#when she says youre her friend youre her friend no matter where she is | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

helen-with-an-a · 20 hours

Note

Will there be a second part of "Be The Best" where the girls help the reader. But at some point, the father comes and says that the reader needs to become even better, but the girls stand up for him and drive him away.

Or where the reader turns out to be a good person and tries to make friends with everyone, but it turns out to be awkward.

Hiiiii - so this is a little sadder than I anticipated but I quite like it. I might make a pt3 I'm not to sure - what do you guys think/if you have any reqs for it? Also please just imagine that there's like a foresty/woodsy type bit at Colney

Be the Best pt 2

AWFC x reader ; Leah Williamson x Reader

Part 1 : Part 2 : Part 3

Description: R has some self-realisation after trying to make friends

Word count: 4.6k

You had never felt so stupid in your life. Why? Why had you done that? Tears pricked at your eyes, threatening to spill over, as you walked. You couldn’t let them fall. No emotion. The best don’t feel emotion.

It was lunch time, a time you usually spent eating alone before going on a walk around Colney, usually ending up in the gym. After much reassurance from Kim, you had finally worked up enough courage to approach some of the team. Kim had made it sound so simple – just walk up to them and ask if you could join. You had rehearsed it in your mind a dozen times, mentally preparing for every possible reaction.

But when you finally stood there, tray in hand, in front of the group of girls who seemed to belong to an entirely different world, everything went wrong. They were sitting in the corner of the canteen, their laughter and chatter like a bubble you had no idea how to penetrate. You were so sure you looked ridiculous – just standing there, awkward and unsure, as if you had no right to even be in their presence.

“Can I sit?” you grunted, the words leaving your mouth almost of their own accord. As soon as they were out, you regretted them. You kept your eyes glued to the tray in your hands, desperately avoiding the gazes you could feel boring into you. The food on your tray – the food that looked so nice when you picked it out, looked bland and unappetising now – suddenly became the most fascinating thing in the world. Anything to avoid looking up, to avoid seeing their reactions.

The silence that followed was suffocating. It stretched on, a tangible force pressing down on you, making you feel smaller and smaller with each passing second. The confidence you had painstakingly built up with Kim's encouragement was slipping away, like sand through your fingers. You had never felt so out of place, so exposed, as you did in that moment, standing there waiting for a response that never came.

Finally, you risked a glance up and caught Kyra’s wide, terrified eyes staring back at you. Did you really scare her that much? The thought sent a jolt of anxiety through you. Were you that terrifying that a simple question had her so scared? Was she always this afraid of you? You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, feeling more awkward by the second.

Alessia and Lotte exchanged concerned glances, their silent communication only adding to your growing unease. You could see the tension in their faces, the way they seemed to be trying to figure out what to do with you, as if your mere presence was some kind of problem they had to solve. Vic, who had always seemed so confident and collected, visibly gulped, her nervousness painfully clear.

No one spoke. No one moved. The entire canteen seemed to have dropped into a wary silence, as if the whole room was holding its breath, waiting to see what would happen next. It was like a switch had flipped, and suddenly you were the centre of attention. The air was thick with unease, the kind that made your skin prickle and your heart pound.

What the fuck were you doing? The question echoed in your mind, growing louder with each passing second. You couldn’t sit with them. You didn’t belong there, in their world, no matter how much you wanted to. The realisation hit you like a punch to the gut, and the embarrassment that followed was almost too much to bear. You don’t need to sit with them, you told yourself, trying to salvage what little dignity you had left.

And then, just as quickly as you had convinced yourself to approach, you mumbled something unintelligible – a mix between an apology and an excuse that even you couldn’t understand – and turned on your heel. The shame was like a weight on your back, driving you away from the table, away from the awkward silence that had frozen you in place.

You walked as quickly as you could without breaking into a run, your feet carrying you away. Your heart was pounding in your chest, and you could feel the burn of tears threatening to spill over, but you forced them back, swallowing hard against the lump in your throat.

You continued walking out of the canteen, your footsteps quick and unsteady, the tray of food abandoned on a random table near the door in your haste to get away. The clatter of the tray as it hit the table echoed in your ears, but you didn’t care. You just needed to escape. The walls of the canteen felt like they were closing in on you, the stares of the other students—real or imagined—burning into your back.

The gym. That’s what you would normally do to squash the feelings down. It was your sanctuary, the one place where everything made sense, where you could channel everything into something physical, something real. There was nothing like running until you felt like your legs were going to give out, or punching the bags hanging in the corner until your arms ached and your hands were bloody. Pain was something you could deal with; it was tangible, controllable. The emotions, though – they were a different beast entirely. The best didn’t feel emotions. You had told yourself that so many times it had become a mantra. Emotions made you weak, and you couldn’t afford to be weak. Not now, not ever.

But you would be easily found in the gym. It was the first place anyone would look, and you couldn’t bear the thought of someone finding you like this – sweaty, shaking, and teetering on the edge of a breakdown. You didn’t want to be found. You couldn’t let anyone see the cracks in the armour you’d worked so hard to build. Not now, not after what had just happened. You had embarrassed yourself in front of the team, made a fool of yourself by going against your instincts, by trying to reach out and connect when you knew better.

You needed to find somewhere to hide, somewhere you could lick your wounds in peace. The locker room was out of the question – too many people coming and going, too many chances for awkward questions and pitying looks. The thought of facing anyone right now was unbearable.

You found yourself heading for the back exit of the gym, the one that led out to the far side of the training grounds. It was quieter there, the paths less travelled, especially at this time of day. You pushed open the door and stepped out into the cool air, the breeze hitting your face like a slap. You bit your lip, the pain momentarily distracting you from the hurt of your stupidity. The coolness of the air was a sharp contrast to the suffocating atmosphere inside, and for a moment, it felt like you could finally breathe again.

The gravel crunched beneath your shoes, the sound oddly satisfying, grounding you in the present. You weren’t entirely sure where you were going, but you didn’t care. You just needed to keep moving, to put as much distance as possible between yourself and the people inside. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. You bit your lip even harder, tasting iron on your tongue. The best don’t feel emotions. The best don’t need friends. The best train and work hard. The best practice until they physically drop. You didn’t need anyone else, didn’t need to put yourself in situations where you felt so exposed. So why had you allowed yourself to think, even for a moment, that this time might be different?

The girls’ faces flashed in your mind – Kyra’s wide, startled eyes, Alessia and Lotte’s concerned glances, Vic’s visible gulp. The sudden silence of the canteen echoed in your mind. They hadn’t known what to do with you, hadn’t known how to react, and that stung more than you wanted to admit. A solitary tear rolled down your cheek. Besides that day in the media room with Kim, you don’t remember the last time you cried.

Actually, that was a lie. You remember the exact time and place where you last cried. You were 10, you had just received the academy letter that you were to be their second-choice goalkeeper for the Under 12s. You had shown your mum, she had been so excited for you, beckoning your father over to have a look. He had told you it was first choice or nothing. If you weren’t going to be the best, then you shouldn’t even bother. That night, you cried yourself to sleep, clutching the letter so tightly that you woke up with paper cuts. You wanted to prove him wrong, to show him that you could be the best, but that tiny voice in your head, the one that echoed his words, made you doubt yourself. It made you wonder if you’d ever be good enough.

The sky had transitioned from a soft amber glow to a deepening indigo, the kind of blue that swallows the light whole. You had found a bench just off the path, hidden by a canopy of trees that whispered in the evening breeze. The bench was old, the wood splintered and weathered. It was a place where you could disappear, if only for a little while.

You had never missed training before. Not even when you were 18 and had pneumonia. You could still remember that week, the way your chest burned with every breath, your lungs heavy with fluid that rattled every time you inhaled. But you stayed bundled in layers, forcing your body through drills with single-minded determination. Your coach had asked if you were okay, concern flickering across his face, but you’d just nodded, pushing past the exhaustion and pain. You could barely breathe, but missing training wasn’t an option. Not then, and not now. Or at least, that’s what you’d always believed. The best doesn’t show weakness. But today was different. Today, you couldn’t find that strength. The drive that usually pushed you onto the pitch, no matter how tired or sick you were, had vanished. Instead, you felt drained, hollowed out by emotions you didn’t know how to handle.

You shivered slightly, a definite autumnal nip to the late summer evening. The long sleeve top you wore did little to prevent the cold from settling on your skin, but you welcomed the chill. It kept you grounded, made the swirling thoughts in your head a little less chaotic. The cold helped you think, or at least gave you something tangible to focus on when your emotions threatened to overwhelm you.

Your mind kept drifting back to Kyra. She had looked so genuinely scared of you. The memory of her wide, startled eyes made your stomach twist with guilt. You’d never seen her like that before – Kyra, who was always so confident, so full of life. She’d looked at you like you were a stranger; someone she didn’t recognise. And maybe, in that moment, you were. Maybe you didn’t recognise yourself either.

You pulled your knees to your chest, hugging them tightly as if the pressure could hold you together. The breeze picked up, rustling the leaves above you, and you closed your eyes, letting the sound wash over you. It was peaceful here, away from the noise and the people and the expectations. But the peace was deceptive, fragile. You knew you couldn’t stay here forever. Eventually, you’d have to go back, face the reality of your team. The cold crept deeper into your bones, but you didn’t move. You deserved this discomfort, this numbness.

A tear slipped down your cheek, followed by another. You wiped them away quickly, but more followed, and soon you were crying in earnest, silent sobs that shook your shoulders and left you gasping for breath. You hadn’t cried like this in years, hadn’t allowed yourself to. But now, alone in the dark, surrounded by nothing but trees and the fading light, you let the tears come.

It wasn’t just Kyra’s fear that haunted you, but the realization that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t as strong as you thought. The thought was terrifying, a crack in the foundation you’d built your entire life on. If you weren’t the best, if you weren’t unbreakable, then what were you? Who were you?

The tears slowed eventually, leaving you drained and exhausted. You rested your head on your knees, staring blankly at the ground as the darkness settled in around you. The training session was definitely over by now, the team heading back to the locker room, wondering where you were. They’d ask questions tomorrow, they’d want to know why you weren’t there, and you didn’t have any answers to give them.

But for now, you stayed on the bench, hidden away from the world, trying to piece yourself back together. You knew you couldn’t stay here forever, but for a little while longer, you allowed yourself to be weak, to be human. The best doesn’t show weakness – those were the words you’d lived by for so long. You didn’t know how to live without them.

You heard footsteps approaching. Whoever it was, was moving wearily - each step slow and calculated, like trying to approach a frightened animal. Is that what they saw you as? A wounded creature that had to be handled with caution, a volatile presence they needed to tread carefully around to protect themselves? The thought stung more than it should have. You used to like having that barrier. That bubble of self-protection that kept you alive.

You kept your eyes fixed on the ground, not wanting to acknowledge whoever was coming. Maybe if you stayed still, they’d turn back, leave you to your thoughts. But the footsteps continued, growing closer until they finally stopped just a few feet away. You could feel the presence lingering there, the silence heavy between you.

“Hey,” a voice broke through the quiet, soft and hesitant. It was Leah. You didn’t need to look up to know it was her – her voice was unmistakable, that Milton Keynes accent audible even on a single syllable word. You didn’t need to be told why they had sent her to find you. She was your national captain, your club’s vice-captain. You had always respected her.

You didn’t respond immediately. You didn’t really know what to say. You let the silence linger, stretching on to the point where Leah questioned if you even heard her. The silence hung between you, thick and heavy. Leah’s words were gentle, but they carried weight. “You missed training.” It was a simple statement of fact, but it felt like more – a subtle nudge, a reminder of the responsibility you’d momentarily abandoned. You expected her to follow it up with something more – maybe a reprimand, maybe an expectation that you explain yourself. But instead, Leah just sat there, her presence calm and steady.

You could feel her eyes on you, but you kept your gaze fixed on the ground, the words you wanted to say stuck in your throat. What could you possibly tell her that she didn’t already know? She had seen what happened in the canteen. She had seen your stupid attempt to make amends. She had seen everything.

But Leah didn’t push. She didn’t demand answers or try to fill the silence with empty words. Instead, she simply waited, giving you the space to speak when you were ready – or not, if that’s what you needed. It was one of the reasons you respected her so much. She understood that sometimes, silence spoke louder than words.

“You don’t have to explain,” Leah finally said, her tone soft, understanding. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. That’s all that matters.”

Her words caught you off guard. You’d expected some kind of judgment, some level of disappointment that you’d let the team down, but instead, there was just concern. Genuine concern, not just for the team, but for you. It was a foreign feeling; one you weren’t sure how to process.

“Kim told me that you were thinking of trying to start sitting with people at lunch,” she continued, her voice gentle but probing. There was no judgment in her words, just a simple observation. It was as if she was giving you an opening, a chance to share what was really going on inside your head. But even with the invitation, the words still felt tangled up inside you, too messy to untangle in front of someone else.

You shifted uncomfortably on the bench, the rough wood digging into your legs, grounding you in the present moment. It had seemed like such a simple idea at the time – a small step toward breaking down the walls you’d built around yourself, a way to prove to the team that you were trying, that you wanted to be a part of things. But now, in the cold light of Leah’s concern, it felt almost childish. What had you really expected? That one gesture would erase months of distance, that a seat at the table would magically make everything better?

“Am … am I a bully?” It was something that had been floating around your head all afternoon. No one looked that scared, that nervous of someone unless they had valid cause.

Leah’s eyes widened slightly at your question, and for a moment, she seemed taken aback. But she recovered quickly, her expression softening as she took in the vulnerability behind your words. She didn’t rush to answer, clearly understanding the weight of what you’d just asked.

“No,” she said firmly, her voice gentle but resolute. “You’re not a bully.”

You wanted to believe her, but the doubt still gnawed at you, clawing at the edges of your mind. “My dad’s a bully. And I act like him.”

Leah's expression shifted, her brows furrowing slightly as she processed your words. There was no immediate response, just a thoughtful silence that hung between you. You could see the wheels turning in her mind, the careful consideration she was giving to what you had just said.

“You’re not your dad,” Leah finally said, her voice steady and calm.

“But I act like him.” Your voice held no emotion. These were simple facts. At least in your mind. “He screams and shouts at me for the smallest thing. I shouted at Kyra in a training session. I asked if she was deaf or just stupid. I told her she shouldn’t think. I shout at everyone. I told Alessia she was a waste of money. I said to Laia that she was useless, and I couldn’t understand how she won the World Cup with her defensive skills. I said we were doing better without Laura during her first session back. I told Jen I was glad to see her go because we would make fewer stupid mistakes”

You weren’t proud of anything you said. Each accusation felt like a knife twisting in your chest. The realisation of the hurt you had inflicted was almost unbearable. You could see their faces in your mind – Kyra’s eyes wide and a little glossy with hurt, Alessia’s shoulders slumping, Laia’s frustration, and Jen’s quiet resignation. You knew you’d been mean, knew that all those little comments had chipped away at people’s confidence and self-worth. It was the technique your dad and old coaches had done to you. In order to be the best, you must be broken and rebuilt. Your dad had broken you a long time ago.

Leah listened intently, her eyes never leaving yours as you laid out the fears that had been gnawing at you. Her eyes widened slightly as you listed the hurtful things you’d said. The gravity of your admissions was evident in the way her expression softened, shifting from surprise to deep concern. She took a moment before responding, her voice steady but compassionate.

“What do you think when you let a goal in?” The question took you by surprise. The question hung in the air, unexpected and almost jarring in its simplicity. For a moment, you were caught off guard, trying to piece together why Leah would ask something so seemingly unrelated.

“That I’m worthless. What’s the point in having a keeper if they can’t stop the goals, right?” You sniffed a little, thinking about all the self-deprecating thoughts that course through your mind at lightning speed if you let a goal in. You bit your lip, letting the familiar pain wash over you.

