#i really have this with every character i've ever been attracted to | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

niningtori · 5 months ago

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cruel intentions | part one

part two out now!

pairing: choi beomgyu x you

summary: you live your life (un)comfortably in the shadow of your bright and beautiful best friend, chaeyoung. when campus heartthrob, beomgyu, takes an interest in you, you can't help but feel like it's just a way for him to get closer to your beloved best friend. in reality, his intentions are far crueler than that. or, beomgyu agrees to get with the campus' resident dark cloud in order to win a bet with his friend.

genre: romance, angst, campus life, clichés and melodrama (as per uje)

warnings: brief mentions of reader's abusive household, reader has almost comically low self esteem

word count: 7.8k

notes: hi... r u mad at me? i know i've been gone for a month or so and definitely have other projects i've promised to work on, but i've had a lot of personal stuff going on and couldn't focus on anything. i love this trope so much tho and couldn't stop myself from wanting to try my hand at it. i'm not expecting much from this seeing as how it's devoid of any suggestive content, but i figured it'd be better to post it so you all know i'm alive. if people want a part two, i will gladly make one since i really like this trope, but i do want to know if that's the case before i write anything. anyway, i think that's it. enjoy, my lovely friends :^)

you’re okay. you really, really are. you wouldn’t say you’re happy, per se, but things are alright as they are. there are worse things than living in the shadow of your bright and beautiful best friend, whom you love very, very much. chaeyoung is nothing if not dazzling, so much so that everyone falls flatly at her feet in the wake of one of her smiles. you are, as a matter of fact, no exception. chaeyoung has been like a savior from your unstable home life ever since middle school. she has stood up for you when you were too afraid to stand up for yourself and has become more like your family than your family ever was. even so, are you envious of the way that everything seems to go her way? you’d be lying if you said it doesn’t bother you at times, but it becomes more and more bearable every day. besides, you can’t blame her for it; she has no idea that you’re considered as little more than her sidekick and, for lack of a better term, a mob character in the colorful campus life you’ve grown to accept as not your cup of tea.

being chaeyoung’s best friend comes with “perks” such as invites to what would otherwise be completely exclusive parties you wouldn't even dream of being considered for, but you can’t count how many times you’ve been approached with the intent of getting closer to her, so you refrain from any such affairs and opt to focus on your studies and fulltime job. in the beginning, your feelings would be hurt when men you were interested in feigned mutual attraction in hopes that they’d get closer to chaeyoung, but you’ve come to accept things as they are and you’re now known for your flatout rejection of anyone who attempts to woo you.

these past few years, what with your heavy coursework, demanding job, and feelings of inferiority, have been grueling, to be sure, but you’re finally in your last semester and closing act of this entire charade you’ve come to call your college career. in a few months, you'll be a free woman and you’ll be able to begin your life as a fully fledged adult. chaeyoung will remain as your best friend, you know, but you won’t have to be compared to her every second since you two are set on very, very different career paths. life, as it is, feels so small and unvaried to the point of suffocation, but all of that will be over once you’ve entered the post-college workforce. or, at least, you hope it will.

heeseung is lovesick, to put things in the simplest of terms.

“i just don’t see why chaeyoung won’t give me a chance! i really, really like her,” he whines.

“i know,” beomgyu says with a roll of his eyes.

“so why can’t you help me out?” he pouts.

“what the hell am i supposed to do about it?” beomgyu asks with a hint of irritation.

“gyu, you sit next to her and her friend in class! put in a good word for me!” he pleads.

“she’s always talking to that girl, so it’s hard to even say two words to her. you know that.”

heeseung is, again, pouting, but the machinations in his head are firing in overtime as he searches for a solution. suddenly, his face alights as if he’s found the perfect plot. beomgyu’s wariness increases tenfold as he waits to hear whatever fucked up plan heeseung has put together.

“i know! what if you distract her friend so i can actually talk to her? and you can find out what type of guy chaeyoung likes.” he looks so earnest in this moment, but beomgyu cringes at the idea.

“dude, no. that’s fucked up,” he says.

“c’mon, i know you can do it!”

“well, yeah,” beomgyu nods in agreement, “but i’m not pretending to be interested in somebody just so you can fuck her friend. that’s wrong.”

“oh, please, gyu. we all know you’ve done worse.” he’s right. still, beomgyu vehemently disagrees. heeseung, in his desperation, can only think of one way to force him to give in: attack his pride.

“what, are you scared she won’t fall for it?” heeseung teases. “well, i can’t blame you. i heard people calling her the ‘iron maiden’ and that she won’t let anybody near her. why would she fall for you of all people?” beomgyu scoffs at his insolence.

“i could get her if i really wanted to,” he replies. “i just don’t feel like it.”

“sure, whatever. i know you’re just scared she’ll reject the ‘great beomgyu’ and you won’t be able to keep saying you’re the hottest guy on campus.” beomgyu actually rolls his eyes at this.

“i bet you i could get her to fall in love with me by the end of the semester if i really wanted her to,” beomgyu argues petulantly.

“prove it,” heeseung challenges with a raise of his eyebrows. now he’s got him.

“not for free,” beomgyu says with a smirk.

“... fine. what do you want?”

“i want you to pay my half of the rent for the rest of the school year.” heeseung whines in response, but he quickly makes the calculations in his head and decides it’s worth it when he takes into consideration how fucking hot chaeyoung is.

“deal.”

and so it begins.

beomgyu, like most people, hasn’t really paid much attention to you before now. he barely even has an idea of what you look like, to be perfectly honest, but he can immediately figure out who you are just by looking to chaeyoung’s side as she's walking through the classroom door and seeing who’s sticking there. he takes in your features as if he’s seeing you for the first time, and he kind of is, frankly speaking. you’re not nearly as pretty as chaeyoung, and you definitely lack the aura she has, but you’re not bad by any means. your clothes are ill-fitting and your entire demeanor is soaked with an air of exhaustion, but if he looks carefully, it’s not like you’re an eyesore or anything. still, he’s considerably better looking than you are. this should be easy.

“hey,” he says softly in his baritone voice when you slide into your usual seat next to his, chaeyoung sliding in on the other side of you. to his surprise, you say nothing in response.

“hey,” he tries again, a little louder, thinking you just didn’t hear him or something.

“oh. hey,” you say confusedly before turning back to look at chaeyoung and continuing your conversation with her. well, that’s not nothing, he guesses, but heeseung sends him a knowing, goading glance from his seat and beomgyu feels himself growing irritated.

when the professor enters, you turn to face her with a focused face and immediately pull out your pen to begin copying whatever she says down with solemnity.

beomgyu is staring so intently, he’s surprised you don’t feel his eyes boring into the side of your face, but you don’t seem to notice a thing. before long, your professor announces that there will be a final project that will require a partner. chaeyoung excitedly grabs your arm with a grin, to which you answer her with a soft smile of your own.

unluckily for the two of you, your giddiness is short-lived when she pairs chaeyoung with the person sitting on the other side of her, and you are stuck with the boy who randomly greeted you earlier.

“i’m glad we’re partners,” beomgyu says with a smile as soon as the professor is finished relaying the details of the project with the class.

“why?” you blink in confusion.

“‘cause you’re really smart, right? and cute, too,” he chuckles.

“oh, i guess,” you say flatly after a short pause. “when do you want to work on the project?” there is no wavering in your voice when you speak to him, and you look directly in his eyes, which is a far cry from the sweet, trembling voices and shy glances he’s used to. do you not find him attractive or something? no, that can’t be it. he’s everybody’s type.

“i’m free tomorrow after 5. do you want to come to my place?” you tense up, but he keeps pushing. “you know, so there are no distractions?” you’re wary, of course, but you see no hint of sinister ulterior motives. besides, he can’t possibly see you in an impure way, so you agree with a low hum.

“great. i’ll see you then.”

you arrive at his doorstep with your usual exhausted, haphazard look. some part of him thought you might try to doll yourself up to some extent, seeing as how you’re coming to the apartment of the hottest guy on campus and all, but he can sniff out no such effort. your hair is carelessly thrown up and your face is devoid of anything but the barest amount of makeup. your eyes are tired and there’s a permanent crease in your brows. still, he figures that complimenting you is worth a shot.

“hey, you look pretty today,” he says warmly. you do nothing but stare with a withering glance, but the grin never leaves his face.

“hi. where did you want to start?” you ask while following him to his living room and setting your bag on his couch. if he feels slighted by you ignoring his compliment, he doesn’t show it.

“i thought we could review the rubric first and go from there,” he shrugs.

“okay.”

he makes several attempts at small talk, but they go nowhere. you are laser focused on the project and don’t even hesitate to reject any and all advances from him to the point where he’s beginning to grow frustrated. maybe you aren’t called the iron maiden for nothing, but the prospect of having his rent paid for the rest of the year is enough to keep him from giving up. he decides he’ll try a different approach.

“do you want some coffee? you look tired,” he says gently. you’re actually surprised at his observation, and he can tell.

“yes, actually. thank you.”

when he finishes making your coffee, he hands you a mug and you thank him while sporting a shy, grateful smile. momentarily, he’s stunned. he’s never cared enough to look for your smiles, and even if he had, he’d never see them unless you were with chaeyoung, but he realizes you look infinitely prettier while wearing one.

“of course. if you don’t mind me asking, is there something wrong? you look really tired lately.”

“i-i’m just working overtime these days. th-thank you for noticing,” you sputter nervously. seriously? his feigned consideration of your personal circumstances is what makes you flustered? well, whatever. he can work with this.

“work is important, but your health is more important. don’t spread yourself too thin.” if your cheeks felt hot before, they’re scorching to the touch now.

“i… i’ll keep that in mind. thanks.”

he doesn't probe much more deeply than that for fear of scaring you away, but you seem to have opened up just a bit in light of his thoughtful words. when you two decide to wrap up for the night, he walks you to his doorway.

“thank you for tonight,” you mumble with another one of your rare smiles.

“you’re welcome,” he replies with a grin.

you’re about to walk through his doorway when you turn back suddenly. before he can ask about it, your next words come tumbling out.

“chaeyoung likes confident men, but not to the point where they’re obnoxious. she hates movie dates because she wants to talk too much during them, but she likes stargazing, preferably with a picnic, too. she won’t text first, but she’ll respond quickly if she likes you back.” he’s stunned into silence and tries to stutter out something to the effect of “i wasn't trying to get you to tell me about her”, but all you do is give a knowing stare and he realizes he’s been caught. you leave his apartment and he’s left reeling. so much for being discreet.

the next time he sees you, he knows he has to apologize, but it isn’t until you meet again for the project that he decides the timing is finally right.

you’re sitting on his couch, scrolling through your laptop as you proofread what you two have written so far when he musters up the courage to say something.

“listen,” he begins cautiously. you lazily look up at him and he tries to swallow the lump in his throat.

“i… i think i owe you an apology and an explanation. i’m sorry for making you feel like i was just being nice to you so you could tell me about chaeyoung, but i really have no interest in her, i swear.” well, he’s half lying and half telling the truth, but he means it when he says he couldn’t give less of a shit about her. he can’t say he wasn’t just being nice to you in order to get his rent paid, though.

you look confused for a moment, as if you don’t even know what he’s referencing, but realization dawns on your face as you finally remember what he’s talking about.

“oh, it’s okay. it doesn’t bother me, anyway,” you reply with a shrug.

“i’m serious,” he says firmly. “i really have no interest in her. to be honest, i’m interested in someone else at the moment.”

“oh,” you respond flatly, and you turn back to your laptop as if you’re bored and couldn’t care less about the most popular guy on campus actually having feelings for someone, for once. he snaps your laptop shut and you look up at him in surprise.

“i mean it. the person i actually want to get to know more about is you.”

your jaw drops in pure shock.

“m-me? why?” you say, as if you can’t possibly believe that anyone could take a genuine interest in you. for some reason, he feels a pang in his heart at your sheer incredulity. sure, you’re no chaeyoung, but it's not like someone liking you is so rare of an affair as to throw you off kilter like this, right?

“what’s wrong with me wanting to get to know a pretty girl like you?” you scoff and roll your eyes. you know you’re no trophy by any stretch of the imagination, so you have a hard time believing he means a single word.

“yeah, right,” you snort derisively. “the cutest guy on campus has a crush on me. you can’t honestly think i’d fall for that, can you? if you’re trying to flatter me to get me to do this entire project by myself, keep dreaming.” he’s surprised at your insistence. well, you’re not entirely incorrect. his intentions are impure if nothing else, but for some reason, he’s determined to prove you wrong.

“oh, so you think i’m the cutest guy on campus?” he teases with a smirk and a wiggle of his eyebrows. as if you didn’t realize you said those words yourself, you look more flustered than you’d care to admit.

“w-well, i —”

“i’ll take it. and no, i’m not trying to get you to carry our grade on this. i genuinely just want to get to know you better.” and he doesn't know how much of that sentiment he really means, but he does know it means more than it should.

after a few more meetups, you’re pretty much convinced that beomgyu truly has no interest in chaeyoung. he never asks about her, and even when you offhandedly comment on her, he never pushes to know more. he just hums in recognition or perfunctorily answers. as for believing that he sincerely has interest in you? you’re not sure you believe that, but when the project is finished within a week and he asks you out on a date, you can’t help but seriously consider this previously inconceivable thought.

“what did you say?!” chaeyoung asks excitedly once you relay that beomgyu, of all people, has asked you to go to dinner with him.

“i said i’d think about it,” you sigh.

“you should go! text him right now and tell him you’re going!”

“i don’t know, chae. you’ve heard the rumors about him. he’s a player…”

“who cares about the past?! i haven’t heard anything like that in a while. plus, it’s worth taking a chance, right? you haven’t been on a date in god knows how long. if you don’t text him, i will!” she exclaims. “gimme your phone, i’ll do it right the fuck now!”

“no!” you counter, clutching your phone to your chest protectively. “i… i’ll do it myself,” you mutter.

“that’s my girl,” she says with a sweet grin.

“i feel stupid,” you mumble as chaeyoung applies the finishing touches to your hair.

“well, you don’t look stupid, i’ll tell you that much. you’re absolutely gorgeous,” she boasts.

“as if,” you mutter, but you know she truly believes it. chaeyoung has always argued that you’re beautiful, even though you know that the rest of the world, including you, doesn’t think so.

“i’m being serious!” she says with a playful smack to your shoulder. “you look hot! i bet he’s gonna drool when he sees you.”

“alright, you’re going too far,” you say with a shy smile.

“go! you’re going to be late,” she chastises. you check the time and realize she’s right. you hurriedly grab your things and scramble out the door.

beomgyu offered to pick you up, but you vehemently denied this on account of the restaurant being a 5 minute walk from your apartment. you need the walk to calm your nerves, anyway.

when you enter the restaurant, all bright-eyed and beautiful, beomgyu looks up from his phone in sheer shock. he knew you were actually pretty cute under the exhausted veneer you have permanently placed over you, but he never knew just how stunning you are when you don’t look like life has run you over. you’re actually wearing form-fitting clothes for once, too, and he likes what he sees.

when you lock eyes with him, you actually smile, which you have been doing a lot more lately, and he can’t help but return it with a smile of his own. it’s a little more eager and sincere than he realizes.

“you look gorgeous,” he remarks when you sit down in front of him.

“you’re exaggerating…” you mumble embarrassedly.

“i’m not. you’re stunning.” and he means it.

“th-thank you,” you say, and the air is thick with tension before you clear your throat and ask him if he's already ordered drinks.

the date goes surprisingly smoothly, all filled with laughter and banter. he already knew you were smart, but he realizes how funny you actually are when you’re not so tense. you match his mischievousness with your own and it feels so much like a real date that he forgets why he’s doing this in the first place.

he’s surprised to hear that you’re actually quite interested in music. you share a mutual interest in a lot of bands and you even offer up some recommendations of your own, which he earnestly writes down in his notes app. when he mentions that he actually plays the guitar, your eyes light up in interest.

“will you play for me, someday?” you ask excitedly.

“of course,” he smiles softly. a lot of girls have asked him to play for them, and he has always happily obliged in order to get in their pants, but this time feels… different somehow. like he really just wants to show you how much he loves music and creating his own.

as you leave the restaurant, he grabs your hand and laces it with his. to both of your surprise, you don’t pull away and even let him gently swing your hand back and forth. you actually look like a real couple. you feel like one, too.

dates with beomgyu become a happy, regular occurrence. you’re not necessarily together as of now, but it’s been about a month and you’re genuinely considering something serious with him. he seems to eagerly reciprocate this sentiment if his constant invitations are of any indication.

he suggests walking to the nearest park to sightsee, and you agree before you can even fully consider it. as you walk through the trail and take a seat on a bench in front of the pretty, sparkling pond, he locks eyes with you. you look so beautiful like this, eyes devoid of their usual exhaustion and wariness, replaced by a sense of peace. he can’t help but try his luck and lean down to, hopefully, join your lips with his for the first time. usually, he’d have tried this a lot sooner, but for reasons unknown to him, he’s treated you with a lot more care and reverence than he’s ever treated anyone before. a sudden ringing interrupts the moment, though. you casually take out your phone and all the aforementioned contentment in your eyes flushes out as you see the contact information.

“h-hello?” you say unsteadily as you unlace your hand with his and walk away.

he can’t quite hear what you’re saying from the distance you’re at, but he can see how wound up you are. he tries to be considerate and tune out your conversation, but when he hears you yelling and the person on the other end of the line yelling back, he can’t help but be engrossed. you’re borderline screaming now about something related to money. something about a sibling of yours, maybe. something about how you’re tired of being taken advantage of and how the other person is being unfair. you’re angry, he can tell. indignant, even, but all of that leaves your demeanor when you deflate with insincere apologies and a sense of relenting out of sheer defeat. after the explosive call ends, you walk back to him with the same exhaustion permeating through your bones that he’s become so familiar with. even though you’re dressed and primped so beautifully, nothing can cover the tiredness of your entire person.

“i’m sorry you had to hear that,” you say in a monotone voice.

“o-oh. it’s alright. is… is everything okay?” he tries tentatively.

“yeah,” you say with the most forced smile he’s ever seen.

“do you… do you want to talk about it?” he asks.

you sigh. normally, you would not. normally, you’d brush it off and just call chaeyoung to blow off some steam, but for some reason, you’re so frustrated that you can’t help but want to tell somebody other than chaeyoung because you know you rely too much on her for comfort. as for that somebody being beomgyu, you, for some reason, somewhat trust that he won’t go around telling everyone about your family troubles. you also vaguely feel that he won’t judge you, either.

for his part, beomgyu genuinely seems concerned. he seems like he wants to listen. he’s shown you, in the past month that you’ve known him, that he really does notice when you’re tired and cares enough to ask about you. he tries to cheer you up with coffee and snacks even though you have refused to divulge any of the details of your personal life thus far. what’s the harm in trying to trust him? you feel like you can tell him about this, so you do. and once you do, it’s like you can’t stop.

you tell him all the dirty details of your home life and just how fucked up it is. you tell him about how you’re forced to work a full time job on top of being a full time student to help with your family back at home. it’s not that you mind helping out, but they show you no consideration or care and you’re always left feeling like you’re just there to be their workhorse no matter how many times you tell them that you’re tired. the only time they ever contact you is to try to wring every last penny out of you. your sibling, of course, is the exception, and is the only reason why you keep doing it aside from your unfettered guilt that you were practically born feeling. your need for validation has not sprung from nothing, and it seems like your money is the only way to get it from the people you reluctantly call your family. you don’t delve into details about the abuse you’ve endured, either, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. still, you can't help but love them. you just wish they loved you, too.

when you’re finished speaking, you don’t even realize that you’re crying until beomgyu gingerly wipes your tears away. oh no, you think. you’ve said too much. he’s going to be scared off just like every other guy you’ve told about your emotional baggage. who would want somebody whose life is in shambles? your self esteem is low, your financial circumstances are almost as equally dire, and you have no redeeming qualities you can think of. what have you done?

you hurriedly apologize for your outburst and wipe your tears away in a frenzy.

“s-sorry. just ignore me,” you say with a shaky breath and he can see you folding into yourself.

“why would i ignore you?” he asks, cupping your face. “you haven't done anything wrong. i’m so sorry that you’re being treated this way, and i’m even more sorry that you feel the way you do. you don’t deserve this, you know?”

your eyes snap up to his at his words. does he really mean them? his eyebrows are knitted in concern and he seems like he really does care.

“it’s… it’s okay. i’m fine. i should be used to it by now, but i’m just so, so tired all of the time. i feel like everybody on this planet just wants to use me,” you sob. “everybody besides chaeyoung a-and now, maybe, you,” you admit, grabbing one of the hands that holds your cheek. he feels like he’s been electrocuted as your words resonate in his heart. he is using you. he is planning on throwing you away at his earliest convenience once he’s done with you.

but he’s increasingly unsure if he wants to do that, anymore. with every day that you spend together, he finds himself wanting to soak up every part of you. he wants to know everything about you. your likes and dislikes, what makes you tick and what makes you smile, and, now, what makes you feel so sad all of the time. he wants to be the one who takes away all of your exhaustion. he wants to be the shoulder you can cry on. he realizes that he never wants to see you sad ever again, and, more than that, he realizes that he’s felt this way for a while. when he began to genuinely care about you, he doesn’t know for sure, but it may have been the moment you told him how to win chaeyoung over as if you never expected anyone to be kind to you for good reasons. he realizes that he’s wanted to prove you wrong and that you’re worth giving a fuck about ever since then.

“sorry if that’s too much,” you say in lieu of his pensive silence, pulling away from his touch, but he pulls you into a tight hug before you can fully separate yourself from him.

“don’t be sorry. i want to hear about these things, if it makes you feel better. i want my girlfriend to trust me,” he says softly.

“your girlfriend?” you ask incredulously.

“well, yeah? i mean, if you want to be, of course,” he says sheepishly.

“of course i do!” you say excitedly. you throw your arms around his neck and pull him into a sweet kiss. your lips are soft and so, so warm. warmer than anything he’s ever felt before.

it’s a mere month before graduation, and you and beomgyu have been together for a few months now. every day is blissful. he convinces you to relax, and his mere presence is enough to soothe your nerves. the exhaustion that previously hung around you like a curse is pretty much gone and a spark of life has finally entered your countenance. he feels proud when he thinks that he helped put it there.

every time you’re overwhelmed at work, he seems to notice before you do, and he always stops by with a meal because he already knows you forget to eat when you’re stressed. by the same token, you reciprocate this sentiment by showing up to his apartment and helping him through some of his harder coursework with no complaint, even though your workload is considerably heavier. he resists, at first, but you insist on helping as much as you can and you tell him it makes you happy just to help him a fraction of how he’s helped you.

you don’t realize that you’ve helped him just as much. you’ve made him into a better person, unconsciously or not. you’re so considerate of his feelings and always make him feel important no matter how busy you are. he’s never felt this way about anyone or anything before, but he’s so grateful you’ve shown him how much love has to offer. love. he never expected to find it in such an unconventional way, but he knows it when he feels it.

heeseung, for his part, is pretty satisfied. after months of chasing, chaeyoung has finally agreed to go on a date with him. he has promised her a picnic and a night of stargazing, which she happily agreed to. when she tells you about her upcoming date with heeseung, you’re a little surprised. what are the chances that beomgyu’s friend knew what you had suggested to beomgyu when you thought he was interested in chaeyoung? but they’re friends. best friends, even. it’s not shocking to think that if heeseung expressed interest in dating chaeyoung, that beomgyu would share what he knows. you snuff the light of suspicion out with a vengeance. hasn’t beomgyu shown you how much he really cares about you? how could you doubt him like that? you’re a bad girlfriend for even entertaining that thought.

it’s another dreary day in the library for beomgyu. he just wishes you weren’t working so you could hang at his apartment and make out, but he knows you’re swamped with work these days, so it’s all just a fantasy. that doesn’t keep him from indulging in it, though. when heeseung pulls up a chair next to him, he audibly groans.

“what’s with the attitude?” heeseung playfully chastises. beomgyu doesn’t need to rely on his almost preternatural intuition to know that heeseung is over the moon right now.

“oh, i know. you’re thinking about your little girlfriend, aren’t you?” he teases.

“so what if i am?” beomgyu snaps, a little too defensively.

“hey, man, i’m just kidding. you’ve done a great job on bagging her for me. my date with chaeyoung went great, by the way. thanks for asking.” beomgyu just rolls his eyes at heeseung’s obnoxiousness, which, if he recalls correctly, was one of chaeyoung’s turn-offs.

“i’m glad it went well,” beomgyu says sarcastically, devoid of any sincerity.

“for paying your half of the rent for months, it better have! it was worth it, though. so, so worth it.”

“what the fuck are you talking about?” a sudden voice cuts in from out of the blue. chaeyoung. oh no.

“n-nothing,” heeseung says hastily, looking like a deer in headlights. beomgyu can only stare with widened eyes — too shocked to do anything else.

“bullshit. you said you paid his rent because he ‘bagged her’ for you. were you talking about who i think you’re talking about?” heeseung rushes to deny it, but she turns her hardened gaze to beomgyu.

“were you fucking talking about who i think you’re talking about?” chaeyoung repeats through gritted teeth. beomgyu feels his heart sinking to his stomach. his whole world has come crashing down around him and he feels like he could just die from the shame. he wishes he could deny it, but her eyes are teeming with a sense of knowing.

“y-yes,” he says softly while breaking eye contact with her and looking at his hands, which he didn’t even know he was wringing. a sudden burst of pain on his cheek tears his gaze away from them, though, as chaeyoung slaps him square across the face.

“you’re a piece of shit, you know that? she trusted you, and you know how hard it is for her to do that. you’re fucking filthy,” she says in rage and disgust. the librarian has now come to investigate the disturbance, but chaeyoung quickly says she’s already on her way out. before she goes, though, she sends one last damning look at beomgyu and leaves her parting words.

“just you fucking wait until i tell her about this, you son of a bitch.”

beomgyu is anxious beyond words. he doesn’t know if he should call you, text you, or show up to your apartment groveling on his knees. he doesn’t have the time to do any of it, however, before he sees a text from you saying that you’re coming over.

when you arrive, that same old tired look you always had before meeting him is there, and it has increased exponentially. gone is the vigor you two had fought so hard to restore. oh no.

he tries to greet you, but you just hold a hand up to stop him in his tracks. you take a seat on the couch and look so tense you could explode at any moment.

“chae already told me, but i want… i need to hear it from you. is it true?” you ask shakily.

“baby, listen, i was—”

“is. it. true?” you repeat impatiently.

“... yes, but i—”

“i see,” you say with a solemn nod and a tight-lipped smile. his mouth feels dry as he waits for you to elaborate, but after a long, long silence, he realizes that’s all you have to say in the face of his deceit. he wishes you would cry, or be angry and yell at him for lying to you. it’s infinitely worse, somehow, to see you accepting it as if it was a matter of course. and, to you, it is. of course he wouldn’t like you — let alone love you. of course it was all a sick, cosmic joke. that’s what you are. this is what you deserve, and you’re an idiot for expecting anything different from him or anyone else.

“well, i guess you’ve won the bet,” you sigh, rising from your seat and smoothing down your skirt. “congratulations.”

his eyes are watery now, but you perceive it as the reaction of a child getting caught doing something he knew was wrong in the first place. you have accepted things with the type of resignation only a truly defeated person would have, and it breaks him more than he ever supposed anything could.

“don’t be sad,” you can’t help but add when you notice his upper lip trembling. “you can smile; i know you want to. now you won’t have to deal with me anymore. i’m sorry for wasting your time.” your words snatch him out of his entranced state and he’s rushing to get his next thoughts out with a desperation he can only describe as primal.

