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totomoshi · 1 month ago

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A THOUSAND SORRIES

Your phone died without you realising it while at your high school reunion party. So when your best friend requested an old classmate to drop you home, you didn’t realise how much it would shake your relationship with your husband, who you swore would’ve never doubted your loyalty.

❧ PAIRING; seungcheol x reader

❧ GENRE; angst, fluff, hurt/comfort

❧ TAGS/WARNINGS; established relationship, arguing, swearing, crying, seungcheol is a little bit of an asshole, hurt with a lot of comforting, maybe a little overdramatic, fluff

❧ WORDCOUNT; 8.7k

[ part of the Silent Treatment series ]

𐚁₊⊹

▍7 MAY 2024

“Shit, it’s almost one,” you muttered, eyes slightly wide as the glowing red digits on the wall clock stared back at you.

You were still perched on the velvet sofa at the back of the club, your head buzzing slightly from a mix of alcohol and adrenaline. Everyone around you was still laughing. Some sloppily dancing and others in tight huddles catching up over half-spilled drinks.

The night completely ran away from you. You and your friends had gotten too caught up in celebrating your high school reunion, hosted by one of your classmates who now owned the club, to notice how late it had gotten. And more importantly, you were too distracted to notice that your phone died — nearly two hours ago.

You closed your eyes and mentally kicked yourself. Who leaves the house with only fifty-percent battery? You, apparently. And it would’ve been fine — if Sujin didn’t insist on hijacking your phone for photos all night. “Your camera’s way better,” she said as she snapped an infinite amount of blurry selfies and group shots.

If you had that last five-percent, you could’ve booked a taxi by now, or at least texted your husband to let him know you were alive and not passed out in a gutter. But nope. You handed over your lifeline in exchange for better lighting and wider angles.

Still, you had to admit, the night was worth it. Ten years. That was how long it had been since you last saw these faces. Physically, some had changed beyond recognition, but there were moments where their seventeen-year-old selves peeked through. The way Beomseok, the school’s heartthrob, still threw his head back when he laughed. Or how Soyoung, the well-known bookworm, always over-explained her stories like she was giving a TED Talk.

Even the ones you never really liked, like that one girl who always made everything about her, brought a strange and unexpected wave of kindliness. Maybe it was the nostalgia. Maybe it was the drinks. Either way, you didn’t feel the irritation you used to. Just a weird fondness.

You let your mind drift back through the night — from the ridiculous dance-offs to the messy karaoke renditions of songs you didn’t hear in over five years. It was like slipping into a familiar old sweater, frayed in places but still comforting.

But now, reality knocked you back in your senses. You promised your Seungcheol you’d be home before midnight. He wasn’t the jealous type, but you knew he worried. And with your phone dead, no cash on hand, and no clue where your friends had scattered off to, you were stuck.

You scanned the club again, hoping to spot Sujin, maybe even your other friends at the very least. But nothing. Just bodies moving to the beat of some remix you didn’t recognise. You sat back and exhaled. You really didn’t know how you were getting home.

Sooner or later, you finally spotted Sujin over by the cocktail bar, half-laughing at something the bartender said as she swayed in rhythm to the music. The moment you saw her, relief washed over you like cold water, and you made your way towards her.

“Sujin,” you said, tapping her shoulder gently.

She turned around, a little startled. Her brow furrowed as she tried to hear you over the music. “Yeah?” she responded, a bit breathless.

You leaned in close, trying not to yell. “Do you know anyone who can drop me home? My phone’s dead and it’s getting really late. Seungcheol is probably losing it right now.”

Sujin’s expression shifted. She bit her lip and looked around as her eyes scanned the crowd of familiar strangers. “Ahh…” she muttered, her voice trailing off as she thought.

You could almost see the gears turning in her head. Then suddenly, her eyes widened. Her face lit up like someone just handed her the perfect answer.

“Minseok can drop you home!” she said, turning back to look at you.

“You know him, right?”

Of course you did. All too well. Minseok was your seatmate in physics back in your final year of high school. He was an astrology-obsessed nerd with a mop of hair always falling into his eyes and an inexplicable knack for blurting out random facts that you never asked for.

He once told you Mercury was in retrograde as you were about to fail a quiz, as if that was somehow helpful. Another time, he whispered a breakdown of Saturn’s rings during a fire drill. It wasn’t that he was mean, he was just…a lot. A walking trivia machine with no off switch. As harsh as it sounded, you didn’t miss him — not even a little.

“Seriously?” you said, half-horrified, half-resigned.

Sujin shrugged. “He’s sober. He came alone. And he’s not drinking, he’s literally sipping soda with lime like it’s a martini. He’s the safest bet.”

You groaned internally. Out of all the people, it had to be Minseok. You weren’t in the mood for a ride filled with awkward silence or worse — cosmic lectures about Venus retrogrades and your ‘energy aura’.

But desperate times, right?

Before you could protest, Sujin was already waving him over. “Hey, Minseok!” she called out.

You turned your head slowly, catching sight of him as he made his way through the crowd. He looked different, older obviously, but still very much him. His posture was straighter. His hair was neater, and he was dressed well in a simple button-up and dark jeans. Somehow, seeing him walk towards you didn’t feel quite as dreadful as you’d expected.

“Y/n! Hey, how are you?” Minseok greeted with a warm smile. You blinked in surprise. Not just at how relaxed he looked, but at his voice. It was deeper than you remembered. Smooth, even. Less nasal and less grating. Tolerable. Maybe even nice.

“I’m good. How about you?” you asked, offering a faint, polite smile. “I see you don’t wear your glasses anymore.”

He let out a low chuckle. “Ahh, I gave up on them and switched to contact lenses. It was a life changer,” he said, slipping his hands into his pockets like it was the most casual thing in the world.

“I see,” you said with a slight nod, unsure what else to add.

Before the silence could settle, Sujin jumped in. “So, Y/n needs a ride home. Can you drop her?”

“If you don’t mind,” you added quickly, almost reflexively. You didn’t want to sound like you were expecting anything.

Minseok didn’t hesitate. “Of course not! Let’s go,” he said, tilting his head toward the exit with a smile.

Your shoulders dropped as the tension left you in a soft breath. “Oh thank god,” you muttered, offering a more genuine smile in return.

You followed him out into the night where his car was parked a few yards away. Once inside, you gave him your address and he nodded before pulling smoothly onto the road.

The car ride was awkward, undeniably, but the soft music playing in the background drowned out most of it. He tried to make small conversations with you, only for you to give back short answers to avoid the awkwardness from growing. And he seemed to catch on to that, and decided no to press on too much.

╴╴╴╴╴

A few minutes later, Minseok pulled up outside your home. The street was quiet and dimly lit by the streetlamp. The neighborhood had long settled into silence — everyone asleep in their cosy homes.

You stepped out of the car and pulled your coat tighter around you as the cold air bit through the thin fabric. You turned back towards the driver’s side and leaned in slightly.

“Thank you so much Minseok. I really owe you,” you thanked him sincerely.

He gave you a small smile with his hands still on the steering wheel. “It’s okay Y/n,” he said softly, then added a chuckle. “It was nice seeing you after all these years.”

“You too,” you replied, returning the smile. You both waved each other a last goodbye before he drove off.

Turning to your house, you saw that the porch light was on. So were the lights in the living room. No surprise. Seungcheol was still awake.

As you stepped inside and started to kick off your shoes, you heard your husband’s voice hit you like a slap to the face. “Do you know what the fucking time is?” Seungcheol snapped from the hallway.

You froze mid-movement, caught off guard by the sheer aggression in his voice. You flinched while your hands were still on your laces. The look on his face was enough to stop you cold.

Rage was plastered across his face. His jaw was clenched so tight you saw the veins popping on his neck. His eyes were wild and bloodshot, like he hadn’t blinked in an hour. He stood there in his grey sweatpants and worn-out hoodie, but nothing about him looked relaxed. He was a coil pulled too tight.

Seungcheol never cursed, rarely even raised his voice. He always tried to stay calm and level-headed. So to see him like this, it threw you off.

“I know, I’m sorry,” you said as you inched closer. Your voice was shaky, but your instinct told you to close the distance. You wanted to calm him, to hug the anger away.

When you reached for him, Seuncheol stepped back and shoved your arms off gently, but firmly. That simple gesture was enough to make your chest tighten.

“And why weren’t you answering my calls or texts, huh? Do you know how fucking worried I was?” his voice rose.

You flinched at the harshness in his tone, and your shoulders curled in slightly as if to shield yourself. “My phone died,” you said softly. The words tasted pathetic the moment they left your lips, because you knew it was a poor of an excuse to explain yourself.

“That’s it?” he snapped.

“Your phone died? Then you could’ve borrowed someone else’s! You could’ve taken two damn seconds to call me and let me know you were alive Y/n!”

You blinked, caught off guard by the volume of his voice.

You could have called. But it didn’t even cross your mind. You were too distracted. You weren’t ignoring him. It just didn’t feel urgent. Until now.

But how could you say that without sounding selfish?

You didn’t say anything. You just stood there quietly, hollowed out by guilt. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, eyes stinging with tears. You could feel it. You could feel your throat tightening, and that familiar ache building just behind your eyes.

“Please don’t be mad. I’m home now.”

You reached for his hand. This time, not out of instinct, but desperation. You needed to hold onto something.

But he pulled away.

That was the moment something inside you cracked.

“Who was that guy who dropped you home, huh?” he suddenly questioned.

You froze.

Of all the things he could have said, this wasn’t what you expected. The question didn’t match the man you knew. The man who never batted an eye when someone flirted with you. The man who used to laugh it off and pull you closer like he had nothing to prove. Jealousy had never been in his nature. At least, not until now.

Your eyes narrowed as you studied him. He just looked at you, waiting.

You frowned, feeling something inside you start to burn. You would’ve answered him directly, but the fact that he even asked, it flipped a switch in you. A part of you that stayed patient through his yelling had enough.

“What do you mean?” you asked flatly. You weren’t playing dumb. You genuinely wanted to know — why that was even his question. Of everything that happened tonight, this was what stuck with him?

“That guy,” he said again, slower this time, as if you were the one not understanding. “The one whose car you got out of. Who was he?”

Clearly he saw you. But you weren’t surprised.

You blinked at him in disbelief, followed by a humorless laugh that slipped from your lips before you could stop it. “Are you fucking serious right now?”

The laughter died as quickly as it came. “Seungcheol? What are you trying to say? That I fucked him?”

You knew you were being dramatic, but the sting of it, the audacity of his doubt, made your heart sink. You just spent the last ten minutes apologising for something that wasn’t even completely your fault.

“That’s not what I meant!” Seungcheol quickly defended. But there was a small hint of guilt in his eyes. Like he knew he went too far but didn’t know how to walk it back.

“Then what did you mean, huh?” your voice cracked now, finally matching his in volume. “You tell me what you’re implying!”

He opened his mouth, but then closed it. A beat passed between you. A silence filled with things neither of you were willing to say out loud.

“I saw you,” he finally said. “You were smiling. You looked so…comfortable with him.”

Sure you were grateful for Minseok for giving you a ride home, but being comfortable with him was the last thing you felt. So you could not believe how ridiculous he sounded right now.

“So what?” you stared at him.

When he had no answer to give you, you took a breath in to steady yourself.

“First of all, he’s not a stranger,” you said.

“His name is Minseok. We went to school together. He was Sujin’s suggestion because my phone was dead and I had no ride home.”

Seungcheol still didn’t speak. He just looked at you with his jaw clenched.

“And second of all,” you continued, walking closer to him.

“Don’t you dare turn this into some bullshit theory about me cheating. You know me better than that. Or at least, I thought you did.”

“I do know you,” he said, but the words sounded unsure now. “I just—I was scared Y/n.”

“I know,” you said, softer now, but still firm.

“And I’ve already apologised for not calling. I should’ve found a way. I get that. But you don’t get to throw baseless accusations at me just because you were scared.”

Seungcheol ran a hand through his hair as he paced a bit around the hallway. “I’m not saying you cheated. I just—seeing you with him, then coming home late, not answering me—it messed me up. I waited for hours, just imagining the worst. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t think.”

“I get it,” you repeated.

“But do you hear yourself? You think I’m out sleeping around because I got a ride from an old classmate? Because I smiled at him?”

Seungcheol sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know it sounds stupid now.”