Leah's eyes remained locked on yours, her gaze filled with a mix of concern and understanding. She took a moment to absorb your words before responding, her voice calm and measured. “Who told you that?” You blinked, looking at for her a brief second, confusion clouding your mind. “Who told you that you’re worthless if you let a goal in?”

“My … my dad, my old coaches. But everyone knows that goalkeeper’s who can’t keep clean sheets are useless," you laughed humourlessly. "I mean, look at our Champions League matches last season, we lost on penalties, that’s my fault. We came third in the league, I let too many goals in. We crash out of the FA cup because of a goal that I could’ve easily stopped. I let a goal in the Conti cup. All of them are my fault. I wasn’t good enough. And with England? I let the goal in in the World Cup, our Nations League losses were all my fault, goals that shouldn’t have been scored. I’m the reason we weren’t at the Olympics this year. We qualified for the Euros by the skin of our teeth – we lost to France and drew to Sweden on home soil.” It was the rhetoric that had been spewed to you all summer. Every day, you needed to be better, do better, be the best, you couldn’t make a mistake. Look at what mistakes had cost you.

Leah listened carefully. Yes, she knew you carried each loss personally, but she didn’t know you took it this badly. She could see the deep exhaustion in your bones, the deep circles under your eyes, the paleness in your skin. You looked like you hadn’t had a proper rest in years. Each statement you made was like a dagger, not only piercing through your own sense of self-worth but also hitting Leah in a place she hadn’t expected. The weight of your guilt and frustration was palpable, and it was clear how deeply you were affected by every perceived failure.

She could see the toll this relentless self-blame was taking on you. Leah had known about the pressure you faced, but hearing the full extent of your suffering was sobering. It was one thing to understand the high stakes of professional sports, but it was another to see someone so dedicated and talented struggle under the crushing burden of their own expectations. She was struck by how your relentless pursuit of perfection, driven by past experiences and harsh criticisms, had led you to this place of self-doubt. The emotional scars were clearer now, and Leah could see that your harshest critic wasn’t just your dad or your old coaches – it was yourself.

Leah’s heart ached for you. She remembered her own struggles, the pressure to perform and the fear of failure that often accompanied high-level competition. But what you were expressing went beyond that. It wasn’t just about the weight of a single match or a missed opportunity; it was about a pattern of self-destruction that had become ingrained, a relentless inner voice that constantly reminded you of every shortcoming.

“I’ve heard it all before,” you continued, your voice cracking as you went. “Every mistake, every goal that went in was my fault. If I don’t perform perfectly, then I’m useless. I’m supposed to be the last line of defence. What good is a goalkeeper that lets goals in? In order to be the best, you must be broken and rebuilt.” You sounded so lost, in so much pain. Yet you clearly believed every word you were saying.

Leah’s eyes softened even more as she listened to your words. The silence that followed your last statement was heavy, thick with unspoken emotions. Leah let it linger, allowing the gravity of your confession to settle between you.

When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet, yet full of determination. "I don’t believe that," she said firmly. "I don’t believe that you have to be broken to be the best. And I don’t think anyone should make you feel that way."

You looked at her, an unfamiliar ache in your chest tightening as you tried to absorb what she was saying. "But I am broken," you whispered, the words almost choking you. "I’ve been broken so many times. I don’t even know who I am anymore, Leah. All I know is that I have to be perfect, or everything falls apart."

Leah shook her head, her expression resolute. "You’re not broken," she insisted. "You’re hurt. And there’s a difference. You’ve been hurt by people who should have supported you, people who should have built you up instead of tearing you down. But that doesn’t make you broken. It makes you human."

Your breath hitched as you processed her words. They were so different from the ones you had grown accustomed to hearing, the harsh criticisms and impossible expectations that had been drilled into you for years. Part of you wanted to reject them, to cling to the familiar pain because it was what you knew. But another part of you, a small, fragile part, wanted desperately to believe that Leah was right.

Leah reached out, placing a hand on your arm, her touch gentle and reassuring. "You’re not alone," she said softly. "We all make mistakes. We all have moments when we don’t perform the way we want to. But that doesn’t define us. You’re so much more than those moments. And you’re allowed to be human, to have bad days, to not be perfect all the time."

You felt tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them back, trying to maintain control. It was hard, though, with Leah looking at you like that, with so much compassion and understanding in her eyes. "What if I’m not good enough?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

Leah moved over slightly, shuffling across the bench until she was almost touching you. "You are good enough," she said firmly. “We are a team. We help each other be the best. We rely on each other and push each other to be better. We can start slowly, there’s a team bonding next week. We’re going to the cinema and then out for a meal and drinks. I know you don’t usually come but how about you turn up. If you don’t like it or you want to go home, you can do – no questions asked.” You had never been to the cinema before. At least not that you can remember – maybe when you were a kid?

“Cinema … that sounds … nice.”

205 notes · View notes

haosweater · 2 days

Text

nasty dog

content: best friend! vernon x afab! reader, smut, pwp, college au. warnings: consumption of alcohol. smut: switch! vernon, switch! reader, name calling (puppy, mutt, miss etc), cunnilingus (oral on reader), praise kink, breeding kink.

summary: vernon is overprotective. everyone knows that. he says he just wants to make sure no man takes advantage of you, since y’know, men are dogs. well, then again, so is he.

word count: 2k

note: this was,,, supposed to be less than 1k words... oh well, i went crazy :d divider is by @cafekitsune on tumblr :)

you always found the situation funny.

to people on campus, you and vernon were known to be best friends. he was your partner-in-crime, the one who knew and understood your humour the best. wherever you were, so was he. people rarely saw you apart. it was as if you both were attached to the hip.

your friends always teased vernon about how protective he was over you. it didn’t matter where men approached you. in school, at clubs, on campus— vernon was always lurking nearby, glaring at them from the shadows. if looks could kill, he’d have been a serial killer.

“aw vernon, don’t need to be jealous,” jihyo laughed as the male snapped out of his daze, and turned to look at her. “you’ve been staring at y/n for the past ten minutes.”

it was true. he had been busy staring at you. but he was also staring at the man whose hands were wandering down your body. his lanky figure was bent over so he could whisper god-knows-what into your ear. he just couldn’t look away from the way you giggled, your fingers tracing over the patterns on the stranger’s shirt.

“well, that freak’s with her,” he sighs, downing the rest of his whiskey. “can’t be too careful now, can i?”

chaeyong giggled, leaning against her boyfriend’s shoulder. “aw, are you worried y/n’s gonna leave you?” she teases the male as their whole group laughs. vernon rolls his eyes, but the smile on his face shows that he doesn’t mind it. “don’t worry, babes. you know she always has a special place in her heart for you.”

vernon opts to not respond as his gaze drifts back to you. the man’s hands had trailed down to your waist, and it was now your turn to whisper in his ear. your hand was on his shoulder, gripping it tightly. he shuddered at your words, only fueling vernon’s curiosity even more. he knew you were whispering the most sinful things to him. he could see it in the way you grinned, knowing you were in control.

the music faded into the background gradually as the boy is left with his own thoughts. ‘special place in her heart?’ vernon thought to himself, bringing the glass up to his lips. he didn’t doubt that.

that’s when your eyes meet his. he chokes on his drink, surprised and embarrassed. he knew you knew that he’d been staring. it wasn’t like he was trying to hide it that well anyways.

vernon feels small and shy when you look at him. your gaze was similar to that of a predator’s– focused, sharp, intimidating. you looked like you were about to devour him whole. he wouldn’t have minded that.

he cannot look away. your eyes draw him in, your entire demeanour was confident, seductive, and you knew you were in absolute control. raising a finger, you gesture for him to come over slowly, as if casting a spell on him (for you, he’d knowingly fall for it all). with a soft smile, he finishes his drink quickly and leaves.

he knew what this meant.

“so? what did you tell him?”

you hum, closing your eyes with a smile on your face. vernon’s voice always had a soothing effect on you. “i told him how i’d tie him up and fuck him slowly,” you begin, sipping on your drink. “then i told him to fuck off and keep dreaming.”

vernon’s laugh sounds like a familiar melody from your childhood. he hums, tracing circles across your skin gently. “very on brand for you, hm?” he teases, shifting his body down as the sheets rustle under your bodies.

chuckling, you brushed his brown locks aside, but are quick to gasp as he inserts his tongue into you, catching you by surprise. “fuck, noonie,” you curse, relishing in the pleasure. “god, that tongue of yours,” you moan softly, flushing your hips against his face.

from between your legs, vernon has a wild grin on his face. you roll your eyes at his antics, thoroughly enjoying the feeling of his tongue against your wet cunt. he mumbles something so softly, you only realise he spoke because of the vibrations it sent to your clit.

“what’d you say—ngh, fuck,”you let out a gasp. “w-what’d you say, nonnie?”

vernon lifted his head from between your legs, licking his lips. “all men are dogs,” he said, flicking the tip of his tongue against your clit as you shuddered. “and you know how nasty they are.”

“fuck, 'non,” you whine as his tongue continues to assault your clit, fingers pumping in and out of you. “doesn’t that– oh god, you’re so fucking good,” you breathe heavily, relishing in the pleasure vernon never failed to give you. “doesn’t that make you a dog too?”

the chuckle he let out was enough to make you groan. god, all it took was his laugh to make you even wetter (if that was even possible).

his large eyes peek out from between your legs, mouth place soft kisses to your inner thighs. you shudder as his fingers start to move even faster, your hands grasping the satin sheets below you.

“yeah, it does,” he smiles against your skin. “but i’m your dog, y/n,” he says with a hint of mischievousness in his voice.

his fingers trace along your skin before you feel him gently pry your fingers off the sheets. his fingers intertwine with yours for a moment, a short, but intimate moment that has your heart fluttering more than you’d like to admit.

he hands you something and you’re slightly confused. its texture is slightly rough and it felt foreign to you. you look down and realise he’s handed you the end of a leash that was around his neck. “i’m yours to use. i’m here only to please you, to make you feel good. my pleasure is irrelevant– i’m made to serve you,” he whispers, planting kisses along your thigh as he looked into your eyes.

“so please. use me.”

an insatiable energy surges within you. with a harsh tug of the leash, you have vernon in your lap. your free hand grabs his hair, moaning into his mouth as he grinds against you.

“you’re such a horny fucking mutt,” you groan, as he kisses you back with much vigour. you can tell he’s desperate, the way his hips are moving against you. “you wanna fuck me? fuck your cum into me?”

vernon groans at your statement, nodding fervently as you chuckle, slowly lowering yourself down. the boy follows you, chasing your lips as he whined at the list of contact. you tug his leash and he lets out a low whimper, almost too soft for you to hear. “good boy,” you coo, ridding him of his pants eagerly.

his cock was hard and twitched at your praise. you licked your lips at the sight. “you’re going to fuck me now, puppy. you will fuck me until i’m satisfied, and no cumming until i say so, you understand?”

“yes, miss,” he huffs, eager to please you. at your nod of approval, he enters you, whimpering as your walls wrap tightly around him. “oh my god, miss,” he lets out a whimper, shaking at how good he felt. “fuck, you’re so warm.”

the grin on your face widens, fully taking in how gorgeous your best friend looks. he was flushed, eyes squeezed shut from the pleasure. his hair was tussled messily, framing his gorgeous face.

“may i move, miss?” his desperate whine snaps you out of your daze.

“yes baby, you– ah, fuck!” vernon doesn’t even let you finish before he begins pounding into you mercilessly. you grip the sheets, wrapping your legs around his waist. the way his cock hit all the right spots made you moan, hands moving to his shoulder as your nails dug into his skin.

his cock rammed into you relentlessly, making you arch your back, tears brimming in the corner of your eyes at how good it felt. the sound of your skin slapping filled the room, along with his desperate whines and your breathy moans. pleasure was an understatement for how good you felt.

you yank at the leash, making vernon moan. his eyes were wide and glossy, begging for your touch. “you want me to touch you, baby?” you pant, fingers ghosting over his chest as he nodded. “good boy,” you smile and began to toy with his nipples, making him whine even louder, thrusting into you faster.

“miss, miss, please, i’m going to cum,” he cries, tears rolling down his cheeks. “can i cum, please? i’ve been a good boy for you, so please let me cum,” he begged, lips plump and red.

“no,” you say firmly, pulling his leash tighter. “you’re gonna make me cum before you can,” you instruct as he whined, but quickly obeyed.

his hand moved down, fingers circling your clit as he leaned down to take your nipple into his mouth. you moan in his ear, whispering sweet praises into his ears. his pace increased, his desperation evident as he chased his own orgasm while trying to please you.

the familiar coil in your stomach made you moan. “fuck, noonie, i’m going to cum,” you sigh in pleasure.

as you think vernon can’t possibly go even faster, his hips begin snapping into you at an inhumane pace that made you gasp. “yes, miss! please cum for me,” he moans. “please let me in cum in you! please, please, please, i’ve been so good– i’ve been your good boy,” he begs, staring at you with his beautiful eyes.

the tears that roll down his eyes turn you on even more and you shudder. “okay baby, you can cum inside me. you wanna breed me, yeah? fill me full of your cum until it drips out of me?” you ask as he groans, shaking at the thought.

“yes, yes, miss. wanna show all those men that i’m yours. wanna fuck you full of my seed, please,” he cries out, holding onto you tightly.

the knot in your stomach continues to build and you know you’re getting close. your nails dig down his back, your grip on his leash tightening. “fuck, noonie, i’m cumming,” you pant out, trying to match his thrust to chase your high. “fuck, i’m cumming, i’m cumming!”

as soon as your walls tighten around his big, warm cock, vernon loses it. he lets out a loud groan as his seed spills into you. the sound of your moans echoed, as you rid your orgasm out, basking in the afterglow.

“god, 'non, that was…” you pant, trying your best to catch your breath. vernon continued to stare at your chest, enticed by the way your boobs moved. “pervert,” you smack his ass, earning a help from him. “we need to clean up.”

vernon nods, slowly sliding out of you, eyes trained at the entrance of your pussy. he loved the way his cum spilled out of you, painting your pussy white.

“'non?” you call out as he snaps out of his daze. god, your body looked gorgeous in the moonlight. “if you don’t come, you won’t be able to fuck me against the bathroom walls,” you say with a sly grin.

you love how vernon’s cock twitches at your words. smiling, you wink at him before turning around, swaying your hips as you walked away.

vernon giggled to himself. god, he really was just a nasty fucking dog for you.

#mei’s ✍️#seventeen 🫧#seventeen smut #seventeen fics #seventeen imagines #vernon #chwe hansol #vernon chwe #seventeen vernon #vernon smut #vernon x reader #seventeen x reader #smut #kpop smut #sub seventeen #dom reader

278 notes · View notes

thecameronchronicles · 1 day

Text

Heat of The Moment

TW: unhinged Rafe. Dominant sex. Dirty talk. Language. Oral sex. Hair pulling. Cum swallowing.

REQUESTED:

@gianadrichardson-blog

So the idea I have in my mind is that y/n and Rafe are dating and Rafe KNOWS that every guy wants y/n from tourons, college guys and even his best friends want her. So while y/n was out of town with her parents, Topper accidentally revealed that he had feelings for y/n and tried to date her while her and Rafe was in the talking stage. So Rafe calls y/n and sees where she at. When Rafe gets y/n location he shows up and let out his frustration he had and record them having sex with y/n then send to topper with the message “keep away from my girl”

Maybe y/n older brother have y/n phone and decided to play a prank on rafe acting like a guy had y/n phone

Heat of the Moment

"What the fuck, Top?!" Rafe accuses, holding Topper's phone high enough out of reach. But your pictures remain on the screen. More specifically, pictures the friend of your boyfriend shouldn't have.

