#a very fine line indeed

[blossom-hwa]

a very fine line, indeed [1] | c.bg

pairing: Beomgyu x fem!reader genre:  fluff, angst, enemies to lovers, regency era!au, nobility!au warnings: attempted assault, mentions of abuse, cursing, period typical misogyny word count: 6.3k notes:  — updates every M/W/F at 8pm EST until the series finishes — assault/abuse scenes are not graphic, but please heed the warnings and let me know if any of it is romanticized or just written in poor taste--I assure you I did not mean it, and I will fix anything needed. — inspiration taken from an amalgamation of different bridgerton stories - let me know what easter eggs you find! — story takes place in the same universe as my duke!yeonjun and earl!taehyun fics - check out the link to the series below for some more easter eggs :) In a society where it only takes a year for a young woman in search of a husband to be considered out of season, it is no wonder that by your third year out, you are desperate to marry. Known as one of the beauties of the ton, such a task should not be difficult for you—but with an absent father, no dowry, and a reputation centered around your inability to keep your mouth shut around one certain Beomgyu Choi, your prospects are more limited than you’d like. While you cannot recover your family or your wealth, however, the one thing you can try to control is your reputation. So when the third season rolls around, you resolve to keep your distance from Beomgyu Choi, your childhood enemy, and the man you hate most in the world. Enter Beomgyu Choi, second son of the Kensington Viscountcy, one of the most eligible bachelors in the ton. His older brother, cousin, and good friend have all recently married, leaving the mamas to salivate at his doorstep for the chance of marrying one of their daughters to him. When Beomgyu walks in on a particularly traumatizing moment between you and one of the most unsavory men in the ton and learns of your desperation to marry, despite your history of enmity, he proposes you a devious deal—to pretend to court you. It seems like a winning situation for both of you—more gentlemen will take notice of you, enhancing your prospects, and he will have the ton’s mamas off his back—and so, despite your misgivings, you agree. With you hell bent on marriage and Beomgyu completely indifferent to the concept, even independent of your hatred for each other, it seems unlikely that any sort of true affection will bloom. But as you begrudgingly put aside your differences to spend more and more time in one another’s company, and as you grow to know each other beyond your ill-conceived preconceptions from childhood, you begin to realize that perhaps you two have more in common than you had once thought. And as your faked acquaintanceship becomes more truth than fiction, a friendship beginning to bloom most unexpectedly— Perhaps you no longer need to convince the ton of the veracity of your courtship, because anyone with eyes can see that it is true.  Part 1 >> Part 2

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By the end of the night, you think you might murder someone.

It’s not the party’s fault. Lady Arina Park always hosts the first ball of the season, and in the three years you’ve attended them, not once has it ever been a disappointment. Her taste in decoration always sets the tone for the months to follow, and she is the most wonderful hostess—crotchety, kind, and always brimming with wisdom to impart. 

She might be one of your favorite people in the ton. 

Unfortunately, you cannot only talk to one person the entire night, and given your own reputation, you’re not sure you even have the social right to speak to her this season. See, it was never the party that was the problem. 

It is the fact that you have attended now three times in three different years, each without a husband. 

This is a fact that seems to dog you everywhere you go. Beautiful, sharp-tongued Miss L/N is going yet another season without a man on her arm—or at least a serious man on her arm. Never mind that you have had two proposals, both of which you turned down quietly and did not announce out of sympathy for the man’s reputation. You might be on your third season and desperate, but you rather think you’d prefer to become a spinster than marry either of those who asked for your hand. 

Lord Kierston was nice enough, if absentminded. You genuinely might have said yes to him if not for two things—his rotten breath (you have no idea what he could be eating to have such horrid breath all the time), and the fact that he is over the age of forty. 

You are barely one and twenty. And while there have been married couples with greater age gaps than that, you wonder if it is truly too much to hope to find someone nearer your age.

As for Mr. Thompson…he wasn’t even nice. He was rude, and arrogant, and during his proposal blatantly said that you would have to accept him as with your lack of dowry and snide personality, you had no choices elsewhere. All facts for certain—your dowry is nonexistent, your character is not one that endears many to you, and at the time, no other men were seriously courting you so it was true you had no other options. But you could still be a spinster, you let him know. And you would far rather be old and unmarried than tied to a man such as he. 

He looked almost murderous when you said that, which was why you’d excused yourself quickly after. You may consider yourself cleverer than most, but you are no fool. You thank your few lucky stars that your family left for the country just a few days later at the end of the season and you haven’t seen him since. 

But now you are back in town, with a fresh new crop of debutantes to outshine your wilting, rotten personality, a father trying to drum up business abroad, an evil stepmother breathing down your neck, and possibly a Mr. Thompson to run into. Not to mention Lady Whistledown with her peacock feather pen and watchful monocled eye, carefully waiting to elaborate on your futile prospects with her sharp-tongued words. 

Not that you know if she uses a peacock feather pen or a monocle. As far as your knowledge stretches, no one in the entire ton save the writer herself knows who she is. But you’ve always imagined her with such things. Ridiculous to the max. It makes it much easier not to strangle someone after you read her words about you. 

God, you’d care so much less about her gossip column if she wasn’t so damn good at writing it. 

You wish you were still in the country. Lady Whistledown wouldn’t see you there, and her gossip column would never reach your home. In fact, the only reason you’re certain she isn’t part of your sparse circle is that your spat with the younger Lord Choi at the garden party last year took at least two weeks to be broadcast in London after you came back for the season. Someone had to feed her the information before she could issue it, including your now infamous quote about how you’d like to slit his throat with his own letter opener. 

Your stepmother yelled at you for hours over it. You were sentenced to a week of nonstop chores and none of the few servants still in your family’s employ were allowed to help. Yet at the end of the day, Lord Choi the Younger is a menace to you and to society, and so you privately still stand by your comment. 

Lord Choi the Younger. Mr. Choi, when his brother is in the room. Annoyance. Menace. The devil in disguise. All apt nicknames by which to call Beomgyu Choi, one of the most annoying people you’ve ever met. Which, unfortunately, brings it all back to here and now, because apparently he is in attendance at tonight’s party. 

And hence why by the end of the evening, you might be locked up in jail for murder. 

Last season after the horrible garden party, you took very, very great care not to end up in the same room as the younger Lord Choi. For the most part, you succeeded. You couldn’t always avoid him—the ton is only so large—but the few times you had to come face to face with him you managed at least one minute of civil conversation before it turned into thinly-veiled verbal sparring that you thankfully had the self-control to bow out of sooner rather than later. But apparently people found your little spats amusing. A source of entertainment. And Lady Whistledown has remarked more than once since then that it would certainly liven up the endless parade of balls and parties to see a showdown between you and Mr. Choi once more. 

You’ve been at this ball for hardly two hours and already almost everyone who’s spoken to you tonight—even Lady Arina Park!—has found some sly way to allude to a possible catfight between you and Mr. Choi to bring down the house. And unfortunately, experience tells you that in the heat of the moment, you care about getting the last word in with Mr. Choi far more than you care about your precarious reputation. 

You do so hate to disappoint the ton, about as much as you love it when your grievances are aired in public via the Whistledown gossip column. And it does so truly break your heart not to be the sole source of entertainment at Lady Park’s annual ball. But this is your third season out and you need to be married soon, so when you see the man himself wearing that annoyingly bright smile and surrounded by an annoying number of young girls and their mothers, you make the first excuse you can to duck out of the ballroom and make a beeline for the gardens, where you find yourself in sudden silence. 

Sudden, but not altogether unwelcome. The night air feels comforting on your face, wind breezing softly against your skin. You hadn’t realized how hot the ballroom was until you came out here. You settle on one of the benches in the garden and fan yourself with a hand, letting the cool air bring you back to the moment. No one else is out here as far as you can tell. You can relax, if only for a moment.

For a few minutes you just sit in the moonlight, your face tilted to the sky, letting the cool air kiss your cheeks. It would be lovely to just stay out here all night, you think. Away from the people, away from the stares, away from the crushing anxiety that no one will ever want to marry you and you’ll have to live at home with your horrible stepmother forever—

A branch snaps. Your eyes fly open. And all of the anxiety returns, with a healthy dose of fear, when you see Mr. Thompson looking at you from the other side of the garden. 

For a long moment you just stand there. Looking at each other. All of the night’s beauty has been forgotten, its comforting silence turned threatening in light of the knowledge that you are a young, unmarried woman alone with a man in a garden. 

Scandals have been made out of less. 

“Mr. Thompson,” you say in as flat a tone as possible. “I apologize. I was just leaving.”

“Now don’t leave on my account, Miss L/N.” His mouth twists in what looks more like a sneer than a smile and he takes a step toward you. You take a step back. “It is lovely to see you after a summer away. Your beauty hasn’t diminished a bit with your age.”

You almost snort. Exactly how much does a person change in one summer? “Apologies if I don’t quite take your compliment, Mr. Thompson. I was not under the impression we were on speaking terms after last season.”

“We never spoke again because you left for the country.” That sneer-smile grows wide and you start calculating how much of a head start you’d need to flee into the ballroom before he caught you. “If it were up to me, I would have proposed again, after you had had the time to consider it.”

This time, you do snort. “With all due respect, sir, after an entire summer to think about it, my answer remains the same.” You still your features into a cold mask and pray, even with the sinking feeling of dread in your chest, that he will go away. “I will never marry you, Mr. Thompson. As I aptly put during your first proposal, I would rather become a spinster than entertain the thought.”

His eyebrows draw in. You’d think the sight was comical if his eyes didn’t glint with menace under the moon. “Do you really think yourself better than me?” he snarls. “You should be thanking me now, for offering you this second chance.”

You laugh incredulously. “Thanking you? For what?”

“I’m your last hope.” He advances so quickly you almost trip on the hem of your dress as you stumble backward. You try to hide the panic rising in your throat as you glance at the house—still full of light, still full of gaiety while you’re trapped outside by the night and this man. “No one wants you, Miss L/N.” He lunges forward and you gasp, his hands uncomfortably tight around your wrists. “Not a single one.”

“Let go of me,” you snarl. “Let go of me—get off me—”

“Not—” He grunts as you stomp on his foot, but doesn’t let go. “Not until I have what I want—”

You manage to free an arm and before you can think, your fist careens through the air straight into his face. 

For a long moment you just stand there, barely able to breathe, the thump of Mr. Thompson’s body falling to the ground playing over and over in your mind. Your heart is pounding and your breath is coming out in short gasps and your fist throbs with pain. A sort of buzzing sound fills your ears. The world starts blurring before you and vaguely you wonder if it’s just the night, or if you’re about to fall. 

“Miss L/N. Miss L/N!”

The sound of your name from a familiar voice breaks through the buzz and you blink, coming back to earth. It takes a moment for you to reassess the situation. 

Mr. Thompson is still on the ground. 

It does not look like he will be getting up soon. 

You are still physically unhurt. 

And there is a new third person in the garden with you. 

Oh, God. You resist the urge to bury your face in your throbbing hands. Not only did Mr. Thompson try to assault you, you also knocked him out with your own fist, and someone caught the two of you in the garden just after it happened. Or maybe even before. Maybe they saw it, saw everything—how much did they see? How badly will your reputation be ruined beyond what is already in tatters?

A hysterical laugh builds in your chest. All that comes out is a strangled whimper. You’ll never be married once Whistledown gets her hands on this. No matter that Mr. Thompson didn’t succeed in whatever he planned to do with you. All that matters is that you were alone with him in a garden at the first damn ball of the season and someone saw you.

Things couldn’t get any worse than this. 

“Miss L/N.” The familiar voice says your name again, this time accompanied by a cautious hand on your shoulder. You flinch viscerally but it doesn’t leave. “Miss L/N,” it repeats, considerably lower than before. 

You shut your eyes hard. Open them. You try to take a breath and only just manage to stifle a strangled half-gasp before it leaves your throat. You’ll have to face your fate at some point when you beg for this person not to immediately spread this juicy piece of gossip to every person in the ballroom. With heaven’s mercy, they’ll take pity on your situation and leave some details out of the story. Or at least not embellish what they already saw. Praying silently to the hopefully-merciful heavens, you slowly turn around. 

And then you curse out loud. 

“What in God’s bloody name—”

You were wrong when you thought things couldn’t get any worse, because the man standing before you is Beomgyu Choi. 

The heavens must be having a good damn laugh at you right now. 

. . . . .

After what just happened, Beomgyu is honestly surprised that the first thing to come out of your mouth upon seeing him is a curse. Maybe he should be thankful, though. This probably means that you’ll come out of this all right. 

“Goodness,” he says as genially as he can, given your outburst. “I would have asked if you were all right, but based on your reaction to seeing me, I suppose you are just fine.”

“Mr. Choi.” You look and sound vaguely sick. Beomgyu gathers that you would rather be anywhere than here. “Apologies. I did not realize it was you.”

“I gathered about as much.” Now that he knows you’re fine, or at least standing upright, he steps forward to check on Mr. Thompson. Thankfully and regrettably, the man still has a pulse. Beomgyu wouldn’t purposely wish death on anyone, but if he had to choose one person in the entire ton he wouldn’t mind not seeing for the rest of his life, Mr. Thompson would certainly be one of the top contenders for the position. He looks back up at you. “Pray tell, Miss L/N, what is your first made of? Pure steel? You’ve knocked the poor man out.”

You look to be grinding your teeth even as you speak. “I had no intention—”

“I am not chastising you, my lady.” He smirks. “In fact, I must say I’m quite impressed.” Then he squints. “You’re not about to swoon, are you?”

A long silence hangs in the air before you mete out a very measured reply. “I am not going to swoon, Mr. Choi. And the next time you decide to say something just as inane, take very good care, or you might find yourself in the grass next to Mr. Thompson as well.”

He lifts his hands in surrender with a laugh. God, he might hate you and you might hate him, but it really is so much fun to spar with you like this. “A jest, my lady. I thought simply to lighten the air.”

You open your mouth to reply, then close it. Beomgyu watches in amusement as you close your eyes for a good few seconds—ten, if he’s counting correctly—before taking a deep breath. Good God, you really are making some strong effort to rein yourself in this season. “With all due respect, my lord, what are you doing out here?” you finally ask. 

Beomgyu raises an eyebrow. “I might ask you the same question.”

“You were the one who walked in on a private disagreement,” you snap. “If anyone should be asking questions, it should be me.”

“It didn’t look like a private disagreement as much as an entire physical altercation,” Beomgyu retorts. 

He expects a rapid-fire reply from you just as he always has, but instead you blanch. Your lips suddenly look too pale, entirely drained of color, and your eyes are fixed on Mr. Thompson’s prone body. He stands up. “Miss L/N?” he says quietly, slowly stepping toward you. “Are you all right?”

“I—” You turn to him but it doesn’t look like you see him. “Don’t tell anybody,” you whisper. Your breaths have grown shorter, more rapid, and he bites back a curse. You look like you’re going into shock again. “Please. I can’t—if Whistledown—if people know what he did—what he tried to do—”

What he tried to do?

Well, clearly now is not the right time to ask, and it isn’t that difficult to put the pieces together anyway from what little he saw—Mr. Thompson grabbing you, you punching him, your current shock. If Mr. Thompson was awake he might yet punch him again but he isn’t, so Beomgyu focuses on you.

“Miss L/N.” He gently puts his hands on your shoulders. Something in your eyes seems to focus and internally, he sighs with relief. “I will not tell anyone what I saw today in the garden. Not a soul.” He takes one hand off your shoulder to place it over his heart. “On my honor, I swear it.”

Something in his words must have rung clear. Your breaths begin to slow, and you manage to nod. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” It’s somewhat strange, comforting his sworn enemy since childhood, but oddly enough he isn’t too conflicted. Even if you spend most of your time annoying Beomgyu out of his boots, you’re a person too, and clearly Mr. Thompson wasn’t doing anything good in this garden. If anything, Beomgyu is a man, and he knows what the other entitled men of the ton sometimes do. No woman—no person—deserves to be subject to their horrific plans. Not a single one. He keeps his voice as gentle as he can as he leads you to a nearby bench. “Will you tell me what happened?”

He stays quiet as you mumble out a vague summary of the altercation. That Mr. Thompson had proposed last season and acted an absolute arse about it, that you thought you’d seen the last of him but he showed up in the garden when you left the ballroom for some air (Beomgyu saw you leaving just as he entered so he gathers he had something to do with your quest for air, but he bites his tongue just this once). That he had proposed—if it could even be called that—a second time, and when you repeated your original sentiments, he grabbed you by the arms and told you to be grateful. 

And then you punched him. 

Beomgyu nods slowly at the conclusion of your story. “First of all, I must apologize. Being the recipient of a proposal from Mr. Thompson could be nothing short of traumatic.”

For the first time that evening, the ghost of a smile flutters across your lips. It’s a very nice smile. You have always been beautiful—even Beomgyu will admit that—but you’ve never directed a smile at him like this. Likely because you’re always scowling at him instead. Which, given your history, is fair enough, but that doesn’t mean this still isn’t nice. 

“There is a reason I turned him down,” you mutter. “I may need to be married, but I still have my pride.” 

He raises an eyebrow. “You need to be married?”

You fix him with a dead stare. “Mr. Choi, I am not exaggerating when I say that if I don’t marry this season, I will go insane.”

Beomgyu blinks. “…Not even a little bit?”

You look away with a loud sigh, muttering something under your breath. Beomgyu doesn’t hear all of it but he does catch something about three seasons and hopeless and men.

He chooses to focus on the first bit, because he gets the feeling that the last two wouldn’t end up being particularly complimentary to him or his kind. “Three seasons?”

You give him possibly the worst stink eye of anyone he’s ever met. “Yes, Mr. Choi. This is my third season out. If I am not married by the end of it I may as well be a spinster, and to be a spinster in my stepmother’s home is not a fate I wish upon anyone.” You look down, fiddling with the dance card around your wrist. “I need to get married,” you say again, though more to yourself than him this time. 

“You need it this badly, then,” he says, half amused, half surprised. “So much so that you would exit the ballroom the moment I entered for fear of confrontation.”

Annoyance flickers back into your eyes. It’s a much more familiar expression than the one you were just wearing, and thus infinitely more comfortable to deal with. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Mr. Choi, every time we come into contact in public, the resulting altercation makes its way into Whistledown and, as such, everyone else’s lives. Forgive me if I am only trying to pick up the remnants of my already shattered reputation.”

Beomgyu snorts. “You seem to think it my fault that your societal standing has plummeted so. Have you ever considered it a matter of your personality, instead?”

Low blow. He sees it in your face, in the way your eyes shutter as soon as the words leave his mouth. Immediately he wants to slap himself. He should apologize, but before he can open his mouth to do so, you’re replying through very obviously gritted teeth. “I have, actually.” You fix him with a hard stare that reminds him why half of the ton finds you terrifying. “I would be a poor judge of my own character if I did not realize that I am at least as responsible for our disagreements as you are.” A bitter laugh escapes your lips and curdles in the air. “And it is not as if the ton hasn’t been gossiping about my temperament for years.”

Beomgyu stays quiet. 

You let out a sigh. “I have answered quite enough of your questions, Mr. Choi, so I beg you now to answer mine. Why are you here?”

“Avoiding people.” He eyes the bright lights still coming from the ballroom. Distaste curl his lip. “Mamas, mostly. I suppose they are people.”

You don’t smile, but at least the tension in the air seems to lessen somewhat. 

“They seem to have gotten it into their minds that I intend to marry this season.” He shakes his head. “Just because all of my other friends are married doesn’t mean I intend to so soon as well.”

“I wasn’t aware that Mr. Huening was married.”

“Oh, so you do pay attention to me?” Beomgyu snickers at your outraged expression but continues before you can retort. “He has returned to his home country and won’t be back for the season. Ergo, I get attention I don’t necessarily covet.”

You snort. “I wasn’t aware there was any sort of attention you did not covet.”

Beomgyu sneers. “Couldn’t I say the same for you?”

“You—I can’t do this.” You stand up and Beomgyu can practically see the anger shimmering off you in waves. “I shouldn’t be here, you shouldn’t be here, and I don’t want to be here when Mr. Thompson wakes and decides to take a pass at me again. It’s bad enough that the two of us are alone—” Your eyes widen in horror. “The two of us are alone.”

Beomgyu stands too. “I guarantee you,” he says lowly, “not a word of this will pass my lips to anyone in the ton.”

“Thank you, but that hardly matters.” You take a large step away from him. “You walked in on Mr. Thompson. Someone else could just as easily walk in on the two of us.” Your voice turns sardonic. “And I’m sure you have no wish to be married to the likes of me for the sake of propriety. Good night.”

Well, that’s certainly true. Just the thought of it makes Beomgyu shudder. If your current relationship is anything to go by, the two of you would never stop talking, never stop arguing…

Hm. 

Beomgyu’s eyes narrow as he watches your back disappear from the gardens. He would never want to marry you, it’s true. But if you’re having trouble attracting suitors, and he has too many women on his tail…

“Miss L/N.”

You turn around with a huff. “What is it now?”

Beomgyu grins. He might just be a genius. “I have a proposition for you.”

. . . . .

“This is a very, very bad idea,” you mutter. Then you look around sharply, because it wouldn’t do for anyone to think that you see hallucinations on top of all of your other less-than-choice characteristics. Even though you made sure to stray far from prying ears in this garden, it seems Lady Whistledown’s eyes are everywhere. 

An issue came out just this morning. You were relieved beyond belief that not a word about your and Mr. Choi’s accidental tryst in the garden was mentioned, though she did mention a terrible black eye and a murderous expression on Mr. Thompson when he reentered the ballroom. 

Mr. Choi had assured you a man such as he would never admit that a woman had bested him in a fight. You weren’t sure you believed him until you got the paper and Whistledown could only speculate about what had caused such a spectacular black eye—apparently Mr. Thompson had remained tight-lipped and snarly to anyone who dared ask. And as he hasn’t come banging on the door of your home demanding retribution, you can only conclude that he doesn’t plan to.

All the better for you. 

Fortunately, beyond some other vague mutterings about the other debutantes and who danced with who and who hogged all the lemonade, that was all that was said about Lady Park’s ball. Not a word about you. Not a word about Mr. Choi. 

Not a word about the idiotic deal he proposed as you were trying to leave the garden, and not a word about how you were idiotic enough to agree. 

You never quite believed yourself stupid. If you had anything to your name besides your beauty, you would say it is your wit (quite separate from your sharp tongue, which is not even close to a blessing). But when you woke up the morning after the ball, you really re-thought all of your previous conceptions of yourself, because what on earth possessed you to agree to the insane proposal Mr. Choi presented you that night?

Unfortunately, you know the answer to that too. 

Desperation. 

He’d presented his idea so reasonably. “You are searching for a husband. I want the attention of the ton’s mamas off of me,” he’d said, his tone so calm as words of madness left his tongue. “If I pretended to court you, men would take more heed of you, and the mamas would be discouraged from chasing after me.” He spread his arms in a show of his apparent genius. “Thus, the two of us might find some success in each of our respective endeavors.”

You could only gape harder the wider he smiled.

To your credit, you refused at first. “That is madness,” you had scoffed, turning back around. “Who in this ton would believe that the two of us are courting? Our arguments have become their source of entertainment. No one is going to buy that we now like each other enough to be civil in one another’s presence, let alone court.”

He was still undeterred, for whatever damn reason. So convinced it would work out by his own sheer force of will, like most men. “So we will come up with a believable cover story,” he’d replied easily, still with that unflappable smile on his lips. “Listen, Miss L/N. You are desperate, and I need an out. What do either of us have to lose from at least trying?”

Try as you might, you couldn’t cobble together an answer. Because he was right. You were desperate. You still are. If you have to live another year in your stepmother’s home, cleaning and gardening and playing maid while still maintaining appearances for the ton, you will go mad. Not mad enough to accept Mr. Thompson’s suit, but mad all the same. 

So you had agreed, and in the process lost a healthy chunk of your own self-respect. But you refused to spend another moment in the garden alone with him that night for fear of others seeing, so you two decided to meet at the outdoor musicale at the park a few days later to discuss the…logistics of this plan. There would be plenty of time for refreshment before and after the performance—plenty of time for the two of you to sneak away and find each other. 

So here you are, standing in the sunshine without the cover of night to hide all of your bad decisions. The longer you stand here, the more you’re beginning to believe this is all a major mistake.

