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blossom-hwa · 8 days

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a very fine line, indeed [8] | c.bg

pairing: Beomgyu x fem!reader genre: fluff, angst, enemies to lovers, regency era!au, nobility!au warnings: mentions of assault, abuse, cursing, period typical misogyny word count: 11.2k notes: — updates every M/W/F at 8pm EST until the series finishes — assault/abuse scenes are not graphic, but please heed the warnings and let me know if any of it is romanticized or just written in poor taste--I assure you I did not mean it, and I will fix anything needed. — inspiration taken from an amalgamation of different bridgerton stories - let me know what easter eggs you find! — story takes place in the same universe as my duke!yeonjun and earl!taehyun fics - check out the link to the series below for some more easter eggs :) In a society where it only takes a year for a young woman in search of a husband to be considered out of season, it is no wonder that by your third year out, you are desperate to marry. Known as one of the beauties of the ton, such a task should not be difficult for you—but with an absent father, no dowry, and a reputation centered around your inability to keep your mouth shut around one certain Beomgyu Choi, your prospects are more limited than you’d like. While you cannot recover your family or your wealth, however, the one thing you can try to control is your reputation. So when the third season rolls around, you resolve to keep your distance from Beomgyu Choi, your childhood enemy, and the man you hate most in the world. Enter Beomgyu Choi, second son of the Kensington Viscountcy, one of the most eligible bachelors in the ton. His older brother, cousin, and good friend have all recently married, leaving the mamas to salivate at his doorstep for the chance of marrying one of their daughters to him. When Beomgyu walks in on a particularly traumatizing moment between you and one of the most unsavory men in the ton and learns of your desperation to marry, despite your history of enmity, he proposes you a devious deal—to pretend to court you. It seems like a winning situation for both of you—more gentlemen will take notice of you, enhancing your prospects, and he will have the ton’s mamas off his back—and so, despite your misgivings, you agree. With you hell bent on marriage and Beomgyu completely indifferent to the concept, even independent of your hatred for each other, it seems unlikely that any sort of true affection will bloom. But as you begrudgingly put aside your differences to spend more and more time in one another’s company, and as you grow to know each other beyond your ill-conceived preconceptions from childhood, you begin to realize that perhaps you two have more in common than you had once thought. And as your faked acquaintanceship becomes more truth than fiction, a friendship beginning to bloom most unexpectedly— Perhaps you no longer need to convince the ton of the veracity of your courtship, because anyone with eyes can see that it is true. Part 7 >> Part 8

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It’s been a week since you took unwilling part in the biggest scandal to overtake the ton this entire season, and you’re feeling more and more certain with each passing day that your reputation will never recover.

You thought the same thing at the beginning of the season, just a few months ago. At the time, you thought it couldn’t get any worse. Funny how time ends up proving you wrong.

Of course, you have no idea how the ton is receiving any of the gossip. You know the facts, as does everyone else who was in the room when it all happened, but that doesn’t matter. Someone will undoubtedly distort them for the sake of a good story. Your stepmother has been refusing all calls on your behalf, though, so you have no clue what the ton is saying. It’s not like she would tell you, anyway. The morning after the Jung ball she slapped you across the face so hard you saw stars, and you had to listen to her scream at you for an hour after that. When you tried to ask her what people were saying about you a few days ago, she gave you another mark to match the first one.

The bruises still hurt to the touch.

Maybe it’s just as well. You’re not sure you want to know what anyone is saying. The gossip about you and Beomgyu had hardly abated before the Jung ball, and with all the speculation then about you being sort of shameless whore able to seduce men into offering you marriage proposals, you can only imagine what they’re saying about you now. They probably think you seduced Lord Cho, too.

They probably think you deserved whatever he intended to do to you.

Which isn’t true. You never asked for any sort of physical relationship with him, never even considered it. You said no when he offered it—if the word offered could even describe the situation. Stupid as it is, you really did believe he wanted to marry you, and his words cut you deep when you learned of his true intentions. But the cynical part of you can’t help but feel like you got what was coming to you. You should have known better—known that no one would truly ever want to marry you, because you have nothing to offer. Maybe it’s true that you aren’t fit for anything more than a mistress.

If you didn’t have so much damn pride, maybe you’d have been able to accept that by now.

You can forget any delusions of being married, now. If you weren’t already ruined by Beomgyu leaving you after the waltz, surely this incident has marked you as a fallen woman—or at least as close to it as you can get without having actually been deflowered. Never mind that you never asked for it. Never mind that you had to beat him off with a damn candlestick. No one wants a woman who’s been sullied by another man’s touch, no matter how unwarranted.

Maybe it’s really time for you to start making plans to run away.

Even as the thought crosses your mind, though, you have to stifle a snort. Pausing in the middle of scrubbing out a large pot, you close your eyes for just a moment, hoping to clear out all of your remaining stupid thoughts. Run away, yes? With what money? You have nothing. This family has nothing. There’s nothing useful you can even steal from the house, and your father isn’t coming back with any money. This, you know now.

You can still hear the terrible silence that accompanied the opening of that letter. Your stepmother’s simmering rage as her eyes scanned every carefully penned line that told of the passing of your father, and the loss of any remnants of the family fortune at the hands of his gambling addiction. You had no idea he had such an addiction. The few times you saw him over the past decade, he always seemed so stoic, so upright. You never thought he could have been hiding something so terrible behind that façade.

But he was. And now he is dead, and he has passed nothing onto you except a mountain of terrible fortune.

There’s really no end to it. You sigh, returning to the pot still half covered in suds in the sink. Maybe this is for the better. You’ll grow into a spinster, hide yourself from society with your position as a servant in this household, and fade away from public attention. In a few years, people will forget about everything. Maybe. Hopefully. And then you’ll have some peace of mind.

…There’s no real hope of that, though. You’ll never have peace as long as you live with your stepmother. Maybe that’s your eternal punishment for all the stupid choices you made this season—having to live with her until she dies, or you do.

At least she’s gone now. She left a while ago to make some morning calls, you think. You tried to ask who she was going to meet and she just snapped that she was trying to clean up the mess you had made of yourself and your family this season.

Very useful information, that was. You didn’t press though. You didn’t want to add on to the collection of bruises already beginning to bloom across your cheek.

She’s gone now, though, and you haven’t heard her return, so you have some time to breathe without her sneering down her nose at you every minute of the day. The silence is nice even if you know it’ll be short lived.

Something sounds in the hall as you’re scrubbing the last pot clean. You stiffen, thinking it might be your stepmother, but it still feels like it hasn’t been long since she left—surely she wouldn’t be back so soon? You look over at Soyoung, who’s helping you scrub away. Her raised eyebrow indicates she’s as confused as you are.

Footsteps sound down the hallway, and then you hear Brighton speaking. Your confusion increases by the second—surely no one has any reason to call, not when your stepmother has been chasing away callers almost every day. You wonder if Brighton will have them leave too, whoever they are, but he likely won’t. Without your stepmother here, he would probably defer to you, unless she left him with explicit instructions not to. Though he might disobey them anyway. The staff here don’t take very kindly to your stepmother.

The thought makes you smile, but that smile quickly begins to drop as Brighton’s characteristic light footsteps sound closer and closer to the kitchen. You finish rinsing off the last pot just as he enters the kitchen, standing primly in the doorway.

“Miss L/N.”

You turn around, wiping your hands on your apron. “Yes, Brighton?”

A hint of distaste edges his words. “Mr. Choi has come to call.”

Despite the situation, you almost smile. You can’t say you don’t appreciate the staff’s quiet support at your situation. No doubt they’ve heard all manner of gossip from the other servants around town, but you told Soyoung what truly happened so your staff has been very kind to you since everything started going downhill. Brighton in particular has taken to speaking the Choi name with a subtle, almost undetectable annoyance that only butlers can emulate, and you won’t deny that it makes you feel a little better, sometimes. Not because you hate Beomgyu—you wish you could hate him, it would make everything so much easier—but because it’s nice to know that someone has your back.

The almost smile slips off your face almost as easily as it came, though. Because you really don’t know if you want to see him. He was right about Lord Cho, right from the start—and all you and everyone else did was just brush his concern off as jealousy. You don’t want to face him. You don’t want to know what he has to say. And truth be told, you’re still not entirely sure you forgive him for what he did at the Haynesworth ball. He tried to explain when he called the last time. You didn’t let him. You’re still not sure if you want to let him. Anger is the only shield you have now against your pain and you’re not ready to give up its embrace so soon, even if its warmth is more suffocating than nourishing.

There is another warmth that is nourishing, though. A warmth you’ve only ever felt with those you loved. Delia, Henry, Soyoung…

And Beomgyu, too.

All of the residual anger drains out of your body, leaving you cold and a little empty. You look down at yourself, at your dirty servant’s garb splashed with water and soap, at your tender hands still holding a sponge covered in suds. You should hear him out, let him speak, but you’re just…so tired. You want this all to be over. And anyway, even if you knew you wanted to speak with him, you don’t know when your stepmother will return from her own morning calls—calls meant to repair your reputation, whatever the hell that means. She might come back in the middle of a conversation and you really don’t want to know what would happen then.

That’s just an excuse, though. You know that just the thought of your stepmother wouldn’t be able to stop you from doing anything you really wanted to. The question is, then, do you really want to see Beomgyu? Do you really?

“For what it is worth,” Brighton says, interrupting your thoughts, “he has tried to call every morning since the Jung ball, Miss L/N.” He twists his hands together in an uncharacteristic show of uncertainty. “Your stepmother turned him away each time, but…perhaps he truly does have something to say.”

Every morning since the Jung ball. You blink. That’s…dedication. It reminds you an awful lot of how he tried to see you almost every day for a week after the Haynesworth ball, which in turn reminds you of that terrible last conversation you shared with him. He had wanted to explain himself. You hadn’t let him. Instead, you’d told him never to come back and he had heeded your words then, but now he’s returned.

Part of you still hurts at what he did to you—or rather, what he didn’t do. Even now you can still call up some of that anger and you try to wrap it around you like a cloak, but it isn’t doesn’t work anymore. There isn’t enough anger left to shield you, which just leaves you open. Raw. Vulnerable to your emotions.

The emotions telling you to listen to him this time, instead of just sending him away.

You stare at your hands. You know that Beomgyu wouldn’t hold it against you if you told him to leave. He wouldn’t argue. He would give you space. And you really, really hate that. If he wasn’t so honorable, it would be so much easier to hate him. You would never have fallen in love with him in the first place.

Life would be so much easier, then.

But he is honorable. You may still be angry at what he did at the Haynesworth ball, but you also have the grudging grace (or maybe the idiocy) to understand that one mistake does not dictate a person’s entire character. You remember Beomgyu holding you as you shook so badly in his arms just moments after Lord Cho had tried to lay his hands on you, and you can’t help but recall how safe you felt in his hold. Not completely so—Lord Cho was right there, obviously you wouldn’t feel completely fine—but Beomgyu lent a steadiness to the moment that you needed, desperately. You trusted him without thinking. Without even feeling.��

Maybe that says something. Maybe that says a lot of things.

You swallow hard. He’s already in your house. He’s come by every day, even though he’s been turned away each time—not by your choice, but by your stepmother’s. This might be the only chance you get to hear him out.

You’d be a fool not to take it.

“Do you know when my stepmother will be back?” you ask quietly.

“She left not long ago,” Brighton replies. “I do not know for certain, but I would estimate you have at least two hours before she returns.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. Two hours is likely enough time to talk. Sabine is taking care of the children in the nursery, which leaves Soyoung or Brighton to chaperone. You don’t have time to change or to cover up the marks on your cheek, but you don’t really want to. Part of you wants to approach Beomgyu with this part of yourself on display. To let him see you as you are.

You stand up and take a deep breath. “Then bring him in.”

. . . . .

When your butler bids him to come inside, Beomgyu has to bite his tongue to stifle his shock. It’s been a week since the Jung ball and though he’s called every morning since then, the response has always been the same—that you aren’t taking visitors, and won’t be for the near future. The setup feels eerily familiar to when he tried to see you after the Haynesworth ball, though he supposes that is just what comes with scandal. The ton’s memory is like that of a goldfish. Once something else happens, they move on quickly.

In theory, at least. In practice, the memories stick around for a bit longer than gossip suggests.

Today, though, the butler—Brighton, he thinks—allows him inside. Before shutting the door, Beomgyu sees him cast a furtive glance towards the street, which leads Beomgyu to believe he might not actually be allowed to be here. Still, he appreciates being let in so he doesn’t comment as the butler leads him through the short hallway and into the drawing room. He then disappears to find you.

It seems to take forever for the butler to return, or at least for Beomgyu to hear any sounds indicating you might actually see him. He half expects to be told to leave and honestly, he wouldn’t blame you for it. He can’t really think of a reason why you would want to see him in the first place, but he just wants to make sure you are all right. Or as all right you can be after what happened.

God, he really wishes he had done Lord Cho’s face in. The man would have deserved it—just one quick punch to break his nose. But then Beomgyu wouldn’t have been there to catch you when the shock set in and you nearly fell, your entire body trembling as you sank into his arms. Anyway, you already hit Lord Cho over the head with that silver candlestick, and that gave Beomgyu more than enough satisfaction to witness.

Footsteps sound down the hall—more than one pair, it seems. Beomgyu straightens where he stands and his heart begins to race as you step into the room.

He almost gasps but bites his tongue just in time. In all the times he’s seen you, you’ve never not been dressed for society—fine gowns, light jewelry, pretty smiles. Now, though, Beomgyu almost doesn’t recognize you.

Dressed in a plain servant’s garb, apron still damp and slightly stained, you stare back at him, expressionless. Your hands are bare, cracked and raw, and a bruise swells dark on your cheek. Anger twists in Beomgyu’s stomach when he realizes it looks very much like the mark left if someone had hit you. There’s no doubt it was your stepmother.

You seem to track his gaze, unsurprised at whatever you find in his expression. Something hard glints in your eyes and Beomgyu recognizes it as a test. You could have made him wait for you to change, to get ready for a typical call, but you didn’t. You chose to show yourself like this, rags and calluses and all, for a reason.

Well, if this is a test, then he will do all he can to pass it. Beomgyu holds himself tall and bows just as he always has even though the bruise on your cheek makes him want to throttle something. “Miss L/N,” he says in greeting.

You look back at him steadily for a moment. Then suddenly your shoulders slump, as though you can’t hold yourself up anymore. “Mr. Choi,” you say wearily. “Why are you here?”

Your refusal to call him by his given name hurts more than it should, but Beomgyu forces the pain to pass. It’s no less than he deserves. “I wanted to see if you were all right,” he replies quietly.

As the words come out of his mouth, he realizes how stupid they are. Obviously you aren’t fine. After what happened, no one in your situation would have been fine. The evidence is staring him right in the face—even if it weren’t for the bruise, the weariness on your face speaks volumes.

“Well, you have seen me.” The corners of your lips lift slightly, though there is no mirth in the movement. “If that is all, I will be going now.” You turn around as though to leave.

Beomgyu moves before he even realizes it. You flinch when he catches your wrist, but to his surprise, you don’t pull away. Not immediately. “Y/N,” he says, and you seem to shudder in his hold like when he held you that night. “Please.”

You remain silent for a moment. “Please, what, Mr. Choi?” you ask harshly. “You got what you wanted. You saw me. What else could you need?” You laugh. The sound scratches at Beomgyu’s ears. “Do you want to gloat? Over the fact that you were right about Lord Cho, and I wasn’t? Because that’s low, low even for you—”

Beomgyu takes a small step forward and you cut yourself off. He lets your words pass over him—you’re angry. Maybe even frightened. You’ve spat insults at him before that you actually meant, so Beomgyu knows the difference between that and you simply lashing out from your pain. “I didn’t come to gloat,” he says quietly.

Your expression crumples. “Then why are you here?”

“I wanted to apologize.” His next words come unbidden. “And I wanted to ask if you would marry me.”

A long pause follows his unplanned declaration. Beomgyu doesn’t panic, though. Because even though he hadn’t intended to give his proposal right then and there, he still meant the words. They just came out a little early.

“Why?” you finally ask.

Beomgyu’s heart nearly breaks at your shattered expression, the obvious exhaustion written all over your face. You didn’t deserve this—none of it. If only he hadn’t been such an idiot, if only he hadn’t run away instead of facing his feelings earlier… “Because I love you,” he says, voice trembling. “And if you will allow me, I should like to explain.”

He watches you swallow, throat bobbing as you look down at where his hand still clasps your wrist. You keep looking there for a very long time. “Then explain,” you finally allow, but you don’t look back up at him.

Beomgyu tries to hide how much that hurts him. It isn’t as though he has a right to feel hurt, anyway. “I am…incredibly sorry for what I did. Or what I didn’t do, I suppose.” He swallows. “I am well aware that no verbal apology of mine could ever make up for leaving you at the Haynesworth ball and I do not intend to make excuses.”

Your eyes finally shift up to his. There’s nothing in your gaze, nothing to give any indication that what he’s saying is right, but Beomgyu has been a coward long enough and he won’t continue that streak now. “I should not have asked you to waltz.”

Your gaze shutters immediately and you go to pull away. Beomgyu almost panics and tugs your wrist back. “I did not mean it that way,” he says quickly. “I only meant…I was not proper. I should have asked if you had permission first. I should have asked if you were fine with it. I should have remembered the social repercussions of asking you to share such a dance.”

You jerk your wrist out of his hand, but you don’t leave. “Then why didn’t you?” you ask sharply.

Beomgyu winces. There’s really no way to make “Lord Cho smirked at me which made me extremely upset” sound any better than that, but he has to try. “I was already upset that Lord Cho had been keeping your attentions the entire evening,” he says. Embarrassment creeps its way up his neck. “I was jealous. And at some point, when I was about to just leave the whole affair all together, he…gave me a look, that made me believe he was doing this on purpose. That he had been keeping you engaged the entire evening to avoid me.” The words, once they leave his lips, sound entirely self-serving and rather egotistic. But he swore to himself he would honest and, well, this is what he felt. “I probably sound rather self-centered,” he admits. “But it seemed that way to me.”

You don’t say anything. You hardly react, even. Beomgyu supposes this is at least better than if you were to scoff at him immediately. “I wanted to dance with you,” he says quietly. “I had waited several hours that night just for the hope of speaking to you. I did not realize it was a waltz before we took to the ballroom floor, but even then, at first, I truly did not care. In fact, I was enjoying it. You…you were so beautiful. You always have been.” He swallows. “But there was a moment where we met eyes and I…it hit me then. That I was in love with you.”

You’ve gone as still as a statue. Only your eyes move, warily tracking his every movement.

“I was scared. Terrified.” Beomgyu clenches his hands at his sides and feels his nails biting sharply into his palms. “I suppose I had some inkling of it before, but I refused to think of it. I was too scared to—I had hated you for so long and we’d only been civil for a few months. I thought, surely, it could not be so. I could not love you in such a short time. But as we were dancing, and as I held you so…” Against his will, his eyes drift to your lips. “I remembered our kiss,” he says quietly. “And I knew, then, that I loved you.”

This time, you do scoff. “You have a funny way of showing it,” you say, bitterness coating every word.

Beomgyu flinches, but it isn’t as if your words aren’t deserved. “I was a coward,” he admits. “An incredible coward. I realized it then and I couldn’t face it. I couldn’t think with everyone around us and I was so confused and terrified by the prospect of loving you that I just…ran.” He drops his head, finally.

“You were so scared of loving me.” You snort. “Me. Yes. Because I’m just another one of the dowry-less crowd, full of scandal and Lady Whistledown mentions. Who in their right mind would ever fall in love with me?”

“It wasn’t because of that!” Beomgyu looks up at you, stricken. “Y/N—Miss L/N—do you have any idea how impressive you are?”

For the first time today, you look shocked into speechlessness. Beomgyu’s own face is starting to redden but he forges on. “You—I was terrified of how quickly I had fallen in love with you,” he gets out. “For weeks after we kissed, I couldn’t stop dreaming of it. I wanted to kiss you again. So badly. And it was—terrible. I wanted to be around you and only you. I was jealous of Lord Cho and anyone who seemed to be interested in asking for your hand. But I just could not believe I was in love with you, because you are…well, you.” He gestures vaguely. “Sweet, kind, intelligent, witty…”

God, the more he talks, the stupider he feels for not having realized his feelings sooner.

“You are you, Miss L/N,” Beomgyu says. “Incredibly lovely and impressive, extraordinarily strong and brave.” A wave of shame washes over him at the truth of his words. You apologized first. You asked to be friends first. Every step of your relationship beyond the first fake deal was initiated by you, and the moment he realized his feelings, all he did was run. “I was terrified of how deeply I had fallen for you,” he says quietly. “Terrified of how much I felt for you in such a short time. It was cowardly of me to run. I should have stayed with you, and I will forever regret that. In the moment, though…it was too much for me to process all at once” He takes a deep breath. “I don’t expect you to forgive me for it. But that is my explanation, in the end. As idiotic as it sounds.”

