#most notably when they're kissing

[opossumanon]

Asexuality in fanfiction (Please read tags for warnings yall)

The awkward thing about asexuality is that when reading fanfic about a character who's ace, usually the fics I read will either

Make the character not asexual

Has the character be asexual and despises sex (Which leads to that character basically being raped by their romantic interest; seriously this trope happens WAAAAAAAY more often than I'd like)

Maybe occasionally has the character's ace-ness be nuanced, but it only goes as far as "I'm bored by sex but I'm chill with doing stuff to my partner" which only shows one other way to be asexual

This particularly annoys me because I'm asexual. I probably fall into the sex-positive category. The reason I am still ace is because I do experience arousal, I would like to have sexual experiences with others (Wouldn't be the end of the world if I didn't but it's still something I'd like to do), but I don't get "turned on" by other people. Basically if someone who's hot were to walk up to me naked I wouldn't be guaranteed to have a reaction but sometimes I can just be sitting and then suddenly have the urge to do the horizontal mambo. (I know there's probably a micro label for this, I just don't give a shit)

I know my case is rare, I know that aces like me are only brought up to try and excuse asexual erasure (I fucking hate it), but I still can't help but be disappointed that the only options for asexuality (In fanfic) are being 100%, being 0%, being some version of a stone, or being raped.

What about aces like me? What about aces who aren't like me but are still different than the three types listed above?

It's funny too cuz I remember this one fic that had smut between two characters (Consensual and both parties actually enjoyed it), one of which is ace in his original/comic book form, and the writer was all "I feel bad cuz [character] is ace in the comics and us aces get so little rep already" and I'm wondering how the author, who's ace themself, forgot about how asexuality is a spectrum?

You can have an ace character who gets horny and likes sex but just doesn't get turned on by people!

You can have an ace character who doesn't want anything to do with sex 99% of the time, but every once in a blue moon decides they want to roll in the sheets with their partner that night!

You can have an ace character who only gets aroused in specific circumstances, such as how long they've known the object of their arousal for!

Asexuality is such a wide spectrum that includes so much nuance, and seeing fic writers basically spit on it is so disheartening as a writer myself. One of the main ingredients to being a good writer, in my personal opinion, is to be able to take an aspect of your character and explore it/redefine it/expand on it in a way that satisfies the story!!!!

I don't know how to end this post tbh, I just wanna say that asexuality is more than three subtypes and you're allowed to narrow in on certain parts of the spectrum for your character, regardless of how "well-known" that part you're focusing on might be.

[arolesbianism]

The Joshua section of my oni playlist is looking great so far

[chimcess]

Lady's Honor || ksj

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jonathon, Lord Eisen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kim,” Anthony greeted, his tone frosty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I do have one small request." 

"And that is?"

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

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

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

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

"Yes, Kim?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, my lord." 

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

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

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

"Yes, Seokjin. I will marry you." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I suppose I just feel… very inexperienced.” 

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

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

“May I try something?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What happened?” 

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

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

“I… can’t say as—” 

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

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

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

“Yes.” 

“Why?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course.”

“Then what are we doing standing around woolgathering?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Eisen, I warn you—”

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

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

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

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

“You will apologize to Lady Rushmore.”

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

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

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

Seokjin remained a statue, unyielding.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N…”

“Goodnight, Seokjin.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. I’m not leaving. I can help.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hello, my love."

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

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

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

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

"Yes, my lady?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I have already seen the doctor." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He shall be born in early February.”

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

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

“But what, my darling?”

“What if it is a girl?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I see.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

28 February 1816

11:54 pm

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m right here, my lord.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Does it matter?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

© chimcess, 2024. Do not copy or repost without permission.

[astrologanize]

pick a card : what making out with you feels like for them ᡣ𐭩…

could be someone you're already seeing or your future person, whatever it is...whoever you are asking about...this is what it feels like for them (: *please take a moment to take a deep breath and choose the image you are most drawn towards*

for pile 1 ✩˚

well, hello there. while trying to channel and synthesize this spread i thought about how this pile has something very instinctive going on within the makeout sessions, there's viscera, and cillian murphy came to mind somehow?? he does have a very mars look imo so maybe that's why, but it reminded me of a gif that i believe is from peaky blinders (never seen the show but i exist on tumblr so...) that i will add (it's a lil nsfw i guess?). anyhow. when it comes to your makeouts with this person, it feels like a nice balance of release and control for them because on one hand they do feel very disarmed while making out with you but at the same time they're acting deliberately - which is why instinct is coming through...it's like having a flow of reflexive movement. i'm not seeing you two going crazy and having vigorous kisses, there is a slowness to it, there's a building of inertia. making out with you makes them feel like their life is in their hands, their free will is palpably felt, and it brings out a sort of self-discipline in them

for pile 2 ✩˚

this person looooooves making out with you, they feel like they're having a movie moment when you guys are kissing, and the connection itself is what is at the forefront when they're kissing you. this seems like someone who hasn't had great experiences with romance and making out with you imbues them with so much hope. it's like if this person had a horribly messy breakup a couple years prior, they were with someone for quite a while and it ended up turning into a nightmare that left an ugly mark and they became jaded by it. making out with you feels like a rebirth - they don't feel afraid, they feel uninhibited, their cup is wonderfully full. they are not in the slightest bit doubtful of how they feel for you and they are certain that they want this; when they kiss you it will feel like a sweet plead - please love me back. there is no ego when it comes to kissing you because they are happily willing to give their all. making out with you does help them to move on from any residual gunk they've been dealing with

for pile 3 ✩˚

what is wanting to come through strongly is that this person is the one somehow taking the lead in the makeout session because when they're making out with you they feel firm, they feel empowered, they're like 'i got this'. lol...funnily enough though, whatever it is about making out with you...they don't expect it to go the way it does and it throws them off their game. something about making out with you is new for them, there's a notable oscillation happening within them, an internal battle of hot n cold energy. the makeout session itself won't be all over the place, once you start making out you guys just keep going at a constant and indefinite pace. this person is probably used to getting what they want/doing what they want/being reckless, this person is hardened - they keep their feelings in check and like being in control. & even though they feel in control while making out with you and do like feeling as such, there's something about making out with you that wakes them up and brings out a softer side. making out with you feels like a stream of consciousness for them

for pile 4 ✩˚

this is my fun makeout sesh pile 😛

what you guys say to each other before/during making out is being highlighted so maybe there's some steamy words being exchanged, some sweet talkin' perhaps. y'alls makeout session(s) involves experimenting, it's messy, it's sloppy, there's coloring outside the lines, it's an indulgence and you guys change things up during it. it does seem like this is more casual and that this person might be hesitant to take things further. this may be someone who is really attached to their independence and/or is perpetually single so even though they're having fun with it, they are holding back and not giving their all. making out with you is going to make them try to consider and factor feelings into the equation, they may just take the leap for once

love this song for pile 4

[vickyvicarious]

"He is young and strong; there are kisses for us all."

May 16

"He is so young and strong and of blood so pure that we need not defibrinate it."

September 8

Thinking about this echo, and the way Lucy and the suitors + Van Helsing provide a kind of opposing force to Jonathan and the vampire ladies + Dracula.

In both cases, we have the young, appealing innocent who is soon to be married and has entered a new phase of their life (Jonathan/Lucy). Both have an older foreign man become very interested in them and very fond of them in their own way (Dracula/Van Helsing). Both have three 'admirers' who want to 'love' them (vampire ladies/suitor squad).

Of course, noting this is nothing new. Plenty of people (and I myself) have pointed out these and other parallels between all these individuals. But I want to go a little farther with it today.

A vampire's 'love' is one of corruption and consumption. Jonathan was held captive in Dracula's castle, and forced against his will to adopt a largely nocturnal schedule*; he had to adapt in this and many other ways to his captor's way of life. The vampires had him in their control from the start, and he had to behave in certain ways to please Dracula lest he suffer consequences of his displeasure. Dracula was extremely possessive of Jonathan, right up until he wasn't going to be around anymore, and then he was happy to throw him aside for the others to devour. Despite this 'sharing', he and the vampire women are at odds and dismissive of one another (he spends most of his time shooing them away from Jonathan, they scoff at and mock him), and whatever love may have been there in the past is clearly long gone.