But like Beomgyu has said multiple times, you’re desperate. You’ve tried being yourself for one season. You’ve tried reining in your sharp tongue for another. Neither worked. What’s the worst that can happen? You not being married for a third season in a row? Sick as the thought leaves you, it’s not as if you haven’t pondered the possibility many times already. 

Anyway, if your stepmother drives you too far up the wall, you’ll just have to run away. Find work as a governess somewhere, or a maid. Nothing could possibly be worse than her shrill voice ordering you to do this or that while she sits on her arse all day without contribution, your father still gone on some business call hundreds of miles away. Easier said than done, but a bad plan is better than no plan. Or so you hope.

In fairy tales, this is when the handsome prince is supposed to swoop in with a charming smile to come and save you, the poor damsel, from her distress. Unfortunately, you are not in a fairy tale, and all you have to save you is Mr. Choi and this ridiculous deal. 

What a world you live in.

“Miss L/N.”

You jerk your head around to see Mr. Choi pushing through some bushes a few feet away. A quick glance behind him confirms that no one has followed him here. “Mr. Choi,” you greet, already feeling your stomach roll. This is a terrible idea. “I wonder if it isn’t too much to hope that you have re-thought your ridiculous plan and intend to call it off now?”

He snorts. “Of course not. You should be on the floor, praising my genius.” Before you can reply with something scathing about his big head and nonexistent intellect, he continues. “Besides, no matter how ridiculous you think my idea is, you’re still here.”

How you wish you were here to just call it all off. Unfortunately, you are just as desperate as you were several days ago. “Unfortunately, my desperation is greater than my self-respect at the moment.” You look up at where he’s still standing in the grass. “Do you plan to sit?”

He sits on the green next to you, that stupid unflappable smile still on his face. You want to slap it off. “We need a cover story,” he begins. “You were right on that front. Which means at some point, one of us must have apologized first for the cake and dirt incidents from when we were children.”

“You apologized,” you say immediately. “You knocked my cake over first, ruined my new shoes, and it was my birthday.”

Mr. Choi scowls. “You threw dirt at me—”

You raise your voice over his. “It was my birthday, and you didn’t even apologize then—”

“I had dirt in my hair!”

“And my new shoes were ruined! Forever!”

The two of you glare at each other for a long, long moment. Then you stand abruptly. “Forget it,” you mutter, ready to head back to the party. “If we can’t even agree on this—”

“Neither of us apologized,” Mr. Choi snaps. “We just agreed to put it behind us.”

You turn around slowly. “…Fine.”

He gestures impatiently to the grass. You sit down again, resolutely not looking at him. Silence passes over the two of you for a long time before you force yourself to speak. “So how exactly did that happen?” you ask, voice rough. 

Slowly, the two of you hash out the details, though not without your fair share of sniping back and forth. After the last season, the two of you met at a gathering in the country. Having seen how badly Whistledown had written of you two, you agreed to put your old resentments behind you. You began exchanging tentative letters through the off-season and those letters increased in volume as time went on and you became friendlier. It was very surprising when Mr. Choi asked if he might court you at this season’s first ball, but you did not say no, and that brings you up to now. 

None of it is verifiable. That’s the only thing that makes you think this plan has even a shot at working. You two were at some gatherings in the country together, and ironically, because you did your absolute best to avoid him by hiding in different places, there are definitely some moments where the two of you could feasibly have been alone together and talked things out. As for the letters, they don’t actually exist, but no well-bred person would dare ask to see private correspondence. Hopefully. 

You work out a schedule for the next few months. He must call on you at some point, and you both agree you’ll need to be seen in public at least several times. At least one promenade every couple of weeks, and you will dance together at least once at each of the balls you both plan to attend. One call a week and if he cannot make it, he must send flowers. “A large bouquet,” you say, internally smirking at his expression. “You must act serious about it so that the other men will know they must outdo you.”

By the time you’ve argued and compromised and sniped it all out, the sun is almost directly overhead, and you need to return in time for the musicale to start. Mr. Choi stands and you don’t refuse his hand to help you up, a new grudging respect in your chest for him. If anything, he’s a good negotiator, not to mention a gentleman. “Shall we return to the musicale together, then?” he asks, offering his arm. 

You stare at him. “Already?”

He peers at you, eyes twinkling obnoxiously. “There’s no time like the present, hmm?”

While you were talking and snapping and quipping, you were able to ignore the voice in the back of your mind screaming that this is a terrible idea. But now as you look at his proffered arm, it suddenly seems to be all you can hear. 

Everything is going to go wrong. You’re going to make a gaffe because for all you can act nice and pretty around pleasant people, you cannot hold your tongue in front of people you dislike, Mr. Choi obviously included. Which means someone is going to get suspicious because of your mistakes. Which means people are going to start talking and eventually the truth is going to come out and you will be humiliated publicly more than ever before—because what idiot pretends to court their enemy in an effort to gain suitors—and bloody fucking hell, this was a mistake and you might as well run away right now—

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to yet.” Mr. Choi’s voice cuts through your spiraling thoughts, his words gentler than before as he lowers the arm. You hate that he can do that—can be going back and forth with you for hours without pause, then put it all on hold to respect you as a woman and a human being. It makes it really hard to hate him as much as you want to, and ironically makes you hate him even more. “I only thought it would at least explain our combined absence, in case anyone noticed.”

You swallow hard. “No, you’re right,” you mumble. “We should—we should start now. Sorry.”

Mr. Choi raises an eyebrow. “I think that’s the first time you’ve ever apologized to me.”

And there it is. You scowl. “Don’t get used to it.”

He laughs aloud, a sound that would be quite pleasing if you didn’t want to punch him in the face so badly. “I am sure I won’t,” he replies, a bite beneath his genial tone that ironically soothes your anxiety. Yes, even if you two go through with this, nothing will actually change between the two of you. You’ll always be annoyances to one another. “Now, are you ready?”

You take his arm gingerly. “It doesn’t quite seem like I have another choice.”

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

[variousqueerthings]

A striking demonstration comes from research investigating the risks people perceive from technological, lifestyle, and environmental hazards (like nuclear power, smoking, and ozone depletion). These studies routinely find that women perceive higher risks to themselves, family, and society from such hazards.

[...] Flynn and colleagues then subdivided the sample by ethnicity as well as sex, and discovered that one subgroup stood out from all the rest. Society seemed a significantly safer place to white males than it did to all other groups, including nonwhite men. 

[...] Flynn and colleagues then established that it was a particular subset of white males who were particularly cavalier about risks: those who, in response to the social justice movement’s currently fashionable suggestion to “check your privilege,” would take significantly longer than others to complete the task. These men were well educated, rich, and politically conservative, as well as more trusting of institutions and authorities, and opposed to a “power to the people” view of the world. A number of studies have now replicated this socalled “white male effect” with other large U.S. samples, and the research points to it being “not so much a ‘white male effect’ as a ‘white hierarchical and individualistic male effect.’” 

[...]

Interestingly, a recent study conducted in the more socially egalitarian and gender-equal Sweden failed to find the “white male effect.” This national survey of nearly fifteen hundred households found that, all else being equal—and in stark contrast with the U.S. data—Swedish men and women had very similar perceptions of lifestyle, environmental, technological, health, and social risks. 36 The survey found instead just a “white effect,” with people from foreign backgrounds, who are subject to social disenfranchisement and discrimination, perceiving risks as higher than did native Swedes

- Testosterone Rex, Cordelia Fine

(bolded by me)

[strangelittlestories]

After the occupation, the princess was confined to the palace.

Once a month she'd be taken on a walk around the city, heavily guarded of course, to show the people that she still lived. It also served, of course, as a reminder of what they stood to lose if they made trouble. The princess did her best go wave and smile and give the people what encouragement she could.

The rest of the time, her life was spent in musty rooms and dusty towers. She filled most of her time scouring the castle for materials which she would sew into more and more elaborate outfits, which she would show off on the days when she was allowed outside.

Indeed, the public loved their princess and her dresses so much they'd often sketch or paint them along the route and pass the images on so that all could see the princess at least was well.

This pleased the occupiers for two reasons. First: it kept the princess out of trouble. Second: it gave them a reason to sneer and they did love a good sneer.

"What a vain creature she is!" They would remark.

"Doesn't even care we murdered her brothers so long as she gets enough satin to make her little dresses!" They squawked.

This was unfair, of course, for to call her creations "little dresses" was to call Queen Murderfun the Needlessly Genocidal "a tad piquey". Her dresses were gravity-defying wonders lace and pearl. They were thunderstorms captured in velvet and waterfalls summoned in silk. She was a wizard with silk.

Still, she bore their mockery with a tight smile and careful deference.

"Please, good sirs, my home, my people and my city now belong to you. Let me keep, at least, this one last joy."

And they sneered and they crowed most unpleasantly, but they let her keep her sewing room.

Of course, they would have known their mockery to be doubly unfair had they realised the true purpose of the princess's elaborate designs. For hidden in the intricate embroiderings across her gowns, jackets and fans, the princess had encoded secret (and very detailed) messages. When she would go on her monthly walk, the city's loyalists would line the route, sketching down the patterns to decode later.

Thus did the princess transmit all the occupiers' secrets (unearthed while supposedly 'searching the castle for old fabrics') to the city and thus did she build her resistance.

On the day the revolution finally came, she girded herself in armour of thick spider silk and whale bone. She cut a fine figure with a lacy handkerchief in her top pocket and a razor sharp knitting needle keeping her hair up.

As she waltzed through the castle to open the door for her army, the Usurper King tried to stop her and she simply unfolded her handkerchief and showed it to him.

Upon seeing the impossible arcane pattern emblazoned across it, he fell to the floor with blood streaming from his eyes.

She always had been a wizard with silk.

---

Thank you for reading. If you'd like to support my writing, you can do so at https://ko-fi.com/strangelittlestories

[evilminji]

Okay, as I have mentioned, I'm Ace AF. And you know that plot line in kids cartoons where the alien or foreign Warrior Royalty just sort of *violently kicks down door in full armor* "We Will Marry."? I?? Always said:

"Sure!" (#OhThankFUCK!)

Like what do you mean "No"? The powerful, attractive, monarch that is very into you has travel a great distance JUST to marry you! Now you don't have to date! They seem nice! You can skip the whole "trying to find a life partner" awkwardness.

So, Sudden New Fiancee(tm) how we doing this? Blended customs? Two weddings? One in your peoples traditions, one in mine? Should we invite your family? Tell me more about yourself.

God, this solves just... SO MUCH for me? No having to make small talk. No "do they like me?" Or "am I reading the signs here right?" No failed dates! It's positively ideal! AND they announced why they were qualified, in a VERY impressive show of power and prestige, when they arrived! Good lineage AND accomplished!! Very nice.

Don't get why everyone's so upset.

Sure the "we leave at once" thing that usually follows would have to be discussed, but that's what you DO as spouses. Really guys, it's like you think I'm incapable of common sense here.

And you know who probably agrees with me? Damian Wayne.

Hell is other people, INDEED. You expect him to just... randomly go up to people and try Courting them? What do you MEAN it's "creepy" to compile portfolios on eligible individuals of worthy bloodlines? How ELSE is he supposed to know if they are worth attempting to talk too?!

There are BILLIONS of humans on this gods forsaken rock, Richard! Is he supposed to just GUESS? Gamble and hope for LUCK? This is a MARRIAGE not a "best friends club"!

Then? Danny showes up.

Gotham heard her baby talking. Heard her KING being harassed by clearly plotting Observants and power hungry ghosts MANY times his age. Connected some dots. Formed themselves a new OTP.

Danny says "Fuck It". Worst he can say is No. According to Gotham, he is neither Shy not the meek obedient sort. Is in fact, VERY stabby. So if he's not interested he'll no doubt be BRUTALLY clear about that.

So? Danny gets Fright Knight. Go get him a horse. Someone fetch Cujo some armor. He's been told the guy like weapons and animals.

TIME TO BE IMPRESSIVE.

He goes FULL Regalia. Armor of solid night sky. Cape of frost and stardust. Crown like crack in reality itself, through which the cosmos gleam and shift. He gets a horse from the far frozen. They're wooly and carnivorous. Gets THE most impressive sword he can find to wear.

It's gonna be a gift, since he doesn't need it.

He does the whole "rend the skies open" thing. Fan fair and knights. Every title he's ever been given, no matter how embarrassing he find them in reality. And announces his intentions. Declares that ONLY Damian Wayne, aka. Robin, is WORTHY to Marry Him. And (in the traditional Ghost proposal of "either accept or tell me to fuck off" /w violence) Demands Damian accept his offer of Marriage.

Right there.

IN THE WATCHTOWER.

In front of EVERYBODY. And yes, ESPECIALLY the Bats. Who are making glitching, vaguely threatening DEMONIC NOISES. Because? You... you THREATEN the BABY? Death. Ten thousand years DEATH.

People are :O ing and backing away from the visible heatwave of unadulterated FURY being put off by Batman. Danny is nano-second from every bone his ANCESTORS had being reduced to a fine paste.

Then? Damian consider him... considers the sword being thrust in his direction, still held aloft in a steady and armored hand... contemplates those titles for a second...

And goes: "Acceptable. Very well, but I have demands."

N..... Nani the FUCK? Says local Bat-Dad. No??? You are NOT GETTING MARRIED.

Try to stop him. He very obviously IS, according to Damian, the man brought him a kick ass sword and has a giant green dog. Is the king of an ENTIRE REALITY. Yes, he realizes he probably COULD do better... but frankly? This one's cute. But if it upset you so... extended engagement. There. Happy?

NO! Because the JLA Dark are LOSING THEIR SHIT. Damian is still UNDERAGE. We don't even know how OLD this being is! NO MARRIAGE.

Damian is unimpressed. A whole six months? That he's likely already LIVED thanks to various timeloops, temporal shenanigans, and reality warping bits of fuckery? You're reaching.

Just? Marriage Meet Cute.

@hdgnj @ailithnight @the-witchhunter @nerdpoe

[lilacstro]

☆relationship advice and attachment styles for your rising sign☆

back with another post, its been a little while indeed and I hope you all are fine. send post suggestions :)

Paid readings open

support me on ko-fi :)

⭐Aries Risings: With Libra as your DC, it is very possible to have attachment issues to your partner, you may actually be the one who stays even when the scales are unbalanced and when there is not and equal give and take in the relationship, there could be people pleasing tendencies around your partner in the sense like everybody could tell you your damn amazing but you would still probably want that validation from your partner. There can be a tendency of wanting to show the best all the time and this can potentially lead to unauthenticity in your relationships, there is a need to embrace your imperfections, and if your partner does not value you for who you really are, it is the time to leave! Attachment style: Anxious

⭐Taurus Risings: With Scorpio as your DC, its very possible that you become very protective, and almost a little too observant of your partner. There can be a tendency to over analyze things, wanting to read between the lines and shutting down instead of communicating or probably becoming extremely intense when things probably could have been somewhat lighter and easier to communicate. There is intense feelings, and sometimes it can become hard to move on from your partner even when you know you should, you could actually become destructive and fall into a mental hole. There is a need to heal the attachment styles and love from the possibility of loss. Nothing is eternal, afterall. Attachment style: Anxious

⭐Gemini Risings: With Sagittarius as your DC, it usually happens that you see things with too much hope, rose coloured glasses until....those fall out themselves because it suddenly is not exciting anymore. It is possible that you feel the need of something needing to "happen" in the relationship for you to be able to feel its working when its absolutely not like that. Learn to embrace the little things, the silence in the relationship, that is what those moments are about after all. There is indeed a need to slow down, you could be someone who runs away from deeper feelings and prefers to keep things "light" or at the extreme opposite, become extremely philosophical and look things in somewhat unrealistic manner. Attachment style: Avoidant

⭐Cancer Risings: With Capricorn as your DC, it again tells me you could be someone who measures their worth to what they can provide for their partner and even vice versa most times. Relationships are transactional indeed, but they are not transactional to extreme details. It is important to understand that you do not need to go beyond your capacity for someone and neither expect someone for the same either. You are supposed to love and be loved without having to worry about if you are "giving" or "receiving" enough. You could again be someone who does not want to appear weak or submissive, you most probably want to be "clean" but this is not how things are in love, they do get messy but eventually sort themselves. There is a need to work on your emotional capacity. Attachment style: Anxious-Avoidant, Disorganized

⭐Leo Risings: With Aquarius as your DC, it could be that not everything seems deep enough and you may struggle to find meaning, and connection with your partner and your relationship. You may be attracted to partners who are different, and new, and amazing but you, yourself could have problems in accepting that uniqueness sometimes, because more that you want "fun" people, there is a desire for your relationship to be socially acceptable, to be able for others to admire your partner, as much as you admire them and this can again be fatal, for your partner is for you, and not for other people at all! It is yet again possible to probably go back and forth between being sure, and often times this can send a bad signal to your partner. Attachment style: Avoidant

⭐Virgo Risings: Women I have seen with this placement are often "bob the builders" and would do anything to "repair" their partners and relationships until, they have had enough. Then they do not care, and that is because their is an emotional detachment that transcends everything. Anyways, with a Pisces DC, you could actually "fail" to see your partner for who they really are, being in delusion or misconception, and often times being extremely emotionally attached, to a point that your partner may keep hurting you and you may try to heal them. There is a need to "break" cycles and be brave, know and be aware what a powerful person you are, and this amount of unconditional love is not deserving of everybody. At the same time, you could be extremely sensitive in the sense of being really hard to pin down and understand. You could want things to be understood, without making them obvious, without stating them and that can be an issue. There is a need to work on seeing things with clarity and for what they are actually making you feel like at the moment and not in past and future. Attachment style: Anxious

⭐Libra Rising: With Aries DC, it is possible that you are extremely fiery, passionate and extremely in love with your partner, but that energy can wear off very soon since it could very well run out, or become inconsistent, especially based on your moods and feelings. It is important to love your partner all the time and through all your moods and feelings, it is possible that you give someone the reputation of being a "love bomber" though this might not be so at all (not that love bomber insta reels song playing in my head lmfao) It is possible that you look for "I" in a "we" when in a relationship. This is ofc super subjective and there would be different scenarios, but little things like, "I got hurt in the fight we had" and failing to see that the other person suffered equally. There is a need to slow down, since you may really not attach yourself "too much" because you may feel its going to end anyway. There is a need to heal that, you need to show up and be honest and consistent to your partner through all, to be able to expect the same reciprocation you seek. Attachment style: Avoidant.

⭐Scorpio Rising: With Taurus as your DC, it is very possible that you become somewhat "territorial" over your partner. While that may be out of pure love and innocence of losing them, or wanting to keep them all to yourselves, it can feel isolating and probably even manipulative to your partner. Not only that, it makes you become extremely emotionally clingy or attached to your partner when that is not really a good idea, since this gives your partner the power to manipulate or even use you to their will. You maybe someone who believes in concept of "investment" of their time and energy so its not possible to leave, and maybe also because you saw forever with this person and you wanna stay with them through all times, but its important to understand when your partner is going through a rough time and when he is instead giving your relationship a tough time. Be willing to leave when necessary, do not stay stuck just because. Attachment style: Anxious

⭐Sagittarius Rising: With Gemini as your DC, you are very likely to be someone who catches feelings over "words" and normal flirts lmao. Anyways, it is yet again important to not fixate over what someone "promised" or what they "preached or said". It is also important to understand that what you are having right now, is right since you could pretty much always be unsatisfied, and in thoughts of "did I do the right thing or could I do better" even if you might be madly in love with your partner and this could yet again lead you in acting out of ways that would signal your partner this same thing, even though you may not really mean it. So all in all, make a strong and brave decision before commitment, and do not always be in your head about things. Also, PLEASE find people who are good communicators, since y'all are very good at speaking but its important to be heard. Attachment style: Anxious-Avoidant

⭐Capricorn Rising: With Cancer as your DC, its very possible for you to find "home" in your partner. You may be someone who thinks "I choose very wisely so I can hardly be wrong" and this is where things can get wrong. You are very loving and nurturing to your partner and may want to give them the world, but it is important not to have your head stuck into the past all the time, and who they were in the beginning. At the same time its possible that when it is the time to communicate something, you may retreat in a shell and refuse to address the elephant in the room, or try to state things in a way that may seem devoid of actual emotions somehow, even though it may not be the intention. There can be a tendency to chase, or to cling to your partner, to want them probably all the time you feel you need them, and while that is how it should be, sometimes its necessary to understand and respect their commitments. It could also be hard for you to be emotionally understood and to actually open up to your partner. You could also be someone who believes in "chance" system as in "I give only 4 chances" and so on, but its important to understand that the relationship would always teach you, and you need to forgive and seek forgiveness throughout for its never ending. But of course, unforgivable things like cheating or manipulation or hitting should not be forgiven even if its for the first time, Do not trust your chance system but trust your gut. Attachment style: Anxious-Avoidant

⭐Aquarius Rising: With Leo as your DC, you again could be someone who seeks a lot of validation and appreciation from their partner. While we all seek validation from people we love, making it center of your universe can be a problem, especially when you find that your partner does not agree or believe in something like you. Your self worth should not be attached to your partner. It is also possible for you to grow insecure when your partner probably is enjoying themselves, shining and rising. While this should not be out of jealousy for the most parts, but a fear that your partner may "outgrow" you and would not need you no more. It is important to trust yourself and understand that the value you bring to your partner cannot be replaced by a few compliments. You may also have some egoic programming, as if your partner is able to strike some cords in your brain, but this again demands release since you are putting them in power and on a pedestal. Attachment style: Anxious-Avoidant.

⭐Pisces Rising: With Virgo as your DC, you could be someone who over gives. You could be someone who is always ready to serve, to help their partner out from things ranging to cleaning to cooking and to even money. While, it is beautiful to help your partner, over giving just does not sit right, since you are draining yourself for someone who is probably not reciprocating. It is important to find "evidence" of being loved and not just letting that be a thing in your head. If your partner is doing the same thing for you, then wonderful, but do not become alone in the relationship for two. There could also be a tendency to over analyze things, probably pick small fights that you feel are to clear the air but can become troubling to your partner especially if they avoid difficult conversations or confrontations, so it is important to communicate in way you are heard, otherwise, find someone who you are compatible with! Attachment style: Anxious

[revasserium]

Can i request OPLA zoro where he doesn't get along with reader but calls her my girl in front of a baratie waiter who was flirting with her.

my girl

zoro; 2,438 words; fluff, kinda enemies to lovers, fem!reader, straw hat!reader, lots of banter, slow...burn?

summary: just cause you don't see eye to eye doesn't mean zoro's down to watch you get hit on while he's in the same bar, either.

a/n: again. i've got no excuse. pls continue to send more requests feed my opla!zoro obsession u__u

it is perhaps what therapists and psychiatrists would call an incompatibility of character. or maybe something about you and him that simply acted like two jigsaw pieces from completely different puzzles. or maybe luffy had just jinxed it when he’d said the first time that he sensed some “tension amongst the crew”, but it’s no secret that you and zoro don’t exact see eye to eye.

in fact, sanji thinks, it might only be a matter of time before you each try to take the other’s eyes out permanently.

“you’re really not worried?” he asked luffy as they’d watched zoro and you bicker all the way down the wobbling boardwalk leading up to the baratie, you sniping at zoro for getting in your way and zoro biting back something equally acerbic and childish about you being too clumsy to be a good pirate.

“huh? why would i be worried? they get along just fine!” luffy had laughed, eyes bright and round as he’d readjusted his hat and bounded off towards the entrance, whooping about being hungry enough to take down an entire sea cow.

“wh —”

“bit rich, since you and zoro are always at each other’s throats, no?”

nami bumps sanji’s arm as she strolls by him with a stack of empty crates. sanji squawks, readjusting his own bags before jogging after her.

“c’mon, you know that’s different!”

nami smirks but doesn’t grace that with an answer, instead, she lets her eyes flicker back to where you and zoro are still snarking at each other even as the bewildered looking fishman at the front leads you all around back to the kitchen entrance.

“— wouldn’t have been in that situation if you’d just —”

“yeah? and if i’d just stayed put like you said, the entire going merry would’ve gone up in smoke cause last i checked, wood is very flammable!”

“the merry’s not that fragile.”

“you wanna bet?”