"I- just stop it, man-"

"My girlfriend's tits are on your screen! What am I supposed to think?"

"She's in a bikini but it it doesn't matter okay? Just-just let me have it back." But Rafe smashes it before Topper can even brush his fingers against it. His finger is pointed in his former friend's face before he can right Rafe's actions that he believes wholeheartedly are justified.

"Rafe. When you and her were just talking, I...I thought I had a shot. I get that now, okay? I just, sometimes I wonder what if-"

"If I even see you looking at her after this, you won't be able to ever look again."

Rafe was already fuming. He was jealous and curious, both existing to a dangerous degree that meant his knuckles were bloodied more than healed and his voice hoarse from having defended you.

There wasn't a soul within a dramatic radius within the Outer Banks that didn't see your beauty. Whether it was the stunning way your eyes could focus and become instantly lustful with one look at your boyfriend or the way your voice warmed even the coldest of hearts, Rafe Cameron knew exactly what he had.

Perfection.

He just didn't expect to have to have to defend you to someone so close to him- someone who has apparently had feelings for you since before you were officially anything with Rafe. It makes his hands wrap tightly around the steering wheel and his foot practically punch a hole into the floor of his truck as he races across the Carolina road.

He never thought he left it to question. You were his. He was yours. It was as official as it could be without a ring or contract of marriage and yet he knew he needed to make it unquestionably true to the one person it mattered to.

So without a call or text in warning, he is pounding at your front door.

"Rafe? Are you okay baby, you-" He is over your threshold, face between your hands, your body pulled into his as he kisses you between words.

"You know I love you, yeah?" You nod with your hands coming up around his wrists. If you didn't trust him so gravely then you'd worry for the strength behind his hands as he brought you against him.

"You know I'd do anything for you?" He kisses with a grunt, more animal than the man you talked to earlier this morning.

"And that you say our word and it stops, no questions asked? That you know I put you first?" His forehead rests against yours as he waits for your agreement. It takes less than the time of a blink before he gets it.

"Good, remember that because I'm about to fuck you like I hate you." He lifts you around him and up your steps, suddenly too far away from your room.

You were the complete opposite of touch starved and yet you felt as if you had been drowning without his touch, the first moment of contact being an exhale for relief. Only in the juxtaposition that was being his girlfriend it also made you lightheaded.

"Rafe-" His hand comes up over your mouth as he only manages to get to the steps and turns you to cover them. Your knees dig into the uncomfortable wood and yet all you can focus on is the heat of the moment.

"Need to use that word, baby?"

You shake your head as he guides your hands around the open spaces between the bars making up your bannister.

"Then hold on." His belt sounds first and then the rough fabric of his pants being shoved.

"Jesus Christ, baby, I don't even need to spit on my cock, so I?" He leans over you, kicking your legs just wide enough to leave some comfort in the angle. "Always so wet for me isn't that right?"

"Always!" You moan into his hand as he grins against your shoulder before reaching into his pocket.

You hear the wrapper of the confom being torn and make the mistake to turn and see him do it with his teeth. Something about the savagery of it and the heat behind his eyes, still possessing your care above all else, and it sends you drenching the valley awaiting him.

"Safe and-" He moans, a deep honey tone, that makes your toes curl knowing you wrap around him snuggly enough to cause such a reaction.

"Tight, baby! Fuck!" He hits the stairs beside your cheek and yet it does nothing to limit anything. If anything, it spurs you both on as his other hand releases your mouth and you're able to kiss the skin of his fist as if to soften his rigidity.

"How are you so sweet AND sexy-hmm? Always know just what I need don't you baby?" Your body wills itself to endure all that is Rafe Cameron. Every tension soiling his happiness now pumping through every snap of his hips until all that remains is the frustration you know he veils from you. Still, you trust that every shove of him into you is only a method of showing you he cares.

However, it has never been quite this possessive before. Quite this needy. Quite this deep or hard.

And you fucking love it.

His hands can't move fast enough and yet they are graceful and not amateur. He rolls your nipples as he kisses your neck, thrusting without break, and whispering every dirty thought you have constructed in your time apart.

And then he becomes completely and utterly unhinged. Taking you in his lap, he pulls you facing away from him, still seated to the root. He bounces you, one hand around your neck, as the other rubs your clit. It can't be comfortable for him with the wood beneath you and still he is too driven by the cries you're making in the sound of his name to care about anything but this next thrust-or the dozens that follow.

"Nobody knows just how dirty you get for me, isn't that right baby? How deep you take my dick in this perfect little pussy? Yeah?" He slaps your clit with just enough pressure to make you jolt until he lifts his hips and makes you forget of the sting it leaves behind.

"How loud you get? It's a miracle nobody has called the cops yet. You sound like you're in pain, shit-" He turns you to him with the grip around your neck moving to your jaw and turning you to him.

"You good baby?"

"Harder-"

"That's my fucking girl?" You're lifted with a gasp following you as he takes you into your room. You are only allowed the reprieve of wood beneath your soles for a second before he's rutting you into the bed. Hand pushing your face into the sheets to somewhat muffle your screaming, all you hear is the repetitive "yeah"s in the mix of your name as he wallows in you.

"Do I have to worry about anyone else ever knowing about how good you feel?" You are torn away from your blissful daze at the question.

"What?" You turn and face him, seeing the phone pointed towards you. The heat from your skin accelerated until it is now the marrow in your bones and you can't cool it, not that you want to.

"Who fucks you deep enough to make you soak his cock like this?"

"Rafe!" You manage as he pulls your hair and makes your back arch for him.

"Who makes you dizzy and shit when he knows just where to hit?"

He pulls you to him, against his chest until you can look up at him.

"Who loves you enough to prove to everyone on this goddamn island you're his?! Huh?"

"RAFE! GOD! YOU, RAFE?" You sob, the pleasure almost painful as he grips your hip with one hand and keeps the phone recording in the other. The video is shaky and then disposed of as his cum begins to shoot from his heavy balls and up his shaft.

"On your knees, baby-" He takes the phone back, pointing it to your face. As always, he kisses you sweetly and runs a thumb over your lips, before you take him behind your smirk.

"Ohhh baby-" You accept him slowly before opening your throat to him. Eyes locked and cheeks prepped to be hollow, you wait as he cocks his head before powering through. He thrusts.

Twice.

Once.

And then becomes a blur.

Only grunts and 'fucks' leave between moans.

"Shit baby, you're gonna make me come- you want it?" He asks, managing to open his eyes long enough to see you nod. Digging your nails into his thighs, you drive him to pulse into your throat, over your tongue, and along with your swallow.

"Open-" he points the camera to show just the good girl you are.

"I fucking love you, baby, and now nobody will question who you belong to again."

"I don't think they do, Rafe..." You laugh it off as he helps you to your feet and into his arms within your bed.

As you fall asleep, you hear him tapping away on his phone before finally focusing completely on you. You rest well within his arms, satisfied in the countless orgasms you had as he reached his own, sweet dreams awaiting you that pale in comparison to what it means to be loved by Rafe.

Across town, Topper's phone buzzes. A video file from Rafe. The new phone, bought not even ten minutes after his last one was smashed sits in wait for the message.

MP4 file.

It is opened. The sound of slurping around the impressive shaft, angry and near completion is spliced with the sight of you spread for him on the stairs as well as the hip of the bed. Your cries are only of pleasure and they echo as the video plays.

"Stay away from my girl." Comes a warning meant for Topper.

Only it isn't Topper's eyes that come to the scene.

And it isn't Topper's life that gets the threat.

It is your brother's and he has just been waiting for an excuse to let out his own rage out against Rafe.

MASTERLIST

#outer banks #obx #outerbanks #rafe cameron #drew starkey #rafe cameron smut #rafecameron x reader

150 notes · View notes

goblinontour · 3 days

Text

We Were Young, Darlin’

we don’t have no control, we're out of control

warnings: fetus!alex, smut, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex (piv), it’s cute

word count: 10k

“It’s him!” you screamed to your friend, your voice rising above the roaring music that vibrated through the floor and rattled your chest. The band had just come on stage, the room exploding with sound as the first chords rang out.

“What?!” she yelled back, leaning in closer, her brow furrowed as she tried to make out what you were saying. The noise in the room made everything feel chaotic, but the only thing you could focus on was the figure now adjusting a guitar at the center of the stage.

“It’s Alex! It’s him!” You gripped her arm tighter, your heart hammering against your ribs as you repeated yourself, this time louder. Your words tumbled out in an excited rush, almost slurring together from the drinks you’d downed earlier. The alcohol had made you bold, clumsy, and a little too emotional. You felt your knees wobble beneath you, and your friend caught your arm just before you could stumble into someone.

“Who’s Alex?” she asked, pulling you back upright, her eyes nervously darting to the huge brooding guy beside you whose scowl seemed permanently fixed. He looked like he’d kill someone if you spilled your drink on his shoes. But you barely noticed, too busy staring at the stage.

“Never mind! It doesn’t matter!” you waved her off, shaking your head. Explaining who Alex Turner was right now wasn’t important. There was no time to explain, not when you could see him right there. Your Alex, or at least the boy you used to know, standing there, adjusting the strap of his guitar with a nervous sort of fidget.

There he was.

He looked a little older, sure, but not so different. His hair was still dark and slightly unkempt, curling at the ends in that familiar way. His frame had filled out a bit Lean, not lanky. And there was still something unmistakably awkward about the way he stood. You could see it in the way he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, adjusting the strap of his guitar like he wasn’t quite sure where to place his hands. You could see the nerves in him, just like you did when you were younger.

The spotlight hit him just as he leaned into the mic, his face momentarily illuminated in the haze of the stage lights and the cigarette smoke lingering in the venue. His eyes scanned the crowd for a second, squinting through the blinding lights. The room was packed, bodies pressing together, and yet, standing there, Alex seemed smaller, like he wasn’t quite used to the attention.

He strummed a few tentative chords before leaning into the mic, his voice barely audible over the buzzing feedback. He cleared his throat, his voice coming out a little shaky, a little unsure. “Uh...thanks for coming out.” he mumbled, glancing over his shoulder at his bandmates as if looking for reassurance. They were already settling into position, ready to tear into their next song, but Alex paused, turning back to the crowd. “We’ve got a few more for you.” he added awkwardly, brushing his hand through his hair before gripping the mic stand, almost as though he needed something to hold onto.

It wasn’t the most confident stage presence, not the kind of charisma you’d expect from someone about to command a room. But it was him, every hesitant, awkward bit of him. That boy, the one who mumbled through his sentences and avoided eye contact when he was nervous. It was the same Alex you’d spent countless afternoons with, hanging out in your parents’ basements, talking about dreams that seemed so far off at the time.

A burst of emotion surged through you, and before you could stop yourself, you cheered. Louder than anyone around you. You felt your voice crack with excitement, probably too enthusiastic for his shy attempt at banter, but you didn’t care. Your heart swelled with a mix of nostalgia and pride. Seeing him up there, doing what you always knew he’d be good at, was surreal.

Alex shifted again, clearly startled by the noise. He looked up, eyes sweeping across the audience, searching for the source of the sound. And then, for just a second, his gaze landed on you.

Your breath hitched as his eyes locked with yours. Time seemed to stop, the music around you fading into a dull hum. Alex squinted, as if trying to make sense of what he was seeing. Then, slowly, the corner of his mouth twitched into the faintest smile.

It was small, almost imperceptible, but you saw it. You weren’t sure if he recognized you, if that smile was meant for you or just a reflex in response to the crowd’s energy, but you held onto it like it was the most important thing in the world. For a moment, the years that had passed between you didn’t matter.

Was it really for you? You didn’t know, but you let yourself believe it was.

He turned away, refocusing on his guitar as the band launched into their next song. The room vibrated with the rumble of bass and drums, but you barely registered the music. All you could think about was that split second, that smile, and what it might mean.

Your friend nudged you, noticing the sudden shift in your expression. “Are you okay?” she asked, raising her voice over the music, her concern evident.

“Yeah.” you murmured, still staring at the stage, your mind a whirlwind of memories and emotions. “I’m good.” You didn’t elaborate. How could you? How could you explain that the boy who used to be your best friend, the one you hadn’t spoken to in years, had just smiled at you from the stage like no time had passed at all?

As the song continued, your eyes stayed glued to Alex. Every now and then, he’d glance up from his guitar, scanning the crowd with that same nervous energy. You wondered if he’d look your way again.

You lost yourself in the music, every beat, every chord resonating through your bones, carrying you somewhere far from where you stood. The crowd surged and swayed around you, but your focus stayed locked on the stage, on him. Watching him there brought back so many memories, ones you didn’t even realise you still carried. The songs blended into each other, one after another, and it felt like no time had passed at all.

Before you knew it, the set was over. The last notes of their final song hung in the air for a moment, lingering like a ghost, and you blinked, almost confused by how quickly it had ended. The house lights came up, harsh and bright, pulling you back into reality. You weren’t even close to being done with it, but the show was over.

Your friend had disappeared sometime during the last song, but you didn’t notice until you spotted her across the room. She was tucked into a corner with some good-enough-looking guy, his arm already around her waist as they laughed together. She shot you a quick thumbs up when she saw you looking, mouthing something you couldn’t make out before turning her attention back to him. It didn’t matter anyway. You could tell she’d found her own fun for the night.

You glanced back at the stage, your eyes scanning the space where Alex had stood just moments ago, hoping to catch one last glimpse of him. But he was gone. The whole band was gone, really, but your eyes weren’t searching for anyone else. A weird sort of emptiness tugged at your chest, a longing that felt so familiar it almost hurt. You’d lost him once, and now, after only just finding him again, he was gone before you even had a chance to say anything.

The crowd started to thin, people streaming toward the exits, and the once-hot, sweaty venue suddenly felt too empty. You made your way toward the door, digging into your pocket for your pack of cigarettes. The air outside hit you like a slap, cold and biting, the late-night chill burning against your skin. You shivered, realising too late you should have brought a jacket, but inside had been too warm, and all the jumping around left you flushed and breathless.

With a cigarette between your lips, you cupped your hands around the flame of your lighter, taking in a deep drag, hoping the smoke might do something to warm you from the inside out. It didn’t, but it gave you something to focus on. The night had that strange kind of stillness to it, the city lights blurred by the cold mist in the air.

“Hey.” a voice called from your left, low and familiar.

You froze for a moment, the cigarette dangling from your fingers as you turned toward the sound. There, just outside the door, leaning against the wall in the shadow of the venue’s awning, was Alex. It was him. You were sure of it now, more sure than you’d been earlier when you thought you saw that fleeting smile from the stage.

He was still sweaty from the show, his hair all messy and sticking up in odd directions. His hands were shoved into his pockets, and he seemed even smaller now, the stage presence stripped away, leaving behind just him.

You smiled, a slow, soft grin spreading across your face, and he took a step closer, squinting at you in the dim light. “Am I seeing things right?” he asked, a hint of uncertainty in his voice, like he wasn’t quite ready to believe it was you.

“What do you mean?” you teased, taking another drag and tilting your head, playing with him just a little, the way you used to.

“Oh, sorry, I thought I-” He paused, his words stumbling over each other. “I thought you were…I mean, you looked like…”

“I am, you coconut head.” you laughed, shaking your head at him. Without thinking, you reached up with your free hand and ruffled his already chaotic hair, feeling the dampness of it from sweat and stage lights. “Come here.”

For a second, he just stood there, blinking in surprise before his face broke into a sheepish grin, one you remembered all too well. He leaned in, closing the space between you, and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in like he’d done a hundred times before, back when you were kids and everything was simple. His body was warm against yours, and despite the chill in the air, the closeness of him, this version of Alex that was still somehow the same one you once knew, made the cold fade into the background.