“n-no, that’s not it at all! and don't be sorry! i… i’m the one who’s sorry. i’m so sorry. i didn’t mean —”

“it’s okay,” you cut in with a knowing smile, which shatters the last remnants of his heart. “i understand. i really, really do. i know you’re not a bad person. it’s my fault for taking this whole thing too seriously.” your smile is still there, but it has twisted into something truly ironic and teeming with disgust. not toward him, he realizes, but toward yourself. “i should’ve known better.”

he’s rendered speechless once again, but you don’t give him a chance to collect his thoughts before walking away, closing the door lightly behind you. what words can he say to you to undo what he’s done? he wishes he could dig out his heart so you’d understand his true intentions. they were ill at first, yes, but they’ve evolved into something different entirely. something so sincere and pure he doesn’t dare to show it to anyone other than you. and you’re so calm about this entire situation, it’s driving him mad. how could you think so lowly of yourself as to see this coming? how could you think his actions were anything less than appalling and cruel? and, oh god, what has he done?

you’re okay. you really, really are. living in the aftermath of what you had foolishly believed was love is painful, to say the very least, but there are worse things, after all. what those things could be, you can’t seem to think of at the moment, but you know they exist even if you don’t have the energy to ponder them at present. chaeyoung, as expected, is more loving than ever. she rarely leaves your side these days. she’s always been clingy, but there is a level of doting and care she reaches without complaint on her part. beomgyu, to his credit, has seemingly taken the hint and fucked off. he doesn’t show up to your shared class and you took the liberty of blocking him on everything you could possibly think of. even it he hadn’t gotten the memo, chaeyoung is by your side like a rabid dog and she will gladly bite if he approaches. you’re grateful for that, you guess. him essentially cutting himself out of your life has made pretending like he never existed much easier. there are still traces of him, though, and they haunt you viciously.

there’s a party celebrating your impending graduation, and you would rather die than go, to be honest, but chaeyoung makes such a convincing argument that you can’t help but relent after hearing her drone on and on about how you deserve to have fun and let loose since your college years are ending and you have yet to fully put yourself out there in terms of student life. you will, in all likelihood (and with any hope), never see most of these people again, so will it kill you to just let go for once? on top of that, it will be a welcome distraction from your downward spiral that inevitably comes when you think of beomgyu.

you don’t really know what you’re doing when it comes to dressing up besides the basics, but chaeyoung knows more than her fair share and is all too willing to doll you up in a way you previously thought was impossible. after her flitting hands while doing your makeup and careful choices in wardrobe, you barely recognize yourself. for once, you feel good. you feel confident. you even almost feel worthy of standing alongside a drop-dead gorgeous girl such as your best friend, so when you enter the door of the house party, you don’t feel as small as can be under the scrutinizing gazes of all the usual party goers. one familiar pair of eyes watches you in awe, though, even if you don’t notice. you’re much too engrossed in the atmosphere of pure fun to recognize anything else.

you’re not really one for dancing — far too awkward and uncoordinated to really try it — so you sit as comfortably as you can on the decidedly uncomfortable couch and sip on what must be your third drink this evening. you’re smiling in contentment at the sight of chaeyoung dancing with her new crush. if you can't be happy, you’ll be satisfied with her happiness, instead. this is how it should be, you think. this is how it always should’ve been.

you’re so stuck in your thoughts you don’t even turn your head at the feeling of the couch sinking as a boy sits next to you. that is, until he clears his throat and you’re snapping your eyes up to meet his.

“i’m taehyun. i’ve never seen you around before,” he casually remarks. he’s really beautiful, like, fresh off the runway beautiful. you almost wonder if he’s talking to somebody else for a second, but his expectant eye contact with you tells you otherwise. you shyly introduce yourself and mumble something about parties not particularly being your scene.

“really?” he smiles. “that’s a shame. i wish i’d seen you before tonight.” you can’t help but blush. “i’d like to get to know you, if that’s alright.” you’re not so stupid as to fall for a man with honeyed words, at least not again, but you find yourself caring less and less about the repercussions as your head feels foggier and foggier. so what if this is a sick joke? you’re almost out of this hellish purgatory you call school life, anyway. even if taehyun doesn’t end up liking you, what’s the harm in indulging in a little fun while you can? you’re not going to put your heart on the line again — you’re too jaded for that — but maybe you can enjoy his company for what it is, no matter how fleeting it may be. so before you can think any better of it, you agree.

or, at least, you try to, but your sentiment is cut short with a sharp tugging of your arm.

“beomgyu, what are you doing?” you hiss as he leads you to an unfortunate-smelling bathroom.

“i-i need to talk to you,” he replies sheepishly.

“what’s there to talk about?” you ask with a sigh. “i’m not mad at you. i forgive you. so what else do you want from me?” you actually seem a little annoyed, which he has never seen before from you. it causes him to sputter and almost lose his train of thought.

“you know what i want to talk about…” he says meekly.

“oh? the fact that you dated me and said you loved me because of a bet?” you can't help the bitterness that laces its way around the edges of your words.

“yes, it was for a bet, but then it wasn’t about that, anymore. i really did fall for you. i… i love you.”

“i don't believe you.”

“b-but i mean it! how can i make you trust me?” his voice is overrun with desperation, but you quirk your eyebrow at his words.

“you can't make me do anything. i don't know what you're getting out of this, maybe some sick satisfaction that you can pick me back up again at your leisure? maybe you just feel bad for me? whatever it is, i don't care anymore.”

“no! listen to me, i really do care about you! i know i hurt you, but let me be there for you. i… i'll prove to you how much i care. how much i love you.” you're quiet for a long, long time. an excruciatingly long time. you seem to consider every syllable he just uttered, but you don’t seem fazed by his sincere words at all, and he worries he's losing you for good. before he can stop himself, he gently cups your face in his hands and tenderly runs the pads of his thumbs across your cheeks. you don't push him away and, for that, he’s grateful.

“alright. alright, i do believe you. i believe you love and care about me,” you admit with a sigh. he lets out a shaky breath he didn’t even know he was holding in before he presses his forehead against yours. thank god you believe him. maybe you don’t trust him yet, but he’ll do everything in his power to earn it back.

“i believe you, but it’s not enough,” you say resolutely, grabbing his hands and prying them off of you. his heart sinks and he can’t help but feel the sting of tears in his eyes.

“i forgive you, i really, really do, but you can't treat people however you want and expect things to go back to the way they were just because you’re sorry. i can’t… i won’t accept that.” he winces and he makes no move to stop his tears from falling now, but he bites his lip to stop the whimpers.

“you know me. you know how hard it is for me to… to believe that i’m worth loving.” he flinches at your self-deprecating words and he wishes he could kiss your face and erase any doubts of your worthiness. you are the most lovable person in the world to him. he wants to shake you and demand that you see it, but what right does he have to do so? instead, all he can do is shake his head furiously in denial of your sentiments.

“and everything you said, everything you did, just makes me believe that i’m right about myself. even if you mean it now, i can't get over the fact that it was all a lie from the start. if you love and care about me like you say you do, don’t you think i deserve better than that? better than having to be reminded that the person i love the most in this world only chose me because he wanted to get his rent paid?”

“i’m… i’m so sorry,” he repeats with a whine. “i wish i could go back in time and redo everything.”

“but you can’t,” you say softly, and he whines again, like an animal.

“i promise… i promise that i really love you, okay? and i’ll wait for as long as i have to for you to see that,” he says between sobs. you can’t help but feel sorry for him. you’ve seen beomgyu cry from stress, but never from the pure, unadulterated amount of pain he’s feeling as of now. you almost want to acquiesce and let him have his way, but you can’t do that. you don’t have much dignity to speak of, but even you can’t tolerate a betrayal this sizable. maybe, before you met him, you would have, but ironically enough, his presence has taught you that you should never compromise yourself like that for anyone. not even for the one you love the most.

“thank you, beomie,” you say softly, “but i don’t want you to wait for me. i want you to be happy, okay?” you ask as you stand on your tiptoes and press a goodbye kiss to his forehead. “and i’ll try to be happy, too.” without waiting for an answer, you leave the bathroom and shut the door behind you.

“i don’t want to be happy if it’s not with you,” he mumbles bitterly, but you’re too far away to hear it.

notes pt. 2: is this cheesy? YES. do i care? ONLY A LITTLE BIT. anyway like i said lmk if u want a part two <3

taglist: @my313 @superbbananananana @zzhyuu @lonelybutterflytae @cherrycolaberry @defnotleee @midwinterblizzard

*if you would like to be added to my permanent taglist or my taglist for the (maybe) upcoming next part, lmk!

#niningtori #cruel intentions #beomgyu angst #txt angst #beomgyu x reader #choi beomgyu x reader #beomgyu fic #txt fic #txt x reader #beomgyu x you #txt x you

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walpu · 9 months ago

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hey, hey, I don't know how many times I've read your post "pre-relationship" especially aventurine part (omg i love how you write abt him 😭). I wonder how it will be once they are in a relationship and the kissing part please :3 thank u and have a nice day!

THANK YOUUUUU

Hope you'll enjoy this post too💛💛💛

being in a relationship with Aventurine

characters - Aventurine notes - gn!reader, fluff, hurt/comfort (do I even write something other that hurt/comfort for him lmao), no beta

can be seen as a part 2 of this post but it can stan on it's own as well

Aventurine

It would take quite some time for Aventurine to move from the pre-relationship stage with you. Will dance around the subject, throwing hints and flirty remarks but as for making an actual move? Oof.

Would cling to your side and shamelessly say something like "aww, can't get enough of me? people may think we're dating <З unless that's what you want them to think haha"

Pathetic. /affectionally.

But seriously, he really wants to be sure that you like him before making a move. That you like him, not his money, not the idea of him. At least that's what he tells himself. And while this is part of the reason, the actual thing is that he's simply... confused. He's already more vulnerable around you than he ever was around anyone else. And dating means being even more vulnerable.

While he yearns for this genuine connection he's also a scared of it. Tim Kreider wrote the line "If we want the rewards of being loved we have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known" about him actually.

It would take some time for him to get used to being in relationship. In the previous post I've mentioned that he, most likely, had some short flings in the past. I seriously doubt that he ever had any serious relationship before you though. It's so new to him. At first it would seem like nothing has changed between the two of you at all. Surprisingly, it looks like he even became a bit more distant.

Aventurine doesn't want to attract any unwanted attention to your relationship since it will only endanger you. Plus he doesn't want to overwhelm you. Plus he doesn't want to overwhelm himself. Plus he is scared shitless.

He can't help but feel that he looses everything he holds dear. After all, it's been like that for all of his life. And he simply can't loose you.

Mini spoiler for his leaked character story, but there is a moment there when he looks at the aventurine stone Diamond gave him and he realizes that despite the fact that he worked so hard for it, now that he has it, it holds no real value since it doesn't fill the emptiness inside of him. Logically, he knows that this won't happen with you. He loves you too much. But there's this subconscious fear inside of him that he's just so messed up inside that he simply would not be able to love you like you deserve.

Be patient with him, this mans doesn't know what he's doing. Don't give up on him and he'll crawl to your side, holding onto you for dear life.

Once he will calm down a bit, he'll make it up for all those times when you were the one reaching out to him. Texts you, calls you, arranges spontaneous dates.

In the beginning of relationship would spoil you with expensive gifts. He knows what it's like to have nothing so he doesn't want you to ever feel this way. And the best way to prevent it? To make sure that you will have anything and everything. Maybe it's a subconscious way to bribe you. Maybe. Not like he realizes it himself.

Once he'll feel more stable and more confident, his gift giving tendencies will get less overwhelming. He still like giving you gifts but now he picks and chooses. His sugar darling deserves only the best, after all.

Acts all clingy, playful and unserious but actually listens to your every word and is ready to fulfil your every need.

Is actually very caring. Shows his care by pestering you and easing you tho.

If you feel down, will sit stay by your side. May randomly start tickling you, if you're ticklish. If not, will find another way to touch you in a playful and somewhat annoying way. After you cheer up a bit, Aven will put his chin on your shoulder and hugs your waist, softly asking what happen and why is his dearest darling seems sad.

As for kisses. Aven will loooove covering your face with butterfly kisses. And not only your face. Will randomly grab your hand and kiss your knuckles and fingertips. If you've made a mistake of exposing your shoulder then be ready for it to be kissed endlessly.

Adores kissing those parts of your body that are usually covered with clothes. It feels fore intimate for him.

And if you have freckles or/and beauty marks. Oh well. Will trace them with his fingertips, connecting them with some invisible lines and sometimes gasp playfully, saying that he found his constellation. Just a silly little guy being a silly little guy.

So touch-starved it's unreal.

Has very mixed feeling about his tattoo being kissed. Would feel... weirs if you would kiss it during your casual cuddling session. He exposes it for the world to see, yes. But still, when it attracts attention of someone who knows the meaning behind it... Makes him a bit tense, it catches him off-guard. However, if you kiss it after a lovemaking session or when he shares some painful memories with you, he will feel reassured.

Will slowly start crawling out of his shell when he's with you. Before he only shared some brief memories of his past with you, now he'll start slowly opening up about other, much more painful stuff.

It still happens randomly and out of the blue. He remembers something, he tenses up. But now, instead of repressing this feelings, he shares them with you.

Don't push him too talk, he'll slowly open up on his own.

Loves waking up next to you. Especially if you're still asleep. Seeing the sun shining on your face fills him with love and tenderness. Only with you by his side he feels truly safe.

#one day i'll learn to control my word vomit and my post'll stop being so fuckass long #hsr #honkai star rail #hsr aventurine #aventurine x reader #aventurine #walp's writing #reader insert

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inkedbybarnes · 6 months ago

Text

be your date

bodyguard!bucky barnes x actress!fem!reader

summary: you are invited to this year's met gala, and your bodyguard is against the idea of letting you go alone.

word count: 500+

warnings: 18+ mdni. nothing sexual, but still. some banters. hints of fluff. a sprinkle of tension. grumpy but protective bucky (yes, that is a warning!) sort of bratty reader? lack of met gala knowledge probably. usage of petnames such as princess. lowercase writing.

photos used are only for aesthetic and not to describe or visualise the reader!

note: just a little drabble to the story/plot i've been writing! since there was recently a met gala, i thought this would be a great tease for this story. i hope you enjoy this one!

dividers made by @firefly-graphics!

comments, reblogs, and likes are highly appreciated. thank you! ♡

“you shouldn't go.”

as a celebrity, privacy was a rare luxury, and having your personal life being constantly invaded became your new norm.

it also meant having a personal bodyguard to keep you safe, but no one ever warned you about having a bodyguard who was both relentlessly protective and unbelievably attractive with a permanent frown on his face.

god, would it be so bad to have a crush on your bodyguard?

“you can't tell me what to do, you know that right?” you shot him a defiant look, although you knew he wasn't trying to control you, just keeping you safe.

getting a reaction other than a grunt from him was your favourite hobby, anyway.

a delivery was found on your doorstep this morning, containing an invitation and a bouquet of flowers. bucky was beside you as you opened the envelope, and immediately, he was against the idea.

“what even is the met gala?” he eyed the invitation you were holding, brow furrowed while he looked offended by the piece of paper. “it doesn't sound safe.”

bucky had learned about the letters that you would constantly receive, and how half of them were unusual and even concerning. you could still remember the frown he had kept all day when you received a marriage certificate in need of your signature.

he made sure to burn it by the fireplace.

and grunted at it one more time.

“nothing sounds safe to you, jamie.” you argued, rolling your eyes at his protectiveness. you slipped the card back into its envelope, unaware of the faint flush that spread across his face as he heard you call him by the nickname you've given him.

“it's a ball that a bunch of celebrities go to every year, but i don't really find it that special. my manager thinks otherwise though.” you explained. “and i do have to go alone if i'm attending it since it's really private. they even prohibited phones inside, so it should be safe.”

“i don't buy it.” bucky pursed his lips, remaining unconvinced. “i'm coming with you.”

“they won't let you inside. they treat this ball as a highly exclusive event. even bodyguards are off the list. i find it silly as well, don't worry.” you sighed, recalling how uncomfortable it was every time. you had no choice since your manager called it good publicity and a necessity for your career. “oh, unless i bring a date. i could probably sneak them in as a plus one. they love seeing a new pair to spark conversation. do you have anyone you trust enough to be with me so you can calm down?”

you waited for his response, but instead of answering, bucky took a step towards you, his gaze intense and unwavering. he looked at you with such intensity, making butterflies flutter in your stomach that none of your co-stars could do to you.

“i'll be your date.”

your eyes widened in surprise. was he serious? “what?"

"you asked me who i trust enough to be with you." he repeated, his face now inches away from yours, a faint smile dancing across his face. “well, princess. that person would be me."

i may have changed reader from sunshine to confident/bratty because i genuinely can't write a sunshine character without giving up... i'm not the best with jolly emotions. i think it still worked out tho!

oh, and here's a silly lil instagram post. thank you for reading!

if you have any requests for bucky, send them my way! 💌

#bodyguard!bucky barnes #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x fem!reader #actress!reader #bodyguard!bucky barnes x actress!reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes au

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chimcess · 2 months ago

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Lady's Honor || ksj

Pairing: Seokjin x ReaderOther Tags: Lord!Seokjin, Lady!Reader, Lord!Jimin, Lord!Jimin, Lord!Yoongi Genre: Regency!AU, Strangers to Lovers, Angst, Fluff, HEA Word Count: 16.8k+ Summary: What unfolds when a gentleman's noble effort to help a lady in distress inadvertently tarnishes her reputation? He finds himself bound to protect her honor at any cost—even if it means risking his own life. Warnings: Attempted assault on reader, society at this time was very judgement, practically forced marriage, but they like one another so it's fine, everyone has a title that is different from their true names, because they're Earls and own land, Eisen is disgusting, Jin is a gentleman, mentions of sex, illusions to sex, light teasing, need for an heir, Jin has a 'My Lord' kink, kissing (scandalous at this time), pregnancy, child birth, minor character death, dueling, main character injured, let me know if I missed anything... A/N: I've been trying to write in new styles and dive into different themes outside of fantasy, and so I really stepped out of my comfort zone to write this one. Rereading some Jane Austen was also helpful. Hope you enjoy.

Perhaps it was the oppressive heat radiating from the hundreds of flickering candles scattered throughout the ballroom that made him uneasy. But more likely, it was the desperate air of the young woman he’d just finished dancing with. The Earl of Rushmore felt a prickling sensation crawl up his spine, a warning he couldn’t quite dismiss.

“That was ever so splendid, my lord,” Miss Rose Tyrell tittered, bouncing on her toes like an eager puppy. Every exaggerated movement seemed calculated to draw his gaze to her décolletage. “You dance exquisitely.” She leaned in, flashing a smile that he could only interpret as desperate. It turned his stomach.

“It was my pleasure,” he replied, forcing his lips into a smile that barely masked his irritation. The corners of his eyes tightened as he nodded to Sir Gerald Tyrell, her father, standing awkwardly on the periphery. With that, he made to escape the stifling encounter.

Yet just as he turned to leave, the shrill voice of Lady Tyrell pierced the air, dragging him back into tedious conversation. “My lord, we are organizing an outing to Vauxhall Gardens next week, and one of our gentlemen has had to leave London for urgent family business, leaving us one short.” She fluttered her fan with all the grace of a chicken flapping its wings. “Would you do us the honor of joining our group?”

A familiar panic clawed at him, a suffocating sensation that had haunted him through countless soirées with the daughters of ambitious families. It was as if his sordid reputation—of womanizing, reckless drinking, and gambling—had become a beacon, attracting those looking to snag a title for their daughters. The very thought made him itch with the need to flee.

“I’ll have to check my availability,” he said, the words falling from his lips with the practiced ease of a politician. “I shall send word on the morrow. Good evening, ladies.” He bowed stiffly to Miss Tyrell and her mother before making a purposeful exit, each step a declaration of his freedom.

The musicians began to play the next set, and a wave of relief washed over him as he realized he was free from the obligation of dancing with any particular young lady. The evening had thus far been a parade of vapid chatter and trivial pursuits, save for one notable exception—Miss Y/L/N.

He had heard whispers of her modest debut the previous season but had only caught a glimpse of her tonight. There was something about her, an ethereal beauty that shone through the murk of societal expectations, and a vivacious yet modest personality that intrigued him. She shared his passion for stargazing, a rare treasure amidst the sea of watercolor painting and embroidery that most young ladies feigned expertise in.

He spotted his mother among a gaggle of women and approached, forcing a smile. “Mother, I’m going to take a stroll in the garden.”

“Oh, my dear, I had hoped to present you to Miss Webber,” she said, her tone a blend of disappointment and guilt.

Resigned to the endless parade of introductions and dances, he craved a brief escape. “I shall only be gone for one set,” he promised, his voice laced with indulgence.

“Ah yes, and then you’ll disappear into the card room, and it will be impossible to find you a suitable wife. Really, Rushmore, you are two-and-thirty. It’s time you settled down and set up your nursery.”

Her words pricked at him like thorns, and he fought the urge to unleash the torrent of frustration bubbling inside. He knew she meant well; her intentions were rooted in love, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of being trapped in a gilded cage.

“Yes, Mother, I understand. If you will excuse me?” He nodded to acquaintances as he maneuvered through the ballroom. Stepping out onto the terrace, he finally felt the weight lift, if only slightly. The coolness of the evening enveloped him, a comforting embrace that allowed him to breathe freely.

Only the crunch of his gleaming Hessian boots broke the silence as he wandered along the gravel path that wove between hedgerows and blooms. He was weary, so utterly weary of the relentless pressure of the marriage mart. A heavy sigh escaped his lips, the sound mingling with the night air.

After a few minutes, he wandered beyond the glow of the paper lanterns dangling from the trees, halting to let his eyes adjust to the enveloping darkness. He tilted his head back, searching for constellations, but the encroaching clouds obscured his view.

In these precious moments of solitude, he could cast aside the weight of his title, the incessant pleas of his mother for an heir. Here, he could simply be Seokjin, not “Rushmore” or “my lord.” He wasn’t sure how long he’d been absent, but he knew it had been long enough for his mother to send a search party to drag him back to the ballroom for another tedious encounter.

The rebellious spirit that had defined his youth flared within him. He would be damned if he shackled himself to one of these vapid fortune hunters. When he married, it would be on his terms, in his time. In a final act of defiance, he chose a longer route back, hoping to prolong this rare moment of freedom.

As he strolled, he noticed a section of the path where the stones had been disturbed and the flowers trampled. He frowned, planning to speak with Lord Min; the gardener needed a firm reminder of his duties.

He had not taken but two steps past the ruined path when he heard a rustling from the rhododendron bushes to his left. He paused, hesitant to interrupt whatever clandestine meeting might be unfolding there. When silence fell once more, curiosity gnawed at him, urging him closer.

Peering through the foliage, he caught sight of an abandoned dancing slipper, its owner nowhere in sight. He almost dismissed it, the corners of his mouth lifting in a wry grin. It had been far too long since he had shared the company of a woman who intrigued him.

But then the unmistakable sound of sobbing pierced the air, and his heart twisted in an unexpected pang of concern. The battle within him waged on, but as he took another step, he spotted a young woman crawling on the ground, frantically searching for that missing shoe.

Instinct propelled him forward. He stepped off the path, making his presence known through the rustling bushes, startling her in the process. She scrambled backward, eyes wide with panic, as if he were a specter come to haunt her. Her skirts were stained with dirt, and her hair hung in disarray, obscuring her features.

“Miss? Are you hurt?” His voice broke the tension, filled with concern.

She whimpered softly, the sound twisting his gut. What had happened to her?

Looking around, he saw no one else nearby, no lurking assailants or companions to provide solace. Crouching down, he made no sudden movements toward her.

“Please, miss, I have no wish to harm you. Do you have a companion or chaperone you would like me to summon?” When silence stretched between them, he tried again, softer this time. “Let me help you back to the ball. We’ll find a discreet entrance—somewhere hidden.”

At last, she raised her head, and he sucked in a sharp breath. How had Y/N Y/L/N ended up in such a predicament? By all accounts, she was the embodiment of propriety, not one to engage in scandal.

As he took in her appearance, he noticed the tear in the bodice of her gown, the clutched remnants of a pair of drawers that were also damaged. Rage ignited within him, a hot ember that flared into a blaze. It was one thing for a man to indulge his desires with a mistress, but to force himself on an innocent like Miss Y/L/N? That was an outrage beyond measure.

"Who did this to you, Miss Y/L/N?" he demanded, his voice low, strained, as though the question had been pulled from the very depths of a dark pit within him.

She shook her head, her entire body trembling, a fragile thing caught in a tempest. "No one, my lord," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

Her reticence ignited a fury in him, a volcanic rage simmering beneath the surface, but he clamped down on it. He wanted to shake her, to rattle loose the truth from her lips like a confession from a guilty soul. But he held back, aware that rage could consume him whole.

"So you mean to tell me that you've ruined your hair, shredded your dress, and torn your—" He faltered, words dying on his tongue as he caught sight of the cruel red welts marring her cheek, vivid streaks of pain that seemed to shout a silent accusation at the dark night. His nostrils flared, drawing in the scent of roses mingling with something more sinister—fear.

"And you did this all to yourself?" he asked through gritted teeth, the effort to contain his fury almost painful. "Forgive me if I find that scenario a little hard to swallow. Tell me who has harmed you, and I will see the blackguard brought to account for his actions."

He stood up, a sudden restlessness seizing him, his hands clenching and unclenching as he flipped the tails of his dark blue superfine coat behind him. The air crackled with the unspoken promise of violence, a storm gathering within him as he paced, thoughts colliding like thunderheads in a darkening sky. Abruptly, he stopped and pointed at her drawers, still clutched tightly against her chest. "Did he manage to...?"

The words hung in the air, thick and suffocating. He couldn’t voice the horrific possibility that loomed over them, and for a fleeting moment, he marveled at the violent protectiveness rising up from the depths of his heart. It felt foreign, primal.

She shook her head, her gaze dropping to the ground, a broken bird struggling to mend its wings. A small whimper escaped her lips, and his heart twisted painfully at the sight. She winced as she shifted her weight to her unshod foot, and his anger flared anew. Who had she been dancing with after him? The names flooded his mind, but one stood out—a dark specter of a man who lurked at the edges of polite society.

Jonathon, Lord Eisen.

In the grand tapestry of reputation, Seokjin would be the saint compared to the notorious Viscount Eisen, a man known for treating young ladies like pawns in his cruel game. Wealthy, yes, but at what cost?

"Did Lord Eisen do this?" he pressed, the words a growl. "Did he lure you into the gardens?"

Her eyes widened, a silent acknowledgment that echoed like a bell tolling a grim fate. In the distance, a chorus of voices called her name, the urgency cutting through the night like a knife. They were looking for her, and the dread of discovery hung in the air, a heavy mist curling around them.

"Miss Y/L/N, please, let me help you back before we’re found in this position. There’s no reason to ruin your reputation by being seen with someone like me."

She blushed, ducking her head, and for a moment, he thought he glimpsed a flicker of a smile. But then, she faltered, her fragile façade crumbling. "I cannot walk, my lord. I fear I have... s-sprained my ankle."

Reality crashed over him as he realized that the chill in the air had seeped into her bones, amplifying the shivering that gripped her. With a quick determination, he shrugged off his topcoat and draped it around her shoulders, enveloping her in warmth, an oasis in a desert of despair.

"Put your arm around my neck," he instructed gently, bending down to meet her eyes. When she complied, her drawers still clutched in the other hand, he lifted her as though she weighed nothing, an echo of the strength he didn’t know he possessed. As he carried her toward the house, the softness of her body against his ignited something deep within him, a rush of feelings he was unprepared to face.

"Why did he stop?" he asked, the question an uneasy tremor in the quiet of the night.

She inhaled sharply, her breath hitching, and laid her head against his shoulder. For a heartbeat, he thought she wouldn’t answer, but then, with a voice steeped in trembling fear, she whispered close to his ear, "I fought him. I kicked and scratched... That’s when he slapped me. I think he heard you coming."

The revelation stirred a darkness within him, igniting a fierce desire for vengeance. "He will pay for this," Seokjin vowed, his heart pounding with a dangerous intensity. The very air crackled with his determination to protect her honor. She had a brother, a man more than willing to seek revenge, and yet, here he was, feeling like a moth drawn to the flame of her vulnerability.

As her head rested against his shoulder, a curious weight settled around his throat, tightening like a noose, a reminder that he had no business becoming entangled in her fate. But how could he turn away when the shadows had crept into her life, and he felt the unmistakable tug of something deeper than duty—something that felt like destiny.

What a coil! thought Y/N, a frenzied swirl of confusion and unease tightening in her chest. She had only intended to stroll with Lord Eisen along the terrace, the moonlight casting a soft glow over the manicured gardens. But when he asked about her interest in the stars, her passion ignited, and she began chattering like an eager canary, the words spilling forth in a rush, a desperate bid for connection.

Lost in her own celestial musings, she hadn’t noticed the subtle shift in direction until it was too late. The secluded part of the garden loomed before her like a trap waiting to snap shut. In an instant, the air around her thickened with a sense of foreboding, the fragrant blooms suddenly oppressive.

It was all she could do to keep her wits about her as he forced her against a tree, the bark digging into her back, bruising her lips with punishing kisses that felt like a betrayal of her very soul. She raked her fingernails down his cheek, a desperate act of defiance, but instead of pulling back, it only seemed to stoke the fire in his eyes, a dark hunger awakening within him.

She burrowed her face into Lord Rushmore's shoulder, desperately trying to will the shame of what Lord Eisen had done to her to dissipate like morning mist. Had she behaved wantonly? No, she had acted every bit the lady, hadn’t she? But the tightness in her throat mounted, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. Cursing her overactive emotions, she knew she needed a moment to compose herself before returning to the ball, to that cruel world of social masks and whispered judgments.

As they entered the lit portion of the garden, her brother's voice bellowed her name, booming through the night like a thunderclap. Panic surged in her chest, and she cast about for a more private place, somewhere she could gather the scattered pieces of herself.

"Lord Rushmore's, might we sit at that bench for a moment while I attempt to put myself to rights?" she implored, her voice quivering.

When she looked up into his eyes, she felt that same fluttering sensation that had gripped her during their earlier waltz. His eyes, an unsettling shade of green, seemed to pierce through the façade she tried so hard to maintain. She couldn't help but notice the strength of his arms, how effortlessly he carried her, as if she were nothing more than a feather. And if she were being completely honest, the way his coat hugged his broad torso and how those buff-colored breeches molded to his powerful thighs made her heart race in a way that was both thrilling and terrifying.

