#my thoughts about this season thus far:

[stargazerdaisy]

Goodbye prison beard and muscles. I'll remember you lustfully.

[rosifire]

Obligatory “I don’t have a problem with CaitVi” but I think, for me, their story (separate from their own personal character arcs) would/will be more compelling if it ends up being irreparable between them.

I think Arcane is good at subverting expectations and tropes; the most memorable example I can think of is in S1E3 where Powder follows after Vi and the boys to save Vander. We’ve all seen the “friends are in trouble, but the plucky young hero comes in at the nick of time to save them against all odds” plot twist—but Arcane subverts that. In fact, Powder’s involvement and her monkey bomb finally working is the thing that, tragically, leads to Claggor and Mylo’s death, Vi’s injury, Vander’s death(?), so on and so forth. It worked, but it didn’t work. And to me, that's the tragedy of it. That good intentions weren't enough.

So, personally, I see a setup between Caitlyn and Vi: the Romeo and Juliet archetype, two initially-begrudging people working together amongst classism and prejudice, and finding companionship against all odds. Class, wealth, opportunity separates them; Caitlyn is a scion of one of Piltover’s most influential and powerful families, and Vi is… a nobody from the Undercity, wrongfully imprisoned, when they first meet. It’s a way for them to both see that the “other side” isn’t as bad as they’ve always been told. That there are Good People on either side of the bridge. That, hell, love can be found, too.

But oftentimes, I believe this trope in particular ignores a lot of the real-world factors that could come into play with a friendship or relationship that “defies” station. The fact is, Caitlyn does come from a world of privilege, and Vi is treated differently by Caitlyn’s peers. The whole of Season two, Vi has been referred to as one of the “good ones”. Maddie explicitly says that it's good to know that there are still "good ones" around. The implication that you’re not like them. Time and time again, Vi is treated like an Other. A “good” other, but an other all the same. She's welcome in Piltover, but only just - and only when Caitlyn vouches for her. And at the climax of their story thus far, Caitlyn outright says to her, “I keep telling myself that you're different. but you're not. It's [Jinx's] blood in your veins”. I'm sure grief and anger are a part of why she says this, but that's becoming a catalyst for the discrimination she seems to be steadily believing in more and more. Whether or not she ends up meaning this, it's a ghastly thing to say.

And with the way things are developing with Caitlyn, who is actively weaponizing her privilege and power, and who is very quickly going down a very dangerous and fascist path, I don’t know if their relationship could — or should! — be rectified. She's a cop, and a very privileged one at that. I don’t know if this is a love that could “defy all odds”, and in my opinion, I think it would be more interesting, and more compelling, if it didn’t.

[mysecretwindowuniverse]

1x7 | Penguin's Umbrella ☂️

*Insert insightful commentary about masculinity, the performance of masculinity and the way it dictates social hierarchy in a heteronormative society, power dynamics, power dynamics in the context of sexual penetration, phallic symbols, queerness, social othering, antagonistic intimacy, desire and repulsion, the scene’s meta commentary on love, etc., etc.*

[quietwingsinthesky]

I think the nature of Clara haterism on Tumblr can’t be fully understood without the historical context of 2013. Namely that by the time of DW season 7b Moffat was widely hailed as The Bogeyman Of All Misogyny Ever. Clara was considered THE prototypical Shallow Moffat Girl, and she became a sort of figurehead for everything wrong with the show. (Bc everyone was maybe 14 and Smith was too beloved to insult.) Consequently, she evokes a kneejerk bad faith reading response in many users even today.

yeah, alright, i can see that. i am surprised that, at least as far as i’ve seen, amy & river don’t get the same treatment? or if they did, it hasn’t persisted half as long as opinions on clara have. Because having now seen how all three of them were written, amy got treated. so much worse with The Misogyny™️, and River bounces between ‘actually a fascinating character’ and ‘moffat wrote a sexy girlboss who wants to fuck the doctor’ so hard it gives me whiplash. (and i say this as a River enjoyer, I love her and she deserves so much better lmao.)

Of the three of them, I think Clara actually comes out a lot better written overall? She’s allowed more space to be a character rather than be a woman, if that makes sense. Sure, bit of a rocky start in s7, and I can certainly see why the Impossible Girl thing could be aggravating to some people. (I think it was. Fine. fantastic episode conceptually that sort of fell apart when it came to actually doing anything.) but Clara in s8 (and the start of s9) is fantastic. Her relationship with Danny and the Doctor is messy and deceptive and so understandable. “Listen” as an episode almost felt like ‘hey what if the clara putting herself in the doctor’s past was actually interesting and impacted him’. Her becoming more like the Doctor, especially after losing Danny, both as an effort to hold on tight to the only person she perceives as keeping her moving forward and giving her a purpose AND because to her, the Doctor is able to lose so much and not be destroyed by it and she wants that (without really understanding just how much this life is fucking him up, too.), is just. fantastic.

where was i going with this. i have no idea. my point, i think, is: i guess i can see how initial reactions to clara might color a less than flattering picture of the rest of her, but :( consider: i love her so so much and everyone should be niceys to her.

[galacticlamps]

no idea why but for some reason i feel like the next episode of dr who's gonna be one i'll especially want to be caught up for? again no clue why i feel that way since i'm currently behind - it's not even like i've seen the teaser for it yet or anything - but fwiw the last time i had that feeling was before fugitive of the judoon, and love or hate that episode i'd say i was right about needing to experience it in real time. i've never been one to care about spoilers much but i do very clearly remember making a point of staying off dr who related internet spaces until i got home from work the day that one dropped (and having any feelings that remind me of pre-pandemic 2020 is already a trip in itself wow) & i kinda think im about to wind up doing the same this weekend (since i already know im not gonna be able to watch it right away)

[dashiellqvverty]

id forgotten a lot of details about black sails bc thats how i am with tv shows (and also i watched seasons 3 and 4 a couple episodes at a time over a long period of time) but something really fucking shitty im only being reminded of as im rewatching the first episode of season 3 is how the audience is meant to empathize with enslaved people specifically through the eyes of a white man

[astonmartinii]

we don’t play about halloween | max verstappen social media au

pairing: max verstappen x fem reader

max doesn’t play about three things: formula one, his cats and his girlfriend’s love for halloween

MASTERLIST | TIPS

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, maxverstappen1 and 607,344 others

tagged: maxverstappen1

yourusername: yes we dress up to carve pumpkins, it’s rude if you don’t.

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user1: gosh they are so cute

user2: did max just dress as himself whenever he’s within 5ft of y/n?

maxverstappen1: i get why the americans don’t play about the statue of liberty

yourusername: i think they should build one of you in zandvoort

maxverstappen1: and they still wouldn’t worship it as much as i worship you

yourusername: i literally light candles in your name and pray for you with you mum, i think i worship you more sorry

maxverstappen1: the ONLY loss i’ll take

user3: i feel lonely year round because of them but it’s SO much worse during halloween

user4: they are the definition of the couple costume they invented it and they PERFECTED it

landonorris: i thought your apartment was a safe space, why did i get harassed over my costume?

yourusername: it was more of the lack of costume? “streamer” does not count

landonorris: who actually dresses up to carve pumpkins?

maxverstappen1: COOL PEOPLE

yourusername: imagine not dressing up and having an awful pumpkin … could never be me

landonorris: STOP BULLYING ME

maxverstappen1: do better then.

user5: obsessed with how peace and love y/n is for the whole year but as soon as someone doesn’t care about halloween it’s fight time

charles_leclerc: remind me to never accept an invite to a halloween event at the verstappen-l/n household - far TOO much stress

yourusername: but you’re like the only one who deserves an invite to next year because the air max costume slayed

maxverstappen1: i might even let you back on it

charles_leclerc: might???

maxverstappen1: follow me on instagram

yourusername: 2019 was so long ago we really need to move on

danielricciardo: you seriously underestimate just how petty these men are

maxverstappen1

liked by danielricciardo, yourusername and 894,560 others

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maxverstappen1: halloween is a full family affair

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user8: JIMMY AND SASSY I CAN'T

user9: yall looking at the croissant and the lobster i'm focusing on AMY AND NICK?

user10: has max even seen this film?

maxverstappen1: nope i just like doing the costumes y/n wants to do

user11: i wish i had enough friends to have like ten billion halloween parties

oscarpiastri: i didn't know what to expect but i did not think i was going to see alex trying to drown george at the apple bobbing station

yourusername: i let them work out their own mess as long as they don't accidentally flood our living room again

oscarpiastri: AGAIN?

maxverstappen1: f1 drivers are just competitive about apple bobbing as they are about driving

alexalbon: in my defence there is a sick trophy for the champ i simply cannot let anyone else win it

user12: they got a trophy made? and girlies are serious about this?

yourusername: custom trophies for apple bobbing, pumpkin carving and best costume

alexalbon: three time apple bobbing champ right here

charles_leclerc: i'm coming for best costume this year

danielricciardo: pumpkin carving was an easy dub last year

maxverstappen1: but no one has out done us for costumes thus far

yourusername: and that's not bias, there is a democratic voting process x

user13: i need to be in this friendship group right now

yourusername

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yourusername: it's the most wonderful time of the year ! thanks to everyone who came out and making the spooky season special. p.s. shout out to max who found this wig while going through our costume box and insisted on not taking it off the whole set up.