You look away for a moment. Your cheek turns to him, and again Beomgyu sees the bruise your stepmother left on your skin. The momentary anger bolsters him enough to meet your gaze when you turn back to him. “I trusted you, you know.” More than your words, the exhaustion in your voice strikes Beomgyu to the core. “I trusted you to know the dance, and what it would mean to the ton. What it would mean to me.” You laugh slightly, but there is no humor in the sound. “I thought you might propose to me then.”

Beomgyu bows his head. “I am incredibly sorry,” he says quietly. “Nothing can excuse what I did.”

“It can’t,” you agree. “But it doesn’t matter anymore. It has already happened, and anyway, it’s not the worst thing a man has done to me this season.”

He stares at you. Did you just joke about Lord Cho’s assault?

“Don’t look at me like that,” you snap, hunching into yourself. “It’s true.”

Beomgyu swallows. “I…suppose it is,” he mumbles.

For a long moment, you two remain silent. “Nothing may excuse what you did,” you finally say, “but at least I can understand it.” And as Beomgyu is reeling from your response, trying to make sense of it, you step back. “I accept your apology,” you say. “And I appreciate it. But I think it is best that you go now, Mr. Choi.” You start to walk away. “Brighton will see you out.”

Beomgyu gapes, even as the butler comes back into the room. You said you understood. Understood feeling so strongly that it terrified you, understood the urge to run away that he gave in to—

Brighton steps toward him but Beomgyu ignores him, catching your wrist again. “Y/N!”

You stop, but you don’t look back. “What?”

Beomgyu senses that he only has one chance for this. Just one chance to say the right thing, or you’ll walk away and leave him forever. “What did you mean,” he asks, voice ragged, “when you said you understood?”

You turn to him, derision scrawled across your face. “You are a true idiot,” you snap, “if you believe you were the only one who dreamed of the kiss for days afterward.” Then you turn again and try to walk away, but Beomgyu keeps his grip on your wrist. “What is it now?” you snarl, whirling back around.

Everything is hitting him too hard, too fast, but this time, instead of running, Beomgyu stays put. You dreamed of the kiss. You thought of it for days on end just as he did, your eyes drifting to his lips the way his drifted to yours. Suddenly Beomgyu remembers moments when he saw your gaze fixated on his mouth for mere fractions of a second before you returned to the conversation, moments when you smiled at him and there was a shyness in your expression that he had never seen before…

He remembers the waltz and how you settled so comfortably into his hold, eyes sparkling, lips parted as he lowered you into the crook of his arm. You were so warm. So trusting. So full of a joy and hope that made his heart race.

“I trusted you to know the dance, and what it would mean to the ton. What it would mean to me.”

What it would mean to me.

Beomgyu is an idiot. An absolute idiot. “Miss L/N,” he says slowly, “do you love me?”

Your eyes shutter. “It doesn’t matter.”

He holds your gaze. “Yes, it does.”

“No, it doesn’t,” you grit out. You try to tug yourself away but he won’t let go. “Let go of me!”

He releases you immediately, memories of your cries a week ago forcing his hand open as soon as the words leave your mouth. But he doesn’t let you run away. “Answer my question,” he says.

“It doesn’t matter,” you hiss. Beomgyu hears panic rising in your voice, some sort of fear pushing anger into your tone that he knows isn’t real. “What about that doesn’t make sense to you?”

“It does matter,” he says, cutting through your panic. “Because I asked you a question before that you still haven’t answered.”

You fall silent.

“I asked you to marry me,” he says quietly, each word like a gunshot in the silence. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Brighton slip out of the room again.

You say nothing. You don’t even look at him. It should discourage Beomgyu, but strangely, in the face of your silence, he feels more hopeful. “So I ask you again, Miss L/N,” he murmurs, stepping closer, “do you love me?”

“Why do you need to know?” you ask, voice less sharp, more pleading. “It doesn’t matter, Beomgyu!”

“If you can say no, then I’ll leave.” He puts his hands up in surrender, but privately he feels even more hope with the sound of his name from your lips. “I swear it. But you must answer me.” His voice lowers, almost to a whisper. “Do you love me?”

Your silence is more telling than anything you said before.

Beomgyu takes a leap of faith. “If you do…” He swallows. “Then marry me, Y/N.”

You stay quiet for a long time. A clock ticks nearby, slowly marking every second that passes. Beomgyu feels as wound up as a spring, his muscles so tense it almost hurts, but he doesn’t move. He won’t move. Not until you speak.

And eventually, you do.

“My father is dead.”

Beomgyu’s eyes widen. Your lips curve a little, but the movement holds no humor. “We received the letter a few days ago.”

“…I am incredibly sorry.”

“I’m not.” Your words are callous but you shrug like they mean nothing—and perhaps, after all these years, they don’t. “I hardly knew him and he hardly knew any of us. All these years, we thought he was trying to make money overseas, but he had actually gambled it all away.” You shrug again. “He died over a year ago. It took that long for anyone to try and track us down. The country home will need to be sold to pay off his debts. This house is all we really have left and we might be on the verge of losing that too, so I don’t care for him at all.”

Beomgyu stays silent against the rolling tide of your fury. He has no right to judge the situation, and nothing he could say would soothe your anger anyway. He had two loving parents, a rarity in this ton—he can hardly imagine how you feel now, both biological parents dead, one having betrayed you without your knowing for years on end.

“I didn’t tell you this for pity.” You take a deep breath, and some of the anger dissipates, replaced by your previous weariness. “But, Beomgyu…you won’t gain anything from marrying me. Nothing at all. I’m just another girl with nothing to my name except a heap of scandal. I don’t have a title. I don’t have money. I do chores in the household where I am supposed to be a lady and while I don’t care, if this were to spread to the rest of the ton, you would be ruined, too.” Beomgyu follows your gaze down to your bare hands, your palms rough and weathered, your fingertips raw and pricked. “There’s nothing for you to gain from this,” you say quietly. “Nothing at all.”

Beomgyu reaches out. When you don’t flinch away, he takes your hand. He rubs his thumb over the skin of your palm, skimming over the lines, the cracks, the scars. “I notice,” he says slowly, “that you have still not said no.”

You scoff. “Retract your proposal, and I won’t have to.”

“What if I don’t retract it?” he challenges. “Will you say no, then?”

“You’re an idiot not to!” you snap. You try to pull your hand away but this time Beomgyu doesn’t let go. You glare at him. “Did you not hear a single thing I just said? I can’t bring you anything but burden!”

“I love you.”

With those three words, the fight drains out of you almost immediately. Your head slumps over your joined hands and when you finally look back at him, tears sparkle, unshed, in your eyes. “I love you,” Beomgyu says again and even though it feels like his heart is about to leap out of his chest, the words still feel so right, leaving his lips. “I love you, and I want to be with you. To be with you could never be a burden to me because I love you and everything that comes with you.” You open your mouth to say something but he barrels on. “I don’t care if you have no dowry. I’ve already told you it’s an outdated notion and I care nothing for it, and besides, my family has more than enough money. I don’t need more.” He takes a breath. “I don’t care that your hands will never be smooth. Your scars carry the weight of the care you have for those you love, and they have no bearing on the goodness of your heart. And as for your scandals…” Beomgyu smiles a little, surprised to find some genuine humor in what he is about to say. “I will not have you bear all the burden when the fault is also mine. I am at least half as responsible for all of those scandals as you are.”

You stay quiet. Beomgyu gives up tracing your palm, instead clasping both of his hands over yours. “I love you, Y/N,” he says softly. “None of these things change that, and they never will.”

“You’re an idiot,” you say. Your voice is surprisingly steady, but the last syllable trembles just as the first tear slips out of your eye. “You’re an incredible idiot, Beomgyu. You know all of this—you know what sort of new scandal it would create if we married—”

“What does it say about you, then, that you have still not given me a reply?”

“I’m also an idiot!” you yell. “A bloody fucking stupid idiot who loves you against all of her better judgement. I loved you when you waltzed with me, I loved you when you left me, I loved you when you gave me those gloves—even though I didn’t even it know it then. I thought about you kissing me for days on end and I asked you to be my friend just so you wouldn’t stop speaking to me, looking at me, because I couldn’t stand the thought of seeing you everywhere and not being able to talk to you. I loved you and I still love you because I’m an idiot. A bloody, stupid idiot—” You cut yourself off as tears begin to spill down your face. You harshly wipe them off. “I don’t want to say no because I love you, you stupid fool. Despite everything I still love you and I always will, and I need you to realize that this is a terrible idea because—because this will be a mistake, it will be a huge mistake for you if you marry me, but I—I don’t know if I can say no.”

Beomgyu lets go of your hand. You flinch, no doubt expecting him to step away, but he instead comes closer. This is hugely improper but Beomgyu doesn’t care as he lifts his hand to your cheek to brush away the tears as they come. “Then say yes,” he whispers.

You shake your head wildly. “This is a mistake, Beomgyu. You’re making a huge mistake.”

“You have never been a mistake,” he says quietly. “Not once. Not ever. It was only my mistakes that got us to this point. If I hadn’t been so terrified and unable to cope with my own feelings…” He swallows around the shame that rises bitterly on his tongue. “I am the one who left you at the ball. That was my mistake. But if you can still trust me, Y/N, trust me when I say that loving you was never a mistake for me.”

“I can’t do anything good for you,” you say miserably. “Society will talk about this forever.”

“They’ll talk about it forever anyway,” Beomgyu points out. “And I don’t know about you, but I’m somewhat past caring about what they think of you and me. They’ll never get the facts right, and I can’t control that, but…I know that I love you.” His thumb sweeps another tear from your cheek. “And if you love me too…”

“I do.” Your voice is hardly a whisper but the two words embed themselves in Beomgyu’s heart, warmth slowly filling his blood. “I do love you.”

“Then that’s all that matters.” Beomgyu gently presses his forehead to yours. “I don’t care what the ton will say. I want you to be with me, forever. You say you can do no good for me but just having you near me…Y/N, I have never felt this way for another in my life.” He slides an arm around your waist, pulling you closer gently, gently. “You are the best thing that has happened to me. I should be honored to have you with me wherever I go. I don’t care what you can and can’t do for me. Being around you, being with you…that is all I want. All I need.”

You take a shuddering breath. “Beomgyu…”

“I’ll take you everywhere, Y/N. We’ll travel far away, go wherever and see whatever you want. We don’t need to stay here. We can deal with the ton as much or as little as you want to.” You open your mouth to speak, but he cuts you off. “Don’t worry about your servants or your family. I will provide a dowry for Delia. I will buy the house for your brother. Your servants can travel with us or stay in the home, and I will double their wages.” He takes a deep breath. “So say yes, Y/N.”

You swallow hard.

“Say yes,” he whispers again. “Please.”

You close your eyes. Tears wet your eyelashes, and Beomgyu fights the urge to brush them away, for that would break the two of you apart. You open your eyes and they’re red from crying but in this moment, Beomgyu knows he could never tire of this. Of having you close, of seeing you close, of being able to love you like this—freely, without regrets.

“Yes.” The word ghosts over his lips, your breath soft like the wind against his skin. “Yes, Beomgyu.” You swallow hard, and though another tear rolls down your face, Beomgyu dares to believe it isn’t from sadness—that there could be some happiness joining the myriad of emotions on your face. “I will marry you.”

. . . . .

The next morning dawns uneventfully, which almost tricks you into thinking the previous day was just a dream. There’s no proof that anything happened beyond your memories, and even then, the idea that Beomgyu proposed to you seems almost too fantastical to be true.

But it did happen. You can still feel Beomgyu’s hands encasing yours, his thumb smoothing over the cracks and lines on your palm like his touch could take away the pain. You can feel his forehead pressed to yours, his arm around your waist, pulling you to him. You can feel him, his presence—feel the memories of him wrapped around you like a shield against the world.

You have him, and you have his promise—the promise that he would return the next day, today, with a betrothal ring. The promise that he would marry you and take you far from this place. The promise that he would love you forever.

“I will leave now, before your stepmother returns,” he had said, holding your hand. “But tomorrow I will come. I don’t care if your stepmother refuses callers—I will come. And I will have a betrothal ring, and we will be married as soon as we can.” And you had agreed, and he had kissed your hand like you were dressed in the finest silks and jewels rather than your dirty servant’s apron, and he left, and you believed him.

Maybe you are a fool for trusting him so after he left you once. But even knowing that…you still believe him. You still believe in the man who held Delia like a little princess. You still believe in the man who defended you from Lady Trombley. You still believe in the man who gave you the gloves. And when you hear people talking in the hallway just after the clock strikes ten, your heart lifts, setting several butterflies alight in your stomach.

You were right to trust him.

Unfortunately, as the minutes tick on, you start to suspect there might be some trouble. While you can’t quite hear what your stepmother is saying, the sound of her cold voice permeates through the walls enough that you can tell she doesn’t plan on letting Beomgyu in. You abandon your chores in the kitchen and follow the sound of her voice towards the hall.

You run into Brighton first, thankfully. “What’s happening?” you ask, even though you’re almost certain you know what is going on.

“You have a caller, Miss L/N,” he says. It’s all he gets out before your stepmother rounds the corner and interrupts.

“We are not taking callers,” she snaps, face even more pinched than usual. “Get back into the house.”

You ignore her. “Who is the caller?”

“Mr. Choi.”

Nervous warmth begins to tingle in your fingertips, which almost makes you groan—this is not the time to be feeling any sort of fluttery butterfly-ness, not when your stepmother is right there. “Let him in.”

Your stepmother snarls. “You are taking no callers—”

“He wasn’t asking for you, Stepmother,” you retort coldly. “Brighton, please bring him in.”

Brighton, smart man that he is, immediately departs. You brace yourself for your stepmother’s inevitable incoming tirade. There isn’t much in this hallway to put between you and her, so you can only hope Brighton comes back quickly.

“You are not the head of this household.”

You glance at the end of the hallway. You really hope Brighton comes back soon.

“You technically aren’t, either.” You take a step back but your stepmother advances faster, her eyes narrowed and sharp. “Henry is. But I don’t suppose you want to take orders from a four year old.”

There’s a flash of skin, a loud cracking sound, and then pain blooms across your left cheek. You cradle it instinctively, biting your lip against the pain. Well, at least the left side of your face will now be matching the right.

Your sharp tongue never fails to get you into trouble these days.

“Go back to the kitchen,” your stepmother snarls, her hands folded deceptively calmly at her waist. What a witch. “I will deal with you after I deal with Mr. Choi.”

“What, are you going to slap him too?” you snap. “He is my caller. I will receive him. You have no right—”

She laughs, high and sharp. “You wish for him to call on you now, when you look like this? Even if you weren’t buried in scandal, I would never let another see you in this dirty garb.”

“And whose fault is that?” You snort. “I wouldn’t be in this dirty garb if it weren’t for you. And for the record, Stepmother…” A smirk creeps across your lips. “He has already seen me like this.”

Horror flashes across her expression. “You—”

“I did.” You let your smirk widen. “He knows.”

You hear the slap before you feel it. The force of her hand against your cheek nearly knocks you against the wall and you don’t manage to stifle your cry, pressing your palm to your cheek in a futile effort to relieve some of the pain. A sharp sting rushes up your face, though, and when you pull your palm away, there’s a thin streak of blood. Her ring must have cut you again.

“You’re an idiot,” you say as calmly as you can. “Mr. Choi is here. In this house. Brighton will be back with him in moments. Do you think it will benefit you at all for him to see me like this? To see you like this?”

She blanches. You keep talking, years of rage boiling over. “What, lost your tongue?” You laugh humorlessly. “All these years you’ve kept me pent up like this, one of your worst secrets—cleaning for you, washing for you, sewing your clothes and mine—you’re lucky I cared enough about Delia and Henry not to say anything.” A sneer curls your lips. “You hit me and you slap me and you know it’s wrong, you know it’s bloody wrong because you never do it in front of the children! Why do you hate me so much? What did I ever do to deserve—”

You see it coming—the hand rising, the palm flashing. Instinctively you flinch. Your eyes slam shut and you cringe away from the hand, covering your cheek as some small protection against the impact.

But it never comes.

You open your eyes. Beomgyu stands beside your stepmother, fingers wrapped tightly around her still-raised wrist. If you weren’t almost hyperventilating, you might laugh at how comically wide her eyes are, but only a slight wheeze manages to press past your lips.

“Miss L/N.” Brighton’s voice sounds next to your ear. You hadn’t registered his presence, but it calms you. “Are you all right?”

“Not—not really.” You look at Brighton, whose usually calm expression has twisted with anger, then at Beomgyu, whose face can only be described as the pure embodiment of cold rage. “But I’m fine.” You don’t take your hand away from your bleeding cheek as you meet Beomgyu’s eyes. “Beomgyu, I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.” Beomgyu drops your stepmother’s wrist and shoves past her, coming to a stop right in front of you. For all the anger in his movements, his hand is surprisingly gentle as he pries your fingers away from your face, revealing whatever marks she left moments ago. You hiss as open air hits the cut, but Beomgyu’s thumb soothes it slightly. “Is there anything we can use to clean this?” he asks Brighton with deceptive calm.

“I will bring something shortly.” The butler bows, then quickly leaves.

Silence falls in the hallway, though Beomgyu’s anger clearly sizzles in the air. His dark eyes search yours for something, and only when his gaze falls to your cheek do you understand what he’s asking.

“I’m fine,” you say quietly. “Or, I will be.”

It’s clear Beomgyu isn’t happy with your response, but he does seem to realize you don’t want to speak about this—at least not now. He nods almost imperceptibly, then turns to your stepmother. “Leave,” he snaps. He barely gives her a glance.

She gapes, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. If the situation weren’t so charged, you might laugh. “I will not be ordered about in my own home!” she finally manages, her cheeks turning blotchy with embarrassment.

“Good God.” You sigh. “With all due respect, Stepmother, isn’t this exactly what you wanted? For me to be married to a wealthy husband and out of your hair?” You sneer. “If you don’t leave, that fantasy will never come true.”

Her eyes widen more, if that was possible. “You—” She glances between you and Beomgyu wildly. “You want to marry her?”

“I don’t answer to abusers,” Beomgyu says coldly.

“But—”

God, she is the absolute worst. “I don’t suggest you make Mr. Choi any angrier than he already is,” you snap.

With a last incredulous glance, your stepmother hurries out of the hallway. You breathe a sigh of relief. Finally.

Beomgyu’s gaze immediately softens, though concern still burns in his eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner,” he says quietly.

“You didn’t know.” You shrug. “It’s fine, Beomgyu. I’ll heal.”

“It’s not that,” he says, eyebrows furrowing. “It’s the fact that this has clearly been going on for a very long time—”

“That is true,” you interrupt. “But I couldn’t say anything then. And anyone who knew didn’t have the power to do anything about it. I am only glad now that I have someone who knows, and who might help protect me.” You take the hand still pressed to your cheek and squeeze it. “I will be fine.”

Beomgyu searches your expression for a long moment. Whatever he is looking for, he seems to find it, because he seems to relax slightly. “If you say so.”

“I do.” You smile, wincing when the movement hurts your cheek. Beomgyu clearly notices but he also clearly sees that you don’t want him to remark on it, so you’re very grateful when he says nothing. You let your voice take on a more playful tone. “Now, what are you here for?”

“Well, I came as I promised yesterday.” His voice takes on somewhat of an edge and you realize he seems almost nervous. It’s very endearing, and your smile widens. “I brought you a ring,” he continues, producing a small box from his pocket. “If you will still accept my suit.” He opens the box.

You gasp. A bright emerald decorates the simple gold band, flanked on each side by small diamonds. There isn’t much light in the hallway but the gems catch what light there is, sparkling cheerfully in the box. “It’s beautiful,” you whisper.

Beomgyu lifts the ring from the box and takes your hand. “It is yours,” he says, voice clearly shaking a little, “if you should like to have it.”

“Of course I would.” To your surprise, you can feel tears coming to your eyes that aren’t just from pain. “My answer hasn’t changed, Beomgyu.”

Relief floods across his expression, a tension disappearing from his shoulders that you hadn’t noticed before. “Oh. That’s good,” he says, smiling slightly. “Good for me, I mean. I just…I wouldn’t have blamed you if you did.”

You keep quiet for a moment, choosing your next words carefully. “I can’t say I wasn’t hurt by what you did, Beomgyu,” you finally say. “I was.”

He nods, looking terribly guilty.

“But I also know that you are not characterized only by your mistakes then.” You smile softly, folding your hands over his. “You are still the man who defended me from Lady Trombley. The man who helped me after Lord Cho. The man who gave me gloves.”

Beomgyu peers at you with his dark eyes, so soft, so kind.

“Maybe it will take us time to work past this.” You shrug. “That’s fine. Everything takes time. But…I know, at least, that I want to work past this with you. I want to be with you.” Your smile grows, trembling on your lips. “We were idiots for so long. I’m just…I’m just glad we were able to get to this point, at least, without it being too late.”

“Well, we only have you to thank for that.” Beomgyu smiles softly, most of the awful guilt slipping off his face. “You were the one who apologized first.”

You make a face. “Desperation can do strange things to a person.”

“Desperation?”

Your cheeks feel warm. “After you kissed me, I couldn’t stop thinking of it.” You turn away, embarrassed. “I couldn’t stand the idea of not seeing you again either. I was desperate. So I apologized, because I at least wanted to be friends.”

