#send requests

- thriller!mj is a PERVERT and i stand by it. he’s constantly eyeing you, brushing his bulge against your ass when passing by, slapping your ass, stealing your panties so you have to go out without them, oh the list goes on and on

- thriller!mj is also a eater like 100% he loves seeing your body from below, loves your taste, your smell, the way you twitch and whine. he can go for hours

- thriller!mj tries to do different positions with you but missionary will always be at his heart. he loves being able to kiss and pound into you at the same time. loves being able to be so close to your face and breast. chef’s kiss

- thriller!mj has a thing about phone sex. anytime he can’t be near you and he’s all horny he’ll call you up. pleading to hear your voice while you ask what’s that sloppy smacking in the background

- thriller!mj keeps nude polaroid photos of you in a secret pocket in his little wallet. it makes him feel so sneaky and gets him worked up

The smell of rain on pavement always made you feel safe.

It reminded you of childhood warm lights, tea kettles whistling, your brother calling your name with tired affection.

But this storm didn’t feel safe. It was quiet. Too quiet. You stood at the window of your apartment, watching water drip from the overhang, phone in hand, thumb hovering over Minjae’s name. Five calls. No answer. Not even a read receipt.

That wasn’t like him. Not when he was the one who usually flooded your phone with updates and late night “grab eggs on your way home” messages. Not when he was the one who always said, “We only have each other. Stay close.” You should have known something was wrong. The apartment was modest but clean furnished with secondhand furniture, tastefully decorated with soft neutral tones and a few framed photos. One of them sat on the entryway table. You and Minjae. Both laughing. Back when things were simple. Back when you still believed he could protect you from anything.

10:34 PM The sound of keys jiggling in the front lock made you exhale in relief.“Finally,” you muttered, padding to the door. But it didn’t open. The metal scraped. Then again. Then Your breath caught in your throat. Not keys. Not him. The lock was being picked. “Hello?” your voice trembled, barely above a whisper.

Then a second of stillness before the door burst open with a slam, and three men in black stormed inside. You didn’t even have time to scream before one grabbed your arm, another yanked your phone from your hand and slammed it to the floor, and the third cuffed your wrists behind your back like you were a criminal. “LET GO OF ME!” You kicked. Fought. Bit one in the shoulder hard enough to draw blood. “GET OFF ME, I’M—!” A fist connected with your stomach. You dropped to your knees, gasping.

“Shut her up,” one muttered. A black cloth was tied over your mouth. The hallway lights spun as your body was lifted dragged out of the home you fought to build, down the stairwell, into the pouring rain. No one stopped them. No one helped. The last thing you saw before the trunk door slammed shut… was the cracked photo of you and Minjae on the ground. Shattered.

𝒪𝓉𝒽ℯ𝓇 𝓈𝒾𝒹ℯ ℴ𝒻 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝒸𝒾𝓉𝓎

“She’s on her way,” a man said, adjusting the cuff of his suit. Across from him, Park Seonghwa sipped from a glass of red wine, his expression unreadable. “Was there trouble?” “She fought like hell.” The man in front of him said Seonghwa’s lips curved just slightly. “Good.” He set the glass down. Turned toward the hallway that led to the grand staircase. “I hate quiet women”

𝒯𝒽ℯ 𝒶𝓇𝓇𝒾𝓋𝒶𝓁

The mansion was cold. Not cold like winter, but cold like death like silence that never left. Your boots one of which had been ripped halfway off dragged uselessly across the marble floor as two men hauled you through the gilded foyer.

Your face was bloodied, Lip split, Knee raw from when you slammed into the pavement trying to run. Wrists swollen from the cuffs. Your hair stuck to your face from the rain and the fight. But your eyes they still burned. You didn’t cry. You wouldn’t.Not until you found your brother.

They dragged you up a staircase lined with oil paintings and security cameras, then down a velvet runner to double doors with black handles. One of the guards knocked once. Someone inside said, “Let her in.” The door creaked open.

And there he was. Park Seonghwa. Leaning against a sleek black desk. Dressed in black, from his collared shirt to his gloves. Clean. Unbothered. Cold. His eyes met yours like you were dirt tracked into his house. His gaze dropped to the blood on your chin, the bruising on your wrists.

“Tch,” he said. “I told them to bring you in one piece. They always overdo it. You ripped your arms out of the guards’ hold and staggered into the room. Your breathing was ragged, but your voice was steady. “Where’s Minjae?” Seonghwa tilted his head. “Hm?”seongwha questions “My brother. Where. Is. He.” You ask

He slowly walked toward you, his gloved hands in his pockets, lips twitching into something that might’ve been a smirk or a warning.“You mean the man who sold you?” You flinched. “Shut up.”“He did,” Seonghwa said, stopping a few feet from you. His tone was light. Amused.

“He offered you up like a business deal. Told me you’d be quiet. Obedient. Well-trained.” He chuckled lowly. “Clearly, he oversold.” Your nails dug into your palms. Your voice cracked.“You’re lying.”

