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blossom-hwa · 2 months ago

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

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

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

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

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

The bruises still hurt to the touch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Miss L/N.”

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

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

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

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

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

And Beomgyu, too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Life would be so much easier, then.

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

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

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

You’d be a fool not to take it.

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

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

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

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

. . . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?” you finally ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What it would mean to me.

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

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

He holds your gaze. “Yes, it does.”

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

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

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

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

You fall silent.

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

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

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

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

Your silence is more telling than anything you said before.

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

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

And eventually, you do.

“My father is dead.”

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

“…I am incredibly sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You take a shuddering breath. “Beomgyu…”

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

You swallow hard.

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

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

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

. . . . .

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

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

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

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

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

You were right to trust him.

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

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

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

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

You ignore her. “Who is the caller?”

“Mr. Choi.”

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

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

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

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

“You are not the head of this household.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Horror flashes across her expression. “You—”

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

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

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

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

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

But it never comes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods, looking terribly guilty.

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

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

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

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

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

“Desperation?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . . . .

epilogue.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's adorable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was the fact that you had Beomgyu.

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

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

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

“I’m not not eager,” you protest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…Five minutes.”

“Fifteen.”

“Ten.”

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

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

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

“…Fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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blacklesbothatlovestowrite · 7 months ago

Text

On My Mama Pt. 7 (Things I Hate About You)

Tags: @mixedfandxms @shurislover @sweetalittleselfish-honey @desswright29 @cutttteeee @onyxstones-world @katymae12344 @doramilaj233 @sweetalittleselfish-honey @6-noir @khara876 @she-is-my-unrequited-love34 @teadah18 @un-deniable-me3 @anayaperry @lppriceisright

“Not gonna lie… I can’t fault you for fucking the OG. She fine af.” Riri whispered to Shuri as they watched You and your mother stare each other down. You’d walked up to the door, pushing Riri out of the way and had been staring your mother down for what felt like hours but was mere minutes.

“Riri, shut the fuck up.” Shuri hissed, irritated that all her effort was going to be demolished by this one moment.

“Ion know why you mad for, you got to fuck on the OG and you fucking on Y/n now. You greedy bitch.” Riri rolled her eyes. Not that she wanted to mess with your mother. She was aware the woman was attractive but she had nothing on you. You were gorgeous, smart, opinionated as hell and kind even though you tried to pretend you weren’t and that you didn’t care about anything or anyone.

“Are you not going to invite me in?” Your mother asked, her tone was sickly sweet. A tone you knew all too well. It was her nice nasty tone.

“No.” You finally spoke.

“No?” She repeated as if shocked.

“No!” You hissed, and slammed the door in her face.

“Oh shit.” Riri laughed in disbelief. She didn’t know what to expect but that surely wasn’t it.

“Y/n…” Shuri called but you ignored her as you opened the door to see your mother still standing there with a shocked look on her face.

“The nerve you have to come here is astounding!” You snap. Months of ignoring her and trying to pretend she didn’t exist hadn’t prepared you for the rage you felt at seeing her again. “You’re nothing but a selfish bitch! Never in your life have you ever been a decent person! You come here and for what? To make amends so that you feel better about yourself?! Fuck you! I told you I never wanted to see you again and you seem to think what? That I misspoke ? My DAD is DEAD, and I wish it were YOU! You are not a mother! You don’t know the first thing about being a mother! And if you think I’m being emotional or that I don’t mean what I’m saying hear me when I say… I FUCKING HATE YOU! I ALWAYS HAVE! DAD IS THE ONLY REASON I EVER RESPECTED YOU EVEN WHEN YOU TREATED ME AS IF I WERE MERELY THE SHIT ON THE BOTTOM OF YOUR SHOES YOU HOMOPHOBIC HYPOCRITE WHORE !”

Shuri and Riri shared a look of astonishment as they watched you crash out. You were visibly shaking, your eyes narrowed and your words emphasized with great contempt. Neither knew what to say or do as they’d never seen you this angry.

Your mother said nothing as she took in your words. Her jaw clenched and her eyes tightened as she stared at you in utter disbelief.

“Get the fuck away from my apartment and slither back to whatever fucking gutter you crawled out from!” You spoke again, wanting her to get just how much you wanted her to leave.

* WHAP *

You stare at your mother in shock as she slapped you so hard, you bit your tongue.

“You clearly have lost your mind! You do NOT talk to me like that!” She shouted.

“Fuc—��

* WHAP *

You grinded your teeth to keep from hitting her back, as she glared at you. She’d never put her hands on you before, she’d never dare with the way your father was about you.

“I’ve given you more than enough time to get your act together. I am your mother and you will respect me! I brought your ungrateful, spoiled and entitled ass into this world.” She eyes you, her mouth setting in a line.

“Entitled? Me? Clearly being a whore and a hypocrite isn’t enough. You had to add delusional to the list as well.” You spat, furious at her words.

“Y/n, I’m trying not to put my hands on you. I did not come here for this. Your father would be so disappointed with —“

* BOOP *

“Don’t talk about my fucking dad!” You punched her straight in the nose, hearing the crack.

Shuri quickly moved to grab you as Riri grabbed your mother as the two of you moved to hit each other. You had no love lost for the woman. That died when your dad died. You tried to be cordial and respectful and perfect for her and all she ever did was shit on it. Your dad pushed you to respect her, to love her even when she made it hard for you to.

“YOU. ARE. NOT. MY. MOTHER. YOU. DON’T. KNOW. HOW. TO. BE. ONE!!!!!” You screamed, fighting against Shuri’s hold.

“You excel at playing a victim, Y/n.” Your mother shakes her head. “Everything isn’t always about you. You’re angry because your little childhood crush fucked me? Baby girl, I am everyone’s childhood crush. Grow up and stop with this nonsense.”

Riri’s eyes widened as she stared at Shuri. She was shocked at the audacity your mother had. The whole argument between the two of you was absolutely absurd and it was getting more ridiculous with every rebuttal.

Shuri simply raised a brow. She had known absolutely nothing of your mother until she threw herself at her the night at the club. While she could admit your mother was gorgeous, she was no different from the many women that tried to get her attention. You were the only one besides Riri that showed her that you were more than just your looks.

She actually respected you and Riri. Something she couldn’t say for the plethora of women she’d fucked or whom had tried to throw themselves at her unsuccessfully.

Shuri was unsure where your mother got the idea that she was such hot shit. She literally fucked her in that club and walked away like it was nothing. In fact she took a completely different woman home the same night.

While she could admit your mother was good, and very attractive. Shuri remembered how much she hated how the woman ran her mouth. She literally fucked her from the back and choked her to get her to shut the fuck up. She’d fucked her several times in an hour after she’d finally shut her mouth.

The woman was a functioning drunk that talked a little too much about shit no stranger should have been privy to. Many things she felt you should have been aware of but it wasn’t her place to speak on anything. Let alone try to mend fences especially considering you were just getting on good terms with her.

“You’re bragging about being fucked like a two dollar whore in a club bathroom?!” You laughed, not even able to be angry at her words.

Weird flex but ok….

“Did you not fuck that girl in a car in middle school?” Your mother reminded you, a smirk on her lips. “You were always to fast for your age and yet here you are trying to shame me? I am grown.”

“Well it takes a whore to know one. As you said, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” You returned her smirk. You were far from a whore but if she thought that would hurt you, she was sadly mistaken.

“You fucked up a good thing with a good man and yet here you stand with no remorse. Talking about being fucked by the same person you cheated with. You’re literal garbage. Not even worth my time. Get out and don’t come back.” You relaxed in Shuri’s hold, not even willing to continue with whatever this was.

“Y—“

You cut her off by holding up a hand. “Leave!”

Riri forces her towards the door and slams the door, locking it. She didn’t like the fact you both were disrespecting each other but even less that she as the mother was egging the situation on rather than trying to stop it.

Her mother would never act like that. She would never talk to her mother like that either but she also knew everybody was different and circumstances were different for everyone. The whole situation made her feel the ick. She felt like your mother was weird for fucking with anyone her daughter’s age, just off how she’d feel if that were her mother.

Then add to it how she was acting and what she was saying. The mere thought of her and her mother in a similar situation made her feel sick. She didn’t know who to side with as far as she saw it in her mind you both were wrong. Your mother for talking to you crazy and even more so for hitting you in the face. There was never any need for a parent to hit a child in the face. She’d never get behind that.

You were wrong in her eyes for disrespecting your mother. It didn’t matter what your mother did in her relationship with your father, it was between them not you. She could understand your loyalty to your father but it had nothing to do with you beyond how he died. You had every right to be upset but disrespecting her was wrong.

You both clearly needed A LOT of therapy in her opinion but she wouldn’t hold her breath on that happening anytime soon, if at all. For it to get physical like it did made it clear that reconciliation was far out of reach.

A few hours later You, Shuri and Riri are lounging on Shuri’s California King Bed. Shuri thought it was a good idea to smoke the bad day away. So you all were getting high and drinking. A bad combo, but one you needed.

“Why do you hate yo ma dukes so much? It’s gotta be more than just the cheating and the death of your pops.” Riri says, blowing smoke out as she stared at you.

“She’s not what she portrays herself to be. She’s homophobic, emotionally and verbally abusive. She belittles me any chance she got. My father was the buffer between us, she was always on her best behavior around him.” You roll your eyes as you take the blunt from Riri and take a long hit.

“You know today’s the first time she ever put her hands on me?” You laugh hysterically. “The scary bitch would have never if my dad was still here.”

“I’m sorry.” Shuri says, as she rubs your back. She took the blunt from you and took a hit, fighting the urge to ask the many questions she had on her mind. She hated when people tried to get deep with her so she’d be a hypocrite to do it to you.

“I don’t know what I did to make her hate me so much.” You teared up. You’d always thought it might have been the gay thing but when she fucked Shuri you knew it wasn’t that. “But I’m past the point of caring. I hate her just as much as she hates me so we’re even.”

“She could die tomorrow and I’d be like ‘She died? Hope that bitch is dead as hell!” You continued ranting, taking a huge swig of the Wakandan alcohol Shuri had.

Riri frowned but said nothing. She didn’t like that but if that was how you felt then that’s how you felt. She could see now that you had a lot of rage and resentment build inside of you towards your mother. If you couldn’t forgive your mother, how could you ever forgive her?

“Shuri, I wanna fuck.” You whined, climbing on her lap and straddling her legs.

Riri looked at the two of you in jealousy. She hated how things had taken a turn for the worse. She really liked you and she felt sick at how she fucked up. She still couldn’t get the look on your face out of her head.

You leaned up to whisper in her ear. “I wanna fuck Riri too.” You giggled at the look on her face.

“Y/n, you sure ?” She asked.

“I don’t have to like the bitch to fuck her.” You shrugged, you didn’t like Riri. You were sticking to that, even if you didn’t entirely believe that.

You climbed off of Shuri’s lap and started to strip, watching the way Riri’s hooded eyes followed your movements.

“Everyone’s doing reckless and trifling shit and I believe in that saying ‘if you can’t beat em, join em’ so, why not fuck you both.” You said, nonchalantly.

You were attracted to them both, and you were in the mood for some reckless behavior.

“Of course you don’t have to.” You give them both the option but you knew they wouldn’t deny you. They fucked each other many times before, and you were sure while they both wanted to fuck you; this was more exhilarating.

“You need therapy.” Riri shook her head, looking away from you.

She wanted you badly but not this way. If it was purely about sex she would have taken you up on the offer. She honestly could have pressed you harder and had your legs opened back when you didn’t hate her. She actually liked you, and she knew deep down you were still angry and hurt at her actions.

Fucking you wouldn’t change anything and she refused to be involved in toxicity. While her previous actions were toxic, she knew she was wrong immediately after and sought out her old therapist to gain some help and to take accountability for her wrongdoing.

She could see that you were in a downward spiral of self destruction and despite how much Shuri may like you. She was enabling the bad behavior. You used sex as a way to gain affection and hide your pain, it was easy to see and she was not willing to contribute to it.

When she’d initially made the bet with Shuri on who would be the first to have you, she had no real intention of going through with it. She’d merely wanted Shuri to stop the drunken whoring she was prone to.

And like she figured. Shuri stopped fucking random women and focused solely on getting your attention. She may have flirted with other women to get under your skin but she hadn’t touched another woman since the day you’d met.

Going back to therapy unleashed a bunch of things she hadn’t fully thought about. Like what led to her immature and petty actions. Or why she tried her best to look out for Shuri and be her stress relief when things got too much and she got sick of other people. Or why she was willing to sacrifice any relationship with you if it meant Shuri being happy.

She was still dealing with unresolved guilt from when she had unwillingly unleashed that psycho fish man on Wakanda. The Queen’s death still weighed on her, despite her trying to bury the feelings and thoughts that sometimes plagued her.

Therapy showed that she purposely sabotaged her relationship with you because she didn’t feel she deserved you. She felt she owed it to Shuri to help you open up and heal so the two of you could be together, even if it killed her inside.

It also unearthed her loyalty to Shuri in a way that her therapist said worried her. Riri spent every waking minute of the day focused on how she could better your day or Shuri’s. Her projects and vigilante work suffered, though her therapist knew nothing of her secret identity.

She felt slightly burnt out but it still didn’t compare to the guilt she felt at what Shuri had lost due to her. Nothing would ever make them even but Riri had vowed to always try to make things better for Shuri no matter what.

“I didn’t ask for Dr Phil.” You level her with a glare. There was no way she was denying you after all the ass kissing she’d done.

“Look, you can accept that fact or not but the truth remains the same. You need help, and I just want to be your friend. I care about you Y/n. Whether you believe that or not.” Riri sighs, before heading out of Shuri’s room and closing the door.

“Do you think I need help?” You ask, climbing back on top of Shuri.

“Absolutely.” Shuri nods, placing a kiss on your neck. “And I’m just the person to give it to you.”

You squeal as she flips you over so she is hovering over you.

#SoundCloud #shuri black panther #princess shuri #shuri x fem!reader #shuri smut #shuri udaku #riri x you #shuri x black!reader #riri wiliams x reader #riri williams #riri x reader

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silentglassbreak · 10 months ago

Text

Anonymous

Noah Sebastian x OFC

Here we are, folks. This is the final part to this piece of Noah & Leena’s story. I’ll write an epilogue, once I’ve made a final decision on if I want there to be a sequel or not. If you want one, let me know. Thank you for coming on this journey with me. This story brewed in my head one night, and I had to get it out. This one is fluffy, some smut, and how I wanted this story to end…for now?🖤

Warnings: Alcohol abuse, overall abuse, mild violence (ie. bar fights), smut, swearing, and altogether just a lot of fuckery. **TW: light kink content (spanking & hair pulling, dirty talk, S&M to a degree)

+It goes without saying. This is a work of fiction. My words are mine. Plagiarism is a crime.

Taglist: @flowery-mess @lma1986 @myownthoughts12

Part 11 - Just Pretend

The rain made the loveliest soft thumping sound on the ground all around the porch. My legs crossed under me, the heavy quilt covering me to keep warm against the fifty-five degree air. I held my steaming mug, the smell of the coffee’s comfortable aroma satisfying my senses. The world was so quiet here, and I couldn’t believe I had been missing this for so long.

“Leena?” I turned to glance at the front door, my dad hanging his head out. “Breakfast is ready.”

I swung my legs off of the swing, pulling the quilt off, and walked into the house. The smell of bacon and pancakes filled the air. My stomach grumbled in response. I sat down opposite my Dad at the table, grabbing the syrup bottle and pouring a healthy amount over my pancakes before tearing into them, ignoring the eggs and bacon on the side of my plate.

Dad munched his own breakfast, carving the slices from his grapefruit carefully with his spoon. "So what time is your guy supposed to get here?"

"Mm," I swallowed the bite in my mouth. "His flight gets in at 12:15. He'll probably be here about an hour later? He's got to get his rental."

"Still don't get why we don't just pick him up." Dad mumbled under his breath.

I shrugged. "Daddy, you're going to be nice to him, right?" I lowered my fork and pressed my hands together in a praying position. "Pleeeease!"

He huffed. "As long as he's nice to you."

I smiled, then. "He is."

"Better be." I narrowed my eyes at my Dad, opening my mouth to speak when my phone went off on the table next to me.

I swiped it and stood from the table.

"Hey!"

"Hey, beautiful." Noah's voice was smooth. "I just got through TSA and to my gate. I've got about an hour until my flight leaves."

"Okay! I can't wait for you to get here."

I could hear the smile in his voice. "Me either. Hey, uh, I meant to ask you," He paused. "Your Dad, is he going to like...kill me in my sleep?"

"Uhm," I glanced over my shoulder, watching Dad slip Angel a strip of bacon under the table, and rolled my eyes. "no, no, of course not."

"You hesitated."

I sighed. "Baby," I walked out of the doorway, the screen snapping shut behind me. "he's just protective, but he's harmless." I chewed my lip. "Mostly."

"Mostly?" His voice was clearly apprehensive.

"Just don't ask him to show you the gun room."

"He has a gun room?!"

"It's going to be fine, Noah." I snickered. "Besides, he leaves tomorrow for three days. He's going on a fishing trip. So we'll be alone."

"Who fishes in February?"

I laughed loudly. "That's what you were thinking about?"

"Well, thinking of screwing you in your father's house scares me, so..."

I lowered my voice, "Oh yeah? That's wild, cause all I can think about is you bending me over the balcony railing and fucking me in the pouring rain, but, I mean, if you have questions about fishing..."

"Jesus fucking Christ, Leena!" His voice was hushed, and I cracked a wicked grin. "Not a good place to get an erection! It's hard to hide here!"

I busted out in laughter. "Sorry, babe. It's too easy."

"You just wait until I get you alone, girl."

"Yeah? I don't know, I'm not too worried." I was playing a dangerous game.

"No?" I heard him snicker. "You fucking should be."

A chill ran up my spine, and I heard the door behind me open. Angel ran past me, headed for the lawn to use the bathroom. It startled me.

"Well, we'll just see how it goes when you get here." I brought my voice back up to it's normal decibel.

"Mhm, we sure will."

"I've got to go, babe. I'm having breakfast with Dad."

"Okay, love. I'll see you soon."

"Not soon enough."

I was twirling around the kitchen, getting Dad's lunch cooking. The soup boiled in the pot while I poured in the cream, stirring in parsley and thyme. The smell of the potatoes and cheddar cheese filled my nostrils, creating an absolutely heavenly aroma.

"You didn't have to make lunch, baby. I am capable of feeding myself." Dad stood on the other side of the kitchen counter.

"I know that, but I’m nervous, and need something to do. So you're getting soup."

He nodded. "Smells good."

I smiled, "It'll be ready soon. I'm just waiting for the potatoes to soften up a little more."

He turned his head, something catching his eye. "Hey Lee?"

"Hmm?" I hummed, looking into the pot.

"I think he's here."

My head snapped up, eyes darting out the dining room window, a dark blue sedan pulling up next to my Dad's Ford F150. I broke out in a thousand-watt smile, setting the spoon in my hand down on the counter.

"Angel, come!" He had already nearly beat me to the door. I opened the latch and stepped onto the porch as the driver's door opened.

He stood out of the car, being greeted by Angel, who had already ran down the wooden steps and across the lawn. Noah crouched down, letting him put his front paws on his chest, scratching up and down his sides.

"Hey buddy!" He let Angel lick his face, smiling widely. "How you been? Good? Taking care of your mom?"

He looked up then, eyes catching me. I couldn't hide the excitement on my face. I broke out in a full sprint, nearly tripping off of the porch.

He stood, arms open, and I launched myself upon him. He wrapped me up, picking my feet off the ground. He squeezed me, his fingers digging into my sides.

"Ugh, I missed you so much." My words were muffled in his neck.

He finally set me down, and I reached my lips up to press a quick, solid kiss to his lips.

I heard a throat clearing, and turned my head to see my Dad standing on the steps, looking absolutely unamused. I felt my cheeks tinge pink, but I grabbed Noah by the hand, noticing he was now looking a little green. He really was nervous.

"Daddy?" He hopped down onto the grass to meet me halfway. Noah trailed a step behind me. "This is Noah."

I moved to the side, and my Dad brought his hand forward, Noah slipping his own in easily. "Lorne Richards. Nice to meet you." His voice was stern, testing the waters.

Noah nodded, giving his hand a firm shake. "Noah Sebastian, sir." He gave one of his absolutely mouthwatering smiles. "Thank you so much for having me."

My Dad let his hand go, and put his own in his jeans pockets.

"Leena was just making lunch. Come on in." Turning around, he trotted up the steps, Angel following him.

I could see a visible relief in Noah's posture.

"See?" He glanced down at me. "No biggie."

He smirked. "Did he say you were making lunch?"

I nodded. "Cheddar potato soup."

He raised an eyebrow. "You can cook?"

I swatted at him, laughing. "Oh shut up."

I sat on the couch, side pressed against Noah’s, the movie playing on the screen ahead of us. I heard the footsteps sliding down the hallway, and I glanced up to see Dad looking at me and pointing a finger at Noah.

“Someone’s tired.”

I raised an eyebrow and turned my attention to my now sleeping, slightly drooling boyfriend. His head was leaned against the back of the couch, his eyes closed gently, mouth very slightly ajar. I smirked.

“Yeah, he sure is.” I stood off the couch gently, following Dad into the kitchen.

He pulled a bottle of water out of the fridge and took a long pull. He peeked at his watch, and snorted.

“It’s only eight-o’clock. Kinda early isn’t it?”

