at the moment of your death, just as much as you hated your father using your death for his own gain. You felt like those were valid wishes from a dead woman, but maybe they were too hard for the one who had to fulfill them.

“I can’t listen to you talk like that. Fuck—”

Wonwoo was a cold man on most days. He didn’t have many emotions and none that would be shared with most people, but today he felt tears collecting on the rims of his eyes. He couldn’t remember the last time he had cried or the last time his chest felt so heavy as he had someone in his hands. The feeling of your skin against his palm was better than anything he could imagine, and he knew he would do anything for you and do anything to keep you close to him in that moment.

“I’m not going to kill you. I told you that. They don’t get to win. Baby… I—I mean, fuck, I told you that already.”

Hearing “baby” slip off Wonwoo’s lips makes fresh tears slip down your cheeks. It was almost cruel the cards that the world was dealing you. In your mind, there was no way you’d be able to keep this man in front of you, so why were you once again being tortured by wanting him and his love? You were starting to understand him, or so you thought, and he wasn’t the type to keep people around or love them.

Shaking your head, you try to lean back, wanting to make this separation easier on you and Wonwoo, but your fingers hold you to him. A sound of pain escapes Wonwoo’s lips as he slides along your arm and he shakes his head in return.

“I’ll make you disappear; remember, I said I knew someone, and I’ll—” The words seem difficult and unplanned as Wonwoo leans back, his fingers once again trying to get rid of your tears as you meet his eyes. He looks desperate, almost like a different person—a man not willing to lose what’s in front of him. “I’ll disappear with you.”

Wrapping your hands around Wonwoo’s wrists, you give him a confused look. There were so many questions on your mind because so many things about what he just said didn’t make sense to you. You didn’t understand how his friend could just make you disappear and go with you.

“Why?” Now the same confusion was written on Wonwoo’s face as you asked the one word question, prompting you to speak again. “Why would you disappear with me, Wonwoo?”

Swallowing hard, Wonwoo strokes his thumb along your cheek. That was a valid question. You had every right to ask that, and he should answer it. Furrowing his brows, Wonwoo licks his lips and glances down at yours before cursing under his breath. He knew the answer, it was just the most difficult thing he had ever admitted to another person in his life.

“I—shit, Y/N… it’s cause…”

You watch Wonwoo struggle with his words, feeling his fingers move over your skin as his brows furrow, almost in pain at how hard he’s trying to manifest his sentence. What was so hard to say to you? Sighing, you start to pull away again when Wonwoo’s lips meet yours and you only whimper into the kiss.

Wonwoo hopes the kiss will be enough to explain what he’s trying to say, but even as he deepens it and his tongue swipes along the seam of your lips, he knows it’s not. He can feel your hand grabbing at his bicep and the words bubble up in his throat, escaping on to your lips like a breath.

“I love you.”

Your eyes close tighter at Wonwoo’s words, the confession hitting you in the chest like a brick. You scratch at his arm under your fingers and let out a soft sob into the kiss, feeling him nod, almost understanding you without words. The tension in the room is thick and warm. It felt like a blanket in the middle of the summer, making you both feel like you were overheating.

Laying you back on the bed, Wonwoo hovers over you, looking over your face, when he finally pulls back from the kiss. Your tears still flow freely from the corners of your eyes, causing him to swipe at them and shake his head, wishing he could will them away with a single word.

“I do; I’m sorry—”

Wrapping your hand into the front of Wonwoo’s t-shirt, pull him down hard to meet your lips, speaking against them as he starts to apologize for loving you. You silence him with your kiss, letting him settle between your thighs as you pull your knee up towards his hip. Wonwoo groans softly into your mouth, his brows finally relaxing, feeling you invite him closer to you.

With your free hand, you run your fingers through Wonwoo's hair, arching your back as his fingers gather your dress at your hip. After nipping at your lips, he tilts back to look down at you, searching your eyes before staring at his hand as he exposes more of your skin. The air crackles with electric anticipation as desire intensifies between you and Wonwoo. Every touch and every glance fuels the growing fire within, leaving you both yearning for more, unable to resist the magnetic pull between your bodies. On an exhale, you let out a soft whine, walking your fingers along Wonwoo's jaw, your words coming out breathy and soft.

“Don’t apologize for saying that to me, Wonwoo.”

Closing his eyes, Wonwoo turns his attention back towards you, leaning to press his lips against your wrist. He knew he had a lot to explain to you. There was a lot you didn’t understand, a lot of half truths he had told you. He didn’t wait anymore, not when he rested between your warm thighs and felt your fingers tighten on his shirt, keeping him close to you like you never wanted to lose him. He was afraid once you knew the full truth about him, you wouldn’t want him this close to you again.

“Want you so fucking bad, princess.”

Wonwoo’s words are quiet, his lips moving to press against your jaw as he lays his body against yours. You whine, finally letting go of his shirt in place of wrapping your arm around his waist so you can pull his shirt up his back. All that tension in the room feels like a fire burning around you when you hear him say those words out loud.

Nodding, you lift your hips towards Wonwoo, feeling him smile against your skin before he furrows his brows and whines into a groan. Fingers slide under your dress, along your inner thigh, until finally Wonwoo finds what he was searching for. He can feel your warmth through your damp lace and it’s driving him crazy.

Glancing up at you, Wonwoo watches your lips fall open as he uses his middle finger to press the lace between your folds. It doesn’t take more than a second for him to put pressure on your already throbbing clit, and you are wanting and needing more.

“Please… please, more…”

Wonwoo feels his cock twitch in at your breathy moans. Each new word on your lips—better than anything he had ever experienced. There was no other high that he could think of that could compare to the way his brain soared at such simple words slipping from between your pretty lips. He could feel himself becoming addicted to you with each breathy moan that he earned.

He wanted to give you everything you wanted and more; it would be easy. He could move his fingers ever so slightly and have his fingers inside of you, but looking at your face, Wonwoo paused. Swallowing hard, Wonwoo puts his head down, kissing your collarbone in the process as you feel his fingers slide to your thigh.

“Wha—Wonwoo?”

Reaching for his hand, trying to get him to go back to what he had been doing, you feel Wonwoo’s hand wrap around your wrist. Instead of letting you guide his hand, he lifts yours to his mouth, kissing your fingers as he meets yours eyes, giving you an apologetic look.

“I do want you, baby... but I need to explain some things to you first. I need you to understand who you are letting touch you, so that if you don’t want—”

Sliding up in the bed under Wonwoo, you cup his face, pressing your lips to his to silence him before he starts rambling. You weren’t stupid; you knew there were lies and obviously plenty weighing on his mind, but that didn’t stop you from wanting him. Meeting his eyes, you wait for him to speak, finally seeing some of the tension once again release from his face.

“Earlier, uh, you called me Kim Wonwoo.”

Nodding, you trace Wonwoo’s cheek as he settles on the bed in front of you. His hands slide over your legs, letting you adjust so that you are more comfortable. When you drape your leg over his, Wonwoo glances down at your exposed knee, tracing a small scar, trying to distract himself as he speaks.

“That’s not my name. I mean, sort of. It’s Jeon Wonwoo.”

Afraid to meet your eyes, Wonwoo draws shapes on your leg as he continues to explain his life to you. This is the only job he’s ever really known. He doesn’t explain how he got into it, but he’s hurt a lot of people and though he doesn’t say it, you understand he’s killed several people.

“Did they deserve it?”

The question makes Wonwoo’s throat feel like it’s closing up. That was the most difficult question he had ever been asked. This was why he didn’t have emotions or show them. You were bringing out his emotions and making his heart feel things that he hadn’t felt in decades. Watching Wonwoo lean his head back, you feel sorrow for the man in front of you. You want to fix his life, but then you remember how fucked up your own life is as he laughs sadly and shakes his head before shrugging.

“I don’t know, babe. No, not all of them. I didn’t ask them about their morals.”

Shushing Wonwoo, you tilt his head back down to look at you as you lean to brush your lips over his again, feeling him melt under your touch and kiss. It should matter more to you about Wonwoo’s past and possibly his future, but you find that you are more concerned about how he feels about you.

“Did I deserve it?”

Grabbing your wrists, Wonwoo sits back, staring at you, before letting go of one hand to brush his fingers over your cheek. It was a painful question, but a fair one. You had every right to ask it and he needed to answer it no matter how much it hurt him to do it.

“I thought you did at first. Made it easier to take you, to scare you.” Taking a breath, Wonwoo traces the shape of your ear with his fingers meeting your eyes. “But now I know you didn’t deserve any of this. I’m sorry, Y/N. If you wanna walk out that door, I’ll let you leave.”

Wonwoo’s hand starts to drop from your face as he finishes what he needs to say. He looks defeated and certain you are going to not only kick him out of bed, but worse, you might actually want to leave. The moment his fingers drop from your jaw, you shake your head and move forward, hearing a soft, surprised gasp escape from Wonwoo’s lips when you put his back on the bed. Straddling his hips, you nudge your nose against his and tease him by brushing your lips like a whispered word along his, making him lean up to chase you before you speak.

“I thought you said you’d disappear with me, Jeon Wonwoo?”

His real name on your lips almost floors Wonwoo. His head resting back on the bed, Wonwoo nods, reaching up to once again cup your face with his hand as he mutters his promises.

“I will, yes. I promise... as soon as we can.”

Crashing your lips into his, you hear Wonwoo groan deeply at the feeling. The kiss is different, it’s almost sealing the promise and you both seem to realize that. Fingers once again slide under your dress so that Wonwoo can trace the curve of your ass as you sit down over his half hard cock trapped in his sweatpants.

You were so warm even with his pants and your thin panties, and it was causing Wonwoo’s mind to malfunction. It had been a long time since he had let himself really enjoy sex and a woman’s body for more than just a carnal need. If this had been anyone else, it would be over in minutes without much more than a word said from either person. Everything about you had Wonwoo’s brain screaming to take his time and teach you he could be better.

“Fuck… baby.” Groaning into something that sounds more like a whimper, Wonwoo rocks his hips up to meet yours, feeling you roll your hips over him. “Lay down, let me take care of you.”

Smiling, you sit up, running your fingers over Wonwoo’s chest, feeling him take deep breaths under your touch. In the past, you would have agreed to something like that without question. You would be the first to admit that you were lazy in bed with other people, a bit of a pillow princess, but with Wonwoo, you wanted to be something different. He made you want to show him more, give him more. Show him he is worth more. He was worth the risk.

Shaking your head, you slide down the length of his body, feeling Wonwoo’s eyes on you as he tells you to let him take over once again. He is silenced when your hot breath fans over the front of his sweatpants and his cock jerks almost violently in reaction.

Pressing his head back against the bed, Wonwoo just nods, lifting his hips as your fingers press into the top of his sweatpants, working them down his thighs. Your eyes focus on his face, the way he bites at his bottom lip when his cock is exposed to the air and you for the first time. Finally looking down, you tilt your head and swallow hard, loud enough for Wonwoo to hear your reaction when your eyes move over his cock from base to tip.

“You okay? Princess… I said, let me—”

“Shhh, you are just so big, Wonwoo. It’s a compliment. Take off your shirt for me.”

Your words go straight to Wonwoo’s head and make his face burn, the flush evident running from his neck to his cheeks as he lets out a slow breath. Dropping his pants into the floor, you keep your eyes on him, enjoying the view as he does as you ask, tugging his t-shirt over his head and tossing it across the room.

Laying back reluctantly, he sits back up on his elbows as his cock leaks pre-cum against his abdomen, his eyes moving over you while you shift closer, running your hand along his thigh.

“Baby—c’mon… Let me see you at least.”

Smirking slightly, you work the sweater over your head as Wonwoo watches carefully.

“I think you are being impatient.”

Quietly laughing, Wonwoo reaches out to run his thumb along your knee, his eyes following your fingers as you work your dress up your body.

“Maybe… but you are so fucking beautiful and you won’t let me touch you first. I was close before... you were begging me.”

Humming in agreement with Wonwoo, you hand him your dress, watching him smile as he drops it on the floor with his clothes. His eyes stay focused on you as you reach behind your back to unclasp your bra, feeling it give way.

“Maybe I want you to beg me instead.”

Lifting his brow, Wonwoo takes a deep breath as your bra falls from your body. He knew you were perfect. There had been no doubt about that from the moment he first saw you as your bodyguard, but seeing you like this and feeling this way about you was a privilege.

“I don’t beg for things, princess.”

Tilting your head, you sit back on your ass between Wonwoo’s legs. With one leg on either side of his, you lift your hips, working your panties down. You hear his breath hitch as you lift one leg and then the other, slipping them off and letting them hang on your fingers before you offer them to him with a question in your eyes.

“You don’t?”

Reaching out to take your panties from you, Wonwoo scoffs when you pull them back just as his fingers graze them. He knows he could simply move and take them from you, but he knows what you want and you were making his mouth water. Licking his lips, Wonwoo tightens his jaw and meets your eyes, putting out his hand.

“But I will for you. Please, baby? Don’t tease me.”

Teasing Wonwoo was fun and it was powerful, but giving him something that he needed was just as rewarding. Smirking, you put your panties in Wonwoo’s hand, moving back to your knees as you watch him bring them to his nose, taking a deep breath of you. Only once he’s had his fill does he drop them next to the bed with the rest of the clothes and lick his lips, swallowing hard at the sight of you.

"Sure, I can’t take care of you first?”

Shaking your head, you listen to Wonwoo groan your name when your fingers wrap around his cock. He is heavy in your hand and you find yourself wanting that weight on your tongue. You want him to moan your name like that as you swallow as much of his cock as you can… so instead of answering him, you act on your desires.

Falling back on the bed, Wonwoo curses loudly as your warm mouth wraps around him. Letting your mouth meet your hand, you moan around Wonwoo, sucking on his head as you pull back, only to sink back down over him without warning. It had been far too long since Wonwoo had been with someone even close to as determined as you in bed and that was becoming too evident as he struggled to keep himself from cumming too soon.

“Bab—shit! Y/N… slow—ah, don’t wanna…”

Pulling back from Wonwoo’s cock with a small popping sound, you feel his hips jerk under your hand as you continue to stroke him. Everything you had wanted from him was becoming a reality. You were dripping onto the bed under you from the sounds coming out of Wonwoo’s mouth and the taste of him on your tongue.

Clinging to the bedding under him, Wonwoo groans loudly as you press your tongue against his slit. Not wanting to cum into your mouth, he reaches to grab at your hair, whining your name and pushing his ass against the bed, trying to get away from your mouth.

“Wanna—please? Feels too good. Let me have you.”

Meeting Wonwoo’s eyes again, you lick your lips, tasking the pre-cum smeared on them, listening to another groan slip from between his lips at the sight. You were going to be the death of him before he got his cock in you at this rate.

Sitting back, you laugh when Wonwoo wastes no time turning over on the bed so he can get back between your thighs. With no lace between him and your pussy this time, he shakes his head and lets out a slow breath, lowering himself down to press kisses to your thighs before running his tongue through your wet folds.

Wonwoo groans, his fingers gripping you tighter and pulling you closer to his mouth as he tastes you for the first time. Every worry disappears, along with every thought in his mind, as he focuses on you and nothing else. Wrapping his arm around your leg, Wonwoo adjusts himself on the bed, listening to your soft whimpering moans, driving him to make you feel even better.

You could already feel yourself tightening around nothing as Wonwoo sucked around your clit, his fingers pushing your folds apart, giving him access to the sensitive bundle of nerves. You wanted and needed more. The desire to be full of him overwhelms your brain just as much as your impending orgasm.

“Plea—Wonwoo… your fingers. I need something inside of me.”

You clearly had no idea how sexy your words were because, as soon as you spoke them, Wonwoo was trying not to thrust his hips into the mattress to find relief. Clawing at Wonwoo’s arm, you whimper his name doing your best to get what you want at your pace. Nodding, he groans, leaning back just enough to watch as he works a finger into you, feeling your tight walls suck him in. You weren’t even close to being able to handle his cock if he had to work for one finger.

“Baby… relax.”

Scoffing, you roll your hips down over Wonwoo’s finger as he nips at your folds, sending waves of pleasure through you. How did he expect you to relax with what was going on between your legs? Shooting him a contemptuous look, you watch as Wonwoo grins up at you before looking back at his fingers as he gently adds a second.

“You’ve given me that look before, princess. Right before you told me you hoped I lost my job as your bodyguard.”

Thrusting his fingers deep into you, Wonwoo watches you arch your back, a loud moan dripping off your lips like honey. There had been times before all of this, when he had been playing the part of your bodyguard when he had brief moments of weakness, picturing turning you over a surface and fucking some respect into you. If the man he was then could see him now. He imagined that man would not only be shocked at how much he had changed in such a short time, but he would probably be jealous. Who wouldn’t be jealous to see your cum dripping down his palm towards his wrist as he continued to fuck you with his fingers?

“Yes, baby… Fuck—another one. Just like that. Cum all over my fingers; take another one.”

A third finger slips into you and you practically scream in pleasure at how full you feel. The first orgasm had made your thighs start to shake, but the second one had come on so quickly after the first that you were crying. Tears drip from your cheeks as you push your hips down over Wonwoo’s fingers until you can’t take it anymore, the overstimulation making you close your legs around his hand.

Giving you one more deep thrust of his fingers, Wonwoo presses his lips to your shin as he slowly and carefully slides his fingers from your warm, throbbing pussy. You were panting out your moans like a cat in heat and it was better than anything Wonwoo had ever seen or heard in his life. There was nothing staged that could measure up to you—no porn or even work of art that matched you.

Running his hands along your knees, Wonwoo meets your eyes as he works your legs apart, feeling them shake under his touch. He knew you were still sensitive, but his cock was aching for you. Resting between your legs, Wonwoo furrows his brows, feeling your wet folds against his shaft as he rocks his hips towards you. One more questioning look, asking for permission, and getting a frantic nod from you is all it takes for him to ease himself into you.

The feeling of Wonwoo inside of you is so much more than his fingers and it takes your breath away. Pressing your face against his neck, you gasp, feeling the stretch when he finally stops moving, his hips flush with yours. Closing his eyes, Wonwoo has to take a steady breath, feeling you clench around him, threatening to make him cum on the spot.

“Baby, breathe… Is it too much?”

Shaking your head, you cling to Wonwoo, afraid he will pull out and you’ll be empty again. You whine his name, leaning your head back onto the pillows, meeting his eyes. Searching your eyes for pain, Wonwoo lifts one of his hands to brush his thumb over your cheek as he waits patiently for you to adjust to him, though it takes every ounce of patience he has.

“Okay, just tell—tell me when I can move.”

Nodding quickly, you scratch at Wonwoo’s sides, hearing him hiss at the feeling. You were ready for him to move, but words were hard to form. You were finding it hard to think of anything other than him and the feeling of his cock buried so deep inside of you. Lifting your hips, you moan his name and Wonwoo groans, leaning to rest his forehead against yours. Warm breath fans across your lips as he nods and whispers, “Okay,” before moving slowly, not wanting to overwhelm you or himself too quickly.

Squeezing your eyes shut tightly, more tears roll from your eyes to your temples at how good it feels to have Wonwoo inside of you. The way his cock stretches you so perfectly and how his head brushes over your spot each time pulls out enough to push right back into your warm walls.

“Please, please, Wonwoo, baby... faster.”

Your pleas come out as sobbing moans, causing Wonwoo to give you a concerned look, but as soon as he sees the fucked out look on your face, he can’t help but give you what you want. His thrusts become more urgent and harder. With each one, Wonwoo feels you get that much tighter around his cock until finally the coil inside you snaps. He had thought you were wet before but feeling your cum on his cock was an experience that Wonwoo knew he would never forget and it was enough to send him barreling over the edge after you.

Resting his head against your neck, Wonwoo curses under his breath, feeling his cum seep out of you, mixing with yours. He was usually much more careful than this, but he had gotten lost in the moment. Shaking his head, Wonwoo carefully slides out of you and meets your eyes full of guilt, only to find you still full of bliss.

“I didn’t even ask, baby. I’m sorry—”

Sliding your hand along Wonwoo’s jaw to his neck, you shake your head and close your eyes. You knew what had happened and what could come of it, but that wasn’t something that you could concern yourself with today. Right now, you are just happy to be alive and in bed with Wonwoo. It was the first time in possibly your entire life that you were this happy and you wouldn’t let him spoil it with guilt.

“Don’t... just tell me that you love me again.”

Unable to stop his lips from pulling up in a smile, Wonwoo shakes his head at your reaction to the situation. Moving to lay beside you, knowing neither of you could stay like this for long without taking a shower, he pulls you into his arms and presses his lips against your neck. You smile, wrapping your arms around his.

“I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too, Wonwoo.”

This was the longest you had seen Wonwoo sleep. Even as you ran your fingers delicately along the bridge of his nose, he barely flinched. A smile pulls at your lips at the sight and at how warm and safe you feel lying next to him as the sun rises.

During the time that you had been awake, Wonwoo’s phone had gone off twice. You had a good feeling that the missed calls were from Park Bonhwa, but you couldn’t bear the thought of waking Wonwoo or checking his phone. There was a beautiful silence surrounding you both and not even that man could ruin it, as long as you didn’t let him.

Tracing the dip of Wonwoo’s cupid’s bow, you watch as his lips twitch into a soft smile and his eyes slowly open. It was selfish of you to touch Wonwoo so much when he was sleeping so soundly, but seeing his eyes on you and feeling the comfort of them made it worth it.

Pulling you into his arms, Wonwoo grunts softly at the feeling of your cold fingers sliding along his ribs. He could get used to this—waking up and seeing you first thing. He wanted to get used to it, but there were things that had to happen first.

“Mm, morning, baby. “

Lips press against the top of your head and you find yourself nuzzling against Wonwoo’s chest, not wanting to face anything in the real world. You like the way his deep voice sounds when you are so close to his body, the way it seems to vibrate in his chest. Resting your ear against his chest, you smile and bite at your bottom lip, hearing Wonwoo laugh.

