your eyes only

as self-centred as soojin is, she would give Jungkook her whole entire world, she'd give up anything and everything for him if he'd ask. chloe, as a petite as she is, would move mountains if it meant getting into his heart. maya, as confident as she is would change her way of living if it meant pleasing him. actually every single old love interest in his life would orbit around his axis if he wanted them to. but they were not really love interests to Jungkook. no, they were merely distractions. distractions from the woman who could own him in any way possible. the one woman he longs for with such desperation. the woman he's obsessed with in a way he should understand is unhealthy.

you. his beautiful, smart, sexy, perfect woman. you're not officially his yet, but he needs you to be or else he'll probably lose his mind.

Jungkook's life would be so euphoric if only you felt the same way he did. but you don't and just thinking about it is enough to depress Jungkook. he has it all – the looks, the confidence, the figure, the money. so why can't you just like him as much as he likes you? not to say he doesn't work for your love. he does. he works so fucking hard for it, without trying to embarrass himself too much, of course.

he does various things, trying to prove it to you, obvious actions that practically sing about how much he wants you. but you just can't seem to get the hint, can you? or maybe Jungkook's current worst fear is true. you know how he feels but you just don't care. that thought causes Jungkook's heart to tighten in his chest. he likes the first option, so that is the one he chooses to believe. as ignorant as Jungkook is, the intellectual part of him questions it. how can you not know how he feels for you when he does everything a guy in love would do? for a few examples, he cares for your likes and ambitions, he changes his busy schedules just to accommodate yours, he takes care of you when you're sick, he's constantly checking up on you when you aren't with him, he buys you flowers and chocolates. he makes the best love* to you, just like he is right now…

Jungkook grunts through gritted teeth as he thrusts as deep as humanly possible into you, hitting the perfect spot inside you that makes you let out a breathless, high moan of his name. the sweet sound you've made under him only motivates him to do it again and again. Jungkook thrusts his massive cock into your pussy, keeping his pace fast, hard and a little rough – just as you like it. your nails dig into his broad shoulders and rake down his back, causing it to sting. Jungkook groans at that, knowing it's going to leave marks on him. Jungkook loves any form of possession you show over him, he loves when you leave marks on him or tell him that he's yours. it's as if you know the power you have over him and you can see how badly you affect him.

Jungkook is one strong man, yet you have the ability to make him the weakest and most pathetic on earth. before you walked into his life, things were normal. he had gotten into short situationships, he fucked whoever he wanted, he could do whatever he wanted without you being in his every thought. but after he understood the depth of his feelings for you, things had become complicated and absurd. after a while, Jungkook could no longer live his life the way he used to. he couldn't fuck anybody else, he couldn't touch anybody else, he couldn't even bring himself to look at a woman who wasn't you. it would feel like he's cheating, cheating on you and cheating on himself – cheating on himself because you're a part of him, a big crucial necessity in his life. it shouldn't make sense, but it does to him. you're the other half of his soul, you just don't feel it like he does, as yet.

at the thought of his seemingly unrequited romantic feelings, Jungkook thrusts into you even harder than before, earning him a sweet gasp from you. he hums at the sound before watching you, your eyes are almost rolling to the back of your head and you look so heavily cock-drunk. well of course you'd be, this is the sixth? seventh round? Jungkook's hands that had been on either side of your head now move – one grips your hip, feeling your soft skin and the other goes to the back of your neck to guide your face to his, to meet him in a kiss. His kiss immediately starts off passionate, wet and filthy. you eagerly kiss him back, moaning into his mouth when his tongue slides into yours. you kiss him with equal fervour as he pounds into you so good.

you break away from the kiss, a string of saliva joining your lips to his. you keep your eyes open and on his, gazing up at him. he's sweaty and staring down at you with dark, hungry, heavy-lidded eyes. he looks so fucking hot, you're so grateful to have this beautiful man fucking the living daylights out of you, looking at you with such need. but beneath all the lust, you think that you notice something else. it looks so sincere, so precious. you think hard what it is you see there. you might have an idea, but that's just preposterous. right?

you don't dwell on that forbidden thought, since your seventh orgasm of the night is approaching. your moans become louder and you start clenching around Jungkook's cock. he thrusts become sloppy but he still keeps the animalistic pace, wanting to make sure your approaching orgasm is as good as the previous ones – maybe even better.

"f-fuck," he groans. "you feel too good, baby. always feel too good."

his praises always have your head spinning and pussy throbbing. your nails dig into his back as you mumble incoherent nonsense. you're on cloud nine, just as you usually are when Jungkook fucks you. he's the best you've ever had in bed, you wish you could be full of his cock every day and night.

"k–kook," you gasp.

"hmm?" he hums, looking at your parted lips and hazy eyes.

"gonna come." you mutter shakily.

Jungkook grips your thighs with both his hands and lifts you up a little. he finds the angle that's even deeper, making you whimper and arch up, throwing your head back into the pillows.

"yeah?" he asks before leaning down to lick your now exposed neck. "me too, baby."

you're so gone and drunk on his cock, Jungkook thinks you might finally agree to what he's been wanting to do for the longest time now – to come inside you. oh fuck, the thought of it makes Jungkook want to bust immediately. he imagines filling you up with his release, fucking it back into you, watching it drip out of your pussy. he hopes you'll finally allow it. he's feeling lucky tonight, perhaps you'll allow it since your walls are clenching so hard around his pulsing cock.

"want me to come inside, hmm?" please say yes, please say yes.

"no." you say, panting.

Jungkook bites the inside of his cheek, feeling bummed. but rest be assured, he will release inside you one day.

you release first, crying out his name. he thrusts inside you a few more times before pulling out and releasing over your belly with a groan. he looks at your belly messed with his come, it's not where he wishes it was but it's still so fucking hot. after he reels from his high, he collapses beside you, staring up at the ceiling for a long while. your chest heaves and your eyes threaten to close. despite your body feeling like jelly, you decide that you really have to shower. you turn toward Jungkook, placing your hand on his chest, over his racing heart and throwing your thigh over his hip. Jungkook feels warmth spread through his body at the contact. he turns to you as well, placing a hand on your hip to tug you closer.

"can we take a shower, kook?" you ask, so soft and tired.

Jungkook smiles at how cute you sound. he'll obviously take a shower with you, he's more than happy to do that.

"yeah, baby." he says before gently kissing your forehead. "we'll go soon. I'm too comfortable to move right now."

"Jungkook the sheets are wet and i have your come on me." you state, threading your fingers through his soft hair. "let's go now and we'll come back and cuddle."

Jungkook nods, happy with that deal. he helps you out of bed and picks you up, carrying you to the bathroom since you're drained and walking on very weak legs – it's understandable, he's done a number on you. inside the shower, he steps behind you and turns on the water, setting the temperature to exactly how you like it. you lean against Jungkook and sigh in contentment as the hot water washes over your sore body. the both of you spend a long time in the bathroom – washing up thoroughly and sharing heated kisses. Jungkook initiates more intimacy by reaching between your thighs, but you smack his hand away with a little laugh, telling him that any more of this would leave you rotting in bed due to the inability to walk. he pouts but respects your decision of course.

after the shower, you both change into sleep wear and cuddle just as you've said. Jungkook brings you right against his chest, holding you tightly against him while breathing you in. he feels so full of everything nice at this moment. you're where you're meant to be, safe in his arms. he wishes that all of his nights could be like this, instead of a few nights only. he does appreciate what you do give him. after all you are the woman he loves with all his heart. he yearns for you in a way that borders on madness, so he needs all of you entirely.

"Then, by the authority vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife." The priest's voice echoed through the chapel, a strange numbness settled over you.

The stained glass windows bathed the aisle in coloured light, painting shades of gold and crimson across the marble floor. Everything looked beautiful almost dreamlike. If only you felt the same.

"And now," the priest said with a smile, "you may kiss the bride."

A nervous flutter stirred in your stomach , the chapel fell silent. You slowly turned towards Jeon Jungkook. Up close, he was even more intimidating than the newspapers made him seem. Tall , Broad-shouldered , Dressed impeccably in black. There was something unsettling about how composed he remained while your own heart threatened to beat straight out of your chest. Not once throughout the ceremony had his expression changed , not when you exchanged vows , not when the rings were placed upon your fingers.

He stepped forward, you became painfully aware of every pair of eyes watching. Your parents , Margaret , Cecilia , The priest. The staff standing quietly at the back of the chapel. Jungkook's gaze lingered on your face, as though searching for something.

His hand lifted, resting lightly against your cheek. Then he leaned in his lip touches yours, Merely a formality carried out before witnesses. The sort of kiss exchanged by two strangers fulfilling an obligation rather than a promise. When he pulled away, the chapel erupted into polite applause.

Your attention remained fixed on the man standing before you. The man society whispered about. The man accused of murdering his first wife.

Six months ago, if someone had told you that you would become Jungkook's third wife, you would have laughed in their face. You had other plans, your world revolved around architecture. Endless sketches covered your desk, half-finished models occupied every spare corner of your room, and your greatest concern was whether your final project would impress your professors.

Marriage was nowhere on the list. Certainly not marriage to a man eleven years older than you. Yet one evening, your father sat you down and informed you that your future had already been decided. You were to marry Jeon Jungkook , you remembered staring at him in disbelief.

Everyone knew who Jungkook was. One of the most influential businessmen in the country. Owner of countless companies, estates, and investments. A man whose name appeared in newspapers almost weekly. A man who already had two wives and according to society, a dead one.

You refused at first you argued , pleaded , cried. None of it mattered. The agreement had already been made. In the end, you were left with no choice but to accept. That was how you found yourself standing in a chapel, exchanging vows with a man you barely knew.

His first wife, Margaret, was another matter entirely. Margaret Jeon was elegance personified. At thirty-five, she carried herself with a grace that made everyone around her feel slightly inadequate. Kind-hearted, patient, and endlessly composed, she possessed none of the bitterness one might expect from a woman sharing her husband with others.

Jungkook had married Margaret years ago not for love. Margaret's mother had been his own mother's closest friend. When she fell gravely ill, she had only one final wish , that her daughter would never be left alone in the world. Jungkook had honoured that wish and from what little you had observed, Margaret had never once regretted becoming Mrs. Jeon.

His second wife Cecilia was entirely different. Beautiful in the way storms were beautiful. At thirty, Cecilia possessed a sharp tongue and a sharper mind. Unlike Margaret, she made no effort to hide her displeasure regarding your presence.

Jungkook's marriage to Cecilia had been born from another arrangement. Her father, a powerful businessman whose health had rapidly deteriorated, had made a rather extraordinary declaration. Whichever man married his daughter would inherit everything. His companies ,estates , investments, fortune an empire worth billions. Many men had sought Cecilia's hand for precisely that reason. Jungkook had simply been the one chosen. Whether Cecilia had ever wanted the marriage was another question entirely.

And now there was you. The third wife the unwanted addition to an already complicated household.

The journey to the Jeon estate passed in near silence. You spent most of it staring out of the carriage window, watching the countryside blur past while a single thought repeated itself in your mind.

By the time the iron gates appeared, dusk had already begun to settle. Your breath caught the estate was enormous , not a house , not even a mansion. An estate.

Stone walls climbed towards the evening sky, ivy curling around ancient pillars. Tall windows reflected the fading sunlight, while perfectly trimmed gardens stretched farther than the eye could see. It looked less like a home and more like something from a novel.

The moment you stepped inside, that feeling only intensified. The entrance hall was magnificent. Crystal chandeliers hung overhead. Marble floors gleamed beneath your feet. Portraits lined the walls. You found yourself glancing around uneasily.

"Welcome home." Margaret's gentle voice broke the silence. Before you could respond, you felt another gaze. Cecilia , she stood a few steps away, arms folded across her chest. The look she gave you could have frozen a river. You quickly looked away. Jungkook removed his gloves before turning towards Margaret.

"Would you show her to her room?"

"Of course." Margaret smiled warmly. Then, as though struck by a thought, she added .

"Although, darling, shouldn't she be staying in your room tonight?"

You nearly choked. Jungkook's expression didn't change, but his eyes lifted towards Margaret. A warning glance. Margaret immediately looked amused.

A laugh escaped Cecilia "How considerate of you, Margaret."

Margaret sighed "Cecilia."

"No, please continue," Cecilia said sweetly. "You've always been so invested in Jungkook's marriages." The sweetness in her voice somehow made the remark worse.

Margaret rolled her eyes "You make everything sound scandalous."

"Only because everything here usually is."

You suddenly felt as though you had walked into the middle of a conversation that had been ongoing for years. One filled with private jokes and old grievances. Jungkook looked entirely unimpressed.

"Enough." The single word was calm. Yet both women immediately fell silent. An impressive achievement, considering Cecilia looked capable of arguing with a brick wall.

His gaze shifted towards you. For the first time since arriving, he seemed to notice how uncomfortable you were.

"You needn't worry." His voice was even. "There will be no expectations placed upon you tonight."

You wished the marble floor would swallow you whole. Across the room, Cecilia muttered something beneath her breath. Margaret elbowed her.

"What?" Cecilia complained.

"You are behaving terribly."

"I'm being honest."

"You're being insufferable."

Jungkook pinched the bridge of his nose. You almost felt sorry for him.

"Margaret," he said, clearly choosing patience over murder, "please show her the room."

Margaret immediately brightened "Come along, dear." As you followed her towards the grand staircase, you couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.

Margaret's room was on the east wing. Yours, apparently, was not far from it. As the two of you walked through endless corridors, she pointed out various parts of the estate along the way.

"The library is downstairs." You nodded. "The conservatory is at the back." Another nod. "And if you ever get lost,which you absolutely will, just find a servant. I've lived here for years and still take wrong turns." A surprised laugh escaped you.

Margaret smiled, looking rather pleased with herself. The room she eventually led you to was beautiful. Far larger than your bedroom back home. Tall windows overlooked the gardens. A fireplace occupied one wall. Fresh flowers rested on a small table near the bed.

"It's lovely," you admitted quietly.

"I'm glad you think so." Margaret moved towards the wardrobe. "Would you like some help with those dreadful wedding layers?"

You laughed softly "Please."

Within minutes, she was helping you unfasten buttons and remove various pieces of your wedding attire. The atmosphere remained surprisingly comfortable. Not once did Margaret make you feel embarrassed. In fact, she seemed determined to avoid awkwardness altogether.

"So," she began casually, folding a piece of fabric, "architecture."

You glanced up "What about it?"

"I heard you're studying it."

A smile appeared before you could stop it "I am."

"Do you enjoy it?"

"I love it." The answer came instantly. Margaret noticed of course she did.

For the next several minutes, she asked question after question. What buildings inspired you? What was your favourite project? How long had you wanted to become an architect? The conversation flowed so naturally that you almost forgot where you were. Almost forgot that only a few hours ago you had married her husband. Margaret listened attentively to every answer. By the time you finished changing into a comfortable nightdress, some of the tension had finally left your shoulders.

Margaret seemed to notice "Better?"

"A little."

"Good." The older woman smiled. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The room felt strangely peaceful. Then Margaret stepped closer. Before you could react, she gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture reminded you painfully of your mother. Something softened in her expression.

"You've had quite a day. That's one way to put it."

A small laugh escaped her. Then, unexpectedly, Margaret leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. The gesture was entirely maternal. When she pulled back, her eyes were kind.

"So listen to me carefully. This house can be overwhelming at first." Her gaze drifted briefly towards the door. "And the people inside it can be even more overwhelming."

That earned a reluctant smile from you. Margaret smiled back. Then she took your hands in hers.

"This is your home now, alright?"

The words caught you off guard. Nobody had said them since you arrived nobody except her.

"If you ever need anything, come to me."

Your throat tightened unexpectedly "Anything?"

"Anything." There was no hesitation in her answer.

Margaret left your room only after making certain you had everything you needed. The corridors were quiet as she made her way towards Jungkook's . She wasn't surprised to find him there. He stood beside an open window, a cigarette between his fingers. The night air drifted through the room, carrying away the smoke.

"You really should stop doing that."

Jungkook glanced over his shoulder "Good evening to you too, Margaret."

Margaret rolled her eyes before walking over and taking the cigarette from his hand "You know the doctors keep saying the same thing."

"And yet here I am."

"Unfortunately." A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Margaret moved closer, straightening the collar of his shirt before wrapping her arms around him from behind. It was an old habit. Neither thought much of it anymore.

"New bride is frightened."

Jungkook's expression softened slightly "I know."

"She's twenty-four, Jungkook."

His gaze remained fixed on the darkness beyond the window "I know."

Margaret rested her chin against his shoulder. "Please don't let anything happen to her. She wants to study. Let her finish."

Jungkook sighed "Margaret."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

She frowned. He finally turned towards her. The door suddenly swung open. Cecilia entered carrying a bottle of wine. She stopped her eyes immediately landed on Margaret standing close to Jungkook. A flicker of irritation crossed her face.

"There you are." Without waiting for an invitation, she crossed the room and placed herself directly between them. Margaret sighed.

"Cecilia."

"What?"

"You've interrupted a conversation."

"You were hugging my husband."

"Our husband."

Cecilia ignored her. Jungkook looked exhausted already. Margaret immediately reached for the bottle "No."

Cecilia pulled it away . "Margaret."

The two women stared at one another. Jungkook looked as though he'd rather attend another board meeting. Margaret pointed towards the door.

"You should go and speak to her."

"Who?"

"The new bride."

Cecilia laughed "I would rather not."

"She's new here."

"Not my problem."

"She's alone."

Cecilia uncorked the bottle "Still not my problem." Margaret folded her arms "At least make an effort to know her." That earned a sharp look. Margaret opened her mouth. Cecilia continued before she could speak.

"Leave it alone. He doesn't love her."

The room went silent. For a brief moment, nobody spoke. Then Margaret tilted her head.

"Neither does he love you." The words landed with remarkable precision. Jungkook closed his eyes. Cecilia stared at Margaret in disbelief.

Jungkook pinched the bridge of his nose. "Must the two of you do this every evening?"

The following morning, you woke earlier than expected. For several moments, you simply lay there, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling above you. There was little point attempting to fall back asleep. After getting dressed, you slipped from your room and wandered through the corridors. The house was surprisingly peaceful at this hour.

Eventually, a warm scent drifted through the air. Fresh bread , Tea, something sweet. Curious, you followed it. The scent led you towards the kitchens. You paused at the doorway.

Margaret stood at the centre of the room, sleeves rolled neatly to her elbows. A servant was helping prepare ingredients nearby, but Margaret herself was occupied with a mixing bowl. She looked remarkably at home. As though she belonged there more than anywhere else. You couldn't help smiling.

"Good morning."

Margaret looked up immediately. A smile spread across her face "Good morning, darling."

You stepped inside "I didn't expect to find you here."

"Most people don't." She wiped her hands on a cloth. "Welcome to my kitchen."

You glanced around the enormous room. At least half a dozen servants were already moving about.

"My kitchen?"

Margaret looked thoroughly pleased with herself "Yes." You laughed softly "You're cooking?" She nodded.

"But there are so many servants."

"I know."

"Then why are you doing it yourself?"

Margaret looked genuinely confused by the question "Because I enjoy it."

"As simple as that?"

"As simple as that."

She stirred something before continuing "The servants are wonderful, but I've always loved cooking." A fond smile appeared on her face. "And besides, I only cook for everyone."

Margaret poured tea into a delicate porcelain cup. Without warning, she held it out towards you. You blinked. She blinked back.

"...What's this?"

"Tea."

"I can see that."

"Excellent."

You narrowed your eyes. Margaret looked innocent. A dangerous sign.

"Margaret."

"Take it upstairs."

Your stomach sank "To whom?"

"Jungkook."

You stared at her. She smiled. You continued staring. Her smile widened.

"Absolutely not."

"Oh, come now." You lowered your voice. "I barely know him and it's awkward."

Margaret laughed "You're married."

"That doesn't make it less awkward. If anything, it makes it more awkward."

The older woman considered that "Fair point." You looked victorious. For approximately three seconds. Then Margaret placed the cup directly into your hands. The warm porcelain nearly made you drop it.

Balancing the cup of tea carefully, you followed Margaret's directions through what felt like an endless maze of corridors. The estate was far too large for any reasonable person. Eventually, you found the door.

You hesitated then knocked. You knocked again. Still nothing. After a moment's consideration, you carefully pushed the door open. The room beyond was surprisingly simple compared to the rest of the estate. A large bookshelf occupied one wall. Papers were neatly arranged across a desk near the window. Everything was orderly.

Your gaze drifted towards the bed and froze. He was asleep. You hadn't expected that. For a man who always seemed perfectly composed, there was something strangely human about seeing him asleep. The sharp edges of his expression had softened. You quietly crossed the room and placed the tea on the bedside table.

"Mr Jeon?"

No response. You tried again.

"Jungkook?"

Margaret had sent you all this way. You couldn't exactly return downstairs carrying the tea. But taking a breath, you stepped closer.

"Jungkook."

Just as you reached out to lightly touch his shoulder, your foot caught against the edge of the rug.

"Oh—" Your balance vanished instantly. Before you could stop yourself, you stumbled forward. A startled sound escaped you. The next thing you knew, you had landed against the mattress. Far closer to Jungkook than was remotely appropriate. His eyes opened immediately. Dark eyes meeting yours from only inches away. For a brief, mortifying second, neither of you moved. The world seemed to stop. You could hear your own heartbeat. Feel the warmth radiating from him. Feel the embarrassment rapidly taking years off your life.

Jungkook blinked once then twice. Clearly trying to understand why his newest wife was suddenly hovering above him at seven in the morning. Heat flooded your face. You scrambled backwards so quickly you nearly fell a second time.

"I—" Wonderful start "I brought tea." Excellent recovery. Your face burned. The corner of Jungkook's mouth twitched ever so slightly.

"The tea attacked you?" You stared. He stared back. For the first time, you realised he was teasing you. Very subtly , Very rarely. But definitely teasing.

"It was the rug."

"Of course. The rug is dangerous. I'll inform the staff immediately."

You narrowed your eyes. Jungkook sat up, looking far too amused for a man who had just been awakened in such a ridiculous manner. Your gaze immediately darted towards the cup.

"The tea will get cold." he reached for the cup. "Thank you."

You awkwardly folded your hands behind your back. "Margaret made it."

"I know." Of course he knew. Something about that answer felt unexpectedly familiar.

You took a step towards the door then another.

"I should go."

Jungkook nodded.Yet as your hand reached the handle, his voice stopped you.

"Good morning." You glanced over your shoulder. He was holding the cup of tea, looking considerably more awake now.

"Good morning, Mrs Jeon."

An hour later the dining room was already prepared. The table seemed to stretch endlessly beneath a glittering chandelier. Silver cutlery gleamed beneath the morning light, while servants moved quietly around the room, placing dishes in their proper places.

Margaret was already seated. She smiled the moment she saw you. You took the seat beside her. A few moments later, Cecilia entered. Elegant as always not that she looked pleased to be there. Her eyes swept across the table before settling on Jungkook. Without hesitation, she pulled out the chair beside him and sat down.

"Good morning, Cecilia," you said politely. Cecilia looked up from pouring herself coffee. For a second, you wondered if she would ignore you entirely. Then she gave a short nod.

"Morning."

A servant began serving breakfast. For a while, the table remained quiet. Until Cecilia decided silence was unacceptable.

"Jungkook."

"Hm?"

"You're leaving for the office today?"

"After lunch."

Cecilia immediately brightened . To your surprise, Cecilia reached over and adjusted his tie. The action seemed completely natural. The sort of thing someone did after years of familiarity. Jungkook didn't even react clearly this was normal. You focused very hard on your breakfast.

Margaret, however, looked entertained. "You do realise he's capable of adjusting his own tie."

Cecilia didn't even glance at her. "He's capable of many things. That doesn't mean he'll do them properly."

Jungkook sighed "I am sitting right here."

Margaret nearly choked on her tea. You hid a smile. Cecilia noticed Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Something amusing?"

"No."

"You're smiling."

"I'm not."

"You absolutely are."

Margaret laughed outright. Jungkook folded his newspaper.

"You've frightened her."

"She's still here, isn't she?"

You decided that was probably the closest thing to affection Cecilia was capable of expressing. Margaret leaned towards you slightly.

"That's Cecilia being friendly."

You blinked "Friendly?"

"Terrifying, isn't it?"

Breakfast eventually came to an end. The household seemed to move with practiced efficiency the moment Jungkook prepared to leave. You found yourself unsure whether you were expected to do anything at all.

Margaret, apparently, knew exactly what was expected. She approached Jungkook carrying his watch. "You forgot this."

Margaret looked entirely pleased with herself as she fastened the watch around his wrist. Cecilia appeared moments later. She stepped forward, adjusted his collar, and pressed a quick peck on his lip .

"Don't work too late."

"I'll try."

"You always say that."

"And yet you keep asking."

Cecilia huffed dramatically. You remained where you were. A few steps away. After all, what exactly were you supposed to do? You had known the man for barely a day.

Jungkook's gaze drifted across the hall. For a brief moment, his eyes met yours. Then they shifted towards Margaret. Something unspoken seemed to pass between them. Before you could think about it further, he turned towards the door. The massive front doors closed behind him.

Margaret immediately clapped her hands together. "Come along, darling." She linked her arm through yours before you could protest. "I shall show you the estate. Trust me, you'll need a tour."

Cecilia snorted. "She'll get lost within an hour."

Margaret shot her a look. "Cecilia."

"What?"

"Be nice."

Cecilia folded her arms. Then her gaze landed on you. You weren't entirely sure how a single person could communicate so much judgement without speaking. It was almost impressive. You found yourself pouting slightly.

Margaret looked at you. Then looked at Cecilia. Then back at you. The tiny pout on your face was so unexpectedly sulky that her heart nearly melted.

Margaret immediately reached over and patted your cheek. "There, there."

You looked scandalised "I am not upset."

"Of course not." Margaret smiled sweetly. Across the hall, Cecilia stared at the interaction. Then, for reasons known only to herself, looked even more annoyed.

"Oh, for heaven's sake."

With that, she turned sharply and marched away. The sound of her heels echoed through the corridor. You watched her disappear.

"Does she always do that?" Margaret considered the question. "Every day"

Then she tucked your arm through hers once more. "Come along."

"Where first?" A mischievous glimmer appeared in her eyes. "The library." Your face immediately brightened. Margaret smiled.

For the next hour, Margaret guided you through what felt like half the estate. The west wing , the library , the conservatory. A music room nobody seemed to use anymore. Several drawing rooms you were fairly certain all looked identical. By the end of it, your feet hurt. Margaret looked perfectly fine. You suspected she possessed supernatural abilities.

"You'll get used to it eventually," she said.

"To walking five miles just to find breakfast?"

Margaret laughed "Precisely."

The two of you turned another corner before she suddenly stopped. A door stood at the end of the corridor. Unlike the others, it was locked. The brass handle gleamed untouched. Something about it felt different. You glanced at Margaret.

"What's in there?"

For the first time all morning, her smile faded. "That was Eleanor's room."

Your heart skipped. Eleanor The name seemed to linger in the air. You hesitated then curiosity got the better of you.

"I've heard about her. What was she like?"

A strange expression crossed Margaret's face. A little later, the two of you found yourselves seated on a garden bench overlooking the rose gardens. The morning breeze carried the scent of flowers through the air. For several moments, Margaret simply stared ahead. Then she spoke.

"Eleanor was beautiful. The sort of beautiful people write poems about." A faint smile touched her lips.

"When she entered a room, everyone noticed. She was kind too," Margaret continued. "Very kind." The smile on her face became genuine. "Most people assumed she'd hate me."

You frowned "Why?"

"Because I was another wife."

"Oh."

Margaret shrugged "Instead, she became my friend."

You blinked "A close friend?"

"My best friend."

The answer came without hesitation. A small ache settled in your chest. Margaret looked down at her hands.

"Eleanor never treated me like a rival. Nor Cecilia. Oh, Cecilia was impossible back then. She argued with everyone. I find that very difficult to believe."

Margaret gave you a look. You both burst out laughing. When the laughter faded, Margaret continued.

"Eleanor always knew how to handle her. She knew how to handle all of us."

You looked towards the estate. Towards the countless windows.

"You loved her."

Margaret's eyes grew suspiciously bright "Very much." Margaret's gaze drifted towards the gardens. Towards nothing at all.

"She loved Jungkook. So much that it was almost frightening."

Then Margaret's expression darkened. "The day she died..." Her voice trailed off.

You felt your stomach tighten "Margaret?"

She exhaled slowly "One day she was here and the next...We found her dead."

The words landed heavily between you. You didn't know what to say. What could anyone say? Margaret stared ahead. Lost somewhere in the past.

"I remember thinking the house had become too quiet and somehow it never stopped being quiet after that."

That evening, the estate felt quieter than usual. Jungkook had returned one look at him told you the day had been difficult. His tie had been loosened, his hair slightly dishevelled, and there was a weariness in his eyes that even his usual composure couldn't hide.

Margaret immediately stood "Long day?"

"The longest." His answer earned a sympathetic smile. Before either of you could say anything else, Cecilia appeared. As though she had been waiting.

"There you are."

Jungkook glanced at her. Cecilia took his coat from his shoulders before any servant could. Her arms travel on his chest she push her body closer to him , she took his hand place on her lower waist .

"Come upstairs."

"Cecilia—"

"No arguments." She put her index finger tip on his lip looking directly in his eyes in a seductive way .

Jungkook seemed too exhausted to argue. With a quiet sigh, he allowed Cecilia to lead him towards the staircase. The two disappeared upstairs.

Margaret lowered her gaze. For a brief moment, her expression looked unbearably sad. As though she were trying very hard not to feel something. Your heart squeezed. Without thinking, you moved closer and wrapped your arms around her. Margaret froze. Then slowly relaxed into the hug.

"Oh, darling." Her voice was soft. You rested your chin on her shoulder.

"Come to my room. We'll watch a film."

"A film?"

"Yes."

Margaret smiled despite herself "I believe that's your solution to everything."

"It usually works."

The older woman shook her head affectionately. "You are ridiculous."

"Maybe."

"But very sweet."

The film had been Margaret's choice. It was some impossibly romantic story involving stolen glances, handwritten letters, and a handsome gentleman who spent half the film staring longingly at the heroine.

You had spent most of the time making sarcastic remarks. Margaret had spent most of the time telling you to be quiet. By the end of it, neither of you were paying much attention to the screen. The two of you sat cross-legged on the bed, sharing biscuits and tea.

Margaret glanced at you "So. Have you ever had a boyfriend?"

You nearly choked on your tea. Margaret looked delighted. "Oh, there was someone."

You groaned "A very long time ago. I was practically a child."

"You still are."

You stared at her "Margaret. "I'm twenty-four."

"Exactly." She smiled sweetly "So what happened?"

You rolled your eyes "He moved away."

"Tragic."

"It wasn't tragic."

"Heartbreaking?."

"It really wasn't."

Margaret laughed. The sound filled the room. For a moment, you simply watched her. It struck you how easy it was to speak with her. As though you had known her far longer than a day. Margaret studied your face.

The following morning was unusually peaceful. You were curled up on one end of the drawing-room sofa, a book resting in your lap. Margaret sat nearby, carefully slicing fruit for breakfast. The estate was quiet. Then Cecilia entered. One glance at her face told you she was in an exceptionally good mood.

Which, somehow, was far more concerning. Margaret didn't even look up.

"Good morning, Cecilia."

"Good morning."

You lowered your book "Morning."

Cecilia sat down and helped herself to a strawberry. A smile lingered on her lips.

"Honestly husband didn’t let me sleep last night , he was so much in mood "

Margaret's knife paused briefly. You shifted uncomfortably.

"Cecilia." You snap "Maybe we don't need to discuss this."

The room went quiet. Cecilia slowly turned towards you. Her smile vanished.

"What did you say?"

You immediately realised your mistake "I just meant—"

"No."

She look so offended "What exactly did you mean?"

Margaret looked up "Cecilia."

But Cecilia wasn't listening anymore.

"You've been here for what? A few days? And suddenly you're telling me what I can and cannot talk about? You really are ill mannered."

You swallowed "I wasn't trying to—"

"OF COURSE YOU WERE." The words came sharper now. "You walk into this house and immediately start acting as though you belong here."

Margaret stood "Enough."

"No." Cecilia's voice cracked through the room. "No, I'm tired of pretending. You know what your problem is?"

You blinked rapidly "Cecilia..."

"You think being young makes you special." The words struck harder than they should have. "You're not the first wife. You're not even the second."

Margaret looked horrified "Cecilia!"

"But somebody should tell her."

The older woman stepped forward "Cecilia, stop." Yet Cecilia continued. As though every insecurity you'd carried into this marriage had suddenly been given a voice.

By the end of it, your vision had blurred. You hated that. Hated that tears had appeared at all. You looked away quickly. Margaret saw. Her expression immediately softened.

"Oh, darling..." At that exact moment, footsteps echoed through the hall. Everyone turned. It's Jungkook he stopped the moment he entered the room. His gaze moved from Margaret... to Cecilia...and finally to you. Your eyes were red and suddenly, every single person in it looked guilty.

Cecilia moved first as she always did. She crossed the room quickly and wrapped her arms around Jungkook. " Honey ." To your astonishment, her eyes were suddenly shining with tears.

"She disrespected me."

You stared. Margaret stared. Even Jungkook looked mildly unconvinced. Cecilia buried her face against his shoulder. "I was only talking and she told me to stop."

Margaret looked as though she wanted to throw a fruit bowl. Instead, she walked over to you. "Look at me."

You tried looking away. Margaret gently cupped your face. She wiped away a tear that had escaped despite your best efforts. Across the room, Cecilia continued her performance.

Slowly, his gaze shifted towards you. Your eyes were still red. Your book still lay abandoned on the sofa. For several seconds, he simply studied you. Then he stepped away from Cecilia. Jungkook stopped in front of you.

"Look at me." Reluctantly, you did "Did you disrespect her first?"

You shook your head "No."

His expression didn't change "Did you insult her?"

"No."

"Raise your voice?"

Another shake of your head "No."

Jungkook nodded once. Then his gaze moved towards Cecilia. A terrible sign Cecilia immediately straightened.

"What?"

"Did she?" The room became very interested in the answer. Cecilia opened her mouth. Margaret folded her arms. Finally, Cecilia huffed.

"No."

Jungkook sighed quietly "Cecilia."

"What?"

"Apologise."

Cecilia looked genuinely offended.

"To her?"

"Yes."

"But—"

"Cecilia."

She stared at him. Then at you. Then at Margaret.

"I'm...sorry."

The evening settled over the estate in uneasy stillness. You sat curled on the sofa with a newspaper. At first, you only skimmed it. Then your eyes caught the headline.

JEON HOUSEHOLD SHROUDED IN MYSTERY: FOURTH MARRIAGE, DEAD FIRST WIFE, AND WHISPERS OF CRIME

Your stomach tightened. The article went on and on exaggerations, rumours dressed up as facts, cruel speculation about Jungkook, about Eleanor, about you. You turned another page.

A sharp voice cut through the room.

“Don’t read that.”

You flinched. Jungkook stood near the doorway, tie loosened, expression unreadable but his tone wasn’t. “Don’t read that bullshit.”

Your fingers tightened around the paper. A question had been sitting inside you since the morning, growing heavier with every whispered rumour, every locked rooms . You lifted your gaze.

“…Did you really kill Eleanor?”

The air changed. Jungkook’s expression shifted not slowly, not subtly. It hardened his eyes darkened in a way you hadn’t seen before.

“What did you just say?”

Your throat tightened you stood up.

“I just—people say—” You didn’t get to finish.

In a single stride, he crossed the distance between you. The newspaper slipped from your hands. Your back hit the wall before you fully registered what was happening. Jungkook’s hand came up fast but it wasn’t around your throat. It was against the wall beside your head. The impact made your breath stutter. His other hand caught your cheek , not gently, but firmly enough to make you still.

“Don’t you dare,” he said, voice low and shaking with something dangerous, “take her name again.”

Your chest rose sharply. Fear spread through you before you could stop it “I didn’t mean—”

“Do you hear me?” His grip tightened slightly, not hurting you but close enough that your mind couldn’t tell the difference.

“Never. Say that. Again.”

Your eyes burned. You nodded quickly, breath uneven “Okay… okay…”

From the side of the room “JUNGKOOK.” Margaret’s voice. She had entered without you noticing. Her eyes moved from him… to you… to his hand still near your face.

“Let her go.”

Jungkook didn’t move at first. Then, slowly, he stepped back. Like something inside him had snapped loose. You slid down the wall slightly, shaking. Margaret was there in an instant. She pulled you into her chest.

“It’s alright,” she murmured softly, stroking your hair. “You’re alright.”

You clung to her without thinking. Across the room, Jungkook stood very still. His breathing changed. His hand pressed against the edge of the table. His jaw tightened. Margaret noticed immediately.

“Jungkook…”

But he wasn’t looking at her anymore. He was staring at you. Or maybe through you. His breath became uneven like he couldn’t catch it properly.