“It doesn’t just sound stupid Cheol,” your voice cracked, shaking your head. “It sounds like you don’t trust me.”

You gave him a last, glassy-eyed look before you walked past him. And as you did, your shoulder unintentionally bumped against his.

Seungcheol didn’t say a word. He didn’t even stop you. He just stood there, still and guilt-ridden, as he watched you disappear upstairs.

His face went pale, and his chest felt tight. He opened his mouth to speak, maybe to call your name, or maybe to say sorry. But no sound came out. What would it change? The damage was already done. He said the one thing he could never take back.

Seungcheol knew he messed up. He knew he crossed a line that might be too late to step back from. But in that moment, all he could do was stand there — frozen in the ruins of a conversation he never should have started that way.

You, on the other hand, tried so hard to stay composed. You willed your feet to keep moving, step by step up the stairs, while holding back the sobs building in your throat. Your chest felt like it was caving in.

But the second you reached your shared bedroom and closed the door behind you, everything broke loose.

You dropped onto the edge of the bed, like your body couldn’t carry the burden of your bottled up emotions any longer.

Your body began to shake as the first sob broke free. The first sob that escaped from your lips was sharp and strangled, followed by another. And another. Soon, they were pouring out of you uncontrollably. You curled in on yourself as your hands gripped the bedsheets, trying to stop the ache in your chest from spreading further.

But it was useless. The pain was too much.

You never imagined hearing those kinds of words from him. Not Seungcheol. Not the man who once told you he trusted you more than anyone in the world. The man who always said he didn’t need constant reassurance because “you’re my person.”

You weren’t crying just because he yelled at you. Or because of the jealousy. It was what it all meant. It was the implication behind his words, and the doubt in his voice. To you, it made you feel like you weren’t someone he could fully trust.

That hurt more than anything else. Because after everything you had been through together and every moment where he told you you were his safe space — it now felt like none of it mattered apparently.

Downstairs, Seungcheol sat on the edge of the sofa with his elbows on his knees and face in his hands. The house was too quiet now. Except for the faint, muffled sound of your sobs upstairs. The sound shattered him more than anything. He knew you were trying to keep it in. You always did. But it wasn’t working tonight.

He could practically feel your pain from where he sat. Every cry of yours echoed in his ears, louder than anything else. His hands curled into fists at the thought of it — at the reality of him being the cause. He used to be the one who made you smile, and wipe your tears. He promised to never make you cry.

Now look at him.

Seungcheol hated himself for it. For letting his emotions get the best of him. For turning on the person he loved most. He would’ve fought anyone who made you cry like that — anyone — and yet tonight, he was the one who broke you. And now he didn’t know how to fix it.

He let out a shaky breath and leaned back against the sofa as his eyes trained on the ceiling like it could somehow offer an answer. But all he found there was more regret and more silence.

The sound of your crying didn’t stop. If anything, it became softer and more defeated. And that scared him more. Loud cries were pf pain. Silent ones were of emptiness. He knew the difference.

He replayed the argument in his head over and over. His words and how your expression changed, and the way you flinched. He saw it all. It wasn’t just what he said. It was how easily it came out, wnd how little thought he gave before hurting you.

The worst part was that none of this came from a place of true doubt in you. He didn’t really think you cheated. The thought didn’t even occur to him until his anger morphed into a kind of jealousy he hadn’t even felt before. He was just finding an excuse to lash out on you for being late and not answering his calls. He knew he shouldn’t have. And instead of dealing with it like a grown man, like a partner, he lashed out like a child.

Seungcheol cursed under his breath and stood up abruptly. He paced around the living room as he thought about going upstairs. Apologising. He wanted to tell you everything he should have said instead. But what would he even say? “I didn’t mean it”? That felt too small. Too late even.

But still, he had to try.

Reluctantly, Seungcheol made his way upstairs. Your cries had now dulled into soft, broken sniffles that barely reached past the bedroom door, but they still echoed in his ears like sirens.

He paused just before the door as his hand hovered over the knob. He didn’t know if he was ready to face you, not after the damage he caused with words spoken in both anger and fear. He always promised to protect your heart and to never break it. But now here he was, standing on the other side of a door that never felt more like a barrier between you.

Maybe he should’ve waited longer and gave you space to breathe. But space also meant distance, and he didn’t want distance, especially not tonight. Not when things already felt like they were slipping. He didn’t want you to think he didn’t trust you. He didn’t want you to think his doubt meant he didn’t love you. Because that wasn’t it. Not at all.

He turned the knob slowly and gently pushed the door open.

There he saw you sitting on the edge of the bed, with your back to him. You wiped at your face quickly when you heard the door open, like you were trying to erase the evidence of your pain before he could see it.

But it was too late. Your eyes were red and glassy, and your movements stiff and tired. Without saying a word, you got up and walked across the room towards your vanity.

Seungcheol stood at the door. He wasn’t sure if he should come in or back away. But after a beat, he forced his feet to move.

“Baby…” he started softly, his voice cracking a little. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know where to start. Everything he wanted to tell you felt too small compared to the hurt he saw on your face.

You didn’t respond.

He took a few more steps, watching as you sat down at the vanity and began removing your makeup. You moved like you were a robot as you dabbed at your eyes and wiped your cheeks. You didn’t even look at him. To you, he might as well have been invisible.

“I’m sorry,” he said, stopping behind you. His voice was quiet and careful. “I didn’t mean what I said. Really. I was just…”

But you still didn’t respond.

The wipes in your hand were tossed into the bin beside the vanity with a bit more force than necessary, but your face stayed calm. Not cold. Just blank. That was somehow worse. The silence was deafening, like it was screaming at him louder than any words you could have thrown.

He didn’t push, though. He just stood there and watched helplessly as you rose from the chair and brushed past him without a word towards the wardrobe. You pulled out a clean pair of pyjamas, underwear, and a towel. Then you turned and made your way towards the bathroom.

Seungcheol was left standing in the middle of your bedroom like a ghost. Like a man who broke something sacred and didn’t know how to fix it. He slumped onto the bed with elbows on his knees and head in his hands. His shoulders sagged and his chest felt tighter.

He played it back again. Every word. Every raised tone. Every look of disbelief and hurt on your face. And he hated himself even more for it.

All he could think about was how you didn’t yell. You didn’t throw anything. You didn’t argue. You just…shut down. That was how he knew it hit you harder than even he realised.

The sound of running water from the bathroom filled the room faintly. It was the only thing that broke the silence now. He sat there for what felt like forever, unsure if he should leave, or if he should knock and ask to come in.

But he knew you needed this time. Time to process. Time to breathe.

His heart ached.

He wanted to walk into that bathroom and pull you into his arms. He wanted to apologise properly. To kiss your forehead and promise he’d do better. That he’d never let his fears cloud the love he had for you again. But something told him words weren’t going to be enough. Not after the hurt he had caused.

╴╴╴╴╴

Seungcheol stayed sitting on the bed, waiting. The silence was too suffocating, and he rubbed his hands together as nerves ate away at him. He didn’t move from the edge of the bed since you closed the bathroom door behind you. Part of him still wanted to go ant knock, to beg for a second chance right there.

But he knew better. You needed space, and for once, he was going to respect that.

When the bathroom door finally creaked open, his head snapped in that direction.

You saw you walking out slowly in your fresh set of silk pyjamas. Your damp hair stuck softly to your shoulders as you gently dried it with a towel. Your face was calm, but still unreadable. There was no trace of any emotion. No glance in his direction nor any words.

It was like he wasn’t even there.

Seungcheol swallowed hard, the lump in his throat growing heavier by the second. The atmosphere was thick and tense. He opened his mouth to speak, but before a single word could leave, you turned on the hair dryer. The loud whir filled the room, drowning him out completely and silencing any attempt at conversation before it even began.

He watched as you dried your hair. There was nothing rushed about you, yet everything about you screamed restraint. You were containing your anger, holding back your pain. He could see it, even if you refused to show it.

When the hair dryer finally shut off, the silence that followed was almost louder. You didn’t look at him. You simply walked past the bed, flicked off the lights, and climbed under the covers without a word. As the room dimmed, the shadows softened everything but the ache in his chest.

Seungcheol stood there in the dark for a moment, unsure if he should follow or give you space. But the need to be close to you and to feel your warmth pulled him forward.

He climbed into the bed behind you slowly and carefully. Your back was facing him and your body was curled slightly away. He hesitated for a moment as his heart pounded. Then, inch by inch, he scooted closer. Gently, he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you towards him, like he’d done so many nights before.

But, it didn’t feel the same this time.

He pressed his face into the crook of your neck and breathed you in. You still smelled like the same shampoo he always teased you for hoarding in bulk. You still felt like home. But the stiffness in your body and the lack of response said everything he didn’t want to hear.

“Please baby,” he whispered into your ear. “I’m sorry.”

And he meant it. God, he meant it with every fiber of his being.

But you didn’t respond. Not with words. Not with a sigh. Not with a look.

Instead, your hand gently grabbed his wrist and nudged him away. You shifted forward, creating space between your bodies. He lay there, stunned, as his arm fell limply back to his side.

The cold hit him instantly. Not the air though, but the absence of you. The absence of your warmth and of your forgiveness. His heart dropped so far down, and so painfully, that he had to close his eyes to keep himself from falling apart.

To say his broke would be an understatement. It shattered into pieces. It hit the ground so hard, he swore he could hear the smash.

His eyes burned. He blinked to try to stop the tears before they could fall. But one slipped free. Then another.

Seungcheol didn’t cry often. He was strong and always the one to give you confidence during your doubts. But right now, he felt like sand slipping through fingers. Powerless to hold anything together.

He messed up. Bad. And he knew it.

He laid still. He was unsure if he should try again or stay silent. He stared at the ceiling in the dark, wondering how the hell he was going to fix this.

He’d apologise again in the morning. He’d make you your favourite breakfast. He’d give you space if that’s what you wanted, or hold you tighter if you let him. He just needed you to know that he never meant what he said. That no guy in the world could ever replace what you were to him. That his words were laced with panic and not reality.

He needed you to know that he was terrified of losing you, and in trying to keep you safe, he might have pushed you too far.

Minutes passed. Maybe hours. Sleep never came. Not for him.

Seungcheol listened to the rhythm of your breathing. He hoped that it would calm him. But it didn’t. It only reminded him how far he felt from you, even in the same bed.

He reached out once more, hesitatingly, and let his fingers hover inches from your back. Then he withdrew, letting his hand fall beside him again.

Tomorrow, he’d try again, and you hoped you would give him a chance.

▍8 MAY 2024

When Seungcheol woke up the next morning, he felt a slight chill immediately run through him. He shifted under the covers, and his body instinctively reached out across the bed to find you. But his hand landed on nothing but cold sheets. The side of the bed where you usually slept was empty.

Frowning, he pressed his palm against the mattress. It was cold — too cold. And he realised that you’d been up hours ago

Panic was slowly stirring in his gut. He rubbed his face tiredly, trying to get rid of the haze from his eyes as the soft sunlight bled in through the curtains. Maybe you were downstairs. Maybe you were just drinking tea or sitting in the living room. Maybe everything was fine. Maybe—

But the moment he sat up, he knew it wasn’t. The house was too quiet. Unnaturally so.

Normally, he’d hear you in the kitchen as you prepared breakfast for the two of you. And the smell. He could always smell the chamomile tea you made for him first thing, because you knew he needed it to start his day. You always made sure to have a cup ready for him. You’d have that soft, sleepy smile that made everything else in the world seem irrelevant.

Today, there was none of that.

There was no sound or smells. Not even the warmth of your presence.

Seungcheol’s heart was thudding uncomfortably in his chests as swung his legs over the bed. He sat there for a few seconds, hoping, praying that he’d hear something — anything — that would tell him you were still there.

But the silence was deafening.

With slightly trembling hands, he grabbed his phone off the nightstand. There were no messages from you, nor any missed calls. Just one new message from Sujin.

[SUJIN]:

You’re lucky I didn’t break your legs. How could you do that to her? She didn’t deserve any of it, Seungcheol. You better figure out how to fix this.

He stared at the message as the words burned into his brain. Sujin’s anger was expected. She was always protective of you, and sometimes even fiercely so.

He sent a quick message asking if you were with her, and patiently waited while biting onto his nails.

[SUJIN]:

Don’t worry about her, she’s safe.

Seungcheol let out a shaky breath of relief. While he was glad to know you were somewhere safe, it did nothing to calm the restlessness in his heart.