Beomgyu’s fingers light on your chin, turning you back to him. “Well, you are far braver than I,” he says sheepishly. “I was too scared to say anything, for fear that you wouldn’t feel the same way.”

You smile teasingly. “That just means you have the rest of our lives to make up for it.”

“Trust me, I will be.” And with that, he slides the ring onto your finger, the gold band comfortingly cool against your skin.

You hold up the hand, admiring the sparkle of the gems even in the dim light of the hall. “It really is lovely,” you murmur.

“It’s one of the betrothal rings that has been in the family for a long time,” Beomgyu says. “Soobin had our mother’s, of course, because he is the first born, but I think this one suits you better anyway.”

The emerald glints against your finger, cheerful and bright. You haven’t seen the other rings in Beomgyu’s family collection, but you’re inclined to agree with him. The longer you look at it, the giddier you feel, even remembering everything that happened just minutes ago. It’s almost unbelievable. You’re going to be married. Married. And to someone you love, even. Your smile widens.

“I can’t really believe this is happening,” you admit, almost in a whisper. It’s more to yourself than to Beomgyu, but he hears you anyway.

“Me neither.” The society version of him is gone now, replaced by a shyer, almost boyish version of him that endears you far more than is good for the butterflies in your chest. “I mean, less than a few months ago we were still at each other’s throats.”

“I suppose you can claim all the credit for this, then.” You laugh. “You’re the one who suggested that ridiculous deal in the first place.”

“I may have suggested it, but you’re the one who took it to the next step.” Beomgyu grins. “Out of desperation.”

You hit him lightly as heat floods your cheeks. “Hey, you felt the same way!”

“I did, and I was an idiot for not acting on it sooner.” Beomgyu steps forward, taking your hands, and suddenly you’re so close you swear he could hear your heart beating right now. “I’m sorry for that.”

“Stop apologizing. I have already forgiven you.” A rush of boldness course through you and you lean your head against Beomgyu’s shoulder. He stiffens for a moment but relaxes so suddenly you almost flinch, and then his arms come to wrap around your waist. It reminds you of how he held you when you kissed and with that memory, you only sink deeper into his hold. “Anyway, what is that thing they say?” you mumble. “Something about there being a line in between love and hate?”

Beomgyu smiles and pushes you away, but just so he can look into your eyes. “There is a fine line,” he murmurs against your ear, his gaze drifting down to your lips, “between hatred and love.”

You laugh as he kisses you, his mouth soft and sweet against yours. “Yes,” you whisper when you pull away. “A very fine line, indeed.”

. . . . .

epilogue.

“Beomgyu!” You run down the stairs, nearly tripping over your skirts in the process. “Where are you? We’re going to be late—”

A hand catches your wrist as you fly down the last few steps. Beomgyu’s laugh rings out when you screech, his arm pulling you flush against him. “I’m right here,” he says into your ear. You hear the smile in his voice even though you can’t see it, pressed to his chest as you are.

“I couldn’t find you!” You pull away, hoping your makeup hasn’t rubbed off onto his outfit. “Where were you hiding?”

“Nowhere.” He sneaks a kiss in between your flailing and you yelp again. “You just weren’t looking hard enough.”

You scowl, but both of you know there’s no real annoyance behind it. “You are incredibly annoying,” you inform him, only to be met with another chuckle.

It’s been a year since the last season, and six months since you married. If you had had it your way, you would have married as soon as he proposed—called the banns in a week, married in a matter of days after that. With your father dead, however, your entire family was sent into mourning. Never mind that you had never cared for the man.

You hated those six months. It wasn’t the seclusion from society, which you honestly didn’t mind—but just…mourning your father. A man who was barely present in your life. A man whose face you wouldn’t have remembered if not for the portrait still stuck up in the drawing room, a man who lied to you for years until he died so far away from home. You almost considered eloping to Gretna Green to escape the months of forced darkness—you’re fairly certain Beomgyu would have agreed—but ultimately decided against it. You had participated in enough scandal during the season to last you a lifetime. You didn’t need any more of it.

It helped when the three month mark came around and you could change out of the void black gowns and into the lighter colors of half-mourning. Not so much because of the clothes, but because you could slowly begin to accept social engagements again. It isn’t that you particularly wanted to see anyone—the season was over by then and you were incredibly glad for that—but Beomgyu could visit, then. It wasn’t as often as you or he would have liked since his family had moved to the country while you stayed in town, but it helped the time pass more quickly, especially when your little half-siblings freed themselves from the clutches of the staff and managed to tumble into the drawing room to join you two. You’re almost certain Delia has a little child-crush on Beomgyu, and Henry looks at him like a role model.

It's adorable.

Still, sometimes those three months seemed interminable. You barely spoke to your stepmother but after so many years of living under her iron fist, you could never feel at ease in the same house as her. When the wedding came around, you didn’t invite her and she didn’t ask to come. It was a lovely day to celebrate your escape from a life you never wished to live.

And here you are, now. Bickering with your husband whom you love in a home you can call your own, free from the back-breaking secret of your previous life and able to live, really live, in a way you haven’t been able to in years. You can even go about in society with your head held high, just like you will tonight.

That is, if Beomgyu decides to stop stalling anytime soon.

He leans in for another kiss but you jerk away before his lips can land on yours. “We’re going to be late, Beomgyu,” you repeat, forcibly pushing his face away.

He looks at you, face mushed still mushed against your hand. You fight the urge to laugh but a smile makes its way onto your lips anyway. “Be honest with me, Y/N,” he says, pulling away with that little twinkle in his eye. “Do you really want to go tonight?”

You open your mouth, ready to respond affirmatively. But then Beomgyu catches you with those very sweet, very alluring eyes, and you pinch your lips together. He’s already won, you both know, but you have to fight him a little bit. Just a little bit.

“You’re telling me we should skip our first public event since coming back from our very extended honeymoon?” You raise an eyebrow.

“Why not?” he asks, sneaking a quick kiss onto your neck. You yelp, squirming away, but he maintains his hold on your waist all the while. “We’d have more fun at home anyway.”

You do your very best to ignore the way he’s smiling against your skin. “We already said that we would go.”

“Something came up. A terrible emergency that required us to return to the country for another month.” Beomgyu decides that whatever he’s doing right now is no longer enough and begins to lay kisses down your neck, trailing them towards your shoulder even though he knows you are incredibly ticklish over there. “You can’t tell me you’re so eager to return to society.”

You sigh. Beomgyu made good on all of his promises—he bought the house for your brother, he set aside money for your sister’s dowry, and he doubled the wages of all your staff in service. Several of them have followed you to your new home, too. And after your wedding, he whisked you away from London and the upcoming season to show you everything he knew in the continent. It was wonderful to leave England and even more wonderful to see the world, but by the end, you had come to the conclusion that it wasn’t just leaving London that gave you this joy. It was the fact that you had someone you loved by your side.

It was the fact that you had Beomgyu.

It sounds terribly cliché, and you had said about as much to Beomgyu when you admitted it the night you returned to London, confessions whispered under the starlit sky. He had asked you if you really felt all right returning to society after the scandals and gossip of the last season and after a moment, you nodded. It would be difficult, but you didn’t want to hide forever. And with someone really and truly on your side, you could believe things would turn out fine.

You thought he’d laugh at you, and he did—a little bit. But that laugh was accompanied by a surprising shyness and warmth in his touch as he pulled you closer under the bedsheets, your head coming to rest against his chest, just under his chin. “That is somewhat cliché,” he had said, words ghosting softly past your skin. “But I am very glad you feel that way.”

Now here you are, ready to attend your first public event of the season, and he’s trying to convince you to stay home.

“I’m not not eager,” you protest.

“But you aren’t exactly saying you’re eager either,” he retorts easily.

You sigh. “We promised we would go,” you say emphatically, but even you can tell that you’re losing ground for your argument here.

Beomgyu hums into your shoulder, his arms sliding down to wrap around your waist from behind. “I’m sure Lady Park will understand,” he murmurs.

That draws you up short. You’d nearly forgotten who was hosting tonight. “We are not skipping out on Lady Park’s ball,” you say, twisting around to look at him fully. “She is probably one of my only supporters in society right now!”

He makes an affronted noise. “What, is my family just chopped liver?”

“They are family,” you retort. “It isn’t the same. If they didn’t support me, we would be in far greater trouble by now.”

Beomgyu falls silent, which means he’s conceding defeat—at least on this front. “Fine, we’ll go,” he eventually groans. “But no one said we have to stay the entire night.” He whirls you around so that you’re facing him directly, and his grin becomes something distinctly inviting. Sensual. Your heart begins to beat uncomfortably quickly. “In fact, no one said we had to arrive on time, either.”

Your mouth suddenly feels very dry. You fight hard to keep your eyes meeting his, and not floating downwards to fixate on his lips. “Beomgyu…”

He grins. He knows he’s winning. “Twenty minutes,” he proposes.

“…Five minutes.”

“Fifteen.”

“Ten.”

“Twelve and a half.” You laugh, and Beomgyu takes your distraction as an opportunity to press his lips to yours again. “Twelve and a half,” he repeats when he pulls away, eyes sparkling. “And by the way, did I tell you how beautiful you look this evening?”

You laugh again, despite yourself. “You are absolutely incorrigible,” you inform him.

“And yet you still love me,” he points out, infuriatingly correct as usual. “Twelve and a half minutes.”

“…Fine.”

He has his lips against yours in less than a second, an arm around your waist pulling you protectively close as your own hands wrap instinctively around his neck. “You are so beautiful,” he whispers against your lips. “I promise, every minute will be worth it.”

Sometimes it just suddenly hits you how lucky you are—how less than two years ago, you believed you would never find a husband, that you would never find love, that you would be forced to run away to avoid a life slated for a miserable end in your old household. Just a year past you believed this man to be your mortal enemy. When you think about it too much, you start to panic. Now that you have everything, a life that months ago you could only have dreamed of, it all feels like it could be taken away so easily.

So as Beomgyu’s lips capture yours again, pressing you against the staircase as his hand rises to caress your cheek, you decide not to think about it. You push your doubt and panic away and focus on here, on now—on the warmth of his hands and his lips, on the love he manages to convey with every miniscule touch. This life is yours, this life filled with so much devotion and warmth, yours to build, yours to love. And if you know yourself, you will never willingly let it go.

When you break away for air, you don’t let Beomgyu pull away too far. You tangle your fingers through his dark hair, grinning all the while. If he notices a few tears of joy threatening to spill down your cheek, he says nothing, just looks at you with his doting smile.

“That was never in doubt,” you reply, staring into loving eyes. “Because every moment with you has always been worth it.”

Reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed this, and have a lovely day :)

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magicamicitia · 6 months

Text

WARNING: Mentions of suicidal/intrusive thoughts.

Volume One, Chapter Two

“You’re not alone anymore.”

Beep.

Click!

Sunset Shimmer once again woke up to the sound of her alarm clock, and carried on with her morning routine as normal. However, the memories of the previous afternoon refused to leave her thoughts.

She was aware of the existence of magic in other worlds, but… This one wasn’t supposed to be one of them. So what’s up with all of this? Magical girls? Witches? A talking cat-with-bunny-ears freak? It was weirder than anything she’d ever seen in any other world. Apparently, humans like her weren’t supposed to be able to see witches like she did. Sunset figured her background as a magic interdimensional traveller could explain that abnormality.

Whatever this all meant, she hoped Twilight knew what she was doing.

“I have no idea what I’m doing!” Twilight Sparkle skipped nervously around her room.

“Don’t worry!” the small white creature, who referred to itself as ‘Kyubey’, carefully groomed its fur in a corner. “If you ever need any help, you can always ask me.”

Twilight couldn’t help but roll her eyes.

“Yeah, that’s real reassuring. The last time I asked for your help, You-“

Her train of thought was crudely interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Sweetie?” Her mother’s voice called. “Are you okay in there? You’re gonna be late if you don’t come out soon!”

“Shoot! I’d better get going!”

She left her home in a hurry as to avoid being late, despite her family’s attempts to tell her she still had twenty minutes until her usual time of departure. With a half-eaten sandwich in her hands and a trusty Kyubey over her shoulders, she was surely ready for another day as a high school student AND magical girl!

Huh?

Twilight Sparkle suddenly felt a strange weight on her chest. looking down at the soul gem ring on her finger, she noticed it emitted a strange glow.

“What’s all this now?”

“Your soul gem is reacting to magic,” kyubey answered. “There must be a witch nearby! We have to go after it!”

“NOW?! I can’t go after a witch NOW! I couldn’t even finish off the last one, and if I take too long fighting it… I’ll be…”

She gulped, terrified.

“…TARDY!!!”

“Twilight! You’re a magical girl now, the future of humanity relies on you battling witches!”

“I know, I know… But… Like, can’t you do it or something?”

“Unfortunately, there’s nothing I can do about witches in their physicial form. But once you defeat the witch, I can collect its grief seed and make sure it never comes back!”

“Ughhhh!!! Fine, I’ll do it, I’ll do it…”

Her soul gem’s magic led her to a beautiful hedge maze just outside an ancient history museum.

“Wow… this place looks so peaceful. Odd spot for a witch to make its lair.”

“You’re right, Twilight. Usually, witches will try to hatch in locations where they can collect the despair of nearby victims. But this maze is a total ghost town…”

“Well, then that must mean this one doesn’t feel like it needs any extra power, huh?”

“Yes. We’d better get ready; we’re about to enter the labyrinth, quite literally.”

As Twilight moved towards the center of the maze, she could feel reality around her become more and more distorted. But she noticed a strange consistency among the chaos.

“These patterns… these creatures… This is the same witch from yesterday!”

Kyubey backed up against Twilight’s legs, looking for refuge. “Looks like we got real lucky then. If we had decided to fight it then, with a human tagging along, things would have gotten real dangerous.”

Twilight spared no time - casting her magical power, she transformed into her magical girl self and barged through the horde of familiars with her shield. The familiars, however, laughed at her futile attempts. Their torn bodies sewed themselves back together to take on another form.

“P…Principal Celestia…?” Twilight felt an enourmous weight fall onto her shoulders.

“Twilight Sparkle,” said the mirage. “What are you doing here, when you should be at school? You used to be such a good student…”

“U-Used to be? No, no, I still am! In fact, I was on my way back-“

“It’s too late for that now. You’ve already been expelled from Crystal Prep, do you want me to expel you from Canterlot High as well? That won’t look good on your records.”

“No! I wasn’t expelled! Candace just thought it would be better for me if…”

Her legs were shaking.

“I… I’m… You’re not supposed to be here!”

Mustering up her strength, Twilight attacked the illusion of Celestia with everything she had. The familiars, however, simply dissolved themselves while laughing, leaving Twilight to fall to the ground, crying and defeated.

“What’s happening… Why am I… So weak…?”

The laughter around her turned to chants.

“End it!”

“What good is a magical girl who can’t fight a witch?”

“End it!”

“Give up your soul gem and feed us!”

“End it!”

Her vision was starting to get blurry. Why did she accept this awful offer in the first place?! She didn’t have what it took to be a magical girl at all!

Oh,

That’s right…

The reason was…

“Hold on tight, sugarcube!”

From the skies, a mysterious sillhouette came down to Twilight’s aid. Once it landed, she was surprised to see another magical girl, just like her!

Well, maybe her clothes were a little different. Very country. And instead of a shield, this girl took out five mint-condition flintlock muskets from her stylish cowboy hat. With the aim and confidence of a professional, she took down the monsters without missing a single shot. Then, she whipped her hair around, adjusted her hat, and turned to a baffled Twilight on the ground.

She smiled and reached out her hand.

“You alright over there?”

Before she could even say anything, four other girls made their way to Twilight and the mysterious magical girl.

“AJ, no fair! You said this one was mine!” A feisty girl with rainbow-colored hair rushed in first, clearly very upset.

“Oh, darling, please, that was clearly not the witch. You’re making a scene for no reason.” Added a purple-haired girl dressed in gorgeous modern-victorian couture.

“Wait,” said the multicolor girl. “Who’s that one over there?”

“I-I’m… Twilight… Twilight Sparkle…” She clumsily adjusted her glasses and got up.

“Pleasure to meet ya, Twilight.” The girl with the muskets smiled. “Name’s applejack.”

“I’m Rainbow Dash!” the spunky girl added.

“My name is Rarity, but you may call me Miss Rarity if you’re a fan.”

“Oh, I’ve heard your name before! You’re like, a prodigy star of the design world, right?”

“You’re quite right, darling! And those two over there are Pinkie Pie and Fluttershy.”

“W…Woah… So, you’re all magical girls…?”

“ALMOST all of us. Flutter can’t seem to come up with a wish, so we just drag her along as moral support.” Rainbow Dash cut in with a sarcastic tone.

“Rainbow, don’t say that!” Applejack reprimanded. “Don’t you worry, sugarcube. I know how scary it is to fight them mean witches all by yourself, but you’re not alone in this no more. We got your back!”

#magicamicitia #mlpmagicami #mlp au #pmmm au

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relgnira · 1 year

Text

Uh week 2 of @shepscapades drawing challenge thing! Ive had this sketched for like a week and finally finished it haha

Its a Celeste au! Celeste is my favorite game ever if you havent played it please please please give it a shot its so good. These are just the first thoughts that came to me when I thought about this, so have my unrefined brain crystals ~

Transcribed the written text under the cut:

Part of Cleo (Joe)

• does actually have a “human” form but prefers to be a bird around people other than Cleo for the ~mystery~

• more helpful than Cleo

Old Woman (Cleo)

• elderly woman who lives on the mountain and seems to enjoy hasseling hikers

• very confidant in herself, once she sees how determined Grian is she helps him find his confidence

• they become good friends post mountain

Grian

• pretty much the same motives as Madeline

• heard about Celeste mountain from his best friend Jimmy

• can’t believe he’s actually doing this

Part of Grian

• extremely impulsive to the point of danger, but will begin an anxious spiral afterwords that causes the world to distort and eyes to open everywhere

• when accepted, he gives the triple jump ability with a flap of wings

Mumbo

• one of the civil engineers that worked on the now-forsaken city

• got unlucky and just died at his desk one day, but he hasn’t realized yet and keeps frantically trying to finish an already-abandoned city

• when he meets Grian, he thinks he is there to finally approve his designs and keeps trying to show him his models and plans

Scar

• claims to be climbing the mountain to get some painting inspo, but maybe he is trying to escape something as well…

• will show a fold-out wallet full of Jellie pics if prompted (or even if he isn’t)

#shepshermitdesign23 #hermitcraft #hermitblr #hermitcraft smp #relgnirart #celeste #zombiecleo #joe hills #grian #mumbo jumbo #goodtimeswithscar #gtws #watcher grian #watcher!grian

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nekoooooo-p · 3 months

Text

Demo: Yandere Hatsune Miku Headcanons

art by: yanderous on Tumblr

------------×------------

CW: internet stalking; (a little) gaslighting

------------×------------

This is a demo, which may become a full-fledged large text, written and with a plot. Keyword MAY-..it all depends on you guys, you just have to ask me!

This is just an attempt to distract from the Phosphophyllite headcanons, since there is text there for five seconds of free fast scrolling down... and that's not all...That's why I'm stupidly tired of this and I desperately need a distraction HAHAHA

BTW, VERY FUN FACT.

Based (mostly) on real events :)

Enjoy!

------------×------------

× You don't know each other.

× Do you know why?

× Because she's just a robot.

× Vocal synthesizer without identity.

× All that is known about her is known from fans and her design.

× Empty.

× ...

× She is loved.

× She's popular.

× And you also see her on community pages, like drawings, listen to music, and perhaps try to do something creative yourself.

× Of course, you didn't know just Miku.

× You knew other Vocaloids too. Rin, Len, Luka, Meiko, Gumi, Flower, Fukase - there were a lot of them, you didn’t know them all, but you heard about many.

× You began to notice that many people had a favorite. And you also decided to choose your favorite Vocaloid.

× The simplest and quite normal choice was Miku.

× But you decided to take someone else as your favorite, because loving Miku is banal.

× The choice has been made.

× . . .

× It doesn’t matter who you chose, but you dreamed about them

× You dreamed of them fighting with Miku.

× In an old school building, two people were strangling each other. Two vocal synthesizers. ×

× It seems that the thin fingers of the long-haired girl with ponytails were squeezing someone else’s throat an order of magnitude stro

× You woke up.

× The dream was strange, but in the end it was just a dream - you struggled with yourself for a long time, trying to choose one of the two - and you didn’t choose Miku. That's why you dreamed about some bullshit.

× ...

× Overall, no big deal.

------------×------------

× It is vital for you to finish the project, but instead you are interested in reading some article on the Internet.

× You read the article with curiosity and look at the comments.

× People share opinions there - nothing unusual....

× ...Until you suddenly see Miku in the book cover photo.

× You stare at this in surprise - the article was not about Vocaloids at all, just like the comment itself with the photo.

× You take a screenshot with a laugh, close the article and finally remember about the project. Haha, it was funny, Miku reminded you of your studies.

× You jokingly thank the non-existent character out loud and take out your notebooks.

× As it turned out, you had something to thank Miku for - you were called in during class and asked to answer with almost no preparation.

× Of course, such coincidences make you even a little scared - but only if they are repeated often. So it was just really funny now.

