#when i would not have been only a few years ago | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

beenbaanbuun · 22 hours

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blood w/ poly!ateez

so i feel so sane about this… definitely no evil thoughts filling up my brain right now. none whatsoever :)

i want to write so much more about this universe and i’m literally sending the biggest kiss ever to @ateez-main-yapper to requesting this because i will be thinking about this for the rest of my life!

words - idk

genre - smut, horror (there’s a bit of gore i guess)

warnings - vampire!ateez, mafia!ateez, human!reader, smuggler!reader, blood, scarification, collars, ownership, blood, surgery mentions, nicknames (little mouse, princess, sweetheart), dancer!yeosang, security guard!mingi, ripper!doctor!yunho, mommy!seonghwa (don’t look at me like that, i had to), hand kink (mentioned), no actual sex but it’s talked about a lot, hair pulling, i think that’s all??

——————————————————————————

the scent of stale blood haunts the hallway you find yourself walking down, clinging to the back of your throat until yourself gagging on it. no matter how many times you find yourself down here, it never gets any easier to cope with; even a slaughterhouse would be more pleasant than this.

it begs the question why you’re back. by now, you’ve bled them of enough money to never have to work again, so it’s certainly not the pay. the job itself is harder than most, and not at all rewarding when you have to lie and cheat your way into success. there’s no doubt that the stress of hiding a smuggling operation behind the guise of a blood donation clinic has taken a good 20 years of your life from you. you can guarantee that job satisfaction isn’t what’s keeping you here either.

it’s only when you turn a corner and your eyes land upon them that you remember exactly why you’re still so willing to walk these halls. it isn’t something keeping you here but rather someone; multiple someones, in fact.

“mingi!” your footsteps quicken as you get closer the security guard that stands waiting outside of a heavy metal door. despite the fact that you’ve been on the other side of it multiple times, it still sends a shiver of curiosity down your spine. it’s not an anxious curiosity as it was when you first landed yourself in this position, but more of a morbid one. you know the horrors that lie behind it, you’ve experienced a few of them too, yet you still yearn to see more. “long time no see,” you offer a polite smile once you’re close enough to lower your volume from a shout, “san told me hongjoong had assigned you to pest control. is it not going well?”

mingi gives you a slow blink, his jaw set in stone and his eyes steely as he stares you down. he’s always looked far more intimidating than he actually is, although you suppose it serves to his benefit when his main job it scaring away anyone who might wish to disturb the peace. you’re only grateful to have had the chance to see behind the mask he wears; to watch his eyes melt and his lips part in the wonky grin he gets so little time to wear.

“you’ve not seen me in months and the first thing you ask me is about my demotion back to security?” he quirks a brow at you and you have to bite back your grin. in truth, you’d heard all about it from seonghwa over the past few weeks, your main contact within the clan more than happy to share life details with you as though you’re a lifelong friend rather than a mere employee. their favourite employee, sure, but still at the bottom of the pecking order.

“i just wanted to know more,” you lift your arms in defence, not missing the way his eyes flicker to the bandage on your left forearm, “like you said, it’s been a while.”

mingi hums in agreement as he examines the clean cloth. a long finger reaches out to trace the spot where the fabric meets your skin, the touch lingering and soft. it’s more the real mingi than it is the security guard mingi; it warms your heart to see.

“when did this happen?” he whispers, voice barely above a whisper.

“about two weeks ago,” you i pull your wrist back, letting mingi’s hand drop back down to his side, “hongjoong wanted to approach me about it, but i didn’t take much convincing,” actually, it was you who approached him but for some reason that’s much harder to admit, “you guys are much… kinder to me than the other clans i supply, well, supplied to. it was a no brainer to ditch them when given the chance.”

“so you’re ours?” he asks, voice dipping a little too low for the question to be purely innocent.

“i’m mine,” you confirm, “what i supply, however, is all yours.”

there’s a smirk on his lips, not as easily defeated by your sense of self worth as you’d like him to be. he knows as well as the rest of them what the mark on your arm means, after all. he knows as well as you do that there’s no getting away from them now. the moment yunho took his sweet, sadistic time carving their mark into your body it wasn’t just your business that belonged to them.

“sure you are, little mouse,” he whispers as he leans in close, his icy breath fluttering against your face. your stomach drops but you choose to ignore it. this was your decision, after all, “now, scurry along; you wouldn’t want to keep anyone waiting, would you?”

with the flip of a switch, the metal door clicks open and your immediately met with a blast of cool air and a wall of sound. you’ll never understand the clan’s need for these constant frivolities, especially when you’re on the other side of this getting your hands dirty, but you suppose it is a good way to hide their more secretive operations. no one is going to notice the door in the corner when there’s so much going on out here, right? it’s an extra layer of security, and a darn good one at that.

when you step inside, the door clicks shut behind you and you immediately get to scanning the crowd of partygoers for a familiar face. amongst the hoard of vampires, they’re harder to spot, their ashy skin and red eyes sticking out a lot less than they would next to a human. instead you look for a familiar hair colour, recalling the angry text you got from seonghwa about the den’s main bathroom turning pink with hongjoong’s hairdye. nothing sticks out at you, though, and so you’re back at square one.

your arms stretch out before you as you go to push through the crowd. it’s moments like this that you’re glad for the metal, almost collar-like band around your neck. yeosang had created it as a way to keep your pulse hidden from any less-well-meaning vampires. he’d insisted that the tag dangling from it with the clan’s emblem engraved was all hongjoong’s idea, but you recognise the same possessive glint in all of their eyes. it’s the same one yunho had given you when engraving that very emblem into your body, and the same one san had given to you when wrapping your bleeding arm up in a fluffy white bandage. yeosang is just like the rest of them, even behind his sweet exterior.

but right now he isn’t crafting some marvel of engineering out of metal scraps and a dream, but instead on the stage at the front of the room. it’s not often he’s up there instead of one of the others, but as you watch him elegantly dangle from a hoop that hangs from the ceiling, you find it hard to see why. he’s utterly ethereal, like a butterfly about to emerge from a chrysalis; one of those blue ones with the wings that seemed designed to capture your attention with their beauty. you’re entranced, much more so than the rest of the party-goers who seem to have grown blind to the creature moving elegantly before them.

his body moves not at all like a butterfly though, instead flowing smoothly like a viper along the branch of a tree. he extends his arms in such a way you’ve never seen before, silken and smooth as he reaches out to his audience. it pulls you in further, your feet shuffling as you push through the final layer of people to get to the stage. you stumble forwards, catching yourself on the edge of the raised platform. if he notices you there, he doesn’t show it; the stoic expression he wears remains steady as he gracefully shifts his body into yet another position.

you watch him like that until the end of his performance, unblinking with your lips parted in awe. even the way he tumbles to the floor and bows to an uninterested audience holds so much more grace than you think you will ever possess. to think that this is the man that spends half of his time smeared in motor oil with a puppy-like grin on his lips is strange, yet it feels so right.

“hello, little mouse,” he echoes the familiar nickname as he makes his way to the front of the stage, crouching down in front of you and running an all-too-confident finger along your jawline to your chin. he snaps your mouth shut in a way that is so far from the yeosang you know that part of you believes this must be his much cockier twin. “hongjoong is out tonight; some trouble on south side caught his attention so he wanted to clean up the mess before the police got there.”

“i’m meeting with seonghwa then?” you murmur, too starstruck for your mouth the form words properly.

yeosang shakes his head.

“seonghwa and san went with him,” the finger from your chin shifts down to the piece of jewellery that fits snug around your neck. his touch catches against the tag, the jingling sound reminding you of a bell on a cats collar. you try to ignore the smirk that rises to his face as sees you make the connection, instead shifting your gaze to the pendant around his neck that shares the same symbol. “yunho is busy with whatever sick shit gets him off, me and mingi are working which means…”

fuck.

“jongho and wooyoung.”

“clever mouse,” yeosang’s tone is venomous, despite his words being soft. clearly performing does something to his ego; inflates it until every sign of the sweet mechanic is hidden behind a thick shroud of confidence. it’s deliciously cruel, mirroring the sick sadism of yunho or the vast overconfidence of mingi, and holy fuck do you want a taste. perhaps later, once business is over.

if business is over.

“i wouldn’t worry too much about those two, though,” he continues, tugging on the tag of your collar—because despite your pride, even you have to admit that there’s no other way to describe it—until you’re face is merely inches from his own, “hongjoong promised yunho their balls if they can’t learn to control them. maybe you’ll finally be able to have a meeting with them before getting your pussy stuffed, hm?”

you feel yourself getting warmer, your face flushing as yeosang so blatantly talks about your track record with the pair of resident trouble makers. it’s not like you’ve let slip about all the times jongho’s had you sitting on his cock with your mouth wrapped around wooyoung’s the second you step into their office which means that they must have instead. it makes you wonder what they talk about whenever you’re not here, and how much each of them know about your less than professional escapades with each of them. it’s a troubling thought, and yet it’s still manages to light a fire deep in your belly.

“see you later, yeosang,” is the only thing you can mumble in response as you pull away from his touch, the tag of the collar bumping gently against your neck as it slips free of his fingers.

——————-

“you told the others about fucking me?” you scoff as you barge your way into the office where the two youngest vampires await your arrival. it’s nice to see them here already, since they usually arrive far later than the agreed upon time. although, you suppose with the delays of mingi and yeosang, you’re also late on this occasion. you let the passive-aggressive comment about time keeping slide, knowing it won’t help you right now.

“hello to you too, mousy,” wooyoung hums from where he lays on the green sofa in the corner of the room, “it’s nice to see you again! we’re doing wonderfully, by the way; thanks for a—”

you let the door slam behind you as you storm your way towards him, completely ignoring the curious gaze of jongho.

“cut the shit, wooyoung,” you grab hold of his shirt collar and lean in close. it’s supposed to be intimidating but the wide grin on his lips lets you know otherwise. “you’ve all been talking about me when i’m not here? what the fuck, man!”

wooyoung chuckles in your face, his dangerous fangs glinting beneath the overhead lights. you know he’d never bite without your permission—people have been killed by hongjoong for much less—but it still sends a shiver through you whenever you see them.

“you’re not exactly discrete yourself, princess,” the office chair creaks as jongho stands, making his way around his desk and towards you. although you keep your gaze firmly on the little rat who still sits giggling to himself, you can’t help but be hyper aware of the presence behind you. a large hand traces its way up your spine, not stopping until you feel his fingers lace themselves with your locks and tug. your grip fall limply from wooyoung’s shirt as you’re hauled back into the soft muscle of jongho’s chest, your neck craned awkwardly over his shoulder to keep you in place. “what do you want us to say when san is asking about who’s cum he’s eaten from your pussy? do you want us to lie to them?”

you squirm, wincing when his grip on your hair doesn’t loosen despite your attempts to break free. they call you little mouse and right now, you really do feel the part—you walked right into a trap of which there’s no way out.

“maybe i should let you fuck me again just so i can watch when yunho rips your fucking balls off your body!” you grunt through gritted teeth.

jongho hums in amusement, “it was hyperbole, sweetheart,” a pair of cold lips meet the hot skin of your cheek for just a second before pulling away, the softness a stark contrast to the harsh grip he still has you in, “he doesn’t care how much we fuck you as long as we get the job done. after all, he’d be a hypocrite to complain about us fucking you when his dick is inside of you twice as often, hm?”

you watch with cautious eyes as wooyoung stands from his place on the sofa, grinning as wide as the cheshire cat. it reeks of danger, yet you’ve never been the type to give into that sort of thing. you’re a human working for a bunch of vampires; danger is just a regular part of your life at this point.

“besides, mousy,” the cheshire cat purrs, “you think we’re the only ones who talk? you don’t think we know just how much you love calling seonghwa mommy when you ride him? or how much you love it when yeosang spits in your mouth whenever he’s fucking you dumb?” wooyoung brings a hand to your cheek, dusting over your bottom lip with his thumb, “you’re ours, little mouse; we can talk if we want.”

#ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez oneshot #ateez fluff #ateez scenarios #ateez fic #ateez smut

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2amriize · 18 hours

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˚⟡˖ RIIZE angry confessions

ᡣ𐭩 masterlist genre angst, fluff pairing riize x reader

ᯓ★ SHOTARO

Shotaro had been in love with you for a while, but he always felt that you only saw him as a good friend. Because of this, he decided not to confess his feelings. You two had known each other for years, and although he only realized his feelings a few months ago, he had always felt a bit strange when he saw you with other guys. Back then, he didn't admit it, but he was jealous. He couldn't understand why, despite laughing with him more than anyone else, you still seemed to prefer other guys. Deep down, he felt like he wasn't enough.

