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pursuitseternal · 8 months ago

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“A Life for an Unlife:”

Act 1 Astarion x f!Reader | E | 4K

Summary: The Rogue of your group has been a flirt, he’s asked you for a night of passion… but you know there’s more to him than just the vampirism he’s kept secret. After you make a reckless decision in battle, there’s more than a fever’s heat between you as he tends your wounds.

CW: Act 1 AU romance, wound tending, temperature play, hurt/comfort, feelings confessions, first time as pair

📸 by @casualya

Prompt fill for @wtv-my-current-hyperfixation

Ao3 Link | Astarion Masterlist

Goblins. Why did it have to be goblins? So many and all at once, they seemed to come from every nook and cranny in this Selûne forsaken temple. Panting, you scan the carnage, a few echoing clangs of blades still come from across the great big space, the crumbling walls bouncing grunts and metal strikes. Heart racing in your chest, you try to follow it, feet slipping in the slicks of blood as you round the corner.

Astarion snarls, daggers in hand, disarming the Bugbear he has before him. “You’re mine!” he growls, plunging his blade up into its throat. Then he smiles, pulling the knife free, bloodlust shining like glee in his crimson eyes as he turns towards you.

Gods, he’s glorious all spattered in gore, the crimson on his face and in his hair making those matching eyes of his almost glow. He smirks, drawing himself up, hiding the way his chest heaves from exertion. “Like what you see, darling? I could hardly blame you… If I had known it was violence that got you going, maybe I would have asked you to my bed under different…”

His voice continues to purr, even as he saunters slowly towards you. But movement above on the wall catches your eye. “Astarion!” you gasp, staring right at a wounded goblin, his ugly drawstring bow aimed right for your vampire.

Quicker than a breath, he grabs his own bow, reaching for an arrow… only to find his quiver empty. “Bloody hells,” he growls, those hands twitching as he turns. Then you see it, the look of fear in his red eyes. The faintest sound of the goblins bowstring tightening thunders in your ear even at a distance. And those red eyes widen as he braces himself for the shot. His body is already exhausted, bloodied and bruised. And you think with your instinct, with your magic. With your heart.

Magic flares from your hands, your body rushing in the dank dark air of the ruins as you teleport. His place becomes yours, that arrow meant for him, thus, also becomes yours. Pain slices into your chest, numb at first, the shaft in your chest barely registering to your brain. Just an ache and warmth covering your breasts as you begin to bleed.

You hear your name faintly, distorted to your ears, but definitely called from those lips you long to kiss. Astarion yells for healing, cursing for the Cleric to come. The world narrows to the wet ache in your chest and the fading sound of Astarion’s voice in your ear. Suddenly you’re on your back, the sky above you peeking through the broken temple ceiling is so beautiful you think… and the last thing you see is a pair of crimson eyes and a fluff of bloodied silver hair as a face swims into your line of sight.

Then the world goes black.

You wake to a cool wet cloth pressed to your head by a corpse-cold hand.

“Godsdammit,” you hear that silken voice no longer silken cursing above you, “get up, damn you.”

That wet cloth passes down your cheek, the sound of water wringing into a metal pan pierces the haze of your delirium. “Hells damn it, why did you have to use your blasted magic on me, idiot,” the snarl is rough, distant, his handsome face turned away as he curses your selfless stupidity.

Something presses to your lips. A smooth glass bottle neck, the tingling taste of healing potion dripping into your mouth. “My last healing potion,” he mutters, “all because you were a damned fool to take that arrow just to save my sorry hide…”

“…it’s a handsome… hide,” you mutter, lips half-stuck together as you swallow the potion. You’re not even sure he could understand what you said let alone hear it. As you come to, you realize your skin is damp with water and sweat, your body wracked with shivers. Your skin is hot and cool all at once. Fever.

His hand clenches the bottle, those sure fingers shaking as the glistening red liquid dribbles down your chin.

“Hells,” he curses, wiping it away with the calloused pad of this thumb. “You’re awake?” He clears his throat, “I mean… of course you’re awake.” His gaze narrows, flirtatious and self-assured. “With these skilled hands attending you, you’ll be right as rain in no time.” He wrings the towel in the dish to press it to your brow. “Back on your feet and being foolish and selfless in no time.”

A few swipes of cloth, and he tosses it back in the basin. He turns his back, one hand reaching around to press awkwardly behind him, fingers digging through the worn fabric of his shirt. A strange motion, one you think has more to do with his internal dialogue than the one between you. You part your lips, voice dry and rough. “Astarion, I…”

“Save it,” he snips, “I can help tend your wounds, but I can’t fix stupidity. Foolish, selfless hero. Did you not get enough heroics killing goblins? Not enough finding the Archdruid and wiping out a Hobgoblin and a Drow? You just had to save my sorry ass too?”

His voice grows shrill. That collected purr, the one that rumbles deep in his chest and makes your thighs clench, has disappeared. He sounds frantic. Manic.

Afraid.

You never once imagined you’d see a vampire afraid before. You open your mouth once more but he just shakes his head and interjects again. “The gith went to hurry after the fabled Halsin to bring him here to heal you properly. Even Shadowheart’s powers could only do so much.” He grumbles, annoyed and irritated. He’s… sulking. As if he was the one shot.

“The hells is wrong with you?” you manage to grumble through your parched throat.

“You should have let me take that arrow.” He snarls, voice pressed and quiet. “I was the one dumb enough to run out of arrows! I was the one unaware of my surroundings! But no, you had to save me… to make me look like a fool.” He pauses, worked up into a frenzy, chest heaving and everything. “You… you swapped with me…”

You realize it’s a question… of sorts.