He sat on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the wall. His mind kept replaying everything from the night before — every word that came out of his mouth and every look on your face.

One of the reasons your relationship lasted so long and grew so strong was because of the deep understanding between you. You were always patient with each other. You were both always willing to listen and to step back when needed. You weren’t perfect, no couple was, but you respected each other enough to work through it all.

Arguments happened before, of course. Insignificant things, frustrations and disagreements. But never like this. Never so intense. Last night was different, because it felt like it reached somewhere much deeper than either of you ever touched before.

Seungcheol knew you weren’t someone who lashed out easily. You didn’t lose your temper or escalate fights. You were always thoughtful, even when you were hurt. You didn’t run from problems — you faced them with a calm strength that he always admired, even when he was too stubborn to show it.

In fact, to Seungcheol, you were always the more tolerant one between you both. You gave more grace. You forgave quicker and you loved harder. You were the one who always held the ship steady when the storms hit.

And that’s what made this morning so gut-wrenching.

For things to escalate so badly — for you to leave without a note or a word — that wasn’t you being dramatic. That was you protecting yourself. You were drawing a line he should have never forced you to draw.

The realisation twisted like a knife in his gut.

It wasn’t you being overly sensitive. It wasn’t you misunderstanding him. It was about him. His fear. His words. His failure to trust you when you deserved nothing less than unwavering belief.

The fight alone wasn’t the reason you left. You left because somewhere in the middle of his anger and unknown jealousy, he made you feel small. He made you feel in a way that questioned your loyalty. He hurt you badly.

He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly.

There was no one else to blame but himself.

He couldn’t even lie to himself and say it was a misunderstanding. He crossed a line, and now he was standing on the wrong side of it with no way of knowing if he could bridge the gap.

Seungcheol leaned forward and buried his face in his hands. He knew it would take more than just showing up at the door with flowers. He knew it would take more than empty words thrown in a moment of panic.

It would take time. Especially patience.

And he would do whatever it took to earn his way back. Even if it meant starting from the ground up.

╴╴╴╴╴

Seungcheol spent the next four hours doing everything he could to distract himself. He scrubbed every surface of the house until his hands were sore. He picked up things that didn’t even need cleaning. He even reorganised drawers that were untouched for months. He did anything to keep himself moving, anything to keep his mind off from the deafening silence filling the space you both used to share so easily.

When there was nothing left to clean, he threw himself into work. He opened his laptop and started answering emails he would have normally ignored. But he couldn’t focus. His mind was elsewhere entirely.

He could have gone into the office. He could have pretended that it was a normal day. But he didn’t want to. He couldn’t. Because if he left the house, he’d miss the moment you came back.

That was when you’d come back.

Even as the hours dragged on, and hope started to thin like mist, he stayed. He stayed waiting. Regretting and hurting.

He checked his phone more times than he could count. He left you countless messages and calls in hopes that you would answer. And his heart jumped every time there was a vibration, only to be disappointed a second later. There were no answers from you. Only old notifications and an unread message from Sujin that was probably telling him to go fuck himself. Which was understandable.

But the silence from your end was killing him.

Just when he thought another second of waiting would crush him completely, he heard a soft click of the front door opening.

He nearly dropped the laptop off his lap in his scramble to stand up. He made his way quickly towards the hallway, nearly tripping over himself in the process.

And there you were.

You were bent over as you quietly slipped off your shoes. You were still in your pyjamas from the night before, with an oversized black jacket thrown over them.

You looked small and fragile. Exhausted.

He felt his heart twist painfully.

Your hair was slightly messy, and your face — God, your face — was red and puffy. It was obvious you hadn’t stopped crying, not for long anyway. You sniffed softly, blinking away fresh tears as you shoved your shoes aside without even sparing him a glance.

Seungcheol felt something inside him break.

“Baby,” he called out softly, voice cracking slightly as he took a cautious step forward.

But you didn’t respond. Not even paused. You just walked right past him.

He turned and followed you to the living room, helpless and desperate.

You shrugged off your jacket and placed it on the arm of the sofa, while your back was still facing him. You still didn’t look at him. You didn’t say a single word.

Seungcheol felt his chest tighten painfully, and his throat growing thick.

“Baby, please,” he choked out as he stepped closer.

Still, you said nothing.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, almost too quietly.

The words felt inadequate. They were empty compared to the hurt he caused. But he needed you to hear them. He needed you to know that he was willing to say it as many times as you needed. That he would spend the rest of his life making up for what he said.

“I know it’s not enough,” he continued, struggling to find his voice, “for the amount of hurt I’ve caused you by my words, but…” he trailed off, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat.

“I’m truly sorry,” he finally said.

You still didn’t turn around.

“I don’t know what came over me,” he said. The words were tumbling out now, more urgent and desperate.

“But I should have never said what I said. Never made you think I didn’t trust you. Fuck,” his voice cracked, fighting the tears he refused to let fall.

“Baby, I didn’t mean any of it. I really didn’t,” he cried.

He took another hesitant step closer. And he watched your shoulders tense, and how still you were, like you were holding yourself together by a thread.

He wanted to reach out and touch your hand. He wanted to wrap you up in his arms and promise he’d never let anything like this happen again.

But he was terrified. He was terrified that if he pushed too hard, you’d pull even farther away.

“I was scared,” he admitted, his voice shaking.

“That’s not an excuse. It’s not. I let fear get to me. I let it make me doubt the person I trust more than anyone else in the world. And I hurt you. I hurt you when I should have been the one protecting you.”

Still nothing. The silence stretched uncomfortably, and deafeningly, long between you.

Seungcheol stood there feeling utterly helpless as his heart beat so painfully he thought it might break apart completely.

He wished he could rewind time. He wished he could take back every stupid and reckless word that came out of his mouth. But he couldn’t. All he could do was stand there, hurting and hoping that you would give him even a sliver of a chance to make things right.

He dropped his head, and his arms hung uselessly at his sides.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me right now,” he said.

“Maybe not even tomorrow. Or the day after that. But I’ll be here. I’ll wait. However long it takes. I’ll do whatever it takes to make things right.”

A tear finally escaped, trailing down his cheek. But he didn’t bother wiping it away.

“I’m not giving up on us,” he said, voice cracking again. “I would never.”

For a moment, nothing happened. You didn’t move, nor speak.

Seungcheol felt like he was suffocating. The longer you stayed silent, the tighter the air felt in his lungs. The fact that you wouldn’t even look at him shattered him more.

You didn’t have to scream. You didn’t have to say a single word. Your silence was already deafening enough that it echoed louder than any insult or accusation he had ever faced.

He stood there for a moment, watching you. He could feel the distance between you. You were right there in front of him, but you felt so far away.

And that was unbearable.

So he stepped forward, cautiously. He reached out, almost hesitantly, and wrapped his arms gently around your waist from behind. You didn’t resist. You didn’t lean into him either. But you didn’t pull away. And to Seuncheol, it was the tiniest mercy he clung to it like a lifeline.

He pulled you in slowly, pressing your back against his chest. He hoped that the warmth of his touch could speak where his words failed. He leaned down and buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling a shaky breath.

Then, he started to sob. Quietly at first as his shoulders shuddered.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, his voice raw and thin. It was all he could manage at first.

“I’m so fucking sorry baby.” The words tumbled out again more desperately.

Seuncheol didn’t care if he sounded pathetic. He didn’t care that he was crying or pleading. All he cared about was the wall between you — the silence. If falling to pieces at your feet meant you’d speak to him again, he’d do it a thousand times.

“Scream at me,” he begged softly, his breath hitching. “Curse me. Heck, hit me. Just��please, say something baby. Anything.”

Still, you didn’t speak.

But then he felt the slightest shift in your body.

Your shoulders relaxed ever so slightly under his touch, and your head tilted just enough for him to feel your cheek brush lightly against his. You weren’t rigid anymore and you weren’t fighting his presence.

“Say something baby, please. Anything. I want to hear you,” Seungcheol pleaded with a shaky voice, tightening his arms around you. He could feel his heart pounding erratically against your back.

But you didn’t answer. You stayed still and silent. And the air felt too thick to breathe. He rested his forehead against your shoulder, eyes shut tightly as he tried to keep it together. His grip wasn’t forceful, but there was urgency in it.

A long minute passed in the choking silence. Then, just when he thought it would stretch on forever, he heard a soft whimper.

Seungcheol stiffened, and his heart began staggering. He slowly lifted his head, and listened.

Another whimper followed, then a sharp, broken breath. And then — sobs. Real, raw, heart-wrenching sobs.

You broke down in his arms.

Seungcheol froze, and soon panic began to swallow him.

“No, no, no…” he whispered as he quickly turned you around to face him.

“Hey— hey, baby” his hands moved to your face, cupping it gently. “Look at me, please.”

Your cheeks were damp and flushed, and your eyes swollen and red. And the moment he saw you like that, something inside him shattered. He never saw you cry like this. Not even during your worst arguments, not even during your lowest moments.

“Please don’t cry,” he whispered as his thumbs brushed under your eyes to catch the tears that wouldn’t stop falling. “Please. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, my love.”

His voice cracked mid-sentence, and his throat burned as if the words were scraping against the regret lodged there. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he mumbled as his breathing ragged, and his forehead gently pressed against yours now.

But you only cried harder.

Your body folded forward, and your forehead pressed into his chest as your sobs muffled against his shirt. He immediately wrapped his arms around you, holding you like you were something fragile.

“I didn’t mean any of it,” he whispered again. “I didn’t mean any of it, I swear.”

He said it in a way to not just reassure you, but as if repeating it could somehow undo it. As if it could take back the words he let slip when he lost control.

You didn’t respond. But your fists clutched at the fabric of his shirt as you held him just tight enough for him to know that you weren’t pushing him away. Not entirely.

And that was enough for him to completely fall apart.

He stood there as he rocked you gently. Tears were spilling from his own eyes as your cries rang within the quiet house. He didn’t care that he was crying. He didn’t care about anything but you.

He’d never felt so powerless in his life.

“I thought I was losing you,” he confessed quietly.

“Last night…I panicked. When I saw that you weren’t picking up my calls or answering my texts, and then seeing you get out of someone else’s car…I lost it. And instead of asking if you were okay, I accused you. I doubted you. I hurt you.”

You hiccuped through your sobs, still clutching his shirt. You hadn’t spoken yet, but your pain said everything.

“I’ve never regretted anything more than that moment,” he said, voice breaking.

“I should’ve trusted you. I do trust you. I just didn’t trust myself to be enough. And I let that insecurity punish you instead.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, even though your eyes were still closed and streaming with tears. “You didn’t deserve that. You never have. You’ve always been the one who held us together. And I— I let my worst fear make me the one who tore us apart.”

You finally let out a shaky breath, not quite a word, but enough to make him freeze.

His hand trembled as hebrushed your hair back gently. “Please talk to me,” he whispered.

“I know I don’t deserve it right now, but…I just need to know if there’s even a piece of you that still wants to fight for us.”

He would understand if you didn’t. He’d hate it, and it would destroy him. But he’d understand.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, and for the first time since you walked through the door, your eyes met his. The look you gave him wasn’t angry. It was exhausted. Shattered and deeply sad.

It broke him all over again.

“I was scared too,” you finally said, your voice hoarse.

“I never thought we’d come to such a point. And I was scared that the person I trusted the most didn’t believe in me. That…you saw me the way strangers might. Like I could just…be thrown away.”

“No,” Seungcheol said quickly, shaking his head.

“Never. I don’t see you that way. I never have, and I never will. It’s all my fault for being so insecure when there was no reason to be.”

“You really hurt me,” you said in a whisper as more tears welled up in your eyes.

“I know,” he replied softly, forehead pressing against yours again.

“And I will spend as long as it takes proving to you that I’ll never let it happen again.”

╴╴╴╴╴

The two of you were cuddled up together on the sofa. You were wrapped up in each other with your bodies entangled in a way that words couldn’t describe properly. Because for the first time in what felt like forever, the quiet between you was simply peaceful.

You talked softly. It was obvious how tired you were with how your voice was low, but it was still full of honesty. The rawness of the last twenty-four hours still lingered, but neither of you ran from it.

You repeated how scared you were and how betrayed you felt, and Seungcheol listened to you without interrupting. His apologies kept streaming, and not just verbally but through his tears and trembling touches. Especially in the way he held you like you — like you were the most precious thing in the world.

