#dream ladies cake society

[ssss-character-smackdown]

SSSS Character Smackdown - Minor Characters Bracket

Emil's Nanny - fan-named Sofia - seen only in Emil's recurring dream, pretty much raised Emil, sets a great table

OR

Väinö Väänänen aka Seagull Mage aka Seagull Santa - Eyes of Gulls, the Sentinel Mage appointed to ward the eastward area of Saimaa, using his allied troupe of seagulls

[fantasyescapes17]

Patience (Part 1)

An elaborate charade- that is what your life has been for these past few years, and it has taken the help of more than one person to balance your delicate lies and secrets. Now entering your final season as an eligible young lady seeking wedded bliss, will you be able to keep up the act in order to achieve your dreams?

Genre: Choi Seungcheol x female!reader. Regency!AU (It's sort of Bridgerton-esque in the sense that I give zero attention to historical accuracy and prioritize aesthetics lmao) You are Jeonghan's sister so your last name is Yoon, but the reader has no other specific characteristics, physical or otherwise.

Word Count: 4.1k+

Part 2

Series Masterlist

"I'm afraid the upcoming season will be Miss Yoon's final opportunity to secure herself a decent husband," the obnoxious woman remarked. 

She did not seem embarrassed that the subject of her gossip (i.e, you) sat immediately across from her in the lavish parlour and well within earshot. She looked straight at you and silently dared you to respond to her callous comment. 

You did not indulge her. You merely sipped your tea. 

"Oh, surely not," her friend replied with a hint of embarrassment. "You mustn't say that, Mrs. Patty! Miss Yoon still has plenty of time before we can write her off as an old maid. She should be perfectly eligible for another two or three seasons, I dare say."

"She might have been, if not for that darling younger sister of hers. I believe little Miss Mina is eighteen now, and will be making her debut in society next season. Am I correct, Miss Yoon?" Mrs. Patty demanded of you. 

You couldn't ignore a question addressed directly to you. You placed your teacup on the table and nodded reluctantly. 

"Yes, Mother believes that my sister should be ready to debut next year," you replied softly. 

Miss Patty looked triumphant. "Well! There you have it! Anyone who has laid eyes on Miss Mina knows that she is the loveliest little creature and I am sure her paltry dowry will not prevent an eligible man from proposing to her. Miss Mina will be snatched up  instantly- and then what shall happen to our dear Miss Yoon? With her younger sister married before her, she won't have a chance!"

The other woman frowned. "Indeed, Miss Mina is uncommonly beautiful. She will have her pick of eligible men."

You rose from your seat abruptly. "Pardon me, ladies. I shall call for some more tea and cakes- we seem to be running short."

You exited the parlour before they had a chance to object, and cursed your mother for leaving you alone to handle the guests. Mother should have known that these infuriating women would show up the instant they heard that the Yoons had arrived in London for the season.

You turned towards the kitchens, hoping that the maids would not offer to help and make your journey redundant. Luckily, the servants were busy unpacking and carrying in your family's belongings. It had been a long journey from the countryside to your London abode- but a necessary one. The Yoon family could not absent themselves from the London season when they had two eligible members of marriageable age.

You turned the corner of the main hallway and came face to face with the other eligible Yoon. Your half-brother, Jeonghan. 

"Jeonghan!" you called out to him hopefully. "Are you going out? Will you take me with you?"

Jeonghan was in the process of lacing up his riding gear and stood to greet you. As your father's only son from his first marriage, Jeonghan became the heir to the entire Yoon estate upon your father's passing. 

"I'm afraid not, sister- I am going out riding with the Lees. You would be required to bring a chaperone," he replied slyly, reminding you, quite unnecessarily, that you could not be seen in public in the company of other single men without a female chaperone present. 

You sighed. "All right- but could you stop by the parlour room before you leave?"

"Why? So that Mrs. Patty may set up a meeting for me with her third niece? There are many things I would do for you, dear sister, but subjecting myself to Mrs. Patty is not among them," Jeonghan replied calmly as he continued to tie the straps of his riding gear. "I am sacrificing plenty for you already. I shall have my hands full at the Grisham's ball tomorrow."

You blinked. "What will happen at the Grisham's ball?"

"I have heard that a certain Mr. Hessington has expressed an interest in you. We shall have to take precautions to ensure he does not find the opportunity to express this interest in front of your mother."

"Oh dear. What does Hessington want?" you despaired. 

Jeonghan smirked. "He wants marriage. They all do. That is the purpose of this elaborate charade of having a season and attending all these social events, is it not? To find a suitable partner in  marriage?"

"Jeonghan, there is only one season left," you reminded him miserably. You reached for your brother's arm. "You must make sure nobody proposes to me this season. From next year everyone will focus on Mina and I will be forgotten- and once she is married then my prospects will be entirely extinguished. You must ensure nothing comes in the way of this."

Jeonghan sighed. "You must be the only woman in London who is actively trying to make herself less eligible for marriage."

"And I have been doing a wonderful job so far. Mrs. Patty said herself that I'm as good as an old maid next season if Mina gets engaged before me. And she surely will be. After that, they'll throw me aside with the old maids and governesses and widows."

"Six months more?"

You nodded eagerly. "Six months more. I will be in your debt forever, Jeonghan."

He sighed. "You certainly shall be. I've become nothing short of a villain in my step-mother's eyes since you persuaded me to tell her that I had reduced your dowry. She has most of the ton convinced that I am an evil brother stealing his sisters' rightful inheritance."

"But we had to do that. A large dowry would make me attractive to men looking to marry for a fortune," you reminded him. 

Jeonghan sighed. "I know. All the same, I've set aside your money. You and Mina will have your dowries once this charade is over. All of the dowry, I mean, not the paltry amount I told your mother you would receive."

You shook your head with a smile. 

"I don't need it."

"Don't refuse money when it's offered to you, good god, woman, have you lost your senses?" Jeonghan said lightly. He placed his hands on his hips and smiled back at you. "You seem more cheerful  than usual."

"We're almost at the end of this charade. Six more months," you replied excitedly. 

"Well, do try to look less cheerful. For all the ton knows, you're a woman with little dowry, no prospects, a prettier younger sister, and getting on in age. People will begin to wonder what you have to be so happy about."

You smiled to yourself. 

You had plenty to be happy about. And Mrs. Patty and the rest of the ton could choke on their tea and biscuits- they would never find out.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Your mother maintained a tight grip on your arm as she steered you around the corners of the large ballroom on the Grisham's summer estate. 

Your arm was beginning to feel numb.

"Now," your mother said firmly. "Don't you be discouraged by what Mrs. Patty says. You're a young woman of good breeding and though you're not nearly as charming as Mina, there's nothing wrong with you. Lesser women than you have secured wealthy husbands, do you understand?'

You resisted the urge to sigh. "Yes, mother."

"But you mustn't become lax about this. You need to consider what might happen to us if … if that boy Jeonghan decides to cast us out. You and your sister must marry well before that happens."

You turned to your mother in surprise. "Mother! Jeonghan would never do such a thing!"

Your mother had very little love for her stepson and she was not shy about admitting it. "Well, he's already stolen half your dowries, there's no knowing what he'll do next. We may be on the streets soon. Even sooner, if he decides to marry and his new wife decides to be rid of us. Your marriage is important."

You sighed. "Yes, mother."

"Now put on a smile and look a little more graceful."

You took a deep breath and straightened your shoulders. It was a delicate line you walked in social events such as these. You had to look dignified and well-mannered enough to satisfy your mother, but not so captivating that you captured the attention of any potential suitors. It only got easier with time. You were older and consequently less attractive than the young girls in the room, and the ton would certainly have heard the news of your reduced dowry. 

You tried not to make eye contact with any men as you quietly moved through the crowd like a wallflower. You were suddenly and abruptly met by a very tall man that appeared before you. 

"Miss Yoon. May I have the pleasure of the next dance?"

You breathed a sigh of relief as you recognised the man. He had a mischievous smile on his face. "Mr. Kim! Oh thank heavens, I was worried that it was an actual suitor."

Mr. Kim Mingyu had the decency to look offended as he took your hand and swept you skillfully towards the dance floor for a lively waltz. 

"Do you think that we would allow an actual suitor within ten feet of you? We've been doing this for three years now, Miss Yoon. We're professionals now, I dare say. There's one of us stationed in each section of the room and we are ready to intervene in case any man shows the slightest bit of  interest towards you."

You laughed. "Well, don't I feel well-protected."

"You are."

"I'm very sorry that you all have to spend your social gatherings watching out for me in this manner. Hopefully, this is the last season that this will be required," you apologised honestly. 

"Nonsense. I rather enjoy it," Mingyu chuckled. 

You shook your head. "I don't believe you. Surely you would rather save your dances for a woman in whom you have a genuine interest? I notice that the young lady in cerulean blue over there cannot keep her eyes away from us."

Mingyu cleared his throat and took a quick peek in the direction you nodded your head. "Ah. Well, that can't be helped. She's better off without me in any case, I've garnered a reputation as a rake. Dancing with me would only tarnish her prospects."

You raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

"Yes," he replied simply. 

"I suppose I cannot argue- being in the unique position of not caring about my own prospects makes me a poor judge. May I ask what you have done to have yourself labelled as a rake by the ton?" you enquired. 

Mingyu smiled. "Other than being naturally charming, rich and handsome?"

"I'm afraid those qualities make for an eligible bachelor, Mr. Kim, not a rake."

Mingyu merely chuckled without offering further explanation as the dance came to an end. He gracefully led you off to the side, where you were drawn into a conversation with some other co-conspirators- namely Mr. Lee Seokmin and Mr. Kwon Soonyoung. 

"Miss Yoon," was the cheerful greeting you received from a grinning Mr. Kwon. "I hope your quest to prevent all offers of matrimony fares well? I am pleased to report that the ton seems to be losing interest in you."

You smiled gratefully. "You bring glad tidings, Mr. Kwon. But I heard that Mr. Hessington…."

"Mr. Hessington is being informed of your reduced dowry and impending state of poverty at this very moment," Mr. Lee Seokmin reassured you. His eyes subtly darted towards the other end of the ballroom where your half-brother was in the middle of a conversation with Mr. Hessington himself. You could not hear what was being spoken, but there was no mistaking Mr. Hessington's alarmed expression at whatever Jeonghan said to him.  

"Delightful," you replied. 

"We have further pleasant tidings for you," Mr. Kwon continued. His hand slid into his waistcoat and he cast a furtive glance around before withdrawing something and slipping it surreptitiously into your hands. You tucked it away into the folds of your gown hastily- but not before ascertaining that it was a small envelope. 

Your eyes brightened in anticipation. "Could it be…"

"Indeed," Mr. Kwon replied with a large smile. "I was able to stop by a certain estate that shall remain unnamed on my way to London, and catch up with a dear friend of ours. He bid me to deliver a letter by hand that he dared not risk sending by post, lest it be intercepted by unwelcome parties. It will be safe, I trust, in your possession?” 

You couldn’t hold back your smile. “Very safe, indeed.”

“I certainly hope so, because your mother approaches us and she looks rather red in the face.”

Your plans to sneak away to a quiet corner and read your letter were thwarted instantly by the approach of your mother. She was flushed and huffing, although she attempted to calm herself when she noticed that you were in the company of Mr. Kwon and Mr. Lee- while they were not the most eligible bachelors in the room, they were eligible and rich enough for your mother to greet them with her politest smile.  

“Mr. Kwon, Mr. Lee. What a pleasure to see you in London,” she tittered.  “I do hope you will find the time to call on us for tea later this week."

They both greeted her politely and accepted her invitation with the usual graces, before your mother took hold of your arm and steered you away from them. 

"Is everything all right, mother?" you asked, concerned. 

"All right? I have just heard- the most terrible news- Mr. Hessington had expressed an interest in courting you but that odious brother of yours has gone and told him about your dowry! I have half a mind to expose that conniving little man for what he is- a thief, a monster-"

"Mother, you must calm down," you insisted gently. "There must be some misunderstanding-"

Your mother was distraught. "Oh, what shall we do? If you are not married this season- we shall be left on the streets unless Mina marries exceedingly well but if that boy Jeonghan continues to ruin her prospects as well-"

"Nobody could ruin Mina's prospects. She is the sweetest, prettiest creature and you know everyone will fall in love with her when she comes into society. Perhaps we should accept that my time is coming to an end, mother…."

"No! No, you cannot give up, my dear. We shall find you a husband this season!"

You sighed. "Yes, mother-"

"Go, go back to Mr. Kwon and Mr. Lee- perhaps one of them will ask you to dance, they seem like nice young gentlemen and the evening is not yet over…"

You extricated yourself from your mother- but instead of returning to company, you slid along the length of the ballroom until you succeeded in finding a remote and private corner behind a table of refreshments and some heavy curtains. You eagerly pulled out the small envelope Soonyoung had given you and unfolded its contents as your heart swelled in anticipation. 

My love,

It has been too long since we last spoke. I hope you and your family are well. Although I have met your brother a few times this year and heard news of you from him, it saddens me that you must always be so far away from me. 

I will be travelling to London on business next week- I may not be able to stay the entire season, as you know well, but may I be so bold as to ask for a glimpse of your beautiful smile while I am in the city? I would be honoured if you would grant me a dance at Almack's on Thursday night. But do not put yourself to trouble, my love- if the thought of meeting me in public makes you uneasy or if your feelings for me have changed during our separation, know that I would never resent you. I desire nothing more than your happiness and well-being. 

Forever yours

S. 

Your heart danced wildly as you tucked the contents back into the folds of your dress. It had been too long since you had received a letter from Seungcheol- a few close calls with your nosy mother intercepting your mail had made it too dangerous for him to write to you by normal post. 

But to finally see him again after so many months apart! And on Thursday, so soon! You had to turn your face to the wall to hide your giddy smile. Three years of a secret, clandestine courtship had not diminished your adoration of the man in the slightest. You still felt as strongly for Mr. Choi Seungcheol as you had the very first time he smiled at you with his bright smile and took your hand in his gentle grasp for your very first dance, so many years ago. 

You took a moment to compose yourself (it would not be appropriate to be seen looking so giddy) and slipped out of your corner. Your brother had been poking around at the refreshment table and he approached you when he saw you- Jeonghan's expression was grim. 

"I think I shall avoid dining at home for the time being," Jeonghan told you drily. "I fear my step-mother may really intend to poison me for what I have done tonight."

You sighed. You were not ignorant of how much Jeonghan had sacrificed for your sake. "I am sorry for the trouble I have put you through because of all this, Jeonghan. I will try to calm my mother."

His eyes softened. "I don't require an apology from you, sister."

"Gratitude, then?" you offered gently. 

"If you could keep your mother away from any sharp objects or poisonous substances, that should be sufficient recompense for now," he replied with a chuckle. "So. I heard from Mr. Kwon that a certain Mr. Choi will be in London in a few days."

You bit back a smile. "Yes."

Jeonghan patted you on the arm gently. "I am glad you will have a chance to see him. Perhaps we can arrange to have your mother occupied elsewhere for the evening…"

You shook your head. "I will handle mother myself, Jeonghan," you reassured him. "You have done plenty. "

Jeonghan looked contemplative for a moment. "I sincerely hope you and Seungcheol can be happy together soon, sister. I would not have put my own reputation at stake if I did not hold his character- and yours-  in the highest regard."

You smiled. A genuine compliment from Jeonghan was rare, and that made it all the more precious. You squeezed his hand on your arm. 

"Thank you, brother."

"Now- let us walk away quickly. I see Mrs. Patty approaches and she has that idiotic niece of hers right behind her…"

—----------------------------------------------------

The days trickled past slowly and painfully until Thursday evening finally arrived. Through your own clever manipulations, you had persuaded your mother to attend a card party being held by Mrs. Patty and to allow you to attend Almack's alone chaperoned by Viscountess Hong- one of the few married young women that your mother could be persuaded to entrust you with. 

"I hope, Viscountess, that you will recommend my daughter to some of your acquaintances," your mother pressed. "You have done so well for yourself. I hope you can be a positive influence on her."

Viscountess Hong smiled. She had not been married long; her husband, Viscount Joshua Hong, had been renowned as one of the most eligible bachelors in London not long ago. It did not come as a surprise to anyone when their marriage was announced in the papers, however. The gossip-minded members of the ton had long known that Viscount Hong was smitten with a young lady of humble origins. 

Your mother admired any woman who could achieve the difficult task of marrying above her station. 

"I will be a responsible and careful chaperone, Mrs. Yoon. You may rest assured that I will take excellent care of your daughter for the evening," the Viscountess promised. 

Your mother waved you off and you could not help the butterflies that erupted in your stomach as you climbed into the Hongs' carriage. Viscount Hong was waiting outside and greeted you in his usual kind and pleasant manner. 

You thanked him nervously. "I'm very grateful for your invitation. I was worried that my mother would not be persuaded to let me visit Almack’s tonight without a female  chaperone."

Viscountess Hong took your hand warmly. "Of course, we would never allow that! I’ve had the pleasure of seeing Seungcheol often this past year, and the man never smiles quite as brightly as when someone mentions your name. I'm afraid the man is quite devoted to you, Miss Yoon."

You felt shy, and bit your lip. "I-I do care for him a great deal."

Viscountess Hong beamed.

It was a pleasant carriage ride to Almack's- the Hongs kept you engaged in conversation and their friendly presence helped calm your nerves. As Viscountess Hong told you about the day she first met her husband, your mind drifted back to your own fateful introduction to Mr. Choi Seungcheol four years ago. 

—------------------------------------

The estate was magnificent. 

"Oh! A marble fountain! It is so beautiful!" your younger sister Mina cried out in delight at the sight of the immaculate gardens and the enormous white fountain that towered in the centre, gently spouting water. 

Your mother (despite being notoriously difficult to impress) also looked at the enormous estate and manor appreciatively. "Indeed, this estate is quite lovely. Perhaps we should plant some flowers like those back home. You say this manor belongs to Mr. Choi?" she asked your brother. 

Jeonghan nodded. "Yes- Mr. Choi Seungcheol was a close friend of mine at Oxford. His father passed away two years ago and he inherited the estate. He was more than happy to invite us all to stay at the manor while I take care of some business here in Derbyshire.  The weather is lovely here this time of year."

"Very generous," your mother remarked thoughtfully as a servant unloaded the marriage behind you. "And… is there a Mrs. Choi?"

Jeonghan smiled tightly. "There was. she passed away in childbirth four years ago."

"He is a widower, then. And has a child," your mother remarked, displeased. 

Jeonghan nodded. "Yes."

"Pity," your mother whispered to you, as she took your arm and walked towards the manor out of Jeonghan's earshot. "I was almost beginning to imagine you being mistress of this lovely estate. But you may find a way to have a marble fountain without having to marry a widower."

You blinked at your mother in surprise. It was no secret that she had not been your father's first wife. 

"But you married a widower," you said, surprised. 

Your mother shot you a sharp look. 

"Exactly, my dear."

Before you could question her further on this hypocritical viewpoint, the entrance to the manor burst open. Servants emerged to unload your carriage and carry your things inside. They were followed by a tall, well-dressed man with a handsome smile that you barely managed to glimpse before your view was blocked by your brother stepping into your path. 

“Seungcheol!” 

The two men shook hands warmly, and you could see from Jeonghan’s unusually relaxed manner that he carried a great deal of affection and trust for Mr. Choi. They exchanged greetings for a moment, before Jeonghan finally stepped aside and allowed you to feast your eyes on Mr. Choi properly. 

“Seungcheol- allow me to introduce you to my family. My father’s wife, Mrs. Yoon- and my two sisters, Miss Yoon and Miss Mina.” 

You curtsied without taking your eyes off the startlingly handsome man. Seungcheol bowed politely in return. His manner was calm and suited a respectable and confident man- but there was something in his large eyes that sparkled with liveliness and joy. You had seen handsome men before- Jeonghan often had friends over for dinner and you had spent time in society. 

But no man had ever made you feel quite so giddy. 

“We are very grateful for your hospitality, Mr. Choi,” your mother said performatively. “Your estate is lovely. My daughters and I were just discussing how delightful that marble fountain is.” 

Seungcheol smiled and glanced at the fountain. “Ah- yes, that was my own personal selection. I am rather fond of it myself. And allow me to say, madam, that it is a pleasure to be host to you and your lovely daughters. Your arrival has been long-awaited- not only by myself but by certain other members of my household.” 

It was only then that you finally tore your eyes away from Mr. Choi’s smile and noticed that another person stood behind him. A small, dark-haired boy of no more than four years old with the same bright eyes as Mr. Choi was clinging shyly to his father’s legs. 

“Allow me to introduce my son- Jiwoo.” 

-------------------------

A/N: So this is my first time posting for Seventeen! I used to have a moderately successful fanfiction blog for a different kpop group on here a few years ago but I took a break and just wanted to start afresh since Seventeen is the only group I keep up with these days, and I miss writing.

I mostly plan to write some fantasy AUs over the next couple months (got some more regency, royal and other fantasy ideas brewing) so we'll see how it goes.

[bvbygrl-writes]

Under The Table

Pairing: Alice Kingsleigh x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: A trip under the table leads to a night of wonder.

A/N: No one asked for this but I don't care. There's not enough love for Alice out there when she's my dream girl fr

Warnings: A brief drinking scene but other than that none!

Alice was never a fan of this lifestyle her mother kept trying to get her to live. The clothes, the silly little rules that needed to be followed, the boys. It wasn’t as though Alice wasn’t attracted to men, she was sure she was sometimes. But every man she had met in her life (even tonight) just was dreadfully boring. The only things they seemed to know how to talk about were marriage and children and that was just something she was not interested in at the current moment. 

She sighed, shuffling as she tried to get comfortable in her dress which had proven to be impossible, the tight corset squeezing her organs. Tilting her head back, she stared at the haughty chandelier before her eyes drifted to the paintings on the ceiling, wondering what it’d be like to jump inside of one, flying amongst the clouds with the sweet cherubs within. The blonde girl was quickly brought from those thoughts as her mother nudged her side with her elbow, clearing her throat.

“Men don’t like an absent minded girl, Alice. A young lady should be dignified and graceful. Stand up straight. After you ruined things with Hamish, this may very well be your last chance to get married.” She chastised, a stern look in her sharp eyes. Alice humored her, standing up straighter as she focused her gaze ahead right onto the dance floor. She watched boredly as the different pairings danced, some with happy expressions and with others not so much.

“It’s entirely unfair. Why should a woman have to marry a man in order to survive in this society? Haven’t you ever wanted to explore, mother?” She asked, shifting her brown eyes to her mother.

“No.”

—------------------------------

It seemed like eternity that they had been at this gala, trying her best to put on a pleasant act for the few suitors who did come up and show interest. She had danced with a few men. One was quite old and radiated a funny smell that she could not put her finger on. The other crushed her toes with every step, making her glad that she had worn her boots under her dress instead of the heels her mother had tried forcing her into. The last one however was a relatively normal man. He was respectful, charming, and quite handsome. She was sure he’d make someone happy, but for her she felt no connection much to her mother’s dismay.

“I’m quite parched so if you’ll excuse me…” Alice trailed, curtseying before walking away in a hurry. She ignored her mother’s disappointed expression as she wandered through the large double doors to the outside refreshments table. Her body relaxed as the gentle breeze made contact with her body causing her to let out a relieved sigh. 

For the first time in the night, she was allowed peace and freedom to herself. A few gathered around outside, speaking in small groups but she paid no mind to them. Looking down at the table, she saw all sorts of cakes, sandwiches and punches. Knowing her mother was probably watching from a distance, she opted to just grab something to drink to avoid the lecture. However, as her hand reached forward for one of the glass tea cups, she heard a thud from under the table. ‘Have I gone mad?’ she thought, brows furrowing. Her thought was quickly dismissed as this time a hand reached from under the white tablecloth, grabbing one of the small tea cakes. 

Alice looked both ways, making sure no one was looking before she bent down and lifted the cloth up. Under the table sat a girl who looked her own age. Her legs were to the side, back hunched over as she sipped on a bit of punch, putting cake into her mouth at the same time. She repeated these actions a bit more, mouth rapidly chewing before she looked up at Alice. Her (e/c) eyes grew wide as she jumped a bit, her head hitting the table making the same thud that Alice had heard minutes before.

“Oh, Dickens!” she whisper-shouted, rubbing the back of her head. Alice found herself quite intrigued by her. She had (h/c) hair pulled back into an intricate style, pearls placed sporadically around her head. Her silk white gloves looked like they were spun from silk, the lace detailing on the cuffs coordinating with the ones on her dress. But her face is what really caught Alice’s attention. She had to be the most wonderful woman Alice had ever seen. Long lashes reminiscent of a babydoll with a pair of pretty (e/c) eyes to match, a light dusting of blush on her cheeks along with beautiful, soft lips to complete the look. “How do you do?” she asked.

“Well. I’m sorry about your head. Mind if I join you?” Alice asked. The girl shook her head, yanking the blonde under the table with her. She let out a small noise, rubbing at the bottom of her back from the force of the motion, but didn’t comment on it otherwise. The two sat quite close together despite the table stretching out a few feet longer but neither girl seemed to mind it. “I’m Alice.”

The girl offered her a smile. “(Y/n). Lovely to meet you, Alice.” she responded. Alice watched as (Y/n) lifted her dress to her knee, opening a small pouch that was fastened around her calf. She pulled out a tiny flask, taking a swig before holding it out to Alice. “Would you like some?”

“Please. I think I may need this in order to get through the rest of this event.” she said, twisting open the bottle before taking a sip. Her face winced at the burn in her throat, but she did not cough. The last thing she wanted to do was look stupid in front of the first interesting person she had spoken to during the night. The (h/c) haired girl hummed at her words, sticking the flask back into the pocket before looking up at Alice once more.

“That may very well be true if we stay here.” she said, putting quite the emphasis on the word ‘stay’. Alice tilted her head curiously at her words.

“Well, what other option is there? My mother is on me like a hound, I’m surprised she hasn’t sent someone after me already.” the girl groaned, nodding as she scooted a bit closer to Alice.

“Here, here. My mother will not let me breathe. It seems that just about everyday she’s trying to put me with a new dimwitted man.” she sighed out in an exasperated tone. The blonde studied the girl's tired expression, the same one she had worn out in the ballroom the entire night. She knew that look all too well. She felt her heart race as (Y/n) put her face closer to hers, her hand resting on top of her own. 

“I think we should be allowed to love freely and make our own choices.” she whispered,  Alice nodded along dreamily, her own head beginning to lean in. Their faces were extremely close, the breath of each other’s lips could be felt on one another’s. “Do you trust me, Alice?” (Y/n) purred out, her eyes half lidded. The blonde nodded in a daze, hypnotized by her. The girl smiled, pulling away as she lifted the other side of the table cloth. She stuck her head out, looking both ways before pulling her head back in. “When I crawl out, count to ten. Once I do, crawl all the way to the hedge before making a break for it and stopping at the first tree, okay?”

“Alright.” Alice could feel herself buzzing with excitement. (Y/n) was clearly one for a good bit of fun and an adventure. She watched as the girl crawled out slowly, starting to count down as the cloth went completely down. Once she got to zero, she did as she was told crawling out from the table. Her heart raced wildly as she crawled down the steps, laying on her stomach when she reached the grass. She shimmied across the damp grass, staining her dress and stockings. Her eyes squinted in the darkness of the night before they focused in on the large hedge, speeding up as she grew closer to it. As soon as she was next to it, she stood up and began to take off. The first tree to the forest entrance was not too far, making it an easy marker. (Y/n) smiled as she got there, reaching for the taller girl’s hand.

“Nicely done. Follow me.”

—------------------------------------------------------

(Y/n) had revealed on their walk through the forest that she was so familiar with escape routes because this was her home. That fact did shock Alice due to the sheer size of the house and property. Most people, men and women alike, of wealth she had met were completely full of themselves. Always bragging about their fortune and materialistic objects. Even when it came to telling Alice this was her family’s home she had done so in such a casual way that she thought she misheard her the first time around.

The two of them sat on a large swing in front of a small lake in the center of the forest. It was a lovely change from where they were before. The crickets chirped happily in the grass, owls calling back and forth to one another. (Y/n) sighed causing Alice to look up at her. Her gaze was still ahead of them on the lake, watching a family of deer across the way. 

“Do you ever wish you had a choice in the kind of man you were set to marry?” she asked, the side of her gloved hand pressed against Alice’s ungloved one.

“All the time. I’d love to end up with someone who’s thoughtful, witty, adventurous.Someone I could travel the world and make many pleasant memories with. I-if I’m honest with you, most of the time I am not even sure if I’d pick a man.” she admitted. (Y/n) whipped her head, looking at her with an unreadable expression. She inched closer to her, before wrapping her arm around Alice’s, resting the side of her head against her shoulder. The blonde rested her head on the top of hers. It felt so natural to be so close and affectionate with her, as if their bodies were made to touch.