Since he realized he was in love with you, you hadn’t mentioned liking any other guys, so Shotaro hadn't felt jealous in a while—until it happened.

One day, while you were having an afternoon snack at a café with Shotaro, something you did often, you spotted a guy from your class who you thought was really cute entering the café. You couldn’t help but feel nervous.

"Oh my god..." you murmured, trying to look away.

“What’s up?” Shotaro asked, turning to see what had caught your attention.

“It’s that guy from my class… He’s…”

“Oh, do you have a crush on him?” Shotaro glanced at the guy for a few seconds before turning back around and letting out a small sigh. “He’s not good for you.”

“Huh? Why do you say that?”

“He looks like trouble. And I don’t think he’s right for you.”

Shotaro had never said anything like that to you before, and it made you a bit angry. What was he implying?

“Since when do you care about what's good for me, Shotaro?” you asked, giving him a serious look, clearly upset by his words. He looked back at you in silence for a few seconds.

“Since I…” He bit his lip and shook his head. “Nevermind.”

“Since what, Shotaro? Why do you suddenly care about the guys I like? It’s none of your business…”

“Because I’m in love with you, Y/N!” Shotaro cut you off, standing up and looking at you intensely. “That’s why, alright? Are you happy now?” He grabbed his things and stormed out of the café.

ᯓ★ EUNSEOK

It was the way Eunseok looked at you that made everyone else realize how much he liked you. Well, everyone except for you. From the moment he met you, Eunseok knew he had feelings for you, but there wasn’t much he could do about it because at the time, you were dating someone else.

When you broke up with that guy, Eunseok was there for you whenever you needed him, supporting you. But that was all he could do—be by your side—because he felt like you didn’t see him the same way he saw you. Even though everyone always mentioned how Eunseok looked at you, you would always reply with, “I don’t know why everyone keeps saying that, Eunseok looks at everyone like that…”

To be honest, sometimes you had thought about it—whether Eunseok really had feelings for you like everyone said—but it didn’t make sense to you, so you would quickly brush it off. On the other hand, Eunseok was finding it harder and harder to contain his feelings. It never seemed like the right moment to confess, especially since you had been going through an on-again, off-again relationship with the same guy for a while, something Eunseok couldn’t stand.

“You got back with him again?” Eunseok asked with a sigh as you both sat on the grass at a friend’s birthday party. You had stepped outside to get some fresh air.

“Yeah… I feel like it’s what I should do.”

“Why, Y/N? Sometimes you make the dumbest decisions…”

“Excuse me?” You looked at him, surprised by the way he spoke. Eunseok had always supported you, and this was the first time he sounded frustrated. “It’s not dumb…”

“Isn’t it? To keep chasing after someone who doesn’t treat you the way you deserve?”

“What do you mean, Eunseok? He treats me well… we just have a few little fights sometimes. Besides, I go back to him because he’s the only one who cares about me at the end of the day, because…”

“Oh my god, Y/N, how can you be so blind?” Eunseok interrupted, looking at you with clear frustration.

“What…?”

As he stood up to go back inside, he murmured, “I don’t understand how you can’t see that the person who loves you the most is right in front of you…”

ᯓ★ SUNGCHAN

Sungchan had been looking out for you since day one. You had known each other since elementary school, and ever since then, you had always been together. He was always by your side, making sure you were okay and safe. You two spent so much time together that people who didn’t know you well often thought you were dating, something you always denied immediately to avoid awkwardness.

Sungchan never took it personally when you denied it—he tried to brush it off quickly—until it happened in a situation unlike any other before. You had never had a boyfriend, mostly because you hadn’t really been interested in any guys… until now. There was this one guy you’d been noticing lately, someone you found intriguing, but you hadn’t told anyone about it because it made you a little shy.

To your surprise, your friends invited this guy to a lunch gathering that you and Sungchan were also attending. When you saw him approaching with your friends, you couldn’t hide your nervousness, which Sungchan immediately noticed. And, as usual, the guy asked how long you and Sungchan had been together.

“No, him and me? We’re not a couple. Not at all. Never,” you said quickly, letting out a nervous laugh.

Sungchan stared at you in silence. He couldn’t believe what you had just done. Normally, you would simply say, “No, we’re just friends,” but this time, it felt like you had overreacted, and it hurt him. As you continued talking more with the guy, Sungchan started to feel left out (and jealous), so he let out a small laugh and walked away to another spot.

It took you a few minutes to realize Sungchan was no longer there, behind you, where he had always been. Confused, you quietly excused yourself from the group to go find him. After searching for a bit, you finally found him leaning against a tree, sipping his drink. You approached and touched his shoulder, and he looked at you with an expression you had never seen on him before.

“Why did you leave, Sungchan? Did something happen?”

“It seemed like you didn’t need me there anymore,” he said, turning his gaze away from you.

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t know you hated the idea of people seeing us as a couple… or rather, that he saw us as a couple.”

“Sungchan, you know that’s not it. We’re not dating, you know? I always say the same thing. I don’t get why you’re acting like this now…”

“I’ve been following you around like a lost puppy since the day we met, yet you couldn’t see?” Sungchan turned to face you, locking eyes with you for a few seconds.

“What… what do you mean…?” you murmured, feeling your cheeks heat up.

“It’s… nevermind,” he said, walking away.

ᯓ★ WONBIN

Wonbin was a friend of one of your friends, and although you had met him several times before, you didn’t really start talking until a few months ago. To both of your surprise, you had a lot of common interests, which meant you had been talking more and more lately.

Whenever you hung out with your group of friends, it wasn’t unusual for you and Wonbin to spend the entire time together, which led to people starting to suspect there was something going on between you two. However, everyone knew that you had been interested in another guy for a while, a guy who constantly gave you mixed signals. But you were so blinded by the way he treated you that you couldn’t see he was just playing with your feelings.

This was something Wonbin knew, and it was starting to bother him more and more. At first, he didn’t care much, but the more he got to know you, the more frustrated he became with how this guy was treating you. And that’s when he realized that maybe he didn’t see you just as a friend anymore. The moment he came to that realization, he regretted it, knowing that you only had eyes for someone else, and he felt like you’d never notice him.

One evening, you were hanging out with your friends, and for some reason, you all decided to drink. Wonbin wasn’t very good at drinking, so it didn’t take long for him to get tipsy, his cheeks flushed. When Wonbin got drunk, he became even more affectionate than usual. You had also been drinking, but it didn’t affect you as much.

At one point, Wonbin went outside to get some fresh air because he was feeling a bit dizzy, and you followed him to check if he was okay. While outside, you started talking about the guy you liked, and unlike usual, Wonbin didn’t respond or pay much attention. When you noticed he was staring off into the distance, you looked at him.

“Wonbin? Are you okay?”

He stared at you for a few seconds, and just when it seemed like he was about to say something, he sighed and buried his face in his hands, muttering, “Do you like that guy so much that you can’t see what he’s doing to you?”

“Huh? What are you talking about, Wonbin? He treats me really well…”

“Yeah, that’s what you think…”

“You don’t have the right to talk about him like that when you don’t even know him,” you said, getting annoyed at how Wonbin was speaking badly about him.

After a few seconds of silence, Wonbin looked at you and shook his head.

“…This is why I knew I shouldn’t have gotten close to you.”

“What are you talking about, Wonbin?”

“I just… wish you wouldn’t keep seeing that guy.”

“You don’t have the right to say that.”

“I wish I did.”

ᯓ★ SEUNGHAN

Everyone, even you, knew how much Seunghan liked you. But you always ignored his feelings because you preferred not to face that reality. You had been friends for so many years that you didn't want to risk your friendship over it. Still, you couldn't deny that you treated him differently from everyone else, being much more affectionate and always relying on him when you needed someone. Seunghan was always there for you, no matter what. It didn’t matter if you were on the other side of the city and only needed a pen—he would come and bring it to you. That’s how much you meant to him, and everyone could see it.

That’s why, when he heard from others that you were starting to get to know another guy, he felt his heart break a little. He knew you two weren’t a couple and that he had never confessed his feelings, but it still hurt to find out from someone else, especially when you knew how he felt. The thought of you with another guy was something he couldn't stand.

He tried to distance himself from you for a while after hearing the news, but he just couldn’t. He couldn’t say no when you asked him to pick you up from class to take you home, even though he knew you probably had an important date. Despite knowing this date might be with the other guy, he couldn’t bring himself to refuse, so he picked you up just as you had asked.

The whole ride, he was quiet and serious, something you found odd since Seunghan had never behaved like this around you. He was always so sweet and cheerful when he was with you.

"Seunghan, is something wrong? You seem really serious," you asked when he parked in front of your house after the silent ride.

"No, don't worry," he murmured without looking at you.

"I know something’s bothering you…"

"Don't you have to go get ready for your date?"

The way Seunghan looked at you and the tone he used when mentioning your date made you realize he knew about it, and he seemed quite upset.

"Seunghan, you know I care about you a lot, but it’s just…"

"You know. You know I love you and took full advantage of the fact that I'd do anything for you. And I know that. I just kept at it, hoping that one day you'd value me just as much."

You froze after hearing Seunghan’s words. You couldn’t help but feel bad for making him feel this way, though it was never your intention. Before you could even respond, Seunghan spoke again.

"Just… get out. You’re going to be late."

ᯓ★ SOHEE

There had always been a sort of romantic tension between you and Sohee. Both of you were playful and touchy with each other, but that was all—just tension. Even though you both probably had feelings for each other, neither of you had confessed.

In fact, you were always waiting for him to confess, but that moment never seemed to come. The longer you waited, the more tired you grew of holding onto hope. Yet, despite that, you couldn’t seem to let go of the idea of him.

Knowing all of this, you still couldn’t ignore the guy who approached you at the party. You had come to the university party with Sohee, but he had gone off to talk to his friends. The guy, someone you hadn’t seen before, wasted no time approaching you once he saw Sohee wasn’t by your side.

You two talked for a while, and the guy even brushed your arm occasionally while locking eyes with you. You couldn’t deny feeling a bit nervous around him. He was charming and very attractive. After chatting for a bit, you excused yourself to go to the bathroom, promising you’d be right back.

You didn’t expect to find Sohee waiting for you outside the bathroom. You quickly noticed he’d had a few drinks.

"Sohee, have you been drinking?"

"Who was that guy?"

"Are you talking about the one I was talking to earlier? He’s a new guy at our faculty. He’s pretty nice. I was about to go back and talk to him."

"Don’t go back to him," Sohee muttered, lowering his head.

"Sohee, you can’t decide what I do."

"I know I can’t, but I don’t want you to talk to him again."

"Sohee, you’re just drunk and saying things that don’t make sense," you said, walking past him, heading back to the party.

"Y/n, I love you," you heard Sohee murmur as he grabbed your wrist, only to let it go after a few seconds. You looked at him, stunned, for a moment. "Is that what you wanted to hear? Are you happy now?" he said before walking away into the party, leaving you standing in the hallway, unsure of what to say or do.

ᯓ★ ANTON

You and Anton had been best friends for as long as you could remember. You went to the same school, and your mothers were close friends, so you spent many summers together. Even after graduating, you both ended up attending the same university, so you still saw each other daily.

It felt like you two were inseparable—until you started getting to know another guy. It took you a while to tell Anton about him since you’d never really talked about that kind of stuff before. When you finally did, you thought he took it well at first, but you noticed him starting to act strange, becoming more distant.

Although he said nothing was wrong, he always had excuses to avoid walking home with you, claiming he had plans to study with classmates in a café, something you found odd since he didn’t like studying in public. Even so, you decided to trust him and give him the space he seemed to need.

One day, as you were heading home, you spotted Anton walking in the distance. It had been a while since you’d seen him in person, so you decided to catch up with him. He smiled briefly when he saw you, but then quickly looked away and started walking faster.

"Anton, I feel like you’ve been acting weird these past weeks. Is something wrong?"

"Huh? No, you know… exams, new people… It’s just that. Nothing’s wrong."

"Are you sure? I feel like you’re pulling away from me, and if I’ve done something wrong, I want to know."