Eventually, your words began to slow down. You started to speak less and less, and your sentences trailed off as your head rested more fully on his chest. He could feel your breath even out before your body slowly went limp.

You fell asleep on him mid-thought.

Seungcheol looked down at you and just…smiled. Not because he was relieved, nor because the hurt disappeared, but because you were here — in his arms. You trusted him enough to let your guard down again, even if it was only for a moment.

It meant a lot to him. More than anything.

He brushed his fingers gently across your cheek, and tucked a stray hair behind your ear. You shifted slightly in your sleep, your face scrunching just a bit before relaxing again. He chuckled under his breath and continued to trace your jawline with the back of his knuckles.

You were exhausted. He knew that.

Everything that went down last night drained you. You didn’t sleep properly, didn’t eat much either, and your body was finally demanding what your heart didn’t let it take: rest.

Carefully, Seungcheol slid out from beneath you, trying his best not to jostle you awake. You stirred just a little as your hand weakly clutched the hem of his shirt.

“It’s okay love. I’m right here,” he softly whispered, and you relaxed again before letting him go.

He stood up and stretched his back slightly, before he turned his gaze down to you. You looked so small curled up on the sofa like that.

Without another second of hesitation, he leaned down and gently scooped you up into his arms.

Your head fell against his shoulder as he lifted you. You didn’t stir much either. Seungcheol just let out a quiet sigh as he adjusted his grip and carried you towards the bedroom. He made sure that his footsteps were soft so you wouldn’t wake up.

When he reached the bedroom, he gently nudged the door open with his foot and walked over to the bed. He then placed you down slowly. His hands lingered at your sides for a second longer before he grabbed the blanket and pulled it over you, tucking it around your frame.

It was only three in the afternoon, but the sunlight peeking through the window gave everything a golden hue. He stood there for a moment, and just watched you breathe. You looked peaceful again. Not fully at ease, nor healed — but calm. And that was enough, for now.

You badly needed the rest.

And if he had anything to do with it, he’d make sure you had all the time in the world to feel like you had nothing to worry about.

Seungcheol sat on the edge of the bed, and his eyes never left your face. He reached out and brushed his fingers along your forehead, gently moving the strands of hair that had fallen across your features.

You always looked beautiful to him, but in this moment, you looked ethereal. Vulnerable, yes. But resilient too.

He leaned down slowly and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. It was a promise that he would do better. Be better.

“I love you so much,” he whispered.

He stayed beside you for a while, just watching. He sat listening to the way your breath slowed even more as you fell into a deeper slumber. The lines of tension in your face smoothed out and your lips parted slightly, while your hands loosened beneath the blanket.

Seungcheol didn’t want to leave your side, but he didn’t want to disturb you either. So after a long minute, he stood up quietly and took one last look at you before backing towards the door.

Before leaving, he turned back around, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest.

He loved you so much it hurt sometimes. But for the first time since yesterday, he felt like maybe there was still something worth rebuilding. And he was going to fight like hell to rebuild it. Brick by brick.

a/n; please like and reblog 🫶🏽

#i don’t know what it is #but the minute she started to cry in cheol’s arms #damn my tears were rolling down automatically #i really really need a choi seungcheol in my life #sigh sigh sighhhhhh #sara’s fic recs

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totomoshi · 1 month ago

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Jonathan Bailey invented looking sexy with an eyebrow crease.

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totomoshi · 1 month ago

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(not so) simple pt2 - anthony bridgerton

masterlist

summary: coercing lord bridgerton into pretending to court you to avoid the affections of a baron is very simple — that is, until it isn't.

a/n: okayyy attempt no2 in trying to get this thing to show up in tags lol. i worked way too hard on this for it to just be invisible and idk what word i used that tumblr doesnt like but im gonna try again lmao (thank u naomi for the advice)

im gonna keep the other one for now so there's just gonna be two versions of this floating around for a lil lol. hopefully this works

wc: 7.1k

warning(s): historical inaccuracies, basically all fluff

Anthony had a surprising pep in his step as he returned to his estate. Promenading around the marketplace with you was… nice. He had to admit it. The reticule he’d selected for you went perfectly with your dress—another thing he had to admit, you looked quite lovely in blue.

He blinked a few times. This ruse was already getting to his head.

But as nice as the promenade was, it was certainly not in his schedule, and so once he passed through into his estate with nods of greeting to the doormen, he had the intent of heading straight to his office. He was not given the chance, though, when he saw his mother coming down the stairs. Anthony had the briefest thought of avoiding her, but only one look at her showed that he would not get the chance even if he wanted it.

“You were gone quite early today, Anthony,” she said with a slight smile, folding her hands in front of her as she stopped in front of him. “I don’t suppose this has anything to do with Miss Worthing.”

“And if it does?” he asked offhandedly.

“Then I am very proud of you,” Violet said. “If Miss Y/N will make you happy, then I see no reason for you not to pursue her. She is a lovely lady with an amiable family—it is all the better that we are already good friends.”

Anthony hummed in acknowledgment. He almost wished his mother did not approve of you so — he did not know if he would have the heart to explain to her the reality of their situation once the two of you parted ways.

“Is there anything else you would like to tell me?” she asked, and though her tone was pointedly innocent, Anthony was well aware she wanted to fish for anything she could find.

“We enjoyed a lovely promenade this morning,” Anthony said, “that is all. And as much as I am enjoying this interrogation, there is work I must attend to.”

She gave him a knowing smile as she bowed her head. “Of course, dearest. Enjoy the rest of your morning. Just do not forget to break your fast.”

He nodded back at her politely before he continued on to his office. When he opened the door, though, he nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Anthony!” Eloise popped up from her seat—her smile was inviting, but all the years of living with her had taught Anthony that, in the case of his dearest sister, appearances were often deceiving.

“Eloise,” he said stiffly, trying to hide his obvious shock at his sister’s appearance to avoid any teasing as he walked behind his desk, gathering some papers and stacking them just to give his hands something to do, “may I ask what you are doing in here?”

“You may,” she said as she placed her hands on the top of the chair, “but only if I am allowed to ask a question of my own.”

“Do I even want to know?” he asked dryly.

She did not give him the opportunity to back out. “I am here because you have decided to court my best friend. Which leads into my question—why, for the love of all that is good, have you decided to court my best friend?”

Anthony laughed and shook his head. “So that is what this is about? I am courting Miss Worthing because I am a man in need of a wife and she is a woman in need of a husband. Is that simple enough for you?”

Eloise shook her head. “Explain to me, brother, in true form, why you have decided to take away my best friend in quite possibly the worst way.”

Anthony frowned. “I do not see how I have taken her away from you.”

“You are courting her!” she exclaimed, “you are to marry her! Anthony, you are going to marry my best friend! That is the most horrid thing I have ever heard of!”

“I am not forcing her into a marriage, Eloise,” Anthony said. “Have you considered that she is the one that approached me in the first place?”

Eloise scoffed. “She would never do such an ill minded thing. And frankly, I cannot see why you would engage in activity like this, with her of all women! Not even a day earlier we were airing our frustrations at the very concept of marriage, all the while you could not cease your ranting of her apparent misgivings, and now you are not only courting her, but she is allowing you to do so willingly?” She threw up her hands in disbelief. “It is unforeseeable!”

“Unfor— unforeseeable?” Anthony could not help but laugh at his sister’s dramatics. “Eloise, is my courting of Miss Worthing truly that strange? She is the sole child of one of the ton’s poorer families, and she is rapidly approaching spinster age. Perhaps she has finally realized her views will not help her family and this is her attempt to make amends before it is too late.”

Eloise shook her head as she finally sat down. “You do not know Y/N like I do, dearest brother. We were due to meet for a promenade of our own tomorrow, but if she is so capable of providing you with one, then I assume she is more than willing to indulge my presence this morning instead.”

“Eloise—” Anthony started, and she looked at him with raised brows as he rapidly stood up from his desk, nearly poised to lunge over the thing.

“Such athletics,” she remarked, and he huffed.

Anthony walked around his desk to the door and glanced outside to ensure their privacy, and then he shut it behind him. Though all of their employees were loyal and trustworthy, he was well aware of what insidious gossips some of the staff could be when they had something good enough in their hands. “If I am to inform you of… further knowledge, you must promise not to speak a word of it to anyone.”

Eloise could barely manage to hide her excitement. “So there is something you are not telling me!”

He sighed deeply and pressed a hand to his forehead. “It is not… a true courtship, in a matter of words. She wanted to avoid a betrothal to Lord Cardew, and so she approached me that night and all but begged me to act as her courter. I agreed, and we are now each other’s fake partners for our own benefit. We both get to dodge any suitors that may come our way, and we will part from each other at the end of the season as spinster and rake alike.”

Her eyes widened. “You must be joking.”

Anthony shook his head. “Regretfully, I am not. What possessed me to accept her offer the other night I am not quite sure, but regardless of it all, we are bound to each other for the length of the season.”

“But it is nothing more than a scheme,” she said, “right?”

“Yes,” he assured. “There is nothing between us, and we are certainly not to be wed. You need not worry.”

Eloise sighed. “Anthony Bridgerton, I do not think I will ever understand what goes on in your mind.”

He offered a thin smile. “Nor I, sister. But now that you know something with quite a bit of weight—”

“I will not repeat a word,” she confirmed with a nod. “You needn’t worry. But, ah—” Eloise gave him a coy smile— “you will need to worry about nearly every other thing. We are such close friends for a reason.”

Anthony simply sighed. “You are truly skilled at lifting spirits.”

“I know,” she said happily.

And as Eloise turned to leave, she stopped by the door, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “You know, brother—I think I will enjoy this season after all.”

Anthony sat back down as he rubbed his hand against his forehead, heaving another labored sigh. It was hardly even past the time to break his fast and he was already exhausted.

When even Eloise was on board with this horrible idea solely for her own enjoyment of a surely sinking ship, he knew he was certainly in for something.

You did not think you would ever truly get used to this.

You may have despised the season, the ton, and everything it stood for, but that did not mean you were immune to marveling at the riches of your peers. The Kennington estate was far grander than you could have ever imagined, and though you despised it, you could not help the streak of jealousy that ran through you at the sight — perhaps if your family were blessed with riches of this sort, you would not be depended on so heavily to find a husband.

Nevertheless, you were expected to be at the ball, which Lady Kennington had decreed an event that absolutely could not be missed. After her daughter had been chosen as the season’s diamond by word of the queen, she had gained a bit of an ego. It was no surprise, then, that the party was something so extravagant.

When you arrived, men and women were twirling across the dance floor together, their movements fluid as water. Musicians sat together off to the side, stringed instruments played in perfect harmony, and of course, in the midst of it all, members of the ton stood, watching and gossiping.

You inhaled deeply and let it out slowly, trying not to let your nerves get the best of you before anything had even taken place. With the exuberance of it all, it was difficult not to be overwhelmed, but knowing you had the protection of Anthony’s courtship eased your worries the slightest bit. While an overly pushy suitor may not have listened to you, they would certainly listen to the Viscount Bridgerton.

It was as if the universe were capable of reading your mind—the moment you thought of Anthony, your mother was leaning to whisper in your ear.

“The Viscount and Lady Bridgerton are coming this way,” she murmured. “Please, do not act out in front of your future mother-in-law.”

“Mother-in-law—!” you began to protest, but you were unable to get any more out as a wide smile took over your mother’s features, and she jabbed you lightly with her shoulder to force your posture to straighten.

“Lady Bridgerton!” she exclaimed as they stopped in front of the two of you—Anthony bowed as a courtesy, and it was an effort to hide your amusement. “Viscount Bridgerton! How wonderful it is to see the two of you. Violet, you look just as lovely as ever.”

“You are too kind,” Violet said with a smile. “It is just as good to see you as well, Cecilia. And my dear,” she looked to you, “you are a sure sight to see! I can hardly believe you’ve debuted—it seemed only yesterday you and Eloise were playing together in the drawing room.”

You smiled at the memory. Conversation with the Bridgertons had always been pleasant—your ruse did not need to change that. “Thank you, Lady Bridgerton. I admit that I certainly miss those days, before all the responsibilities of a debut. Though I cannot say that my visits with Eloise will cease anytime soon.”