You let yourself lean into him, his arm anchoring you, grounding you in a moment that felt strangely like coming home. You could feel the slight shake in his hands, the nervous energy that never quite left him, even now. It made you smile. Some things didn’t change.

“I can’t believe it’s you.” he murmured into your hair, his voice soft, like he wasn’t sure if saying it too loudly might break the spell.

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, your eyes meeting his, and for a moment, it was like no time had passed at all. The years of distance, of going to different schools, of losing touch, it all felt like it melted away. Here he was, standing with you in the cold, like you’d never left each other’s side.

“Well, believe it, Turner.” you said, smirking. “I’m real, and I’m freezing, so you’d better keep me warm.”

He chuckled, pulling you in tighter, the both of you laughing into the quiet night, the city sounds muted in the distance. And just like that, it was as if you’d never been apart at all.

Alex pulled back reluctantly, his arm slipping from your shoulders like he wasn’t quite ready to let go, but knew he had to. He looked at you for a moment, his big eyes searching your face as if trying to memorise every detail, and then he smiled, soft, warm, and familiar, before diving back in for one last hug. This time, it was tighter, just a few more seconds, like he was trying to savour the moment before the real world crept back in. You could feel the faint tremble in his hands, the nervous energy still coursing through him from the show.

When he finally pulled back again, it was with a quiet sigh, like he wished he didn’t have to. He stood there, crossing his arms over his chest as the cold air bit at his skin even through his jacket, his shoulders hunching up a little against the chill. He shivered, his breath visible in the freezing air, and you couldn’t help but smile at how much he was still the same.

“What are you doing ‘ere?” he asked, his voice gentle as if he couldn’t quite believe you were really standing in front of him. His eyes flicked back to the door for a second, maybe checking if anyone was watching, before they returned to you, full of curiosity.

“I came to see the show.” you replied, wrapping your arms around yourself in a weak attempt to keep warm. The cold seemed to seep into your bones now, and you stamped your feet a little, trying to shake it off. Alex noticed, shuffling a little closer to you as though he could somehow help block the wind.

“You came to see my band?” He tilted his head, his voice laced with playful disbelief. His lips pulled into a crooked grin, like he was trying to hold back a laugh.

“I didn’t know it was your band!” you admitted, your breath hitching slightly in the cold air as you flicked the butt of your cigarette away. You wrapped your arms tighter around yourself, trying to stop your teeth from chattering. Alex’s grin grew wider, and he giggled in that soft, quiet way you remembered, the one that was almost more like a shy exhale than an actual laugh.

“Seriously?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, a teasing glint in his eye as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He stood a little taller, his shoulders less hunched, but still guarded, like he didn’t quite know what to do with himself in the moment. He glanced down at his shoes for a second, the cold making his movements more fidgety.

“Seriously!” you insisted, laughing. “I didn’t even know you were in a band!”

He let out another small giggle, shaking his head as if the thought was unbelievable. “So you haven’t been keeping tabs on me, eh?” he asked, a half-smirk forming on his lips as he shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, his voice teasing but not unkind.

“Have you been keeping tabs on me?” you shot back, a grin tugging at your lips as you watched him shift awkwardly on his feet, his arms now folded even tighter across his chest. He looked almost bashful for a second, biting the inside of his cheek like he was caught off guard by your question.

“Of course I have.” he replied, his voice soft but sincere, his eyes flicking back up to meet yours. His smile faded for a moment, replaced by something more thoughtful, more real. “How could I not?”

There was a vulnerability in the way he said it, his usual defenses slipping. He shifted again, glancing down at the ground before his eyes met yours again. The wind whipped through the alley, ruffling his already messy hair, but neither of you moved. The cold seemed to fade as you stood there, locked in that moment together.

You could see the boy you once knew so clearly in front of you. But there was something different, too. He’d grown up. He was still Alex, but there was a new confidence hidden underneath it all, buried somewhere beneath the lingering awkwardness.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again.” you admitted quietly, your voice almost lost in the wind. The words slipped out before you had a chance to stop them, but you didn’t regret it. It was the truth. After all the time that had passed, after all the moments you thought about reaching out and never did, standing here now felt surreal.

Alex looked at you, his eyes softening. “Yeah, me neither.” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. He kicked at the gravel beneath his feet, the sound small against the night air. “But I always hoped I would, you know?”

You smiled at him, feeling the warmth of his words settle in your chest. “So, a band, huh? You made it then.” you asked, trying to lighten the mood a little, your grin returning as you gestured toward the venue.

He laughed again, this time a little louder, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “Yeah, I guess we’re alright.” he said, that self-deprecating humour you knew so well creeping into his voice. He looked away for a second, his cheeks flushing slightly from either the cold or the compliment, you couldn’t tell. You hoped it was the latter. “I didn’t think we’d get this far.”

“Well,” you teased, nudging him with your elbow, “it sounds like you’re doing more than alright.”

Alex’s grin widened, and he looked down again, this time with a smile on his face. “Thanks.” he mumbled, his voice soft as he shifted closer, his arm brushing against yours.

And just like that, it felt like no time had passed at all. The cold air still bit at your skin, but standing there with Alex, everything else seemed to melt away. It was all still there, but somehow, it didn’t matter. Not in this moment.

He gave you that familiar, lopsided grin again, the one that always seemed to make his eyes soften just a little. “You haven’t changed a bit.” he said, his voice warm with nostalgia as his gaze flickered between your face and the ground.

You laughed, “Oh, I’ve changed.” you said, smirking as you pushed your chest up a little through your low-cut top, giving him a teasing look. “I’ve got boobs now.”

His eyes widened, the soft laugh he’d been holding back escaping as he immediately looked away, biting down on his lip like he wasn’t sure where to look next. His cheeks flushed red, and for a split second, it seemed like he didn't know how to handle a joke like this.

But despite his nervousness, he couldn’t help himself. There was really no other option. Your chest was right there, the neckline of your tank leaving very little to the imagination, and the way you were pushing them up made it impossible for him not to look. You could practically see him wrestle with whether it was “appropriate” but after a moment, his gaze flicked back down.

“I’ve noticed.” he said, a bit sheepishly, his voice low and rough around the edges. His eyes darted back to yours, then dipped to your chest for just a second before he quickly looked back up again, that sheepish grin still lingering on his lips. “They’re, uh...quite nice.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at how flustered he was getting, especially with the remnants of that post-show euphoria still buzzing in him. He was clearly feeling the rush, but he was also just a boy, not quite used to this sort of attention. And especially not from you.

“Well, thank you, mister Turner.” you replied, laying on a fake posh accent that you knew would make him laugh. You tilted your head, giving him a mock-serious expression as if you were accepting a grand compliment from royalty.

Alex burst out laughing, his cheeks still flushed as he wiped a hand over his face, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re ridiculous.” he muttered.

He glanced down at your chest once more, trying to play it cool but failing miserably. His gaze lingered for just a second too long before he caught himself and looked back at you, giving you a look that said he knew he’d been caught. He shrugged, still laughing softly, his breath visible in the cool air.

“Some things have changed, I guess.” he added, his voice quieter now. “You’re even prettier now.” he said, the words slipping out like they had been waiting there, just beneath the surface. His voice was sincere, and for the first time since you’d bumped into him, you were the one who felt caught off guard.

Heat crept up your neck, and you couldn’t help the small blush that warmed your cheeks. You’d expected him to stay in that playful zone, but here he was, saying something real, something sweet.

“Oh, shut up.” you muttered, though the smile pulling at your lips betrayed you. You ducked your head for a second, tucking your hair behind your ear, feeling a little too seen. When you looked back at him, he was grinning again, clearly amused by the fact that he’d managed to make you blush.

“I’m serious.” he said softly, his eyes holding yours for a moment longer than usual before he dropped his gaze, fidgeting with the cuff of his jacket.

You swallowed, and, eager to break the tension, you asked, “So, are you going anywhere after this? You know, big rockstar plans or whatever?” You didn’t know where this night was heading, but you didn’t want it to end just yet.

Alex shrugged, stuffing his hands back into his pockets. “Nah, nah, not really. Just kinda...hanging out for now.” he replied, his voice casual, though there was a trace of hopefulness in the way he said it. “What about you?”

You shook your head, laughing as you gestured vaguely toward the venue behind you. “I’m just passing time. My friend’s probably hooking up with some rando in the toilets by now.” you said, rolling your eyes.

Alex let out a sharp laugh, his head tilting back as his shoulders shook with the effort of holding in his amusement. “Lucky her.” he said, still chuckling as he leaned against the wall, his body a little more relaxed now that the tension had broken.

“Nah.” you replied with a grin, shrugging your shoulders. “I’m better off than her, I’m sure.”

At your words, something flickered in Alex’s expression, a shift in the way he looked at you. His laughter faded into a quiet smile as he glanced at you, and for a split second, you could feel the meaning of what you’d just implied hanging in the air between you. He knew what you meant, knew exactly what you were suggesting, but he didn’t say anything. He just looked at you for a moment longer than usual, his eyes studying you carefully, like he was thinking something but didn’t want to lay it out so clearly.

Instead, he just smiled, a small, knowing grin, and shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah...maybe.” he said quietly, his voice trailing off as he shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. He leaned in a little closer, his arm brushing against yours again.

Neither of you said what you were really thinking, but it lingered there, just beneath the surface. The night seemed quieter all of a sudden, the distant sounds of the city fading into the background as the two of you stood there, close, but not quite close enough.

You leaned into him for just a moment, feeling the heat of his body radiating through the thin fabric of your top. The night had gotten colder, and the light shiver that ran through you didn’t go unnoticed. Alex glanced down, his lips curling into that half-smile he seemed to always have when he was about to say something cheeky, as you’d quickly come to learn.

“You’re too scantily clad for a night like this.” he said.

Before you could respond, he shifted off the wall, pulling his hands from his pockets as he shrugged off his jacket. You rolled your eyes, knowing what was coming. “You’re so predictable.” you said, shaking your head with a soft laugh.

He gave you a mock-serious look. “Hey look, I’m tryin’ to be a gentleman over ‘ere.” he said, his accent thickening as he exaggerated the words. He stepped closer, draping the jacket over your shoulders and wrapping his arms around you briefly in the process. It was still warm from his body, the scent of him, faintly smoky, a hint of sweat, and that something unique to him you noticed earlier, clinging to the fabric. His shirt underneath was still damp from sweat in places from the performance earlier, despite the cold air.

As he settled the jacket around you, his hand brushed against your waist, the touch light but enough to make both of you tense for just a second. The spark of contact felt like a jolt, neither of you quite ready for it but neither pulling away either. His eyes flicked to yours for a moment, something unreadable in his gaze, before he broke it, reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket.

He fished out a pack of cigarettes, pulling one loose and perching it between his lips. “Naughty boy.” you muttered, watching the cigarette bob as he grinned around it.

“Give us a light?” he asked, his words slurred through the filter, eyes focused on you with that smirk playing on his lips.

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Don’t you have one? Who smokes but doesn’t have a lighter?”

Alex chuckled, his free hand moving to brace himself against the wall, right next to your head. He leaned in just a little, his eyes twinkling as he spoke. “I do have me own, but I just wanted you to do it for me.”

The warmth of his body was so close now, the scent of him even stronger. You could practically feel his breath mixing with yours. You bit your lip, not missing the way his eyes briefly flickered down as you reached into your top, pulling out your lighter from where you’d stashed it in your bra.

“Convenient.” he murmured, though he didn’t comment on the fact that, from this angle, with how close he was, he could practically see everything. But you knew he noticed. His smirk faltered for just a second before he quickly recovered.

With the lighter in hand, you leaned forward, flicking it on and holding the flame to the tip of his cigarette. His face was close enough that you could see the faint stubble on his jaw he couldn’t shave quite right and the redness left behind on his spotty face. His cheeks hollowed as he took a long inhale, the cigarette’s end glowing brighter with each pull.

The moment felt almost surreal. Him leaning against the wall with his arm above your head, his jacket warming your shoulders, and that small, playful distance between you suddenly feeling razor-thin. When he pulled back, exhaling a long stream of smoke, his gaze lingered on you for just a beat longer than it should have. “Cheers.” he said quietly, his voice softer now, the smirk replaced with something more genuine.

You felt the tension building in the air between you, the way his body leaned just a little closer to yours, the faint scent of smoke mixing with the cool breeze and his jacket still wrapped snugly around your shoulders. The moment stretched, a pause neither of you seemed eager to break, but you couldn’t help the words that slipped from your lips.

“I really want you to kiss me.” you said, your voice steady but quiet, as if the sentence was waiting there all night, just waiting for you to give it life.

Alex blinked, his lips parting slightly as he processed what you’d just said. “Are you alright?” he asked, his tone cautious, almost like he couldn’t quite let himself believe it. He shifted, straightening up a bit but still hovering close, searching your face as if he needed reassurance that he’d heard you correctly.

You smiled, feeling a buzz from the drinks you’d had earlier and the way his presence made your heart pound. “I’m a bit buzzed.” you admitted.

He chuckled. “I can tell.” he said, his eyes scanning your face again, softer now, like he was checking for something in your expression.

You felt the rush of the moment push you forward, your confidence boosted by the alcohol and the closeness. “I’ll kiss you, then.” you said.

His breath hitched, and he raised an eyebrow, that playful smirk making its way back to his lips. “Okay, then.” he replied, almost challenging, though his voice wavered just enough to show he wasn’t as sure of himself as he was trying to be.

“Yeah?” you asked, eyes locking with his, waiting for just a hint of hesitation. But instead, he nodded, his grin faltering slightly.

“Go ahead.” he murmured.

You didn’t wait any longer. Leaning in, your heart racing, you closed the gap between you two, your lips pressing against his. His lips were warm and soft, and for a moment, everything else seemed to fall away.

Alex responded slowly at first, his hand still braced against the wall, but after a beat, you felt him relax, his lips moving with yours as the kiss deepened. The tension that had been simmering between you two finally melted. His free hand hovered near your waist like he wasn’t sure if he should touch you, but the warmth radiating from him was enough.

He pulled back, his lips still brushing against yours as he licked them slowly, like he was tasting the moment. He stayed close.

“You’re cute.” you said, voice low and steady, though you couldn’t hide the way your heart was hammering in your chest.

He raised an eyebrow, a small smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah?” he asked, his voice rough, but playful, still riding the high of that kiss.

“Yeah.” you replied with a grin, your hands slipping up to the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his messy hair. “Forgot to tell you earlier.”

Your fingers toyed with the strands there, tugging gently, and you felt him lean into it, his body inching closer, the space between you shrinking as your hands slowly guided him back in. His lips met yours again, harder this time, with less hesitation. His tongue brushed against your bottom lip, almost impatient, begging for entrance. You let him in, and the moment his tongue touched yours, everything seemed to ignite.

He tasted good. Minty from the menthol cigarette still lingering on his breath. The kiss was deeper, messier, and you could feel his heartbeat against your chest, his body pressed against yours as the tension that had been building finally snapped.

Fuck, he wasn’t just cute. He was hot. And he could kiss. Really kiss.

You pulled back suddenly, breathless, and his lips were swollen, eyes half-lidded and hazy as he tried to catch his breath.

“You wanna shag in the toilets?” you asked, a grin tugging at your lips as you glanced over your shoulder, back toward the dingy venue.

He chuckled, the sound deep in his throat. “Like your friend?” he asked, still catching his breath, but the humour was there in his eyes.

“Yeah.” you teased, biting your lip, the taste of him still lingering.

He shook his head with a small laugh, leaning back against the wall. “Nah.” he said, definite.