"Nothing’s wrong, y/n. You’ve just got other friends now, and I get it," he mumbled coldly. You stood there, thinking for a moment. In high school, you’d made new friends, and yet you and Anton still acted like you always had. Why was this time different?

"I feel like you’ve been off ever since I told you about Ricky…"

"Y/n. I just… don’t want to talk about it."

"Well, I do, Anton. I feel like you’re being selfish, only thinking about how you feel and not about how you’re making me feel," you said, frustrated, stopping in the middle of the street. Anton turned to look at you, serious.

"Well, I’m sorry I fell in love with you, okay? But it happened, and I can’t do shit about it."

"You… what?"

Anton stared at you for a few seconds, pressing his lips together before turning his back on you.

"Forget it, y/n. I’m just tired from all the studying."

ᡣ𐭩 masterlist taglist: @regularsuh @gacktsa @totheseok @kkumistars @taroddori

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heartnosekid · 16 hours

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hello friends, i have to vent a little here. i apologize in advance.

so, my sweet girl snowbelle has been struggling with a condition called megacolon since we took her from a neglectful home several years ago. she has had consistent flareups and has had to be sedated multiple times to control her condition.

her condition has been well controlled for a few years now, and she usually only has to be sedated twice a year at this point.

she will be going to the vet tomorrow for her second flareup this year and she has developed some other new issues along with the normal ones. i am so worried for her and if i could, i would ask yall to please keep her in your thoughts when she is at the vet and during her recovery. she is my entire world and it pains me so deeply to see her in any amount of discomfort.

if yall have any words of positivity or encouragement, feel free to leave them on this post. i would be very grateful for any kind words.

as always, i love you all and thank you for letting me have this space to speak with you all. 🩷

- ish 💕

#snowbellimus rex #ishy kitties #animal sickness mention #cats #kitties #animals #tuxedo cats #ish talks #eye contact

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blossom-hwa · 1 day

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

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

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

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

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

The bruises still hurt to the touch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Miss L/N.”

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

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

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

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

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

And Beomgyu, too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Life would be so much easier, then.

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

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

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

You’d be a fool not to take it.

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

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

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

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

. . . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?” you finally ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What it would mean to me.

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

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

He holds your gaze. “Yes, it does.”

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

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

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

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

You fall silent.

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

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

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

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

Your silence is more telling than anything you said before.

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

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

And eventually, you do.

“My father is dead.”

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

“…I am incredibly sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You take a shuddering breath. “Beomgyu…”

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

You swallow hard.

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

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

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

. . . . .

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

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

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

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

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

You were right to trust him.

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

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

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

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

You ignore her. “Who is the caller?”

“Mr. Choi.”

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

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

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

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

“You are not the head of this household.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Horror flashes across her expression. “You—”

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

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

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

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

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

But it never comes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods, looking terribly guilty.

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

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

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

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

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

“Desperation?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . . . .

epilogue.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's adorable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was the fact that you had Beomgyu.

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

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

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

“I’m not not eager,” you protest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…Five minutes.”

“Fifteen.”

“Ten.”

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

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

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

“…Fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 days

Text

Killing Time 2

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, includes violence, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: a job offer could be an escape from your old life, but the new one, may not hold freedom.

Characters: Kraven the Hunter, August Walker, Lloyd Hansen, James Conrad, God the Bounty Hunter, Court Gentry

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

The interior of the car is sleek and shiny. You don’t want to touch anything as you strap the seat belt across your torso. You feel bad enough that he insists upon getting your bags in the car. When he’s at last in the driver’s seat, you relax.

You glance out the window at the patch of grass where Jake was moments ago. He slinked away as you hid behind the tinted glass in triumph. One little victory after a year of terror.

“So, shall we?” James asks as he turns the engine. “We’ve some ways to go,” he adjusts the mirror and glances over at you. “I know it isn’t good etiquette but I must say you look beat. It won’t bother me should you doze as I drive.”

“Oh, uh,” you rub your cheek bashfully, “thanks, I... spent all night packing so--”

It’s not a complete lie and you’re sure he can fathom the truth after the morning’s confrontation. Admitting it will only make it worse. You just want to leave it all behind.

“Of course. I apologise for the short notice but thank you very much for being so accommodating,” he says.

He shifts into gear and checks his blind spot before he slowly steers away from the curb.

“Me? Thank you for the drive. I’m sure I’ve could have found a bus--”

“You would assume but as I said, the location is remote and you’d still need to get from the station to the house. I don’t mind at all. I’ve not been to the manor in some time and I’m overdue to check in on it.” He explains, “I’m happy to do so with company, if I’m to be honest.”

“Ah, okay,” you accept. You cup your hand over your mouth as a yawn rises without warning. “Mm, sorry.”

“As I said, please, rest your eyes. We have a long road,” he says. “Oh, you won’t mind some music? Any preference?”

“I’m not picky,” you assure him and lean back against the seat. Despite not wanting to check out, your body is screaming for sleep. Your muscles ease against the firm cushion and you can’t help a groan. “Whatever you like.”

You turn to look out the window, watching the streets and the few pedestrians on the pavement. Your lashes flick, weighed down by the sleepless night and the peak of adrenaline. Your head lolls and you let your eyelids close. Just for a minute and you’ll open them again...

When you stir, the car is still but idling. The engine hums and the AC flows. You look over at the empty driver seat and jolt upright. Huh?

Your panic is curtailed as the door opens and James appears with a tray of cups and a paper bag. He smiles as he lowers himself into the car and balances it all in his lap.

“I didn’t know if I should wake you but I grabbed some coffee. Sugar and cream if you need,” he wiggles free a cup and puts it in the holder. “And they had some lovely looking bagels--”

“Oh,” you wipe your chapped lips with the back of your hand. “You didn’t have to—I'm sorry I fell asleep...”

“I did expect it,” he chuckles as he hands you the paper bag. “It is your choice. I got one sesame seed and a pumpernickel. I hope that’s acceptable.”

“Mm, pumpernickel?” You clasp the top of the bag, “thanks, that’s... that’s so nice.”

“Not at all,” he takes his own cup as he puts the tray behind his seat. He inhales the scent through the slot of the lid. “Ah, not terrible. They had English.” He lifts the cup slightly. “How typical, yes? That I would rather tea.”

“I don’t mind tea,” you shrug and open the bag.

“We will eat then be back on the road. Further on, we will have something more substantial.” He explains.

You check the first bagel; sesame, and hand it to him. You sit and unwrap your own. Before you can have a bite, you gape at the digital clock in the dashboard.

“Holy... two hours?” You utter.

“Oh, yes, the time breezed by,” he remarks.

You hide a frown and bite into the toasted bagel. You feel a bit better but a glaze of dizziness lingers. You need the sleep but you’re embarrassed all the same. You shouldn’t be snoring in the passenger seat on your way to a job. After all, he’s technically your boss.

“Really, don’t worry,” he says as if he can read your mind.

“I’ll try not to,” you swallow.

You finish your food with minimal conversation. You’re still a little groggy but not as tired. You manage to stay awake as he sets off again.

You glance over at him. He’s a stranger but something about his presence is calming. So much so that you lost all wariness. After what you’ve been through with Jake, you should’ve taken a bit more time to think this through. It strikes you then that this man is taking you to some remote location, based on a single conversation...

You shake off your suspicion. It’s Jake. That’s all. He taught you distrust. Someone you thought was your friend, turned out to be a monster. Well, they say you’re more likely to be assaulted by someone you know. Maybe it’s good that you barely know James.

“How long were you in the city?” He asks, piercing through your inner turmoil.

“Oh, uh, about five years,” you answer. “I... you live there or....”

“Closeby,” he answers. “I think you can guess I’ve relocated but I do tend to hop around often. I get restless.”

“Ah, so that’s why you need a caretaker.”

“Essentially, yes,” he agrees. “I’ve not the ability to remain as long as I need. It was a colleague who suggested it. One of his rare good ideas.”

“Right,” you nod.

“Well, I trust you will keep good care of it,” he says over the steering wheel.

The journey unravels before you. It’s further than you thought, but you didn’t really pay much attention to your destination. You’re more concerned with getting away. All the business of thinking this out can wait until you can breathe.

As promised, you stop again to eat and relieve yourself. James girds only a few hours left. It’s taken most of the day to get this far and the road ahead is less a highway and more a rural path. You take your time eating, as much not to make yourself sick as to take a break from sitting in the car.

Back on the road, you feel the exhaustion fall on you again. You struggle to keep your eyes open as the evening deepens. James drives towards a thicket of trees, the moonlight flickering between them. You descend into the darkness as the car thrums through the noise of crickets and swaying leaves.

The fir thins and opens up to reveal a large stone wall and a wrought iron gate that gleams in the moonlight. The peaks of the large manor are painted silver in the night’s hue. You sit up to see it clearer. It looked big in the pictures but you’re blown away by the reality.

“A moment,” he stops and puts the car in park.

He gets out as you watch him through the gloom. He unlocks the gate and pulls it outward, just one side, enough to get through. He comes back and shifts gears, steering through and up the long paved drive. He kills the engine and sighs.

“I’ll just go lock up before we do the grand tour, if you don’t mind,” he says.

You give a noncommittal grumble as you undo your seat belt. You just want to stretch your legs. You get out parallel to him and he hurries off back toward the gate. The hinges creak loudly in the night, and eerie high-pitched noise.

As he returns, the moon hides behind a cloud and drapes his figure in black. “We’ll fetch the bags after. It’s dark out here.”

You’re too tired and uneasy to speak. Now that you’re here, the second thoughts begin. This man is still, at the core, a stranger. And more, you don’t exactly know where he’s taken you. You push back the doubt as another symptom of your year of torment. That was another man, not him.

He leads you towards the front door. You climb the curved stone steps as bats flutter off in the sky. You shiver as he unlocks the door and disappears within. A light beams through on and you shy away. He beckons you inward from behind it.

“Come,” he holds a flashlight. “We’ll need to turn the generator on.”

“Oh, uh, of course,” you agree and step inside.

He shuts the door as you enter and he turns to aim the light around the grand foyer. He slowly moves forward, sure to keep pace with you. You admire what you can in the shadows. The staircase that curls out at the bottom, and the carved posts that sharpen to points at the end of the banisters.

You follow him, huddling close without thinking. It feels as if you might get lost if you stray too far. He takes you along the hallways behind the stairs and to a narrow door at the end. He opens it and shines the light down.

“You first, I’ll keep the torch above you,” he says.

You look down the dark staircase then at him. He angles the light and brightens the way down. You turn and take the first step, and the next. Each groans beneath your weight as you put your hand on the railing. You get to the bottom and his own steps illicit creaks.

He nudges you as points the flashlight across the damp basement. It’s cold down there. You fold your arms as your teeth chatter. You go to the generator and he looks it over.

“You have the most important task,” he says and flips the light in his hand, “holding the torch.”

He offers it and you take it uncertainly. You shine it over the boxy generator and he examines it once more.

“We only need to turn the valve here,” he points, “then the choke,” he moves a rod from left to right, “turn the ignition,” he twists, “and pull the cord.” He grunts as he tugs, “just until you feel resistance and it should--” it rumbles and clanks, then mellows out to a steady hum. “There. Now, let it run for a moment and set the choke to run...” he steps back and dusts his hands off on his pants, “there’s a manual on the shelf over there in case you need to restart it, ever. Thunderstorms are not so kind here.”

“Oh, okay, uh, yeah. I’ll find that.”

“Mm, yes, well, how about tomorrow? If you don’t mind, I think I’ll be in better spirits for a tour then. Then you might see it in the light of day, eh?” He suggests. “For now, we’ll find you a place to sleep and get your bags in.”

“That sounds good,” you agree. “I am beat.”

“Me too,” he agrees. “There’s an old kettle around, I’ve some tea in my bag. If you’re interested.”

“Maybe in the morning,” you turn back to the stairs, steadying the sphere of light across them. “I just want to lay down.”

“Can’t blame you,” he trails behind you. “Given the way the day started, I’m certain you’re merely happy to be away from it all.”

“Oh...” you utter, a tinge of embarrassment nips in your cheeks. “Yeah, well, that was--- it’s over now, right?”

“Yes, a fresh start,” he agrees as you start up the stairs and he follows closely. “I do hope you find peace here.”