I leaned against the countertop, arms folded over my chest. “Yeah, he just got back from Europe a few days ago, so I would bet he’s still jet lagged.”

Dad nodded. “He was quiet at dinner.”

I snorted. “He’s terrified of you, Daddy.”

Dad raised his brows in surprise. “He is? I wonder why.”

I hung my mouth open, amused. “Are you kidding? You’re my Dad and my sponsor. He knows how important you are to me, and how much your opinion matters.”

Dad waved me off. “I’m just a guy, Lee. No different than him.”

“Psh, yeah, okay.” Our voices were hushed. “He wants you to like him.”

Dad raised one brow now. “Is there a reason for that?”

I deadpanned. “Because he loves me? And that gets complicated when the most important person in my life doesn’t like him?”

Dad seemed to accept that, but still looked up at me through his lashes. “You ain’t gonna run off and get married or somethin’ are you?”

“Married?!” My voice came out louder than I intended, and I slapped a hand over my mouth when I realized. My eyes shot back to the living room, seeing Noah still snoozing.

Once I gathered myself, I cleared my throat. “No. No, absolutely not.”

He looked at me incredulously. “Yeah? Seem a little defensive there.” He cracked a grin, making me shake my head laughing.

“Dad, Noah and I have only been together for a few months, not including earlier in the year.”

He padded over to me, placing his hands on the tops of my shoulders. “I get that, baby.” He then lowered his head to catch my eye line. “I also know you love that boy.”

My expression was surprised. “You do?”

“Well, of course. Watching you two together, it’s like teenagers in high school.” This made me blush. “I also don’t doubt that he loves you too.”

This made me grin, like a little girl hearing her first crush actually liked her. “Really?”

“Mhm. Can tell by the way he looks at you.” He then turned his attention back to Noah, snoozing. “And also that he could be at home sleeping off that tour he just did, but instead he’s here for two weeks, facing your very scary Dad.”

He had puffed his chest, which cracked me up. “Seriously? You’re not so scary.”

He huffed out a gruff laugh. “Wait till he sees my gun room!”

Dad had said goodnight to Angel and I, reminding me he’d be gone by 4AM to meet with his fishing buddies. He was leaving food in the fridge, a whole pack of bacon specifically for Angel.

I walked over to the couch, leaning down, touching Noah’s arm and giving it a light squeeze.

“Baby?”

He roused quickly, startled, his eyes popping open. They softened quickly, back to the sleepy squint.

“Oh, hey.” He rubbed his eyes and a hard yawn came out. “When did I pass out?”

“A little bit ago. Let’s get you to bed.”

He stood off the couch, stretching his arms. “What time is it?”

“About 8:45.”

He nodded, yawning again. “I’m sorry, I know it’s early for you.”

I took his hand, leading him toward the staircase. “It’s no biggie. You’re exhausted.”

He scoffed. “Well, it’s almost 6AM in Paris, and I haven’t slept since last night. So, maybe a little?”

We walked up the stairs and straight into my room. I had brought his duffle up earlier, and it was perched on the bed.

He grimaced. “You’re sure your Dad is okay with me sleeping in your room? I don’t want to make him uncomfortable.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh hush. He’s fine. He’s old, not stupid.”

This made him shake his head, unzipping his bag and pulling out sweatpants and a t-shirt.

He looked at me. “Bathroom?”

I pointed him in the direction, and he left quickly. I took the moment to grab my own pajama pants and shirt out of my closet, and slipped my shirt over my head. Back turned to the doorway, I slid my jeans over my hips, standing in my bra and underwear.

I shivered in the cool air of the house, slowly pulling my hair out of the ponytail I had kept it in all day. I took a moment to scratch at my scalp, enjoying the sensation of my hair finally being free and falling loose.

I reached back and unclasped my bra, letting it fall to the floor. Reaching my hands over my head, I stretched my arms and spine, shaking the day off of me.

“Mmph.”

I whipped around, nearly jumping out of my skin. Noah stood in the doorway, hip leaning against the frame, a dark grin plastered on his face, his eyes locked on me. Instinctively, my hands reached up to cover my exposed breasts, making him intentionally frown.

“Would you knock it off!” I said playfully, chucking my shirt at him.

He caught it mid-air and just shook his head. “Sorry. If you’re going to look like that, then I’m going to ogle. My right as the boyfriend.”

I quirked a brow, letting my hands fall to my sides. His smugness faded while I walked over to him.

“Oh yeah?” I stood only inches in front of him now, my hardened nipples brushing the front of the fabric of his shirt. “Go ahead, then.”

He stared at me, cool expression on his face. He stepped forward and pulled the door closed behind him. He was pressed against me now, fingers of his right hand trailing up my side, grazing the side of my chest. Fresh goosebumps raised on my arms, and I inhaled a hard breath.

“So fucking pretty.” His dark eyes, nearly completely blackened, searched my face. “I can’t believe I went without this for so long.”

I snorted. “Hasn’t been that long.”

His voice was deadly, baritone. “Long enough.”

His lips attacked me then, catching my mouth and pulling me toward him. I stood on my tip-toes, so he caught me off-kilter and pushed me down onto the bed, leaning over me to catch my left nipple in his mouth, his hand coming up to pinch the other.

I gasped, wrapping my fingers in his hair. My hips bucked against his stomach, searching for friction. I felt him lean down onto me, his erection pressing into my leg. A deep, guttural growl escaped him, and he stood up.

I hastily grabbed at him, but he took a step back from the bed, rubbing a hand over his face and through his hair.

I laid back on the bed, eyes blown wide. “What?” My breathing was labored. “Why’d you stop?”

“I just…can’t.”

My mouth hung open in disbelief. “What?! Why?”

“It’s disrespectful!”

I threw myself back on the bed and snarled. “No fucking way!”

He shook his head, hands out in front of him. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Just…not with your Dad in the next room.”

I sat up on my knees, grabbing the front of his shirt.

“Noah, he isn’t going to know!”

“Dads always know.”

“Oh, come on!”

He threw his head side to side. “Nope. I can’t. Not until he’s not here, at least.”

I almost teared up, rejection stabbing my chest. I crossed my arms and stood off the bed.

“Fine.” I grabbed my pajama pants, pulling them on angrily.

“Babe…”

I ignored him, pulling my shirt over my head and stomping over to the bed.

He chuckled. “Tantrum, much?”

I sniffled, turning my head so he wouldn’t see the lonely tear running down my cheek. “Let’s just go to bed.”

My voice betrayed me, cracking at the end. He scrambled over to sit in front of me on the bed.

“Hey, hey,” He lifted his fingers to grab my face. “you don’t think that I don’t want it, do you?”

I didn’t respond, just averted my eyes.

“Oh babe.” He smiled at me, cracking my hardened exterior. “You can’t possibly believe that.”

I, again, didn’t answer.

“Look.” He grabbed my hand then, leading it to the middle of his pants, pressing my palm to his stiffened cock underneath.

My eyes widened, and I gasped.

“I want it. Badly.” He shrugged and squeezed his eyes shut, freeing my wrist. “I just don’t want to disrespect your Dad like that. Him liking me is a big deal.”

I smirked. “That big of a deal, that you’re willing to let that go down on its own?” I pointed to his crotch.

He groaned. “Unfortunately.”

I shook my head, leaning my face into his chest. “Fine.”

He circled his arms around me, rubbing a hand up and down my spine.

“But once he’s gone, your ass is mine.”

I was woken by a paw to the face, causing me to startle. I cracked my eyes open to see Angel’s honey brown eyes staring directly at me. A low whine came out of him, and my brain clicked together. He had to pee.

Noah was laying heavy next to me, facing away, a quiet snore coming with the rise and fall of his chest. I slipped myself out of bed silently, Angel making a mad dash for the staircase.

I trotted down the stairs barefoot, unlocking and popping the door open to let Angel out. I closed the door behind him and turned to the kitchen. The coffee pot was on,the carafe full with a fresh brew. I noticed the time, 6:00AM. Dad had left me fresh coffee, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

As early as I fell asleep last night, I was sure that I wasn’t getting back to sleep anytime soon. I grabbed a mug from the cupboard, glancing out of the kitchen window. I noticed Dad’s truck was gone, leaving Noah’s rental alone on the lawn.

A scratching at the door came as I began sipping my coffee, so I let Angel in. He looked at me, and I smiled.

“Go on, go keep Noah warm.” He darted up the stairs in the direction of my pointed finger.

I needed to brush my teeth, and shower. No need to wake Noah, as he still needed to sleep off the jet-lag. There was very little light in the kitchen, as the sun had yet to rise completely over the mountains.

I decided to use the downstairs shower, so I wouldn’t wake Noah. I let the warm water wake my muscles and brain, slipping my pajama pants and shirt back on, minus the underwear from the day before.

Carefully toeing up the stairs, I slipped into the room and pushed Angel to the edge of the bed. He had curled up on my side, pressed against Noah’s back. I slipped back into bed and pulled my phone off of the side table. After checking that my volume was down all the way, I opened TikTok.

Something about the algorithm was strange, since I never looked up Bad Omens content, yet it still managed to cross my For You Page whenever I was with Noah, or thinking about him, or singing one of his songs to myself.

I sat, scrolling through clip after clip of shows from the recent European tour, Noah jumping around stage. He head banged viciously, he screamed until his throat gave out, and he even threw random items at the crowd. The video of him tossing an entire bag of marshmallows played, and I laughed quietly.

After about half an hour, I felt the bed shift, and an arm curl around my midsection. I smirked, and set my phone down on the table. I felt him press his body against my back, his face burying in my neck.

“Well, good morning.” I closed my eyes at the sensation of his breath on my neck.

He inhaled, squeezing me tighter. “Did you shower?”

My hair was still damp. “Yeah, I’ve been up for about an hour.”

He mumbled into my hair. “Should’ve woken me up.”

“Nah. You needed rest.”

I felt him pressing into me harder, his dick stiff and pushing against my lower back.

“Are we alone?”

I smirked. “Mhm.”

His lips started leaving soft kisses across the back of my neck, his fingers now playing with my belly button ring over my shirt.

I tried to center my thoughts. “You want breakfast?”

His hand then gripped my hip, flipping me onto my back. I didn’t realize what had happened before he was kneeling next to me, his eyes half-open and smoldering. He was smiling, a terrifying grin.

“As a matter of fact,” His hands ripped my pants down without mercy, leaving me completely bare in front of him. “I would love some.”

He pulled my thighs open, leaned down onto his stomach, and buried his face between my legs with absolutely no warning.

My eyes burst open, my hips jumping off of the mattress. “Oh my god!”

I was so stunned, I barely registered that his hands had my legs in a death grip, fingers digging into the tops of my thighs. His tongue worked, laying flat, long strokes over my lips, lingering with very specific pressure to my clit.

My knees bent instinctively, pressing my pussy against his tongue, my hand in his hair pushing him closer to me. He obliged so graciously, latching onto my clit and sucking wildly. I squealed a harsh, raspy moan.

“Oh fuck, Noah. Oh fuck. That’s so fucking good, Jesus Christ.”

I wanted to watch him work, his dark eyes flashing up under those sinfully long lashes, but the sheer vibrations from my core made me throw my head back and squeeze my eyes shut.

Just before I thought I would die of stimulation, his hand released my legs, and pressed them upwards, bending my knees toward my chest. This pressed my pussy forward, and I felt his tongue dive inside, his head moving back and forth ever so slightly. My vision went white, and the sounds leaving my mouth were a mix of whimpering and crying.

“Noah, please, I’m going to come. Please don’t stop.” His tongue came back to my clit, attacking me so deliciously while I felt one finger penetrate me. He curled the digit, pressing into the sweet spot. I exploded, a loud scream ripping from my throat. My fingers nearly ripped the hair clean out of his head.

He didn’t let up for at least a minute, making me attempt to thrash around, held down by his too strong hands.

Once he had tormented me enough, he sat up. My legs fell back down to the mattress while my lungs fought for oxygen. I wasn’t given long to recover, as I was quickly flipped back onto my stomach.

His hands hooked under my hip bones, lifting my ass in the air, and I swore I heard the sound of a condom being ripped open. My brain was still swimming from such an intense orgasm, that I wasn’t entirely sure what was happening until he spoke to me.

His voice was deep, full of lust. “Best fucking meal I’ve ever had.”

I felt the head of his cock nudge the entrance of my pussy, and I adjusted my knees wider, lifting myself up on my hands.

He continued to press against me, not quite sliding in. I felt a hand reach up my back, fingers wrapping in the hair on the nape of my neck. I leaned back against him, wanting to feel him inside me so badly I could cry.

At that moment, his fingers tightened in my hair and pulled my head up so I was nearly standing on my knees. His voice was against my ear now.

“Don’t be so impatient, princess. I’ve been waiting for this for months. We’re doing it my way.” His voice was so deadly, my only response was a soft moan.

He didn’t let go of my hair, but did slowly begin pressing into me, and I could hear a harsh breath being sucked in.

“Fucking Christ, baby.” He slid all the way in, pressing hard against my cervix. “Missed this pussy so fucking much.”

He let go of my hair now, letting me fall forward, my face burying in the pillow.

“Hold still for me baby, want to feel you.”

I did my best, I promise I did. But he was sliding in and out so painfully slow, and my body ached for him to just go a little faster. Involuntarily, my hips pushed back against him. I closed my eyes, but opened them when I felt a hard slap come to land on my ass. I sucked in a hard breath at the sting, but felt my walls twitch. I liked that. I liked that a lot.

“I told you to be patient.” His fingers were digging into the spot that he had slapped, but in all fairness, I’m not the best listener. I rocked my hips back again, and then braced myself. The slap that came down was harder, making a bolt of lighting shoot up my spine. I shivered, enjoying the sensation of his palm on my hot skin.

“Having a hard time hearing me, baby?” His hand rubbed over my flesh, and I carefully shook my head. “No?” His hand stopped abruptly, another hard smack landing on my ass.

“Ahh, I see. You like that, don’t you?”

I didn’t respond, only pushed back into him again, mouth watering at the feeling of his cock filling me, when his hand came down again.

He chuckled, a dark, wicked laugh. “I see what you’re doing.” He let go of my ass, but instead of another slap, he pulled out entirely, leaving me whimpering in distaste.

I felt his palm rubbing over my skin, my legs spread wide, hips rocking for him. There was nothing to push back on, and I sighed.

“You poor, eager girl. Must’ve been missing me just as much.” He nudged me with his cock, then, and I held still, not wanting him to move away.

I waited there, patiently, and felt him finally press back inside me. I moaned loudly, gripping the sheets with white knuckles.

“That’s it.” His voice was oddly comforting, although he sounded so evil. “See what happens when you’re patient?”

He was now thrusting at a steady pace, and my eyes began to roll back from the coil tightening in my belly.

“God damn, look at you.” He ran a hand up my back. “So fucking needy. So fucking beautiful.”

My body shook, another hard orgasm building. “Noah, God, Noah, please.”

“What do you need baby?” His hand came down to spank me again, a sickening sound filling the room. My eyes rolled back and I hissed at the sting.

“Yes, fuck!” I screamed.

“Love being spanked, don’t you?” He slapped me again, harder.

“Mmm,” Forming words was getting harder.

Another slap. My legs started to shake.

“So good for me, baby. So fucking good.”

Slap.

“Could fuck you all God damn day.”

Slap.

“So fucking tight. So fucking wet.”

Slap.

His breathing was becoming more erratic, his rhythm slipping. He was close.

“Fuck, Noah, I’m going to come.”

He fucked me harder, his hips barreling against me at an alarming pace. He gripped my hips for support.

“Fuck, baby. Come on my cock. Come for me, Leena.”

Slap.

That was it, I was gone. My brain was bursting, my screaming wild. My fingers were digging into the mattress now, chanting his name over and over.

I felt him stiffen, his hands gripping me hard enough to bruise.

He slowed his thrusts, his body half-collapsing on my back. My knees gave out, making him fall on top of me completely. I rolled on my side, my eyes half-masked and staring at him. He was breathing heavy with his mouth open, face showing me how spent he was.

“H-Holy fuck.” Was all he could say. I waited a moment for my heart to calm down. He stared at me, an expression I couldn’t place on his face. “Are you…” He trailed off. “Are you okay?”

I smiled, then. He was worried. It was cute.

I answered him with a soft kiss on his lips.

The day had passed so easily. Noah and I had made breakfast, playing 80’s music, him singing very dramatically to all of the Bowie songs. We had taken Angel on a long walk around Dad’s property, and came back in once the rain really started coming down. Needless to say, we spent a fair amount of time on the balcony in the downpour.

We fell asleep watching The Walking Dead, starting from the first season, as Noah had never watched it.

The following morning, I awoke feeling funny. I couldn’t place the feeling, but it was almost dizzy. The sensation made me salivate, similar to when I used to drink too much, and fell asleep before emptying my stomach.

After a tall glass of water, I unfortunately did the same, everything I had eaten the night before being left in the bowl. I cursed under my breath. Being sick was not on the agenda for mine and Noah’s days alone together.

During my mad dash to the bathroom, I had to have woken Noah, as he was now knocking on the door. I had already flushed my vomit, and was brushing my teeth.

“Babe?”

I opened the door to see him looking at me, sleep still heavy in his eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He shook his head, dismissing me. “Are you alright?”

I nodded, my lips still clammy and my color too pale. “Yeah, just not feeling great this morning.”

He walked over to me, wrapping his arms around my stomach while I scrubbed my tongue.

“Dinner, maybe? The pork might’ve been under?”

I nodded. “Probably.” I spit out the toothpaste and rinsed my mouth out. “I’ll be fine. I’ll just take it easy today.”

He gently turned me around and placed his lips to my forehead, furrowing his brow. “You’re not warm.”

I leaned into him. “Nah, it was the pork.”

The following days, I spent laying on the couch or in bed, my stomach fighting against me at the most inopportune moments. I would feel great, back to normal entirely, and then would be hit with a wave of nausea that I couldn’t escape. Once I had vomited, I would be slapped with an overwhelming fatigue that had me napping for at least an hour each time.

I could see Noah getting increasingly worried, but I continued to remind him that I was fine, it was just a stomach bug (the possibility of it being food poisoning less and less as the days went on), and that if I went a week with no improvement, then I would go to Urgent Care.

He seemed satisfied with that, but then Dad came home.

“You’ve been sick for how many days now?”

“This is the third day.” Noah spoke up from behind me where he leaned against the back of the couch. I shot a death glare in his direction, to which he just shrugged.

“Mileena, you need to go get checked out.”

I groaned. He used my full name, which meant he was being my father right now.

“I’m fine, Daddy. I feel good!”

“You’ll be throwing up soon. You always do about an hour after you eat.”

I rolled my eyes and hissed at Noah. “Not helping.”

He threw his hands up in his defense.

“He’s right, I’m driving you to town.”

I scoffed. “Hello?! I am not a child. You can’t just force me to get checked out.”

“You’re my child. I can do anything I want.”

I crossed my arms and stomped a foot, narrowing my eyes at my Dad.

“Daddy, I am nearly thirty years old. You cannot make me see a doctor if I don’t want to.”

“Oh no?” Dad grinned at me.

He then turned his attention to the man behind me.

“Hey Noah, you ever hear the story of when Leena was little and went roller skating for the first time?”

My eyes bugged out. I looked at Noah, whose brows were raised, an amused smile on his face.

“I haven’t, actually.”

My head whipped back around. “Dad! You can’t blackmail me with embarrassing stories!”

Dad laughed. “The hell I can’t! Now you get in the truck, or I will tell him about when you sat on an ant hill.”

I heard an amused giggle behind me, and I growled in frustration.

“Ugh, I hate you both!” I turned and stomped up the stairs. “Let me get my shoes on!”

It had taken ten whole minutes of arguing with Noah to get him to stay back at the house with Angel. I didn’t need him hearing that I had E. Coli, or Salmonella, or just a really bad case of the stomach flu. Him and my Dad ganging up on me had me fuming the entire thirty-minute drive down the mountain and into town, soft country music the only sound in the cab of the truck.

When we pulled up to Urgent Care, I took note of the one other car in the parking lot. With any luck, we’d be in and out quickly.

“I’ll wait here for ya.” Dad settled into his seat and turned the music up a few notches.

I rolled my eyes and hopped out of the truck, walking up to the entrance begrudgingly.

“Hi! What brings you in today?” The redheaded girl behind the counter looked no older than eighteen, and I internally sighed in annoyance.

“I’ve got some kind of stomach thing, a virus or something.” My tone made it clear I was not happy to be there.

She nodded. “Okay, sure, we can help with that. Let’s get you checked in.”

I went through the tedious process of giving her my information before sitting down in the small, plastic chairs of the waiting room. I pulled out my phone, opening my texts.

Me: You may not know this about me, but I fucking hate doctors.

Noah started typing almost immediately.

Noah: Same, but you need to get checked out.

I slumped down into the chair.

Me: Teaming up against me with my Dad is fucked. Gonna kick your ass for it when I get back.

Noah: As terrifying as that sounds, I’m sure it’s worth it.

He started typing again immediately,

Noah: I’m getting those stories out of him still.

Me: Over my dead body.

“Mileena Richards?” A female voice called to me. A short, skinny woman in scrubs called me from the door leading to the exam rooms.

I stood up and walked toward her. She smiled warmly at me, and I tried to return the gesture.

She led me to a room where she took my weight, blood pressure, and pulse ox. She then sat back and asked me to describe my symptoms.

“Well, I’ve been throwing up a lot. It seems pretty random.”