“Am I?” he said softly, leaning in close enough for you to smell the leather and wine on his breath. “Then why aren’t you in your home right now, sweetheart?” “Why hasn’t he come for you?” “Why did he disappear the moment his debt was wiped clean?”

You stared at him, heart pounding. “He would never do that to me.” Seonghwa smiled. Not kind. Not gentle. It was the kind of smile people saw before a gunshot. “Then I have some bad news.”

“Your brother…” He walked slowly around you like a predator circling a wounded animal. “Is the reason you’re here.” “He’s the reason you’re standing in my house.” “On my time. On your knees, if I tell you to be.” You turned and shoved him hard. “GO TO HELL!”Seonghwa didn’t even stumble. He just laughed.

“You think this is hell?” he asked cruelly. “You haven’t even worn the dress yet.” Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away. “He’s going to come for me,” you said. Seonghwa’s eyes sharpened like a blade. “No, he’s not.” “He—” just as you were about to deny it “He thinks you’re dead.” Seongwha says. You froze.

“And if he ever tries to prove otherwise…” He leaned in. Voice low. Deadly. “I’ll make him wish he never crawled out of his mother’s womb.” You fell silent. Everything inside you cracked, then went quiet. And for the first time since they’d dragged you out of your home You felt truly alone.

The bed was too soft. The sheets too clean. You lay still in the dark, surrounded by velvet, silk, and the scent of roses that somehow made your stomach turn. The bruises on your ribs pulsed with every breath. Your wrists still burned. Every time you blinked, you saw Seonghwa’s smile that cold, beautiful smirk right before he said your brother wasn’t coming.

You didn’t cry. Tears meant defeat. You just stared at the ceiling and waited for morning like it might bring a knife or a miracle. Neither came.

soft knock stirred you awake.“Miss YN?” a quiet voice called. “It’s morning. We’ve brought you clothes.” You didn’t move.

Seconds later, the door creaked open. Two women stepped inside, dressed in sleek black uniforms, heads slightly bowed. Their hands moved quickly—pulling open curtains, laying out folded clothes in pale linen, a basin of warm water. You sat up slowly, muscles aching. “I don’t want your clothes,” you said. One of them spoke softly. “Mr. Seonghwa asked for you to join him for breakfast.”

“I don’t care.” Still, they helped clean your wounds gentle hands, but no warmth behind them. Like trained staff changing a display doll. You didn’t fight. Not because you gave in. But because you were watching. Learning. Waiting. They dressed you in a soft, cream blouse and a long skirt that hugged your waist. Barefoot. Hair fixed to be perfect. Lip still cracked.

The Dining Room. You were escorted through a hall of mirrors and marble to a wide, sun-drenched room. The table was long enough to seat twenty. At the end sat Seonghwa, dressed in a pressed gray shirt, sipping black coffee like he hadn’t destroyed your entire life twelve hours ago.

“Good morning, Mrs. Kang,” he said calmly, not looking up from the newspaper. “Or shall I say, soon-to-be.” You didn’t respond. You sat at the farthest end of the table, untouched food in front of you fruit, toast, eggs, tea. Your stomach turned. “Aren’t you going to eat?” he asked, finally meeting your eyes.

“I’d rather starve.” He leaned back in his chair, his tone smooth. “Go ahead. I’ll feed you myself if I have to.”You said nothing. He smirked. “Fine. Starve. But don’t faint during the fitting. That would be dramatic even for you.” Your head snapped up.“What fitting?” You asked “Your wedding dress, of course,” he said simply. “Unless you’d prefer a coffin. You’d look stunning in either.”

The Fitting Room

The room looked like it belonged in a bridal magazine. Ivory walls, full-length mirrors, gowns in every shade of white hanging from delicate racks. You stood in the center, arms crossed, refusing to speak as a designer shaky and nervous presented one dress after another.

“This one is Paris silk. Or this, in hand-beaded lace—” “I’m not wearing any of them,” you snapped. Seonghwa sat in the corner, legs crossed, sipping wine like it was water, watching you like a man amused by a storm behind glass.

“You’ll have to wear something, darling,” he said lazily. “Unless you want to be married naked. I’m not opposed.” You turned to him, eyes blazing. “Why are you doing this?” He didn’t answer immediately. He just stood slowly and walked toward you hands in pockets, posture relaxed, like he wasn’t the villain in the room.

“You want a reason?” “Fine.” “Because your brother begged for his life and gave yours instead.” “Because I can.” “Because I wanted to see if you’d look this angry in white.” He tilted his head. “And you do. It suits you.” You tried to slap him. He caught your wrist. “There it is,” he whispered, smirk gone. “The fire.” You yanked your hand away, trembling.

“You can force me into a dress. But I will never belong to you.” He smiled softly now, something far more chilling than mockery. “You already do.” Then he turned to the designer. “Let her choose whatever she wants. But make sure it fits her neck just tight enough to remind her it’s still a noose.”