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rs-hawk · 3 days

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So just saw your post about not voting for trump. Good post. He's not a white nationalist though. Real white nationalists respect indigenous people. Place for every race and all that. He's just the run of the mill politician who says what he thinks will give him the most voters. Anyway, you'd probably be better treated by a white nationalist government lol.

This has been sitting in my ask box for like a month but just... Damn. This is wild.

You're telling me that I, a queer mixed Indigenous AFAB person who technically can be considered disabled, am respected by... White Supremacists? White Supremacists want me dead. I live in Texas. I come in contact with White Supremacists literally on a near daily basis.

They are the first ones to throw slurs at me. They are the first to say I should go back to my own country (and then say Reservation when I say that this is my country). They are the first ones to literally throw things at me at my day job. I have had people who I know for a fact are literally, LITERALLY, in the KKK, come into my job and ask why someone like me is working up front in a public establishment.

Again, I am mixed race. White Supremacists often either hate me off the bat because they know I'm mixed or see me as a minority and me simply existing in the same space as them is an affront. However, when they think I'm full White (as I am Italian and have been told I pass as Italian), and then find out I'm mixed it's so much worse. They take it as I lied to them. I had one customer at work a few years ago that we kind of flirted, and he was talking about taking me out when my job slowed down. I mentioned something off handedly about turquoise jewelry a few visits later, and he asked if I was "Indian". When I said yes, a total 180. He started accusing me of lying to him, saying I wanted to taint his blood line, blah blah blah.

Here's what you need to understand, sticking up for White Supremacists is just as fucked as being one. White Supremacists don't respect Indigenous Peoples. They want us gone. They want us somewhere they never have to see us. Reservations are not something we got out of respect. We have Reservations because we were forced to and it was all we were allowed. This is my ancestral land, and they still think I should be forced to live in another state because the government decided over a century ago (as the Nation I'm registered with was one of the last to be forced onto a Reservation) because they want to live here, in America, on traditional land, without wanting to see us.

White Supremacists don't respect us or any minorities. They want us out of their face. "A place for all races" just means out of their face or in what they consider in our place. A White Supremacist government is what created Reservations in the first place. A White Supremacist government is what forced my great grandmother's grandfather to be born on the side of the road during the march to the Reservation.

I am a firm believer that America is a Melting Pot. I am mixed race. I am proud of every aspect of who I am. I can list every ethnicity/race I am as I and my family are firm believers in knowing where you come from. As a child, my mom would quiz me on what I was and what side of my family it came from. It is important to know who and what you are. I have no issue with people being proud of who they are. There is no issue with wanting to only date/marry inside your culture imo. I don't have a problem with that. What is a problem is that White Supremacists (which is what I was calling Trump in my previous post) don't do that. They think they are better than other races. They don't want to even interact with other races. They. Are. Racist. And so is Trump. He called on the Proud Boys, a known White Supremacist group. Be serious.

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roosterforme · 2 days

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need to see how it plays out when darlin’ takes jake home to meet her parents ++ bonus points when she’s home for a high school reunion too

Check here and here for Jake meeting her parents.

The idea of them attending each other's high school reunion is so funny to me. Let's take a look at both of them!

Jake could hear the words "trophy wife" and "sugar daddy" being thrown around at his twentieth high school class reunion. He knew his former classmates were talking about him, and he was trying so hard not to laugh. He married you because he loved you, but that concept seemed foreign to everyone is his small hometown.

"I got you a beer," you said, kissing his cheek when you returned from the bar. "All they have is beer and white wine. In a box. That says white wine on the side of it."

You didn't seem to notice the way everyone was looking at you in your frilly little dress with your diamond rings on your finger. You looked beautiful and also a lot younger than most of the crowd.

"That sounds about right," he murmured. "Feel like getting out of here soon? We can go back to my parents' house."

"We've only been here for forty-five minutes! We didn't even eat dinner yet." But after a few sips of your white wine, three more people asked you how old you were. And then someone said you reminded them of their daughter. "Okay, yes. I'm ready to leave now, Jake."

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

"Was he one of our teachers?"

You overheard a group of women you graduated high school with ten years ago talking about someone at your class reunion while you made your way toward the restrooms.

"I don't think so. I don't remember him. He's so hot, I would have remembered him. I wonder what he would do if I walked over and grabbed his aviators from his shirt and put them on."

You stumbled. The women were talking about your husband. You turned and looked at Jake where he stood with one hand in his pocket, sipping a drink with his sunglasses hanging from his shirt like the picture of cool confidence. He really was hot.

The bathroom could wait. You looped back around, tucked your hand in his other pants pocket and kissed him. He was sweet, never holding anything back, always affectionate for you.

"I thought you told me to stay here and behave for five minutes while you used the restroom," he murmured against your lips. "You were gone for ten seconds."

"I just wanted another kiss from my hot teacher."

"Excuse me?" he asked, looking around with shifty eyes. "We are not having one of our lessons here. You can wait until we get home."

You kissed him one more time and laughed as you headed back across the room.

#if you ask emily #fake it til you jake it hc #fake it til you jake it

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triangle-dog · 20 hours

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TW pet death

(Not one of mine, don't worry. You won't miss anything if you skip this post.)

I will always and forever be a collar and tags person (or, look, if you are really concerned about strangulation then a harness & tags person or a breakaway collar or whatever). Microchips are great, all my beasts are microchiped, but if one of them gets out I want to be able to find them and bring them home no matter what has happened to them.

Two years ago, almost exactly I think, friends and I were three miles into a beautiful autumn hike with the dogs. The leaves were turning, the wildlife was active, and there was a crisp breeze. We rounded a corner and immediately saw a body floating out on the lake, a dog, its long black fur drifting back and forth in the small waves. After some deliberation on what to do, and if it was safe, I waded out to the dog while the others in the party held our dogs way back from the lake in case the water was bad. He wasn't that far out really, but it felt like it took forever to get there because I was fervently hoping he'd have tags. I could actually feel the relief wash over me when I got there and saw patches of blue collar peeking out between the drifting fur.

I towed him into the shallows by the collar. I'm the most familiar with bodies, which is why I was the one who went out to him, and I know that they age differently in the water but by my judgment he'd died farily recently - less than a day ago. When he's in close enough to shore that I don't think he'll drift away any time soon, I unclip his collar and return to the group. We sit down and strategize for a few minutes. How do you make a call like that without raising their hopes? (Answer: you can't - just the phone ringing will be enough).

"I'm very sorry," I say, "but I found a dog in the lake and I thought you would want to know." She tells me she was half expecting a call like this, that the gate didn't latch correctly and both dogs got out but only one came home. She tells me that they were so worried he wouldn't be able to find his way home in the storm last night. She tells me he was very old, that his mind had been going for awhile now. She tells me that most of his life, until the last few years as his body became less able to manage the walk, they would come down to a beach near here and that he loved to swim. She tells me she hopes he at least got to relive those memories for a bit before he went.

I give her the coordinates, it's not too far from a road if you bushwhack - certainly less than the 3mi we did, and tell her we'll bring him to shore. I pick him up out of the shallows, he feels frail, yet he's so so heavy from the weight of the water in his fur. He's much smaller than Nova, yet lifting Nova has never felt like that. I lay him gently on the rocky beach in what I hope is a natural looking, less-traumatizing-to-the-kids position. I clip his collar back on, with the fur no longer drifting around in the water obscuring it, you can now see the little tag saying "Poochie" on the front. We head back the way we came. That was walk enough for all of us, it would feel wrong to seek a different ending, and it was an out and back trail anyway.

Ever since then, every dead cat or dog I see reminds me of those lakeside discussions. We are all overly dedicated animal people, we're fully aware of microchips and all of our own pets are microchiped, but carrying a waterlogged body 3mi to the car to drive it to the vet's office was just not feasible - I don't think it would occur to most people that that was even an option. Even if they did think of it, most people would be opposed to putting a dead animal in their vehicle. I'm just gonna make it easy on people and put my phone number on my animals.

(Sorry, that post was so much longer than it needed to be, but my brain must have recorded that experience in a different kind of memory than usual because it is so so clear and comes all as a set like that so that's what you got too)

TLDR: OP found a dead dog once and has big feelings about it. Put collars/etc. on your pets

#cw animal death #cw pet death #cw drowning #I speak

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the-hinky-panda · 2 days

Text

The Hare Series: Part I

Title: The Hare

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Richie Jerimovich x Reader

Summary: You and your brother leave Ireland to open a pub in Chicago...just a couple blocks away from the new restaurant "The Bear." Connections are made and maybe The Bear and The Hare will help each other become successful.

Warnings: mentions of suicide

“So,” you set down a fresh pint of beer on the bar in front of the patron who’s been entertaining your patrons with wild stories for the last two hours, “how long has your friend been gone?”

His good natured demeanor falters for a split second. “What are you talking about?”

You had just opened the corner pub two weeks ago, around the same time that the deli down the block had closed for renovations. People who frequented the deli ended up at your business, including some of the people working on the restaurant. There were a few that you saw on smoke breaks that hadn’t crossed the threshold yet, but some like Fak and Angel, had shown up for drinks a couple times. Tonight was the first time that the tall, charismatic, blue eyed Richie made his way into the establishment. Two beers in, you figured out why. He and his best friend used to hang out here when the previous owner had it. Under new management, and Irish management at that, meant the familiarity went away with the sale of the bar.

“Your friend, Mikey,” you wipe down the bar. “How long has it been since he passed?”

“What makes you think he’s gone, Irish?” he counters, pulling a cigarette from behind his ear and lighting it.

“You just spent the last two hours entertaining my patrons with stories of the shenanigans you and he got up to in here. I figured if he were still around, you wouldn’t be here alone.”

He laughs. “Shenanigans. Way to keep it authentic. The accent’s not bad either.” He rubs his forehead with the back of hand and blows the smoke out the side of his mouth. “You always ask personal questions to people trying to drink away their fucking problems?”

“Only if it looks like the person needs to talk about their fucking problems.”

“Well, I don’t. Thanks anyway.”

“Fair enough.”

You move away from him, cleaning glasses and snacking bowls as you move down the bar and talk to the other patrons. By the time you ring the last call bell, Richie has disappeared. You’re surprised to find yourself disappointed in his departure but closing up the bar keeps you busy until the last patrons leave. It takes another hour to clean the dishes, wipe down the bar and tables, and make sure the kitchen staff put the small kitchen right before they leave.

With all lights off and doors locked, you start the short walk down a few blocks to the shitty apartment you’re renting with your brother as you work together to get the pub off the ground. Your commute takes you past the closed deli and that’s where you see Richie, leaning on the brick face, smoking a cigarette. The lights are on in the restaurant, dim behind the newspaper covering the window, so he must have come over to work on the renovations. The drywall dust on his pants and shoes confirm it. You cross the street and he nods at you.

“Kick everyone out?”

You smile. “The entertainment left.”

He offers you a cigarette but you shake your head. “You gotta get better entertainment.”

“We’re still working out some issues. Never opened a pub across the pond before.”

“How many do you have over there?”

“Two. One in our hometown of Thurles, another one down in Cork. This one,” you point across the street, “this is just practice for Dublin. Figured cutting our teeth in Chicago would be a good training run.”

“If you can make it here…”

You nod towards the newspaper covered windows. “Well, you’re certainly trying.”

“Trying. Yeah.” He drops the cigarette on the ground and grinds it out with his shoe. “It’s been almost a year.”

You know the deli has just closed a couple weeks ago. “A year?”

“Since my friend, Mikey, died.” He shoves his hands into his coat pockets. “It’s been almost a whole fucking year. I can’t believe it.”

“I’m sorry.”

He gives you a serious look. “You actually sound like you mean that.”

“I do.” You lean back against the brick wall next to him. “When I was nineteen, my little sister was killed in a car accident. I was bartending at our family pub and called her to come pick up our dad who was pissed and asleep in the corner. She never made it so I brought dad home that night and found out why she never showed. Some locals, drunk off their arses and joyriding, hit her.”

“Fuckin’ drunks.”

You nod slowly, remembering that evening when the family priest arrived with the police to tell your family the news. The wailing, the not being able to breathe, crying until there wasn’t anything left. Your mother pointing to you from across the living room. This is your fault. You called her. She would have been home if you hadn’t fucking called her. Nevermind the fact that you wouldn’t have called her if your father had been sober. You clear your throat, shoving that memory from your mind. “Fucking drunks.”