“I am more than sure I would not. Before tonight, I’ve never had this much fun with any of the men my mother has tried to put me with. At the risk of sounding mad-”

“Don’t worry, I quite fancy a bit of madness.” Alice interrupted, placing a sideways kiss to the top of her head.

“What if we were to just…marry each other? Forgive me if I’m wrong, but I feel as though we’ve taken quite a liking to each other. And as I sit here in your arms, I know that this feeling will grow more each day. I am also of much higher status than that dastardly Hamish man you told me about.” Alice chuckled at that. She could imagine how nice it’d be to get married to (Y/n). waking up each day and seeing that angelic face. Packing up and heading overseas to China, discovering new lands along the borders of India, eating pastries in France. A smile overtook her face as she thought of herself with a suit on and (Y/n) walking down the aisle in a beautiful gown.

“That sounds like a dream come true. Our mothers would never agree to it but I don’t care. I’d run away with you if I had to.”  (Y/n) lifted her head up, a smile on her face in the sincerity of Alice’s words. Tears began to form in the corner of her eyes which Alice was quick to brush away. “I’d become a beggar on the street with you if it meant this night would never end. (Y/n), I…” without another word, Alice leaned down, kissing the girl deeply which she gladly returned. Alice took charge, her tongue exploring the smaller girl’s mouth before she could get too carried away, their foreheads against each other as they panted breathlessly.

“I’ll pack my bags tonight, we can leave in the morning.”

“I believe that will not be necessary.” Alice felt the blood drain from her face at the sound of her mother’s voice. The two girls slowly turned around, jumping from their spot as they stood side by side. They both tried talking at once to which Mrs.Kingsleigh just held a hand up for them to stop, causing them to hush. “Alice, I’ve known there was something different about you. I’ve tried for years to get you to do as I want you to do, be the woman I want you to be, but I see now that was a mistake. You will always be your father’s daughter and I regret thinking otherwise.” Alice let her head drop, shoulder’s deflating with defeat. She had heard several stories about mothers shipping their daughter’s off to mental institutions for stepping out of line. And with all other things Alice had put her mother through, she was sure this was the final straw. But as (Y/n) slipped a shaky hand into her own, she knew she had the courage to stand up to her mother. 

Taking a step forward she went to speak but her mother continued on. “But what I’d regret more is standing in the way of your happiness. I’ll talk to Lady (Y/n)’s mother about this. Come along, the temperature is dropping and we do not need either of you to fall ill.” The girls looked at each other with bright smiles, swinging their hands back and forth as they followed Mrs.Kingsleigh back to the manor.

Perhaps these social gatherings did have a purpose.

[dreamwritesimagines]

Enamored [22] - Flames

A.N: Thank you so much for your amazing feedback my loves, you’re amazing!❤ I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please let me know what you think, thank you! ❤ And as always, thank you @theskytraveler​ for helping me with the chapter and the story!❤

Summary: Love is rich with both honey and venom.

Warnings: Regency era society and social rules, angst

Word Count: 6000

Series Masterlist

You had read about heartbreak.

Everyone read about heartbreak. All the great love stories were full of it, and whenever you got to that part of any book you would always think that it was just a small obstacle before people could be happy.

You had thought it was a small price to pay for love, but this?

Nothing could ever prepare you for this.

You had spent the first week locked in your room, in your bed. You had cried so much that you were quite certain there were no more tears left in you only to wake up from your sleep sobbing until you couldn’t breathe. Even your dreams were full of him, which made your heart grow heavier and heavier, especially after—

After he had ripped your heart out.

You hadn’t even realized that heartbreak could make someone feel so tired, but you were exhausted. You weren’t even doing anything and yet you barely had it in you to lift a finger, let alone get out of bed and go downstairs so you stayed in the safety of your room, away from the outside world.

But towards the end of the second week, the outside world started growing restless much like you were.

“You should’ve heard what people were whispering at the last ball,” Cecily said. “And Lady Whistledown is making it even worse, I suspect you will have the half of the ton waiting for you by the gate when you eventually decide to leave the house.”

You held your tea cup in your hand, enjoying the warmth spreading on your palm before taking a sip.

“I’m not reading Whistledown,” you rasped out, the warm liquid soothing your sore throat a little. “I haven’t been reading anything really. Lucie brought the latest issue but I didn’t even touch it, it’s over the vanity.”

Cecily waved a hand in the air. “You don’t need to read it.”

You scoffed a bitter laugh. “Is it that terrible?”

“Whistledown? No,” she said. “But I mean…people know something happened.”

“And what does the rumor mill say?”

Cecily shrugged her shoulders and pointed at the plate that remained untouched.

“Apricot cakes,” she said. “You like apricot cakes, try some.”

“I don’t have much of an appetite Cece.”

“Well you must eat something,” she insisted and you heaved a sigh, then placed the tea cup on the bedside table when someone knocked on the door.

“My lady,” Lucie said, peeking her head in. “I know Marquess Westcliff said we shouldn’t bring you anything from…that person, but you told me to let you know anyway so I wanted to check.”

“What is it?”

Lucie stepped into the room, carrying a huge bouquet of flowers. It consisted of roses and hyacinths, and if it were any other time you would’ve been delighted but now you could only stare at it as Lucie placed the bouquet on the vanity.

“There’s also a letter.”

“Of course there is,” you said as you walked to the bouquet and Cecily sat up straighter.

“No no, Y/N you shouldn’t read that.”

“I’m not going to read it,” you said as you grabbed the envelope sealed by the wax, the letter B almost taunting you before you ripped the envelope in half along with the letter inside it, then ripped it again.

“You can throw it away, thank you Lucie,” you said, handing her the pieces and she nodded, then left the room.

“I’ve ripped every letter he sent me for the last two weeks,” you muttered, stealing a look at Cecily. “I haven’t read any of them, don’t worry. I wanted to at first, but I started crying when I broke the wax seal so… I’m not even going to try anymore.”

Cecily got up from the bed, then came to look at the flowers.

“The audacity,” she commented. “Roses and hyacinths for eternal love and deep regret, very subtle. Will you send them back?”

You frowned at the bouquet, then went to your writing table to pull out a sheet of paper.

“With some additions,” you said before writing down the names of the flowers you wanted, then sprinkled sand on it. “Are you meeting Elias today?”

“Yes. He will accompany me to modiste very soon actually but I can stay with you if you’d like!”

“Oh no, you don’t need to do that, I’ll be fine.” you said as you handed her the paper. “Give him this list and tell him to bring me these flowers when he can please.”

“I was…I was actually hoping you’d come with us,” Cecily said softly and you shook your head.

“I can’t.”

“Y/N, you haven’t been out of the house for two weeks now.”

“I have things to do.”

“Like what?”

“I’ve been working on an embroidery,” you said as she shifted her weight on the bed.

“I understand that you’re hurt, but you can’t stay here forever.”

“I will not stay here forever,” you assured her. “I just really don’t want to go outside but you will tell me everything about your wedding gown when you come back, alright?”

Cecily heaved a sigh, then hugged you.

“I will see you when I come back,” she said and kissed your cheek, then walked out of the room. You went to your drawer to pull out the familiar handkerchief over your embroidery hoop, a bitter taste appearing on your throat when your eyes caught the sight of the monogram and you gritted your teeth, then grabbed your needle and sat down.

                                                 *

But of course, you caved.

You hadn’t been good with curiosity ever since you were a child, so the latest edition of Lady Whistledown’s paper by the flowers Anthony had sent you could never just stay there without you taking a look at it. By the time you were done with your embroidery, it was already late in the evening and you did not want to go to the dining room, so you barely had anything to do.

So you took a deep breath and walked to your vanity, your reflection in the mirror making you wince.

You really needed some sleep.

You shook your head at yourself, then grabbed the paper and started skimming the lines;

Dear readers,

A season is not complete without a scandalous love story, and it seems like this scandal is only starting.

For months we have watched Lady Y/N and Viscount Bridgerton ignore everyone else’s presence whenever they were near each other, smiling and having what we can only guess was very heartfelt conversations. In fact, we were sure that by the end of the season, the infamous rake and our sweet nymph, as Mr Sinclair called her, would announce their wedding.

Even this writer must admit though, not everything can be predicted, especially when it comes to love.

If Viscount Bridgerton’s bloodied lip were no clue, the coldness between him and his best friend Marquess Westcliff would have still served us as enough of a confirmation that our favorite couple has met a hindrance in their love. While we are very happy for Marquess of Westcliff and Miss Cecily as we have all seen how delighted they were in these last outings as a couple whose wedding that is sure to be the biggest event of the season, we cannot help but wonder the whereabouts of Lady Y/N.

Certain sources claim that she has found refuge in her home after a huge heartbreak, but two weeks of no socializing or stepping outside does not sound like the lively lady who arrived in London months ago and managed to turn heads with her cheerful laughter at every ball she attended. Whatever happened between the lovers must have been very heavy on her heart, and we can only hope that we will see her among us soon.

Judging by how tormented Viscount Bridgerton looks, one can only assume he hopes the same but he must keep in mind, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers.

The knock on the door made you look up and Elias peeked his head in, then let out a groan.

“I told them not to bring that here.” His eyes went from the paper in your hands to the bouquet on your vanity. “Or those.”

“It’s quite alright,” you said. “I asked them to, you shouldn’t blame anyone.”

“I brought your flowers,” he said as he walked in, holding a bouquet of different flowers and handed them to you. You untied the string around them, then started placing the individual flowers among the roses and hyacinths.

“You’re…sending flowers to Anthony?” he asked and you nodded.

“Yes.”

“Why not just send back what he sent you?”

“Because flowers have a language, Elias,” you said. “I cannot talk to him, so flowers will have to do it for me.”

“What do they mean then?”

“Well,” you murmured, “Black dahlias symbolize betrayal, you see. Yellow carnations are for rejection and disappointment, foxglove for insincerity, abatinas for fickleness and geraniums for foolishness.”

Elias scoffed, “No wonder the florist asked me twice whether I was sure those were the flowers I wanted—what is that?”

“What’s what?”

“Why do you have Anthony’s handkerchief on your embroidery hoop?”

You frowned. “How did you…?”

“We used to exchange shirts at Eton, I recognize the monogram. Why do you have his handkerchief?”

“I’ve had it for a while now but I will send it back,” you said as you grabbed it from the hoop, and took it out so that he could see what you had embroidered on it and as soon as he did, he let out a small laugh.

It was quite a simple pattern. Right above the monogram of his name, now it read “To the most irreformable rake in Britain” in your own handwriting, stitched in black. You folded it, then placed it in the middle of the flowers and stepped back, putting your hands on your hips.

“It’s quite remarkable if you ask me.”

“Oh I’m sure he will not forget it,” Elias said. “Are we sending it tonight?”

“Yes, in a minute,” you said. “I want to talk to you first.”

“About what?”

You held up Lady Whistledown’s paper and he heaved a sigh, then sat down on the chair.

“He broke your heart.”

“And that has nothing to do with you,” you stated, taking a seat as well. “You two were friends way before I ever stepped foot here. Over two decades, in fact.”

“Chérie…”

You reached out to cover his hand with yours, offering him a small smile.

“Whatever happened,” you said, “Happened between me and him, no one else is involved in this. No one else is supposed to be involved in this, and I know for a fact that you really want him to be your best man at the wedding. Hasn’t that been the plan ever since you two were boys?”

“Plans change, especially when a rake goes behind my back and breaks my little sister’s heart.”

“Elias, you need to realize that I’m a grown woman with my own choices,” you said. “You’ve done your part, and that’s finished. I would’ve still been friends with Cecily even if you two separated, it shouldn’t be any different for you and Viscount Bridgerton.”

“Except that you didn’t get separated,” Elias pointed out. “You saw him with his former mistress.”

A bitter taste appeared in your throat. “She didn’t look like a former mistress when I saw them together.”

“There’s…” Elias trailed off. “There’s some explanation to that story but I’m not the one who you should hear it from, if you choose to hear it at all.”

You heaved a deep sigh and cleared your throat.

“I’ve realized something,” you murmured. “I think if you cry long enough your mind clears up, and these past two weeks made me see it.”

“See what?”

“You can’t really blame someone because they don’t love you the way you want them to,” you managed to say. “It’s not their fault, nor is it yours. It’s not anyone’s, really. Sometimes the love you hope for is just not there.”

“Chérie…”

“Listen, I know everyone expects me to be angry,” you croaked out and scrunched up your nose. “Furious, even. You, Cece, the whole ton, even Lady Whistledown with that hell hath no fury comment but I’m not angry, I’m just sad.”

“You should be angry,” Elias insisted. “You should hate him.”

“Oh God, if only,” you said with a small laugh. “It would make everything so much easier.”

Elias squeezed your hand. “You will not tell me what happened no matter how many times I ask, will you?”

You shook your head. “It’s private, Elias,” you said. “I will not say anything to anyone good or bad, mother taught me that much. All you need to know is that you cannot let whatever happened between me and him affect the friendship you have with him. I’m not looking for revenge and you’re not allowed to get it for me.”

He let out a small whine. “Jesus Christ, this is complicated…”

You pulled back to walk to the flower bouquet to fix the handkerchief in it, blinking back the tears.

“It’s so strange though,” you muttered. “All these years wishing for love, I’ve never really considered my love would be unrequited. It’s very sad but it’s the truth, I must make my peace with it.”

He took a deep breath and opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, then seemed to change his mind and cleared his throat.

“Did you read any of his letters?”

“No,” you said. “And I will not. I do not need to read them to know what’s in them.”

“What is in them then?”

“Apologies and promises of love,” you said with a bitter smile. “It’s empty, all of it. He is incapable of loving me, I just tricked myself into thinking he could change, that he could fall in love with me but I can see clearer now. What we desire does not match each other.”

Elias fell silent for a moment.

“There was a poem, wasn’t there?” he asked. “A French poem that said something like that?”

“Ronsard, yes,” you replied as you ran your fingertips over the soft petals. “My desires and yours are never a match, because the passions that pierce your soul and the ardours that inflame mine so court different desires to ease their lack.”

Elias scoffed a humorless laugh and came closer to wrap his arms around you, then pressed a kiss on top of your head.

“I promise you, heartbreak will not last forever.”

No.

No it was going to last until the end of your days. This hole in your chest would not go anywhere, you were sure of it, and yet you were too tired to talk of it.

“Will you send it to him?” you asked as you stepped back from his embrace and Elias offered you a small smile.

“Even better, I will deliver them myself,” he said and grabbed the bouquet, careful with the handkerchief inside it. “Try to get some sleep?”

“I will,” you said. “Give everyone my best, just…not him.”

“Oh not to worry, I’ll give him your worst,” he said and walked out of the room before you closed the door behind him, and wiped at your eyes that filled with tears as soon as you were left alone. You sniffled and shook your head at yourself, then flung yourself on the bed.

                                            *

Of course your dreams were full of him, and of course you had to wake up crying. You had become very used to it so lately you had been asking Lucie to leave you a glass of water by your bedside but you had already drank it before you went to sleep, so you had to go downstairs.

You padded your way into the kitchen but as soon as you entered, you stopped dead in your tracks upon seeing the Duke filling himself a glass of water. He looked over his shoulder, then put the glass down and turned around.

“Y/N.”

“Your Grace,” you said, shifting your weight. His eyes searched your face, a crease forming between his brows.

“It’s the middle of the night, why are you awake?”

“I…can’t seem to be able to sleep much nowadays,” you said softly before going to the counter to fill yourself a glass of water as well, then downed it. His frown deepened when the moonlight fell over your face and he took a deep breath.

“Neither can I,” he said. “Fresh air can help, I’m told.”

“Oh?”

“Would you like to go outside with me?” he asked, making you pull back slightly. “It’s a warm night, it will make you feel better.”

You hesitated for only a minute before nodding your head.

“Go ahead to the backyard, I’ll be right there,” he said and you sniffled, then walked out of the kitchen to walk climb upstairs, then made your way through the hallway to push open the door to the backyard.

It was a warm night just like he said, almost lovely with the faint scent of flowers the gardeners had planted just two days ago. Stars were glimmering in the dark sky and you looked up for a couple of seconds, then sat down on the marble stairs, fixing your dressing gown.

It could’ve been peaceful if your heart wasn’t weighing you so badly, that dull ache ever present in your chest. You sniffled and rubbed at your chest as if it could help with the pain, then fixed your gaze on the night sky, listening to the crickets.

You didn’t have to wait for long for the Duke to join you. He heaved a sigh and sat beside you, then handed you a silk cloth with some ice in it.

“Press it over your eyes, it will help with the swollenness.”

“Thank you,” you murmured and pressed it around your eyes, cold giving your already irritated skin a temporary relief. He filled two cups with port, then offered one to you, making you glance at it.

“Come on now, I know your mother loved port,” he said. “And you grew up in Paris. There is no way you didn’t try it.”

You scoffed a small laugh and took it from him, still holding the ice over your eyes before you took a sip of port, trying not to grimace.

“Not overly fond of the taste?”

“It’s not the taste I’m after, but the numbness,” you admitted and he nodded slowly, looking up at the night sky. For a minute, the only thing that could be heard was the crickets all over the yard before he cleared his throat.

“It was never going to leave you out.”

You turned your head to look at him better. “What?”

“Love. It was never going to leave you out, you take that from my side of the family.”

If you weren’t so numbed by your own exhaustion you would’ve been able to react but all you could do was stare at him for a couple of seconds, making him offer you a small smile.

“I’ve known for a very long time that you are my daughter, Y/N. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the moment you arrived, I should have. I should have done everything differently, from the beginning.”

You took a sip of your port, shaking your head.

“I appreciate it, your Grace,” you said curtly and he looked like he wanted to say something or at least explain, but then changed his mind.

“So yes, you took after me on that,” he said. “I have it, Elias has it, so does Lavinia—”

“Who’s Lavinia?” you rasped out and he sipped his drink.

“Your aunt Lavinia, my sister. She killed a man for her love.”

Your head whipped around and you blinked a couple of times. “…I’m sorry?”

“That’s an interesting story, our father made her marry a Duke and she was in love with another man, Earl of Ashdown,” he said. “And apparently her husband had the audacity to raise a hand to her. I would have handled it but Lavinia always liked to do things her way, so her husband didn’t see the morning. Poison. Good riddance, if you ask me.”

A small laughter escaped from your lips. “Wow.”

“If anyone asks, these are all alleged accusations,” he pointed out, raising his cup slightly as if mocking a toast and you nodded.

“Of course.”

“He died of natural causes,” he said, shooting you a smile. “Which is not a complete lie. Lav is a force of nature.”

“And is she with Earl Ashdown now?”

“Mm hm. They eloped to Gretna Green right after the funeral, a huge scandal. The whole Scotland was talking about it.”

“She lives in Scotland?”

“With her husband and kids; Kenneth and Iona.”

“And is she happy?”

“Happy and in love, yes. After thirty years.”

You swirled the drink in your cup, falling into silence.

“I’ve spent my whole life wishing for love,” you said slowly after a minute of silence. “I thought it was going to be this…this ultimate happiness, like I would get love and then everything would be perfect. Mother used to argue with me about this, saying that I should want anything except love, but I was deaf to it because I was so convinced that it was going to make me the happiest, and I’m…” you let out a bitter chuckle before sipping your drink. “I’m devastated.”

The Duke kept his gaze on you before clicking his tongue.

“And the history repeats itself,” he murmured to himself, “Amor omnibus idem.”

You pulled your brows together.

“Love is the same for all,” you translated it. “Virgil?”

“Virgil.” he nodded. “Let’s just say that this love story of yours feels way too familiar, I’ve seen it before.”

You raised your brows and pressed the ice on your eyes again. “What happens at the end then?”

“You move on, he does not,” he muttered. “Trust me, Y/N. Anthony Bridgerton has shackled himself with his own hands two weeks ago and threw the key at you, and you’re holding it way out of his reach now.”

You blinked back the tears and lowered the ice wrapped by the cloth.

“I just wanted to be happy,” you murmured and he reached out to squeeze at your shoulder.

“Good news is,” he said, “you’re not only my daughter, so it’s not as hopeless as you think it is. Love is in your blood yes, but you’re also the daughter of the sharpest and the most daring woman who has ever walked this earth. You will go through the grief and heartbreak but when it’s time, you should let her take over.”

He stood up and you looked down at your cup, then turned to look at him.

“You said you had it,” you told him. “Love. Who did you love, your Grace?”

A sad smile pulled at his lips and he heaved a sigh.

“Let’s save that conversation for another time,” he said. “Good night, Y/N.”

“Good night,” you muttered and watched him walk back into the house, then you downed your drink and poured another from the bottle, before pressing the ice over your eyes.

                                                *

You woke up around noon the next day. By the time you had woken up, Elias had already left to get Cecily and it was only around the afternoon you had actually left the bed. Lucie had told you there were flowers from Pierre waiting for you in the drawing room, so she had helped you get into a gown before you made your way downstairs.

“These look lovely!” Lucie said, as if trying to cheer you up. “Look my lady, daisies! Aren’t they the sweetest?”

“They look beautiful,” you said, taking a look at the card in it and ran a hand over your face but before you could even say anything else, the butler announced Lady Danbury’s name, making your head shoot up.

“Did he just say-?” you asked Lucie who rushed outside to steal a look at the hallway, then rushed back to the room as the sound of the cane reached your ears.

“You have a visitor,” Lucie whispered as she hurried to fix your dress and hair in a haste before she stepped aside, obviously convinced that you looked presentable enough You straightened your back and clasped your hands to stand still by the table when Lady Danbury reached the drawing room and she stopped by the entrance, her eyes searching your face before she heaved a deep sigh.

“Oh my dear girl,” she muttered, stepping into the room as you dropped a curtsy.

“Lady Danbury, welcome. My apologies for my unprepared state, I’m afraid I did not know you were coming, I would’ve—”

“No need for any of that, I was on my way to Bridgerton house and decided to stop by here first,” she said and you nodded, trying to ignore the way your throat was burning.

“Lucie, can you please tell the maids to bring some tea and pastries here?”

“Of course my lady,” she said and rushed out of the drawing room. Lady Danbury walked to sit down on the sofa, then motioned at you to sit down as well which you quickly complied.

“Have you slept or eaten anything in the last two weeks?” she asked without beating around the bush as usual and you stole a look at her, then swallowed thickly.

“I’ve um…” you stammered. “I haven’t had much of an appetite lately.”

“And your sleep?”

“Plagued,” you managed to say. “By nightmares.”

She shook her head slightly.

“I’m among the rest of the ton who has no idea what on earth has been happening for the last two weeks,” she stated. “And I’m not used to such lack of knowledge, nor do I enjoy it. What I know is this; you haven’t left home for the last two weeks, Anthony showed up to the next ball after the opera with a bruised lip and an expression of complete misery, he has been slowly spiraling out of control and as I can see, so are you. He and your brother ignore each other at every outing which has never happened before, and everyone has a different idea about what happened, so I decided to come to the source to fix this.”

A maid entered the drawing room carrying a tray with two cups filled with tea along with strawberry cakes but even those didn’t look appetizing to you. You thanked her as she placed them on the small table and left the drawing room.

“So, tell me what happened.”

You shook your head. “Oh it’s nothing of importance Lady Danbury,” you said, your voice coming out as a rasp before you cleared your throat. “Really. I’m beyond honored for your concern but—”

“Y/N, none of that.”

You fell silent and took a sip of your tea to help with the lump growing bigger and bigger in your throat, unable to look her in the eye.

“Has there been a dishonorable deed on his part towards you?”

You shook your head again. “No. No, nothing like that. Lord Bridgerton is not a dishonorable man of the sort.”

“Then?”

You fell silent, still looking down at the cup in your hand and she heaved a sigh.

“Anthony can be a blind fool,” she said. “I’m well aware of that, but I thought everything was going well in your courtship.”

You raised your glances at her, blinking back the tears and tried to smile.

“There was no courtship, Lady Danbury,” you said. “Nor any promises were made. In fact, Lord Bridgerton was very clear about what he wanted in life from the beginning, but I…” your voice cracked but you cleared your throat.

“My apologies,” you muttered, reaching out for a napkin to wipe at your eyes. “I’m afraid lack of sleep is getting to me.”

“Oh my sweet, this is not the first time I’m seeing a woman who looks exactly like you crying of heartbreak in this very drawing room,” she said with a sad smile and you nodded.

“And I’d like to follow my mother’s example on this if that’s alright,” you said. “She never talked of the past, and I will not either, good or bad. Blaming someone for their incapability of love does not seem fair and I never should’ve—” you paused for a moment, nibbling on your lip.

“I never should’ve asked for love,” you managed to say and she frowned.

“Don’t say that.”

“But I mean it,” you said. “I don’t want it anymore. I don’t want anything to do with it, I would’ve never wanted it had I known this would happen.”

She squeezed your hand. “Heartbreak is a part of love sometimes, I’m afraid.”

“Maybe,” you murmured. “Either way, heartbreak made me see something.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t think love is for me.”

Her knowing gaze fell on you and she shook her head slightly before standing up.

“My dear child,” she murmured. “It is for you, that’s why it hurts you so much.”

You watched her walk to the door but then you stood up.

“Lady Danbury?”

She turned around to look at you. “Yes?”

The duke had told you this. Love was never going to leave you out, that was in your blood. It was a luxury you couldn’t afford, perhaps the only luxury in London that you couldn’t afford but after two weeks…

After last night’s conversation, even you had to admit.

It was time for your mother to take over. The duke had a point, she had never let heartbreak stop her, even when what she had gone through was much heavier than what you were going through. She had started over and managed to pretend the duke didn’t even exist, even after such a public divorce that was the scandal of the ton.

And you knew how to move on. That was the very first thing your mother had taught you even when you were a baby.

You were born into the shambles of a marriage, brought into the world by a woman who refused to let the heartbreak burn her, a woman who was the last one standing over the ashes.

So you knew how to survive heartbreak. You had spent your whole life looking up to the very example of it and your mother had sewn it into your heart like an embroidery.

You licked your lips and threw your shoulders back, raising your chin.

“If you’re going to the Bridgerton house,” you said. “Could I ask you to deliver a message if it’s not too much of a bother?”

“Of course, what is it?”

“Could you please tell the Viscount not to send me anything anymore?” you asked. “His gifts are neither wanted nor needed, and quite frankly they’re a waste of my time just like he is. I think it will be better if he and I don’t acknowledge each other’s presence from now on.”

She stared at you for a couple of seconds and let out a breath,

“What on earth has that foolish boy done?” she muttered to herself, then walked out of the room. You heard the front door open and close, then you turned to Lucie.

“Lucie?”

“Yes my lady?”

“Tell one of the maids to light up the fireplace and bring two glasses of port here, I will be right back,” you said and walked out of the drawing room to rush upstairs to your room. You wiped at your nose, biting inside your cheek before making your way to one of your jewelry boxes. You turned it over, spilling everything inside over your vanity, then opened your drawer to take out the dried rose he had given you on the night of the musicale. You put it into the box, then grabbed the book and that Valentine’s day card he had given you at the ball before putting them inside as well.

Lastly, you grabbed the dance card that had his name on it, the one he had signed back in the greenhouse and placed it into the box, then closed the box, looking down at it. Your heart was beating at your throat but you shook your head at yourself, and went back to the drawing room again.

When you walked inside, the maids were already lighting a fire in the fireplace. Lucie eyed the box in your hand but didn’t comment on it until the maids left, the warmth from the fireplace spreading through the drawing room.

“Have one,” you told Lucie nodding at one of the glasses and Lucie paused.

“My lady, I can’t.”

“Oh nonsense,” you said before grabbing the other glass and went to sit in front of the fireplace. “Come on, sit beside me and drink.”

Lucie lingered in her spot for a moment, then took the glass of port off the small coffee table, and came to sit beside you.

“What’s that?”

You looked down at the wooden box, nibbling on your lip.

“Something that can’t hold any value for me anymore,” you said, then took a huge sip of your drink. “Lucie?”

“Hm?”

“I’ve been naïve, haven’t I?”

Lucie shrugged her shoulders. “Just a little,” she said. “You know what your mother would say if she were here, right?”

You turned to her. “What?”

“That there’s a lesson to learn from this pain, as much as it hurts. So what’s the lesson?”

You ran your fingertips over the box.

“Never give anyone the power to rip your heart out of your chest.”

Lucie shook her head. “No. Something else.”

“Listen to other people for once.”

She shot you a look as if you had said something humorous, a small laugh escaping from her lips.

“You? Listening to other people? That would be the day,” she said. “No, it’s something else.”

You turned your gaze to the flames, silence falling over the room.

“Love wasn’t going to leave me out,” you rasped out. “It’s in my blood but… Surviving heartbreak is in my blood as well. I took that from my mother.”

