#like put me in the scene and keep me salivating

[blossom-hwa]

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

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

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

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

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

The bruises still hurt to the touch. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Miss L/N.” 

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

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

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

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

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

And Beomgyu, too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Life would be so much easier, then. 

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

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

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

You’d be a fool not to take it.

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

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

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

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

. . . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?” you finally ask. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What it would mean to me. 

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

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

He holds your gaze. “Yes, it does.”

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

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

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

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

You fall silent. 

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

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

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

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

Your silence is more telling than anything you said before.

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

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

And eventually, you do. 

“My father is dead.” 

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

“…I am incredibly sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You take a shuddering breath. “Beomgyu…”

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

You swallow hard.

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

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

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

. . . . .

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

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

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

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

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

You were right to trust him. 

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

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

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

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

You ignore her. “Who is the caller?”

“Mr. Choi.”

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

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

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

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

“You are not the head of this household.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Horror flashes across her expression. “You—”

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

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

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

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

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

But it never comes. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods, looking terribly guilty. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Desperation?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . . . .

epilogue.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's adorable. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was the fact that you had Beomgyu.

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

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

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

“I’m not not eager,” you protest. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…Five minutes.”

“Fifteen.”

“Ten.”

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

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

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

“…Fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

[federaliszt]

food in hurt/comfort

underrated part of whump for me is when someone cooks a favorite home cooked meal for whumpee. obviously there's a lot of sheer comfort from the meal itself, but there's also the thoughtfulness of the caretaker or caretakers, the preparation and effort that went into it, the pure love and care that is almost as palpable as the scent of the food cooking in the air.

if you want to dial up the tension, then you can give whumpee a reason why they can't eat it, and then add to the burden by making it impossible for them to express why they can't eat it. maybe their stomach is in knots from an illness or an injury they're trying to hide. maybe they're badly hungover but they don't want anyone to know. maybe they've just experienced dire food scarcity, and it's messing with their thoughts about whether they deserve to eat it or not. maybe they've got an eating disorder. maybe the last time they ate this particular dish was right before a big fight they had with a partner or a loved one, a fight they still feel ashamed about how they behaved in, and so even the scent reminds them of the bad unresolved feelings still gnawing at them under the surface. maybe they're grieving a sudden loss and even nibbling at any kind of food makes them feel sick to their stomach

whumpee experiencing those twin desires to eat to their heart's content and accept the love they're being offered while simultaneously needing to protect their deepest secrets and act unaffected or indifferent = 💯

[toxicanonymity]

THE WAX JOB

PAIRING: Bo Sinclair x f!reader WC: 1.3k words | MASTERLIST WARNINGS: I8+ Dark. Noncon/dubcon (captivity), you're into it, as usual with mine. sick & twisted use of wax. PIV, creampies, breeding, forced pregnancy, lactation, dark caretaking/mild dark fluff. Started as HCs. End note. NOTE: Inspired by the 30-second scene at 3:10.

Breeding you is something Bo must do, like a farm chore. He keeps you locked up in the basement and visits you at the end of each day. You're kept on a worn medical chair, similar to what you'd find in a dentist's office, but roomier. Each evening, you hear him roll the garage door down upstairs, and it makes your heart flutter. Within a few minutes, his heavy footsteps echo down the stairs, and the jingle of his belt unbuckling. Sometimes a groan of fatigue.

He stares you down hungrily as he approaches with slow steps, tan hand flexing as he rubs himself. His strong forearms are smeared with motor oil from working in the garage. He takes you to the bathroom and watches you go, then puts you back in the chair. Manhandles you if he has to. Sometimes he stops to take a polaroid.

He stands at the foot of the chair and lifts his trucker hat to wipe his brow with the back of his wrist, then pulls the hat down into place again. He takes off his boots and tight jeans, casually talking to himself about the day and how pretty you look.

He spreads your legs. You fall into a trance salivating over the shape in his boxer briefs as he climbs onto the chair with you. He shoves his underwear down under his balls, and holds his cock in his hand, squeezing it a few times as he ogles your body. Shame heats your face as you watch and yearn for his thick, veiny cock.

In the first days, he keeps you gagged the whole time, but once he sees how much you enjoy it, he wants to hear your pretty sounds.

He pulls your dress up over your tits - no panties. allowed. He wets his lips, and smiles darkly to himself at the sight of your glistening cunt.

As he notches himself at your entrance, sweat drips off his face. Your lips part as he begins to push in. He bottoms out with a groan. He stays there and twitches inside. Without moving yet, he mutters, "gonna be such a pretty mama," and runs his thumb over your lips.

He grunts as he fucks you, and each thrust shakes the chair and makes it squeak, echoing off the walls. Sometimes he's rough. Sometimes he's slow.

He braces a forearm above your head and his sweat wafts from the darkened pit of his uniform.

With your cunt spread open around his cock, your mouth falls open with a moan. A salty drop rolls down his chin and lands in your mouth.

After a minute, you begin to whimper and squirm as you approach your climax. The basement is dusty and humid and you're sweating.

"You're gonna cum for me now," he pants, and you spasm. "Yeah, cum for me, darlin'," he whispers darkly, and it sends you. Your hips lift, your body jerks, you moan as your walls choke his cock, and he chuckles, "good girl. . . That's my girl."

He becomes more vocal as he fucks you through it. Sighing, grunting, moaning, "Good g---oh, baby."

"Ugghh---Here we go, darlin'," he mutters as he nears his peak. He groans unrestrained as he bottoms out and pulses warmly, heat spreading deep in your cunt.

He stays all the way inside and with his face inches from yours, he admires your features. He gently wipes the sweat from your brow, then slowly thrusts again as his last spasms fade. "Mmm."

Once he pulls out, he adjusts the chair so your feet are up. He calls for Lester to bring dinner down. Bo feeds you a few bites, or let's Vincent do it. Sometimes he tells you a little about his day like you're not strapped down with your legs in the air.

And then, when Bo's hard again -- which isn't long -- he goes again. And again. Until you can't physically hold any more cum.

Once you're full of his seed, Bo dismounts the chair and calls for Vincent as he pulls his jeans back on. He doesn't buckle them.

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

Vincent comes in with an old paint can full of hot wax and stands by the chair like an assistant. He doesn't look at you. Your legs are raised again and bo spreads your thighs wide. "Good girl," he whispers, then mumbles to Vincent, "ain't she pretty?"

Vincent offers Bo a cloth. Bo braces a hand on your mound and wipes any spilled cum off your lips, getting them as dry as he can. He reassures himself, "that's okay," as he laments the lost seed.

Then, he dips his thumb in the hot wax and Vincent looks away.

Bo brings his thumb between your legs and applies the hot wax to your outer labia, one after the other. He uses his thumb to tuck your folds inside, and then he presses your outer lips together and holds them shut like a clam.

"Little more," he urges Vincent. He adjusts his left hand so two of his massive fingers are holding your cunt shut. Then he extends his right hand toward Vincent and dips two fingers into the hot wax and dribbles some on the outside. "Good," he mutters and Vincent steps away.

Still holding you shut, Bo brings his face between your legs and gently blows on the hot wax, helping it dry. He takes his time with this, and his eyes sparkle at his work. "Night sweetheart," he whispers to your cunt and plants a kiss on your mound, then one on your lower belly.

This continues until you're pregnant.

_____________

Once you're pregnant, they let you upstairs to celebrate and Lester makes a special cake. They give you a new dress.

All three of them darkly dote on you throughout your pregnancy. You're still locked up, but you're allowed upstairs with supervision.

Bo has Vincent make a wax cast of your torso every month and they're displayed throughout the main floor of the house on makeshift pedestals. Lester is the one who's responsible for making your food and taking care of your basic needs. He's polite and never tries anything.

Bo is obsessed with your pregnant body. He can't keep his hands off you. You're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, and he'd mad with lust.

Once your milk comes in, Bo tastes it every day. He pulls your dress up over your tits and suckles sloppily at your engorged tits.

He lets the sweet breastmilk run down over the curve of your belly and he licks it up. Once he's down there he can't resist eating you out, which makes him really hard. Sometimes he does it right after dinner, while you're still in the common area. You're laid back on a threadbare couch with your legs over his shoulders. He doesn't mind if Lester or Vincent see, although they normally don't stick around to watch.

Feasting between your legs, Bo feverishly takes his cock out with one hand as he keeps his other hand on your breast. He can't pull his mouth away until he's ready to shove himself into you. He runs his tip through your folds, then pushes into you. He fucks you slow and gentle.

He briefly sucks your tit again as he fucks you. He makes sure you cum, then when he's ready to do the same, his face hovers an inch from yours. He Looks in your eyes, then lowers his forehead to yours. He groans against the corner of his mouth, then kisses you on the lips as he cums. His lips break away with a moan, then he kisses you gently as he finishes.

He cleans you up, and lets you sleep in his bed.

----------

tagging @lunitawrites my breeding encourager

Inspired by the moment from the link and a terrible product concept - I'm haunted by Mensez Feminine Lipstick, but go have a laugh if you want. notice his logo looks like a ball sack. This man actually wants us to glue our lips shut during our period. If you have Qs about the logistics of this. Please ask that guy 💀

[nyxi-pixie]

Hiiiii.

Sorry to bother you, I wanted to know if you had any fic recs? Your writing is so good and your tastes are immaculate, and I am starving for any kind of good content. Please?

its not possible to bother me love dw <3

NOW. i dont actually read all that much anymore bc i am horrendously picky but this does give me an excuse to hype up the few authors that have satisfied my unreasonably specific tastes 🤩.

so. a few bsd recs for you (except theyre 99% skk because im horribly predictable forever). everyone go read all of these and tell the authors how wonderful they are in the comments please <3

anything @booksandpaperss has ever written is genius work and everyone should read it. could talk abt all of their stuff for hours (and i have🤩 they put up w so much of me bothering them godbless). also our brains do some accidental crazy mind melding shit whenever either of us write fic so if you like any of my stuff you will like theirs. thats the rules. <3

like twin stars in the dark (we collide)- dead apple skk porn as a vehicle for 22skk analysis. makes me salivate i have read it so many times. they get 22skk better than anyone🙏

my lies are for you to keep (my love for you to lose) - the only take on beastskk that matters to me ever. you can actually see me losing my mind in the comment i wrote on this fic bc of how fucking insane every single line made me. theres SO much packed into this thing its fucking crazy i NEEEEED everyone to read it. thats all <3

till death, I'll give you my breath - dazai death timeloop. this fic terrifies me so much i await every update with my teeth chattering and my heart pulsing so rapidly i should be hospitalised. the first scene of chapter 2 genuinely had me on the verge of tears im unwell about it.

(elli also has some jjk stuff thats REALLYREALLY good and if ur into jjk u should check that out too.)

NOW. aside from being a propaganda machine for my fav writer ever. Heres some other stuff i love.

the second perspective by @wildflowerteas. murder mystery/detective noir stuff w some time fuckery. the au of all time. mashes aspects of beast, canon, and some extra special niko sauce into a mixing bowl and goes crazy w it. just Such a genuinely impressive piece of writing. i could talk abt the technical brilliance of it for hours but i will stop myself. you gotta commit to this thing because it WILL make u crazy. also i loveee the sskk. its like if we had the beast first meeting sskk forever. SOSO GOOD!!!!

did fate guide the gun or did you? by @kanetheo. i read this pretty soon after chapter 109 and it genuinely fried my brain for months. the writing style is beautiful (as for everything they write AUGHH!!!) and the angst is delectable. the way it intersperses more fun silly skk moments with just. complete misery. GOD. it just hits. ive reread it quite a few times and it never fails to make me go crazy. srsly cannot rec this enough.

the decomposition of dazai osamu by @hella1975 this shot several bullets through my brain and i still havent recovered. i keep thinking 'oh i should reread that' and then i dont bc some part of my brain still concerns itself w maintaining whats left of my sanity. BUT its crazy good and everyone should read it and suffer at least once. EVERYONE LOVES YOU OSAMU!!!! EVERYONE EATS YOU!!! line of all time lets all kill ourselves.

smoke held conversations by feralrookie - i havent reread this in a while but it does cool stuff with nlh and the skkisms are really good in this too. ppl often write teen chuuya as less intelligent than he actually is. hes very observant, esp of dazai, and this fic gave me that 🙏

i called your name til the fever broke by forest_raccoon - vampire chuuya. biting is involved. i blacked out reading it. enough said.

[shaunashipman]

what i found most interesting about the entire bvddie poker scene was that it confirmed that not only has eddie friends and hobbies outside of being with buck, he also deliberately must have not told him?because in no way does it not randomly come up between besties who spend sm time together. it's not like eddie is doing anything bad either, there is no good reason to keep it a secret. additionally, we know that buck is often the one babysitting chris, and poker usually takes place in the evening/at night, so like??? the way that buck hasn't known about this part of eddie's life for sooo long is just fascinating to me because it feels like eddie had to go out of his way to keep it a secret lmao. especially in direct comparison to the emotional cheating art of eddie in s7! we see buck having awareness when eddie uses buck as a babysitter for chris, re the timing and all, even that eddie wore cologne, just saying. bvddie shippers salivated over the poker scene, which, fair enough, buck and eddie looked great in it. but what was most memorable to me is that once again we were shown how bvddie is not nearly as codependent as shippers like to pretend they are and actually don't share everything with each other (and are cool about that, too).

nonny, these are all such good words. it feels like if you even imply that maybe buck and eddie don't live in each others pockets as much as buddie shippers act like they do, that you're saying their friendship is nothing and that they don't care about each other.

I'm actually really tired of having to put a disclaimer that yes, buck and eddie are very important to each other and their friendship is very important. but I've seen co-dependent friendships and relationships on tv—theirs ain't it. also, the insistence that eddie is the biggest influence on buck's growth really rubs me the wrong way. the biggest influences are bobby and maddie

I really hope RG's comments in the article pan out during this season, and we can see eddie hanging out with the others more

[frozenjokes]

Cake (Sir Chloe) // Animatic Script

been thinking about this for a while allow me to indulge in the thing I’ll never make

*small note, everyone but Scar and Cleo are ghosts, and do not bleed (except Cub)

Eyes on your neck

Camera pans down on Scar, quite a bit worse for wear. His arms are bound behind his back and if his legs are in frame, they are also bound and he is sitting awkwardly, face stony

I should put you down like a sick dog

Pan up to Cub, looking down on Scar. He speaks the lyrics with some conviction, but they both know this ain’t happening. The key to Scar’s binds is strung around his neck

Look at yourself

The scene shifts, background distorted and tinted pink or orange. Cub’s conviction is gone, but he’s confused, not afraid. He looks at the camera (to Scar), but his eyes don’t quite focus.