“Okay, and have you noticed it happens after anything specific? Like eating or exercise?”

I shook my head. “Maybe about an hour or so after eating? But not every time.”

She nodded. “Any cramping? Gas? Diarrhea?”

I just shook my head. “No, but right before I vomit, I get pretty lightheaded.”

She was typing into her computer. She turned her attention back to me.

“Okay, honey, and when was the first date of your last menstrual cycle?”

She pushed a small calendar toward me, and I wracked my brain. I was so bad at remembering this stuff. I flipped back a month, looking at January. What day in January?

I remembered buying tampons at Target. Where was that? Laura was with me. It was about five days before I moved. We had gone to Target for packing tape, microwave popcorn, bubble wrap, and tampons. I wasn’t due for my period for another week, but I didn’t want to be on a flight to Seattle, and it show up early while I was unprepared.

But…I never used them. My period wasn’t exact, but it came at about the end of each month. We went to the store on January 22nd. 23rd? That means my last period was just before Christmas, which I remember, because I was extra cranky when I woke up Christmas morning at Laura’s, spending the holiday with her and Will. It started on Christmas Eve…

“I, uh…” I stared at the calendar, small and tinted green with little peonies on the corner. “I think it was Christmas Eve.”

The nurse raised a brow at me over the rim of her glasses. “Any chance you could be pregnant?”

I shook my head, staring at the floor, bewildered.

“No.” She didn’t seem satisfied with that answer, her face not moving an inch. “I wasn’t sexually active much at that time.”

She pursed her lips, and pushed herself away from her desk.

“Okay, honey, follow me.”

I stood up, my brain scattered. Noah and I were always careful, so it’s just not possible.

“Alright dear,” She held a plastic cup in front of me. “I need a urine sample from you, in case we need X-rays on your abdomen, we just need to be sure.”

I nodded, accepting the cup and heading toward the bathroom she directed me to.

“Doctor will meet you back in the exam room. Just leave the cup on the tray that’s next to the sink.”

I locked the bathroom door behind me, and stared at the cup. The unnerving instinct to run out of the office and into my Dad’s truck, lying and telling him it was the stomach flu, flooded through me, making my face go numb.

My logical sense took over, and I meticulously peed in the cup, replacing the lid and scrubbing my hands in the sink.

Once I was sat back in the room, opting for the chair, rather than the paper-lined bed, I sat in silence. My phone buzzed in my sweatshirt pocket, and I lifted it with a shaking hand.

Noah: Any news?

My fingers trembled so hard that I screwed up my words and had to keep deleting and retyping.

Me: Not yet.

I didn’t lie, because there wasn’t any. I was just going absolutely insane, and the power of suggestion was making my mind play tricks on me.

I replaced my phone in my pocket and forced myself to take a deep breath. I was fine. Just sick. Nothing serious. Nothing life-changing about it.

A short rap on the door made me startle before it cracked open.

“Mileena?” A tall, older man entered the room. He wore dark green scrubs, a white coat, and a stethoscope around his neck. Very stereotypically doctor-looking.

I nodded in response.

He stepped in with a small stack of papers in his hands. “I’m Dr. Allen.” He was looking down at his documents. “I hear you haven’t been feeling well?”

I coughed to clear my throat. “Yeah, for the last few days.”

He nodded, clicking his tongue while he flipped through the forms.

“Okay, well, I’m going to do an exam, but I’m pretty sure I know why you’re feeling crappy.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

He looked up at me, a smile on his face. “Yep. Your hCG levels are pretty elevated, and you’re also very dehydrated.”

What the hell is hCG?

I shook my head. “Uhm, okay. What does that mean exactly?”

He moved to sit at the desk, handing the stack of papers to me.

“It means that you’re expecting.” His eyes were sincere, likely seeing that mine looked like they were going to pop right out of my skull.

The air rushed out of my lungs. My response came out nearly inaudible. “What?”

He sat back in his chair. “You’re pregnant.” He glanced at the computer, clicking something with his mouse. “Judging by how late your cycle is? I’d say about six weeks? Maybe a little less?”

I could feel my head spinning on my shoulders, unable to tear my eyes away from the doctor. When I didn’t speak, he continued.

“I would guess that what you’ve been experiencing is morning sickness. It is a little early, however. I still want to do a quick exam to make sure we don’t have any other issues.”

I didn’t speak. I couldn’t. The world had fallen out from under me.

The drive home was utterly silent. I had only spoken to Dad to tell him that I was fine, and we could head home. He didn’t press, but I could feel he was growing increasingly uncomfortable.

“Leena?”

My eyes darted to him. We had pulled onto the lawn and parked already.

I didn’t answer him.

“Is it what I think it is?”

My eyes started tearing up, my lower lip trembling.

“I don’t know how this happened.” My voice was so small, I couldn’t be sure he even heard me.

“Well,” Dad huffed, adjusting in his seat. “I thought you knew this already, but, honey, when a man and a woman love each other-“

My head snapped over to my Dad, tears now rolling down my face. “Are you kidding me?!”

He sat back in his chair. “I’m sorry, just trying to lighten the mood.”

“Lighten the mood?” I scoffed. “This isn’t fucking funny!” My voice was reaching the level of a scream.

“Alright, now honey calm down.”

“Calm down?! What do you mean, ‘calm down’?!”

He lowered his eyebrows then. “Mileena Jane, I understand you’re upset, but you will not scream at me like that.”

His even, stern tone brought me back down, but my chest still heaved with sobs.

“Daddy…” I was lost for words. I was lost for thought. “What am I going to do?”

His eyes adjusted out the windshield, and I followed his gaze.

Noah stepped out of the front door, Angel heeling his left, a small smile on his face. He waved a hand at us.

“I’m not sure, baby, but you better figure it out fast.” Was all he said before opening his door to leave the truck. My hand flew over to him, grabbing his arm.

“Daddy?” He looked at me. “Please, for the love of God, don’t kill him.”

He snorted, swinging a leg out of the truck. “No promises.”

He left me alone, and I watched as he approached Noah, and clapped a hand on his shoulder politely. I couldn’t hear what he said, but he pointed at the truck, and went inside, calling Angel to him.

Noah then made his way down the porch, and across the grass. I opened my door and, slowly and shaking, hopped out.

His face fell when he saw my tears. “Hey, what’s going on?”

I wiped my face, and tried to put a calm smile on my face. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

He reached out and grabbed my hand. “Something’s up.” He glanced back at the house. “You fight with your Dad or something?”

I shook my head. “No, no. Nothing like that.”

“Okay, so what’s up? What did the doctor say?”

My stomach bottomed out, that familiar dizzy feeling hitting me.

“He said, uhm,” I swallowed hard, trying to push down the nausea. “that my exam was normal.”

He raised an eyebrow. “So they don’t know what’s wrong with you?”

I stared at him, eyes wide and wet. “They do.”

He furrowed his brow. “And?”

I shrugged, not knowing what the fuck to say.

“Noah, do you…” I closed my eyes, building the nerve. “do you remember the night of the concert? The last one I went to? The night we got back together?”

I had worked it through in my head. The night he sang to me on stage, and kissed me in the green room.

We had gone back to his house, and it’s obvious what happened there. We didn’t have a condom, and I told him I’d go to the drug store the next day for the magic pill. The problem is, when I woke up the next morning, in his bed, Laura had called frantic. Angel had thrown up four times the night before and wouldn’t eat or drink anything. Noah and I rushed him to the vet, learning he had eaten some plants in Laura’s backyard. He needed to be kept overnight, and we almost had to reschedule our flight to Seattle. I got distracted. I forgot.

I watched the gears in his head turn, his face growing increasingly bewildered.

“I remember we…” He trailed off before he raised an eyebrow. “You took the pill…”

I shook my head. “I forgot. Angel was sick.”

He raised his eyebrows, his eyes growing wide as saucers.

“Oh my God, you’re right.” For as surprised as he was, his voice was so even.

“Noah, I’m so sorry. I forgot.” I swallowed again, my stomach threatening to spill all over the both of us. “I’m pregnant.”

Noah had been sitting on the porch since I told him, swaying slowly back and forth while the rain fell around the house. Dad suggested I give him space, give him time to wrap his head around it.

I was trembling, sitting at the dining room table and obsessively munching on pistachios. Dad had already gone to bed, exhausted from his trip and still chewing on the news himself.

It had been five hours. Five hours since I told him the news, and there he sat, unmoving. I was crawling out of my skin, the fear and anxiety slowly turning into anger. He needed time to wrap his head around it?! I was the one growing a fucking fetus inside me! I was nauseas, dizzy, fatigued, and so fucking scared. But he got to take space?

Fuck that.

I stomped away from the table, bursting through the screen door. I walked over to the swing, standing directly in his line of vision.

“Hey!” He looked up at me, face void of emotion. “Look, I get this is a lot, alright? So if you want to bail, that’s fine. I don’t expect you to want to deal with this.”

His face was now twisted, confused.

“If you’re going to leave, however, leave now. I can’t sit in there and wait for you to get up the nerve to tell me you’re not sticking around!”

I was crying again, hot angry tears.

His voice was quiet. “What?”

I crossed my arms. “What do you mean, ‘what’? You can’t ruin your career over this, Noah. The band is just starting to get huge.”

He shook his head at me, standing to his feet. “You think I’m thinking about the band? About my career?” His words were angry, making me shrink slightly.

“I mean, yeah! How could you not? You’ve been out here for hours!”

He blinked rapidly, completely in disbelief.

“You’re fucking joking, right?” It was a half-yell, but it was enough to make me take a step back.

“I’m not out here worried about my fucking band, Leena. I’m thinking about what kind of father I’m going to be!” He gestured between us. “What kind of parents we can be to that baby!” He pointed at my stomach.

I was confused now. “What?”

He rolled his eyes, turning and pinching the bridge of his nose. “We’re alcoholics, Leena! I’m less than six months sober!” He coughed then, a choked sound. “I don’t know if I’d be any good as a father.”

He sat back down, and my entire mood shifted. He was concerned about being a good Dad? Did that mean he wanted this? He wasn’t worried about his job? His music? His reputation?

“Noah,” I sat next to him, but still at least a foot away. “you don’t have to worry about that.”

He looked at me then, a look of concern on his face. I gave him the wrong idea.

“I just mean that,” I shrugged, frustrated. “you’re an amazing person, Noah. Your addiction doesn’t change that.”

He leaned back on the swing, leaning his face up to look at the ceiling. “That’s your opinion, Leena. I’ve done horrible things.”

I nodded. “We all have.”

I grabbed his hand then, his face turning to look at me. I gave him a small smile.

“Do you want to do this?”

He sighed, waiting a few moments to answer. My heart pounded in my ears.

“I really do. I’m so fucking scared, but,” He squeezed my hand in his. “I can’t help feeling really fucking excited.”

He cracked a grin, and I returned it. “Me too.”

“Leena, I know this isn’t how this was supposed to happen. And I’m so sorry that I put you in this position.”

My tears came back, then. “No, I’m sorry. I was supposed to get the Plan B. I forgot.”

I hung my head, ashamed.

“Uhm, excuse me?” I looked back up at him. “I was the one who didn’t insist we use protection. And I also forgot to get you the pill.” He lifted my face with his chin. “We both did this.”

I nodded, leaning my head on his shoulder.

“So.” He sighed out, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.

I leaned into him. “Yeah.”

“Well, we’ve got to move in together.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but the thought of going through a pregnancy, and all the fun that was sure to entail crossed my mind. Doing that alone felt miserable. I also thought about the morning sex I got from Noah the other day, and smiled.

“Well, I did rent my house out…”

He huffed triumphantly. “Then that’s settled.”

I smirked. “You still going to want me when I’m all fat and moody?”

He chuckled, pulling me in closer. “You won’t be fat, you’ll be pregnant.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “With my baby.”

I groaned. “Oh no, you don’t have like, a breed kink, do you?”

This made him laugh loudly. “No, not really. It’s just my masculine instinct to be more attracted to you while you’re carrying my child.”

I rolled my eyes. “Okay, Mr. Neanderthal.”

We both laughed, but quickly became quiet again. The sound of the woods and rain around us filling the space.

“I love you, Mileena.”

I tucked my face into his side, nuzzling against him.

“I love you too, Noah.”

“You promise?”

“Always.”

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! This story was a journey, and I can say I’ve honestly come to really love these characters. Cant decide if I want to continue their story or not, so let me know if you do. If you’ve followed it, I appreciate you! Till next time, my loves. 🖤

#noah sebastian #noah sebastian fic #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens #fanfic

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kisuminight · 7 months ago

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c!George and c!Dream have a bond that lets them feel each other's emotions. It is not a fix-it solution.

There is a bitter ember is George’s resonance with Dream. There has been for a while. It started as a small thing, back when Tommy first joined the server. But it grew and grew, until it was a bonfire that George could feel in the center of his chest, winding out from his lungs and strangling his throat like the thorns of a creeping rose.

Dream never named it, but George could guess. It was obvious, from the way it might flicker and wane but always, always flared up again whenever George tried to rely on him these days. First when Tommy burned down his house. And again, when the Badlands attempted their assassination. It’s been an acrid coating on his tongue, worse than brewing potions with spider eyes, since Technoblade… well, since Technoblade.

(George isn’t jealous about him. Isn’t jealous of the way Dream had been excited when Technoblade first arrived on the server, and admiration clicked and fizzed like redstone, even as the bitterness swallowed his appetite and choked at his breath).

The ember has grown into a proper inferno now, like the constant hissing of lava roaring in his ears. It’s hard to hear what Quackity is saying, but the resonance is winding tighter about him because Dream is coming. Dream is coming, and today George is going to demand answers.

“Just say you hate me.”

Sapnap is dragging George away, away to Mexican L’Manberg. There’s enough lava to drown the whole Nether, a conflagration that could swallow the whole server is burning him from the inside out and he is gasping around the feeling of thorns tearing him apart from the inside. Is this what it feels to swallow a wither rose?

“I don’t—how could he do that? George, let’s go. George—shit, George!”

Sapnap is there. His hands are on George’s arms. George can’t feel it through the armor. Just a bit of pressure as his whole world shakes apart around him. It’s painful, and George can’t breathe. The world is in and out and he can barely make out that they are out of the castle. There are grass blocks underfoot and no walls to lean on.

“C’mon, breathe with me. In one, two, three, four—” Sapnap’s voice curled about his ears, rhythmic and worried. It helped, a little. Gave George enough stability to sooth his own reactions until he could manage something more than panting sobs.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Shut up, George. Keep breathing.”

“I’m fine. What is this?”

Sapnap’s hands squeezed, keeping George from pulling away. He looked worried, the corners of his eyes crinkled and uncharacteristically soft. “It’s a panic attack, George.” The corners of his mouth dragged down. “Of course the first one you’ve had was caused by Dream.”

“No? It’s not my panic attack?” The pain ebbed as the heat did. It didn’t quite die back down to an ember, but the bitterness receded into something more sour, as the roses in George’s throat wilting into something easier to breathe around.

“Really?” Ugh. Sapnap made a face, and George made a face right back. “Okay, sure. Let’s just get to Mexican L’Manberg.” He turned away, but kept one hand tight around George’s wrist to pull him along.

“You are ridiculous,” George told his back, pretending that the sun wasn’t drying his cheeks into a sticky mess. He used his free hand to rub at his goggles. He tugged at the tangle of emotions in the resonance, feeling it spool out as they got farther away from Dream.

Whatever. It didn’t matter that the wilting had turned into the same soupy-bog in his lungs as when Sapnap killed Spirit. George didn’t care about the return of the almost-pneumonia of grief that settled like a fever and made Dream uninterested in the world for days or even taking care of himself. Maybe Dream would feel George’s fury like a fire in turn, and come apologize to bank it.

Tomorrow, probably, because he was so busy with Eret today. Tomorrow, George could get his answers. Demand what Dream was even thinking, and why he was even being this dumb when it made all this wrongness curl about him like a miasma and twist the emotional bleed into something dark.

Dream didn’t come home that night. Or the next. Tomorrow stretched on into the taught, painful pull of a distant resonance, like barbed wire strung between their hearts.

#dsmp #dsmp au #c!Dream #c!George #c!dnf #DSMP Blade System AU #just because you can feel each other's emotions #doesn't mean you understand what you're feeling #communication is important in relationships #but this is DSMP where everybody is allergic to talking about or explaining their true feelings until everything is ready to explode #technically part of a larger AU that has been eating my brain for a week #but it's an okay stand-alone so I figured I'd post it #I've finally got inspiration to write #but this is the first thing I've written for this fandom so forgive me if the character voices are a bit weird

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madiomens · 1 year ago

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Just Pretend II [n.s.]

Chapter Three

I sighed as I made my third cup of coffee for the day, zoning out on the TV as I cycled Studio Ghibli movies. The guys were doing all day back to back interviews to promote their new album, which meant here I was in the guys house and bored out of my mind. The only human interaction I had all day was when Jesse would emerge from his room for a drink or snack and silently join me watching the current movie for awhile.

Jesse and I are a lot alike in this aspect. Some days, like today, not speaking is the only thing on the agenda. Just lazing around with our coffee and watching movies we've seen before but bring us comfort every time. He was currently wrapped up in a blanket, hood on head as he stared at the tv and sipped his coffee. I joined his side and wrapped up in my own blanket, warm mug in hands as a shiver went though my body. California wasn't necessarily cold, but I swear Noah keeps it an icebox in the house.

I moved in with them a couple months ago after Noah insisted he just cannot bear the thought of me living anywhere else. Since then, it's been nothing short of entertaining. I never know what chaos is going to ensue for the day or in other instances, I never know when my face is going to be buried in a pillow to drown out my moans that Noah causes to erupt from me.

I'm living my best life.

I jumped when Jesse's phone rang, breaking the trance we were in with the TV. He sent me an apologetic smile before pushing off the couch to answer it, his voice fading down the hallway. Jesse's excited, hushed voice caused me to furrow my brows towards the direction he walked in, curiosity peaking.

"Fuck yea. No, I won't say anything. Alright, bye." He said before rounding the corner towards me.

He sat on the couch, grabbing his coffee and sinking back into the cushions.

"Jesse...." I said, voice trailing off.

He froze and slowly turned towards me, eyes wide. "Maddie, don't ask, please. I can't keep stuff from you."

I squinted my eyes at him. "Is it something I will find out within the next couple hours?"

He nodded violently, coffee sloshing around his cup. "Yes, I promise."

I huffed and turned to sink back into the couch, crossing my arms with my coffee between my legs. "Fine."

He let out a sigh of relief as his body relaxed. "Thank God." He mumbled into his coffee, eyes focusing back onto the TV.

The next hour went painstakingly slow as my brain mulled over what news I could possibly be waiting for. The possibility of a new tour was the prominent thought on my mind, which then sent me into a different direction of how in the world I would plan a wedding on the road and when I would plan it for. I mean, I can do it, but it's not ideal.

The front door opening sent me all but flying off the couch as I set my mug down and raced towards the entrance, eyes landing on Noah and Jolly walking in. Folio and Nicholas trailed behind them, Folio looking as if he snorted five lines of coke he was so excited. Noah sped up to me, wide grin on his face and picked me up to spin me in a circle. I laughed as I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, his infectious excitement rubbing off on me. He put me down, placing a deep kiss on my lips before pulling away to grin down at me.

"Are you going to tell me what Jesse has been trying so hard to keep from me for the past hour?" I questioned, smiling up at him. He nodded as the other guys joined our sides, similar grins on their faces. I looked between all of them as my smile faded. "Y'all are starting to scare me."

They all laughed as Noah placed his hands on my cheeks, forcing me to look up at him. "We booked a tour for the new album." He said.

I grinned at him and placed my hands on top of his. "Baby, thats amazing."

"But wait, there's more." Folio said as he all but jumped in place.

I furrowed my brows up at Noah. "More?"

His grin widened, hands still on my cheeks. "A stadium tour."

I gasped and smacked my hand over my mouth, eyes getting wide. "Shut up."

"I'm serious." He said, laughter shaking his words as the guys erupted into cheers.

My eyes filled with tears, pride filling me up. "Noah."

He wrapped his arms around my waist to pick me up again, causing me to wrap my own arms around his shoulders again. "Oh my God, Noah."

"I know." He said against my hair, turning to place a kiss on the side of my head.

I pulled back to look down at him before pressing my lips to his, a tear falling down my cheek. "I'm so fucking proud of you." I mumbled against his lips as the guys celebrated behind us.

He set me back on my feet and broke the kiss, wiping a tear off my cheek. "Why are you crying?" He questioned, soft smile on his face.

"Because I'm so happy for you. And I've never felt more proud." I said, heart swelling as his own eyes filled with tears.

He tilted his head back to blink the tears away, taking a deep breath and slowly letting it out. "God, Maddie, you're going to make me cry too."

I smiled and placed my hands on his cheeks, pulling his face down to meet his eyes. "I love you." I said, wiping a stray tear that escaped down his cheek.

"I love you too. So much." He said before pressing his lips back onto mine.

"UMMMM." Folio said from behind us, breaking us free of our bubble.

I turned to look at him, Noah's arms coming up to wrap around my shoulders as he stood behind me. "Ummm?" I questioned.

"We're fucking partying tonight, right?" He questioned, causing all the guys to look at me excitedly.

I furrowed my brows. "Well, duh we're partying."

A few hours and a store trip later, we had a proper party set up. We turned the dining room table into a beer pong table, drinks and snacks were set out on the island with cups, and pizza was on the counter. Jesse and Folio were already on gremlin mode, running around and creating chaos in their wake. I shook my head at them in amusement as I mixed a drink, laughing at Noah as he was almost tripped by Folio.