“Mikey shot himself. On the State Street Bridge.”

“Fucking hell.” Suicide. Nothing accidental about that but the what ifs are just as brutal.

“You can say that again.” He lights another cigarette. “I just keep asking myself, what did I miss? What if I had shown up five minutes earlier, caught him before he left the house. What if…I don’t even fuckin know anymore.”

“You never will, dovey. Those of us left will never know.”

You’re both quiet for a few moments, standing under the streetlamp in front of closed down Beef of Chicagoland, remembering Mikey and your sister, still running through all the what ifs that will never let either one of you go. Moments of silence are like that. They should be spent remembering the loved one and the joy they brought, but all they hold are your own personal failures.

“So,” you break the silence, “I never did get to hear that voice message.”

“The Bill Murray one?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh well,” he pulls out his phone with a flourish. “Can’t have you missing out on this piece of history.”

And standing under a streetlamp in front of a closed down deli in Chicago listening to a voice message that could or could not be Bill Murray is how you fell in love.

#richie jerimovich x reader #richie jerimovich x you #richie jerimovich fic #the bear fic

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stormyelliotwritez · 11 hours

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walk with me…

ftm reader who has been in love with logan for years but he thinks logan is straight and also logan like wont stop being in love with jean and is absolutely OBLIVIOUS that r likes him.. (literally all the other x men know) and honestly this can be like super angsty or just silly idc whatever the vibe u best think works

im gonna somehow go with mostly angst coz thats my fav so here goes

tw for gender dysphoria related to wanting to fit logan’s so called type

BUT HE’S STRAIGHT?

Logan was staring at Jean again. This was like the fifth time just this staff meeting. You weren’t sure how much longer you could take this. Maybe Charles would let you go lay down if you faked a fever but maybe he’d do the whole psychic thing and realize you were fine.

You sat through the rest of the meeting and then left quickly, feeling like a loser. It’s been years and he still hasn’t noticed you. He’s always staring at Jean who’s literally been in love with Scott since they met. Why won’t he stare at you? How the fuck is he straight? But alas, he is.

You walked to your room, tugging at your shirt and wishing it would fit better. Maybe he’d have noticed you if you weren’t a boy, if you’d stayed what you’d been born as. Maybe if you were still her, he’d think you were cute. Maybe he’d look at you how he looked at Jean.

You slammed your door shut and clambered onto your bed, curling up into a ball. You stayed there, just thinking, until eventually you fell asleep.

In the morning, you got up and after showering and getting dressed, you threw on the jacket you’d stolen from Logan a few months ago, the one with the school’s logo. Maybe he wouldn’t notice. It’s not like he ever noticed you.

You went about your day, bumping into Scott who made a faux growl sound like Logan’s to tease you and then bumping into Hank who sniffed your jacket and then applauded you on managing to steal from Logan. Later in the day, you ran head first into Storm, when you were trying to avoid Logan, and she glanced at him and then meowed at you teasingly. You’d swear on someone’s grave that the only person who didn’t know about your years old crush was the man himself, Logan.

You managed to avoid Logan all day until… dinner. He was sitting opposite the spot you always sat in. He was sitting there. Why was he sitting there was a question you couldn’t answer. You tugged at your jumper while holding your plate with one hand and you walked over to him.

“Logan,” you said with a nod.

“Bub,” he said back before looking you over.

He didn’t say anything about the jacket. He just sat there and ate his dinner and then stood up. He walked around to your side and leaned down to whisper in your ear. “Nice jacket, bub.”

He then walked off, just like that.

What the fuck? What the actual fuck? He didn’t know though. He would know about your ridiculous crush if he was listening to your heartbeat right now. Oh my god, so he knew you’d stolen it but he couldn’t put the damn pieces together?

You finished your dinner and walked off. You were halfway to your room when someone grabbed your hand and pulled you into an empty classroom. The door was slammed and you were disoriented in the dark.

“You like me, bub?”

That was Logan’s voice. Wait, he knew? How? But…

“Come on, I ain’t got all day,” he said abruptly.

You nodded. You were quite sure he could see in the dark and the scoff he made seemed to say so. How could you have been so stupid? He was probably going to hate you now. He was straight. He’d always been straight and in love with Jean. He was oblivious. He’d always been oblivious. He could never like you. You weren’t a girl, no matter how hard you wanted to still be one so he’d like you. Your heart was racing and soon enough, you were hyperventilating.

His hands were on your shoulders and you were being pulled into a hug, a hug that smelt of wood and fuel. He was hugging you?

“It’s okay, I got you, bub,” he placed a light kiss on your forehead, “I swing both ways, you know.”

You’d always hated that he was still taller than you, one of the downsides of not getting on T until your 20’s and- wait, what? He swings both ways?

“You-you do?” You said once your breathing had slowed.

He nodded. You couldn’t see it but you could feel it. He could like you… as you, as a man? You didn’t have to be someone else? You could just be you.

“Yep, now let’s go. I think there’s two beers calling our names in the teacher’s lounge,” he said before opening the door and pulling you out of the classroom. “Jean mentioned your little crush and now I gotta hear all about how you’ve been pining for me for years.”

Curse you, Jean, but thanks, was all you could think as you just nodded and walked with him to the teachers lounge.

#requested #its short but i think it works #x reader #stormy writes things #x m!reader #x male reader #logan howlett x male reader #logan howlett x ftm!reader #wolverine x ftm!reader #wolverine x male reader #🦕 anon

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totallyjustabunchofhocuspocus · 1 day

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Fic: Something to Sink Your Teeth Into 13/?

Pairing: Buck/Tommy

Vampire/Witch!AU

Read on AO3

There was no snow on the ground, yet, but Evan’s breath came frosting out in clouds of vapor as he stood in the middle of a field on his coven’s land, hands braced on his knees as he heaved in gulps of air. The remains of a few bales of hay smoldered merrily a few dozen yards away from him, black smoke billowing up into the crystal blue sky. There were still about five bales scattered around him that were untouched, though.

Again, Evan.

The calm, gentle voice echoed around him, accompanied by the surge of electric power that always signaled a familiar casting. The smoldering bales of all hay went up in crackles of white-hot flame, fresh clouds of smoke billowing up and swirling in miniature tornadoes around them. A few seconds later, the smoke scattered as though blown away by a fierce, sudden wind, and when the air had cleared, all of the bales were restored to pristine condition. And now even farther apart than they were before.

“Sally, come on,” he whined. He knew he was whining. He couldn’t help it. He’d been out here since school let out almost three hours ago, he was cold, he was hungry, he was starting to get a headache from so much casting…and he knew that his familiar absolutely was not going to let him go home until he’d performed the exercise exactly how she wanted him to. He turned to look at her anyway, pasting his best puppy-dog eyes—the expression that always worked on Maddie—across his face.

Sally was perched on top of part of an old stone fence, her tail twitching back and forth as she observed the field like a queen surveying her kingdom. Her mangled ear—a battle souvenir she’d earned back before Pennsylvania had ever even been a state—flicked towards him, and even from across the field, Evan could see the amusement on her face. Most of the other kids in the coven thought it was so cool to have such an old and powerful familiar, that it must be amazing to be taught and trained by someone who had so much experience. And sure, yes, it really was. He loved Sally, and was so grateful that she’d chosen to bond with him, especially after going so long without bonding with any other Buckley witch.

But sometimes, being taught and trained by someone with almost three centuries of experience really sucked. He couldn’t get away with anything!

Again, Evan, she said, picking her way over to another moss-covered fencepost and lazily starting to groom her rough, calico coat. You’re still not dispersing your magic properly. You should be able to hit at least three more targets with the same spell.

If it had been either of his parents saying something like that to him, a hot flush of anger and embarrassment would have swept through him. The black cloud of their disappointment (God, Evan can’t you do anything right? How can you mess up something that simple? I don’t know where your father and I went wrong! Don’t you dare embarrass us in front of the coven.) would have pressed down on him like a physical weight, driving all his self-control and concentration right out of his head.

Sally’s criticism never felt like that, though.

Mostly because Sally was never disappointed in him. She was firm, and no-nonsense, and never let him get away with being lazy or taking shortcuts…but he never doubted that she believed in him with all her heart and would never ask him to do something she wasn’t absolutely sure he could do. Her patience with him never ran out, and even in just three short years under her mentoring, his power and control had improved a lot.

The only other person who ever made him feel so loved and supported was Maddie.

So, despite being hungry, and cold, and tired, he pushed himself up straight and walked back to the spot that would give him the best line of sight to all of the haybales. He stretched his arms over his head and shook the tension from his shoulders. Taking a deep breath, he started chanting.

This time, all but one of the bales burst into flame.

Excellent! Sally’s voice was filled with pride, and she vanished from the fencepost, reappearing seconds later at his feet. Her slightly ragged tail flicked back and forth as she once again smothered the flames and restored the haybales to pristine condition, this time all stacked together.

Evan looked down at her, hands on his hips. “Really? Again?” he sighed. Sally sat down primly and licked one of her paws.

Last exercise for today, she promised. This time I want you to do it without reaching through your coven bond.

Evan startled at that, looking down at his familiar in surprise. “Isn’t that dangerous?” he asked, like dispersing the strain of casting through a coven bond wasn’t literally one of the first lessons children learned when they started training with their magic. No matter how powerful you were, casting was difficult. It took a ton of energy and focus, and channeling magic—especially into more complex spells or multiple spells at once—could be exhausting. Drawing on your coven bond to alleviate some of the strain was an essential skill. While magic could be cast without the aid of a coven bond, it was like trying to lift something extremely heavy by yourself…the risk of injury was higher, and the longer you did it, the more dangerous it got.

I won’t let anything happen to you, little love, Sally replied calmly, and Evan scoffed.

“I know that,” he said, the idea of his familiar ever letting any harm come to him if she could prevent it so utterly ridiculous as to be a complete non-issue. He knew Sally would always protect him just as surely as he knew Maddie would. “I just—why practice that?” he asked, honestly curious. Sally never did anything without a purpose.

Strangely, Sally seemed to hesitate, looking out over the frosty field and wrapping her tail around her feet. I would see you prepared for any eventuality, she said at length. Even if it’s no longer a customary lesson, or something some might think a waste of time.

Evan knew his familiar well enough by now to know she was talking about his parents. She was always talking about his parents when she got that particular tone in her voice. Sally always played nice in front of other members of their coven or visiting guests, but in private she had never made her dislike for his parents a secret. She was polite—but every time she was in the same room as his mom and dad, the temperature seemed to drop at least ten degrees.

Truthfully, if Sally hadn’t been such an old and respected familiar, if she hadn’t held the status she did in their coven and in Pennsylvania witch society in general, he doubted his parents would have let her bond with him when she approached them about it. There had been no way for them to turn her down without it raising a lot of questions, though…and if there was one thing Phillip and Margaret Buckley hated, it was questions.

Still, Sally wasn’t wrong that a lot of her lessons and teaching methods were…old-fashioned. Maddie usually explained it as Sally just having lived most of her life as a coven familiar in times where conflicts—not even just with vampires, witch covens had once been a lot more volatile than they tended to be now—were a lot more common. Sometimes, though—sometimes Evan couldn’t quite shake the feeling that Sally was making her decisions about what and how to teach him based on something she was expecting. He had no real reason to think that way. It was just a feeling.

Perhaps sensing his distraction, Sally nudged his shin with her head, purring softly when he knelt down and scratched behind her mangled ear. You’ll wield tremendous power when you come fully into it, little love. You’re already stronger than many of my witches ever were. If your parents were wiser, they would be grooming you for coven leadership someday. Perhaps even a place on a high coven.

Evan snorted, even as a warm glow of happiness at her words curled through his chest. “We both know they’d never want me to be a coven leader. They hate my magic. They hate how I got it.”

Sally growled, low in her throat. They hate that it was given to you, and their part in how it was given at all. That they take their self-blame out on you is a shame they will have to reckon with someday. She batted at his cheek with one paw. You are blameless, Evan Buckley. You will be my finest witch. My last witch. Were it not for you, I would have left this coven when your parents…made the choices they did. You are precious to me and your sister, little love. And someday you will be precious to others. I would thank you to remember that.

He blinked hard, turning his face away and pretending to look over to the stack of haybales. Sally allowed him to, leaping up onto his shoulder as he stood slowly and draping herself over the back of his neck.