Human love is one of dedication and trust. The suitors (and later Van Helsing) all come to Lucy. Both initially, in visiting her to make their proposals at her house, and then later on coming to her home when she is ill; they come to her side when she is in need, and they drop what they're doing to adapt to her. When Lucy has to turn two suitors down, she feels awful about not being able to please them all, but each of them emphasizes that they don't hold it against her at all, and they will remain devoted to her friendship. None of them are possessive of her. (Admittedly, Van Helsing does somewhat frequently work to keep Lucy's loved ones apart from her, ushering Arthur away or drugging her to sleep when he's there; but he also invites them to come and help her with their transfusions.) Arthur, the one she has chosen at the exclusion of the other suitors, is notable for being especially welcoming to the others. It is on his behest that both Jack and Quincey arrive to help Lucy in the first place, and he is extremely grateful for and welcoming of their efforts in that vein (pardon the pun):

"Young miss is bad, very bad. She wants blood, and blood she must have or die. My friend John and I have consulted; and we are about to perform what we call transfusion of blood—to transfer from full veins of one to the empty veins which pine for him. John was to give his blood, as he is the more young and strong than me"—here Arthur took my hand and wrung it hard in silence—"but, now you are here, you are more good than us, old or young, who toil much in the world of thought. Our nerves are not so calm and our blood not so bright than yours!"

And this quote brings me to the next detail I find so interesting. In order to finally escape alive, Jonathan turns many of Dracula's tricks against him. Just to name a few, he does things such as: wall-climbing, sneaking around while Dracula is asleep, stealing Dracula's belongings. There are a lot of reversals between them in the last few days, both in Jonathan's explorations and his attack on Dracula. He's 'fighting fire with fire', so to speak, and it works to get him out of the castle. Later on, we see even more of this when he is hunting Dracula down near the end of the book.

He's far from the only person to do such a thing. Dracula himself is very deliberately doing this sort of thing throughout much of the book, from imitating Jonathan in the Castle to innovating ways to work around old vampiric limitations. And Mina is of course a whole example on her own of weaponizing the enemy's own tools against him. But so is this Van Helsing + suitor squad group in a really interesting way. Even Lucy herself, though due to circumstances, she's not the most intentional/active participant in doing so. Let's look back at that quote above again. Van Helsing says that Lucy "wants blood, and blood she must have" - in order to stop her from becoming a supernatural vampire, instead they willingly perform a sort of medical vampirisim. Here we once again see the contrast between modernity and the supernatural, and interestingly, how they overlap to cross purposes.

Dracula takes Lucy's blood away. Van Helsing (by proxy at first) gives it back. Dracula wants Lucy to become a vampire, and drink the blood of those around her. Van Helsing, in giving her transfusions, enables her to drink in their blood in order to prevent her from becoming a vampire. The three vampire women wanting to gang up on Jonathan and drain him of his strength. The three suitors join together to take turns sacrificing their own strength in order to supply Lucy with more when she's in need of it.

Dracula wants her to take, just as he and the vampire women do. In fact, almost everything he does to turn her involves depriving her of things: restful sleep, blood, eventually her mother. But in her friends, Lucy is surrounded by people who love her and give freely, and this saves her (at least temporarily). They all work together and love one another in a way deeply at odds with Dracula and other vampires' form of consumptive 'love'.

And so their vampiric actions of transferring blood between bodies are life-saving instead of life-taking. Jack and Van Helsing even remember a version which is all the more a mimic of vampiric body language and leans way into the vampire-as-disease metaphor, with the reference to the time Jack sucked "from [Van Helsing's] wound so swiftly the poison of the gangrene" - it's got the mouth on skin, the sucking, but it's taking away illness rather than infecting someone. It also fosters a long-standing dedication and love, which in turn lends itself to the saving of someone else. This too ties in to the way vampiric love isolates, while human love connects.

* Lucy, meanwhile, in fighting against her terrible dreams, often attempts to be awake at night and is unable to do so. A more nocturnal schedule would make her safer, since her sleeping state is where Dracula has the most influence over her.

[star--stilinski]

i need some much stiles

much stiles, much happy! jk, i understand ya. i just love making fun of typos because i'm actually evil.

☆

stiles is insatiable.

seriously, no matter how much you squirm and whine, he won't fucking quit. you started this, though. you suppose it might be warranted.

of course, your "starting it" was all in compassion. when he first asked (a husky mumble in your ear as he tugged at the waistband of your sweats), you had told him he'd be disappointed. that only certain guys really actually like it. that you haven't shaved, aren't pornstar pretty, your thighs might actually crush him.

and he took that very personally.

told you that "any real man knows getting crushed by thighs like yours while tasting your orgasm is the real way to end their evening" and went even further to say that "if you seriously expect me to be attracted to that child-looking shit then you're sorely mistaken." he then proceeded to lay you back and get comfy between your legs.

you didn't realize the monster you'd create.

he moaned when he first tasted you, after ample "warm up" (his words, not yours) and a good amount of ogling your up-close sex. his movements started off unsure and a bit sloppy, before he found his rhythm and got confident. from there, he was bringing you close and then pulling you back a few times, just for the fucking fun of it. it was the most torturous pleasure you'd ever felt.

after the first orgasm (where you unconsciously thanked him over and over, which unlocked a new kink for him. yippee.), your back arched slightly and your lips parted in a moan, you expected that to be it. the end. maybe a hand job for his fantastic work and then knocking out after a shower.

instead, stiles didn't even let up.

his eyes are closed, humming against your clit as he holds you by the thighs. partly because, well, stiles loves your thighs. and partly because he has to keep you still.

overstimulation hurts so good. you tug at his hair, gasping "stiles, it hurts, please," and he relents. but he only pulls back a bit, giving you a moment of relief as he licks his lips with hooded eyes trained on you.

"you okay, baby?" his words seem to bleed into one another, hands squeezing your plush thighs like he's holding himself back. the sight it downright evil, really; you've already forgotten how it hurt for him to keep going.

your head falls back onto your pillows and you scrunch your features up. "you don't have to-"

"please, i want to, please." his tone takes a rapid uptick into begging territory. "only a little longer, promise i'll be good, make you feel so good. just a bit more, yeah?"

you lift your head, tired and breathless, to meet his eyes. they're unfocused as he flicks his attention between you and your sex. letting your head rest back on the cushions, you take a deep breath and nod once. "alright, just a little longer."

"thank you, fuck. thank you so much baby." stiles litters kisses all over the insides of your thighs, his own way of showing gratitude before he dives back in, eyelashes notably fluttering when he takes a taste of you again.

he's not very kind after that.

round two, then three, and by the fourth- your jaw is slack and your brow is pinched together, but you're not sure if the expression is from pleasure or pain. when you come, actual tears prick at your eyes. stiles' tongue flicks your sensitive clit, working you over the edge, as you babble nonsense in your haze. this orgasm peaks with it's own bundle of pain involved, and your nerves seem to be getting the two mixed up as your hips attempt to twitch, held in place by stiles' big, demanding hands.

"tastes so good, mhmm, been thinking about this forever," stiles' words are barely audible as he looks up at you. his face is glistening, basically from nose to chin, and he's totally pussy drunk. you've never believed that expression until you see it in stiles' hooded eyes, head resting against your thigh. his cheeks are completely flushed and his hands are massaging your hips with more pressure than necessary, probably not even aware of the motion since his own hips are lazily grinding into the mattress.

you let out a heavy breath and smooth your fingers over his hair to try and fix what you did when you were preoccupied. it doesn't help the tameless mess he's sporting, but the look kinda suits him. "so?"

he blinks slowly, smiling up at you like you're the one who looks completely in love. well, you're four orgasms deep and stiles looks so pretty in between your thighs, so... maybe you do look like that. he licks his lips, and it makes goosebumps rise on your skin. "so, what?"

"d-did- are you disappointed?" the question sounds stupid now that it's out of your mouth, but he's too far gone to even laugh at you.

"jesus, no. could do this all day if you'd let me." his brow furrows. "would you let me?"

you laugh breathlessly and let your head fall against the pillows, scratching his scalp lightly. "i dunno. maybe." tugging him by the hair (which causes a sudden buck of his hips where they're grinding. go figure) you mumble, "c'mere?"

he crawls over you, wiping his face off on the way, and collapses while pressing his face into your neck. "yeah? what're you thinking about?"

you breathe in his scent, mind filled with stilesstilesstilesstilesstiles. "you. what are you thinking about?"

his arms wrap around you comfortably. "you."

"you can't have the same answer." your voice is weaker with his body weight on you. "that's cheating."

"alright, fine. i'm thinking about eating you out again."

"jesus, stiles." you feel him smile against your neck, and his arms tighten around you.

"what? i'm hungry!"