“And I do not expect them to—we enjoy your company far too much.” Violet then chuckled. “I allowed her to stay at home with the promise that she practice the pianoforte during the evening. Tell me, do I have a chance at all of her listening to my request, or will I return to the estate to see her reading in the same position I left her?”

You grinned. “I am certain you know the answer to that, Lady Bridgerton.”

“Oh, please,” she brushed off your words with a wave of her hand, “there is no need for titles. Violet will be just fine—you are to be a part of our family soon anyway, if what I hear from my son is true.”

Anthony’s eyes widened, his cheeks flushing red. How amusing that a simple sentence could revert him back to a blushing young man. “Mother!”

Of course, you could not poke fun at the viscount in any way—you were sure you looked similar, what with the way you felt the heat rush to your cheeks and your eyes widen as well. Your words came out in a stammer: “I— well, I—”

“Oh, you needn’t be so coy,” your mother teased. “A gentleman would certainly be nervous around the lady he is courting, especially one so beautiful as my daughter.”

Anthony cleared his throat as he offered you a smile of his own, trying his best to recover from the embarrassment. “Yes, Miss Worthing. You are the image of perfection tonight in that shade of pink.”

You could not even imagine putting up with these compliments for the rest of the season—it was far better than dealing with real advances from real suitors, of course, but you did not know if you would be able to stifle your laughter every time Anthony had to flirt with you in the presence of your mothers.

“Thank you, my lord.” You bowed your head slightly in place of a curtsy. “You look quite… spiffing yourself.”

The way Anthony was barely able to hide the mirth in his expression, you knew he was amused by your choice of words. If he made fun of you for it, you would blame it on your mothers. Your act did have to be convincing.

You were just able to catch Violet’s pointed glance at her son before Anthony stepped forward and offered his hand. “I’d be honored to have your first dance of the night, my lady, if you would so indulge me.”

You did not have to look at your mother to know she was doing the same to you—you decided to save her the pain as you offered a practiced smile and took Anthony’s hand. “It would be a pleasure, my lord.”

You entered the dance floor at the perfect time, just when the musicians were beginning a new song, and you took your place across from Anthony. You did not even need to ask what was on his mind as you began your side of the dance, the mirth in his expression telling you all you needed to know.

“I’m not talking because I am focusing on my steps,” you muttered. “I am not as skilled at dancing as I am at many other things.”

His lips quirked up at the edges. “So you mean to say you are better at irritating me than dancing with me?”

The laugh that bubbled out of you caused you to miss one of your steps, but luckily it was at the exact moment you joined hands—Anthony covered for you with ease as you stumbled into him, a glaring reminder of just how much he knew in comparison to you as a result of his title and position.

“Thank you,” you said. “I suppose I am not capable of multitasking while on the dance floor.”

Anthony hummed. “I can tell by the deathly grip you have on my hands.”

You loosened your hold on Anthony as you continued to dance, offering an apologetic smile. “I apologize. This waltz is not my favorite, nor is it my forte. Most dances, truthfully, are not my forte.”

“I am more surprised by the fact you have a favorite dance,” Anthony said, his own smile slightly cockeyed. “Though I should think more of our appearances together should be on the dance floor—you are much less mouthy. I already feel more confident without your constant insults.”

You huffed a laugh. “That is because this is nowhere close to my environment. I am comfortable surrounded by books, or arguing with irritating viscounts. I am not comfortable dancing in front of a crowd this large with the man they all think I am to marry.”

“Ah,” Anthony chuckled. “It is strange, isn’t it? That everyone thinks we will end the season as happily married, and though we are lying to each and every member of the ton, not a single one knows it.”

“Indeed. I truly do not know how you have handled the attention all these years, as a viscount and a Bridgerton. I have been associated with you for hardly a week and I am already tired of it all. If it were not for an even less desirable fate awaiting me without your status protecting me, I would have surely run off to the country by now. Perhaps not even the country—an entirely new country sounds marvelous.”

Anthony raised his eyebrows. “Those are certainly not words befitting a future viscountess. Running away from responsibility is something more suited to a second child—perhaps you should’ve taken this journey with Benedict instead.”

You gave him a sideways smile. “My words do not have to be those of a future viscountess, not when it is just you and me. I suppose that is a benefit of this arrangement.” You tilted your head to the side slightly. “I do think I would enjoy Benedict’s company better, though. He is a joy to be around, and I just love hearing about his artistic endeavors.”

His lips quirked up. “You may indeed be a better pair, then—he certainly needs someone that will listen to him talk about his latest works without complaint, and he irritates me just as much as you do.”

“Impossible,” you stated. “No one can irritate you as much as I do.”

“And for taking the burden of that role, I am eternally grateful,” Anthony said with mock austerity.

“Of course,” you nodded. “Know that I am truly here for you.”

Anthony could not help but laugh at that, and you smiled inwardly as the dance ended and the two of you bowed to each other.

“That was rather pleasant,” he said, “was it not?”

“I’ve yet to experience a better one,” you said, and Anthony simply smiled.

“I await the day when you no longer use sarcasm in our every conversation.”

“You will be waiting a very long time, then, my lord.”

You looped your arm around Anthony’s, a gesture that was already becoming familiar, and began to walk off the floor together.

“I do hope my mother will get over the allure of our pairing soon, though,” you said. “She brings you up in nearly every conversation—our parting argument will have to be convincing indeed, otherwise I fear we may entirely break her heart.”

Anthony chuckled. “I will certainly do my best to prevent that. Though I understand part of your plight. My siblings have not stopped bothering me since they got their hands on the latest edition of Whistledown. Eloise in particular is not a fan of us together.”

“Eloise,” you muttered. “I completely forgot to tell her of our plan.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You were going to tell her a secret that could ruin the both of us?”

“Oh, please,” you admonished. “We both know it would only ruin me. Besides—Eloise already knows nearly everything about me; news of a true courtship between us would be far more shocking to her than this ruse of ours.”

“You are correct,” Anthony said with a slight laugh. “She cornered me in my office when I returned after our promenade the other day and practically demanded I explain myself — but rest assured, she is informed of the truth and is sworn to secrecy.”

You smiled. “That sounds like her, alright. I did not expect her to reveal it in the first place, but it is good to know I have a confidante. In case I need to complain of you, of course.”

“Oh,” Anthony nodded. “Of course. I shall go to her as well if I am in need of the same. She will most certainly not get annoyed at either of us.”

You laughed. “I fear that if we resort to her as our sole alleviant she will most certainly reveal our secret.”

“Eloise doing something out of pure annoyance? I do not doubt it.”

You snickered at that, but then Anthony lightly touched your shoulder and gestured with his head towards the other side of the ballroom.

“I should let you go,” Anthony said. “I believe your mother has some things she wishes to say to you.”

You sighed. “I can only imagine just what she has to say. But it looks as if your mother has the same thing in mind.”

He looked over and sighed, though it was not without a slight smile. “Then I shall see you tomorrow?” he asked.

“Tomorrow?” You pretended to think over it. “That seems far too soon, my lord. I am in need of my rest, both to handle you and maintain this image.”

“I suppose I am in need of a break as well,” Anthony said, “as I have to handle you just as much as you I.”

“We are certainly a troublesome couple,” you said with mock austerity. “It would be no surprise if our courtship were to dissolve completely just before the end of the season.”

Anthony nodded seriously. “It would not be a surprise at all. It would be for the best, truly.”

“The best,” you agreed.

The two of you shared smiles, the sort that only those with secrets could indulge in, and then you parted ways to your respective matriarchs.

And as you walked back over to your mother, your head held higher than usual and an unmistakable confidence in your step, Anthony could not tear his eyes away—could not help but smile.

“Dare I say this is the most I’ve seen you smile at a ball?”

Anthony turned to see Benedict approaching, a glass of wine that was far too full clutched in one hand. By the dazed grin on his lips and a look in his eye that showed he wasn’t all the way there, it wasn’t too hard to tell that his younger brother was already quite far gone—that must’ve been why he showed up on his own, rather than leaving with him and their mother. Certainly for the best, as Violet did not exactly need to see her son getting drunk.

“Dare I say this is the earliest I’ve seen you drink at a ball?” Anthony answered in turn.

“Of course it’s not—I’ve indulged even before arriving on certain occasions. It was the only way I was able to get through half of Daphne’s season.” Benedict’s eyes twinkled as he took a sip from his glass. “It made it far more enjoyable. I would suggest that you try it sometime, but it seems that you are already enjoying the night quite a bit.”

Anthony glanced behind him to see you talking with your mother—or rather, her talking to you, he noted with a slight smile—before looking back at his brother. “I suppose I am having a rather decent time.”

“Far more than decent,” Benedict insisted. “I would even go as far as to say that you actually like Miss Worthing’s company.”

Anthony chuckled a bit. His acting must have been good, to fool even his brother. Though, to be fair, Benedict would not expect him to do something of this sort—honestly, this was more in his territory. Perhaps he was not wrong about telling you his brother would be a better option.

He felt a strange twist in his chest at the thought, but pushed it away just as quickly.

“She is a lovely lady,” he agreed, “and she will make a fine wife.”

Benedict laughed. “Coming from you, brother, that is a declaration of love. My most sincere congratulations to you—you deserve this more than anyone.”

Anthony offered a small smile as his brother patted him on the shoulder and began to walk off, and he called after him: “Do not do anything too stupid, Ben!”

He held up his wine glass in response, not turning to look back at him, and Anthony just shook his head, though not without mirth.

His brother was right about one thing, though. You were the reason he did not have such a terrible night.

“Hyacinth, stop teasing your brother. Benedict, straighten your cravat. And Colin, dear, please do not bore the Worthings with talk of your travels. They have heard them a thousand times, and a good image is imperative.”

“Mother,” Colin said with a frown, “you always say you enjoy my stories.”

“And I do, each and every time,” Violet said with a motherly smile, “but now is not the time to tell them of your exploits for the hundredth time.”

“But we are already good friends with the Worthings,” Gregory said, “and we have had dinner with them so many times. Why do we need to make a good impression?”

“Because this dinner is the most important,” Violet said. “Anthony is courting Y/N, and though it should move ahead very smoothly, we need to ensure that you all make a good impression. We will be one family soon enough.”

“Y/N is to be our sister?” Hyacinth exclaimed. “Oh, that is so amazing! I read it in Lady Whistledown, but I am overjoyed it is actually true!”

Eloise rolled her eyes. “I still cannot believe this is happening. My brother courting my best friend—a true nightmare, perhaps.”

“Eloise,” Violet admonished, “this is a good thing. Be happy for your brother, at least when you are around him.”

She then looked around the room and sighed. “Where is Anthony, anyways?”

“He went to fetch the Worthings,” Benedict supplied. “To ensure that things would go smoothly from the start, show off his effortless gentleman act, and charm her parents all over again—everything of his usual sort.”

“And likely to do things in private with his bride-to-be,” Colin said, earning a snort from Benedict and a glare from his mother.

“Colin Bridgerton, do not say things like that. Especially in front of your siblings.”

“My apologies,” he said, holding his hands up in defense, though he could not help but crack a smile, “but it is likely true.”

It was then that the door was opened by one of the servants—your parents walked through and you and Anthony followed behind them, both you and your mother holding onto your respective beau’s arms.

“Oh, good!” Violet exclaimed, and she gave her children one last gesture with her head to silently ensure they would behave. “You’re just in time—Cecilia, Philip, it is so good to see the two of you. And Y/N, you look lovely tonight. Your dress is simply sublime.”

“You are far too kind,” you said with a smile, bowing your head in lieu of a curtsy.

“It’s just as good to see you, Violet,” your mother said.

Your father nodded. “We were honored to receive the invitation. It has been far too long since the Worthings and Bridgertons dined together.”

“It certainly has,” Violet agreed. “I’m sure we are all hoping it will become a more frequent affair.”

You could not return Anthony’s knowing gaze as he led you around the table, pulling out your chair for you before he took his seat next to you. Your parents took their own seats next to Violet’s head of the table, and you busied yourself adjusting the edge of the tablecloth, unable to even look at Anthony beside you.

“I apologize, Mother, for the delay,” he said. “Our conversation ended up lasting longer than I expected.”

Violet smiled and brushed it aside. “Think nothing of it, dear. You are right on time.”

Anthony spoke the truth, though it was wholly simplified—you could not even look him in the eye after all your mother had said. You did not ever plan on him knowing so many details of your childhood, but you ended up not having a choice in the matter.