Heat flooded her cheeks as that thought twisted inside her like a serpent coiling tighter, and for a brief moment, she thought she saw something flicker in Lord Rushmore's gaze—a fleeting spark that vanished as quickly as it appeared, leaving behind only his mask of calm.

He nodded once, a movement fluid and deliberate, and made his way to a weathered stone bench nestled behind a grouping of lilacs. The flowers whispered secrets in the night breeze, and she felt both comforted and exposed in their presence. With utmost care, he deposited her onto the bench before turning to stand guard, his posture protective, a fortress against the horrors she had just endured.

Hastily, she donned the torn drawers, feeling the fabric scratch against her skin, but it was better than being seen carrying her undergarments. As she fussed with the bodice of her cream chiffon and lace gown, the reality of her disheveled state crashed over her, a wave of hopelessness that threatened to drown her. The earlier magic of the evening had been shattered, leaving only fragments of what could have been.

But perhaps not completely. The thrill of being in the arms of such a handsome man still pulsed through her veins, even if he wasn’t the type a respectable girl should find appealing. The allure of a man with a dangerous reputation was like a moth drawn to flame, intoxicating yet perilous.

It was silly to think such thoughts, she chastised herself. He was merely doing his gentlemanly duty, ensuring her safe return. Any notion that he might entertain feelings for her was absurd. Besides, the gossip among the parlors of the ton painted him as a confirmed bachelor, much to his mother’s dismay.

She twisted one last piece of hair, pinning it into the mass of curls and braids atop her head. "Do I still look as though I’ve been tumbled in the bushes?" She rested her hands in her lap and looked at the Earl, who seemed lost in thought.

He took several deep breaths, and she wondered if he, too, felt the weight of the moment pressing down on them. His nostrils flared, lips pursed, as he studied her appearance, and the intensity of his gaze sent a fresh wave of heat rising in her cheeks. She cast her eyes down, biting her lower lip to keep from trembling under the weight of his scrutiny.

"Well, your color seems to have returned," he said, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, reminiscent of her brother's teasing ways.

"May I examine your ankle?" he asked, shifting to sit next to her on the bench.

Without waiting for her consent, he leaned down and lifted both of her feet, drawing them across his lap. A furious heat shot through her, screaming in indignation, How dare he? But as his warm hands slipped off her dancing shoe and began to probe her foot, any righteous fury fled her like a shadow at dawn.

His touch was gentle, exploring the instep, his fingers moving with a calm assurance that sent shivers racing up her spine. She hissed when he pressed on a particularly tender spot, and he nodded softly, his eyes focused and intent, then replaced her slipper without lowering her feet.

"It has begun to swell slightly, but I don’t believe it to be broken." His words were curt, almost clinical, yet they held a honeyed warmth that seeped into her bones, loosening the tension that had coiled tightly within her.

"And my hair— is it even remotely presentable?" She caught his gaze, feeling ensnared, unable to break free from the magnetic pull between them. The sweet scent of lilacs surrounded them like a fog, and even though she was wrapped snugly in the Earl’s topcoat, a chill raced through her.

For a long moment, the world around them fell away, leaving only the two of them in that secret garden, an electric energy drawing them closer together.

"Far more than presentable," he murmured, inching closer, his breath warm against her skin.

His hand lifted, tentatively brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. As his fingers lingered against her jaw, she felt the weight of his gaze, a tether pulling her into the depths of something she could neither understand nor resist.

Her heart thundered in her chest, a wild drumbeat that seemed to echo the chaos of the night. In that fleeting moment, as the lilacs danced in the night breeze, the world faded away, leaving only the two of them standing on the precipice of something undeniably profound.

“Sis-...Kim! Unhand my sister at once!”

Like the fragile sheen of a child’s soap bubble, the magic enveloping them burst the moment Anthony’s voice cut through the night—a jagged shard of ice in a world of warmth. In what felt like a heartbeat, Anthony surged forward, seizing the Earl and slamming him against the rough bark of an ancient elm, his forearm digging into the Earl’s throat with a grim resolve.

Lord Rushmore's retreating form was replaced by her father, who seized her by the shoulders, his gaze sweeping over her with the intensity of a hawk eyeing its prey. "Her dress is torn," he shouted, as if those words could mend the fraying fabric of her dignity. The sheer horror in her father’s tone twisted the knife in her gut, causing Anthony’s grip on the Earl to tighten, his elbow pressing cruelly into the Earl’s neck.

“Anthony, stop! This isn’t what it seems…” Panic clawed at her throat as she saw the search party gather, shadows converging on their secluded haven. Her heart sank, heavy and leaden, as if it were chained to the ground.

“What has that scoundrel done to you, my child?” Her father’s voice was a fierce whisper, laden with unspoken fears.

To his credit, the Earl of Rushmore merely grasped Anthony's arm, a desperate attempt to stave off asphyxiation, doing nothing to fight back against the encroaching storm.

In moments, the terrace teemed with onlookers, the whole ballroom spilling out into the moonlight, the murmurs and gasps igniting an electric buzz that thrummed in the air, each sound a reminder of their encroaching doom.

“Anthony, summon the carriage and fetch your mother,” her father commanded, voice clipped and taut.

Anthony nodded, stepping back, the heat of anger still radiating from him. He straightened, eyes ablaze, locking onto the Earl with a fury that promised retribution. “This isn’t over, Kim. We’ll speak tomorrow at Parke’s.” With that, he turned and stormed off, leaving chaos in his wake, people scattering like leaves before a gale.

The music from the ballroom swelled, Lady Min's voice announcing the supper dances, a cruel mockery of their plight. In mere moments, the crowd thinned, but it was clear that The Honorable Y/N Y/L/N, daughter of Lord and Lady Y/L/N, and The Earl of Rushmore would become the latest gossip—a scandal writ large against the night sky.

By dawn, Parke’s gentleman's club buzzed with wagers, bets slung like daggers as men debated Lord Rushmore's fate: Would he indeed find himself shackled in matrimony? How quickly would he wed Miss Y/L/N? And would her brother, Mr. Y/L/N, take the Earl’s life for this affront?

“Tough lot there, ol’ chap,” Lord Newton said as Seokjin strode past, his voice laced with mockery. “Too much trouble for a bit of muslin, wouldn’t you agree?”

Seokjin turned, ready to unleash fury, but two strong hands—one muscular, the other wiry—restrained him, anchoring him before he could lash out.

“Save your fists, Kim. There’s nothing to be gained from boors like Newton,” Namjoon, Lord Halston, his cousin, interjected, grounding Seokjin with his steady presence.

The fight ebbed from Seokjin’s body as Halston’s words sank in. Jimin, Lord Whitmore, gave his shoulder a reassuring pat before releasing him, the trio turning from the cowering Lord Bolton as they slipped into a more private parlor.

Both Park and Halston had witnessed the disastrous ball, no explanation needed for the morning’s stirrings around the betting book. Seokjin had already divulged the details of the night’s chaos, though in truth, it mattered little. Reputation was a delicate thing, and in the eyes of the ton, he’d become the villain in Miss Y/L/N’s tale.

“Will you go make your addresses to her father?” Park asked, his tone serious.

“I fear I must,” Seokjin replied, frustration twisting in his gut. “Blast it, I never meant to land myself in this mess.”

“Come now, Kim. The chit seems biddable enough. She won’t put up a fuss if you want your freedoms, will she?” Halston suggested, shaking open the daily news with a flourish.

Seokjin groaned, raking his fingers through his hair, the weight of propriety and duty pressing down on him. “That’s not how the Kim men are bred. Blast!” He tapped his fingers against the table, cursing the moral fibers woven into his being.

A light touch on his forearm brought his attention back. Park’s finger pointed to the door, signaling an approaching visitor. Seokjin looked up to see Anthony Y/L/N enter, flanked by two unfamiliar young men.

“Kim,” Anthony greeted, his tone frosty.

“Mr. Y/L/N,” Seokjin replied, offering a curt nod, the air thickening with tension.

“I’m here to settle the matter of my sister’s honor.”

“I assumed as much. I assure you, I’ll speak to Lord Y/L/N and Miss Y/L/N tomorrow.”

“Did you compromise her on purpose? What was your design?” Anthony stepped forward, rage simmering just beneath the surface.

Seokjin sighed, rising from his chair, emboldened by the silent support of his friends. “I did no such thing. Did she explain what happened?”

“She did, but you should have known better than to be caught in such a position with her—especially with her appearance in such a state. You knew that tongues would wag, and wag they have.”

Seokjin could see Anthony’s fists clenching, breath coming in sharp bursts, his face a mask of barely-contained fury. He’d heard whispers of Anthony’s quick temper but had never imagined standing on the receiving end.

He took a step closer, his finger jabbing into Anthony’s chest. “See here, Y/L/N, I’m prepared to offer the protection of my name and title to your sister. What would you have had me do? Walk away and leave her vulnerable? If I hadn’t intervened, Lord Eisen would have ruined her reputation, violated her very person.”

The words struck a nerve, twisting Anthony’s expression into one of frustration and disbelief.

“Her reputation will be salvaged,” Seokjin pressed on, “and in a few weeks, another scandal will eclipse this one. What more do you want? Will you have your pound of flesh, too?”

They stood nearly nose to nose now, the air between them electric with tension, fists ready to unleash fury.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I require,” Anthony spat, his voice low and dangerous.

“And if you kill me, where does that leave your sister?”

Seokjin should have known better than to expect any form of civility from the brutish Anthony. The man was a wall of muscle, a shadow looming over him like a thunderstorm ready to unleash its fury. Sure, Anthony had height and heft on his side, but Seokjin was no stranger to the dark art of combat, having spent countless hours in the ring at Gentleman Jackson's boxing saloon. There, he had learned the subtleties of tactical fighting—the way a well-placed jab could shift the tide of a bout. Confidence flowed through him like the heavy liquor that coated the floor of the dimly lit establishment.

"Well, then, let us do this in grand fashion, shall we?" Seokjin said, a smirk dancing on his lips, concealing the tremor of anxiety curling in his gut like a serpent ready to strike.

"What did you have in mind?" Anthony grunted, his voice deep and gravelly, like rocks grinding underfoot.

"A match at Jackson's. Until one of us is rendered unconscious or yields." Seokjin’s heart raced at the thought, part anticipation, part dread.

Mr. Y/L/N paused, glancing between his companions as if he were deciphering a silent code in their expressions. After a moment’s consideration, he crossed his meaty arms over his chest, the muscles bulging like a tightly wound spring. "Agreed. When?"

"Tomorrow afternoon. I shall call upon your father and sister in the morning." The words hung in the air, heavy with implication.

"Very well," Anthony replied, the growl in his throat barely concealing his eagerness for confrontation.

As the brutish figure turned to leave, Seokjin felt a sudden surge of courage. "Mr. Y/L/N?"

The response was a low, menacing growl. "What now?"

"I do have one small request."

"And that is?"

"Try not to do too much damage to my face. I would hate to have two black eyes and a crooked nose on my wedding day." He forced a chuckle, but it echoed hollowly against the walls of the club.

"You'll be lucky if that's all I leave you with," Anthony grumbled, the threat hanging in the air like a storm cloud. He turned and strode out of the club, his companions trailing like lost souls in his wake.

Once the tension subsided, Seokjin let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding.

"Park?" he asked, turning to his friend.

"Yes, Kim?"

"Do you still have a connection with a certain Bow Street informant?" His voice was a low murmur, as if the walls had ears.

"I do. Shall I put him on the lookout for Lord Eisen?" Park asked, his brow furrowing.

"If you would be so kind, but nothing official, mind." Seokjin felt the weight of impending doom settle over him like a shroud.

Jimin nodded in understanding, murmuring, "Of course."

"And cousin, will you stand as my second on the morrow?" Seokjin's heart raced at the thought of what was to come.

Namjoon slapped a heavy hand on Seokjin's shoulder, the gesture grounding him. "You needn't ask, my friend. I should be honored to watch you knock some sense into the man."

Y/N sat at her dressing table, her maid working diligently to pin up her hair. As she gazed at her reflection, the visage staring back was a stranger, a ghost of the girl she once was. Her eyes felt like sandpaper, dry and weary, the dark smudges beneath them growing more pronounced, shadows of a soul haunted by secrets.

The day after the ball had stretched on in suffocating isolation, each hour dragging like a lead weight. She preferred the company of her book of prayers, each line a refuge from the storm brewing outside her door. It was far better than facing the ire of her father, who would surely unleash a torrent of censure and berating upon her head.

She had attempted to explain the events with Lord Eisen, how Lord Rushmore's was more the hero than the villain in this twisted tale, but her words had fallen on deaf ears. Ignoring her mother’s advice to stay on the terrace, she had strolled with Lord Eisen, allowing the specter of scandal to wrap its cold fingers around her throat.

Her mother had nearly succumbed to a fit of vapors upon hearing the details. The tips of her father’s waxed moustache twitched with barely suppressed rage, while Anthony, her brother, remained frighteningly silent. Once home, she had been ushered into her father’s study for a thorough dressing down, sent to her room like a recalcitrant child.

With a final pin, her maid bobbed a curtsy and exited Y/N’s bedchamber, leaving her in a silence thick enough to suffocate. Lady Y/L/N had dispatched her own maid with orders for Y/N to don her most modest day gown and report to the formal parlor. With trepidation, she slipped into a simple, light blue frock that covered her to her collarbones, devoid of any embellishments. Her hair twisted into a knot, soft waves framing her face, a fragile semblance of grace.

She took her time nibbling on toast, each bite a reminder of the world outside her door, where shadows danced with whispers of her impending fate. Checking her appearance once more, she steeled herself and made her way to the parlor.

There, she found her mother waiting for her, worry etched into every line of her refined features. Lady Y/L/N had once been a beauty, but the years had wrought their toll, drawing tight the skin around her eyes and pursing her lips into a thin line.

"Good morning, Mother," Y/N said, leaning in to place a gentle kiss on her mother’s cheek, the contact feeling more like a farewell than a greeting.

"Your father is speaking to the Earl of Rushmore. I suggest you prepare yourself for his offer. You’ll be the luckiest girl of the season if he does what is proper and expected."

Stunned, Y/N felt her heart drop into the abyss of despair. This was only her second season, and she was barely prepared for the storm brewing on the horizon. Marriage? To a man she hardly knew, with a reputation as murky as the depths of a shadowy lake?

"Mother, I cannot marry him. I do not even know him. I—"

"Do not entertain any notion of rebellion, Y/N. If he offers, you shall accept. It is the only way to salvage your reputation, which is, at this moment, in tatters after your comfortable coze in Lady Min’s garden." Her mother's voice was sharp, laced with urgency.

"But I... I had hoped to have some kind of affection for the man I married." Her voice trailed off, nearly swallowed by the silence, as tears threatened to spill over.

The rustle of her mother’s voluminous skirts approached, and she felt the settee dip as Lady Y/L/N sat beside her, a gentle finger lifting Y/N’s chin. Their eyes met, and in that moment, she saw the weight of her mother’s own sacrifices reflected back at her.

"My child, I wish it were possible for us all to marry for love. But circumstances dictate otherwise. If you do not accept Lord Rushmore's, your prospects of a good match will vanish. And there are far worse fates than becoming a countess, don't you think?"

As if summoned by fate, the door swung open, and a footman announced Lord Rushmore's and Lord Y/L/N, their arrival heralded like the final note of a dissonant chord.

"My lady, if you will accompany me, there are a few matters we must attend to," her father said, glancing at her mother with a look that brooked no argument. "Y/N, the Earl has a matter of utmost importance to discuss with you."

The footman closed the door, sealing her in a cage of expectation with Lord Rushmore's.

He was breathtakingly handsome, a figure draped in a dark brown topcoat, gold embroidery catching the dim light like whispers of wealth and power. Beneath it, a tan waistcoat clung to him, a gold watch fob glinting like a promise—or a threat. The crisp, white linen neckcloth, simply knotted, was elegant against his throat, while breeches hugged his thighs sinfully until they disappeared into polished boots, a facade of civility masking the predator within.

It seemed that Seokjin had made a valiant attempt to bring order to his hair, but it had either been ruffled by his own restless hands or simply refused to be tamed, a wild, untamed creature defying all attempts at restraint. If one were to judge solely by his disheveled appearance, one might assume he had just rolled out of bed, a thought that sent Y/N's mind spiraling into a frenzy of embarrassment and shame. What was she doing, allowing herself to entertain such visions of him in her most private moments?

As she cataloged his tousled locks and haphazard attire, she caught him doing the very same, his eyes roving over her like a thief scouting for hidden treasures. Suddenly, she felt exposed, vulnerable before this man whose presence filled the room with an unsettling energy. She ducked her head, her tongue a heavy weight in her mouth, unable to find a single word to break the silence.

"Miss Y/L/N, I … How do you fare?" His voice was hesitant, laced with a nervous edge that made her heart race.

She glanced up just in time to see him pinch his eyes shut, as if steeling himself against a tempest of emotions.

"I am as fine as can be expected," she replied, her words feeling hollow in the charged atmosphere.

"Yes, well. To the matter at hand, then." He cleared his throat, the sound echoing like a distant thunderclap, and positioned himself in front of her, a statue of formal propriety. "Your father and I have discussed the situation, and I am prepared to offer you the protection of my name. I should have exercised more discretion at the ball, and for that, I apologize."

His hands clasped behind his back, his tone dripping with cold formality, the chill of icicles punctuating his every syllable. This was not the vibrant man she had encountered amidst the chaos of the ball. No, this was a figure of duty, an automaton wrapped in layers of ice, and she hated him for it.

"The protection of your name?" she echoed, her voice trembling slightly. "And what exactly would that mean?" She widened her eyes, feigning innocence, though she was no naive girl fresh from the nursery. She understood that marriage in their society came with varying degrees of commitment, some more binding than others.

His forehead wrinkled as he coughed, the sound a harsh rasp, before he paced toward the fireplace. Leaning on the mantle, he turned his gaze toward her, and she stood frozen in place, her spine straightening, shoulders squared, meeting his eyes with an intensity that seemed to draw the very air from the room.

"You would be my wife," he said, words flowing from him like a river, cold and unyielding. "The Countess of Rushmore. You would receive a generous allowance to purchase whatever you desire, and any scandal that may have tongues wagging today would practically disappear once we are wed."

"Do you wish to marry me?" The question escaped her lips before she could cage it, catching him off guard, a momentary flicker of surprise crossing his handsome face.

"Of course I do. I feel immensely… protective of you. I care a great deal for you." His eyes bore into hers, but she sensed a wall between them, one built on duty rather than desire.

"And is there anyone else for whom you care a great deal?" The words trembled on her tongue, and she felt the atmosphere thicken, charged with unspoken truths.

"I beg your pardon, but I don’t follow," he replied, brow furrowing in confusion.

She twisted her fingers together, summoning every ounce of courage as she faced the specter of societal norms that haunted her thoughts. "Do you support a… a mistress?" The word slipped out in a whisper, the weight of it heavy as it filled the space between them. She glanced up and saw his eyes widen, then quickly cast her gaze down, words tumbling out in a rush. "Because I do not believe I could stand such an arrangement. I would rather be a ruined woman and marry a nobody and live in the country for the rest of my life than to share a husband with another woman." Her voice faded into nothing, grounded firmly in the floorboards beneath her.

"I do not have a mistress," he replied, the certainty in his voice like a lifeline. "Once we are wed, I will remain faithful to you and you alone. You have nothing to worry about on that score."

Relief washed over her for a fleeting moment before the weight of his words sank in. If he had no mistress, then he would expect a marriage that was not just a façade but a binding of souls, in name and in deed. She swallowed thickly and nodded, her heart a tumultuous storm of fear and longing.

"Y/N," he began, then hesitated, as if the weight of her name held more gravity than he anticipated. "May I call you Y/N?"

"Yes, my lord."

He had moved closer, now standing directly in front of her, the space between them charged with a palpable energy. "Will you call me Seokjin?" he asked, his voice dropping to a soothing tenor that wrapped around her insides like a warm embrace, calming the quivering nerves.

Tentatively, she peeked up from beneath her eyelashes, finding his gaze steady, a promise held within its depths. She nodded, a silent acceptance.

"Very well. Y/N, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?" His words, heavy with intent, settled over her like a shroud.

"Yes, Seokjin. I will marry you."

In that moment, as the promise hung in the air, she felt the world shift beneath her, a groundless fear mingling with an unexpected thrill. What lay ahead was shrouded in shadows, and yet, she found herself stepping forward into the unknown, hand in hand with a man who, in this moment, could be both her salvation and her doom.

It had been two days since the boxing match with Y/N, a brutal affair that had gone better than Seokjin had dared to hope. Anthony had landed only a single glancing blow to his jaw, leaving a faint bruise that shadowed his skin like a lingering ghost. But the rest of him was a veritable tapestry of pain—blues and purples smeared across his torso, greens and yellows blooming like grotesque flowers. He had given as good as he got, though, and after twelve grueling rounds, Gentleman Jackson had declared the contest a tie. Both men had stood, panting and bloodied, a testament to their resilience and foolishness.

As he climbed into the high-perch phaeton, wincing at the pressure on his bruised ribs, he took the reins from his tiger. Concealing his injuries from Y/N would be no easy feat. The drive to the Y/L/N home was filled with thoughts that gnawed at him like a persistent rat. He couldn’t shake the notion that he had unwittingly fallen into a parson’s mousetrap, the kind of snare that snapped shut when you least expected it.

It wasn’t exactly a shock that Y/N had accepted his proposal. Had she not, London would have turned into a bleak wasteland for her and her family, the whispers of scandal echoing like a funeral dirge. No, the real surprise was the absence of panic that usually clawed at him like a feral animal. He felt no urge to flee, no desire to escape as he had with every other prospective bride. Not even the promise of fidelity had made him balk. Instead, he felt an unsettling calm settle over him, a strange sort of acceptance.

But one thing did trouble him: the absence of Lord Eisen. The man who had wronged Y/N had become a phantom, slipping through the cracks of society’s brittle façade. Seokjin felt a duty to call the villain to account for his behavior, and if an apology was not forthcoming, a duel would have to suffice—a duel to defend her honor, the stakes set high against the backdrop of the London social season.

To his surprise, Y/N was ready only moments after he entered the foyer. His feet seemed to sprout roots, anchoring him to the spot as he watched her descend the staircase. She wore a fashionable lemon-colored dress that clung to her slim waist, the kind of style that screamed sophistication, while her straw bonnet was adorned with a delicate spray of white and yellow flowers. Yet, despite the beauty of the scene, her smile was an unsettling mask—forced, like a stage actor trying desperately to remember their lines.

Perhaps she was not as pleased with her lot as she ought to be. Wasn’t every young woman supposed to dream of snagging a peer for a husband? Seokjin didn’t think himself a hardship to look at, and he had promised her generosity. It left him genuinely perplexed at the cloudiness of her demeanor, like storm clouds brewing overhead. He would have to suss her out during their drive.

“Good afternoon, Miss Y/L/N. You are as lovely as a summer day,” he said, taking her gloved hand and pressing his lips to it, a gesture that felt both tender and fraught with unspoken tension.

“Thank you, my lord,” she replied, that delicious blush creeping into her cheeks, bright as the dawn.

“Have you driven in a phaeton before?” he inquired, trying to gauge her mood, the air thick with an undercurrent of something he couldn't quite name.

“No, I have not. Is it terribly high?” she asked, a hint of uncertainty creeping into her voice.

“The highest,” he grinned, tucking her hand through his arm, the warmth of her presence grounding him amidst his swirling thoughts.

They crept along Rotten Row, the most fashionable hour for seeing and being seen. Nods and exchanges flitted between them like whispers in a crowded theater, laughter and gossip hanging heavy in the air. Park and Halston stopped to chat, their words a playful torment that turned Seokjin’s ears to fire. To her credit, Y/N managed to handle his friends with a practiced expertise, her demure laughter a welcome balm.

But as they parted ways, an open barouche approached, filled with the resident dragons of the beau monde—women so high in the instep they would snub even their own kin if it threatened their standing. Seokjin braced himself, prepared for the cut direct that would slice through the pretense of civility. He turned on his most charming smile, tipping the brim of his hat to them, a mask of confidence. To his relief, they nodded at him and Y/N, their plumed hats bobbing like strange birds pecking for seeds, momentarily offering her the protection that came with his name.

He directed the phaeton down a less congested avenue, glancing at his fiancée. “I’ve acquired a special license to marry. I thought this Friday would give you enough time to have your maid pack your things and deliver them to my home. Is that enough time for you to prepare?”

Her gaze drifted, unfocused as she twirled her parasol in lazy circles, caught somewhere between anticipation and anxiety. “Yes. I believe that will be enough time. Mother has a modiste working ‘round the clock, but my gown should be ready by then.” A laugh erupted from her, bright but edged with a hint of disbelief. “The poor woman nearly fell over herself for the privilege of making the new Countess of Kim’s wedding dress.” Her voice trailed off, shyness washing over her as if she had stepped into a cold river. “We’ll be going to Bond Street tomorrow for my other bride clothes, so there is little else for me to assemble.”

He was disarmed by her effortless humility, the sincerity of her words only adding to her appeal, like a faint light in the darkness.

“Do you have any opinion on the location? Somewhere small and private, perhaps?”

Had this been a typical courtship, he would have expected them to reserve St. George’s in Hanover Square, the kind of place where fashionable ton weddings occurred. His mother would’ve insisted upon it, a parade of acquaintances, all eager to witness the spectacle. But this was no ordinary wedding; it was a necessity—a desperate plea for normalcy in a world that felt increasingly chaotic. A smaller chapel would better serve their needs, he thought, yet he couldn’t shake the sense that their union was more than just a formality.

“Whatever you think best,” she said, her voice flat, as if she were reading from a script that had long lost its meaning.

Seokjin snapped the reins, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the silence that enveloped them. He tried to ignore the unease pooling in his gut, still grappling with the enigma of Y/N’s enthusiasm—or lack thereof. Just then, the wheels on his side of the phaeton jolted over a substantial pothole, and Y/N slammed into him, the impact hard enough to make the breath hiss from his lungs.

The sudden gasp nearly made him curse, but he swallowed it down, letting his hand drift to the bruised ribs that throbbed beneath his shirt. “I’m terribly sorry, my lo—Seokjin. I didn’t think I jarred you so.”

“No, it’s not your fault. I… I’m just careless with the ribbons,” he replied, teeth clenched like a vice.

Her brow furrowed in confusion, as if she were trying to decipher a foreign language. He waved away her concern, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace. “Why do you seem so displeased with our arrangement?”

She sighed, her mouth curving downward, eyes fixated on something far beyond the horizon. “It’s rather silly, really.”

“Nothing important to you is silly,” he countered, slowing the horses until they came to a stop beneath a canopy of fragrant trees, their leaves whispering secrets to one another. He turned to face her fully, heart hammering like a ticking time bomb.

“I suppose I just feel… very inexperienced.”

“Shall we try and remedy that, my darling?” He took her hand, cradling it gently as if it were something fragile, something that might shatter at the slightest misstep.

“Whatever do you mean?” Her voice dropped to a whisper that danced over him, sparking warmth in the chill air, stirring something deep within his chest.

“May I try something?”

She blinked, once, twice, the uncertainty in her gaze unraveling him. “Yes?”

He leaned closer, slowly, carefully, as if drawing nearer to a wild creature, waiting for it to either flee or surrender. Patience enveloped them, thick and electric, rekindling that tension from the ball, drawing them together like moths to a flickering flame.

When her eyes fluttered shut, he crossed the distance and pressed his lips to hers. It was a gentle exploration, soft and hesitant, the taste of sweetness enveloping him like a shroud. Her rigid posture melted against him, a warmth spreading through his veins. He relished the sound of her breath hitching, the quiet gasps of surprise that filled the air like a prayer.

But reality loomed, a footman lurking at the back of the phaeton, the world of Hyde Park still swirling around them. He savored the way her hands clung to his biceps, the way she leaned into him, trusting and vulnerable.

As their kiss lingered, he pulled back, heart racing, and squeezed her hands gently. “Despite what you may have heard of my reputation, I want you to be happy. It’s my foremost pursuit. You’ve come to mean the world to me, Y/N. Once we are wed, I hope you will let me court you properly.”

She bit her lip, turning her face just enough to hide a smile beneath the brim of her bonnet. “That sounds lovely.”

A week passed—an entire week!—since their wedding, and Seokjin had done nothing more than kiss her lightly before she retreated to her separate bedchamber. Days melted into one another in their Mayfair townhouse, filled with light conversation about likes and dislikes, books, and the shifting tides of politics. Each night, he would escort her to her door, kiss her as one might kiss a sibling, and disappear into the silence of his own room.

Y/N had mentally prepared herself for the duty all wives were expected to perform, and the absence of that first night stung like a phantom limb. With each passing day, her fondness for Seokjin grew—perhaps even love—but every time he sent her to bed alone felt like a deeper wound, a rejection wrapped in tenderness.