“No…” he muttered under his breath. Margaret’s grip on you tightened. “Y/N, don’t move.”

Jungkook took one step back. His hand went to his chest. He looked… lost. For the first time since you’d known him he panicked and then his breathing broke completely and then he fell. Hard. The sound of it snapped through the room.

“Jungkook!” Both you and Margaret moved at once. You reached him first, dropping to your knees beside him, your hands shaking as you tried to steady his shoulder.

“Hey hey, look at me,” you said quickly, though your voice trembled. “Breathe… just breathe.”

His eyes were unfocused, chest rising unevenly. Margaret was already there, grabbing a glass of water from the side table and splashing a little on her palm before pressing it gently near his face.

“Easy,” she murmured. “You’re okay. Just breathe.” Slowly, his breathing began to settle. The sharp panic in his eyes dulled still there, but no longer consuming him.

Only when his grip loosened did you realise how tightly you’d been holding him. Jungkook pushed himself upright, though unsteadily. The silence that followed was heavier than before. Then his gaze snapped to you. Something in him hardened again.

“Don’t ever mention her name like that again,” he said, voice low and rough. “Do you understand me?”

You flinched slightly. He continued before you could answer.

“If you do… you’ll see something you won’t like.” The words landed like ice. “Go to your room.”

Your throat tightened. You didn’t argue. You stood slowly, eyes lowered “…Okay.” And then you left.

Margaret stayed behind. Jungkook was still sitting on the floor, one hand pressed to his forehead, trying to steady himself.

“You scared her,” Margaret said softly. His jaw tightened. “She crossed a line.”

Margaret didn’t look away “Truth is always bitter.”

Peter was willing to give up a lot of things to ensure Y/n's happiness. Nothing mattered to him more than making sure his beautiful girlfriend, his best friend, the love of his life was perfectly contented with how things were between them. Well, almost nothing.  

The one thing Peter would never budge on was Y/n's safety. That was non-negotiable. He felt it was his duty as her boyfriend, as her superhero -superpowered superhero- boyfriend, to protect her, to make sure she never got hurt.  

Now, Y/n Stark was no damsel in distress and by no means a stranger to danger and all kinds of superhero-related adventures and difficulties. Having grown up with the Avengers, her involvement with the team of heroes was inevitable.   

She was –according to the rest of the team, Peter included- a vital part of the Avengers. She took part in missions, though in a less dynamic and active sense, usually helping come up with different strategies and plans (you can never be too careful!). She brought a “much needed unique and fresh perspective to the team", as her dad used to say (“I just overthink a lot, it's not that big of a deal", she would always mutter under her breath, causing Peter to roll his eyes and playfully flick her on the head).  

Even though Tony (mostly Pepper) didn't want his daughter risking her life and getting caught up in the superhero world, he knew that if push came to shove, she needed to be able to protect herself. Plus, he couldn't deny that she had a talent. Her combat skills, ideas, creations, and great planning and thinking ahead skills were more than appreciated within the community. She was trained by the Black Widow herself for god's sake, she knew what she was doing. 

So what could have caused this schism between them, causing Peter to leave the comfort of their bed, deciding to spend the night on the couch instead, away from the feeling of her warm body next to him? 

Peter knew what she was doing. Sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night, right after he'd come back from his own patrol. She thought she was being sly about it, too. Really, Y/n? Now you're just insulting my intelligence. 

It's one thing to play vigilante and another to outright lie about it. And Peter hated lies almost as much as he hated not knowing whether she was safe or not. And these late-night activities of hers were starting to piss him off. They were not good for his heart, either. Every time he heard the soft sound of their bed creaking as she got out of it at ungodly hours, he could feel his chest tightening. He always tried to fight the urge to get up and immediately follow after her, just to make sure she wasn't doing anything reckless. 

He didn't realize right away. She didn't look like she had spent half the night fighting crime, at first. She'd return a couple of hours before he was supposed to wake up. She'd make sure there were no visible injuries and she'd go on with her day. She really thought he'd never find out (or at least not before she felt he was ready to find out). 

After a few days, the lack of sleep was apparent. And no matter how hard she tried denying it, or playing it off, Peter could tell something was up. It didn't take him long to start putting one and one together; her tiredness, some unexplainable scratches here and there, the fact that crime in NYC seemed to have subsided. 

Peter knew. And he didn't like what was happening, not one bit. They had talked about it once, a while back. She had done this before-gone around his back to play hero-, or at least attempted to, before Peter (with a little needed help from her overprotective, over the top father, the little snitch) brought an end to it. He thought she had understood, that she saw how she was being ridiculous and unreasonable. Recklessly throwing herself in danger, all in the name of proving something? That didn't sound like his very intelligent, very MINDFUL girlfriend. 

He tried talking to her again. He gave her the chance to come clean about her activities. She denied everything. 

He was mad. He was hurt. He felt betrayed. Not only did she ignore his warnings and went about it behind his back, she was also lying to his face. 

And they fought. It was bad. It was unlike any previous fight they had. They were screaming at each other, hurtful words flying in the air, the tension in the room palpable. It was getting late, they were both tired, frustrated and upset. 

"Y/n, for the last time. You're being stubborn about this. All I'm saying is there are ways for you to help without being ON the field. Without recklessly risking your life-" 

"For god's sake, Peter. You're acting like I'm some adrenaline junkie, picking up fights with random people at the bar! I am helping you-" 

"Helping me? You think making me stay up all night, worrying if you're gonna make it back in one piece, is helpful? Geez, what would I ever do without you?", he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm  

"No one asked you to stay up. I know what I'm doing. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I'm trained and-" 

"Oh, you're trained? Why didn't you just say so?" 

She sighed heavily and rubbed her temples.

"Are you done? I'm trying to talk here and you're acting like a child!" 

"I'm the one acting like a child? You're acting like an angsty teen, sneaking around, ignoring everything and everyone!", he realized his voice came out a bit higher than intended. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. 

"Listen, Y/n, this isn't a game. Your life is not a game. You're putting yourself in danger. Hell, you're putting civilians in danger! What do you think you're doing, running around playing hero? Hm? You think you're tough for going out there all on your own? You're not tough, Y/n. You're dumb. You're dumb and reckless. What do you think will happen? You think you'll be lucky every time? That nothing bad will ever happen because you are trained? All it takes is one miscalculation, Y/n, one wrong move on your end, for things to take a really bad turn. Your luck will eventually run out. You could get hurt or..." 

He took a deep breath. He didn't dare finish that sentence. The thought of ever losing her was too much for him to handle. 

"You're not invincible, no matter how hard got try to convince yourself. You don't have healing factor, you don't have super strength, enhanced senses. NOTHING. You're intelligent, yes. You're incredible, you're creative, innovative, truly one of the smartest people I've ever met. You've got heart, I recognize that. But it's not enough. Your gadgets and devices won't save you every time."  

"One bullet", his voice cracked, "one bullet, Y/n, and you're gone. Do you get it now? GONE. DEAD. Do you understand the severity of the situation? You're risking your life. And for what? Five seconds of fame? To prove you're worthy of being your father's child? What are you trying to do?", he shook his head, frustration evident in his mannerisms. 

He took a good look of her. The sight immediately broke his heart. Her gaze sparkled with a delicate brightness, the unshed tears amplifying every flicker of emotion. He felt the need the need to reach out to her, to touch her (whether that was in order to hug or strangle her he didn't know for sure). But he didn't give in. He couldn't back down. Not when her safety was on the line. He needed her to understand, to see where he was coming from. 

The tears in her eyes refused to fall, clinging stubbornly to her lashes as her glare cut through the air like a blade. Who does he think he is? 

"This is what you think I'm doing? Showing off? Trying to prove a point?", a bitter chuckle escaped her. "No, Peter. I'm being helpful. I'm helping you, the cops, the people of New York. Why do you always do this? Why do you have to be like this? Why do you think you get to decide what’s best for me? I’m trying to help you, and you're out here treating me like I'm some kind of criminal, some kind of liability, an inconvenience to you! Do you think I don’t know the risks? Do you think I’m blind to the danger? I know what I’m walking into, but it’s my choice to make, not yours! You act like I’m some fragile thing that needs protecting, but I’m not, so stop acting like it.” 

“I'll stop when you start acting like a responsible adult for once”, he replied bitterly. 

“You're not a little girl anymore, Y/n. Tony won't be always there to save you and -as much as it pains me to say- neither will I” 

“I never-” 

"You never asked me to?", he run his hand through his hair in a frustrated manner. 

“I know. God, Y/n, I know. You're so goddam stubborn. You'd rather die than ask anyone for help. You're always so eager to prove your independence, that you don't need anyone to have your back. Well, news flash! You're not invincible. You're not some kind of god. And you're certainly not a hero. You can't just shrug off a bullet or an explosion or whatever insane thing you decide to get involved in next! You're human, so start acting like it. You're not expendable. Selfish is what you are.”  

"Selfish? You think I'm selfish? For what? For wanting to help people? Don't you see the irony of this coming from you?”, she let out a laugh in incredulity, unable to even fathom how he could ever say that to her. 

“You think this is about me? You think I'm just out here looking for glory or some kind of thrill? I’m doing what needs to be done, and if you can’t see that, then maybe you don’t understand me at all. You’re calling me selfish, but the truth is, you’re the one being selfish here. You’re more concerned with your own fear, your own worries, than you are about the bigger picture. I’m not out there for me. I’m doing what I can, what I have to, because I don’t want to sit back and let things happen when I know I can make a difference.” 

Peter was fuming. 

"God, this is ridiculous. I can't keep doing this, I just can’t! You’re out of control! Every damn time I turn around, you're throwing yourself into some insane situation, thinking you’re some kind of superhero. What do you think this is—some kind of game? You act like nothing can touch you, but that’s bullshit! You’re human, you’re not indestructible, and I’m getting sick of it. 

What do you think happens if you get hurt? Or worse, if you die? Oh, wait, you don’t think, do you? No, you’re too busy basking in the glory of your own self-righteousness to realize the mess you’d leave behind. Because, guess what? I’m the one who’d have to pick up the pieces. Me. The one who’s standing here, constantly worried, because you’re too damn reckless to care about the people who love you.  

You want to help people? Fine, but not at the expense of your own life! You think I’m just supposed to stand here, watching you put yourself in danger, all for some stupid idea of being a hero? Are you kidding me?! What the hell is wrong with you? Why can’t you just be safe for once? Why do you have to go and do these reckless things that make my heart stop every single time? Do you even care about the people who love you?”, his chest rose and fell in sharp, measured movements, a betrayal of the battle raging within. 

She crossed her arms, her fingers digging into her skin as if trying to tether herself to composure 

“I know what I'm doing.”, she spat out. That was... a weak argument, that much she knew. But in her ~slightly~ emotional state, it was all she could over without completely breaking down in tears. 

It seemed like that single comment angered Peter to no end, making him laugh bitterly in return. 

“Do you think growing up in the Avenger's Tower makes you one of them? Here's a reality check: your little stunts don't make you a hero. They make you a liability. And if you keep this up, I don't know how much longer I can deal with it. Because I can't spend my life wondering if the next time you pull this crap will be the last time I ever see you” 

But Peter was on a roll, he couldn't stop there. 

“And you know what’s even worse? You don’t even care. You don’t care that you scare the hell out of me. You don’t care that I am waiting back here, while you do something so unbelievably reckless that might result in me losing you. Because it’s always about you, isn’t it? Your need to prove something, your need to feel important. Never mind the people you leave behind to pick up the pieces!” 

And... silence. Complete and utter silence. 

It wasn’t the kind of silence that comes from comfort; it was loaded with the weight of accusations and defenses that would never be voiced. 

Peter winced. He regretted saying those words as soon as they came out of his mouth. He was getting to her, he could tell. He also knew he was being kind of an ass about the whole thing, but he really needed her to understand how unreasonably stubborn she was being. He needed her to be safe, but it seemed like she didn't value her wellbeing all that much. He couldn't stand that. 

Ouch. That...yeah, that did the trick. It wasn't just what he said, it was mostly how he said it. So... cold and distant, poisonous almost. Like he was taunting her. She could barely recognize the man in front of her. That wasn't her sweet, loving boyfriend, her Pete, her biggest supporter. 

She understood his point of view. She is less experienced than him, especially in the sense of getting personal with the villains. The fact that she doesn't have any powers didn't help her much either. She knew he was worried about her safety, that all his anger was stemming from a place of love (even though it wasn't that evident that particular moment). But she also hoped he'd have more faith in her. After all, she is always careful, with at least three backup plans ready, just in case. She always follows protocol, doesn't make any rush decisions. And she's Iron Man's daughter for fucks sake, she does know what she's doing. 

“A liability, huh?” 

Her eyes were distant, gazing at something far beyond the room, avoiding contact like it might burn. It felt like there was an invisible wall around her, not built to shut others out but to keep herself from crumbling 

He sighed and spoke again, this time in a slightly softer tone. 

“I didn't mean it like that... I'm sorry. Look, Y/n, what I'm trying to say is I’m scared out of my mind, and I can't keep pretending like I’m okay with this. Every time you leave, I’m terrified you won’t come back. Every time you walk out the door, I wonder if I’ll be standing at your grave one day, all because you thought it was some heroic act to put yourself at risk. You think that’s noble? It’s selfish! It’s selfish because you’re not just risking yourself—you’re ripping apart the people who care about you.” 

He took another shaky, deep breath and spoke in a gentle, yet firm tone, his gaze intense. 

“I can't lose you, okay? I won't. And you doing this-this reckless, stupid, selfish thing- is how that's going to happen. If something ever happens to you... I won't forgive you for it.” 

His voice lowered but remained firm, trembling slightly.  

“And I won't forgive myself either”  

Silence settled over them once again. It was thick, like a fog settling over the room, muffling everything but the sound of their breathing. It was the kind of silence that pressed against your chest, making it hard to breathe, as though the room itself disapproved. They sat stiffly, their gazes deliberately avoiding each other, the distance between them more like a chasm than a few feet. 

Peter cleared his throat. 

Things were not looking good for them right now. He didn't like it, not one bit. The room felt suffocating, the once light and warm atmosphere long gone. He truly hated fighting with her. He wished this conversation never happened. They'd be laying on the couch now in each other's arms, with her on top of him, her head on his chest, her arms lazily draped over him as he'd run his fingers through her hair, holding her close. Just talking about their day while some movie played in the background. That's what we should be doing, Peter thought. Instead, here they were, avoiding eye contact like they were about to face Medusa. But this conversation couldn't be held off any longer. 

Soon enough the silence became unbearable. 

“Maybe it's best if we just-”  

“I should-” 

As soon as they heard the other person talking, they both closed their mouths, resulting in yet another moment of awkward silence. So in sync these two, it was almost endearing. 

Peter tilted his head slightly toward her, eyebrows raised in a silent invitation to speak. 

Her eyes closed briefly before they looked up, a flicker of acknowledgment passing over her face as she nodded weakly before speaking in an uncharacteristically quiet tone. 

“Maybe we should take some time alone... to...cool off...you know...?”  

Peter sighed. This conversation hadn't led to anything. Anything other than hurt, frustration and a headache, that is. Hours of an endless emotional back and forth, all for nothing. They hadn't reached an agreement and he was certain they weren't seeing eye to eye. And this wasn't a matter he was willing to back down from, she had to realize that her actions affected him as well. 

He understood where she was coming from, he really did. He understood better than anyone the burning need to help, the desire to make a difference, that deep sense of responsibility to the world. He *is* Spider-Man after all, that's his thing; he cares, he acts. He feels the moral duty to use his abilities to protect others, often at great personal cost. He doesn't mind. Or, at least, he didn't in the past (it is kind of different when you have someone at home waiting for you, you just got to be more careful, you know?). 

But he doesn't want that for her. Never for her. 

Maybe he was the selfish one for getting mad at her. Maybe he was selfish for hating knowing she was out there somewhere, all alone, taking justice into her own hands. But is it really selfish of him not wanting to see her getting hurt over something completely preventable? Why would she be out there risking her life when HE could be doing that instead? Did she not realize how much she meant to him?  

He didn't want them to separate, not like this, not right now. But he really didn't feel like continuing this conversation. He was exhausted, his emotions all over the place, a hint of irritation still lingering. He could tell she was tired too. Plus, he still had today's patrol. 

He reluctantly nodded. 

“Yeah...maybe we should. I have to go anyway. We'll talk about this later, okay?” 

She just nodded in response and retreated to their bedroom. Peter stood there for a moment, contemplating his next move. He hesitantly made his way to the door. He didn’t want to go, not really—but a small, guilty part of him was already savoring the thought of the space he'd have once he left. There was a flicker of regret in his eyes as he turned away, quickly replaced by a soft exhale and a lighter step. He hesitated at the threshold, his hand hovering over the doorknob for a moment longer than necessary before finally turning it. As he stepped out, he paused for a moment, as if expecting Y/n to call him back, but when she didn't, his posture eased, and he moved forward with renewed purpose. This is gonna be fun.

Peter soon disappeared into the night, busying himself by fulfilling Spider-Man's duties. He went about with his usual routine, swinging around the most common areas, the sketchiest ones, the streets most accidents happen on. But it was an uncharacteristically quiet night; no supervillains threatening to wipe out NYC, no petty criminals running around causing chaos, no cats on extremely high trees needing saving. 

Someone asked him for directions, so there was that.  

(A man can't even escape his thoughts in peace, smh) 

Hours passed, and it was getting later and later. Frustration, worry, and exhaustion started to catch up with him. He was tired, his body screaming for rest and his heart begging for an end to this whole ordeal. After a couple of hours of killing time by meaninglessly swinging around, Peter decided it was finally time he returned home- to her.  

Peter returned to the apartment, his body tired and aching, frustration still gnawing at his. On his way back he wondered whether or not he'd find her there. She could've gone to a friend's or at her parents’ house to avoid him. She could’ve completely ignored him and left to play vigilante again. He prayed that wasn't the case. Honestly? He half expected her too, if anything just to spite him. 

He quietly entered, not knowing what to expect, but the place was quiet and empty. He scanned the room and the first thing he noticed was the food on the kitchen counter, a silent gesture from her. 

He grumbled to himself, still somewhat irritated by her behavior. But the mere sight of the food, still warm and waiting for him, softened his frustration just a bit. Despite everything, she still cared enough to think about him. 

He walked over to the counter, his stomach rumbling with hunger. He sat at the table, quietly eating the food, his mind still going over the events of the night. He couldn't stop the frustration from bubbling up, but he also couldn't ignore the fact that he was exhausted. The food tasted good, but it didn't do much to satisfy his frustration. He still wanted answers, he still wanted her to stop this nonsense. 

He let out a quiet sigh, the sound echoing in the empty room. He was tired, both physically and emotionally. He knew he needed to sleep, to rest and recharge. 

Peter opened the door to their bedroom and was immediately hit with a wave of surprise. Y/n was asleep in their bed, looking deceptively peaceful. Peter's eyes narrowed as he watched her.  

He wanted to wake her up, to confront her and put an end to this. But seeing her there, asleep and defenseless, made him pause. Peter grumbled internally, torn between his irritation and the sight of her peacefully sleeping in their bed. He knew he should wake her and confront her, but something about seeing her there, so calm and vulnerable, made his anger soften just a little. Instead of waking her up, he opted to sit on the edge of the bed, his eyes watching her as she slept. The frustration was still there, but there was a hint of worry and care underneath it all.  

“Hey, baby. There's food on the kitchen”. Her voice was soft and muffled, more like a murmur than actual speech, as though weighed down by sleep. 

As Y/n spoke in her sleep, Peter's annoyance melted away just a little more. Her sleepy voice was almost endearing, and her concern for his well-being, even in her half-conscious state, touched a softer part of him. 

He let out a soft sigh and ran a hand through his hair, his irritation fading into the background. Seeing her like this reminded him that beneath all the chaos and recklessness, she was still the girl he cared about.  

He couldn't bring himself to wake her up or to confront her right now, especially not when she was in such a vulnerable state. Instead, he sat there, watching her sleep, his mind swirling with a mix of frustration, care, and a bit of tenderness. 

He still had so many questions, and he was still upset about her antics, but for now, he was content to just sit there, listening to her gentle breathing and feeling a strange sense of peace in the room. Tomorrow would be another day for confrontations and discussions. 

Peter sat there for a few more minutes, just watching her sleep. The silence of the room was soothing, and the frustration he felt earlier was slowly fading away. 

With a deep sigh, he finally decided it was time to get some sleep himself. He carefully got up and made his way out of the room, quietly closing the door behind him. 

As he settled into the couch, he couldn't help but wonder what tomorrow would bring. He knew he'd have to talk to her again, to get answers and hopefully put an end to her vigilante streak. 

This is bad, she thought. 

Peter's presence –or absence- had woken her up from her already somewhat disrupted sleep. She kept replaying today's events in her head, almost as if she were trying to make herself angrier and more anxious. She didn't like fighting with him. Sure, she didn't agree with him in the slightest and his words angered her to no end, she couldn't deny that she missed him terribly, especially now that she had the whole bed to herself, feeling like it'd swallow her whole. 

Since when does he sleep on the couch, anyway? Why did he get to act immaturely and petty? Why didn't he want to sleep in bed with her? He was the one in the wrong, blowing things out of proportion. 

After staring at the ceiling for God knows how long, she decided she'd just go for it. She could be stubborn; she was certainly not above acting petty after a fight. But she missed him. A lot. She yearned for the warmth of his body, the feeling of his arms around her. She decided pettiness (and the talk they're bound to have) would have to wait until tomorrow morning. 

She pushed the covers aside sluggishly, her arms moving as though weighed down by invisible chains. Her feet slid off the bed and onto the floor, landing with a dull thud, her movements slow and deliberate. She sat at the edge of the bed for a moment, hunched over, before finally shuffling to her feet with a soft groan. She shuffled toward the door, each step a reluctant scrape, the sound faint in the stillness of the room. 

She slowly made her way to the living room. Her eyes immediately landed on Peter's sleeping form on the couch. Without giving herself another moment to think this through, she started walking towards him. 

She carefully climbed on the couch and settled in an awkward position on top of him/ against the back of the couch. It was very uncomfortable but she could manage. What she couldn't manage was Peter-less sleep. 

Peter was pulled out of his half-asleep state by the sudden movement on the couch. He blinked a few times, his vision slowly adjusting to the dim light. 

At first, he was confused. Was he dreaming? But then he felt Y/n's weight on top of him, her awkward positioning making him wince a little. 

He felt a surge of irritation bubble up once again. Seriously? She had the whole bed to herself, why was she cramping up the couch like this? He was about to protest, to tell her to go back to the bed where she would be more comfortable, but something held him back. Maybe it was the softness in her half-sleeping gaze, or the warm weight of her body on top of him. But instead of pushing her aside, he found himself pulling her closer, instinctively wanting to hold and comfort her. 

“Are you mad at me?” 

He let out a resigned sigh, his frustration giving way to a mixture of annoyance, care, and a hint of affection. Peter's eyes widened slightly at her unexpected question. He had been caught off guard by her words, and there was a moment of hesitation on his part. 

But her voice, tinged with vulnerability and hesitation, stirred something within him. Maybe it was the softness of her tone, or the genuine concern underneath the question, but the irritation that had been brewing in him suddenly lost some of its sharpness. 

He let out a long, quiet sigh before whispering back, his voice gentle but firm. 

"Yes, I am." 

They drifted into a quiet pause, the air between them tinged with hesitation. That was until she spoke again in an almost hushed tone. 

“Are you very mad at me?” 

Peter paused for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady his emotions. Her quiet plea made his chest tighten, his heart conflicted between the lingering irritation and the instinctive need to comfort her. 

"Yes,", he whispered back, his voice softening a bit, "I am very mad at you." 

She hummed softly, acknowledging his response before speaking up once more. 

"Mad enough not to give me a goodnight kiss?" 

Peter couldn't help but feel a small spark of amusement at Y/n's words. Despite everything, despite his frustration, she still knew just how to disarm him with her playfulness. 

After a moment's hesitation, he relented, his voice still soft but with a hint of a smile. 

"I suppose I can manage a goodnight kiss. But then you need to promise you'll go back to your bed." 

"I don't like sleeping without you" 

Peter's heart skipped a beat. He was taken aback by her raw honesty and the vulnerability in her voice. It softened his frustration a bit more, reminding him of the love they shared beneath their disagreements. He let out a sigh, a mixture of annoyance and affection in his voice.  

"Why? Why can't you just... behave and make things easier for both of us?" 

That was... *not* what she expected to hear. She suddenly felt very awake, like a bucket of freezing cold water was dumped over her. It made sense that Peter wouldn't ignore the problem at hand just to let her cuddle with him in peace. Did she like it? No, not really. But that's Pete for you. Always wanting to do things right and always in proper order. 

But she was really not in the mood for that. Feeling rejected didn't help either. It was a quiet devastation, not loud or dramatic, but a slow, persistent ache she couldn’t ignore. The heat crept up her neck and into her face, her body betraying the humiliation she tried to suppress. Guess she won't be getting that goodnight kiss after all. 

She got off him just as quickly and awkwardly as she had previously climbed on top of him (she may or may not tried to discreetly knee him in the process). 

“You came here because you needed space. I need to respect that. I'll leave you alone", she said quietly as she got up from the couch. 

"Goodnight, Peter", she mumbled without giving him the chance to respond before walking back to their room with her head hung low, her shoulders slumped. 

Peter watched her walk away, her dejected expression pulling at his heartstrings. He wanted to call out to her, to tell her not to go, but another part of him wanted space to think, to process everything. It was all just too much too quickly. 

With a heavy sigh, he leaned back on the couch. The night was still young, and there were so many thoughts swirling in his mind. He needed time to sort through his feelings, to figure out what to say to her when they talked. 

While Peter was busy staring at the ceiling and gathering his thoughts, Y/n was pacing back and forth in their shared room. She was feeling anxious.  

She knew her participation in any superhero related activity -let alone playing hero all on her own, in NYC of all places- wouldn't really appeal to Peter. 

She knew that, yet she did it anyway. She wanted to help, she knew she could help, so she did. Turns out all that training really paid off. She did good, if she said so herself. Criminals were caught, civilians were safe, the press was eating it up. It was a win in her books. 

Despite all that, she couldn't ignore how her actions affected Peter. He seemed pretty pissed off. And him being that mad at her wasn't a common occurrence, like at all. 

She knew she wouldn't be able to sleep. She was too emotional for that right now. Would they bounce back from this? Was he... done? Done with her? With them? She started giving through his closet, trying to find something to wear. She needed comfort, and if Peter wasn't about to provide that, his clothes would have to do. 

In true teenage girl fashion, she put on some sweatpants and one of Peter's hoodies. She put some sad, break up songs -Taylor Swift most likely- playing softly in the background, as she pulled her laptop and played a Star Wars movie, Peter's favorite. She was very well aware of how ridiculous she was being. But she really couldn't find it in herself to care. She was allowed to wallow in self-pity if she wanted to.  

As the movie started, her eyes began to tear up. She started thinking back to the day they first met, when they got together, when they moved into this house, essentially making herself cry more. What if this was their end? 

She didn't know what possessed her to act like this. Maybe it was the crippling fear that he'd break up with her. Maybe he was done with her. Maybe that's what tomorrow's conversation would bring. Because why on Earth would he want to sleep on the couch -without even giving her a goodnight kiss-, if he wasn't planning on breaking up with her? 

She cried even harder. 

Lost in his thoughts, Peter was startled when he heard a soft sniffling sound coming from the room he shared with Y/n (what a great day to have paper-thin walls!). Instantly, his irritation vanished, replaced by a sense of worry and concern. 

Was she crying? Was she upset? He couldn't bear to see her in distress, especially if he was the cause of it. And though part of him was still angry, the other just couldn't stand by and let her suffer. 

Silently, he got up from the couch and made his way to the bedroom door. 

Peter gently opened the door, trying not to make a sound. The sight that greeted him hit him hard. Y/n, dressed in his hoodie and sweatpants, sitting on their bed with her laptop in her lap, the screen lit up by the familiar glow of the original Star Wars trilogy playing. It was both sweet and heartbreaking. 

Tears were streaming down her face, and her small sobs filled the room. Peter could feel his heart cracking, torn between his lingering anger and his overwhelming love for her. He stood there for a moment, frozen, until the sight of her broke the last shred of his resolve. 

Peter moved forward slowly; his steps gentle yet firm. He approached her with care, as though she were made of fragile glass.  

“I could hear you from the living room” 

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up... I'll keep it down” 

"No, no," he murmured, sitting beside her.  

"You don't need to apologize. I just...I just can't stand seeing you upset.", he reached out to brush the tears off her cheeks, his touch gentle and comforting. 

Tears spilled freely down her face as she leaned into his touch, the warmth of his hand against her cheek softening the jagged edges of her emotions. Her shoulders trembled with quiet sobs, each one a wordless apology for the harshness of the argument that still lingered in the air. And yet, she didn’t pull away—instead, she melted into the comfort, clinging to the embrace as if it was the only thing keeping her from breaking completely. The touch was steady, almost forgiving, and despite the ache between them, it felt like a fragile truce beginning to take shape. 

"I don't want us to break up", she blurted out suddenly. 

Peter blinked in surprise. He was taken aback by her sudden outburst. It hadn't even crossed his mind that they would break up.  

"What? No, of course not. Whatever gave you that idea?" 

He pulled her gently into his lap, his arms wrapping around her in a protective embrace. In return, she clung onto him and cried in his shirt. 

"I'm sorry. I really don't want us to break up. Ever. I hate it when you're mad at me. I don't want to lose you, Peter. You mean so much to me, I don't-" 

Peter held onto her tighter, his heart aching at her outpouring of distress and love. 

"Y/n, angel, listen to me," he said, his voice a calm and gentle assurance in the storm of emotions. "We're not breaking up. Not now, not ever. I love you. Mad, not mad, I love you. Do you understand what I'm saying? This is not a fleeting thing. This is us. Together. Forever." 

"I'm sorry for worrying you. I just wanted to do the right thing. I just wanted to help; I promise that's all I was trying to do. You're so busy and overworked and don't even complain because you're such a great person and I just wanted to help you and do something good for the world, too. I'm so sorry for making you worried. I didn't mean for things to come to this. I'm sorry, Peter. I'm so sorry-" 

She cried even harder in his arms, making Peter's heart shatter at her tear-filled confession. He held her closer, feeling every word as if it weighed a thousand pounds. 

"Shhhhh, shhh," he whispered, trying to soothe her. "You don't have to be sorry for wanting to help, Y/n. That's who you are. That's one of the reasons I fell in love with you. But there are other ways. Safer ways. We'll find them. Together. But I need you to promise, to actually promise me, that you won't do that again, that you won't go out risking your life again." 

She pulled away slightly, just enough to look him in the eyes, her own still filled with tears. 

"Peter..." 

She shook her head. Her tone was quiet and soft, almost a desperate plea.  

Peter's heart clenched tightly in his chest again as she pulled back to face him. Seeing her tear-stricken expression, his resolve nearly faltered. But he steeled himself, knowing this conversation needed to happen.  

"I need to hear you promise, Y/n," he repeated firmly, his tone unwavering, "promise you won't do this again. Promise me right now, or I promise you we're done." 

His words hung heavy in the air, laden with the weight of their love and their future together. Suddenly, she started feeling slightly lightheaded. Did he just-? No, he wouldn't...would he? But he just said- 

"W-what? You can't be serious”  

“I'm sorry, Y/n, but you have to choose” 

As the gravity of what he had just said sunk in, Peter felt a wave of nausea wash over him. Had he really just threatened to end their relationship if she refused to comply? He loved this girl with all his heart, yet here he was, holding their relationship hostage like some sort of bargaining chip. 

He swallowed hard, his eyes never leaving hers. He needed her to know he was serious. But he also needed her to understand this was for their own good. For her safety. For their future. 

"Y/n," he said softly, but firmly, "promise me." 

"But you just- you just said this isn't a fleeting thing. That we are in this together. You just said-", her voice broke and a fresh set of tears ran down her cheeks. 

"And I meant it. I meant every word. But..." Peter paused, his gaze still fixed on her tear-streaked face. "But I can't watch you put yourself in danger like this. I can't stand idly by, watching you risk your life, your future, your everything just to prove a point. I can't promise you my undying love and then stand idly by and watch you throw it away. This isn't some game, Y/n. It's real life. And in real life, people get hurt. People get killed." 

"No. You don't understand. I'm always very careful. I follow protocol. I do everything right-"  

The words came out uneven, trembling as if her emotions were fighting their way through every syllable. Each word seemed to catch in her throat, rasping and shaking as she struggled to speak through the tears. 

"This isn't fair. You can't do this. Peter, you can't-", her own sobs prevented her from speaking. The hesitation in her voice mirrored the vulnerability in her eyes, wavering as though afraid to break completely. 

“No, Y/n, it's not fair!" Peter retorted, his emotions boiling over. "It's not fair that I have to sit here, worrying about you every second of every day. It's not fair that you get to waltz into a dangerous situation, risking everything, and leave me here wondering if I'm ever going you to see you again. That is not fair. But it's the reality of who we are. And I can't watch you do this to yourself, to me, to us." 

After he spoke the room fell silent. All that could be heard was the heaviness of Peter's breathing and Y/n's soft sniffles. 

“Would you do it?” 

“Would I do what?” 

"Would you quit being Spider-Man if I asked you to?", her voice barely above a whisper. 

"Wh-what?" Peter blinked, completely taken aback by Y/n's sudden question. It felt like a punch to the gut, the very thought of giving up being Spider-Man. It was a part of him, just as much as the love he had for her, and he couldn't imagine living a life without it. 

"Why would you-? No, Y/n," he sputtered, the words stumbling out before he could stop himself. "It's not the same. What I do, it's different. I have powers. I have responsibilities-" 

"Okay, then.” 

There was a hint of disappointment and an even bigger hint of finality in the way she said it. That was all she said. Such small and insignificant words, but in that moment, it could potentially signify the end of an era, the end of their era. 

The silence that followed was stifling, the weight of Y/n's words hanging heavily in the air. Peter stared at her, his heart in his throat. This couldn't be it, could it? After everything they had been through, was this really how it would end? 

"No. Y/n, you can't-" Peter's voice broke, his voice hoarse with emotion. "You can't possibly want me to choose between you and my duty as Spider-Man. It's...it's not a fair choice. It's not fair to ask me to give up-" 

“I'm not. I was just... wondering if you'd do the very same thing you're asking me to do”, she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.  

Peter's heart clenched as he watched the tears stream down her cheeks. The realization of what he had done hit him like a ton of bricks. Had he really just demanded she choose between her desire to help and her love for him? Had he really just issued an ultimatum that threatened their entire relationship?  

His shoulders slumped, his resolve suddenly shattered. 

"I...I didn't mean..." He stammered, his voice cracking under the weight of his mistake. "Y/n, I'm so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. I'm-" 

"At least you won't have to deal with my recklessness anymore", she chuckled bitterly, her tone only half joking. Her voice was quiet and tired as a result of all the crying. 

She really didn't want their relationship to end, especially not like this. Maybe if she took a moment to calm down (if only she could just close her eyes for a minute) she'd see they were both overreacting. They both had their point. Maybe they could even hug it out. That could work, right? It works for kindergarteners; it could work for them, too. But in her emotional and restless state all she could think about was one upping him, making him feel guilty for ever threatening to end things. 

Peter's heart cracked at Y/n's half-hearted attempt at humor. He knew he had a lot of apologizing to do, but right now all he wanted to do was make it right. He didn't want to lose her. He couldn't even begin to imagine a life without her.  

He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, his Spidey-Sense suddenly flared, causing him to freeze mid-breath. "Hang on," he interrupted, his brow furrowed in concentration, his senses now fully alert. He stood silently, focusing on the signals his Spidey-Sense was sending him. Something was off, something was wrong. 

His eyes darted around the room, his attention flicking to the window. Was that... movement? A shadow? A flicker of something out of the ordinary. Y/n's eyes followed Peter's line of sight on the window behind them, noticing something. Before she had the time to let Peter know, the object she noticed was already on its way to their room.  

Acting purely on instinct, in a fragment of a second, she had pushed Peter off the bed, and fell on top of him, concealing him from whatever was going to burst through the window.  

Peter's Spider-Sense blared again, a split second later than it would have been if he hadn't been so wrapped up in his own emotions. 

The force of the blast sent a wave of debris and smoke swirling through the apartment. Glass shattered around them, raining down like sharp, shiny confetti. 

The rush of adrenaline barely let her register the feeling of glass breaking her skin. Peter's eyes widened as he realized what was happening. Y/n had flung herself on top of him, shielding him from the impending explosion. He tried to push her off him, his strength kicking in, knowing he could withstand the blast. 

But it was too late. The shockwave of the blast hit them, sending them crashing against a nearby wall. Peter instinctively wrapped his arms around Y/n, trying to protect her as much as he could. The explosion was deafening, the pain momentarily blinding.  

Once the dust began to settle, Peter slowly let go of Y/n, trying to catch his bearings. Peter's eyes darted around the destroyed room, trying to assess the damage. The devastation was staggering — shattered windows, smoke filling the room, debris everywhere. But his focus was on Y/n; the only thing that mattered right now. 