He had come to charm your parents and escort the three of you to his estate—it was overboard for a normal suitor, but not for one that was purposefully trying to annoy you as well as completely earn the favor of your family. And it was certainly not overboard for a Bridgerton.

When Anthony arrived, his plan was to meet your parents, converse for a bit to get them fully on his side, and then your mother would fetch you and they would all be on their way. Instead, the moment he listened to your mother and sat down with her in the drawing room, she launched into an entire spiel, solely of you. Honestly, you were thankful you weren’t there, as you do not think you could have handled the embarrassment. Anthony, though, enjoyed it far more than he should have. He also had far more ammunition than he deserved, some of which he had already used against you in whispered conversations on the way here.

(You had already made a plan to get back at him, of course. The next time you were with Eloise in private, you were going to ask her for every single piece of information about her brother, even the most undignified shred. You were certain she would go along with it, and happily so.)

“Are you really going to marry our brother?” Gregory suddenly asked, and along with your eyes widening you felt the heat rush to your cheeks. You thought you were getting used to the idea of this whole thing, but as of now, it seemed you were doomed to the embarrassment each time someone brought up the marriage aspect.

“Not just marry our brother, Gregory,” Hyacinth said, “she will be our sister!” Her attention turned to you, all bright energy, and you could not help but smile the slightest bit. “I cannot wait, Y/N, truly! You must teach me to play the violin once you’re wed, please.”

“Sister-in-law,” Anthony corrected hastily, and you noticed his throat bobbing after a quick glance at you, “she will be your sister-in-law. And she will have other matters to attend to over teaching you to play instruments—if you wish to learn violin, I’m sure we can get you a teacher.”

“Do not be like that, Anthony,” Violet admonished, and she smiled at her daughter. “I’m sure that there will be plenty of time for you to learn things with Miss Worthing. That is,” she glanced over at you, “if she is alright with that.”

“Of course,” you nodded immediately. “I do not think myself the best teacher, but I would love to help you wherever I could. And please,” you smiled, “if I am to call you Violet, you must call me Y/N. Formalities are certainly not needed there.”

“What instruments do you know, Y/N?” Colin spoke up.

“I am most skilled at the violin,” you said, and when you looked at your mother she smiled, “but it is only through countless hours of work. Mother can tell you just how much of a disaster I was at the beginning.”

“Oh, do not say that,” your mother said, brushing it off with an offhanded gesture. “No one is an expert at the beginning—I dare say you picked it up quite fast. Is that not right, Philip?”

“Hm?” Your father’s attention was brought back by your mother saying his name, and he blinked a couple times before he looked at you. “Ah, yes. Yes, she did. Our daughter is very talented.”

You stifled a laugh at that. Whereas your mother was involved in your life at every twist and turn, your father was more focused on the family finances and keeping the Worthings afloat. It was an important job and you were ever grateful for it, but it left him with neither time nor energy to focus on much else.

(You also did not think he cared much for high society anyway—he wanted you to marry in order to secure your lineage as well as garner the protection that a good marriage would bring you, which explained his offer to Lord Cardew, but otherwise, he was hardly involved.)

“What else?” Gregory asked.

“Other than violin, I also know how to play the pianoforte quite well,” you said. “Beyond that is the cello and the viola, though my viola skills certainly need work.”

“Amazing,” Hyacinth breathed, and she looked at Violet. “Mother, you must let me learn more instruments! I'm growing a bit tired of the pianoforte."

“Because the pianoforte is boring,” Eloise contributed. “After listening to Daphne play it nonstop all those years trying to perfect it while she prepared for her debut, I can hardly stand the sound of it anymore.”

“Are you saying you do not wish to bear audience to my impromptu concerts anymore?” you asked, your scandalized tone a mockery.

“I am afraid so,” Eloise said, her austere words a joke as well. “I can no longer handle the noise of those wretched keys—it makes me want to plunge my knitting needles into my eyes.”

“Eloise!” Violet interrupted. “Do not say things like that!”

“Apologies, Mother,” she said, but the secret smile the two of you shared was hardly enough to stifle your combined laughter.

Benedict set down his wine glass and looked at you. “I must ask,” he said, and his slight smile set you at ease, “how have you and our dearest Anthony been getting along? You must be doing something right, as I can certainly attest that he has become more pleasant to be around since he began courting you. I must thank you for that, of course.”

Your smile grew as you looked over at Anthony next to you, and though he was trying to hide any sign of emotion behind the brim of his glass, you could tell that he was not as unaffected as he wanted you to believe. “Is that true?” you asked.

“Oh, certainly,” Colin spoke up. “The other day, we were having a family picnic in the park—Eloise stole a biscuit from him, and he did not even get annoyed. I believe it was the day after your dance at the Kennington’s ball. There has to be a connection there, right?”

“He was in a good mood there!” Benedict agreed, and he looked at you again. “Oh, after you separated, Anthony could not stop smiling. Y/N, I think he has smiled more than ever in the weeks he has been courting you.”

“Well,” you said, smiling yourself as you turned to Anthony, “I am glad to have been a source of happiness for you as of late.”

“Yes,” Anthony said, and he smiled as well. He looked to be doubling down in this, determined to not let you win in your little game. It was a shame, truly. “I am very thankful for your presence, Y/N; I’ve thoroughly enjoyed every moment together. You’ve been a—no, the light of my life. I’m not a poet in any sense of the word, so forgive me for being blunt, but I cannot wait to marry you.”

“Colin,” Eloise said, speaking up suddenly, and you were thankful for it as it took all of your strength to tamp down on your laughter, “weren’t you telling me earlier about how beautiful the mountains were during your visit to Greece?”

“Oh, they are amazing,” Colin said, and you could hear Violet sigh as a waterfall of information began to pour out of him. You assumed Eloise wanted just as much, as she gave you a very pointed look from across the table. You just smiled at her.

You looked at Anthony next to you as the conversation carried on without you, mouthing “very nice” with serious eyes. He responded by rolling his own, though unable to fully conceal his smile.

Friends, you surmised. It appeared the two of you were actually becoming friends.

“The light of your life?” you exclaimed, raucous laughter emerging after it. “Oh, Anthony—you are certainly becoming creative.”

He let out a small laugh as well, shaking his head some. “Can you blame me? Benedict and Colin seemed intent on embarrassing us completely, in front of your parents as well! I had no choice but to either give in to their teasing or double down on our love. And of course, I could not let my brothers get the better of us.”

The two of you had escaped to the outdoors once your dinner together was over—your parents had to retire for the night, your father claiming he had important business matters to attend to early the next morning and your mother citing plain old exhaustion. You requested a promenade with Anthony, purely so you could discuss everything that had gone on between the two of you, and they agreed with the promise that Anthony accompany you on the carriage ride home. You were meant to have a chaperone as well, but either by accident or purpose you ended up alone. Now, you walked throughout the greenery of the Bridgerton estate, barely able to get through your words without laughter alongside it.

“Of course,” you said sagely, “it was certainly a strategic move, complimenting me so. I don’t know what to do with myself, knowing that you actually don’t hate me.”

“I should be the one with that reaction,” Anthony said. “Whatever am I to do without your endless jabs at me? I may actually gain some confidence.”

“Oh,” you shook your head, “do not worry, my lord. I will always be able to humble you, even after we are married. It is one of my many talents; surely, you are aware.”

“Certainly so,” he said, but then he sighed. “The longer we go on with this, though, the more guilt I feel. The advantage of not having to deal with countless daughters is quite nice, and I’m thankful you get to avoid that lecher of a man. But,” Anthony shook his head, “seeing how my siblings reacted, I cannot help but feel bad for them.”

You bit your lip and nodded. “Hyacinth was overjoyed about it. The excitement in her eyes when she talked about my becoming her sister, and learning the violin…” You chuckled. “It is almost enough to make me want to go through with this in reality.”

“I know how you feel,” Anthony said dryly. “A marriage borne out of Hyacinth-induced guilt is certainly not out of her power.”

“Can you imagine when the reverend asks us for our vows?” you laughed as you straightened your posture and grabbed his hands, exaggerating your voice. “Anthony Bridgerton, I do not love you, but I do love your sister. I could not stand to see the sadness in her eyes if we do not go through with this, therefore I will marry you.”

He laughed again at that, and he squeezed your hands before he pulled away. “Be careful with what you say, my lady. You may not know this as an only child, but the magic that a younger sister holds is a mysterious one indeed. She has gotten her way many a time in this family purely by doing just that.”

“I do not doubt it,” you nodded. It was then that the two of you walked past a pair of swings, hung by ropes tied to a tree. You tugged at one of the ropes and looked at Anthony. “What are these here for?”

He smiled a bit. “My father and I built them together when I was younger—I couldn’t have been any more than ten. He had the idea to make them for us—not just me and the three other siblings that were there, but the future children that they planned to have. My father decided to make it himself rather than outsource the work to a carpenter or a servant, and I begged him to let me help. He let me, and even though all I did was walk around rope and tie knots, I had the most brilliant time.”

Anthony walked over and picked up a knot, one tied in the middle of the rope. “This is the first one I made. It’s completely useless, and honestly, it would have been better if Father just took it out, but he kept it there; he just worked around it when he had to string it all up. It looks like nothing—truthfully, it looks like a mistake, but it’s… it’s a priceless reminder of him. I’m thankful he left it.”

“That’s beautiful, Anthony,” you murmured. A moment of hesitation passed before you slowly reached out and, before you could doubt yourself, placed your hand over his as gently as you could. There was a moment of surprise, visible from the slightest flinch to his widened eyes as he looked at you, but it faded just as quickly, replaced by a feeling you couldn’t describe.

“It’s a part of him,” you said softly. “Proof of the time you spent together—proof that he was here, that he was with you, that he loved you. That he will always love you, even if he is no longer here. You are a part of that too, Anthony—do you realize? He lives on in you, in the way that you love and take care of your siblings.”

Anthony swallowed thickly, his throat bobbing as he looked at you. His gaze was the softest thing you’d experienced, the warmth of his hand enveloping yours as he turned his over to squeeze your hand. It felt like the world around you had stopped as you looked into each other’s eyes, your breath hitching in your chest both at the feeling of his hand on yours and the proximity that had gotten closer without you even realizing. It must have struck Anthony suddenly, because his eyes widened slightly and he pulled away, taking a few steps in the opposite direction.

The air returned to you as you put on your own distance, your eyes widening the same way as you realized what had just happened.

What had just happened?

“It is getting late,” he said hastily, “we should get you back to your estate.”

“Of course,” you agreed, nodding far too many times. “My mother is likely worried.”

“Of course,” he repeated, and Anthony cleared his throat before he looked at you. “I will send for a maid to accompany you when we get back to the house instead. We should—” he cleared his throat again, “I have things I need to attend to, unfortunately. Finances to go through, papers to sign.”

You nodded yet again. “That is for the best. That— that is smart.”

This time, it was his turn to nod. “Yes, of course.”

The silence hung in the air between the two of you for one long, charged moment, before you spoke.

“We should go.”

“Yes!” Anthony said, and before you turned to start walking you were able to see his frown, his thoroughly vexed expression. You felt the exact same way.

And as you walked back to the Bridgerton estate, the space naturally occurring between the two of you despite the strange atmosphere that had been created, the thought once again popped into your mind.

What had just happened?

sorry for tagging again but thats the way it is. i hope this works lol

perm tags: @dv0412 @siriuslyslyslytherin @maruchan77 @simonsbluee @kwyloz @masteroperator

bridgerton tags: @theonewithallthemilkshakes @rach2602 @milkiane @korol-lantsov

anthony bridgerton tags: @gwenebear @lurkymurker @likeballet

not so simple tags: @ifilwtmfc @readers-posts @fangirling-galore @funkydinosaurs @baby-i-am-fireproof @mess-is-my-aesthetic @likeballet @mdkfh @brezzybfan

#first of all let me just say #how i am so so glad to be in my anthony phase once more #BECAUSE THIS ?? MADE ME GIGGLED MORE THAT IT SHOULD’VE #how does one obtain their own anthony bridgerton ?#sighs in lovestruck #sara’s fic recs

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totomoshi · 2 months ago

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Me when y/n is acting like a literal fucking child for male validation

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totomoshi · 2 months ago

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random dialogue prompts #38

for adam ross please! there’s a severe lack of adam content out there

Random Dialogue - [ Adam Ross ]

Prompt: “You’re such a dork.” “Yeah, no wonder you’re so in love with me.”

