#there could never be a father who loved his daughter more than i love you ( nono ; vipcridae )

[eggtargaryenii]

EAST OF THE SUN | PART III

"Bastards are supposed to be born of lies and temptation, not love," Jacaerys said, "at least according to the Faith. If we are indeed the bastards of Ser Harwin and my mother, then we are proof that lies and temptation are all that existed between them.” You thought of all the septas and their prayers and Alicent Hightower screaming at you to behave. Bastards are not so different from the daughters of whores, you mused. They see us all as products of sin.

11.1k words, aemond x fem!reader x jacaerys. childhood friends to lovers (except it's cousins), political drama. chapter warnings for targaryen incest and themes of xenophobia/racism and misogyny. dividers from @/cafekitsune.

SERIES SUMMARY & MASTERLIST.

IX. THE EMPRESS

“You raised the girl to be too clever, Alicent. I fear she cannot be controlled.”

Otto Hightower did not often show weakness, but his voice was heavy with exhaustion—or perhaps frustration—as he spoke to Alicent. He was poring over the papers you'd put together for your petition earlier in the day: a detailed summary of all of the records of your father's spending in Essos during his diplomatic visits, presented as evidence that none of your inheritance in the Iron Bank was actually Crown wealth. Apparently you'd gone and stolen the ledgers in the middle of the night—with the help of that Strong bastard, the one who was besotted with you—and done the maths yourself. All current and past Masters of Coin still alive—Lord Beesbury, Prince Daemon and Tyland Lannister—examined your work and could only attest to its accuracy.

It was unprecedented, but not too surprising to Alicent. Of all your lessons as a noble lady—in the Seven, in dancing, in needlework, and so on—you really only ever paid attention to arithmetic and household stewardship. So I may someday be a competent wife and oversee my husband’s affairs, you once explained to Alicent, after my Queen chooses a match for me, of course. When Alicent then advised you that most men enjoyed graceful women who could sing and dance, you had replied to her that you did not want to marry a man—you wanted to marry a lord.

Just as you and your father want me for me, do you not? you had asked. I do not wish to disappoint either of you in that regard. It would be no good for any of us if I married a man who tossed me aside because he met a woman more graceful than I could ever be. But if I kept his household running flawlessly and his accounts full of gold? Well, he might eventually take another lover, but he would never want to take another wife.

You had been so young when you’d said that—younger than she’d been when she wed King Viserys, but no less aware. Alicent understood your play then, and she never chided you for neglecting your needlework ever again.

“The girl has a talent for figures,” Alicent admitted. “She has a keen eye for household management.”

“Figures?” Otto laughed in a way that sounded derisive. “It’s not the maths that impressed me. You can hire any steward to do maths. No, it was her foresight in stealing those ledgers. And the way she talked in the throne room—gods, can she talk!” He laughed, though it was entirely mirthless. “Though I suppose Rhaenyra may have prepared her. The blacks have never been interested in her before, but now it seems that they want her as an ally.”

It did look that way during the petition, with Daemon backing you every time the Hand seemed to corner you. As usual, the man could hardly string together a coherent argument, but he did not need to. What really mattered to all the smallfolk and nobles watching your petition was that every time Otto alluded to your disgrace of a mother and your mongrel pedigree, Daemon never let them forget that you were also a trueborn Targaryen.

You would steal from your kin by marriage? he asked. You would deny her birthright? You would spit in her father’s legacy, after all he has done for the Realm? You would disrespect my niece?

Niece. Alicent found it laughable. Daemon had never spared you a glance as you grew up in the Red Keep, nor did Rhaenyra.

“Of course they want her as an ally,” Alicent said, her words sharp with frustration. “Rhaenyra ignored the girl when she had nothing, but now that she’s come into enough wealth to hire an entire army of sellswords and more, the princess is suddenly her greatest benefactor.”

Alicent was wroth to think of it. She had wanted no part in raising you, had resented you for it when her husband charged her with the duty. She could hardly manage her own children, let alone some foreign waif who was loath to speak the Common Tongue and threw tantrums whenever she was forced to pray at the Sept. Worse yet, your mother had been a bed slave from Lys—a country of harlots, criminals, and sin—and Alicent knew, just knew by looking at you, that you were likely to end up equally sullied. It was in your blood.

But you had no mother.

You were at court, a young and lost girl, and you were entirely motherless. She still remembered how you wept after your mother kissed you goodbye, the way that you would sneak off to Blackwater Bay just to wait for your father to return. Alicent’s heart ached for you then, for she too knew how horrible court could be for a young and motherless girl.

Rhaenyra was your kin by blood. She should have looked out for you. She had been more than capable, but she was too busy with her sham marriage and bastard children and that paramour of hers. What could Alicent do but care for you instead? You had no mother.

The Seven would have never forgiven Alicent if she simply left you to the wolves of the court. She could not leave you to her father’s court. You would not have survived. You would have been married off at ten-and-two to some lord thirty years your senior, tortured in your marriage bed until you were swollen with child while still a child yourself. Alicent could not let it happen.

Even if Alicent would never love you—and she knew she never would—she knew she must still care for you.

And today she watched as you spat in the face of her protection. How you paralyzed her when you turned to Daemon and chided him: I am familiar with the prudence and wisdom of Her Grace, as well as her kindness, you'd said. I know she would never intentionally try to take someone’s rightful inheritance. It is merely an ambiguity of the law that has led us here. She only thinks of the Realm.

Said in front of King Viserys, with his daughter-heir in the room? Alicent had no choice but to support your position, lest she look like a scheming traitor.

And the worst thing about it was that, despite her father’s ponderings, Alicent knew that Rhaenyra had not coached you to say that. For she had raised you, and she knew your talent for speech and for people—and she knew those words came from you alone, and you had learned how to say them from watching Alicent.

Rhaenyra could have never taught you how to appeal to people like that. Rhaenyra had no need, for she could always do whatever she pleased. She could flout the rules and disrespect the entire court, and King Viserys would only protect her. But you—just like Alicent—could not. For you had no mother, and you had no father, and you were the daughter of a foreign whore. All you had was Alicent, and for your sake she tried to make you disavow your sinful mother, for your sake she tried to make you find the light of the Seven, for your sake she tried to beat out of you your wilful nature. For your sake she tried to save your soul from both the Seven Hells and from the judgemental eyes of the Red Keep, the lords and ladies who saw nothing but a sinful whore when they looked at you. But you always resisted, as if you wanted to be a pariah, as if you wanted to suffer despite her best efforts—but Alicent could not hate you.

How could she hate a powerless girl without a mother?

“I do not think it was Rhaenyra who taught her how to speak in court,” Alicent voiced, thinking of all the hours you spent watching petitions, watching her. “Rhaenyra does not know how to handle herself with such grace nor subtlety.”

“Ah. So it was your influence.” Her father laughed, sounding genuinely amused. “If only you had raised Aegon to have even half the talent—then perhaps the King would have changed his mind about his succession.”

Alicent’s fingers tightened, and then she found herself picking at her nails.

“It is no fault of mine that Aegon was born with his disposition,” she said. “I tried my best.”

“You did,” Otto agreed. “You did not fail in all regards. Aemond, at the very least, has talent. Were he your firstborn son and that girl born a Targaryen princess—my, imagine the power they could have on the Iron Throne together. Our family would be untouchable. A pity.”

Alicent’s jaw tightened. She could not hate you, but she also could not stand to think of you sullying any of her sons. Your influence on them had already done irreparable damage. Your habit of tempting men had already driven Aegon into terrorising innocent women with his lust, and whatever silk-sweet words you whispered into Aemond’s ears had turned her lovely boy into someone cold and distant.

No—Alicent could not imagine you wedded to either of them.

“A pity, but there is no use in mourning it,” she dismissed. “Aemond will be matched to a respectable lady of the realm, and we will use the girl to buy the loyalty of a useful lord—as was always your plan.”

“Yes. My plan.” Otto looked at your papers thoughtfully. “I think we will need to make haste with her marriage. The blacks intend to ally with her, and I believe she is too ambitious to decline their offer. We cannot let her inheritance fall into Rhaenyra’s hands—we shall need to find her a match and send her someplace else immediately.”

Alicent swallowed. She had hoped to push for your match to a Northern house. She knew you would be happiest in the North—with people who worshipped the Old Gods, and a husband who was far enough removed from the politics of court to care much about your heritage. Starks were known for their honour, and the Warden in the North had carried himself with great dignity during his time at court. She knew that Cregan Stark would not have mistreated you. Lord Manderly’s son seemed promising as well, and the young Lord Bolton would have been keen for a dragon. But the political benefits of those matches were modest at best, uncertain at worst—Alicent knew her father would not have chosen any of those betrothals for you.

You had no mother. Only she could defend you.

“And where,” she asked carefully, “would we find a match on such short notice?”

She hoped for Lord Stokeworth or the Tully boy. The former was kind and the latter was dutiful, and she had already convinced her father of both proposals. But when the Hand smiled, his eyes glinting sharp, she knew it was neither of them.

“It is, in some ways, fortunate that she is so clever,” he replied. “The Tyrells have been here for the past few days on their own business, and they watched her petition. They were quite impressed with her and have made an offer to take her as a ward—and to eventually marry her to one of their sons.”

Her eyes widened. The Tyrells were one of the great houses, and ordinarily would only be interested in a betrothal with a Targaryen prince or princess. “Was it the talent they wanted,” she asked, “or the gold?”

“The gold for the marriage—and her dragon, of course. But the talent is why they want her as a ward.”

Alicent considered the offer. They likely wanted to groom you for something, and as long as it was not dancing or needlework, it would keep you happily busy. You may eventually find yourself content with such an arrangement. But she could not help but feel that something was amiss. The Tyrells kept strongly to the Faith, and they cared greatly for status. They would not be so eager to take someone like you into their family.

“And which son would they want to squander upon her?” Alicent asked.

“The bastard they just legitimised. To wed a Targaryen lady with a dragon would be quite the achievement for such a man—hardly a squander.”

“You wish to marry her to Arthur Flowers?” she asked, appalled.

“Of course. We are buying the son of a great house with her. The son of our liege lord!”

“Arthur Flowers is a bastard and a raper!”

“Arthur Tyrell is now a legitimate son of the family controlling the Reach!” Otto sighed. “Do not detest me for this, Alicent. We will need to secure all the help we can get when the succession of the Iron Throne is contested.” Otto gave her a severe look. “And remember,” he added, “this has always been your plan too. You have always wanted to use the girl for the sake of your own children—or would you rather that Rhaenyra use her instead?”

Alicent could not say anything. She could not stop this match, she realised. No one would speak in your defence, for you had no mother—you only had her. And Alicent, at the end of the day, was not your mother.

She was a Hightower.

X. TEMPERANCE

The edge of the Kingswood today was peaceful. The sky was a clear blue; the birdsong was a soft warble in your ears. Vhagar—who was old and liked to rest when she was not at war—was calm beneath you, her saddle rising and falling with the rhythm of her breath. Aemond, never one to chatter, was equally quiet. Even though Vhagar had been at rest for a while, your arms were still wrapped tight around his waist, and your cheek was pressed against his back.

You had not held or been held since your parents departed from King’s Landing. Given your reputation, it was impossible for you to touch anyone without setting off whispers, and none of the septas who cared for you had any desire to touch you—your blood was too dirty for it. But sharing a dragon with another person offered a kind of analogue to an embrace; allowed you to feel close to someone without raising brows. You would never admit such a thing aloud, but you liked to ride with people partly because of that.

Aemond was, of course, the only person in King’s Landing who would ever ride with you on any dragon. Ordinarily you would limit contact with him—he did not strike you as a person who particularly liked being touched, and you did not want to scare him off—but you needed to feel close to someone today. You had just spent three days without sleep to prepare for your petition, and during the manic rush of having won it, was approached by Alicent Hightower with dampening news of your betrothal. She'd finished her announcement by requesting that you plan your father’s funeral; it was plainly an attempt to ruin any happiness by reminding you to grieve.

Too proud to show weakness, you’d agreed and committed to yet another three days without sleep.

But you were plainly exhausted. You did not want to think about the funeral. You did not want to think about your betrothal. You did not want to think of anything at all. You simply wanted to relax, wanted to feel safe and warm next to someone, so now you were sitting with Aemond in the most desolate place you could find, the both of you on Vhagar’s saddle.

“I'm afraid I'll fall off if I let go,” you explained to Aemond, when he asked why you were still holding him.

“But we are not in the air.”

“Vhagar likes to buck and fight—she could kick me off at any moment.”

“Vhagar is very calm right now. And she likes you. She feels at ease around you.”

“I suppose that's true.” You closed your eyes, enjoying the warmth of him. “I'm fond of riding her too.”

Despite his questions, Aemond did not protest to your touch. He merely hummed, after which a long silence passed. Larks kept calling out, their songs a beautiful trill in your ears. The day was windy; the trees whispered loudly in the sky. To anyone a distance away, the noise of the forest would surely mask your voices—as long as you kept them low.

“I'm betrothed to someone now,” you said quietly. It was not quite upset, but your voice sounded oddly fragile.

“Hm.” Aemond did not sound bothered; instead, he seemed pensive. “To whom?”

“The Tyrells. The bastard they just legitimised.” You opened your eyes, staring at the rustling trees. The scenery of the Reach would be similar, you found yourself thinking, for it was close by—too close for your liking.

“The Tyrells,” Aemond repeated thoughtfully. “The Hightowers are their bannermen. Otto Hightower wishes to trade you for the guaranteed support of his liege, and at the same time he will ensure that your inheritance will not fall into Rhaenyra's hands. It seems my grandsire has done exactly what you predicted.”

“As I said,” you replied bitterly, “his daughter raised me. I know how your family thinks.”

“As do I.” You felt him shift; he may have been looking back at you. “Do you know anything about Ser Arthur?”

“Nothing other than that he’s fought in the Dornish Marches. He displayed great feats during battle—I heard many tales in the Throne Room during their petition. Ser Criston looked strangely at him the whole time, though.” Your brow furrowed. “I wonder why.”

“They may have served together, or else he may have some kind of reputation within the Marches,” Aemond mused. “I will ask Ser Criston later.”

“Do tell me what he says. I would like to know the character of my future husband.” Your arms tightened around Aemond. The day was not particularly cold, but you found yourself clinging to him. “I need all the knowledge I can of the Tyrells before I leave. Surely Highgarden cannot be worse than the Red Keep, but I want no surprises.”

“You have already resigned yourself to being taken away.” You felt Aemond touch your hand; you nearly jumped before realising he was only adjusting his chains. “I told you that I would handle the matter of your betrothal.”

“What can you do?” you asked miserably. “The Queen has already agreed, and who knows what kind of marriage your grandsire will force me into if I offend the Tyrells by outright rejecting them. I would not put it past the Hand to tie me up and send me away in the middle of the night, at this point.” You pressed your forehead into Aemond’s back, sighing. “Will you take me to Braavos so I may escape the mummery of the Red Keep? If we leave on Vhagar now, we may be there by the morrow.”

Vhagar beneath you rumbled, as if in complaint. “Ah,” you said, “your old lady seems unwilling to carry us. I suppose I'm done for.”

Aemond laid a hand on your wrist, perhaps searching for another chain. You did not push it away. “You need not offend the Tyrells,” he said. “When the time comes, simply play along as needed. You will not be held accountable for whatever may come.”

“Will you be held accountable? The guilt would eat me alive, if you were.”

He hummed. “If I were, it would not affect my standing greatly. You know I would not make such a misstep.”

“I suppose.” You allowed yourself to feel, for just one moment, reassured. Aemond was one of those few players in court who felt both reliable and safe, or at least not openly malicious. Perhaps to others, but not you. It was not unlikely that he could solve this all.

The breeze changed. You realised that your excuses to cling onto him had dwindled. “I suppose we should dismount now,” you said mournfully. “Come—let’s enjoy the woods, as we said we would.”

“I don't feel much like looking at trees today,” Aemond said. “Would you like to fly along the bay instead? The whole length of the shore.”

You lifted your head to give him an incredulous look. “That will take at least an hour in flight.”

“Then I suppose you will need to hold me for an hour. I do hope that won’t be a bother.”

It took you a beat to realise what he'd just offered, but once you did, you squeezed him tightly.

“As long as there is no complaint from Vhagar,” you said. “I know the lady likes her rest.”

Vhagar clicked beneath you, more agreeable now to your request. “She will do what I want,” Aemond reassured you. “Dragons are influenced by the desires of their riders.”

“So you want to nap and lounge all day like an elderly woman?”

You could hear the amusement in his voice when he replied, “Not terribly, though it is an option for us today if you wish.”

How lovely that would be, you thought. If you could lie with Aemond in the grass, shielded from the sun by Vhagar, and spend the afternoon slumbering. To ignore the funeral you needed to plan, the grief you had been procrastinating, the bridegroom you needed to meet.

Unfortunately, Aemond was not such a lout that he would waste the day like that, and you had your own responsibilities. You could not run for long from the death of your parents, from the ramifications of this inheritance mess. It was better to face it all promptly, matching the cold efficiency that the Hightowers operated with. That was how you had survived all these years, after all: matching the Hightowers.

But at the very least, you could allow yourself one more hour of delay.

“Napping would be nice,” you admitted, “but I'd rather spend the time in flight.”

“As you wish, my lady.”

Vhagar’s wings began to beat, ancient but mighty. The trees swayed and rattled from the gust of her flight. The chains around your waist shook with the force of the great beast, but they held steadfast—binding you to Aemond, their hold inescapable.

X. DEATH, UPRIGHT

“Dracarys.”

A brilliant fire roared to life, consuming a boat drifting peacefully by the shore. Emerald flames erupted from the wood, devouring shimmering Qartheen jewels and priceless Myrish silks—all the belongings of your father.

Your father’s dragon had died in his youth. In her absence, it was Wildfyre who was chosen to set the pyre aflame in this sham of a funeral. The fire was the colour of alchemical wildfire, though given your dragon’s middling age of ninety-and-three, they of course burned much hotter. Despite being grown and having lived through both war and death, though, Wildfyre still behaved like a child: screeching and roaring and squawking miserably as the pyre burned, as if crying in your stead.

Your own face was bone-dry. You only stared dully at the pile of burning valuables, which were meant to be a substitute for your father’s body.

Technically, all of the objects in the pyre belonged to the Crown, but in a fit of spite you had publicly petitioned to the Hand to have them burned in the funeral. In a throne room where various nobles and smallfolk spectated—most of whom were already sympathetic to you, after you had to argue for your own inheritance just two days before—Otto Hightower had no choice but to grant your request, lest he look like a monster. You were glad to see all the treasures burning to ash in front of him, all that wealth forever out of his reach.

The Hand and the Queen had not appreciated this insult; neither of them offered their condolences during the ceremony, and likely only came out of obligation. Your closest kin offered no real words of consolation either. Aegon was so grossly uncomfortable during the affair that he could not make eye contact with you; Helaena only gave you a mournful and disconcerting stare, as if she were grieving you instead of your father.

Aemond, though very dear to you, was equally clumsy with handling you in your grief. He stood by your side and asked if you were well, to which you only gave him a long, dead-eyed stare. You had just spent three days without sleep to prepare for your petition during which his grandsire wrung you out; then you spent another two days without sleep to prepare for a funeral at which you thought no one would grieve.

Of course you were not well.

None of Alicent Hightower’s children had ever experienced loss; that much was clear. It was different with your other cousins, however; Luke, Jace, Baela, and Rhaena neatly offered their sincere condolences. I'm so sorry, they all said, before taking your hands and squeezing. I am always here if you need company. Say the word and I will come by.

You absolutely would not take them up on the offer, but you did appreciate it.

Surprisingly, though, you were not entirely alone in your mourning. King Viserys had asked to delay the funeral until he was well enough to attend, and he now stood in the front, watching solemnly. Beside him was Prince Daemon, who for once seemed subdued and reflective. You were not sure what to make of Rhaenyra’s face, which seemed appropriately mournful, but potentially inauthentic. She had actually known your father as a child, though they were not close, and she never involved herself with you when you were a child except for when Jace wanted to play with you.

You supposed it was Prince Daemon and King Viserys who had the greatest right to grief, perhaps even more than you. You had known your father for ten years; they had known him for nearly thirty. Daemon sought you out shortly after the service, speaking in Pentoshi Valyrian.

“Your father was the only person who brought us news of our aunt in Volantis,” he said. “He always saw that she fared well—did he ever tell you that?”

“No,” you replied honestly, and with great surprise. “He never mentioned her.”

“It was how he knew your mother,” Daemon said. “The Lysene pillowhouse that Saera once worked in—your mother was a courtesan there. She introduced them to one another.”

You were stunned by the news. Saera Targaryen had been exiled and King Jaehaerys had forbidden the rest of the family from ever speaking with her again. To think that your father had not only sought her out anyway, but had found your mother through her, was shocking.

“I did not think my father would break his uncle’s decree,” you said.

“Defiance was in your father’s spirit. I do believe you inherited it.”

“Thank you,” you said. You were deeply confused—this was probably the fifth time in your life you'd ever spoken to the Rogue Prince, for he scared you when you were a child, and he himself did not care much for toddlers. You did not think he could be so kind. “Perhaps defiance is in our blood. My father always spoke highly of your exploits, and he respected Princess Saera as well.”

The corner of Daemon’s mouth lifted in something that could not really be called a smile, but was probably meant to be a sign of approval. “Those born of fire and blood have a tendency to be untameable. Your father and I were not just kin—we were kindred. If you wish for the company of like-minded people”���Daemon glanced at the Hightowers and their children—“rather than those who disapprove of us… do seek me out.”

King Viserys, with his missing eye hidden by a patch, offered fewer words, but more heartfelt: “I have always tried to care for you in my cousin’s stead,” he said. “Nothing about that will change in his death.”

You bowed. “Thank you, my King.”

He laid a hand, shaking and emaciated but warm, on your shoulder.

“I regret that I am no longer well enough to spend time with you in your hour of grief, but I know that my children and grandchildren will keep your loneliness at bay.”

He did not mention Queen Alicent, nor did you. “I will be grateful for their company in my mourning,” was all you said.

Truthfully, though, anyone’s company would likely make you scream. You did not feel like coddling anyone as they struggled over what they should say to you after you lost a man that none of them had known. All you wanted to do was sneak back to either your rock by the sea or the dung pit to cry in absolute solitude, but now that Aegon and Aemond knew both of your misery spots, that was not an option.

Your expression was grim as you left the funeral site, and you prayed that no one would disturb you in your self-pity—but to your displeasure, Jace had been thoughtful enough to wait for you.

“I was worried about you,” he said, so gently that you wanted to throw up.

“You need not be,” you replied stiffly. “I did all my grieving for my father while I was working through those ledgers.”

Jacaerys had helped you sort through the books when you were crying too hard to read clearly, so you knew he was being genuine when he replied, “I know. But…”

“But?”

“It's just,” he started, and you could hear the hesitation in his voice, “is there to be a service for your mother?”

You stared dumbly. He sounded earnest when he explained, “I would like to attend, if there is one planned.”

“No,” you replied, and your voice sounded oddly strangled, and your throat hurt terribly. “No, there is not one planned. No one asked me to make arrangements for one, so I did not.”

“Would you rather that there wasn't one?”

“I had not thought about it—I did not think there was anyone who would like to come,” you admitted, which made you feel both horrible and sorry for yourself, and suddenly you were turning around to wipe away at your eyes. Oh, how you longed to be in the dung pit right now.

“Why would you even want to come?” you asked, sniffling. “You did not know her.”

“I would want to come for you,” Jacaerys said simply, and the sob that came out of you was so ugly that you felt embarrassed. Not once did you cry like this while reading through all the Iron Bank ledgers, but for some reason, the thought of your mother hurt your heart so much that you did not know how else to release the pain but with the most guttural sobs possible.

You felt a hand on your shoulder. You noticed then that you had crouched down to cry into your knees, and Jace had lowered himself to sit with you.

“When Ser Harwin died,” he said quietly, “Luke and I were not allowed to attend his funeral.”

“Oh,” you said, lip wobbling. You did not know where he was going with this.

“We still wanted to say goodbye, though, so instead we went to the Kingswood and buried the training swords he gave us when we were little. We did it alone.”

“O-oh.” More tears welled up as you realised what he was about to ask.

“I know you have not been allowed a proper funeral for your mother—but is there anything you would want to do, to say goodbye?”

You could not manage a yes, so you instead let out a whimpering sob.

“Meet me at the hour of the wolf tonight, at the bottom floor of the Kitchen Keep,” you said once you were coherent again, and Jacaerys nodded.

XI. DEATH, REVERSED

After Prince Velarion cast your mother out of the Red Keep, the septas, in their unending grace, offered you a kind of cruel consolation: Your mother was always going to be cast out anyway, they told you. She was merely a whore, seducing your father with temptation rather than marrying him out of love. He was always going to free himself from her spell and find the Seven again. This was inevitable.

They also told you, You were not a child born of love. You were born of sin and temptation. Your mother was bound to leave you as well, for her feelings for you were disingenuous; how can a whore love an accident of her sins? But now—her influence is gone, and you can find the love of the Seven instead.

And when Alicent Hightower said, Stop crying, sweetling, the septas are speaking the truth—this is all for the better, you realised that you would always hate her and her Faith.

Maybe you could have found the Seven if it were not for her words, but she ruined her gods for you with that one sentence. You burned your copy of the Seven-Pointed Star; you kicked and screamed as the septas dragged you to the High Septon’s service; you called Alicent a monster when she struck you for your misbehaviour. So horrific was her treatment of you that even Aegon—who had often been on the receiving end of her strikes himself—felt sorry for you.

Not that he actually helped you, of course. Only Aemond spent any time with you though it all, sitting next to you in the dragon pit as you cried.

You did not believe any of it, of course. You were not a child born of sin, for your mother and father loved each other. Your father did so much for your mother—told her he loved her in her mother tongue, grew persimmon trees in the courtyard to keep her homesickness at bay, lit nightfires for her so she could pray to R’hllor. Your father loved her so much that he took her to Lys and decided to stay, even if it meant leaving you.

There was no way he didn't love her. There was no way they didn't love you.

There was no way, and this was what you told yourself every time you heard those whispers: She merely seduced him. She merely used him. He did not truly love her. How could a prince truly love a whore?

And her daughter—that girl is a child of sin. How could they have loved her?

You had become so skilled at ignoring it all, and nearly delighted in being irreverent of it. But despite all of your efforts to laugh at the gossipmongers and the septas, several years of whispers now echoed in your ear as you made your way to the Kitchen Keep. They nicked at your heart, and you wished your mother and father were here to dispel them. But your father was a pile of bones somewhere on Bloodstone, and your mother was lost to the sea.

Your heart was so heavy with these thoughts that you did not say anything to Jace and Luke when they met you at the Keep. You merely dumped two piles of firewood and kindling in their arms and beckoned them to follow you. You led them up a long flight of stairs, carrying a bundle of beautiful silks, until you had all reached the top of some decrepit tower.

The winds were calm tonight, a cool breeze rather than a violent gust. It made it easier to light up the old fire pit—you struggled only a little before you remembered how.

“My mother and father used to come here at night,” you finally explained, your voice tired. “It is a practice at Red Temples in Essos to burn nightfires like this. They are meant to allow R’hllor to protect us from the dark. But there are no such temples in King’s Landing, so my father would do this instead to comfort my mother.”

Jacaerys and Lucerys both listened quietly as they sat next to you, faces lit up by the crackling heat. Luke was not very close with you—you had always felt too awkward befriending him, after the incident with Aemond’s eye—but he had wanted to come to help you honour your mother, so sorry he was for your grief.

He seemed genuinely interested when he asked, “Does it bring you comfort too?”

“It reminds me of my mother,” you said, and the two brothers nodded in understanding.

“And those silks you're carrying?” Jace asked.

“Things of my mother’s that we found in my father’s room.” You looked at them balefully as you took a piece out of the bundle, revealing a golden scarf with Lysene embroidery. “I think—I think I should burn them. I don't have anything else of hers.”

The two of them nodded. You fed the silk to the nightfire, watched as it ate through the gold thread. Your heart clenched as it burned to ash; you had so many times imagined that your mother was wearing this scarf as she walked by the harbours of Lys, holding your father’s hand.

“I always thought,” you said quietly, “that my father took my mother to Lys and loved her too much to come back.”

The both of them stayed silent. Waited.

“But”—your brow twinged—“I do not know what to think anymore. People always said my mother was a whore, you know? That my father married her out of pure lust and would eventually leave her. I always thought they were wrong, because he stayed in Lys and gave up his position here, all because he loved her too much to leave her. But now I don't know what to think.”

You did not know if he truly loved her. If the sword and the silks and even you were really evidence of his love, and not simply evidence that he was doting on his pretty concubine. If the ceremony in the Great Sept of Baelor was truly proof of their devotion, or if it was the impulsive decision of an infatuated man. For your father was supposed to be in Lys, loving your mother too much to return, spending the rest of his days with her in the Essosi sun—but instead he was a pile of bones, and she was lost forever.

You felt a familiar wetness on your face, a burn in your eyes that had nothing to do with smoke.

“But if he had stayed,” Luke asked quietly, hesitantly, “doesn't that mean he would have abandoned you?”

“That would have been fine,” you replied truthfully. “And I thought—I thought they'd visit someday, and I would get to see them again then. At the very least they'd love me enough for that.”

At the very least, you would for one last time be held by people who loved you.

You bit your trembling lip. Now that you'd said it all out loud, you were uncertain if you made sense. “Is it strange that I'm questioning it all now? That for nearly twenty years I believed steadfastly in their love, but now that they are gone, I do not know what to think?”

Neither of them said anything. Luke was looking down; Jace was staring into the flames.

“I wish I could ask them,” you whispered, and this seemed to strike Jace.

“I do not think it strange to question it.” Jacaerys did not look at you, but you knew he was not lying. “I have thought about it many times—about the relationship between my mother and Ser Harwin. I always thought they loved each other and that they loved us, when I was little—but now I'm not so sure. And I cannot ask him, no matter how much I wish for it.”

You gave him a long look, and you were strangely hopeful—as if the knowledge that Ser Harwin loved the three of them would somehow mean that your father loved you and your mother too.

“I do not think,” Jacaerys finally confessed, “that my mother loved Ser Harwin.”

Your heart was wrenched with pain.

“Oh,” you said quietly. “Why?”

“She did not cry after he died.” Jace sounded odd, his voice terse but brittle. “She did not cry and she told us that we shouldn't cry either. Like he meant nothing to us. I think now that he was a distraction for her, or a plaything. If the court whispers are true, then it is not the first time she would have done such a thing.”

“That can't be true,” you protested, perhaps too desperately. Rhaenyra had to have loved him. She risked her station just to bear his children—just like how your father lost his to have you.

But Jace seemed disconsolate. “Why not?” He gave you a wry look. “Bastards are supposed to be born of lies and temptation, not love—at least according to the Faith. If we are indeed the bastards of Ser Harwin and my mother, then we are proof that lies and temptation are all that existed between them.”

You thought of all the septas and their prayers and Alicent Hightower screaming at you to behave. Bastards are not so different from the daughters of whores, you mused. They see us all as products of sin.

“Fuck the Faith,” you hissed, and Jace seemed startled, as if not expecting the edge to your voice, but you did not falter. “I do not believe a person as kind as you could have been born of anything other than love.”

Jace’s eyes widened a little, but then his face settled into a kind of smile. Small, but gentle nevertheless.

“Then I do not think that you could have been born of anything else either.”

The corner of your mouth lifted. You turned back to the fire, eyes still hot, but a little less watery. Your fingers gripped the red-and-gold silk remaining in your hands—your mother’s wedding veil—and you meant to feed it to the nightfire, but you did not. You did not want to let it go.

You did not want to let her go.

“I’ve always thought that,” you confessed, “my mother loved me enough to someday come back to King’s Landing. She promised me, you know. She said she would.”

Jace gave you a soft look. “I'm sure she meant it.”

You wiped your eyes again. “Why do you think so?”

“Just a feeling.” He went quiet for a little, hesitating. But eventually he shared, “Ser Harwin said he would come back someday. He died, of course, but”—Jace looked down—“I believe he was telling the truth. He loved us, I think.”

You nodded, and the squeeze around your heart finally eased. It was entirely illogical, but you somehow knew this was true: Ser Harwin loved his children; that meant that your parents must have loved you too. It only made sense. Your father had wanted to come back for you after one hundred days. Your mother wanted to return after your grandsire died. She loved you so much that she would cross the seas for you again.

She must have crossed the seas again.

Your fingers gripped the veil even harder. Your eyes felt heavy, five days without proper sleep wearing them down. You fought to keep them open.

“You're tired,” Jace said. “You should go back to your room and rest.”

“No,” you said, but your eyelids were fluttering shut anyway, and you felt yourself start to sway. “No—the fire is supposed to burn all night. Until the dawn breaks and the light of R’hllor returns to us.”

“Will that bring you comfort, if it burns until daybreak?” he asked. You began to lie down—curling up on the stone floor.

You answered with your eyes closed: “It will remind me of my mother.”