“yeah, maybe i do —”

“what’s goin’ on here? didn’t i tell you lot to get lost?” zeff’s gruff voice interrupts your bickering as the peg-legged chef looks from zoro to you and then the rest of the crew, “gotta new one, didya? don’t remember you from the last time these idiots were here.”

“she’s barely an upgrade from the clown head —”

you slam your heel into the toe of zoro’s boot and he hisses, nearly dropping his armful of crates.

“what he means is that i’m the brains of the operation —”

“we don’t need brains —”

“oh, so you’re admitting that you didn’t have any before i got here?”

zoro glares, dropping the crates as luffy pushes past you both to clap zeff on the shoulder and offer him a huge stack of berry.

“we came to pay you back for the meal last time! and to buy a new one! and… maybe some extra food stuff if you’ve got it.”

zeff opens his mouth to answer but it’s drowned out by the sound of your voice as you jab a finger into zoro’s chest.

“— just because you can’t hold more than one cohesive thought in your head at once doesn’t mean that —”

“— what’s that even supposed to mean? like you can think about two things at once?”

“enough! you two — outta the kitchen, now! i won’t have your lovesick teenage yappin’ distractin’ my line chefs!”

you both jump at zeff’s voice, and an unpleasant heat creeps into your cheeks as you realize that the entire kitchen had indeed gone very quiet, most of the white-clad workers staring at you and zoro.

“i need a drink,” zoro says, rolling his shoulders as he sidesteps you and pushes his way out of the kitchen.

“look, sir, i didn’t mean —” you take half a step forward but zeff jabs a finger at the doors still swinging in zoro’s wake.

“i said out!”

you glance between zeff and the rest of your crew for a split second before turning and scrambling from the kitchen, looking abashed.

“oh no, c’mon zeff, you didn’t need to yell at her like that —” sanji sighs as he tries to go after you, but nami nails him in the stomach with one of her arms.

“nope. this is something they need to work out on their own. and you’re on grocery shopping duty with me, remember?” she flashes him a smile even as he deflates slightly and turns back to the work of haggling rations out of the baratie’s storerooms.

you find zoro already posted up at the bar, even though the hour is still early enough that there’s only a few other patrons, mainly keeping to themselves. you fight the urge to march up to him and give him an earful about embarrassing you in front of sanji’s old master like that but zeff’s words about making a scene keeps your lips clamped shut.

instead, you seat yourself as far from zoro as humanly possible and wait for the bartender to sidle over. he flashes you a winning smile, making no attempt to conceal the way his eyes drag from your hair to your face and then down to your cleavage, where his gaze rests for a beat too long before he clears his throat.

“what can i get you, gorgeous? something sweet and bubbly, perhaps? or maybe something a bit more dark and… seductive? i can have a custom drink whipped up for you in a few if you’d like… on the house, of course.”

he shoots you a wink that has your eyebrows hiking up your forehead.

“laying it on thick, are we?”

the bartender shrugs, seemingly unbothered by your lack of enthusiasm.

“place like this doesn’t exactly breed subtlety.”

you make a noncommittal noise before sighing, “i’ll have a dirty martini, shaken not stirred, straight, with a twist, please.”

to his credit, the bartender doesn’t miss a single beat, “ah, a woman of taste, though i’ll admit that i prefer my martini’s naked instead of shaken, hm?”

he waggles his eyebrows and if it weren’t for the loud cough from down the bar drawing the bartender’s attention, you would’ve rolled your eyes.

at the opposite end of the bar, zoro taps his empty drink glass against the waxy hardwood, a vein ticking in his jaw. he’d listened to the entire exchange with a growing annoyance festering in the depths of his stomach. and here he was, hoping for a moment of quiet without the sound of your voice yammering in his ear. he shoots the bartender a glowering look as the man refills his drink and tries to make his way back down the bar to you.

zoro tosses the entire drink back in one and sets the empty glass down with a loud clack, clearing his throat as the bartender turns to stare at him. he holds the man’s gaze for a full three seconds before looking pointedly down at his glass and the bartender’s face visibly reddens.

“here you are, sir — the last three are on the house.”

the bartender lines up five identical drinks in front of zoro before marching away and zoro has to give it to the guy. he does make a good, stiff drink.

still, as he tries his hardest not to glance down towards where you’re sitting, sipping slowly at your martini, he can’t help overhearing the stilted stabs at conversation floating down the length of the empty bar. the bartender lavishes you with questions, asking about your travels, who you came with, where you’re from. you, for your part, never give him an answer more than three words long — travels were good, my crew, an autumn island.

zoro briefly wonders why you don’t tell the guy off like you so often did him. then, he briefly wonders if the fact that you’re always so easily set off by him means something. then, he not-so-briefly wonders why, if he’s always been so bothered by you, that he’s still thinking about you in the precious few hours he has to himself.

he clicks his tongue and downs another drink just as you finish your first.

“c’mon darlin’ — just a hint — what about the first letter? shall i try to guess?”

you sigh into your now empty glass as the bartender asks your name for the third time in a row, though to no avail. suddenly, a warm, solid presence appears next to you and the next thing you know, zoro’s arm is brushing up against yours as he leans over the bar to bear down at the bartender.

“right, now if you’re done trying t’pick up my girl, i think i’d like the check.”

the bartender blinks up at zoro, uncomprehending for a second before a blotchy redness seeps into his cheeks.

“y-your — you haven’t said a word to each other since either of you got here!”

you swallow passed a bewildered laugh as you glance up at zoro to find a challenge clear in his eyes. you slowly swivel back to the bartender with a light smile.

“ever heard of a lover’s quarrel?”

the bartender sputters as he stares between the pair of you for another long second before scurrying off to fetch the check. zoro chuckles under his breath, his earrings clinking softly in the dim light.

“damn — i really wanted another drink,” you say, staring at your empty glass.

wordlessly, zoro plops one of his in front of you. it’s the second to last.

you bring it up to your nose for a sniff before making a face.

“god that smells awful!”

“fine then, more for me.”

“i didn’t say i wouldn’t drink it!”

you bring the glass to your lips for a small sip. it’s tastier than you’d imagined but it still burns a line down your throat as you shiver.

“h-holy shit —” you cough, wiping at your mouth, “how many of these have you had?”

zoro shrugs, sipping on his own glass with a careless ease, “dunno. don’t really keep count.”

“ugh… this could knock out a war elephant…” you make another face before you take a second sip.

“figures you can’t hold your liquor, drinkin’ whatever girly shit you ordered.”

you round on him, “martinis are not girly!”

“tch. whatever.”

you settle into a huffy silence. zoro’s arm is still pressed against yours and neither of you makes to pull away. for a while, the only sounds in the bar are the soft clink of ice on glass and the light, liquid splashing of the ocean waves.

“why didn’t you tell him off?” zoro’s voice is quiet and when you turn to look at him, it’s to find him staring. you hold his gaze steady and don’t look away.

“why should i? he’s no one to me.”

“you don’t seem to have a problem yellin’ at me.”

you shrug, your eyes flickering back to the too-strong drink in your hand.

“i don’t tend to waste my breath on people i don’t really care about,” you say, your voice soft and careful and honest. zoro sucks in a slow breath, his mildly alcohol addled brain trying to process what you’d just said but his thoughts are interrupted by a peel of loud, raucous laughter echoing in from the dining room beyond.

“c’mon, sounds like dinner is served,” you say, grinning as you push off the bar, jerking your head towards the dining room door.

zoro lets out the breath before downing the rest of his drink and leaving the empty glass on the bar to follow you.

at dinner, you bicker less than usual and zoro is even more quiet than he normally is. though he wastes no time ordering another round for the table. no one really comments till zeff comes round at the end with the check.

“dinner’s already paid for but i was told that this is for the ‘lovebirds from the bar’,” he says, as he drops the drinks bill in front of zoro with a deadpan sort of look.

for a full ten seconds, no one moves. and then, usopp’s jaws hit the floor as sanji’s eyebrows jerk towards the ceiling. nami sits back with a satisfied smirk as luffy nods happily at the two of you before turning to grin at sanji.

“see? told you they get along fine!”

sanji has the decency to sputter just as usopp leans forward to point between you and zoro.

“wait… whaattt?”

you make to tug out your wallet but zoro slaps a stack of berry on top of the bill.

“give our compliments to the bartender,” he says with a slight smirk as zeff takes the money, glancing up at the two of you.

“yeah? what’d he make that’s got you so impressed?”

you purse your lips as you make a show of shrugging, waving a nonchalant hand through the air.

“oh, just a mean dirty martini.”

zeff lets out a loud bark of laughter as he takes the berry and clomps back towards the kitchens, shaking his head. zoro chuckles beside you as he stretches an arm over his head and lets it settle casually on the booth back behind you.

later, as everyone is making their way back towards the going merry, nami catches up to you on the docks, looping an arm through yours and pinning you with a meaningful look just as sanji sidles up to zoro and bumps him with a shoulder.

“so…” nami says, grinning as she tugs you forward a few steps.

“so.” sanji clears his throat, casting zoro a sidelong glance.

“wanna tell me what that was about?” nami asks.

“care to elaborate on that back there?” sanji questions.

you and zoro both take a deep, long breath. zoro glances up to see the way you toss a lock of hair over your shoulder, your bright laughter carrying back on the breeze. you allow yourself a smile, and you don’t have to turn to feel zoro’s eyes on you as both of you turn to your respective companions and say —

“i’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.”

opla!zoro reqs are (as always) open!!

[arcadia-of-pluto]

Period Drabble; LADS

Word count; 1,267

Warnings; mention of periods, slight stereotypes like mood swings and etc, fluff

Notes; So, since mine just started, I thought I'd just do a little drabble. They're not the best to be honest, but I just wanted to post something and it seems cute/fluffy enough! Periods are only vaguely mentioned in Rafayel's, but I think it still works.

One of Zayne's secret times also inspired me, they all have at least one period related secret time– which I find really sweet. Zayne's mentioned the raspberry tea and the massage, which I actually did for a bit today and it 100% helped. At least, for a little bit before I woke up enough to take some tylenol.

Anyway! I hope you enjoy, it's rather short and I didn't proof-read at all, but it'll be fine since it's a just drabble. I have a few more drabble ideas, but this one was more of a random idea so apologizes that it's not formatted well!

Xavier

“Are you alright? Sorry– shouldn't have asked that.” Xavier immediately retracts his question whenever your head whips around to look at him. 

You were curled up in a ball, sitting on the floor, and trying to slowly breathe until your pain medication kicks in. 

The first few days of your period were always rough. The pain akin to…Well, it was hard to describe. It definitely hurt though, that's for sure. 

“I'll be right back.” Xavier pats your head as he steps past you, but you wrap your arms around his leg. “Where are you going?” You couldn't tell that you were being clingy nor did you notice that your mood swings were all over the place. You honestly thought you were acting as normal as ever. 

“I'm going to the store, okay?” He chuckles, kneeling down to remove your hands from his leg. He holds both of them in-between his and dips his head down to place a small kiss on your knuckles. “I'll be back in a flash. You'll never even realize I left.” 

Disappointment bubbles in your chest and you let out a sigh, but nod your head. “Okay…” you didn't exactly want to be alone, but if Xavier needed to leave for a moment, you didn't want to bother him and make him stay. 

And indeed, Xavier was back very soon. In record time. 

He re-enters the apartment, seemingly out of breath, but the moment you look at him, he stands up straight. He has a plastic bag in his hands as he walks over to you. 

He kneels back down next to you and starts sifting through the bag. “I got some chocolate…I didn't know what kind you liked so I got regular, white, dark, and mint.” As he sets them down on the coffee table, you quickly grab your favourite to open it up. 

You start eating as Xavier continues with a chuckle, “I got a heating pad, some chamomile tea, some raspberries…” 

“You didn't have to get all of this…” You say, but you can't hide the smile on your lips. While he really didn't need to do all of this, you did appreciate it. A lot. 

“Oh, I also looked up some massages that can relieve cramps. I could do those for you later, if you want?” 

Rafayel 

“Hey– stop throwing brushes at me!” Rafayel huffs with a hand on his hip. “I'm sorry I got some paint on you.” 

You pause mid-throw and raise a brow, “I told you I wasn't in the mood to play around.” A thick purple line of dried paint decorates your cheek. 

“And I just apologized for that!” Rafayel throws his hands up in the air before he walks over to grab a washcloth. He wets it and heads back over to you. “Truce?” 

“I–” you sigh before shaking your head. “Fine. I guess I'm sorry too.” 

The purple-haired man chuckles as he tilts your chin up with a finger. “Look, if I knew you were on your period, I wouldn't have done that. Seriously, do I look like I want to die today?” He gently wipes your cheek with the wet cloth. 

“I'll help you clean up your brushes.” You reluctantly say, a little embarrassed at your overreaction, but you did tell him you didn't want to play around today. 

“I have a better idea.” Rafayel tosses the washcloth onto the table once he's done and picks up a lone paint brush from the floor. “Here. Paint on me.” 

“Huh?” 

“You can paint on me to your heart's content and until you feel better.” He curls your fingers around the brush and then gives you a small smile. “After that, we can make something to eat. I picked up a few boxes of cake mix, so we can bake one together.” 

Sylus 

“Sylus–” 

“It's fine, sweetie. I just threw the bedsheets in the wash, along with your clothes.” The taller man says as he walks back into the room. 

You sat, curled up against the headboard of the naked bed, with your head buried into your knees. 

“I don't see why you're embarrassed over it. A period is a normal thing.” Sylus shrugs as he sits down on the bed, patting the mattress so you'd move to sit next to him. “I sent the twins out to go procure some pads, tampons, and whatever else you might need. It's a shame the N109 Zone doesn't sell any of it…I might have to fix that.” He hums. 

You sigh and slowly move to sit next to Sylus, doing your best not to move too much. “It's a normal thing, yes, but it's embarrassing to wake up and have…blood all over the bed.” 

“You should be glad it's only your period. I would've thought you were dying otherwise.” The white-haired man laughs before handing you a bottle of pills. “It's the only pain medication we have around here. If you can't take it, I'll have Mephisto go out and get some more.” 

“Stop talking about it.” You hide your face in your hands. 

“Alright, I'm sorry, kitten. Just take your medicine before the pain kicks in. I'll go make you some tea.” He pats your hand but, as he goes to stand up, you feel your body jerk forward. 

“Sylus–” you bite back your anger, momentarily thinking that he was dragging you by the wrist, but when you look down you realize your wrists were connected with that annoying red light. “Seriously?” Why now of all times?

“It seems like you really didn't want me to leave you alone.” Sylus muses with a raised brow before he carefully picks you up. “I'll have to make your tea like this then.” 

“Hey–” 

“Would you rather I drag you around? I really don't want to piss you off. I think I'd actually fear for my life if I did.” 

Zayne 

“Don't get up.” You hear Zayne whisper and the bed shifts as the older man moves to get up. “I'll go make you some raspberry tea for your cramps.”

“Zayne…” Your hand pats against the bed, searching for him and you hear him sigh, his hand resting on top of yours. 

“I'll be right back, snow angel.”

“Let me help you sit up.” Zayne places the mug of hot tea on the bedside table, his hand moving to rest against your back as he aids you in sitting up. “Is the pain too bad? I'd hate for you to rely on medication, but if it's hurting too much, I can get some for you.” 

“It's not…too bad right now.” But your facial expression betrays you as a sharp pain floods through your lower abdomen. 

“Here.” Zayne lifts a spoon from the tea, blowing on it to cool it off, and lifts the spoon to your lips. “These raspberries should help with your cramps.” 

After you drink some more of the tea, Zayne gets back in bed next to you. His chest against your back and his hands rest slightly under your stomach. 

“Sleep for a little while longer…I'll keep massaging here, so you won't be in pain while you sleep.” The black haired man places a soft kiss on your head. 

His fingers gently push down on your lower abdomen, moving in a slow, circular motion. 

It felt…soothing. It was also surprisingly taking the pain away, but that could also be from the tea. 

“Do you have work today?” You tiredly ask, a yawn escaping from your lips and you feel Zayne shake his head. 

“I'm taking off. A certain patient requires all of my attention, at least for today."

[xo-codbby]

thinking about playboy!ghost x manhater!reader 🍒🖤

callsign: cherry. 18+

you loved your team but the truth remained the same, men simply sucked. too many times had you been burnt out, learning constant lessons over and over preferring to know someone properly before you introduced them to your bed. while ghost was just purely physical, just needing release. he didn't want to engage in deep conversation, he swore off of love years ago but there wasn't harm in chasing gratification for his physical needs even if he left a string of broken hearts behind him

ghost is cocky in the fact that he knows he looks good, he knows he has women at his disposable without saying a word. his bed warmed by frequent visitors, many wanting to come back but not getting the chance to. a soft scoff leaving your lips whenever you see a woman hanging onto his arm, practically lapping at his every word. the sight makes you recoil away but it only makes him want to aggravate you that much more

absolutely hating one another when you both first met.

according to him, you were too stuck up. your terrible attitude, your prudish behaviour, little miss know it all. he disliked it all and you had been the same, his arrogant cocky personality paired with his unbearable sarcasm. just another womaniser. you disliked him more than words could explain.

and yet the line between hate and love was a fine line indeed

getting teased around base relentlessly by him

"c'mere cherry, let me show you how to let off some steam-" "fuck right off"

ghost constantly offering you a quick lay whenever the team finished up a particularly stressful mission. gaz and soap chuckling at the snark you gave back, the only one to your defence was price offering a gentle hand and a stern look to ghost who rolled his eyes

but him getting so jealous when you get the attention of another man, when he sees you talking to someone else around the barracks it felt different. it felt intimate, too close for his liking. and with some forceful persuasion from price, he found out the new sergeant had taken a liking to you. and regrettably, you were starting to feel something for him too. he doesn't know why it pisses him off so much but he'll be damned if he doesn't wreak hell on the bastard

his absolute favourite way to piss you off is inviting a woman to his bed, making her scream and moan out his name as loud as he can,

"that's all y'can do f'me? louder doll, lemme hear just how good it feels"

as he's thrusting so deep into her cunt but it doesn't feel the same like it used to. he won't be able to cum until he's imagining your face, imagining the pretty sounds he'd coax from your lips.

how his cock would throb deep into your willing pussy, how he'd rub the tip of aching cock against your entrance relishing in the way you squeezed him so tightly. the very sight almost makes him groan out your name, even the thought of tasting your slick makes him shiver in anticipation.

and of course it's your room beside him, you're subjected to listening this woman's moans and how great he's making her feel. a warm feeling stirring deep between your legs but you refuse to engage in his stupidity cursing at him as you throw yet another book at the wall. the sounds only stir him on, competing with you who could make the loudest sounds.

it's only when price, again, yells out a sharp command from the depths of his room that it's silence once more

the next morning you're woken up by gaz and soap laughing and hooting at him, heading to the kitchen to see his dark brown eyes twinkle as he looks at you. he stands against the counter, a mug of tea in his hands. his balaclava pulled up over his nose while he eyes you up and down stalking your every move

"an' how'd you sleep, cherry?"

his voice is a hoarse rumble from having woken up, his cocky grin as he looks at you over. wondering if you had touched yourself to his sounds he let spill just for you, wondering whether you squeezed your legs tightly or grinded against the pillow for some relief

but your eyes roll and brows furrow, not wanting to entertain his bullshit. only offering a smartass comment as you look back at your phone. the very sight makes him want to pounce on you, to show you what you were missing

but say one day you get your heart broken and the feelings come head to head, piss drunk as you knock thrice on his door watching him open with a disgruntled look on his face

"bloody 'ell, y'gonna bash my door in-"

doesn't even get the words out before you've pulled him to your face and kissing him feverishly, the door slamming shut behind you both. but when you get to the bed, the alcohol and the heightened emotions lull you into a deep sleep as he sighs softly. looking around before setting you down and laying next to you. grumbling softly how you're lucky to be sleeping in his bed

he doesn't even have sex but he swears it's the most intimate he's ever been with someone

so playboy ghost, the man who would pay for ladies ubers so they wouldn't sleep in his personal space, the man who chose to fuck casually with no feeling, the man who swore off love altogether held you captive in his arms snuggling into you.

the very man who broke the vow he made not to ever get entangled with emotions had clung to you like you were his lifeline in a torrential sea and you had escaped his clutches like a thief in the night like he had done so many times to others. and perhaps if he wasn't so heartbroken he might've laughed at the irony of the situation, what comes around goes around

[entitled-fangirl]

Chance.

Aemond Targaryen x Baratheon!reader; Aegon II x wife!reader

Summary: All of Aemond's life, Aegon has tormented him. When Aemond's plan is set in motion, he hopes the reader moves right into his arms.

Part 2

Masterlist

...............................................................

"My queen." Aemond murmured out into the quiet space of the library. 

Y/n looked up, her brows furrowed. She abandoned the book she was reading, not caring what becomes of it. 

She immediately runs to Aemond, wrapping her arms around him. "You're back," she said with a muffled voice against his chest.

He stiffened, not quite returning the hug. 

She pulled away, taking his face in her hands, "Are you alright?" Her eyes scanned his face carefully, "Tell me you are."

He nodded with a huff, his hands gripping her wrists. "Fine."

Her lips pulled into a small smile and she dropped her hands. "Good. Good. And…?"

The question hung in the air. 

Aemond hummed, "Meleys and her rider Rhaenys are both dead."

Her eyes widened. "Dead?"

"Slain by the king."

She looked down at her hands in thought.

Aemond knew what she wanted to ask. 

But he wouldn't give it to her. 

Make her work for it.

"And is… is Aegon alright?"

There it was. 

Of course the pretty little thing cared for that beast of a man.

Aemond only stared at her with a tilted head. 

"Aemond…?" She asked with a now scared expression.

Finally, he spoke, "He's being carried to his room now."

…

"A betrothal, you say?" Lord Baratheon asked with a curious brow.

"Yes," Aemond confirmed. "A betrothal of your daughter to me, as the second son and next in line for the throne."

"An excellent match, indeed," Baratheon mulled over. 

Y/n Baratheon stood idly by her father, a confused look on her face. 

Surely her father wouldn't just-

"Very well, my prince."

Aemond couldn't stop the smirk that grew on his face. 

In all honestly, he had come empty handed. Aegon and Alicent had not sent him with a barter in mind. 

But when he saw Y/n, he came up with the idea himself. 

Mother wouldn't mind. Y/n Baratheon was a wise match, and anything to further our allies along would be no issue. 

And Y/n was beautiful.

Perhaps that's why Aegon had to take her from him. 

…

She had ran as fast as she could up to the king's chambers. Though Aemond's legs were quite a bit longer than hers, he had to sprint to keep up.

She threw the door open.

Aegon laid in the bed, his body mangled from dragon fire. 

A horrified shriek left her throat.

Aemond felt a cold shiver run down his spine at it. 

She moved forward, but he wrapped an arm around her to keep her from going. 

She wanted to have the strength to fight him, she really did. But, she couldn't bring herself to.

She turned into his chest, beginning to wail against him. 

Aemond brought his other hand up to run over her hair as he whispered mocking cooes into her ear. 

Although Aegon still lived, perhaps his plan could still work. 

…

Aemond grabbed her waist, helping her down the last few feet of the climb down Vhagar's side. 

Once her feet reached stone, she finally took in King's Landing. "I see why everyone wants to be here," she said to him. 

"A blessing only for some, my dear doe," he mused and offered his arm. 

…

She never left Aegon's bedside. 

It was sickening to Aemond, really. 

That she'd be that devoted to that little scumb-

"My prince," Cole stated. 

Aemond turned, seeing the Hand there with a curious brow. "Forgive me, Ser Cole. I seem to be lost in my thoughts."

"Yes. Yes, I understand."

The silence was deafening, a ringing sound in their ears due to the lack of anything else.

"If this is for her," Cole finally said. "It won't work."

"Everyone is a mere pawn in the great game," Aemond said with a tight lip.

Criston moved to say more, but stopped himself. He moved to the door before pausing, "As long as the king lives, she'll never be yours."

…

"Baratheon, you said?" Aegon frowned. His head turned to Aemond, "Brother, I sent you for an army and you come back with a betrothal?"

"If you'll bless it, my king." Aemond said with a clenched jaw. 

Aegon's focus moved back to the girl, "Pretty, aren't you?"

Y/n stood a bit behind Aemond, an intimidated look on her face at the sight of the Iron Throne. 