He gently grasped her shoulders, pulling her towards him, trying to assess her injuries. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice shaky with worry. "Please, please tell me you're okay." 

She barely noticed the sharp ache on her side or the warmth of blood trickling down her temple as she looked over the charred remains of what had once been their home. Her eyes stayed fixed on the crumbled remains of their house, where years of memories now lay in twisted, blackened ruins. The faint ache in her ribs with each breath was nothing compared to the hollow thud in her chest as she stared at the space that had once been their home.  

Her breathing was shallow, ragged—not from exertion, but from the weight of what she’d lost. Every step sent a jolt of agony through her body, but she ignored it, her focus locked on the blackened timbers and ashes that used to hold their memories, their life. What was a little pain compared to this? 

Peter's grip on her shoulders tightened slightly, his fingers digging into her flesh. "Y/n, look at me," he demanded, his voice firm. "Look at me and tell me you're okay." 

He needed to know she was alright. He couldn't handle the alternative. The thought of losing her was more terrifying than any explosion or villain. 

"Pete, our home. It's... it's gone” 

Her words stumbled out, disjointed and hollow, as if her mind was still scrambling to catch up. ““The picture wall, the stupid chemistry pun posters... they're all... gone.” Her mouth hung slightly open, her voice barely above a whisper, like she couldn’t trust the weight of her own thoughts. Every sentence felt like a question, her tone wavering between incredulity and desperate denial, as if speaking it aloud might somehow undo the reality before them.  

Peter's heart ached at her words. The thought of everything they had built together being destroyed was almost too much to bear. But right now, the only thing that mattered was Y/n. 

He took a deep breath, pushing aside his own emotions.  

"It's just stuff, Y/n. Things. We can get new stuff. None of it matters as long as you're okay." 

“But it won't be *our* stuff” 

Peter's heart broke at her words. She was right. Nothing could replace the sentimental value of their shared belongings — their collective memories and shared experiences. But he had to remain strong for her. He couldn't afford to break down when she needed him. 

"We'll make new memories. Better memories. I promise," he said softly, his hands still on her shoulders. "We'll find a new place, and we'll make it ours. It'll be even better than before. You have to trust me." 

"Trust you? You just broke up with me!”, her tone was almost accusing as tears began running down her face. 

Peter's heart felt like it was tearing in two as the words left Y/n's lips. He hadn't meant it, he *never* would have meant it. He only wanted to protect her, to keep her safe. But he realized his own fear and anxiety had caused him to make a mistake, a terrible mistake. 

"Y/n, baby, please," he pleaded. "It wasn't real. I was scared. I was worried about you going out and putting yourself in danger. I... I panicked. Please, you have to know... I love you." 

"You have a funny way of showing people you love them", she muttered sarcastically under her breath. “Anyway, is that supposed to make me feel better? You gave me an ultimatum, we kinda broke up and an explosive device literally demolishes our home". Angry tears were running down her face. 

"What is going on today? And you were mad because what? Because I risked my life? NEWS FLASH, PETER. THAT'S WHAT YOU DO ALL THE GODDAMN TIME. But I TRUST you and BELIEVE in your need to contribute to the greater good"  

"And I'd never- ah, fuck", she hissed and pressed down on her side 

Peter's eyes widened. Immediately, all other thoughts faded into the background. He quickly moved to her side, lifting up her shirt to assess the damage. His eyes fell on a nasty cut on her side, blood slowly seeping out.  

"You're bleeding," Peter said, his voice trembling with panic. "Why the hell didn't you say something earlier?" 

"Because I was in need of a red shirt- obviously I didn't know!"  

Her tone sounded sarcastic and frustrated; a hint of fear mixed in there as well. 

Peter huffed, feeling an emotional whirlwind. Mainly relief and the tiniest bit of irritation. Of course, she couldn't resist a snarky comment even in a crisis. 

"Right, because bleeding is the current trend," he quipped, trying to match her tone. "Red's not really your color, by the way. You're more of an orange gal." 

He couldn't help but feel a hint of affection towards her, even as he berated her. 

“Parker, I swear to God, if you don't zip it right now, I'll make you regret ever asking me out on that first date” 

Peter paused for a moment, caught off guard by her comment as it reminded him how he just threatened his lovely girlfriend -who he's madly in love with and would literally die for- he'd break up with her if she didn't stop doing something she loves. Her words sent a jolt of guilt through him; he could hear the hurt in her voice, and he knew he was the cause of it. 

He shook his head, pushing the weight of his mistake to the side for now. Y/n was bleeding, and that was his first priority. He would deal with the fallout of his ultimatum later.  

"Hang on," he said softly, gently lifting her up. "We need to stop the bleeding. Then we'll talk." 

He gently wrapped his arm around her waist, supporting her weight as they made their way to what was left of the kitchen. The sink miraculously survived the explosion, and he helped her lean against it. Grabbing a clean cloth, he ran it under the faucet, wetting it.  

"This might hurt," he warned, gently pressing the cloth to her wound. 

“I'm not talking to you”, she said almost right away. 

Peter paused at Melina's response. Her voice was laced with frustration, and he couldn't blame her. He had screwed up, big time. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. She was being stubborn, and he knew she had every right to be. 

"Look, I get it. You don't want to hear from me right now. I messed up, and I know that," he said softly, his gaze fixed on her. "But you're bleeding. I have to help you. Please, let me help you. Then you can go back to giving me the silent treatment if you want, okay? Plus, you don't have to talk. I'll do all the talking. Just let me patch you up, okay?" 

His voice was gentle, the frustration and anger from earlier having faded into the background. He knew that making things right with Y/n was going to take more than just words. It was going to take action. 

"I don't want to hear you talk either", she mumbled childishly. 

Peter raised an eyebrow at her petulant response. He had no doubt she wasn't in the mood to engage in conversation right now, but he refused to let her bleed out on her own floor because she was mad at him. He had to patch her up.  

He exhaled softly, gathering a bundle of supplies from a nearby first-aid kit. 

"You know, you're adorable when you're angry," he commented, unable to help himself. He started carefully cleaning the wound, his hands moving with precision and care. 

"And you're still talking" 

He couldn't help but smile at her stubbornness. He had truly fallen for a strong, independent woman. "Sorry, I just can't resist when my girlfriend's bleeding and fuming. It's a dangerous combination." 

He carefully began stitching up her wound, his hands steady and sure. "Just remember, a little bit of anger and banter make for the best love stories. We might be the next big blockbuster, with how dramatic we are." 

“Ex girlfriend", she corrected with an eye roll at the irony of it all. 

"And no love story for us. You can pursue your romance with the Becky from down the street now", she said grumpily, the thought alone tugging at her heartstrings 

Peter let out a sigh of exasperation at Y/n's correction. He knew he had made a mistake, and it hurt to see her refer to herself as his ex-girlfriend, but for now, her cut had his full attention. He couldn't get sidetracked. 

"You're right, I'm sorry. But you know, we could be the next enemies to lovers, if you play your cards right. A little banter, a little fighting, and then some dramatic make-up scene. The audience will love it." 

He finished stitching up her wound, his touch gentle despite his words. 

She wanted to stay mad at him, she really did. But it was hard to when he was making silly little comments like these. A small smile made its way to her face but she quickly bit down on her lip to stop herself before he saw and got cocky about it. 

Peter's keen Spidey senses picked up on the shift in her demeanor. He caught the subtle smile she tried to hide, and it warmed his heart. 

"Oh, is that a smile I see?" He said in a teasing tone. "I knew my charm would get to you eventually. Just imagine, if you're already smiling after breaking up, what could happen if we make up? The world might just explode from our awesomeness." 

"No one's smiling, you must've hit your head" 

Peter chuckled at her quick defense of her smile. He finished applying an antiseptic to the wound and gently covered it with a clean bandage.  

"Right, of course, I'm just seeing things," he replied with a playful wink. "But hey, if I did hit my head, maybe I'm having a vivid dream where you and I are the star-crossed lovers in the epic love story that is our lives. And you know what that means, right?" 

He leaned in close, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Wake me up with a kiss, Melina." 

"That was the corniest thing I've ever heard. Plus, I have this rule of not kissing ex boyfriends, sorry" 

"You're really gonna play hard to get?", Peter countered, a grin spreading across his face. "Well, I guess I'll just have to win you back then. I've defeated villains and battled super-powered monsters. Winning your heart back can't be much harder, right?" 

He stood up, helping her up as he did so. He couldn't resist pulling her towards him, his hands lightly settling on her hips. "And just so you know, I'm a great kisser." 

"Really? You'd think I would know, considering we spent the last four years of our lives together" 

"Touché. But you know what they say, practice makes perfect. Maybe I should give you a refresher. After all, I can't have you going around thinking I'm a bad kisser, can I?" 

He gently brushed a lock of hair away from her face, his gaze filled with affection. 

"So what do you say? For old time's sake?" 

"Old time being... yesterday?" 

Peter shrugged with a sheepish grin. "Well, technically yes, but you know what I meant. Besides, yesterday was a lifetime ago. We've had an explosion, a break-up, and a reunion. That's a lot more than most couples experience in a lifetime." 

He paused for a moment, a genuine warmth seeping into his voice. 

"In all seriousness, Y/n, I messed up. I've regretted it this entire time. I'm so sorry. Please give me another chance to prove it. To prove that we're... perfect together." 

“ ‘This entire time’ being...what? Thirty minutes?"*she said with a snort of amusement. 

Peter chuckled, his smile widening. "Alright, alright, I get it. We can't all be as patient as you with our ex-boyfriends. But seriously, Y/n, I mean it. I regret what I said. I was scared, and I made a mistake." 

He paused for a moment, his gaze growing serious. "I love you. I want you. And I'm willing to do whatever it takes to win back your trust and heart." 

He took her hand, his fingers intertwining with hers. "Can we... just start over? Please?" 

She pulled her hand away from his and just stood there, watching him for a moment. After a bit she extended her arm towards him and introduced herself. 

"Y/n Stark", she said with the tiniest of smiles evident on her lips. 

“Who's being corny now?”, he rolled his eyes in a playful manner before wrapping his hand around hers, savoring the feel of her skin against his. 

"Y/n Stark," Peter echoed, his voice soft with affection "It's a pleasure to meet you, Y/n Stark. I'm Peter Parker. But you can call me anytime." 

With that, he gently pulled her closer, his free hand reaching up to caress her cheek. He leaned in, his lips gently brushing against hers, sealing their newfound beginning with a tender, heartfelt kiss. She laughed softly against his lips, the pickup line catching her off guard. Peter couldn't ignore the fluttering in his chest as her laughter met his lips. The sound was like music to his ears, and he deepened the kiss, his arms wrapping around her waist. 

Pulling away slightly, he whispered in her ear, "Did that meet your witty standards, Miss Stark?" 

"I'll let it slide", she said with a serious expression, nodding slightly before a smile made its way on her face again. 

Peter grinned, his eyes sparkling with adoration. "Only let it slide? I'll have to step up my game, then. How about this?" 

He leaned in again, his voice a low murmur against her lips. "I swear I'll be your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man if you let me swing by your place every night." 

She snorted in amusement “That was so bad” 

“Was it now?” With that, he captured her lips in a kiss, expressing the depth of his feelings for her with each lingering moment. 

Their lips met softly, tenderly, as if every touch was a gentle reminder of how much they meant to each other. It was unhurried, each moment lingering with the quiet depth of love that words could never capture. There was no urgency, only a profound warmth, a silent apology woven into the way their hands cupped each other’s faces. The kiss held forgiveness, not as a plea, but as a gift, an unspoken promise that they were ready to move forward together. It wasn’t just an expression of love—it was a vow, a renewal of everything they’d shared and everything they still hoped to build. 

After a bit, they pulled away to catch their breath.  

“So, we're together again?”, she asked playfully. 

He looked at her, his eyes sparkling with amusement as before he softly kissed her forehead "Please, we were never not together” 

With that, they fell in silence. 

The silence wrapped around them like a soft blanket, warm and steady, filling the spaces where words weren’t needed. It wasn’t heavy or awkward but gentle, a quiet acknowledgment of shared understanding. The only sounds were the subtle rhythm of their breathing and the faint rustle of the world outside, creating a calm that felt almost sacred. In that stillness, there was no need to explain, no need to fill the air with chatter—it was enough just to be there, side by side, letting the silence speak what their hearts already knew. 

“Are we going to ignore the fact that we're homeless?” 

A small chuckle left Peter's lips as he pulled her closer. 

because somewhere between sharing an apartment and becoming officially his, mornings gradually stopped revolving around routine.

now they revolved around you.

sunlight slipped lazily through the half-open curtains, painting soft golden streaks across the bed where you remained fast asleep beside him, while yudai stayed shamelessly awake with one arm tucked behind his head, quietly admiring you like he hadn’t spent nearly every morning doing exactly this.

honestly, he should have gone running almost thirty minutes ago.

instead, he found himself reaching toward you again.

his fingers brushed gently across your forehead before tracing down the bridge of your nose, gliding slowly along the curve of your cheek and settling near your jaw as though he was memorizing features he already knew by heart.

beneath the blanket, your entire body felt heavier than usual, every muscle sore in ways you didn’t even want to think about. unfortunately for you, that had everything to do with the smug wolf hybrid currently staring at you like he had done absolutely nothing wrong.

you squeezed your eyes shut tighter.

if you stayed still long enough, maybe he would assume you were still asleep.

“you know,” yudai murmured, voice low and rough with lingering sleep, “pretending doesn’t really work when i can hear your heartbeat.”

your eyes snapped open immediately.

“i hate your wolf senses.”

his grin widened instantly. “you say that now.”

you shot him the driest look possible before attempting to sit up.

bad idea.

the second your body protested, you froze halfway before slowly collapsing back onto the mattress, a quiet groan escaping despite yourself. beside you, yudai had the audacity to look amused.

you turned your head sharply.

“this is your fault.”

“is it?”

“don’t act innocent.”

he only laughed softly before leaning closer, burying his face against your neck while inhaling slowly like your scent alone was enough to satisfy him.

dating a wolf hybrid had taught you one thing very quickly.

they were unbelievably attached to scent.

at first, it started with small habits. stealing your hoodies because they smelled like you, insisting on sleeping on your side of the bed whenever you woke up first, randomly pressing his face against your shoulder whenever he missed you.

then eventually—

well.

you learned mating season apparently made everything significantly worse.

which explained why he had been impossibly clingy all night, and why every part of your body currently felt like filing a formal complaint.

“stop sniffing me,” you muttered weakly.

“can’t help it.”

“you absolutely can.”

“not really.”

you stared flatly at him. “you’re impossible.”

that earned another laugh before he shifted upward, resting his chin lazily against your shoulder while staring down at you with eyes far too affectionate for someone responsible for your inability to walk properly this morning.

for a moment, he stayed strangely quiet.

then—

“i love you.”

the sudden confession caught you off guard despite hearing those words from him more times than you could count.

you blinked slowly. “…where did that come from?”

he shrugged, but something softer lingered behind his usual expression.

“just thinking.”

“about?”

his fingers absentmindedly played with the blanket while his gaze shifted upward toward the ceiling.

“…whether i deserve this.”

you frowned immediately.

there were moments like this. rare ones, where his usual confidence slipped just enough for you to catch glimpses of what he kept hidden underneath.

because beneath all the teasing and shameless confidence, werewolf carried instincts far stronger than most people understood. possessiveness, attachment, and an overwhelming need to keep what belonged to them close enough to touch.

sometimes, it scared even him.

“sometimes i think i get too attached,” he admitted quietly. “like… ridiculously attached.”

you stayed silent.

he let out a weak laugh. “i leave for work and somehow spend the entire time thinking about whether you’ve eaten. whether you’re sleeping enough. whether some random guy looked at you too long on the subway.”

“…yudai.”

“and i know it sounds insane,” he continued, voice quieter now. “but sometimes i feel like i physically can’t stay away from you for too long.”

he paused.

“…what if one day you get tired of that?”

something inside your chest softened immediately.

slowly, you reached up, grabbed his cheek—

then bit down hard enough to make him yelp.

“ow— hey.”

“there.”

he stared at you.

you stared back.

“did that answer your question?”

for exactly three seconds, he said nothing.

then his eyes softened in that exact way that always made your stomach twist.

“god,” he muttered under his breath. “…you’re so cute.”

before you could react, he leaned forward and immediately began covering your face in kisses. forehead, cheeks, jawline, the corner of your lips—

completely relentless.

“yudai—”

“i love you.”

another kiss.

“seriously.”

another one.

“so much.”

“okay enough—”

“never.”

you shoved him backward with what little strength remained before forcing yourself upright despite every protesting muscle.

“i’m hungry.”

yudai blinked once.

“that’s romantic.”

“i haven’t eaten since yesterday because somebody refused to let me sleep.”

“worth it.”

without hesitation, you grabbed the nearest pillow and smacked him directly in the face.

he clutched his chest dramatically.

“you deserved it.”

you carefully pushed yourself off the bed and immediately regretted standing.

your knees nearly gave out.

before you could fall, warm arms wrapped securely around your waist from behind. yudai’s chest pressed against your back while his chin settled comfortably against your shoulder.

you could feel him smiling.

“…where are you going?”

“kitchen.”

“unnecessary.”

“i need food.”

“also unnecessary.”

you turned slightly. “did you hit your head?”

he only tightened his hold.

sometimes, moments like this reminded you just how instinct-driven wolf hybrids truly were. yudai genuinely acted as though being separated from you for five minutes might physically hurt him.

it was ridiculous. and somehow—

weirdly adorable.

“yudai.”

“hm?”

“let go.”

“no.”

“why?”

he nuzzled deeper against your neck, breathing you in without the slightest bit of shame.

“because i missed you.”

“…we’ve literally been together all night.”

“exactly.”

you couldn’t help laughing quietly.

sometimes you wondered whether his attachment came from instinct alone. sometimes you wondered if this was simply who yudai became whenever he loved someone. but either way, it made your chest feel annoyingly warm.

before you could continue arguing, he suddenly moved.

one second you were standing. the next, he had effortlessly lifted you into his arms.

you stared down at him immediately. “what are you doing?”

“offering a better suggestion.”

“which is?” his grin returned instantly. dangerously familiar, “we go back to bed.”

you narrowed your eyes.

“absolutely not.”

“i have the day off.”

“…that changes nothing.”

“i can order food.”

you hesitated. and he noticed immediately.

of course he did.

“see?” he smirked. “you’re considering it.”

“i’m considering breakfast.”

“same thing.”

“that is absolutely not the same thing.”

instead of answering, he turned and began walking back toward the bedroom while holding you securely against his chest. instinctively, your arms wrapped around his neck.

traitorous reflex.

“you’re unbelievable.”

“you love me.”

“unfortunately.”

he stopped beside the bed before looking down at you, amusement dancing across his face while morning light softened every sharp edge of his expression.

your face warmed instantly.

“…fine.”

“fine?”

you sighed dramatically before grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him slightly closer.

“but before anything else…” you smiled sweetly. “feed me first.”

yudai stared at you for exactly two seconds. then slowly—

dangerously—

he smirked.

“well…” his eyes lowered meaningfully. “i was planning on having breakfast first.”

• the kind of man everyone warns you about

— everybody tells you not to get involved with jungkook. he has the exact kind of reputation that follows people into rooms before they even arrive — whispered conversations, dangerous stories, late-night rumors about money and fights and people being a little too scared of him.

— and honestly? the warnings should work. except then you actually meet him, and suddenly he’s leaning against the hood of a black car outside some dimly lit convenience store at two in the morning, tattooed fingers flipping a lighter open and closed while he watches you with those unreadable dark eyes.

— calm. lazy. way too attractive to be trusted. he talks to you like he already knows you’re going to become a problem for him.

— little smirks. quiet teasing. the kind of eye contact that lasts slightly too long.

— the worst part? he never flirts obviously, he just stands too close, looks at your mouth while you talk, lets his hand brush your waist casually when he moves past you.

— small things. subtle things. which somehow affect you more.

:<:<:<:<:<:<:<

• late-night drives with dealer jk

— being alone with jungkook at night feels dangerous in a way that’s difficult to explain. there’s always music playing quietly in his car, always city lights reflecting against his rings while he drives one-handed through empty streets like he owns them.

— and he drives like he does everything else: completely calm. completely confident. half the time he doesn’t even look at the road when he talks to you, his attention keeps shifting back toward you instead.

— especially when you’re dressed up. he notices immediately, that slow glance up and down before his jaw tightens slightly and he looks away again like he’s forcing himself to stay normal about it.

— then later he’ll casually say something that completely ruins you. “you know you make it so hard to focus, right?”

— meanwhile HE’S the one sitting there looking unfairly good beneath streetlights with veins visible beneath tattooed hands and his chain resting against tan skin where his shirt hangs open slightly. it’s impossible not to stare at him, and he knows it.

:<:<:<:<:<:<:<

• the kind of tension that feels addictive

— being around jungkook feels like making bad decisions on purpose. not because he pressures you into anything — honestly, he barely tries at all — but because everything about him pulls people in naturally. the confidence. the quietness. the way he watches instead of talks.

— he’s usually leaning somewhere when you see him. outside clubs at impossible hours, against black cars with cigarette smoke curling into cold air, in crowded kitchens during parties while everyone else gets louder and messier around him.

— and somehow, despite all the noise, he always notices you immediately. every single time. his eyes find yours across rooms like instinct. then comes that look. slow, heavy, completely unreadable unless you know him well enough to catch the tiny shift in his expression whenever you walk closer.

— because that’s the thing nobody tells you about jungkook: he’s patient, dangerously patient. he likes tension. likes dragging things out until every interaction starts feeling charged.

— small touches become unbearable with him. his hand brushing against your lower back while passing behind you in crowded rooms, his fingers lingering against yours slightly too long when handing you a lighter, his knee pressed against yours in the passenger seat while he drives through empty streets at night.

— none of it should matter that much. except with jungkook, every tiny thing feels intentional.

:<:<:<:<:<:<:<

• soft moments with dealer jk nobody else sees

— nobody expects softness from him, that’s why it feels so intense when it happens. because outside of private moments, jungkook always seems untouchable — detached, hard to read, constantly in control of himself.

— then suddenly it’s three in the morning and you’re sitting beside him on the floor of his apartment kitchen eating takeout while he rests his head against your shoulder silently. completely exhausted. completely real.

— he gets quieter around you during moments like that. less teasing, less attitude.

— sometimes he’ll just watch you talk with this strange softness in his eyes like he can’t believe he lets himself relax around someone this much.

— and when he touches you then? it feels different too. slower, warmer, intentional.

— his hand sliding over your knee beneath the table absentmindedly, fingers tracing lazy circles against your wrist while listening to you speak, forehead resting briefly against yours when the conversation dies down naturally.

— those moments are probably the most dangerous thing about him. not the reputation. not the rumors. the fact that beneath all of it, he lets you see the version of him nobody else gets close enough to touch.

:<:<:<:<:<:<:<

• dealer jk when he gets possessive

— jungkook isn’t loud when he’s jealous, he becomes calmer, which somehow feels much more dangerous.

— you notice it immediately too. the way his expression stills slightly when somebody touches your waist too casually at parties, the way he watches conversations from across rooms while swirling whiskey around expensive glasses slowly, the way his jaw shifts once before he finally walks over.

— then suddenly he’s standing behind you. one hand settling low against your hip, rings cold through thin fabric, his chest brushing lightly against your back while he leans down just enough for his voice to hit your ear quietly.

— “you done talking to him?” simple. controlled. possessive enough to make your stomach tighten instantly.

— afterward? he gets quieter with you, which is always a bad sign. because silent jungkook means he’s thinking too much.

— you’ll end up alone together eventually — maybe in his car, maybe outside some crowded party where music still vibrates faintly through walls — and he’ll just look at you for a second too long before speaking.

— “you like making me jealous?” the scariest thing is that he never sounds angry, just affected, like he hates how easily you get under his skin.

:<:<:<:<:<:<:<

• the version of dealer jk nobody else gets

— despite everything people say about him, jungkook is strangely soft with you when nobody’s around. not openly affectionate, not dramatic, just quieter. more honest.

— sometimes after long nights, he’ll sit beside you on the couch with his head tipped back and eyes closed while your fingers move through his hair slowly. completely exhausted, completely relaxed for once. he trusts you in ways he doesn’t trust anyone else.

— which honestly feels more intimate than anything physical ever could. because this is the version of him nobody sees: the one who lets his guard down around you, the one who reaches for your hand absentmindedly while half asleep, the one who stares at you silently like he’s still confused by how badly he wants someone in his life.

— every now and then, during those quiet moments when the world finally stops demanding things from him, he’ll pull you closer against his chest and murmur softly against your hair: “you’re dangerous for me, you know that?”

— except he never sounds afraid of it. if anything, he sounds addicted.

:<:<:<:<:<:<:<

• dealer jk when he finally loses patience

— the thing about jungkook is that he stays patient for a long time. too patient.

— he lets tension build until it becomes unbearable for both of you. months of lingering stares, close calls, almost touches, conversations that feel way too charged for no reason.

— then one night something shifts. maybe someone else touches you too casually at a party. maybe you tease him once too many times. maybe he’s just finally tired of pretending he’s unaffected.

— whatever it is — suddenly his composure cracks. not loudly or dramatically, just quietly.

— he’d pull you somewhere private with one hand firm against your waist, expression darker than usual while the noise of the party fades behind you both.

— and for the first time, he stops pretending not to want you. his eyes drop to your mouth openly, his fingers tighten slightly against your hips, his breathing slows like he’s actively holding himself back.

— “you really don’t know what you do to me?” low voice. steady eye contact. the kind of tension that makes your stomach flip instantly.

— honestly? moments with jungkook always feel like standing too close to something dangerous on purpose.

──────────────────────

you frowned too, confused and irritated because he was obviously upset, but he wouldn't tell you the reason.

once he reached your apartment, he got off the car without even waiting for you. he stepped into the house and directly went to the room. you followed behind.

"nicho, seriously, what's going on?"

"nothing's going on, y/n."

and there he was again.

for the past weeks, the arguments between him and you had been quite frequent. they were actually stupid fights over who left the lights on or who forgot to buy milk for breakfast, so you didn't pay it much attention, guessing you both were just a bit more irritable than usual.

but it was starting to piss you off, because every time you asked him if something was bothering him, he always brushed it off with a quick shrug or a quiet "i'm fine, just tired." and of course you knew he was tired, but was it so hard to just tell you when he wasn't happy about something?

you watched in disbelief as he changed into some comfy clothes, completely ignoring you and the growing tension in the room.

"you're doing it again." your voice turned out sharper than you meant.

"what am i doing again?"

"shutting me out when there's clearly something bothering you."

"i told you i'm fine."

"you're lying, nicholas."

his jaw tightened at the full name. you could tell things were about to scalate again.

"i'm not lying. god, you're so annoying."

"oh so now i'm annoying? for trying to understand what the hell is going on inside your head?"

"yes you are! you keep nagging me for everything. it's annoying."

"i only asked you one thing, nicho. if there's something wrong, if i did something to upset you. and it seems to bother you so much to just tell me."

your voice was getting louder without noticing, and so did his.

"well, yes! you did upset me, okay? happy now?"

"and what did i even do?"

he chuckled dryly, like he couldn't believe you were asking that.

"you didn't look so clueless when you were sitting next to maki."

"what?"

"you looked really flirty with him tonight. you were laughing at everything he said, leaning on his arm like i wasn't even there!"

your expression went from confusion to anger in less than a second.

"are you serious right now? i can't even be friendly with my friends now?"

he laughed again, the same dark, humourless laugh. even his eyes were darker when he looked up at you.

"don't try to buy me with that bullshit. i saw the way you were looking at him. you were two words away from just jumping all over him."

his words actually made something tear in your chest.

"you really think i would do that?"

he fell silent for a second, almost like he was hesitating.

"maybe." he finally answered in a low, tight voice.

you took a step back, like the words physically hit you. the action didn't go unnoticed by him.

"you see? you keep asking me but then get upset when i tell you what bothers me."

it was your turn to chuckle, because you couldn't believe he was saying all that. it was ridiculous.

"and what do you expect? you're accusing me of flirting with another man!"

"because you clearly were! do you think i enjoy watching you drift away from me!?"

you were screaming at each other at this point.

"drift away? i've been trying to get to you for weeks and you just keep pushing me away!"

"because every time i say something, it turns into this!"

he gestured in between you and him, his hands flying in frustration.

"that's because you wait until it explodes! you keep everything in, mask it behind yours "i'm fine" until you can't take it anymore and then you just snap at me! i'm getting tired of you lying at my face."

"and i'm tired of you pretending to care."

his voice sounded so cold it sent chills down your spine.

"what?" you whispered.

"you don't care. you were just about to make out with maki in front of me. you don't care how i feel."

your throat tightened as your eyes were already watering. but you wouldn't cry in front of him, not after those words left his mouth.

"so you really think like that about me..." your voice wavered. "you really think i don't care, when all these weeks all i've been doing is trying to help you? to help us?"

his expression flattered for a moment, but he quickly hide it.

"maybe you should stop trying so much."

his voice was quieter now, but that didn't stop his words from hurting.

you stared at him for a while, like waiting for him to take his words back. but he didn't. you couldn't find any trace of your sweet, caring boyfriend in the man you had in front of you.

you finally nodded, blinking your tears away. "fine. i'll stop trying then, if that's what you want. i won't ask you anymore." you yanked your pillow from the bed. "i won't bother you anymore."

he looked up, an almost unrecognizable trace of panic in his eyes. but he didn't move, he didn't stop you as you left the room with your pillow in hand.

you reached the living room trying to breathe through the ache in your chest. his words hurt. they hurt too much.

you felt like an idiot, for worrying so much when he just made clear he didn't want any of your care. but you were also angry. flirting with maki? does he really think you would change him for your best friend? does he think you're that easy?

as you sat on the couch, you couldn't help the tears from falling. you threw the pillow on the armrest and buried your head on it, crying silently into the soft cotton.

you hated fighting with him. you hated how he sounded like he really meant everything he said to you. but you hated even more how, deep down, you were still worried about him.

back in the room, nicholas was still standing right where he was before you left. the moment you walked out the room, regret started hitting him so hard it made him feel sick. he hated seeing you cry, even more knowing he was the reason of your tears.

he didn't mean any word he said, but he couldn't help it.

the image of you sitting next to maki, looking so happy and carefree, while the two of you couldn't even hold a normal conversation without turning it into an argument, was eating him alive.

it wasn't jealousy. it was fear.

he knew you would never cheat on him, but there was always a voice in the back of his head, telling him "what if..." what if you get tired of him? what if you realize someone else could make you happier than he could?

but he never admitted those things out loud. it was easier to turn them into anger, to bury his emotions deep down and pretend everything was fine.

what he didn't realize, is that he was actually making it worse. he was pushing you away, without even giving you a proper explanation.

he was a coward.

now you were mad, you had every right to be. and you were hurt, and that killed him inside.

he got on the bed, guessing you probably didn't want him to come after you. god, maybe you would never want to see his face again.

he pulled the blankets up, ignoring the lump threatening to explode in his throat. his eyes landed on the empty spot next to him, where your pillow was supposed to be, where you were supposed to be. he felt a chill running down his spine, so he hugged himself tighter.

he stayed in that position for a while, his eyes closed as he tried to force himself to sleep. but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't relax. he couldn't stop replaying the same scene in his mind; the hurt in your eyes when he told you those awful words. the guilt was eating him alive.

he found himself walking towards the living room.

you were also still in the same position, pretending to be asleep. your eyes opened when you heard soft footsteps approaching and just a second after, nicholas was kneeling in front of you.

"y/n..." he whispered so lowly you almost didn't hear him. you locked eyes with him, and he looked genuinely devastated. even his eyes were slightly red. he might have cried too, you thought.

"come back to bed, it's cold without you." he muttered, reaching to brush your cheeks with his thumb.

his touch felt so comforting it made you angry. you were supposed to stay mad at him. "you don't get to ask me for anything, after what you just said." you tried to sound firm, but he didn't miss the slight shake in your voice.

"i know. i know, and i'm sorry. just... let's go back to bed and talk, um? please, baby..." he didn't give you much time to think about your answer, before he was already pulling you into his arms. he easily lifted you up from the couch, your pillow on his other hand as he walked with you back to the room.

and you couldn't help but give in, rest your head on his shoulder and wrap your arms around him while he carried you to bed. you already knew you wouldn't be able to sleep without him anyway.

"look at me..." he whispered as he carefully put you down on the bed beside him.

you hesitated. part of you still wanted to turn away from him, but the look on his face made it almost impossible. the worry and guilt painted on his expression made the empathetic part of your heart soften up, so you looked up.

"why did you say all that?"

nicholas cringed at the way your voice was shaking. god, he hated this.

"i didn't mean anything i said. i know you would never do something so filthy to me. i just..." his voice wavered slightly. "i'm scared." he whispered the last words, you almost couldn't hear him.

"scared?" you were confused.

"you know, how busy i've been. we barely spend time together anymore. and when we do, i end up ruining it everytime. you just... looked so happy with maki tonight."

"that doesn't mean i'd cheat on you."

"i know." he was fast to answer this time, like he wanted to make sure you believed him. "it's just in my head. there's always this voice telling me i'm gonna lose you, and i can't shut it off."

the vulnerability in his voice caught you off guard. nicholas wasn't the type to talk about his feelings so openly. he always swallowed everything down so no one could notice it. but now that you had him in front of you, you could see the dark circles under his eyes, his messy hair and clear exhaustion weighting on his shoulders. it made you feel a little guilty, because you didn't notice sooner.

"you're tired, nicho." you softened your voice now.

he nodded, his lower lip trembling just slightly. "i'm so tired. i'm exhausted and my head's a mess. i keep overthinking work, life, us... and i feel like i'm becoming harder to love."

you could hear the self hatred in his words, and it made your heart ache. you had no idea it had gotten this bad.

"nicho. i don't need you to be perfect all the time, i just need you to let me in."

"but i don't want you to see me like this."

you sighed deeply. he was so stubborn.

"i'm an idiot, aren't i?" he asked before you could keep talking.

"a little bit, yeah." you smiled softly, brushing his messy curls away from his forehead. "but i still love you. when you're an idiot, when you're mad, when you're tired... i don't care. but i need you to talk to me, you understand?"

he nodded quickly, and the next second he was practically throwing himself towards you. he couldn't help it anymore, he needed to feel you close. he was hugging you so tightly you almost had trouble breathing. but you didn't care, because he was finally allowing himself to be vulnerable.

"are you still mad?" he muttered against your neck, and you were sure he was pouting.

"yes." you let out another tired breath, but hugged him back. "you said some really awful things, baby."

"i'm sorry." he pulled away to cup your face, then his lips were pressing against your cheek. "sorry for making you cry."

you ended up smiling despite the still lingering hurt in your heart. "it's fine. but don't do it again, or i'll leave you for good."

he chuckled. a small, subtle laugh that still warmed your heart. that's the nicholas you loved. the playful, sweet and caring one. "noted." he muttered, his nose brushing against yours.

then without warning, he moved you onto his lap, his arms firm around your waist.

"nicho! i can't breathe, idiot."

"don't care." his voice was muffled in your chest. "i missed you."

"i was gone for like 20 minutes." you rolled your eyes.

"worst 20 minutes of my life." he pouted at you.

"you're a baby." you chuckled, then shivered when his hands slipped under your shirt.

"i'm your baby." he started leaving tiny kisses on your cheek, then down your jaw and your shoulder.

"is this your way of earning my forgiveness?"

and he nodded, a sly grin on his face. "is it working?" he looked up at you with innocent eyes while he left a kiss on your neck.

"you're not fair, nicholas."

"not my full name again." he frowned at you. "call me nicho. or baby, or love, or anything but that."

"okay, okay! dramatic baby... i'll call you love, you like that?"

he nodded, a satisfied smile on his lips. you noticed how his head was now hanging off your shoulder, like it was getting harder for him to keep it up. you gently pushed him back against the pillows, and then got off his lap to lay beside him instead. he let out a small whine, reaching for you.

"shh... i'm here, love." you quickly got back into his arms.

"good... i can't sleep without you." he sleepily murmured against your hair. he wasn't able to relax even a bit just some minutes ago and now he was acting like a big baby in your arms. it was funny, and adorable.

"thank you." you heard his raspy voice again after some minutes of silence.

"for what?"

"your patience." he tried to open his eyes to look at you. "and for not giving up on me."

you shook your head, silencing him with a sweet kiss on his lips. "never. you're stuck with me, the same way i'm stuck with you."

he smiled warmly this time, genuinely. "i'm glad."

he tugged you closer if that was possible and put the blanket higher around both of you. "sleep..."

"yeah." you sighed, finally letting sleep take over you now that you could feel his steady heartbeat in your ear and the weight of his arm around your waist. "love you."

You were ten years old when you held both of your parents hand as the three of you walked side by side in an open field where the vastness of the green Earth was there for the taking as far as the eye could see. 