× You told your friends about this coincidence, you laughed together and celebrated the excellent completion of the project.

× It's funny, but one day you again came across a funny coincidence - the author of your favorite fanfic not from the Vocaloid fandom suddenly added Miku to the plot as a reference and a side character.

× Oh , how small the world is!

× The dream repeated itself.

× You began to have trouble sleeping - your dreams became strange and distorted. Once you even dreamed of some outright nonsense with Miku figurines.

× You were in your own room, scrolling through the marketplace. And saw strange, unfinished figures there.

× M i k u. ×

× At one point, one of the figures independently adds itself to the basket and you laugh. For some reason.

× Suddenly the second figure does the same.

× . . .

× Then the third. Then the fourth.

× This caused bewilderment, laughter and showed only the absurdity of a strange situation.

× And then you suddenly looked at the floor behind the phone... and saw there a whole bunch of scary, unfinished, broken, mangled toys and Hatsune Miku figurines.

× You back away - and the figures keep growing and growing in geometric progression.

× You are afraid that now they will fill the entire room, and you will suffocate in this huge pile of plastic - but as soon as your back hits an obstacle, you wake up.

× And what was that?

× Nothing changes in your life - everything is quite as usual, the same communication, the same activities, the same living space, the same environment. Everything is calm and as usual.

× You don't pay attention to the little things.

× You see Miku a lot of places - on other people’s badges, notepads, many people ask if you know her, ask you to tell her, you see her periodically in advertisements...And this is provided that Miku and Vocaloids, in principle, were not so popular in your circle!

× Sekai must have made Vocaloids more famous and that's why you started bumping into Miku so often.

× ..but why Miku?

× After all, during all the time you saw something definitely related to Sekai only a couple of times, while Miku in her various manifestations almost always. You even bothered to meet a cosplayer who wanted to cosplay as Miku.

× You communicated actively for some time, but then something went wrong and you quarreled.

× ...By the way, when you almost stopped communicating, you later found out that he refused to cosplay Miku for some reason.

× An interesting coincidence.

× Somehow there are a ton of them, don’t you think?

× One day you saw a badge with Miku on the bag of one person, with whom you later had to get to know each other better due to certain circumstances. You talked for a couple of hours out of necessity and you complimented their badge.

"What are you talking about? I've never had a badge with Hatsune Miku..."

× The confused face of your interlocutor unsettled you.

× But...but you saw!

× what the heck?

× And this happened several times. You even thought that you had problems with vision or memory...

× The frequency of appearances of the Vocaloid girl in your life reached the point of absurdity. After all, in addition to appearing in your feed and advertising, she was also in your real life - acquaintances, conversations, badges, other merch, unusual projects of classmates and even in fucking magazines.

× You bumped into her absolutely everywhere.

× And then at some point you decided to download Vocaloid.

× You found your favorite producer who used your favorite vocaloid, you listened to the music of this producer, and finally you wanted to make covers or songs yourself.

× You were looking for a pirated version because you didn’t have money, although you were ashamed, in a sense, to download a pirated version.

× The voice bank you found in the public domain was... Miku's voice bank!

× In general, you weren’t against it - you liked Miku, but she was somewhere in second or third place on the list of favorites.

× When you started making covers using her bank, a question arose - why do many people say that Miku is difficult for a beginner? You were great at tuning her voice. And people liked your covers.

× ...

× ....by the way, it’s strange that you no longer come across Miku anywhere other than your feed.

<----------×--------->

End of demo.

<---------×---------->

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humanteethmarksonhumanbone · 6 months

Note

I need to see the tma oc and I need to see the distortion door

Cough it up cmon (only if u want to)

why yes you can >:3

(i’ll tag you in the distortion door post)

(cw/tw for parent deaths, suicide & attempts crisis hot lines, mental institutions) wont get too in detail about it

LORE:

i’ll try to keep her lore fairly brief but dont worry i do plan on posting more about her (possibly write a statement about her? who knows)

her name is Molly Tindell and she is and avatar of The End with some eye coding. To sum her up in a sentence: she is a crisis hotline responder who is… very bad at her job…

After her parents died when she was younger she went to live with a devoutly religious older woman. She also becomes super religious, mainly as means of coping with the deaths of her parents.

Eventually in her collage-ish years she volunteers for a crisis hot line (i've never volunteered for a crisis hot line so i cant say I know exactly how everything works.) Its her first day and she gets called by someone she screwed over/broke up with idk, and as you could image they arnt the happiest with who responded, and well yk, kills themselves with her on the line.

this doesn't have the effect on her that you would assume (would never go back again, survivors guilt etc) NO she instead decides that it is her life's work to “help others” she ends up returning over and over to help her mission.

(i dont really how to make it clearly tma based but my ideas are:

she knows who to lull to death when she sees/senses a black fog on the other side

either that or the black vines)

she feeds the End, the End feeds her, until she begins to grow jealous of the ones shes “helped return to their God” that she too desires to be united with it.

after multiple failed suicide attempts she is admitted to a mental hospital where people cant look over her for an extended period of time because the ones that do, end up committing.

eventually she is allowed to give a statement to the magnus institute

POWERS:

-pretty much sweet talking people into dying

-being able to See the person shes on the line with (she can see the dark mist around them)

-invincibility; she cant die until The End deems her finished

-pretty much making everyone around her want to die ._.

i cant draw so here are some picrews i made of before and after avatar hood

not the most accurate envisioning i have of her but its a start

thanks for asking @oxthemoron ! i think shes pretty neat, if a bit dark

#tma oc #tma #the end #tma the end #the magnus archives #violetbones.txt #molly tindell oc

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sketchfanda · 2 months

Text

Commission:Chestnut Stud:Jagua MILF

Jagua del Toro was quite a slice of paradise for being a resort on an island off the coast of some middle of nowhere third world country, but diamonds in the rough as they say. Especially when you had the hottest beaches and even hotter bitches and one such fine example of hotness was not having herself a good day. Now Cassandra Garcia was a woman of mature age, the kind of which certainly designated her as a high quality class grade MILF, and in experience she was more than used to having ups and downs but this was ridiculous!! The nerve of those bastards, whoever they were, stealing her swimsuit, her gearbag with her clothes, even her towel!! All while she had been taking a shower to boot, she swore to herself she’d hunt those thieving perverts down and make them suffer, she knew for damn sure they likely snuck some pictures and videos on their phones if they had any!!

But right now, she had to focus on maintaining her dignity, as she was currently ducking and weaving in between and among bushes and trees on the beach. Taking cover wherever and whenever she could, hands covering her most intimate parts, a challenge particularly with her quite sizeable boobies of course. She just had to leave her cellphone at home today or all days, damnit she’d even consider calling that damn trickster minx Maya for help even if it meant owing her a solid!! She felt like some damn stupid college kid having to run around streaking like this, if anyone saw her, her dignity and reputation would suffer!!

it didn’t help the tropical Caribbean quality air was making her exposed skin feel all tingly in certain places, blushing as she suppressed any urge to moan or shudder. Damn it all she didn’t need to start feeling horny now of all times, if she could just get her hands on a robe or towel at least then she’d be in the clear for some modesty. If even just a single brat saw her, she’d never live it down, the rumours alone that would spread would be severe especially when facts got distorted and context was removed. When lo and behold, the diner owner spotted an opportunity just for what she was looking for….

Just by another public showering area, where beach goers could go change in and out of swimwear and wash off the sand and saltwater, much like the stall she had been using prior, she saw a blonde babe departing from her own gearbag, no doubt to have a a swim or go soak some in some sun rays. Just the moment she needed, as the naked milf streaked on over just managing to escape any risk of being seen or caught as she began to open the bag and search it. All she needed was just a towel or robe, besides she doubted that girl’s clothes could fit her admittedly thicc, meaty frame. Only for Murphy’s law to pick a time to remind her what a bitch it could be right then and there as a shower stall door opened, a five foot bald runt in swimshorts stepping out, none other than a familiar face many of us all know….

Krillin::*Clad in his swimshorts,having just finished changing as he was emerging from the stall, unaware at the moment what he was about to witness.*”Hey babe sorry to keep you waiting, I-“*Whatever he was about to say went off the rails on his train of thought as his eyes bugged out, jaw dropping at the sight of naked woman who seemed to be trying to raid his wife’s beach bag. The lovely mrs.Garcia blushing, looking like a deer in the headlights as her worst nightmare seemed to be becoming a reality. Before either of them knew it, she was glaring at him as she charged and tackled him, shoving him back into the stall as she pinned him up against the wall, hand over his mouth to keep him from screaming.*

Cassandra:”Stay quiet or….or I’ll smother you with my breasts!!”*She couldn’t believe what she was saying, hell what was she even doing right now? She was naked in a beach shower stall with some random shorty, who caught her trying to steal, far as she knew, his wife or girlfriend’s stuff and this was now happening? Christ she knows Maya would never let her hear the end of this and live it down if word got out.*”you listen and you listen well to me, little man. I’m not having a very good day and I’m in serious need of cover so…so…”*Whatever the MILF was about to say as she explained herself to the man she had maybe a foot or just 8 inches over him, as she couldn’t help but notice the quite sizeable tent he was pitching in his swimshorts.*”…….Are you seriously hard right now?!!”

Now really she shouldn’t be surprised Krillin was getting a boner at this moment and time, he had a thicc, hot piece of ass alone in a confined space with him in all her naked pornographic glory after all. Last thing she had even wanted was to give this rando a show and yet any anger or Indignation was crumbling and giving away to a growing arousal the more she stared at it. Her body remembering how it’d been way too long since she had truly experienced and enjoyed the touch of a man, the primal thrill of raw, uninhibited no strings attached sex. Her pulse racing as her pussy quivered and gushed with need and thirst, soaking her thighs with slick, sticky warmth as her free hand was cupping and stroking that erection, all the while she was unaware she had pressed her tires up against his face, delivering on that smothering.

Before either of them knew it, she was kneeling on the floor, his shorts tugged down as she was stroking his cock, assaulting it with licks and kisses. Krillin groaning as this seemingly random naked hottie slobbered all over his shaft, the look of primal lust in her eyes as she gazed up at him making his spine tingle. One moment this woman was threatening him and the next, she was doing this, he was no stranger to this sort of experience but hot damn what a woman!! Specially as soon as she sandwiched his dick between those meaty marshmallows of hers and started stroking him off with a heavenly titfuck, sucking on the exposed tip whenever it came near those luscious lips of hers.

The pleasure of course was skyrocketing as those cute little puffy inverted nips of hers popped out, milk proceeding to gush from them as they added some flavourful lubrication to his length and girth. The short king feeling his mind go numb with ecstasy as his hands fidgeted about to grasp and grip Something, one hand grabbing the shower tap and turning it on, causing hot steamy water to spray and rain down on the lair. Which only served to fuel the growing spark of lust and passion between the pair, Cassandra gasping, panting and moaning as her pussy juices dribbled and flowed to mix with the shower water. Her arousal reaching such a level that she was soon performing intense fellatio on what was quite frankly, the biggest cock she had ever seen, lips latch around that slab of meat as she suffocated herself with deepthroating inch after inch of that beast.

Krillin had thought this woman had been intense before but the sight of this woman outright unhinging her jaw, pink glowing hearts of lust twinkling in her eyes as she bobbed her head like some lewd metronome. He couldn’t help but buck his hips, much to her horny delight as he proceeded to facefuck her, balls smacking her chin as she slobbered all over that jackhammering cock. Her pussy gushing like a waterfall at seeing those muscles of his lex and ripple, her brain becoming a borderline bitch in heat, as if growing a desire to have this compact Adonis mate and breed with her. Her neck swelling with a rising bulge from how deep that meat was getting as her pussy got an oral preview of what it could soon come to expect as her tastebuds dazzled with the taste of his pre on her tongue.

But of course Cassandra had found thst Krillin was as good at giving pleasure as he was at receiving it, as she was experiencing first hand while he was kneeling beside her. Suckling on her MILF tits, drinking uo her quite delicious milk while he probed her slit with his fingers, her nectar soaking up to his wrist. Coaxing deepthroated moans out of her lucious lips which not too long had sucking off his cock, pulse racing as he groped one tit with his free hand while sucking on the other, switching uo between the two. Her arousal skyrocketing as any doubts about this sudden act of spontaneous intimacy wwre further pushed away into the back of her mind, thinking nothing less than to want this short king to utterly destroy her.

But ooh once Krillin had finished warming her up and had his fill of her natural milk, she was finding her world being rocked to pieces, the walls and ceiling of the shower stall echoing with her moans and cries of lust. The heavy smack of skin slapping, primal and animalistic mating mixed with the splash of showe water as Cassandra was bent over and pressed up against the wall, Krillin jackhammering her from behind as he held her by the waist. Thrusting and pumping his cock away like the erotic jackhammer it was, grunting as he felt the tightness of the MILF’s pussy embracing his snatch with intimate desire. She was no virgin but tip it was clear that she had never taken anyone of his length and girth before and hit damn she was loving it, this feeling like she’d be ruined for other men from this point on!!!

Cassandra:”Yes yes yes yes!! Fuck me yku golden god of man! Destroy me so I never so much as think of another man!! Make me your brood mare!!”*The horny MILF hollered, among other such obscene dirty remarks when she could manage to form sentences as Krillin now took her in a mating press. The compact stud shiting between having his tongue dance with hers in a sloppy kiss or latching his mouth onto those meaty milktanks of hers as he had her bent like an accordion, plowing her lik an erotic butter churn. Cock plowing away into her greedy snatch as he splashing juices mixed eit the shower water going down the drain, those smooth heavy balls of his slapping her ass, making those twin booty cheeks jiggle and clap like jelly. She was so horny right now, she wouldn’t even mind Maya showing up and joining in, that’s just how good Krillin was giving it to her!!!*

Krillin had been with his share of horny women before, more so especially after marrying 18 and satisfying her personal quirky kink and some of those encounters had been as spontaneous and random such as finding this naked woman trying to go through his wife’s bag. But some of them had maybe at least half the level of sex drive Cassandra had, as she seemed intent on wanting him to use her to unleash a Kama sutras worth of positions. Currently enduring the force of her currently riding him cowgirl style, groping those bouncing titties and slapping that titanic booty as she was like a woman possessed. An expression of raw desire and lust adorning her sexy face as if she was driven to have her proclaimed golden god of a man not stop until it was guaranteed she would have a child from him.

Orgasm after orgasm, minutes passing into hour after hour to postion after postion, from prone bone to missionary and spread eagle to name a few of course. The amount of times she came too many to keep count whereas the times he would blow his load were few but relished with delight. The fact he was cumming inside her raw and bareback without a condom hardly a bother or a problem to her, if anything it would’ve felt wrong to her to have such a glorious cock be restrained with such insignificant rubber!! No an alpha male like this had to be enjoyed the proper way, mourning a bitch like herself to mate and breed!

Android 18 certainly stood by such a concept, as she secretly stood by the doorframe of the stall watching on with voyeuristic delight at seeing ankther sexy bitch enjoy the experience omly her husband could provide. One hand down the front of her thong and the other growing her tits with shameless abandon, waiting for the right moment to invite herself into this little soiree. She had wondered how and why Krillin had seemed to be delayed coming out of the changing rooms so imagjne her delight to come back and hear the familair sounds of her man being the natural born stud he was. Her arousal only increasing once she had a direct look inside, finding her hubby tapping quite the hot sexy piece of ass.

If Cassandra had been a horny bitch in heat before, it had only skyrocketed when 18 finally joined the fray, the fact she found herself getting it on with a married couple only making it all the swerter and spicier fo her. Eventually the trio laid together ina tangle of limbs, basking kn the afterglow as they recovered, ready to go again soon as they got their eager guy back. That is,in a more cozier, private and intimate setting lkke 18 and Krillin’s hotel room which they most certainly did, all night long and well into the sunset. That is after the short king and his golden goddess of a wife did a small favour for her on the way on over.

That being finding snd beating 7 shades of shit out of the thieving trolls who had swiped Cassandra’s bag and swimsuit, as well as taking their phones and deleting the pictures and videos. After 18 of course made and sent herself some copies, no reason to deny her Krillin some wet dream material for their eyes only after all. The MILF of course was only all too happy to express her gratitude as well as provide contact details with the lair, after all an encounter like this was too good to be a one time thing. Who knew such a brief bout of misfortune could lead to such unexpected but welcome delights?

Suffice to say, those who knew Cassandra Garcia personally Especially her employees at Boobters were a little puzzled and perturbed by the beaming smile and the distinct glow she was giving off. But hey who could blame her for feeling like she was walking on sunshine when she had the best sex of her goddamn life?!! Especially when she already had a date planned in mind with 18 and Krillin later on today, after all she wants to make the most of the time they’d be here during their vacation. As well as give them plenty of reason to make Jagua a go to destination for them, she didn’t want to be kept waiting too long for next chestnut fox after all, that little man was addictive…….

#sketchfan #sketchfanda #sketchfan85 #darwin núñez #darwin nunez #darkereve #cassandra garcia #Dragonball #dragonball z #krillin dragonball #dragonball krillin #krillin smut #krillin sanchez #krillin #kuririn #android 18 #Jagua tales

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neuroprincess · 8 months

Text

Simili - The Executioner

Professor!Agatha Harkness/Student!Female Reader

Fanfic Chapter List

Summary: A series of murders start to scare the small town of Westview when young university students turn up dead on campus, soon Y/N seems to be connected to the victims somehow. Determined to find the author of these atrocities, she can trust no one, not her family, friends, and even less the local police, except the only person really willing to help her, the professor Agatha.

Warnings: Trauma in the subtext, sorry

Word count: +2500

"I watch attentively as the molten bronze falls through the mold, boiling, shining, filling every gap that will form a beautiful image, just as the fire fills and consumes me inside to one day become a person, for now I'm just a mold, even though bronze already runs through my veins, it's in my blood, it's who I am."

As an omen of dark days and in response to recent events, the sky has darkened, turning the bright ones into a mist of mourning. Everything is gray, the animated conversations have become murmurs and, even if they hide it very well, fear pervades the corridors. The academic staff have told everyone that there is nothing to fear and no reason to, but how could they not fear a brutal murder on campus? The image of the man in their memories, haunting some dreams, meanwhile seems to be the entertainment of others who can't stop talking about it as if it were a kind of gossip. Young people are stupid, that's what Y/N thinks as she goes along her usual route, trying not to stare for too long at certain groups that gather on corners, enthusiastic whispers and cunning words, dozens of theories being born. No one really knew Jareth Redd apart from the fact that the name was on the staff and his visits, which could easily go unnoticed among the suited men who administer the university. She... she remembers the yellowed and pointed teeth showing in a smile not warm at all, almost sickly from how forced it was, the eyes that lingered too long and the soft speech that could engage anyone. And she doesn't like to talk or even think about him. That's why she's silent while friends chatter away, trying to keep her mind off other things like new classes or the fact that it hasn't stopped raining, two days and three nights in a row, the puddles are piling up at the exits, there's no umbrella to withstand the gale and at the same time there are a dozen reporters surrounding every gate. It's annoying how they insist on asking questions that no one has answers to and when don't get what they want, induce those answers, distorting phrases to make headlines in the local newspaper, main posts on websites and bloggers too. After days, they're still seen standing on the other side of buildings, trying to take photos or at least catch a glimpse, it's hard to have a big news story like this in hand in a considerably small town. A promising opportunity.

"I heard he had a mistress and the wife ordered his death..." Wanda whispers to friends, there had been several rumors spreading in her previous classes "And the mistress is a university student, from here."

"He wasn't married." Y/N comments without thinking, immediately dismissing another created story, although she knows that if he were married it would probably be true "There was no ring on his finger." she tries to take some of the attention off herself when realizes that the group is staring with curiosity.

"You're very observant, darling." Darcy compliments and smiles sweetly, approaching her who walks ahead faster than the others "Is everything all right?" she asks in a whisper, worried, since everything happened her friend has been quieter than normal, which isn't surprising considering how traumatizing seeing the scene had been.

"Hum, yeah... yeah... I'm just a bit distracted today. I still have a couple of classes to finish the day." she shrugged and sighed, feeling tiredness along with the sleepless nights take over her body "And you?"

"Just one more, how about we meet at the Planet later?"

"I'll come along!" the redhead says, just behind them, listening attentively "But I'll be late, our practice has been postponed until late afternoon."

"The debating club too." Monica says dejectedly, many classes have been canceled and events postponed "Maybe we won't go at all." she points at Jimmy, he agrees.

They quickly get back to chatting about trivial things, like celebrity affairs or how much they hate a specific professor; to Y/N's relief, Redd is no longer mentioned. However, the walk is long, too much for her taste, feeling exhaustion in every part of body. From neurons synapsing a millisecond slower to feet that don't seem to obey the mind screaming that at this rate she'll be late. A bolt of lightning flashes across the sky, illuminating the dim corridor and the noise makes all her hairs stand on end, like a dose of caffeine, it wakes her up almost immediately, senses heightened and eyes alert, suddenly there's a lot going on around. A bunch of architecture students, if she remembers correctly, walk past them, judgmental looks alongside curious stares, all pointed in one direction, Y/N. They don't even try to hide it. This irritates and embarrasses her at the same time, she has never particularly liked being the center of attention, since childhood preferred to be on the sidelines, just an observer and now, after letting instincts lead her to that scene, she has become the last thing wanted. She involuntarily stares back at them, until finally she loses sight, and swallows her saliva, realizing the consequences of that day. But she... needed to confirm what resembled one of the recurring nightmares she's had, the ones that still torment her in the middle of the night and make her feverish. All seems very surreal. The water running under feet, wet grass, red taking over green, white and gray, the statue she had never paid attention to appeared to express itself as it held him in arms, between pain and compassion for a loved one who was gone. Such irony, she thought to herself, smiling without noticing.