"Those two should never be allowed to be together." He said as he joined my side to pour his own drink.

I chuckled as I laid my head on his shoulder while taking a sip of my drink, humming at the taste. “But they’re so damn entertaining.” I said, causing Noah to chuckle.

“You’re not wrong there.” He said as he placed a kiss on my head.

Two hours and many drinks later, we were all properly drunk and currently playing a very competitive game of truth or dare. As drunk as I was, I still intervened when they dared Folio to jump off the roof onto a mattress and he was actually going to do it.

They settled for him jumping into the neighbor’s pool naked instead.

I chugged my drink as Jolly’s attention turned to me while he prepared what he’d ask me once I settled on truth.

“Maddie.” He said, words slightly slurred.

“Jooolllyyyy.” I said in a sing-song voice, causing the group to laugh.

“Truth or dare?” He asked, taking a sip of his drink.

I hummed as I thought it over. “Truth.” I said, deciding I didn’t want to have to run somewhere naked, which was the overall census of the game it seemed.

“What is a fantasy of yours you have never shared with Noah?” He asked, causing the group to let out a chorus of oooh’s.

“Ghostface.” I said, not missing a beat. The group gasped before they burst into laughter, my own following. I shrugged as I tipped back the rest of my drink. “And I stand by that.” I said before pushing myself off the ground to make another drink, leaving the guys to their game.

I slightly stumbled over my feet as I walked into the kitchen, vision properly blurry. I decided to just pour a cup of sprite, deciding I was incredibly too drunk and past the point of blackout, some part of me watching out for myself tomorrow.

The smell of Noah’s cologne hit my nose before his arms wrapped around me from behind, causing me to gasp and spin around in his arms. A drunk grin was on his face, as well as my own, as I looked up at him.

“Hi.” I said, leaning my face up so my lips would meet his.

“Bet.” He mumbled against my lips.

I pulled away in confusion. “Bet what?”

He shrugged before pressing his lips back on mine.

“Bet.”

#noah sebastian #bad omens #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian fanfic #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fanfic

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peter-pantomime · 2 years ago

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Stranger Things Fic Recs, Part 4

Part Three | Two | One

Gen

Let Me Just Hold You Now (Steve and Robin)

Steve has a routine for nights like this. A routine for the times when his world gets flipped on its axis. Just four simple steps to keep his body alive while his mind tries to sort through whatever fucked up thing he just went through. Steve has a Routine. Robin breaks that Routine.

i'm right up the road (Steve, Max, and Eddie)

“Well—“ The guy flounders for a second before taking another very brave and heroic two steps into the room. “Does he have like, medication or something? Are you supposed to call someone?” “I don’t know! That’s why I asked you to help me!“ “Well I don’t know!” He nearly yells, more stressed than angry. This is definitely not what Steve meant when he’d advised them to stay calm and not panic. Don’t bring in a random guy who’s only going to fuel the panic.

A Heart Whose Love is Innocent (Wayne and Eddie)

Eddie hadn't spoken a single word to him since showing up on his doorstep with nothing but the clothes on his back and a single, half-empty backpack, about a week ago. Wayne had never considered himself to be a particularly patient person, but apparently he wasn't too old to learn something new about himself, because he was. He was so very patient with the boy. When he talked to the kid and received nothing but vague head movements or the occasional grunt for an answer, Wayne didn't press, didn't push, didn't do anything but accept that this was how they communicated for now, and it wasn't fine, exactly, but Wayne could wait. 5 times Wayne had a conversation with Eddie, and 1 time Wayne had a conversation about Eddie.

Steve/Eddie

the shame is on the other side

Steve wants to go to a place where monsters aren't real and people don't care about him, and he wants to drink and dance and stop thinking for once. Just once. He lands in a gay bar. And then he keeps landing there.

it would be surrender to let me see

[...] The point is, no one has ever done this much for Eddie in his life. (Well, he knows some very scary people in suits did something to get the murder charges against him dropped, but that happened while he was mostly unconscious, and he still doesn’t know or want to know the details.) As far as he can tell, Steve has spent every waking moment since dragging Eddie’s bleeding skin sack out of the Upside Down trying to make sure Eddie never wants for anything again. And that just makes the wanting so much worse.

A Gem Beyond Counting

The wrong feeling pitches and dives toward nausea again. Steve folds in half, eyes squeezed shut. The room spins, and his skin goes clammy. Behind the rush of white noise in his ears, he thinks he hears Eddie’s voice, calling to him, saying his name. There’s a soft pressure on his back that moves up to the back of his neck, and — Gone. Everything’s fine. He feels fine. He feels good, even. Eddie has a hand on the back of his neck and one clutching his forearm. Eddie looks frantic, eyes wide, a sheen of sweat on his face and stray damp curls stuck there. Steve’s gaze is drawn to his mouth, taut and worried and always in motion. He wants to lick into it. OR - Eddie falls first, Steve falls harder: sex pollen edition.

My Four Leaf Clover

“Do you wanna tell me?” “That depends, on if you’d wanna know,” Eddie replied in his most seasoned theatrical voice. Sometimes it was hard to remember Eddie played pretend almost for a living, and other times it was impossible to forget. “Doesn’t matter,” Steve said. It is June the ninth, 1986, and Steve Harrington has now lived through four world-shattering and world-saving events. The most surprising development of his life this summer, however, is the fact that he's currently lounging around outside with Eddie Munson listening to him prattle on about who knows what. The most surprising development of his life is that he's enjoying it.

sir stephen strider finds his suzie

Dustin watches Eddie's face as everyone else giggles. He's retained his typical intimidating smirk for much of this encounter, but as Steve stumbles through his fictional seduction, Eddie's eyes soften. His smirk slowly turns to a small grin. [...] Nancy presses a hand over her mouth, but it does nothing to hide her smile. Usually, this is the point where Eddie would make them all roll initiative. Dustin has his D20 ready. But Eddie smiles. Eddie fucking smiles, and not in that maniacal way he does before siccing something horrific on them, he fucking beams, and says, "You're gonna scrape your neck on his mace doing that, just so you know."

keep me in your glow

“You want me to apply this liberally to your hair from root to tip?” Eddie offers, shaking the bottle, trying to convey to Steve that he won’t make fun of him. Although maybe he still sounds like he’s making fun of him. “It’s just, uh–earlier you told Robin that raising your arms hurts so I thought…” Steve looks at him, expression unreadable. It’s probably weird, what Eddie’s doing. Standing in Steve Harrington’s bathroom is weird enough without the additional presumption that Steve would want him prolonging this experience. He really should’ve left the second Steve proved himself capable of showering alone, but – “Well we can’t use that one until my hair is damp, not wet.” Steve plucks the bottle from Eddie’s hand and promptly swaps it out for a smaller white one. “We can’t really do anything with my hair right now, it just needs to air dry. Um, I do kinda need it out of the way, though. If we’re gonna fix my face.”

getting lost in the dark is my favorite part

“Nice to meet you, Eddie,” said Nick. “It’s rare that I find someone else here who shares my interests.” “Interests?” He remembered he was wearing his battle vest, Nick’s hand lingering right in the middle of the giant Dio patch. “Oh, you like the heavy stuff too?" “I really do.” “Fuck yeah,” Eddie said before he could stop himself. His face got hot. Shit, that sounded way too eager, a totally excessive level of enthusiasm just for meeting another gay metalhead. He had given himself away as a clueless virgin, and Nick was going to stop smiling, walk away, and find someone with the ability to maintain his cool for the length of half a conversation. But Nick didn’t stop smiling. Instead he said, “I know you just got a drink, but do you want to get out of here?” Or: After his near-death experience, Eddie decides it's time to get rid of his pesky virginity and heads to a gay bar. It leads to some... realizations... for both him and Steve.

Like Strangers Laugh and Like Subways Feel

Hoisting his bat in the air, Steve unlocks the door and wrenches it open. Eddie Munson falls into him, up against his legs, half sprawled out across the step. Steve drops his bat with a clatter. Or: Eddie shows up on Steve's doorstep, hurt, panicked, and in need of a helping hand.

he's begging babe stay, stay

The late June heat lingers with a slow sort of stretch that envelops the two amid the sleepy safety of dusk. Steve’s sleeves hastily rolled and shoved haphazardly onto peeling, sunburnt shoulders in accommodation as they aimlessly walk empty neighborhood streets. Bathed in the golden lamplight of suburbia. Steve distracted enough to allow the older boy to lead him this far along without so much as a question of their destination since leaving the hotboxed confines of Eddie’s Uncle’s trailer. “Hey,” He begins conversationally. Eddie’s eyebrows lifting expectantly, though he goes on smoking. “The element of surprise and I don’t mix so well these days, you know? Not that consideration exactly comes to mind when I think of you, Munson. But — “Steve’s face softens as Eddie’s eyes roll theatrically. “Could be nice to clue me in now.”

in breakable heaven

Eddie leans out of the window on crossed forearms. Steve’s next projectile, thankfully, goes right over his head. “Hello." “Hi,” Steve says, “can I come in?” Eddie Munson and the terrible, no good, very bad, actually pretty alright summer.

Shame on the Night

[...] There’s a story Steve remembers about looking back, a punishment in salt. He’s got his key in the ignition and there’s something brackish in his mouth when he turns to see the shadow in the window. “We can’t…he’s alone,” he says and no one answers because they know he’s right but they don’t know what comes next. It’s Dustin who finally breaks the silence, a quiet, “where can he go where no one would look?” Eddie hides at Steve's house. There are consequences.

Ace of Spades

Eddie comes back. Steve helps.

the feeling that you give me, wanna give it right back

[...] Every time Steve comes over to Eddie's to smoke up, they end up in some kind of stupid argument. Usually it's about music, or movies, or whether Dustin should ever be allowed to have a pet again. But tonight, somehow – Eddie can't remember exactly how it got started, but he definitely blames Steve – they're in each other's faces about which of them gives better head.

Hard to Learn

[...] Realization dawns, then it’s quickly followed by anger and… hurt? The first quickly eclipses the latter, and Eddie flings open the car door. “See you around, I guess, Harrington,” he spits, beginning to limp away. [...] “Oh, for the love of-,” Steve mutters, then runs the couple of hobbled steps that Eddie has managed to put between them, grabbing his arm to spin him around. “Your home is half portal, idiot,” Steve says. “You’re staying with me.”

man's good faith and will to perservere

Eddie Munson's birthday is in November

600 Square Feet

There’s no response from Steve and Eddie is contemplating swapping out his bun for donuts when Steve starts laughing. A full bodied laugh that has him pressing his wrist to his mouth to keep from losing his lunch all over the car and Eddie finds himself smiling despite his confusion. “Are you— Are you experiencing a medical event? What’s happening here?” Steve chokes down some water and sighs, “My parents really sold me on this idea that I was gonna get out of school, go to college for business, take over for my dad, live in some— some mansion on a lake.” He gestures between them, “And now i’m waiting on tourists and sharing table scraps with Eddie Munson.” Eddie huffs out a small laugh, “Bit of a downgrade, huh?” “Are you kidding me?” Steve shoves his fingers through his hair, “This is— kind of perfect, actually." Falling in love on a shared mattress.

defrost

“So what’s the plan?” Steve shoots him a look. “Why do I have to have a plan?” “Your car.” Eddie shrugs. “Your call.” "I think..." Steve sighs. "It would be safer to wait for the snow to stop, and then go from there. I don't want to actually crash into a ditch or something." He glances at Eddie, nervousness on his face. "What d'you think?" "I'd say we're fucked either way but if this means I don't have to walk in the snow, I'm all for it." "That's the spirit." (Eddie hates Steve, for the most part. And now they're stranded in the middle of nowhere. And it's snowing.)

sloe gin fizzy, do it till you're dizzy

[...] Steve doesn’t flinch away from the closeness. Just breathes and blinks. And then his eyes flicker down to Eddie’s lips and right back up, so quick that Eddie’s hazy brain would have missed it if he hadn’t been paying attention, hadn’t been anticipating it. Eddie takes it as the invitation it has to be, and slowly, slowly closes the distance. His nose does bump into Steve’s as he enters his space, but he pauses, hesitates with his mouth hovering a hair’s breadth away from Steve’s. He waits for the rejection, for the brutal shove away, for the disgusted “what the fuck man?”. But they don’t come. What does come is Steve’s mouth, pushing forward to press against Eddie’s.

so destiny has brought us oh so close together

When Steve inhales he shuts his eyes and lets his head fall back, exposing the line of his neck, sending the smoke upwards on the exhale. Eddie watches because he can’t help himself. This is another strange thing. He’s always known that Steve Harrington is attractive, but it had always been in an almost clinical way, like the way he could look at Nancy and know she’s pretty. It was objective. Simply an observation that Steve’s features formed a pleasant arrangement. He understood why all the girls in Hawkins tripped over themselves for the pleasure of King Steve’s attention, but it had never affected him personally. Eddie knew better. Or he was supposed to know better, anyway. Or, 5 times Steve and Eddie have sex with no strings attached +1 time it actually means something.

#steddie #steddie fic recs #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fic recs #myficrecs

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rabbitinashell · 2 months ago

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Title: Whatever tf you want it to be

Han Lue was leaning casually against the counter, popping chips into his mouth, while Brian O'Connor was tinkering with yet another engine part, deep in concentration. You? Well, you were somewhere between trying to blend into the furniture and coming up with the next world-shattering joke to distract from how out of place you felt.

“Oh sure, Brian, that’s definitely how you fix it. Just turn that thingy-majig and hope it doesn’t explode,” you muttered, arms crossed as you rocked on the balls of your feet. "Totally how professionals work."

Brian raised an eyebrow, shooting you a grin. "Thingy-majig, huh? Didn’t know you were an expert now."

"Absolutely," you replied, deadpan. "Got my PhD in Made-Up Car Parts and Pretending to Know What I’m Doing. It’s a prestigious field, really.”

Han chuckled from his spot, crunching another chip, clearly enjoying the banter. “I don’t know, Bri, sounds like she could take over your job with that kind of knowledge.”

“Right?” you said, turning to Han, “I’m basically a genius. Next stop, rocket science. Or, you know, maybe I’ll just start my own taco truck. I’m versatile like that.”

Han nodded with mock seriousness, but there was something in his eyes—something soft, like he was genuinely enjoying your rapid-fire nonsense. And that look? That was dangerous. Like, heart-pounding, world-spinning dangerous.

“I’d buy tacos from you,” Han said casually, throwing out the comment like it was no big deal.

You blinked, eyes widening, and suddenly your mouth was dry. Compliments? That’s new territory. Your heart skipped a beat, and just like that, the sarcastic comeback that was on the tip of your tongue evaporated.

“I—uh…” you stammered, fingers fidgeting nervously with the hem of your shirt. “Yeah? I mean, cool. Tacos. Great. Who doesn’t love tacos, right?”

Real smooth.

Brian glanced up, clearly noticing the shift in your usual banter. “She’s quiet. That’s new. What happened to all the smart comments?”

“Shut up, O’Connor,” you mumbled, turning away and pretending to inspect the nearest engine like it was the most fascinating thing in the room.

Han exchanged a look with Brian, amused but curious. “She gets like this when you compliment her,” Han said softly, his voice gentle. “Not used to it, huh?”

You laughed nervously, your fingers still twisting your shirt. “What, me? Nah. I’m totally fine. It’s just—you know… verbal niceties… it’s like someone handing you a live grenade and telling you it’s a birthday cake. You don’t really know what to do with it.”

Brian tilted his head, leaning back against the hood of the car, watching you with an easy grin. “You seriously don’t get compliments? I find that hard to believe.”

You shrugged, trying to play it off, but the vulnerability seeped through. “What can I say? I’ve got the charm of a highly-caffeinated squirrel and the looks of someone who spends too much time behind a computer screen. People don’t exactly line up to hand out gold stars for that.”

Han frowned slightly, walking over to you. His laid-back attitude didn’t change, but his eyes softened. “Well, they should. If you ask me, they’re missing out.”

And there it was again. That look. You could deflect a thousand compliments if they were jokes, but this? Han looking at you like he genuinely meant it, like he saw something worth praising? Yeah, that short-circuited your brain real fast.

Brian smirked, clearly sensing how flustered you were getting. “Better get used to it, or else we’re just gonna keep throwing ‘em at you until you learn how to take it.”

You swallowed, trying to shake off the warmth creeping up your neck. “Oh sure, no big deal. Just, you know, casually making my heart explode. Totally normal. Let’s just add that to the list of things that could kill me.”

Han chuckled, shaking his head. “You’ll be fine. Besides, we like you just the way you are—even if you’re a little, uh, squirrel-like.”

You huffed, crossing your arms but feeling the smile tugging at your lips. “Squirrel-like. Great. Add that to my résumé of amazing traits.”

Brian laughed, giving you a playful nudge. “Don’t worry, we’ll make sure everyone knows how terrifyingly awesome you are.”

Your face turned redder, but you couldn’t help but grin at the two of them. They had this way of making you feel like you belonged, even when you didn’t know how to handle their easy compliments.

“Well,” you said, trying to recover some semblance of your usual sarcasm, “just so you know, this doesn’t mean I’ll go easy on you when I beat you both at Mario Kart later.”

Han raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Oh? Is that a challenge?”

“Oh, it’s more than a challenge,” you shot back, the familiar confidence starting to creep back in. “It’s a promise. And when I win, you two can shower me with more compliments. I’ll even try not to die of shock.”

Brian chuckled, shaking his head. “Deal.”

And with that, you had the upper hand again—even if your heart was still racing from the way Han looked at you like you were worth all the compliments in the world.

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junijunijune · 2 months ago

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Breeding | Vibrator | Cross Dressing

Kinktober 2024

This one is super rapey. I have a fear and power-less-ness kink and it is on full display here. M/F - just the normal human kind, a sci-fi setting but tragically no aliens. Non-Con. Restraints. Power-imbalance. TW: Rape, also bio-essentialism in the world building. I did set it under a gender-bio-essentialist regime and while the tone is intended to be "this is obvious fucking bullshit" it is still very there. One Shot: 1941 words

Kara had taken this job because she needed the money. She cut off her hair, she bought the uniform. She dressed up like a boy and she went to work. This was fine. It was fun pretending to be an asshole teenage boy and she was good at the work. She knew what she was doing with the machinery.

The work camps on the asteroids were segregated by genital configuration. It wasn’t a moral purity thing. It was a practical thing. They didn’t want pregnancies. They could inoculate against just about every disease under the sun but these particular mining operations were under a legal jurisdiction that did not see either birth control or abortion as legal rights. The job included submitting a form detailing your genital situation but forms could faked. So Kara faked it. A paper declaring that you had a penis got you the higher yield jobs. Faking her way onto one of the mining operations for cobalt would double her salary and it wasn’t so hard to keep her bits to herself for the three month term.

Things were fine until her roommate opened the shower stall by accident. There was the normal reaction of embarrassment. The shower had been off, she’d been drying off so he had come in and though the room was empty until he opened the door.

The door slammed shut.

There was an apology.

Then a moment of silence.

Then the door swung open again and he looked her up and down.

He shut the door again.

For a few days, everything was normal. Kara was ready to send her dipshit roomie a cut of her next pay-check as thanks for keeping his mouth shut.

Then shit went wrong.

They were on the north side when the orbit shifted them into the dark spot. The dark spot was an electromagnetic zone that only lasted a few weeks but transmissions - including the CCTV footage - went down during that time. Sexual assaults go up during the dark spot turn. The assignments for north side jobs are very very particular during that time. But Kara was good and Kara had never caused any trouble and Kara signed the forms because she wanted the 15% pay bump.

She had clocked in less than ten minutes ago and she froze. He leaned in, whispered in her ear. “I hear you’re keeping a secret,” the foreman said.

Kara tried for bravado, “Is that your business?”

“Could be.”

She was trying to come up with a way out of this conversation that didn’t make anything worse. North side jobs had private rooms. A little perk to make up for the dark zone of communication and the lack of sunlight. She had left the roommate behind at the old site and thought she was in the clear.

“You make a very pretty boy, don’t you?”

“Your point?” she tried to make her voice icy and threatening and it might have worked on someone a little less sure of their power. The foreman knew that he was king of this place until the comms came back online. He didn’t even try to be more intimidating than her. He was all smiles.

“I’m going to knock you up and make you enjoy every minute of it. Your belly is going to swell with my child,” he said.

“Like hell-” Kara started but he grabs her by the wrist and swings her around into an empty hallway and slams the door behind them. A lot of the halls are empty as they pass through the dark spot. Most of the crew moved out until everything came back online. The skeleton crew is just there to keep things from breaking down. The long hallway of empty bedrooms was barely lit by low lights.

The foreman pushed her back into the hall and she stumbled along. She’s strong from years working mining operations but he does the same work and he’s got size on his side. She growled and argued but as they got further away from the door, fear started to set in. She lost her chance to scream for help. He finally picked out an empty room and pushed her inside.

“Buddy of mine at 47B told me about you. I had to pull some strings to get you on this detail. If you’re good, we can keep this between us.”

Kara expected him to push her down on the bed and get on with it. Instead he sat her down on the desk chair. All the furniture was bolted to the floor in case of depressurisation or the gravity going weird. Kara made a break for the door, she ducked around him as he stepped back to grab a bag. He caught her around the waist and dragged her back.