"it's not a- god, i've made a monster!" you laugh and cover your eyes, feeling him lift himself halfway off of you. "this is going to be the death of me."

"correction," his voice lowers, and you feel him planting kisses down your neck, then your chest. as he gets to your stomach, you peek through your fingers to find him assuming his previous position.

"i'm going to be the death of you."

☆

yayyy i'm posting while in a slump!!!!!!!! yayyy i'm not a total failure!!!!!!!!!!! (sobs heard in the distance)

sorry this is my worst ever creation look at this ugly FREAK

[ksfd892]

Last night I was discussing with @ernestonlysayslovelythings that one of the things Gilmore Girls does really well is nuance. In terms of conflict, most characters will be a little bit right and a little bit wrong (as it tends to be in life), and yet many viewers will automatically side with one particular character. Lorelai and Rory (Rory in particular) tend to often be seen as in the wrong, and this intrigues and frustrates me. While a lot of the time they are 'in the wrong', so is the other character, and yet this is rarely acknowledged. Information which the other character has (and the audience has) is not given to Lorelai and Rory and yet they are still criticised for it (which other posts have gone into).

Emily and Paris are fan favourites and it's easy to understand why; they are funny, sarcastic and outspoken and yet also have vulnerability. Viewers will often take Emily's side in an argument with Lorelai and Paris's with Rory, which I find frustrating, because the reasoning seems to be either that Emily and Paris are 'more funny' or that Lorelai and Rory are 'annoying'. Emily and Paris are funny (Paris in particular is exaggerated as a side character) but they can also be very mean. Lorelai and Rory are not intentionally mean, generally speaking, yet a key element of Emily and Paris's characterisation is unkindness. Of course, this is largely for comedic effect (such as Emily firing maids and Paris making Brad cry), and yet Lorelai and Rory seem to be held to a higher standard. Emily and Paris can be very cruel to Lorelai and Rory (ie Emily's ongoing disgust over her daughter's romantic life or lack of and Paris bullying Rory at school) but it doesn't seem to 'count'. Viewers identify the reasons for this; such as Emily's hurt over Lorelai running away or Paris feeling intimidated by Rory, but do not extend the same understanding to Lorelai and Rory. Lorelai can be immature and shut out her parents, which is due to an unhappy childhood, and Rory sometimes wants space (which I don't personally find unreasonable), but that apparently means they're 'arrogant'.

This lack of nuance is also notable with Jess. With non-Literati shippers, many viewers write Jess off as the asshole exboyfriend who has 'exaggerated' his unhappy life with Liz and is 'ungrateful' to Luke. On the flip side, many Literati shippers take the view that Jess never does anything wrong and Luke is a total jerk. Again, there is nuance here; Jess is not infallible and, like all the characters, he is right and wrong about certain things. While there is zero evidence that Jess exaggerated anything (although some fans seem to exaggerate for him), he can be rude and perhaps seem ungrateful, but it is understandable. He acts this way because he had an unreliable mother who sent him to live in a strange town with his uncle without any say, and he lashes out because he is angry and not listened to. In S6 when Jess has grown up, he appreciates what Luke did for him, because he has the maturity to see it. Luke, for his part, did his best and also messed up because he stubbornly thought he knew what he was doing, and didn't think he needed advice. It does not negate the fact that he cared and tried his hardest. As with Lorelai and Emily, Luke and Jess are both right and both wrong with their reaction to things.

It's also interesting that within Literati shippers, the majority of people will take Jess's side in a conflict with him and Rory. Jess and Rory are flawed people (who are also very young) who manage to hurt each other deeply. Rory runs away after kissing Jess because she does not know how to handle her feelings, which Jess perceives as her thinking he isn't worth staying for and, a year later, Jess leaves town without saying goodbye, which Rory also wrongly perceives as a rejection. Neither of them intend to be cruel and yet, according to numerous Lit shippers, Jess was hurting and Rory 'couldn't see it'. Of course she couldn't see it - Jess never communicated to her that he was in trouble at high school and had to drop out, or that his father showed up, or anything else going on with him. She could see something was wrong but couldn't help him. Likewise, Rory never communicated to Jess that she was feeling mixed up about being with Dean and later with Logan, but somehow this understanding isn't extended to Rory. Jess and Rory are both fallible and are both written with excellent nuance.

One of the best things about Gilmore Girls is how well it reflects growing up and our relationships in real life. Situations are rarely binary and, as we mature, we can often look at conflict more objectively and see 'the other side'. Lorelai and Rory, along with most of the characters they interact with, are written with depth. When they mess up or miscommunicate, it doesn't mean they 'wrong' or not worth caring about - it means they have something to learn from. They are funny, frustrating, vulnerable and have moments of clarity, just as with real people.

[coffee-in-rain]

i'm sorry for always yapping about Hannibal's food trauma and its prospective appearance in his and Will's post-fall relationship. but it is so intriguing to me. particularly: the usually romanticized notion of hand-feeding and the idea of Will making an off-hand joke one day.

Hand-Feeding

imagine if one of the last times Hannibal was hand fed by anyone, it had been his sister when they were trapped in a cabin in the middle of winter. Hannibal had been giving her all of his scraps because she was getting sick and needed it more and he couldn't let her go hungry. he was desperate to care for her in any way he still could. he'd gone so long without food that he'd passed out and awoke on the cold cabin floor. small pieces of bread were being stuffed into his slack mouth. one week later, his sister died. not solely because of a cold. she had fallen ill and it had been apparent she wouldn't make it through the winter.

imagine Hannibal carrying that guilt with him. wondering for the rest of his life: if she hadn't fed him those morsels of bread and subsequently fallen ill, then maybe she would've made it through the winter and they could've escaped together.

imagine the trauma of being hand-fed following Hannibal into the BSHCI: one day the orderly who detests him the most straps him down to shave his face and keeps him restrained during meal time. Hannibal doesn't receive a bite of food even though it's dangled mere inches away and it reignites the memories of being trapped in the cabin during the winter as a boy. imagine if he goes to sleep that day with an empty belly for the first time in almost four decades because the food was never close enough in distance to take a bite. imagine if he promised himself as a boy that he would never go to bed hungry as an adult and it had remained true until that night inside his cell.

imagine Will hand-feeding Hannibal post-fall when they're in recovery. Hannibal dealing with a broken wrist--making it cumbersome to feed himself depending on the meal. imagine Hannibal hesitating. unable to take the first bite. an offering of food. monumental only to Hannibal.

imagine Hannibal's jaw clenching with a notable tremor and his heart seizing the moment Will presses a piece of food against his lips, urging him to open up.

Will saying: "come on, baby, you need to eat."

you need to eat. one of the last sentences Hannibal heard his sister utter. imagine Hannibal feeling nauseous at the mere prospect of eating--of taking opportunistic nourishment away from Will (even though both their plates are full)--and then blinking back tears because he doesn't deserve this.

kindness. encouragement. the ability to sate his hunger before Will even takes a bite of his own meal.

knowing it can be taken away at a moment's notice and can be placed just out of reach like the multiple times he's experienced before. imagine Hannibal asking Will: "are you going to eat as well?" because he's scared of both feeling and appearing greedy.

imagine Will registering the turmoil stirring inside Hannibal. being patient and coaxing Hannibal to eat. whispering "it's all right" and "take your time" and then kissing Hannibal's temple in reassurance/praise as the first mouthful of food is eventually swallowed.

Will's Off-Hand Joke

imagine Will gaining a small amount of weight post-fall and he needs to size up in his usual pair of pants. Will makes an off-hand remark after dinner: "are you trying to fatten me up?"

it's meant to be teasing.

but imagine Hannibal's brain racing to the first association he has with that term: of being trapped in a cabin and having his shirt raised so his body-mass could be inspected. if he had retained a little more weight then maybe his sister wouldn't have been the one to be chosen. knowledge that haunted Hannibal for the rest of his childhood.

imagine if Hannibal becomes defensive and shell-shocked by Will's comment. believing it's truly one of the worst things he could do to Will. that he's made Will vulnerable in the same manner he had unknowingly done for his sister by keeping her as well fed as he could--and now he's been keeping Will as well fed as he could during their recovery. imagine Hannibal having a nervous breakdown because of that off-hand comment and Will spending the rest of the night piecing Hannibal back together.

[sanemisstalker]

SANEMI and GIYU, but they're into you and still kind of gay for eachother? Polycule Headcanons. Kinda NSF_W.