You entered a strange dream after that, or perhaps a memory. You were sitting around the nightfire with your parents, a child once more. You were shivering and crying, for the wind was cold, and the night was dark and full of terrors. But your father had you lie down, your head in his lap, and he covered you with his cloak as your mother ran her fingers through your hair, and they held you. They loved you. You knew they loved you, and they loved each other too. Your father went to Lys and loved your mother so much that he never came back. Your mother loved you so much that she crossed the Narrow Sea once more just to see you.

And you would, for one last time, be held by someone who loved you.

(When you woke up in your bed the next morning, you were covered by a cloak that smelled of nightfire and dreams.)

END PART III

notes: FUN FACT when i was a teenager i was extremely obsessed over sansan and the cloak = marriage metaphor had a formative influence on me and that has definitely come thru in this fic lol. anyway - thank you for reading!!! i would greatly appreciate it if you reblogged & drop a line if you enjoyed this chapter! <3

[tiramisuucakeee]

A VERY BAD REP, AND EVERYTHING IN BETWEEN ★

( 420! reader x playboy! heeseung )

IN WHICH : at an exclusive private school in the city, where rich kids thought they ruled the place, heeseung finds out the girl who cheated off of him on an exam and could probably get him expelled, has an even worse reputation than him, and she doesn’t seem to care about what he thinks or says.

WARNINGS: drugs, sexual content. +18.

BTW: tried my best to represent my king fanon suna rintaro in y/n. i haven’t smoked in so long….. it’s been 30 years (2 weeks)….. i’m starting to forget the feeling (girl got sober) ….. ok so basically i dramatized everything cause it’s a fanfic okay, don’t think i take all the stuff i wrote pls and ew i wil never ever write smth like this again, i’m a fluff writer TT

WC: i aint counting allat

read more !

they say opposites attract, even in love, and for him, it’s always been true. he’s into quiet, delicate girls, the type who never speak up and just go with the flow. but no matter how sweet they are, heeseung drops them without a second thought, like they’re nothing more than a momentary distraction after getting what he wants from them. so how did he end up in a situation where it was him doing the chasing? he never really thought he'd have to, ever.

it was almost funny, laughable even. he, of all people, accused of copying on an exam? and now facing the possibility of being expelled if he didn’t find a way to make it right? it was the kind of mess he never imagined getting into.

yes, he was a player and toyed with girls’ feelings for his own benefit, but that was it, he would never dare to stain his behavior record and affect his reputation with the school. he knew his family would kill him if he did, they were the type to always put on a face for others and everyone thought they were this perfect little rich family of three, that went on the most expensive trips and could buy anyone and anything.

he could still remember the teacher’s harsh words blaming him for this. ‘miss y/n has an impeccable record of approved grades in my subject, while you, mister heeseung, barely scrape by. and in this exam, it’s your first grade above a 90. you both share the same exact answers, the same solutions. that leaves me to think you copied off her. i suggest you stop denying it and accept the punishment of suspension. if not, i’ll have no choice but to speak to the principal about expelling you from this school. and your father won’t be able to save you from this one again with donations.’

heeseung slammed his locker shut with a fury, the sound echoing down the empty hallway as the final bell rang. his mind raced, thoughts spiraling. what was he going to tell his family if he actually got expelled? his family reputation couldn’t fix this. the idea was unthinkable, impossible. he wasn’t about to let something he didn’t do ruin everything. he wouldn’t accept it. not without a fight.

he’d stolen the cheat sheet, that much was true. but copying off another student? he would never do that. he had his pride, after all. the problem was, he had no idea how you’d ended up with that paper. how did you get your hands on it? and why the hell had you not even thought about changing one single answer to be slick? his mind was racing, but he wasn’t about to let anyone think he was that stupid.

heeseung had never even bothered to look your way since you got to the school a year and a half ago in your leather jacket and sunglasses. your parents knew each other but you weren’t the type of person he’d ever hang out with. he did know about a guy having a fling with you, and honestly, it almost drove him insane. word has gotten out you had almost driven him to the point of seeking professional help to be sane. but that wasn’t even the worst thing said about you. even with your father’s reputation and money, you weren’t safe from being on people’s mouths as the daughter he never wanted.

what made everything even more difficult was that he had no idea how to make you admit it was you. he didn’t have your number, didn’t know anything about your schedule except for the one class you both shared. confronting you in person seemed like a disaster waiting to happen. he couldn’t risk you turning the whole thing around, making him look like the bad guy while you played the victim. it would be just his luck.

he had never felt so completely taken advantage of. it was always him who used people, who knew how to manipulate them into giving him exactly what he wanted. yet here he was, losing his mind over a girl he’d never even spoken to. it was ridiculous, and it pissed him off.

as the next day rolled around, he was still consumed by it. before the first period, he stood by the stone lion statue on the entrance of school, leaning against the wall next to jake and sunghoon, waiting for karina and wonyoung, as they mindlessly talked about a new prada backpack sunghoon bought yesterday. but heeseung’s mind kept drifting back to the mess with you, he tried to push it aside, focusing on the usual routine. still, the more he tried to forget, the more it nagged at him.

just as he was about to ask jake about you, since he always seemed to know everything about everyone, he stopped himself. no way was he going to ask his friend for help and look uncapable of solving things. he needed to figure this out on his own. instead, he turned his thoughts to how he could find you before the shared calculus class at the end of the day. he had to get to the bottom of this, and fast.

"heeseung!" a cheery voice called out, pulling him from his thoughts. he looked up to see karina dragging wonyoung along, both of them heading toward him, their little red-bottom heels clicking against the pavement. karina flashed him a big, playful smile and waved enthusiastically, her energy cutting through the tension that had been building all morning.

“damn it, it’s too early in the morning for this,” heeseung muttered, rolling his eyes as they approached. jake, who had been watching the whole scene with a smirk, nudged him in the ribs. “that girlfriend of yours, man,” he teased. heeseung just shot him a glare, clearly not amused.

the two girls made their way toward them, but just as they were about to reach the group, a loud, roaring engine cut through the morning air. before anyone could react, a sleek motorcycle zoomed in, blocking their path. the rider revved the engine once more, making it clear they weren’t going anywhere until they dealt with them.

"woah, what’s goin on?" sunghoon asked, clearly impressed by the person who had the guts to stop karina and wonyoung in their tracks. he wasn’t the only one taken aback. everyone was staring as the motorcycle came to a halt. little did they know, the rider was someone heeseung had been obsessing over all morning, someone who could probably ruin both karina and wonyoung’s face with just one single punch. the tension in the air shifted instantly, and heeseung felt his heart race, but not for his girlfriend’s safety, instead, for the person who rolled around.

the motorcycle she was riding was imposing, big, dark, and matte, with electric blue accents. the kind of bike that screamed power and danger. it looked like something straight out of a movie, designed to intimidate, just like its rider. there was a certain energy about her, something that made everyone around tense up instinctively. she didn’t need to say a word to command attention. her presence alone was enough to make even the most confident shrink back.

but they still stepped closer, followed by a crowd of other students who knew exactly who was under the helmet. everyone was eager to see what would happen next.

you pulled off the black helmet, letting your hair tumble out as the cold morning air hit your face, sharpening the already obvious irritation in your expression. there was an undeniable edge to your aura, something fierce and untouchable, like you thrived on chaos and didn’t care who knew it. the way you stood, calm but dangerous, with an almost predatory confidence, made it clear you weren’t here to play nice. karina glanced around, clearly uncomfortable in the middle of a confrontation she’d rather avoid, but she couldn’t deny what she had just done, not going unnoticed by you.

not letting her get the first word, you swung off your motorcycle, your movements sharp and deliberate. "you bitch, are you insane?" you shot at her, pointing a finger directly in her face. the students around you quickly scrambled, eager to capture what might turn into a full-blown fight. for the students watching, it was like something straight out of a teen movie. the popular ‘it girl’ of the school facing off against the infamous ‘bad girl’. a label you despised even more than the people who threw it around. the rich kids were convinced you were a bad person just because you got high 8 out of the 7 days of the week, dressed in black and liked to waste your money getting inked.

"what are you talking about?!" karina stammered, stumbling back as she grabbed wonyoung’s hand, who seemed ready to shrink behind her in panic. they both looked like dolls, dressed in couture clothing and expensive hair accessories.

you scoffed, the memory of what happened earlier still fresh. "don't play dumb with me," you shot back, eyes narrowing. "you're the one who threw food on the road to school from your little convertible. god, are you even intelligent enough to drive?!” karina’s face flushed with embarrassment, not thinking you would actually confront her like this, and for a moment, she looked like she might deny it. but instead, she opened her mouth. "well, i guess i should have thrown it at you then, instead of the road, since you always like to be dirty, don’t you?” she laughed, looking down at your worn out shoes, which were sluthered with mud.

"dirty?" you cut her off with a bitter laugh. "you want to talk about dirty?" your voice dripped with sarcasm. "i’m not the one with half of the school’s dicks down my throat, while embarrassing myself chasing a guy who, the only thing he likes about me is fucking, because it’s the only time i will stop being annoying, how ‘bout that?”

“well, it’s a shame that you don’t have a face pretty enough to even attract a normal guy’s attention. i have seen you hanging around with those shaggy and dirty stoner animals from your old school you call men, having sex in the middle of an alley, all high and out of their minds, huh,” she insisted, pointing at you up and down.

“you’re so full of shit karina, and it’s sad. as if you’d ever find someone that actually likes you, to listen to you talk for more than ten minutes.” you threw her a pitiful look. the students around you shifted uncomfortably, some of them glancing at each other as the tension in the air grew thicker. wonyoung, still holding onto karina’s hand, looked like she was about to step in, but karina pulled her back. “i don’t care what you think, i’m rich, i’ve got tons of friends and i’m pretty, and you have always been jealous of me, just what is your problem?”

you stepped closer, your gaze never leaving hers. “like i care about your dad’s money wash karina, don’t get too carried away, it takes more than money to make someone feel less than you,” you smirked, looking at her up and down. you stepped dangerously closer quickly, making her stumble back once again and shriek, gripping onto wonyoung’s arm even stronger.

“but it will pay your facial reconstruction bill if you keep fucking with me, got it?” you said quietly, but with a force that made the words hit harder than anything else. before she could snap back, wonyoung pulled at her sleeve, whispering something in her ear. karina hesitated, then exhaled a long breath. she wasn’t stupid, karina has seen what ‘kinds of people’ you hang out with, and how bad the other person gets out of a fight with you, she was always quick to insult you, but never to continue fully.

"okay, fine. you want to clean your little tricycle?" karina said, trying to act nonchalant, taking out a huge bill from her purse. "here, i don’t care, just go back to where you came from." you took the bill karina handed out harshly, splitting it in right in the middle, making her gasp, and look at the money falling on the ground, feeling totally humiliated.

not saying anything else, you turned back and mounted the motorcycle again, revving it in a way for the students around to step back, and open way for you to continue your morning, not daring to get in your way. you sped off, the roar of your bike fading into the distance of the parking lot. the boys lingered for a moment before finally making their way over to karina and wonyoung, concern written all over their faces. "you girls alright?" sunghoon asked, glancing at both of them.

karina shot him a frustrated look, her arms still crossed defensively. "yeah, whatever. i'm fine," she muttered, though her voice was tight. wonyoung stayed quiet, looking more shaken than usual, as if still processing the encounter.

the boys exchanged a few more words of reassurance, but heeseung barely heard them. his mind was miles away, consumed by the memory of you. your sharp words, your defiant stance, the way you’d made it clear you weren’t to be messed with. he couldn’t shake the image of you. he couldn’t let it go. not now. heeseung was used to being in control, used to getting what he wanted without a second thought. but you, you were different. there was something about you that made him want to find out more, something about the way you handled the whole situation that had him itching to confront you, face-to-face, but he knew he couldn’t, not unless he wanted to hear karina yell at him nonstop in a fit of jealousy.

"you good, man?" jake's voice broke through his thoughts, and heeseung looked up, blinking. "yeah," he said, trying to shake off the feeling. but deep down, he knew he wasn’t really fine.

as the day went on and classes shifted, lunch break came to an end, and before long, it was time for the dreaded calculus class. you sauntered to your seat at the back of the classroom, right by the window, and dropped into the chair. with a bored sigh, you pulled out your phone, scrolling through it without a care, eyes barely glancing up. it was weird seeing you stick around this long on a school day. usually, you’d slip out early or roll in late, and no one ever said a word. you never had too many absences, always acing every exam. and for that reason, the teachers didn’t question it, because you had this way of making it look effortless, like the rules didn’t even apply to you.

as the class dragged on, something landed softly on your desk, just a small note. you glanced over and saw the girl next to you, the one with the big round glasses, her eyes wide with nervous energy. the second you looked her way, she flinched, shrinking back into her seat. she quickly pointed to the guy sitting next to her, her face practically pleading for you to read whatever nonsense he’d scribbled.

you gave him a weird look, your brow raised in silent confusion, before you slowly unfolded the note, your fingers moving deliberately as if you had all the time in the world. it read, ‘what do you think you’re doing? why did you copy off of me on the exam?’

you snorted at the message, and instantly, the memory hit you. it was the first time you’d let yourself go, forgetting about grades, staying way too long at some random house drugging yourself with something new, until blackout, two days away from home in your ride. you hadn’t made it back in time to study, so you did what you had to do. you texted a contact at school to get you the test. lucky for you, he knew someone in your class who had managed to steal the cheat sheet, and just like that, you had it in your hands.

‘none of your business’ you wrote back, your fingers moving quickly as you folded the note and slid it over to the girl. she hesitated for a second, then took it from you, passing it to him discreetly like it was some kind of underground deal.

a few moments later, the note came back to you. you unfolded it, and your eyes scanned the words. ‘you have to admit you cheated off of me, i’m risking expulsion.’ as if you actually gave a damn about his risk. you shot him a cold glance, then made a subtle motion with your hand, signaling for him to follow you out of the classroom, while you carried your belongings, not planning on returning.

after a few seconds, he finally slipped out of the classroom, meeting you in the empty hallway. "hey, so i really need you to admit you cheated off of me, i could get suspended, even expelled, and i'm not willing to take that kind of punishment for you," he started, his voice full of desperation. but you didn’t let him finish. you raised a hand, cutting him off, and his words trailed off as he stood there, waiting for you to say something.

"i’m sorry, who even are you?" you asked, shaking your head, genuinely confused. "i’m still trying to figure out why you think i’d ever admit to cheating on a test for you." your voice was casual, like the whole situation didn’t even faze you.

"because you did," he said, his tone dripping with self-righteousness. "it’s the right thing to do. you need to get suspended for cheating off of me." he smirked, as if he was the one holding all the power now. "and if you don’t, i’ll just tell them i caught you fucking someone in the bathroom for the test answers or something. you wouldn’t want that, would you?" that made you laugh.

"okay, listen, mr. whoever-you-are," you said, raising an eyebrow, "i’m not doing shit for you. after all, it’s my word against yours, which i’m guessing doesn’t mean much, considering you're the one getting blamed for cheating." you leaned in, a smirk playing at your lips. "and as for the fucking thing? i’ve been caught plenty before. the worst they’ll do is throw me in detention. so go ahead, do as you please." you poked his shoulder, the gesture almost mocking. he stood there for a second, his smile fading as he processed what you'd said. you could tell he wasn't used to being called out like that, or having the cards reversed, but then he leaned in, his voice lowering, like he was trying to pull some kind of play.

"you know," he said, his tone smooth, "a pretty girl like you... you don't really want to be known as the one who got away with cheating. people would start talking, saying you’re not enough for a school like this, wouldn't they?" he stepped closer, his eyes scanning you like he was sizing you up, "but hey, i get it. you don't want to get caught up in more drama. maybe i can help with that... if you just admit it was you."

this couldn’t be happening, you just wondered how in the world did this guy not know of your reputation, he was embarrassing himself so much at the moment. no boys in school got near you for that exact same reason, and here he was, thinking he could word his way into manipulating you, as if you didn’t know how to play your own game. you were known for being this maniatic crazy bitch with a motorcycle, who hang out with ‘lowlifes’, knew how to fight and that was only useful to get drugs from, also probably slept around with teachers because they didn’t think you’re smart enough to study. you’ve been told so many things, that what he said didn’t even bother you.

you rolled your eyes, clearly unimpressed. "oh, so now you're trying to play the good guy card?" you laughed dryly, leaning against the lockers. "nice try, but i'm not some stupid girl you can sweet-talk into doing something."

he chuckled, clearly not giving up. "come on, baby," he said, his voice turning smooth and almost coaxing, "we both know you like the thrill of a little risk. how about we make a nice deal, you admit it was you, and maybe we... hang out sometime. you know, just us. could be fun."

you raised an eyebrow, rolling your eyes again. "wow, really? you are so considerate of me, but no, i don’t want your reduce reuse recycled dick, i'm not interested."

he stepped closer again, trying to intimidate you, but you weren't moved. you just pushed him back with a lazy finger, eyes never leaving his. "you clearly don’t know what you’re doing, or even how to talk to me," you said, voice dripping with mockery. "i'm not impressed. i’ve seen your type a hundred times. and it's honestly fucking pathetic."

he frowned, his jaw tightening, but you didn't care. you weren't here for his tantrums. "seriously, you think this is gonna work on me?" you continued, your voice low and sharp. "you're the one who's gonna look stupid if you keep pushing this. i'm not gonna admit. and if you keep threatening me, we can always settle this another way, i’m sure you know how to fight with those big boy muscles right?" you squeezed his arm, making heeseung shudder, almost feeling a tingle.

you turned to leave, tossing him a final glance over your shoulder. "good luck, though," you added, your voice flat. "i'm sure your suspension month will be really fun." you tossed over your shoulder, voice dripping with sarcasm. "but don't worry, you probably already have a few girls your way to help you feel validated and accompanied."

heeseung just stood there, watching you leave and soon disappear onto another hallway, probably escaping classes. but that did not worry him, we couldn’t let himself worry over a girl like you. you would clearly never fall for his words. guys like heeseung, we’re almost like easy prey for you. too weak and easy, thinking they dominated the whole world, fucking around with girls, throwing massive parties and golfing every sunday with their dad. when in reality they probably didn’t know how to unclog a toilet.

they pissed you off so much, he pissed you off, and now your day was ruined. so almost two hours later, you found yourself on a complete different town to the south, entering an worn out house, kicking the door open. the house brought back many memories, too many. from when you lived here, and not back with your father, in a place you didn’t belong.

"who's here?" a slurred voice called from the kitchen, barely cutting through the thumping music. the place reeked of stale smoke and something sharper, like bleach or chemicals. dim, flickering lights barely illuminated the clutter, casting long shadows over cracked furniture and empty beer cans. scattered on the floor were people, sprawled in various stages of oblivion, some twitching, others motionless, all trapped in their own haze. the walls, stained and peeling, seemed to pulse with the low vibrations of the bass, as if the house itself was barely holding it all together. the house which was previously your mother’s, was now just a usual abandoned place that your friends utilized to hang out in.

"damn, this place is a mess. why didn't you wait for me?" you muttered, stepping into the kitchen. your friends were slouched around a grimy breakfast table, barely looking up as one of them finished snorting white lines off the edge. the counter was littered with crumpled pink blunt wrappers.

"yo! gigi, stop the music!" yeonjun shouted, sniffling as he shot up from his seat, stumbling a bit before he lurched forward to hug you. he almost tripped over his own mismatched-socks covered feet, but when he finally reached you, he inhaled deeply, as if your scent, clean and free of any substances, was a breath of fresh air in the chaos of the room. his grip tightened for a moment, his eyes flickering with a mix of relief.

"i’m not your bitch," giselle muttered, rolling her red-ish eyes as she leaned over to turn down the blaring music. her long acrylic nails clicked sharply against the plastic radio, the sound cutting through the tension in the room. she barely looked at yeonjun as she did it, her expression more annoyed than anything else.

you laughed at her comment, shaking your head, and then moved to hug her, pushing yeonjun off you in the process. he stumbled back, slightly irritated but too dazed to really react, while giselle’s stiff posture softened just a little as you wrapped your arms around her. her eyes flickered with something close to annoyance, but there was a hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. you pulled away from giselle, giving her a teasing look. "so, what's the plan for tonight?" you asked, shifting your attention to the other strangers in the room, as they lazily got back to their own little worlds. yeonjun was still rubbing his nose, barely paying attention, while giselle just shrugged, taking a drag from her cigarette before flicking it into an ashtray.

“we’re hitting that party in the hill later,” she said, her voice flat but laced with anticipation. "gonna get crossfaded, maybe do a little more. jay’s been asking about you non-stop, by the way." she giggled. you raised an eyebrow at that, crossing your arms. "jay?" you repeated, a little surprised. you didn't think he’d be the type to obsess over anything, let alone you. "what does he want with me?"

she leaned back in her chair, a mischievous glint in her eye. "he’s obsessed you and your dumb tattoos. that night you two spent together? yeah, he can’t stop talking about it.” she paused, letting the words hang in the air like a secret. “guess he’s got a thing for you.”

you snorted, leaning against the counter, trying not to let it bother you too much. it was funny, people you’ve slept with always seemed to fixate on your exterior. but jay? he was a different story. you didn’t really care about whatever weird little crush he might have, though. he was now from a different crowd, and would never cross that line to be with you.

“he does know i changed schools right?” you said. your new school was a whole different world, elite, private, a playground for the wealthy and connected. kids with silver spoons, flashy cars, and tailored suits. a lot of them were insufferable, like karina, but you didn’t mind. it was easy to stand out, to be yourself in a place where most people just followed the rules. since your mother disappeared and your dad took you back, you’ve been placed in a world you don’t belong, and clearly don’t mind not belonging.

they had their porsche, you had your r7. they had private security, and you had your little hello kitty knife. but here, with giselle and the others? it was different. a lot more laid-back, the students knew how to have fun without all the airs and graces of your new world. they were down to earth, fun, and honest, none of the pretentious bullshit that came with being surrounded by rich kids. they had their flaws, sure, but you loved hanging out with them. it was like coming back home after a long trip to a hotel casino, where everyone was more concerned with status than actually living.

giselle noticed the shift in your mood and grinned, as if reading your thoughts. "i know, i know," she said, her voice softened, almost sympathetic. "but, hey, you're still cool with us. we don’t care about your new rich kid school. we’re just down for a good time."

"yeah, alright. i’m down. just don’t expect me to get too crazy, my dad’s expecting me before five am, he knows how shit goes here,” you let out a quiet sigh, glancing over at yeonjun who was now half-focused on his phone, tapping away furiously with his thumb. "so, i’m guessing you’ve already got the stuff lined up for tonight?" you asked, a smirk tugging at your lips.

he looked up at you, still slightly dazed, and nodded. "yeah, i texted my guy next door. he’s got everything we need. should be ready by the time we leave."

“don’t worry, i’ll go,” you didn’t need to ask twice. despite your better judgment, you were already used to this kind of thing. you pushed off the counter, giving giselle a nod. "i’ll be back in a minute, you both stop inhaling shit and try to sober up, i’m not a babysitter," you said casually, already walking toward the door.

"take your time, don't get too caught tho," she called after you, voice almost playful, but with that edge of concern. the door slammed shut behind you, and you stepped out into the cold evening air. it wasn’t far, the dealer’s place was literally next door, tucked behind a run-down convenience store that no one seemed to go into.

the door to the small house was already cracked open when you arrived. you knocked lightly, stepping back to make sure no one would spot you. a moment later, a guy with messy hair and a hoodie poked his head out, his eyes scanning you quickly before he motioned for you to come in. "yo, what’s up?" he greeted, his tone laid-back but sharp, like he had done this a thousand times before

“yeonjun sent me," you said, slipping inside. you didn’t need to say much, his face lit up as soon as you mentioned the name. yeonjun was a regular here, always popping in for one thing or another. the guy didn’t ask too many questions, which was fine by you. "right, right," he said, disappearing into a cluttered room at the back. you heard the rustle of plastic, the clink of glass. he returned with some small bags of pills in his hand, sliding them across the counter. "this should be good for the night. tell yeonjun he owes me. i threw a little present in there for you, pretty."

you nodded with a smile, taking the bag, your fingers brushing against the cool plastic. it was always the same, but you still hated the feeling of this whole transaction, sketchy, rushed. "thanks," you muttered, seeing a little extra, and slipping the bags into your jacket pocket before heading back toward the door.

"catch you later," he called after you, and you didn’t bother to respond.

as you headed back toward the house, the night started to feel more like a blur of its own, the sun setting into a canvas of dark and light colors.

when you pushed the door open again, giselle was already eyeing you, her arms crossed and a smirk playing on her lips. "got it?" she asked, and you gave a quick nod. "yeah, we’re good to go," you said, tossing the bags onto the table where yeonjun had plopped back down. he gave you a lazy thumbs up.

the party was exactly what you’d expect from a house like this, small, run-down, but buzzing with an energy that could only come from a group of teenagers living for the night. the kind of place where people got high, drunk, and fucked without any care in the world. the walls were covered in posters and graffiti, the floors littered with empty bottles and crumpled cans. music thudded through cheap speakers, competing with the chaotic chatter and the occasional shout of someone daring someone else to do something ridiculous or threatening to start a fight.

when you, yeonjun, and giselle arrived, the front door was wide open. keeho was standing there, practically bouncing with excitement, already tipsy from whatever he’d been drinking. his hair was an absolute mess, eyes slanted and tired-looking, and he had lipstick stains all over his neck, but his grin was infectious as he waved you over.

“yo, rich girl! you made it!” he exclaimed, his voice a little slurred, and he pulled you all in for a quick, sloppy hug. "was starting to think you forgot about me, we gotta get you three started!" without missing a beat, keeho grabbed a half-empty bottle of cheap vodka from the floor and shoved it into your hands, urging you to take a swing. his laugh was loud and carefree, and it felt like you were already swept into the madness. you hesitated for a second, but then shrugged and tipped the bottle back. the burn of the alcohol hit the back of your throat, sharp and bitter, but it didn’t matter.

giselle grinned and knocked back her own drink, wiping her mouth as she handed the bottle to yeonjun, who eagerly took a swig, his eyes already glazed over. keeho’s grin only widened, as if he had orchestrated some kind of victory. “hell yeah, let’s go!”

you all pushed past him into the house, the noise of the party almost overwhelming at first. in the main room, there were already people sprawled on couches, a couple of them making out in the corner, while others lounged around in various states of intoxication. the air was thick with the scent of weed and sex. “okay, so, knowing you yeonjun, hotboxing only in the basement bathroom, i don’t want to repeat what happened last month in my room,” keeho turned to your group with a serious face all of a sudden. yeonjun rolled his eyes and started arguing, and giselle joined in, making you leave the scene relentlessly.

as you wandered further into the house, you spotted jay almost immediately. he was leaning against the wall, a drink in his hand, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on you. the second he saw you, his entire demeanor changed, his gaze locked onto you with a sharp intensity, like you were the only person in the room. you couldn’t help but notice it. there was something almost obsessive in the way he watched you, his lips curling into a small but knowing smile. you weren’t sure if he was just drunk or if it was something more, but you knew he wasn’t just here for a good time. he was here for you.

“hey,” jay said as you approached, his voice low and a little too eager, like he was trying to hide just how much he wanted to pull you into his orbit. “glad you showed up. i wasn’t sure if you would.”

you raised an eyebrow and took the drink from him, taking a sip, already sensing the weird energy from him. "you act like i'm some kind of mystery," you said, your tone light, but there was a hint of warning in your voice.

jay just laughed, though it sounded a little nervous. he shifted, trying to get closer, but you didn’t exactly encourage it. "no, no. i mean, i was hoping you’d show up," he said, clearly not even noticing how desperate he sounded. "i don’t know. i just... i couldn’t stop thinking about you." his words hung there in the air for a moment, too heavy for what was supposed to be a casual conversation. you glanced away, trying to shake the awkwardness of it. he was just supposed to be a random hook up, and now he was obsessed.

"yeah, i’m too sober for this, i need a minute," you cut him off, shrugging his hand away, your tone sharper than you intended. the last thing you wanted right now was another round of jay following you around again. you managed to slip into the bathroom, the noise of the party muffled behind you. the moment the door clicked shut, you let out a sigh of relief, leaning back against the door for a second, trying to shake off the weight of jay’s attention.

reaching into your pocket, you pulled out your phone, hoping for a distraction. you had been waiting on a text from your motorcycle repair center all night, hoping they'd finally gotten back to you about the part you needed. just as you started scrolling through your messages, trying to ignore the distant thumping of bass and the muffled laughter from outside, you heard the bathroom door creak open behind you. before you could even turn around, you felt a hard bump against your shoulder, someone colliding with you unexpectedly.

"hey!" the voice was sharp, and the tone was ready to unleash a curse. but then, the voice shifted, a more amused, almost playful note creeping in. "wait, hold up, you're cute."

you blinked, turning to face the girl who had crashed into you. she was standing there, eyes still wide with what could’ve been irritation, but her lips were curled into a smirk now. she looked like she was about to say something more, but the words faltered when she took another quick look at you. she was a couple of inches shorter than you, her dark hair pulled into a messy ponytail, with eyeliner that looked like it had been hastily done, smudging a little at the edges. she wore a worn-out band tee, black jeans, and had that 'i don’t care' attitude.

you raised an eyebrow, still holding your phone, but not making any immediate movement. "thanks," you said dryly, not sure if she was being sarcastic or genuine. “ryujin,” she continued, “and you are?”

“y/n, y/n l/n,” you introduced yourself, almost sounding too righteous.

“you good y/n?” she asked, her voice almost too soft, the kind of softness that could break you without a word. “fuck no, i lost my friends and i need to get high right now,” you laughed, running your hand through your hair.

“oh really?” before you could respond, ryujin was already in front of you, close enough that you could smell the alcohol on her breath, feel the heat radiating off her body. “i can help with that,” she whispered, and there was something about the way she said it that made your pulse spike. she was clearly offering something more than simple. she was offering you something you hadn’t tried before.

she reached into her pocket, pulling out something small, a needle. you froze, your chest tightening, but the pull was still there. you weren’t thinking. you were just so desperate, it would happen again, you would take something from a random hot person. the needle gleamed in her hand, sharp and cold under the dim lighting. you didn’t need to ask what it was, she didn’t need to explain. you could already feel it, the ache of wanting something to take you somewhere else, to make this noise in your head stop. you were sick of it.

her eyes flicked to yours, dark and knowing, like she could see straight through you. "you sure?" she asked, but there was no question in her voice. it was more like a dare. your breath hitched, your heartbeat louder than the music. you looked at her, and for a split second, everything felt still. her eyes held you captive, like she was waiting for you to decide whether to break or not. and then, without saying anything, you nodded.

she didn’t hesitate. one swift motion, and the needle was at your arm. the sting was sharp, more real than anything you’d felt. the rush of it hit you instantly. a sudden heat spread through your veins, like fire lacing under your skin. the world around you blurred, the noise fading into the background. you felt something.

it was almost too much to handle, too quick. your body jolted with the rush of it, the sense of floating, of being untethered from everything. and then, before you could even catch your breath, ryujin was kissing you. it was hard, messy, raw. her lips were insistent, pulling you deeper into the chaos, as if she was swallowing every ounce of your pain. it wasn’t gentle, it was desperate. like she wanted to take everything from you and leave you empty, but at the same time, filled.

you kissed her back, caught in the haze, your body responding before your mind could catch up. the high was creeping in fast, too fast, but it felt good. it felt like everything was finally softening, the noise, the pressure, the expectations, all of it was dissolving with every second that passed.

when she finally pulled back, you were breathless. the world was spinning, but in a way that felt almost right, like you weren’t out of control, but floating in some kind of blissful wreckage. “that’s better,” she whispered, her voice low, smoky, and satisfied. “kissing makes you not feel how much this bitch hurts,” she laughed “or so i’ve been told.”

you just stared at her, too buzzed to say anything, but feeling a kind of calm you hadn’t known in what felt like forever. the pain was gone now, swallowed by the buzz, the heat, and the way she looked at you. like you were both on the edge, and neither of you cared whether you fell off. the rush from the needle still pulsed through your veins as you stepped out of the bathroom, feeling a bit unmoored, like your body was drifting through space. the party felt louder, the music a distant thump in your chest. everything was hazy, like you were floating, and the crowd around you seemed to blur, their faces indistinct. you were just moving.

without thinking, you found yourself at the center of the living room, where bodies pressed against each other, the air thick with sweat and smoke. you let the beat pull you in, letting go of the last vestiges of control. you didn’t care anymore, about anything, anyone. you just moved, your body responding to the rhythm like it had a life of its own, and for the first time tonight, you felt alive.

you danced with strangers, faces you didn’t recognize, their hands on your hips or shoulders, the energy bouncing between you all like an electric current. their movements were reckless, free, and somehow, it felt like you belonged here, in the middle of this mess. the high made everything feel vivid. intense. like every touch, every glance was magnified.

a guy leaned in close, his breath warm on your neck. you didn’t pull away, letting him get close enough to whisper in your ear. you could barely understand what he was saying, but his hands were on your waist, tugging you closer. you let him, lost in the sensation of being wanted, of not caring what anyone thought. your body was moving like it was made for this chaos. you didn’t think. you just felt.

the music shifted, the bass pumping harder, and for a moment, everything became a blur of neon lights and sweaty bodies, spinning like a dizzying cyclone. you let yourself get swept up in it, lost in the noise and the movement, until you couldn’t keep up anymore. the energy in your legs started to fade, your body heavy and tired. you were buzzing too much to care, but eventually, your feet were no longer dancing, just shuffling you toward the edge of the room.

you stumbled to a couch, sinking into the cushions with a long, relieved sigh. the room around you seemed to shift, the music muffled now, everything distant, like you were underwater. you tried to keep your eyes open, but the pull of exhaustion was too strong. you just couldn’t fight it.

your head sank into the back of the couch, and in a matter of seconds, you were out, completely, utterly gone. the noise of the party continued around you, but you were far away now, floating in the quiet of your mind, somewhere where nothing could touch you. the high, the spinning, the chaos, it all faded to a distant hum. you were weightless, drifting in nothingness, as everything slipped away.

you woke up the next morning to the harsh sound of someone shouting, the words barely making sense at first. “everyone get up and get the hell out!” keeho’s voice rang through the room, piercing the fog of sleep that still clung to you. blinking, you squinted at the blinding light creeping through the window, the ache in your head reminding you of just how much but so little had happened the night before. and you tried to suppress the feeling of vomiting.

you barely had time to process everything when keeho appeared at the door, his eyes wide in sudden panic when he saw you sitting there, a disheveled mess on the couch. “wait... you’re here? yeon and gigi were crazy looking for you last night,” he stammered, clearly flustered. you could tell he hadn’t noticed you before, hadn’t realized you’d passed out here.