“Don’t wanna get up?”

Shaking your head, you whine, and Wonwoo runs his long fingers along your back, stopping to draw small circles along your spine before tracing each notch on his way up to your neck. He understood the sentiment and wanted to give you what you wanted. He wanted to give you everything you wanted now.

“We need to talk about what comes next. Cheol is going to work on what we need for you to disappear, but he needs payment.”

There was always a catch to everything. That was something that you understood from a very young age. Everything came with a price. Your father never let you think that money grew on trees. Despite knowing you were incredibly wealthy and that you could potentially have anything you wanted, he made you earn his respect before he would give you any allowance or credit cards. Your father’s respect had cost the most out of anything you had ever paid for in your life. You will never forget the day you told your mother that you loved your father more than her and watched her face fall.

“Mmkay, how much money does he need?”

Wonwoo shakes his head at the mention of money. Of course your mind would go to money first; that was how your father had probably raised you. It wasn’t your fault that you were the way you were; Wonwoo understood that now. You were broken because you were carefully shattered piece by piece by your father over the course of your life.

“Not money, baby. Information. Trust me, this will be good for everyone in the end.” Smirking, Wonwoo lifts his hand from your back to scratch at his eyebrow as he scoffs at his own words, correcting them. “Almost everyone.”

Information was a currency you were familiar with; it just wasn’t something you commonly used. You have seen your father get rich off information plenty of times. Leaning your head back, you glance up at Wonwoo, furrowing your brows as he lifts his hand to brush his fingers over your cheek.

“About my father?”

The next couple of hours you spend against Wonwoo go through what you know about your father’s company. You tell him more about the business dinners and dates that he has set up for you over the years and though Wonwoo listens carefully, he seethes. Every new piece of information he leaves about your father makes him hate the man even more.

It’s when you get to your mother that you find it more difficult to talk with confidence. You find strength in Wonwoo’s touch, his hands gliding over your skin as his lips press to your forehead, taking in each word. Your sorrow at losing the one person who meant something to you, becomes Wonwoo’s sorrow when tears drip from your cheek onto his chest.

“Baby… I know this is too much. I’m sorry, we can talk more about the business side—”

“It’s okay. It’s his fault.” Rubbing your nose hard, you pull your legs under you, letting Wonwoo tuck you into his side. “I don’t know how, but I just know it is. She didn’t just die.”

There is no doubt in Wonwoo’s mind that you are right about your assumption. With as much life insurance that your father had placed on you, he could only imagine the amount he would put on a spouse.

“He kept reminding me after her funeral that I loved him more. He kept giving me gifts and all this money…”

Leaning his head back against the headboard, Wonwoo tries to picture you mourning and your brute of a father wooing you out of it with possessions. The cold woman who had treated her staff like trash was just a reflection of him.

“He’ll pay for that, Y/N. I promise.”

You nod along with Wonwoo’s words, though you don’t understand how he plans on making that happen. In your eyes, your father was bulletproof. He was a cliff face that you kept hitting as the waves pushed you around like you were nothing.

Tracing the shape of your bottom lip as you rest against his shoulder, Wonwoo furrows his brows, feeling concern wash over him. You had talked until you couldn’t anymore. Exhaustion had taken over you and not even having him next to you or food in your stomach was enough to keep your eyes open any longer. You looked calm like this—breathing softly against his bare skin—even as you squeezed your eyes shut a bit tighter in your sleep.

Wonwoo carefully slides his arm from under you, letting your cheek rest against his palm as he adjusts the pillow under your head. Now you look comfortable. He hated the idea of not having you in his arms, but there was much left to do. Giving you one more glance as he swipes his phone from the nightstand, Wonwoo opens the bedroom door and closes it before making his way downstairs.

Seungcheol was trying not to get antsy about his current situation, but the minutes were ticking by and it didn’t seem like you or Wonwoo were in a rush. So when he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket, the detective lets out a sigh of relief, leaning against his car.

“I won’t lie, I had a few moments today when I thought you might be fucking me over.”

Smirking at Seungcheol’s words, Wonwoo uses his index finger to pull the blinds ever so slightly from the window so he can check the street out of habit.

“Just when we were starting to like one another?”

Getting behind the wheel of the Audi, Seungcheol scoffs and presses the button to start his car. The sooner he could be away from the station, the better, especially if this conversation was going to go where he imagined it to. Hearing the sound of the engine as Seungcheol wastes no time in pulling out of the parking garage, Wonwoo shakes his head, dropping the blinds back in place and lowering himself into a nearby armchair.

“I needed time to talk to Y/N. She’s the one with the most information, and she had plenty. Like I said, Cheol… you’ll get a promotion out of this.”

Seungcheol can’t stop himself from taking a deep breath in anticipation. If the information was as good as Wonwoo was alluding to, this could be the best decision he has ever made.

“I’m listening.”

“And I have terms.”

Of course he did. The good feeling that Seungcheol had for a fleeting moment sank right back into his chest with Wonwoo’s words. Leaning his head back against the leather headrest, Seungcheol tightens his grip on the steering wheel and narrows his eyes as he speaks.

“Again, I’m listening.”

Tilting his head, Wonwoo bites at his cheek out of a mixture of nerves and frustration. He knew that Seungcheol would be happy with what he had to tell him, but he had to make sure that you were taken care of. On top of that, he hadn’t known that he wanted to leave with you; that was a possible kink in the plan as far as Seungcheol might be concerned.

“New name, meaning all IDs.” Seungcheol groans in annoyance at Wonwoo’s request; it was what he had assumed, but as soon as he starts to speak, he is cut off and rendered speechless. “For both of us.”

“I—”

Picking at a loose string on the chair, Wonwoo listens to Seungcheol struggle to make heads or tails of what he had just asked of him before he continues.

“Money; we both know she can’t keep her accounts. We will need a safe flight out of Korea.”

With his head spinning at all Wonwoo was asking of him, Seungcheol pulls his car over, putting it in park, before letting out an unamused laugh.

“I—well fuck… anything else? Would you like for me to make her the Queen of England while I’m at it?” The amusement fades from his voice as he smacks at his dashboard. “Why are you asking for impossible things? How in the hell am I going to get you out of Korea?”

“Figure it out, Seungcheol! Or are you not interested in bringing down her piece of shit father?”

Throwing up his hands, Seungcheol scoffs in disbelief, unsure what could be worth giving up, Jeon Wonwoo.

“For what? Some shady trading? The insurance policy? Give me something better than that or I’m gonna bring both of your asses in.”

“Embezzlement, laundering, and possible murder.”

Every snide comment and scoff that Seungcheol has been giving Wonwoo stops when he hears those words.

“If—can she prove it?”

Looking down at his hands, Wonwoo digs his nail into his thumb, feeling frustrated with Seungcheol and the entire situation. You shouldn't have to prove anything. It was practically being laid out for him, but he understood that some horses had to be led to water.

“Y/N said there is a lawyer, Son Hyunwoo. Pay him enough and he’ll spill everything.”

Typing the name into his phone and keeping Wonwoo on speaker in his car, Seungcheol nods, looking over the practice that Son Hyunwoo belongs to and some of his more prevalent clients. To the general public, his client list looked like a billboard for great service and reliability, but to a good detective, it screamed corruption.

“This is good. If he talks, I’ll get you what you need. I’ll be in touch.”

Wonwoo runs his fingers through his hair, taking a deep breath when the phone disconnects. He hoped for your sake, more than his own, that you were right.

— Two Days Later —

Bonhwa glares at his phone, seeing Wonwoo’s name. The man had been avoiding him like it was his job and now, just as he was about to have the dogs on his heels, he decided it was a good time to call. Gritting his teeth, Bonhwa answers his phone while pushing the heel of his hand under his nose to clean the white powder from it with a loud sniff.

“Wanna make this easier on everyone by bringing her to my office? I promise I won’t kill you; just break something.”

Rolling his eyes, Wonwoo had already prepared for Park Bonhwa’s empty threats. He wasn’t afraid of him anymore than he was afraid of a dog without teeth. He knew that Bonhwa couldn’t find him, which means he couldn’t find you. With time, if the two of you stayed in Seoul, he might get a sniff on a trail, but that wasn’t happening.

“I’ve been busy. Why are you so fuckin’ grumpy?”

Watching Seungcheol load a suitcase into the trunk of the car as he talks to you, Wonwoo furrows his brows, hearing Bonhwa’s voice go up an octave. He knew he was pushing his buttons, but he had a reason. There was always a reason behind what Wonwoo did.

“Why—why am I? You stupid son of a bitch! Half! I get half when I deliver proof of that bitch’s body to Hyong. Do you know how humiliating—”

Hearing Wonwoo sigh, Bonhwa stops mid sentence to stare at the desk in front of him. He had half a mind to get in his car right now and search the entire city for Jeon Wonwoo. Feeling his phone vibrate in his hand, he furrows his brow and lets out a disgruntled sound, ready to continue telling Wonwoo off when Wonwoo speaks first.

“Check your email. It’s done… makes no fucking sense to drive around with a body.”

Your eyes follow Wonwoo as he paces talking to Bonhwa, you barely hear Seungcheol talking to you. Noticing you aren’t understanding what he’s telling you, the man steps in front of you, obscuring your view.

“Can we finish our conversation now, Y/N? He’s fine. He’s taking care of what he needs to, so let’s go over the rest of this shit.”

You weren’t sure how you felt about Choi Seungcheol. You could see why he had been the one who had gotten close to Wonwoo, he was tenacious and abrasive. Nodding, you watch as Seungcheol lifts his brows and leans to take a folder out of his car, showing it to you.

“ID, passport, some cash... Wonwoo knows how to get more when it’s needed. This won’t be like the pampered life you had before, so—”

“You don’t know anything about me, Seungcheol.”

In the short time that he had known you, Seungcheol had heard you speak a handful of times. You had to let Wonwoo speak for you or at least let him carry the conversations. To say that he perhaps had a skewed view of you based on what he knew about your father and researching you, would be an understatement.

“Maybe not, but I’m just saying... make it last. Keep your mouth shut.”

Holding out your hand for the folder, you lock eyes with Seungcheol as he places it in yours.

“I’m not stupid.”

A smirk pulls at one side of the detective’s lips at your words. That he did know. There was no way Wonwoo would put this much effort into keeping you alive if you were. Letting go of the folder, Seungcheol takes a step back and glances back to Wonwoo as he grunts, bending the phone in his hand with some effort. The screen shatters first and then the metal gives way, effectively destroying the device before he tosses it towards the river, listening to the dull thud when it hits the surface.

“That bullshit is done. He’s satisfied with what you came up with.”

Scoffing, Seungcheol shoves his hands into his jacket pockets, feeling a bit offended at the insinuation that anyone wouldn’t be satisfied with his work. He had gone above and beyond for this. You had been lucky that the information you had provided for him had been the best he had received in a long time. It had served as motivation for what Seungcheol saw as a work of art.

“Yeah? Well maybe you should have dealt with pulling a Jane Doe out of the morgue.”

Wonwoo exhales an unamused laugh, sliding his hand around your waist. He knew that Seungcheol had worked hard and he appreciated it. He could almost taste freedom and it was a strange sensation.

“No thanks. I’ll leave that to the professionals.” Leaning to kiss the side of your head, Wonwoo gives you a once over before glancing back at the car, seeing it packed. “Ready to go?”

You had no idea where you and Wonwoo were going. He and Seungcheol told you that in case things went south, it was better for you to know less. While you understood that, it still made leaving your entire life behind even more terrifying. Still, as you meet Wonwoo’s eyes, seeing that reassuring look in them, you manage to nod.

“Perfect, can’t wait to get you both out of my hair.”

Wonwoo grins at Seungcheol’s words, knowing that while he was trying to crack a joke, there was a layer of truth to them, especially concerning himself.

“Don’t worry, Cheol. We won’t darken your doorstep again.”

Taking a step backwards, towards his own car, Seungcheol points at Wonwoo as he speaks.

“I’ll fuckin’ hold you to it. Show your face around here again and I’ll throw your ass in a cell.”

Shaking his head, Wonwoo turns his attention back to you, reaching to open the passenger's side door. He lets you sit down as he looks down at you, much like he did a week ago under much different circumstances.

“Where are we going, Wonwoo?”

You watch curiously as he tilts his head and purses his lips, trying to think of how to tell you the answer without actually answering it.

“Did you pack a bikini?”

READ THE BONUS ON PATREON

#wonwoo smut #seventeen smut #svthub #wonwoo angst #wonwoo toxic #wonwoo fluff #seventeen angst #seventeen toxic #seventeen fluff #svt smut #svt angst #svt fluff #svt toxic #wonwoo x reader #seventeen x reader #svt x reader

2K notes · View notes

just-placebo-estate-things · 2 years

Link

Learning Experience update!! Chapter 12: Lookaftering

Living alone on the streets and in the wilds quickly taught Pip to hate the cold for many reasons. The most pressing issue was illness--hypothermia or otherwise. Falling ill when he only had himself to rely on was troublesome to say the least, and he sometimes suspected he'd only survived previous winters because the gods didn't want to give up their plaything yet.

Pip didn't need to go through his normal motions anymore. He could accept the housing he'd been provided with and maybe go a winter season without a horrible bout of sickness. Except he couldn't, not really, especially not now. He'd rather be sick.

#heiress post #UAAAGH the last three posts on this blog have all been fic updates L #I'm clawing my way back from the hyperfixation switch though!!! So hopefully I'll be posting more things here soon

1 note · View note

drvscarlett · 5 months

Text

The Tortured Drivers' Department

— combining another one of my favorites. I'll be taking notes and writing fics about which TTPD song do I associate with the drivers ( + I will be including the retired ones). This is the main list and I'll be linking them when I finished writing them. Let me know if you wanna be tagged

Also give TTPD a listen. Its so beautiful and a masterpiece

Fortnight

— i love you, its ruining my life (Lewis Hamilton x Mercedes!reader)

The Tortured Poets Department

— At dinner you take my ring off my middle finger and put it on the one people put wedding rings on. And that's the closest I've come to my heart exploding (Pierre Gasly x ex!reader)

My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys

— 'Cause he took me out of my box, stole my tortured heart left all these broken parts (Lando Norris x reader)

Down Bad

— Fuck it if I can't have him (Charles Leclerc x kpop idol!reader)

So Long, London

— You swore that you loved me, but where were the clues? (George Russell x secret girlfriend! reader)

But Daddy I Love Him

— "I'm having his baby" No, I'm not, but you should see your faces (Alex Albon x Horner!reader)

Fresh Out the Slammer

— Now, pretty baby, I'm runnin' back home to you (Esteban Ocon x childhood bestfriend!reader)

Florida!!! (feat. Florence + the Machine)

—I need to forget, so take me to Florida (Logan Sargeant x heiress!reader)

Guilty as Sin?

—What if he's written "mine" on my upper thigh only in my mind? (Oscar Piastri x bestfriend!reader)

Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me?

— I was tame, I was gentle till the circus life made me mean (Nico Rosberg x Lewis Hamilton)

I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)

— they shake their heads, saying, "God help her" when I tell 'em he's my man (Daniel Ricciardo x longtime girlfriend!reader)

loml

— Oh, what a valiant roar. What a bland goodbye. The coward claimed he was a lion (Max Verstappen x childhood sweetheart!reader)

I Can Do It With a Broken Heart

— Lights, camera, bitch, smile (Zhou Guanyu x model!reader)

The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived

— And I'll forget you, but I'll never forgive (Yuki Tsunoda x Actress!reader)

The Alchemy

—'Cause the sign on your heart said it's still reserved for me (Kimi Räikkönen x assistant!reader)

Clara Bow

— This town is fake, but you're the real thing (Sebastian Vettel x Ferrari heir!reader)

The Black Dog

— I am someone who, until recent events you shared your secrets with (Mick Schumacher x driver!reader

imgonnagetyouback

— I'm an Aston Martin that you steered straight into the ditch (Fernando Alonso x wife!reader)

The Albatross

— She's the albatross, she is here to destroy you (Jenson Button x revenger!reader)

Chloe or Sam or Sophia or Marcus

—So if I sell my apartment and you have some kids with an internet starlet. Will that make your memory fade from this scarlet maroon? (Carlos Sainz x Vasseur!reader)

How Did It End?

— The deflation of our dreaming leaving me bereft and reeling (Logan Sargeant x Oscar Piastri)

So High School

—You knew what you wanted, and, boy, you got her (Charles Leclerc x reader ft Max Verstappen x childhood friend!reader)

I Hate It Here

—I hate it here so I will go to secret gardens in my mind (Kimi Räikkönen x interviewer! reader)

thanK you aIMee

— And then she wrote headlines in the local paper laughing at each baby step I'd take (Mark Webber x reader)

I Look in People’s Windows

—What if your eyes looked up and met mine one more time (Sebastian Vettel x reader)

The Prophecy

—Don't want money, just someone who wants my company (Pierre Gasly x politician's daughter!reader)

Cassandra

—So they killed Cassandra first cause she feared the worst (Lewis Hamilton x wife!reader)

Peter

— Forgive me, Peter, please know that I tried to hold onto the days when you were mine (Lando Norris x reader)

The Bolter

— "Oh, we must stop meeting like this" (Max Verstappen x hollywood starlet!reader)

Robin

— You have no room in your dreams for regrets (Oscar Piastri x girlfriend!reader)

The Manuscript

—One last souvenir from my trip to your shores. Now and then I re-read the manuscript. But the story isn't mine anymore (Carlos Sainz x McLaren employee!reader)

#f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 masterlist #max verstappen x reader #lance stroll x reader #charles leclerc x reader #carlos sainz x reader #fernando alonso x reader #jenson button x reader #sebastian vettel x reader

538 notes · View notes

sunboki · 6 months

Text

— ENDLESS WINTER. a Christopher Bahng fiction

Christopher Bahng x f. reader

TROPE. Beast! au, Mage! au, enemies to lovers (she wants to kill him), marriage au, angst

WARNINGS. violence, kidnapping, mention of a past war, descriptions of murder, reader is injured, hyunjin is a bit of a pain, hinted minsung (hehe), blood, kissing (dubcon), cursing

WORD COUNT. 12k words

AUG'S NOTES. if there’s ever been a more spontaneous fic in history it would be this… every sentence is write is purely self indulgent…. (genuinely a written version of the stories i make in my head while laying in bed)

SYNOPSIS. As heiress of the Magus, otherwise, Mage Clan, you find your position ripped from your fingertips when the Beast Clan conducts a raid. Left the only survivor, you make it your priory to stay alive in a ravaged Kingdom. That is, before you’re captured.

alternatively :

Starvation becomes the least of your problems when you meet King Bahng.

Hiding in the kitchen’s cupboard was definitely not your intention.

Neither was the Kingdom getting raided by the Beast Clan or being the (presumably) lone survivor in the castle, but fate would have its way, whether you liked it or not — this one just a bit more severe than usual.

Your mother once told you of the Beast Clan, of their ferocity and inability to handle things diplomatically. In her opinion, Beast were barely able to be considered Human.

Well, these words came after the Mage-Beast War; a grueling, disgustingly brutal dispute that caused what was referred to as the “Endless Winter”, a curse put upon the nation by a Magus overseer bidding every day of every year with, well, “endless winter”.

She told you how the ground used to be a wondrous green. Soft beneath your fingertips like feathers. Now, blankets of snow stretched as far as the eye could see, killing off any remaining expanse of foliage.

Although years had passed since then, your Kingdom was still recovering, still navigating importing routes in order to supply necessary goods.

Yet, everything was rapidly adapting, whether that was the snow-shoe rabbits roaming your vast tundra or the unexpected growth of fur on the bottom of the horse’s hooves.

Growing, learning.

Magus, though a lineage of magic practitioners, had begun to dull over the centuries. There was no need to learn with peace eminent, and the more aged those wielding supernatural abilities became, the less said abilities progressed into your generations.

However, Magus is the hearth of your Kingdom, and for as long as you live, the title shall reign supreme.

A title that, used by enemies and allies alike, had modernized from its ancient form Magus, to Mage.

Dinner held in the customary hall began that night, seat upon seat homing each member of the family adorned in their extravagant clothing.

Your father occupied the upmost chair, his plate stacked full of greasy lamb and pork bones. You, on the other hand, had had your fill chatting the cook’s ear off, slipping sweet potato wedges here and there as you talked.

Ms. Maewether was her name, a sad soul who carried her love in her cherished dishes. A love reserved for her late husband, a Beast himself, who unfortunately passed in The War.

Back then you asked her questions to the moon, about what they looked like specifically — if they really had eight inch claws like all the other children gossiped, if they could feel.

The last one was important, because everything Ms. Maewether told you you believed without a doubt, and the number one thing she pressed was that Beasts can feel, so very deeply. Just like humans.

The War changed that, and tension rose tenfold, especially as each Kingdom recovered from their countless casualties.

Luckily, your life had been peaceful, having been born young enough you could hardly remember.

Had been peaceful.

A scream from outside redirects the table’s conversation, relatives and siblings alike turning their head to gaze out the window.

Your blood runs cold.

Beasts, left and right, are slaughtering. Their clothing stained in blood that certainly isn’t their own, blades in clutch.

Immediately, panic ensues. People are trampling over each other to get out, disregarding every instinct but to stay alive. It’s chaos.

Dodging flailing bodies, you anchor yourself in a secluded cupboard below the countertops, shrinking as close to the wall as possible.

A few moments after everyone evacuates the Dining Hall do you hear cries. Yelling, gargled sounds. You cringe back imagining, stifling your breathing as much as possible.

Suddenly, a thought comes to mind, a thought that might just be responsible for saving your life.

Smell.

Ms. Maewether warned you a Beast’s smell is like no other, like a dogs. Twenty times as heightened as a persons.