Dinner was quiet. Too quiet. You sat at the end of the massive dining table in a soft ivory dress. Your wounds were mostly healed, though a faint bruise still lingered on your cheek, hidden beneath powder. Seonghwa sat at the head of the table like a king cutting his steak calmly, sipping wine like the world was perfectly in place.

He barely spoke to you. Just the occasional glance. You fixed your face to smirk when your fork scraped the plate too hard. He knew you hated this. That you were performing. But tonight, you didn’t fight. You played along. Because tonight, you were going to run.

After Dinner A warm bath had already been drawn for you. Lavender. Rose oil. All too gentle for a prisoner.

Two maids helped you in silence, washing your arms and legs like you were royalty instead of a woman stolen from her own life. You didn’t argue. You let them dress you in a pale silk robe, fixed your hair up for what’s appropriate for bed, place slippers at your feet.

You smiled. Thanked them. And when they left the room, you counted down from sixty…And moved.

You crept down the hall like you’d done in your mind a dozen times.The guards rotated out every thirty minutes. You’d timed it. The side door near the garden was always unlocked between dusk and nightfall. The window at the end of the corridor? Slightly faulty. You tested it once when no one was looking. You moved fast and quieter than you’d ever been.

You turned the corner. Pressed your fingers to the window latch Lifted A voice stopped you cold. “I was wondering when you’d try this.” You froze. No, No, no, no He wasn’t supposed to be here.

Seonghwa stood at the end of the hall, his sleeves rolled up, expression unreadable. No guards. No violence. Just him. “You bathed. You smiled at dinner.”His voice dropped. “That was your first mistake.” You turned and bolted down the hall “oh fuck, fuck” you say but you didn’t make it far.

His arm came around your waist, spinning you into him. You fought like hell kicking, elbowing, screaming into his chest but he didn’t flinch.

“Let me GO!” “You had your chance,” he growled.

He threw the door open and slammed it shut behind him, locking it with a loud click. You backed away, eyes wild, chest heaving. “You’re a fucking psycho!” You screamed “You’re a terrible liar,” he said. “You don’t smile when you eat with people you hate.”

“You think this is about dinner?” “No,” he said coldly, taking off his watch and setting it on the table. “It’s about you not learning.” You lunged for the door. He caught you, this time pinning your wrists to the wall. But he didn’t strike. He didn’t curse. He just stared at you.

“Are you going to sleep now,” he murmured, “or do I need to tie you to the bed?” You spit at him. He laughed. Low and dangerous. “You’re lucky I like fire.” He didn’t tie you down.But he did something way fucking worse.

He slid into your bed that night. Fully dressed, one arm around your waist, holding you like an anchor. Like a threat. His breath hit the back of your neck. His body heat wrapped around you like chains. “Sleep,” he murmured. “If you try to run again, I’ll cut the air out of this room.” You hated him. But still… you slept.Because for one fucked up moment You felt warm.

Wedding Morning

You woke alone, in silks and sunlight. A note sat on the edge of the bed in his handwriting: “Don’t bother running. The whole estate is locked. See you at the altar, Mrs. Park.” You tore it in half. But part of you… knew he was right.

The Ceremony The air was thick with incense and expectation.

The hanbok was heavy on your shoulders, red and gold silk trailing across the floor like blood. You stood at the edge of the ceremonial platform, staring at the courtyard full of strangers and snakes every one of them dressed in power, silence, and secrets.

Then Seonghwa entered. His robes matched yours. Traditional, regal, perfect. His expression was unreadable. Cold like always. His father nodded. His mother didn’t blink. His sister whispered something to a woman beside her and smirked.

You didn’t want to bow. You did anyway.You went through the motions.The rituals. The slow, careful sips of tea. The hand-holding. The gazes locked as petals fell from above. It looked beautiful. But it felt like a funeral. You couldn’t help but wonder which version of yourself had died. The free one? Or the foolish one who thought she could ever escape?

The Wedding Night

The room was dimly lit, the bed adorned in red. You sat on the edge in silence, still wearing the hanbok. You refused to change. You refused to make this more real than it already was. When Seonghwa entered, he looked amused.“Still dressed?”“Still waiting to fight.” He poured himself a drink. Didn’t come near you. “You think I’m here to sleep with you,” he said, sipping slowly. You stayed silent.

“Oh please,” he scoffed, turning to face you. “I’m not that evil. I don’t fuck people without consent.”You looked at him then. Calm. Sharp. “You’ve done everything else without consent.” He didn’t flinch. But the tension shifted just slightly. “Touché,” he said softly. “I’ll give you that.”

He walked toward you, slowly. Stopped in front of you, his hand reaching out But only to undo the ribbon holding your hanbok together. You flinched.“Relax,” he muttered. “Just take it off. You’ll sleep better.” “Not if you’re in the room.” “Then I’ll sleep on the balcony.” “I don’t want you near me.”

“You’re not getting what you want,” he whispered, brushing a stray hair behind your ear. “But you are getting what you need.” You slapped his hand away. He only smiled. Then walked out onto the balcony and shut the door behind him.