Before you can give answer, he shoves a skin of water in your hands. Then he moves to the flap of your tent. “Where’s that gods forsaken Druid? I need healing here! Now!”

You guzzle down the water, feeling it cool on your feverish skin. Sputtering, the noises draw Astarion’s attention back on you. “Fucks sake,” he curses kneeling back down beside you. His fingers feel like ice on your flushed and fevered face as he wipes the trickles of water clean. “You’re a fucking mess, Al becuase you had to play the hero. And see what heroics get you? An arrow in your chest and a fever as you recover. That will show you not to go around caring for others.” Those magnificent silver brows furrow as he turns to get fresh cool water to dampen your sweating face.

He grinds his teeth, that sharp corner of his jaw clenches and unclenches. Even feverish and sweating, you can tell there is so much he is withholding.

Your head swims as you watch him brood. Shivering, your delirium surges as you vaguely watch him turn his head and disappear through the tent flap. Rustling… footsteps… another cool glass bottle presses to your mouth. Another potion trickles down your dry and gasping throat.

“It’s an antidote, in case that arrow was poisoned, and Halsin is on his way. Just… hold on.” He whispers, more to himself than you. “This isn’t what you deserve darling… but me… I would have deserved this. You’re too good to suffer.” He’s definitely muttering to himself now. “Hells, you’re still burning. I need to get you cool, to stem the fever.”

You hear the sloshing of water and force your eyes open, raising a shaking hand to grip his wrist.

“You’re cool,” you breathe. “Your skin is… ice cold…” you pull his hand to your sweating face. The relief is instant, his undead body soaking in the fever-flush of your cheek.

Astarion gives a half-hearted, breathy laugh. “Any excuse to get my shirt off, I see? Though I remember someone not being entirely receptive to previous offers to view what lies beneath all this,” he taunts, a forced air of flattery. But the knit of his brows, the wet shine of his red eyes still betrays his worry. “No matter,” he continues, pulling off that cream ruffled shirt to reveal the hard planes of his body. “Better late than never.”

His fingers flex, peeling the blanket off your chest to reveal your breasts bound in linen. “It’s been some time since my body has been warm, let alone feverish, but I do know we have to keep you cool.” Graceful and stealthy, it almost feels like he sneaks up on you the way his body slides against yours, your chests pressed together. Your belly rises rapidly as you pant. Your fever, no doubt. Yes, that’s why your heart thunders beneath your ribs and why your breath is shaky and quick.

The more his corpse-cold torso presses into the softer flesh of yours, the clearer your head grows. Antidote or healing potion or just the cool comfort of his body… whatever it is, it’s working. You feel your senses steadying and your body ground itself.

But you can’t bring yourself to look into his eyes, settling for letting yourself be cuddled and cooled in his arms.

He holds you carefully, like a figure made of glass. The smooth, cool press of his body blankets you and the fever flush and pain of your wound dissipates. You feel almost back to normal. Except for a new kind of heat roiling in your lower belly.

You try to ignore it, but it only worsens the longer you lay skin-to-skin in Astarion’s arms. You try to force your breathing to even out, to will your heart to slow and your limbs to ease…

As if you were asleep, sneaking this moment in his arms. Something you’ve wanted for a while now, but have been too nervous to attempt. He’s always been too flirty, too cocky, or too seductive. You know there is much more behind his show of confidence than he’s revealed to you. So you close your eyes and listen to the slow thump of his undead heart.

It’s quiet as you rest, Astarion barely shifts, barely breathes as he cools you with his skin. Lost in his own broodings and musings. He rests his head on yours, so much intimacy, you realize he thinks you must be asleep. Then he breaks the silence, his inner dialogue escaping him, you realize with a smile.

His voice is like the whisper of cool silk on your skin, his nose pressing into your temple. “You know, I didn’t care much for you when we first met, and the jury’s still out on your heroic tendencies,” he murmurs into your ear. “I’m only saying this because you’re one foot in the proverbial grave, but… please don’t die. I couldn’t bear to have you die because of me. I couldn’t live with it… or… well, be undead with it…”

He laughs at his own joke, his own best audience with you barely conscious in his embrace.

“What’s a life for an unlife at any rate. You’re the first person to say that you cared whether I lived or died, let alone take action to save my life… or my unlife… oh whatever.”

He frustrates himself, his own words getting the better of him.

And you laugh. It’s faint, just a small giggle. But those keen pointed ears twitch at the sound, the hard planes of his belly feeling your own jiggle with your chuckle.

“Hells,” he curses, raising a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. “You’re awake. You… heard all that?”

Slowly, you lift your head, meeting his hesitant and guarded scarlet gaze. He waits, cautious and careful. After all, he’s spent two centuries as a slave, and given all he’s revealed, it’s clear he’s waiting to see if you’re worthy of trust.

You can’t help but mold your lips into a reassuring smile. Your voice is stronger than he anticipated, the light in your eyes brighter and not with fever-glass. He smiles back as you reply. “You’ve borne enough pain in your life, Astarion. I figured it was time someone else could shoulder the burden. Besides,” you groan, wincing as you shift to reveal the bandages on your chest, “you don’t need any more scars…”

He stiffens. “What do you mean?” he blusters, a show of cocky ignorance. And you just calmly reach around to touch his back, riddled with strange scars.

“I saw you bathing last night in the stream. I… don't know what they mean, but I know you didn’t get them in battle.” Your voice trails off as he stiffens.