(rip to the girl at the ortho that had to watch me write these) I don't really care for giyu x sanemi until they're like, fighting over a third party. Idk they give classic shoujo love rivals to me. I'm like, actually so delusional for this threeway, the idea eats me alive everyday. Anyways-

-Sanemi fucking hates Giyu, and Giyu hates Giyu, so atleast they can bond on that. You, however, don't really hate either of them. If anything, you're just... vaguely amused by their individual antics. Vaguely.

-more apparent is the annoyance, not hatred, very needed distinction, and the attraction. Both of the men are very annoying in their own special ways, and very attractive in equally individual ways.

-Sanemi's low-boiling attitude, but also eerie sense of confidence gave him enough unspoken Charisma to win over most who could get past the first couple of hurdles. He's disastrously goregous, and the scars only add to not only his general mystique, but also his crippling beauty. They're like trophies he's tucked away.

-Giyu is the kind of man to deny being called pretty, but his face isn't subjective. Despite his lack of general social skill, moments spent with Giyu where he's soaking in every piece of information you give him, those begging eyes and lips parted in thought. Most would call him concentrated, you'd argue he's understanding.

-Sanemi is attracted to Giyu's off putting personality rather directly. Though not the picture of social awareness himself, Sanemi's attraction to Giyu started as a pity of sorts. Watching Shinobu rail him for breathing was comedic, but kind of heart fluttering for Sanemi. There was something about Giyu that read as lost. And Sanemi found himself growing slightly protective. He'd never say that, though.

-Giyu didn't know if he was a masochist or not, but there was something about Sanemi's occasional outbursts that both annoyed and enthralled him. Even as Sanemi sought his guts on the ground, Giyu found himself admiring the man's starch emotional drive a little too queerly. Those loud moments and mumbles were all the same. A man unashamed to speak whatever came to his mind.

-Sanemi also finds Giyu to be incredibly pretty after a kiss. Giyu's got this starry, empty eyed look on his face after every kiss Sanemi gives him. Completely liquid in Sanemi's hands, but entirely defiant about it.

-And Giyu loves that feeling. More than anything, really. Well, maybe he loved the feeling of your eyes landing on the two of them in one of their occasional spats... more.

-neither of them were stupid. Not to eachothers tossed looks or yours.

-Sanemi was the first to approach you. He was gruff and defiant, despite coming onto you of his own accord.... well, he didn't really come onto you, but when it's Sanemi, those 'stay away from me for your own good's are indistinguishable from puppy dog eyes and pleading cries.

-Sanemi admits he was stupid to believe this wouldn't cause problems. Suddenly, you were all over him. And he really enjoyed it, even if it struck fear into his bones.

-Giyu was sure this was simply another thing he'd failed at. You nor Sanemi owes him anything, but seeing you both... interact. God, he'd rather you all just fuck infront of him. How unlucky could he be that both objects of his desire turn to eachother. It was what he got for being selfish. This was god returning his stupidity.

-but then you made your move on him, and Giyu didn't remember entirely how he ended up sandwiched between you and Sanemi, hands in places that made him nervous... but he wasn't going to bite a feeding hand.

NSFW

-Sanemi's sex drive is notably larger than Giyu's, but he's much less likely to initiate. Having the both of them willing and in the mood isn't rare, but it is something you have to work for. So most times, you all are having individual sex.

-Sanemi is more likely to sit out and watch. It's impressive, really. His self control. He almost looks lulled by the act. Comfortable, but hard. It's like a practice in denying temptation.

-You and Giyu love to give head. Sanemi is often left with cum dripping down his thighs and a blushing cock that drips with spit while you and Giyu makeout above his nearly unconscious body.

-On really desperate weeks, Sanemi will cum upwards of thrice a day.

-None of you have strict sexual dispositions, which leads to some interesting situations.

-Sometimes Sanemi is fingering both you and Giyu at the same time. Sometimes Giyu is burying his cock deep inside of you while Sanemi is next to you, cucked and degraded. Sometimes you will the men to perform particularly embarassing tasks for each other just to see their faces get red.

-Sanemi once instructed Giyu on how to fuck you correctly, moving Giyu's hips for him, rubbing your clit so Giyu could 'focus'. You and Giyu both came crying because Giyu wasn't allowed to stop until he got it just right, resulting in both of you overstimulated and brain dead by the endof the night. Sanemi praised your performances thoroughly.

-The day Giyu wrestled Sanemi to the ground was particularly arousing. Sanemi had a shocking pliablity you all hadn't seen before. He submitted so willingly to Giyu that it was almost tear inducing. Giyu couldn't help but fuck him into the ground for wearing such a submissive face while you held his head against your own groin, Sanemi making quick and enthusiastic work against your sex.

-you once convinced both of them to serve you as topless maids. You can't even recall how you got Sanemi to do it, but God be damned if you weren't delighted when they knlet down by your legs while you sat, eagerly awaiting your next command.

[danteashida]

I'm on episode 40 of season 2 of my MCD rewatch so far.

I can now safely say, it bothers me when people say that Aphmau never showed interest or reciprocation towards Garroth or Laurence because it's just not true. Most of her reciprocation for BOTH of them was displayed in the first quarter of season 2. Of course Laurence has the upper hand here because Garroth is...Well... Well he's fighting for his life in another dimension but my point is. She even accepts a kiss from Laurence and doesn't push him away from it or deny her feelings afterward when he gives her the chance to. Even earlier to this occurrence she goes through this whole crisis of realizing that she has feelings for both of them. And from what I've noticed, there's been a handful of moments where a season 1 Aphmau would normally shut down or deny Laurence, but in season 2 she instead just stays silent and blushes. In my opinion thats definitely showing us her baby steps in coming around to the whole returning the feelings thing but we all know how it goes and she moves on a couple dozen episodes later.

Also, notably -- and i kind of dont even want to bring this up as a point because it honestly seems a little more on the like...weird...side to me almost -- she didn't even need to kiss Laurence at that wedding to get him grounded. Even Laurence points this out immediately after the kiss. Makes me raise an eyebrow even more. The tension between Laurmau is undeniable no matter which way you flip it and even Laurence points out to her (in a serious tone this time! hes not just joking around!) that he KNOWS that Aphmau likes him back now but they're both holding back. Aphmau again, doesn't deny it.

I think Aphmau's problem aside from being painfully oblivious (in most of s1) is that she refuses to sit down and assess her feelings about them and she's always pushing those feelings aside until theyre brought up again for some reason instead of facing this inner turmoil. Understandably she's already going through a lot though.

I understand not being a fan of either ship or how they played out or a million other different related complaints and opinions but saying the attraction was never there feels just factually incorrect.

Tldr is polyamory could've solved a lot of problems just sayinggggg whateverrrr man.

[yeostars]

Howdy! I would love to see how ateez (separately) is with an older/noona! Reader (doesn't matter if they're an idol as well or not) just need some teasing fluff with someone a bit more mature than the boys but not a massive age gap you know?

🦝 anon

𓆩♡𓆪 dynamics study: ateez members dating someone older than them <3

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

{a/n: i have put two members together for this one, since I feel like they would have similar dynamics!}

ᯓ★ hongjoong, yunho

• I feel like hongjoong and yunho would still act like the older one because it naturally comes to them to take care of their s/o more than their s/o would care for them. but at times, he loves to be babied by you, because you're the older one, after all. they LOVE intertwining their hand with yours, so much that they could probably do it all day. it gives them a sense of security when they know that you're there with them, holding their hand <3

• the head pats !!!!! hongjoong goes so SO soft whenever you'd pat his head out of endearment, it's his most favourite thing in the world. And the way he gets so shy & his ears go all red when you add on "my boy" while patting his head, it's your most favourite thing in the world. As for yunho, he would be the one patting your head because although you're older than him by like 2 years, he's still the taller one ?? yunho finds you cute ALL THE TIME, actually the fact that you're older than him doesn't even exist. he's just a big soft bear wanting to protect and take care of his noona gf even though he's younger :)

ᯓ★ seonghwa, san

• treats you with so much respect. I mean, obviously all teezies would treat their older gfs with respect, but I feel like it's a notable point for sanhwa having an older s/o? Would definitely tease you sometimes, though. You actually love it when they tease you because it's rare for them to do so & you want them to feel as comfortable and friendly towards you as possible. You want them to view you as a best friend even though you're only 2 years older, and they love you even more than they already do for this. They LOVE resting their head against your shoulder while you gently stroke their hair :)

• Always comes to you for advice on all kinds of stuff. You know, how majority of ateez members go to seonghwa and san when they need some consoling? Just like that, sanhwa would depend on their noona gf in a way. These two love the fact that you're so welcoming and open and wise. And ofcourse, they are always there for you when you need a listening ear, too. You're like a ray of solace and comfort for them <3