“yeah, i think someone gave me dope, ‘m not sure,” you muttered, trying to shake the sleepiness from your mind. “could use some clothes though. i didn’t exactly plan on crashing here and i gotta get my ass to school or my father will actually kill me.”

keeho nodded quickly, his face flushing in embarrassment as he glanced around the room like he didn’t know where to look. “yeah, yeah, no problem. i’ve got some stuff, just go to my room. there’s a drawer with girl clothes from... you know. just grab whatever.” he gestured to the hallway.

you stood up, a little unsteady on your feet, and made your way toward his room. it wasn’t far, but the house felt like a maze now, the remnants of last night’s chaos still hanging in the air. the stale scent of alcohol and smoke clung to everything, and you could hear people stirring, mumbling groggily as they shuffled about, trying to piece together the aftermath of whatever they did.

keeho’s room was a mess too, clothes and half-empty bottles scattered across the floor, papers crumpled on his desk. you spotted the drawer he mentioned and pulled it open. inside, there were a mix of clothes, some definitely not your style.

you pulled out a small crop top, the fabric soft against your skin as you slipped it on. the shirt hugged you in just the right way, but the way it exposed a sliver of your tattoos on your side gave you an odd sense of power. something about the ink on your skin made you feel more present, more you, even in the haze of everything that had gone wrong in the last month, not listening to your brain. you quickly grabbed a pair of athletic shorts from the drawer, the fabric light and comfortable, though they were a bit tight on your hips. it didn’t matter. you weren’t here to impress anyone.

you didn’t know what you were expecting to feel in that moment, but it certainly wasn’t this. it was a weird mix of exhaustion and emptiness, and so thirsty. but at least you weren’t in yesterday’s clothes. stepping out of the room, you took a deep breath, preparing to face the aftermath.

keeho was still in the living room, shouting at people to get out, his tone half-annoyed, half-caring, like he was trying to maintain some level of order in the madness. he saw you and gave you an awkward wave. “yo, you good?” he asked, trying to act casual.

“yeah, just tired,” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes. “where’s the exit?”

keeho pointed to the door and went back to yelling at whoever was still sprawled on the couch. you weren’t in the mood for much interaction. just get out. get back to the north. you walked toward the door, weaving through the mess of bodies and vomit. the cool morning air hit you as soon as you stepped outside, the bright sun already making the world feel like it had reset itself. everything was sharp, clear. the chaos of the night felt distant now, as if you were waking up from a bad dream.

you tried not to think about it as you walked away from the house, the reality of last night still buzzing in your head. you pulled out your phone and called an uber, the cool screen a brief distraction from the foggy mess of your mind. as you waited for it to arrive, you kept thinking about the night. about the haze, the people, the weird feeling of everything slipping through your fingers. you needed to forget it, or at least stop accepting drugs from friendly girls in bathrooms, you had to stick to smoking-only, or your body would end up on the cover of a newspaper with a bad name. you slid into the back of the car when it arrived, the familiar hum of the engine lulling you into a kind of dull trance as you made your way back to the city.

the ride was quiet, a smooth hum of traffic and soft music in the background. it didn’t take long to get back to the luxurious academy, but as you stepped out of the car and walked through the heavily guarded gates, you could feel the eyes on you. people were already filing into the backyard tables for lunch, and you were late, again.

you didn’t care, though. you didn’t care about anything right now. the school was a blur of clean clothes and sharp faces, everyone looking polished and perfect, the exact opposite of how you felt and looked. you ignored the stares, walking past a couple of your classmates who were giving you the side-eye, their whispers barely audible over the din of voices. but you could feel the weight of it. the judgment. the fact that you weren’t exactly like everyone else here, and they knew it.

you made your way to the lunch hall, where your only acquaintance was already sitting, glancing up as you walked in. chaeryeong’s eyes flickered between you and the time. you slid into the seat across from her, barely noticing the food she'd saved for you. you didn’t have the energy for the usual small talk or the smiley faces she always wore.

“are you okay, y/n?” chaeryeong asked softly. you still couldn’t figure out why she stuck around. maybe it was because you’d protected her in some way, kept her safe from karina and her ridiculous mean girl act. chaeryeong was too kind, too good-hearted. she didn’t deserve any of that. you nodded without thinking, just going through the motions. you took a bite of the sandwich, but the food was tasteless, like everything else was. somewhere deep down, you knew you had to get your shit together, but for now, it was easier to keep pretending that everything was fine.

the real reason why you started being even more reckless than before was simple. you missed her. and you hated yourself for it, for missing your mother, the one who abandoned you a year and a half algo. a part of you wanted to believe this was all a plan for you to move in with your rich father and get yourself a place in society, but deep down you knew she found another family with one of the hundreds of men she slept with every night to be able to pay rent. not like you were actually hurt, though. everything you did, every choice you made, was for her. you liked to think she was in a better place now, not living off of selling herself. in your mind, you had to be your best version, just for her. not for that father you have, which was the first one to actually leave, after hearing the news of your mother being pregnant with you. but karma got him, and now he was stuck with you.

he just lets you be, lets you invite your friends over and make a mess. after all, he has maids to clean up after you. but you weren’t about to be that much of a burden, which is why you pushed yourself to excel academically. your mother always said, ‘every single person is a nobody, no matter how rich or poor. the only thing that makes us different is our drive to be better for ourselves.’

you stand up abruptly, pushing your chair back with a little too much force. "i'm going for a smoke," you mutter, barely looking at chaeryeong. before she can say anything and tell you how drugs are ruining you, you’re already heading out of the cafeteria, your steps quick and determined. you make your way to your locker, your fingers fumbling slightly as you pull out a couple of blunts, the familiar smell of them grounding you.

sliding past the neat hallways, you cut through the back of the school, where the gym equipment is stored, away from the eyes of teachers and nosy students. it’s quiet here, the air thick with the scent of rubber and old wood. you light up without hesitation, the first drag hitting your lungs like a small relief. for a moment, it's just you, the world outside fading into the background. you then take a slow hit, the smoke filling your lungs again, and for a second, it feels like everything slows down. you exhale, watching the thin trail of smoke twist and curl in the air before disappearing. the taste is bitter, but it doesn’t matter. it’s the quiet and that’s important right now.

until it wasn’t. from the corner of your eye, you catch movement, footsteps crunching against the gravel. you look up, and there he is, the guy from yesterday. the same cocky grin, the same aura of someone who’s too used to getting what they want. he was dressed in a faux-fur jacket.

“what the hell…” you watched him get closer, his nose slightly scrunching at the smoke coming out your mouth.

"looks like we started on the wrong track," he says, leaning against the chain-link fence with that insufferable smirk still on his face. "name’s heeseung," he adds, like you should be impressed.

you blink, connecting the dots in your head. heeseung. the rich kid. the usual playboy. and then, it clicks, he’s with karina. the thought hits you like a cold splash of water. of course. he’s here because of her. to bribe you, maybe, or to mess with you, make you look bad in front of everyone. you exhale, the smoke swirling between you as you size him up. "what d’ya want?" you ask, your voice flat, not bothering to hide the growing annoyance.

he wrinkles his nose, taking in the air like he’s just stepped into a dumpster. "really smells like shit here, and you look even worse," he says with a disgusted chuckle, glancing around like he’s considering whether or not to leave. you can’t help but laugh, the sound rough but genuine. ‘he really is a piece of work,’ you think, watching his discomfort. without missing a beat, you take another hit, leaning back against the wall as you blow out the smoke. "maybe it's just you," you say with a smirk, your voice teasing but cold.

heeseung raises an eyebrow, clearly not expecting that response, but you can see the hint of a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. he’s not as untouchable as he thinks. heeseung’s eyes flicker down to your exposed arms and stomach, the tattoos that snake along your skin, and you catch the shift in his expression. he’s staring, but it’s not the way he was a second ago, this is different. "did those hurt?" he asks, his tone almost tentative, like he’s unsure if he should even ask. you raise an eyebrow, glancing at him like he’s just asked the dumbest question in the world.

you stare at him for a long second, then pull in a slow breath. "what do you think?" you say, deadpanning. "of course they did." he blinks, suddenly awkward, rubbing the back of his neck. "right. uh..." he trails off, his gaze flicking around like he’s trying to find something else to say.

"are you cold?" he asks finally, his eyes narrowing slightly at your lack of layers. you’re barely dressed for fall, your shirt thin and your shorts almost too small for the weather. the chill in the air seems to be getting to him more than it’s getting to you. you snort, the sharp edge of your laugh cutting through the tension. "worry about yourself," you mutter, pulling another drag. it’s not like you were cold, it’s more that you weren’t going to admit it to him.

he watches you for a moment, brow furrowed, clearly not buying it. his eyes flicker between your face and the way you’re standing. "yeah, okay," he says, though it sounds more like he's humoring you than agreeing. heeseung takes a step closer, his hands slipping into the pockets of his hoodie as he looks at you with a mix of concern and reluctance. "you know, if you really aren’t fine, i could always-“ he cuts himself off, glancing away for a second, as though considering something before shaking his head. "never mind. it’s not that cold anyway, right?"

“stop trying to make small talk, hedeun-“

“it’s heeseung,” he interrupted, visibly bothered at you getting his name wrong.

“it’s whatever, just tell me what you want, i don’t like spending much time with people like you,” you sighed. “what are you really here for?”

“i heard you sell,” heeseung started, making you let out a loud laugh. “if all you wanted was to smoke, you could’ve just asked me to share, i’m not a monster,” you extended your blunt towards him, but he declined. “i also heard about your mother, and about your old school, and everything about it,” he swallowed, nervously fiddling with his hands, contradicting with his harsh exterior. you raised an eyebrow, the edge of a smirk pulling at the corner of your mouth as you listen to him, the words rolling off his tongue with a strange mix of nervousness and something else, like he’s trying to explain himself but doesn’t really know how. it’s not exactly what you expected, but it’s almost worse.

"is that so?" you reply, voice flat but laced with a quiet venom. you cross your arms over your chest, leaning back slightly as if the conversation doesn’t deserve your full attention. "so, you did all this… research on me, huh? i bet everyone had a lot of nice things to say." it was a weird situation, when you changed schools, all the girls were all over you, excited for a new girl, but as soon as they saw who you were, they escaped, not wanting anything to do with you besides get some smoke and pills.

you couldn’t blame them, you didn’t want to hang out with them either. but karina stayed, until you made the ‘mistake’ of dating the guy she liked at that moment, and since then, she made the promise to destroy your life, if only she could even try.

he seems to falter under your gaze, his eyes dropping to the ground for a moment. "i just... i wanted to understand. i wasn’t trying to judge you or anything. i just..." he rubs his hands together, clearly uncomfortable. "i guess i just thought it’d make sense to know who you are before, well, before we talked again."

you can feel the sharpness in the air, his attempt at an apology or explanation almost laughable. you don’t need his pity. “so, you went and found out about me. what now?”

he looks up at you, a bit of guilt coloring his expression, but it’s hard to tell whether he’s more upset about the fact that you’re not impressed, or that his research didn’t give him the right answers. "i just-" he stops, rubbing the back of his neck again, looking more like a kid who’d gotten caught in a lie than a guy trying to make amends, secretly trying to manipulate you. "i didn’t mean to come off like that. i just... i don’t know how to read you."

your eyes narrow, sizing him up. "well, you can start by not making this about me. whatever you think you found out, that’s your problem." you tilt your head, voice going a little colder. "you’re not the first to assume shit about me. and everything i told everyone on this place about me, is barely the surface, so you can do with that what you want. but i’m not here for your guilt trip."

for a moment, it looks like he might say something else, but he just bites his lip instead, clearly unsure how to break through the wall you’ve just put up. and you’re fine with that. heeseung had no idea why you were being so hard. why he couldn’t get to you like he could with other girls. for some strange reason, he seemed drawn to you, almost as if you were here to save him from the horrible destiny that it is to be with karina. but you didn’t seem the slightest interested in him. and he hated that. he hated the fact that he felt like you were unconsciously pulling him in, but he couldn’t do the same to you.

only, that he could. and he was doing it. you could see it in his eyes, the sparkle for the unknown, you were almost an escapatory for him. from his rich kid, player, facade or maybe his own true personality. you felt the extreme change in demeanor he had since talking to you yesterday, after realizing you weren’t like the girls from his school. he seemed way more open today, and way more relaxed. but you weren’t about to be his little side distraction in his perfect, cushioned life. you weren’t just some novelty.

"good conversation, heeseung," you muttered, clicking your tongue as you stubbed out the blunt against the cement wall you were leaning on, then started to walk away. before you could get too far, you heard him call after you. "hey, wait up!"

you turned back to find a faint desperation in his eyes. "sunghoon's throwing a little something tonight, and i know you don’t usually hang with people like us, but you should come. we might need some of that stuff you’ve got." he gestured to the blunt in your hand. it was almost endearing, how he treated something so simple like it was a secret, like it was taboo. the gap between you two seemed clearer than ever.

“i’ll make sure to get you something good, i hope you can handle it,” you gave him a small smile. heeseung watched you walk away, the weight of your words hanging in the air between you. he was used to girls like karina, who flattered him, who followed him, who played by the rules of his world. but you? you were something else. something he couldn’t quite figure out. he didn’t know why, but something about you made him feel off-balance.

‘you’re not an escapade. you’re not just some distraction,’ he thought to himself, eyes narrowing in confusion. you’re different. something about you. you could ground him. he didn’t know what it was. it wasn’t just the exterior, the rough edges, or the way you didn’t give a shit about his family name or his money. it wasn’t just the way you made him feel like he wasn’t the center of the universe for once. it was everything. the way you looked at him, like he was nothing special, like he was just another guy in a long line of guys who thought they could buy their way into your life.

“but i’m not like them,” he whispered, his jaw tightening, for some reason, he felt as if your opinion about him mattered, as if it would validate him and differentiate him from everyone. his fingers itched as he replayed the way you shut him down, how you were so effortlessly cold, so indifferent to everything he usually took for granted. it drove him insane, but in a way that made him want more.

heeseung's thoughts were interrupted as he heard footsteps approaching. he turned, and there she was, karina, dressed in her usual sleek, effortless luxury. she was all polished skin, perfectly pressed clothes, and a kind of beauty that seemed more crafted than natural. every strand of her hair was in place, her makeup impeccable. she was the kind of girl who seemed born to be admired, the kind who could walk into a room and instantly own it with just a smile. "there you are, baby," she said, her voice smooth and warm, but with an edge of impatience. "i've been looking for you everywhere." her eyes flicked over him, a slight frown pulling at the corners of her lips, probably because she found him standing alone. she wasn't used to seeing him like that. the usual crowd of hangers-on was missing.

heeseung barely acknowledged her greeting, his mind still half on you, half on the uneasy tension you left behind. "yeah, here i am," he replied, his voice distant, distracted. karina raised an eyebrow, noticing his disinterest. “what's up with you? you look like you're a million miles away.” her tone was soft, but there was an undercurrent of concern, or maybe just curiosity. he wasn’t acting like himself, and karina was used to having his full attention.

heeseung felt the instant need to go back to his facade, and gave her a smirk. “i’m just thinking,” he shook his head. karina’s eyes narrowed slightly. "thinking about what?" she asked, as if she wanted to understand what had him in this strange mood he changed all of a sudden. he hesitated, looking off into the distance, towards the empty tennis courts. he didn’t want to bring you up, but something in him pushed him to. "actually," he started slowly, "i’ve been wondering... why do you hate that one girl, y/n, so much?"

karina’s eyes flickered briefly, a subtle shift in her expression that heeseung didn't miss. for a moment, he saw something, just a flash, of discomfort in her gaze, he had been around enough girls to start to notice things like this. it was fleeting, but it was enough to make him pause. she straightened, regaining her composure almost immediately, but he could tell. ‘she’s jealous,’ he realized. not just of you, but of the fact that he was talking to her about you. about you, and not her.

karina stiffened, but only for a second. the smile on her face didn’t falter. ‘it’s fine,’ she thought, ‘don’t overreact. he’s just talking about her because she’s interesting. he’s not actually...’ she couldn’t quite finish the thought. she didn’t want to risk making a scene, not when she was so close to keeping things exactly the way they were. she needed him. she couldn’t let you take him away from her. so she would do her best to portray you as someone horrible.

"i don’t hate her," she replied after a beat, her voice a little too controlled. "i just don’t get her."

heeseung raised an eyebrow, unimpressed by her attempt to deflect. "you’re not fooling me," he said, his tone soft but insistent. "you don’t like her. why?"

karina let out a quiet sigh, her gaze shifting down, away from his eyes. she was debating whether or not to say what was really on her mind. finally, she spoke, her voice low. "she just… waltzes into any group, any situation, with that awful motorcycle and a hand full of drugs, and everyone loves her. no effort. she doesn’t have to try. and i hate that."

heeseung frowned, confused. "what do you mean? i don’t get it."

karina’s eyes flickered with something darker now, the frustration seeping through her composed exterior. "i mean, i work for everything. i work for people’s approval, for their attention, for their affection. i have to try, i have to be the right kind of person, say the right things, look the right way. and then she shows up, all… whatever she is, and everyone just falls over themselves for that druggie. no trying. she doesn’t care about any of it, and still, she gets everything." her voice grew harder, colder, as if she was speaking from experience. "it’s like she doesn’t even have to try, and that’s what pisses me off."

heeseung couldn’t help but study her face, watching the jealousy simmer in her eyes. it was subtle, almost masked by her cool demeanor, but he could see it now, clear as day. karina was used to being the one people admired, the one people worked to impress. and you, someone who didn’t play by any of the rules, someone who didn't care, had that same magnetic pull, without any of the effort. and it bothered her more than she wanted to admit.

karina stiffened, her lips curling slightly. "that’s exactly the problem," she snapped. "she doesn’t belong here, and she thinks that just because her father finally acknowledged her, and suddenly she’s super rich, she can act however she pleases. but it’s not like that."

the thought made him uneasy, but he didn’t show it. instead, he shrugged, his gaze drifting back to where you had disappeared. "i don’t think it’s the money," he muttered, almost to himself. "i think she just is. and maybe that’s what makes her different."

karina didn’t respond. she simply stepped closer, closing the distance between them, but he could feel the slight shift in the air, the way her usual easy confidence had faltered, just a little. "whatever you say," karina finally said, forcing a smile back onto her face. "but just remember, she’s just a low life addict, that’s all she is, and will ever be. you don’t want to get too close to someone like that."

heeseung didn’t meet her eyes. instead, his gaze lingered on the spot where you had walked away, and the words from earlier replayed in his head, the ones that had stuck with him the most, ‘i hope you can handle it.’

later that night, heeseung found himself at sunghoon’s house, though his mind was somewhere else entirely. the mansion was alive with the thumping pulse of bass-heavy music, laughter, and the clink of bottles being passed around. it was the kind of party sunghoon always threw, lavish, high-energy, packed with people who were either too drunk to remember their names or too wealthy to care about anything else. people were dancing in the living room, some on the massive leather couches, others sprawled across the marble floors, playing some ridiculous drinking game. it was a familiar scene, people letting loose, showing off, and pretending to forget the rules for a few hours.

but none of that mattered to heeseung right now. he was standing off to the side, leaning against a wall, a drink in his hand but barely touching it. his mind kept drifting back to you, the way you’d walked off earlier, the way karina’s words had lingered in his head. there was something about you that gnawed at him, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that tonight would be the night that would reveal something important.

he didn’t even know if you’d show up tonight, but he couldn’t stop thinking about it. would you? would you show up, walk through the door with that effortless confidence, and completely flip the energy of the room without even trying? it wasn’t even about impressing people. it was the way you didn’t need to try. you just were. and it was like you could walk into any situation and make everyone else’s chaos feel like it was secondary to you.

he tried to shake it off, pulling his phone out of his pocket to check for something. nothing. his friends were blowing up the group chat, but none of it caught his attention. it was a flurry of photos, plans to leave with a girl, someone complaining about the music being too vulgar, but nothing about you, because you weren’t part of his life. maybe that’s why he kept looking around the room, scanning the crowd, hoping, wishing that you would suddenly appear, even though he knew he was being ridiculous. you probably wouldn’t even care about coming to a place like this. too many people trying to impress each other. too much pretending.

he threw back the rest of his drink on one of sunghoon’s exotic plants, setting the glass down on the nearest table, feeling his mind drift further from the party. he leaned against the wall again, the chatter and music blurring into the background, but his focus remained fixed on the front door. he kept wondering if you'd walk through it.

across the room, jake appeared, grinning wide, holding up two shot glasses. “heeseung! come on, man, stop moping in the corner and have some fun.” he raised his eyebrows, urging him over. heeseung waved him off, still distracted. “i’m good. just got a lot on my mind.”

“yeah? don’t let it ruin the vibe, dude. you’re at a party, not a therapy session.” jake clapped him on the shoulder and turned away to rejoin the crowd. heeseung’s eyes flicked over to the front door again, and he felt that familiar twist in his stomach. ‘she’s not coming,’ he thought, but the doubt lingered. the weird hope that maybe, just maybe, she would show up. ‘she doesn’t belong here, and she doesn’t want to belong here,’ he told himself. this world’s not your scene. but that thought only seemed to make him want to see you even more.

for a moment, he wondered why he cared so much. why was he fixated on whether you’d show up or not? it didn’t make sense. he barely knew you, and yet everything about you felt like a puzzle he had to solve. and now, standing in the middle of this extravagant, noisy party, he felt that pull again, the one that made him question everything, including himself.

he glanced at the door again, half-expecting to see you walk through, but nothing. just the same crowd of people, laughing and drinking, playing their games. maybe you didn’t care about these kinds of parties. maybe you didn’t care about any of this at all.

heeseung pushed through the sliding glass door that led to the backyard, escaping the chaos of the party. the cool night air hit him like a splash of water, and he took a deep breath, trying to clear his head.

the backyard was quieter, but his mind was still buzzing. he was leaning against the brick wall near the pool when he spotted karina on the other side of the yard. she was laughing, leaning into some guy with slicked-back hair, a smile too perfect to be genuine. the guy was clearly into her, his hand resting a little too comfortably on her waist, but karina didn’t seem to care. she was toying with him, teasing him, her eyes glancing over at heeseung for only a second, as if she was trying to make him jealous, but he wasn’t bothered.

heeseung didn’t care. not tonight. the sight of karina flirting with someone else didn’t stir anything in him. he didn’t even feel a spark of jealousy of that guy not being him. it was strange, but in the back of his mind, he kept thinking about you, about how you didn’t fit into this world at all, and yet, you seemed to have more of an impact on him than anyone else in the room.

he was about to turn back to search for jake, when the sound of raised voices cut through the air. it wasn’t just loud, it was intense.

he turned, his curiosity piqued, and followed the noise toward the front of the house. he didn’t know what was going on, but something told him it wasn’t good. as he rounded the corner, he saw the commotion, a guard-like guy, probably hired by sunghoon, was blocking the front door, holding his hand out like a wall. and there, standing just a few feet away from him, were you, fuming, your hands raised in defiance, and your expression unreadable but full of fire.

heeseung’s heart skipped a beat. he couldn’t believe it. you were actually arguing with the guy, not giving a damn about the way he stood there like he owned the door.

“i can’t let you in. you’re not on the list mr. park provided,” the guy was saying, his voice deep and dismissive, clearly not taking you seriously. you, however, didn’t care about his rules or his attitude. "i don’t care if i’m on that fuck-ass list or not, let me in," you snapped, leaning in so close your face almost brushed against his. "move out of my way before i make you."

heeseung watched, a little impressed, a little surprised at how you held your ground. you weren’t backing down for anything, no one was going to push you around. the guy was trying to reason with you, but you weren’t having it. before things could escalate, heeseung walked up, cutting through the tension with his calm presence. the guy looked at him with confusion, but heeseung ignored him, instead turning to you.

“hey,” he said, his voice cool but loud enough for you to hear over the noise. “it’s fine. let her in.”

you stopped, glancing up at him with a look of surprise in your eyes, like you hadn’t expected him to step in. but then your face softened slightly, and he gave a quick, almost imperceptible nod, signaling to the guard that it was okay.

"i said it’s fine," heeseung continued, keeping his gaze on the guy who was still hesitating. "she’s here with me."

the guard’s eyes flicked between you two, clearly unsure, but he finally backed off. “whatever,” he muttered, stepping aside. “but you’re on thin ice, lady.”

you didn’t even acknowledge the guy’s words. you turned without a second glance, and motioned for your friend to follow your lead. “gigi, let’s go,” you said, the confidence in your voice as clear as day.

heeseung blinked, surprised by the sudden appearance of the girl who had been standing quietly behind you the entire time, playing with her nails. you both were dressed in tiny dresses that revealed too much, clearly ready to go somewhere else after this. giselle wasn’t as loud or bold as you, but there was something in the way she carried herself with her salmon colored pin-straight hair and long nails, that suggested she was just as comfortable in her own skin. she followed you without hesitation, taking slow steps toward the door.

the two of you walked together like you didn’t even notice the opulence of the house, the flashy people, or the music blaring from inside. you seemed completely indifferent to the party scene, to all of it, and heeseung couldn’t help but admire it and wonder how had he not noticed you before. while everyone else was caught up in the noise, the drinking, the pretension, you and giselle were just there. not needing anything from this world. not caring about any of it. you only seemed to care about yourselves, about the quiet between you, and maybe that was the most fascinating thing about you.

heeseung was about to say something, but you didn’t even look back at him. instead, you pushed your way through the crowd with your friend, making your way to the kitchen without a second thought. he followed, but kept his distance, not wanting to intrude.

you weren’t here for the party. you were here for you, and he couldn’t help but wonder how long he could keep watching from the sidelines before he, too, would be drawn into whatever world you existed in.

“alright,” you sighed, taking a few small plastic bags from your bra, and a cigarette box. you weren’t any kind of professional underground dealer, but you were still cautious, if not, word would get to your father and it would be a mess.

“i got you, ice, it’s the powder by the way, i got molly, those pills with happy faces on them, and weed… oh, and we pre-rolled them for you, they’re kind of fat, i’m really nice like that,” you smiled at heeseung, seeing him stare at you.

“you good?” you asked, “i didn’t bring anything else, i don’t think you’d even know how to take it,” you stepped back, crossing your arms.

“oh, yeah, yeah, that’s good,” he shook his head, snapping out of his trance. “can i scan-pay you?” heeseung asked, realizing, of course, he didn’t have any cash on him.

“yeah, it’s alright,” you said, pulling out your phone and typing in an amount before switching to a qr code for him to scan. for a moment, you considered scamming him, but decided against it. it would’ve been easy, he didn’t even ask about the prices.

once the payment went through, you flashed a quick, satisfied smile back to giselle. you could already feel happier knowing you would get out of this mansion. as you began to turn away, heeseung’s gaze shifted, his eyes landing on someone across the room. “hold on,” he muttered, scanning the crowd. he spotted jungwon nearby, leaning casually against the wall, chatting with a few people. heeseung grabbed the bags from the counter and stepped over to him.

“hey,” heeseung called, catching jungwon’s attention. “take this to sunghoon, yeah?” he passed the items over, his tone nonchalant. jungwon raised an eyebrow, looking at the bags before meeting heeseung’s eyes. “man, the things you get yourself into for a girl.”

heeseung shrugged, offering a half-smile. “it’s for me. just get it to him. he’ll know what to do.”

jungwon gave him a nod, slipping the bags into his jacket pocket. “got it.”

heeseung’s eyes followed you and giselle as you made your way toward the door, his steps quickening as he caught up with you just before you reached the curb.

“hey, where are you two headed?” he asked, voice casual but with a hint of concern. you looked at him, a little surprised to see him following. “we’re going to the south,” you said, glancing at giselle. “there’s a car race. about half an hour away, and since i had to come all the way up here for you, we’re hoping to make it to the after party.”

heeseung nodded, his gaze lingering on you. “i’ll drive you,” he said, his tone suddenly firm. “we wouldn’t want you, both of you, getting into any trouble out here.”

you raised an eyebrow, skeptical, but too high to argue. you glanced at giselle, who was lighting another blunt, and let out a sigh. "fine," you said, already feeling the weight of the night catching up with you. "i’m not in the mood to call a cab and waste money." giselle shot you a look that was part judgment, part annoyance, but she kept quiet. you could feel her disapproval, but you were beyond caring at this point.

heeseung led the way, and you followed without a word. when you reached the driveway, your eyes widened slightly at the car parked there. heeseung’s car was a sleek, black sports car, the kind that turned heads without even trying. it was polished to perfection, the curves of the body glinting in the dim light of the streetlamp. it was the kind of car that screamed wealth, effortlessly.

“is this yours?” you asked, though you already knew the answer. it was the first time something he had impressed you. heeseung smirked as he opened the passenger door for you. “yeah. pretty sure it’s faster than any cab you’d get out here.”

you shook your head, sliding into the leather seat. giselle climbed in at the back, sitting with her arms crossed, clearly not impressed. she still had that cold, distant air about her when it came to heeseung and his “scrooge mcduck” world.

heeseung didn’t seem bothered. he slid into the driver’s seat, started the engine, and the low purr of the car’s power seemed to cut through the tension in the air. as he pulled out of the driveway, the smooth hum of the car filled the silence between you all.

it was an uncomfortable ride, but at least it was fast, and you weren’t wasting money on a cab. you stared out the window, the city lights blurring by, while giselle stared ahead, looking as unimpressed with heeseung and his world as ever. heeseung, on the other hand, kept his eyes on the road, his expression unreadable. the drive was smooth, fast. but even as he focused on the road, his mind kept drifting back to you.

he glanced over at you, your face illuminated by the streetlights, your expression unreadable. and for a brief second, he realized that he didn’t want this ride to end. he didn’t want to stop being close to you, even if just for a moment.

as you got closer to the south side, the vibe of the neighborhood started to change. heeseung could feel it in the air. the buildings were older, the streets narrower, the houses less pristine than the ones he was used to. the gleaming luxury of his own world felt miles away. his fingers tightened on the steering wheel as he took in the unfamiliar surroundings, a slight unease creeping in.

you glanced over at him, sensing the shift in his energy. “you okay?” you asked, eyes narrowing slightly as you noticed him tense up and grip the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. heeseung didn’t respond at first. he just kept driving, his gaze flicking between the rearview mirror and the unfamiliar streets. it was clear he wasn’t used to this. “yeah,” he said, his voice cool but there was something off about it. “just... not exactly my usual neighborhood.”

you gave him a knowing look, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “don’t worry,” you said, your voice light but with an edge of seriousness. “i’ll protect you, whatever happens pretty boy.”

heeseung shot you a glance, eyes flicking over to meet yours, before rolling his eyes. “i don’t need protection, thanks,” he muttered, but there was an almost imperceptible tension in his jaw that gave him away.

you could tell he was uncomfortable, and it wasn’t just the drive. his world and this one were different in every way, and he was out of his element, but you didn’t say anything. it was clear enough without needing to spell it out. heeseung took a turn down an alleyway, the pavement rough and uneven. he parked the car next to a few other vehicles, feeling the weight of the decision. the streetlights here weren’t as bright, and there was a certain stillness in the air that felt too quiet for comfort. his mind flashed briefly to the idea of getting robbed, but he pushed the thought away, shaking his head.