“It’s a story for another time… a reminder of Cazador, my old master,” he clenches his jaw, a signal that he’s given you all he will tonight. “At any rate those are wounds that have healed, unlike your festering arrow wound.”

You shiver as he pulls you closer against his cool skin. “At least there’s some plus side to being undead,” he teases, “though… I can’t think of many others.”

You give a feeble laugh again. “You… have many things in your favor. Your quick wit, your deceptive charisma, your determination when you finally find something you set your mind to, that is.”

That makes him laugh too, his hands winding to your back and sliding to grip your ass. He pulls you impossibly closer… and… is that his leg pressing between yours?

“You forget so many of my other advantages, darling. My refined good looks, my impeccable hair, my silver tongue… my mighty fangs….” The last attribute he shows off with a cheeky smirk before dragging them over your neck right in that spot where he’s fed a few times from you.

Your breath catches and your head swims again, and you're pretty sure that the antidote has healed you already. Your fever is lessened, and now your body just burns. That ache in your belly moves lower, settling its weight and pain between your thighs.

No, this is a sense of overwhelm, a heady rush of want and heat as he pulls you hard to press your fevered skin to his ice-cold chest.

You murmur his name against the smooth cool expanse of his chest as you bury your face again.

“Speak up, darling. I’d hate to miss a single sweet syllable from your lips.” Chilling fingers press under your chin, lifting you up to meet his guarded gaze. “Now that I’ve got you right where I’ve wanted you, I’ll ask you again. Why did you save me? Why trade your life for mine? A life for a life is no inconsequential trade…”

The air in your lungs burns. “That’s because what I feel for you isn’t… inconsequential.”

There. It’s done. You said it. The words that have burned in your belly and scratched at your throat every time you locked stares with the fucking vampire… you finally let them out. Finally admitting that you do… feel… something.

His chest is still, neither inhaling more exhaling, crimson eyes scanning your face for deceit or sarcasm. But no. You just stare back at him as your lower lip starts to tremble pathetically and your eyes prick with unshed tears. You wait an ungodly amount of time for him to finally exhale. His breath is cool, especially on your sweat-soaked cheek. “Truly? Is that what you learned from all this?” His words are meant to sting, but his voice quivers with stifled emotion. As if he’s trying to be the arrogant arse he usually is.

“Hells,” he winces, “you’re serious about this? His elegant hand gestures to the minimal space between your chests. “About… us?”

It’s all you can do to meet his stare and try not to cry.

“Not a tenday ago, and the very idea of being held in my arms made you cringe,” he teases, brow arched, conceited smirk on his thick lips. “I’d ask what’s changed, but…” he glances to where your bandages still cut into your chest, dried with blood. “Staring death in the face can give you a new perspective…. Like making you want to stare undeath in the face instead.” His brows furrow, his hand absentmindedly traces over his own twin scars.

For a moment, you think he’s being humorous at your expense, but there is only a far off glint of grief and suffering in his eye. You reach your warm palm to cup his cheek, his name a summons on your tongue. “Astarion…”

Your tone is strong, your breathing rapid, and no doubt he smells the hot arousal that has settled in your belly.

His name on your lips is all the encouragement he needs.

That piercing gaze returns, sharp and hungry. “Need I remind you, I offered you a night to escape all this madness and you… refused. So what’ll it be now, darling?” You feel a cool palm inside your thighs, his own leg gently pushing yours apart. And that gaze deepens in intensity, dilating. “Is this it? It’s what you want… isn’t it?”

You can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t even lift your head to reply. And that smooth, chilling hand travels higher up your leg.

“You’re burning up, darling.” Those arrogant, smirking lips press to your pulse point, just a hint of fang points stabbing into the same spot that’s starting to scar from his near-nightly feeding. “And… I don’t think it’s your fever. Far as I know, fevers don’t make one’s cunt this wet and needy…”

A whine slips past your lips, your body shivering again as your legs splay just a bit more.

“Perhaps I should reward you for saving me the trouble of being shot, a little something for you?”

Before he can slide his hand higher into your underthings, you reach to stop him. “Wait,” you hiss, panting with need even as your mind screams at you. “I… I don’t want this to be a transaction. I want to do this because I want you.”

Those red eyes flare wide, his pointed ears dipping and lowering. A flash of vulnerability even as he rolls himself on top of you.

“Of course you want me, there’s nothing more desirable in the world than a vampire…” the words that come from his flat-lined mouth sound bitter.

“No, no,” you insist, running your hands up to brace his face. “I want you because you’re charming and funny, you’re lonely and hurting, and… I want to make it better for you.”

He freezes, body still pinning yours to the ground, hips pushed into your sex, hands stuck at the back of your neck. “A life for a life, you already spared me an arrow, and now… you offer to help me again?” The words are barely audible, incredulous. If it wasn’t for the narrow distance between your mouths already, you would have thought it was just a voice on the wind outside your tent.

But that cool breath that sweeps between your open lips is all the encouragement you need. You pull him the slight distance between you. Just a kiss. Just a press of his full, gaping lips against your pursed ones.

That’s all it takes, as something snaps into place between you. Now, he’s the one feverish with need, the one beginning to sweat as his hands pull your head back, his mouth working ravenously into your kiss, and those trim hips thrusting his hard cock against your sex.

That grind of his clothed body into your underthings makes your pulse gallop, your heart nearly bursting more now than when a goblin arrow lodged itself near it. Your back arches off the ground, his grip turning your head just so, the perfect angle for his fangs. He bites and drinks as the freezing numbness of his fangs soothes your heat. And yet it makes you all the wetter for him. Your underthings are soaked, the fabric clinging to your folds, dragged to the side by his bulge as he dry fucks you and feeds.