Lucie nodded. “Is it in his blood as well, do you think?”

“Surviving heartbreak?” You asked, letting out a scoff. “He would have to have a heart first. It’s different with him and I, I just— I know how to survive but he...” you trailed off and Lucie tilted her head as you sniffled.

“I don’t know when or where but at some point he learned how to hurt someone very deeply,” you managed to say. “I would never be able to do that to anyone, not like that. Even if he has a heart, it’s there to be used as a weapon, nothing more. No one can touch it without paying the price and I’m done slicing my hand over and over again trying to reach it. I’m done.”

Lucie reached out to squeeze your hand as if trying to console you and you swallowed thickly, then straightened your back, running your fingernails over the smooth wood. For a moment, you wanted to open the box to look inside one last time but you knew you couldn’t.

It was done. There was no use reminiscing about the past, it was already over.

You closed your eyes for a moment before you opened them again and took a deep breath.

Then you threw the box into the fireplace.

Flames engulfed the box very fast, the smell of burning wood filling into your nostrils while Lucie heaved a sigh and raised her glass.

“It’s customary to make a speech at a funeral,” she told you and you wiped at your eyes, then raised your glass as well.

“Goodbye Anthony,” you murmured, blinking back the tears. “May you burn in the very same hell you’ve put me through and stay shackled there. Forever.”

Chapter 23

[nyrasbloodyclover]

watchful eyes (will herondale x reader)

cw: THE ONLY MAN EVER. and jem keeping will on a leash, as always

a/n: eating chocolate cake, thinking about him, listening to taylor swift.

Ever since I stepped into the London Institute, everyone had been treating me nicely, as if I was one of them. Charlotte was the kindest woman I've ever met and letting me spend those couple of weeks at their Institute was the most thoughtful thing she could've done for me.

Tessa and Jem were so easy to talk to and I loved spending time with them, reading or just listening to Jem's violin. And as for William...I tried to keep my distance, not because he was rude or anything similar, but because I had a secret. A shameful secret.

The first time I laid my eyes upon the blue-eyed gentleman, I knew that my heart wouldn't stop beating so fast anytime soon. He barely payed attention to me, busy with his Shadowhunter life, but that gave me enough time to observe him and imagine all kinds of different scenarios my mind could come up with. From the romantic ones, like dancing or talking or maybe even reading together, to more sinful ones that made my skin crawl and breath quicken.

Of course, I never made my intentions clear, as that would be inappropriate, but I was pretty content with my fantasies.

Until, one time, I was in my bed, reading, resting, not bothering anyone, when a giant hole appeared out of thin air, in the middle of my room. I threw my book closed and jumped up when a tall figure stepped out of that said hole.

"Mr. Herondale?!"

"Oh, I am so sorry about that..." He shook his head, "No, actually I am not, I came here on purpose."

My eyes went wide and I just stood there, looking for an explanation. "Why didn't you use the door?"

"Henry is making this new portal thing, so I volunteered to experiment with it. What are you reading?"

"Frankenstein," I said wearily because I knew he was easy to get into literary arguments with.

"I haven't read it yet. How do you like it so far?"

"It's pretty slow, but heartbreaking, actually. When you start reading it, do it with an open mind."

"You consider me a closed minded person? Do you not recognise a liberal when you see one!?" He really acted like a book character. He even looked like one!

I frowned at him, confused and annoyed. I really liked this gentleman, but sometimes it was too much, even for me.

"Mr. Herondale, would you be so kind and leave my room, please? Or explain what are you doing here?"

"Oh, but I just got here! I really wanted a chance to talk to you, since we haven't exchanged more than a few words."

".We could've talked at the library. Here? It's just inappropriate."

"Says who?" He stepped closer and started looking around. I didn't have many personal things around the room, mostly books, but I guessed it was enough for William.

"The society."

"Well, thank the Angel that the society isn't here with us!" He spread his arms and took big two steps towards me.

"Why would you—" And then he pulled me in and kissed me like a starving man. He cupped my face with both hands, not letting me pull away. Not that I wanted to. I almost had a heart attack but managed to calm myself down.

I inhaled when we finally separated. Will's lips were red.

"Why?!"

"How am I supposed to know?!!" And then he kissed me once more, leaving no room for anything appropriate.

My head was spinning, I felt like I was in a dream, in one of my forbidden scenarios. Will's hands touched everything they could. I knew I had to stop this before we got too far, but I really didn't want to.

His mout was on me again when a sharp knock interrupted us. "William, get out of there!" It was Jem. "Leave the poor lady alone!"

I looked at Will, mouth agape, and I laughed as he tried to fix his hair and shirt that was out of the place.

"Don't you think I don't know what are you doing in there!"

"Alright, James, I am coming!"

Then he turned and kissed me once more before exiting my room as if had never been there.

[indiphyr]

Every sapphic movie, show or book I like:

(* = favorites)

Movies:

Bend It Like Beckham (lesbian/trans coded)

Black Swan

*Bodies Bodies Bodies

*Booksmart

Bottoms

Braid

But I'm A Cheerleader

Dating Amber

*Death Becomes Her (sapphic coded)

D.E.B.S

Do Revenge

*Everything Everywhere All At Once

Fear Street

Fucking Åmål

*Ginger Snaps (sapphic/queer coded)

Hearts Beat Loud

Heart Shot

*Jennifer's Body

Joy Ride (I think one of the MCs is sapphic?)

Kajillionaire

May

My Days Of Mercy

*My First Summer

Nope (Sapphic sister I think?)

Pariah

Polite Society (either a lesbian or aroace mc)

Princess Cyd

Rafiki

Rye Lane (Sapphic coded MC)

Saint Maud

Saving Face

Set It Off

*Shiva Baby

*Sissy

Sweetheart

Unpregnant

The Fallout

The Half Of It

The Handmaiden

The Incredibly True Adventure of 2 Girls In Love

*The Miseducation Of Cameron Post

The Rocky Horror Picture Show

Shows:

*A League Of Their Own

Adventure Time

*A Kind Of Spark (Keedie is not hetero)

*Anne With An E (sapphic coded)

American Horror Story

*Arcane

Betty

Black Cake

Derry Girls

Degrassi

Druck (seasons 5&6)

Everything Now

Everything Sucks (problematic actor age gap)

Everything's Gonna Be Okay

Faking It

First Kill

Gap: The Series

Genera+ion

Gentleman Jack

*Good Omens

Grease: Rise Of The Pink Ladies

*Hacks

*Heartbreak High

Heartstopper

I Am Not Okay With This

Killing Eve

Little Fires Everywhere

Lucifer

Minx

Motherland Fort Salem

One Day At A Time

Our Flag Means Death

*Paper Girls

*Peacemaker

Ratched

Sex Education

She-Ra

Stranger Things

*Such Brave Girls

Swarm

Teenage Bounty Hunters

*The Boys + Gen V

The Formal (tiktok/youtube series)

*The Good Place

The Haunting Of Bly Manor

The Last Of Us

The Legend Of Korra

*The Owl House

*The Power

*The Sex Lives Of College Girls

The White Lotus

*The Wilds

Upload

Vida

Warrior Nun

We Are Lady Parts

*What We Do In The Shadows

While The Men Are Away

Wo der Egg Priority

Xo, Kitty

*Yellowjackets

Books:

Ace Of Spades

*A Dowry Of Blood

Afterlove

Black Cake

*Black Girl, Call Home

Burn Down, Rise Up

Cinderella Is Dead

Clap When You Land

Crier's War

Dear Medusa

Girls Of Paper And Fire

Hani And Ishu's Guide To Fake Dating

*Her Body And Other Parties

Honey Girl

House Of Hunger

If You Still Recognise Me

It Goes Like This

In The Dream House

In The Ravenous Dark

I Who Have Never Known Men

You're Not Supposed To Die Tonight

*Keedie + A Kind Of Spark

Last Night At The Telegraph Club

*Legendborn (Sapphic SC)

Loveless (Sapphic SCs)

Music From Another World

Nothing Burns As Bright As Her

Not My Problem

Our Wives Under The Sea

Parachutes (Sapphic SC)

Perfect On Paper

Radio Silence

Rise To The Sun

She Gets The Girl

She Drives Me Crazy

*She Who Became The Sun

Siren Queen

The Chosen And The Beautiful

The Falling In Love Montage

The Girls I've Been

The Henna Wars

The Jasmine Throne

*The Kyoshi Novels

*The Locked Tomb Series

*The Mirror Season

The Nature Of Witches

*The Priory Of The Orange Tree

The River Has Teeth

*The Unbroken

These Witches Don't Burn

Graphic Novels:

*Are You Listening

Hi-Fi Club

Jook Joint

Laura Dean Keeps Breaking Up With Me

*On A Sunbeam

*Paper Girls

*Spinning

The Avant-Guards

*The Tea Dragon Society

[lingerasthesmokeoncedid]

You Taste Like Birthdays

A Ransom Drysdale x OC Fanfic

Ransom Drysdale's great love story - told in seven part(ie)s.

“You’re like a big parade through town. You leave such a mess, but you’re so fun." -Regina Spektor

Ransom Drysdale was always called a party boy. That’s what they said in the society papers. That’s what all the shameless gossips claimed.

And as far as he was concerned, he was a Party Boy. Just not in the way they meant it.

He was a Party Boy in the same way that Harlan was a family man – he had one, but he didn’t particularly enjoy it.

He wasn’t a party boy because he loved them or because he preferred getting blackout drunk to anything else.

He was a party boy because that was the only time he got to see her.

PARTY #1: DEBUTANTE BALL

The first time she properly spoke to Ransom Drysdale, he was slipping two crisp 100 dollar bills into the breast pocket of a suit that cost more than her life. This wasn’t the first time she’d seen him, of course, and not even the first time she’d met him either. Her family ran in the same circles as his family, which meant that every birthday, New Year, Fourth of July, goddamn Arbor Day or White Day at the Country Club, their orbits collided.

Despite being the same age, though, she was slightly (embarrassingly, if her mother’s repeated attempts to put her on diets and force her into a wardrobe of shapewear and all black was any indication) north of Rubenesque, bookish, introverted, deeply insecure, and too smart for her age. More likely to find herself sipping tea with Harlan Thrombey than sneaking glasses from the wet bar with his grandson. Not Ransom’s type – even at sixteen. Not even worth his notice, not with so many devastating beauties buzzing around. 

And yet, on the night of her own debutante ball, when she abandoned the crowded dancefloor to lock herself in the butler’s pantry with a slice of cake and a good book, he found her.

Found her when no one else seemed to notice she was missing.

When their eyes met across that dark space, she couldn’t help but feel as she never had before.

Special.

But she hadn’t spent her entire childhood hiding from her father’s heavy-handed wrath and her mother’s Valium-tinged disappointment between the pages of books for nothing. She was smart. Smarter than Ransom Drysdale gave her credit for.

“Isn’t this my lucky day?” He asked, as he swanned through the door and closed it behind him. “The lady of the hour. Waiting for me in all her…glory.”

He lifted one eyebrow and smirked, clearly ready to relish whatever feminine attention he felt she was about to lay on him. And to be fair, there was a part of her that wanted to pretend. How fairytale perfect would it be if Ransom Drysdale – the Ransom Drysdale – had chosen her? If, after a lifetime of being ignored and passed over, she’d been noticed? If he’d seen her in the heat of the spotlight, in her debutante finest, and fallen madly, madly in love?

It would have been perfect. A dream come true. But to even pretend it was a possibility was very, very stupid.

Raking her eyes lazily over his handsome form (made even handsomer by a custom tuxedo), she flipped a page in her book, hoping she projected all of the detached cool girl energy she felt.

“What did they give you?”

Ransome made a noise – something between a laugh and a choke. She didn’t look up. He was too charming and tempting. If she gave him too much attention, she’d be lost. A human eclipse.

“What?”

“Ransom, we’ve known each other since we were six years old. You’ve never even said hello to me without someone making you. Please. Give me some credit here.”

He breezed past her objection. “You looked incredible out there, you know. When you disappeared, I thought I’d come and find you. The best looking guy should always get to dance with the best looking girl.”

Yes, he must have thought her a special kind of moron. Or maybe he was just used to girls falling at his feet. On a good day, she was way below the young models and cheerleader types who typically occupied his time. But in this ludicrous white gown her mother selected, slathered in too much makeup, and crumbled over a book in a butler’s pantry…she knew the money was the only explanation.

“Yeah, and I’m sure that 200 bucks you just shoved in your pocket just now had nothing to do with it.”

Her unexpected guest didn’t have an answer for that. Despite everything, she smiled. She’d shut up Ransom Drysdale? That was way better than any gift she’d get tonight.

“Alright,” he finally muttered. “You caught me.”

No apology. No shame, even.

“Was it really so ridiculous, though? That I would want to dance with you? Do you have some kind of inferiority complex or something?”

“Or something,” she muttered, not wanting to read into the fact that he didn’t seem to think it was so ridiculous.

Silence, then. Beyond the pantry walls, the party raged on. No one missed the guest of honor. No one even cared enough to realize she was gone. None of them were here for her, after all. Every invitation tonight had gone to her parents’ friends and associates, not hers – though she wouldn’t have had any friends to invite, even if she could.

Was it any wonder she’d rather believe the handsome party boy was only there because someone paid him?

“That’s bleak.”

“That’s realistic,” she countered, turning a page. “No, what’s the objective here? They slide you a cool two hundred and you sweet talk me back to the party?”

Over the lip of her book, she watched the vague outline of Ransom’s cut figure go slack as he leaned against a nearby wall.

“No, actually. My grandfather likes you. He saw you leave and sent me after you. He felt bad. Your own damn party and no one wanted to talk to you.”

That stung. She liked Harlan Thrombey, too. His pity was even worse than Ransom’s condescension.

“Funny,” she managed after a moment.

“What is?” he replied.

Well, the fact that you’re still here, she considered saying.

“It’s funny that he thinks they didn’t want to talk to me. I’m not locked up in here because I’m some sad and lonely little princess. It’s because this is a good book, that is an awful party, and those people in there? I don’t want to talk to them.”

He said nothing. She slammed her book closed, surprised by her own intensity, but unable to hold back.

“I mean, can you blame me?” She asked. “Those people…they’re awful. All of them.”

Her body tensed. Shit. She shouldn’t have said that. His parents were at that party. His grandfather. He’d even been at that party until just a moment ago.

She didn’t regret feeling that way. But she did regret saying it out loud. Especially to the most powerful guy she knew.

“You know, I do think I would have come after you,” he said, the words a soft marvel on his tongue. “If my grandfather hadn’t asked me to, I mean. I would have found you.”

“C’mon, Ransom. Haven’t you lied enough tonight? You’re better than that.”

When she raised her eyes, she found Ransom affixing an abrupt stare squarely on her. All words died in her mouth.

He tilted his perfect chin, assessing her with new curiosity. He silently posed a thousand questions, apparently found the answers written in her face, and seemed to come to some internal conclusion.

 “Let’s go,” he said.

It wasn’t a request. But it wasn’t a command either. She wouldn’t have answered a command. It was more like a call to adventure.

“What?” She asked.

He pulled at the twist of his bowtie. “You said you hate these people, right? You want to get away? Let’s fucking go.”

Skepticism attempted to hold her back even as she rose to unsteady high-heeled feet. “Where?”

He slipped off his jacket, fumbling in the pockets as he did so. “Wherever we want to. Here.”

In one smooth gesture, he offered her something. Her heart briefly swelled. He was going to give her the money.

Only, what landed her in hand wasn’t cash. It was a heavy metal key. A car key.

“I’ve already had a few drinks, so you’ll have to drive.”

He didn’t exactly seem like the safety first kind of driver. She tried to hand the keys back.

“I don’t know how. My mom thinks learning to drive is as good as admitting we’re poor. People will think dad can’t afford a chauffeur.”

She’d always wanted to learn, though. Any tiny scraps of independence she could snap up would help her eventually escape her hell-clutch of a family. But she’d never gotten the chance and considering it was easier if her family ignored her existence, she wasn’t exactly going to sneak out to do it. Ransom smirked and slipped his arm around her waist with the effortless grace that came so easily to all devastatingly handsome men.

She suppressed a shudder at his touch. He was only doing it to lead her away. That was all. Companionable at best. Not romantic.

“I know you don’t drive. That’s why I hope you’re a fast learner.”

It was the first time in her life she’d left her parents without permission. She’d planned her escape from them since she was twelve years old, and she’d taken notes from the heroines of her favorite novels. She would stay quiet, she would build a rich inner life, she would develop skills (skills marketable enough to land her a job in the future that but not draw attention or suspicion) and, above all, never step out of line.

Breaking the rules drew attention and detangling herself from her family’s wealth and influence and cruelties and pretensions required as little of that as possible, thank you very much.

So, really, she knew better than to go everywhere with Ransom Drysdale, much less leave her own debutante ball with him. And she knew better than to read into his late-night driving lesson or their harebrained escape.

Still. She went. He was the most fun she’d ever had in her life.

The next morning, a paramedic’s pen light woke her in the still-smoking cab of Ransom’s car. The donuts he’d bought her (her mother had her on a perpetual diet, so he’d bought them and called it a birthday present) were crushed in her lap. The magnum of champagne they’d swiped from the party still sloshed around in the back seat. Apparently, she hadn’t been a fast learner.

When the paramedics tried to move her from the car, they found that they couldn’t. Because Ransom, only half-conscious in the passenger’s seat, wouldn’t let go of her hand.

In that moment, when they tore her away and unwound the borrowed scarf from her neck, she knew she’d made a mistake. But she didn’t care.

PARTY #2 – 21ST BIRTHDAY

In light of their near-miss with death, she hadn’t gotten the chance to get Ransom’s phone number. And once she’d gotten discharged from the hospital, her family kept her under fairy tale villain levels of lock and key.

(She suspected the only reason she didn’t get shipped off to boarding school after her “little stunt” was because the only boarding school prestigious enough was currently home to her escape artist partner, Mr. Ransom Drysdale himself).

As such, she couldn’t get in touch with him. Her mother had allowed her to return his scarf back through a courier service despite her insistence that Ransom had given it to her and was, therefore, hers to keep. But beyond that, she never spoke to him, and he appeared to make no effort to reach out to her.

Which was fine. She was under no illusions that Ransom Drysdale had fallen for her or that their midnight joyride had changed anything. She didn’t think his attempt to kiss her – a near-miss that caused her to lose control of the car in the first place – said anything about their relationship except that he was a little sappy and handsy when drunk.

Just because she got flushed and starry-eyed when she remembered it didn’t guarantee that he remembered it at all.

No, as the days passed after debut, she resolved herself, quite practically, to the understanding that he would, most likely, go right back to ignoring her at every party. Their one night together was nothing more than a fluke. A memory to her and a fuzzy, half-forgotten mistake to him.

She believed that. She gave herself permission to accept it. But then, Ransom Drysdale did something no one ever did.

He surprised her.

After four months of solitary confinement, her parents allowed her out to a party again. And there he was, waiting for her. And from then on out, their lives passed in parties. At the dances and balls where they’d once been practically strangers, she found strong arms and nauseatingly handsome smirks pulling her into corners and closets. They snuck wine bottles and got tipsy and shared hatreds and gossip. They ordered pizza to the back door and “accidentally” bluetoothed raunchy rap music through the speakers during toasts. He confided in her secrets about his family. Told her about a story he'd been working on – just a short, nothing special. On the night she got into MIT, she showed him the acceptance letter – he was the first one to know.

It was something like friendship, these secret hours they stole from under the snobbily upturned noses of their families and acquaintances.

So, when at Tilly Potter’s 21st gala ball, she passingly mentioned her own plans to celebrate her official freedom from her family (a freedom she planned to use the following day by spending all of the money she’d saved at her IT desk job on a tiny shitbox apartment near campus) by ordering takeout and watching old movies in the comfort of her bedroom, it surprised her – but did not shock her – that Ransom intervened.

“That’s the saddest shit I’ve ever heard,” he barked, stern and disbelieving. “I’m sick even thinking about it. No. Absolutely not.”

“Rude—”

“Don’t thank me. I’ve been saving you from your own shitty parties since you were sixteen. I’m used to it by now.”

And that’s how it went. On the night of her 21st birthday, her parents held an exclusive (code word for small) dinner party at their house. After the incident at her debutante ball all those years ago, they hadn’t ever again trusted her not to embarrass them publicly, so that was all she had. Small, exclusive, intimate dinners where they sandwiched her between them, monitored her conversations for any inelegant slip-ups, and did their best to keep her away from “That Drysdale Boy.”

They couldn’t keep her under lock and key at the parties other people threw and that they were required by every social law to attend. They were powerless to not invite the Thrombeys. But dammit, they would do their best to keep her from his influence under their own damn roof.

Unfortunately, they overlooked one small problem. Ransom was a tricky son of a bitch.

When the party was over and the birthday girl retired to her bedroom, she opened the door to find a message written in lipstick along one of her many windows.

BACK DOOR – 10 MINUTES – CHANGE.

Ransom hadn’t done anything to prepare her for this night – it was a surprise in nearly every respect – but given everything she knew about him (plus the underline beneath the word change), she had a feeling night clubs and birthday shots and strobe lights and dancing were in her future.

Which, to be clear, she dreaded. She hated night clubs and loathed the idea of wasting her birthday watching hungry-eyed girls making passes at Ransom all night.

But still, she slipped on her sexiest dress (not a huge compliment, honestly, considering the state of her wardrobe) and a pair of heels before giving her makeup a smokey-eyed zhush and retreating downstairs to the safety of his idling car.

She knew she was a fool for it. They were basically friends of proximity and convenience and necessity. But no matter how she loathed the thought of insecurely sweating a drunken night away at whatever exclusive, Fort Knox guest list hot spot Ransom had picked out, she knew she couldn’t turn it down. Not when it meant another night close to him. Not when he’d done it all for her.

He sped – he always sped, terrible driving teacher that he was – towards town with the top down, blaring some music she loved. Was it a coincidence? Or did he remember her mentioning the band?

She didn’t know and maybe she didn’t care to know. It was better, on her 21st birthday and under the perfectly starlit sky and Ransom’s hand so close to hers on the clutch and his scarf around her neck for warmth and her favorite song lodged in her throat and her throbbing eardrums, to believe that he’d chosen it for her.

They didn’t talk. They didn’t have to. And with the wind and the music and the engine and the traffic and her heartbeat, they couldn’t have heard each other even if they wanted to.

By the time the car screeched to a curb-choked halt in front of TLJ, Boston’s hippest night spot, though, all of the silver moonlight-tinted glow vaporized under the head of the neon and jealous girls’ stares.

She twisted her hands in her lap, suddenly feeling very silly. She was a chubby nobody in a dress a half-size too small and lipstick a specific shade of power red. If she believed she meant anything to Ransom, if this romantic birthday jailbreak had made her believe something might finally be happening between them, it all vanished in that moment. He was Ransom Drysdale – he’d used her birthday as an excuse to get fucked and fucked up. She would never measure up to the line of women in the queue, hungry for his attention.

She didn’t belong here.

And what was worse, just having him this way – part way, just a piece – was no longer enough for her. It was pathetic.

Ransom dropped the keys in the valet’s hands, completely oblivious until he opened the club’s door and discovered her was holding it open for no one. Wordlessly communicating with the bouncer and ignoring the stares from anyone on the street, Ransom jogged back.

“What the Hell’s wrong with you?” He asked, his tone that tenuous mixture of good-natured and condescending that only he could pull off without offending her.

She glanced up at the club, then down to his scarf around her neck. He always loaned it to her when they played getaway car in the Beamer – she got cold.

But it wouldn’t be appropriate now. Not inside a nightclub on her 21st birthday. She began to unwind it – her hands where shaking.

“Sorry – It’s fine. It’s just—”

Her trembling fingers were suddenly wrapped up my strong, masculine ones, stilling her attempts to unknot his scarf. “Hey. Just – just wait here.”

“What?”

“Wait here.”

Confused, she followed the directive and wrapped herself up again. He was gone so long people in line snapped pictures of her, alone in the car. So long her fingertips started to lose sensation in the cold. So long she resigned herself to the fact that he’d left her in the car to enjoy the party by himself.

But then, just as she contemplated sliding into the driver’s seat and speeding the car away without him, the Beamer’s door swung open. Ransom slipped inside with a case of champagne, which he balanced on the center console between them.

“Ransom—” she started.

“Stupid party anyway. Let’s go.”

And with that, he rocked the keys in the ignition, peeling off into the night in a haze of smoking rubber and engine fumes.   She tried to speak, to apologize, to ask questions, anything, but he merely turned the volume up on the car’s speaker system – louder and louder – louder. 

His jaw was locked too tight to have spoken anyway.

She wondered what that meant. Sometimes, Ransom got so angry she wondered about his heart – if he didn’t find a way to manage it soon, she thought, it was likely to give out one of these days. But while he always claimed his anger was about one of two things – money or his family – she knew better. There was always a third option. He might have been angry at himself.

Was this one of those times? And if it was…why?

When the car finally stopped again, she felt her entire body flood with light. Not silver moonlight, not like last time. This was all gold.

The historic movie theatre on a back street of Boston had been built in 1917, and despite the fact that no one really went there anymore, it was one of her favorite places on Earth. The movies had always been one of those sacred places that her parents hated, but that they considered safe enough for her to enjoy alone. All her life, the movies had been her escape, her refuge. A place in the cool dark where nothing mattered – not her name, not her family, not her past.  

When they entered the one-room movie house that night, still done up in that plush Art Deco style, she found the entire place empty. The candy counter was abandoned. The Coke machine unmanned. The popcorn piping hot, but unattended.

Strange. The cinema wasn’t the most popular spot in town, but she’d never seen it this Ghost Town empty…

“What’s going on—”

Ransom helped himself to snacks. “I told you. That club was shit. I know the guy here, and I’ve never seen Double Indemnity, so…”

He’d planned a party for her at that club. And then totally changed his plans when he got there and saw for himself how much she would have hated it. Party Boy Ransom Drysdale abandoned all of the leggy blondes and blow and whiskey to sit here in a dark movie theatre with her.

It didn’t mean anything. It didn’t mean anything.

To him. But it meant everything to her.

She didn’t kiss him then. His eyes were wide and sincere and hesitant and his lips trembled from the effort it apparently took him to be honest with her. If she’d been any kind of brave or if she had any kind of faith in herself, or believed he said, she would have crawled on to the candy counter, pulled him between her legs, and kissed him as she’d wanted to do since she was sixteen.

But she didn’t. Not until she was a bottle and a half of champagne deep and bold enough to slur, “Ransom, why did you do this? This…” She hiccupped and gestured to the cinema around them and the movie flickering before them. “This isn’t you.”

She wanted him to say because I love you. Instead, he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and glanced down at her lips. His permanent mask of privileged indifference and smugness slipped – just for a second. But a second was all it took for her to see it.

“Because…you would have hated that club. It wasn’t what you wanted. And I just think you and I have wasted too much time not getting what we want.”

And then…she blacked out.

Did they kiss? Did she try? Did he push her away? Did she ask him what he wanted? Did she dare hope she was the answer?

She never fucking knew because all she remembered was him saying it and then waking up the next morning in her little apartment near campus.

Someone had brushed her hair and her teeth. Someone had pulled her out of her dress and tucked her into bed wearing a fuzzy pair of socks and her slip. Someone had left salt tablets, ibuprofen, water, and Pedialyte on her bedside table.

Someone had left an entire box of pizza in her fridge – from her favorite joint down the street, and with extra toppings, just the way she liked.

Someone had left a birthday card on her kitchen table – signed with nothing more than a hesitant “R.”

Someone had shown her more of himself last night than he’d ever shown anyone before.

And not only did she not remember a damn thing about it, but she was pretty sure she hadn’t even gotten to kiss him.

PARTY #3 – FUNERAL

Her 21st birthday sort of hit pause on their – friendship? Acquaintance? – whatever it was for awhile. They still spent their family obligations together. That didn’t change. But he didn’t spend as much time with her there. Or as freely. And the friendship they’d been building over the years suddenly vanished. She hated it and hated that she hated it and hated herself for thinking they would ever be anything else but convenient friends.

But then her parents died. Plane crash. She told them commercial jets were safer, that a private plane was a very expensive death trap, that she wouldn’t cry at their funeral if some half-awake alcoholic of a pilot killed them both someday –

But then…it happened. And she did cry. And there, as she shivered in the middle of the lavish funeral they’d planned years ago (her mother – always the perfectionist, always the planner), big strong hands wrapped a scarf around her neck, and then tucked her into his arms.

Ransom.

He held her hand the entire day. And the next. And the next.

When she finally resurfaced from her suffocating grief at losing two people who’d made her so angry and so lonely and so suddenly rich – he was the first thing she saw.

“I hated them,” she choked against his tear-stained sweater.