As your dearest father, whose eyes shone with adoration and his lips split with the fondest of grins, carried you in his arms to point at the bright, blue sky, your innocence and naivety paved way for the natural curiosity that lay hidden in your young mind.

“You, my darling,” your mother lovingly booped your button nose. “You are the prettiest, far more special than anything in this world, and I love you.”

The world felt impossibly vast, and yet in that moment, wrapped in the safety of your parents’ love, it felt perfectly sized to hold just the three of you. Truly, you were loved by your parents. It was the kind of love that would transcend even through the afterlife. Until they didn’t.

You were sixteen years old when you stood under the pouring rain that blessed your parents’ grave, your head down low as your expressionless face stared at the freshly dug soil under your feet. There was blackness all around you - black for the weeping sky, black for the clothes you wore around your frail, shivering body that symbolized your mourning and loss.

Black for the two coffins you had watched sink into the ground, swallowed by the earth as if it could somehow keep your parents safe when you no longer could, black for the words no one could say, black for the warning signals in your head as you were led away from the cemetery.

Everything was black. You were far too young for such a travesty, but since when has this life been fair to anybody? Your parents’ death has definitely taught you better.

The hours stopped flowing, the sands of time floating inside the hourglass in a perpetual cycle of your memories where the images of your parents were slowly disappearing, refusing to flow - refusing to let you move on.

You are the prettiest, far more special than anything in this world, and I love you.

“You call that clean? I could lick the damn thing and get road dust in my teeth!”

Your uncle, your mother’s older brother, barked from the doorway, snapping you out of your memories. His loud, displeasing voice echoed down the garage hallway far before you even laid your eyes on him.

You closed your eyes, taking the deepest breath you could possibly take from the deepest chambers of your lungs. Not that there was anything left, you were a walking entity of nothingness at this point, but you had to remain calm like you had learned to be - like you had to be.

Your uncle stepped into the garage, shoes clicking against the polished tile floor most mechanics would kill for. “That’s your problem. Always doing the bare minimum. You’re useless just like your mother.”

There it was. He didn’t have to mention her often like the mere thought of her slowly decayed his tongue inside his sinful mouth. He didn’t outwardly curse her name, it was just enough to let you know he still thought of you like you were a charity case; a stain on the marble floors of his pristine world.

You tried not to gasp out loud when he titled your chin up roughly. His calloused fingers burned every single hair strand on your face, his eyes could have disintegrated you on the spot with all the unspoken hate you knew he had for you but refused to speak out, but you had to remain calm.

He harrumphed, turning around and beginning to walk off to where he came from, but not before spitting up an unholy amount of saliva on the floor with an obscene smirk on his clean shaven face. “Clean it up,” was all he said.

Through gritted teeth, you had begun wiping the floor, and as the water began to wash away all the grime your pig of an uncle had left, you hadn’t realized that your tears had begun to mix itself in the water like it would rinse away all your troubles.

It was like you were sixteen again. You still remember the day like it was yesterday when he led you to his car away from the cemetery, all without a single word of comfort or condolences at the dearly departed. Never mind your father, but your mother was his younger sister. You were not surprised at the sight of his massive mansion - your family did come from old money - but the moment you stepped through it, you saw the facade quickly. You weren’t there as family, but as a liability. All of this was just for show, not for your comfort.

He walked ahead of you, not bothering to see if you were following him. There was no warmth in his voice, just clipped efficiency, like he was giving instructions to a driver. There was no welcome. No open arms. No kind words. Your room was barely one. A cot, no sheets. A single window so cloudy with grime it looked like frosted glass. Little did you know, it would be your room for no less than a decade - a decade long of hell reincarnate on an already scorching Earth.

Sometimes he didn’t call for food, most of the time he called to yell. Once, for leaving a cup turned the wrong way in the sink, he threw it at the wall and told you your parents would’ve done the same if they’d had the guts.

It didn’t stop the bruises, but your perseverance helped you survive the nights. No one came looking for you. No one asked how you were.

You were nineteen years old when you started finally accepting that this was your world. You were reduced to moping spit off of the floor, and after another four years of slaving away and just taking all the burnt end of your uncle’s anger, he decided to finally send you into college. You wanted to scoff, but you will take anything that you could get - anything to get even a sliver of your identity back. He wasn’t doing this for you, you knew he’d use you for free labour after.

“You owe me,” he said, sliding the acceptance letter toward me. “You remember that. Everything you have is because I kept you fed.”

Fed. You saw red. He never mentioned you’d earned every damn underfed crumb like an inbred. But you nodded, anyway, because even a dog learns how to slip the chain if it’s given enough time to watch the master.

And you waited, day by day, for someone to remember you existed, but the ones you longed for were the ones you knew were in heaven by now. And you hoped they weren’t looking down on you.

All you could feel was pain. It hurt to try to move your limbs, it was more reminiscent of bones grinding against each other sharply against sandpaper, it hurt to take the smallest gulp of breath, hell, it hurt to even blink.

The last thing you remembered was coming home from your graduation party with a couple of your friends from the restaurant, but the panicked yet controlled voices of the doctors and nurses surrounding you had you concurring that you were in the hospital.

You want to move, but your limbs won’t listen. You want to ask for your parents, but their names get caught in your throat. That sent a magnanimous amount of pain far worse than you were feeling right now down in the middle of your chest where your heart laid. They were gone, and you were soon to follow.

The first tear that fell from your eyes felt like glass shards. You didn’t know how to tell your parents that you had failed them. You were only twenty-eight, and your short life was slowly slipping away from you. You could feel it.

I don’t want to die. I’m much too young to fall.

But hope was bleak. You didn’t doubt that your uncle was already aware of the car accident you were involved in, and you didn’t doubt that he was happy about it. It would be good riddance for him, there was no way he would pay for your surgeries. You were alone, utterly alone. The thought of dying alone hurt more than you’d like it to be.

Until a warm hand wrapped itself around yours. It was big, rough, and warm. You were too weak to open your eyes, but you mentally thanked the kind nurse who comforted you in your time of need. Or more likely, it was one of your college friends, namely, your close friend Yeosang. He was much younger than you, only being a freshman while you were eight years his senior.

You volunteered as a substitute teacher in your spare time for high school students as a part of your program, and Yeosang offered to be your intern. You were the one to write him his recommendation letter to get into your college last year. You quickly became fond of the kid with the siren eyes who squeezed his way into your heart, who still admired you as his mentor and still stuck by you even after his high school. 

He was the only regret in your short life. There were times you dismissed him since you were far from his age and you wanted him to spend time with other people. You wish you had more opportunities to tell him that you cherished the little moments of peace he gave you, and to thank him for letting you know what it was like to care for someone when nobody cared about you. 

Time passed. It could’ve been minutes, it could’ve been hours, but the hand remained, covering yours in a soothing cocoon, a salve to your aching and hurting heart. 

It was just a hand, but it provided you the strength you needed. You might hate your uncle, but if it wasn’t for him sending you to college, this hand wouldn’t be here, helping you sign your own paperwork since you had no family. It must have been a pitiful sight - your soul was nearly gone yet you had to sign your own hospital papers.

Sometimes it would squeeze gently like it needed to be sure you were still holding on as you slipped in and out of consciousness, and you started clinging to it like it was the only real thing in the world.

Because, maybe it was. No one else came - not your uncle, and not the world you thought would notice if you ceased to exist prematurely before you even turned your life around, but the hand stayed.

Against your will, you stood before your own reflection. You always thought you had the prettiest of hazel-hued eyes - you had gotten them from your father, after all - but the hollowness of them scared even yourself.

“Y/N! Come downstairs, or I’m leaving you to walk yourself all the way to the Kim estate!”

You flinched, your fingers pausing from examining the thick concealer you splattered all over your neck to cover your uncle’s purple fingertips. You were still unsure if surviving was a blessing or a curse.

After getting back from the hospital, he had appointed you to fix his business paperworks - all without pay, of course - and he kept you locked away from the world. 

Except when it was time to remind you of your place, to remind you of his power. You were thirty-two when he finally decided to get rid of you and sell you off as collateral for his failing business to a man far older than you, because if he didn’t, the business won’t be the only thing your uncle would be losing.

“He’s your last chance,” he reiterated, voice low and full of threat. “You marry him, or you’re done here. I’ll have you on a flight by morning stripped of every cent, every roof, every name. I made a deal, and you’re the damn collateral. Don’t make me waste you.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d threatened to erase you from your own life. But this time, it felt final. “Your face is your saving grace,” he continued arrogantly. “Luckily for you, you inherited your whore of a mother’s pretty face. With luck, that bastard Kim Hongjoong might take a liking to you.”

You tuned out the way he cursed out the said man’s name with words you couldn’t even repeat, focusing on the way your fists clenched tight to control your breathing.

Kim Hongjoong, you thought. That was your future husband’s name, the man who would either be your salvation or be the one to push you into a deeper hell. You’ve given up on the aspect of marrying for love, but still, giving it up like this feels like a punch to your gut.

But there was no way around it, not when your uncle sent you a seething glare that told you that you needed to play along as he forced your arm to link with his as you were both escorted inside the huge mansion that screamed of wealth and dirty money by the stiff-postured butler.

“I welcome you to the Kim estate, you may address me as San,” the cat-eyed butler bowed respectfully before you and your uncle, gesturing forward as he walked on. “I do apologize if I’m the only one to extend the greetings for now, all of our staff is preparing for the bride-to-be.”

He sent you a polite smile, but all you felt was dread. “Shall I make it up and invite you to the dining room? The Master awaits the both of you.”

Your uncle’s fake, booming laughter fills the grandiose dining room. Every inch of this manor screamed of wealth and power, the chandeliers above casting a soft glow down the glossy marble floors, the ornate walls lined with ancestral tapestry partnered with vintage vases.

But none of it reached you, none of it mattered because none of this was for you. As slimy as your uncle was, the fact that this man was even agreeing to the prospect of marrying to settle a debt perturbed you.

You couldn’t help but let your fingers trail along the back of a carved dining chair as you entered the main dining room. Everything looked expensive, it reminded you of your mother who had the finer tastes in life when she was still among the living.

But it was when you looked up that your breath had truly gotten caught in your throat. Somebody was already looking at you, he was already staring at you. Even before you were introduced, you knew in your heart that this was the infamous Kim Hongjoong.

He was seated at the far end of the impossibly long dining table, his sharp eyes already watching your every move. The second your eyes met his, the air shifted, and you froze. All that existed was the intensity of his gaze. For a moment, everything disappeared. It was just you and him. You didn’t know how to feel about it. 

Your pulse thudded in your ears as you allowed yourself to stare back. You didn’t even need more than a couple of seconds, it was very obvious from the first glance that this man was undeniably attractive. It was almost devastatingly so.

His face was chiseled to perfection, all without the soft curves of a boy, he held the sharp angles that only belonged to a man of his age. That particular age suited him and you could tell he was years above you, his meticulously styled hair already sporting a couple of whites and greys

But it wasn’t his looks that immediately captivated you, it was his eyes. The way they stared at you heavily as though he was an all-seeing being that could read your every thought and predict your every move. He didn’t smile, he didn’t blink, he didn’t look away - he just observed. Something in your chest twisted. Your instinct told you to look away, to hide, but you stayed uprooted from where you stood. His stare left you unable to do anything else. 

But you had to eventually. Your uncle cut the obvious tension with a small, nervous laugh as he nudged you subtly. “Mr. Kim, it’s an honour and pleasure to be in your presence in this fine evening,” he tried to suck up, though you can tell his bravado was nowhere to be seen in front of a person who was obviously greater than he was.

You forced yourself forward, one step towards the other, graciously sitting down on the chair that San the butler had so generously pulled out for you. As you tried to settle comfortably, you looked up again, only to realize that Hongjoong still hasn’t looked away from you, only giving out a small grunt in response to your uncle’s poor attempt to start a conversation.

You would turn and stare at the way you knew your uncle’s face would turn red in embarrassment and anger at being snubbed, but Hongjoong’s eyes had once again held you captive.

Someone cleared their throat purposefully. Right. You didn’t even realize that there were other people seated towards the end of the table. You couldn’t even afford to be embarrassed for being the other end of the tension.

“You’re staring,” the voice, surprisingly rough and deep, said. It was more of a whisper, but the silence was so loud in the room that anything could be heard.

Hongjoong didn’t answer right away. He simply tilted his head, just slightly. Still watching you with those dark eyes. Then, calmly, still without glancing at anyone else, he replied, “Am I?”

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement in disguise, a graceful way of telling the other person off. It made the hair rise on the back of your neck. You heard an exasperated sigh somewhere.

Even when dinner was served and the conversation around you flowed naturally amongst the other guests deemed important enough to be here, you couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable. You barely heard their voices. You knew he was still watching you from time to time.

Your heart pounded in your chest, but you kept your posture stiff, trying to maintain some semblance of control. Your hands, however, clenched your utensils so tight, you wouldn’t be surprised if they bent from the pressure. You couldn’t stop the tremor that ran through you from all the weight of his eyes.

At first you thought it was fear, but no, this was something else entirely. It wasn’t flattering, it wasn’t lustful, it wasn’t romantic - this was unnerving, darkness at its purest form.

“Y/N, my dearest niece,” your uncle’s voice suddenly broke through your haze, effectively catching everyone’s attention as well. “I trust that you’re enjoying dinner?”

You swallowed, already reading between the lines. He was basically asking you to look alive, a silent threat. You forced a small smile, nodding in effect. “Yes,” you said softly. “It’s quite wonderful.”

An unreadable flicker crosses Hongjoong’s face as he leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the table. Somehow, that made him look more intimidating than he already was. He tilted his head, his gaze sharpened, but his body stayed relaxed. It was the posture of someone who knew he was on top of the food chain.

“Great,” your uncle cleared his throat. “I suppose it’s about time to get down to the nitty-gritty of this dinner. Let’s talk business, gentlemen.”

A saddened frown settles itself on your lips. Right, you had forgotten that this was just business for him at the end of the day. You had somehow forgotten that you were treated less than human, a little more akin to produce being sold off to a wanting consumer.

“There’s no need to drag this out,” your uncle continued, failing to read the room. Even you knew that he was in no position to call the shots like he was doing currently. “She’s all yours, for all intents and purposes.”

You looked down, shame and mortification filling your entire body, gripping your dress tightly in your fists. The implication of what that meant horrified you, given that you were the only woman in the room, surrounded by men who immediately understood the sexual insinuation of the statement.

Thick silence followed as everybody waited for Hongjoong to speak. His posture shifted ever so slightly from your peripheral vision as he started to open his mouth to reply. “I’m not here for that,” he said flatly.

The words were quiet, but they carried more force than your uncle’s screaming. The older man let out a nervous laughter, brushing it off. “Of course, still, it’s a part of the arrangement.”

Hongjoong’s expression didn’t change. “I heard you the first time.”

Your knuckles turned white from how hard you were gripping. His voice struck something in you, sending a zing through your body from your toes all the way to your scalp. His gaze, his voice, his complete control over the room; it was all too much. You hated the way it made your stomach turn into itself.

But your uncle’s ego rendered him unable to stop because he always wanted to be the one in control. “She turned out decent, though mostly useless. It could be changed,” he said, degrading your dignity further down to the ground. “She’s an obedient little thing, knows how to close her trap when prompted.”

You froze, as did everybody. You didn’t need to look around the table to know the weight of every eye. It was a different type of humiliation you had to endure, but you didn’t say anything. Years of training had taught you to just take all of his words in without flinching.

For the first time that night, Hongjoong looked away from you. His stare shifted, slow and deliberate, settling on your uncle who chuckled nervously, but also unable to look away from Hongjoong like you did.

It was his turn to be stared at, you could already tell that your uncle was starting to crack under the pressure of that silent, unnerving stare. 

Then as if to rub salt on his wounds, Hongjoong let a small smile curl at the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t directed towards you, but it sent nasty goosebumps all over your skin. It was nothing short of sinister.

“How compelling,” he drawled out, leaning forward to grab his wine glass, swirling its contents leisurely before he set his dark eyes back towards your uncle. “Though I don’t recall ever asking.”

Your uncle stiffened, but Hongjoong continued, his voice controlled, and flat. “And if I ever find myself wondering, I’ll be sure to consult someone who’s managed to keep his life longer than selling their nieces to the mafia to save their skin.” Your legs felt suddenly too weak, your numb fingers loosening their tight hold on your dress. The mafia. Your uncle was selling you out to the mafia. The word itself echoed through your mind, a jagged, inescapable truth. Fear, raw and electric, lit up inside you.

Though, an undeniable satisfaction flowed through you at the prospect of your smug uncle finally being put in his place. He opened his big mouth to try and retort back, but Hongjoong didn’t give him the chance.

He sets his wine glass back down, lightly tapping on it with a butter knife. “More,” was all he said. It was just one command, but if you were standing, it would have brought you down to your knees. It was the end of the conversation, all because he said so without actually saying it. There were no more words needed to be said, the message had been delivered. He turned his gaze somewhere else, not looking back at you. There was no need to.

This entire room knew who held the leash, and it was the man you were set to marry sooner than later. The room had been entirely claimed by him the moment he opened his mouth.

Dinner was an awkward affair. The conversation between everyone was never really the same afterwards, but you didn’t care, you tuned them all out, even when you could finally breathe because Hongjoong never looked your way again, partaking in a conversation with the man nearest to him, the same man with the deep voice who called him out for staring at you.

It was every man for themselves at this very table, that much you could tell. Every clink of cutlery made you flinch, every swallow constricting your throat, every smoke coming out of your uncle’s ears petrifying you, his words still ringing in your head the entire time as you tried to eat.

Marry this man or face the consequences, but at what cost? You were damned if you did, and damned if you didn’t. There would be no ending where you wouldn’t end up bleeding. Hongjoong terrified you. It was the type of fear that settled itself deep in your bones. He hasn’t even risen from his seat, yet he’s managed to get under your skin far more than your uncle has in more than a decade.

This was a man who ruled in power. There was something in the way he sat, all composed and relaxed. He had nothing to prove, let alone raise his voice. He simply held everyone’s breath in his palms. One squeeze was all it took.

You didn’t realize you’d been staring until Hongjoong’s sharp eyes met yours briefly once more. He looked at your uncle, back at you, then back at the man who was talking to him. You had made your decision then. Anything was better than being your uncle’s property.

By the end of the week, all of your belongings were packed in a small suitcase, ready to be transported to the Kim estate. Not that you needed to pack a lot, there was no single thing that you truly owned.

The manor was just as breathtaking as it was the last time you saw it, dare say, far more glamorous than you remembered it to be now that the invisible collar that your uncle wrapped around your neck like a noose was now gone. It was far much easier to gaze in awe at the splendor that it represented.

Though you reckon that if you closed your eyes, the walls would be crimson red with blood. Your fingers clutched the suitcase handle with a grip that bordered on desperation, as if letting go might unravel something fragile inside you. The threshold before you wasn’t just the entrance to another home, it was a gate to uncertainty, and that terrified you more than anything.

The last time you crossed into the unfamiliar den of someone else’s house, you were met with a home, but with silent trials and unspoken wounds. But it was too late to ponder whether you should just turn back, run away, and start anew somewhere else - the massive door at the entrance suddenly opened ajar to reveal the familiar face of the Kim family butler, San.

It struck you then, as he was walking towards your direction, that he wasn’t wearing a uniform like the last time you saw him, in fact, he wasn’t like anything you remembered at all even though this was only your second meeting. Gone was the uniform, the gloves, and his rigid posture. Instead, he wore a gray tailored suit and he walked like he belonged in it. He wasn’t performing anymore. He grabbed your suitcase for you, but before he could take a step forward, he hesitantly turned towards you. “I just wanted to say that there are no shadows in this place,” he said softly, cryptically. “You don’t need to keep looking over your shoulders. He can’t hurt you here.”

You tried to keep your face still, unreadable. You supposed that one eventful dinner was enough for everyone to see how much of a swine your uncle was. You didn’t respond to his strange reassurance. Instead, you studied him again, this time more carefully, more warily. “You’re not a butler, are you?” You said quietly.

His brows raised, but he didn’t say anything; he just smiled at you before beckoning you inside the mansion that would be your new home. Everything looked the same, except that in the morning light, everything looked more marvelous than it did rather than when they were covered by the dark shadows of the night. No matter which direction your head turned, awe struck in every corner.

Then you passed the staircase. Something made you pause, there was a prickle at the back of your neck. Without meaning to, you looked up. It was the man at the dinner, the one that sat closest to Hongjoong at the far end of the table - the one who told the older man he was staring. He also donned a smart suit like San, leaning against the bannister while his sharp eyes watched you. 

He was a lot taller than you thought now that he was standing and he was younger, too. It was a surprise given his apparent ease with Hongjoong when everyone else wanted to piss their pants with fear. He didn’t glare at you, the only thing that signalled he wasn’t particularly angry towards you, but his stare still made your skin tighten. He was, by all means, intimidating.

“Did you need anything, Mingi?” San’s mellow voice cut the unspoken tension in the air as he also looked up the staircase. He motions to you with his hands. “You’ve met Y/N during the dinner.”

The man, Mingi, didn’t reply. His presence pressed down like a weight, not loud, but undeniable, as he turned around, but not before swivelling his head back, his side profile sharp and intense. “I know,” his deep voice spoke before he completely walked away out of your sight.

Your voice barely rose above a whisper as you turned to San. “Does he not like me?”

“It’s complicated,” he said simply, continuing the walk towards where was taking you.

Complicated. Somehow, that made you feel like you were trespassing in a life you hadn’t earned. Maybe he didn’t like you, maybe it wasn’t personal, but you understood it. You wouldn’t like you, either, ever since you were reduced to who you once were. Those were the thoughts that plagued your mind as you walked through the lavish mansion, until you stopped directly in front of a door that just screamed doom from the other side.

The feeling intensified when San gave the door a few light taps with his knuckles. You had been mistaken when you thought that this would be your room. There was only one reason why San would knock like he did.

“Come in,” a gruff voice replied from inside.

Coldness washed over you, the slight fear during that one dinner night creeping back and settling itself into your bones when you were met at the sight of Hongjoong at the end of his office behind a desk where there were plenty of papers strewn all over it.

You had to put in effort in your jaws so it wouldn’t fall open. You’ve seen plenty of good-looking men in your life, but none of them hold a candle to the enigma that was Kim Hongjoong. That night absolutely did nothing to justify how immaculate this man actually looked. The worst part was that he wasn’t even wearing a suit like San.

He was clad in a casual white-button up shirt, the sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows, revealing lean forearms that moved with casual precision as he scribbled something across a document. He didn’t look up, not bothering to acknowledge your entrance. 

You shuffled your feet awkwardly, your heart beating a little faster, not out of attraction, though it wasn’t out of the realm entirely, but with palpable tension. Hongjoong flipped a page, still without acknowledgement as if he wasn’t bothered by your presence at all. It was San who finally broke the silence, his voice lower, more respectful than you’d ever heard it. “Boss. She’s here—”

“Leave,” the mafia boss cut off, voice hushed in the quietness of the office, but brusque nonetheless.

It was like you were struck with an imaginary hammer straight to your chest with that one single word, but it wasn’t just that - it was the undeniable truth that you were, once again, unwelcome in this shiny, brand new cage you were thrust upon. The silence that followed felt suffocating, even San was rendered speechless, clearly confused.

San cleared his throat. “I’m not sure I’m following, Sir.”

The sound of rustling paper and the pen scratching against its surface resonated in your head. “I didn’t stutter, San,” Hongjoong replied nonchalantly. “Both of you, out.”

There was no room for argument in his tone. He didn’t sound particularly peeved, in fact, he didn’t sound like anything at all, and yet, the dismissal stung you more than you’d like to admit. His utter dismissal was louder than any shout. You didn’t have to spend a minute longer in this room that was slowly beginning to feel like a jail cell - you didn’t matter.

“Alright,” San sighed, conceding, though against his will. “Where will she reside?”

The pen in Hongjoong’s hand stopped moving, and finally, he raised his chin, his eyes lifting slowly to stare at San. You swallowed, it reminded you of a predator being disturbed while it was resting. Your heart almost leapt out of your chest when he turned lazily to you, his eyes half-lidded this time. “Keep her in the dungeons,” he drawled flatly. Your eye twitched at the response.

“Hongjoong,” San’s mouth dropped open in surprise, not being able to stop his reaction at his boss’ reply.

“Apologies,” he said, leaning back on his leather chaise lounge, his tone egregiously insincere as he raised his brows at the butler. “I can’t help but jest at the stupidity of your question, Choi San. What did you want me to say?”

You clenched your fists before they could visibly shake. God, he was beautiful, and it only made it worse, like the universe had handed unimaginable cruelty to the face of an angel just to mock you. You were scared, yes, but you were also annoyed.

You haven’t even been here for five minutes yet he was already seemingly enjoying your discomfort and feeding off of your humiliation. The plan was to keep your head down so you could survive in this battlefield, but if he was going to keep this up, it was only a matter of time until your patience would snap and get you in trouble, or worse, killed.

As if he didn’t just say something outrageous, Hongjoong flicked his pen to start writing again. “I need Mingi,” he said. “And call your Third Master. He should have been back with Seonghwa from Suwon.”

San didn’t say anything as he shut the door behind you both, his steps quick and purposeful as he led you down a dimly lit corridor that felt far too silent for how grand the house looked from the outside. The heavy tension that lingered from the office followed you like a second shadow.

He glanced over at you, as if trying to read your face before turning his eyes back ahead. “I was wondering,” he started clearly just to ease the tension. “I’ve noticed, well, we all did, that you didn’t share a last name with your uncle. Is that on purpose?”

You blinked, surprised by the question. Such a  contrast to what had just occurred a couple of minutes ago. But more than that, nobody had bothered to ask you that question before. It wasn't invasive by all means, just unexpected.

It did, however, shoot a pang of hurt through your heart. You haven’t explained this in more than a decade. “He’s my late mother’s older brother.”

San nodded slowly, absorbing the information with interest. Bless this man, you thought. “May I ask what your last name is?”

“It’s Jeong,” you replied softly. Oh, how good it was to say your father's name like this again. “Jeong Y/N.”

When he finally stopped in front of a modest door near the end of the hall, he placed a hand on the knob, but not before pausing. Something didn’t feel right. “D-Did you know my father?”

You frowned at his frozen expression that didn’t last for another second before he snapped off of whatever trance he put himself in.

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, turning to face you. “I know this was a horrible start to your soon-to-be life here,” San shook his head, the corners of his mouth tightening. “Hongjoong’s hard headed, but he’s not heartless. Just give it time, okay?”

Your heart wanted to leap out of your chest. He completely changed the topic. “I get it,” you sighed, letting it go. “He’s as much of an unwilling participant in this as I am.”

San opened the door, revealing a clean, minimal room with a bed, dresser, and tall windows draped in heavy curtains. The room was beautiful, not that you expected any less, but this was decay dressed in silk; a trap made to look like a sanctuary to your wounded soul.

“I’ll let you settle in,” he said gently as he left you alone. “If you need anything, please let me know. This is your home now as much as it is ours.”

Indeed, you were alone, but not free. Caged, but not chained,  at least, not in the physical sense.

San had said to give it time, but time was a commodity and you feared it - too much of it and it left you rotting away inside your body, and too little of it felt like a countdown.

Days passed from then, and you tried to settle in to the very best of your abilities. It was the only option you had, after all. You explored the rest of the mansion, even going as far as hanging out in the vast garden in the back when you had nothing better to do. It wasn’t home, per se, but it was far better from where you came from.

As suffocating as this mansion felt, at least San was right, nobody has hurt you - not yet at least. But that was always how it went, wasn’t it? Then the shift would be so subtle that you’d miss it if you weren’t already waiting for the sky to fall. You knew the pattern like your own breathing. So you kept your voice light. You smiled when you needed to, but you always stayed one step ahead. Because San was right, no one had hurt you, but they would. It was only a matter of time.

It was still a step-up from your uncle, his loud voice no longer calling you, but coincidentally, neither had Hongjoong. He didn’t look your way once, he didn’t call or summon you, and didn’t acknowledge your existence very much. Somehow, you weren’t sure if that was a curse or a blessing in disguise.

Nonetheless, you did enjoy it so far, and you had so much to learn. You’ve yet to peek through the library, study how the light filtered through your windows at certain hours, or just the layout of the mansion itself. You were just about to walk towards the garden when you heard the familiar, telltale signs of people talking in one of the rooms. No, rather, you were hearing an argument take place between two men.

“You lied to me,” a man’s voice, deep, thunderous, and absolutely furious, boomed throughout the expanse of the house. “That hit in Suwon was supposed to be mine, and mine, alone. Not anyone's, not Wooyoung’s, mine.”

You froze at the sound, instincts screaming at you to turn around, walk away, disappear. But curiosity dug its claws in. Your feet moved without permission, guiding you down the stairs toward the raised voices echoing from the living room just around the corner.

“I did not lie to you. Your lack of proper planning does not constitute an emergency on my end,” replied the familiar voice of Hongjoong, flat and stoic as ever, like he wasn’t on the burnt end of someone’s anger.

“That little fuck. Always stealing my hits. And you tolerate him.”

Heavy, furious footsteps and you barely had time to walk away unnoticed when you almost crashed into the tall and broad-shouldered form of none other than Mingi. His expression was twisted with the fury of a thousand suns as he glared at you. For a second, he looked like he was going to explode on you, but luckily, he just walked past you with rage he looked like he could barely contain.

“You,” came a voice from the living room.

You flinched, your spine automatically straightening like they did when your uncle screamed your name before he struck his fists. But Hongjoong didn’t shout, didn’t even raise his voice, but the sharpness in that single word pinned you in place like a knife. He stepped into view slowly, the light from the tall windows casting long shadows behind him. His expression was unreadable, carved from stone, gaze unreadable but heavy.

“What are you doing?” Hongjoong asked at last, his tone deceptively calm, but lined with quiet disdain. “Sneaking around corners like a rat.”

Despite your speechlessness in the frost of his tone, you couldn’t help but stare. Hongjoong’s back was turned against the window and little bits of sun rays hit his features just right. You tried to tamp the blush trying to sneak up your cheeks to make way at the vexation flickering inside your chest at his statement.

“I-I apologize, I didn’t mean to intrude,” you said quietly, your heart jumping to your throat. “I was just curious—”

“Curious,” he repeated slowly, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “You were curious.”

You swallowed hard, your pulse pounding in your ears, as he stared you down. It was as if he was truly looking at you for the first time. He wasn’t much taller than you, but the way he stood felt like he towered over you by a mile. You felt numbness wash over you, but you tried your best to answer him with honesty. You had a feeling he’d catch you fibbing anyway. “I was told I could explore a little when I came.”

His lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile - too sharp to be one. “But did I tell you that you could go prancing around anywhere you damn well pleased?”

Your breath caught when he took a slow, almost bored, step towards you. For a second, you saw the taller form of your uncle stalking towards you, and before you could stop yourself, you opened your mouth to protest. “I’m sorry,” you squeaked. “I just assumed that since I’m staying here that I can—”

“Immaterial,” he interrupted, low and vicious. “This is my house, and you answer to me.” 

Hongjoong stuck his finger under your chin, slightly tilting it up. The tips of your ears reddened completely, not because you were flustered, but because it felt degrading. “I’ve been quite busy, you see,” he continued with a sneer. “But don’t think I’ve forgotten your existence. I can never forget the face of someone who was sold to me.”

You didn’t answer. The words stung too much, mostly because you’d dared to hope, even briefly, that maybe this place could become a safe haven. Being remembered like this hurt even more. “You’re right, I won’t do it again,” you whispered, too defeated to even let your usual anger consume you. “I was out of line, I’m sorry.”

“Then, act like it,” Hongjoong’s eyes stayed locked on yours, unblinking, his tone dismissive and cold.

He turned his back to you, not bothering to wait for your reply as he started to walk away. “You shouldn’t have been here,” he added. “Don’t make the same mistake twice. Stay in your lane.”

You were left standing in the same spot he’d left you even after a long time clenching your fists, shame filling your chest at the minor confrontation, the sharp sting of his words looping in your mind, each repetition sharper than the last.

You dug your nails into your palms until it hurt. Good. You needed something to keep yourself grounded because the rage was almost enough to drown you. How dare he treat you like you were disposable?

The worst part was that you were supposed to marry this man, spend the rest of your miserable days walking on eggshells around this insufferable, arrogant bastard? You closed your eyes, pinching the bridge of your nose as you took a deep breath.

San told you no one was going to hurt you. He lied, to a certain extent he did, because hurt here came from humiliation and not the hand that’ll lay itself on your skin. You didn’t have to like him, especially since love was completely out of the question, and you had absolutely no obligation to please him, but you would survive this. You had to. 

You were following San one Sunday morning as he’d promised to show you the private library after you were no longer skittish after the last encounter with Hongjoong. “I’d love to show you the library today,” San turned, a smile blooming on his face. “Master is very fond of them, as is the Second Master. I’m sure you would, too. It’s quite fascinating.”

“I’ve heard a second and third master being mentioned once or twice before,” you started. “I assume they’re family. Would I be meeting them soon? Should I be wary of them?”

“You would be correct, they are family,” San nodded, pausing in front of the library doorway to face you. “Unfortunately, the Second Master is currently on a…”

He cleared his throat, trailing off to find the right wording like you didn’t already know you’d be marrying into the mafia. “Mission, so to speak. And as you’ve gathered, the Third Master is in Suwon so he should be back soon.”

He took a pause, glancing at his wristwatch before glancing back at you. “Right now, actually. I completely forgot about that,” he cursed under his breath as he looked at you sheepishly. “I apologize, would you mind if I left to instruct someone of his arrival?”

You gave San a small, amused smile, waving him off. “It’s okay. Go do what you need to do. I’ll just wait here.”

“Thank you,” he sighed in relief, already backing away. “I promise I won’t take long.”

You rolled your eyes fondly as he disappeared down the corridor, the sound of his quick footsteps fading behind you. Alone now, you took a slow breath, soaking in the ornate hallway. You didn’t mind waiting, at least you had something to look forward to very soon.

If anything, the wait was very peaceful, but that peace was soon shattered when you heard the door to your left at the far end of the hallway swinging open and two voices suddenly filling in the space of the house. They were unfamiliar, as far as you knew. One thing you noticed was that Hongjoong kept a very limited amount of staff going in and out of the manor.

You shifted nervously, looking to where San had left to see if he was coming back soon, not knowing where to go and how to interact with Hongjoong’s possible guests. He always had people over he was constantly talking to and you didn’t know how he’d reprimand you if he saw you talking to them.

“You got me fucked up if you think I’m not getting back at you for this,” the first man who entered snorted, his bright and shameless laughter put you on high alert. You watched as he made a show of stretching his limbs exaggeratedly. “You know I can’t stand economy flights, Seonghwa, why would you subject me to this torture?”

Then came the second voice, calm and firm, but edged with exasperation. “Forgive me for being presumptuous if I say you’re not going to die being a normal person just this once, master,” he said flatly, closing the door behind him with a sigh.

They were quite a pair, you noticed. It was easy to assume that this was the infamous Third Master Hongjoong had been waiting for. His eyes sparkled with mischief, his playful smirk clearly irritating his older, taller companion.

“We had to blend in, you know that,” the taller man - model - Seonghwa continued, gracefully trudging two suitcases behind him. “Hongjoong is going to throw a fit if he finds out we’re being tailed.” 

The other man scoffed once more, letting out an obnoxious laughter that frankly reminded you of a hyena. “He’ll be fine,” he waved his hand off-handedly as he started to walk. “I could just—”

He came to a dramatic halt when he saw you standing in the hallway, blinking in complete surprise. He was a lot younger than you thought he was, his boyish charm was impossible to ignore. He observed you from head to toe before he let out a grin that was too wide to be innocent.

Seonghwa almost did a halt, but his was more sudden than his companion. Recognition flashed in his eyes and you would’ve missed it if you weren’t paying attention. He was more reserved, after all. If the first man was chaos, this one was control.

“Well, well, well,” the grinning one drawled, ignoring Seonghwa’s pointed sigh. “What’s a beautiful thing like you doing here?”

You blinked, taken slightly aback by the sheer confidence in his tone. “I’m not an intruder,” you said cautiously. “I-I’m waiting for San.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re not. I would’ve already known if you were,” he smirked as he stepped forward, confidence dripping with every step, until he stopped in front of you. Shivers ran through your spine. He reminded you of Hongjoong’s predatory nature. “And I wouldn’t be smiling.”

He held his hands up for you to shake. “Jung Wooyoung, and my heart is yours to intrude, if you’d like. You’ll find that I’m very easy to rob,” He gave a unapologetic bow, his smirk widening. “You could do it now if you’d like—”

“She’s not available,” Seonghwa cut in, his tone flat, his gaze flicking to you with a subtle nod of acknowledgement. “Wooyoung, please, contain yourself, you embarrassment.”

Woooyoung backed off slightly, the confusion in his face palpable. “She’s not available?” He frowned. “Why not?”