The Next Morning You woke up alone. Again. You sat up, sore in places that had nothing to do with the body and everything to do with the soul. You got dressed in silence, ignored the breakfast tray someone had left, and paced the room like a caged animal. Then the knock came. And before you could answer, the door flung open. “OHMYGOD you’re so pretty! You’re even prettier up close. hi! HI! You must be YN right? The wife? Oh my god, I’m so nervous—”

A girl barreled into the room like a caffeinated storm. Probably around your age, but her energy felt like it belonged to someone half that. She was short, bubbly, wearing a bright yellow dress that absolutely did not belong in this house of marble and menace.

“Who—” “Oh! Sorry! I’m Jiwoo. Seonghwa said I’m your gift!” You blinked.“My what?” “Your gift. Companion. Friend. Emotional support prisoner okay, I made that last one up but seriously! He thought you might be lonely and since I never shut up and he’s y’know, him he said maybe we’d balance each other out.” You stared at her.

She smiled. Big, Bright, Unapologetically chaotic. Then Seonghwa appeared in the doorway, hands in his pockets, watching the chaos unfold with deadpan amusement. “She talks too much,” he said flatly. “I’ve thought about killing her at least a dozen times.” “Hey!” Jiwoo pouted.

“But…” he continued, eyes on you. “I didn’t. I thought you might want someone… different.” You said nothing. “Don’t thank me,” he added coolly.

“It wasn’t kindness. I just don’t want you going mad and slicing your wrists before the reception.” “Wow,” Jiwoo whispered beside you.

“He’s so romantic.” As she says that you look at her like she just bitch slapped you in the most offending way “what?, am I wrong”

You weren’t told about the reception until an hour before it began. You had just finished dealing with Jiwoo who was now humming and twirling in the corner of your room like this was a princess movie and not your private hell when another knock came.

Two women entered with a new hanbok, this one sapphire blue with gold embroidery. “Mr. Seonghwa is expecting you downstairs. His family and inner circle are waiting.” You didn’t move. “Inner circle?” “The rest of The Gild,” one said quietly. “His brothers.”

The Reception ballroom was opulent, candlelit, laced in gold, white peonies, and shadow. Music drifted through the air, traditional instruments mixed with low modern undertones. Guests stood in clusters, sipping champagne and smiling like none of them had killed a man in their lives. And then you saw them. They weren’t wearing name tags. But you knew they were different. Eight of them. A unit. A force. Seonghwa’s Gilded Circle.

“Don’t look so stiff,” a voice murmured beside you. It was him. Seonghwa, appearing at your side, dressed in jet-black hanbok lined with silver. “Smile, Mrs. Park. You’re about to meet the people who can ruin countries with one phone call.” He took your hand. You didn’t smile.

The Introductions were…..kinda weird but some comforting and some not. First came Hongjoong. Sharp eyes, short stature, commanding presence. He gave you a polite nod, but his gaze was calculating. “So you’re the fireball,” he said. “Didn’t think Seonghwa had it in him.” “Had what?” You questioned “A conscience. Or a wife.” Seonghwa just sipped his drink beside you, unimpressed.

Then San stepped forward, grinning. More casual, but his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You punch people when you’re mad or break their stuff?” “Both.”you say “Nice,” he smirked. “You’ll fit in.”

Then came Wooyoung, who looked you up and down shamelessly before letting out a low whistle. “Damn. We thought you’d be boring.” “I am,” you deadpanned. “Feisty I see” he winked, nodding toward Seonghwa. Seonghwa didn’t even blink.

Yeosang came next elegant, quiet, and unreadable. He didn’t speak to you. He just bowed his head slightly and moved on. But his eyes lingered long enough to say he was watching.

Then Mingi towering, warm smile, but his knuckles looked like they’d never fully healed.“I don’t like what he did to you,” he said, completely unprompted. “But if he didn’t, someone worse would have.” You blinked. He gave you a small, sad smile.

Jongho was last younger, observant, and with a presence that felt like stone beneath silk. “You’re stronger than you look,” he said quietly. “Don’t let him break you.” You didn’t answer. Because if you spoke, the truth might come spilling out. I’m already cracked.

The reception was winding down fewer strangers, more silence, and far more eyes on you. You stood near a row of white camellias, clutching a glass of untouched wine, barely breathing. Then he appeared beside you. “It’s time,” Seonghwa said, quiet enough that only you heard. “My family wants to speak with you.” You didn’t answer. He didn’t wait for one.

His Mother. Lady Park was standing beneath a paper lantern tree, dressed in a soft jade hanbok that shimmered like water. Her features were refined but not cold, and when she saw you, her entire expression changed. Warm, Gentle, and Surprisingly maternal. “So… you’re our girl,” she said softly, stepping forward.

You were braced for something sharp. Instead, she took your hands in hers. “You must’ve been so scared,” she murmured. “I can only imagine how strange all of this must feel to you.” You blinked. “I—yes. It’s… a lot.” She gave a small, knowing smile. “My son is many things. He’s not good at slow beginnings.”You almost laughed. Almost.