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user16: NOOOOO WHY IS HALLOWEEN OVER ALREADY

user17: rip to all of us who were hoping for a sexy y/n x max costume

user18: they heard we wanted sexy and gave us ratatouille i hate their asses

oscarpiastri: okay so lando wasn't lying when he said you guys go insane for halloween

yourusername: i fear not. i hope you enjoyed your dip in the pool, we found you in a guest room in my bath robe at 3am

oscarpiastri: oops.

maxverstappen1: you fared better than others on their rookie halloween appearance, just ask lando and charles

landonorris: you told me there was no alcohol in the jelly so it's not my fault i ate the whole bowl and threw up in your shower

yourusername: wow way to blame the victims there lando, you literally blocked the drain

landonorris: MAX SAID THERE WAS NO ALCOHOL

yourusername: it was labelled with the ingredients. you just can't read

landonorris: no comment

yourusername: and charles got so drunk that he decided he would sleep on the couch but got 'lonely' and insisted on cuddling with us

charles_leclerc: Y/N!!!! YOU SAID YOU'D KEEP THAT A SECRET

maxverstappen1: don't worry we thought it was cute

carlossainz55: wait is that why you came as a "cuddle bug" this year?

charles_leclerc: NO

alexalbon: and that must be why he got best costume RIGGORY

yourusername: no riggory here, you and lily as mavis and jonathon were a close second

user19: i won't rest until i have an invite next year.

maxverstappen1

liked by charles_leclerc, yourusername and 821,309 others

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maxverstappen1: sorting the recycling with your head barely attached is always the worst part of halloween

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user20: drunk max looks like so much fun

yourusername: i think i might drink my weight in coffee today but i need to see the kitchen floor soon before i lose my mind

user21: ma'am i know you're clinging to life rn but can we know who won what?

alexalbon: ALEX ALBON APPLE BOBBING CHAMP FOUR YEARS IN A ROW

charles_leclerc: i won best costume and it's purely because i'm cute cause NO one there knew about my cuddling escapades last year

landonorris: ugh pretty privilege back at it again

charles_leclerc: jealousy is a disease get well soon

oscarpiastri: my pumpkin ended up winning !! turns out people love a kangaroo in the ghostface mask

maxverstappen1: first rookie to win that title (i am so impressed by the kangaroo)

yourusername: you were actually so good you have to help me with all the decorative ones next year

oscarpiastri: i'm in

user21: but who won the real award - most embarrassing moment?

maxverstappen1: daniel got stuck in the door in his inflatable horse/cowboy costume

danielricciardo: NO esteban dressing as the cheese string man was worse

estebanocon: that's real creativity at least i didn't fall asleep in the bath like carlos

yourusername: not to gang up on carlos but the blanket you took in their is damaged beyond repair and i request a replacement

carlossainz55: fair, but it was me, lando and george in the tub

georgerussell63: fake news @carmenmundt

carmenmundt: i was also at the party babe, it was impressive how you all fit in there

user22: the fact they do all of this and race like two weeks later and the teams just deal with it

maxverstappen1: we've done much worse on race weekends

yourusername: someone didn't have to try and get home after abu dhabi 2021, halloween is nothing compared to that

note: a lil halloween one for you all. i also DO NOT PLAY ABOUT HALLOWEEN. and am currently planning my costume lol. just wanted to get a small one out before all my work comes in tomorrow, much love xx

[dewdropdinosaur]

Little Fire Lies

SILCO X READER

Summary: Silco is puzzled, why wouldn't he be? His long-time assistant has apparently been harboring secrets from him and he didn't know. What he doesn't know, however, is how much his curiosity will come back and bite him...on the neck.

Warnings: Cussing, mentions of torture and sex. PG-13. Inspired by 1) Season 2 coming out soon and 2) @silcoitus because I read all of their stuff religiously. Word Count: 3500 words.

Silco's expression softened as he listened to her humming. It was a familiar song that echoed the anger and pain felt by many of the citizens, including himself. The anthem of the revolution, a strange choice for a song to hum during the work day.  He knew it well, having heard it many times before. He stood there quietly, listening to the tune with a mix of understanding and resignation

"You're an interesting one, you know that Y/N?", he said under his breath, his gaze still fixed on her form.

Y/N peers at him from her periphery 

“Hmm? Is that so?”

Silco smirks lightly, his gaze still fixated on her.

“You have a habit of using songs to express your thoughts and feelings, don't you? It's quite an unusual, and somewhat impressive, way to cope."

Y/N huffs and mumbles 

“There are worse coping mechanisms”

Silco chuckles at her comment, a smirk forming on his face. He nods, knowing all too well the truth in her words

"That's true, I suppose. I've seen my fair share of unhealthy coping mechanisms in this city. But I must admit, yours is certainly the most... creative I've come across. And oddly fitting, considering your... talent."

Y/N finally raises her head from her paperwork, quirking a brow and eyes narrowing toward the man. 

Silco's smirk grows slightly, a hint of playful banter in his tone 

"Oh, you know what I'm talking about, Y/N. Don't play coy now. Your uncanny ability to stay completely calm and composed, even in the most precarious of situations. I've seen you handle difficult negotiations, tight deadlines, and volatile clients, all with a level head and a smile on your face. It's impressive... and slightly unnerving."

A hum follows. 

“Well, thank you...I think.”

Silco chuckles again, leaning slightly against the desk in front of Y/N.

"It's both a compliment and a note of caution. It's remarkable how you can remain so unfazed by anything. But it also raises the question of what could break that unshakable composure, if anything at all."

Y/N, even the world at large, could see the dangerous curiosity in Silco’s eyes. The Eye of Zaun has always been a man of deadly inquiries, even to those who he trusts most. A way to test loyalty and more so, a way to test vulnerability. She could feel fear creep into her throat as she realized what was happening...an interrogation 

“Thus far boss, haven't found anything yet.”

Silco's gaze remained intently fixed on her, his expression unreadable. He watched her every subtle reaction, the way her eyes might glance away, or how her fingers might fidget slightly.

"Oh, I don't doubt that," he says, his tone smooth and steady, yet there's an undertone of danger "You've always been good at hiding your weaknesses, haven't you?"

She keeps her expression neutral and her tone casual despite her brain running rampant 

“One has to in this line of work–”

Silco nods, silently applauding her facade of calmness. He leans back from the desk, crossing his arms as he continues his questioning.

"True," he responds, his eyes never leaving Y/N’s face, "In this city, showing weakness is a dangerous game. I've seen more than my fair share of people fall thanks to a single moment of misplaced honesty."

Silco's gaze becomes more intense as his voice drops to a lower tone

"But everyone has a breaking point, don't they? A moment where the facade slips, where the careful control is lost. Tell me, Y/N, what's yours? What would it take to break that calm facade you wear."

Y/N pauses, racking her brain for bullshit answers but none come to mind. A flurry of lyrics comes to her brain, the coping mechanism to calm herself but alas she can't voice the fears. Turning to face his intense gaze, her eyes betray nothing that is going on in her head 

“I implore you to figure that out on your own, boss.”

Silco's gaze continues to bore into her skull, his face unwavering. He leans back slightly, his eyes never leaving her as he ponders the response. A hum erupts from his throat, a soft smirk playing at the corners of his scarred lips. He can see the subtle flicker in her eyes, and the slight tightening of her jaw, indicators of the internal battle she’s fighting. He would applaud the facade if it hadn’t been one defended against him. 

 He takes a step closer, his voice low and deliberate

"Now you're just being stubborn," he says, a hint of humor in his tone "But then again, when have you ever been anything but." He pauses, his gaze still intense "You're hiding something. I can feel it in the air. Something you don't want to admit, even to yourself."

She turns back to her paperwork, softly humming 

“Like I said, you can figure it out...on your own.”

Silco lets out a huff, a mix of irritation and frustration at the continued display of nonchalance. Taking a step closer, he towers over her.

"Oh, you really think I won't find out, hm?" he asks, his voice low and almost challenging.

"I've found out everyone's secrets and weaknesses, eventually. What makes you think you're any different?

Y/N felt her heart race at his proximity, a small silent gasp leaving her lips.

“Because...you trust me. You said so yourself.”

Silco pauses for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he processes the bullshit response. He slowly circles the desk, his footsteps echoing in the silent office. His movements are slow and precise, like a prowling tiger stalking its prey. He stands behind her, his presence practically enveloping her form; pinning her between his chest and the desk.