“Why not?” you asked, pouting slightly but still amused by his answer.

“It reeks in there.” he replied, wrinkling his nose in mock disgust, though the smile never left his face.

You tilted your head, biting back a laugh as you pressed him further. “But you’d shag me?”

He didn’t respond right away, just smiled that slow, crooked smile that made your stomach flip. Without a word, he leaned back in, his lips finding yours again, this time with even more urgency. His hands found your waist, pulling you close as he kissed you like he was trying to make up for some lost time. It was rough and hungry, until his lips were swollen and red, and you could feel the slick of spit on his chin, though he didn’t bother wiping it away.

It didn’t matter. Nothing did right now except the way his body felt against yours, the warmth of his breath, and the wild pounding of your heart in your chest.

Alex shifted slightly on his feet, and you noticed the way his body seemed to sway, just the tiniest bit, like he was caught somewhere between the buzz of the moment and the cool night pressing down around you both. You could still taste the minty sharpness of his cigarette on your lips, mingling with the smoky air, and for a second, you just stood there, watching him, as if you were both waiting for something.

“So, do you still live at home?” you asked, trying to break the silence that hung between you. The question came out a little soft, a little unsure, like it was trying to find its place in the moment.

He looked, a half-smile playing on his lips. “High Green? Nah.” he said, shaking his head as if the thought amused him. His voice still had that easy, laid-back tone, but there was a hint of nostalgia in the way he said it, like memories were still lingering there, even if he’d left them behind. “Renting a flat here in the city now.”

You nodded, biting your lip, watching the way his face shifted when he talked about it. “You live alone?” you asked, your curiosity pushing you to keep the conversation going. There was so much you didn’t know now.

“Nah.” he said again, the word slipping out easily, like it was his go-to response. “With one of the lads from the band.”

His posture relaxed a little, leaning his weight back against the wall again. The easy smile never left his face, but his eyes stayed locked on yours, more focused now, like he was giving you more than just surface-level answers.

You found yourself smiling back, the tension between you both still crackling, but softer now, more controlled. “Is he going back there now?” you asked, leaning in just a little as you spoke, your hand still brushing against the back of his neck, feeling his warmth.

“Nah.” he replied, intentionally repeating himself now, now that he’d noticed the way you smiled every time he said it. “He’s probably going to his girlfriend’s place after this.”

“Is he now?” you teased, raising an eyebrow as you gave him a playful nudge. Your eyes caught the slight flush of colour creeping up his neck, though he still looked entirely at ease. He was enjoying every second of your back-and-forth.

“Yeah, he’s been spending more time there lately.” he continued. He paused, as if he was thinking over his next words carefully. “The flat’s not too far from here though.”

The suggestion of it was subtle, but it was there, clear as day.

“Convenient.” you said. The implication of the word wasn’t lost on either of you. Alex’s grin widened just a bit, and he shifted again, his eyes flicking down to the ground for a moment before they met yours once more.

He gave a small laugh, almost nervous, like he was suddenly aware of how close you both were standing, like he could feel the weight of your gaze just as much as you could feel his. “Yeah.” he said, “S’pose it is.”

Before you even had time to fully process how it happened, you were both in the back of a taxi, with you half-draped over Alex’s lap, your bodies magnetically drawn to each other. His arms hesitated to fully hold you, like he wasn’t sure where to place his hands, but his mouth was far less shy. His lips moved with yours, soft but insistent, while his tongue teased its way into your mouth.

By the time you stepped into his flat, you were both a little out of breath. You didn’t even remember paying the taxi driver. Alex’s jacket had been discarded somewhere near the door, and you were too wrapped up in each other to care where anything landed. His hands still hovered, like they weren’t sure what to do or where to go, but his mouth stayed busy with yours.

His uncertainty made you bold, and you guided his hands to your hips, then lower, placing them firmly on your arse.

“Go on, Turner,” you whispered against his lips, “don’t be shy.”

That seemed to do the trick. His grip tightened, his fingers pressing into the fabric of your jeans, and the next thing you knew, your hand had found its way to the front of his jeans, cupping him over the denim. You felt him twitch under your palm, his breath catching in his throat, and for a second, you thought he might lose it right there.

“Mhm…” he murmured, his voice a low, throaty sound that vibrated through you. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his face flushed.

You grinned, your lips brushing against his ear. “You wanna see my boobs?” you teased, your voice soft but suggestive. “So you can see if they’re really nice or not?”

“Like I’m the boob connoisseur?” he asked and you nodded. His eyes flicked down for a split second before he caught himself, smirking slightly as he shot back, “Give the final verdict?”

“Yeah.” you said, already pulling your top over your head.

“Fuck yeah.” His hands lingered at your waist, still a little hesitant, but you could see the hunger in his eyes as they followed every movement. Your bra was next, unclasped and tossed aside with the same casual disregard as everything else.

He grinned, his lip curling up slightly, that cheeky side of him coming out again. “And then I’ll rank your junk.” you added, a teasing smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

Alex chuckled, his hands finally gaining more confidence as they skimmed over your bare skin, lingering at the curve of your waist. “My dick’s quite decent, I’d say.” he replied, slipping out of his shirt and closing the space between you. His bare chest pressed against yours, warm and firm, as he backed you toward the bedroom.

You raised an eyebrow, challenging him. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

“Alright then.” he murmured, his voice low and thick with lust. Without warning, he pushed you gently back onto the bed, his hands guiding you down onto the mattress.

His eyes roamed over your body as he stood at the foot of the bed, his chest rising and falling a little quicker now, his breathing shallow. He took his time, watching as you sprawled out beneath him, his lips parted slightly, his hands running through his already-messy hair as if he were trying to wrap his head around the fact that this was actually happening.

You felt your nipples hardening as you watched him take you in. He was standing there, looking tall despite the reality of it, but with a quiet intensity that made your stomach twist in the best way. His jeans hung low on his hips, and the bulge at the front of them was impossible to ignore. He looked almost nervous, but his eyes were full of want, his body language betraying the cocky front he was trying to keep up.

“C’mon then.” you coaxed, “get on with it.”

Alex’s mouth quirked up into a grin as he leaned down, his hands sliding over your thighs, spreading them apart as he moved between them. His touch was still a little tentative, but the longer it went on, the bolder he got. You could see the shift in him, giving way to something more confident.

He leaned down, pressing his lips to your collarbone, trailing slow, wet kisses across your skin as his hands continued to explore, one sliding under the curve of your ass, the other gripping your waist firmly.

“You really have changed.” he muttered between kisses. “You’re even more trouble.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, your fingers tangling in his hair as you tilted your head back, giving him better access to your neck. “And you like it.” you whispered, your breath hitching as his lips found a sensitive spot just below your ear.

He pulled back for a moment, his eyes dark and hooded as he looked down at you. “Yeah.” he admitted, his voice soft but intense. “That I do.”

And then he was on you again, his lips crashing against yours, harder this time, more desperate. His hands were everywhere, sliding up your thighs, gripping your hips, tugging at the waistband of your jeans. You could feel the urgency in him, the pent-up desire that had been simmering between you both finally breaking free.

Your fingers fumbled with the button of his jeans, pulling it loose before sliding the zipper down. You could feel him straining against the fabric.

“Let’s see if that junk lives up to your bragging.” you teased, your voice breathless as you tugged his jeans down over his hips.

He smirked, his eyes glinting with amusement as he helped you slide them off, leaving him in nothing but his boxers. He leaned over you again, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, “Guess you’ll just have to suck it and see.”

You blinked at his cheeky grin, your lips parting in surprise at the audacity of his words. “Did you really just say that?” you asked.

Alex chuckled, his breath fanning over your cheek as he tilted his head, eyes glinting with mischief. “Yeah.” he replied, leaning in closer. “I did.”

You bit your bottom lip, stifling a laugh that bubbled up from the back of your throat. “You’re such an idiot.” you muttered, but the heat between you didn’t fade, if anything, it grew. You could feel his body against yours, the weight of him, the scent of sweat and desire lingering in the air.

Without another word, he gripped the loops of your jeans and yanked you down the bed, making you gasp as you slid to the edge. You could barely get a word in before he was slipping them off, his fingers brushing the curve of your hips and thighs as the denim peeled away.

“I can’t be the only one with less on.” he said, his voice low and teasing as he tossed your jeans aside, his hands lingering on your bare legs, fingers tracing the edge of your underwear.

“Fair’s fair.” you shot back with a smirk, though your heart was pounding in your chest now.

You moved before he could take charge again, sinking to your knees on the floor in front of him, looking up at him through your lashes. He was about to reach for you when you gently pushed him back, guiding him to sit on the bed.

You could feel the heat coming off him, radiating through the tainted material of his boxers as your hand brushed over him. He was hard, so hard. Your fingers trailed over the fabric, feeling him twitch beneath your touch. “You’re quite eager.”

“You’re quite hot.” he shot back.

You grinned, enjoying the control you had for the moment. Your fingers hooked under the waistband of his boxers, slowly pulling them down. His breath hitched as you revealed more of him, the fabric slipping away. When you finally had them off, he kicked them aside with impatience, pushing them down the rest of the way himself.

Your eyes widened, unable to stop yourself from letting out a low, “Wow.”

Alex smirked again, his confidence bolstered by your reaction. “Does it live up to your expectations?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, his voice still that teasing blend of cockiness and curiosity.

You looked back up at him, biting your lip, pretending to consider your answer for a moment. “For now.” you said, flashing him a grin.

He chuckled, his hand reaching down to brush a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your cheek for just a moment. He didn’t need to say anything. The way he shifted slightly and the heat in his eyes spoke louder than words ever could. He was watching you with this raw, unguarded hunger, almost like he couldn’t quite bring himself to ask for what he wanted. You felt his fingers tighten in your hair just a little, urging you, guiding you down without saying a word.

You leaned in, letting your lips brush the head of his cock first. The taste hit you almost immediately. A salty, sweet mix that spread over your tongue, exactly what you should’ve expected from him. Everything about him was intoxicating, addictive in a way that had you leaning further in, wanting more. You slowly wrapped your lips around the tip, teasing him with your tongue, feeling the soft skin give under your touch.

The groan that escaped his lips was low and deep. He was struggling, you could tell, fighting to keep his eyes open, wanting to watch you, but the sensation seemed to overwhelm him. “Fuck.” he murmured, his voice hoarse.

Your hand reached out instinctively, and before you even had to ask, he spit into your palm, his breath hitching as he did so. The moment his spit hit your skin, you felt a surge of arousal run through you, making you slick in places far from your hand. It was like you were feeding off each other.

You spread the wetness over his cock, your hand stroking him with slow motions. His body tensed under your touch, his hips lifting just slightly off the bed, like he was chasing the feeling. Your other hand gripped the base as your lips sucked on the tip.

The noises he was making now were more than just groans. He was practically panting, his breath ragged, his fingers tightening in your hair, but still not forcing, not rushing you. His control was hanging by a thread, and you could feel it in the way his muscles twitched, the way his body seemed to move in sync with yours.

You smiled around him, hollowing your cheeks as you took him deeper, your hand still working the length of him in time with the slow bob of your head.

Alex’s head tilted back, eyes fluttering shut as his lips parted. His chest rose and fell with shallow, uneven breaths, each one escaping him in soft gasps. His groans grew quieter, more controlled, but then, a sudden whimper.

Before he could lose it completely, his hand shot down to the base of his cock, squeezing hard. He pulled you off him as he tried to get control of himself.

“Fuck.” he whispered, his hand still gripping himself tightly.

You sat back on your knees, lips tingling and wet, watching him try to regain control. “Need a second, yeah?” you asked.

“Yeah…” he nodded, eyes still half-closed as he exhaled. “You’re killing me.”

A grin tugged at the corners of your lips as you climbed up over him, straddling his hips. “You’re the one who stopped me.” you teased, your voice playful, leaning down to kiss his neck, trailing soft kisses up toward his jawline. His skin was hot beneath your lips, his scent still lingering thick in the air.

“Didn’t want to end things too soon.” he mumbled, his hands sliding over your thighs, gripping your hips with a little more urgency now. His fingers were firm, almost desperate. He needed to hold onto something. When his hands slid lower to grab your ass, you couldn’t help but gasp softly. God, his hands felt so big on you, rough and sure as they gripped you tight.

You bit your lip, leaning into his touch. “I don’t mind.” you whispered against his ear. His breath hitched, and you could feel the way his body reacted to your words, his grip on you tightening even more.

“You’ll have to wait.” he muttered, though the way he was looking at you, with half-lidded eyes, made you question his own resolve. His hands slid over the curve of your ass, repeatedly, squeezing, and the feeling of his touch sent a rush of heat straight to your core.

“You think you can hold off that long?” you asked, grinding down on him just a little, testing his control. You could feel him, still hard and straining beneath you, his cock pressing against your inner thigh, and the friction made you bite back a moan.

He groaned softly, his hands pulling you closer, fingers digging into your skin as his body responded almost instinctively. “You’re making it real hard not to lose it.” he breathed.

“Good.” you whispered, leaning down to kiss him again, your lips brushing against his with a teasing softness, just enough to leave him wanting more.

Alex’s hands slid up and down back. His fingers found the edge of your panties, toying with the fabric before slipping them to the side. The air between you crackled with tension, your breath catching as you felt him exploring you, fingers slipping through your wetness. He took his time, finding his way through your folds, testing you, making sure he had your full attention.

Then, as his fingers brushed against your clit, you let out a soft moan, your body instinctively responding to the touch. His face lit up, eyes widening slightly, a crooked grin spreading across his lips.

“Found it, did I?” he teased, his voice a low murmur as he pressed a little harder, circling around your clit in slow, lazy strokes. You nodded, biting your lip, your hips shifting toward his hand. His fingers worked with an unexpected precision, even as his movements remained somewhat tentative, but god, he was learning fast.

“Fuck, Alex.” you whispered, your breath coming in short, shallow bursts as he continued, his other hand holding you steady on top of him. “That feels so good.”

“Yeah?” he asked, eyes glinting as he focused on you, the pride in his voice obvious. “I think I can tell.” he added, his fingers moving a little faster now, testing your reactions. Your moans grew louder, hips bucking into his touch, and the sound seemed to fuel him.

“You’re good at this.” you managed to say between breaths, your fingers gripping his shoulders for balance.

“Well, I’m tryin’ my best,” he teased, but there was a seriousness in his expression now, his gaze locked onto you, like he couldn’t get enough of watching the way you responded to him. “You make it pretty easy.”

You shuddered under his touch, biting down on your lip as he continued to rub circles against your clit. His fingers slipped lower for a moment, teasing at your entrance, and then back up, keeping you on the edge but never giving you quite enough.

“Alex...” you groaned, gripping his arms a little tighter. “Please. Fuck me.”

He paused for a second, eyes flicking up to yours. When he saw the desperate look on your face, he let out a soft chuckle. “Fuck…okay.”

He moved quickly then, flipping you onto your back, the mattress soft beneath you as you lay sprawled out beneath him. His hands were everywhere. Gripping your hips, pulling your panties off, tossing them to the side. You barely had time to register the cool air against your bare skin before he was back, hovering over you.

His hands gripped your thighs, spreading your legs as he positioned himself between them. His hair hung over his forehead, his skin still glistening with sweat, and the sight of him like this, flushed, hungry, and completely focused on you, fuck.

“You ready?” he asked, his voice low, the words barely audible over the sound of your own heavy breathing.

“Yeah.” you whispered, your hands finding his shoulders again, pulling him closer. “God, yes. Please.”

Alex didn’t need any more encouragement. With a soft groan, he lined himself up, his fingers gripping your thighs tighter as he pushed into you, slow at first, letting you feel him.