“Yeah,” he breathed, rubbing her back with uneasy, unpracticed strokes.

“I always thought my life would be so much easier if they weren’t around. At least then I wouldn’t have to tell people that my own family didn’t love me.”

“I understand.”

“And I miss them. I still miss them. Is that crazy?”

She knew how he felt about his family. If anyone could slap some sense into her, save her from this growing black hole in the center of her chest, it was Ransom.

Instead, he tucked her head beneath his chin.

“No. It’s not crazy. Or, if you are, then so am I.”

That didn’t exactly rule out the possibility. But when she laughed and looked up at him through eyes full of hazy tears, she smiled.

And from that moment on, it was as if their time apart hadn’t happened. It was as if, for the first time in a long time, maybe for the first time ever, she was home.

PARTY #4 – VALENTINE’S DAY

It took Ransom longer than most people to get the hang of the whole “being friends” thing. He didn’t let himself get close to people. He didn’t know how to be vulnerable. And as far as she could tell, he didn’t have any nurturing instincts. Cunning instincts? Yes. Business instincts. Sure. Sexual instincts? So she’d heard.

But nurturing? That wasn’t really his thing.

Strange, then, that he managed it. In the months after her parents’ death, she was so absorbed by mourning and sorting out their affairs that the general human stuff like eating and sleeping and showering and getting fresh air became extremely low priorities.

So, Ransom picked up the slack. Took her for top-down drives in the Beamer for groceries (frehs air? Sunshine? Check). He brought her leftovers from the cooking intensives he was taking with Harlan for book research and practiced his new skills at home (steady nutrition? Check). He would run the hot water for a bath, have to “take a call,” and insist she bathe so that they didn’t waste the water. He’d even taken to telling her that her house was creepy and he needed to sleep and, besides, he wasn’t used to sleeping alone (a lie – he always left a woman in bed before he got tired, but the lie got this particular woman into bed and at least six hours’ sleep every night).

It saved them both their prides, these little discrete deceptions of his. He didn’t know how to love. She didn’t know how to be loved. He pretended he was just accidentally helping her – going about his normal routine and just so happening to benefit her. And she accepted as long as she believed that lie.

But deep down, she knew the truth. Ransom didn’t have nurturing instincts. But he did have survival instincts.

And in the season of her life when she most felt like dying, that was more than enough.

She could hardly believe it, then, when she resurfaced from a long night preparing job applications – even if she wasn’t going to leave Boston like she’d always planned, she was not going to play happy homemaker with her parents’ money, thank you; all of that was going to be donated as soon as the banks finally put the funds in her name – to find the house empty and Ransom gone.

In his room, forgotten on his bed, was a crumpled invitation and instruction sheet.

It seemed that Ransom Drysdale had run away to take part in a charity bachelor auction.

A strange feeling cut through her months of grief and lethargy.

It wasn’t quite jealousy. She’d felt enough of that for Ransom over the years, and she knew precisely what that felt like. This was something different, something even more unsettling.

Concern. She was concerned for him.

Well, that just wouldn’t do.

“250,000.”

In one of Boston’s finest ballrooms, the chic audience first gasped, then cheered as she ran through the back door and screamed her bid.

Waves of pouting rage rolled off of her fellow bidders. But Ransom’s eyes glinted as he followed the protocol of offering her arm and placing a gentle kiss on her cheek.

“You found the invitation then?” He asked. “You went snooping in my room?”

She bit the inside of her cheek. Something about his tone didn’t sit right with her. “I wasn’t snooping. I wasn’t looking for the invitation, either. I was looking for you.”

A muscle in his jaw flexed, but he said nothing until their photographs were taken for the local society pages.

As the highest bidder of the evening, the hotel graciously made a donation of their own and gifted her the use of a suite for the night – not for sex, she assumed, but just as a token of gratitude. She and Ransom retreated there almost immediately. Coming to this party had been a hasty decision, as had been her bid on him. She hadn’t exactly accounted for the reactions and gossip and questions it would stoke amongst their peers, so they decided to make that tomorrow’s problem and disappear.

Once up there, though –

She barely made it through the door before he was on her. Pinning her arms over her head, he hungrily attacked her bare neck, grinding his body against hers with a ferocity she so desperately wanted to be real.

“What the Hell are you doing, Ransom?”

His lips temporarily moved from her skin, but he stayed so close she could still sense the way they shifted into a smirk. “Showing you what I’m worth.”

He pressed his lips into the curve of her neck, and it took everything in her not to melt. How many times had she fantasized about this exact moment. Wanted this very thing?

But it was like a photonegative of a dream – technically, everything was there…but wrong.

“Ransom.”

“This was what you wanted, right? Bought and paid for. I’m all yours.”

“Hey—Hey—”

“I thought we had a good thing going. Uncomplicated. But what do I know? I guess you can put a price on me and it’s a quarter of a million bucks—”

“Ransom, Stop!”

His hand froze at the top of her thigh. His lips above hers. A cloud cleared from his eyes, then returned. There he was again – that Ransom she’d spent most of her life trying to push aside. The cold, smug, unfeeling asshole millionaire failson.

"Right. You really should be calling the shots here. Get your money’s worth. Please. Tell me what I owe you.”

A wave of disgust rolled over her. He really thought so low of her? That he was just like his family – always putting a price on their affection? That he was nothing but a dollar sign to her?

“That’s not why I did this,” she muttered, unable to strengthen her voice any louder. Her body still radiated from his touch. “I did this because I know you hate this stuff and I wanted to… I don’t know. You’ve been rescuing me a lot lately. I thought maybe I could rescue you, too.”

He recoiled. “You – That was a stupid amount of money for that.”

“Avoiding this kind of stuff is important to you, and –” She paused. They didn’t ever talk about their feelings for each other, good, bad, or indifferent. But fuck it. “And you’re important to me.”

Ransom suddenly couldn’t meet her gaze. He slipped out of his jacket and hung it up in the closet, apparently in some attempt to regain his composure. “Yeah. Well. You’re. You’re important to me, too.”

An hour later, they ate a trough of room service food in bed. Fluffy hotel robes on. Gowns and tuxes off. Crappy television noise filling the air between them.

She hadn’t realized she’d dozed off onto his shoulder. Or that she’d even dozed off. Until –

“Hey.”

He shifted his shoulder but did not remove her. She swam back to awareness. “Mm-hm?”

“I didn’t meant it, what I said earlier about us being uncomplicated. We’re…we’re plenty complicated. You’re good. The only good thing in my life. I think I was afraid…I guess I thought I’d lost that tonight.”

It was as close to an apology as she’d ever get. And she still didn’t know what it meant.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” he muttered. “Just…I owe you one.”

Exhausted or not, she did understand that. “We don’t owe each other anything. That’s just how this works.”

She didn’t care to give this a name. (Love). Nor did she say anything else. But as she drifted back to sleep, she did feel him tuck her closer into his body and lay her down in the crook of his warm frame.

PARTY #5 – THE BOOK LAUNCH

After that night, they both got their shit together. She got a job in Boston. Sold her family’s estate. Got an apartment. She asked her doctor about sleeping pills—it was hard to rest without Ransom, who’d moved out and gotten his own place now that she was functioning like a normal person again. She started going to dance classes. She took up breadmaking in her spare time. Started a terrace garden. Even picked up a library card.

After a little pressure, Ransom asked his grandfather if he might have any openings at the publishing house. He started tinkering with ideas for a murder mystery himself. He, too, moved into a new place and, now unused to seeing himself in the society pages, decided he liked it better that way.

Every morning, she walked to her favorite coffee shop on her way to work. And every morning, he met her in line, bought them both breakfast, and then parted ways.

Dinners for two were just easier to make than dinners for one, so they often ate together.

They liked the same movies, and no one wants to go the movies alone, so they often visited her favorite cinema together.

And bars. And parks. And weekend trips to the Martha’s Vineyard. And the library. And family dinners. And brunch. And concert. And the theatre. And the occasional Red Sox game.

But they were absolutely, categorically, unequivocally not dating. There were no kisses or handholding or anything resembling physical intimacy, and the same rules about emotional intimacy applied. Namely – none, ever.

But all the same, when Ransom’s grandfather launched a new book series and threw a party in his own honor, it was essentially a given that she would go with him.

Upon her arrival, though, she couldn’t find her date. For awhile, she was content to sip champagne and stuff her face with canapes while making small talk, but when she’d drained her glass and realized her other standard party friend – Harlan Thrombey himself – was nowhere to be found, she keyed in the security code for the elevator, left the atrium party behind, and headed straight for the offices.

It was strange, she admitted, to think of Ransom as hard-working. That he’d now rather be at work than at a party. But she wasn’t surprised when the elevator doors to the publishing house’s main floor opened and she heard his and his grandfather’s voices. What did surprise her was the realization that they weren’t talking about work at all.

“You’re crazy, old man.”

“Perhaps. But a crazy old man can be right about something every once in awhile. Broken clock and all that.”

“I’m not having this conversation. You have a party waiting downstairs for you and a press to schmooze. And I have whiskey to drink. I ordered the good stuff and I don’t want Walt guzzling it all. He won’t appreciate it—"

“And your date? You must have your date worrying after you. You did invite someone, didn’t you?”

That hung in the air. Harlan must have known that Ransom had invited her.

“She’s an easy choice,” Ransom sniffed, dismissively. “Don’t read too much into it.”

“If she’s such an easy choice, then why won’t you take me up on my offer?”

…Offer? Her heart clenched.

“I said I would consider it,” Ransom replied.  

“Ransom, I like her. I always have. She’s good for you. And what’s more, I think you’re good for her, too.”

“You say that as if it means anything.”

“It means – it can mean everything.”

She held her breath. Her knuckles tightened around the champagne flutes so hard she feared they might shatter. But still, she listened.

“Pops, I don’t do the emotional attachment bullshit. You want me to be a better man? Don’t chain some poor woman to me. Build a time machine and raise your kids better. Might give me a fighting chance at being halfway decent.”

“Ah, but there’s the rub. You say you don’t do emotional attachments. But if that’s true, then what do you call all these years since you first met? What do you call this last year since her parents died, come to think of it? You can deny it all you want. The evidence is clear. A rose by any other name. Love by any other name. You—”

It was the wrong moment to lean forward. She hadn’t been able to help it. But it gave her away, creaking a floorboard and drawing Harlan’s attention.

“Ah, my dear. Come to fetch us, have you?”

She raised the glasses in her hand, fighting to keep her expression neutral when all she really wanted to do was cry – or laugh – or both. “Actually, I came to join this party. Seems a lot more fun than the one downstairs.”

Ransom’s gaze burned into her until she turned to face him, at which point he slapped on one of those wincingly fake smiles he usually only reserved for the most awkward of cocktail chatter. “Well. This is a pretty exclusive party. I don’t think you’re on the guest list. We should head downstairs.”

It was a brush-off, but she gratefully accepted his diversion.

She couldn’t…

It wasn’t…

He…

She wasn’t drunk enough yet to face what she’d just learned from listening at this particular keyhole. That Ransom might have loved her. And that Harlan believed in that love.

“Very well, then,” Harlan said, a note of disappointment in his voice. “Ransom, do think about my offer, will you?”

“Not on your life, old man.”

Later, in the thick of the party, she and Ransom accidentally stoke a private moment. It was clear he’d been trying to avoid just this scenario all night – looping them into every peripheral conversation they could find, filling his mouth and hers with every passed appetizer that crossed their path – but she’d finally caught him in a corner.

“So, that whole thing with your grandfather?” She finally asked, her voice trembling. “What was that about?”

“Just a business deal he wants me to do with him,” Ransom evaded. “Nothing serious.”

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. He must not have known she’d heard as much as she did. What business deal could possibly involve her?

None. Obviously. He was lying. But she was too afraid of the truth to call him out on it.

Ransom cleared his throat. “Whatever happened to those jobs you applied for out west?”

She loved the change in subject. She just wished it wasn’t to this subject.

“Oh. I had some interviews, but they never really went anywhere.”

“That so? Harlan said a few of them called for character references. Can’t imagine anyone turning you down after the glowing reviews he gave.”

He was pressing. Suddenly, she forgot how to breathe.

“Yeah. Well. I got a few offers. But I turned them down. I wanted to be closer to home.”

As soon as she said that last part, she knew it was a mistake. He latched onto it.

“What the Hell does that mean? All you’ve ever talked about since we were kids was how fucking badly you wanted to get out of here. You had every chance. Why haven’t you gone?”

It took all of her strength to say it. “C’mon, Ransom. You know why.”

The job offers outside of Boston had piled up. But every time she thought about taking one, she ran into the same heartbreaking reality. If she left this place, she would have to either leave ransom behind or ask him to go with her. And if she asked him to go with her, she’d have to confess her feelings and…

That was the thing about them. They never said how they felt. They were fun. Uncomplicated. One long party. Which was why, even now, her confession wasn’t much of a confession at all.

You know why was as close as she could get to I love you.

So, she repeated it again, hating the way tears formed in her eyes and her voice cracked. “You know why.”

Tonight, she’d heard him tell his grandfather – the one person in the world Ransom actually respected – that she was an easy choice. That caring about her didn’t matter. They’d spent half a lifetime dancing around one another, making massive, fun messes in each other’s lives and then twirling around the rubble. They were all wrong for each other, an impossibility—

That’s why she didn’t expect the kiss.

Dropping his champagne glass to the floor, not even caring when it shattered, Ransom captured her cheeks with his hands and crashed his lips to hers, breathing years of unsaid feeling into her very heart.

Their first kiss.

And yet, it tasted like every happy memory she’d ever made with him. Birthday cake and champagne and popcorn and starlight.

PARTY #6 – New Years’ Eve

Ransom was an asshole. The difference between Ransom and the woman he loved was that she probably only suspected it somewhere deep, deep down, whereas he faced that truth every minute of every day and had since he was a boy.

That’s the thing about expectations. When you expect something of people, they start to adapt to it. All his life, people told Ransom he was a rich prick. Above the rules. Loveless and ruthless and just like his family.

So, that’s what he became. It was easier to give people what they wanted.

But what made him a real asshole? Well, a few things. Starting with the way he’d convinced her he wasn’t one.

For most of their lives, she’d been his home base – a place he could be safe. When he was with her, he had the creeping hope that he could be more.

She let him be more.

More than the money. More than the cars or the couture or the future inheritance or the name.

When he was near her, he believed it was possible. But the real crime was letting her believe it.

There were more things that proved how big an asshole he was, too. The way he took her to bed the night of his grandfather’s party, something he’d been dreaming about since he was eighteen. The way he didn’t push her away then. The way he allowed her to love him, the way he indulges the slow entwining of their lives until they shared only one.

The way he fell in love with her – finally, recklessly, completely.

The way he told Harlan yes. He would marry her in exchange for controlling interest in the publishing company.

The way he kept that secret from her – even on New Years’ Even. With an engagement ring weighing down his coat pocket.

Tonight’s gala was thrown by The Drysdales for this exact purpose – to give him a perfect backdrop against which to propose. Romantic – to make her feel special. And public – to prop up the family name and reputation.

Harlan had his heart in the right place when he offered the deal. He always knew – no, he believed – that his grandson needed incentive to do the right thing. And as far as Harlan was concerned, letting himself finally love that girl was the best thing he could ever do. He hadn’t made the offer maliciously, this bargain with Ransom and her future. But Ransom had taken it all the same.

And he hated himself for that. Nearly as much as he loved her.

As the clock ticked toward midnight, Ransom paced on the great outdoor terrace – abandoned, for now, by the rest of the party because of the flurrying snowfall. He carried a glass of whiskey. He wasn’t in the mood to drink, nor was he particularly thirsty, but he knew people were watching him – they were always watching – and he had to look the part.

The part of Ransom Drysdale. A part he’d been playing the rest of his life. One he’d be playing until the day he died.

He glanced inside, scanning the room for his almost-fiancée. Wedged between his aunt Joni and Uncle Walt, she sipped champagne and did her best to fit in. But Ransom could read her better than anybody.

She was fucking miserable.

Such a small realization. The woman I love is miserable. But it cut through Ransom like a freshly sharpened axe.

In that moment, a lifetime of parties past flooded his memory. The first night they’d spent together – she’d been hiding. Her 21st birthday – she’d nearly worked herself into a panic attack thinking about that party he’d planned for her. She’d retreated at her own parents’ funeral because she didn’t want to face their associates. She’d bought him from that ridiculous Valentine’s day auction because she wanted to free him for a night and even on the night of his grandfather’s book launch, she’d been in the office to flee the party.

She was trying her best to fit in now. But he loved her precisely because she never could.

All she’d ever tried to do was try to escape nights like these.

Escape.

God, that was all she wanted to do. This life – she hated it. But she stayed.

For him. Because he didn’t have the guts to escape.

And if he asked her to marry him tonight, she was going to say yes. And it would be selfish. So selfish. Because he would be chaining her to a life of this. A life of parties she hated and people who didn’t give a shit and no, no, no escape.

He saw it as clear as the glass separating them. He didn’t want to marry her because of his grandfather’s offer. He wanted to because he loved her. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. And it was unconscionably cruel, indescribably selfish, to keep her.

The doors to the terrace swung open, and partygoers ambled out. Ransom checked his watch. The fireworks would start soon. The countdown would begin any minute.

“Ransom?”

He turned, and there she was. Looking like forever.

It broke his heart.

Everyone thought he didn’t have one. Maybe that’s because it was always hers. And he was pulling away now, trying to walk away while his heart still rested in her hands.

“You look deep in thought,” she said. “Making your resolutions?”

“You know I don’t buy into all of that shit.”

He regretted his tone. He didn’t speak to her that way – ever. But she took it in stride, slipping into his side. “Everyone’s distracted. We can make a quick getaway. Go have an actual good time, just the two of us.”

God – yes. He wanted that. More than anything.

“Where would we go?” He asked, jaw set, eyes on her even as she gazed at the sky over the harbor.

“Anywhere we want.”

She tried to slip her hand in his. He pulled away, knowing if he didn’t, he’d never be able to let her go.

“C’mon. You’ll miss the fireworks,” he said.

But she didn’t move.

“Forget the fireworks. Let’s go.”

“We’re not going—I’m not going anywhere with you.”

She blinked. From the corner of his eye, Ransom caught a glimpse of his grandfather – not even pretending to hide the fact that he was monitoring this situation.

Well, sorry, Harlan. At least you’re used to being disappointed by me.

“Ransom, what’s up with you?”

A minute left in the countdown. Less than a minute left with the only person he’d ever loved. And he’d have to spend it hurting her.

“New Years’ got me thinking. That’s all.”

“I thought you didn’t go in for that stuff.”

“About us.”

Thirty…

“Oh?”

“Whatever this is, this thing we’ve been doing—”

“I wanted to talk to you about that, actually.”

“Yeah?”

Twenty…

“What changed?”

“What do you mean?”

Fifteen…

“We’ve been together almost all of our lives. But the night of Harlan’s party, everything changed. We changed. You changed. Why?”

It would have been easy to lie. But he knew telling the truth would destroy her. And she’d hate him enough to finally leave.  

“Because Harlan said he’d give me the publishing company if I married you.”

Ten…

Her perfect mouth fell in shock. She started to laugh –

“God’s honest truth,” Ransom intoned.

Nine…

“No, you—”

“Don’t worry, though. We’re done here.”

Eight…

All around them, the party tangled together, preparing to kiss and sing. But she stumbled back from him. “Done?”

Seven…

“You and I? It would never work. If I could have loved you, I would have done it by now.”

“You asshole. You liar—”

Six…

“God, I wish you women could get together and write some original fucking material.”

He tried to walk then, but she reached for his jacket, turning him around easily.

“Hey. You love me. I know you do. What’s really going on here?”

Five…

“What’s—Fine.” Four… “You are what they want.” Three… “Harlan loves you. My family has always said what a perfect choice you were.” Two… “And I would rather fucking die than give those fucks what they want.”

One. Happy Fucking New Year.

All around them, kisses and embraces. But they were drifting apart. The start of something new for them both – a life without the other.

“So, that’s it.”

“Yeah,” he said, wanting nothing more than to grab her up in his arms and say no, it wasn’t, he couldn’t ever let her go.

But for the first time in his life, Ransom was strong. Unselfish. And he let her release him from her grip.

“You know, Ransom?” She said, her voice surprisingly strong for goodbye. “I hope, I really do, that one day you can learn to love something more than you hate them.”

As she turned away, he bit back a laugh – a sob? – at the irony of it all.

He did. He did love someone more than he hated them – his family. Loved her so much, he set her free.

A week later, there was another party. Some winter gala for homeless leopards or whatever vapid shit the wealthy of the Eastern seaboard decided deserved their attention. Ransom attended. It was expected, so he went.

As he always did when he entered a party, he scanned for her. Not that he could have spoken to he. Not that she would have so much as looked in his direction. But still.

He swept the room once. Twice. By the fifth pass, he was sure she wasn’t there. And by the seventh, he heard something that made him smile.

“—everything. The houses, the cars, the polo horses. She sold it all, resigned from the country club and the museum board, and moved out west.”

“That family lived here since Boston was founded. And that girl ruined it.”

“I know. What a waste.”

Ransom emptied his glass of whiskey, then lifted it in a little toast. It wasn’t a waste, he thought. It was a better reason for a celebration than any party he’d ever attended.

PARTY #7 – PARTY OF ONE

When Ransom left that night, he retreated to his bungalow. From a box in a hidden compartment beneath his bed, he withdrew a small envelope. Then, he collected a gold lighter from his desk drawer. He poured himself a drink. And he went outside.

The winter air bit his skin. The snow ruined his hair. But he took a long swing of his drink, relishing the frigid temperature.

What was the weather like in California today, he wondered.

When the drink was empty, he reached into the envelope and withdrew two crumpled 100 dollar bills, lifting them to the snow-dappled moonlight for inspection.

He’d never spent that money he got paid to take her out at her debutante ball. Never knew why.

He just knew how fucking grand it felt to light those two bills on fire – and watch the ash and snow tangle on the wind like confetti.

[calciumcryptid]

You know what we really need? LanceKiran period romance AU

Sorry this took a bit, had to shift back into period romance gear.

Unlike the other ladies of her station, Kiran Chopra does not dream of a handsome man whisking her away to a life of dancing in lavish dresses and covering her in expensive jewels. She has quite enough adventure running a bakery as an unmarried woman. Though when the newly engaged Ladt Hitsugaya requests Kiran's services, she seizes the chance to advertise her business.

Lancelot Akirakami has made his long-awaited return to Japan, using the upcoming wedding to avoid the attention of high society gossip. The last thing he needed was for news of a newly decorated bachelor to break out among the ton. After all, they will never know the scars that litter his skin come from sharp glass edges instead of rumored military power fantasies.

When the day of the union comes, Kiran must take an emergency leave cutting her business dealings short. Lancelot takes one bite of the wedding cake and is determined to pay his compliments to the baker. Unknown to both of them, that slice of cake is about to change their lives forever.

[sanctamater]

BUILDING A THROWAWAY BACKGROUND CHARACTER: the creation of our lady and the knickerbocker dilemma  - a meta on social standing, gilded age politics, social capital, and 19th century morality.  or - why lady a. c.omstock must be a knickerbocker.

As with many things in Infinite, Ken Levine left gaps. Lady Comstock was certainly never intended to be anything more than a throwaway, dead mother character meant for man pain and mommy issues, despite what Ken has tweeted out in the past about her narrative. Still, questions remain from what we do know of her from her audio diaries: Who was she before Zachary Hale Comstock? How did she meet Booker? What is her story in all of this. Fanon usually pins her to be lower class given her marriage to Booker, which in itself is fine, but narratively, it still creates an issue regarding Zachary Hale Comstock and his success with congress.

Lady Comstock has practically no information about her; but what we do know about her is this:

She was based off of Alice Roosevelt Longworth (x and x)

Prior to meeting Zachary/Booker, she had many suitors/lovers(?) that she would hurt for her own amusement and pit them against each other.  “To those who loved me, I was the most generous of souls. There was no pain I would deny them. No betrayal I would not gladly give. And when I had scorched the hearts of all who loved me, the Prophet said, “There is nothing you can do for which I will not forgive you, for God has granted me sight, and through His eyes, even you are loved.” (Lady A. Comstock, Unconditional). 

After her marriage to Zachary, she was renowned and respected by all (even Vox Populi leader Daisy) for her inspiring kindness and the way she genuinely treated others no matter their station or rank.

She was the first of the Prophet’s circle to turn on him and attempted to whistleblow on what was going on in Columbia.

Alice Roosevelt Longworth being the direct inspiration behind Lady Comstock is one of the biggest indicators to me that she was of high society in New York city - Alice was the Edwardian ‘It Girl’ of America and its elite; styled as Princess Alice and hounded by paparazzi, and was well connected through marriage, family, and friends to powerful and prominent politicians and Senators, and obviously, Presidents. She was known for her flamboyancy and general disdain for society and its rules - she gambled, drank, smoke, placed bets, drag raced cars, ran boys clubs, had lovers (and an illegitimate child with one; something revealed in her diaries), jumped into pools fully clothed, cut her wedding cake with a sword, kept a snake in her pocket to scare people with, gossiped, and was known for having a biting tongue that lead her to getting banned not once, but twice from the White House. Outside that, she was a woman with remarkable social and political capital for her time where her opinion and support could either make or devastate a candidate. 

This all becomes extremely relevant when looking at her character through the lens of her eventual indoctrination and joining a cult. Cult leaders generally pick and choose those who they will groom and indoctrinate carefully - they tend to go for individuals with money and useful connections (x), something Zachary would have needed. In I am His Mirror, Zachary states:

“And when I came to Washington, there were few in Congress who saw my vision for Columbia. But it is the burden of the Prophet to bring the wicked to righteousness. For what am I, if not a mirror to reflect the face of God?” (Zachary Hale Comstock, I am His Mirror)

Of course Congress laughed at him. He’s a street preacher talking about a flying city and merging science and religion together in an era when they were going in opposite vectors. In addition, he has no funding at this time; just a ✨ dream ✨; and no legitimacy. Even with charisma, he’s still a street preacher; and these men are not part of his cult. His ability to access congress and the upper echelons of American society, to put it bluntly, lie within his choice of a wife. 

“After America’s Civil War, hundreds of newly wealthy oil, railroad, and stockbroker barons stormed New York City with one purpose in mind: to become part of Society. New York was the acknowledged “Great Good Place.” As historian, Greg King, writes, “the city represented the apex of society in America.”” (Making the American Aristocracy: Women, Cultural Capital, and High Society in New York City, 1870-1900) As stated above, New York City at the time was considered the apex of American society and gaining entry into it was paramount to one’s success socially and politically - and while the men may do business with the other, it did not guarantee access to society and all within it. Mary Elizabeth Wilson Sherwood, one of the foremost authorities of etiquette in Gilded Age America, explained in her manual of 1899: “Women do all the social work, which in Europe is done not only by women, but by young bachelors and old ones, statesmen, princes, ambassadors, and attachés. Officials are connected with every Court whose business it is to visit, write and answer invitations, leave cards, call, and perform all the multifarious duties of the social world. In America, the lady of the house does all this.” In short, society and its access to it was controlled by women with social capital. There, knickerbocker families were in control of the city, the state, and by extension; America - either in person, or by its purse strings. Indeed, the 52nd Congress, which Zachary would have been dealing with, had immense ties to New York - with the men serving in it coming from wealthy, prominent American families; with one member even being the current Governor of New York. In addition, the 52nd Congress was controlled by 4 congressmen who held great sway over the others - with all 4 being from high society that Zachary would have needed to gain access to in order to be taken seriously.

“For over three decades, during the height of Gilded Age economic extravagance, the women of New York High Society maintained an elite social identity by possessing, displaying, and cultivating cultural capital. Particularly, High Society women sought to exclude the Nouveaux Riches who, after amassing vast fortunes in industry or trade, came to New York City in search of social position.” (Making the American Aristocracy: Women, Cultural Capital, and High Society in New York City, 1870-1900)

Emily Bibby writes that the women of New York’s knickerbockers kept a tight grip upon the who’s who of society; and kept doors firmly closed to ‘upstarts’ who wished to enter it. With this in mind, it would have been impossible for Zachary to gain access to both Congressional approval and funding without the backing of a rich and socially powerful woman who was well connected. An advantageous marriage would have put him directly into their path; and by virtue of marrying, he would have become one of them; an invitation extended only by virtue of the bride he had chosen. Suddenly, these people would have had to take him seriously: he would have been able to indoctrinate Senators and Congressmen given his proximity to them; in addition, he would have had the fortune of an heiress behind him to invest with, and garner more funding from Congress with that. 