So slowly, silently, you fish your hand into the small bit of darkness in front of you, locating a small bottle of cooking grease you wince upon finding — forcing the awful smelling concoction over your body, masking your scent.

Right after sitting down the container does the door creak open, heavy footsteps belonging to none other than a Beast. You can hear it in their sniffing, the clicking of their claws. Chills scatter your arms.

Another enters as the second door creaks, muttering something incomprehensible to its companion. At this point you’re pressed to the other side of the cupboard, both hands covering your mouth.

Your heart thunders in your chest, beating unbearably loud the longer you huddle.

Walking past where you lie, a Beast stops, body ducking down close enough you can hear its labored panting. You wait, waiting for the door to be flung open and for your death to await.

It doesn’t. And you thank whomever above for the echo of its presence fading away into the distance, barely relaxing against the highly uncomfortable hiding spot.

Instead, a blood curdling screech rips through the atmosphere, comparably close to where you hide. Abruptly, it stops, the thump of a body against the floor making you staunch the nausea building like bile in your throat.

It takes three days for you to finally peer out of the cupboard, the entirety of the Kingdom completely void of a soul.

Taking your first few steps around do you notice a woman, obviously slain by the puddle of blood surrounding her and the putrid stench. Her mouth hangs open—horror-stricken, frozen in place. You vomit in the sink.

For about a week do you roam the murder-house of a castle, finding purchase in a non-blood-bathed room and the many, thought to be endless amount of food.

You won’t leave, simple.

As long as the Beast Clan believes they’ve killed everyone, you’re safe.

That reminder was assuring, until your food supply dropped exponentially and a new problem situated itself on your platter.

Worst case scenario you die of starvation, the likelihood high if you stay here. Solution? Hunting.

Granted, you’re not the most skillful hunter, but you’re also not horrendous with a bow. Except, it’s not your aiming abilities you stress, it’s the chance someone sees you, the enemy sees you.

Four weeks in and you’re left with no other choice than to bundle yourself in layers upon layers of clothing and heed the feeble weaponry available.

Blizzard frost permeates your vision, wobbling steps making your hunger evident the more you roam. A horse would’ve been effortlessly useful, but selling yourself into that fantasy had been futile upon realizing they either took or killed all escapades.

A hare catches your eye, pale fur barely divisible from the terrain below. Carefully, you crouch down, elbow stretching the arrow back as far as possible whilst maintaining a solid grip. Steady. Steady.

Shoot!

The arrow flies, puncturing the animal in its chest enough to where it thankfully doesn’t suffer, flopping over rather pathetically instead.

However, your success is short-lived.

Stalking forward to snatch the creature quickly, a shadow looming overhead halts your footsteps. Behind you.

Before you can think to run, you wind back, meager arrow in hand providing little defense against the attacker.

First thing you take in is how huge they are. At least six feet tall if not taller, brilliantly ruby eyes revealing its true identity.

Beast.

With ease the man has your efforts pinned, curiousity overflowing as the animal looks at you. Yet, he doesn’t look like an animal, and apart from those eyes of his, no other factors would’ve revealed him to you but that.

This Beast has a fox-like face. A younger stature and smaller, slanted features.

“Hyung, what is this?” He asks, lifting your petrified frame like you were the rabbit you’d killed earlier.

His older counterpart glances over, and any hope of getting released plummets upon those wild crimson hues focusing in on you—knowledgeable as to what you were.

The cooking grease had long worn off, and your identity was likely as apparent as can be.

Mage.

Older Beast easily roaming through the snow, his fingers tangle into your hair, drawing out a cry when he jerks his hand up, forcing your gaze to meet his through the searing sting of your scalp. The younger grimaces.

His long, nearly white hair is tied into a ponytail, sharp cheekbones and calculating stare beyond intimidating. Beneath his left eye you note a small, distinct mole.

“One remained, huh.”

It’s a fever dream walking into the Kingdom that, compared to yours, looks positively flourishing with life. Beasts of all kinds roam about, carrying on with their daily lives, oblivious to the winds of death they’ve swept your way.

Everything in your body feels as if it’s shutting down, unable to feel the sensation of your legs as you trudge forward, the younger, much kinder Beast ensuring you kept pace.

Freezing temperatures carry on the longer snow falls, gluing strands of hair to your forehead, blanketing your lashes while your nose runs incessantly.

In front of you now lies the castle, far grander than you could’ve ever imagined. Twin spires peek above the low-hanging clouds, stone columns towering above.

From your distance you spot two knights positioned on either side of the entryway, large armored helmets with hawk feathers adorning the ridges.

One knight stops your ascent, the light-haired man rolling his eyes profusely.

“Minho, this is important.”

“Important enough you’re bringing a Mage into the Kingdom?”

His voice smooth as honey, he sports a dominant tone when speaking. Stare observant, he watches the other Beast’s expressions with uncanny precision.

“Because if you haven’t noticed Hyunjin,” He leans forward a bit, whispering. “You have the entire Kingdom’s attention.”

At this, either of the Beasts who escorted you turn around, and upon doing so are met with hundreds, if not thousands of eyes boring into their soul. Whether it’s younger Beasts or aged soldiers, those heinous vermillion orbs seem to see through you.

You gulp.

“C’mon,” Hyunjin harshly beckons, nudging you forward through the gates with the younger quick on his tail.

Every color in the Palace is monochromatically grey, although strikes of royal blue reside in large drapes hung from perched balconies.

Similar guards to those outside sift throughout the room, familiar hawk feathers litter everywhere in sight, paving paths to the core of the room where a throne sits.

Pointed edges flank either side of the massive chair, the ocean blue rug underneath reflecting up and out of the ceiling — a glass design stretching wide across the throne room, emphasizing the dusky weather outside.

According to the younger Beast whose title you learned as Jeongin, the King was currently participating in a hunt with Changbin (the lead hunter of the Palace), so after hasty appreciation of the sheer volume of this breathtaking castle, you’re forced toward the dungeons.

Jeongin wears a pitying frown, promising to return with some food to your chambers in the case the King doesn’t arrive for a while.

At least someone in this Kingdom doesn’t insist you’re beheaded.

“Finally, somebody else is here.”

A voice erupting from the darkening depths to your right make you jump, chained wrists clanging abruptly. Through minimal lighting of the burning lamps hastened upon the walls, you make out the silhouette of a man, face bunching in a sweet manner when he smiles.

Unusually, his hands aren’t chained.

“What’re you in here for?” You begin, gaze narrowed in confusion. The chubby-cheeked stranger smiles haphazardly.

“I would ask you the same thing. I’m the King’s Advisor, he just gets tired of me and puts me in here sometimes,” Your chamber-mate sighs, and once you take in what he professed, the urge to laugh becomes too strong to control.

Laughing for the first time in quite a while is sort of relieving, especially when this new acquaintance of yours begins whining his dismay, aimlessly trying to hush your giggles.

Red eyes. You can see them blinking up at you, gleaming when he grins his pointed teeth.

Quickly pausing, you wait in horror as he gradually sniffs in.

Your stomach sinks.

“Wait… You’re a Mag—“

His phrase is cut off by a loud ringing noise, a familiar echo of keys tunneling down the dungeons stairwell.

Another stranger unlocks the door. He’s burly, with curly hair in disarray. Cuffs of animal fur wraps around defined biceps, his top a tight-fitted arrangement of fur and woven leather paired with small iron spikes studding the shoulder lining.

A scar passes down the corner of his lip, long since healed but remaining faded.

“C’mere,” He ushers, voice gruff and rumbling when he unlocks your shackles, big hand pushing you forward up the stairs.

If anybody here had pure Beast in their bloodline, it would be this man. His demeanor is rough, but his touch on your back is surprisingly gentle whilst guiding you upward.

Again you’re granted with the wondrous sight of the Throne Room in all its historic glory, although your gaze directed at the floor keeps you ignorant to so many heads bowed, so many voices cast to silence upon the click of footsteps approaching.

And when you look up, you meet strikingly blue eyes—perhaps a genetic mutation of a sort.

They’re stunning, enrapturing almost, and you find the need to break eye contact immediate, more dire than normal while staring down at you.

Plump, full lips and perfectly sculpted facial features seem that of a Greek god’s, too ethereal to exist in your reality. A glittering, silver crown sits stark atop a black nest of hair.

Either arm rests on the sides of the throne, and you swore you’d never seen someone look so, King-like. That, and the massive cape of wolf-skin draped over his back.

A devil, dressed as an angel.

“Your Highness, this Mage was found near the L/N Kingdom by Hwang Hyunjin and Yang Jeongin while scouting the territory.” A palace-woman announces, the same guard who lingered outside, Minho, standing to your side.

Your blood boils, disregarding every ounce of amazement once inhabited.

It’s him. The man responsible for the demise of loved ones you couldn’t count on all of your fingers and toes.

Minho, as if sensing your frothing rage, mutters through his helmet a staggered warning—remaining upright and unmoving at attention.

“Do not move and do not look into his eyes unless you’re asking for death.”

Your patience dissipates, lip twitching involuntarily.

You can’t remember the last time you were genuinely angry. You were happy, surrounded by people you loved.

Those people weren’t here now, they were killed.

“You murderer! You’re a—“ Your attempt at lashing out at the King stalled when Minho kicks the crevice between your knees, forcing you down on the carpet below.

“Monster! A bloody— fucking— Monster!”

Palace representatives gasp their bewilderment, some beckoning you away to the dungeons, others urging Minho to end you right here and now.

It wouldn’t matter, would it?

The King’s raised hand stalls the accusations, his familiar clicking footsteps nearing closer till he stands before you.

Shifting down into a squat, the man tips your chin up to meet cerulean again, his head slightly tilted to the side.

“Don’t get it mixed up little one,” He murmurs, the pad of his thumb controlling your movement.

“I did not kill your family. Your family killed themselves.”

Fist sharply winding around for a punch, he catches it before you can even register your predicament, iron grip strong enough you fear he might just snap your wrist in half.

“And I wouldn’t recommend fighting back, otherwise I can’t guarantee your safety.”

Concluding his threat the further he bends your wrist, you whine, face scrunching from the pain until he finally stops, amusedly surveying your expression.

Denying your own enraged shaking, you suck your teeth, focus vehemently pinned onto him.

“Why would you care about my safety?” You snarl, trying to wriggle his hold off to no avail.

“Because,” The King cocks his brows. “I like you.”

About to spit another word, he interrupts you, index tracing the veins of your arm.

“Plus, I could break you any time I wanted, Mage. So behave.”

You shiver.

Your second day and you feel as if you’re officially going insane.

The only person tolerable here is Jeongin, that chamber guard whose name you don’t know, and Felix, the castles cook. You barely see the King, and even when he’s present he’s usually quartered in his study.

What he does there remains unknown, information learned in the mere form of startled maids leaving the room and gossip among those wandering the Kingdom.

“Do you know what he does?”

Felix looks up from the dish he was laying in front of you, wispy blond locks bouncing with the movement.

“Does what?” He piques, ridding a stray piece of hair clinging to your sleeve.

“The King, what does he do all day long?”

One thing about Felix you love, his honesty. Regardless of if most would tell a quick fib and flee, Felix, although occasionally working around a topic, takes the time to actually explain things to you.

Allows you to learn more of the place you’re going to have to call home.

“Hm..” He pulls a chair from your right to drop into, and for a moment, you see Ms. Maewether in that smile of his. Your heart aches.

“Chris— I mean, King Bahng is always busy. He plans trade agreements, oversees the hunts, and basically keeps this castle alive.”

Chris?

“Who’s Chris?”

Felix nearly squeaks, burying his head in his hands. Evidently, you weren’t supposed to hear that part, but an eagerness to know more about this solitary King kept your hesitance at bay.

“That’s his name. Christopher Bahng, but you’re not allowed to call him that and not allowed to tell anyone about us having this conversa-“

“Tell who?”

You quite literally almost fall backwards in your seat, failing to anticipate the pair of hands placed on Felix’s shoulders.

A pair of hands, followed by a pair of ocean blue eyes, boring right into you and the horrified boy in front of you.

King Bahng. In the flesh.

“Oh.. Hey Chri— Hello Your Highness.”

Again he corrects. These two must know each other.

“Tell who, Felix?” He speaks, tone nothing short of teasing—though the boy looks just as startled, practically sweating through his clothing.

Still adorning that flanking wolf-cape of his, his dark hair is slightly messy, expression distorted curiously.

You hate him to admit, but King Bahng is horribly attractive.

“Nothing! Nothing at all, Your Highness,” Felix chirps, fixing you with a ‘Don’t say a word’ glare you cease to argue with.

Rising up from your seat quickly as if you had any duties in this Kingdom to tend to, you find yourself stalling.

You have so many questions. …And the overwhelming urge to slap him across the face.

You’ve received a fair warning on the latter.

“I’ll be off now, Your Highness.”

The last words come out involuntary, used to referring to your own father this way. It made you sick to know you regarded his murderer the same.

And though the King didn’t stand extremely tall (considering how young Beasts were already your height), his hulking stature felt as if it could swallow you whole, pointed canines flashing when he smiled, sending your head reeling.

Pleased.

King Bahng was pleased hearing something nonthreatening come out of your mouth.

Vile.

Yet, you simply curtsied and hurried off, ceasing to notice the immediate growl Felix directed in the King’s direction.

“Good lord, I know she smells good but you’re practically undressing her with your eyes,” The freckled boy grumbles, returned with an uninterested expression from his friend.

Before the King can head off to whatever meeting he has planned, however, he spins on his heel.

“Have you consulted Seungmin about the scent-blocking salve?”

“Possessive, are we?”

His glare shuts the cook up immediately.

“If there is one Mage left, it’s mine. And since she’s the survivor, she’s mine.”

Yeah, he’s not beating the possessive allegations. But if he’s going to gain your trust, and eventually, after much thought, become mates, he’s keeping every other Beast in the Kingdom at a distance from you at all times.

“Jeongin will report when it’s completed. And Chris?”

“Hm?”

“Don’t expect her to warm up to you.”

King Bahng hums.

“I don’t.”

And with that, Felix follows your exit, leaving the King to his own devices, your nectar-sweet smell lingering in his nose.

“If I stare at the same wall for hours and hours, shouldn’t it break by now?”

“You’re a Mage, not telekinetic,” Han replies, repetitively scanning over a piece of parchment assumed to be a guest list.

In the midst of your incessant boredom, you found yourself following the King’s Advisor around, peering over his shoulder at the endless list of haughty names written in languid ink strokes.

Amongst them, you ceased to find your father’s name. You knew it wouldn’t be there, but somehow, you wished if you blinked enough it would magically appear.

King L/N, written in that same, cursive font.

Rounding a corner, you conclude if there’s anyone you avoid more than King Bahng (a.k.a Chris), it was Hyunjin. That man was a serpent in a Beast’s body.

Catching sight of his dreaded ponytail, you hastily retrace your steps, hiding behind a massive doorframe while Han stares at you as if you’re a rodent scurrying at his shoes.

“He won’t bite y’know.”

“If only you would’ve been there when he first found me,” You whisper angrily, practically clawing at the wood desperately till he leaches you out.

Leaching enough, in fact, that you end up right in Hyunjin’s line of sight, who surveys you up and down with a cocked brow to the point you’re sure steam is billowing from your ears.

Mocking. Ruby-red, mocking eyes.

He does bite. He sinks his teeth into the flesh and tears.

You won’t bleed without biting back.

Han’s iron grip tightens on your arm as slowly, oh so slowly, Hyunjin walks closer.

The strategist prowls, edging right up in your face—noses a thread-width apart.

His glower sets your fury alight, lips curled in a deriding notion.

“No need to glare, wouldn’t want wrinkles ruining that face of yours.”

“No need to get so close unless you plan to kiss me, mutt.”

Though, just as Hyunjin preapres to lunge, a big hand holds him back, animal fur cuffs indicating it isn’t the King who stepped in.

The man who had fetched you from the chambers earlier divided either of you. Shorter, but evidently stronger.

“Control yourselves, both of you. For as long as she stays in the Kingdom, she’s The King’s property—“

“I am no one’s property,” You snarl, and the guard turns.

Basked in clear lighting, you can finally see him. Honing dark brown hair hanging above his eyebrows, the same scar resides by his mouth, though, his eyes are much kinder than you expected.

Taking a slow inhale, he reads your conflicted expression like an ornate mirror.

“One mage in the Kingdom of Beasts? Sorry to break it to you, but yes, you are his property. So as long as she’s here, nobody lays a finger on her, understood?”

Glancing to each person, either of them ease their apprehension, the bewildered Jisung next to you stifling a breath, Hyunjin rolling his eyes with a loud huff.

Baiting seconds pass, and in that period of time do you realize you never caught his name. Specifically, the guard’s name.

“Excuse m-“

“Seo Changbin,” Han interjects. “His name is Seo Changbin.”

Ah. Right.

Now on the roster of least-likely to kill you, Jeongin, Changbin, Felix, and Han.

Filled with a need to evade, you stand merely as a spectator as each horridly red hue snaps to stare at you, your heart spiking an alarming rate.

The King’s Advisor’s fingers tighten to the point you’re sure he’s blocking blood flow.

“You need to leave. Jisung, get in contact with Seungmin and see when the salve is done,” Changbin instructs, already shoving Hyunjin away.

Salve. What salve?

Failing to give you any explanation, you’re dragged off, boisterously complaining before the highly annoyed man abruptly pauses, finger nudging your forehead irritably.

“You smell.”

Then he leaves, and you’re left to wonder if you’re still in primary school or the Kingdom of Beasts.

You smell? What’s that supposed to mean?

First thing in the morning, you’re torn from your slumber with a blazing sun scorching your eyes.

Your canopy beds silken drapes doing little to block the attack, you whine to an apologetic Jisung who merely sighs in return.

“Sorry sleeping beauty, but we have an appointment to attend this morning. Can you handle getting dressed on your own?”

You roll your eyes, groggily pulling yourself upright. “I was an heiress, not helpless.”

To which he cracks a miniature grin and slips out the door, allowing you to hurriedly strip off your chemise and messily arrange your stays and petticoats.

Out of all things you’d been deprived of, a part of the L/N Clan unable to be divided was your garments.

Somewhere, in the midst of fabric and citrus scented soap, you swear you can still smell bits and pieces of home.

What this appointment entailed you failed to ask, gingerly hustled down winding hallways barely illuminated with sunlight.

The Kings Advisor expertly winds further and further down, georgian architecture littered in symmetrical golden portraits and decorum, casement glass windows twinkling as you walked past.

Having reached a dead end, you’re pleasantly surprised to watch Han jar a brass doorknob open, paving a breathtaking view of the garden ahead.

Garden had to be an understatement. This amount of foliage was nothing short of a forest.

Flowers of all kind surround your walk to a shrouded greenhouse, abnormally brick relative to it’s stone-castle counterpart. Its walls are overgrown in slithering vines, door nearly invisible without proper inspection.

Jisung, having noticed your amazed expression, chuckles.

Granted, it’s been years since you’d seen any form of green vegetation, your astonishment felt justified.

“We’ve arrived.”

Oh how you wish to stay here forever. Not captive by the Beast Clan, no, but in this garden, hidden.

And if the last door took effort to pry open, this was a new challenge entirely. Through thickets of dense hedge and tangled branches, Jisung had to quite literally ram himself into the chittering wood for entry.

“Knock next time would you?” A voice projects from inside, belonging to a man clad in rounded spectacles, a slightly hooked nose, and cleanly hair parted to the side.

The Kings Advisor, apparently having known him, beams his prize-winning smile upon seeing the man.

“Seungminnnn—“ Han drawls out, excitedly waddling over to wrap him in a crushing hug. Stiffly, Seungmin pats his back, an action you fondly watch from afar.

“Ah!” The more ebullient of the two springs up, turning to you. “This is Seungmin, he runs the apothecary here.”

Nodding stiffly, Seungmin ushers you to one of the many mahogany chairs circling a gateleg table; a vase—likely jade with its pale green hue—filled with indigo hydrangea presides in the center.

“And,” Han’s outburst cuts off your awe. “He’s practically my little brother.”

Now you’re in awe again, but for a different reason. And by the evident frown on Seungmin’s face, he can tell.

“Shocking, right?”

Yes, shocking for certain.

Though, before you can reply, Han slaps his hands on either of the man’s shoulders, expression transformed into one of seriousness.

“About time I left then, yeah?” Was spoken while his form hurriedly retreated out the door, leaving you with more questions than answers to what just occurred.

“..He forgot something again.”

Biting back your laugh, you finally take a seat, given ample time as Seungmin shuffles off to the side to acknowledge your everything to its fullest extent.

Matching the plant-infested interior, verdant drawers scatter the corners, a lone, looming medicinal cabinet left ajar as the chemist poured over a variety of assorted concoctions.

Air stained with a damp smell of earth, you notice, much to your curiosity, the longevity of such a place.

This apothecary, though inside the castle, feels like an entirely new settlement of its own. An establishment existing before the war, rebuilt (inefficiently) enough to where it was only required to stand stable.

From first sighting you’d grown an attachment to it, but this newfound understanding, these newfound details setting the apothecary apart from your predicament let you imagine yourself anywhere else, back to a nostalgia you longed for.

A short term fix.

“This.” You’re handed a phial from overhead. It’s a slightly green substance, thicker in texture that rests heavy in your hand. “Is for you.”

Slipping across from you, he surveys your analyzing, arms crossed over a deep brown waistcoat.

“And this is..?” You inquire, looking up from the cork-sealed glass.

“A salve. You had better not waste it, material is low as is and I’ve been waiting years for this winter to end already.”

Well that didn’t answer your question. You’ve heard conversation about a specific salve for days on end, but no genuine explanation caved in—

‘I’ve been waiting years for this winter to end already.’

Repeatedly mulling over the words, you can practically feel your heart palpitating, head beginning to spin.