Aemond quickly moved in front of her to block her from Aegon's gaze, "The Baratheons are on our side if you do this."

Alicent turned to Aegon, "Darling, we need this."

Aegon tilted his head, and a haunting smile came over his face. He stood, taking a long stretch before walking down the stairs of the throne. 

He stood only a few feet from Aemond, "Move."

Aemond's jaw clenched but he took a step to the side.

Aegon now drank in the girl in front of him fully. His head tilted as he circled her with slow, menacing steps, "Very pretty for a Baratheon."

Aemond noticed the ever-growing look of fear in her eyes. He moved forward, but Alicent caught his arm.

Aegon stopped in front of the girl, looking right into her eyes. His voice was low, "I have a better proposition."

The one-eyed brother felt his stomach drop. But Aegon had already began to leave the throne room, leaving him to wonder what devious ploy his brother was making that would his life that much worse.

…

Aemond paused outside the door.

It was eating him from the inside. 

He opened it slowly, bracing himself for the sight.

Aegon laid in the bed, unmoving as he had been.

Y/n was in the chair next to the bed. Her hands gripped Aegon's undamaged one, and she had fallen asleep with her head resting on the bed.

Aemond should've left them, but he didn't. 

He rounded the bed to Aegon's side of it, his eye roaming over the extensive burns. 

He should've finished it when he had the chance.

Killed Cole when he saw.

He wanted the girl to come to him for comfort. 

Now, she wasted away next to the king that was almost a corpse. 

If Aemond just killed the king now in bed while she remained unknowing, perhaps that would seal their fates together.

His finger grazed the blade of Aegon the Conqueror when she began to stir.

She looked up with glossy eyes and a groggy voice came out, "Aemond?"

He looked to her.

She had gotten no sleep besides small cat naps. Dark circles under her eyes and a slight hallowing look to her cheeks.

"When was the last time you left this room, little doe?"

She tilted her head in confusion, "I… well…"

"When?" He pressed.

When she didn't answer, he hummed, moving to the door and barking something at one of the guards outside of it. 

When he returned, he moved to her this time. He ran a hand through her hair, "Your hair is unkept."

She nodded, "I don't care about hair right now, Aemond."

"You know that's not what I meant."

She let out a sigh, "Doesn't matter."

A small laugh left him. "Lean back."

"What?"

He brought his hands up, pulling her to rest her back against the back of the chair. His hand gripped her chin and made her look away from him.

His hands began to work through her hair. 

Aemond was gentle.

It surprised her to see anything with the blood of a dragon, much less Aemond, be calm and gentle with her.

She let out a soft hum when he hit a certain spot, and he smirked. 

Like putty in his hands.

He began to section her hair, his long fingers taking the strands easily.

"What are you-"

"Quiet. Just sit and let me care for you."

She didn't move. Didn't speak. 

As Aemond Targaryen began to braid her hair. 

It was no intricate weave. But it was a steady braid. 

He tied it off and studied it, critiquing it in his head. He hummed and moved back in her eyesight.

Her eyes were glossy, "Thank you."

He shrugged lightly, "Don't."

"Why not? You've always cared for me. Even when…" he voice trailed off when she looked over to Aegon.

His gaze followed hers, remembering Aegon's dying presence. "Right."

A servant entered with a tray of food and Aemond immediately stood and took it from them. 

He moved back to the girl, setting the tray on the bed in front of her, "Now, eat."

"Aemond, I'm not-"

"Eat, pretty doe," he almost demanded.

She looked up to him, studying him before nodding, "Fine."

He watched her as she began to eat. 

Aemond hummed, "Finish, and we will go on a walk."

She shook her head, "I shouldn't leave."

He smiled, "Only for a moment." He leaned down, pressing a cold kiss to her temple. "You need the sunshine," he murmured into her ear.

She turned her head at that, their faces now inches away.

His eye scanned across her face.

Such a pretty doe. 

A low, groggy voice interrupted, "A… Aemond…"

Y/n's head snapped to Aegon, whose good eye was open, trying to recognize everything around him.

Aemond stood straight and Y/n almost crawled up the bed getting to the king.

Her touches were gentle against his cheek, "My love."

Aegon studied her for a moment but it was short lived as he looked back to Aemond.

"Perhaps I should leave you two," Aemond finally said.

"Wait." She said as he began to walk away. "I…" She paused in thought. "I would still enjoy a walk. Another time."

Aemond couldn't stop the smirk that ran across his face, "Another time then, my queen."

Her attention moved back to Aegon, and Aemond left the room with heavy steps.

He wished more and more that he had just finished it all when he had the chance.

...............................................................

part 2

[blossom-hwa]

a very fine line, indeed [2] | c.bg

pairing: Beomgyu x fem!reader genre:  fluff, angst, enemies to lovers, regency era!au, nobility!au warnings: cursing, period typical misogyny word count: 9.3k notes:  — updates every M/W/F at 8pm EST until the series finishes — inspiration taken from an amalgamation of different bridgerton stories - let me know what easter eggs you find! — story takes place in the same universe as my duke!yeonjun and earl!taehyun fics - check out the link to the series below for some more easter eggs :) In a society where it only takes a year for a young woman in search of a husband to be considered out of season, it is no wonder that by your third year out, you are desperate to marry. Known as one of the beauties of the ton, such a task should not be difficult for you—but with an absent father, no dowry, and a reputation centered around your inability to keep your mouth shut around one certain Beomgyu Choi, your prospects are more limited than you’d like. While you cannot recover your family or your wealth, however, the one thing you can try to control is your reputation. So when the third season rolls around, you resolve to keep your distance from Beomgyu Choi, your childhood enemy, and the man you hate most in the world. Enter Beomgyu Choi, second son of the Kensington Viscountcy, one of the most eligible bachelors in the ton. His older brother, cousin, and good friend have all recently married, leaving the mamas to salivate at his doorstep for the chance of marrying one of their daughters to him. When Beomgyu walks in on a particularly traumatizing moment between you and one of the most unsavory men in the ton and learns of your desperation to marry, despite your history of enmity, he proposes you a devious deal—to pretend to court you. It seems like a winning situation for both of you—more gentlemen will take notice of you, enhancing your prospects, and he will have the ton’s mamas off his back—and so, despite your misgivings, you agree. With you hell bent on marriage and Beomgyu completely indifferent to the concept, even independent of your hatred for each other, it seems unlikely that any sort of true affection will bloom. But as you begrudgingly put aside your differences to spend more and more time in one another’s company, and as you grow to know each other beyond your ill-conceived preconceptions from childhood, you begin to realize that perhaps you two have more in common than you had once thought. And as your faked acquaintanceship becomes more truth than fiction, a friendship beginning to bloom most unexpectedly— Perhaps you no longer need to convince the ton of the veracity of your courtship, because anyone with eyes can see that it is true.  Part 1 >> Part 2 >> Part 3

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Beomgyu might have to go down in history as one of the great geniuses of the century, because it is no exaggeration to say that his plan is working splendidly. This isn’t to say there haven’t been a few hiccups—you’ve had to get used to telling your cover story to different people, not to mention having to learn to tolerate one other’s presences for hours at a time, which was no small feat for either of you. For the first few days there were more people than ever trying to get your and his attention because apparently the sight of you two together was just too bizarre to comprehend. Whistledown herself expressed her astonishment for two entire paragraphs in her gossip column, which did give him a good laugh. Overall, though, especially now that those first hellish days are over, Beomgyu feels that the results now far outweigh the initial complications. 

And results there are, even after just a week of pretending to court you. Mostly for him—at the last ball, after the news of this new relationship had spread, only perhaps a third of the mamas from before kept trying to hog his attention. With some luck, in a couple of weeks, even those will disappear too. 

Though there have been results for you too. At that very same ball, after dancing with you not once but twice (following the proper protocol of ninety minutes between each dance, of course), Beomgyu could point out no less than three of his gentleman peers eyeing you in a different light. And for all of your skepticism, when he pointed it out, you had to admit he was right.

Ha. When this is over, Beomgyu will just have to rub this success in your face every time you meet, just to see your teeth grind in that amusing way of yours.

The two of you are promenading in the park today. It is not the sunniest of afternoons, with several grey clouds drifting slowly across the sky, but there is a nice breeze in the air and Beomgyu likes the way it feels against his skin, cool and refreshing compared to the crowded ballrooms. This is nicer than he thought it would be, really. Not just the weather, but you on his arm as well. When you decide to be civil, you can be a strangely pleasant presence.

He would die before admitting this, of course.

On Beomgyu’s arm, you’re also looking at the sky. “This is strange,” you say. 

He blinks. “Strange how?”

“It’s a nice day and I’m promenading in the park with a gentleman and that gentleman is you,” you state plainly. “I never really thought this would happen.”

Beomgyu frowns. “You’ve never gone promenading before?”

“With my family, many times. With suitors, perhaps once or twice. Maybe three times.” You shrug. “My family doesn’t have much money, Mr. Choi. I know it can be difficult to look past my radiant exterior, but once they remember my background and lack of dowry, it is a bit harder to forget.”

Radiant exterior. Beomgyu wants to roll his eyes. Sure, you are beautiful and it’s not something anyone would deny, but you could stand to maintain a humbler image, even if it isn’t quite truthful. “Men are very easily blinded by pretty things, though,” he says, snickering when you roll your own eyes. “I really do find it hard to believe that you have not had a proposal from anyone better than Mr. Thompson.”

“Oh, so you think that I’m pretty?”

Beomgyu gives you the stink eye in response to your mocking grin. “Your beauty is well known throughout the ton, Miss L/N,” he deadpans. “I would be in extremely poor taste if I did not acknowledge it.”

“That is true,” you say, adopting a supercilious expression that Beomgyu almost wants to laugh at. “But...well, I have had one other proposal. It was much less offensive than Mr. Thompson’s. I would rather go insane than marry him,” you add, and this time Beomgyu does give in to the urge to laugh. “Don’t spread the word, for he is now happily married and I do not wish to embarrass him but…Lord Kierston.” You sigh and your gaze turns a little regretful. “Maybe I should have said yes.”

Beomgyu stares. “…The man is at least twice your age. And his breath smells rotten.”

“That is true.” A flicker of a smile shows on your lips, just like the night of that first ball, but before Beomgyu can really catch it, it disappears immediately. “But for all his rotten breath, at least he wouldn’t assault me.”

Beomgyu instantly feels like a jackass. “I apologize. That was insensitive of me.”

“Don’t apologize.” You look at him with half a smile on your face. “If I were in your place I probably would have said the same thing, and then had the exact same reaction.” 

The two of you walk in silence for a few moments. “Maybe that’s why we have never gotten along,” Beomgyu finally muses aloud. 

You look at him, an eyebrow raised. “Why?”

“We’re too much alike,” he replies, smirking. “And because we are the type to butt heads at the slightest invitation, we butt heads with each other far too often.”

“Never compare me to you again.” You shudder. “But I can concede that there might be some truth to your statement.”

“Don’t make that face, you should be honored to be compared to me.” Beomgyu snickers as you roll your eyes again. “But no, in all seriousness, you might not want to make that face. There is a group of men observing you beyond those trees.”

Beomgyu marvels at how quickly you rearrange your features into a pleasant mask, placid and pretty and bland, nothing like the scowls he usually finds himself on the receiving end of. If he didn’t know you he’d say you were the picture of a perfect debutante. You look up at him with a lovely little smile, batting your eyelids just so as your fan flutters gently in your hand, and for just a moment Beomgyu finds himself at a loss for words. 

“What say you?” you whisper, oblivious to his current predicament. “Do I look like I’m actually enjoying your presence?”

He coughs. “Unfortunately, yes,” he says, because he can currently form only two coherent words without needing to choke. He clears his throat slightly. “Christ, where did you learn to playact so well?”

You look around with that same little genuine-but-not smile. It is so unsettling to see that on your face. “Well, when the people around you don’t care much for your wit or sarcasm in favor of your beauty, you find ways to lean into it.” You turn back to him with a meaningful expression. “Only I’m not quite so adept at holding up the façade when it comes to things I dislike.”

Beomgyu squints, affronted. “Did you just refer to me as a thing?”

“Apologies, my lord. Even I couldn’t be so demeaning.” You flash him a brighter, far more sarcastic smile that looks so much more genuine than before, and that he finds much easier to stomach. “Allow me to correct myself. I’m not quite so adept at holding up facades when it comes to things and people I dislike.”

“Well, you’re doing quite an admirable job now,” Beomgyu mutters, casting a wary glance at the group of men. “They seem quite interested in you.” He peers at you, narrowing his eyes just a touch too much to be sincere. “Where did you learn to bat your eyes like that? You almost look normal.”

You glare at him for a split second before returning to your previous serene expression. “It’s a skill all ladies eventually acquire,” you snip back. “You men are very simple. Very weak to perceived beauty.” As if to accentuate your point, you flutter your fan ever so gracefully to coquettishly hide your face. 

Beomgyu raises an amused eyebrow. “Are we truly so simple as that?”

“Of course you are. You said so yourself, earlier.” You snort, then cast a glance over the small group naturally, so naturally. “Lord Fife, is it not?” you say out of the corner of your mouth, giving them a little wave. To Beomgyu’s disgust, one of them actually looks a little starstruck. “And his usual group of friends.”

“I believe so.” He looks away from the scene. They are not the best group of people in the ton, but a far sight better than the likes of Mr. Thompson. “One of them looks quite entranced by you.”

A small snort puffs out of your nose. Against his will, Beomgyu almost finds it endearing. “He might be starstruck, but his mother gave me the cut direct once when she found out I had no dowry.” You roll your eyes, but your smile has dimmed. “I won’t say it is hopeless, but his mother isn’t the type to allow her son to marry someone like me. At least not without a fight.”

“Then he should grow a spine and stand up to her, if he really wanted you,” Beomgyu mutters. You look at him sharply, eyes narrowed, but before he can try to decipher your expression his eye catches on a familiar couple in the distance and he blanches. “Oh, God.”

You follow his gaze and react equally as badly. “Why did you not tell me they’d be here?” you hiss. 

“Does it look like I knew they would?” he hisses back. 

Fast approaching the two of you are Soobin and his wife. Unfortunately for Beomgyu, Soobin is his damn brother and his wife is, if he remembers correctly, one of your good friends. Soobin decided to stay in the country for a couple weeks longer than Beomgyu did so he hasn’t been around to ask questions, but apparently that respite is gone now too. “Just remember the cover story,” he mutters. 

“You remember the cover story,” you snipe back. “I know it just fine.”

He wants to retort but Soobin is waving, which means Beomgyu has to acknowledge his brother’s presence. He pastes a smile onto his face, making it as phony as possible. “Good afternoon,” he says with false cheerfulness, shooting his brother a look. “Soobin, I didn’t know you would be back today.”

“We only returned a few hours ago,” Soobin replies, smiling brightly at Beomgyu’s nonplussed expression. “My wife and I wanted some fresh air after so long spent in the carriage, so we came out for a walk. And what good fortune—” his gaze slides to you somewhat warily— “to see the two of you here.”

“It is lovely to see you,” you say prettily, bobbing a little curtsy. “Especially you, Lady Choi.” The two of you smile brightly at each other, and Beomgyu is once again privy to a side of you that has never appeared before him. “How was the country?”

“Most refreshing, though I suppose it is good to be back in town,” Lady Choi answers for the two of them. Beomgyu fakes a gag at Soobin’s doe-eyed expression of bliss when he turns to his wife, which earns him a pinch from you. “Might I ask…” Her eyes turn curious as she gestures to the two of you. “When did this happen? Certainly we have not missed so much in just a few weeks.”

“You did miss quite a bit, unfortunately,” you reply. Your face betrays no fear but Beomgyu feels your grip tighten on his arm. With his own heart beating a little faster than usual, he honestly welcomes it. “Quite a few things happen in the span of weeks.”

Lady Choi looks at you, nonplussed. “With all due respect to you both, this—” she waves a hand at the two of you again—“is not something that could have happened in just a week or two.”

If only you knew. 

Judging by the tightness of your arm in his, your thoughts are the same, but when you look up at him with a pleasant smile, Beomgyu is certain he would never be able to tell by looking at your face alone. “Well, you are correct. This didn’t happen overnight.” You laugh so naturally, with just the right hint of shyness and embarrassment that one would expect from your enemies to courtship situation. “Last summer, we agreed that our…ongoing feud was too childish to continue. So we decided to finally put it behind us.”

“Yes,” Beomgyu jumps in. As well as you are handling the situation, he can’t exactly leave you to do everything alone. “We began exchanging letters shortly after.” Thank God he’d gotten into the habit of writing regular correspondence with Kai and Taehyun over the past year, or else Soobin would smell a rat immediately. “And when the season came…well, we decided to see how a courtship would work between the two of us.”

“I see,” Soobin says slowly, looking between the two of you. “And how exactly is it working?”

You shrug with the perfect amount of levity. Again, Beomgyu is in unfortunate awe at how well you act. Maybe it is a good thing you can’t hold yourself back when it comes to dislike or aggravation—otherwise, you would be unsettlingly perfect. “Well enough.”

“Well, it is good to see my good friend and brother in law finally getting along.” Lady Choi claps her hands together, smile bright, hopefully oblivious to Beomgyu privately wanting to gag. “We shall have to have the two of you over sometime, shouldn’t we, Soobin?”

“Of course we should,” Soobin agrees with a little too much enthusiasm. Beomgyu’s heart spasms unsteadily as his brother smiles at him cryptically. “I suppose our teasing last season about you finding your lady love in your own sworn enemy did have some level of truth to it?”

You look at him curiously, something mischievously dangerous glinting in your eyes. Beomgyu does not look back at you. “I suppose it did,” he replies through mildly gritted teeth. 

“Well, we will not keep you any longer,” Lady Choi says with a smile that leaves Beomgyu—and you, if your expression is anything to go by—a little warier than before. “Soobin, let’s leave the young couple to their promenade. Us married folks can’t relate to them, nowadays.” Ignoring your sputters of “you are hardly three years older than me!”, she tucks her arm merrily into Soobin’s and leads him away, though Soobin sends Beomgyu one last meaningful glance before he allows himself to be dragged off. 

You and Beomgyu travel on sedately for a few steps before Beomgyu casts a glance backward and says, “We’re safe.”

Immediately you let out a massive sigh, and your grip on his arm loosens significantly. Christ, he hadn’t realized you were holding onto him so tightly until you let go. “That was not in my hand of cards for today,” you mutter. “Though perhaps it is better we got that out of the way sooner rather than later.” You look at him. “Do you think they believed us?”

“If they don’t, it will have not been any fault of yours,” he answers frankly. He’s loath to admit it, but it’s true. “You acted very well.”

Your mouth opens in surprise. “Well, thank you,” you reply slowly, like you’re not quite sure what to make of his words. Beomgyu privately feels the same way, but he also feels the need to give credit where credit is due, so he shoves the strangeness of the feeling away to process later. Maybe never. “I could say the same for you.”

“Thank you,” he says, still feeling slightly off-kilter for whatever reason. It’s probably just the conversation with Soobin. Then he groans. “Did she say they’d invite us to dinner?”

You sigh. “Unfortunately, I think she did.” You mutter something under your breath in addition that Beomgyu doesn’t really hear. He catches something that sounds like evil friends, though, and decides that he probably agrees with your sentiment. “Anyway, what did Lord Choi say about last season? Something about teasing you about your worst enemy?” You narrow your eyes, evil amusement glinting in your eyes. “I am assuming he spoke of me.”

“Oh, that.” Beomgyu silently curses his brother for being the annoyance that he is. “If you must know, my friends decided to take our disagreements out of context and thought that because I had never paid more attention to a woman in my life, I must actually be in love with you, otherwise I’d never have held on to this grudge for as long as I have.”

For a moment, you remain silent. Then you burst into hysterical laughter. 

Beomgyu watches, bemused, as you hide behind your fan, still trembling with giggles as he continues to lead you forward. “I didn’t think it was that funny,” he mutters when you eventually start to calm down.

“Oh, but it is hilarious.” You wipe a tear from your eye, the last few rounds of laughter still shaking your chest. “You, being in love with me because we disagree so often? Tell me, are your friends quite all right in the head? Perhaps I should ask Lady Choi to get her husband checked.” 

“Well, I would agree with you on that front.” Beomgyu gives in to your amusement and cracks a smile. “But in their defense, I am almost certain they were joking.”

“Almost certain.” You snort, looking up at him with a sardonic half-smile that looks so much more natural than the pretty, placid expression you had on earlier. “Well, good thing their delusion isn’t true, because that would be simply absurd.”

Despite himself, Beomgyu returns your conspiratorial smile. How ironic it is that he feels much closer to you in this moment, sharing this secret and laughing at his friends, than any other time before. “You’re right,” he agrees, snickering. “It would be absolutely absurd.”

. . . . .

Dry the linens, scrub pots, clean the kitchen… You hurry down the corridors of your home, listing your tasks over and over so you won’t forget. Last time you missed something, your stepmother slapped you hard across the face. She’s been doing that more often lately—frustrated at your lack of marriage prospects, you think, even though you’d think that having to heal from her bruising you black and blue would only hurt your chances even more. It’s a small miracle that the scratch mark from her ring healed enough for you to hide before the next ball you were set to attend. 

“Here, let me help with that, Miss L/N.” A familiar voice sounds by your ear, and then your load lightens as a pair of hands takes half the linens out of your tub. “Drying, right?”

You shoot Soyoung a very grateful smile. “Yes. And how many times have I told you to call me by my name?” you scold. “It’s awfully stuffy to hear you call me that—we can be casual together.”

“Even though your stepmother may not treat you like it, you are still a lady of the house,” Soyoung retorts. The two of you exit the house into the fresh air of the garden. “I will not disrespect you or myself by behaving otherwise.”

“Come now, Soyoung,” you beseech as the two of you pull one of the linens out of the tubs. Each holding one end, you begin twisting to get as much of the water out as possible. “You must admit that it’s a bit awkward for me to call you by your name when you won’t do the same for me.” Which is true, and which is why you’ve brought the topic up time and time again even though Soyoung—and the other servants’—response is always the same. 

You’ve managed to squeeze most of the water out of the sheet by now, so you toss it over one of the drying lines hanging outside. Soyoung helps you pull it flat on both sides until it hangs properly, then looks at you with more solemnity than you’ve ever seen on her face. “My lady, I and the staff respect you,” she says seriously. “Not because we are required to, like with your stepmother, but because you have always been good and kind to us even before she started ordering you around like one of us. Thus, I must show you the respect we would give the lady of the house.” She huffs. “You shouldn’t even have to do any of this, yet you handle everything without complaint on top of all your own embroidery and mending—”

You clap a hand over her mouth. Then you wince, because your hands are still wet. “Shh,” you hiss, searching the garden. No sign of your stepmother, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t near. “Not too loudly.”

Soyoung gulps when you release her. “Of course. I apologize.”

“It’s all right.” You smile. “And I must apologize for pushing you so hard on the matter of my name. If you truly feel this way, I shall not try to move you any further.”

She smiles back, and the two of you begin on another one of the sheets. “Thank you, my lady.”

Water drips on the grass, dotting the hem of your dress and seeping into the cracks on your hands. You keep a smile on your face as Soyoung chatters on about some gossip she heard from other servants in town, but inside you can’t help but feel a little more alone. It is true you have friends, both in the noble sphere and among your fellow servants, but with your in-between status as half a lady, half a servant, you can’t help but wonder where you stand. Your noble friends do not know of your home situation. Your servant friends do, but while they laugh and joke around you more easily than most, there is still a status difference.

You sigh. If it wouldn’t bring the worst of your family’s financial troubles to light, you might tell Lady Choi. But being worked as a servant would bring even worse ridicule to yourself than your lack of a dowry—not to mention there's not a single man in the ton who would deign to marry a servant, even half a servant like you. If you want to leave this house, you need to marry, so no one can know your situation...but it doesn’t mean you don’t feel alone. 

“Oh!” Soyoung’s exclamation jolts you out of your brief wallow in self-pity. “I heard something about you, my lady.” Suddenly her face is in front of yours, her dark eyes wide with curiosity and mischief. “Is it true that Mr. Choi is courting you?”

“What—” You choke on air and start coughing.

“My lady?” Soyoung pats your back, but she’s far too gentle for it to actually do anything. “Are you all right?”