Thinking you deserve / what you don't got

Back to Scar, speaking smugly. He flexes his claws, no longer bound. / The focus is back on Cub. The distortion on the background fades slightly but not completely. It seems to occur to him something is wrong, that he made a mistake. (key gone lol) Just as he’s starting to turn to run, hard cut to the next line.

Craving

Pan out on a wide shot of Cub in Ren’s bedroom, Ren on the left at the doorway and Cub on the right in bed, jolting upright. His neck and back and cut to pieces, and blue blood is basically everywhere (he’s a bit of a leaky faucet)

I don't need / a reason for cake

Bust shot of Cub, looking up at something behind Ren. He says nothing. / Shot of Ren standing in the doorway. He cocks his head, maybe starts to say something before Scar comes out of nowhere, ripping through him. Ren’s form dissipates, but Scar isn’t looking at Ren.

The salivating

Side profile of Scar speaking, almost unhappily, but equally dazed.

It keeps me / awake

Front shot of Scar continuing to speak, possibly gesturing above himself to a crude image thought bubble of him and Cub running away to Cleo’s boat at the edge of the island. / Cub stares at him, mouth gaping just slightly. He closes it, looking some amount focuses or determined.

Just another ache, ache

Scar and Cub running together, hand in hand. The shot faces their backs, buildings of the shopping distinct rushing by. Cub pushes Scar suddenly out of the way and is hit by a potion that flies in from off screen. Zedaph floats into view, but doesn’t have time to react before Scar mauls him out of the air. It is animal-like.

I'll hit it off

Front shot of Scar picking Cub up and continuing on, stony.

with an open mouth

Cub notices through the daze of the weakness effect Doc, obscured by brush. He fails to warn Scar before he is dropped, a net from Doc’s gun taking Scar the fuck out

Talking the way / I want it

Doc scoops Cub off the ground, assuming him to be kidnapped. The effects of the potion are beginning to wear off. / Cub murders the fuck out of Doc, either with a dagger to his stomach or just uses his hands. He’s got claws for a reason (the reason is aesthetics but)

I'll hit it off with an open / mouth

In the swamp, Scar and Cub (foreground) stalk Cleo (background) where she’s standing guard by her boat on the muddy beach, speaking urgently into their walkie-talkie. Cub drifts into the edge of the clearing, about to attack, but some kind of clarity and/or pain strikes him. His neck leaks a little blood, thematically probably. He hesitates. / Bust shot of Cleo looking up and seeing him. She is not scared or surprised, facing him determinedly

Talking the way I want it

Cub lunges for an attack, slamming into Cleo’s large shield. Cleo deflects him again and again, he can not get past her despite his ferocity. (ghost skill issue. they’re a mother fucking pirate baybe)

*ending instrumental*

Scar comes out of the treeline, looking appropriately deranged and haggard. Somewhere he got a sword, which he probably shouldn’t have. Cleo raises their sword when they see him along with their shield. epic sword fight ensues. Despite having Cub on her back, she is kicking both of their asses, keeping up with Scar’s sword while holding Cub off with her shield, minimal injuries. Scar’s been starving to death for like a month and also a bit out of practice so he’s taking major Ls. Cleo knocks him clean off his feet and into the mud, turning around in time to meet Cub with her shield for the final time. But Cub finds the bottom of their shield, wrenching it up with both hands and sending Cleo tumbling backwards, right onto Scar’s arced sword.

Scar gets up, rolling a sufficiently stabbed through the stomach Cleo off of himself. He’s wearing that signature good times smirk and mighty pleased with himself. He ignores Cub completely as he walks toward the boat, not looking back. Cub looks almost lost, he doesn’t know what to do. He certainly doesn’t look happy about Cleo, that’s his friend :(

Cub is sitting on the boat while Scar readies them to set sail. (Background) Cleo, in the foreground, is lying face down in the mud. Cub is staring at Cleo as she stirs. He looks away. It’s clear he does so on purpose. Cleo pushes herself up with her arms, sword still sticking through her. (she’s a zombie lol) Cut to black as the music trills.

[princesspastel8]

Chapter 68

Third POV

Slenderman surprisingly gives in to Luna's request to a meeting after a bit of begging from Toby's end. Once it was decided, Jeff and Eboni aren't allowed to attend - mostly due to Slenderman still failing to get under Eboni's skin. One annoying pesk was manageable, but two? The faceless creature has a headache just thinking about it.

As everyone leaves towards Slenderman's office, Eboni & Jeff go into the kitchen. The smiling killer sits at the table as he watches his girl beginning to cook him dinner. She turns to him with a smile.

"Anything in particular you want?"

"Whateber scraps we got that you can turn into a meal is fine with me." He shrugs, still watching her.

"Mhm, I'll see what I can do."

Eboni isn't working with much. All she managed to find is shrimp- that's still fresh, rice, and canned curry. She also sees a few seasonings to help add flavor to the canned curry & shrimp. She grabs two pots and a skillet to pan fry the shrimp. Once the rice and curry are placed on to cook, Eboni looks into the refrigerator- noticing some juice and rum.

"Did they throw a New years party or?"

"Nah. They do that shit towards the end of the month. Gives everyone time to steal something for the party, and a excuse for me to get drunk off my ass."

Eboni rolls her eyes, suddenly uneasy. She hasn't noticed it til now, but the poor girl fears parties. The loud music, the smell of alcohol & musk, the flashing lights, all of it makes her heart fill with anxiety. Jeff notices her sudden shift in demeanor. He waves her over, making her sit on his lap.

He moves to rest his head against her breast, arms wrapping around her waist. "Or, we can have our own little party in my room." He grins.

Eboni giggles, shaking her head. "No, no, it's ok. You tried to hide it, but I can tell from your tone. You're looking forward to this party."

He frowns, huffing. "Ugh...fuck I can't hide shit from you anymore."

Eboni giggles, leaning down to shower his face with kisses. Neither of them seem to notice the pair of blue eyes staring at them. The male holds a sketchbook and pencil in hand. He moves to sit on the couch, closes to the kitchen, and begins drawing the scene before him. The Male's been lacking inspiration lately, so he's surprised to suddenly feel the need to draw them after witnessing the public display of affection.

Soon though, Eboni removes herself from Jeff's lap- going to the curry and begins seasoning it as the rice continues to cook. "I'll be fine on my own, Jeff. I'll keep smile dog with me."

"I rather not have you up there by yourself, princess."

"And I won't let you miss out on the party."

Jeff stares at her, clicking his tongue. That's what he gets for being nice, granted he's going to go anyways whether Eboni was alright with it or not. That's just who Jeff is, selfish yet spares less of his selfishness when with Eboni. The girl is aware of this, however. Truly, she doesn't mind being to herself for a few hours. She'll just play video games or spend more time with Sally.

She moves to put two servings of shrimp onto the pan after putting butter in it. As it begins cooking, she seasons it so the flavors will cook into the sea food. BEN then suddenly appears next to Eboni, floating over her.

"I knew you were cooking! Only your food smells this good!" He said, mouth salivating.

Jeff reaches up, grabbing the link look-a-like ankle with a mischievous smile on his face. "And you ain't eating any of it!" He laughs, tossing the floating demon onto the wall.

BEN glitches, falling onto the ground with a thud - a groan following afterward. "Fuuuuucking asshole!"

The smiling killer shrugs, moving next to Eboni, hovering over her. She gets a teaspoon and dips it into the curry, giving herself a taste test. She nods her head in approval, reaching up to grab two plates. Struggling though, Jeff chuckles- reaching over her and grabs two plates. He gives her a quick kiss before moving to sit back down at the table.

Eboni makes Jeff's plate, placing a few scoops of curry on one end of the plate, rice on the other side, and shrimp on top. She does the same with hers, placing both plates on the table. Eboni grabs herself a can of Sprite & a bottle of Jack Daniel's for the smiling killer.

When Eboni is seated, Jeff takes his spoon- scooping one of everything into it. He takes a bite, eyes rolling and body slumping. He doesn't bother wasting anymore time on savoring it, quickly devouring every last bite - going so far as to lick his plate clean.

He takes a quick swig of his drink to swallow it all down before speaking, "Hooooooly shit princess, that was so damn good!"

Eboni giggles, still taking her time to finish her meal. "Thank you." She gushes over the praise.

After a few minutes, Eboni finishes her meal- leaving just a bit for BEN since he wouldn't stop whining for a taste. It's late into the evening by the time the two make it back into Jeff's room. She takes his cap off, walking him towards his build in bathroom. The two strip down bare, stepping into the shower after running the water to warmth.

Eboni gently washes the remaining dye out of Jeff's hair while he moves to wash her body. When done with his hair, Eboni does the same with him - littering kisses against his bare wet skin. Jeff fully relaxes under her soft touch, his eyes growing heavy.

The two finish their shower, drying themselves off. Eboni wraps her towel around herself as Jeff sits down, allowing Eboni to blow dry his hair. He relishes this treatment. It's so odd, a crazed serial killer growing fond of such gently touches and small acts of affection. Jeff never once thought this could be him, growing to love someone's company so much. So much so that it scares him a bit. All his life, he's grown used to being alone, yet now he's used to Eboni's company. Thinking back, he questions how he could be alright living life in solitude. That is no longer an option, not anymore.

Once his hair is dry, Eboni begins her nightly routine along with Jeff. The two brush their teeth, Jeff taking Eboni's shower cap off and putting her curly fluffy hair into braids- placing her bonnet on once done. The girl quickly moisturizes her skin with strawberry scented shea butter as well as lip bomb to keep her lips soft during the night.

The two dress in their nightwear, Eboni in a pink silk tank top with matching shorts- Jeff shirtless and in black sweatpants. She is the first to crawl into bed, Jeff following suit, but a nip at his ankle stops him. The killer jumps, glancing down.

"The fuck smile dog?"

The demonic German Shepherd does it again, letting out a whine. Jeff is about to shoo him away until Eboni leans over the bed to look at the dog. She smiles, patting the bed. "Someone seems jealous. Wanna come up here smiles?"

The dog darks happily, jumping onto the bed before Jeff could protest. The pet circles at the foot of the bed, curling up and plopping down once comfortable. The smiling killer rolls his eyes, scoffing once settled onto the bed.

"Tch. Should've let him sleep on the floor. This bed ain't big enough."

"It can be." She whispers, pulling Jeff close and allowing his face to rest against her chest.

"The fuck? I didn't agree to....damn that feels good." He grumbles.

The girl had begun running her fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp lightly in between. The action makes Jeff pull her closer, arms clutching her waist. The motions make Eboni giggle. "See? Now your bed has plenty of room with us this close."

"Fuck you.." he spat sleepily, Eboni kisses his forehead as he drifts off to sleep.

It takes Eboni awhile to try and let sleep come over her, but it seems sleep didn't want her. She can't stop her mind from running a mile a minute. She wanted to be apart of that meeting. She needs to know what was said, how it was said, and the conclusion reached. She needs to know every. Single. Detail.

But by the time sleep begins to take her, Eboni feels the sudden need for water. She checks her phone, the time stating 1am. The girl tries to wiggle out of Jeff's embrace, but his grip tightens more. He grumbles, cracking open his eyes to look up at her.

"The fuck you going?" He questions, voice low- lace from sleep.

Eboni quickly has to get her mind out of the gutter. Jeff's voice has always been enough to get her needy. She smiles, "Just need some water." She whispers sweetly.

"Mhm...bring me some." He said, releasing her from his grip- positioning himself on his stomach.

"Will do." She hums, moving out of bed slowly- slipping on her house shoes.

She grabs her robe, placing it on while on her way out of Jeff's room. She gently closes the door behind herself, tying the robe strings firmly around her waist before making her descent down the stairs. Around this time, within the mansion, most proxies are out on missions or up in their rooms sleeping the night away- so Eboni's chances of running into someone is next to none.

But once she reaches the end of the stairs, time seems to slow for her. Wild blonde hair, swiftly moving up the stairs with someone leading the way. It's too dark for the two to notice Eboni, but she sees them clearly. A male with chocolate brown hair, side burns - dressed in an orange trench coat & a white mask. The female is dressed in nothing but mini blue jean shorts and an orange crop top. It's still freezing outside, yet she's dressed like the sun is setting the earth on fire. Typical for trailer park trash.

Eboni isn't sure what came over her. The sight of the messy blonde hair seems to set her body ablaze. She can feel her blood begin to boil, nails digging into her palms, and a metallic taste lingering on her tongue. Rage. How long has it been since she's raged out so blindly? And why does this feel so different? So....oddly good?

Before Taylor can reach the top of the stairs, Eboni reaches out- grabbing her hair and yanks her backward. She quickly moves out of the way, watching the blonde tumble down the stairs. Hearing this, Masky turns- grabbing his crowbar that's mounted onto his back and moves to strike Eboni.

"You crazy bi-"

Masky never stood a chance - not against a raging Eboni. She dodges his swing, grabbing the tip of the curved crowbar, and yanks it out of his grip. The girl smiles madly, raising the weapon and swings it with every once of strength she possesses. The metal rod connects to his mask with so much force that it's enough to crack his porcelain mask & knock him to the ground at the top of the staircase- disorientating him for a few minutes.

Eboni drops the crowbar, eyes locked on the girl still slump at the bottom of the stairs. Her smile stretches more as a loud buzz fills her brain, her vision clouding with pure white hot fiery. This must be how Jeff felt, so angry yet so free. Nothing else around her matters, except for beating the life out of this bitch. Eboni is sticking true to her word. It's on sight.

"E...Eboni?"

"In the flesh. Man...the table really have turned huh? Now you're the one that looks like complete shit."

"Ya..ya don't know shit!" She shouts, moving to stand up.