..End already? The endless winter.. ending?

“So you’re saying,” You murmur, placing down this special salve in order to truly regard him.

“There’s a way to end the Endless Winter?”

His brows crease critically, seemingly sarcastic.

“There’s an end to everything sweetheart. Life, death. Start, finish. War,” He meets your eyes with a conniving grin, a face you hadn’t seen on the man before.

“Peace.”

Automatically, you roll your eyes.

Peace? Peace when there was no peace left to be made, no kingdom remaining to make peace with?

“And how do you think the nonexistent Mage will make peace with Beasts?”

Seungmin grins.

“Well there is a Mage left,” He scornfully states, flicking your forehead whilst you palm the sting, frown evident.

“And as far as making peace goes, marriage.”

Marriage.

What.

“Wait- so you’re telling me big bad King Bahng could’ve just hooked up with a Mage and called it a day and everything would be fine?”

Seungmin clears his throat.

“One, Bahng doesn’t ‘hook up’. Two, it’s not as easy as that.”

Of course it’s not as easy as that. Why would it be?

You wish to claw your eyes out of your head, anticipating his explanation.

“Because if you weren’t aware before, marriage ties between Mage and Beast are very difficult to establish. Bahng is picky on everything, and even pickier when it comes to mates.”

But before you can argue there were thousands of suitors roaming the L/N Kingdom for him to pick from, Seungmin interrupts.

“Plus, if anyone else were King I’m sure we would’ve had peace decades ago. You’re lucky you’re in the castle right now, otherwise you would be eaten alive.”

Your face scrunching worriedly, he rakes an exasperated hand through his hair, plopping down on the vanity’s chair.

“Your scent.”

Again, you’re reminded of Han’s ‘you smell’ comment. Why is it showing up a second time?

He groans frustratedly, wordlessly praying you understand.

You don’t.

“Mage have specific scents. You can’t smell it since you’re not Beast. But let me tell you, you smell fucking delightful.”

Oh.

That’s what he meant by eaten alive, and the entire ‘you smell’ conundrum.

Seungmin, rather entertained with the shock written on your face, shrugs his shoulders, nonplussed by the crassness of his earlier statement.

“Now you get the use of the salve, right? And why you’re not allowed to leave the castle?”

Your mouth feels dry of response, beckoned toward the exit without so much as a peep passing through your lips.

However, right as the you’re halfway gone, he stops you, brows cocked.

“Do us all a favor and marry him, will you?”

And like that, the apothecary’s door thumps closed behind you.

If only the “him” he was referring to wasn’t King Bahng, you might’ve agreed.

Marriage in the L/N Kingdom had been a sacred event.

An event you’d been prepared for since childhood, fed daydreams of a day you would be married to a prince-like man with perfect features and a perfect personality, every element fabricated from a young age.

Truly, you loved it. Loved visualizing a life shared with your loved one, whoever that man would be.

Little did you know he might just be King of the Beast Clan.

No. You refused. Marrying a murderer, the murderer of your family, was the last thing you would oblige to.

He sent the command, he led the attack, and you’d rather die than give him the satisfaction of marriage.

Although, one problem. Similar to life back at the L/N Kingdom, supplies only lasted for some time before shipments became low, and pretty soon (according to Seungmin) the salve you were given would run dry.

Meaning, your meager chance of protection lay completely exposed, susceptible to any Beast daring enough to try something.

Two sides of a coin remained. Heads, you marry the murderer of a King and spring returns, or tails, you abstain and are eventually left vulnerable.

You’ve always been the person to confront a difficulty head-on, but, in this case, a different, defensive approach crossed your mind.

Run away.

Despite Seungmin’s sensible reminder to not leave the castle, what other option sounded suitable?

Die physically or mentally, pick your poison.

Or maybe, never drink the poison in the first place. Evade.

Three days have passed since you received the salve, and after applying it behind your ears and between your elbows at dawn, you were free to do as you pleased—within the castle walls.

Yet, tomorrow’s dawn would be divergent. Tomorrow, you would be days away from the Beast Clan.

Sneakily roaming around, you managed to find certain outlets to your disposal. Nearby the chambers you’d been kept in was a moth eaten, hooded cloak seemingly unworn for quite awhile. Ideal for an anonymous escape.

Furthermore, amongst the colloquy during a dinner with Changbin and Felix in the Great Hall, you distinctly recall overhearing information about the stables.

If you were to flee, you needed a horse, and thanks to the guard, you knew right where to find one.

Unable to sleep the night before, your dry eyes blink through the dense darkness, sweeping the candlestick from your side table for a minimal source of vision.

Lathering a copious amount of salve all over your skin, you slip down the winding stairwell, grateful for the shadowed moonlight gazing down upon the Throne Room as you venture.

Bingo. There’s the cloak.

Sweeping the fabric over your shoulders, you slip the hood over your head, creeping down the steep steps leading into a surrounding ward.

On your left, across the butcher’s vendors.

Blindly searching, the whinny of a mare alerts your close distance, carefully winding through lead ropes and linked fences to the first horse in sight.

You have to be fast, the sun will rise at any moment it pleases, and it’s impertinent you’re gone by then.

Hoisting a mere saddle pad over the back, you deem the saddle too noisy, slipping the reins overheard and adjusting their length accordingly.

Jogging forwards, you’re brisk to gain a running leap atop the horse prior to the thunder of hooves charging forward.

Closer to the gatehouse you near, a luckily open drawbridge allowing easy passage across.

Faster, faster. You can’t afford to slow down. Daylight is beginning to peer above the horizon, warming your back with rays of sunlight amongst a snowy landscape.

And when the kingdom wakes up, it’ll be as if you were never there.

But, an undecided factor stayed. Where would you go? There was no kingdom left for you, no home to go to.

For now, you needed to prioritize finding a hiding spot, if only for a night, that supplies warmth.

Given the opportunity, too long out here and you or your horse will indefinitely succumb to the frigid conditions.

Veering off sharply, you sidle beneath a barren magnolia tree, its thick trunk barely blocking the unforgiving wind. Pretty soon you’ll have to keep on, but for now, you’ll savor the temporary peace.

Blue skies indicate it must be nearing morning, and you assume the castle will be slowly waking up. By now, King Bahng would likely be awake as well, you’ve been told he doesn’t sleep well anyway.

Scouts. He’ll send scouts most likely. Knights like Minho or Hyunjin.

Ugh, the mere thought of Hyunjin finding you a second time makes you nauseous.

Except, the longer you consider it, King Bahng is the worst case scenario.

I could break you any time I wanted, Mage. So behave.

Those words send an entourage of chills slithering up your spine, and not from the cold.

Because while Hyunjin is a type of spiteful strong you want to avoid primarily due to how annoying it is, King Bahng is a quiet strong, the kind that wouldn’t confess his anger, but have you witness it firsthand instead.

Enough thinking. You have to go.

Using the bumpy roots below you for leverage, you wind a leg around the horse’s back, aiming to reach the edge of the territory before midday.

That was the goal, until you’re pummeling to the ground.

The moment is instantaneous, your horse releasing a shriek as it’s swiped right off its feet, slipping onto hard, icy ground and simultaneously crushing you in its descent.

Almost like vomit you feel the screech of pain building in your throat, a numbness in your right leg along with the warmth of blood soaking your clothing doing little to sustain level breathing.

Then, in the midst of your hysterics, you look upon the visible side of your horse, a pair of claw marks scratched right across its stomach.

Scrambling out to the best of your abilities, you bite your tongue, praying this is one of Hyunjin’s sick, sadistic games and not an obvious ambush.

You refuse to die like this. You’ve survived once and you’ll be damned to give up now.

“I’m impressed. You’re not as weak as I thought.”

A sneering tone speaks from behind you. According to the claw marks, Beast, but not one you remember. And with your current state—being unable to rise to your feet—you’re utterly incapable of ascertaining an identity.

Instantly, your hand reaches up to trace the alcove beneath your ear and neck, any ounce of hope disappearing upon feeling for the salve.

Gone.

“Now, care to tell me what a Mage is doing in Beast territory?”

He’s hiding behind you on purpose, drawing you into a sensory overload, a panicked frenzy of adrenaline and fear.

Deer caught in headlights.

A curved claw unlike those in the Kingdom of Beasts winds your head back, staring straight into the face of something you can hardly deem Beast, more like wolf.

He has this terrifying look in his eyes, and breath that stenches of metal and flesh.

This man is the kind of Beast you’d grown up believing in. Violent, merciless.

Minho, Hyunjin, hell, anyone. Please.

As if second instinct, you assess everything around you, snatching the closest stick to you and jarring the sharp end through the bottom of his chin with all your might.

A gagged, sort of howling sound emits from above you, putrid-smelling blood spraying all over your face.

In split seconds does another form appear in your peripheral, your dread heightening before ultramarine stills the horror in its tracks.

King Bahng.

He’s quiet, expertly slicing the back of the neck, the attacker dropping to the ground motionlessly.

“I could’ve handled it myself.”

It’s a lie. He doesn’t respond.

If the first Beast hadn’t killed you, he certainly would. He said it himself, whenever he pleased, he could break you.

So when King Bahng’s arms extend toward your position on the ground, you prepare for the worst, crawling backwards as quickly as possible.

Surprisingly, he kneels down in front of you, and, as your vision clears, you notice the concern written on his face.

Weird, the feeling compiling in your gut as he looks at you like that. The way your eyes build with tears, lungs finally hacking for as much non-congested air available without a single word said.

Just by his expression alone, you’re a fit of blood and tears, the aftershock hardly helping ease the experience.

Crying, in the middle of a forest, with King Bahng as a witness.

“I know, I know,” Is all he whispers, and you barely recognize when he hoists you into his arms, the searing sting of your leg your only indication of movement.

Smoothly maneuvering you again his chest, he cradles your body close, one hand directing his horse as you ride back to what you assume to be the Kingdom.

Through the aching pain, you can’t even be upset about returning, merely focusing on the subtle warmth of his body and the strength willing you to say something.

“You speak nothing of this moment,” You murmur, the King’s body erupting into a tremor of laughter.

“I speak whatever I like whenever I like, sweetness. No one touches what’s mine, yeah?”

Mine. You hate the effect he has on you.

Yet, your snarky remarks are depleting in tandem with your energy; the soothing, shushing sound he’s making and the repetitive thump of hooves doing little to keep you from sleeps tempting beckon.

Eyes drifting closed, his tightened grip pulls you closer, your cheek smushed into the fabric of his coat whilst lost in slumber.

“Hold on a bit longer for me, we’ll be there in no time.”

Recovery, to your luck, is swift. Either that, or Kim Seungmin is secretly a Mage, because within a week spent off your leg, you’re back to normal.

A little sensitive to weight, but overall, healed.

Initially, despite the agony blazing through your body, you were thankful you barely recalled seeing anyone, swept into the apothecary immediately.

The last thing you wanted to see after returning would be the faces. Plus, what about your friends? Jeongin, Felix, Han? You’re sure they looked destroyed.

Except, it’s all fake. A feign kindness given to you only by sympathy. What do the faces matter anyway?

You gorge that question to the very back of your throat when said Cook walks through the apothecary’s door, utmost apprehension apparent. He grabs your face, brows knit—but not in an angry sort of way, more like staving-down-tears.

“Don’t you ever do something like that ever again.”

Past him, you can’t help but smile seeing Seungmin’s softened expression watching Felix, adoring his preciousness just as you are.

“I promise.”

Nodding curtly, he turns around, leaving you to view the many ingredients scattered across his apron.

He rushed here, cute.

“I’ll bring breakfast down here.”

Craning, you can barely make out his deep voice, lowered to a nearly inaudible decibel. Ears flushed pink, you’re filled with a worrisome amount of happiness seeing Felix’s embarrassment trying to maintain an upset facade.

“Hm? What was that?”

Ah, at this point you’re picking fun.

“I said I’ll bring breakfast down here.”

Precipitously slipping outside, both you and Seungmin are left to stifle your bubbling laughter, graced with the most appetizing platter you’ve had the pleasure of eating a few minutes later.

However merciful those first few days were, dissipated. And in a short amount of time, you could feel the eyes boring into your back, the questions resting on the tip of tongues.

All the same, nobody mentioned it. And if anything, that made the paranoia grow.

It was gradual. The subtle shadow you swore you saw in corners, the terror stopping your heart in your chest when you swear someone breathed down your neck.

Your body may be healed, but your mind certainly isn’t.

To a degree that two weeks later, you’ve found sleep nearly impossible, lingering in the kitchen in the wee hours of morning, teetering on your wits end.

Some occasions it’s Felix who you see first, wiping the sleep from his eyes, loading coal into the furnaces to heat the kitchen for the day. Other days it’s handmaids, shuffling around busily, carrying goods to and fro.

This time, Minho arrives first, for once wearing regular clothing opposed to his usual armor, steaming saucer in clutch.

Perhaps this is an opportunity, he is a knight after all.

“Hey Minho?”

Tired eyes sweep to your figure on the table, the rim of his cup held to his lips.

“I’m too paranoid and at this point I might die of sleep deprivation,” You huff, referring to his raging, bed-headed self . “…Could you teach me how to use a sword?”

He’s staring at you like you‘ve grown two heads, pulling a chair back to settle in, arms crossed over his chest.

No sentences need to be said aloud, merely spectating the gears turning in his head enough to set your nerves on edge.

Yet, in the midst of your waiting, you note a peculiar bruise peeking from his collarbone, another lingering a tad bit lower.

“And you think a sword is going to protect you?”

The question is genuine, lacking the bemused nature you were expecting.

Another thing you’ve noted throughout your sleepless nights was the continuous amount of times you’d watch the King’s Advisor sneak into his quarters, a realization keeping your response baited.

Seems his love life isn’t a concern.

“Hey, those marks on your neck and shoulder, are those from Ha—“

“When do you want to train.”

All lightheartedness vanishing, you have to chew your lip to avoid ticking him off further by giggling.

“Tomorrow?”

Pushing in his chair with an agreeable hum, you merely whisper a hurried “Thank you” he grunts at, rushing off to who knows where and giving you leeway to recover from the hilarity of it all.

Tomorrow, however, came far too early, not anticipating to be woken up at the crack of dawn, grumpy enough the prospect of blackmailing the King’s Advisor became dangerously tempting.

Yeah, good luck. He’s not budging until you’re on your feet.

Seems you underestimated Han Jisung’s stubbornness.

Rushed into a loose gown, you’re led to the Inner Ward, an open sector in the middle of the castle.

Upon being met with a too-smug Minho, you can practically see the word “payback” hovering above his head, busying himself with fetching supplies.

Perhaps this is karma coming back to bite you.

Ouch.

Except, you’re puzzled. You’re being taught how to deul, yet your teacher isn’t adorning armor nor gear of any kind.

At your confusion, the knight chokes a cocky guffaw.

“First, we learn how to properly move.” He hands you a wooden sword. “If I so much as leave a scratch on you I’m as good as dead.”

Again, he may appear snarky, but his tone is nothing short of serious. Minho is hard to read.

Wait.

Seeing past your panic, the Beast seems to answer your unspoken question.

“King Bahng is visiting the villages today, he won’t be back till the evening.”

A wave of relief grounds your bones, standing rather pathetically while Minho aids in critiquing your position, instinctively shifting into his own in front of you.

“Now, there are a lot of things to consider when dueling. I’ll narrow things down. Don’t overestimate or underestimate your opponent, trust your gut, be aware of everything, and lastly, do not be afraid to deceive.”

Promptly, he’s lashing out before you can even process his advice, wooden weapon drawn above his head as your grip tightens, attempting to block the strike only for his foot to press into your stomach, sending you falling right onto the ground instead.

“Isn’t that unfai—“

“Like I said, deception is your greatest weapon. In a game of swords, it doesn’t matter how dirty it’s won, it matters who won.”

He reaches a hand out for you to take, helping you back up again only to both fall back into your stances.

“Keep in mind, your sword isn’t your only weapon.”

Minding his instruction, you continue onward, sparring heartily till the beating afternoon sun becomes too hot to bask in any longer. Amongst the four hours you had been consumed in training, you’ve snagged certain valuable points.

Calmness is crucial. Your mind streams clearer when you parried, void to the opponent’s increasing frustration—given an advantage of both agility and focus.

Two, unpredictability is a gift. Minho is especially good at being unpredictable.

Whether he charges headfirst or aims the forte of his sword toward particularly weak points, you begin to mimic his performance, growing closer and closer to conquering those signature tactics.

Of course, your enjoyment can only last for a bit before it spoils.

Spoiling as in, Hwang Hyunjin��s random appearance, sauntering into the area as if he’s King himself.

“Well look at this, didn’t think I’d see our runaway and Minho here.”

There’s an air between Minho and Hyunjin, one that forbids Hyunjin from egging his superior on, just like when you were first brought to the Kingdom. Lucky for you, you could be degraded as much as he approved of.

Feigning a dramatic gasp, he gestures to either wooden sword held in raw palms.

“No way, you’re learning how to deul?! Don’t tell me you’ve never learned basic attacks? Oh right, you never had to fight, huh, princess?”

You bite the skin of your cheek, minding your composure.

“You know nothing about me.”

“I know enough.”

Now he’s asking for it.

“Say,” He sneers. “Let’s duel.”

Keeping Minho from intervening, you apologetically nod to his disproving expression. He knows it’s stupid, even while fetching his armor and adjusting the metal plating to your body, and you do too, but you can’t afford to back down, you won’t.

Testing your abilities carrying a legitimate sword this time, Minho grants Hyunjin a terse scowl, their own wordless agreement to tone down on anything too harmful.

Somehow, it grates your nerves further.

Straight away, he charges his right foot forward, the metal colliding with a loud ring, narrowing your body to shield your unprotected side.

Hyunjin, though skillful in his wrist mobility, clearly uses his size compared to you as an advantage, carelessly throwing around his jabs whilst relying on form alone.

You shuffle back and forth continuously, the commotion of metal rifle drawing the attention of Beasts alike throughout the castle, stopping their movements to survey.

Lurching himself forward once more, you will your legs to support you, balancing the crushing force of his pushing ascent with as much strength as possible.

“If you win, you get whatever sensible award you want,” He grits, using pure weight alone to gain higher vantage. “But if I win, you marry King Bahng.”

Suddenly, interrupting your stunned reaction to his proposal, Minho’s reminder breaches your eardrums.

Deception is your greatest weapon.

Honestly, you’re bewildered Hyunjin hadn’t played petty thus far, and you have no doubt he will any moment now.

You can’t afford to waste the opportunity.

Maintaining your gaze targeted on his face, you steal the chance, slipping your sword right beneath his feet, hooking the guard just fast enough to cause his legs to buckle.

The tip of your sword centimeters from his neck, you cock your brows, finding satisfaction in the glare he’s boring into your skin from his spot on the ground.

In a game of swords, it doesn’t matter how dirty it’s won, it matters who won.

“If King Bahng wishes to marry me, he will deul me himself. That decision isn’t up to you.”

Stalling his immediate laughter upon nudging the sharp point right up against his pulse point, you chuckle.

“I might have to do this more often, you’re not bad when you shut your mouth for once.”

Dropping your sword, you reach out a customary hand he rejects, either of you following Minho to the side stalls to return his armory before a haunting voice stops you in your tracks.

“One more match?”

You’d been ignorant to the Kingdom’s sudden burst of energy, the trembling chains of the drawbridge dropping onto cobblestone ground, the gates shifting open.

Having appeared through thin air stands King Bahng, constantly arriving at the worst of timing.

He’s clad in traditional armor, though his has fancier plating, cleaner sheen, azure hues hidden within the gorget.

Your stomach ties itself into a knot, piecing together the details.

“If this is about the deal, I don’t think I-“

“Oh please princess, this was never up to you. We did this for the sake of the Kingdom, you think we ever considered your say in this?” Hyunjin interjects, quickly escorted away by a frowning Minho and an additional guard you don’t recognize.

Huh?

What… What is he talking about? For the Kingdom? What does he mean for the sake of the Kingdom?

Do us all a favor and marry him, will you? Seungmin’s words ricochet in your skull, the parts assembling perfectly into place.

But if I win, you marry King Bahng.

Marriage.

They knew all along. They knew you were set to marry him and yet, no one told you.

If your betrayal had been violently inflicted, you would look like a rag doll. All this time, these moments you thought were glee-filled, hopeful.

Lies.

Tearing the King’s chance to speak from his fingertips, you pick up your sword, denying your shaky, white knuckles and replacing those broken feelings with rage instead.

No, you can’t afford to show weakness. You must replace these feelings as quickly as possible.

No weakness, no mercy.

“Fine, let’s duel.”

“But-“

“Pick. Up. Your. Sword. And fight me.”

Releasing a sigh, he cautiously pulls his own sword from its sheath, waiting to be counted off unlike Hyunjin.

However skillful you’d been before had completely vanished. Though, you would give yourself the benefit of the doubt, this fight meant your future, meant the minuscule bit of freedom you’d gotten to experience here.

The last thing you wished was to realize you had been lied to, but even more so to realize you’ve been lied to in front of the entire Kingdom, curious faces peering from the castle’s allures.

Your swings sloppy, you credit the severity of the blows as you attack and defend, evidently dueling with fatal intent.

You’ve lost this battle, you know it. Your senses are too overwhelmed to assess spatial awareness, and every muscle in your arm cries out for relief.

Swept off of your feet in a repeated cycle to earlier, you accept, sitting below the tip of King Bahng’s sword, your defeat.

Almost automatically, the pieces of pride you’d attained after your victory against Hyunjin amounted to nothing.

You may beat everyone else, but you will never beat this man, now matter how hard you try. The odds will always soar in his favor, and you will suffer the results of it.

This is not a game you’ll win. Because from the beginning, you existed as a marionette, enjoying such naivety till the comprehension as to who controlled the play hit you.

