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ssinboo · 10 months

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Say Yes to me

summary: You've been in love with Jeon Wonwoo since forever, and due to your family relations, you had hopes you'd marry him. Your only problem? he's getting engagement to someone else.

During his Engagement party, your childhood best friend and love of your life, Jeon Wonwoo, asks you to run away with him.

pairing: 1960s!AU - Childhood bestfriend! Wonwoo x F!Reader

word count: 10k (45~ minute read) – My longest ever!

warnings: unrequited crushes and overall foolishness, idiots in love, best friends to lovers to not lovers to lovers again, some angst?, Wonwoo is such a nerd, making out in dingy motels, unrealistic mileage for gasoline, seokmin being the sweetest

a/n: This will most certainly be my last fic of the year! So, Happy Holidays everyone! This year has been so troublesome, but I've grown so much and written a lot more, too! I'm so, so grateful for everyone I've met and everyone that's enjoyed my stuff! See you in 2024!

Had you been questioned, there would never be a concrete answer to the question of just how long you had been in love with Jeon Wonwoo.

You’d know him forever, and maybe you loved him all along.

Your families were business partners turned friends. And there had always been talk of marriage between the children. Of course, for convenience. The Jeon’s produced top-class racing and sports cars, while your family were in the chemical business, specialising in industry paints and finishes, it was only natural to unite the two families and profit.

Although your wealth was vast, it was nothing compared to the Jeon’s, despite always having the chance to frequent the same environments, you often found you were on different levels altogether.

Jeon Wonwoo was the eldest son, and he carried himself as such — with all the poise and arrogance of the heir to a global conglomerate. He liked golfing and late night swims. Always took his coffee black with no sugar, and barely had anything for breakfast, preferring a hearty lunch instead.

His younger brother, Lee Seokmin, was the result of an affair with a secretary, though that did not mean he was loved any less, no. Seokmin lacked a single mean bone in his body, he had a pure heart and a contagious laugh.

They were by all means what people liked to call Irish Twins, born less than a year apart. And the nature of that fact only made their differences more apparent. Complete opposites they were, and that extended to how they treated you, too.

Every summer growing up, your family would travel to the country house and you and your sister would spend the better part of the months at the club. Oh, how you loved the country club with the fun summer activities the clear chlorinated water, having a meal under the pool umbrellas and getting funny tan lines.

But most of all, you enjoyed Jeon Wonwoo.

His family frequented the same club and every summer, you’d be practically glued to Wonwoo, even if he didn’t dare to pay you any attention.

You were only three years apart, yet he acted as if you were an immature brat. Seokmin had always been happy to play with you and your sister, though.

More often than not, Wonwoo would lounge by the pool with a book, never daring to go in. And you would cross your arms over tile by the sides and try your damnedest to strike a conversation with him. He would ignore your every word, or worse, poke fun at your latest obsession.

“Wonwoo, at what time where you born?” You ask, spitting out any chlorine filled water off your mouth.

He arches an eyebrow, looking up from his book.

“What?”

“What time were you born?” You repeat, unbothered by his acidic tone.

“Why would I know that?”

“Can’t you ask your mum?”

He rolls his eyes, “Why do you wanna know?”

“So I can see your birth chart,” You shrug, twirling a wet strand of hair around your finger.

“The fuck is a birth chart?”

“It’s like… It’s a way to see your personality… And I can check to see if we’re compatible.”

“That’s stupid…” He rolls his eyes, again, “You’re stupid.”

You scoff, “You won’t play along— You’re such a bore!” You yell out and dive back in the pool, leaving behind a cackling Wonwoo.

Those hapless summer days were spent lazing by the pool with your sister and Seokmin — without a care in the world, laughing about nothing. With the isolated water-balloon fight every now and then.

You’d grown up before you could realise it, never truly leaving behind your childish crush on Wonwoo. Even if by the age hierarchy, you had no chance of marrying him — Your sister were to marry Wonwoo and you possibly married Seokmin.

Though you held hope, it crumbled away with every passing minute.

But that year, your sister had the greatest early birthday present: She’d found the man she was to marry and best of all, your daddy could never say no to his girls.

With your sister marrying the love of her life, it meant that you would marry Wonwoo, right? It was only a matter of time and you would be sworn to each other before God, your friends, and family. And your first love would blossom.

On your 21st birthday, your father took you to work with him for the day, though you most lazed around and answered his calls. You only expected to have lunch for your birthday and a party on the weekend.

At noon, he drove to the Jeon’s factory to deliver the new paint samples.

The workers, most of whom had watched you, your sister and the Jeon kids grow up, greet you excitedly and some even wish you happy birthday. Your father goes straight to the floor to speak to the manager.

Unexpectedly, Mr. Jeon himself shows up.

Mr. Jeon was a handsome old man a captivating smile, he was incredibly passionate about his work and adored mechanics, but he loved his sons above all — And he had great expectations for his boys.

He greets you with a warm hug and wishes you a happy birthday before discussing business with your father. To which you busy yourself with staring at the pieces waiting for a coat of paint.

“Hey, baby, why don’t you come with us to the patio?” Your father calls and you oblige, skipping toward the two men.

The patio is where they stored their models waiting to be shipped out to agencies or sometimes, for the higher profile clients, directly to the customer. You look at the new line to be launched next winter: sleek and modern with leather seats and wooden accents on the interior. You could never criticise the Jeon’s for their taste, they knew their stuff.

“Come here, baby,” Your father waves his hands, “What do you think of this car?”

You study the convertible in a bright red with a cream leather interior; a classic.

“It’s gorgeous, daddy, when are they launching it?”

“It should be out next year, but what do you think of the colour?”

“I like it,” You nod enthusiastically.

“That’s great baby, why don’t you read up on this model?” He hands you a tiny card, common in the factory, that has the model and batch number, as well as the signature from the supervisor. But just underneath the model, you see the colour name: your name.

As you look at your father, completely astonished, he just lets out a warm laugh and opens his arms for a hug.

“You named a shade after me?!” You glue yourself to him, still in shock.

“Happy birthday, princess.”

“Thank you, daddy, you’re the best!”

“That’s your dad’s present, how about you open mine, now?” Mr. Jeon interjects, waving a tiny jewelry box in the air.

You fix your hair and take it from his hand, expecting maybe a ring, or earrings.

But you find brand new car keys.

Mouth agape, you look at him while your father can only laugh at your surprised expression.

“Why don’t you give it a spin?” Mr. Jeon encourages, rushing you toward the convertible.

And though your father is beside himself with worry for you driving during rush hour, he settles for sitting in the passenger’s seat and doing some good old backseat driving, even though you barely make it past 30.

You drive around the block and return to the factory before your father has an anxiety attack over your driving.

“Thank you so much, Mr. Jeon! When did you even do this?! I had no idea!”

“Wonwoo oversaw the whole thing, he’s the one you should thank,” He laughs it off, but your heart can only skip a beat at the mention of your beloved’s name. Especially thinking he was the one to take care of such a great gift.

Wonwoo loved mechanics as much as his dad, sometimes even more. He even went to a good college for it, coming back even smarter than before — and much sassier, too. He never stopped doing manual work in the factory, guaranteeing every car made was up to the Jeon standard.

And you were very biased toward his mechanic abilities, especially when he would furrow his brow, glasses perched on the very tip of his nose; he would wipe off sweat off his forehead with his grease covered arm.

You remember to this day the last time your father came to discuss swatches and you stopped by the shop. Watching Wonwoo work on an older model with a leaky oil tank.

He did everything himself, changed the tank perched under the car, soldering a brand new one. He also did a once over on anything else that could become a problem in the future, any filters needing change, checking wires and gears, making sure the oil was fresh. The problem came with the lights. He had such a hard time wiggling his thick arms through the machinery to reach the right spot, and you watched very intently how his triceps flexed, deep green veins bulging under his skin.

Wonwoo had gotten so frustrated he’d shed off the top part of his coveralls, sporting a white undershirt so tight you could basically tell the shape of his sweat-clad torso. Oh, how you’d hoped he never got that bulb in place.

“Come’ere,” Wonwoo calls out without further ado.

“Why?”

“Need your help,” He mumbles under a sigh.

You rise from the barrel you were sitting on and approach the open hood. “With what?”

“Getting this fuckin’ bulb in place,” He hands you the tiny light bulb.

“Where do I need to put it?”

“See— in between this part, need to shove you hand until you reach back here in the light, then you just screw it in.”

“What if I get stuck?”

“You won’t, you’re so petite,” He smirks.

You scoff, “Shut up.”

Leaning over the hood, you place your left hand on the chassis to steady yourself and shove your right hand in between gears and machinery, trying to find the spot he mentioned.

“I can’t find it,” You complain.

“Keep trying.”

“I am!”

“Here, deeper—“ He reaches for you, one hand on your waist and another on your arm, forcing you toward the place.

You’re way too focused on finding the damn spot for the light, that you barely notice the proximity at all.

“Can’t find it!”

“Right, right— My right.”

“It’s the same freakin’ right, you idiot,” You hiss.

He laughs, “Fine, our right,” you groan at his stupid joke, “It should be there, try to bring it closer to you.”

“Found it!” You squeal with a smile, screwing the bulb in its place.

“Atta girl,” Wonwoo smiles.

“There!” With a relieved sigh, you finally free your grease-clad hand from the machinery, slightly cringing at the black covering your fingernails — It’d be such a bother to clean it up.

When you finally lean back, you stumble onto Wonwoo’s firm chest. Lucky for you, he catches you, steady hold at your waist. You’re finally aware of his proximity, to which he only smiles.

Looking down at where his warm, tauntingly large hands meet your waist, you’re suddenly filled with nothing but rage. ‘

“You got grease all over my dress!” You whine, looking at the perfectly stamped print of his hand over your brand new summer dress.

He only laughs, “Looks better this way, trust me.”

“Ugh!” You groan, stomping toward the washing area where they kept clean rugs.

He closes the hood with a loud thump that echoes through the shop and slides into the driver’s seat. The car comes alive with a loud hum and ta-da! The headlight works.

You are a little proud of your work, yes. But it’s not like you’ll show it.

“Do you not anything clean in here?!” You complain, eyeing the pile of grease-covered rags thrown in a corner. That had to be a fire hazard.

“What?” Wonwoo shouts over the running engine.

You huff and stomp your way back to the car, throwing open the driver’s door. “I have a formal dinner to go to,” You state, leaning over the door.

“Okay, then go.”

Rolling your eyes, you hold back any possible insults, “Like this?” You gesture toward your otherwise perfectly fine dress.

He holds back a little mischievous smile, “I have some clean clothes in the office.”

Wide eyes, mouth hanging agape, you stare at him dumbfound, “I hope that’s a joke, Jeon Wonwoo.”

He laughs, genuinely. That sweet, deep, dorky laugh of his that reverberates through his chest and plunges straight into your heart.

“Come on, I’ll drive you home.”

As much as he did tease you, Wonwoo never made short on his promises.

“Is he around?” You ask Mr. Jeon, trying your best to suppress any expectations.

“Oh, he had some business… But he wished you a happy birthday.”

Your smile falters before your catch it, forcing the corners of your lips into a beautiful, rehearsed smile. “Let him know I’m grateful. For the wishes and for the amazing present.”

It would soon be Wonwoo’s birthday and you had been preparing for what felt like ages. You got him a really nice set of electric work tools since he complained often about how the shop’s tools were always malfunctioning. But you did feel somewhat bad about only getting him a gift relating to work on what should be a day about him.

So you caved in and got him a gorgeous wrist watch with classy black leather straps; on the underside you had his name inscribed with a heart. — You actually hadn’t planned for the heart, but the jeweller got confused in between so many orders and it was too close to the date to have it re-done. You hoped you could play it off in a cool manner, maybe he would laugh at your story.

The party would be held the eve of his actual birthday, and you arrived at the venue with hours to spare. Your father and sister are by the entrance, speaking to Mr. Jeon, you greet them.

“Hi, Mr. Jeon! Where should I put the gifts?”

“Oh—“ Surprised, he looks at your father, “You’ve brought gifts—“ He seems… surprised? As if it were so weird to bring presents to a birthday party. “Uh— I’m not sure, let me check with my wife where you could place those.”

You father nervously sips on his champagne, avoiding your sister’s burning looks.

“You haven’t told her,” Your sister turns to your father, “Why didn’t you tell her?”

“Tell me what?” You ask.

“Honey… This isn’t Wonwoo’s birthday party…” Your father speaks very slowly, gauging for your reaction at his every word.

Eyebrows raised, you question, “What do you mean?”

“It’s an engagement party, he’s getting engaged to Suzy,” Your sister rips the band-aid off.

And you feel the air being sucked out of your lungs at once, an agonising knot pulls at your throat and your nose stings with the threat of tears. The shopping bags fall from your hands and you fight off the urge to bawl your eyes out.

Before you actually do cry your eyes out, you rush outside.

“Baby—“ Your father calls but you just storm off, not wanting to be near anyone.

Engaged? Engaged!

Engaged…

Wonwoo was getting fucking engaged.

With a bitch named Suzy who had the prettiest hair you’d ever seen and knew how to talk to investors and could speak a thousand languages. And worst of all, she was the kindest, sweetest girl ever. You couldn’t even hate her!

You weren’t even allowed that! As much as you weren’t allowed a simple heads up. How hard was it to tell you beforehand “Hey, the guy you’ve loved your entirely life is getting married to some girl and you just brought lemon pies to his engagement party, thought you’d want to know.”

Maybe you should’ve taken the pies with you, at least you’d have some comfort.

You know what, what the fuck. Why didn’t Wonwoo tell you anything?! It had been barely a couple of days since you saw each other, why couldn’t he tell you? Were you not even worthy of that?

Like having known each other your entire lives doesn’t make you worthy of such ”wonderful” news? How hard is it to tell someone in passing that you’re getting engaged! And now, you’re supposed to smile all night and pretend like your guts aren’t festering in rage and melancholy and your blood doesn’t run cold at the mere thought of Wonwoo walking down the aisle.

Giving it a second thought, maybe it wasn’t set in stone yet.

It’s the modern times and even back in your parents’ days, engagements were broken off all the time! He might not marry Suzy. You might have a chance.

Maybe you could ask— no, you could plead with your father to tell Mr. Jeon to think it all over. Wonwoo is still young, it’s not time to settle down just yet. He wanted to study abroad, he talked about the automobile industry in Europe with such amaze, and if that took a little longer, maybe Suzy would get tired of waiting?

Who were you fooling? You should’ve seen it coming.

Of course, he wouldn’t have married you, what were you thinking?!

He’s the Jeon’s precious firstborn and you’re… someone who can’t even tell apart the sizing in wrenches — To top it all off, Suzy was notably great with mechanics.