"You're correct," he says, his voice a low rumble "I trust you far more than I've ever trusted anyone else. But trust, as you know, is a fickle thing. It can be broken, sometimes irreversibly."

Y/N’s palms start to sweat, heart pounding inside her chest. She can't admit defeat...even to him. 

“Silco, please. Just let this one be.”

Silco leans down slightly, bringing his face close to hers. The air is thick with tension as his voice drops to a soft rumble, his breath warm on her ear.

"Give me one reason, just one, why I should let this go. Why I shouldn't pry and dig until I find what it is you're hiding from me."

His tone is smooth, almost seductive, yet there's a hint of danger underneath. He is determined to uncover this secret, unwilling to back down this time.

“It’s—it’s really not that important….”

Silco's smirk widens as he notices the slight blush on her cheeks, he’s winning. Leaning in closer, his nose almost touching the base of her neck, he lets out a hum, a low and dangerous sound.

"Not important, huh? If it wasn’t important, you wouldn't be so reluctant to reveal it. I know you, Y/N. You're hiding something deep, something that even you may not fully understand."

He moves even closer, his body almost pressed against the small of her back as he whispers "Just tell me, darling. I can keep a secret."

Y/N holds back a whimper at his closeness, the way his breath tickles the sweet spot on her neck 

“Boss, please don't–”

Silco lets out a soft chuckle, his voice low and gravelly. He can feel the tension in her body, the way she’s struggling to hold back her reactions to his closeness. He moves even closer, his body now fully pressed against hers.

"Don't what, Y/N? I haven't done anything."

He leans in further, his nose now tracing along the flesh of her jawline, his breath warm against the skin.

 "All I'm asking for is honesty. Is that so hard for you?"

“Fine, okay! I’ll tell you…just promise you won’t overreact.”

He can practically feel her resistance crumbling, the way her body responds to his touch. He's enjoying every response far more than he should, but he can't help it.

"Finally," he says, his voice a low rumble "Now that wasn't so hard, was it? Go on then, tell me. Let me in, darling."

Y/N pauses, closing her eyes in a silent prayer. 

“I am in love with...you?”

Silco freezes, his eyes widening at the confession. He was expecting anything but this, the words coming out of her mouth, the honesty in her trembling voice, the revelation of love, it was all too unexpected, too dangerous, too...perfect

He steps back slightly, his eyes fixed on her as he processes her words. The room is silent except for the soft sound of the ragged breaths escaping from his mouth He continues to stare, his heart pounding in his chest, the silence between her thick and heavy with unspoken emotion.

Y/N sighs and places her head in her hands, running them through her hair in frustration. 

“See why I didn't want to tell you?”

Silco's expression remains stoic as he continues to stare at her, his mind racing. He can feel a mixture of emotions coursing through him: shock, disbelief, excitement, and...fear. He takes a deep breath, trying to collect himself before speaSilco

"Y/N..." he begins, his voice thick with emotion "Are you...sure? About what you said?"

Y/N nods slowly and closes her eyes in a plea for a swift end should it come.

“Yes...fuck I–I can't help it, boss. Look if you just wanna fire me, I will never see you again and we don't have to talk about this at all–”

Silco's expression softens at the words, his heart clenching at the thought of her leaving. He reaches out, his hand gently lifting her chin, forcing her gaze to meet his and silence the rambling.

"I'm not going to fire you, you stupid girl," he says, his tone both frustrated and gentle at the same time. He lets out a sigh, his eyes locked in a steely gaze. 

"How long have you felt this way?"

“I have worked for you for 3 years so I would say about...a year of that time.”

Silco's expression darkens slightly at the words, his frustration growing at the realization that she had been hiding this for so long. His fingers tighten on her chin, his hand not letting Y/N look away for even a second.

"A year..." he mutters, his voice low "You've been feeling this way for a year, and you never told me, never even hinted?"

“What was I supposed to do, admit that not only I loved my boss but the King of the Underground himself?”

Silco huffs in disbelief, his grip on her chin tightening further. His eyes are locked on her features, demanding attention, and submission.

"Yes." he says firmly "You should have told me. I can't read your damn mind, Y/N. You just expect me to know your feelings, to know what's going on in that pretty head of yours?"

“I didn't want you to know! That's why I didn't tell you–”

Silco's expression hardens as he glares down. His fingers dig deeper into her chin, his touch almost too painful, waxing possessive.

"Why not? Why did you want to hide this from me? Don't you trust me?" he asks, his voice a rough growl "Because if you don't, why the hell have you been worSilco for me for the last three years?"

Y/N whimpers, his nails digging into her chin in a way that will surely leave bruises.

“I trust you I promise, I was just scared…I have seen you do worse things to people in this line of work boss.”

Silco huffs at her words, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. He can't deny the truth in them, but he doesn't like being reminded of his brutal nature, especially not in this moment.

"You think I would treat you like those other people, like one of my employees?"

His voice is a low rumble filled with both anger and something else, something he can't quite name. Y/N tries to pull her chin away, the bruises forming already from his grip

“That's what I am though, your Y/N.”

Silco's grip doesn't waver as she tries to pull away. His eyes darken as he feels his control slipping, the anger and frustration boiling up within him. He leans down closer, his face inches from hers. 

"Damn it, don't do this. Don't belittle yourself and don't reduce what you are to me to just an Y/N. You know it's more than that, damn it."

Silco's eyes flicker back and forth from her lips to her eyes, his control hanging by a thread. He can feel the pull between them, the unspoken tension that's been growing over the years. He can see the desire in her eyes, the need for something more than just a business relationship, and it threatens to break him.

"Damn it, Y/N," he mutters, his voice a low, rough whisper. "Don't look at me like that."

“Like what boss?”

Silco's eyes bore into her skull as he tried to hold onto the last shred of control he had. He's been keeping his feelings locked away for so long, and the innocence, the honesty, it's breaking him down, making him weak; and he hates it, and he loves it.

"Like you want me," he growls, his voice hoarse "Like you want to kiss me."

Barely above a whisper, the Y/N voices her finality “But I do want you, always have.”

She places her lips softly on his, allowing him to push her away, denying his affection should he choose it. Silco's eyes widen in surprise as her lips touch his. The last ounce of control he had evaporates like smoke. He hesitates for a moment, the conflict between reason and desire raging within him until finally the latter wins out. With a low growl, he pulls her closer, his hands wrapping around her waist as he kisses back, fiercely and hungrily.

One hand grips her waist, the other clutches her neck to pull her closer. The kiss is messy, full of tongue and teeth. Fierce and hungry, a place where she is not in charge.

Silco's lips leave her, a whine escaping her throat at the loss, but he moves to her jaw, peppering kisses along the skin, his teeth nipping at her jawline. He can feel his self-control slipping further with each passing second. He's wanted this for so long, and now that he has it, he's not holding back. His hands explore her body, tracing over her curves, possessive and demanding.

She moans softly as his teeth nip the sweet spot on her neck, hands tangling themselves in his neatly combed hair; head dizzy with want

“Silco–”

Silco smirks as he feels her hands in his hair, his ego stoked by her need and the sound of the soft moans that break from her soft lips. He continues to kiss and bite at her neck, enjoying the way her body reacts to his touch. He lets out a low growl, his voice a rough rumble against her ear.

"Say it again," He orders, his teeth nipping at her earlobe "Say my name, darling."

"Say my name, louder, I want to hear you moan it."

The Y/N gasped as his teeth continued their assault on her neck, his possessive grip leaving a small trail of bruises on her hip

“Silco please–”

The Silco shivered at the sound of his name. It sounded like honey, a dulcet candy for only him to hear. Only she could call his name like that and he would make sure she did it for the rest of her life. He can feel himself losing control, it’s driving him further into dangerous territory. His lips continue their assault on her neck, sucking and biting, marking her as his, making her beg in a way that's so damn satisfying.

"Please what, darling?" he growls, his hands gripping her hips tighter, grinding her core against him "You have to tell me what you want."

A tug on his hair and a wave of arousal pool and paint a spot on Silco's pants. The tug effectively ends his lip's attack on Y/N’s neck. Her eyes are blown with desire and her hair is disheveled as a thin line of salvia drips from puffy lips. Her neck is marked with the purple and red emblems of his handiwork. 

“Please kiss me again.”

Silco's eyes widen at the sight below him, marked as his possession, hair disheveled, lips slick and wet, it makes his heart race, his body tense and needy. He almost laughs at the question, not believing she would think he could refuse such a request.

"You don't even have to ask," he growls, his voice low and full of desire "I'll kiss you as much as you want, darling." He pulls her closer, his lips crashing into hers fierce and dominant; his tongue seeking and demanding.

Y/N allowed his tongue to explore her mouth but soon slows down the kiss, letting the fit of passion fade and lead the way to a more slow and sensual one. One that expresses that this is more than carnal, it's an unspoken quiet desire that consumes her heart and soul. 