Word Count: 707

Warnings: female!reader, fluff

A/N: idk if there’s much of an audience for adam out there but i love him so thank you to whoever suggested this! i hope you like it and i hope there’s others out there who do too

shoutout to @dumplingsjinson for the prompt list

Masterlist | Adam Masterlist

Waiting for test results was always slow and boring. There wasn’t much to do but stare at the screen and hope it went faster so you’d get the team one step closer to finding their killer, but unfortunately for all of you, these things took time. And a lot of it.

You couldn’t even do anything else whilst you waited as all your open case files were stuck in the waiting period as well. Same with Adam who was currently spinning in circles in front of his own screen, telling you facts about penguins of all things. You didn’t know exactly how the topic went from dirt trace found at the crime scene to penguins, but you weren’t exactly complaining.

You always loved hearing him ramble on about things that made him happy and if penguins happened to do that, then let’s just say you’d be stopping off at the store on your way home to buy him a stuffed one.

“And did you know that penguins adapted to fly underwater…” Adam continued, his chair squeaking quietly beneath him as he spun in slow circles. “I mean how crazy is that? Flying underwater?”

“That is crazy.” You replied softly, unable to help but smile at him as you leaned against your table, your chin propped up on your closed fist as you stared at him with nothing but adoration in your eyes.

“Right? See, most birds have these hollow, air-filled bones to help them stay light for flying. But penguins, they naturally adapted to have solid bones instead, that way it makes it easier for them to swim and they don’t just float up to the surface again.” He finished with a little wiggle of his hand through the air, as though mimicking that of a penguin floating to the surface of the ocean.

You chuckled softly to yourself, shaking your head a little as you couldn’t believe just how many strange, yet interesting, facts swam about inside his head. Ones that he often passed on to you and that you even found yourself repeating to others without realising.

You’ll never forget the day you ended up in the elevator with Mac and began to tell him all about the difference between brown bear fur and polar bear fur. He’d only said good morning to you, yet he got a lot more than he bargained for when you opened your mouth. Not to mention when the elevator came to a stop and he simply said ‘you’re spending too much time with Adam’ before walking away, leaving you drowning in embarrassment as your relationship with Adam had been on the down low back then… Or so you both thought.

But now that you were both out to the world officially, you simply didn’t care if people told you that you were spending too much time with Adam, because if you could, then you’d spend every single waking moment of your time listening to him talk.

“You’re such a dork.” You breathed out, a soft laugh mixed in there somewhere as you straightened from your slouched position. You could see how Adam blushed a little and you heard his own, little, awkward chuckle escape his lips as he realised he’d been rambling.

But he also knew you loved it when he would talk about complete and utter nonsense when you were both waiting on test results, as, like you’d told him many times when he apologised for doing so, it made the long wait that little bit less boring.

“Yeah, no wonder you’re so in love with me.” He exhaled as he stretched his arms over his head, unaware that you’d gotten to your feet and were currently making your way over to his little corner of the lab.

It wasn’t until he felt your hands land on his shoulders did he know you’d moved, and when you placed a sweet, gentle kiss on his cheek, just above the lining of his beard, he couldn’t help but smile. And it was a smile that grew just that little bit more when your next words reached his ears.

“You got that right.” You whispered, placing another soft kiss on his cheek. “I am so madly in love with you.”

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totomoshi · 2 months ago

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woozi is so funny 😭

#and if i say brat woozi is my favourite what then ?#GODDDDD I NEED HIM IN MY LIFE SO BADDDD

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totomoshi · 2 months ago

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💔💔💔💔💔

#HE’S SOOOOOOO #😭😭#the way it makes him even more attractive is the problem atp #miss my silly wooahae man so much #jihoonie :(

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totomoshi · 2 months ago

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play dumb! ...not that dumb!

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totomoshi · 2 months ago

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woozi has spoken

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totomoshi · 2 months ago

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see the THING IS I don't feel like I ever worked hard enough to have "earned" the burnout, which is. probably how we got here.

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totomoshi · 2 months ago

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promises we intend to keep | steve rogers

Summary: The Avenger's spend time with their comatose friend, Cap's sanity slips from him as he spends every night by her bedside. Is blind faith enough?

Part 2 to things we shouldn't have said (prev. classic enemies to lovers stuff) // He sounded like an idiot, but he couldn't care less. // word count: 4.3k

enjoyed? please like/reblog! you can find my masterlist here <3

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“Hi, (y/n).” He settled himself into the chair next to the bed, the familiar antiseptic smell filling his nostrils, the beep, beep, beep of her heart like music to his ears. He had hated it at first, but now, it was evidence that she was still here. There was still hope. “I’ve got a break between meetings so I figured I’d come down and say hello.”

He leaned back, watching her peaceful features as unmoving as they had been for nearly a month now. He frowned at the wires connected to her neck and chest, knowing that if she was awake she would’ve hated that. Part of him wanted to rip them off, but his more rational thinking prevented him from doing that.

Dr. Cho’s words circled round his mind, as they hadn’t stopped doing since she spoke them all those weeks ago. “She’s not out of the woods yet. She died twice on the table, and requires all manners of intervention going forward. We’ll only know the extent of the damage when she wakes up –” The doctor had paused for just a second, trying to soften what was only certain to be a killing blow. “–If she wakes up.”

Every time he remembered those words, his knees felt as weak as Bambi on ice. The nausea he used to feel every time he entered this room had faded, and the shell-shock had worn. She still occupied every moment of his thoughts, awake or unconscious. Not that he had been doing a lot of sleeping.

He opened the book at the page he had last left off at, when Sam had come downstairs and dragged the Captain to bed himself last night. “Just to recap,” He spoke to her regardless of her response to him. “Laurie confessed to Jo, but she rejected him. Beth is still sick and boy, that’s rough.”

He cleared his throat and began reading aloud.

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“(Y/l/n), I’ve had enough now.” Natasha charged through the doors to where (y/n) lay. She threw herself down in the chair, leaning her head on her asleep friend’s shoulder, trying to gain what little emotional support she could from her usual source of sanity amongst the chaos of the compound. “The boys are driving me crazy. I think you’ve made your point; Cap is sorry – he’s very, very sorry, borderline depressed – so you can come back.”

She smiled a charming, pleading smile. But no one was there to see it. She dropped the smile after a few seconds.

“(Y/n), it’s hard without you here. No one’s the same, and Steve won’t accept any missions so we can’t even escape. Sam and Bucky are about to tear each other apart, and Cap just wallows in the gym whenever he’s not here with you.”

More silence.

“Anyways, Cap said that he wants someone here as much as possible. And we haven’t hung out in a while, so if you don’t mind we’re going to watch the new season of Love Island together.” She kicked off her shoes, stretching her legs over the hospital bed and getting comfortable.

================================================

The next visitor didn’t say anything as he walked through the doors, hovering by the foot of the bed. He uncomfortably brought his hands in and out of his pockets, shifting from one leg to the other.

He eventually moved beside the bed, reaching a hand out to her forehead, to get rid of a hair that had found itself there. He stood there, staring, in silence for a while longer. He swallowed, took a breath, and spoke out loud;

“Kid, I don’t know if you can hear me.” He paused. “You probably can’t.”

He paced around the room, continuing; “I just want you to know, I got your little letter. Really, more of a stunt, very childish – anyway. I want you to know that if that’s your wish, I’ll help you out in setting up. But I also need you to know that you’re going to have to tell me that to my face. So you’ll have to wake up.”

“Also, I’m your boss and your sick pay is running out, so chop chop.” He joked to himself. He basked in the silence for another second.

“It’s not the same without you, (y/l/n). Hope to talk soon.”

“Mr. Stark, Mrs Potts is requesting your presence in the kitchen.” FRIDAY chimed in right on time. He muttered a be right up, taking one last look at his young teammate, and walked out the doors.

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A month to the day since she was shot, Steve couldn’t sleep. Before the whole debacle, he would’ve just gone to the gym and fought it out of his system. But now, he couldn’t bear being anywhere but in the medical bay. He couldn’t even count the amount of times he had woken up in that chair, neck in excruciating pain, the book on the floor. Or, the amount of times Bucky or Sam or Natasha had come downstairs and marched him back to bed.

He couldn’t help it. The thought of her waking up alone, not knowing where she is, was his greatest concern – scratch that, his greatest fear was her not waking up at all.

He didn’t take the time to change into proper clothes, instead deciding to head down in his pyjamas – ones that she had complimented him on, once upon a time. Red flannel pants and a matching henley – she had described it as ‘lumberjack chic’ and then explained that that was a good thing. He hadn’t realised back then, but Steve now thinks she might have been flirting. He cursed how much of an idiot he was before this disaster.

He wished desperately he could turn back time to then. Before he decided the only way not to love her, was to hate her.

“It’s me, again.” He spoke, taking his familiar spot on the chair next to the bed. He yawned, getting himself more comfortable, flicking the blanket they had all collectively decided was required over his legs. “Now, where were we?” He picked up the book again, reciting words from the pages until it fell from his hand, loud snores from his mouth filling the room.

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When he awoke again, he was in the same familiar pain he always had when he spent too much time in the chair. This time he had fallen forward, his head resting on the bed and… his hand entwined in hers.

He sighed, giving himself the luxury of just a second feeling what he would never have. Her hands were soft, and smooth. Not like his own. They were warm, and comfortable, and something about her fingers holding onto his just felt right.

It wouldn’t be respectful to linger for longer than that, not without her knowing, but as he tried to pull his hand away –

Was that a twitch?

He stared at her hand, now more awake and alert than he had been all month. There was no way, he was definitely just going delirious through stress, or lack of sleep, or maybe his age had just caught up with him because –

A second twitch.

“Oh my god.” He glared daggers into her hand, as if that would do something. Maybe he really was losing his marbles. This was just wishful thinking. His heart feeling like it was about to thump, thump, thump right out of his chest. Do it again. Please, do it again.

When it happened for a third time, and he saw it with his own eyes, he could only make a noise that could really only be described as a squeal. On his feet in an instant, his hand finding its way to her cheek, cupping her face.

There was no other sign of life. He stared and stared and stared. “Wake up, (y/n). Wake up, I’m here.” He pleaded. The words tumbled out of his mouth before he considered them; “If you wanted to prove a point, consider it proven. You’re not a liability, you’ve never, ever been a liability.”

“Just wake up. I am so, so sorry for everything.” His thumb stroked her cheek, his eyes staring at her face looking for anything that might indicate she was coming back to him. “Just wake up.”

Nothing.

He sat back down, defeated. He had gotten his hopes up, and it all came crashing back down. He placed his hand firmly back on hers as he leant his head on the bed, wet patches forming on the sheets as saltwater leaked from his eyes.

====================================

“Cap, we’re not saying we don’t believe you —” Sam was interrupted.

Steve turned away from his friends, growing more and more frustrated with every sentence uttered. They didn’t believe him. She had moved. She was coming back, but no one would listen.

“You don’t believe me. I promise her hand twitched.” His jaw tensed, his stare as far away from his friends as he could get.

“Stevie, we believe that you felt something, but you have to admit, bud, you’ve been hardly sleeping and pushing yourself too far. Nothing was picked up on monitors, how would that be?” Bucky reasoned, sitting in the same chair where Steve had been so convinced she was waking up, just hours ago.

He had called them to the room as early as he deemed was responsible that day, and they had come running. Only to find their friend still asleep, and the captain with red eyes and bags under them that only seemed to get worse and worse the more they looked.

Sam sighed, hand reaching up to rub his temple. He had had a pretty consistent headache himself for a good couple of weeks. “Steve, I completely understand. We all want her back, but you can’t keep torturing yourself over this. She’ll wake up, just give her time.”

“Sam, it’s been a month – the doctor said if she was going to wake up it would take around a week.” Steve pleaded, the tears welling in his eyes again. He didn’t care anymore about hiding it from them. They already thought he was crazy anyway.

Sam placed a hand on his back as he wiped the water with the back of his hand.

“We’ll wait as long as it takes, but it has to be we. You can’t be here all the time, Steve. It’s no good if she wakes up and you’ve killed yourself from lack of sleep.”

“I don’t want to miss the moment she comes back.” He whispered.

Sam and Bucky made eye contact, pitying looks cast between them.