Staring at the heavy brocaded tapestries above her, she fumed, a tempest brewing in her chest. Enough was enough. She threw off the covers, slipped into her dressing gown, and marched through the hushed rooms until she found his. His valet must have retired, for the air was thick with stillness and the promise of secrets.

Without so much as a knock, she flung open the door to his bedroom and halted. There he stood, just out of reach of the fire’s glow, a vision of raw masculinity with one hand resting on the counterpane of his bed. Her breath caught in her throat, captivated by the lean muscles of his back, the dimples above his shapely behind. But then she saw the shadows—fading bruises that painted his torso like a cruel map of his suffering.

“Good Lord,” she gasped, horror mingling with concern. “What happened to you?”

His shoulders slumped as he shrugged into his dressing gown, the fabric whispering secrets against his skin. He approached her, tying the sash, hands sliding into the pockets like a man trying to hide the evidence of his pain.

“It’s nothing, my sweet. Please don’t concern yourself.”

“Is this why you have not touched me since our wedding?”

“I didn’t want you to see me in such a battered state. If I were to do more than kiss you, I wouldn’t be able to control myself.”

“What happened?”

“An overly enthusiastic sparring partner at Jackson’s boxing saloon.”

Timidly, she spread open the top of his gown. Her heart raced as she traced her fingers over his bruised skin, circling the marks of violence like a moth drawn to a flame. “Who was your partner?”

“I… can’t say as—”

“Please be honest with me. I cannot abide liars.”

He paused, gaze shifting from her eyes to the floor. “It was your brother,” he confessed, the weight of his words pressing down like an anvil.

“And he is the one who gave you the bruise here, I suppose?” Her fingers brushed against the stubble on his jaw, memories of their earlier kiss flooding back, tainted now by the knowledge of violence.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“He felt the need to defend your honor. I was the only target available.”

Her grip tightened on his lapels, a surge of anger coursing through her veins. “How positively stupid! You had already offered for me, and I had accepted. Why would you let him pummel you so?”

His soothing voice gripped her, but she wanted no part of it. She stepped away, feeling sick, as if the world had spun off its axis. “And what good would that do? Will you beat him into unconsciousness?”

He winced, a sheepish smile flickering across his face like the dying light of a sunset. “Will you challenge him to a duel?” she asked, her voice laced with disbelief. When he said nothing, her breath hitched, and she gasped, “You would leave me a widow less than a month after our wedding? A marriage we haven’t even consummated?”

His eyes flared like flames licking at dry wood, and he stepped forward, closing the distance between them in one swift motion. His hands gripped her arms, pulling her face to his, their noses almost touching. “Don’t for a second think, Y/N, that I don’t want to consummate our marriage. I’ve burned for you since the moment we crossed that threshold as husband and wife.”

Then, in a rush, his lips crashed against hers, an urgent storm of desire. His hands slipped from her arms, gliding over her shoulders, up her neck, cupping her face with a tenderness that belied the tempest brewing within him. He kissed her, nipping and sucking at the tender flesh along her neck, each brush of his mouth a brush against the very core of her being.

Dizzy, she felt their bodies meld together, pressed tightly from knees to chest, sensations swirling like a maelstrom. When his lips reached her ear, he whispered, “It’s a matter of honor,” and with that simple phrase, she snapped back to reality, the haze of desire dissipating like fog in the morning sun.

“Go then,” she said, her voice sharp as a knife, pushing away from him. “Seek your satisfaction, but do not come to me. I could not bear it if I gave you my entire self only to have you killed over something so trivial now. Y/N Y/L/N is no more; only Lady Y/N Kim, Countess of Rushmore, remains, a woman of standing, one of the most sought-after guests in London.”

With that, she turned and fled to her chamber, locking the doors behind her as if sealing away the chaos of her heart. She collapsed onto her bed, sobbing until her tears ran dry, feeling the weight of her world pressing down upon her.

Seokjin waited for over an hour, but she did not join him in the breakfast parlor. He could feel her vexation in the air, thick and heavy, like a summer storm hanging just before the downpour. If only she could understand how her honor intertwined with his own, how he could not simply walk away from the challenge that had been laid before him.

The prospect of a duel with Eisen loomed, but Seokjin preferred other avenues to address the scoundrel's transgressions. He was ready to confront the man, but only if words failed. Until then, he could only wait, his heart heavy with concern and unspoken words.

He left the door to his study open, hoping to hear the sound of her footsteps. The empty fireplace crackled softly, but the only thing he could focus on was the gnawing worry about her silence. Just then, his butler knocked and announced Lord Whitmore’s arrival.

Seokjin rose to greet his friend, who brushed aside the butler’s offer to take his coat and hat.

“I don’t believe I shall tarry long, Forbes, but thank you,” Lord Whitmore said, glancing at Seokjin with a look that could only be described as appraising.

“Morning, Park. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“You look terrible, Kim. Is the little wife not pleasing you?”

“Speak another word on that subject, and you may find yourself missing a few teeth,” Seokjin growled, tension flooding his veins.

“Easy, friend. I have other news. Eisen’s been spotted.”

At the mention of the man’s name, Seokjin felt his entire body tense, a primal instinct surging through him, the urge to fight. He flexed his fingers, pacing the length of the room. “Where? Has he returned home?”

“No, he was seen last night at a gaming hell near Covent Garden.”

“Your Bow Street friend is tailing him, I presume?”

“Of course.”

“Then what are we doing standing around woolgathering?”

When they found Jonathon Bartlett, Viscount Eisen, he lay slumped over the gaming table, still dazed from the previous night's indulgences. The weary proprietor explained how he’d tried to send the viscount home, but Eisen had threatened violence if anyone laid a hand on him. It went without saying that the authorities weren’t called in, given the establishment’s questionable legality. But that didn’t deter Seokjin; he was resolute in seeking justice for his wife.

“Lord Eisen, I would like a word with you.”

The viscount lifted his head, eyes bloodshot and watering, about to lay it back down when comprehension finally broke through the fog of drink clouding his mind. “Rushmore? Is that you? Poor sot you are, shackled to a fish like her,” he began to laugh, but before he could rise, he slumped back down, surrendering to the inebriation that held him captive.

“You behaved in a most heinous way toward my wife, Eisen,” Seokjin said, his voice steady as granite, muscles taut like a bowstring. He stood with his arms braced on the table, the weight of his indignation anchoring him against the crude laughter of the man before him.

Eisen leaned back, his arrogance filling the space like stale smoke. “You see, Rushmore,” he continued, as if Seokjin’s words were mere whispers against the roar of his own hubris, “it’s not good form to take the chit astride you in plain view of her papa. One must be smarter about these things. At least I had the decency to carry her off to a nice, dark corner of the garden for some real fun.”

“Eisen, I warn you—”

“Doesn’t she have the creamiest thighs you’ve ever seen? A right shame she had to ruin everything by carrying on like a hellcat. What I would give to sink into th—”

In the heartbeat it took for the air to thicken with tension, Lord Rushmore's fist connected with Eisen’s nose, a sickening crunch echoing through the room as the viscount crumpled to the floor, blood spilling like a crimson secret onto the polished wood.

Seokjin would have launched himself atop the man, would have rained down blows until his fury found satisfaction, had it not been for Jimin’s firm hands grasping his shoulders, holding him back like a rabid dog on a leash.

Jonathon, now upright but wobbling, wiped the blood from his face, confusion mingling with rage. “What the devil are you playing at, Rushmore?”

“You will apologize to Lady Rushmore.”

“She barely got what she deserved, the tease. Making eyes and overtures all night, then turning into a proper little prudish thing…”

Seokjin slowly removed his leather gloves, peeling them off with a deliberate precision that bespoke his simmering wrath. He straightened each finger, each gesture methodical, before slapping the gloves across Eisen’s face, satisfaction blooming within him as he noted the three pink scars Y/N had left on the viscount’s cheek.

Eisen let out a sick, hysterical bark of laughter. “You’re challenging me, then?”

Seokjin remained a statue, unyielding.

“What’s it to be? Another bout of fisticuffs at Jackson’s? I assure you, I won’t spare your pretty face like the Y/L/N lad did.”

“Pistols, tomorrow at dawn. Who is your second?”

Eisen narrowed his eyes, scanning the growing crowd in the club with a predator’s focus. “Lord Alec Winters,” he replied, a cold gleam dancing in his gaze.

“Lord Halston will be in contact with him to determine the field of honor. Good day.”

As they mounted their horses, Lord Whitmore turned to Seokjin, his expression grave and weighted with concern. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

“What’s done is done,” Seokjin replied, each word heavy with the inevitability of consequence. “I cannot recall the challenge without appearing a coward.”

“Very well, my lord. I shall stand at your side with Halston.”

Seokjin spent the rest of the day cloistered in his study, though hiding would be a more accurate term. Y/N was noticeably absent when he returned home after issuing his challenge. The butler had handed him a note stating that his wife was spending the day with her particular friends, Ladies Jeon and Jung, but it made no mention of when she would return.

He ate his meal alone, the silence in the room amplifying the thrum of his thoughts, before returning once more to the sanctuary of his study. After pouring himself a generous glass of port, he opened the case that held his dueling pistols. He examined the moving parts, ensuring everything was in proper working order, the metallic tang of the weapons grounding him amidst the swirling chaos in his mind.

It was well after dark when he heard her voice echo through the foyer. “Is Lord Rushmore's at home?” she asked, her tone light but edged with something he couldn’t quite decipher.

“Yes, my lady. He is in the study,” came the butler’s formal reply.

“Thank you, Forbes. That will be all.”

Before he could consider the implications of the pistols laid out on his desk, she appeared in the doorway, her presence a sharp contrast to the darkness of the room.

“Seokjin, I just wanted to…” Her voice faded as her gaze fell on the dueling pistols, an expressionless veneer sliding over her features like a heavy curtain. “I just wanted to let you know I was home.”

“Y/N…”

“Goodnight, Seokjin.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating, as she turned and left, the door closing behind her with a finality that echoed like a gunshot in the night.

She couldn’t sleep a wink. The moment she’d spotted the gleaming pistols on Seokjin’s desk, nausea twisted in her stomach like a coiled snake. All night, she lay in the dark, listening for any sound from his bedchamber, but there was nothing. The silence stretched, oppressive and thick, until her unease multiplied, leaving her trembling, a leaf caught in an unforgiving wind.

In the pre-dawn darkness, she lit a single candle, its flickering flame casting long shadows as she made her way to the kitchen, seeking a biscuit or something to settle her roiling stomach. But as she crept into the dimly lit space, her heart plummeted when she overheard Forbes speaking to Mrs. Cope, the housekeeper.

“He’s goin’ through with that bloody duel?” Mrs. Cope’s voice dripped with concern, thick as treacle.

“It would seem so,” Forbes replied, his tone grave.

“The poor girl,” Mrs. Cope continued, her voice low, “she was so out of sorts yesterday, and just when I thought they were beginnin’ to warm up to each other…”

Madness. Absolute madness. How could she sit idly by, waiting for news that might shatter her world, wondering if her husband lay dead in a field of honor? Clearing her throat, she startled the two servants. “Forbes, please have a footman saddle my horse.”

His eyebrows raised slightly, but he schooled his features, nodding with a single, curt motion.

“And when you’re done with him, bring him here and I’ll box his ears,” Mrs. Cope added with a wink, a twinkle of mischief in her eye.

Y/N knew the housekeeper had cared for Seokjin since he was a lad of seventeen, just stepping into the world as an Earl after his father’s death. She’d watched Mrs. Cope fuss over him like a second mother, a bond forged in years of loyalty and affection.

“You can count on it, to be sure, Mrs. Cope,” Y/N promised, her resolve hardening.

She rushed back to her chamber, dressing in her riding habit without a moment’s thought for her maid. Tying her hair into a simple queue, she ignored the elaborate hats hanging in her dressing room, knowing they would do little to comfort her.

Forbes held the door open, and as she passed, he murmured, “Hyde Park, just north of the Serpentine.”

“Thank you, Forbes,” she replied, determination coursing through her veins.

The groom helped her into the side-saddle, and she urged her horse into a slow trot until she found her seat. Then she pressed the beast into a gallop, the wind whipping around her face as the world blurred by. The gray mist of foreboding cloaked the park, but she pressed on toward the bridge, morning light peeking over the horizon, the air crisp and biting.

As she crossed the bridge, her heart raced at the sight of a gathering of gentlemen, tension crackling in the air. Two men stood poised to fire, and she could faintly hear Lord Halston calling out, “Ready. Aim. Fire!”

Time slowed as she careened toward the group, her voice piercing the morning hush. “NO!” But it was too late; the shots rang out, echoing in her ears like the toll of a death knell.

She leapt from her horse, barreling through the crowd of men, her heart pounding like a war drum. “Seokjin!” she called, desperation clawing at her throat as she broke through the front line. Lord Eisen stood to her left, his pistol still raised, confusion painted across his face. To her right, she saw Seokjin, his arm raised to the sky, expression a tempest of fury and concern.

“I am satisfied,” he declared, his voice steady despite the chaos, “Let it be known that Lord Eisen is a debaucher of innocence and a dishonorable blackguard.” He lowered his pistol, striding toward her with purpose.

But before he could reach her, another gunshot shattered the stillness, a sharp crack in the fragile morning. Horror twisted in her gut as Seokjin howled in pain, crumpling to the ground, blood blooming like dark petals through the fabric of his breeches. Disapproving murmurs erupted from the gathered crowd, a cacophony of gasps and curses directed at Lord Eisen.

Her focus narrowed to Seokjin, writhing on the ground as blood seeped from his wound. She fell to her knees, hands trembling as they fluttered over his injured leg.

“Stay back, Y/N, this is no place for you,” he gritted out, his voice strained with pain. “Park, take her back home.”

“No. I’m not leaving. I can help.”

“Dammit, woman, why will you not do as I say?”

“Because I love you!” she shouted, her heart pounding like a drum in her chest. “And I won’t leave your side.” She cupped his sweat-dampened cheek, searching his eyes for any sign of hope. “Lord Whitmore, is there a physician present?” she asked, desperation lacing her voice, unwilling to tear her gaze from Seokjin.

“Here, my lady. I’ll just see to binding the wound,” a gray-haired gentleman replied, a black satchel slung over his shoulder.

Seokjin threw his head back on the grass, a roar of agony ripping from his throat. “Be quick about it. I’m not sure how much longer I can remain conscious!”

Once the physician bound his leg, Park and Halston helped Seokjin into the doctor’s carriage, then Park handed Y/N inside, her heart hammering with fear as they made their way home, Seokjin’s head resting on her lap, his warmth a fragile reminder of life.

When they arrived at Kim House, Halston administered copious amounts of brandy until Seokjin was thoroughly foxed, the alcohol dulling the edges of his pain.

The doctor worked efficiently, extracting the bullet with practiced hands, though he was the recipient of a lengthy string of vitriol from the Earl. “Curse you, Eisen!” Seokjin spat, his voice thick with indignation. The doctor promised to return the following day to check the dressing and promptly exited the room.

Y/N remained at Seokjin’s side, mopping his forehead with a cool cloth, his features a pale shadow of their usual vigor. He was insensible from both the liquor and the laudanum, yet he managed to crack his eyes open, a flicker of recognition igniting within.

“Did you mean it?” he asked, voice slurred yet filled with an urgency that made her heart leap.

“Why was your pistol raised when I arrived?” She couldn’t help but question, a mix of fear and frustration welling within her.

“I shot into the air,” he scowled, eyes narrowing. “The cur wasn’t worth even a single bullet.” He paused, searching her gaze with an intensity that made her breath hitch. “Did you mean what you said? That you love me?”

“Yes, you ridiculously honorable man. I love you,” she confessed, her heart swelling with the truth of her words.

“As I love you,” he replied, his voice softer, a gentle lullaby beneath the tumult of the day. “’Tis why I had to confront him the way I did.” His words were heavy with sleep, yet fervent as though each syllable was an anchor in the storm.

“Well, you’re going to have to come up with a different way of expressing it. I don’t think I could bear to see you… For a moment, I thought you were dead.” The weight of those words pressed down on her, a chill creeping through her veins.

“I shall never leave your side again, my love.” His voice softened, eyes fluttering closed, his breathing slowing like the ebb of the tide.

For a heartbeat, she thought he had finally succumbed to sleep, but then she felt the gentle pressure of his hand around hers, a tether that bound them even amidst the shadows, a promise whispered in the dark.

"I fear I shall be a useless husband for the next several weeks until the wound is well on its way to healing." Seokjin's gaze pierced through her, an intensity lurking behind his words that took her a moment to grasp.

A rush of crimson crept up her neck, and she quickly averted her gaze. “Don’t be vulgar. It is far too early in the morning for such talk.”

"I will require a great deal of nursing and special care, you know." His voice was a teasing whisper, laced with something more primal that made her heart race.

"Yes, the doctor explained what would need to be done. I shall take extra special care of you, my lord," she replied, tracing a delicate finger over the smattering of hair on his chest, the softness of the moment shattered by the storm brewing beneath the surface.

"Vixen," he murmured, eyes fluttering shut, a smile playing on his lips. "These next weeks will be torture."

"I do hope so," she shot back, her tone teasing but edged with sincerity. "Perhaps next time you won’t be so quick to engage in something as foolish as this."

She leaned in, pressing her lips to his, the kiss igniting a warmth that spread through them both. Seokjin’s hand found the back of her neck, holding her gently in place as he feasted on her mouth, nibbling and sucking, each sigh from him a reminder of the thin line between pleasure and pain.

With a soft thud, his head dropped back onto the pillow, and he looked deeply into her eyes. “When my leg has healed, the first order of business will be to see to the matter of an heir for the Earldom.”

“Agreed,” she whispered, lying down next to him on the bed for the first time, a sense of gravity settling over them.

Meanwhile, Lord Rushmore stood with his hands casually clasped behind his back, watching a stable boy lead a striking pair of chestnut horses around the yard at Tattersalls. He had no real intention of acquiring any new horseflesh; he had simply agreed to meet Lords Park and Halston there, his mind elsewhere, adrift in thoughts of a summer retreat at Willow Hill, his country estate.

It had been an arduous month, the wound inflicted by Lord Eisen a constant reminder of his vulnerability. Kim hated being an invalid, but Y/N’s determined care was a salve to his wounded pride, particularly when she offered to help him bathe. Yet now, as he was finally cleared to bear weight on his injured leg, her shyness returned, casting a pall over the intimacy they had shared.

“Kim!” Namjoon’s voice cut through his reverie, yanking him back to the present.

“How goes it, Halston?” Seokjin asked, forcing a smile.

“Well, very well. And how does the livestock look?” Namjoon’s tone was light, masking the concern lurking just beneath.

Seokjin circled the courtyard, moving smoothly as Namjoon trailed slowly behind.

“Still walking like you’ve got a dry stick in your boot instead of a leg, I see?” Lord Whitmore called from behind, his friendly jab punctuating the air.

Seokjin turned, a rueful grin tugging at his lips. He had long since stopped limping, yet the familiar teasing felt like a balm, a reminder of their shared camaraderie.

Jimin stepped up beside Seokjin, tilting his head slightly. “They’re preparing the gallows at Newgate,” he said, his voice low, the gravity of his words palpable.

“I see,” Seokjin replied, his brow furrowing. “And has your Bow Street source heard anything that would be of particular interest to me?”

Jimin shook his head, frustration evident. “He wasn’t able to get a look at the list of condemned.”

“After shooting you in the leg and then strangling his new bride to death, it would serve him right to dance upon nothing. I shudder when I think of the reports that were given as to her physical condition before death. The man is a monster.” Namjoon’s voice grew impassioned, his anger simmering just below the surface. He despised violence against women, a sentiment that burned hotter with each word. “If I had the chance, I’d dispatch Eisen with my bare hands.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Seokjin replied, the heat of righteous indignation flaring in his chest. “Though I must admit, it would take Herculean effort to prevent a towering rage from overcoming me if I were to find Y/N with another man—and in the very act, no less.”

Namjoon opened his mouth to protest, but Seokjin raised a hand. “No, friend, I understand. Her dalliance certainly did not merit her death. If Eisen is to be hanged, he has certainly earned his fate.”

The three stood in a tense silence as the auctioneer began the bidding on a black thoroughbred racehorse, the tension in the air palpable.

“Halston, are you bidding today?” Jimin asked, his voice light, yet curiosity tinged his tone.

Namjoon’s brows pinched together, shaking his head. “No, I haven’t seen anything that strikes my fancy.”

“Shall we be off to Park’s, then?” Jimin’s brow rose expectantly, glancing between Namjoon and Seokjin.

“Not for me, lads. I must see to a few last-minute preparations before we leave for Willow Hill.”

They strolled a short distance away from Tattersalls, where Seokjin’s coach awaited.

“We shall join you in a week’s time,” Namjoon said, a promise hanging in the air.

“I look forward to a few weeks in the country,” Seokjin replied, a smile creeping onto his lips despite the heavy weight of recent events. “Though I daresay this house party will be quite different from those of past years, with Lady Rushmore now leading you about by the nose.” Jimin chuckled, nudging Namjoon with his elbow, their shared mirth a small reprieve from the shadows of their reality. They exchanged a pitying glance with Seokjin, who merely smiled, shaking his head, caught in the bittersweet nature of love, loss, and the unbearable weight of impending fate.

"I'll have you know that in addition to her Mama and Papa, Lady Rushmore has also invited the Jeons and the Jungs. I would not doubt she has matchmaking on the mind." The words tumbled from Seokjin’s mouth, heavy with implication, each syllable dripping with the kind of mischief that hangs thick in the air before a storm.

Jimin scoffed, shaking his head. "The day I fall into a parson's mousetrap, as you did, is the day I shall kick the bucket from under my own feet and take a short drop."

"Ah, my dear Park, there are a great many advantages to having a wife," Seokjin replied, climbing into the carriage, the sound of his voice echoing like a warning bell against the backdrop of laughter and banter.

"Does that mean you're no longer living the life of a monk?" Jimin called after him, his words laced with a teasing edge. As Seokjin gave two swift raps to the roof of the carriage, the laughter of his friends faded, oblivious to the rich tapestry of pleasure that a loving wife waiting at home could weave into a man's life.

The scene that greeted Seokjin upon his arrival home was chaos incarnate. Maids bustled about like frantic bees, arms laden with linens and other household goods, while footmen heaved large trunks and portmanteaus down the stairs, the very air vibrating with urgency.

He nodded as he passed various servants, each one bobbing curtsies or bowing stiffly before resuming their frenetic tasks. But as he reached the top of the stairs, a familiar voice cut through the cacophony—Y/N, directing her maid with a calm authority that belied the frenzy around her.

"I'm afraid I'll need the basin with me inside the coach. Heaven help me if I should cast up my crumpets during the journey. Lord Rushmore's has yet to witness such a distasteful episode. I fear I shall die of mortification if he were to witness such unpleasantness."

A flicker of irritation sparked within Seokjin at the thought of her hiding an illness from him, a dark cloud threatening to obscure his sunny disposition. He had every intention of chastising her for keeping silent about her health, but that resolve evaporated like morning mist when he rounded the corner into their bedroom.

There she was, bent over a valise, sorting through her chemises and nightdresses, a vision of domesticity that stole the breath from his lungs.

The maid was the first to notice him. He raised a finger to his lips and nodded toward the door, signaling his desire for privacy. She nodded once and slipped out, closing the door without so much as a whisper.

Seokjin moved across the room, his footsteps muffled by the plush woven rug beneath him, until he stood directly behind his still-leaning wife.

"Liza, have you already packed my tan kid glo—" He gripped her hips, pulling her backside against him, eliciting a shriek of surprise. When she spun around, he caught her in his arms, her wide eyes a mirror of astonishment.

"Hello, my love."

"Seokjin! How you startled me." She swatted her hand against his chest, but the smile creeping across her lips melted the tension from her flushed features, leaving only warmth in its wake.

"I am sorry for that, but I was loath to interrupt my view of your delightful figure."

He stroked his finger along her cheekbone, which bloomed with a telltale blush. She studied him as he trailed the same finger down her throat and around the back of her neck, delighting in the shivers that coursed through her at his touch. Leaning down, he followed the path with the tip of his nose, stopping momentarily to graze the tender flesh behind her ear with his lips.

"My lord," she whispered, and he felt the weight of that title hang between them like a breathless promise.

"Yes, my lady?"

He continued to kiss and nibble his way across her jaw and up to her lips, savoring the sweet aftertaste of honey that lingered from her tea. She responded with equal enthusiasm, suckling his lower lip and tilting her head for a better angle. After what felt like hours, she finally pulled away, gasping for breath.

"Seokjin, there is too much to do." She leaned away from him, perhaps expecting him to release her, but he tightened his grip around her waist, kissing her again, lost in the moment.

"We have a moment, do we not?" he murmured against her lips, the world outside fading into insignificance.

Suddenly, she stiffened in his arms, and he instinctively relaxed his hold. Her hand flew to her mouth, and her eyes widened with a dawning horror. He let her go as she rushed to the washstand, emptying the contents of her stomach into the basin.

With purposeful strides, he crossed the room and laid a gentle hand on her back, offering comfort as she heaved, the sound echoing in the quiet of the room. When she was finished, he extended his handkerchief and waited, heart pounding in his chest.

She shuffled to the tea tray, returning to the basin with a cup full of lukewarm tea. Swishing mouthfuls and spitting them back into the basin, she did her best to maintain some semblance of delicacy, but her weariness was palpable.

When she finally turned to face him, the rosy flush had drained from her cheeks, replaced by an ashen pallor that sent a chill through him. How long had she been hiding her illness?

"Must you look at me with such pity?" she asked, setting the teacup down and twisting her hands together, a nervous habit that made his heart ache.

"My sweet, how long have you felt ill? We can postpone our departure until you are well. Everyone coming to Willow Hill will understand." He reached out to caress her cheek, but she turned away from his touch, brushing past him like a ghost.

He watched, concern knitting his brow, as she paced the room, muttering under her breath, a whirlwind of anxiety. Finally, she cast herself onto the bed, curling into a tight ball, tears spilling down her cheeks.

Seokjin was taken aback, concern spiraling into panic at the sudden shift in her demeanor. Every instinct screamed at him to rush to her side, but he remained frozen, captivated by the raw vulnerability laid bare before him.

As if pulled by an unseen string, she sat up, wiping her eyes before their gazes connected, and he felt propelled into action.

He hurriedly knelt in front of her, grasping her hands in his. "What is wrong, Y/N?"

"I did not… It was supposed to be… Oh botheration. I must look a fright." She dabbed the handkerchief at the corners of her eyes, a picture of fragility.

"Should I summon the doctor?" he asked, dread pooling in his stomach at the thought of his wife being gravely ill.

The lines of worry etched on her face began to soften, replaced by a look of adoration that made his heart race.

"I have already seen the doctor."

"And what is his diagnosis?" Seokjin’s heart plummeted, a darkness settling over him at the very thought of her suffering.

She wriggled one of her hands free from his grasp—he hadn’t realized he was squeezing her so tightly—and cupped the side of his face with a tenderness that caught him off guard. “I’m afraid you were quite successful in your quest for an heir,” she said, her voice trembling like a leaf in a storm.

His brow furrowed as the meaning of her words sunk in, slowly creeping through the fog of his mind like a dark shadow. “Do you mean… I say! Are you—” He sprang to his feet, a surge of exhilaration propelling him to nearly drag Y/N off the bed in his excitement.

“I am increasing, and it is all your fault, you insufferable man! I don’t feel the least bit well, and of course, there’s nothing to be done for it but nibble dry toast when the nausea strikes.” Her voice had a sharp edge to it, yet there was a sparkle in her eyes that ignited something primal within him.

Dropping to his knees, he surrounded her with his arms, resting his head gently against her still-flat abdomen. The thought “I am going to be a father” echoed in his mind, a mantra that swelled until it overwhelmed him like a tidal wave.

Y/N threaded her fingers through his hair, massaging soothing circles on his scalp, murmuring sweet nothings that drifted like whispers in the night until, finally, she grasped his chin and gently lifted him to his feet. “I wanted to tell you at Willow Hill. The doctor confirmed the pregnancy only this morning.”

“When will it be here?” he asked, his heart pounding like a drum echoing through an empty hall.

“He shall be born in early February.”

He smirked, a wild gleam igniting in his eyes as he led her back to the bed. With a tenderness that seemed to transcend reality, he cradled her in his arms. “You are sure, then, that I have produced an heir for the title of Lord Rushmore’s?” His voice danced with mischief.

“Of course. It is my greatest wish that the lineage for the earldom be secured, but…”

“But what, my darling?”

“What if it is a girl?”

“It gives us all the more reason to practice the arduous task of producing a male heir.” He kissed her soundly as he laid her on the bed, hovering protectively over her, his body a fortress against the world.

“There are still so many things to prepare, Seokjin.”

“Hush, my dear. Let the housekeeper do her job. The world will not fall apart if we steal a few moments of quiet together.”