Kara screamed at him and kicked but he ignored her as he pushed her into the position he wanted. He smiled as he cuffed her hands to the back of the chair. She kicked again, her heavy boots caught him in the thigh but he just grabbed her ankle and forcer her down into position. He pulled her feet apart and tied them to the base of the chair. He came prepared with a little back pack that he pulled cuffs and pieces of rope out of.

“I’m expected on shift and you’re a bit of a bitch,” he said.

“So you’re just going to leave me here?”

“Yeah. I’ll bring you something from the mess.”

He unzipped her trousers and reached down between her legs to finger her cunt. He poked around a bit, clumsy and too rough. Kara spit curses at him but that didn’t seem to bother him.

He pulled an object out of his bag. It was matte black silicone, a u-shape with a large bulb on one side and a smaller one on the other. He slipped it into her so the thick bulb was pressed against her g-spot and the smaller one rested against her clit. He grinned at her and then reached in and pushed a button. The thing between her legs clicked on. She gasped as it started to vibrate.

“You’ll be a little less of a bitch after a few hours like this. You have fun now,” the foreman said patting her cheek and zipping her trousers back up so the toy couldn’t be pushed out of the way if she jerked around. She could shift it but the position and the clothing didn’t leave enough give for her to dislodge it. He watched her try for a little while then checked his watch.

“See you soon, mama,” he said.

The reminder that he had every intention of not just fucking her but breeding her, made her scowl at him. He ignored the look as he left. He locked the door from the outside and left her alone.

Kara continued trying to twist the toy out of place by bucking her hips. The bit resting inside her was too thick and the shape meant her trousers held it steady. She could twist it around a bit but the movement just rubbed it against sensitive places and made the sensation worse. She tested the hand cuffs holding her wrists against the metal of the chair but she had no idea how to pick a lock even if she could reach something useful. The ropes around her ankles didn’t hurt because they were on the outside of her boots but she couldn’t get the tight laced mining boots off without her hands.

The longer she sat with the toy buzzing inside her, the more that became the only thing she could think about.

The vibrations weren’t that strong but Kara hadn’t used a vibrator since messing around in school. The sensation was very different from her usual two fingers on her clit kind of masturbation. She groaned in frustration and it trailed off into a bit of a moan. As the pleasure built, she found herself rocking her hips to get that extra sensation of the big part rubbing against her g-spot. Her face was hot with a mix of anger and arousal but the pleasure was winning out.

The orgasm shook through her and she swore and squirmed as the steady remorseless toy kept right on going.

In the wake of the orgasm, she made another desperate panicked attempt to get away again. Her body tingled and the pleasure took a harsh turn towards overstimulation. She screamed in frustration as she tried to yank herself free and get away from the horrible vibrations. Her body gave in and built towards another orgasm while she was still trying to catch her breath and calm down.

Kara hadn’t been terrified. There’d been a bit of fear when he’d pulled her down the hall but she’d always known that there was a chance she’d get found out and fucked about it. The anger had been the primary emotion. Until that second orgasm started building and the helplessness fully set in. This was not a kinky boyfriend. This was tied up in the empty wing of a mostly abandoned space station with no way to make it stop. She had no idea how long it had been or long it would take until he came back at the meal break. Five hours. Mathematically. It would be five hours before the mess opened for lunch. But had the first orgasm taken an hour to get to? Had it taken ten minutes? She had no idea and the second one built up faster than the first.

She arched as she came again. Shuddering and screaming in a mix of pleasure and anger and fear.

There was no bargaining or begging with a toy.

It did not stop.

By the time the door did open, Kara was panting and couldn’t think straight. She’d gone through a few moments of overstimulation so bad they made her sob. She’d raged. She’d given up. She’d raged again. It felt like it had been a life time.

He untied her and blessedly turned the toy off. She collapsed, leaning into him because he was the one standing there and keeping her from falling to the floor.

“Poor baby, look at you,” he said.

He pulled her clothes off and she was too disoriented and exhausted to argue with him or protest. He stripped her down and then laid her out on the bed. She had caught her breath and was starting to come back to herself but he didn’t give her much time for that. He admired her for a moment and then he unzipped without taking anything off and pressed his cock into her wet overstimulated cunt. She broke into angry tears, swearing at him and pushing against his chest. She was too drained to put up much of a fight and he slid all the way in and started to fuck her in earnest. It wasn’t a good fuck. She didn’t have to endure another orgasm but she’d never felt so powerless in her life as he grabbed her wrists, raw from the cuffs he’d used on her, and pushed her down.

He came fast and buried himself deep, cumming deep inside her.

“Good,” he said. “You’ll do good.”

He patted her belly as he sat back and put his cock away. She sat up as well. Anger was coming back. He had brought her food as promised. He left it on the table. Then he took her clothes and left her naked and alone. He didn’t tie her up again.

“See you after dinner,” he told her.

And then he was gone.

#kinktober 2024 #human/human #smut

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turvuren · 6 months ago

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Rutile x Yellow || Titan shifter AU

Need

2.9k words

Aot AU, to be exact

gendered (i like girltile... not sorry)

F/M

borderline smut but not really

i copy pasted the story bit from docs so idk if it fucked it up because its laggy as fuck. can you tell i like gallirei? enjoooy.

"I hate you, Yellow."

"I know."

Rutile grit her teeth. That was it, that was all he would say?

"... you let my husband die."

"...I know."

"How could you? Padparadscha was your best friend. And you -"

"I KNOW!"

Rutile flinched at the sudden outburst.

There was a heavy silence following his words, and it was only when she opened her mouth to speak again, only to be interrupted by a cough racked her body, that he spoke again.

"I know, Rutile. I know that I let him die. And I know that it's my fault."

"And now... and now you're the Armored Titan. Talk about..." cough "...someone who couldn't take the mantle."

"I never wanted this, Rutile. Ever." He spoke firmly, though his voice faltered ever so slightly, the words catching in his throat.

Rutile adjusted the armband that was slowly slipping off her, then cleared her throat. She was the current holder of the Jaw Titan. The kids seemed to look up to her, and adore her, though not so much as Euclase or not so much as the disappointment Yellow. If they knew the cowardice of him - they wouldn't have loved him.

"And you, you have the Jaw Titan? How ironic." He said half-jokingly, scoffing under his breath.

But he knew why they picked her. Strong, reliable, and good with kids, unlike him. She had everything he didn't.

Yellow sat down, his back against the cold brick wall behind him. He winced softly at the sharp pain shooting across his back, but he was too tired to care.

He looked up at Rutile, and his gaze softened slightly, despite his annoyance. Despite it all... she was still his friend, his closest friend.

And he let her boyfriend die. Padparadscha wasn't going to be her husband no matter how many times she lied to herself, to him about it. Eldians would only be allowed to marry if they were ever out of duty; and for Warriors like them, that time would never come. Rutile was just living out a fantasy where everything was okay and he wasn't sure if she knew it.

Yellow watched her in silence. He was torn, a mix of emotions bubbling in his chest - anger, regret, guilt, and even a hint of jealousy. He was jealous that she held onto the fantasy, that she could forget even momentarily that their lives were anything but okay.

He looked away, unable to sustain the stare any longer, his gaze shifting to the dusty ground beneath them. "Rutile..." He said quietly.

"Why do you do this to yourself?" He asked suddenly, his voice filled with a mixture of frustration and concern. "You keep living in this fantasy, pretending everything is fine and happy. But it's not... we're Warriors, Rutile. We're tools for war."

He looked up at her again, his eyes locked on her face. "You're... you're holding onto something that can never happen. We can't have normal lives. We can't marry, we can't have kids, we're not even supposed to form attachments. It's just ... it's not fair to you."

"...shut up."

"I won't. Someone has to snap you out of it, Rutile," he retorted back, his voice edged with a hint of annoyance. "You're living in a make-believe world when you should be focusing on reality."

"Padparadscha is gone. You have to accept that. Holding onto the thought of marrying him will do nothing but hurt you in the long run." He paused, studying her expression, watching as her grip on her armband tightened, her knuckles turning white.

He saw the pain in her eyes, the way her lower lip trembled slightly as he spoke. But he knew he had to keep going, even if it was hard. "Being a Warrior isn't about romance or settling down. It's about war and survival. You're only hurting yourself by clinging onto that dream."

Rutile moved to punch him, but she stopped before her first could connect with his face.

Yellow saw the anger in her eyes, and he was prepared for the punch. But when she suddenly stopped, her fist trembling in the air, he was taken aback.

He stared at her in surprise, not expecting her to back down so easily.

"What, you're not going to hit me?" He asked, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

He could see the anger and pain etched on her face, her fist still clenched, as if she was struggling to keep her emotions in check.

"Why? Why did you stop?" He asked, his tone more curious now than sarcastic. "You're clearly angry. So why didn't you punch me?"

Rutile didn't respond at first, her fist slowly unclenching as she tried to control her emotions. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself.

"Because... because it wouldn't change anything." She said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. "Hitting you wouldn't bring him back. It wouldn't change the fact that we're Warriors, and that we can't have the lives we want."

Yellow nodded, his expression softening slightly. "That's right. It wouldn't change anything."

He paused for a moment, looking at her with a mixture of empathy and concern. "But you have to stop torturing yourself with these fantasies, with the thought of marrying Padparadscha. It's not healthy, Rutile. You have to accept that he's gone."

"..."

Rutile backed down for the first time in her life.

Yellow watched as her shoulders slumped, the anger in her eyes replaced with resignation.

"You know I'm right, don't you?" he said quietly, his voice softer now. "You know that you can't keep living in this dream world."

There was a long moment of silence between them. The only sound was the faint hum of the air conditioning and the distant sound of footsteps coming from the hallway.

Finally, Rutile spoke again, her voice barely above a whisper. "I just... I can't help it. Every time I close my eyes, I see him. I see him smiling at me, telling me it'll all be okay. And I... I want to believe it."

Yellow's expression softened even further at her words. "I know it's hard," he said quietly. "I know how much you loved him. But you have to let him go. You have to focus on the present, on what's real. You can't keep living in the past, Rutile."

Another moment of silence, broken only by Rutile's shaky breathing.

"I just... I don't know how," she admitted, her voice breaking slightly. "How do I just... forget everything we had? How do I move on when every time I close my eyes, I see his face?"

Yellow moved closer to her, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. "You don't have to forget, Rutile. You can still remember the good memories, the times you had together. But you can't let those memories consume you, to the point where it affects your life, your job as a Warrior."

Rutile let him hug her.

Yellow wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly. He could feel her trembling, her body shaking as she fought back tears.

"It's okay," he whispered, his voice gentle. "Let it out. Just let it out."

Rutile buried her face in his chest, the dam breaking as tears began to stream down her cheeks. She clutched onto his shirt, letting out years of pent-up grief and sorrow.

"Shhh.. it's okay," Yellow continued to murmur as he held her, one hand rubbing comforting circles on her back. "I'm here for you, okay? I'm here."

"I-I just miss him so much," Rutile managed to choke out in between sobs. "I miss his smile, I miss the way he used to look at me... I just miss him. And I can't shake the feeling that it's my fault. That I could have saved him..."

Yellow's grip tightened, his heart painfully clenching at her words.

"It's not your fault, Rutile. You have to stop blaming yourself," he said firmly. "You did everything you could. There was nothing more you could have done to save him."

"..."

There was a long, drawn out moment of silence, until Rutile looked up at Yellow. He wasn't that much taller than her -

"Fuck me."

"...huh?"

Yellow's eyes widened in surprise at her words, and he drew back slightly from their embrace.

"Excuse me?" He asked, a hint of bewilderment in his voice.

"Just... just hear me out," she said, her voice shaky with emotion. "It's been a while, and I... I just need something, anything to distract me from all of this. I just... I need you."

Yellow stared at her, his expression conflicted. Part of him understood where she was coming from, and a small part of him wanted to say yes. But the rational part of his mind was screaming at him that this was a terrible idea.

"Rutile, you're not thinking clearly," he protested, his voice steady despite the conflicting thoughts swirling in his head. "You're upset, and you're tired. You don't really want this."

"But I do," she retorted, her voice filled with desperation. "I need you, Yellow. I need you to make me feel something, anything other than this pain. Please, just this once."

Yellow felt a pang in his heart at her words. He knew he should say no, that this would only make things worse in the long run. But her voice and her eyes were so pleading, and he could feel his resolve weakening.

His pants fell to his ankles.

Rutile's eyes widened slightly as she watched him. She had expected a little more resistance, a little more protest before he relented. But here she was, standing in front of him, as he stood before her without a hint of hesitation in his eyes.

"You really want this," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Yellow nodded, his gaze unwavering. "I do."

His response was firm and resolute. There was no sign of hesitation or doubt in his voice, and it sent a shiver down her spine.

Without another word, she closed the distance between them, pressing her body against his. She could feel the heat radiating off his skin, the solidity of his chest beneath her palms.

He gently pushed her against the wall, his hands roaming over her body with a newfound urgency. His fingers traced the curves of her hips, his lips trailing kisses down her neck.

She arched her back, letting out a soft gasp at the sensation of his mouth on her skin. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, wanting to feel more of his touch.

His lips found hers in a fierce kiss, his tongue delving into her mouth. His hands roamed under her shirt, tracing the smooth skin of her stomach and up her sides.

She trembled under his touch, her body responding to his every move. She felt a familiar heat pooling between her legs, a needy ache spreading through her body.

He broke the kiss, his breath hot against her skin as he moved his lips down to her ear. "Tell me," he whispered, his voice filled with desire, "Tell me what you want me to do to you."

Her breath hitched at his words, his voice sending heat coursing through her veins. "I...I want you," she managed to gasp out, her hands clutching at his shirt. "I want all of you, Yellow. Please, just... don't hold back."

A low growl escaped his throat, his eyes darkening with lust at her words. All of you she said, those words ringing in his head. He wanted to give her everything, to erase the pain and the sorrow and the memories that haunted her. He wanted to make her feel something, anything other than this despair that had consumed her.

He pushed her against the wall, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand. The other hand moved down her body, tracing the contour of her hip and down her thigh, his touch almost bruising in its intensity.

She gasped, her eyes widening at the force of his grip on her wrists. There was an edge of pain to his touch, a desperation that fueled his every movement. And yet, she found herself craving more, wanting him to break her, to give her the release she so desperately sought.

He moved his lips back to her neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. His hand moved to the button of her pants, slipping under the waistband. She let out a soft moan, her hips arching towards his touch.

He trailed kisses down her neck, nibbling at her collarbone before moving to her ear. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this," he whispered, his voice thick with desire. "You have no idea how much I've dreamed about you like this, under me, begging for more."

She felt a thrill at his words, her body responding to his voice and his touch. She was at his mercy, pinned against the wall, her arms above her head, completely submitting to his control.

He continued to kiss and nibble at her neck, his fingers moving slowly, torturously, over her body. He wanted to savor every moment, every touch, every sound escaping from her lips. He wanted to make her forget everything except for him, and what he was doing to her now.

Her breathing grew heavier as his touch sent sparks of pleasure through her veins. She tried to move her wrists, to free herself from his grip, but he held her firmly in place. She was at his mercy, helpless against the onslaught of sensations coursing through her body.

He slowly moved his hand further down her body, his fingers drifting over the smooth skin of her stomach. He could feel her trembling beneath his touch, her body responding to every movement, every caress. He continued kissing her neck, his lips and tongue tracing a path down her collarbone.

Her breathing came in short gasps, her body arching and straining against his. She wanted to touch him, to feel his skin against hers, but he kept her arms pinned against the wall, his grip firm and unyielding. "Please," she whispered, her voice trembling with need. "Please, Yellow. Please..."

He chuckled darkly, his lips moving to her ear. "Please, what?" he whispered, his voice low and seductive. "What is it that you want, Rutile? Tell me. I want to hear you say it."

She whimpered, her body trembling at his words. "I want you," she gasped out, her voice thick with need. "I want you, Yellow. I want you to touch me, to make me feel something other than this pain. Please, just... make me forget."

He growled, his lips returning to her neck, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin. His hand continued to move over her body, his touch growing more and more possessive. He could feel her body responding to him, her breathing ragged and unsteady, her hips arching towards his touch.

"You're mine," he whispered, his voice thick with possessiveness. "You hear me? You're mine, and I'm going to make you feel things you've never felt before. I'm going to make you forget everything except for me, and what I'm doing to you."

She let out a low moan, her body surrendering completely to his touch. She couldn't think, couldn't focus on anything except for the sensations coursing through her body, the way his hands were touching her, claiming her.

He continued to nibble and kiss her neck, his fingers trailing over every inch of her skin. He could feel her body reacting, her muscles tensing and contracting under his touch. He wanted to taste her, to consume her, to make her forget every thought and memory that didn't involve him.

Her breathing was ragged now, her chest heaving with each exhale. Her body was on fire, every nerve ending alive with sensation. She felt like she was drowning, like she was losing herself in the pleasure he was giving her.

He slowly released her wrists, his hand drifting down to her hip. He pulled her body flush against his, his lips moving to her ear. "Give yourself to me," he whispered, his voice filled with need. "Let me take care of you. Let me make you feel good."

She shuddered at his words, her body trembling in his arms. She felt vulnerable, exposed, but she trusted him. She trusted him to take care of her, to make her feel things she had never felt before.

"Yes," she whispered, her voice barely above a whisper. "Please. I'm yours. I'm yours." He growled in response, his lips returning to her neck. His touch grew more urgent, more insistent, his hands roaming over her body with a possessiveness that sent a thrill through her. He wanted to mark her, to claim her as his own, to make sure she never forgot who she belonged to.

She let out a gasp as his teeth nipped at her skin, leaving behind a trail of small, red marks. She could feel his body pressed against hers, the heat and hardness of his frame sending a wave of desire through her.

He slowly moved his hands down her body, reaching the waistband of her pants. He paused, his fingers hovering over the button, his eyes meeting hers. "Do you trust me?" he asked, his voice low and husky.

She shuddered at his question, her breath catching in her throat. She could feel the intensity of his gaze, the power that emanated from him. Without hesitation, she nodded.

"Yes. I trust you."

He smiled, a dark and satisfied smile. "Good," he whispered, his hand slowly undoing the button of her pants. "Because I'm going to make you feel things you've never even dreamed of."

#hnk #houseki no kuni #lotl #lemon.....?#smutty smut smut #yellowrutile #rutiyel #land of the lustrous #yellow x rutile #rutile x yellow

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ereardon · 2 years ago

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At Sea, With You

A/N: This is a snippet of an original work that I started that was inspired by TGM but where the MC is a Naval aviator who falls in love with the ship surgeon on a mission. Little does he know that she got engaged three weeks before they set out to sea. Jacob (the surgeon) is Lewis Pullman in my mind and I weirdly have Sadie Sink in mind for Meredith the MC. Not a TGM fic, technically OC x OC. Just thought it might be fun to post this!

“Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“It’s OK. I’m just lucky you showed up tonight.”

He sounds relieved, like he really thought I wouldn’t show. Guilt clouds my mind. I tap my bare left ring finger against the coffee cup. The good part of me, the part that volunteers at the food shelter and cuts up six-pack plastic rings so fish don’t get stuck and the part of me that wore a white confirmation dress under the scorching Louisiana sun screams at the rest of me to tell him. In the deep recesses of my mind she tells me that I owe him that.

“Are you alright?” Jacob leans toward me and props an elbow up on the wall behind us. I lay my head back until it is touching the wall, and his arm is only inches from me. His bicep when I had touched it was muscular. He’s carting around a really excellent body underneath his uniform, I am positive of it. The quiet, unassuming exterior is hiding something beneath it.

“I’m fine. Why?”

“You seem a bit off.”

“Do you really know me well enough to say something is off?”

Immediately I can tell he’s taken aback, and guilt starts to seep to every corner of my body. Kindness is not always a great strength of mine. I’ve had to bite my tongue more than once growing up in the South with the alphabet of the Navy always ready on my lips. Honesty is a philosophy I lean too hard into at times, to my detriment. And one I ignore all too often as well.

“I’m sorry,” I add, quickly. “That was rude of me.”

Jacob drops his arm and straightens up. “It’s alright. I overstepped.”

“I just mean, we’re strangers, right? Or kind of? And saying something like that makes me think you see this as more than it is.” I squeeze my eyes shut, hate myself the moment the words leave my lips. I’m not sure why I say it. It’s sour as it exits my mouth.

“Trust me, I am very aware of the situation, Meredith.” His voice is bone chillingly calm. I give him a side eye and see he’s looking at me, lips pulled in a frown.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

My heart begins to jog in my chest. He knew. He had spotted the ring that first day and has been pretending otherwise ever since. If anything I’m pissed at myself. An anxious blush creeps across my face, combating the cold of the ocean wind.

“The mission is only a few weeks,” Jacob says and my pulse instantly starts to even out. “You’re young and smart and absolutely beautiful. I know that if we were anywhere else, this wouldn’t be happening.” He waves his hand between us. “If I had met you at a bar in New York you wouldn’t have given me a second look. But here, on the ship, it’s a limited dating pool. Everything out here is limited. I’m your default.”

Dating pool. The elephant in the room. The whale on the ship. He’s laying it out there for the world to see. I’m not imagining the electric current I feel running between us.

I breathe out a sigh of relief, not even realizing I had been holding my breath, and lay my left hand gently on his thigh. He looks up at me and the vulnerability across his button nose and pink cheeks makes me flush.

“Stop it,” I whisper lightly. I want to tell him the truth. That I noticed him the very first day in the mess. That talking to him feels like talking to an old friend, but also stimulates a nerve I didn’t even know I had. That touching him feels natural. That I waited all day, rushed my duties, to make sure I made it up here, just hoping he would still be here.