This theatre was particularly unforgiving.

He won.

If your insomnia before was grueling, this was an entirely new extreme.

Averaging a meager two hours per night, you’re positive you’ve memorized the guest list by heart, staring blankly at the crinkled parchment, unblinking.

In a matter of days, the congratulatory ball will be held.

You’ll be attending said ball as the bride.

Weeks ago, the guest list had simply been a past time, a mandatory errand for the King’s Advisor, a ball you weren’t aware, and wouldn’t be aware, was meant for you.

Your chest feels.. sad? Empty?

Yes. Empty is the word. An emptiness gutting you from the inside, the ugly drawback of exhausted options and worthless optimism.

There’s a lot of things to ponder on as well, factors you have to analyze, ensure it wasn’t another stage for an audience you so foolishly performed.

No escape.

Tuesday, two days before the ball, Jeongin drops by your door, carrying a package under his arm and that effortlessly adorable smile gracing picture-perfect features.

“This is for you, from.. um..” The anxious boy stammers, placing the binded package on your room’s veneer.

“You can say his name, Jeongin, I’m not mad.”

He exhales audible relief, slender fingers wrapping around your hand before you can bid him farewell.

“He— The King, he’s a good person.”

You force a tight grimace, agreeing despite your contradicting expression.

Perhaps he is, perhaps he isn’t. You don’t know what to believe anymore.

Slipping from bed once the young boy’s footsteps fade in the distance, you gingerly unwind crimson ribbon, allowing the leather exterior to unfold.

Inside lies a gown.

A gown that, investigating how breathtaking it is, should be considered nothing short of a ball gown the longer you stare.

Designed as a mantua, the white fabrics paired with lace neck frill and engageantes add an elegance you’ve never seen before. Light, subtle blue hides beneath ruffles of the skirt, further accented by equally blue lace strings fastening the back together and outlining the seam of your square-cut stays.

You can only marvel at the gift given by your future husband, wishing so terribly you could simply run into his arms and pretend everything was well.

If only it was under better terms, as if nothing had happened. If King Bahng was another man, it’d be possible.

And Wednesday night, the root of your problems bares his face, knocking at your door while you were under the impression it was Han instead.

Acting as if you didn’t care was much easier around everyone but him, especially when you were halfway into tying the laces of your dress, the dress he had purchased for you.

What awful circumstances.

“Don’t touch me,” You hiss, regarding the man across from you with a frown.

Lifting either hand in the air, he seemingly invites you to figure out the impossible strings yourself, cueing a very aggravated, very futile attempt at tightening the ties of your ball gown before (hesitantly) allowing the man to slip behind you.

Of course you had to choose now to try it on.

His touch irritably careful, he ensures the fabric is snug fitting but breathable, each woven thread in its coordinating pattern.

Where he learned this you have no idea, only aware of how horrific this close proximity is, your restlessness growing unbearable.

Running his tongue over his top teeth, he backs up slightly, taking you in with apparent speechlessness.

He clears his throat.

“I won’t apologize because I know it means nothing to you, but please, let me explain. I intended to tell you, I just-“

He sounds timid, like a child.

A sour, bitter fury froths like bile in your throat. You want to explode.

“No. No. I didn’t want this! I won’t!” You wind around, pointing an accusing finger to his chest. “You killed them all, my family, my loved ones, children. I hate you. I hate you!” Your voice breaks, a gravelly, disgusting drawl raking your throat raw. Salty, burning tears drip down your collarbones.

Grievance. An innumerable stage of sadness you hadn’t reached before now, overflowing.

As he tries calming you down, you only grow angrier, pushing from your path to the door, ripping the handle awry.

Instantly, his arms wrap around your middle, hauling you back as you kick and scream, fingernails digging into any available skin, dress puffing as your legs flail.

Catastrophic.

“No- No!”

You’re certain the entire kingdom can hear you, but that’s the last concern occupying your headspace, too focused on escaping, far off as you had done earlier, anywhere but here.

“Stop crying,” He commands, either hand on your wrist pinning your back to the bed, expression morphed pitifully. His calloused hand swipes the storming rivulets from your cheeks.

“Please, Y/n, please stop crying. It hurts.”

Your response shortens into a simple sob, aching.

“It hurts..?” You murmur, eyes shifting over his face. “…You hurt?”

Incessant crying causing your skin to burn, he only blinks at you.

A fit of anger forms just as fast as it disappeared in the pit of your stomach.

“You’re hurting? You’re the sick son of a bitch that killed my family and took everything I’ve ever loved away, you don’t deserve to hurt!”

Sucking in a necessary inhale, you angrily flail, wrinkling your nose at the careful tilt of his head, the distance of his face from yours, every scar, every pore close enough to see.

What happened to the King who threatened to break you? Why is he pitying you, looking at you with such kindness?

Longing to bring up how useless the deal was, how the benefits of the marriage aren’t your responsibility, you simply glare, emotions a whirlwind you can’t explain, can’t say aloud.

And all he does is stare. Staring like you’ve said nothing at all.

You want to cry out, want to curse him for all eternity, curse those blue eyes that seem to pave a pathway through your soul.

But you don’t. He beats you to it.

“..Do you know why my eyes are blue?”

What?

“Because I’m not fully Beast. My mother was a Mage. She turned against my father after I was born, left us, and vowed to do everything in her power to destroy Beasts.”

Your face contorts nonsensically, his tight hold on your wrists loosening the longer he speaks.

“And I assume,” He redirects your head, forcing you to maintain eye contact.

Rearing deja-vú reminds you of your first encounter.

“No one ever told you Mage’s started the war.”

You scoff.

“Or that the Mage planned to cut off all trade supply simply out of spite. And so, I did what I had to—“

“You did what you wanted to. You killed helpless people because of your own problems, my family had nothing to do with it!” Vocal cords throbbing the louder you scream, you try kicking your legs to no avail.

“Your family, Mage, had everything to do with it. My people would have died-“

“Mine already did. So now what?”

A minuscule pinch occupies his brows.

“You weren’t supposed to be alive.”

“But I am, so you might as well let me join them.”

He sighs, a stray, obsidian strand of hair hanging over his forehead.

“You know I can’t do that.”

You test the words on your tongue, wedging your hand out to grab his face, feeling the dip of his jaw as he sucks in a breath.

When you first met, he had told you he’d break you. This change of heart confuses you, grates more anger in your chest.

“And why is that?”

Opening his mouth, he momentarily closes it, then opens again, contemplating the statement with caution.

He’s right, in some way.

You’re not supposed to be alive, not supposed to be saddened. You were meant to be in the ground with them, be one of the many bodies littering the L/N Kingdom, granted an eternal sleep.

Yet, you aren’t.

You survived, and you despise this man with every fiber of your being for that.

But things cannot change. You can’t bring them back, and his situation is just as painful as yours.

You both lost people, or, would’ve lost people.

An explanation or an apology, as he said, isn’t necessary.

So you’ll get what you want, tangibly.

Forcefully grabbing his chin and jutting him closer to you on the bed, your voice drips with venom, noses mere breadth apart.

“Then end this winter and marry me, Your Highness.”

For a split second you swear his gaze drifts to your lips, but you shake the thought away, his sharp canines glinting off the mirrors reflection.

“Aren’t I supposed to be the one to propose?”

“You killed my family, no need for formalities.”

“Care to remind me why you agreed to marry him? Weren’t you planning to kill him?” Felix piques, apron woven around his thin waist, skillfully measuring flour that’s dusted over his nose.

You needed to get your anger out, then devise a plan. Show King Bahng you weren’t going to succumb to his charms, tricks. Ever.

You hum from your spot on the counter, conversing just as you’d done back in your kingdom with Ms. Maewether.

Technically, he was your new Ms. Maewether.

“Oh no, I still plan on killing him, I just want something first.”

Except, you didn’t talk about murder in front of Ms. Maewether. That was new.

He raises an eyebrow.

“And what would that be?”

Snapping your fingers, you cheerily tap your heels against the cabinets below.

“I want to see spring again.”

Silence overcoming the kitchen, it takes Felix a full minute to understand your preposition before bursting into unadulterated laughter. Well, until he realizes. Then he pouts.

“Aw, I was really looking forward to seeing Chris rejected at the altar.” The smaller Beast whines, popping a piece of sugary sweet dough his mouth and handing another to you.

“Hey, now that’s just cruel,” You mumble, muffled by the delicacy you’re currently chewing on.

“According to you yesterday, not really.”

Ah. Right.

“We just… have a lot to talk about.”

The phrase sounds stupid, but it’s true. Logically, emotionally it’s true. There is a lot in need of discussing.

For now, you’re indifferent.

“I’ve always thought you two were similar.”

The cook’s outburst catches you off guard.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve always wanted to protect what mattered to you most, and maybe, one day, you can understand why he did what he did.”

Leave it to Felix to be your reasonable opinion.

Nevertheless, an invisible barrier rests between you two. A lie. His lie. The Kingdom’s lie.

“Felix, I will never understand why he did it,” You humorlessly chuckle, hopping from your spot. “So tell me, why did you lie?”

All morning you debated the right time to confront him. Tonight was the night, the congratulatory ball, the wedding. Why wait?

Freezing with his back turned to you, he stops mid-slice, dropping the knife atop the cutting board and gradually facing you.

Oh Felix.

His nose flushed pink, lips quivering, you allow him to race forward and hug you, head tucked into your shoulder while you stand there, motionless.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. It was decided from the start, but we were told not to tell you, not until King Bahng told you himself.”

You want to tell him it’s okay, make some jokes, act like things are normal. Though your arms stay glued to your side.

“I guess Hyunjin beat him to it, huh?”

His arms tighten around you and, with a sigh, you pat his back, gently nudging him off of you where you can hold that sweet face of his.

“But don’t worry about me, alright? I can handle this, and I forgive you, so let’s move on from this, Lix.” Tenderly rubbing the skin of his cheek, he meekly smiles, an action you can’t help but feel relieved seeing.

You’re strong. You have to be strong. For Felix, for Han, for Jeongin, for your friends throughout the Beast Clan, you’ll be strong. You’ll enjoy wearing the gown regardless of who bought it for you, cherish the wedding no matter the man you’re wedded to.

If you’re going to have to live like this forever, you might as well make the most of it.

On today’s occasion, you’re dressed by a hand maid sent to your quarters, polished and puffed to perfection by the time five o’clock arrives and the banquet officially begins.

And when you see yourself in the mirror, you’re not exactly sure who stares back at you.

She’s pretty, yes, but she isn’t Y/N. She’s a Queen, the Queen of the Beast Clan.

Your stomach wrenches.

By tomorrow, you’ll be married. Married to King Bahng. You will be a wife, the wife of a King just as the L/N Kingdom intended.

The thought continues to plague your mind, sucking more and more oxygen from your lungs that as you’re escorted to the ball room.

You can hardly inhale and exhale normally as Changbin, whom you appreciate enormously, walks you down the aisle, past an abundance of people you’ve never seen before. Beasts, business men, acquaintances alike.

Sensing your panic, your linked arms allow him to spare you a meager glance you anxiously return.

It’s fine. It’ll be fine.

All previous calmness long dissipated, when you finally redirect your attention from your feet and take in King Bahng waiting at the altar, your rampaging anxiousness increases tenfold.

As the audience claps and either of you turn with your backs facing the crowd, you scorn your lack of a poker face when the King rests a hand on your back.

“Breathe,” He utters, only a whisper you heard.

Wishing to thank him, you bite your tongue, considering the man you’re referring to in the first place prior to replying.

A sharp nod of your head is enough.

Stifling an exhale, you spin on your heel, both bowing to the public before facing each other and holding hands, an action that shouldn’t cause goosebumps to swarm your arms, but does anyway.

“You plan to smash my face in at our wedding?” He murmurs below the customary vows, acknowledging your fingernails digging into his hand.

“Keep giving me ideas and I migh-“

The retort vanishes when he presses his lips to yours, doubling back in shock before his palm on your back keeps you close.

Granting you breathing room if only for an instant, a slow grin tugs at the edge of his lips.

“Then before I die, let me have this first.”

And he dives right back in again, kiss surprisingly tender compared to what you’d expected. Something bruising, dominating.

Instead, the King was soft. Soft as he held your cheek in a hand, soft when pulling you in by the waist.

Separating if only for a fraction of a second, you reach to hold his face, every instinct beckoning you to push him away dissipating into nothing but the nullified drone of your head and the insistent racing of your heartbeat.

“Are you that nervous, pretty? Your heart is-“

You pull him to your lips once more, hating how easy it is to forget, how his lips numb your thoughts—though unable to get enough.

“Shut up and kiss me.”

The guests hollering in your peripheral the lone sound breaching your eardrums, you can’t help thinking.

He did this for his people just as you would’ve done. As for the Mage instigating the war, some secrets shall remain hidden, unable to be answered. You have to accept that among many things.

The King has done nothing but care for you, and as much as you resent him for it, you respect him, if only a tiny bit, as well.

He’s irritable, and not to mention annoyingly handsome. His sympathy-filled eyes might be the death of you, and those dimples of his are stupidly lovable.

But he’s your husband, and somehow, strangely enough, you don’t find yourself hating the thought as much anymore.

Not when he holds you, and especially not when he kisses you as if it’s your last.

After the many hours spent celebrating, you couldn’t have been more enthusiastic about returning to your quarters.

Joined by King Bahng, you find traversing as easy as ever with the help of the (half) Beast behind you, helping navigate past multitudes of people, oddly comforting touch on your back guiding you through the hallways.

Arriving at your room, he pauses, awkwardly shifting his weight on his heels, bewitching gaze flitting left and right, uncharacteristic to his usually smug attitude.

“…Was the kiss too much?”

King Bahng, asking if his kiss was too much?

You wanted to photograph this moment in your mind forever, debating on whether you should tease him about it, egg the normally stoic King on.

However, you tip his chin down, pressing a chaste, soft peck to his lips, amusedly observing him freeze before melting into your touch.

“Could be better.”

He huffs a sigh in response, and you’re left wondering if this is the same man who threatened to break you, the one who now looks like a pouty toddler.

Although, just as you slip by, he takes ahold of your wrist.

“Goodnight Y/N.”

You crack a smile.

“Good night Chris.”

And, suppressing your chuckle, you close the door behind you.

Hastily undressing into nightwear and slipping into bed, you stare up at the ceiling, hours passing from the ticking of a clock in the corner, echoing around the room.

Then, abruptly, your door creaks open.

“My gods, what are you doing here?” You whisper into the darkness, the door creaking behind his crouched form, King Bahng’s crouched form.

“I needed to see you.”

Ah. Don’t say things like that.

Pulling the covers further over yourself, you squint accusingly at the man as he enters, silencing your urge to reprimand he saw you mere hours earlier, presumptuously sitting opposite to you.

He scans what’s visible, fixating on your hand for a moment.

“You kept the ring on?”

Noting the gleaming jewel on your ring finger, you can’t help but feel slightly bashful. It’s not like you’re really married, but the thought sends a sort of satisfaction spreading throughout your chest.

“If I take it off, will it become winter again?”

He grins, giggling childishly.

“Is that the only reason?”

Debating on your response, you wet your lips, looking back up at his barely distinguishable face shrouded in darkness.

You have no doubt he’s thriving off your hesitance.

Oh how badly you wish to wipe that look clean, but in reality, keeping the ring on feels as if a part of you from your own kingdom is with you, similar to your old clothing.

The part of you that, if not invaded, would belong to someone loved, newly wedded.

“No,” You mutter, though the phrase is barely audible.

He perks up.

“Hm?”

You regret saying that. But he’s already heard, there’s no use lying aimlessly.

“I said no, that’s not the only reason.”

“Care to tell me the other reason?”

Rapidly averting your attention to your hand, you discover speaking is easier when not looking at him.

“Keeping it on makes me feel like I’m really in love. I like imagining that, being married.”

You miss the sad lilt crossing his face.

“We are married.”

Without missing a beat, you meet his stare.

“Are we?”

Unlike before, there’s no waver to your voice, no caution.

Winding around to your side of the bed, he settles beside your feet.

You clear your throat.

“I wanted to see spring again, and to you, I’m simply a present. A playtoy to your disposal. This isn’t marriage, not how I was taught, this is just a business arrangement.”

Nevertheless, the hurt leaks into your voice. So long to a resilient tone.

“Y/N, don’t do this to me.”

Come to think of it, it’s the first time he’s ever called you by your name apart from last night.

Having had enough of his nonsense, you spring for his collar, dragging him below you on the bed. Opposite to earlier, you’re on top this time, you’re in control.

“You don’t deny it.”

A silence passes.

“I would deny it a thousand times, but you wouldn’t believe me. And I don’t blame you for that.”

He sucks in a breath.

“I only ask you don’t doubt this marriage. This isn’t a business arrangement, and I will treat you with as much respect and love as possible, even if you don’t want me too. That is what marriage is, how I was taught.”

It’s your turn to inhale, lost within the confines of this dark space.

“Chris, do you love me?”

You both have people you love, people you want to protect, wanted to protect. It wasn’t his intention to hurt you, not when he found you after you ran away, not when ordering a salve to keep you safe, nor now, as you lean above him.

Like he told you. You weren’t meant to survive. You were supposed to be peacefully asleep, forever.

This man, this Mage, this Beast, is as much a murderer as your savior. You choose how to condemn him.

“I do, more than you could ever imagine.”

How can you stay mad at a guilty man, a man who kept you alive when you were on the brink of death? Who now professes to loving you, wanting to give you a marriage you’d been cheated of, give you everything you’ve been cheated of with everything in his power.

Hovering right by his lips to the point your chests touch, you place a miniature kiss there.

“I hate you, so much.”

Then another kiss.

His arms, wrapped around your more elevated form, drag you down in an embrace. One hand presses your face to his shoulder, another rubbing circles on your back.

“And I’m so sorry, I’m so, so, sorry.”

Raising up, you can’t contain the tremor of your lip, the way your eyes shakily close shut as you steal a third kiss from his lips, a kiss he returns, hands carefully holding each side of your face.

“Chris?” You manage, currently straddling his lap, his body resting against the headboard.

Kindly, he keeps a palm against your lower back, helping you balance.

“Can you show me what it means to be loved?”

You never understood how a person could melt until this moment. He wears that look again, like in the forest. The look that makes you cry.

What love looks like for Christopher Bahng, you don’t know. You have no doubt there will be ugly moments, moments you’ll reconsider, rethink.

You’re both hurt, some wounds still hurting. But for him, for you, you’re willing to take that chance.

“I’d be honored.”

FIC TAGLIST. @stayceebs97 @duhgirl @yourgirljanvi @readr1221 @spearbinnie0327 @hyunjinsartpeice @cheesytangerine @palindrome969 @luminouskalopsia @kiaralynn3838 @chrizztopher97 @starlost-andfound @weeping-angel-in-the-tard1s @zaggprincess2

sunboki, may 2022 ©

558 notes · View notes

lecsainz · 11 months

Note

Kk! So I absolutely loved your last piece about Carlos and the heiress!reader, and I have to agree I really really love those blended fics. Something about them just hits different ya know? And then I saw this post https://www.tumblr.com/monzabee/729167936518012928 and was like god I wish someone still wrote for kimi. And then off I’m scrolling through your blog and I see that ask were apparently you do?? Like holy shit bestie! This is like the greatest day ever! So all of that to say will you please please right something that involves the video from that post?? Pretty please??

MELTING THE ICEMAN

parings: kimi räikkönen x wife!reader

author 🗒️’s: my heart melted writing this, I hope it turned out as you want, love

summary: the one where you see your husband taking care of your son and feel that you couldn’t be happier as you are.

✩. . . masterlist !

Kimi Räikkönen, the Iceman of Formula 1, had always been known for his stoic and unemotional demeanor on the race track. But at home, in the quiet moments, he transformed into a different person entirely. There was a side of him that very few people got to see, a side that was incredibly warm, loving, and tender.

One sunny afternoon, the two of you sat in the cozy living room, surrounded by the soft laughter and gurgles of your 6-month-old son, Jake. Kimi held the baby in his arms, cradling him gently as he made funny faces to elicit the most delightful giggles from your little one.

Kimi leaned down, his lips brushing against Jake's plump, rosy cheeks. "Who's the happiest baby in the world, huh?" he cooed, his Finnish accent making it all the more endearing.

Jake's response was a chorus of delighted baby laughter, a sound that could melt the coldest of hearts. You watched in awe as your husband continued to play with Jake, making silly noises and pretending to nibble on his tiny fingers. It was a side of Kimi that you fell in love with all over again, a side that he reserved for his family.

"Kimi," you whispered, unable to contain your fondness, "you are the best dad in the world."

Kimi looked up from Jake's little face, his azure eyes meeting yours. A small, warm smile graced his lips, a rare sight for the world but a daily occurrence in the privacy of your home. "I learned from the best," he said softly, referring to you.

You couldn't help but blush at the compliment. Kimi's transformation into a devoted father had surprised you, but it had also filled your heart with an indescribable joy. His dedication and love for Jake were unmistakable, and you couldn't have asked for a better partner to share parenthood with.

As the day continued, you both took turns caring for Jake, feeding him, changing his diapers, and watching him drift off to sleep in his crib. Every moment felt like a cherished memory in the making, and you couldn't help but daydream about the future.

When Kimi returned to the living room after putting Jake down for his nap, he found you deep in thought. You looked up at him with a dreamy smile, and he knew you were up to something.

"Darling, what's on your mind?" he asked, settling beside you on the couch.

You took his hand and interlaced your fingers. "Kimi, I was just thinking about how wonderful this is—our little family. I love watching you with Jake, and I can't help but wonder… I want more of these moments. I want more children with you."

Kimi's typically cool exterior cracked, and he looked at you with a mix of surprise and delight. "More children?" he repeated, as if the idea had never occurred to him before. But the spark of warmth in his eyes revealed that he was just as excited by the prospect.