You really wish you had those pies with you, it would make your salty tears a little sweeter.

By the time you’re done sobbing in your car, you look a hot mess with runny make-up and swollen eyes. With a sigh, you pull out your purse and muster up any cosmetics that can save you for tonight.

You could cry all you wanted at home, but right now, you needed to look pretty and have your pictures taken.

By the time you return, the party is to start and guests are gathering at the front, your sister immediately rushes to your side.

“Are you okay?” she whispers, soft hands reaching for yours.

Forcing out a smile, “Of course! Who do you think I am?”

By the look on her face, you know she doesn’t trust your words not one bit, but will not pry at your emotions any further. At least not for tonight, you’re sure tomorrow she will grill you about this. But for now, you put on a bright smile and greet all the guests.

From the Jeon’s, Seokmin is the third to arrive, missing only by the birthday boy himself. But he immediately greets his parents and comes to greet your family.

“Hey!” You smile, putting aside your glass of champagne so you can hug him properly.

“How you doin’?” He asks, gorgeous smile on display.

“I’m— Well—“

“They’ve told you then—“

You press your lipstick coloured lips into a thin line, “Yeah,” You nod.

“Shit.”

“Yeah,” You shrug, “I’m happy, Suzy is… a—“ Nice words. Nice words. “—wonderful girl.”

Seokmin offers you a sweet smile. “Let’s hope she can handle his tantrums,” he nudges at your arm.

“Oh, please!” You laugh.

Wonwoo was known for sometimes having a bit of a short temper, not often, by any means and maybe that’s what made them so memorable. Like the one time he couldn’t finish a puzzle during game night, so he gathered all the pieces and set the ablaze in the backyard.

“Or—“ A waiter passes by with a tray full of champagne and he so kindly grabs two glasses, offering you one. “Listen to this— He gets to the church, covered in grease from head to toe.”

You laugh at the thought. Gods, how many times has Wonwoo decided to work on an engine while wearing his most expensive outfit? His mother nearly had a fit every time he would show up dishevelled and smelling like motor oil pretending like nothing’s wrong.

“Please,” You sip at your drink, “I bet he’s gonna be all greased up tonight.”

Seokmin laughs wholeheartedly. He was the sort of guy to never hold back a fit of giggles no matter how inappropriate it may be, and it was certainly refreshing to know someone genuinely found your company enjoyable.

“For sure, I think her parents will freak out.”

You nod.

Tapping at your glass, you hesitate the following words, “Guess we’ll be the ones getting married for the family, then…”

You didn’t hate Seokmin, far from it. You loved him to bits— Not like Wonwoo, of course, you believed you would never love a man like you loved Wonwoo, ever again.

He was funny, and such a gentleman. Not to mention, handsome, too. If you weren’t hopelessly in love with his brother, he would’ve been the perfect husband of your dreams. But he did deserve better than a wife who could never give him what he deserves.

“Sorry about that,” Seokmin comforts you and that only makes your nose sting with the threat of more tears.

“Stooop!” You whine in a shaky voice and he’s overcome with worry.

“Hey— What’s wrong—?”

“Don’t be so sweet— I’m emotional tonight—“ You laugh at your emotional state, despite the teary-eyes.

“Are you a crybaby tonight?”

You nod, fanning your eyes in the hope of drying your tears before they can wash away your makeup.

Seokmin smiles, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and you lean against his chest, fighting the urge to cry.

It’s only when you’re certain you won’t bawl your eyes out, that you respond. “It’s not that I hate you, you know I love you, but… You deserve someone that will love you like a husband.”

He nods, “I know— But it might not be so bad, we’re friends! We’ll have sleepovers every day, and we’ll have Italian every night, we’ll watch those silly movies you like…” Seokmin lists off all the things you would do in your very platonic marriage and it doesn’t sound so bad.

He knew exactly how you felt, he loved you, of course he did, you were so precious in his eyes, but not like a lover.

You pull your face away from his chest to look up at him, “Are you gonna let me choose your clothes?”

Seokmin sighs. You hated his questionable fashion since forever and in only very rare occasions did he accept your input, any other time and he assaulted your spirit with clashing patterns and silly shoes.

“Fine—!”

You smile brightly, properly comforted.

Before you can tease him any further, you spot Wonwoo entering the venue. Although he is immediately swarmed with congratulatory words, his shy nature makes it so his only response is always an awkward smile.

He immediately spots you among the crowd.

You breathe in. In that moment, despite knowing he was sworn to another, that did not stop your heart from fluttering at the sight of him, his broad shoulders and the crooked tie he clearly put on a rush.

“Congrats, bro!” Seokmin is the first one to greet him, not letting go of your shoulder but instead pulling Wonwoo into a semi-hug.

“Seokmin…” Wonwoo eyes his brother and then you, and then his brother again.

“Congrats, Nonu,” You smile, letting go of Seokmin’s comfort to reach for a hug.

Wonwoo smiles, letting you cling onto his neck, your citric perfume seeping into his clothes and body.

Oh, how his warmth could never compare to another. How you craved his affection like no other.

“Thanks— Uh, did you bring me anything?” He asks in a teasing tone.

“Ey— Nonu!” Seokmin scolds his brother.

“How did you know I brought you something?” You giggle, pulling away from the hug.

Wonwoo shrugs.

You reach for his crooked tie, straightening it to the best of your abilities. “I brought it earlier, but I think your mum took it to the back room,” You explain, focused on the tie.

He, however is focused on your concentrated face, parted red lips and furrowed brows. The proximity that lets him almost feel your chest pressed against his, as if extending the hug.

“However, you, mister, have to greet your guests!” You scold, setting his tie in place.

Seokmin joins in, once again throwing his arm around your shoulder. “That’s right, mum already gave me an earful about how late you were— And I got here on time!”

“Yeah— Yeah— You’re right,” Wonwoo nods.

“Liquid courage?” You offer your half-drunk glass of champagne and he downs it in one go.

You and Seokmin goof around a little more and gossip about certain guests behind their backs. Dinner is served and you all sit down to eat, Seokmin insists you sit beside him, which just so happens to also be next to Wonwoo. And you thank him for indulging you one last time.

Wonwoo is mostly quiet, but you were used to him not being rather fond of public parties, especially when all of the attention is on him. On his other side, sits Suzy, the blushing bride-to-be. She tries to make conversation with Wonwoo, though most of it falls flat, he only ever gives her monosyllabic answers and rarely contributes to discussions.

That is until Mr. and Mrs. Jeon stand up, tapping forks to their glasses to call for everyone’s attention. The room quiets down instantly.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for attending our little gathering tonight,” Mr Jeon greets the guests. “We have some wonderful news we would like to share with you all.”

“My beautiful son, how proud I am of you,” He adds, “Every day I am amazed at your intellect. Often, I question just where did you get those smarts!”

Everyone laughs.

“You have grown into a fine man, and I can’t take credit for any of it. You are the most mature, talented, and intelligent boy and you did it all by yourself— ”

You can watch how Wonwoo’s eyes gloss over with tears.

“I’m growing old, you know. And every father wants the guarantee that his children will be taken care of… That’s why I’m so relieved and happy to announce that my worries will soon be gone—“ He laughs but his son’s smile falters, “I’d like to announce the engagement of my son, Wonwoo, to this beautiful young lady named Suzanne. Welcome to the family, Suzy.”

He raises his glass and soon, the room fills with uproar. Everyone claps and you join in, smiling toward Mr. Jeon and Suzy. She stands up, thanking everyone and raising her own glass.

But Wonwoo doesn’t move.

“Nonu?” You whisper.

In his ears all that can be heard is muffled screams of joy and the incessant acute ringing. He closes his fists so tight that his blunt nails almost break through skin, he doesn’t look at you, but it’s so clear something is wrong.

You and Seokmin exchange glances.

Before you can call for him again, he stands up at once, the chair falling behind him with a loud bang that silences the room in an instant. In large and rushed strides, Wonwoo leaves for the patio.

You stand up and follow him.

“Wonwoo!” You call out, almost tripping over your party heels.

He stands in the yard, hand gripping at his gelled hair while the other fights with his tie, pulling at the suffocating fabric until it slides down.

The yard is decorated with a gorgeous fountain, sound of running water somewhat soothing in this moment.

“Nonu, what’s wrong?” You whisper, a hand reaching for his heaving shoulder.

“What wrong?!” He yells back, shoving your hand away, “Did you not fuckin’ hear ‘em?!”

You step back and his gaze somewhat softens, realising he just pushed you.

“You didn’t know…” You whisper to yourself, epiphany hitting you like a punch to the gut. How could Mr. Jeon do this?! Throw this on him without any previous warning?!

“You— You knew?” His voice is shaky, laced with the sharp sting of betrayal.

“I found it out myself tonight when I got here— I— I thought you knew! I thought you agreed to it!” You argue.

“How— How can you think I would agree to marry someone—“ His words trail off in the night breeze, never to be finished.

“Then— What will you do?”

“I don’t know!”

You bite at your nails, finding a concrete surface to sit on and ponder.

“I must leave—“ He speaks out, “Run away with me—“

“What?!” you stand up.

“Let’s leave, drive somewhere— Wherever! I can’t stay a moment longer in this place.”

Oh, what a dilemma it was.

Abandon an engagement party with the groom-to-be, leaving behind furious parents and confused guests. And part of you knew that, despite your family’s closeness and no matter how much your father claimed you were all very close like family, driving off in the middle of the night with a committed man was a blow to any respectable, single, young ladies.

What a dilemma it could’ve been if you weren’t so enamoured with this man you would beck at any given call of his.

“I’ll get my bag and tell your parents you want to stay out here for a couple of minutes,” You announce and he nods.

As you walk back into the venue, all eyes are on you.

“He’s got the wedding jitters, everyone, not to worry. Wonwoo will return after he’s had a bit of fresh air,” You announce with a smile and all guests return to their previous activities.

But Mr. Jeon immediately corners you.

“What is he thinking?!” He half-yells, half-whispers.

“He’s just nervous, it’s a big bit of news…” You lie through your teeth, “I think a little heads up would’ve helped, you know he doesn’t do well with surprises.”

The man sighs, “He wouldn’t ever agree to it. I’ve offered him countless girls to marry and he never accepts any of them.“ Mr. Jeon looks at you and then sighs. “Do me a favour, convince him to come back, will you?”

“Yes, sir,” You nod and head off into the back rooms.

Unbeknown to you, Seokmin is on your trail and he waits until you are in the back lounge, gathering your bags and jacket to close the door and corner you.

“What the hell happened?”

You jump at the sudden intrusion, “You scared me!” You whisper.

“Sorry,” He whispers back.

“He didn’t know!”

“What?!” He says in a normal tone, soon realising just how loud that was.

“What I said, I think your dad set up a trap… He knows Wonwoo won’t go against his word.”

“Shit. What are we gonna do?”

“He wants to run away,” You announce.

Seokmin looks at you, and then at the purse hanging from your should and the jacket in your hands.

“And you’re coming with him?”

“I can’t leave him alone, not tonight.”

“And where are you going?”

“I don’t know,”

“And when are you coming back?”

“I don’t know.”

“You are coming back, right?”

“I have no idea, Seokmin,” You realise, but the prospect doesn’t scare you as badly.

He scratches at his head. “Leave through the kitchen, I’ll hold off my dad. Make sure to give me a call once you guys are… I don’t know— Just give a call, will you?”

You nod, pulling him into a hug.

Doing as he instructed, you pass through the kitchen staff and rush through the backdoor, unseen by the guests. Wonwoo is sitting on a concrete bench, his head between his hands.

“Ready?” You call out.

Wonwoo looks up, nodding before he rises to his height. You offer him a comforting smile and reach for his hand.

Once you get hold of his hand, you bolt across the yard toward the parking lot. He almost stumbles over his lanky legs, but catches up rather fast. You throw your stuff on the backseat and enter your car, Wonwoo decides to jump over the door.

You laugh at his antics with a shake of your head.

Once your heels are discarded, you start the engine and drive off, leaving behind that dreaded engagement party. Wonwoo busies himself with shedding his formal wear, throwing his tie on the floor and removing his blazer.

In any other occasion, this could’ve been such a lovely late-night drive, just the two of you in your beloved car, night breeze caressing your faces with her ice-cold kisses, cruising through deserted roads, barely a soul in sight except for the night owls.

And you might allow yourself to enjoy this moment.

The silence isn’t a bother, no, Wonwoo was always a man of comfortable silences to you, but this once, you’re worried about goes on in that busy mind of his.

“You alright?” You ask, looking away from the road to steal a glance or two at him.

“Yeah,” He replies.

“Truly?”

“No,” He scoffs at his own lie. “But I’ll be.”

You nod.

You drive out of town and on the interstate roads for ages until Wonwoo finally speaks up. You’re completely engulfed in darkness except for your headlights.

“We should stop soon and have a rest.”

“Okay,” You nod, “Any preferences?”

“Anywhere.”

And so you tell him to keep his eyes peeled open when a sign on the road says there should be a motel in the next couple KM. It doesn’t take too long before you’re pulling into the parking lot of a roadside motel, much of a far-cry from your expensive hotels and luxury living.

You check in at the front desk with an old man who seems very unhappy with his life, he short of throws the keys your way.

The room is… surprisingly nice, given the circumstances of the ambience. Only problem is the, although quite large, singular bed. You exchange glances.

“Shit,” Wonwoo curses, “I’m gonna

“You wanna get hit?” You joke, “He’s minutes away from killing us over this room. We can just share the bed.”

He looks at you with wide eyes. “I’ll sleep in the tub.”

Oh, he certainly seems to hate the idea of sharing a bed with you, huh.

“Nonu, please, it’s late and we’re both tired. It will be just like when we were kids,” You explain, setting aside your stuff.

Wonwoo nods, sitting on the strangely comfortable bed.

“You think they have robes?” You ask, looking around.

“Wouldn’t bet on it.”

“Oh, I’d kill to get out of this dress,” You whine, running to the bathroom to check for anything you could wear instead of your dress.

He just bites at his lips, watching you pace from side to side in that tiny bedroom.

That’s when you remember your forgotten shopping bags sitting in the trunk! Your compulsive shopping habits just saved you from a very uncomfortable night’s sleep, how convenient!

“I think I have some clothes in my car,” You announce, grabbing the keys and heading toward the door.

“Wait, you’re going by yourself? let me go with you.”

“I don’t wanna lock the door, though,” You whine.

He sighs, “Stay here, I’ll go.”

You jump, “Thank you, Nonu!”

While Wonwoo rummages through your trunk and pulls out the surprising large amount of shopping bags, you shed off your clothes and head toward the bathroom, dying to get some hot water on your body, put on your new PJs and doze off.