"Hey!" Wanda calls as she approaches, increasing speed to keep up with them "I have to do something before class, I might be late, could you save a seat for me?" and without giving a chance for an answer, the other girl takes off down the corridors, everyone there knows what she went to do and with whom, no one comments anything.

"Good luck with your new classes, I hope and pray I didn't scare you about SHE." the brunette whispers, feeling a bit guilty.

"Nah, I'll be fine." Y/N shrugged and winked at her "By the way, I don't want to be late, so I'm going. See you later!"

"See you..."

Without even trying to hear what her friend wants to say, she heads towards the stairs to the second floor, where the classroom is located. It's not as if she can pay attention to any real words or advice, it just goes in one ear and out the other, through the fog that her mind has fallen into. She's thankful that the floor is practically empty compared to the first, so she doesn't have to face the people staring at her or fill herself with questions about what the hell they must be thinking, away from judgmental, malicious and biased speculation. For God's sake, they don't even know her name and that doesn't prevent invented rumors from circulating in every part of the campus.

"I'm sorry, I was distracted..." she begins to explain immediately when feels herself hit another body, both almost fall to the ground due to the impact, but hold on to each other avoiding it, the younger raises face and, surprise, releases her, kept safe by the arms that continue to hold her by the waist firmly against herself, so close, face to face "You... I mean... Well, I, actually..." the words are jumble in the midst of so much nervousness, her throat dries up immediately and hands tremble.

"Watch where you're going next time." the woman says slightly annoyed and lets her go after making sure she can stand. Then straightens the coat she's wearing, fixes the glasses that slipped down the nose during the collision "Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm fine. And you?" she asks, nervousness evident in her voice. The woman, the same one who hugged and cried in her arms, is so different from how she remembers.

The eyes, previously swollen and darkened by pain, are a clear, soft blue, expressive and gentle, capable of seeing through any soul, from the purest to the most bruised, contradicting the indifferent expression on her delicate features. Long eyelashes frame them, accompanied by well-defined eyebrows, outlined nose and perfectly drawn mouth, a mature beauty that makes Y/N melt immediately. The air is stolen from her lungs and a sudden need arises to look minimally presentable, internally regretting her modest clothing, slightly disheveled hair and the miserableness of her appearance in general. A little embarrassed, she runs fingers through locks in an attempt to straighten them.

"More than fine." the brunette reacts indifferently and stares at her from head to toe, making the student even more tense "Now, if you don't mind." she mutters, checking the handbag before continuing to walk in the opposite direction, without a second glance.

The stranger's phantom touch makes her skin burn, a weird sensation begins to consume her, an emptiness that hits her straight in the chest. Y/N sighs in defeat, feeling the world trying to create a small conspiracy so that nothing is forgotten or, as she prefers, buried seven feet under next to his corpse. Very dead, waiting to be consumed by the worms, who, even though they are worms, are about to taste the dirtiest thing they've eaten in a short lifetime. The poison intrinsic in the cold and sickly flesh, time destroying it, just as it should with all the secrets and deeds in life. In the end, all she wants is for this person to disappear from existence, to leave her alone. No matter how much she's being pulled into the small loose parts of a complex puzzle, by which she means people and anything related, begging to be seen, she prefers to blind herself. Repeating, for the hundredth time in the week, that everything ended the minute a heart stopped beating.

"Right, right, everything's fine now." she murmurs, impatient for letting these thoughts, ideas and... some memories surface "Class! I have to be in class." quickly checks the room number on the timetable.

It takes her a while to find the correct number in the long corridor, among the various identifications that scramble in her blurry vision, sometimes she forgets how big the campus can be. From the high walls raised in raw brick to the statues molded by the hands of the graduates themselves, every detail drawn on Westview's timeline, the pride of the small town. The Mythology professor's auditorium lives up to this, rows of chairs down wide staircases, at least fifty empty seats, the walls are filled with paintings probably worth more than her life, along with dozens of historical decorations, at the end there is a stage that seems untouchable, so clear and organized, a large table in the center, behind it two shelves full of old books and a blackboard already scribbled on. The cursive letter written in impeccable calligraphy.

Heels tapping against the laminate floor attract attention and a figure emerges from the adjoining door, walking at a slow, glorious pace to the table, those thick-framed glasses stuck on the end of her nose as she seems to concentrate on reading the local paper.

"Are you going to continue staring at me or find a seat for yourself? Class starts soon." the woman, the same one from the fountain and the corridor, says loud and clear, sitting down without even looking up "And keep quiet."

Y/N just nods in shock and does as she's told, looking for one, having the privilege of choosing anyone since nobody but her has arrived yet, ending up somewhere in the middle. And not a single student shows up for the next ten minutes. She begins to wonder if there will be any more or if a second thing has happened in the week to bring everyone together, doubt makes the atmosphere tense, not only because of her concern, also for the indifference she feels coming from the other woman. It's almost as if she despises the girl without even knowing her, which only reinforces what Darcy warned about earlier and makes her believe that she is, in fact, an executioner. How will the next lessons be if this is just a taste of what's to come? Not to mention the visible connection between her and the late chancellor. As the clock ticks down, the hope of having a partner in the battle for the first class is fading and, like a heroine on a winged horse, Wanda finally appears. The loud banging of the double door draws the attention of the only people there, which earns her a disapproving look, she doesn't mind.

"Honey, I'm home!" she jokes, taking a seat next to Y/N "Can you believe I couldn't find him anywhere? So I gave up wandering around campus like a silly cockroach. Did I miss anything?"

"Class hasn't even started."

"At this pace it won't, will it always be empty like this?" she whispers noticing the older woman's deadly stare now directed at them, the newspaper forgotten on the wooden surface "I wouldn't be surprised at her fame."

"I have very good hearing, Maximoff." the brunette says suddenly, standing up and showing off her elegant figure without a coat; no one noticed that she had taken it off, revealing a beautiful navy blue dress that clings to curves and accentuates all attributes "And you should know that my fame doesn't even come close to what it's really like being in my class."

At this point, Y/N doesn't even care anymore about the reputation of an executioner or how the hell she's going to deal with it for the rest of an entire semester, her eyes are fixed on the lines that outline the impeccable body and she can't help but admire her beauty. If she didn't have the slightest bit of self-control, surely she'd be drooling with reason. But she's certain to be blushing deeply and is grateful that the attention is on her friend.

"Well, you two are new, so I'll be kind enough to go over a few simple rules. First of all, time, anyone arriving after the agreed time won't be allowed in. I'm not going to waste my voice for nothing, so be quiet, pay attention and take notes. And, most importantly, no smartphones."

"But..." Wanda tries to protest only to be interrupted immediately, with no chance to say anything or assimilate indignation.

"That's all!" the professor takes two steps forward and stares at them for a moment, blue irises fixed on Y/N before returning to speak "Welcome to Cosmogonic Mythology! I am Miss Harkness, besides teaching I'm in charge of the history department..."

The words become garbled and the younger can't concentrate on the introduction to the subject, even though she knows all the difficult words need to be written down and some knowledge absorbed, nothing seems to enter her head. She is paralyzed, without reaction. It's really happening, there's no escape. At the same time as being enchanted by the professor, she is also frightened, fearing that she might read her soul and pull out the deepest secrets, because, like a magnet, they can't take their eyes off each other.

taglist: @tryingmybest233333 @wastdstime @scarr0713 @dvrkhcld @heidss @xvyzxx @minszhuo @quailbagutte @imaginesmultifandoms @ctrlamira @milffilm @taurus-baby-34 @Starbucks-06 @Willow_Nox @grandtacoranchnickel @multifandomlesbianic @louderfortheback @h-doodles @moonzbluz @peggy082023 @willowshadenox

Join my taglist here ^^

#agatha harkness x reader #fanfiction #agatha harkness #wandavision #simili

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shima-draws · 1 year

Note

Ooh what’s Darker Destinies sounds interesting!

!! It’s my PMD AU!! It basically serves as a third installment to the PMD Sky plotline since it focuses on Giratina and the Distorted Realm (PMD-verse Distortion World basically lol). It’s got a lot of twists and is actually pretty dark for a PMD AU but it’s one of my all time favorites 🥰 When I first came up with the concept I had just finished watching Made In Abyss for the first time so that influenced it a lot. And it’s perfect bc the dungeon Giratina rules over in Sky is called World Abyss so I was like OH YO I can DEFINITELY use this haha

Long story short Pip gets whisked off to the Distorted Realm as just an extension of her soul, while her body remains in the real world. Chimchar asks Dialga to send him to the future so he can recruit the Future Trio—so they can help him figure out what’s going on with Pip and where she went. Meanwhile Pip starts running into lookalikes of her friends and realizes they’re from a different timeline where things did NOT end very well for them. Grovyle has become sort of a mercenary and adopted Dusknoir’s “survive no matter the cost” outlook, and has had his fair share of devastating losses (both his own Pip and Celebi being killed before they could go back to the past and retrieve the Time Gears). The guild is in shambles due to the world literally ending; they were forced to turn rogue, Chatot is dead and Chimchar took over as Guildmaster because Wigglytuff’s too emotionally distraught to lead. Everyone existing in the Distorted Realm is miserable and trying to kill each other and have turned even more dark and twisted than the Dark Future. It’s a MESS. But luckily Pip’s there to start getting things into gear and get everyone moving in the right direction. Starting with heading down into World Abyss (which, to the surface Pokemon, is considered to be an absolute death trap to be avoided at all costs) to meet with Giratina ;)

There’s a lot more going on in the AU but yeah it’s one I’ve had for a while! And one I’ve been wanting to work on more. If I could turn this into a ROM hack one day that would be SO neat

#Shima answers questions #Pokemon #PMD #Pokemon Mystery Dungeon #PMD Sky #Darker Destinies AU #Pip #Grovyle #Chimchar #PMD Grovyle #Shima’s AUs

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ervona · 1 year

Text

Day 1: Arcane / Beast for @tes-summer-fest

The city of Winterhold coasted on its illustrious history as capital, though it had shared that honor with quite a few cities in the province. Still, it held a charm that set it apart from the rest in the eyes of a courier who had just finished her delivery to the far-flung shrine of Azura. The mountainside view was one to behold, enjoyed by many from afar who'd come to join the work on that lofty statue. To her, the sight of moonlit stone walls called for a night out.

A gleaming eye caught her own, atop the most distinguished, towering structure in the city. Home to many a mage, such as her friend who on this day was waiting for her at the city gates rather than on College grounds. He was but a prentice, and even though he’d started learning a bit late by a naysayer’s estimate, he was bound to become a great mage someday. One could only hope.

Though not officially enrolled there, she was a scholar of sorts, as well as a courier and self-appointed investigator. Her pursuit of mystery was greater than the sum of its parts. She arranged to borrow a book on occasion in return for running the archivist’s errands, but the path to knowledge ofttimes lay elsewhere.

“Just so you know, that hermit up in the mountain told me you absolutely need levitation!" The volume of her voice sank into the surrounding snow. Only slightly dusted by it, like a sweetcake, he threw his head back in unbridled laughter.

That was how they met each time, continuing their last discussion regardless of how long it had been. Or at least, that’s how she commanded awe with her excellent memory. Usually.

“I missed you too!” His feet dangled in the air when she hugged him, repeatedly hitting her ankle. “And ah- sorry- can’t say I didn’t expect that. I haven't been neglecting my studies, either.”

“She also offered to share arcane secrets, if I-”

“Do some errands for her?” he drawled, mimicking the archivist, who'd come across as the unwitting jester of the faculty.

“No, if I leave her alone for a while. She seemed cross with me.”

Chattering friends beat chattering teeth, and they’d discussed their latest findings all the way down the path that sloped down to arguably a beach. Ancient bones distorted as in a dream were stuck in the glacial gullet of Hsaarik; less ancient ones lay half-buried in the snowdrift.

Deep below the lights of the city, falling prey to something sharp was far too easy, but the fog of breath held no fear. She took the hand offered to her aglow in purpureal light and her step became lighter still, they could skip across the water like stones.

He’d practiced his spellwork on these shores for days on end with only her in audience, a mouthful of dried fish and socks full of water. The days had been longer then, and one could get away with being sodden before a biting chill came upon them. Fortunately he had picked up a flame spell, more for need of himself than her, who braved the Old Holds with naught but skis and high spirits.

“Now, behold something a bit different.” he said when they’d stepped on frozen ground.

“You’ve finally come around to ice swimming?”

“I wish! No, no, just look.”

The spell looked similar enough to her eye, but the motion to cast it was different. Soon enough the circular shape mimicking his hands elevated his feet ever so slightly from the ground. She clapped, perhaps emboldening him too much to take a less than careful step, after which the next one sent him plummeting into waist-deep water with a wail.

Trying not to chuckle, she stepped close enough to wet her boots. She would be undressing soon anyway, thus without a care. “Could have been worse. What if I were to jump in too?”

“That’s unneeded. But thank you.” He wrung out what he could with a sigh, and she would have asked him about learning a dry warming spell if he didn't have enough on his plate already.

Once again they joined hands, in a more sodden saunter towards the next islet, a larger one they’d frequented. There lay wood ash and fishbone, remains of their last fire that the wild waves hadn’t claimed yet. Starting a new one with no delay, they sat for a while in silence, broken only by the seabirds’ cry.

The days had grown shorter, giving way to night. Masser, the roseate eye in the tapestry of stars, had seized her beating heart and now looked upon her in anticipation. She strode on the lookout for fish, drinking in the horizon that would at some point give way to the nascent sun.

In that direction, a once mighty craft cracked in twain on long since melted ice, since then picked clean by beasts and priests. They’d searched it up and down already, finding what they sought and the years had gone by until it was of little interest but a grim omen.

Strewn across sea-nooks were many such wooden carcasses, cast away at the mercy of the eponymous ghosts that only grew in number. But she couldn’t let that dishearten her. Rather she counted every golden drake, pressed until they were warm, for passage to faraway shores. Though her friend had not complained once, it was her that made their journey troublesome to plan for.

Breathing in the night air, her heart began to play the moon’s tune. Blood rushing to and fro, crawling deep into herself. Her fur was already growing in. It was crucial to disrobe and fold all her clothes into a now empty knapsack, before her shape was truly unmade and remade. She left it to her friend’s safekeeping, who also provided the perfect cover, a novice of transfiguration with a proclivity for accidents in spellcasting. It wasn’t far from the truth, and was of course her idea.

With newfound power and little care for the cold she leapt into the sea, making a grand entrance. Some fish fled, others were fearless, but her teeth snapped around them all the same, not unlike the traps that sought to capture her kind. Each time she surfaced to deposit fish on the rocks, he would look up from his little spell-circle and line them up all orderly. So began their night, with a feast.

Just a step beyond the locals’ taste, the two companions shared a liking of raw fish. It was always nice to spend time with someone who’d never cast a glance of judgment. Not even the subtle ones brimming with dignified superiority, for he didn’t have that streak in him, but she often feared the day that could change.

At the moment, she feared nothing. In her many years of life, her greatest fears as a youth had reformed into her great solace. It was no longer too much to bear. She felt only the need to delve further into the water, as the call of the forest was much the same on land and sea. Down in the brush of kelp, one could find all manner of things, even sunken treasure. The hunt raged on through the night.

When she came to, Magnus and Azura had embraced in the sky, and the treasures she’d scattered around were truly nothing to write home about. Fish scraps were stuck in her hair, not her fur, but the hair that hung over her neck now, heavy with water. Trying to balance on the ice, she was growing shaky by the moment. Ever since she’d known of herself, she would regain her merish form with the dawn.

Cold, cold, that sudden cold, was surely the worst part of these trips, fun as they were. And it wasn’t too long until she spotted a familiar figure, ever nearer as he hopped along the drift ice, brandishing her cloak like a banner. She snagged it and made quick work of her knapsack, robes and all, but in pursuit of warmth almost slipped quite a few times before she got her boots on.

To divert from such a graceless moment, she grabbed one of her sunken trinkets, a worn, blackened chip that may have once been silver and put on her best impression of the Nord merchants at the city market. “Might you be interested in an ancient Atmoran coin?”

“Just what I’m looking for!” He laughed, rolling it around in his hand. The sun at his back was but a trifle when he beamed. “I don’t mean to brag, but I may be getting the knack of this. Levitation. I’ve been practicing all night.”

“Will you whisk me away to the city, then?”

“Um, not yet. But one day, I hope!”

That she looked forward to, but another sea-walk was certainly more than adequate.

#tesfest23 #skyrim #tes #the elder scrolls #brand-shei #merris tag #oc tag #scrawling tag #need to change that but 'fic tag' isn't doing it for me #alternate time going on here and if you're able to piece it all together without prior context then i've done something right #and you too! thanks for reading and happy tesfest

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glaciertea · 4 months

Text

Masterlist here

Tales the Songs Weave

Ch.18<< >>Ch.20

Notes: You reflect, you reflect on everything and nothing all at once.

Chapter 19: Entrapped Laments

Word count: 6.5K

That's it.

That's how it ends.

Grimly and anticlimactic.

You've been lying down, staring at the ceiling for what feels like hours, days even.

You tried not to be shocked; you should've seen this coming from a mile away, but here you are, sobbing your tear ducts dry until you wilt to become a stale zombie.

You can't even recall how you ended up in your bed in the first place. The last thing you remember was being in front of the door, allowing the dullness of damn all to consume your inner torments.

Your apartment is buried in the shadows of the night, and your eyes are glassed with endless sorrow.

Why? Why did he end it? You tried not to believe it was your fault. You trusted your instincts into thinking it was other factors.

Well, it was mostly you skewing your mind in a direction where it was something you wanted to hear, not needed. You only did it to make yourself feel better. To give yourself this distorted narrative that things are just in a rough patch, but with a little care and time, they'll go back to normal.

Well, as plainly vanilla as it could get with someone like he is.

Was.

Having to start thinking of him in the past will be a strange, unaccustomed response. To think back instead of thinking forward.

Which is funny—how many forward-looking outlooks were there? You try to remember if there was any deliberation about a probable future between you two. You certainly know you've voiced your desire to stay together, but now that you consider it, were there any times he mentioned a foreseeable life for you both?

You really tried to dig into your memory bank. There was that conversation you had about how you'd both raise kids if you were to have any, but was that more of a theoretical train of concepts? Rhetorical inclinations because of the tender and vulnerable moment shared before landing on that subject?

Would he have wanted kids with you? Every time you have… had sex, he has… had those primal urges to finish in you. It was very rare when he pulled out.

But that could mean anything. Maybe he has a fetish for nutting in his partners to stroke that massive, dumb ego. Some sense of accomplishment knowing the person he's with will allow him to go ahead and release in them because ‘he's just so hot,’ ‘our babies will look so cute,’ or ‘he would be such a good father to my future kids.’

You weren't projecting.

Did he really want a life with you? Everything that happened seemed so authentic and full of bliss. Did he really want to be with you in the first place?

Well, he was the one to make the first move, so that had to be something. Or maybe he did that because of the vulnerability shared before it.

Was anything real between you two?

Glancing over your alarm, the annoyingly lit green numbers sting your retinas as you hurriedly wipe away the pathetic tears for that man.

It's a quarter to six, and you have work in less than two hours. You thought about sneaking in some sleep. And if questioned about your fatigued state, you could make up an excuse that it was a restless night because you were so excited to come into work.

You would've won the best costume award for your zombie-like appearance.

The minute you stepped in the door and up to the counter, one could immediately see the appalling anger ready to burst just from Ronnie's gaze.

“I knew it! That fucker!”

“Ronnie, I didn't say anything. It was a long night. Couldn't sleep. It happens.”

“That has you looking like you just stepped out of a grave after many, many years?!”

“Rough nights can spring up on anyone, Ronnie. You've seen them on me before, so this isn't a first.”

She scoffed. You figured she wasn't going to buy into it. “I'm going to kill him. Where does he live? I know he works for some shitty tech corporation. Which one? Which building is it?”

She banged on the counter with her knuckles, trying to calm herself. “This fucker. I told his ass—I told his ass to not drag you down on his ship, but he did it anyway!”

Your head slightly tilted up at that. “What did you tell him?”

“I wanted to tell you about Sunday, but I held off for your sake, which I now regret doing.”

Your weary eyes peered into her choleric ones.

“He came by with the box of materials you gave him when he first came here. Asshole attempted to return them during your break, but I told him not to even think about destroying anything that was built up and that he better get his shit together.”

You felt your body want to give in. Crumple to the ground and slowly dust away until there is nothing left.

He was planning this.