“don’t take it personally,” you said, reading his discomfort easily. you and giselle climbed out of the car, both of you moving with purpose. “come on,” you said, glancing back at him. “the after party’s just down the street.”

heeseung hesitated, but finally stepped out of the car. the low hum of the engine idled in the background, the sound of the city slowly creeping in around him. he walked behind you and giselle, trying not to seem too out of place as you led the way out the alley.

the party was just around the corner, and the closer you got, the louder the music became. from a distance, it looked like any other chaotic house party, but heeseung could sense the difference. the people were rougher, the energy sharper. it felt like a different world, one he had no real experience in. you shot him a glance over your shoulder as you reached the front door. “you’re fine,” you said, almost as if you were trying to reassure him, though you both knew there was no guarantee of that. you gave him a small smirk before pushing open the door.

heeseung paused at the threshold, looking around. this was a place where he didn’t belong, a world where people didn’t care about money or status. it was raw, unpredictable, and everything in him wanted to retreat, but something kept him standing there. you had pulled him into this world, whether he liked it or not. heeseung followed you and giselle into the backyard, where the atmosphere felt more relaxed, but still lively. the yard was filled with groups of people gathered around, casually chatting and laughing. the air was thicker here, filled with the mix of cigarette smoke and the low hum of music coming from the house.

heeseung couldn’t help but feel out of place as his gaze landed on two guys, who were lounging on a bench, laughing with a couple of girls. their casual demeanor was in sharp contrast to the tightly wound posture he’d been carrying since arriving. they noticed him immediately, their eyes flicking to him, then back to you and giselle. noting he was one of ‘yours.’

“girls, you bailed on us tonight,” keeho pouted.

“we told you we were going to sell at one of y/n new classmates party. your little suicide car race isn’t that important,” giselle rolled her eyes kicking keeho’s shin with her heel, making him hiss.

yeonjun raised an eyebrow and smirked at heeseung, who was still tense, and looked like a mannequin from a golf store. “yo, man, you look like you’re about to shit yourself already. what’s with the stiff face?” he asked, clearly amused by heeseung’s discomfort. keeho chuckled, looking at him with a knowing smile.

“you’re here with her, though,” keeho added, tilting his head in your direction. “so, you’re alright, huh? wasn’t expecting to see you here, rich kid.”

you laughed at his comment, taking giselle’s blunt and taking a drag out of it.

heeseung wasn’t sure how to respond. he wasn’t sure why he felt so out of place. it wasn’t like he had anything against the people here. still, he couldn’t shake the tension in his shoulders. “yeah, just not... used to this,” he muttered, glancing around at the unfamiliar scene.

you caught his eye, noticing the tension that still hadn’t fully left him. with a small grin, you spoke up, your tone light but firm. “don’t sweat it. i said i’d protect you didn’t i? you’re fine. just enjoy the night.”

yeonjun laughed and leaned back, gesturing to the people around him. “we’re bro’s, right? just have a good time. you’re with us now,” he said, his smile more welcoming than teasing.

you and heeseung exchanged a quick look, something unspoken passing between you before you broke the silence with a small smile. “want a drink?” you asked, your tone casual but with an undercurrent of something more, like you were offering him a way to settle in, just a little. heeseung hesitated, glancing around at the people milling about, some laughing, some lost in their own world. he still wasn’t quite comfortable, still felt like an outsider, but the offer was simple enough. he nodded slowly. “yeah. sure.”

you led the way over to a small table where drinks were being passed around, beer cans, a few bottles of cheap liquor, and what looked like a mix of makeshift cocktails. the scene felt different than the polished, curated parties he was used to. you grabbed a bottle of something brown and poured it into a plastic cup, handing it to him. “you’re unlucky, i don’t have any fancy cocktails,” you said with a half-smirk, leaning back slightly as he took the drink.

“thanks,” he muttered, eyeing the cup with a little wariness before taking a careful sip. it was strong. way stronger than he expected, and he quickly forced himself to swallow, trying not to show that it burned. heeseung took another drink, feeling the warmth spread through his chest as the alcohol hit him. the tension in his body started to loosen, but his mind kept swirling around the question that had been nagging him ever since you first crossed his path.

“why are you staying with me?” he asked, his voice quieter than usual, a little more curious as you two settled down on two plastic chairs. “why not go back to your friends? seems like you’d rather be with them.” he watched you for a second as you absentmindedly looked around. for a moment, you didn’t answer, but then you met his gaze, your eyes soft and a little more open than usual, like you were letting him see something deeper.

“because i knew you wouldn’t feel comfortable by yourself,” you said casually, but there was something in your tone, something almost kind, that caught him off guard. you shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal, but he could tell it was, at least to you. heeseung blinked, surprised. he hadn’t expected that kind of answer. it wasn’t what he’d imagined, especially with how standoffish you'd seemed earlier. you weren’t trying to be here out of obligation, or to entertain some rich kid from the party.

and then, as the silence stretched on for a second, he noticed something in your manner. something that shifted, just a little. your body language had relaxed, your words were slower, more open. heeseung's gaze narrowed, and he took a longer look at you. “wait a minute,” he said, voice a little more cautious. “you’re high, aren’t you?” he laughed.

“yeah, i’ve been for the last ten minutes,” you admitted with a small laugh, your words softening at the edges. “it’s just the same thing i gave you, though. don’t get all worried on me.”

“so you’re... this you?” he asked, motioning vaguely to the two of you, to the situation, to everything happening around you. “not the one back at the school?”

you shrugged again, but this time it was more relaxed. “yeah, i guess so,” you said, eyes flickering away for a second, like you were deciding whether to share more or pull back. but then, you met his gaze again, almost like you were daring him to say something about it. “i thought i’ve always been me, but now that you mention it. i guess i kind of act with some sort of resentment to you guys,”

he took another drink, then looked at you, his voice softer this time. “why’s that?”

“hard feeling,” you said simply. “family things, but it’s all handled.” you lied, not wanting to open up to him completely yet. there was definitely a change in him, and you noticed it. and in his eyes you could see the slight desperation and need. it was his new demeanour that made him different. you couldn't explain, because words couldn't even clarify what was starting to lure you in.

“heeseung, seriously, i’m opening up to you, and you keep looking at me like you want to fuck,” you said out of nowhere. he instantly tensed up and looked away.

“i’m sorry, i didn’t realize,” he said. it was obvious he didn’t want you to think of him as a player anymore, he was actually trying to please you now. you let out a soft, teasing laugh, leaning back in your chair, knowing exactly what you were doing. you decided to play into his usual game just enough to give him a bit of satisfaction. "do you?"

heeseung immediately turned toward you, eyes widening in surprise as he caught the playful glint in yours. he knew exactly what you were hinting at, but he still tried to keep his cool, pretending to be unfazed. "huh?"

"do you… want to fuck?" you asked casually, watching him with a challenge in your eyes.

his breath caught for a split second, but he quickly composed himself. he opened his mouth, unsure of how to answer, and hesitated. "i… don’t know," he muttered, trying to play it safe, though his voice betrayed a slight crack of uncertainty. you couldn’t help but laugh softly, your head tilting back as you let out a short snort. you met his eyes again, smirking. "what do you mean you don’t know? is it really that hard to say what you want?"

heeseung shifted uncomfortably, clearly trying to play it cool, but the nervousness was obvious. and it was so very clear that he wanted it. he ran a hand through his hair, his gaze flickering away for a moment. "what even is your point y/n?"

you shrugged nonchalantly, your tone lighter now. "nothing, just asking."

after that night, things were different. heeseung wasn't the same. he wasn't playing games anymore, not the way he used to. it wasn’t like he’d suddenly become someone else, but around you, he changed. that distance he always kept, it started to shrink.

you could feel it in the way he acted, the way he’d look at you sometimes when you were talking in class or lunch with your friend, like he was listening for real and not just pretending. he was less guarded, more real with you.

you started meeting up behind the gym often. no one ever really saw you, and that’s how you both liked it. the air was always a little warmer there, the kind of quiet where you could actually talk. you’d smoke, and he’d sit with you, talking about everything and nothing at all. and even when the conversation would die down, there was this comfortable silence between you two. the kind that felt easy, like you didn’t have to fill every gap with words.

one day, he even just showed up at your door, standing there with his dad, holding a gift basket. you froze when you opened the door. heeseung, here, with his dad, visiting your dad. it was almost laughable. you never thought you’d see the day, but there he was, a little nervous, but still trying to act cool.

"uh, hey," he said, like it wasn’t the most awkward thing ever. "my dad was going to visit your dad... said something about business visits or whatever, so i came with him."

you blinked, still processing, then stepped aside to let them in. after that, you both started to realize how much closer you’d gotten. things weren’t just about secret meetings anymore. they were about knowing each other, understanding each other in a way you didn’t before.

heeseung wasn’t a player anymore, not around you. he wasn’t hiding behind any walls or pretending to be something he wasn’t. it was like he was finally letting himself be seen, and you liked that. a lot.

even with all the changes, even with how much closer you two had become, there was still that one thing hanging between you. heeseung was still with karina. it wasn’t like you didn’t notice it. the way they would still walk around school together, the way she’d smile at him when he passed by. there were no obvious signs of trouble, no cracks in their relationship that you could see.

even though heeseung would drop little hints, those quiet, uncertain words when the two of you were alone ‘i’m thinking about breaking up with her…’ it never seemed to go anywhere. he would say it with a kind of vulnerability, like he was testing the waters, like he was hoping you’d say something that would push him in one direction or the other.

you couldn’t help but feel frustrated. there was this constant tug-of-war between what he said to you in private and what he did when the world was watching. it felt like he was trying to keep one foot in both worlds, but you couldn’t help feeling like you were left waiting in the middle, unsure if you were just a momentary distraction or something more. you told yourself you shouldn’t read too much into it. that he was confused, that maybe it wasn’t the right time, or maybe he didn’t have the courage to make the change. but every time he’d tell you he wanted to leave her, you’d see the conflict in his eyes, that quiet desperation to be understood, to be seen. still, he never followed through. he never made the choice.

you stayed friendly, maybe out of habit, maybe because you weren’t quite ready to let go of the connection you’d built. you let him tag along when you hung out with your friends down south at the house. a spot that was more a sanctuary than anything else, away from the world, away from expectations.

heeseung still had that rich boy aura about him, the one that made him stick out in a crowd of worn-out jeans and streetwise attitudes. but your friends didn’t mind. they were good with him being there, even if they teased him a little. mocking his clean-cut appearance, joking about how his designer clothes didn’t exactly fit the vibe. they liked him well enough, though. it was obvious he wasn’t as comfortable with them as he was in his own circles, but he did try. and they did notice how close you’d gotten to him.

“look at mr. fancy pants over here,” yeonjun would joke, nudging him as he sipped on whatever drink was put in front of him. “you sure you’re not lost, rich boy? this isn’t exactly sushi bar territory.”

he’d smile, a little awkwardly, trying to laugh it off, but there was always a flicker of discomfort behind his eyes. he wasn’t like them, not really. they knew it, and he knew it, but it didn’t matter as much when he was there, surrounded by your friends, just being with you.

you’d catch moments, though. quiet ones when he was staring off into the distance, or when his laugh felt a little too forced. you knew it was because he was still stuck. still torn between two worlds, two lives. and you were tired of being in the middle of it. though, what ou didn’t know, that for him it was much more than that. he was stuck between two girls of different worlds. karina and you.

karina wasn’t someone he actually liked, he was just with her for his reputation and his family. but still, he was with her. and you, you were absolutely everything to him. you were the trouble that came along with bad decisions and the reward that came after them.

it all came crashing down one night when you and your friends were hanging out at the house, like you’d done countless times before. the air was thick with smoke, the sounds of laughter and music filling the dim-lit space as everyone just tried to forget for a few hours. it was supposed to be like any other night, a break from everything that weighed you down. but then, out of nowhere, the door slammed open.

sirens wailed in the distance, but it was already too late. the police stormed in, uniformed and angry, their boots pounding against the cracked floors, their voices demanding silence. they didn’t give anyone a chance to react before they were ripping through everything. throwing aside old records, scattering things off shelves, knocking over bottles.

"this is a raid," one of the officers barked, his voice cutting through the chaos. "everything’s getting confiscated."

your heart sank as they swept through the room, destroying everything. things you had no idea they’d even care about. all the memories, the things that had made this place feel like home, were being taken apart right in front of you. your childhood, your sanctuary, was crumbling.

you stood frozen for a second, not sure what to do, but your instinct kicked in. no way in hell. this wasn’t right. you couldn’t let them destroy it all. you rushed forward, intent on stopping them, shouting at the officers to stop, to leave, to just go away.

"who the hell do you think you guys are?! this is my house! you can’t do this!" you screamed, your hands shaking with adrenaline as you tried to push past one of the officers to get to the old furniture, the things that meant something to you. everything in this house had a story, a memory. and they were tearing it down, trying to find something.

but before you could get too far, a hand grabbed your arm, pulling you back. it was heeseung, his grip firm but gentle as he yanked you away from the officers.

“stop,” he muttered urgently, his voice tense. "you’re not gonna win this. they’ll arrest you, they’ll make it worse." even if he was slightly scared, and terrified of getting himself arrested and the word getting to his father, he had to take care of you. he just wondered how they found out about this place, a drug raid was almost impossible, you were within the legal bounds.

you were almost angry at heeseung for not letting you go. in that moment, as the officers trashed everything that meant something to you, the anger bubbled up inside. how could he stand there, calm and collected, trying to hold you back, when everything you cared about was being destroyed? it felt like betrayal, even though you knew deep down it wasn’t his fault. he wasn’t the one doing this.

you tried to pull away from him, your heart racing, your mind spinning. "let me go, heeseung!" you snapped, your voice sharp and furious. " i can’t just stand here and watch them do this! they’re destroying everything!"

but he held you tighter, his grip unyielding. “i’m not letting you make things worse. not like this,” he said, his voice tight but calm, like he knew exactly what you needed, even if you didn’t want to hear it.

you yanked your arm again, almost reckless with frustration. your pulse was pounding in your ears. “why? why are you stopping me? i can’t just let them-” you broke off, your voice cracking. you didn’t want to admit how scared you were, how helpless you felt. in that moment, you realized, there wasn’t anybody there for you. the house of your mother was being searched, and she wasn’t here. and you knew you’re father wouldn’t care.

his eyes softened, and for a moment, you thought he might let go. but instead, he pulled you closer, his voice dropping to something gentler, but firm. “because if you go after them now, you’re just giving them more reason to hurt you. to make it worse. this isn’t the time.”

you hated that he was right. you absolutely hated it.

it wasn’t just about the stuff. it wasn’t just about the house. it was the fact that it all felt like a reminder of how much you didn’t have control over. the way things kept slipping through your fingers, no matter how hard you tried to hold on. you looked up at him, your chest rising and falling in sharp breaths. “they can’t just take everything,” you muttered, the anger still hot in your throat. “this was my life. my memories. this house is all i am.”

heeseung didn’t say anything right away. he just looked at you. like he really understood. he got it, even if you weren’t sure you could let him. finally, he exhaled slowly. "i know. but this isn’t the way to fix it."

you stood there, your body still tense, but slowly, you started to feel the reality of the situation hit you. he wasn’t letting you be reckless because he didn’t care. he was trying to protect you from making a bigger mistake, from getting hurt. from losing more. with a heavy sigh, you slumped against him, the fight draining from your body. you weren’t sure if you were more angry at the situation or at yourself for feeling so helpless. but in that moment, as the chaos continued around you, all you could do was lean into him. just a little, because you knew you couldn’t do this alone.

after the chaos of the raid, everything seemed to move in slow motion. the police had confiscated everything they wanted that seemed suspicious, leaving nothing but a wrecked space behind. they’d taken their time, ensuring that no one was left with any trace of what used to be there. when it was over, the officers had turned their attention to you, with blaming guns in hand.

you hadn’t even realized they were going to search you until they were doing it, their hands cold and impersonal as they patrolled your pockets, your bag, your shoes. your heart hammered in your chest, and you were still shaking from the adrenaline, from everything that had just happened. everything felt surreal, like you were watching it happen to someone else. but the reality of it hit hard when they finally let you out of the interrogation room, their eyes on you like you were some kind of suspect.

you stood outside the police station, the weight of everything pressing down on you. the air felt colder now, the harshness of the situation settling in. you were free to go, but the damage had been done. you felt exposed, like a part of you had been torn away that you couldn’t get back. but you couldn’t stay there anymore. the night had stretched on, and you just needed to leave.

as you stood there, trying to process the mess that had been made of your life, you heard someone approaching from behind. you didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. his footsteps, the way he moved, the tension in his gait, it was heeseung.

he walked up to you, his face serious, eyes darker than usual. "are you okay?" he asked, though you could tell he wasn’t asking just out of concern. he was searching for something else, something deeper. you didn’t answer right away. you couldn’t. instead, you just gave a tight nod, your throat too tight to speak. but then he said something that made your stomach drop.

“it was karina,” he said.

you blinked, confused. “what do you mean?”

heeseung exhaled sharply, shaking his head slightly, like he couldn’t believe it. "she’s the one who called the cops. i know it. she slipped up when i talked to her a couple of minutes ago, she somehow knew i was here.”

a cold feeling swept over you as everything clicked into place. karina. karina had followed him all the way to the house, had gotten the cops involved. it made sense, but the realization didn’t make it hurt any less.

“she did this?” you asked quietly, your voice hollow. you didn’t need to say much more. it was all there. you didn’t actually believe it was possible for someone to be such a horrible human being. heeseung didn’t respond immediately. his jaw clenched, and you could see how much it was bothering him. how much it hurt him to admit it, but he couldn’t deny it.

"yeah," he muttered, his voice low. "i didn’t want to believe it at first, but... it’s clear now." he looked at you, his expression almost guilty, like he was carrying something heavy. "i never wanted you to be caught up in that. i never thought she’d go this far. i broke up with her, she kept bothering me about being here."

you turned away, looking out into the night, the cool air stinging your face. "so what now?" you asked, the words coming out flat, tired. heeseung stepped closer, his voice more earnest now, as if he wanted to say something, to fix things. "i don’t know," he admitted quietly. "i never wanted it to be like this. i don’t want to lose you... but i don’t know how to fix this either. i don’t want to hurt you."

you glanced at him, feeling the weight of the moment. part of you wanted to scream, to say everything that was building up inside, but another part of you just felt... defeated. because the truth was, even now, with everything that had happened, you still didn’t have an answer. and maybe that was the problem. you could feel it. the tension that had been there for so long. the feelings that you couldn’t fully express, that he couldn’t seem to acknowledge. and here you were, caught in the middle of it all.

“you’ve already hurt me, heeseung,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “but i guess... i guess i’ve been letting you. because i still don’t know how to walk away.”

heeseung’s expression faltered. "i never wanted you to feel that way."

you shook your head. “you don’t get it, do you? it’s not about what you want anymore. it’s about what’s already happened.”

he didn’t have a response. all he could do was stand there, looking at you like he wanted to fix things, but knowing he couldn’t. because when it came down to it, the choice had never been yours. and it sure as hell wasn’t his to make anymore.

for the next few days, you avoided heeseung like the plague. and he couldn’t get close to you. everytime he tried, something got in the way, his friends, responsibilities. and you were fine with that. you just had to accept that everything that happened with him was just a slip up, and you’d soon be in your usual bad girl exterior, ignoring him one again.

but it wasn’t that easy. not with karina still out to make your life impossible. she was still angry at you for whatever reason. angry enough to confront you again.

“how are you doing, y/n?” karina pulled out a chair in your empty lunch table, sitting down neatly on it.

“what the fuck do you want?” you spat, annoyed by her presence. you could already feel the stares of students and teachers, as they were informed of what happened.

“geez, calm down, we wouldn’t want you to get a violence complaint and get sent back to the police station, wouldn’t we?”

that was all she needed to say, the single words that came out of her mouth. and she was face down on the ground. you pressed your knee on her back, keeping her grounded, as your hand made her face keep contact with the dirty floor. “you keep fucking messing with me karina, i told you i wouldn’t let it go.”

from a table not to far away, heeseung sat with his friends, watching the scene intently, and for once, heeseung felt himself worrying about a girl. not karina, but you. for once he felt the need to protect you, even if you were already capable on your own.

a small drop of blood from her perfect skin was enough to make you land yourself in the principal’s office. after the fight in the cafeteria, everything changed. you were suspended for your actions, the consequences of that impulsive moment catching up with you. karina had pushed you too far, it was messy. it was ugly. and now, it was your reality.

you spent the next week alone, mostly, apart from that day your father made you attend rehab, because for some reason the school requested it, there you met some nice people. the suspension meant missing school, being grounded and missing your friends down south who kept spamming your phone, and also being forced to face the aftermath of everything. it was a strange kind of isolation. you hadn’t expected to feel so disconnected. the chaos of the fight, the anger you’d been holding back for so long. it all felt like it had burned itself out in that one violent moment. and now, there was just the quiet, with nothing left to do but think.

one afternoon, as you sat on your huge balcony, smoking a cigarette, since your father confiscated everything else, you tried to let the smoke clear your head. you watched the world outside, the fancy cars in traffic passing below, people going about their business, and it felt almost surreal. like everything that had happened. the raid, the fight, was part of some other version of your life. but you couldn’t forget. you couldn’t ignore the tension in your chest. the weight of everything you’d lost. even if you didn’t want to admit it, even if you didn’t want to feel it, you still missed him. you missed the parts of him that were real. the ones that made you feel like maybe, just maybe, things could be different. but now, with everything laid bare, you realized it was never going to be the way you wanted.

you sighed and flicked the cigarette to the ground, watching it burn out as you leaned back against the railing. it was quiet here, just you and the world. it gave you space to breathe, to think. but still, your mind kept returning to heeseung. to the way he’d looked at you in the hallways before everything went south. to the way he used to make you feel seen. and even though you were angry at him, you still couldn’t shake the thought ‘maybe i miss him more than i should.’

you were lost in thought when the doorbell rang, snapping you out of your haze. no one ever came to your house except your dad, so the sound was unexpected. you walked to the top of the stairs to see who it was, but when you saw the butler let heeseung inside, your stomach dropped. what the hell was he doing here? after everything, after you cut him off. he still showed up. frustration hit you immediately, and you turned to leave, heading quickly to your room. but heeseung wasn’t giving up that easily. you heard his footsteps behind you as he called your name. "hey, wait!"

you didn’t stop. you just pushed harder to get to your door, slamming it behind you and locking it. but you knew he was still out there, still following you.

“please, can we talk?” he said softly through the door. you stood there, fists clenched, torn between wanting to scream and wanting to know why he couldn’t just leave you alone.

you hesitated for a moment, but you couldn’t bring yourself to leave him standing there. you unlocked the door and let him in, and he stepped inside, his gaze immediately scanning your room. it was quiet, almost sterile. nothing like the space you had shown him at your old place. there were no personal touches, no signs of the messy, chaotic you he’d seen before. it felt different. distant.

heeseung looked around, his eyes softening with something like regret, but before he could say anything, you snapped.

“you have no right to come back into my life like this, like you own the place!” you shouted, your voice shaking with anger. “after everything, after you- ugh! you can’t just show up here, acting like it’s nothing!”

he took a step back, clearly taken off guard by the intensity of your words. but you didn’t care. the frustration, the hurt. it all spilled out in a rush. “you didn’t fight for shit, heeseung! you never did. you just kept going back to karina and that made her destroy my life! so don’t come here now, thinking everything’s fine!”

his face tightened, but he didn’t speak. he just stood there, looking at you, trying to find the right words. but you couldn’t let him speak. not yet.

“you don’t get to do this,” you spat, your chest heaving. “you don’t get to just fix it after everything you’ve done.”

heeseung didn't say anything. he just stepped forward and pulled you into a kiss-fast, intense. you froze, feeling all the anger and frustration you'd built up dissolve in that moment. it wasn't gentle, it wasn't soft. it was his apology, his regret, all packed into one. you tried to push him away to keep talking, but he didn't let you. instead, his hand gripped your wrist, pushing you against the wall, and it made everything inside you twist. when he pulled back, his breath was heavy, eyes searching yours.

“i will cuss you out heeseung, for everything, maybe not just now,” you breathed out, making a small grin appear on his face.

his hands gently traced the contours of your figure as his gaze remained focused on you. he was tender, careful, his lips leaving soft, lingering touches, wanting you to remember only the feel of his kiss. "i've missed you so fucking much, you don’t even know…" he murmured, his thumb grazing your jaw. "me too," you replied softly, pressing your lips against his again.

his hands quickly went to the hem of your shirt, his experienced fingers peeling it shirt off your warm body, a small sigh leaving his lips as they trailed against your neck, leaving open mouthed kisses along it. your breathing got heavier as he sucked hard occasionally, very clearly trying to leave marks.

“fuck, slow down, i’m not going anywhere,” you let out a small breathy gasp, feeling his sharp teeth numbing on your skin, then his soft lips pressing against the spot, almost delicately. you moaned lightly as heeseung slid his knee between your thighs, feeling him smirk against your sensitive skin. “yeah, i know.”

heeseung then moved you both to the edge of your bed, gently letting you rest on your back, your head landing softly against the pillows, still very much aware of how much you needed his mouth back on your body.

he resumed to trailing kisses down your chest, through every single line of dark ink on your body, until he reached the hem of your shorts, looking up at you with those dark doe eyes, that drowned in need. “just relax, can you do that for me?” heeseung slowly started to take off your bottoms, as you sighed out “uh-huh.” he pulled them down your legs, throwing them away from your sight.

“just like that,” he slipped his hand through your white laced underwear causing you to shudder. as his soft fingertips brushed against your cunt. your chest immediately tensed feeling his index and middle finger rub down your clit, your wetness coating his fingers.

heeseung captured your lips into a hungry kiss, distracting you for a small second as he pushed two fingers deep inside of you, reaching up. but soon enough, he had you gasping for air against his mouth, as he moved them quicker, his thumb pressing against your clit, sending a warm feeling through your body.

your hand gripped the soft silk sheets, the other on his shoulder, feeling him so deep inside. your hips buckled unconsciously, wanting to get even closer to him. “fuck,” you whispered, dryly moaning, getting the overwhelming sense of cumming start building up.

heeseung kissed the corner of your mouth one time, before going down on you, his hot tongue leaving a wet trail against your skin, and then he replaced his thumb, sucking on your swollen clit, while his fingers still worked their way into you. his eyes observed how you reacted, almost as if hunting you down. it all felt too much, many sensations at the same time, they had you struggling with your words in between moans, as the knot inside your stomach tightened but quickly gave up, “fuck, ‘seung- mhmm, i’m gonna-“ you whimpered, feeling your legs start shaking, making heeseung go impossibly harder on you.

he fingered and sucked you until you came down your high, making sure to lick his fingers clean, not wanting to get your bed dirty, even if it would in a few seconds. you could feel him getting more hard, as he pressed his hips down against your plush thigh to get a bit of friction. a smirk spread across your mouth because you knew you were the reason why.

“come on, let me see your face, pretty girl,” he grabbed you with his other hand, turning your hot face towards him, almost grinning in victory when seeing your half lidded pinkish eyes, as if you were drunk from arousal and his touch. he bored into your face, as if looking at a piece of art, “you’re goddamn beautiful,” he uttered.

“yeah, i know,” you told him, making him laugh, while using your hands to unbutton his pants, starting to slide them off. heeseung noticed this, looking down at your actions then back up at you with a smirk, “and you’re telling me to slow down,” he said with a devilish tone, helping you take off his clothes, ever so slowly, torturing you with the time.

you threw him a warning look, as he propped up, still on top of you, and took off his shirt as well, letting you see his slightly tanned skin, clear of any love bites that soon would coat him. heeseung hovered over your body, watching intently how he deeply buried himself inside of you. he wouldn’t let you do any of the work, it was going to be him.

you felt him pulsate inside of you, your walls stretching out for him due to his size. it was almost painful to feel too full at once. heeseung was trying not to go crazy over how warm and tight your were, suppressing the need to fuck you with everything he had here and now, before starting to move slowly. he went as deep as he could, and once you got used to the feeling of his dick inside you, heeseung started thrusting in roughly, enough to send spams through your heat, to your body.

“fuck, you’re so good for me,” heeseung groaned, and he took advantage of your position under him to make particularly strong thursts, tightening his grip on your waist, his expression full with desire for more, to get lost in you. and your face didn’t make it better, you looked so needy and high from him at the same time, it made him want to fuck you endlessly, and lose control.

his hips kept slamming with yours mercilessly, and you felt yourself aching, wanting to cum once again, letting out a loud inevitable moan. heeseung was pressed by your walls, as he approached his edge soon, taking the moment to pound into you quickly, almost making himself a whining mess.

you whimpered into his mouth due to the overstimulation he caused you with his thrusts, a knot ran through your legs and you didn't know how much longer you could resist, you felt unbelievably full from him. your warm breath made him lose even more concentration, as he mindlessly came inside of you, coating your insides, still throbbing and moving slowly into you.

when he finally stopped and cleaned you up carefully, heeseung dropped next to you, turning to watch your profile. he raised his fist, getting your attention, and you gave him an odd look before joining your own first with him in the middle in a fistbump, even if you felt like you were about to give away into sleepiness. “atleast that’s better than making stuff awkward,” you sighed, looking up at the ceiling, only dressed in your shirt and a new pair of underwear, feeling a small tug in your throat from being dry.

“hey, we need to get up, i was planning on taking you out,” heeseung said, poking your arm playfully. he couldn’t be serious, wanting you to leave the comfort of your bed after not being able to feel how to walk.

turning your body to your side, you looked out of the glass panel that was your window, noticing the sky get darker “you’re crazy, i’m not doing that right now, let me be,” the words left your mouth tiredly, groaning as you adjusted your position.

heeseung shook his head, hearing a small breath from you, telling him you were in already dream-land, way too far for him to get ahold of you. and he was sure it would always be like that, that he would be the one chasing you, and he didn’t mind, because after all the bad decisions, he was knew he could handle it, the bad reputation and everything that came in between.

BTW: this is saur embarrassing, if it doesn’t get atleast one note, i will delete my whole account istg. 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 also, not proofread. i’m not reading all that stuff again. ew.

EXTRA:

masterlist.

[novaursa]

To Win a Princess (her choice)

- Summary: Once you come of age, the realm seeks to curry the King's favor once more by seeking a hand of his younger daughter. You. 

- Paring: targ!reader/Tyland Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: to refuse a dragon

- Next part: lion's pride

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

You sit across from your father, King Viserys, in his private chambers. His face, softened by age and weariness, holds a patient, gentle expression as he watches you, sensing the weight of what you’re about to say. There’s a calmness in his eyes, a father’s warmth, and it gives you the courage you need to speak the truth you’ve held close for so long.

Taking a steady breath, you look down, gathering your thoughts, and then back up to meet his gaze. “Father,” you begin, your voice soft but determined, “you’ve asked me to make my choice… to choose from the suitors that have come forward. And I’m ready to tell you now.”

Viserys nods, leaning forward slightly, his hands clasped in his lap as he regards you with that quiet, encouraging presence. “I am glad, my dear. I know the decision has not been easy.” He offers a faint smile. “But tell me—who has earned your heart?”

You take another deep breath, and there’s no doubt or hesitation as you say his name. “It’s Tyland, Father. Tyland Lannister.”

A moment of silence stretches between you, and you watch as Viserys’s expression shifts, his eyes narrowing slightly with a mixture of surprise and reflection. He doesn’t look shocked, but rather as though he’s piecing together a puzzle whose outline he had already started to see.

“Tyland,” he repeats, his voice quiet but thoughtful. “I cannot say I am entirely surprised, not after… the last small council meeting.” His gaze flickers with a hint of memory, and he raises an eyebrow, a touch of amusement mingling with his curiosity. “He defended you with quite the passion, more so than I would have expected from a man of his usual reserve.”

You smile softly. “Yes, he did. He has always treated me with respect and loyalty, even in private. It’s… something I’ve come to value deeply.”

Viserys studies you, his expression turning thoughtful as he considers your words. “Loyalty and respect… those are rare qualities, especially within the court.” He leans back in his chair, his fingers drumming lightly on the armrests. “But I must admit, I am surprised by one thing.”

You tilt your head slightly, sensing the curiosity in his tone. “What is it, Father?”

He sighs, shaking his head slightly as he meets your gaze. “For all his affection, Tyland never once put forth a formal petition for your hand. In all these months, with every other lord clamoring for your favor, he remained silent.” His brow furrows, clearly puzzled. “It is unusual for a man of his position—especially a Lannister—not to make his intentions known formally.”

You feel a faint warmth rise to your cheeks, understanding Tyland’s choice but realizing how it might look in your father’s eyes. “He held back out of respect, Father. Tyland knew that the other suitors would be offended if he made his petition too soon. He didn’t want to create more tension at court. And… he wanted me to choose freely, without feeling pressured by a formal offer.”

Viserys’s gaze softens, a faint smile pulling at the corners of his lips as he watches you. “So, it seems Tyland is not only loyal but considerate. He is a man who understands the delicate balance of this court.” He pauses, a slight twinkle in his eye as he adds, “And he clearly cares deeply for you, if he was willing to risk waiting… in silence.”

You nod, your heart swelling with the truth of his words. “He does, Father. He has been willing to risk everything for me—even his own reputation. And he’s given me the freedom to choose, no matter what.”

Viserys sighs, looking both proud and slightly wistful as he regards you, his gaze filled with the kind of love only a father could feel. “Then it seems you have found someone truly worthy of your heart.” He leans forward, reaching out to place a gentle hand on yours. “If Tyland is your choice, then I will support it. And I will give my blessing.”

Relief floods through you, and you squeeze his hand gratefully. “Thank you, Father. I know Tyland may not be what everyone expected, but I believe he is… what I need.”