Silco's eyes dilate at the sudden shift in the kiss. He can feel the change in energy, the way the kiss becomes slower, more sensual, more loving. It makes his heart clench in his chest, and for a brief moment, his mind whirls with emotions he's never felt before.

He responds to the change, matching Y/N’s pace, his hand going to caress her cheek lightly, his thumb tracing over the skin. Though, he eventually pulls away, breaking the kiss with a soft gasp. The intensity of the moment, the way the kiss had changed, it had completely thrown him off guard. He gazes into Y/N’s eyes, his expression a mix of a million different things: desire, love, confusion, fear. He exhales, one hand still caressing her cheek, trying to find the words to express what he's feeling, but they all seem to get lodged in his throat. 

Y/N takes the pause to caress his cheek, tilting her head in mild confusion as to why they had stopped. Maybe he had decided he regretted it, maybe she had overwhelmed him maybe–

Silco leans into her touch, his eyes flutter closed for a moment as he relishes the feeling. He had never been touched this way, with such gentleness, such tenderness.

Y/N gives him a broken smile, while his expression is unreadable, she can sense he is struggling with something

“It's okay...you don't have to know how you feel. We can end this right here if you want.”

“No," he says, his voice rough and urgent "No, I...I don't want to end this. I just...I don't understand. These feelings, these emotions, they're all so damn new to me, I don't know how to cope with them."

He let out a frustrated huff, running his hand through his hair. Y/N let out a chuckle, sitting up in her chair and allowing him to kneel on the floor before her. Running her hands through his hair and settling them by cupping his cheek. Gazing into the eyes she has come to adore

“Then how about this. We take this one step at a time yeah?”

"One step at a time," he repeats, his voice a quiet murmur. He nods, opening his eyes to meet yours once more

"I can do that."

“We can do that”

Silco's heart lurches in his chest as Y/N says ‘we’ and he can't help the small smile that plays at the corner of his lips. The fact that she is so immediately willing to walk this path with him, to help him navigate these unfamiliar feelings and emotions, means more to him than she could know. He reaches up and covers her hand with his, holding it against his cheek, his thumb tracing small circles against the skin.

"One step at a time. Together."

[bunnysbrainrot]

Too Sweet

A series inspired by Hozier’s ‘Too Sweet’.

Relationship: Joel Miller x f!Reader

Content: No sexually explicit content, at least not yet. Some slight fluff? Slow burn vibes? Joel is kind of a dick (for once in my writings), but a protective dick.

Summary: You’re one of the newest arrivals in Jackson after a long trip to seek refuge. Now that you’re settling in, one of Jackson’s most integral men is the head of your first patrol. Will Joel be able to set aside that gruff demeanor for the sake of meeting someone new?

A/N: I’m so sorry about my recent hiatus, everyone. I’ve thought of this series for a while, to get me inspired again and to work towards something bigger. I’ve also thought about having some sections/chapters be from Joel’s perspective. Thoughts on that? Sorry it’s nothing spicy yet, but we’ll work up to it. Tensionnnn

The sound of birds echoed outside your bedroom window. By some miracle, you’d found a community, after so many months wandering either alone, or with the occasional group, but never for long. The mattress beneath you squeaks as you shift in your bed. Normally an irksome noise, but it reminded you that you were finally safe.

A faint light of dawn trickles through the gaps in the curtains, streaking around the room in a periwinkle hue. Your sluggish grog was slowly wearing off, while you processed your plans for that day. It was a Thursday, according to your new watch. God, you hadn’t realized how much you missed being able to tell the time. Who knows truly how long you’d been out there. Days blurring together, the minutes excruciatingly drawn out without company.

It was nice to be a part of something again.

Finally, you sat up in bed, rolling your head to stretch your neck. How long had it been since you had a proper pillow?

A smile crept onto your face. You’re better rested than ever, but an anxiety still ate away at you. Today was your first patrol outside of Jackson. You weren’t alone, of course, but the expectations you held for yourself could be your downfall.

“Okay, let’s do this,” you whispered to yourself.

Walking over to your dresser, you eyed yourself in a dusty mirror above the chest of drawers. A kind woman named Maria had provided you with a few new outfits when you’d first arrived a week ago. In the meantime until today, she’d given you those days to process and settle, and you were grateful for her patience.

When Maria had asked you what role you’d like in the community, she could see the steely glint in your eyes. Well seasoned from years of fighting and running, yet still a kernel of a protective rage.

You had expressed to her of your journey before finding Jackson. On that day she asked you how many of the dead you had taken out thus far.

“In total, by myself, well over three hundred, I would say. I don’t know, I think I lost track at some point.”

Her expression shifted to one of assurance, like they’d just gotten a worthy addition to their town. Someone who could protect what they’d all built.

She explained the basics of patrols, the routes laid out on an old map, with hand drawn trails and indicators of the area. You made an attempt to remember as much as you could, but surely you’d get good practice being out there, actually doing it.

————

You check yourself before heading out the front door. This time of year, the weather has started to warm up, so your opted for a t-shirt, jeans, a light jacket, and a ‘new’ pair of hand-me-down boots.

The air outside was cleaner than you’d imagined. The scent of early morning breakfasts wafted through the breeze, bringing a pang to your stomach. Maria hadn’t mentioned how long patrols would take; you debated if you had time to grab something from a stall in the heart of town. Other residents had been given spaces to cook for the community, giving out easy meals for these hardworking people.

Turns out you did have time, to your relief. In a matter of minutes, you held a piping hot breakfast sandwich in your hands, its heat seeping into your chilled fingers.

A few folks wave a friendly ‘hello’ as you trek to the Southern side of Jackson, to its border wall to meet up with your patrol group. There was a huddle of both peiple and horses, you noticed, as you got closer. One of the people turned to you, giving a wave in recognition.

“Hi, am I late? I thought I’d have time to get breakfast,” you explained.

There was a woman with kind eyes who spoke next, “Not at all, these bastards just insist on getting up at 5:30.”

“That sure is an early start.”

“It gets them cranky like you wouldn’t believe,” she replied, quickly cut off by a new voice.

It was a gentleman who called to the group, “We all here?”

His voice wasn’t commanding, but it did put people into gear to check themselves. Clearly he was the one in charge of this patrol. The look in his eyes told you all you needed to know.

He might be someone to watch.

You turn to the woman, “I’m sorry to ask, but I don’t know anyone here yet. Is there any way you could give me a run-down of who everyone is?”

With a smile, she listed off the names of your group members, pointing them out. Some of them noticed and waved, others gave a slight smile, and others asked for your name. All were introduced until it was down to the man who’d rounded the group.

“And, that’s Joel. He’s head of the patrol.”

Your eyes shot to Joel now that you could put a name to the face. There was a moment of pause when you met his gaze, a moment frozen in time from his stare. He scanned over your face, down to your shoddy boots, and back to your eyes.

His expression doesn’t soften as he says, “Glad to have ya with us. Should be a horse on the way for you.”

Joel turns to face the gate as he rummages through his pockets for a folded map. He unfolds the paper until it spans across his horse’s shoulders.

The rhythmic clonk of a horse’s hooves came from behind. A familiar face approached with a stunning mare, it’s Maria.

“Mornin’ everyone, that should be it,” Maria traded off with you, handing you the mare’s lead. She spoke louder, announcing to the group. “Y’all stay safe out there. Shouldn’t be too bad, but it is getting warmer. Keep an eye out for groups.”

Members of your party nodded before Maria walked off, giving greetings to other folks who’d just begun to bustle around.

Your attention shifted back, specifically to Joel. It seemed that whatever he says, goes, so that’s what you’d follow.

Two men at the top of the wall made their way to the edges of the gate, hauling it open. Golden sunlight peeked above the mountains ahead, casting the world in a yellow glow.

Joel nodded, then a gruff, “Be smart. Stay close.”

————

The sun was overhead now. You’d been out here for hours, keeping an eye out for any infected that roamed too close to camp. A while ago, you spotted one trapped in an abandoned cabin. Which was quickly dispatched by one of the men in your party.

That cycle repeated almost wordlessly amongst you all. Hardly a single word had been uttered aside from Joel’s occasional command or redirection.

For the most part, things were going smoothly. And after a few minutes of some peace and quiet, you realized you’d strayed away from your spot in the formation. Your horse had fallen in pace with a beautiful brown stallion, riding on top, was none other than the leader.

Joel.

You’d turned to see who it was, but were quickly met with another intense stare. Your gaze darts to the side as you issue an apology, “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to get so ahead of everyone.”

For the first time his expression does soften. A slight hint or kindness in his eyes. The corners of his eyes crinkle with his slight smile.

“It happens. Just… keep a lil’ distance. You’re new, can’t have you rushing ahead without someone else with you.”

The words would form a lecture if it weren’t for his tone. It wasn’t scrutinizing, but rather soft and protective.

His advice brings a smile out of you. A genuine one, for the first time in a while. Perhaps he wasn’t as much of a hard-ass as you’d assumed. You tug your horse’s reins to slow her pace, creating a few feet of space between you and Joel.