When he returns however, he is greeted by a sight any other man would die to see. You’ve left a trail of clothes from the bed toward the bathroom door. Starting on your pretty dress, splayed out over tiled-floor, and then your tights and then your underwear, matching, too—

He clears his throat. “I’m back!”

But you probably don’t hear him through the running shower, so he just sets down the bags and avoid the sight of your clothes. He decides to turn on the tiny TV and browse through any late night re-runs. You take only a couple of minutes in your shower.

“Nonu?” You ask from the bathroom.

“Yeah?” He turns down the TV.

“Did you find the clothes?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you bring me something to wear?” Wonwoo gulps.

“Uh— Which one?”

“There should be a light blue bag and a pink one.”

“Okay—“ He stands up and searches for the aforementioned colours.

Wonwoo heads to the bathroom door and leans against the wall, facing away from the door. He knocks once. You open the door and shove your arm through, reaching for the bags.

“Thank youu!”

He returns to the boring TV. Though all he could think about was the sight of your wet supple skin, knowing you were bare with only a thin sheet of plywood separating you.

You leave the bathroom smelling of cheap soap and fresh into your brand new nightgown. It is tentatively short with an almost see-through round of lace over the hems. In your defence, you weren’t planning on showing this nightgown to anyone anytime soon.

Sitting on the bed, you look around the room, not noticing how Wonwoo’s eyes don’t really meet yours or how red his ears seem to burn.

“Aren’t you gonna shower?” You ask.

“Feels a bit redundant to shower and get back into my dirty clothes.”

“I think I might have something for you, if you don’t want to sleep in a suit,” You pry.

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow, “I’m listening.”

“But you can’t judge! I bought this for my dad because you know he deals very poorly with the heat— And he never buys himself anything!” You’re explaining yourself in advance because you remember very well what you bought.

Silky boxer shorts and a tank top, which your father loved to sleep in on stuffy summer nights but you doubted would be Wonwoo’s first choice of wear, ever.

He haggles with his own mind; give into the silky boxer shorts or sleep in the most uncomfortable outfit ever. With a tired sigh, Wonwoo accepts his fate and grabs the bag.

You smile as he stomps toward the bathroom with a defeated frown.

By the time he returns, you’ve cleaned up your trail of clothes and made yourself very comfortable in the bed. You turn your head to face him.

God, he could make a potato sack look good.

“How’s the fit?” You pull your eyes away before you look for too long.

Wonwoo shrugs, “I’ve had worse.”

You laugh.

He coyly joins you in bed, keeping a large gap between your bodies, settling on top of the covers while you’re under their warmth.

“Ain’t you cold?” You ask, fidgeting with the TV remote.

Wonwoo shakes his head, leaning back into the headboard. With a pout, you cross the figurative bridge between the two of you and reach for him. He doesn’t shy away from your touch but it visibly confused.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, hands hovering in the air, far away from your exposed back.

“I’m sorry your birthday party sucked,” You murmur against his chest, Wonwoo smiles softly, letting his hands rest on you.

“It didn’t suck in its entirety,” he says, palms slightly tapping at your back, “it was fun running away with you.”

You giggle at his comment, heart fluttering at its meaning, “What are we going to do? About the engagement, I mean…”

“We?” He raises an eyebrow.

You pull away from him.

“Well— You dragged me into this!” You slap at his chest and he lets out a boisterous laugh that almost manages to pull the corners of your from into a smile.

“I know, I’m taking the piss out of you,” He extends his arms, pulling you back to your previous position, resuming the soft caresses he leaves on your arms. “I don’t know— This is the first time I’ve ever gone against my father.”

You sigh. “Don’t you wanna marry Suzy?”

There’s a pause and oh, you’re begging, wishing to hear the words you want most.

“Fuck no!” Wonwoo exclaims and you fail to hide your excitement.

“She is pretty,” You throw the bait, to pry at his true feelings.

“So is your sister, should I just marry any pretty girl?”

You raise from your position, eyebrows furrowed into a deep frown. Wonwoo looks at you, completely clueless to his words and its consequences.

“What the hell?!”

“What?”

Kicking off the covers in a flurry, you kneel on the bed, staring at him dead in the eyes. “You have the hots for my sister!”

It’s Wonwoo’s turn to get angry, “What?! No— You’re twisting my words—“

“I’m twisting your words?! You just said you think my sister is pretty!”

“Because she is!”

You jaw drops, you can’t believe he is doubling down. “Wow,” you shake your head.

“What’s wrong with saying that?”

You shrug, turning away from him and crossing your arms. “I don’t know, why don’t you just go an marry my sister, then.”

Only then, does this thick-headed man you love so much realise he has been complimenting other girls without so much as telling you a single nice word — the bare minimum. He sighs and offers you a soft smile, shifting in the bed until he is near you again.

“I don’t want to marry your sister. I think she is pretty, but she’s not the prettiest sister, you are.” He waits for your reaction.

Hook, line and sinker.

You turn around immediately, a hint of smile playing in your pretty lips.

That’s enough for him to break into a wide smile, opening his arms to welcome you back into his warmth. You crash into his chest, wrapping yourself around his torso.

He groans, falling back into the mattress but not letting go of you.

Minutes pass before you speak again. “It’s past midnight…” You whisper.

“It’s well past midnight… Why?”

You shift upwards until your faces are only inches apart, breath tickling his lips, your beautiful eyes gleaming under dim motel lighting. “Happy birthday,” You whisper between smiles, “Make a wish.”

Wonwoo breathes in, eyes scanning your face, “There’s one thing I want…”

“What is it?”

If he said it out loud, he might’ve lost all courage to do so.

So he just does it, Wonwoo leans forward until his lips meet yours in a chaste kiss.

It probably lasted a couple of seconds, but those seconds felt like a lifetime when you were finally kissing the man you’ve loved for god knows how long. There’s a spark of electricity that burns bright from the moment your lips touch and travels through your body, blood boiling in excitement, shyness, and pure love.

When the kiss ends, Wonwoo studies your face, watching for any sign of discomfort. Which is even more worrying when you’re standing there, froze solid with an empty stare.

But thankfully, before he can say anything, you throw caution into the wind.

You pull him into a kiss. Throwing every sense of morale and shame you had out the damn window. He was a man sworn to another, for Pete's sake! But here you here, crashing your lips into his perfect, soft ones.

Wonwoo lets out a quiet groan, almost inaudible, but you hear it, oh yes, you do. And it runs straight through your chest and down to your core.

Although the sensible, rational part of your brain tells you to quit kissing him at once and just apologise, the other 99% of your brain, who’s been in love with him since forever, wants nothing of the sort. And you might have listened to the not-so-rational part of you, because you just deepened the kiss, shifting your weight until you’re partially on top of him.

Your lips move against him, shyly exploring this kiss, engraving every moment into your memory.

Yet he reciprocates. His warm hands finds your waist, holding you flush against his torso, heartbeats thumping completely in-sync. You wrap your arms around his neck and he takes the chance to pull you deeper into those dangerous lips of his. His tongue finds its way into your mouth, licking and twirling against yours, hot and eager.

He dips his head, one hand reaches to tangle into your hair and manoeuvre you around, allowing himself complete freedom to explore every bit of your mouth.

Wonwoo kisses like no other. Not that you had too much of a repertoire to compare him to.

But he consumes your lips with an unbound hunger, nothing similar to the calm and collected Wonwoo you knew, no. He’s hungry, messy, and very clumsy, clashing teeth one too many times, letting saliva drip down your chins and struggling to move with you on top of him.

When you part the kiss, you lay there breathless, gazing into his ridiculously beautiful beady eyes and long eyelashes, his handsome sharp nose and the most kissable lips you’ll ever see.

It was breathtaking, mind-blowing and nothing like you’ve ever felt before. Your heart beats so fast you feel as if you might pass out at any moment but you’d die before you give up experiencing that again.

“What was that?” He whispers and his breath tickle your kiss-swollen lips.

“Your birthday gift,” You bite at your lower lip. “Did you like it?”

Wonwoo smiles, breathless and half-lidded and your heart damn near bursts. “I did. Did you?”

You nod.

He nods. “Wanna do it again?”

You nod and he gives you that stupidly handsome smile of his.

And once again, you’re attached at the lips. This once, nothing like before, which you though impossible. It’s so much more desperate and it burns, it boils your blood in absolute desire. It leaves you light-headed, it wipes away your cognitive thoughts and leaves behind a foggy cloud of barely strung-together words that only translate into wanting more. More of him.

You sigh into the kiss and he drinks it all up, he consumes everything you give him with erratic hands and eager tongue.

Wonwoo leaves your lips and you whine with a breathless sigh of his name, almost chipping at any resolve he had left. But he nips at your neck nonetheless, warm, wet tongue trailing along your skin, making you twitch in his arms with the most delectable little ‘yips’ of surprise.

He bites, feral and determined; determined to make his claim, to leave behind his mark on your body, to indulge in carnal pleasure without a prospect of tomorrow, letting everything else be a construct beyond these motel walls, away from where you laid. Away from this reality where he had you in his hands and you moaned his name with a soft smile.

Practically tearing your nightgown, he pulls the silky fabric just enough until your tits spill out of its confine. Wonwoo sighs at the sight, fingers trailing the contour of your boobs, raising goosebumps along sensitive skin. His eyes are burning in adoration, the most depraved glaze of hunger hidden behind sheer excitement.

He dives in, hands kneading at the flesh, squishing soft skin.

Slender fingers caress your aereolas, running fingernails along your nipples in curiosity, watching you squirm and bite at your lips as your nipples begin to perk up.

And when you thought he was done, Wonwoo attaches his mouth to your nipple, sloppily running his tongue around it before he sucks. He makes sure to let his teeth graze, just to watch you jump.

All while his other hand makes work of your unattended boob, your attention is so thinly divided between his teasing fingers and his hot tongue and the sweetest, most satisfied groans that erupt from his throat.

Your face burns and you bite at the back of your hand, shoving down every stubborn moan that tries to make it past; but he won’t have that, no. Wonwoo reaches for your arms, pinning them above your head without so much as pulling away from your tits.

Mindlessly, you’ve been rocking back and forth against him, chasing a gut feeling you’re unsure of but desire more than anything ever. And without realising, you’ve been teasing him just as much as he has you, which is clear by the volume contained by his shorts.

He wishes he could ravish your breasts all night, but any more of your squirming and he will come undone without so much as a touch from you.

Wonwoo pulls away, hands once against finding your waist as he pulls you back to his chest.

“You know what comes next, don’t you?” He whispers against your lips, half-lidded, lust-filled eyes gazing so deep into your own.

“I— I’ve never done it before,” You confess.

And something stirs within him, to know he is your first, the first and only man to every touch you this way, to trace his lips over your gorgeous body, to settle inside of you.

Wonwoo smiles and kisses your nose, “I don’t care… But only if you don’t care that I haven’t either.”

You’re surprised, to say the least.

Kissing in between smiles, you raise to your knees, letting him tug at the hem of shorts just enough to free his cock.

It’s nothing like you’ve seen before and unlike the illustrations you remember from school. It’s red and veiny and it glistens with pre-cum under the dim lighting.

But it’s a part of him and you can’t help that your belly stirs at the sight of him stroking himself.

When you reach for the hem of your nightgown, his hands stop you.

“Keep it on—“ He whispers.

“Why?”

“We’ve got all night to take it off,” He runs his tongue through his top teeth with a side smirk and you almost smack him up the head for being such a little shit.

As he asked so kindly, you bunch up your nightgown around your waist, hips circling around his warmth, meanwhile he’s playing with the flesh of your love handles, kneading and running his fingers over your skin.

“Ready?”

You nod. He raises your hips and lets you control the pace, you feed in his cock, centimetre by centimetre, feeling it’s girth tear at your walls with an unimaginable sting, it burns hot and heavy in your hands.

Crashing onto his chest, you cry out a pained yelp.

Wonwoo run his fingers over your back, kissing the top of your head, his eyebrows are bunched up, face painted with worry. “We can stop— Let’s stop—“

“No!” you raise your head and he can see the tiny droplets bundling around your eyelashes, “Just gimme a minute!”

So you sit there, his cock half-in, pulsing angry red and throbbing under the tease of warmth and tightness. Especially when you look so breathtakingly gorgeous, he gulps, leaning back against the headboard, urging his mind to be strong.

It takes you minutes to get used to it, to slowly let the size settle until your muscles are well and accustomed to it and then you start it all over again, feeding the remaining inches until he’s bottomed out.

And oh heavens, how utterly full and hot you felt. Despite the stinging pain, part of you wants to chase the pleasure, clenching in sheer hunger.

Wonwoo stares up at you, looking for any signs of discomfort but he is met with the most enticing, beautiful, and tempting creature he’s ever laid his eyes upon. Your eyes are glassy with tears, but you’ve got a determined look on your face with a hint of a smirk that sends shivers down his spine and up his cock.

“Shit,” He curses out with a smile, leaning back and rutting into your hips only to watch your eyebrows furrow and your mouth gape, a moan threatening to escape. “Ready to move, pretty girl?”

You breathe out, “Yeah.”

Steadying yourself against his chest, you raise your hips, feeling his absence leave you upsettingly empty until you let your body crash back down, his cock impaling you with its warmth once again. You rock against him, shallowly, though the motion is unbearably teasing, even for you.

Wonwoo lets out an obscene, strained moan, fingernails digging into your waist, but you’re too focused on rocking your hips to notice. How he wants nothing but to piston his hips into your pussy like there is no tomorrow, he relishes in the feeling of your warmth, tight and gummy around his throbbing member.

And he finds you might be just as insatiable as he is, especially when you’ve found yourself a steady pace, bouncing up and down, and his name pours out of your lips in such a beautiful manner. Though he can’t just let you have all the control, can he?

“Oh—“ You yip, “Feels so— Good—“ Still unsure of your thought, you explore the feeling, rolling your hips, feeling him stretch your wider, fill your insides and leave you full like you’ve never felt before.

His hips meet yours half way, chasing your cunt every time you leave and pounding into you when you come back down, filling the room with guttural groans and the lewd sound of skin against skin.

You run your fingers under his shirt, feeling bare, warm skin, the softness of his flesh against your hands, the definition of his pecs and the way his nipples peek through the fabric. Wonwoo groans at the way your manicured nails scratch at his chest, gathering momentum as you bounce yourself on top of him.

He notices you’ve started moving faster, practically fucking yourself stupid on his cock and he would tease you halfway through tomorrow if he didn’t find himself in such a similar predicament. His pupils are blown wide, eyebrows furrowed across his brow, pretty lips hanging agape. You’re so utterly perfect and you were all his.

“Tell me how you feel, baby,” He whispers, slowing down for a second.

You sigh, nuzzling against his neck, “So good— I can’t even describe it—“ Your words are so airy and mindless, you’ve been consumed by the pleasure he gives you.