"I know you killed your mom. It's about time, right? I'm sure Masky helped you in that department. You are a coward, after all. Hiding in a brush to try and kill my man, and what for? Because I scoured the better one? Or is it -"

Taylor punches Eboni in her nose, knocking the girl back. The blonde snatches the crowbar from her hand and hits her in her ribcage. Eboni cries out, her rage building even more yet somehow chilling her to the bone - it isn't until Taylor opens her mouth that Eboni allows the rage to fully take control.

Taylor leans forward, face itches away. "I ain't try to off him. It was'em'. They all wanted him dead- but I wanted yo sorry ass dead. I hated ya' the moment ya' started school. I had all the boys wrapped 'round meh fingers - but ya'...ya came and ruined all I had built! Alex nevea' shut the fuck up 'bout you! I knew he was full of shit- I knew what he planned to do. It...was perfect. The fucka' destroys ya'...and I get my place back. I knew he raped ya. I knew he drugged ya. I knew all that shit- I just ain't give two fucks. It was eithea' ya' become meh bitch like Iris, or I end you. Jeff saved ya ass the first time, but I ain't gonna let that fucka' save ya' a second time. Them bullets wa' ment fa' ya'. But seein' that fucka' fall" she pulls back, laughing loudly. "If he dies then ya' off ya'self. It's a win win!"

Strange. This feels so strange.

Eboni stumbles back a bit, placing her hands on her head as she begins to cry - the rage bubbling. She can feel it gurgling through her eyes as the pounding pressure against her skull grows. She cared about Taylor. Eboni related to her in a few ways. She would've done anything to keep her safe as she would with Iris. That's how much she valued their friendship at the time, her very first friends-

And to think, Taylor envied her. Jeff warned her. He knew from the moment he laid eyes on her that she's full of shit, yet she defended her - up until that night, her life changed. That piece of trauma will never leave her. Just because Alex is dead doesn't mean the trauma goes with him.

Her body suddenly feels cold, and the pain in her ribcage seems to fade. Her pupils begin to dilate, panting heavily tears streaming freely, yet her lips stretch into a smile, fits of laughter leaving her. For a moment, Taylor almost regretted spilling how she truly felt- but now is the chance to prove that she isn't a coward.

So Taylor moves to swing the crowbar again, but Eboni dodges effortlessly. Taylor swings again and again, Eboni moving too fast for her to land a hit. The girl feels so light on her feet, letting the malice guide her. She's going to make this bitch pay.

Taylor is going to pay for trying to manipulate her.

Taylor is going to pay for trying to control her.

Taylor is going to pay for lying to her.

Taylor is going to pay for trying to kill Jeff.

Taylor is going to pay -

In blood.

Taylor got to close, giving Eboni the chance to headbutt the girl in her nose. She takes the crowbar, tossing it towards the window- glass shattering. Eboni would've taken a piece of glass to slit the girl's throat, but she wants this to last. She wants Taylor to feel every ounce of emotional pain she caused her. She wants to feel the life drain from her with her bare hands.

The blonde falls to the ground, struggling to regain her senses from the blow to her nose. Eboni moves towards her, beginning to kick her randomly. Taylor tries to reach for Eboni's ankle, but the girl stomps on her hand- applying pressure until she hears a few cracks.

"Not enough... not enough.." Eboni mumbles.

But before Eboni moves onto Taylor, a firm hand grips her shoulder- Bloody Painter, standing over her, knife firmly in hand and mask resting on the top of his head. He opens his mouth to say something but is met with a punch to his nose - breaking it.

"Stay the fuck...out of my way." She warns, her smile still there as well as her tears.

Meanwhile, Jeff finds it odd that it's taking Eboni this song to grab two bottles of water- but he's to groggy to process just how long she's been gone, plus- he's so comfortable....that was until he hears a loud crash that sounds like glass shattering from downstairs.

He jumps up, as did Smile Dog. They both share a look and quickly rush out of his room. Jeff races down the stairs, taken aback at the scene before him. Bloody Painter is knocked out cold, Masky is behind Eboni with his crowbar raised while his girl is on top of Taylor - beating the shit out of her. The smiling killer grins, running towards Masky and tackling him to the ground. He pins him down, snatching the mask off his face and forces him to watch Eboni destroy his bitch.

"No...no you don't get to step in. I got my get back- time for my girl to get hers. Fuck, she looks so hot...with her hands covered in blood- the blood of your pathetic blonde bimbo. Honestly Tim, thought you had better taste in women." Jeff mocks, using all his strength to keep Masky down though it's becoming harder to do so.

"Get off! Get the fuck off!" He shouts, tears building in his eyes as he watches Taylor loose conscious. "She'll kill her!"

"That's the point. That whore messed with the wrong one." Jeff laughs, feeling a sense of pride swell in his chest as he continues to watch Eboni beat that bitch, that caused both of their lives hell, to death.

Each punch gives Eboni a sense of euphoria. The once painful rage has turned into one of tasty malignity. Just seeing the girl that has always been all bark and no bite slowly die with each hit is filling Eboni with a high she never knew she could reach. Just a few more....just a few more, and she'll finally have her reven -

A black tendril wraps around Eboni's wrist, yanking the girl off of Taylor and sending flying to the broken window. She can't feel the glass pierce into her skin, the rage still blinding her from everything except her target. Jeff curses, releasing Masky and rushing to Eboni's side. He knows, he knows she's going to do excatly what he did - attack slenderman.

"Princess. Eboni don't even -"

Mind still in its buzzing state of malice, she punches Jeff right in his jaw- catching him off guard. He stumbles back, giving Eboni the chance to charge at the faceless man. The creature sighs, sending a dozen tendrils her way - thinking this would be easy. He's both pleasantly & horrifyingly surprised.

Eboni manages to dodge each tendril, her body bending in angles he wasn't aware a human body could. The girl has a knife in hand, one that she took from Bloody Painter. She dashes towards Slenderman, stabbing the tall creature in his lower abdomen - twisting the blade.

He underestimated her - that much is clear, but at this point, he's fed up with her disobedience and defiance. He should kill her before she gets more out of hand. So he manages to cage her body with several tendrils, slowly squeezing her body. She cries out, struggling to break herself free - but she doesn't back down, biting at the tendril covering her mouth.

"LET HER GO!" Jeff shouts, his rage quickly getting the best of him as he grabs a large shard of glass.

This....is getting out of control.

Luna steps from behind Slenderman, eyes & hair glowing their bright shades of blue. She holds her hands up, freezing both Jeff & Slenderman. The witch looks at the faceless man, the two sharing a quiet conversation. After a minute of unsettling silence, the creature gives in motioning for Toby to inject Eboni with a sedative.

"This will not go unpunished. Masky, take Taylor to Nurse Ann. Toby, take Bloody Painter to X virus."

The two do as told, Toby giving Luna a look before carrying Bloody Painter away - Masky following behind. The smiling killer glares at the witch, waiting for her to release her hold on him - but she doesn't.

"I swear to god, you voodoo bitch, if you don't let me go I'll-"

"You'll do no such thing if you value this girl's life." Slenderman warns.

"The fuck you plan on doing with her huh!?" Jeff shouts, growing anxious. Eboni clearly needs medical attention too.

"As I stated, this will not go unpunished. I believe it's time for Eboni Brown to visit the white room."

[prolix-yuy]

PedroStories HallowReads Celebration 

A Spooky Salute to Writers! 

There are literally hundreds of fics out here that have stolen my heart, but here are a few of my favorites. Forgive me if I wax poetic about some of these, but I think you'll love them just as much!

For other stories I've loved, check out my fic rec tag!

🎃 Here are my recommendations for @pedrostories’ HallowReads Celebration 🎃

My favourite fanfics I read this year

Point A to Point B by @amywritesthings Description: Escorting a former Empire prisoner of war to a Rebel Alliance safe zone? It should be a piece of cake. Absolutely no problems whatsoever. My thoughts: My space sister even when she's off in another galaxy far far away (aka another fandom), Point A to Point B was one of the first Din series I read that was in progress at the time I started. Nothing made me quite as excited as giving my blow-by-blow reactions to Amy's spectacular story, and I'll come back to a few of those...ahem...firsts time and time again. The writing style is crisp and gorgeously detailed, and I love her religious Din so very much.

Lie to Me by @iamskyereads Description: A recent transfer to the DEA from the FBI makes you a target of hazing from your co-workers. Choosing to forget your bad first day at a bar puts you on a path towards meeting a new acquaintance. An expert on deception and psychological profiling, you are adept at catching liars. What happens when an increasingly stressful work environment begins to test the limits of your personal life and the one man at the center of it all, Javier Peña? Afterall, everybody lies about something. But how many are you keeping from yourself? An AU of Season 3 of Narcos My thoughts: Skye writes some of my favorite "it's canon now" stories, and Lie to Me is a shining example of what her creative mind can do with Season 3 plus an incredible reader character. I have never read a story where the reader was so different than me but also someone I'd so badly like to be that I could really imagine it to be true. Plus her Javi is so thoroughly rendered in perfect introspection I half expect scenes from the show to have Carino in the background. A must read!

Surrender by @ezrasbirdie Description: Weeks after the events in Kansas City, Joel and Ellie stumble across a woman lost in the Nebraska wilderness. With her knack for foraging and unending patience for Ellie's ceaseless questions, Daisy quickly becomes an asset on their journey. But between Joel's capriciousness towards her presence and Ellie's fierce loyalty to her guardian, she can't help but question her place with her new companions--especially when she catches Joel's gaze lingering more and more when he thinks she isn't looking. My thoughts: Listen, I know there's a lot of Joel out there right now, but this Joel? You need to read this Joel. A glorious character study of an intensely broken man finding a new start through the eyes of a complex and powerfully realized OC. There are whole chapters that have me in a chokehold, and the pain is so stunningly offset by the beauty they find in each other. One of my favorite things Birdie has written (and there are lots to choose from!)

Celestial Navigation by @write-and-buried Description: Dumped and drowning in a summer storm, you duck inside a coffee shop to hide from your broken heart. Covered in plants and hand drawn images over exposed brick, it seems like a slice of heaven. The owner brings you a blueberry muffin and a promise; you’ll fall in love with him before the new year. My thoughts: How can I not mention the story I salivated over every week waiting for a new chapter? This Dieter has all of the hallmarks of canon Dieter with so much more depth and a unique twist to his character that works perfectly in this sort-of AU. Every description is lush and ripe, sensuality used to lull you into horny heaven. Gorgeously realized and a wonderful contained read again and again.

Intimidation Tactics by @whataperfectwasteoftime Description: You and your partner, Marcus Pike, are investigating a case that brings you far too close to something much more dangerous than your average art thief.   My thoughts: Penny came out of the gate SWINGING with this series. Marcus and Dave's chemistry is electric, and the three of them together weave attraction and devotion into something much more grounded and confident than I expected. Their relationship blossoms so fully I can't imagine it any other way.

Wild Abandon by @starlightmornings Description: Post-WWII, set in the Great Smoky Mountains of Western North Carolina. Ezra Joe Collins came home from the war looking to hide away in the wilderness. His simple, quiet life is turned upside down when you show up in his garden, hungry and desperate, with nowhere else to go. What starts out as a grudging friendship quickly transforms into something that will knit your very souls together — but as you soon discover, such a bond comes at great cost. My thoughts: Kaylie's masterful execution of this thematic story kept me on the edge of my seat for weeks! The setting and voice is some of the most unique writing I've come across, and the threads she weaves together to make the full picture come to light had me gasping. Plus Ezra is the perfect balance of hedonistic and mysterious, just the way I like him.

Beloved fanfics with my comfort characters

First Class to Tatooine by @mandosmistress Description: You’re a flight attendant who’s so entranced by your melancholy, beskar-clad passenger that you decide to cheer him up with some first class treatment. And although the Mandalorian seems to think he can forget his woes between your legs if he tries hard enough, despair and violence seem to follow him no matter how hard he tries to shake them. My thoughts: Mari's fic was some of the first I read in the fandom and if I'm ever missing Din I come back to this story. Her young Din fics are transcendent, but I'm so in love with this post-TBOBF story and the angst she pulls out of it.

Kinktober 2022 by @chaoticgeminate Description: You’re a fanfiction writer turned novelist, which was great since it was the path you wanted your writing to take you down in life. What you never thought would happen was meeting the Javier Gutierrez, who you actively write smutty fanfiction about from his film with Nic Cage, and you especially didn’t expect him to have a crush on you. Fast forward several months of dating, with a good chunk of your relationship being distance due to his constant traveling and having to go home to Mallorca, when he surprises you with a prompt list and a vacation planned around exploring it. You haven’t even worked up the nerve to tell him about what you write and post to Tumblr about him as a character yet. My thoughts: Who doesn't want to live in a world where some happy accidents bring you together with Javi Gutierrez in a sexy funfest full of feelings, healthy relationship conversations, and mind-blowing smut? Plus Kelly made me almost cry several times featuring my beloved Murch in her stories and now our RCs are best friends forever.

Palomino by @fuckyeahdindjarin Description: Unable to get a refund for a week-long horse-riding pack trip you’d booked with your ex, you decide to go solo. As it turns out, a rebound with a cowboy named Jack while traversing the wild landscapes of Wyoming might just be what you need. My thoughts: Palomino is a triumph of a fic by the incredibly talented Cee that is a must-read if you like anything horsey. Even if you don't, come for the soft-spoken cowboy we were robbed of in TGC and their adventures together. Cee took so many unique turns that had me intrigued with my heart clenching at each new chapter, and the ending is truly something beautiful.

Fanfics I wish more people knew about

Calculated Risks by @pedrito-friskito Description: I took a calculated risk, but fuck, am I bad at math aka - this started as friends with benefits but you’re ridiculously good in bed and not as much of an asshole as originally thought and now I’m kind of in love with you? a saga. My thoughts: Kay's Dieter is a chaotic mess in the best way, and she pairs him with someone just as messy and perfect for him. They traverse some highs and lows together, but the love is so carefully threaded through you have to root for them.

Vibes by @mandoblowmybackout Description: Sex toys, Din Djarin, neurodivergent reader and so many feelings? What's not to love? My thoughts: The number of times I've closed my eyes and thought of scenes from this series is too large to count. As sexy as the concept sounds, the trust and care that Ash takes to give these two the love they deserve is even more exhilarating.