Seonghwa leaned in slightly, whispering something low against Wooyoung’s ear, voice so quiet you couldn’t catch the words. Wooyoung froze, his gaze towards you no longer flirtatious, the warmth in his eyes being replaced by something so cold and calculating that had you taking a small step back.

You’d seen that look before - on Mingi, of all people. But then, just as suddenly, the light snapped back on. Your sense of danger heightened; Wooyoung and Mingi reminded you of Hongjoong the most. You had to avoid them at all costs.

Wooyoung gasped, hand flying to his chest like he was scandalized. “I don’t believe it,” he blurted out. “You’re marrying Hongjoong?”

Wooyoung looked at you again, a wild laugh tumbling out as he shook his head. “Wow. Poor thing. You’re how old? This’ll be so awkward during dinners when people ask me, especially Mingi. How did Mingi react to Hongjoong owning you?”

You frowned, not understanding Mingi’s significance. “Not well, I guess,” you admitted before you gave him a pointed glare. “And I’m no one’s property.”

“Nuances,” he shrugged. “Well, if you get sick of Hongjoong’s moodiness, my room’s on the east wing, just a few doors away from his office—”

“There will be none of that,” Seonghwa said dryly, voice heavy with the kind of weariness that could only come from years of enduring Wooyoung’s antics.

“I didn’t hear a no from her,” Wooyoung sing-songed. 

“Wooyoung, shut up,” Seonghwa whisper-shouted in warning.

“Anyway, I could take you to dinner,” he wiggled his brows, grabbing your hand. You were almost appalled at his audacity and shied away, yanking your hand away quickly.

“Wooyoung.”

He turned to Seonghwa in exasperation. “Why are you messing up my groove, Hwa? God, you’re just like my father at this point-–” 

“You fucking fool,” Seonghwa cut in coldly, stepping aside as he jabbed a finger toward the other end of the hallway. “Congratulations. Now you’ll find out what the afterlife is like.”

Wooyoung followed his gaze, then yelped so loud it echoed through the hallways, because at the far end of the corridor, shadowed in the doorway with the light behind him stood none other than Hongjoong. His arms were crossed and his expression screamed death.

Your stomach turned, the blood draining from your face as he stared at you. They were dark, narrowed into slits, filled with a contained fury. This was the first time you were seeing him days after your altercation at the living room and his presence reminded you of how remarkably terrifying this man was.

“Wooyoung,” Hongjoong said, voice low, crisp, and venomous. “My office. Now.”

All the color drained from Wooyoung’s face, his smirk crumbled, replaced by a sheepish half-smile and a muttered, “Ah. Right. Of course. Be right there.”

“And you. Be ready, there will be a family dinner tonight,” Hongjoong turned his unyielding attention to someone behind you. “Brief her, manners included.” He eyes you up and down, and you blushed in humiliation once more, trying not to look as small as you felt with his judging gaze. “Lord knows you need brushing up.”

You barely heard Wooyoung’s nervous chuckle as he stumbled past you, still trying to mask his own fear. But it didn’t matter, your attention was solely fixed entirely on the man who still hadn’t moved an inch, still standing in that doorway like a judge awaiting a verdict before you felt yourself being pulled back by Seonghwa. 

“I am terribly sorry about that,” he apologized, leading you to the side door where he came from. “He’s not that bad, I promise. Just a bit aloof, and Hongjoong, he’s uh, something, but it’ll get better with time.”

You hummed, not knowing what to say. You couldn’t possibly say that their boss spiked a little fear in you somehow. As you were walking, you were pleasantly surprised to see red tulips blooming. You grinned, quickly running off to look closer.

However, you wouldn’t be the only ones to admire them. Mingi turned the tulip in his fingers with surprising care, before he set his eyes on you and Seonghwa before approaching. His walk, alone, screamed intimidation and hesitated. Mingi trained his sharp eyes on you before he set his attention back on the red tulip bud he was holding.

“Since when did we have these?” He murmured absentmindedly. “Anyway, I’m glad you’re back. Wooyoung? I heard him whining and bitching around here somewhere.”

“Since now, I guess,” Seonghwa curiously grabs the tulips and hums. He turns to you with a soft smile and shows you the tulip up close. “Say, Y/N, may I ask what your favourite flowers are?”

You didn’t answer immediately, not with Mingi staring at you. You tried not to look at him, but you could feel his stare dissecting your every breath and it made your spine stiffen. “These ones,” you answered softly, cradling a nearby petal. “Red tulips.”

A strange silence followed and when you glanced up cautiously, you found the both of them staring at one another curiously. Mingi’s eyes narrowed, and Seonghwa raised an eyebrow, as if they all knew something you didn’t. “Anyway,” Seonghwa cleared his throat. “You should go to the office. Your dad’s probably tearing him a new one. He, uh, may or may not have flirted with her.”

Mingi’s brows shot up in mild surprise. “God, that stupid fuck,” he hissed, shaking his head before he patted Seonghwa’s shoulder once and walking away. “I’ll catch up later, I need to settle the score with him and Father anyway.”

Dad? Father? Those were the only things circling in your head even as Seonghwa had guided you back into your designated room and sat you down on the bed. Your mouth opened and closed repeatedly, because Mingi wasn’t just anyone, he was Hongjoong’s son.

“I take it you had no idea First Master Mingi was Hongjoong’s son?” Seonghwa asked, amusement dancing in his eyes at your bewildered expression. You robotically shook your head in denial. He let out a short, breathy laugh. “Figures. That’s very Hongjoong of him to not tell you,” he shook his head.

You smiled bitterly. “Why would he? I’m nobody to him.”

Seonghwa’s eyes softened. “That’s not it. You have to understand, you are only about seven or so years older than his eldest son. It might not seem like it, but he does have morals.”

San did mention that the so-called masters were family, but you thought that meant they had a brotherly bond. You weren’t expecting literal family. “I just assumed he was one of higher-ups,” you blurted out.

“He technically is, yes,” Seonghwa confirmed. “He’s set to inherit the title once Hongjoong retires. Wooyoung is the next in line given that the Second Master is not interested in the title.”

You blinked repeatedly. Then it hits you - there was yesterday when San mentioned a Third Master. Wooyoung is also Hongjoong’s son. “Mingi is the eldest, Hongjoong had him before he hit twenty because his father wanted him to have a son before he transferred the title to him,” he kindly explained.

“And his mother was, uh,” he tenses a little bit before shaking his head. “She’s not a good person. Only married a Kim to sell the enemy information. There was no love in the marriage anyway, so Hongjoong kicked her out when Mingi was only three. Haven’t seen her since. They’re all about the same age, but Wooyoung’s the youngest. There’s a reason he gets away with everything,” he chuckled.

“How come Wooyoung doesn’t share a last name with Hongjoong?” You asked.

“It’s because Wooyoung is not his biological son,” Seonghwa answered. “Neither is Second Master, but they’re biological brothers, however. They were his former right-hand’s sons, but he died in a hit gone wrong. They both got along with Mingi even before then, so adopting them was a no-brainer. But that doesn’t matter, they are his sons.”

You took that in slowly. Three sons; one cold and carved from stone, another a carefree spark of chaos, and a third somewhere in between you hadn’t even met yet. No wonder Mingi looked at you like that. You were just a few years older than him and he was probably naturally weirded out about it. 

“Anyway, I’ll leave you to it, you have to get ready for dinner tonight. Since Wooyoung has been gone for three months, it’s customary to welcome him back,” Seonghwa grabs your hand to shake it gently, smiling at you with that smile that eased your worries for a bit. “Don’t mind Hongjoong. I’m sure you’ll do well. It’s very nice to finally meet you, Y/N.”

You didn’t pay much attention to Seonghwa’s words. It’s very nice to finally meet you. You didn’t bother to dress up too much as you stood in front of the mirror longer than you should have, smoothing invisible wrinkles from your clothes. For a moment, you thought about putting on makeup, but you’d always felt like a child trying to play dress-up.

When you finally stepped out of the room and down the long hallway toward the dining hall, your legs felt hollow. The muted murmur of voices from behind the doors swelled with each step. And you hated how it reminded you of that night - your first time meeting Hongjoong.

Thankfully, he wasn’t ignoring you because he was looking straight at you, arms crossed as he watched your awkward form walk to the centre of the room, as San led to the chair to sit directly to his left. You cursed internally, you were betting on settling in the background and would have chosen to sit on the far end of the table.

Thankfully, everyone was here, though you couldn’t really focus on them. Mingi sat in front of you, Seonghwa and San, respectively, sitting beside him. You were sure you wouldn’t be the only one who couldn’t breathe with Hongjoong’s menacing aura. Still, you were relieved, at least you wouldn’t be alone.

“Howdy, pretty,” Wooyoung saluted flirtatiously beside you, his eyes twinkling with mischief and excitement. You saw the man beside him roll his eyes dramatically, but didn’t say a word. You gave Wooyoung a tight smile out of politeness.

“Scram if you’re going to be insufferable, Wooyoung,” Hongjoong sighed, irritation palpable on his expression before he set his eyes on you. “And you, don’t do that ever again. You’re here to represent me. You know what that entails. I know you’re not as dull as you seem.”

You gritted your teeth, forcing a meek nod as a response. Wooyoung scoffs obnoxiously, ignoring the first statement directed to him. “Relax, nobody’s taking your woman from you,” he teased. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you. You’re practically frothing at the mouth.”

You could tell Hongjoong was close to exploding judging from the vein popping on his temples that protruded so much, it looked like it hurt. Instead, he puts his hands up, gesturing to the stoic man sitting beside Wooyoung. “This is Jongho,” he said, voice flat and uninterested. “He will be your bodyguard from now on. Jongho, show your respect.”

You blinked in surprise. This was the last thing you ever expected, but you welcomed it. You were surprised, however, Jongho didn’t look like he was much older than you. His face was carved with stoicism and impassiveness. “I’ll do my best to keep you safe,” Jongho said plainly, voice deep and steady.

“Right, let's get a few things out of the way,” Hongjoong started, voice still as sharp and astute as if time was running out, the entire time the staff was piling dinner on the table. “When did your parents pass away?”

That question hit you harder than all the insults and coldness he directed towards you. You were expecting something else, even about your uncle’s failing business that you had no idea about, but certainly not this. “When I was sixteen,” you blurted out. “It was sudden, I was told it was a hit and run.”

Hongjoong’s question had sliced through the dinner like a blade, and your answer left a ringing silence in its wake.You swallowed, suddenly hyper aware of how cold the room felt. Across the table, Mingi’s gaze sharpened instantly, replaced by something cold and alert. He flicked his eyes towards Hongjoong, a silent communication passing between them. And even Wooyoung let out a slow exhale, his playful demeanor was nowhere to be found.

Hongjoong nodded, his stern face not giving anything away. “Hit and run?” He repeated slowly, like tasting the words. “That’s what they told you? Who told you that?”

“M-My uncle,” you answered truthfully.

“Hmm,” Hongjoong hummed brusquely. “That good-for-nothing leech during dinner?”

You nodded stiffly. A beat passes, something about the way his jaw muscle ticked and his exhale changed. “When did you start living with him?”

“Right after the funeral,” you replied. “He took me before my other family members had a chance to say their condolences to me.”

“And?” he asked, voice clipped. “How bad was he?”

Just like that, memories upon memories of all the hurt, emotionally and physically, started playing in your brain like an old camera film. Subconsciously, you touched your neck. The bruises were gone, but you could still feel his hands wrapped around them. “Bad enough,” you replied quietly, avoiding eye contact.

San’s eyes softened. There was a slight crease in his brow, one of restrained empathy. He leaned back slightly, as if he needed space to process it, or to give you some. “Fucking bastard,” he muttered under his breath.

Hongjoong didn’t respond, his eyes lowering to your hand on your neck.  His eyes didn’t soften, but the edge in them did dull ever so slightly. He looked at you for one more second before he leaned back on his seat to stare out the large window that overlooked the entire manor.

"You need to act the part if you're going to stay here," Hongjoong said, voice sharp, still looking out the window. You were thankful for the change of topic, it was hard to pretend the questions didn’t sting.

You glanced wearily at him from where you were sitting. “What part?”

“You are going to be Mrs. Kim very soon, and you will be associated with me,” he said. “That means whatever you do will reflect on me, including both your victory and your defeat. I do not want the likes of you to embarrass me.”

You clenched your hands in your lap to keep them from shaking. Your identity was being stripped down, reshaped into someone he could not even tolerate standing next to. It was next level humiliation.

“I will not tolerate disrespect from any outsiders about what’s mine, hence me giving you a bodyguard,” he continued, casually sipping on his wine. “I refuse my family to be a laughingstock of some sorts. You will be under my name, so you will be under my protection.”

Under his name, not sharing his name. He was basically telling you that you will become his burden and liability. “It is imperative that no one knows about us for now. You will not wear a ring, and you will not speak about our arrangement. ”

You swallowed, throat tight. “So what am I supposed to be, then? Your accessory?”

He leaned closer, and your breath caught in your chest. “Play the game. Or pack your things.”

“Now, hold on a minute,” a voice cut off, one you weren’t expecting. Everybody looks at Wooyoung curiously, the cutlery in the background halting. “Don’t you think this is a bit much, Dad? You’re asking her to erase herself in front of everyone. Hide everything. No ring, no identity, no dignity? You want her to protect your name, but you won’t even give her the same courtesy?”

Your heart thumped. Was someone finally on your side? And of all the people, his own son? The one who you thought was a flirt. Hongjoong shifted his gaze. “Since when did you start calling me Dad?” He asked, tone cold now, sharpened to a lethal edge. “Do not undermine me at my own table, Jung Wooyoung.”

You weren’t that much of an idiot - this engagement was a farce because he was hiding you like a shadow. It was erasure disguised as a strategy. It stung, not that you were expecting him to hold you and show you off, but still.

Your fingers brushed against the gold fork, just drowning out the fight, and you were about to dig in when your plate was suddenly pushed away. Horrified, you stared at Hongjoong who had a passive expression on his face.  “Don’t eat anything,” he stated, cold eyes drilling onto your wide ones, his fingers still on the edge of the plate he so callously pushed off.  “Not until I say so.”

You froze, absolutely mortified at what he had done. You could accept all the insults and the cold shoulder he’d been presenting you in his house, but this? You swallowed the lump in your throat and kept your head down, your hands curling into your lap like they didn’t belong at the table. Your stomach had long since stopped growling - embarrassment had a way of killing hunger.

“She didn’t do anything. Why would you do that?” Seonghwa spoke, his tone laced with disbelief, his brows furrowed as he looked from the plate to you, then back to Hongjoong. Even Jongho, who had been trying to eat quietly, had stopped.

“No one eats until she does,” Wooyoung muttered suddenly, pushing his own plate away with a sharp scrape. He didn’t even look at Hongjoong. His focus was entirely on you, his eyes softening slightly. “I love you and all, Hongjoong, but we’re not playing these games. If you’re jealous, just say so.”

“Then none of you are eating,” Hongjoong snarled. The sudden sound of a chair scraping violently against the floor shattered the moment. Everyone flinched, heads turning just in time to see Hongjoong push himself up from his seat with a grace so sharp it cut through the hum of the room. “Get up,” he said, his jaw locked, his fists white-knuckled.

Your head whipped toward him in disbelief. “W-What?”

His eyes, narrowed and glinting with something unreadable, didn’t budge. “I said, get up.” His tone was low and lethal; it didn’t leave room for any arguments.

He didn’t wait for your response, not until he just grabbed you by the arm all of a sudden, dragging you away from the crowd and straight to the living room staircase. “What are you—?”

“You,” he spat, voice low and accusing. “What spell did you cast on them? How did you get everyone to turn against me?”

You blinked, stunned by the sudden accusation, but you couldn’t say anything as Hongjoong’s eyes darkened further, shadows flickering in their depths as his voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “Jongho. Take her to her room. No more scenes.”

Hongjoong’s gaze lingered on you for a heartbeat longer, a mix of frustration and something unreadable in his expression before walking away. It was like Hongjoong ripped your heart out directly from your chest and took it with him, leaving your insides hollow in its wake. 

“I apologize on his behalf. Hongjoong’s not good at expressing how he truly feels. You’re not missing much on the food, if it matters,” he assuaged in an attempt to make you feel better as he led you upstairs. “The steak was tough, the dressing was bland, and the avocados were mushy as hell. Our chef was sick, so we had to hire another one. Their last day, it seems.”

You swivelled your head slowly to look at Jongho. “W-What did you say was in the dressing?”

“Huh? Avocados? Yeah, it’s like someone stepped on them and plopped them on the plate. Bleh.”

Your heart rate began to pick up abnormally. You were deadly allergic to avocados. “Really?” Your voice cracked slightly, the information settling in your head like a broken record. 

“Really,” he confirmed with a soft smile that emphasized how young he actually was.

Avocado allergies were rare. Even when you were younger, it was easy to avoid them, and even your uncle didn’t know you had an allergy. Not that he gave you avocados, he was cheap on you like that. 

But besides that, you definitely screwed up last night. From what you’ve observed, not only was Hongjoong’s fuse short already, but his anger was difficult to dissipate as well. You needed to figure out a way to appease him, you didn’t want him calling off the engagement.

“You want to make Hongjoong’s dinner every night, you said?” San’s brows were both raised up to his hairline. “Are you sure, Y/N? Hongjoong’s quite the picky eater.”

You ignored the voice in your head that bristled at the thought of a man in his mid-forties still picky with his food. “It might not seem like it, but I’m a capable cook, I swear,” you joked. “I’ve had a lot of practice living with my uncle.”

San’s eyes softened significantly, but in the end, he relented. “I’ll instruct the staff to vacate the kitchen come nighttime,” he sighed. 

True to his words, the kitchen was all yours by 6 o’clock at night. You didn’t even have time to marvel around the luxurious setup, you had no time to waste. Not when you had to prove yourself useful. When push comes to shove, maybe you could be his chef instead of his wife rather than your uncle’s niece again.

You didn’t make anything fancy, just a simple soup to gauge what Hongjoong might like or might not. You even tried your best to make the vegetables in it barely visible, that’s how much effort you put in it.

You were about to bring the soup up to his office when by sheer coincidence, Hongjoong, himself, showed up to the kitchen, and judging by his slightly raised brow at you holding the bowl with an apron still on you, he wasn’t expecting to see anyone in the kitchen, let alone you of all people.

“H-Hi,” you stammered, avoiding out contact, awkwardly. “I, uh, I made you something.”

He doesn’t say anything at first, just blinking repeatedly, before sighing. “Don’t stay up late next time,” was all he said before he moved past you to walk out of the kitchen as if he didn’t want to be there in the first place.

Hongjoong disappeared into his study, the sound of the door clicking shut behind him like punctuation to the silence he left behind. You let out a shaky breath, the sting of his blatant rejection making your legs shake as you sat on the dining chair. Maybe tomorrow.

But he still didn’t eat. You did it again the next day anyway, even when the results were the same. You weren’t a master chef by any means, but one thing you were proud of was that you put genuine care on all of the things your hands create.

You patiently waited for Hongjoong, ready to try and spend time with him at dinner even though the both of you never got along since he disliked you. The thought of being face to face made your heartbeat go wilder than the prospect of him accepting your efforts.

By the fifth night after another failed attempt, you asked around to figure out what Hongjoong’s favourite foods were. You tried to ignore the pitying looks San sent you while Seonghwa quietly cleaned another plate of ignored efforts, taking everything with a smile on your face even though on the inside, you felt like crying.

You clutched another plate a little tighter again the next day, heat bleeding through porcelain and into your palms. You wondered if he even knew or if he smelled the spices in the air, wondered if he saw your sleeping form on the couch when you were too tired to wait for him.

Maybe you didn’t need him to eat it, maybe you just needed him to pause - to look at you like you were more than the terms of a deal neither of you asked for. But instead, all he gave you was a sigh and his absence. And there you were - offering warmth with shaking hands to a man who’d rather freeze.

Hope began to dwindle when you didn’t even see Hongjoong’s shadow anymore by the seventh night. You started plating smaller portions out of  humiliation and by the ninth, you didn’t bother waiting for Hongjoong anymore, just quietly making the food and leaving it in the kitchen, not even bothering to check if it was eaten or if Seonghwa had thrown it away.

You decided to stop after another week. You were tired of waking up in the room to Seonghwa’s shaking head when you looked at him expectantly. However, you wanted to make dinner for the last time not just for Hongjoong anymore, but for everyone who’s been nothing but accommodating to you.

You just needed a couple of ingredients to make what you needed, and for that, you wanted to pick them out yourself. That was how you found yourself directly in front of Hongjoong’s office where you knew he always was, steeling your nerves to knock and ask if there was a car that you could use to drive yourself to the market.

You were about to knock when you stopped yourself. There was a heated conversation going inside the office and by the sound of it, it was Hongjoong and Seonghwa. You could hardly hear what they were talking about.

“....can’t keep doing this….giving her the cold shoulder, Joong…she’ll find out….what are you going to do then?”

“Give me time…..so close to caging in Yoo Jaehwan, that bastard…no one can know….make sure he’ll pay….Yeosang.”

Your entire body locked, coldness spreading all over your chest at the mention of your uncle’s name. Those were Hongjoong and Seonghwa’s voices, you were positive, but what were they talking about?

“....won’t be safe forever, you know that. San….intel on the hit and run….was damn impossible to….think Jaehwan knows?”

“There’s no denying it…..will be safer here....never forgive myself if something happens….my everything—who’s there?”

You cursed internally when you accidentally misplaced your foot, causing your body to bump onto the door. You were about to turn and run away, to pretend that you were never here in the first place, but it was too late. The door swung open, revealing Hongjoong’s stern figure, eyes sharp and searching. His gaze landed on you in mild surprise, his chest rising slightly from how fast he'd moved.

“Y/N?“ You saw his hand squeeze the doorknob ever so slightly. Still, you can’t help the shiver that passed through you. That was the first time he’d ever said your name. “How long have you been standing there?”

His voice was low, but it wasn’t calm. “What did I tell you about sneaking around like a damn rat?”

“I-I just got here, I swear,” you swallowed, hard. He stared at you, deadpan. In no timeline or galaxy did he believe you. “I want to go out. I-I know there’s a market near here and—”

“Absolutely not,” he rejected, his voice rising up in pitch ever so slightly in disbelief. “You’re not going out.”

The denial was harsh and brutal - hell, he didn’t even let you finish your sentence - but this was also the first time you saw any other emotion on him other than anger, annoyance, and intimidation. “I really want to go—” you tried again.

“And I said no,” he repeated, his voice a little harsher this time.

You were taken aback. It wasn’t just the denial that struck you, it was the sheer urgency in his tone. It was the look in his eyes that if you stared hard enough, you could’ve found uneasiness and dread swimming in them.

“But I haven’t been out ever since I came here,” you blurted out in equal disbelief. He was the most arrogant and controlling one you’ve ever met and that was saying a lot. “I want to buy some produce—”

“Order it online, I don’t give a damn,” he snapped. He was about to close the door on you, but you put your foot to block it. “What the hell are you—”

“Please, Hongjoong,” you begged. It was a massive hit on your own ego and pride, but you were going to lose your mind if you don’t find fresh air soon. “I-I won’t even stay long, I’ll keep my phone on me.”

He stilled, his gaze faltered. You saw his throat tighten as he looked towards the floor. “Hongjoong,” he repeated under his breath, so soft you almost missed it. 

Your breath hitched. He said it so softly that you almost missed it. Except you didn’t. You weren’t even sure if you were meant to hear it. Seonghwa, who forgot was also in the room, cleared his throat, thus breaking that unspoken tension you found with Hongjoong. “I could take her—” he started gently, but Hongjoong cut him off with a look, his neck snapping up so fast that it scared you a little.

Hongjoong’s eyes hardened again, and this time, they were the darkest you had ever seen. “I don’t keep you to tolerate her, Seonghwa,” he barked before turning to you one last time. “You’re not going out. That’s final.”

His gaze lingered a moment longer on you, eyes glinting with something between rage and warning, before he completely shut the door on you. He didn’t slam it, but it still knocked the wind out of your lungs as the finality of his denial settles in on you.

Something shifted in you at the moment. At first, you had mistaken it for fatigue. The stress of constantly trying to walk on eggshells with Hongjoong just so you wouldn’t say the wrong things in case he decided to call off the marriage, the late nights staying up making him dinner he didn’t even want, they were starting to get to you.

It didn’t happen all at once, but now the weight in your chest didn’t feel like fear anymore, it felt like fury - no, you knew it was. The final push was so mundane it almost felt insulting. You could feel your anger simmering and it was only a matter of time until it boiled over.

You were tempted to bang on the door like a madwoman, but you chose to walk away to the one place you knew would give you comfort - the garden. But even the flowers weren’t enough to make you feel better. If anything, they emphasized how infinitely colourless your world was.

You clenched your jaw, jaw tight as you sat down on one of the benches, arms crossed, trying to remind yourself that you were still here. You were still standing and still breathing. You weren’t going to fall apart over someone like him.

“Your energy is so strong that I wouldn’t be surprised if the flowers started to wilt.”

You rolled your eyes, not really in the mood to talk to anybody, but when Jongho sat beside you, you couldn’t help but relax a bit. You’ve always loved company regardless of how you felt. You’ve been alone all your life, so it was always nice to have someone. “How did you know I was here anyway?” You murmured with a small pout.

Jongho chuckled, absentmindedly fiddling with a lone petal. “I’m not your bodyguard for nothing. I’m always watching.”

“That’s totally not creepy at all,” you chuckled a little, shaking your head.

He laughed, shifting his weight before letting out a slow breath. “He’s not mad at you, you know.”

You snorted, giving him an incredulous look, but Jongho just smiled. “I’m serious. Don’t take it personally,” he said softly. “He’s just scared. That’s all.”

You didn’t care what Hongjoong’s intentions were, but in reality, you were starving for anything that made you feel less like a ghost haunting someone else's palace. Yet your mind wandered, uninvited and unwelcome, back to that moment at the door when you’d said his name. But it wasn’t your own desperation that haunted you - it was his reaction. How his gaze had faltered and how he’d gone utterly still. 

If there was something to behold about your personality, it was that you were nothing but persistent, after all. It was the reason why you’ve come so far in your miserable life. So you tried again after a couple of days to ask Hongjoong again if you could go out.

Whatever conversation you overheard him and Seonghwa must have set him off that day so you figured you’d let his anger simmer and try to catch him in a good mood. Yesterday, you even saw him in the living room, casually reading the newspaper - you almost smiled at that because it inadvertently showed his age - while chatting casually with Mingi.

Now that you knew the real nature of their relationship, you could clearly see how much Mingi resembled Hongjoong, who honestly didn’t look a day over forty if it wasn’t for reading glasses resting low on his nose. God, you thought, that detail alone betrayed his age more than anything.

So you gathered your courage and waited when you knew he was going to be alone in his office in the afternoon. You took a deep breath, rapped your knuckles on the door before opening it slightly enough to poke your head in.

But he wasn’t here. That surprised you more than anything, mainly because it wasn’t much of a secret how much of a workaholic Hongjoong was. Even if you didn’t hear Wooyoung complain about it a lot, it wasn’t like you couldn’t see it.

Against your better judgment, you entered the room, opting to just wait in his room for his return, but not closing the door to signal that someone was here. Last thing you wanted was for Hongjoong to think you were intruding. You were hanging on your last thread with him as is. His office screamed of him all over.

Admittedly, you balked at the slight mess on his table as you walked towards the leather couches to sit down, but before you could do so, something inadvertently catches your eye amongst the mess that was his desk.

Half-tucked under a stack of manila folders and faded blueprints, barely sticking out like it had slipped by accident, was a photo. You reached for it on instinct - then froze. It was you.

Specifically, it was your graduation photo. You were smiling, though you could tell that it didn’t reach your eyes.. The photo was frayed along the edges and the corners were soft from wear. There was a faint crease running down the middle, as if it had been folded and unfolded a hundred times over. Your heart thudded, your hands shaking immensely. You shouldn’t have looked.

“You have thirty seconds to explain what you’re doing in my office before I lose all civility.”

The way your entire body trembled with uncouth shock was something to be seen. Hongjoong stood there, his sharp eyes trained on the photo you were holding in your hand, his jaw tightening. “Time is ticking, Y/N. You’re twenty-seconds away from having a very, very bad day.”

You put the photo haphazardly back on his desk. “I wanted to ask again if I could, perhaps, go out—”

You were stunned into absolute silence when he banged his fist on the door once but with enough force to shake the whole world around the both of you. “Are you deaf?” His tone sliced the air in half like a blade. “Or just unbelievably stupid? Didn’t I tell you that you cannot go out? How many times do I have to tell you?”

You stood frozen, the heat of his fury scorching your skin, but he wasn’t done. “You’re either acting like an imbecile, or you really are one. And I’m supposed to marry you? I’m already doing your uncle a favour by not shooting him between the eyes, but my God, this is pushing it. ”

His words gutted you. You were used to your uncle calling you all the insults in the book, but this was something else, Hongjoong was basically judging your entire personality from the skin side out, and that hurt more than anything else because he doesn’t even know you.

But you were only human, and even animals bite back when wounded. “You’re no different than my uncle,” you slipped out, unshed tears lining the corners of your eyes. “You’re hiding something from me. Why are you locking me in?”

He scoffed, eyes glinting with something that felt like contempt. “Please. Don’t insult me like that. He sent you to me like a lamb to a slaughterhouse. You just haven’t thanked me for the knife yet.”

You didn’t even know what expression your face was making, only that your cheeks felt hot and your throat burned like you’d swallowed fire. “I hate you,” your lips wobbled, looking at him with indignance in your eyes. “I hate you.”

He laughed bitterly, without humor, without restraint. “Yeah?” His voice was sharp, venomous. “Well, you’re about to hate me more.”

Then he turned, grabbed an envelope from the desk, and threw it at you. Money spilled out like a slap, some bills fluttering to the floor at your feet. “There, this is what you wanted, is it not? Now you can pretend you’re not living inside a cage.”

To say you were appalled would be an understatement. Your heart curled into itself, shriveling behind your ribs. Before you could fully break down, you ran out without another word, not bothering to look at him or the money littered across the room as you ran until your legs gave out in a random corridor of the mansion.

You didn’t bother minimizing your loudness, your hands trembling against the marble as you choked back a sob, quiet and broken. You haven’t cried in a long time, mainly because you refused to for someone like him, but this wasn’t just for Hongjoong. They were for everything; for the girl you used to be, the child who lost her parents, for the woman you were failing to become, and for the bride you never wanted to be.

The rubber band holding yourself together snaps, so you ran down the corridors, through the driveway, past the gigantic gates, anywhere but there. You didn’t know where you were going, but you needed to breathe somewhere he wasn’t.

 It wasn’t until your shoes hit an unfamiliar pavement that you realized that you were far away from the estate. In fact, you were in a small park with a playground. The sight was haunting, the play place devoid of the telltale laughter of children. It was perfect.

The adrenaline that kept you going had long worn off, but you didn’t care as you walked warily towards the swings and sat on it. Your fists clenched around the swing’s cold chains as more tears fell freely now. You didn't bother wiping them away. Why were you here anyway? To get away from a man who doesn’t want you even when you knew the invisible chains that tied you two together would shorten again?

Pathetic.

You had fantasized about the idea of finding freedom in a marriage that saved your life. You had hoped that maybe Hongjoong would grow on you, and him on you, but those fantasies had shriveled and rotted the moment Kim Hongjoong opened his mouth. And so, you let yourself swing, forward and back, forward and back, as if maybe, just maybe, you could go far enough to leave the hurt behind.

You were there for a while, you didn’t move when the sun started to set. You didn’t move when thunder clapped on the sky above. You didn’t move when the first set of raindrops fell onto your skin, sticking to your clothes like a fever that you can’t sweat out. You didn’t care.

You would’ve stayed there forever, let the ocean take you, but someone else had plans for you that day. At first, you couldn’t hear it above the rain and the thunder, but the unmistakable sound of footsteps hitting puddles was impossible to ignore.

You closed your eyes, willing your mind to focus, but when you opened them again, you froze. Hongjoong stood from afar, drenched to the bone, his head whipping around like a madman. His chest rose and fell with labored breaths, but when his eyes met yours, his shoulders hunched like the entire world had just been lifted off his back and thrown back on again. You closed your eyes again, praying that he’d go away if you pretended to not see him, but just like you, Hongjoong was nothing but persistent, after all.

“Open your eyes and look at me,” he demanded, his voice losing its sharp edge, making way for an emotion you weren’t sure you were ready to hear from him. 

By God, he looked devastating. His breath ragged, chest rising up and down, jaw clenched so tightly you thought it might snap. His usual posh and classy look was missing as water dripped from his hair into his dark, unreadable eyes. And he looked absolutely furious.

“Go away,” you said, voice thin and cold, wrenching yourself from his grip. “Leave me alone.”

You stood up, but your legs wobbled, and he caught your arm before you could fall. His grip was tight, almost bruising. Your heart almost thudded out of your ribs when he pulled you close, both of his hands holding your shoulders now.

“Stop it,” he barked, but his voice was hoarse. He shook his head, closing his eyes before opening them again with a shaky sigh. “Why are you such a fucking pain in my ass? I’m too old for this shit.”

He sighed sharply, his hand hastily pushing his wet hair away from his face in frustration. His other hand lingered at your arm, warm despite the storm, as he stepped in closer, lowering his voice. “I will bring the market to you next time, alright?”

The wind howled around you, but you didn’t even notice. His fingers twitched like they were about to reach for you, but you turned your face away just about when he stopped inches away from your skin before he fisted his hand, his gritting teeth audible in the rain.

“I’ll take you back,” he said, voice sharp again. “Before you get yourself sick and make my life even more difficult than it already is.”

His hand clasped yours tightly as he pulled you along with him through the rain. His hand didn’t leave yours until you reached the car, and maybe he felt bad for you, but when he grabbed your hand again when he started driving, it wasn’t out of pity.

If anything, he held tighter. His hand found yours on your lap, his thumb softly caressing the still damp skin of your upturned hand, not letting go even when he had to swerve and turn. He said nothing. He stared ahead through the rain-blurred windshield, jaw clenched tight, knuckles white on the steering wheel, but he never let go.

And you didn’t pull away either. Because even though your chest hurt from his words, the warmth of his palm over yours was the first thing all day that didn’t feel cruel. It seemed to lull you into a short slumber even.

The soft brake of the car was what brought you back to sentience. You watched Hongjoong press some sort of button on his car before radio static comes to life from it. “Third wing master bedroom. I’m going for a ride,” he said gruffly before he let go and pressed the bridge of his nose.

The chill of the storm probably disoriented you and you didn’t understand, but when your door opened to be face to face with the gentle Seonghwa, you were a bit surprised to find that you were parked directly in front of the mansion front door.

“Come on,” he said quietly, holding onto your shoulders and not caring if you were wet, like he knew what you had already gone through. “Let’s get you warm.”

He guided and helped you get out but you yanked to a stop when you realized that something was stopping you - Hongjoong’s hand still entwined with yours. You turned your head toward him. Hongjoong hadn’t moved, his eyes locked with yours, burning but hollowed out. And for a heartbeat, everything was still. The world, the storm, the ache in your chest.

But he let go, shutting the door softly before driving off to the night to God-knows-where. You wouldn’t know, Seonghwa was already guiding you inside the mansion by your shoulders. His hands were gentle, his movements even more patient.

His eyes dropped into sympathetic comfort, his hand slightly squeezing your shoulders. He gently walked the both of you into the living room where the fireplace was already hot and going. 

San was already there waiting for you, eyes wide with panic along with Jongho who handed him a thick blanket. “Wrap up, yeah? Don’t want you getting sick now,” he said, quickly bundling you to warm you up. “You ran out during that storm? What the hell were you thinking?”

“Give her space, San,” Seonghwa said, but the relief in his voice was palpable. He handed you a mug of something warm, ginger tea, you guessed, and crouched down beside you, eyes soft. “We were all looking. You scared us.”

Suddenly, Jongho dropped to his knees, bowing his head low, much to your surprise. “I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “I should have kept an eye, I didn’t guard you enough.”

“W-What? No,” you frowned, hesitantly patting his head. “It’s not your fault. You’re not my keeper–“

Before you could even answer, Wooyoung appeared behind him, surprisingly less loud but just as concerned. “Yeah, you tell him that,” he scoffed softly, arms crossed to his chest, shaking his head slightly. “Hongjoong almost killed him in sheer anger. Seriously, why did you do that?”

It was the most serious you’ve ever seen the man, but of course, he was still as dramatic as ever. His eyes darted from you to the others before dramatically flopping onto the arm of the couch. “I’ve never seen him like that before,” he chortled. “Like, ever. Hell, he doesn’t even react that bad when me and my brothers get shot or something.”

“It can’t be that bad,” you murmured, fiddling with the blanket. “I wasn’t even gone for long. I was going to come back.”

That was when all three of them looked at you like you’d grown a second head. “Not long?” Jongho echoed, his brows shooting up in disbelief. “You’ve been gone for hours, Y/N.”