He glances down at my hand. I start to feel insecure and go to lift it, but then change my mind.

“Meredith.” That’s it. Just my name rolling off his lips in a quiet whisper that gets picked up and sailed away by the wind. I still don’t lift my hand from his leg. Instead, I rub my thumb slowly back and forth a few times. A reassurance. So without saying it, he knows. Through the silence, I hope he reads me.

I look over at him. “It’s not like that OK?”

He nods.

“I need you to know you’re a choice, not a default. I’m here because I want to be. Simple as that.”

The words hang in the hair, dense like a thick fog rolling in. Jacob glances over at me, his gentle face slowly relaxing.

We sit there in the darkness and in silence, my hand on his leg, until the coffee in our cups goes cold. Until the wind picks up so high it feels like I have tinnitus from the constant ringing. Until we both realize how late it is, and how tired we will be the next day. Until we both know, deep down, that tomorrow will be different.

#oc x oc #tgm inspired #naval aviator

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foggyfanfic · 2 years ago

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Love and Fury

Chapter Preview: He wanted to tell her if she couldn’t handle a bit of criticism she shouldn’t have thrown food at his sister. He wanted to tell her that she was the one who started all this, not him. He wanted to ask her why she was so upset about being told she deserved her crush. And maybe if he’d done so, she would have snapped and the truth would have come out.

Ch1 Prev Next Master List

Chapter 10 Battle Lines

Bruno got to the cheese stall early Friday morning. Really early. Before half the vendors in the market had arrived early. He had nothing better to do, since he apparently wouldn’t be getting any sleep.

He’d lied awake all night and tried to convince himself that he was definitely angry at Reina.

Even though… what happened the day before wasn’t really her fault. She had clearly thought Pepa knew Cicero had moved on, honestly, Bruno had thought the same. And while it was completely understandable that Pepa was upset about the whole situation, it could be hard to talk to Pepa when she was that angry. Because of the whole, deafening thunder thing, not because Pepa was unwilling to listen. Most of his arguments with Pepa were solved by passing notes until the storm quieted down enough for them to talk.

Still, the fact of the matter was, Pepa was hurt by Reina’s actions. Bruno is Pepa’s brother, not Reina’s… anything. He had to stand by her. By Pepa. Not Reina.

Cicero strolled over, yawning and sipping his coffee. A charming grin began to spread across his face but dropped like a lead weight when he saw who was behind the wooden counter.

He sighed and stomped away, grumbling something under his breath.

When Reina arrived, it was without Leche. She frowned when she saw him, but from the way her brows wrinkled, he was pretty sure it was more a frown of confusion than displeasure.

Bruno didn’t say anything. If he started talking to her, then she would talk to him, and then he wouldn’t be able to pretend he didn’t like her.

“Leche is fine, bit shaken though, spent the night hiding under my bed,” Leandra said, voice a bit flat. She pushed her wagon around the back and entered the stall without another word.

She set up in silence then settled into her chair, lips pursed.

Bruno couldn’t tell if she was angry, or concentrating on something. Now that he was thinking about it, she had been remarkably patient through this whole affair, considering Bruno was getting between her and her crush.

“Has Pepa told you what happened?” Leandra said, watching him out of the corner of her eye.

“She uh, she was too upset, I couldn’t, you know, hear her.”

“So,” Leandra blew out a slow breath, tapped her toe a couple times, then asked, “so why are you still here?”

“I- Pepa asked me to make sure you don’t get anywhere near Cicero,” he sat up a little straighter, “wh-which you can’t blame her for, considering y-.”

“Does she want you to keep me away from Cicero? Or does she want you to keep Cicero away from me?”

Bruno frowned, staring at her for a few beats, “What’s the-? Why does it matter?”

Leandra opened her mouth to say something, a sharp gesture aborting itself just as it began, then shut her teeth with a click. She kneaded the bridge of her nose between her thumb and pointer finger, jaw clenched.

The ensuing silence felt like it lasted forever.

“Fine,” Leandra finally concluded.

So the day before had been a bust. So things were now a little bit messier than they had been already. Whatever. Whatever! She’d just have to talk to Pepa on a different day. After the bad news had settled. Which was fine, this was fine. Incredibly frustrating, sure! But also totally fine.

Bruno wrung his fingers and tried to figure out what “fine” meant. He may not have been the world’s smoothest operator, but he knew that when women said “fine” they usually meant “I’m upset but trying not to make a big deal about things so I’m just going to sit here and stew until I can open my mouth without yelling”.

This was an incredibly accurate assessment of Leandra’s current state of mind, but because Bruno only had half the information, he concluded that she was upset about Leche’s distress and blamed him for it.

She didn’t. Leche was an old guard dog, and had seen his fair share of storms and frights. Leandra knew he’d be back to normal by the time she got home. Bruno though, he blamed himself for the sweet old dog spending the night under the bed, and couldn’t see any reason why she shouldn’t do the same.

If he mentioned this, if he had shared his assumption that she was upset on Leche’s behalf, she would have corrected him and invited him to come see Leche for himself. She would have explained that she only mentioned Leche’s hiding under the bed to explain why she hadn’t brought the dog along. She would have explained she was frustrated by the entire situation and may even have admitted that there had been a misunderstanding and she was waiting on Pepa’s permission to clear things up.

Bruno didn’t say anything however, he just sat with his guilt, kicking himself for putting Leche in that situation.

They spent the morning consumed by their own thoughts. Bruno worrying over Leche and Pepa and his loyalty to his familia, Leandra trying to think of a way to clear things up with Bruno without violating Pepa’s privacy.

Whenever a customer stopped by she would put on her most polite smile and do her best not to throw a bar of soap at their head for daring to buy things from her while she was in a bad mood. Bruno, who by now knew how to tell her genuine smiles from her fake ones, became more and more convinced that Reina was deeply upset with him with every passing customer.

He couldn’t blame her for being angry, it was obvious that she loved her dog with her whole heart. If somebody had traumatized one of his rats, he would be stewing in anger for days.

Still, he couldn’t allow himself to be sympathetic to her. He had clearly underestimated how much her actions hurt Pepa.

Or maybe he had just lied to himself so he’d be allowed to enjoy her company.

Maybe if he’d paid more attention to Pepa and spent less time fantasizing about Reina, he would have realized how much Pepa was still hurting. He’d assumed that she was doing better since she’d started spending more time with Félix, but had he actually believed that or simply wanted to believe it so he wouldn’t have to feel guilty for liking Reina as much as he did?

Ugh, he had made things so much more complicated than they needed to be. If he had just ignored her, used the time in the cheese stall to catch up on his reading instead of talking to her, yesterday never would have happened.

Well, if he also hadn’t barged in on her doing laundry and been a complete creep about it. Can’t forget about that episode.

He really was Bad Luck Bruno, just going around, making things worse.

When lunch came around, Bruno realized he forgot to bring any food. He was debating whether or not it was safe to walk across the street to the fruit stand, or even down to the fruit stand that sold mangoes, when Leandra plopped some of her bread and a small wheel of cheese in front of him.

He stared at the food.

“If you don’t want it, I’ll take it back,” Leandra said, after he spent too long staring at the wheel of cheese like he expected it to tell him where God hid his heavenly dust bunnies when company came around.

Bruno stared at her.

She pressed her lips together and counted backwards from ten in her head. It wasn’t his fault she was in a bad mood and she didn’t want to snap at him when he’d done nothing wrong.

“Bruno,” she said, managing to keep her tone even, “do you want the food, yes or no?”

Bruno opened his mouth, and zero sound came out.

Leandra threw her hands up, dios, now she had somehow given Bruno an existential crisis. Was there anything she could do without it backfiring?

Bruno closed his mouth and grimaced at her visible annoyance. He didn’t mean to be indecisive, he was just worried that if he accepted the food, if he accepted the kindness she often showed him, he would start relaxing around her again. Which felt like a betrayal of Pepa’s trust in him.

He took a deep breath, and tried to explain his feelings as concisely as possible, “I don’t want anything from you.”

Well that didn’t come out right.

Leandra, too irritable to pull off her usual friendly tone, smirked sharply and drawled, “We both know that’s a lie.”

“I-I don’t know what you mean,” Bruno scowled at the cheese, cursing his cheeks for burning the way that they did.

“Sure guapo, you’re completely clueless,” Leandra grumbled, taking the food back and pretending not to see the wistful expression on his face. She wondered again if there was a way to clue him in without making things even harder for Pepa. She was 70% sure that the only reason this whole mess was happening was due to a misunderstanding, but what if she was wrong? What if Pepa had deliberately kept Bruno in the dark for whatever reason.

“Don’t call me that,” Bruno said quietly.

“What?” Leandra leaned closer, to hear him better.

He sighed, “Don’t call me guapo. Don’t act like-. I’m just hanging around until Cicero moves on, th-then we’ll never talk to each other again.”

The pet name, the flirting, the teasing, it all served to make his heart race, make him crave her company. So, he needed to nip it in the bud.

Leandra drew back, sharply. When he glanced up at her he caught a glimpse of hurt on her face, before she set her chin and sniffed haughtily.

“Have it your way,” she shrugged as if she didn’t care, “I’d rather save the pet names for Cicero, anyways.”

She regretted saying it the minute the words came out of her mouth, mostly because lying to Bruno was really just going to make this whole thing worse, but she just didn’t have the patience to be treated like the bad guy today.

Bruno rolled his eyes, “You do that. Heck! I’ll help you come up with a few. How about man-whore?!”

Leandra bit her tongue to avoid laughing, Bruno’s cattiness surprised her so much it almost soothed her anger. At the same time, it’s not like she could openly laugh at her “crush” without Bruno growing suspicious, and the reminder of the situation she’d created for herself only increased her frustration.

“We’ve been here before gua- Bruno. You don’t have to be jealous of Cicero, you’d probably get the same amount of attention if you put the effort in.”

“I am not jealous of that- that-! I-I mean, what do you even see in him?” he gestured sharply as he spoke, “He’s so slimy and lazy and, and spoiled. You could have any- He is not worth hurting my sister over.”

Leandra crossed her arms, smirking, “Well, maybe I just want to use him. Maybe, because I’m sooooo evil, it isn’t even about him. Maybe this entire time my only goal was to throw food at people.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, examining her face. She kept her face open and waited for him to voice even a shred of doubt.

They’d spent what? Three weeks, a month hanging out with each other? Surely by now he must have noticed she wasn’t a vapid bitch.

“Or maybe I’m head over heels in love with him,” she eventually continued with a shrug, “maybe he’s the only man I’ve ever wanted to be with and I’m just a sentimental fool, cursed to act crazy over a man who doesn’t really care about me. Maybe nothing and no one matters to me as much as he does.”

Bruno huffed, shaking his head. He found this one easier to believe. It was exactly what he’d suspected all along, after all.

Again, she waited. She waited for him to give any indication that after the time they’d spent together, he knew her better than that. But he didn’t. Of course he didn’t. He was so set in his own assumptions that she could probably say whatever she wanted and he’d still be convinced she was a jealous, petty, brat who was desperately in love with a slimy, lazy, spoiled, man-whore.

Dios, it shouldn’t hurt as much as it did to have some guy write her off this easily. Even if the “some guy” in question was the sweetest man she’d ever met.

Leandra glared straight ahead so he wouldn’t be able to see the tears of frustration welling in her eyes, “Or maybe you’re just an idiot.”

“Maybe I should just leave you two to it,” Bruno retorted, “you certainly deserve eachother.”

Leandra stood up suddenly. She knew Bruno didn’t know what he was saying, she knew he didn’t mean that she deserved to be “left to it” with a rapist, but right now it was all just a bit too much for her to stand. She was irritated, sensitive, and on the verge of breaking into tears, either from her anger at the general situation or the hurt from Bruno’s clueless comment.

She needed to leave, before she started pulling her hair out or said something she couldn’t come back from.

Bruno watched, briefly stunned as Leandra began packing up her soaps and cheeses early. She didn’t speak, didn’t look at him, didn’t even let him get a glimpse of her face.

He frowned, he didn’t know why she was so upset, he wasn’t the one that had resorted to name calling.

He wanted to tell her if she couldn’t handle a bit of criticism she shouldn’t have thrown food at his sister. He wanted to tell her that she was the one who started all this, not him. He wanted to ask her why she was so upset about being told she deserved her crush. And maybe if he’d done so, she would have snapped and the truth would have come out.

But he didn’t.

He watched her close up shop and pack up her wagon. She pushed it back onto the main road and paused, he thought for a second that she was going to say something, but she didn’t. She just walked away.

Slowly, Bruno got out of his chair. He walked out of the stall with his thoughts clouding his vision. Right up until he spotted Cicero leaning against the doorframe of the leather shop.

Cicero was smirking. No doubt he’d seen the whole thing.

Bruno scowled, for the first time in his life he understood the temptation to punch somebody in the face. He wasn’t going to do it, of course, but there was a part of him that wanted to. He decided right then and there that Cicero was never getting anywhere near Reina, not just for Pepa’s sake, but for Bruno’s as well.

“Be doing her a favor if you think about it,” Bruno grumbled to himself as he stomped back to Casita, “she’d be better off with an angry wasp’s nest than that- that- cabrón!”

Thankfully, nobody was in the courtyard when he got home so he was able to go straight up to his room and spend the rest of the day venting to his rats. By the time he was called down to dinner, he had re-enacted the argument between him and Reina seven times, only in his version he was able to convince her to stay away from Cicero of her own accord.

#Bruno Madrigal #bruno madrigal x female oc #bruno madrigal x oc #bruno encanto #Love and Fury

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etruatcaelum · 13 days ago

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Summer halts when Tyrian and Arthur do, but she doesn't look around. Hysterical threats do not frighten her, and she's not in the fucking mood to coddle or appease or indulge this shared little persecution-inferiority complex the two of them have going on, two grown men seething in jealousy because a girl half their age won't play pretend with them that Salem is some horrible baby-eating tyrannical lunatic overlord who revels in their suffering.

Fucking God under the ground.

If that's the way they see her, if that's the make believe world they want to live in so fucking bad that not even Salem herself bending over backwards to placate them will penetrate, she really doesn't know why the fuck they're even here. But so be it.

They think Salem's an evil bitch?

She closes her eyes, breathing out. The light presses up cold behind her lids; for a moment, nothing else exists in the world but that heatless, colorless radiance. Life and dreams are only shadows cast by the light which shines through the cracks. Death waits in its somber silence behind the mirror. The glass between them is fractured, white as the migraine moon and cold as fallen snow. Reach out: touch it. Feel how the boundary shifts under the skin like a broken bone. Knock, and it shatters.

The truth is this:

Summer Rose was a warrior, but she has never been a hero. The silver-eyed warrior is a legend, a fiction, a lie. So too is the witch who writes the ending to her tragic fairytale. Light and shadow and the glass in between.

It takes two to break a mirror.

"That's," she says quietly, turning, "enough."

Her eyes open–

—and there is light.

Not the avenging gout Summer had seen erupt from the top of Beacon Tower, and nothing like the lightning flicker Salem had described to her of that boy's panic: Summer knows what the fuck she's doing, and her light pours out in a tidal bore of glacial anger.

It doesn't wound them. She doesn't want it to. But it fills the corridor and sweeps through the house, blind white, coiling around the grimm with a fierce protectiveness she hopes to God that Salem can feel. Her conviction gleams bright and hard as a diamond in the center of that light: because Salem matters to her more than anyone else in the world.

Fourteen years, it's been, since she learnt the truth and saw that ancient sadness looking back at her. Twelve since that night—finding Salem shattered on the floor, stripped of all her defenses and laid bare by pain as silver's aftershocks rotted her body from the inside out. How her own eyes, tarnished coal-black for two years by the sundering of all she knew, had risen white as the moon again.

Let me protect you, she'd said.

And now she can't.

The stinging light becomes mist and the mist fades away, and there is only a silvering of frost on the walls and the visible stream of her breath like a dragon's fire. Summer balls up her hands into fists, eyes still bright with chilly afterglow.

"That is enough."

She blinks once, irises dimming to pale silver.

"I'm not like Salem," she says levelly. "I am not going to sit here biting my tongue and baby you while you act like you two are the main fucking characters of the universe and the only ones whose feelings matter. You wanna believe you're the innocent little victims of Salem's personal crusade to torment you so fucking bad, fine! Go crawling back to Ironwood and cry to him about how mean the big bad witch is to you! See where that gets you! But don't fucking pretend you give a shit about her."

Summer rounds on her heel. "I'm gonna make dinner, and call Cinder to let her know what's going on. You two can keep your mouths shut and eat, or go back to bed, or leave. Do whatever the fuck you want, but don't ask me for sympathy right now. I'm fresh out."

Really, if Arthur could roll his eyes hard enough that they'd fall out of his own head, he probably would have. At any rate! Since Summer doesn't seem to want him to actually keep quiet on behalf of poor, pathetic little Cinder Fall, then he won’t.

"You and Salem both act like Tyrian and I regularly went out of our way to find her in the castle and torment her. As if we weren't perfectly content to avoid her. We only spoke to her when circumstances forced us to be in her presence and all of you bloody well know it.”

Not that he had been kind to her in those moments, but. He wasn’t exactly prone to being kind to anyone, bar Tyrian.

(“Summer, please stop, he just got back, he’s still hurt,” Tyrian is whispering, but nobody seems to hear it. He'd been so- hopeful. Renewed, even. But seeing Arthur and Summer at each others' throats like this makes it all come crashing down. He tastes sour panic. “Don’t call Cinder yet, please. Let’s wait til morning like you said. I'll even make the soup, too. Arthur can rest, and Summer, you can-“)

“I've already discussed all of this with Salem, and rest assured if she didn't move me to tears over the girl, you certainly won't, either. I mean, with the way you treated your own children, I’m shocked you think you did anything here that helped Cinder.”

(“Arthur, don’t, that isn’t fair-”)

"Cinder can 'hide her injuries' and pretend to cry around you two all she wants. I never did worse to her than mock her insufficiencies and you know it. She's no colleague of mine, either, and if you honestly believe for a second that she was scared, or if you think anyone here is shocked or confused about why she threw this pathetic little fit, then you're as blinded as Salem.”

(“Both of you stop, please stop, please. I don't want to do this anymore.”)

“You’re out here crying about what an ‘active danger’ WE are to HER when she was consistently the only one who ever made a move that would have resulted in physical harm. And you fucking know it. I can only hope fate takes pity on you when this inevitably blows up in your face worse than it already did when she took your daughters-“

(“How about I just put an end to this silly little argument myself?” And the thing that had been coiling tighter and tighter in Tyrian ever since Arthur had shaken him awake finally snaps.)

And damn, Arthur had always felt so secure in his belief that he was one of the exceptions to Tyrian's bloodlust (and that Summer might be, too, because Tyrian has always seemingly gotten along with her), but when he hears a snicker and looks behind him and sees Tyrian's face, he suddenly isn't so sure anymore.

He really should have been more careful. Tyrian had been a hair's breadth from losing control of himself for nearly the entire conversation - it was a mistake, to think Tyrian's elation over remembering the existence of the airship would have undone all of that.

"I'll do it," Tyrian rasps. "I'll kill you both right now, if you don't shut up. Summer, you've always insisted that you're not actually more special to Salem than the rest of us. Arthur, my dear, I’ve not had you back 24 hours and you’re already threatening to vanish again. So why don’t I just…help things along quicker? If Salem doesn't care about you as anything special, Summer, and if you, Arthur, want to leave...Why, I could even take the airship after and go make Miss Fall’s apparent fears a reality by splitting her stem to stern! And, after Salem fells me in retaliation, then, only then, will she have the peace she desires. Because none of Ozma’s forces will want to work with me, or either of you, or Cinder. Not with Salem, either, but maybe they will if she has nothing. If she can point to our corpses and say, ‘See how the people of this world have fallen. How easily this could be all of you.’”

(Arthur tries to think of something to say or do that might calm Tyrian down, but his mind is static. About the only thing keeping his Semblance from activating on instinct is the memory of Tyrian’s face when he’d said, You’ve come back to me.)

“Tyrian,” Watts manages to try, and to what little credit he still has for anyone in this castle, he shifts so he's directly in front of Summer. A shield, if Tyrian really does - let loose. Sure, Summer's Semblance gives her this curious intangibility, but if he can keep things from getting to even that point-

“Tyrian, I know this has been a long, long day for you. You're still recovering. Why don't you take a breath-"

“I am breathing just fine. I am not the one of the two of us for whom that has been in question, the past eleven days.”

“Okay. Okay. That’s okay. You are- supremely upset, I know, and worried, and you’re trying to- keep it together. You’ve been doing- so well. This is a lot. I know, I- Calm down. It’s going to be okay. I’m sorry I lost my temper.”

(Tyrian's hair, loose and wild, hanging partially in his face. Shoulders heaving, hands wringing the front of his own coat like he wants to tear it from his body. Purple eyes. Tail arched in such a way that it looks a warning of killing intent even without his prosthetic on. Lethal, predatory, ravenous. Sharp inhales, like Tyrian cannot find air.)