Kitten by @boliv-jenta Description: The reader meets Nico at a swingers party. Will he just scratch an itch or carve a place in her life? My thoughts: Liv has so many fics I adore, but the exploration of Nico as a character and how his and Kitten's experimentation grows is just masterful. Plus she gives us one of my favorite OC side characters and so many twists and turns I was gobbling up each addition the moment they came out!

Fanfics with my favourite trope/AU

Love Triangles by @littlemisspascal Description: Soulmates with Identifying Marks AU, including a ridiculous amount of pining, misunderstandings, and Dieter being Dieter. My thoughts: Rae's writing never fails to make me feel the widest spectrum of emotions. This AU is so fun and thoughtfully fleshed out, with a wild but kind Dieter, hilarious nicknames, and a soulmate twist that had me a gooey mess by the end.

Stranger At My Gate by @leslie-lyman Description: A time-traveling Pero. A modern woman trying her best. A kitchen full of possibility. A helping of Midwestern kindness. A dash of magic. And a whole lot of Christmas spirit. My thoughts: I read this around the holidays and it was the perfect treat for my time-travel-Pero-loving heart! The world Leslie creates is so warm and homey I want to live in it always. Plus big gruff Pero melting down for Tessa makes me want to cry, it's so wonderful.

A Galaxy Far Far Away by @grogusmum Description: This fic is as much a story about Din, Grogu, and Reader as it is a little love letter to an old home of mine, during an idyllic time in my life. As with most authors, there are characters who are a reflection of them, and that is certainly so for reader characters in fics. And it is so here, but only a little, but the cottage, the town, the festivities are directly from life. I hope they come across kind of like characters in their own right. My thoughts: Every time I get a new piece of this story it melts me again. The love in this is quiet and gentle, and Grogu is a sweet little menace we adore. The slow growth of love is truly the star, and I'll forever want to live in this town with a big teddy bear of a man and his mischievous son.

The Language of Flowers by @lowlights Description: You’re the only daughter of a wealthy Victorian family living in the countryside. The head gardener, Din, catches your eye and your heart. A series of clandestine rendezvous put both of your futures in jeopardy. One question persists: could you ever truly be together? (A Din Djarin AU) My thoughts: Gardener!Din owns my heart, my nethers, a large piece of my brain. The Victorian vibes are off the CHARTS, and while there's the looming doom of their secret relationship always present, I still fall back in love every time.

Fanfics I NEED to read

A Girl Walks Into a Bookshop by @oonajaeadira Description: Set a couple of years after the events of the film. Ezra owns a bookshop. You walk in. My thoughts: This has been on my TBR forever and I feel like I need to set aside a day to just binge it. I know it'll make me soft. I know it'll give me all the feels. I just need to prepare myself for it, preferably with a warm drink and a cozy corner to melt in.

Meant to Be by @radiowallet Description: Oberyn Martell has spent his life as a second-born prince enjoying all the pleasures that Dorne has to offer, staving off any notion of an arranged marriage under the guise of searching for his soulmate. But after defeating The Mountain and avenging his sister's untimely death, Oberyn returns home to his brother still without a true heir. And so Doran states his plan: To name Oberyn Lord of Sunspear and have him take a wife, soulmates and lovers be damned. So what happens when the fates of Westeros send him an independent and troublesome woman from the north that just happens to fit the title of both bride and soulmate? Which feelings does one bow to? To bend or to break? And what does it truly mean to be meant? My thoughts: Cat's unique take on a Soulmate AU with an unlikely Pedro boy has been tantalizing me for months! And to hear her say that it's one of the formative stories that's developed her unique voice just makes me want to read it more!

Clean Sheet by @haylzcyon Description: Former FBI agent turned tortured crime-author Marcus Pike has never gotten the hang of complacency. The weight of monotonous days stuck writing a loveless character into predictable plotlines is heavy - but he finds ways to shoulder it. Newly divorced and the owner of a print shop where Marcus orders copies of his working drafts, a slip-up in order packaging sparks a fast blooming friendship between you, and reveals a side to Marcus that you've only dreamt of. My thoughts: AUTHOR MARCUS AUTHOR MARCUS I know this is going to get me yearning and I cannot wait for him to meet-cute his way into my heart.

Like a Moth to the Flame by @the-scandalorian Description: monster!Din, sort of a dark Beauty and the Beast AU My thoughts: Oh god. Oh godddddd. Monster!Din. I can't. I need a minute. I'm gonna be such a problem after this story and I need to be ready for that. I'm looking so disrespectfully at this story Simone.

Thank you to each and every writer who's on this list (plus dozens more) and whose words are forever imprinted in my brain, for better or worse. Happy Spooky Season!

[atrueneutral]

Writing Update & ‘Writing Interview’

Hello! Instead of providing a snippet this week, I’m going to give you a small update on where I’m at with this latest chapter of ‘Blood in the Wine’.

I’m wrapping up the chapter (maybe today, maybe tomorrow) then will need to edit. The chapter will be deployed soon so keep an eye out! We’re looking at around 7k - 8k words.

A bright side for the story is I’ll be doing more writing now that I’ve accomplished what I wanted to in FFXIV (for the time being).

Below the cut are my responses to the writing interview going around - thanks @pricemarshfield for the tag! ❤️

When did you start writing? I believe I started writing when I was the tender age of twelve years old. I decided to write some Kagome x InuYasha fics that are frozen in time on FF.net. Aside from the grammatical errors, the predictable plot and the out-of-character characterizations, I think the worst thing about them is that they weren’t Sesshomaru x Kagome.

Are there different themes or genres you enjoy reading than what you write? I’m continually embarrassed to say I don’t read books anymore. Writing has given me the drive to crack more books open, but writing has also given me less time to read amongst work and the occasional video game session. Were I to read, I enjoy reading classical horror and supernatural tales here and there, outside of my love for mythology and classical romance.

I think if I write anything, it needs to have an angle of romance - even if it involved eldritch beings.

Is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often? Ohhh, I have no idea… I just write how I write. 🤷‍♀️

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space? I normally write at my desktop computer, where my husband puts up with all of the clacking I do at my keyboard.

What's your most effective way to muster up a muse? For me it’s listening to music and playing scenes out in my head. Certain songs with certain scenes I’ve concocted gear me up like nothing else to the point of wanting to scream.

The good kind of scream.

Are there any recurring themes in your writing? Do they surprise you?

I like dealing with people who make poor decisions and watching the consequences unfold. I like themes of temptation. I like the classic good vs evil but with shades of gray on both sides. I like threading in the concept of fate.

No, they don’t surprise me. 

What is your reason for writing?

My reason for writing was because a story formed and put a theoretical gun against the head it was in; I had to realize it.

Now I write because another story has a gun to my head, and it’s fun being held hostage by my own plots. 

Is there any specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating?

I deeply cherish the comments that walk me through initial reaction to scenes (especially plot twists!) and how the writing affected the reader emotionally. I salivate over when readers theorize about what’s to come next or start to piece together elements of the plot.

It’s also been wonderful to hear that people think my writing is immersive! 

How do you want to be thought about by your readers?

“That Neutral gal is super cool and mysterious and kind of funny at times.” I’m kidding! I’ll mirror what other writers have said in saying that I hope readers view me as approachable! I’m trying to stay what I view as being a healthy-arm’s-length-apart from fandom spaces, but it’s not my intent to discourage people from interacting with me! Interaction was the whole reason for making this writing blog. I’ve enjoyed all of the asks, the prompts, and the interactions I’ve had thus far!

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

Believable dialogue and character interactions?

How do you feel about your own writing?

I like it, but then I read other people’s writing and go, “Wow, Neutral! You effing wish you could write like this. Your writing reads like hot garbage in comparison.”

So many talented people in the fandom stratosphere!

It’s a fun little see-saw of turmoil.

(No Pressure Tagging @theemptyislost ❤️ I believe everyone else I would have tagged has already been tagged!)

[blossom-hwa]

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

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

Series Masterlist | TXT Masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Scandals have been made out of less. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Miss L/N. Miss L/N!”

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

Mr. Thompson is still on the ground. 

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

You are still physically unhurt. 

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

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

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

Things couldn’t get any worse than this. 

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

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

And then you curse out loud. 

“What in God’s bloody name—”

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

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

. . . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What he tried to do?

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

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

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

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

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

And then you punched him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Beomgyu stays quiet. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hm. 

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

“Miss L/N.”

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

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

. . . . .

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

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

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

All the better for you. 

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

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

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

Unfortunately, you know the answer to that too. 

Desperation. 

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

You could only gape harder the wider he smiled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What a world you live in.

“Miss L/N.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I had dirt in my hair!”

“And my new shoes were ruined! Forever!”

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

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

You turn around slowly. “…Fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

You stare at him. “Already?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[lol-jackles]

I can't help thinking the best and easiest way for JA's company to make a hit production is to buy any original script abt two men in love (non-SPN), no matter how flimsy the story is, make JP & JA the leads, give JP executive freedom, throw in a bunch of jealous scenes where JA's character is possessive of JP's character (grabbing JP protectively & putting his hands in JP's hair etc; all the stuff JA added to Dean) & make JA lose the douchy long hair & give him sth close to S7 Dean's hair (the longest it ever got while staying Deanish).

J2's unparalleled chemistry will elevate the script. JP's excellent eye as producer will keep the company safe from its own incompetence & could even snag an excellent script in the first place.

The Wincest and J2 shippers plus every viewer hungry for man-on-man romantic scenes will bring in enough money & drool to rake in a very neat profit.

It'll have lasting cultural value because the Wincest & J2 shippers will fill all SM with gifs & fan vids from the movie as if it's from Sam & Dean's lives, and man-on-man viewers will do the same in non-SPN circles.

End it tragically & get the usual crowd braying abt bury ur gays, keeping it in everyone's minds nevertheless. Or end it happily & have all the viewers salivating & rewatching for J2 (SPN crowd) or for two hot dudes kissing or more (non-SPN crowd who do this anyway with man-on-man scenes; I dislike calling it gay scenes because men who sleep with men can be bisexual, and gays have been famously hypocritically biphobic to bisexuals like me).

Anyway what do you think? Would it really succeed or am I just a simpleton who would die to watch Sam and Dean kiss but has no understanding of what movies need to succeed? Love your blog btw.

I'm posting your idea in full because it's a giant prompt for J2/Sam&Dean fanfic writers.

Your ideas had me thinking of a Good Omen reboot with Jared and Jensen playing Azri and Crowely. The scenarios you presented can all take place at different points in the past, making the series more of an anthology. In 10 years, J2 will be in their 50s, the same age David Tennant and Michael Sheen are currently. If J2 are game, it could work! One of the reasons why Loki is one of the better Disney+ series is audience like the chemistry between Tom Hiddleson and Owen Wilson. Going by the conventions, the chemistry between Jared and Jensen is still going strong.

[sitp-recs]

Unseen by @jackvbriefs

Harry/Draco (2020, Teen and Up, 47k)

Harry Potter finally has the chance to leave England and its expectations for The Chosen One behind for good. All he has to do is survive one Auror training conference overseas with Draco Sodding Malfoy.

The best part of working overseas was how little he ever thought of England. Yet sometimes Malfoy's attitude would strike him while he was away. It had lingered, the quiet of him. The denial of any credit. It seemed so unlike the boy that would make badges for the school and risk a Quidditch pitch for attention. Though it did seem somewhat like the one that hadn’t identified Harry at the Manor.

Happy Monday with another rec! I haven’t been this productive in forever but the reread streak is really inspiring me. This was one of my very first Sudsfest reads, and the first time I came across Jack’s writing; it was the easiest thing to explore their other works (highly recommend!) after such a banger. This fic delivered all the things I’m looking for in stories set outside the UK: not only it’s immersive and comforting with gorgeous Bay Area aesthetics but also quite introspective, with a lovely quiet atmosphere that tugged at my heartstrings. I’m surprised that a 50k Auror romance featuring down & out Draco is so underrated, but hopefully this rec will put it on more people’s radar!

I mentioned the contemplative vibe and that was the first element that impressed me here. Jack sets the tone early on in the narrative by presenting a fascinating version of Harry and Draco: both deeply affected by the war, both trying to move on and making peculiar choices while going about it. Harry desperately wants to forget; Draco can’t. I was particularly intrigued by their emotional restraint, as I’ve seen it with down & out Draco before, but to my surprise here’s an equally stuck Harry, keeping anything remotely complicated or stressful away with the L I S T (what a concept!) and torn apart by his two personas, happy and free Harry when living overseas and miserable Harry when he’s back home. I was absolutely captivated by his inner conflict and intentional blind eye to all wrong doings going around him. And the way that spills over his interactions, even with Ron and Hermione, was very interesting and cleverly executed. By the way, the Golden Trio dynamics are absolutely PERFECT - I was hit so hard by their spot-on voices (Ron my beloved!) in the opening scene it gave me a lump in the throat.

Harry’s carefully controlled world is completely changed when Draco comes along with his silent and self-deprecating yet smart and fierce personality. I love how this fic explores his scholar/investigative side and my heart ached watching them slowly open up to each other, Draco’s resolute attitude challenging Harry to leave his fragile comfort zone. The growing UST feels organic and intense all at once, perfectly quiet and tentative but it still made me shake in anticipation. I haven’t read a long T-rated fic in a while and after so much (delicious) dancing around each other I was begging for that first kiss 🥲👌🏼 the slow burn would probably hit me differently without the alluring San Francisco setting, its gorgeous landscapes and endless possibilities. I’ve been there a few times and could easily picture them sightseeing together or staying up and exploring the city’s nightlife.

If you’re looking for something gentle, mature and intimate, I can’t rec this enough. It’s light and heavy at once, but in a soothing and cathartic way. The soft romance and Harry’s arc are developed with a slight melancholy and unhurried pacing that made my heart ache, and I loved the political side plot at the Ministry too. And let’s not forget the gorgeous and intimate suds scene right at the end omg, so hot and intimate I was salivating. Go forth and treat yourself!

Read on AO3

[homesickn]

Isn't Bite Also Touch?

(Loki X Female demon!reader)

Chapter seven! (check chapter 6!)

Summary: A lot of smut following, a bit of angst as they'll fight later on. Is there anything suspicious about the Angel?