“Hongjoong practically tore the city apart,” San shook his head. “You were gone for over five hours. Five. That’s not just a walk in the park, that’s a goddamn vanishing act. I swear he was about to murder us if he couldn’t find you.”

You blinked, confused. “He was…looking for me?”

“Obviously,” Wooyoung rolled his eyes, clicking his tongue. “I’ve never seen him lose control like that before. But seriously, please don’t do that again. I’m not ready for Mingi to inherit the business in case Dad gets an aneurysm.”

You looked down at your lap, shame filling your lungs along with the thudding of your heartbeat. “I didn’t mean to scare anyone.”

“But you did,” Wooyoung muttered, but his tone wasn’t offensive. “But I get it. I do apologise on his behalf, though. He shouldn’t have thrown money at you. That was unnecessarily cruel, even for him.”

Seonghwa gave your shoulder a squeeze. “You’re safe now and that’s all that matters. Hongjoong should be back shortly,” he helps you up once more. “Come along. You should wash up so you don’t get sick.”

You thanked everyone before you let Seonghwa guide you into a part of the mansion you’ve never been at, let alone the room he took you in before he bid you a goodnight with a promise to check on you the next day.

You sighed deeply, trudging your feet to the shower. Your heart swells the moment you opened that door, it smelled of Hongjoong. It was hard not to remember the way his fingers had clung to yours, how they didn’t tremble until after he’d let go, the entire time you washed up and got ready for bed.

When morning came, your eyes fluttered open when the first ray of sunshine hit your face, but you didn’t want to get up - the sheets smelled faintly of sandalwood and something distinctly him, and that the pillow cradled your head felt like a welcome comfort.

For a second, you had, perhaps, thought that everything was a dream, but when you rubbed your eyes and made a move to get up, you were completely startled awake to see the last person you ever thought you’d see the moment you’d opened your eyes.

Hongjoong was fully dressed in a crisp black turtleneck and slacks, hair slightly tousled, as he typed something furiously into his laptop. He didn’t look up when you stirred, but you noticed the subtle clench of his jaw.

“I trust you slept well?” Hongjoong asked, lowering his glasses to stare straight at you.

You willed for your heartbeat to stop thumping so much for fear of him hearing it. You stared straight back at him, noticing the faint shadow under his eyes. “I suppose so,” you said. “You didn’t, though.”

“I’ll say,” he shut his laptop off, reaching for a folder beside it, before leaning on the couch, crossing his arms, his sharp eyes trained on you. “You did sleep on my bed, after all.”

You blinked, the words not sinking in your morning-addled brain yet, but when it did, your mouth dropped open in surprise. “I-I’m so sorry,” you blurted out, heat pooling in your lower belly at the information. No wonder the entire room smelled like him. “I didn’t sleep here on purpose—”

“I know,” he sighed. “I asked Seonghwa to bring you here. Lest you already forgot.”

He took his glasses off, rubbed the bridge of his nose like the weight of the world had been sitting there. “Next time, don’t run off in a storm just to prove a point.”

“That wasn’t what I was doing,” you frowned.

He looked at you then, brief and unreadable. “Then what were you doing?”

“Trying to breathe,” you croaked, your voice dropping down to a whisper that you wouldn’t be surprised if he hadn’t heard it. “Plus, you looked all night for me.”

He didn’t say anything at first. But the shift in his expression, the subtlety of it, was louder than words. “Freshen up and eat breakfast,” he muttered, tapping the folder in his hand twice. “I have a couple of questions for you.”

You weren’t in the mood to argue with him, certainly not after his obvious attempt in shutting down the conversation completely. Unsurprisingly, your body still ached from last night. You opted for a quick brush of your teeth, tying your hair presentably. 

The scent of you had me dizzy. I have to get out of here.

You didn’t bother changing out of the pyjamas Seonghwa had provided for you since you didn’t have clothes here. It would give you an out, and you weren’t ready to face Hongjoong out of shame. That’s exactly what you did. You were about to slip out, when he cleared his throat.

“Where are you going?” Hongjoong stared at you, brows raised.

You gulped, feeling like you were caught doing something you shouldn’t. “Uhm. I’d hate to bother you further. Didn’t you tell me to have breakfast?”

“I did,” he confirmed, gesturing towards a particular direction of the room. “With me.”

Your brain almost shut off with the information. With him? He rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he stood up and opened the balcony door. Your heart practically leapt out of your chest, you were positive that the breakfast set up there wasn’t present when you woke up. Had he instructed someone to set it up while you were in the bathroom?

This was the first time you were ever going to eat with Hongjoong. Not beside him, not five feet across the room like some barely tolerated shadow. With him. And worse, he was making you so nervous that you felt like you’d forgotten how to walk properly as you followed him out, sitting across him awkwardly, not knowing how to place your stiff limbs properly.

You didn’t even register how your hands trembled until you reached for your fork and nearly knocked it off the table. You were just about to dig in, not knowing what else to do, when he stopped you. “Wait,” Hongjoong halted you brusquely.

“W-What?” You froze, hand still mid-air, wondering if you did something wrong.

Instead of replying, Hongjoong reached over your plate and began digging into your food with his chopsticks. You narrowed your eyes in slight annoyance, ready to mouth at him for possibly controlling what you ate and picking at your food without asking, but your heart dropped to your feet by the time he was lifting his chopsticks back up again.

He picked out a couple of raisins from your plate, setting them on his plate one by one as if this wasn’t the first time he’s done this. You stared, blinking rapidly to stop the sting behind your eyes. “I hate raisins,” you suspiciously pointed out.

He pauses, glances at you once through his lashes, before eating like you didn’t say anything. And suddenly, your chest ached with the weight of all the things he wouldn’t tell you. Before you could open that can of worms, he was already flipping open a folder he had brought to the table, effectively cutting off the topic with the sharp precision he was known for.

“I need you to look at a couple of faces for me,” he said, back in business as usual with his clipped utterrance. He slides the files towards you in one, smooth motion. “It’s imperative that you tell me immediately if you see a familiar looking face.”

You were confused, but you took the folder with ease, flipping through pages and pages of different photos of both men and women alike. Hongjoong staring dead into your soul was distracting, but you were sure you'd never seen these people before. You were going to tell him as such, until you stumbled upon the very last photo.

“Him,” you drawled out, surprised at both the face and yourself for pointing it out. “I’ve seen him before…”

The moment you showed him the photo, the tension in his shoulders snapped into visible rigidity. “Where?” he demanded, his voice sharp and urgent. “Where did you see him?”

Truth be told, you would have forgotten about the man if it wasn’t for this. “I passed through him before I reached the park,” you frowned. “I remember him because he had this weird lip piercing.”

Hongjoong cursed under his breath, making the dread in your chest spread like a disease, before he hastily snatched the folder from your hands, his hands fisting the edge of the folder. “Finish your food, darling,” he said hurriedly, the darkness in his face making you nervous. “We’re going for a little trip downstairs after.”

“I-I don’t understand,” you frowned, doing as he says and stuffing your face with some bread. “You’ve been acting so damn weird lately, I’ve never seen this man in my entire life before yesterday.”

His head turned slightly, those unreadable eyes locking onto you again. “Rather,” he said slowly, voice dipping towards something ominous. “You’ve never paid enough attention.”

You stopped mid-chew to stare at him. This was the longest conversation you’ve had with Hongjoong and the foreboding feeling of potential sinisterness was the first thing he made you think about?

He held your gaze, his fingers curling gently around your chin. His voice dipped to a whisper, low and graveled, brushing across your skin like smoke. "Look closely," he murmured. “I want you to think about why you’re truly here.”

Your brows furrowed. “Because my uncle sold me to you—”

“Think, Y/N. Think,” his tone laced with a cutting sort of irritation. “I know that desiccated, dried-up brain of yours still works.”

You rolled your eyes, the backhanded insult slicing through the tension with a bitter familiarity, but it didn’t lessen the heat brewing behind your ribs. “I owe your uncle absolutely nothing,” he said, letting go of your chin with a scoff. “I could’ve killed him before you even set foot in this house.”

“Have you killed people?” You blurted out before you could stop yourself. He raised a brow like it was a question unworthy of a response. "A-Are you going to kill me?"

“Do you want me to?” Hongjoong countered, tilting his head.

Your blood began to thrum in your ears, anger bubbling up in your chest like acid. “I’m not that stupid, you know,” you whispered, your voice cracking with frustration. “I’m aware there are things I’ve no idea about, but I know what a lie tastes like when it’s shoved in my mouth.”

You looked back at the spread of photos he’d shown you. But something inside you stirred as your gaze landed on the photo again. It was faint, like a memory just out of reach and a sense of recognition that felt older than logic.

“Have you ever wondered,” Hongjoong said slowly. “Why I’ve been so adamant in keeping you here?”

You opened your mouth, but he held up a hand. “No,” he said. “Forget that. Ask yourself this, have you ever wondered why your uncle took you in back then?”

Your heart stopped, but he wasn’t finished. “Surely, he wasn’t the only family you had. Worst of all, of all the people he could have sold you to, it had to be me. I know you’ve done your research on who I am.”

Indeed, you did, and the Kim family was not to be messed around with. Your throat felt like it was closing. You wanted to speak, but your brain was too busy racing through every memory you had, trying to connect dots that refused to sit still. Was your uncle much, much worse than you gave him credit for?

Hongjoong leaned close just enough to make you squirm under the intensity of his focus. The movement was subtle, but it was calculated - a hunter testing the waters, seeing how far he could push without you breaking. “Predators don’t fear prey,” he said. “They fear another predator.”

A scream threatened to bubble from your chest just lying around the surface. His statement echoed in your head far, far worse than a broken record. It was the only thing you could think about the entire time you followed Hongjoong downstairs towards his office. You couldn’t even lament what happened here the last time, the money he threw at you already cleaned up as if they were never thrown at you like dirty rags in the first place.

You didn’t even notice that Mingi and Seonghwa were already in the office, seemingly waiting for the both of you to arrive and such, until Hongjoong started to talk to them again. “This,” he slammed the folder rather harshly on the table directly in front of Seonghwa, who just took it in stride and opened the file. “That snivelling bastard on the last page. I want him gone.”

“And you,” he turned back to you, eyes ablaze with newfound anger you didn’t even know was already there. You raised a defiant brow, why was he looking at you like this was your fault. “You’re not going out anymore, you hear me? Never let me repeat myself.”

You narrowed your eyes, the simmering tension in your bones finally boiling and tipping over into something far more dangerous than you’ve ever felt. Your jaw ached from how hard you were biting down on your tongue, and the polite mask you’d worn like second skin started to peel.

Your feet started to march towards the bane of your existence like a bull who found the red spot. You didn’t even care that Seonghwa’s mouth dropped slightly and he was subtly shaking his head, you still poked Hongjoong’s chest pointedly and boy, you were sure that hurt a little.

“You could at least tell me why,” you snapped, your voice low and trembling with rage. He narrowed his eyes in warning, but you were done caring. “Or is it because you can’t keep your dogs in line? Tightening my leash is the only way you won’t lose control over your goods? Maybe it’s not the outside world you’re afraid of, it’s that someone might realize your entire empire is built on fear.”

Silence. A sharp, immediate silence that sliced through the room like a guillotine. Mingi visibly stiffened, Seonghwa’s face paled, but Hongjoong? He started to laugh. At first it was soft, then it turned into a full-blown laughter so sarcastic, you wanted to cover your ears from the grating sound. “The wolves are at my door, waiting for my empire to fall. I won’t let you destroy it just because you refuse to fall in line, brat,” he sneered.

You laughed, not out of humour. It was cold, sharp, and laced with every ounce of your pent-up exhaustion and rage. “Frankly?” You said, meeting his glare with one of your own. “I don’t give a flying fuck. You want to talk about wolves? Look in the damn mirror, Hongjoong.”

You poked him twice more in his admittedly toned chest, and you did it hard, too, just so he could even an ounce of how heavy he’d made you feel. “I’m not some damsel you could fool around with just because I was thrust here. I won’t roll over just so you can stroke your ego.”

A slow, unreadable flicker crossed his face. His gaze sharpened, but his body relaxed, curious now, as he tilted his head, slowly. His expression didn’t change much, but you saw it, that glint of something deeper. Respect? Amusement? Recognition? “She bites,” Hongjoong murmured, his voice dropping to a note lower, smooth and quiet like a blade sliding from its sheath. He crossed his arms, a ghost of a smirk fleeting on his sinful lips. “Finally.”

He was still watching you, but it wasn’t the same stare anymore. It wasn’t the same power dynamic. You had shifted something, and he had noticed. “You’ve mistaken my compliance with submissiveness,” you replied, your voice steady, your pulse roaring in your ears. “I’m terribly sorry to tell you that you’re wrong.”

Hongjoong’s lips parted slightly, as if that, too, had surprised him. Or pleased him, you couldn’t tell, but when his smirked widened, you almost faltered. You gritted your teeth, cursing whichever God had molded him for making this demon so  devilishly handsome, it was maddening.

“That doesn’t negate the point, little darling,” he continued, still sharp as glass. “I built this kingdom with my soul, and I am the king of this goddamn empire. Whether you like it or not, you are in it. ”

“I’ll bow to your king when he shows himself,” you said, clipped and cut. It was a direct dig towards him, it was a deliberate show of disobedience, but you didn’t flinch. You kept your chin up, gaze level  as you started to walk away from him for the first time.

The adrenaline didn’t wear off even hours later as you paced around your room in heated anger. But God, that felt good. You’ve never directly expressed your grievances towards someone else like that and now that you’ve gotten a taste of it, you don’t think you could hold your mouth longer around the menace that was Kim Hongjoong. It might get you killed, but at this point, death might be the only salvation you’ll feel.

One was for sure - something had definitely changed ever since that nasty confrontation between the two of you. If before you’ve barely seen even his shadow, lately all you’ve been doing was butt heads with Hongjoong, and man, are you not happy about it.

“Was it you?” Hongjoong marched towards the living room one day with steam coming out of ears. “Did you set the thermostat at twenty-eight?”

“I did,” you sneered, not backing down. “Not everyone in this house has cold, dead blood like you.”

He scoffed in disbelief, pinching his nose bridge. “This isn’t a sauna, go outside where you belong if you’re so cold.”

You watched him stalk towards the thermostat, cranking the heat lower so roughly, you were a bit concerned it would break. Oh no you don’t, you dictating bastard. You got up from the couch, pushing him away to crank the thermostat back to low before giving him the stink eye.

“Fine,” he nodded stiffly, his glare so intense, it had you backing up slightly. “I’m locking it. Don’t expect me to lower it when summer hits.”

It was the littlest of things that set the both of you off, but if you were being completely frank, you more or less enjoyed his annoyed reaction. Serves him right for all the months he put you down.

“You finished all the cookies,” you glared at him heatedly one afternoon, pointing at the plate of half-eaten cookies that lay next to him on the coffee table as he read his newspaper. “I liked those cookies.”

He didn’t even look up from the newspaper. “That’s just too bad, isn’t it?”

You yanked the paper from his hands. “You don’t even like cookies! They were for me.”

“I bought them for the house,” he glared, snatching it back. 

“Yeah?” You snarled, snapping your eyes towards the coffee mug you knew he was very, very particular about before a smug grin fills your face.

He stared in disbelief, his eyes widening at what you were about to do. “You insolent brat, don’t you dare—”

But it was too late, you gulped all his coffee in one go. You tried so hard not to grimace at the bitter taste, or else your pride will tank, but the redness in his face from sheer anger made it oh so worth it.

Everyone had definitely noticed at that point. Even the stoic Mingi would give his own father a dirty look whenever he’d catch that both of you mouth off to one another like you were in a damn competition. Woooyung, of course, was nonetheless fascinated about the turn of events.

“You two act like an old married couple, I love it,” he cackled while he ate dinner with you as you glared at Hongjoong’s turned back when he instructed the chef to put more raisins in your plate just to spite you. “I’m slowly getting over how my stepmother will only be like a decade older than me if this is the entertainment I’ll get for the rest of my life.”

You scoffed, grabbing a piece of raisin with a deep frown. “It’s not my fault he’s a petty bastard,” you said, flicking the raisin towards Hongjoong’s ear with an accuracy you didn’t even know. 

Wooyoung laughed with you not-so discreetly while San paled ever so slightly at the scorching glare Hongjoong sent your way. “You are something special, Y/N,” he shook his head. “Boss would have had our heads a long, long time ago for something less.”

Unfortunately, you couldn’t fully finish your dinner. The taste of the raisins were so prevalent in the food even when you’ve removed all of them that the taste of it just permeated all over the dish.

You sneaked in the kitchen at two in the morning where you knew no one would be up just so you could ravage in the cupboard for some midnight snack, but you were so wrong. You squeaked, blinking at Hongjoong who was in the middle of drinking water and he blinked back at you.

“Couldn’t sleep from the guilt?” You asked, referring to you not eating dinner. And you knew that he knew, he was watching you the whole time smugly.

“No,” he muttered. “Just the sound of your attitude echoing through the halls.”

You snorted. “Wow. You’re real original for someone who thinks being emotionally constipated is a personality trait.”

He scoffed, shaking his head as he walked past you towards the exit. “Don’t hog all the snacks,” he brushed with your shoulder and it sent a zing of electricity through your spine. “Money isn’t as easy to come by, yes?”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re good at it,” you countered with a snarl. “If being a raging psycho and asshole was your living, no wonder you’re filthy rich. Let’s not even mention your head count.”

You blinked as he walked back toward you. He stopped in front of you, his hands coming to rest beside your waist on the counter, trapping you. “Would you like to know my head count?” He asked, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. “I’d love to add you to that roster.”

You tried to breathe, his face was so close, your noses nearly brushed. His eyes dropped to your lips for the briefest moment before snapping back up. “Because I’ve been real patient,” he muttered. “But I’m tired of your mouth lately.”

And as quickly as he’d closed in, he pulled away with a sharp inhale, the smirk curling wider as he turned on his heel. “Sleep tight, darling,” he tossed over his shoulder, voice laced with poison and something dangerously sweet.

And just like that, he was gone, leaving behind blush on your cheeks, the thundering of your heart, and the faint scent of him clinging to your skin.

Usually, your banters were harmless. Dare anyone say that even though Hongjoong got under your skin, you’ve never felt more alive than you did whenever you’d cross paths with him. You didn’t know what it was; maybe it was because that finally, he wasn’t avoiding you like the plague even though nothing nice came from that mouth of his.

But this time, you didn’t know what completely set the both of you off. You just wanted to have lunch like normal, and today was very different, too. Usually you’d eat with one or two people only as everyone’s schedules didn’t quite align, but this time, even Seonghwa and Wooyoung were at the dining table.

You were laughing at something that Jongho had mentioned when Hongjoong’s cutting voice rang around the table. “Can you shut your mouth?” He snapped, cluttering his utensils against his paperwork. “I’m trying to concentrate here.”

You rolled your eyes. Ever since he got off a phone call he got before everyone started eating, he’s been in a horrible mood. “Get off the damn table if you can’t handle basic human interaction,” you snapped back.

He stared you down, voice ice sharp. “You’re not clever. You’re a loud, useless distraction and an irritation everyone’s sick of pretending to tolerate.”

“Father, stop it,” Mingi, who sat at Hongjoong’s left, shot back, eyeing the older man with warning. He turned to you and you almost faltered. How is it that his son was more intimidating than him? “And you. You’re not helping.”

“No, let her,” Hongjoong scoffed. “No wonder your uncle gave you away. You’re nothing but a liability.”

Patience was a trait you had that you were proud of, but not today. You can barely contain yourself, because that was a low, even for him. I'm sick to death of swallowing every single thing I'm fed. You slammed your hands on the table, rising swiftly, your chair scraping loudly against the floor. Everyone’s eyes followed you, wide and stunned. “Oh, give me a break, you belligerent, deluded, pompous prick,” you barked. The room stilled. You hadn’t raised your voice, but the words hung in the air like glass about to shatter.

Even Hongjoong seemed to falter a bit before his eyes narrowed once more. “Have you lost your fucking mind?” He yelled so loud it echoed through the halls, making everyone flinch. “Watch your tone, you ill-mannered disgrace—”

You scoffed in disbelief. “That’s tough shit coming from you who’s done nothing but make me miserable here.”

“That sounds like a you problem, darling,” Hongjoong’s eyes ticked.

“Well, to that, I say you're a cunt—” you were about to say, but your voice caught in your throat, the fierce words dying on your lips as a wave of dizziness swept over you. You faltered, mid-step, your knees threatening to give out.

He scoffed, the sharp edge of his haughtiness cutting through the silence. “Giving up already?” Hongjoong sneered with a smirk that promised he didn’t believe you had the strength to stand your ground.

No, this was different than anything you’ve felt before. Your breathing became laboured, the suddenness of it threatening the bile in your stomach to rise from your throat. You grabbed the nearest thing you could hold on to, but your grip slipped. “Hold on,” San balked, grabbing your arm in mild concern before his face shifted. “Y/N, are you okay?”

No, I’m not, you wanted to say, looking straight at Hongjoong just as your steps wobbled and your vision blurred. It was when his expression cracked, panic flickered across his face, eyes widening with sudden concern, breath hitching as he reached out instinctively.

But before he could reach you, Jongho was there, his strong arms catching you just in time. “Y/N? Oh, God,” he tapped your cheeks hardly, but to no avail, your eyes were closing. “Stay awake, fuck—”

Hongjoong’s face, the devastated, unsettled look you weren’t ready to see, and the way he grabbed your body was the last thing you registered before darkness swallowed you whole, but not before you heard Seonghwa mutter one word that would have made you faint regardless.

“Poison.”

All you could feel was pain. It hurt to try to move your limbs, it was more reminiscent of bones grinding against each other sharply against sandpaper, it hurt to take the smallest gulp of breath, hell, it hurt to even blink. It was like that car accident after your graduation all over again. Why did death love chasing after you? And why didn’t you chase it back?

But this time was different. You weren’t in a hospital bed, there were no nurses around, and there was none of that sterile scent you hated so much. Rather, there was warmth - warmth so comforting, you couldn’t help but snuggle into it, burying your head in hopes for the ache to go away.

“Fuck’s sake, It’s been days, why hasn’t she woken up yet?”

Even you could feel your subconscious frown at what you heard. Days. And you didn’t even feel better about it. “Give her time, Joong. I mean, look at her, so frail—”

“Frail, my ass,” a rough, familiar voice snapped just as you felt your arms being squeezed so tight, it would have woken you up if you hadn’t already. “She’s my little fighter, poison isn’t going to break her. Have you not heard the way she talks back to me?”

A deep laughter resonated through the entire room. It wasn’t quite like Mingi’s - not that Hongjoong Jr. would ever act normal around you - no, but this was richer, familiar, even. If you could just open your eyes and see.

“I see she hasn’t changed. Good to know you’re getting your money’s worth, Dad. You should go eat something. Anyway, I need a complete rundown, Hwa. I didn’t fly here for nothing, and I need to go back soon. The longer I stay, the more danger we attract.”

The warmth you had disappeared followed by a door closing nearby. Silence envelops the room and the familiar sigh of Seonghwa fills it. “Well, like we said, it’s poison. Someone who isn’t supposed to be here is here.”

“But how? What are the odds? It could’ve been anyone at that dining table. You think it’s Yoo Jaehwan?”

“Who else? To do it not only in his house, but right in front of Hongjoong’s face…whoever did it is asking for death.”

“Should’ve seen your father’s face,” San clicked his tongue. “I swear something inside him died.”

“Well, fuck, maybe because she could’ve died?” The familiar, deeper voice counteracted with a sass that knocked in your memory. “Because that’s not just a wife he’s protecting, that’s someone he’d burn the world for.”

“Anyhow. We should come back later. I have to check on your father to see if he’s eating or I might have to get your older brother to tie him up or something.”

Half of that conversation went through your head. You weren’t a total idiot, you knew what most of it entailed, but all you could think about was the missing warmth that enveloped you. You forced yourself to come to, your weak arms supporting your upper body as you tried to sit up. It was hell as your eyelids fluttered open against a dull ache pounding in your skull, but you needed to move your stiff limbs before they started to throb from prolonged unuse.

Just then, the door opened. Silently, carefully, like doing so would trigger another bout of faintness in you and you were met with the surprised eyes of Hongjoong. He froze in the doorway like he’d walked in on something sacred.

For a moment, he just stood there, unmoving. Then, the tension in his shoulders released slightly, only to be replaced by something else entirely - pure, unadulterated relief. You didn’t have to touch him to know that he was the warmth that kept you stabilized the entire time you rested.

He started to walk toward you in slow, controlled steps. His glasses were gone, his hair a mess, and there was a tremble in the hand that rolled up the sleeves of his unusually wrinkled shirt like he’d been gripping it in fistfuls.

Most of all, his eyes were tired. He sat on the bed next to you, his eyes never leaving yours, and you thought that was it. You certainly weren’t prepared for the way he lightly gripped your shoulders to pull you into a hug, and just like that, the warmth you’ve been craving for had returned.

“Get off,” you rasped weakly, but your voice betrayed the fight you didn’t have in you. Still, your pride flared, because nothing stung more than collapsing in front of him.

He didn’t budge. “Don’t even try,” he said through clenched teeth, his arms tightening around you. “Stay still and let me have this even for a moment.”

It was in the way he gripped you too tightly, in the quiet desperation of that whispered please. You didn’t even realize he was trembling slightly. His arms weren’t caging you, rather, he was a man holding on to you as if he was sinking at the bottom of the ocean and you were the balance he needed to stay afloat.

Pride be damned. You wrapped your arms around him, silent tears falling from your eyes as you held onto him. This was all you wanted, what you didn’t have back then when you had nobody. The prospect of never waking up was settling into you and you didn’t have enough strength to keep holding it in together.

“I’m still angry at you,” you sniffled.

“Get angrier. The sooner you get your strength back, the sooner you can talk back again like the brat you are,” he shushed, the tremble in his hand now visible at the way he smoothed the damp strands away from your face along with your tears.

“As touching as this is, I believe we have more pressing matters at hand.”

You tried to pull away, but Hongjoong wasn’t letting you - though if you were being honest with yourself, you didn’t even really want to - so you opted to look over your shoulder at the source of the voice.

Hongjoong groaned when you pushed him away, your breath caught in your throat. Your eyes widened slowly, your hand flying up to cover your mouth in shock. “Y-Yeosang?” You whispered, like saying his name too loud might shatter the fragile reality in front of you.

The man in question stood from the plush armchair, casual in his posture but carrying an unmistakable grin, one you hadn’t seen in years. “The one and only,” Yeosang said with a lopsided smile, walking toward you. “How have you been, Miss Jeong?”

You stared at him in disbelief, the air knocked clean from your lungs. “I-I haven’t seen you since…” your voice faltered, because the rest of that sentence hung heavy in your throat.

Yeosang seemed to know what you meant without you saying it, because his expression softened as he gently pulled you into a hug. “Y-You’re the last person I expected to see here,” you mumbled against his shoulder, pulling back to get a proper look at him. “Wait, what are you doing here?”

The both of you turned around to look at Hongjoong when he cleared his throat. “You wretch,” he looked pointedly at Yeosang with a bitter scowl. “Aren’t you supposed to be down there with everyone?”

Yeosang scoffed, rolling his eyes so dramatically you were surprised they didn’t get stuck up his skull. “You were the one who called me and threatened to cut my allowance if I didn’t fly here soon,” he deadpanned as he pulled away from you to stand up. “Relax, she was my mentor. I’m allowed to say hello, Dad.”

Your eyes flew between the two men in shock. “Dad?” You blurted out. “How many kids do you have? Because holy sh—”

“Soon to be two if this one doesn’t shut his trap,” Hongjoong hissed. “I can still cut your allowance, Kang Yeosang. Don’t test me.”

“Oh, please. You need me,” he chuckled sarcastically, tapping on the stethoscope he had around his neck that you didn’t notice was there. You stared at him proudly, remembering the young Yeosang who always told you of his dreams to become a doctor one day back then.

“Anyway, you need to get out of here, Dad,” Yeosang said in urgency. “Mingi will take care of everything. It’s good training for the future, anyway. We need to purge your staff and I need to test every single surface of the manor to see if there’s more antifreeze contamination.” 

Goosebumps erupted on your skin. Antifreeze. It was how you found yourself saying goodbye to Yeosang, with the promise of catching up as soon as everything was safe, and then the others before you were dressing up to go with Hongjoong to his supposed safe house.

“I can walk, you know?” You frowned when Hongjoong walked beside you the whole time,  steadying you with a firm hold on your elbow. You hated how flustered it made you - how close he was, how natural it felt.

He glanced at you once, opting to ignore you as he opened the car door for you. But just before you could step in, he stilled. Hongjoong plucked a single sunflower and he tucked it carefully behind your ear. His eyes didn’t meet yours, but his touch lingered longer than necessary.

Your heart stuttered so sharply it almost hurt. It fluttered against your ribs, traitorous and soft, the way it always did when he did something gentle without meaning to. The warmth of his fingers near your cheek lingered longer than the sunflower itself.

He helped you into the backseat, settled beside you without hesitation, and closed the door. You thought he’d pull away once the engine started. You thought he’d sit back in his own thoughts like always.

But he didn’t. He pulled you close, gently but without question, and you leaned against his chest. His arm wrapped around you, fingers curling slightly against your side, grounding you. He held you the entire ride. And for the first time in days, the ache in your chest quieted.

“Where are we going?” You couldn’t help but ask, giving in to what your body currently needed and letting yourself lean onto his firm chest for once.

“Must you always ask irrelevant questions?” Hongjoong sighed.

You scoffed softly, thumping on his chest lightly. “How do I know you’re not leading me to my death?“

“Are you stupid?” Hongjoong snapped, his eyes widening slightly in irritation. You met them with an equal force of annoyance. He sighed exasperatedly, already sick of your antics. “One of my rest houses. It’s on the far end of the city, almost near the suburbs. You should sleep.”

“Would you still hold me when I wake up?” You croaked, not knowing what you were thinking when you blurted the words out.

His thumb, which had been idly brushing against your arm, stilled. You didn’t dare look up, didn’t even breathe, until you felt the slow, deliberate way his hand curled tighter around you. “Yes, darling,” he murmured, fixing the flower on your ear before fixing your hair.

It was infuriating, really, how a man who so easily sliced you open with his words could undo you completely with a simple touch. Your pulse betrayed you, and you didn’t dare look at him, afraid he might see just how deeply that one small act had shaken you.

You couldn’t sleep, not after that. Not while Hongjoong held you in his arms the entire time, his hand brushing your hair away from your face every fifteen minutes and he did so until the car stopped moving and he was helping you get down again.

“Easy, there,” he frowned when you took the wrong step and almost tripped.

“Don’t pretend you care now,” you raised a brow, even as your fingers curled instinctively into the fabric of his shirt.

“I don’t,” he said too quickly, too defensively. But he was still holding you like you were made of glass and you couldn’t help but fist the front of Hongjoong’s shirt. He didn’t push you away and neither did you pull away. 

Surprisingly, the rest house was of modest stature, situated in the middle of a small town. It was smart, blending in would be easy. It was simple and cozy, there was the typical small kitchen, a bathroom, and one bedroom with one bed. You stared. Hongjoong stared back.

“We’ll manage,” he said as he set the bags down, looking away and avoiding eye contact. “It’s easier to keep an eye on you this way.”

You opened your mouth to object, but your mouth wasn’t cooperating with your mouth today. “I-I'd love to sleep with you,” you blurted out without thinking.

Hongjoong froze mid-step, one brow raising with almost comical precision. It would’ve been endearing since you’ve never seen the usually poised man this caught-off guard before, but right now, you wanted to dig a hole, crawl in it, and never see the light of day again.

“I mean sleep as in literally sleep–I didn’t, I meant to say I don’t mind sleeping with you, uh, literally—oh my God,” you stammered, hands flying up to cover your face in pure panic.

“Why don’t you, uh, relax on the balcony while I do this?” Hongjoong said, and you didn’t miss the smirk on his face as he turned back to the bag he was unpacking.

You slept facing opposite sides that night. But somehow, the air between you was tighter than before. You lay stiffly on your back, eyes on the ceiling, acutely aware of every tiny shift in the sheets with each of his movements. “Can you stop fidgeting too much?” Hongjoong clicked his tongue. “I’m not going to eat you.”

You scoffed softly. “You don’t hear me complain about your awful breathing sounds.”

“You want me to stop breathing, then?”

“That’s literally not what I said,” you turned sharply toward him, only to find him already watching you. The two of you blinked at each other in silence. Eventually, you turned away again, cheeks burning, pulling the covers over your head.

You tried to find a comfortable position to sleep on, tossing and turning until your body felt right, but when the right angle had your leg up on Hongjoong’s by accident, he didn’t move, and neither did you.

And when you woke up the next day with your arm wrapped around his chest with his own arm cradling your head to his neck, you both didn’t say a word about it, but he didn’t move, and neither did you. “Hongjoong,” you rasped, half of your brain still dead from the world. “...Joong.”

“Hmm?” He hummed huskily from sleep, the vibrations of his chest traveling straight to your spine.

“I’m hungry,” you said. “Haven’t eaten since last night.”

You felt him turn his head, his lips touching your hairline directly, the warmth of it searing on your skin. “Five more minutes,” he replied hoarsely. “Can you do that for me?”

You nod groggily while he molded you closer to him, your cheek pressing just a little firmer to the warm space beneath his collarbone. “Good girl,” he whispered softly, low, and utterly wrecked by sleep.

Your body tensed like someone had just poured ice water down your head. Your eyes snapped open as you felt your throat tighten, not daring to move or breathe too loud. You just lay there, heart hammering wildly in your chest, trying to pretend like you hadn’t just short-circuited. “Are you drinking my coffee?” he snapped at you the next day, catching sight of your cup. “Again?”

Just like that, the both of you were back to bickering like normal.  “It’s not my fault you bought me that shitty sugar-free crap that tastes like nothing,” you said, sipping smugly. “Plus, your coffee tastes better.” He crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes in annoyance. “It’s black with three shots of espresso. You can’t handle that.” “I can handle you, can’t I? Nothing worse than that.” He scoffed loudly in disbelief, muttering about how the younger generation was disrespectful before he snatched the cup and handed you a water bottle instead. “Hydrate before you pass out on me.”

You frowned, fully irritated at your caffeine being stolen. “Hey, I wasn’t don—” “And you call that breakfast?” He looked pointedly at your sad-looking toast. “It’s no wonder why I mistake your brain for an ornament sometimes.” You didn’t even get a chance to shoot back at his arrogance before he rolled his eyes but took your plate, setting down a neatly packed bento box. “Eat something that’s actually worth eating. Fuck’s sake, do I really have to do everything around here?”

The both of you went on like that for days, and as maddening as Hongjoong was, you were somehow thankful for how normal everything felt, though now, the change between you and Hongjoong was starting to become evident.

“How long would it take for you to clean this entire house?” He asked one day out of the blue. He stared disapprovingly at the phone in your hand. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was riling you up just to get a reaction out of you.

Your eyes ticked, but you didn’t look up at him. “It depends on how many helpers you want me to hire.”

“Why would you hire cleaners?” Hongjoong frowned.

“You asked.”

He scoffed, clearly displeased at the response. “No, I asked you. If you’re going to live here, you might as well do something that lessens the burden you put on me.”

“I did,” you shot back, finally looking up, mildly offended at the insinuation. “I made you dinner every night, one that you refused to eat.”

“Who told you I didn’t?” He raised a brow. Your expression froze, but before you could say anything, he waved a hand. “Anyway, you still need to clean. If I’m paying for your shit, I need something in return.”

Your mind was still reeling at the things unsaid between the lines. “Why the hell would I be doing free labour for you?”

“Well—”

You cut him off, refusing to go down. “I just got poisoned, in case you forgot. I should be resting, for God’s sake.”

“And I took you here to recuperate,” he replied sarcastically. “What now, then?”

“What about the times I had to deal with your grumpy ass? I don’t see you paying for my mental state.” You retorted back, putting your phone away to stand up to him.

He paused, blinking repeatedly in thought. “I could get you a therapist.”

“Yes,” you smiled brightly, a little too brightly. “I could also hire helpers to clean this house.”

His ears and neck redden in sheer frustration, and from here, you could see his mind malfunction slowly. “Shut up,” he muttered, refusing to admit you one-upped him.

“Well, why don’t you shut me up, then?”

You stilled, realizing what you just insinuated. His lips quirked, smug and amused, like he’d won a round you didn’t realize you were playing as he shook his head.

The nighttimes weren’t any better either. It was like bickering was both of yours’ defense mechanisms. “Turn off the light,” you yawn from under the covers.

“You turn it off,” Hongjoong replies from his side, brows raised in defiance. “You got in bed last.”

You groan, swing your legs over dramatically, but just as you reach the switch, the light clicks off behind you. You turn and find Hongjoong smirking, holding a small remote control in his hand. “We’re supposed to be a team here,” you hissed. “There is no “I” in team.”

“No, but there is in idiot,” he grinned.