He was planning on walking away, but for how long? How long was this on his mind? How long did he have that wrapped and tucked like a gift you're trying to hide from a kid before Christmas? There's a singe in your eyes as you feel them threatening to well up until you roughly dry them away.

“Did... did he say anything?”

Ronnie shook her head. “Told him we had no space, and he just swiped the box up and left without a single peep, like the bastardly coward he is.”

You didn't know what to say. What thoughts can you even conjure up after being told something like that? He came here and couldn't even face you. It didn't help that when he was visiting your job during the last week of his weird state, he only stayed for less than thirty minutes.

Not to even mention how he would stroll into your place for an hour, barely say anything, and then depart until the next evening.

You might as well have had your eyes ripped from your sockets to have not foreseen this.

“And the fact that he broke up with you knowing you had work. I swear, the nerve of some people!” Ronnie snarled and turned to her shattered and dispirited employee and friend. “I hate what he's done to you. I should've just thrown in my two cents like I always do. I should've done it. Did he at least give a reason as to why?”

Even though all he bitterly spewed was incomprehensible for you to digest, you weren't going to expose his other life, no matter how much misfortune he battered you with.

“He merely told me it would be better to go our separate ways.”

Ronnie tapped her fingernails on her tablet; the only sound was the clacking against the screen. “And?”

“And that's it. He wanted a break, and here we are.”

That answer wasn't acceptable to her. “You know it's easy for me to find him.”

“Ronnie, please don't.”

“Don't have the last name, but I can go off the first. I have a face to the name.”

You're too tired to draw your boss back down to earth. She can be very petty when a discrete occurrence permits it. And her pettiness is telling you that this was one of those times.

“It was messy. He came in, didn't sit down, and just blurted out that we needed to break up. He went on a tirade about something that didn't make sense and told me…” a knot tangled in your stomach as you rewound his comments and synthetic, devastating explanations. Your eyes were slightly sheening before you wiped them.

Ronnie was tight-lipped, patiently letting you take your time, but bearing that crazed wrath for Miguel.

“He told… he–he told me I shouldn't ex-exist.” Even just uttering those words made you want to vomit.

A fracturing crack came from below as Ronnie involuntarily smashed her screen. She was doing all in her power to not go full ballistic, her face puckering to stow it shut.

“Why I can't stand some guys. Always, always the luscious ones, isn't it?” She glared up, as she could tell how sapped and worn you were.

“I don't know what to do, Ronnie. I know it's only a guy. I shouldn't be getting this upset over him."

“No, if he was nothing but a pitiful lover, then yes, I would've said move on and much more, but this dude came into your life and was beaming these contagious rays, then randomly closed that curtain. He was the match to your firecracker, but he seemed to have gone excessive and hosed it down at full force.”

She could see the deflation with every word she snared. She hated seeing her favorite this way. “Go home and relax for the rest of the week. I'm visiting you tonight after work with comfort snacks and ‘so bad, they're good’ films. I'll also close up shop early Saturday, and I'm taking you clubbing.”

You staggered at the freely given vacation offer. Shaking your head, you began to place your bag down, taking out its contents to start working. “No, it's okay; I'll be fine. You don't have to come over or give me the days off.”

“No, you're getting the time off, whether you like it or not.” Ronnie tried to enforce it, but you wouldn't listen as you pursued your incohesive blubbering.

“And besides, the rest of the whole week? You would have to deal with Freya and Jax, and I know you can't stand them. They don't do much to help you out anyway. I just need a few pick-me-ups, that's all!” You gathered up some magazines that were randomly piled on the surface, pretending to fix and stack them.

“I can handle them myse-”

“And besides, my day off is tomorrow, so there's my rest day. And you don't have to come; I'll be okay. He's just a guy; things like this happen; it's all a part of life. Life!”

Ronnie narrowed her eyes, observing your erratic shift in movements and tone.

“You know what's funny about life? Life has paths that can weave and swerve without you realizing it! There's so many ways it can go! Not just one! You may never know when things can have you on top of the fucking world before it yanks you right down to the pits of–!”

“Y/N!”

You yielded. Your chest was rising heavily, everything pounding from your head to your toes. Your items were strewn across the wooden surface, and a magazine you held was crumpled with tiny rips on the edge of the cover. You dropped the paperback and entangled your hands, digging into your scalp.

“I'm sorry, I'll–I'll pay for it.”

“It's a magazine. We have multiples of this issue.” Ronnie woefully eyed your current nature and tightly embraced you. “I'm coming over tonight with the best junk food; you will be taking this week off, and we will have a damn good time clubbing. I'm not going to sit back and have you slip and decay away. I'm not.”

You stayed muted, your lifeless eyes beginning to seep out tears. You returned the hug; albeit lackluster, it was still comforting.

You knew it'd hurt.

You knew the misery would arrange a huge, pleasant resting nest right in your gutted heart, mind, and soul, needing the full capacity of every centimeter of your being. The more you disjointedly vented to Ronnie, still trying your best to exclude the Spider-Man business, the more sketchy his excuses became to you.

Ronnie eventually sent you off; her blood pressure was skyrocketing. She felt her own heart crunch, and she wasn't even the one who received his horrible comments and arguments. She was ready to find him, tear him apart, and beat him.

It was difficult walking back, especially when passing the gardens. You made your best efforts to speedwalk by it, but that misery made sure to slam its brakes, forcing you to gaze upon a now squashed and destroyed memory. You had to choke back many more cries, refusing to garner even a lick of attention. You turned a fifteen-minute trip home into nine.

You didn't bother to change out of the clothes you were wearing when he dumped you. As you wallow in despair on your sofa, half listening to one of the albums you gifted him, your brain reeled itself into rewinding last night, no matter how hard you tried to veer away.

A physical wound won't go away the next day. Most certainly, a mental wound wouldn't pack its bag and leave when one wanted it too. For some, it can come with ease.

You thought of Ronnie, an individual who can seemingly move on from one relationship to another. If someone breaks her heart, she will twist and snatch the pain out, gladly replacing it with a new one until the pattern repeats itself. It wasn't a very… healthy coping mechanism, as you expressed your concerns about it, but right now, you envied that technique.

You envied the ones who could deal with heartbreak with such ease. That vicarious sense of seemingly disregarding the instigator as if they were just another snotty-filled tissue made you jealous.

Why must this hurt? Why can't you just let him go? You both barely dated for a year, so why was this such a difficult feat to handle? Why did he have to make every day feel so special? Was that simply the honeymoon phase? Was any of that true love or just a quick and simple fling?

Your hands found your face as you whimpered before bawling your eyes out. Your shuddering breaths filled the air as you rocked back and forth, trying to cool yourself as much as possible.

It was impossible.

It's still too fresh. Straight-out-of-the-oven fresh, that will sear one's tongue if they bite into the meal. You thought about the five stages. Denial is the first, and you certainly can feel it raging within. Then your brain had an idea. Maybe you can speed up the process.

You said it yourself with the advice you gave him when he broke down to you about all the wrongdoings in his life.

The ones you took the time to hear out and accepted them because you didn't care. You did care, but in a way where one can acknowledge that humans make mistakes. You took them with so much propriety.

You aggressively shook your head, not wanting to drive yourself down an irrational, winding mental rampage.

Does healing begin with yourself? Does it come with time? Your previous relationships eventually did, so it has to, right?

Right?

You stood up and stomped into your bedroom, knowing exactly what particular thing to grab. Scanning the room, your eyes landed on the vase with rosy, pink tulips and snowy, white daisies that sat perfectly healthy and radiant from the day he surprised you with them.

You took extra time caring for them. You wanted to see them keep their beautiful colors. You wanted to see them strive and keep that potential they had in their lovely fragrance and presence. You took every second, minute, hour, and day to make sure they knew their value and worth. You wanted to be there for them. You wanted to be there for him—them.

You wanted to be there for… them.

You hastily yanked it up, making your way back to the kitchen, and ripped them out of the vase, dumping them right into the trash bin. This was certainly a faster way to get to the second stage of grief. You were speeding up the healing process by beginning it with you.

But then you found yourself immediately pulling them back out, washing any food off them, and muttering apologies about how they didn't deserve the treatment that he caused. How they don't deserve to suffer the fate you’re going through. You tried to rearrange them neatly and prettily. It wasn't as plausible, but it was still decently okay.

You sank to the damp floor, clutching on the vase, slumped yourself on a cabinet, and stayed there. Even when the record ended, you didn't budge an inch. Not even when there was knocking at your door and a call of your name, not a speck of movement. The knocks eventually became banging, with Ronnie exclaiming it wouldn't be her first rodeo entering a locked place with only a credit card and bobby pin.

You stumbled up and wobbled to the door swiftly to prevent your irrepressible employer from having the cops gang up on her. She held up a giant fast food bag in one hand and desserts and snacks in the other. She did seek to interrogate you about the vase you held, but held off as this was a night for you to ease some burdens.

That night, you and Ronnie laughed and yelled at your TV at the ridiculousness of the films while stuffing your faces with fries and your favorite ice cream. You talked about everything under the moon, excluding him, even though he lingered in the corner of your mind. You shoved it there, but he was hidden in plain sight.

Ronnie made herself even more comfortable by spending the night, cuddling, and chatting in your bed.

“You know, I haven't been in your place in so long. I have forgotten how much stuff you got from the store.” She stroked your hair, scanning the cozy abode you had made throughout the years.

“They are interesting. And besides, it's fun digging into things from the past. Remember that one time I dressed up in clothes from those Leopard Tunes magazines?”

“My God, how could I not forget? You did look good in those camo pants.” She wanted your mind anywhere else.

Eventually, you began to quietly weep until you dozed off. It felt nice at the moment, but even with the rest of the week off, you were still alone.

You mostly slugged around your place aimlessly, letting your music override your endeavors to forget him. It wasn't easy at first, due to the fact that you purposely kept choosing the records he was supposed to have, looping them non-stop, when you finally found the strength to shove them back into his drawer.

You remember the first present you snuck into it. It was a gift card to a restaurant you discovered that made killer empanadas and other delicious cuisines. How he swung himself to the establishment and purchased a week's worth of food, as you playfully chastised him for spending it all in one day, as he munched on the fried pastry with muffled praise.

“Stop it!” You nearly snapped your own personal vinyl before carefully placing it down next to the turntable.

You prefer silence now.

The couch was your only security. Or that's what you like to tell yourself.

The only time you got up was to use the bathroom or grab another bag of fruit gummies. You didn't even realize Saturday night had rolled around when you heard the shout of your name and the thumps on the door once again. Ronnie nearly keeled over when she registered that you haven't changed out of your clothes since Tuesday (you caved in and told her the exact day) or how the ghostly stagnant space never left.

After using her work hierarchy, she had you take a nice, hot shower. She dolled you up with makeup and picked out some tight jeans and a red tank top she brought for you. She wanted to accentuate your figure, and it surely worked. She boosted you up with all sorts of compliments all the way to the club. At the moment, it was nice, but he was still there.

The entire time, you tried to have fun. You didn't want to ruin Ronnie's efforts at cheering you up, but it was difficult. The strobing lights and new-age techno music didn't exactly match your solemn mood. You tried to follow along to the tunes, but nothing came of it.

You observed the scene, eyeing your boss hitting on some guy before she pointed to the booth you sat in. You clutched your drink as they made their way over. With another man in tow.

You considered giving the ‘moving on quickly’ a chance.

It didn't help.

The two dudes were overall jerks. It started off with normal conversations asking about how you and Ronnie met, your job, and how long you've stayed in Nueva York. The basics. Then it started to snowball when every other word out of their mouths was how you and Ronnie were lucky to be “the winners,” as they skimmed over all the other “fine babes” for you two.

It only made you think of the first encounter with Miguel. How awkward he was, but still so pleasant. Well, as pleasant as one could be after being lunged up onto a bed that's less than twice his size.

Ronnie snapped you out of your daze and took a hold of your wrist, irate at the now overly befuddled guys, practically screeching about how they're being pigs and not one woman would sleep with them even if they were the last ones stranded on earth. You were just as hazy, but you took the spontaneous escape with a stride.

“The two were such bastards. Fucking lowlife degenerates!” She dipped and weaved you both out into the cool and humid bustling outside of partygoers trying to enter. “And I saw him in your eyes.”

You didn't mean to make it obvious. You didn't want to.

Ronnie offered to take you home. You slowly nodded, with no other words exchanged, and made your way to her car.

Your head was against the cold window glass the entire ride, viewing the twinkling lights as the city passed by. Ronnie spied on your deteriorating state, suggesting that she spend the night again. You deny it, thanking her for all that she's done for the past week.

“These scars will just need some time, you know?”

“Just… I'm here for you; remember that, alright?” She parked in front of your apartment building, the pitter-patter of rain plunking against the vehicle's roof.

“I know. Thanks, Ronnie. I'll see you on Monday.”

“Here, take my umbrella.”

“I'll be okay.” You opened the door, wishing her a good rest of her night and a farewell.

You went straight to your bed and laid there. Time will heal all. It has to. It must.

Days turned to hours. Minutes into seconds. Hours into days. Everything has merged into one.

You would come into work late, appearing frail and worn. You would make up for the lost time by overworking yourself to consume your brain with other insignificant images and thoughts.

You would go until you were dead exhausted, go home, sleep in, come into work, labor away, and repeat the process until you decided when you were feeling better. You have to heal. This was the only way.

You were managing. Lies.

You were fine. Lies.

Ronnie was severely worried about your mental health, but you were surviving. You were okay. Lies. Lies. Lies.

It was going smoothly. You had your routine. Nothing was going to break you from it, and nothing was going to deter you from this healing.

Then one night, right as you were ready to fall asleep, a slew of cash was randomly deposited into your account. Perplexed, you texted Ronnie, pleading that she doesn't need to boost your pay and that you'll send the money back. She was confused, more so when you told her the price, and then she was really flabbergasted.

And that's when it popped up. That's when his face appeared.

‘I’m sending you this for the bedsheets and mattress. I hope you've been doing well.’

This bastard.

You wanted to throw a fit. Nearly two weeks. You were doing so well for that long. Now he has the nerve to arbitrarily become this mindless ‘sugar daddy?’ He was arrogant and dense. You directly sent it all back, along with a message stating you don't want or need his money.

‘I've already replaced the sheets and all. I've survived before you, and I can continue on without.’ You didn't replace the mattress.

‘Right. I'm sorry.’

‘Yeah.’

You needed some fresh air. You had to get away from it all. Why? Why would he randomly text you? Especially when the first message back is him sending cash for something so fruitless as linen? Why did he mosey along, ruining these moments of alleviation? Why couldn't you hate him? That would make things much smoother. But here you are, heart drumming unevenly after seeing his name and stomping out of the building to escape from it all. From him.

Rain. How fucking cliché.

You began to wander aimlessly until you found a destination.

Why does the sky shed its lament for you? You didn't want it to pity you. You needed it to pity him. He’s the root. He's the one who put you both through this.

You released a shaky breath. Who were you fooling? Why couldn't you be angry all of a sudden? Why couldn't you scream? Kick? Anything?

The rain was masking your tears, as you couldn't tell the difference. You felt so numb. Lying and suffocating all these thoughts because you didn't know how to open up the lid.

Is this how he goes about life every day? Suffering from your own inner demons all because one can't face them? You knew you certainly couldn't, no matter how much you toiled on convincing yourself.

You continued your walk when you began the descent into that hellscape rabbit hole. You slithered back to that night, triggering everything he threw at you unanticipatedly instead of the usual waves. You hated how that endless loop occupied your mind. You tried to bluff your way through, but you knew you were trapped.

You shouldn't exist because you're not ‘part of his canon?’ You need protection? From what? Him? Others? Yourself? That whole canon debacle?

You didn't necessarily get a full answer. All those reasons he dropped didn't add up. You don't understand his Spider-Man drivel; you never could, but you withhold the judgments because that's who he is. Though he seemingly couldn't separate or differentiate the two lifestyles.

He lied to you. He lied to both of you. You contemplated if he was forced into a corner to bite that intractable bullet. You desperately craved to believe that, but from how it deteriorated, he made an unbending choice for all, the royal we.

You tried to make sense of the logic behind it, but every turn was a dead end.

You're an anomaly? You shouldn't exist?... Why were you born then?

You debated if that was existential. You concluded it was, and that was the last thing you wanted when attempting to solve a puzzle with different pieces from an overflow of different boxes. You can't make it work.

Or maybe you can, and it'll be this beautiful, monstrous amalgamation.

The rain picked up; maybe it understood something you couldn't feel. Your clothes were heavily drenched as you journeyed onward, but you didn't care. Ronnie offered that you show up during later hours for the next week or two after demanding that you participate in more self-care activities. She's sympathetic to the ones she loves and takes pride in helping them.

You don't know how long you've been going, but you came to a halting stop in front of a certain bench. You desired to venture to the gardens but didn't want to take the risk of explaining your situation to an employee or passerby about why you were soaking in your pajamas.

Yeah, your nearly seven-foot-tall now vampire ex-boyfriend dumped you, hollering how you essentially shouldn't exist and that you'll only be there to self-reflect on your true purpose in life.

Surely it wouldn't raise any concerns.

As you sat, the raindrops were sticking to your rear, dousing your already ruined bottoms. A flash of lighting and timid rumbles of thunder settled into the skies. You wrapped your arms around yourself in a feeble hug, discovering how alone you truly are in this moment. You appreciate your boss, but there's only so much she can feasibly accomplish on your self-guiding voyage.

You can't casually go into a full, unambiguous conversation with anyone. This is an inescapable burden you have to face by yourself. How you must bear that information that you were going to be the cause of the world seemingly perishing away.

How he left all that on you.

You were the reason, not him; even though he was in the relationship too, it was somehow your fault.

When a star dies, it explodes into a supernova, turns into a black hole, or can create new stars.

This one became a black hole.

He was destroying it all. He did destroy it all. You shouldn't have fallen in love; then what were his actions conveying? It doesn't make sense. If life is basically predetermined, why did he start a meaningful connection with you? Wouldn't he also effect that canon event situation? How did your existence become an inconvenience to him?

You don't belong here. You still couldn't cloak your head around that; in fact, you couldn't do it for none of it.

You were his scapegoat. How he blamed you for doing normal, everyday things. You aren't some form of destiny, and you aren't a puppeteer. You're just an individual who wanted him to be okay, to have him forget about his worries, even if it was for one measly day.

Or maybe he was right.

Maybe your relationship wasn't meant to be. It doesn't excuse him tacking all the blame on you. He was going all in as well. You sink your back on the bench, knowing you're going to catch a cold, but you didn't care.

Your eyes start to scan the scenery. The burnt orange dims from the streetlights, the pond with no animals, the shrubs with blooming flowers being pelted with water to keep them going, the trees sweeping alongside the battering rains, and...

And a familiar figure in a Spider-Man suit sitting on a bench across from you.

Miguel appeared as a child with his hand in the forbidden cookie jar. A deer in headlights. The night you accidentally first saw him in that get-up.

Despite the heavy rain, you both managed to catch each other's gazes. Your heart nearly blasted out of your chest. Not even the speediest racecar could compete with how fast it was racing. You closed your eyes, then pinched your arm, breaking a bit of skin, hoping you were just dreaming, and once again overslept. But when you opened them, he was still there, visible as can be.

With a stroke of horrible luck, the rain began to let up, seemingly mocking you. You hated how clearly you could see his face now. He was gawking, his mouth agape, like he was trying to speak to you.

You wished for him to say something. You dared him to express anything with the blazing leer you directed towards him. You refused to remove your inhospitable attitude.

You wanted him to do it. You desperately wanted him to call out for you.

You're still staring. Why is he such a coward? Ronnie was right. Yet, you're one to speak if you couldn't do what you wanted him to do.

His lips move once more, but he catches them. You wouldn't know what to say or what questions to ask. Well, you did, but you didn't have the willpower to achieve it.

You doubted that you would both move. You learned that you're both very headstrong, unbending to crack, and will hold your stances. Rather, it was for something as simple as spoiling one another while the receiver tried to deny it or as big as someone who would try to wedge in between you two.

How ironic that the one who did successfully wedge in between was the one you trusted most.

You both were stuck in a staring contest as your eyes started to sting. Was it from not blinking or the tears threatening to well up because of him?

Say something. Say anything.

You could tell his talons were digging into the wooden seat; you surveyed that knee vigorously judder. You gripped onto the edge of the bench, repulsed that your own hand wanted to help soothe and rub the troubles away.

His lips were pursed firmly as the rain stopped. You could hear the grating emitting and the sweeping winds whooshing in your ears, but they were also stinging at your eyes. You fought to keep them open, your eyelids twitching uncontrollably. He wasn't moving. He was straining himself, and you knew. You wanted him to break first. You needed him to.

But you broke and shattered all over.

You yelled out and slammed your eyes shut, rubbing them fiercely. Blinking rapidly at the wet, muddy ground as you attempted to get some moisture back into them. You jerked your head up as a scowl formed on your face.

He was gone.

You hated how he continued to prove Ronnie's point over and over. He is a coward. Running at the first signs when things go downhill.

You refused to cry. You refused. You stayed seated for the next twenty minutes, until you finally opted to just go home.

When you made it back, you stormed straight into your bedroom, not even remembering how you grabbed one of his shirts, but you did. You hugged it close to your chest and fell asleep.