Yet even still, that smile he gave you kept your heart racing.

It would be a horrible idea, to fawn after him.

Right?

That thought had no effect on the tightness in your chest, or the fluttering in your stomach. Perhaps it was simply happiness that someone so hardened could be so easily friendly. A hard exhale later, you told yourself that it was the camaraderie that flustered you.

—

The group had made their journey back to town. Aside from the occasional runner, there wasn’t much defense needed this morning. Once your group returned, you’d have lunch and trade off with the next group, and share your findings before they venture out.

You had let your mind wander as you rode with the group.

In a split second, your mare bucks in fright. There was no time to assess what scared her before you were shooting ahead, flying past your patrol group.

“Nonononono- NO! It’s alright, it’s alright-“ you cry, but it falls on deaf ears of a scared animal. Tugging on the reins made no difference. You still shot ahead of the others, directionless without someone to guide you.

“It’s alright, baby, you’re safe! You’re okay. It’s gone!” You plead to the horse to slow down. The reassurances don’t seem to be enough.

A thundering set of footsteps is heard behind you. In a swift move, Joel jabbed his horse with his heel, pushing himself to race ahead of you.

With the rush of the air and galloping hooves, you could hardly make out his instructions.

“What?!” You shouted.

“Pull the reins! And I mean pull!”

You gripped the leather of the reins, drawing them to your chest, tugging your horse’s head back and away. Her pace slowed, but she kept running, now to the left. You could make out a curse from Joel as he redirected.

In a stroke of luck, he made some headway. Joel’s horse zoomed forward, and merged directly in front of yours, and the interruption slowed the mare’s pace just enough.

Another tug of the reins helps her into a steady beat. Joel was directly ahead, now turned to the side to block more of the path. Your horse huffed and threw her head frustratedly. In that short time you had no clue just how far you’d strayed away - looking backwards told you that it was at least a few hundred meters.

Embarrassment showed in your flushed cheeks and wild expression, looking to Joel for some sort of scolding.

“I think something scared her. I.. I didn’t get a chance to see, it all happened so fast-“

Joel raised a hand to stop you mid-sentence. He didn’t wear a smile like before, but his expression wasn’t angry. If anything, he had that protective look once again.

“I know. They’re skittish, ‘specially her. She needs a little more control than the others.”

It’s a reassurance, truthfully. You breathed a sigh of relief knowing you weren’t on the shit list on the first day. Your breathing had slowed down now, though your heart still raced wildly in your chest.

He scanned your face thoroughly before he asked, “You alright?”

A nod is what you could muster. It’s enough for Joel to give a nod back before waving to the folks behind you, the rest of the group, to call them over.

“Maybe next time I’ll have a more confident horse. No offense….” you paused, “what’s her name?”

Joel’s lips tugged into a smile, “That’s Belle you’re ridin’. Poor girl hasn’t been out in a while, so she’s not as warmed up to this. But you did good with her, all things considered. Handled it well.”

You reached down to pat Belle on the side of her cheek, caressing her carefully.

“It’s okay, Belle. We’re with you. You’re alright now.”

A smile vanished from Joel’s face when you look back up at him. He cleared his throat, his eyes skirting away until your party began to join up with you two.

“It’s all good. Belle got the jitters. Let’s head home.”

With that explanation out of the way, the team could finally resume their return home. Along the way, Joel didn’t have much else to say, much to anyone actually. His silence was solemn - definitely not any invitation to strike up conversation.

Perhaps that’s how he’d always be - resigned, reserved, and off limits to everyone. A part of you ached at the thought of it.

For Joel, that loneliness could be his downfall.

Hi guys! Thanks for reading, I’m sorry if it seems a little boring, but it’s for the sake of the story building. TRUST it will get nasty soon. 🥰

[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.

[rochenn]

The year is 2034. Disney announces the production of the show "Resistance: Dooku of Serenno", set during the early days of the Empire, starring CG Christopher Lee.

We begin with a flashback to Revenge of the Sith. After Dooku is beheaded, we learn that he used the Force to supply his brain with blood and oxygen. The movie is visibly retconned - as Obi-Wan, Anakin and Palpatine flee the Invisible Hand, four human parts can be spotted stealthily floating after them.

Dooku, being Dooku, survives the crash and manages to steal away. His head is surgically reattached. Don't ask why nobody else ever stitched their lightsaber-chopped limbs back on. He ends up getting prosthetic hands, anyway. David Filoni said in a behind-the-scenes interview that he thought they were cool.

Previously established canon prevents Dooku from doing anything in-character until Order 66. He lets loose in Coruscant's undercity and becomes the local kooky old man who couldn't possibly be public enemy number one until Mace Windu, freshly fried and unhanded, crashes down in front of him. What a coincidence.

Mace is still played by Sam L. Jackson. He is So Old. He is only there for the paycheck. Disney didn't know how to recast him. He is acting alongside the shell of a man who has been dead for two decades.

After a joke about missing hands that is very funny, the two get along swimmingly. They don't really talk about Dooku's various war crimes. "My droid army would never traumatize a young child," Dooku says with a wink into the camera. Remember to buy your Mandalorian merch.

Mace and Dooku organize an underground resistance on Coruscant in the spirit of the Confederacy. Mace is okay with this. Choice aspects of this arc are compelling, like the fight against fascism under the yoke of cruel state suppression, but tone-deaf allusions to the work of Sophie Scholl cause controversy abroad. Andor did it better. Critics on YouTube who thus far lauded the return of fan favorites and 'faithful casting' tear into the show for pushing the woke agenda.

Nothing Mace and Dooku accomplish has any impact on the Original Trilogy. What were you expecting? The end of the show teases a second season with the arrival of a mysterious woman. Dooku's secret wife. You never knew of her because she was never relevant before. As the final credit music slowly creeps in, she says: "Don't you want to see your son?"

The music swells and we cut to Serenno. The planet has never been mentioned throughout all 15 episodes of the show. Standing in the ruins of Dooku's castle is Dooku's son: back turned to the viewer, gazing into the sunset. Dooku II of Serenno, proud heir, turns his head. He is played by Harry Styles.

Roll credits.

[zorosangell]

I love your fics sm they’ve been getting me through my weekend! In honor of the cold and flu season, maybe a Zoro x Sick Reader would be cute ^^ (where of course Zoro is a big blockhead who doesn’t know how to care for someone who is sick but is too overprotective to not at least try).

⛥ﾟ・。 ham melon

synopsis: after you contract a rare, deadly disease, zoro has to take care of you... the best he can.

cw: fluffy fluff, comfort, zoro is a lovable idiot, reader's a little nervous

a/n: love the love i'm receiving from some of you guys tysm. though i just wanted to remind some of you in my inbox that it is the holiday season, and while i'm writing these i am also getting my house and gifts together for christmas. so plz give me some grace lol. i am doing my best to work through my asks

"Zoro... honey... I don't think I can eat that," you rasped, breathing labored and voice weak as you glanced toward the man standing at your bed side. "I can barely keep down water..."

Eye wide, Zoro flushed with embarrassment, now feeling stupid as he glanced down at his hands, which held the bone of a comically large cut of raw ham melon.

And after he spent a whole hour looking for it, too...

'Dammit.'

"Shit..." he cursed under his breath, tossing the meat off to the side as he ran an anxious hand through his hair, looking around the room for something else to help.

Of course, fate had to have chosen the worst possible person in the world to leave you with.

"Alright, I'll... um... shit..." he frantically thought aloud, his hand coming to rest on his chin as he brainstormed more things to give you. "Tea helps people when they're sick, right? Do you want some tea?"

He turned to you for an answer, only to be met by your heavy wheezes, your chest rising and falling both slowly and deeply in an attempt to get as much air as possible.

Your eyes were shut, blankets pulled up to your neck for the body chills and rag placed carefully on your forehead for the fever—which was a whopping 104 degrees last he checked.

Moving closer, Zoro removed the wet cloth and placed the back of his hand in its stead, letting it rest against the painful flush for a moment before quickly yanking it away, worried.

"Christ, woman, your burning up! Tea's gonna kill you!" he winced, concerned, before quickly turning around and rushing toward the exit. "Here, gimme a second!"

Bursting into the kitchen, he bee-lined it for the cupboard and grabbed a glass, moving to get water out of the fridge.

Chopper and the others would have to hurry up if you were going to survive the night.

After docking on a mysterious, tropical island, you somehow managed to catch a rare disease—a disease that had a one-hundred percent fatality rate.

Naturally, the entire crew was worried, but an elderly woman from the town explained that a cure could be made from the large lotus flower that sat in the center of the jungle.

But, because there's always a catch, the jungle was teeming with dangerous animals and man-eating plants, thus making the trip a suicide mission.

So, Luffy and the others embarked on the journey, while your boyfriend was left on ship-watching and you-watching duty.