He catches the sight of the white rim that pools around his member, a mix of your juices, but it’s gone, sheathed inside you before he can admire it. There’s a poisoning thought that flashes in his mind, a fleeting, tempting picture. Of planting his seed in your womb, watching your grow full with child, his child. How absolutely breathtaking you would look, round cheeks and gorgeous smile, pretty fingers caressing your bump. And he would taint your taut stomach with his cum, watching it drip over your skin.

Wonwoo bites his lips so hard it breaks skin, throwing his head back, willing his mind somewhere else, anything else lest he come undone right then and there.

Stomach tingling with indescribable pleasure, you lean forward, moaning incessantly, unable to contain your ecstasy. He supports your body, wrapping strong arms around your torso, firm hands planted on your hips, taking over the moving so you can lay still and let the buzz consume your body with its electric touch.

It’s a feeling you’ve never felt before, and it crashes over your body in a colossal wave, building up from the pit of your stomach; sending tingles rushing through your boiling blood.

You raise your head, eyes meeting his and it seems he is familiar with this pleasure. His left hand meets your face, caressing your cheek, yet holding you still so he can gaze, he can watch you come undone around him.

Wonwoo watches, unblinking, how your eyebrows furry, your eyes are glossy with tears that cling to your pretty lashes, your lips sit in an enticing pout. Yet you part them, letting out increasingly louder cries of his name.

And you clench around him like there is no tomorrow, egging him on. He thrusts up into you, riding out your orgasm and chasing his over the edge.

He crashes his lips into yours, savouring your hazy kiss, your tired sighs and it doesn’t take long before he’s spurting hot white strings into you, it trickles down him and stains the silk fabric of his boxers.

Soon, he stills all movement except for heavy breathing and the soothing circles he runs over your exposed back.

He kisses your hair. “How do you feel?”

“Good,” You breathe out, “Tired. But good.”

His chest shakes with a soft chuckle, he runs slender fingers along your hairline, fixing any hairs that cling to sweaty skin. “Me too.”

“It felt amazing,” You smile, raising your head to face him. “I’ve never felt anything like it.”

Wonwoo hums.

“I’m glad it was you, Nonu,” You hid your face against his neck in embarrassment at your own mushy words, but Wonwoo feels their extent, hiding the blush of his cheeks.

It doesn’t take long before the post-orgasm haze lulls you into sleep.

And you slept like never before.

The following morning, Wonwoo wakes up to an empty bed. He panics for a second or two, scrambling to look for your belongings, only to find everything is still there.

Calm, he washes himself up and gets dressed to leave. Finally having a moment to digest the previous night’s events.

He had made up his mind, he would confront his father. His future was his to decide on.

Looking for you, Wonwoo reaches the foyer, only to see you leaning against the wall, attached to the payphone. When your eyes meet his, you immediately say your goodbyes, ending the call.

“Who did you call?” Wonwoo crosses his strong arms against his chest and you try to ignore the sight of his muscly forearms peeking from the folded sleeves.

You don’t like his tone. “Seokmin.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Why did you call him?”

“I promised I would,” You shrug.

Wonwoo can’t believe you would call Seokmin out of everyone, especially after you were glued to him last night at the party. “Why him?”

“He’s worried about you, you stupid— Stupid—“ You choke out on any mean names, simply stomping away from him.

Why was Wonwoo being so mean so early in the morning? You thought after the amazing night you spent together things would change between you. Stomping your way back to your room, you grumble under your breath.

While you’re folding your clothes, Wonwoo comes back.

“I’ll talk to my father,” He announces.

Before you can say anything about that, he continues. “We’ll get married— You and I, I mean— ” He clears his throat, “Will you marry me?”

Like a deer in headlights, you’re frozen, staring at him big-eyed with a dopey smile on your lips.

“You’ll marry me?” You question, just in case you’ve tricked yourself into hearing the words you’ve wanted most.

“Yes. And I— I’ll take full responsibility—“

You smile crashes into the ground. “You want to marry me out of… Responsibility?!” The words choke you on their way out.

Wonwoo furrows his eyebrows, not understanding why you would be upset. “Do you not want to?”

“No, I don’t want to fucking marry you!” Not like that.

His face falls and he assumes a much scarier look on his face. “What would you rather marry Seokmin, then?”

And in your fury, you blurt out “Yes! Yes, I would rather marry him!”

You realise your rejection hurt him, you do. But you’re so blindsided by your anger you can’t bring yourself to care, not when he sees you as a responsibility.

Wonwoo is suddenly not so angry, but indifferent. You watch his expression go away, replaced by one much scarier, in your opinion; nothing. A plain poker face.

“Gather your things and go to the car.”

It’s all he says before he leaves the room.

The ride back is the most nerve-racking hours you’ve ever experienced. Wonwoo is silent, even you huff and puff under your breath, angrily chewing on your breakfast of vending machine snacks.

Though he says one phrase as you reach the city. “Leave me here.”

And that’s the last you saw of him for over a month.

Your previous anger dries up, turning into sadness. Then you’re furious. And heartbroken until you’ve accepted your reality. You’ve ruined your friendship and lost the love of your life.

It takes your sister plucking you out of bed for you to finally leave your bedroom in weeks.

She was the first and only person you’ve told about the night spent with Wonwoo. Your parents were absolutely furious that you’d do something so dangerous, though relieved at your safety, they weren’t easy on their words.

“He’s not doing well, you know,” You sister says.

You humph.

“I’m serious. Daddy said he’s clumsy, keeps messing up his work. I think you should go and see him.”

Closing your eyes, you let out a worrisome sigh. You still cared way too much to hear those news and not do something about it.

So you dress up in whatever you can find and drive to his shop, building up a speech on your way there and practising every scenario. You just hoped everything could go back to the way it was.

He’s working on an old model, hunched over the hood in his light blue coveralls, stains of grease from head to toe.

“Knock knock,” You announced your presence, fidgeting with the hem of your dress, looking forward to meeting his eyes as much as you dread to.

Wonwoo immediately recognises your voice, turning around to meet your eyes.

And he looks just as wrecked as you felt. Deep-set eye bags and a tired gaze. Yet he still smiles just as handsomely.

“Hey,” He greets.

“Busy?”

“No! No,” Wonwoo scrambles, placing the wrench down removing his gloves.

“Can we talk?”

“Yeah, I actually— I wanted to talk to you, too.”

It’s somewhat relieving as well at it’s worrying to hear him say that, it could be an apology as well as an insult or something of the sort.

“We should— We should go to my office, someone might come in—“

“Yeah— We should.” You nod.

You walk into his office, one you’ve visited and killed time in quite often. But coming here after everything feels so crushing, all this distance between you.

“Go ahead—“

“You first—“

You both say at the same time and that seems to ease the stubborn awkwardness pooling in the air. You laugh.

“How about we say it together?”

“On 3?”

“1”

“2”

“3”

Breathing in, you say the words that come to your mind from the bottom of your heart.

“I want to marry you.”

“I love you.”

“What?!”

“What?!” Once again, you both say it at the same time.

“You want to marry me?” He breaks into a wide smile.

“And you love me?” The words feel so alien to you, you can barely believe your ears, you feel the tips of your fingers shake in excitement, your heart pounds so strongly against your rib cage you can almost hear the thumping.

Jeon Wonwoo just said he loves you.

“I— Are you sure you want to marry me? You said you didn’t want to!”

“Yes. Well— I’ve loved you since forever! So when you said you wanted to marry me just out of responsibility— I was heartbroken! It’s like you were forced into doing it!”

“I didn’t want to marry you out of responsibility! I’ve been planning to marry you since the beginning—“

You choke, “You what?!”

Wonwoo sighs, “I never wanted to marry your sister and she was well aware of that… We were blessed that she found her husband and when everything went well, I thought— I hoped that it’d mean we’d be the ones to be wed.”

Processing every word, you almost feel dizzy. “But you said you’d take responsibility!”

“For roping you into running away from my party.”

“Oh.” You’re beyond embarrassed for assuming and above all, for getting so angry you didn’t even let him explain himself.

“I should’ve been clearer,” He admits.

“No— I should’ve talked to you.”

Wonwoo smiles. “Thank you.”

With tiny tears threatening to fall, you can only confirm what you want to know the most.

“You love me?”

“Always,” He smiles.

Wonwoo seems to remember something, he raises his finger in a “wait” motion and leans over his desk, reaching for the top drawer. It’s only when you catch a peek of the velvet box that you almost keel over.

Gulping, he gathers his courage.

In his grease-stained coveralls that smells of expensive cologne and lavender cleaning supplies, Jeon Wonwoo gets down on one knee, nervously looking up at your with his stupidly gorgeous beady eyes and an expectant smile.

“Will you marry me?”

And in your least presentable dress, the one he’d ruined with grease stains and an unruly hairdo, you respond with the biggest smile:

“Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

Had you been questioned, there would be an answer to just how long you will love Jeon Wonwoo.

You’ll love him forever.

1K notes · View notes

emeraldcity1900 · 5 months

Text

the history of animation in a nutshell

Early 1900s: hey what if comic strips could like move?

Late 1910s early 1920s hey what if we mashed this up with live action people?

late 1920s: hey what if this thing had sound?

Early to mid 1930s: hey what if this had people actually talking and also color?

late 1930s: hey you know that super cool movie that one lady animated with paper cut out silhouettes? What if we did that with painted cells? Would people even pay to see that? Never mind it turns out the answer is yes.

1940s: ah shit most of our animators got drafted and/or hate us now cause we weren’t paying them. IT’S PROPAGANDA TIME BABY. Also haha hitler got hit with a mallet and also the most racist depictions of Japanese people ever.

1950s to 1960s : oh what’s this newfangled thing? Television? What if you could air cartoons on it? Oh fuck no I ain’t paying that much to get the charecters to have different backgrounds and for the charecters to like, move fluidly. Also manga and anime are steadily growing more popular.

1970s: (Ralph Bakshi walks into a comics store and finds a furry comic) X rated animated movie? *cue the screams of mothers and their unsuspecting children now being introduced to the revolutionary idea that cartoons don’t equal kids stuff? WHAT IS THE WORLD COMING TO?

1980s to 1990s: we can have full on animated Broadway musicals? Wait, what do you mean animated movies can count for the Oscar’s? What do you mean now they get their own catagory because the academy still thinks their for babies? Anime and manga are taking off in the west. SWEET JESUS WHAT DRUGS ARE THE JAPANESE ON SHOWING THIS SHIT TO KIDS. But also why is it so fucking good. Maybe some of these aren’t even meant for kids? Wait We can sell toys to kids with cartoons? Wait we can actually put effort into these cartoons on television? The fuck to you mean we can animate in 3D now? What do you mean we can have well animated, well written sitcom shows like the simpsons? What do you mean you can make cartoon charecters say fuck? What drugs are creators at Nickelodeon on? Do I even want to know?

2000s: oh my god, there is this one show that I really like cause it’s really well written and genuinely funny but I can’t talk about it because it’s animated and we all know cartoons are for babies right? Oh look it’s the transformers movie, look how far CGI has evolved so we can make the transformers in a movie.

2010s: holy shit I know these shows are for kids but they’re just well written and have so much meaningful things to say about the world. Wait, it’s cool to like cartoons now? They they have fandoms for this? Fuck yeah I’m in. (Enters one of the most notoriously toxic fandoms of all time) THEY HAVE GAY PEOPLE IN THESE SHOWS NOW? AND COMPLEX EMOTIONAL STORYTELLING? AND ADULT ANIMATED SHOWS CAN BE MORE THAN JUST SITCOMS WITH THE SAME JOKES AND STYLE? WHY IS IT THAT EVERY DISNEY CARTOON SINCE GRAVITY FALLS INCLUDE THINGS THAT GET MORE AND MORE FUCKED UP? WHY DO I FUCKING LOVE IT? WHY THE FUCK DID DISNEY DO THE OWL HOUSE DIRTY LIKE THAT?

2020s: I got this show I wanna pitch but it dosen’t fit into any box that the networks want and also I’m afraid that they’ll just randomly cancel it before I can finish the story I want to tell. Wait, I can just post the pilot on my YouTube channel, see if anybody actually likes this thing I made and just make the show independently? FUCK THE NETWORK! I AM THE NETWORK

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hellotailor · 2 years

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as someone with an interest in costume design, i'm fascinated by goncharov's quasi-nostalgic aesthetic. so many of the clothing choices seem intentionally anachronistic for a soviet crime thriller, not to mention the color palette.

in 1973 this would've been a contemporary drama, and there's an obvious overlap with the wave of early-70s paranoia thrillers (klute, the parallax view) and american cinema generally becoming obsessed with gritty crime dramas. you can absolutely see why scorsese was attracted to this project, but of course, a) this isn't an american movie emerging from american trends, and b) a lot of goncharov's visual choices aggressively *reject* the kind of gritty urban modernity we associate with 1970s movies about sad doomed violent men.

goncharov takes place in the late 1960s or early 1970s, but while katya and andrey's styling is *very* contemporary, goncharov himself is consistently dressed in very sharp early/mid-20th suits and hats. he doesn't even seem to wear synthetic fabrics.

maybe this is just meant to signal that goncharov has very picky (and eccentric) taste in clothes, which falls into a long tradition of antiheroes with snappy signature outfits. (jean-pierre melville's le samouraï came out 2 years before this.) sometimes filmmakers just want their protagonists to Look Cool. however i'm inclined to think there's something more going on here on a thematic level, especially when you combine goncharov's costumes with all the sepia-toned scenery and faux-historical production design elements. the story is rooted in contemporary 1970s politics but goncharov himself is stuck in the past, following a narrative arc that is clearly preordained from the start. so on a thematic level, matteo jwhw7015 is almost positioning him as the protagonist of a historical drama.

#goncharov #costume design #film #unreality

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ultravionna · 27 days

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"I hate summer, I hate her crooked teeth. I hate her 1960s haircut. I hate her knobby knees. I hate her.” is dallas coded bc he’s in denial abt his feelings for y/n

hi, angel!

omg- i actually 100% agree w this. so here are some headcannons + tiny cute fics between each to tickle your fancy.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ dallas winston first notices you when you’re hanging out with two-bit’s sister.

you’re sitting on the couch, laughing at something on television, and dallas leans against the doorway, arms crossed. the sound of your laughter catches him off guard—he’s never really paid attention to two-bit’s sister’s friends before. as he watches you, he can’t help but smirk, but he quickly brushes it off, thinking, It’s just a laugh, man. get a grip.

“hey, you two,” he says, trying to sound casual as he steps into the room, “what’s so funny?”

you glance over at him, still smiling, and your girl friend chimes in, “just this dumb show we’re watching, dal.”