“But he’s loyal,” she added. “And dangerous. And sometimes kind in ways no one sees.” “You’re stronger than I expected. That’s good. He needs someone who doesn’t flinch.” Then she did something no one else had done since you were taken. She hugged you. No theatrics. Just soft arms around your tense frame, and a mother’s calm voice in your ear. “You’re not alone here. Not entirely.” You didn’t know what to say.

His Father. Lord Park stood to the side, swirling a glass of dark liquor, eyes unreadable. He looked at you once. Nodded. “Strong jaw,” he said. You blinked. “Excuse me?” You say confused by the words he chose to use “Your face. You’re not weak. That’ll serve you well here.” He says. You weren’t sure if it was a compliment or a warning. Maybe both. He didn’t speak again.

His Sister. You didn’t notice her until she popped up beside you with a full plate of snacks and the world’s most mischievous grin. “I saved you the only good food they served,” she whispered. You blinked. She shoved a piece of tteok into your hand. “Eat. You look like you haven’t had a real meal since they kidnapped you.”You choked a little.

“I’m Yeona,” she said, linking your arm with hers. “Seonghwa’s sister. Technically. Emotionally? Way cooler.” You didn’t know how to react. She winked. “If you ever wanna run, I know five exits, six secret doors, and which guards take bribes.” “You’re joking… right?”you ask She just smiled. “I’ll let you decide.”

Later That Evening You sat on the balcony alone, hair undone, shoes off, wine glass half-full. For the first time since you arrived here, your body wasn’t clenched in fear.

You didn’t feel safe. But you felt seen. Maybe… maybe that was something. Seonghwa appeared in the doorway. “They liked you,” he said. “Even your father?” You say “That was his version of affection.” You glanced up.

“Your mother… she hugged me.” You say softly “She doesn’t do that for just anyone.” he answered “And your sister?” You asked “If she gave you food, you’re part of the family now. Permanently.” You paused. “That’s not comforting.” Seonghwa smiled just a little. Then turned to leave. “Get some rest. Tomorrow I’m giving you a gift.” “A gift?” You asked “You’ll see.” He says

“Why the hell are we going to a mall?”you say confused “Because I said so,” Seonghwa replied. That was your only warning. Jiwoo squealed with excitement as soon as she heard, spinning in her socks down the hallway. “OHMYGOD YES. I haven’t touched real lip gloss in months. I’m going to buy fifteen.”

“I’m not going,” you muttered. “Yes, you are,” Seonghwa said without looking up from his watch. “You need clothes. You’re not wearing funeral gowns for the rest of your life.” “I like black.”you say “And I like seeing you in things you didn’t fight someone to wear.”

In the car You sat in the back of the black SUV. Seonghwa beside you. Jiwoo in the front seat, feet on the dash, singing along to a girl group like this was a road trip instead of a power play. The windows were tinted. The guards followed in a separate vehicle. Two more were stationed in the mall already. You weren’t escaping.

You knew it. He knew it. But you still glanced at every exit like a plan might suddenly fall into your lap. “Don’t,” Seonghwa said without looking at you. “They’ll shoot you before you hit the street.” “You’re charming,” you muttered. “You’re married. Get used to me.”

The Mall he took you too was packed. You hadn’t seen so many people in weeks. The lights were bright. The air smelled like cinnamon pretzels and perfume samples. Teenagers laughed. A couple held hands by the escalators. Two kids were playing in the fountain and got scolded by their mom. The normalcy was dizzying. You didn’t realize how empty you’d felt until now.

Jiwoo dragged you into a clothing store within seconds. “Okay, okay, hear me out,” she said, holding up a sparkly crop top. “This and the red heels. Boom. Hot girl vengeance.” “I’m not trying to be hot.” You say coldly“You already are,” she said.“Now let’s dress like it.”

You let her shove clothes into your arms, not fighting this time. Not yet. Not here. You tried on a few outfits. Picked some jeans, tops, soft sweaters. Things that didn’t feel like chains.

You stepped out of the dressing room in a simple beige dress, short and sleeveless. Seonghwa, seated casually by the wall, looked up from his phone. Paused. And stared. “Is it too much?” you asked Jiwoo. But he answered.“No,” Seonghwa said. “It’s perfect.”

The Food Court was filled with many people and You didn’t want to eat with him. So Jiwoo filled a tray with bubble tea and spicy tteokbokki and sat with you in the corner booth. Seonghwa sat across from you both, sipping iced Americano like he wasn’t a mafia husband watching his wife eat fish cakes. “Why are you really here?” you asked him, low. “To spend time with you.” “So now you care?” You asked

“No,” he said, lips curling. “I just like keeping you close. Watching you squirm.” “You’re sick.” You say glaring “And you’re still here.” He says Jiwoo made a dramatic choking sound between bites. “Can you two NOT flirt like villains at a high school lunch table? I’m trying to digest.” You glared. Seonghwa smirked.

“Okay this is it,” Jiwoo grinned.She dragged you to the glowing beauty counter like it was a holy altar. “Today, I turn you into a hottie in mascara.”