She pressed herself into his side, and in that fleeting moment, as if they had stolen a slice of eternity, he felt her body relax, her breaths evening into those of a slumbering angel, wrapped in the cocoon of their shared warmth.

The next morning unfolded like a symphony of chaos as the coaches were readied for the departure of the Earl of Rushmore’s household. When Forbes gave the word, Seokjin tucked Y/N’s hand in the crook of his elbow and led her to the carriage. Once she was settled, he followed her in, sitting close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her skin. His gaze flicked nervously to the basin opposite them, stacked with lavender-scented handkerchiefs and towels. He hoped her sickness wouldn’t turn their journey into a nightmare.

The carriage lurched into motion, rattling off through the streets of London, bound for the quieter Hampshire countryside. The sun barely peeked over the rooftops, and the cool breeze whispered secrets through the open windows. He closed his eyes, savoring the moment of calm until Y/N spoke, shattering the fragile peace.

“Seokjin, why are we going in the wrong direction? This is not the road to Hampshire.”

He opened his eyes and sat up straighter, unease coiling in his stomach like a serpent. “I have a small matter of business I need to see to before we leave town.”

She frowned, her brow knitting together in concern. “I thought you took care of all your business yesterday.”

“Yes, well, one other matter came up.”

“I see.”

She shifted away from him, her attention drawn outside. His heart sank as he realized where they were headed. The closer they came to Newgate prison, the more agitated he became, as if an unseen force was tightening around his throat.

“Is something wrong?” she asked, glancing at him with a mixture of curiosity and concern.

“Do you not have a book or some kind of embroidery with which to occupy yourself?”

“I fear I would grow ill if I tried to read, and heaven forbid I should attempt any kind of needlecraft. I would most likely end up sticking myself and bleed to death.”

He sighed, defeated by her stubbornness. Minutes ticked by, and the rattling wheels on the cobblestone streets were replaced by the jeers of a growing mob gathering for the hangings.

“Seokjin, why is there such a crowd at this early hour?” Her voice was laced with dread, and he could feel her eyes boring into him, demanding answers he couldn’t provide.

He stood, head bent, shoulders rounded, and leaned over his legs to peer out his window. The prison loomed ahead, and the gallows stood like a grim sentinel against the morning sky.

As they approached, the carriage slowed, stopping some distance from the raised platform, yet they had a perfect view. When the gaoler stood and raised his arms, the crowd fell silent, anticipation crackling in the air like static before a storm.

As he read the names of the condemned and their crimes, a chill crept down Seokjin’s spine. One by one, the hooded figures were brought forth, the nooses cinched around their necks as the crowd hissed and jeered, throwing stones and objects at the prisoners.

“And last we have, Jonathon Bartlett, Viscount Eisen, condemned to hang by the neck until dead for the murder in cold blood of Louis Montford, Marquis of Calais.”

Y/N gasped, scrambling backward into her seat, her breath quickening as panic washed over her like a wave. She waved her hand in front of her face, but that same wide-eyed look of distress he had witnessed the day before seized her. She lunged forward, retching violently into the basin.

Once again, he handed her a clean square of toweling and waited, a heavy weight pressing down on his chest.

“I had heard of the scandal. Lady Min was quite thrilled to share the news with your mother. But… he is not condemned for the death of Lady Eisen?”

Seokjin shook his head, his heart pounding like a war drum. “No. Had he only killed her, he most likely would not be in this position. When he murdered the Marquis in front of his entire household, he sealed his fate.”

Though he glossed over the details for her benefit, the gruesome images of Lord Montford’s lifeless body, throat slit from ear to ear, lingered in his mind like a dark specter. It was damning, to say the least.

Seokjin peered out of the carriage window, the air thick with a tension that prickled at the nape of his neck. It was nearly time.

“Please, Seokjin,” Y/N’s voice quivered, raw with dread. “I can’t bear this. Let’s go.”

He nodded once, the sound of his heart thumping painfully in his chest. With a sharp rap on the carriage's wooden panel, the horses whinnied in response, and the vehicle lurched forward, rattling down the cobbled streets.

As they rounded the corner, the roar of the mob reached a crescendo, a grotesque symphony of triumph and bloodlust. It echoed in his ears, a haunting reminder of what awaited them. Y/N leaned heavily against him, her body trembling as she covered her face with shaking hands, bent double as if the weight of the world bore down on her fragile frame. For a moment, he feared she might be sick again.

After a silence that stretched like a taut wire, she slowly lifted her head, her eyes glistening. “I don’t understand why I’ve turned into a watering pot.”

“It’s the good and kind nature within you,” he murmured, though he felt the tremor in his own voice.

“It’s never good to revel in the death of one of God’s children, even if he was a very bad man.” She sniffled into her handkerchief, and gradually, the plush upholstery of the carriage seemed to embrace her weary form, pulling her back from the brink of despair.

“True. He was indeed a most depraved individual, but now we shall never have to worry about him again.”

“Do you think he really would have followed through on his threats against me?” She looked at him, eyes wide with fear.

“It’s hard to say for certain. But if his madness regarding his wife’s lover is any indication, I’m relieved to think you need not worry about his intentions any longer.”

28 February 1816

11:54 pm

“I swear to God himself, if I am not allowed to see my wife this instant, I shall break down the door!” Seokjin's voice reverberated through the upper halls of Willow Hill as he pounded on the door to their shared bedchamber, desperation clawing at him.

Y/N had been laboring for nearly twenty hours. The doctor had even consented to allow the local midwife to assist, though his reluctant agreement came with warnings laced with disapproval.

Just as Seokjin was about to start kicking the door, he heard the soft click of the lock. A frightened, doe-eyed maid opened the door, stepping aside just in time as he barreled past her into the room.

Y/N sat hunched over on a peculiar chair, sweat beading on her forehead and clinging to her hair. On either side of her stood their mothers, both wearing matching scowls, while Siobhan, the midwife, whispered instructions into Y/N’s ear, her voice thick and accented.

When Siobhan glanced up, her eyes sparkled with an unsettling gleam. Her hair was a wild halo of gray curls, and her face bore the deep lines of age, looking like an apple left too long in the orchard—wrinkled, desiccated.

“The babby is almost here,” she crooned, “but she be waitin’ fer her own special day. This'un is sure to be full o’ spirit.” Her words slurred together, but the meaning hung in the air, heavy and ripe.

“How do you know it’s a girl?” Y/N grunted, a fresh wave of pain coursing through her. “Ooooh, another…”

“Bear down and push, lovey. ’Tis almost done. Are ye ready to catch, doctor?”

“Hush, witch. I know how to bring a child into the world,” snapped the doctor, irritation coating his every word.

“Kim, come take my place,” Seokjin’s mother urged, but he hardly heard her over the pounding of his heart.

“We’ve only ever talked about names for a boy,” he murmured, glancing at the doctor’s bloodied hand reaching for a towel.

“Och, there he goes,” Siobhan said, her voice laced with disapproval, and that was the last thing Seokjin remembered before the world around him faded to black.

Everything became muffled, foggy, like he was submerged in deep water. He tried to reach for Y/N’s voice, but his limbs felt like lead, unresponsive.

Then, a sharp, acrid smell invaded his senses, burning his nostrils. His eyes shot open, heart racing as he scanned the room, confused and disoriented. He was on the floor of his chamber, the strange chair gone, the chaotic mess of moments before replaced by eerie calm. How long had he been unconscious?

A familiar wrinkled face appeared above him. “Ah, there ye be. ’Tis why we don’t let the papas in until after the wee ones are born.”

“Y/N!” he gasped, shaking off the haze. “Where is my wife?”

“I’m right here, my lord.”

He rose unsteadily, dread curling in his stomach, and turned slowly toward her voice. Y/N lay on the bed in a fresh, white nightdress, hair neatly plaited over one shoulder, and cradled in her arms was a tiny bundle wrapped in blankets, a serene infant nestled against her.

He stumbled forward, drawn by an unseen force, and perched next to her, awe washing over him. Siobhan’s departing words barely registered as he soaked in the sight of his wife and child.

“Y/N, my beautiful Y/N. How do you fare?” he whispered, his heart swelling.

A knowing smile danced on her lips. “You fainted, my lord.”

He felt the warmth of laughter bubbling just beneath the surface. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He remained silent, mesmerized by the tiny rosebud lips of their child. “I hope everyone has sworn an oath to take the events of this room to the grave.”

“Oh dear, I do believe we forgot to summon a magistrate for such proceedings.”

“Then I will assume the entire township, nay the whole of Hampshire, will know of my weak constitution by midday.” He sighed, resting his head on her shoulder, feeling the weight of the world lift just slightly. After a contemplative silence, he asked, “Was she right? Siobhan, I mean.”

“Does it matter?”

“You are alive. The child is alive. Of course it matters.”

He watched as Y/N’s fingers traced the soft strands of reddish-brown hair that crowned their daughter’s head. “She was right. You have a daughter, my love.”

“A girl,” he breathed, the word heavy with meaning. “Was she indeed born on the twenty-ninth?”

“Yes, she waited until it was two minutes past midnight. Siobhan was right on both counts. She wanted to have her own special day.”

The thought struck him like a chill in the night air—he would never survive having a daughter. Anxiety twisted in his chest, coiling around his heart until it clenched painfully with every beat.

Y/N must have sensed his turmoil, her gaze steady and soothing. “Please don’t give yourself an apoplexy thinking of suitors and her coming out. We have many, many years before that becomes an issue.”

“You know me too well, my sweet. But it changes nothing. I would go to the ends of the earth to protect my ladies’ honor.”

He extended his arms, lifting the stirring infant into his embrace. “What shall we call her?”

Y/N tucked the blankets around her legs, her smile illuminating the dim room. “I was thinking perhaps, Lady Caroline Marie Kim, in honor of your late father.”

“Perfect. My mother will be deeply touched.” He marveled at the strength of the little fist that curled around his finger. “She will need a brother to protect her. When shall we start working on that endeavor?”

Y/N arched an eyebrow and shook her head. “You may address that subject with me in three or four years’ time. Until then, do I need to cloister myself in a separate bedchamber?”

Seokjin’s grin took on a mischievous edge as he shook his head. “I don’t think I can bear to sleep without you, my love. I promise I will behave.”

But beneath the surface of their laughter, a dark shadow lingered—a reminder that the world outside could be as dangerous as it was beautiful. And it wouldn’t be until the twenty-ninth of February 1820, that a boy, the next Earl of Rushmore, would arrive.

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evertomorrowart · 11 months ago

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Best of YouTube 2023

Yes, I did spend the first week and change of January on this. I wish I could have had it done for New Years, but too many people came out with incredible work in December, so waiting turned out for the best.

What these creators do are a huge influence on my life, I would honestly have difficulty doing what I do without them. That isn't to say that my favorites of the year are *only* on this image--It was almost impossible to narrow down my favorites. Many creators I wanted to include couldn't fit on a single page, and too many of them made more than one video I wished I could draw too!

But, to all of you, thank you for what you do. You're an inspiration.

For those who don't know, further is an explanation.

At the bottom center is an artistic masterpiece by Defunctland: "Journey to EPCOT Center: A Symphonic History." Over the last several years, Defunctland has risen from delightfully-entertaining commentary on decommissioned theme park attractions to occasionally dropping profound statements on the creation of art itself. "Journey to EPCOT Center: A Symphonic History" is worth treating like the cinematic experience it is: No second screen, you sit your ass down in front of a TV, set down the phone, and then you *watch it.* Any Disney, theme park, or independent film fan needs to pay attention to this one.

Bottom left is Caelan Conrad with their piece "Drop the T - The Deadly Consequences of Gay Respectability Politics." While I do think they've done more visually or artistically-daring pieces before, "Drop the T" is one of the most important videos released on YouTube in today's current climate of hate. We as queer folk (and our allies) need to understand how integral every identity of the queer experience has been since the start of the Civil Rights movement (and before!). While we are not identical, we *are* inseparable, and we deserve having our real history easily accessible.

TERFs and other conservative mouthpieces need not reply. Your opinions are trash. 😘

I cannot stop watching and rewatching this video by @patricia-taxxon, "On the Ethics of Boinking Animal People." It's not just a defense of furry fandom and its eccentricities, it's a thoughtful and passionate analysis of what the artform achieves that purely human representation can't. Patricia goes outside of her usual essay format to directly speak to the viewer about the elements that define furry media (the most succinct definition I've ever heard) and just how *human* an act loving animal cartoons really is.

As an artist who can draw furry characters, but never really got into erotic furry art, this video is a treasure. Why did I choose to have her drawn as a Ghibli character, hanging out with one of the tanukis from "Pom Poko?" Guess you'll have to watch, bruh.

Philosophy Tube continuously puts out videos that I would put on this list--I'm not even sure that "A Man Plagiarised my Work: Women, Money, and the Nation" is the best work she released in 2023. However, this video got many conversations going between myself and my partner, and the twist on the tail end of the video shocked us both to such a degree that I had no choice.

At the very tail end of the year, Big Joel released "Fear of Death." On his Little Joel channel, he described it as the singularly best video he's ever done, and I'm inclined to agree. However, for this illustration, I ended up repeatedly going back to a mini-series he did earlier in the year: "Three Stories at the End of the World." All three videos are deeply moving and haunting, and I was brought to tears by "We Must Destroy What the Bomb Cannot." While it may be relatively-common knowledge that the original Gojira (Godzilla) film is horror grappling with the devastation America's rush to atomic dominance inflicted on Japan, Big Joel still manages to bring new words to the discussion. Please watch all three of the videos, but if, for some reason, you must have only one, let it be "We Must Destroy What the Bomb Cannot."

Y'all. Let me confess something. I hate football. I hate watching it, I associate seeing it from the stadiums with some of my worst childhood experiences, I despise collegiate and professional football (as institutions that destroy bodies and offer up children at the feet of its alter as a pillar of American culture)--

I. L o a t h e. Football.

But.

F.D. Signifier could get me to watch an entire hour-plus essay on why I should at least give a passing care. AND HE DID IT. I might think "F*ck the Police," the two-parter on Black conservatism, or his essay on Black men's connection to anime might be "better" videos, but this writer did the impossible and held my limited attention span towards football long enough to make a sincere case for NFL players--and reminds us that millionaires can *in fact* be workers. That alone is testament to his skill.

Sit down and watch "The REAL Reason NFL Running Backs Aren't Getting Paid." Any good anti-capitalist owes it to themselves.

CJ the X continuously puts out stunning, emotional videos, and can do it with the most seemingly-inconsequential starting points. A 30 second song? An incestuous commercial? Five minutes of Tangled? Sure, why not. Go destroy yourself emotionally by watching them. I'm serious. Do it.

Their video Stranger Things and the Meaning of Life manages to to remind us all why the way we react to media does, in fact, matter. Yes, even nostalgia-driven, mass-media schlock. Yes, how we interact with media matters, what it says about us matters, and we all deserve to seek out the whys.

Folding Ideas has spent the last few years articulating exactly why so much of our modern world feels broken, and because of that his voice continuously lives rent-free in my brain. While the tricks that scam artists and grifters use to try to swindle us are never new, the advancement of technology changes the aesthetics of their performances. Portions of Folding Ideas' explanations might seem dry when going into detail of how stocks work in This is Financial Advice, but every bit of it is necessary to peel back the layers of techno-babble and jargon and make sense of the results of "Meme Stocks."

Jessie Gender puts out nothing but bangers, her absolute unit of a video about Star Wars might be my new favorite thing ever, but none of her work hit so profoundly in 2023 than the two-parter "The Myth of 'Male Socialization'" and "The Trauma of Masculinity." There's so much about modern life that isolates and traumatizes us, and so much of it is just shrugged off as "normal." We owe it to ourselves to see the world in more vivid a color palette than we're initially given.

Panels drawn after Kate Beaton and "Ducks: Two Years in the Oil Sands."

"This is Not a Video Essay" is one of the most intense and beautiful pieces of art I've ever put into my eyeballs. Why do we create? What drives us to connect?

I don't even know what else to say about the Leftist Cooks' work, it repeatedly transcends the medium and platform. Watch every single one of their videos, but especially this one.

The likelihood you are terminally online and yet haven't heard of Hbomberguy's yearly forrays into destroying the careers of awful people is pretty slim. Just because it has millions of views doesn't mean that Hbomberguy's "Plagiarism and You(Tube)" isn't worth the hype. Too long? Shut up, it has chapters and YouTube holds your place, anyway. You think a deep dive into a handful of creators is only meaningless drama? Well, you're wrong, you wrong-opinion-haver. Plagiarism is an *everyone* problem because of the actual harm it creates--the history it erases, the labor it devalues, the art it marginalizes--which you would know if you watched "Plagiarism and You(Tube)".

Watch. The damn. Video.

In fact, watch all of them!

Thanks for reading this if you did.

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court-jobi · 2 months ago

Text

How'd You Know (I Needed This)

((banner by me! I don't own Horikoshi's (sleepy) characters/work))

Pairing: Aizawa x reader (American!Pro Hero fem!reader, set before the events of Season 1)

Words: 4.9K

Rating: T+

Warnings: Aizawa has feelings and doesn't know what to do with them, alcohol mentions, slow burn, he fell first she fell harder, the feeling is mutual TM

Summary:

Shouta Aizawa surrenders his capture weapon for the night in favor of humoring Hizashi, and is rewarded for his follow-through at his show. He wants to know you, more than he has from teaching the brats alongside you for the last few months. Wants to know the smile that reaches your eyes more intimately.

He’s happy he gets this balcony happy hour with you -out from all their eyes inside- to be able to water this sweet, small thing he feels towards you to fullness.

A/N: I've been WAITING for this one, turn it up!!! Aizawa my beloved, I've wanted to write you for so, so long and can only hope I can do you justice. The man just has such a gentle side and I just wanted to give him something nice and self-indulgent~

For my My Hero Academia Masterlist, check it out here!

Read on Ao3

Damn it, why was he thinking like this? He’s in public for goodness’ sakes, with only two sips of drink under his belt. Not two drinks- two sips of a drink. So if that’s the case of his sobriety, why was he off in his own little headspace as if he were drunk?

‘Put Your Hands Up Radio’ found its home recording studio attached to this lounge: a place Shouta Aizawa never frequented unless expressly invited- or when Eraserhead was needed to scout out trouble. Far too noisy, too chatty, and filled with too many grown adults losing their sensibilities for his liking.

Through one round of begging or another, he’d been roped into joining some of the staff of UA to an evening out, in support of Present Mic. Naturally, Aizawa would go- as his presence would all but guarantee everyone else’s. Despite begrudging the plans that pushed himself out of his preferred rest mode, he kept true to his word for Hizashi’s sake.

Promise kept, and therefore, appears to have been rewarded.

Once the show wrapped for the night, his best friend was over the moon at how things were turning into a party that Friday night. After a day of shrill, whinging teenagers he’d wrangled all week, this level of volume was honestly the last thing he needed. Yamada’s voice doubled the decibel of the entire room- and that’s without his quirk activated. He always managed to annoy Aizawa when he started fangirling about one duet matchup or another.

But truthfully? Every sound this tired hero registered around him fell to white noise while he looked at you…

Sweet Little Miss, you are; gracing the lounge with your presence. You’re a vision tonight. Insist with your lilting dip to your words they all call you by your first name, outside of school grounds and against what’s considered custom. No hero titles either, unless an emergency called for formalities- then you’d cave.

These Americans are too casual. Even down to these outfits. What’s this– black turtleneck, necklace she won’t leave alone- moving it around her thumb like that, short skirt.. and those damn thigh highs and tights. How is it she’s driving that moped of hers, wearing something like this…

Everything on your person, down to the way you held yourself in perfect confidence and ease adorned you like a perfectly-styled pro hero. It couldn't be a more stark contrast to his tried and true wardrobe. Even this after-hours look sat perfectly around each bend and curve of you, as you listened to the group.

You’re smiling, too. It’s subtle, but it reaches your eyes, which makes it all the more authentic.

A smile he shouldn’t want to keep all to himself. Curves he really should have no business noticing. Features that he’s actually surprised he’s labeling as ‘attractive’ in his mind because the last time he ever felt an ounce of attraction to anyone in that way, he’d barely been able to grow facial hair.

Desire for a safe place to land his dizzying mind is driving his tired sights to look to you for relief again and again in the conversation– without you even saying a single word.

The barely-touched drink in his hand is only a prop; something to make him blend into the scene and not something he’s actually tasting for pleasure… meaning, these are his thoughts. Nearly completely sober. Should be illegal. Just illegal-

"Yo Sho, you still with us, sleepyhead?"

Yamada pulled him out of his thoughts. Disguising any flare of being put on the spot, Aizawa flitted his absent gaze back to his blond friend–

"Be nice. He’s had a rough day and is a good enough sport by being here,” you chirped up catching Yamada’s pull for Aizawa to part from the fringes of your little gathering.

Now toward you? He’ll soften his edge. After all, with you sticking up for him with blind loyalty, he nearly felt guilty for spacing out and causing you to speak up in the first place.

“- yknow, I'm inclined to take a nap myself," you leaned forward to grab a few more calamari bites to tend to your seemingly insatiable appetite. Aizawa felt warm at the sweetness and straightened up at Yamada’s prodding.

From then on, he made sure to look in your direction more often when you spoke to help him pay attention. He still didn't say much, never did. But he liked the company well enough.

These nights were truly few and far between. Life as an in-demand hero left him jumping from role to role, daytime and midnight obligations. The routine split his waking hours and stretched them paper thin. Now more than ever, he typically shirked as much off time as he was offered. And yet, he had to remember to prioritize levity and breaks– and in this case, indulge his treasured friend’s interests and ‘take one for the team’. Good for morale, he reasoned, just this once.

The occasion was also a way for you to integrate with the group in an informal setting– great for the transplant from the States. You’ve taken amicably to the group of alumni-turned-faculty at UA, though much still remained a mystery about you, presently being peeled back bit by bit through stories and slips of the tongue. There was only so much a dossier could truly reveal about a person- even one curated by S.W.O.R.D. to volunteer aid their Japanese counterparts in their hero work.

It couldn’t tell what kind of teacher you’d turned out to be. Even with no experience working with students, you tread the line between instilling team-centered outlooks and pushing their quirk’s limitations to their max benefit. A crafty, inventive counterpart to complement his blunt teaching style: better together, and even the principal agreed.

It couldn’t point out where your true ambitions lie or where your drive came from. There remained much to be explained as far as your hero status here in Japan– a red-tape nightmare Aizawa was still intrigued to learn about. So far, you’d shared some limitations about “immigration statuses are being vetted with a fine toothed comb, so they’re still trekking through the paperwork”, so your wings are essentially clipped down to a student’s provisional license. This doesn’t please you too much, but you’re driven as much as his finest students with the aire of a professional he’d love to see in full action.

It couldn’t explain the stillness you could dip into, that he only caught once or twice when you believe yourself alone. There’s a past was weighing your shoulders level and compliant in the eyes of the law… but an urge to push back and ‘play this out’ brought hypotheticals to your lips whenever you chatted about what hero life is like for him, and added a sparkle to the eye that he had yet to fully source.

It couldn’t give away the gentleness you hold behind a carefully guarded smile– even in this harsh hero world. Maybe it was that indomitable spirit that those foolhardy patriots overseas carried… or rather, maybe it was the way you fought against such a loud persona. So far, Aizawa has taken only a few notes, but each little mental post-it was cluttering up his headspace. You held a quiet love of tea, a comical passion for the oxford comma, and a mind to care for the little things in life– like the lizards you rescue in an inverted cup to take outside where they belong .

Surely life must have treated you hard to elicit such softness. Something tenderized you to achieve the peace you carry around or else you’re wearing a damn good mask. No, he determines you had to have made a choice to continue on the path that’s brought you to the present– even to this table where you’re taking your fill of maki rolls while casting little caring glances his way.

All smiles and calm surety, as he mills through his thoughts that are damn near obsessed with you.

An employee file could never record ‘heart’, anymore than it could expose anything you didn’t want to reveal.

The night progresses while Aizawa stews on these thoughts, and plenty of others… for the ones that drift to his co-teacher offer him more mental stimulation than that he finds in the club’s lights and music.

Yamada’s night of filling his social battery was made nearly perfect by the karaoke that just started. Several of the other teachers got preoccupied in round after round of song, so it left Aizawa with a moment's peace.

Well, peace he was going to enjoy by laying back on the couch for a little shuteye– when his gut jumped at the feeling of a hand trailing up his forearm to the elbow with a polite, companionable touch.

Facing its owner, Aizawa caught your little smirk and nod towards the balcony. You didn't pull hard, yet he followed like a magnet out to the patio.

From there, rather than stay by the door to listen in on their friends ‘releasing their inhibitions and feeling the rain on their skin’, you took him to the right, where a matching lounge set positioned itself in a blind spot between the rooftop bar and the fire escape.

"Thought you looked like you could benefit from some soundproofing~" you brushed your hair back over one shoulder to follow the breeze’s direction, and left an open spot next to you by the railing.

Nightlife and neon didn’t hold magic for Eraserhead given as many nights as he’s spent perched on precarious heights, but through a newcomer’s eyes, he could see the appeal. This part of the city glowed at night from dusk to dawn, and you clearly loved looking out over it; Aizawa certainly didn't mind this view either.

Your perception skills are spot on, and incredibly thoughtful as you’ve suggested some fresh air- for his sake. If he wasn’t drawn to you any of the other times he’s paid attention to the spastic moths a more romantic person might call ‘butterflies’ before… this cements each and every one as valid.

He likes you. He really likes you.

Time passed with appreciative quiet until you spoke again,

"The only thing is, you can't really see stars in the city... there’s too much light."

"The beaches have a nice view," Aizawa replied after some thought.

"Oh yeah?"

"Enough to stargaze properly,” he offered without much sentimentality. Right by the pier was the best spot he and his former classmates would go on the weekends, before their hero work took off.

"I'll have to remember to take a drive there. Y'know, sometime when I'm not in two-and-a-half-inch heels." you chuckled as you shuffled back to the rattan settee, sitting for a bit to stretch out your legs. "I don't know how Nemuri does it."

"Feet hurt already?" Aizawa snuck his hands from his pockets and came to the seat across from yours. “Night’s young.”

"Getting there," your laugh greeted him over, "But you know what they say, dress to impress and all that. Yamada really pitched some hype for this afterparty, so~"

Fashion was hardly something that ever swayed Aizawa’s decision-making. Utilitarian was the way to go for his wardrobe- then, as now.

"If aesthetics are all that determine these pros’ attention, that’s horribly vain."

You bristled in good humor,

"He didn't mean it like that– I just meant, he said to look nice for fun instead of for work. Call it ‘girl code’ if you want. We know that means to– just– /doll up a bit/!"

Aizawa held back a snicker at how you still ran into difficulties finding the most apt Japanese equivalents in your (pretty decently executed) second language. English slang you reverted to in moments like these fell from your mouth with an odd drawl. Still couldn’t place the regional accent you carried, but it charmed Aizawa all the same.

“//Doll up//?” he mimicked.

"//I like dolling up//!"

Aizawa reached and pulled his glass to his lips, meant to look aloof but not hiding his interest altogether well.

"You don’t need to put on airs to get people to notice you…"

"Right, because the accent gives me away."

"No, it’s your-”

Finally, a coward’s streak flared deep in his belly to shut him up. A rare hesitation. Damn this. What the hell’s happening to me–

“–nevermind."

"My what?" you’re fully interested, knowing a secret when it's presented.

"Nothing important."

Thankfully you not-so-subtlety dropped it with a hummed ‘ok’, but kept a watchful eye for him in your peripherals.

The pro hero mused. Better for him to be honest, right?

Just choose your words carefully. You’ll have to look her in the eye after this, you know.

Aizawa widened his seated stance so his knee barely breached your space.

Your sights lifted to him while he put his best poker face on. It’s not really any different than what he’d give to a perfect stranger– the only difference here is he has to force it.

Shit shit shit you're in deep, Shouta.

"You're plenty noticeable as you are. Anyone who meets you can see that," Aizawa shared in his usual soft-spoken tone. "Give ‘em ten minutes, and you've got them wrapped around your finger. It’s a whole impression, not just the outer package. Doesn't matter if you're in a dress that costs a month’s paycheck or a black button down. You're welcoming, sincere..."

He’s realizing he might be trailing off, but finding you listening with full attention led him on; no liquid courage required.

"You're stunning from the inside out. Enough to get others to notice."

Aizawa heard your appreciation before he saw it, a hum preceding the a genteel smile. With the win of his walls coming down, he had to give an honest smirk back. It was only fair; you’d earned it just by being you. By your flattered look, you were touched– but your brain was still working beneath the surface, and soon showed by a fleeting expression that spit from him.

Then, you caught your bottom lip for a second, before daring to look in Aizawa’s eyes again. It’s a sneaky look– like he’d snuck a peek at a card he’d meant to hide.

"...You remember what I wore on my first day at UA."

It was half question, half amusement. So dear, but oh-so pointed.

Aizawa froze.