“More, Astarion,” you keen as you buck your hips in time with him. And that sloppy, bloodied mouth lifts from your neck. His eyes are black, barely ringed with scarlet as he pants into your face.

“You sure you’re up for this, darling? Because once I start…" His voice is slick from feeding and rough with lust.

All you do is move your shaking hands to his leathers, finding the fastenings to free his pulsing, flushed cock. His lips quirk to one side, that blood-dripping mouth curling into an even hungrier smirk. “I am right glad you’re feeling so… lively after nearly dying,” he tries to smooth his voice back into that silken purr, but his body is wound too tight. His hand reaches to tease your folds and bare your cunt completely beneath him.

You smirk, pressing your parted lips to his. “Lively, but… perhaps I’ll try that little death you’ve offered me…”

Grit teeth and grinning, he presses that blunted tip at your entrance, a few shallow dips to test your wetness before he pushes all the way inside. Those red eyes close once he’s buried to the hilt. Just a breath of a groan or a laugh, you can’t tell which. All you know is that you will do anything in the future just to hear that sound again. For all his bluster and hunger, he pulls back and pushes in so agonizingly slow. For as quickly as he feeds on your blood, he fucks you tenderly, savouring the drag of his cock against your walls.

Grasping at his neck, you feel the dirge tempo of his undead heart quicken slightly, his skin, still cool, warms just a touch as it grows slick with sweat.

“Hells,” he groans with another breathy giggle, “you’re tighter than a Cleric’s tourniquet.” Those hips undulate, hands still threaded into the mess of your hair. “I fear I won’t last long, not with how much I’ve wanted this.”

His tongue licks at the blood that still sticks to his lips and chin. That thrusting pace quickens, and your hips rock faster to match. Fingers slip to find your clit, teasing it, circling it, pinching it even as his own thrusts grow erratic. You whimper and moan in excess until the heat of your fever dissipates, and the wave of hot pleasure floods you in its place. Your curl in on him, legs gripping and shaking around his waist, arms pulling his chest to bear down on yours even harder. You lose where your body ends and his begins, save for the heated flush of your flesh and his cooler, undead body.

He makes that same coveted noise, the one between a gasp and a laugh, and he does it right in your ear as he comes. He claws around you with the same tenacity as you, as if he can’t bear to be separated from you. Not now. Not that you’ve given him so much… life. Nearly your own life… in exchange that he might feel alive for now, and maybe forever with you.

Thank you to @astarionancuntnin and @nyx-knox for reading it over ✨💅✨

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queenendless · 8 months ago

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ÆŁŁ ƏŸƏ§ ØŊ MƏ

A/n: This was gonna be for another series. But this idea popped up for this one instead.

Pairing: Seto Kaiba x Yami Yugi x F!Reader.

Self aware AU. Inspired by Cross Duel and Duel Links; especially plot wise. Other YGO sequel series mentioned. But mostly DM. Mainly on these two.

CW: Depression, dysphoria and dysmorphia implied, chronic ailments; based off my own issues. Brief swearing, blood, violence. But also fluff, hurt/comfort, and romance/dark romance.

You spend many a day into the late nights, wasting the hours away by watching whatever and every other thing to dash away the emptiness you have inside. Whether on the TV, your laptop, to even your phone, you get lost into the vibrant, upbeat, tear-jerking moments of your favorite media. Shows, movies, games and beyond.

Like an iconic anime on a trading card game.

Having gotten late to the party, you quickly fell for the series, the plot, and its cast. Most of all, the reincarnated Pharaoh and his fated rival for his life.

The appeal of a brand new game peaked your interest. More so a fan game. The mechanics of Duel Links paired with the 2D CG moving models of Cross Duel. An immersive app combining all the series.

While you weren't the best at such competitive games, you still found yourself enjoying the experience. With every series up to the present day. So many characters to unlock and many decks to make. You weren't good at memorizing names, though. But your top two would be your #1 priority.

Anything to help you get through the days. Your job less, disabled days. Cooped up in your room, blocking out the yelling and slamming doors and intrusive thoughts.

Focusing on their handsome faces and familiar voices kept you calm and elated as you always switched between the two throughout your playthrough.

"You're a long way from become a true duelist ... but I can see you have the interest and potential for it. Stick with me and I'll make it worth your while."

"Not to fret. Each battle helps you learn and improve. So long as I am at your side, you'll be amazed at how far you'll go. I'm looking forward to it."

Hearing their voices, seeing those beautiful faces, gave you such serotonin as you stay cooped up in your own little safe haven, escaping from the suffocating cracked home life into the YGO verse.

You spent the next few days grinding in this immersive game, your free time spent leveling up, collecting your favorite cards, and raising the trust level of your other liked favorites. Especially to see the interactions, crossovers, and more as you picked up their voices.

The surprising sight of tapping all over your screen to see their hair and attire rustle paired with such flushed alarmed expressions poking their faces.

"You've got a lot of nerve to mess with the President of Kaiba Corp ..." The sight of him flicking you followed by the immediate firm tap on your forehead made you yelp loudly, nearing dropping the phone. Seeing Seto's laughing face on screen made your strewn expression lighten. "Well deserved."

Yami's raised brow look made you look away in shame. "Pardon me, but I'm right here. There was no need for that." The firm poke to your cheek made you jump in alarm and drop your phone on your bed, gaping at Yami's chuckling face. "Now that was well called for."

It had been a week when that happened. The real world influence from the digital world held in your hand. Startled, alarmed, concerned you had to close the app and take a while to process your racing, anxious self. The app flickered from blue to red. Your phone screen glitches.