Now. Again, Evan, she ordered.

Evan took a few stumbling steps backward, almost tripping over the body of Jon—Greenway, Greenway, Greenway…he’d try to sell Evan out to vampires, damn it, he was directly responsible for this whole shitshow—Greenway’s familiar. The three vampires stepped fully out of the temp agency’s offices, and Evan’s heart dropped as another two appeared in the doorway. Five. Five vampires, their auras all roiling with the power that could only have come from drinking witch blood. Of their own volition, his eyes flicked to Greenway’s corpse, swallowing hard at the way the creatures stalking out of the offices and spreading out in the hallways had savaged him.

Kinard shifted, planting himself firmly in front of Evan, his movements shifting into the easy liquidity of a predator. The lead vampire—a massive blond man who looked like he’d fit right in as a bouncer or a bodyguard—looked Kinard up and down before zeroing back in on Evan. His companions weren’t nearly as physically intimidating, but Evan knew that didn’t mean anything. Evan was not a weak man in any measure of the word, but Kinard’s coven mate Lucy could have snapped him in half without any effort.

“Kinard,” blondie growled, his gaze never leaving Evan for an instant. “So you’re the reason our little present made it out of Gerrard’s party. Didn’t have that on the Bingo card, gotta say.”

Kinard tilted his head. “Do I know you?” he asked, his voice flat and cold, so different from the way he’d been speaking to Evan all day it was a little jarring.

Blondie finally looked away from Evan, smirking at Kinard. “Not personally. But don’t pretend the little traitor here didn’t give you the rundown.” He rolled his neck from side to side, scarlet light slowly starting to gleam in his eyes as his fangs dropped to visibility. He looked down at Greenway’s body, kicking it lightly. “Never tasted witch blood before…I’ve been missing out.” He narrowed his eyes at Kinard, his smirk turning a little more vicious. “Decide you’d rather keep him for yourself?”

“If you know who I am, then you know this isn’t going to go well for you, witch blood or no,” Kinard said, ignoring the vampire’s odd remarks. Why was he talking like Kinard knew what was going on here?

To Evan’s surprise, a couple of the other vampires glanced at each other uneasily. Logically, he knew that Kinard’s age granted him a lot of power…but he hadn’t realized it would be so much that a vampire might be worried about taking him on five to two. Especially as they’d all drunk witch blood as well.

“No reason this has to get violent,” Blondie said, though he very much sounded like he wanted it to get violent. “You walk out right now, we can all pretend we never saw each other.”

Kinard rocked back on his heels a little. “Generous. All right, kid, let’s go,” Kinard said, jerking his head toward the stairwell and holding out his arm back toward Evan like he expected Evan to tuck himself up under it.

Blondie chuckled mirthlessly. “Cute. Last chance, Kinard. Walk away. Leave the witch to us. I can’t say I blame you for trying to muscle in on the games, here…everyone knows your coven is strays and fresh turns. But you lost the gamble. Leave.”

A low, menacing growl reverberated through the hall. To his shock, Evan realized it was coming from Kinard. “Not. Happening.” The deadpan humor of a few seconds ago was completely gone, and Evan didn’t have to look to know Kinard’s eyes were glowing just as scarlet as the other vampire’s.

He bit his lip and murmured a spell, his power spiraling outwards and swirling around him. A circle of white light emblazoned itself on the floor, surrounding him totally. It was a risk splitting his focus on a barrier spell if he was going to be doing anything else—and trying to engage in combat magic without a coven bond was going to hurt no matter how quickly the fight went (and this was going to be a fight, there was no mistaking that). If he was going to risk using the kind of power it would take to help Kinard against five vampires, the smartest course of action would be to take the hit to fire off a transport spell and leave Kinard to deal with this mess.

He just…couldn’t bring himself to do it.

It was stupid, it was irrational…this was his chance to escape, damn it.

But he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t leave Kinard alone to deal with these things. So, he braced himself, firming up the barrier that would hopefully keep any of the vampires that got close to him at bay long enough for him to cast against them. He sent a silent thanks winging to Sally—wherever she was. She’d only been trying to teach him the kind of focus he’d need to wield the amount of magic he had when she had him practice casting without relying on his coven bond…but she was the only reason he was still able to cast the kind of spells he could without ending up a heap on the ground.

“Bad choice, Kinard,” Blondie said. “Very bad choice.”

Evan knew vampires were fast. He knew they were very fast. He’d seen it firsthand a couple of times since Kinard had taken him out of that mansion.

Kinard and Blondie seemed to fucking teleport toward each other. One second Kinard was standing right in front of him, and the next he was a dozen feet away, leaping at Blondie with a snarl that sounded more animal than human. They crashed into each other, and Kinard twisted in midair to get one arm around Blondie’s throat so that when they landed, he was able to fling Blondie like a goddamn battering ram at the other vampires. Three of them went down in a heap, skidding back over the hallway floor until they nearly hit the stairwell door.

Kinard glanced over his shoulder at Evan, as though checking to make sure he was still there, and then raced forward towards the two remaining vampires. Only one of them accepted the challenge, springing at Kinard with fangs bared.

It did not end well for him.

Evan nearly lost the concentration of the barrier, staring in horrified shock as Kinard’s hands closed around the other vampire’s neck. As he slammed into the other vampire’s body hard enough to take them both to the floor. As he made a wrenching motion with one arm and a fountain of blood erupted around him. Kinard casually tossed something the size of a basketball aside and oh God, oh God, oh God Evan couldn’t look. Didn’t want to look. Kinard rose from the still-twitching body of the vampire and took a few steps back, repositioning himself in between the remaining four and Evan.

Mere seconds had passed.

“Sure you still want to do this?” Kinard growled.

Blondie and the remaining vampires rose, a new, animalistic wariness in their movements. Evan watched them fan out like a pack of wolves about to attack and shook his head, forcing his shock at the sheer brutality he’d just witnessed aside. Another spell, and a ball of flickering fire erupted in each hand. For just a moment, he felt like he was standing in a frostbitten field again, Sally’s soothing voice in his head—Again, Evan—as he stared down an array of targets.

Blondie dove at Kinard again, two of the other vampires flanking him…but the fourth darted around them and made a beeline straight for Evan. He heard Kinard shout, saw the vampire lunge for the one that was barreling toward him, only to be dogpiled by Blondie and his flunkies. Evan braced himself, breathed, and flicked his hand forward, the spellword falling from his lips in a sigh. The fireball leapt from his fingertips, zinging through his barrier and straight towards the attacking vampire with the surety of a guided missile.

The look of shock on the thing’s face as his spell slammed home, fire and smoke racing over the vampire’s body like he was made of kindling, was very satisfying. The vampire screamed, clawing at his clothes and hair as ghostly white flames enveloped him, reducing the thing to ashes almost as quickly as Kinard had dispatched its friend.

Two down, three to go.

Kinard had gone down in a tangle on the floor with all three of the attacking vampires, fighting like a maddened bear. Evan searched frantically for an opening, somewhere he could aim and burn Blondie or one of his henchmen, but he couldn’t do it without hitting Kinard. His stomach twisted at the thought of the vampire erupting into ash, dying at his hand, and reluctantly he let the fire spell dissipate. Sweat started to bead on his brow, his heart starting to pound as he summoned another spell, holding it, holding it, holding it…

One of Blondie’s flunkies reared up, his fist pulled back as though he were going to drive it down into Kinard’s back, and Evan struck. He screamed the spellword, and an invisible force slammed into the vampire, sending him flying back to crash against the stairwell door and land on the floor in a heap. Evan summoned the fire again, his head swooping a little at the rapid shift between spells, at the effort it was taking to keep the barrier up, He didn’t dare drop it, though. The fireball erupted from his hands, striking home and the hallway once again echoed with pain-filled shrieks that abruptly cut off.

“Get the fucking witch!” Blondie screamed, getting his hands around Kinard’s throat and slamming him down onto the floor, straddling him to hold him down as his last remaining crony scrambled up.

Kinard twisted underneath Blondie, managing to get his legs up and kicking straight out. There was a sickening crack of bone as Blondie went flying back, and Kinard lunged to his feet, catching the charging vampire by the back of his shirt just before he crashed into Evan’s barrier. Despite himself, Evan stumbled back a step, losing his concentration on the fire and having to summon the flames a third time. His head was pounding now, sweat dripping down his face…God, he was not looking forward to the headache this was going to leave him with.

But he needed to live long enough to have to deal with the aftereffects of this.

Kinard whirled around, still holding the vampire and flung him towards Blondie with another animalistic roar. He looked over his shoulder again, his scarlet eyes finding Evan’s, and Evan grit his teeth, giving him a shaky nod of reassurance.

Blondie and his lone remaining companion climbed slowly to their feet, fangs bared, faces twisted with rage. Suddenly, though, Blondie cocked his head as though he heard something. Kinard whipped towards the bank of elevators and tensed, crouching like he was getting ready to spring again. Blondie chuckled, a sick sort of smile spreading on his face.

“Whoops. Should’ve taken my offer, brother.” Then he slammed the stairwell door open, and he and his companion vanished, taking a running leap straight over the railing and disappearing from view.

The elevator chime sounded, the doors sliding open to reveal a new group of people. Four this time, but Evan’s breath caught in his throat. All of them were witches. All of them in military-style jackets with the sigil of the SoCal high coven emblazoned on the shoulder. The one in the lead—an older Hispanic woman—reeled back in surprise, her mouth falling open as her eyes landed on the body of Greenway’s familiar, then snapped to Kinard.

“Kill it!” she shouted, throwing out a hand towards Kinard.

Evan was already dizzy and drained with the amount of magic he’d just used, the strain of casting so many spells so quickly grating over his nerves. Even so, he knew better than most what a high coven cleaner crew looked like. And just how uninterested they usually were in talking. He acted on instinct.

The barrier dropped and he lunged toward Kinard, grabbing the vampire’s hand tightly and screaming the only spell he could think of to save them both.

His magic erupted around them in a swirling orb of white light, and he had no time to aim it, no time to structure the spell and give it direction. He cried out the transport spell and the only thought in his head was: safe. Safe, safe, safe, safe.

The temp agency’s offices dissolved in a shimmer of light and a sensation he hadn’t felt in years enveloped him. He was falling, falling, failing, tumbling head over heels and the only solid thing, the only anchor he had was the feel of Kinard’s hand in his. His stomach dropped, his head swimming with the energy a transport spell took.

The spell dropped them with a thud, the white light fading and leaving sunspots dancing in Evan’s eyes. Or maybe it was just the dizziness from the strain of casting. He blinked hazily, a confused sort of shock running through him like an electric current when he realized he had transported them back to Kinard’s loft. They were standing in the middle of Kinard’s living room. What…

“Holy shit,” Kinard breathed, turning to look at Evan with wide eyes that had shifted back to their usual dark blue. They widened even further, and suddenly Kinard was standing right in front of him. “Evan? Fuck, are you all right?” he demanded.

Dimly, he realized it wasn’t sweat that was dripping from his nose and running down over his lips and chin. Shit. He’d overdone it. He’d overdone it bad. The floor seemed to be tilting under his feet and without thinking he reached up and steadied himself against Kinard’s chest.

“Evan? Talk to me,” Kinard continued urgently, and yeah…yeah, he really should say something. Or at least take a step back from the vampire—especially with his nose bleeding like a damn faucet.

He went to do that, and his knees folded underneath him entirely without his permission.

#911 abc #evan buckley #911 tv show #evan buck buckley #mywriting #buck x tommy #tommy kinard #shameless self promotion #bucktommy #tevan #tevan fic #kinley #firebeast #bucktommy fanfic #firepilot

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warrioreowynofrohan · 2 days

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LOTR Newsletter – September 17

Today’s entry covers everything from the end of Bilbo’s 111th birthday party (after he leaves), which is also Frodo’s 33rd birthday party, to many years later, when Frodo is 49 years old, in April.

So, what’s been going on (outside the Shire, in particular)?

First: Bilbo’s behaviour before leaving makes Gandalf strongly suspects that his Ring is the One Ring (before that, he had been sometims worried, but unsure). In “The Shadow of the Past,” Gandalf says to Frodo, “He [Bilbo] said and did things then that filled me with a feat that no words of Saruman could allay. I knew at last that something dark and deadly was at work.” At the Council of Elrond, Gandalf says, “Time passed with many cares, until my doubts were awakened again to sudden fear…That was seventeen years ago. Soon I became aware that spies of many sorts, even birds and beasts, were gathered round the Shire, and my fear grew. I called for the help of the Dúnedain, and their watch was doubled; and I opened my heart to Aragorn, the heir of Isildur.”