“Fuck.” he breathed, his head dropping to your shoulder as he began to move inside you, his body pressing into yours with a steady rhythm. “You feel so fucking good...”

Alex moaned as he sank deeper into you, his breath hot against your neck, and you couldn’t help but moan in return. The rhythm of his thrusts started slow, his hips driving into yours with this incredible mixture of urgency and control. Each movement felt perfect, his cock filling you in a way that made you feel dizzy with pleasure, like your body was made for this, for him.

“Fuck, Alex…” you gasped, arching up into him, your hands gripping his back, fingers digging into his skin. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, his muscles flexing beneath your touch as he moved, and every time he hit that sweet spot, your body responded in kind, hips lifting to meet his thrusts.

He groaned in response. “So…so fuckin’ good.” His words were broken by the effort of his thrusts, his forehead resting against yours, his breath mingling with yours as you both gasped for air.

“You’re…really good at this.” you managed to tease between moans, your voice breathless, but there was no denying how real the compliment was. He felt amazing. Maybe it was the anticipation, the thrill of reconnecting like this. Or maybe it was just him.

Alex laughed softly, his voice shaky, but you could feel the smile against your skin. “Oh yeah? Thought you were the one judging me.”

“I am.” you breathed, your nails scratching lightly down his back. “And you’re doing really well.”

“Glad I’m living up to expectations.” he muttered, his breath hitching as he thrust into you harder, a little more desperate now. His hands slid up your sides, gripping your hips, pulling you closer, deeper. “Fuck…you’re perfect.”

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him in even closer, wanting him as deep as he could go. “Keep going.” you whispered, voice barely more than a breathy moan. “Just like that.”

“Yeah?” he asked, his pace quickening slightly, his hips snapping forward with a new intensity. He gripped you tighter.

You nodded, biting your lip to stifle a louder moan. “Don’t stop.”

“Fuck- I’m not stopping.” he groaned, his face buried in the crook of your neck. “I’m not stopping…” His thrusts got more erratic, driven by pure need. He was close, and you could feel it in the way his body moved, in the way his grip tightened on you even more, in the way his moans became louder and more frequent.

“Alex…I’m-” you gasped. Your whole body was coiled with pleasure.

“Fuck, I know.” he murmured, his voice almost lost in his moans. “Me too…” His hips snapped forward one last time, deep and hard, and the sensation sent you spiralling over the edge.

Alex groaned, his breath ragged and uneven as he suddenly pulled out of you, the loss of him leaving you feeling empty for a moment. He scrambled, his movements rushed and almost clumsy in the heat of the moment, hands gripping your thighs as he tried to move himself higher up your body. His eyes were wild with lust, his chest heaving as he positioned himself over you, hands bracing himself on either side of your head.

The realisation that neither of you had even thought about condoms hit you at the same time, but it was too late now, but better late than never.

“Shit-” he muttered, his voice low and breathless as he looked down at you, his cock twitching in his hand as he stroked himself. His eyes flicked between your face and your chest, pupils blown wide.

You bit your lip, watching him, feeling the weight of his gaze on you as you arched your back slightly, pushing your breasts up toward him. His breathing got heavier, his strokes faster.

“Come on, Alex.” you whispered, your voice husky, teasing him as you reached up, running a hand up his chest. “Don’t make me wait.”

That did it.

His hips bucked forward, and he came, thick spurts landing across your chest and tits, the heat of it spreading across your skin. His face was flushed, eyes half-closed as he watched, his lips parted slightly, panting through the release.

“Fuck me…” he breathed, his voice shaky, his hand slowing as he squeezed out the last of his release. He looked down at you, his eyes flicking over the mess he’d made, and for a moment, both of you just stayed there, breathing hard, hearts racing.

You gave him a lazy, satisfied smile, wiping a finger through the warm liquid on your skin before smirking up at him. “Well,” you said, voice playful but still breathless, “I guess you were right.”

“‘Bout what?” he asked, still coming down from the high, his fingers brushing gently over your thigh.

You grinned. “Your dick. It is quite decent.”

Alex let out a weak laugh, dropping his head against your shoulder, still trying to catch his breath. “Glad I could live up to the hype.” he mumbled, pressing a soft kiss to your collarbone.

Alex collapsed against you, his body still trembling slightly. He let out a deep breath, his chest pressing against yours as he nestled into the curve of your neck, his hair sticking to your skin where his release had landed.

You laughed softly, brushing a hand through his messy, sweat-dampened hair. “You’re getting your hair all up in your jizz, Turner.”

He gave a lazy, contented sigh, nuzzling closer to you without moving an inch. “Don’t care.” he mumbled, his voice low and sleepy, as if the effort of saying those two words was almost too much.

You chuckled, lightly stroking his back. “That’s gross.”

“Yeah, yeah.” he murmured, half-asleep already, “I’ve had worse.”

You paused for a moment, letting the quiet settle between you, before curiosity got the better of you. “So…do you usually fuck girls after gigs?” The question came out more casually than you intended, but you needed to know for some reason.

Alex didn’t move. “Nah.” he muttered, his voice muffled by your skin. He shifted, turning his head so his cheek was resting against your chest. “Not really into all that…not good enough for groupies, anyway.”

You snorted at his modesty. “Not good enough? Have you seen yourself? You could probably have your pick of any girl in this city.”

He lifted his head slightly, a smirk pulling at his lips. “Oh yeah? And what makes you so sure?”

“Because I just shagged you,” you teased, raising an eyebrow, “And I’ve got pretty high standards.”

Alex laughed, his body shaking slightly against yours. “Lucky me, then.”

You grinned, running a hand down his back as you felt him settle into you again. “So why me, then?”

He shrugged, his fingers tracing light patterns over your waist, absentmindedly playing with your panties he found on the bed. “Dunno.” he admitted, voice soft and a little more serious now. “Just…been a while, I guess. And then I saw you, and…it felt right.” He paused, then added, “You’ve always been different.”

You glanced down at him, your heart fluttering a little at the sincerity in his words. “Different how?”

He lifted his head again, propping himself up on his elbow to look at you properly. “Like…you’re real. Always have been. Back when we were kids, you were always the one I felt like I could be myself around. And now…” He trailed off, his eyes searching yours for a moment before he shrugged again. “I don’t know. Guess I just wanted to feel that again.”

For a moment, you were quiet, taken aback by his honesty. You hadn’t expected this, him to open up like this. But then again, maybe that was just Alex. Even after all this time.

“You’re such a softie, Turner.” you said, smiling as you lightly flicked his forehead.

He rolled his eyes but smiled back, resting his head on your chest again. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t let it get around, alright? Gotta keep up the cool front for the band.”

You laughed, running your fingers through his hair. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

a/n: based on this request. i love fetussy <3

tags: @st7rnioioss @theonlyoneswhoknowsblog @rentsturner @yourstartreatment @avxoxo1 @jqsvi @turnersfav @youresodarkbabe @psychedelicrocker @aacheinthejaw @zayndrider @humbuginmybones @tedioepica

#fetus alex turner #alex turner #alex turner x reader #alex turner x you #alex turner smut #alex turner fic #alex turner fanfic #smut #goblinontour

90 notes · View notes

seikosas · 20 hours

Text

The house. | VI

pic from @/sevikasupremacy !!

synopsis: she never really thought what the both of you had would stay, so she decided to leave.

contains: angst, boxer!vi, piltie!reader, arcane universe, timeskip, possibly a pt.2 ???

wordcount: 1.6k

a/n: inspired by the new trailer that just dropped (woooo!). Disclaimer this isn’t related entirely to the plot of the show, but it is in that universe. Also my first time doing angst so I hope you enjoy!!! not proofread btw.

“Don’t say you mean it, Please.”

Every punch she flew, and every hit she took, was a constant reminder of what she left burning to the ground. The only remainder being the smell of carbon, and what covered the memories, black soot.

Vi had never meant to fall in love with you. You were only supposed to give her information about what you witnessed, what you saw. And she just kept coming back to you for more information, then soon enough, it wasn't about the information anymore. She couldn't help it, she couldn’t stay away, she was like a moth to where you were a flame, but instead of burning her, your touch keeps her own light aflame.

The feeling was the same for you. Like the air you breathe, like the fire that keeps you warm, you need Vi’s presence in your life to be a constant. It didn't matter to you that you both came from different worlds. So what? That didn't matter to you.

But to Vi it did. Your light was the fire that kept her feeling warm and soft, but it was also the constant reminder that she was born in the dark. She thought she could never give you everything you need. She thought everything you needed was here. Everything you need is Piltover. It didn't help whatever situation you had both entangled yourselves in when she found out her mission was already over.

You followed her out to the pouring rain, to which she got angry at, and when you were gripping onto her wrists, she finally bursted,

“Get back inside!”

“No! You tell me why you're leaving me! What about us?”

Her back straightened, her face stiff as if her jaw could break like glass at how hard she was clenching it,

“What about us? That was nothing, we are nothing. You were just a source of information, nothing more.”

As if she already wasn't breaking your heart (and her own) into a thousand pieces, she added onto the fire,

“Oil and water. This is where your life is supposed to be, up here. Down there is where I belong.”

The rain was masking the fact that you were tearing up by everything she was saying,

“Please don't let go. Don't say you mean it, Please.”

If she had any trust in herself, she would've pulled you in closer, closing the distance between you two. She would've apologized, she would have never let you go, ever again.

But she didn't. So she dropped your hand, and left, leaving you on your knees under the cold rain, with the pain of the memory of the time you shared together.

—

“Oi, Vi. You're up next.” She was seated on a rusty bench when her sponsor came up to her to say that.

It had been years since that moment you both had shared in the rain.

And it had been years where that was all she could think about.

When she had come back to Zaun, that's when the routine started. Drink. Fight. Win. Drink. Party. Drink. Wake up with a ringing in her ears, and do it all again. From the moment it started, it became difficult to stop. A never ending loop.

It was funny, honestly. She did all of this to forget about you, but in every breath she took in, every drink she downed, every move she made, it only amplified the thought of you.

On this particular night, she had won again, per usual. So she does what she does every time she wins. Drink. And dance. Then drink again. Her friend had started telling her off again on how she needs to cool it down on the drinks, to which her only response was to weakly put up her middle finger in front of his face. He gave up. As he did every night. When she had started to feel dizzier than normal, she decided maybe it was time to get up.

She started wobbling all the way to the dance floor. When she reached the middle all of the sudden she fell to her knees, almost like her lower half was shutting down because of all of the abuse she had done to it. A few seconds after falling to the ground, a hand reaches out.

Like the hand of an angel. The strobe lights concealing the owner of the hands’ face. She normally would have shoo’d off anyones attempts to help her, but with the way the lights were dancing, the way her head was beating, her guard was lowered and she took the hand.

When she was finally able to take a look at the angel's face, she felt like she couldn't breathe. Was she hallucinating again? Her head was beating out her mind and she was starting to regret being this drunk, knowing she could have better comprehend this situation sober.

In this moment, the person had realized they never let go of her hand, so they tried to. But Vi was too quick. And she called out your name. “Please. Don't let me go.” She raises your hand to cup her face. You hadn't recognized her at first. Her hair once vibrant, now looking dull and covered in the shade of what seemed to be ashes. But looking at her eyes, and the tattoo near it, it was clear to you. It was her. Vi. Your Vi. Before she could speak anymore everything went blurry, then as she started to go down, everything went black.

---

She woke up with the sunlight invading her eyes. Wanting to avoid it, she turned her body to the other side where the sun wasn't. When she opened her eyes, her whole body jolted awake, backing away from what she's seeing and causing her to fall to the bed.

“I guess you're still running away from me,huh?” You mock, looking down at the tray filled with things to help her hangover, “Don't worry. I won't be here long. I'll leave you al-”

You get cut off by her, tangling herself to you from behind. With her eyes closed, holding onto you like everything that had happened before the present was just a bad dream she was waking up from.

“You can stay. Please, stay.” It wasn't a suggestion, it wasn't a demand, it was a plea. This was starting to feel abit too much for you, but regardless you stay holding onto her and turning to face her, knowing it's what she needs the most right now. “Okay.”

When it finally dawned on her you weren't just a hallucination that would leave once she stopped holding onto, she let go. You let out an exhale and it makes her a little bit embarrassed because it made her realize how hard she had been squeezing you. You sat down on the side of her bed, and she mimicked your movement. You were both staring in front of you, not daring to look at each other.

“How did you know where I live?” She was first to break silence,

“Your friend actually helped me get you to your house. I don't even know how he knew to trust me enough to take care of you. But he did.”

You lower your gaze to your hands you were fiddling with, a thing you used to always do. This made her eyes twinkle, knowing you had barely even changed. At least based on everything she had seen.

“I talked about you.”

“You did?”

“I do. You're all I ever think of.”

She thought maybe her confession would make you open up, would make you proud of her that she was finally ready. But you get up instead, pacing the room to get your things you had scattered throughout her room, and with this she follows you around the.

“I’m so sorry, Vi. I thought I was ready to do this again, but now I’m realizing now maybe I’m not.” You say it with such hurry if she wasn't hanging onto every word that came out of your mouth she wouldn't have caught it. But she did.

This makes her do the one thing she had always wished she had done in the first place. She comes closer, holding onto you. She makes her lips linger above your own, and you both stay there for such a short time, but each second was chipping away at your sanity.

When she finally pulled you in to close the distance, you pulled back. Widening the distance once again. She's confused as to why you pulled back, until she finally saw the expression on your face. The hues of blue, the shades of pain, the strokes of regret, painted none other than her.

What she had thought was a house that stayed the same and never changed, was filled with black soot, from the fire she had once ignited, the fire she had walked away from, burning the whole house on the inside.

She took a breath and closed her eyes to say something, but when she opened them she saw you shakily opening the door, and leaving her in her own home, standing alone.

Like deja vu, this was how she left you, and now this was how you were leaving her. Like a muse, recreating the creation of her artist.

All of this could have been avoided if she had just trusted herself that she was ready for you. Because now, you weren't ready for her.

#vi x reader #arcane #wlw angst #vi arcane #arcane fandom #lesbian #vi fanfic #angst #arcane fanction #i might make a part two who wants???#i kinda want a happy ending...#arcane x reader

90 notes · View notes

httpseungmxn · 3 days

Text

Big Boy

Quackity X Streamer!Female Reader

🍡 - flirty/extra flirty

Authors Note: Hello hello my Angels, I know I promised the Jin fic soon buuuuuut Q posted this photo and everyone, including myself, went wild over it! So I just had to make a fic about it! I have decided to make a new fic category just for this one, flirty/extra flirty! This fic will also play off of the other fics I made about him! I hope you guys can enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it!<3

Warnings: Lanai attempts to get reader canceled:( , Reader is called “hermosa” and “amor”, wee bit of cussing fr this time

Triggers: None as far as I am aware!

You had really come to know Alex over the past few months. Him becoming one of your best friends, especially after it came out that your best friend Lenai had been spreading lies about you. She had gone to Alex first, expecting him to believe her, but that was a big mistake. As soon as he noticed the negative way she was speaking, he hopped on call with you while also helping notify your fans of the girl's lies.

Nightly calls were almost a daily thing between you two, as well as constant facetimes during yours and his visits to the gym. His hat was always left on, despite feeling just a little extra hot, he wasn’t quite ready to show you yet. You fully understood considering you used to hide your face from everyone.

The closer you got, the more you wanted to visit him. You were bringing much more in than you expected from streaming, so a plane ticket wouldn’t be a problem. You wanted it to be a surprise to Alex though, knowing that would make it more fun. Alex had often talked about you guys meeting in real life, and how exciting it would be. It was decided, you would be booking a flight to see him. You already knew where he lived, having reached out to karl to help you with the surprise. Making him swear he wouldn’t tell alex you were going to see him. The plane ticket was much easier to get than you expected, and packing was done in a matter of hours.