As for Lady Comstock, a marriage would have helped ease the consequences for her immorality. If she were a lower class woman who worked, she would not have had the time to fool around and play with men; she’d have been working, and attempting to stay afloat alone as a woman in New York City, where her only virtue would have been her morality. If she were indeed lower class, her canon behaviour with men would have seen her out on to the street - and not only ruined socially, but financially as well. 

America, in the Gilded Age, was under a “Purity Crusade” (x) and took strong stances to destroy ‘sexual impurity’ within society - 

“Perhaps the most striking example of the politics of piety was the crusade to enforce sexual prudery. In 1872, Congress enacted the Comstock Act, which banned obscene literature from the mails. The law was interpreted broadly and was used to prevent the distribution of birth control information and contraceptive devices through the mails. The law was named for Anthony Comstock, head of the New York Society for the Suppression of Vice, who became the government agent responsible for enforcing the statute. Comstock had 3,000 persons arrested for obscenity and took credit for hounding 16 people to their deaths. Among the books he successfully banned were Fanny Hill and A Peep Behind the Curtains of a Female Seminary. He also convinced the Department of Interior to ban Walt Whitman for writing poetry that he considered obscene.” (Digital History textbook; linked above in Purity Crusade).

The moral consequences for a lower class woman who’s purity was called into question were much more severe than for a woman of the upper class - where many would turn a blind eye to such affairs, so long as parties were subtle. Lewd, uncouth, or promiscuous behaviour could have cost a lower class woman her job and housing, and left her destitute. It was not a risk that many were prepared to take. An heiress would have become a social pariah, but would still be secure in her position and lifestyle - something a marriage would fix.

But Claire, what about Booker?

Shut up. 

Yes, Booker. The conundrum of Booker being that he is a) in a very bad way by 1893 and b) definitely not rich. Listen, I can only make so much work within the narrative, ok? But, looking at his desk - from what tickets we can see, he spent upwards of 200$ USD in a short time on gambling tickets. Counting the ones that are face down and averaging out their costs - 50$, 20$, 10$ - Booker could have spent anywhere from 11,000 - 16,000$ USD in the month of October 1893 alone. That’s a shitload of money for a fucking independent Private Eye to have - he wouldn’t be making that amount when the average working family in urban areas made just over 700$ a year during the Gilded Age. 

Circle back to Alice Roosevelt Longworth’s story: gambling dens, drinking, wild parties; going where she shouldn’t - the future Mrs. DeWitt, wild child, may have met Booker at a gambling den; at a horse race, at a bar; and ended up having to have a shotgun wedding to prevent a scandal that she could not come back from - a child out of wedlock. She does her Disney duty and dies in childbirth; and suddenly, Booker, a traumatised teenager with a drinking and gambling habit, is in possession of a large fortune. Sorry, Anna; it’s safe to say your dad spent your trust fund, creating a debt so vast that Booker would have had no hope of ever getting out of it; short of Zachary using the same woman’s money to purchase their child in 1893. 

Tl;dr: Lady Comstock/Mrs. DeWitt must be a knickerbocker heiress for any of this narrative to work properly within the socio-economic political context of the Gilded Age. Suck it, Ken. 

[lovergirlp]

♍

Spin of The Night: Speechless- Beyoncé

12:38 a.m.

How do you know if your life is completely falling apart? Of course I don’t necessarily feel that way about mine, but how would I truly know?  Becoming who I am & discovering bravery without crisis is truly a test of my time. Interacting with different energies, sharing my time, abiding to society’s rules, making my own, being a mother, learning and creating new boundaries, navigating it all day-by-day. It’s enough to make a sane woman mad…. I talked to a special friend this evening about signs, beginnings and endings, dreams, intuition, angel numbers, and what the meaning of life might really mean. Every now & then we check in, ask our deep questions, complain of our woes, laugh & share space (over our devices lol)  and I genuinely enjoy his conversation. Long story short, tonight, he is making my mind race! 

↠  ↠  ↠  ↠

“.... damn..”

I met him about a year ago, known him almost as long as I’ve known Max, we’ll call this friend…  “♍” . The things that interest me about him are the things that I myself lack andddd I enjoy that he enjoys getting to see the deeper sides of me outside of my sex. It’s refreshing. He refreshes me, like that slice of cake after the Sunday dinner plate and it's been a long ass week! His mind is telling him that I’m his soulmate, but he isn’t sure if life just works like that (his exact words, because I tried… I tried to think of a safer way to not put his business out here Ladies, but I couldn’t, so imma just tell his truth) and tbh I am not sure either!! Every time I get my tarot cards read they say “oh your love is coming”, “your wealth is here”, it’s the lovers card, the hangman, all the card cups etc… I'm just patient, not looking for anything, just believing in what I got going on.That’s what I know I can do & what I can trust. So although I expected something, this, from my Virgo, was unexpected. Nonetheless, I can’t stop thinking about it. Maybe it’s time to take him up on that date, because this is passion & intensity in another way and for some reason I find myself intrigued to figure out what’s next. No, I don’t want to be in control & no I do not aim to conquer this man. This time, for the first time, I’ll be the sacrifice of pride for the chance to be my Virgo’s burden of proof. Even that sentence flowed so smoothly… 

This month has ended with so many spiritual revelations & Ladies I believe the biggest is that the answers will certainly find you, always. Divine timing is divine, and patience does reap reward. As for tonight's conversation, I also wonder if life “just works like that?” I feel like it’s another timezone we’re in… or maybe it’s just me & my Virgo, either way I’m not unsure, just getting comfortable here. Am I home? We will see. Until next time Ladies…

Best Regards,

LoverGurlP❣️

[peaamlipoetrydoctor]

When I retire, I will become chair of the Carrier Pigeon Preservation Society

Right, today's prompt was a little bit complicated... it invited the writer to think of a person they used to know well but have lost touch with, then a job they used to do (and now don't) and a piece of art -before finishing with an unanswerable question.

I went for it, last time, made it a piece about my ex-husband (a break-up which ultimately ended on cordial terms tho' it wasn't always evident it was going to go that way...), and had a pretty strong, positive response on the day [boasty screenshot below...]

This time, I've semi followed the prompt -

It certainly ends with an unanswerable question - there's a job involved (and I did used to work on a bakery counter once upon a time, so I'm calling it as in scope) - I don't know any pop stars or any spies, even though both are popping up in my poetry more than no-times-at-all, which is curious... maybe the Avengers can stand in for my piece-of-art for the prompt... and my paternal grandfather and uncle were miners - both dead a long time ago, in my grandfather's case, long enough ago that I don't remember him, though our lives overlapped by a couple of years. But I'm sure that the appearance of the miners in the poem links to a memory of these male relatives.

Anyone who has followed my recent writing will spot that for this prompt I again haven't written from scratch for this piece. I realised that I would be able to rework the poem from the Day Eighteen re-run to sort-of fit the criteria... and unsurprisingly, I think with the benefit of some cuts and revisions, the reworked poem is stronger...

So I give you -

When I retire, I will become chair of the Carrier Pigeon Preservation Society

Today, I wear a grey suit, and carry a leather case

and a rolled umbrella. People on my street

assume I am Something in The City.

They don't know I’m a secret pigeon monitor,

observing the everyday lives of pigeons

and investigating claims that pigeons are

able to recognize themselves in a mirror,

and tell humans apart in photographs.

It’s my dream to train pigeons to

fly to the homes of popstars with tiny cameras

strapped to their foreheads and a mandate

to scan for tabloid journalists and if they find any,

to scare them off with a volley of droppings.

I hide my updates in the case while

the umbrella conceals a microphone.

Every day I carry the case and umbrella

from the station into the city centre

where I stack them in the storeroom

at the Soho bakery where I work –  

as cover – minding the counter and

serving tea with soft pink cakes

to soft round ladies wearing lilac.

On my breaks, I sit in Soho Park

with the umbrella under my bench,

recording the movements of the pigeons.

Evenings are for transcribing my tapes

and wiping them clean to be used again.

I hide the transcripts in a disused coal bucket.

By the time I retire, no-one will use coal anymore.

When historians show pictures of miners

with their dirty faces, the Never Happened

social media gang will claim they’re fakes.

Even the pigeons won't be able to tell them apart.

Who's to say that the pictures really show miners,

and not just actors with dirty faces, pretending?

[lucy90712]

Telling family (pregnancy series)

Series masterlist

George:

Last night me and George decided that we would tell our families about the pregnancy, we have held off for a little while to come to terms with it ourselves and to kind of enjoy it without anyone else knowing even though we are very excited to tell people.

Tomorrow we are going to see my parents so it is the perfect time to tell them I just don't really know how to do it. I don't want to just say it because that feels wrong I feel like it should be more exciting than that so I need to come up with another way which is what I have been doing while scrolling through Pinterest.

I showed George a few ideas to get his opinion but he wasn't keen on any of them until I showed him one that had an ultrasound picture and a little note that was originally covering it. George really liked the idea because it was simple but also gave my parents something to remember the moment by so that's what we chose which we would get together in the morning before we leave.

In the morning I got one of my ultrasound pictures that we didn't have up somewhere and took a small piece of paper writing 'I can't wait to meet you' on it as well as drew a little baby bottle and stuck it over the ultrasound before putting it in a little box.

We got to my parents house and they let us in and we sat down with them for a drink, I thought about telling them right away but I also wanted to have a normal conversation first that wasn't all revolving around the exciting news.

We had a lovely conversation first before I felt like I should tell them, I gave George a look as I went to go and get the box by saying I was going to go to the bathroom which I did because my bladder has been so bad recently but on my way back I grabbed the box. I gave it to my mum and told her to open it but she had to show my dad too.

"I can't wait to meet you what does that mean?" My dad asked

"Lift up the piece of paper" I said

"No way congratulations you two this is so wonderful" my mum said

"Congratulations" my dad added

We all hugged one another before we told them a few more things like how far along I was and they asked what we think we are going to have and other things.

Dream:

Tonight we have been invited to a family dinner at Clay's parents so we have decided to use the opportunity to tell them the exciting news about the pregnancy. Clay has been wanting to tell them so badly for ages but I made him hold off a little bit just until we could be more certain that things were going well because I didn't want to have to break other peoples heats by telling them if things went wrong.

I left it up to clay to decide how he wanted to tell them because after all its his family and as much as I get along super well with them its up to him to decide how he wants to remember this moment.

At his parents house we sat down for dinner and I had to be careful with what I ate so that I didn't start feeling too sick or else that might give somethings away before clay gets chance to do whatever he has planned. The meal came to an end and clay looked like he was getting ready to tell them.

"We have seem news for you, we're expecting" he said

"No way I refuse to believe that this isn't some sort of joke" his mom said

"I can prove it" he said

He grabbed his wallet and pulled out the ultrasound picture that he carries round with him all the time because he just loves it so much. He showed them and they finally believed him and started freaking out, his sister was super excited and asked me a bunch of questions which I was more than happy to answer. It felt nice for someone to finally know and to have someone to be just as excited as us.

Sapnap:

Telling our parents so far has been the worst thing ever. My parents were so angry at both of us but specifically me and now I haven't talked to them since we told them which is the main reason we haven't told Sapnap's parents yet out of fear for the same reaction. Sapnap has assured me that his parents will be much more supportive than mine and will offer any kind of help they can but I'm scared that they will think of me differently. I have to face my fear at some point and that happens to be today. Sapnap is getting me to go to his parents place with him and he is going to tell his parents I'm not sure how but he said he would warn me before he does it.

We hung out with them for a little while before Sapnap squeezed my hand and gave me a look to say he was about to tell them. My hands started to sweat and shake at the same time because of the nerves building up in my body.

"Ok please don't be mad but y/n is pregnant" he said

"Oh wow thats not what I expected" his mom said

"You aren't mad are you?" He asked

"No of course not I mean sure you could have waited but I will support you and the excitement is building" she said

She gave him and me a hug and we showed her pictures we have from ultrasounds and stuff which improved the vibe in the room to one of excitement and not awkwardness.

Quackity:

We have been telling family slowly over the past few weeks whenever we get chance to see them and everyone has been over the moon. The only person left to tell is my grandma who is quite old fashioned so I have a feeling she will be mad at me seeing as me and Alex aren't married which makes it even more nerve wracking.

I'm going to see her this afternoon and Alex is going to join me when he finishes working on a video so he can be there to face the lecture with me. My grandma is a lovely lady and I love to spend time with her but she sure can be scary when she's telling you off.

Alex arrived about an hour after I did and we sat down to eat some cake my grandma had made because she insists that I eat whenever I go and visit her. After she was satisfied that I had eaten enough I got a chance to tell her.

"Grandma I have something to show you" I said

"Oh what is it?" She asked

I showed her a few ultrasound pictures that we have

"What are these?" She asked

"They are my ultrasound pictures" I explained

"That's wonderful dear I'm very happy for you when do I get to meet them" she said

I answered all her questions and she did mention if we planned to get married but she wasn't at all mad which surprised me but I guess my parents have talked to her a few times about how society has changed.

Karl:

Karl's mom is coming over for dinner today so I've been in the kitchen the past few hours preparing and cooking a meal for all of us trying to make it perfect because we are going to use this opportunity to tell his mom about the pregnancy and I want it to be a memorable moment for both of them.

His mom arrived and we had a lovely dinner which turned out pretty good from how little I know about cooking. Karl was so happy and kept squeezing my hand under the table or just giggling like he normally does when he gets happy. After dinner we invited his mom to stay over for a bit to just kind of chill with us which is when Karl got ready to tell her.

"Mom are you ready to be a grandma?" Karl asked

"Wait is y/n pregnant?" She questioned

"Yeah she is" Karl confirmed

She was incredibly happy mainly because she has always jokingly asked when she is going to get grandchildren or when we are going to get married so for it to actually be happening made her really happy.

Wilbur:

This weekend me and Wilbur are going to visit his parents and to just get away for the weekend, they don't know about the pregnancy yet because Wilbur wanted to tell them in person so we are going to tell them this weekend.

We spent all of Saturday and most of Sunday just chilling with his parents so that we could spend time with them without the focus being on other things but when it got to the evening Wilbur started fidgeting so I knew he was getting nervous. I took hold of his hand and squeezed it to reassure him.

"We have some news for you" Wilbur started

"What is it?" His mum asked

"Y/n's pregnant" he said

"Oh wow I didn't expect that but congratulations" they said

Safe to say they were very surprised because they knew we weren't planning to have kids yet but once they saw that we were excited they got excited too. I showed them some ultrasound pictures of our little bean and gave them one to keep.

[babybluebex]

𝔟𝔢𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔲𝔫 𝔯𝔬𝔰𝔢 | laszlo kreizler x reader

𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞 | at one time, you were happy with laszlo. but that ended after your daughter died, and now laszlo has to face the consequences of his actions. 𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌 | laszlo kreizler x fem!reader (y/n) 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙 | 3.6k 𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 | mentions of domestic violence, murder (but not really), child death, age gap relationship 𝖆𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗'𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖊 | happy halloween AGAIN!! this is rough as hell, but i loved writing it, lol. VERY heavily inspired by in the woods somewhere by hozier :) enjoy!

He dug at the earth, his right arm aching with the force of his work. His fingertips were bloody against the wet dirt. The stuff caked under his fingernails, sprayed onto his cheeks and forehead with every frantic paw. The smell of the dirt, the wet forest floor, the incoming rain, filled his head with dirty thoughts, nasty things wanting to rip him open, and it brought him quicker to his work. He needed to be home before the sun rose. He needed to be quick about it. He turned to you, but stopped when he saw your face. So young, so beautiful, was his bride; you wore white, just like the night he met you, wedded you, bedded you, filled you with his child. You hadn’t aged a day since the wedding— it must have been about a year ago now. So much had happened within the year, and he never imagined that it would amount to this. He must be better than them, he had promised you. But he failed you. He failed you, he failed his daughter, and he had failed himself. He felt a tear splash his cheek, watched it drop to the ground, and he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before taking a steadying breath. Before the sun rose. Before the sun rose…

In the spring of 1895, your parents were society people. They raised you as a society woman as best as they could, but you were never concerned with that life, not one bit. Being a wife never pleased you. You wanted to be your own woman, and you were unafraid to tell people that. Your distaste for a society life preceded your presence, and you couldn’t miss the whispers that met you whenever you deigned to appear at balls and galas. You didn’t want to be a wife or a lady, you became sick at the notion of being called “Madame X” or “Lady X”. No, you wanted to be a singer. You longed to sing in the opera, and you often found yourself visiting the opera and, instead of truly watching, you would imagine yourself standing on that stage, singing in beautiful Italian. It always left you in a daze, your desire to be known and loved. But the occupation of a singer was not one that your father agreed with. He said it was the occupation of a lost woman, a harlot that wished for the attention of men. You were left to bite your tongue and refuse to imagine the opera singer’s life anymore, for it hurt your heart too much to hear the beautiful words and not find comfort in the hushed cheers that only you could hear.

You met Laszlo at the opera. He was older than you, in his early 40s, his years looking weary in the small wrinkles by his eyes, one hand situated in the pocket of his fitted and trimmed trousers. You couldn’t explain why you were drawn to him the way that you were, but he seemed equally as enchanted with you. You were sitting alone, watching Rigoletto, your fingernails tight in your palm as you listened to the music, having to try to cope with your dashed dreams, and the lights came up for intermission. You sighed heavily, smoothing your pretty white dress down your thighs, and you felt a little tap on your shoulder. There he stood, in his glory, and he gave you a little smile, like a schoolboy approaching a girl that he was sweet on. Unsure of himself and his abilities. “May I join you?” he asked, accented and light but rough. You bade him your agreement, and he settled himself in the empty seat next to you. “I always see you here alone.”

“Do you come often?” you asked.

“As often as I can manage,” he replied. “Which is quite often, honestly. Maybe too often. My mother loved the opera, as do I.”

“Often enough to spot me alone enough times to assume I’m always alone,” you replied.

“Perhaps I’m guilty of spotting a beautiful young woman,” he told you. “Maybe I am not as observant as my friend, the one who first spotted you, but I see the important things.”

You straightened your shoulders and took a deep breath. His white tie and trimmed pants indicated a society man, perhaps even one of your father’s coworkers, and you knew that he would find you ridiculous if you admitted your wish to him. He might even retract his compliments and leave. Regardless, you did. “I wish to be an opera singer,” you told him.

“I once had the same wish,’ he told you. “I used to play the piano, and I dabble in the French horn, but I cannot manage a single tune by voice. I gave up very quickly.”

You couldn’t help but smile at him. He was warm to you, and he seemed kind. You told him your name, and his smile turned a little more serious, the smile of a man that had a style about him and his profession. “I’m Dr. Kreizler,” he told you, his accent buzzing melodically. “But you can call me Laszlo, dragam.”

Dr. Laszlo Kreizler was an odd man. He was rude and brash at best and, to men who were unafraid of eschewing niceties, a complete asshole at worst. He had been this way as long as anyone could bear to remember, and John Moore often rolled his eyes and scoffed whenever he received a whispered question about Dr. Kreizler’s behavior: “Laszlo is a mean little man, but not without his reasons.” Laszlo spoke his mind. No filter existed for his words, and often, it was his downfall. Nobody could ever match him, as witty as he managed to be between his mean spouts, until you came along. You matched him in wit, often doing it well enough to render him speechless, and Laszlo’s close friends found you a worthy opponent of the doctor’s.

You didn’t know that Laszlo’s reputation preceded him until he darkened your father’s doorstep one afternoon. Your father had refused to even let him enter the house, calling him crazy and a hack and a fraud. “I doubt that Harvard degree is even real,” your father had said. “What does the quack doctor want to do with me, with you?” He found out quickly and, in response to Laszlo’s request, smashed a glass and roared that he would never allow Laszlo to marry his only daughter, that he was a fool to even consider it, and to never return. Regardless, you and Laszlo married within the week.

You had to live with the views of your new husband that society had, but you were still glad to bear his name. You wore his ring with pride, and you were pleased to wake up to him and fall asleep with him. Nothing made you happier than waking up to Laszlo’s soft face, his red cheeks and warm eyes, and you took every opportunity to kiss him silly. Laszlo had confessed to you on your wedding night that he was as good as a virgin— “My only sexual experience was when… Hell, I must have been about your age,” he had said— but he made up for his absences. That first night, your first night as man and wife, he had held you tightly and kissed you breathless, and he had uttered his prayers every chance he got. He adored you, completely; Laszlo worshipped you as his wife. He would come from his day at the Institute that bore his name and capture you against a wall, and he would kiss you and bite at your shoulders, acting like a teenager who couldn’t control himself, but you always returned in kind.

It wasn’t long after marriage and the consummation that you found yourself with his child. You were ecstatic, as was Laszlo, and he had kissed you and caressed your still-flat belly all night. He had dreamt of being a father, as much as the thought terrified him, and he swore to be better to her than his father was to him, or yours was to you. “I must be better than them,” he said, clutching your face in his hot palm. “I will be better than them.”

You were in the middle of your second trimester, nearly five months pregnant, the first time Laszlo laid his hands on you. There had been no indication that he would ever do such a thing beforehand, and his violence only bloomed when you asked about his arm. You had asked once, long ago, when you first met, and he had told you that it was a congenital defect. You didn’t ask what that meant and he didn’t elaborate, so you figured that it wasn’t important, but, as your belly swelled beneath your dresses, you decided that you should know. “Is this something you can pass to her?’ you asked gently, laying a gentle hand on his right arm. “Should I be concerned about that?”

“No,” Laszlo said. “No, dragam, you shouldn’t be concerned about that.”

“But what does congenital mean?” you pressed.

“It means I was born like this,” Laszlo replied, setting his jaw. “My arm was not fully formed in the womb, and there was never any hope for it.”

“What was the cause of that?” you asked, and Laszlo closed his book with harshness. He looked at you, his eyes ablaze with anger that had never been directed at you before, and you felt small under that fiery stare. He wore his glasses that night. You would never forget how he wore his glasses that night.

“Why do you care to know?” he asked. “I told you that our daughter will not be the same way, and I told you that I was born with my arm like this, so why do you want to know so badly? Perhaps my father beat her so severely when she was pregnant that I was injured.”

“Laszlo, don’t speak like that!” you hiccuped. “I’m only curious—”

“Your curiosity will be the end of you one day,” Laszlo huffed. “Take the answer that I give you, and simply do not question it.”

“I’m not questioning you,” you said quickly. “I only wish to know more—”

You didn’t even know what had happened at first. You felt your head crack to the side, heard the sound of flesh on flesh, felt the energy in the study change, but you didn’t immediately feel the pain. Your hand rose to your cheek, feeling the tiny prickles of heat and pain, and you pulled your fingers away to find ruby blood. Finally, the pain hit you, harsh and hot on your cheek, and the blood stained your fingertips. You understood what he had done. He had hit you across the cheek, and his ring, that heavy signet that bore the L.K. that he used to sign papers, had slashed your skin. When you finally looked back at him, his face had gone pale, his eyes watering behind the glass of his spectacles. He softly said your name, tried to reach for you, and you flinched away from him. “Leave me alone,” you sniffled. Your bloodied hand fell to your belly, an instinct deep in your gut telling you to protect your daughter, and you stepped away from your husband. “Just… Just leave me alone.”

The next morning, after a night of having slept on the chaise chair in his office, Laszlo came into the bedroom. He was gentle as he sat down and took your hand, and he explained himself. He explained how he was not born with a deformed arm. He was healthy when he was born, he said. Nothing wrong, not so much as a worrying mole on his newborn skin. He said that he was a good boy as he grew up, smart and easy, but his father had a proclivity towards violence, especially when he would drink. Laszlo recounted to you a certain night, how his father had twisted his arm behind his back and broken the bones into clean sections. His face fell as he considered the encounter, and he mumbled, “I used to think that it was an accident, but, now, I’m not so sure.” He said that his arm was not set properly as it healed, and the muscles had atrophied, and there was never any hope for it. You forgave him and kissed his tear-stained cheeks, and he made love to you as he whispered that he was sorry and would never wish to hurt you again. He had to be better than his father, he repeated. He simply had to.

You gave birth exactly one month later. Your daughter was premature, a tiny two pounds when she entered the world, and you wept along with Laszlo as he held her to his chest. She was so gorgeous, the most beautiful thing that you had ever seen, but she was not meant long for this world. The doctor told you and Laszlo that she was simply too small and born too early, and that anything other than her natural fate would be a disservice. You held her as she passed on, and Laszlo pressed his face into your chest and cried. You had never seen him cry as hard as he did then.

If only you could see him now…

Laszlo pathetically wept as he finished his job, and he sat back on his thighs as he examined the deep crevice that he had put in the earth. It was on the plot that he had bought for his daughter, dearly departed Baby Girl Kreizler, gone before even being given a name, and it held enough empty space for the Mrs. and Dr. Kreizler when they decided that it was their time too. Laszlo had despised having to buy a family plot in the cemetery, but it was by far the best choice. Laszlo rubbed his face with his arm, smearing tears and ugly snot across the fabric of his sweat-stained shirt, and he heard the thunder crackle from far off. He was close to the end. He turned to your body, lying prone and lifeless on the dirt, your leg twisted, shattered and unusable, and he wrapped both of his arms around you. As he moved, his right arm went limp with the pain, and he dared to look at the wound. Bloody and fresh, already becoming infected with the dirt and grime. He could see his bone through all of the torn muscle and butchered skin. How had his dear bride managed that?

He didn’t remember a single thing. You must have said something to him— what, he couldn’t recall— but there was no explanation for the fit of rage that he had flown into. He remembered everything up until the act, the ensuing fight and growing emotions, but the trigger was lost to his frantic memory. Would he ever know what you had said or done that had made him grab you by the hair and throw you to the ground? Would he ever remember what was said that had you scrambling back on your hands, trying to flee him? He had grabbed your leg, he knew it, for his arm stung in a way that only a foot lashing out could cause. You had certainly kicked at him, trying to get him away from you. Your body had bruises along your knees and elbows, indicating that you had crawled at one point. Your arms bore red scrapes, carpet burn; you had fallen down the stairs and landed on the Persian carpet in the foyer.

What happened next was clear in his memory, and Laszlo considered taking a gun to his head in order to relieve himself of it. You had gotten up and ran into the kitchen, limping from the broken fibula that he had caused. Your nightgown, the prettiest thing, caught on a door hinge, and ripped loudly as you lunged for a knife that sat abandoned on the counter. “Laszlo, please!” you screamed. “I’m sorry, my love, please—”

Laszlo was not in control of his body anymore. He passed the glass that sat next to the front door and caught sight of his autonomous body, and he saw himself disheveled, no jacket or waistcoat, his shirt buttons ripped and open, his suspenders unraveled. His hair was sweaty and undone, his face red. His shoulders were hunched, his teeth sharp. Perhaps he was seeing things, but he could only perceive himself as an ugly monster. He followed you and backed you into a corner, and you had brandished the knife at him, cutting into his arm. The chemicals in his body, the natural stimulants that he had based his life’s work off of, were coursing through him, and he didn’t recall any sort of pain. The knife fell from your grasp when it broke open the skin of Laszlo’s right arm, and his good arm, the strong arm, had captured you around your pretty throat. He squeezed. You clawed at him; his hand still bore the marks. He watched your body seize, then fall, and blood wetted your mouth. “Laszlo,” you gasped. “Laszlo, please…” Your eyes fluttered closed, and you sighed, and you felt limp against him.

Laszlo Kreizler had killed his wife. He could see the newspaper headlines, his dearest friend coming to the scene and having to sketch your corpse for the newspaper. John had been best man at your wedding. He knew that they would report on the recent death of his daughter and claim that it drove him to hysterics. His father was right about him. He was no good. He never would be. No amount of degrees or institutes or fame or success could ever fix him. Laszlo Kreizler, the German-Hungarian alienist, the man that had solved countless murders and was a close friend of Commissioner Theodore Roosevelt, had killed his wife. Dr. Laszlo Kreizler had killed his wife.

So why could you smell the blood?

Why could you feel his strong arm around you, lifting you up and settling you on something hard? You recognized the place as the old seat of the calash, the springs squeaking tellingly under your limp weight. You tried in vain to open your eyes, to form any words, to tell Laszlo that you were alive, but you couldn’t move. You were immobile, and could only feel the way that the calash jostled. You could hear Laszlo mumbling, something about “He came in, woke me up… Slashed me with a knife… I heard her scream, but I was too slow… No, no...”

You could smell the incoming rain as he lifted you from the vehicle, and you could feel the damp earth that he laid you on. Still, you couldn’t open your eyes. You felt your heart thumping in your throat and you could taste the blood in your mouth. You were alive. How come Laszlo did not notice this? You struggled to scream, to cry, to say anything or make any noise that would indicate to your husband that he had not killed you. You were alive, and you couldn’t tell him.

Finally, his frantic panting and digging and mumbles of “Too slow, too slow…” ceased, and his warmth captured you again. This time, he lifted you up to his chest and kissed your mouth, and he gave a heaving sob. “I’m going crazy,” he whispered. “Your lips are warm, my dearest love. I’m so fucking sorry.”