ᯓ★ yeosang, jongho

• literally the sweetest towards you. and yes, I mean it, they try their best to take care of you as much as you care for them. although they get a little clueless here and there, you appreciate the fact that they want you to rely on them for mental support just like you do for them. although these two are not a big fan of physical affection, they love to do small gestures such as tenderly caressing your hand at times. They definitely give in when you're the one associating the physical affection, because ofcourse, they can't resist you :)

•yeosang and jongho get SOOO shy when you kiss their cheek. And you do it VERY often, just too see their reaction. And it's the same every time: them being all red and blushing and a small cute pout forming on their face while they mumble "I'm gonna get you back for that one" and you're like "I'm literally your girlfriend, can't I kiss your cheek?" and they're like "fine, whatever, but it catches me off guard.. don't do it out of the blue.." and you just pinch their cheeks and run away, while they come running behind you to catch you by your waist, back hugging you and not letting go ( and you LOVE that) <3

ᯓ★ mingi, wooyoung

• teases the HELL out of you. damn the age difference of barely 2 years, they actually take advantage of the fact that you're older only to tease you by those "eh, you're an oldie, you should do this work.." and when you do smth childish or act clumsy they're like "they say older people are wise but you're a different case, noona.." and when you get to the point of reaction when you don't react anymore (become silent and sulky) and the atmosphere becomes kinda awkward, they get super affectionate towards you, pull you closer to them and swing an arm around your shoulder, mumbling "I'm sorry" and then those little rascals are like "get over it" and you slap their palm hanging around your shoulder and they giggle, while you just accept the fact that the teasing is unending if you're mingi/wooyoung's older gf .....

• Cuddles with you at night are a MUST. they love to be the smaller spoon, tbh.

there would be some times when you're just doing your own work, attending conferences when you're working from home, clearly being the mature one not only in your relationship with them but also, you're professionally the leader type. and mingi and wooyoung would just be staring at you. Like, they're so lovesick, so in LOVE with you and your mature side. They never fail to mention how proud they are of you and the relentless teasing aside, they're the best boyfriend you could ever have.

[2demondogs]

Are you up for writing something Charles related?

Yes I love Charles! I figure you want Charles/Reader stuff so here's some yearning headcanons for a gender neutral reader bc I have a yearn worm in my brain.

Charles can be difficult to get a read on. He doesn't express much outwardly and is usually weary of everything, everyone in the vicinity. Once you get to know him, it becomes clear that he knows as little about himself as everyone else does. Without any permanence to his life, he's clueless still at the tail-end of the age at which most people have already figured things out.

His feelings for you, though, he's certain of. And as such... they're painfully obvious, at least by comparison. The emptiness behind his expression when someone else is droning on will be full if you're the one talking; he'll ease his way into new territory if you're there.

He has a purpose when you're around. It feels like everything does, actually. Maybe it's only puppy love, but God, once he swallows down the inhibition he feels to even have these fantastical desires, it would seem to him that there's a better life to be had than this.

Charles talks a lot more, too, especially in private. Unlike most people, you never have to speak first for him to start a conversation. Now and then, he tells you stories from his time alone in the wilderness -- maybe with a few embellishments where you look most impressed. You thought he took pride in them, until mentioning a few notable moments to others around camp earns surprise. It's clear, then, that you're the only person he shared them with.

He may or may not misread plenty of "signals." Charles never has been a fan of those social guessing games, because he always seems to lose them. The closer you two get, the more he outright asks you things: "Do you like this?" and "Am I boring you?"

Still, Charles is the one to kiss you. A walk from camp to some secluded spot nearby is the most alone time you ever truly get. It's on one of these walks, sat down and listening to you talk for once, that he zones out staring at your face. When you stop and ask what's wrong, part of his confidence is merely panicked adrenaline and the rest is a keen sense of now or never that he's never felt before.

[thestressedskittles]

My Little Cherry (Kakyoin x Reader, Smut)

Hngh yes anon! I apologize for making you wait for this! Also, as a side note, I'm pretty sure my ask box ate someone's request because it's saying I have more asks than are showing...

Request: ok ok so i got an ideeea...I need a smut with kakyoin catching s/o touching herself but cannot manage to make herself cum so kakyoin helps her..?

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: smut (under the cut MINORS DNI), gn!reader(no pronouns used but reader has breasts and pussy), masturbation (reader), oral (reader receiving)

A/N: This takes place just after Stardust, a few years after, and both you and Kakyoin are in University (something about Kakyoin and Jotaro being college students is such an appetizing thought ≖‿≖).

DISCLAIMER: Do NOT think it is okay to take our stories and post them somewhere else without our EXPLICIT PERMISSION. Do NOT think it is okay to take anyone else’s stories and post them somewhere else without their EXPLICIT PERMISSION. Giving credit does NOT count as permission. You may reblog our stories, but you may NOT repost our stories without OUR PERMISSION.

｡+.｡☆ﾟ｡+ﾟ ☆*ﾟ･*.ﾞ｡+.｡☆ﾟ｡+ﾟ ☆*ﾟ･*.ﾞ

With a loud, frustrated groan rumbling from your throat, you shove away your textbooks and flop back down to the bed. Today had felt off the moment you had woken up. It was hard to focus in class and on lectures, and even harder to concentrate on assignments that were due by the end of the week. They weren't hard necessarily, but you just couldn't muster up the willpower or focus to push through the oppressing haze that plagued your mind today.

Staring at the ceiling, you let your mind run with too many thoughts to keep track of. You could call Jotaro and Kakyoin, and see if they're free to hang out? You could afford the day off and you know that seeing your red-headed boyfriend would greatly improve your mood. Maybe you could even convince him of some other activities that involved just you and him. Alone. The idea gets quickly tossed out the window when you remember the major assignments that both of them had. Jotaro seems to have really buckled down when it comes to school. And as much as Kakyoin adored you, and never left you unsatisfied, his schoolwork was important to him and it would be a lost cause to try and shift his attention away from it.

With a deep sigh, your lips pull into a small smile. Just thinking about Kakyoin lifted your mood some. You remember seeing him for the first time upon joining the little ragtag group: he was respectful but somewhat distant. The more time you spent with him throughout the journey, the more found comfort in one another. What started as small talk and quick, blunt conversations turned into something more meaningful and fulfilling. The impromptu friendship had turned into something much more by the end of the journey. From there, you remember your first kiss, shared with him after reuniting from Dio's defeat. Your smile grows wider as you recall your first date, and the many that came afterwards before your mind lands on your first time with him.

Your mind fills with many replays of that night, most notably, the way Kakyoin had laid you down on the bed gently and made love to you. You remember his lips trailing up your neck, laying soft kisses along the way to his body pressing against yours, and the way you both shared a heated kiss, cut short with a simultaneous gasp when he finally pushed himself inside your plush walls. Unconsciously, your hands started to trail over your body, smoothing over the dips and curves, just how Kakyoin would do if he were here right now. Maybe this is what you need to relax.

With the redhead fresh in your mind, you continue to tease yourself as your mind conjures very lewd ideas of what you and Kakyoin do when you're alone. A hand slides to your breast from over your shirt, gently grasping the flesh and letting your other hand trail south. You let out a soft moan as you slowly press your hand down your shorts, grazing over the soft materials of your panties, already feeling a slight wet spot. You take it slow, letting your hand massage your breast while the other slowly teases you, your mind running wild with the memories of the nights you and Kakyoin shared, so vivid and fresh in your mind that you could almost hear his voice in your ear, whispering sweet nothings.

Feeling yourself clench just a little bit as you rub your little nub, your breath hitches and you finally pull your shorts down, tossing them off to the side. Biting your lip to muffle any noises, you slowly run your hands along your body, feeling the dips and curves, imagining Kakyoin's bigger ones were running along your body, gently squeezing. Letting your legs fall open slowly, you make your way to your pussy, teasing yourself. Before long, you can't seem to take your own teasing touches and you take off your shorts and panties, finally rubbing circles and drawing shapes, spreading your wetness all around, your sensitivity causing your hips to wiggle. Keeping one hand occupied on your pussy, you bring your free hand up to your breast again, eager to squeeze and massage your breast.