“yeah, right,” dallas replies, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer than he intended. he turns away, heading for the kitchen, but he can’t shake the sound of your laugh from his head.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ dallas winston doesn’t realize it at first, but he starts looking forward to the times you come over.

one afternoon, he’s lounging in the kitchen, pretending to be uninterested as sodapop mentions you’re coming by with two-bit and his sister.

“when’s she gettin’ here?” he asks, trying to sound like he doesn’t care.

“why? you plannin’ to be somewhere else?” ponyboy teases.

“yeah, yeah, maybe,” dallas mutters, but he doesn’t go anywhere. instead, he hangs around, leaning against the counter with an apple in hand. when you finally walk through the door, his mood shifts instantly.

“hey, doll face,” he greets, his eyes flicking to you as you step into the room.

you give him a playful smile. “hey, dal.”

he watches as you join the curtis’s in the living room, telling himself he’s just sticking around to annoy the gang. but deep down, he knows it’s because he likes having you around, even if he won’t admit it.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ dallas winston finds himself thinking about you at random times.

he’s sitting in the curtis’s backyard, a cigarette dangling from his lips, when your face suddenly pops into his mind. he frowns, flicking the ash away, trying to focus on the conversation between ponyboy and johnny, but your image stays with him.

“damn it, man,” he mutters under his breath, annoyed with himself.

johnny glances over, concerned. “somethin’ wrong, dal?”

“nah, ‘s nothin’,” dallas grumbles, taking a long drag from his cigarette. but no matter how much he tries to shake it, he can’t get you out of his head—the way you looked the last time he saw you, the way you smiled at him like you knew something he didn’t.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ dallas winston gets annoyed with himself for how much you’re on his mind.

it’s late at night, and he’s lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling. he’s never been one to get all worked up over a girl, and he sure as hell doesn’t like the idea of starting now.

he punches his pillow in frustration. “get outta my head, man,” he mutters to himself. but even as he says it, he knows it’s pointless. the more he tries to push you out of his mind, the more you linger—your smile, your laugh, the way you look at him when you think he’s not paying attention.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ dallas winston starts to notice the little things about you.

sitting across from him at the curtis’s dinner table, you twirl a strand of hair around your finger as you talk about a book you’ve been reading. dallas pretends to be disinterested, but he’s secretly watching every movement, every expression on your face.

he leans back in his chair, arms crossed, smirking. “that book really that good, doll face?”

you glance up, meeting his gaze. “what, surprised I can read, dal?”

“nah, just surprised you’d waste time on somethin’ that ain’t real,” he teases, but his eyes stay on you, noticing the way your lips curl into a smile.

he tells himself it’s just because he’s observant, that he notices things other guys don’t. but deep down, he knows it’s more than that—he just doesn’t want to admit it.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ dallas winston tries to act indifferent around you.

you’re in the living room with everyone else, and dallas is leaning against the wall, watching you from a distance. when you glance his way, he smirks and gives you a little nod, acting like he’s too cool to care.

“hey,” he says when you catch his eye, keeping his voice casual.

you smile back. “hey, dal.”

he shrugs, trying to act like it’s no big deal, but inside, he’s kicking himself for being so obvious. he wants to step closer, to talk to you, but instead, he keeps his distance, reminding himself not to let his guard down.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ dallas winston feels a surge of jealousy when he sees you laughing with other guys.

you’re at the drive-in with the gang, and you’re chatting with two-bit, laughing at one of his jokes. dallas leans against the wall nearby, arms crossed, his jaw clenched tight.

“piece uh’ shit,” he mutters under his breath, scowling.

two-but catches his eye, smirking. “what’s eatin’ you, dal?”

“nothin’,” dallas snaps, pushing himself off the wall with his foot and walking away. but it’s not nothing. it bothers him more than he’d like to admit, seeing you with someone else, even if it’s just two-bit being his usual clownish self.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ dallas winston convinces himself that you’re just a passing interest.

he’s at buck’s place, downing a drink and trying to forget how much you’ve been on his mind. He’s been with plenty of girls before—girls who were easy to forget once the thrill was gone.

“why should you be any different?” he mutters to himself, taking another swig. but even as he says it, he knows he’s lying. there’s something about you that’s stuck with him, something that won’t go away no matter how much he tries to drown it out.

“damn it, man,” he grumbles, slamming the empty bottle on the counter. he knows he’s in deeper than he wants to be, but he’s not ready to face it yet.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ dallas winston starts to notice how much he enjoys the sound of your voice.

you’re talking to his sister in the kitchen, your voice drifting through the house. dallas, who’s in the other room, stops what he’s doing just to listen.

“hey, man,” he calls out, stepping into the kitchen, “you guys talkin’ ‘bout somethin’ interestin’?”

you look up at him, smiling. “just catching up, dal.”

he leans against the doorway, crossing his arms. “yeah? keep talkin’, then.”

you raise an eyebrow, but continue your conversation, unaware that dallas is only half-listening to the words. It’s your voice that keeps him there, that makes him want to stay longer than he intended. it’s just a voice, he tells himself, but coming from you, it feels like something more.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ dallas winston finds excuses to be around you more often.

you’re at the park with two-bit’s sister, and dallas just happens to show up, claiming he was in the neighborhood. he spots you sitting on a bench, and without missing a beat, he walks over, hands shoved in his pockets.

“hey, toots,” he greets, giving you a lopsided grin. “you mind if i join?”

you roll your eyes, but smile. “sure, dal.”

he plops down beside you, making some sarcastic comment about the weather just to get a reaction out of you. when you laugh, he feels a strange satisfaction, knowing he made you smile. it’s not much, but it’s enough to keep him coming back, finding reasons to be near you whenever he can.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ dallas winston struggles with the idea of admitting he likes you.

he’s sitting on the hood of his car, staring out at the darkened streets of tulsa, thinking about you. the idea of being vulnerable, of letting someone in, makes him uncomfortable.

“jesus, man,” he mutters to himself, rubbing the back of his neck, “you’re just complicatin’ things.”

but the more he thinks about you, the harder it becomes to deny that he cares. it’s not just some passing crush—there’s something real there, something he’s not used to feeling. he takes a deep breath, trying to push it down, but it’s like trying to hold back a tide.

“damn it,” he sighs, knowing he’s in trouble.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ dallas winston tries to convince himself that he’s just protective of you, not that he actually likes you.

whenever you’re out with the gang, he finds himself keeping an eye on you, making sure you’re safe. he tells himself it’s just because you’re his friend’s sister’s friend, and he doesn’t want anything to happen to you on his watch.

one night, you’re walking home with him, and one of those loser socs gives you a look that dallas doesn’t like. he steps in front of you, his expression darkening.

“you got a problem, man?” he growls at the guy, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket.

the soc backs off, and you glance at dallas, a bit surprised by his reaction. “thanks, dal, but i could’ve handled that.”

“yeah, right,” he mutters, still glaring at the soc as he walked off. he tries to shrug it off, telling himself he’s just being protective, that it’s not because he actually cares about you. but as you walk beside him, he can’t help but feel that his protective instinct comes from something deeper—something he’s not ready to admit yet.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ dallas winston tells himself that he’s only spending time with you because you’re always around, not because he actually wants to.

he’ll find excuses to hang out with you, telling himself it’s just convenient or that he’s bored, but deep down, he knows it’s more than that.

one afternoon, he shows up at your place unannounced, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk. “hey, swee’heart, you busy?”

you answer in a heartbeat, surprised to see him. “not really. what’s up?”

“nothin’. just figured we could hang out or somethin’,” he says casually, as if he hasn’t been thinking about it all day.

you smile and invite him in, and as he plops down on your couch, he tries to ignore the flutter in his chest. it’s just hangin’ out, he tells himself, nothin’ special. but the way he keeps sneaking glances at you when you’re not looking says otherwise.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ dallas winston can’t stand the idea of anyone else getting close to you, but he won’t admit that it’s because he’s jealous.

he’ll tease you about your other friends, making offhand comments about them, but it’s only because the thought of you with someone else drives him crazy.

one day, he catches you laughing with another guy, and something inside him snaps. “what’s so funny, huh?” he asks, his tone a bit sharper than usual.

you look at him, confused. “oh, just somethin’ funny he said.”

dallas narrows his eyes, trying to act like he doesn’t care. “yeah, well, he ain’t that funny.”

you raise an eyebrow, catching the edge in his voice. “what’s it to you?”

“nothin’,” he mutters, looking away. ‘it ain’t jus’ nothin’, he thinks, clenching his fists, it’s everything. but he won’t say it out loud, not even to himself.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ dallas winston tries to convince himself that you’re just like everyone else, but every time he sees you, he can’t help but feel like you’re different.

he’ll catch himself thinking about you at the most random times and then quickly push the thoughts away, refusing to acknowledge what they mean.

one night, after a long day, he’s lying in bed at buck’s, staring at the ceiling. he’s tired, but he can’t sleep. your face keeps popping into his head, and he groans, turning over. ‘why the hell do i keep thinkin’ about her?’ he wonders, frustrated.

he tries to distract himself, thinking about other things, other girls even, but nothing works. eventually, he sits up, running a hand through his hair. damn it, he mutters to himself. i don’t like her, i don’t. but even as he says it, he knows it’s a lie.

thanks for this send in!

hope you like it <3

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writingwithcolor · 9 months

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My alternate universe fantasy colonial Hong Kong is more authoritarian and just as racist but less homophobic than in real life, should I change that?

@floatyhands asked:

I’m a Hongkonger working on a magical alternate universe dystopia set in what is basically British colonial Hong Kong in the late 1920s. My main character is a young upper middle-class Eurasian bisexual man. I plan to keep the colony’s historical racial hierarchy in this universe, but I also want the fantasy quirks to mean that unlike in real life history, homosexuality was either recently decriminalized, or that the laws are barely enforced, because my boy deserves a break. Still, the institutions are quite homophobic, and this relative tolerance might not last. Meanwhile, due to other divergences (e.g. eldritch horrors, also the government’s even worse mishandling of the 1922 Seamen's Strike and the 1925 Canton-Hong Kong Strike), the colonial administration is a lot more authoritarian than it was in real history. This growing authoritarianism is not exclusive to the colony, and is part of a larger global trend in this universe. I realize these worldbuilding decisions above may whitewash colonialism, or come off as choosing to ignore one colonial oppression in favor of exaggerating another. Is there any advice as to how I can address this issue? (Maybe I could have my character get away by bribing the cops, though institutional corruption is more associated with the 1960s?) Thank you!

Historical Precedent for Imperialistic Gay Rights

There is a recently-published book about this topic that might actually interest you: Racism And The Making of Gay Rights by Laurie Marhoefer (note: I have yet to read it, it’s on my list). It essentially describes how the modern gay rights movement was built from colonialism and imperialism.

The book covers Magnus Hirschfeld, a German sexologist in the early 1900s, and (one of) his lover(s), Li Shiu Tong, who he met in British Shanghai. Magnus is generally considered to have laid the groundwork for a lot of gay rights, and his research via the Institut für Sexualwissenschaft was a target of Nazi book-burnings, but he was working with imperial governments in an era where the British Empire was still everywhere.

Considering they both ended up speaking to multiple world leaders about natural human sexual variation both in terms of intersex issues and sexual attraction, your time period really isn’t that far off for people beginning to be slightly more open-minded—while also being deeply imperialist in other ways.

The thing about this particular time period is homosexuality as we know it was recently coming into play, starting with the trial of Oscar Wilde and the rise of Nazism. But between those two is a pretty wildly fluctuating gap of attitudes.

Oscar Wilde’s trial is generally considered the period where gay people, specifically men who loved men, started becoming a group to be disliked for disrupting social order. It was very public, very scandalous, and his fall from grace is one of the things that drove so many gay and/or queer men underground. It also helped produce some of the extremely queercoded classical literature of the Victorian and Edwardian eras (ex: Dracula), because so many writers were exploring what it meant to be seen as such negative forces. A lot of people hated Oscar Wilde for bringing the concept to such a public discussion point, when being discreet had been so important.

But come the 1920s, people were beginning to wonder if being gay was that bad, and Mangus Hirschfeld managed to do a world tour of speaking come the 1930s, before all of that was derailed by wwii. He (and/or Li Shiu Tong) were writing papers that were getting published and sent to various health departments about how being gay wasn’t an illness, and more just an “alternative” way of loving others.

This was also the era of Boston Marriages where wealthy single women lived together as partners (I’m sure there’s an mlm-equivalent but I cannot remember or find it). People were a lot less likely to care if you kept things discreet, so there might be less day to day homophobia than one would expect. Romantic friendships were everywhere, and were considered the ideal—the amount of affection you could express to your same-sex best friend was far above what is socially tolerable now.

Kaz Rowe has a lot of videos with cited bibliographies about various queer disasters [affectionate] of the late 1800s/early 1900s, not to mention a lot of other cultural oddities of the Victorian era (and how many of those attitudes have carried into modern day) so you can start to get the proper terms to look it up for yourself.

I know there’s a certain… mistrust of specifically queer media analysts on YouTube in the current. Well. Plagiarism/fact-creation scandal (if you don’t know about the fact-creation, check out Todd in the Shadows). I recommend Kaz because they have citations on screen and in the description that aren’t whole-cloth ripped off from wikipedia’s citation list (they’ve also been published via Getty Publications, a museum press).

For audio-preferring people (hi), a video is more accessible than text, and sometimes the exposure to stuff that’s able to pull exact terms can finally get you the resources you need. If text is more accessible, just jump to the description box/transcript and have fun. Consider them and their work a starting place, not a professor.

There is always a vulnerability in learning things, because we can never outrun our own confirmation bias and we always have limited time to chase down facts and sources—we can only do our best and be open to finding facts that disprove what we researched prior.

Colonialism’s Popularity Problem

Something about colonialism that I’ve rarely discussed is how some colonial empires actually “allow” certain types of “deviance” if that deviance will temporarily serve its ends. Namely, when colonialism needs to expand its territory, either from landing in a new area or having recently messed up and needing to re-charm the population.

By that I mean: if a fascist group is struggling to maintain popularity, it will often conditionally open its doors to all walks of life in order to capture a greater market. It will also pay its spokespeople for the privilege of serving their ends, often very well. Authoritarians know the power of having the token supporter from a marginalized group on payroll: it both opens you up directly to that person’s identity, and sways the moderates towards going “well they allow [person/group] so they can’t be that bad, and I prefer them.”

Like it or not, any marginalized group can have its fascist members, sometimes even masquerading as the progressives. Being marginalized does not automatically equate to not wanting fascism, because people tend to want fascist leaders they agree with instead of democracy and coalition building. People can also think that certain people are exaggerating the horrors of colonialism, because it doesn’t happen to good people, and look, they accept their friends who are good people, so they’re fine.