“Quite,” you manage, holding out a hand. You wheeze out a few more coughs before you can finally look at her. “What did you ask me, again?”

She looks at you with wide, eager eyes. “Is it true that Mr. Choi is courting you?”

Good God. Well, you should have expected it. If the nobles are talking about it, the servants most definitely are. They hear far more than anyone ever expects—many times you’ve learned things about society that you never wanted to know from Soyoung and the others. You sigh. “It’s not quite true,” you hedge. Not the truth, but not a lie either. “We patched our relationship, somewhat. And so we decided to see what would come of a courtship. Do not misunderstand things,” you warn when Soyoung’s smile grows too bright. “I don’t know what will come of it. Neither of us does.”

Soyoung’s shoulders slump. “Oh. I see.” She looks up at you. “Forgive me, my lady. I was only…I was so happy when I heard he might have an interest in you. I know you have had your disagreements in the past, but whenever I have seen him he has always been a kind man. I thought the two of you could be quite happy together.”

Damn. Now you feel like you’ve kicked a puppy. Even though Soyoung’s interpretation of the situation is almost laughable—how could you and Mr. Choi be happy together? Even now you still have to keep yourself from hissing obscenities at him every time you see him—but she’s still your friend and only wants your happiness. “I mean, we don’t know how things will proceed,” you say, hanging up the second sheet. “Anything could happen.“ A gust of wind blows the still damp cloth onto your face. “Ugh—”

“Miss L/N!”

You flail around for a moment before you manage to tug the wet sheet off your face. “Huh? Brighton?”

Your family butler always looks put together, but for the first time ever, you detect a hint of panic in his eyes. “My lady,” he says. “Mr. Choi has come to call on you.”

. . .

You never thought you could get cleaned and dressed so quickly. 

In all honesty, you’re not sure what happened over the past twenty minutes. It was a whirlwind of activity—Soyoung nearly choked, Brighton said something about telling Mr. Choi you were out, and then Soyoung was dragging you back into the house via the kitchen all the while hissing something like you said he wasn’t really courting you! Then somehow you were smuggled to your room and Soyoung had pulled out a dress and Sabine popped out of nowhere to pick out your accessories and then you were being dragged out of the house again through the servants’ quarters to make it look like you just arrived back from town—

And now you are in your own drawing room, still processing the events of the past half hour with Mr. Choi standing in front of you, flowers in hand. 

“Miss L/N,” he says, bowing slightly as he extends the flowers to you. “A pleasure to see you today.”

You take the bouquet with numb fingers. “And a pleasure to see you as well.” Thankfully, the practiced words roll off your tongue easily even in your frazzled state. “Thank you for the flowers. I hope I didn’t leave you waiting too long.”

“Not long at all,” he replies smoothly. “I understand you were in town?”

“Oh, yes. I was trying to find some…” You rack your mind for something to say that might be believable, painfully aware of the growing silence. “Gloves,” you finally blurt out, looking down at the thin cloth covering your hands. You just mended them yesterday, and thank God for that. “Please, do sit down,” you say, wincing internally at Mr. Choi’s lingering glance on your hands, and the slightly raised eyebrow he shows you as he sits on the couch. “I’m not quite sure where my stepmother is, but Brighton should serve as an adequate chaperone until—”

“Y/N.” Your stepmother’s voice rings sharply from the corridor and in your surprise, you flinch. Mr. Choi looks at you sharply, a strange expression on his face—concern? Strange indeed, coming from him—but you’ve already schooled your features into what you hope is a bland, pleasant façade. Her footsteps echo ominously on the floor as her voice grows louder. “Why do I hear you in the drawing room? I thought I told you to—”

“My lady.” Brighton cuts in, saving you from a near panic attack. “A Mr. Choi has come to call.”

“A caller?” Her voice suddenly switches from its previous cold tones to the much silkier, smoother voice she uses in society. You look down to see your hands clutching your gown far too tightly and force yourself to release them. The footsteps get faster. “For my Y/N?”

My Y/N. You barely manage not to gag. Though apparently you don’t quite hide it well enough, because Mr. Choi looks at you even more closely. “Miss L/N,” he murmurs, and you can see that there is real concern in his eyes. “Are you all right?”

Fortunately—or unfortunately, really—you’re saved from having to give him a coherent response when your mother sweeps into the room. You’ve always marveled at how she is able to keep her snooty, evil countenance at bay whenever she is in the presence of company. You’re no blood relation of hers, but the sickening thought occurs to you that you may have learned a thing or two about switching faces from her. “Mr. Choi,” she says warmly, like she didn’t yell at you for hours earlier this morning about not having the drawing room dusted quickly enough. “I apologize for not being here to welcome you in.”

The two of you stand. “Do not worry at all, my lady.” Mr. Choi bows slightly, the smile returned to his face. “Your daughter did the job admirably.”

“Of course she did.” She spares you the briefest of glances—good, because you wouldn’t be able to continue smiling if she decided to look right at you—and gestures for you to sit down again. “Please, do not stand on my account. I will have someone bring in biscuits. Y/N, how could you have forgotten to give our guest some refreshment?” And with that parting jab, she whisks out of the room, leaving you feeling murderous and somewhat lightheaded all at once. 

Mr. Choi looks after her a moment, then turns to you. “Your stepmother,” he says, looking vaguely bemused. He clearly doesn’t know what to say. If you weren’t still struggling to breathe normally, you’d laugh at him. 

Unfortunately, your conversational skills seem to have been swept away by your stepmother’s arrival, so all you can do is echo his words. “Yes,” you say. “My stepmother.”

You lapse into awkward silence that you don’t know how to break. Even yelling would be better than this dead quiet, but you don’t know how to break it. Eventually Beomgyu clears his throat. “Miss L/N, are you sure this is a good time?” he asks quietly. “I can call another day if it would suit you better.”

You glance at the clock. It has hardly been five minutes since you entered the room, and for all you dislike him, you feel bad turning him away this early, especially after he waited for so long. Also, your stepmother might yell at you for chasing away yet another suitor who might take you off her hands. But keeping him longer means less time that you have for finishing your chores, not to mention that you’re starting to get a headache…

Well, if your stepmother is displeased with you, she’ll end up giving you more chores and maybe a slap to boot. You can stomach Mr. Choi for a short while longer. Besides, it will at least keep up your pretense of courtship. Aware of all the servants’ eyes in the room, and aware that they truly believe you and Mr. Choi to be courting, you manage to paste a small smile on your lips. “No, don’t leave so soon.” You force the smile a little wider. “My stepmother has already gone to find you some refreshment—you must not leave without having tried them first.” You lean closer, lowering your voice as though to tell him a secret. “Our cook’s butter biscuits are the best.” 

Mr. Choi scrutinizes you for a long moment, during which you try your best to decipher what his expression means to no avail. “Very well,” he says finally with a soft smile to mirror your own and even though you know he dislikes you, in this moment, he seems very genuine. For some idiotic reason this threatens to bring tears to your eyes but you manage to push them back. “For the butter biscuits, I will stay.”

You manage to make some small talk until there’s a commotion in the hall. Your stepmother appears in the doorway, looking harried and vaguely annoyed, and you see the reason when your little sister blinks her mischievous eyes behind her mother. “Delia, no,” she hisses, as a servant maneuvers a tray of biscuits around the two of them. “It is not proper!”

“But I want to see Y/N and her suitor!” Delia cries. Despite the situation, you smile. “You said I could be there when I was older, it’s not fair—”

“Please don’t have her leave on my account,” Mr. Choi interrupts. You look at him in surprise, but he’s already smiling warmly at your younger sister. “Delia, is it?” he asks, holding out his hands. 

For all her previous bravado, Delia shuffles forward somewhat shyly, shrinking away slightly when Mr. Choi takes her little hands. “Hello,” she mumbles. 

You pat her head gently. “Mr. Choi, please meet my younger sister, Delia.” You smile at her. “Introduce yourself, Delia.”

Not for the first time, you have to hide how adorable you find your little sister as she looks up at Mr. Choi with her big, soft eyes. “My name is Delia,” she whispers. 

“A pleasure to meet you. That is a lovely name,” Mr. Choi says, and he sounds perfectly sincere. For a moment you hold as still as you can just to take in the picture of his soft smile directed right at your sister, his large hands holding her small ones, her wide eyes blinking trustingly into his. It’s a strange portrait, but a surprisingly lovely one. “How old are you, Delia?”

“Ten,” she whispers. 

“Almost eleven,” you add. “Her birthday will be in a few months.”

“A very good age to be.” Mr. Choi nods approvingly. 

Delia blinks, her face solemn. “Are you going to marry my sister?” she asks. 

You choke. So does Mr. Choi. Someone hands the two of you some water and your stepmother steps in, her lips pinched in disapproval as she makes apologies and tries to take Delia away, but Mr. Choi waves her off. “Well, nothing is set in stone yet,” he says conversationally, though you still detect some redness in his cheeks. “But if all goes well, it is possible.”

Your sister nods solemnly. “I see.”

“I apologize, Mr. Choi, but this really isn’t proper.” Your stepmother takes Delia by the hand and tugs her away. “Delia, come back to the nursery. You can play with your brother there.”

You have to stifle a laugh when Delia starts complaining that Henry is annoying, that he’s boring and only ever wants to play with his toy soldiers, and when you look to Mr. Choi, he seems to be having trouble suppressing his smile, too. “She’s adorable,” he says when they’ve left the room. 

“Very much so,” you agree. One of the few bright spots about your stepmother marrying your father. “You’re very good with children.”

“It depends on the child,” he says, and you almost snort. He gives you a half smile that doesn’t even look forced. “I jest. They are very interesting creatures, and see the world so differently from us jaded elders. They are very adorable, and I like them very much.”

This time, you can’t hold back your laugh. It’s a strange feeling, holding polite, natural conversation with Mr. Choi without it devolving into some argument, but you can’t say you don’t find it pleasant. You know that if he provoked you at this moment, you’d still rise to the bait in a second, but right now you can’t help but let your feelings toward him soften ever so slightly. “I do agree with you,” you say, smiling. 

He looks at the clock, then, and turns back to you, looking vaguely put out. “I apologize, but I must go now,” he says, standing up. You follow suit. “I have an appointment with my family’s solicitor. But it was very good to see you, Miss L/N, and to meet your family.” He glances at the biscuits and smiles. “The butter biscuits were wonderful as well.”

You make your goodbyes, and then your stepmother comes in just in time to catch Mr. Choi before he’s fully out the door so she fusses over him some more. When he leaves, you try to sneak out of the room before she can start questioning you, but to no avail. “Y/N.”

You sigh, then turn around. “Yes?”

“Mr. Choi?” she states. Her eyes are narrow, flinty, sharp. “I was under the impression you disliked him.”

You hold yourself as still as possible. “Things change, Stepmother.”

For a long moment, you hold her gaze, saying nothing. She finally breaks the silence with a sharp tch. “Well, as long as he takes you off my hands, I don’t care what your relations with him are,” she says. “Take care not to sour them.” She sneers at you. “Now get back to your chores. You should be finished before our supper with the Haynesworths.”

Supper with the Haynesworths. As if the day could get any worse. You grit your teeth and nod, giving her a brief curtsy. If murder were legal… “Of course, Stepmother.”

. . . . .

If murder were legal, Beomgyu isn’t certain his brother would still be the heir. In his defense, Soobin would deserve it—no one so evil as to force his poor younger brother to attend the annual Smythe-Smith musicale with him is suited for the family title. 

Unfortunately, murder isn’t legal, and honestly, Soobin’s own attendance at the dreaded musicale might be punishment enough for his crimes against Beomgyu. Why people still show up, Beomgyu has no idea—he suspects it has something to do with politeness—but one has to wonder how the Smythe-Smith family has gone generations without hearing a single comment about how truly little talent their daughters have. If the Smythe-Smiths weren’t so influential and kind, surely someone would have said something already. 

They are just—terrible. Beomgyu himself is no musician but he can at least carry a tune. The Smythe-Smith girls don’t seem to even know what a tune is. According to Taehyun, who by unfortunate chance happened to be in town last year when the musicale took place, no one should be able to play a string instrument like that, all screechy and squeaky and off-tune. And yet, apparently, the tradition of Smythe-Smith daughters performing an annual quartet has continued for several generations. 

They actually think that they are good. 

All of which is to say that because Yeonjun has oh-so-regretfully cited baby related concerns as his reason not to attend this year, Soobin is forcing Beomgyu to go. And when Beomgyu pointed out that Taehyun was also attending, Taehyun immediately stated that because Kai wasn’t going to be there, Beomgyu would have to take his place. To share in the misery, or something like that. 

(Beomgyu feels very bad for Taehyun’s wife. She’s never been to one of the musicales before and keeps asking how bad it really could be. Unfortunately for her ears, she is a world-renowned pianist, and Beomgyu isn’t certain she will come out of the musicale alive.)

Which is why on this fine evening, Beomgyu finds himself being dragged kicking and screaming to the Smythe-Smith’s grand London home. Soobin is extremely adamant in his philosophy of “if I have to suffer, so do you,” and his wife just likes to see the world burn—Beomgyu’s world, specifically. “I’m going to get you both back for this,” he mutters under his breath as they join the crowd thronging into the Smythe-Smith’s home. 

“Did you say something, Beomgyu?” his sister in law asks sweetly, glancing back at him with a sickly smile. 

Beomgyu returns the smile with equal sincerity. “Nothing at all, sister.”

They enter the reception room, where they find Taehyun and his wife standing morosely in a corner. “—can’t be that bad,” Beomgyu hears as they approach. “Not if they’ve been holding performances for generations.”

“Oh, they are that bad. Possibly worse,” Soobin mutters. 

Lady Kang still looks unconvinced. Bless her musician heart.

“The musicale hasn’t started yet,” Beomgyu says hopefully. “There is still time to fake a horrific headache or the plague and make it back home safely.”

“And exactly how would the five of us manage to get away with that?” Taehyun says, raising an eyebrow. He tosses back the rest of his drink like his life depends on it, which it very well might. “No,” he declares with grim certainty. “If one of us has to be here, all of us have to be.”

Beomgyu groans, but deep inside he knows it really is too late to run anyway, so he just picks up a drink and prays that it will get him through what is to come. Lady Choi leads Lady Kang off to a group of their friends, so Beomgyu makes idle chatter with Taehyun and his brother until a familiar face catches his eye. 

Your expression is so blank when you meet his gaze that Beomgyu almost laughs. He’s never seen a person more resigned to their fate than you in this moment, plodding along just behind your stepmother with about as much will to live as Beomgyu feels right now. Even without asking, he knows you’ve been to one of the musicales before, and he knows you’ve been dragged along this time too. 

“Is that Miss L/N?” Soobin asks, squinting. “Poor woman.”

Poor woman, indeed. For all the ill will between the two of you, Beomgyu wouldn’t wish the Smythe-Smith musicale on anyone, not even you. 

By now you’ve caught Beomgyu’s eye as well. A tiny smirk lifts the corners of your mouth, and without hesitation, you begin wading your way through the mess of people over towards his little group. “Lord Choi, Mr. Choi. Lord Kang.” You make a short, pretty curtsy. “Allow me to convey my deepest apologies for seeing you here this evening. Not because I don’t particularly wish to see any of you, but because if you are here, you might be carted out on a hospital wagon within the next hour or so.”

Beomgyu chokes into his drink. Next to him, Taehyun looks to be biting back some sort of chuckle, and Soobin just laughs. “A pleasure to see you too, Miss L/N,” he says, smiling warmly. “I take it you’ve been to one of these before.”

“Two years ago.” You shudder, and it doesn’t even look exaggerated. “I am no accomplished musician, but I am almost certain the piano is not meant to be played the way I saw.” Your expression turns mischievous. “I’m afraid I found myself ill the next year.”

“Not ill this year, then?” Beomgyu asks. 

You look at him, and to Beomgyu’s surprise, a moment of genuine amusement passes between you two. “My illness was unfortunately not believed.”

Soobin bursts into laughter. “Miss L/N, I’m so glad you are on better terms with my brother now,” he snickers, hopefully not seeing the sidelong glance you and Beomgyu share. “Your wit was always the best part of our gatherings when we were younger.”

You shoot Beomgyu a triumphant glance that makes him want to grind his teeth. “I am honored to hear that you hold me in such high regard,” you say sweetly, so sweetly Beomgyu thinks he’s going to have a headache. He’d certainly fake it and leave if he wasn’t supposed to be courting you. Unfortunately, though, the crowd is starting to shift towards the hall, so even if he tried to escape Soobin or Taehyun would definitely catch him. “It looks like the music is starting soon,” Beomgyu says, hoping you catch the hint.

Fortunately, you do. “I will leave you for the musicale, then,” you say, searching the crowd for someone. “I must find my stepmother.” 

Unfortunately, Soobin does not catch any hints whatsoever, so he interrupts. “Sit with us,” he invites, oblivious to Beomgyu screaming at him with his mind. “You can bring your stepmother, I’m sure no one would mind.”

If Beomgyu hadn’t been looking at you, he would have missed the slight shadow that passes over your eyes, the miniscule wince that pinches the corner of your mouth at the mention of your stepmother. Your features turn pleasant so fast that he almost wonders if he was imagining things, but even as you agree and go to wave your stepmother over, a feeling of unease settles at the back of his mind. You look the same, act the same even as you follow your stepmother into the hall, but only when you settle into seats next to each other does something finally twig for Beomgyu.

You sat together like this in your drawing room when he called on you last week. When you hurried in, having just come back from town on a search for gloves, when your stepmother walked in and you froze for a moment. Beomgyu looks at you sideways, sitting placidly on your chair, hands folded neatly in your lap. Is it just his imagination, or do your fingers look more clenched than usual?

And aren’t those the same gloves you were wearing last week? In fact, the same gloves you almost always wear? He frowns. Last week you just said you went shopping for a new pair—did you not buy any?

The sound of muted applause temporarily distracts him as the musicians step onto the stage. He dutifully joins in, but as the crowd begins to settle, Beomgyu allows his mind to wander back to you and your small miscellany of strange actions he’s seen this evening. It might be disrespectful not to listen to the music—good God, even their tuning sounds terrible—but Beomgyu is already being respectful enough by showing up. The only other requirement for respect as far as he’s concerned is to just get through the program, and everyone knows the best way to get through a Smythe-Smith musicale is to focus on anything other than the music. 

A cacophony of screeching starts sounding from the stage. Beomgyu peeks over at Lady Kang and almost cackles out loud. Horror, disgust, and regret war on her features while Taehyun looks quietly miserable next to her. On their other side, Soobin has already spaced out and is staring blankly into the distance, and Lady Choi seems to be fighting back tears. 

Beomgyu looks sideways at you. You look even more resigned than before if that is even possible, your features arranged in an expression of silent pain and suffering. Your hands have changed position in your lap from their previous polite fold to clenched fists. Beomgyu agrees with that sentiment. But your clenched fingers remind him of the day he called, when your butler called your mother in and he looked down to see your hands balled in your gown, very similar to how they are now. 

He glances at your stepmother. Her face always seems to be pinched—pinched right now, pinched when she took Delia out of the drawing room, pinched even when she smiled to greet him that day. He’s never really heard anything about her—she married your father when Beomgyu was going off to boarding school, and anyway your families never really became close after it became abundantly clear that you and Beomgyu couldn’t be in the same room without trying to fight. She doesn’t walk in the same circles as he, and she doesn’t appear much in Whistledown. Come to think of it, in your family, the only one who keeps managing to make a fuss in society is you. 

All of this just means Beomgyu doesn’t know much about your stepmother, and thus based off of prior information, he can’t form much of an opinion on her. But there’s something about her continual sour countenance that rubs him the wrong way. And…

The day he called, before she knew Beomgyu was in the drawing room, your stepmother called for you. Instead of the screeching music piercing his ears from onstage, he hears her cold voice asking why you were in the drawing room, why you weren’t doing whatever it is she wanted you to do before the butler interrupted. As soon as he announced Beomgyu’s presence, her tone changed. 

Right. He remembers the sudden shift jarring him, then seeing your expression grow strange in a way he couldn’t describe—something like discomfort, but worse. 

Beomgyu glances over at you again. Well, you look uncomfortable now, but that could very well be because of the tragedy occurring onstage. He himself has half a mind to explode his eardrums right here and now.

No matter. Beomgyu thinks back to the other day. He asked if you were all right, and you said…well, you said nothing. Your stepmother interrupted with her welcome. And then there was the headache of having to hold small talk with you, then the flurry of meeting your absolutely adorable younger sister before he actually had to leave, and between all the legal discussion that followed at the solicitor’s and the drinks at Mondrich’s after, he didn’t think much of the day after that. 

Well, he’s thinking about it now. And now that he has actually applied his brain to your situation, Beomgyu finds himself coming to the conclusion that you don’t get along with your stepmother. At all. And not in the usual way that children fight with their parents every so often—this dislike seems to be deeply rooted somewhere else. 

Maybe that isn’t so surprising, given that your stepmother is not your birth mother. Beomgyu can understand how that might start conflict in a family. But he looks at your clenched hands and remembers how your fingers balled into your gown in something like…anxiety. Maybe even fear. 

Do you fear your stepmother?

No. That must be going too far. Beomgyu shakes his head slightly. How could you, a veritable spitfire, be frightened of anyone? Besides, all of this is based just off of speculation from one day. While he’s fairly certain you and your stepmother are not on good terms, to assume anything else would be pure conjecture, and he isn’t ready to go that far. 

Applause breaks out throughout the hall and Beomgyu nearly jumps. He hadn’t realized the program was over, but he’s so grateful that he joins in on the clapping with enthusiastic verve. As everyone begins filing out back into the previous reception room, he hears Lady Kang tell her husband they need to go home immediately. Smart woman. It would have been smarter to not have come at all, though. 

Next to him, you heave out an audible sigh of relief. “Oh my God,” you mutter. “It was so much worse than I remembered.”

“It always is,” Beomgyu mumbles back. “Oh, look—refreshments.” He jerks his head to a table laden with drinks and small trays. “Shall we?”

You glance back at your stepmother, and maybe it is just his imagination, but you seem slightly more relieved when you realize the refreshments table will be taking you far away from her. “That would be lovely.”

The two of you make your way through the crowd in time for Beomgyu to snag two of the last glasses of lemonade from the table. He hands one to you, then raises his. “To our everlasting health,” he says, “and the preservation of our eardrums.”

You laugh out loud. It’s a lovely, bright sound that almost takes Beomgyu aback for a moment—surely he could not have made something so genuinely happy leave your lips like this. But you only raise your glass with an accompanying smile, and Beomgyu can’t help but smile back when you echo his sentiments, then take a sip of your drink. “I will be honest, I found myself praying my eardrums would explode halfway through,” you admit under your breath. 

“Me too,” Beomgyu agrees. “I thought the performance would never end.” He snickers, a memory returning to him. “Did you see Lady Kang’s face?”

You laugh again, bright and genuine. “It was one of the first things I looked for,” you say, mischief entering your eyes. “And it was absolutely priceless.”

And that’s it. That’s how easy it is, apparently, to hold a conversation with you that isn’t full of barbs and taunts and teeth gritted between every retort. Beomgyu doesn’t know if you find this as strange as he does, but for all its strangeness, he likes it more than he probably should. So he says nothing of it, and neither do you, and as your glasses are slowly emptied, the only barbs you share are those Beomgyu would say are of…friends. 

Friends. He never thought he’d use that word in conjunction with you. But right here, with lemonade in hand and the screeching strains of a violin fading in his ears, it doesn’t seem so out of place. 

Too soon, you finish off your glasses. Beomgyu turns to the refilled table to pick up two more, but before he can extend another one to you, someone else’s hand appears in front of you. 

Beomgyu blinks. You blink. Both of you turn to meet eyes with Lord Kim, and a few other gentlemen standing behind him. 

“Mr. Choi. Miss L/N.” Lord Kim gives Beomgyu a brief nod before turning back to you. “Might I offer you a glass of lemonade?” 

You look at Lord Kim and his group, then at Beomgyu. Slowly, you reach out to take the glass from Lord Kim’s hand. “Thank you, my lord,” you say quietly. 

Beomgyu watches the exchange, feeling oddly detached from the scene. His brain is doing something strange in his head. Why is it that he resents Lord Kim for interrupting the two of you, and why is it that he seems to want to continue his conversation with you?