“I don’t want to hear another excuse about Cinder. I do not pity her, I will not pity her, I will not have my intelligence insulted with explanations of why she’s so scared, ‘oh you two deserved everything she did, the poor girl, why don’t either of you get it?’ I’m not fucking STUPID, Summer. Or can't you get it through your head that- that Salem- Cinder is hardly punished for anything, but I am- for every mistake, Salem leaves me to suffer. And Arthur. Dear Arthur. I won’t hear another word about how repulsive and detestable I am to everyone but you. You- are using- you're making our relationship leverage to hold over me-”

“Tyrian, I never said everyone finds you repulsive or detestable! And if you don't want to leave, I'm not going to force you, I never would, you- You'll always have me, no matter what separates us. I promise-”

“Salem wants to let Cinder kill us and give the girl little more than a mere slap on the wrist for it? Fine! Salem wants to burn me, insult me, leave me alone, let me suffer the weights of my sins, let me stay maimed and broken for as long as she deems fit while she lifts everyone else? Fine! Arthur, you need to leave? If that will make you feel better, fine! If I repulse her, it doesn't matter. Summer, if you only speak to me because Salem tells you to, it doesn't matter. Arthur, if I am keeping you trapped here, then go! Don't stay because of me, Arthur. Summer, do what you want for who you want, you don't have to pretend to like me. I'm wretched, so wretched, but if I- I am still useful, I- She said- if I served her in this final battle, then I could- go home! She said I could go home if I did, that it would be alright-“

His tail lashes.

“I’m so hungry. I’m so tired. I can’t- sit here- and listen to you tear at each other- I don’t want to hear it I don’t want to hear it I don’t want to hear it-“

“Summer, go to the kitchen. Let me talk to him, he just needs-“

“What do I need?! I need to get out of here and-"

Tyrian seems to choke on his own words, stumbles forward, and Arthur is relieved that his instinctive move to catch Tyrian is not met with a prodding from the tail, because that would have been a sting - figuratively, if not literally, thanks to the small mercy of Tyrian being without the prosthetic, at the moment.

"Arthur- Summer-"

"You're crying-!"

"I need one of you- to claw this anxiety out of me. Just- get it out. Tear it out of me. Get a Grimm in here and let them have me. Just- Please."

And Tyrian looks so mournful and so distraught and so beseeching that all Arthur can say is, "I’m sorry."

How is it that I never know how to help you.

#LEGENDS AND FAIRYTALES ( ic. )#THE WOMAN IS PERFECTED ( ic: summer. )#SO DAWN GOES DOWN TO DAY ( alt. v: rnsm. )#jocundcompany

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trash-dinosaur · 4 months ago

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I've known my parents, specifically my mom's, beliefs were wrong for years now. With almost all the decisions she has made and will make will be twisted with those beliefs. And I'm scrolling on tik tok and these videos about Facebook moms comes across, those one moms who believe colloidal sliver, essential oils, and not having your kids vaccinated helps and cures them of everything. And I've gotta say it's really ... Weird ... to see my mom in all of them, cause all those crazy FB moms will only become more deranged with those beliefs and will push or try to push it not only on their partner but friends, family, and strangers who have the beginnings of talking like that.

My mom personally has gotten to the point in the FB mom crazies that she believes in the Mandela effect so hard that she believes we have switched universes multiple times, and some strange shit about the world fair and Nikola Tesla and how he brought something that we have today and they destroyed it. Oh! And also she supports trump. ... So, you, know, weird shit comes out of her mouth cuz of that.

But my mother used to rant to me constantly from the time I wanna say...5 or 6 about everything she was "learning" about the world and how certain ppl were. They have ramped down significantly since I turned 17 but I can see it on her face when she wants to rant to me like she used to and ramp it up more. She has even gotten my grandma into this and she doesn't have the subtlety my mother has when she wants me to say everything I believe about the world and its politicians.

The more I think about it it's really scary how manipulative my mom is about conversations she can make you talk about anything she wants you to talk about with the right words, but unfortunately for her ik how to not spill my rainbow guts on the concrete when she does her tricks. The only real time she got me was when she tricked me that I could trust her with my queerness, but even then I didn't tell her the real truth. But man is that a huge regret, the only thing it really did was make it so she wasn't as transphobic and homophobic in front of me, but of course the only exception to that is ppl she's talking with lol.

My mom also restricted me from not reading Harry Potter and only Harry Potter when I was a child because of witchcraft but ig it's fine now as I have talked to her about it lol, she didn't seem real thrilled that ik about it but 🤷🏻. Also did you know I'm not allowed to see my cousins baby cuz I'm not vaccinated and I'm so sad cuz of that but I told my mom it was fine. My mom criticized my cousin about her research and her decision to vaccinate her baby because "she hasn't researched enough" and "how bad she feels for the baby" ... Ok sure.

But I'll probably keep my mouth shut about everything til she dies or finally see how insane she is but I'm not hopeful about the second one, so I'll just pretend I have a normal mom when she's not acting insane about everything that is happening in the world. Cause when she's not acting insane she's really cool and badass and I wish she would stay like that.

That ended on a sad note, whoops! I think I've lost my mind the longer I make this and I no longer know the point of why I am but I am going to post this anyway so that maybe someone who is going through the same thing can find some solace in the fact that it's not just their parent who has a case of the crazies.

#ppl with the crazies 🫨#good luck ppl who are in a similar boat to me lol #these ppl can be...alot #especially if you dont have the mindset to zone out with it or direct the convo to something else #hopeful wishes to everyone!

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coconutcordiale · 2 years ago

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“If I could stop loving you, I would.” With any of the pilots

love that's a real long shot

pairing- hangman x pilot!reader (callsign violet)

synopsis- you and jake keep running into each other over the years and jake just can’t seem to let you go

warnings- fwb! happy ending!!! angst! 18+ for slight smuttiness (if you read my normal stuff this is extremely tame comparatively - just want to manage expectations 😉) light enemies to it’s just sex to pining to lovers. naval inaccuracies but it's my pretend world y'all just live in it, sad jake's pov but he's pretty he'll be fine

length- 7.7k

an- companion piece to this 0.6k drabble one time thing but that is not required reading - pretty much all of ott is revisited in this fic

i really, really don’t know how I feel about this one but i've been tinkering and agonizing over it forever and i have to be done so LOL here ya go

credit for the cs violet goes to my soulmate @justfandomwritings thank you for loving angst as much as i do, thank you for being brilliant

title courtesy of it ain't over - the black keys

tagging those that were upset with me for the ending of one time thing - @unstablecaffeinatedmind / @ahopelessromanticwritersworld / @gigisimsonmars / @flashyourgreeneyesatme / @forever-sleepy-sloth / @gingerbreadandpaper / @lovingjakeseresin

also - @mandylove1000 ily

Virginia Beach, 2019

Jake’s glad the packed bar gives him enough cover to stay hidden when he overhears Bradshaw asking his new roommate if she’s interested in him.

He bites back a huff of annoyance, not wanting to draw attention to himself. He talked to her for all of five seconds before mustache boy strutted up to make it very clear his friend was off-limits, was barely even flirting with her. Charming smiles are basically a reflex of his at this point.

“That man has never given a girl an orgasm.”

Jake rolls his eyes but keeps his mouth shut. It’s categorically untrue, but who cares what Bradshaw’s roommate thinks?

Your back is to him too, but he hears you hum in agreement, stifling a laugh. Jake’s hackles suddenly raise, and he briefly wonders why it irritates him so much that you seem to agree with that statement.

Rooster chokes on his beer. “Excuse me?”

She shrugs, fidgeting with her drink. “You were asking if I was into your friend – Hangman, was it? That should be enough of an answer.”

“I don’t really want to think about Seresin’s like in bed.”

“You’re breaking my heart, little bird,” Jake drawls from behind Rooster, figuring he should let you guys know of his presence before you get any further. “And here I thought we had something special.”

You roll your eyes before pushing your stool back. “Well, that’s my cue to leave.”

Jake immediately wonders what the appropriate amount of time is before he can excuse himself too.

“If you wanted to know what I’m like behind closed doors, you could’ve just asked, darlin’,” Jake murmurs from behind you, having found the corner of the bar you disappeared to. “I’d be happy to give you a lesson. I’m very hands-on.”

“Hard pass, Hangman.”

He smiles lazily, turning the charm up to full wattage and leaning on the bar next to you. Not close enough to make you uncomfortable, but enough to make you avert your eyes from his bicep and shift a little in your seat.

“I have a pretty good idea already.”

His smirk goes a little sharp around the edges, a predator locking in his prey. “That so? And what idea might that be?”

You raise an eyebrow. The derision you manage to convey in one unimpressed glance goes straight to his cock.

His eyes flash, fingers clenching around his beer, but he makes sure the infamous smirk stays put. “Think you’ve got me figured out?”

You shrug. “Guys that look like you are rarely anything more than a disappointment in bed.”

He smiles at that, leaning towards playful instead of goading, wondering if you’ve realized what you just admitted. “I think you’re pretty too, sweetheart.”

“You’re intelligent enough to know what you look like. It’d be stupid to pretend otherwise.”

He rolls his beer between his palms, gaze far away and calculating.

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?” He asks, feigned innocence taking over as he brings his eyes back to you.

“Stop thinking about how you’re gonna get me to sleep with you.”

The problem for you is, Jake sees the way you look at him. And it’s nothing like the polite boredom he’s witnessed you grace guys with when they truly don’t have a chance with you.

“Tell me one thing, Violet,” he says, your callsign rolling off his tongue like honey. “Why is it that you’re so nice to everyone else, but so mean to me?”

“Maybe I just don’t like you that much,” you answer, but the barbs in your words are undermined by the way your eyes dart to his chest. He wants to pat himself on the back for going home to change out of his flight suit and into a threadbare grey t-shirt before coming out tonight.

Jake purses his lips, nodding like he’s seriously considering your words, leaning in, and lowering his voice. “Or maybe, you like me a little more than you’d care to admit.”

You shoot him a dirty look for invading your space. “You’d like to think that, wouldn’t you?”

Your thighs press together, almost imperceptibly. If he wasn’t completely attuned to you, he probably would’ve missed it.

Bingo.

“Tell me to fuck off and I will,” Jake rumbles, mouth ghosting over your ear now, too close to be played off as a joke. “Or let me prove you wrong.”

When you lift your eyes to meet his, refusing to shy away from him towering over you in your seat, there’s something dark, something glazed taking them over.

“A one-time thing and I’ll never bring it up again,” Jake promises. “I have new orders for Lemoore anyways; I leave in two days.”

“Fuck,” you whisper. “Take me home before I change my mind, Seresin.”

You’ve been gripping his hair for what seems like hours, thighs still shaking where they’re bracketed around Jake’s head.

“What was it – I’ve never given a girl an orgasm?” He asks smugly. “I must be some kind of prodigy, then.”

“Don’t ruin my afterglow,” you manage, voice hoarse. You’re still far too coherent for his liking, and Jake ducks his head back down, savoring the broken moan that rips from your throat.

He doesn’t stop until the only word you can form is his name.

North Island, 2020

“Look who showed up,” Jake calls from across the Hard Deck, eyes running down your body. He shifts, adjusting himself as subtly as he can. “If it ain’t Violet.”

As generic as your uniform is, all he can picture now is the body he knows lies beneath it.

“Hangman,” you say, not quite able to hide the smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

“Glad to see we have a runner-up for the TOPGUN trophy.”

You look almost, dare he say, fond? “Your ego hasn’t dimmed a bit, has it Hang?”

Jake gives you another obvious once-over, smirking to balance out the warmth he can’t keep out of his voice. “Good to see you, sweetheart.”

Jake’s skin has been buzzing all night, high off his win, drunk off being within inches of you outside the Hard Deck after thirteen weeks of having you just out of arm’s reach.

“Congratulations,” you say, and you don’t even seem that sore about it. Your eyes linger on where his shirt has slowly been coming unbuttoned as the night wears on when you add, “Can’t believe you beat me for first place.”

“An inevitability, darlin’.” Jake leans in, pleased to see your mouth part in his proximity. “Don’t tell anyone, but I might’ve worried you were gonna give me a run for my money for a second there.”

You scoff, but don’t move away, if anything you sway closer. His fingers twitch at his sides, fighting to pull you against him, aching to run his hands up your bare legs and under your flimsy sundress, to see if you’re as wet as the heat in your eyes suggests.

You turn to face the ocean, which just pushes your hips in closer to him and makes Jake’s mouth water. “Obviously. You barely won.”

He winks, knowing you’re keeping tabs on him from your periphery even as you pretend to study the crashing waves in front of you. “That’ll be our secret. Care to congratulate me in private?”

“Thought you said that was a one-time thing, Seresin.” There’s a teasing lilt to your voice and in that moment, Jake knows he’s won for the second time today.

“Shut up and meet me at my truck.”

You smirk, turning on your heel without another word.

Jake doesn’t take his time with you this time. Only immense self restraint and the threat of being slapped with a public indecency charge keeps him from bending you over in the parking lot of the Hard Deck.

It doesn’t help that you seem less than willing to wait too, running delicate fingers along the inseam of his jeans, letting your skirt ride higher and higher as you shift in the passenger seat, giggling as he swerves when he catches a glimpse of red lace between your thighs.

By the time you reach his house you’re practically dragging him up the stairs by his belt loops, looking like you’re heading for the bedroom before he pushes you back up against the front door and takes you right there.

The second round you only make it as far as the couch, but he at least manages to get your clothes all the way off.

When you finally end up in his bed you’re both still panting and spent, Jake curling around you even though he’s tacky with sweat.

“I’ll be in Lemoore, now that I’m done with TOPGUN,” you whisper when you’re forming coherent sentences again, so quiet he can hardly hear you over the wind whipping against his bedroom window. “I think it’s short term, but we’ll see.”

Something warm lights up in Jake that he doesn’t want to examine very closely. “Good, everyone there is shit at pool. I’m in need of some actual competition.”

You smile against his skin and he drops a kiss to the top of your head, wondering if you can feel his heart speeding up.

Lemoore, 2021

You’re tracing mindless shapes across Jake’s chest, playing with his chest hair when you rip the rug out from underneath him.

“Got my new orders.”

It’s always amused him how fond you are of his chest hair, so it takes a few seconds for your words to sink in. When he does, his entire body flashes hot, then cold. He hopes you don’t notice the rigidity suddenly running through him. “When do you leave?”

Your face is blank, frustratingly neutral. “Tomorrow.”

Jake takes as deep of a breath as he can manage without being noticeable. Which given your proximity to his chest, is not very. He wants to be mad you didn’t tell him sooner, but the rational part of his brain reminds him he has no right to be.

“Where to?” He asks after a few beats of silence when he’s pretty sure it’ll come out even.

“Fallon.”

The scoff he lets out is genuine, at least. “Gross.”

Your indifference breaks as you giggle against his skin at his derision and he forgets that this is the last time he’ll get to have you like this. For now, at least.

“Are you spending the night?”

Jake doesn’t know why you ask anymore, in the last year he’s said no to sleeping in your bed zero times. He's turned down the opportunity to save you from sleazy guys hitting on you in dive bars even less than that - which is to say he does it without being asked and without even checking if you want his help anymore. Tact really is his middle name.

But like always, you ask and like always, he fights to keep the eagerness out of his voice. He’s fortunate to have decades of practice of keeping his tone level under his belt. “If you want me to.”

“I do,” you whisper, face still tucked into him, but he manages to see your lips purse, looking like you want to say more.

You don’t, though, and Jake hides his smile in your hair rather than commenting.

“Good. Wanna wake you up with my mouth on you,” he murmurs, trailing said mouth against your soft skin. He wills himself to say something else, to tell you he’ll miss you, that he doesn’t want whatever this is to end.

But his tongue stays stuck, arms tightening as his body says what his lips can’t.

North Island, 2022

Jake’s fists are clenched by his side, nails digging into his palms, pinpricks of pain the only thing keeping him from seeing red.

“I’m sorry?” You look confused. Scarlet edges into the corners of his vision. “That I didn’t tell you they sent me back to TOPGUN too? I haven’t seen you in almost a year, Jake.”

“Don’t act like we haven’t talked since then.” Jake doesn’t want to know what his face looks like, his normally careful façade shattered in favor of quiet outrage. “I think you know you were supposed to mention it.”

You had talked. Mostly sporadic, surface-level texts. Memes of an exasperated Chris Pine on his press tour he knew you would get a kick out of. In return, he received a graph detailing Leonardo DiCaprio’s age versus his girlfriends’, noting a clear age limit. You kept your jokes about him being a future Leo to a minimum, at least.

And on one memorable occasion, you called him drunk, and he got to talk to you for an hour after you snarkily admitted to missing him.

Neither of you mentioned it the next day.

You deflate. “Maybe. I don’t know what you want from me. We were always playing by your rules here.”

Jake’s mouth forms a tight line. “Right. My rules.”

Some bullshit he said, before Lemoore, way back in Oceana. Before you’d slept together, before TOPGUN, before he’d gotten to know the real you, before you’d gotten under his skin.

“Let’s just get through this mission, it’ll be easier if we’re not fighting. You do enough goading with Rooster.”

Jake’s so caught up in his own head that he doesn’t even bother to protest about Rooster. He’s grinding his teeth, jaw clenched so the rest of his body can remain still. He knows, on some level, that he’s probably overreacting. But he mentioned this return to TOPGUN to you last week and he can’t help but feel like he’s playing catch up when suddenly you’re here too.

If there’s one thing Hangman doesn’t allow, it’s being left behind.

He doesn’t know why this is on the laundry list of things you refuse to talk about. That’s probably the most frustrating of it all. You’ve always been the puzzle he can’t quite figure out.

“We’ll stay out of each other’s way,” he finds himself saying, mask slipping back into place. “Focus on the mission.”

“Yeah, focus on the mission,” you echo, and Jake wonders if it feels hollow to you too.

Your head is on Jake’s chest again, bare legs tangled with his and the tension is finally bleeding from his body.

“Don’t like fighting with you,” you mumble, muffled by his arms wrapped around you.

“Ended well,” he jokes, magnanimously gesturing to your naked state just barely covered by the thin sheet. “Gave us a vigor we haven’t had in a while.”

He feels your cheeks grow warm where they’re pressed against his skin, clearly thinking back to the adrenaline laden, ‘thank God we’re alive sex’ that lead to the casualty of at least one lamp.

Jake silently thanks Maverick for being such a hot mess that the Navy is unlikely to worry about a few broken items in his bunk.

He smirks at your embarrassment, as if falling into bed together is anything new. It’s the post-orgasm glow, he knows it is, but Jake feels the truth bubbling to the surface. Wouldn’t it be so easy not to let this end?

“Yeah.” You sigh, not meeting his eyes. “I don’t know. All the arguing, then making up so we can fool around. It’s time for us to grow up, don’t you think?”

Jake lets the words die on the tip of his tongue.

“Probably,” he manages.

He kisses you deeply, saying what his lips won’t. He doesn’t mean for it to turn heated; he just can’t bear to let you go yet.

Making love is the only way to describe what comes next. You’ve been at this for a long time, going on three years, and you’ve fucked; hard and fast and fiery. You’ve slept together; gentle and languid and easy.

It’s never felt quite like this.

When he slides into you for what he knows will be the last time, he tries to memorize every line of your face, every gasp from your parted lips, every flutter of your lashes. It’ll be months before he forgets the soft, unguarded shine of your eyes, the way your fingers feel tangled on the nape of his neck.

It feels like goodbye.

North Island, 2023

Your name is out of Jake’s mouth before he can stop himself, longing bowling over his reasoning abilities. Every urge to text you that he stomped out over the last year shows itself as a waste since any sense of self-preservation goes out the window once he lays his eyes on you.

It doesn’t hurt any less to see you without warning in Coronado, but at least this time he holds onto the reigns tightly enough to keep his tone level.

Your voice is happy when you turn towards him, and Jake tries not to outwardly react. “Hangman, hi.”

He wants to rush over, grab onto you, and never let go. Wants to tuck his nose into your hair, smell warm citrus, and have that niggle in the back of his brain soothed.

He waves as you stride towards him instead, boots cemented to the floor. “Back in California already?”

You chuckle, the adorable, lyrical sound raising goosebumps on his arms beneath his flight suit. “Thank God. Fallon’s a shithole.”

Jake’s mouth is open to respond when he clocks someone with curly dark hair behind you, moving forward decisively to your side.

“Babe,” the guy says, and Jake’s spine stiffens, noting the inch or two he has over this mystery guy out of reflex. “Hope you weren’t waiting long.”

There’s a split second where your expression shutters, where Jake thinks the fight or flight thrumming through him might not be necessary.

But as quickly as it shows up it’s gone, and he finds himself hoping the boom of jets taking off covers up the sound of his chest cracking open.

“Brandon, this is Hangman. We were in the same class at TOPGUN.”

Jake’s mouth is dry, tongue glued to the roof of his mouth as he internally winces at the obvious reduction of your history.

“Riot,” Brandon says, sticking his hand out to shake. Jake tries not to crush the bones in his fingers.

Riot and Violet, he thinks sarcastically. How cute.

“You’re with the Eightballers.” Jake glances at his patches, making sure to keep his tone neutral.

Helicopters. He wants to roll his eyes.

Riot nods and you grin, letting it light up your whole face. “His friends can’t believe he ended up with a jet bro. Can you imagine the shit I have to endure, hanging out with these helo knuckleheads?”

You're unmistakably fond, and Jake feels bile rising in his throat. Mercifully, he’s saved from having to answer by a group of pilots trying to get your attention.

“It was good to see you." Your smile softens as you turn to leave, the sun shining around your head, painting you in gold.

He nods. “I’m sure I’ll see you guys around.”

Jake doesn’t sprint to get away from you, he’s too calculated for that, but it’s a near thing. If his strides are just a touch longer than normal, no one has to know.