You realized what was happening the moment you felt a clump of wet dirt hit your stomach. Laszlo had certainly gone insane with his grief and remorse, and thought that he was imagining your signs of life. You tried once again to move or to scream, but you were a prisoner in your prone body. Dirt hit your face, and your fingers itched into the soil below you. No.

“A-A man…” Laszlo said. “Came into the house… We had just returned from the cemetery… S’why there’s dirt under my fingernails… He got a knife, attacked me… Took her…” More dirt hit your face and body. He was burying you. Laszlo thought he had killed you and that he was burying your body. But you were alive! Your heart hammered in the back of your throat, and you tried to scream again. Don’t! You wanted to cry. Las! I’m alive! I’m sorry for whatever it was that I said, please, my darling, let us go home and figure out what has happened to us. Perhaps we can fix it. Perhaps everything will be fixed if we go home.

It was once he settled the last of the dirt into the makeshift grave that your screams came back to him. The way that you had yelled and whimpered and cried for mercy was ingrained in his mind, and he felt as if he could hear it anew: “Las! Please! I’m sorry!” But the time for apologies had passed. It had passed when Laszlo had killed you. “Las! Don’t leave me! I’m sorry!”

Laszlo stood up, brushed the dirt from his pants, and wiped up his tears. He had his story straight; now was the time to return home and call John. He stepped away from the two fresh graves as rain began to patter on his shoulders, and still he heard your pleas for mercy, the ones that you had told him just before he had killed you, choked the life out of his beautiful, young, opera-loving, curious love of his life. “Laszlo! Don’t leave me! Please, help me! Take me home, Laszlo, please, everything will be alright!”

Everything will be alright, he had to agree. You were with his daughter now. The sun had risen.

[yuyupowers]

aristocrat!seonghwa

aristocrat!seonghwa x fem!reader

genre: fluff

trigger warning(s): patriarchal society mostly. let me know if there’s anything else!

author’s note: none of the pictures are mine!!

for reference, i’m using british peerage (hierarchy). there are five ranks: baron, viscount, earl (count), marquess, and duke - the highest being duke, and the lowest, baron.

second son of a duke

i imagine seonghwa to be someone who values tradition

unlike hongjoong who finds who finds the numerous aristocratic mannerisms pointless, hwa believes upholding these (rather stringent) rules is a sign of respect

perfect gentleman pt.1

excellent in swordsmanship, horse-back riding, and hunting

well versed in poetry, literature, art, and finance

(can maintain a conversation about politics but honestly it kinda goes over his head)

a bit on the shyer side, but a decent conversationalist

good at keeping the flow and mediating in case anyone becomes a little too heated about their opinions

definitely cares about his and his family’s image

naturally caring and tends to dote on those close to him

(translates into excellent manners)

holds the door open, offers his hand when stepping out of carriages, makes sure to walk on the side closest to traffic, diverts conversation when things are too “distressing,” wouldn’t be caught dead alone with a woman that wasn’t related to him or his fiancée/wife

and surprise, surprise !!

this is where you come in

you’re the second oldest daughter, fourth child out of six; born to an earl

hwa’s family had the highest title bestowed upon aristocracy

whereas your family accumulated more wealth and land than the park family

and since both you and hwa were prime marrying age™, your parents decided upon a mutually beneficial marriage

the first time you met seonghwa was under the watchful eye of both your parents, when the park’s invited your family for dinner

tbh, you were pretty relieved when you met him

“prime marrying age” was different for men, so you were just glad he wasn’t some old geezer

and he seemed like a decent person !!

a well put together gentleman, and his image was only consolidated throughout dinner

all in all, you didn’t have much to complain about from the initial impression

though it was kinda annoying when your little sister would not shut up about how he was the handsome man she’s ever met

even if you agreed

and didn’t she say that when she met woo?

anyways

after the first meeting with the park’s, both your parents set up multiple occasions for you two to meet

whether that be evening walks, picnics in the park, etc,,,

you learned a great deal about seonghwa 

how his favourite is black, how he loved the stars and that his favourite planet was mars

how he loved kids and doted on your youngest siblings (much to your sister’s glee)

how he enjoyed spending a quiet afternoon with you reading dickens, discussing afterwards the contrast between carton and darnay

how he was always considerate of your feelings and opinions

you liked to think you were a decent judge of character and thought overall that seonghwa was a kind and caring person

but you also noticed a few characteristics that-

you wouldn’t say it was off-putting or anything but,,,

it might bother you in the future

see, you were pretty good friends with hongjoong

and while you weren’t as extreme,

(you didn’t sneak out weekly to hang out with a bar maiden that you definitely did not have a crush on)

you certainly agreed with him on certain points

like hwa, you thought that abiding by certain mannerisms = display of respect

but unlike him, you didn’t care all that much about your image

okay, that was a lie.

you couldn’t say you didn’t care about your image

(social ostracization isn’t exactly fun ya feel)

but you thought it was,,,exhausting

it’s one thing to be respectful, but it’s another thing to say things you don’t mean

to fake humility

to undermine people that are supposed to be your “friends” or “one of you”

to be perfect, when “perfect” was such a subjective term anyways

it just felt so fake and that left a bitter taste in your mouth

even now, you could see all the efforts seonghwa made to constantly keep his image of a “perfect gentleman”

with perfect mannerisms and perfect answers and perfect-

yeah, it kinda frustrated you

not to mention how obedient he was?

of course you didn’t fault him for being a dutiful and filial son, but his loyalty blinded him

and it wasn’t like his parents were bad people !!

no, you’d say they were much kinder than the average noble family

especially considering their status

but when they made important decisions for their son without consulting him,

(because they were more experienced, because they knew better, etc,,,)

and he accepted whatever decision they handed to him?

well,,,

nevertheless, despite being his fiancée, you, by this point, had realistically had known seonghwa for a couple months

and you didn’t feel like it was your place 

(at least not yet)

to point this out

so the two of you continued your cordial but emotionally distant meetings

that is until “the incident” (as hwa fondly likes to call it)

okay, so-

one day you paid hwa a visit and the two of you decided to take a walk in his family’s garden

chattering about this and that

a lovely time !!

it was a bit overcast, but it didn’t look too threatening

so the two of you ignored the clouds looming in the horizon and wandered deep into the garden

big mistake

the weather took a turn for the worst, and soon it was pouring

by this point seonghwa was a little panicked

he knew that for women, getting ready could be excessively long and tenuous task

(courtesy of his little sister’s complaints)

and now !! you were getting rained on !! because he didn’t bring an umbrella !! just in case !!

!!!!

he turns to you, ready to shield you with his jacket and lead you back to the manor

but he’s at a loss by what he sees

he had expected you to be upset, to huddle closer to him, to,,,idk, maybe reprimand him for this thoughtlessness??

but instead, he finds you staring up at the dark sky, eyes shimmering with barely contained glee with the biggest smile he’s ever seen from you adorning your lips

he likes your smile

and if he was already confused (he was), he was about to become even more so

because the next thing he knows, you’re hiking your dress in one hand and grabbing his in the other, running through puddles of water and mud and everything in between, laughter falling from you like the rain

up until this point, you had been acting like the perfect (you hate that word) lady

polite, demure, charming-

in public settings, you only spoke when spoken to, with a voice that was purposely soft and soothing

you chatted with his mother and sisters about traditionally feminine things over tea with impeccable manners

whenever you two met, you were always prim and proper; never a strand of hair out of place

but here you were, getting not only yours but his clothes soggy and muddy, laughing without a care about how pleasant it sounded or how loud it was

seonghwa liked to think he wasn’t a judgemental person-

he wasn’t repulsed or anything by your sudden change in demeanor

just.

really confused

and when you looked back, you could tell,if his expression was anything to go by

but your grin only grew wider, because you could work with this

he wasn’t enjoying himself per say; a bit too confused and bit too stiff to do so

but he wasn’t horrified or disgusted

okay maybe he was a little grossed out; he liked to be clean thank you very much

you could work with this.

and so over the next few months, you showed him things he never dreamed of doing

some of which he liked, some of which he didn’t

some he was willing to try, some, less

like sneaking into the restricted section of the library (he’s never been so scandalized in his life)

or visiting the kitchen in the middle of the night so you could teach him how to make some basic recipes (which he surprisingly enjoyed)

or meeting hongjoong

(“of COURSE it matters if they got the colour wrong?! lord help me you’re the most insufferable person i’ve ever met-”)

and the more the two of you explored, the more he,,,real he became.

and vice versa.

gradually, the mask of perfection he worked so on hard to maintain was slipping before you

don’t get me wrong, he’s still kind and caring and a gentleman

but sometimes he would whine and complain when you encouraged him to do something he was less than enthusiastic about (usually something that involved getting him messy)

or he made The Face™ (the disgusted one) to you and when he didn’t like something or someone

or he would be stupidly stubborn about some random fact that you KNEW was wrong but he just WOULDN’T admit if even when you showed him proof

(“seonghwa for the last time toads don’t give you war-” “LALALA I CAN’T HEAR YOU” “eye-”)

once, he even playfully stole the strawberry from your cake

(big mistake. he’s never doing that again. he never knew a woman could move so fast or be so scary.)

it made you so, so happy because the two of you were finally getting to know each other

actually know each other

then one day, while the two of you were reading underneath a tree at the park

“,,,hey love?” (hwa)

“yes?”

“why are we doing this?” 

“what do you mean, dear?”

“i mean,,,i’m not complaining, but i guess,,,why did you decide to show me this part of you? the part that runs around in the rain?” hwa

you don’t reply right away

instead, you shut your book and idly stared at the willow swaying over the pond, wind running its fingers through its drooping leaves

after a few moments of silence

“,,,i wanted to know you and what you believed in. actually believed in.”

seonghwa tilts his head slightly to the side

“love, i hardly think my convictions have changed”

“but do you know what your convictions are?”

and you know when you hear something that resonates with you?

something that strikes deep in your core and makes you rethink everything you’ve know?

yeah,,,this is one of those moments

now it was seonghwa’s turn to set his book aside, falling deep in thought

after an unnaturally long stretch of silence, you began to panic a little

because ?? maybe you misread the situation and got a little too comfortable-

cause i mean you were questioning his core values, which is something he takes very seriously

o god you messed up didn’t you o crap you need to apolog-

“will you help me figure it out?”

“,,,huh??”

“will you help me figure out my convictions?” he asked

and you swear, you’ve never seen such a smile from seonghwa

one that conveyed a plethora of emotions, ranging from honesty and vulnerability, to confusion and loss, to lightness and warmth

it filled you with an unnameable feeling

like something sliding into place, fitting perfectly; like it was always meant to be there, filling you with comfort

shyly intertwining your hands for the first time, you looked up to meet his gaze with a pattering heart and a smile matching his own

“,,,of course.”

[lettrespromises]

PLAN À TROIS.— TODOROKI, BAKUGOU.

A.N:

❝ dear reader,

why hello it is i, nikki, back at it again. this post was specifically written thanks to @sasukelore’s big brain, meaning that this one is for the boys with the booming system, top down, AC with the cooler system😔✊🏻. it’s my first attempt at writing smut (which means it’s a direct ticket to hell) so please bare with me, i hope you’ll like it! if you have any feedback, please feel free to send it to me! also, my requests are open for business hehe.

sincerely yours,

nikki.

P.S: “plan à trois” has a double meaning— it means “threesome” in french but it also literally means “a plan involving three people” which is the core of the story, both literally and figuratively. ❞

Genre: Smut. (All three of the characters have been aged up.)

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of drugs (but no actual use of drugs), unprotected sex (please use a condom), nudity, spanking, choking, cunnilingus, blow-job, temperature play, threesome, dirty things.

Word count: 6.5k (she’s a big girl, don’t be shy.)

Letter object: One hotel. One gala. One mission. One person to take down. Three heroes. You and Shoto have to play the perfect fake couple to gain your enemy’s trust, the only thing is, Shoto has no clue how to behave as a couple. The unexpected help comes from Ground Zero who seems a bit too impatient and eager to show Shoto how to really treat a lady.

Metaphorically speaking, the heroes are seen as the predators and the villains as the preys, it’s always been that way— an eternal game of hide and seek, which only ends in binary results, either victory or loss. The latest news concerning the hero world had put this little game to a halt: the hushed rise of the anti-quirks drugs were concerning. The enemy was everywhere and nowhere, it was all whispers, a thread of ‘who said what’, mere illusions replaced authentic clues. The rules of the game had been changed into a paradox where the villains became the predators and the heroes were deemed as the preys.

The rule of silence, which could have easily been personified as the ringleader of this dystopic scenario, was cruel— anyone could be suspected of being a link of the drug chain. But fret not, if you were suspected and voices started to echo around louder and louder, a little bit of hush money was the price to pay to reinstate the rule of silence. Anyone could be a culprit, even (or mostly) into the highest spheres of society. Those who are worshipped in an agnostic way, they were on top of the social food chain and, perhaps even, on top of the drug chain. These elites have been very vocal about their will to suppress the almighty authority pro-heroes possess— feeling threatened for their own sake and their own inferiority complex, they were willing to play dirty to be able to rule the country with an iron fist.

The corrupted elites still remained as elites and enjoyed their mondane occupations— galas being one of them. It was a dream opportunity for you as a pro-hero, a room crowded with highly potential culprits served on a silver plate with a cup of champagne to serve as the cherry on the cake.

Stealth missions were highly dangerous if you didn’t have a cover good enough, and treading on the playground of influential people could possibly cost you your career as a pro-hero, but if you managed to succeed, you were bound to bask in glory. Keeping a realistic cover is the number one check on the list entitled “how not to blow up your whole mission and be hated by the rest of the country.” Luckily enough, your agence had already done all the dirty work for you and sent you everything you needed— a flawlessly cut evening attire, a shockingly well-done fake ID and a full file regarding the background of your character, all down to the tiniest details. And I cannot emphasize enough “all” the details...

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me…” Amongst the myriad of details (and some of them were completely unnecessary, I mean, was your favorite fruit really important?), one of them was impossible to ignore. “Shoto Todoroki, really?” His name rolled off your tongue for a reason, you were supposed to play his pseudo fiancée for the night. Your thumb brushed the surface inked with his name, unconsciously wishing that if you were brushing hard enough, his name would disappear and so would your almost wilted high school crush on him.

Your silent complains were cut short, the sound of someone knocking on your door stirred you from the invasion of your thoughts. Then the knocking sound echoed once more. “Just a second!” Has anyone heard of the concept of patience? Waiting a few seconds for someone to open the door isn’t a inhuman task. Eventually (although it could’ve have been funny to let this mysterious person fume because you purposefully took too long), you opened the door to your hotel room and it just felt like you had welcomed a storm in. Much to your surprise, there were two surprise guests, two U.A alumnis just like you— Shoto and Ground Zero.

“Well, shit, were you planning on letting us fucking die in the hallways, woman?! What the fuck took you so goddamn long, ha?” When I mentioned a storm earlier on today, I meant Bakugou Katuski— his annoyance was transcripted upon his face through the frowning of his eyebrows and the wrinkle sitting between them. “It’s good to see you too Bakugou, glad to see you missed me after all this time.” His hands were shoved in his pockets, clearly not keen on listening to your sarcastic remarks nor wearing a tuxedo for the night. “Tch. Keep your smart ass talk to yourself, dumbass.”

You had indeed let a storm invade your hotel room. But unbeknownst to you, you had also welcomed a hypotizing breeze, the polar opposite of Bakugou, and apparently future fiancé for the night: Shoto Todoroki. His facial expression reflected nothing but pure serinity, a signature stoic face which radically clashed with Bakugo’s scowl. Todoroki was so discreet, almost blending his presence with the newfound silence. He was wearing an evening suit of his own, aquamarine was his color after all, it was a known fact since your high school years.

“Y/N, as you may be aware, I am here for the stealth mission. Bakugou is going to accompany us just in case something goes wrong. It was a last minute change, but considering the household names who are going to attend this gala, too much precaution is better than not enough.” Ohh, so that was the reason why the angry gremlin was here. Although, you wondered how Shoto felt about the two of you acting as a fake engaged couple, was he still serene about that? “Yeah, while you two fake lovebirds will be busy eating each other’s faces off, I’m gonna be around to check if there is any intell on these anti-quirk selling bastards.” Each of his word was accompanied by a hand gesture pivoting between you and Shoto and, of course, the same old look of annoyance plastered upon his face. You and Shoto, on the other one hand, appeared a bit surprised at the use of “fake lovebirds”, it just hasn’t sunk in yet... Denial, perhaps?

“Speaking of kissing and shit— you, half and half bastard, do you still have a fucking stick up your ass or do you know how to act in a relationship?!” His interrogation was accompanied with a daring glance thrown in Todoroki’s direction and an eyebrow lifted just to emphasize the characteristic of his question a bit more. A bold question which immediately found its answer from the mouth of Todoroki, needless to say, you felt this remark coming. “Bakugou, you’re the last person here who could pretend having the knowledge necessary to provide relationship advices.” You couldn’t help but let a laugh escape at Todoroki’s remark highlighted by its bluntness, although you quickly changed your mind once you felt Bakugou’s stare landing on you with such rage causing you to hush your laugh by biting your thumb.

“Ha?! What the fuck did you just say, half and half bastard? Use that fucking mouth for yours for good measure and let’s see if you can kiss Y/N correctly. I won’t let this mission be blown up by your stupid ass.” This time, there was a hint of amusement in Bakugou’s voice, it was hard to distinct if he asked that because he truly cared about the mission or if he just wanted to push Todoroki out of his comfort zone. But the ghost of a smirk drawn upon his face seemed to support the second hypothesis.

“Guys, just a second here. I understand why we have to take care of our cover but it’s not like Todoroki and I are going to kiss all night long.” Your gaze alterned between Todoroki and Bakugou, it became impossible to hold your gaze on a fix structure due to how flustered you felt, and soon enough, your cheeks were quick to adopt a rosy tone. “Y/N, are you scared of kissing me by any chance?” You secretly hated the obvious tone of concern in Todoroki’s voice, he was willing to do anything to make this mission a success but also make sure you were comfortable around him. “N-No! It’s just… I don’t mind it.” What a miracle, you finally managed to look at him in the eyes but the blush on your cheeks was as lively as ever. “Then damn, if you don’t mind it just fucking kiss already we don’t have all night, dumbass.” You could tell by Bakugou’s body language that he was growing more and more impatient by the second, his arms were crossed over his chest— he was getting pissed.

Todoroki captured your attention once more when his index brushed the surface of your skin right below your chin while his thumb was carefully set upon your jawline. His orbs shone by their gleam of reassureance, his eyes met yours, as a silent way to ask your for permission and you fluttered your lids shut as an answer. As if it was some kind of second nature to him, his other arm compassed your waist in order to bring you close to him. His lips finally touched yours. Each one of his actions was so soft, you could barely feel them yet, you felt like you were floating on a cloud. His lips were melting ever so perfectly with yours, as if your lips were the sole one which could fit is, you couldn’t help but to hum as the carefulness of his lips overwhelmed you. The kiss was shy, experimental, and yet so agonizing. He was temptingly and agonizingly slow, which only made you crave for more. However, given the lack of oxygen, you had no choice but to (relanctutly) break the kiss. You opened your eyes and basked in Todoroki’s beauty, still in awe at what just happ—… “Oi! Have you ever kissed anyone before, Icyhot? Fucking hell, what was that?!”

Of course this was bound to be expected— the angry gremlin in his natural behavior. You and Todoroki exchanged a look which held a thousand questions before you felt your wrist being caught by a much warmer palm, and eventually, you were yanked straight into Bakugou’s chest (not that you were complaining.) “Open your damn eyes and look, this how you fucking kiss a woman, dipshit.” The sound of his voice roaring against your eardrum made you flinch in the nicest way possible. Bakugou naturally made himself at ease all while maintaining his gaze upon Todoroki who was looking at him in return with a noticeable disdain in his eyes.

Bakugou was challenging him in a way, he perfectly knew that Todoroki was observing his every move, hence why he took the liberty to let his palm roam over the curve of your derrière as a way to taunt him. However, the taunt didn’t last too long not to make you feel uncomfortable. He quickly settled one of his hand on the small of your back (to maintain you as close to him as humanly possible) whilst his other hand was set upon your neck. He didn’t waste any more time and went straight to business.

Bakugou’s kiss was, as expected, a vivid contrast compared to Todoroki’s kiss. While Todoroki’s felt hesitant, caring, sweet… Bakugou’s kiss was rough around the edges and his sole purpose was to make your knees weak. Once he crashed his lips upon yours, he immediately swiped his tongue over the surface of your bottom lip, demanding immediate access to your mouth. You knew better than to upset Bakugou so you pleased and allowed his tongue to explore your mouth— your tongue was at his mercy for a few instants before finding a steady rhythm for you two. His presence was overwhelming— his smell, how close you were to him with nowhere to escape, his mouth, his tongue, everything caused you to rightfully let a moan escape into the kiss. At the sound of it, Todoroki’s eyes widened while Bakugou smirked into the kiss, he knew he made a point. You, in return, started to tug at his blonde hair— the rough atmosphere of the kiss affected your actions as well. Just prior to breaking the kiss, Bakugou’s teeth dug into your bottom lip and applied a few pressures while you were looking at him with pleading eyes to continue. Once he got what we wanted, he ended the kiss with a surprisingly soft peck upon your lips.

With his hand still settled on the small of your back, Bakugou turned to Todoroki’s direction and offered him his biggest smirk to show his secret victory. You were left breathless by the kiss, a series of uneven hot breaths crashed down onto Bakugou’s skin. 

If anyone were to walk in your hotel room, they would be able to feel and even touch the graduating tension in the air which almost felt agonizing. The tension was mostly radiating off of the two men, a silent battle for dominance had been declared through glances, holders of pure will to outbest the other. 

Todoroki observed the scene on his chair, and unbeknownst to him, Bakugou had indirectly offered him the best seat in the room to watch the manifestation of his talents. An almost inaudible sigh left Todoroki’s lips which translated into a sign of discontentment. “Y/N, come here.” The tone was strict, cold even, and you felt obligated to do as told. 

Detaching yourself from Bakugou’s embrace (you could tell he didn’t want to let you go judging from how his palm lingered on your back), you stepped away and made your way to Todoroki, a quizzical look noticeable in the reflect of your eyes. “What now?” You asked. Todoroki gestured to his lap and you knew what it meant, it was a speech without any word necessary. 

Paradoxically enough, Bakugou stared at the scenery in front of him in pure silence, and although it was very unlike him, he was mimicking Todoroki’s actions earlier on- he wanted to witness how Shoto was going to respond to his own deeds. 

You placed your hands over Todoroki’s shoulders to gain stability before sitting on his lap, it was a foreign feeling, but goodness, it was already addicting as hell and you were not interested in finding a cure. Both of Shoto’s hands crawled on the same spot where Bakugou’s hands used to linger just a few moments ago, you understood rather quickly that he was using his own methods against him. You were the center of Todoroki’s attention, his gaze graced your frame and he was loving the sound of your uneven breath, he wondered if he could make your respiration even more irregular.

He paid no mind to mind to the silent Bakugou who was already fuming in his corner as Shoto delivered a succession of pecks on the delicate flesh of your neck, and you tilted your head just enough to let him play on a wider surface. He traded the pecks for a few daring bites on certain areas, he needed to find your weak spot. “A-Ah... Shoto!” the sound of his name rolling off your tongue coated in such bliss was enough for him to curve his lips into a smirk. 

It was a brief moment of peace before he dug his teeth on the same spot and you failed to prevent any whimpers from coming out by biting your lower lip. He knew you were restricting yourself, prisoning these beautiful sounds of ecstasy, and he didn’t like any of it. He focused on your lower lip and rubbed the oh so soft surface with the pad of his thumb to prevent your from biting it, and thus, keeping your sounds of pleasure to yourself. 

“Don’t be shy, love. I’m pretty sure both Bakugou and I can agree on the fact that the little sounds you’re making are too divine to be hushed. Will you be a good girl and let us hear the sounds you’re making?” It was as if his voice was coated with honey, just his voice alone was enough to make you feel weak, and if you paid enough attention, you were pretty sure he purposefully blew a fit of cold air onto the skin of your neck. “Yes, please... I’ll be good, so good.” From that moment you knew you were at his mercy and he enjoyed every second of it. “You’re such a good girl for us.”

And so he continued, but it was rougher this time, a harsh contrast compared to his hesitant kiss from just a few moments ago. His teeth dug into the flesh of your skin harder this time, the sole purpose of leaving a mark on your crimson colored flesh was haunting his mind. To accomplish said purpose, Todoroki alternated between biting motions and a few swipes of his tongue on the newly bruised skin. The whimpers coming out of your mouth shamelessly only added fuel to his fire. He knew what he was doing, and you knew just how sensitive this particular area could get. 

Once he judged it was enough, he delivered a few pecks on the love bites, a way to kiss his art into your skin. “You’re so perfect, love, so perfect with my name written over your skin.” He whispered between kisses. Your head was thrown back, fingers grasping at the roots of his hair, your mouth agape- your whole body language testified of the addictive effect he had on you.

Such bliss couldn’t last for long, and quickly enough, another voice was being heard, a roar even. “Oi, oi, oi! Don’t even think for a single fucking second that you can have her all to yourself, half and half bastard.” It was almost a miracle that Bakugou had observed you in silence, but as expected, patience was nowhere near his forte. He had already crossed his limit long before you sat on Todoroki’s laps. Bakugou’s eyes were strictly focused on your frame, he was completely under your spell after observing how your chest would rise and fall unevenly to grasp any ounce of oxygen. 

Your knees felt weak already, you could only stare at Bakugou and silently ask him to continue, to make you feel even weaker, to make you experience pure bliss. You wanted to say his name, it was right on the tip of your tongue, but as you observed his figure reducing more and more the space between the two of you, you just admired him in silence. 

“Hah? What’re you looking at, brat? You want more? Is that it? You want fucking more? Say no more.” You should’ve known that the wicked smirk plastered upon his face was a pre-indicator of what was bound to happen. He lifted you off of Todoroki’s lap, the latter frowned a bit at the lack of your presence on him, and carried you to the bed before dropping you on the mattress. Todoroki was quick to follow from behind and stood right next to Bakugou, his hands already busy taking off his jacket and unbuttoning the first button of his evening shirt. “I’m sure that Bakugou and I can find a little agreement. After all, we can share, correct?” Todoroki’s rhetorical question found its answer once Bakugou let a discreet chuckle escape from his mouth after throwing his jacket God knows where and messily undoing his tie. “We’re gonna take real fucking good take care of you, baby girl.”

You were refraining yourself from already touching you, it took all the strength in the world not to give in to the most passionate temptations. But deep down, you already knew you were bound to be overwhelmed by pure bliss judging by how they were looking at you. You could only hum in response, unsure of how your voice would have sounded under the heavy influence of desire. 

Bakugou made the first move, after all, his poor soul felt left alone when Todoroki overwhelmed you with pecks and bites. He crawled over you, his knees were on each side of your waist, his hands however, assured total domination- his right hand clutched your wrists now pinned above your hand while his left palm settled by force on your throat, needless to say, the pressure was already applied on your windpipe. “You wanna’ play that game with me, hah?! Let Icyhot have all of you to himself and I got fucking nothing in return? Babygirl, I don’t watch, I fucking play.” It was too ferocious to be qualified as a whisper, and yet, when Bakugou pronounced the last bits of his sentence right in the shell of your ear, you felt like you were floating in pure bliss. “Answer me.” His grip on your throat felt a bit tighter. “P-Please... Ju-Just do whatever you want... With my body.” The lack of oxygen felt agonizing, you were deprived of fresh air and you were laying on the bed while Bakugou exuded pure confidence and domination, an aura so thick, you wished you could’ve touched it. “That’s my babygirl.” 

As Bakugou’s lips crashed onto yours, forcing its tongue into your mouth while maintaining the right amount of pressure on your throat to offer you a panorama of new sensations, Todoroki had already gotten rid of his shirt. If you paid close attention, you could see shy flames on his shoulders, he was absolutely adoring the scenery unfolding before him. Everything about you filled his senses, the sight of you giving in to Bakugou was nothing short of divine, the whimpers leaving your mouth in cascade whether the reason was the lack of air or the fierceness of Bakugou’s intentions was the sweetest melody he had ever heard. Everything was perfect. 

You felt the oxygen become one with your body again once Bakugou broke the kiss and allowed his hand to travel from your neck down to your chest, but his eyes were never leaving yours. He wanted to watch you come undone under his touch, he swore it to himself.