Viserys chuckles softly, nodding. “The court may have its expectations, but as King, it is my duty to ensure your happiness above all else. And as your father… I cannot help but be glad that you’ve chosen a man who values you so dearly.”

You smile, feeling a sense of peace settle over you as you sit there, hand in hand with your father, knowing that your choice is not only accepted but understood. Viserys’s eyes hold a warmth and pride that only deepens your gratitude.

“Speak with Tyland,” he says, his tone gentle yet resolute. “Let him know that he has my blessing—and my thanks for caring for you as he has.”

You nod, your heart brimming with joy as you rise from your seat, feeling lighter than you have in weeks. “I will, Father. And thank you, for everything.”

Viserys watches you, his expression one of quiet pride as you leave the room, his presence a steady, comforting strength behind you. And as you walk through the corridors of the Red Keep, a newfound sense of purpose fills you, knowing that soon, you and Tyland will no longer need to hide in the shadows.

The small council chamber is filled with the usual murmur of conversation as Tyland takes his seat, his expression composed yet carrying a glint of quiet amusement in his eyes. Just that morning, you had come to him privately, bearing news that filled his heart with a fierce, unshakable joy. He can still feel the warmth of your touch, the lingering taste of your kiss, the sense of shared elation at the promise you would soon no longer need to hide.

Across the table, Otto Hightower sits with an air of confidence, his expression one of expectation. Tyland notes the faintest trace of a smile on Otto’s lips, as though the Hand is all but certain that this meeting will secure a victory he’s been maneuvering toward for months. After all, Otto had long been pushing for Gwayne to wed you, and by the look in his eyes, he believes this day will mark the moment that goal is achieved.

Around the table, Lord Jasper Wylde, Grand Maester Mellos, and Lord Beesbury sit with calm attentiveness, unaware of the news about to unfold. Tyland watches with a concealed smirk, relishing the thought of the surprise that’s about to reverberate through the council chamber.

At the head of the table, Viserys enters, his expression warm yet firm as he takes his seat, his gaze briefly meeting Tyland’s with a hint of amusement in his eyes. Once everyone is settled, Viserys begins, his voice steady as he addresses the council.

“Thank you all for gathering on such short notice. Today’s meeting is… a rather personal matter, one I wished to share with those closest to me and to this court.”

The room falls silent, and Tyland notices Otto straightening slightly, a flicker of anticipation crossing his face as he waits for the King to speak further.

“As you know,” Viserys continues, his voice carrying a touch of warmth, “for some time now, many have come forward with petitions regarding the hand of my youngest daughter, Y/N. She has been of marriageable age, and as is customary, the offers were numerous.”

Otto’s smile deepens, his eyes flicking briefly to Tyland, clearly believing he is on the verge of securing his family’s alliance. Tyland keeps his own expression neutral, waiting.

“But,” Viserys continues, and there’s a subtle shift in his tone, a father’s pride glimmering in his eyes, “I believe a woman’s choice in such matters is of utmost importance. And I am pleased to announce that my daughter has made her choice.”

A murmur ripples through the room, Otto’s expression sharpening, his gaze fixed on the King with an intensity that betrays his certainty. He almost seems to hold his breath, fully expecting to hear Gwayne’s name spoken next.

Viserys glances around the room, his gaze lingering on each council member before finally resting on Tyland, his voice calm but firm. “She has chosen none other than Lord Tyland Lannister.”

A stunned silence descends over the council as every pair of eyes turns to Tyland. The amusement he’s barely held in check now flickers in his gaze, though he maintains his composed exterior, bowing his head slightly in acknowledgment.

Otto’s face shifts from smug anticipation to disbelief, his jaw tightening as he struggles to keep his composure. “Your Grace…” he begins, his voice carrying a note of barely concealed frustration, “are you certain this is… advisable? Given the importance of House alliances?”

Viserys meets Otto’s gaze with a calm but unyielding expression. “It is precisely because of the importance of alliances that I have accepted my daughter’s choice, Lord Otto. And I believe Tyland has proven his loyalty to both House Targaryen and the realm.”

Tyland watches Otto with a hint of satisfaction in his eyes, relishing the subtle yet unmistakable defeat in Otto’s expression. Grand Maester Mellos clears his throat, casting a glance between Viserys and Tyland.

“Lord Tyland… this is indeed unexpected,” Mellos remarks, his tone a mixture of surprise and cautious approval. “But I trust that your intentions are honorable?”

Tyland inclines his head, his voice steady and respectful. “I assure you, Grand Maester, my intentions toward Princess Y/N have always been of the highest respect and devotion. I am deeply honored to have her hand.”

Jasper Wylde, who has been watching with an open-mouthed grin, chuckles softly, clearly entertained by the unfolding spectacle. “Well, I daresay this council has been shaken today! Congratulations, Lord Tyland. A true prize indeed.”

Lord Beesbury, who seems a bit slower to catch up, simply blinks, finally nodding in agreement, though he still appears somewhat dazed. “Yes… yes, indeed. Most unexpected, but, well… the King’s choice is the only choice that matters.”

Otto, however, is less than amused, his expression tightening further. “Your Grace,” he says, his tone respectful yet strained, “are we to understand that this decision is final?”

Viserys leans back, giving Otto a firm look that leaves no room for further argument. “It is final, Otto. And I trust you will give it the same respect you would give any choice made by the Crown.”

Otto nods, though his lips press into a thin line. “Of course, Your Grace. My apologies… it was not my intent to question your wisdom.”

Viserys nods, his gaze softening slightly as he turns back to Tyland. “Lord Tyland, you have my gratitude for honoring my daughter’s heart with patience and respect. I am certain you will make a fine addition to our family.”

Tyland bows his head, a flicker of warmth and pride in his voice as he replies, “Thank you, Your Grace. It is an honor I do not take lightly.”

As the meeting begins to wrap up, Tyland allows himself a brief, sidelong glance at Otto, whose frustration is palpable even beneath his carefully composed expression. Tyland meets his gaze with a polite, measured look, the faintest glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes as he enjoys this quiet victory.

And as he rises from his seat, Tyland feels a sense of certainty settle within him. Whatever challenges lie ahead, he knows that he now has the blessing of the Crown—and, most importantly, the love of the woman who has chosen him.

As Tyland steps out of the small council chamber, a sense of relief and satisfaction fills him, his mind still replaying the moments of Viserys’s announcement. He has long awaited this day, and now, the weight of secrecy has finally been lifted. Just as he’s about to continue down the corridor, Lord Jasper Wylde steps forward, catching him with a broad grin and a hearty clap on the shoulder.

“Tyland! My sincerest congratulations once more,” Jasper says, his voice carrying a note of genuine warmth. He shakes his head with a laugh. “I must say, this explains quite a lot—particularly Daemon’s behavior toward you. I should have suspected something sooner.”

Tyland chuckles, inclining his head with a look of polite amusement. “Thank you, Lord Jasper. Daemon’s… sentiments have indeed been made quite clear.” He allows himself a small smirk. “Though I can hardly blame him for being unsettled by things beyond his control.”

Jasper nods, letting out another chuckle. “Indeed. With Daemon, if it’s not under his command, it’s practically an insult to his pride.” He pauses, his expression turning thoughtful as he regards Tyland. “But truly, Tyland, it’s no small feat to gain the favor of both the princess and the King himself. You’ve earned this match, even if it comes with the scorn of certain… interested parties.”

Tyland meets Jasper’s gaze, his expression calm but carrying a hint of the satisfaction he feels. “I am grateful for the King’s support—and even more so for the trust of the princess.” He glances back toward the council chamber, his voice lowering slightly. “As for those with… differing expectations, I’m prepared to handle them as needed.”

Jasper raises an eyebrow, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Well, if anyone can keep their head in a lair of dragons, it’s a Lannister. You’re well-suited to it, Tyland.”

But before Tyland can respond, Otto Hightower approaches, his expression unreadable but carrying a cool, unmistakable tension in his gaze. He inclines his head toward them both, though his attention is clearly directed at Tyland.

“Lord Tyland,” Otto says, his tone cordial but with an edge of restraint. “Congratulations are in order, I suppose.”

Tyland inclines his head respectfully, meeting Otto’s gaze with a polite smile. “Thank you, Lord Otto. I appreciate the sentiment.”

Otto’s eyes narrow ever so slightly, though he keeps his expression carefully neutral. “It was a… surprising development, to say the least. I had assumed, like many, that the princess’s hand would be given with the aim of solidifying the Crown’s alliances. It seems, however, that the King’s priorities have… shifted.”

Jasper, watching the exchange with interest, raises an eyebrow but remains silent, his gaze flicking between the two men. Tyland, however, holds Otto’s gaze evenly, his voice calm.

“His Grace made his decision based on what he believed would bring his daughter happiness,” Tyland replies smoothly. “I can only express my gratitude that he found me worthy of her choice.”

Otto’s lips press into a thin line, and he nods, though there’s a faint shadow of disappointment in his eyes. “Worthy, perhaps. Though one must wonder… the strategic benefits of such a match are not as clear as they might have been. The princess is a key to uniting loyalties—a role that, in different hands, might have been more… impactful.”

Tyland’s gaze sharpens, his smile never faltering. “With all due respect, Lord Otto, I would argue that the loyalty of the Crown’s own blood is a strategic advantage in itself. There are bonds that go beyond mere political alignment.”

Otto’s jaw tightens slightly, and for a brief moment, the mask slips, revealing a hint of his frustration. He recovers quickly, inclining his head once more. “Of course, of course. And, as always, I defer to the King’s judgment.”

Jasper, sensing the tension, decides to break the silence with a chuckle. “Well, I, for one, find it refreshing to see a match made for something other than sheer politics.” He claps Tyland on the shoulder once more. “Love isn’t such a dreadful thing to bring into a marriage, wouldn’t you say?”

Otto’s gaze flickers toward Jasper, a faint, strained smile appearing on his face. “A charming notion, Lord Wylde. But love, as we all know, is seldom enough to hold the weight of a throne.”

Tyland’s smile remains, though there’s an unmistakable edge of confidence in his voice as he replies, “Perhaps not, Lord Otto. But it is a foundation that endures—and it is something upon which loyalty and respect are built.”

Otto’s eyes flash, though he merely nods, his tone curt. “Then let us hope, Lord Tyland, that this foundation serves the realm as well as it serves the princess.”

With that, he offers a final nod to them both and strides away, his back straight, his expression schooled back into its usual stoic calm. Jasper watches him go, a smirk tugging at his lips as he turns back to Tyland.

“Well, that was a pleasure to watch,” Jasper mutters, shaking his head. “Otto’s plans have finally been thwarted. I imagine he’s furious inside, though he hides it well.”

Tyland chuckles, his gaze steady as he watches Otto’s retreating form. “He’ll recover,” he says lightly. “Lord Otto is not one to dwell on losses for long. I’m certain he’s already calculating his next move.”

Jasper grins, giving Tyland an approving look. “Perhaps. But you’ve managed to outmaneuver him this time, and that is no small accomplishment. Tyland Lannister, son-in-law to the King. I daresay you’ve done quite well for yourself.”

Tyland smiles, though there’s a glint of quiet resolve in his gaze. “It’s not just for myself, Jasper. I would have done this a thousand times over… for her.”

Jasper chuckles, clapping him on the shoulder one last time. “A romantic, then. Perhaps you’ll bring some charm into that stone heart of yours after all.”

Tyland shakes his head, allowing himself a rare, soft smile as he turns toward the corridors that will take him to you. And as he walks, a sense of fulfillment settles within him, knowing that, for once, he has bested those who would seek to control your future. Now, the path is yours together.

You stroll beside Rhaenyra through the corridors of the Red Keep, enjoying the rare moment of peace. The news of your betrothal has lifted a weight off your shoulders, and even now, you can feel the faint smile that’s settled onto your lips, unable to fully disappear. Rhaenyra notices and gives you a knowing look, her eyes dancing with amusement.

“You look positively radiant, sister,” she teases, nudging you playfully with her shoulder. “One would think you were already a bride.”

You laugh, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “I suppose it does feel that way,” you admit, glancing down as a faint blush colors your cheeks. “It’s as if the entire court has been holding its breath for this, and now… now I can finally breathe.”

Rhaenyra nods, her expression softening. “I’m glad you could make your own choice. Father was wise to let you decide.” She pauses, her tone turning more playful. “Though I do imagine some lords are less than pleased with the outcome.”

Just as the two of you round a corner, deep in conversation, a familiar figure appears, his cane clicking softly against the stone floor as he walks. Larys Strong, his expression as unreadable as ever, gives a slight bow as you approach. He straightens, his gaze flickering between you and Rhaenyra, a polite smile playing on his lips that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Princess,” he greets Rhaenyra with a respectful nod, before turning his attention to you. “And my heartfelt congratulations to you, my lady. News of your betrothal has reached every corner of the Keep.”

You incline your head, polite but wary, feeling the subtle weight in his words. “Thank you, Lord Larys. I appreciate your kind wishes.”

He gives a slight, calculated smile, his eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly. “The court has been… abuzz with excitement, though one might wonder if this union will satisfy everyone’s expectations. The Lannisters are certainly fortunate.”

Rhaenyra’s gaze sharpens as she watches him, sensing the faint edge to his words, but you maintain your composure, refusing to let Larys’s veiled remarks dampen your spirits. “Fortune often favors those who have earned it, Lord Larys,” you reply smoothly, matching his smile. “And I believe my family values happiness as much as any political gain.”

Larys chuckles, inclining his head as though acknowledging your point. “Indeed, my lady. I trust your union will bring the prosperity you seek, in whatever form that may take.” His eyes linger on you a moment longer, his gaze shadowed by something that feels almost like warning. “After all, peace is a fragile thing, as we all know.”

Rhaenyra steps closer, her chin lifted in subtle defiance. “We’re all aware of how delicate peace can be, Lord Larys. But my sister has made her choice, and I think it’s safe to say she’s content with it.”

Larys inclines his head once more, giving another polite smile. “As you say, Princess. My best to you both.” And with that, he moves away, his cane clicking steadily as he disappears around the corner, leaving a faint chill in the air behind him.

Rhaenyra watches him go, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. “He’s always full of riddles and subtle threats, isn’t he?”

You roll your eyes, letting out a quiet laugh. “It’s as if he speaks in codes, never saying what he truly means. But I won’t let him ruin my day.”

Rhaenyra grins, linking her arm with yours as the two of you continue down the corridor. “Good. It’s about time we enjoy something without the endless intrigue weighing us down.” She gives you a teasing look. “Although I do imagine Gwayne will be brooding for a full moon over your decision. He looked utterly crestfallen in the hall earlier.”

You laugh, unable to resist the grin that spreads across your face. “Poor Gwayne. He’s certainly persistent, but I doubt he expected me to choose Tyland.”

Rhaenyra raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Persistent, yes. But now that you’ve chosen another, he may be more sulky than ever. Perhaps he’ll write a tragic poem or two in your honor, filled with laments and sighs.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “I’ll expect to hear him sighing in every corridor, then. But perhaps he’ll recover soon enough.”

Rhaenyra squeezes your arm, her smile softening as she looks at you. “You made the right choice, sister. Don’t let anyone make you feel otherwise, least of all men like Larys or Gwayne.”

You nod, feeling a sense of warmth and reassurance settle within you. “I won’t. Tyland is the one I chose, and nothing will change that.”

With Rhaenyra at your side, the shadows of courtly intrigue seem to fade, and together, you continue through the Red Keep, the echo of laughter trailing behind you. In this moment, with your sister’s unwavering support, you feel ready to face whatever lies ahead.

It was the late afternoon as Daemon entered unannounced to King's private chambers, his expression dark and his stride purposeful. Viserys looks up from a scroll, raising an eyebrow as his younger brother strides forward with that unmistakable air of barely-contained frustration.

“Daemon,” Viserys says calmly, setting the scroll aside. “To what do I owe this… unexpected visit?”

Daemon doesn’t bother with formalities. He crosses the room in a few swift steps, his voice low and simmering with barely controlled anger. “This marriage, Viserys. Y/N’s choice. A Lannister?” He almost spits the word, his expression twisted in disdain. “And you approved it?”

Viserys’s gaze hardens, though he keeps his tone measured. “Yes, I did. It was her choice, Daemon, and I believe it was a wise one.”

Daemon scoffs, pacing the length of the room, his hands clenched at his sides. “A wise choice?” He glances over his shoulder at his brother, his face a mixture of frustration and disbelief. “Since when have we been in the habit of granting Lannisters such… favor?”

Viserys sighs, folding his hands calmly as he watches his brother. “Since it became a strategic advantage, Daemon,” he replies, his tone firm. “You may not approve, but House Lannister is one of the wealthiest and most powerful in the realm. An alliance with them strengthens our position—financially and politically.”

Daemon’s eyes flash with frustration, and he stops, turning to face Viserys fully. “Is that truly the reason, brother?” he asks, his voice laced with bitterness. “Or are you simply letting her indulge in whatever fleeting infatuation has taken hold of her?”

Viserys’s expression cools, a faint edge creeping into his voice. “This is not a mere infatuation. Y/N has chosen someone who values her, who respects her, and who understands the significance of our House. Tyland Lannister is a thoughtful man, a loyal man. And from what I’ve seen, he has her best interests at heart.”

Daemon’s jaw clenches, his gaze hardening as he takes a step closer. “Her best interests,” he mutters, almost as if to himself. “And what of my interests, Viserys? Do you think I wanted to see her cast her lot with a man who hides in the shadows, who lacks the fire to even stake a claim openly?”

Viserys’s eyes narrow, catching the underlying bitterness in Daemon’s words. “This is not about you, Daemon,” he says firmly. “You had your chance to make your intentions known. But she chose Tyland—and I support her decision.”

Daemon laughs, a hollow, bitter sound that fills the room. “Of course you support her. You’ve always coddled her, always let her get away with anything she pleases. And now, when she makes a decision that undermines our alliances—”

“Enough, Daemon,” Viserys interrupts, his tone sharp. He rises from his seat, meeting Daemon’s glare with unwavering authority. “Y/N is a Targaryen. Her loyalty to this family is unquestionable, and I will not allow you to insult her or her choice.”

Daemon’s mouth tightens, and for a moment, he appears to be holding back a storm of words. Finally, he speaks, his voice low and edged with something close to resentment. “You believe a Lannister can ever be loyal to anyone other than himself? They’ll sell their loyalty to the highest bidder the moment it suits them.”

Viserys shakes his head, his gaze steady. “Tyland has shown nothing but respect, both to Y/N and to this family. He has been patient, cautious even, waiting for her choice without ever pressing her hand. That is loyalty, Daemon. And it’s something you would do well to respect.”

Daemon scoffs, his frustration evident as he looks away, his gaze distant. “She deserved better than a Lannister. She deserved someone who would fight for her, who would claim her without hesitation.” His voice softens, a flicker of something almost vulnerable crossing his face. “Not… hide behind a curtain, waiting for her to come to him.”

Viserys regards him quietly, understanding dawning in his eyes as he takes in his brother’s words. “This isn’t just about her choice, is it, Daemon?” His voice softens, though there’s a note of sadness in it. “You wanted her for yourself.”

Daemon’s jaw clenches, his gaze hardening as he meets Viserys’s eyes. “She was… she is wasted on him, Viserys. And you, of all people, should see that.”

Viserys sighs, crossing his arms as he regards Daemon with a mixture of sympathy and firmness. “Daemon, you cannot force love, nor can you force someone’s loyalty. Y/N chose Tyland because she saw something in him that you, perhaps, could never offer her—a steady heart, a quiet loyalty, and a respect that allows her to be herself.”

Daemon bristles, his face twisting with frustration as he turns away. “I would have protected her better than he ever could. I would have given her a life worthy of her blood, her lineage.”

“Daemon,” Viserys says quietly, taking a step closer, “sometimes love is not about fire and blood. It’s about finding someone who brings peace, who stands with you even when the world turns against you.”

Daemon glares at him, the defiance in his eyes tempered by a flicker of something like hurt. “And you believe he can give her that?”

Viserys nods, his tone unwavering. “Yes, I do. And I trust my daughter’s judgment as well. She has chosen her path, and it is one I am proud to support.”

Daemon stands silent for a long moment, the tension hanging thick in the air. Finally, he lets out a bitter laugh, his expression hardening as he looks away. “Then so be it. But don’t come to me when this alliance you’ve blessed brings ruin.”

Without another word, he turns on his heel, striding out of the room, leaving Viserys standing alone, a faint sadness in the King’s gaze as he watches his brother go, knowing the storm that has only just begun to brew.

You continue your stroll beside Rhaenyra, sharing easy laughter and quiet conversation. The weight that had lingered over you for so long seems to have lifted, replaced by a calm anticipation for the future with Tyland—a future no longer hidden in shadows. But as you turn a corner, the sound of approaching footsteps brings your laughter to a halt.

Queen Alicent stands before you, her expression carefully composed, though there’s a hint of stiffness in her posture. At her side, Ser Criston Cole regards you both with a polite nod, though his gaze holds a sharper, more assessing quality as it rests on you.

“Princess Rhaenyra,” Alicent begins, giving her a brief nod before her gaze shifts to you. “Princess Y/N. It seems congratulations are in order for your… recent engagement.”

You incline your head, keeping your expression polite but guarded. “Thank you, Queen Alicent. I appreciate your well wishes.”

Alicent’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes, and there’s an edge to her tone as she continues, “I must admit, it was… unexpected. I had thought you might consider other suitors, ones perhaps closer to your family in both blood and allegiance.”

Rhaenyra’s gaze sharpens, and she steps slightly closer to you, a subtle show of support as she addresses Alicent. “My sister’s choice was her own, and Father respected that. I would think that would be enough.”

Alicent’s expression remains carefully neutral, though her tone holds a hint of pointedness. “Of course. But as her family, it’s only natural to wish for her happiness and stability. It’s just that there were… other, suitable options.” Her eyes flick briefly to Ser Criston, who stands quietly beside her, his gaze steady as he listens.

You nod, holding her gaze calmly. “I chose Tyland because he understands and respects me, Your Grace. And I believe that is the foundation of a strong and lasting union.”

Alicent’s lips tighten almost imperceptibly, but she manages to keep her tone light. “I am certain he does, Princess. But I had hoped you might consider a match with someone who… well, someone with whom our families already share a bond.” She pauses, her gaze lingering on you with that same edge of expectation. “My brother, Gwayne, was most sincere in his intentions, after all.”

You feel the weight of her words, but your voice remains steady. “Ser Gwayne is an honorable man, and I am grateful for his attention. But my heart made its choice.”

At your side, Rhaenyra’s hand brushes against yours, her presence a comforting reassurance. “As is her right, stepmother,” she says pointedly, a faint smile of amusement playing on her lips. “Surely, the Crown should support such a decision wholeheartedly.”

Alicent’s gaze flickers to Rhaenyra, a momentary tension tightening her expression before she lets out a soft sigh, her tone turning resigned. “Of course, Princess. I am only… concerned for the family’s stability. That is my only aim.”

Beside her, Ser Criston watches the exchange quietly, but as Alicent shifts slightly, you catch the subtle, assessing glint in his eyes. His gaze lingers on you, and suddenly, it feels as if he’s fitting pieces of a puzzle together in his mind. The memory of that night resurfaces—a knock on Tyland’s door in the dead of night, Criston’s voice on the other side, seeking you out on Alicent’s orders. You see the faint realization flicker across his face, as if he’s just now connecting that night with your newly announced engagement.

Clearing her throat, Alicent gives you a final nod, her voice softening to something closer to genuine, if still stiffly formal. “Well, I do wish you all the happiness, Y/N. I hope your union with Lord Tyland brings you both what you seek.”

You incline your head respectfully. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

Alicent offers a thin-lipped smile before turning to Criston, gesturing for him to follow. He nods, casting you one last thoughtful glance before following her down the corridor. Their footsteps echo as they disappear around the corner, leaving you alone once more with Rhaenyra.

Rhaenyra lets out a small huff of laughter, shaking her head in amusement. “She certainly has a way with… subtle disappointment, doesn’t she?”

You smile, releasing a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “I imagine she won’t forgive me for refusing her brother anytime soon.”

Rhaenyra rolls her eyes, linking her arm with yours as she nudges you forward. “Well, let her sulk.”

You laugh softly, matching her stride as you continue down the corridor.

The Great Hall is bustling with activity, a throng of courtiers and nobles filling the space with excited murmurs and polite exchanges as Tyland steps into the midst of it. Since the announcement of his engagement to the youngest Targaryen princess, he’s found himself at the center of courtly attention, every noble seemingly eager to offer their congratulations and curry favor with House Lannister. The gleam of opportunism is unmistakable in their eyes, and Tyland’s lips quirk with faint amusement as he listens to their overly enthusiastic praises.

“Lord Tyland,” one noble greets him with a deep bow, his voice filled with thinly veiled admiration. “It is an honor to witness this union—House Lannister and House Targaryen together. May it bring strength to the realm, as I am sure it will.”

Tyland inclines his head, a polite smile in place as he accepts the noble’s words. “Thank you, my lord. I am honored by His Grace’s approval and look forward to strengthening our Houses in service to the realm.”

Around him, a few more lords and ladies voice their congratulations, each phrase tinged with the hint of a request, a favor waiting to be asked. Tyland manages each exchange with practiced ease, his demeanor calm and courteous as he acknowledges their words without committing to anything concrete. In the back of his mind, he knows that the real strength of this union lies in his commitment to you and what you share.

As he turns from one group, he catches sight of Ser Criston Cole lingering nearby, his dark eyes observing him with an expression Tyland can only describe as calculated. Cole steps forward, inclining his head in what could almost pass for respect, though there’s a subtle intensity in his gaze.

“Lord Tyland,” Cole begins smoothly, his voice low, ensuring that their conversation remains private. “It seems congratulations are in order.”

Tyland regards him with a cool, measured look, nodding once. “Thank you, Ser Criston. Your kind wishes are appreciated.”

Criston’s lips quirk in what could almost be called a smile, though there’s a glint of something sharper in his eyes. “It must be a relief, finally, to have the King’s approval. I imagine you and the princess are… most relieved.”

Tyland raises an eyebrow, sensing the subtle starin in Cole’s tone. “Relieved, yes. And honored to have His Grace’s blessing.”

Criston nods, though his gaze doesn’t soften. Instead, he leans in just a fraction, his voice dropping even lower, the edge in his words unmistakable. “Yet, one might wonder, Lord Tyland, if the swiftness of this approval was, perhaps… necessary. After all, there are whispers, as you might imagine. Whispers that could easily turn into doubts. It would be most unfortunate if other lords questioned the princess’s virtue—if they were to assume it was… compromised, let us say, prior to the announcement.”

Tyland’s smile fades, his gaze turning steely as he watches Cole. “Are you suggesting that her honor, and therefore mine, might be… scrutinized by others?”

Cole’s eyes narrow slightly, his tone smooth but laced with threat. “I’m merely observing the nature of court, Lord Tyland. Rumors grow like weeds, especially in matters of virtue. It would be a pity if your engagement were overshadowed by such… implications.”

Tyland steps closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous murmur, his tone edged with an unmistakable threat. “Then perhaps, Ser Criston, it would be wise to ensure that such weeds are not planted in the first place. Those who spread lies about the princess may find themselves facing consequences they could not anticipate.”

Criston’s gaze hardens, though he holds his ground, meeting Tyland’s eyes with equal resolve. “There is no lie in caution, my lord. Only in assumption.”

Tyland’s lips curve into a faint smile, though it carries no warmth. “Then I trust you’ll make sure your caution remains… reasonable. If I were to hear of any rumor about the princess—any suggestion that would imply a loss of virtue—I’d be inclined to find the source personally.” He pauses, his voice a quiet threat. “And as I’m sure you know, Lannisters never forget those who undermine their family.”

Criston’s jaw tightens as he considers Tyland’s words. Finally, he gives a curt nod, his voice carefully restrained. “As you wish, Lord Tyland. I will remember your… concerns.”

With that, Cole steps back, casting one last cold glance at Tyland before turning away to rejoin Alicent’s side. Tyland watches him go, his expression unflinching, his resolve only strengthened. For all the subtle threats and pressures of the court, he would not let anyone, least of all Ser Criston Cole, tarnish the honor of what he shared with you.

As the last of the courtiers drift away, Tyland straightens, the faintest trace of satisfaction flickering in his eyes. Whatever else may come, he has made it clear: no one would question your honor without facing the full wrath of House Lannister.

[winchesterwild78]

An Unexpected Friendship pt 2

Master List

Characters: Jensen Ackles x Reader, Reader’s daughter, Jensen’s children

Warnings/Trigger Warnings: mention of domestic violence, mention of character death, 

A/N: This is a short story written in collaboration with @cheekygirl2309. In this story the reader is a widow who has a 4 year old daughter. She’s dating a very abusive man, so she enrolls her daughter in preschool to keep her as shielded as possible. At the preschool we find her daughter has made friends with a set of twins. At pick up one day the reader realizes the parent of her daughter’s best friend is none other than Jensen Ackles. A friendship forms, and decisions are made after a particularly nasty fight with her boyfriend. 

No disrespect to Jensen or his family. This is a work of fiction and does not depict real life.

This chapter got a bit long….sorry.

Minors DNI 18+

Jensen arrived home late. Jared was sleeping on the couch when he came inside. “Hey Jar, wake up man.” Jensen said quietly. Jared stretched, “Oh hey man. How’s Y/N?” 

Jensen’s head hung slightly, “Not good man. He almost killed her. She’s in a medically induced coma because he beat her up so badly.” Jared’s mouth fell open, “Damn man. I’m sorry to hear that. How’s her daughter?” “She’s okay. She’s going to be staying with Y/N’s best friend.” “That’s good. At least she has someone she knows.” “Yeah, she’s friends with Arrow and Zep. They are in the same class, I just wish there was more I could do to help both of them. I know Arrow and Zep really like Jazmyne.”

“Well man, thanks for watching the kids for me, you should head home.” “Yeah, of course, and Jensen, I do hope Y/N’s gonna be okay. No one deserves what she went through.” Jensen just nodded in agreement, his words caught in his throat as he thought about how she looked in the bed. He had never understood how someone could do that to another person. It upset him, and made him so angry.

After Jared left, Jensen crawled into bed. He had to be up in a few hours to take the kids to school. He tossed and turned most of the night. His heart ached for Y/N and Jazmyne. The fear in her voice when she called him, the look on Jazmyne’s face and how she clung to him, and how bruised and battered you looked in the bed. All of it playing like a record in his head. 

He finally fell asleep for what felt like ten minutes before his alarm went off. Jensen grumbled as he turned off the alarm and crawled out of bed. He jumped in the shower and got dressed. 

Walking through the quiet house his mind drifted to his late wife. She was not only an amazing wife and mother, but an amazing person. She would volunteer at JJ’s school, while juggling working at the brewery, other projects she worked on, and holding down the household while Jensen was away filming. When she got pregnant with the twins after years of trying, her and Jensen were ecstatic. She went to every appointment, asked every question she could think of and made sure they were ready to bring home not one, but two newborns. 

When she died during their birth, Jensen’s soul was crushed. His arms full with their newborns, but empty at the same time. Family and friends rallied around him to help with all three children, but he was lost. His wife, his partner, the love of his life, was gone. 

He didn’t know why Jazmyne’s father wasn’t in the picture, but he was sure it had to be something significant. Now you were dealing with Robert and his abusive nature. Jensen didn’t understand why he felt so protective of you so quickly. He hardly knew you. 

About an hour after he got up the kids were awake and ready for school. He took JJ to school first and then the twins to school. Walking towards the entrance he saw Jazmyne and Nichole. The twins ran to Jazmyne and Jensen chuckled. 

“Good morning Jazzy and Nichole. How are you two today?” Jazmyne’s eyes went wide when she saw Jensen. Nichole offered a soft smile. “Hey, can I talk to you after drop off?” Nichole asked Jensen. “Of course. I wanted to talk to you too.” They walked the kids in and agreed to meet at the coffee shop around the corner to talk. 

Once at the coffee shop, Jensen got the coffees and Nichole grabbed a table. “Hey, thanks for meeting with me. I just wanted to tell you thank you for everything last night. I’m sure it wasn’t how you expected to spend your evening. I’m sure by now you know Y/N was in an abusive relationship with a guy named Robert. She ended it with him and he came back. I feel so guilty for not doing everything I could to get him away from her. He didn’t start out hitting her. Then she’d show up with bruises and marks. Her late husband, Josh, would never have laid his hands on her.” 

Jensen sat there listening and taking in everything she was saying. “So how did Josh pass?” Jensen finally asked. “When Jazzy was almost 2 he got hurt in an accident at work and was killed. I didn’t think Y/N would ever recover. He was the love of her life. She got so depressed and lonely we thought we were going to lose her too. Then one day we showed up and she was up and smiling. I know she was putting on a show for us, but I think eventually she got a little better. It took us forever to convince her to go out on a date, and then she ended up with this jackass.” 

“I’m so sorry to hear she lost her husband. I lost my wife when she gave birth to the twins. I’m still not over it completely and I don’t think I ever will be. Is there anything I can do to help Y/N, Jazzy or you?”

“Honestly, you being there for her and Jazzy is great. I’d definitely like to plan that play date. Jazzy is going to need as much support as possible. She’s going to miss Y/N and she won’t understand why she can’t see her.” 