"Black button down. You noticed me, then?" you countered more, "And here I thought you didn't care about appearances~"

"In professional circles, no. Personal… that's a different thing, entirely."

He kept your sights locked onto his, not unlike how he used his quirk in a challenge– only far softer and he could risk the occasional blink.

Even when you took his glass from his hand and placed it away on the table alongside yours, he still looked fondly after you, in fact tilting his head to the other side, studying the way one piece of your hair was caught by your neck. What he’d give to be familiar with you enough to ever-so-carefully brush it back, letting his touch send a wave of shivers across your skin and maybe even make you hum at the gesture. But he couldn’t trust himself to do it now, settling on stretching his arm around the back of the couch. Just an open move, letting you join him on the couch as close as you’d like.

Was he really doing this? He never has before, but this felt so natural.

You smiled still– and as you sit, you’re leaning into it. Well then.

“What was I wearing, Aizawa?”

With free fingers, he risked some little brushes on your near shoulder, bringing a happy little eyebrow lift from you. He just took in your features in close quarters, settled in it, as he remembered that day:

Black button down, grey skirt. Biker boots -practical choice- and these damn tights.

Aizawa’s dazed in the head, but he knows he's listed it off aloud based on how your sights widen, impressed.

"Hmmm, tights do it for ya?” you smiled, “I'm surprised you haven't jumped the darling Ms. Nemuri then."

"I know way too much about Kayama to ever consider her that way,” Aizawa’s tempered hand twirled a finger along a blown-away section of hair, just absently enough. “You however, tease just enough."

"Do I tease you?” you offer with a little depth, “I don't mean to."

It’s here he’s worry he’s stepping over a line- if it weren’t for the downright delicious look in your eye. You say it like you’re sorry for acting unprofessionally– but you’re urging him on, hardly apologetic for your sweet posturing.

"You may not mean it, but it's not unnoticed,"

He took second to swallow, and steps fully over it.

"or unwelcome."

You’re pleased with this, but deflect with your trademarked humor-

"Well now that’s saying something. You've seen me in my pjs, too- far from glamorous. That didn't break the allure for you?"

Aizawa had to huff though his nose at that memory.

"I caught you at arguably your most real self, that first night you patched me up," His outstretched arm rubbed full circles onto your shoulder now, with the lightest touch.

“Still have no clue why you chose me over Recovery Girl. For the harshest grader in school, that was a pretty dumb move.”

“You were closer than going to campus. It was the practical choice.”

“You didn't even know if I knew first aid.”

“You do,” Aizawa smirked. “You're too nurturing to not have a knack for it.”

Your legs crossed over, deflecting both your words and refreshing your body movement. In doing so, you slid even closer- a move not lost on Aizawa.

“Well, I'm still not happy about it. You needed more attending than I was able to pull off. Whatever you get into those nights,” you flitted a look to the underside of his arm that lays outstretched –where you know he sports a scar now- “It… looked like it hurt, ‘Zawa.”

Warm. Warm and cared form. Felt it then, feel it now. That's the life in his chest he gets when he’s around you.

"Can't change the past, and I certainly wouldn't have changed that. Wouldn’t pass up seeing that sight of you for the world."

This connection, this dance, it all feels that it must be older than what it is, more rooted in a shared history than a short few months.

Aizawa wants to ‘get’ you. Know the thoughts behind your eyes. Get you talking, even if it means he needs to give up his silent nights and muted text alerts so he can learn you. He’s happy he gets this balcony happy hour with you, out from other’s eyes, to be able to water this sweet, small thing he feels towards you to fullness.

His eyes narrowed playfully, "Are you embarrassed right now?"

Out of this entire teasing exchange, that note seemed to surprise you and turned you shy. Short of clapping a hand onto your cheek, you just darted your gaze away- can you be cuter if you tried?

“h-Yeah, a little!" –though you tried to snark your way out of it, "you were hurt before, and blubbery- but now that we’re y'know– awake, and talking... Pretty faces make me nervous."

Nervous? Pretty? Aizawa doesn’t like the sound of either of those.

Aizawa raised a brow and gave a look, a touch more serious.

"Hey," He tapped your chin still with his free hand, "if you want me to lay off, you say the word."

Blindly, you hold his hand from retreating away– "No. You're good, I promise."

He’s drowning in you leaning into the cool touch offered to you–

“ Heh, I–uh… I’m pretty sure ‘friends’ don’t talk about each other like this, though.”

He couldn't be a coward now– not with you melting on the spot and giving him an insane amount of hope.

“Maybe not,” Aizawa reasoned gently, “-not if they’re content to stay that way.”

–then all of a sudden his heart soared at her next words:

"Well… I like this."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I like you, like this.” With your insistence for touch, you cupped his wrist in your own chill-tipped hand.

Hell yeah.

Aizawa huffs another win in his foolish heart, but then watches as you keep talking– you don’t break from your softness, but look reflective off to an absent point on his chest.

“It’s funny, y'know? Most jobs, you’d be lucky to find someone you would actually wanna talk to outside of board meetings and quarterly reports… but here in our line of work, you count on each other to save your lives.”

“That’s right.” Aizawa breathes.

“I uh.. never thought I’d be workin’ with kids- trying to keep them alive too. Teach them how to do the same. But I wouldn’t feel nearly as confident to do it, rise to the challenge, if it weren’t for you, ‘Zawa. You’re just as special. Inside and out.”

And when you look to his eyes again, fully awake and still sober, he swears he’ll say yes to any night Hizashi invites him to if it means he can have you this close. Things with you just feel lived-in. Companionable. He’s drawn to you in a way unlike others before you, because he didn’t believe he’s had the right, desire, or time to even entertain it.

But everything’s different now. It just works, in his mind. He wants to spend his respites, his missions, everything- with you at his side, having his back. For however long you’d let him.

Touching your cheek, cursing the helmet you’d have to wear on the way home that would hide this angelic face from him once again– Aizawa curls towards you, barely tipping his head which screams ‘kiss her you ass’. You notice, and follow his lead almost halfway.

“Yeah, I like you like this…” you sighed lightly, “--and I’d like us like this, too.”

"Hm. Good."

...the door to the patio swinging open from around the corner startles you both. Present Mic doesn’t know his strength as he projects for the block to hear, swaggering about in his search.

You looked flustered sitting back up, but Aizawa was characteristically unphased at the sight of Hizashi finally rounding with a singsong cry of his name.

Dammit.

"Hey kids, been looking for YOU, Miss America! There's some stateside artists on the karaoke lineup with your name on iiiiit- c’mon! I hyped you already to Nemuri– she didn't believe me that you sang with me for my English midterms!!"

"What?!” you blanched, “ Who said I was doing that?"

"I did!!” Yamada thumbed at his own brilliance, “ C’mon I'll do the first one with you!"

"First one– Dude, I don't need to be touting my Southern-ass self to a bunch of pros before I even make a name for myself here."

"This is HOW you'll do it! Come n’ wow them, break the ice- you’ll do amazing!" Yamada came to your side of the settee, tugging you up to your feet with little fight. "Tch, Sho, you're rubbing off on her, aren't you? Turning our sweet teach into a wallflower as we speak, huh?"

"She was doing me a favor- has an eye out for me when I needed an escape, unlike you." Aizawa droned, to your amusement.

"Yeah yeah fair enough. Now pleeeeeease, would you come inside? It would be so much fun!"

From the way you’re freshening your jacket collar, you’re warmed from the neck up, caught between what just almost happened and the current situation Yamada is putting you in.

You look to Aizawa just like you did inside– a glance, but it lingers longer than before. Like you are waiting to see what he thinks. If he’ll stay or go, should you leave.

But Aizawa isn’t so selfish like before. He doesn’t feel it necessary to keep you to himself, because he sees your affection so clearly in your eyes now. He hosts butterflies in his stomach, yes, but they aren’t frantic and flitting about wondering what you may or may not think of him- chronically tired and a contrast to the breath of fresh air you are. You see him as a companion, too. Someone he might just get the chance to study, and learn, and adore in return.

No, he knows you like him as he is. Knows you’ll choose to meet him where he stands. He can share you, and will simply watch on as you stun him even more...

The Pro-Hero is desperate for some eyedrops in all this wind outside, but he would grin and bear it if you choose to deny Yamada’s pull on you. So instead, he merely leans forward to perch on his knees, with a hand on the lip of both your drinks. What Aizawa says in his non-answer left it open to what you wanted to do. Stay or go, he’d follow suit.

Returning to the bright-eyed and bushy-tailed fellow teacher, you breathily gave in with your ‘ok’.

"YEAAAAAUHHHH!"

"Damn peer pressure."

"You said yes," Aizawa smirked.

"Oh if she’s going, you're coming in too!" Hizashi was already whisking you away, and Aizawa rose on his own, following your knowing smile over your shoulder and matching it.

With many forced karaoke and radio show nights, it’s Aizawa who braves the crowd and comes up behind you at one of Present Mic’s shows, stepping in from the balcony where you wait by its door. He’s fresh off of work, sporting a new scar across his cheek courtesy of his day job, this time.. but you greet him with that familiar scrunch of the nose that he still finds adorable.

It’s rare he leaves campus nowadays, because he feels the stakes are higher than ever for him to remain vigilant. His students are his life, and as proud of them as he is, they are a constant effort of his mind and strength. Rest doesn’t come easy, and his rewards for a job (passably) done aren’t found in many places.

One constant he has found helps, has been you.

You, still alluring as ever, but who makes sure he doesn’t fixate on giving and giving of himself until he breaks– but to take his rests, reset, and even take a little jaunt over to these radio shows when he has staff coverage back at the dorms. Gives you two some time to get nostalgic, sentimental– or as close as he can get to those mushy spots in his heart about the club where he wrestled out his feelings for you for the first time.

He smooths a hand across your lower back now, when he joins you. He’s held onto your hands when they're cold, giving you whatever warmth he has. He knows each and every gap on your resume, partnered with you out on the streets, tag-teams in his classroom with this plucky 1-A Class he now leads, and is content to let you fill his thoughts when he wants to rest his eyes.

He doesn’t fight his affections now. Still would rather not simper in public too much because he’s quite averse to being the center of tabloids’ attentions, but stands by you all the same.

"I'm surprised to not see you up there,” Aizawa greets, cool as ever.

You lean on a hip, closer to him.

"He's got his sets lined up today, didn't ask me-” You speak a little louder over the crowd, “I swear, your cockatoo still acts like I'm some gift from the heavens, just ‘cuz I can sing!"

"It's earned. You deserve every bit of it, and not just from Hizashi."

You turned over to him shyly, drawing his attention further– your tendencies to melt under his words encourages Aizawa to compliment you directly. Often. Whatever it is about his voice that you say you’re obsessed with, he still doesn’t understand– but he uses it to full advantage as he robs your drink from your hand,

"I happen to think you have a gorgeous voice," Aizawa speaks low to your ear. “You should sing at home more often.”

“Please. As if the kids would ever let me live it down.”

You refer -of course- to the twenty shared students between you, taking them all in stride since you’ve sufficiently bonded through fire alongside them.

“That’s teaching for ya. Gotta push yourself beyond, plus ultra and all that.”

You chortle back in your throat, risking a kiss on his etched cheek to counter his snide remark,

“You’re off the clock, ‘Zawa. No more hero talk, huh?”

Aizawa cocks a brow, stealing a sip, “Sorry we can’t all turn it off like you, dear.”

The comment has you biting the inside of your mouth at the tease, and allows him a quick moment to press the glass’ condensation against his eye.

“Want some air, hon?” you try again, softer than this atmosphere should allow.

Looking back at you -your hold on his elbow ready to guide him outside just like the first night- and Aizawa doesn’t need any more sips of the whiskey he holds.

The retreat to ‘your couch’ is one he looks forward to any chance he gets. Bass boosted from the speakers inside becomes background noise that dulls his senses, doubled by the way you cozy up under his arm watching the skyline shift in light and color in comfortable silence. You trade roles with him: taking watch while he shuts his eyes for some restorative hydration.

But before he gets too terribly relaxed by your weight settling his aching muscles to stillness, he registers a warm press to his mouth that he’s quick to chase after. That’s a satisfying thought, too: he doesn't have to imagine what it'd be like to kiss you anymore.

#shouta aizawa x reader #shouta aizawa #aizawa shouta x reader #aizawa shouta #shouta x reader #aizawa x reader #mha fanfiction #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #mha x reader #bnha x reader #mha #bnha #aizawa fluff #mha aizawa #bnha aizawa #aizawa my beloved

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scoobydoodean · 5 months ago

Note

I have 2 spn accounts, a Deancentric blog that ships Destiel and another account that unintentionally follows a lot of Samgirl blogs. So one blog follows majority Deangirl blogs and the other incidentally follows a lot of Samgirl blogs. And here's the major difference I've noticed on the different dashboards.

Deangirl dashboard: Great meta analysis. Beautiful art. Level 1 and 2 headcanons (largely based in canon). Pro-Dean. Stumble across reblogs of Deancrit. Bitter Deangirl blogging. Generally fair portrayal and discussion of the positive and negative traits and actions of Dean, Sam and Cas. Deanhater anons.

Samgirl dashboard: An entirely different pool of beautiful art. Whole lotta woobie!Sam art where Dean is his abuser. Deancrit about Dean being an abuser. Bitter Samgirl blogging about how people will find any excuse to hate Sam. "How can anyone be Samcrit he has done nothing wrong ever." Level 5 headcanons (you literally ignored canon to make that up). More about how Dean is Sam's abuser. So many posts about how awful Samcrit is. "Do Deangirls really think that Dean cries himself to sleep at night thinking that ppl thinks he doesn't know how to read." I have yet to see any actual Samcrit posts (not even links or reblogs from Sam defenders), not even after literally searching the Samcrit tag for it. The Samcrit tag is full of Samgirls crying about Samcrit and no actual Samcrit. "Samgirls are feral, but we need to be bc of the hate ppl throw Sam's way."

I literally have to block so many people on the incidentally Samgirl dashboard bc I'm not on Tumblr to randomly stumble across a post on how Dean is a toxic stalker who abused Sam by changing Amelia's number in his cellphone. Do you have any idea on why Samgirls seem to feel so attacked all the time even though I literally only ever see *them* attacking Dean?

If you dig deep enough into any fandom, you will encounter people who fetishize "helpless victimhood". Some fandoms attract more people with those particular proclivities than others. Supernatural and Sam in particular attracts people who hold those sorts of aesthetic interests because of his relationship toward accountability versus Dean's.

Dean is a character with an overactive sense of responsibility. He blames himself for the Lindbergh baby and unemployment and every child murdered by a shrtiga from 1990 to 2005 because he went to play an arcade game when he was 10. He also blames himself for things like Jessica dying and Sam not being in school. Other characters pile on this blame frequently. John blames Dean for Sam getting hurt (1.18). Ruby tells him (and Sam) that Sam is a weak baby who won't psychologically survive without Dean there to protect him (3.11). Meg alleges that Dean is "dragging Sam everywhere" (1.16). Sam rewrites reality from 1.05 to 1.21 to make Dean responsible for his burning desire for revenge. Cas and Zachariah and Gabriel blame Dean when Sam breaks the last seal because he didn't stop Sam in time. Sam blames Dean for him drinking demon blood first because Dean wasn't there to protect him and then—in a complete 180—because Dean is smothering (4.04, 5.05). Dean generally absorbs blame when it is piled at his feet because he has been blamed for things he couldn't control for most of his life and thus he feels guilty and responsible for things even when him being responsible makes no logical sense. He's never a victim of anything—everything is always on him.

Sam, on the other hand, tends to eventually deflect blame because he can't handle the gnawing bite of it for long. It reminds him too deeply of being left isolated and alone as a child and the feelings of otherness and wrongness he developed through that neglect. When his actions ultimately have consequences he didn't foresee and/or that he finds undesirable, it makes him feel ugly and unaccepted and he can't face it so he eventually finds a way to make what happened someone else's fault—usually Dean's fault. Nothing is ever on him. He's always at least a little bit of a victim and Dean always carries at least partial responsibility for his decisions (1.21, 1.08, 4.04, 5.05, 8.23, 11.01)

In other words, Sam has an under-active sense of responsibility and Dean has an overactive responsibility and that dynamic—driven by their childhood experiences—places them into a vicious cycle of blame being cast onto Dean for Sam's decisions and Dean absorbing it. Dean absorbing it reinforcing the narrative for samgirls with a victimhood fetish that Dean deserves blame and that Sam truly is a helpless baby. They never watch what actually happens on the show to see whether this narrative that Dean is responsible for everything and Sam is a helpless baby lines up with the actual events that occurred onscreen because why would they? That would ruin their enjoyment. Sam isn't interesting to them outside of his capacity to be mourned as some sort of helpless martyr. And yes—they will cry and moan about how horrible and unfair Sam's suffering is, but it isn't because they're having a bad time. They're having a great time. They love thinking about Sam that way. They wouldn't be here blogging about it day in and day out for the last 20 years if they didn't actually want to see exactly what they're seeing.

Related tags of note:

#sams motivations

#taurus sam in the flesh

#In which Sam is not a helpless little waif with his hands cast over his eyes being carried along by the tides of the immutable sea

#sam the hunter

#sams follower/leader false dichotomy

#parentification

#I have seen samgirls screenshot “samcrit” posts and pass them around FYI.#It's usually something so unbelievably mild I wouldn't even bother making a one sentence vague about it if it were about Dean.#There was also the christ figure bracket incident.#dont feed the stans after midnight #mail

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iamthat-iam · 9 months ago

Text

"Ego", The Final Boss

Olivia (she prefers to be called Liv) has been on quite the spiritual journey for a couple of years. She was born and raised Catholic, then as a teen she decided to leave the church because it didn't resonate with her. She went through a law of attraction phase, followed by law of assumption, and finally, she found non dualism from a few Twitter and Tumblr accounts.

The message, from what she gathered, was that she needed to fully drop the ego in order to realize her true self/true nature and to experience whatever she wanted. She even read a few books where realized masters have spoken about their own personal journeys of dropping ego and how life is generally more peaceful for them now that they've done so.

Now, Liv is one with a troubled past. She would give anything to become an entirely different person with no childhood trauma, and just a happy life all around. She meditated every single day, practiced "sitting in silence", and tried her hardest to detach from her "ego."

She stopped enjoying her usual hobbies out of fear of identifying too much with the character. She would go out of her way to correct thoughts that she felt were "too related to being the person." Needless to say, her mental health began to go downhill very fast.

One of her best friends, Marcus, decided to check up on her one day through face-time. "Hey sis! How have you been?! Haven't seen you in a while."

"Hey..." Liv answered. "I'm not doing all that great to be honest."

"Yeah I figured that. That's why I reached out to you," Marcus stated. "I'm worried about you. It seems like you barely leave the house. Everytime myself or anyone else tries to make plans with you, you either cancel last minute or come up with some bogus excuse as to why you can't come out."

Liv had to laugh because everything he said was true. "So I'm guessing you didn't believe the story about my pet rabbit dying."

Marcus cackled. "GIRL. I've known you for years and not once have you ever had a pet rabbit. Stop playing."

"Okay let me tell you what's really going on with me," Liv began, "So a few months ago I found this 'spiritual practice' called Non Dualism, and the premise of it is you need to 'let go of ego' in order to realize your true nature as God, or Awareness, whatever you want to call it. Also you get to experience whatever you want."

"So this is the reason why you've stopped enjoying your usual hobbies, and why you've stopped having a social life?" Marcus inquired. "I'm going to be honest here. As your friend, I feel like I owe it to you to tell you the Truth even if it isn't what you want to hear. I don't think that this 'practice' has helped you one bit. Either you have misinterpreted the message, or these people are spreading misinformation. Never at any point should you sacrifice your mental health for the sake of 'becoming enlightened.'"

"I don't know what else to do," Liv started to cry a little. "I just want to become a different person living a life full of happiness, one without trauma and constant reminders of my horrible past. I hate being this broken person!"

"It's okay hun, I totally understand," Marcus consoled her. "I can help you. You remember my family guru right? She hates being called that, but I don't know how else to refer to her. Her name is Sage. My family has gone to her for spiritual advice and healing for years."

"Yes, I remember her! Didn't she help your mom heal her lower back pain?" Liv asked excitedly.

"She sure did. I can give you her number if you want!"

After Liv ended her face-time call with Marcus, he gave her Sage's number. She immediately reached out to her to schedule a day where they can meet up.

- -

One day, Liv arrived at a beautiful park to discover Sage already sitting on one of the benches waiting. "Hi! I don't know if you remember me, I'm Marcus' friend Liv."

"Yes! Hi Liv, it's nice to see you again," Sage reached out and gave Liv a warm hug. "Now what can I help you with?"

Liv sat down next to Sage. "Well, I discovered Non dualism a few months ago, and I'm not sure if I misunderstood the message or not, but I thought you had to let go of ego in order to realize your true nature as awareness. And after you realize this, you can experience whatever you want. So long story short, I stopped enjoying life because I thought I had to do that in order to be enlightened."

Sage hesitated for a moment, and then smiled. "Think about it this way.. if it's true that our true nature is awareness, or God, whatever label you put on it, why would you have to go through these unnecessary steps in order to 'become' it? If that's what you already are in the first place?"

Liv opened her mouth to reply, then closed it again. Maybe Sage had a point.

"Here are my thoughts. If anyone is telling you to 'drop the ego', it's bullshit," Sage chuckled. "The point of Non Dualism is realizing that you were always awareness. You were always the awareness behind everything that seems to appear. The ever-stretching, limitless silence that can take on the form of anything. The ego is just a thought. The idea that you are not already fully realized is also just a thought. In reality, there's no ego or person here to let go of. No person here who needs to become 'fully realized.' Just drop the idea that you are a limited human that has to become something, and you'll be golden."

Liv's jaw dropped to the ground. "You're telling me it was THAT SIMPLE THIS ENTIRE TIME?"

Sage laughed heartily. "Yes it is. Why do you think it took masters like Lester or Sri Nisgardatta months or YEARS to 'realize Self?' because they spent so much time trying to get rid of an ego that doesn't exist!"

Liv let out a sigh of relief. "So there really is nothing to do. I can't believe I exerted all that effort for nothing. I do have one more question, how can I experience whatever I want knowing I'm awareness? I want to be a completely different person with a different past."

"The person you think you are now, and the one you want to be are both illusions. You, as awareness, can 'choose' either one like a costume. Everytime you think about this ideal version of you, you've already experienced it," Sage grinned.

Suddenly a wave of emotions flooded through Liv, a mixture of relief and happiness. She felt the urge to give Sage a tight hug. "Thank you so much for helping me today."

"You're so welcome, sweetie."

Good for Liv, she has finally accepted her omnipotence and freedom to experience anything!

#non dualism #nondualism #consciousness #awareness #self #self realization #another long story but i hope the message was clear

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peterman-spideyparker · 1 year ago

Text

Half-Wrong (College!Matt Murdock x college!fem!Reader)

Author’s Note: Howdy folks, ya girl somehow caught Covid during the worst week possible! I have a 102 fever and I don't really remember writing this cuz I've been taking a lot of naps, so if it doesn't make sense and has errors I'm sorry. I saw that Owen Sleater gifset (iykyk) and rolled with it. Enjoy :)

Summary: You have been attracted to Matt Murdock ever since the pair of you met at the coffee shop on campus on move-in day, but you knew he'd never feel the same way about you - this became especially true once you got insight on his romantic life. So when you find him waiting for you after you come back from a date, you take a chance.

Warnings: Sweet platonic fluff, close friendship vibes, kissing, smut (oral - f!receiving, sexy oral m!condom put on, protected sex, p in v sex), swearing

Other Characters: Foggy Nelson, ofc (Cassie)

Word Count: 2,844

“C’mon, just a little more,” you huff as you move your run to a jog on the sidewalk. “A little bit more, and then we’ll be back at the dorms.”

“I don’t get why you think this is the best way to exercise,” Matt huffs as he puts his hands up in a T shape.

“You like boxing, I like a good run. Potato, potahto. The thing you should be thinking about is why you repeatedly agree and continue to go on runs with me,” you pant as you untie the tether that you use while you run—with Matt being unable to see and just how hard you imagine running with a cane would be, a tether to your waist to guide him and gently keep him out of the path of obstacles seemed like a good option.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve figured that part out yet, either. I mean, you do agree to box with me which is nice. But I think I just like spending time with you. Although, being tied with you does kind of make me feel like a dog.”

“Ah, but you’re such a kind, pretty dog with soft hair,” you smirk, ruffling his sweaty hair. “Such a good boy.”

“Alright, alright,” he chuckles, his cheeks flushing beyond the rosiness from the run. “Help me get to the cafe in the student union and I’ll buy us some waters.”

You press a kiss to his warm cheek and place his hand on your forearm.

“Hey, are you still gonna join Foggy and I at Josie’s tonight?” he asks, his breathing sounding like it’s starting to return to normal as you both enter the nearby building.

“I thought that was tomorrow?” you return, navigating the pair of you through a small little self-serve concession area.

“No, tonight. You have plans?”

“Don’t sound too shocked.”

“I don’t mean it like that.”

“Okay. Then how did you mean it?”

“Well, just that you haven’t had plans in almost a year,” he exaggerates as he takes the waters you hand him.

“Excuse me, I have plans,” you say as you take the waters back and scan them, Matt rooting around in his shorts for his student ID.

“No, you have plans with your other friends semi-regularly. You never have date plans,” he clarifies as he swipes his ID to pay.

“I’m sorry all of us can’t be you with a new companion every few weeks.”

“I don’t have a ‘new companion’ every few weeks.”

“Oh, come on, Matt, don’t deny it,” you say as you drink your water. “Right now, it’s that girl from that IP law class, before that it was a dental student, then I think an international relations major? But let’s not forget about contract law girl, estate planning—.”

“Okay, fine, I’ve had a lot of short-term relationships.”

“Well, that’s great for you, but that’s not what I’m looking for,” you tell him. “I mean, I don’t expect anything right now to last forever, but, I don’t want it to be a four-week thing and then be done with it. If I’m gonna make plans with someone, it’s because I think I still might be making plans with them in five months.”

Matt nods and drinks some of his own water as you move back outside and in the direction of our dorms. “So, what’s this guy like? Where’d you meet?”

“Cassie actually set us up,” you say. “She said that he seemed like my type, like a really good guy.”

“Well, then, I’m happy you have plans tonight. I hope it goes well.”

“Thanks, Matt. I do, too. I mean, I have no reason to think they won’t. Just tell Foggy I’m sorry I’m gonna miss him tonight.”

“Of course.”

“Do I see a wild (Y/N) in one of her natural habitats?” you hear Foggy call from across the quad.

“Speak of the Nelson, and he shall appear!” you smile as he comes to wrap you in a hug.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages!”

“(Y/N) has a date tonight,” Matt says with a devilish grin.

“Matthew!” you say, giving him a swift whack. “This is exactly why I don’t tell you things.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I’m happy for you, really.”

“I am, too!” Foggy chimes in. “I’m bummed that it means you’ll miss drinks at Josie’s, but, it’s about time you get dicked down.”

“I need to hang out with more friends that are girls,” you sigh, taking a look at your watch. “I gotta go now if I want to take an everything shower.” Kissing each of their cheeks, you wave goodbye and run off to your dorm to get ready.

“I just don’t see it going anywhere,” you sigh as you enter the main lobby of your dorm building.

“Really?” Cassie asks over the phone.

“We work on paper, but there wasn’t any spark.”

“Maybe the spark is gonna take some time.”

“A spark shouldn’t take time, Cass. It should be right there I didn’t feel anything.”

“You can’t pin every guy against Matt, you know.”

“I’m not comparing everyone against Matt,” you scoff incredulously.

“Yes, you are. Ever since you met. I bet you felt a spark with him.”

“So what if I did? It’s clear he didn’t with me, but . . .” You sigh and shake the thought out of your head. “I’m not an option for him. He’s a good person, but more importantly, he’s my friend. I’m not gonna spend my time fantasizing about something that’s never gonna happen.”

“HA.”

“You are so mean.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just a funny concept—you, not fantasizing.”

“Rude.”

“I’m your oldest friend, it’s my job.”

“I appreciate it. Listen, I just got to my door, I’m gonna call it a night.”

“Okay, (Y/N). Sleep well.”

“You too.”

Hanging up, you sigh as you put your phone back into your bag, hiking the strap up over your shoulder, slipping out your keys and undoing the old locks. You toss your purse on the nearby table, but freeze in your tracks when you see someone sitting on your bed. Not any someone. Matt.

“You shouldn’t be in here this late,” you breathe.

“I shouldn’t be in here at all,” he says softly, folding his glasses and putting them on your nightstand. “But why do something half-wrong?”

You slowly start to close the gap between where he sits and where you stand. “Matt . . .”

“If you want me to go, I will. Just say the word.”

“. . . Why now?”

“I don’t know. I just . . . I realized tonight when I was at Josie’s with Foggy that if you’re going to be kissing anyone, I want it to be me.”