Bucky decided to speak, seeing Sam’s heartbreak at trying to reason with their normally solid friend. “Steve, you have to go to bed – don’t argue – but I’ll stay with her. I promise that if anything happens, I will let you know in an instant.”

Steve’s lips drew into a tight line, his eyebrows furrowed. Bucky continued; “Come on, just give me a couple hours, Stevie. I’ll chat to her, we’ll listen to music or something. I promise I’ll take care of her.”

“Come on.” Sam put his arm round Steve, gentle but firmly leading him away. He stole one last glance, as Bucky pulled out his phone to put on some music.

When the boys were finally away, Bucky turned to her. “You’re causing quite a ruckus, tiger. You always liked your sleep, but this is a bit much.” He laughed, leaning back in the chair. “There’s not much to say, kid – I know that the others have been talking your ear off. We need you back.”

He scrolled on his phone a little. Looking for the playlist she had shared with him – one to blend their music tastes. It was originally just for a mission they had to go on together, but turned into one of his favourite ways to bond with her. Music. He laughed again at the name: ‘Golden Oldie and the Wunderkind’ He remembered the day she had made up the name, they hadn’t stopped laughing for hours.

He clicked shuffle, smiling as I and Love and You by the Avett Brothers came over the speakers. “I know you like this song because it reminds you of Stevie.” He teased, but let it play out. He didn’t quite let himself sing, but he did mouth the words to his favourite verse;

That woman, she’s got eyes that shine, Like a pair of stolen, polished dimes. She asked to dance, I said ‘it’s fine– I’ll see you in the morning time’.

What he didn’t tell her, didn’t dare to say out loud, was that ever since he had mentioned to Steve that she liked the song, Steve had listened to it at least once a day. Particularly after they had their usual fights.

These idiots have a lot to figure out when she wakes up. He thought to himself.

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Bucky got a few hours with her, listening to their playlist, occasionally chatting about the song choices. He briefly tried to read the book on the side, but when he saw it was Little Women, he put it right back down again.

“Sorry, tiger. Not my vibe.” He chuckled.

The doors opened slowly, revealing a slightly-less-haggard Captain America. He had put actual clothes on, looked like he had slept at least a little bit and had even showered. Bucky gave a nod of approval, folding his arms and leaning back in the chair again.

“You feeling better?” Bucky asked his friend, who simply nodded in response.

Buck stood, knowing that Steve wanted to be alone with her right now. To not have the pitying looks thrown at him that Bucky couldn’t help but cast. He understood, he had been there.

“See ya, punk.” He gave a hearty smile before leaving.

Steve took his rightful seat, sighing before starting the same routine they had done over, and over, and over again. He was growing so sick of this chair, and the bed, and the beeping from the machines that didn’t seem to be helping at all.

He got through around half a chapter of Little Women, until he realised that Beth was going to die. He didn’t know how he hadn’t remembered, he had heard his mother reading this book all the way back in ‘35. He closed the book, finding death far too triggering, given the current situation.

Just closing the book wasn’t enough, it was like it burned him to hold it. He threw it across the room in a moment of fury. Frustration swept his whole body as he spiralled, down and down and down. He was ashamed of how out of control he had become. He had always been so rational, so measured. He was always the one people came to when they needed grounding – yet he didn’t know how to ground himself.

He rested his head on her arm, his sweaty palms holding her hand with a ferocity hitherto unseen from him. Like his damn life depended on it.

Maybe it did.

“Come on, (y/n),” He pleaded with the air. With God. With her. “I know you’re mad at me, just wake up and we’ll have another shouting match. Just like before.” A brutally defeated tone weighed down his voice, rough and gravelly from the effort of his bargain. He enclosed her hand in both of his own, leaning his head against them.

A cough.

He froze for a second, hiding behind her hand in his. The coughs continued, dry and painful sounding. Was there someone else in the room?

He took a moment to steel himself, peeling himself away from her hand, and staring at her, mouth agape like a fish out of water. “Oh my god.”

“Water.” She croaked.

He jumped up, the chair going flying backwards. He didn’t notice. With shaking hands, he poured the water from the jug on the bedside table into one of the plastic cups. He held it up to her dry, cracked lips, watching as she drank the whole cup.

“Be careful.” He spoke, instincts kicking in. “You’re on fluids, don’t overload your kidneys.”

She finished, her head laying straight back down on the pillow. He could see in her very brief movements that she was weak. He couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. Her eyes were barely open as she turned her head in his direction.

“Captain?” Her voice was rough as sandpaper, like she was straining just to get her singular words out. He just stared, incredulously.

“I’m here, sweetheart.” The pet name rolled off his tongue like he had always said it, and he didn’t even notice. “Oh, my god. You’re awake. I’m here. Don’t worry, I’m here.”

He had practiced over and over again, what he was going to say to her when she woke up. Thought about it for entire nights when he couldn’t get to sleep. His plans had been poetic and perfect – they were not ‘oh my god you’re awake.’ He sounded like an idiot, but he couldn’t care less.

Her eyes opened, slowly, and she looked around the room. “What happened?” The words were still a struggle to get out and he could tell. He wanted to tell her to rest, to save her voice for later, to recuperate. But he hadn’t heard that sound in so long, that he let himself be selfish – just one more time.

His own mouth when dry at her amnesia. She knew who he was, which was good. But not knowing how she ended up here was a bad sign.

“What do you remember?” She was growing restless at lying down, and she was in so much pain. It felt like her whole body was made of stone, but she used all of the strength she had in her to try to sit up.

She was met by gentle hands, guiding her up and placing pillows behind her to support her. Hands that belonged to her once arch-nemesis, who looked at her now like she was the only thing that mattered in the world.

She was so confused.

“I remember arguing in the forest.” Her eyes were wide with what Steve could only decipher as panic. “I don’t remember anything else… Why am I here?” The scared tone in her voice broke Steve’s heart all over again, but it could not take over the elation he felt at the fact that she was there.

He took a deep breath, briefly considering what he should tell her, considering all the events of the last month, in particular, that day. One of the worst days of his life.

“You were shot through the chest.” He began. “It knocked you out instantly, we barely got you here alive.” He ran his thumb softly over the back of her hand, unable to make eye contact. “You- you’ve been asleep for a month.”

He decided not to tell her of the fact she had died on the operating table. That could wait.

“A month?!” She shouted, resulting in another coughing fit. He helped her drink some more water, making soothing noises as she did so. It all felt so surreal. Every minute of every day since that moment, he had wished for this. And now it was happening. She was awake, and talking.

Her voice started to clear; “Are you okay? Were you hurt?”

“No. Please, don’t worry about me. You saved me from being shot right before you went down – it was my fault you got hurt.”

“I don’t think that’s right.” She contorted her face into a puzzled expression, looking down at his hand, clasping hers. She said it as a mix between a statement and a question – “We’re holding hands?”

“Yes, um. I’ve been waiting for you to wake up and your hand twitched a couple of days ago so that’s why – sorry, I’ll stop-”

As he tried to untangle their hands, she closed her fist and prevented him from doing so. He watched her chest rise and fall quickly, her eyes wide.

“Please, don’t.” Her words were like a child’s as her nostrils flared. She was uncertain. He wasn’t sure he had ever seen her uncertain before, not even a flash of hesitance had danced across her features as far back as he could remember. “It feels nice.”

Maybe, he just wasn’t paying enough attention.

“Then I’ll keep holding your hand until you ask me to stop.” He promised. A gentle, sincere smile took over his features, which she tried her best to replicate. He observed her face, drinking in the colour in her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes.

It was a stark contrast to how they had last left off – the image replaying over and over again in his mind of her clinging to life, blood leaking from her mouth, her nose, her chest. The inky, sticky red coating his suit and his hands and his shoes. So much blood, endless. Sometimes he still felt the slick heat of it all over him. He wasn’t sure that he would ever be able to scrub that feeling from his memory.

“Where are the others? Are they okay?” (Y/n) asked, looking around the room at the various bunches of flowers and cards littered upon every surface. Steve had completely forgotten the others existed in his complete shock at her return.

He winced, knowing he should have called for them immediately. “They’ll be so happy to see you.” He spoke directly to her, and then to the ceiling; “FRIDAY, let everyone know that (y/n) is awake.”

“Yes, Captain.” The irish lilt came from above.

It was mere seconds before the doors came barrelling open, the entire team funnelling into the relatively small room, crowding around the bed and exclaiming various different versions of ‘Oh my god’, ‘You’re awake’, ‘Holy shit’. The room was absolute chaos with an unmusical cacophony.

This was allowed to go on for a few minutes, before the on-call doctor, someone (y/n) had never seen before, rounded the corner. “Okay, okay!” He shouted, “This is too much for the patient, I want everyone out – you can come in smaller groups.”

Everyone grumbled but did as they were told, each taking their chance to say ‘call if you need anything’, ‘see you later’ or ‘we’ll come back with sweets’. Bucky ruffled her hair and Natasha pressed a kiss to her cheek, muttering about how a certain Captain would be looking after her. She didn’t really understand what it meant, but a blush spread to her cheeks anyway.

As the last of them filed out, Steve turned to her and asked; “Do you want me to stay?” A certain vulnerability sewn into his question.

“Yes.” She answered far too quickly. “Please, Captain. If that’s okay.” Her voice seemed to get smaller and smaller as she spoke. “I don’t want to be alone.” Her grip on his hand tightened, both a demand and a question contained within it.

How on Earth could he say no to her? Her wide, gorgeous eyes searched his face for an answer, which he gave by settling further into the chair, pulling it even closer to the bed, if that was even possible.

“Like I said, as long as you want. I’m here, you’re not alone.”

They sat in silence for a while, the Captain not taking his eyes away from her face.

“(Y/n).” He had to tell her, now or never. He wouldn’t risk something like this again, things going unsaid. “I hope you know how sorry I am for what I said, all those weeks ago. It’s not an excuse, but I realised all this time I’ve not hated you, I’ve …”

She looked at him, her lips parted. Her messy hair splayed in a way where the fluorescent lights caught it, making it look like a sort of pseudo-halo. He knew it, right there and then. This was it.

“I’ve loved you. Since the moment we met.”

A shocked expression on her face moved slowly, her open mouth contorting into a soft, loving smile. She squeezed his hand, bringing her other arm over to hold it as well. Just more contact. That was all she needed.

“Steve, I feel the same.” She was still playing with his actual name, not ‘Captain’ or ‘Rogers’ or a sarcastic ‘Cap’. He couldn’t believe how it sounded coming from her – like it was a new name altogether. Like a song he was discovering for the first time.

He couldn’t help it now, he beamed. “You do?”

She nodded, licking her lips. They were so cracked, and dry. But she didn’t care.

“I– I can’t lean over to you, but… I would love to kiss you right now.”

He didn’t waste any time. Up and out of his seat in an instant, crossing what little distance was left between them. His hands reached her cheeks first, cupping them ever so softly. They breathed together, just for a second, his eyes flicking to hers almost to make sure she knew what she was doing.

And then his lips were on hers. The kiss wasn’t like she had imagined – it wasn’t dramatic, wasn’t angry, wasn’t sudden. It was calculated and gentle and passionate. It was everything she could ever have hoped for.

They pulled apart, Steve knowing that she wasn’t strong enough to hold her breath to kiss her as long as he wanted to. His hand stroked her cheek, his eyes staring into hers. He rested his forehead against hers for a second, before moving up and pressing a kiss to it.

The look in his eyes was one of love, happiness and admiration.

“I think I’ve wanted to do that since we met.” He admitted, breathless from excitement. They smiled at each other wordlessly, growing used to the looks between not being ones of glaring and daggers, but of kindness, and warmth.

The only sound was the steady beep, beep, beep of her heart rate – a sound he had definitely decided he loved. They stayed like that for hours, before she started to fall back asleep – to rest, this time.

“Will you be here when I wake up?” She asked, as she slipped back into slumber.

“I promise.” And nothing on Earth could stop him from keeping it.

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TAGS -- I've tagged everyone who requested a part two! You guys really keep my motivation up so I hope it's done you justice <3. This will be the last part for now, but I'm thinking of setting future domestic fics in this universe!

@haven-in-writing @marvelouskatie @veryaverageapple @ironwinnerwonderland @ohdrey89 @waqtzayaontmblr @shygamergirl01 @starkenobi @ynstark

p.s. please please listen to 'I and Love and You' by the Avett Brothers if you haven't before -- it's so Steve and is such a lovely song.

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