“Yeah, I get it. Hopefully she heals quickly enough and Jazzy can see her. I know they are very close.” 

After about thirty minutes, Jensen and Nichole parted ways. Nichole was headed to Y/N’s house to get some things for Jazmyne, Jensen was headed to the hospital. 

Walking down the cool hallway, the air thick with the unmistakable smell of a hospital, Jensen’s heart pounded in his chest. Since he lost his wife, hospitals always brought back some anxiety. So being here brought it all back. 

Jensen stood outside your room for a minute. He took a steady breath and started to open the door when a nurse approached him. “Um excuse me, are you family?” Jensen turned and he saw a flash of recognition in the nurse’s face. “Oh hi, yeah. I’m her boyfriend.” 

The nurse’s face flashed with anger and panic. “I don’t think I can let you in her room, sir.” She said looking up at Jensen. Jensen knew what she was thinking, “Oh no ma’am, I’m not the one who did that to her. That was her ex, Robert.” “Still, I need to check with the police officer before I let you in.” 

“Yes ma’am, I understand that. I’ll wait here.” Jensen gestured towards the empty chair outside your room. She nodded and walked towards the desk.

Jensen saw her look over at him while she was on the phone. Then he saw her nod and hang up. She walked over, offered an apologetic smile, “Thank you for waiting, Mr. Ackles. You’re cleared to go in. I’m sorry.” Jensen stood and smiled, “No problem ma’am. I appreciate you keeping her safe.”

She nodded and Jensen walked into your room. He took the chair closest to you and reached for your hand. Taking your hand in his, he rubbed soft circles on the back of your hand while he talked to you. “Hey, Y/N. I just want you to know Jazzy is safe. Nichole is keeping her and I’ve told her if they need anything to let me know. They are still looking for Robert. There’s a warrant out for his arrest, so hopefully they catch him soon. I wish I could make all this go away and you and Jazzy were safe. I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” 

Without thinking, Jensen stood, leaned over your bed and placed a kiss on your forehead. He felt a pull towards you and it scared him, because he hardly knew you. 

You had been in the hospital for a little over a week. It was late at night and Jensen was getting ready for bed when his phone rang. “Hello?” Jensen said cautiously. “Oh hey, Jensen it’s Nichole. I really hate to ask you, but could you watch Jazzy. I just got an emergency phone call from my sister. I have to go out of town for a few days. Y/N has no other family here and I don’t know what to do.” 

Jensen immediately said yes. “Yeah, can you bring her over here? The kids are already in bed. I can get her set up in my guestroom for now.” “Oh Jensen, you’re amazing. Thank you. I am so sorry for this. I know you’ve been pulled into this whole situation and now I’m dumping Jazzy off on you.”

“Hey, Nichole, you’re not dumping her off on me. I offered and told you if you needed anything to let me know. I’m fine with it as long as you think Y/N will be too.” “Oh yeah, she would. Can you send me your address? We could be there in less than 30 minutes.” “Yeah, sure. The gate code is 05301202. Just shoot me a text and I’ll make sure I’m downstairs to help you bring her in.” “Thanks, Jensen. See you soon.”

Jensen walked into the guest room and sighed. He had forgotten it was full of boxes and things he needed to donate but hadn’t had time. He didn’t want to wake the twins up so he decided to make a bed on the floor of his room. 

A few minutes later he got a text from Nichole that she was there. He went downstairs and opened the door. She was carrying Jazzy, who was sleeping in her arms. “Want me to take her?” He asked. Nichole shook her head. Jensen carefully took the sleeping child out of Nichole’s arms and carried her upstairs. He laid her down on the floor bed and covered her up. 

Walking back downstairs he helped Nichole bring in Jazzy’s things. 

“Jensen, thank you again for helping. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do. My flight leaves in about an hour so I can’t stay long. Please keep me updated on everything with Y/N. I’ve already called the hospital and told them to contact you with any updates. I’ll be in and out of the hospital back home helping and dealing with my grandmother.” Jensen placed his hand on Nichole’s arm, “It’s fine, you go take care of your family, I’ve got your girls. I promise.” She hugged Jensen and then left. 

Jensen crept upstairs and checked on all the kids before crawling into bed. He heard Jazzy’s soft snores and occasional whimper. His heart hurt for her. He knew she missed her mom. His children would do the same thing in their sleep, especially around special days, like birthdays or Mother’s Day.

Jensen finally fell asleep after having his mind race for what felt like forever. When his alarm went off he carefully got up and looked over at Jazmyne. She was still sleeping, and curled into a ball. He grabbed his stuff and tiptoed to the bathroom to get ready. 

As he came out he saw the little girl stir awake. Her eyes wide, taking in the room. “Mommy?” Her little voice filled the quiet room. “Hey Jazzy, Auntie Nichole had to bring you here. She had an emergency. You’re going to stay with me, Arrow, Zeppy and JJ until your mommy is better.” She looked at Jensen and nodded. “Like a sleepover?” She asked. Jensen smiled softly, “Yeah, sweetie, like a sleepover.”

A few hours later Jensen found himself back at the hospital sitting beside your bed. The nurses would come in and check on you and him. He would tell them he was fine and didn’t need anything when they asked. Finally the doctor came in and Jensen was out of his chair. He extended his hand, “Hello Dr. Fitzpatrick. It’s good to see you this morning. How’s she healing?” Jensen asked as he gestured to you. “Good morning Mr Ackles, she seems to be healing. We are going to draw some blood this morning and do some scans. See if she’s healed enough to start taking her off the sedation medication.” “That sounds perfect, thank you doctor.”

The nurse came in and drew some blood while Jensen watched on. He sent Nichole a text to check on her and let her know what the doctor said. She didn’t respond yet, so he figured she was busy. He hoped the next time he sent her a text it was to let her know you were awake and okay.

Jensen waited in the room for you to return from the tests. A few hours had passed and they were finally bringing you back in. He had been talking to Jared off and on all day. Jensen even called Clif to get some advice on how to keep you and Jazzy protected. 

He was on the phone with Jared when the technician was wheeling you back in. “Yeah, she’s back now. Hang on a sec, Jar.” The tech told Jensen the doctor would review all the tests and be in shortly to go over it. Jensen nodded and thanked him. 

“Well that sounds promising, I hope she’s going to be okay. Are you leaving soon to get the kids?” Jared asked. “Yeah. I’ll leave in about an hour. I hope the doctor is here before then.” “Hey, Jensen, why don’t we bring the kids over and we can all eat dinner and the kids can play together. I think that would be good for Jazmyne and you won’t be alone.” “That sounds great, Jar. What can I do or buy?” “Nothing, Gen and I will take care of everything.” “Okay, thanks brother.” “Yeah, no problem, and if you need us to grab the kids we can.” “Okay, thanks. Talk to you soon.” 

Jensen sat beside your bed, holding your hand. He watched your chest rise and fall, and listened to the steady beep of the machines. Jensen felt drawn to you. It confused but excited him. He’d never felt an instant connection with someone, an instant need to protect them. Like he does with you. Even with his late wife it took him a while to open up. 

There was a soft knock on the door that pulled Jensen out of his thoughts. It was Dr. Fitzpatrick. “Good afternoon Mr. Ackles. So I’ve reviewed her blood work and the scans we took. There isn’t any internal bleeding, no injuries to her brain and her ribs and other broken bones are starting to heal. I don’t see why we can’t start bringing her out of sedation. We can start the process immediately. She still has a long road to recovery, and will need to stay here at least another day or two, but I believe she’s going to be okay.”

Jensen smiled, stood and shook the doctor’s hand. He called Jared and told him what the doctor said, “Jar, I really want to be here. Do you or Gen mind grabbing the kids from school. I’ll call the headmaster and let her know you can get Jazzy too. I really appreciate it man.” “Hey, no problem. I’m glad she’s going to be coming back soon.” “Me too, thanks again Jared.” 

Jensen sent Nichole a text to let her know what the doctor said. She replied that she was excited and to give you her love. 

Jensen sat right beside you as the sedation medication was removed. They told him it could take a few minutes or a few hours for you to start waking up. He nodded and kept watch. 

When you began to stir about an hour later and your eyes started to flutter, Jensen was on the edge of the seat. “Hey, Y/N. That’s right sweetheart, open those eyes for us.” Jensen encouraged. 

Your eyes fluttered open and confusion began to fill you. Your voice was very weak, but you managed to speak. “Jjjensen, what are you doing here?” He stepped closer to you and placed his hand on your shoulder, “Hey, Y/N. I’m so glad you’re awake. You’ve been missed.” “How long have I been out?” “Over a week, but don’t worry Jazzy has been well taken care of. Nichole had a family emergency so I offered to take her. The twins have loved having her at the house.” 

Tears filled your eyes, “Why are you being so kind to us?” “Because that’s what you do when someone needs help.” Jensen smiled gently at you. “So, Y/N, how are you feeling?” “I’m very sore, and just heartbroken. I can’t believe I let him in our lives. My sweet girl had to see some of the abuse. I’m so stupid and weak. I didn’t want to be alone anymore, so I allowed this monster into our lives. How do I keep her safe when I can’t keep myself safe?”

“You tell her that some people are just mean and those people will try and find your weakness. You work like hell to protect yourself, and when you can’t, you lean on those that can. You tell her that there are more kind people in this world than there are mean ones. Those are the people she needs to surround herself with. People like her mother. People who would do anything to keep her safe and protect her from evil. No matter what. Y/N, you’re not weak or stupid for letting someone like Robert in your life. You’re human, and Jazzy will see that. Above all she will see your strength, the strength to make him leave and then fight like hell to survive and stay here for her.” 

Your tears were flowing down your face at Jensen’s words. When he took your hand in his, and wiped away your tears, you leaned into his touch. He was so kind and gentle. Everything you’d heard he was. 

The next few days you had to stay in the hospital were brutal. You’d asked Jensen not to bring Jazzy to see you there. You didn’t want her to see you weak and hooked up to things. He kept her at his house and you got to FaceTime her at night. 

The last night of your hospital stay you were feeling excited to leave, but even more nervous. You’d be going home, and Robert was still out of jail. The police hadn’t been able to track him down and that scared you. Jensen assured you that you and Jazzy would be safe. 

After your FaceTime call with Jazzy, you settled in to try and sleep. Jensen was busy getting all four kids ready for bed. The twins and Jazzy were running around and playing, while JJ was picking out the book for the night. 

After baths, brushed teeth, and pajamas, Jensen had all four kids pile in his bed so he could read. 

After the story was over Zep asked when Y/N was coming home. “Well, she gets to go home tomorrow. I know she’s really excited about it.” “Daddy, since Jazzy lives here now is her mommy coming here too?” Zeppelin asked with his big eyes twinkling. “No, Zeppy. Jazzy doesn’t live here. She’s just been staying here.” All four children’s faces hung in sadness. Jensen chuckled, “Oh come on guys, you knew Jazzy was just staying here while her mommy was getting better.” “We know daddy, but we want her to stay forever.” Arrow added to the conversation. Jensen sighed, “Okay guys, we will talk about this later. It’s time for bed. Come on.” 

The kids got into their beds and fell asleep quickly. Jensen sent you a text.

Jensen: Hey, the kids are asleep, they were upset Jazzy isn’t going to live here forever. 😂

You: Hey, that’s funny. Maybe we can schedule playdates and sleepovers if that’s okay with you. I know Jazzy would love it.

Jensen: I was thinking the same thing. 😀

You: Good. I owe you so much for taking care of her and being here for me.

Jensen: No you don’t. If I was in the same situation I have no doubt you would do the same thing. 

You: Oh absolutely. I adore your children. They are so sweet and kind to Jazzy.

Jensen: I’ve definitely tried. It’s been hard, but I’ve had some great support.

You: That’s amazing. So can I ask you something?

Jensen: Sure

You: If I’m out of line or you’re uncomfortable, just tell me, okay?

Jensen: Of course. 

You: After your wife passed away how long was it until you started dating again?

Jensen: I went on a few dates, I’d say about 2 years after she died. Nothing worked out, but that doesn’t mean I’m not open to it. My focus is on the kids, so if it happens it happens. 

You: I understand that. Robert was the first guy I dated since Josh died. I was scared to let someone in, and now I’m sitting in the hospital because of him. 

Jensen: I get that, but you can’t let him ruin your chance at happiness again. You and Jazzy deserve to be loved and taken care of.

You: Thank you, Jensen. So do you and your beautiful children. 

Jensen: Thank you. I’ll come pick you up from the hospital tomorrow when you get released and take you home if you want me to. 

You: I appreciate that, Jensen. I could always take an Uber to get home.

Jensen: Absolutely not. I’ll pick you up and drive you wherever you want to go. 

You: Okay, well I’ll see you in the morning. Good night, Jensen.

Jensen: See you tomorrow, and good night, Y/N. Sweet dreams.

You: Sweet dreams, Jensen. 

Jensen put his phone down and climbed into bed. He looked down at the little girl sleeping on the makeshift bed and smiled softly. His heart warmed thinking about her and her mother being in his and his children’s lives. The two of you were already starting to mean something to him. He couldn’t shake the feeling, the need to protect both of you, to be with you. 

Jensen laid down and sleep finally washed over him. About 3am he was startled awake by the sound of crying. He leaped out of bed and found Jazmyne crying in her sleep. She woke up, saw Jensen and leaped in his arms. 

Jensen sat on the floor holding her and rubbing her head while he rocked her. “Shhh, Jazzy. It’s okay. You’re safe.” 

Jazmyne’s hands clung to his shirt and her face was buried in his chest. She continued crying and whimpered out “mommy”. Jensen’s heart broke. 

“Mommy’s okay, baby girl. She’s going to come home tomorrow and she can’t wait to see you.” Jazmyne shook her head no. Jensen was a little confused, “What’s no, baby girl?” “I not go home. Mommy not go home. He hurt mommy there.” It made sense to Jensen. She was scared to go back home because that’s where Robert had been when he hurt you. 

“Shh, baby. I promise you I will keep you and mommy safe.” Jensen said as he rocked the scared little girl. She clung to his shirt and wouldn’t let go. He tried to lay her down on her bed and she cried and held on tighter. He stood, holding her close and laid her down on his bed. He grabbed her stuffy and handed it to her, and laid down. As he got comfortable, Jazmyne curled up beside him. Soon her soft snores filled the room. Jensen drifted back to sleep.

The next day after Jensen got the kids to school, he arrived at the hospital to wait for you to be released. “Good morning, sweetheart.” Jensen said as he walked into your room. You looked up, smiled and said, “Good morning to you too. Here to bust me out?” You chuckled. “Absolutely.” Jensen flashed his killer smile. 

The nurse came in not long after Jensen arrived. She unhooked your IV and the cardio machine. “Go ahead and get dressed, and I’ll get your discharge paperwork together.” You nodded and Jensen stepped to the side of the bed. “Let me help you up.” He said offering you his hand.

You took his hand and as you stood, you stumbled and he caught you. Looking up into his eyes your breath hitched and you bit your lip. Feeling your heart beat wildly in your chest. You steadied yourself and thanked him softly. He nodded as you walked into the bathroom.

You looked in the mirror and saw your battered and bruised face and body. Oh my god. Look at me. Get it together Y/N, there is no way that gorgeous man out there could ever look at you in any way other than a friend, especially now. 

You tried to push the thoughts of wanting to kiss Jensen out of your head and get dressed. Your body was in so much pain and covered in bruises, it hurt to even breathe. You wondered how you’d be able to take care of Jazzy, especially with Nichole out of town. You took a deep breath, you knew you’d figure it out. 

About an hour and half later you and Jensen were at your house. You had no idea what you’d find when you got there, but you were surprised to find out that after the police finished with their investigation Nichole came and cleaned up the house for you. 

Jensen helped you to the couch and you sat down. He could tell something was bothering you, but didn’t want to push. Then your tears started to fall. 

Jensen pulled you in his arms, “Shhh, it’s okay. You’re okay. You and Jazzy are safe. I promise. I’ll keep you two safe.” You leaned back and looked at Jensen, his green eyes scanning you. He cupped your face and wiped your tears away. You leaned into his touch. 

Without any thought you leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on his lips. When your brain finally caught up to what you were doing you quickly pulled away. Flush filled your cheeks, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry Jensen. I don’t know what came over me.” 

You started to get off the couch but he touched your hand, “No, Y/N, please don’t go. That was fine. You have nothing to be sorry about.” His hand on your arm felt so good. You looked at him, sat back down and apologized again.

“Jensen, you’ve been nothing but kind to me and Jazzy. I’m sorry if I put you in an awkward position. I really don’t know what came over me.” Jensen leaned forward, his eyes flicked between your lips and eyes. You leaned forward until your lips ghosted each other’s. Jensen closed the rest of the distance and kissed you. His hand tangled into your hair as he deepened the kiss. Jensen’s tongue ran across your lips, asking for entrance. You parted your lips and your tongues began an intricate dance of dominance. 

You moaned into the kiss and felt fire ignite in your body. You hadn’t had a kiss like this since Josh. When the need for air became too much, the two of you pulled away. “Wow.” Was all Jensen could say. You smiled and nodded. As he started to lean back in to kiss you there was a knock at the door. 

Jensen groaned and stood to answer it. He looked back at you and smiled before he opened the door. You smiled back, but as soon as he opened the door your smile was replaced by a look of horror. 

Jensen turned to look at the person at the door as you said, “Robert.”

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[chargoeson]

Hello! Writeblr re-Introduction

hiiiii pals! I made my writeblr introduction last year and it was such a good intro to the community! but as time goes on and organizations fall i want to re-introduce myself and my writing without any associations.

my name is Charlotte, but you can call me Char as well. She/Her, I'm 25, queer, and live in the Pacific Northwest of the United States.

I write literary fiction with a special affection for surrealism and dream-like vibes. I do have a couple soft fantasy and short story projects that I've made posts for, but I'll stick to my litfic on this pinned post as they are my passion projects!

themes I often explore in these books are: isolation, anxiety, complex relationships between mothers and daughters, bisexuality, winter, dissociation, and overall rural misery!

I have a bachelor's degree in English Language and Literature and paid special attention to Gothic and Romantic movements.

on top of writing, I also love quilting/sewing, collage making, playing Stardew Valley and Baldur's Gate 3, and doing DIY home renovations.

Reading is my passion, even more so than writing! My favorite authors are Murakami, Mieko Kawakami, the Bronte sisters, Iain Reid, Han Kang, and Ottessa Moshfegh.

my three main WIPS can stand alone but are technically a trilogy. read about them after the cut!

The Ballad of a Blue Whale-- This novella was written in November, 2023. It follows Maren Hara, a recent college graduate who has to move back in with her father, a rigid and unfeeling doctor. To cope with the emotional distance of her father and the slow dissolution of her relationships she begins walking through the night. Both to be away from home and removed from her current life. It’s during these walks she finds a jazz bar in an adjoining city. The patrons, and especially the owner of this bar, captivate her. At the core of the narrative is her inability to open herself to others, and how attempts to do so are physically and mentally cataclysmic, although necessary. As she finds herself, she loses both her old life and this interim space. 

I Want to Build a Home with You-- This novel is in the first draft/development stage. I began in December, 2023. Its events follow Leonie Richards as she walks her grandmother, famed novelist Hellen Barnaby, through the final weeks of her life then inherits her home. Leonie, once an infamous performance artist, decides to settle into a life of portrait painting for a small but wealthy pool of clients left to her by her grandmother. Her old peers. After Hellen’s death, Leonie’s final connections to the outside world are her strange clients, the art store clerk, and her uncle Ox who is embittered by his lack of inheritance. The longer she stays in the home, the stranger things seem to be. She wakes up ragged, dirt under her fingernails with memories of a rock formation in the forest she has never seen. Forest spirits or generational curse, there is a limerence threatening her life. 

No Glory-- Special Agent Seth Barnaby has been tasked with investigating the mysterious, possibly cult-associated murders of young women across the state, but this one could be the key. To decode the newest set of clues he teams up with Director of Anthropology Dr. Miel Noh and they get into the field. The small town misleads them at every turn, from an odd boy named Calf to the corpse of a girl who was staying in his family’s motel. With Seth’s checkered past he recognizes the patterns, but time is of the essence and if they don’t find answers another woman could die. With no way out, they return to the only lead Seth knows: an institutionalized man who confessed to the first murder that brought Seth to the FBI years ago.

and that's a wrap! thank you for reading, would love to reconnect with writers from last year as well as new friends. feel free to slide into my asks, follow, or join the tag list.

tags: @annlillyjose @coffeeandcalligraphy @subtlefires @belovedviolence @onomatopiya @thelaughingstag

[qu1cks1lversb1tch]

Loved your vox x bio toddler daughter work ❤️ maybe you cold do the same for Valentino with an introverted shy demon toddler as the cousin of voxs kid thingy pretty pleeease ;-) ?

A/N — Here's hoping I can do this one justice lol. I've never really written anything surrounding Valentino/his personal life, so this is new territory. I'm making the child gn for this one. Sorry it's not as long :)

Azúcar

At first he literally didn't know what to do with a kid. Kids were never his thing. He exploited people for a living — how was he going to handle a kid?

He figured it out after some trial and error of separating work from his personal life.

He stopped working as much, his child becoming slightly more important than the porn industries monthly revenue.

Val's kid was the complete opposite of him and their cousin, Vox's daughter.

While Vox's daughter had a decent helping of her father's personality, Valentino's child was quieter, more observant.

They loved their auntie Vel too, enjoying watching her bark orders at everyone.

They take more after their mother as well, a fact that doesn't go unnoticed, although it's moreso in personality than looks. Introverted. Shy. Observant.

Valentino sometimes found himself standing toe to toe with this small child who only stared at him with all the innocence a child in Hell could have.

Val wasn't the baking type, so while Vox and his daughter baked together, Val showed his child how to bedazzle their own toy gun. And they just accepted it, wanting to spend as much time with their dad as possible.

He had been entirely unsure about the whole dad thing, but he knew one thing for certain: Nobody was going to lay a finger on his child. Anyone who tried would be dealt with, effective immediately.

Val's child, while highly introverted, tended to drift towards their cousin. The two of them became something of a united force in the toddler world of Hell. Partners in crime, if you will.

Vox's daughter is truly a terrible influence already, and they're just toddlers. Val's child keeps watch while Vox's daughter enacts whatever plan she can, to reach the cookie jar on the counter.

Val spoils the hell out of his child, no questions asked. He forces Vox out on shopping trips so they can buy stuff for their individual children.

"Voxy ~, isn't this one cute?" Val held up a black shirt that had tiny red pentagrams all over it.

And Vox just nods and hums, knowing Val's child has two identical shirts in different colors already. . . Valentino couldn't see worth a fuck, but he was trying.

Val documents every moment of his child's life. They tried a new food? Here's forty pictures that were taken in a span of two seconds.

They said their first cuss word? Documented. Posted on Sinstagram with a shockingly father-like caption.

Valentino isn't a perfect father by any means. He makes mistakes, far more than Vox does, but he's trying, and that's what counts.

He wants to protect his child from the world because he knows what it's like out there. Hell, he's a very small part of the reason why it is the way it is. . . And he wants better for his child.

Vox Version

[raguma1002]

If Bojack and PB started a relationship after the end of season 6 and got married, do you think it would be discreet? or that they would like to have children? I honestly think they would be really cute as parents. For me, they would both make great parents, honestly. They have their flaws and personal problems that we all already know what they are, but in several episodes Bojack is shown dreaming of having a family, and being a father. Like the episode where he dreams of having a daughter, or the one about the baby seahorse. I think they could adopt, or try artificial insemination. In the story I thought of in my head, which may never see the light of day, they are already married and PB is thinking a lot about building a family with Bojack. And PB thought it would be great to have a son who looked like Bojack. So, reluctantly, Bojack does and they have a horse son. A little while later PB tries it with his own DNA. The story would have a bit of Bojack's hesitation, as, for him, it would be better if his bloodline ended with him. But PB's request was so genuine that he tried to do what he didn't want, even though deep down he also wanted to do it (since deep down he always wanted to have a family and be a father, even if he didn't know it). That's clear. that would cause problems between them, but would be resolved with conversation and love.

hey!! honestly, i think that in the original after the end of the show they would hardly become parents, because a) bojack really has a lot of mental problems that he needs to work on; b) it seems that pb just doesn't want children; c) they're a little old for this? if, for example, after some time after the beginning of the relationship they came to the point that they wanted children, bojack would be about 60 years old already.

but! it's interesting to consider this as an au! if you imagine that under certain circumstances they could have children (for example, they would be younger and really ready for this), then yes, it could be possible! they'd be nice parents, i think.

of course it is unlikely that bojack would be such a perfect father as in his fantasies, but at least he would try to become the one. it'd be like his relationship with hollyhock, but warmer and healthier? especially if they had a daughter. mr peanutbutter just seems like a cheerful and supportive dad judging by the interactions with his nephews. he would also feel more comfortable in the role of a parent than bojack since he grew up in an intact loving family (practically)

anyway. it'd be interesting to know more about your idea! bobutter community is also always open to new aus, so you're welcome! :)

[starlightsuffered]

Forbidden (p1)

Info - forbidden love, trickery, accusations, getting caught having sex, unprotected sex, mentions of masturbation and oral, sex on a horse, cream pie, cock warming, mentions of injury, murder, cheating

"I'm so glad your family is visiting," I gasped into his mouth. I was riding his cock in my room.

"I love you so much, you don't know how I've missed you," Hal muttered into my ear.

"Darling, I can barely focus without you around. I hate this," I said as he slowly rutted his large cock inside me. I remembered how we started all this.

It had been three years ago, and he'd caught me in a spare room, touching myself. I'd been horrified to be caught. I thought he'd call me a whore, or degrade me for doing such a thing as a Princess, but instead he'd come to me and bent down.

"Next time you feel this way, call on me," he'd said before giving me the best head I'd ever experience. Sure it had started out as a pleasure thing, but as it continued we'd fallen for one another. When I'd been injured falling from my horse, he'd visited immediately to "pay his respects" but really he told me he loved me. He'd gently made love to me, so as not to hurt me.

I remembered how he'd cried to me the night my engagement to Lord Appelion had been announced. He'd begged and begged me to run away with him, but we both knew how badly our countries needed us. We couldn't do it. So now it was letters and hook ups. We were blessed that our countries were close.

"Just focus on me for now. How do I feel? I've been out of practice, with only my hand for so long," he said sadly. Whenever he reminded me of his loyalty to me, my heart soared. It was never something I had asked of him. I wouldn't have denied him the right to pleasure. However, he was loyal.

"I just adore how you feel. You stretch me out so damn well. I love that you marked me, you don't usually let yourself do that," I said as I lovingly brushed the purple spot on my chest.

"Because after I fill you to the brim with cum, I'm going to tell your father who I am marrying," he growled.

"No need to alert me," came a dark voice.

"Father," I said worriedly.

"You are engaged!" He roared.

"But I love Hal. Hal is a king, much better than a lord. Can't I marry him instead?" I asked. Hal was grabbing a blanket to cover my body. I wrapped it around myself so I could go to my father.

"Please," I begged, touching his bearded face.

"We're kicking him out immediately! You are forbidden to see him!"

"No! No!" I cried as guards entered the room. Man handling Hal.

"I'll come back for you my love, you have not seen the last of me," he cried. I wept on the floor and my father left me there.

We wrote to one another in secret. I used a fake name for him. I called him Timothy. He told me he would find a way to marry me. I told him it was hopeless. I was going crazy without him all my days were dark and grey. I missed my Hal.

"Your highness, we couldn't stop him!" Said one guard. "He was actually killing us."

Hal came in disheveled and bloody. He held a long sword out in front of him. He often said he loved how I didn't cower away from his angry side.

"By order of the royal Court of England, I am taking y/n as my wife," He announced. Only the king knew we'd been a couple. To everyone else this must be odd. I think Hal was betting on that, the publicity of the moment. The King wouldn't want to disappoint his people.

"You cannot order that!" Spat my father.

"I can, because your daughter has stolen something from me, it is why I cant be faulted for charging into this room!"

"She hasn't stolen anything!"

Hal stalked to me, a foreign ferocity in his eyes. His eyes were always soft when he looked at me. He was a good actor. He grabbed my hand harshly and yanked down my sleeve. On my hand was a glittering ring he'd given me the day he'd confessed his love. It was Unmistakably English and expensive.

"She stole this, and it is much more valuable than her, but I'll take her in trade," he said loudly. He squeezed my wrist gently, to let me know he didn't mean what he was screaming.

My father was in a hard place. Either he reveal I had cheated on my fiancée and make the people think I was a whore, or he would have to give in to Hal's request.

"Take her then you malevolent scoundrel!" He snapped. Hal Escorted me from the room harshly. When we were alone on his horse he finally was himself.

"You're brilliant Hal," I said, leaning back into him as we rode.

"I'm just so happy to see you," he kissed my neck. "I had an idea on the way over here. Why don't you sit on my cock as we ride love."

We stopped the horse and he got out his cock. I lifted my skirts and he was soon nestled inside me. We began to ride again and the movement of the horse provided much pleasure. By the time we reached his castle we'd both cum many many times. We entered into our new life of love, as the castle doors shut.

[mad-hunts]

in response to the other's answer in regards to what jervis would prefer on his toast, jack simply nodded. he'd found himself at a loss for what else to say even though that was actually quite rare for him. maybe it was the idea that barton could be outside at that very moment, listening in, that made jack suddenly feel like a fog had rolled into his mind; making it so that he could protect himself without even knowing for sure that there was a threat in the first place.

barton didn't like talking about julien - he'd pretty much stowed away every single picture but one the family had with him in it, in fact. for it still hurt him too much to look at them. therefore, especially considering his father's history of not being able to regulate his moods well, jack might have to perform 'damage control' if that were the case. but crossing the bridge if he were to get there seemed to apply quite well here. so, the farceur chose to move on and it turned out to be wisely, too.

jervis did look very tense lying there with jack visibly appearing to want to curl up into himself and never come out. after going to the nearby trunk in the room, he opened it. this was done as a means to distract the both of them from succumbing to the weight of their own differing circumstances. though there was certainly a good cover reason for jack to, ❝ oh, wow. ahh... i almost forgot that its supposed to get down into the forties tonight so you might need this. its going to be cold, after all, ❞ it was also hitting sundown at that moment as well.

jack could tell by just looking through the crack in the curtains of the one window in the room. while gnawing on his bottom lip, he pulled out the plush blanket inside of the chest only to shake it out a bit. now, as jack tossed the blanket up just enough to cover jervis's body without touching him? something matilda told him a few years ago echoed in his mind during a conversation they had late at night: 'you know, i know you'd like nothing more than to get rid of all your feelings sometimes - but i hope you never change.'

jack just remembered looking up at the tent he was in that day of camping afterward, as he decided he should probably get to sleep. but it felt validating in a way he couldn't explain as well even now. because jack's first instinct upon seeing jervis was that he was struggling, so he should help him; though one could definitely say that sense of responsibility had made him suffer in the past. thank goodness sucking in a deep breath through his nostrils and exhaling could allow jack to quiet his mind then.

he tilted his head at the other's words and squinting his eyes, deep in thought. of course if jervis didn't believe in one, that was fine, but it appeared like he might. these sorts of concepts could trigger whole debates for a reason, however, as spirituality was something that jack affiliated himself with. but religion? he wasn't so sure, so he more than understood when jervis settled for saying his loved ones being at peace was simply something he wanted to believe in. with jack's sudden exit came the arrival of a much less benevolent figure, to say the least, and barton couldn't say he blamed jervis for seemingly somewhat disappointed that his son left.

jack was easy to get along with, and with just a little bit of time spent with him, he might just win someone over with his compassionate nature. barton knew this well along with the reality he had to learn other people's behaviors throughout the years to appear at least 'semi-normal.' how that was going for the doctor would often depend on who you asked, though. barton could only snort derisively at that, ❝ funny. just remember, you'd be in arkham right now if it weren't for me and my daughter. ❞ he pointed a sharpened nail in the direction of jervis as he proceeded into the room.

the same crack in the curtains jack had once looked through was soon closed with a quick 'swishing' motion. barton was personally raised with a very limited exposure to faith, as neither wesley nor winslow were particularly religious father figures. but barton could admire those who participate in it regardless of their level of involvement in it. though it could be used as a force of evil as much as it could be used for good, a lot of humanity existed in shades of gray.

so even if they were under the threat of suffering through something like eternal damnation after death... in barton's mind, it was only a matter of time before someone used a widespread thing like faith to their own advantage. and maybe this was bad of him but thinking about wesley being in such a place somewhat brought him a sense of twisted satisfaction; because at least barton would be getting a form of justice for every fearful moment wesley put him through that way. barton only blinked as his eyes trailed from jervis's face to the teacup that jack had presumably brought him.

shockingly enough, all he felt when he discovered that marty's father was a powerful figure was an incredible amount of disbelief for a moment before it fizzled away. barton was used to things getting worse even if he couldn't have seen this coming. plus, he'd gotten frighteningly good at treating human lives like this police captain's more as obstacles than actual beings. it remained to be seen which one jervis was to barton. he squinted his eyes before standing up and ultimately finding out that, yeah, he had done that too quickly.

barton felt like he was green around the gills all over again, ❝ that is one way to put it, jervis. but don't worry. you just reminded me that, although we're going to have to get creative, there are ways of getting away with it. i'd say pinning his murder on someone else might be the best. ❞ he uttered after swallowing thickly, making a 'turn around' gesture with his finger towards the other. barton talking about murder as if it was light dinner conversation said everything that needed to be said about how he felt about their current predicament.

maybe it was because he was still feeling a lot of malaise, but no part of it bothered him in particular. the doctor was more worried about jervis becoming queasy because he accidentally saw the scars where he'd stitched on yves's arm to his own body, ❝ uhh, just in case you didn't get that, turn around. i'm going to change my shirt. ❞ once that was done, barton slipped his current bloodied one over his head only to replace it with the other. he slumped down in the chair to the table opposite of jervis and looked over the tarot cards laid out before him.

barton, too, knew how to interpret them. ❝ what were you two planning on doing with these? a 'past, present, and future' reading? because i can do it while my son's gone for you. ❞

Jervis gave the barest of shrugs as he glanced at Jack through his bangs, the quiet rhythm of their breathing, the slow drip of the IV, and the faint shifting of the cards against the tabletop the only sounds piercing the air. "Either one sounds perfectly agreeable. I defer to your good judgment." A ghost of a smile, pale and wan, tugged at his mouth for an infinitesimal moment.