Escaping to your laptop proved fruitless. For seeing your lockscreen darken and distort yourself, only to show the cast walking and chatting along the metropolis setting of the game you just checked out of in alarm. A certain white trench coat wearing giant walked along the screen, only to stop and turn to face you. Frozen in place, you watched as he walked head on in, getting closer when he started speaking in his usual snide, sarcastic tone.

"(Username) huh? To tell the truth, Y/n sounds better to say. How do I know your name, you ask? From your account profile, obviously." The roll of those piercing blue eyes was in character. The low soft words that came after were not. "I didn't mean to scare you off earlier. I was actually starting to enjoy myself around you. You're tolerable, at best."

The tri colored star shaped head of his rival peaked out from the side, guilt laced in his features, when he came in fully. "He won't bite you, if that's your concern. But, I too apologize for alarming you. We mean you no harm, Y/n. Honest."

The uncertainty of this meta phenomenon taking place before you was mellowed out at the sight of THE rival pair acknowledging you. Pinching yourself hard to smacking your cheeks to make sure you weren't in lala land now.

Dopamine and endorphins came hand in hand as their eyes widened in astonishment at the way your entire expression lite up, covering your now squealing mouth, not wanting to draw unwanted attention from your folks, your lips curving peaking out beneath your hands. It's all real.

You spent the remainder of that night asking them anything and everything you ever wanted to tell them, curled up in bed, smiling dazedly, lost in the nostalgic fuzzy experience that is these self aware anime baes, bouncing off each other in prideful, sparky conversation. The corner of their eyes caught sight of you sound asleep, Yami smiling tenderly at the sight and Seto's eyes giving off the same aura.

The following week since that night, you felt more energized and motivated than you have in a long time. You were curious if any other fellow players experienced such a phenomenon. Being able to interact with them, actually talk to them outside the contrivances, even offline was a relief. Even your old dead TV was brought to life by the sights of the vibrant series setting; Domino City. Numbers, Dueltaining, Links, and beyond. The world of dueling was seemingly endless.

"Artificial intelligence is more real now than ever. Not to mention virtual reality. So it was only a matter of time. This game is experimental proof of that self awarness. Not all of us are that bright, though."

Joey's pinched face cameo over that comment didn't go unnoticed by as evidence by Seto's snide face. Mai dragging Joey off screen to see kisses literally flying off in the background had the CEO turn pink at the PDA.

"I'd rather glimpse into the real world to broaden my knowledge. Every single being that's connected to us gives us insight. Getting to know you Y/n has been the best experience in all of it."

Waving to Yugi, Jaden and Yusei driving recklessly on the latter's duel runner in the off distance made you crack out a laugh. The charmin smile Yami gave at the sight of your expression caught your eye, turning you a bashful pink, to which he deeply chuckled in kind.

But even you need a break every now and then. You have bad days. And by bad, it gets BAD. Constant styes or eye irritations. Circulation issues in the feet. Swollen ankles. Depression, stress and many intrusive thoughts becoming hyperactive in that tired scarred mind.

Demented suffocating folks. Dysfunctional argumentative drama. And you? Walled up in their corner, feeling years older than their actual age, self pity and self hate over this defective body. The thoughts of self made wounds made on every defective part of you brought on tears every time.

So, fights like the one you just experienced today brought tears, swelling, and the truth to light. Your own fault for believing your own flesh and blood would provide genuine professional help, for the body and mind. But all they can afford is gaslighting, dogpiling criticism. Slamming doors, holing up in your room and blasting tunes through your ear buds was your only affordable escapism.

Black, blue and red glitches overtake your phone. It all happened in such a blur. Layers of warmth swallowed you whole, brushing away those tears, as you felt your face pressed gently against such support, protectivness enveloping you.

"Now that's just bullshit. Everyone’s flawed. If you count me and my many attempts at dethroning my one and only rival myself as one, go right ahead. Point being, screw them. You're genuine. Flaws and all ... you're perfect."

"You should never feel ashamed of yourself or your appearance. You should feel comfortable in your own skin. Regardless of what others choose to believe, your own feelings matter the most. When I look at you, I see nothing but a goddess in my eyes."

Digital character gaining form in reality before you changed things. Just as soon as they were there, they were gone, leaving you fuzzy or better ... and for worse?

The rare times when you had to go out on trips or even taking walks by yourself around your area meant you waving your phone around, being their window into more of your life. Even giving a room tour meant them blushing at spotting chibi plushies of them on your nightstand; their egos rising at further proof of you being smitten with them.

Only when everyone else in your household went to bed would you go hogging up the living room couch and be on your laptop and phone to get lost in watching your movies, shows or whatever to lift your spirits. Yet these late night binges bring with them chronic headaches that would kick in during your all night bends, leaving you closing your eyes and falling sound asleep to drive off the pain on top of your flared up feet covered in cold compresses.

Your laptop flickered and buffered in distortions as whatever you were watching is halted as entities literally come out of your screen. Warmth brushed your flushed cheeks, rubbed your scalp to soothe your aches, rewarded by your hums of content, as murmurs of their names parted your lips, causing the seed of possessiveness to grow at such a rate.

"They don't deserve your tears. They don't even deserve you. None of them are worth it. Unlike them, you've always been deserving of greater and better things. And I'll make sure of it."

"Please dream sweet dears, my dear. It hurts me to see you like this. Things will get better ... they will be better ... you will not suffer alone anymore."