“I’ll take the bottom half. Icyhot, I don’t give a damn about what you do, just don’t fucking interrupt me.” His eyes were already set on the prize, your heat in all its glory. Shoto said nothing in response, you were the holder of all his undivided attention. As Bakugou took a firm grasp of your thighs, opening the way to his newfound purpose, Todoroki took over the top half of your body- he started by planting a succession of pecks from your lips down to your collarbone, passing by your neck, and each kiss was amplified by the cold air he was blowing on the surface of your skin. The contrast in temperature cause you to allow a few whimpers to escape, you already knew you craved for more, it was a way of manifesting it.

 “You won’t need that, will you, love?”  He said while pointing at your shirt, as his index was already hooking the fabric. It was a rhetorical question of course, you simply answered by humming. Your silent response was the only thing necessary for Shoto to send your shirt flying somewhere in the room. He continued his trail of kisses down to the valley of your breasts, the same cold air following him as he went.

Bakugou, on the other one hand, had already gotten rid off your skirt, but not before letting his palms explore the generous cheeks hidden underneath it, and eventually, leaving a slap right on this area which caused you to yelp in surprise. The pad of his thumb was already brushing against the surface of the fabric, oh what a pleasure it was when he felt the sensation of humidity coming through your underwear. A sensation so good, so addicting, so divine that it brought a sly grin to his face. “Already so wet for us, babygirl? You’re not wasting your damn time, hah?” Your skin was burning under his touch, you could already feel the chills running down your spine and he hadn’t even taken off your underwear yet. 

Todoroki took the strap of your bra between his thumb and index, and much to your suprise, he used the right amount of his quirk to burn the fabric and applied the same treatment to the other strap. Before you could even protest about the poor outcome of your bra, he planted his lips on your own to keep you quiet. Now, he focused his attention to your breasts and the bits of clothing left which prevented the upper half of your body from being fully exposed. He took the opportunity given by Bakugou who had gotten rid of your underwear which made you arch your back to unclip your bra. There was nothing stopping him now. He let his gaze fell on you, so full of adoration, while he leaned down and caught the last piece of fabric remaining of your bra between his teeth. His eyes held so much envy, so much desires which reciprocated in the reflect of your own orbs. 

Shoto threw your bra out of his mouth, and there you were- your body bare in all its glory. “Fuck, you’re so perfect...” He whispered right against your chest, causing you to let out a sigh you didn’t even know you were holding. He used his mother’s inherited side to trace the contour of your breasts, he knew he was going to earn a moan in return and he was so please to hear such a sinful melody at the clash of his cold fingers against your burning skin. His thumb and his index worked in harmony to twist the bud of your nipple and overwhelm it by Shoto’s cold touch while his tongue delivering hot saliva on your skin was already doing wonders on your other breast, a perfect balance between cold and hot which made your arousal erupt even more and someone was quick to notice...

“Oi, doll face, focus on me, not on this goddamn fucker. Don’t you feel so fucking good when I touch you like that, hah?” His burning jealousy amplified the voracity of his deeds. Every single one of his touch served the purpose of pleasuring you, but also outdo Todoroki’s touches. He needed to be the best at everything, including making you melt under his touch. You struggled to keep your eyes open, the desire to close your eyes and let your body attract all the attention while basking in pure bliss was too strong and yet, Bakugou’s voice roared into your mind, you couldn’t help but lay your eyes on him through half-closed lids. 

Once he knew he was the bearer of all your attention, he put his body and mind to work. Both of his hands planted your thighs on each side of his body, you felt too weak to move under his touch and did not dare resist the pressure. You whined in advance because you knew what was coming- and boy, did he look good with his face buried between your thighs. 

One long, sharp, vertical lick was all it took to let yet another moan escape your lips once more, and to Bakugou, it was the best reward. The heat of his tongue responded to the heat of your core, it was pure harmony. He licked the your core over and over again, tasting you, loving you, worshipping you even. One time he left lingering kisses to the side of your core, another time he was left licking motions all over your folds because your taste was the best thing he had ever felt. His motions echoed to your whines and moans, he was sure of hearing a sinful melody each time his tongue entered in contact with your skin.

“Keep making these noises for me, don’t be fucking shy.” His hot breath on the center of your heat embraced perfectly the succession of his actions, “Y-Yes... P-Please, I want... I need more.” Bakugou couldn’t help but let a low chuckle leave his lips, in response to your needy attitude, he left a harsh slap on the surface of your butt, to which you whined loudly in response. “Such a fucking filthy mouth you have there, hah?” He smiled to himself, knowing perfectly that what he was about to do was bound to leave you as a whimpering mess. Without any warning, he slid two of his fingers inside your core, and fuck, you were tight. His thumb was brushing against your sweet bundle of nerves which had already been cherished by Bakugou’s tongue earlier. 

You clutched the sheets of the bed to release some of the buildup pressure inside, it was as if a tornado, a volcano and a firework were exploding at the same time in your stomach, each of them resulting in a series of whimpers and moans at the overstimulation. Your lids were shut close already, yet, they kept fluttering over the invisible crimson touches left by both Todoroki and Bakugou.

Speaking over Todoroki, he was tasting you in such a different way as he started to get the grip of Bakugou’s mechanic. His mind kept roaming and roaming, he knew that just one mark on your neck was not quite enough and he needed to beat Bakugou at his own game- he positioned himself right over your right breast and blew a fit of fresh air, causing him to smile at himself for being the reason of such a reaction, and dug his teeth into your flesh. Motivated by the the way you kept tugging at his hair, he kept biting the same area over and over again until sucking your flesh just enough to create yet another love bite over your breast, such an intimate area, isn’t it? And now his whole name was written on it. 

“B-Bakugou... I can’t take it... Ahh! Anymore, please, please...” His fingers weren’t enough anymore, you were pleading his name, begging him to become one with you because you were unsure as to how you were going to keep the unleashed pressure within you ruin you. “So eager for my fucking cock, aren’t you?! You’re gonna count with me each inch entering your fucking cunt, got it?” You were willing to do anything at this point- Todoroki’s bites and his cold touch, Bakugou’s fingers and tongue, it made you fill dizzy but you knew, deep down, you were slowly approaching a pure state of bliss. “Yes... Yes I will.”

For his own purpose, Bakugou took his fingers off your core and flipped you on your stomach so you could be on all fours. You were giving him the view of worthy of a masterpiece: the crimson colored marks on your butt cheeks, the vivid rosy tone of your dripping core, oh he wanted all of you. “Love, don’t you forget that I’m here too, right? Open your pretty mouth for me.” You did as Todoroki preached, opening your mouth for him to stick his index in there. “Suck.” he commanded, to which you obliged by creating hollows in your cheeks and embrace his finger around your tongue, this feeling was beyond perfect, beyond the wildest fantasies his imagination had to offer. He could only let his subconsciousness roam about how his cock would feel around your perfectly pouted lips.

Bakugou’s hands gripped your hips tightly, his fingers turning white in the process while your flesh adopted a reddish tone in response. With the use of the pad of his thumb, he spread the pre-cum leaking all over his length, and so it began: the first inch. “One.”, it sounded more like an order than a statement, “...One.” you echoed, your response didn’t come quick enough to Bakugou’s liking, making you earn a harsh slap on your cheeks in return. Then another inch “Two.” , another faint sound coming from your lips “T-Two...”, yet another slap on your abused flesh. And so it went on, the process remained the same- another inch, another whisper escaping your mouth between sobs, another spank. 

On the other side of the bed, Todoroki was stroking his own length at the sight before him. You were on the brim of tears, and Bakugou didn’t show any mercy regarding your current state. “I’m sorry, her mouth is going to be full soon, she won’t have room to count out for you.” Bakugou grunted in response to Todoroki’s taunt. His strokes became gradually faster, like a crescendo if you will. His other hand, however, was placed right underneath your jaw to give you some support and your mouth was already open in anticipation for what was bound to happen. 

With his hand to keep your jaw steady, you welcomed Todoroki’s lenght into your mouth and he automatically let a groan as the tip of your tongue caressed his sensitive tip. You imagined how rewarding it must have felt for them to hear your own moans and whimpers because hearing Todoroki’s moan felt like a blessing to your eardrums.

Your tongue circled around his cock, your hand was pumping his length, and Todoroki wondered if this is what heaven looked and felt like. Your whimpers were hushed by the presence of his member in your mouth, but somehow, even these half silenced sounds of pleasure sounded even better to his ears. He felt his lids shut close under the miracle work of your tongue while his hand lingered in your hair to motivate you to keep going.

Bakugou, frustrated by this change of plans due to Todoroki’s own personal pleasure, slid the entirety of his phallus into you abruptly. The shock caused you to remove Shoto’s member from your mouth momentarily to catch your breath and release yet another whine before pleasuring Todoroki again. That came as a surprise to no one, not even Shoto himself, but Bakugou’s pace was rough and almost animalistic. 

The sound of his testicles clapping against your flesh testified of the pace and yet, it felt so enticing. Bakugou was not so vocal, but he did leave his fair share of grunts as he buried himself into you more and more until reaching your cervix. It was too much, your core was burning, hell your whole body was on fire. The tears that threatened to fall had put their threat to execution, you knew you were close, the overstimulation was getting the best of you leaving you in a whimpering, trembling mess. 

You continued to stroke Shoto’s length with your tongue, but his need to take control took over him. The same hand that rested in your hair suddenly took a firm grasp of your hair and he thrusted himself into your mouth and from there, his grunts became more repetitive. Truthfully, it was the only push he needed to bring him over the edge, the previous work of your tongue had put him under a spell. A spell he never wanted to wake up from. He knew what was coming, you felt it too but how the tip of his phallus was tickling your throat deeper and deeper. 

Shoto didn’t even notice the small flames making their apparition on the blades of his collarbone, meaning that it was finally time for him to cum. He set your mouth free and hinted his length towards your chest, letting the drips of cum color your skin, and allowed the most magical moan to leave his already parted lips in satisfaction. “Love, look what you fucking did to me. You’re so beautiful, so beautiful with my cum all over you.” Your first instinct was to fill your lungs with oxygen, something so common yet it was cruelly needed. You looked through your lashes at Shoto with pleading eyes while he looked at you with a glimpse of adoration in his. His digit was carefully wiping the excess of cum leaking down your chin to place it right into your mouth. He could only stare in awe at the sight of you tasting him. He felt so full, and fulfilled. He was finally at peace, soaking in pure bliss.  

The grasp Bakugou was holding over your hips became even harsher, which you though was impossible just a few seconds before. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He grunted, trying to keep his volume at bay by digging his teeth into his lower lip but it was all too much to be contained. He knew his climax was close, so close that he could picture it if he closed his eyes just for a second. Bakugou’s name fell on your lips like a forbidden prayer, his name had turned into the only thing you were able to say. “I-...Ah! Inside, inside, fuck, please...”, you felt a wave of pleasure taking over your body, a pleasure so intense, no word could have done it justice. Oh well, that was the sole indication he needed to hear before digging his nails into your sides, causing you to arch your back and bite the sheets, already preventing the cascade of whimpers from echoing in the room. “Fucking hell... Cum with me, now.”

 With one last thrust, Bakugou came within you, his face was facing the ceiling as he came undone with you. His cum slid within you and in return, your body thanked him by letting your own juice flow all over his length. 

Silence invaded the room. No more grunts, no more moans, no more cries. Pure silence inhabited by the uneven breaths of three protagonists who had just touched heaven by the tip of their fingers. Three victims of passion.

Bakugou pulled out of you, earning a whimper in return at the sudden feeling of vacuity. Your legs were shaking, and you secretly thanked every God for allowing you to stay relatively steady on all fours for this long and be able to endure the bestial-like pace of Bakugou. Needless to say, you were panting, you mouth was agape and you were crying for air. Your body immediately crashed onto the mattress, the soft feeling of the sheets enveloping your skin after reaching heaven made you feel as if you were floating on a cloud.

Bakugou and Todoroki shared a look, a small grin even, before crashing down onto the mattress next to you. You were unable to move, your mind was comparable to a wild blur as a result of your orgasm. A rush of words flew through your air but absolutely none of them was powerful and meaningful enough to qualify how you were feeling. At peace? No, not strong enough. Full? Nope, did not carry enough meaning. It was a unique feeling, worthy of all the praises in the world. 

Todoroki draped an arm over your waist and left a trail of kisses upon the flesh of your shoulder, a silent way to thank you for allowing him to experience heaven in a rush. Bakugou, on the other one hand, was facing your back and allowed his index to draw invisible patterns on the skin of your back. Paradoxically enough, the silence carried more words and emotions than an actual speech. Until...

“So... Um, about the mission?”

[flowerwrites06]

break my mind’s eye VIII — jjk

Plot: Jungkook thinks marriage is the only way to seal a deal.

Pairing(s): Druglord!Jungkook x Fashion Designer!OC (Name: Belle)

Rating: G | PG | M | R 18+

Type: Drabble | Oneshot | Two Parter | Series

Parts: Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X | Special 

Word Count: 7k+

Genre: Mafia | Angst/Smut/Fluff

Tags & Warnings (for entire series): drug dealing, marriage through trickery, explicit smut, drug use, dubious consent, prostitution, miscarriage, lots of manipulation, impregnation through manipulation 

Picturesque day framed by the window of the brightly lit clinic, cool air swirling around them aiding Belle’s anxiety in whatever slight way it could. Fingers gripped at her knitted lavender cardigan, pressing her legs together to somehow prevent more chill to flow through the white floral dress. She seemed to focus on every other little thing while the man in a white coat in front of quickly typed and clicked in his own time.

“Congratulations, Mrs. Jeon.” The doctor smiled as if he just confirmed the happiness of a new family.

Six weeks passed since Belle took the dozens of pregnancy tests haunting her with pink pluses until finally the doctor gave the final verdict. Thankfully with the Spring Line show coming in close to around a couple months, she was able to avoid any conversation of whether the ritual worked.

Ritual. Fucking hell what year was this?

Her silence caused a slight awkward confusion to grip the doctor’s face, almost as if he was inching close to a verdict that something was wrong.

Nothing should be wrong, Belle reminded herself. Happy relationship, remember?

The woman quickly adorned the perfect smile on her face using her glossy eyes as the sparkle of joy. “Sorry…it’s just all very exciting to take in.” She chuckled and thankfully the doctor was immediately convinced giving her a proper smile.

“Of course—very happy news though. I’m sure your entire family would be elated.” His grin stretched from ear to ear like he was related to her some way.

Then again anyone who so much as knew the Jeon family seemed to have that mindset.

“I’ll have your report prepared in just a few minutes, Mrs. Jeon.” He nodded in reassurance while Belle leaned back on the chair.

Gaze moved to the window looking out at the people strolling back and forth living their lives. She wondered how many were living by their own accord. Based on their own needs. Were they happy with where they were? Some rushing in suits trying not to drop their coffees, mothers and fathers pushing their strollers with toddlers skipping next to them and then couples walking calmly in casual clothing.

When she was younger, Belle told herself she would not end up in any of those situations. She would get a car, halt on marriage and kids while focusing on her career entirely until her thirties at the very least.

The naivety of dreams. Dreams of a life no one could ever control. Dreams that were already in the hands of fate.

“Mrs. Jeon?” The doctor addressed for the third time.

Belle finally realized that was her name now, stripping back to reality. Even her name was not under her control any more. Legally she had her original name but people wouldn’t care. Taking the husband’s name was more popular. So now she was officially Mrs. Jeon to society.

Quickly smiling she accepted the envelope handed to her and bowed slightly. “Thank you, doctor.”

-

Walking out of the clinic into the beautiful day, she spotted Yoongi leaning back against the side of the car with his arms folded over his chest. Raven hair a little longer now hovering over his eyes as he watched her taking a deep breath at the entrance stairs. “So?” He asked, squinting a little in the sunlight.

“What do you think?” Belle mumbled with the envelope heavy in her hand much like the twisted feeling in her stomach. Stepping down to the end of the stairs, she looked around every corner that was visible to her. Scanning for any movement.

“No peeping in the bushes, don’t worry.” The older male reassured, pushing off the car and opening the door for the new mob queen. Even though he would never use that term in front of her without risking a kick on his foot.

Strolling to the other side of the car, Yoongi couldn’t help but mimic Belle’s scanning and ended up seeing a figure lurking in one of the alleys. Not that he was proud of it but Yoongi pretended to reach into his coat for a gun which evidently caused the figure to rush out to the streets.

“Fucking reporters.” Yoongi muttered under his breath before climbing back into the car and driving them back to the mansion.

-

Being invited to Sangria House during the day had not been on Taehyung’s to-do list but here he was anyway being driven to the establishment, by Kim Seokjin’s personal request.

The establishment exuded a different aura during the day as they parked to a halt in front of it. Flowers adorned the entrance in an arch matching the blossom trees behind the building creating a beautiful frame, most of the angels strolling around with their customers linked in hand while a lot of the juniors were simply having picnics under on the ground like it was their own paradise rather than people who entered.

As he walked into the makeshift garden, white coats welcomed him with a bow and led him into the private room with a brief statement of having a full days’ appointment with the best angel in the House.

Full day. Seokjin seemed to know his way around apologizing, he supposed.

Even on the inside things were so much more different. Customers were eating food normally instead chortling the whole way through; they were genuinely having good conversations with the red and lavender coats as if it was not going to lead anywhere. Purple drapes were replaced with more floral arrangements in strings trailing across the walls and he could have sworn butterflies passed them a moment ago.

The white coats stopped down the hallway to a familiar door knocking politely first.

Taehyung already had an achingly strong hope of who to see on the other side of the door.

And thank god, luck was on his side today.

The door opened and gracing him with her presence stood Angel in a different attire. It was still golden but a more casual hanbok with intricate floral designs on the overcoat that shimmer in the light against the silk. Less extravagance but more quality. Taehyung could immediately recognize who designed the dress.

Angel’s heart swelled finally being able to see the man again especially after the horrid way he was dragged out. She could still remember all the things he told her…all the things that haunted him now slowly taunted her.

Once the door closed behind Taehyung, the golden lady padded closer to the male.

Eyes moved around his body before she took a leap to cup his cheeks. “You’re okay.” A bright grin spread across her lips but her forehead knitted like she was close to crying. “Come in.” Gently Angel took his hand and walked to the table.

Taehyung couldn’t help but feel his entire body relax into her touch, leaning slightly into her touch before happily holding her hand. “You did full day appointments too?” He would have asked for that package in a heartbeat.

Angel smiled as they sat next to each other this time, shoulders brushing together. “No this is not a normal thing. Mr. Kim just wanted to apologize for the inconvenience caused last time.” She reached out and gave him some rice cakes. “I know you probably don’t want our tea right now so…I asked them to make these.” She pulled apart one rice cake in half and took the first bite to ensure him that it was safe to eat.

Warmth spread across his chest watching how her cheeks puffed when she ate, hiding her mouth and smiling, trying to stay elegant but still enjoy the taste. Taehyung had the strongest urge to press little kisses on her adorable cheeks.

The golden lady held up the other half of the cake to his mouth, giving him a reassuring smile that it was okay to eat.

Taehyung was not proud to admit that it did not matter if she offered him literal poison, he would still drink it just so the last thing he saw was that fucking smile. Though the cake did smell heavenly. Opening his mouth slightly he waited until Angel brought the cake so close that it brushed against his lips before he took the treat into his mouth. As soon as Taehyung bit into the soft texture, a burst of warm sweetness burst through and he felt a small lump in his throat.

How long had it been since he was able to really taste something properly? The man could never tell whether he was healing or not in the process of vomiting, taking medications and other methods Taehyung deemed boring or painful. It was only now at this incredibly simple moment of recalling just how tasty a rice cake was. How much he loved it in the years before.

“Is it bad?” Angel noticed the smile faded from his face. “I could go get something else.” She tried to get up but Taehyung softly touched her arm.

“No I’m just—” Taehyung chuckled after swallowing, eyes a little glossy as he met her gaze. “I haven’t had rice cake in a long time. It was really nice.”

She relaxed once more sitting next to him allowing a comfortable silence to seep through the air for a few moments.

Eventually the curiosity peeked far too much for her to control. “So…how was the wedding?”

A boulder seemed to drop and crash onto the hope of relaxing in this session now the question lingered. Taehyung could not blame Angel for being curious as she probably had been working the whole time it was happening.

But now he was reminded of the things other than the actual ceremony. The fake vows and calculated kiss under the blossom trees was more for the press.

Taehyung learned the hard way that the real ceremony was behind closed doors. He only found out after it happened because every relative from the Jeon family wanted to chat with him giving him no time to go and check on his sister. Now he wished he just pushed past all of them and ran to her.

It was too late though. By the time Taehyung got the chance to see Belle in the early morning, she was already in tears and shaking beyond belief before jumping into his embrace. She did not say a word to him or anyone for that matter. The whole two nights they were there, his sister stayed quiet merely smiling to the people who didn’t matter. When he found out about the secret ceremony Taehyung did the same.

With Jungkook, he didn’t even bother smiling. Every time he came close his fingers automatically curled into a fist conjuring up all the ways he could just get rid of him.

Now more than ever Taehyung grew aware that his baby sister was going through pain beyond belief while he healed. Aside from the heart clenching sadness, he grew determined to see an end for Jeon Jungkook.

“Taehyung?” Angel placed a hand on his arm gently before pulling away quickly. “I’m sorry, you don’t have to answer.” Her fingers played with the fabric of her dress with her head hanging.

Taehyung jumped back to his current state and shook his head quickly. “No—” He shifted closer until his hand rested behind her. “No it’s okay. Please ask me anything you want.” He gave her a reassuring smile trying to meet her gaze again.

The golden lady’s eyes flickered up see him so close that the warmth of his body radiated onto her.

“The wedding—” He sighed. “The wedding was beautiful…in a sense, I suppose.” Taehyung spoke with bitterness touching his tongue, pursing his lips together. He wondered for a moment if it were too much to speak these things out. Were these walls thick enough the hold the dark thoughts in his head long enough? Was it worth it show a side of him to Angel that he despised? A side of him created as soon as Belle told him, holding a teary smile that she was going to marry a monster and bear his child for his own benefit.

It turns out that part of Taehyung didn’t care who saw or heard him. “Do you ever have that situation where—you despise someone so much—because they’ve hurt you or someone important to you?—a hatred that runs so deep, the mere thought of them—” He huffed out a breath to somehow to cool down the anger erupting inside him. “Makes you thinks things unimaginable.”

Angel’s chest rose and fell slightly as her eyes now grew glossy. In a rush of painful memory, she remembered those words rushing in her own mind at some point. “Yes.” She muttered immediately pressing her lips together. All the nights of hiding in a bathroom and covering her ears hoping that her ex-husband would just pass out drunk. The way she trained herself to zone out every time he climbed on top of her.

Eyes shining and vision blurring just a little but enough to see Taehyung’s welcoming features so she could feel at ease. “You end up stripping them down to being nothing but a human. Not someone powerful…or someone with status that you can’t touch…Just a human. Vulnerable…soft…if you just grabbed a knife and stuck it at the right place. They’re nothing but meat.”

Taehyung’s expression softened hearing such a composed woman speak out the unimaginable things in his mind already. “What if that powerful person is Jeon Jungkook?” It was not something he didn’t think about before. There were dark points in his time living in that place knowing the man was just sleeping soundly in the room with no one really watching over him.

“You can’t do that.” She shook her head.

“But you said—”

“No, Taehyung—your sister is now a Jeon.” Angel raised a hand to ensure that the man listens to her every word. “If you sister is widowed in the Jeon family, it won’t bode well on her. She’ll be tied down to the family until her death. If Jungkook is doing something then there needs to be a divorce.”

“How do you know all that?” His brows furrowed.

“Seok—Mr. Kim told me a story that Jeon Boyoung was a widow…she had to marry someone arranged by the family a day later. It’s a terrible life, Taehyung, remarried widows are not given any kind of respect in the family. The new husbands are allowed to be unfaithful to them or abusive to them without any consequence. The only reason Boyoung is doing somewhat well is because she is a Jeon by birth. Belle isn’t.” Concern riddled her expression hoping to the high heavens Taehyung understood what she was saying. “Jungkook cannot be killed while they’re still married.”

Taehyung shifted in his position feeling a slap of clarity right across his face. “Seokjin—how does he know all these things?” He shook his head. “And how does Belle get a divorce? That family controls everything.”

“Not everything.” Angel whispered so low, she had to lean closer to him. “Belle needs someone to support her alibi. Someone just as powerful as the Jeons. It’s not just them that controls everything, there are other influential people in the city.”

“How am I supposed to find someone just as powerful?”

Sighing shakily, she glanced around the room before moving to stand on her feet. A quick smile tugged at her lips almost as if this whole conversation never happened. “Would you like a take a stroll with me, Mr. Kim?”

Taehyung nodded before trying to return her smile, standing up as his mind filled with nothing but confusion.

-

By the time they reached the mansion the envelope in Belles hand scrunched up as if it has been read a million times already. She tried smoothing it out a little when the car parked but it still look just about as messed up as her mind orientation. Crinkles mimicking a drought riddled land and light stains of foundation remnants from her fingers.

Yoongi climbed out of the car first as the two guards from the front walked a bit closer. Standing on her side now, he waited for her to take a break to breathe before opening the door and watching her step out. “You’ll be fine. I’ll be waiting just outside the room.” He muttered as they moved to enter the mansion.

Guards as usual welcomed them with a bow and Belle had the urge increase her pace towards the second living room, her heart racing at the same speed. Fingers shook, body burned from her toes to her head and her legs moved slower than normal at the lack of concentration. She hated wearing a lavender cardigan today because the colour looked far bright for her actual mood.

Looking over her shoulder, Belle saw Yoongi standing with his hands in his jacket, giving her a reassuring nod.

She couldn’t hide it for too long. At some point it was going to get difficult to avoid everyone on the truth. Especially Jungkook.

For a moment Belle paused again hearing muffled voices on the other side of the office door. A usual sound now for the past few weeks. Padding closer to the wooden barrier, only one voice stood out like a teacher scolding an empty classroom. It would be easy to just turn away with the excuse that Jungkook was too busy but no one should be too busy for this. At least in her mind.

She stood close to the door that someone might mistake her for kissing it. Closing her eyes, Belle knocked twice before opening the door just enough to walk inside.

“Move the surviving associates to the other dens, fucking fight back next time!” Jungkook growled slamming the phone down so hard that she heard a crack. He stepped away from the phone, rubbing his face with a frustrated sigh padding through him.

Belle stood inside the room, immediately regretting that she entered but it had be done now or the courage would never arrive again. “Jungkook?”

“Not now.” He muttered without even giving her sideways glance.

Anxiety faded a little; the same heat but it ignited a different kind of fire in her belly. “Yes now.” She spoke firmly, lips pursed together.

Slightly reddened eyes met Belle’s gaze as he padded over to the table once again more, leaning on the edge, dark curls falling over his face. Jungkook tried to control his heavy breathing but it only seemed to get worse when he started thinking about it. “Belle, I’m not in the mood for any more drama today, alright?” He shook his head slowly, hands nearly trembling with fury.

Belle sighed to calm the fire down somehow as the envelope grew so heavy in her hand, she worried her grip would relinquish without her knowing. “This is important.” She took a step forward but quickly jumped back.

Jungkook knocked the phone off the table with the back of his hand, harsh thuds and broken rings echoing throughout the room. “Important?! What could be so fucking important that you can’t give me a moment of peace?” He stomped across from the table almost leaving steam behind him.

“My entire goddamn empire is breaking apart into pieces!” He threw his hand towards the fallen phone as his feet nearly stepped over hers. “I’m sure whatever you have to say can fucking wait.” Hot breath brushed against her already warmed up face.

“It can’t fucking wait!” Belle shouted back despite her mouth feeling incredibly dry, the heat around them collecting and making her a little dizzy. “This—” She jabbed the envelope at his chest not really caring whether it caught or not as it dropped to the ground. “This is what your screwed up family wanted, you got it.”

Eyes burned with tears once again, stomach clenching and her head spinning abnormally. “You won.” She smiled sadly. “Congratulations.” She seethed turning on her heel and stomping out of the door, slamming it so hard that it echoed through the whole mansion.

Stomach twisted in such a way that it almost meant to give Belle as much pain as humanly possible making her wince while tears forcibly streamed down her face. She rushed across the second living room completely ignoring Yoongi who tried to call out her name.

It didn’t take a genius to see that breaking the news had been worse than he expected. The family wanted the damn baby so why did he have to see Belle running out with one of the most heartbreaking expression he had ever seen on the girl? And Yoongi had seen a lot, much to his own discontent.

Yoongi tried to open his mouth to say something but Belle already flashed past leaving the gust of wind behind with her speed. If he knew what happened then it would be easier, right now nothing but confusion and a little sadness gripped his face.

“Get my car ready, please.” Belle announced to one of the guards who immediately bowed and rushed off to do her bidding.