Call it the lingering pangs of paternal instinct or projection, whatever you felt was most appropriate, but some flicker of warmth—worry mingling with concern—stirred within Jervis' breast; softening the veneer of exhaustion and discomfort that clothed him like a second skin. Like an invisible cancer that had latched onto him, draining his vitality—a slow-acting poison decades in the making; only this time, the source was external, a reflection of Jack's own unease radiating across the space between them.

Jervis drew in a shallow breath, feeling the tightness in his chest not as his own, but as if their nerves had blurred and grown entangled. He tried to focus, willing his own breath to steady, his hands to unclench. A low chuckle escaped Jervis' chapped lips at Jack's query. The medications in his IV coursed through him, cold and prickling, sending a frisson over his skin as goosebumps rose in response. And yet, somehow, it eased the deep ache within him, dulling the edges of both pain and nausea. He could feel the weight of his discomfort receding, just slightly, as though the medicine were smoothing his raw nerves; coaxing him toward a delicate, unfamiliar calm.

Not quite like ketamine.... not like the cozy, blithesome feeling that coursed through his veins with each dose. Even when most of his prior consumption of the drug hadn't been consensual—thick enough to cut his teeth on, it ensured small pockets of blissful ignorance hardening into a dissociative shell, like callus. (God bless those poor, ministering angels at Arkham... only a trace of spite and animosity there, rage bleeding with sorrow at how his autonomy and consent was completely ignored, snatched... one wrong move, and he was left cowering in a crumpled heap, or otherwise dead to the world... but now? Would the scales be tipped, if they managed to drag him back there? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know that answer.) If Odysseus and his crew had been desperate to escape the Lotus Eaters only to stumble unwittingly into the clutches of Polyphemus, Jervis felt quite the opposite.

For better or worse, the ketamine had left him numb to everything.

The pain, the grief, the anguish that tore gouges in his heart and mind; lacerated his psyche to shreds, in conjunction with the ECT. Somehow, he compartmentalized it... gravitated to the cannabis as an alternative upon his discharge, once he'd regained his center of gravity and emerged from his self-immurement; the fractures left by his losses and lessons grinding him to the bone. Everything it cost him and what he'd earned in exchange. Simon. Arabella. His time in Ireland. Sylvie. The flood. Alice.

The lengths he had gone...

And so Jervis chuckled; the sound dry and hollow, barely touching his eyes. He met Jack’s gaze, his expression tightening as he mulled over the question, tasting the irony in it.

“An afterlife…” he murmured, his eyes drifting. Thoughts and memories broke the surface like apples bobbing in a bucket: Simon and Stephen putting aside their differences over the blessing at Passover; his and Arabella's quiet, but spirited discussions of Heaven and the saints and catechism, the differences between the Old and New Testaments as they strolled along the shoreline. Stories of the witch trials in Ireland, of John Calvin and his legacy in Scotland.

All the old beliefs he’d grown up with circled back and hit like a tidal wave, tied as much to memories of family as to the concept of religious faith itself, all its beauty and diverse forms, yet it left him feeling frigid now. For a little over three decades, he'd told himself that he could appreciate the mythology of it all, even found it strangely comforting at times, but belief? That had always been a different thing entirely.

Jervis' mind tugged him back to reality. He could sense Jack’s curiosity pressing at the edge of his own awareness, a secondary presence so strong it was almost rendered a physical form. "That's.... a complicated notion, from where I'm standing.” He let out a slow, careful breath; curled his fingers back around his necklace as he dissected the question. “But... yes. I'd like to think our loved ones are at peace."

He could map it all in a dozen lines, right down to his own lived experiences, the rules he tried so hard to follow, the ideals that always seemed to warp and fray. There was karma, consequence, perhaps even the lingering shadows of what people might call a curse. But the idea of any higher being calling the shots? It gnawed at him like an old wound. And so Jervis looked back at Jack, almost apologetic, the faint sting of an old ache flickering beneath his words.

He was spared from elaborating with Barton's sudden appearance; lurking on the threshold like a wraith. Poor Jack's confidence and ease withered like a hapless petunia caught in the dead of winter. A few quiet words of dismissal and a pat to the shoulder were all that heralded the reluctant, leery departure of his one potential ally in the wolf's den.

'As phantoms frighten beasts when shadows fall.' Jervis sighed, slowly pulled himself into a sitting position, looked Barton in the eye; as well as he could, anyway, with the lingering gray spots and his missing glasses still impeding his line of sight. “Maybe we each make our own heaven—or our own hell.”

Perhaps that was petty or harsh of him to say out loud... though that was the truth of the matter. Jervis didn’t need religious belief to drive him, after all; he needed only his own peculiar code, that precarious balance between curiosity and cynicism, and the sense of duty he still felt for a daughter who had deserved something far more stable, more secure; safer than the patchwork life he had known. Whatever his flaws, his faults, some small part of him still respected the right to believe—what faith meant to others; its power to inspire, to build, to destroy. The cause and effect of human history, the double-edged promises of faith. And maybe that was the root of it: faith could be a tool, a guide, a balm.

But then the stark, often bitter truths he’d learned through survival would come rushing back. Besides, he reckoned, Barton likely wouldn't give a damn about any of his prior train of thought. In any case, on the topic of hell, Jervis never pictured the vast, cavernous expanse of fire and brimstone that Jonathan Edwards had once preached about in the summer of 1741. No. Hell always conjured up fevered images of a frozen lake in the deepest, darkest part of the center of the earth, untouched by light and warmth and life—the last of Dante Alighieri's nine circles.

'I sometimes think we must be all mad and that we shall wake to sanity in strait-waistcoats.'

He was torn from the thick mire of his thoughts, yanked back outside his mind as if caught in a sudden hurricane at Barton’s next revelation. Jervis shut his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, then reached for the cup of tea Jack had brought him. The liquid within was a warm, golden amber—like sea glass he’d once collected as a child in Bermuda, or the bits Alice would gather along Gotham’s coastline on their rare visits when she was little.

How simple those days were...

"Well." Jervis' voice was completely flat, his brow creasing with incredulity and disgust. Barton’s outline weaved and blurred before his eyes like a will-o’-the-wisp. No more, no more… no room, no room. He felt completely hollow. "Trading one problem for another, are we?" His scarred knuckles bulged as his fingers curled around the delicate porcelain; his grip hard enough to produce a faint, foreboding crack.

He would weep, if he had anymore tears left to shed over their predicament. For Marty and his partner, for the trouble Jack and Matilda had been brought into by association… but none for himself or Barton. He wasn’t certain he was worthy of it; and Barton had no qualms over their actions, he’d freely admitted it at that bistro earlier. Jervis’ hands tingled, as if they were still covered by the bloodied gloves he wore when he dispatched the driver in order to retrieve Alice’s rabbit, wielding his hatpins on pure impulse; there was no premeditation involved, but there was no discounting how surgical his actions had been in their efficacy with each targeted nerve cluster and artery. He wasn’t indulging in self-pity, oh no… nothing so shallow or solipsistic. Not like that at all. Just a pure ant mill of growing dread and horror and regret, one that couldn’t be encompassed by words alone.

His teeth sought the gouges in the corner of his mouth from where he’d previously bit himself in the throes of his nightmares, worrying at the cuts till they began to sting anew.

‘Despair has its own calms.’

[my-thoughts-and-junk]

i have to think about chilchuck and laios forever

[martyrbat]

deathstroke annual #4

[ID: fourteen year old Rose Wilson fighting a grown man after he and his friends jumped her. She's already knocked out the others, prompting him to ask, “Are you some kind of superhero or something?” Rose responds by punching him in the nose and informs him, “Superhero? No, I'm no superhero. But thanks to my mother and her friends, I do know how to take care of myself.” Rose proceeds to briefly fight him until she knocks him unconscious too. END ID]

[quantumleapt]

Also taking this opportunity to add another guest muse, one that I share custody of with my dear @elencr , OLIVIA KATHERINE BECKETT!

An astronomer and archaeologist, Olivia has inherited not only a good deal of her father’s smarts, but her mother’s tendency to travel back and forth in time and space with no way of telling where she’s going. That is, until the day she steps into the Quantum Leap accelerator as part of the project and learns to control her talent better, searching for her parents to change the course of their personal history for the better.

[caterpillarinacave]

I absolutely cannot fathom how any man with a daughter could vote from trump

[kamiversee]

Big ruby shaded eyes, matching that of her father’s, have this adorable thin layer of gloss over them as she pleads with her parent for the millionth time.

“Daddy pwease?” She has the cutest little pout on her face, one that’s worked on her mother time and time again that’s sure to work on her father too—

“No.” Sukuna says yet again.

The child is tired of asking and receiving that same answer over and over. She doesn’t understand one bit why but she hates hearing that word. Folding her arms, she lets out an annoyed puff, “Mommy would never tell me no…”

One statement and there’s already another vein bulging in the right corner of Sukuna Ryomen’s forehead. “Go away, brat.” He breathes out in an overly irritated tone.

The child, unable to take no for an answer and more like her father than she even realizes, takes her foot and brings it down on the curse’s foot in frustration.

If he wasn’t ticked off before, he damn sure is now. “You little—“

“Sukuna,” And there it is, the voice of the sole human in this reality who could ever even dream of cutting the king of curses off mid-sentence. Not only is it you, the mother of his overly insolent child, but you have the nerve to give him that scolding tone he hates (loves).

He scowls for a long moment before looking down to the smaller human who carries more of your features than his. “Fine, child.” Sukuna drawls out after a long roll of his many eyes.

Then, with a big smile plastered all over her small face, her hands are shooting up and she’s making a grab motion with her hands.

Sukuna stares down at her and sighs, “You really are a spoiled brat, y’know…” He grumps while leaning down to pick his daughter up with one out of his two pairs of hands. “…Just like your damn mother.”

The child’s smile fades for a moment and she tilts her head, “Damn?” She repeats in a confused tone, making Sukuna’s heart spike.

“Wait-, don’t… don’t say that.” He’s been down this road one two many times—having taught the child how to say ‘fuck’ the moment she began spewing words. He received an earful from you that he didn’t care for so, here he is now, “That’s a bad word.”

His daughter blinks, “But, Daddy said it.”

Sukuna groans lowly in irritation, “Daddy can say whatever the hell he wants.”

“Hell?” Oh she had to be doing this on purpose, knowing her mother was only a room away.

“Child.” The curse scolds, “Are you trying to irritate me?”

She shrugs playfully, “This is what you get for telling me no.”

“You asked me if you could draw on my face.” He deadpans.

“And you should’ve said yes,” You suddenly chime in, entering the room, “Instead of teaching her more curse words.”

The little girl snickers in Sukuna’s arms and he swears he has an image of the child being flung across the room for just a moment. That image is interrupted by the girl speaking again.

“Like fuck?” She says loud and clear. “I heard Daddy say it again earlier today—“

A big hand goes over her mouth (practically her entire face) and she’s cut off by her father who’s innocently smiling at you, his darling wife.

“Ignore her. I was just about to let her draw on my face so,” He glances down at his daughter who’s giggling victoriously beneath his palm and then sighs, “If you’ll excuse us.”

You’re left smiling at the two as Sukuna turns away with his daughter and exits the room—the sound of them bickering as soon as they’re out of sight heard moments later.

And the next time you lay eyes on the two, Sukuna’s got a face full of stickers and marker and his little mini-me has a mocking face full of her father’s markings. To which you just had to take a million and one pictures of.

[keets-writing-corner]

Thinking a LOT about Lucifer in the latest Hazbin episode. Idk what I was expecting but not this??

As I was watching my immediate thought was just "huh... Lucifer is kinda of weird..." but as the episode went on I realized the issue

the dude is off the chain depressed, like he says it as a joke but holy cow it is SO BAD

He's manically just creating rubber ducks cuz his daughter really like it that one time but it's empty, it's never good enough but he keeps doing it, maybe cuz he doesn't know how to pass the time otherwise.

like I get the feeling he HAS better things he SHOULD be doing than making rubber duck after rubber duck. At first I was like, "Bruh why isn't the king of hell doing anything?" aaaaand then it became clear...

The dude is disassociating so bad he can barely hold a conversation let alone remember information. He clearly WANTS to, he wants to be involved with his daughter so bad, he wants to care about the things she's doing so bad, but his depression keeps interfering. It's like he can only hear every other word and he grasps onto the ones he does hear semi-out of context. Like you can see every time he catches something that he hadn't before and he just "well shit I didn't catch that part"

and that's why he reacts so weird when people talk to him. He is struggling so bad to engage with the conversation he's only getting 50% of it

does that look like the face of a man who knows what the hell the conversation is even about??? he is STRUGGLING

like Charlie spent so long telling him about the hotel, and he STILL didn't understand what she wanted. Yeah it comes off as ditzy but literally I've been in that position where your brain just "nope, not doing this right now" and nerfs your conversation comprehension. So as someone who's BEEN in that position, to me it feels exactly like what he's dealing with. He's sorta engaged with the conversation, but only as much as his brain will allow

For example, when I'm dealing with this, this is what someone talking to me feels like this where the crossed out parts are what I missed and bold is what I catch, "Hey! You know I was thinking for dinner we could either make some chicken with rice? But if you don't feel like cooking, pasta is super easy and you love that right? What do you want to do?" you can kinda get that someone is trying to talk to you about dinner, and towards the end you get the impression that they asked something that needs your input so you can decently put 2 and 2 together and try and pass off, but crucial bits were left out, I would have no idea that either chicken or pasta is in the conversation only having heard "rice". When someone is just talking at me, I can decently pass off as being engaged but the second I'm required to participate in the conversation I'm screwed. Seem familiar? At which point I have 2 options, try to give a bullshit answer, or admit that I missed what they were saying and ask them to repeat

Lucifer, unfortunately, is trying so damn hard to hide that he's dealing with like 24/7 dissociation, so he can't admit that he's missing entire chunks of the conversation, hence his really weird replies. He does eventually get the full picture and then he and Charlie start having the real conversation

Also, the Alastor/Lucifer rivalry was hilarious but also really indicative of more of what Lucifer is dealing with

Alastor is, unfortunately, really good at picking up people's insecurities, and thanks to Charlie's description earlier and watching Lucifer clearly trying to overcompensate, he immediately picks up on the fact that Lucifer KNOWS he struggles to be a good dad (we know cuz it's cuz of the depression, hard to be engaged when your brain keeps turning off) and decides to rub salt in the wound by pretending he's been acting as a surrogate father to Charlie. Now why Alastor decided to pick a fight with the king of hell is beyond me, I do not understand Alastor (and I LIKE IT) (maybe it's cuz Alastor thinks he's hot shit and was expecting Lucifer to at least have heard of him but Lucifer just treats him like a nobody? who knows)(why would Lucifer listen to radio anyways when he can't even pay attention to a conversation it'd just be white noise)

But yeah I just was expecting someone who oozed either charisma or presence and instead I got a depressed dad who's dissociating so bad he can barely function and be present in his life. The only thing it seems he CAN do is make rubber ducks cuz his daughter really liked it that one time

Idk Lucifer is tragic to me. Whatever the full details of what heavan did to him absolutely broke him and he can't deal with it. He's aware of it, and he doesn't know how to fix it, so he tries to over compensate and sorta makes an ass out of himself but no one says or does anything cuz this guy is supposed to be THE king of hell

Suddenly it's making a lot more sense why he just rolls over and lets heaven do what it wants and even told Charlie to go in his place the start of the show. He's not in any headspace to hold a basic conversation let alone negotiate! He didn't even know who Alastor was, he's been so out of touch

idk I like him, he seems sweet, I hope Charlie brings some light back into his life. He really needs to get out of that rubber duck room

[coffee-and-geto]

“HOW CAN I LOVE WHEN I’M AFRAID TO FALL?”

“I fell in love with you as soon as I saw you, as soon as you covered me from my father, as soon as I heard your laugh, saw the amazing mother you are, and realized I never wanted you to leave this house.”

✧ pairing: CEO! satoru gojo x f!reader

✧ summary: to your almost regret, your life as a single mother seems to be weighing more and more heavily on your worn-out shoulders. so what could be better than pretending to be the CEO’s girlfriend of the business you work for, knowing that his father is the general manager?

✧ warnings: +18 only, smut, nsfw, her daughter is called hinata, fake dating/single mom tropes, angst, mother insecurities, fluff, reader’s ex is a jerk, unprotected sex, sex (p in v), overstimulation, pussy drunk (satoru), nipple play, fingering (f!receiving), oral (m), this fic is (really slightly) inspired from the french book ‘un printemps pour te succomber’ by morgane moncomble, including therefore small similar dialogues, (pls guys learn french only to read this masterpiece!!), fanart by @/ilameys on twt.

✧ wc: 10,154

“Can I taste the frosting?”

Your lips curve into a smile. “Of course, angel.” You crouch down and hand the spatula coated in pastel pink frosting to your five-year-old daughter. Her little fist wraps around the handle, and joy spreads across her angelic face like rays of sunshine. “So? How is it?”

“It’s so good!” she exclaims, and you chuckle.

“I’m glad you like it.” You glance at the clock in your kitchen. “I’ll put the frosting in the fridge. While the cake bakes, go back to playing, and I’ll call you to help decorate the cake as soon as it’s ready, okay?”

Hinata nods, blowing you a kiss that you return after a moment of surprised hesitation, your lips forming an “O”. Amid delighted laughter, she skips away, and you turn back to face the bowl of cake batter.

Why does it have to be so hard?

Every birthday, you hold back tears because who said ‘single mom’ doesn’t rhyme with ‘baking your own birthday cake so your daughter can sing to you’? But what hurts more — this, or seeing your flesh and blood envy her female friends who have their dads in their arms and their mothers content with their families?

The silence of loneliness can sometimes be louder than company.

“Happy birthday! Happy birthday, mama!” your daughter sings, clapping her hands as you blow out your candles in the warm, yet dimly lit, living room. “Come on, come on! Let’s eat the cake!”

With a knife, you cut two slices, one for each of you, and it only takes a few more minutes for both your mouths to be covered in pink frosting, with laughter echoing in the room. The heartache, briefly chased away by the short-lived joy, returns later that night when your daughter snuggles up in your arms in your double bed, which seems to be missing something.

Fuck, being a single mom is tough, you think as you wipe away the tears flooding your cheeks with the back of your hand. No one to support you, all the responsibilities fall on your shoulders, and now doubts about your daughter start invading your mind: “What if she blames you later for not having a father?”, “What if she thinks you’re a bad mom?”, “Do her friends at school say anything about you being the only unmarried woman among all the parents in her class?”

These thoughts have never stopped, not even during your pregnancy, whether about the weight gained or lost, or the changes in your body. Are these regrets? But how could you regret bringing such an angel into the world? Maybe it’s more about the lousy partner who left you the second he found out you were pregnant.

Probably the second option.

°°°

“WHERE IS MY SON?!”

A male voice thunders across the entire floor of the company. You jump, turning to one of your colleagues over the small partition set up for employee privacy. “Who’s yelling like that?” you whisper, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“I heard it’s the new general manager…”

Your frown deepens. “Is that why they handed me the summary of our sales figures to drop off at the office upstairs?” To prove your point, you lift the massive stack of documents.

Your colleague presses his lips together, his eyes widening in a way that already gives you the answer. “Oh God, you’re the one in charge of that? Good luck. It’s to be delivered to the new director.”

A sigh escapes your lips.

For a start to the workweek, it seems you’re about to face the stormy mood of the new boss, who apparently brought his kid to the office. What a perfect beginning.

As usual, the upper floor is deserted, as it’s generally reserved for executives with direct ties to the company’s CEO. Few people take the elevator to reach the top floor of the skyscraper. Arriving in the lonely hallway, it should be a simple task to knock on the boss’s office door, drop off the elephant-weight stack of documents, and leave.

So why does the sound of running footsteps seem to be getting closer and closer behind you?

In a flash, a man dressed in a navy blue suit rushes past you, bumping your shoulder. He nearly topples the threatening stack of papers, but you manage, at the last second, to catch everything before you lose your balance. The young man opens the door to the women’s restroom, and before entering, he glances over his shoulder.

Never in your life have eyes made such an impression on you.

Two cerulean blue orbs lock onto yours with a mischievous aura. A smirk tugs at the corner of his thin, pink lips. From his pale skin to his albino hair, the man exudes charm and beauty from every pore. The sheer allure of his appearance leaves your brain too stunned to react, numbing it. How can someone be this handsome?

“SATORU!”

His serene and amused expression vanishes instantly, and you jump in response. Replaced by an exaggerated look of fear, he addresses you, “Cover for me. If he asks you, you never saw me!” And his tall, slender body disappears into the women’s restroom.

More footsteps echo down the hallway, this time from a second man, just as tall and physically similar to the young man you just encountered — though slightly older, with wrinkles lining his face and a mix of albino hair and silver from age. You have no time to react except to straighten up against the wall.

His blue eyes, more gray and stern, settle on you as he approaches. “Did you see a man? A tall idiot running around and flirting with any woman he sees,” he grumbles the last part, his eyes thoughtfully fixed on the light carpet.

You shake your head robotically. “No… I—”

“Never mind,” he cuts you off with a dismissive wave of his hand — as if your answer is irrelevant and he’s heard it at least twenty times before. He sighs and scratches at the stubble on his chin. “Who are you, anyway?”

“An employee, sir.” You gesture to the stack of documents that’s beginning to make its weight known in your arms. “I was asked to drop this off in your office.” The tone of your voice almost pleads with him to let you in and relieve you of the annoying burden.

“The report? Ah yes, of course.” You sigh in relief as he unlocks the door with his keys. “I suppose you’re wondering who I am?”

“The new general manager, I guess?” you reply, raising an eyebrow. You drop the heavy stack onto the desk and exhale deeply. “We heard you on every floor.” You can’t help but chuckle at your own remark, offering the director an apologetic smile.

He rolls his eyes, but a light chuckle still rumbles in his chest. “You’re right. It’s because of my son.”

His son?

You repeat the word aloud, confused, and he clarifies. “My son is the new CEO of this company, and I almost regret my decision to give him that position.” He shakes his head, his gaze drifting toward the blue sky visible through the large window, then refocuses on you. “I apologize in advance. He’s going to be a real handful.”

“I understand. I think we’ll manage to put up with him,” you add with a smile.

In the end, this new boss doesn’t seem as strict as your colleagues have been saying, and his story about his son is more amusing than anything. You cough slightly into your elbow and clear your throat, murmuring an apology.

“Are you sick?” the director inquires.

“A little,” you admit reluctantly, feeling embarrassed as you adjust the mask on your face. “Sorry. I couldn’t stay home.”

“No problem.” He crosses his arms over his chest and sighs. “Well, I think I have some work to do. See you later, I suppose.”

You don’t hesitate to leave the boss’s office and quietly step into the women’s restroom. “Is… someone here?” you murmur in a hoarse voice.

The creaking of a door answers you, and the general manager’s son emerges from a stall, looking cautious. He looks like a little boy checking to see if his hiding spot in a game of hide-and-seek has been discovered, which makes you stifle a discreet giggle. He turns to you and offers an apologetic smile. “Sorry about earlier. I didn’t hurt you, did I, sweetheart?”

The nickname catches you off guard, and warmth floods your face. “N-No, I’m fine. You’re the new CEO, right?”

“Satoru Gojo, at your service, pretty girl.” He winks, a reminder that he’s quite the flirt.

You introduce yourself in return, running out of things to say, your hands nervously clasped by your sides.

“Pretty name,” Satoru murmurs. He closes the stall door behind him and exhales, shaking his head. “Phew! That was a close one! Thanks again!” He strides toward the exit with one last charming smile in your direction, leaving the restroom and a lingering scent of cologne behind him.

°°°°

“Why aren’t you answering?”

“Damn it, you’re so annoying with this!”

“There’s no point in moving every few months, I’m going to find you.”

“For fuck’s sake, answer my messages! I told you I need you! I swear I’ll help you raise Hinata this time.”

“I made a mistake, so let me fix it by answering my fucking messages! I know you’re reading them!”

You swallow hard, your throat tight, and press the “block this contact” button on your phone. It’s the fourth time this month. He’s been harassing you with messages and finding a way to contact you no matter how many numbers he uses, even when you change yours. The same goes for your address, as apparently changing apartments is no longer enough to escape him.

You know he’s in debt — one of the many consequences of his excessive gambling, even when you were still in a relationship with him. Smoking, drinking, and of course, downing tobacco like it was water, only to charm you while hiding this lifestyle to get you into his bed, then fleeing the moment you were pregnant.

So now that he needs a woman and a child to escape his debts, he’s reaching out to you — the woman he abandoned after promising marriage (without a ring, of course), got pregnant, and deserted, only to come crawling back to you.

“Mama? You okay?”

Your daughter’s concerned little voice pulls you out of your daze. The cartoons playing on the TV haven’t had the desired effect — they’re not distracting her from the anxiety that’s been gnawing at you day by day. Maybe today, it’s showing enough for people to notice?

“I’m fine, angel,” you reassure her with a perfect smile — perfectly fake, because that’s something you’ve learned to anchor over time.

You pat the empty spot on the couch next to you, and she nestles under your arm. “If you say so…” Hina murmurs, clutching her worn-out bunny plush.

The state of the plush catches your attention, and a pang of guilt stabs at your heart. What kind of mother lets her daughter carry around a stuffed toy in such poor condition? Maybe you are a bad mother? Otherwise, why would Hina deserve such a pitiful situation? She deserves so much better than you…

“Little angel?” you murmur as she wraps her tiny arms around your waist and nuzzles into your belly. “Are you okay?”

“I love you.”

And the three little words sound… unreal.

Hot tears blur your vision, and it takes every bit of strength you have to whisper back, “I love you too, Hina.”

°°°°

3:00 PM.

In less than an hour, you’ll need to pick up Hinata from school.

Normally, you avoid lingering at work. You go through your usual routine as an employee, nothing special or fun — a hello, goodbye, see you tomorrow to colleagues without worrying about what’s happening around you or the gossip, even when it involves coworkers getting together.

The only change: now it’s you who gets stuck with the task of delivering all the documents to the general manager. According to one of your peers, he doesn’t seem to be strict or threatening when it comes to you. So this time, you’re tasked with delivering an additional file about the production of a new product on the market to both the CEO and the general manager. For the second time, you head up to the highest floors of the company headquarters to knock on the CEO’s door — it’s the closest. But no one answers.

No surprise, since the director’s son spends his time running through the hallways to avoid his father and shirk his responsibilities, right?

You’re about to knock on the Director’s door, but a familiar gust of wind brushes your face with a soft, fresh breeze. Satoru Gojo appears beside you with a charming smile and glances at what you’re holding.

“H-Hello, sweetheart. How are… you?” he greets, slightly out of breath from yet another chase with his father.

“I’m fine. Here.” You hand him one of the folders, and he takes it, pretending to read it. “The next meeting—” But he grabs the second document and, before you can react, opens the door to his office and casually tosses them inside before shutting the door.

“SATORU GOJO! KEEP IT UP, AND I’LL DISOWN YOU!” The boss’s voice echoes through the entire floor as he appears from behind the emergency exit door. “YOU!” He points a finger at you, standing right next to him. “Still bothering our employees?” He grumbles, his jaw clenched so tightly that you can hear his teeth grinding.

“That’s not true, father!” Satoru protests, feigning outrage. He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you closer. “You’re chasing me while I’m just saying hello to my girlfriend?”

You freeze, turning your head toward him, as lost as the Director, who squints his eyes. “Your girlfriend? Since when—”

“I was going to tell you,” Satoru continues, shaking his head, his fingers squeezing your waist while you remain paralyzed. “Here’s my new girlfriend.”

“Are you lying to me and dragging some poor woman into your childish games?”

In the back of your mind, you note that he doesn’t seem to recognize you despite the last time you saw each other.

“What? I’m telling the truth! Isn’t that right, sweetheart?” And he leans in to plant an affectionate kiss on your cheek.

Your heart almost stops for a second. But you quickly snap back to reality under the insistent embrace of his arm and his hand around you. “Y-Yes…”

What kind of mess have you gotten yourself into?

“Well, if you’ll excuse us, father, my darling and I are in a hurry.” He leads you away before you have time to protest and heads toward the elevator with you.

Once the doors close, Satoru takes your hands in his and leans toward you. “I can explain everything.”

If his cerulean blue eyes hadn’t been so persuasive, you would have exploded right there and then to yell at him.

You, the girlfriend of the CEO of the company you work for? Did this really have to happen to you? You can already picture your termination letter under your nose as you exit the back of the building. A glance at your watch tells you that if you don’t hurry, you’ll be late to pick up your daughter.

“You’re in a rush?”

“I have to pick up my daughter before I’m late,” you reply curtly, “and look at the mess I’m in now!”

“I know, I know…” Satoru rubs the back of his head, right where his immaculate undercut is. “Maybe I can explain on the way? Where’s your car?” He looks around the parking lot, his eyes searching.

The question — however mundane — makes you blush with embarrassment. “I… take public transportation…” you mumble, pouting.

He furrows his brow, as if you just admitted to showering with maggot-infested soap. “Excuse me? I don’t take public transportation.”

“Well, I do.” A hint of defiance returns to protect your pride.

How could he possibly understand when he lives like a rich man, without worrying about grocery shopping, paying bills, and of course, taking public transportation during the week to avoid wasting gas because it costs an arm and a leg! But for him, that must not be part of his daily life, especially since he’s one of society’s privileged.

“Let’s take my car then.” He says this without waiting for you, as you remain standing there. He pulls out his keys and opens the passenger door. “What are you waiting for?”

“But— I— Are you out of your mind?” you burst out. “I’m not getting in that car! I’m supposed to pick up my daughter, and now I’m pretending to be your girlfriend! In front of your father!” You emphasize your words with wild, energetic gestures.

He bursts out laughing.

Cute.

“No chance. We’re going to pick up your daughter and clear this all up. And please, stop refusing to get into a car that’s way better than those buses that reek of sweat.” He rolls his eyes, and you note how much he resembles his father when he does that.

“I have an errand to run anyway,” you persist.

“And that doesn’t change the fact that I want you to get in this car,” Satoru chuckles.

Taking a closer look, the car is as luxurious as the ones you dream about at night — yours, by comparison, looks like a junk heap ready for the scrapyard. Reluctantly, you climb in, Satoru’s chivalrous demeanor not going unnoticed as he snickers at your surrender. He quickly gets in, asks for the address of the school, and sets off after starting his car, which smells just as good as he does. You feel like a piece of trash in the middle of this little universe he inhabits.

“My father bugs me every day to find a woman,” Satoru murmurs at first, one hand resting on his thigh, clad in business suit trousers, his eyes fixed on the road over his round sunglasses. “That’s one of the reasons I avoid him.”

“And why involve me?” you snap back.

“Well, to be honest, it was partly impulsive. I met you the other day, and then, in the moment, I just wanted my father to leave me alone.” He has a half-smile that makes you swallow hard, and he gives you a knowing look before returning to a serious expression. “I’m sorry for dragging you into all this.” A pause. “I just hope you’re not married, otherwise—”

“No, I— No.” You close your eyes for a moment, the innocent question burning like a fiery arrow piercing your already aching heart. Did you just hear a sigh of relief? “And your father doesn’t seem to have recognized me since the other day,” you can’t help but point out.

“The mask.” Satoru grips the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white. “He didn’t recognize you because of that. He’s always had a bad memory and poor eyesight.”

“But you recognized me.” You focus on the road’s scenery to avoid confronting his mesmerizing eyes. “I’m not going to wear my mask forever, you know? And I don’t want to keep pretending—”

“Please,” Satoru whispers, placing a hand on yours, sending a shiver down your spine. “Just until he and my family get off my back.”

“I’m sorry, but—”

“How much do you want?” He asks immediately, as if he just remembered something.

“What? No! I don’t want your money!” you protest as quickly as he did. “No, I…” And you groan, sinking into your seat.