“I don’t need makeup to be a hottie” you smirked. “Fair. But imagine being hot and bad as hell. That’s unstoppable.” She started dabbing highlighter on your cheekbones while you scowled in the mirror. Seonghwa stood across the store, arms crossed, watching like a hawk as two guards lingered nearby. But for the first time… you didn’t care.

You were laughing. With Jiwoo. With someone who didn’t want to own you or control you. Someone who might actually be your friend. “Hey,” Jiwoo whispered while brushing powder on your jaw. “You know why he brought me to you, right?” “Because I was lonely?” You say confused “Because he trusts me to kill anyone who gets too close.” You blinked surprised. she smiles like nothing. “I may be loud, but I’m trained. Your little bodyguard. And You? You’re the only person he’s ever looked at like you matter.”

Your stomach flipped. “He doesn’t care.” You say determined that he doesn’t “He would’ve killed me a long time ago if he didn’t care about you.”

You were exiting the store when something happened. You caught a glimpse of a man in a cap too still, eyes too alert. You turned, just in time to see the blade glint in the air “SEONGHWA—!” You yelled But Seonghwa had already seen it. He pushed you back, took the hit with a grunt. A silver dagger buried deep in his side. Blood soaked through his white shirt instantly.

The guards tackled the attacker. A another attacker coming towards you this time. Jiwoo without hesitation kicked the attacker back knocking him to the ground and swiftly kicking him in the face knocking him unconscious.

You dropped to Seonghwa’s side, shaking. “Stupid girl,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “Why are you shaking? I’m not dying.” “Shut up,” you whispered “Stop talking like it’s just a scratch—”you scold him “It is.” He inputs

But it wasn’t. Blood poured from the wound, hot and terrifying. And yet all he said wasAre you hurt?” ”What?” You say caught off guard by the question “Are. You. Hurt?” He repeats “No—god, no, but you—” you say “Good.” Then he passed out in your arms.

Later That Night He survived. Of course he did. Three doctors. Private surgery. And a scar that would haunt you forever. You sat beside him in his private room, still in your dress, blood dried on your sleeves. He hadn’t woken yet. Jiwoo brought you tea. She didn’t talk much after that. “He told me once,” she said, quiet, “that there are only two reasons he wouldn’t kill someone who got close.”“Why?” You ask “One because they were useful. Two because they made him feel something he couldn’t understand.” She looked down at her cup. “He doesn’t understand you.”

He woke at midnight. Groggy, Pale, But alive. And the first thing he did? “Check her,” he rasped. “Did anyone touch her?” The guards shook their heads. You were stunned silent. Later that night, after the chaos cooled and the bleeding stopped, he called for you. A black velvet box sat beside him. “What is it?” You questioned “Our rings.” He says “What?” You say confused “Marriage rings. Real ones.” He says.

You stared. Inside were two delicate silver bands, thin and simple. One for him. One for you. Etched with some sort of symbol you didn’t recognize.“You’ll wear it,” he said. “Always.” He says “What if I take it off?” You ask. His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t.”

You slid it on your finger. Something cold pricked your skin for a brief second like a needle under the surface. You gasped. “What the hell—?” “Security,” he said. “So you’re never unmarked again.” You stared at him. He wore his too.

©𝙺𝙿𝙾𝙿𝙲𝙰𝙵𝙴𝙴𝙴

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰 !!

𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐛𝐨𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬

Sword in hand, shield on your back, you descended the stairs into the basement. The landlord had been complaining about hearing noises this morning when the tavern opened. Getting rid of rats in a pub basement is the perfect way for an adventurer to cut their teeth. 

Edging down the creaking wooden steps, you could hear why they wanted a sellsword. It must be a few huge rats, not the small ones you’d either learn to live with or put down some traps for. Your grip tightened, whatever it was, you’d put an end to it.

When your boot touched the stone at the foot of the stairs, you reached into your coat for a necklace. The only piece of your kit not begged or borrowed, an amulet of light. Closing your eyes for a moment, you touched the pendant with your mind. Tiny pinpricks of light started to float from the trinket. Your heart dropped. The noise wasn't rats. 

A thousand black eyes were looking at you. Forming the core of a great mass of mottled greyish tendrils. You started up the stairs again, hoping to outpace it. You weren't that lucky.

The moment you looked away, a tendril wrapped around your waist, pulling you back. Fingernails clawing at the rough stone, you slid backwards. You screamed for help, only to get another slick tendril wrapping around your face, covering your mouth and nose. 

More set to work, dextrous feelers undoing buckles where they could, splitting seams where they couldn’t. In seconds, your lower half was bare. Exposed to it, kicking and struggling as your lungs burned. You clawed at your face, stealing thick-smelling air through fleeting openings. Both of your ankles were wrapped now, forcing your legs apart against your straining to keep them closed. A thin tendril trailed slime over your slit. It burned where it touched the sensitive skin, hot and desperate. Your grunts of exertion changed, a note of arousal to match the spreading warmth in your loins. Your mouth hung half open, letting more of the slime flood your senses. The desperate need to be filled flowing down your throat. 