You don’t care what you just told Cassie. Honestly, you don’t care about anything or how this could complicate your friendship or any of the consequences. Instead, you move to your bed, climb into his lap, and kiss him. That spark you first felt with Matt when you met is a full-blown lightning bolt now, every last bit of you tingling with electricity; you know Matt feels it too from the way his hands slide up your back and how his fingers card through your hair. Matt leans back on the mattress, letting you take the lead as you make out. His kisses gradually grow more aggressive—the clashing of teeth, nipping, squeezing, and grinding. Matt rolls your bodies over on the bed, eagerly but carefully pulling off your shirt.

“Please tell me you were anticipating this and have condoms on you,” you pant as he peppers kisses all over your torso.

“Mmm,” he hums into my body. Oh my God, I think I just came. “Four.”

“We’re using all of them.” You feel how his lips curl into a smile against your body, making you writhe before you scream out when he starts to suck on the sweet spot on your neck.

“Ambitious,” he hums, licking and kissing at the stinging spot on my neck.

“Oh, well, you know me,” you grunt, your fingertips scratching his scalp. “I love to go above and beyond.”

“Let’s shoot for two,” he says into your collarbone.

“Don’t think I can handle using them all?”

He lifts his face up to be level with yours. “I’m saying that you won’t be walking straight after one. If we use more than two, I’ll be carrying you around campus for a week.”

“Sound like a challenge.”

“It’s a guarantee.”

You both smile brightly before you kiss, and you bunch up the cotton of his shirt exposing his soft skin and toned muscles something out of a romance novel.

“Like what you see?” he smirks.

“You’re too cocky for your own good,” you sigh as you run a hand down his exposed body. “But as a matter of fact, I really, really do.”

“Well, if you’re thinking of doing what I think you are, angel . . . Tonight is about you, and treating you right. How I should’ve treated you a long time ago.” He leans down and kisses your lips before moving the embraces along your cheek to just below your ear. “Sit back and relax, sweetheart. I’m gonna take good care of you.”

You sigh as he presses kisses down your chest, nipping at your cleavage and soothing the sting of any bite with his lips. You pant in excitement under his touch as his hands wrap around my back, unclasping your bra and sliding it painfully slow off of your body. You let out a sigh and toss your head to the side as his lips wrap around your nipple, one of his hands on your free breast while the other hand holds onto yours. Matt takes his time as if he’s trying to map out your body in his mind with his lips. Gazing down, you catch a glimpse of how happy Matt looks as he drags his lips further down your torso, pressing a long kiss on your belly button before unbuttoning your pants to shimmy them off your legs. Tossing them to the floor, he kisses all the way up your legs before spreading them apart to nestle his face against your covered core. You whine at his careful and deliberate movements, lifting your hips to help him slide the fabric off. Matt’s fingers gently spread you open, exposing yourself completely to him.

“Oh, fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he breathes. “So perfect for me.”

Carefully, he lets out a soft breath on your pussy before leaning forward and wrapping his lips around your clit.

“Oh!” you cry out. “Fuck . . .”

Your toes curl as Matt works his magic, and your eyes flutter shut as you let your mind get caught up in all the things that Matt is making you feel. If you had known he could make you feel like this—if you knew he even felt an inkling of the same way toward your, you would’ve done something to let him know that you care about him more more than a friend.

“Matty,” you breathe, running your fingers through his hair. “Oh, Matt, just like that. So good.”

You watch as Matt tries to lift his gaze upward to meet yours, his beautiful hazel eyes sparkling with delight as he eats you out. You swallow hard, throwing your head back as you feel your orgasm quickly approach. You cry out when you feel him slide two fingers into you, curling them just right to throw you over the edge. Your body arches off of the mattress as you cry out, your thighs clenching around his head. Matt’s tongue cleans up every last drop of your arousal before kissing all the way back up your body.

“You taste so good, angel,” he murmurs into your lips. “You ready for me?”

“Please,” you breathe, kissing him deeply. “I need you.”

He grins, kissing you again before leaning back and undoing his pants, shimmying them down enough to free his cock from the fabric before he reaches in his pocket to grab a condom. He is absolutely huge—delightfully so, and I feel the space between my legs instantly flood at the sight of him. Now what he said about not walking straight makes total sense, and not Matt just being cocky.

“All the way off,” you demand with a smile.

“Your wish is my command, sweetheart.”

You bite your lip in excitement as he gets completely naked while you tear open the little foil package.

“C’mere,” you grin as you drink him in as he kneels on your bed, completely and utterly bare.

Matt licks his lips, doing as you ask, folding his arms behind his head. Fuck, he has to know what he’s doing when he rests like that. Carefully, you crawl over to him, putting the tip of the condom in your mouth before you wrap your hand around his base and bring your head down his length. Your jaw hurts as you go down his thick cock, but you manage to get it all the way down. When you get back up, you see how lust-blown Matt’s expression is, how flushed his cheeks and chest are.

“That was so fucking hot,” he hums. “Get over here, angel.”

With a smile, you move to meet him in a kiss, a new passion in the embrace that hand’t been there before.

“You ready for me?” he breathes.

“Yeah,” you nod eagerly as you dip down for a kiss.

With firm hands on your hips, he guides you down on his cock. You moan in harmony as he gets deeper and deeper in you, and it feels like you’re going to get split in two the further he goes. When you’re all the way down, he pulls you in for a deep kiss.

“Are you okay?” he breathes when your lips part.

“I’m okay,” you assure him. “You’re big."

“And you’re tight,” he smirks. “You good for me to move?”

“Oh, fuck, please.”

“Such good manners.”

With another kiss and a smile, Matt wraps his arms around you so your back is on the mattress and he’s hovering above you. You feel the sweet sting from the drag of his cock as he pulls out before pushing back in, testing and stretching you slowly as he starts to establish a rhythm. Your lips part as you feel more pleasure with each of Matt’s thrusts, one of your hands moving to his bicep and creating little crescent moons in his soft skin as he moves faster and faster.

“Right there,” you breathe. “Shit . . . Matt, yes, right there.”

“Good girl,” he hums. “So good taking my cock like that.”

“K-Kiss me,” you stutter, feeling your second orgasm approaching.

Looking at you tenderly, he leans down and kisses you long and slow, staying lower to keep little space between our bodies.

“You’re perfect,” he breathes, kissing your cheek. “So perfect.”

“Matt, ‘m close,” you whimper.

“Whenever you’re ready.” His hand cradles the side of your face, kissing you once more.

You bite your lip, stifling your moan as you come around Matt, your body clinging to his as he continues to move his hips, his skin flushing as he grunts, approaching his own release, spilling into the condom. He kisses you all over as your breathing steadies, pulling out and tossing the condom into the trash before wrapping you in his arms and kissing your wherever his lips can find skin.

“Matt,” you chuckle softly as he sucks marks into your collarbone.

“Shh,” he hums, kissing the marks to soothe them.

“Matt, it tickles!”

You feel his lips curl into a smile as he presses kisses up your neck. “I’ve always loved your laugh. This is just another way I can hear it.”

“And it’s another way I can see your smile.” You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “You know, I bet if you give me enough time in between, we can use up all the condoms.”

“You think?”

“Nothing saying we can’t try.”

“Ambitious girl,” he smiles.

“It’s part of my charm. Why you like me. Why we work well together.”

“One of the reasons, yeah. There’s plenty of others, though.”

“Oh?”

“Mm.” He kisses your forehead. “I’ve got a whole list.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You giggle at the silence and look at him. “Are you gonna tell me any?”

Matt’s fingers trace aimless patterns on your skin. “I think you already know them, angel. But I’ll tell you one every day. Today, it’s your ambition. Tomorrow . . .” He lets out a breath. “It’ll be whatever feels right for me to point out.”

“Well, I’ve got a list, too. And right at the top is how safe you make me feel. How special you make me feel. How loved." You kiss his chest. "Tomorrow’s something might have to do with your nose.”

Matt’s expression is filled with tenderness, closing the gap between you once more, holding onto you and letting you rest right above his heart.

Permanent Taglist: @majesticavenger @steampowerednightvaler @themusingsofmany @just-the-hiddles @toozmanykids @dangertoozmanykids101 @clints-worldavengers @theburningbookshop @itwasthereaminuteago @peter1ismybrother@hellskitchens-whore @dpaccione @catnip987

Matt Murdock Taglist: @two-unbeatable-beaters

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reigningqueenofwords · 6 months ago

Text

Weakness

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader Word count: 1,181 Request: Anonymous. you haven’t written for any the boys characters but i was wondering if you could do soldier boy with #60 on the angst prompt? thank you 🩷 #60 “If I loved you, would I really have kept you around? Love is a weakness, I don’t have weaknesses.” A/N: I've only seen like 3 episodes of the Boys. I watched a compilation of all his sceneds to get a feel for him. Hope I did okay!

Read on AO3

His eyes were on yours. The look on his face was harsh. A look you couldn’t remember ever being aimed at you. “If I loved you, would I really have kept you around? Love is a weakness, I don’t have weaknesses.” His eyes never left yours.

You sucked in a breath, thinking back over to the part year that you’d spent with him. Over a year, in reality. From meeting him, to your first date, waking up in his arms, spending lazy days together, and you felt working towards a life together.

You loved living in a small town. The population sat around 800, and it was perfect. Many of the people you’d gone to school with had left years before, and a few trickled back in with families recently. You owned the local bakery, which was connected to the bookstore. It was a cute little set up, and you both benefited.

Rarely did you ever see a face you didn’t recognize. That all changed a year and a half ago. A man stepped into your bakery and you were floored. He was beyond attractive, and there was no way in hell you would have forgotten a face like his. “Can I help you?” You finally managed as he approached the counter.

He smirked at you before glancing over your display case. “I’ll take two chocolate chip cookies.” He pointed to where they were.

You tapped that into your register, wondering if he was just passing through. Although, no one ever passed through your sleepy little town. “That’ll be $2.” You told him.

“Wow, cheaper than I expected.” He said honestly, pulling out his wallet.

“I try to keep a couple cheaper items on the menu.” You shrugged, taking the five dollar bill as he handed it to you. “Especially for kids.” It wasn’t like kids had a lot of money, afterall. “Are you new in town?” You asked as you gave him his change.

“That obvious?” He chuckled as he watched you move to get his cookies.

“I’ve lived here my entire life, and I know most people. If not by name, then I recognize their face.” Closing up the little bag for the cookies (you’d given him a free one), you handed it to him with a smile. “I’m Y/N, by the way. Welcome to town.”

“I’m Ben, and thank you.” With that, he gave you a small wave and walked out.

Letting out a breath, you couldn’t help but to watch him leave. It was a good view.

Ben had been in town a month, and had been to your bakery a few times. Every time he got two chocolate chip cookies. Nothing else. He liked that you didn’t seem to have any idea who the hell he was. No one in town did. Did they just not care about what happened outside this town? It wasn’t like he was complaining, either.

You were talking to someone when he walked in, and you didn’t look as bubbly as you normally did. “No, Jake.” You sighed. “I’m sorry, but I’m not interested.”

“It’s one date.” The man, Jake, tried again.

“Hey.” Ben snapped. “I believe she said ‘no’ asswipe.” He glared at Jake, crossing his arms over his chest.

Jake shook his head and looked back at you. “Who’s this guy?” He asked, pointing behind him with his thumb.

“His name is Ben, and I’d listen to him.” You told him. “Because he looks like he’s about two seconds away from doing serious bodily harm.” While part of you’d be grateful, you didn’t feel like having to clean up your bakery from it, and you were sure Jake would call the cops.

He glanced over his shoulder at Ben who raised his eyebrow. “Beat it, chuckles.” He ground out.

Finally, Jake walked out, clearly pissed off. Once he was outside, you let out a breath. “Thank you for that. Cookies are on me today!” You told him, going to get him his cookies. “Would you like to try any other flavors today?” You asked, keeping the display case open.

Ben watched you for a minute. “One of your favorite.” He told you, moving to stand closer to the counter. “And your number.” He smirked when you nearly dropped the tongs you were using to get the cookies.

“You…want my number?” You asked, surprised.

“I do.” He nodded.

“Okay.” You agreed, finishing up with his cookies before getting a piece of paper to write it down. You’d never seen him with a cellphone around town, so you didn’t know if he even had one. “Here.” You handed it to him.

He glanced at it, and then slipped it into his pocket. With a wink, he made his way out of the bakery. Your cheeks were on fire, and you were glad to have a moment to collect yourself.

He’d called you and asked you out a couple days later. Your first date had been simple, but perfect for you. He’d taken you out to eat, and then you’d had a walk down mainstreet as the shops were closing. At the end of the night, he’d walked you to your front door and kissed you goodnight. “I hope there will be a second date.” You said, looking up at him.

“Damn right there will be.” He gave you that smirk that just killed you in the best way possible.

“I look forward to it.” You were on cloud nine. “Can I cook you dinner next time?” You asked, hopeful. “I can do more than bake.”

He grinned. “If you can cook half as good as you bake, I’m in for one hell of a treat.” He flirted.

You giggled as you felt Ben’s lips on your neck. His beard tickled you, his arms around your waist holding you close. “Morning.” You said sleepily.

“Morning, honey.” He greeted you. “Wanna make it a really good morning?” He asked as if he didn’t know your answer to that. “Give you some pep in that step while you’re working.”

“You just want everyone to know how lucky I am.” You teased. “You know those little old ladies are gossips!” There were certainly days where your bakery was busier because he was hanging around and the older widows loved getting a good look at him. It amused you, honestly.

He laughed at that. “Then let’s give them something to gossip about.” He moved to roll you to your back.

Now, here you were. Over a year later, staring at your boyfriend. His words ringing in your ears. Blinking, you shook your head. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard you right.” You breathed. “Did you just say if you loved me you wouldn’t keep me around? Because love is a weakness?” You asked.

“You heard me.” He said simply.

Your eyes watered. “Get out.” You managed, feeling a tear slip down your cheek. “Get your things and get the hell out of my house.” A sick feeling settled into your stomach. While you’d been falling in love, you’d been taken for a fool.

#soldier boy x reader

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bones4thecats · 6 months ago

Note

hello, I would like to make a request to Ignihyde with a reader like Magara from Hercules (note, magara! reader being Idia's boyfriend(girlfriend) please

The Reader Being Twisted From Megara

Characters: Idia and Ortho Shroud Requester: @marinahavik A/N: Heyo there, Marina! I know this has taken a while to get out there, but I've been busy with some extra side-hassles with the blog. Note; there will be an announcement after this comes out! Anyways, I do hope you enjoy this pieces despite coming out a while after requested😅 Spoilers/Trigger Warnings for: Book 6 and mentions of Death

••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●•

»»———————————- 　 Idia Shroud 　———————————-««

🎮 Wow, talk about opposites attract

🎮 This guy is literally known around Night Raven College for being a shut-it, meanwhile you are known for being a fairly obvious and cynical person. One that is hailed at being worse than Professor Trein when upset

🎮 Now, for the many years you and Idia have known one another, he by far believes that he deserves to have a friend as cool and chilled out as you around him. He’s a 'weird otaku' for crying out loud

🎮 When you guys first met, you were settling down from fight with another classmate. Apparently, he had tried to hit your younger sister, and in a fit of rage, you grabbed his hair and began to beat him senseless. And while you were fairly cynical when replying to the principal’s questions, Idia was more timid

🎮 You and him were released from the office, and when you introduced yourself and found out he got in trouble for messaging his parents because it was the date of his younger brother’s death, you swore to stand by his side. No take backs

🎮 Ever since then, Idia has been hooked onto you, which led to your relationship blossoming into what it is today

🎮 Idia is definitely nervous of being in a relationship with you, as you had a bad experience with your past boyfriend who was known by many names, Donovan or Don, or even Adonis! Talk about a spoiled narcissist

🎮 But, every time you notice that he is burying himself into these awful thoughts, you would jump in and begin to help him by reassuring him that he is far better than Donovan ever was to you. As he actually listens and talks to you instead of ignoring you and belittling you in front of his friends like Donovan

🎮 Speaking of Donovan, when he came by and tried to offer to rekindle your relationship, Idia showed a whole other side of him that scared all that witnessed the event

🎮 As the golden-haired man held your hand while bent down on one knee, your boyfriend literally blew up in flames, but, instead of blue ones, they were a hellfire-red and orange. And once he saw just how pissed the dormhead was, Donovan lunged out of there, but not before he praised on how you would regret rejecting him and for 'embarrassing' him

🎮 Please, he's an embarrassment on his own.

🎮 But, despite your cynical and disgusted-appearing nature, you really were a sweetheart inside. This was shown to Idia when you first interacted with Ortho, or, the robot-him that is...

🎮 You held his hand as he walked to practice, you'd allow him to recharge in your lap, hell, you would even allow him to do whatever he wanted with your extremely long and thick hair- sometimes the tiny mech would even match both you and his brother's hair

🎮 Don't mind Idia, he's just rebooting in the background- something about losing to much XP or whatever

••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●•

»»———————————-　 Ortho Shroud　———————————-««

🤖 Ortho is absolutely the biggest sweetheart you have ever met in your life!

🤖 When he first came back to life after Idia's overblot, he had no idea what happened or who you were. But, once you explained everything about you and Idia's bond, leaving out his death date and such, since he was no doubt overwhelmed with the fact his brother had an S/O

🤖 Ortho hugged your tightly as you just chuckled and gave him pats on his tiny robotic back

🤖 Idia awoke from his small nap in the nurse-ward to see you and Ortho curled up on a nearby sofa, the younger male being propped up in your arms like a toddler would with his mother

🤖 The younger Shroud would be lying if he said that he didn't love teasing you and his brother! He's the younger sibling, and as the younger sibling in a family, it is our job to make the oldest regret wishing for us. I can guarantee that, I have two older brothers

🤖 Like I mentioned earlier, you allow Ortho to hold your hand whenever he walked, have him recharge/rest in your lap, and let him style your hair

🤖 Speaking of your hair, whenever he does both you and his brother's to match, he just chuckles mischievously in the background as you hold Idia up and try getting a bottle of water in his mouth to cool him down from his embarrassment

#Twisted Wonderland #TWST #Ignihyde #Twisted Wonderland x Reader #TWST x Reader #Ignihyde x Reader #S/O! Reader #GN! Reader #Idia Shroud #Idia Shroud x Reader #Ortho Shroud #Ortho Shroud x Reader

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bobohu4eva · 10 months ago

Text

Illicit Affairs

Characters: Idol!Baekhyun x trainee/idol!Reader

Genre: smut, angst

Warnings: explicit unprotected sex, virgin sex, significant age gap, problematic relationship dynamics, this is purely a work of fiction and in no way representative of a healthy relationship

WC: 9.7k (trust me it needed to be that long)

A/N: Heavily inspired by the song, although the forbidden nature of the relationship is interpreted more as dealing with the age difference and dynamic, rather than being a result of infidelity. I definitely recommend giving it a listen before reading further.

Masterlist

He was one of the last people you met after becoming a trainee, but he was the one you'd been thinking about meeting the most.

Baekhyun was the reason you decided to become a singer. He was the person that made you fall in love with music and singing ten years ago, so when you finally bumped into him in person, it left you breathless and flustered.

He was even more gorgeous than you could've expected, and you'd already met many other idols by then. You'd been waiting for your vocal lesson one evening, and he was the person who went right before you. When his lesson ended, he walked out of the soundproof room, and he was standing right in front of you.

The image of him you'd always had in your mind, based on the countless pictures and videos you'd seen of him throughout the years, couldn't compare at all. With him directly before you, in person, he looked so much better than you ever could've imagined. He was just wearing a black tshirt and sweats, no makeup, hair unstyled and even a bit messy, but you still had to fight off the urge to stare. He was quite a bit taller than you, and you could see the muscle definition in his chest and arms under the plain black shirt. Everything about him was just so perfectly shaped, to you. From his familiar but still somehow surprisingly handsome face, to his broad shoulders, down to his waist and hips. If you found him attractive before meeting him in person, you were down badly now.

It was so natural and sweet how he greeted you, asking if you were new, and wishing you the best for your trainee journey. Of course you thanked him, but he could easily see how much the sudden meeting had shaken you up, so he kept it brief.

From then on, you saw him there every week before your lesson, and found yourself looking forward to it every time. The greetings became short conversations, and eventually you even told him how he'd been the one to inspire you back in the day to also be a singer and eventually audition. You would never forget how those words made his face light up.

“Really? Back then I had no idea what I was doing, I'm still surprised by how much people seemed to like me. It means a lot to hear that.”

He had one of those special kinds of smiles that you only see a few times in your life. It made you feel seen, appreciated, like to him, you were the only other person that mattered. He had that kind of energy about him.

All you could think to do was blush and smile back. Being around him was almost like some sort of high to you, the way your heart pounded and you got butterflies in your stomach.

Finally your voice teacher popped his head out the door, clearing his throat. “Sorry, I've got a bit of a cold. We'll keep it short today.”

Without missing a beat, Baekhyun spoke up. “If you need to take the night off I can take over her lesson.” He turned towards you, “Would you be okay with that?”

Your eyes grew wide and your mouth opened slightly, but no words came out, so you just nodded.

“You sure?” The teacher said, “That would be great, thank you.”

“Of course, it's already pretty late, you should get some rest.”

So, you were left with Baekhyun teaching your lesson for the evening. You were still dumbfounded as he led you back into the small soundproof room, and asked what you had learned in last week's lesson.

You answered him, though it was barely above a whisper. Having him teaching you all of the sudden was not something you were mentally prepared for.

However he still understood, and started leading you through some warm ups.

To say that you were blushing, embarrassed, mortified, or anything similar still felt like an understatement. Warm ups just aren't cute.They felt silly and sounded dumb and the idea of doing them in front of Baekhyun of all people made you want to curl up into a tiny ball and become one with the carpet on the floor.

Of course Baekhyun quickly caught on to that. “How about we do them together? I'll start, and you just match me, ok?”

His voice concealed your own enough to ease your mind a bit, but soon he was asking you to sing on your own, without his voice to hide behind.

You could barely get out a sound, let alone properly sing a simple scale. It was frustrating beyond belief, you knew you were a good singer, and you were incredibly lucky to have him offer to teach you, but your shyness still got the best of you. Trying to do anything while his eyes were on you felt impossible.

Baekhyun was starting to regret offering to do the lesson, not because he didn't want to, but because he felt he was making you uncomfortable. He loved the idea of mentoring a trainee, helping them develop their skills and getting to see them debut with his encouragement, it had even been a dream of his. Of course this was only one vocal lesson, but it was something he'd been thinking about for a while, and this seemed like a great opportunity, at least at first. But he knew he couldn't force it, and he didn't want to hold you back either.

“I'm sorry, I didn't really think this through. Should we call it a night?” He asked, and you felt your heart sink. The disappointment evident on your face must've told him that you weren't quite ready to give up yet, so he made you an offer.

“What if I face the wall, and you close your eyes, just imagine I'm not here and you're practicing by yourself. Just so I can hear you and get a better idea for what we should work on.”

You took a deep breath. He was just another person, and he was here because he wanted to help you.

When you nodded, he smiled, ready to give it your best shot before he turned away, facing the corner of the room.

It actually came out sounding okay that time, so you repeated it again for good measure.

When you opened your eyes Baekhyun was looking your way again, with a proud smile on his face.

He had you repeat it a few more times, reassuring you every time that you were doing well, and for you, just seeing him smiling and praising you was enough to keep you going.

With you finally past your mental block, he was able to get an idea of where you were at, and both of you were surprised to see how quickly two hours went by. He still kept things simple, not wanting to overwhelm you or make you shy again, but it was going amazingly well and he found himself almost as excited about it as you, if not even more.

With the lesson finally over, he offered to drive you back to your dorm on his way home, and you happily accepted. When he led you to his car, a silver Porsche, you let out a small laugh in disbelief. Baekhyun just smiled, making a little extra show out of opening the door for you, before circling around to get in himself. You stayed quiet, just listening to him softly sing along to the music he'd put on until it was time for him to drop you off. Part of you was still in disbelief, that you'd really spent the last few hours with him, and now, you were next to him in his car as he drove you home. When he pulled up to your dorm, he wished you a good night, and didn't move until he saw you enter the building safely. As you laid in bed that night you replayed it all in your mind, smiling like a fool at how heart fluttering it all was. For the first time, you couldn’t fall asleep because your reality was somehow even better than what you could dream up.

One week later, when you arrived for your lesson again, you were surprised when Baekhyun and your original teacher said they wanted to discuss something with you.

“How would you feel about having your vocal lessons with me from now on?” Baekhyun asked.

They saw the surprise on your face, your first teacher nodding at what Baekhyun had said.

“Wow, I mean, are you sure? It's an honor, of course, but, why..?”

“Teaching is something I've been thinking a lot about lately and I really enjoyed our lesson last week. It's up to you, of course, but if you'd be interested then I'd love to be your new voice teacher.”

You laughed, mostly in disbelief. It felt too good to be true. Baekhyun was someone you'd looked up to for so long, and now he was happily offering to personally help you with your singing.

“You really mean that?”

He was still smiling in that almost frustratingly captivating way, nodding at your question. “So should we get started?”

Unlike the week prior you had a bit more confidence this time around, and both you and him thoroughly enjoyed the lesson. Every week that followed your voice grew even bolder, as you got more used to being around him. You got less nervous to see him, moreso happy and excited to get to sing with him, and having him as your teacher made you all the more dedicated to doing your absolute best.

Soon you started to ask him about other things, too. First it was dancing, asking his advice for how to memorize choreographies more easily. Then, how to talk to the media, or how to pose for photo shoots. Within a few months Baekhyun was much more than just the voice teacher you saw once a week. He helped you with basically every aspect of becoming a successful idol, he became a mentor to you.

You could never fully get used to it, to having him in your life in such a close way. Your heart would still flutter when he showed you that amazing smile of his, and you still refused to slack off on your vocals or dancing, because you wanted to impress him, but mostly because you’d get to see that very smile. He was every bit as lovely and charming as you’d always imagined he would be, and you fell hard for him, he made it impossible for you not to. With how sweet he was to you, it sometimes seemed like he might actually like you, as more than a student, but those were thoughts you pushed away, knowing realistically that a relationship with him was nothing more than a fantasy.

It was only six months into being a trainee that you were told you would debut, and you knew that you had him to thank for it. Another few months later the day came, and it was time for you to perform with your group for the first time.

As soon as you stepped off stage, out of the view of the cameras, you lost it. The tears weren't because you felt sad or disappointed, simply overwhelmed. You knew you'd done well, really well in fact. Your career had officially begun, and the weight of it came down on you all at once, leaving you with little to do but sit in your dressing room in disbelief.

There was a soft knock on the door, and next thing you knew Baekhyun’s head was peeking in, and you weren't sure you'd ever seen him smile that big before.

Without as much as a second of hesitation, you ran to the door, pulling him inside. As the door shut behind him, his arms wrapped around you.

His praises almost went unheard, still too overwhelmed by everything to fully listen to what he was saying, but you could tell he was happy, that he thought you'd done really well.

It wasn't long until his arms broke away, hands still on your shoulders as he looked at you, smiling that amazing smile of his. With him looking at you like that, telling you how well you'd done, how proud he was, how happy he was to be your mentor, your emotions ran wild. It was everything, the adrenaline, relief, euphoria, and just him.

His eyes were still on your teary ones, admiring you, a little overwhelmed himself. Seeing you finally debut after the months he'd spent with you, singing together, dancing, doing everything he could to make sure you were ready when the day came, got him a little teary eyed, too. You'd done so well, and he felt so lucky to have gotten to be there by your side for all of it.

“I'm so proud of you.” He said, his hands moving down from your shoulders, along your arms. His eyes held so much warmth behind them, the sweet words along with his hands on you, and the way he never took his eyes away from you, had you reeling, stomach doing flips. For a second you swore his face was getting closer to yours, and his eyes flickered down to your lips. The tension seemed so thick, it became unbearable.

You threw your arms around him, and you kissed him.

At first he took a step back, stumbling a bit, too surprised to fully react. But before you had the chance to pull away, his hand was holding your face against his own, returning the same kind of passion you showed him.

Baekhyun, your endlessly kind, lovely, talented, handsome, funny, charming mentor, was kissing you back. With his free arm, he circled your waist and pulled you closer, flush with his chest. The hand on your face held you close so softly, asking, not demanding, for more contact, for this to not end so quickly. He gave you every chance to pull away, to stop him, but you didn't, you only melted into his affection even more.

The knock on the door pulled you both rudely back to reality. Your lips parted, and as you stared at one another, what you'd just done started to sink in. Baekhyuns’ face fell in a way you’d never seen before, and then he was gone. He walked through the door with all the horror disgust he felt towards himself clearly evident and the knot in his stomach nearly made him sick.

He knew he made a huge mistake. He fucked up so incredibly badly.

You stood there stunned, a million things running through your head, and collapsed under the weight of it all.

The stylist was confused to say the least after first witnessing Baekhyun’s swift exit and next finding you, sitting on the floor crying. Thankfully she excused herself and let you be.