“Might I take the opportunity to speak with you, Miss L/N?” Lord Kim asks. “I don’t believe we have had the pleasure of being formally introduced, and I’d like to take the chance to do so.” He gives Beomgyu a little smile that seems to lack any fondness whatsoever. “It seems Mr. Choi has been keeping a rare jewel hidden from the rest of the ton.”

Inwardly, Beomgyu bristles. He never kept you hidden, and anyway, if Lord Kim thought you were such a jewel, why didn’t he pursue you during either of your previous seasons? Instead, though, he forces himself to smile back. After all, this is what he is here for. To help you find a husband. You’ve already done your part of driving away determined mamas and delusional admirers. It’s time for him to uphold his part of the bargain, and this is the first time a man has showed such direct interest in you. He has no right to refuse you the opportunity. “Could you blame me for wanting to keep such a gem to my own self?” he retorts with an easy grace honed only by years spent in society. “But should you like to speak with Miss L/N, I will not refuse you the chance to be in her presence.”

You give him a little smile before you leave, something like gratitude glinting softly in your eyes as you let Lord Kim lead you away. Beomgyu tells himself he’s happy, that he has you out of his hair and out of his realm of responsibility, that he no longer has to feign pleasantry he doesn’t actually feel around you. He can’t quite explain away the bitter feeling on his tongue as you leave, though.

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

[vivysnights]

TW: NSFW, fem bodied reader, use of f*ck, smut, exes to lovers, hurt/comfort, make up s*x, unhealthy dinamics (don't blame me Fyodor is a warning himself), possesive behaviour (if anyone treats you like that please run away) Fyodor might be ooc and whipped for the reader, teasing, both parts acting immature (communication is the key people), no use of y/n, breeding kink, After reading ep 117 please don't hate my pookiebear 😞

Word count: 6.6k (I don't know what came over me so enjoy)

Click here for part 1

✧₊⁺.𖥔 ݁ ˖. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁.𖥔 ݁ ˖₊⁺✧

Yeah, I want it all (from you)

Bye, bye, baby

Bye, bye, bye~

⁀➴

.𖥔 ݁ ˖

Don't you know who you're dealing with?

Um, do you think you'll buy me lots of diamonds?

(Yes, of course I will my darling)

⋆⭒˚｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Blurring the lines between real and the fake

Dark and lonely, I need somebody to hold me

He will do very well

I can tell, I can tell

Keep me safe in his belltower hotel

He's loving my look

And I'm loving all his strategic ways

I said "do you think you'll kill for me one day?"

(Yes, of course I will, my darling)

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

Life was not easy—at least for you. Actually, the last few weeks have been a living hell. Well, the issue was your ex-husband. Fyodor. You tried everything you could to ignore him, but failed miserably. But why was he so stubborn and casual to the extent that it got on your nerves? Why, out of nowhere, was he talking to you about the weather and then suddenly asking you why you had eye bags? Or were you sleeping enough and well? Sometimes hiding your frustration was difficult. You nearly thought that he was doing all of it on purpose. That sneaky bastard. So, your day looked like this: go outside and accidentally run into your ex-husband, try to avoid him at all costs, hide, and fail miserably.

After that, go home and spend the entire day and night thinking about how to avoid seeing his face again. But he was appearing out of nowhere at the times when you least expected him. All of this was difficult because he was exceptionally smart and always a step ahead. And a little bit hot. He couldn't see your thoughts, right? If so, you would be in trouble. Because the last time he drove you into a corner, his body was so close to yours that you could hear nothing but your own heartbeat.

Also, the 'worst' part was how he touched you so softly, just like how you liked it. Like after your exhausting day at work, when the only thing you craved was nothing but his touch, and how you two only breathed in each other's presence while clinging to one another. But whatever it was, only remained in the past now. But the most absurd part was you getting nervous and not even making eye contact with him. Damn, why was it so hard? He shouldn't have any meaning to you or a place in your heart anymore. Look at him, already healed and living his life as if mocking you. So why did you feel so stuck and frustrated?

So you gave him indifferent answers like "Oh, I'm fine" or "Yeah, the weather is quite nice today. Isn't it, Mr. Dostoevsky?" Oh, so you knew how to push his buttons, didn't you? You naive doll. Reminding him of something that he didn't want to remember or even acknowledge was on his mind like a disease: the fact that you two were indeed divorced. That you weren't his—at least on paper. Well, what else could he expect? By staying by his side like the cute, clever thing you are, you've eventually learned a few tricks too, but who knew that you would be using them against him? But then he smiled....Oh, that smile that you adored...But why it felt rather cold?

So there you were trying to build up a wall between yourself and him, and there he was angry and in fight with his heart. And now the formality? Yes, it was laughable indeed. Of course, it was reasonable that you would not act...as you did before the divorce. It was normal, right? So he took a step back from you, smiled again, and said goodbye as if you were an old friend of his and like he was going to see you again.

And there you were, standing dumbfounded and trying to process everything while he was walking away from you like it was a normal encounter. Well, who knew what was going through his mind? Maybe he was up to some mischief? You didn't bother to think about it since your heart was beating abnormally fast.

But for now, seeing him wasn't the main problem because you had a wedding to attend—your friend's wedding. To be honest, you weren't the most excited person about this event. Maybe you've become numb to your feelings, or 'he' was just appearing from the darkest parts of your mind. Was it always like this? Even when he wasn't by your side, he was the only thing you could think about.

He didn't play some dirty tricks on you, did he? So, just to clear your mind, you put on your dress, apply your makeup, and get into the taxi in case it starts to rain on your way. It was a cloudy day. What lovely weather for a wedding, isn't it? The wedding was held in a luxurious place in the city. Affording a place that expensive must have been hard on them since they weren't that rich in the first place, which is none of your business, but going to places like that felt a little weird 'cause it only reminded you about those days you've wished to forget. After getting out of the taxi, gray clouds greeted you.

It was becoming clear that not bringing an umbrella with you was a bad idea. You began walking inside the building to take the elevator. A sigh left your lips. It felt like it was going to be a long night. It has been a long time since you went into a crowd like this. But it was refreshing to talk to old friends and have chats with people. It made you forget your worries and feel a little freer. The place was pleasant, just like how you liked it. You got some champagne and began slowly sipping. You promised yourself that you weren't going to drink more than one glass, so you were going to cherish this one glass of champagne well.

Your head hurt a little because of all the chatter and music. The lights weren't helping either. So you decided to get away from the crowd a little bit. Taking your only friend—a glass of champagne—with you to the nearest window close to the terrace, you looked outside briefly. Well, it was raining cats and dogs outside. Another sigh left your lips. The sound of raindrops falling down the window and the accompanying sound of thunder were putting your mind at ease, even just a little bit. At least it was distracting you from your thoughts. So you take another sip and try to come up with things that were nice about this place.

The place was to your liking, your friend was happy, you got your drink with you, and many people were there—many, many people, actually. It was crowded. Maybe if you stayed long enough, you got to eat a slice of cake. Many people you didn't even know greeted you, gave you compliments and kissed your hand as a compliment—a gesture to show their interest in you. Yes.....it was a wonderful wedding indeed. Your battery was low, so eating cake might make you feel a little better.

So you decided to take a slice for yourself. But as you passed through all these people with your remaining energy, one of them caught your attention. His back was turned to you, but you could tell who he was in an instant. He was a little far away from you, in a distant corner of the place. At first, you decided your brain was playing games with you, or maybe you were drunk, but your glass was only half empty. So you instantly took a turn on your heels and hurried in the opposite direction. Why in all of those people he was here? He wore a black suit, but he didn't have his jacket on.

He was holding it on his arm while his hands were in his pockets and talking to some businessmen that you were sure had enough money to buy an island on a random day because the city was too noisy for their liking. Also, the important thing here was that 'he' didn't even know the groom and wasn't that close to your friend to be invited to her wedding. Your heart was pounding in your chest, and your palms were sweaty. Your only choice was getting out of here without him noticing you. Luckily, the bride was close to you, so you could just say goodbye to her and make up a story to leave early.

You exchange greetings with the bride and groom and try to keep the conversation as short as possible. The groom asks you if you like the place or not. So absentmindedly, you say yes, and the words coming out of his mouth make you lose your composure completely.

"Man, Dostoevsky surely has good taste. If it weren't for him, we wouldn't be able-"

The bride squeezes his arm and tells him to shut up. "W-what?" Is the only thing that comes out of your mouth after hearing his words.

But your friend just laughs nervously and tries to change the topic and starts to ask you questions about whether the cake is to your liking or not and other things that you can't comprehend at the moment. So you just murmur a short "goodbye" to both and start to walk away as if you didn't hear 'his' name coming out of the groom's mouth just a second ago. Your steps become faster as the seconds pass. With a still half-empty champagne glass you still hold in your hand that you forgot to put away, the only thing that could be heard was the sound of your high heels in the corridor that led to the elevator.

Seeing him at the wedding completely caught you off guard. What was he doing in a place like that? Also, when did he become that close to the groom to the extent that he helped him to afford a place this expensive? He wasn't the type to help someone he'd just met.

Oh......That sly man..... he knew you would come to this place so he could tease you until the end. Yes, that must be it, or you were just overreacting and he didn't care about you. Well, thinking about the latter made your heart swell. While thinking about these things, your fingertip met the buttons on the corridor for the elevator.

After pressing it, your fingers brushed against the skin on your neck and began to scratch it. It was an old habit of yours that you hated because it would give away the fact that you were anxious. Most of the time, you would make your skin bleed and hurt for weeks. To avoid this, you pressed the button again, as if pressing it repeatedly would make the elevator move faster. The sounds of the raindrops, the faint noises of the people, and the music could still be heard from the place that you were standing. That stupid glass of champagne was still in your hand.

The feeling to facepalm yourself was quite strong, but the sound of the elevator's door opening prevented that from happening. You entered quickly, pressed the button, and waited for the door to close inch by inch. The relief of being able to go home was spreading through your whole body. But— when the sliding door of the elevator was just about to close completely, a hand stopped that from happening. You held your breath because last-minute interruptions never signaled anything good for you—it was what you believed at least. The sliding door of the elevator revealed the person you wanted to see the last—it was none other than Fyodor.

He was there standing, one hand in his pocket, the other hand pushing the door of the elevator further to reveal your shocked figure. When your eyes met, your heart stopped, your breath hitched, and he was just standing, looking at you like he was devouring you, devouring your presence. None of you talked for a few seconds, and the only thing heard was a distant thunder in the background. Then he opened his mouth:

"Good evening, my dear. Running off when it is raining this much and with a drink in your hand is such a pleasant sight to see."

Yes, you could die from embarrassment right this moment. Not just you failed to run away but also looked stupid.

"Mr. Dostoevsky, good evening to you too. But I'm in a hurry, so—"

He raised one of his eyebrows and tilted his head slightly in amusement.

"Well, surely I can see that you are in a hurry. But dear, I don't quite understand the reason why."

Oh, how he liked to ask questions that he knew its answers to. He knew exactly why, but teasing you was much fun for him. Again, you weren't making eye contact with him and now playing with the hem of your dress to distract yourself from the fact that you were again, fell right into his plan. So you just turn your head to the side to avoid his question and give him the impression that he never asked you anything in the first place. Now his patience was running quite low. He spoiled you a lot didn't he? There is awkward silence that you can't stand, so you try to look at him from the corner of your eye without him noticing.

But when you do so, he is already staring at you with his deep purple eyes. His hand finds your chin in a quick but gentle touch and turns your head, so now your eyes are directly looking into his.

"My, my, you are not thinking of leaving when it is raining this much and it is also a shame that roads are closed too."

He steps into the elevator and casually presses a button inside. So now you are alone with him in the elevator and incredibly close to each other. Your plan failed with the doors of the elevator closing behind him.

"W-what are you doing?"

A chuckle leaves his lips as if you said something funny. His hand moves away from your chin as he steps aside; his warmth is now gone.

"Well, you are not planning to stay outside in this weather? Am I correct? There are rooms available for guests to stay the night. Aren't they very thoughtful? So I'm taking you to one, to rest for the night."

Oh, you weren't a step behind but several. But you were so sick, sick of all of this. His teasing and plans were too much for you to handle at this moment. Letting your emotions take the lead wasn't a wise decision; you were trying so hard not to. Elevator's door open and he steps outside and waits for you to come to his side, but you don't and stand on your heels. He was not going to let you get soaked and sick in this weather, or do something careless given your emotional state, so he takes your hand into his, even though he is only wrapping his hand around yours, and takes you to the so-called 'guest's room'. No words come through your mouth while your mind is screaming. You start to scratch your neck again. You want to hurt him, scream at him, and make him understand your feelings when he looks this comfortable. Your eyes start to fill with tears from frustration.

When he lets go of your hand and opens the door for you with a card that he's taken out of his pocket.

"My dearest, I wish you goodnight."

He takes that stupid champagne from you, and the things he makes leave you confused. He wraps his hand around your wrist that is scratching your skin and removes your gloves in a calm manner and puts them inside his pocket. Now, without your gloves that completed your outfit, you feel a little cold and a little bit vulnerable. He leans in slightly, taking your hand to his lips and kissing it before lifting his head and meeting your gaze. When your teary eyes meet his possessive ones, a chill runs down your spine. He squeezes your hand lightly.

Shit, even like that, he wants to ruin you. but fuck your eyes sparkling with tears just because of him makes him want to eat you whole so that nobody but only him could see you. That bastards who don't know their places putting their hands on yours so carelessly boils him with rage. They all should know that you only belong to him. So he continues to plant kisses on your hand, and now to your wrist. He sucks into your skin and licks it after to ease its pain so deliciously that it leaves you confused.

You don't understand why he is doing all of this. His soulless eyes, filled with darkness, only stare into yours as you free your hand from his. He turns and walks away, leaving you on the edge of the door. He is going to throw away those gloves that those filthy sinners' lips touched. He is beyond annoyed; no, he is going to burn those gloves first, then those foolish men later. Perhaps after that he will be satisfied. Your heart and mind were racing and your lips open to say the words that was going to make Fyodor stop in his tracks.

"Fyodor, I hope that my absence eats you whole."

He stops from thinking what to do to these men to comprehend your words. You wanted to hurt him, hurt his pride, and show him his own vulnerability. Well, actually, you did that. He wasn't planning to turn in his tracks according to his plan. But fuck, somehow when you were involved in his plans, they always seemed to crumble. A sound to show his dissatisfaction left his lips. He was just going to plant the seeds in your head to get you to come back. Then his plan would proceed. You're really something else.

He drank the remaining champagne in his hand in one sip, and his eyes staring to one point left to meet your back that was now turned to him. You were going inside the room in slow motion. His quick steps towards you and your quiet sobs were the only thing that could be heard beside the rain outside. With force now you were now inside the room and the door was closed shut behind you, but the shocking part was a sound of thud next to the console table and couple arms embracing you. His hand was encircling your waist and pressing your body into his further, not letting you go from his grasp.

His one hand now going upwards while caressing where he could reach, he held your chin and lifted it to meet your face now that was wet with tears. Why he always had to look like a madman when you were around?

"You have no idea what you do to me, don't you?"

His tone was cold, so was his eyes. Now you looking up to him with your doe eyes and the hitching of your breath with your sobs was a sight to see. There was no way he could let another man see you like this. How could he? He would break any hand that could reach to you and make them drown in their own blood.

"My love..."

He tucked your hair behind your ear, exposing your neck to him. He lowered his head to your neck, breathed in your scent gently and pressed a kiss to your pulse.

"My heart..."

You could hear your heartbeat. He moved slowly towards your ear.

"Don't worry your pretty head over everything. I will get all of it figured out for you."

Like he wasn't the main cause of all of this. Was he asking for forgiveness now? A loud sob escaped your lips.

" 'm tired" of you

His hair touching the side of your face and his voice near your ear made you feel weak in your legs.

"I know"

He let go of your chin and held your wrist, guiding your arm as you turned your face to him. Now that your face was turned to him, he could take a look at you properly. He missed your warmth, your gentle demeanor, and you. His hand moved from your wrist to your hand, guiding it to his lips before kissing the palm of your hand. His other hand found your waist and pressed your lower body against his again. Your free hand gripped the front of his suit. Your sobs are now louder. He was waiting, waiting for a hint for your forgiveness and acceptance. He wasn't going to force himself onto you; he wasn't a sinful man like that.

"If you allow me, my love, I will make it all work between us."

You were shocked and speechless. Was he really asking you to accept him back into your life? It was still raining outside; the room was nothing but ordinary—a king-sized bed with breathtaking scenery outside.

"Don't you see, sweetheart? All of it was just for you today. Put your trust in me once more, as you always do, and don't think anything else."

You knew better than anyone else that whenever he talked and promised something to you he would always kept them because well, you are his little sweetheart. Aren't you?

"You are still in my heart and always on my mind. You are no good for me. I know that too, but why I can't just let all of it go—"

With a swift motion, Fyodor leads you inside and toward the wall by releasing his grip on your wrist and putting his other hand behind your back to quickly wrap around your waist. He pressed your back completely to the wall while pressing his whole body into yours. And he kissed you feverishly, rough with a sense of claiming. Your head was spinning. He kissed, sucked, and bit your lower lip. It felt so good that you were falling apart under his touch. So you held him like your life depended on him, you held his neck, deepened the kiss, and leaned to him more with desperation.

You were running out of breath but couldn't stop kissing him. You returned his kiss with the same desire. You could feel heat building up in your stomach. A moan vibrated through your throat. His palm found the back of your thigh, grasped it, and lifted it to press further into you as he slowly rubbed his groin into yours. A groan escaped his lips. His hand rose higher and higher until it reached the hem of your dress and up to the curve of your ass and caressed, squeezed it with force. When you two pull away from each other, there was a string of saliva connecting you two. His body felt warm against yours.

He was going to make up to you in every way possible. He was going to worship your body tonight, just as he did every day when he got down on his knees to pray to God. You looked stunning like that, his angel, your hair a little tangled, your eyes hazy and filled with desire. Your lips briefly connected again, and he encouraged you to part them so that his tongue could enter and explore your mouth. Not feeling his skin under your touch was unbearable, so you started to loosen his tie and pull him more while your other hand tried to unbutton his vest and shirt. He smirked against your lips before parting for a second.

"Eager, are we?"

You blushed and glanced away from him just to meet his eyes a second later while slightly nodding.

"Mmph"

Fyodor cursed quietly in his native language. You were just so his and obedient it made his dick twitch in his pants. He pecked your lips again and began sucking on the skin of your neck, opening the zip in the back of your dress and causing it to fall to the floor. You wrapped your hand around his neck and massaged his head while breathing deeply. Quiet moans escaped your lips and it only made the bulge in his pants bigger.

His lips on your neck leaving marks, an evident sign that you were his, and licking just to bite after to make you whimper was delightful to his ears. Fyodor began to lead you to bed, holding you impossibly close to his body. The back of your leg hit the edge of the bed, and he laid you gently on it, his eyes dark with a glint of lust, he was nearly fully clothed, he looked at you with pure hunger while you were only in your underwear and bra.

"Myshka, you only wore that dress just to drive me mad with temptation, didn't you? Oh darling, even when you are not aware of it, your mind desires to please me."

That dress was his anniversary present to you; you never got to wear it, though, due to circumstances you don't want to remember right now. Maybe you picked that dress unknowingly or maybe on purpose. Who knows? He began unbuttoning the remaining buttons while looking down at you. Your panties were getting wetter by the second under his gaze.

"So now tell me."

He slowly took off his vent and tossed it aside while maintaining eye contact.

"Did any man lay their hands on you while you weren't by my side?"

He was teasing you; you knew it, and he knew it well too. You couldn't just let any man touch you, no.

"Took of your bra."

So your hands moved to your back to remove your bra. He was staring at you intensely, his hands on the sides of your thighs, stroking them gently. When you took it off, he let out a pleasant hum. When your hands reached the ends of your panties, he stopped you with his voice.

"Keep them on, darling."

Fyodor began to unbutton his shirt and tossed it aside. His pale, lean, yet muscular skin was visible. The bulge in his pants is evident to your eyes. He leaned in while putting his body between your legs, parting them further.

"My eyes are up here pretty."

He loved teasing you and making you a blushing mess.

"Now tell me, did they touch you here?"

He kissed your clavicle tenderly and bit just to get a reaction out of you. A gasp escaped you.

"N-no" He licked it and continued to leave kisses alongside your breast, just to stop and look into your needy eyes once again. He leaned in and bit your earlobe before whispering into your ear.

"How about here?"

His hand cupped your breast and gave it a light squeeze. A sigh escaped you.

"N-never"

A hum vibrated through your ear.

"Yeah, just like that, keep being my good girl."

He leaned to take your nipple inside his mouth and giving it a light suck, his hot tongue was sucking the bud while playing with your other nipple, rolling it between his fingers to not neglect it.

He left marks there too. Your moans grew louder; your hand grabbed and tugged his dark hair, earning a growl from him. He continued kissing your skin down to your belly, your back arching into his touch. Your underwear was damp with your wetness, and your pussy was aching with the desire to be filled. Fyodor kept you steady with his hands to stop you from closing your legs against his body.

"Myshka, behave" It was impossible since it had been so long since you felt this way.

"'M sorry."

He lowered himself to lick a long strand of your clothed heatness. Your breathing quickened, and your hand closed your mouth to muffle your moans.

Fyodor looked up to you and sucked the fabric and started to push his tongue against your clit earning more whines from you. God, you were beautiful and all his to ruin. He could feel your hole twitching and your panty getting soaked with your juices.

His hand found the hem of your panties and waited for you to look at him.

"Then what about here, darling?"

You were desperate and craving for him; your answer didn't disappoint him.

"N-no Fyodor, never!"

His name spilling out of your mouth so deliciously made his member twitch in anticipation. So before he took it off, he prevented you from closing your mouth by taking one of your hands into his.

Then he took it off in one smooth movement, your juices glistening, your hole twitching with want, he hummed and buried himself between your legs, licking and kissing your pussy with fever. His nose bumping against your clit made you moan loudly. His face between your heat, his tongue working skillfully to tease your nerve endings, his lips kissing and slurping your arousal with sinful noises were starting to get you to the edge. Your free hand gripped his hair to make him go faster.

"A-ahh"

His other hand, keeping you down, opened your thighs even more. Your sounds only made his pants tighter. Fyodor started to move faster; your taste only made him hungrier; his hand on your thigh now started to caress your walls to find the spot that made you see stars. He began stretching you by adding a second finger, while his tongue lapped at your wet folds. He stretched you with his fingers, and he couldn't help but let a moan escape. All sensations were becoming overwhelming, and Fyodor felt your walls clench around his fingers.

"M-mh n-nnagh F-Fyo I-I'm-"

He knew you were close, so he found the spot that made you weak, bent, and rubbed his fingers to stimulate it continuously. You pulled his hair harder and desperately tried to move your hips against his face with need. You heard him groan; he added another finger, and you were beyond gone, cumming andcrushing down while moaning loudly. Your body squirmed as he helped you ride out your orgasm. You felt dizzy and gasped for air as your juices dripped down his chin. The sight was filthy and hot at the same time. He gathered your juices in his fingers, sucked on them with lust, and looked deeply into your eyes. The sight caused you to moan again.

"You taste divine, my dear."

Then he started kissing you with the same lust, tasting yourself on his tongue made you squirm again. Your hands caressed his back and you kissed him back. He lowered his groin and pressed it into your wet pussy, making you whimper into his mouth while grinding his rock hard member against you. He placed his hands on your hips to make you grind against him harder, earning a muffled moan from you. The heat pooling in your stomach once again, making the front of his pants wet with your juices, you hear him moan into your lips. Fyodor moves away from you, his belt clinking. He looks at you like he's about to devour you whole.

So you accept him once again. He takes his pants off alongside his boxers, revealing his cock, his tip dripping with precum. First, he makes you comfortable on the bed and puts your legs to his sides, revealing your pussy to him more, his behavior turning you on more and more. Your sight sends shivers down his spine, and he has to restrain himself from taking you right here and there. Your sweaty form, lustful eyes, and eagerness are only fueling the fire. He pulls you closer to him, making your legs wrap around his waist. He strokes himself a few times before looking back at you. Your walls are clenching around nothing and feeling empty.

He uses his tip to gather around your fluids to lubricate his dick then slowly circling your entrance with it while pulling cute noises from you.