Warnings: Smut!! Blasphemy, alcohol, fighting, (physical aggression, scratching) improper use of magic, slapping, verbal insults, screaming, probably a bit of exhibitionism, (but not really? Loki's pretty possessive, he's just really mad) hate-sex, rough fuck, mean Loki.

“Not the shoes!” Thor exclaimed scandalously as he watched the scene.

Loki makes a disgusted sound with his throat, stepping carefully and processing the fact there was demon vomit on his new, expensive, on-brand shoes. Messily, as he's still groggy with all the alcohol on his system, he lifts his hand up the air and magically removes the offending substance off his shoes.

“Be careful next time.” He harshly commands, but you're still dizzy and fighting to remain steady, trembling on your feet, his eyes soften as he sees your state. “Is it better now? Do you need to go somewhere?” He asks and receives no answer from you.

“You've never really enjoyed my presence, have you?” The Angel speaks up. It's weird to see you looking so small. “And the first impression I have of you after all these years is of you throwing up, your body has gotten weak.” The Angel repulsively spits out, you refuse to look at him and pull an extremely confused Loki by his arms, dragging him out of there.

You two get together inside a tiny, hidden, locked room. Loki restlessly demands information of the angel who just appeared to ruin your party. 

“Fuck it, I shouldn't have allowed myself to drink so much.” You put your hands on your head, feeling the stinging sensation.

“It was fun while it lasted, you have to admit.” 

“You just liked seeing me lose control.” You bring up, still not looking at him.

“You always have control of everything.” He points out.

“Do I?” You smirk knowingly, licking your lips at his attitude. He looked all disheveled and your sudden unquietness within yourself made you want to explode. “Damn it, just take your fucking clothes off.”

“Excuse me?” He blinks and gapes a bit, looking stupid, and you resist the urge to roll your eyes. He takes off his shoes, and his hands jump to unfasten his shirt but he just hesitates until you say it again.

“You heard me, take them off.” You say and push his chest until his back lays against the soft, foreign bed. “Do you want me to do it for you?” You were out of patience and reaching to straddle his body beneath yours.

He gulps and proceeds to do as you say, fighting to take his shirt off his torso as quickly as possible, resisting the temptation to lift his hand and touch your skin after he's shirtless. He just keeps them there up beyond his reach.

Oh. 

He's keeping his hands to himself, up his head, presenting his body to you. You give a diabolic smile that shows your pointy teeth, as you're close to salivating at the sight of his muscular pecs exposing his heavy breathing and very very warm sweat speckling down his skin.

You lean forward closer to his face, locking eyes with him, just to close your fingers around each of his wrists. Keeping it there lifted now with full control, just like he wanted, his pupils are dark and his eyes so pleasing you're starting to think you're drunk on something else. 

He groans, closing his eyes in response from the pleasure of you squeezing his skin tight as you suffocate his senses with your body practically glued to his.

“Fuck.” It's all you can muster, you never could have guessed drunk-you would be so lacking for words. Maybe it's just his intoxicating aroma deafening your senses.

“Demoness,” he puts himself through a test and tries to let go of your hands. He succeeds and gives you a very bright malicious smile. “You temptress,” His eyes sparkle with malice as he hungrily watches your body burn under his fingertips. “My mistress bathed in sin.”

His hands snake down your skin and you allow it, for now. He's still smiling and still licking his lips at the sight of you on top of him. The moment stops for you as you notice his eyes sparkle a bit more as he admires.

Then he turns you around and pins you under his body, with all the pressure he can apply. And you try to squirm out but it's like his body is made of iron with how heavy he is on top of you, locking you beneath him. 

His hellish amusement is there and now you grunt out to the air.

“I allowed it,” you brag.

“Of course you did, you're just a horny stupid little thing, aren't you?” You get red from his words, but he doesn't relent, and he can sense you're starting to shake a little. “You'd let me do all the work.”

“You can't–”

“Can't what?” His hips grind against yours, both of you still clothed but craving, dying for the friction. “Can't what? You brought me here, wouldn't want to ruin the party for me, would you, little one? No…” He runs his mouth down the skin of your neck to your breasts, and his cold breath is making you shiver. “No, you have something to give me.” He almost orders. And you spread your leg a little wider in invitation, he pulls your dress up and his hands start kneading your ass.

Your teeth are gritted in response to his degrading words. But you just swallow your defenses, both of your dizzy drunken brains managing to make the situation much simpler as you just allow him to take control.

He is visibly excited for this, preparing you with his touching, delighting on your sounds and huffs of pleasure, “Are you okay? Is this okay?” he frowns a bit as he remembers, waiting patiently as you can read the underlying question: do you truly want this? Are you sober?

Your heart palpitates faster, your gaze is dazzled with wonder, noticeable for a while, as you stare into his questioning but patient eyes. You're okay, you know you are, but you're more than pleased to know he's a man of morals even when you can feel how horny he is, pulsing against the skin of your thighs.

Also, it's not very often that you see gods being morally correct. Or not just caring about themselves, if there's one thing you've been impressed with since the beginning, it's about how Loki, somehow, always cares for you, even when he pretends he doesn't.

“I'm ok, it's ok.” You consent, nodding a little, and wait a moment in silence. “Are you ok?”

He seems lost while gazing hungrily at your body, his mouth open as he unconsciously unleashes his breathing. Grasping you a bit too hard around your hips, he looks into your eyes again. “Yes, yes I am.”

It's the last thing you hear before he dives between your thighs, looking feral as he admires your glistening pussy, he silently wonders if he's been bewitched, for he felt starved from your delicious cunt and it's only been an hour —if he still remembers properly. But damn it now, he doesn't care about anything else but you and your scent, poisoning his system.

He curses a Nordic profounity, “Fuck, fuck. Demoness, you're killing me now, I'm sure of it. You're poisoning me,” he states and you push him to eat you out, forcing his words to an end as you smile up to the ceiling so adoringly, feeling his skilled tongue pleasing you.

“I wouldn't kill you,” You breathe out shaking. Soon you wouldn't be able to even feel your legs as they're numbing from overstimulation, your body recalling the early hours of the party. You moan loudly as you jolt from the thought and from Loki's tongue hitting your sweet spot.

When he pulls out, there's your essence tainting his lips, you curse out to all the princes of Hell. They could be damned now, you'd let this god do anything to you, if kept looking at you like you carry the whole world, eating you out like you're the best thing his lips ever tasted.

Loki keeps your thighs well spread out for him, giving a kiss to your stomach, and your heart waves at the soft touch. That was so cute, to you. He keeps kissing and licking the area, giving small bites at times when noticed you got too ticklish, or squirmed more under his touch.

When his body went up his kisses came too, and you felt the head of his cock move up and down to drown in your juices, coming close to your clit just to tease and moving down, slowly again.

“L-Loki,” You wave, quivering under his ferocious gaze. He licked his lips as he watched you like you're his last meal. His hand lands on your lower back. ”Please,” you gulp dumbly as you watch him. “Just fuck me.”

“Ask nicely.” He teases more, his hand close to holding you down by your neck. You whimper as you feel the head of his cock entering you, he takes a deep breath to keep his ground as he awaits your begging. Almost unable to contain himself, his jaw clenched and hands twitching, hurting your skin but you don't mind.

You force yourself to swallow your pride. Rolling your eyes a bit too harshly before feeling him pulling out and entering more of his cock into your sensitive cunt, you're unused to the size and your walls are stretched with a tad discomfort. He chuckles.

“Do you feel pain, little slut? Who would've thought, a dirty demon like you.” He cruelly mentions your visible, slight discomfort. Mocking. 

You tilt your head to him, clenched jaw but pleading eyes still wanting to feel more of him despite the pain, the need to feel him deep inside you needing to be scratched.

“Please,” you keep going, jaw still clenched, you can pinpoint submissiveness to the alcohol, later. For now, you want him, all of him. “Please, please, please. Give me your cock.” Your hands clench around his shoulders as you bring him closer, he grants you your wish.

Your knees have given out and you feel helpless for the first time in so long, your whole body was pinned against him as he speared into you with such a furious intensity, getting so deep you gasped in utter surprise. His hands around your neck and a whispered sign down your earlobe to “Keep begging me,” and you're at a loss, babbling the sound of his name and the word 'please'.

He reaches around to touch your clit, matching his unforgiving pace, picking up his speed as he groans feeling you clench around him so deliciously. Small yelps left your throat with each of his harsh thrusts, you're a mess as your back arches closer to his chest.

His hand moves to hold your back carefully as he keeps heavily grunting onto your ear, his breathing deep and low voice demanding of your pleasure. He harshly grasps your skin with his nails, you scratch his back together from all the pressure hitting your sensitive cunt.

As he massages your clit, it makes you jolt under his touch with each stroke. His thrusts becoming more and more animalistic, brutal, he rams into you, your whole body is shaking roughly with his brutish pounding.

You can barely hear your own moaning as Loki fills all of your senses, he is everything you touch and his growls and grunts are all you hear. You two fill the quiet room with the sound of sex and moaning.

“Look at you,” he gloats. “You were so insistent upon not looking inferior, now you tremble beneath me.” He gives a slow, harsh thrust, to emphasize his point, your eyes roll and your mouth opens, almost drooling. “Pray to me.” 

His words come out rough and too low timbre. your whole body shivers and your core tightens, burning from his words alone, he gets so fast-paced with his pounding you can't even catch a breath.

“W-w-wh-what?” You ask among his savage rhythm. Your mouth is in the shape of an 'O' as he pulls out only to slip even further inside you, if that's possible.

“You heard me,” He messily moves his hand from your back to pull your hair. It makes you remember the other time, when he refused to sleep with you. You give him a shameless, taunting smile. 

He yanks your hair locking eyes with you, a deep moan escapes your lips in response. “Pray to me. Pray, and this God might save your devious soul. I'm the only God you have to think of.”

Little does he know, —although he should — but you don't have a soul to be saved. It's not like you're going to correct him now. 

Your head moves back and forth mixing with his body smashing against your flesh, you don't fear the dizziness that'll install later, his fucking making you completely mindless.

You gulp and sob out, your brain struggling to remember how to speak through the fogginess of pleasure.

“In-In- nomine Patris, et- Filii, et Spiritus Sancti,” you start, broken Latin as you fight to remember what the prayers are—those that make your skin burn with their Grace— his punishing pounding getting worse and more frantic as your praying comes to life.

“T-t-tu es qu-qui jaces in-in-in Coelis, gratia plena,” your voice is trembling, fighting to keep the tone alive. You sob your tears from the sensitivity blinding your sight through the sinful act. The blasphemy drowning you, filling the pits of your stomach. “i-in omnibus nobis omnia praesens, omnium salvator.” You spit out the end, locking eyes with him.

“Adveniat regnum tuum. Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo et in terra–” You trip over your words as he starts sucking and biting your neck.

He furiously rubs his hand against your clit. His voice strained to say the next words, his breaking point coming present as he pronounces all his Asgardian splendor.

“C-come, come now. Kom for meg, min lille djevel.” You scream and spasm around him, clutching all you can grab of him, wanting to feel as much as possible. You see stars as you cum around him, shaking, the squelching sound so sinful reaching your ears.

Loki growls near your jawline, his thrusts getting slack as he's closer to completion. He shudders, you feel his cock pulsing inside of you, filling you full with his warm cum.

Loki's breaths are labored as his thrusting slows down, riding his orgasm. When he pulls out, there's the trace of semen tainting your skin and trickling down your thighs.

You're panting heavily as he pulls you closer to him, his eyes never leaving yours, he leans forward to kiss you. You didn't even get to catch a breath as he changes your position and deepens the kiss.

You felt your body aching from the sex, your head was spinning from the damned alcohol you had last night. As much as it hurts to feel some pins and needles, you still had the new — horrifying—experience to feel human.

You don't know how you feel about that. 

Lifting yourself as quickly as possible to hurry to the bathroom, as you feel nauseated, you suddenly remember your conditions and physically recoil from agony and disgust of yourself.

Throwing up? You've allowed yourself to throw up? Especially in front of your 'brother'? At a party filled with humans?

Outrageous, gross. You want to kill your human form and remove the skin to stop from feeling so dirty and humane. But all you can express outloud is a sincere grunt of annoyance, grabbing the skin of your stomach.

It takes some time, you arrive at the bathroom and contain your vomiting, using your magic to stop the sickness and the lightheadedness, throwing up now would make you simply refuse to exist. 

It takes time for you to notice Loki's not in the room.

You take a look at the place, analyzing every detail you didn't notice before. And hurry to get out of there and find Loki.

You end up bumping into him as you walk out of that strange room, he looks you up and down, his mind rushes through the thoughts of your well-being, then he seems to put himself together. Clearing his throat.

His mind rushed through a series of nightmares he had last night, but they came to you as a bunch of blurred images. 

The last time he had nightmares, he thought it was your fault, but after spending the night feeding off your delectable supernatural body he wondered how he could have such torturous, painful nightmares. Especially after such a long time since he had the company of anyone in his sleep.

It hit him like a plague, and ruined his mood, apparently that would never leave him.

“Morning.” Insouciant, why would that be?

“Good morning!” You exclaim, merry to see him. He looks confused. “Where were you going? I didn't see you. I'm pretty sure you still slept in the same bed as me last night.”

“That's none of your business.” Once again, you're facing the mean kitty. You sighed.

“You were much easier to deal with last night. You were very touchy, if I can say.” You remember him and all the clear touching you shared at the party and at the end of it.

“Look, just because I fucked you doesn't mean I feel anything for you, so you should stop looking for me.” He looked very serious as he said this, you suddenly feel so much of a feeling you've never felt before. Like cold water has just been poured down your good mood. A foreign feeling pounding into your chest.

Shame.

And he continues.

“It was a wonderful fuck, and I'd love to do it again, even though you're insufferable and… surprisingly weak for a being such as a demon, it makes me a bit disappointed, I expected more a bit more.” He tilts his head arrogantly as he dares to put you down.

You weren't expecting to feel such a weird pang in your heart from his words, it's not sadness, but anger instead. Your face fell and you closed your fist around your chest. 