The nerves set in that night after you had finished packing. It was clear to you and the fans that you had a bit of a thing for Alex, and getting to meet him was making you nervous. You always wondered if you should tell him how you felt but was always too scared to let it slip out to him. You had come so close to saying it a few days ago but it just got stuck in your throat.

You hardly slept the night, and as much as you hoped you would sleep on the plane, you didn’t. You were too nervous and excited at the same time. Feeling bad when you had to decline a facetime from alex while you were on the plane, not wanting to spoil the surprise. Though you answered him as soon as you were off the plane and in a taxi. “ hermosa, why didn’t you answer any of my calls before? I thought you were mad at me! “, “ im sorrrryyyy, I was taking a long nap, I’m in a taxi now though “, “ a taxi? Where are you going, hermosa? “, smiling to yourself, knowing in just a short while he will know where you are.

That came sooner than you expected though. Getting out of the taxi and making sure the camera is angled directly at your face so he can’t see where you are. “ im just visiting a friend nearby. Hold on just one sec, alex. “. knocking very gently on his door and looking to the camera, nerves setting back in when you see him leave his room. “ someones here, but I didn’t order any pizza. if I die, it was the hut, hermosa. “, unable to hold back a giggle. Looking to the door when it opens and smiling brightly at the boy in front of you. “ guess now you know which friend I’m visiting, huh? “. He didn’t respond at first, probably still trying to process it. Just as you didn’t process what he was doing until you were lifted up into a tight hug.

Smiling brightly as you hugged back. Not even letting go when you were set down. His arms were wrapped to tight around your waist, if you were a balloon you probably would’ve popped by now. You didn’t mind it though, you felt safe in his arms. Your nerves being shooed away with one little hug. “ how the fuck did you manage to surprise me so well, hermosa “ , “ you know I like to keep you on your toes, ‘lex “. Smiling again when he lets out a light laugh at your response.

“ come in, come in, sorry it might be kind of a mess “, Alex spoke as he gathered your bags and carried them inside for you. Only then did you realize just how big he had gotten in the muscle category. Eyes staring at his muscles as they flexed with each movement. “ alex, when the hell did you manage to grow those? “, unable to hold your filter.

Listening to him laugh again before he flexed his arms to show off for you. “ are you checking me out, amor? “. That was new, he had never called you that before, and it was obvious to him you knew what it meant considering the blush coming to your cheeks. “ now don’t get too ahead of yourself, cowboy, you were the one purposely checking me out on call just five minutes ago “.

“ Did you expect me not too? You look really beautiful in that dress “. That was also new. Alex was constantly teasing you, but the tone in his voice was different now. It sounded so serious and dripped with confidence in how he felt. You found it hard to hold eye contact wit him now. Not even five minutes into the meet up, and alex already had you red.

“ Lets be honest, Amor, surely you didn’t expect me to hold back just because you’d turn all red and yell at me. You being here just means I can let it all out, times ten. “. His smile had you wobbly in the legs, there was something so different about seeing it in person compared to facetime.

Only now did you realize this visit was going to be a lot more different than you expected.

Alex was going to be the death of you.

Authors ending note; So who else got butterflies reading that? I got jittery and I’m the one writing it! I feel like I’m slowly beginning to get better at portraying him, and thats probably because I study the way a lot of people write him while also paying extra attention to how he is in streams/videos. Perhaps soon we will get a confession, and possibly a hair reveal? Who knowssss, guess you guys will have to just stick around for the next one! Also who else lost their mind over that photo he dropped last night? I’m in the whatsapp and as soon as he sent it, twitter was going absolutely chaotic[myself included]! If you guys wanna follow me on social media, my X is @/f_fuyuma! Until next time, My Angels 🫶

56 notes · View notes

insomniactic-daydream · 16 hours

Text

Beside You...

Pro Hero Bakugo ♡ Pro Hero Reader

Friends to Lovers

Summary: Bakugo always held victory close to his heart, but he held you closer.

From being kids in the playground, to freshly new homeowners talking about marriage, and til you both took your last breaths with a smile... you were the thing he held closest.

(This is Bruno Mars and Lady Gaga's fault for cooking up Die With A Smile. Had me in my feels.🫠)

TW: ANGST !! and some suggestive writing but no smut. Read at own risk.

Age 6

Bakugo knew from a young age who he's supposed to be. Even as kids change their future occupation to astronauts to doctors, he never had doubt. He was meant to be a hero. He was meant to protect you.

"Hey! Stop pulling my hair it's not funny!"

The young blonde hears your cries from a mile away as two of the older kids from the playground tug your hair and take your toy away.

"Or what? you're just a pathetic weakling who can't even fight back." The two kids laugh as they continue to torment you.

Suddenly, a big explosion was directed at the two bullies sending them flying. Bakugo had never had such perfect precision with his quirk before. It was his first perfect and biggest shots he's had since his quirk manifestation.

"Die you extras! If you even think about bullying her again, I'll blow you to bits!" He barked like a high squeaking chihuahua standing in front of your body that was thrown down from the blast. Safe to say you never saw those bullies again.

"Get up. Your dress is going to get dirty." Bakugo huffs, sounding angry but still holding his hand out with a blush.

Your eyes widen as you take his hand to get up, and you give him a big hug, causing him to be taken aback.

"You're my hero!"

Bakugo never went to the park without you after that. Not if both of your parents wanted to deal with constant crying/yelling from the two of you...

Age 14

After the U.A. exams, you and Bakugo sit in his room as you hold your head in your hands in defeat.

"Stop sulking. You don't even know if you got rejected yet." He says in his usual huff but still holds your hair back.

You mailed your results to his house so you could open it together.

"Easy for you to say. You had the highest points. I swear it took me forever to get one robot when I was too busy saving others from getting mauled by theirs." Y/n sighs as she reflects on the exams.

"I don't know Kats, I think I did better in the Shiketsu exam than I did U.A. I'll probably only be getting the acceptance there." You groan as you wipe some tears from your face.

"Shut up. You don't know shit yet." He said earning a scoff.

"I know I did dog shit at the exam, and that's enough. Sorry to say, but I don't think we'll be in the same class, or even the same school."

"I'll go to Shiketsu then."

You let out an audible laugh before looking at his face, dropping you smile instantly.

"Holy shit. You're serious?" You say before shaking your head. "No, you can't. Your dream is UA. Don't be switching shit up just because of me." You say before turning your body towards him.

"I don't care where I get my license at. I'm still going to be number one. No matter what. Beside can't be training if your ass is getting into trouble the whole other side of town",He said, rolling his eyes as he looked away from your widened gaze.

"Katsuki-," you say before getting cut off.

"Don't make a big deal out of it, princess." He quips, signaling to you that's the end of the discussion. He's going where you go.

Silence falls between the two of you until the sound of a car is heard right after. You both rush to get the letters and begin to open them. Revealing two holograms of All Might congratulating them on their acceptances to Class 1-A.

You grab him and jump up and down from excitement.

"See you idiot. You were overreacting." He says with his usual smirk. You roll your eyes. Maybe you were being a bit dramatic.

"Yeah, but still.." You say before kissing his cheek, causing him to freeze up. You smile at him.

"Thank you for wanting to cheer me up and wanting to stay by me."

His stares at your beautiful smile before looking away.

"Tch. Always, you big baby." He says before pulling you into his arms as you laugh.

Your romantic relationship didn't wait long after that moment.

Age 22

"Last fucking box." Bakugo grunts putting down the box down in the empty living room filled with the rest of the labeled boxes. While your slumped body lays on the couch, you just assembled.

Something about wanting to make the house feel more homey for the time being or procrastination for unpacking Bakugo calls it. Still, he takes the opportunity to lay next to you.

"Why didn't we just keep our apartment." You groan as you look at him. He glares at you.

"You were the one that suggested buying the house in full, princess." He said. They both earned quite a bit the last year and had money to spare.

"Besides, that place was getting too cramped for all our shit. You know this already." He says before grabbing your face as you pout.

"Ugh, but now we have to unpack all of this." You say as he smushes your cheeks. You wrap your arm around him.

You both lean in for a kiss, embracing the comfort of the couch. You both pull away and sit up, looking at all the boxes.

"Cmon, get your ass up and help me unpack." He says, trying to reach for a box before you blurt out.

"Let's get married today."

Just as he thinks you can never surprise him, you say shit like that.

He was planning on marrying you, like hell he would buy a house just for a girlfriend. You were his first and only, no doubt. But he didn't expect how this would play out.

"What?" He says in a shell-shocked tone.

"The court house doesn't close til 9. We still have time to make it over there. So what do you say." Going up to him with a sheepish smile.

"Fuck no." He says to you while you pause, smile dimming while thinking you misinterpreted his goals with you.

"Oh. Okay. Yeah, it was stupid ide - "You say before getting interrupted.

"Fuck that's not what I meant, Babe." He says before grabbing your pulling away figure.

"I wanna marry your ass, but I'm not doing it at a courthouse just because you're trying to avoid moving into our damn house." He says before peppering you with kisses. His grip on you tightening.

"I just needed to make sure that meant moving into a home meant what I thought it meant." You mumble between kisses. Wrapping your arms around his neck.

"Of course it does, dumbass." He says, deepening the kiss as he walks and pulls you down to the couch. Falling into each other's embrace.

It's definitely a creative way of getting comfortable in the new home.

Age 45

"Fucking shit" Bakugo groans after the building collapsed on the two of you by the villian you both were trying to stop for months now.

"Katsuki." You weakly groan beneath him as the raging headache ensued from the collision of the building.

Bakugo look around them, sighing in relief as he realizes his wife is okay, and so is he. He tries to get but stops when he hears you yelp in pain.

"Stop, don't move, Katsuki!" You breathe tiredly. Only then does Bakugo look down and see the large metal bar piercing the two of you together. It's shocking the two of you are still alive.

Bakugo looks into your eyes as you whimper in pain. His adrenaline is beginning to stop as he winces in pain, too. But he puts on a brave face.

"Shh.. Fuck. It's okay, baby. We're going to get out of here okay, rescue shouldn't take long." He now says breathlessly holding you close.

You smile weakly at him, grabbing caressing his face.

"You're no liar, Katsuki. It's okay." You say while your voice cracks with emotion. He grits his teeth as tears spill out of his eyes.

"I'm sorry... I can't save us this time, baby " He says, choking on tears and blood. Your tears beging to spill, too.

"There was still so much I wanted to do with you." He sobs out as you listen, sobbing too.

"Fuck, we should've stopped ages ago, our stubborn asses. Should've retired early, go on a vacation, fuck maybe even had a child or two." He huffs out in a sad laughter as you both realize just how different your lives could've been if you had stopped being heroes year before.

Maybe your guy's death would have been more peaceful; one with old gray hair and wrinkles.

You give out a weak laugh. Your vision starts to get smaller, so you try to soak up every last detail of your husband's face.

"I don't regret this." You say choking on your blood. He stares lovingly into your eyes. His vision too slowly giving out.

"I loved that I got to spend every moment with you, Kats. I fucking love you're annoying ass so much. I couldn't imagine breathing without you next to me." You say with a weak smile, gasping for air with each pause.

Bakugo weakly smiles back at you as he brushes the debris off your face. Taking your beauty in for the final time.

"Good thing we don't have to" He says his final comeback as he pulls you in and puts his lips on yours.

Taking each other's final breath...

[If] our time on Earth was through, I'd wanna hold you just for a while, and die with a smile.

If the world was ending, I wanna be next to you~♡

Shut up, I'm not crying you are 😭.

It's literally one of the most emotional pieces I've ever written in my life.

Blame Bruno Mars and Lady Gaga. 😭

#x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #mha #bakugou katsuki #mha bakugo #bhna bakugo #mha bakugou #bakugo x y/n #bakugo x you #angst #mha angst #mha x reader #mha x you #sobbing

54 notes · View notes

elleluvsjurin · 16 hours

Text

Obsessive Ex!Minji

requested

synopsis: minji’s just toxic tbh. i didn’t make her super obsessed, she’s just that one annoying ex that you still fuck and flirt with from time to time

pairings: Kim Minji x fem!reader

cw: smut, switch!minji, g!p Minji, unprotected sex, reader is a few years older than minji, switch!reader, minji is spoiled by her parents

MEN DO NOT FUCKING INTERACT

you walk out of a club with your friends when you see a black suv pull up to the side of you. Minji’s chauffeur rolls down her window and she eyes you up and down.

“get in.” she states, dryly. your friends stop and listen to you guys’ conversation, making sure you’re okay.

“it’s fine, you guys can go on.” your friends walk away and you get into the car with minji. you don’t know how she found you but you don’t question it. once you’re in the car, minji smiles sweetly at you.

“hi princess. how’d you enjoy your night out? I see you look uh-” she pauses, looking at your attire. “ -Stunning.” she says sarcastically. I guess that’s what you get for dating a rich girl whose parents buys her everything.

“stop calling me princess, you called me that before you dumped me. now take me home.” you reply cheekily, sitting comfortably in the seat. minji places her hand on your thigh, softly caressing it.

“oh come on, you know it wasn’t like that. im taking you to my home, you should know me by now.” she says

“whatever, it’s too late. as long as I lay in someone’s bed, im fine.” she smiles as the car eventually pulls up to her house. she grabs you hand, helping you out of the car. she walks you into her car, pushing you up against the wall.

“you’re seriously wore that outfit…to the club? you look like a whore.” she eyes you up and down as if you’re her prey. your short dress hugs your curves perfectly, which she despises.

“minji..-” she cuts you off

“no. you’re going to listen to me and you’re going to listen to me, good! I don’t ever want you wearing this shit out of the house ever a fucking gain. you got it?” she questions

“yes, fine just leave me alone.” you get out of her grip, eventually

“now you know i can’t do that, hm. I get a kick out of your reactions.” she smiles

“oh I bet you do.” you walk away from her, going to her mansion of a room and she follows you.

“hm, touchè.” she mumbles, standing in the doorway as you lay in her huge bed.

“where is everyone?” you say into her pillow and she looks at you, her eyes softening.

“I sent the maids home, it’s only us princess.” she says, matter of factly.

“fuck.” you groan and turn over to the front, looking at her looking at you

“stop staring at me, weirdo.” you grumble

“you look pretty.” she says bluntly

“well, thank you.” she sits next to you on the bed, smirking at you.

“of course, princess.” she turns on the tv, shuffling through her playlist before she turns on a sex playlist. minji places her hand on your thigh, kneading your leg.

“minji.” you breathed out

“hmm? what’s wrong?” minji asks, faking innocence.

“i need you.” you mumble as her hand slides up your dress, you feel her fingers near your heat.

“yeah? you weren’t needing me a few minutes ago.” she replied, teasing you

“God. Kim Minji, fuck me!” you scream out in annoyance and she chuckles at you.

“fine fine, stand up for me.” you do as she says by standing up in front her. she spreads her legs that you have space to stand.

“looking so pretty.” she mumbles, her fingers coming up to trace the curves on your body. you unzip your dress, letting it slip off of your shoulder, down your hips, to your ankles. her cock twitches in her pants as you’re butt naked in front of your ex girlfriend, her face turns a deep shade of red.

“talking all of that shit and now you’re the one who’s blushing, cute. drop those drawers.” you state, backing up so that she can have space to stand up. she stands up, pulling down her pants and underwear, her cock springing free from its confinement.

you get onto her bed, spreading your legs so that she can see your glistening cunt. minji’s throat runs dry, as it feels she’s in a trance by looking at your pussy. you clear your throat, taking her out of it.

“you gonna fuck me?” you ask and she comes over to you, spitting on her tip before she lines herself at your entrance.