I find it quite sweet that, while Gandalf acknowledges to Frodo that Bilbo’s behaviour around the Ring on the night of the Party was startling, at the Council of Elrond he obscures the reason (‘my doubts were awakened again’) to avoid alluding to things that could be embarassing to Bilbo in front of a large group of prominent people.

Appendix B confirms that Gandalf’s conversation with Aragorn, and the doubling of the Rangers’ guard on the Shire, happened in the same year as the Party.

Bilbo travels to the Lonely Mountain for a visit, and then settles in Rivendell, as he later tells Frodo: “I got here without much adventure, and after a rest I went on with the Dwarves to Dale: my last journey. I shan’t travel again. Old Balin has gone away. Then I came back here, and here I have been.”

Gandalf and Aragorn look for Gollum over many years without succeess, and Gandalf checks in on Frodo itermittently:

For three years after the Party he [Gandalf] had been away. Then he paid Frodo a brief visit, and after taking a good look at him he went off again. During the next year or two he had turned up fairly often, coming unexpectedly after dusk, and going off without warning before sunrise. He would not discuss his own business and journeys, and seemed chiefly interested in small news about Frodo’s health and doings. Then suddenly his visits had ceased. It was [at the end of today’s reading] over nine years since Frodo had seen or heard of him.

From Gandalf only entering or leaving Bag End after dark, he evidently still fears the Shire is being watched, and does not wat to draw attention to Frodo.

About six years after the Party (about a year before the nine-year-break in Gandalf’s visits to Frodo), Aragorn’s mother Gilraen dies. She has been living among the Dúnedain in Eriador (she left Rivendell a few years after Aragorn fell for Arwen and Elrond told him that she could not marry him until/unless he becomes King of both Gondor and Arnor – in effect, until there was peace and Aragorn had played a substantial role in bringing it about; this suggests to me that things may have been at least a bit uncomfortable between Gilraen and Elrond after that). By the time of Gilraen’s death Aragorn and Arwen’s first meeting is 56 years ago, and they have already been engaged for 27 years

She [Gilraen] seldom saw her son again, for he spent many years in far countries. But on a time, when Aragorn had returned to the North, he came to her, and she said to him before he went:

“This is our last parting, Estel, my son. I am aged by care, even as one of lesser Men; and now that it draws near I cannot face the darkness of our time that gathers upon Middle-earth. I shall leave it soon.”

Aragorn tried to comfort her, saying: “Yet there may be a loght beyond the darkness; and if so, I would have you see it, and be glad.”

But she answered only with this linnod: ‘Onen i-Estel Edain, û-chebin estel anim [I gave Hope to the Dúnediain, I have kept no hope for myself]’

and Aragorn went away heavy of heart. Gilraen died before the next spring.

Over the nine years that Gandalf does not visit Frodo, he and Aragorn continue interrmeittently to search for Gollum. For many years they do not find him, and at some time in these years Gollum enters Mordor and is captured by Sauron. These years are also when even hobbits in The Shire begin to heard dark rmours of outside events.

At some point in the year 3017 (the year before the main events of The Lord of the Rings begin), Gollum is released from Mordor. “The Hunt for the Ring” in Unfinished Tales gives us some dates for the events that follow.

At some point in late 3017 or early 3018, Gandalf departs from his and Aragon’s search for Gollum on the borders of Mordor, and goes to Minas Tirth. As he tells at the Council of Elrond:

“There [on the edges of Mordor] we had rumour of him [Gollum], and we guess that he dwelt there long in the dark hills; but we never found him, and at last I despaired. And in my despair I thought of a test that might make the finding of Gollum unneeded. The ring itself might tell if it were the One.”

He remember’s some if Saurman’s lore about hidden markings on the Ring, and goes to Minas Turith and finds Isildur’s scroll about it, and about the fire-letters.

Not long after Gandalf leaves for Minas Tirith, on February 1st, 3018, Aragorn captures Gollum in the Dead Marshes. Aragorn has an unpleasant journey to Mirkwood with Gollum as captive, lasting fifty days (and covering nearly 900 miles; that’s 18 miles/day, with a hostile captive), and reaches Thranduil on March 21st. Fron Unfinished Tales:

Hoping to escape detection by any of Sauron’s spies he drove Gollum through the north end of the Emyn Muil, and crossed Anduin just above Sarn Gebir. Drifwood was often cast up there on the shoals by the east shore, and binding Gollum to a log he swam across with him, and continued his journey north by tracks as westerly as he could find, through the skirts of Fangorn, and so over Limlight, then over Nimrodel and Silverlode through the eaves of Lórien, and then on. avoiding Moria and Dimrill Dale, over Gladden until he came near the Carrock.

As Gandalf rides north, messengers from Lothlórien tell him that Aragorn has captured Gollum and is bringing him to Thranduil. Gandalf arrives in Mirkwood on March 23rd, and questions him for several days, then leaves in the morning of March 29th, travelling to the Shire as fast as he can. He reaches the Shire the evening of April 12th, right after Sam’s argument with Ted Sandyman at The Green Dragon.

(One other thing I wanted to mention that amused me: apparently in medieval writings the village miller is almost always disliked and antagonistic. Medieval farmers were reliant on the miller to grind their grain to flour, and this left the miller with ample opportunities for overcharging, or for skimming off some of the flour. The Canterbury Tales is one example of a disliked miller character. I found it entertaining that Tolkien carried over this trope in first the Gaffer Gamgee arguing with the elder Sandyman, and then Sam arguing with his son.)

#lotr newsletter #lotr newsletter spoilers #tolkien #the lord of the rings #gandalf #bilbo #aragorn

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ofoceansandtombsanew · 7 hours

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you are love itself (君は愛そのものだ)

cw. fem!reader, childhood friend au, established relationship, love as worship, love as a choice, reader has a defined devil fruit ability

pairing. portgas d. ace x reader

synopsis. his skin is dotted in stardust.

notes. a 1.3k look into those short moments of privacy you have with ace on the moby. i got the title from 'therefore you and me' after rewatching this amazing asl brothers animatic for the billionth time. cover comes klimt's the kiss (1908).

Everything is made of stardust; the stars that made Ace are simply visible to the eye.

They couldn't be contained in the depths of his body like the rest of the world's inhabitants. It's scattered all across his skin in a beautiful display, matching the skies they fell from. Isn't that something? You brush a hand against warm skin in awe. It's all right there. The stars themselves rest upon his skin, how beautiful is that? How could anyone want someone like that dead?

When you were children, Ace told you he would bring you the moon.

What do you need the moon for when you've been touching the stars since you were 10?

Straddling his lap, you can't help laughing as you think you'd been fighting a losing battle from the start. From the beginning, you'd been drawn to Ace and his stars and you wanted to follow where they'd go for the rest of your life.

"What's so funny?" Ace murmurs into your shoulder.

"I think I was born to love you." It is the only plausible conclusion for you to reach after 10 years of loving the same person. For the half of your life you've known him, you've chosen Ace from day one. You will continue to choose him for the rest of the life you have. You chose to chase him all around Mt. Corvo, you chose to be his friend, you chose to join his crew and your heart chose him even if your head had been slow to realize. "We don't need to find the One Piece," you murmur as you lead a trail of kisses from his shoulder to Ace's cheek. "I already have everything the world has to offer right here."

You feel Ace stiffen beneath you before he laughs sheepishly, "I think you need to have your eyes checked if you think that."

"Hey," you lean back so you can see his face. Your brows are furrowed sternly but your eyes sparkle with mischief and your lips stretch into a challenging grin. "I have better eyes than you, I can see the soul."

Ace snorts but his voice is light and as warm as the smile painting his face, "souls of the dead, yeah." Smiles suit Ace more than the frowns that were once commonplace when you were younger.

"That still counts," you protest with a chuckle. He doesn't have to believe he's worthy of it, you'll tell Ace all the same. You cup his face in your hands and enjoy the vibration of his mellifluous laughter under your fingers tips as you squeeze his cheeks. "There's a lot you can learn about this sort of stuff when you can see the dead." How the soul carries its wounds even after death. How the soul carries the essence of everything that makes something itself. How love can carry on beyond the grave.

You've seen it countless times by now in your truthfully short time of being a power holder.

The spirit of a man who wanted a few berries to leave as a surprise his husband could stumble upon to brighten his day.

An elderly woman dancing in the town square, seemingly alone following the steps she took with her lost love long ago. Unbeknownst to her, however, her love danced with all the same as they did once a long time ago.

Pods of orcas full of members past and present, refusing to part from their birth pod even in death.

How beautiful it is, a love like that.

Even while deceased, they choose to remain by their beloved all the same.

Whenever it is Ace's time, he'll take his stars with him and they will rest on his skin just as they did when he was alive. But I'll make sure you're so happy you won't want to stay, you vowed when you partook of the sea's cursed fruit. You carry this vow even now. Ace will die a happy death but more importantly, he will live a long and mirthful life.

(You can tell for as sure as your eyes are dry; the urge to cry and scream in mourning and warning nonexistent. Still it's your heart's desire that you go first so you don't ever have to risk the day you know death will come for Portgas D. Ace.)

"You know what I think," you cease your pinching, letting your lax thumbs stroke his face. Dark eyes look up at you like you're a dream and gold like sunlight rests in your chest. It's light yet heavy and even if your heart is calm, its rhythmic beating tells you something precious. And he's so, so precious. "I think that when people move on, they're reborn as someone else. Then they get to live life all over again. And one day, that's gonna happen to us."

Then you'll cease to be the 'you' you have been and so will he.

Maybe that time, you'll be raised in separate seas and there will be no trio of brothers you'll latch onto. Maybe he'll be born somewhere in Paradise but I'll be from the West Blue. Or maybe he'll be a fishman. Or a giant!

Maybe next time, Ace will be a short girl with firey auburn hair and chocolate brown eyes with the disposition to match. Or he'll be a scarred and gruff dragon moray eel fishman who is an overt romantic.

Maybe next time his stars will follow him as the marker that ties him to his previous life. Then you'll recognize him the moment you see him. But even if I don't, I'll love you then too. You don't need reminders of who he was to make you want him again.

Whatever the outcome may be, you will embrace it wholly.

"Whenever that happens, I'm gonna find you and I'm going to love you all over again. You can be a girl or a giant or a fishman." Or maybe he'll be the tiny human and you'll be the giant. It will be nice being taller than Ace for once, you tell him as much with a laugh. There's a spot of wetness at the corner of his eyes that you wipe away instinctively. "Or… maybe this world runs in one big loop and we get to be us again but that time we get to make different choices. Do the stuff we didn't do last time. But regardless of all the different things I might end up doing, the one thing that is gonna stay the same is that I'll choose you all over again."

There's a pause before Ace ducks from your gaze with a wet laugh, forehead pressed against your shoulder again. The unmistakeable feel of warm droplets subsequently follow. "Thatch must be cutting onions," he chuckles weakly. "Sorry."

"Dummy," you wrap your arms around his shoulders and inhale his scent. There's a natural sweetness it you can't explain; it's sweet but there is a peppery kick. It's been that way since the first day you met him. I love him, I love him, I love him. The sentiment echoes throughout your entire being. "it's okay to cry."

"Would you really want me again?" His voice is soft and unsure like a young bird who doesn't know if it can trust its wings.

Who else would I want?

Why would I want anyone else?

I've known you for 10 years, Ace. There's nothing about you I don't want.

"Over and over again," you kiss his temple once, twice and then a third time before you lift his head and kiss the corners of his eyes. "It's you and no one else."

A noise of surprise escapes you when Ace's lips press against your own but you relax a beat later, humming tenderly. You relish every sensation, how his arms wrap around you tight and how his fingers gently dig into your back. The taste of salt on your lips is akin to the ocean and your heartbeat reverberates throughout your chest.

Yes, it's telling you something precious.