“I've only never left because you never truly wanted me to go away,” you give him a fake smile, your eyes burning, denying the tears. “You may say whatever you want, but you know you've always been alone and the one that's never picked. The last option, the second, unwanted child, I know. Always the shadow of another, you delight yourself upon the attention I give you.” You close your mouth but look very sour, wanting to hurt him.

“I could say the same of you,” He says through gritted teeth and clenched jaw. Pointing towards you in spite. “Your 'brother' made you throw up last night, who are you to say you're not also unwanted? Is that the main reason you seek attention from me? Because you crave it? Or is it because you can't let me go? You've said it yourself, demon, your attraction to my powers, to my magic, to me. It doesn't make you want to go away, so what do you have to say? Your infatuation makes you weak and predictable. I've said this from the start, you're the one that's been too fucked dumb until you forgot this fact.” He spits it all out, looking down at you, his eyes looking so sharp like knives.

“You know nothing about me.” You say coldly, breaking your charismatic endeavor.

“You've shown me your cards a long time ago, little demon. I know how you work,” He's too proud, you burn with rage. “I could use your body like my personal sex toy and you wouldn't even deny me, would you? Having my personal demon slave to break until you cry, that's how emotional you are, you'd probably just break down to pieces. Are you having fun with the humans? Are they making you as pathetic as they are? Do you want to save the world with them, do you think any sensible human on this planet would consider you a hero?” His voice trembles as he says the last sentence. 

The next noise that the room echoes is a sudden snap, Loki's face red, burning from the mark of your violence. You slapped him. 

Your gaze is distant as you watch his surprised eyes burning with agitation from having startled you. You're suddenly filled with anger to a point you start hitting his chest.

He can prevent all the attacks, and he doesn't take it seriously, you'd probably scare a mortal but Loki's way too egotistical now, all your early compliments of his powers feeding into his image of being superior, mistakenly thinking he's superior to you.

And over all of this, he's convinced he hates you. He can feel the scratches stinging and marking their presence on his pale arms as you tried to attack with your bare hands.

He loses composure and falls with you on top of him, your hands squeeze his arms harshly, craving your nail into his skin, purposefully strong enough and wanting to make it bleed. It pleased you. 

He leaves a hiss as he locks your hands again, but he can still feel the scratching and gripping and hitting throughout other parts of his body.

“How are you doing this?!” He exclaims feeling the punches still hit him as he holds down your fists.

It's comparable to a ghostly touch, it's aggressive, freezing and scorching at the same time, you were all like the demon you're supposed to be. Exposing the anger and the punishment against his skin being the victim.

“You're only scared because you know I hold the truth.” He says.

“You can't offend me, Laufeyson. I only give you what you deserve,” You spit on him, and he backs off, leaving your hands free as you get angrier on top. “You can't, I know every one of your sins, I know your fears.”

“You don't know what I am,” he said sadly, trying to keep a stable look. “You don't.”

“I know you're the spoiled child here, not me.” You say, “You act like you're so tortured but you've had everything in life and you're nothing but a spoiled little prince that deserves nothing but cruelty, so you'll know how others feel.” You look into his eyes as you're wishing to hurt him. “Maybe I should punish you myself,” you sound a bit too serious, as if another play-pretend is coming to an end, a bit too out of your mind. “What do you think? Should I? Should I make your life a living hell? Should I make you pay for the souls you've killed? I promise it's more than some hundred people the Avenger's data claim to be. Come on, Loki!” You scream at his face, still straddling him, his hands shaking now but unmoving to push you off.

“Come on, Loki!” You continue, “Think of the parents, their children, growing up alone after you killed them, the families ruined. Should I make you suffer for them all?”

He looks sad now, you could see the tears silently showing on the corners of his eyes. You couldn't stop, you don't feel guilt, it doesn't come with your nature. 

“You wouldn't dare. Even if I deserve it, you wouldn't punish me.” He coldly says, trying to snap against you, he's surprised he can't do it this time.

You close your mouth and give him a furious look, you know you shouldn't speak now, you don't want him to know too much about you. You can't, so you lie.

“You're right,” you lie, too saccharine, coming too easily, you just have to look a bit defeated. He doesn't look like he believes you, ever so doubtful. “You're right, I said I wouldn't. I can't punish you.” 

He doesn't want to think about your trustworthiness, nor about his arguments. He closes the distance between the two of you, right out of the foreign room, out there in the hallway. 

In contrast to the night before, now his touch only shows his anger and shame instead of any passion.

He doesn't want you to feel anything other than his hatred and fury, he's angry, all too angry at your words. At your daring to look innocent and bubbly, at your fake pretend act, at your secrets, at your constant clinginess, at your touches. At you. He's angry at you, he's quickly convinced he hates you and that you're messing with his mind to make you seem like a good person.

He growls against the inside of your mouth as he seeks forward your open shirt, grabbing the skin with the equal pressure of wishing to make it bleed too, he cupped the back of your head and brought you close as he brutally bites your lower lip. 

“Ow, you fuck–” You complain, feeling it bleed, lifting your hand instinctively to touch the wound, he grabs your hand and keeps it down in place. Using his seidr to remove his pants and all of your clothes, the top of his asgardian leather vest prodding your bare stomach, you look around the hallway, scared someone will pass by. “The cameras. Someone might–”

“I'm tired of your feigned innocence.” He angrily silences you, he puts his hand to cover your mouth and your mumbles stuffle around his palms. “Let them see. Let them watch.” He rolls his hips roughly to your pelvic arch, pumping his cock to prepare and grunting out to the Heavens as he slides it into your already dripping hole. 

You didn't want to confess how much the possibility of any strangers watching enticed you. “Let them see who brings the demon to her knees.” You bite his hand harshly and he hisses, grabbing your chin violently and squeezing, feeling your dental arch under the skin of your face. Your lips plump bright from his harsh kissing.

“Fuck, no–” You squeak out, not meaning it, but he still hesitates, until you glance at him and nod again, more frenetically, trying to get him to move as you babble meaningless denials. He keeps his thrusting, going harder and harder, making you grip his hips to steady. Afraid someone will hear the noise of your flesh hitting together ferociously. “Oh, OH!” You scream out.

“I want to devour you, you cruel thing.” He tightens his grip on your chin while pistoning your poor cunt. “I want to eat you up, you're a little bug compared to me. Tiny little useless little bitch.” He keeps his punishing pace. “This is the punishment you'll receive, tell me, do you like it? Am I being fair? It's an honorable punishment, being my little cumslut, I'll make you my little cum dumpster,” his eyes sparkled as he said the term to refer to you. “I'll fill you up and you won't be able to move, feeling me right here with your every step, feeling the stickiness that'll mark you as mine, so you'll forget your bratty behavior.” He puts his hand to rest on your womb, and you moan loudly, locking eyes with the tiny, almost unnoticeable, camera. Not knowing if it's on or not, either way, you're likely giving a whole performance.

“Ah! Oh, no,” you feel your eyes sting with tears as you're pinned down, against the cold floor. Your legs give out whilst they also tremble with every hit of his skin against yours. 

He pulls out quickly and turns you around, now your mouth is fighting to stay far from the ground. He yanks your hair as he pushes your entire face towards the floor, arching your lower back, presenting yourself to him. He kicks your legs open to hurriedly shove his throbbing, aching cock, inside of you again.

The manhandling got you shaking for him, his thrusting forceful as your face dizzily scratched in contact with the harsh freezing floor of the hallway. He's pounding into you as if to convince himself of his lack of care for you. 

Reaching his fingers around you to eagerly touch your clit, wishing for your constricting walls to suffocate his cock, to unknowingly pull him in deeper so he could flood your insides with his seed.

He wanted to make the devil tremble beneath him every single time, to feel your knees weak for him, he feared he was addicted. Your body invites him with such warmth, to paint your walls white with his cum.

When he feels you jolting harshly, he growls and his hips snap strongly to guide you through your orgasm, not relenting in his pace. You felt yourself getting too overstimulated as you moaned very soft whines and pushed your hands weakly against his chest. 

He kept a vicious pace until his thrusting began getting uneven as he grunts out loudly, pushing your skin as he fills your abused cunt with loads of his cum.

Both of you lay out of breath on the floor, trying to recover a balanced breathing pattern, his marvelous hand still grasping your skin as strong as he could, instinctively.

Once you both recover, he moves his fingers to magically redress himself. Keeping you dumbly watching him, even as he lifts off of your body, he doesn't make a move to dress you.

“You're such a dick.” You spit out the words, looking around to check where your clothes are, before remembering he magicked them off.

“I could help you, of course,” He pretends to think of something. “But I'll only do so, if you tell me what's the deal with the angel.” He brings the topic out of the blue.

“I don't need your help!” You exclaim angrily, getting up naked. “You don't scare me, Loki.” You give him a stern look.

“I should. You should be scared of me. And you don't look half as terrifying as you think you do, while you're naked.”

You ignore the teasing and focus on the way he's trying to intimidate you. “You're just a god. I've seen millions of them.” 

“Which only fuels my curiosity, can I even know how old you are?”

You grunt out and physically hesitate, you despise going anywhere near personal talk. You make new clothes magically reappear.

“I could get you naked in a snap of my fingers if you don't answer me.” He smirks, glancing down at your body.

“I think you forget I'm more powerful than you.” You state still denying him attention.

“I should probably wait for a team meeting, so I could make everyone see how much of a beauty you are.” 

“They probably already know.” You glance at the camera, that's not speckling any light to sign its functioning. “Or maybe not, either way, I could get you naked in a second too.” You dared.

“Oh, I hope you do.” He grabs your waist and presses both of his hands down your stomach.

“In the middle of the hallway?!” Stark insults, accompanied by a frantic Steve by his side.

“We should create a rule of no sex around the tower.”

“Everybody would lose within a week, dumbass, only you wouldn't.” Stark pats his chest, you get yourself out of Loki's grip. “We all saw what you two did last night on the table, your luck is that a lot of people do the same in these parties. Just don't do it very…often.” He refuses to look at you two.

You don't answer him and just walk away, reaching another huge area. Most of the spaces resemble the living room for resting, that's close to the meeting room. It's not really your fault for not knowing the places or their purposes yet.

“Don't you want to go down to the training room?” Steve asks you, walking in with you. “It'll be useful, it's what we usually do around these hours. And you'll probably need to do it one time or another.”

“I'll think about it–” You end up bumping someone as you were staring at Rogers. 

“Where are your manners?” Inquiries the being, the great Symbol of Heaven. “Honestly, sister, you've been falling off your feet a lot since the party.”

“Don't call me that.” 

“Do you have something against him?” Stark asks, a bit rhetorically, as he can already sense the answer.

Loki arrogantly tilts his head now that he knows it'll be difficult for you to walk away.

“Of course I have, I don't want to be near him.” You say.

“You don't have to.” The Angel responds.

“Have you people just adopted him now?” Loki asks the two headmasters of the group, and they both look at each other. 

“Firstly, we don't "adopt"–” Stark got interrupted mid his sentence, as the angel presented himself.

“I am the Angel Ediel.” His words give a glimpse in space, and time, and everyone questions their sanity for a second, they could swear they saw something changing. Ediel is as bright as the sun when he grins at his sister.

“Did you guys see that?” Asks Thor as he walks through the door.

“See what?” You question, not knowing what he's talking about.

“I- the thing̛̱͙̟̪̣̠̓̒͑̽–” Thor looks around, then something stops while they're all still looking at the angel.

Until everything stops, Thor enters the room again and repeats the same question. 

“Did you guys see that?” The god asks.

“See what?” You question him.

“I don't remember…” Thor looks down, confused, a finger on his chin as he wonders. They all look at each other now and Tony points at you.

“Just don't kill each other while you're here, he may be good for us, it's always safe to be in the presence of an angel.”

“I actually feel much safer indeed.” Steve expresses and you roll your eyes. Loki knew you had nowhere to hide now.

“Why do you hate him?” Loki asks you.

“Don't you also hate your brother? I have my reasons.” You snap and try to run away once more, until Tony gets ahold of your arm. 

“Calm down now hocus pocus, what is it that you have to say? We have the right to know, what if it's something dangerous?”

“Why is everyone so stuck in this? I have the right to not say anything if I don't want to.”

“I don't see what's wrong either,” Ediel says, defending you. “My sister should feel free to walk away just as she wants to.”

“He seems nice. Just a bit off-putting.” Thor brings up watching the other blond.

“Now you know what you're like.” Loki bickers with Thor. And they share a look close to a childlike war.

“Ediel is a fallen angel,” You tell the group with a quiet tone, wanting nothing more than to go away. “Anything—anyone, that falls out of Heaven must be an evil entity, a fraud, a sinner–”

“If that were true, that'd appeal to you,” Ediel says. “This is everything demons admire. If the accusations were truthful, you'd have no reason to hate me.” The avengers could sense how little you felt close to the golden angel.

“They don't know you. They don't know us. Stay out of my way.” You point to your brother and walk out.

“Do you want to explain the whole 'sister' thing?” Loki casually brings up the topic as Ediel keeps a watch on your way out. “She doesn't seem to cooperate, so who knows, you might actually be useful.” He says to the angel.

Ediel feels bashful before speaking, “It's actually fairly simple,” he says your name and proceeds to talk about you. “She is related to Satan himself, raised by Him, and unfortunately so am I, now.” He says feeling his heart ache with shame.

“However that's not a reason for any of you to hate me, or mistrust me,” he quickly explains as their eyes wander around. “I stay in a different position, I'm never in Hell and I've never been close to it, I stay on the surface nearby Earth. I'm more of an actual fallen angel, I'm a guardian, a protector. A savior.”

Loki rolls his eyes in annoyance, “That's what your sister claimed too, when I first met her. I've heard enough.” He tells them and moves somewhere else too, Thor follows him with a sheepish expression.

“I am a being created by God,” Ediel says to the others. “He loves me, as he does to you all, but unfortunately I'm too close to Satan here. Too close, unfortunately, to be mistaken with a demon. I'm just grateful to know my truth, and I'll keep my guard upon us, against the evil that is the demon that inhabits here.”

Everyone looks convinced that this angel won't go away. But Tony needed to state some things.

“Right, cherub, we don't need help. Demoness is not a terrifying or evil entity, she's been cooperating, and at the exact moment she decides to misbehave, the authorities–” Tony gives a dramatic pause to make sure his point comes across. “will deal with her. Earth authorities, the law. We're not afraid of your evil little friend. You can stay calm.”