You weren’t struggling now. 

Holding yourself open for it, feeling the tip of a tendril probe your folds. The slime mingling with your slick, teasing you, almost tasting you before it finally found the opening.

Your body tensed in waves, hands clenching, toes curling, cunt pulsing. You almost doubled over, if not for the strong limbs holding you. More of the slime oozed from the tip, spreading deeper inside. The tip nestled against your cervix, a dull ache mingling with the prickly, tingling heat. You felt it probe against the entrance to your womb, sliding against the tight opening before making purchase. Squirming against your muscles, sliding through until the tip plunged deeper inside than any man could reach.

It waited, throbbing, oozing more of the mind-melting ooze deep inside. Your belly ached, your thighs twitched. It held you like a ragdoll, no longer restraining you but holding you up so it could better reach your fertile holes. Another tendril probed your winking asshole, yet another slipped into your mouth fully. They slid in effortlessly, well lubricated by the drugged mucous driving you insane. Languidly slipping through your body, nestling deep in your guts. They started to twitch and pulse, thickening within you. They rearranged your insides, stretching out the soft tissues, growing hard and stiff. Then you felt it.

Through the drugged haze, you could feel the thick masses travelling through the tendrils, stretching your already plugged up holes, nestling in your belly and your womb. Your body wanted to cry out, to scream in orgasmic release, but you couldn’t so much as make a noise around the thick breeding plug in your throat. All you could do was hang there, tears streaming from your eyes, feeling yourself twitch and writhe against the slick arms stretching you out. 

Your belly began to swell, bloated by the volume of the eggs finding their way inside. Another, then another, then another, until you looked as pregnant as you were. By the time the creature was done with you, you couldn’t move. Holes stretched, belly distended outwards, still leaking juices and twitching with aftershock orgasms. 

--- The morning light trickled through the half-open windows of the drama clubroom. Legoshi shifted uncomfortably as he adjusted a prop tree, his mind preoccupied with a myriad of thoughts. The sudden announcement from Louis the previous week had taken everyone by surprise—a new head writer had been chosen.

She had arrived earlier that day, slipping into the room with all the presence of a shadow. Legoshi watched her from the corner of his eye as she sat, barely speaking, her sharp gaze fixed on the scattered scripts before her. A black cat with an air of indifference, she radiated a quiet intensity that made even the most confident club members uneasy.

“Her grades are unmatched,” Louis had explained with his usual brisk tone. “She’s exactly what we need to elevate this production.”

Legoshi’s tail flicked nervously as he approached her.

“Uh... hi. I’m Legoshi,” he murmured, his voice softer than usual.

The cat glanced up briefly, her green eyes narrowing slightly before she returned to her work. “Okay.”

It wasn’t rude, but it wasn’t warm either. It was… curt, like she had decided he wasn’t worth more than a single syllable. He shifted awkwardly.

“So… um, you’re the new writer?” he tried again, his ears twitching as the silence stretched uncomfortably.

“Yes.”

Another sharp, clipped answer. Legoshi’s tail drooped. He wasn’t good at conversations on the best of days, but this was like trying to talk to a brick wall. Still, there was something about her that intrigued him—something about the way she seemed to carry a world of thoughts behind those short answers.

“Is there… anything you need help with?” he asked, trying to be helpful.

The cat finally put down her pen and looked at him fully. Her expression was unreadable, but her voice was calm and measured. “No. I’m used to doing things myself.”

Legoshi nodded, unsure if that was a dismissal. “Okay… I’ll just, uh, be over here then.”

She didn’t reply, her attention already back on the papers in front of her. He slunk back to his corner, silently berating himself for his awkwardness. But as the hours passed, he couldn’t help but watch her work.

Her movements were precise, her focus unyielding. She scribbled notes in the margins of the script, her handwriting neat and deliberate. Occasionally, she would pause to glance around the room, her sharp eyes missing nothing.

It was Louis who finally broke the ice—if only unintentionally.

“Legoshi, stop lurking and make yourself useful!” the deer snapped, gesturing toward the new head writer. “She needs the last script drafts from the archives. Take her.”

Legoshi’s ears flattened, but he obeyed. He shuffled over to her, mumbling, “Uh, we need to get the drafts. I can show you where they are.”

She stood without a word, gathering her things before following him.

The walk to the archives was silent. Legoshi felt like he should say something, but every time he glanced at her, she seemed lost in thought, her expression unreadable.

When they reached the dusty shelves of the archives, she finally broke the silence.

“This must be exhausting for you,” she said, her voice low but unexpectedly soft.

Legoshi blinked. “What do you mean?”

“All this social interaction,” she replied, glancing at him sideways. “It seems... draining.”

He hesitated. “It can be,” he admitted, “but I like helping people.”

She gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, as though she understood. They worked in silence for a while, sorting through the papers.

“You’re... different,” she said suddenly, her voice so quiet he almost didn’t hear it.