“i can never get over this..fuck.” she explains before she slides her length into your cunt, you let out a soft whine as she hits that spot, perfectly.

“m-minji..” you whimper out as she starts to thrust in and out at a steady pace. Minji eventually takes off her shirt, she looks down admiring the way that you take her cock in and out of your greedy cunt.

“taking me so well, princess.” she wraps her hand around your throat as she speeds her up thrusts.

“oh my- …ah fuck”. you whine out, pressing your knees up to your chest as she fucks you, that position making her cock hit the perfect spot, over and over again. minji’s fingers come down to rub on your swollen clit. and your body starts to tremble as she plays with your pussy while her cock hits your g spot with each thrust.

“yeah? that feel good, hmm.” she taunts you, knowing you’re about to cum.

“minji im gonna…oh fuck-” you get cut off as your whole body shakes, creaming her cock. she thrusts deep into you, letting you ride out your orgasm as she spurts her cum into your pussy, filling you up completely. she pulls her flaccid cock out of your pussy, admiring the way that her cum leaks out of you.

“goodness babe.” she chuckles and you blush at the intimate moment.

“just clean me up.” you grumble

“as you wish.” she cleans herself up before helping you out by cleaning you.

“shower?” you suggest

“sure.”

a/n: smuts on smuts on smuts and more smuts! fluff coming really soon(pss…it’s with Ryujin!!) also this isn’t my best work bc I struggled with the plot. nonetheless, i hope you enjoyed this

#kpop gg #fem reader #wlw post #gxg smut #newjeans #minji x reader

55 notes · View notes

not-too-many-eyes · 2 days

Text

A Study on Mesmer Jr.

(Also Known As: Nott is obsessed with the bigot autistic girl from the time travel gacha game and its her birthday tommorow so lets talk about her.)

(CWs: Ableism, racism, child abuse) I Love Mesmer Jr. Which isn't a secret to any of my friends who have had to listen to me talk about her at length. I cannot get her out of my head. I think she's fantastically written, fun to read about, and just an all around interesting character.

As such, I want to take a moment to pull apart Mesmer Jr, and consider her place in this story. To contemplate why she acts the way she does, and to connect to the themes relating to her character. I hope you enjoy reading this.

A Curious Impression

Mesmer Jr makes an interesting impression when you first meet her. For one, she immediately causes alarm bells to rings when she talks to Sonneto, one of her earliest conversations, who she says she enjoys talking to because of their "shared values" she feels the need to say that she would have liked talking to her more if she were a "full-blooded human."

Which is something that you see a lot whenever she's complimenting an arcanist, or considering arcanists in any positive light. Even if it's inappropriate in the context, she feels the need to assert her beliefs, to say that:

Mesmer Jr, Praise: As an arcanist, your performance really amazes me. Wish you were a pure-blood human.

Of course, as we know, Mesmer Jr is an arcanist. She's a full-blooded arcanist. Being noted to be from a very Important family, and even being implied to be more talented than most of her family in their line of work: (The Fallacy of Idealism)

Nobody is more talented in this than Mesmer Jr. Her bloodline gives her outstanding ability and keen senses, which makes everything clear and intelligible to her.

She's also startlingly obedient. She has no noticeable outward negativity towards what Constantine has ordered her to do to Vertin, despite it seeming to cause pain or stress. Insisting that this is the normal treatment given to patients despite Madam Z's opinion, and we learn Much Later that her boss had an ulterior motive to all this.

She's even noted before we meet her to seem like a:

(Open Sandwich)

???: It is the other one- the one with indifferent outlines that makes her look like a refined machine.

Evoking images of perfectly programmed robots and droids that do what they are ordered to perfectly without question.

Of course, in the same part this line is from, the game is already nudging us to be open-minded when it comes to interacting with her. As the first thing we learn about her isn't her personality, isn't her appearance, isn't even her Voice.

It's her abuse.

Dirtied Hands

Open Sandwich is one of my favorite bits of writing in this game. It creates this incredible tension where you just waiting for the bad thing to happen, the line about how the child labor laws were turned into paper to wrap the sandwich is wonderful, and I love it.

But it's also the first time we ever actually hear about her. It depicts her having a Sensory Meltdown. Caused by her family's uh- blatant disregard for children's rights, and exposing her to a patient at age 12 because her skill was useful for the treatment. The trauma of the event marking the start of her "nightmare."

Of course this isn't the Only Thing she has gone through at the age of 12. The entire events of Nouvelles et Textes pour Rien happened during when she was 12. She might of had even more traumatic experience before that, considering she went to SPDM, a school that we know Very Well for their child abuse, and she Certainly had traumatic experiences afterwards.

She Is a 16 year old therapist taking care of The Foundation's most "unstable" patients, after all:

Mesmer Jr, Suitcase Climate: Those insane people screamed and rushed out of the guardroom. They kept meaninglessly and repeatedly roaring. Then, their blood shed on the snowy ground. I've seen that a lot.

The Rights of Children Don't Matter when there is Scarcity. Her needs are secondary to The Company's. Her welfare simply isn't important for the Foundation's Beautiful Future. Only the skills and infromation she can provide.

Constantine even manipulated Mesmer Jr into telling her the plan. Purposefully traumatizing her so that she would become scared and anxious. She Asked her to help them, trusting that Constantine, an adult she trusted, would be able to help. Constantine just lied, and made her continue to treat these people even when the experience mind numbingly traumatic for even fully-grown adults.

As a result, Mesmer Jr has developed multiple mental illnesses. Most notable OCD, but she seems to hallucinate in her Monologue.

She's not exactly a healthy person, which really compounds how much you Don't want her to be a therapist.

Of course, it's not like she would ever seek actual proper treatment for it.

For many reasons.

For one, Reverse 1999 is not exactly a kind world to the mentally ill, and she herself is a good example as to why.

Proper Treatment

Let's go back to the first thing I mentioned about Mesmer Jr. She's a bigot, she's a certified racist to every arcanist she ever talks to. She thinks humans are the superior race that will overtake arcanists.

She's also ableist. Just horrible ableist. These two bigotries are intertwined in Very important ways. Her hatred of arcanists is informed by her hatred of the mentally ill, and is further informed by what she has been taught about arcanists.

Reverse has established that the way arcanists and humans are generally viewed is that arcanists are the more emotional, unstable, immature ones and humans are the more logical, stable, and mature ones.

Now, this is a stereotype, one that has been proven wrong time and time again. There is nothing logical, stable, or mature about being so upset at a 12 year old you think killing her friends is a good idea.

And similarly, there is nothing actually inherently wrong about being a weirdo, or mentally ill. For one, uh, everyone is a bit of a freak sometimes, and two, Mesmer Jr treats it as if for the world to get better arcanists need to fully disappear and be replaced with human rationality, but Madam Hoffman says it best:

(Chapter 6 Part 15: With Hope Rekindled)

Hofmann: We have all heard it, humans are more rational and arcanists are more emotional. Hofmann: Their sensitive to the darkness of the world, so they can easily become absorbed in their own emotions and ignore reality Hofmann: But, if we put a human child in the position of an arcanist, who always takes on the world because of his uniqueness, who is never understood for his talents... Hoffmann: Maybe he too will become impulsive, sensitive immature and unstable Hoffmann: And that's why it sometimes dawns on me that if we put an arcanist child in the position of a human being who receives enough love, education, and positive feedback... Hoffmann: These 'instabilities' might be controllable. At least enough to keep them from hurting themselves or others.

But Mesmer Jr really does believe wholeheartedly that being a "freak" is bad, and that being an arcanist is to blame for why she is one.

Mesmer Jr, Hat and Hair: Thanks to it, we are all freaks now. Haven't you ever blamed your brain? Haven't you for once vomited due to the sound or whisper in your brain? How naive and ignorant.

That being an arcanist is something inherently wrong, and as a result of that inherent wrongness, that inherent "insanity," they need to be controlled by humanity.

Mesmer Jr, Chitchat II: I can only stand those arcanists from the Foundation and the Laplace. After all, their insanity is contained by humans.

She believes that humans are destined to overtake arcanists like it's natural selection. That it's only inevitable that arcanists will be overtaken by a species that in her eyes, is logical and understandable.

Mesmer Jr, To the Future: Just like Homo sapiens wiped out Neanderthals, arcanists will be eliminated as well. This is not a prediction, but a predestined fate.

This is, of course, due to the systemic part of Reverse's world constantly pushing this idea that arcanists are Inherently more immature and chaotic.

Constantine and her family deeply traumatized Mesmer Jr and then told her it wasn't actually their fault but this Other Group that She is also apart of but Don't Worry it can Be Controlled.

Mesmer Jr: It's not just about age. It was never going to be suitable for me. Mesmer Jr: Unless one day all the arcanists are gone. Pandora Wilson: Then you and I will be gone, too. Mesmer Jr: Exactly, along with the source of my pain

However, Mesmer Jr's own mental illnesses and susceptibility towards being overwhelmed by others emotions does really mean that she finds being around highly emotional people Taxing. She also finds that the unpredictable of life and other people Tiresome.

She was friends with Vertin in the rest when she was younger sure, but even then she did find arcanists overwhelming and "scary," even when she wasn't in the full thick of it, she saw them being treated and found it unpleasant and painful.

(Nouvelles et Textes pour Rien)

Mesmer Jr: But I'm not interested in arcanists. They are all mad people, and we had to treat them after all...They looked scary.

Now, usually, you grow out of this. She's not Born To Be Racist Forever.

In a better world she very much could have, I dunno-

Be able to actually internalize that arcanists aren't actually inherently a harmful thing, but that her needs sometimes conflict with the needs of others and grew up with the tools necessary to understand that this is a fixable problem that doesn't actually need a whole group of people including herself to die to be solved.

Or, something like that.

However, this isn't that world, this world thinks Mesmer Jr is a good therapist, and that her treatment is humane.

So she's seeks to create stability in the world as a result of that lack of support.

Mesmer Jr, Hobby: What you see is the alignment and tidiness. What I adore is this orderly state.

As much as she understands that it's a sign of her own "franticness" that she does this, it gives her comfort knowing that she has things that she Can Control. That her life isn't actually dictated fully by things out of her understanding. That she has the ability to direct her life in a small, maybe even insignificant way.

Cause, she really just doesn't have much control over her life.

Press the Button

Mesmer Jr, Clothing and Torso: ...Achieve the function.

A lot of Mesmer Jr's idolization of humanity comes from this idea of efficiency and simplicity. She talks so much about rationality and "tidiness," but as I've already established Reverse is full of so many instances of "human insanity" so it's plain ignorant to ascribe this trait to humans.

Which, well one she is ignorant, and also racism isn't rational and Mesmer Jr was taught human supremacy of course it's not going to be aligned with actual reality.

Which is true.

However, I do think it's interesting these traits that she idolizes are not from humans but from:

Mesmer Jr, Clothing and Torso: Humans are like machinery, simple and efficient. Arcanists are quite the opposite.

That's who she's actually idolizing here, isn't it? She's not really idolizing humans, that's just the framework she was given. She's idolizing machines and going "Wow humans are so cool."

Her Udimo is a machine.

Not just any machine, but a machine invented in part By Her Workplace, and even when she was 12 the narrator describes her as a "refined machine." Indifferent and rigid.

This is the beautiful controlled being that she is seeking! The beautiful tidy, orderly, calm being that just proceeds with whatever order is given to it. One that has...completely no control over it's life, and what to do with it.

Because, traditionally speaking, Machines do not have the ability to self-determine. They don't exist as people with conscious thought and emotion, but as Things and Tools that can Achieve Functions.

I noted way back in the start that Mesmer Jr is startlingly obedient. She does what she is told, and encourages others to do the same.

She's glad that Vertin:

Mesmer Jr, 100% Bond Conversation: ...Anyway, I'm glad you gave up on those insane plans.

Before saying that she doesn't want to be forced to Lobotomize Her, and that she doesn't actually want anyone to end up in Artificial Somnambulism.

But she doesn't say she won't do it. Just that she's happy Vertin did "give up" because it means that she probably won't have to. This seems to be her general approach. Even if she's not happy, she'll do it, her wants don't matter.

She assumes that she has no other option and that her only path forward is following orders from her boss. That the only path forward is the one set for her. There's no point in fighting it so she's just gonna continue on that path, and others should do the same or else they'll get Hurt. Learned Helplessness.

Sonetto is similar to her in this sense (Mesmer Jr says so herself,) and Sonetto is shown to hold quite a lot of repressed emotions, and to deviate from the rules or what is logical when she feels something is at stake.

After all: (Is ABA Really “Dog Training for Children”? A Professional Dog Trainer Weighs In.)

We all know that we can feel angry without expressing anger. That we can smile when inside we are crying. You can stop someone from expressing an emotion, but that doesn’t make the emotion go away. A dog who has been trained not to growl is considered by trainers to be a “time bomb dog.” When you read about a dog attack that came “out of nowhere” and “without warning,” it is because this sort of method was used to handle “problem behaviours.” Studies show that dogs trained with these sorts of methods actually have an increased rate of aggression, because punishing aggressive behaviour doesn’t deal with the underlying fear and anxiety that caused the aggression in the first place.

But Mesmer Jr, in contrast to Sonetto, who has an interest in poetry and curiosity in the outside world and has the aforementioned repressed emotions. Has no real distinct personal identity. She does not own anything that shows her interests, unlike her other coworkers who usually have at least Something on them. All of her items are stuff made by Laplace and exist unaltered. Even her cute little headband is a EM amplifier is part of the uniform.

She holds no control, no identity, no agency. She exists as a machine that someone can press the buttons of and achieve whatever function she needs to achieve at the given moment.

This is her current state of existence, and it's not something that's exactly sustainable. The cracks in this machine-living have been showing since she was 12. How many more do you think have been created now that she's 16?

The Foundation

Now, this is really depressing, but that's because Mesmer Jr is just a bit of a depressing character. She can't really get away from her job. For one, her parents are horrible, two The Storm means that the world is always on the verge of ending. Where else will she go?

But, as said previously:

A dog who has been trained not to growl is considered by trainers to be a “time bomb dog.”

Similarly, a girl trained to not develop any sort of identity will crack Someday.

I have no knowledge of what could happen next in her story, nor am I interested in theorizing about it. But I do find it interesting to think about.

#reverse 1999 #mesmer jr #r1999 mesmer jr #r1999 #metaposting #Nott: should I proofread this?#*looks up* too many words...

70 notes · View notes

blossom-hwa · 3 days

Text

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

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

Series Masterlist | TXT Masterlist

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

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

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

The bruises still hurt to the touch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Miss L/N.”

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

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

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

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

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

And Beomgyu, too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Life would be so much easier, then.

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

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

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

You’d be a fool not to take it.

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

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

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

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

. . . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?” you finally ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What it would mean to me.

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

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

He holds your gaze. “Yes, it does.”

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

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

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

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

You fall silent.

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

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

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

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

Your silence is more telling than anything you said before.

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

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

And eventually, you do.

“My father is dead.”

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

“…I am incredibly sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You take a shuddering breath. “Beomgyu…”

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

You swallow hard.

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

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

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

. . . . .

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

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

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

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

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

You were right to trust him.

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

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

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

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

You ignore her. “Who is the caller?”

“Mr. Choi.”

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

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

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

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

“You are not the head of this household.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Horror flashes across her expression. “You—”

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

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

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

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

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

But it never comes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods, looking terribly guilty.

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

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

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

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

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

“Desperation?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . . . .

epilogue.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's adorable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was the fact that you had Beomgyu.

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

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

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

“I’m not not eager,” you protest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…Five minutes.”

“Fifteen.”

“Ten.”

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

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

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

“…Fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

71 notes · View notes