You nodded, your heart pounding with anticipation. "Yes, more children. I want to see you as a father again and again, to have more of these beautiful moments with you."

A slow, genuine smile spread across Kimi's face, and he pulled you into a loving embrace. "I'd love that," he said, his voice filled with emotion. "I love you, and I love our family. Let's make more beautiful memories together."

The two of you sat there, lost in the prospect of a larger, even more joyful family. Kimi held you close, and you knew that your dreams were aligned. It was a beautiful day of laughter, love, and dreams for the future, all in the gentle embrace of your husband and your precious son, Jake. The Iceman had certainly melted, and you couldn't have been happier about it.

653 notes · View notes

ecoterrorist-katara · 6 months

Note

Hey bestie any zutara fic recs. I feel like I’ve read all the classics.

Hello anon! Oh boy have you come to the right place because I have read several million words of these two dorks falling in love and though I plan to read several million more, I am always down to screech about talented fanfic writers!!! Here are most of my faves, some of which you’ve probably read but my enthusiasm simply needs an outlet. No WIPs to minimize heartbreak.

In the spirit of not recommending too many classics, I’m not including anything from the first page of the Katara/Zuko tag on AO3 sorted by kudos, with one exception. Same rule does not apply to FF.net because nobody visits that site anymore, yet we mustn’t forget our roots!!!

TL;DR of my Zutara Fic Recs:

Half Asleep for a Miyazaki-esque adventure romance

Southern Lights for a sweeping epic where A Song of Ice and Fire meets Middlemarch

Refraction for a swoon-worthy post-war political romance ft. Katara learning how to politick in a patriarchal world

Stormbenders for a fun undercover romance that is a ZK classic for a very good reason

Another Word for Alchemy and The Slow Path for hilarious yet emotionally compelling adventures with found family themes

The Undying Fire for world-building, more Gaang shenanigans, and super satisfying slow canon divergence

Katara Alone for our fave girl’s post-war Bildungsroman/travelogue/heroic tour

Simple Misunderstanding for a hilarious rendition of Ponytail Zuko capturing Katara and trying to not be a creep

Clothe Me in Seasons, Dress Me in Snow for a mostly canon-compliant (so, v angsty) story about the different ways that love can evolve

And some one-shots and modern AUs I feel like deserve some more love

Summaries, reviews, and general fangirling under the cut because holy shit this post is long lmao

Long fics / series:

Half Asleep, by crushinator | Rating: T | Word Count: 82,335

Summary: Five years after the Hundred-Year War, Fire Lord Zuko is hit with an assassin's dart, and falls into a coma from which he cannot wake. A week passes, and his prognosis is grim. But Katara could swear she hears him in her dreams.

My thoughts: this fic, in many ways, is novel quality. The pacing? Immaculate. The action scenes? Exciting and interesting yet super easy to visualize. The characterization? On point. Katara is peak Miyazaki heroine in this, setting out on a quest to the Spirit World to save her boy (who’s not really her boy) from whichever Eldritch horror has him in its clutches. I love the little glimpses we have of the mutual pining between Katara and Zuko, and there are no words to describe how much I love the resolution of Katara and Aang’s relationship in this story. And oh boy, is the climax of the fic super romantic. This is just a really well written, emotionally compelling, tight fic. Deserves to be a fandom classic.

Southern Lights, by colourwhirled | Rating: M | Word Count: 769,274

Summary: A world where the Avatar has disappeared from memory. Where Sozin’s Conquest was successful. Where the unsteady order of the empire is threatened as members of the royal family are picked off one by one and lines are slowly drawn in the sand One last chance for peace forces an unlikely alliance between a homesick waterbender, a carefree Air Nomad, a runaway Earth Kingdom heiress, and the fire lord's inscrutable son. Together they must learn to shed old enmities and become the balance they seek to restore to the world.

OR:

The avatar has four heads.

My thoughts: Is it a Bildungsroman? Is it a war story? Is it a politics story? Is it a love story? Is it a friendship story? Is it a story about colonial violence and well-meaning complicity and finding justice in a world where it simply doesn’t seem to exist? Yes to all of the above, because at 700k+ words YOU CAN HAVE IT ALL. You know how Virginia Woolf once said that Middlemarch is one of the few novels written for grownups? Well, Southern Lights feels adult, not because of violence or sex or general grimness (looking at you, HBO), but because it’s fundamentally about having the courage to make choices, live with the consequences, and make more choices, and repeat that over and over again. If Katara is a Miyazaki heroine in Half Asleep, she is full on Daenarys (pre-character assassination) in Southern Lights, a heroine who gets put through her paces yet retains her unwavering resilience to find her place in the world. Katara can be pretty frustrating in this and I know a lot of the commenters on this fic wanted to smack her up the head halfway through, but I support women’s rights and women’s wrongs and her decisions make sense to me even when I also want to smack her for them, and isn’t that a symptom of good writing? I count my lucky stars that I joined the ATLA fandom after this fic is finished (which was only last year!) because I got to binge it in a few days and I have not been the same person since. Deserves classic status.

Refraction, by caroe3725 | Rating: E | Word Count: 215,249

Summary: Making choices after the war was supposed to be the easy part. Her future decided and neatly packaged based on what everyone else wanted for her, what she should want, too. But Katara’s destiny had a funny way of being exactly what she wanted to run from. (As if anyone needed another Zutara post-finale slow burn after 15 years.)

My thoughts: YES WE DEFINITELY NEEDED ANOTHER POST-WAR ZK SLOWBURN OF SUCH IMMACULATE QUALITY. Both Katara and Zuko’s internal monologues are excellent in this, but I particularly love Zuko’s. The writer is so good at capturing his resolve, his earnestness, and his awkwardness. This is a very restrained fic — no great histrionics — but also incredibly romantic. The first kiss scene made me want to both sigh and screech. I’m also just a huge sucker for “Katara learns politics” which this fic has in spades, with a bonus of very thoughtful gender dynamics. Anyway, if you liked AJ Lenoire’s The Summit or andromeda13’s such selfish prayers, you’d probably like Refraction. Zuko and Katara are very much dumb teens in the beginning portions of this fic, which I personally like because it makes me nostalgic. Oh, and Katara is low key chaotic good in this, which is super in-character and hilarious.

Stormbenders, by Fandomme | Rating: T | Word Count: 171,000+

Summary: S3 AU from FBM. Deep in the Fire Nation jungle, the Gaang meets a group of rogue water ninja who send Zuko and Katara on a mission to retrieve Ozai's secret battle plans.

My thoughts: I’m aware that if you asked the average ZK shipper ten years ago what the ship classics are, the answers are probably Stormbenders, His Majesty Prefers Blue, and the Sparrowkeet series. The other classics are good (classics for a reason!), but Stormbenders remains my favourite. It’s funny. It’s exciting. It’s WELL PACED. The ZK relationship grows so organically, which is a huge feat considering this fic was started before we even got The Southern Raiders. The events are a little more adult than the show, but the tone remains very ATLA. There’s a lovely little animatic of the beginning of the scene on YouTube to show you exactly what I mean about the tone and the humour. I am always weak for a well-structured adventure romance, and Stormbenders stands the test of time because it’s just such a well-written fic.

The Undying Fire, by Boogum | Rating: T | Word Count: 534,665

Summary: "He has the eyes, Princess Ursa." They were half-forgotten words, a whisper of fears never explained. Zuko had dismissed it all as nothing to worry about—until he somehow healed the Avatar. Fire healers weren't meant to exist, except he did. He'd saved the kid's life. Naturally, he wanted answers. Too bad finding them wasn't so simple...

My thoughts: This fic is mostly Gen, and Zutara shows up in the latter half of the series. Despite being a ZK shipper I like plenty of Gen fics too, and The Undying Fire gives me the best of both worlds. I love the world building, the humour, and the slow ramp up of the Gaang friendships. I absolutely love how the canon divergence is so subtle at first and gradually unfurls into something super different, yet retains much of its ATLA charm. Boogum’s written some other bangers too, and I have to give honorable mention to Zuko’s Tiny Dilemma (where a spirit transforms ponytail Zuko into his six-year-old self, and Uncle into a teapot, and somehow it becomes an emotionally compelling 100k word saga) and Following Blue (season 2 canon divergent Bluetara with a bigger focus on romance).

Katara Alone & associated fics by cablesscutie | Rating: T | Word Count: 86,890

Summary: The war is over, and with it goes the only life she has ever known. In this era of love and peace, the world is becoming new, and Katara is unsure of her place in it. That's okay though. Katara has rebuilt her life from scratch before, and she will do it again.

My thoughts: I love post-war “Katara sets out to find herself and also finds Zuko” fics. Katara Alone is a fabulous coming-of-age story with some good old fashioned letter flirting during Katara’s solo travels. The sequel, Lady of the Tides, has some very thoughtful depictions of Katara’s place within the post-war Fire Nation, and the accompanying story from Zuko’s POV, The Fire Lord at Home, hits all my buttons. Like…Zuko is Fire Lord Good Boy! He passes legislation! There is political optimism! Swoon.

Another Word for Alchemy, by FanPanda 13 | Rating: T | Word Count: 108,000+

Summary: Five years have passed since the Avatar defeated Fire Lord Ozai, and the members of the Gaang have all gone in their own direction. But when Aang invites them all to a Peace Summit at the North Pole and tells them of his new project, for which he will need their support, the group comes together again for adventure, fun and romance. AU. Zutara. COMPLETE.

My thoughts: Now this is a fic that thoroughly crept up on me. The first 3/4 is good old fashioned fluffy, funny, fourth wall-breaking Gaang shenanigans with plenty of Zutara. But the last quarter? Oh boy does it come right at you and slam you in the solar plexus with the platonic love and found family feels and the complexities of those feelings when you’re a teenager. The impact of Aang’s loss of the Air Nomads is treated very thoughtfully here, way more so than in the show.

The Slow Path, by TazmainianDevil | Rating: T | Word Count: 125,723

Summary: Eight years after the fall of Ozai, Aang returns to the friends he left behind.

My thoughts: This is actually a Taang story with a great ZK subplot. But what I love about it is that the whole Gaang (including Suki ALWAYS INCLUDING SUKI) is superbly characterized. The ZK banter is top notch. I could actually hear their voices in my head in some of the scenes. Their relationship is playful but has plenty of emotional heft. And the plot is exciting and well-developed. My favourite thing, though, is how the author treats Toph’s POV: it’s very thoughtfully written, with consideration towards how she perceives the world.

Simple Misunderstanding, by ShamelessLiar | Rating: T | Word Count: 80,965

Summary: Katara was captured by Zuko, but there was a lapse in communication. Takes place after The Fortuneteller. Fierce Katara, honorable Zuko, and meddlesome Iroh. Also, music night

My thoughts: Generally I don’t love fics where Katara gets captured, especially by Zuko (just a personal preference, not here to judge). But! I love this one, because…well, the circumstances of Katara’s capture by Ponytail Zuko are simply hilarious. Katara is suspicious and stubborn; Zuko has a one-track mind and doesn’t understand why Iroh is treating his prisoner so nicely; oh, and Aang gets into an amazing side quest with some spiritual animals. The only thing about this story is that it ends a little abruptly since the author was considering a sequel, but it still reads as a standalone fic. The author also wrote His Majesty Prefers Blue and Call Me Katto, two ZK classics, but Simple Misunderstanding is far and away my favourite work.

Clothe Me in Seasons, Dress Me in Snow, by sadladybug | Rating: T | Word Count: 62,026

Summary: It is not the memorial she deserves, nor the one she would want. But it can't be helped. He owns no property in the other nations, and he needed to keep her close. Closer than she was in life, anyway. Zuko's reflections on a life lived and a life that could have been.

Review: sadladybug lives up to the username by creating a sadness so contagious that I have yet to recover from it, and I cope by recommending this fic to other Zutara shippers so that more may suffer like I did. (Stop the cycle? No.) Look — I think there’s something extremely beautiful and poetic about a love that changes in nature and form and expression, but not in intensity and devotion, and that’s what this fic is about. Loved it. Never reading it again.

One shots:

There’s a category of canon-compliant Zutara one-shots that are all extremely painful, and I cannot get enough of them: in the next life by we-were-angels, taking place right before Katara’s wedding to Aang; water can heal, water can break by crazyache, about why Katara didn’t attend Yakone’s trial.

To combat the above, here’s a few funny, fluffy ones that make me cackle: i am older now by ama (who wrote the banger that is The Blackfish and the Dragon), an old!ZK fic that I read to counteract the emotional damage inflicted by psychedelic_aya’s we hold our hearts in silence; all good things start with tea by yodalorian, where Zuko’s hapless Disney sidekick-esque advisors try to get him a wife; And Half at One Another’s Throats by songofhopeandhonor (whose account is deleted), about Zuko’s harebrained proposals to Katara; The Dragon of the West’s Guide to Flirting by bluesunflower44, which is exactly what it says on the tin and the awkward disaster you’d expect. Waiting on a Steady Sun, by nire, is a long version of my favourite tropes: fake marriage + idiots to lovers ft. pining for your spouse.

I generally don’t love modern AUs, but akaiiko’s talk is cheap (and i’ve got expensive taste), where Katara meets Zuko at a frat party, is a whole damn delight; my old aches become new again by jamesstruttingpotter is a wonderfully indulgent modern AU based on Our Beloved Summer.

And finally, some season 3 character studies: don’t tell me how to feel by paintingcranes, ft Katara at the Western Air Temple being increasingly incensed at both Zuko trying to be helpful and how other people react to his helpfulness; the other side of mercy by crazyache, where Sokka calls Katara “high-strung and crazy” and that really makes Zuko think; The Silent Garden by romilley (whose WIP The Horizon is also fabulous), where Katara and Zuko avoid their feelings through a reluctant-allies-with-benefits arrangement (ft a way of depicting intimacy and sex that makes me think of Normal People); a deep delight of the blood by eruthros, where Zuko asks Katara to practice bloodbending on him out of pragmatism but also a little bit of guilt (it’s unrated, but that “Kink Without Sex” tag is there for a reason).

Thank you for asking me for my recs, anon, because I needed an outlet to rave about fanfiction and my irl friends have heard enough. Feel free to ask me questions about specific fics that aren’t on this list: I always love talking to people about fic and I’m always looking for new ones to read!

#Zutara Fic Recs #This post is brought to you by my autism #Which demanded that I swap out my last special interest for ZK fanfiction #zutara fanfiction #Zutara fanfic #Zutara #can i ask you a question?

216 notes · View notes

wish-i-were-heather · 3 days

Text

HATE IS A STRONG WORD ⤵ ROHAN X JAMESON HAWTHORNE

ABOUT: 1766 words

STORY: chapters 40-42 of the brothers hawthorne but... different

WARNINGS: none that i can think of

A/N: forgive me 😔🙏 also im getting really uncreative with the titles and just using quotes from the fic my bad guys

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” Avery scolded Jameson as they walked. She was holding him up on one side, her arm around his waist, while Zella had him from the other. The latter had made it very clear that she did not want to be there.

He only shrugged, which made his whole body hurt.

She rolled her eyes. “You shouldn’t have raised your hand to fight.”

“But it worked,” Jameson insisted. “The Proprietor, I got his attention. He watched me, and he told Rohan to stay down. Which means-”

“He let you win,” Avery finished for him, her eyes widening. “Which-”

“Gives me a better chance at an entrance to the game, I know.”

“Do you guys always do this whole finishing each other's sentences thing? It’s weird,” Zella interjected.

Jameson grinned. “What can I say? Great minds think alike.”

“And this mind says no more fighting strangers in foreign countries,” Avery said firmly.

He didn’t argue back. His mind was half fuzzy anyway. Everything hurt everywhere- there was blood dripping from his temple, bruises littering his entire form. His nose was also bleeding, and he was certain that he’d broken at least three of his ribs.

But Jameson tried not to let his mind linger on the pain for too long. He focused on staying upright, feeling grateful that he had the two people keeping him that way. He wanted to do more- he needed to get into the game. And today was the last chance he had.

For now, though, he let them walk him up to an area curtained off, in the Lust section of the Devil’s Mercy.

He laid down on one of the grand beds, back against the pillows, and took a deep breath. Which, of course, hurt his ribs.

“We need to clean you up,” Zella began, surprising him. He didn’t think she cared enough. “The Proprietor wouldn’t appreciate you leaving a trail of blood across the Mercy.”

Jameson closed his eyes and let her and Avery do what they had to do. Antiseptics were used, bandages were applied, and each time someone's hand brushed against his injuries, he tried not to flinch.

It hurt.

But soon enough, they were finished. He didn’t open his eyes. Avery propped herself next to him, taking his hand in hers.

“You’re the most reckless Hawthorne,” she told him gently.

“Have you met-”

“I’ve met all your brothers, Jamie. Rest assured, you are the most reckless.”

Jameson didn’t argue, and squeezed her hand. Avery moved forward, sitting closer to him on the bed, but still careful of his injuries.

Their moment was interrupted.

“Avery,” Zella blurted impatiently. “May we speak?”

Jameson’s eyes snapped open and he frowned. “What do you need to talk to her about?” But she didn’t look at him. The two women held eye contact for a few moments and Jameson struggled to tell if they were having a silent conversation with their facial expressions or if they were just staring.

But then Avery stood up.

“Heiress…” he practically pouted.

“You’re fine. Just don’t get into any more fights while I’m gone, yeah?”

She gave him a look that promised she would tell him every detail of their conversation, and squeezed his hand one more time before walking out. Zella, of course, also had to give him one final side eye.

The room was silent and cold. To him it felt like it had been hours since Avery left, but Jameson knew it really could have only been fifteen minutes. But what was there even to talk about?

He closed his eyes again and tried not to focus on the injuries. He was alone now, no one to distract him from his thoughts and the pain that assaulted him with every breath.

“You’re bleeding on the sheets.”

Jameson opened his eyes, but fell back when he saw who it was.

Rohan was standing at the entrance, having pushed aside the curtain and staring at him with a certain look in his eye that Jameson didn’t like. He wasn’t shirtless anymore- an observation that surprised him. Instead, he was back in a suit.

He didn’t even look like he’d just been in a fight. Any injuries were well concealed.

Jameson suddenly felt self-conscious about the fact that he was sitting there on the bed alone, his face probably half swollen, and a poorly applied bandage being the only thing covering his top half. But he forced himself to look back at Rohan.

“And you care why?”

“I don’t,” Rohan said. He stepped forward, the curtain falling closed behind him. “But you’re making a bloody mess and I quite enjoy being on the Proprietor’s good side.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What does that have to do with me?”

Rohan eyed the bandages. “I’m the one who injured you. It’s my responsibility to… undo that damage.”

“Aw, how gentlemanly.”

“Shut it.”

He walked to the side of the bed, his eyes never leaving Jameson’s. There was something in his expression, something hidden under the layers of indifference. A look of concern, and some other unidentifiable tension that had been between them since the fight.

“You shouldn't have won,” said Rohan. “You’re in no condition to be in the game.”

Jameson scoffed, though it hurt his chest. “Yet you allowed me the victory.”

“I didn’t want to,” Rohan sighed. “But some things are worth sacrificing.”

“Like your dignity?”

“It’s getting really difficult to want to help you, Hawthorne.”

“I don’t need your help.”

Rohan shook his head as his eyes scanned Jameson’s battered body. Some bruises were his doing, while others were the fight he’d won before. Either way, it was clear that whatever first aid was applied earlier was not enough. And Rohan needed to clean any mess, cover his tracks.

That’s the only reason he was there, of course.

“The pool of blood you’re sitting in says otherwise,” Rohan noted. Jameson rolled his eyes.

“If you’re so insistent on fixing me,” he told him. “Then go right ahead. Be my guest, Mr. Factorium.”

He narrowed his eyes, but instead of arguing, Rohan stepped forward. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small case.

“Are we just carrying around first aid kits now?” Jameson laughed. “Is that normal here?”

“Does it hurt you so much to be prepared?” Rohan asked, opening it and from it taking a roll of gauze.

Rohan set it on the bedside table and turned to face Jameson. Without a word, he reached for the edge of the bandages around his abdomen and began to unwrap them. Jameson inhaled sharply.

He hadn’t expected that. He hadn’t expected to feel Rohan’s cold hands against his unusually warm skin. He hadn’t expected to uncover all the visibly painful injuries. And he most certainly hadn’t expected to let Rohan essentially rid him of covering his top half.

Nor had he expected Rohan’s eyes to linger there for just a moment too long.

“The wound wasn’t properly staunched.” The sound of his voice snapped Jameson back to the present.

He only managed a small “oh” in response.

Rohan’s hands got to work, doing who knew what. Something to stop the bleeding, but Jameson only felt the touch of his fingertips, Rohan’s skin against his own. Pain was brought back every time he put too much pressure on the injured area, but at least that helped him stay awake.

Maybe he’d lost too much blood, because this was strange. This was wrong. This was… Rohan. Rohan, who thought he was so much better than everyone else. Rohan, who spoke with that stupid accent. Rohan, who was the most insufferable person.

Rohan, who made it very clear that he hated him.

And that hatred was very mutual.

Jameson’s breath suddenly hitched as Rohan pressed a little too hard against his broken ribs. He tried not to react, but keeping his body neutral was impossible.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” Rohan muttered, his eyes focused on wrapping him up again. “Maybe next time, you’ll think twice before throwing yourself into a fight.”

He managed a shrug. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a second thought in my life.”

“Clearly.”

Jameson opened his mouth to argue, but the words didn’t escape. Rohan’s hands had moved, now finishing wrapping the fresh gauze around his ribs, careful not to press too hard. The touch was surprisingly gentle and it stunned him more than any punch or tackle ever could.

“Why are you helping me?” He asked finally. Rohan had said it was because of the Proprietor, but he knew it had to be something more. “You hate me.”