Baekhyun kissed you, and then just walked out, leaving you alone and confused. The guilt nearly ate him alive. Returning your kiss crossed so many lines and he should've known better, and he did, but you caught him so off guard, in such an emotionally charged moment, it just happened. The sudden euphoria of realizing that you were kissing him overpowered any rational thought. He knew he must be insane.

And of all days, it was the day of your debut.

He had to make this right.

He returned to your waiting room but it was already empty. He kept walking around the building trying to find you, even running into your bandmates, but you were nowhere to be found.

Then he tried calling you, but he was sent to voicemail after the first ring. You declined his call. Finally he texted you, although he really didn't want to have this conversation over text. He knew he needed to do a better job at apologizing than just sending a few texts

“Can we please talk about this? I'm so sorry I just walked out, I wasn't thinking, I need to talk to you.”

You didn't reply.

The next day he called again, and still you didn't pick up.

The truth was, you were too embarrassed. Seeing him again, after he'd rejected you like that, was just too mortifying to consider. You felt so stupid. Of course kissing him was an outrageously dumb thing to do. He was your mentor, of course anything romantic was off the table. But you had a crush, and the adrenaline, combined with how sweet he was to you, made you lose any sense of reason.

Stupid little girl, kissing the man she never even had a chance with, because her emotions got the best of her.

But then why did he kiss you back?

That was what drove you insane. Of course you had a crush on him, it was painfully obvious from the first day you'd met him, but he'd always stayed professional, never giving you any reason to think that it was anything more than how a fan feels toward their idol, and that it ever would be. Unfortunately for you, your feelings towards him only got stronger over time.

Baekhyun had convinced himself that it was a good thing you liked him, that with him as your mentor, you'd work that much harder. He thought it was cute, the same way he thought of other fans' attitudes towards him, during fansigns and the like. He hadn't considered that maybe he'd gotten a little too close with you, that those lines started to feel blurred. In reality, you weren't just another fan, you were far from it. You were a real friend, you knew him.

It was easy for him to understand why you didn't want to see or talk to him after what happened. He knew he messed up, both when he kissed you back, and when he left the room. He couldn't even imagine what must've been going through your head. He hoped you weren't blaming yourself, sure you're an adult, but at ten whole years older than you, he knew he was the one responsible for making sure things stayed appropriate between you two, and he'd failed.

To his relief, you still did amazing for the rest of the debut promotions. He watched every performance, wishing he could've been there to support you.

Because of how busy you were you'd agreed a while ago to skip lessons for the first two weeks after debut, and as the days dragged on, Baekhyun was starting to worry that he wouldn't get to see you again for a lot longer than he'd like. He still knew he needed to apologize to you, and the longer you avoided him the guiltier he felt.

When promotions ended and he still hadn't heard from you, he reached out to your manager, asking when you'd have time for a lesson again.

She assured him that you'd be there next week at the same time and place as usual, and he breathed a sigh of relief. The days before the lesson dragged on for what felt like ages to him, but at least there was an end in sight.

When the time finally came, you were mortified, almost as badly as the first day you'd met him, or during your first lesson together, maybe even worse. He greeted you just as warmly as he always did, emphasizing how well you'd done during all the performances, and how he wished he could've been there for you. He did everything he could to try and relieve some of the tension and awkwardness, but you weren't there yet.

You were bright red, hating the unpleasant heat sweeping over you, burning your cheeks and making you uncomfortably sweaty. You couldn't talk to him, or even make eye contact, you were still too ashamed.

“Y/n?” You saw in your peripheral how he looked at you, and your eyes started to water. “I need to apologize for what happened after the showcase, I'm so sorry, I never should've put you in that situation, or kissed you back, or just left like I did. I was being reckless and stupid, the fault is all mine, and I understand if not, but I really hope you can forgive me.”

His heart sank when you started to cry, and although he'd told himself a million times that he wouldn't, that any physical contact with you was inappropriate, he still ended up holding you, giving you a shoulder to cry on.

“I'm such a fucking idiot.” You eventually let out between sobs, and he detached himself from you, finally meeting your eyes.

“Please don't say that, this is all on me. I'm the one who fucked up, not you.”

“But I'm the one- I-”

“Because I was being inappropriate. Like I said, I shouldn't have put you in that situation, that was my mistake.”

“I'm just so embarrassed.” It came out barely above a whisper.

“Nobody saw us, and I could never judge you for that. I know you just got caught up in the moment.”

You did your best to smile and nod, but the tears just kept coming. His words were sweet but did little to mend the pain and shame you still felt.

He wanted to reach out and wipe away your tears, to hold you, to comfort you as best he could, but he knew it would only worsen things. Once again, however, when you leaned into him for comfort, he let you do as you pleased, cursing himself for letting his very necessary boundaries slip away so easily.

This was bad, he knew it was. He didn't have the strength to push you away though he really should've. If this was going to continue, he had to do better, but he was coming to terms with the fact that he just wasn't able to.

He stayed holding you until the tears eventually slowed down, and came to a stop. Now that your face wasn't buried in his chest anymore, he shot you a soft smile. “Do you want to get to singing?”

Finally, you let out a small laugh. “Do we have to? Can we just talk? I missed you.”

He sighed, but nodded. He'd missed you too, but saying so didn't feel like a good idea.

He kept the conversation light, trying to make you laugh, anything to brighten your mood, if only for a little while. When the end of the lesson came, he knew he was going to have to be the bearer of bad news.

“Next week I promise we can actually sing again.” You told him as he led you to his car to bring you home.

He took a few deep breaths, and you were on your way to your dorm when he finally replied.

“I don't think it's a good idea for me to be mentoring you, or giving your lessons anymore.”

“What?”

He stopped at a red light, and the look of hurt and disappointment he saw when he looked over at you made his throat feel tight.

“I'll talk to your original voice teacher, to see when he can fit you into his schedule again, now that you're getting more advanced it'll be better for you to train with him anyway.”

You felt your lip start to quiver again. “You just don't want to be around me anymore now, I get it.” You mumbled, trying to hide the shakiness in your voice.

Baekhyun’s eyes squeezed shut for a second, “it's really not that, not at all.”

He was pulling up to your dorm and you just wanted to get away from him now before he saw you start to cry again. “You don't have to keep lying to me, I know I'm the one who fucked everything up with that stupid kiss.”

He parked, trying to think of how he could finally convince you that it wasn't your fault, but you were reaching for the door before he had the chance to say anything.

“Y/n, wait, please-”

You were already gone though, shutting the door behind you. As soon as you were outside of his car the tears came, and you tried to wipe them away as best you could as you hurried to your dorm.

When you got to the elevator you prayed nobody would see you like this. You'd spent so much of the evening in tears, you knew you looked an absolute mess. You just wanted to get to your room where you could finally be alone and let it all out.

“Y/n, wait!”

You turned around, and there he was, jogging towards where you stood. Your stomach suddenly felt like it was in your throat, and then he was in front of you once again, this time taking both of your hands in his.

“I don't know what to tell you, for you to believe me, but it's not your fault, I swear. I- I don't want to stop teaching you either, really, but I can't keep being alone with you, not when I can't trust myself.”

All you could do was stare back at him, knowing that you were a tearful mess. What he was telling you didn't make any sense in your mind. You kissed him. Not the other way around.

“Please say something.” He was still panting a little as he said it, winded from having run after you.

“What does that even m-mean, you can't trust yourself? I'm the one who kissed you, and I'm definitely not stupid enough to try that again, so what does it matter?”

“I already told you, I shouldn't have put you, or us, in that situation in the first place.”

“But that doesn't fucking matter! Who cares if we're alone, we've been alone for the last two hours and it was fine.”

Only it really hadn't been fine, he knew that he shouldn't have been touching you at all.

You were staring back at him through tear filled eyes, and he felt absolutely terrible. He wanted to be able to comfort you, and eventually just gave in, throwing caution to the wind and wrapping his arms around you.

He just didn't have it in him to stand and watch you cry, knowing that he was the reason. This time he felt the way you grabbed onto the back of his shirt, keeping him from moving away.

“Please don't cry, I'm sorry, really, I just want what's best for you. We would still see each other occasionally around the company, it's not like this is goodbye forever.”

“I- I don't want lessons with anyone else. You're the whole reason I was able to debut, you can't just leave me now. Please.”

You were still holding onto him, and with every “please” you added, he was slipping. He hoped that you would eventually calm down, and he would be able to reason with you, to finally make you understand why he couldn't be around you so much anymore.

He had no such luck. All you could think about was how badly you would miss him, how lost you would feel if he stopped mentoring you, the last few weeks had been bad enough already, the only thing that got you through without him was your embarrassment and how busy you'd been. You couldn't lose him, you needed him.

Every minute that he listened to you cry because of him, he felt his rationality fade. As much as he knew he needed to distance himself, he wasn't going to do it if it hurt you that badly.

You felt him take a deep breath, and finally, a soft “okay” fell from his lips.

It wasn't until then that he felt your grip on him loosen, and you looked up at him.

“What? Really?” You sniffled, face still wet.

He nodded, running one hand through your hair, moving it from where it had started to stick to your face.

Once again, your arms were thrown around him, but at least this time, it was because you were happy. You must've said thank you to him a million times that night, as you felt the relief wash over you. Baekhyun was all too aware of the way your chest pressed against his own.

When he was finally free of your arms around him, you were beaming up at him, and he couldn't help but smile back. “You should get to your dorm before people start getting worried.”

You nodded, pressing the button and hugging him one more time before the elevator arrived.

“Bye” he waved, as you stepped inside and the doors started to shut “see you next week.”

He knew he was in too deep, and he was a fool to give in to you, but now it was too late. He was going to have to live with his decision and try to keep things from going further, but he

knew deep down that realistically, he didn’t have that kind of self control, not with you.

Baekhyun hadn’t planned on seeing you again until the next lesson, but when your debut song entered the top ten on all the major charts just a few days later, he wanted to celebrate, and invited you to a nice dinner. That day you spent hours getting ready, putting on your favorite dress and making sure your hair and makeup were perfect. You knew that it wasn’t a date, but the way you felt leading up to him arriving could’ve fooled you.

He picked you up and drove you to the restaurant, pulling up in the back where there was already somebody waiting to lead you to a private dining area where you’d be out of sight of the public. You hadn’t really thought about it, but you understood why it would probably be better for your dinner with him to stay between the two of you.

It was the first time you’d been around him just to hang out, more as a friend than a student, and you thought it was magical. You were nervous at first, still having all of the past drama with him on your mind, but he was his usual wonderful self, easily leading the conversation, making you laugh until your stomach hurt, and he too felt it, how easy and right this was. You ended up at the restaurant with him for over two hours, neither of you wanting the night to end. Finally the awkward tension from the previous weeks was gone, replaced with optimism and gratitude for still having him in your life.

When he finally dropped you off, he got out of the car to walk you inside, and you ended up alone with him, standing in front of the elevator once again.

“Thank you for tonight,” You started, “everything still feels kind of surreal, I can’t believe this is actually my life now. And it’s all thanks to you.”

“You always had it in you.” He said and smiled that lovely warm smile. You were about to press the button to take you upstairs, but he stopped you, looking around to make sure you were alone. “Wait- I know I tell you all the time that I’m proud of you and how far you’ve come, but I really can’t say it enough. I’m really lucky that I get to teach you. You have something special, truly.”

You and him got stuck in a weird place, neither one talking, but not making any effort to leave either. The way he was looking at you pulled you in, and you thought you saw something flash across his face, something you hadn’t seen before. He stepped closer, close enough that you could feel his breath against your skin, and your heart rate skyrocketed, confused. He wasn’t sure what came over him, he must be insane.

“Baekhyun?” You barely whispered, but he didn’t explain himself, instead he leaned in, and he kissed you.

Your mind was going a million miles a minute and it made no sense to you whatsoever, but he was kissing you, softly, sweetly, like something out of one of the many day dreams you’d had about him. As quickly as it started he was pulling away again, his face tinted a deep shade of pink, smiling a bit bashfully at you, still too shocked to react.

“Goodnight.” He whispered, and then he was walking back to his car.

After that, things felt completely different with him. The hugs got longer, his words sweeter, and every time he dropped you off, he’d again kiss you goodnight. It wasn’t only after your weekly lessons together that he would drive you around either, you and him began to spend more and more time together, and had to get more and more cautious about not being seen.

You would sneak out in big hoodies with a mask on to walk to where he was waiting in the parking lot, just to drive around all night with him in one of his fancy cars, talking, singing, and sometimes pulling off to the side of a quiet road where he would lean over and kiss you, though it never went any further. He knew that sneaking around with and kissing his student was bad enough, anything more, and in public, would be a whole different kind of stupid.

Both of you started to lie a lot, to your managers, friends, anyone really who would question or even just ask about your relationship. To everyone else, he was still just your mentor, a strict student-teacher agreement and no more. The lying should’ve been your first clue as to how wrong it all was, but you were blinded by your feelings for him. Getting to be alone with him, kiss him, and talk to him about things no one else knew was too all consuming for you to even think twice about it.

How you talked to each other changed too. When you were alone with him he would call you baby, treating you less like a student, or even just a friend, and more as a lover. You should’ve been happy, thrilled, even, and you were when you were with him, but when he’d drop you off and you’d be alone in your dorm again, you’d break down.

The late nights together, the romance, the kisses, they were all wonderful in the moment, but afterwards you’d always part ways, realizing that it was all fleeting, that any relationship beyond what you already had with him was impossible, because no matter how you might feel about each other, you were still his student, and far too young to be involved with him in any deeper way. No number of kisses or secret rendezvous would make him yours, he made that clear. You would always end up alone in your dorm at the end of it all, crying, knowing it would never turn into anything more.

Seeing him during lessons was a different experience now. There would be other people around, and they didn’t think twice seeing you together, but you and Baekhyun would give each other knowing looks, or he’d wink at you, or something else to signify your little secret. You and him almost had a special secret language, joking with each other often with little more than a glance.

Even your manager didn’t know about you and him, she knew that he was mentoring you, but she’d known him for so long, she never even suspected that he might be acting inappropriately with you, he just didn’t seem like that kind of guy.

The two of you had everyone fooled, and while it felt exciting on the surface, it also grew a new kind of shame within you, knowing that what you were doing was deeply wrong.

What you had with him wasn’t real, and never should or could be, and it was starting to tear you apart. It took you weeks of working up the courage to do so, but finally, during a lesson, you decided you were going to confront him with all of it.

“Can I ask you something?”

Baekhyun shrugged. “Sure.”

“But you have to promise you'll answer honestly!”

“Okay! I promise.”

You took a deep breath. “What are we doing?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean. The sneaking around, the kissing, what is that about?”

He'd been perfectly relaxed, but you could see how he tensed up as he realized what you were talking about.

“Y/n, I don't think it's a good idea for us to talk about that right now-”

“You said you'd answer!”

A long sigh left him, eyes squeezing shut for a second. “Okay, okay. I’m just doing what feels right. You know I like you, but you also know that we can’t just act like we’re together either.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

“Cause it’s inappropriate? We both know that this entire arrangement hasn't been appropriate since you decided to mentor me, knowing that I have a huge crush on you.”

You wanted to finally hear it from him, wanted him to admit that he'd been just as irresponsible as you, and Baekhyun didn't say a word. It was the hard truth that he'd been trying for so long to avoid, and you threw it right in his face.

“Ever since then it feels like you've been slowly leading me on, acting like we have something special but never letting it feel completely real, when you're the one who started all this in the first place, and let it get this far.”

He stared at you, and he knew he couldn't keep it up anymore, couldn't keep ignoring it. He saw your hurt and frustration clear as day, and finally, he broke.

“I'm a fucking idiot. I know I am, I'm an idiot and knew that getting so close with you was a terrible idea but I ignored all of that because I like you too much, I never intended for us to end up like this and feel like a huge asshole because I know I'm in a position where it's completely wrong of me to touch you at all because of how we met and the power dynamic but still every time I see you that's all I can think about.”

“Do you really not understand how cruel you're being?”

You scoffed at how genuinely confused he looked.

“I've liked you so much for so long, you know I have, and you just waltz into my life and start talking to me and then teaching me and then offering to mentor me, when you know I can't help but fall for you. You even make it clear that you like me back, inviting me out with you and kissing me but never truly acknowledging what it means, it feels fucking awful. You keep stringing me along because you like me even though you know you can't give me what I really want. You're such a selfish asshole for that.”

Your voice grew less and less stable and Baekhyun saw how the tears gathered in your eyes, threatening to spill over.

He knew there was no use trying to argue with you, he'd gotten himself into this mess and he knew he was the one to blame. “What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know. But it can’t go on like this, it hurts too much.”

The small room fell silent and all you could do was stare at each other. You looked so defeated, the guilt nearly brought him to tears, and he did the only thing he could think to do.

He held your face in his hands, bringing you close, letting his lips meet your own.

Kissing him was just as electrifying as it always was, only this time, he didn't stop, didn't hold back. You got lost in the feeling, savoring the familiar taste and feel of finally getting what you craved again. This time though, it couldn't end the way it always did. Something had to change, so you pulled away.

“You can’t just kiss me again and then keep on the same way. Please, I need more.”

His face fell, because he knew he couldn’t give you that. “Y/n, I’m sorry, but you know why I can’t do that, why it has to be like this.”

And he was right, of course you understood, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. It would be the end of his career if he was seen with you, and even his close friends would be raising eyebrows. He was so much older, your teacher, and your idol. What you wanted was completely impossible. “I care about you, a lot, you know I do. I also wish it wasn’t like this but we don’t have another choice.”

“So what? You keep stringing me along, and I just have to live with it? Knowing that no matter how much we may want it, we’ll never be able to be together?”

He sighed, and frowned at how sad you looked. “Can’t we just be grateful for what we do have?”

You shook your head, “I want too much.”

Despite everything you said, you and him both knew that you wouldn't be able to walk away, and neither would he. So when he took your face in his hands, whispered another “I'm sorry,” and kissed you again, you melted into him effortlessly.

It was heated and messy, both letting out all your grief and frustration, clinging to each other almost desperately. He kissed you harder, deeper than he had before, until this time he was the one to pull away, though he didn't move far, looking at you with a look that while apologetic, was still hopeful.

“I can't give you what you want, but if we're careful, I can take you home with me. For tonight, we can act like it’s real.”

Before, taking you home with him had always been off the table. You were both too easily recognizable, and being seen in his building together would make it dead obvious that your relationship was more than it should be, so it didn’t even seem like an option.

Wide eyed, you nodded, and not even a half hour into the lesson he was sneaking you carefully out of the practice room, and then the building, into his car. You texted your manager some bullshit excuse as to why you'd be gone for the night, and then you were on your way to his place, for the very first time.

You could hear the rapid pounding of your own heart as he drove you through the night, unsure but excited. Even if it was only for one night, and he was risking far too much, you were going to hold onto whatever you could get.

When he pulled into his building’s garage, he gave you a hat and a mask to put on, he pulled up his hood and put his own mask on, saying a short prayer before getting out of the car, and walking in with you. If anyone saw and recognized you both, he would be fucked, so he hurried, and luckily you made it to his apartment without running into anyone.

Once inside you both let out a sigh of relief. You were alone with him, truly alone, no chance of passers by seeing you, or label mates catching onto your relationship, just you and him, all night.

When you felt his hand on your own, pulling you closer, it robbed you of your breath. He took his mask off, and then yours, and leaned in, though his lips only barely met your own before he was looking at you once again. “I’ve wanted you so badly, and I know it’s wrong and I’m an idiot and an asshole for doing this, but I just can’t bring myself to stay away from you.”

“So don’t. I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you. I’m all yours.”

You looked up at him, eyes sparking with all the hope and clueless naivety he should expect from you, a girl of barely twenty, who’d grown up loving him, and was powerless not to fall into his trap, whether he’d set it on purpose or not. He was a man ten years your senior, who positioned himself as an authority figure in your life, someone who should never touch you, kiss you, or anything even close.

The guilt manifested as a lump in his throat, knowing that your feelings for him, your willingness to ignore how wrong it all was, were because of him.

Still, he kissed you, with a kind of passion that was new to you both. Without any risk of getting caught, he let himself hold you tighter, let the kiss get more and more heated. He led you to the couch, where you ended up on his lap, his hands on your hips as his lips wandered to your neck, kissing, biting, enough to make you gasp and shiver, but not leave marks.

For you it was otherworldly, lightheaded and dizzy with disbelief as his hands and lips stayed glued to your skin, finally living out the fantasies that played in your head when you laid alone at night, longing for him. You’d kissed boys in the past, but none of them came anywhere close to the way he made you feel. You were convinced nobody could ever make you feel the things Baekhyun could, and all he’d done was kiss you. He wasn’t some boy, he was a man, he knew what he was doing, and you wanted more. Every last little piece of him.

The restraint was gone. He wanted you just as badly, and that was all he could focus on. When you pushed your hips further into him, he groaned at the friction, easily getting carried away. You felt, looked, sounded, tasted, even smelled divine to him. He’d been hard for a good while already, and this time when you rolled your hips and he felt you against him, he let out a satisfied groan.

That only encouraged you further and you kept moving, lips moving heatedly against his, as you started to get yourself off against him, his hands on your ass guiding you.

“I want more.” You breathed out when he pulled back for air. “Where’s your bedroom?”

Baekhyun didn’t answer, rather he stood, your legs still wrapped around him as he carried you away, until gently laying you down on his mattress.

With you he became a gentle, caring lover. Maybe it was your age, or the fact that he’d been your mentor, but the way he touched you was like you were something precious. Like if he wasn’t careful, you would break. Even as he positioned himself between your thighs, he was cautious, never moving too quickly, watching for any hesitation on your end.

But there was none, your desire for him was all-consuming in a way that was hard to understand, even in the moment. Without him pressed against you, you felt like you might actually die.

“I’m not made of glass, Baek. You don’t have to be so careful.”

“I know, I just… I want to treat you the way you deserve to be treated. I want this to be special.”

When his lips met yours for the nth time that day, you started to tug on his clothes, until his shirt was being pulled over his head and he got to work undressing you as well. One by one he took off your blouse, followed by the skirt you were wearing, next unhooking your bra, until all that was left on your body was a pair of lacy underwear. Still desperate for his affection, you kept your lips glued to his all you could, the added feel of his warm skin against your own stealing any rationality from your mind. All you could think of was him, you wanted him in a way you didn’t even know was possible.

He froze above you when your hand reached down, trying to get the button of his jeans undone.

Even the few seconds when his touch left you completely as he finished undressing himself felt torturous. A breath got stuck in your throat when you felt his hands at your hips, slowly pulling the last piece of clothing from your body before reclaiming his place between your thighs.

As your eyes met his and he started to move closer, you realized that there was something he needed to know.

“Wait- I should probably tell you, I’ve never done this before.”

You watched as the color drained from Baekhyun’s face, eyes wide. He hadn’t even considered that you might be a virgin, you were old enough to have some experience, but it shouldn’t have been that much of a surprise to him either. Those five words hit him like a punch in the gut.

He rolled off of you, hands running through his hair, eyes squeezed shut. “God, this is so fucked up.”

You sat up, taking one of his hands and he looked at you with uncertainty. “It’s not a big deal, but I’m sorry if that was a bit of a shock.”

He gave you a sympathetic, but worried look. “It is a big deal though, at least to me. This would be irresponsible enough if it wasn’t your first time, I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t want to be responsible for how you’ll feel afterwards.”

His words made your heart sink and a lump form in your throat. “What? No, please, Baekhyun, trust me, there isn’t anyone in the entire world that I would rather do this with than you, here and now. Please. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything this badly.”

“You have to realize how tough of a spot you’re putting me in.”

“I don’t care. I just want you, I’ve never been so sure of anything in my entire life. Please.”

You moved closer to him, linking your hands behind the back of his neck, taking him with you as you fell back onto the mattress. He looked down at you, still unsure.

“Please.”

He shushed you with another kiss, but had his own conditions if he was really going to be your first. “You have to tell me immediately if you feel uncomfortable at all, or if it hurts, and you can stop me at any point if you don’t want it anymore.”

You could see in his eyes the concern and uncertainty he was feeling, but you had gotten this far, and you knew what you wanted, and you wanted it bad. You nodded, and he was between your legs once again, the anticipation rising.

Baekhyun didn’t miss the way you gasped at the first touch of his length against your inner thigh. He wanted to make sure you were ready, that it didn’t hurt too badly, so he started with one finger inside you, slowly working it in and out, before adding a second. The wetness and your whimpers told him you were more than ready, easily taking his digits, and finally, he moved to replace them with his length.

You felt him position himself at your entrance, and you were certain you’d never felt that kind anticipation before, leaving you a shaking, panting mess underneath him.

You felt his hand softly against your cheek, and your eyes opened to meet his. “Y/n, baby. You’re sure you want this?”

You nodded without even a second of hesitation. “Yes, god, please.”

The softness of his kiss was a stark contrast to the intrusion of him pushing inside, the pain making your eyes squeeze shut and a whine pass your lips.

He stopped moving when he saw your reaction, giving you time to adjust to the new sensation. “Am I hurting you?”

It did hurt, but your desire overpowered any sign of discomfort. “Please don’t stop.”

With his forehead pressed to yours he kept going, until his hips were flush with yours. He felt your discomfort in how tense you were, staying still to let the pain subside.

“Baekhyun, please.”

You might’ve not minded the pain, too concerned with the intense need for more, but he wasn’t going to move until he knew you were okay.

“I know it hurts baby, you have to relax, can you do that for me?”

You whined in response but realized that he was right, you were extremely un-relaxed, and as you made a conscious effort to let go of all the tension in your body, the pain faded away.

He felt it, and saw how you melted into the mattress, and took it as his cue to start moving.

The first thrust had your back arching, moaning his name and he just kept going, setting a slow rhythm. You clung to him, moaning unabashedly, losing yourself to the new and incredible feeling of him inside you. Nothing could’ve prepared you for it, this was so much better than anything you’d been able to come up with in your own fantasies. Just the weight and warmth of him on top of you overwhelmed you, combined with the feeling of him pushing in, pulling out almost completely each time, before sinking back into you, it was like your own personal heaven. He was your own personal heaven.

It only got better as he kept moving, that familiar warm feeling building in the pit of your stomach. You’d had orgasms before, but what you could do with your own hands didn’t even compare to what he was doing to you. It was a wholly different, and far more intense sensation.

His lips collided with yours in a messy, lustful haze, praises passing his lips in between breaths. “You feel so good baby, so perfect, so beautiful.”

Those words heightened everything even more, his low voice sending chills running down your spine.

“Baek, please.”

You didn’t even know what you were begging for anymore, you were just imploring him for more, everything and anything he could give you, you wanted it. The feeling of him rolling his hips into you again and again clearing your mind, your pleasure and desire all consuming.

However he could see it in your eyes, how you needed more, and picked up the pace. The way he pushed himself into you, now faster, and with more force, had the tightness in your belly growing more intense by the second.

The build up was more intense than you ever knew possible, losing control as he continued his ministrations, until all at once, you fell.

The orgasm raged through you, leaving every nerve ablaze, as you shook and gasped at the overwhelming wave of pleasure.

Above you, Baekhyun was losing control too, still pushing inside deeply, teetering on the edge, but your fucked out expression combined with the way you clenched around him had him reaching his high soon after you, shuddering with a moan as he let go.

For a minute you both stayed just like that, panting, gasping, letting the climax slowly fade, until there was nothing left but a tangled web of sweaty limbs.

When he pulled out and rolled off of you, the loss of his warmth made you whine. You barely even noticed when he got up, soon returning with a wet towel, and cleaning you up.

He settled in next to you, and you smiled when his arm wrapped around you, pulling you into him.

Luckily the exhaustion did well to lull you to sleep, any painful thoughts being pushed to the morning, but you wouldn’t be able to escape them forever.

He woke you up with a kiss on the cheek, and at first it all felt so nice, so tender and intimate, in bed together with him as the sun began to poke through the curtains. Slowly he got up, and you followed, feeling the dull ache between your thighs as you stood.

Seeing the way you grimaced at the soreness, he was quickly at your side. “Shit, sorry.” He muttered.

You just let out a small laugh. “It’s okay, it was worth it, at least. Definitely worth it.”

He smiled, pulling his clothes on as you gathered your own, before doing the same. “Let’s get you home, before it gets busy and people could see us leaving here together."

There it was, the rude call back to reality. That your night with him was over, that now you would have to hide again, to sneak around, and constantly be reminded that he wasn’t really yours, and never would be.

Stupid, foolish girl.

You managed to make it back home without being spotted, and even his kiss goodbye couldn’t keep the sadness from taking you over. He noticed it too, how you seemed to shut down after making it to his car.

Back in your room, you let it all out, letting the tears seep into your pillow. Once again, he’d turned you into a complete mess, the pain and frustration leaving you broken.

Nobody could ever again give you what he could, could make you feel what he could. It was him, the man you’d looked up to and admired for so many years, and now after having slept with him, it was clearer than ever.

That was the nature of your relationship with him. You were powerless to him, and no matter how much it would ruin you, you'd let him do it, over and over again.

For him, you would ruin yourself, a million little times.

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