A dominant fascist group can absolutely use this to their advantage in order to gain more foot soldiers, which then increases their raw numbers, which puts them in enough power they can stop caring about opening their ranks, and only then do they turn on their “deviant” members. By the time they turn, it’s usually too late, and there’s often a lot of feelings of betrayal because the spokesperson (and those who liked them) thought they were accepted, instead of just used.

You said it yourself that this colonial government is even stricter than the historical equivalent—which could mean it needs some sort of leverage to maintain its popularity. “Allowing” gay people to be some variation of themselves would be an ideal solution to this, but it would come with a bunch of conditions. What those conditions are I couldn’t tell you—that’s for your own imagination, based off what this group’s ideal is, but some suggestions are “follow the traditional dating/friendship norms”, “have their own gender identity slightly to the left of the cis ideal”, and/or “pretend to never actually be dating but everyone knows and pretends to not care so long as they don’t out themselves”—that would signal to the reader that this is deeply conditional and about to all come apart.

It would, however, mean your poor boy is less likely to get a break, because he would be policed to be the “acceptable kind of gay” that the colonial government is currently tolerating (not unlike the way the States claims to support white cis same-sex couples in the suburbs but not bipoc queer-trans people in polycules). It also provides a more salient angle for this colonial government to come crashing down, if that’s the way this narrative goes.

Colonial governments are often looking for scapegoats; if gay people aren’t the current one, then they’d be offered a lot more freedom just to improve the public image of those in power. You have the opportunity to have the strikers be the current scapegoats, which would take the heat off many other groups—including those hit by homophobia.

In Conclusion

Personally, I’d take a more “gays for Trump” attitude about the colonialism and their apparent “lack” of homophobia—they’re just trying to regain popularity after mishandling a major scandal, and the gay people will be on the outs soon enough.

You could also take the more nuanced approach and see how imperialism shaped modern gay rights and just fast-track that in your time period, to give it the right flavour of imperialism. A lot of BIPOC lgbtqa+ people will tell you the modern gay rights movement is assimilationalist, colonialist, and other flavours of ick, so that angle is viable.

You can also make something that looks more accepting to the modern eye by leaning heavily on romantic friendships that encouraged people waxing poetic for their “best friends”, keeping the “lovers” part deeply on the down low, but is still restrictive and people just don’t talk about it in public unless it’s in euphemisms or among other same-sex-attracted people because there’s nothing wrong with loving your best friend, you just can’t go off and claim you’re a couple like a heterosexual couple is.

Either way, you’re not sanitizing colonialism inherently by having there be less modern-recognized homophobia in this deeply authoritarian setting. You just need to add some guard rails on it so that, sure, your character might be fine if he behaves, but there are still “deviants” that the government will not accept.

Because that’s, in the end, one of the core tenants that makes a government colonial: its acceptance of groups is frequently based on how closely you follow the rules and police others for not following them, and anyone who isn’t their ideal person will be on the outs eventually. But that doesn’t mean they can’t have a facade of pretending those rules are totally going to include people who are to the left of those ideals, if those people fit in every other ideal, or you’re safe only if you keep it quiet.

~ Leigh

#colonialism #colonization #worldbuilding #alternate history #history #lgbt #china #hong kong #british empire #ask

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sweetlywriting · 3 months

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Another Vincent x reader drabble <3

Thinking about Vincent who literally marries you to mark off a checkbox-It’s the 1960’s and he’s a popular and prestigious chef in his late 30s, both the public eye and his pretentious friends are starting to wonder why he isn’t married?? Along with his unorthodox cooking methods . . . he figures maybe a spouse would take some of his unwanted fame away.

-He observes you for a while and if your life is clean and quiet enough, he offers some sort of bribe in exchange for your hand.

-Of course it’s all for show. He’s super cold at first and it’s almost as though you’re just two people living in the same place.

-He hates how he slowly gets used to you, hates how he waits until you come back from work, and hates when he has to eat without you.

-He starts to notice how much he likes you-he misses your presence, keeps note of everything you do, and starts to think of you fondly. At first it disgusts him, though not as much as the thought of you being with someone else.

-He’s a jealous man and so he’ll suck it up and take you on dates and do couple things to ensure you’ll stick around.

-You’re going somewhere? Might as well go with him. You want something? It’s immediately yours.

-The pride he feels for himself? He feels the same pride for you.

-He pushes you to be best you can be, sometimes a little harsh but it’s only because he sees you as an equal.

-Anything against you is directly against him.

-Even if you have differing personalities or perspectives to him you’re both one and the same in his eyes.

-Subtle affection. Makes sure you walk on the right side of the sidewalk, wants you to eat first, stands closer to you in public.

-Cooks all your favorite foods, whenever you visit the restaurant he strays from his rule of only making whats on the menu for you

-While he viewed marriage as a dreadful obligation if slowly turns into something he cherishes with you <3

#fanfiction #fanfic #x reader #writing #vincent charbonneau #dead plate vincent #deadplate #vincent dead plate #dead plate x reader #dead plate #clearing out my drafts #he’s so husband

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cheeseanonioncrisps · 1 year

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Something I never hear anyone talk about in the 'why are Young Adults (late teens to early 30s) reading so much Young Adult (teens) fiction These Days' discussion is how surprisingly difficult it can be to transition from kids books to adult fiction.

And I don't mean in terms of content. Forget themes, characters, plots, etc. I'm talking pure practicality.

As a kid, most of the books you read are calibrated to you exactly. Your local library likely has a 'children's' section, and that section is likely split into smaller sub-sections based on age group. 0-5, 5-8, 8-12, teen. A lot of your interests and experiences are pretty easy to guess at based on average developmental stages (eg. most 16-18 year olds will relate to Coming Of Age stories), so it's probably pretty easy for you to walk into a bookshop or library and find a book aimed at you specifically.

But get to 18 (or younger) and start straying into the 'adult' section, and suddenly nothing is calibrated anymore. When people complain that all 'grownup fiction' is about white middle class heterosexual couples going through angsty divorces in their mid-forties, this is what they're complaining about. They can't find books they can personally relate to, or that are about topics that they are interested in.

And yeah, sure, books shouldn't have to be relatable to be good or enjoyable. But there's also nothing wrong with wanting to read a book about young people, when you're young. Or queer people, if you're queer. Or people from your particular culture, religion, or ethnicity.

Even if we ignore the relatability aspect entirely, there's also nothing wrong with wanting to read a fantasy book that isn't just 'Tolkien but drearier' or a sci-fi that wasn't written by some guy in the 1960s who thought that women were just another kind of alien.

The problem is, fundamentally, that finding the books you like amid the haystack is a skill that most people are not being taught.

As a result, when they get past YA and try using the old tricks of just picking up whatever is on the bestseller list at the moment, or whatever their local library is currently touting as their 'book of the week', they frequently end up with something that isn't suited to their tastes.

And maybe they love it and it opens up a whole new genre that they'd never considered, but more often they hate it but feel obliged to slog through because this is a 'grownup book' and they have decided they want to be a 'grownup reader'.

A few times being burned like this, and they come to the conclusion that all adult fiction is boring, and that the people who read it are all either mature geniuses of the type they could only hope to be, or slogging through like they were and only pretending to like it.

Thus they run back to the familiarity of YA—which is fine, to be clear, there's nothing actually wrong with reading YA as an adult— but there's every chance that somewhere on the bookshelves is a potential favourite author of theirs that they will now never know because they were never taught how to find them.

#fiction #ya books #ya fiction #adult fiction #reading #ya discourse #genuinely i am 22 and i STILL struggle to find books i like #in ways that i never did when i was a teenager #i'm getting better at it

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marzipanandminutiae · 1 year

Text

The Snark Is Real This Morning

Oh no! Some patriarchal shill just had an Illegal Corset Thought on the Internet!

Maybe they said "corsets weren't invented by the patriarchy" or "comfort was actually often a prime concern for most women's day-to-day corset-wearing, as evidenced by mid-late 19th century advertising" or "women didn't go around fainting constantly because most of them didn't tightlace most of the time."

Maybe they brought up "survivorship bias in extant clothing" or "rampant photo doctoring in the 19th/early 20th century" or "treating satirical cartoons and fashion plates as gospel" or "museums displaying corsets laced entirely closed when wear patterns and primary sources indicate that lacing gaps were more common in many times and places" These concepts are actually conspiracies invented by Big Misogyny to sell more booze to depressed history workers!

Maybe one of them said that she'd worn corsets, or even that she and/or her friends actually found them more comfortable than bras! Clearly she believes this is representative of all women throughout history and in the present day. Besides, she is suffering from Femininity Poisoning and nothing coming out of her silly, weak little brain can be taken seriously. Remember, it is Peak Feminism to dismiss what a woman says because of her gender presentation!

Don't be fooled! All of these statements mean one thing: they are saying that corsets were and are, always and forever, universally feminist and empowering. That no woman in the past ever found them uncomfortable, and that GNC women didn't exist before 1960 and also are icky. Did they actually say that? Doesn't matter! You know what she Really Meant- you've seen P*rates of the Caribbean and Br*dgerton! Corsets were always torture devices meant to oppress women, and any statement contradicting that clearly means the extreme opposite.

So what's a right-thinking and concerned Internet Citizen to do? You have a few options:

See point above re: femininity. Feminine-presenting women are basically brainless, so if a woman talking about dress history Wears An Skirt, you can just write off whatever she says. Easy peasy! Be sure to say something derogatory about her appearance, so others know why they shouldn't take her seriously.

Accuse them of not knowing their history. Any degrees, professional experience, publications, academic accolades, etc. they may have are irrelevant. Their primary sources are...idk photoshopped or something? Best to ignore them altogether. You have Feelings on your side, and that's far more valuable than any research!

Accuse them of accusing you of being a t*rf. Works especially well if they've said anything about the preponderance of t*rfs expressing your True and Correct views- that just means they're calling everyone who thinks like you a transphobe, duh!

Tell them they're not believing women. If they have cited so-called "realities of historical women's lives," well, that's clearly just the rich elite of any given era (who were also brainrotted by Femininity, natch). If you're a woman, and you say corsets were the spawn of Beelzebub, that should be enough ~evidence~ for anyone!

Appeal to common knowledge. Everyone KNOWS corsets were evil; can they really be DEFENDING a KNOWN HATEFUL OPPRESSIVE HELL-GARMENT?! What is the world coming to! If they ask how exactly everyone knows that and where that collective belief comes from, reply with a snarky GIF and block them. There's just no reasoning with some people.

Call them a tradwife. Are they a tradwife? Irrelevant.

With all these tools in your arsenal, you are now well-equipped to fight the horde of vile corset apologists online. Remember: It's Only Real Oppression If The Oppressed Group Is Miserable 24/7!

#long post #rant #dress history #fashion history #corsets #sarcasm

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cheynovak · 7 months

Text

Happy ever after?

Sequel to: Another, other Cinderella story.

Soldier Boy x Reader (Y/N)

Warnings: Angst, Smut, 18+, Alcohol, Soft dominance, ...

Side note: English isn’t my first language.

Words: 7286

*Does not follow The Boys storyline!*

If you liked this, please check out my masterlist for other stories.

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Y/N is the rebellious daughter of a famous actor in the 1960. Her dad wants to keep her out of the public eye, since he cheated on his wife with her mother. All she wants to do is leave, have fun and start a life of her own. On one of her father’s parties, she meets Soldier Boy, who despite his reputation falls for the young girl. She is mesmerised by him, but how long can he hold the little rebel from discovering the world?

---------------------------------

Y/N woke up from the sunlight on her face. She turned around to feel her bed already empty and cold. Which unfortunately wasn’t a surprise anymore, he hasn’t been home for weeks. Ben got more and more tasks, missions and projects since Vought knew about them.

And even though he did manage to give her a nice condo, she did miss the action and fun she used to have in her old life. The last couple of months became clear he wanted her for himself, a nice woman to come home to. But deep down she knew that isn’t who she really is.

Her dreams were to travel the world, see beautiful nature, cities that come to life at night, enjoy different cultures. She hoped Ben would be the same, but his red, white and blue blood thought there was nothing better than the USA. Why would one want to travel to let’s say Europe.

But for now, she was content.

Y/N got up and did her daily morning routine, she threw on one of Ben’s old shirts, she loved the fact it smelled like him, tobacco, vanilla and some other spices. She walked in the kitchen and made a fresh pot of coffee, while loading the washing machine, she would take a quick shower. Ready to start the day fresh.

She lifted his shirt over her head and looked in the mirror, noticing a pretty big bruise on her hip. Y/N’s finger mover over the spot when realising Ben got a little too excited the last night they had spent, before him leaving. Maybe time to remind Ben again she is not a supe. Although the night itself she didn’t mind his roughness.

While the hot water was streaming over her slightly sore body, her mind started to drift away to all the placed she once read about. Hoping that one day Ben would agree to come along with her. But for now, it stays with daydreaming.

After breakfast Y/N went into town, trying to get her mind off of the fact that Ben was gone for a while to shoot a documentary on his life. And she was, once again, left to herself to enjoy life. Unconsciously she walked towards the travel agency.

She stopped in front of the store, looked through the window. Asia, Europe, Africa, ... before she knew it, she stepped inside. It took almost an entire afternoon, the shop assistant was very friendly and helped her pick out 3 trips worth seeing.

With books and information under her arm she walked back to the condo when she heard a familiar voice. “Y/N?” She turned around seeing the twins, Anna and Sara, she once befriended in school. “Oh my...Hi! How are you guys?” She hugged them.

Y/N invited the girls over to her apartment for a cup of coffee. It had been almost 9 months since graduation. “Wow, girl you really did good for yourself.” Sara said looking around in the pretty big place. “It’s all from Ben, to be honest.” Y/N said while emptying her bags on the counter.

“You really went through with that didn’t you?” Anna asked curiously. “We both thought it was just another one of your casual hook ups.” Y/N blushed hearing that. Answering, “Turns out he has something worth sticking around for.” -” Clearly.” They both said at the same time.

The afternoon coffee turned into late night wines and take out Chinese food. Y/N never really thought often about her old life, but this lovely evening made her homesick, thinking about the fun times she was around her friends.

Anna, Sara and Y/N agreed to see each other in the morning for breakfast and a shopping day. Just to relive their high school Saturdays. Y/N waved the girls goodbye at the door, smiling when she walked back inside.

Y/N looked back at the mess they left on the table. “Right.” she let out with a satisfied sigh, she turned on the radio before cleaning and placing the last food scraps in the fridge. The music made her hum.

She closed the fridge, jumping up when she noticed Ben leaning on the cabinets in the kitchen. “Yeez, Ben, you scared me.” She smiled as he walked towards her without saying a word. Her back pushed against the fridge.