Though, it was clear that the crew was having a far easier time with their task.

"I got you some water," Zoro stated, walking back into the room.

Quickly, he took a seat next to your bed, scooping his hand under your neck and lifting you up, helping the cup to your lips as you drank.

"Thank you..." you mumbled, taking a few sips before allowing him to lay you back down. "M'sorry... m'such a pain in the ass."

"The hell are you talking about?" he raised a brow, placing the glass on the end table.

"Well... you never get sick... and it's my luck the one time I do, it's deadly," you looked down at yourself, slightly embarrassed. "Not to mention you probably had things you wanted to do today..."

"You talk as if I think you're a burden."

"Well—"

"That's stupid."

You piped down, slightly surprised by his blunt statement.

"There's no burden in this relationship. There's me... and there's you," he stated, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. "You keep me sane... and I protect you... and both of us pick up the slack where we need it."

Seriously, he turned to you, eye practically peering through your soul.

"I don't date dead-weight. If that were the case, I would've never asked you out in the first place."

Gagged, you could do nothing but sit there, stunned to silence.

You didn't know he thought so much of the relationship...

Not that you were treating it was a fling, but that you didn't think your swordsman read so much into it.

"You're talking better. The fever must be breaking," Zoro yawned, standing up from his seat. "You need anything else?"

Quietly, you shook your head, and he let out a heavy sigh, allowing his shoulders to slightly sink before he flopped onto bed with you.

"Good... M'takin' a nap..."

"Zoro! I'm gonna get you sick!"

He grunted in response, allowing his eye to shut as he rolled over and dropped his head in the pillows, tucking his hands behind his head.

"You said it yourself... I don't get sick..."

"Well, I don't wanna risk it!"

"Just shut up and c'mere," he mumbled, looping his arm around your waist and jerking you into his side.

The moment you came in contact with his shirtless body, you nearly let out a sigh of relief, his warm skin doing wonders for your body chills.

'Maybe... a few snuggles won't hurt...'

"Five minutes..." you warned, groggily, resting your head on his chest as you inched closer.

"Mhmmm," he hummed in agreement, already half asleep.

Though, when the rest of the crew returned around midnight, the two of your were still in bed together, a mess of limbs and snores as Zoro held you close—his position that of a shield as his front cradled you in his arms, and his back shielded you from any outside dangers.

After Chopper administered your medicine, and Luffy ate the ham melon left behind on the desk, the crew left, leaving you both to continue your slumber.

Zoro, relieved that you were still alive, able to sense your breathing through his sleep.

You, relieved to know that your swordsman viewed you so highly, and saw you as anything but a burden.

[cheriladycl01]

I payed my dues - Oscar Piastri x FemNorrisDriver! Reader

Plot: Y/N Norris and her thoughts on Hungary and Monza 2024.

A/N: This is fiction and I don’t want to see any genuine hate towards Oscar or Lando in my comments. I just could see a Lando sister getting really protective and this idea stemmed from my ‘My love is mine all mine’ fic …

As Lando’s little sister, you’d come into the sport two years after him. Rookie Season with McLaren in replacement of Carlos Sainz.

You basically just road your brothers bumper unless you’d out qualified him by a long shot. But you were very obviously second driver, and you were okay with that. You were an incredible driver, already rivalling your brother. However, you wanted a chance for race wins and so when Christian Horner came to you about taking over Sergio Perez, you knew you needed to take it seriously.

And you knew being in a top team would pave the way for you too go into a top team as a top driver.

You and Max stormed though the 2023 season having an incredible stint of race wins between you and for the first time since being in Formula One you had ended the season above your brother in the standings and you now had 5 race wins under your belt that you didn’t have in McLaren.

2024 and the season was starting off strong for you and Max. You and Max were behind each other in the standing and got a very high way up. You were incredibly consistent not falling out of the top 5 for any race. Even when Max had a DNF for cooling issues you still made podium.

Miami was a special moment. It was a McLaren-RedBull Sandwich on the podium. You were so incredibly happy for your brother and his first career win. He’d worked so hard with McLaren thus far and he was the most loyal person you knew for sticking by their side.

But Hungary … you all could tell there was something different with the McLaren since Miami. Lando was on pole yet Oscar got around him into turn 1 and after some dramatic undercutting for the pit stop. Oscar took his first race win.

There was redemption in Zandvoort … but then Monza. Lando was on pole. Oscar was in P2. And you were in P3.

Strategy was for you to put pressure on Oscar who they thought was going to defend for Lando so that he could keep P1.

However … team orders didn’t seem to be a thing.

“And Norris makes it out of turn 1 still in first place. Y/N putting pressure on Oscar Piastri as we go into turn 2. Oscar no longer defending for Lando Norris and omg, through goes Y/N Norris into P1” the commentators say.

At the end of Monza you ended in P1, Charles Leclerc P2 and Oscar P3. Your brother out of the points but having set the fastest lap.

After watching the footage of Oscar baiting Lando and not defending him from you like a good teammate would you were beyond fucked off. It was the riskiest overtake of the month and shouldn’t have been done especially between teammates as both Oscar and a Lando could have ended out.

“So Y/N incredible race from you how are you feeling?” An interviewer for sky sports asks you and you nod.

“Yeah, really hot in the car today. Happy that I could gain places and win, and yeah I think McLaren will learn something’s after today” you say shortly not wanting your PR team to hate you for shitting on anyone.

“And what’s that? What do you think they’ll learn?” He asks cocking his head to the side.

“I dunno man, but having driven for McLaren as second driver behind my own brother for 2 seasons even when I was the quicker driver or I had the fresher tires I was still asked to defend Lando in the position he was in rather than overtake and that’s why we had such great results. Then you manipulate your diver into giving back position saying he’ll need the support in the future and proceed not to give them that support? Lando is so close to overtaking me and Max and you’d think McLaren would start to prioritise a driver … the one who is closest? No? Because I also helped Charles through today which has pushed McLaren as a constructors back even further. So McLaren really need to look at what they want to do going forward… they say my doesn’t have a championship mentality … no McLaren racing don’t have a championship mentality” you say your frown getting angrier as you continue speaking.

“And do you think RedBull have what it takes to secure the championship?” He asks and you nod.

“We already have” you say confidently.

“Some … harsh words from Red Bull driver Y/N Y/L/N there” the interviewer says just as your PR manager starts to pull you away.

“Your a menace you know that right?” She sighs as she drags you away.

“Yeah I know …” you sigh.

“Ooo what the hell was that about?” Oscar rushes coming up to you.

“What was what?” You laugh, looking over him up and down at his race suit that was loosely hanging around his hips. You had just made a comment that wasn’t wrong, and it was your opinion, one that you were entitled too.

“You’re shit talking me on interviews just because your pissy McLaren never saw your potential and that we now have the better car” Oscar says crossing his arms making you burst out laughing.

“So my freedom of speech is just gone now? I can’t make comments but you can question Stroll driving like he’s in go-karts still? Fucking grow up Oscar and then maybe just maybe you’ll be half the driver you pretend to be” you tell him, a stern look on your face.

“That’s not exactly fair, did you see the way he was driving?” He asks with an incredulous look on his face.

“Rich coming from you mate, did you see the way YOU were driving. Look I used to have a lot of respect for you, especially last year with how helpful you were … but I don’t know what’s gotten into you this year” you say, a little softer than the rest of the conversation had gone, wondering what had happened to the boy you once had a crush on.

“Your just sour that were quickly catching up top you, just like Ferrari and Mercedes are and that you aren’t as good as your brother” he says t matching your softer tone.

“I payed my dues at McLaren Oscar and that’s how I’ve ended up where I am now. It’s your turn to take the backseat once in a while and respect your teammate whose been grafting his arse of and dedicating his life to the team” you frown, once again angry that he isn’t seeing sense with you.

“I’m not a secondary driver like you Norris…” he seethes.

“Hey hey hey what’s going on here” is heard from behind Oscar as your brother and two McLaren staff come running up next to him. He stops next to Oscar looking between the pair of you, both having furrowed brows.

“Maybe tell your teammate to start acting like one if you want both championships yeah?” You frown before taking your leave and walking into the Red Bull hospitality immediately flopping down in a booth next to Max.

“I didn’t know you felt that way about Oscar…” Max sighs softly.

“Yeah well neither did I until today…”

Instagram Story Caption:

Can’t say the same for everybody!