“It's still an obligation that I have to stay present and keep a watch.” 

“That makes me quite uncomfortable,” Steve says. “What do you mean by keeping a watch?”

“Nothing frightful, human, I promise you. I'll stay here to ensure everyone's safety, and I'll make sure to be a good spirit to all, I'm the bringer of God's words and great spirit.” He gives everyone a bright smile again.

Translations: In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti = In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.

Tu es qui jaces in Coelis, gratia plena =Thou who art lies in Heaven, full of Grace.

In omnibus nobis omnia praesens, omnium salvator = He is present to all of us, the savior of all.

Adveniat regnum tuum. Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo et in Terra = Thy kingdom come. Thy wish will be done, as it is in Heaven and on Earth.

Kom for meg, min lille djevel = Come for me, my little devil.

★

Taglist: @mischief2sarawr @dangertoozmanykids101

[badmuni]

⠀⠀ ⎯⎯⠀⠀⠀vanilla scented candles.

heeseung thoughts always takes the best out of him, but what was supposed to be just innocent, is now gone with the lights.

₍⁠₍⁠◞ heeseung x reader. 700 words. fluff. TW¡ importunate thoughts, visual contact. lil kiss scene. ◟⁠₎⁠₎

That day, everything seemed to be softer and more innocent.

Your boyfriend had spent the night telling you his strange life stories, which were indeed very interesting, but the hours passed quickly in the meantime.

Heeseung felt a little bored because he didn’t want to sleep when you said it was time for bed. In order to keep chatting and make sure you don’t leave him, he even dramatically pulled you into bed, but you found your way to escape from him.

You look at his pouted lips and laugh at it before starting to light your vanilla scented candles. Since Heeseung has such a sensitive sense of smell, maybe that scent would captivate him — you thought.

And there wasn’t anything relevant in his thoughts, but the wildness flashed in his eyes when you started to take off your clothes.

He was sitting on the corner of your bed, observing you distantly. Only your back was visible to him, but it was enough for him to be impressed by the vision. He looked over your body as though he were deceptively swallowing you, wishing he was the one undressing you.

He was that dirty for it.

You make him salivate. You make him sweat from all his desire to have you…

… from all the crazy things he inevitably imagine.

He would think about putting you on the ground, in the sea, on the moon, in the melody. His mind travelling through every chance of having you…

And just from those thoughts, he knew you were going to kill him someday... with such spell.

You put your pajamas on before joining Heeseung, also sitting on the bed and staring at him, which inevitably caused him some shyness, now that his feelings have betrayed him with importunate desires.

He opened a small smile, looking slightly to the side before asking you, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

You just convinced yourself, by his body language, that he definitely had you on his mind now, “I know you want me.”

He wasn’t impressed by your attitude, but he was curious, not talking afterward, just waiting to see what your next step would be.

You smiled lightly as you felt his silence, realizing he was trying to look difficult. “I wonder how much it is hard to control yourself when I’m right here in front of you — just waiting for you.”

That was enough for him, so enough to make his mind. If you only knew how much he wanted to make his dreams come true, to stop daydream, and actually, make of you his pleasure. Or the best, make of him your pleasure.

Heeseung got up quickly, getting closer to you, placing his left hand on your thigh, and with the other, using his fingers to tuck your hair behind your ear.

He looked at your eyes, then looked at your lips, then looked at your eyes again… “Right? But I don’t want to make my baby wait,” he murmured.

You took a deep breath and even attempted to look down, but he lifted your chin and put his lips on yours, giving you a passionate kiss. Simply because he could have you, he would offer you his best.

He’s a soft toucher, pure at heart but with a way too open mind. Most of the time, he was on hand to listen to you recite poetry, and to be honest, he got so into it. Your voice let him be at ease. He wants to listen to you all night and understand every word, every gesture, every action and taste.

Making you fall in love with him a second, third, or fourth time is his favorite idea. Tripping you up, making you wonder if you’re still in your own body — or just became a part of him.

The vanilla candles went out one by one as the hours passed, until everything became dark and dangerously touching.

# masterlist

© badmuni 2022

[vi-sigoth]

Please rant. (I may or may not have watched it, too)

Okay so if nobody wants to read this, here’s the TL;DR of how I felt about the entire series at the close of the show:

If you do, I just:

First off, I see a lot of people bash GRRM as an author, and while I think a lot of it is warranted, a lot of it I think, is unfair. GRRM, like every single other fantasy author who’s penned anything after 1970, has to live under the massive shadow of Tolkien, which is not a very easy shadow to get away from, develop a distinctive style from, or not borrow heavily from, particularly if your flavor of fantasy is high fantasy. But despite my qualms with Martin (how have the Wildlings been separated from the rest of Westeros for 6,000-8,000 years and not developed a separate language at this point? Why is the Faith of the Seven and the Faith of the Old Gods SO fucking lazily constructed? Why can’t Martin keep his numbers straight when he talks about his battles? Why did I have to read a sex scene in which a guy who is still somehow massively obese despite living in a frozen wasteland for a year and a half fucks a girl on a ship and drinks her breastmilk? Jolkien Rolkien Tolkien would have never done this to me) I still love his writing. Because Martin has always set out to explore “the human heart at war with itself” in a fantasy setting, and despite all the problems I have with him, I think he’s done a tremendous job of it.

You see, there are SO many things I could bitch about with this show, so, so many (ask me later why I hate all the blue dresses Emilia Clarke wears) But honestly? None of them really matter as much as what I view as the Main Problem of the show, and actually, a good portion of them stem from the Main Problem. What’s the Main Problem? The Main Problem is that despite George’s pussyfooting lapsed Catholic views (which is why we don’t get, in my opinion, in-universe religions that are fleshed out very well) despite his absolute weeny “war is so mean and bad :(“ Vietnam draft dodger takes, George Raymond Richard Martin is a Romantic at heart, and he loves his readers, he loves fantasy, and he loves putting his characters through horrendous, disgusting, grimy, hopeless situations, because when they come through, beaten, nearly torn to shreds—but alive, he is right there celebrating the unbreakable endurance of the human spirit with his readers. David Benioff and D.B. Weiss are nihilists who hate their audience and who love shoving their faces into mud and filth for no reason other than they take a sick pleasure in the pain and disgust of the people who’s faces they’re shoving into mud and filth.

I don’t remember the exact quote or interview, or which of them said it, but one of the D&D’s said that they were first inspired to develop the Song of Ice and Fire book series into a show when they read the Red Wedding scene. This is already a horrendous start. They were salivating the thought of bringing a scene that was supposed to be so horrible, so disgusting and unspeakably repulsive and wrong that it reverberates around the world and even is witnessed by characters who aren’t emotionally involved nor even geographically near (recall that Danaerys has a vision of it in the House of the Undying long before it happens). But GRRM didn’t write that scene, nor any other awful scene to rub his reader’s face in misery and horror. Recall how the death of Eddard Stark is written. He suffers in a hallucinatory fever for days before his execution, agonizing about the wrong he’s committed in his life. His death is witnessed by his two daughters. From a Watsonian standpoint, our hearts are meant to break, just as Sansa and Arya’s hearts broke when they are made to look on the death of their father. From a Doyalistic standpoint, the death of Ned Stark was nearly inevitable, just as the death of Obi-Wan Kenobi and so many other mentors had to happen, because the death of the mentor is an integral part of the hero’s journey. Ned’s death sets his widow and all of his children upon their paths to their own inevitable triumphs and ends. Furthermore, in any comedy, that is, in any story that ends happily, the hero or heros must travel in gyre. That is, they must travel on a crooked, twisting path to reach the end. If they don’t endure trials before they end, there’s no catharsis for them. Othello travels in a straight line towards Desdemona to place his hands around her neck to strangle her, without stopping. Without thinking that maybe he might check to really see if she’s been unfaithful. As a rule, straight lines end in tragedy, twisted roads end in comedy. The point of what I’m trying to say is that: GRRM didn’t kill Ned Stark to be malicious or to purposely cause pain to his readers. He killed him because the plot needed it. But D&D? Dipfuck and Duckfucker killed Ned, and Ros, and Sandor Clegane, and Theon, and all the people they killed because they think it’s funny when people die and they revel in filth and misery and they hate when things are good. Look at the way GRRM writes Ned’s arrival in King’s Landing versus the way D&D write it. BookNed rides up, and is immediately summoned to the Small Council meeting. He tells the messenger to wait while he changes into nicer clothes, knowing that appearances are important, knowing full well that he’s walking into a den of vipers. ShowNed? He walks right into the Small Council meeting in his travel clothes, brusquely brushing off the messenger’s protestations that he change into something nicer in a thick Scottish accent. Why does he do this? Because Ned Stark is so stupid and so dumb and he doesn’t play the Game of Thrones.why does Show Ned Stark trust people like Maester Pycelle and Littlefinger? Well BookNed doesn’t trust Pycelle, and has no reason at all to distrust Littlefinger or any way to know that he’s going to be betrayed by him. But again, ShowNed is a fucking stupid, dumbfuck hick, and he doesn’t know how to blay the GAMBE of Thrones!!! Why does BookNed inform Cersei that he’s going to tell Robert about the incest, and give her a chance to leave? Because he’s one of the ONLY people who has a kind, honorable, and true heart, and he doesn’t t want to see a woman and children be killed. And again, he has NO possible way of knowing that Petyr Baelish is going to betray him. But ShowNed? Well he does this because he’s STUPID and he doesn’t know how to play the gAmE oF tHrOnEs and only STUPID people are nice,,,,IDIOT!!!!!and this is the problem. (Continued in reblogs)

[zorritoenllamas]

Birthday Gift [ Quincy x Olivine ]

Warnings: Top Quincy, Bottom Olivine, NSFW, Explicit content. Just Olivine getting his birthday gift from Quincy ;)

You've been warned ;)

"Olivine, your bottom looks as flashy as ever, but would you please go sit the hell down?"

The young auburn man spoke to the priest from behind, who was bent over moving some logs in the fireplace to keep the fire burning, offering his rear end to public view. At the unsubtle comment, his cheeks reddened, embarrassed. By now he should be used to the Grand Sorcerer's ways, but somehow, Eiden still managed to make him blush. He was so blunt...

"Eiden!" he reproached him fondly, as if to a child, followed by a chuckle. He didn't mind that kind of comment coming from someone as close to him. "I'm sorry, I... I'm not used to..."

"I know, everyone knows that, but the main idea of all this was precisely to be able to make a celebration for you", Eiden frowned a little and folded his arms. It was the eve of Olivine's birthday, and all the clan members had made an effort to gather that night to celebrate together. "You haven't stopped helping with everything, even though I explicitly asked you not to.... Come on, even Kuya and Quincy came! You don't even want to imagine what I had to do to get those two to attend", the chestnut felt a shiver run down his back. 

Quincy hadn't complained too much, promising him a comfortable place to sleep and dried meat for Topper had been enough to persuade him. Kuya, on the other hand...

"Oh? I could have sworn I just heard my name landing on your lips, young Master...", as if materializing out of nowhere, a thin man accompanied by a strong smell of incense appeared leaning against the wall where the fireplace was recessed. "Kuya! God, someday you're going to kill me with a heart attack", Eiden put a hand to his chest, he had indeed been startled. His reaction made the yokai smile with delight. 

"Young Master, anyone listening to you might think my presence is becoming a threat to you...", he paused for a moment to chuckle with satisfaction. "It is not to my liking to interrupt other people's conversations, even if they are about myself, but.... Certain characters are becoming incredibly irritating...", still slurring his words and with his usual bored tone, Kuya directed his gaze towards the center of the room.

The huge table was overflowing with food, a veritable feast. Aster had spared no expense. The cooks had put special care into Olivine's favorite dishes, following the list that Eiden had personally given them after asking all the priests of the church what food the Father usually preferred. It had been a nice surprise for the olive-haired young man.

At the end that was closest to the fireplace....

"Not yet, Father Olivine must be the first to taste everything", Yakumo was interposing himself between the table in front of Karu and Blade, arms outstretched. The wolf boy was visibly salivating, ready to jump on top of the desserts at any moment, while the e-droid had his arms full of jars with various types of spices and sweeteners, "but little Yakumo, the last book I read clearly said that to make your meals tastier, you have to give them explosive contrasts of flavors! Look! Little Rei was kind enough to give it to me so you could read it too!" he said, smiling charmingly as always, as he waved the blissful book in front of the young chef's face. Nearby, the alluded one watched the scene with interest, as he offered pieces of candy to the owl on his shoulder, who was also watching expectantly.

Meanwhile, at the other end...

"Idiot incubus! That's not how birthday cakes work!", Aster was reprimanding Morvay, accompanied by Edmond and Dante, who had apparently commandeered a small vial containing a bright, pink liquid of unknown provenance. "I just want to help! Everybody knows that a little bit of incubus essence is more than enough to light things up a bit, so the party will be more fun!", the young incubus was arguing as he tried to take the vial from the hands of Dante, who was holding it firmly over his head. Edmond only sighed, clutching the bridge of his nose between his index finger and thumb.

Eiden and Olivine understood at once the urgency of the situation. 

"Alright, let's not keep them waiting any longer", the priest immediately joined them, heading towards the head of the table. The place of honor. He was a little embarrassed to sit there in front of everyone, but Eiden had urged him to agree to have a little more of the limelight for once, for a change. The celebration was for him, after all.

Once he was seated, everyone took their places one by one. Looks of anticipation, others hungry and others bored, but all with a certain warmth that was impossible to hide in its entirety. He could even recognize a distinct gleam in the eyes of a certain bird who was also seated at the table next to his usual companion. They were all present...

Everyone?