But all good things come to an end. And this was no exception. For there came that time when you were in so much agony, suffering to the point where you wanted the rest of your ignorant home to suffer with you. Eyes too Strained to open. Feet too swollen to walk. Even your neck and scalp were stiff in pain. Your own body fell apart and all you could do was cry in silence, stuck in bed, as you just wanted to be free of it all.

A cold storm raged outside, tipping things over the edge. Your phone vibrating and dinging with notifications were left unchecked. The various reports of disapperances over your fellow real life players and the like. The strong voices of your kings calling out to you were left unanswered as you were too still and quiet.

So they animated right out of your phone screen. The eye of Udjat glowing as the Pharaoh dealt the fatal blows. Thrown furniture exploding. Glass shattering. Ear shattering screams cut off midway. Gurgling cries of agony follow right after. Thumps hitting the floor. The tall shadow of his megalomaniac partner covered your frail weak body as he carefully took you in his arms. It was now or never.

"Seto, are you sure about this? Bringing an actual human over to our side is too risky. Her body will not survive it."

"Please. My next gen solid vision system is visionary. Finding you across dimensions, for example. Connecting others across time and space through dueling has broken boundaries. Linking the cerebrum of those that have accessed my side project app has allowed us to view everyones memories and knowledge of our counterparts in this world has expanded our reach. Sharing our energy with her shall give the strength she needs to cross over. And besides, you practically begged me to take her with us from the start."

"Don't tell me THE Seto Kaiba is jealous about sharing me with another now. As if dragging me out of the afterlife wasn't enough for you. Part of me is still wrapping around your experiment on cross dimensional expansion. Regardless if we're just avatar copies based on fiction, we're still alive. We're past the point of no return. I just hope Y/n will understand."

"Take me ... take me away from here ... please."

Your consent was the trigger. Crimson met solid hologram as their combined hold made you feel at peace at last, blue and golden energy seeping into you, falling fast asleep. The next time you woke up, all the pain left your body, replaced with such looseness. Such levity. Basking in the endless streams of code and ethereal light. The faces of many familiar characters standing about among those like you that now obtained their virtual anime counterparts.

Smothered in between such defined sturdy bodies to remind you of your situation, your heart hammered on in the blue eyed and violet eyed gazes of your two Kings gazing down at you with such fervor, pristine looking with no signs of crimson staining their attire, right before they both layered gentle kisses all over your face. Their sculpted veiny hands held each of yours, tracing your very real skin, squeezing them to assure you that this is all happening. Tears of joy filled your healthy e/c eyes and giggles filled their ears as the sight of you brimming with happiness made their own hearts tremble at the hold you have on them. And vice versa.

Reshaping the future of dueling outsides the confines of an app game takes so much work, you know. Gaining sentience and all that. And it means everything to them to have you there with them for their journey across the Yu-Gi-Oh! multiverse. Hand in hand in hand. For life. These two Kings have finally found their Queen.

"Welcome home."

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emma-is-swaggy-and-epic · 4 months ago

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Happy valentine's day, i've been getting into sonic.exe lately so here's my rendition of an amy.exe

Watch the SPEEDpaint here!!! [LINK]

LORE UNDER THE CUT!!! (CW: mentions of gore and unreality...kinda, there's a TLDR at the end)

A few years after sonic CD was released, a strange cartridge for the game was created. Seemingly: the game had a mind of it's own; with it having strange anomalies such as aggressively telling players to stop controlling sonic after playing through the first few levels, weird reddish blobs of pixels could be seen in the background that look almost like gore to some people (though what they actually are is unclear due to them being few and far between and seem to be slightly obscured by various background elements) and a notable lack of other characters or enemies. Strangely though, the most well known anomaly related to this version of the game is an unusually distorted version of amy rose; as the years went by and the game became more accessable to the public via online emulators, many have reported her appearence changing more and more as time went on. When the cartridge was first discovered: her design mostly stayed true to her original, classic look though as years went by, she started looking more similar to her modern design (more notably so after rips of the game were posted to the internet). Occasionally, the altered version of amy would appear mid-gameplay and deliver threatening messages to the player about how she hates them, how they're getting in her way, etc. When played using an emulator, the game is known to install viruses onto whatever device the player is using in that moment. When the game was ripped, it was revealed that the name of the file was simply "phantom.exe"

What nobody knows about this version of the game, is that the cartridge was special in the sense that the world inside it was sentient; unlike the other versions of sonic CD: this specific cartridge had contained the actual classic sonic universe as a whole and the game was just a front, almost like another dimension that you cannot enter. All of the anomalies listed were the result of a strange event within the universe; with amy coming across the phantom ruby and it corrupting her, causing her to become a murderous fiend with a jealousy problem. Due to the unstable nature of an entire universe existing within such a tiny object like a game cartridge: amy has become aware of the fact that she is in a video game and is immensely jealous of the player for controlling sonic, although due to them living in another universe, she knows she cannot harm them so she just installs viruses onto their computer instead. After the game was ripped onto the internet and was exposed to a more modern culture than one from the 90's, amy's design and mannerisms slowly became more similar to that of the version of her in modern sonic games.