"Mm, Kakyoin..." You trail off. You tease your nipple through your shirt and clench around nothing. Your mind continues to fuel the fire that begins to burn in your core. You abandon your breast in favor of reaching down to spread your lips open, revealing your inner pink to the warm air. Sliding a finger down some more, you quickly coat the appendage and slide it in with a choked-off whimper. You wiggle your finger around before pulling it out and sliding it in. Your head tilts back and you groan softly into the quiet room. "More, I need more," you whimper out to the 'imaginary' Kakyoin. He loves to tease you, even when you beg so pretty for him. He just can't help but keep you on the edge. You tease a second finger before sliding it in. You take your two fingers like a champ, wasting no time in finding a satisfying pace, your hips beginning to meet your rhythm. "F-fuck, baby, feels so good," you moan out. Feeling a little extra needy, you begin to pick up the pace a bit, eager to feel the rush of an orgasm take away the stresses of today. Your mind replays your alone time with Kakyoin like a movie.

A whimper escapes your throat as the vivid imagery in your head keeps you on edge, seemingly not enough no matter how deeply you lean into them. Taking a deep breath, you push the slight build of frustration that's bubbling up inside of you down and take things a bit slower once more, choosing to tease yourself some more. You massage your breast and pinch your nipples, focusing more on the thought of Kakyoin's hands, how slim his fingers are and just how deep they can go, how they can reach right up to your sensitive spots that have you rolling your hips along to his movements.

"Kakyoin... please..." You whine out as your two digits buried inside of your plush walls try to sink in all the way, just barely grazing your innermost heat but they just don't feel the same. Even rolling your hips isn't enough to get your fingers deep enough. You decide to focus on his voice as well, how deep it gets when he's in the mood, full of lust and adoration.

"You look so beautiful, darling."

"I love how you look when I bring you to the edge over and over again..."

"Why don't you spread your legs for me, hm? Show me where you need me most, love."

Your eyes shoot open as a familiar voice rings louder than the one in your head. Your eyes lock with darkened lavender ones as Kakyoin stands under the doorway, a smirk on his lips. You feel more heat rising to your face at being caught in such a compromising position, even if it's by your lover. He wastes no time in walking over to you and climbing onto the bed.

"Do you need some help, love?" Kakyoin chuckles softly, his hands coming up to rub your legs and gently squeeze your thighs.

"Please..." You almost whimper out, pulling out your two fingers and before you can wipe them off, Kakyoin catches your wrist and brings his mouth over your two digits, humming as he swirls his slick and devious tongue over them and savors your taste. You don't know if you could blush any harder, but another rush of heat fills you up again and your walls pulse around nothing. You moan when Kakyoin slowly pulls your fingers out of his mouth, laving his tongue as he pulls them away, making your insides clench. "You taste so good, I hope you know that." He flashes you a smile and doesn't give you a chance to react as he dives straight for your glistening pussy. You gasp but it's quickly choked off by a loud moan as the redhead's lethal tongue swipes your clit and slit and begins to swirl.

Your thighs close around his head and he doesn't bother to pry them back open, loving the feeling of your plush thighs around his head. Instead, he wraps his forearms around them, squeezing your thighs roughly, hard enough to let you know there will be bruises later on, not that you care. The tip of his tongue dips just ever-so-slightly into your entrance before pulling away, applying suction to your clit and making your eyes roll back.

"Mm, K-Kakyoin, please!" You practically squeal as your hands go straight for his hair, threading through before gently grabbing onto a fistful and pulling him into your throbbing core, rolling and bucking your hips into his mouth and eager tongue. "F-fuck that feels good!"

You continue to moan and roll your hips as Kakyoin brings you closer and closer to the edge with ease. Knowing how he likes to be a tease, you make sure to hold onto him, keeping his mouth directly on your pussy as you feel the buildup becoming stronger and stronger before the swirling of his tongue, and a well-timed suck to your throbbing clit, cause a final snap and your walls pulse, coating Kakyoin's mouth and chin with your sweet release.

The whimpers and moans you make are sending Kakyoin up the wall as he groans against your core, letting you ride out your orgasm on his tongue and helping you through it, feeling his cock twitch as your plush thighs clamp and jitter around his head. He feels your hand loosen in his hair and your thighs slowly release his head from their pillowy prison. He pulls away from your core with a teasing, kitten-ish lick and sits on his knees, grinning at you, seeing you sprawled out and a blissed expression on your face as your glossy eyes meet his. This is definitely what you need to relax.

He leans down again and kisses his way up slowly until he's hovering over you and his smile widens as he comes face to face with you. He wipes your slick off his face and leans down to kiss your neck and jaw. "Are you still with me?" He asks teasingly, making goosebumps rise along your skin. You suck in a shaky breath.

You hum and gently tug his hair and your lips meet in a sensual kiss. He lowers himself onto you and you can feel his poking erection through his pants, feeling it throb. "Need some help with that?" You pull away with a coy smile, making Kakyoin hum pleasantly as he begins to nip at your neck, eager to leave some marks.

"Perhaps..." He trails off lightly, teasingly. One of his hands reaches for your wrist and begins to run it down his body before you cup the appendage and Kakyion flashes you a look of arousal and adoration, a swirling mix in his lavender eyes.

"It's all yours, my little cherry."

[im-ovulating]

(A/n: Once again, all alphabet credit goes to @squid-god-supreme)

Word Count: N/A

Summary- A spicier twist to Ahk's A-Z

Warnings: Sex talk/descriptions

Age Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Ahkmenrah NSFW Alphabet

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A-ftercare: What are they like after sex?

Cuddles and kisses.

After sex, Ahkmen just wants you close. He wants to hold you, and whisper sweet nothings in your ear.

B-ody part: Their favorite body part of theirs and their partners?

His hands are definitely his favorite part of him. They're what gets to touch you the most, after all (next to his lips of course).

He loves seeing his hand intertwined with yours or having it splayed across your stomach or back (or anywhere really. He just likes touching you).

He loves your eyes.

Love seeing them stare at him with so much love and adoration. Loves seeing the go slightly crossed and unfocused as he brings his hips into yours.

C-um: Anything to do with cum.

He likes to cum inside you (if you let him). There's just something so intimate about spilling himself into your heat. It almost feels like he's claiming you - telling the world that you're his and only his.

D-irty secret: A dirty secret of theirs.

He snuck a pair of your panties into his sarcophagus and jerks off with them when he's horny and you're not at the museum.

F-avorite position: Thier favorite position?

E-xperience: How experienced are they? Do they know what they're doing?

He's not super experienced, but the nature of sex wasn't something he grew up being shyed away from. Quite the opposite, really. He grew up surrounded by tellings of how sacred the act is and was surrounded by people confident enough in themselves to talk freely about just how important and cherished it is.

So while he may not have much first hand experience, he knows enough to make you both feel good. And he has an excellent partner to further his knowledge.

Avid fan of missionary. Not to say he's completely vanilla, though. He just likes to see your face as he wrecks you.

G-oofy: Are they serious in the moment or more humorous?

Depends. What was the lead up? Was it a sensual, hot moment that ended with him 9 inches deep in you? Or was it a silly joke that led to a good-natured manhandling?

If it was option 1, he is very serious, taking your pleasure as his number one priority and with nothing on his mind except making you feel good. If it was option 2, expect jokes to be cracked, mirth filled smiles between kisses, and a light, giggle filled air.

H-air: How well are they groomed? Does the carpet match the drapes?

Au naturale.

Again- he grew up taught that the body is holy. Buy even if he didn't- he's a living exhibit in a museum, so he doesn't have much choice but to be natural.

I-ntimacy: How are they during the moment? (Romantic aspect)

Very romantic.

Loves to hold your hand during, to press himself as close to you as possible with gazing into your eyes. Murmurs the sweetest things against your lips as skin.

J-ack off: Masturbation headcanon.

Doesn't jerk off much. He doesn't have that much privacy in the museum, after all, but every once in a while, he will indulge. Notably when you can't make it for a couple nights.

K-ink: One or more of their kinks.

Praise.

He loves to both tell you how good you are for him as well as to get told how well he is for you.

Marking.

They may not last more than the night due to the tablet's magic, but for those few hours, he loves sporting the physical proof of the pleasure he gives to you.

Alternatively, he loves seeing you walk into his exhibit flaunting the pretty purple marks he shcked into your skin the night before.

L-ocation: Favorite places to do the do?

Not many options, but his exhibit (he tends to order the jekylls to keep everyone out) and the secluded storage closet at the end of his hallway are the only places you can be assured you won't be interrupted in.

M-ovtivation: What turns them on/gets them going?

Your soft, teasing grazes and loaded looks are the easiest way to get him going without alerting the others.

All it takes as a subtle graze along his shoulders and a dart of your eyes to the nearest exit and he's ready.