Rohan hesitated for half a second. “Hate is a strong word.”

“Is it?” Jameson pressed, ignoring the pain as Rohan tightened the wrappings to keep them in place.

“I can’t say I hate you. I’ve barely met you. You’re simply… very hard to like.”

Jameson furrowed his brow. “Right. But you didn’t answer my question.”

“I’m doing this,” Rohan explained. “Because I don’t want to get in trouble with his lordship.”

“You say that title like he’s the most important man in the world,” Jameson remarked.

“I don’t think he’d appreciate you talking negatively towards him,” Rohan warned him.

He shrugged again, but this time it hurt. “Negative attention is better than no attention at all.”

“You’re insane.”

“I’m a Hawthorne.”

“Same difference.”

Jameson grinned despite the pain. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You take that however you want,” Rohan sighed. His lips tightened into a line as he finished the bandaging. His hands hovered over it for a moment, before stepping back. “There, you’re all patched up.”

“Appreciated,” Jameson said reluctantly. Rohan nodded, recollecting the items into his strange, pocket-sized first aid kit and slipping it back into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. Jameson watched, keeping his eyes on every little movement.

He nodded and began walking out, back to the closed curtain. A small part of Jameson didn’t… didn’t want him to leave?

But before walking away, Rohan turned around.

“Hawthorne?”

“I thought we were on a first name basis, Rohan.”

He ignored that comment.

“Your nose is horribly swollen. You look like a blobfish.”

Jameson lifted an arm and very clearly flipped off the insufferable Brit. He simply flashed him a snarky smile before turning around and leaving. Jameson sighed, leaning back against the pillows again as his mind wandered, questioning what kind of interaction he’d just had.

Though he was confused by how the Factorium was acting, Jameson couldn’t help but smile.

Rohan was a puzzle, one he had every intention of solving

TAGS: @littlemissmentallyunstable @gretag13 @lanterns-and-daydreams @whatsamongus @alwaysthefangirl

@emelia07 @f4iry-bell @low-caloriesmonsterultra @that-daughter-of-hephaestus @maybxlle

@xoxo-vee @elysianwayy77 @midiosaamor @sheisntyou

@averyiconthequeen @blocked-zombieartist

#im embarrassed to tag this but oh well #jameson hawthorne #the inheritance games #the grandest game #the hawthorne legacy #the final gambit #rohan tgg #rohan tbh #tig #tgg #tig fanfic #rohan x jameson #jameson x rohan #<- man i never thought id type those tags #mightier than your sword𓂃🖋

81 notes · View notes

romances-not-tragedies · 3 months

Text

Last Line Tag

Thank you @winterandwords for the tag!

From a recent chapter from "Prodigal Heiress":

If for a moment, Clarisse wished, they could just forget the case and let themselves enjoy each other’s company. No secrets, no painful memories between them.

Tagging: @thewriteflame, @bookish-karina, @kaylinalexanderbooks + open tag to those who want to join.

Happy Writing!

#writeblr #writeblr tag game #last line tag #original fic: renegade heiresses #ah clarisse my poor gruff babygirl

5 notes · View notes

ladyrowrites · 7 months

Text

Promise Part 4

A/N: Ending may be soon.. I have so many fan fics coming up so stay tuned :)

Pairings: Gojo x Afab reader, Suguru x Afab reader

Warning: NSFW!!! Smut! Passionate love making, Lots of angst and some swearing, mentions of cheating, MDNI!!!

Wordcount: 7k+

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

CHAPTER 4: Regrets

Gojo is still haunted by what he did to you - to your relationship. The next morning, he called his secretary to find out who ‘Anika Watanabe’ is and he found out that she was the heiress of Watanabe Corporation. He was also forced to come into the office as his father ordered him because he hasn’t been coming to work the last 2 months, but what did he expect? Gojo was a mess and refused to leave the house.

Everyone was staring and whispering when he came to the building. He nodded at his father’s secretary and she let him in. He was taken aback when he saw the woman he slept with sitting on his father’s leather couch with pursed lips and eyeing him. His mom was also in the office and came to hug him briefly while patting his shoulders.

“So nice of you to join us.” His dad said sarcastically, “Wedding’s off and now there is a child on the way. Have you no shame, Satoru?”

“Uhm, I’m sorry to intercept, but we both wanted this. Even though it was done the wrong way.” Anika said in a soft voice. His mom just rolled her eyes.

Gojo got irritated when he heard her response, “Bitch, I didn’t even want you. Also, that’s not my baby. Stop telling lies to people!” He sternly said.

“BUT IT IS YOUR BABY!” Anika stood up and touched her belly.

Gojo saw red and yelled on top of his lungs, “THAT’S NOT MINE! I DIDN’T EVEN – I REMEMBER! STOP! TELLING! LIES!” While trying to contain his fists.

“Anika, tell us the truth, who’s baby is it? Or else we’re going to conduct a paternity test.” Gojo’s mom said harshly. She had enough of this bullshit. If she wasn’t a Watanabe, she would have slapped some sense into her.

“I…I…” She was stuttering and she didn’t know what to say.

“Even if it’s not Satoru’s child, he will take responsibility for it. Watanabe is now our partner. This will only strengthen our relationship.” His dad intercepted. Anika looked hopeful with his message.

“WHY WOULD I TAKE FUCKING RESPONSIBILITY FOR HER? I DIDN’T IMPREGNATE HER! I WANTED Y/N!” Gojo protested.

“Well, YOU FUCKED IT UP, DIDN’T YOU? YOU SLEPT WITH HER!” His dad is now pointing at Anika who was disappointed at Gojo’s response.

Gojo’s hands ran into his face and now frustratingly on his hair, “Yes, I made the biggest.. THE BIGGEST mistake of my life, but no dad, I’m not taking any shit from her.” And then he pointed at Anika, “And you! How dare you contact Y/N! This was none of her business and now she’s at the hospital!!! I don’t fucking care what happens to you. I AM NOT TAKING RESPONSIBILITY!”

At his words, his mom worriedly said, “What? Where’s Y/N? What the hell is happening?” Gojo just told her he doesn’t know either.

Anika quietly teared up and his dad just looked so done with this situation. Their sales are taking a hit because of what his son did and now Anika is pregnant with some other guy’s kid.

“You don’t have the right to cry in this situation! You caused this shit by lying!”

“YOU WILLINGLY SLEPT WITH ME, S’TORU!”

“FINE, I DID!! AGAIN, BIGGEST, WORST, MISTAKE OF MY LIFE! But don’t add up any more lies, Anika! I didn’t even know who you were til today. I’m going to get a paternity test whether you like it or not —”

“OKAY! OKAY! It’s not yours! But, I already told my family, it was you and you have to take responsibility or else the merger will fail.”

“But the merger is already a done deal!”

Anika stood up and went up to Gojo’s face, “Yeah, but I don’t think you read one of the clauses right because it said in the contract that we can back away IF there is something we don’t agree with. Ooooops….”

Gojo’s dad and his face turned white. Ugh shit.

“It’s final, Satoru, you’re going to be a father.” His dad spoke with finality. Anika had the biggest grin and popped her tongue, “I will send you the schedule of my doctor’s appointments.” And touched him by his arm and left. His mom wanted to strangle that manipulative bitch – she really liked Y/N as her daughter in law.

“BUT DAD!!!!”

“Well, son, this is the consequences of your actions.”

Gojo was left stunned and called Utahime. Regrets eating him alive.

---------

You slept for at least 24 hours in the hospital and when you woke up you saw all your friends in your room with Suguru and Shoko. You were surprised when you saw them there as well but you weakly smiled at them. All of them had hopeful eyes at you – but it is “pity” and you feel a gut punch to your stomach.

“Uhm, this feels like my funeral. So what’s new with all of you?” You tried to lightly joke at them to lighten up the mood but they were not having it, “YAH! Stop saying that! You did almost die!” Miwa cries while trying to hug you. You comforted her by hugging her back and tapped her shoulders, “Don’t scare us like that again!”

“I’m sorry guys. I really am. I didn’t mean to. I’m just not in a good space right now.” You apologetically smiled at them while letting go of Miwa.

“As long as you’re okay now, that’s what’s important. We forgive you.” Utahime responded.

The doctor gave you the okay to go home and that you slept for so long because your body was exhausted. Your prescription was to basically rest and not stress too much. All your friends helped you get home and even cooked for you so you can rest as much as you can.

Suguru and Shoko volunteered to take care of you for the night as Miwa, Mei, Utahime, and Yuki needed the rest as well. Suguru was sitting beside you when you three decided to watch a movie but Shoko dozed off.

You can feel Suguru looking at you through your peripheral vision, “Why? Is there some dirt on my face?” You asked but still not facing him. He slowly took your left hand and cupped it with his, “I just want to say I’m sorry for all of this. You really don’t deserve any of it.”

You faced him and he had this apologetic look so you softly smiled at him and squeezed his hands with your right, “Don’t be. You’re not responsible for any of this.” You heard what happened when Suguru had that encounter with Gojo and Utahime flying back to Tokyo just to lecture him from Shoko – she left the part when Suguru talked about stealing you though. Shoko really felt guilty about knowing it first and she said that she should’ve told you right away – she was apologizing profusely but you forgave her because it’s not her fault and you wouldn’t want to know about Gojo’s infidelity through any other person. You also gave Utahime the look when you learned she did all that but she gave you the 'I’m your best friend so deal with it. look' You were thankful for all your friends because without them you could have really lost your life – and now you realize, he wasn’t even worth it.

“I know, but, I’m really sorry my best friend is such an asshole.” Suguru responded, “I mean at least he showed me his true colours before marriage, you know? Because if he did it while we were married, the divorce would be more of a mess.” You sounded kind of positive, “But believe me, Suguru, I will be okay. Just some rough patches, but I will be okay again. Okay? Stop worrying, I won’t pull that shit again.” You reassured him, “Utahime might really kill him this time.”

He weakly smiled at your response and you made a pinky promise to him which he accepted, “Now, enough drama. Let’s finish Harry Potter!” Suguru looked at you once more and focused on the movie.

-Leaving Gojo’s house that night-

“So were you really going to go after Y/N now?" Shoko puffed a smoke before entering Suguru’s car.

“I don’t know. I just said that because he was really an asshole. Like how do you cheat on someone like her? So dumb.”

“Did you really let Satoru take her? Or was it just to rile him up?"

-5 1/2 years ago-

Nanami was actually the first one you met from their group through work and then you saw Nanami at a bakery with Suguru so he introduced you to him. When Suguru first met you, he already knew you were a kind and confident person by how you carry yourself and how your smile was always radiating. From then on, you three would always meet up in the bakery for breakfast or lunch so Suguru asked Nanami to give him your number because he was a bit shy asking you because you were always teasing Nanami about the bakery girl and he was afraid that you might tease him too if he asked.

As Suguru and Nanami wanted you to meet their other friends, they invited you to Korean BBQ as you said you loved it. When you came with them, all of their friends were already there and they introduced you to Shoko, Todo, Choso, and Sukuna. They all seem so friendly and so close to each other as they joke around – teasing Suguru that he was never the type to introduce a girlfriend to the friend group and he even let you sit beside him. Suguru denied that you were seeing each other that way and you just laughed at their teasing, “I just invited her today because we were having Korean BBQ and she said she likes this food.”

“Ahuh, you forced me to book this restaurant!” Shoko teasingly replied. All of his friends went “AYYYYY!” And you can see Suguru turning red, “Don’t mind them, they’re just dumb.” He whispers to you. You just nodded and said, “Don’t wor—-”

You were cut off when a voice came over to your table and yelled, “HOW’S MY FAVOURITE PEOPLE? I HAVEN’T SEEN YOU GUYS IN A WHILE!” He was a tall guy with white hair and a black glasses on – glasses inside the restaurant, weird, you thought. They all screamed his name and Sukuna scooched over so he could sit down but he sat right next to you. His glasses falling over his nose, “And who is this angel? Is God really giving me a gift right now?” Then he smirks at you.

You rolled your eyes at him and said, “I’m sorry, I’m no angel, but I guess you’d have to put down your glasses because this girl has some hidden horns.” Now, it was your time to smirk. Everyone at the table was taken aback but cheered because no one had ever put Gojo in his place. They all said you had guts and even Suguru tapped your shoulder saying you did a good job.

Gojo did put down his glasses and wow, does he have the bluest eyes ever – like the ocean, you're most favourite place in the world. My god, why is everyone at this table so handsome? Did they all meet in a pageant or something? Gojo saw you peeked at him so he said, “Why? You like what you see?” and winked at you.

You turned to him and said, “Yes, I do and as a matter of fact, you look like my mom’s dog.” Everyone erupted in laughter and Gojo was taken aback – your mom’s dog? What the fuck? No one has ever said that to him. Almost all girls will be falling on his beck and call, but you were different. Very interesting, he thought.

Suguru placed his arms over yours and said, “Aight, that’s my girl.” Your heart jumped at what he said and chugged the beer. Everyone was cheering you again as you finished the pint. Gojo gave Suguru the look of, “Oh, she’s yours?” and as they were best friends Suguru understood what he meant and he nodded but also retracted his arms on you. Suguru thought Gojo understood what that nod meant.

Gojo extends his hands to yours, "Gojo Satoru."

You accepted, "Y/N, L/N."

After meeting you, Gojo started to look forward to meeting his friends again because you became a part of their friend group and he wasn’t fazed even though you were talking and laughing more with Suguru - a pang of jealousy, maybe, but he's Gojo Satoru.

Gojo started to talk to you more and even asked for your phone number right in Suguru’s face. You don’t know if this is a good idea but he was so straight forward to you. He began messaging you and even showing up to breakfast or lunch in the bakery with Suguru and Nanami.

After 6 months, just all of a sudden, you were smiling more to his texts and even went out with him once with only the two of you – helping you with your groceries. Usually you would do this chore with Suguru because you felt more comfortable with him because he doesn’t really make inappropriate/flirty comments and the last time he did it was at the dinner and that was it, but getting to know Gojo more, you got used to his antics. And when Suguru actually called you that night, you said you were with Gojo because he was already on his way to do groceries as well even though he didn’t buy anything. All Suguru said was, “Oh okay. Just wanted to see what you’re doing. Have a great night then.”

After that, you haven’t heard or seen Suguru that often and the last time he texted you he said he has a big architectural project overseas that will last 3 months so you won’t be meeting him for a while. You were kind of sad because you were so used to his presence and he was a really great friend. For those 3 months though, you got to know Gojo Satoru deeply – hanging out more, having profound and serious talks with him which you didn't expect in his goofy personality.

And one night, you went over to Gojo’s house because he said he was sick and there was no one to take care of him. You told him to eff off and call Shoko instead because you were going to hang out with your best friend. He said Shoko doesn’t care about him even though she is a doctor and then he called you ‘heartless’. You gave up, canceled your plans and went to his place. It was your first time seeing his crib and it’s huge. When you entered, he was smiling weakly at you so you touched his forehead with the back of your hands to try and check if he really has a fever – he actually is super hot(THE TEMPERATURE, lol). He wasn’t wearing a shirt and his jogging pants were hanging low on his torso. You had to swallow because damn it is getting hot in here! You try to not look at his body so you just said, “Fine, you are sick, now let’s get to your bed, and I’ll make you some porridge and tea.” He then took your hand and led you to his bedroom – his house is on the penthouse and a loft inside it – the second floor was his bedroom and it also had the master’s bathroom.

You asked where his medical kit was and then you took his temperature, it was at 38°C so you went to his bathroom, took a towel and washed it with cold water and you put it on his forehead. He was softly smirking at you – my gosh, he had the nerve to look at you like this despite being sick, so arrogant, you thought, “Yah, remove that wide grin over your face! Your fever is too high for you to be acting like that.”

“Whaaaaat? I’m just happy someone is taking care of me.”

“Ahuh…. Okay, I’m going to go now in the kitchen downstairs okay? I’m going to cook some porridge and make tea for you. Be right back.” Before you could turn, he held your hand once more and told you to sit right beside him, “Uhm, I don’t think so, mister. You need some food so you can get better right away.” He pouted on you – why is he so cute? You gently release his hand, “Don’t worry, I’ll be back okay?” Then you softly smiled and touched his hair that was currently up from the towel in his forehead, “Promise, I won’t take long.”

“Okay cause’ I’ll miss you if you’re gone too long.” You just laughed at what he said and pinched his nose – ugh, stop making me fall for you!!!

After coming back with a porridge and ginger tea, you sat him up on the headboard and gave him the food. He was such a baby because he wanted you to spoon feed him. You just sighed and rolled your eyes and did it. You also gave him medicine for his fever. After this, you really want to go home or maybe sleepover at Utahime’s as you haven’t seen her in a while.

But lo and behold, fate has another plan for you because after feeding him, making him drink the tea and his medicine, you were about to say goodbye to him but he gave you beautiful eyes and said, “Aren’t you at least going to wait for my fever to come down?” Your conscience is too pure so you stayed with him. You dozed off on his side bed while he was holding your hand, but when you woke up, you were lying on his bed – wait, how did you get from sitting on the floor to here? You tried to get up but he had tightened his arms on you so now you’re staring at his face too closely. The towel from his forehead was gone so you traced his eyebrows, the shape of his eyes, and his nose but stopped when he spoke, “So you like what you see. Heh.” He slowly opened his eyes.

“Oh my gosh! You were awake! I knew it! Now, can you let go, mister? I wanna go home.”

“Okay, but do you like what you see?” He was so close to your face that you can feel his breath and it's making you feel things you shouldn’t, “Yes, I do.” You softly said.

He chuckled, “Like your mom’s dog, hmm?”

“No,” You said seriously as you looked at his cerulean eyes, “You’re my type.” And as soon as you said it, you realized you fucked up because now he has the biggest grin in his face and if you think he couldn’t get closer, well he did and now he’s looking at your lips like it’s God’s greatest creation – he slowly put his lips to yours and he sensually bit your lower lips. Being caught in the moment, you open your mouth to receive his tongue and now you two are sharing a passionate kiss, “Hmm.. So I am your type huh?” He said in between kisses, “Don’t.. Be..So” You replied as he hungrily kissed you, “Don’t be so what? He breathed at your neck.

“Arrogant.” You smirked at him when he came up from the kiss to look at you. He just smiled at you and began going on top of you, “Is that so?” Gojo nibbles your neck and you start whimpering – he started to get hazy when he heard your soft moans but you snapped out and said, “Oh my god! You're still sick Gojo! What the hell, are you okay now?” You touched his forehead and he just chuckled at you, “Yes, I am okay now because you were such a good caretaker. Also, it’s Satoru to you.” He groaned in your ears and started to nibble you again because he got interrupted. Now, his hands start to roam under your shirt, but you hold his wrist, “Uhm, Satoru, we… I…”

“Tell me right now, princess, do you want me to stop? Promise, I’ll stop if you don’t want to.” FUCK! You don’t know what to do.

“Do you have feelings for Suguru?” He asks – you were surprised at his question and the truth is, you had a crush on him but it looked like it was one-sided because he never really flirts or gives hints or maybe you just don’t notice it? So you decided to let go of that ‘crush’ and you said, “It kinda went away, because…” Yes, Gojo kind of replaced him because he was giving you his undivided attention and he was such a flirt. At first, you really tried to ignore it with your every being but he was just so enticing.

“I don’t need a reason, princess. No was suffice.” and he comes back to your lips and the longer he was there, he was pressing his lips more onto yours as if it’s not close enough. You feel a bulge on his jogging pants and you were already getting hot below there because he was kissing you so passionately and you’ve been returning it, “Do you still want me to continue? If you want me—”

“Yes, I want you, Satoru.” As soon as he heard your words, he slowly put his hands on your shirt to remove it and also discarding your bra, he grunted when he saw your naked body – “goddess” is what he thought of. He removes his lips on yours and starts to kiss your neck and slowly goes down to your chest. He was sucking and kissing your hardened nipples and his other hand was groping your other bosom. You were losing it as you started to moan a bit loud. Hearing your whimpers, made him kiss your stomach and gently remove your pants. He was putting his lips all over your thighs then he stopped at your clothed wet cunt. He stared at it like taking a mental picture of it so you put your hands on your face because he was looking at your wet cunt so hungrily and you got shy all of a sudden. He groaned and removed your hand from your face, “So wet f’ me. Your pussy is so pretty, just like you angel.” Then he started kissing your cunt with your panties on. He was now using his tongue until you're soaked and then he glided your underwear to the side and starts using his fingers with his tongue, “Toru! Fuck! Ahhh.”

Hearing his name escape from your lips, he went in deeper and faster. Holy shit. No one has ever eat you out like this, “Fuck.. M’ so close, Toru!”

“Yes, angel, fuck, let go, yes, just like that. Cum f’ me.” He brought you to your high and came undone. You were sensitive but he cleaned you up with his tongue. He looked at you so lovingly because you were so beautiful at your fucked out face. Gojo licked his two fingers to taste your remaining cum and that’s where he realized – you were the most delicious meal ever. He wanted to see you messier and fucked out so he removed his jogging pants and spit on his member. You looked at his cock and and went ‘o’ “I do like what I see, holy shit!”

He cackled lowly with your comment but felt so proud. You got up and told him since he’s still a bit sick, you can do the work, he protested, but you made him sit by the headboard and you began touching his abs and started to kiss all over it. He was losing his mind and he started to moan so loud when you spit on his cock and started to roll your tongue on his base – collecting the precum. He wanted to cum right now but he wanted you more so he grabs your hair but you looked at him, “Not yet, Toru.” You savoured him slowly which was killing him but it was so fucking good. You bobbed your head faster – up and down and shoved all of him til his cock was hitting in the back of your throat. You were gagging a little bit but it didn’t stop you from taking him all in and massaging his balls. He was mewling your name and he can’t control it anymore so he grabs your hair again in which you let him and started to fuck your throat.