His hand went through her hair, while he looked in her eyes. “Hi.” Y/N whispered, drowning in his beautiful green eyes. His lips turn into a small smirk. “Hi.” he answered with the same tone before his lips claimed hers.

Ben’s hands roamed over her body, it wasn’t new to her, him coming home and needing some sort of relieve before being able to have a ‘normal’ conversation. Y/N managed to break free for a second to breath. His mouth found its way to her neck. Sucking and kissing her skin.

“I would really like to clean the rest of the table before going to bed.”

” Who said I want to go to bed.” His voice sounded muffed against her neck. “The kitchen is good enough for me.” His hands moved from her thighs back to her cheek, demanding her head to look at him, so he could kiss her again.

“B-Ben, I’m serious... give... me... 2 seconds.” she managed to say in between his hungry kisses. He let go of her lips with a deep and annoyed sigh. “Fine, hurry.” He answered grumpy. “I don’t want the room to smell in the morning.” She explained herself while Ben leaned back watching her.

Secretly he loved that she played the role of housewife. Might even say it turns him on. His eye fell on the books that were lying on the corner of the kitchen cabinet. His curiosity took over, “What are you reading?” He asked while looking through the books.

“Er, some travel research, just inspiration.” His eyes shot up from the counter to her. “Travel? You’re still thinking about leaving?” - “Well, not leaving.” She said rinsing the rag. “More like explore.” Y/N could feel his look, his disapproval, afraid to look up.

A little hum was all he responded before she felt the warmth of his body radiating against her back. She felt his big hand caressing her hair, almost petting her. “Maybe you need a reminder.” His hand covered her neck right underneath her chin, pulling her head back.

“Now, are you done?” His husky voice whispered against her ear. She nodded slow, part of her hated his dominant side, hated the fact that it turned her on as much as it did. Months ago, she would never, ever give up control. But with Ben, it was different.

He turned her around before lifting her on his shoulder like a ragdoll, caring her to the bedroom. “I thought you didn’t want to go to the bedroom.” She answered a little sassy. Ben’s hand landed flat on her ass. Making her gasp shortly. “Auw!” She sneered.

He dropped her on the bed, hard enough to see the matrass bounce her back, ones. “You really need to learn how to keep that pretty mouth of yours shut.” His voice sounded deep and firm. “I thought you like me loud.” She said while pressing her lips together, trying not to laugh.

She would have sworn his lip twitched at that comeback. But his dominant side came back fast. “Strip.” He said while looking down on her. Y/N did as she was told, throwing her clothes on the other side of the bed until she was bare.

“Come here.” Ben said still fully dressed in his suit. She crawled towards him, the second her face was within reach he pulled her up by the back of her head. Making her kneel in front of him, his thumb moved over her partly separated lips.

Y/N felt his finger pushing between her lips making her automatically wrap her lips around it and suck softly. Ben’s lips curled into a smirk, “That’s it baby girl. That is all I want that mouth of yours to do.” He said while pulling his finger out of her mouth.

He looked down to his belt, giving her a silent order before he took off the bulletproof vest he wore over his shirt. Y/N undid his gun belt, unzipper his pants. She’s mouthwatering only by the thought of him. She never liked giving head, but the way Ben praised her made up for it.

Ben was already hard for her, he lazily strokes himself a few times. “Open that dirty mouth.” once again she obeyed without a question. Her hands moved up his thighs, on their way to the base, so she could help herself a little.

“Na-ah, hands on your lap, doll.” he said while he held her head. Y/N could feel his large hands guide her over his warm length, tasting the precum on her tongue. She looked at him while her eyes started to fill with tears. Each time Ben pulled her in she felt him further in her mouth.

She focussed on taking him without gagging. “That’s it, good girl.” His praises made her moan around his cock. “You like it don’t you, sucking my dick.” She noticed a crack in Ben’s voice, she knew he was enjoying her moans. So, good girl as she is, she moaned again when Ben hit the back of her throat.

And again... and again. Making Ben growl underneath his breath. His hips unable to stay still, he really wanted to fuck her mouth, but knew he would hurt her if he did. So, a little to his disappointment he needed to hold back.

By the time he pulled out of her mouth the tears were streaming down her cheeks, her mascara ran out just a little under her eyes. “On your back. Hands above your head.” while she placed herself on the bed, she noticed him taking of the last pieces of clothing.

He hovered above her, “now tell me baby, who do you belong to?” He asked sweet yet demanding, while his fingers moved in between their bodies, spreading her wetness with his fingers. Her head snapped back, gasping for air. “Hm? Who owns this tight pussy?” He repeated his question.

“Y-you... Oh... Ben.” She felt the sharp sting of him pushing his dick all the way inside her. Her hands snapped to his shoulders, wanting to pull him closer. But before she could do so, Ben had his grip on her wrists above her. “I said hands above your head!” he commanded again.

Ben’s thrusts were hard, sharp, normally he waits for her to adjust, but today he was needy. She felt the grip on her arm tighten when she fucked her so hard it was on the brim between pleasure and pain. “B-Ben... Slow..” He interrupted her by kissing her, forcing his tongue in her mouth.

This movement made him slow down just a second, until he abrupt stopped. “What’s wrong doll, can’t take me anymore? Didn’t I fuck you enough lately?” His voice sounded sarcastic. “Need me to stop?” He asked while pulling out, making her whine at the sudden emptiness.

“No, no Ben. Please.” She pleaded. “Please what?” He smirked. “Please, please fuck me... Please don’t stop!” She begged him, her hips moving underneath him trying to find friction. Before he pushed back into her, he let go of her wrists but pressed his hand down on her throat.

Making her eyes roll to the back of her head. “Look at you, such a needy slut.” He pounded hard, holding his face next to hers “You’re not leaving me. You’re not going anywhere.” He breathed heavy. “All you’re going to do is fuck me. Whenever, wherever I want.”

Y/N felt his thrusts getting uneven, the rhythm of his hips slowed down. One last thrust, one last growl, and Ben came inside her. His hold on her neck loosed and for the first time she realised how strong it was.

Ben rolled of her, breathing heavy. He pulled her close to him, caressed her back. After a few unspoken seconds she opened her mouth, “I’ll be right back.” but the second she placed her feet on the floor trying to walk to the bathroom, she felt lightheaded. Ben noticed, jumping out of bed holding her.

“Hey, hey, calm down, get back in bed. I’ll get a washcloth. Take it easy sweetheart.” All of the sudden all of the dominants in his voice changed to worry. Ben walked out holding two wash cloths. “Here.” He said, placing a wet cold one on her neck. She looked confused until she realised it felt amazing against her soar skin.

“I keep forgetting you’re only human.” He said while taking care of her. “Is that an apology?” her voice sounded hoarse. She knew it was his way of saying he cared for her and that he was sorry. Or at least she hoped.

He crawled back in bed. “Just, be more careful next time, ok?” She whispered against his shoulder. Ben kept looking at the ceiling. “Or we could find another way.” Y/N didn’t understand him. He noticed her confused look.

“Vought suggested to turn you into a supe, and honestly, I wouldn't mind.” She opened her mouth, “Hell no!” She answered harsh. “Hold your horses sweetheart, I told them you wouldn’t want that.” - “Why would you even want me to be one. Compound V is poison, it kills people.”

“No, it doesn’t, that’s a gossip created by anti-believers.” - “Ben, I can’t believe this, a-are you serious?” -” Jesus Y/N, just...Stop lay down, relax.” - “No! No, I need to know Ben. Why would you want that? I’m a not good enough?”

“It would be nicer not to hold back every time I touch you, yes.” She heard the hint of annoyance in his voice. “You’re a fucking porcelain doll in my hands. Like walking on fucking eggshells around you. I constantly need to think of it in the back of my head, quiet the turn off when you’re fucking someone.”

Y/N held back every insult she wanted to throw at him. Instead, she turned her back to him and covered her sore body with the blankets. Feeling her eyes tear, not wanting him to see how deep those words hurt her. “Then why don't you find someone who is fucking perfect for you.” she whispered under her breath.

The next morning, to her surprise she noticed Ben still sleeping, laying on his stomach, hugging the pillow. Due to their fight last night, he didn’t have the time to tell her they finished shooting early being able to be home for a few days.

The doorbell rang Y/N put on a robe, before answering the door. Ben lifted his head, looking over his shoulder wondering who was here at this time. Y/N completely forgot the twins were here for breakfast and a day out.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” They yelled, hugging her, while holding balloons and a basket filled with croissants and sweets. “You remembered.” Y/N seemingly surprised. “To be honest I'm not prepared yet.” She felt her cheeks blushing.

“Don’t worry we’ll help you with the table.” The women fell immediately in their old habit of laughing and joking. Ben heard Y/N’s laugh in the other room, it gave him a warm feeling. But also, he felt a little guilty he didn’t got her anything for her birthday. He never even asked her when it was.

After a short while Ben walked out the bedroom, wearing a sweatpants and shirt. He looked at the women around the table before he poured himself a coffee with wiskey. “You want something to eat?” Y/N asked. “Hm, yeah.” he grumped.

She walked over to his grumpy ass in the kitchen. “Why didn’t you ever tell me your birthday?” He whispered a little irritated, she bends over to grab him a plate. “You never asked me.” She placed the plate next to him on the counter.

“Plus...” She wrapped her arms around his waist. “I had no idea you would be here today.” Ben didn’t hug her back, he noticed the light bruise on her neck. He just moved her robe slightly and kissed her sore neck before making sure it was covered again with robe.

He turned around, to fill the empty plate, leaving for the open kitchen again. Not in the mood to join the girls.

Y/N’s friends noticed the tension between them, “Everything ok?” - “Yeah, it’s nothing... Hey I’m going to get ready.” - “Where are you going?” They heard Ben from the kitchen while he crushed a few tablets on the counter. “We made plans to go shopping.” - “Have fun.” He said while snoring a line.

Ben hated the fact that she went out, leaving him alone, but deep down he knows he can’t tie her up wanting her to wait for him like a lap dog. He saw the books again. She wants to leave me, she will leave me. Was all he thought.

Y/N got home by 9pm a little tipsy, she saw Ben watching a tv show, his brows still frowning. “Honey I'm home.” She joked while dropping her purse on the table. Ben looked up at her, clearly not liking the state of her. “Took you long enough.”

“Sorry mom.” She started to giggle at her own response. “Are you drunk?” Y/N could hear Ben’s disapproval. His tone surprised her. “Yess-sir” Y/N placed her hands on her hips after saluting him. “Had no idea I had to justify my action to you. Especially when you’re the picture of class.”

Ben’s brows lifted. ”Come again?” -” You swear like a sailor, drink like a fish and take drugs like a, a, a fucking rockstar. Pretty embarrassing meeting my friends like that.”

Y/N didn’t stop there. “You have no manners, whatsoever. You think you’re a gentleman while you are NEVER gentle with me. Ever thought about the fact that I actual love you?” Ben, surprised by her confession, walked slowly towards her.

She continued her preach “...And that being loved, making love would be so much more satisfying mentally, maybe if you thought about anyone else except yourself for once, you would have noticed I'm rotting in this golden cage for you... YOU, BEN!”

She made her way to the bedroom, leaving Ben standing in the living room. “Oh, and next time when you hear it’s someone’s birthday, you wish them a fucking HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” She yelled before smashing the door close. Her words lingered in his head. She loves me...

Ben knew he felt different about her, different than any other person he’s ever been with, but he never thought of the idea this might be love. After a second that felt like an eternity, he opened the bedroom door only to hear the water running in the bathroom.

Y/N heard Ben moving around in the bedroom next door, her tears blended with the water streaming down her face. She couldn’t believe she said all that to him, hoping it wouldn’t backlash. Because no matter how much she wanted to leave this place, she wants him more.

She took all the courage she had to face him again. Ben was already sitting in bed, watching her walking over to her side, crawling under the covers. He still thought about the fact she, even though she was angry, admitted she loved him.

He wanted to tell her he felt the same, or at least say something. But he had no idea how to. “Goodnight.” was all she said giving him a soft peck on his cheek, before turning off her light.

Y/N felt Ben moving behind her sinking down in bed, to her surprise he wraps his arms around her. “Happy birthday sweetheart.” he whispered in her ear before giving her a small kiss on her shoulder. She turned around facing him, nose to nose under the covers. “Thank you.”

“And... I am...” Why was it so difficult to say he was sorry. “It’s ok. I know.” she said. Her hand moved to his cheek, feeling the light stubble growing under his skin. The air shifted, Y/N felt warmth rushing through her veins when Ben’s lips caressed hers.

Their kiss deepened but she noticed a difference in his touch. Softer, more loving. “Ben... I’m exhausted.” She sighs while breaking the kiss. “I know.” He pulled her close to him. “Try to get some sleep, doll.” His large hands caressed the back of her head. “Sweet dreams.” He mumbled against her head.

That night was the first time in a long time Y/N slept good, really good. Her face was hugged by Ben’s chin and chest. His steady heartbeat made her feel at ease, the circles Ben’s fingers drawn on her back felt soft and loving. Unfortunately, she got woken by the sound of the phone on the nightstand.

Y/N felt Ben’s body move right before he answered the phone, letting go of her. Ben answered with an irritated sleepy voice. “Hm? Yeah, ... now? Can’t this wait? Hm, ok.” - “Duty calls?” She asked when he turned back to her. “Yes.” She lifted herself a little so she could kiss his grumpy lips.

Ben held the doorknob in his hand, without looking to her, he asked: “I know there is a lot we still need to talk about, just... just promise me you wait with... making decisions until we had a decent conversation?” For the first time she saw a nervous Ben. he couldn’t even look at her.

“I’ll be here when you come back.” She reinsured him. Ben nodded before leaving for Vought.

---

A few days had passed. A man had called her today, saying he was an assistant at Vought, clamming Ben wanted her to come to Vought. This was unusual request, but she was hoping he wanted to talk about all that had happened over the past few days.

Y/N was led into a small waiting room, sitting next to the security guard she met months ago. He greeted her at the door claiming to bring her to Ben. The blond receptionist kept giving her judgy looks. Y/N heard her phone ringing, she stopped typing only to answer it, when she hung up the phone, she told Y/N she could enter the room now. Still being followed by the big fella.

Once inside she noticed Ben wasn’t there, the uncertain feeling in her gut became fear. “Why am I summoned here? Who are you?” her voice almost broke trying hard not to let her fear out. “Ah, miss. Y/L/N/, good to finally meet you. Please sit.”

"You can call me the legend, Senior Vice President of Hero Management here at Vought. You may have heard of me.” - “I’m sorry can’t say I have.” She said while taking the chair opposite his.