The older male lurked at the edge of the second living room and watched a young looked guards who he remembered was called Jongho. One of Belle’s regular guards who usually kept an eye on her the most. The amount of influence this woman had in the entire Jeon mansion honestly could frighten even Yoongi. Every guards seemed to lose their composure and give her a sad look as if wanting to comfort her in her time of need.

Jongho leaned in a little to hear her whisper, possibly about her location because it had to be known to someone just in case. The young guard nodded and opened the double doors for her.

Yoongi would have rushed to the girl and provided some comfort but if she purposely ignored him then it was clear that her intention was to be alone. All he knew was no woman should ever come out looking that fucking upset after trying to tell their husband she was having their baby.

Jungkook tightened his jaw as the sound of the door still rung in the air. Roughly raking his fingers through his hair as if he was pulling it from the roots, gaze flickered down to the discarded envelope. Crouching down Jungkook picked up the slightly crumpled paper and ripped it open letting the little pieces drip carelessly to the ground.

His heart began to race when he saw a doctor’s pregnancy test report details. Forehead knitted reading through the report until the word ‘results’ caught his eye.

Then in big capital letters, his mistake came crashing down harder than a bag of bricks to his head.

POSITIVE.

All the anger faded away quicker than Jungkook prepared for as it replaced with a painful clench in his chest and the whole world momentarily crashing down on him.

The ritual worked.

‘You won’ she said.

His family won.

The walls of his mind closed in on itself tightly not knowing whether to spread elation or guilt through his body. Instead a deadly mixture of both feelings pumped in his veins making his fingers tremble for a whole different reason.

Jungkooks’ biggest den had been infiltrated by the police, once again with the mayor’s direct orders and the speculations of his hand being involved grew stronger by the day. He knew with all his heart how important it was to keep his business and empire safe but now…

What was more important now?

Something wet dropped onto the paper soaking through the ‘I’ and ‘E’ of the word ‘positive’ bringing him back to reality. Jungkook sniffled quickly, wiping away the tiny trickles of tears escaping down his cheek before opening the door.

“Where is she?” The question posed and everyone’s eyes were on him now, even the maids paused in their tracks to look at him. Could they notice the tears gathering in his eyes? Once again Jungkook had to succumb to feeling like a lost boy who didn’t know what to do without the guidance of his family.

Hair over his face managed to cover most of his distress but Yoongi only had to glance down at the paper clasped tightly in the younger male’s hand to know why.

“She drove out.” He nodded towards the entrance.

Jungkook did not utter another word before practically rushing out of the second living room but immediately paused when Yoongi stood in front of him.

He raised his hands in defense seeing Jungkooks’ glossy eyes burning into him at the disrespectful action. “Sorry, sir but—I believe your wife wanted to be alone right now.” Yoongi attempted to explain in the most careful way possible. Though his mind conjured much more colorful words. The last person she wants to see is the dickhead who impregnated her against her will.

Anger burned to his very core seeing Yoongi speak to him so casually. “Do you even know where she went? What if she gets into danger?!” Jungkook growled making the maids jump back and frantically continue on with their work.

Fortunately Yoongi had been significantly numbed to acts of intimidation. “I know where she is and she’ll be as just as safe there as she would be here. You don’t have to worry.” He shook his head, trying to keep his voice calm and collected.

“But—” Jungkook held up the paper pathetically, sighing shakily.

“I know…I went to the clinic with her.” Yoongi nodded. “She’s okay. She just needs a little space, it’s completely normal.”

It’s not normal and she wasn’t okay but he really just needed to live right now.

Jungkook had the strongest want to keep fighting and just push past to find her but where would that even lead? Ever since that night, Belle couldn’t even look at him properly. Honestly he didn’t have the courage to look at himself either. All his life his parents taught him that the family customs existed for good reasons. Reasons which kept them alive for so long. As a naïve child he found himself never finding anything wrong with these customs.

Until he had to go through them. Along with dragging the woman he grew to care about into it.

Turning away from Yoongi, Jungkook dragged his feet towards one of the couches in the second living room and slumped down.

“I made her think it wasn’t important.” He stared at the paper, reading the same word over and over again. “My father would always tell me how happy he was when my mother told him she was pregnant.” Jungkook scoffed, his vision blurring a little. “He picked her up and twirled her around right in front of all his men not giving a care if he would look weak.”

Yoongi pursed his lips together leaning on the wall behind him.

“Family makes you stronger, he said. Nothing stronger than family.” Jungkook pressed down the inner corners of his eyes with his index finger and thumb, shutting his eyes tightly to stop any more tears from flowing.

“Anyone can pretend to be happy at first.” Yoongi spoke plainly. “It’s what you do for the next twenty years that actually counts.”

Jungkook licked his trembling lips not completely convinced but it wouldn’t be the first time he succumbed to the alluring beauty of a lie.

-

Clouds spread out to welcome the heavenly blue and golden warmth as Belle padded across the entrance gardens of the Sangria House. For a second, a few people stopped with their usual activities to stare at her, twist of recognition on their faces. With a sigh Belle hugged her cardigan again being the only comfort for today despite the colour being so harsh on her tired eyes.

Through the entrance doors, she looked around the area like a slightly lost puppy. The lobby used most of the natural light making it look like a beach hut of some sort as the warmth was now replaced with fresh cool air.

Belle hoped with all her soul that the person she wanted could just appear right here out of luck. Unfortunately luck was not a trustworthy friend in recent months.

More eyes now fixated on her presence and a figure even padded towards her; tall with lines adorning his face, tattoo peeking out from his shirt and a smirk playing on his lips.

“Are you open?” The man’s gaze trailed up and down her body. Waft of cologne and tobacco swirling around his aura as he moved closer.

“Excuse me?” Brows furrowed but before she could channel any more of her frustration, a red coat rushed over to her side.

“Sorry, Mrs. Jeon…” The red coat bowed in a meek tone even though it was not her fault in the slightest.

The rude customers’ smile immediately disappeared into a look of despair and fear, widened eyes staring back at Belle. “Mrs. Jeon…” He bowed so low that he almost vanished from her line of vision. “I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you.”

“Would you have continued on with your shenanigans if I wasn’t Mrs. Jeon?” She glared down at the male.

He gripped at the fabric of his trousers tightly, still bent down as if ready to be flogged.

“I assumed too quickly, Mrs. Jeon. Please accept my deepest apologies.” His voice shook slightly knowing the smallest word to Jungkook about this behavior would end in a whole lot of limbs being lost.

Belle sighed lightly, averting her gaze. “It’s alright. Just make sure I don’t find you doing it again.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Jeon…” The man smiled giving repeated bows as he backed away. “You are most kind.”

The man now led away by the red coat, Belle was being hosted by one of the white coats who asked what she needed today.

The previous aching in her stomach seemed to get worse despite getting the fresh air while even the mildest rush of heat from the day increased tenfold when it reached her skin.

Oh god…not now.

“Park Jimin, please. If he’s free.” Belle spoke, her strength wavering a little as every part tried to suppress the pain in her chest pushing something up to her throat.

Giving her another bow the white coat led her off to one of the private rooms.

Once again her feet seemed drag across the floor like the world moved too much to catch up properly. More swirling around in Belle’s head, the bitterness in her throat erupted with cruel strength, forcing her to grip on the edge of the door to steady herself.

“Mrs. Jeon? Are you okay?” The white coats’ hands hovered over her to prevent any dreaded fall but distant enough for manners.

Belle gave her a shaky smile through she still held onto the edge as if her life depended on it. “Just a little queasy…” Stomach clenched again and her mind grew stubborn, only thinking about something heavy being pushed up her throat almost choking her. “Is there a—” She tried to swallow it down but it seemed to get more violent. “Is there a bathroom anywhere?”

Her eyes widened before quickly nodding and gesturing towards the private room. “This has a bathroom, madam.” The younger girl tried to gently lead her inside where a small door stood closed.

Passing the little empty table, Belle felt saliva flooding inside her mouth until drool almost leaked out of the sides forcing her to burst open through the door without waiting for the girl and throwing herself in front of the toilet.

Knees ached against the cold wooden floor, chest lurching painfully as the contents of her stomach spewed out in the form of a burning liquid. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes struggling to breathe, a small part hoping it was over before her stomach lurched again.

She vaguely heard footsteps coming closer before her hair was being brushed back gently and her back soothingly rubbed.

Belle coughed feeling a harsh burn in her chest but finally being able to breathe easy as the nausea faded albeit taking its sweet time. As soon as she turned to the side, a hand towel gestured her way. She accepted it with a rush of gratitude as she wiped off her mouth still letting out small painful coughs.

Glossy reddened eyes flickered over to the side, seeing a familiar pair of sultry eyes and pouty lips look back at her with an expression of concern.

“You okay?” Jimin whispered, hand sliding from her back to her shoulder, squeezing it a little as a form of comfort.

Belle sighed before pursing her lips, more tears threatening to flood out if she continued to speak. So the woman merely shook her head, chin trembling and heart crumbling into pieces. The action alone held more truth than anything she ever forced herself to say.

His expression softened not needing any type of explanation as to why Belle looked so upset. Jimin saw the whole thing with his own eyes. No one could ever come out of that and still feel the same. All he could truly do was pull her close and wrap her into a warm embrace, allowing the woman to sob into his shoulder.

Fingers curled into the lavender fabric, sobs now pushing out of her as Jungkooks words replayed over and over again. All the smiles, laughter and kisses. All of them were fake. Nothing was real. Now more than ever Belle had been forced awake from the fantasy that began to thicken far too much. It stripped down to the harsh reality. When her whole future was taken away in one night.

-

They embraced until their legs fell asleep before eventually moving over to the main private room. Jimin’s hands still on Belle’s arms carefully guiding her to a seat.

Once the new air brushed in, the nausea slowly fizzled out allowing her to breathe in without feeling like a nasty potion being conjured in her throat.

As the pair sat across from one another a moment of silence lingered. Whether to consolidate the memory of their embrace or just time to adjust to their usual setting, both of them were not quite sure.

Then she spoke in a raspy and exhausted voice.

“I always thought I’d feel like the happiest woman in the world when I got pregnant.” Belle said with her head hanging, tears still freshly formed and a heart that could not seem to stop clenching into itself like it hid from something. “Every time I saw a baby smile…I’d always think…I’m going to have that one day with the man I love and he loved me.” She shook her head before scoffing at the naivety. All those stupid dreams of a happy life filled with love, loyalty and trust. Everything replaced by deceit and manipulation.

Jimins’ could feel the burning behind his eyes watching the broken shell of a strong woman speak out thoughts of a time when she was whole. Fingers twitched wanting to embrace her again but the moment for that passed. Now they both had to come to terms with speaking the truth. “You–you can still be happy…” He winced a little at his own words. “Arranged marriages can—” He swallowed hard. “—they can work out through time.”

Not this kind of arranged marriage. At least some arranged marriage gave the couple a chance to say agree or disagree on things. Here Jungkook merely took a fake girlfriend, then he and his family proceeded to do whatever they needed to her for their own benefit. All she had to was sit there, smile and take it.

Belle smiled at the lavender figure as if to reassure him that she appreciated his help. “It’s—complicated…” She chuckled, a small droplet trickling down her cheek. Averting her gaze, she wiped away her tears quickly with a light sniffle. “I supposed I shouldn’t complain. You probably have it worse.”

Jimin hummed in disagreement, shaking his head. “I feel safer here than anywhere else.” His brows furrowed lightly. “Seokjin—” He stammered a little accidentally calling Mr. Kim by his name. “I know he has a reputation but he’s a good man. Really. Never gets angry unless it’s at customers which is rare. He’s always keeps us safe.”

Eyes flickered to meet his, blinking slowly as her curiosity now peeked more than she ever felt it before. “But…what he did to Taehyung…” Belle gestured towards the table before them which had a half-drunken glass of water near her.

He leaned in and spoke in a whisper. “To protect Angel.”

“That doesn’t make any sense, Taehyung didn’t do anything. Why would he get punished like that?” Belle kept her voice soft but loud enough for them to hear. As her words became consolidated in the air and in their memories, something struck in her mind that seemed to muffle everything out for a moment.

Jimin paused thinking over what to say before slowly taking a breath. “His… methods are little—”

Calculated. Planned.

For the first time in too fucking long, Belle could see past this thick veil of confusion. It wasn’t all just cruel fate. Her heart raced so hard it tried to crash through her ribcages and even her toes began shaking from the rush of adrenaline pumping in each vein.

Taehyung wasn’t drugged so Angel could be safe.

Tears dried up and a new rush of determination touched her broken form. Belle leaned in, gaze fixated on his, speaking in a firm tone. “Is there any way I could organize a meeting with Seokjin?”

-

Taehyung tried his best to suppress the intense heat on his cheeks feelings Angels’ soft hands interlock with his slightly rough ones. Through one of the backdoors, they were welcomed by the bright light of the beautiful day and the beautiful blossoms in all their glory.

Pink, red and purple petals falling to the green ground or continuing to fly through the wind to their own personal freedom. Subtle scent of jasmine and lemons touching his nostrils despite the actual plants being situated all the way at the end of the large backyard. A few angels both red and lavender wore more comfortable clothing rather than extravagant while entertaining their customers. Some of them danced in front of the picnic set up or simply sat with them engaged in light-hearted conversation.

He almost forgot the purpose of their visit to this slab of imaginary heaven as Angel led him past the laughing the patrons and towards the jasmines hanging on the fence just facing all the lemon trees. Taehyung wondered if this was what they used for their tea recipes. The small wonder momentarily halted when he felt himself being pulled under one of the lemon trees.

Subtle scent now became potent in his nose, the heavenly jasmine and citrus mixing with Angel’s sweet vanilla perfume. It would have been overwhelming if Taehyung had not lost his focus when meeting the golden ladys gaze.

Her grip on his hand loosened a little but a few fingers still struggled to depart from one another. “I wanted to say this to you in more privacy. The rooms are always watched.” Angel whispered with a light smile. “I’m so sorry…I was the one who put the drug in your tea.” She hung her head. “I didn’t know it was going to make you sick.” The usual composed walls around her once again opted to fade away when standing so close to Taehyung. “I—I thought it was going to make you feel more relaxed and calm—I didn’t…” Angel paused in her shaky words when she felt his hand cupping her cheek gently.

Taehyung watched her beautiful eyes getting glossier every second she continued speaking, each second his heart sunk deeper into a pit. “Did Seokjin ask you to do it?”

Angel pursed her lips, blinking frantically to get rid of the tears forming. “Yes.”

He scoffed averting his gaze, rush of heated fury erupting in his belly. “They’re all the same.”

“No…” She shook her head immediately holding onto his arms. “Taehyung, look at me.” The leaves rustled in a gust of wind causing her hair to flow over her lips a little. “Seokjin isn’t the man you think he is.”

Taehyungs’ brows furrowed searching her expression to find some sense of delusion or lack of surety but the woman looked collected as normal. “What kind of a man is he then? Who drugs their own customers for intimidation?” He seethed more so directed at Seokjin than the beauty before him.

Angel glanced quickly to the side ensuring that nobody was close to listen in. “The helping kind. Taehyung, if he was anything like Jungkook you’d be dead by now or he’d never allow you to see me ever again.” Her own heart jumped at the very mention of the idea. “Seokjin would never do what Jungkook did to your sister.”

He tightened his jaw as his stomach twisted and leaped causing an ache in abdomen. “What?”

“I know about the deal.” She whispered. “Seokjin told me as soon as you walked into Sangria House.” Angels’ bottom lip trembled moving one of her hands to caress his cheeks.

“How much did he tell you?” Taehyung swallowed down hard.

“Everything. He always does.” She smiled sadly, brushing her thumb over his temple. “I’m glad you’re okay.” Her smile quickly disappeared however as she halted her actions. “But your sister isn’t.”

“What can I do?” He muttered leaning in closer with the guise of being secretive but really he desperately wanted to close the distance between them. “Please tell me.”

-

Door opened gently by Jimin who quickly bowed as soon as they walked inside. A rush of cold air flowed through even Belles’ thick cardigan gushing from the air conditioner swirling with the soft linen waft of cologne. Seokjin sat at his table in the middle of writing something out on a paper before he peered through his glasses to see the two figures walk into the room. A calm expression across his handsome features as per usual despite clearly being disturbed in his work.

Belle padded further inside, fingers intertwined with each other and her posture at its perfect stature determined to look her most composed.

Seokjin quickly stretched a smile across his plump lips before standing up as a sign of respect. “Madame Belle, it’s always nice to see you.” He gave her a nod. Eyes flickered over to Jimin who stood politely in the corner looking a bit confused as to what he was supposed to do. “Thank you for escorting our prestige guest here, Jimin.”

It was a kind but clear sign that the lavender adorned male could leave the vicinity for their private conversation.

“Jimin can stay.” Belle glanced towards him before facing Seokjin. “I trust him if you do.”

Silence plunged into the room as both males still attempted to figure out just what Belle was trying to do or say. However Seokjin had to suppress a smirk at a few theories conjuring in his mind. He gestured for the two of them to sit at the vacant chairs.

Jimins’ confused gaze flickered from Belle to Seokjin before quickly closing the door of the office and following the woman to the chairs, sitting down as soon as she did.

Belle brushed away any creases on her dresses as she situated herself on the chair, the chill creating goosebumps on her bare skin.

Seokjin pushed away his blazer careful not to crease the ends as he sat down. Sighing happily, he smiled at the both of them leaning back on the chair. “What can I do for you, Madame Belle? Has Jimin been doing something inappropriate?”

The lavender males’ heart jumped frantically looking over at Belle with wide eyes.

“No. In fact the reason I wanted him here is to thank him…for helping me answer a question I could never wrap my head around.”

“And what question is that?”

Belle searched his expression, heavily impressed with how he could keep such a composure. Deep down she almost worried that her theory might sound silly at the end. “Why would a man with such a heavy security system in his facility—and security guards the size of buildings feel the need to drug a potential threat?” She squinted lightly.

Silence plunged into the room like a welcomed disease as Seokjins’ smile appeared back again even wider. “Well…I have less than glorious methods sometimes but it’s all to protect my beloved angels. Especially my wife.” He explained in the most rehearsed way possible even though they both knew it was merely a dialogue recited many times for people more gullible.

“Angel was never in danger.” The corner of her lip twitched as her goosebumps dialed down through the warmth radiating inside. “Your angels are always safe. At all times. The second something goes wrong, the guards are there in seconds.” Twitching turned into a steady smirk that for the first time Belle did not have to think about or force. “You knew that.”

“Knew what?” Seokjin asked, much to Jimins’ confusion, the man looked utterly pleased with the exchange.

“You knew Taehyung would never do anything to hurt Angel.” Belle shook her head. “You just needed an incident…the perfect incident to get anyone who could carry a simply vial to the Jeon mansion.” She chuckled softly at her own gullibility despite her cried out eyes burning in the harsh cold wind. “The most foolproof infiltration. Make Jungkook’s beloved girlfriend think her brother was terribly sick and sneak a police officer in to play the medic just at the right time.”

The older male grinned brighter than Belle or Jimin had ever seen it. Clearly this was not a dark secret he meant to keep from the woman otherwise the conversation would have turned into something a lot more different. “I must say, Ms. Belle…” Seokjin leaned in and rested his elbows on the table. “I’ve been at this for years now—possibly longer than Jungkook has been leader. Never once did anyone decide to question me or my involvement in traitorous behaviors. Why do you think that is?”

“Because you’re a powerful man.” Belles’ smile faded away for a moment. “They won’t question anything you do even if they know it’s wrong—because you can make them lose everything with a flick of your fingers.” She pursed her lips together. “I’ve already been one of them once…I’m not doing it again.”

Seokjin nodded slowly, noticing how her gaze mended from shattered shards to the woman who was ready to pick all the pieces up and mend herself together. “And who are you now? Mrs. Jeon Jungkook? Kim Taehyungs’ sister? Or Madame Belle?”

It always came down to this, didn’t it?

In a series of mind breaking and heart clenching events, one rushes out of the woods to find themselves wondering if they were the same person who entered in the first place. Was she still the same little sister who desperately wanted her brother to get better? Was she the perfect wife for Jungkook? Or was she the designer striving to be as successful as Saito herself?

Maybe Belle was all of them combined. Or none of them and this was all a sick dream playing out in her head but it couldn’t be.

The path in front of Belle now split into two; a fork awaiting her to step into to lead into a future that might make more sense than this one.

This felt too real. It didn’t feel good or satisfying nor did it make her feel relaxed.

This was real. It was time for her to wake up and draw the curtains on this fantasy.

-

Sun began moving over to the other side when Belle drove back to the mansion after feeling a significant brush of relief in her body.

For the first time she walked through the door with an air of both confidence and a little fear when her hand caressed her belly. You’re not going to be born in this mess. I promise. Padding across Belle smiled at Jongho who waited politely just at the entrance before returning a smile of his own with a nod.

Inside the main living room, Yoongi paced around biting down his fingernails mostly trying to stop himself from drinking something at the bar. Not that it would help since it was full with fucking apple juice. He wished he bought a coffee earlier but in his past experiences a boost of caffeine almost never helped with stress.

Footsteps made him pause in his tracks. A rush of calm pulsed through him when Yoongi saw Belle walking towards the male. “Jesus fucking Christ…” He whispered padding closer. “You okay?”

The woman stayed silent, completely dried out of tears and Jimin comforted more than enough. Now the only thing left was that feeling of exposure when the truth finally revealed itself. She felt naked in front of it but free from the lies. “I just went out to the Sangria House, I was safe.” Okay was a difficult word to associate with her right now.

Yoongi nodded fingers curling into themselves before he repeated the same action at the payphone.

“Taehyungs’ there too, I’m told.” Belle didn’t get a chance to catch him but she now knew that Seokjin had no intentions of hurting him in the first place. “Where’s Jungkook?”

He gulped, averting his gaze and gesturing towards the stairs. “He—read the report. Hasn’t come out of the room yet.”

Stomach started doing leaps again, fear rising that she might have another episode with her head over the toilet. Belle hummed mulling over her thoughts before leaning into his cheek and pressing a chaste kiss. One couldn’t even truly call it a kiss, just a light press of her soft lips against his burning skin. When she pulled away the woman smiled proceeding to cause more heat to bundle up inside him. “Thank you.”

Yoongi merely breathed out a sigh unable to speak as Belle gently walked past him up the stairs.

He felt the guards’ eyes on him, some of them judging his reddened cheeks while others smirking. Quickly clearing his throat Yoongi bolted towards the guestroom.

In the same gentleness Belle did earlier, opening the door with care peeking inside briefly before completely entering and closing the door behind her. Turning around Jungkook sat at the edge of the bed just as she was the first time they came into the mansion. His head hung, dark locks forming a slight curtain while his hands rubbed his face, light sniffling riddling the air mixing in with the strong stench of tobacco.

Gaze flickered over to the study table to see a few used cigarettes including one still exuding smoke almost halfway used.

The woman winced accidentally taking a big waft when she tried to breathe in causing her to cough and break the silence.

Jungkooks’ head shot up hearing the sound, quickly jumping off the bed and rushing to the study table. Picking the cigarette he roughly pressed it against the ashtray waving the smoke away from the woman. “I’m sorry.” He muttered in a slightly shaky voice.

“For what?” Belle padded towards the bed to her side, placing her bag on the nightstand before carefully sitting at the edge. Her legs melted into the soft surface finally being able to rest physically at least. Lazily she swung them over fully onto the bed after taking her shoes off, shifting back she rested her back on the headboard.

Jungkook leaned on the edges of the table before hanging his head again. “For everything.”

The vague answer was always the easiest.

Belle reached out for the throw blanket and placed it over the bare parts of her legs providing extra comfort and warmth. “You were stressed, I should’ve waited.” She replied simply.

“You shouldn’t have to wait to tell me something like that.” He shook his head finally turning around to face her. “Six weeks.”

“Six weeks.” Belle gulped, fingers beginning to tremble a little. “I had to make sure.”

Jungkook blinked slowly before nodding as he padded over to his side of the room, pushing off his shoes. Sitting against the headboard the male let out a small sigh as he unbuttoned one more button on his white shirt to feel less constricted. “How big would it be right now?”

“Probably the size of a peanut.” She looked down at her belly and instinctively caressed it.

He immediately flickered down at her belly, still unable truly to understand how a human was going to grow in there. Despite the things Jungkook had seen in his life this was going to be the most surreal of them all. “You’re important to me, Belle.” He reached out and placed a hand over her belly. “Both of you.”

Belle moved her fingers over his and caressing the back of his hand slowly.

“Everything’s a mess right now I can’t—” Jungkook sighed leaning on the side of his head against the headboard. “I can’t think straight.” With his biggest den taken down, one after the other like a cruel domino effect his empire seemed lose each of its pillars. At the same time he had to try and pick all the pieces while protecting the standing pillars making his mind curl up into itself. As if a survival mode to get away from extreme stress.

She shook her head, patting his hand. “It’s okay.” Belle whispered knowing the word lost all its meaning a long time ago.

Jungkook tilted his head to search her expression watching the dull sunlight shine onto her locks making them look golden. Like a sailor being allured to the siren, he leaned in and pressed a kiss on her cheek and another on just on the corner of her lips. “I want you to be happy.” Nose nudged against her cheek.

Belle closed her eyes momentarily feeling his hot kisses against her skin, heavy remnants of tobacco on his breath forcing her to breathe through her mouth for a while.

Pulling away, the male shifted to lay his head on Belle’s lap facing her belly and blanket covered thighs used as a pillow. Finger traced at the little creases on the dress from her sited position as Jungkook relished in the scent of her perfume hopefully masking his cigarette riddled one. “It doesn’t matter what happens to the empire.” He whispered, gaze fixated on her belly. “So long you’re both happy…I’d give everything else up.”

Her heart swelled for a brief moment as Belle allowed herself to succumb back into the comforts of his words. His beautiful lies. “Do you promise?” Shaky hand moved to brush through Jungkook’s hair.

His gaze flickered up to meet her glossy one, giving her a soft smile. “I promise.” Jungkook looked back down at her belly caressing her skin through the clothing. “I’ll always keep you happy.”

Belle bit down her bottom lip to suppress the sob being forced out of her, closing her eyes shut tightly to stop the tears but they merely created constellations on the womans’ lashes. Letting out a small sigh she relaxed into his touch, struggling to swallow down the lump in her throat.

Quickly for one of the final times Belle forced herself to stretch a smile across her lips.

I’m not happy.

-

Cheeks finally cooled down as Yoongi leaned back on the chair of his temporary bedroom, dark as the thick curtains perfectly shielded him from the sunlight. Fingers scratched at the fabric of the armrest not thinking of anything in particular but merely drowning in an empty zone away from reality just for a few moments. He grew accustomed to this feeling after seeing one too many dead bodies of children.

Two knocks rapped on the door before it opened to reveal the senior maid, Nana. “Hello, Master Osamu.” She smiled closing the door behind her and walking further inside to do her usual cleaning starting with fixing his bed up.

Yoongi made it himself but unfortunately not the way that it was usually designed to fit the aesthetic of the house since most of the fancy cushions were on the floor. “Sorry I’ll—” He tried to get up from the chair.

“No no it’s okay. This is my job after all.” Nana chuckled picked up all the cushions and threw them onto the bed to make it easier for her to organize them.

The younger male smiled and relaxed back onto the seat with a light sigh.

“You did well. Helping Mistress Belle like that.” She muttered placing all the bigger pillows close to the headboard then the medium ones just afterwards.

Yoongi chuckled nervously observing her actions and how effortlessly she put everything in place when it took his entire soul to neaten the blanket. “What’re friends for?” He pressed his lips together in a thin line.

Nana smirked, fluffing the larger pillows. “Just friends?”

Eyes widened at the sudden change of tone from the older female making him stammer a little as he spoke.

“I wasn’t born yesterday, boy.” She continued speaking casually while wiping off the collected on the side lamp. “This isn’t just an undercover mission anymore and you know it.”

Yoongi could have sworn his core shivered hearing those words so easily fall from Nana’s lips without a damn care in the world. Glancing over at the door of his bedroom, he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “How did you—”

“I raised Jungkook, you think I wouldn’t be able to see a rat under my nose?” Nana continued to keep her gaze anywhere but the younger male pretending like they were either having a regular conversation or none at all since Yoongis’ tongue seemed to lose its purpose. “Don’t get so scared. I don’t rat police officers out, you’re doing the right thing.” She neatened up Yoongis’ things on the nightstand. “Every king needs to be taught that they can crumble just as easily as a servant.”

Once everything stood in order, Nana stood in front of the male with a bright smile. “And every servant knows when to help the right people. I clean Jungkooks’ office too.” She gave him a bow and turned on her heel to leave the room.

Needless to say Yoongi was heavily reminded of how Namjoon and him were not the only ones who wanted an end to Jungkooks’ reign.

<< PREV CHAP | NEXT CHAP >>