TLDR: there exists a version of sonic CD where the classic sonic universe just....EXISTS inside it (like the actual one, not just a game) and in that version of the universe: amy found the phantom ruby, it corrupted her and now she's a yandere and the game is now fucked up. Also amy is aware she's in a game and is jealous of the player for controlling sonic so she puts viruses on people's computers

In all honesty, i kinda just had two different ideas for what i wanted this to be. I wanted to make an EXE that is SOLELY self-contained and doesn't involve evil world-destroying gods possessing video games and entrapping souls like most EXEs i've seen (some of my favorite EXE/sonic horror AUs are starved eggman and sink sonic BECAUSE of this subversion) but at the same time: i was VERY married (no pun intended) to the idea of taking inspiration from old loveletter computer viruses and the whole haunted game schtick so i tried to mash them together as best i could, resulting in a sort of doki doki literature club/undertale-esque AU for lack of a better description. While yes, i am aware that yandere!amy rose isn't exactly an ORIGINAL idea (hell, i saw a fairly popular fanfiction called "amy.exe" with that EXACT premise) i mean.....i was (unfortunately) a yandere simulator fan as a kid so i kinda have a soft spot for yanderes, y'know? Besides, what else could you do with amy? You could probably do something with the fact she's into tarot cards but that'd probably get culturally insensitive REAL fast...

If i'm being completely honest, i only threw in the "amy's design and mannerisms changing due to being exposed to the internet" thing because i like amy's modern design more than her classic design and i wanted an excuse to make something based on it lol. Speaking of which: i actually had a tough time getting the preportions right on this, i've drawn sonic characters before and i usually have a tough time with the preportions since the sonic artstyle is so much different than mine and y'know....if the characters aren't drawn in a style that looks even VAGUELY like the sonic artstyle than it's just NOT a sonic character!!! (Also fun fact: amy's design in this is vaguely modeled after a creepy haunted doll bc i LOVE those things)

While doing research for this AU i realized i actually know a lot less about sonic lore than i thought lol, this is my first REAL attempt at writing horror so i hope it's not TOO terrible!!! (And, more importantly, that this makes sense to anyone who ISN'T me) anyway....again, happy valentine's day!!!

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circecyerce · 4 months ago

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AO3 JJK Fic Recs Jan-Feb 2025

Don't Forget About Us by cherrymaze NSFW

During a rare cosmic event, Gojo Satoru and you, his wife, get into a heated argument right before he is to leave for an important mission. An argument that had been a long time coming, unleashes a whirlwind of confessions that somehow lands Satoru ten years in the past before he met you, just after Geto Suguru’s defection. With memories still present of the life he lived, he follows those memories in an attempt to right his wrongs and seek out what his heart truly longs for.

A Day in the Life as Sukuna's Concubine by Deestorytime NSFW

In the Heian Era, you are among six other young women selected to serve as concubines for Ryomen Sukuna, the feared and powerful curse king. Life in Sukuna’s palace is rife with competition, as each concubine strives for his favor. However, unlike the others, you find yourself repulsed by Sukuna’s cruel nature, avoiding his presence whenever possible. Sukuna, amused by your indifference and defiance in a palace full of women desperate for his attention, begins to take a dark interest in you

the season of thorned roses by fushit0ru SFW

a bridgerton au. dearest gentle reader, a new season is upon us as the ton gets ready for a season filled with drama, heartbreak, and passion. after being crowned diamond of the season, lord gojo⸺only looking to marry just to secure his inheritance⸺has his sights set on you, the easiest (and most obvious) option. later, when you catch his saying unsavory things about you on a terrace when he least suspected it, you swear to never marry gojo. as london's fashionable set goes through yet another wedding season, will there be hope for scandalous gossip, hate, and thinly veiled insults, or will we witness blooming love and passion?

finish her! by fushit0ru NSFW

you will have to face one of the most formidable wrestlers in history in your next match: toji fushiguro. but don't be confused, this isn't normal wrestling⸺no, it's nude wrestling. and winner gets the spoils of the other's body!

infect me with your love by fushit0ru NSFW

you have always existed in gojo satoru’s shadow. he is a physics prodigy, a person that everyone endlessly admires for his intelligence and charisma, and you hate him for taking the spotlight that you deserve to share with him. but it all changes one day at 5:07AM at your starbucks job when gojo barges in, ordering ridiculously sweet drinks and posing existential questions. is there more to gojo that meets the eye, and is it linked to the vigilante swinging around New York City? (spiderman!gojo au)

so i know who i'm looking at! by fushit0ru NSFW

on halloween night, you get a strange phone call from a man with a distorted voice right as you're chilling while babysitting yuuji. you get an ultimatum: perform for him, or risk your and yuuji's lives.

#circe.recs #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujustsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #toji fushiguro #toji x reader

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syneilesis · 6 months ago

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[fic] Slow Days

Slow Days

In which Xavier is also an immigration officer, your buddy, your pal, your partner in crime, and Sylus doesn't like him very much.

A/N: More airport au shenanigans! There's cameos of Rafayel and Zayne. Mentions of Sylus/MC!Reader. Xavier is being an absolute shit in here lmao.

Xavier empties the canned iced tea in one generous gulp as he watches Rafayel get flagged and escorted by customs officers for carrying what looks like a dazzling array of colorful powders encased in a wide medicine box. Tara passes by him and sees the commotion, coos a little, laments, “Just another day for our resident frequent flyer, I guess. I swear they could have just made Rafayel an exception to a lot of protocols.”

“He's not gonna sell the powders to them, is he?” Xavier says, then shoots the can at a bin fifteen paces away from him. It sails in a smooth, perfect arc before plunging in with a muffled thunk. Tara claps just once for the accurate throw.

“I bet he's gonna call his manager—what's his name?”

“Theodore?”

“Thomas. It's Thomas.”

Just then a flurry of passengers arrive and they both head onto their lanes.

A streak of dark blue and white materializes in Xavier's peripheral vision, and then he pivots to the far end of the aisle, where Nero is stationed and is currently doing nothing.

“Let's switch.”