North Island, 2024

“It’s nice, what you guys have,” Jake's mouth is saying outside the Hard Deck, celebrating your fucking engagement, of all things. The words taste like acid on his tongue.

“Don’t tell me, eternal bachelor, Jake Seresin is thinking about settling down. The women of California will be knocking down your front door.”

Jake wants to laugh, that that’s still what you think of him. But knowing it’ll just come out thick and wet, he keeps the noises to himself. He hasn’t done much in the last year to combat that reputation – Coronado’s smaller than he’d like and you’ve never seen him with the same girl twice because he hasn’t been with the same girl twice.

What’s that they say about old habits?

He takes another sip of his beer instead. “No.”

The teasing is still lighting up your features, barely visible in the moonlight. “Just an introspective mood then, huh? Don’t hurt yourself.”

“Thinking about what it might’ve been like.”

“What?”

“To be with you.”

You blink.

“You never gave me a shot,” Jake continues. He can’t help himself. “You were always convinced I wouldn’t pull the trigger.”

“I don’t think you would have.”

“I think you’re wrong. Doesn’t matter now though, does it?”

Jake tries to smile, but it comes out more like a grimace. He can’t help but reach out for you, squeezing your wrist one last time, studiously avoiding looking at the diamond on your other hand. “I’m happy for you, sweetheart.”

It’s only partially a lie.

Jake wishes he could say the noise wakes him up, but he’s already busy staring at his ceiling fan and its endless circles when he hears the pounding on his front door.

He knows it’ll be you before he finishes rubbing the tiredness out of his eyes.

“What the hell is your problem?”

Jake scrubs his hand over his chin, nose scrunching. “Sweetheart, it’s the middle of the night.”

You glower at him in response.

Whether it’s for the term of endearment or the fact that he couldn’t keep his mouth shut in the face of your blinding diamond ring or some combination of the two, he doesn’t know. What he does know is that you have every right to be mad at him, after spilling secrets he’s held close to his chest for years.

He sighs, wishing he could say the timing was an accident, but he can’t lie to himself quite that well. “Come inside at least, so the neighbors don’t call the cops.”

Apparently, your earlier question was rhetorical because the moment the door is closed, you’re rambling, talking at him, really. After a couple of minutes of watching you spew a bunch of nonsense to skirt around the issue at hand, with no end in sight, Jake sighs again and moves into the kitchen to pour himself a drink.

The wooden chair creaks as he settles his weight into it, sliding a glass over to you wordlessly. He’s not even sure you’ll notice it’s there, but you pick it up and gesticulate wildly with it before taking a sip. He’s somewhat impressed you don’t spill a drop.

You haven’t sat down, can’t seem to stop moving and Jake wishes he had a toothpick.

“We were so chaotic, Jake. We wouldn’t have worked.”

You finally look at him, taking a deep breath. Jake wonders about your lung capacity since you clearly haven’t breathed since barging into his off-base housing.

“I’m not arguing.”

You’re pacing back and forth, frustration bleeding from every pore. “What do you want me to say?”

Despite everything, Jake manages a smirk at that, albeit dimmer than normal. “I haven’t said anything for, like, ten entire minutes.”

The scowl he gets for that little comment is unbearably cute. He tries to ignore the tightening in his chest, stay in reality. “Is that what you stormed over to my house in the middle of the night to tell me, that we shouldn’t be together?”

You visibly deflate. “I don’t know why I’m here.”

There’s an inkling in the back of Jake’s brain that says he does, but he tells it to shut up.

You do not have a history of sticking around when it comes to verbal confrontation, and he’s painstakingly aware that one misstep could have you sprinting out the door.

It was something that worked well with you two, at the beginning, when everything was easy and fun. Blowing off steam with the competition, neither of you had ever been any good at talking so you figured why bother?

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Why now? Don’t you think your timing sucks a little bit?”

“I don’t know.”

It’s a lie.

He knows. As much as he’d like to tell himself he was overwhelmed, seeing the ring on your finger, watching everyone congratulate you and your fiancé, deep down he knows that’s not true.

Like everything he does, it was deliberate. There was something telling him this was his last chance. Is his last chance.

“If I could stop loving you, I would.”

You drop down into the chair across from him, stalling as your brain clearly restarts.

“Loving, present tense?”

There’s a weariness to your voice that he doesn’t like one bit, which makes his heart drop into his stomach as he’s reminded of the risk in telling you this. A calculated risk, but still a risk. One where he’s already bet big, his chips all in, but the river is flipping over, and his gut tells him before he sees it that it’s not the card he needs.

He takes a sip of his Balcones, hoping the burn scorches the rampage building beneath his ribs.

You purse your lips, waiting for a response.

Jake shrugs, but he’s aware it doesn’t have the effect he’s going for when the tension refuses to bleed from his shoulders.

You look like you’ve forgotten how to breathe and will pass out any minute now. Jake debates the merits of passing out to get out of the hell that is this confession.

He avoids your eyes instead. Coward, his brain screams at him, willing him to look up at meet your gaze. “I’ve tried to stop.”

Hangman makes strategic withdrawals. When someone can’t be needled into responding, he pulls back. This is different. He’s never backed down from confrontation out of fear and he hates it, like he’s just discovered his skin doesn’t quite fit him.

Your mouth opens and closes several times without a noise leaving and it frustrates him to no end. When he grits his teeth, he doesn’t know if it’s to hold back the pleading and desperation or frustration at having flayed himself open only to receive silence. “Say something.”

“I’m shipping out,” you tell him as if that’s any sort of answer. “On Monday.”

Jake blinks. That's only three days from now, he wants to say. Opens his mouth and closes it, once, twice. Doesn’t bother with a third time. It won't change anything.

Maybe that is his answer. Let this go, this hope he’s carried onto multiple aircraft carriers, through several states, across endless miles of sky.

This is you telling him to let you go. To start over.

Hawaii, 2025

Some things have changed in 2025. Jake’s ability to control his mouth at the sight of you is not one of them.

“Where’s our helo hero?”

He feels pretty good about that one. As hard as it is to see you, as much as his entire being aches to touch you, he’s going to be normal with you and your fiancé. He owes you that at least.

Unfortunately, for him or for you – he doesn’t know who suffers more at this point – normal includes the patented Hangman barbs he just can’t seem to let go of.

“Seresin,” Phoenix whispers harshly.

Jake immediately thinks he’s missing a puzzle piece, that he’s flying blind, making a drop decision without a laser. Unwilling to admit anything he does what he always does; he rolls his shoulders back and smirks.

You shift from on your feet, clearly uncomfortable. “He’s not coming.”

He can’t resist the jab, but it feels sticky in his mouth. “Aw, come on, the rest of us managed to sync up our leaves, but helos are just too important?”

Phoenix pinches the bridge of her nose, scowling at him, murder in her eyes. “Hangman, shut up.”

He tries to pretend that look doesn’t send chills down his spine, but he’s man enough to admit that Natasha Trace could put the fear of God into just about anyone.

You cough, shifting uncomfortably on your feet. “Uh, we broke up.”

Jake looks around, sure the world is suddenly tilting the wrong way on its axis. Fortunately, the rest of the group seems to be trickling in, so you and Phoenix don’t detect his crisis.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he murmurs quietly while Phoenix is distracted by Bradshaw strutting towards them. “I didn’t know.”

You give him a tight-lipped smile, a mask so familiar he feels like he’s staring into a mirror. Jake’s seen this cover before, it’s fight or flight. In the next few seconds, you’ll either be pretending he doesn’t exist, or you’ll be cutting through his armor with a few well-placed, very specific remarks.

You angle away from him, surveying Fanboy and Payback to your left. “All good, Hang.”

Guess it's flight.

Several bars and a few too many shots later, Coyote elbows Jake in the side. “What’s up with you tonight?”

“Just bored of beating y’all in darts,” Jake insists with a cocky grin he knows doesn’t reach his eyes. He just hopes no one notices.

Luckily for him, the only person that always sees straight through his bullshit smirks is you. And you’re at the bar, waiting patiently for the bartender, politely making conversation with some cheesy tourist.

A guy in an atrocious Hawaiian shirt (that he probably bought yesterday at the nearest ABC store, his internal monologue snidely adds) is clearly hitting on you and Jake forgot what it’s like to watch this. Because it’s been years since you were single, he forgot how it feels with sharks circling in the water around you, seeing you make small talk with strangers who have no reason to stop because you’re so goddamn kind and there’s no boyfriend for you to mention that will abruptly end their interest.

There’s a chance you actually want to talk to this chump, but Jake promptly tells that line of thought to kick rocks.

He kind of wants to throw himself into the ocean and drift away from this stupid vacation he should’ve never agreed to. Mrs. Lee will be fine watering his plants if he never comes back, right?

Because once upon a time, in a shitty bar in Lemoore, he’d save you so you wouldn’t have to turn anyone down and he’d tease you, that no one that’s seen you in the air, so quick and decisive and cunning, would ever believe you’d need a knight in shining armor to keep the creeps at bay. You’d tell him to shut up before dragging him out of there by his belt.

He shakes his head, trying to rid himself of the memory. As it stands, the ocean is probably his best bet.

“Pool?” You ask when you return with a fresh mojito, sans cheesy Hawaiian shirt, and everyone rolls their eyes.

“Miss the Hard Deck already, Vi?” Fanboy teases.

Even though the ice between you hasn’t completely thawed yet, Jake ignores him in favor of getting up, making his way toward the table in silent agreement. He figures it’ll give him something to do besides staring at the side of your head.

If his mid-game trash talk is a little pointed, a little too on the nose; well, that’ll stay between the two of you.

Jake tenses as he hears the back door of the bar swing open behind him, footsteps heavy and likely belonging to a number of people he doesn’t want to explain his sour mood to right now.

“Surprised you and Vi aren’t still going at it at the pool table, thought it was about to be a rematch of TOPGUN in there,” Rooster says.

“Couldn’t beat me then, can’t beat me now." He chuckles out of reflex more than anything, but it feels hollow and forced. "Sometimes I just like to rile her up, get her out of that shell she always wears on the ground.”

Rooster hums in agreement. “Better than the last time I saw you two together. You barely looked at each other then.”

During the Maverick mission, Jake hears lingering in the silence in the humid Hawaii air.

“Sure,” the blond says, willing to agree to anything that stops this train in its tracks.

“There a story there?” Rooster asks slowly, careful as ever.

“No,” he answers, but it’s rote, automatic. Even Bradshaw isn’t dense enough to miss the friction between you two, Jake knows that.

Rooster raises an eyebrow and Jake pointedly ignores him in favor of pulling a toothpick out of his pocket.

“How’s your girl, Bradshaw? Are you guys ever going to stop living in sin and tie the knot?”

He doesn’t comment on the abrupt change of subject, shrugging. “We’re happy. She’s pretty focused on her career right now. But when she’s ready.”

“I guess when you start fucking your roommate it’s nothing but sin from there on out, anyways, huh?”

The other man grins. “Jealous?’

Jake can’t help the way the corners of his mouth twitch upwards, an admission in its own right. Just not for what Rooster's implying. “Maybe.”

“Planning on coming after my girlfriend? Gotta tell you, Hangman, back in Virginia she was never very impressed by you.”

“She’s not my type. Any girl that’s into that atrocious caterpillar above your lip clearly has impaired vision.”

The other man brushes aside the dig easily. “That’s right. You only had eyes for Vi back then.”

Jake fights a full-body cringe, blaming the fact that he just walked straight into Rooster’s trap on the shots he took with Javy earlier. “What do you know? You hated me in Oceana.”

“Who says I don’t hate you now?”

“Touché.”

Rooster sighs, long-suffering like he can’t believe he’s the one that got saddled with the job of making sure Jake isn’t gonna lose it and ruin their vacation. “Seresin, you’re not the only one who notices things.”

Jake doesn’t need to dignify that with an answer. He’ll turn in his wings the day Rooster is more observant than him.

“Seems like forever ago, now, but I always thought she had a thing for you too.”

“I don’t know where you got that from, she was always arguing with me.”

Rooster waves it off. “Pulling your pigtails. Sound familiar?” He shoots him a knowing look that Jake pretends he doesn’t see, which unfortunately just gives mustache boy the idea he should continue.

“Yeah, sure,” Jake agrees, not without an air of sarcasm. Rooster may be right but it’s not like he’s going to genuinely admit that.

“D’you ever play Sudoku? My mom always loved it.”

Jake tries not to get whiplash, schooling his face into something neutral. He doesn’t know the ins and outs of Bradshaw’s childhood, but enough to know the other man’s putting a lot of faith in him by bringing his mom up at all.

“Did she?” he echoes, for lack of anything better to say.

Rooster nods, eyes far away, unfocused. “The thing about Sudoku is, you have to think about where you’re placing the numbers, so they don’t interfere with numbers in other boxes and lines.”

Jake barely bites back the word obviously, accompanied by a roll of his eyes.

“When we started dating, things weren’t always easy. We went from zero to sixty at the beginning, already living together.”

“But your mom loved sudoku,” Jake says, albeit dryly. “So, you knew to look at the puzzle as a whole.”

Rooster knocks their shoulders together in agreement, now you’re getting it.

“We had to slow down, take a look at what we were doing, where we were going, talk so that we didn’t fuck it up before it could even start.”

The blonde sighs. Leave it to Rooster to use some convoluted metaphor for Jake to parse out when his brain already feels like it’s been muddled alongside the mint in your mojitos.

“M’not the guy you should go to for relationship advice, normally.”

Jake snorts. “No shit.”

Rooster shoots him a bit of side-eye for that but nonetheless barrels on. “But I’ve known you and Vi a long time. For the better part of a decade.”

And isn’t that a thought, that Bradshaw of all people would be the one to know you and Jake better than anyone else?

“Is this your long-winded way of saying Vi and I need to slow down?”

He shrugs. “Maybe. Maybe not. Just gotta figure out the key. Whatever that looks like for you guys.”

Jake turns it over in his head a few times, pushing down his every instinct to blow this off, to make a joke that breaks the intensity that’s thicker than the Hawaii humidity.

“Patience,” he mutters, because of course it would be that for Bradshaw. “Trusting you’ll get there when you get there, not letting the pressure get to you guys.”

“Hm?”

“That’s your key.”

“Yeah,” Rooster nods, before taking a pull of his drink. “But maybe our puzzles are different.”

Jake scrunches his nose, so unused to metaphors and convoluted thinking. His head is still a jumbled mess, unpacking everything he’s learned in the last twelve hours.

“Sometimes you have to drop down and take the shot. Don’t pretend like that’s not in your wheelhouse, Seresin. You’ve always held back with her. Too scared she’s the only one that can keep up with you, maybe. That she's the only one you won’t shake off your tail.”

Rooster is frighteningly insightful tonight. Jake resolves to switch to whatever he’s drinking the moment he goes back inside.

“What would you have me do?” He asks, maybe a little more abrupt than Rooster deserves.

“Basic, normal, human communication would be a start.”

Jake flips him off.

“Not letting her go again, would be the next.”

It only takes Jake one Dark ‘n’ Stormy (of course, Rooster's drinking something that Jake feels like an idiot ordering) to build up the courage to follow you outside.

“You called it off.”

It’s not what he planned to say when he saw you sneaking out the back door of the bar. He was going to let you bring it up, maybe goad you into telling him what happened.

But he’s starting to realize his puzzle is less of a Sudoku and more of a jigsaw. He doesn’t know all the steps to complete the goal and won’t know until he’s in the middle of it. Each step comes up when it needs to, and he’ll have to figure it out then.

At least, he thinks that’s the point Bradshaw was trying to make. You two have to talk about something real, at some point, but patience hasn’t gotten him anywhere with you in the last six years.

You nod, staring into the distance, eyes focused on the water ahead.

“When?”

“Right before I deployed.”

Jake balks. He’s not sure what he expected your answer to be, but it wasn’t that. “And you didn’t think that was something you should tell me?”

You look down at your hands. Jake suddenly feels like an idiot, for not thinking anything of your bare ring finger. He should’ve known. He just assumed you’d become one of the many pilots that’s allergic to wedding rings.

“I wasn’t—I didn’t know what to say.”

There’s something working its way into the edges of his earshot, a timer dinging, the buzz of the right answer chiming. He laughs but there’s no humor in it. It’s only because otherwise, he’ll scream, as the puzzle pieces finally fit together.

“That was almost a year ago,” he mutters because he’s a glutton for punishment.

You continue staring at the water, still refusing to meet his gaze.

And he remembers, you’ve never been good at saying the hard things. As fierce as you are in the air, you temper your words on the ground, too wary to cut someone to the bone.

Shrinking violet, he thinks, wondering who was even well-read enough in your first squadron to know that reference.

He takes your silence for the answer that it is, nodding curtly and squeezing your wrist before turning to go back inside, a mirror of the last time his chest felt like candy glass, just waiting for the director to start the next take so it could have its turn to be shattered.

You finally turn to him, eyes glassy with tears. “Jake, I…”

He can’t wait for you to finish, doesn’t want to hear an excuse. Patience has never been his strong suit.

Jake shakes his head, biting his cheek to keep the tears at bay. You’ve never seen him cry and he’ll die before he lets that change on the back patio of this kitschy tiki bar. “Message received, Vi.”

Fucking Rooster. This is why he put this off for so long. It’s excruciating.

“No, Jake—that’s not what I—”

“Loud and clear, Violet.”

“I didn’t know if you’d feel the same way once I was single,” you say suddenly, and it stops him in his tracks. “You seem to forget you never said anything until I was supposed to marry someone else.”

“Then why?”

“Why what?”

Jake wants to pull his hair out. “Why did you call off the fucking wedding? Because it sure as shit wasn’t for me or you would’ve mentioned it sometime in the last ten months.”

“I was with him for two years, Jake. That doesn’t just go away. I didn’t want to tell you before I knew where my own head was at.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Silence.

He turns to leave again, knowing the panic is showing itself in his shaky hands and uneven voice. Desperately, he wishes he had a toothpick or a beer label, something to tear at so his expression could remain carefully blank, tone collected.

When you finally speak again, your voice is thick and heavy with emotion, muffled by unshed tears. “Because.”

Jake raises an eyebrow, not bothering to figure out what expression is playing itself out on his face.

You clear your throat. You play with the hem of your dress. You look anywhere except his eyes.

Fight or flight, he says silently. What’s it gonna be, Vi?

He hopes to God it’s fight.

“Because you don’t marry someone when you’re in love with someone else.”

It takes a few seconds for the meaning of your words to register. He feels like he’s underwater, slow and sluggish, when he finally asks, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Takes more than love to make a relationship work, Jake.”

It’s funny, how you choose the words Jake has repeated to himself in his weaker moments. When he wondered if loving you was enough, if it could overcome that you two are so much more similar than anyone would guess. You might have a reputation for mincing your words, but he’s the only one that takes that for what it is – a mask. He’s spent enough time underneath one to recognize it when he sees it. It’s your way of keeping people at bay, staying in control, not letting anyone climb those walls you’ve spent so long carefully building.

Someone would have to take their hands off the controls, even for a second. Neither of you knows what it’s like to rely on someone else. To not take the lead. To let someone else have your back.

“You have to be able to give me a chance sometime,” he counters, as gently as he can manage. “Let go of the reigns enough to let me try. Trust me to take the shot.”

“I’ve never been very good at that, especially with you,” you say, nodding and Jake’s chest is getting lighter by the second, that you've thought about this. “But I also knew it was going to take me time, to work through ending things with him. I couldn’t ask you to wait.”

“I did anyways.”

You raise your eyes to him at that. “You did?”

“I told you if I could stop loving you, I would have already.”

You exhale shakily, fingers twitching like you want to touch him, but just falling short in the air between you. “I didn’t – By now I thought you would’ve – fuck, Jake. I didn’t think you meant that. Thought you just needed time to get over me.”

He wants to laugh, feels it twitching at the corners of his mouth. “In less than a year? Have you met you?”

You grin at that, rich and bright and open like he hasn’t seen in far too long, and there’s something loosening in your defensive posture. “A lot of people would say ten months is a long time.”

Jake feels fuzzy, from his chest to his fingers as he reaches to pull you into him. You fold back against him, and he ducks his face into your hair, nudging around to get his lips on your jaw, letting his words get muffled by your skin. “Ten months is a blip on the radar.”

He feels you melt into him and finds the courage to lay the rest of it on the line.

“Doesn’t matter anyways because it hasn’t been ten months. It’s been six years. I was just waiting for you to catch up.”

“Sorry, I’m so slow. Hard to keep up with the infamous Hangman. I hear he flies like his ass depends on it.” The teasing is back in your tone, and it spreads warmth all over him.

You reach up to where his forearm rests on your collarbones, where he can’t bear to loosen his hold on you, his fingers twisting in the strap of your tank top.

The entire line of your back is touching him, his nose tucked into the crook of your neck smelling citrus and vanilla and home, but it’s still not enough, as far as Jake is concerned. Too many years spent apart, too many moments with you just out of reach have him itching for more.

“It’s okay,” he breathes against your neck. “As long as we get here in the end.”

“I trust you,” you whisper. “You know that right?”

He nods, fighting a shiver as your hand drifts across from his elbow to his hand. You run your thumb across his pulse point, fingers encircling his wrist. You squeeze, and he feels your promise.

This time he gets to start over with you.

"because you don't marry someone when you're in love with someone else" was stolen from michael westen in burn notice, episode 2.15 sins of omission (fantastic show!) although i changed the wording a little bit

thanks for reading!

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