Taglist:

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[towriteloveontheirarms]

Positively unstoppable (Halsin Silverbough x reader)

synopsis: It is the height of bear mating season and with the heat around all of you, you and your group are forces to stop traveling for a while. Well, it seems your lover is not quite comfortable telling you it is mating season as he is scared you are weirded out. Yet he also can´t hold himself back when faced with you.

warnings: p in v sex, mating press, Halsin in heat should be his own warning, some bear like behaviour ig, basically porn without plot, kinda fluff at the end, afab reader

word count: 1.5k

taglist: @hopelesswritergall @foxyanon

(If you want to be tagged for a specific character/fandom or in general let me know in my asks, comments or DMs)

A/N: Thank you to the lovely anon that requested Halsin in heat as soon as they saw my post about researching bear mating season for this <3

Dividers by me

The heat of the height of summer was burning down harsh upon your traveling bodies, bringing your party to a screeching halt when the only thing possible, was to put up camp and find a way to cool down your overheating forms. As soon as your tent is set up, you decide to head to the river nearby, wanting to cool down in the little lake it ended in.

Only after you rid yourself of the clothing and stepped into the water, you notice the towering form of Halsin sitting close by already, his eyes focused on the flow and movement of the river. From the movement of his shoulders, it was clear that he was breathing deeply, most likely meditating. For a moment you contemplate going over to him, but when you look back to where he sat Halsin was already gone. Or so you thought until the water began to ripple into small waves upon the druid stepping into it. He looks tense. More than usual and for sure more than the past couple of weeks, which honestly you didn´t think was possible.

“Are you feeling well? You have been behaving differently for quite some time now.” You voice your concern quietly as to not disturb the peace of the nature surrounding the two of you.

“I can assure you, that I am feeling quite alright.” His words hold relatively little meaning in the face of the way he borderline flinches away from your touch as you begin to run the water over his warm skin. Or the voice that comes out is gruff, yet you can feel his breath hitch just the slightest bit. Immediately you pulled your hands away from him, trying to see through him. A futile attempt so you take his hands in yours and look him deep in the eyes.

"Love, I would be fine even if you told me, you do not wish to talk about it, but just tell me truthfully. Are you alright?" Looking into his eyes, Halsin's pupils have swallowed almost all the green that surrounds them.

In what you perceive as just a sweet attempt to calm your worries, the tall man leans down to rest his forehead against yours, while holding your chin in one gentle hand.

"I am fine." He put emphasis on every word he speaks.

But you are so close and your scent so much stronger than the rest of the year, singing to him in the most irresistible tones. It all made the druid unable to keep himself from nuzzling your face and neck, thus eliciting a so far successfully held back moan and a shiver of arousal runs down your spine. A ripple of pleasure runs through your entire body when he begins to nibble on the tender skin.

"Halsin..." His name trembles from your tongue.

"You're mine." He only growls in return.

It's a rarely seen show of possession from your lover and all the more powerful whispered in the low baritone of his affected voice.

Halsin picks you up as if you weigh nothing and lays you in the grass at the riverbank and doesn't waste a second to crawl on top of you. With one swift motion he hooks his large, muscular arms into the hollow of your knees to lay them over his shoulders.

"Damn it, I cannot wait any longer. Your folds simply feel too immaculate." The druid breathes out the trembling words as he rubs his hard cock between your folds to tease the sensitive bundle of nerves atop it with his tip.

With one strong push and a sigh that fans his hot breath over your ear and cheek, Halsin bottoms out inside your tight cunt. In turn, your walls flutter around his thick member and your back arches until your chest squishes your legs even more between the two of you. 

"Oh, you feel so good inside of me. Always stretch me out so much it's like my cunt will take the shape of your cock one day." You babble mindlessly as you get used to the stretch that feels like it threatens to split you in two.

Halsin doesn't give you much time to get used to his massive size as he sets for an ambitious pace, pushing into your core painfully over and over again until your pained whimpers and moans turn into sounds of pleasure and begging for more.

"Please do not ever stop." You cry out as Halsin's massive paw of a hand begins to pinch and twist your nipples, losing control of himself a bit more and taking the pace and intensity of his thrusts up a notch. One of your hand buried its nails in his shoulder to attempt to ground yourself, while the other grips and lightly pulls on his hair. Immediately your companion leans down to seal your lips with his, kissing you with teeth and tongue. The moment your lips meet, he is positively unstoppable.

You get pushed into the grass with his whole weight, his balls slap against your ass cheeks as you get rocked back and forth by inhumanely, animalistic thrusts. The wet sounds of the tip of Halsin´s cock bullying your most sensitive spot, drenching it in your juices as a result and making the sounds of your hips slapping against each other wetter as time went on. It felt so good that the brain fog soon took over, rendering you unable to kiss him back any longer.

“Nothing feels so divine as your tight walls fluttering around my cock.” Your brain barely registers the words the druid huffs against your lips before kissing you again. Unwavering despite the fact your lips hang open ever so slightly to make way for shaky breaths and high pitched, eager whines.

“Fuck, I can feel you are close, my love. Your cunt could not possibly squeeze me any tighter.” Halsin lets out another insatiable growl, before he coaxes the first peak out of your body. Revelling in the sight of you being shaken by the waves of pleasure he provides.

“Halsin…” You moan the druids name like a mantra, like a quiet prayer to your own personal god that simply continued to bless you with the pleasure that still caused your body to tremble in the aftershocks of climax.

Two more peaks he pulls from your body until you are nothing but a puddle of panting breaths overstimulated cries and a lose grip that tries to hold onto his shoulders, to hold your legs where he put them. Only then Halsin bottoms out inside of you once more. Buried as deep as he can, with his thick tip kissing the opening to your womb, he shoots a great amount of his seed into you. Together the two of you stay intermingled for what feels like an eternity. With your arms wrapped around the other to hold them close as you breathe in the air that the other lets out until you both feel dizzy. The druid wipes the sheen of sweat from your forehead with the greatest care and strokes a lost strand of hair behind your ear, while all you can do is to fight the brain fog and keep his eye contact. Those sage coloured eyes you loved so much, gently get you back to reality, where there is nothing left but to giggle until you burst into full on satisfied laughter.

“Hah, I had a feeling you would go insane on me one day. Yet I never would have imagined it would happen after I laid with you.” Halsin jests as he sits back on his haunches and taps your thighs to motion for you to assist him in sitting you up as well.

You follow his wordless command and sit up, wincing when there is a dull sensation shooting through your core.

“Do you feel aright, my love?” He asks with his eyebrows suddenly knitted together in concern.

“Yes, love. Positively spend, but fine nonetheless and you need not worry about my state of mind any time soon.” You lean forward to place a peck on the tip of your companion’s nose. “I was merely overwhelmed with the content feeling that floods me whenever I am near you and did not know how else to handle it. In fairness one should think I would have learned it by now, but I am far from it. It still is so hard to believe I am lucky enough to be able to call you mine.”

Gratefully you accept the small pouch of water that Halsin hands you and take a few sips, before handing it back.

“I understand what you mean. Sometimes it all feels like it is too good to be true. Like being on the verge of waking up from the most beautiful dream.” The soft voice of your lover makes you feel all fuzzy inside with how effortlessly he understands.

“Exactly, like being on the verge of waking up from the most immaculate dream.”

[jesswritesthat]

Sakusa Kiyoomi: Part of the Plan

Fandom: Haikyuu!! — [ Masterlist ]

Summary: ~0.8k, fluff

• You didn’t think helping a friend would ever lead you to be in demand from elite athlete Sakusa Kiyoomi, yet here you are.

Warnings: Post time skip spoilers.

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It was a soothing walk home you'd taken that evening, enjoying the fresh fragrance of the season when a brief interaction outside your apartment building caused you tilt your head and slow you pace.

"Oh here they are now!"

Your neighbour giddily shouted, pointing in your direction as evidence to the tall man beside her who then turned around. You recognised the athlete immediately, even without his signature teams' clothing draping his toned form.

"You made this meal plan?" It was direct, straight to the point, with recognisable scribbles held out before you.

It was apart of the plan you'd tailored for Atsumu, covering various nutritional aspects to help maintain energy and physique during the upcoming volleyball season. That damn blonde must've left it lying around at practice. You’ll get him back next time you hang out together but right now you held the prickly attention of his teammate.

"Oh yeah, I thought I was missing a page." Gratefully, you accepted the parchment with a polite smile whilst Sakusa shoved his hands in his pockets and spoke observantly through his mask.

"It's detailed, you know what you're doing."

"It's nothing overly professional but it does the job."

"It does more than that, I remember you always used to help out the volleyball team in middle school." He'd offhandedly mentioned, tilting his head slightly as if reminiscing - he was right, you were a year below and had volunteered to help the sports clubs when you could but you didn't think it'd be memorable.

Let alone to someone as antisocial and incredible as him, a top 5 Ace of the nation in Itachiyama.

"You recognise me?"

"You used a Hello Kitty plaster for my graze when first aid had run out of proper ones." This was said with what you assumed to be a disgruntled look since you couldn't see beyond his mask.

"It was a proper plaster. Just with more personality." You quipped back rather proudly, the player furrowing his brows slightly and responding with a hint of bemusement (you'd hoped).

"You said something similar back then, and I still disagree."

It was a slightly palpable silence that remained after that, unsure of how to react to Sakusa as a person rather than someone you'd considered out of reach quite yet. Thus he continued with an awkward clearing of his throat.