Your mouth dropped, charging at him to hit him over and over again with a pillow, and he didn’t even let out a single sound as he deflected your so-called attacks. You huffed, trying to push off him, but the sheets had other plans. And truth be told, so did some strange, traitorous part of you.

Eventually, you both gave up, tangled under the blankets, breaths evening out against shared warmth. Once again, neither of you moved. In the hush that followed, you felt his thumb barely brush against your arm where it rested across his chest. You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to.

And it would have stayed like that if it weren’t for the heavy weight that settled on your chest in the middle of the night. Literally. When you opened your eyes, an arm was pressing down your chest and you were met with Hongjoong’s glaring eyes.

“What—”, you were about to say when he covered your mouth hurriedly. He puts his finger to his lip to shush you and in your peripheral, you could see his arm slowly raising up a gun as he pointed at the door. Your eyes widen and your heart drops - someone was in the house.

Hongjoong didn’t say a word. He shifted, slow and precise, the mattress barely creaking as he slipped off it and tiptoed towards the door. You clutched the sheets to your chest, your breath lodged somewhere in your throat as the door clicked open. It was silent; too silent.

Bang. Bang. Pause. Bang. Bang.

Your ears rang. You flinched with each shot, your hands shaking as you sat in the dark, unable to move, unable to breathe. You shut your eyes, covering your eyes to will all the sounds to stay distant, the reality of who Hongjoong was dawning on you. It was just a couple of weeks ago when you asked him whether he had killed or not.

The door creaked open again, slower this time. You jumped, expecting the worst, but Hongjoong stepped in quietly, expression unreadable, but the blood spattered across his cheek told you more than words ever could. The gun was nowhere to be found.

He didn’t speak as he walked to the bed, just sat down at the edge and looked at you, eyes searching. You reached out, wiping the blood off gently. He closed his eyes at the touch, but it was enough. No words were exchanged, and there was nothing either of you could say that would ease the fear that settled in your gut.

So instead, he slipped under the covers again, pulled you into his chest, arms wound tightly around your body, trembling just a little. You closed your eyes, your hands digging onto his hand so hard, your fingertips might as well embed themselves on his skin.

“I wish my creator would tenderly wrap me in their own clothes to keep me sane and protected,” you murmured in the silence of the night. “God has abandoned us and my uncle was a cruel substitute.”

“Should we choose to remain here together, would you forget the world that’s waiting outside?” Hongjoong’s hand held yours just as tight. ”Would you let the world fall away, if only for a while?” The world has fallen the moment I set my eyes on you. You nodded, shivering when he tucked a finger under your chin, pulling your face closer to his to press the softest of kisses upon your lips as if the both of you had been holding your breath for years, and this, it was the first exhale. If only for a while. 

You woke to an emptiness you hadn’t expected. The bed was still warm where he’d lain, but without Hongjoong’s arms around you, you felt oddly cold. But that wasn’t what woke you up. It was the voices that came from the living room, one of which was Hongjoong’s, and you didn’t have to listen in to know that he was in a heated argument with someone.

You tiptoed out quietly, careful not to make a sound, peeking from behind the hallway wall. Hongjoong lounged on the couch like it was his throne, legs spread, an elbow draped over the armrest with a smirk that screamed arrogance, like danger wrapped in lazy elegance.

The man standing in front of him, however, was anything but calm. He was tall, broad-shouldered, about the same age as Hongjoong, and radiating heat like a bonfire about to explode. His fists were clenched at his sides, jaw tight with restraint.

“You’ve got some nerve,” the stranger ground out. “Keeping her hidden this whole time like some secret you planned to hoard. If my men didn’t hear the gunshots the other day, I wouldn’t have known, you sick fuck.”

Your breath hitched. They were talking about you. Hongjoong chuckled, crossing his legs exaggeratedly. “The only regret I have is that I didn’t bring suppressors. We would have been out of here before you knew it. ”

“You bastard,” the tall man gritted his teeth, stepping closer to Hongjoong. “This is my territory, you don’t get to waltz in here with my niece and pretend I wouldn’t kill you for it.”

Your ears rang at two words - territory and niece. This man was in the same business as Hongjoong was, and apparently you were this man’s niece. Slowly, you stepped out from behind the hallway wall, the silence in the room growing razor-sharp with each step.

Hongjoong’s back stiffened, but the other man’s posture tenses completely at the sight of you. “Y/N,” he whispered, as if disbelieving he was seeing you in the flesh. “It’s really you…”

You stared at the man closely. He looked familiar, it clawed at the edges of a memory you didn’t know you still had. It wasn’t the way he moved; it was the way his eyes mirrored someone else’s eyes that you thought you’d never see again after all these years - your father’s.

And then, it hits you. You remembered the way his huge hands held yours every time he offered to babysit when both of your parents worked. His younger, puppy-like features were slowly coming to life in your head. “Uncle Yunho,” you blurted, eyes wide.

Yunho’s head jerked up, like he hadn’t dared hope you'd remember. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “It’s me, kid.”

Your knees nearly buckled, threatening to fall under the weight of the missing family that you could have had instead of your other uncle. Hongjoong was immediately by your side, catching you in his arms and holding you close and sitting you down beside him. “You can’t just come barging in here like you did,” he hissed. “You’re in my house, I could kill you and no one would know.”

“I’m her blood, you blithering fool,” Yunho’s lips twisted into fury. “You’re the idiot that dragged her into this mess when she had a family - me.”

Hongjoong’s expression darkened. “You weren’t there---”

“And you think you were the better option?” Yunho growled. “You’re like, what? A good thirteen years or so older than her? You’re too damn old to be with her!”

That made Hongjoong stand, slow and deliberate, his stance loose but lethal. “And who the fuck are you to tell me that?  You weren’t there when shit hit the fan, don’t get too cocky now.”

“I would have been if you didn’t hide her from me,” Yunho scowled bitterly.

You barely registered your own shallow breathing, still stuck on the fact that your father’s older brother was there all along. All this time, you thought you were alone - that you had no one. Yunho’s eyes followed the sound, and when he saw you, all the anger on his face softened instantly.

He was about to walk towards you, but Hongjoong quickly raised a hand to stop him. “One more step and I swear I’ll end you right here,” he snarled. If you weren’t sitting beside him, you wouldn’t have noticed the way his eyes shifted into something a little more desperate.

Yunho scoffed, crossing his arms. “I wouldn’t act like this if I were you, Kim. You’ve had her in your manor all this time. By mafia standards, you should’ve married her within the first month. Why haven’t you? Did you want to keep her locked up like a secret no one else can touch? Or are you just dragging her through the mud?”

You flinched, the implication sinking in like stones in your gut. You immediately locked eyes with Hongjoong whose expression dropped, shaking his head ever so slightly as you stared at each other. That was right, why hasn’t Hongjoong married you yet? Come to think of it, the both of you haven’t even talked about anything marriage related - the date, the venue, the vows—hell, not even a promise.

Just tension, stolen touches, sleepless nights and a thousand unsaid things hanging heavy in the air. You swallowed thickly, trying not to let the sting of Yunho’s words show, but it was too late. Or worse, was he planning to secretly give you back to your uncle after all?

“Don’t listen to him,” he said tightly, crossing the room in three strides. His arm wrapped around you possessively, like shielding you from Yunho would shield you from the doubt unraveling in your chest. “She’s mine, Jeong. Get lost. It’s not like that, and you know it.”

Yunho’s lips pressed into a thin line. But he relented, lifting his hands in a gesture of peace. “Fine,” he muttered, then turned to you, his expression softening. “I’ll be back.”

You hesitated as you watched your uncle walk away, but something tugged at your heart. You pried yourself free from Hongjoong’s tight, possessive arms, despite his protests, to run as fast as you could to follow Yunho out.  The chill of the morning rain bit at your skin as you stepped into the yard. “Wait, please!”

Yunho turned to face you fully. The hardness melted from his face, and in its place was something unbearably gentle. He completely halted in his steps, letting the rain soak through as he watched your pitiful form catch up to him. “Y/N–”

“There’s something I don’t understand,” you murmured, voice unsure. “I-I needed you when I was alone, I had no one. But why now? Why didn’t you ever come for me?”

He sighed, taking his trench coat off to gingerly put it over your head as a deterrent for the pouring rain. “I did,” he said quietly. “Believe me, I did. I never stopped. Even if I didn’t find you here, I still wouldn’t have stopped.”

And that, that was what broke you. Tears filled your eyes, sadness and relief pouring over you in waves. “Are you…in the same business as Hongjoong?” You asked wearily. “Were my parents?”

He pursed his lips, patting your head. It made your tears flow faster. Yunho had your father’s face, albeit older and more rounded. “There are so many things you don’t know,” he said softly. “Things you would have if you would’ve been with me when your parent’s died. It’s better this way. I’m still enraged that that bastard hid you from me, but he’ll keep you safe.”

But what did you know at this point? It was what plagued your mind the entire walk inside the house after Yunho had left after promising to catch up on lost time. You clutched the wet, dripping coat that still carried Yunho’s familiar scent in your hands that wrapped around your senses, nostalgia hitting you full-force.

You didn’t look up at Hongjoong, the haze of all the memories - of what could have been - attacking your mind. “Why didn’t you tell me?” You began, voice cracking, looking up at him with emotionless eyes. “You knew and—”

“Would you have gone with him if you knew?” Hongjoong cut off, the familiar sharpness in his eyes pinning you from where you stood. 

“I don’t know that,” you replied sarcastically. “How could I give you something I had no idea about the entire time?”

“Oh, for the love of fucking God, Y/N. This, this is what pisses me off about you the most,” he snapped, stepping close, his gaze darkening. “Contrary to your belief, I’m not as callous as you deem me to be, and there are reasons for the things that I do around here—”

“And what about me?” Your hands balled at your sides. “What about the life I was robbed of? You don’t know what I’ve been through, you prick, the things that I had to endure. Yunho was right - you don’t want to marry me, in fact, you fucking hate me, don’t you? I didn’t even want any of this in the first place!” For the first time, Hongjoong’s expression fell, and you didn’t know what to feel about it. He was a beautiful man with a soul full of venom and a heart you weren’t convinced actually beat, but right now, his expression only told you one thing - I do, I do know what you’ve been through. His hand twitched at his side, and the muscle in his jaw jumped. “Don’t you dare say that.”

“Why not?” You seethed, shoving him backward with both hands. “Because it’s true, isn’t it? You had no plans in marrying me, but then again I was nothing but sold goods to you, I wouldn’t be surprised if you end up killing me in a ditch somewhere—”

Something snapped in him. He pushed you back until you stumbled against the wall. The air was electric. “Shut your mouth,” he seethed, but his voice was breaking, furious and wounded all at once. “You would have gone with Yunho, I don’t want you to go with him. You faltered, taken aback by how possessive he sounded. "I don’t need to see you walking away from me when we had just begun. You want to know why I didn’t tell you? I’ve already given up enough and I’m not giving you up again.”

Again? He just stood there, panting, one hand curled in a fist over his chest like the words had ripped something open in him. “You wouldn’t understand,” he snarled, shaking his head vehemently. “You never do.”

The silence afterward was deafening. You stared at him, chest heaving, tears hot and furious in your eyes, the confusion swirling in your head even more. It might be part of why your mouth moved on its own in either the best or worst decision of your life. “So make me,” you whispered in quiet desperation. “I’m so tired of being kept in the dark, I know you’re hiding things from me, make me understand—-”

He surged forward without warning, cupping your jaw as his mouth found yours like it had been searching, starving, waiting across lifetimes. The kiss was bruising, breath-stealing like he needed to taste the ache in your throat and the anger in your blood just to prove you were real. You gasped against him, and it was his undoing.

Your back hit the wall again, but it didn’t matter anymore. Not when his lips softened slightly, tracing the corner of your mouth like an apology. Not when his breath was hot and reverent against your cheek, your jaw, your throat. His forehead fell against yours, both of you breathless. “Tell me to stop,” he rasped, voice shaking as his thumb brushed your lip, swollen from his kiss. “Tell me now and I will.”

But your fingers were already curling into his shirt, pulling him close. “I can’t,” you whispered, voice wavering. “Don’t make me.”

And that was all it took. Your lips refused to part from his as he pulled you to the couch, there was no way the both of you were reaching the bedroom, your clothes slowly peeling themselves away from your bodies all the while your tongues clashed against one another. His hands roamed with reverence, memorizing every tremble, every sigh. You didn’t know where you ended and he began - just that the space between your bodies was no longer enough. 

“Oh, fuck,” his lust-addled voice sounded through the hush whispers of the intimacy you both found yourselves in. “You’re beautiful, I knew you’d be, fuck…”

You couldn’t even have the nerve to cover your naked body as you stood in front of him; not when he was looking at you like you were the only salvation left in a world gone mad. He grabbed your hips, positioning you until you were straddling him as he sat plush on the couch. “You don’t have to do a thing, darling, I’ll take care of you,” he pressed a thumb on your swollen lips. “Would you let me?”

You nodded, feeling feverish in your head as he placed his hand on your hips, his hardness poking you in the spot where you wanted him the most. “Y-Yeah,” you said. “Please, I-I need you.”

The world could wait. Right now, it was just the two of you both bared, bruised, and still reaching for each other in the dark. He lifted your hips up, lowering you slowly onto his aching cock until your foreheads were clashing with each other. “Y/N,” he whispered, straining, summoning chills through your ears. “I’ll make it up to you next time, I’m not going to last. It’s been a while for me.”

You tilted your head, biting your lips to stop the lewd sounds threatening to come out from you. “W-What do you mean? You haven’t been with o-others?”

Hongjoong shook his head with an earnest smile. “No. Why would I when I have you?”

Your eye contact didn’t break even when Hongjoong pushed your plump ass to grind on him, your eyes fluttering shut as you moaned out earnestly. Your fingers tangled in his hair, his breath warm at your collarbone, and when his name left your lips, it prompted him to snap his hips up to meet your grinding.

“Hongjoong, ngh, fuck,” you gasped out, mouth slacked open at the force of his thrusts, your breasts bouncing their way freely at the pace he set. “H-Hongjoong—Joong.”

You both finally let yourselves feel it all. Not just the passion, but the ache of the longing between you both. You held his face between your hands when his eyes fluttered closed, and for once, he looked unguarded. “Mmm, ah, yes, yes, yes,” were all the sounds you could make amidst the skin slapping against skin as Hongjoong continuously pulled you up and down on his cock. “More?” Hongjoong’s voice trembled at the pleasure clouding his brain. “You can’t leave me, alright? Not when I’m making you feel so good like this.”

You nodded, mouth still open, snapping your eyes close in the pleasure of Hongjoong’s nails digging in your hips, scratching a line all the way to your chest until his hands were grabbing onto both of your plush tits. “So fucking good,” he growled, his other hand traveling to your head, grabbing your hair. “Come here.”

Your lips met into a feverish kiss, your heated moans of lust and longing being swallowed by Hongjoong’s sinful mouth, and when you subconsciously squeeze his impaling cock, it was his turn to groan into your lips and bite onto your lower lip until you opened to let his wild tongue mess with yours. The moans that fell from the both of you created a dizzying sound in combination of the wet tongue kiss and the slapping of his balls up your ass.

“Touch me, please,” you begged, grabbing onto his hand down to your throbbing clit. “T-Touch m-me, I need to come, Joong, p-please.”

“Fuck, you’re going to be the death of me,” he groaned, immediately drawing circles on your swollen bud, instantly drawing a garbled scream from you. “That’s it, baby, fuck me. Ride my fucking cock, yes.”

You had not once paused from bouncing, continues fucking yourself ardently onto his thick, intruding cock until you were nothing but a senseless doll. “You don’t understand how long I’ve wanted this,” he rasped, his voice rough and uneven, his lips kissing and sucking every surface of your skin he could claim. 

“I’ve wanted you long before the day you looked me in the eye at that dining table. Each day was a risk I couldn’t afford to take, but God, I wanted you anyway. Every day. In every fucking way.”

He kissed you again, deeper, needier. It wasn’t just hunger - it was reprieve. Years of restraint burning away in the heat of a single truth finally spoken aloud. You were what he wanted. Always had been.

“Joong, a-ah, that feels so good,” you moaned out, all sense of mind gone from the feeling of him finally ravishing you the way you always wanted. “Just like that, say my name,” he gritted out, cupping your face tenderly in contrast to this thrusts, his eyes lidded and desperate. “I’ve waited so long to hear you say my damn name, baby, please, I’m begging you.”

“Hongjoong,” you let out, loud and clear. His cock twitched in your cunt, but you weren’t done yet. This was a man you had no problem seeing all of you. “Hongjoong, Hongjoong, Hongjoong.”

Soon enough, you exploded. It wasn’t the delicious rubbing of his fingertips in between young legs that or how deep his cock fucked that undid you, though that was a huge factor, but it was the way he kissed you, the way he looked at you like you hung the stars in the sky for him to admire. “Oh, I’m com—Hongjoong, Joong, Joong—”

Hongjoong didn’t last much longer. With his final thrusts, Hongjoong lifted his hips to fuck into you until all the both of you had was mind-blowing blankness fulled with heat and lust. Overstimulation coiled in your groin as your eyes rolled in the back of your head, your little whimpers spurring Hongjoong on until he came with a loud groan and spilled inside of you.

Everything slowed down with you slumped completely onto Hongjoong’s rising chest, meeting yours as you both tried to catch your breaths. The sex was fast, but it was all the both of you needed. “Good girl,” he whispered, turning your face to his for a quick kiss. “My good girl—hey, you don’t have to move yet, stay.”

You pulled out anyway, whimpering slightly at the sensation of Hongjoong’s cum dripping onto your thighs as you bent down to give him a kiss in return before sitting comfortably on his lap and laying your head on his chest, resting your head onto the crook of his neck as his arm quickly wrapped around you protectively. “It’s okay,” you whispered, your eyes slowly closing, your breath evening.

“You want to stay like this?” Hongjoong asked fondly, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on your back.

But for naught. Sleep had caught on to you and the last thing you felt was Hongjoong carrying you as he chuckled affectionately at your drowsy state. It was the most peace you’ve felt in a while.

Just like everything in your life, nothing good seemed to last forever. In the beginning, everything was smooth sailing. You and Hongjoong went back to the manor the next day, and it was nothing short of chaos the moment you stepped in the house where everyone was already waiting by the entrance. Seonghwa was the one who greeted you at the front door and his brows almost reached his hairline with how close you stood next to Hongjoong.

“The hell’s wrong with you?” Hongjoong asked sharply. “Why are you looking at us like that?”

Seonghwa raised his hands, blinking innocently. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

You frowned, not noticing the way you linked your arms with Hongjoong’s, but everyone did. Not one step inside the manor and everyone was already looking at the both of you. Jongho bent to grab both of your suitcases, but paused when he took one look at the both of you. “Huh,” he whispered. “Weird.”

Even Mingi who greeted his father, and you albeit stiffly, raised a brow, but opted not to say anything, just walking away while looking back at the both of you repeatedly like he was seeing what he wasn’t supposed to be seeing. You and Hongjoong looked at each other, thoroughly confused, but shrugged it off.

And that’s when San walked by, carrying a tray of cookies you loved so much, only to freeze when he saw Hongjoong gently placing a hand on your back to guide you past a stray step. He blinked over and over again until all the cookies plopped down towards the floor. “I’m sorry, what have you done to my favourite dysfunctional couple?”

You were horrified, mouth agape as you stared at all the sugary goodness on the floor. “My cookies,” you frowned, tugging at Hongjoong’s sleeve. “Joong…”

It only got worse when Hongjoong leaned down, pressed a kiss to your cheek nonchalantly and murmured, “I have to work for a couple of hours to catch up while we were gone. I’ll be back to spoil you rotten, yeah? I’ll see if I can order cookies after, so be good.”

You blinked, stunned, and so did literally everyone else in the hallway. The silence that followed could’ve cracked glass. You stood there, flustered, a hand over your cheek where he just kissed you in front of everyone.

Wooyoung took one look at you, one look at Hongjoong’s retreating form as he walked away, before letting out a screech so loud and unholy that you covered your ears immediately. “Oh my fucking God, what was that?” Wooyoung shouted, flailing like a game show host on a sugar high. “Did you just call him Joong?”

But that was it, because after that, it was like everything never even happened. You weren’t sure what you expected. Hongjoong pulling you aside just to hold you again like he did that night? Instead, life resumed as if nothing had changed. He never really did get you those cookies nor did he spend time with you afterwards anymore.

He wasn’t snarling or glaring at you anymore, that was for sure, but he always kept you close even in the small gestures like sitting beside you or holding your hand, but that was it. You still slept in separate rooms, and there were no more whispers in the dark, no more soft kisses, no more of him asking for five more minutes in bed before he got up. No one questioned it.

It started small, you almost convinced yourself you imagined it. During meals, he no longer sat beside you. He’ll speak, he’ll nod, but his body always angles away from you. That was when the absence of touch came next. Once, Hongjoong’s hand would find your lower back or brush yours when passing you a glass, but now, he didn’t reach out, didn’t accidentally graze your skin.

One afternoon, you entered the library. You hadn’t even called out his name, but the moment he saw you, he stood, gathered his things, and left. It was when his cold formality started again, never with warmth, and when he gave you instructions, he didn’t say your name. When you responded, his eyes would flicker, but he never truly looked at you.

By mafia standards, you should’ve married her within the first month.

Yunho’s words sank deeper than you wanted to admit. They curled under your skin like thorns. What if he was right? What if Hongjoong had never planned to marry you at all? Your eyes burned, and you blinked furiously to push the sting away. He had kissed you, held you, had made love to you. And now, he was walking around as if he hadn’t touched every inch of your soul.

You rubbed at your chest as if you could soothe the ache building there. What if this was it? What if this cold civility, this silence, was all he thought you were worth? Maybe he didn’t want to marry you. Maybe he never did.

Then came the locked doors. You never really hung out with him when he worked, but the locked door was suspicious. He also began sending people in his place. Hongjoong no longer filled your space, he ghosted it. You couldn’t even remember the last time he told you something directly.

You weren’t stupid. You knew how this world worked, how alliances were made and unmade at the flick of a wrist, at the spill of a secret. Maybe you had just been another deal. A piece of a war you weren’t meant to survive. Which was why you barged into his office one day without bothering to knock or close the door.

He didn’t seem at all surprised at your intrusion. He sighed, lowering his glasses and looking at you with tired eyes. “What’s this about, darling?”

“Do you regret us? Touching me? Kissing me?” You started, unable to stop the spiral now. “Or are you just pretending it didn’t happen so I don’t get any stupid ideas l-like marriage or a future?”

He didn’t answer. A bitter laugh escaped your lips, barely a sound. “I can’t believe you,” you murmured, your voice cracking around the edges. “Are you telling me what I felt was nothing? You almost had me fooled there, Hongjoong. I thought for sure hope wasn’t just a word anymore—”

“Can you not? How about this,” he sighed, placing his hands on your cheeks to cup it like he did before, and your traitorous body leaned onto his touch. “I’ll take you out later, okay? Let me just finish working. Sounds good?”

“Are you going to marry me?” You blurted out instead. He stiffened. You felt it immediately his arms didn’t fall away, but his hold loosened just enough for the space between you to feel colder than it had before. “Hongjoong?”

It spiraled. Your brain wouldn’t stop spinning. You didn’t remember pushing him and running away to the comfort of your room after locking the door. All you remember was his refusal to answer and look at you. And the way he never did take you out after.

And the worst of all, everyone had noticed. You had lost your spark, that light in your eyes, that drive in your walk. The anxiety, the paranoia, was slowly eating you alive. You were falling apart at the seams, and no one dared to say it out loud. But you could feel it; this immense pressure building in your chest like a ticking bomb.

Another thing was you were also starting to notice the way everyone was looking at you. It wasn’t quite pity, no, but it was akin to the end. To be fair, if Hongjoong was to keep acting like this, the end was nigh, indeed. What if this was all a game? What if he was keeping you close for power? Or pity?

You were thirty-three when your heart had failed you in a way that stayed. Your reflection in the mirror didn’t even look like you anymore. It looked like someone trying to be worthy of being chosen. Marrying Hongjoong was a want now, not a necessity, and that broke you. 

And then, one day, it all seemed to shatter. You were passing by Hongjoong’s office, an excuse you’ve been telling yourself just to see if you were going to have a small glimpse of him, when you heard it. Voices low, urgent, and hushed. One of them was Hongjoong’s.

“It’s being finalized, then?” Hongjoong’s sharp, business-like voice asked.

“Yes,” Mingi replied, serious and deep. “I reckon we’ll be able to make a move soon and then everything will be settled. You could let her go after.”

You froze in place, feeling like ice has been poured over you. Seonghwa sighed. “It’s just…are we really doing this? After everything? Won’t it destroy her?”

“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. Besides, it’s not knowledge she deserves to have, anyway. I didn’t go this far just for her to know. It’s better this way,” Hongjoong said curtly.

“Does she even know?” San’s voice now asked. “I’m confused. You both looked like you almost had it going, Joong. Why didn’t you tell her then?“

“No,” Seonghwa replied, sighing. “Hongjoong’s keeping her in the dark until all the loose ends are tied. Her bastard uncle did sign a contract after all, so technically she’s with us. It’s a good thing.”

Mingi clicked his tongue. “It shouldn’t have gone this far, Father. You’re lucky she’s still loyal after everything. You should’ve told her from the start this engagement was a fraud.”

Your heart stuttered. You covered your mouth, willing yourself to stay silent as tears started to pool on the side of your eyes. 

“I still think it’s cruel,” San murmured. “Are you ever going to tell her, Hongjoong? You’re really gonna let her go? Just like that?”

There was a beat of silence that stretched for far too long before Hongjoong spoke again. “There was never supposed to be an ‘us’ anyway. It was a mistake that should have never happened.”

You couldn’t take it anymore, taking off as soon as that conversation ended. You sat on the floor of your room, knees tucked into your chest, the ache in your bones eclipsed only by the quiet, creeping devastation hollowing you out from the inside. Yunho’s words echoed in your mind like a curse you couldn’t shake. By mafia standards, you should’ve married her within the first month. Why haven’t you? Did you want to keep her locked up like a secret no one else can touch? Or are you just dragging her through the mud?

But now? Now, after hearing that conversation, after watching him pass you in the hallway like a stranger, after everyone’s pitying glances and whispered silences, it all felt so grotesquely clear - you weren’t something he was building a future with, you were someone he was using.

You tried to breathe, but it came out ragged, your chest too tight. The truth clawed at you with wild, unforgiving hands. Yunho had been right all along, and now you were stuck in a house that felt more like a mausoleum than a home with a name he would never give you and a heart he would never claim. You spent days like that, refusing to see anyone who noticed they haven’t seen your face in a while, leaving the trays of food placed on your door untouched, and only going out to use the bathroom. It was how you had accidentally left the door ajar for someone to find you, face blotchy and swollen when Jongho came in, eyes widened at your messed up state, as he helped you up to sit on the bed. 

“Y/N, what happened to you?” He let out in concern. He stood up, and you thought for a second that he was giving you the space you clearly needed when you didn’t answer, but you were wrong. “I’m calling Hongjoong,” he said, already pulling out his phone. “I don’t know what happened, but you clearly need him.”

Something in your mind snapped into a quiet haze. Jongho was handsome. He was kind, and he was always there for you. For one breathless second, you wished that you could feel something, anything, other than the emptiness Hongjoong had left you with.

“Don’t call him,” you murmured, voice cracking as you reached for his hand. You looked up at Jongho, his brows furrowed in confusion. And before you could stop yourself, before you could think, you whispered, “Kiss me.”

Jongho’s entire body froze. His lips parted slightly, eyes widening, not with desire, but with shock and pity. He roze, the blood draining from his face. “Y/N, I don’t—”

“Please,” you begged. “I need to feel like I’m not losing everything—”

“Y/N?” Hongjoong’s voice suddenly crackled on the phone. “What’s going on? Jongho, what in God’s name are you doing?”

The call had connected after all, but you were done caring about Hongjoong. You grabbed Jongho’s shirt, lowering him to your lips. “I-I need to feel something, Jongho, please pretend I’m wanted,” your voice cracked.

“What the fuck is going on?” Hongjoong's voice roared through the speaker, frantic now. “I am going to skin you alive and drain your blood if you do it, don’t you dare, Jongho—”

But Jongho didn’t move. He respectfully held your shoulders, keeping you at arm’s length with utmost care. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice soft, heavy with pity but unwavering. “You don’t need more lies right now.”

On the other end of the phone, Hongjoong’s breathing was ragged, silent, tortured, like he was ready to rip through space to get to you before the line went dead. It was when you broke down, sobbing in Jongho’s arms apologizing through and through for your utterly shameful behaviour, thanking him for not taking advantage of your momentary weakness.

And then, the anger settled in. How dare Hongjoong act like that after what you overheard? What’s it to him that you wanted to kiss someone else’s lips besides his filthy ones? You remembered the way his voice sounded when told you that one dinner night that you were not to wear a ring. You should have known. 

You made up your mind then - you were leaving him. You weren’t going to live trapped in the unknown. You’d spent years chained under your uncle’s care, and now under the illusion of Hongjoong’s protection, but no more. Maybe you’d stay with Yunho to start again and figure out who you really were outside of the Kim manor’s walls.

But first, you needed that damn contract. The one that bound you to Hongjoong as his property. After much deliberation, the easiest way would be to drive him out of his office long enough for him to not come back.

So you picked a fight, purposefully targeting his tendency to get possessive of you like you were his property. It spurred you on, and at first, he wasn’t budging, but when you mentioned off-handedly about the kiss you wanted from Jongho, he bit.

The effect was instant. Hongjoong instantly stopped what he was doing, his entire frame taut with tension, his eyes narrowed dangerously. “What did you say?” He asked coldly.

You bit your lip to hold your smirk back. “I said,” you drawled. “Maybe I should’ve asked Jongho to kiss me again.”

That did it. His steps toward you were slow, deliberate, dangerous. He growled low under his breath, shoving past you, practically vibrating with possessive rage. “I don’t know what game you’re playing at, but don’t test me, Y/N,” he snapped. “I’ve killed for less without blinking.”

Your heart beat erratically as you listened to Hongjoong’s furious commands to hand him his keys so he could drive off that were sounding further and further until you heard the front door slam so hard, you could practically feel it vibrate from where you were.

Perfect. Now all you had to do was find the damn contract - and whatever other secrets he’d been hiding.

Luckily for you, Hongjoong didn’t lock his cabinets. To be completely fair, nobody in their right mind - except you, apparently - would even dream of digging through his files while he wasn’t present. It was like finding a needle on a haystack, but whenever you’d recall the conversation you overheard here, it gave you a newfound sense of determination. Finally, you found it. With trembling hands, you gingerly took the contract that basically held your uncle’s life and bound you to Hongjoong. You hated your uncle for selling you, but at the same time, you couldn’t imagine not meeting Hongjoong at all.

This was it, you were done, and you were leaving. You had already packed what little you brought here and all that was left now was to burn the bridge behind you and never look back. Tears welled in your eyes, however, as you willed Hongjoong’s fond eyes as he looked at you out of your mind. Your story with him had happened, but now, it had to end.

You folded the contract resolutely. Just as you turned to leave, something fluttered from between the pages. It  was a thinner piece of paper, tucked behind the contract, and it fell towards the floor, face up. You blinked in confusion, was this another part of the contract?

You crouched, hand shaky as you picked it up, but before you could touch it, you froze. Your pulse skipped, heart sinking the moment your eyes caught the title - it was a marriage contract and it had Hongjoong’s unmistakable signature on it.

You blinked once, twice, but the name didn’t change. The blood drained from your face, a sudden rush of nausea coiled in your gut with bile that started to burn your throat as you backed away from the fallen paper as if it had a contagious disease of some sort.

Was this it? The secret he’d been keeping? Your chest felt like it had caved in. No wonder he didn’t want to marry you - he literally couldn’t. He already belonged to someone else and you seeked comfort in his arms like you belonged in it when, in fact, you did not. You never did.

You ran out of the office, your pathetic tears finally falling from your eyes as you felt your heart starting to break. You didn’t bother stopping for Wooyoung, who looked genuinely worried for your state, and you pushed past a surprised Seonghwa, who was the last person you ever wanted to see besides Hongjoong.

You shoved the contract hastily in your luggage, trudging it silently towards the back door you knew nobody passed or guarded, each movement mechanical, like your soul detached itself long ago. The suitcase was filled with your clothes, but really, it's all the things you never meant to carry - bitterness and heartbreak.

You barely made it one step outside when a hand grabbed your arm from behind, spinning you unceremoniously. It was someone you never expected in a million years, and he was already waiting by the door like he knew you’d come out here. “Running away again, I see,” Mingi eyes your luggage. “Though it seems you have no plans of coming back.” 

His features are etched from the same ice as his father's - cold, unreadable. He’s never spoken to you beyond what's necessary. You pulled your arm away harshly from his hold. “Not that it would matter,” you scoffed. “Hongjoong has no plans of marrying me, what’s the point?”

Realization seemed to dawn on him. “You found the certificate. Is that why Wooyoung said you’re crying?” He sighed, long and breathy, as if he wasn’t prepared for what he was about to say next. “I have to give it to you, you’re clever for driving him out of his office, but whatever it is you’re thinking, you’re dead wrong.”

You laugh once, bitter and sharp. “I saw it with my own two eyes, and the facts speak for themselves, don’t they? All he’s ever made me feel was that I was an inconvenience to him.”

“You’ve only seen what he’s allowed you to see,” Mingi says quietly. “You think my father doesn’t care about you, but Y/N, he’d sell his soul for you. For what it’s worth, we all think it should’ve never gone this far.”

“Yeah, well,” you exhaled sharply, turning to leave again. “It’s a little too late for that—”

“Don’t leave,” Mingi said, almost a whisper, almost a plea. You faltered, stunned at how he wasn’t letting you pass. He rubs his face between his hands in distress. “How about this, let me show you something, and if that still doesn’t change your mind, I’ll even help you walk away.” “Why?” You asked coldly, but followed him back to what seemed like Hongjoong’s office anyway. “You made it clear that you never liked me from the beginning.”

“Because I’m not going to let him lose you, not like this,” Mingi opened the door for you to enter. “And I never disliked you. You are my father’s one shot at the happiness he never got before, I could never dislike you for that.”

San was already there. He looked up as you entered, and your breath caught. In his hands was the very marriage certificate that had shattered you just moments ago. He eyed your luggage, resignation clear in his eyes. “Y/N, I am so, so sorry,” his voice cracked when you refused to meet his eye. “You deserve to know the truth before you walk away, at least.”

Mingi sighed and walked over to the far side of the desk. He reached under the edge, clicking something underneath. “This,” he held out a small recording device. “Is for protection and insurance whenever he invites people over here. It never stops recording. I’m sure you know where I’m going with this.” 

And with that, he presses play. You didn’t speak, just listened. At first, you heard nothing, just pure static and a couple of movements before San fast forwarded it, stopping when he was satisfied.

“She’s beautiful, Hwa, my goodness. Her photos don’t do her justice,” Hongjoong’s familiar voice sounded all over the room, slightly startling you. “I-I must’ve looked like a fool during dinner. How am I supposed to pretend that I’m not head over heels in love with her?”

“You did look like a fool,” Seonghwa’s voice said next, deadpanned. “It’s embarrassing, Joong. Your own son had to tell you to stop staring.”

Head over heels? It didn’t make sense. Not when he avoided you for the longest time, not when he stood silent while you begged for clarity. San started fast forwarding again.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?” The voice was unmistakably Hongjoong’s sharp, furious, and barely restrained. “Flirting with her in front of me? Do you want me to ship you back in Suwon, you uncultured swine?”

Wooyoung’s familiar laughter shrieked all over the room so loud, Mingi rolled his eyes. “My God, Dad, you are so down bad. I’ve never seen you so jealous in my life. I have no plans to steal your wife, relax.”

“That’s not the point,” Hongjoong snapped. “Don’t touch her like that again. Don’t talk to her like she’s anyone but mine. Do you understand me?”

You stood there, frozen. Your hands trembled slightly as you remembered that day so clearly in your head. San gave Mingi a glance before silently playing the recording again.

“I fucked up,” Honjoong started, but it was in a voice you’ve never heard on him before, and for some reason, it hurt your heart to hear. “I shouldn’t have shouted at her during dinner, she looked at me like I’d hit her. And I-I hate myself for it, she probably hates me—”

“You think?” Jongho’s voice responded, unusually sharp. “She looked like she wanted the floor to swallow her whole. Seriously, what were you thinking?”

“I shouldn’t have pushed the plate like that, but it had avocados in it,” Hongjoong’s voice faltered, like he was trying to rein himself in. 

There was a pause in the recording, and in your head as well. You felt like you were about to faint. “Avocados?” San in the recording asked, clearly confused.

Hongjoong sighed heavily and you could practically hear him pacing in his office. “She’s allergic to avocados. Allergic enough for anaphylactic shock.”

“You could’ve just said something,” San replied, dry and disbelieving. “That wasn’t just over the line, Joong. It was humiliating.”