“Different how?”

She didn’t answer right away, her eyes focused on the script in her hands. Finally, she murmured, “Most people talk too much.”

Legoshi chuckled softly, a genuine smile tugging at his lips. “I guess I’m not most people then.”

For the first time, her lips twitched, almost forming a smile. It was brief, but it was there.

Maybe, Legoshi thought, as they continued to work together, she wasn’t as unreachable as she seemed.

---

The warm glow of the afternoon sun cast soft streaks across the dusty floorboards of the drama club’s archive room. Legoshi’s ears twitched nervously as he glanced at the black cat beside him. She was leaning against one of the towering shelves, her sleek frame almost melding into the shadows, her sharp green eyes scanning the scripts she had pulled from the stacks.

The air felt heavy. Legoshi shuffled his feet, his large claws scraping lightly against the floor. He wanted to speak, to break the suffocating silence, but her rigid posture and piercing gaze kept him rooted in place.

“Legoshi,” she said suddenly, her voice low and deliberate.

He flinched, startled. “Y-Yes?”

“You’re breathing too loud.” She didn’t look up, her tail swishing once before curling tightly around her.

“Oh. S-Sorry.” He ducked his head, his ears flattening as he tried to stifle the deep, instinctive breaths his body demanded.

For a moment, she said nothing, her expression blank as her eyes flicked between the pages of the script. Then, with a sigh, she set the stack down and turned to him fully, her hands resting loosely in her pockets.

“You’re... not what I expected,” she murmured, her tone unreadable.

Legoshi blinked, his tail curling awkwardly behind him. “What do you mean?”

“Most people are loud. Obnoxious.” She tilted her head slightly, her gaze narrowing as she studied him. “You’re... quiet. And you don’t stare.”

Legoshi rubbed the back of his neck, his claws grazing the fur there. “I-I mean, it’s rude to stare. And I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable…” His voice trailed off, his body hunching slightly under her scrutiny.

Her lips twitched—a movement so subtle it might have been missed entirely. “Not bad,” she muttered, almost to herself.

“Uh… thanks?” Legoshi offered hesitantly, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

She turned back to the scripts, her movements fluid and deliberate. The air between them settled into a tense quiet, though it felt less sharp than before.

---

Later, back in the drama clubroom, Louis was barking orders at the cast, his voice sharp and commanding as he directed a rehearsal. Legoshi lingered near the edge of the room, holding a box of props. His eyes darted to the black cat, who had returned to her corner with the same detached grace, her pen scratching lightly against the pages of her notebook.

Legoshi couldn’t help but watch her, his large, gray ears twitching slightly. There was something captivating about her—how still she was, like a predator lying in wait. She wrote with an intensity that made the rest of the bustling room feel irrelevant.

A loud clatter jolted him from his thoughts.

“Legoshi!” Louis barked, his sharp amber eyes boring into him. “Stop staring and do something useful.”

“S-Sorry!” Legoshi stammered, his claws fumbling with the box as he scrambled to set it down. His tail curled tightly around his leg as he ducked his head, trying to make himself smaller.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the black cat glance up, her green eyes briefly flicking to Louis before returning to her work.

---

Later that day, as the club emptied out, Legoshi found himself walking beside her again. She didn’t speak, her footsteps soft and deliberate against the pavement.

“I, uh, hope today wasn’t too stressful,” Legoshi offered, his voice barely above a murmur.

She glanced at him, her expression unreadable. “Why do you care?”

Legoshi hesitated, his shoulders hunching as he struggled to find the right words. “I… I just want to make sure you’re okay. That’s all.”

Her ears flicked back, and she looked away. “I’m used to stress. It’s not a big deal.”

He nodded slowly, his claws tapping lightly against his thighs as they walked. “I guess… but you don’t have to handle everything alone. Sometimes it’s okay to let people help.”

She stopped suddenly, turning to face him. Her gaze was sharp, her tail flicking behind her. “Why? Why does it matter to you?”

Legoshi froze, his ears flattening as he struggled under her intense stare. “B-Because…” He swallowed, his large hands fidgeting nervously. “I know what it’s like to feel like you don’t fit in. And… I think it’s nice to have someone who understands.”

Her eyes widened slightly, the smallest crack in her composed demeanor. But just as quickly, she looked away, her shoulders tensing.

“I don’t need anyone to understand,” she said flatly, though her voice was quieter than before.

Legoshi tilted his head, his tail swishing gently behind him. “Maybe not,” he said softly, “but it’s okay if you do.”

For a moment, neither of them moved. The fading light of the evening painted the campus in warm hues, and the air between them felt heavy with unspoken words.

Finally, she sighed, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “You’re strange, Legoshi.”

He blinked. “I-I am?”

“Yes,” she said simply, her lips twitching again in that almost-smile. “But it’s not the worst thing.”

Legoshi couldn’t stop the small wag of his tail as he followed her back to the dorms, the faintest hint of hope blooming in his chest.

Maybe, he thought, some connections didn’t need words—they just needed time.

Part one

part two…