Unbeknownst to you, he was still there. He was there, making sure you were safe and okay. That he will still care for you even when he's not there with you.

As another week passed, you lazed on the couch swiping through online dating profiles, another attempt to rush the healing business. This was a way for you to get some control back, whatever that may have been.

It hasn't been the best of luck, especially when you jumped the ship for the first guy who swiped right on you. He wasn't that bad-looking, and the conversations you held were decent, so you decided to meet him at some restaurant downtown.

And it was a horrible time.

It didn't help that you technically didn't really get to know him. It was only enough to clear your mind after the park incident, but you regretted your poor intuition and lack of judgment due to being desperate.

He was more of a talker, which didn't seem bad at first, but he wouldn't allow you to get a single word in, and he nearly ate all the food off your plate. You couldn't remember the rest as it was a blur, but you recalled texting Ronnie to save you from it.

She rescued you after paying for your meal, and you both went to get ice cream fudge sundaes. You didn't mention him at all to her. Rambling about everything, how it was a silly date, and you'll discover a better pick.

But you didn't want to pick another. You didn't want to mindlessly search over and over because he still lingered. No matter how much you persist in trying to remove him from your thoughts, he always finds a way back.

You needed something back. Stumbling up to your feet, you slogged through the clumps of candy wrappers and bags from cheap snacks, clothes you mindlessly tossed on the floor, not even bothering to pick them up, and several empty soda cans and half-finished or barely touched water bottles.

In your room, you eyed the flowers, whose petals began to fall off. Grabbing a water bottle, you poured the liquid into the vase, gently stroking a tulip.

“It's okay. Just because I'm withering doesn't mean you have to as well.”

Satisfied with the given amount, you flopped to your knees and eyed a certain drawer you left untouched. Taking a hold of the handles, you wrenched them open and absently glared at the clothes and objects, daggers of grief and solemnity cascading on your heart and mind.

Pulling each item out one by one, you ridiculed yourself for reminiscing. Have you forgotten the words he spoke to you? What all he threw at you that night? The actions he took upon himself that led him up to those final moments?

You needed something back, and you were going to get it.

Gathering up all the records, fabrics, picture frame, and the lavender spray bottle, you marched out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, right up to the bin. You were ready to take it all back. You were prepared to sonic boom your way to a mended soul. You are ready to take back that control. You needed this.

You were ready.

Suddenly, you were back on the couch, his contents left sitting on the coffee table as your thumb hovered above his name. You were dazed as you clicked it and began typing.

‘Hey…’

Don't. Why are you doing this? You know this is wrong; you didn't want to.

‘Hey.’

Why did he respond so quickly? Don't, don't. You needed to take back that control.

‘I forgot you have a bunch of stuff still over here. Do you want to pick them up?

Stop. Stop. You know what will happen, so why are you trying to give in?

‘I will come by and grab them. And I'll drop off the key and your things.’

Fuck. Fuck him. Fuck him. Fuck you. You shouldn't be crying; you can't, but you couldn't stop the endless, flowing streams.

‘Okay, just text me when you're coming by so I can have them ready.’ Your eyes darted up to the table, then back down on the screen.

You remembered during your schooling days when you learned about the dark, blue parts of the ocean. If you accidentally fall into one, you get sucked into an abyss. They warn you about avoiding them by staying in the light, crystal-blue parts. But those parts have been tainted. Why would you ever want to be near a singular spot of transparency if you know that there is more out there to be discovered? Even if that small section is open and clear, what about the others that are purposely hidden?

He's still texting. The three dots have been going on for over a minute now.

You shouldn't be curious. You shouldn't care. You don't want to care. You won't care.

‘Okay, I will.’

Your phone slipped from your hands as you gripped your hair.

“Please tell me, Miguel. Please tell me your true thoughts. Please tell me you still love me; even though you never spoke those words, every action you displayed said it for you.”

You can't feel your face anymore. Was it from the tears? Or the lack of emotions?

At this point, that split second of control you audaciously acquired was snatched. Snatched away like a thief to a jewel.

What have you done? What devastation have you scorned upon yourself?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@ella-janehaven @prozacgooble @sanguwuxyoonbummy

#Spotify #tales the songs weave #miguel x reader #miguel x y/n #miguel x you #atsv miguel #miguel fanfic #miguel spiderverse #miguel x fem!reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #atsv

14 notes · View notes

hekateinhell · 5 months

Note

Lestat pov ddg and knifeplay pt 2 please!!! <3

Anything for you! 🥹

Here's what I have for knifeplay pt 2 (this is pt 1):

Never, in all his years, has Armand ever seen another immortal in such a delirious state of ecstasy that was not induced through the swoon as Lestat is now.

He listens, taking great care to maintain a separation of his senses. Drags his finger over the concave beneath Lestat’s eye—the same one that had been taken from him and then restored—gathering up the fluid there and licking it off his fingertip. Permitting himself a single suck to ensure no residue was left behind.

Of course Lestat’s tears would taste as sweet as the rest of him.

Fascinating as ever to bear witness to emotions and sensations taking form in the minds of others, especially one Armand loved and valued such as him.

The echo of their willing victim’s shallow breaths swirl in the air to meld with the wet sounds of Louis slicing into Lestat’s immaculate flesh with the loving precision that a butcher bestows on his most prized cut of meat fit for a royal feast. Lestat’s thoughts had become less pronounced until they lost shape entirely, falling apart some time ago like a poorly constructed dress on a mannequin, tattered scraps held together by nothing but rusted pins and hope. Distorted without word or sound, mindless flashes of color and static, the useless dreams of a beast who does not realize it can dream. His grey eyes fixed open, glassy but bright, tinted with a reddish film reminiscent of something violently killed until enough tears have amassed that they spill over, permitting the cleansing cycle to start anew.

“You do so well, Lestat, so beautiful,” Armand murmurs praise into his ear, caressing the spot where his hairline meets his temple, the blood sweat staining the white-blond baby hairs. It is for Louis’s benefit that he speaks at all, seeing as Lestat is well past hearing either of them through any means.

For now Armand is content to speculate and facilitate, dipping his hands in and out of each wound to coat his fingers a warm and sticky crimson, the liquid seeping underneath his nails, greedy and wretched as a gluttonous child left unattended in a candy shop.

----

I hope to have it finished sometime this summer! ♥️ I'll slide Lestat POV DDG under the cut!

Lestat’s sophomore year—she’s had more than enough first days of school at this point—and yet somehow the anxiety in her stomach never goes away. She’s already anticipating the frustration, the tears, the begging Nicki to help with her papers because flunking a class would mean losing her scholarship to the theater program.

And Nicki has being so irritable with her lately, “Just go to the fucking tutoring center yourself, Lestat! Even you aren’t that dumb” she would snap, storming away, leaving Lestat staring numbly at the screen, unable to translate the thoughts in her head into words on the page in a way that made sense to her or anybody.

I’m not dumb...

“Lestat!” Eleni yells, waving as she bounds up the short steps outside of the liberal arts building. “What’s wrong with you?” She’s still catching her breath, god knows Eleni’s never been anywhere on time a day in her life.

“Nothing,” Lestat lies, shaking her head and taking one last hit of her vape, tilting her head back to blow a strawberry-scent cloud into the air.

Eleni narrows her eyes, but she doesn’t say anything. She’s met Nicki. She knows. That’s the shame of it, isn't it? Everyone knows.

And how had this happened? Was there truly nothing to spare the daughter the fate of the mother? How could Lestat not see it coming when she’d grown up knowing the warning signs before she even knew her ABCs and 123s?

“Come on,” Eleni puts her hand on Lestat’s arm like she’s guiding a lost child—her touch that careful, her tone that gentle.

Nicki aside, Eleni was her closest friend. Truth be told, Lestat didn’t have many friends. More acquaintances than she could care to remember, much less name.

Try as she might, she had never really stopped being the gangly little girl curled up in the corner with a book she couldn’t read, staring at the pictures until she saw spots dancing and her vision blurred, pretending she hadn’t even wanted to play with the other kids anyway. Who wanted to be friends with the kid with ratty hair and torn up clothes, eight-years-old and still unable to read because none of the adults in her life gave a fuck? Nobody wants you… Why should we?

Except Eleni had. Nicki had.

----

And that's as far as I got before I realized the story needed to go back to Armand's pov! Not that I wasn't happy with it or anything, but it was just starting to tell an entirely different story than the one that I wanted to!

#don't judge me if there are typos lol this is all raw and unedited babes!!#ask game!#armand/lestat/louis #lestat in general LMAO #vc

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copiousloverofcopia · 2 months

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Hello Ghesties!

I stayed up to finish it because I just couldn't stop and now, I am crying. This is not going to be easy, it's gonna hurt but I promise it will be worth it in the end. So again, content warning for potential triggers below.

Thank you all for reading my work and I hope you enjoy the sheer angst to come!

TRIGGER WARNING ⚠️Discussion about Pregnancy termination/Abortion⚠️

*Special shoutout to @gothdaddyissues for the awesome dividers!

Something Blue

Sister of Sin Astrid is anything but excited for Cardinal Copia to return home from tour. As his assistant, she leads a life of monotony and boredom from which she longs for more. When the Cardinal returns, anointed as Papa Emeritus IV, she is faced with an unwanted and unavoidable situation predicated on her family’s position within the church. Will Astrid rise to what has been asked of her or will she destroy everything and leave it all behind?

Chapter 7: A Sixpence in Her Shoe

Also available HERE on AO3. Haven’t started yet? Start from the beginning HERE!

Read below the cut!!

The day certainly fit the mood, Astrid thought as she sat staring blankly out the window of the clinic. The weather had taken a turn for the worse that late morning, setting an even more melancholic mood, as the rain drizzled down the glass. Over and over, Astrid was mesmerized by it. The little streams, distorting her view of the outside world—one she wished she had the courage to return to.

Instead she was trapped, held deep inside her own thoughts. Her mind, captured by this small, still insignificant thing growing inside her. She had never felt so confused and lost in the entirety of her life. Leaving her with the only thing she knew for certain—she loved Copia.

It broke her to know much, even more so to know that she had caused him so much pain. Wishing that she didn’t have to make this choice. A choice that would inevitably tear them apart. Something she could never come back from.

She just couldn’t, the fear was too strong. The existential dread of being tied down by the Ministry forever was overwhelming. Horrified at the thought of becoming something akin to her own mother, in both social and maternal ways.

Astrid hated the thought of another child having to grow up that way. Burdened with a mother, who treated them so poorly, that it made them feel so worthless. Feel like nothing more than a piss poor excuse for an adult who wouldn’t amount to anything. So filled with self doubt that at times it ached just to be alive.

So sure, that she was not strong enough to break that cycle. She sniffled back her anger and sadness. Trying her best to remain calm, appearing at least to have her shit together. Hoping that she wouldn’t attract the attention of anyone else in the room.

Looking out at the other nameless faces. Both comforted and pained, knowing that they were all haunted by the same awful decision. Though Astrid was even more worried at any moment someone from the Ministry would come and try to drag her back to the Abbey—but no one ever came.

She half expected Copia to find her there. Her heart knew, however, that he wouldn’t. That Copia would be able to watch as she did this. Thought she’d wished so badly he’d have come just to hold her hand. This was just as hard for him as it was her—just in different ways.

For now she would be alone. Waiting for it to all be over, time seeming to however stand still. Astrid had a sense, from the moment she walked inside, that the seconds and minutes could have just as easily been hours passing and she wouldn’t have realized. Only coming back to reality as she came walking through a doorway. Returning to herself, as if she were having an out of body experience, the moment as the door slammed shut. Finding that she had been following a nurse down the hall.

“If you would please put this on and wait a moment, I will grab the doctor and get things started sweetie, ok?” the nurse asked her. Astrid, clearing her throat before she was able to respond.

“...ah…yeah sure.” she replied, slipping out of her shoes to find a small pebble from the Abbey garden had fallen from it. A little reminder that she was a long way from home in both mind and spirit. Another chance for her to grieve Copia’s absence.

“Ok, I will be right back.” the nurse told her. If words were spoken between them after that, Astrid wouldn’t have remembered. Shivering a bit as she put on the gown in the cold, empty room. Feeling sick to her stomach as the reality of what was about to happen began to truly set in. Unsure if it was just her nerves or maybe even the baby. Baby, she thought to herself.

Astrid swallowed back, unable to clear the lump from within her throat. Sitting on the exam table as she clung to the thin, frayed fabric at the hem. Focusing on the sound of her breathing, feeling like it had become too loud. Trying to occupy her mind as she took note of everything around her.

The cabinets lining the walls, a muted tan color with key locks on all the doors. The small stool with the hole in the upholstery, that sat just opposite her in the room. An empty metal chair beside her, and the most concerning of all, the suction equipment at the bedside. It all felt so surreal.

“Astrid.” came a soft voice from the void. Astrid slowly turned to see a comforting face waiting for her in the doorway. She was a slender woman, with soft brown hair and a gentle smile. The kind of person who looked like she would ask to hug you if she thought you’d be having a bad day.

“Yes…that’s…that’s me.” Astrid answered, fiddling with the gown a bit more and avoiding too much eye contact between them.

“I’m doctor Wagner. I will be doing your procedure today. How are you feeling?” she asked, taking her seat on that small stool. Pushing herself over to Astrid on it as she opened up her file.

“As good as can be expected.” Astrid replied, nervous laughter turning into tears. Burying her face into her hands when she felt Dr. Wagner placed her hand on her knee.

“Everything is going to be alright. You are in charge here and nothing happens without your consent.” Dr. Wagner assured her. Astrid nodded as she realized that she surely hadn’t been the only woman to burst into tears in this moment.

“Thank you.” Astrid told her, wiping away at her eyes and taking in a long, deep breath.

“Is there anything I can do to make you feel more comfortable?” the doctor asked. Her kindness and sincerity, warming Astrid’s heart. How nice it was to have someone care about how she felt. Someone who knew what she was about to do and didn’t judge or blame or make her feel guilty. Astrid shook her hand and took a moment to gather herself up.

“I will be.” she exhaled; Dr. Wagner nodded. Smiling gently once more before she continued to talk her through it.

“Now in just a few minutes, Nurse Ada will be back with some medication to help you sleep. The procedure won't take very long…” she continued on. Explaining to her the plan of action. Careful to describe things in non-threatening terms.

“I’m ready…let's just get it over with.” Astrid blurted out at her. Trying to disassociate from it all when the nurse walked back in. The doctor, nodding as she took the IV sedative in her hand.

“Ok then, let's get started.”

The day started out as most other days at the Abbey. An obnoxious, but very necessary alarm sounded. Prompting Copia to get out of bed and head into the shower, throwing on a towel before bruising his teeth. His eyes, fixed on the overcast sky seen from the window.

Carefully he picked out his clothes, a suit and tie today instead of his usual vestments. Checking himself in the full-length mirror before going back to the bathroom to put on his paints. Meticulously applying them before he was satisfied with it. Finally, finishing up by slipping on his shoes and leaving the papal suite. Heading down to the refectory, a routine he had done with very little variation, day in and day out, for years when not on tour.

The difference was that today was the first day after he knew. Knew that there was a piece of him growing inside of Astrid. A child they made together. An amalgamation of their love, one that he wanted so badly to hold, to raise, and to love. It was only when he noticed her absence in the halls—a vacant seat where she usually sat in the mornings, that he knew something else.

Without saying anything aloud, Copia felt the emotion bubbling up inside him. Sniffling back before doing his best to force a smile. Making his way through the ghouls and siblings, pretending everything was business as usual. It was clear, however, that Astrid was missing to get things ‘taken care of’. His heart, shattering into constellations—pieces that formed images of what could have been.

By the time the afternoon hit, Copia found himself alone in the cloister. Neglecting his duties for a while to clear his head, a notebook and quill with him to keep up appearances. He had kept his promise to Astrid. Not a word of what was happening, spoken to anyone. The whole situation kept just between them, just as she’d asked. Leaving him alone in his thoughts of losing the family he could have had—once again.

“Andrew! Please stop jumping around in the dirt, your mother will have my head if I bring you back inside all dirtied up!” Sister Agnes reasoned. Hollering as she approached a small, but very precocious little boy who was already knee deep into the flower beds lining the cloister.

“Not again…I am on my way! Sister Rose, please can you hurry up.” called back another of the nursery sisters as Copia watched on. The rest of the little ones, coming out for their enrichment time. All the school aged children of the Abbey, heading outside at full speed. Their smiles, lighting up the otherwise gloomy day while they laughed and played.

Of course, Copia couldn’t help but to think about it. To imagine one of them was his own. Would his child have had freckles like him? Maybe they would have been chubby-cheeked like Brother Sebastion’s little girl? Would they have had Astrid’s willfulness? The tears came slipping from his eyes before he knew it. Registering the fact that they wouldn’t have the chance to have anything at all.

Never had he wanted so badly to hate her. To be able to dwell in that dark place where he could never forgive her. Hoping that he could just her and the child they might have had. Blame her for the misery he was feeling—but he just couldn't. No matter what, Copia knew he would always love her and nothing was going to change that.

He knew she was right. Had anyone else known, Astrid would have been forced to keep it. Forcibly tied down and under the control she feared and was always so desperate to escape. He was glad she’d be able to. That she would now have a true chance to be happy.

As the kids all filed back inside, the sky turned even darker. Suddenly the rain began pouring down so hard that Copia could no longer see anything distinguishable in the courtyard. As if it had been letting out all the emotions that he had to keep inside. The fresh smell, filling his nose as he inhaled. Giving him a small, but not insignificant sense of peace. A cleansing of the past and a feeling of renewal for moving forward.

He sat there the rest of the afternoon, pretending to read or write. Pretending to care about anything else but her. No one, the wiser of anything going on around them. By the time night fell, he wondered if she would be too scared to return. Unable to face him and leaving the Abbey for good this time.

His answer came when he caught sight of her at the other end of the cloister. Quietly walking into the courtyard with her hands in her habit pockets. Her face, blank and unreadable. Slowly approaching the statue of Lilith at the north end.

She looked different, more herself that she had been in the days leading up to this. Immediately his heart began pounding. Copia, so thrilled that she’d come back to him. Practically jumping up from his spot on the bench and running towards her. Surprised, when their eyes met that she smiled back at him. Copia, no longer caring who saw as the tears began to fall down his face.

“As–Astrid.” he sniffled, taking her hands in his. The warmth of her touch, making him cry even harder. As if feeling her soft hands in his were the confirmation he needed to know she was truly there. Really standing right beside him once again.

“Papa.” she smiled, squeezing his hands tightly. Copia, beaming as he pulled Astrid into his arms. Holding her close, unable to stop himself from continuing to sob against her.

“I love you so much. I am so grateful…so happy you came back…that you came back…back to me.” he cried. Burying his face into the crook of her neck. Listening to the sound of her heart beating within his ears.

“Copia—I have something…” Astrid began, wanting to tell him how sorry she was. Wanting to explain herself to him. To help them heal, but he stopped her.

“It–it doesn’t matter… None of it matters now. All I know is that I love you Astrid and I know now more than ever that I can’t live without you.” he professed, pulling himself away to look at her. The paints around his eyes, smearing with his tears. Astrid felt relief and happiness like never before. If there was anyone that would make her happy it was him. That the two of them would be there for one another even if the whole world burned down around them.

“Copia…let’s get married.” she cried, Copia staring into her eyes with such devotion.

“There is nothing I want more.” he told her, scooping her up into his arms and passionately kissing her. Astrid, overcome with emotion. They were going to be married, it was something they both wanted and now refused to deny. The time to talk things over between them would come soon enough. The only thing Astrid wanted to do now was be held by him. To be held and loved by him–her beloved Papa.

#something blue #copia x astrid #copia #papa iv #papa emeritus iv #ren writes #ghost #the band ghost #ghost fic #ghost fanfic #ghost fanfics #ghost fanfiction #the band ghost fic #the band ghost fanfic #the band ghost fanfiction

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sirenemale · 9 months

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Sorry to retype the exact same thoughts about Luna My Little Pony for the hundreth time but I'm not normal here.

I'm finishing off the last season and seeing another episode where Celestia and Luna fight in the exact same way is making me think about it even more.

Luna associated with the moon is seen as scary because she brings night time on and is seen in nightmares, and is also so so autistic coded to me vs Celestia who is revered for raising the sun and the safer daytime. Their conflicts always boil down to Celestia trivializing Luna's emotions, hobbies or job and then Luna retaliating because both to her sister and to the public, she isn't viewed the Same. And their fights are always wrapped up with them agreeing they were both wrong but I just literally cannot buy that, Luna strikes such a specific nerve with me so I'm biased but the way the story skips over the kinda tangle of emotional pain going on with her makes me feel dizzy.

Nightmare Moon emerges as a hyper destructive version of Luna's negative emotions. One big meltdown after years of subtle mistreatment. The story frames Nightmare Moon as a malevolent corrupting force that feeds off Luna's emotions, but to me I see that as a way for Celestia to keep the image of her quiet baby sister intact. My younger sister isn't capable of these emotions, sure we had bad days, but she's nothing like this, she has no reason to be so displeased. Again feels neurodivergent feels like masking and being Well behaved vs slipping. Nightmare Moon then is an aspect of Luna that Celestia is trying to ignore, and her method for that is locking her in the moon for hundreds of years, isolated for the greater good, for the safety of everyone and lamenting the loss of her dear sweet sister who's been replaced by a Monster. One that becomes a scary forewarning for children everywhere.