“That’s why she reacted like that when I told her about the dressing,” Jongho commented off-handedly. “But still, you scared her. Hell, you scared all of us.”

“I was scared as well, that’s why I’m furious,” Hongjoong snapped. “I clearly told the staff to not put avocados in her food. How was I supposed to tell her without arousing suspicion of the fucker that did it?”

That night, you’d gone to bed wondering if he hated you. Meanwhile, he was probably pacing the floor in this very room, wondering if you were still breathing, wondering if he should have just shouted your allergy across the table rather than risk letting you eat what could’ve killed you. “You okay to keep going?” San asked softly. When you nodded stiffly, he pressed play again.

“Did you order food out?” Wooyoung’s voice sounded out this time. “Oh, that actually looks good, can I have some—”

A loud smack can be heard in the background before Wooyoung’s yelp. “No,” Hongjoong’s light, almost boyish tone, smugly denied. “My love made this for me. Can you guys believe it? She’s literally perfect in every way, she even cooks well, too. A literal angel in every sense, I tell you.”

“Hold on, is that why she’s been hanging around the kitchen late?” Wooyoung asked, confused. “But she looks so down everytime—she doesn’t know you’re eating them, does she?”

There was a pause before Seonghwa spoke next, his voice quieter. “You have to tell her, Joong. Me and San have to carry the burden of seeing her tears the next day every single time we pretend to throw away the food the next day. She makes them with love, you know?”

Silence. Then Hongjoong sighed, deep and hollow. “God, I want to, but not yet. You know there’s a mole in the staff. If I let on that I care too much, it puts a target on her back. It’s the only way to protect her without tipping my hand.”

There was a pause. “She’s so bright when she cooks, and I never tell her,” he continued heavily. “I said nothing, like I always do. So for now, all I could do is savour her food, you know? It keeps my longing away for now.”

Something in your chest cracked. You remembered those nights. You never imagined he cherished every bite in silence, keeping up a mask to protect you from shadows you didn’t even know were looming. Suddenly, it transitioned into a conversation you knew far too well, the one you heard before you ran away to the playground.

“But you can’t keep doing this to keep giving her the cold shoulder, Joong,” Seonghwa clicked his tongue. “She’s too perceptive and you know she'll find out, what are you going to do then?”

“Give me time,” Hongjoong’s tone shifted into something darker. “We’re so close to caging in Yoo Jaehwan, that bastard ruined her life. Please, no one can know for now. I have to make sure he’ll pay for that car accident that almost cost her and Yeosang.”

You gasped audibly, almost tripping at what you just heard. There was only one car accident that had Yeosang and you in it, did this run deeper than you initially thought?

“She won’t be safe forever, you know that. San’s working on Mingi’s intel for the hit and run. It was damn near impossible to find who hit her parents back then. You think Jaehwan knows?”

“There’s no denying it. That bastard killed them. She will be safer here, so please, watch over her for me. I will never forgive myself if something happens to her. She’s my everything—who’s there?”

And all this time, the man you thought didn’t care,the man whose cold shoulder and distant silence had crushed you, had been carrying the weight of it all in secret. You shook your head in denial, if this wasn’t enough, your uncle had something to do with your parents’ death as well. “Make it stop,” you begged. “I-I can’t—”

“I’m sorry,” Mingi apologized, and you could see he was genuine this time. “We have to keep going. This is why Father was the way he was with you. You have to know.”

You heard a glass clink against another, followed by the unmistakable sound of Hongjoong’s tired hiccup, more human than you'd ever heard him, before the familiar sigh of Seonghwa followed. “That’s enough,” he gently coaxed. “You’re drunk, Joong. You’re half gone–”

“Half gone? I haven’t been whole since I lied to her,” Hongjoong’s drunk and pained voice slurred. “She ran away from me, Hwa. And I deserve it. I was prepared for her hate, but not her absence. When I couldn’t find her, I was so damn scared, none of you even understood.”

Hongjoong swallowed more alcohol. “I love her, Seonghwa. I love her more than this house, more than the empire, more than anything. But if she knew what I’ve done, she’d never stay.”

You clutch the edge of the table like it’s the only thing holding you upright. “There’s still time to tell her,” Seonghwa advised. “Mingi still thinks you shouldn’t hide this.”

“What if she realizes I’m the reason her life turned to hell?” Hongjoong cried out in melancholy. “I’m terrified she’ll disappear for good when she finds out what I’ve done and made the selfish decision to make her mine—”

“But she doesn’t know that,” Seonghwa said softly. “She doesn’t know you held her hand the whole time in the hospital. You did it to protect her. You married her, for God’s sake.”

Your knees nearly gave out. That hand - warm, calloused, unmoving but steady - had been the only thing tethering you to life. That hand was the only one that stayed when no one else did. Tears sprung to your eyes, that hand had been your lifeline, and after all this time, you had been his. 

“I married her to settle a score. But somewhere along the line, I just,” Hongjoong sniffled. “I just loved her. Every day I don’t tell her, she drifts further from me. And I-I don’t know how to fix it.”

You swallowed audibly when the recording paused. There was only one question lingering in your head, one that San read on your face but refused to acknowledge. Instead, he reached forward and pressed play. The room was silent again, except for the soft static of the next recording beginning to play.

“I’ll bow to your king when he shows himself,” your voice played out this time, clipped and cut. You cringed internally. You remember how liberated you felt after that day, but now you were about to find out what happened after you stormed out.

Seonghwa and Mingi were in the room that day and you were expecting the three of them to talk about your utter disrespect, but you were not expecting Hongjoong’s laughter, loud, bubbly, and full of mirth after a few seconds of you walking away.

“Well, would you look at that,” Mingi snorted, but even through the recording, you could hear the subtle fondness in his voice. “You’ve finally found your match, Father.”

“God, I’m so proud of her,” Hongjoong said through his laughter, his voice breathless and utterly thrilled. “Did you see the way she stood up to me like a champ?  I’ve never been that close to finishing on the spot.”

Mingi let out a sound of pure, exaggerated revulsion. “Please, never let me hear that again. That is fucking disgusting, this is why I get drunk often.”

“Oh, it gets worse,” Seonghwa chortled. “Did you see the way he looked at her? He was looking at her like he wanted her to break his neck and thank her for it. It was sickening. I wanted to bleach my eyes.”

“Shut up,” Hongjoong muttered, but there was no real heat behind it. You could hear the smile in his voice. It was small, secretive, a little lovesick.

“No, you shut up,” Seonghwa shot back with playful disbelief. “She literally insulted your bloodline and told you that you are not the king of your own empire in her eyes and you look like you’re ready to carve her name onto your chest.”

“Well, he just might,” Mingi answered dramatically. “You two make marriage look fun. My money’s on her, you know? Hell, everyone’s is at this point.”  

Hongjoong laughed again, sounding more genuine, if that was possible. “So is mine.”

You’ve barely let that settle before the next recording sounded. You froze. This was the most recent, the catalyst that set this whole thing in motion. “I still think it’s cruel,” San murmured. “Are you ever going to tell her, Hongjoong? You’re really gonna let her go? Just like that?”

“There was never supposed to be an ‘us’ anyway. It was a mistake that should have never happened,” Hongjoong sighed and you were confused. You didn’t remember him sounding this torn about it. This was when you ran away crying to your room utterly heartbroken.

“That’s my wife, San. I don’t want to let her go, but it was cruel for me to take her secretly. I have to let her go if she doesn’t want to stay even if it hurts me. We go for the kill, but leave Jaehwan to me. I want to kill him, myself.”

The recording ended there, for good this time. You just stood there shaking, lips parted, eyes glassy. He hadn’t just tolerated you, he adored you - no, he loved you hopelessly with a hidden love that he kept choking down behind layers of silence and strategy. 

You feel your knees weaken not from pain, but from the crushing, beautiful truth that maybe you were never unloved. “I-I don’t understand,” you blurted, tears blurring your vision. “T-There has to be a mistake. He’s married to someone else—”

San started to show you the marriage certificate again, but you didn’t want anything to do with it. “Y/N,” San said gently, catching your hand before you could shove the paper away. “Just look closer, please. At the bottom.”

Your gaze dropped, unwilling at first but your breath stopped, your mind stilling into chaotic silence when you saw it - your name and  signature right beside Hongjoong’s. You blinked hard, heart thrashing in your chest. “I don’t remember this. I never - how could I not know I was married?”

“Our job is done. We shouldn’t be the ones explaining this. You need to hear it from him,” Mingi said as he stood and with a final glance, the door clicked shut, and you were left alone with your thoughts, the weight of the paper, and a heart that no longer knew what to believe.

You were shaking your head violently, eyes already welling up with tears you refused to acknowledge. One by one, everything started to make sense, even the little things you ignored for fear of falling too hard - your avocado allergy, how he picked raisins out of your food, your photo on his desk you now knew for sure he kept staring at every single day.

And everyone knew too, there were also the telltale signs of everyone slipping by accident - the way San froze when he found out your name was Jeong, Seonghwa telling you it was finally nice to meet you, overhearing Yeosang say you weren’t just a wife, you were someone Hongjoong would burn the world for. 

You should’ve been angry, and you were, but underneath all of that was grief not just for yourself, but for him too. Your chest ached as you imagined all those nights he must have sat awake, planning, hiding, hurting. All those moments you begged him to speak, and he couldn’t not because he didn’t want to - but because he loved you too much to risk everything.

A sob clawed its way up your throat. You wiped your face with shaking hands, but the tears wouldn’t stop now. How long had he carried all this alone? How long had he loved you silently, forced to cage every affection? How could you hate someone for hurting you when all they ever wanted was to protect you? It must have been crushing. 

Your heart was a tangled, desperate mess in your chest by the time the door finally opened. Hongjoong stepped in, his brows pinched together in confusion when he saw you there. When he saw the marriage certificate crumpled tightly in your hands, it was like the ground vanished beneath his feet.

He stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes blown wide, his breath catching audibly. It was like you also held his heart in your hands. All the color drained from his face, but somewhere in his eyes, relief shone through. And you knew why - all the pretending has to stop now and you both knew it.

Hongjoong slowly closed the door behind him, eyes never leaving yours, and for once, he looked afraid, vulnerable and human. “We need to talk,” he said hoarsely, and there wasn’t a trace of command in his voice, only quiet pleading as he slowly approached you.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” You cried out, heart aching and throat tight, the paper trembling in your hands like the storm inside you that was finally meeting his. “Everything hurts, Hongjoong. I can’t breathe.”

Without another word, he knelt in front of you, like the wind had been knocked out of him, and reached for you with trembling hands. You collapsed into his chest, sobbing openly as he cradled you to him. His warmth surrounded you, his scent grounding you, and for the first time, his arms didn’t feel like a prison - they felt like home.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, over and over again, his lips brushing your temple. “I’m so, so sorry. I never wanted you to find out like this, and I never wanted to hurt you. But I was wrong. I was so wrong.”

You shook your head against him, trying to make sense of the chaos in your chest. “I wanted so desperately for you to care for me, Hongjoong,” you confessed angrily, lamenting for all the times you spent yearning. “I wanted it so badly that I never blamed you for how you treated me, no matter how bad, I never blamed you.”

He clutched you tighter as if the very fabric of his soul depended on your forgiveness, his breath shaky, his words barely held together. “Blame me, Y/N. My soul can’t be saved if I sell you my sins and the scars in your heart are mine to atone, but don’t think for a second that I never loved you,” his voice cracked. “That I don’t love you now.”

Rage sets in as his words wrapped around your heart like a chain, heavy with the weight of long-buried truths. “You’re cruel, you know that?” You thumped your fists on his chest repeatedly. “After all the things you made me go through? You tell me this now?”

You could feel his tears now, each one a testament to the pain he had buried beneath the armor he wore for too long. “You think I’m cruel, but I’ve been your husband longer than you’ve known. And I’ve loved you every single day of it,” he whispered, his hands trembling.

Your breath caught as his words sank in, deeper than any wound he’d ever left behind. Husband. You wanted to scream, to cry, to pull away, to collapse into him all at once. How could he say it like that? So stripped of pride and power, like a man offering up the last piece of himself and hoping it would be enough? It was too much. It was everything.

He pressed his forehead to yours, lips barely apart from yours. “If you want the truth, I'll give you that. If you want to leave, I will never stop you."

But somehow, all you could do was hold him tighter. “I don’t want freedom from you, Hongjoong,” you whispered, breaking apart in his arms. “I just want the truth.”

Hongjoong didn’t speak at first. You felt his body tremble as he held you, as though the truth itself was too heavy to carry alone anymore. “I’m not the right person to tell you this, it would be Yunho, but to put it simply for now, your parents both served my father, and in turn, me after he passed away.”

You pulled back slightly, your breath catching in your throat. “M-My parents were in the mafia?” You asked, heart pounding with the realization already forming. Somehow, it made sense - they were absent throughout your teenage years and they did keep their career a secret.

“They were. Yunho took over your father after, but we didn’t get along much, but that’s another story,” Hongjoong said softly. “They were good people. One day I got myself into something I wasn’t supposed to. I would’ve been dead if it weren’t for them and my sons would be fatherless. I was young and stupid and they saved me. I owe them my life, I still do.”

He paused, voice tightening with grief. “I didn’t have much power back then, so I did the best thing I could. Assets, lots of them. I gave your parents millions, Y/N, but before I could fully ever thank them, before I could protect them…” Hongjoong looked away, sighing heavily.

“They died before they could use the money. My uncle wanted their money, didn’t he? Did he kill them?” You blurted out. His silence confirmed it and you shuddered, anguish and clarity warred within you as the weight of your stolen past pressed down on your chest. 

“At first I didn’t have proof it was him,” you felt Hongjoong’s hands holding you steady, his warmth anchoring you to something real. “I was investigating their deaths for years. It was my way of getting back for them for saving me. It wasn’t until your car accident with Yeosang a couple of years back.”

You swallowed. This was it, this was the part you weren’t sure you were ready to hear. His face turned dark before he continued. “Yeosang was suspicious of the accident. We both thought the hit was for him at first since he’s my son. When I investigated, it was how I found out who you were. It felt like the universe just punched me in the gut.”

“W-What does this have to do with marrying me?”

“Everything,” his expression twisted, like it physically hurt him to relive it. “When your parents died, all that money went to you automatically. Do you remember that day when I asked you why your uncle took you in when Yunho was losing his mind looking for you all this time?”

You nodded, your stomach sinking. “He took you in to drain every cent out of you. He was bleeding you dry,” his jaw ticked in concealed anger. “He got impatient, that car accident back then would speed up the process.”

You shook your head, denial flaring. Your lungs were too tight, your heart racing painfully in your chest as you tried not to throw up. “So, what, you married me to stop him?”

“Not just that,” he said hoarsely, and then, softer. “I had to make it legally binding. As your husband, I could legally control your funds. It was the only way I knew how, so I married you in secret, in the hospital, while you were unconscious. And I held your hand while you signed.”

Your head snapped up at that. Your blood ran cold, because you remembered that day. The warmth of a hand in yours, grounding you while the world spun wildly. You thought it was just hospital consent forms. “That was the marriage certificate?” you whispered, your voice breaking. “But that was years before my uncle sold me to you, Hongjoong, that doesn’t make any sense—”

“I had to let you go back to him after,” he explained, eyes shut tight with regret. “He was desperate, and desperate men get dangerous. I needed time. I needed him to think he was still in control, still bleeding you dry while I worked behind the scenes.”

You stood there in stunned silence, your hands trembling with the weight of a truth you never asked for but now couldn’t ignore. “I watched you for years,” he continued, voice hollow but steady. “Always from a distance. I told myself it was enough.I kept telling myself I was doing it for your parents, that I owed them everything. That’s how it started. But then…”

His voice cracked, and for a moment he didn’t go on. “Then I fell in love with you,” he whispered, trembling. “Without even realizing it, I fell. Hard. And for that, I’m sorry. I will regret taking that choice away from you for as long as I live. The plan was to annul the marriage when I was done compiling evidence against him, and believe me, I tried to do it quickly. I didn’t want you to stay with him for long.”

Your breath caught when he smiled faintly, and it was the saddest, most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. “You were always strong, and I hated that I couldn’t tell you how proud I was. I’m sorry I got selfish because the thought of annulling the marriage just hurt me on the inside.”

You looked down, heart racing, remembering the moments. All that time you resented him for being locked in his office instead of being with you, he was working to finally set you free. “Then why keep it a secret?” You asked, voice fragile. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I was scared,” he admitted. “Scared you’d hate me. Scared that if you knew the truth, you’d want nothing to do with me. I didn’t want to rip open old wounds by making you relive the past. So I just… watched and made sure you were doing well.”

“But everything changed. One time I sent Jongho,” Hongjoong went on, voice turning sharp with memory. “We didn’t know he was violent with you. He caught him hurting you. That fucking bastard,” his cracked slightly. “Not only was he stealing from you, he was beating you up the entire time, I-I wanted to die when I found out—”

A lone tear escaped his eyes when you shushed him, putting your finger on his lips gently. He cracked a bitter smile, kissing your finger before continuing. “So I bankrupted his business. I had Seonghwa pose as his client, made him plant the seed that Kim Hongjoong was giving money for something in exchange. It worked, that’s how I got you into my house.”

You froze up, suddenly breathless. Your whole life - every twist and turn, every unexplained pain, every confusing encounter - was beginning to piece together like a puzzle you never knew existed. “You were never a liability used to pay a debt,” he growled. “Once you were under my roof, I knew you were safe. I could fully start making my move on your uncle. I sent Wooyoung to Suwon to start—”

“Suwon?” You blinked in surprise, remembering the very first time you met Wooyoung. “He went there…because of me? Because you told him to?”

He nodded. “The man your uncle hired who hit your parents were both hiding in Suwon. Mingi wanted to do it since he was the one who found them for me, but Wooyoung…let’s say that son of mine is a little trigger-happy. Trust me, he was more than glad to do it.”

You felt your chest caving in. All this time, everyone - San, Seonghwa, Jongho, Wooyoung, and even Mingi - had been watching, protecting, quietly fighting battles for you that you didn’t even know existed.

Tears spilled down your cheeks as you stared at the man who had haunted your days and nights with confusion, rage, longing - only to discover that, all along, he had loved you in silence.

“What now?” You sniffled. “What are we going to do?”

“I was going to kill him and then come clean to you,” he admitted ruefully. “But death is a salvation that he doesn’t deserve. I have all the evidence I need to send him to jail, because there’s one more thing your uncle cost me, ” he said, voice low and rough. “Yeosang.”

You felt your chest twist. “I had to send my own son away,” he spat the words like poison. “Because if your uncle ever saw him around, he would’ve figured it out that Yeosang was the one who called me, panicked, sobbing, begging me to save you.”

You knew that Hongjoong called Yeosang in a panic  when you were poisoned to wherever he was hiding from to come and treat you. He risked all of it to save you. “Your uncle didn’t just steal from you,” he growled. “He didn’t just beat you, he stole from me too. He robbed me of time with you, your parents, and my son.”

He dropped to his knees again. “I did terrible things to keep you safe,” he said quietly. “And I can’t undo them. But if there’s anything left in your heart for me, even just a piece, I swear to you, I will make it right.”

Hongjoong was a man weighed down by guilt, someone laying every wound bare before you. You looked at him, this broken, bleeding man who had shielded you in ways you never even saw. And now, maybe, just maybe, it was time to stop surviving and start living. You gripped his hands tightly now, because for the first time, you understood.

“I hated you,” you whispered. His jaw clenched, and he closed his eyes like your words were blades, but he took it like he promised he would. “But I think I hated myself more for still loving you anyway.”

His eyes snapped open, wide and raw and shimmering with a hope he tried to suppress. “Y-You still do?” His broken voice stuttered.

“I don’t know how not to,” you said, your lips trembling. “I didn’t realize how much I fell for you until you started pulling back. Even when you pushed me so far away I thought I’d disappear, I kept looking for you.”

His breath hitched, and then he was kissing you, not out of possession or dominance, not like a man taking what he believed was his, but like someone starved for something he’d already mourned the loss of. His lips trembled against yours, and you tasted your shared sorrow, your silent tears, your aching, stupid, impossible love.

Hongjoong exhaled shakily, as if the weight of everything unsaid was finally buckling his knees. Now that you were in front of him, there was no more holding back. “I never meant to ignore you,” he said, voice rough and uneven. “These past few months, I-I know I’ve made you feel unwanted, like you were nothing but a pawn to me, but you never were.”

His eyes flicked to yours. “We were so close to getting your uncle. I could taste it, that justice. And I lost myself. I thought, just a little more time and I could finally give you peace.”

You opened your mouth to speak, to tell him it wasn’t his fault, but he shook his head. “No,” he whispered with a bitter smile. “It is my fault. I couldn’t help it. I wasn’t supposed to love you, I was supposed to distance myself because your uncle’s mole was watching us. But how could I not?”

“Hongjoong,” you tried to coax him out of these thoughts, but to no avail. Your vision blurred as his words sank in.

“How could I not hold back when you looked at the world with eyes that still trusted even after everything?” Hongjoong continued. “Every time you touched me, I felt like I was being forgiven for sins I hadn’t even confessed yet. Every night you were in my house, pretending not to care that I was cruel, pretending it didn’t hurt, I wanted to fall to my knees and curse every God out there for doing this to me, to us.”

He took your hands, his thumbs brushing your knuckles, and he held you like you were something fragile. “I even got you poisoned,” he said, pressing your hands to his chest, where his heart thundered violently. “Because I let my guard down. I’ve lived every day terrified that loving you would be the death of you, but it turns out, not loving you openly was killing me.”

Tears welled in your eyes again, thick and hot. When he finally pulled back, it was only just enough to whisper. “I married you once to protect you and I’d marry you again just to love you. Marry me, Y/N, please.”

You looked at him, the man who had fought in silence for you, bled in shadows for you, and lost you just to keep you alive. And for the first time, you saw him as the only person who had ever loved you enough to break his own heart to save yours. “You already have me,” you said softly, hands rising to cup his cheeks. 

His exhale of relief and wonder, grief and gratitude all at once. No more pretending, no more secrets. Just the two of you, finally choosing each other in the light. You were already his long before you knew it and he’s always been yours.

“Let me get this straight,” Yunho uncrossed his long legs, his upper body leaning forward ever so slightly as his sharp, glaring eyes trained on Hongjoong’s flat, expressionless ones. “You’re telling me that you’ve been married to her this entire time? That you made her suffer in your slimy presence for the grand scheme of catching Jaehwan when you could’ve just left her with me?”

He removed his glasses to put it on top of the coffee table in front of him, its reflective surface and visual lightness made it a striking centerpiece while keeping the room feeling uncluttered and elegant, very befitting of someone like Yunho who exuded an exorbitant amount of grace. The way he scoffed after was anything of, however.  

“You fucking bastard,” he seethed, banging his fist on said table with a sarcastic laugh that left his lips in a disbelieving pace of staccato. “I ought to kill you on the spot, Kim Hongjoong. I cannot believe you thought that this was normal, you’re not right in the head, I’m telling—”

“Now, now Yunho,” Hongjoong - or should you say, your husband - smirked smugly, snaking his arm around your waist to pull you closer. “In front of Y/N, really?”

“You won’t get away with this, also you mean my niece—”

“Don’t you mean my wife?” Hongjoong grinned, all of his teeth bared out in a daring show of possessiveness that was not to be messed with, clearly not even Yunho. “And I already have,” he turned to look at you, his eyes softening significantly as he smiled. “Isn’t that right, darling?”

Yunho balked at the blatant display of Hongjoong’s disrespect towards him. He looked at you expectantly, but all you could do was give him a sheepish smile as you toyed with the ring on your finger.

“Sorry, Uncle,” you giggled. “You heard my husband.”

Hongjoong whispered ‘that’s my girl’ softly on your ear as Yunho let out the most undignified squawk you’ve ever heard a grown man do.

Yunho covered his face with his hands and groaned. “You love him,” he deadpanned. “And you, you manipulative, delusional, leather-wearing tax fraud—”

“Tax fraud?” Hongjoong raised a brow, a slow grin spreading across his face like ink in water. “Really, Yunho? That’s the best you’ve got?”

“---you love her. Oh, Sungho is probably rolling in his grave right now,” he groaned, and you laughed at how he whispered his grievances in your dad's name.

He sat up, reclining back with one arm thrown over the couch. “Well, if you ever come to your senses, I know a great divorce lawyer,” he said dryly. “My door is always open for you, little love.”

You bit back the urge to laugh when Hongjoong rolled his eyes dramatically. “I’ll keep it in mind, Uncle,” you grinned. “But you should know by now that I have a type.”

Hongjoong only smirked from his seat, one arm slung lazily over the backrest behind you like this was his damn throne. “You’re just bitter I won,” he snorted at Yunho.

“Oh, I’ll be bitter until my dying breath,” Yunho snapped. “You married her and didn't even invite me to the wedding. I was supposed to walk her down the aisle.”

“Then die—”

“Fuck you,” he retorted. Yunho waved his hand, the humor in his eyes dimming slightly as his tone shifted, more measured now. “Alright, jokes aside. What happened to the motherfucker that is Jaehwan?”

Hongjoong’s arm around you tightened as his entire posture changed. “We got him. He’s in jail.”

The words dropped like a stone in the room. You looked down, purposefully grabbing the mug to take a sip, your mind flashing with the bright lights of one shot that gradually turned into two, three, four shots. Yunho’s brows furrowed. “You’re serious?”

“Deadly,” Hongjoong tried not to smirk, side-eyeing you with intent. “Nothing crazy, really. He doesn’t deserve anything theatrical for everything that he’s done. I had my men watch him for a couple of days, ambushed him when he least expected it, and that’s that. You recall that car accident from a couple of years ago, yes?”

You closed your eyes, the faux splatters of sticky red coating your face feeling realistic enough if you concentrated. Lifeless, hollow eyes stared back behind your eyes before you opened them again. Hongjoong’s fingers massaged yours with purpose back then, too. You kept your mouth from curling too far at the corners.

“How could I not? You took her that night,” Yunho scoffed, sitting forward again, steepling his fingers under his chin. “I was this close to finding Y/N at that time. I dislike talking about this, but it was hard. Years of failure meant I failed her father.”

Hongjoong hummed, ignoring Yunho’s pointed look. “My son was also there, you remember my middle son? He’s a neurosurgeon now,” he replied softly, his fingers playing with yours. “You could say I had a different drive back then. I had my reasons.”

Yunho’s brows shot up in mild surprise before they softened ever so slightly. “I didn’t know, I’m terribly sorry that your son got caught up in this fiasco,” he murmured, his soft eyes landing on you. “I suppose everything that happened was like a trigger set in motion, wouldn’t you say, Y/N?”

You shrugged as you gave Hongjoong a look. You  let your lashes lower slightly and adjusted your posture, just like you did when after the kickback from the trigger that had made your shoulders ache. “Perhaps.”

“Anyway, it’s over,” Hongjoong said with a clipped edge. “There’s enough evidence now to tie him to the attempted murder, fraud, and embezzlement. Stalking as well. The bastard didn't even stop at the mole in my house, he always sent his sleazy men around the area in case she went out. He’s done, I'll make sure of it.”

“Good riddance,” Yunho said with an unsurprising amount of venom. His shoulders sank, years and years of burden lifting off of his shoulders. Relief settles in his expression, and though it made him look a decade younger, the faraway look of a thousand suns in his eyes told you otherwise. “I knew your father would be proud of you," he sighed. "That bastard took everything from our family. But you…you gave it back.”

The man who haunted your childhood, the one who used your grief as a tool to strip you of everything, was finally out of your life. You squeezed Yunho’s hand, hoping that it said everything you couldn’t say out loud. You stayed quiet for a moment, trying to absorb the weight of what Yunho was saying. 

There was no reminiscing on your end, no smirk, no memories; just the hurt between two people who have lost their loved ones. He held your hand, holding it tight. “And your mom,” he added softly. She would’ve held you so tight. You look like Sohee, you know? Same fire, same goddamn backbone. Perfect for your father.”

“I hope they’re at peace now,” you said quietly.

“They are,” Yunho replied with a surety that only blood could lend. “Because you’re finally safe. And I can finally breathe again.”

You took in his words, the finality of them. The war was over now, justice had been served. And it sounded like a dull thud of a body hitting the floor, the heaviness of it almost satisfying in your ears. The conversation shifted into something lighthearted, with you and Yunho reminiscing about how he babysat you when you were younger, how your own father was when they were both teenagers, to all the mundane things like how your father would have reacted to your marriage with Hongjoong.

And Hongjoong was just there, laughing and smiling along like he’s always meant to be there with you. He would quip once or twice with his own accounts about your parents and you fell a little harder for the man, for the way he spoke about your parents with unparalleled fondness was something to behold. He truly adored them, and it just made you miss them even more.

“We should go,” you said gently, standing up, smoothing your dress daintily with a small smile. “I want to visit my parents today. It’s a good day and I haven’t been to ever since I was in college.”

Yunho, ever the gentleman that he was, walked both you and Hongjoong all the way to the door to see you out instead of sending his right-hand man like a man of his status should. The shift in his demeanor was immediate, but you tried your best to not pay attention to it as he hugged you goodbye.

“She’ll be back, Yunho,” Hongjoong rolled his eyes, noticing the small tension, subtly pulling you away back to his side with a curt chuckle. “Stop smothering her.”

Yunho didn’t answer with words. He just stared long, quiet, and with enough weight behind his gaze to make most men sweat as both you and Hongjoong speed walked all the way to the car to try and get away, but of course, there was no escaping. You were a Jeong, after all, and so was he. “Stop,” he spoke out, firm and absolute.

You halted from walking, giving Hongjoong a knowing look, who only squeezed your hand supportively. “Hmm?”

“I know what you did,” Yunho said, his voice just a touch lower than before. He swept his gaze on you from head to toe, stopping lightly at your shoulders. "Your sore shoulders tells me everything."

Your spine straightened, barely enough to notice, unless someone was trained to notice. You turned your head over your shoulder, lips curled into an innocent, almost amused smile. “Oh?”

He smirked, his body stilling like a predator catching scent. You faltered, suddenly reminded that Yunho wasn’t just your uncle - he was mafia, just like Hongjoong. Worse, perhaps, more patient and more precise. Hongjoong took pride in the brutality of it all while he was the kind of man who could make a death look like a ghost story.

For a moment, he looked overtly threatening, his intelligence sharper, and his confrontation carrying a much colder, calculated menace. He tilted his head mockingly, willingly playing your game. “Must’ve felt good,” he chuckled. “I bet you looked him in the eye.”

You had to laugh out loud at that one, not confirming nor denying what he was insinuating. “Maybe I just found peace,” you said innocently.

“I see. Say, what jail is he in? Might have to pay him a visit,” Yunho smiled, truly smiled, wide and cold, but still, it was impossible to miss the adoration and pride in it. “Let me guess - it’s two feet wide and six foot deep.”

Hongjoong, who’d been watching you both with amusement simmering just beneath the surface, finally spoke. “What vivid imagination you have,” he mused, smirking with dark intent, his eyes shining sadistically as he looked at you with faux curiosity. “Don’t you think, darling?”

Yunho nodded slowly, pursing his lips in a poor attempt to stop himself from smiling. “Not vivid enough,” he shrugged playfully. “Humour me this, if someone were to, say, shoot someone…would it be better to aim for a quick kill or prolong the agony? Hypothetically.”

You tapped your chin thoroughly, pretending to think. “ I’d prolong the agony. Shoot them four times on pressure points. Hypothetically, of course.”

“Next one,” Yunho said, clearly enjoying himself. “You’re standing over the body, hypothetically, and he’s looking at you, what would you say?”

“Hypothetically? You pondered, tilting your head as if you were really thinking about what to say. “I would have said ‘you should have killed me when you had the chance.’”

Hongjoong exhaled, something like reverence in his breath. “God, I love you.”

“Just one more,” Yunho said softly, his voice losing its teasing edge, now carrying the quiet weight of someone who’d once held you as a child, who had once promised your father to protect you. “Was it clean?”

You met his gaze evenly, nodding very subtly with a serene smile, one that he returned with all the love and unwavering support only someone who truly cared for you would do.

You wanted to tell him that it was so clean that after your hands didn’t even shake as you pulled the trigger and that the air smelled sweeter. Instead you said, “Like it never even happened.”

Yunho stared at you for a long moment, his eyes melting into something rawer, wearier. “If anyone asks,” he said lowly, the gravity in his tone undeniable now. “You were with me that night. Both of you were the entire time.”

His gaze cut to Hongjoong, who for once, looked struck silent. The air between them simmered with unspoken understanding. He nodded deeply with reverence. It wasn’t flashy, but it was sincere and genuine enough that Yunho didn’t mock him for it. “Thank you.”

Yunho just waved a hand, though his voice cracked slightly when he said, “Don’t thank me, you bastard. Just keep her safe or I swear, I’ll drag your sorry ass down and make you wish you’d stayed single.”

Hongjoong chuckled low in his throat. His hand settled gently on the small of your back as he led you forward. “Don’t worry, she married a man who never stopped watching her back.”

“God help us all,” Yunho rolled his eyes in mock disgrace, staring at the two of you as you both got in the car before he called for the last time. “Tell your parents I said hi.”

You looked back to see him watching you as Hongjoong started to drive away, arms crossed, but eyes glassy. And though he didn’t say it, you understood. You were safe, you were home, and he’d go to hell and back before anyone took that from you again.

The car ride was quiet at first, not from discomfort, but from something softer. Reverent. Hongjoong kept one hand on the wheel while the other was placed on your lap. It reminded you of that one stormy night when he sought out to find you in that lone playground. He turned to look at you, knowing that he was thinking the same as  you were. 

“I love you,” he said, pulling your hand up to kiss your knuckles. His eyes searched your face like he was memorizing it all over again, as though he still couldn’t believe you were here. “I should’ve said it a long time ago, I feel for you so much that it almost hurts.”

You blinked back the sudden tears, the sincerity in his voice cracking something wide open inside you. You laughed wetly. “That’s very sweet of you, I believe you, but why now?”

“I wanted to wait until everything was said and done,” he continued, pressing another kiss to your fingers. “I want to give you everything. A house to grow old with, a bed where you always feel safe, dinners where I burn the rice and you make fun of me for it. I want lazy Sundays and soft arguments and kisses, just like we’ve always done it.”

You looked at him, heart aching with how badly you wanted to believe in all of it and how, against all odds, you did. “You’re serious?” You asked softly, squeezing his hand back.

He placed a hand over his heart in a rare show of insecurity. “I would place a piece of my soul in every time and place you’d ever felt lonely, just so you wouldn’t be alone. I love you enough for the both of us, and there must be something about me worth loving if you would just see–”

You leaned in and kissed him the moment he parked, slow and sweet and full of the kind of hope neither of you had dared to hold onto before. When you pulled away, his forehead rested against yours. “I want that too,” you whispered. “I want everything with you, Hongjoong.”

He exhaled like he’d been holding that breath for years. “Then we start today,” he smiled as bright as the brightest star. “We say hello to your parents. We tell them you’re safe, then we build a life that’s entirely ours, okay?”

You nodded, your smile trembling. You finally look up at the sky after all these years, tearing up as the clouds seem to part way for the sun to finally shine, the rays beaming down at your parents’ tombstones. Finally, justice has been served, they can rest in peace now. You couldn’t help but stare if only for a little while.

Hongjoong approached the stones first, his head bowing low between them. He placed one hand gently on your mother’s grave, the other on your father’s. He didn’t speak loudly, but you saw his lips move, whispering something too quiet for even you to hear. It could’ve been anything - a greeting, a promise, or perhaps maybe even a thank you.

You didn’t ask what he said. You didn’t need to. For the first time, the cemetery didn’t feel like an end. It felt like a door closing softly behind you because the weight of grief was gone now. They could rest and so could you. You stood by Hongjoong’s side smiling at him as he gave you a small kiss on the forehead, coaxing you to talk to your own parents just like he did.

You brought your hands to your lips, kissed your palms, and pressed them reverently to each stone. “Rest easy now, Mom, Dad,” you whispered full of love and release, voice catching as you tried not to tear up. “I’m safe now, and I’m very happy. Happier than I’d ever been.”

You turned to look at the man standing just a few steps behind you - your husband, your protector, your love - watching you with a smile so soft, it nearly broke you open again. “I’m married now. It’s Hongjoong, remember him? Please bless our marriage, I really love him,” you paused, taking a deep breath. “I-I wish you were both here, I miss you…”

Then, slowly, you stepped back and began to walk away, hand in hand with Hongjoong. But before, you glanced back one last time, your heart feeling lighter at the sight of the wind blowing from the tombstones to your face lightly. You couldn’t help the serene smile on your face.

Hongjoong will take over now, he’ll take care of me like you would’ve wanted.

You were thirty-four years old when you finally found your peace that didn’t feel like a surrender this time and instead felt like home, hand in hand with the love of your life.

𝙽𝚎𝚝s - @keopihaus @dove-net @othersideoutlawsnetwork @illusionnet @pirateeznet @ksmutsociety @cromernet