"Does anyone know where the hell Quincy is?", the Grand Sorcerer looked all around the room unable to find the huge hermit or his furry companion. "I saw him leave in the direction of the kitchen? Perhaps he went to steal my food taking advantage of the fact that I was distracted?", Karu mumbled fully audibly, grunting in the process. "Of course not, Quincy wouldn't do that, he was probably just looking for a quieter place to sleep", Eiden shook his head. After all, he understood that the hubbub of the other members could be a nuisance to the blond who was used to the peaceful and undisturbed silence of his cabin in the woods. "Okay, get started, I'll go after him and be back in a few minutes", the chestnut added. "I'll go", Olivine interrupted him with his usual warm smile, grabbing his arm just in time to prevent him from getting up. "Oh? No need, you're the guest of honor. I'll just go and hurry back---", "Eiden", the priest spoke again, giving his arm an affectionate squeeze before releasing him. His tone was as gentle as ever, but at the same time, he spoke with enough authority that no one dared to contradict him. "I'll go. I'll be right back, please eat", he stood up leaving the boy somewhat confused. "Okay, we'll wait here", he finally replied. The other members started eating, all except Kuya, who just watched the scene while arching one of his eyebrows thoughtfully.

"It's only a few minutes to midnight! We'll wait for you, Olivine!", Eiden shouted at his back, and it was the last thing the priest heard before closing the door behind him.

The father made his way to the kitchen, quickly descending to the second floor. In the last stretch, where there was only a long, earthenware-floored tunnel, the echo of his footsteps thundered loudly against the bare walls. There were several doors on the sides, as the castle had many cellars for food, wine, and other things Olivine did not know about. Everything was lit by large hanging candle chandeliers, and a couple of lanterns in the corners of the passageways that led to the other storerooms.

He looked to the sides, searching. Not a soul was to be seen.

He headed for the last door at the end of the hallway, the kitchen door, when he suddenly felt a strong grip wrap around his waist and a hand on his lips. In less than a second, his feet were off the floor, and a tall, warm body crushed him against the cold stone wall, depositing him on the floor again. Air escaped his lungs as his back hit the wall.

Strong, calloused hands slipped through his clothes, taking advantage of the slit in his suit at the level of his abdomen, touching every inch of his exposed skin as much as they could, eliciting several gasps from him. When the volume of these began to rise, his lips were silenced with a hungry kiss, and much rougher than he expected. Olivine could immediately feel his member hardening, instantly dampening his underwear at the brutality with which he was being treated. He had been waiting for this moment for days.

"You were taking too long", a deep, rapping voice said between kisses to the young priest. The man in front of him brought his lips to his right ear, biting his lobe, wrenching a moan of pleasure from him. "Eiden said... You didn't want to come", Olivine rested his chin on the blond's shoulder, smiling. "And he's right. How much time do we have?", Quincy asked him in a whisper, causing Olivine's legs to tremble with excitement. "Long enough", the father answered him, entwining his fingers in his blond hair, tugging his head up to kiss him once more.

They kissed deeply, biting their lips from time to time. Strands of saliva soon slid down the corners of the priest's mouth, who wrapped his arms around the man, rubbing against him in desperation. He could feel his whole body boiling, clouding his good judgment and making him completely forget where they were, that someone could discover them at any moment, or that his moans could easily be heard.

Honestly, he didn't care too much.

"So impatient...", Quincy bent down a little, just enough to reach for Olivine's ass with his hands and squeeze his buttocks, gripping it firmly. "Ah... Quincy, please...", the priest looked up at him pleadingly, depositing kisses on his chin, following the line of his jaw, "please," he repeated again, as he licked along the skin of his neck. This time, it was the blond's turn to let out a hoarse moan. Who was he to refuse in the face of such a plea? "Come here", the man lifted him up easily, letting his legs wrap around his waist, and opened one of the hallway doors, stepping into the nearest cellar.

Inside the room were many barrels of different liquors, a wooden table in the center, and a few shelves with cookbooks. The smell of wine sweetened the atmosphere just enough, without being a nuisance.

Quincy closed the door, leaving the warehouse in almost total darkness except for the moonlight that was filtering through the only window in the place, located at the top of the wall.

Carefully, he set his companion down on the table, which creaked under the young man's weight. The halo coming through the window reached directly over the father's green eyes, making them resemble a pair of sparkling emeralds. The priest was so beautiful that it left Quincy speechless at his beauty, even though the man himself was not particularly talkative. Noticing the older man's scrutiny, Olivine smiled tenderly and contentedly. The blond's intense gaze could say and hide many things, but the immense respect and admiration with which he always watched him stole his breath every time. 

The older man moved closer to the young one, kissing his jaw, tracing a path of kisses down to the base of his neck, causing Olivine to sigh in pleasure. "Topper?", he asked, as he wrapped his arms around the blond's shoulders. "With the others", it was more of a grunt than a murmur. Quincy didn't like to talk more than necessary. The young one grinned again. He found the hermit's moodiness adorable.

The priest opened his jacket and shirt, exposing his chest and his trademark piercings. Quncy didn't need any extra prompting. As soon as he had access, he used his hands to willingly caress the young man's bulging pecs, fiddling with the chains that linked his nipples to the gem of his abdomen. "Ah... Yes, like that...", Olivine bit his lip as he watched his companion. His body was sensitive, but his reactions to this man in particular made him feel like he could melt at any moment. They continued like this for a few more minutes, amid moans and pleas escaping the lips of the younger man, who grew more desperate with each passing second.

"Ah... Quincy...?", the blond was sucking on one of Olivine's nipples, delighting in its soft touch, however he stopped when he heard the young man's tone. Something was bothering him, his tone gave it away.... Or it could be that Quincy already knew him too well to notice such subtleties. He paused his caresses, to concentrate on watching his expression, and waited. 

"You... What Eiden said...", the Father averted his eyes, staring at the floor. What Eiden had said? What had the little devil said? Quincy could no longer remember.... "About you not wanting to come...", the priest felt like a teenager, but he couldn't help but ask; He'd rather ask than be left in doubt. If he really didn't want to be there... "Did you really mean---? Mmmh!", he didn't manage to finish the sentence, as the man had pinched his two nipples hard at the same time. 

The man grabbed him roughly, lifting him off the table to turn him over and leave his abdomen resting against the cold surface. He didn't give him time to react, as a sharp smack on the priest's ass made him shudder, trying to stifle the cry of pleasure that threatened to escape his throat. "That's enough", Quincy bent over him so he could unbutton his pants, yanking them down along with his underwear. Olivine's erection bounced embarrassingly, bumping against the table. The blond took his time to admire the firm buttocks in front of him, so majestic that they made him believe that there must definitely be some deity capable of creating such a marvel.

The only thing that could be heard in the midst of the silence was the gasping breath of the priest, who waited obediently, helpless and exposed. That feeling of being the prey captured by a predator, totally at the expense of whatever Quincy wanted to do with him, turned him on to levels he had never known before, completely forgetting the talk they were having. The man was a perfect sexual match, without ever needing to have asked him for anything, absolutely nothing. They had complemented each other like two puzzle pieces from the start.

 The sound of another spank and another muffled cry cut through the silence like a sword. "Quin...cy...", Olivine looked back, his eyes watering and his tongue hanging out of his mouth, lasciviously, expectantly. "Please, please...", he rubbed his legs together, wiggling his ass, inviting the man to take him at once. How was it possible for a priest to be so devilishly sensual? Quincy certainly had had a long time in his life to bring his stoicism to bear in the face of all sorts of events, but there was something about the young man that managed to awaken his purest and deepest animal instincts. "Spread them apart with your hands", he commanded. The father groaned and immediately grasped his buttocks firmly, doing as he had been instructed, embarrassed and even more aroused, if that was possible.

His entrance was already glistening with essence, fully moistened and dilated. 

"A man of God shouldn't behave like a whore in heat", Quincy slipped one of his fingers in without warning, causing Olivine to arch his back and lift his ass even higher. "Ahh... the God... of Klein.... will forgive my sins...", needing no further action, the priest began to move back and forth slowly, impaling himself around the blond's index finger as deep as he could, moaning sonorously with each movement.

Quincy's erection, which was already throbbing painfully inside his pants, seemed to reach a new level of thickness as he watched the father's lustful actions. His moans were increasing, and the blond hadn't even moved. With his free hand, the man delivered one more spank, grabbing his ass to keep him from moving, ignoring his whimpers. "Hold still", he knew they didn't have time, but he couldn't help but provoke him as much as he could. It took a moment, but Olivine again obeyed the command.

As soon as he calmed down, Quincy inserted another of his fingers, beginning a torturously slow back-and-forth motion. "Ahhh, Quin... cy...", Olivine was dying to increase the pace, but he knew that if he moved the man would stop on the spot. "Quincy, Quincy...", he repeated like a mantra, like the prayers he repeated every morning upon waking to thank the God of Klein for the gift of a new day. The hermit continued, unchanging, leisurely. 

By the time he inserted his third finger, the priest's anus was already beginning to leak obscenely. Quincy was purposefully avoiding his most sensitive spot, and Olivine felt that at any moment he was going to explode. "Please... Please, I'm going to... I'm going to...", his companion briefly caressed his ass, trying to calm him down a bit. "Just a little more", he murmured, keeping the same leisurely pace. He too was reaching his limit, but it wasn't time yet. 

The priest had already released his buttocks and was clinging to the table as best he could, his voice breaking into long, vibrating moans. A small pool of saliva had formed where his chin touched the wood. Quincy had played with him for hours before, so he knew perfectly well that the man could take all the time in the world until he was satisfied with his actions. On a normal day, Olivine thought those qualities in his partner were like a blessing straight from heaven. But now they were somewhere else, and worse, the other members of the clan were waiting for his return. How long had it been since he had left the dining hall? Would they send someone to look for them?, anyone who came a little closer could spot them right away thanks to the moans of his Holiness.

Suddenly, the quiet of the night was interrupted by a loud ringing bell.

The church tower, far away, announced that it was midnight.

Quincy withdrew his fingers immediately and, without further ado, unbuttoned his pants, pulling out his member and positioning his glans against the young man's entrance. 

When the bell rang again, Quincy penetrated Olivine's rear with a single movement, working his way between his tight buttocks. The father screamed at the top of his lungs in surprise, feeling like he was going to split in half. The blond was huge, and although they had been through this many times in the past, the young man thought he could never quite get used to it. 

Quincy didn't give him a second to catch his breath. The man began to lunge furiously at the priest's anus, abusing it as much as he wanted, while the chimes continued to echo off the walls. 

"Coming here... it's troublesome", he gasped, feeling that he would soon be hit by his orgasm as well as the young father, who seemed on the verge of cumming. "It's troublesome", he repeated, "but you.... You're not... Don't forget that...", he rammed him hard, punctuating each sentence with a new thrust. Olivine had leaned completely against the table, no longer able to hold back his cries at all, which echoed in tandem with the bells. His mind was totally seized by the sensations of pleasure, unable to respond to Quincy's words.

They continued like this until the clock announced twelve bells, making Olivine's birthday official. Quincy quickened the pace as much as he could, and the priest moaned out his name with relish as he was, at last, pounded hard by his orgasm. Before long, the blond also climaxed, filling Olivine with waves of hot semen. Soon, both men found themselves panting to catch their breath, one on top of the other, the older being careful not to deposit his full weight on the father so as not to crush him.

Silence once again reigned in the basement, only being interrupted by their breaths.

Seconds, minutes passed, until finally Olivine managed to regain enough composure to speak with a trickle of voice. "That was... the best birthday present...", he laughed with effort, still struggling to resume calmer breathing. Quincy didn't respond, but deposited a kiss on the back of the young man's neck.

They allowed themselves a few more moments to enjoy each other's company, the warmth post termination, until reality was inevitably crashing down on the priest's shoulders. They needed to return as soon as possible... Not without first making a brief and much needed stop in the restroom...

Promising himself that he would return to clean everything properly before the night was over, the priest turned his face to meet the hermit's, catching his lips in a kiss, before starting to move.

_______________________________________

"Olivine, where the hell had you been, we were just about to go out and look for you guys! Kuya's been commenting on strange things since you left...", Eiden had been going around in circles for the last 20 minutes, debating whether they should go find the priest before eating the cake, seriously doubting several of the diners' capacity for self-control at that point in the evening. The alcohol had taken its toll on most of the guests, and the Grand Sorcerer was no exception. "Eiden, I'm so sorry, I couldn't find Mr. Quincy and he ended up finding me, I have yet to fully memorize the mansion...", Olivine apologized, feeling somewhat guilty. He could see out of the corner of his eye a speck of white hair approaching at full speed, dodging everyone present, giving little squeals of excitement. 

Topper circled him and quickly climbed onto his shoulders, rubbing his head against the priest excitedly. Olivine stroked him gently behind the ears, feeling tender at the animal's obvious show of affection. "No, don't apologize, it's just that it's past midnight and.... Quincy, you just got here!" the chestnut exclaimed in exasperation. The blond had ignored the entire crowd to go lean back in one of the plush lounge chairs, automatically closing his eyes. "He's so inconsiderate", the young man added, embracing the father by his shoulders effusively, to lead him towards the table. "Come, come, you have many presents to open!", he told him with his usual infectious smile. "Presents?", the priest asked curiously.

In the middle of the table was a small pile of gifts. In the distance, Olivine could recognize a stylized handwriting that undoubtedly belonged to Edmond. The brightly wrapped package with a bunch of different ribbons had to be from Blade. Another with a visible homely touch bore Yakumo's aura all over it. And so, he identified one by one, without needing to open them, including one with a notoriously violet color scheme, and another that came adorned with an owl feather. His heart was softened. "Eiden, it wasn't necessary...", "we knew you'd say that, but we did it anyway. Here!", he offered him a package accompanied with an envelope, a letter. "This one is from me. It's not much, but I can assure you I put my all into it", he told him before hugging him warmly. 

Olivine was about to take the gift, when Topper jumped on him again. He was carrying something in his muzzle. The priest reached out to take the package.

It was a box wrapped in a simple dark green cloth, which gave off a pleasant smell of herbs. He didn't think about it for a second and opened it.

Inside he found a small talisman, very rustic, with intricate leather and vine designs, adorned with a tiny hand-carved wooden figure. It was a bear.

"Oh? Is that...?", Eiden glared at it, approaching the talisman for a closer look. Olivine could only smile, as he turned his gaze to the other end of the room, from where Quincy watched the scene silently.

Their gazes met, and the man smiled at him before closing his eyes again to drift off to sleep. Feeling like he was floating again, Olivine struggled to return to the real world. He could thank him properly later.

This had definitely been the most beautiful birthday he had ever had in his life.