“FUCK!!! RIGHT THERE Y/N!!! OH MY GOD, YOU ARE SO FUCKING…. UGH GOOD, YES, ANGEL!” He groaned and came in your mouth, “Yes, angel, fuck, take all of it.. Ahhh.” Being a good girl you are, you swallowed all of it and opened your mouth to show to him that you did it, “That’s my fucking girl.” He was still hard from just seeing how you swallowed all of his cum without complaints so Gojo put you on his lap and started to line up his cock to your sopping cunt.

“You’re such a good girl, there.. Fuck, so fucking tight f’ me. Shit.” He was easing into you and he was getting hazy on how your pussy is sucking him in. You tilt your head back, arched your back and were moaning so loud when he bottomed out. “Fuck yes angel, let them hear how my cock is so good to you.” He whispers in your ears. His left hand was on your waist and his right hand is groping your boobs. He slowly moved you – up and down and he was grinning from ear to ear when your boobs moved so beautifully with your ,"Toru!" whimpers. Now, he’s impatient – he fucks you so ravishingly like a starved animal who hasn’t eaten in days and moves his right hand to your waist. He is now pushing and pulling in your gummy walls, fuck your head is spinning and his cock feels so fucking good so you synched your movements with him and you were both getting undone. Loud whimpers and the squelching coming from you both is what can be heard in his loft. You take him in every position and you’ve lost count on how many times you did it. My god, his stamina was something else. You were both panting and sweating like you ran a marathon. And it was now noon.

You faced each other and he cupped your face, “That was the best sex, I mean making love I ever did with someone.” He weakly smiled at you. It was the truth – Gojo’s sex life was just full of one night stands, fuck buddies, and quickies. It was his first time experiencing a passionate love making, “It’s like you weren’t sick though. Were you really sick or were you pretending, hmm? You were suspicious because how can he make you a fckin’ mess with a high fever like that – how is his stamina then if he wasn't sick? GOD.

“I don’t know, you healed me!” He said while drowning you with kisses in your face, “I’m hungry, tho, shall we eat?”

“Sure, I can cook something. Let’s shower first tho.”

You felt butterflies in your stomach when he back hugged you while you were cooking. You looked up at him and he sweetly smiled at you, “Mmmmm, this one looks like it taste so good.”

“Hmm, are you talking about the food or?” You both laughed and then he whispered something to you so unexpectedly that you felt your heart burst with happiness, “Please be my girlfriend. I promise, I’ll take care of you.”

You faced him, “Are you serious?”

He cupped your face – his cerulean eyes peering at your soul, “Never been this serious before. I really, really, really, really like you.” Gojo was hoping you’d say yes. PLEASE SAY YES! (Before Suguru comes home)

You were now smiling from ear to ear, “That’s a lot of reallys.”

“Because I really do like you. You're my type too, Y/N.” Ugh, the way he says your name…

“Yes, okay, I’ll be your girlfriend.” Gojo shouted YES! And starts hugging you tight, “Really?” He asks.

“Really, really.” You respond.

After eating with now your ‘boyfriend’, you texted your friend group chat with Utahime that you have big news and you want to see them tomorrow. You all decided to eat at a Korean BBQ and sing karaoke after. Gojo said yes to all your plans because he really wants to meet all your friends. He did meet Utahime once before but just a quick “Hi, Hello” but it seemed he didn’t vibe with her – she was a bit snobbish at him.

The next day, you introduced Satoru to your friend group and they were all teasing you except Utahime. When you both went to the washroom, she whispered to you, “Are you sure you still don’t want to call this off?”

“‘Utahime!! Girlie, it’s okay. He seems decent and he promised he’ll take care of me. I mean if there are red flags, you know, I’ll break it off.” You reassured her.

“Okay, just want you to be happy and safe.” Utahime did see that he was a decent guy. Satoru was serving you food at the BBQ and making sure your water is filled at all times. He was very attentive which Utahime liked and he was vibing with the other girls – she was still skeptical, but of course it’s your best friend, she wants what’s best for you.

Satoru was down to everything you tell him – even singing some duet karaoke songs and joking with your girlfriends. You felt relieved that it was a great first meeting.

-1 week after-

“Now it’s time to tell my friends, why am I nervous, angel?” You laughed at him, “My baby, you’re okay, it’s going to be okay, they know me already!” You console him.

He held out his hand to lock with yours. You are at the Sushi restaurant and everyone is there – even Suguru… when did he come back? He was sitting beside Shoko and was smiling at you when he saw you but it turned upside down when he quickly looked at your hands interlocked with Satoru. He nodded to both you and Satoru.

“Oh so this is the ‘big’ announcement.” Sukuna teased.

“We were more surprised it’s not sooner.” Choso chuckled.

“Hey come on, give our Gojo-kun a break, he did change a lot. Congrats to the both of you.” Nanami comments.

Shoko just hugged you and said congrats. Everyone was cheering you both on and Suguru was just quiet the whole time. You tried to look at him but he was avoiding you. Satoru noticed it and squeezed your hand so you looked up at him and gave you a reassuring smile. You shake your thoughts off and tell yourself you'll talk to him next time – but that ‘talk’ never happened.

---------

“I did let him take her and that was so cowardly of me. Never again.” He told Shoko and drove off.

He regretted that day he didn't tell you how he felt. Now that Suguru has you again. He will make sure this time, no one will take you. It was 4 years of torture and you really deserve all the good love in this world.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Tags: @username23356-blog @iamrgo @mandysfanfics @shartnart1

NOTE: I will be on vacation for 1 week somewhere by the beach because this girl deserves it. Work has been burning me out lately so yes, I need a rest. I will try to work on the next part of Ex-Boyfriend Nanami and the next chapter of this. Ending is very soon, and it's oh so sweet!

Writing again soon,

Lady Ro :)

#lady ro writes #gojo fan fic #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojo angst #jjk fan fic #jujutsu kaisen fan fiction #jjk angst #geto suguru #jjk suguru #geto suguru x reader #jujutsu kaisen suguru #jjk geto #gojo smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader #gojo satoru smut

149 notes · View notes

cinebration · 2 years

Text

What Purpose? (Sherlock Holmes x Reader) [Request]

hellooo, if you taking requests, you could do sherlock holmes (of enola holmes) x reader fic inspired by theo sharpe and eloise bridgerton?? I’d Sherlock to be very in love with the reader, and tells her something like: when I read something new or interesting or provoking, it is you who crosses my mind. It is you I would like to speak with about those thoughts and so I am wondering if you might also have thoughts of me when you think.—Requested by @kelloggs-world

I slightly modified the quote. I hope you don’t mind!

Warnings: Mycroft

Gif Source: henrycavilledits

“The society papers say you’re cavorting with Lady Thornton’s personal maid,” Mycroft noted dryly, one eyebrow arching in ill-disguised disdain. “A maid, Sherlock, really.”

“A companion.”

“A glorified maid, then.”

Sherlock snapped the newspaper shut and fixed his brother with a stare. “Do you know anything about her?”

“Yes, the heiress to the modest trapping fortune not dominated by Astor. Which makes it all the more disgraceful that she is an old lady’s maid.”

“If her official title were to change to lady’s companion, would that appease you?” Sherlock shook his head. “I forgot to whom I was speaking.”

Mycroft sniffed and plucked up his snifter of brandy. “Really, Sherlock, what purpose does this woman serve?”

Sherlock straightened in his seat, spine dangerously rigid.

Mycroft snorted. “Every person and every thing serves a purpose, Sherlock. So what good does this woman do? I can’t imagine it’s much.”

The words slipped out through clenched teeth, barbed. “She does more than you.”

A brusque laugh tumbled out of his brother. “I highly doubt that, Sherlock. Our own sister isn’t comparable to either of us, and at least she comes from the source.”

Shoving himself out of his seat, Sherlock straightened his suit jacket and shot a glare in Mycroft’s direction. “Enola is more than a match for you, Mycroft. That’s why you failed to bend her to your will.”

A livid flush crept up Mycroft’s neck and into his cheeks. “If I recall, you stepped in as her guardian.”

“Consider that, brother. She convinced me against you.” Sherlock flashed an insincere smile. “More than your match.”

“Here I thought Enola was the problem, scurrying around town like some low-bred urchin, yet I hear you are cavorting with nothing better than a maid.” A sneer curled Mycroft’s lips. “My God, the pair of you. I don’t know why I even bother!”

“No one asked you to bother, Mycroft.”

Sherlock strode for the door, refraining from snapping a goodbye.

“She can’t be worth much,” Mycroft called after him. “Even if she did throw you a bone by sending you on that murder investigation!”

Teeth grinding, Sherlock all but slammed the door shut. Anger radiated in unexpected waves through him, his frustration tantamount to whenever an investigation thwarted him unnecessarily. He couldn’t understand why Mycroft’s words stuck within him. Though his brother was insufferable, most if not all of his barbs passed through Sherlock without so much as an abrasive touch. That he should so infuriate him confused Sherlock as much as it riled up his ire.

Sheets of rain poured down on the city, drowning all light in gray. Hansoms darted down the cobblestone streets, streaming water in their wake, impossible to flag down. The pavement was nearly empty, everyone huddled someplace out of the deluge.

In his haste, Sherlock had forgotten his umbrella. Turning his coat collar up and shoving his hands deep in his pockets, he cut across the street, dodging a hansom he heard before he saw, and stormed in the direction of his flat. The stinging cold of the rain beating into his face and running rivulets beneath his shirt did nothing to cool him of his anger.

“It wasn’t just the murder,” he hissed between his teeth, hands balling into fists in his pockets. Although the death of your last living relative had proven an intricate and thorny case, one that had taken twelve day to solve, it wasn’t as though you were a treasure trove of such cases. In the months since the investigation’s resolution, you had not required Sherlock’s services again.

Lady Thornton, however, had used them in a theft case shortly after Sherlock solved your case, causing you both to cross paths again. Sherlock had taken the time to interview you regarding the theft and any information you might know. As with your own case, you presented facts and evidence in a logical, rational manner, offering up details that surprised Sherlock and gave a glimpse into your perceptiveness, leaving an indelible impression on him.

The theft was resolved in less than two days. Yet Sherlock had returned again to Lady Thornton’s estate to see you. He had recognized a sharp mind desperate to be seen and engaged, and despite himself, he decided he was the man to do it.

The old woman acted as chaperone, but the shrewd and experienced Lady Thornton recognized what was unfolding before even the faintest hint of it brushed either Sherlock’s or your mind. Melding into the shadows as much as possible, a smirk playing on her lips, Lady Thornton contented herself with providing only the barest level of propriety for the sake of the papers, allowing you and Sherlock as much privacy as she could.

Sherlock had found you eager to discuss all manner of subjects. He brought books for you to devour in days so that there was new topics of discourse the next time you met. Your voracious appetite for knowledge and conversation—proper conversation, not the societal niceties that amounted to nothing but superficiality—secretly delighted Sherlock, such that he took great care to select the most interesting of texts to deliver to your door.

What purpose did you serve? The question tasted vile on Sherlock’s tongue, though he hadn’t been the one to ask it. Like a wound, he returned to it again and again, suffering the indignity of it. Did a person have to serve?

As he turned down one street, then the next, he found himself contemplating it. Loathe to admit it, he realized that Mycroft had something akin to a point. Neither Holmes brother wasted time on anyone without reason. For Mycroft, it was blackmail and state secrets, government and high-society connections; for Sherlock, anything to do with a case.

Therefore, why did he spend so much time with you?

The thought spun so quickly through his mind that he grew dizzy with it, pausing to lean against a lamppost. The answer was there, just beyond his reach, and any attempt to grasp it made him ill, the world tilting beneath his feet.

They carried him through the rain until they found a cab unloading an elderly couple. Sherlock flagged the driver and hopped into the hansom, the carriage dipping low beneath his formidable frame. He had to bribe the driver several extra quid to ensure the man drove him out to the estate.

When they arrived, he paid the man and refrained from asking him to stay. Lady Thornton would never allow him to return home in such weather, not without sending him off in her own carriage. Seeing as she wouldn’t subject her own driver to such inclement conditions, Sherlock would be stuck there until the weather cleared.

The staff recognizing him, they let him enter and stripped him of his soaking overcoat and jacket.

“I believe the former master of the house,” the butler informed him in crisp tones, “had trousers you could use.”

“I can dry before the fire,” Sherlock assured him.

He paced in front of the crackling flames for what seemed like an eternity while he waited for you to arrive. When the door opened softly, it took all his self-control to avoid spinning sharply to face you.

“You’ll catch your death, Sherlock, getting caught in the rain like that!”

Suppressing the faint upward twitch of his lips, Sherlock slowly turned to you. The anger at Mycroft’s words melted as he peered into your face.

“What is it?” you asked, reaching up to touch your cheek self-consciously.

“Nothing. I merely…” Sherlock frowned, casting about for words that suddenly eluded him. “Do you believe that every individual in one’s life must serve a purpose?”

Eyebrows arching, you chuffed a quiet laugh. “My, has the weather made you maudlin?”

“No, it isn’t…my brother made an insinuation, and I thought it worth asking you your opinion on the matter.”

Head cocking to the side, you scrutinized Sherlock’s features. “What sort of insinuation?”

“Well…” Sherlock laughed, shook his head. “Mycroft is uncannily skilled at insinuating more than one thing with few words. It would take hours to parse everything he means from what little he says.”

“You are stuck here until the weather improves, so we have the time to spare.”

Sherlock met your gaze, your eyes sincere and curious. Struck suddenly with the urge to fidget, he turned back toward the fireplace and leaned against the mantle, his soaked trousers and collar slowly drying.

“I think,” you answered carefully, “that whom we choose to spend our time with speaks to their importance in our lives.”

Sherlock glanced over his shoulder at you.

“For Lady Thornton, my purpose is to be a companion. She may compensate me for it, but I would be her companion for free, because I enjoy spending time with her. Her purpose for me, if it matters to know, is as mentor and friend. That is sufficient.”

The words sunk into Sherlock’s thoughts, quieting them. The flames popped behind him, crackling as the logs shifted.

“Mycroft asked me what purpose you served,” he heard himself say. “He doesn’t understand why I spend my time with you.”

Your throat moved as you swallowed reflexively, your gaze dropping away from his. “Frankly, I’m inclined to agree with him. I don’t understand why you spend your time with me.”

Sherlock frowned, his chest tight. Were there words to explain why? He considered it for several moments, his heart an uneven metronome in his ribs.

“When I read something new or interesting or provoking,” he began, the words passing softly over his lips, “it is you who crosses my mind. It is you I would like to speak with about those thoughts. So I come here and I share them, and I enjoy hearing your replies.”

You glanced up at him, your gaze sharp and hesitant simultaneously.

“And I find myself wondering…” He swallowed thickly, the words on his tongue as if they had waited his whole life to be there, his thoughts roiling in confusion but the conviction that this was right, inevitable, felt firmly in his deepest self. “I am wondering if you might also have thoughts of me when you think.”

Your lips trembled, caught between a smile and panic, triumph and anxiety. Pressing your fingers against them, you inhaled sharply and attempted again, this time managing to speak. “I think of you often, Sherlock. How could I not?”

Something sharp buried itself in his chest, but the feeling was not altogether unpleasant. Sucking in a breath, he gripped the mantle with both hands, knuckles white with the pressure. He didn’t know how to proceed, the confession having worn out any social manner he had been forced to learn.

Gently clearing your throat, you offered, “So when next you see your brother, tell him the purpose I serve is…as your other self, as you are my other self.”

Your hand touched him lightly on the elbow. Shifting, Sherlock watched your hand slide down the length of his forearm, fingers gently entwining with his. The touch sent shivers through his arm and down his spine, startling him with their strength.

“He will never understand that,” he managed to say, his voice thick.

“Then we should pity him.”

Meeting your gaze, Sherlock laughed, unable to let the sharp ha! stay buried. You smiled, flashing teeth in a beautiful face. He hadn’t realized you were so beautiful…or perhaps you had been beautiful all along, and it had taken all this time for him to see it.

#Sherlock Holmes x Reader #Sherlock Holmes #Sherlock Holmes imagine #Henry Cavill x Reader #Henry Cavill #Henry Cavill imagine #Cavill!Holmes #Henry!Sherlock #Enola Holmes 2 #Enola Holmes #requests

1K notes · View notes

gingergofastboatsmojito · 6 months

Text

🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻🐻

My SydCarmy fics MASTERLIST

Carmen Berzatto just stood there in front of her and didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. -Copenhagen He was reduced to a bunch of boneless matter with a heartbeat that only existed because she laid her dark eyes on it. -Après ce, la liberté

At that moment, she realized that her favorite place on Earth was right there, standing 334 feet above the ground, nestled in his chest. -Ponte degli Innamorati

🐻 Slowburn >>> They win a Michelin Star and Carmy confesses his love for Sydney.

🐻 Larrabe >>> Syd moves to her own place, they win a Michelin star and “celebrate”. Luca and Claire also make an appearance here.

🐻 Pasta >>> Carmy & Syd cook together, then eat each other and then there’s this invisible string they discover has always linked them in a sense. Mikey is also mentioned here.

🐻 Heart >>> Carmy goes to therapy to get in touch with his true feelings and Syd tries to deny hers, which explains her ❤️ tattoo.

🐻 Hint >>> Claire reflects on her breakup with Carmy.

🐻 Sunset >>> Carmy must make a choice. Are actions ultimately more important than words?

🐻 Pillow >>> Syd and Carmy open their X files. Not what you think. Now part of a collection alongside "Chef Talk".

🐻 Après >>> Carmy hits rock bottom. Love is an act of mirroring.

🐻 Chef>>> Sydney realizes that Carmy has an uncanny resemblance to a celebrity who features in a steamy CK ad. Claire makes a brief cameo here because "maybe" she always falls for the wrong guy. Now part of a collection alongside "Pillow Talk".

🐻 Madame >>> Sydcarmy is written in the starts but they need a little nudge. Love is in the air but they're fire!

🐻 Stella >>> Stella Bear, the heiress, is here. Now part of a collection alongside "Madame Stardust".

🐻 Shark >>> They get married in secret and honeymoon in Barbados where she starts calling him "Bear".

🐻 Ponte >>> They renew their vows in Italy on their 1st Anniversary. Now part of a collection alongside "Shark Hole".

🐻 Focus>>> Sydney finds out Carmy has been drawing Sistine Chapel-level sketches of her.

🐻 Dreams >>> They have wet dreams about each other simultaneously.

🐻 Tucson >>> Carmy goes to rehab because he almost checks himself out of life permanently and learns to use his words, Syd grows too fond of this new Carmy.

🐻 She's not you >>> Claire was great and scared the shit out of Carmy, but she was no Sydney Adamu.

🐻 Beggin' >>> It's a pseudo-songfic, an experiment, a blurb, a rarity, a little cannoli with mortadella mousse and pistachios that links Carmy, Syd, Donna, and others to this song that I love because I feel it just fits.

🐻 Chococookies >>> Auntie Syd and Uncle Carmy babysit little Bianca and Carmy also babysits Syd when she has a severe case of baby blues 🍪🍪🍪

🐻 Sydney’s secret >>> Carmy holds on to one of Sydney’s most personal items and loses his mind, but turns out Syd had a different take on his “madness”.

🐻 Mother of Victory >>> Donna had to die. Austenianly, of course. Now part of a collection alongside "Chococookies".

🐻 The new Berzattos >>> Syd & Carmy are raising a new family, and now The Bear is gonna be a big brother to this new cub Syd is "cooking". Now part of a collection alongside "Mother of Victory".

🐻 Rain >>> Syd kisses the words right out of Carmy's mouth. Chococookies'prequel. Now part of a collection alongside "Mother of Victory". 🍸🍸

🐻 Last clause >>> Syd and Carmy get a divorce and she gets The Bear. The city of Love might play an important part here. Now part of a collection alongside "Sunset clause".

🐻 Every second counts >>> Victor Emmanuel Berzatto, "The Cub", thanks his parents for having taught him the most valuable lesson of them all. Now part of a collection alongside "Mother of Victory".

🐻 3:10 >>> Carmy pushes himself harder than ever and demands excellence from his crew, they do their best to match his intensity. He does this for Sydney and for Sydney only.

🐻 6 Letters >>> Syd and Carmy say the wrong names in bed when they are fucking their respective partners.

🐻 Play >>> Carmy gets too playful with Syd's braids ;)

🐻 Cupid >>> Syd breaks Cupid's heart 💔.

🐻 More often >>> Syd falls asleep on Carmy's new leather sofa and wakes up in his bed.

🐻 Unicorn >>> Uncle Carmy & Aunty Syd confess that they could potentially have a whole soccer team of kids if only they'd find the right "partner" to do that with 🦄

Remember to Reblog and recommend if you like it and comments are always welcome on AO3 because more often than not I get inspo from them, seeing as I have the best Sydcarmy readers out there!

XOXO

#sydcarmy #the bear #the bear fx #the bear fanfiction #the bear hulu #carmy x sydney #sydney adamu #syd x carmen #carmy berzatto #ao3 fanfic #sydcarmy for life #fancfiction #the bear season 3 #the bear s3 #gingerapplemartini #GingerSydcarmyFF

135 notes · View notes

sunboki · 6 months

Text

— ENDLESS WINTER. TEASER a Christopher Bahng fiction

Christopher Bahng x fem. reader

TROPE. Beast! au, Mage! au, enemies to lovers (she wants to kill him), marriage au, angst

WARNINGS. violence, kidnapping, mention of a past war, descriptions of murder, reader is injured, hyunjin is a bit of a pain, hinted minsung (hehe), blood, kissing (dubcon), cursing

WORD COUNT. estimated around 12k

AUG'S NOTES. me and my inner thoughts… as a fic 😭 i cannot believe this is my longest writing yet!!! hopefully you enjoy!

alternatively :

Starvation becomes the least of your problems when you meet King Bahng.