"F-fyodor, please don't tease me anymore."

He chuckles coldly.

"What happened to Oh, Mr. Dostoevsky, hmm?"

He slowly pushes himself. A gasp leaves you, your walls sucking him in for more, leaving Fyodor nearly breathless, he growls.

"Mmph- Aah-ah—that—you know why."

He's halfway through, and your warmth is already intoxicating.

"Well do I?"

He was not foolish or sinful like those around him. He had a greater purpose. But now he was kneeling and worshipping your body. Maybe loving someone only led to sin in the best ways possible. You couldn't let him go; you know it is toxic. But damnit, he lets it happen. He spoiled you too much, didn't he? Now he can't predict anything—any emotions, to be precise. These are his feelings, but he is unable to understand or rationalize them. It irritates him if he can't control it or twist it to his liking. Oh, God, help his pure soul. He pushes himself all the way in one go, taking you by surprise with a whimper. Leaning down into you, he pushes you down into missionary, his elbows on the sides of your head, slowly pulling his cock in and out of you as your moans got louder.

He is in no better shape, but he was trying not to show it while gasping for air. Your gummy walls squeezing him tight and already milking him, your whines close to his ear making it hard for him to keep his composure. He starts moving faster, hitting your G spot along the way. Your hands on his back, scratching his pale skin, and your legs pulling him closer only feeding his possession more. He gazes into your eyes, thrusting faster and rougher. Your eyes were cloudy just like the weather and now they were tearing up, but this time with pleasure. You look back at him, your resentful eyes only turning him on more.

Oh, how he loves those eyes of yours. Picking up the pace, he leans in and puts more weight on you. While panting for more air, he thrusts one more time and places his lips near your chin and whispers:

"Myshka isn't my side of the bed cold? Don't you want me to come back to you?"

Your legs tightening and trembling around him, you couldn't see his face but only could hear the squelching sounds from where you two were connected and your moans with the sound of rain. A white ring was forming in the base of his cock while you were meeting his thrust feverently. As he sinks deeper into you, you could feel your climax approaching. Your mind clouded with pleasure, you answer him.

"Fuck Fedya, yes!"

Yes, yes, yes, call him like that again and fuck yes, he will destroy the world if you want. Yes, he will buy you a house fuck even with the one with a lake. Then again, he will fuck you as much as you want him to. Who exactly is he fooling? He is yours eternally, just as you are his for a lifetime. God must have been playing games with his mind. Oh, your eyes and how they look under the moonlight. Oh, how he likes it even more when they get all shimmery with tears all because of him. Since he is the only one who can bring heaven to you with such pleasure. All his, all fucking his.

That nickname, his name, coming out of your mouth only makes his dick harder and balls tighter. Chasing his own high with you, he speeds up and places his thumb on your clit, playing with it to push you over the edge. Thick tears making their way down to your face to his hair. He raises his head and with his thick Russian accent, he curses between his teeth once again.

"I gave you what you have wanted, didn't I, darling? So why are you crying right now? How petty."

Such simple and heartbreaking words coming out of his mouth as if he isn't the one who is actually acting petty. How laughable isn't it? But he can't let you see him this vulnerable. The knot in your lower belly threatening to snap anytime makes you desperate for your own release.

"You gotta use your words, pretty."

"I-I'm- aghhh- I'm coming."

Your toes curling, juices drenching the sheets, holding him close with your legs, your climax washes over your body once again. Your gummy walls clamping down on his shaft and welcoming him once more. He groans and pushes you into the mating press and chases his own high. He captures your lips once again and gives you a deep but sloppy kiss while pushing your legs more apart. If he fucks a baby into you, you wouldn't try to run away, right? Since you would carry the obvious sign that you belonged to him. So those trashy guys won't dare to lay their filthy hands on you ever again.

If they do, he will erase them from existence. He moans to your lips, the thought of you carrying his child, with full of his seed, pushing him over the edge as he thrusts again, spilling thick robs of cum inside you, his eyes rolling back. He pushes his dick deeper into you, ensuring that nothing goes to waste. You whimper and kiss him back as tears fall once more, this time from overstimulation. When he recovers from his high, he pulls his dick out and rolls to the side.

Gently pulling you into a hug to his chest, facing him, you hug him back and kiss his Adam's apple softly. You felt tired and sleepy; for a few minutes, you two just stayed like that.

"So Mrs. Dostoevsky want me to draw a warm bath for you?"

You were flushed and slowly drifting off to sleep. The only thing you could mutter was a quiet "mmhm" and a slight tilt of your head.

Rain was still hitting the windows, as if it was trying to sing you a lullaby. The last thing you heard before falling asleep was a faint chuckle, followed by a couple of arms wrapping around your body, enveloping you in a familiar warmth.

Well, you were gonna come back to him one way or another. He knew that; he was sure of it, of course, since he is smart, right? When you come back to him and accept his vulnerability, once again he will let it happen because you are his. He can't predict what will happen in the future with you because God must have created such a bond that even after everything, you are still drawn to him, and he will always accept his pure girl to his hell and cherish ruin his angel. He can't create heaven nor go to one, but he will do everything to bring one to you.

But now Fyodor wasn't sleeping, but rather watching how your little body was wrapped around his—all vulnerable and untainted—to his liking, of course. He squeezed your body slightly in a possessive manner, pressing his body deeper into yours. He will make all the ways back to him for you. He was going to make it happen. So you could return to him. Because you're his innocent wife. How foolish of you to believe that a simple piece of paper could end your relationship with him. He was certain that God created you specifically for him to hold, caress, and breed. Everything happened only so you could return to where you belong, as God intended.

A few disagreements aren't the problem when you are in his arms like this, being all beautiful and innocent. How pure and filthy, how separating and unifying. Even God had his favorites, so it is normal that you also have a little privilege for yourself. How magnificent, right?

Because you are still his, and always will be. He will make sure of it.

Taglist: @sssarrrra @fyology @literatureloverx

So just for you guys to know I’ve never touched a man in my life. I didn't even feel anything romantic towards someone but here I am writing fanfiction about a death author dude who is probably +500 years old in an anime and I'm calling him bbg and the love of my life. Huh 😮‍💨 life is really full of surprises. It was my first time writing smut so please be nice I tried my best okay? 🥺🙏 Also English is not my first language so if there are any grammatical mistakes forgive this pookie (me🥺). Hope you like it tho. Comments, reblogs are greatly appreciated 💜

[merbear25]

Mihawk, Zoro, Smoker x pregnant reader?

Hello, hello! Thank you for sending your request. This was really sweet to think about! And with such good choices?? I hope you enjoy what I've written for you. 💜💜

CW: fluff, fem!reader, headcanons/scenario

With a pregnant reader (Mihawk, Zoro, Smoker)

Mihawk

When you first told him you were pregnant, he got up from his seat to wrap you in a loving embrace. He placed light kisses on your forehead and told you how much he was going to help you through the process and he did just that; making sure you were comfortable at all times, he’d give you the utmost care, practically catering to you. The further you got in your pregnancy, the more protective he was of you, which meant you were nagged here and there if you weren’t taking proper care of yourself.

He’d encourage the both of you to go to early parenting classes and would buy you books relating to early child development, of which he’d end up reading more than you. Whenever your feet were swollen, he’d offer you a massage and run a bath for you to ensure you were comfortable. When it came to cravings, he wasn’t going to deny all of them, but he wasn’t going to let you run wild with them either. You’d roll your eyes at him here and there, but seeing him care so deeply about you and the baby truly warmed your heart.

Decorating the baby’s room was something he’d want to plan together. He’d end up doing a lot of the building aspect, while you were painting the walls. Looking over at him and watching him focus on putting the crib together only made you more excited to bring your child into the world.

The two of you would spend each night curled up in each other’s arms, relaxing to the gentle hums coming from the other. Such tender moments were never taken for granted, letting the both of you appreciate every part of this process.

Zoro

His expression went blank upon hearing the news. For a moment he just blinked at you and even asked if he’d heard you correctly. When you confirmed that you were indeed pregnant, his poker face shifted into one of pride—pride in the fact that you created this together, out of love. He was always the protective type, and that wasn’t going to waver any time soon, especially with a baby on the way. There were times you felt a bit suffocated, leading you to sitting him down to reassure him everything was going to be fine and not to worry too much.

To help ease his growing fears, you suggested taking some parenting and birthing classes. During the classes, he put in a lot of effort. Even if it took him a while to grasp everything, he was genuinely trying—that was all you could ask for, really. Whenever you had cravings, you knew how to get him to cave…most of the time. You both chose your battles when it came to the beast that was your intense cravings, but when it got too out of control, he gave in to keep the peace.

When it came to decorating the baby’s room, you would need to be the one responsible for making some sort of plan or else you could very easily waste time redoing it. You put him in charge of building the crib and putting together some of the other furniture, being sure to leave the instructions in his line of vision. He got sidetracked here and there because his thoughts kept wandering to you. He liked watching you paint the walls and hang the curtains.

You both were already exhausted, making you wonder just how much harder it was going to be when the baby finally arrived. Crashing down on the couch, you enjoyed lazily slumping over each other and taking your much earned naps.

Smoker

Hearing the news he was going to be a father made him short circuit. He’d never really considered becoming a father, but that wasn’t to say he never wanted to be. That angelic smile on your face and the pure joy radiating out of you, eagerly awaiting his response, how could he not be thrilled? He was never the best when it came to expressing himself, so he simply hugged you tightly and told you that was wonderful news. Some ways that he did show his affection was through his protectiveness. He just wanted to ensure nothing could hurt you or the baby, but there were times he took it a bit far.

Noticing how seriously he was taking this was great. However, you thought that he should lighten the load stress was putting on his shoulders. You came to him with the suggestion of going to parenting classes and when he told you he’d already looked into it, you couldn’t help but be touched by his initiative. The classes helped his stress reduce a bit, getting him to realize through preparation that everything would be fine.

He came to you fairly early in your pregnancy to start planning the baby’s room. There were already some nice ideas he’d considered and of course, he wanted to share them with you. Despite being a rather intimidating man, it was moments like these when his true nature shined through. Putting himself in charge of building all the furniture, you gladly took the lighter jobs. You snuck a few glances at him, wanting to admire the man who’d be fathering your child.

You didn’t really feel like you had much time to rest with how eager he was to get everything ready. That being said, he didn’t bother you when you were tired. He’d much rather you rested than tucker yourself out unnecessarily. When you took your naps, he came to place a kiss on your temple before continuing his work.

[bumblesimagines]

i care about you. more than i'd like to admit.

Daenerys Targaryen

i care about you. more than i'd like to admit.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

doesn't really follow canon, Dany doesn't marry Hizdahr

Part of him had expected to be executed right then and there in the fighting pit, after all, he'd thrown a spear in the direction of the Targaryen and nearly impaled one of her knights. His victory in the pits had been shortlived afterward, with a swift order to throw him in the dungeons for an 'attempted assassination' where he'd be thoroughly questioned. A few hours had seemingly passed since then, and he kept himself busy by napping against the rough stone walls and hearing the groans and moans of fellow prisoners. The door at the end of the corridor opened with a loud whine and his eyes parted, hearing heavy footsteps walking right toward his cell. 

"Are you certain he is who you say?" A woman's voice asked, light and youthful. The Targaryen, perhaps, or possibly the advisor girl who trailed after her everywhere. He hardly cared about Meereen's newest ruler, much less had time to learn anything about her and her people.

"Yes, Your Grace. My eyes have yet to deceive me." A man answered, his voice lower in pitch and withered by age. The knight he'd almost killed, no doubt. (Y/N) almost snorted. He must've bruised an ego or two by accident. 

"Very well." The woman responded and the dimly lit corridor brightened with the light of a torch. The man holding it appeared to indeed be the knight if the scowl on his face said anything. (Y/N) hummed and shifted slightly to face the newcomers, his eyes trailing from the knight to the young woman standing beside him. Her long silver hair cascaded down her shoulders partly pulled back into braids and framing her oval face. The ends of her dress had grown stained from the walk through the corridor, the light blue now a dark shade of brown, but she hardly seemed to mind or notice. 

"Will I be killed by fire or eaten by one of your... 'children'? I always wondered how that'd feel like. Horrible, probably, but at least it beats drinking yourself to death, aye, Gaz?" The prisoner across from his cell made a low grunt of acknowledgment, uttering a frail curse directed at him. (Y/N) grinned and the knight's eyes narrowed further.

"You are in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the first of her name, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the Mother of Dragons, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the-" 

"Queen of Meereen would've done fine, Ser. Don't waste your breath on the rest." (Y/N)'s interruption only seemed to fuel the knight's irritation further and he opened his mouth again, likely to bestow some sort of lecture upon him before Daenerys Stormborn raised her hand to silence him, casting a thankful look over her shoulder at him and stepping closer to the cell. 

"Do you have a problem with my titles?"

"You rule Meereen, no? You should, uh, shorten it to Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, first of her name, Queen of Mereen, the Mother of Dragons, and the rest of it. You are not Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, Daenerys Stormborn. House Baratheon sits on the throne, though last I heard, those fools were fighting each other."

"And from what I've been told, those fools were your brothers. I'm sorry for your losses, I know what it is like to lose two brothers." Daenerys hardly sounded apologetic, although he hardly blamed her. His brothers, especially Robert, were difficult to like. "But if rumors are to be believed and if your last brother, Stannis, falls as well... it will make you Lord of Storm's End." 

"And those who believe the rumors about Robert's wife believe you are the next in line for the throne. Yet, here you are, fightin' in pits like an animal and sittin' in dungeons. What happened to you, boy? Everyone's been searchin' for you." (Y/N) tore his eyes away from them and stared at the wall in front of him, his lips twisting and jaw clenching. He'd been the last born, the last son of Lord Steffon and Lady Cassana Baratheon. He wondered what they would've thought of the messes their sons had created for themselves. Two were dead, the other lost his mind, and the last one fled home before a marriage could've been thrusted upon him.

" I suppose I am already Lord of Storm's End, seeing as Stannis believes himself to be King. If you have come here to ask for my support, you will be disappointed, however. You can hardly rule Meereen. How will you rule the Seven Kingdoms? You've been away from court for years, Daenerys Stormborn. You have no right to the throne unless you take it as my brother did, and even then, those who survived King Aerys will fear having another Targaryen as ruler. You will have to work harder than Robert to win the trust and loyalty of any noble." 

"Sounds as if you know quite a lot about ruling. I am in need of another advisor, Lord Baratheon. Perhaps, you could fill that role."

Daenerys's room had the best view in Meereen with its large balcony showing the large expense of the city and the breeze that flowed in, keeping the room cool even on the worst days when the sun shone down on them relentlessly. (Y/N) enjoyed the view, and especially enjoyed the breeze, although he hardly had reason to leave the Great Pyramid after having been ordered to remain inside unless accompanied by a loyal servant of Daenerys. At least her distrust in him had lessened tremendously over time.

"(Y/N)," Daenerys sighed, nuzzling her cheek against his shoulder and opening those dazzling eyes of hers to peer up at him. "Tell me more of Storm's End." She said softly, her fingers trailing down his arm until she found his hand, intertwining their fingers together. (Y/N) chuckled, resting his chin atop her head and feeling her silver strands tickle his skin.

"Well, as the tale goes, the Storm Kings ruled the Stormlands for millennia until Aegon's Conquest when he sent his commander, Orys Baratheon, to battle with the last Storm King. Orys won the battle and took the late Storm King's daughter as his bride thus becoming Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. Since then, Storm's End has been ruled by House Baratheon." (Y/N) recounted the history that'd been engrained into his head from the moment he could understand language. Baratheons had always been proud of their history, of their ancient lineage. He tilted his head, lips brushing over her hair and pressed against her forehead. Daenerys smiled. "Why are you interested in Storm's End, Dany?"

"Because..." She trailed off, eyes flickering away briefly. She moved slightly, peeling away from his side to instead straddle his lap, her bare chest pressing against his. "Because I care about you. More than I'd like to admit. You are not the man I thought you'd be. You are... incredibly vexing and arrogant but you are intelligent and a just man. I have been... thinking... about what was said that night in the dungeons. Ser Barriston is right, as are you. I have much to learn, but I believe with you at my side, we could rule the Seven Kingdoms together."

"Dany-"

"I know you care about me, too. I know Kings Landing will accept you as their king and any other children we have will rule over Storm's End, just as your family has all these years. I spoke with Ser Barriston, I asked for his advice and he gave his approval. We could wed, whether in Targaryen custom or Baratheon, and rule the Seven Kingdoms."

"Wait, wait," (Y/N) exhaled, sitting up further and delicately cupping her face in his hands. "Any other children?" Her features softened, her lips forming a gleeful smile. She leaned back, away from him, and peered down at herself, her hand coming to lovingly rest on her belly. 

"Missandei and I believe I am with child, (Y/N)."

[elodieunderglass]

To be fair to Jack Glass, an AI facemorpher app was never going to produce someone with any kind of alternative or queer energy whatsoever. It's just not how they're trained. I mean, that haircut is not a reflection of Elodie + T, that is the haunting spectre of ~60k random white guys whose data they scraped off Facebook to make the model.

Right fine FINE since we feel so strongly about the sheer provocation of poor old guysona Jack Glass let’s HAVE HIM BACK FOR A MOMENT, let’s chew on him SOME MORE, with his PODCASTER FACE APPARENTLY !!!!! Christ!!!!

MmmmmMMM I think , with all the love for humanity in my heart, that no matter how hard we might try to scrungle him, this is just A Good Man. it is A Good Man of a different species to myself. but ecosystems are beautiful and balanced places; full of things that are not my business, natural wonders that don’t need my opinion, and mysteries beyond my power to plumb. WHATEVER, it’s FINE. Am I not the first person to fight for the rights of the Bob? Do I not myself champion that there is no such thing as “looking queer” ? Have I not said before that such beliefs damage our whole community and hurt our people?

Nobly did I stand for the rights of the Bob, but I had not considered that but for a twist of the sliders, I was also capable of being a Bob all along!!

(Also I was kind of doing a bit, since the point of OP’s post was a celebration of trans people who are having a damn good time leaning into their inner Bob, as everyone should.)

However, the lessons that Jack Glass has to teach us are many, and one of them is: if a dark mirror showed you that inside your bi bitch self there was a guy who was, detectably, some sort of straight-looking guy with a DnD podcast and the ability to reverse parallel park as well as opinions on loading the dishwasher: can you be chill? Can you face up to the fact that a different brow line would simply make you appear extremely opinionated about fly fishing? And if not, why? Ultimately I do feel that I can be chill, with room in my heart for my inner Jack, even as I lay facedown on the floor thinking about how i BET he does his own oil changes. and that was the spirit I shared him in. The belief that because there is mundanity in the beautiful queer, there is beauty and indeed queerness in the glorious mundane.

And what came of it? Well, much condolence and sympathy, and many shared stories, and many people saying that while it may be very hard to face up to Jack Glass, what is important is that he looks kind. And that is another beautiful lesson of Jack Glass, which is that no matter who your dark mirror is, they are lovable to someone; whether this is helpful for people transitioning or simply helpful to hear in a psychological way, it is worth saying.

Thank you for this 🤝 and to everyone who, with charity and kindness, told me sincerely that they believed in his latent bi energy 😤 and may his lessons, whatever they are to you, be a blessing to those who need them.

[xxblairexxss]

She’s in a good hand

Pairing : Charles Leclerc x exgirlfriend!reader

Theme : Light angst, fluff

It felt so lonely when your dad suddenly left you alone in this world. It felt like you lost the light at the end of the tunnel, it was until your ex boyfriend, Charles came back to your life to keep his promise.

Not proofread!

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"Charles, how long?" Riccardo called out the driver, who seemed to be very quite from the beginning.

He swallowed the tender meat from his dish, wiping his mouth with the tissue he had in hand. Charles hadn’t been participating in the group chat that much because this was his first meal of the day and he was starving. He skipped dinner last night because he hardly had any energy to cook anything. "How long, what?"

"Your break." Martha filled in on behalf of his boyfriend.

"Ah, just two weeks.” And just like that, the conversation ended, and he continued back to his meal while eavesdropping on the talk amongst his group of friends until one of the topics perked up his ears.

"Did you give Y/N a call?"

"Yeah."

"Is she doing alright?"

"No, of course not. She tried to sound bubbly just so I wouldn’t worry too much, but I know she still cries herself to sleep."

"He was all she had. I wasn’t even expecting her to be fine right away."

"Yeah, and she was really close with him too."

He wanted to say something but his body seemed to be making its own decision before he could make up his mind. Few of his friends looked his way as he cleared his throat, knowing very well he had something to say.

"What happened to Y/N?” He questioned, eyes went on the couple. Charles saw the way Martha gave a little glance to her boyfriend and pressed her lips into a thin line.

Back when he broke up with you, they realised that Charles wasn’t really comfortable when they mentioned your name, despite the fact that the breakup was on a good term. It had been a year since then, and he eventually accepted that regardless of whatever happened between you and him, you were still part of the group friends, and there would be times when they would mention and talk about you, especially Martha. She was one of your closest friends.

He hadn’t seen you since then. You had asked him to stop contacting you or you would never be able to move on with your life, so he did what you asked. It was hard at first because you were a huge part of his life and to wake up one day, having to carry on with his life without texting you, listening to your voice, hearing you blabbered about your favourite movies without an early notice was unbearable. Up until now, he wasn’t really sure if he had indeed forgotten you or he had his career that acted as his distraction. Either way, you had always been in the back of his mind.

"Mr. Y/L/N passed away last week.”

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flash

“I told her I couldn’t go on a date with him because I love you! “

Alcohol had always been a social lubricant to you. It always made you talk a lot more. Sometimes it made you talk too much that the aftermath made you unable to talk to anyone for a week because you were so embarrassed. Charles had been holding his laughter. He wished he had recorded everything you had been saying ever since he drove away from the club and let you listen to it when you were sober. But a small part of him was glad enough that out of all embarrassing things you could have talked, you had been telling him you love him over and over. He had been planning to confess to you for weeks now, but he wasn’t really sure if you liked him the same—more than a friend—but now that you had been prattling your love for him time and again, it wasn’t that vogue anymore. "Yeah? How much do you love me?"

"A lot! Like,” You brought up your arms and moved them in a circular motion. “this much! But I don’t know if you love me back, so I just keep it a secret." You tried to cover your flushed face with your hands and chuckled.

"I love you too.” He whispered.

"What did you say? Charles, I can’t hear you!” You leaned against his arm and hiccuped. "I wish you loved me back."

"We are here, bambi." You managed to hop off the car on your own, insisting you could walk without his help while he went to pick up your handbag and heels in his car.

"Hi, dad!, I’m so sorry I’m late.” You crashed and slump your body against the older man as Charles followed behind.

"It’s okay, honey. As long as you are safe.” He pecked you on the side of your head as you walked in, bidding goodbye to your best friends.

"Bye, Charles!" You squealed and hopped your way to your room, leaving him to face your dad on his own.

"Leclerc."

"Sir, I—um.”

"No hands?" The adult queried.

"No." Charles shook his head right away, as if vocally denying it wasn’t enough to persuade your dad.

"No lips? Tongue?" 

"No, absolutely not. I’m completely sober, and I have two more friends, one girl and one guy, in the car. Here’s, um, her heels and handbag.” He confirmed before handing your older man the stuff you had left. "Have a good night, sir."

"Leclerc." 

"Yeah?" He stopped in his track back to his car and looked back.

"Thank you for taking care of her."

"Of course. I’ll always take care of her. I promise." He nodded out of curtesy and made his way back to the car, continuing his way to send his other friends home.

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This was the third time the ringing tone rang over and over again from the start. He had been in front of your house, ringing your bells, for the past 10 minutes. His leg veins were all sore from standing it was as if he had a leg day.

“Are you sure she’s home? My legs are burning, bro. She’s not picking up the call either." Charles groaned and heaved a sigh. It felt as if he was going against the rule. He had asked his friends if it was okay for him to pay you a visit because the last time he tried to see you, you flipped off but that was a week after the breakup. It was solely for a different reason now. The friends were very supportive of the idea since everyone except him had sent their condolences in person.

"She hasn’t left the house at all! Just come back tomorrow, then. Maybe—" 

He clicked on the end button right when the sound of the lock being turned came from the other side. "Y/N?"