N-o: Something they wouldn't do/turn offs?

Hurting you.

He would do almost anything for you, except causing you pain.

Even if he knows you like it. Even though you reassure him the pain turns you on. He can't do it.

O-ral: Preference in giving v. receiving, skill, etc.?

Loves receiving it. Loves giving it even more.

He's fairly skilled, reducing you to a blubbering mess with a few calculated swipes of his tongue.

P-ace: Are they fast and rough or slow and sensual?

Can do either, but swing more towards slow and sensual.

Refer back to the romantic during the do part.

Loves being able to watch every miniscule change in your expression as he changes the angle or position. You simply can't catch every detail when your fucking like a rabbit.

Q-uickie: Their opinion on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.?

No.

He wants the full experience, wants to take his time with you and revel in the moment.

R-isk: Are they game to experiment? Do they take risks?

As long as it's nothing that can hurt you, he's down to try most things at least once.

S-tamina: How many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?

He can last a while. The tablet's magic keeping him properly energized and his stamina full.

Blessing or curse depending on how you handle overstimulation.

T-oy: Do they own toys? Do they use them, either on themselves or their partner?

Once again, no. He wants to prove that he can take you high on his own. If he can't please his partner without some silicon help, what kind of pharaoh is he?

U-nfair: How much do they tease?

He wants to tease you, but when you look at him like that and beg oh so sweetly, how could he possibly say no?

V-olume: How loud are they? What sounds do they make?

Not loud, but definitely noisy.

He is not afraid to let you know exactly how good he feels with you.

Moans, groans, and sighs are the main sounds you pull from him, but if you tease him enough, you could probably coax a whimper from him as well.

W-ild card: A random headcanon.

Loves to push you into a mating press. Your legs around his head while he's as deep inside you as he can go? AND the ability to retain eye contact? Sign him up.

X-ray: What's in their pants?

I'd say he's around 7 inches soft but close to 9 when hard. He's kinda slim, but not skinny and rocks the jungle.

Y-earning How high is their sex drive?

Average. He could go anytime, but is also perfectly content to simply cuddle.

Z-zz: How quicjly do they fall asleep after sex?

He doesn't. He can't.

He can't make sure he gets back inside his sarcophagus in time if he passes out after sex.

If he could, though? Within minutes. He'd makes sure to stay awake long enough to take care of yoh and clean you up but once you're settled, he's OUT.

[wingedcupcaketimemachine]

Heyyyy, I saw your requests open and wanna ask for oneshot Zuko x GN!Reader(who is really-really sweet for a firebender), but they're childhood friends(and Zuko had a crush on them) and reader ran away to Earth Kingdom. Then they meet in some village where Reader lives and make something romantic there!

Please and thank you!

Zuko Reuniting With Childhood Friend

Pairing: Zuko x Firebender!GN!Reader

Summary: You and Zuko are childhood friends who grew up together in the Fire Nation.

Warnings: Contain spoilers for some of Zuko's backstory if you haven't seen the show. Also contains badly written kiss scene

Type: Romantic ❤️

A/N: I decided to give the reader a bit of backstory to explain why they fled to the Earth Kingdom. The one shot takes place during season 2 episode 14, "Tales of Ba Sing Se." Hope you enjoy <3

Oneshot starts below cut

Avatar: The Last Airbender Masterlist

Main Masterlist

You had been friends with Zuko back when you still lived in the Fire Nation. You had grown up alongside him and his sister, Azula, as your father was on of the Firelord's more trusted generals.

As a young child, you were never very interested in playing games with Azula and her friends. You preferred spending quiet time with Zuko around the palace.

Zuko never understood how he felt about you.. Of course he liked you. The two of you were friends, best friends even. But, did best friends make a fiery red blush rise from your face to the tops of your ears? Did a best friends cause your heart to stop beating every time you got lost in their eyes?

Even now, as his golden eyes met yours, his heart felt as if it would beat out of his chest. He carefully studied you as you sat in the corner of the tea shop. You had changed. Your hair was different, maybe a bit longer than he remembered, and you had swapped out your red Fire Nation clothes for a simple green dress -- an Earth Nation staple. Most notably, your bright eyes had remained the same.

You studied him as well. This Zuko was much different than the boy you knew as a child. His hair was much shorter, and his once warm golden eyes had grown dull. You wondered, how had he ended up in a Ba Sing Se tea shop of all places? After his banishment from the Fire Nation, you weren't sure if you would ever see him again.

"Uncle, we have a problem," said Zuko as he approached his uncle behind the front counter, "Don't look now, but over in the corner table, it's (Y/N)."

Iroh swiftly turned to glance at your table. He recognized you in an instant. His mind was flooded with the memories of you and Zuko growing uo together in the palace.

"Uncle!" Zuko scolds, "Didn't I say don't look? Now they're gonna know that we're onto them."

Before Iroh could respond, you walked up to the counter with a small bag of coins in hand.

"Thank you for the tea, Zuko," you said politely, "And you too general Iroh."

Zuko felt heat rise to his ears. He had always though you were pretty, and seeing you up close was starting to make him a but flustered. "But why?" he thought to himself. Were friends supposed to think of each other that way?

"You're welcome," said Zuko with red checks, "But you can't call us that here. I go by Lee. And my uncle is called Mushi"

"Sorry!" you said quickly, as your face flushed with embarrassment, "I didn't even think that you would go by different names here. Speaking of which, what are you doing here anyway?"

"Well," Zuko said, "It's not really something we can discuss here."

"My nephew is right!" Iroh said, jumping back into the conversation, "Why don't the two of you go out tonight and discuss how both of you came to be in Ba Sing Se?"

At Iroh's suggestion, Zuko turned even redder, if possible.

"I like that idea," you said shyly before turning back to Zuko, "I know a restaurant in the city if you'd like to go there."

"Yeah..that sounds...nice," Zuko said quietly, "I can meet you in front of the tea shop tonight."

"Yeah," you said with a grin, "See you tonight."

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After it had gotten dark, you stood outside of the tea shop waiting for Zuko. As you waited, you began to hear muffled voices from inside the shop.

"i'm not so sure about this, Uncle," said Zuko hesitantly "What if they end up hating me after I tell them. I don't want to lose them again."

"Do not worry Zuko. They have a god heart, and so do you. Now get going. You're going to be late."

"Hi," you said as Zuko walked out of the tea shop, "Are you ready to go?"

"Yeah," said Zuko, rubbing the back of his neck nervously, "Lead the way."

The two of you walked in an uncomfortable silence. The tension between you could be cut with a knife. After a brief walk, which somehow felt so much longer than the short 10 minutes, you came to a stop outside of a small restaurant.

"This is it," you said awkwardly, "Do you wanna go find a table?"

"Sure," said Zuko, before you fell into another uncomfortable silence.

"So," you said after you had settled in your seats, "What are you doing here in Ba Sing Se anyway? I thought you were looking for the avatar."

"I am!" Zuko said quickly, "But Uncle and I got a bit sidetracked. Azula's after us."

Your eyes widened in shock.

"Azula? But what could she want from you? She's already next in line to become firelord."

"My father," said Zuko quietly, "He sent her after me and the avatar. He doesn't seem to think my efforts to capture him are good enough."

"Of course," you said in a rare burst of anger, "I should have known your father would do anything to prevent you from returning to the Fire Nation. That's part of the reason I left, you know."

"Really?" said Zuko curiously.

He had always wondered what made you leave the Fire Nation. Although he had already been banished at that time, he had heard through letters from the Fire Nation that you had run away shortly after his father sent him to find the avatar. Selfishly, he couldn't help but think that you had left for him.

"I never really agreed with the Fire Nation's teachings," you said honestly, "I always wondered why we were taught that our way of life was better than everyone else, when, truly, each one of us should be seen as equals. But when your own father challenged you to an Agni Kai, I realized that we really weren't the heroes the Fire Nation said we were. We were the villains. I came out here to try and make a difference. I can't just stand by while our people destroy the world and everyone in it."

Zuko's gaze met you eyes and he saw the many emotions swirling inside of them. Most importantly the fiery determination that he hadn't seen since childhood. As your words sank in, he though about how he and his uncle had ended up in the city. Unlike you, who, through your unwavering need to help others, had worked the make life easier for the people whose life had been torn apart by the Fire Nation, he had spent the better part of a month terrorizing innocent towns on his hunt for the avatar.

"I always wished I could be more like you, you know," Zuko said ashamed, "I always thought I was doing the right thing by tracking down the avatar, but after seeing all the damage the Fire Nation has caused, maybe I've been doing a lot more harm than good."