Even when Luna comes back, Nightmare Moon is still used for scary stories and halloween party games. No one let's her forget this, the root of her breakdown isn't addressed and it can never be addressed because now she's forever associated with a monstrous version of her own pain forever. They're not her feelings that's been taken away from her, her emotions are defined by how detrimental they are to others and more importantly her sister. They're always waiting for the moment she turns back into her, most of her episodes are about her turning back into her. The fact Luna's duty is to stay up all night patrolling the nightmares of ponies because she's scared Nightmare Moon will take over her again if she Rests or lets herself forget that happened. This actual legitimate guilt and self harm spiral she locks herself in, the fact some of these nightmares Have to involve seeing even more distorted versions of her, the ways Other ponies see her? Thinking that even if they like her, as Luna, even if they stop seeing Nightmare Moon, Nightmare Moon is also You. How much can you compartmentalize. How can you figure out if you're Good or not when this is how you live. And everyday you wake up and you see your sister and you hold your tongue. When you fight with her over things like her thinking your hobbies are boring, that you're lucky to not have any Real work to do, No reason to be tired. All these ideas of the most surface level qualities of you that she doesn't like. And the only option is to concede?

That's crazy. That's crazy crazy crazy.

#mlp #NORMAL GUY OVER HERE #idk she's not Like Hollyleaf but I am fixated on female characters who both have a really gruesome emotional state and #are also kind of underplayed by the story in really bizarre ways.#it's so surreal to me it really does make me feel a little bit crazy that they act like Luna is deeply displaced and still resentful of #All of this.#it actually just hits far too close to how my parents treated me and my emotions and also gaslit me okay So Lock Me Up

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multiverse-of-fanfic · 2 years

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the lovely people in the obikin discord server shared this post from @obi-nob-kenobi (a professor au where anakin is the professor and obi-wan is an older student he accidently slept with before classes started), and I was so obsessed with it that I wrote 4k words about it. sooooo, here & enjoy:

Anakin knew he shouldn’t be there; he could hardly believe he even let Padmé and Ahsoka drag him out at all, five days before the start of the semester no less, let alone to a bar.

He still had so much to do, still had plenty of things to keep him busy over the weekend, plenty of things that would keep him up burning the midnight oil until he finished them.

The syllabus for his new class needed to be finalized, a syllabus he should have finished weeks ago, but Anakin’s plate was filled to the brim with other responsibilities for his graduate robotics courses, and unfortunately the freshman algebra class Mace practically begged him to take fell to the wayside.

Anakin was only twenty-six, but after he finished his own graduate degree in robotics, he dove straight into the world of academia. He lived and breathed calculus, prayed at the altar of circuits, dined at the table of computer science.

Anakin poured himself into work; he woke before the sun rose and stayed on campus until long after it set. Recipient of two university-wide faculty awards after his first year on the job (best new hire and teacher of the year), and a repeat of the latter along with a research grant after his second year, Anakin roared ahead the rest of his colleagues on the fast track to become the head of Graduate Admissions for the whole department—if the upcoming year went according to plan, that is.

He would have liked to be able to say he took on the load of an extra class from Mace out of the goodness of his heart, but after the Faculty Christmas Party debacle his first year on the job which cemented the older professor’s dislike for him—not to mention Mace’s prestigious place on the committee to appoint the next head of graduate admissions—Anakin found that it was in his best interests to at least try and get on his good side, no matter how jampacked and impossible it seemed that he would actually be able to successfully teach the class.

Anakin’s disastrous need to people please saw him successfully wrangled up—dressed in a loose flannel and skinny jeans; contacts in, because apparently his glasses made him look frumpy—sat on a vinyl barstool next to Ahsoka. The material sighed against the denim of his jeans every time he leaned forward to lazily take a sip of his Long Island. He took a long moment to appreciate the sweetness of the drink as it slid down his throat, no hint of alcohol, exactly how he liked it. He traced the beads of condensation that rolled down the side of the glass, the trails left in their wake glimmering under the subtle glow from the overhead lamps.

Anakin should’ve been paying attention to whatever it was Ahsoka was talking about, but he just couldn’t find it within himself to actively engage. After all, his social participation hadn’t been part of the deal. Their whining focused on nothing more than his apparent need to get out of this apartment.

You’re working yourself to an early grave, Ani, Padme had said, genuine concern glittering in her eyes. That, and you’ve been no fun. You need to get out and drink. Live a little, Ahsoka had said in her carefree teasing tone. He knew she was worried about him, too, though.

But even still, the ambiance of the bar turned out to be the only thing about the night so far to catch Anakin’s attention.

The atmosphere was purposeful in its darkness, every fixture dimmed, casting the whole place in a veil of shadow, much like a room only half lit by flickering bulbs. Just enough light to clearly see anyone within a ten foot radius, but anything past that was distorted in a haze, a dense morning fog that even the brightest headlights couldn’t penetrate. It reminded Anakin of the bars from all the old movies he’d grown up watching with his mom; rooms clouded by plumes of cigarette smoke, large burly men belonging to biker gangs leaned up against a half-dead jukebox in their vests and bandanas.

Gone were the days of jukeboxes, and—much to Anakin’s chagrin—the chances of finding burly men from a biker gang. Not that he would’ve had much success in a bar located near the college block of Downtown Coruscant.

There was, however, the light scent of cigarette smoke in the air, and it mingled with the citrusy aromas that wafted over from the Hookah Lounge next door. The odor concentrated around the pool table—the only section of the bar smoking was allowed—and the clouds of thick smoke lightly shimmered under the stained-glass bar lamps. Bar lamps of the same kind hung over all the circular wooden tables that were scattered around the vast space, varnished to a sleek shine, sanded down to a smoothness that left no resistance when Anakin dragged his fingers across the surface.

The 501st was a relatively new bar, just a few blocks away from his apartment, but far enough from campus that Anakin didn’t run the risk of coming face to face with any students. The last thing he needed to follow him around were whispers from strangers that they’d caught Professor Anakin Skywalker in the middle of a scandalous drunken escapade. That would accomplish nothing but making a mockery of himself and destroying his carefully curated reputation amongst the student body. Not to mention shattering his career prospects in the process.

“Anakin are you even listening to me?”

“Of course, I am,” he lied.

Ahsoka crossed her arms over her chest and pursed her lips. “Alright,” she cocked an eyebrow at him. “What was I saying?”

Anakin filled the awkward silence with a long drag of his straw, the sound of popping suction as the glass emptied breaking the tension.

“I’m sorry,” Anakin groaned, planting his forearms down on the bar while he loosely grasped Ahsoka’s wrist. “I’m just incredibly bored.”

Ahsoka’s eyebrow shot up even further, sending Anakin into a frenzy of spluttering. “Not that you’re boring, Snips. You aren’t,” he ran a nervous hand through his messy curls, “there’s just so much work I have to do and—”

An elongated growl, paired with a matching scowl, cut Anakin off mid-sentence.

“Anakin, I get it. You’re busy. You’re stressed. But let’s be serious for a second,” the tumbler of amber liquid she nursed clanked firmly on the wooden bar, and it took more effort than Anakin would admit suppressing a flinch. “Padme’s just as busy as you are, but you don’t see her sulking.”

Anakin followed her pointed gaze, angling his head slightly to find Padme; drink with a frilly pink umbrella in hand, pressed up against a tree of a man with chestnut hair—styled in a way that screamed pretentious bastard—beady green eyes, and sharp cheekbones, an arm casually draped over his shoulder.

He opened his mouth to rebut, but Ahsoka cut him off first. “Nuh uh,” she tutted. “I don’t wanna hear it. She’s busy, and I’m busy. If anything, you’re less busy than her because you have me as your TA.”

Anakin wrinkled his nose, effectively silenced. She was right, after all. Having a TA significantly lightened his workload, loathe as he was to admit it. Ahsoka would never let him live it down if he said as much.

He silently reached for his drink, affronted to find it empty. The universe had it out for him, he was certain of it. What was next? Abduction by a magical alien cult?

“Anakin,” Ahsoka sighed, her voice softer and more tender. “You spend so much time working, we just want you to have some fun,” the corner of her lip turned up slightly. Someone who didn’t know her as well as Anakin might have mistaken it for pity. But he knew better.

“In fact,” she purred, eyes darting away from Anakin’s face to a point behind his left shoulder. “Why don’t you follow Padme’s lead like I am?”

She started swaying over with purpose toward a man with a blond buzzcut and a very intense square face.

“What about me—”

Ahsoka stopped at his side, a hand on his shoulder, her eyes not leaving Mr. Serious. “Be spontaneous. Go wild,” her eyes flicked over to a rowdy group of men by the pool table, jerking her chin in their direction. “Why don’t you go talk to one of them? I know how you feel about older men.”

“Hey—ow,” he whined, Ahsoka’s hand retreating back to her side from its previous position on the swell of his ass. Seriously? Were they twelve?

“Have fun,” she called over her shoulder, throwing a lazy wave in his direction without sparing him a second glance.

Anakin gulped, peeking over his shoulder at the men standing around the table, boisterous laughs leaking around the bar.

He could approach them. Totally. He knew how to have a good time. Just because it had been a while didn’t mean shit. He was just out of practice is all.

Turning to the bartender, Anakin ordered two tequila shots and downed them one after the other, grimacing through grit teeth while the burn slid down his throat. Liquid courage would get the job done, surely.

He’d partied on his own time in college. Granted, those parties’ robot to attractive men of a certain age ratio was a little skewed in the opposite direction.

Probably.

Definitely, Anakin decided with a nod to himself.

He hadn’t even taken five steps before the cluster of men parted for him like he was Moses. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of the man stood in the center of the pack.

Anakin felt incredibly off balance. The floor seemed to wobble beneath him, vision blurring at the edges, left to focus only on the rough scruffy looking man in front of him. He was all hard lines and prickly edges, immersed in a cloud of wispy cigarette smoke and an odor of tobacco and whiskey.

A picture of pure intimidation save the pair of crystal blue eyes that sparkled under the fluorescent lights. Anakin barely had time to file the mental picture away before the guy threw his head back in a laugh. The soft copper of his hair against the light cast a dim halo around his head, and Anakin was certain the world was spinning.

The man leaned lazily against the pool table, a cue stick set between his open legs. He brought a cigarette to his lips where it hung loosely from his mouth, and Anakin found it incredibly easy to imagine himself on his knees between those strong looking legs instead of that damn billiards tool. On his knees, hands pressed up against the smooth leather of the pants that stretched around a pair of thighs Anakin knew could be nothing but pure muscle, thighs that could probably crack a watermelon clean in half. A shiver jolted down his spine at the thought.

Anakin’s eyes traced the way fingers wrapped loosely around the thicker butt of the stick, veins following the lines of bone to thick arms corded with muscle, a tattooed bicep threatening to break free from the plain green tee he wore.

And now those blue eyes—vast oceans that Anakin could drown in, really—were looking at him. Looking at Anakin Skywalker like he was the only one in the room. Just like one of those cheesy romcoms where the world goes all hazy leaving only the love interests in focus.

Except the bar’s haze wasn’t the result of special effects, but the cigarette smoke at work again.

And the man, who Anakin had rightfully deemed Billiard Babe in his head, wasn’t staring because they were star crossed lovers fated to end up together. Instead, Anakin’s own feet, treacherous beasts they were, had carried him over right in front of the man.

The man looked at Anakin, his eyes slowly raking from head to toe, and Anakin’s body lit up under the attention. The weight of the stare tore through his lungs, leaving him breathless. Every movement of those blue eyes left behind a searing heat that sent the nerves on his skin into a frenzy of fireworks.

“Hello there,” the man had the audacity to say. Anakin’s brain short-circuited, Billiard Babe’s British accent frying all the synapses and paths. If he were one of his own robots, he would’ve been scrapped for parts already.

Anakin was vaguely aware the man of his dreams was speaking to him again, but he didn’t hear a word, too focused on the way the fine bristles of his beard shifted around his words.

His lips stopped moving, and Anakin looked up at his face, painted with an expectant expression.

Anakin, using every ounce of brain power and higher education opened his mouth.

“Nghh.”

His mouth hung open in absolute horror. Anakin wasn’t going to die of overworking himself, oh no. He was going to die in a bar. Cause of death: Clownery.

But the man wasn’t scowling. His mouth quirked up in amusement, his beard—perfect for ravaging Anakin’s sensitive skin—moved with it.

“Don’t tell me a pretty little thing like yourself has stage fright,” the bastard teased.

Anakin was a man of science, of reason, he could compartmentalize, get his brain up and running enough to speak, to say something smooth. Well, smooth-ish. Padme would be the first to check him on his lack of suave.

“I don’t have stage fright,” Anakin said, finally, before petulantly adding, “and I’m not little. I’m taller than you.”

The older man smirked, one eyebrow sliding up his forehead. “Ah, but you agree. You think you’re pretty?”

Anakin faltered, eyes going wide, heat prickling up the back of his neck. That wasn’t what he’d meant to imply. The last thing he wanted was for momentary slipup to send Billiard Babe away.

But he didn’t seem deterred. The man pushed off the edge of the table and crowded into Anakin’s space, his broad shoulders and firm chest only inches away when he paused.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, love,” he purred, hungry, dark eyes roving over Anakin’s face, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “A good man knows how to treat something pretty.”

“And are you?” Anakin swallowed around the dry lump in his throat. “Good?”

“When I want to be,” his breath was warm on Anakin’s skin, a light puff of air pressing against his own lips.

Molten heat pooled in Anakin’s gut, but their intense stare-off was interrupted by the jeers of the other men around the table.

“Come on, general,” a man, who looked eerily like the one Ahsoka had gone off with, shouted with a beer haphazardly swaying in his hand. “You can make googly eyes later. Now is for pool.”

“In a moment,” Anakin’s auburn Adonis called back without breaking eye contact. He leaned in, his breath warm against the shell of Anakin’s ear. “Blow me?”

Anakin pulled back, spluttering. “Wh-what?”

His head pounded, nothing but rushing blood and static in his ears. He must have heard wrong. Men who looked like him didn’t say things like that. Not to Anakin, at least.

“Blow for me, darling?” he asked, waving the tip of his cue stick in Anakin’s face, flashing a primal grin.

“Oh,” Anakin laughed, though it was more of a rushed exhale, shaky and anxious as it was. He knew he hadn’t imagined being called darling. No one had called him that since he was little, and that’d been his mother. He would have remembered if they had, if the way the bottom of his stomach dropped was any indication. “What for?”

“Good luck, of course.”

Anakin went a bit cross-eyed staring at the stick, stumbling back a couple inches.

“I don’t know,” he breathed. They were close. So close. “I think I’d feel silly.”

“Blow,” his stranger growled, low and gravelly.

Anakin shivered, an emotion he couldn’t name flickering across the other man’s face. And as if compelled by some internal force, he leaned back in, pursing his lips. He met the man’s wild eyes and blew, the huff of air unlodging particles of chalk from the tip.

With a wink thrown Anakin’s way, the man turned around and positioned himself over the table. He leaned down, face just inches above the green felt, and aimed. The stick clanked lightly against the cue ball, the ball rolling swiftly until it collided and broke the triangle, a few of the solids landing in the pockets.

A few of the men booed, but Billiard Babe straightened up and smiled. “Let’s see any of you do better.”

He sauntered back over, snaking a hand behind Anakin’s back, his hand a heavy weight on Anakin’s hip.

“Looks like that’s settled,” he whispered, words hot on Anakin’s skin.

“What is?” Anakin exhaled, breathless and quite aroused.

“You’re my good luck charm.”

“Oh?”

A hum of agreement vibrated through Anakin’s skull, a nose ghosting along Anakin’s jaw bone.

“Guess you’ll just have to keep blowing me, darling” the untrimmed beard dragged along Anakin’s neck, and he bared it further, barely able to bite off a moan.

----------

Anakin faced the whiteboard, eyes closed, his black, deliciously bitter coffee in hand. He let the scalding tendrils of steam swirl under his nose before inhaling, the deep rich aroma blessedly staving off the beginnings of a headache that lurked at the back of his skull.

Despite what the students liked to think, the Professors didn’t line up outside the registrar’s office to volunteer for the Monday morning eight o’clock slot. No, that—like many of Anakin’s other professional misfortunes, he’d come to realize—was thanks to the personal request of one Professor Windu. His generosity knew no bounds apparently. Neither did his taste for revenge, it seemed.

Anakin had spent the remainder of the past week finishing and polishing his syllabus for freshman college algebra. It’d been no simple feat all things considered; between fielding last minute emails and calls from frantic graduate robotics students and his apparent inability to focus on his work for more than twenty minutes at a time.

He’d also, through no fault of his own, spent an inordinate amount of time nursing a terrible hangover, because apparently his body could no longer ‘hang with the best of ‘em’—as some haunting apparition in leather at the bar had pointed out to him somewhere between tequila shots three and five. It was between bouts of nausea and dry heaving that he found himself thinking of a pair of piercing blue eyes and the feeling of beard burn that lingered between his thighs.

Both things were completely unrelated to Anakin’s inability to focus, by the way.

Nevertheless, Anakin soldiered on, bravely thwarting alcoholic demons and ghosts of one-night stand’s past. The weekend came and went, Sunday night a flurry of collated welcome packets and tearful sobs to Padme and Ahsoka, but the sun rose Monday morning and he found himself in the classroom bright and early.

He heard the click of the lock unlatching in the door followed by the mumbling of students filing into the room and gave himself a few private moments to himself. He checked his wristwatch for the time and nodded to himself at the small hand pointed towards the Eight. One large swallow of coffee and a silent peptalk later, Anakin turned to face the auditorium seats full of students.

After a cut and paste welcome speech in which Anakin did his best to make sure the students felt comfortable and encouraged to do their best and follow their dreams, he appointed two students who bravely sat in the front row to pass out the welcome packets and syllabi.

One did not become a Teacher of the Year winner by assigning classwork during the unofficially deemed Syllabus Week. As such, Anakin took to going over the boring bare bones structure of the class; what they could expect from each lecture, what percentage of their grades exams and quizzes counted for. The basics.

Anakin found his groove rather quickly, and near the end of class found himself back at the whiteboard outlining the standard format for homework problems, when one of the heavy metal doors at his back swung open. He cringed as the slab hit the brick wall outside, a collective startled gasp pouring out of his students.

The interruption was met with an expletive from the offending student that Anakin couldn’t make out, and he dared a glance at his watch again.

He found the time a quarter to nine and huffed to himself. Typical, there’s always one.

“Settle down everyone,” Anakin said to the murmuring crowd behind him, still facing the board. “And thank you for joining us—” he paused, allowing the student to answer while he grabbed the clipboard with the roll from his desk.

“Kenobi. Obi-Wan Kenobi, Professor.”

There was something about him that gave Anakin pause. The name didn’t ring a bell, though Anakin had seen it when he read over the attendance sheet at the beginning of class. It must have been the accent, Anakin thought to himself, but he couldn’t put a finger on where he’d heard it before.

“Thank you, Mr. Kenobi,” Anakin drawled. “Please try to be on time from here on out. You won’t get much out of my class if you’re consistently showing up fifteen minutes before it’s ov—”

Anakin finally turned around to face the class plus his newest tardy student, but the rest of his sentence dried up in his mouth.

Stood in front of him, clearly hungover and sporting a pair of aviators, was his one-night stand from the bar.

AKA Billiard Babe.

AKA Obi-Wan Kenobi.

AKA his student.

Shit. Shit.

Anakin was fucked, and not in the good way—the way he had been Wednesday night, his mind very unhelpfully supplied.

Of all the things he could have gone and done to mess up, sleeping with a student had not been at the top of his list. It hadn’t been on his list at all. Not even on the same notepad, or in the same Office Depot in the same damn state.

Sleeping with students was what weirdos did. Weird wrinkly predators in their mid-to-late forties who were looking for a power trip, who emotionally manipulated kids to get their rocks off.

Anakin was nothing like that. He’d never even gotten a fucking speeding ticket. He’d sat in his car and cried on the phone to his mom for forty-five minutes when he got a warning from a traffic cop about jaywalking for crying out loud.

Oh, God. He was going to end up on the news, wasn’t he? One of those disgraced pervert teachers that got fired for sleeping with a student.

Oh, God. He was going to prison. He was going to end up sharing a cell with a man named Sal who knew people on the outside.

Anakin’s life flashed before his eyes. He was too pretty for prison, wouldn’t last a week before he ended up in some man’s back pocket being called ‘doll face’

It didn’t matter that Obi-Wan was at least a decade older than him, the school had policies against teacher-student relationships. Sure, it wasn’t illegal, but there were clauses in their contracts to prohibit those exact scenarios.

Oh, God. Anakin was so getting fired.

#obikin #tumblr prompt #professor au #anakin is screwed #literally and metaphorically lmfao #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #obiwan kenobi #obi-wan kenobi #obi wan and anakin #obi wan x anakin #star wars fandom

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