Holy shit!

“What have I gotten myself into, seriously…” you moan, crossing your arms over your chest, a grimace distorting your features.

“Please. I know it’s a lot to ask, but I’ll do everything to make it just a minor detail… I’m only asking you to change your name in front of my father when you pass as my girlfriend, wear a mask, and change your hairstyle at work — if we want to avoid suspicion. He won’t suspect a thing, I swear.” He pulls into the school parking lot and parks quietly.

Thoughts bombard your already exhausted mind, and you massage your temples. Why does this have to happen to you and no one else?

Satoru murmurs your name, making you lift your head. “It will only be a few family events, just for appearances, nothing more. I won’t bother you any further.”

You sigh, and the sound of the bell signaling the end of classes rings out. “I need to think about it. Thanks for the ride. Have a nice—”

“Come back. I’ll take you home,” Satoru suggests, pressing the button to unlock your door.

What’s the point of refusing?

You nod, finally getting out of the car to go pick up your daughter, who runs toward you as soon as you reach the gate.

"Mama!" She jumps into your arms.

You return her embrace, heading towards Satoru’s car. “Did you have a good day?”

“So much fun! I made you a drawing!” She’s practically bouncing as you reach the car.

Noticing your daughter’s confused look, you clear your throat. “Uh… A-A friend of mine is giving us a ride home, okay?” She blinks innocently and waits for you to open the car door, which is almost as tall as she is. Hinata gets in as you do, and you cough slightly. “This is Gojo. My friend.”

“Hello, princess.” Satoru turns his head over his shoulder with a big smile. “What’s your name?”

“Hinata,” she replies, her legs gently swinging.

“Very pretty.”

“Thank you.” She blushes and tries to hide a smile.

On the way, you try to fill the awkward silences with small talk until you arrive at the supermarket.

You had promised to buy Hinata a new stuffed animal since last night after spending hours worrying that you weren’t being a good mother. Again.

“That one!” Hinata almost runs towards a bunny plushie that’s twice the size of her head. She grabs it with her little arms and gives it a hug.

Satoru and you reach the aisle, and out of habit, you check the price under the albino’s watchful eye. Your eyes nearly pop out of their sockets when you see the amount, and you place a trembling hand on Hina’s shoulder. “Angel, I think it’s—”

“…Perfect,” Satoru finishes, his large hands taking the plushie from your daughter’s tight embrace to check the price tag with its shocking number. “Do you like it, little one?” he asks, looking down at her.

Hina nods energetically. “Yeah!”

“Then we’ll take it.” Satoru hands the plushie back to her and turns towards the checkout lane, already reaching into one of his pockets for what looks like… a wallet.

You react immediately, your hands finding their way around his arm. He doesn’t push you away at all and even smiles at the contact. “Gojo… No.”

“It’s Satoru to you, sweetheart,” he whispers gently. “And why not? It’s just a stuffed animal,” he scoffs. He takes Hinata’s hand so she can place the plushie on the conveyor belt.

“No, it’s not nothing to me,” you persist through clenched teeth, embarrassed that the cashier might be paying attention to your conversation.

Satoru shrugs. The cashier scans the plushie, and he uses contactless payment to pay for it. With your hands still around his arm, he places one of his on top, an intimate closeness.

“I could get used to this,” he murmurs near your ear, making you turn beet red. But he can’t continue as your daughter clings to Satoru’s leg like a koala, showering him with a thousand thank-yous for the gift. “You’re welcome, little one.” His hand gently ruffles her hair. He grins, now turning back to you. “It’s on me. You don’t owe me anything.”

Your discreet protests, so Hinata doesn’t suspect anything, come to an end when he drops both of you off in front of your home. Hinata commented that Satoru’s car looked like the one from the movie Barbie: Princess Charm School she had seen recently. He unlocks the doors as you get out of the car. Satoru’s hand catches yours, slipping a piece of cardstock into it. His contact details are on it.

“Just in case,” he mouths silently.

Nevertheless, you slip the business card into your pocket and respond just before closing the door, “I accept.”

°°°°

“And no funny business, okay? Never run in the hallways, if he tells you to wait, don’t move an inch, and—” You stop yourself as you notice your daughter is more interested in admiring the elegant decorations of the office hallways with wide, doe-like eyes and an adorable, slightly open mouth.

To your great misfortune, Hinata’s preschool is on strike for a while — which means almost all the teachers are absent. So how do you take care of your daughter when you can’t afford to miss work? By bringing her to your fake boyfriend’s office, of course! You quickly make your way toward Satoru’s office, Hinata following with her hand in yours. But just as you raise your fist to knock on his door, two large hands land on your shoulders, nearly scaring the life out of you.

“Hey, hey!” You whip around abruptly, a new mask on your face — just as the plan intended.

“Satoru…” you grit through your teeth. Hinata looks up at him and grins. You sigh.

“What do I owe the pleasure of all this lovely company?” Satoru asks, not taking his eyes off yours while giving Hinata a high-five.

As usual, he’s dressed in a luxurious suit — probably worth the rent of the apartment you live in — his slightly tousled albino hair and the familiar scent of cologne filling your nostrils. You catch yourself staring a little too long, and mentally kick yourself when his curious gaze turns mischievous.

He just realized you were checking him out, damn it!

“Hinata’s school is on strike. I need you to watch her for the day, if that’s not a problem, and since you seemed so insistent on returning the favor I’m doing for you…” you mumble, avoiding his gaze. “I see you’re spending your day roaming the offices rather than staying in yours…”

“No problem at all,” Satoru replies automatically, a pleased smile on his lips. “Ready to go to the CEO’s office?” He picks up Hina, who giggles and clings to him like a koala.

It’s your turn to smile in relief. “Thank you so much. I have a meeting with your father in an hour, and I’ll come get her at noon and again at the end of the day.” The sight of the two of them close together makes your heart melt — and for once, you don’t blame yourself for seeing Hinata happy to be with someone else.

°°°°

5:00 PM.

You’ve sent a message to Satoru asking where he was, since knocking on his perpetually empty office seems to be pointless. The meeting with the other company members about organizing the launch of a new product was particularly painful, but one thing is certain: the general manager didn’t recognize you with your more subdued hairstyle and the mask plastered on your face.

“Come to the parking lot like last time.”

And that’s the last message from Satoru (you gave him your number during lunch).

In the empty parking lot, only Satoru’s car is present, and you cast a curious glance through the windows. The two troublemakers give you a grimace — tongues sticking out and faces scrunched up. You sigh as the passenger door opens automatically.

“Satoru, you don’t have to—”

“Hina said yes and that she wants to come to my place,” Satoru cuts in with a mocking expression.

Reluctantly, you get in, your heart pounding in your chest with all sorts of panicked thoughts. However, Satoru doesn’t seem to share your reservations and starts driving as soon as you’re settled.

“So, this means you’re coming to my place,” he says, hands on the wheel and a quick glance in the rearview mirror, “and I’m inviting you to dinner.”

“No—”

“Mom! Please, Satoru is being too nice.” Hinata complains. You glance back, and she looks at you with wounded, pleading puppy eyes, arms crossed over her chest.

You grumble, slumping back against your seat as they both cheer in victory.

“By the way, I’m stopping by your place so you can pack. We’re invited to a family wedding, and my father invited us.”

“WHAT?”

°°°°

You place a box with your gift on the designated table for presents, and an arm wraps around your waist. “You look stunning,” Satoru murmurs against your neck, his lips brushing against your skin, which breaks out in goosebumps.

With a flushed face, you turn your head. “Satoru…”

“What? Just because we’re pretending to be a couple and barely know each other doesn’t mean I can’t speak the truth.” He pauses. “Well, actually, we do know each other a bit, don’t we? We’ve had dinner together.” He chuckles at your half-grimacing, half-deadpan expression, pulling you closer as music fills the wedding reception hall.

You turn your head along with him toward the back of the room, where the bride’s bouquet is about to be thrown. A tight smile curves your lips — this is one thing you’ve dreamed of. Dreams have always been just that — dreams in your life, and even when love comes knocking at your door, it’s only passing through, just like your situation with Satoru.

His father didn’t notice anything, and since Satoru lives alone in a villa, it’s hard to say no when he offered for you to stay with him until he’s settled, with your own room and a staff available 24/7. He even had a tailor make a custom dress for the wedding you were both invited to. Hinata is looked after by a lovely nurse, and you’re enjoying a life you’ve always dreamed of. So why not make the most of it despite your past?

A Satoru who’s too comfortable with you isn’t so bothersome given the time you’ve spent together lately — both at the office, acting as a couple in front of certain people, and sometimes showing affection to each other to appear believable, even though they haven’t asked for kisses yet, so—

A fluffy and soft object lands right in the middle of your face and falls into your arms. You search for what seems to be a petal in your mouth and suck in your breath at what you realize it is.

The bride’s bouquet.

A gulp forces its way down your throat as the whole room applauds because… you’ve been hit in the face with the bouquet? Not to mention the lamentations of other female cousins who had jumped with all their hopes to catch it… But why you, who hadn’t asked for anything?

“Sweetheart?” Satoru mutters, his chest still pressed against your back. His tone is so sweet, nonchalant, as if you’ve been a couple for years. “My father is watching us, and I think he’s expecting me to do something.”

You swallow and nod, dreading what might happen next. Will your heart stop beating when Satoru says:

“May I kiss you?”

Never, ever, has anyone asked you that question. Not even your ex.

So, with a nervous nod, you allow him to capture your lips in a soft, languid kiss. His tender lips taste like the cotton candy children eat at the fair. They cherish yours with every movement (which you can’t help but return in kind). Each press sends butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

When the kiss ends, Satoru places one last kiss on the corner of your lips and clears his throat. “This is the first time I’ve wanted to marry my girlfriend.” His warm breath ignites your body.

Has your heart exploded?

If not, why can’t you breathe?

“Awww… How adorable you are with your pretty girlfriend, Satoru!”

An elderly woman approaches you both, supported by her old cane, and you note her albino hair, similar to Satoru’s.

“My dear aunt…” Satoru smiles widely without breaking away from you.

“You make a lovely couple,” Aunt Gojo continues, giving you a wise look.

“Oh, thank you.” You immediately bow and introduce yourself. Satoru’s hands squeeze your waist, and he chuckles at your manners.

“Take good care of her, you idiot,” the aunt finishes before drifting away, a tap of her cane on Satoru’s head making him sigh and rub his sore skull.

“Well, at least we look convincing, right?” he adds.

“Yes…”

Of course, he said that because he saw his aunt before you! Don’t think he said it because he meant it or—

“By the way,” Satoru takes your hand in his and leads you to the center of the dance floor, “I meant what I said before my aunt interrupted us.”

And you’re at a loss on how to interpret his playful wink.

°°°°

“WOW! Hinata, you’re so rich!”

“Is this your dad’s castle?”

Hinata takes Satoru’s hand and faces her friends in his chic living room. “It’s my daddy’s!” She nods proudly and runs off with them toward the games and festivities organized for her birthday. The children run everywhere, scream, and burst into laughter throughout the room. The perfect atmosphere.

It’s exactly what you’ve always dreamed of giving Hina.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you murmur to Satoru, who, despite your comment, shakes his head joyfully.

“I’m glad she likes it,” he replies.

“I wasn’t talking about the party.”

He freezes and turns his head toward you. “Didn’t you tell me you’d never been married?” he dares to whisper, possibly afraid of hurting you.

“That’s true. My ex left after learning I was pregnant with Hinata.” You exhale the breath you’ve been holding, the weight of the secret finally lifted.

Maybe he won’t want to keep pretending to be your boyfriend after this…

“You can still tell me his name, you know, sweetheart?” Satoru moves closer to you, wrapping his arm around your waist, as if it’s completely natural for him, but there’s a tension in his touch. “I can take care of him and—”

You shake your head to dispel the tiny bit of resentment that’s urging you to say yes. “It’s okay. Thanks for agreeing to pretend to be her father. I know it’s going to be a bit of a hassle for a while, but she cares a lot—”

“Nuh-uh.” He places a kiss on your cheek, then another on the side of your neck, causing you to shiver. “She’s already talked about it in my office.”

You open your eyes wide. “What…?”

“Hinata likes you much more than you think… You’ve suffered too much,” His other hand glides over your stomach, and his thumb traces affectionate circles on your waist.

“Thank you,” you breathe, leaning into his touch. And for a moment, the weight on your shoulders completely lifts. “We haven’t had the best birthdays recently, so I’m happy to see Hinata get what she wants.” Your eyes rest on your daughter, dressed as a fairy, waving her glittery wand at one of her friends dressed as a witch. “So, thank you for everything.”

“No need to thank me, sweetheart. But which birthday are you talking about? Yours? When was it?”

Embarrassed, your mouth feels dry. “...A while ago.”

Satoru pulls you tightly against his chest, wrapping his strong arms around you, his nose buried in your hair. “You’re such a strong woman… I can take care of you if you want. You and Hina will live like princesses, and if you want to sleep with her or have your own room, that’s no problem for me.”

“What? No, Satoru, you’re joking…”

“I’m not joking,” he insists, his gaze diving into yours — and for a second, sincerity fills his cerulean eyes.

With your mouth slightly open, you whisper, “We barely know each other, and—”

“Mama! Papa! We need to break the piñata!” Hinata rushes over to you, not paying any attention to how close you are to Satoru, and grabs each of your hands.

“Yes, angel, we’re coming,” you respond to your daughter with a weary smile, before glancing at Satoru, who is no longer looking in your direction.

Why are his ears so red?

°°°°

You place the last birthday decoration box in a corner of the living room as Satoru asked and straighten up with a grimace from your aching back. “Geez…”

The upper floor of the huge house is strangely quiet, and you furrow your brows. Could they have gone downstairs?

“Hinata? Satoru?” you call out as you walk through the hallways.

The evening darkness makes it hard to see clearly, and only the faint beam of light escaping from the kitchen door guides you.

“Are you there?” you ask, gently pushing the door open, and what you find leaves you stunned.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” the two of them exclaim, holding an enormous cake between them.

A few candles illuminate the underside of their beaming faces, party hats perched on their heads. The kitchen is a huge mess, counters covered in flour and frosting, and dishes overflow from the sink, threatening to topple over.

You stand speechless as they continue to sing your birthday song. Your nostrils and eyes start to itch strangely. Why is your vision suddenly blurring? It looks like transparent waves just above your lower lashes, threatening to overflow if you dare to blink. Yet, you can’t escape it.

Not when they set the cake on the table and pull you into a hug while your nose runs, tears roll down your cheeks, and your choked-up throat is on the verge of bursting into sobs. Satoru keeps kissing your hair, never stopping for a second to comfort you with sweet and reassuring words, his hand drawing circles on your back. Hinata wipes your tears while her own roll down her little cheeks.

Seeing you cry has always been contagious for her.

The moment gives you a glimpse of what your life would be like if you had a complete family, and Satoru’s words echo in your mind. How could he be so perfect in just a few weeks of knowing him?

Once the emotion passes, a few minutes later, you eat your birthday cake with laughter and cheer, accompanied not just by the one person who now means everything to you, but by both.

°°°°

“Watch out, Hina. You have applesauce on your chin,” Satoru chuckles, his hand grabbing a napkin to wipe the excess food around the child’s mouth.

The heartwarming scene makes your heart swell. You definitely don’t regret going out with Satoru and Hinata to have a meal at a chic terrace in their company. The family atmosphere finally gives you a glimpse of the life you’ve always hoped to live. Hinata growing up with a loving father and mother, and you, loved and supported by an ideal partner. Why not reconsider Satoru’s proposal, then? He’s the first man to think of you, even after your birthday had passed some time ago.

“I’m going to the restroom,” you murmur to Satoru, who nods in response, a wry smile curling his pink lips.

But why did it have to be on this day that a man finally approaches the two people you care about just as you slip away? He clearly waited from afar for you to let your guard down around your daughter so he could show up right in the middle of the table, facing a little girl — his daughter, technically — next to a man who isn’t her father.

Satoru slowly raises his head toward him, brows furrowed and wary. “Can I help you?”

Your ex says your name. “Where is she?” he mimics asking as if he didn’t know.

“What do you want with her?”

“To talk to her. I have the right. And you’re with my daughter, just so you know.” He crosses his arms over his chest, trying to appear threatening, but Satoru remains stoic, more contemptuous than anything else in the face of such a scruffy, unshaven nuisance.

“She’s not here; you can leave,” Satoru responds. And out of protective instinct, he pulls Hinata’s chair closer to him, his eyes narrowed. Satoru understands perfectly that your ex is back to claim his rights over his daughter, just as he’s been harassing you with messages about it.

“Excuse me? When my daughter is in the arms of a stranger? I could call the police immediately and we’ll sort this out very quickly,” your ex retorts sharply. He takes a step toward a lost Hinata, her big doe eyes blinking innocently between the two men. Of course, she doesn’t recognize him.

An altercation begins between the two, which naturally attracts the attention of other diners around. And you walk into the middle of the scene, frozen in shock at the sight of your ex hurling threats at Satoru.

“She’s taking my daughter, so I’m taking her back! And it’s not a bastard like you who’s going to help her regain my rights!” your ex spits with venom. His icy eyes find yours, terrified, your hands trembling and your complexion as pale as a sheet. He’s about to address you with the same angry speech, his face flushed with rage and a vein ready to burst at his temple.

Do you get déjà vu?

“‘Your daughter’?” Satoru repeats with a deadly gaze and a jaw quivering with rage. “She’s been sitting next to me for over an hour, I’ve been feeding her for over an hour, she’s been calling me by my name for over an hour, and you’re talking about ‘your daughter’? At this point, whose daughter is she... yours or mine?”

Your ex, publicly humiliated, opens his eyes wide with hatred. “You little son of—”

“Sir, we ask that you leave the terrace; you’re disturbing our customers,” a security guard declares firmly. He’s accompanied by another colleague, and when your ex protests, they grab him by the arm and escort him away amidst his shouting and the murmurs of other customers who keep staring at the three of you.

You move closer to Satoru, who immediately stands up upon seeing you — having not realized you were there — and can only offer you an apologetic look. “Let’s go,” you silently mouth (your throat too tight to dare let a sound escape, fearing it might break before you say anything), taking the hand of a silent and lost Hinata. “I’ll pay the bill and—”

“It’s already taken care of; we can go,” Satoru gently interrupts, following you to his car.

And it’s on the silent drive back that you realize something.

You’ve officially fallen in love with Satoru Gojo.

°°°°

“Look, Mom, Dad and I made a drawing for you!” Hinata proudly holds up a colorful picture with three easily recognizable characters on it.

“Did you brush your teeth?” you ask as you take the drawing to admire it, just as much smiling as your daughter. She nods and then does a little twirl to show off her new pajamas that Satoru gave her earlier in the day. “It’s beautiful. You’re so talented,” you chuckle, leaning in to plant a kiss on her cheek.

Satoru appears in the doorway of Hinata’s room, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed over his chest, a perpetual playful smile curving his lips. “Ready to go to sleep?”

“Yes, and I showed our drawing to mama,” Hinata asserts, bouncing on her bed.

“Oh yeah? Did mama like it?” Satoru asks softly, his eyes now locked with yours.

“Mama loved it and thanks Daddy,” you whisper, your voice quivering with emotion that threatens to spill over.

Half an hour later, Satoru and you find yourselves in the hallway with a sleeping Hinata and her little lullaby snores.

Satoru wraps his arm around your waist as usual and buries his face in your neck. Your heart is already racing, and your breath catches when he says, “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” The embrace is a simple hug but with unspoken words easily guessed.

“For everything.” Satoru sighs, and for a split second, you hope he’ll let you speak, but no. “I didn’t mean to make a scene and—”

“And you think I’m going to blame you for protecting us? That I wasn’t touched by what you said about Hina?” you mumble near his ear. The closeness gives you another chance to see his ears turn red. “Is Satoru shy?” you giggle, open to teasing. He hums, hiding his face so you don’t see his expression.

“I love you.”

You blink, because you must have heard wrong. “Huh?”

“Marry me.” And he’s already on his knees before you, eyes pleading. That usually confident cerulean blue is now so submissive, so close at hand… But the sudden turn of events leaves you stunned. “I want to be your husband, not just have you as my wife. I want to raise Hina with you and give you everything you need.” Not letting himself be distracted by your stunned expression, he continues, “Want my money? I’ll give it to you. My house? It will be in your name. Want my body? It belongs to you. My heart? It’s already yours.” And he starts kissing the backs of your hands desperately. “I love you, I love you… Please, marry me…”

“Satoru… You—” you stammer, backing away, your brow furrowed. Everything is a jumble in your head, both from his touching declaration but also because it’s all moving too fast for you. “You… love me?” you manage to whisper.

He crawls to you and wraps his large arms around your thighs, almost choking with desperation. “I fell in love with you as soon as I saw you, as soon as you covered me from my father, as soon as I heard your laugh, saw the amazing mother you are, and realized I never wanted you to leave this house.” He whispers your name like a divine invocation. “I’ve fallen in love with you more than just once.”

You don’t immediately respond, and that’s okay in his eyes. He doesn’t want to pressure you, just for you to know the truth and for him to be completely transparent with you.

“It’s okay if you don’t share my feelings; I just want you to know that—” But he’s cut off by your rush toward him on the floor as you press your lips to his, pulling him into the dance of your lips that one gives to the other in a long, passionate kiss. “God… I love you so much…”

“I love you too, Satoru,” you murmur against his mouth between kisses that turn into moans as he slides his warm, wet tongue between your lips to request access to your mouth.

Both of your breaths become ragged and heavy. Satoru takes the opportunity to lift you by the underside of your thighs and lead you to his bedroom, carefully closing the door behind him without breaking the contact of your swollen, desirous lips. He gently lays you on the king-size bed with silver satin and frost-blue sheets.

With a tenderness of loving slowness, Satoru breaks the kiss. “Do you want to continue?” he asks, his voice husky. You nod timidly, but he shakes his head with his mischievous smile — finally back. “Nuh-uh. Your words, sweetheart.”

“I want it, Satoru,” you reply after a sigh of exasperation so adorable in his eyes that it makes him laugh, then he places a light kiss on the corner of your lips.

“Alright… Gonna take care of my beautiful girl, the best, the most wonderful mother, and maybe future wife—” He places a finger on your lips. “Oh no, you’ll answer that later if you want, when I have something concrete for that occasion.”

You sigh in frustration because the answer is already on the tip of your tongue, but it soon turns into a moan as he kisses the side of your neck with such deliberate slowness that you really wonder if he’s going to tease you to the limit. His hands roam over your clothed chest, exploring your already hardened nipples. His lips find their way to your collarbone, marking it with love bites and hickeys that elicit muffled moans from you.

“If you knew how long I’ve dreamed of doing this…” Satoru comments with a touch of affection, his fingers deftly undoing the buttons of your shirt. “Exactly how I would act with my wife—”

“And your father?” And he chuckles again.

“We don’t care about him.” He casually tosses your top aside to tease your sensitive, erect nipples through the fabric with his thumbs. “Such humble underwear… Would you like me to buy you something more daring?” he purrs, pulling on a strap to snap it against your gooseflesh-covered skin.

“Would you do that?” You bring your lips to his, and he immediately responds to the kiss. You also remove his black turtleneck sweater to reveal his toned, muscular torso. An adventurous hand glides over his chest, making him groan slightly, and then stops at his lower abdomen where a vein runs lower down. You place a kiss there with a small, sly smile.

For the first time, you’re about to make love with someone.

“Hmm? Satoru? Have you ever thought of me in outfits like this?” Your nimble fingers unbutton his pants, revealing a prominent bulge in his fly.

“Sweetheart, don’t—” he hisses between his teeth from the sensation of the slight friction between his erection and your eager fingers as they pull down his pants to caress and rub his dick through the thin fabric of his boxer. “Your hands feel so good…” He breathes softly, his hands stroking your bare arms with a feather-light touch.

“Answer my question…” you purr, your nails pulling at the underwear to free his hard, twitching cock. The tip is perfectly reddened, with veins coursing along its pale length of 8 inches. Almost automatically, your mouth waters, and you waste no time kissing the slit of his already glistening tip with pre.

“Babe, don’t tease…” Satoru closes his eyes and lets your hand wrap around his length, begging to be touched. “F-fuck— Yes, yes, I’ve thought about it, about buying you the most expensive and luxurious lingerie— ah!” he almost whimpers. You take a little over 2 inches of him into your mouth to stroke the base. “But also in those maternity clothes— oh god… C-can you really blame me?” He rolls his eyes and can’t help but buck his hips toward you, his body pleading for your mouth to take care of him.

You withdraw his cock from your mouth to whisper, “So you’re a naughty boy, hmm?”

“I won’t last if you keep this up— hgnn…” he whimpers completely, his dick splitting your mouth in two as you take him all in. Your head starts to bob back and forth, and he is so close that he spills moans of your name. “G’nna cum, baby, don’t—”

You hollow your cheeks, and the next moment, he cums in your mouth, long, thick ropes of his release filling your already full mouth with his shaft. You hum under his orgasm and swallow slowly. You slide his dick out of your mouth with the same rhythm to smile at a Satoru with ears as red as his cheeks.

“F-fuck, sweetheart,” he pants, his calloused finger wiping away the mixed cord of your saliva and his cum with a swipe of his thumb.

“M-hmm… You taste so sweet…” He doesn’t let you continue and crushes his lips against yours, tasting himself on your mouth. “I want you, Satoru…”

“I’m yours, princess.” He helps you quickly remove your remaining underwear so that you’re completely naked in front of him, knees resting on the expensive mattress. He kneels at the foot of the bed, and his fingers explore your sensitive, already dripping cunt.

“So wet for me… Did I do this to you just with my cock?” His fingers spread your swollen folds to gather your fluids and rub your throbbing, needy clit.

Your nails dig into his arm as you lift your hips under the sharp pleasure. “Satoru, it feels good…” you gasp in a whimper. His forefinger and middle finger spread your wetness all around your intimacy. “Please don’t tease…”

“Not tease? Weren’t you doing it, sweetheart? What a nerve,” Satoru scoffs, tapping his finger at your entrance. “Can I?”

“Please…” You wince as you move your hips down for more. And that’s exactly what he does, immediately inserting his finger into you, cursing.

“You’re so fucking tight… and so wet,” he curses, his finger moving in and out of you with careful softness. “I can already fuck you without making you cum first.” He stops finger-fucking you and looks up at you. “Is that what you want, love?”

You nod before arching your back on the bed. Satoru climbs onto the mattress and helps you wrap your legs around him. “That’s it…” He takes his length in his hand and teases your responsive cunt with the tip to get it wetter.

“Don’t tease, Toru, I swear…” And he smirks.

“Toru?”

“Sorry, I—”

His tip presses against your tight, pulsing entrance, and he grins. “I want you to moan that nickname while I fuck you, ’kay?” He grips your hips to pull you closer to him, and with one swift movement, he slides into you, a groan escaping from behind his lips as your deliciously tight, warm, gummy walls wrap around him as if you were meant for him.

The stretch causes a slight discomfort at first, and you almost cry in relief when Satoru notices. He patiently waits for you to adjust before starting a slow, deep rhythm inside you.

You widen your lustful eyes, tears forming at their corners. “Ah! Toru… Jus’ like that…” Your eyes roll back as the tip of Satoru’s dick hits the back of your cervix, making you shiver and tighten around him. “Fuck… s’deep…”

“So fucking perfect, so fucking mine,” Satoru groans, his hips rocking into you without ceasing to swell between your gummy walls. His chest rises and falls in a breath as ragged as yours, asking for more every time you moan for him to go deeper. (He discreetly rolls his eyes and babbles incomprehensible words — completely pussy drunk.)

And that’s exactly what he does. He slams back in brutally, making you cry out his name with each thrust. “Shhh… You don’t want Hina to hear us, right? So keep quiet, baby…” He helps stifle your gasps and moans of pleasure by capturing your lips with his, alternating between fast, rough thrusts and slow, gentle ones in your hole that he fucks shamelessly.

Blood rushes to your ears, a rare sensation you haven’t truly felt the last time you were with someone. It wasn’t just about carnal pleasure between Satoru and you — but about love. The fusion of bodies loving each other and providing mutual pleasure, even as they burn for each other— physically and emotionally.

One of Satoru’s hands slowly slides to one of your breasts and teases a sensitive nipple. The arch in your back encourages him to detach his mouth from yours to capture the other nipple with his wet lips. The growl he lets out sends a wave of intense shivers through you, making your eyes roll in overstimulation.

“P-please, Toru, please, I’m already close,” you whimper against your trembling palm — a feeble attempt to contain your sweet sounds as he speeds up his hip movements in your sloppy cunt — the sound of his balls slapping your skin filling the room. Your words are punctuated by the tightening of your walls around him, swearing he could cum inside you just from hearing you beg.

“Cum on my cock, baby, cover it,” he coos, giving another kiss to your abused chest. The clenching of your jaw with your teeth dug into your lower lip forces you to groan. “Want me to fill you up?” And you nod, tears showing your imminent orgasm. “Anything for you, my beautiful girl.” His hips slam against yours, and his fingers continue to tease your breast, rubbing your puffy clit.

Satoru’s own breath becomes heavier, more labored as he keeps singing praises while you gasp, his lips pressed along the line of kisses he’s placing down your jaw. “T-Toru, Toru, cumming!” you cry out as your walls spasm around his cock while he reaches his peak and fills you with his hot, liquid release, warming your lower abdomen. You see blinding stars illuminating your vision.

He hisses almost gutturally, his nails digging into the flesh of your hips. “Oh god… S-Squeezing me while I’m cumming too…” He closes his eyes for a moment, letting his peak subside at the same rhythm as yours, his forehead damp with sweat resting against your chest. 

Only pants and groans escape your lips, each one accompanied by difficult swallows and the feeling of your sweaty bodies pressed against each other.

“How was it? Did I make you feel good?” Satoru asks immediately, once his breath has returned.

The concerned questions touch your heart so deeply that you lift tearful eyes to him. “Are you going to leave, after this?”

His expression falters, and he gently withdraws from you to envelop you in his embrace. “No, baby, of course not… I won’t, I swear on my life I won’t leave you… I’m not him. I’m the one who hopes you won’t leave…” he whispers hurriedly. “Don’t think about that. I’ll always be here, for you and for Hina…”

You sniffle, your eyes red. But Satoru smiles tenderly, wiping away your hot tears. “Save your tears for later, sweetheart.”

“Why?” You clear your throat.

He sighs, the aftermath of the effort from the activity settling on him, and places a chaste kiss on your sweaty temple. “Did I tell you that my father invited us to dinner tomorrow night?”

“No,” you shake your head, “but what’s the link?”

“Don’t you understand?” he murmurs in your ear, butterflies fluttering in your stomach. “It doesn’t matter. You’ll understand in time.”

°°°°

“I see. So it was an unexpected encounter.” Gojo’s father nods, shrugging his shoulders. “But I wonder how a woman like you can have feelings for such a fool…”

Satoru chokes on a piece of meat he’s chewing and takes a sip of his water. You stifle a giggle, with some steamed vegetables speared on your fork, just waiting for you to devour them. For a man who appears so stern and strict, Mr. Gojo is quite a wealthy man who spends his days reprimanding his son for not doing this or that.

Yet, there’s a certain paternal camaraderie between them — a father-son relationship, if you will.

“That’s not true,” Satoru retorts, his voice still gravelly. He has an adorable pout on his lips, like a child wrongly scolded.

“Yes, like you’re not a womanizer,” his father retorts, rolling his eyes.

“It was so you’d leave me alone,” with furrowed brows, he wears a mischievous smile at his father’s incredulous expression, “but sweetheart came into my life,” he continues, looking at you with a tenderness he has rarely shown.

“I hope you manage to put up with him until… well, until you decide to marry — if that’s what you choose,” his father sighs, turning his attention back to the dish in front of him.

“Satoru isn’t a bad person, you know,” you start gently. “He is certainly a thoughtless brat with grotesque immaturity,” Satoru almost spits out his water this time, and you continue with a wry smile, “but he has a great sense of attention and unmatched generosity. I believe he will be a good husband, I assure you.”

“I must admit,” he says with a wise smile, his wrinkles less pronounced.

Satoru casually says your name, “Yeah, yeah… By the way, could you pass me the salt, please?”

You freeze, while Satoru’s father suddenly looks up with an incredulous expression. “Who?”

And you smack your forehead with the palm of your hand.

°°°°

The cries of a newborn fill the room as, breathless and on the verge of fainting, the midwives congratulate you, bringing your second child wrapped in clean blankets at your request.

“He’s beautiful…” Satoru murmurs as he approaches you, leaning down to the tiny baby with his albino hair and blue eyes — his exact likeness. “Thank you, my love, thank you, thank you, thank you…” His voice breaks as you raise a weak, exhausted hand toward him, but with a serene smile on your lips as you whisper how much you love each other.

He immediately wraps his fingers around yours, your wedding rings sparkling as they brush together like stars sealed for eternity.

✧ a/n: how i love desperate men, hihi! 🤭 hope you all enjoyed this one-shot!

✧ tags: @ssetsuka @zara-zara11 @bearwithmoo @elliesndg @lymsfm @mutsu422 @whathappenedtobees @drippymcdrippison