You smiled at him before softly cupping his face.

"You're not a bad person, Zuko," you said quietly, "I know there's good in you. You just need someone to help you find it."

You felt Zuko's skin burn under your touch, as you look into his golden eyes, which are filled with hesitation. As you leaned closer, you could hear Zuko's breath hitch as his breath caught in his throat. Zuko began to lean in, hoping you couldn't hear his heart beating at a thousand miles an hour.

Your lips finally connected, for a brief second, before you pulled apart, faces flushed.

"You, know," Zuko said quietly, "I missed you a lot after I left the Fire Nation."

You smiled softly.

"So did I," you said before gently pulling him into another kiss.

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

Would you write for the M6 with an MC who's touch-starved and craves affection? Thanks in advance!

The Arcana HCs: M6 with a touch/affection-starved MC

Sequel is here! M6 with an MC who's been bottling up their affectionate tendencies

~ honestly I don't know why I didn't think of writing this one sooner, these kinds of headcanons are always my favorite to read and now I get to write some! many thanks @lemon-len ^.^ ~

Julian

If you think he didn't notice the way you melted into his touch when he healed you of that vampire eel bite that first night, you are wrong

He totally noticed

Most of it he chalked up to chemistry, but it definitely piqued his interest

He's also a champion at writing off his own impact on people, so the whole time you're unraveling the mysteries of the Red Plague and stealing moments with each other he's assuming it's the adrenaline high

It doesn't become apparent to him until after, when he's checking over all the bumps and bruises you've accrued, that he sees the way you lean into his touch

He's told you he loves you, and he knows you love him too, so he doesn't have to be hesitant (though really, when was he ever?)

Now he's folding you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you as snugly as he can and tucking your head under his chin

You're all surprised and tensed up at first, until he presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head and you melt

He can feel the tension draining out of you and the way your fingers are tying themselves into the back of his shirt, and how you're burrowing into his chest

He's always been "too much" in his relationships as to how much physical touch he likes to initiate, but now he's found someone who wants what he has to offer and it's the person he's promised his life to

You can fully expect him to make you a solemn vow to never let you go uncuddled again

If you thought he was already generous with the PDA, it's about to get waaay worse

Asra

In case it's not obvious, their love language is touch

One of the hardest parts of hiding his affection for you those three years was not letting himself touch you

They already knew it was something you craved, it was obvious when they were your caretaker

But the first time he pulled you into a pillow pile with him to snuggle the familiarity of it rocketed you into inhuman levels of pain, and he wasn't going to risk that again

Once it became clear that you had grown enough to learn about the past and accept their affections, it was on

You have five minutes? cuddle time

There's a seat next to you? He's sliding into it and falling into your lap

You're walking by while he's sitting down? They're pulling you into their lap

You're getting ready for the day? He's doing your hair

You're having a conversation with someone that they're not a part of? They're standing behind you with their arms around your waist and their head on your shoulder, letting you take their weight

He has been known to fall asleep on you in public like this, most notably in the town square during a royal proclamation

If you're each doing your own unrelated tasks, they're either sitting beside you with your knees touching or behind you so you can be their backrest

He also knows how people tend to associate the feeling of different clothing articles with the people who wear them

So anytime they leave the shop while you're asleep you can expect to wake up wrapped in one of their shawls

He fully expects you to let him take your clothes with him on long journeys too, which is fine for the most part except for when it's one of your favorite pieces (you still want to wear that!)

Nadia

Her favorite way to love people is to provide for them

It demonstrates her commitment to being an important pillar in your life for you to lean on

Which is why she is completely tuned in to picking up on any of your needs, so she can satisfy them

So she figures out early on that physical contact is a desired and effective method of showing affection to you, but she can't figure out why you never ask for it

She guesses this could make a fun game, so she tries holding back a little and waiting for you to initiate

And then she watches you slowly withdrawing for a whole day, the confidence you always show in her is wavering slightly, and by the time dinner rolls around you're picking at your food with a face full of hurt and confusion, but you haven't said anything!

That's when it clicks for her that there could be another layer to this

Maybe one of the reasons you cherish affection so deeply is because you know what it's like to live without it

Now she's bodily lifting you out of your chair and dragging you to a more secluded spot to make up for her mistake

She feels awful, she should have known not to trifle with depriving you of something that obviously meant so much to you

She has you reclining in her lap, insisting on feeding you your dinner and apologizing for making you worry

Words are very important to her though, so she's going to ask as many questions as you're comfortable with answering about why you don't ask for affection and how to help you get there with her

Now she checks in with you every day by taking both your hands in hers and not letting you go until you've requested some gesture of affection from her

Muriel

He is so generally touch-averse that it took a long time for him to feel comfortable with giving or receiving any kind of physical affection

This didn't bother you too much until your trip south into the tundra

Because it was so cold down there you were incapable of keeping yourself warm at night, and needed to share a blanket and sleeping space with him

Oh my, that did things for your heart

Every night for several weeks you got to finish a day of uncertainty and training and exhaustion by sliding your back right up against his and melting in the waves of body heat he produces

It got easier as he relaxed around you, sometimes you'd wake up to his arm slung around you in his sleep and then you'd happily suffer through Morga's unimpressed stare as you savored the moment

But he was still so self-conscious of how big and intimidating he was, and you were still too hesitant to initiate contact whenever you wanted it, so things stalled for a bit there

You also have to be careful navigating his own relationship with his body

He's got so much trauma from the physical pain he was put through and the deprivation he endured that he's still learning how to taste the food he eats

Eventually you're able to ask him why he doesn't want to touch you, to which he responds that he's not used to touching someone without hurting them or them being afraid of him

It's progressing slowly, but now you have permission to initiate or invite cuddles, and it's changing the world for him bit by bit, because you're showing him that his touch can be a good and precious thing

Portia

She notices how much you love it when she touches you, but she doesn't really get why it's such a big deal at first

She grew up with a sibling and a grandmother and a town of friends and she does manual work elbow-to-elbow with a multitude of palace servants, touch is normal

Until she's sneaking another chapter of a favorite novel and encounters a character for whom touch is not normal

And now she's drawing connections between you and the character, is this why you relax as soon as she puts her hands on your face or your whole body sags when she hugs you?

She can't imagine a life without hugs and tussles and elbows to the ribs and tripping over other people's toes

As soon as you're both back in the cottage that evening she's pulling you onto the couch with her for cuddles

She's telling you all about the book character and listing all the ways you're similar to them, how you don't touch people often but you melt as soon as somebody does, how the character was that way because they weren't used to being touched

Was it the same way for you? Who gives you hugs? How many hugs did you normally get? Did you also get locked in a tower and use glass slippers to climb a beanstalk out?

You're surprised by the onslaught of questions, but her tone is purely curious and slightly concerned, without an ounce of judgment

Once you tell her more about why you crave affection so much she's determined to give you as much as you can handle

This is her partner in crime, her ride or die, you have always had her back and she is going to watch yours

Besides, she thinks you're the most attractive human to walk the planet, who wouldn't want to cuddle you for hours?

Lucio

He clued in faster than you expected him to

He's not very emotionally intelligent, but he is physically intelligent

He grew up in a warring tribe and spent his youth as a mercenary, interpreting people's body language for strengths and weaknesses is second nature

So here you are, dragging him through mystical realms he's completely vulnerable in, and he's watching you like a hawk

And he picks up on it quickly, any time you two make casual physical contact your guard slips a little

At first he's thinking of ways to use it against you, but your charm gets through to him fairly quickly and he never acts on it

It's the night you spend in the labyrinth that settles his doubts for him

You're stumbling every few steps but you're too hyped up to rest, until he sits next to you and pulls you into his side

He watches the way you tense and then completely relax, falling asleep on his shoulder while he's still holding an open weapon in one fist

He's briefly wondering if he'll have to make a habit of this, pausing everything to guard you so you can sleep

And then he's getting an emotional punch to the gut by feeling just how much trust it takes for someone like you to fall asleep on someone like him

He can't remember the last time somebody trusted him at all, much less this completely

By the time your eyes are fluttering open he's decided he'll be willing to keep watch while you sleep as often as you want him to

He's not shy about showing affection at all, so once you two save the world and start your new life together you can expect to receive some kind of physical affection several times a day

(an extra note from brainrot - this prompt has me inspired for a second one, which would be the M6 with an MC who has a lot of affection to give, but has been bottling it up and is just now getting to share it with someone who wants/appreciates it. Would anyone like to see that?)