“We asked you to come here to discuss an urgent matter. We are aware of your relationship with Soldier Boy. And he made it very clear he doesn’t want to break things off with you. And even though we are thrilled there is a woman out there who can, tame, our best soldier, we still want to make sure he knows his duty. “

“I don’t see the problem. As far as I know he has been up and ready every time you called.” - “Well miss Y/L/N you are not around when he is doing his job. On his last job, a documentary he left, leaving us with a lot of debt to a lot of people.”

“Because I quote: “He didn’t need this fucking job, and he sure as hell don’t need a team, he can spend his time with someone better.” That did sound like Ben. “Now we, at Vought, believe a crew would lighten the workload and encourage young supes. You know send a bright message to the world.” the man gave his sales pitch.

” Let me guess, you want me to convince him?” Y/N interrupted his story. “Well, actually miss Y/N, can I call you Y/N?” She nodded once. “We want you to be part of it, guide Ben in being a leader, show the young girls out there a woman can accomplish the same things a man can. After all you are quite the rebel back in the day I heard.”

Y/N frowned, “Oh Soldier boy couldn’t stop talking about the young girl turning her back to her family to run away with him. Almost a fairytale we want to tell.” Y/N’s suspicions grew bigger, shifting in her chair.

“But then again...” He stood up walking over to her. His hand moved away her hair. “ We don’t want the world to see that our beloved hero leaves bruises on pretty little girls.” His hand moved over the sore spot on her neck. Making Y/N push his hand away.

The bodyguard took a step forward, but the legend waved him away. “I don’t care about your popularity.” Y/N said. “But you do care about him, and he does care about his status. So here is the proposition, we give you the power, make you a superhero, and you get your life out in public with Ben.”

“No.” Y/N could see the old man’s brows frown. “Sorry?” - “Are you deaf, I said no.” Y/N got up, but the large man blocked her. “I really wanted to do things different sweetheart.” She heard the older man say before she felt a pinch in her neck.

The next thing Y/N knew she woke up under rubble, her throat was dry from the dust around her. She would have sworn she heard Ben’s voice. She tried to call for him but was unable to get a sound out of her. A beam of light shined on her face. “WE GOT ONE.” She heard a man yell.

Bricks and other rubble got lifted of her, piece by piece. Her legs still trapped under a metal beam. “We need assistance here, she is trapped.” The man called out. Y/N vision was troubled. “Y/N? Oh god Y/N!” This time she was sure, she heard Ben’s voice.

Ben lifted the beam of her legs before he kneeled down next to her. “I got you sweetheart, hang on.” He carried her in his arms, her weak body close against his. “MOVE!” she heard him shout at the people in front of him. He brought her over to the ambulance. “Soldier boy, there are still other people trapped in the store.”

He looked at the police officer in charge, “looks like there is enough help from the fire department and the police. I’m going to the hospital with her.” he closed the door of the ambulance with Y/N in it. The entire ride he held her hand, worried, trying to understand why she was in the travel agency again. She did promise him not to make decisions before they could talk.

Once in the hospital it became clear Y/N needed blood and quickly and even then, it wasn’t sure she would make it. Ben was angry and upset. He yelled at the doctors they needed to do more when he felt the legends hand on his shoulder. “There might be a way to help her heal up faster.” - “No, no she won’t...” he thought for a second. “She would never agree to turn her into a supe.”

“Who said anything on turning her my boy. She needs blood, give her yours.” Ben looked at the doctor. “Could that work?” - “It might. We never tested it.” Ben looked through the window at Y/N laying in the hospital bed with a weak heartbeat on the monitor. I can’t lose her. He thought. “Ok”

Little did he know, Vought had run tests with Ben’s blood. Turned out that injecting someone with enough blood would change them. Ben had enough compound V in his system that his blood made it possible to create or change the cells inside another person. Only if their body was shutting down, his blood would react like a surviving mechanism.

Y/N woke up from a discussion in the hall, without opening her eyes she knew it was Ben. “You told me she is healthy, then why the fuck isn’t she wake yet!?” Slowly she opened her eyes, getting used to the light in the room. The fog before her eyes cleared, but soon she felt the pounding headache making her growl under her breath.

She looked around the room noticing Ben was talking to the doctor in the hall, she saw that the door was closed. Weird I thought he was standing next to me. Y/N thought. “Ben?” she softly spoke. She saw him turning his head looking at her through the window before storming inside. “Hey doll. How are you feeling?”

Y/N thought about that for a second.” Part from the headache, fine. What happened?” - “A terrorist blew up midtown, you were.... shopping. I found you amongst the victims.” Y/N couldn’t recall this happening, couldn’t even remember she went shopping in the first place.

“How many...” Her voice broke. “Everyone made it. You lost a lot of blood, we had to eh, give you a blood transfusion.” She saw the terror in Ben’s eyes. “What’s wrong?” - “You almost didn’t make it. And eh, we decided to try something... new. We, eh, gave you, my blood.”

“What?” - “We gave you, my blood.” he repeated. Y/N blinked her eyes a few times, trying to understand. The doctor walked in checking her vitals one last time. “So, what side effects does that give?” Both men looked at each other. “I presume there will be side effects.”

“We don’t know yet, but there is a possibility you will have his powers or maybe even copy some of his personality traits, just for a while until your blood fought off his cells.” The doc said. “Is that why I have a headache?” - “That’s my best guess. You may leave the hospital now, but I would like to see you for a check-up later this week.”

The entire ride home Y/N didn’t say a word, the thought of having his blood, compound V, rush through her veins made her stomach turn. But she also knew he did it to safe her. Once inside their safe space in the apartment she turned towards Ben, wrapped her arms around his ribs and just hugged him. He answered by rubbing his hand on her back.

“Y/N?” - “Hm?” - “Why were you at the travel agency?” - “I don’t know, I don’t even remember going shopping.” she looked at him. Y/N saw the fear in his eyes. “I just... thought, we would talk when I got back.” He pulled her arms off him. “But it seems you already made your decision without me.” She shook her head, “No.”

“How can you say that when you don’t even remember a thing.” His voice turned cold. “Because I remember our fight, how miserable I felt, thinking I want to be with you, Ben.” She could see he wasn’t convinced yet. “Ben, let’s talk now. Let’s fix this, this tension between us.” - “There wouldn’t be tension if you just knew your place!”

“My place? Where the fuck would that be!” She matched his tone. “You know what, fuck this, no! Fuck you. Since the first day we met you claimed me like some fucking price. I’m no fucking object you can buy. I’m not a toy you can play with when you’re bored! I’m done. I’m so, SO DONE!” Y/N smashed her fist against the kitchen counter breaking the marble countertop.

Ben grabbed her hand to check if she was fine. “Let go of me.” she pulled her hand out of his grip. “I’m still mad at you.” He looked him dead in the eye before she walked to the bedroom packing a bag. “What are you doing?” He stood in the door. “Maybe you need a little time alone. I know I do.”

“Time alone?” - “Yeah, alone, like not being used to me waiting around for you, not being able to visit your puppet, you know the one you think about only when your fucking boner talks to you.” Y/N was ruthless, the things she said to him, she never even dared to say out loud afraid he would walk out on her. But now she felt strong enough to walk out on him.

“I just saved your life.” - “You changed me into the last thing I wanted in this life.” - “We had no idea. This will all end sooner or later.” - “What if it doesn’t? I can’t even look at you anymore Ben. So fucking selfish.”

Ben grabbed her arm. “If you leave know, you don’t need to come back.” He said in despair, his body screamed anger, his eyes trying to show dominance but glanced at hers in fear. Y/N nodded slow, letting his words sink in. “Good luck finding another fuck toy.”

Years passed; Y/N travelled the world like she wanted to. But never really being able to forget about Ben. She sends him a post card from every land she visited, not even knowing if he would receive them, or even still had the condo. But she needed to tell him about her days.

Once she heard the news that Soldier boy and Crimson Countess started dating, she stopped sending cards. She hated herself for not getting home earlier, she always planned on getting home, talk to him, convinced him she still loved him. But she was afraid, afraid he would turn his back to her.

Y/N needed the travel not just for the memories, but for her mental health. During her time alone she noticed more and more powers compatible with Ben’s. She had a hard time trying to figure out how to live with it, how to accept it. She used the time to find a cure, but never found one. So when she had to deal with the fact, she would be forever a superhero, she hated herself.

Now many years later, Butcher had found her, via intel coming from the legend himself. “You want to win him over by bringing him the head of Countess on a silver plate? Boy you need much more than that.” He shook his head. “I suggest you find the reason he made his relationship with the young redhead public. Y/N.”

The entire It couple gimmick began when Ben had the brilliant idea of making Y/N jealous. He had no idea where she was so reaching her was difficult, by the time he got her cards she was probably halfway around the world again. So, he agreed, after a few years, to leading a superhero team. Making Crimson countess his girl.

When Y/N broke all contact, he started to appreciate crimson more and more. Desperately trying to forget Y/N.

“Can I help you?” Y/N said to the men waiting at her door, in her New York apartment. “Maybe luv, we are looking for miss Y/N Y/L/N.” - “You found her.” she answered very calm, leading them inside. Hughie was surprised, thinking they were searching for a woman in her 80s. Not a young girl looking not even a day older as him.

Butcher explained her how they found Ben. How he was the one to blow up mid-town. Y/N sat at the table looking over to Hughie, French and MM while Butcher kept giving his pitch. “So, you are telling me not only that Ben is still alive, but that he has a new superpower, radiation or something?”

“Precisely luv.” She British fella grinned while leaning back in his chair. Y/N nodded slow. “And you want me to ‘control’ Ben, for... you?” - “Well to ease him. Making sure he won’t blow up again.” Hughie corrected trying to flash her a smile but to nervous.

“Get the fuck out of my apartment.” She said looking Butcher straight in the eye. Who clearly didn’t expect her answer. “Out, before I kick you out.” She got up and opened the door for the men. ”Oh and a word of advice. No one, and I mean no one, can guide Ben. He does what he wants, when he wants and well, how he wants. So, good luck.” Y/N said before closing the door in their faces.

But Butcher had made her curious, a part of her wanted to see Ben again, she always had known, the story of him being dead was fake. She felt he was still alive, was it her undying love for him or the fact that his cells made her to who she is now a days. But she knew one day he would be back from the dead.

So, Y/N decided to follow the men, seeing where Ben stayed. No intentions to meet him, but when she saw him, her heart stopped. She sat in her car watching Ben opening the small motel door, wearing a baseball shirt and sweatpants. But his physique was nearly untouched, she saw he was slightly skinnier, what to expect after 40 years of torture and sleep in Russia.

Before she knew it, she stood in front of the door, letting out a deep sigh. “Please don’t be angry.” she whispered under her breath.

Ben held his hand up, making Butcher and Hughie shut up. “Did you...” he broke off the sentence he wanted to say walking towards the door.

Right when Y/N wanted to knock on the door, it opened. Her eyes locked with his in an instant. “Hi.” she said breathing heavy. For a second that felt like a lifetime she stared at his beautiful eyes, roamed his face, noticing those freckles she loved. Feeling the desire to kiss his full lips. Needing to taste them once more.

Ben kept looking at her like he saw a ghost. When he didn’t move aside or say anything, she started to regret coming here. “T-this was a mistake, I’m sorry to bother you.” But those words seemed to wake him up. Right when she wanted to turn away, he grabbed her tight, pulling her in his arms.

She felt his chin and nose on her head, while one of his hands rested on her back the other one caressed her hair. “I thought I would never see you again.” He blurred out. “I thought you didn’t want to see me anymore.” He slightly loosened his grip on her, only to look at her again.

“You cut your hair.” He noticed the once luscious locks were trimmed to a long bob, making her hair wavy now. “Well, you grew a beard.” Her hand instinctively moved to his chin. Accidently moving her thumb against his lips.

That small touch started the fire withing them. Ben immediately held the back of her neck, pulling her up to kiss her. Passioned but controlled, when they let go of each other, their eyes where once again locked. Butcher and Hughie left the room. “We shall give you two time to talk.” The Brit said when walking passed them.

“Fuck I missed you, Doll.” She could hear the heat in his voice. “How much?” she flirter, Ben’s lips curled in a smirk. “I’ll show you.” he whispered before finding her lips again. All their sorrow, doubts and fears flew out the window.

Ben placed her down on the bed underneath him. His hands moved over her body, already stripped her from her clothing. His large hands cupped her breast, kneading softly before pulled her bra straps down.

His lips sucked at her already harden nipples. Making her moan his name in a prayer. “You haven’t aged a day. Still so fucking beautiful.” He breathed out when his hand moves in between them, finding her wet core. His fingers glided through her fold, coating before slipping two fingers inside her.

“Hm.. Still so tight.” He moaned in her ear while her back arched. When Ben wanted to move down she pulled him back up by the back of his head. “Ben... I don’t want to wait.” - “Tell me what you want doll.”

She pulled his shirt over his head before using her strength to turn them around. Pulling his pants down to his knees and straddled him. “I need you...” she pumped his hard, thick cock with her small hands. “Inside me, now.”

“Are you sure?” His cocky grin appeared. “Fuck... yes.” she answered while she sank down on his cock. Letting her head fall back. Ben’s hands moved up over her breasts and neck. Her body instinctively started to grind against his.

The moans and praised sounded out of porn movie. But for them this felt like heaven. Ben lifted himself, kneaded her ass cheeks while guiding her. While her hands found their way to the back of his head and shoulders. Feeling his slightly longer hair through her fingers. Tugging while her lips concurred his.

Ben felt her tightening around his shaft, knowing she was close, he turned her on her back. Hovering over her while his hips found a little faster but, oh so good pace. He knew from that moment he wouldn’t be able to hold back when she came, and he didn’t care, he needed to hear her moan his name in ecstasy.

“Oh Ben...” She moaned while her back arched, her legs tightened around his hip. “Let go sweetheart, I got you.” Where the last words she heard before blanking into a breath taking, leg shaking orgasm. She was so out of this world, that by the time she came down, she noticed Ben had his at the same time as her.

Ben laid down next to her. She looked at him, “what?” he asked out of breath. “You were, softer than I remember.” She noticed. ”Well...” his hand moved over his face to his hair. “A very special girl once told me to be more... gentle. Something about making love would be so much more satisfying.”

Y/N bit her lip. “And I promised myself, if she ever gave me a change, I would show her how a man makes love to his woman.” he added. Y/N felt tears of joy in eyes. His woman... She crawled back on top of him, kissing him once more.

“Thank you.” She smiled.

She noticed a question lingering on his lips. “What’s wrong?” His eyes found hers again. “Stay here, at least tonight.” Ben said, realising his words weren’t a question. So, he added “Please?” after a second.

Y/N’s lips curled into a smile once more. “Why should I?” she teased, knowing it would drive him crazy. Expecting him to say something along the line of “I’ll make it worth your while, or I'm not done fucking you.”

But no, he thought about it for a second and said:

“Because I love you.”

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