#look she's writing #one piece x reader #op x reader #ace x reader #portgas d ace x reader #portgas d ace #i used ellipsus to write this to give it a test run #look it's self shipping hours #flaming pearls #sea otters #drabble in my brain that i couldn't get out so now y'all have to deal with it

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mrs-kodzuken · 2 days

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hard to desire ⨟ kenma k.

chapter two

babydoll ari abdul

❝Oh, Father, forgive me for all my sins

When I meet your eyes, the Devil, he wins

Blinded by your lies, but I play pretend❞

previous chapter next chapter

"We're going to miss you so much sweetheart," Your mom hugs you tightly, tearing up a bit.

"Call us if you need anything at all, sweet pea." Your dad says, giving you a sad smile over your mom's shoulder.

"I will, I promise. I love you guys so much." You tried keeping the tears at bay because you knew you wouldn't be able to stop. They had packed everything you'd need into your small car and then, of course, sent you with extra money for the things they couldn't fit.

You were going to live with Kuroo in an apartment so surely there should be basic things like a refrigerator or microwave?

"Be safe, sweetie." Your mom said as you were leaving out of the door. You could only nod and wave bye, you'd never left home on your own like this before, so it put you through quite a few emotions.

You hadn't mentioned the part about Kuroo's roommate, Kenma, yet to your parents. They trusted you under Kuroo's care as if you were still a child.

Starting the drive to the town you would be spending the next few years in made you a little nervous. You decided to hook up your playlist and play some of your favorite songs to help with the nerves.

You had also wondered if you would ever see that strange man again, maybe that would be your first ever attempt at romance. Never being in a romantic relationship before meant that you relied on fictional characters from books to fulfill that part of your brain.

You just hoped that Kuroo wouldn't snoop to your bookcase that would be put up in your room to hold all of your books like trophies.

In the time that you had been driving and spacing out to the music, you had magically appeared in the town you kind of remembered.

Quickly, you called Kuroo because he didn't even give you the address to the apartment you would be staying at yet.

"Hey, I'm in town now. Could you send me the address?" You asked into the phone call connected to your car's radio.

"Uh, yeah sure," Maybe a minute went by. "There you go. I'll go let Kenma know you're on the way here, little one. See you in a bit."

Whilst you were trying to figure out the weird directions to get to the damn apartment, Kuroo was trying to get Kenma to come out of his room.

"Kenma, she's on her way now. Make sure you're nice to her, just what I had spoken with you about a couple days ago." Kuroo reminded Kenma, leaning on his door frame.

Kenma had been still trying to sleep even though it was almost 11:40am. That's always a tell-tale sign that he was up late on one of his many consoles or editing his Youtube channel.

"Kenma." Kuroo called once again.

Something stirred within the pile of blankets on Kenma's king-sized bed. Then a grunt was heard and Kuroo decided that it was enough for him, he'd have to actually say it again when Kenma would be up later. Kuroo shut his door and sighed, hoping this would go great for everyone involved.

Soon after, you sent him a text message saying you believe you had gotten to the apartment.

Kuroo came jogging down the apartment stairs to meet you exiting your car.

"Hey, little one. Was the drive okay? You need some help getting all that up the stairs?" He asked, giving you a hug. He'd be mindful of your feelings later when you've settled in so you can spill about your sentiments of being here, like you used to.

"Hey, yeah the drive was fine. Nothing but a bit of music and singing can't help," You chuckled and broke the hug.

"And yeah, it would be great if you could help me." You eyed your car, the backseat seemed to have been spilling through the windows based on everything your parents had insisted on packing.

"They sure do love you; you know that?" He mentioned opening your trunk so he could start with whatever is back there first.

You swallowed your feelings, "Yeah, I know. Let's get this stuff hauled in there." You said, changing the subject so you didn't have to think about that right now.

"I've taken the liberty to give you a queen-sized bed. I assume that you would bring your own sheets because I know you like particular 'aesthetics'." He made finger quotes around the word but that didn't take away how thoughtful it was of him.

"You didn't have to; I could've bought my own and put it together. I'm a manly man, you know?" You joked, enjoying the nice moment between you two.

"Yeah, yeah whatever you say." He grunted, hauling a box over his shoulder up to the apartment. After a couple trips, he told you he'd get the rest and lock your car for you so you could get things organized in your new room without being overwhelmed.

Heeding his instructions, you got to work.

By the time you were done, your room kind of resembled the one at home but this one spoke to you in a way that one never did. It signaled a new era for you – a new you.

Your bookshelf stood tall and proud with plenty of colorful books on it. Your bed had a pink and white theme, a fluffy rug in the middle of your hard wooden floor, and a door mirror were your favorite touches so far.

The apartment itself wasn't so bad. You didn't really get to take a look at it due to unpacking but you definitely wanted to now. Exiting your room, you find the bathroom and you guess the bedrooms where Kuroo and Kenma sleep.

The kitchen wasn't spacious, but it wasn't crowded either. It doesn't take a genius to realize that Kuroo probably meticulously placed the barstools and counter items like the tea, coffee, and toaster machines in specific places.

He was such a geek sometimes.

You looked through the cabinets and tried to stick everything to memory of its place. You, however, brought some of your own favorite dishware that had cute pink ribbons imprinted on the glass. You definitely were going to make your presence known with that.

That happened a lot more throughout the apartment too. Your little decor items like a specific throw blanket and pillow on the couch just for you. Small decorations on shelves here and there. Your toothpaste and toothbrush in the medicine cabinet.

You were popping up everywhere in their lives. In his life. And for some reason, it got under his skin. Even covering his head with a pillow, Kenma could still hear you bustling about in the apartment, talking to yourself about where something should go.

You'd occasionally ask Kuroo, and he'd just say, "Whenever you want to put it is fine with me, little one." Not taking into account Kenma's thoughts and that kind of pissed him off.

Not that it was his fault anyways. It's not like he got out of bed to say hi and greet you. Or it's not like he's pretending to be asleep so he doesn't have to conversate with you.

Kenma doesn't know why exactly you're getting under his skin so much, but it bothers him. It bothers him so deeply.

"Want to come with me to help you set everything up for school? I can show you the main buildings and once you get your class schedule, I'll tour the buildings with you, so you won't be late on your first day?" Kuroo's offer lit your eyes up.

Afterall, you were here because you wanted your degree, so obviously you're excited about classes and school.

"Yes, yes, yes. That'd be amazing. Just let me grab a jacket and I will. I saw something about it possibly raining later." You called out to him, fast walking to your room to get a zip-up you had on earlier.

You heard Kuroo walk back into the hall, and you thought he was going to get on to you for taking forever as you looked at your outfit into the mirror of your door. But that wasn't the case.

A knock was sounded, but it wasn't on your door. It was his.

"Kenma, want to come with us? We're going to go view the fall semester classes." Kuroo said through the door to Kenma's room.

You even stopped breathing to hear him.

You'd see the picture frames on the walls and here and there on the shelves from their high school days but there wasn't a current one of Kenma out. And even in those pictures, he was always looking away or face not closely in the picture. That in itself had made you curious too.

“Too tired.” Was all that was spoken but it still had an effect on you. Even though it was muffled through walls too. It was slightly becoming a bit more than curiosity at this point. But then again, you kind of had gotten a bit sad that he wouldn’t be tagging along.

You’d be living with a man you don’t even know, and he was too tired to go look at fall semester classes? Interesting.

“Alright, well little one, let’s get this show on the road then.” Kuroo called for you and you opened your door.

“Okay!” You shoved that weird Kenma thought to the back of your brain and went ahead with Kuroo to enjoy how you guys would be spending the rest of your day.

. . .

Just like that, two entire weeks of school passed by. And yet, not even once within those fourteen days of school did Kenma take any invite from you.

You remembered how he turned you down multiple times. One day you had softly knocked on Kenma’s door, hoping for him to answer.

“Hey, want to come study with Kuroo and I? I thin-"

"Leave me alone." Kenma's annoyed, muffled voice cut you off and gave you the answer you needed. You purse your lips, hoping you haven't done anything to upset your roommate. Although that isn't even one of the possibilities for you haven't even been in the same room for longer than five minutes max.

Another encounter was when you had gotten home with Kuroo, and you guys decided to get takeout which was aka Mexican – your favorite. You had found Kenma sitting on the couch in the living room scrolling on his phone.

It was as if he could sense you looking at him, he quickly got up and headed straight for his room.

"Hey, wait. I wanted to know if you wanted to add to our order. We're getting Mexican food for dinner tonight." You spoke hopeful, keeping your voice light the entire time. You desperately wanted to connect with your roommate, even if it seemed that he hated you – your mere presence.

However, he had other thoughts as he passed you with a gruff scoff, "Mexican makes me sick."

Just a few words hurt your feelings more than you'd like to even admit. You weren't used to this type of rejection when you had been nothing but cordial.

One fateful day after class, you decided you really needed a study session with Kuroo to boost your spirits. You didn't want to feel so down with it only being the second –almost third– week of college.

"Of course, anything for you. I'm going to invite Kenma; he needs it too." Kuroo said, without thinking. You hadn't confided in Kuroo about how you think Kenma absolutely hates your guts. Every time you try, you just keep thinking maybe there is something you're missing that is making him behave this way towards you.

"Oh... yeah, that's a good idea." You tried to support it, but you were riddled with anxiousness.

Your nerves got even worse when Kuroo had stated that Kenma, begrudgingly, would meet up with you guys. Only to which you then mustered half a smile, knowing that the next few hours would be more stressful than the coursework itself.

You stood at the small cafe that was built into the university's library, you stared at the menu hoping that your memory would be able to recall what Kuroo had always ordered.

On the off chance that you and Tetsu come here to study or get a breather, you always forget what he orders. On the other hand, Kuroo has mentioned what Kenma gets every single time and now that is the only thing that has burned itself into your memory.

A fucking oat milk latte loaded with any sort of sweet syrup.

You'd been secretly watching Kenma when he drinks them, seeing which kind of syrup he favors more. You're not exceptionally sure why you've been doing this either. However, the vanilla and caramel he seemed to like the best, so you asked to add both of those syrups into his latte.

Then, you made sure to send Kuroo a quick text, asking what his order was again – hopefully it just gets blamed on your apparent forgetfulness.

'Iced coffee with a splash of sweet cream' He had texted back, which honestly seemed very basic.

With a drink carrier, you carefully made your way to the study table that soon had everyone's laptops, notebooks, and pens out.

"Thank you, little one." Kuroo said, hastily taking his bland iced coffee from the brown, recyclable drink carrier.

Kenma's sharp golden eyes peered upward at you, causing you to gulp. He took his coffee without so much as uttering a word as Kuroo got to work. You had pretended to type notes for your art class and secretly peered up to see the slightly upward turn of Kenma's lips.

You felt satisfactory with your decision.

After a few hours of studying, you couldn't help that your eyes kept drifting to Kenma. Kuroo had gone to the bathroom and your coursework was definitely not on your mind. You breathed in as you took in his entire form across the study table from you.

Kenma's medium length hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, his brown roots showing more so since they've grown out quite a bit from the starch contrast of the blond hair dye. A few strands of hair had framed his sharp angled face, he seemed extremely concentrated on whatever he was reading at the moment.

Your eyes moved downwards, taking in his frame and clothes. They were the most basic, as expected from someone who didn't really care what outfit he wore. A tee with graphics on it and black sweatpants.

Noticing more, his laptop had one of those light up keyboards that you kind of wanted to run your hands across for fun. If you focused on just him, you could slightly smell the scent of cinnamon apples coming off of it. It felt intoxicating to say the least, making you feel the slightest bit of light-headedness.

You snapped out of your thoughts when he suddenly shut his laptop hard.

"Done studying?" You asked curiously, trying to pretend that there isn't a weird flutter in your stomach nor that you basically were ogling him either.

"Why does it matter? It's not like you're doing any studying with the way you've staring holes into me." He sneered at you, and you couldn't help the faint dust of blush that coated your cheeks.

"I was spacing out, sorry." You muttered, only focusing your attention on the brightly lit laptop screen, not the way you feel embarrassed for the emotions that coursed through your veins when you thought of your roommate – who hated you, you had to remind yourself.

When in the hell was Kuroo coming back from the bathroom to save you from this?

synopsis: it's the summer before you go to university, and you decide to become roommates with your pen pal that you've known since you were in primary. big problem arises, he's got a roommate, and it just so happens that his roommate either has a sexual want for you or hates your guts – or probably both?

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a/n: i made the banner, and i got my idea for this smau from @deftrow !!

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