"Anyway, I was looking for you."

"To return my meal plan?" You instantly questioned, as if trying to aid the situation but he only shook his head before elaborating.

"To ask if you'd personalise one for me."

"Don't you have professionals for that?"

As a MSBY Black Jackals player, you’d expected them to have every amenity available to them in order to maximise performance - so for him to request such expertise from you was rather perplexing.

"I'm a picky eater." It wasn't as forward as answers you'd previously received, suggesting he was a little embarrassed about this disclosure.

"You're really gonna make this easy for me if I accept, aren’t you?" You retorted sarcastically, a raised brow sent his way but he remained unphased.

"I thought you may be looking to do this as a career, become a sport nutritionist?"

"Well I hadn't really thought that far ahead..."

Sakusa studied you thoughtfully, as if you were a new concept to his world that he didn’t understand yet, but he certainly wanted to try.

"Well as I progress, people will be interested in what I'm doing unfortunately. But it'll bring business your way."

It was considerate of him (even if he was repulsed by the idea of attention) to think about how the arrangement would benefit you also, it is an aspiring nutritions dream offer after all. Yet he presented no pressure, waiting patiently even if your casual shrug and acknowledgment wasn’t a conclusive decision.

"I mean as a Division 1 player, you're quite popular already."

"Think about it. Here's my number, give me a call if you change your mind." Sakusa gave you a slip with his contact information, burying his hands deep in his pockets once more and diverted his gaze away from you. "Or even if you don't."

"Thank you Sakusa, it was nice talking to you again."

The Spiker didn't respond verbally, instead nodding softly accompanied by a wave of his hand when walking away.

Your neighbour rejoined your side from where she’d retreated to, previously leaning against the building entrance steps with a joyous skip toward you and girly squeal to match.

"Did you just get Sakusa Kiyoomis' number?!"

"Yeah. For work."

"He came looking for you, he literally asked Miya-san for your address to return your plan himself. Then MSBYs' top spiker Sakusa Kiyoomi gave you his personal number." She reiterated again, adding emphasis and dramatics to the statement as if you'd failed to realise the weight of it.

"..." You glared discreetly, your neighbour far too enthused by such a thing, which was translated through your deadpan tone. "You're too excited about this."

"I don't think you're excited enough about this."

You ran your thumb over his elegant writing as you looked at the slip once again, a gentle smile subconsciously working its way to your lips at the thought.

“Maybe you’re right…”

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[ Masterlist ]

A/N: I have more… if you want…?

[chloe-skywalker]

Give Them A Chance - Robb Stark

Robb x fem!reader Baratheon/Lannister

Warnings: GOT

Word count: 1,362

Summary: Robb and Y/n don’t know that their fathers plan to betroth them. But Ned has a reason for not telling. Will his reason work?

Authors Note: Takes place in like the first episode of season 1 Game Of Thrones. Like right after the whole “You got fat” lines.

Masterlist

Game Of Thrones Masterlist

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Y/n watched the exchange between her father and his friend Ned Stark Warden of the North. It was very odd but she thought it was nice that they were such good friends that they still joked around with each other. She didn’t see her father act so freely like this often. It was a rare welcome sight.

“So I take it this is your oldest.” King Robert sighed looking at the eldest of Ned’s children with a scrutinizing gaze before breaking out into a smile.

“Yes, this is Robb.” Ned introduced his oldest son to his friend.

Robert slapped a hand on the young man’s shoulder, smiling widely. “You're a handsome young lad.”

Robb tried to contain his blushing that he was sure he was doing. “Thank you, your Grace.”

“You should meet my oldest. Y/n!” Robert called over his oldest daughter, but not before sparing a knowing glance to Ned. As Y/n came to stand next to her father, smiling politely at the Stark family before her. “This is my oldest. A year younger than you I believe.”

“Princess.” Robb bowed, before looking at the princess. She had caught his eye when she first entered Winterfell on horse back alongside her uncle. He could not deny she was gorgeous, and he couldn’t believe how fast he had started to fall for her.

“Mi’ Lord.” Y/n curtised, biting her cheek. Thus Robb Stark was by far one of the most handsome men she had ever seen. And she had seen a lot of people growing up in KingsLanding. She wondered if his personality was as nice as his looks.

“Would you like a tour of  Winterfell?” Robb asked, offering a way for them to talk and get to know each other a bit. He also was one of the most qualified people to show her around.

“I would love one.” She smiled. Looping her arm through his and the two young adults that in some ways are still kids went off exploring.

While the two went off getting to know each other and everyone else did God knows what, King Robert and Net Stark headed down to the crypts.

“Have you told your son?” Robert asked once they were done talking about Ned’s sister. The King was curious if his friend's son had offered to show his daughter around on his own or out of duty.

“Not yet.” Nod squinted, he didn’t like the idea of taking this choice from his son. But the other part, this was a good alliance, and you don’t deny a king.

“And why not?” Robert had told Ned of the idea to marry their oldest months ago. But to be fair he didn’t tell his daughter either.

“Because I wanted to give them a chance to fall in love before knowing they might be betrothed.” Ned explained his reasonsings, and even though Robert would never admit it he admired Ned’s heart and how he was trying to make this a better situation for their children. It was better than just throwing them together.

“Very well. I didn’t tell my daughter either. She would’ve fought me on coming.” He chuckled. Y/n would’ve tried to fight him or talk him out of it, and it might’ve worked even the slightest. Out of all his children she was the only one that had a somewhat relationship with him.

“They’d be more reluctant if they knew about what we had planned. The two of them being in the dark might lead to them actually gaining feelings for the other.” Ned just hoped that the two would get close and at least see they could make a marriage work. But he was truly hoping that maybe they could fall in love on their own and there wouldn’t be any hard feelings or reluctantness.

^     ^     ^

It had been a few weeks and things seemed to be working out for Y/n and Robb like Ned had hopped. Y/n seemed to fit right into the Stark family. She got along with all his children and they all act as if she’s one of them. Things between Robb and Y/n had taken some people by surprise. The two had been spending almost all their time together. They only separated to sleep it seemed like.

Ned was happy to see they had a lot in common. The two went horseback riding constantly and Y/n seemed to know how to use a bow and a sword no doubt thanks to her uncle. They didn’t even eat apart at meals.

Today Robb and Y/n had gone out riding, once they were far enough away from Winterfell the two dismounted their respective horses walking along next to each other.

“Are you having a good time in Winterfell Princess Y/n?” Robb asked, hoping that the time they’d spent together had been as enjoyable for her as it was for him.

Y/n smiled, nudging him teasingly shoulder to shoulder. “Yes, I am as matter of fact. My favorite part is the company.”

Robb blushed looking down before looking back to her. Robb had no idea why she could so easily make him react like that, but she could and he didn’t mind it. “You flatter me y/n.”

“You’ve been flattering me the whole time I’ve been here. It’s only fair.” Y/n smiled. As they came to the set of trees that they had made their spot over the time she had been in the North.

Robb just stood there watching her for a moment. He never expected to fall in love with her when he first found out the King, Queen, and their children were coming to visit. But he had and he didn’t regret it. “If I may be bold and speak my mind, Princess?”

Y/n nodded, smiling back at him as she turned to face him. She noticed how he wasn’t right next to her and Y/n wondered what had made him stop and if it had to do with what was on his mind. “Go ahead. I won’t stop you.”

“During your time here in Winterfell I have become quite taken with you.” Robb stated walking over to her. He looked in her eye’s trying to notice how his works were being taken.

“And I you.” Y/n blushed, biting her lip at her response back to him admitting his feelings for her. Which she reciprocates.

“I have a proposal for you Princess Y/n Baratheon.” Robb felt an air of convenience hit him at Y/n admitting she feels the same.

Y/n furrowed her brow, it confused her on why he was using her title and first and last name. “Go on Lord Stark.”

Robb took a deep breath, he knew what he wanted he just hoped she wanted it to. “We may not have known each other for very long or very well for the most part. But I would like for us to get to know each other better over time. If you’d like that of course.”

“I would.” Y/n nodded liking where he was going with this so far.

“Would you  also like it if we could become husband and wife, Lord and Lady.” Robb stepped right up to her, reaching out to intertwine their hands. Looking into her eye’s Robb reached up with one hand leaving the other one still in hers, he cupped the side of her face, “Would you do me the great honor and become my wife? For all my days till the end of my days?”

Y/n reached up with her free hand and cupped the back of his neck, while squeezing his hand holding hers. Looking up into his eyes with what could only be happiness and adoration Y/n answered. “I would love to.”

In her short time visiting the North Y/n had really connected with the Starks and of course Robb the most. Yes, she’d miss her siblings (minus Joffrey) and she'd miss her uncles but this felt like the better place for her. And as long as she has Robb, Y/n will always be happy.

Taglist; @gruffle1 @padawancat97 @misspendragonsworld

@starkleila