Nero looks up and confusion fills his expression. Xavier waits for him to get up.

“But ... I'm assigned here?”

“You need more experience in dealing with foreign passengers. Let's switch.”

“But Supervisor Jenna said—” Then something catches Nero's eye and he suddenly pales. He scrambles to leave the counter and Xavier gives way. “Okay, okay, let's switch!” he says, running towards what is originally Xavier's station.

Beyond the queue of arriving passengers, Sylus, with his tall and imposing figure, sweeps his gaze around as if searching for something. Or someone.

Xavier exhales, a little terse.

When Sylus's eyes land on Xavier's counter, Xavier lifts his hand to give a casual wave, a polite smile following after. Even from such a distance he can see the way Sylus's mouth distorts into a repulsed sneer, his head tilting a fraction back.

It's a good thing you're not here, because Xavier is gonna have a little fun with this.

He pitches his voice loudly so Sylus can hear: “Flight crew in this lane, please.”

Sylus turns away and ignores him.

“Mr. Pilot, I'm ready to stamp your passport.”

Still ignoring him.

“Are you waiting for your crew? That's very nice of you today.”

He can feel the frantic glances his co-workers are throwing at him, and Xavier understands. It's unusual to conceive the notion that a group of immigration officers are intimidated by a commercial airline pilot, but here they are. Xavier supposes that Sylus does give off a kind of energy not normally associated with commercial airline employees.

Even the people falling in line are now glancing nervously at the man, who's still standing at the center, all knotted brows and increasing impatience.

Well, Xavier thinks, this won't do. There's been too many incident reports this past week; he's not letting another one add to the pile.

So he says, “She's not on duty today, sorry to break the news to you.”

Finally, that captures Sylus's attention.

“So can I stamp your passport now?”

A click of the tongue is his only response, but a few seconds later Sylus is striding towards Xavier's counter, the wheels of his carry-on a low burr against the tiled floor.

He slams the passport over to him.

“Her shift schedule won't change until next month,” Sylus says, gruff.

“Hm, you're right,” Xavier replies absently, typing some information on the computer. He's discovered that the key to getting under Sylus's nerves is to act all politely nonchalant around him while dishing out the most obnoxious things he can say to him—and that usually revolves around you. “She and I had already worked out our sched for the next six months, so if you want to know when she's available”—here Xavier goes back to Sylus and wears his most winsome smile—“I'd be happy to tell you. Okay, now look at the camera—thank you.”

“Why ask you when I can visit her personally after this?” Sylus takes his passport back and smirks at the frown Xavier unwittingly makes. “Also, I have her number saved so I can call her right now if I wanted to.”

“I don't recall her ever having mentioned giving you her number.”

And here Sylus's smirk turns vicious. “Oh, maybe she doesn't want you to know. I hadn't realized that it was our little intimate secret.”

There's a short pause before the emphatic 'intimate' left his lips, which Xavier assumes to be deliberate so Sylus can relish the moment he loses his cool. He won't let that happen, of course; he didn't read books on psychological warfare for nothing.

Xavier's about to comment on the non-existent intimacy Sylus has with you when somebody three lanes over screams.

“Oh my GOD it's Dr. Zayne!”

A collective hush silences the whole immigration area before it roars back up again, with several people whipping their heads around and others murmuring in confusion. A few counters away, Nero's and Tara's incredulous voices pierce the din.

“Why is Dr. Zayne here?! He's not supposed to be on duty today!”

“There's a lot of frequent flyers in this flight, it seems!”

Xavier twists his body to look—and there, indeed, is Dr. Zayne, glasses and medical coat and all, coming out of an office near the corner where the escalators that lead to the baggage carousels are.

Upon hearing his name, Zayne raises his head and sees the gaggle of people recognizing him across the hall. His steps falter for a quick second, but his seamless swerving towards the escalator covers that small blunder.

“Ah, he escaped,” Xavier says aloud, and in the background a disappointed 'aww' can be heard as an answer.

Sylus remains on his place, his expression very unimpressed at the recent unfolding of events. When he catches Xavier staring at him, that expression devolves into mockery, and then a smirk emerges.

“I can't wait to spend precious time with the kitten while you're still here working.”

Xavier tamps down the urge to reach for his phone. He plasters a bland smile and shrugs. Says, “All right. Thanks for telling me. I can't wait for her to share with me the details after.”

He grins when Sylus narrows his eyes at that.

“Oh,” he continues, “your crew are here. Why do they look all so haggard ...”

Sylus is no longer paying attention—he's already on his way to the escalators.

There's still time before the crew reaches his counter, so Xavier grabs his phone and fires off a text to a customs officer friend. A little inconvenience wouldn't hurt anybody, would it?

•

Thirty minutes later, and the area is empty of people once again, you stroll in with matcha chocolate ice cream on hand. You give it to Xavier.

“Hey,” you say. “Thanks for letting me extend my lunch. Did I miss anything?”

Xavier smiles, beatific, and answers, “Nope.”

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace fic #sylus love and deepspace #xavier love and deepspace #lads sylus #lads xavier #sylus x you #sylus x reader #airport au #my fic #fic

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shima-draws · 2 years ago

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Shima’s OC Tournament ROUND THREE (Electric Boogalee) ✨

(Click on the images to view the closeups!)

Info about Nozomi is HERE

Info about Nexus is HERE

#Shima speaks #Among the Stars #ATS #Shima’s OCs #Poll #Polls #BNHA #Distortion Link AU #Nexus #Nozomi Mizuris

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blossom-hwa · 9 months ago

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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

Series Masterlist | TXT Masterlist

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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