"Oh, hi…" 

You looked different, a gloomy kind of difference. You no longer had the sparkle in your eyes. Your eyes were droopy and puffy, as if you hadn’t had enough sleep, and the dark circle under your eyes was so obvious that it looked like a silhouette against the rainy days in Monaco. "I heard what happened. I’m so sor—“

"Sorry? Yeah, I have been hearing the same things from every single person since last week. I’m sorry for myself too. You can go now."

"Wait! Y/N, wait." He slipped his foot in between the small gap and held the door from closing shut. "I see that you do not want to talk right now, and I understand and respect that. But if you want to talk sometime later, I’m always here, alright?"

"Thanks, Charles." 

He stepped back, and you closed the door, locking it back as he walked away. He didn’t need to come inside to know that the house was dingy, as if it were painted all over by a leader.

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He stretched his limbs, hands patting and slapping in every area against the duvet, trying to find his phone that was blasting the ringtone in full volume. "Hello…?" Charles leaned to his side and rested the phone on his ear so he wouldn’t have to hold it.

"Charles? Am I disturbing you?"

It was 3AM. Of course you weren’t disturbing him at all. "No? No, not at all. I wasn’t even sleeping.”He sat up straight away, yawning as he put the phone away for a second, in case you could hear it.

"What were you doing?"

"Sorry? Oh, I was working out.” He dipped his head, feeling the blood rush to his head from the abrupt movement earlier.

"At this hour?"

"Yeah. I have jet lag.” He had been here for days. If jet lag lasted this long, he would have been hospitalised. "Is there anything wrong, Y/N?"

"No… I just—" There were 10 seconds of stillness before you continued. "Actually, I don’t know why I called you. You can go back working out. I’m so sorry—“

"Hey," He cut on.

"…yeah?"

"Would you like to listen to me talk for a while instead? I got a few funny stories you might want to hear." Charles felt like his prayer was answered when you reached out to him. It wasn’t much, but at least the first thing that came to your mind in the middle of the night was to search for his name in your contact out of all people. To him, that was really meaningful. "I’m really good at telling jokes."

You didn’t reply.

"You don’t have to say anything. Just be present with me; is that okay?” Then he heard your soft voice on the other side.

"Okay.."

So he went on and talked for a while, though his brain cells had to open a few old books in his memory to recall some interesting stories, but anything to keep you company so you wouldn’t feel alone.

“Y/N, are you still here with me?" He thought you were asleep because he nearly did, though his mouth was conveying every words his brain could make up.

"Yeah."

“Are you sleepy?” Charles asked. It would be crazy to ask the question at 4AM to anyone else.

“No, not yet.”

Though your reply was short and he barely got any reaction, at least you were listening to him so he stayed up that night, telling her about how Lando made fun of his way of driving.

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You called again a few days later. Truth be told, Charles hadn’t been sleeping that well ever since you started calling him in the middle of the night. He was so afraid he would accidentally miss your calls that he even set an alarm for every hour of the night.

"Hi. Am I disturbing you?”

He was leaning against his headboard. Your call didn’t come as a surprise this time, so he didn’t sound sleepy at all. "No, not at all, Y/N. Do you—"

"Can I—" You spoke along with him.

"Go on." 

"Can I talk about my dad?” Your voice trailed off. You had been wanting to talk about him. You wanted to talk about how perfect of a dad he was to you. To talk so proudly of him for hours. You refused to act as if he were gone. No, you couldn’t move on just yet. You wanted to tell everyone about everything he had ever taught you about life. You wanted to play pretend, talking about him as if he were still here.

But who would be willing to listen to a story about a random old man, someone who wasn’t important to them as much as he was to you? Someone who wasn’t a significant icon in the world. He was just your dad.

So you weren’t expecting him to say yes, and that was totally fine. “It’s okay if you don’t want to..”

"Sure! Tell me everything about him. All I know is that he was very scary, especially when he called my name."

You giggled. It felt forever since the last time you smiled; that it felt a little awkward. "He always said he did it on purpose because you would always freeze whenever he did that."

"For real? My legs went weak every time he went "Leclerc."" This had been the most words he had ever heard you say since he met you again.

"He would always peel the shrimp for me." You blurted, finding yourself smiling again. This was the first time you had ever spoken about him since he passed. Charles, on the other hand, tried to stifle his yawn by cupping his mouth. "Because of that, I would never order any dish that had shrimp or prawn if I wasn’t with him because I didn’t want to peel them on my own."

You heard him laugh on the other line. "Do you know how to peel your own shrimp?" He jested.

"I think so. It’s been a while since I peeled them myself. I should probably start learning how to do it myself.”

"Have you learned how to tie your shoelaces?” You heard him query, laughing right after. He remembered how you would always ask him to wait because Mr. Y/L/N hadn’t tied up your shoelaces yet. He had taught you the step by step, yet it felt like the most complicated thing ever so you never tried it again.

"Of course! I have always known how to tie them."

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"Coming!"

You ran to the door as soon as the bell went off while still struggling to clip your earrings on. You went with a printed shirt and bootcut pants in black, paired with your hair tied up in a ponytail. This was the first time in what felt like forever since you dressed up this well. Charles had asked you to join the rest of the group for a casual lunch, and you had been M.I.A. since the date so the only right thing to do was to say yes. "Is this okay?”

"It’s more than okay, Y/N. You look stunning. Ready?" His heart swelled with pride, seeing how much improvement you had made. Charles was told you hadn’t leave the house ever since what happened and he wasn’t hoping for you to agree with his offer. Not only you said yes, you were also looking forward to it.

"Ready." You exclaimed and halted your steps before bumping against his chest as he abruptly stopped.

"Wait." 

"Why?" Your head tilted along as he crouched down to pull your shoelaces loose. Your cheeks were flushed because you even went on internet and tried to make it perfect but judging on how quick he was to realise about it, you felt a bit like a fool. It was a bit of a waste of time as well. You should have just went with a heels or flats. “Oh, did I tie it wrong? It’s okay, Charles. I can do it on my own."

"It’s okay to ask for help, Y/N. There you go. You did it perfectly. I just made it tighter.” He patted on your head soon as he was done with both sides.

He was lying. You knew it because your shoelaces looked neater now—way different from when you did it.

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"Y/N, we missed you!” Martha screamed and pulled you into a tight hug. It had been nearly a week since the last time you met up with her. It didn’t sound that long but it was long for you and Martha who could never went more than 2 days without seeing each other.

You were a little taken back from the way they were celebrating you that some of the other customers were looking at your way. Charles saw the way your cheeks went pink as you looked to your side that he had to step in.

"Okay, that’s enough. Don’t humiliate us in public.”Charles pulled your seat on his side while the rest of the group settled down. The waiter handed him the menu and he passed you on to to as they carried on with conversation and meals while both you flipped on the pages.

"I think…I’ll just take polpette al sugo.”

"They have prawn linguine. I thought that was your favourite?" He called out the waiter and looked back at you for confirmation, seeing the way you weren’t quite sure with your decision but you chose to stick with it.

"No, I don’t feel like eating that one."

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"Why did you order that?"

"Oh, this?" He took a spoonful of the linguini and shrugged. "I don’t know. Guess I wanted to try it out?"

When the foods arrived, you saw the waiter handed your favourite food, the prawn linguini to Charles when he had never ordered anything that had seafood in it. "But you don’t like seafood?"

"Doesn’t mean I’m not up to try a new dish.” He calmly replied, and before you could argue again, Riccardo called his name to ask about his new car.

You always made the wrong decision in life. Let it be from choosing your part time job, to choosing your prom dress, to choosing your major in university. Today wasn’t an exception too. The dish that you ordered wasn’t good enough. It was okay, but it didn’t give you the contentment as much as you thought it would. So you had been eyeing non other than the linguini in front of Charles.

You thought you were being subtle until he switched his dish with yours; with all of the prawns peeled. It was done instantaneous while you were rolling the meatball around so the the fork in your hand were dropped in surprise. “Take mine.” He said, before looking back at the guy on the other side of the table and took a bite of the meatball in front of him. You picked up the fork which he had twirled with the pasta and stuffed it in your mouth. Your hand immediately went to your filled mouth and stifled a giggle.

"Is it good?” He leaned his head against his hand, grinning from ear to ear while he stares at you as you take another spoonful of it.

"It’s really good! Can I take this one?" You poked one of the fresh, plump prawn he had peeled and pointed it on his face.

"Take it, precious. I don’t like seafood."

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Charles came by early in the morning with a bag full of different ingredients that it felt like you were prepping for a housewarming party. Today was your dad’s birthday, and you were supposed to be having a father and daughter date like always, but this was the first birthday without him, so you didn’t know what to do—whether you should celebrate it or if it turned into a normal day in your calendar now that he was gone.

"What are we doing with these? Are you trying to cook something?” You asked, taking out milk, herbs, butter, and all sorts of stuff from the paper bag.

"We are making chicken pesto lasagna.” He bent over the kitchen counter and took out his phone. You saw, he went on his notes and scrolled through the words that he had written in it.

"Why?"

"Because it’s something you used to do with your dad?” He went around the kitchen, looking for something in circle, until you handed him the chopping board. "Let’s make it a tradition for his birthday."

"But I don’t really know how to make it. He was the one who did all the cooking.” You took out red onions and garlic for him to start chopping.

"It’s fine. I studied the recipe last night, and it shouldn’t be that hard. Look." Charles scrolled down his notes, and you saw what was written in bold and labelled as ‘tips’. "I even got some extra tips from people on the internet."

"How did you know we used to make this on his birthday?"

"You mentioned it once. A few years ago. If I’m not mistaken, it was his favourite, yeah? And that was why he liked making it on his birthday because it felt extra special when he made it with you?” He lifted his arms high when you threw yourself against him. "Did I say something wrong? I’m sorry—"

"Thank you. I really appreciate everything you did to me, Charles."

He rested his chin on the crown of your head while his hands were holding a knife on one and an onion on the other. "Anything for you, precious. Anyway, I don’t feel comfortable having you judge my back while I cook; do you mind leaving the kitchen to me?"

"No. Let’s do this together. Can I see your notes?” He went back to chop and dice as he pushed the phone to your side. It felt like you were seeing something you shouldn’t have when you accidentally flicked your finger up on the screen, revealing your picture as his wallpaper on his home screen so you immediately clicked back on the notes before he was it. There were two files in the notes. You clicked on the one that was labelled as ‘Bambi’, where you saw he had written down everything you have ever said to him, your favourite colour, favourite food, your first pet, and down below on the page which looked like it added recently was what your dad used to do for you, what you had told him in a phone call few days ago.

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

After the whole war in the kitchen, the lasagna turned out to be really good. You wouldn’t have thought the end product would taste that delectable because he didn’t seem to be very sure of every step he did, though it was all based on the recipe itself. It was a while after the lunch was then you asked him to accompany you to see your dad before the day ended because you wanted to wish him a happy birthday in ‘person’ and here you were, standing in front of your dad’s tombstone with Charles.

"Hi, dad. I know you don’t like me going out when it rains, but I promise I won’t be that long.” You crouched down and brush the dead leaves on the stone before placing a bouquet of fresh flowers. "Happy birthday!" You tried to sound joyful because you promised you wouldn’t cry. Not when you have someone else with you this time but you choked back on your tears as soon as you felt Charles’s hand on your shoulders, giving it a squeeze every so often. "I made your favourite food with Charles, and I think he could snatch your best chef title soon."

“Don’t say that. He’s not gonna let me take you out on a date again.” You laughed at his pleasantry and rested your head against his chest. "Sir, I know I broke your trust when we broke up but she was the one who forced me to break up with her.” You giggled and pinched on his waist as he winced. “But you don’t have to worry about Y/N. She’s in good hands. I’ll always take care of her like I have promised you."

“We’ll come back again soon, right?” You looked up with a smile. The tears that was burning your waterline was gone now. It felt like his hug completely consume your being and it was the second most comforting feeling in the world, second to your dad’s hug.

He rubbed on your back with his thumb, pulling you closer as he closed his eyes. Hugging you felt like heaven in his arms. “I’ll bring Y/N here whenever she wants to see you. You got my promise again, sir.”

✧.* general tag list! @i83andrew @cltrlne @karmabyfernando @ohthemisssery @ru-kru @tastebaldwin @f1obessed @love4lando @shinrjj @ietss @leclerc13 @darleneslane @buckybarnessweetheart @xcinnamongirl @boiohboii @formula1mount @judespoision @alwaysclassyeagle @scenesofobx @mrsmaybank13 @vildetry06 @harriesgolden

If your usernames were crossed, meaning I can’t tag you! Let me know if you would like to be removed or to be added to the tag list! Or if I missed anyone!

[munsonluhvr]

Tattoo artist!Eddie x body piercer! Reader who have a shit ton of sexual tension ✨ I’ve been on a tattoo artist!Eddie pick lately ahah

TATTOOED ON MY HEART

a/n: omg wait is tattoo artist!Eddie actually a thing?? how am I just learning about this???? time to go down a rabbit hole LOL. hope u enjoy; hopefully this isn't *too* much smut then u were expecting...

contents: tattoo artist!eddie munson x body piercer!reader. with the arrival of a new tattoo artist, eddie munson, at your tattoo and piercing studio, it's clear that the two of you have intense chemistry.

If it wasn’t for the new tattoo artist, Eddie Munson, who sits off to your right on one of the tattoo tables, you probably wouldn’t have had to move the piercing dot which shows where you’ll piece the skin so many times. His gaze has a way of making you feel unnerved. 

“What if it hurts?” Robin, your freckled friend who sits underneath your touch on one of the tables, whines. Robin frequently comes in to the studio to get something new pierced, shamelessly taking full advantage of the discount you give to your friend. 

You blow out between your lips, frustration brewing inside you. You never have had to move the piercing location multiple times; you normally get it right on the first try. This isn’t the first time you’ve pierced Robin, let alone pierced anyone, it’s what you do for a career for god’s sake. The only thing that’s changed is Eddie’s presence, showing itself as the cause for your mess ups.  You hold the fine tipped marker in one hand, staring at Robin’s earlobe. “It won’t hurt, Robin, but if you keep wiggling and I end up stabbing your neck with the needle then that will definitely hurt.” 

Off to the side, Eddie laughs while shaking his head. “That’s one way to reassure your client.” 

You roll your eyes, not needing his advice on how to pierce someone, a task he knows nothing about as a tattoo artist - your crafts are completely different with very little overlap. 

“He’s right, that wasn’t very reassuring.” Robin mumbles, looking down at her hands that rest in her lap. With her thumb, she chips away at her already chipping blue nail polish. 

You toss a look at Eddie, a scowl brewing on your face. Though, the harsh look softens when your eyes connect with his, his big, brown eyes looking back at you. He raises his hands in defense, “I’m just saying.” 

 “Don’t you have some scary biker dude to go tattoo or something?” You retort playfully. 

Eddie shrugs, a smirk on his face, making no attempt to leave. “Sure, a whole bunch of ‘em, but it’s awfully entertaining to watch you pierce.” He folds his hands in his lap, leaning back in his seat, his eyes trained on you. 

Your stomach does a flip, your skin becoming flushed. You turn your attention back to Robin’s ear. You take a deep breath, steadying your hand to replace the dot on Robin’s earlobe. At last, you place the tip of the marker in a place that you feel satisfied with. You allow Robin to look at the new location, which she approves with a single nod. Taking the sterilized supplies, you line the piercing needle up with Robin's skin. "Take a deep breath and exhale on the count of 3."

Robin inhales, then exhales and after you count down, you take the opportunity to pierce the her skin with your needle. She tenses, hissing like a cat, then she relaxes. "How does it look?" she asks, glancing up at you.

You smile softly, stepping back to look. "Like I did an amazing job." Robin laughs, and lifts the mirror up to her face to get a look herself. You're too busy watching your friend admire your handy work, and she's too busy looking at herself, to notice that Eddie has approached you from behind, peering over your shoulder to get a look too.

"Amazing job, indeed." Eddie mumbles next to your ear. You jump slightly, an intense wave of heat creeping over your body. You clear your throat, side-stepping away from Eddie. You positively hate the way he makes you feel.

Robin glances up from her reflection, looking between you and Eddie. Her eyes meet yours and she raises her eyebrows, a questionable look on her face. You knew what she was thinking though: who is this guy?

After a minute, Eddie slinks off to another part of the studio, leaving you and Robin alone.

"Okay, are we going to talk about the obvious tension between you and that guy, or are we just going to ignore it?" Robin asks, cocking her head at you.

"His name is Eddie, and I'd rather not."

Robin groans softly, shaking her head. "It's obvious that he finds you attractive, y/n. And you aren't so slick with hiding your feelings either."

You frown. "What are you talking about? I don't like him, I barely know him. He's just the new tattoo artist for the studio."

Robin waves her hand in your direction. "Regardless, he's into you, since you can't tell that on your own." You roll your eyes, beginning to clean up your space. "Sure."

After Robin leaves the studio, quite pleased with her new piercing, you begin to close the shop. Eddie, who is finishing up a tattoo with one of his clients, still accompanies you in the studio. As another 30 minutes passes by, you sit in the back room, a magazine in your hand, as you wait for Eddie to finish. In the distance you hear the cash register beep, and the door bell jingle shortly after, signaling that Eddie's client is gone. Seconds later, Eddie enters through the back room's doorway.

The thing about Eddie is that he's gorgeous; tall, dark and handsome. The second the owner's of the studio introduced you to the new tattoo artist, you were smitten, though you were determined to not let Eddie catch on to that. Eddie, however, was a little more bold, in pretty much everything that he does. He's charismatic with the other piercers and tattoo artists that work alongside you both in the studio, and awfully friendly with his clients. His personality, coupled with his good looks, intimidated you and you find yourself sometimes shutting down in his presence.

"How'd the tattoo come out?" you ask nonchalantly, not looking up from your magazine. Your heart thumps against your chest, and you tell yourself to play it cool.

Eddie opens the fridge that's placed in the far left corner of the backroom, grabbing a glass bottle of coco-cola, and moves to sit across from you at the table. "Pretty good. He seemed happy with it which is all I can ask for as a tattoo artist." You hum, but say nothing else, simply flipping to the next page of your fashion magazine.

Silence takes over the break room and you find your mind wandering to what Robin said earlier: did Eddie really find you attractive? Curiosity takes over you, and you decide to test your friends theory. You bend your upper body forward over the table, leaning on your elbow, your chest on full view.

Eddie swallows, his eyes immediately diverting to your exposed chest. Similarly to you, Eddie found you attractive the second he met you, though when he attempts to flirt with you, he's met with sarcastic, playful banter. Nonetheless, he's committed to get to know you. He even believes you may like him too.

Eddie clears his throat. "Was that your friend you pierced today? You seemed to know each other more than just clients."

You nod. "We are very close friends. She appreciates the discount I give her so she comes to me for all her piercings." You glance up at Eddie through your eyelashes and are met with his gaze.

Eddie only nods, your eye-contact entrancing him. After a second, you look away, closing your magazine. "Well, I suppose we should close the studio. People tend to try and come in for a tattoo or piercing at the last minute if we don't make it look like we're closed."

You stand up, turning towards the sink that's in the break room as well, cleaning up some of the dishes and trash that has accumulated over the day and was left behind by the other employees of the studio.

Eddie, who's eyes are now trained on your backside, has the urge to test if his assumptions about you liking him are true. He's wanted to make a move on you for the longest time, so what's stopping him now?

Eddie stands up, moving around the table to stand beside you at the counter. Without asking, he jumps in to help, drying the dishes that you put on the rack to dry. There wasn't much cleaning to do to begin with, so with Eddie's help, the work is done quickly.

You angle your body towards Eddie. "Thanks for the help."

Eddie nods, a small smile on his face. "No problem." There's only a few inches between you and Eddie, and you can smell his cologne radiating off of him.

Without giving much thought, Eddie reaches out, his fingers working to brush strands of your hair away from the frame of your face, and tucking them behind your ear. "You're really pretty, you know that, right?"

You bite down on your bottom lip, your eyes diverting away from his gaze. In your lower abdomen, lust and attraction fills you fully, your heart beginning to thump against your chest again. "Thank you," you mutter.

Placing his finger up to your chin, he lifts your face and gaze to meet his. Instinctively, he brushes his thumb against your bottom lip. You have no idea why, but as if he asked you to, you open your mouth, letting Eddie's thumb be engulfed by the wetness of your tongue and softness of your lips. His eyes widen, and he steps closer to you, closing the small gap that existed between you.

Time stops, allowing you to live only in Eddie's presence. He places his thumb on the thickness of your tongue, and you move your head back and then forward, letting his finger slide in and out with ease. Eddie's mind is filled with dirty thoughts about you on your knees, or legs spread wide open, your eyes locked on his.

You part your lips, letting Eddie's thumb slip out. He's quick to find another point of contact with you, cupping your face with his large hands, bringing your lips onto his. You sigh softly, the tension beginning to slip away. It's then that you realize how badly you've wanted this, how many times you pictured this very scenario while Eddie tattoos one of his clients in the booth next to yours.

Eddie's lets one of his hands wander down to between your legs and under your skirt, his fingertips grazing your cunt lightly over your panties. He wants so badly to just take you right there, against the backroom's sink or across the tabletop. But he refrains, wanting to take his time with you.

You sigh against his lips, your head leaning back in pleasure and anticipation. Eddie takes the opportunity to kiss the length of your neck, his teeth nipping at your skin lightly. You grasp on to his bicep, steadying yourself; his touch making you feel light-headed. Is this what you've been missing out on the entire time?

With his nimble fingers, Eddie moves your panties to the side revealing your slick pussy. His stomach twists at the feeling, realizing your wet because of him. Without a second thought, Eddie plunges his fingers into you and you part your legs further, letting him gain access easily. You shudder against his touch, the feeling of his fingers exploring you is euphoric.

You become breathless quickly, Eddie's rhythm working against your core making you sweaty and your knees wobble. Your moans become more frequent and louder, and you hope no potential customers enter the shop. "Fuck, that feels so good," is all you're able to say.

Your hips move back and forth against Eddie's touch, begging for more and more. Pleasure courses through your torso, your thighs beginning to tremble around Eddie's hand.

"I always thought that you may like me," Eddie mumbles, his lips dipping down to your collarbone. "I guess I was right." He curls his fingers in just the right way, stroking your most sensitive spot. Your mouth parts, and you reach behind you to grip the edge of the sink to keep your balance.

You screw your eyes shut, your breath becoming more rapid. Without you being aware, Eddie kneels in front of you, replacing his fingers with his mouth. Once you feel his lips and tongue on you, your hand darts down to his hair, your fingers intertwining with his hair.

Eddie's stomach twists; he wishes this this moment could go on forever. Eddie laps against you, each stroke of his tongue bringing you closer to the edge. His tongue swirls, against your clit, a burning intensity growing in your lower abdomen. You whine, gripping the edge of the counter harder.

Eddie's hands travel up, holding your waist. One of your hands creeps down to your waist, your hand placing on top of his. You peer down at the same time that Eddie peers up, bringing your eye-contact together. His brown, puppy like eyes look up at you, sparkling against the dim lighting in the backroom.

Eddie pulls back away from you, his grip tightening around your waist. "Come for me," he says, moving back onto you.

Almost immediately, you finish, shuddering against Eddie's touch. You sigh heavily, the feeling of the pressure escaping your lower abdomen, bringing you relief. Eddie hooks his fingers into the sides of your panties, pulling them up your legs as he stands up. Eddie, who is quite pleased with himself, wonders what his next move should be. He desperately wants to keep going, his cock still wondering what it would feel like to be buried in you, but he wants the tension between you and him to continue to grow. He wants nothing more than to make you wait, to pine for him until you need to crawl towards him, a burning desire to fill yourself with his cock.

You, however, are ready to go, your hands reaching towards the buckle on Eddie's jeans. Just as you begin to fumble with his belt, he grasps your hands in his.

You frown, wondering why he's stopped you. Doesn't he want you to touch him too? "I-I want to do you now," you say, your voice coming out low.

Eddie shakes his head, a daring look on his face. "Not now, not yet." His words leave you bewildered, wanting to ask a hundred questions. What does he mean, 'not yet'?

He steps forward, placing a light kiss on your cheek. You blink, wondering what is happening. "To be continued." He mutters, then slips out of the break room leaving you alone in the studio.

If there wasn't tension before, there's definitely tension now.